Ominis Gaunt and the Blank Draught

Chapter Twelve

The vulgar, white and wet trail of stress that he left dripping from her face, down her chin and onto her breasts provided little relief from the duty he had been plagued with from birth. She remained on her knees as instructed while he slumped, finished, onto the edge of the bed. He brushed through the crown of his head before gathering his long, mousy-coloured hair and tying it back. He watched the Mugglet before him - still, obedient and the epitome of beauty.

Her soft, wavy hair fell to her breasts, sticking on to her sweaty, succulent skin. Her breasts, round and heavy; her waist slim; her hips wide. She was even the perfect height for him - tall enough to have her bent over and positioned for his taking; short enough so that when she was on her knees she could take him all the way to her throat.

"Master..." she spoke softly through her pretty, rosy lips. She even dared to peek up at him and just her gaze alone could get him hard again, "May I clean myself?"

"Come here," he said with a calm voice he only reserved for her, patting the space on the bed next to him.

She stood and approached him, sitting where he had beckoned. He conjured a towel without warning. Although she had spent many nights with him, the Mugglet was still not used to magic. Startled at the supernatural occurrence, she flinched and let out a small shout. He pursed his lips and yanked her closer. He did not use the towel but with his fingers, he wiped at what he had left on her face and made her lick him clean. Again, he trailed his fingers wet with her saliva down her neck and chest, and collected the stickiness in his fingers before slipping them in her mouth. She had blushed at the erotic gesture. Her naivety of magic and the fact she had no power that he could easily use her as he pleased, along with her willingness and curiosity to continue this game had him coming back for more. Perhaps it was her beauty; perhaps it was the way she knew how to please him like no other; or perhaps it was the time she took afterwards to listen to what he had to complain about. Something about her made her his favourite.

He passed her the towel finally and shuffled further into the bed and pillows, making himself comfortable. When she had finished, he bid her closer and allowed her into his arms. Being in his embrace was a strange combination of warmth and safety but also fear and uncertainty.

"My father has gone mad. We are doomed," he said resolutely, staring at the ceiling.

"Do you believe your brother will go through with it?" She drew circles on his chest.

"Until recently, I would have no doubt he would refuse. He would have had no reason to taunt Sayre and even if Father had requested it of him, he would have just brushed it away. Perhaps Father would not have bothered and dealt with it himself."

Marvolo played with the locks of her hair between his fingertips.

"But Ominis seems so set on this girl. It is as though she has given him a new lease on life. I have never seen him so alive. He would do anything for this Mudblood."

The Mugglet stiffened in his arms but it went unnoticed.

"Your brother does not appear capable of blackmail. Sure, he can come across as intimidating, but I do not think he'd want to intentionally hurt Sayre. Especially for the daughter's sake."

He grimaced.

"If he cannot do it, if my father does not do it, who will? This cannot happen. The Pureblood Wizarding World is the future. We cannot allow magic to be tainted by Muggle blood or else it will cease to exist. It must be protected, nurtured and sustained. And at the rate it is going now, it may not even survive the next century. We need the Heir of Slytherin to lead us but it won't be the bastard child of a Gaunt and that Mudblood. I will not allow it."