Bellatrix

'I hate that the only person who can make me smile is the one that makes me cry,'

She fell to the floor in white-hot agony as noiseless screams were torn from her throat. She felt the sweat dripping down her brow and every muscle in her body beg silently for relief. But he allowed her nothing. The pain, this time, was concentrated on her back, warping and crippling it, until she thought that every vertebrae had shattered under the stress. She dug her fingernails into the wooden floorboards as a way to release the hurt.

"Very good," came the cool assessment from the corner.

And the pain was gone.

She relaxed and rolled onto her back, allowing the feeling to return to her limbs, one of the pent up tears of agony slipping down her cheek. She wiped away angrily, her arm clumsy from the torture, and squeezed her eyes shut tight. Her skimpy black camisole was stuck to her skin with sweat and she supposed her black tailored trousers were in the same state (though she would not be able to tell until the feeling in her legs returned).

"Thank you my lord," she breathed.

"You handled the pain well and you did not scream once. Yes, I am satisfied with your progress, Lestrange,"

She felt the smallest of grimaces tug at her features. She hated it when he called her by her married name. Just another reminder of her limits. Just another reminder that she was property. Just another reminder that she could never fully belong to him. She felt more tears threaten to boil over her lids and show weakness. She forced them away.

"You do not like it when I call you that, do you Bella?" he asked softly.

She dared not open her eyes, "No my lord," she admitted, though she felt something soar in her stomach when he called her by her pet name.

"Very well. You may go now,"

She moved forwards slowly, still sore, and kissed the hem of his robes, "Thank you my lord,"

With her eyes closed she could not see the expression on his face when he contemplated just how much control he had over her. Despite her loyalty, her trust and her love for him, he knew that she hated that he made her cry. But he knew, he knew most definitely, that as long as he made her feel important, as long as he 'trusted' her and as long as he made her insane enough to smile at his torture, she would be loyal.