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The day Tom Riddle met the Witch it was cold. The sky of the small town of Little Hangleton was gray, and dark clouds added detail to the gloomy landscape. Something appropriate for his encounter, Tom thought.
Dark and dangerous. The only contradiction was that Tom was not in danger. But gloomy... Was gloomy the word for the lewd acts between him and the Witch? Certainly yes, in a way. Tom could hardly see that God would be pleased with such a relationship.
The dark clouds gathered with every second that Tom walked towards the hut within the forest. The Witch's house. Tom readjusted his expensive overcoat, the cold now beginning to bother him.
A raindrop fell on his face, which made him frown in displeasure.
- Good.
Speeding up his steps, Tom had wondered, begrudgingly, for a moment if he was making a mistake. Not by making a treaty with the witch, no. He deserved the benefits of that treaty and would take advantage of them until he got where he wanted to go and was worthy. As long as he was not the one performing such dark deeds, he would not be destined to be the target of divine wrath. Therefore, the witch would be the only heretic.
Sharing a bed with her, however... Would this whole situation be a greater sin for him to enjoy and taste the cursed flesh of a woman belonging to the devil himself? Well, his now. A sneering smile formed on Tom's face.
A black, decrepit house appeared in his field of vision. Although the appearance of the house was better than before, with the Witch's care, there was still that gloomy air. They were just hidden under a metaphorical carpet. The strange herbs that used to grow disorderly in front of the house were now neatly cut and more organized in small vegetable gardens. The outside walls were cleaner, the wood polished and strong. The windows were fixed, although there were still some defects. The door was fixed and painted a petroleum blue paint with some colorful flowers painted on it. It was more decent. Decent enough.
Tom touched the flowers, a slight mischievous smile appearing on his face. The witch could be quite... lovely. Trying to give his cursed house a more unassuming look.
Maybe one day he would give her a home of her own, one without the cancerous influence of the cursed mad family. A decent and comfortable one for her, but eccentric enough for her practices.
Tom turned the doorknob, unlocked for him, and entered the house. He watched and took in the familiar surroundings. Although it was a bit lacking in lighting, the witch kept everything clean and organized. There were even a decent amount of rooms in the old house. As well as other things he had given her.
There was a living room and dining room. A kitchen, a library (which Tom found quite intriguing, wanting to completely devour some of the books after the Witch managed to remove a few curses), four bedrooms, only two with a bathroom, and a quaint attic full of precious and curious old things.
- Tom?
A familiar, delicious smell entered his nostrils, making him salivate. One of the things the Witch could do was good food.
The Witch emerged from the dining room, wearing a navy blue dress and an apron that was already half-dirty. Her long black hair was in a messy braid, falling down to her waist. Her once bony face was now just thin, a little sweaty, a few strands of hair sticking to her pale forehead. His high, sharp cheeks flushed.
- Merope. - Tom answered evenly.
He watched in amusement as Merope looked away quickly, his long thin hands running through his hair, trying to straighten it, and his half-dirty dress.
- I didn't think you would be here so soon. - Her voice came out as a whisper, and Tom laughed at her reaction.
The sound of it made Merope look at him again.
- Why, and here I thought I was right on time. - He pretended to look at his pocket watch as if he were really interested in the time, and then frowned. - It looks like it's really early. Forgive me. I should come back another time.
Tom turned again to the door, motioning to leave. Then long, delicate hands grabbed him by the forearm. A small smile appeared on his face, looking over his shoulder at the embarrassed woman beside him.
- I didn't mean that. I just... I'm not... - Merope licked her dry lips, and Tom followed the movement of the small appendage against her pale lips, his own wanting to repeat the act. - You always arrive hungry.
Oh, of course he was.
- Well, I can tell you, dear, that I am known for my good patience. He turned to her again, taking a closer look. Merope let his hand drop to his side, taking a piece of the apron.
- It's almost ready anyway. - She looked him up and down, the blush reappearing on her face. - I just need a moment to get ready. I won't be long.
Ah, that was it. Tom looked down at the thin woman. This one was indeed disheveled. Still desirable, though, he would have to admit. He nodded and held her hand as she turned to leave, causing her to stare at him with a surprised look. Tom brought his hand to his lips, kissing the calluses on his fingers.
- No welcome kiss? He hid his smile behind his hand when her cheeks flushed.
Her gaze clouded slightly, and she let him pull her close, touching her thin, warm lips. Merope let out a sigh, while Tom swallowed it.
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After Merope got ready, they both sat down at the table, facing each other.
Tom noticed Merope's change of clothes, a long light green dress with loose, delicate sleeves. There were small flowers adorning the end of the dress, fading as Tom moved his gaze up to Merope's modest bust. The breasts were hidden by the fabric, but Tom could see faint bits of flesh rippling beneath the fabric. The sharp collarbone was decorated daily by a silver necklace with a blue jewel, a bright and beautiful sapphire. Her black hair was tied up in a perfectly neat bun, the bangs falling elegantly across her forehead.
Merope contained a small smile, but one that carried great emotion, as she nibbled on the chicken broth she made. The change in the way she ate before she met Tom was noticeable. Before she ate without class or politeness, but Tom would not let a partner by his side eat in such a pedestrian way. It wasn't hard to teach her how to behave, she was a fast learner.
Every now and then she would meet Tom's gaze, which made her face flush. Tom just smiled a little amused. Merope was easy to embarrass. And red looked good on her face.
Taking a last sip of the expensive wine he'd given her for such occasions, and for herself if she wanted to, he gave the woman a suggestive look.
- Have you planned any dessert, Witch?
Merope just looked at him from under her eyelashes, the wine glass clinging to her dark pink lips.
- As always.
Tom narrowed his eyes as she took the last sip.
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Merope's skin was quivery and soft against his lips. Easy to bite and make shiver. Perhaps that was what Adam felt when he bit into the forbidden fruit, a lustful, fleshy taste at such a fascinating sight.
The way the loose black hair spread out on the pillow made him think of Cecilia. How different they were. His dear wife. So beautiful, devoted, so puritanical, so ordinary. A model wife.
Tom grunted as Merope rolled her hips in circles, her long, bony hands, now more meaty with how much food she now had in the house, rested on his chest heavily.
He felt the fingers running across his beating heart, between his neck. Every now and then she ran her nails over him, scratching the skin, but never breaking it. She moaned shyly, while her hair hid her lust-filled, embarrassed face. He brought his hands to her small breasts, the hard, interested nipples rubbing against his palm.
Merope moaned and pushed herself further into Tom's heavy hand and hips, the heat in her stomach becoming stronger. She cried out when Tom sat up and pushed deep into her, his lips against hers with his mouth open, his tongue flooding her mouth.
They both pushed against each other, their limbs coiling like garden snakes in the spring. It wasn't long before the white wave came and they both shivered with absolute pleasure.
The lights in the room flickered and the wood shook a little as Merope screamed the name of the man inside her.
Tom held his wife's unfocused face, holding it against his, feeling the warm air of her breath against his mouth. He could still feel the wet, delicious heat in her crotch, and the spasms against his sensitive flesh.
He moaned hoarsely into her mouth with another wave of pleasure.
The witch was delicious, like a Turkish delight.
They lay down soon after tiredly, with Merope against his chest, her face rubbing against his neck and her eyes closed and asleep.
When Tom awoke again, the sky cleared with the coming of the star. He looked up at Merope, already awake and with a sad expression on her face, and he caressed her ribs tenderly, and lowered his head to kiss her long thin nose, moving down to her lips.
Soon they gave themselves over again to the carnal dance, he inside her and she pulling him closer and closer. Not wanting him to leave. Tom had to go anyway. After he was dressed and bathed, he left, knowing that the Witch was watching him from the window.
He wondered if she would cry when he went away for days, or if she would lie down and curl up in the sheets covered with his scent until the next time he came back.
When he arrived home, silent, ignoring the servants, she went to her room and lay down next to a fully asleep woman. She didn't wake up early like Merope, but Tom was careful not to wake her.
Removing his clothes again he lay down beside her, the smell of lavender and daisies filling his nose. It was pleasant, he thought. They were not like Merope's smell of strong teas and lavender. Cecilia also didn't have Merope's black hair, nor Merope's slim, taller body.
She was beautiful, though. He liked to spend his evenings with her. After all, she was his wife. But it was not enough.
He needed light smiles and a sultry voice. Slim, shapely legs. A lean body with loving, needy limbs. Of a striking face and, he discovered it was, eccentrically charming. Of thin lips, a sarcastic tongue, and a brilliant mind. He needed the Witch.
Tom grimaced at the thought and felt Cecilia stir beneath the sheets, turning and clinging to him. Her angelic face forming a slight smile. Merope would do the same thing if he were with her, with her straight hair falling in strands across her face and breasts.
Tom felt an uneasy feeling in his chest. It was becoming more and more recurrent, getting stronger with each visit he had with Merope. It was like a rope pulling him back, back into the dark forest.
Closing his eyes, he asked God to forgive him and to free him from such a curse. But deep down, the truth was that he was not sorry for what he did. Tom knew himself. He would return anyway, with heart and body ready for the Witch's arms. Enjoying her taste and texture at night. Wakes, potions and spells were not enough for him.
Tom looked at the woman on his chest, her delicate hand proudly showing the golden wedding ring on her finger. It would look beautiful on the Witch's long fingers. More beautiful, if he could tell. Tom rested his head on the pillow and decided to stop thinking, closing his eyes again.
He would stop by a jewelry store and buy Merope a ring anyway.