"Spike," Buffy whispered, after what seemed an eternity. In truth, it was no more than minutes. Her bleached vampire lover/rapist lay collapsed on top of her, lips smeared with the blood of the people's warrior, his semi-limp dick still buried deep within her bowels.
His slave lay beneath him, her breasts squashed into the duvet underneath them. She was unable to move. Not because of the size of the man above her, but because she was still chained spreadeagled facing downward. Buffy had begun sobbing after Spike had spent himself inside her moments before. Soft at first, they had quickly escalated into rolling spasms that shook her to the bones.
She realized then that she had probably been nothing more than his fucktoy. He didn't love her. He wouldn't be the one thing she needed but would never ask for : someone who would take care of her. For so long had she been on her own against those that wanted her life and the lives of those she loved. And she had asked Spike for it, she had said, "fuck me harder and deeper".
The flush of shame had begun fading from her when she decided to try to rouse her captor again.
"Spike", she said in between choked sobs. "Spike, get off of me."
He simply lay motionless above her, then cuddled her closer despite her plea. After a few minutes, however, the blonde vampire roused himself from his post-coital stupor and braced himself on the mattress, rising carefully to avoid hurting his bitch physically. Plenty of time for that; he did not want to desensitize her when he was just getting out of bed.
Spike pulled his jeans up around his hips and zipped himself up; he hadn't bothered to disrobe when he'd fucked Buffy, just as he hadn't bothered to in the bathroom earlier.
Buffy wondered why Spike was getting up. She shouldn't care why, she should thank the gods that he wasn't lying on top of her anymore. Deep within her core, however, she felt an emptiness that was more than a lack of dick in her.
Spike was the only one who made her feel even partly alive.
Suddenly, Buffy felt the duvet being ripped from beneath her, and she jerked as her body was aimlessly shoved forward, having nothing available to brace herself against the impact. Fear overtook her, and she wondered now if Spike would kill her, or worse.
"Pet, are you cold?", Spike's voice rang out in the crypt, taking on an ominous flavour in Buffy's mind. Should she speak? She didn't want to, she wanted to hurt and punish him for treating her this way, for her life being in danger, for raping her. In her vulnerable position, Buffy was desperate enough to grab at any straw that could possibly cause the smallest annoyance for him.
"A little", Buffy's voice sounded out quietly, almost like a child's. She answered him because she was, unfortunately, still very much at his mercy. He could do with her as he pleased, and she would have to swallow her pride for now... suddenly that line had the dirtiest association. She remembered a nameless cheesy seventies porno she had once seen where some 'doctors' had trained a woman to be a kind of profession prostitute. And when she'd been 'training' to give good head, what was the line Buffy remembered? "Think of this cock as your pride and joy. Sometimes, a girl's gotta swallow her pride."*
Buffy shivered in shame as she rememberd the line and it's association. How it was true.
"Shall I cover you, pet, or have you been too naughty for that luxury?" Spike said the question with a smugness Buffy found revolting and arousing at once.
Suddenly Buffy felt a finger tracing the line of her ass, and she jumped slightly at the unexpected sensation. The invading finger worked it's way into her cunt and slowly probed the slick folds, causing Buffy to wiggle her hips instinctively to get better contact. It was a frustrating reminded that she hadn't come yet, and wouldn't until Spike deigned to allow it. If he allowed it. If he didn't use her up, make her drown in 'pride' and...bury her.
Spike quickly withdrew his finger from Buffy's slit and brought it to his cool lips. Delicious, he mused to himself as he savoured the taste on his buds. Then he brought his hand down slicing through the air, and his lover's ass tightened in preparation a split second before his palm connected with her ripe cheeks. Spike heard a small gasp escape Buffy's mouth, and almost laughed. Her pain was adorable. He was a demon. He accepted that. Within confines, hurting his sweet bitch was a welcome and enjoyable passtime.
For now, however, he would have to settle for that one sound of pain. He was hungry.
Spike threw the duvet over Buffy's body before going to the chaise against an uneven crypt wall where his duster hung. It slid on quickly, and as he reached the steps, Buffy realized he was leaving.
"Oh my god, Spike", Buffy's voice, taking on the tone of her former valley girl persona, rose in a sudden burst of agitation.
He was leaving her like this? Suddenly fear was replaced by annoyance at the screwup she just couldn't seem to shake or get it up to lay ashes to ashes for. Until now... not that her readiness did her any good now.
"That's it? You're just gonna leave me here? What about 'Oh, I love you, I'm more than an undead fucking asswhore, I have feelings too blah blah blah?" Buffy said, her words biting into parts of Spike's psyche that he had tried to bury so many times.
He couldn't tell what hurt more, her dismissal of his love or that it was intended to hurt him.
The idea of his captive's helpless naked body being bared to the air until he returned had aroused him, but instead he placed the duvet gently over her because he didn't want her scent to reach the nostrils of other beings who might have no fear of him. Bitch. He wanted to leave it off, but he didn't. If there was one thing that would piss him off more than his whore's smart mouth, it would be his whore's smart mouth filled with someone else's cock. And from her experience, Spike thought dryly, he wouldn't be surprised if she got herself into a voluntary orgy while he was away.
Instead, he informed her with a small, twisted smile of his intentions; "I'm going out to eat, Slayer. Maybe get a pack of smokes. Be back soon".
With that, he left the crypt basement and was soon out the upstairs door. Realizing that Spike wasn't going to go pick up butcher's blood tonight, Buffy cried.
He had barely left his crypt and fished his last, broken cigarette out of his duster pocket when Spike came across a green being. This one was easily recognizable to him, a Blahnik*. They were from the Fourth World* of paradise, and he was surprised to find that one would be roaming across an earthly cemetary at night. Even more curious was the fact that this Blahnik was walking toward him.
Diali walked towards the blonde, whitesmoke skinned nosferatu. She had found the right one, she was almost certain of it. The vampire walked with a subconscious carelessness that betrayed the status of one resplendent with the joy of newfound freedom. Usually, she longed to be able to feel contact with the beings she was messenger to, but now Diali was glad she could not be touched by the hands of the living dead.
This one looked like he wanted a real vile kill*. The Initiative castoffs always did.
Spike raised an eyebrow wearily. He was not in the mood to hurt anyone but Buffy at the moment, and Blahniks could not be touched by earthly entities anyways.
"What", he asked the large, apparently feminine glow worm with a tinge of ennui, "do you want. I'm tryin' to get a pint, mate-lette, and your light sort of puts a damper on things."
To accentuate his point, Spike took the glowing remainder of the feeble cigarette he had been puffing on and threw it at Diali. Of course, it went right through her, but the sentiment was not lost on the Blahnik. She shifted her stance and began a low, violent sound in her throat. To the human ear, it sounded like a thousand years worth of phlegm buildup being hawked forth to spit. Imagine how it sounded to Spike's.
"Alright, ALRIGHT!" Spike shouted, desperate for the Blahnik bitch to stop her keening. Diali smiled and slowly let her call taper off as she amused herself with demon's lingering frantic jerks.
"Spike?", she asked. It wasn't really a question, more a formality.
"Katia needs the money", she continued, her voice becoming low in case anyone was lurking nearby, "and she needs your alliance now. She wants to end the world." Diali threw in the last specifically at Katia's request. She knew of William the Bloody's past, that he, much like his old chum Angelus, destroyed everything in his path until his goal was accomplished; he had been involved in several attempts to bring on Armageddon. And if he had a clear idea of Katia's aim, his drive would be all the more focused.
Spike refused to breathe. He was poised to draw a low habitual sigh, and quickly realized that if he showed any emotion, the Blahnik would report it back to Katia. What had he gotten himself up to, Spike wondered. He hated fleeing and hiding, but he could have stomached it. He could have simply taken Buffy away and continued to hide with her, always evading the efforts of the bloody Assfuck gang to find him... a small smile, misunderstood by Diali, formed on his lips as he remembered his own violation of Buffy's ass less than ten minutes ago.
A million pounds, he thought to himself. Helping some lovesick vampire destroy everything. He could live with it. His family, his true vampire family was long dismembered. And now that he had Buffy, he didn't much need the rest of the world. He was a born top, emerged the day his humanity was buried beneath the sea of his own blood flowing into his sire's mouth.
A little payback for being shat on by human society, now that might be fun.
"Is that it?", Spike asked.
"For now," Diali replied, " She needs the million by Monday. Figure something out. Otherwise, she'll be cranky with me. And you know how I sound when people are cranky with me."
With that, the Blahnik walked off into the night, probably to write poetry or some other stupid Fourth World passtime.Spike smiled to himself as he remembered the bloody awful poetry he had written in his living days. All that time using pens to get a point across, when eye gouging was so much more effective.
Spike walked out into the streets of Sunnydale, having decided not to concern himself with the impending bank robbery he would have to attempt tomorrow night. Never thought I'd have to do that again*, Spike thought to himself.
Just as he turned his thoughts to getting a quick feed and a pack of fags, Spike saw a cute little boy named Xander.
Spike smiled, remembering all the slights Xander had feebly thrown his way in the past year. He was so cute that Spike decided to save the boy's face for his funeral.
Xander felt someone or something strong grab him from behind and turned just in time to see Spike's face. It was that split second view that Spike made sure Xander had burned into his brain. But the last image Xander ever saw was of Spike's clawed hand slashing the air before it hit his own eyes. Spike compromised and decided on leaving enough for his meal to be identified.
As he bit into Xander's neck and thought about how sweet it was, how little time he had to enjoy eating the cunt before he got back to his own special cunt, Spike realized that owing Katia was a small price to pay for what he had reaquired. This wasn't about Buffy. It was about him. About who he was.*
Spike reached into Xander's pocket and was surprised to find that despite the deteriotating levels of blood pumping through the young man's system, Xander had become aroused. A smile played upon Spike's lips at Xander's reaction, causing what was left of Xander's face to twist into a mask of horrific pain as his carotid artery was slashed apart by the shifting fangs in his killer's grin.
Quickly drained, Xander's lifeless flesh fell to the ground. Spike was a little disappointed at the cooling blood spilt over his duster, and wondered if he'd lost his touch in the short time after his... neutering.
Colour him embarrased or blood red, Spike's un-spirits were quickly raised as he realized that night was young. His fuckslut was safely chained where she couldn't get hurt (before due time) or intervene in his lunch hour, and the now deceased Xander had been kind enough to be carrying a twenty in his wallet when he'd died.
***********************************************************************
Buffy awoke to the sound of the crypt door opening, and a jolt of tense arousal spasmed through her nervous system. It was quickly replaced by self - hatred. Nonetheless, Buffy's breathing quickened at the sound of the approaching footsteps. She could tell they weren't Spike's. He was never that loud, unless he wanted to be and there was a shuffle in the steps that let her know it couldn't be her captor.
Buffy instinctively pulled on her restraints, pretending she might actually be able to pull her way out of Pylean Bauxite chains. The jarring sound of metal against the headboard quickly reminded Buffy that noise was not a good thing to make, and she froze on the spot.
"Spike?", Clem called out into the darkened crypt.
"Spike, you here? I've got this week's episodes of Passions, all taped like you asked", Clem continued, the tone of a tease in his voice " I think we could fire up the popcorn machine and watch the mayhem... Spike?"
Buffy felt a tidal wave of relief flood her body, and for a moment she was too relieved to feel ashamed. But only for a moment. What should she do, she wondered? Should she...
"CLEM!"
Clem heard the oddly familiar voice of a woman coming from the crypt basement and cautiously descended the steps to investigate. When he got the bottom floor, his demonic senses told him he had indeed heard the sound of a human girl, and he detected the faint rise and fall of breathing below the duvet cover on the bed. Suddenly, the realization dawned on him. Buffy. It had to be Buffy; once more he had failed to help a friend find a healthy relationship. His pouch endings opened so that he could offer a quick apology and leave - whatever kinky game she and Spike were playing, he wanted no part of.
"Clem?", Buffy stopped him, " Clem, is that you?"
And for the first time Clem heard something in Buffy's voice other than thinly disguised emptiness. Fear and shame. Alot of shame. He could also smell the sex in the crypt, and knew that not all of the fluid arousal had been Spike's.
He quickly reached the bed and reopened his pouch endings to ask if she was ok, when he noticed the chains attached to the bedposts.
"What is it?", Clem asked sharply.
The orange being shook his head in self admonition, and his flapping ears gently swayed around his head. Sometimes, he was just too involved, Clem thought to himself as he remembered that he DIDN'T want to be part of Spike and Slayer's kinky sex game. He was going to really beat on Spike for this.
Clem was opposed to violence, but when it came to fights, he had rarely lost. Whether it was because he was stronger than most demons and humans, or whether his opponents usually miscalculated his strength when they saw a flappy eared demon in an eighties style vest was up for debate. What he hated was when his friends, usually human hybrids like vampires, tried to get him involved to somehow "spice up" their love lives. He sometimes felt like a black man must in white society.
"Clem... um... I'm sorry to... look, um, could you unchain me?" Buffy asked.
Clem rolled his eyes and tersely replied, "Look, Buffy. I'm not getting involved in your little porn shoot, alright? I thought Spike was my friend. But then again, he is soulless. I should have known he'd use me like this. You know, it's so typical of him to-"
"CLEM!", Buffy shouted, her voice cracking.
She then realized that her voice was wearing out from the ecstatic cries she had been screaming while Spike was fucking her in the ass.
"Look, Clem," Buffy continued, "Can you um, help me? I.. I..." Buffy trailed off, too ashamed to finish her sentence and admit she was forced.
Raped. Trapped. Since she'd become a Slayer seven years ago, in all the vampires she had slain, all the apocalypses she had faced, all the friend's she'd seen die... she had only felt this powerless twice. Once when her mother died, and once when she'd had to send Angel to hell. And Buffy did not like feeling powerless. Even when, sometimes, she didn't even care deep down, she was far too ashamed to admit what she felt.
"My foot itches," Buffy said ridiculously.
"WHAT THE FUCK!!" Clem exclaimed in fury, "You know, just because you're the Slayer doesn't mean you can have your cake and eat it too. Fine, you kill demons, even sometimes defenseless demons when there are far more harmful people you could kill, and like, fine. Do that. But I'm not your goddamned toy. If Spike wants to be that way, Spike's a sucker for pain...", Clem trailed off.
He was becoming angry. And when he became angry, bad things happened. Clem took several deep breaths, recalling his Tai Chi training, and reached into his arm pouch, pulling out a small vial of Pygorial Banishing Serum. He had gotten it as a friendly gift for Spike, seeing as how they were such good 'friends'. As he dejectedly dumped the small vial onto the bed atop the duvet, Clem felt saddened at the realization that he had lost another demonic friend. There were so few who could carry on a friendship to begin with.
Clem had gotten the serum to help Spike overcome his headaches. It was a short-acting serum, but it would allow Spike to feed at will for up to an hour after ingesting a small amount before his pain receptors began once again to register the chip's neurological signals. There was only one side effect: whoever ingested the serum, human or other, would become prey to their ultimately more violent baser instincts. A person under the effects of Pygorial banishing serum was literally banishing their higher and emotive being away. They would become something not fully human, not even fully demon. They would see red.
Clem left the crypt apartment in a huff, the orange tears barely contained until he was able to leave the cemetary. And he left in such a hurry that he didn't notice that the vial, improperly capped, had spilled over and dripped onto the duvet. If he had, he surely would have acted quickly. For not only would he have saved the serum from going to waste, he would have prevented it from leaking through the duvet fabric onto Buffy's skin and being absorbed into her nervous system.
- Seventies porno. That actually is a porno, and the line, about a girl swallowing her pride, is in it. Don't remember the name. But I did see it.
-Blahnik/Fourth World/ Diali. Blahnik is a shoe designer. I chose his name because it represents artistic talent. The Fourth World is a universe created by Pauline Parker/Rieper and Juliette Hulmes in the 1950s in New Zealand. You might find these names familiar because Peter Jackson made a film in the 1990s about the pair's murder of Pauline's mother, Honora Parker-Rieper. Diali is a feminized name of one of the royal characters who lived in the Fourth World, named Diello. He was ten years old and insisted on killing dozens of people daily for sport. My point was, these three things represent creativity.
-Real Vile Kill. Angelus said that after being invaded by love in season 2 BtVS, episode "I Only Have Eyes For You"
-Never thought he'd have to do that again. You like the Simpsons? Try to figure out who used that line in the first person. Come on, it's like fun, only I have it and you entertain me cause I have no life.
-Fags. Not an insult, just a British term for cigarettes. Actually the insult and slang come from medieval times when fags, bundles of sticks, were used to light the pyres of living witches, healers, non-Christians, women and genral outcasts. At least, that's what I say and I'm sticking to it.
-It was about him...about who he was. Like the movie Foxfire with Angelina Jolie? Well, if you don't know what I'm talking about, Foxfire is a 1990s movie co-starring Angelina Jolie and four other talented actresses who's names I can't remember. Angelina's character, Legs, a.k.a. Margaret Ann Sadovsky, uses the original version of this line to rally the gang in a time of trouble.