Home
Register
Recent
Categories
Authors
Series
Titles
Completed
Help
Search
Betas
Links
Find-A-Fic
Spuffy Twitter
LiveJournal
Top 10
Contact Us


RSS

Chit-Chat

squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!

Support


Author's Corner

[Reviews - 14]

Microsoft Word

Printer

ePub eBook


- Text Size +
4119 - Reads


Authors Chapter Notes:
A little warning. The fic is angsty and whether the ending is happy or not depends on all the different views. Still I hope you read and enjoy.

Reviews, as always, are much appreciated :)

Banner by the lovely EdgeHead. Thanks, love! Disclaimer: Don't own. Didn't happen.


Tonight, in the candle lit fissure, beneath the crypt that he made a home, with the black harness of the strap-on digging into her hips, and him on his knees, writhing before her, begging for more. For less... for anything and everything in between, she knows she has the power. Power over him.


And it's incredibly intoxicating.


She's drunk with it, dizzy with it, high off it, and it makes her fingers clutch his hips even tighter, till his pale skin whitens. Makes her thrust faster. Harder.


His faint whimpers of pain, moans of pleasure, sighs of complete and tortured bliss, making more to bring her off than the piece of plastic vibrating vigorously against her clit.


His hands spread - long fingers accentuated in an act that seems almost perverse - fist, then tighten against the old, threadbare, pale sheets. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, between his teeth and bites against it, firmly, to keep a passionate cry in and it infuriates her. Makes her blood boil and vision blur.


She thrusts deeper. Makes the skin of his butt slap against the skin of her hips that's not covered by the black harness holding the toy in place.


She wants him to scream, to cry, to weep, to pant, beg and growl and mewl like the vampire he is. Like the animal he is. And it's her duty as a Slayer to reduce him to this, it's her right as a Slayer to make him beg. Beg for more, for less, for a stake through his heart if she would just allow him to cum.


And she's tempted to do it. To put him out of his blissful misery. To give into his pleas. But as she pulls his head back, forcefully, by his hair - stretching, revealing, posing him to her liking - and wraps a hand around his erection, pumping him ever so gently, her pinkie brushing against the cold metal of the cock ring firmly in place, he hisses her name.


He hisses her name and it sounds beautiful.


Like a setting sun.


Like a lovesick song.


Like a saving prayer for the damned.


Like love.


And she remembers why he's on his knees, a piece of plastic pushed and pulled - soft, gentle, brutal and hard - in and out, of his puckered hole, and why she wields it.


Like a man. Like a woman. Like a lover. Like a slayer staking her vampire. And she wants to laugh at the truthfulness of that last thought but she can't.


Laughing implies having a good time and she's not here for that. She's here to get off, to forget, to lose herself in blinding, mind numbing bliss. To lose herself in the heavens he and his touch brings.


And she's overwhelmed with the need to see his face.


"On your back," she orders with an almost sensual purr in his ear. She pulls the toy out of him, ignoring his soul-destroying sigh.


He obeys and switches positions.


Lies on his back, in the middle of the bed. His cock jutting out, from his lean body, hard and proud and slightly bent, and, she wants to take him into her mouth, once.


Twice.


Thrice.


Swallow around the head of his penis, her on her knees between him, his hands tangled in her hair, like she knows he likes.


But then he spreads his legs to accommodate her, to welcome her into his body, like a lovesick fool, like a bitch in heat. Like a common whore.


Like her whore.


And she gladly welcomes the distraction because anything else will lead her to think and she can't think about anything else but the power coursing through her veins. She won't allow herself to think of anything but the power humming through her body.


So she grabs the base of her pseudo cock, her weapon of choice.


His blood taints it, stands out vivid red against the pallid plastic and she fights back a moan even as her body responds. Her nipples harden and peak as a new wave of concentrated arousal flows through her.


She places the head of her mock penis against his hole and is met with a bit of resistance as she pushes the toy past his elastic barrier and into him again. Time and the slight breeze the caves around his crypt bring, drying the skin around his back entrance.


Their eyes meet - navy blue and hunter green - for a few seconds before she pushes into him, roughly, and his head drops back and down, pushes against the pillows, his back arching, skin burning, eyes filling with tears, as he growls out a moan.


And she pushes into him harder. Faster.


And, for a fleeting second, his eyes glow amber, and so she increases the pace.


The vibrating, curved, plastic placed on the inside of the toy hits against her clit on every down stroke and she feels her orgasm approaching.


Fiery.


Scarlet.


Scorching.


Profound.


Intense.


She's close and she knows exactly what she needs.


Her hands drop to his chest and her nails dig into his fair skin. She slowly drags them to his stomach, pressing harder against his nipples, leaving welts, scarless marks and crimson trails behind.


And it's what he needs.


And it's what she needs.


The demon, his demon, smells the unexpected blood. Fresh. Closer. He knows she'll carry his scent, as his blood and skin mix underneath her nails and he looks up.


Fangs. Harsh, sharp and ivory, peak from between his parted lips. Bumps deform his handsome face. Amber infects the human blue of his eyes.


The demon breaks through the tight rein Spike tries to keep him in when she's around.


"Slayer," he growls out and she lets go. Closes her eyes, lets his roughen voice, his smell, his texture, consume her every sense because that's what she needs. What she craves. What she must have.


She gasps and pants, swallows and whimpers: "Spike."


And she touches heaven.


And she's free.


And she's loved.


And she's in peace.


And everything is right again.




Enter the security code shown below:
Note: You may submit either a rating or a review or both.