Spuffy Twitter
Top 10
Contact Us



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!
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
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! ;)
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!


Author's Corner

[Reviews - 10]

Microsoft Word


ePub eBook

- Text Size +
3166 - Reads

Spike stared blankly down at the little pile of black leather on the floor beside him, trying to process the Slayer’s instructions as she stood there facing him, smiling down at him in satisfaction.

He was still feeling a little dazed by the force of the intense, intimate encounter he had just had with her. When Drusilla had shown up at his crypt the evening before, he never would have guessed that he would have ended up here.

Of course – chaining the Slayer up in his crypt and trying to force her to accept his declaration of love…well – not quite his most brilliant of brilliant plans. Still, he hadn’t thought that at the end of the evening, *he* would be the one bound in his own chains, left there all night to “think about what he had done” he supposed – until he began to wonder if Buffy was ever going to come back for him.

But she *had* come back – with a bit of an unexpected game plan of her own.

She had tricked him into drinking blood that she had magically drugged, with a substance that made him very highly suggestible to her commands. Then, she had declared him to be hers – her vampire, her *pet* -- and set about proving it to be true.

Of course, Spike had done his best to resist her – for the first few seconds, before the drug in his system really kicked in, and, aided by his own undeniable desire for her, made any sort of resistance a useless effort. In the end, he had been pleading to be hers, begging for her touch – and he was not sure now how much of his barely remembered words had been his own longing to really belong to her, to be hers – and how much had been the drug talking.

It was a disturbing sort of question to have to ask himself.

But now, he could feel the relatively small dose she had given him beginning to wear off, even as she stood there stirring a second dose into a mug of warm blood, looking smug and self-satisfied, watching him expectantly as she waited for him to obey her orders to put on the leather garments she had carelessly tossed down on the floor beside him.

Still a bit out of it – and admittedly curious – Spike picked up the first item on the small stack and stared at it, wide-eyed and slack-jawed with surprise.

He never would have imagined that the goody-two-shoes Slayer could have been so – well -- *kinky*.

The tiny garment in his hand was a pair of very short, very tight black leather shorts, which looked to be just slightly too small for him – really no more than a pair of underwear.

There was also an odd contraption of black leather straps – a harness of sorts, which seemed to be designed to go around his torso, complete with a metal loop on the back like the one on the collar around his throat, designed to be attached to the leash that currently hung down his back from said collar.

Last of all, there was a pair of wide, sturdy leather cuffs, with a sort of closed hook and eye mechanism so that they could be worn separately, or attached together to bind the wearer’s wrists – and if they were attached together, Spike noticed that there was no way for the wearer to reach the mechanism to free himself.

He looked up at Buffy through incredulous eyes, as he muttered dubiously, “You have *got* to be bloody kidding me.”

Buffy’s smile became a smirk, as she glided slowly toward him, a predatory gleam in her eyes of jade. Spike moved as if to rise from his knees, suddenly wary of her and her reaction to his defiance; but she was just a bit faster, one hand fisting in his hair and jerking him backward, off balance, before he could rise.

He bit back a soft yelp of pain as she twisted her hand just slightly in his hair, crouching behind him and setting the mug down beside her as she murmured, “You know – I could be wrong – but I’m pretty sure I just told you to *put those on*!”

Spike fought the powerful impulse he felt to surrender to the effects of the drug, fading, but still there in his system, and simply do as she said. It took an effort – but he *could* resist her command.

“Guess what…Slayer?” he ground out the words, swallowing convulsively, his entire body taut with the effort of resistance. “Your bloody – mojo powder – is starting to – wear off! And I am *not* -- bloody well – gonna put those on!”

“*Yes* -- you *are*!” she insisted in a warning tone, jerking his head back forcefully – and Spike could feel the power she held over him, like a physical force, driving him to submit.

But he fought it. With everything in him, he fought it.

“Won’t – do it – Slayer,” he gasped out, though he could feel his resolve weakening. “Won’t be your – bloody pet!”

Much to his surprise, he felt Buffy shrug her shoulders behind him, as she released her grip on his hair, allowing him to fall forward onto his hands, gasping for breath as she replied calmly, “Okay.”

Just like that the tension of resistance disappeared – but his exhaustion did not.

And in the next moment, he was completely unprepared, when the Slayer reached around him to bring the warm mug of blood, now back in her hand, to his lips.

“*Drink*,” she ordered, with unmistakable authority in her tone – and Spike’s resistance was gone.

Without thought, before he could even attempt to stop what he was doing – Spike drank.

Buffy laughed softly in satisfaction, as she calmly set the empty mug down on the floor beside her, and then rose to her feet. “See?” she teased him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Spike just stayed there on his knees, his eyes widening as he slowly realized what had just happened.

“Bollocks,” he muttered in dejected disbelief, at the realization that his chance to escape her domination had passed – and he had missed it.

“Now,” the Slayer went on pensively, “there’s the little issue of your clothes. I want them on you – for now,” she smirked.

“Yeah, well, I *don’t*!” Spike retorted, though there was a slight tremor to his voice. “And I’m not gonna put them on!”

“Put them on.”

Before he knew it, Spike had gathered up the pile of leather and risen to his feet, preparing to get dressed.


Immediately Spike froze, the garments still clutched in his hands – closing his eyes as he let out a heavy sigh of resignation at the realization of just how easily his resolve had been broken. The sigh turned into a soft gasp, as he suddenly felt Buffy’s warm hands slip around him, her fully clothed body pressing against him from behind, as she ran her hands slowly up his thighs, toward his treacherously responsive manhood.

“Just – proving my point, Baby,” Buffy spoke softly in his ear. “You will – if I *say* you will.”

“Got your point, Slayer, loud and clear,” Spike snapped back at her, between uneven, shuddering breaths made ragged by her slowly advancing hands. “You’ve got the – the power to override my free will – got it. And you *are* -- doing this – against my will, Slayer – you kn-know that!” he gasped as one of her hands traced along the line of his inner thigh.

“Funny,” she breathed the word, smiling against his skin as she felt his swiftly swelling erection jump near her hand. “Your will seems to be in complete agreement with what I’m doing.”

“Just – just looks that way,” Spike insisted in a dangerously shaking voice, as her feather light fingertips walked their way to the base of his package. “Inside I’m – I’m saying no…”

“But you haven’t,” she murmured against his throat, before kissing it lightly, and following the kiss with a gentle nip that made him gasp again.

“Wh-what?” he whispered breathlessly, his thoughts scattering, refusing to follow her words.

“Told me no,” she clarified softly, closing her fist around the base of his erection, squeezing slightly. “You haven’t. If you want me to stop – just say it. No. And I’ll stop. For now,” she added with a smirk. “Because you *are* mine, Spike – and you wanna be. And sooner or later – you’re going to admit that.”

“N-no,” he whispered weakly, his tone making it clear that his “no” was in response to her earlier words, not her final claim – and her hand immediately froze.

She tried to mask the disappointment in her eyes as she suddenly released him and moved around in front of him, taking the bundle of clothes from him. “Okay,” she said quietly. “If you really want me to stop – I will.”

The problem was, when she actually *did* stop – Spike was suddenly not so very sure *what* he wanted. By now, he was rock hard and aching for her touch – and yet, he wanted to retain at least a little of his dignity. He had said that he would not be the Slayer’s pet – and he would not.

“But the clothes,” Buffy continued with a quirked eyebrow. “Not really up for debate. I told you we were going out. And you’re *not* walking around with me totally naked.”

“Might as well be,” he retorted, glancing at the leather in her hands with disgust. “Told you once, Slayer, I’m not putting those on!”

“Yeah,” she snorted softly. “And we both saw how *that* worked out for you!” She paused, before seemingly relenting, “But if you don’t want to put them on – I won’t make you.”

He looked up at her suspiciously, wondering about the catch – and immediately knew when he saw the wicked sparkle in her eyes, even before she spoke.

“*I’ll* put them on for you.”

“Now, wait just a…”

“Shut up,” Buffy snapped, and her harsh, commanding tone was an unexpected turn on for him, as Spike obediently stopped talking. “Hands out in front of you,” she ordered sternly.

Spike obeyed, feeling a nervous flutter in his stomach as she strapped the cuffs tightly onto his wrists, and hooked them together. Then, without warning, she suddenly shoved him hard in the chest with both hands, sending him stumbling backward against the wall. Before he even had time to catch his breath, she was upon him, one hand at his throat, her powerful arm lifting him off of his feet as he gasped for breath that he did not need – but was used to having, anyway.

“Lift your arms over your head and put them against the wall,” Buffy snapped, ignoring his futile struggles. “Higher,” she snapped when his obedience failed to meet her specifications.

Once he had done as she wanted, she suddenly released her grip on his throat – but he did not fall far, his leather cuffs catching on an outcropping of rock several feet above his head, leaving his feet dangling about six inches above the floor. He winced at the impact on his wrists, the burning that immediately started building in his strained, taut arms – but was surprised to find that the width of the cuffs, and the close fit of the leather against his skin, kept the position from being painful.

It was not exactly *comfortable* - but not painful.

As he waited helplessly for Buffy’s next move, his chest heaving as he fought to regain his breath, Spike opened his eyes and looked apprehensively down at the Slayer – who was standing back, her arms crossed over her chest as she looked him up and down appraisingly.

The lustful gleam in her eyes as she took in the sight of him, naked except for the handcuffs, bound and at her mercy, sent a shock of arousal through him that shook him to his core, and caused his erection to swell almost painfully, as she let out a low, dark laugh and sauntered closer to him, the rest of his leather costume in her hands.

“Mmm,” she murmured appreciatively. “Happy birthday to me!”

She reached her arms around him, taking her time to trail her fingertips, and the rough leather straps they held, across the at-the-moment very sensitive skin of his stomach, before bringing the straps together behind his back in several places – fastening the harness on firmly. It was not so tight as to be uncomfortable, but fit the planes of his chest and stomach perfectly, with no give to the leather whatsoever.

The light restriction of the leather against his bare skin only served to heighten Spike’s arousal – and when Buffy dropped to her knees in front of him, for the second time that night, he could not stifle the soft moan of need that rose in his throat.

“Isn’t this ironic,” the Slayer remarked with a smirk, trailing one perfectly manicured fingernail teasingly up the inside of his thigh, looking up at him coyly from between his legs. “When we both know that really – you’re the one at *my* feet.” When her fingernail trailed lightly up the underside of his erection, Spike’s back arched slightly, as he bucked against her hand, desperate for more contact.

So of course – she promptly removed what little contact he had.

Tsking at him softly, shaking her head, she remarked, “We’re gonna have to get that thing under control, aren’t we, Sweetheart?”

*No,* Spike wanted to beg her – beyond pride at this point – but her orders kept him silent. *No, don’t – just *touch* me!*

But the Slayer just did what she had knelt to do, drawing the tiny black leather shorts up over his ankles, then rising gradually as she pulled them up over his thighs, taking her time and relishing the slight tremors and jerks of his body at the sensation of the rough leather on his skin.

She stopped the progress she was making when the shorts rested high on his thighs, just below his desperate member, pressing her legs in against his, her hands on either side of his waist as she leaned in very close to his face to speak softly, he piercing emerald gaze seeking his until he met her eyes.

“Now,” she said intently. “Why don’t you tell me what you *really* want, Spike? Do you want me to touch you – or is your answer still ‘no’?” When he did not respond, she added, “Go ahead – you may speak.”

He hated himself for it, but there was no other response he could give. She had teased him with her light touches, until he was frenzied with his need for her, and helpless to do anything about it.

“No,” he whispered, his voice breaking over the word. Then he hurried to clarify, stammering and stumbling over the rest of his words, “I mean – no, I d-don’t still mean no…I mean…Buffy…God, Buffy, please *touch* me!”

Her hand closed tightly around his erection, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she hissed, “*Mistress*!”

“Mistress!” he echoed, a hiss of mingled pleasure and pain leaving his lips as she tightened her grip just slightly. “Please, Mistress! Please – please touch me!”

“Well – since you asked so nicely,” Buffy smirked, clearly pleased with herself, and her accuracy in predicting his eventual response to her. Her hand gentled on his body, as she stroked up and down his weeping member, increasing and decreasing the pressure she used, varying it to drive him to a fever pitch.

And then – she stopped again.

Spike let out a sound that he knew was not particularly manly – almost a whimper – as she released him and walked away from him a few yards.

“Buffy – Mistress – please!” he gasped out. “Please, don’t stop…”

She was back in an instant, one hand pressed firmly over his mouth, pressing his head back against the cool stone behind him, as she rose up on her toes to get right in his face. “Am I gonna have to gag you too, Spikey? Because I will if you don’t stop annoying the crap out of me!”

He shook his head as much as her firm hand would allow – and she removed it…but his heart sank when he realized the reason for her movement a few moments before. Much to his frustration and dismay, she took the cock ring she had retrieved from the floor a few yards away, and strapped it tightly around the base of his erection, tighter than she had made it before.

“Like I said,” she smirked up at him. “We’re going out. Can’t be late, can we?”

Spike stared at her in horrified disbelief. Surely she could not mean to make him spend an entire evening like this? His horror and disbelief swiftly began to turn to anger, and he pulled against the bonds at his wrists, which only seemed to grow tighter with his efforts.

“What?” he demanded sarcastically, glad for the moment that she had not *technically* forbidden him to speak. “So you’re just going to bloody *punish* me for not doing every little thing you say? Because I didn’t want to put on this soddin’ joke of a slave’s outfit, you’re gonna be a bloody bitch about it? All *night*?”

“Shut *up*!” she ordered, and there was a thunderously angry tone to her voice that stilled his protests in his throat, that anxious fluttering feeling returning to his stomach at the outrage that flashed in her eyes.

He was silent, eyes wide, chest heaving, every muscle in his mostly exposed body throbbing with tension as he watched her apprehensively for her reaction – remembering belatedly that he *was*, after all, at her mercy.

“First of all – you’re not my slave, Spike. You’re my pet. There’s a difference.”

He could not help the slight derisive scoff of disbelief at those words.

Instantly, her hand was locked in a viselike grip on his unruly blonde hair, seizing his head and yanking it backwards, as she rose up on her toes to snarl near his throat, “You’re mine, either way – so I can *show* you the difference if you’d like!”

Spike flinched at her obvious anger, swallowing convulsively, his eyes closed, before finally shaking his head in submission – backing down.

“Secondly,” she continued, her voice softer as she released him, “You will learn that it is in your best interest to do what I say. *Always*. You make me mad – like I said – you *will* be punished. You make me happy – well – let’s see how happy you can make me tonight, and I’ll show you just how pleasant the rewards can be.”

Despite her menacing manner only moments before, Spike could not help the rush of desire that flooded him at the seductive promise in her sparkling green eyes, the wicked little smirk that formed on her slightly pouting lips.

He was so caught up in her suggestive offer, that he was taken completely off guard when she suddenly jerked the leather shorts up over his hips, and with the flat of her hand pressed his rock hard member downward into them, yanking the zipper up in one quick, sharp motion.

He let out a yelp that was more of surprise and fear than actual pain – though he immediately found that the sensation of the metal of the zipper biting into his erection was indeed more than uncomfortable. The rough underside of the leather rubbed against his already over-sensitive flesh, increasing both his arousal and his discomfort.

And he hadn’t even moved yet.

He bit back a moan at the jarring motion as Buffy suddenly unfastened the leather cuffs at his wrists, freeing them from the wall and each other, as he fell to his feet, and then his knees, on the cold stone floor.

He immediately moved to get up – but she caught his collar in her hand, and refused to allow it, adjusting the leash that was already hooked to the collar so that it was attached to both the collar, and the top loop of the harness he wore.

“There,” she said with satisfaction, her hand under his elbow pulling gently, indicating that it was all right for him to get up now. “Now I can keep you in line without choking you,” she explained matter-of-factly. “But if you misbehave…” She demonstrated with a slight flick of her wrist that caused the leash to pull at the collar instead of the harness, and he gagged slightly against it as he stumbled backwards toward her.

“Come on,” she ordered imperiously, leading the way out of his crypt.

“Mind telling me where we’re going?” he asked, a bit sullenly, glancing around the cemetery as they went, desperately hoping that no vamps were about to see him in this humiliating predicament.

“Not that I have to tell you,” she reminded him. “But we’re going to see my friends, at the Magic Box.”

Spike stopped suddenly, halting her progress, and the Slayer turned to face him, an exasperated expression on her face.

“What?” she demanded, at the look of utter horror on his face. “They’re closed. It’s not like any strangers will see you. Tonight.” Her smirk promised that even that was not a humiliation that he would avoid forever.

He was shocked that he actually had to *tell* her that her bloody Scoobies seeing him like this was a thousand times worse than any ordinary bloke he didn’t know happening to catch a glimpse. “No,” he objected, shaking his head emphatically. “No, you can’t make me…”

“Yes, I can,” she informed him dangerously, jerking on the leash and yanking him in very close to her, holding him inches from her face so that he could not pull away, as her hand lowered between them to stroke possessively over the highly repressed bulge in the front of his leather shorts.

He tried to pull away from the excruciating added stimulation, but she pressed her knee forward against his legs, forcing him to stumble back against a headstone behind him, and then just renewed the light trail of her fingertips over the taut leather, a bit more aggressively. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists at his sides, and then gripped at the headstone, but he dared not attempt to prevent her, afraid that if he did, she would only bind his wrists again, and continue to do whatever she wanted to him.

“How many times am I going to have to tell you, Spike,” she said softly, as she pinched her thumb and forefinger together slightly against the front of the shorts, and his head fell back with a desperate gasp, his eyes closed. “You. Are. *Mine*. That means *I* call the shots – and *you* do what I tell you. Have you got that yet, Spikey?”

He nodded helplessly, his breath fast and shallow as she moved her squeezing fingers slowly down the length of his covered erection, the tight leather allowing her just enough contact to drive him wild with need, without granting him even an instant of satisfaction.

“Okay,” she relented finally, releasing him, catching him as he nearly collapsed forward onto his knees. “We’re going on to meet my friends.” She smirked as she steadied him, and then started back on her way as if nothing had happened. “I can’t wait to show off my new pet – and Giles has some major explaining to do.”

She paused, glancing back over her shoulder as she added suggestively, “And if you’re a *really* good boy – I might just give you a treat when we get home.”

And – with no other option – her vampire pet followed in her wake, toward the certain humiliation that waited at the Magic Box…and the possible bliss of the promised reward beyond.

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