Mistress of the Damned
by ConfusedMuse

Summary:   Post NFA, Post Chosen. In response to a challenge issued by redwulfe. Mistress Buffy thinks Spike has been a very very bad boyi
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Your fic?: Yes, I am the author of this fic
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fic:

The challenge: Buffy has just defeated her yearly Big Bad, The Immortal as she kills him he reveals that he and his shapeshifting clan have fooled her one lover Spike into believing that she was sleeping with the Immortal. Mistress Buffy grows seriously pissed and sends her Slayer minions to retrieve Spike just in time to save him in NFA.

Must haves
1. A riding Quirt
2. Spike screaming 'thank you ma'am may Ihave another?"
3. claiming bite

A/N This fic contains STRONG AND GRAPHIC BDSM. DO NOT read if you are likely to be offended by such content. You have been warned.

Mistress of the Damned

"Next dragon's yours, Peaches!" Spike yelled to his grandsire over the cacophony of the battle. The only indication the dark haired vampire gave that he'd heard the comment was a brief salute with his broadsword before he waded into yet another tentacled monstrosity. Spike grinned and launched himself into a flying kick as a group of Kailar demons tried to flank him. No matter how many they cut down, the demon army just kept advancing. The master vampire knew that unless there was a miracle, not a one of their band of merry men would live to see daybreak.

One of the Kailar demons landed a punch to his stomach and he grunted.

'Concentrate, you wanker,' he admonished himself. The two short swords he was using found their marks and two of his opponents fell to the asphalt, twitching. 

'That's more like it!'

Spike parried, thrust, withdrew, spun and kicked. The fact that it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to the press of numbers didn't especially bother him anyway. What did he have to carry on for? The only woman he'd love until dust was shacked up with that loser ponce, The Immortal. His unlife stretched ahead of him lonely and unappealing. Might as well go out saving the world.

'Again,' he thought.

He noticed something flashing far ahead of him in the enemy ranks and wondered what novelty was moving to engage the group of heroes now. Whatever it was, they'd just have to deal with it when it got there. He thought he heard Illyria shouting orders, but he was too far away from the blue demon to hear her. Now, she'd been fun, he reflected as he blocked an overhand sweep by a Fyarl demon.

The female voice was closer now, and it really didn't sound like the flat tones of Blue. The Fyarl's head suddenly span through the air just as it was grimacing in the prelude to a sneeze. As the bulky carcass toppled, it revealed a short, spotty teenaged girl, whose mouth dropped open as she saw him.

"I've found Spike!" She shouted to someone behind her, and the vampire in question looked beyond his unlikely rescuer. Deep in the melee, kicking demon, tentacle and slimy arse were literally dozens, no make that hundreds, of girls and women. Spike was stunned.

'The cavalry's arrived,' he thought, just before he collapsed in exhaustion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Spike woke it was to unfamiliar surroundings, namely a bed big enough to hide in covered with silk sheets. He cautiously opened his eyes and took stock of the room around him. The ceiling was high, vaulted stone, continuing down to solid stone walls and rug covered flagstones. Where the bloody hell was he? The last thing he remembered was the chit of a girl standing in front of him and calling to someone he couldn't see. Then he guessed he'd passed out after burning so much blood in the battle.

The room was gloomy but there was a flickering light coming from somewhere, and he pushed the sheets from his body, intending to do some exploring. Ah. No clothes. He looked quickly to see if any had been left nearby, but there was no sign of his trademark jeans, or indeed anything else. Interesting. He wrapped the top sheet around his hips and cautiously wandered through an archway and down a short corridor. If he didn't know better, he'd say this place was a cellar.

'Or a dungeon,' the thought raced across his mind. How did he wind up naked in a bed in a dungeon?

The room into which he emerged caused his jaw to drop, and his cock to rise. Extensively lit throughout by candles and torches in iron sconces, it was filled with instruments of torture of all varieties, a rack, a sawhorse, a freestanding cross with straps hanging loose, and even stocks. As his gaze wandered around the room, they finally found an elaborately carved wooden throne at the far end.

"Hello, lover," the woman purred.

Spike nearly passed out again.

"Buffy?" He gasped in a strangled voice. Not only was she the last person he'd expected, she was the last person he'd ever imagined to be in a place like this, wearing an outfit that made it clear she was completely at home. Tip to toe, she was awe-inspiring. Black patent leather clad her from feet to mid thigh, the stiletto heels on the boots easily four inches high. Red fishnet covered the rest of her legs, running under an extremely short black rubber skirt, and her slim torso was encased in a velvet corset cinched so tight her breasts swelled voluptuously over the top. A red choker around her neck and elbow length black velvet gloves were the finishing touches. Spike swallowed hard and felt his roused cock swell to previously unknown proportions.

"That's 'Ma'am' to you, vampire." Her voice retorted, and the tone of her voice made him shiver. Gods, she was magnificent.

Buffy gracefully rose from the throne and strutted closer. He saw that the corset gave her already slender form a perfect hourglass shape, complete with wasp waist, and he couldn't help himself. He dropped to his knees in adoration and wonder.

"Well?" She questioned, expectantly.

"Uhhhhh," Spike was having a very hard time thinking. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes Ma'am," he affirmed. The silk sheet was doing nothing to preserve what little modesty he had, his overwhelming lust and excitement merely draped with the red cloth.

"I didn't give you permission to look at me, vampire," Buffy's voice broke through his stunned gawking.

"Uhhh...I mean...I'm sorry, ma'am," the blond stammered and lowered his head, focussing instead on the pointed toes of the Slayer's boots as they strode ever closer to him.

"That's better. Why are you dressed, vampire?" Her voice chilled and heated his blood in the same instant and he struggled to maintain any rational thought.

"Ma'am....Uhh, I didn't know where I was, didn't want to walk around like that...," his voice trailed off from his explanation. 'More like an excuse,' he thought.

"And now you do know where you are. And I do want you to walk around nude," Buffy explained patiently. She waited, and a small smile curved her red-painted lips as he relinquished his grip on the sheet. She devoured the view that she was now offered as the silk pooled around him on the stone floor, the smooth, hard planes of his thighs, the curve tautness of his buttocks, coupled with the rippled muscles of his abdomen made her salivate. She felt an accompanying slickness between her legs, her nipples rising the chafe against the restrictive top she'd bought especially for this moment. And the icing on this particularly edible cake was his beautiful cock. It held a mesmerising fascination for her no matter how many times she saw it, and every time she wondered how she ever managed to accommodate it all. In the candlelight it looked as though it was carved from faintly pink marble, rising straight and thick from the shadow of sparse dark curls at the base. Her fingers and tongue had explored every ridge and vein time and again, but she doubted she would ever have her fill of it. Of him.

Spike stayed perfectly still while Buffy inspected him from every angle, completing one circuit of his kneeling form, his head bowed and eyes low. He had always wanted this, wanted her to dominate him, and had begged her to on more than one occasion. But handcuffs and manacles was as far as she'd ever agreed to, something to which he was resigned. But this....The reality was driving him crazy and he was unable to prevent the shudder of anticipation that made him tremble.

Buffy noticed his reaction and smiled again. When the Immortal had revealed to her that Spike was alive, she had nearly lost her battle with him, doubtless the slimy bastard's intention. Even worse was the revelation that to isolate her, he'd had his minions provide a convenient scene where Spike and Angel had witnessed her apparently blissfully occupied with the psychotic, egotistical pig. Horrified, she'd vented her emotions on not just the Immortal but his whole line, extinguishing their bloodline from this dimension. Her second reaction was to run straight to her lover and berate him for concealing his rebirth, but Andrew had managed to explain Spike's reasons for concealing his presence from her. Biding her time, Buffy had planned her reunion with the blond menace very carefully, and tonight was the result of months of careful research and training.

And now he was within her grasp, literally. Unable to deny herself any longer, Buffy let her fingers tips play through his short curls, her blood red nails trailing along the back of his neck, over his shoulderblades and around to his left nipple, whereupon she scratched. Gently at first, then with increased pressure, dragging a moan from his lips. Oh yes, she could get used to this.

"You've been very, very bad," she scolded Spike, standing in front of him with her legs apart, fisting one hand in his hair and dragging his head back to meet her gaze. "Hiding from me, making my friends lie to me, spying on me in Rome."

Spike opened his mouth to defend his actions, but she stopped him by placing a finger against his mouth.

"Ah, ah. I didn't give you permission to speak, vampire. I didn't ask for excuses. I don't want to hear why you didn't immediately come running to my side. I'm disappointed. And I'm not at all sure you're really as devoted as you so often told me you were."

Buffy saw the hurt fill his eyes, and reached forward with her free hand to cup his chin, softening her own expression.

"That's why we're here. You're going to have to prove yourself to me. Your devotion. Your adoration. Your love. Your willingness to do anything to please me," she continued, relieved to see comprehension replacing the pain in his face. She removed her finger and heard his whispered,

"Yes, Mistress. Command me and I shall obey."

Buffy breathed a quiet sigh of relief. She'd worked so hard to try and make this night everything that Spike had always wanted, the last thing she hoped to do was cause him more anguish than she'd already inflicted. So much to make up for.

She stalked back to her throne and seated herself.

"Crawl to your mistress' feet, vampire."

Wordlessly he dropped to all fours and made his way towards her. She watched the glide of his muscles under his smooth, pale skin, and shuddered, her arousal increasing. Whoever knew that this would be so exciting? As he reached her feet, she extended her right leg, affording him a glance all the way up to the junction of her thighs, and wasn't disappointed when his hungry blue eyes travelled up the line of her limb. He stole a quick glance at her face and immediately looked at the floor, knowing he’d been caught peeking. Buffy tutted.

"Now what did I say? I'm going to have to punish you for that disobedience as well. But first, you may kiss my boots. Show me how much you've missed me, vampire," she ordered, imperiously.

Spike's cock leapt, a small trickle of fluid dripping from the tip. His Slayer was enjoying this as much as he was, he could smell it, and he saw it, as if he needed further proof. He only hoped she knew what this was doing to him, he thought, lowering his face to her leather clad instep and slowly licking down to her toes, then up to her ankle. Buffy sighed above him, and he took the liberty of raising his hands to cradle her slim calf. Redoubling his efforts, her pressed kisses through the covering separating him from her skin, and felt the small tremor in her muscles. He smiled against her toes, replacing one foot and turning his attention to the other, this time massaging her muscles as he took her impossible heel into his mouth and sucked.

Buffy managed to prevent herself squirming in her chair at the sight and sensation of Spike's caresses, and realised she would have to move faster than she'd intended. She needed to feel that talented, arrogant mouth all over her naked body before the night was over.

"Enough. You do that very well, vampire. I think it's time we moved to your punishment, though," she told him, pulling her leg from his hands and pretending to be lost in thought.

"Now, what would be appropriate do you think? There's just so much to choose from," she mused, and watched Spike's reaction as she began to list the equipment. "There's the rack, handy for holding you still, but it only exposes one part of you to me for punishment. There's the horse, but that wouldn't let me strike your ass so well. The stocks? No, I want to see your face clearly. The cross it is. Don't worry, vampire - it's an X shape, so there shouldn't be any burning of your pale skin. Well, besides any that I intentionally inflict, anyway." Buffy had seen the twitching of his erection as she ran through possible ways to punish him, deciding on the cross as his cock had jumped and leaked another trickle of liquid.

Spike was ready to believe that he'd died in the final battle and was now experiencing the reward of the Powers That Be. He knew that he wouldn't be able to control himself for long once Buffy secured him to the equipment, and he clenched his fists.

"You may rise. Walk to the cross and turn to face it," Buffy instructed, drinking her fill of his naked beauty as he rushed to comply. She couldn't resist running her hand up his thigh as she chained one ankle to the lower parts of the frame, letting her fingernails play with his tight balls and grinning at his hissed intake of breath. She squeezed, increasing the pressure until a groan was forced from him, and she looked up, wondering if she'd been too rough. Spike's eyes were closed, his head thrown back, but the look on his face was not a grimace of pain. Swiftly, she shackled his other ankle, then each wrist, pressing her body against his back and buttocks as she did so, letting her body heat ignite his skin.

"I wonder what to use on you, vampire?" Buffy pondered aloud as her nails scratched down his back.

"Ma'am, please...would you flog me?" Spike begged his golden goddess, desperate to feel the kiss of the lash on his hypersensitive skin.

"Hmmm. Very well, since you worshipped me so well earlier, you may have the flogger," Buffy generously acquiesced, slapping one buttock then crossing the room to pick up the leather handled multi-tailed whip. Her heels rang on the flagstones as she approached him, swishing the flogger experimentally through the air. His hushed moans and visible shudders of need were wreaking havoc on her lust and self control, but she would see it through to completion for him. She would restrain herself.

"How many strokes do you think you should receive, vampire?" Buffy asked playfully.

"Mistress, ma'am, please...may I have forty lashes?" Spike ground out between gritted teeth. He pitched the number much lower than he could take, after all, he had a vampire's constitution, but he didn't think he'd be able to take more without reaching his orgasm. Buffy pretended to consider his suggestion.

"Hmm, I don't know, forty lashes doesn't seem like enough," she tapped one toe against the floor. "I know!" She exclaimed. "I'll give you forty lashes with the flogger, seeing as you begged so nicely, but then you will receive ten strokes from the quirt. Does that seem fair to you?"

Spike knew it was a rhetorical question, but answered her anyway, "yes, ma'am. Thank you Ma'am."

"Good," Buffy drew a deep breath and concentrated. Now the time had come for action, she was inexplicably nervous. Breathing out, she began to swing the flogger, using the wrist flicking action her acquaintance had made her practice, stroking the blond vampire's tight ass and back over and over, keeping count under her breath. The first stroke made Spike moan, and he pressed himself harder against the unforgiving wood of the X-frame. God, she was perfect, each stroke landing in a slightly different place, firing his nerves and pushing him closer and closer to the abyss. After ten strokes, he was panting. After twenty, His moans were loud and constant. At thirty, his hips bucked over and over again, thrusting his achingly hard cock into empty air. He was going to come from this stimulation, and nothing he could do would stop it. His fingers knotted tightly around the chains that bound him, breaking the skin in places as he fought for control while need ripped through him. After an eternity, forty lashes had been reached and Buffy dropped the flogger.

She was breathing hard, both from the exertion and the excitement that her willing captive's responses elicited. Oh god, how was she going to manage through ten lashes of the quirt? She wanted to rip him from his bondage and mount him this very instant. With an effort of will, Buffy reigned in her own need. This was about him. Her love. Her hero. Her vampire.

Without a word she retrieved the quirt and moved to see Spike's face. He sensed her in front of him and opened his eyes, showing her the near black they'd come in his extremity. Buffy raised a hand to his face and ran a thumb over his cheekbone, loving the fact that she could do this for him, loving the fact that he trusted her, loving how beautiful he was and how much he loved her. She quickly moved behind him, feeling the tears pooling, and the tightness in her throat. Hers. He was finally hers again, after so long.

"Please," she heard his whispered voice, heard the fierce edge to it that betrayed his feelings more completely than his body ever could. Of course she would give him what he wanted. Always.

"Now, I want you to count each stroke, and thank me after each one," she ordered.

Spike took another unnecessary breath. "Yes, Ma'am," he replied.

Whistle. Crack! "One. Thank you Ma'am, please may I have another?"
Whistle. Crack! "Two. Thank you Ma'am, please may I have another?"

By the time he counted six, he was shouting in an effort to halt his peak, knowing it was impossible, but determined to try. Buffy heard the urgency, saw it in the tension in his body, and resolved to make this quick.

At nine, Spike knew the fight was lost. His self-restraint shredded, and the tightening in his balls was agony as he felt his climax cresting. Buffy sensed what was happening, was powerless to stop herself throwing down the quirt and stepping into his battered body. Scarcely conscious of her actions, she wrapped one arm around both his waist and the wooden cross, the other in his hair, yanking his head backwards and bending his neck painfully. At the moment that Spike felt the dam inside him burst, Buffy sank her teeth deep into his neck, releasing the coppering tasting blood into her mouth. She drank as he screamed his ecstasy until it rang in the confined space, his cock pumping his seed into the air to land on the floor. Buffy held him tight to her as spasms wracked him, teeth still locked in his skin, withdrawing only when he had calmed. Then she whispered a word that brought him to immediate readiness.

"Mine."

With a triumphant growl, Spike tore free from the chains holding him in place and spun, his arms pulling his Slayer crushingly tight to him. His lips found hers, his tongue whipping across her teeth and over her tongue, tasting his own blood inside her. The kiss seemed to last forever, robbing Buffy of her sense, her breath, and her soul. This was what she had fought for. What she had battled every apocalypse for. What she had thrown away so many times like an ungrateful child. Spike pulled back long enough to allow her to inhale, his turquoise stare capturing her green one, and confirmed,

"Yours."

Buffy smiled, the tears from earlier filling her eyes and overflowing. Spike captured the stray drop on his fingertip, and then growled as his face shifted and his eyes flashed golden. His hands ground her pelvis into his, and he buried his face against her neck while Buffy held him there. She barely heard his muffled,

"Love you so much, pet," before her breath caught in sharp pain, followed by a scream of orgasmic bliss when his fangs penetrated her and her vampire drank deep. She came again and again, cradled in his arms, her heart so full she thought it would break. Spike pulled back, his demon submerging even as he met her wide eyes once more.

"Mine. Always mine. Forever," he whispered.

"Yours forever," Buffy confirmed, the tears falling freely down her cheeks and mingling with the trickle of blood over her collarbone.

Spike lifted his girl, his Slayer, his Buffy, in his arms and strode back to the corridor leading to the bedroom. Buffy rested her head on his shoulders, her arms around his neck.

"Next time, pet, it's going to be you chained up," Spike promised.

The End