She was finally his. He could do what he wanted. He could dress her up only to tear the clothes off the next second. He could go down on her and listen to her moan despite herself or fuck her any which way he wanted. He did all that and more.
He tied her to the bed once or twice. Her arms above her head and legs spread out. He had left her clothes on, only to have the pleasure of slowly cutting them away. He knew how to make her body react in spite of herself. By the time he entered her, she was so wet and willing he could have gone on for hours, so he did.
He loved to hear her scream. When he suspended her from the ceiling with her feet barely touching the floor, the whip had proved a most proficient tool. The strokes did not leave any marks; he would never have forgiven himself if he had scarred her. She was too beautiful to bare any marks other than his bite. Still, the whip had made her beg for him to touch her, take her, fuck her.
He took her from behind, having chained her legs to the table. His hands were free to cup her breasts and he felt them bounce in time to his hrusts. He had left her arms loose and she had covered his hands with hers, tightening his grip as his thrusts grew deeper. They nearly broken that table that night.
He’d often come to her room, unannounced and unexpected, just because he was feeling horny and because she was after all, his. She’d beg him with her eyes to be quiet. Her parents did not allow boys in her room, let alone men intent on violating their firstborn. He’d suckle her breasts and run his fingers along her clit, swallowing her moans in his kisses.
He enjoyed that bit the most, the danger of discovery and from then on he’d shadow her everywhere. When she went to the Mall, he’d catch her in the changing rooms. At the cinema any dark corner would do. Even the Library proved a turn on, hidden in the stacks, somewhere between the Void and Zion.
It was the domination that was the real turn on. She was subservient but with the right amount of passion and independence. Spike could not remember another human toy that was as accommodating as his Willow.
After a while though, he grew so dependant on her that the roles seemed to reverse. He still tied her up but the shift in dominance was subtler than that.
They had ended up in The Bronze one evening. The Slayer was thankfully
out of town and her little friends were otherwise engaged. Willow was on
the dance floor dancing alone; she knew he would not tolerate anyone around
her. All she needed to do though was waggle a finger at him and he’d come
without a murmur. He knew at that point that not only was she his but he
belonged to her and he’d die all over again just to see her smile.
read the sequal 'Begging You, Please'