Chapter One: A Whole New World



Her desperate cries and screams permeated the viscous silence that shrouded the desolate night air, sadly only to fall on deaf or uninterested ears. Battered and beaten, she continued to fight them off, but for all her effort, she just couldn’t manage to get free.



These things that looked human, that she would have sworn were normal people if she had seen them walking amongst a crowd, horrified her beyond belief; the shock leaving her completely incapable of simply putting together a coherent thought. Amongst the chaos, she noticed her captors consisted of both males and females, unimaginably strong males and females who all seemed to sport similar disfiguring forehead bumps, demonic yellow eyes, and razor sharp fangs. If she wasn’t afraid for her life, her inquisitive side would have been absolutely fascinated in studying these foreign creatures. But at the moment she was petrified, so freak-fang-people field studies weren’t anywhere on her up and coming to do list.



They roughly dragged her down the alley, her semi-conscious form paying little attention to landmarks or for any possible by-standers who could be of some assistance. She had put up as much of a fight as her knowledge in martial arts had allowed her, but not even a black belt in Tae Kwan Do could free her from these super human monsters.



She had a nagging inclination in the back of her mind as to what they actual were, but couldn’t believe she was actually rationalizing the existence of vampires. Sure, blatant evidence in the fact that she had witnessed throats being ripped out and that the silver cross necklace her grandmother had given her for her sixteenth birthday had singed one of them when they had tried to bite her,… but vampires? Weren’t they made up by some bored storytellers in the late nineteenth century? Imaginary people who turned into bats and did their shopping at Capes ‘R’ Us? Who were pushed into modern society by greedy movie executives and eccentric Anne Rice fans?



As they continued to drag her through the barely lit alley, all she could think about was how blind she must have been to have missed the fact that she had been living amongst the unliving. At a time like this, most would have their lives flashing before their eyes, pleading with God, Buddha and Allah combined to save them, but she just fixated on how she could have been so oblivious, so ignorant; that and the searing pain in her left side.



After what seemed like hours, but were more likely only ten minutes, of being towed, her knees felt as though all the skin on them had been scraped off and she could swear her arms were both dislocated. Everything before her was a mere shadow or glimmer; nothing seemed or felt real, like it was all one horrible nightmare she had to just wake up from. As they progressed further into the darkness it became beyond dreamlike quality, beyond nightmare; it was as though she was trapped in a perpetual abyss, everything looked bleak and hopeless.



Suddenly, she felt the floor. In all honesty, her face felt the floor when she had been unexpectedly dropped. She didn’t remember being brought indoors but the ceramic tile was cool against her hot bruised cheek, temporarily easing the pain of her swollen lip and making her forget the change in scenery. Her blond matted hair that had been gorgeously styled earlier that evening was now tangled all around, covering her eyes from those above her and shielding her from the hungry gazes that were being sent her way.



Slowly opening a swollen eye and seeing only darkness, she brought a hand to move the obstruction from her field of view, realizing that she was trembling. She could feel foot steps, the vibrations in the floor tickled her oversensitive skin, but the only thing she could see was stationary feet and various furnisher legs. She wanted to move, get up and run the hell away, but her body betrayed her, being stiff from her involuntary activities as a human trough. The room was quiet, but suddenly it seemed like they had all been sucked into a vacuum, devoid of any noise until a single voice rumbled from behind, like thunder through the silence.



“What is this?” the fierce voice asked.



“It’s your bounty from the raid. We were most successful. The streeters were amongst those eliminated,” a feminine voice explained, maintaining a respectful tone.



“And this one?” the unknown inquired. She could hear an accent in the deepness of his voice; sounded British. She was pretty good with accents. God did her knees ever hurt.



“The last of them, sir. She’s a spitfire. Took three of us to take her down. I had to pull Bronx off of her. He’s still a fledge, got a little carried away but I straightened him out,” a teenage male voice answered.



The footsteps started to circle her, making her feel even more vulnerable. She could feel his eyes on her, boring holes into her. He stopped and said, “I wanna inspect her. Pick her up.”



All at once she could see every ridged face in the room; strong arms lifting her off the ground, limply suspending her so that she could be scrutinized. Her one good eye showed her a black clad, average height, platinum blonde male. Tough guy persona, definitely, but not exactly what you expect from a leader of bunch of vampires. She was anticipating a Dracula or maybe a Lestat, not freakin’ punk boy.



She mustered enough strength to sustain her gaze as he approached; his face devoid of any strange conformations. The sight of his piercing blue eyes made her hold her breath, like they could freeze you from the inside out. As he took her chin in one of his hands and looked over every inch of her face, she stared back at him in the same scrutinizing manner. The scar on his right eyebrow, a trait she would have probably considered sexy if she knew he wasn’t going to drain her of every drop of blood she had in her veins, was the second thing she noticed after his eyes. Pretty good looking, she surmised, but she felt his cool hand let go and suddenly she was staring down at the floor again.



The vampire, the man she assumed was a vampire, finished his examination, never once uttering a word of approval or dissatisfaction with his share of the raid and strolled to a large leather chair. Sitting down, he waved a hand at the group before him, “Let her down and leave us,” he instructed.



She fell once more when the strong hands let go, her sore knees smacking against the cold tiles, making her hoarsely whimper in pain. Once a few minutes had passed and the pain had subsided a little, she slowly raised her bowed head and looked up at him. Unsure of what to expect, she searched for his face, finding it hidden behind a bottle of Jack.



“So, pet, you’re at a club, you out last even vampire street fighter kids in the ambush and you take 'em all on knowin' you’re no match. 'm impressed, and that rarely happens, 'specially with humans,” he said as he placed the bottle of liquor on the table next to him. “Come here,” he ordered.



At first she didn’t know what to do. She was scared, if she wasn’t in so much pain she knew she’d be shaking uncontrollably. She gradually pulled herself off the floor, easing herself onto all fours, only to collapse as her arms gave out. She waited for him to help her or at least offer. But as she stared up at him as she laid there a mess; she found him smugly watching. When the realization came that he wouldn’t help her, she tried again only to fall on her face once more. She could feel the tears brimming, but she pushed them back. She wasn’t going to cry in front of this asshole.



“I said get up,” he patronized as she continued to struggle.



Blinding hatred coursed through her as she lifted her head up off the floor to glare at him. The rage was enough to give her a little momentum and she soon found herself on her butt, barely able to sit up right. Swaying, she never broke eye contact, giving him a look of utter loathing and disgust. Yet as she fought just to maintain an upright posture, he kept on smirking at her, amusement plastered on his face as his azure eyes laughed at her.



It was at that moment she knew. She was going to die. He was going to kill her. Strangely, it all became so clear, as if the smoke had been lifted. Why else had she been brought here? He was going to kill her, make her a meal, if she was lucky. Suddenly all the horrible things he might possibly do to her were emerging amongst her frantic thoughts and fear finally decided to rear its ugly head. She knew being brought back here instead of being killed at the club was a much worse fate. At least, if they had killed her then, it would have been relatively less painful. Less painful than what she was going to go through in the next few hours.



“Fuck you,” the words escaped her lips before she realized what she was saying.



Suddenly the man before her stopped smirking. He strode over to where she sat on the floor and with one hand clamped around her neck he lifted her up off the ground. She gasped frantically as his abnormally strong hand squeezed the life out of her. Her once weak hands flew to her throat, pointlessly trying to pull him off of her, only to feel his grip get tighter. He brought her face inches away from his, the coldness of his eyes made her shiver as she continued to gasp. He then smirked once more.



“Now, I know you didn’t mean what you just said, eh pet? ‘Snot very polite. Know what you’re trying to do by the way. Make me kill you in a fit of rage so that you don’t have to endure whatever it is I have planned for you,” he stated as he released his grip, letting her fall in a heap on the floor.



She was taking in as much air as her lungs allowed, hyperventilating face down in dirty ceramic. He sat down on his haunches in front of her, abruptly pulling her face off the tile, making sure she gazed into his now demonic yellow eyes. “But you know what, luv? That wasn’t what you really wanted, now was it? You reek of fear. You don’t want to die. And that’s fine with me. Not planning on killing you. So be a good human, and get the sodding hell off this floor!”



Without so much as a word, she wrenched away from his hold. Slowly she picked up her battered and trembling body, until she found herself standing before him, trying to get her bearings, but never breaking the deadly gaze she was sending him. At last, she straightened herself out, straight back, squared shoulders and defiantly high chin.



The smirk grew into a sinister grin as he watched her. “That’s better. Why don’t you…”



She hadn’t heard the rest. She was falling into oblivion as the darkness took her over. As quickly as she had gotten up, her body had once again betrayed her, passing out and falling into the arms of her capture.





*******

“Come on Buffy, just one night of fun won’t kill you,” a well dressed short haired brunette stated as the two of them walked into the local convenience store.



“Hey, I’m fun. I’m bursting with funness,” Buffy retorted as her friend rolled her eyes.



“I didn’t say you weren’t. But ever since we got to this town, you’ve been all edgy and non-social. It’s not healthy,” her friend said as she made her way to the munchies aisle.



“I know. I’m sorry but there’s just something unsettling about this place. My gut keeps telling me something bad is gonna happen,” she said as she skimmed over the candy bar selection.



The irritated brunette grabbed a bag of chips as she turned back to her worried friend. “Look, we’ve been on this road trip for like what, a month? And nothing has happened. Sure, a few nights with the porcelain goddess after too many drinks or even the rarely occasional yet never forgettable coyote ugly, but other than that, zippo, nil, nada has happened,” she remarked as they made their way to pay for their high sugar and saturated fat concentrated dinner.



“I know. And I’m sorry if I’ve been all Gloomy Gladice these past few days, but I just can’t shake it,” Buffy said as she pulled a five from her wallet.



“It’s okay. You can make it up to me tonight. I heard there’s this really hot club on the other side of town. It’s like the place to be; live bands, decently priced drinks and total hotties waiting to be macked on. So, tonight, you and me are gonna get are groove on, alright? And no sulking. Tonight is a sulk free night.”



“Fine, we’ll go. But if you get on stage with the band and make an ass out of yourself again, I swear Cordy, I’ll full out deny I know you,” Buffy giggled as the made their way back to their motel room.





*******



Something acrid tickled her nose as she stirred back to consciousness. Her eyes fluttered open, one of them more painfully than the other, as she awakened from her sleep. Panic took over when she couldn’t move her body until the searing pain kicked in seconds later. She had forgotten everything about the night before, until the pain had pulled her back out of her dreams. The smell returned and she realized it was her that stank, having spit up during the night while she had been out cold. ‘Good thing I didn’t choke to death,’ she thought as she rolled over to find him sitting in a chair staring at her. ‘Or maybe not.’



He remained seated, looking at her in the dimly candlelit room, observing something with some masked fascination. Finally, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and without any trace of emotion inquired about her sleep.



Feeling like she had been hit by five buses, she replied accordingly, although her throat was dry and her mouth was numb, so her words came out scratchy and barely audible. “Oh, wonderfully! I can’t move without setting off every nerve ending in my body, I’m lying in my own blood and filth, and I think I may have had a concussion. But the sleep was great, thanks for asking!” Her words oozed with sarcasm and she realized it was the most she had ever said to him. She noticed how easily she forgot what he was and how he could kill her with a flick of the wrist. She didn’t care.



Unfazed by her tongue lashing, the blond vampire calmly continued his interrogation.



“What’s your name?”



“Buffy.”



“Buffy? Got your name raffled out of a hat, pet?” he asked her ignoring the shocked expression on her face. What was it with this guy? Let’s see, beating her and scaring her didn’t work, so lets make fun of her name?



“Oh, and what’s yours? Billy? Sid?” she asked gradually sitting up, jaw clenched as the pain in her side returned and intensified with a vengeance.



He got up from his chair and sat himself next to her. She noticed the black leather duster he had been sporting was gone, leaving him in black jeans and black t-shirt. He gave her what seemed to be his trademark smirk and leaned in a little closer until his lips were millimeters away from her ear. “It’s Spike.”



The utterance of his name gave her goose bumps. His tone and close proximity made her uncomfortable and she knew this tepid display of emotion was just the calm before the storm. He wasn’t going to be so cool and collected for much longer.



Spike reached out and gently brushed a piece of blond hair behind her ear, making her turn her gaze to him. “I could have killed you, ya know, but what would be the fun in that?” he told her casually, again ignoring the confused look he was getting. “’m sick of bloody bein’ in the company of retarded vampires. Minions are good for some things, but conversationalists their not. Plus, food’s easy enough to come by. What’s the human population nowadays, six billion? A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be wasted on a meal.” He reached out his hand once more, and her breath hitched from the coolness of his touch against her overly heated cheek.



He continued to stroke her face, watching as she closed her eyes as he soothed her skin. “From now on, you will be referred to as Slave and nothing else. You are mine and no one may touch you other than me.”



Buffy’s eyes flew open at his words, their relevance sinking in. She knew she didn’t have much of a choice. She was pretty messed up, with no idea where she was and with a house full of vampires ready to hunt her down if she decided to run. At that moment her survival instincts kicked in, willing to do what was necessary to live. Though the anger and disgust still remained, she bowed her head, hiding the tears that she was desperately trying not to shed.



“That’s a girl. I’m also known as William the Bloody by the way, but to you it’s Master,” he said as he lifted her chin; her already puffy face was streaked with tears, blackened by her smudged eye makeup. “Now, these are my quarters of the house. There’s a bathroom, hardly used, and a bed. This will be your new home.”



Suddenly he scooped her up into his arms, which made her to nearly jump out of her skin. Instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck, she closed her eyes and placed her head on his cold still chest. Exhausted, she didn’t care where he was taking her.



The air suddenly became warmer and she could swear she smelled lilies. Opening her eyes, she found the large bathroom lined with a few scattered candles, the sparse lighting revealing a large tub, nearly filled to the brim with hot water and florally scented bubbles. She felt him lower her onto the toilet seat and noticed she was slowly becoming undressed. Having pulled off her boots, he moved up to take off her white tank, never letting hands or eyes fall where they shouldn’t. Buffy just sat there, utterly confused and unbelievably afraid. He gently unbuttoned and pulled off her black pants, being careful when he neared her knees. Most her clothing had been discarded to a messy pile on the floor as he reached out again for her undergarments, when she naturally covered her chest, stopping him from going any further.



“Come on, pet. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he coaxed as he softly pulled away her hands.



Lacking the strength to fight back, Buffy hands fell to her lap as Spike unclasped her bra and slipped off her thong. Naked as the day she was born, Buffy blushed and turned her eyes away from him. Spike said nothing. She had expected a cocky remark or put down, but all she got were two strong arms picking her up again and slowly easing her into the warm bathtub.



The water was hot, and it stung when it came into contact with her superficially wounded skin. She leaned back and enjoyed the soak, letting her mind forget about the horrible night she had just had. The ignorant bliss was short lived when she felt Spike place a hand in the water. She instantly tensed and flinched away from him.



“Just making sure it’s not scalding. Don’t have to get all shirty,” he said as he sat down on the toilet seat, his eyes never leaving her.



Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off him either, unsure what this gesture meant. One minute he was almost chaining her to the wall and the next minute he’s being all respectful and bathing her. She sighed and with what little strength she had, dunked her head under the water, washing away all the grime and blood out of her blond hair. Coming back up, she scrubbed her face, trying to get rid of the raccoon eyes she had developed over the last night. She was startled when Spike handed her a washcloth.



“Thank you,” she said as she took it and started to wash her arms.



Every few second she would glance over to where he was sitting, finding him staring back at her, his face emotionless as he observed her. She needed to say something, the silence was just too deafening.



“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.



Spike leaned forward, his palms firmly planted on his knees. “Makin' sure you're taken cared of. ’m investin' more than just time in you, so it wouldn’t do me any good you rottin' away. Plus, you were startin' to smell,” he said nonchalantly, smirking at her.



Frustrated at the fact that she actually considered he was doing it as an act of kindness, she scowled at him and returned to her scrubbing. “Sorry, but when you get the shit kicked out of you, hygiene isn’t exactly top priority,” she sarcastically stated as she washed herself beneath the concealment of bubbles.



Spike continued to smirk. He hadn’t expected anything from the previous night’s raid, considering it was mostly minions he had sent out at dusk. A few dead streeters was what he was hoping for. He hadn’t ever expected them to significantly diminish the demon hunters' numbers and especially hadn't expected them to bring one back. Spike knew she wasn’t a streeter, just an innocent who got in the way.



The chit they had brought in was tough; she had to be if she took on a group of vamps alone. He never asked why Natasha and Damon had brought her back to him, but he knew his seconds in command saw what he saw. This girl had a fire within her, something so strong, so pure that it would be fun just to try and break her. He knew that’s why they had brought her to him, but it was not the reason why he had kept her. The moment he had laid eyes on her, even through the blood, dirt and bruises, he had wanted her. She was beautiful, with a small yet strong body that could mold easily to his own and with eyes that shone with the hidden passion that dwelled within. Watching her bathe was a struggle for him, his jeans not doing anything for his growing hardness. It didn’t help either that she verbally threw everything back at him, uncaring of the fact that he was a vampire who could kill her at any instant, which only turned him on even more.



When she finished with the washcloth Buffy leaned back in the tub, enjoying the soothing effect the water was having on her battered body. She was about to fall asleep when Spike called out to her.



“Come on, pet. Time to get out before you catch one of your human diseases,” he said picking up a large cotton towel as he made his way to the edge of the tub. Opening it up, he held it as she slowly and weakly stood up and allowed him to wrap her up in its soft downiness.



Before she could step out, she was back in his arms, where he swiftly brought her over to the bed. Once lowering her onto the newly changed black satin sheets, he grabbed a black t-shirt from the end of the bed and slipped it over her. She wondered when he had time to clean up the bed. When she couldn't come up with an answer, she assumed it must have been when was in the tub and almost falling asleep. He remained silent as he administered to her, fetching an obviously unused first aid kit and tended to her more serious injuries.



Her eyes wandered as Spike applied ointment to her bruised and scraped knees. The room itself was large but seemingly stark except for the desk, couch, mini-fridge, dresser, bookshelf and bed. The bed frame was gothic fashioned wrought iron and the desks and other furnishings were made of varnished wood and black leather. ‘He likes black,’ Buffy thought as she lay there, idly fidgeting with the cross around her neck. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from variously scattered white candles. Turning her head she noticed a fireplace, unused, and realized she was cold and shivering.



Finishing with the last bandage, Spike lifted her up so that she was sitting in front of him. He pulled out a different ointment, smearing some onto his finger and spreading it along the cuts of her neck, arms and face. It stung at first, causing her to hiss, but gradually his caresses felt soothing, almost pleasant. His fingers massaged her bath flushed flesh as he applied the medicated cream, stopping eventually when finished; Buffy had to suppress a groan when he ceased his touches.



“Your eye and lip are gonna swell more if you don’t ice ‘em,” he said wiping his greasy hands on her towel as he brought an ice pack to her face and laid her back down onto the soft bed.



He took the ice pack from her and wrapped it in the extra towel he brought and placed it on her cheek, near her mouth and her left eye. She eased into the pillow and relaxed as the cold packs relieved the swelling. She nearly jumped out of bed when Spike slipped off his boots and shed his shirt before he slipped in next to her.



Her eyes immediately were glued onto him. She had registered his good looks when she first saw him, but being distracted with survival, Buffy didn’t really notice how unbelievably gorgeous he was. His cerulean eyes and chiseled cheekbones she had appreciated when he had first evaluated her, but her heart raced and her breathing became erratic as his well muscled chest, washboard abs and strong arms made their way toward her. He was a pale Adonis and Buffy was just too overwhelmed. He lifted the comforter and eased in next to her, lying on his back.



She remained stiff as a corpse, on her back, staring up at the ceiling, trying hard not to think about the body that was right beside her. She couldn’t believe how turned on she had been by the sight of him. It was as if she had completely forgotten he was a vampire who was holding her prisoner and just turned into a giant wanton bitch in heat. Scolding herself mentally, she rolled onto her side, praying sleep would soon take her.



At that thought she felt a now familiar cool hand stroke her shoulder, making her heart jump into her throat as it thumped a thousand beats per second. She slowly turned her head, finding those piercing blues gazing into her hazel eyes.



“Stop it,” she said, inching away from him.



“What’s wrong, pet? I was getting the impression you wanted me to touch you,” Spike huskily whispered in her ear.



“I did nothing that would prompt a free-for-all fondle fest,” Buffy stated angrily.



“Really? My nose tells me otherwise,” he said grinning.



“What the hell are you talking about?”



“I can smell your arousal, pet. All vamps can.”



At his words, Buffy turned beet red, utterly humiliated at the fact that he knew she had been ogling him. “You’re such a pig,” she said as she turned her back to him.



Spike chuckled. “Whatever you say, luv. But you’re the one who has the hots for this pig.”



Buffy closed her eyes tightly, praying she would fall asleep. She didn’t want to be there, she wanted to be anywhere but next to a blood thirsty killer. Buffy had an idea why Spike had kept her around, and she was just waiting for him to take it. She suddenly felt his hand creep down her side, falling on her hip.



Buffy didn’t like his touch, it was gentle but possessive. “How old are you, Slave?” he asked still stroking her, slowly drawing her closer so that her back was pressed to his chest.



“Twenty,” she answered, taking notice it was the first time he called her by her new title.



“You go to school?”



She nodded. “I do. Was suppose to start my junior year at UCLA this September,” she replied bitterly.



“So, there’s a brain that goes with this lovely body,” he said as he stroked her upper arm. She gulped, feeling something hard up against her back. “Where’d you learn to fight, pet? Minions said you put up a good front,” he asked, his cool breath against her neck sent shivers down her spine.



She managed to stammer out, “Tae Kwan Do. Black belt.”



“Black belt, that’s impressive Slave. Good to know if any one here gets out of line when I’m not around you can mind yourself,” he spoke calmly.



Buffy was so confused. From his hard-on she knew what he wanted but he wasn’t acting on it. Why? She wasn’t stupid. She knew the only reason he didn’t kill her was because he wanted a slave, most probably just a warm body to fuck. She just hoped he’d be as gentle or at least quick.



He raised his head back to her ear and hoarsely whispered, “You’re not chaste are you, luv?” She shook her head, slightly ashamed and slightly turned on, which only furthered her embarrassment. “Didn’t think so. But you still hurtin’?”



Buffy nodded, “My face and my knees,” she said meekly.



“You’ll be fine in the morning. Go to sleep, Slave,” he ordered as he held onto her.



Once he threw off the ice pack from her face to the floor, she eased the back of her head against his bare chest. Buffy let out a sigh and soon fell asleep in the arms of her new Master, a vampire named Spike.



 

Chapter Two: Things Change



The room was nearly dark when she woke up, most of the candles having melted down and the windows being draped with heavy black curtains. She noticed that the strong arms that had once held her during the night were gone; she rolled over and found herself to be the bed’s only occupant. “Mornin’, Slave,” a deep voice called from the washroom. “Actually, good afternoon s’more like it.” Spike added as he strolled to the bed.



Buffy groaned as she moved around trying to get up, her muscles still a little sore. Luckily, the swelling in her face was almost, if not completely gone and her cut lip didn’t even hurt anymore. Buffy didn’t realize her makeshift nightgown had slinked up her thigh, nearly giving the vamp a good peep show. She quickly readjusted herself, yanking the bottom of the black t-shirt down near her knees. “What time is it?” she asked as she brushed a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear.



“’S ‘bout two-thirty, pet.”



Her mouth formed in an ‘O’ as she started to slide out of bed, feeling kind of sheepish for sleeping in so late. As she reached the edge, Spike sprang up in front of her. “Did I say you could get up?” he asked, in a scarily different tone from that of last night. There was no smug cockiness or strangely gentle subtleness, just a voice riddled with pure dominance.



Buffy defiantly looked him square in the eyes, lifting her chin up like she did whenever she felt threatened. “No.” She knew that being healed up would mean he’d want her. Even if he was going to take her, she would still have her dignity. Regardless of how painful it was going to be.



“That’s a good slave,” he said stroking her cheek. “Now, take off the shirt.”



Buffy hesitated at first but with trembling hands managed to grab the hem of the tee. She glared at him as she dropped the garment on the bed, remaining seated as he looked over her, bringing a hand up to stroke her arm.



Spike watched as she struggled to not fight back. He was pleased that she was listening to him without much resistance. He gradually looked over her naked body, admiring her silky bronze skin as it gleamed in the sparse candle light. Taking note of every curve, mound and dimple found on her perfect body, Spike could feel himself harden all over again. The mere site of her perky breasts and strong thighs were nearly enough to send him over the edge.



She saw him, standing above her, still only wearing his black jeans that were, at the moment, doing nothing to hide his erection. She felt awkward, not only from being naked, but because her posture was so rigid; both arms at her sides and knees dangling over the edge of the bed. She watched as Spike leaned down, hovering over her, placing his hands on either side of her. “’m very happy I didn’t kill you,” he mumbled, making her skin flush and goose bump at the same time.



Spike moved his mouth down above her collarbone and placed few kisses along the sensitive skin. As embarrassed and as angry as she was, she couldn’t help but get aroused from what he was doing to her. He gracefully moved down her chest, latching onto one of her breasts, liking and suckling at a painstakingly slow rate, sinking down in front of her so that he could gently nudge her to lie back. One talented pale hand slid down to the other overlooked breast, tweaking the nipple between his finger and thumb. Buffy arched her back and moaned as his mouth and hands simultaneously worked her.



His mouth left her chest, causing her to whimper at the loss, and began to trail down her hot stomach, his cool tongue making a path to her navel and fiercely plunging into it. She gasped as that same tongue twirled around while his one hand returned to pinch her now overly sensitized nipple. Spike continued on, his mouth inches away from her wet sex, inhaling the scents of her arousal, and allowing Buffy to stew as she waited for his next move. She cried out when his tongue slid down between her soaking folds and flicked her clit.



“Hmmm. You taste so good, luv,” he stated before twirling his talented tongue around her swollen nubbin.



He could hear her heart racing and see her chest heaving as she tried to compose herself. Spike’s free hand brushed against her sex, two fingers entering as he alternated between sucking and nibbling on her clit. His fingers slid into her slowly, easing into her, stretching her.



“God, pet, you’re so tight. So fucking tight.”



He started to push against the bundle of nerves inside her, pumping harder and faster on her g-spot. Buffy couldn’t take any more, her head thrashed back and forth, waiting for the feeling to wash over her as he kept working her with his tongue.



“Please…” she pleaded, desperately needing the release.



Pulling away from between her legs, Spike smugly grinned and asked, “Please what, Slave? You want me to stop?”



Buffy whimpered and shook her head. “Please…” It was all she could manage to say.



“I know what you want, what you need, Slave. But I don’t really like the way you’re askin’ for it,” he said, pulling further away from her.



With her last ounce of dignity vanishing, Buffy begged, “Please, Master.”



It’s what he had been waiting for. He wanted her to give in, to succumb to the desire so that she wouldn’t fight back any longer. For her to use the words he knew she wouldn’t until he put her in her place. And put her in her place he would. As fast as the words had escaped her lips, Spike’s mouth was back on her clit, greedily sucking as his fingers plunged into her core. Buffy screamed as her orgasm roared through her, making her spasm and arch her back even more.



Spike slipped his drenched fingers out of her, slowly rising back up so he could look down at her. With glazed eyes, she stared up at him and watched as he sucked her juices off his digits. Her breathing started to get out of control again as she watched him. She’d had her share of orgasms before, but they’d never come close to what she had just experienced.



Once pulling the fingers out of his mouth, Spike asked coldly, devoid of all emotion, “Did I say you could come?”



Buffy couldn’t even put together a coherent thought and tried to shake her head.



“No. No I didn’t. Get up, Slave,” he said.



She languidly sat up and shakily rose to her feet, steadying herself against the bed. Spike sat down in her spot, his erection more evident through his jeans. She yelped when he grabbed onto her waist and pulled her over his knee; his hard member digging into her stomach, causing him to groan.



“You begged me for it but I never said you could come. Now you have to be punished,” he stated as Buffy felt a hard hand smack against her bare rear.



The shock of his actions masked the sting of the strike as she gasped. He smacked her ass with an open hand, at least five times before he asked, “Do you like this?”



She was still too dazed at what he was doing to notice his fingers were traveling into her wet pussy and stroking her clit. “I think you do, Slave.”



“Stop! Don’t! Owww!” She screamed and squirmed from the sixth smack, the feeling of the assaults finally sinking in.



“Shut up! Did I give you permission to speak?” he scolded as he gave her two more slaps.



“Stop! Why are you doing this?!” she asked, only to receive another whack.



“I told you to shut up! D’you want me to take off my belt?” Spike threatened, delivering another strike. He eventually sensed that she was starting to hold back, trying desperately to control the urge to cry out.



Spike lightly stroked the reddened skin, which made her reluctantly sigh from its relief. He lifted her in his arms and flipped her violently back onto the bed, making her bounce up and down. Throwing off his pants and pouncing on her in lightning speed, he swiftly entered her to the hilt.



He screamed from the sheer pleasure of her searing inner heat and she screamed from his girth stretching her. He began to languidly pump his cock into her, slowly sliding in and out, as she thrashed under him. She didn’t want to orgasm until he said so, afraid of getting hit again if she did. He started to increase the tempo of his thrusts; the bed shook from the force he was exerting. Buffy arched her back as Spike grabbed her legs, pushing them up against her chest, so that he could angle himself to go deeper.



Finally, hearing the words, “You can come,” escape his lips, Buffy threw her head back and came violently; her inner muscles clamping down around his member.



Barely holding out a little longer, he lowered his mouth to her neck, vamping just as his fangs pierced the sensitive skin. She came again, as he drank from her, ignoring her survival instincts to push him off since the feeling of his bite was so sexually consuming. He finally came, spilling his cold seed and collapsed on top of her. Spike gently pulled out, fangs and dick, and licked the wound on her neck before rolling off of her.



“Cor, luv. I forgot how good it was to fuck a human. Especially one who’s a somewhat consenting participant,” he commented as he stroked her flushed face.



The meaning of his words sunk in and Buffy’s conscious crashed against the simple immorality of what she had just done and all the things she had easily allowed him to do. Cringing away from him, she quickly sat up and threw on the black t-shirt she swiped from off the floor, scurrying away as far as she could. She pulled her knees to her chest and rocked against the foot of the bed. “You’re a monster,” she stated as he remained in the spot she had left him, unmoved by her actions.



Gradually sitting up, he responded, “Didn’t seem like you were complaining five minutes ago.”



She glared at him, disgusted at his vulgarity. She shook her head and began to ramble, “No. I couldn’t…I didn’t just… You’re evil… You kill people, innocent people…Oh my God, how could I have let myself have sex with you? Aren’t you dead? Or is it undead? I’ve heard that about vampires, that their dead. You’re a living corpse. Oh my God, I’m no better than a necrophiliac,” As she hysterically rationalized her actions, she began to grow frantic, endless self-hating tears escaping her eyes.



“I like you better as a wanton whore,” Spike stated.



“Fuck you!” Buffy yelled at him.



“You’ve done that already, pet.”



Buffy couldn’t take it any longer. Without really thinking, she uncurled out of the ball she had been in and flew for the door, willing to take on a house full of vamps just to get the hell away from him. What she hadn’t expected was Spike’s super vampire strength and speed as he grabbed hold of her and slammed her up against the door.



She struggled against his death grip, rambling. “Let go you fucking evil piece of shit. You might be going to hell, but I sure ain’t gonna risk it for a good fuck. I’d rather die. Why are you doing this to me?” she said as she delivered a painful knee to his exposed crotch. When he knelt down to hold onto his newly battered balls she Tae Kwan Do spun kicked him across the chest, making him fall back in pain from the assault.



Buffy frantically grabbed the door knob, pulling at it to no avail. There was a lock, but no key. Spike, who seemed to have recovered fairly quickly, rose back to his feet, chuckling as he watched her pull and struggle with the door. “Need a key there, pet. It’s a prison for a reason.”



She turned, back pressed against the door, feeling trapped more now than ever. She reached for her silver cross necklace that usually hung around her neck, but her hands only clutched at air and skin. Spike continued to look amused at the horrified expression on her face. “Took it off when you were asleep, luv. Wouldn’t want you to use it against me.”



She was furious; it was one thing to be killed by an evil soulless vampire, it’s another to be used and ridiculed by one too. “I fucking hate you!” she spat out. “You act all gentle and kind when your goons beat the shit out of me and kidnap me, then you use me, do things to me that I would never…” she paused as her voice choked up. “Never let someone like you do. At least give me my dignity and just kill me!”



“Not gonna happen, pet.”



“You think I’m just gonna fucking lie around and let you use me? Fuck you! One morning you’re going to find a cross in your mouth and the curtains wide open. I hate you and hope you fucking burn in…” she ranted, unable to finish when a hand flew at her face and the world became dark as she slipped into unconsciousness.

 

Chapter Three:Decisions



Buffy could feel the softness of the pillow against her sore cheek and her throbbing neck while the cold metal manacles bit and chafed the skin at her wrists. She was waking up to find that she’d been dressed in same shirt she had been wearing the night before and chained to one end of the bed. She rested on her side, her legs curled up into the fetal position; her body desperately seeking some form of comfort after being assaulted for the countless time in the past 48 hours. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to let anyone know she was awake.



Buffy wished she could just stay in bed and dream this whole nightmare away. She hated how Spike made her feel; how he was the reason behind her pain but at the same time managed to bring her so much pleasure. She despised what he’d turned her into, an object at his disposal for his own amusement. She wanted nothing more than to be back home in her mother’s embrace and have her little sister borrow her clothes without asking. She didn’t want to die, and her anger induced schpeals about dignity and morality weren’t bettering her chances at survival. She decided that she wasn’t going to cause waves; she was going to be a good little slave and simply wait. Wait until he let his guard down and then light the bed on fire with only him in it.



“Good, you’re awake.”



Buffy rolled over towards the voice, seeing a fully dressed Spike standing by the bed, glaring down at her. She cringed away from his look; it feeling as painful as if he had actually hit her again. “Get up,” he ordered.



With the chains wrapped around the iron headboard of the bed, she felt like a leashed dog, with limited freedom but enough leeway to maneuver. She got out of bed, the chains clanking to the floor as she slipped in front of him, head bowed, waiting for instructions.



Spike began to walk around her, inspecting her like he did the night she’d been captured. ‘What day was it? How long have I been in this hell?’ she wondered. Her sleeping pattern had been so messed up ever since she had arrived and it was always so dark that she never knew what time of day it was. She turned her focus back on the vampire who, from what she could see from beneath her lashes, was stalking about her.



“You know Slave; you upset me greatly with your little outburst. Gave it to me good, didn’t you? My poor boys hadn’t been kicked like that in ages. And you weren’t afraid to use that mouth of yours to tell me a thing or two either,” he reached out a hand and firmly lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. Giving her a seductively evil smirk, he said, “Now get on your knees and use it to show me how sorry you are.”



Buffy had to suppress the bile that was rising in her stomach. She sunk to her knees before him, knowing exactly what he wanted her to do. She wasn’t shocked; she knew why she was still alive and figured this would continue for some time. And blowjobs weren’t foreign to her either, they weren’t common, but they weren’t intimidating.



At that moment she thought of James, her high school sweetheart, and remembered how they had lost their virginity together. She remembered when they had explored one another, and she had been so scared and didn’t know what to do. He’d been so gentle, so patient. She missed him. ‘God, why did I decide to come to Sunnydale?’ she thought as she unbuckled Spike’s belt. ‘And why didn’t I convince Cordy to leave this town?’



She began to unzip his jeans, fighting back the tears at the sudden thought that her best friend might be dead, and pulled them down. She realized he was a commando kind of vampire. Buffy wrapped her hand around the base of his semi-erect cock, slowly stroking it as it became slightly even more erect. She gradually brought her mouth before his member, her warm breath sending obvious shivers through Spike.



When she engulfed him, he hissed from how hot her mouth was relative to his cool dick. She unhurriedly twirled her tongue around his shaft as she took him in fully, then scraping her teeth along it as she pulled him out. Buffy flicked her tongue over the sensitive head and found a spot on its underside that made him moan loudly. She could feel his hands rake through her hair, needing to find something to hold onto. She reached out with one of her still manacle clad hand and started to massage his balls, further increasing his moaning.



Suddenly, the strong hands in her hair pulled her off of him. She yelped from the pain, seeing Spike angrily look down at her. “I know what kind of girl you are luv, but stop fucking around, keep your mouth open and stay still,” he said as he watched her drop her hands to her side and parted her swollen lips.



He abruptly slid his dick back into her mouth, hitting her in the back of her throat. Grabbing her head roughly, fingers pulling at her hair, he pumped into her, fucking her mouth. She groaned from the pain of her hair being pulled, causing her throat muscles to vibrate around him, augmenting his pleasure as he continued to thrust into her. Buffy desperately tried to hinder her gag reflex as he deep throated her, hoping he’d come soon just so it would be over with.



As though her wishes had been heard, Spike violently came, spilling his cool seed in her throat as she tried to swallow it all, knowing she’d have to face his furry if she didn’t. He seemed like the kind of sadomasochist who wouldn’t appreciate her spitting out his come. His grip on her loosened and he slid out of her mouth, walking shakily over to the bed as he pulled his black jeans back up to his waist. Buffy remained kneeling, raising a hand to wipe her mouth, watching him as he sat down on the bed.



“You’re forgiven, Slave.”



Buffy cringed at how his words could make her feel so much dirtier than any vile act he forced her to do. “Thank you, Master.” She hated having to be submissive, but she needed him to think she was caving in, that she wasn’t going to run or pull anything like she had before. She needed to convince him or she’d never be free.



Spike smiled at the spectacle of her. He knew she wasn’t a pushover, that she was doing all of this from fear of him draining her. “Come here, pet,” he instructed, his voice much softer.



She got up off her knees and dragged the chains towards where he was sitting at the bed’s edge. She remained standing, her head still bowed as she waited for him to say something else. “I don’t wish to be cruel, but if you make me upset, you have to be taught a lesson,” he explained as he got up from the bed. “I’m gonna scratch us up some grub. Figured you might be peckish. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. That’ll be my only warning to you, Slave.” And with that the platinum vampire was out the door.



Buffy collapsed face down onto the bed, pulling her chained arms around her. She was exhausted and sick, unsure if life was worth living if it meant being William the Bloody’s fuck slave. She suddenly realized she was still only wearing the now stretched black t-shirt. Her only other clothes were completely torn and bloodied. What did it matter anyway? She might as well walk around naked, make it easier for the asshole of a vampire.



Buffy sat back up, knowing sleep wasn’t exactly what she should be doing. God, she wanted nothing more than just to escape into her dreams, but she had to think of a way to get out of this prison. Her only plan so far had been to try and be a good little slave until he let his guard down; then she would make her move. Problem was, with a house packed with hungry vamps at Spike’s beck and call, she wasn’t sure what that move should be.



The door suddenly opened, and Spike walked in with what looked like a bag of food from a take out restaurant. Smelling the greasy food made Buffy’s stomach rumble, but for some reason she couldn’t shake off the nausea that the mere sight of the blond vamp was bringing forth. “Here Slave, eat.” He held out the paper bag, expecting her to take it.



Buffy risked defiantly looking up at his face, her eyes glaring in pure hatred. “Not hungry,” she replied before insolently turning her back to him.



Spike’s jaw clenched. He thought he had gotten through to her. Guess that meant a few more lessons in obedience. He stalked over to the bed and spun her around, eyes flashing yellow as though he was about to go into game face. The anger and impatience on his face were evident, but she didn’t care. She kept her line of sight with his, ready for anything he was about to say or do. “Eat.”



It was all he said, as though the simplicity of the words were to suppose to instill some sort of fear in her. Looking back at him, she said, “I would rather starve.”



At that point Spike lost it and smacked her across the face, sending Buffy flying off the bed and onto the floor. It wasn’t enough force to knock her out, but it did sting like a bitch. Bringing her hand up to her newly swollen cheek, Buffy gazed up at Spike, who was intimidating in the way he stood above her. The fast food bag was thrown to the floor, it hitting her in the shoulder before it smashed into the ceramic tile, and Spike continued to tower above her, arms crossed.



Buffy stayed completely motionless, hand still on face and shoulder now newly doused with grease. It was at that point that it all fell apart. Sure, things were had already hit rock bottom but it was then that everything inside of her just shattered to pieces.



The tears began to cascade down her reddened face, which soon turned into gut wrenching sobs that consumed her entire body. She fell to the floor, curling up into a ball, holding her head in her hands. She ignored the vampire and continued to let every single cry, every single pent up tear that she had been holding back ever since she had arrived to this godforsaken place.



Cordy was dead. She had to be. Spike had said she was the only one to survive the attack on the club. Her best friend was gone. If she had only followed her gut and convinced Cordy to leave Sunnydale, to move onto the next town on their summer road trip, she’d still be alive. But she hadn’t and now Cordy was gone.



Everything was gone; her life, her freedom, her dignity. In less than two days she had gone from a UCLA undergraduate on a fun summer road trip to the warm body some Master vampire fucks to get his jollies. She was stubborn and she was strong, but she wasn’t invincible. She missed her family and desperately wished her mom would just hold her and make the monster go away. But the monster would never go away. He would never let her go.



She didn’t know why she had fought him on the food. All she had wanted was to get some control back and deciding whether or not to eat was the only freedom she had left. Buffy didn’t know if pretending to give into him was such a good idea anymore. If she did, it would mean giving up every single ounce of free will she had left. She didn’t know how much longer she would last if she did.



Spike watched as the human girl kept wailing as though he was torturing her. Her small body rocked from the powerful sobs that were coming out of her mouth. He watched, at first annoyed that she was now doing something else to contradict him but then he became perplexed. Not at what she was doing, but what her crying was doing to him. He felt something; he wasn’t sure what exactly. It wasn’t disgust or even pity. It was a sad feeling, painful to just watch her.



Utterly shocked, he realized he felt guilty. Not having felt it in so long, he didn’t recognize it at first and it petrified him. Feeling as though he had lost all motor functions, Spike backed away from her and stumbled to the door, frantically trying to get out of the room.



As the large wooden door flew shut, he slid down against it to the floor, face cradled in his hands. Only when he had slightly composed himself did he take note of the two minions who were posted to the room to keep guard. “Leave me!” Spike ordered in a not too pleasant tone, causing the vamps to almost run out of the hallway.



Taking in an unnecessary breath, Spike patted himself down in search of cigarettes. Lighting one, he took a long drag before he allowed his mind to return to his uncharacteristic feelings of remorse. How could he feel sorry about what he did? He was a vampire, no soul, no problem. Was it him? Did someone give him a soul like his poncy Sire without him knowing it? No, that couldn’t be it. He would know, wouldn’t he? Spike figured that it must be Buffy, his new thorn in his side. It had to be. Her incessant crying was like a hole deep in his chest, like a hand twisting his guts. But why her? She was definitely more trouble than she was worth. Than why didn’t he just kill her? When he had told Natasha and Damon that he had kept her alive, they were utterly shocked. What vampire keeps a human other than to feed?



Pinching the bridge of his nose, Spike sighed deeply. Was it because she had been the best fuck he’d had in ages? Maybe the demon saw her more as a release for his carnal impulses as opposed to just a good meal. Or maybe it was the small remnants of the man he had once been that longed to be loved, and who yearned for someone to just be his. Finishing the cig, Spike put it out in an old decorative vase that he usually used as an ashtray.



He knew he needed to go back inside the room and deal with her. However, he wasn’t completely sure how. Spike didn’t want to drive her into further hysterics but he didn’t want to lose the edge he had gained over her. Figuring he’d simply wing it, he slowly pushed the door open and slid into the room, making sure it was locked before he turned to face what he had left behind.



He found Buffy still on the floor, curled up just like she had been, but this time the sobs were gone, replaced instead by sparse tears and muted hiccups. Spike opted to react, not think, just act, as he knelt down next to her. She flinched when he placed his hand on her arm, but he ignored it, undoing the manacles around her wrists. Buffy remained stiff with eyes unfocused that stared out at the floor in front of her. He picked her up into his arms and laid her gently back onto the bed. Spike pulled the blankets over her, deciding to sit down in his chair and wait until she snapped out of it.



Buffy wrists were raw from the rusty chains. She didn’t notice she was in bed until five minutes after being tucked in. As though waking up from a dream, Buffy came back to earth and all she saw was Spike watching her from his seat across the room. “You need to rest, go ahead and sleep,” he said arms crossed over his chest, trying hard not to look like he was being merciful.



Buffy shook her head. “Too tired to sleep,” she croaked; her voice hoarse from all the crying she had been doing.



Spike nodded. “Fine, then at least eat. You probably haven’t had anything in twenty four hours,” he said getting up and handing her the only salvageable item left in the squashed paper bag, a wrapped up cheeseburger.



Buffy took it without saying a word, unwrapped it, and took a bite. Eating the not-so-great-tasting burger, Buffy’s hunger intensified and soon she was ravenously devouring the sandwich until it was completely gone. Feeling a bit embarrassed at her sudden pig out, Buffy kept her head bowed, not wishing to meet his eyes again.



After a few minutes, she felt the bed sink a little and looked up to see Spike sitting next to her. He pulled the blankets back up to her chin and got comfortable in the spot beside her on the king sized bed. Buffy kept still, tense and distant from his actions, confused at his sudden change in attitude. He didn’t move to touch her, just letting her be as he reclined against the headboard.



“You’re gonna need clothes and whatever else you humans need to stay clean. When you feel up to it, I’ll get Natasha to get you what you need,” he said, not looking at her, his eyes focused on the end of the bed.



Buffy only nodded, unsure how she was supposed to respond. She had expected her breakdown to be the last straw; she was surprised when he hadn’t walked back in to kill her. There was an awkwardness now, tension in the air as they both quietly sat on the bed.



The silence was broken when Spike let out an unnecessary breath. “Thought of siring you, but decided ‘gainst it. Got enough vamps around me and haven’t been with a human in a long, long time. Figured it was time for a change. Making you my slave isn’t just something I want but it’s also something you need. The vamps ‘round these parts don’t keep pet humans unless it’s to feed off ‘em like cattle. For my vampires to accept you and to even protect you, they have to think you’re absolutely mine. So I tried to get you to submit, not really considering the possibility that you just might go bug shaggin’ crazy,” Spike stated slowly turning to face Buffy as he finished.



There, it was done. The ball was now in her court. It was all up to her whether she would continue to fight him or just give in. He admired that she was strong, a lot stronger than he had expected her to be. Spike didn’t want to break her anymore than he already had. He wanted her to stay the spitfire she was when she had been first brought to him. There was a fiery passion in her hazel eyes that he never wanted to see extinguished. He didn’t really want a brainless slave at his beck and call; he wanted, no make that needed, someone to challenge him.



A hundred plus years of killing, feeding and fucking were becoming a little mundane, especially in a town like Sunnydale. Buffy was a change, a breath of fresh air. That’s all it was, he reflected. He needed something new in his life. The foreign feeling of guilt that had stirred within him earlier had occurred in the context that he didn’t want to lose a potential challenge. It had nothing to do with the beautiful girl beside him and how she had broken down into a mess of tears and sobs from his unrelenting dominance. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was the first human he had encountered since he had been turned and not killed. It was all about his needs and had nothing to do with his lack of interest in hers. The feeling hadn’t been guilt for someone else; it was self-deprecation for almost ruining his chances at something different in his unlife. She wasn’t getting to him; she couldn’t be getting to him, right?



Buffy didn’t know what to say. She knew he was waiting for her to say something. Could she cave in? Could she live with herself if she did? What were the alternatives? Death. Sure a few hours ago she might have welcomed it, but at that moment, she was petrified at the thought of dying. She didn’t know if she could muster enough energy to face any brutal death that no doubt Spike would exact upon her for not submitting.



The only other option was doing what the vampire wanted. Just submit. Give in to him and be his wiling slave. Maybe she could try and maybe if she didn’t fight him on it, he wouldn’t be such a fucking asshole. He was being kinda okay at the moment. She could deal with that, right? Buffy took in a long deep breath. She would accept the fact she was his slave and no longer had any freedom, but she promised herself that she wouldn’t give up. The first chance she saw that could potentially get her out of this prison, she would take it without a second thought. She just had to be patient and wait. That or somehow convince the blond vamp to let her go. But that would never happen.



“I submit.”



Those two little words were exactly what Spike had been waiting to hear. He reached out a hand to Buffy’s neck, which made her whole body tense even more, and started to stroke his mark. Almost instantly Buffy’s voice hitched in her throat and she melted in his hands as he dragged his cool thumb around the two small puncture wounds.



He knew what touching his mark would do. He wanted to reward her like a good Master should. She agreed to be his and he was going to show her the benefits of that title. Spike could hear her heart start to pound erratically in her chest and her breathing became nothing but short gasps. He didn’t want to give her too much, she had to earn the rest, but giving her a taste of what could be should give her a little incentive.



Pulling his hand away, he heard her whimper in disappointment and felt her mold against his side, trying to calm herself down. He liked how his petting had relaxed her enough to allow herself to rest her head against his chest. The heat coming off of her alone was enough to burn him to the core. Not to mention that the scent of her arousal was forcing him to use all his will power just to not jump her and screw her brains out.



Buffy didn’t know what had just happened. One minute she was willingly agreeing to become Spike’s slave and then the next she verging on a mind shattering orgasm. What had he done? Touch her neck? Touch his bite? Why did it make her see fireworks? Was it some kind of vampire voodoo? Finally calming down, Buffy suddenly realized that half of her was nearly sprawled out on top of him. She slowly peered up with a look of complete perplexity plastered on her face.



“What did you do?” she asked hoarsely, her question filled with genuine confusion.



“I touched the mark that I left on your neck, pet,” he said looking down into her saucer wide eyes.



“Why would that make me almost co…I mean…How can it make me feel the way it did?” she asked, her cheeks blushing at her near slip up.



“Vampire thing, pet. It’s what Sire’s do to their Childers, to keep them in line. But what you felt is only a sliver of what a Childe would feel from a Sire’s touch. The connection is more than physical and the bond between them is much more heightened. What you felt is only residual but my touch, and only my touch, brings it out.”



“So humans don’t usually experience that?” she asked truly interested.



“Not really. Most people end up dead after vamps get through with ‘em,” he answered, making sure she understood how rare it was for him to even keep her alive.



“What’s a sire?” she asked meekly, unsure if her curiosity was gonna get her in trouble.



“’S the vamp that makes another vamp. Depending on how much blood is exchanged, the person who becomes the vamp will be their Childe.”



“Blood needs to be exchanged?” she asked.



“Yup. Person gets sucked almost dry, ‘til their almost dead. Then vamp cuts his wrist and gives his blood to them. Pretty basic actually.”



“I see.” Buffy remained nestled against his side, finding herself suddenly at ease.



“Go ahead and rest, pet.”



Spike soon felt her breathing steady out, telling him that she was sleeping. He had managed to get her to calm down and realize that she was better off not fighting him on everything. He liked the feeling of her small form snuggled up next to him, her tiny elegant hands casually sprawled on his chest, mere inches away from her serene looking face.



Spike pulled her closer to him and she simply responded by letting him. He tried to stay awake but he was starting to get tired, his eyelids feeling heavy, and as he slowly slipped into a dreamless sleep, the unfamiliar yet strangely comforting feeling of peace took over him.


 

Chapter Four: New Wardrobe



It seemed to have been at least three days since Buffy had made her pact with Spike, but how long had it actually been? She wasn’t sure. She had spent most of her time just sleeping, trying to recover from the first forty-eight hours of being captured. She slept most of the day and even into the evening, until Spike came back into the room just a little after sunset. He hadn’t touched her since the other night; she figured he was giving her time since he knew she wouldn’t fight him anymore. Spike usually arrived with food whenever he came into the room and she would eat it; she didn’t really have a choice in the matter. The three days had felt like one big haze to her, only sleeping and eating, but on the morning of the fourth day she woke up and pulled herself out of bed.



The floor was cold, making her scurry to the washroom. Buffy needed to shower; she felt disgusting. Her hair was greasy and tangled, she knew she looked horrible and she figured she probably didn’t smell much better either. Slowly turning on the tap, she filled the tub with steaming water, adding a bit of the lily scented body wash she remembered Spike had used the last time she had bathed. Throwing off the black t-shirt and easing herself into the hot water, Buffy let the warmth consume her as she sank into the bubbles. She tried her best to wash the grime off her body, but she didn’t have anything other than the body wash. She knew she was going to have to ask Spike for shampoo and other hygienic essentials. Buffy dunked her head, scrubbing her hair vigorously before coming back up. Once she wiped the water from her face, she saw two piercing ice blue eyes gazing down at her.



“Decided on a bath, pet? Good call,” he said never taking his eyes off of her.



“Yeah well, I was getting a little too ripe,” she replied.



Spike chuckled. “You want me to get Natasha in here sometime today? So she can get you whatever you need?”



Buffy only nodded as she continued to scrub herself. Deciding she was finished she glanced up at Spike, who hadn’t moved at all since he had found her bathing. “You mind?” she asked.



“Not at all, luv,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.



Buffy was annoyed. Sure he’d already seen her naked, didn’t mean she shouldn’t want some privacy. “If you’re going to stay, could you at least hand me the towel?”



Buffy stood up as Spike passed her the towel, his eyes wandering to places they shouldn’t. She ignored it and wrapped herself up before stepping out. Her eyes fell upon the dirty black shirt she had been wearing the past few days. “You wouldn’t by any chance have anything else I could wear in the meantime?”



Spike snapped out of his stare fest and walked into the room, with Buffy following behind him. He pulled open a drawer of the only dresser in the room and pulled out another clean black t-shirt. Buffy rolled her eyes at the fact that it was all he had to wear. Thanking him, she quickly dropped the towel and slipped on the shirt; like the other one it barely covered her ass, coming down to her mid thigh. She raked her fingers through her wet hair as best she could before sitting down on the bed, throwing the blankets back on her. She forgot how cold the house was until the goose bumps and shivers reminded her.



“I brought you some food,” Spike said, pointing to the paper bag that was on the floor beside the bed. Sighing, Buffy picked up the bag and hoped that it wasn’t anything from a fast-food place. One more cheeseburger and she was going to toss her cookies. Finding a wrapped up ham sandwich and a Styrofoam container of chicken soup made Buffy smile.



She ate in silence, slightly unnerved by the fact that Spike kept watching her from his position half way across the room. Needing to break the quiet void, Buffy asked, “So, what do you do during the day?”



“Why do you ask, pet?”



“Just that you can’t go outside in the sun and your not here either, so what do you do all day?” she asked stirring her soup with a plastic spoon.



“Not much. Keep the minions in line, check up on the others, stay in the shadows; I don’t know, the usual,” he answered shrugging his shoulders.



“You mean all those vampires are all downstairs?” she inquired. Buffy knew that the house was filled with vampires, but she didn’t really know how many there actually were.



“Not all, but most. Minions usually come and go, but the rest are here.”



“If their not minions, are they Childers?” she prodded further.



Spike laughed. “No, I haven’t got any Childers, luv. I guess you could call them my lieutenants, my seconds-in-command.”



“Like Natasha?”



“Natasha, Damon and Vincent are the three I trust, but there are others who I consider more than just expendable fledglings.” He responded, watching her continue to eat, appearing unfazed by what he was saying. “What’s with the sudden inquisitiveness, pet?”



“Don’t know. Just curious I guess. If I’m gonna be here I might as well know who’s who and what’s what,” she stated just as she finished her last bite of sandwich.



Spike smiled at her genuine interest in her new place of residence. He had been careful not to push her in the past few days and it paid off. Her strength was back and she was more at ease with him. He knew she would never fully accept being held captive and deep down she would always long to be free. Yet from what he could see, she was trying, for the time being anyway. Getting up from his chair, Spike headed for the door. “I’ll get things set up with Tasha. Go ahead and watch some telly if you get bored, luv.”



Buffy’s eyes flew to the medium sized screen placed in front of the couch in the other corner of the room. When she heard the door shut, she grabbed a blanket and dashed to the couch. Nothing like a soap marathon to distract me, she thought as she wrapped herself in the comforter. Finding the remote, she settled into an afternoon of degrading talk shows and twisted plot dramas.





********





“I’m not doing it.”



Spike was getting annoyed. He had asked Natasha to go out and get things for Buffy, but the bint refused to budge. “Wasn’t really askin’ as so much as orderin’, luv. Now go on and get what she needs.”



Natasha glared at him. “What’s with this human anyway?” she asked, poignantly crossing her arms.



“’S none of you’re concern,” Spike grumbled, pushing down his impulse to smack her for her insolence.



“Of course it is. She’s a liability to all of us. Did you even consider what would happen if word got out you had a pet human? Every single one of your enemies would know she would be an easy way to get to you. And the strange thing is that, for some inexplicable reason, I think you would probably do whatever they asked just to get her back. You worked too fucking long and hard to throw it all away,” Natasha pointed out, getting very flustered.



“Sure you’re not just jealous, pet?”



“Please! I got over you a long time ago,” she said, glaring furiously at him.



“Is that right? ’S not really comin’ through in your plea to get rid of Buffy.”



“Buffy? You’re calling the human by her name now? And what the hell kind of name is Buffy anyway?”



“Oh right, you don’t sound jealous at all.”



“I am not jealous!” she yelled, drawing the attention of other nearby vamps. Lowering her voice, she added, “I never asked for you to keep her. I thought we were bringing you back a meal you could play with, not coddle and spoil.”



“Well, that’s the rub now innit? You don’t get to decide what I choose to do with her. She’s mine. I’m not gonna debate this with you,” he remarked, quickly adding, “And you will treat her as though she were my Childe and do everything else that comes with that title.”



“Speaking of Childers, why didn’t you just turn her? It’d simplify everything up so much,” she asked.



“Not gonna do it and the reasons are my own,” he replied coldly.



“Fine. Whatever. Just ask yourself if a hot body to fuck is worth losing your Clan over?” she spat back as she headed towards the basement exit, immediately stopping when she realized he was still continuing the conversation.



“Be careful Tash. I might allow you to voice your opinion, and sometimes I actually listen, but I won’t tolerate your impudence. It will be my only warning. Do anything to that girl and you’ll be beggin’ me to stake you.”





*******





Buffy was in the middle of Teenage Paternity Tests on Maury when the door creaked open. Expecting to see a platinum blond head to pop in, she was a little put back at a woman coming into the room. Buffy eyes stayed on who she presumed was Natasha. The vampiress was of fair height, maybe a little taller than she was and she was definitely fit. Her hair was long and dark, almost black, and her brown eyes were large surrounded by thick lashes. Buffy noticed the bundle Natasha was carrying as she made her way to the couch. Dropping the few bags she was holding, she glared down at Buffy, obviously unhappy she had to run errands for the Master’s new pet.



“I got you some clothes, mostly jeans and tees, some other things Spike wanted you to wear and toiletries. If I missed anything, let Spike know and I’ll get it,” the vampire explained, her voice lacking any true interest.



Buffy looked up at Natasha’s face, not sure if she was afraid of her. “Thanks. I know you probably didn’t like being sent out for things that some human needed.”



The glare turned into a perplexed pout as Natasha hadn’t expected Buffy to say much, let alone that. Sighing she sat down on the couch. “It’s not a problem.”



Buffy sat awkwardly next to Natasha, unsure why she didn’t just leave. “So, you’re a vampire?” she asked, flinching the moment the words had left her mouth.



Natasha turned to look at her, a slightly amused smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah, and you’re a human.”



“That I am.” It was Buffy’s turn to look confused. “Spike’s not here, so why aren’t you all with the ‘grrrr’ and the going for the throat?”



“Because if I do, I’ll have to face a really pissed off Spike. And I personally like having all my limbs still functionally attached to my body, thank you.”



“I see.”



“So don’t worry. As long as Spike’s the big chief, you’re safe,” Natasha commented.



“What happens if he loses his head honcho title?” Buffy asked, quite concerned.



Natasha laughed out loud. “Won’t happen. There’s a reason why he’s our leader and it’s not because he gives dental.” The vampire became serious when she further added, “But if it did happen, you’d be up for grabs.”



Buffy suddenly became extremely uncomfortable. “So how do you know Spike?” she asked, needing to change the topic.



Easing up a bit herself, Natasha shrugged, “Known each other a while, even when he was still with Dru. God, we use to have such a wild time. Those were the good old days. I think we met in a bar in New York. But we didn’t band together until he showed up here a few years after that. I still remember it like yesterday. He walks into our lair, all fangs and attitude, proclaims himself leader and by the next night had everyone under his thumb. Vincent and I didn’t know whether to fight him on it or not. I guess he made an impression because we’ve been by his side ever since.”



“Spike mentioned Vincent. Said he considered him one of his right hand guys,” Buffy reflected out loud. “Is Vincent your Childe?”



Another giggle escaped the vampire’s lips. “No. He’s just a companion from way back; known him longer than I’ve known Spike. And Vincent has been a vamp way longer than both Spike and I have.”



“And he wasn’t upset that a younger vampire took control of his Clan?”



“Sure at first he was kinda unhappy about it. But what can I say, Spike’s an amazing leader,” Natasha replied, with a glint in her eye that could only be explained by admiration for her general.



“Are you and Spike…together?” Buffy inquired, unsure why she even wanted to know.



“We had a thing, right after Druscilla left him. He was lonely and horny and I was his available. He ended it but I didn’t fight it. Being the rebound after a relationship like the one he had with Druscilla was exhausting, to say the least.”



“Who’s Druscilla?” Buffy asked.



“A person I put behind me a long time ago,” the voice said behind them.



Spike entered the room just as Buffy had asked the question, uncertain how he felt about Natasha revealing the details of his past. Natasha stood up and nodded to Spike as she made her way to leave. “Got her what she needed. Told her to tell you if I missed anything,” she stated as she closed the door behind her.



Buffy remained on the couch as Spike made his way over to her, pulling off his duster as he sat down in Natasha’s spot. “So, what were you and Tash gabbin’ about, pet?”



“Nothing really. I was simply inquring into the workings of your clan. You know just gossip,” Buffy joked, suppressing a giggle.



“If there’s anything you wanna know, you don’t have to sneak around and ask Tash; I’m right here to answer whatever little query is naggin’ that blond head of yours,” he stated, giving her his trademark smirk.



Deciding to take him up on his offer, Buffy immediately asked, “Who’s Druscilla?”



Spike instantly groaned. “No one you should worry about, luv.” He got up and walked over to his dresser and pulled out a bottle of Jack from one of the drawers. Pouring himself a glass, he brought it and the bottle back to the couch. Taking a long sip, he sat back down, slouching down and sprawling out as much as he could. He continued to drink his whiskey, blatantly ignoring her question.



“Is she an ex?” Buffy pushed.



“She was the ex,” Spike emphasized before taking a big gulp. “Was the face of my salvation she was. She made me a vampire and ever since that night in that cold London alley, I was hers. Dru was my world, my everything.”



“Bad break up, huh?”



Spike’s face distorted into a look of pure pain and morose, making Buffy regret her persistence. “The worst. I spent more than a century with her; took care of her when she was sick, but the minute she gets her strength back, I’m suddenly not as important anymore. She had the nerve to say I was obsessed with the Clan, went on about how the stars told her I would stop loving her and then one day, I found her with a Chaos demon. Have you ever seen a Chaos demon? They’re nothing but slime and antlers. She left me that same night, ran off to South America, I think. So, I found myself alone, for the first time since I had been turned. All I had left was my Clan.”



Buffy was surprised at how hurt and emotional he was getting from explaining his ex to her. How could someone, who killed without so much as a second thought, be in so much pain over a break up? Spike was a merciless cold blooded murderer and here he was pouring out all these feelings of loss and rejection. Buffy was so thrown. “Can vampires love?”



“Yeah we can. Lucky us,” he replied, scowling at nothing in particular.



Buffy didn’t know what to do. She knew what it was like to lose someone you loved but she didn’t know how to comfort him. Placing a gentle hand on his back, she patted him gently. “You’re not alone anymore.”



Her words shook him out of his ill temperament as his shocked eyes turned to look at the hand that she was comforting him with. Pulling his eyes up to find hers, he saw kindness in their hazel depths, which only unsettled him further. The feeling he had had that other night, when he had held her while she slept had resurfaced; it almost felt like his dead heart was beating again. What was she doing to him? Why was she so nice to him all of a sudden?



Buffy knew that if she wanted her time as Spike’s slave to be pleasant, she needed to give a little. If she was nice to him, maybe he’d be nice back. She gave him a warm smile and pulled her hand away slowly, letting it fall into her lap. Maybe he might reciprocate her kindness, maybe he wouldn’t; it was at least worth a try.



Finishing off the once full glass of whiskey, Spike poured himself some more and took another big drink before mentioning, “You weren’t so willing to be my friend a few days ago, luv.”



Buffy shrugged. “No point in being a bitch. I can be civil.”



“’ppreciate it. Know it ain’t easy to play nice with the vamp that’s keepin’ you prisoner.”



‘Not to mention the same vamp that fucked her, used her and humiliated her all within a twenty-four hour span,’ Buffy added in her mind, knowing that he was thinking the same. “No biggie. So, I guess I better try on whatever Natasha brought me. How did she know my size anyway?”



“I gave her your old clothes. Your boots and underwear are still in the loo,” he said pointing in the direction of the bathroom.



She simply nodded as she got up from the couch, carefully bending at the knees to pick up her bags as to not flash the vampire. Buffy dashed to the washroom, eager to change out of her black t-shirt attire and into anything that resembled normal clothing.



Locking the door, she threw off the shirt and rummaged through the bag, finding some clean underwear, blue denims, black pants and an assortment of colored tops. Buffy dressed quickly, opting for the jeans and a red tank, before she opened the other plastic bag that had much needed toiletries. Freshening up and tying her long blond hair up into a ponytail, she opened the last bag and nearly gasped at what was inside. Apparently this was the bag with the things Spike wanted her to wear. The bag was filled with leather skirts, corsets, stockings and other pieces of clothing that would make a courtesan blush. Deciding to ignore the third bag, Buffy left them in the washroom, hoping Spike wasn’t actually serious about making her wear those things.



Buffy entered the room to find Spike still drinking from the now nearly empty bottle of Jack. He didn’t look drunk; she figured vampires had a better tolerance for the fire liquids than mere mortals. She sat back down next to him, lost for anything to say.



Spike turned to look at her, as though he had just realized she was sitting next to him. His eyes trailed over her now clothed form and he smiled in approval. The little red top she was wearing dipped low enough to give him a good view of her cleavage, making him grow hard. Her scent suddenly seemed stronger and he could have sworn her skin looked flawless even though he knew a few days back she had been badly beaten.



The bottle of Jack hadn’t gotten him drunk in the slightest, but it did sort of numb the pain he felt whenever he even thought of Druscilla. Gracefully inching his was closer to her, Spike placed a hand on her neck and stroked his mark, receiving the moan from her lips that he had been hoping his touch would elicit. He could smell her arousal intensify as he continued to lazily circle the wound with his finger. Spike wanted her badly. Every night since the last and only time he had fucked her, he tried to think of anything else, even resorted to finding cold comfort from one of his minions, but it wasn’t the same. After being inside her heat, Spike couldn’t be with anyone else. He wanted her so bad it was making him crazy.



Buffy felt herself lie back as Spike continued to stroke her neck with her eyes glazed over with lust and breath hitched in her throat. He hovered above her, taking in the sight of her. Her chest erratically rose and fell with every flick of his thumb against her neck; her usually tanned skin was flushed and glistened in the poorly lit room; and her small wonderful mouth was alternatively letting out small moans and biting its bottom lip. Spike leaned down and latched his mouth on her neck, gently sucking on the erogenous region of her wound. Buffy cried out in ecstasy; she could swear she could see sparks. The feeling only intensified as Spike started to grind his unbelievably hard erection into the junction between her legs as he simultaneously licked and nipped her neck. Buffy couldn’t take much more.



“Master,” she huskily called out, remembering the last time he had teased her.



Spike growled into her throat, swiftly reaching down and unbuttoning her jeans along with his own, desperately pulling them down far enough, but never breaking contact. As soon as the denim obstructions were at their knees, Spike entered her. He madly pumped into her, hissing from the heat she exuded; he could swear he was going to burn him to a cinder.



“Buffy…” he mumbled as he frantically fucked her, his pubic bone smashing into her clit.



“Spike…” she screamed out, not realizing she had called him by name as she came.



The sensation of Buffy’s inner muscles clamping and pulsating around him and hearing her cry out his name, made Spike instantly come. Grunting, he spilled his cool seed, collapsing on top of her, utterly spent.



For a few moments, neither one of them moved, until Spike began to stir. Lifting his head to look down at her, his lips floated inches away from hers, proposing the possibility of him kissing her. As he lowered his mouth closer, Buffy quickly turned away, giving him her cheek. Outwardly unaffected by her mild rejection, Spike pushed himself off of her, doing up his jeans as he sat up. Realizing her lower half was still exposed, Buffy struggled to pull her jeans back on. She sat up, fidgeting with her clothing, trying to fix herself up, doing anything to avoid looking at the vampire beside her.



He had tried to kiss her and she had turned away. Of course she turned away. Buffy freaked the moment she saw those luscious lips heading her way. How could he try and kiss her? ‘Well you do let him screw you,’ she inwardly scolded. But kissing to Buffy was different. There are so many more emotional implications with one chaste kiss then there were with a million fucks. She couldn’t let Spike kiss her. To her it would mean she had feelings for him. And how could she? He was a soulless blood sucking fiend. She could never love him. Her conscious couldn’t overlook what he was to love him, couldn’t trust him enough to love him. Her body, for the moment, was his and she accepted that. Buffy had submitted and with that came the Spike-gets-sex-whenever-he-wants clause. But it didn’t give him right to her heart, never her heart.



Spike remained still, uncertain again of his feelings. He had tried to kiss her and she turned away. The hot fuck should have been enough, so why in the bloody hell did he try to kiss her? He could remember lying on top of her, her small warm body pressed beneath his, and all he could focus on was how he would have liked to press his lips against hers. The odd feeling of contentment had filled him as he had gazed down into her hazel eyes, but that had been short lived. His stupid move to kiss her, only to receive her blatant rejection left him feeling dejected, like a cold steel blade churning in his gut. What was happening to him? How did she bring out things in him he hadn’t felt in over a century? Memories of Cecily and ‘being beneath’ resurfaced, making Spike long for another drink. Getting up, he made his way to his liquor stash without so much as a word to the girl beside him.



*some dialogue taken from 'Lovers Walk'


 

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