AUTHOR: Tamara
EMAIL: Aramat330@aol.com
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Angelus kidnaps Buffy and stuff happens.
CONTENT: Sex, blood and pain. Did you really expect different? ;->
DISCLAIMER: The charcters aren't mine. They belong to Joss, the WB, and Mutant enemy. I'm just borrowing them. I was bored. Please, don't sue me.
NOTE: This is to Lex, Goddess of Titles, 'cause I love her lots!
Buffy woke to the feel of familiar fingers lightly stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh. Without opening her eyes, she smiled and parted her legs, giving those fingers better access to her secrets. She moaned as fingertips gently brushed her clit, gasped as those same fingers dipped into her center. And as suddenly as those fingers had caressed her, they were gone. She opened her eyes and was greeted by faint moonlight and that was when it all came flooding back.
She'd been in the cemetery fighting vampires as Angelus watched from the shadows. Although she hadn't seen him, she knew he was there, he always was. But she'd been determined to ignore him, to focus her energy on the minions coming at her from all directions. She tried hard not to let him distract her. She'd been fairly successful, staking moe than half of the dozen vampires that attacked her when he made his move. Coming up behind her, Angelus grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back. She spun around, fully intending to give him one hell of a fight, when she heard the bone crack. Closing her eyes against the pain, she never noticed as his fist came toward her face, his punch knocking her unconscious. And as she succumbed to oblivion, he picked her up in his arms and carried her away.
Struggling to sit up, she cursed viciously when she found herself bound securely to the bed. Determined to get free, she forgot she wasn't alone.
"You might as well stop, lover," Angelus whispered into her ear, his voice filled with amusement. "You're not going anywhere." He skimmed a finger down her her arm, smiling when he heard her stifle a moan, "Not until I'm ready to let you go."
Her struggles ceased as she heard the silked-laced steel in his voice. As he absentmindedly stroked her skin, she felt the first stirrings of fear. "What do you want, Angel," she asked calmly, the defiant look in her eyes belying the fear inside her. "Why am I here?"
He leaned in close, and she could feel his smile against her cheek. His lips brushed hers and she flinched away. "Because I want you," he answered coldly. "And what I want, I get." He grabbed her chin, forcing her to face him. "Don't forget that, Buffy."
And that was how it began.
**********
She stared at the cold marble wall in front of her, silent tears running down her face as the whip struck her flesh, but she refused to cry out. She raised her eyes to the ceiling absently counting the bulbs on the chandelier above her as the leather cut into her skin, leaving rivers of blood streaming down her back, but she stood tall, accepting each blow he dealt her. And finally she looked out the window, staring out at the garden below as she tried to forget the pain. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was hurting her. She would not let him know that, with each strike of the whip against her, her soul called out for his.
As the whip cracked again, she closed her eyes, bracing herself for the pain. It didn't come. Instead she felt his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently, offering comfort. And while she wasn't fooled by the gesture, she couldn't help the anticipation that flowed through her as she thought about what was to come. When his lips touched her, trailing kisses along the nape of her neck, she gasped. His tongue traced the lashes, lapping up the blood that poured from them. And as his mouth skimmed down her back, soothing each and every wound he'd inflicted, she felt a surge of desire so strong she couldn't help but moan from the pleasure.
The first time he'd ever done this to her, she vowed to herself, as the pain threatened to overwhelm her, he'd never make her feel anything for him again, not love, not lust, not hate. She told herself he was unworthy of any emotion and the hours she spent alone, locked in the room he provided for her, were filled with little pep talks designed to make her immune to him. But when he'd visit her in the middle of the night she'd fall right back under the spell of his fingers as they coaxed moans of pleasure from her throat, of his lips as they caressed every inch of her body. And when he left her after his name erupted from her lips from the shattering orgasm he gave her, his parting words sending an ache straight to her heart, she'd break down and cry, her hatred for him paling in comparison to her growing hatred for herself.
Over time she learned that the words he whispered tauntingly into her ear when he left her bed, were true. She was his, body and soul. And his she would always be. But she'd also learned that, if she was his, he was hers. Demon and soul, he belonged to her. She owned him just as much as he owned her. That realization was cold comfort though. She told herself having him in anyway was preferable to not having him at all. And while the majority of the time that was true, she still couldn't stop herself from wishing things were different. She couldn't stop from hating herself for giving in to him, for letting him win.
She was pulled from her thoughts as Angelus undid the ropes that tied her wrists to the beam that ran along the wall, the beam he had installed just for her. In a rare moment of consideration, he ran his hands quickly over her arms, stimulating the blood to, once again, flow through her veins. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, lying her gently on her stomach to check her injured skin. When he saw her back was already beginning to heal, he flipped her over, smiling when she winced in pain as the silk of the sheets brushed against her wounded flesh.
From underneath the pillow he pulled a black silk scarf, which he used to blindfold her. As total darkness enveloped her, she felt him tying her wrists, then her ankles securely to the bed. He stepped away for a moment and she could hear as he quickly undressed, the sound of the zipper heightening the anticipation. When she felt him sit beside her on the bed, she held breath, waiting patiently for his touch, wondering how he'd torture her tonight. She didn't have to wait long.
She felt it first as it brushed the soles of her feet. The touch of the feather was so soft, it took her a moment to figure out what is was. Slowly, it glided over her ankle and up her calf before retreating and moving back up once again. Gently, he teased her with the feather and she groaned at the touch. Behind her blindfold, she closed her eyes as the feather was joined by his tongue. He ran the feather along her inner thigh, his tongue following. She parted her thighs, as far as her bonds allowed, silently begging him for more. He ignored her and instead he grazed her thigh with a fang, just breaking the flesh. The feather travelled over the flat plane of her stomach, and dipped into her navel, before journeying up to circle her breasts. As his mouth fastened and fed from her wound, he brushed the feather back and forth across her nipples, causing them to harden in reaction to the touch. And while he played with her body, alternating the touch of the feather with the feel of his mouth, she moaned her pleasure.
When he'd finished licking the last drop of blood from her thigh, his mouth followed the path the feather had taken. His tongue circled her nipple before taking it into his mouth and suckling gently. When she felt his teeth sink into her breast she cried out at the slight pain. He pulled back and watched in fascination as a river of blood streamed down her stomach. Dipping a finger into the blood, he sketched his signature onto her flesh, branding her in blood as his. He licked the rest of the crimson liquid from her body, carefully avoiding his name, before covering her breast with his mouth again.
As he fed from her breast, his fingers strayed to the juncture of her thighs and ruffled the curls of her mound. His fingers brushed her clit, causing her hips to buck instinctively against his hand. Slowly his thumb rubbed at the nub of her desire, teasing her gently. Just when he felt her reaching fulfillment his fingers left her clit and plunged deep into the hot wetness of her core. Over and over, he teased her, his fingers bringing her to the hilt before he ruthlessly dashed her hopes. She struggled against her bonds as his fingers fucked her, her hands longing to touch him, to make him feel what she was feeling, to urge him to put her out of her misery and make her come. But he soon reminded her that his pleasure at seeing her beg for his touch was more important. His fingers pulled out of her, his mouth reluctantly unfastening from her breast, and she groaned in protest. He unfastened the bonds around her ankles and soon he was postioning himself over her.
When his mouth found hers, she opened up to him, accepting the kiss, revelling in his need for her. And as his mouth dueled with hers, he plunged deep, burying himself inside her. She cried out against his mouth, as her body adjusted to the size of him and her pleasure mounted just from the familiar feel of him side her. It had been so long since they'd been together this way and the feel of him in her arms made all that pain that came before seem insignificant. Her legs wrapped around his waist, urging his motionless hips to move with her. He pulled back and, holding himself above her, he thrusted powerfully against her. As his arms bore his weight, he pounded into her, their only point of connection was his cock inside her body. She rose up to meet him, matching him thrust for thrust, an equal participant in their pleasure. Their mutual groans of pleasure sounded in the room when he sat up, grabbed her hips in his hands, and continued to fuck her, ruthlessly pounding into her welcoming body. And when he drove into her one last time, she felt herself fall into the abyss, and all she could hear were the echoes of their voices calling to each other as they gave themselves up to the pleasure.
When he pulled out of her body, she let him go, reluctantly unwrapping her legs from his waist. She heard him get dressed and she smiled sadly, knowing that their time was over. When she felt him tie her ankles to the bed again, when he failed to remove the blindfold from her eyes, she struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. She felt his fingers trace the brand on her body and then she felt nothing at all as he pulled away from her. The next thing she heard was the sound of his boot clad feet walking from the room, leaving her bound and open to the curious eyes of the minions that guarded her door.
And only when she knew he was gone did she allow herself to break down and cry.
The End
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