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 Post subject: Demons Are Forever (uncut) - POV Adult BDSM
PostPosted: Mon Feb 27, 2006 10:09 pm 
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A/N: This was originally written in response to Majik's Valentine's day challenge, but I got a bit carried away and it ended up being far too long to fit in the 5000 words allowed. I had to change the starting assumption to shorten the challenge entry so the beginning of this "uncut version" is quite different. Basically, down to the story of "the other first time", it's pretty different. After that, if you've read the challenge one, there's no real point you reading the rest. Except for the fact that's it's excellent so you might as well. :P

Title: Demons Are Forever
Author: Sto. Honest guv.
Fandom: Angel
Genre: Mild BDSM
Narration: POV
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series. Sadly, they don’t own me either.
Listened to while writing this fic:
- Good as Gold (Stupid as Mud) by the Beautiful South
- Love Cats by the Cure
- Black Leather by the Sex Pistols
- My Girl by Madness
Word count: about 7000, I've stopped counting.


The girl learns so fast. To think that not so long ago she hadn’t even… Oi! What the…! What’s going off, here? Ok… Kudos. You must be a little genius. You’ve cracked the ultimate communication system. Telepathy. Oh, please! Think I don’t know? You’re in my head, you’re reading my mind, you wanker! You must’ve practised focusing on other people’s thoughts for years and it’s finally paid off. Or—or you’re in the future and some polling company’s invented the thought-to-text machine. You’re a very skilled computer geek who wants to show off to all his geeky friends so you’re hacking brains instead. Either that or your skin tone is pea-green and your homeland Pylea and… and you have a bloody good grasp of your powers because you’re not even supposed to be able to access my thoughts, come to think of it. Something to do with thoughts being similar to reflection or something. Plus, I’m not even singing! Yet… Wouldn’t take much, though. If she asks nicely. Anyway, whoever you are, whatever you are, whenever you are… well done, mate. Now piss off.

No? Still here? Well there’s not much I can do about that, is there? Even if I came up with a cunning plan to make you scarper, well, you’d know what I was doing straight away, wouldn’t you? So, craftiness is out. Can’t win here, can I? Oh well. Winning is so overrated. Trust me. So, all that’s left for me to do now, is to say, “Welcome to my mind.” “Hope you enjoy the show.” Whatever. And, in case you haven’t got the password to my long-term memory, I s’pose I have to fill you in, too? As you wish…

My name’s Spike. I’m tall… ish, blond… ish, kind of bleached haired, like. I’m rather… fit. I mean this isn’t me bragging, right? What do I care if you picture me as good-looking or not? Right? I’m just giving you an objective description. Based on what I’ve been told. By the ladies. Many a time. And not just told with words, know what I’m sayin’? In fact, I’m being “told” right now. But we’ll get to that later. We don’t wanna be skipping episodes, now, do we? Ah, shame you can’t hear chuckles here. Or… Shit, maybe you can! Maybe you can feel my vocal cords vibrate. So if you can feel me laugh, that means you can feel all the other things that I’m feeling and… Bloody hell. You’re in for a good time, you are. Just as long as your stomach is safely attached where it should be. You know. ’Cause it could end up in your throat. Where was I?

Oh yeah. So, the name’s Spike. James Spike. Kidding. It’s Spike full stop. Sort of a street name. I could tell you how I got it or what my birth name is but, well, it’s not really relevant at this point. Come back another time to invade my innermost thoughts, and we’ll get to know each other. I’ll buy you a pint and we’ll have a natter and I’ll tell you all about good old me. Emphasis on old. I’m unfortunately not in a position to have a drink right now, my most sincere apologies.

So, just to finish with the formal introductions. I’ve got, like, blue eyes, I like music, you know, rock, punk, bit of Mahler, the usual. Sportswise, I’m into football… that means “soccer”, by the way, and… what else? Oh, I have been a bit of a poet in my time. Ok so read before you judge! There’s nothing pansy about poetry, you sexist bastard! I’ll have you know, the Sex Pistols would be pretty quiet without it! So would the Ramones, so would… anybody. Name a band. Take away the poetry. What have you got? Sodding M/A/R/R/S! Anyway, that’s who I am. I’m not ashamed of it. And, oh, yeah, I’ve also got one hell of a left hook. So I’ll have a bit more respect, if you know what’s good for you. Apart from that what else can I tell you? I’m in love. Aw, got your attention now, have I? So predictable. You wanna know her name, an’ all? You’re such a poofter, you are. Her name’s Bu… Bu… Go on, you can guess. It’s Bu…………gger off, I’m not tellin’ you. I wasn’t finished on the chapter about me, first! All right? All in good time, now.

I had a happy and secure childhood, blessed with the love of the wonderful woman that was my mother. I was a quiet and studious youth and, as I fondly look back, my eyes filling up, I yearn to recapture but moments of that genteel, peaceful, timeless epoch. A benign indulgence, the taste of a fruit scone soaked in tea, is enough to take me back to the long lost… Aw, bollocks. I grew up in London, where I had an unhealthy relationship with my freak abusive mother, then I went travelling round the world with some mates for a while, and I’ve been living here in California for a few years now. I work as a… pfff, that’s a good one. Um… an “assistant”, I guess. On—on a project. A long term project, kind of charity work. But not really church-funded. And… er… I’m more of a cat person than dog. Especially kittens. Yeah, all right, stop fretting! I will tell you about her! I just think cat or dog tells a lot about one’s personality, is all. But ok, that’s it. I’ve exhausted the pool of useless information about me. That’s all you needed to know. Movin’ on. Oh, and yeah! Also, I’m a vampire.

Yeah, fangs, grr, neck-bites, meals-on-heels, the full monty. And then some. I have something other vamps don’t. I’m not gonna go into detail, here, but I will say this. The foolish, spastic, ridiculous, bloody witless things we do for a woman! You bet: including me! Especially me, more like. There I was, living the unlife, minding my own business, perfectly happy -- ha ha! “Perfectly happy”! No pun intended. No, it’s just, in this context… oh, never mind. So, I was perfectly fine, hunting at night, having a game of poker between two schemes to slaughter a whole school in the day, shagging me bird at night and in the day, just, you know, fulfilling my everlasting destiny. Then I met this girl. Slayer by name, slayer by nature. Or, she met me? Always in me bleeding way, she was. Anyway. I fell in love. I know: sad. But you know what it’s like, she chases you with a stake, deals a few mighty kicks in your gut, next thing you know, the memory of her sunny hair keeps you awake in bed, trying to figure out a way to feel it on your chest during a different kind of fight. Well, me, I figured out a way. So, long story short, I packed in the murdering gig and you can now easily find me in the Yellow Pages, under “stupid evil-fighting, helping-the-helpless bastard”.

Again, I’m not gonna lay out my daily routine in front of you, but there’s a bit of background info you ought to know in order to fully appreciate the situation here.

About two and a half years ago, the world ended. Again. You’re not likely to recall the event because a bunch of PRs from the media department of Wolfram & Hart − that’s a well dodgy law firm we used to “control from the inside”, don’t make me bloody laugh − performed a delusion mojo for the public, and unless you were right there at the front row like I was, the whole thing will seem to you like a blurry memory of LA being hit by a hurricane. Remember it? Hurricane Gertrude? Well, the reality of it is, that hurricane had horns. Millions of them. And mucus.

And, I don’t know if you can picture a sea of evil but, basically, it should have ended the world. That was the plan. That was the inevitable consequence of that brawl. However… I’d been through two almost apocalypses before and, well, you could say I know my stuff. So I’ll spare you the gory details, but I ended it. I ended the end and saved us all. Ok so maybe I had just a little bit of help from my friends.

There was four of us. There’d been six a bit before but, by that time, there was four. And guess what? There still is. We all made it. Unharmed. Well, ish. One of us, the human one - Gunn, his name is - came out of it with exactly zero stomach. It was ripped right out in the fight. He almost kicked it, I tell you, but when it was over, this bloke I work with had this brilliant - if wacko - idea to transplant him with a dead Mok’tagar demon’s stomach, ’cause it was still in human form. And god, was that weird! It right near freaked me out, it did! Because, well, he normally never has brilliant ideas… So now, old Charlie boy’s good as new. Outside the diet, that is. Thing is, Mok’tagars are scalivores. And when with a Roman stomach… But we figured if he got enough soft, raw scales, he should be right as rain. So we all keep goldfish in about every room of the office because Gunn eats over twelve a day. And Angel - that’s the plonker I work with - reckons it “soothes” clients when they come in to ask for our help and they’re all stressed out. I’ve even got one right here on my TV set. Go on, Wanda, say hello to the intruder. Who’s gonna go on me mate G’s plate tomorrow night? Who? Anyway, just to tell you, a few minor dietary alterations aside, we all got away fine, with an even badder desire to kick evil’s arse. Call it vengeance. The way we’ve been moving for eighteen months, even apocalypses think twice before messing with us. You should see it, man.

But I digress. The point is, during that big fight, my life changed. Ok, so did yours, so did everybody’s. Because the world as we know it almost became nothingness as we know it. So, technically speaking, while I was getting my ribcage perforated by a demon tusk, you were getting your destiny changed by four suicidal do-gooders. Always the same jammy gits who get the cushy jobs. It’s all right, it’s all in a day’s work… So all of our lives changed during that fight. But mine more.

There was this particular moment, it’s so vivid I’m getting shivers down my spine just thinking about it. Feel that? The tingling? That’s me remembering. I was lying flat on my back, with a massive cloven hoof squishing my neck. Turns out the bastard demon - I don’t know what it was - was attempting a sort of bare-hand, or, well, bare-foot, decapitation. And I’m lying there, I’ve got the sharp end of the damn hoof already halfway through my neck and I’m thinking, “That’s it. I’ll never get to know if Sheridan and Luis eloped from Harmony to get off with each other.” Then this tornado, right, this, like, tsunami, appears from nowhere, deals this beast of a demon one single punch, and she smashes his face to pieces. Her fist literally went through the guy’s head. Then she looks at me and she goes, “On your feet, vampire.” Like, through. Like the horned arsehole slipped his head around her fist or someth-- like, yeah, like she got a new bracelet, and that happens to be a dead demon’s head. You know, as you do.

I mean, I knew her. She’d been “staying” with us for a few weeks and stuff. And I’d been “studying” her. You know, nothing fancy, analysing the extent of her powers by getting thrashed by her - under controlled conditions. So I knew she kicked ass. She’d kicked mine often enough. But I never in my wildest dreams imagined that she could be that powerful. That wild and… ungovernable. And that devoted all at once. I mean, even when she almost made time explode, we just thought, “Ok, she’s a demon, she’s a threat, she has a weapon. She is a weapon.” We assumed, as an ex-ruler, her motivation was power. Even I. I never suspected that her fuel was passion. But there I had it. A sense of utter, complete, unmitigated freedom, combined with total despondent tethered allegiance. Sounds like passion to me. So, question. Do you know what your first thought is when you’ve just been given a second lease on life by such a beautiful monster of a woman? Have a guess. “I’m not dead! I’m not dead!”? “Thank you for saving my life!”? “So relieved I didn’t just dust my way to Hell”? Nope, none of the above. In my case it was: “I am making it through this fight. Because after this, sure as eggs is bloody oval gooey yolky things, I’m havin’ a taste of hot monster sex.”

The rest of the event was over in a moment and lasted an eternity. Perhaps we’d have won on our own, we’ll never be sure. It was heading in the right direction. Me and Illyria - that’s her name, told you I’d tell you in good time - we’d opened up a crack in the earth. I knew a spell from way back and she enhanced it with sheer will. It’s a demon thing, hard to comprehend if you’re not in the biz. We’d managed to lure hundreds of those bad boys into the crack. It wasn’t a diddy crack, right, it was this humongous mother of a crevasse. And they were trapped there and we were waiting for the right time to close up the earth on their asses. Trouble was, there were always more and more coming, they kept falling into the hole and it was getting jam-packed, and we kinda panicked, and there was no right time. At that point, we had no idea where Angel and Gunn were, or if they still were.

Then it happened. Billions, millions of billions of wooden arrows, pissing it down like the thunderstorm we were in, but while rain’s never killed anyone… I got one of them arrows couple of inches above my heart and I tell you, I wasn’t impressed. But I dodged the rest, I just lay down and waited, with Illyria lying next to me. We both waited till all was quiet. When we looked up, most demons were dead, or not quite alive, or squashed in our crevasse, or desperately crawling off. The vamps had been first to fall victim to the wooden rain; that was, I believe, the idea. Then the wooden arrows had given way to silver bullets, then to mystical weapons of all possible types and descriptions until the very last leprechaun was incapacitated.

Me, I ran my fingers through my saviour’s blue hair, just to touch something real. And she didn’t bash my nose in! She just kept on staring right ahead, where she’d stared all along, at the air that had borne the arrows down. Then I spotted Angel, bit further away, near the beach. He looked about as gobsmacked as I was.

Now, I don’t believe in miracles. And I don’t believe in the power of good over evil. And I don’t believe we were meant to win this thing. But I do believe in safety in numbers. Especially when those numbers have an endless stash of weapons and are expert demon smacking vampire slayers. But I never got to thank Kennedy and her army for saving our asses. They left as they had come, silent, aloof and above, like the heroes they were. We haven’t seen them since. They were pissed off with us, because of… pfff, stuff that would take too long to explain, that had to do with that law firm I mentioned earlier. And Buffy, you know, my sunny-haired slayer from before… She didn’t even show up.

So, maybe, on second thought, there is a very slight possibility that I didn’t quite end the end by myself. Hey. Don’t piss me about over a technicality. I’ve got other things to worry about right now, you have no idea. But you’re gonna get an idea; in about thirty seconds, you’re gonna start guessing what I’m on about. And I’m pretty damn well curious, to see if you’re gonna have the guts to stay.

Do you know what date it is? No? What, mind-travel affect time-notion? Who the bloody hell are you, Sam Beckett? Give you a clue. If you were to look under this mattress, you would find a huge, massive, bright red, giant heart-shaped box of chocolates. And if you stretched your nosiness even further and had a peek in my en-suite, you’d see the sink is half-full with water and in it there’s a big bouquet of wild flowers, freshly picked from just before sunrise, except I got a bit carried away and kept on picking till well into sunrise – dopey prick – and I got me back an itsy bitsy bit roasted. Forget-me-nots and bluebells, ’cause she likes the colour. So, have you got it yet or are you dim? Yeah! Woohoo! We have a winner! It’s Valentine’s bloody day!

Except, it’s not, is it? Day, I mean. It’s about 11 at night, innit? So, a bright spark like you must be wondering, “How come the chocolates and flowers and various compulsory offerings of worship to the goddess Relationship have not yet been handed over?” Very simple explanation. I’m a prat.

And now you’re thinking, “Aw, bless. Poor sod went to all that trouble to get prezzies then he forgot.” I didn’t forget, you divvy! I just told you, I got scorched in the process, I think the unbearable burn-pain would have reminded me about the flowers at least a dozen times today whenever I leaned my back against something. Pay attention, will you? No, what it is, is… Ok, um, this is a tad embarrassing. Oh what the hell, we’re both adults, right? And you’re gonna find out sooner or later if you go on reading my mind. So here we go.

What it is, is me and Lyri, we’re a bit out of the norm. Yes, sexwise, you nitwit. Obviously, sexwise. Or… anythingwise. Did I tell you how she got here? Well, I’m saving that till your next visit because I’m on a tight schedule here, but I definitely must tell you how she got here. But, trust me, she’s not like anyone else. Certainly not like anyone I’ve ever been with. Not quite demon, not quite human. And yet entirely woman. You figure that one out. But what I’m trying to say is… Ok, before her, I’d never had sex.

I mean, sure enough, Dru was good. Dru was my… Me and Dru, we were soul-mates, no two ways about it. Mates, definitely. It’s the soul we were both widely lacking in. And yeah, it was good. But it was… Yeah, exactly that, good. That’s the thing. It was goodness. Spice, and thrill. Gluttony. Call it what you will. Pleasure.

And with Buffy it was pain. I’m strictly on about the sex here. Don’t get me wrong, that was amazing. But there was always an element of… masochism in there. I mean, you try sleeping with someone that you love more than anything, but that you know will never be able to love you back the same. Well, newsflash. It doesn’t just mess with your head. It affects the nookie as well. I’d be there, making passionate love to her, and I would see this gleam in her eye. Like she loved the moment and hated loving it. It always felt like, on some level, she condemned me for what I was. Or, worse still, who I wasn’t. Like her affection was some sort of underlying, unspoken punishment. Well, call me old-fashioned. But I like my punishments spoken.

With Lyri it’s just… magical. I mean, even plain sex is just never plain. Like her first time. Her first time was the most… beautiful thing in history. And I’ve been around for a large chunk of history.

I could tell she was scared. She’d never… Well, back where she’s from, she’d never had to have sex. She was this omnipotent deity that didn’t even need reproduction, never mind pleasure. She didn’t need suitors, didn’t need love, didn’t need tenderness. She was all that if she decided to. She was love. She could just lock herself up in her iodine tower, scrunch up into a ball, stop time for a few hours and be like, “Ok, today, I’m an orgasm.” Not that she did very often, I don’t think. But she completely had the power to do that. And that defeats the purpose of sex a bit. Of any kind of piss-arse Valentine’s day ever.

But she was scared because… Fear of the unknown, I guess. And she had this tight little petite body which felt stuff, and which was so precious because… because it had cost so much, and… Hmm. One day, if you’re good, I’ll tell you the whole story of her first time. Right now, it’s a different story that comes to mind. The story of her first time. The other one.

We’d been going out for a few months. In secret. Now, that wasn’t my idea, I was pretty against the whole “secret” crap, it conjured up a kind of nasty I-am-ashamed-of-you-you-filthy-vampire déjà vu. But she insisted that that was purely for professional reasons. She’d read somewhere that office romance is tricky and she was adamant that the “boss” shouldn’t find out. So I went along with it for a while. But Angel’s not stupid. Well, some of the time, very occasionally, he’s not. And he sussed us out. So he calls me into his poncy office and he doesn’t say much, he just goes, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

To which I replied, “Yeah, a drop-dead gorgeous almighty extinct demon. You?” He wasn’t amused. Anyway, I knew he knew.

That night, me and Lyri were getting… er… frisky, but I could tell her heart wasn’t in it. It was almost like she was both hyper and blasé. She’d, like, kiss my shoulder then she’d close her eyes and she’d have a very tiny little sigh. It could have been excitement. But I took it as frustration. So, I stop kissing her belly, I look her in the eye, and, I don’t know why, completely out of the blue, I’m like, “I’m gonna tell Angel. About us. I’m telling him tomorrow.”

She didn’t reply straight away, she just took it in, like. Then she asked, in this really inquisitive voice, “Why?”

I lay down on my back next to her and, staring at the ceiling, I just said, “Because you don’t tell me what to do! I wanna tell people about my girlfriend, I’m gonna tell people about my girlfriend. You’re not my… monarch. I’m not your slave.”

She lay up on her side to face me and she said, very seriously, “I don’t wish for the leader to be informed.”

I tried not to show how much fun I was having in this little wind-up, but I know I was smirking as I said, “Well, tough! What you gonna do about it?” She saw the grin so I think she realised something was up. So I went for it. “What you gonna do? Tie me up so I can’t go spill it? Huh? Chain me to the bed and show me who’s boss? Teach me to do as I’m told? Discipline me till I learn obedience?” She had a hearty head-tilt.

I tried that stunt with Harmony, once. That’s a bint I bonked for a coupla years. On an’ off. But her reaction was so pathetic I swore I’d never do it again. Guess I’m not that good at keeping my word. But my demon bird was so hot and powerful and sexy, and I was so fully, so truthfully hers… I may as well be hers for pretend. And I was sure she had potential. Come on, what’s with all the leather? That’s gotta be a statement. Which doesn’t say: “my Harley’s parked out front”.

Before I knew where I was, I was flipped over on my stomach, with my left arm bent right up my back, which made my head sink into the pillow.

My reflex was to struggle. But the more I wiggled the more she bent my arm and pressed it hard against my back and I realised I was completely pinned to the bed. I mean, you know, if she’d been human, or even vampire, I’d have probably managed to shake her off. I’m not exactly hopeless as hopeless weaklings go. So my next reflex was to look at her face. But my neck didn’t bend that way. So I just waited like a twat with my face in the pillow and my arm as still as possible to limit the damage. She was eventually gonna let go, wasn’t she?

Then I felt this… tickling down my back that immediately turned into a sharp sting. Then a raw pain. And then I started wiggin’ out. Because she was digging a groove in my flesh with a fingernail, to the blood, and it hurt, and I couldn’t see her face. I couldn’t tell if she’d twigged it was a game. I hadn’t had time to make it clear that I was messing about, and Illyria, she’s got her own logic sometimes. So my heart wasn’t beating any faster for… mechanical reasons, but my brain was racing at ninety mph. If I’d really pissed her off, there was a very real chance that I’d end up really, really hurt or really, really powdery. There was no way she knew that some humans and/or demon humanoids play sex games that involve a certain degree of pain for enjoyment. To such a young, ingenuous alien, so unfamiliar with the ways of her adopted species, that’s just inconceivable, I reckon. And we’d never talked about it… unless you count that one time when, right in front of a haunted client, she’d asked me who Mistress Spanksalot was. God knows…

She ran another nail-line down my back, parallel to the first one and to my spine. Although I was wincing with pain, I still managed to mutter something like, “Listen, pet, don’t let’s get rash…” But I felt another nail sink into my skin, drawing another line, across the other two, this time. And I freaked even more because she wasn’t stopping which meant that she probably saw this as a sort of war instead of a game, and I was going to get badly hurt. And not for fun.

Then I felt something on my nape. Soft and wet. Phew. Sweet, sweet relief, Jesus! She’d just kissed me. She knew. She was playing along.

She brought her mouth to my ear and she whispered, “I don’t care for the way you speak to me. Someone forgot the ooze of yester years. Someone was a bad little vampire. Do you know what happens to bad vampires who challenge their sovereign?”

By that point I’d realised I was pretty safe, and I was getting rather stonkingly turned on. I hazarded a guess: “They get punished?”

There was a pause, then she just said, “Unsparingly,” and went back to her red lines on my back. She drew another one, parallel to the second one going across the other two. It was really tender because she did it dead slow and deep. You can’t begin to imagine how arousing that was for me. There was the whole thing of being totally subdued by the woman I love. Major turn-on. Then there was the pain. Not too harsh, not too mild, enough to feel a buzz, too much not to want it to stop, and enough to remember it after the deed. Just right. Finally, I’m sure, there was some sort of subconscious vampire collective memory thingy, whereby a fingernail drawing blood equals siring foreplay equals ultimate turn-on. She was a natural.

She carried on gashing my back. I stopped focusing on the pain for a minute because it felt like she wasn’t incising at random, it kind of felt like a pattern, like she was writing something. An X, I definitely felt an X. Then a circle, an O. Then another O, the other side of the X. Oxo? Hey, maybe she was hungry, she fancied a beef drink, who am I to mock oddball fantasies? Another X, right under the first one. Bloody hell! Bloody hell! She was playing noughts and crosses! She was playing bloody noughts and crosses on my bloody back using her bloody fingernails as a pen and my bloody blood as ink, the bloody tyrant!

She lost to herself and rolled me over. She grabbed my wrists in each hand and pinned them to the sheet, either side of my head. She cast her piercing blue eyes into mine and promised, “There will be more.” Then followed a long, torrid, best-sex-in-at-least-ten-planes-of-existence session. And guess who was on top.

That’s when I understood. What are the odds that the woman I have in my bed would turn out to be wired the same way as me? It’s not a fluke. It’s me. I go for freaks, looking for the one that will be freakish enough to match my own freakishness. That’s my gypsy curse. That’s why you’ll always see me with a vampire, or a slayer, or an ex-demon. Or an infectious entity. That’s why you’ll never see me with an ordinary human girl. Because monsters are it.

It’s not always like that. You know, that format. Sometimes, I’m happy to oblige. Ooh, big stuff, I’m exposed. You’re in the head of a true-blue switcher. It’s not so much how we play the game. It’s more why. See, we’re both, due to our nature, extremely tolerant of pain. Bit too much if you ask me. That makes pain fun, and slightly more painful pain interesting. And we both, due to our personalities, bore very easy. Oh please! I’ve been inwardly conversing with my imaginary geeky demonic mind-reader from the future for the past two hours, what does that tell you?

Trouble is, Illyria knows I can’t stand being bored. And she uses it. Know what she did once? I’d been… I don’t know what I’d done. Something she didn’t approve of, whatever it was. Anyway, she bursts into my room, closes the door and tells me that I’ve been naughty and that there’s a punishment with my name on it. God, I love that woman. Sorry. Anyway, I start creeping a bit, just for the hell of it, you know, “Please, babe, I’ll be good, I won’t do it again, please don’t punish me…” I’m all over her with submission kisses, and seriously, that is purely for the hell of it because once she’s promised a punishment she’s yet to go back on her word, never happened before. She’s looking more and more impassive and I’m getting more and more turned on. I start to strip and she stops me. She goes, “Who said your punishment was corporal?” Then she orders me to the car, she gets me to drive to the ice-rink where there happens to be a curling tournament! It’s an all-nighter. I am then informed that I am to watch the whole of the ten ends of each of the four games and that there will be questions. The most painfully dull night I’ve ever had. And I was stuck inside an amulet for three months once.

So, no. I didn’t forget. This afternoon. To give her the gifts. I was just about to.

She was on my bed with a book — she’s always reading something, Lyri is, says she must catch up. Catch up on what? Eight thousand years’ worth of the written word? — and she looked so sexy! Sometimes, I swear, she’s just too sexy. Too sexy for her slinky leather-skin shirt. Not me who said it, it’s Right Said -- No one. Well, she’s definitely too sexy for my own good.

So I sit down next to her and I stroke her side, you know, the curve just above her hip. She looks at me and I’m like, “Bluebird, you’re familiar with Valentine’s day traditions around here, right? How it’s customary for… people to show their fervour to the one they love by offering them chocolates, or flowers, or a card, something nice. Did you know that?” We’ve been together a bit over a year but this is our first Valentine’s day. Last year we all forgot it was Valentine’s day because Angel didn’t forget it was Christmas… Long story but basically, it involves an old mate of ours called Angelus. Anyway, my Lyri, this afternoon, she nodded all knowingly. And expectantly, like. “Oh right, good,” I says. “Don’t want you to look stupid if you’re around when Gunn gives his date a gift.” She wasn’t sure how to take it and the last thing I wanted was for her to be upset. I just wanted her to be mad. So I had to make it clear I was taking the piss. She normally gets it quite sharpish. So I stared at her as if I could see her feelings on her face and I went, “Oh no, this is embarrassing. You were expecting something from me? Oh, pants! I knew you’d misunderstand one of our traditions someday. The keyword here’s “love”, love. So it doesn’t concern us. If I loved you, course I would’ve got you a gift. A couple of gifts, probably. But it’s not like I love you, is it? This is just about sex. Innit?” That was her cue to start the game.

This was mine: “Gifts are obsolete. Today marks the beginning of a new Valentine’s day custom. Severe castigation of disrespectful wooers.”

Yep, yep, yep. Hey, you don’t happen to be corporeal, do you? Didn’t think so. Bloody waste of space, you are. If you’d been corporeal, I’d have asked you to go to the coffee table in front of the telly, grab my fags, and light one up for me. I am so gagging for a cigarette. Damn chains! She doesn’t always use chains, either. Sometimes it’s leather thongs or a rope or pantyhose tights. Which is sexy, granted, but not very tough, if you know what I mean. So half the time I break them and bugger off. But these chains, I just can’t break. Not for want of trying, either. Damn chains!

And now, here you find me probably halfway into the “castigation” and I know what you’re thinking - ha ha, see how you like it. You’re thinking, “Aw, he’s got his wrists chained to the bed-posts. Boo-hoo. Big deal.” Well, first of all, FYI, my problems started way before you got here. What you don’t know, is that prior to being chained here bored out of my skull mentally snogging a cigarette, I spent a couple of hours sat at that desk up there, writing two hundred lines of “It’s not just about sex, I really do love you.” Oi! Stop giggling, you cheeky bugger. Think that’s funny? Are you staying, by the way? ’Cause she’s coming back!

After the lines, she got me to stand by the desk and she started undoing my trousers. I was getting turned on to a stupid degree so I thought, “Brilliant! Straight down to business.” I wish! It was my belt she was after. She’s like, “Shirt off.” I lose the T-shirt because I’m in enough trouble as it is. She’s silent for a bit, then she goes, “Shirt on. Jeans down. Imbecile.” I think she was referring to the direct sunburn. So I got me backside lashed instead of me back. And it didn’t half hurt either. Note to self. Invest in soft, light, silk or something belts. And afterwards, while she was doing up the chains, she was ramblin’ on about how it’s always hard work to break insolence patterns but that it’s worth the effort for your stud must have the manners that befit your rank. And she concluded with: “I’ll be back.” And, excellent choice of quote because, honestly, the Terminator has nothing on her today.

So, yeah, ok? I am shitting myself. And I know I wanted this. I always do. See, this is where I’m a prat. All mouth and trousers. Because this afternoon, it all seemed like a damn good idea. We hadn’t done it that way for a while and I was missing it and I got stupid. Can’t help it, sometimes I just crave pissing her off! ’Cause she looks at you, with her ruthless eyes, those crystal blue eyes that say, “I’m Illyria, god-king of the Primordium, shaper of things, evil bitch monster of death!” And that’s… effulgent, man.

And, wanna know a secret? She doesn’t truly get pissed off. She plays a part, we both do. Come dawn she’s gentle as a lamb. She’s this grand mysterious lady who lets me seduce her. And she’s my best mate.

But until then, I’m gonna get a right tanning. It’s not the pain, either, that’s the highest bang. At the minute, to be completely honest, the pain’s a pain in the arse. Um, literally. It’s her domination that’s the real kick. The pain’s a domination tool, so it’s gotta be had. Illyria knows that, that’s why she doesn’t let me get away with it. She is raiding the hotel as we speak, looking for ideas, an instrument to inflict pain with, something new. And she’s gonna find it. And I really don’t want it. Churning my stomach, it is. But there’s no going back now. The only way out would be if I safeworded and I’m not gonna safeword. Because safewords are for sissies. And because I wouldn’t get my demon-domination fix. But you know what? There’s no chains on your wrists, you lucky sod. I wouldn’t blame you for making a run for it. I know I would.

Oh, I’d spilt pig’s blood on her sarcophagus! That time with the curling. On purpose, of course, just to see what she’d do. Blimey! Sacrilege, big time! Plus, it’s kinda dangerous. In an ancient-mystical-sacred-object-anointed-with-a-classic-spell-ingredient way.

D’you hear that? Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. She’s heading back. Just heard her footsteps on the landing. Course: I’m sure! Bloody vamp ears, mate, I win. She’s coming ba--

What did I tell you? Oh, bloody hell, she’s got a bloody…

“Lyri, babe… What… What are you gonna do with that?”

You don’t have to stay, I’d make an exit while you’ve still got time.

“I’m not certain yet. What name do you give this implement?”

“Where did you find that? And, seriously, what you gonna do with it? It’s completely impractical. How you gonna hurt me with that? It’s laughable.”

She’s not laughing. Go on. I won’t call you chicken, I’d leg it myself if I could. It’s gonna be a bloodbath. Follow your heart. You don’t wanna stay.

“The tormentor worries about the administering, the tormentee worries about the withstanding. I’ve used more inadequate. A blade of grass, once. I’ll find a way, Spike. What is it called?”

She will, as well. Seriously. Go!

“It’s called… A plunger.”

Spike: "Oh, balls. You didn't say he was a glarghk guhl kashma'nik!"
Xander: "'Cause I can't say "glar--""


 Post subject:
PostPosted: Fri May 05, 2006 2:08 am 
Feedbacking Sci Fi King
User avatar

Joined: Sat Jul 02, 2005 11:11 pm
Posts: 1807
Location: South Florida
I remember reading this in the challenge. It was great! :thumbsup :heart Loved the use of the plunger. :lol So this is the uncut version! :D

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Hopeless Candy-Coated, Stargazing, Dreamer!
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 Post subject:
PostPosted: Thu May 11, 2006 11:45 am 
Nicely done! I like how you use the plunger too and you've done a great job putting it together! :clap


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