[Zlataslawa]

Crave, by NautiBitz
Chapter 32: Asking For It


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A/N: Check out the hot new banner from midnite_holic ! HOW HOT IS THAT HOTNESS? Thanks, midnite! <3

WARNING: NSFW. You might find some of this disturbing. Spike, on the other hand, thinks it's great, so don't be worried for him.

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"Result," he said, instead of 'hello'. "I was just daydreaming of you."

She smiled. "You shouldn't answer the phone like that."

"Right, uh..." He cleared his throat and started over with, "Oi, who's this? I don't recognize this strange number. Shag your wife every chance I get? Why, that's preposterous; I wouldn't touch her with a ten inch--"

"Spike?"

"Yes, love?"

Buffy sped through a yellow light on Beverly Glen. "Are you free for a few hours?"

"It's uncanny," he said, eating something crunchy. Maybe an apple. "That's exactly what you said in my daydream. Only you were here, and you didn't speak, it was more implied in the way you bent over my desk and let me spank you with a ping pong paddle."

"Taking that as a yes," Buffy said, checking her makeup. Eyes smoky, lipstick not on teeth... "Are you in your den?"

"Yes I am in my 'den', you adorable Yank. Why do you ask?"

She turned onto Charing Cross Road. "Do you trust me?"

There was a momentary pause, but no hesitation. "Completely."

"Good. 'Cause I have a horrible idea."

He chuckled, low and languid, "I like it already."

"Well, I hope you like it." Please like it. "I mean, if not, we can always fall back on the ping pong scenario..."

"Pet. I will like any scenario that makes you squirm."

Buffy summoned her bravado: "Oh, I'm not gonna be the one squirming, Spike."

That tripped him up nicely. "Is that right?"

"That's right. Now, I'm going to hang up, and you're going to wait for me like the good boy you're not."

She ended the call, exhaled, and rolled up to his gate.

* * *

"Here I am, waiting," Spike said, hands behind his head, one brow arched in amusement and intrigue at the sight of her all gussied up. "What do I win?"

Working her cherry red lips, Buffy opened her trenchcoat to reveal a skin-tight black corset, gartered fishnets, patent-leather knee-high boots... and nothing at all covering her barely-there wax.

The arched brow? Dropped.

A bitch to drive in, but worth that expression alone.

She let the coat fall to the floor, placed her hands on her hips and circled a fingertip over the hickie he'd left there. "You've been a bad boy, Daddy."

His eyes lit up, his adam's apple bobbed, and he rasped, "I have."

"Bad boys," she said, hip-switching toward him, "need to be punished. N'est-ce pas?"

She actually saw his breath catch before he said, "Oui."

Oh, he was into this. He was way into this. And she was swiftly getting into it, too. This might be fun for everyone.

"Now, if you were a long, black whip..." She approached his side of the desk and ran her fingers along the edge, "where would you be?"

Keeping a careful eye on her, he opened a low drawer with his foot. The snake whip was poking out of a hanging file folder.

If she didn't know him so well, she might have been more surprised. "Are all your files this kinky?"

He gave her a deviant little grin.

Whip in hand, she kicked the drawer shut. "You know what it is, don't you? What's inside you, making you behave like this?" She leaned forward until her eyes were level with his. "Demons."

His lashes fluttered, and he swallowed, entranced.

"Some people think demons can be scared off," Buffy said. "But I think they're wrong."

She searched his spellbound expression for red flags. It didn't say 'I'm disturbed' so much as 'I want to stuff my cock in your mouth'. All clear.

"We're gonna do this my way, William." Grabbing his hair, she dug a fishnet-clad knee into his chest and slid the whip's end over his cheekbone, down his throat, over his clothes. "You and your demon buddies are in for a rude awakening."

"Hahh-h," he breathed as she teased the whip over his scrotum.

She moved to his ear and whispered, "Do you want this?"

"Yes," he said, gulping. "Yes, Buffy. Don't you dare hold back."

"We could have a safe word--"

Adamantly, he shook his head. "No safe words. This isn't a game."

"You're right, it's not." She squeezed his erection. "But I can't promise I won't have a little fun."

That got a smile out of him. "Me either."

"Fine." She raised her chin. "Your safe word is 'Oh god, please stop, I can't take it anymore.'"

The smile widened. "Not bloody likely."

"We'll see."

"One thing," he said, mesmerized by her lips. "Room's a bit bare now. I took everything out, all that's left is the cross."

He'd officially retired his hooker torture chamber once he'd whipped and choked her in it? Aww, that was so sweet... Or... something.

"All I need," she said, and took a deep breath. "Es-tu prêt?" Was he ready for this?

"Je suis prêt," he replied. "Es tu?" Yes, he was ready. Was she?

"No talking," she said, wedging the whip handle between his teeth. "You don't speak."

There was a hint of mirth in his fiery glower.

She pinched his throat. "Get out of my chair."

* * *

"Well?" Buffy said, once her manwhore had undressed. "You know what to do, 'pet'."

Eyes never leaving hers, he lowered to his knees. How did he still look so strong and proud and sexy when he was being emasculated and debased? Maybe that was the point...

Anyway, she was in charge here. "Time's a-wasting, minette. Things to do, demons to enslave..."

Like a panther, he crept gracefully across the floor and out of her eyeline.

Uncrossing and recrossing her legs, she snapped a silk garter strap. It was amazing what outfits like this did to a man... and to the girl wearing them. Five minutes in and already she was drunk with power. Dark, corruptive power...

As she imagined him biting down on the whip, her heart panged. What if this dug up old skeletons that were better off buried? Was it a risk worth taking, just to push a boundary or two in the name of psychosexual exploration? Was she going too far; should she call this off right now?

Spike rounded the corner, whip trailing alongside him, and she saw the spark in his eyes. It wasn't just flickering, it was raging into an all-out inferno.

He really wanted this.

And he wasn't the only one. Disciplining Daddy? Buffy's latest surprise kink.

He rose to a kneel and, hands behind his back, bowed his head. That subtle action in itself was so tingle-inducing that Buffy was tempted to halt the whole production, push him to the floor and ride him cowgirl until she had at least three orgasms... but instead, she managed to say, "Drop it."

The whip landed in her lap.

She spread her knees and teased the thick, rounded handle on her slick, open pussy.

He watched intently, licking his lips.

She thrust the handle into his mouth and cooed in French, "Suck on it, kitten."

And suck on it, he did. He fellated that whip so eagerly, so sensually and so convincingly that she could almost feel it.

"Whoa-kay!" She tore it out of his mouth, but she was the one panting. "That's... Moving on."

He snickered, which was cute, yes, but totally unacceptable.

"I'm sorry, do you think this is a game?" She shoved his smirky little face to the floor and stepped on his neck. "It's not."

Caged by her boot, he let out a strangled, blissful groan.

"Stay." While Buffy dealt with the fact that Spike Pratt was a latent bottom who'd very possibly been waiting all his adult life for the right girl to come along and whip him senseless, she felt around for the dungeon switch.

In her periphery, she spotted a familiar color pattern on a photograph stowed beneath his laptop. Curious, she slid it out. The pattern was her bedspread, and the photograph was of her. It was the self-portrait she'd taken with her phone, blown up into a glossy 8"x10".

She didn't think of it at the time, but in this context, it looked like glaring, flashing evidence of their affair. As if he'd taken it, on her and Lindsey's bed.

But then, in this context -- Spike squashed under her boot, gurgling and huffing and straining to get a peep at her crotch -- that thought only turned her on.

God, she was as sick as he was.

Buffy hid the picture, flipped the switch and said, "Crawl."

Spike began his naked, all-fours trek across the Persian rug toward the secret room... and she began to whip him.

It wasn't as easy as it looked. The whip was long and unwieldy and she was grateful he didn't laugh at her first clumsy attempts. But by lash four, she got the hang of it, and before she knew it, she had a lust for blood.

When he froze to process the pain, it thrilled her just a little to be able to taunt him with his own words. "Did I tell you you could stop?"

He kept going, muscles gliding under his skin, and took the rest of his lashes like a champ.

As promised, the room was bare. The noose, the vibrating monster cock, the wall selection, everything but the cross had been removed.

It looked like an antique; the kind of wooden cross you might find in a very old church. It occurred to Buffy that it may have belonged to his mother. This could be the cross.

"Good thing you're such a sentimental guy," she said as she shackled him in. "Or I'd have nothing to chain you up to."

"If you'd thought of this two weeks ago, you would've--"

"Hey! You know the penalty for talking, don't you?" She grabbed his face. "Pain. Extra pain."

He didn't even pretend he wasn't aroused by that. She couldn't pretend, either.

"It's not that I want to hurt you," she said, coiling the whip around his neck. "I have to. It's for the greater good, and stuff."

Roughly, she pulled the whip taut and hissed at his ear, "Mama's gotta get the demons out of Daddy."

"Ahhah." It was a moan of sheer approval.

"I think I hear one now." She dug her heel into his back and pulled even harder, making him sputter and thrash. "Here, little demon..." When he turned purple, she unraveled the whip and said, "There you are."

He waited, panting.

"You worthless dog." Crack.

"Oh, yeah," he said, loving this, and Buffy could finally see why.

He loved it when she said those words, because with her, it was different. It was new. It was theirs. The more she made it theirs, the less his mother had anything to do with it. The more she siphoned from his past, the less it hurt.

In French, she said, "Shut your mouth, you filthy mongrel."

"Yeah?" he defied her in English. "And what if I don't?"

"Ooh! Asking for it." She raised her arm and let the whip sing.

* * *

When she had Spike babbling and sobbing and groaning in delirious ecstasy, dripping with sweat and marred with welts, Buffy said, "You know what? Change of plans."

She looped the whip around his neck. "See, the more I get to know your demons, the more I kinda like them. Is that weird?"

He coughed.

"Here's what I think we should do."

Unshackled, he collapsed.

"I think," she continued, pulling him up by the hair, "your demons need to prove their worth."

She slung her leg over his shoulder and mashed his mouth to her pussy.

"By making me come."

Spike followed that command with gusto: with a zealous little moan, he used his lips, his hands, his tongue.

"Oh, fuck, yeah!" Done with being in control, Buffy let him push her against the cross and devour her. "That's a... good little demon..."

He laughed with her, but didn't let up.

"Unh!" Holding the shackles for support, she agitated against his tongue and what was he putting inside of her...? Oh, whip handle. God, he was raunchy. "God, you're so... God!"

He moaned into her again, and she felt her felt her face heat up, felt her sweat pour down, felt her chest nearly explode, and then... sweet, euphoric release.

The corset's constriction actually added a new height to her orgasm. She could still see fireworks before her eyes. Was that normal? "I think I'm gonna die."

He brought her down to him. "I got you."

She came out of her blind haze when he loosened the last red lace in her corset. "Oh... I'm on the floor."

"Yeah," he said, touching her hair and smiling at her. "Demons got the better of you."

"Not so fast," she said, clutched his neck, craned his cock to her pussy, and sat down.

He grit his teeth and pinched her hips.

"Unh... You're doing so good, Daddy."

His eyes rolled up. "Hahh..."

"You and your demons are doing so good."

"Fhh..."

As she rode him, she slipped the still-wet whip handle into his asshole.

"Oh fuck!"

"That's a good boy," she said, tightening her grip on his throat, "Come for Maman."

Eyes on hers, he made the sweetest, most heartbroken cry she'd ever heard, and came into her.

When it was over, he squeezed her tighter than a corset.

* * *

After a hushed, reverential afterglow, he held her close in his shower, solemnly dressed her... There was way too much reverence going on. And not enough meaningless chatter.

Sitting in his backyard patio, enjoying the third course of a delicious gourmet meal beside a water-featured fire pit, Buffy ended the silence with, "You really do have a nice view."

He let that sit for a moment. "Are you making small talk with me?"

"No. Maybe. A little." Now he was laughing at her. "What? You've been quiet."

"Well, yeah. You blew my mind tonight." He poured himself more wine. "Not much to say, unless you want to make big talk. Big talk, I can do."

Buffy pushed a kale leaf across her plate. Big talk, she didn't want to hear. "Small talk is easier."

"Not for me."

"You can't talk about the weather?"

"It's a lovely night, marry me." She dropped her fork. "Well, I tried."

Marry me? Marry...? At least he didn't hate her. Was she blushing? Could he see it? "Not hard enough."

"Fearlessness becomes you, love." He raised his glass. "You should try it more often."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Smiling to himself, he shook his head. "Nothing. Let's talk weather. London's brilliant this time of year; want to see it?"

"Wh... London?"

"I've got a meeting next week. Come along. It'll be fun."

She gave him a look. "Like I could possibly get away with that."

"Be fearless," he said. "Put on your shiny boots and corset and beat the snot out of everything you're scared of."

"I'm not-- scared of you." Is that what he thought? "You think I did that 'cause I'm scared of you?"

He shrugged. "Me, us... This."

"What? No, I'm..." Couldn't they just enjoy what they had? "God, no matter what I give you, you always want more."

"That's because I'm in love with you, and I don't see you wanting less."

Her head was starting to hurt. "You're seeing what you want to see."

"Am I? Then tell me, Buffy, what was all this?"

"All what?"

"Why'd you go out of your way to do this for me? Buy an outfit, dream up a nasty scenario... learn about safe words?"

"Why are you asking me this? We're having an affair, Spike."

"You came here to indulge my fantasies, not yours. To push my limits, without my ever having to ask. What do you think that means?"

"It means I'm an attentive lover."

He tutted. "Right. Give your husband this sort of attention, do you?"

Buffy pushed out her chair. "Thank you for dinner."

He caught her by the elbow as she stood, "Oh, come on now, don't--"

Failing to wrest free, she peered down at him under furrowed brow. Eyes wide and searching, he tugged her closer.

Their lips met first, and didn't come apart even as they wrestled. Dishes and silverware clattering to the ground, he fucked her spasmodically on the patio table.

There was no more talk that night, big or small.







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