Sword of
Damocles
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Author:
Dark Star Email:
eternity_ds@hotmail.com Website:
Dark Star's Portal Summary:
Waiting is the worst part. Disclaimer:
Joss Whedon is creator and owner
of all things Angel Rating:
Adult Warning:
Dark. Graphic. Not Nice. Notes:
This is the 7th part of my S&M series, Harsh Reality Pairing:
B/A Category:
Dark Distribution:
Just ask, please Thanks
as always to Jo for the Beta, and to Ares for her comments. * “You
haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” “Of
course I have,” she responded automatically before focussing on her best
friend and realising that she hadn’t heard what she’d said.
Sheepishly, she admitted, “I’m sorry, Will. What did you say?” Willow
frowned. “Are you okay, Buffy? Are you worried about something?” “Worried?”
Buffy queried. “You
know,” Willow went on helpfully, “If there’s big evil brewing, you know that
I’ll help.” Buffy
smiled. “Everything is fine, Willow. No big evil.” “But
still…” Willow sounded unconvinced, and Buffy reached across the table in the
coffee shop to clasp her friend's hand. “Thank
you, but there’s no problem.”
Buffy put on her best smile. “It means a lot that you care – but
really, there’s nothing to worry about.” Having
finally convinced Willow that there was no problem, and having heard Willow’s
account of her recent trip to Washington, the afternoon passed onward without
a hitch. On
her walk home after seeing Willow to her hotel, Buffy considered what had
happened. Willow had noticed something was wrong… she would have to be more
careful in future. It wasn’t something her friend could help with, and
indeed, she doubted that Willow would even understand the problem. It was
just something she had to deal with herself. * She
had the whole afternoon and early evening, before… she shook her head, her mind
shying away from later. And if she wanted to keep it that way, she knew she
had to keep busy. She
cleaned, she did her grocery shopping, and she cleared out closets. A little
voice in her head nagged her to rest, to conserve her strength, but rest meant
thought, so she got out her bucket and went off to scrub the basement. Later,
she went to the kitchen to make something to eat, but there was nothing in
the kitchen that she could face. It was a bad idea to eat before a session,
anyway. But she knew she would need the energy; so she chose a nice juicy
apple and sat down to take a bite from it. The piece stuck in her throat, and
she gulped down some water to wash it down. She noticed that her hand was
trembling as she picked the water up, but she tried to ignore it. Instead,
she got up, threw the uneaten apple away and cleaned the kitchen, but she
couldn't avoid checking on the time. She would soon have to go and get ready.
Eventually,
she made her way up to her room. Should she shower or take a bath? No -
bathing meant thinking. Shower, then. She crossed to the bathroom and
undressed, laying her clothes on top of the laundry basket. There was a
full-length mirror in the bathroom, and she stopped in front of it to have a
good look at herself. She would not look like this tomorrow, and she turned
slowly, looking at herself from all angles. Sadly, she moved away, chose
unscented toiletries from the cabinet and took them in the shower with her.
Her shower was meticulous; she washed everything extra carefully, took off
the hair from her legs and underarms, but left the little triangle between
her legs, because Angel preferred her that way. Stepping out of the shower,
feeling squeaky clean from head to toe, her heart lurched when she realised
that this time tomorrow, she probably wouldn't want to look at herself at
all. The
towel was soft against her body, and she dried herself slowly. She took extra
care with her skin, using a lovely unscented lotion to make her feel soft and
smooth. She ran her hands sensuously down over her hips, and shivered when
she remembered Angel touching her exactly like that, and calling her skin
'his canvas'. She strolled back into the bedroom naked, her hair wrapped in a
towel. She crossed to the dresser, dried and combed her hair until she was
satisfied that it looked good. At the bottom of her wardrobe she kept her old
clothes. These were the ones that she wore into the room; they were old but
still looked nice, and if they didn't make out of the room again, she
wouldn't be heartbroken about it. Even
after all this time, it still felt odd to dress as she was told to. Sometimes
Angel asked her to wear something specific, but he had not requested anything
for tonight. The only regular restrictions he had were on scent. She could
wear nothing that masked her natural scent, meaning that deodorants,
antiperspirants or perfumes of any kind were not allowed. Once, she had
followed that rule - but added perfume at the last minute to see what would
happen. He said nothing - just
cleaned it off himself with the scrubbing brush, and she hadn't ever done it
again. She could wear make-up if she wanted to, as long as it was unscented
and not waterproof, but she was never in a fit state to clean it off when
they had finished, and by then - she usually looked worse for wearing
it. She never wore jewellery. She
slipped the dress on over her head - she wore no bra tonight, and pulled up
her panties underneath. A pair of sandals completed the look, and she
couldn’t resist another peek in the mirror. She looked good, and she felt a
pang that they weren’t going out somewhere to have fun - she was going
upstairs so that he could have fun. Her stomach lurched, and she
pushed the thought away. But she was finished early, and she went to the bed
and lay down. Pulling her book from the table next to it, she decided it was
time for a break. She'd read the same page seven times before she put it down
in defeat. What was he going to do to her? She looked at her arms, the skin
still soft and smooth. Would they be bruised tomorrow? Would he make her
bleed? How much would he make her scream? She
got off the bed abruptly. She couldn't, couldn't lie there any longer
or she would get herself worked up. She disappeared into the bathroom to cut
her toenails, clean her teeth, and fuss with anything else she could think
of. When
it was almost time to go, she had a small drink of water and used the
bathroom, knowing that it was going to be a long night. Her stomach felt as
though it was full of little wriggly things, but she tried to ignore the fear
and shut her door quietly. It was time. * The Room was empty when
Buffy entered and made her way inside. She glanced around, hoping that Angel
had left some clue as to what would happen to her tonight, but he had left
nothing in sight. She wasn't sure if she was relieved by that or not; she
would just have to wait and see. She crossed to the bed,
and began to undress very slowly; she wished that she had worn more clothes
so that it would take longer.
Her mind was racing with the possibilities of the night, and she made
herself focus solely on the current task. She did not want to speculate on
what Angel was going to do. Peeling her dress off as
slowly as it was possible to do so, she folded it very precisely and placed
it on top of the bed Her tiny red panties came next, and were laid on the
dress: She slid her strappy sandals off using her feet and then bent down to
pick them up and place them on top of the dress and panties. When it was done, and there
was nothing left take off, she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed next to
them to wait for Angel. The waiting was the
worst part. All day she had kept busy, occupying herself with anything that
she could, so that she would not have to think about what was going to happen
to her. But now, as she sat completely naked and waited for him, there was
nothing else for her to think about. She tried to think about her morning
with Willow, her busy day, slaying, new curtains, anything to stop her
errant thoughts from reviewing past sessions. And it was worse in here. Every
part of the room held painful memories, and she licked dry lips and tried to
get a handle on the burgeoning fear in her chest. How long she waited, she
had no idea. There were no clocks in here. But it felt like she had been
alone with the horrors her memory had dredged up for hours, and by the time
she heard him open the door, she was so wound up with anticipation that she
could hardly breathe. Angel closed the door
and approached her. Her heart started going berserk, and she felt certain
fear that she was about to have a heart attack. She tried to school her
expression to look unconcerned, and looked up at him. Oh, god. Was she really
going to allow him complete access to her body? Her eyes travelled
upwards; she needed the reassurance of his eyes to prove to her that it would
be all right. She was shivering, but not because it was cold in here, and
when her eyes met his, she clung desperately to the strength she found imbued
in them. Angel didn't move,
allowing her to fortify herself in whatever way she needed to. When her gaze
dropped, only then did he move forward to lift her chin gently with his hand
and made her look at him again. "So
beautiful," he murmured. "So obedient." Buffy's shoulders
stiffened. Nobody else on this earth could get away with calling her
obedient, but with Angel, in here… it excited her. With her heart racing, her
lips parted and Angel took advantage of the movement to run his thumb along
her lower lip. Even that slight touch
made her shudder with anticipation, and she kept absolutely still as he
traced the shape of her lips with his thumb, before parting them further and
pushing his finger into her mouth. Buffy didn't move,
instinctively knowing that he wasn't asking her to lick or suck on his finger
in practice for later on; he wanted to explore her, feel her; and over the
years he had explored every part of her so incredibly intimately that he knew
her body far better than she ever could. The finger slowly traced
over her teeth, her tongue, the inside of her mouth, and his expression was
one of complete absorption. She kept still, permitting his examination, and
fully aware that although he had barely touched her, her whole body was alive
with anticipation. Finally he stepped back
and asked her to lie back on the bed. He watched her getting into position,
and then he spread her limbs wide, and fastened them to the four corners of
the bed. When he was satisfied, he went to the chest to fetch something.
Buffy lay quiet, trying not to anticipate what he was going to bring back;
but this early in the evening she wasn't unduly worried. Until she saw what
was in his hand, that is. Her eyes widened when
she saw the massive phallic shaped object carried triumphantly in his hand.
She swallowed nervously. Great. She wasn't a fan of having artificial things
shoved in her, and when they were that sized… Angel laid it on her
stomach so that she could see it better. The bloody thing looked enormous.
There was no way he was going to get all of that inside her. But Angel had other
ideas about that, and he picked it up and positioned it carefully between her
legs. She frowned. He wasn't even going to try and arouse her a bit? She
tensed, knowing that it wasn't going to be a very pleasant experience. "Relax," Angel
suggested, and received a glare in response. But because she had lost
concentration for a second, the monster slipped just inside her. But she was dry
inside, and the phallus stopped moving. Undeterred, Angel pushed, feeling her
muscles clenching desperately to stop him. But he was fascinated by the way
it slowly disappeared inside her. He loved to watch her take things into her
soft body, and he enjoyed experimenting with what worked, even though he knew
she hated it. The monster was moving
again, and Buffy instinctively tried to move away from it, but her back was
pressed against the bed and she couldn't move. The horrible pressure inside
her increased. She knew Angel was being very gentle, for now, but wished he'd
take it away. The huge object stopped moving and she looked down to see how
much was left. Lots. She sighed and laid her head back again. Angel was
watching her, and slowly, he ducked his head forward, and his tongue touched
her there just at the junction where the phallus met her body. She
whimpered, this time with pure pleasure. His tongue lapped at her slowly,
licking upwards until he reached the little bundle of nerves. She couldn't help
herself, and she lifted her hips toward him, wanting more. At the same time, her inner muscles
stretched and she impaled herself on the hated object inside her.
Angel increased his attention on her clit, and she wriggled, wanting more,
and the object slipped deeper with each thrust. She didn't care; she just
wanted his mouth on her, and she eagerly pushed to meet him. At the same time as
pleasuring her, Angel began to rock the monster back and forward, it slammed
at something deep inside her and she whimpered and squirmed. Back and forward
it went, and Angel pulled away from her to watch the display. By now, her
excitement had lubricated her, and the passage of the huge cock wasn't easy,
exactly, but at least it wasn't so unpleasant, and she resigned herself to
the fact that Angel was going to amuse himself anyway, and it wouldn't end
anytime soon. She was starting to feel very sore inside from the constant
friction. Every so often, Angel would taste her and get her lubricated again,
and then the monster would fuck her some more. She couldn't believe how much
he was getting inside her, and finally, he lowered his mouth for the last
time and let her come before pulling the object out. "That wasn't so
bad, was it?" he asked in a conversational tone, laying the glistening
phallus on her stomach. "Was it?" he said more sharply, when she didn't reply.
Buffy forced herself to say no, hoping she didn't know what he was going to
say next. "Good." He
responded with satisfaction. "Then you won't mind when I fuck you in the
ass with it later, will you?" Oh, great. Angel left
her with that thought while he went to the storage chest to find some more
things to play with. Buffy tried not to think about what he was going to do
later, she really did. But her errant imagination, borne from memory,
supplied scenarios to her. Her mouth would open in a silent scream while the
monstrous thing opened her up, stretching and hurting her. She had no doubt
that it would hurt, and although Angel would lubricate it, it would
eventually make her scream when he rammed it home time after time. She tried
not to think about it, but the weight on her stomach was a constant reminder
to what she had to look forward to, and that was not something she wanted to
think about. Angel had
returned, his hand glimmered with an assortment of metal clamps, and he also
carried a small whip. Buffy relaxed; the whip was mild, and one that she
usually enjoyed a great deal. "You
like that one?" he teased, already knowing the answer. She nodded.
"I get to come afterwards?" "Yes,"
he replied, bending down to kiss her forehead. "You get to come
afterwards." Buffy gave a
small smile, reassured by his words. The clamps chinked together in Angel's
hand as he selected one from the group. But first,
she had to get through the clamps and she sighed. Let the fun begin. ** She screamed, the sound
long and drawn out, painful to his sensitive ears. Her eyes were wild when
her body relaxed back onto the wooden table, her fingers cramping below the
manacles on her wrists. She was breathing hard, watching his every move like
a hawk. His hand moved, and her body tensed in anticipation. A small box
dwelt next to her leg, a numbered dial, two switches and a large ominous
button on the top of it. He pressed the button down firmly, watching her body
spasm hard, and her scream was long and brittle, with little gasping sounds
at the end that were so sexy, Angel knew he wasn't going to resist being
inside her for much longer. Angel changed position so
that he could work the button with his left hand instead, and she gulped,
guessing what he was going to do. His right hand covered her mouth, his left
pressing the button simultaneously, and he felt her whimpering before
the pain hit her and she twisted off the table, her scream muffled by his
hand over her mouth, and her eyes, leaking water, pleaded mutely with him. It was the eyes that did
it for him, and he jumped up on the table and situated himself between her
legs. Quickly releasing his cock, he positioned himself above her, carefully
avoiding the electrodes on her labia, and slid himself in. She felt good, hot
and tight, but not tight enough, and he reached across to the box, flicking
the switch to the timer and watched her count through the seconds in her head
as he slowly moved inside her. Just before the pain hit, she tensed, her
thighs gripping his legs hard, but it was nothing like what happened when the
pain arrived. Her internal muscles clamped down on him, closing down
impossibly small, and he grunted, both from her pressure and from the power
of the electrical current itself. His movements increased,
riding through two more waves of pleasure before he came, his body trembling
almost as much as hers. He pulled out almost immediately, his fingers going
to her clit just as the last wave of pain hit her, and she lurched off the
table so hard as she orgasmed that he was afraid she might cause herself
injury. He snapped the power off, but Buffy was so highly strung that she
screamed again, expecting pain, and his fingers pulled hard at her clit so
that she orgasmed once more, the scream sounding exactly like the one caused
by the current only seconds before. The session over, he
removed the electrodes from her body, dressed himself, and unfastened her
manacled limbs from the table, letting her move them in her own time. He
picked up a blanket, and sat down on the edge of the table where he helped
her to sit up. He wrapped the blanket round her shoulders, and hugged her
close, talking to her all the time to reassure her that it was over, that she
had done wonderfully, that she had been extremely brave. He hugged her tightly,
feeling her trembling subside, and he stroked her hair and said again how
brave she had been. He couldn’t help it, his mind was running over the
nights' events, and how exciting it had all been. The current wasn't
something he played with often, it was too impersonal and didn't leave enough
marks for his liking, but electricity scared Buffy in a way that nothing else
did, and he enjoyed feeding from her intense fear. She huddled closer to him,
her body still trembling and he looked closer at her. She looked wretched,
and wanting to comfort her, he kissed the top of her head, rocking her
softly, and told her that everything would be all right. And all the time he
was talking, he remembered the pleasure he had taken watching her convulsing
in agony, and he longed to hear her scream again. ** Much later. Angel kicked the tin and
watched it bounce across the alley. He looked troubled, his mind on his last
session with Buffy. He'd tried killing a couple of vamps, but it hadn't
helped his mood. He came out of the alley and crossed to the house on the
corner. The door was as dilapidated as the rest of the building, and his tread
was silent on the carpet-less stairs.
Taking the stairs two at
a time, Angel reached the landing and headed over to the curtained-off room.
He pulled the curtain back and listened, but it was clear there was nobody
inside and he turned to make his way along the corridor. He had taken no more
than five steps when a door to his left opened, and a Spanish woman stepped
out, a bottle of wine clutched tightly in her left hand. Apparently not in the
least surprised to find him there, she gave him a broad smile. "Looking
for me?" she purred, seemingly unworried by his grim expression. Angel said nothing, just
stepped back and let her pass him. There was plenty of room, but the girl
rubbed herself against him as she went past, and her smile grew broader at
his unbidden gasp. He followed her back to the curtained room and watched the
accentuated roll of her hips that he knew was put on entirely for his
benefit. Inside the second room, the girl turned to face him and raised her
bottle. "Want some?"
she teased. "Don't play games
with me, Lucia," he warned. Smirking, the girl
turned to put the bottle on top of the dresser and reached for a glass.
"You don't mind waiting while I…" The glass was wrenched
from her hand and shattered against the wall. "Actually, I do," he
murmured in a voice so soft it brought a chill to her spine. The girl's eyes
widened in fear as Angel tangled a hand through her hair and whispered,
"Are you going to undress yourself… or do you want me to do
it?" Lucia gulped, her fingers
flying to the buttons of her blouse and, satisfied,
Angel released her hair and stripped off his leather jacket to lay it
carefully over a chair. While she shimmied out of her tight pants, Angel
reached across to pick up a jagged shard from the broken glass. * * * The washing was soft and
warm when Buffy pulled it from the dryer, and she busied herself with folding
it neatly into little piles. The door to the sewer
clicked open, and Buffy looked round in time to see Angel emerge from the open
hatch. She couldn’t resist a
small smile as he came toward her, but instead of the hug or kiss she was
expecting, he skirted round her to go upstairs. “Haven’t you forgotten
something?” “Sorry.” Angel reversed
back to her and gave her a rather chaste kiss on the cheek. Not about to let
him get away with that, Buffy grabbed his shirt and pulled him close enough
to kiss him firmly on the lips. His body tensed, and although he didn’t pull
away, he made no attempt to respond to her, either. A little hurt, Buffy
pulled back to look at him; she was disturbed to find that he appeared to be
avoiding her gaze. “Angel?” He gave her a weak smile
and stepped back. “I need to have a shower,” he explained, gently extricating
himself from her grasp. “Are you mad at me?” Angel blinked. “Of
course not,” he replied, and his smile made him look more like his usual
self. "Why would I be mad at you?" Buffy wasn't sure that
she believed him, but she didn't want to look too… needy… to him. So she switched
track to hide her awkwardness. " You've got some blood on your shirt.
I'm washing now - throw it in, and I'll wash it for you." She paused.
"How did you get it? Are you hurt?" Angel explained that he
had done it on some broken glass, and Buffy wondered why he looked so edgy.
He peeled off his stained shirt and dropped it onto the pile of dirty clothes
in front of the washing machine. Buffy watched his muscles ripple as he
stripped off the shirt, and idly wondered if she could persuade him to take
the rest of his clothes off. Fun could be had, she mused. Lots of fun. But by now, Angel was
going upstairs to have his shower, and it was only then that she realised
that although Angel had said the blood had come from some broken glass, there
didn't appear to be a mark on him. Vampire healing, she supposed, bending
down to gather up the dirty clothes. ** She watched
the blood run down her arm and lie in a gruesome puddle in the sink. The cold
water washed the gore away from her lacerated skin, but she continued to run
the tap until all the red had disappeared without trace. She dabbed at the
wounds with a towel, and winced as blood welled up again. She held the towel
firmly over the worst until it stopped bleeding, and then, moving stiffly
because of her other cuts and bruises, she gathered up the blood-soaked bits
of glass and dropped them safely in the bin. End. Part 8 ~ Discovery
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