Buffy strained against the handcuffs, ignoring the protests of the chafed skin on her wrists. "Let me go," she said again in her most reasonable voice. At this point, really not so reasonable.

Spike pretended to carefully consider this. "No," he finally said with a little boy smile.

She shifted her hips as much as was possible under the circumstances. "Please, Spike, this isn't right. You're doing this against my will. Let me go."

"You know it's your own fault that you're still here. Just give me what I want, and you'll be on your way home," he told her.

"No! Not that. I won't do it."

He stared at her, very serious now. "Yes, you will. And you know it."

She licked her lips. She could feel the sweat from her back soaking into the sheet underneath her. She tried again to move, even just a little. Her thighs were killing her. She'd been lying on his bed for hours and hours.

He'd tricked her into the handcuffs easily enough, you can trust me, Buffy, it'll be fun, blah blah. Yeah, she was a sucker all right. Done in by raw lust. And when he'd produced a roll of duct tape from thin air, she'd actually been surprised. She'd fought him, of course, but once he'd wrestled one of her legs into submission, that had been that.

He hadn't taped her legs down, he'd taped them up, her knees drawn against her chest, then spread open. Duct tape: the binding of choice for rapists and vampires the world over. She finally understood how those poor butterflies at the mall kiosks felt, posed and pinned.

"You'll be so sorry if you don't let me go," she said sincerely. He didn't look impressed this time, either. "I will beat the crap out of you, Spike."

"Oh, is that so? And that would be different from every other week...how?"

"I'll stop seeing you," she said flatly, her voice all threat and promise.

He snickered.

She jerked the cuffs against the bars of his headboard. Her left wrist started to bleed. "Let me go!"

He pretended to carefully consider this. "No," he finally said, smiling.

She started to cry again. She'd been a rock for almost the entire ordeal, but once she'd cried the first time, about twenty minutes ago, it seemed to have given her body permission to betray her at will. He watched her impassively. She didn't want to think too much about how he'd gotten so good at ignoring the tears and pleas of others.

Sometimes she forgot his true nature, his moony puppy dog glances and snarky comebacks often making him seem almost...safe. But his eyes right now reminded her what he really was. He wasn't a rock star. He wasn't a gang member. He was a vampire, and they were a mean bunch of SOBs, weren't they?

She was naked, of course. And cold, which didn't help the cause any. Spike, on the other hand, was fully clothed, although he had been thoughtful enough to remove his rings. He'd taken up permanent residence between her legs, lying on his stomach, propped on his elbows. He had passed quite a bit of time by running his finger over and over and over her pussy, which was embarrassingly wet. It seemed to amuse him well enough.

"I don't want this," she said, her voice breaking.

"Then you shouldn't have dared me."

"I was joking," she said, her desperation making the word a lot more shrill than she intended.

He raised his eyebrows. "Good joke, Buffy."

She wiggled around. It was getting hard to stay still for even a few seconds now. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

His finger moved in circles. "I'm pushing you to the edge. That's where a Slayer needs to be. Laid out on the edge."

"It'll make a mess!" As long as her threats weren't lame or anything. She let her head flop back on the bed.

"You let me worry about that, love."

"It's sick! I don't want you to do this. You are such a fucking bastard."

Buffy, swearing! She really was mad. He grinned.

"Please, Spike. You say you love me. If you really loved me, you'd let me go. You wouldn't do this. Please."

He sat up with a dramatic sigh. "Fine! Christ, what a whiner. You are no fun, Buffy. At all." He reached for the handcuffs.

Buffy went limp with relief. The sweat was pouring off of her now. That was too close. But she still had time, if he hurried.

Spike watched her face as she thought these things. Then he reached down and pressed the heel of his palm hard into her tummy, just under her bellybutton.

Buffy's bladder let go. The moment it did, Spike locked his mouth on her and sucked greedily. "No," she screamed, "Please, Spike, no! Oh, God, no!"

He shoved two fingers into her, fucking her as hard as he could with them as he drank. Her no's instantly dropped away like excess baggage. All that was left was, "Please Spike, oh God, please. Please." When she came, it was an exquisite and frightening mix of pleasure and pain.

He cut her loose when they were both done, but her legs were so numb she couldn't walk for a few minutes. She lay there silently with her back to him, her shame licking her skin like a living thing.

When she could, she limped out without looking at him once. He didn't seem surprised by that.

She gave him the silent treatment for three days. Around 3 a.m. on the fourth day, she showed up at his door with a backpack full of bottles of Evian. He didn't seem surprised by that, either.