Adult-FanFiction.org : Buffy

The Silken Cage: Journey	By : margotlefaye Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > Het - Male/Female > Angel(us)/Buffy > Angel(us)/Buffy Views: 21206 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel or any of the characters therefrom. No profit is being made from this work of fanfic, which is intended as commentary on the original, not as a derivative work. No infringement intended.

Chapter List
- 1-The Silken Cage: Journey
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 8-Part 8
- 9-Part 9
- 10-Part 10
- 11-Part 11
- 12-Part 12
- 13-Part 13
- 14-Part 14
- 15-Part 15a
- 16-Part 15b
- 17-Part 16
- 18-Part 17
- 19-Part 18
- 20-Part 19
- 21-Part 20
- 22-Part 21
- 23-Part 22a
- 24-Part 22b
- 25-Part 23
- 14
- 15
- 16
A,N, This chapter was originally posted in four parts. I think it is still too long for one part, so I'm posting what were 15a and 15b as 15a, while 15c and 15d will now be 15b. Although I have, for the most part, discarded the original author's notes and warnings that prefaced the sections, I decided to edit back in the one below.

WARNING: Some of Angelus’ musings are not pretty. As I’ve said before, Angelus is not a slightly cranky version of Angel. He is a demon, which is to say, evil, with very dark, very violent, very vicious desires. Now, I am not about fic in which Buffy gets abused and humiliated and ends up licking the hand that abuses/humiliates her. Buffy is a fighter, although there are ways and ways of fighting. So, Angelus won’t visit his darkest cravings on Buffy. But he won’t stop craving them, either, and there will be occasional glimpses into his evil heart regarding the subject. Like, now, for instance. To be honest, this chapter went someplace I was not expecting it to go, since the hint of darkness was supposed to end with Angelus’ musings in the first few paragraphs. However, I like where it went, and since it fits in with my Ultimate Plan for TSC (yes, I do have one, long as it is taking me to play it out), I’m going with it. We were supposed to get back to Mai in this chapter, but I think that has to wait until the chapter after this.

Somehow, I don't think you'll mind.

****************************************************************
He wasn’t sure what woke him, at first, until it came again: a low whimper from the girl lying asleep beneath him. The sound was so faint, even his keen vampiric hearing could barely perceive it. But it had come from his mate and he had sensed it at once, even in the depths of slumber. Angelus carefully withdrew from his lover’s body, rolling to the side, before gathering Buffy back into his arms. Still unconscious, she burrowed into him, snuggling against his chest.
He liked it. He liked the silken feel of her skin against his, the heat of her human flesh warming the marble chill of his own. He liked the softness of her femininely rounded form under his hands and pressed along the length of him, as well as the unexpected strength belied by that form. And he liked–no, he loved, he adored, he craved–the abandon with which she mated him: the champion of good, the Slayer, reveling in a demon’s embrace.
He had known he would enjoy making Buffy his prisoner. What was unexpected was the depth of his pleasure in her, and the breadth of her own response. When he had planned her capture, it had occurred to him that, before his appetite for her was sated, he might fuck her raw, and that he might continue to fuck her until she came blood, might turn her as she bled into his mouth and around his cock. His demonic nature had thrilled to the possibility, hungry for her pain. He had amused himself with that very fantasy on the drive between LA and Sunnydale, picturing her body bleeding beneath his, imagining glutting himself on her rich Slayer’s blood while plundering her near virginal little cunt. The vivid images had given him a raging hard-on, forcing him to pull off the road at one point, quickly jacking off into his handkerchief before he could resume the trip.
He expected the girl standing before him to break and run. He could tell from the hitch in her breathing, from the paleness of her skin and the glisten of tears in her eyes that she was well and truly frightened. She should be. Even vampires, who endured and indulged in pain, had learned to fear this whip. It would not have surprised him if, heedless of her nakedness, she had turned and fled, preferring the unknown jungle to whatever he had in store for her.
Yes, darling, run. Show me your fear. Give me an excuse to go after you, play gazelle to my lion, and let me show you what it truly is to be hunted, stalked, and taken. I can smell your fear, and I can hardly wait to taste it, as well. Run from me, my love, and let me prove to you that the farther you run, the closer I’ll get.
He gazed at her through hooded eyes, his legs extended before him, crossed at the ankles, while he idly fingered the lash of the whip. He seemed negligent, relaxed, almost bored, but he was, in truth, ready to spring after her the moment she was out the door. Or, perhaps, the moment after. It would be no fun if he caught her too soon. He would let her get down the corridor, perhaps out onto the shaded verandah itself, or even down the stairs. After all, they were protected from the killing rays of the sun, too. But before she could take one step into the safety that sunlight offered, he would haul her back, the lion running the gazelle to earth, and then she would learn how very much he enjoyed making her enjoy her pain.
Every instinct Buffy had was screaming at her to get the hell out of that room, now. Whatever tenderness Angelus had for her had evaporated at one incautious word from her. Sprawled as he was, she had a damned good chance of eluding him long enough to make it outside, and into bright sunlight where he couldn’t get to her, maybe even get clean away, find a phone, call Giles and her mom. She really, really ought to take that chance.
But something deeper than instinct, some intuitive understanding of her mate cautioned that it was really no chance at all.
She couldn’t run. So there was only one thing left to do. Heart pounding, ignoring the inner voice screaming at her to get away, Buffy took another deep breath. And then took one hesitant step toward him.
Angelus stared disbelieving, as the first step was followed by another. He could still smell her fear, but not quite as strongly. What the hell? He shifted, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in the chair, fingers still idly fondling the leather braid of the whip.
And then, her fear no longer mattered. Buffy took the remaining steps toward him, and sank gracefully to her knees at his feet. Just as gracefully, she leaned forward and began slowly to undo the buckle of his belt.
At that moment, all thought of lessons, hunts, and prey fled his mind, and Angelus was overwhelmed with the urge to let her finish what she was doing. He had been hard for her all morning. Now, the sight of her kneeling naked and submissive at his feet, the smell of her fear, and the feel of her little hands working his buckle were combining to make him so hard he was afraid he was going to burst the moment those deceptively soft hands settled on his cold, unyielding flesh.
And then the only point he would have proved to Buffy was how much control he didn’t have and how much power she already held. Not something he was eager to do.
Angelus forced himself back under control. He didn’t try to stop her from completing the task she had set herself, but took a different tack. Smiling down at her, he let the lash uncoil through his fingers, then gently draped it so that the rough braid of leather slid slowly down her spine. The handle of the whip was in his hands, but the lash poured over her shoulder and down her back to her buttocks, a caress, and a promise and a warning all in one. Her fear was back, but her hands never faltered at their task.
"I wonder, my love, if you fully understand what it is you are demonstrating. If you truly understand what it means to be my mate, the mate of a vampire."
"What do you mean?" she said, looking up at him once more, the silk of her hair sliding down her back, covering the whip.
"The thing about vampires is, we’re already dead"
"I know that," she said, moving slowly from the now opened buckle to the top button of his fly. Angelus raised the handle of the whip, pulling the lash gently back up her spine then letting it slide down once more.
"You think you know," he countered agreeably, continuing the caress of leather against her skin. "But you’ve never thought about what it really means. Because we walk, and we talk, and we can do so much that the living can do, you don’t think about the little things, the small differences that mark the truth of what we are."
"The difference like burning in the sun? Exploding on a stake? Because I use those differences every day of my life." She began to slowly pull the zipper down over his straining erection.
"No, darling. Little things. Like why I drink coffee, or why Spike has such a fondness for Jack Daniels and cigarettes. And I am willing to bet that you’ve never given any thought at all to just why I had those chains set up in the mansion on Crawford Street.
"What is there to think? Dru was a twisted mess and that was how she got her kicks," Buffy said as she tugged at the fabric of his pants, opening the fly more completely so that his rampant member could be released. She didn’t really want to talk about Dru, or any of Angelus’ other conquests. She wanted to prove to him that he didn’t have to prove anything to her, and the best way she could see to do that was to take his mind off of her pain by catering to his pleasure. And, she knew he took a lot of pleasure from the act she was about to perform. For that matter, there was something very erotic about the confirmation of her own power over him, in the performance of this act, beyond the simple sensuality of the act itself. Something primal and raw in the taste of his seed in her mouth, the feel of the velvet skin of his manhood against her lapping tongue. Buffy’s fear of his anger, if it was not entirely dissipated, was rapidly being submerged in her own growing desire. Her small pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips, she leant forward, but Angelus wrapped his hands in her hair and pulled her back.
"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy . . .still so much to learn. So sure you know your way through the forest, that you never notice the bent of the trees." He leaned over her, kissing her long, slow and hard. She returned his kiss with a soft moan, and once more the perfume of her desire mingled with the unabated bouquet of her fear. Wise girl. She realized that her danger was anything but over. Then her hands found him, and he moaned in return. Angelus continued to kiss her while her hands stroked slowly up and down his erection. Oh, yes, she was learning. He let her continue for several delightful minutes before he broke the kiss, releasing her hair, and leaning back in the chair. Once more, she moved toward him, opening her mouth to join in the work of her hands. With a supreme exertion of his willpower, he brought the handle of the whip up, gently, under her chin, dissuading her.
"I thought you wanted a demonstration," she said uncertainly, her hands faltering to a stop.
"I do. Believe me, you’ll know when you’ve demonstrated your understanding to my satisfaction. Now, get up. There are some things in the top drawer of the dresser that I want you to bring to me. Buffy warily got back to her feet, and walked over to the dresser. A few twinges of discomfort reminded her what was at stake. She opened the top drawer, and found that it was actually divided into two compartments. One was stuffed with sex toys. In addition to the ones they had used the night before, cleaned and put neatly away, there were a dozen more things, some of which she couldn’t guess the use for, some of which she didn’t want to guess. She dearly hoped he wasn’t going to ask her to bring him the ball gag, and there was a viciously spiked vibrator in gleaming silver metal that she wasn’t in any great hurry to try, either. There were also bottles of lotion, two smaller whips, a velvet blindfold and some silken ropes. She’d already had enough of the last, thank you very much. She didn’t know what to think of the lone ostrich feather carefully protected in a plastic box. The contents of the other drawer were a lot easier to understand. In addition to several garter belts similar to the one she had worn last night, there were several lacy teddies, corsets and camisoles. There were also some garments that didn’t have a hint of lace about them, like the corset in leather as red as freshly spilled blood. Buffy wasn’t sure that in his present mood, she wanted Angelus to see her in that thing.
"One of the garter belts," he called out now. "White lace, I think. And white stockings."
"All right," she said, finding them without too much trouble.
"And, there are several bottles of lotion in there. We’ll want the one in the green bottle, along with the blindfold and the feather."
"We will, will we," Buffy muttered under her breath as she retrieved the items. Angelus grinned, his vampiric hearing keen enough to pick up her words.
"There should also be a small velvet box," he said casually. "Don’t open it. Just put it on top of the dresser for now." Buffy eyed the small box with trepidation. None of the other items were too bad, but the box could be a problem. Not that there was much she could do about it. And, it was small. She picked it up, and found it weighed next to nothing, which was also reassuring. She would have to hope that whatever it held, it couldn’t do much damage. Buffy was about to close the drawer when Angelus called out, as if in afterthought, "Oh, wait. There is one more thing. There’s a vibrator in there. The one with spikes."
She decided she should have run when she had the chance. Trying to keep her hand from shaking, Buffy got the vibrator out and put it with the other toys Angelus had demanded she bring him.
At his direction, she donned the garter belt and stockings, then went to the closet for shoes. Most of the pairs were unexceptional. Sandals, pumps, and flats, they were shoes she could wear to the beach, or out shopping, or to another nightclub. But she could tell at a glance what Angelus had sent her to the closet to find. There was a pair in white suede with a heel so high–six inches at the least–that she would be forced up on her toes to walk in them. Holding onto the side of the closet door for balance, Buffy managed to slip into them, and take a few tentative steps back to Angelus. Running was now completely out of the question. It was all she could do to balance on the damned things, as she took slow, delicate steps toward her lover.
"Wait," he said. She stopped, and he looked at her, a slow, utterly evil smile curling his chiseled lips. "Lovely," he purred. "Put on the necklace I gave you yesterday." Buffy walked slowly over to the nightstand where the necklace had ultimately been left. As she moved, she found that the high heels had another unexpected effect. As her thighs brushed against each other at the slow pace dictated by the heels, she found renewed desire beginning to course through her veins. Buffy retrieved the necklace, and put it on, arching a brow at Angelus as if asking if he approved. He smirked in response, then flicked his eyes back to the dresser where the toys waited. Buffy fetched them, and turned back to him once more.
Ever since she had entered the room, while she completed every task he had set her, she had been conscious of his long, strong fingers playing with the black leather of the whip, and equally conscious of the warning soreness between her thighs. And despite this, his silky, deadly voice had acted on her like a caress. The sight of the toys, the knowledge that her lover would use some of them on her, the way she had dressed herself for his pleasure, all these things had contributed to awakening her own erotic appetites.
She was in pain. And she was aroused. If only he would be gentle with her, Buffy thought she would gladly impale herself on him as he sat in the chair, gladly demonstrate to him that the minor pain of her discomfort was nothing compared to her unending hunger for him. But he was a demon, and she could not expect gentleness from him. If she gave in to her unwise desires, Angelus would give her only his hunger. He would make her scream in pain, possibly for hours, before he permitted her to scream in pleasure.
And the horror was, not that he would and could do this, but that a tiny part of her wanted to know what it would be like when he did.
She was well and truly lost, she realized as she walked the last few steps toward him, the demanded toys in her arms. Not because he had abducted her and she was nearly three thousand miles from home. Not because she was in the middle of the jungle, and the only people for miles were servants of his servant, eager to do his will. She was lost because she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, in all the ways he wanted her, body, blood and soul. The knowledge devastated her, and sudden tears slid down her cheeks.
"Stand still," Angelus barked, gameface coming to the fore. The sight of Buffy’s tears had demolished his control, her beauty luminous and incomparable, her arousal fragrant and as obvious as her delicious fear. He had been about to leap for her, to hell with the toys and the lessons and his long-range plans. He had been about to bear her to the ground and impale her on his fangs and cock until she died screaming his name in pain and pleasure and rose as his mate. He could almost taste her blood on his tongue, almost feel her injured womanhood enveloping his cock. One more moment, one more tear. . .
Buffy could feel the tension in Angelus, and hardly dared breath. Her tears dried as suddenly as they had started. As the longest seconds of her life crawled by, she wondered what had gone wrong, now, and if she would live long enough to find out. Then, imperceptibly, something changed. Angelus hadn’t moved a muscle, but she knew that whatever crisis she had unwittingly precipitated had just passed. A moment later he beckoned with the whip. A gesture she would have found terrifying moments before seemed suddenly almost benign.
"Put the things down on the edge of the bed," he said, his voice deceptively tranquil. "But bring the lotion, the blindfold, and the box.
Buffy did as he demanded. As she got closer, he reached for her, guiding her until she stood, not at his side, but between his legs. He erection, still rampant, rose from the open fly of his pants. She could see a few pearly drops of pre-cum already oozing from the tip as it brushed against her stockinged thigh. Angelus draped the whip across his lap and reached for the blindfold.
"Close your eyes, my love." With a last, uneasy glance at the velvet box, she did as she was told.
The difference in their height allowed him, even seated, to blindfold her quickly and efficiently. He didn’t tie it tight enough to hurt, but when Buffy tried to open her eyes, she realized the futility. Whatever fabric the blindfold was made of, it allowed in no light whatsoever, not even through the weave of the cloth. Knowing Angelus, she wouldn’t be surprised if this was another bit of sorcery.
"Lovely," he said again, his deep voice vibrating through her flesh.
Ensconced as she was in utter, unrelieved darkness, Buffy found her other senses quickly compensating for the lack of visual input. The only sound in the room was her own breathing. Angelus didn’t need to breathe, and he had gone deathly still. Not even the whisper of leather against the fabric of the chair betrayed his movements. Surely she would hear it when he moved? Surely she would be warned if the whip were to come lashing toward her? Straining for whatever clues she could discern, Buffy realized that the only sound coming to her was the stirring of a light breeze, whispering through the palm trees outside their window, beyond the verandah.
So much for sound. Taste and smell were also more acute. The serving cart must have been cleared from their apartment while she was bathing. The delicious aromas of her breakfast were all but gone, overwhelmed by the scents of the flowers growing in profusion in the surrounding jungle. But, as well, there were other, earthier, odors: the scent of her own arousal, and the tang of something she recognized as the scent of her lover, a spicy musk that ratcheted up her desire yet another notch. She could almost taste that scent on her tongue, and she began shivering in half-fearful anticipation.
And, finally, her sense of touch was heightened as well. She was aware of the balmy air drifting around her body, aware of the thin bit of lace circling her waist and holding up the stockings, silky against her skin. And she could feel him. Cold and unbreathing and unmoving as he was, with nothing to alert her senses to his existence, she could yet feel him, so close that if she simply shifted her weight she would brush her thigh against the muscular, leather-clad flesh of his own.
She was aware of how tight her nipples were, how damp her thighs, how every nerve in her skin was awake and alive, as she waited for Angelus to touch her in whatever manner he thought would drive his lesson home. She devoutly hoped that she had read him aright, and that the lesson was not going to be unpleasant. With his unpredictable nature, though, she simply had no way to be sure. Buffy stood trembling, knowing something had to happen.
Nothing did.
Long moments passed as she waited–half in dread, half in desire–for Angelus to act.
Now he was on the verge of realizing the fantasy. Buffy was as helpless against him as he could desire, not only because of her compromised physical strength, but because of her enslavement, both to the sensual delights he was teaching her, and to the love she continued to feel for the idiot soul with whom he had shared his body. She wouldn’t be able to stop him if he wanted to take her again, and part of her wouldn’t even want to.
So, why didn’t he want to?
A low growl rumbled through him as he considered the question. Buffy shivered and began to move away. He stopped growling, and tightened his arms around her, whispering soothing nonsense into her ear. When he realized what he was doing, he almost started to growl again.
He was not in love with her, he reassured himself. She was simply too lovely a possession, too much of an erotic delight, to mistreat. Yes, that was all. The truth was, humans were so damned fragile, and with the drugs he had been feeding her, even his Slayer was not capable of enduring all the things he wanted her to endure.
But he wasn’t ready to turn her yet.
Angelus smirked down at his sleeping beauty, her full lips slightly parted, her long lashes fanned against cheeks flush and rosy from slumber, her arm flung heedlessly across his chest, to keep him close. How trusting she was, the angel sleeping in the embrace of her demon lover. Of course, she was right to trust him. He enjoyed her too much to hurt her, and anything or anyone who attempted to bring her harm would find themselves learning in excruciating detail just how Angelus had earned his Scourge of Europe sobriquet. But only, of course, because if Buffy were hurt, his own pleasures would be sacrificed. What other reason could there be?
He would turn her, eventually. When she had ripened into the full bloom of womanly beauty. At eighteen, she was already far lovelier than she had been when, at sixteen, she stole Angel’s heart. By the time she was twenty, she would be glorious; by the time she was twenty-five, incomparable. He might even allow her to live until she was thirty, when human women hit their prime.
Until then, he would have to pace himself. Compromised abilities or not, she was still his match, his mate, and she could still handle far more than a normal human victim could.
The main problem was the very thing he enjoyed most about having her: Buffy had been a virgin until she lay with Angel, and Angelus himself had only recently finished her complete defloration, breaking through the vestigial barrier Angel hadn’t quite removed. She was new and untried, and while she more than made up in passion what she lacked in experience, her body needed time to adjust.
He was an idiot, he reflected as he settled back to sleep. The Lamia venom had made him reckless, and now he was going to pay for it. Buffy had pushed beyond the limits her body, still new to intercourse, had, and they were both going to regret that.
But not completely. There were, after all, some rather amusing alternatives . . .
Smiling, Angelus drifted off into a pleasant slumber.
Buffy woke the next morning to the delicious aroma of fresh brewed coffee, and found Angelus wheeling a serving cart into their bedroom.
"This place has room-service?" she asked, as he brought the cart to her side of the bed. She stretched and sat up, demurely pulling the sheet up with her and tucking it under her arms to cover her breasts.
"Why wouldn’t they?" Angelus asked as he leaned over, pulling the sheet down and fastening his mouth over one dusky nipple. She gasped, arching into his mouth. He chuckled, and, after a few loving flicks of his tongue, let her go, tucking the sheet back into place. She looked at him warily from beneath those lovely long lashes.
"So, what’s on the tray?" she asked. He obligingly lifted the cover to reveal a large pot of coffee with a sterling silver creamer and sugar bowl. Instead of mugs, there were china coffee cups, and china plates on which the rest of breakfast could be served. And quite a lot was available to be served. In addition to a basket of baked goods--muffins, croissants, sliced breads and small pastries-- and a platter of fresh fruit, there was a dish of shirred eggs, a bowl of some sort of porridge, and a second platter holding various breakfast meats. A carafe of passion fruit juice completed the banquet. "Trying to keep my strength up?" she said, before reaching for a croissant.
"Not a bad idea," he said lightly, pouring them each a cup of coffee. Disdaining sugar, cream and the saucer, he took his cup and settled himself on the bed next to her.
"Then you might think about stopping the drugs you’ve been feeding me," she said sweetly, before biting into her breakfast.
"While we’re on the island, you don’t have to worry about them. It really isn’t practical, here."
"And the damned things take so long to wear off, it isn’t like two days really matter," she said bitterly.
"When I’m ready to stop them, they’ll stop," he answered coolly.
"And when will that be?" He said nothing, but smiled wickedly. Giving it up as a lost cause, Buffy stopped trying to bait him and returned her attention to breakfast.
Angelus watched her eat for a while, drinking his coffee. Though human food had its charms, he’d had more than enough the previous evening. But he liked watching her. Buffy was a healthy girl, a predator in her own right, and predators used a lot of energy stalking, hunting, and fighting their prey. He had diverted Buffy’s energy to other purposes, but she still required quite a bit of it. So, he was unsurprised to see her demolish, in addition to the croissant, half the platter of fruit, a generous portion of the eggs, and a sizable helping of porridge.
"This is good," she said spooning up another portion of the mixture onto her plate. "What is it?"
"Poi, I imagine," he said, amused, as she enthusiastically tucked in. Buffy wasn’t particularly interested in the sausage or ham, though, making do with one thin strip of bacon. When she seemed to have gotten halfway through her meal, he left and started the water running in the bath. He returned just as she piled her empty plates back on the serving cart, and leaned back, replete.
"That was lovely," she sighed, stretching with feline grace. "I think I need a nap to recover, though."
"Nap later. Bath now." he said, pulling the covers off of her and scooping her into his arms. She was surprised, but not upset.
"Okay," she said agreeably, fastening her arms around his neck.
It wasn’t until he set her down on her own feet, leaving her in privacy for a few minutes so that she could use the facilities that she realized there was a problem. It manifested itself the first time she tried to take a step.
She hurt. As he walked the few yards between the door and the sink, she found that the lovely soreness between her thighs from Angelus’ vigorous attentions was no longer quite so lovely. Whatever he had taken, whatever he had given her, she was now paying the price of it. But would Angelus be willing to pay his share of the costs? Buffy wondered uneasily if he would leave her alone long enough to heal, or if he would force matters. She shivered. Angelus had been very tender with her, but he was still a demon. His tenderness was simply a mood. If he wanted to take his pleasure with her, her own pain would be less than nothing to him, might even add to his own enjoyment.
And in her current, debilitated state, there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
Buffy got a grip on herself. Yesterday had been a fluke, an excess of erotic indulgence fueled by who knew what drug or magic potion. Perhaps he would be less interested in making love to her today. Then she remembered how she had felt when his mouth had fastened on her breast, the flooding desire which had risen at once in response to even so casual a gesture. Male hungers were notoriously more easily aroused than female hungers. Or, at least, that was what everyone said. And vampires were nothing if not creatures of appetite. If her own arousal was still so keen, it was likely that Angelus’ was even more so. How long would it be before he wanted more than a fleeting touch?
When Angelus returned to the bathroom, he found Buffy standing stiffly by the sink, brushing her teeth. He checked the water in the tub, then returned to her, picking her up in his arms almost as soon as she set her toothbrush down.
"Hey! Stop sneaking up on me like that!" Buffy was a little nervous, wondering if she were about to find out just how little of a fluke yesterday’s events had been.
"But, darling, you’re so delicious when you’re startled," he said as he carried her over to the tub. "Your eyes get huge, and your lovely nipples harden into peaks--"
"--and I get ready to stake your ass," she grumbled, his words reinforcing her concern.
"Don’t say things you don’t mean, lover," he cautioned, walking down the steps into the full bath.
As the warm water lapped her body, and as Angelus didn’t move to do anything but hold her, Buffy sighed and relaxed, giving up her grousing. Despite his crude words, he wasn’t doing anything she needed to worry about. Angelus would never be a gentleman. He would make vulgar remarks, and intemperate demands, ignoring how she felt about things. Until she was in a position to back up her threats, she really shouldn’t be trying to piss him off.
"Okay, how about I just say that this is lovely. The water’s perfect."
He cocked a brow at her seeming capitulation, but he was pleased, and bestowed a smile on her. It wasn’t quite like Angel’s smile. It lacked gentleness and warmth. But it wasn’t one of his nasty smirks, either. It was rakish and devilish and she realized she could learn to enjoy that smile, could strive to bring it to his face more often.
"There are some herbs in the water," he told her. "You should find them . . .soothing." It was her turn to arch a brow.
"Soothing? Really?" she drawled.
"You’re very new to all of this, darling," he said, with just a trace of possessive pride. "And, while I’m delighted that you saved yourself for me, your inexperience does have some consequences." His crack that she had deliberately kept herself from other men for his sake hit her hard, reminding her of his belief that her love for Angel had been ordained not as an end unto itself, but to lead her to her true destiny: Angelus. Somehow, that corrupted and tarnished her love for Angel in a way not even sharing Angelus’ bed had managed to do. Buffy gave a soft gasp of distress and tried to pull out of his arms. He was having none of it.
"Easy, Buff. I’m not saying anything we both don’t know."
‘You needn’t be so . . .gleeful . . .about it." she told him. "I wasn’t saving myself for you. I was saving myself for Angel." Angelus’ smile hardened. He had spent most of the past week tutoring the girl in his arms in the ways of fleshly delight. He had unfailingly brought her to orgasm, had nurtured her sensual proclivities, and indulged her appetites. He needn’t have done so. He would have enjoyed her just as much if she had been screaming in pain when he took her. And what was his reward for his extraordinary indulgence, his unwonted restraint? The woman who had clearly been born for him continued to deny his claim on her, preferring the pale, spineless shadow of himself, weighed down with that useless soul.
"We’ve been through that, my love," he said lightly, holding back his temper. "Angel isn’t the man you were meant for: I am. The sooner you accept that, the happier you’ll be."
Buffy laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, yeah. That’s what you want. My happiness."
Angelus bent low, to whisper in her ear. "Do me the justice to admit that at the very least, I want your pleasure."
Buffy stopped struggling and looked up at him from beneath her long lashes. Her pleasure . . . Angelus had indeed been extraordinarily attentive to that. Inexperienced she might be, but not ignorant. She knew that even when a woman had a patient and considerate lover, her sexual fulfillment wasn’t guaranteed. Vampires weren’t exactly long on either patience or consideration, except when their own self-interest was involved. So, there was some truth to his claim. Angelus had given her limitless, unstinting, unrelenting pleasure, in ways that Angel had never had the opportunity to do. But admitting the truth of Angelus’ remarks somehow seemed disloyal to the man she truly loved. She couldn’t quite bring herself to do that, just yet. "You only want my pleasure when it leads to your own," she temporized. "You’ve already told me how much you enjoy my pain."
"So I do, my love," Angelus agreed pleasantly. "How foolish of you to remind me." He abruptly removed the arm that had been supporting her knees, so that, gasping in surprise, she flailed for a moment before finding her feet. No sooner had she managed to stand than Angelus pushed her against the tiled wall of the bath, eyes flashing dangerously amber as he slid into gameface. "Because I’d been forgetting. I’ve been having so much fun enjoying the way you moan when I’m inside you, and the way you rub up against me like a cat in heat when I’m giving you what you want, and the way you use your tight little cunt to squeeze me until the only thing I can think about is how good it feels to bury myself within you, and the way your bare your throat to me and offer me the only blood worth having . . . I’ve been so busy enjoying those things, darling, that I really had been forgetting the other things I like about you." He ground up against her, his erection rubbing forcefully against her clit. Oversensitive from his earlier, ruthless attentions, it throbbed painfully under his assault, and Buffy couldn’t suppress a whimper.
"That’s my girl," Angelus crooned to her, before pressing his fanged mouth against hers so hard that he drew blood and made her whimper again. He tightened his grip on her upper arms until she could almost feel the bruises forming under his fingers, as he deepened the kiss, forcing her mouth open under his. Buffy wanted to deny him, but knew, instinctively, the he was not in the mood to respect a show of strength. Now was the time for yielding. So, she did. She forced herself not to resist his painful hold on her, or refuse the demanded entry to her mouth. Instead, she opened for him, and if she was still too sore to answer the rhythm of his hips against her own, she didn’t further enrage him by trying to pull away.
But he wasn’t yet appeased.
"I love your pain, babe," he said between brutal kisses. "You’re gorgeous when you’re weeping, and so deliciously vulnerable." He nipped at her mouth, licking at the droplets of blood. "All I have to do is lift you against the wall, here, and I could fuck you until you bleed. I could make you scream in pain, darling, and then I could make you come despite that pain. You know I could." Another brutal kiss. "Don’t you know that? Tell me . . ."
"I know you could," Buffy whispered tremulously. A rumbling purr greeted her words.
"I like the sound of that, lover. But I’m not sure I’m convinced." Buffy stared at him wide-eyed, confused, and beginning to be frightened.
"Do I need to prove it?" Angelus smirked down at her. The tears he wanted were suddenly in her eyes as the fear inside her blossomed.
"Please, Angelus," she found herself saying softly.
"Please what, my love?"
"Please don’t . . .what do I need to do to convince you that I know what you could do to me?"
Angelus tilted his head, as if subjecting the matter to his most thoughtful consideration. "Hmm. What could you do to convince me? Oh, a thousand things, lover. Tell you what. I’m going to leave you alone in the bath, let you finish up. I’m going to go back to the bedroom. In half an hour, you’re going to come in, and demonstrate why I don’t need to prove that particular point, all right?"
Buffy swallowed. What was there to say? "All right," she agreed. Angelus smirked, and dipped his head for one final, brutal kiss, before letting her go.
A half-hour wasn’t a lot of time, Buffy thought grimly. She was furious with herself. She had known that Angelus’ moods were mercurial, his temperament unstable. She had been lulled by his unwonted consideration last night and this morning into forgetting how vicious he could be. Well, she was about to get one hell of a reminder.
She allowed herself a good ten minutes to soak in the soothing, herb infused water, and to finish cleaning up. As she walked up the steps out of the tub, she was relieved to find that whatever herbs Angelus had put in the water had done some good. The soreness between her thighs wasn’t entirely gone, but it had been reduced to an occasional twinge instead of a raw chaffing that grew worse with each step she took. She spent two minutes checking the cabinet to see if there were any lotions or infusions that might further speed her healing. She found moisturizers, hand-creams and body oils, but nothing that seemed safe for intimate use, and she didn’t dare waste more time looking around. Ten minutes to towel off, moisturize, and then blow dry her hair while the curling iron heated up. That left a scant eight minutes for minimal make-up and very rudimentary styling. She was satisfied with her final appearance–artfully artless, her eyes merely accented with mascara and liner, while her lips were just touched with color from a berry flavored gloss, and her hair fell in soft waves about her shoulders–but her satisfaction wasn’t really the point, she reflected bitterly.
Only his mattered, right now.
She turned off the curling iron and headed back to the bedroom, not wanting to be a minute more than the half-hour he had specified. Taking a deep breath, she entered the bedroom–
–and let the breath she had just taken leave on a soft, dismayed, gasp.
Angelus was not naked, as she had thought he would be. And he was not reclining on the bed, as his words had led her to expect, either. He was sitting in a chair near the curtained window to the right of the bed. And he was fully dressed.
The Italian silk shirt was black as his sins, and it was open to reveal the smooth surface of his chest. The shirt was no blacker than the leather pants slung low on his hips, and these, in turn, were no blacker than the leather riding boots into which the pants were tucked. But none of them possessed quite the shade of pitch that had been achieved by the smooth, worn object in Angelus’ hands, with which he was toying when Buffy entered the room, the object which had stolen the breath from her lungs and which threatened to stop the beating of her heart in sheer terror.
A particularly vicious looking braided leather whip.
He expected the girl standing before him to break and run. He could tell from the hitch in her breathing, from the paleness of her skin and the glisten of tears in her eyes that she was well and truly frightened. She should be. Even vampires, who endured and indulged in pain, had learned to fear this whip. It would not have surprised him if, heedless of her nakedness, she had turned and fled, preferring the unknown jungle to whatever he had in store for her.
Yes, darling, run. Show me your fear. Give me an excuse to go after you, play gazelle to my lion, and let me show you what it truly is to be hunted, stalked, and taken. I can smell your fear, and I can hardly wait to taste it, as well. Run from me, my love, and let me prove to you that the farther you run, the closer I’ll get.
He gazed at her through hooded eyes, his legs extended before him, crossed at the ankles, while he idly fingered the lash of the whip. He seemed negligent, relaxed, almost bored, but he was, in truth, ready to spring after her the moment she was out the door. Or, perhaps, the moment after. It would be no fun if he caught her too soon. He would let her get down the corridor, perhaps out onto the shaded verandah itself, or even down the stairs. After all, they were protected from the killing rays of the sun, too. But before she could take one step into the safety that sunlight offered, he would haul her back, the lion running the gazelle to earth, and then she would learn how very much he enjoyed making her enjoy her pain.
Every instinct Buffy had was screaming at her to get the hell out of that room, now. Whatever tenderness Angelus had for her had evaporated at one incautious word from her. Sprawled as he was, she had a damned good chance of eluding him long enough to make it outside, and into bright sunlight where he couldn’t get to her, maybe even get clean away, find a phone, call Giles and her mom. She really, really ought to take that chance.
But something deeper than instinct, some intuitive understanding of her mate cautioned that it was really no chance at all.
She couldn’t run. So there was only one thing left to do. Heart pounding, ignoring the inner voice screaming at her to get away, Buffy took another deep breath. And then took one hesitant step toward him.
Angelus stared disbelieving, as the first step was followed by another. He could still smell her fear, but not quite as strongly. What the hell? He shifted, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in the chair, fingers still idly fondling the leather braid of the whip.
And then, her fear no longer mattered. Buffy took the remaining steps toward him, and sank gracefully to her knees at his feet. Just as gracefully, she leaned forward and began slowly to undo the buckle of his belt.
At that moment, all thought of lessons, hunts, and prey fled his mind, and Angelus was overwhelmed with the urge to let her finish what she was doing. He had been hard for her all morning. Now, the sight of her kneeling naked and submissive at his feet, the smell of her fear, and the feel of her little hands working his buckle were combining to make him so hard he was afraid he was going to burst the moment those deceptively soft hands settled on his cold, unyielding flesh.
And then the only point he would have proved to Buffy was how much control he didn’t have and how much power she already held. Not something he was eager to do.
Angelus forced himself back under control. He didn’t try to stop her from completing the task she had set herself, but took a different tack. Smiling down at her, he let the lash uncoil through his fingers, then gently draped it so that the rough braid of leather slid slowly down her spine. The handle of the whip was in his hands, but the lash poured over her shoulder and down her back to her buttocks, a caress, and a promise and a warning all in one. Her fear was back, but her hands never faltered at their task.
"I wonder, my love, if you fully understand what it is you are demonstrating. If you truly understand what it means to be my mate, the mate of a vampire."
"What do you mean?" she said, looking up at him once more, the silk of her hair sliding down her back, covering the whip.
"The thing about vampires is, we’re already dead"
"I know that," she said, moving slowly from the now opened buckle to the top button of his fly. Angelus raised the handle of the whip, pulling the lash gently back up her spine then letting it slide down once more.
"You think you know," he countered agreeably, continuing the caress of leather against her skin. "But you’ve never thought about what it really means. Because we walk, and we talk, and we can do so much that the living can do, you don’t think about the little things, the small differences that mark the truth of what we are."
"The difference like burning in the sun? Exploding on a stake? Because I use those differences every day of my life." She began to slowly pull the zipper down over his straining erection.
"No, darling. Little things. Like why I drink coffee, or why Spike has such a fondness for Jack Daniels and cigarettes. And I am willing to bet that you’ve never given any thought at all to just why I had those chains set up in the mansion on Crawford Street.
"What is there to think? Dru was a twisted mess and that was how she got her kicks," Buffy said as she tugged at the fabric of his pants, opening the fly more completely so that his rampant member could be released. She didn’t really want to talk about Dru, or any of Angelus’ other conquests. She wanted to prove to him that he didn’t have to prove anything to her, and the best way she could see to do that was to take his mind off of her pain by catering to his pleasure. And, she knew he took a lot of pleasure from the act she was about to perform. For that matter, there was something very erotic about the confirmation of her own power over him, in the performance of this act, beyond the simple sensuality of the act itself. Something primal and raw in the taste of his seed in her mouth, the feel of the velvet skin of his manhood against her lapping tongue. Buffy’s fear of his anger, if it was not entirely dissipated, was rapidly being submerged in her own growing desire. Her small pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips, she leant forward, but Angelus wrapped his hands in her hair and pulled her back.
"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy . . .still so much to learn. So sure you know your way through the forest, that you never notice the bent of the trees." He leaned over her, kissing her long, slow and hard. She returned his kiss with a soft moan, and once more the perfume of her desire mingled with the unabated bouquet of her fear. Wise girl. She realized that her danger was anything but over. Then her hands found him, and he moaned in return. Angelus continued to kiss her while her hands stroked slowly up and down his erection. Oh, yes, she was learning. He let her continue for several delightful minutes before he broke the kiss, releasing her hair, and leaning back in the chair. Once more, she moved toward him, opening her mouth to join in the work of her hands. With a supreme exertion of his willpower, he brought the handle of the whip up, gently, under her chin, dissuading her.
"I thought you wanted a demonstration," she said uncertainly, her hands faltering to a stop.
"I do. Believe me, you’ll know when you’ve demonstrated your understanding to my satisfaction. Now, get up. There are some things in the top drawer of the dresser that I want you to bring to me. Buffy warily got back to her feet, and walked over to the dresser. A few twinges of discomfort reminded her what was at stake. She opened the top drawer, and found that it was actually divided into two compartments. One was stuffed with sex toys. In addition to the ones they had used the night before, cleaned and put neatly away, there were a dozen more things, some of which she couldn’t guess the use for, some of which she didn’t want to guess. She dearly hoped he wasn’t going to ask her to bring him the ball gag, and there was a viciously spiked vibrator in gleaming silver metal that she wasn’t in any great hurry to try, either. There were also bottles of lotion, two smaller whips, a velvet blindfold and some silken ropes. She’d already had enough of the last, thank you very much. She didn’t know what to think of the lone ostrich feather carefully protected in a plastic box. The contents of the other drawer were a lot easier to understand. In addition to several garter belts similar to the one she had worn last night, there were several lacy teddies, corsets and camisoles. There were also some garments that didn’t have a hint of lace about them, like the corset in leather as red as freshly spilled blood. Buffy wasn’t sure that in his present mood, she wanted Angelus to see her in that thing.
"One of the garter belts," he called out now. "White lace, I think. And white stockings."
"All right," she said, finding them without too much trouble.
"And, there are several bottles of lotion in there. We’ll want the one in the green bottle, along with the blindfold and the feather."
"We will, will we," Buffy muttered under her breath as she retrieved the items. Angelus grinned, his vampiric hearing keen enough to pick up her words.
"There should also be a small velvet box," he said casually. "Don’t open it. Just put it on top of the dresser for now." Buffy eyed the small box with trepidation. None of the other items were too bad, but the box could be a problem. Not that there was much she could do about it. And, it was small. She picked it up, and found it weighed next to nothing, which was also reassuring. She would have to hope that whatever it held, it couldn’t do much damage. Buffy was about to close the drawer when Angelus called out, as if in afterthought, "Oh, wait. There is one more thing. There’s a vibrator in there. The one with spikes."
She decided she should have run when she had the chance. Trying to keep her hand from shaking, Buffy got the vibrator out and put it with the other toys Angelus had demanded she bring him.
At his direction, she donned the garter belt and stockings, then went to the closet for shoes. Most of the pairs were unexceptional. Sandals, pumps, and flats, they were shoes she could wear to the beach, or out shopping, or to another nightclub. But she could tell at a glance what Angelus had sent her to the closet to find. There was a pair in white suede with a heel so high–six inches at the least–that she would be forced up on her toes to walk in them. Holding onto the side of the closet door for balance, Buffy managed to slip into them, and take a few tentative steps back to Angelus. Running was now completely out of the question. It was all she could do to balance on the damned things, as she took slow, delicate steps toward her lover.
"Wait," he said. She stopped, and he looked at her, a slow, utterly evil smile curling his chiseled lips. "Lovely," he purred. "Put on the necklace I gave you yesterday." Buffy walked slowly over to the nightstand where the necklace had ultimately been left. As she moved, she found that the high heels had another unexpected effect. As her thighs brushed against each other at the slow pace dictated by the heels, she found renewed desire beginning to course through her veins. Buffy retrieved the necklace, and put it on, arching a brow at Angelus as if asking if he approved. He smirked in response, then flicked his eyes back to the dresser where the toys waited. Buffy fetched them, and turned back to him once more.
Ever since she had entered the room, while she completed every task he had set her, she had been conscious of his long, strong fingers playing with the black leather of the whip, and equally conscious of the warning soreness between her thighs. And despite this, his silky, deadly voice had acted on her like a caress. The sight of the toys, the knowledge that her lover would use some of them on her, the way she had dressed herself for his pleasure, all these things had contributed to awakening her own erotic appetites.
She was in pain. And she was aroused. If only he would be gentle with her, Buffy thought she would gladly impale herself on him as he sat in the chair, gladly demonstrate to him that the minor pain of her discomfort was nothing compared to her unending hunger for him. But he was a demon, and she could not expect gentleness from him. If she gave in to her unwise desires, Angelus would give her only his hunger. He would make her scream in pain, possibly for hours, before he permitted her to scream in pleasure.
And the horror was, not that he would and could do this, but that a tiny part of her wanted to know what it would be like when he did.
She was well and truly lost, she realized as she walked the last few steps toward him, the demanded toys in her arms. Not because he had abducted her and she was nearly three thousand miles from home. Not because she was in the middle of the jungle, and the only people for miles were servants of his servant, eager to do his will. She was lost because she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, in all the ways he wanted her, body, blood and soul. The knowledge devastated her, and sudden tears slid down her cheeks.
"Stand still," Angelus barked, gameface coming to the fore. The sight of Buffy’s tears had demolished his control, her beauty luminous and incomparable, her arousal fragrant and as obvious as her delicious fear. He had been about to leap for her, to hell with the toys and the lessons and his long-range plans. He had been about to bear her to the ground and impale her on his fangs and cock until she died screaming his name in pain and pleasure and rose as his mate. He could almost taste her blood on his tongue, almost feel her injured womanhood enveloping his cock. One more moment, one more tear. . .
Buffy could feel the tension in Angelus, and hardly dared breath. Her tears dried as suddenly as they had started. As the longest seconds of her life crawled by, she wondered what had gone wrong, now, and if she would live long enough to find out. Then, imperceptibly, something changed. Angelus hadn’t moved a muscle, but she knew that whatever crisis she had unwittingly precipitated had just passed. A moment later he beckoned with the whip. A gesture she would have found terrifying moments before seemed suddenly almost benign.
"Put the things down on the edge of the bed," he said, his voice deceptively tranquil. "But bring the lotion, the blindfold, and the box.
Buffy did as he demanded. As she got closer, he reached for her, guiding her until she stood, not at his side, but between his legs. He erection, still rampant, rose from the open fly of his pants. She could see a few pearly drops of pre-cum already oozing from the tip as it brushed against her stockinged thigh. Angelus draped the whip across his lap and reached for the blindfold.
"Close your eyes, my love." With a last, uneasy glance at the velvet box, she did as she was told.
The difference in their height allowed him, even seated, to blindfold her quickly and efficiently. He didn’t tie it tight enough to hurt, but when Buffy tried to open her eyes, she realized the futility. Whatever fabric the blindfold was made of, it allowed in no light whatsoever, not even through the weave of the cloth. Knowing Angelus, she wouldn’t be surprised if this was another bit of sorcery.
"Lovely," he said again, his deep voice vibrating through her flesh.
Ensconced as she was in utter, unrelieved darkness, Buffy found her other senses quickly compensating for the lack of visual input. The only sound in the room was her own breathing. Angelus didn’t need to breathe, and he had gone deathly still. Not even the whisper of leather against the fabric of the chair betrayed his movements. Surely she would hear it when he moved? Surely she would be warned if the whip were to come lashing toward her? Straining for whatever clues she could discern, Buffy realized that the only sound coming to her was the stirring of a light breeze, whispering through the palm trees outside their window, beyond the verandah.
So much for sound. Taste and smell were also more acute. The serving cart must have been cleared from their apartment while she was bathing. The delicious aromas of her breakfast were all but gone, overwhelmed by the scents of the flowers growing in profusion in the surrounding jungle. But, as well, there were other, earthier, odors: the scent of her own arousal, and the tang of something she recognized as the scent of her lover, a spicy musk that ratcheted up her desire yet another notch. She could almost taste that scent on her tongue, and she began shivering in half-fearful anticipation.
And, finally, her sense of touch was heightened as well. She was aware of the balmy air drifting around her body, aware of the thin bit of lace circling her waist and holding up the stockings, silky against her skin. And she could feel him. Cold and unbreathing and unmoving as he was, with nothing to alert her senses to his existence, she could yet feel him, so close that if she simply shifted her weight she would brush her thigh against the muscular, leather-clad flesh of his own.
She was aware of how tight her nipples were, how damp her thighs, how every nerve in her skin was awake and alive, as she waited for Angelus to touch her in whatever manner he thought would drive his lesson home. She devoutly hoped that she had read him aright, and that the lesson was not going to be unpleasant. With his unpredictable nature, though, she simply had no way to be sure. Buffy stood trembling, knowing something had to happen.
Nothing did.
Long moments passed as she waited–half in dread, half in desire–for Angelus to act.
- 14
- 15
- 16
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Silken Cage: Journey