Disclaimers: see part 15a

The Silken Cage

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.

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.

_____________________________________________________________________

Yes, I know I’m evil to leave the Journey here. But it will continue.

FEMFIC         PART 15a        PART 15c      FEEDBACK

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