DISCLAIMER: See Part 15a

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The Silken Cage

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Angelus savored the vision before him; his lovely Buffy adorned in flashing diamonds, nylon stockings, spiked heels, a scrap of lace garter, and nothing else. She was trembling in the most seductive mixture of lust and terror that a vampire could desire. His own lust was barely held in check by the knowledge that indulging his appetites now would simply ensure that he would be unable to indulge them for any appreciable time in the future. If he didn’t force matters, Buffy--whose Slayer recuperative powers had been compromised, not eradicated--would probably heal well enough to accept his renewed attentions by tomorrow, though he might have to restrain himself from indulging the full force of his ardor. If he gave in to his appetites now --and Buffy was stimulating his appetite to a raging hunger--he might damage her too severely for her to willingly partner him for several more days.

Nothing was worth such a long period of deprivation. He wanted Buffy. He had her. He simply needed to be patient.

And, he thought as he let his gaze drift to her charmingly puckered nipples, quivering mere inches away, it wasn’t as if he had to play the monk. There was a delightful array of amorous games into which he could initiate her. The biggest problem he had was deciding which to play first. Not a decision to be rushed. Angelus reached for his own achingly hard cock, stroking it soothingly while he contemplated his options.

Buffy’s apprehension increased with every passing moment. She had been standing for what seemed like hours and still Angelus made no move. What was he waiting for? What new form of torture was being contemplated in that diabolically inventive mind? Was she about to discover how he had earned his reputation for terror? Despite the warmth of the air around her, Buffy was shivering.

Was that the sound of leather on fabric, or just the wind stirring the curtains at the window? Was the air in front of her shifting to accommodate his movement, or was it an errant breeze? But no, if he had moved, she would have felt it by now. Surely she would have felt it by now? He wasn’t moving. Was that worse? How long would it be before Angelus’ inaction drove her out of her mind? But, when he did move, would it be the whip that found her? Another drift of sound and eddy of air, and still nothing. She couldn’t take much more of this, she knew, she would start weeping or screaming and why wasn’t he moving, and, yes, even the whip would be better than--

A cool, wet mouth closed over the nipple of her right breast. Buffy almost sobbed in relief. As his skilled ministrations continued, a torrent of fire raced through her body. He was suckling delicately, gently, not using fangs or even teeth. She dared hope that the violence she had feared in him had been somewhat appeased, and that her danger was past. A moment later, that hope was dashed as something stiff and hard began to circle gently around the aureole of the other breast. She realized uneasily that it was the handle of the whip, and yet, the caress wasn’t hurtful, but exactly the opposite; stimulating, tantalizing, erotic.

Somehow, not being able to see what he was doing intensified what he was making her feel. Buffy flooded with desire, as his lips and tongue worked one nipple, and the leather caressed the other. Instinctively, she lifted her hands to his hair, to hold his head in place.

A sharp sting along her hip made her freeze in shock. She had just had her first taste of the lash. Buffy couldn’t quite digest that. It hadn’t really hurt, but the idea of using a whip in sex play was so utterly alien to her, that she couldn’t help but be alarmed. She expected this to be an either/or thing. Either Angelus wouldn’t hurt her, and he would eventually abandon the whip, or he would hurt her, and she could look forward to a beating either before, after, or most unpleasantly, during whatever else he wanted to do with her. Those were the only ways this could play out, weren’t they?

She was about to find out otherwise. Angelus' mouth left her breast.

"Naughty girl. You will stay still, Buffy. Don’t move unless I specifically tell you to move. Is that understood?"

Did he mean that if she didn’t move, she could escape a beating? Buffy had a moment of disgust with herself, for even contemplating submission as a way to avoid a beating, instead of fighting back, or escaping. She must be crazy to stand here listening to him. Why, oh why hadn’t she run when she’d had the chance?

Because this would all have been much worse if you had, she thought. The truth was, there was no question of what she would or would not allow. She was still Angelus’ prisoner, however silken the cage in which she was kept. She was still too weak to fight him back, her coordination compromised, her ability to run with any degree of speed undermined by muscle relaxants and other compounds that had been used to keep Slayers helpless for thousands of years. Not for the first time, Buffy cursed the Watcher’s Council for the idiocy of their cruciamentum. Because of it, and because Angel had been let in on that little secret, she didn’t have a choice, right now. The only thing she could do was try to use Angelus’ lusts against him to ensure her own safety.

"Y-yes," she answered finally, carefully keeping the resentment she felt out of her voice.

"Mmmm. Good girl." There was a creaking, as Angelus slid back in his chair. She couldn’t identify the sounds that came next, and stood in uneasy silence for another moment until the next deceptively soft command was made.

"Move your feet a bit farther apart, darling." A moment after she did so, she felt something cool slide between her nether lips and rub gently over her clit. The coolness was soothing, and she couldn’t help a little moan of pleased surprised, but when she tried to twist her hips to follow the motion of the object, another sting was delivered to the opposite hip.

"Still, darling. Perfectly still." Buffy shivered, and held still. She really, really needed to get him focused on something other than hurting her. Demon proclivities being what they were, Angelus’ treatment of her since he had captured her might almost be termed gentle, at least in comparison to what he was capable of. She’d be damned if she gave him an excuse to depart from that, to treat her like just another victim, just another toy to be used and broken. Buffy took a deep breath, steeling herself to be the very perfection of stillness.

She was rewarded with several minutes of the most delectable torture to which she had ever been subjected.

Whatever had been in the box, it was small and metallic. It had a smooth surface which felt incredibly good against her clit, and against the folds of her nether lips. Within a very few minutes, Buffy stopped worrying about lessons and demonic proclivities as a tide of rapture began to build. Angelus’ mercurial mood seemed to have swung in her favor, once more, and he was using his considerable skill and experience --and a toy she liked much better than the whip, whatever it was-- for her enjoyment, rather than chastisement.

But as several moments passed, bringing her closer and closer to the cresting of the wave, but never quite reaching it, she realized there was another problem. Angelus never kept whatever he was using on her in one place long enough for it to feel really good, never established a dependable rhythm that would bring her to release, never gave her the pressure that would ensure her climax. And she didn’t dare move to get those things on her own. The thought uppermost in her mind was that if she were perfectly submissive, perfectly obedient, he would have no excuse to hurt her, and she needn’t worry about the whip. The thought just below that was that if she ever had the chance to turn the tables, Angelus was going to regret that he had ever even thought of the words "Buffy" and "whip" in the same sentence. But contemplation of that laudable intention was quickly washed away in a rising tide of lust.

She was almost ready. He could tell because her delicious body was rosily flushed and quivering in need, her lovely nipples were at rigid attention, and she was breathing in short sharp pants. Smirking, Angelus slid the little cylinder across her clit once more, then down her enticingly drenching folds and further back, gently pressing it up into her soaking core.

Buffy whimpered as whatever Angelus was using slid deep inside her, his finger pushing it higher, and impossibly higher. The object, which seemed to have a thin wire or cord attached at the lower end, was small enough not to hurt her, as his cock assuredly would have done--might yet do-- coherent thought fled as Angelus’ finger somehow lifted the object until it touched the mouth of her womb. Then his finger was gently, quickly withdrawn, and Buffy was left with the unknown object lodged high and deep inside her, the wire running out from between her thighs.

"Close your legs, darling," Angelus told her. "I don’t want you to loose what I’ve put inside you. It would . . .annoy me." Buffy clamped her legs shut with alacrity. Angelus chuckled, and she felt his hands on her hips. A moment later, his cool lips brushed a caress against her belly.

"Umm. Such lovely, soft skin," he murmured between kisses. "So sensitive, and receptive. You shiver when you feel my mouth on you." Another wet kiss to her belly. "Tremble at the way my fingers brush against your skin." A flick, as of fingers, brushing lightly across her flank. "And that, my darling girl, brings us back to what you don’t know about vampires. Nerve endings, Buffy." The caresses moved to her breasts, as he fondled and kissed the plump mounds, lips worshiping each puckered nipple. "You’re alive with them," he murmured as he switched attention between the two, "humming below the surface, responsive to my every touch and taste." He moved down her torso, illustrating his point, and ending his demonstration by tasting the most sensitive nerves on her body. Buffy whimpered at the delightful torment, but he wouldn’t let her part her legs to give him better access, and he didn’t stay long. "But vampires aren’t alive, and neither are the things about us that we retain when we die." Once more, he spread kisses over her torso, and caressed her lightly. "Our taste buds, our lungs, our hearts, our seed, and oh, yes, our nerve endings. That’s why I can last so much longer than any human male I’d have killed you for fucking. That’s why I can come back for more, when someone alive would have been worn out. And, that, my darling girl, is why Dru liked her chains and why all of us have a certain fondness for whips. Nerve endings. It takes one whole hell of a lot to stimulate dead ones, and, to dead ones, pain feels every damned bit as good as pleasure." The caresses against her flank became more forceful, was revealed as not the brush of his fingers but the kiss of the whip. "I’m going to show you, darling. Never fear, this is one lesson you will learn, and delight in learning." Buffy shivered in dread, as he pressed gently on her shoulders, coaxing her onto her knees. "But not right now." Buffy almost wept in relief. Mindful of his earlier instructions, she kept her legs tightly together as she sank to the floor.

"Cup your breasts, for me, Buff." Hesitantly, she raised her hands to her breasts and did as he asked. "No, don’t cover the nipples, I want to see them. That’s right." Buffy continued to kneel for several moments, wondering what he was up to now. She didn’t have long to wait. "Charming," Angelus whispered in a voice thick with lust, just before he pressed his rock-hard shaft into the lush softness of her cleavage, and his hands moved over hers, to bring her breasts together over his engorged flesh. "Yesss," he hissed. "Always knew your tits were as fuckable as the rest of you, my love. Why don’t you demonstrate how just how fuckable they are?"

Buffy felt herself flush scarlet. With the relief of her fear, she found herself more aroused than ever. Holding her breasts together, she began to move up and down on Angelus’ shaft. With a groan, he tangled his hands in her hair, to steady himself, and thrust into her breasts, in tandem with her own movements. The fact that she couldn’t see him, couldn’t see what was really happening inflamed her senses all the more, as erotic visions of what things might look like crashed across her mind.

Angelus watched his lover through a haze of lust, delighted to see the same lust reflected in her features; her parted lips and flushed cheeks, the panting breaths as she moved on him. Her soft breasts against his rigid manhood were as delightful as he had imagined they would be, and he gave himself up to the decadent pleasure of her caress.

As he fucked her breasts, Angelus indulged in visions of what he would do to her when she was healed enough for more vigorous activity. He liked the way she had responded to the whip, with just the right mixture of fear and appreciation. Not that he had used it the way its makers had intended it to be used, the way he fully intended to use it, someday. For now, he had other plans for it. Wait until she felt the braided lash rubbing against her clit, or perhaps he could use the oiled handle up inside her while he fucked her delectable ass. Maybe both at once. He wasn’t trying to hold back his own pleasure, and the closer he got to release, the more heated his fancies became. He imagined Buffy in leather, chained to a wall, her nipples confined by harsher clamps than he had yet used, while he lifted her onto his cock and pounded her into the wall; Buffy going down on him, kneeling at his feet while one of the toys hummed inside her; Buffy as a vampire, her back running blood from his whip, as he leaned forward and licked it away while taking her from behind; a fragile, human Buffy riding him at a frenzied pace while he played with her gorgeous breasts. All the images had two things in common: Buffy would unfailingly explode in pleasure and he himself would unfailing explode right along with her, as her tight, eager little cunt, or her hot, avid mouth milked him of every last drop of his seed.

He wasn’t inside her, but her soft, full breasts made an admirable substitute. Angelus couldn’t hold out long, and didn’t want to.

"Are you ready, babe?" he growled. He took her responsive moan as a "yes" and allowed himself release.

Buffy gasped as his cool seed jetted from his erection, covering her breasts and hands and throat and chin. They continued to move together for a few frenzied moments, until Angelus gripped her shoulders, and held her still.

Angelus stood over her for a moment, recovering his strength. That had been delightful, but while he was momentarily sated, he was hardly done. The sight of Buffy on her knees before him, covered in his seed was rousing his appetite anew, and he was sure to be hard for her again in very short order. Buffy herself was shaking with unfulfilled desire, and there were so many delightful things he could do with her in that condition. With a smile Angelus pulled his softened cock from between her breasts and bent to whisper in her ear.

"Stay as you are, my love. Don’t move a muscle. I haven’t taken care of your needs yet, but I plan to do so. I’m going to clean up, and then I’m going to come back and clean you up. If I find those lovely fingers between those charming thighs, if you try to appease the hunger I’ve stirred--well, darling, I’ll be very disappointed. You don’t want to disappoint me, do you, my heart?"

Buffy bit back the very unwise answer that surged to the tip of her usually unguarded tongue. Now was so not the time for a challenge.

"I don’t want to disappoint you," she said, her voice sounding unusually husky, even to her own ears. She couldn’t help adding, "You unmitigated bastard." He had never objected to that particular appellation, and, to her chagrin, her voice hadn’t quite lost its husky note when she’d hurled it at him. So, she wasn’t surprised that Angelus chuckled, then kissed her passionately on the mouth, before he left her, kneeling and needy, in the middle of the room.

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Still evil. Still planning to continue the Journey.

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