He was standing over me, that menacing look in his eyes, not the golden gameface eyes, the clear blue ones that are even more intimidating because I could see him gathering his control, trying to make decisions.
None of which are going to work out well for me, clearly.
I knew it, from the minute it first started, and I don’t know what kept me from walking away. Spike had stepped away from our spot at the bar just for a moment, recognizing a demon he’d kept in contact with for information-trading. I was alone in my seat less than a minute before this man sat down on Spike’s temporarily vacated barstool and leaned in close, asking me my name and placing his hand on my arm. I froze, but then told him my name and he kept talking, not taking his hand from its place between my wrist and elbow, just moving in closer. I didn’t even hear half of what he said, because I knew he was trying to pick me up. Obviously, he either hadn’t seen who had been sitting there before or he was just incredibly stupid. My eyes darted back and forth between the bartop and Spike, just waiting. Jesus, I should have stood up, I should have said, “I’m with him”, I should have done something. But I didn’t. As predicted, within two minutes, Spike turned around and saw it, and before I could bat an eyelash, the guy was on the floor and I was being hauled off my stool by the collar of my shirt. Spike was throwing bills onto the bar and seething as he pulled me toward the door and into the most quiet and terrifying drive back to his place I’d ever had.
And that was how I found myself on the floor of his apartment, only looking up at him because he’d told me to.
“How many times, little girl? What do I have to do to make you understand that you can not allow strangers to approach you in public? Maybe I should make sure you’ve got one of these”, running his hand over the split lip he’d given me with the back of his hand as soon as we’d gotten into the car, “every time I take you somewhere.”
I flushed bright red at the thought, and at my own stupidity for not having acted faster when we were out at the bar. Sure, Spike marked me up plenty, but usually not where it could be seen. And usually it wasn’t as a result of anger, just his driving need to leave physical evidence that I was owned, I was his possession.
He yanked me up off the floor and deposited me unceremoniously onto the bed, then gripped the waist of my skirt, ripping it into pieces and leaving my ass exposed as my face pressed into the mattress. Below the pillows. I wasn’t getting any pillows tonight. The sound of his belt coming off was almost enough to make me turn over, move, do anything to avoid what was coming, but I didn’t want to make it any worse.
“You’ve got to learn, girl. You’re too pretty for me to leave alone even for a minute. If you don’t want me to keep you locked up here, I have to keep trying to teach you how to behave like you’re aware that you’re fucking MINE.” With that last word, the belt landed for the first time, and I tried not to wiggle away from it. He didn’t stop the blows as he kept talking. “You belong to me, you will not allow other men to speak to you in that way, do you understand?”
By this time, I was barely holding back a sob as I weakly replied “Yes sir, yes, I understand, please, I’m sorry, I-“ But then I could barely speak anymore as the belt kept connecting with my ass and my thighs and I finally broke down. The tears were flowing into the comforter and all I could manage to get out was “please, I’m sorry, no, no more, Spike, please, I’m yours, yours, please, no more, please…”
The sound of his belt hitting the floor was a short lived relief, because I knew what was coming next. He was taking off his clothes and climbing up onto the bed behind me. Spike grabbed my hips and angled them just like he wanted, and reached one hand out to grip my throat hard, not enough for me to pass out, just hard enough to leave marks and make me dizzy. He spit in his hand and I knew that was all I’d get as he lined up his cock and pushed inside me in one fast, hard stroke. I managed a strangled cry around his hand at my throat, and he stayed still, just like that, all the way inside me, and said, again, “Mine.”
Then it started. He set a brutal pace, pushing me up the bed with each thrust into my pussy, keeping hold of me with one hand on my hip and one around my throat. I was crying within three minutes, but my cunt was leaking relentlessly regardless of the pain. “You. Are. Mine. Got that? I don’t want to have to keep teaching you the same lesson over. And. Over.” His words were clipped, so in control and yet his anger flowed through with every syllable. After a while, the only sounds I could make were pathetic whimpers, and finally, with his hand grasping tighter around my throat, he said it again.
And he came inside of me, so hard and yet without making a sound.
After a moment or two, he turned me over and I had to let him see my tear-stained face, my lip that was bleeding again from having my face pushed so hard into the mattress, and my dripping wet pussy that I was sure would get no relief tonight. “Understand?”, he asked, without showing any sympathy for my pain, without any remorse for the punishment he’d just given me.
“Yes, sir. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
“I will always forgive you. But I will not ever let you forget who you belong to.”
My eyes were cast downward as I nodded in submission.
“You look tired. On the floor with you, Buffy. Maybe you can sleep up here in the bed with me tomorrow if I think you’ve learned your lesson. Which is?”
“I am yours. I belong to you. Behave accordingly.”
“There you go. Good start. Now, off my bed.”
He was passed out within a few minutes, but it took me at least an hour before I finally cried myself to sleep.