“Leave me at the altar, huh?”
Xander tried to scotch further up on the bed, but the binds were making it hard to do so. He really deserved it, truly he did. He had offered himself up for this, hadn’t he? But now he was having some second thoughts, looking at her through his one good eye and blinking.
“Anya, you’re kind of scaring me. What was your plan again? I thought we were going to have kinky fun times.”
“Oh…” Anya began, “These times are going to be buckets of fun for me. Maybe not for you though.”
Xander proceeded to close his eye and try and think about how he’d managed to get himself into this situation. It had all started with his cold feet at the altar. Even though he knew he’d done the right thing, somewhere deep within him, he kept regretting it. He loved Anya – there was something true in that that had never been true to him in his life before. But that had only made him more terrified at the possibility that he would screw it all up irrevocably.
He’d been asking what he could do to make it up to her.
He’d been willing to beg, to plead, and all she had said was, “Let me at your balls for an hour.”
And he’d agreed. He wished he had thought about those terms a little more clearly.
He also wished he still had his full eyesight, because Anya was holding something in her hand, just outside his field of vision. Then again, Xander reflected that maybe it was better that he didn’t know what she had. He still hadn’t made up his mind when he felt something tighten around his balls. Somehow it felt… plastic. A ziptie. That was probably what it was. She had a ziptie… around his balls.
He hadn’t been ready for this.
Xander purposely didn’t look down to see what was going on. He didn’t want to know… or maybe he did.
He peeked down and saw Anya’s hand wrapping a lime green tie around a pair of balls that were starting to change color from… normal ball color… to red.
“Anya?” Xander inquired, starting to get more than a little worried.
“Yes, Xander?” His ex-fiancée cheerfully continued to go about her work. Next, she picked up a plastic clothespin. This one was bright blue. Did she have to go with all these bright, happy colors? It just made the whole thing even more screwed up.
“I…” He trailed off. He wanted to say that it hurt, but he realized that the words were meaningless. He had hurt her first, worse than she could ever hurt him.
The least he could do was let her come close.
“Never mind,” he said finally. He closed his eye and tried to figure out the sensation. It was a strange throbbing, one that was more dull than sharp at the moment but certainly had the potential to change fast. He wondered if Anya would ever tell anybody that they did this. She did like to talk about their sex life… but what was this exactly? Was this even sex?
He could feel something new now, a pinch at the edge of his cock. That must have been the dastardly clothespin at work… he remembered that when he’d caught the TV movie version of The Dead Zone, one character had gotten severely fucked up by having clothespins put on his cock as a kid, and Xander could begin to really see why.
He let out a little moan, stretching out her name: “Anya.”
“Does it hurt, Harris?” she muttered, and suddenly the clothespin moved. She must have flicked it. Xander opened his eye again and looked at her; the look on her face wasn’t one of satisfied vengeance, but one of deep hurt. He should let her keep going, he should let her… Or maybe he should stop her and they should talk.
But they should have talked a long time ago. If this helped… if in any way this helped, he’d let her do it.
He bit down on his lip like he was one of those guys in an old movie and needed to bite down on a stick while the doctor had to amputate his limb. He’d already been there and done that, though the missing eye hurt far less in this moment than the loss of the only girl he’d ever really loved.
So if this was it, if this was all they could do… then he wouldn’t complain. He would stay.
The only words Xander could make come out of his mouth were, “Keep going.”