Twenty-four hours passed before Buffy finally let Spike up from the bed.

She came by to check on him every few hours or so -- but by the time she came by the first time, Spike had lost all sense of time. It felt like days since she had chained him to the bed, and left him there, blindfolded and gagged and utterly helpless.

Even his sense of smell was lost to him, for all intents and purposes, as his face was covered by the bed sheet, heavy with the scents of the two of them and their coupling, and effectively keeping out any other scents.

Thus it was that he did not even know she was there until she touched him -- and he flinched violently against the chains, still not aware that it was her at all -- and not sure whether or not he should be more terrified if it *was* her, or some random demon that had happened upon his underground room.

"Shhh," she soothed him softly from near the foot of the bed, as she ran a gentle hand up his leg under the sheet, causing him to shiver at the contact, after hours of deprivation. "Just me, Sweetie."

He moaned against the gag, desperate to beg her to unchain him -- but she did not seem inclined to do so, not yet.

"Shhh," she repeated, more sharply this time. "Apparently you haven't learned your lesson, yet, Spike. I told you to shut up -- and I haven't once taken that back."

Though it was almost beyond his control at that point, he was so desperate to be released, Spike forced back the sob that rose in his throat, with an effort making himself be silent.

"That's better," Buffy had responded in a soft, soothing tone, as her hand under the sheet had edged up higher along his thigh. "That's a good boy..."

Spike had never felt so degraded, so violated, as he did in that moment, before her touch became as intimate as it would that night. Just knowing that he was utterly helpless, reduced by the gag and blindfold and relentless bonds to nothing more than her plaything, made him feel ashamed and despondent...and utterly without hope.

"You're mine, Spike."

She had repeated the words firmly, leaning down to whisper in his ear as her hand found the most private parts of his body, her arm dragging the sheet up to expose him, allowing a cool draft from the room to blow over his vulnerable body, and setting a steady shiver of cold and fear and shame running through his body.

This partial exposure was somehow more humiliating and invasive than if he had been fully exposed to her sight.

"You're mine -- and you don't have the right to fight me...to talk back to me. I'll do whatever the hell I want to do to you, whenever I want to do it," the Slayer continued in a chillingly soft voice against his skin, as her hand slowly, thoroughly explored his body. "Is that clear? Do you understand?"

Tears slipped out from beneath the leather blindfold, as Spike nodded in submission, knowing that there was nothing else he could really do. As Buffy continued touching him, using secrets that he had held as cherished between them -- touching him in intimate, caressing ways that never failed, even now, to bring about a physical reaction in him -- Spike's shame intensified, and he instinctively turned his face away from her, choking back a sob.

Immediately, Buffy's hand withdrew, and he felt her stand up straight. He could almost see those cold, narrowed green eyes as she replied calmly, "No. I really don't think you do, Spike."

Desperate, panicked at the thought of being left there again, Spike let out a muffled cry against the gag, trying to plead with her for leniency -- but there was none to be had.

"See? There you go again...I thought we were clear on this...you do what I tell you. That's it. But, apparently, it's gonna take a little longer to get through to you."

He had immediately gone silent and still in a last ditch effort to please her, to undo the damage he had done -- but it was too late. Without another word, Buffy had covered his body again with the sheet, and walked out the door.

She had come back again, several times, just to talk to him -- filling his head with her words of possession and ownership, reinforcing the idea that he was *hers*, and only hers, with no rights of his own, as her hands invaded his body in a casual manner of unconcern that left him feeling dirty and ashamed. But each time, he found that he managed to last longer before doing something that made her angry...made her leave him there again.

The last time she came, as she pulled the sheet up off of his lower body, doubling it so that both halves of it were over his face, Spike forced himself to remain perfectly still, not to make a sound, as she touched him, drawing her fingers lightly down the length of his exposed manhood.

"Hey, Baby," Buffy murmured as she pulled the sheet down off of his face, leaning in to kiss him softly, affectionately, on the cheek.

He did not flinch, though everything in him was screaming out in horror and revulsion at her touch. The convulsive swallow visible in his throat made his indecision clear to the Slayer; she knew that he did not know which was what she wanted -- an attempt at response, or the order she had given him of silence.

"You want me to take the gag off, Sweetheart?" she asked in an unexpected tone of gentle compassion.

Spike hesitated, fearing a trap, and then nodded quickly, still careful not to make a sound, even as he felt tears of hope and relief -- perhaps premature -- flowing from his eyes again. He could scarcely believe it when her hands went behind his head, and carefully unfastened the straps that held the gag in place, gently removing it from his mouth.

"There we go," Buffy said softly, reaching up a hand to caress his cheek. "Is that better, Baby?"

Spike swallowed hard, trying to lubricate his dry throat enough to answer her, but then just nodded in relief. He struggled for a moment, before finally managing a whisper of broken gratitude, "Th-thank you..."

As furious as he had been at her cruel treatment of him -- there was a part of him that had become almost resigned to the place she had forced him into, and truly meant those words with all the gratitude of his heart.

But immediately after they were spoken, Spike flinched, drawing in a fearful gasp -- thinking, too late, that he might be punished for speaking without her permission.

"Shhh," she whispered gently, stroking his cheek lightly with the backs of her fingers. "It's okay -- you're welcome, Sweetheart. You've been down here for a whole day now..."

It hardly seemed possible -- it seemed like so much longer to Spike.

She paused for just a moment, before saying words he had barely dared to think that he might hear from her. "I think -- maybe you're finally ready to get up now -- don't you?"

Spike hesitated, his entire body shaking with the tension of indecision, as he barely dared the whisper in response, "Y-yes...please? Please, Buffy..."

"You're gonna do what I tell you -- aren't you, Spike?"

He nodded, tears streaming freely now as he whispered desperately, "Yes..."

"You're not going to *ever* lie to me again -- are you?" Her voice took on a harder edge as she gripped his hair and jerked his head back in a not-so-subtle threat.

"No," he replied, urgently, tearfully. "No, Buffy, I'm so sorry...please..."

She did not release her grip on his hair, leaning in close to speak softly next to his ear, her voice terrifyingly calm and in control, "And if you *ever* -- fight me -- or try to leave me -- again...I'll leave you down here for a week next time. Do you understand me, Spike?"

He tried to nod, though it was difficult with her hand fisted so tightly, painfully, in his hair. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, as he barely managed to get out, "Y-yes...yes, I won't, Buffy...I won't, I swear it, please..."

She waited a long, terrifying moment, in which Spike was almost certain that she was going to change her mind, and leave him there again, before finally allowing her grip to ease into a gentle caress on the back of his head, as she leaned in to kiss his trembling lips tenderly.

And then, her hands rose to unfasten the iron shackles around his wrists. Spike broke down in sobs that were almost completely involuntary, a physical reaction to the intense relief of the painful tension in his muscles, as Buffy got up from the bed and moved around to free his ankles as well.

His hands were free, but he still did not dare to touch the blindfold on his eyes, afraid to move, lest some small action might anger her and cause her to change her mind. But then, his arms hardly felt strong enough to even complete that small action. He had been injured and exhausted when this whole ordeal had begun, and weakened from blood loss. Now, having eaten nothing in over twenty-four hours, physically and emotionally devastated, Spike knew that there was no resistance left in him at the moment.

"Can you sit up?" Buffy asked him softly, coming back to the head of the bed and placing a soft, strong hand behind his back to help him to rise.

"I -- I don't know," Spike whispered shakily, trying to regain control of the tears that had momentarily consumed him. "I think so..."

"Good," she nodded in approval, when he was leaning wearily against the headboard, his head leaning back against it, gasping for breath. "You must be hungry, Baby."

It was not a question, but Spike nodded eagerly. "Yes," he gulped back a sob, whispering, "yes, please, Buffy..."

In the next moment, he heard the creak of the mattress as she got up, and her soft footsteps as they reached, and then ascended, the ladder. He was fairly certain that she had gone to get him some blood -- but then, how could he really be certain of anything at this point? She had him so shaken, so confused by now that he really had no idea what to believe.

He wanted to take the blindfold off, now that he was beginning to be able to feel his arms again -- but he did not dare.

He just waited, silent and shaking and as still as he could be, for Buffy to return.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she approached him a few minutes later, could smell the warm, steaming mug of blood in her hands, as she sat on the edge of the bed again and took one of his hands in hers, guiding it to the warm stone that held his first food in over a day.

"Good job, Sweetie," she remarked softly, and at first he had no idea what she was talking about. Something in him seized up in fear that perhaps she was being sarcastic, perhaps he had made some mistake he did not know about...but then she went on with clear approval in her voice, "You passed my final test."

He flinched slightly, but managed to keep himself mostly under control, as she reached up to untie the blindfold behind his head, gently removing it and laying it aside. He blinked a few times, as his damp, glistening eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, and finally focused on the patiently smiling face of the Slayer sitting in front of him.

"I wondered if you'd take it off -- once I left the room," Buffy explained softly. "But you didn't. You finally get it, Spike...you don't make the decisions anymore, not even for yourself. I do. You get that -- don't you?"

She nodded leadingly, and Spike nodded quickly in response, his wide eyes unable to meet hers for long. "Yes," he whispered. "I-I'm sorry, Buffy..."

"It's okay," she dismissed his apology with a shake of her head and a wave of her hand. "That's over, Sweetheart...we never have to talk about it again."

As if he was the one who had committed the greater wrong, and she was doing him a tremendous favor in forgiving him for it.

"I know you probably want to get cleaned up...get dressed...gorge yourself on blood," Buffy smiled teasingly at him.

Spike nodded slowly in agreement, resentfully adding his own items to the list, as he began to recover from the trauma and shock of his ordeal.

*Grab the keys to the bike, or the Desoto...drive a few hundred miles from here...plot your bloody, gruesome, painful death...*

Buffy leaned in and kissed him gently; he knew better than to resist her, and though he would not have admitted it in that moment, a part of him did not want to resist her. As Buffy pulled away, she met his eyes with warmth and affection in her own.

"I'll leave you alone, Sweetie. See you later."

Once she was gone, Spike quickly downed the blood in the mug with a desperate thirst, and then rose shakily from the bed, stumbling on shaky, partially numb legs toward the shower. Halfway there, he fell to his knees on the floor, the blood he had ingested coming up again, spilling over his shaking knees as he braced his hands on the floor, struggling just to not pass out right there with weakness and exhaustion and the utter terror of the past day and a half.

After a few hazy moments in which he was not sure whether or not he was going to be able to stay conscious, the dark flashes of color faded from before his eyes, and Spike struggled to his feet again, looking down in disgust at the lukewarm splashes of blood that now ran down his legs.

He had barely taken a step toward the bathroom, when he suddenly felt her behind him, the moment before she actually touched him. Instinctively he pulled forward away from her, as her slim, strong arm slid around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides -- but then he froze completely as she spoke in a soft, threatening tone.

"I'm going to assume you didn't know it was me -- and that's why you pulled away. Is that right?"

Spike nodded quickly, gratefully accepting the excuse she had given him.

"Good," Buffy softly replied without missing a beat, her free hand tangling in his hair and jerking his head back so that her soft, warm lips brushed against his ear as she went on. "I just wanted to be sure you understood one more thing, Sweetheart. I know we understand each other now -- I know you know what's expected of you, and you're going to be good -- aren't you?"

Spike nodded, not trusting himself to speak, feeling panic closing in again with an iron grip around his heart.

"But you know, I was thinking," Buffy went on, her voice deceptively mild and casual. "Just in case you should have a momentary relapse of stupidity...and think of something pathetically dumb, like, say, leaving town? You know what I would do if you did something like that, Spike?"

Spike fought back the trapped sob that rose in his throat, shaking his head in response, his entire body shaking with dread, as her hand drifted down his arm, her fingertips lightly stroking his bare hip as she spoke.

"First of all -- I'd have my friend -- you know, the really powerful witch? Do a location spell -- it'd lead me right to you. You know that even if you try to hide, I could find you so fast..."

Spike felt his heart sinking with the realization of how true her words really were.

"I'd bring you back -- and then I'd have to spend some time reminding you of your place, Baby. This was one day. If you ever run away from me -- this'll look like a picnic, Sweetheart, next to what I'll do to you." Her voice was perfectly calm, controlled, and he felt her lips form a cold smile against his skin as she added with cruel amusement, "You may never leave this basement again. I'll do whatever it takes to make you *completely*...*mine* -- no matter how bad it hurts. *You*. Do you understand me?"

Spike nodded, fresh tears of despair streaking his face, as he realized how futile his ideas of escape had been. She was obsessed now, obviously. She would follow him anywhere -- and she *could*, too.

The Slayer's next actions emphasized the power of the trap that bound him to her, as Buffy let him go, and moved immediately to his dresser, opening the third drawer down and reaching to the far left corner -- her hand emerging clutching two sets of keys.

The motorcycle -- and the DeSoto.

She smiled pleasantly, holding his gaze as she put the keys in the pocket of her jacket, and crossed the room to where he stood, shaking, terrified, and painfully aware of the fact that he was still completely naked and vulnerable to her, not yet up to defending himself, even if he could have found the emotional strength to do so.

She raised a hand to gently cup his cheek, smiling as she remarked, "There's no where in this town you can't walk, anyway, is there?"

She leaned in to kiss him one more time, firmly -- *possessively* -- before turning and climbing up the ladder again...leaving Spike alone, with nothing but his own despair.