White Magic

Tara stood outside the gates of Restfield Cemetery, in the throes of indecision -- and mentally berating herself for even being there in the first place.

*He's not there!* she reminded herself in the most severe mental voice she could muster. *Don't do this to yourself. It's stupid on so many levels -- Spike's gone, and you should be, too.*

There was no doubt in her mind that if she walked through those gates to the familiar crypt where Spike had lived for so long, she would find it abandoned, his furniture and other worldly possessions unused...well, for the single day in which he had been gone, anyway.

She had walked into the Magic Box that morning to find Buffy asking if anyone had seen him, explaining that she had gone by his crypt the night before -- for information only, of course -- only to find him missing. The look the Slayer had turned on her as she had coolly, casually asked her if she would have happened to have seen him had chilled Tara's blood with the well hidden menace that she had still perceived there.

But she had kept her composure as she had frowned with slight concern, and shook her head, telling Buffy that she had not seen him since the last Scoobie meeting when she had been shopping while the others were gathered around the table talking. She was fairly certain she had given no indication of the truth to Buffy -- and she had walked out of the shop elated that their plan had succeeded.

She knew that Spike had left town, if Buffy had not been able to find him. At any rate, if Spike had changed his mind about going -- as Tara had admittedly been afraid that he might -- he most certainly would have returned her car to her first, of that much she was sure.

Still, here she was, standing at the gates to the cemetery, actually contemplating going inside, in search of a friend that was a day gone -- only a day gone, and yet she already missed him so terribly.

*You won't find him,* she reminded herself as she set her jaw and turned resolutely away from the gates. *But if you don't get home, something else might end up finding you.*

She sighed with a regret that she knew was wholly selfish. She was glad that Spike had made the choice to escape with his unlife while he could -- really she was. It was what she had wanted, what she had insisted upon -- and she would much rather he was far out of her reach, and safe, than here with her, and in danger of his life from his psychotic pseudo-girlfriend.

But still, she could not help but wonder who would protect her from the monsters that *she* faced, now that he was gone.

*************************************

Spike awakened to a splitting headache, worse than those following his frequent benders over the summer when Buffy had been gone -- though not quite as bad as the ones caused by his chip's most severe firings.

He gradually became aware, as memory returned to him, that it was the pain of a severe blow to a block of concrete with the back of one's head.

A sudden panic gripped him at that thought, as the memories of that night flooded back to him, and he tried to open his eyes -- only to realize that they were open already...and yet, he could not see. He tried to move, but found his progress impeded, his arms stretched above his head so tightly and so high that his feet barely touched the ground beneath him, and certainly left no room to take even a single step in any one direction.

These realizations only added to his panic, even as some part of his mind was screaming at him to calm down, to think the situation through, if he was ever going to get out of it. He struggled uselessly against the bonds that held him for a few moments, before going limp against the chains at his wrists, breathing hard as he tried to slow down for a moment and *think*.

*Buffy.*

Of course, Buffy had done this to him -- which meant she had to be nearby -- didn't she?

He tried to call out to her -- and found that that action was impossible as well. And *that* was a sensation, finally, that he fully recognized -- the round, uncomfortably stretching sensation of the ball gag, filling up his mouth and preventing him from crying out, from making much sound at all, really.

Desperate to escape, to speak, or even just to see -- just to have anything but the complete helplessness, the darkness and disorientation that surrounded him, Spike turned his head to the side, rubbing his face against his own taut, painfully strained arm in an attempt to dislodge the blindfold that covered his eyes. It shifted slightly, but did not come off, so he made a second attempt.

It was in that moment that Buffy made her presence known.

His head was suddenly jerked backward, and he felt her fist gripping the knot in the back of the blindfold, loosened but not undone by his efforts.

"Unh-uh-uh," she softly, almost playfully rebuked him, her quiet voice in his ear making him flinch and swallow convulsively as she jerked his head back harder. "None of that, Sweetheart. I put this on you because I *want* it on you -- and if you try to get it off again, I might just have to find a more permanent way of blinding you...does that sound like fun?"

Spike shook his head hurriedly, his throat going dry at the threat that he knew she was more than capable of carrying out. She wanted him fully in her power -- he knew that much by now -- and if he did not give her that much, he knew that she would find a way to take it.

"Good," she said softly, and he could hear the nod of approval in her tone. "Now -- do you know why you're here, Sweetheart?"

Spike hesitated just a moment, before nodding cautiously.

"Because you tried to leave me," Buffy answered her own question patiently, releasing her grip on the blindfold and allowing his head to fall forward, just before he felt both of her hands on the string at the back of it, and the rough leather went uncomfortably tight against his eyes again.

"And I'm going to make sure," Buffy went on, trailing her hands slowly from his sides, just under his up-stretched arms, all the way down to his hips, "that you *never* try it again."

Spike flinched as her touch drifted lower, her hands gliding lightly across the bare flesh of his bottom, and he realized with shame and fear that he was absolutely naked -- completely exposed to her every whim. She trailed a fingertip along the line between his buttocks, as she leaned in close behind him and allowed her other hand to explore in even more personal ways.

And that was when Spike realized that he had another problem.

At some point before he had fully regained consciousness, the Slayer had managed to tease his semi-erect member to full attention -- and the tight constriction he felt at the base of it told him that another of her favorite toys was in use...a black leather cock ring that she had always taken great pleasure in using on him, forcing him to wait for his release until she saw fit to give it to him.

Sometimes she had waited hours, while she amused herself in his crypt, watching television or painting her nails.

This time -- he had a feeling that it could likely be longer.

He could not help a strangled moan of discomfort as she stroked her fingers boldly along the underside of his unwilling erection; and he heard an answering low chuckle against his ear, expressing her pleasure at his helpless position.

"You're mine, Spike," she informed him softly, closing her fist around his swollen member painfully, causing his back to arch slightly, his head falling back against her as a pleading, muffled moan left his lips. "And the sooner you get that through your head -- the sooner I *know* you understand that completely -- the sooner you'll get out of this. Do you understand?" As she spoke, she tightened her grip just slightly, her voice hardening with a dangerous edge.

Spike nodded hurriedly, desperately, and she finally released him, allowing him to slump against the chains at his wrists, as she moved away from him, granting him back his personal space -- for the moment.

He would soon find that as far as she was concerned, there was no such thing as personal space -- not for him, anyway.

He jumped slightly when he felt her hands on his shoulders, and she softly shushed him, steadying him before raising her hands to unbuckle the thick strap of the gag in his mouth. Before she removed it, however, she jerked his head back again, whispering in a voice of chilling menace in his ear.

"If you make a sound...speak without my permission...I'll put this right back, and it'll be a week before I come down here again. Is that perfectly clear, Baby?"

Spike nodded, swallowing hard, steeling himself to do his best to obey, despite the insane, helpless desire to scream, to cry out for mercy, the moment his mouth was free to do so.

*Keep it shut, mate,* he urged himself in a warning tone. *Don't give her anything else to use against you -- 'cause you bloody well know she's got enough as it is!*

Cautiously the Slayer removed the gag from his mouth, but he could feel her hand hovering over his lips for a moment, just in case he should decide to disobey her commands.

"Good boy," she said softly after a moment, lowering her hand. "I think you're starting to get it, aren't you?"

Spike nodded hesitantly, uncertain how he was expected to respond. All he wanted at this point was to play her little game to her satisfaction, to pass her little test like all the times before, so that she would let him go.

And when she did, he swore silently, he would stop for nothing on his way out of Sunnydale forever.

"Okay," Buffy continued calmly, and he could feel the heat of her body as she moved in close in front of him, her hands resting on his hips and pulling him slightly toward her. "You're not going to scream. You're not going to call out for help. You're going to speak when I tell you that you can speak -- and that's all. Do you understand?"

Spike hesitated -- and one of those soft hands fell with the force of steel across his trembling mouth. He bit back a cry of pained surprise, knowing it would only serve to further enrage her, as she grabbed his hair and leaned in close to explain in an overly patient voice.

"Maybe you didn't quite get this -- but if I ask you a question, that's pretty much a given that I expect an answer. That's automatic permission to speak. Is that clear, Spike?" There was no missing the pointed edge on the question.

Spike swallowed hard as he gasped out in a whisper, "Y-yes...yes, Buffy..."

"Good," she soothed him softly, releasing his hair and running her hand affectionately down his back to rest on his rear. "Now we're starting to get somewhere...so..." He could almost hear the casual shrug of her shoulders as she asked quietly, "Do *you* have any questions for *me*? Not guaranteeing that I'll answer them, of course -- but feel free to ask."

Spike could hardly believe his ears. His mind raced, trying to determine how best to make use of this unexpected opportunity.

Finally he ventured in a quiet, subdued voice, so as not to make her think that he was trying to be heard by anyone but her, "Wh-where are we?"

"That's one of those questions you don't get the answer to right now," she replied without hesitation. "Anything else?"

Spike swallowed hard, swallowing his disappointment at that as he asked his next -- and ultimately much more important -- question. "Buffy, h-how -- how can I show you that I'm sorry? How can I -- what can I do to -- to get you to forgive me? I-I'm so sorry, love..."

Her fist came down again across his face, silencing his trembling words, as she pulled his lower body in close to her with both hands on his rear, leaning in to smirk against his ear, "That's not a question, Sweetie -- and therefore not allowed. Looks like I'm going to have to punish you." She let him go, stepping away from him, and he heard her call casually over her shoulder as she moved to some point across the room, "And as for your question -- I'll let you know when you get there, 'kay?"

Suddenly, she was back, and Spike flinched at the feel of smooth leather against his cheek, his chin, as she trailed it teasingly along his skin, and with a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach, he recognized the feel and scent of one of his own belts.

"Now," she continued softly. "Anytime you make a sound, I'm gonna add on to your punishment. If you say a word -- I'll add onto it double. The first thing you're gonna do to make it up to me is to stand there and take this like the worthless little piece of garbage you are. And if you do that to my satisfaction, then *maybe* we'll talk about letting you down. Okay?"

Spike set his jaw, though he was trembling, struggling to keep control of himself, knowing what she was about to do. It wouldn't be the first time she had beaten him; he could do this, he knew he could. He nodded shakily, whispering his response in case the nod was not sufficient for her, "O-okay."

Buffy stepped back away from him, and silence fell in the room, until he almost wondered if she was even there anymore, except for the scent of her that seemed to surround him.

And then, the first blow fell.

Spike was suddenly quite certain that all the times before when she had used his own belt on him, she had been really nothing more than playing. Each blow created a fiery welt of pain across his bare back, legs, buttocks, coming just far enough apart to allow him to nearly recover from one before the next would fall.

It took a supreme effort of will -- but Spike managed not to make a sound the entire time.

He focused on keeping quiet, on keeping still and submissive, on counting the blows as they fell -- because surely she could not go on forever.

One hundred and fourteen blows later, the Slayer finally stopped, and he heard with relief as the leather fell against the concrete floor.

"Very good," she said in a gentle, soothing voice, as she returned to his side, running a careless hand down the red, welted flesh of his back, deliberately grazing her nails across it, laughing softly when he jumped, but did not make a sound. "I'm impressed, Baby."

His entire body, already shaking with pain and exhaustion, fell into shudders of relief as he felt her hands on the chains above his head, releasing them from the chain that held them to the ceiling. When the chain came free, Spike found that his body no longer had the strength to hold him up, and he collapsed to the floor on his knees, his face to the floor, gasping for breath.

He cringed when he felt her crouching behind him, her hands on him again, reaching around his torso toward his wrists, but he dared not pull away from her. He was barely aware of what she was doing as she unchained his wrists, and then in one swift motion pulled them behind his back and chained them together again.

Spike had barely had an instant to realize that his arms were free before they were bound again -- and besides, he was in no condition to defend himself, anyway.

He bit back a yelp of pain as she suddenly shoved him over onto his back on the floor, his chained wrists uncomfortably pinned under him, the metal and his own flesh pressing painfully against his torn and bruised back.

"Shhh," she warned him softly, running the back of one hand across his lips. "Quiet, Sweetheart. I don't want to have to gag you again."

Spike bit his lip, willing himself to obey -- willing her to stop, and this to be over, and himself to finally be free.

It was not to be -- not that night.

His heart sank as the Slayer climbed onto him, roughly dragging his broken flesh against the rough stone floor beneath him. She rode him without mercy, taking her pleasure of him as roughly as she ever had, with no regard for his pain -- or his pleasure, as the cock ring stayed firmly in place throughout, leaving him desperate and aching and in terrible pain when she was finished.

"Good boy," she murmured with a throaty chuckle of satisfaction, as she collapsed to the side off of him, caressing her hand idly up his stomach to his chest, circling a nipple with her fingertips and smirking as his throbbing member jumped within its bondage. "You're catching on quick. I think you'll learn your lesson a little sooner than I thought you would."

Spike felt his hopes sinking with those words, as he heard her rise to her feet beside him, and then he was roughly yanked to his feet. His back, his legs, exploded in agony as the welts the belt had created were twisted and torn by the movement. He felt as if he would pass out again, his entire body a single mass of pain, but the Slayer's strong arms held him up, guiding him blindly a few steps, before she stopped him.

And she raised his bound wrists above his head again.

Dismayed, frightened, Spike found himself speaking before he could stop himself. "Buffy," he whispered. "Buffy, please...you said..." He bit off the words suddenly, remembering his mistake.

But she did not call him on it -- not right then.

"What?" she pressed him gently, an indulgent sound to her voice. "What did I say, Sweetheart?"

"Y-you said...if I...if I did what you asked...you'd...we'd..."

"Talk about it?" she finished for him, a deceptive gentleness to her voice as she locked the chains into place above his head with an echoing finality that sent a cold dread to his heart. "We're talking about it," she shrugged, and he winced, biting back a cry of pain as he felt her hand mockingly squeeze his wounded rear end, and she remarked flippantly, "And I've decided not to let you down. Not yet. You've got to earn it, Sweetie -- and you *so* haven't."

She replaced the gag, while Spike's traumatized body fell into shudders of agony and fear, helpless to prevent her. He could not protest, could not escape, as she stopped before him again, and he could feel her piercing gaze on him, in the moment before she suddenly seized his swollen, aching member, twisting it mercilessly and causing him to sob with agony against the silencing gag in his mouth.

She leaned in close to his ear so that he could clearly hear her in spite of his pain, as she snarled softly, "And I never said you could talk. Get it right, Baby, if you ever want to get out of here."

He was barely aware of her retreating footsteps on a nearby staircase, as she left him alone to his own suffering and fear.

*********************************

"What's with the padlock?"

Buffy turned toward her sister's questioning gaze, as she fastened the lock securely in place on the outside of the basement door, smiling innocently at Dawn's wondering frown.

"Going a little extreme with the hiding of Christmas presents?" Dawn guessed lightly, smiling teasingly at her sister. The youngest Summers knew better than that; money had been tighter than tight lately, and there was no way she was getting anything worth hiding so carefully this year.

That is, if Buffy remembered her long enough to get her a present at all.

"Not quite," her sister admitted. "Giles sent me this really weird, kinda technical weapon...and it tends to...well, go off easy...He was really specific about keeping it under lock and key. He said he'll send me instructions on how to use it, but not to let anybody touch it but me. So..." she shrugged. "Hence the childproofing."

"Not a child," Dawn replied almost automatically, taking another spoonful from her bowl of ice cream.

"Noted," Buffy shot back lightly as she left the room.

Dawn pondered the lock on the door with mild curiosity as she finished her ice cream, rinsed the bowl, and then headed upstairs to her room to do homework -- completely unaware of the miserable prisoner, alone and chained in the basement of her mother's house.