Limits
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Illustration By Black
Robin Author: Dark Star Email:
eternity_ds@hotmail.com Website: Dark Star's Portal Summary: Love hurts. But
should it make you scream? Disclaimer: Joss
Whedon is creator and owner of
all things Angel Rating: Adult (NC 17) Warning: Contains some
graphic content Notes: This is the 3rd
part of my S&M series. The first part is Hollow. More Notes: Thanks go to
Jo, because without her nudging, this third story wouldn't exist. Pairing: B/A Category: Dark. Distribution: Just ask, please ** "My lucky
day," the vampire smirked. "You think?" "Oh yeah," he
chuckled, lunging forward; his smirk changing to a frown as the petite blonde
easily sidestepped his charge. Annoyed, he let his true face emerge and
growled at her, but he was confused by her total lack of concern for his
vampire visage. "Think again,"
she replied, swiftly whipping a stake from her jacket and aiming it at his
heart. The vampire jumped back
in alarm, and when she pursued him he backhanded her across the face. She
stumbled back, and inspired by his success, he followed through with a hard
kick at her legs. The lucky strike swept her legs from under her, and she
slipped forward and her forehead smacked against the wall with an audible
thump. Dazed, she dropped to
her knees and the triumphant vampire stepped forward to finish her off. He
stopped abruptly, his attention grabbed by the way her short skirt had ridden
up her legs and was exposing her silk clad bottom to his eager eyes, and
another hunger took over. He dropped to a crouch
beside her as she struggled to get groggily to her feet. He yanked off his
belt, deftly looping it round her wrists and tying the end round a drainpipe.
She came instantly alert, and her frantic struggle with the belt both amused
and aroused her tormentor. Grinning, he whacked her hard on the rear with his
hand, and hoisted up her skirt to reveal more of her charms before gripping
the waistband of her panties to yank them down. It was the wrong move.
Livid, she kicked out at him, scoring a perfect hit where it would hurt him
the most. He doubled up with a grunt, and she took the chance to work on her
bindings. Using her legs as a lever, she heaved against the pipe until the
weathered metal fractured, and she was able to free herself and discard the
belt. Turning furiously on the
vampire, she snatched up the stake she had dropped, and thrust forward. The
vamp's eyes widened as the wood pierced his chest; but then, shock turned to
disbelief when he realised that he hadn't disintegrated. "Missed," she
said casually, jerking the stake out and back in again. The vamp couldn't
believe his luck when she missed a second time. He knew his luck couldn't
hold, and he shoved hard at the crazy blonde bitch. She slapped him back,
stunning him with her strength, and a nasty suspicion began to form in his
mind. The stake jammed home a third time, splintering a rib, and the vampire
whimpered. He was pretty certain
now that the blonde was in fact the slayer, and she just didn't miss three
times in a row. His only thought now was
just to get away, but she had other plans, ramming the stake home three more
times in quick succession. All of them missed his heart. "How'd you feel now?"
she growled at the terrified vampire. "Do you feel lucky?" The vampire struggled to
reply, but his damaged chest only allowed him to wheeze pitifully. Buffy's
stake plunged home one last time, piercing the heart and dissolving the
vampire into dust. "Guess not." She straightened up,
gazing down at the place where he had been. She shook the dust from the stake
and placed it back inside her jacket. As she turned away, her foot caught on
something in the alley. She stooped to pick it up, and shuddered when she
realised it was the belt that had belonged to the vampire. Flinging it into
the trash, she muttered in disgust, "You're all the damn
same." Up on the roof
overlooking the alley, the shadowed figure stepped back, and was swallowed up
by the darkness. ** Travelling fast across
the rooftops, Angel reached the hotel long before Buffy did, and dropped into
a chair to wait for her. He was very concerned at what he'd seen, and his
thoughts went back to Willow's phone call, alerting him to her concerns about
Buffy's 'odd mood'. She said it
was just a feeling, nothing she could pin down, but she had known Buffy for a
long time, and her disagreeable behaviour lately had been so out of character
that she'd felt the need to talk to him about it. Angel took her warning very
seriously. In fact, he had himself noted her increasingly uncommunicative and
lethargic behaviour but convinced himself it was just tiredness and the
strain of her work. Now he wasn't so sure. "Hey," he said
when she arrived back at the hotel. "Did you have a good time?" "Wonderful,"
she replied brusquely, and Angel frowned. "Is everything
okay?" "Great," Buffy
replied dismissively. "Should something be wrong?" "You just…" he
paused, choosing his words, "… looked a little upset." He stood up
and moved toward her. "I don't know where
you got that from," she replied, neatly sidestepping his attempt to
touch her shoulder. She turned to escape up the stairs, and Angel, hurt by
her evasion of his touch, blurted, "Are you good for a session
later?" Buffy froze, one foot
resting on the first step. Angel saw the indecision on her face, and he was
practically willing her to say no. She took an almost imperceptible breath,
and replied steadily, "I'm good." She paused and added, "Only,
my back is still sore from when I fought that demon yesterday, so…" "No problem,"
he responded easily. "I can
work elsewhere." He shrugged, "I haven't played with the skewers
for a while." She gulped, and he was
certain that she was going to refuse him. Say it, Buffy, tell me to go to… "Fine." She
replied curtly. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going for a shower." She fled up the stairs,
and Angel watched her go with sudden understanding. So that was it,
then. He had a pretty good idea
now what the root of Buffy's problem was. He was. ** In The Room later, Angel
watched patiently while Buffy unhurriedly undressed for him. His request for
a session had been unplanned, but he couldn't deny that he was really looking
forward to it, and had been planning his activities all afternoon. When she had stripped
off all her clothes, he turned her round so that she was facing away from
him. He instructed her to put her hands behind her back, palms together, and
then he tied them with a length of cord. Next, he wrapped some black tape
around her arms, pulling tightly so that her forearms were pressed as close
together as possible. This meant that her shoulders were pulled right back,
and that her chest and stomach were pushed forward, which would make it
easier to work on her. Having accomplished
that, he led her over to the wall where he turned her again to face him and
used a very short chain to attach her bound wrists and arms to the wall. He
then spread her legs open and manacled them to the wall, too. He wanted her
held securely so that she would have to hold completely still. Satisfied with her
entrapment, he moved his small working table into place close by, and then
went over to the carved chest. Slowly, he lifted out a small wooden box that
he then carried over to the table. Placing it carefully on top, he removed
the lid and put it down next to the box. All of his movements had been slow
and precise, apparently completely intent on his preparations, but he was in
fact paying careful attention to his captive. With the arrival of the box, he
could see her body trembling slightly, and smell her growing fear. Inside the box lay the
things that Angel had referred to as skewers. In fact, they were a neat
selection of metal rods, in a variety of lengths and thickness. The
sensations Angel could induce with them ranged from uncomfortable to
excruciating, and Buffy hated the rods with a fierce passion. It was more
than the pain; she just couldn't bear to look down at her body and see them
in place, because - in her own words - it gave her a 'serious wiggins'. Nor
did Angel ever just 'leave them in place' either. Depending on his mood, he
would wriggle or agitate them, hang weights or other decorations on them, and
worst of all, he liked to heat them - either before or after insertion. Buffy watched his
thorough preparations warily. Her heart was racing and she squirmed against
the chains. Angel selected a very long rod, and held it up with a flourish.
He took a step toward her, and when she looked away from his plaything, he
made her look back at it. She didn't want to, but she knew he wasn't above
jabbing her with the rod, just to get her attention. She looked slowly back,
and Angel caught her chin with his hand and made her look directly at him. He
could do things here she would not allow anywhere else, and he tried to gauge
her mood. He had studied people for centuries - and he had studied her most
of all. At the start of a session he could usually sense defiance, fear, and
sometimes, anger. He couldn't read any of those on her now; she looked… not
indifferent exactly, more… resigned. When he was sure he had
her full interest, he brought the rod forward, and Buffy instinctively
attempted to shrink back, but she was already pressed hard against the wall.
For a while, he amused himself with scratching the point of the rod at random
spots on her skin, before deciding to finally get down to business. Taking her left breast
firmly in his hand, he felt cautiously for just the right place, carefully
avoiding anything that could seriously hurt her. Pressing the sharp point of
the rod in place, he pushed gently forward, just enough to break the skin.
She flinched but made no sound, and Angel watched in fascination as the metal
point slipped easily into her skin, and a tiny bead of blood welled up at the
entry point. More of the rod
disappeared into her body, and Buffy couldn't help but whimper at the pain
and humiliation she felt; and underneath the metal rod, she could feel a
trickle of blood begin to run down over her ribs. Pleased with his
achievement so far, Angel wriggled the rod and made sure it was in exactly
the right place. His gaze shifted to her face, wanting to watch her reaction
to the next phase of his activities. Grasping the rod in one hand, and her
breast firmly in the other, he suddenly pushed it forward, releasing more of
her crimson life force and causing her to jerk her head back and her mouth
open in a silent scream. For the next two hours,
he amused himself with inserting every one of the rods into her skin. The
majority of them were centred round her breasts and criss-crossed through her nipples. Some were
threaded horizontally just below the skin, and a couple pierced her most
sensitive tissues between her legs. Several of these were heated with his
lighter; it took ages for the heat to travel along the metal, but he was in
no hurry, and he enjoyed watching her squirm as she waited for the
inevitable. Through it all, she
writhed, she moaned, and she cried - but she didn't scream, and he was
growing frustrated with her disappointing response. He knew how to
make her scream. There were some things that nobody could hold out against,
but he didn't want to cause her permanent or lasting damage. But he needed
to make her react to him, needed to hear her scream and beg, needed
to feed on her fear. Still, it was early yet, and he enjoyed a challenge; he
was confident that he could get the reaction he wanted from her. *** Propped up on one elbow,
Angel silently observed the sleeping woman at his side. His keen senses were
tuned into every sound that she made; the change in her breathing and
heartbeat alerted him to her dawning consciousness, and he curled an arm
gently around her bare waist. "Good
morning," he breathed softly. Buffy's body stiffened
at his touch, and practically before her eyes were open, she pulled herself
from his grasp and swung her legs out of bed. "Gotta go to the
bathroom," she announced curtly, and moved off without a backwards
glance. The room had very little
light, but Angel could clearly see the dark bruises and angry welts that
marred her naked body, and he watched as she limped toward the
facilities. When she returned
some time later, Angel pulled the bedcovers aside to welcome her back.
Instead, she changed direction, crossing over to the dresser to pick up a
hairbrush. She looked agitated, and
Angel asked, "You okay?" "Just peachy,"
she scowled, furiously dragging the brush though her tangled hair. "Are you going to
tell me that's bothering you?" "You have to
ask?" Buffy snapped, slamming the brush down on the dresser and reaching
across to flick on the light. "Just look at me, Angel." Angel blinked past the
glare of the overhead light and looked at her. She was, as always, beautiful;
but the marks he'd seen earlier were even more pronounced in the harsh
glow. The whole area across her
ribs and down over her stomach was practically one huge bruise. Bruises also
covered her arms, legs and shoulders. Angry red stripes spoiled her normally
smooth thighs, and her bottom was covered in bruised and swollen skin. Her
back, as he had promised, was untouched. "Don't do that." "What?" Angel
asked, confused. "I thought you wanted me to look at you?" "You're looking as
though you want to fuck me," she accused. Angel blinked. "And
that's bad?" "It is when I look
like this," she snapped. "It's obscene." Buffy glanced down at
her body, and then shuddered in disgust. "How can you do this to
me?" "I didn't break any
rules, Buffy," Angel countered, as he moved to sit on the edge of the
bed and face her. "Your rules." Buffy glared at him but
said nothing, knowing that he spoke the truth. When they had first entered
into this arrangement, many years ago, Angel had wanted to know how far he
could go with her, where her boundaries were. She had only two rules. Since
she was afraid that her friends wouldn't understand, she had asked that he
didn't do anything that she couldn't hide from them. Nor could he do things
that wouldn't heal up within 48 hours. Given that she had a high tolerance
for pain, and that she healed very fast, that still gave him enormous leeway. Buffy hesitated,
apparently trying to curb her anger. "I hurt," she told him simply,
and was gratified to see him wince. "Everywhere…Angel… it even hurts to
breathe." Angel moved
uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. He was trying not to feel guilty - they
had long since accepted what he had to do - but he hated seeing her like
this. It wasn't unusual for her to feel unhappy or depressed after a session,
that was to be expected. But he had never seen her so upset before, and he
thought that perhaps this time, he had taken her too far. "Look," he
said slowly. "This is getting too much for you. There are… vampire women
who would let me…" He ducked when the
hairbrush hurtled by, close to his head, and Buffy advanced angrily on him. "Don't you even think
about doing that!" she screamed at him, and Angel frowned, not
understanding why she was so angry.
She stopped in front of him, and added, "I will not lose
another man to a damn vampire!" Angel stared at her,
confused. What did she want from him? She didn't like what he had done to
her, but she wouldn't let him go elsewhere with it. What was he supposed to
do? "Buffy," he
tried patiently, stalling for time. "What is it that you want? Do you
want me to apologise?" "Like that's going
to help," she said scathingly. "I want things like they were -
before it got so bad." "I can do
that," he agreed. "If it was getting too much for you, you only had
to tell me. I could have backed off for a while." Buffy gave a little
half-laugh and stepped back. She said nothing, and that concerned him. She
was still angry, he could tell from her body language, but she was
suppressing it, and had been doing so for a while. He wanted her to work it
out with him, bring everything out in the open. To do that, he was going to
have to get under her skin. "I get it, "
he said slowly. "You like the pain. You just don't want to admit
it." Buffy's eyes widened in
astonishment. He was joking, right? Angel pretended he
hadn't noticed her reaction, and continued, "That's okay. I'm sure I can
come up with inventive torture for you." "Don't," Buffy
warned. "What would you
like, Buffy?" he continued, completely ignoring her warning glare.
"Some bloodplay, perhaps? How about I get some more of those skewers you
love so much?" Buffy moved closer, her
face contorted in fury. "Don't you ever say that to me again," she
warned. "I'll submit to you in that hell-room, but you don’t ever - ever
- bring it out here." "Why not?" he
taunted her, enjoying the fire in her eyes. "You know you like what I do
to you. Remember how it feels when I push the skewers through your skin? Do
you know how sexy you look with…" Without warning, Buffy
slapped him hard across the cheek. She was so angry that she couldn't even
speak. Why was Angel doing this to her? He knew how much she hated those damn
skewers, how she even had nightmares about the disgusting things he did with
them. Angel's head jerked back
with the suddenness of her blow, and Buffy smiled in satisfaction. It felt
good to release her pent-up energy, and, fuelled by her anger, she hit him
again and again. Instinctively, Angel raised his arms to protect himself, but
made no move to stop her. But the raising of his hands seemed to make her
angrier, and she grabbed hold of his hands and pulled them away from his
face. "Oh, no you
don't," she screamed, awkwardly climbing onto his lap, but without
releasing his hands. "You don't get to defend yourself, Angel. You make me
take the pain, so you damn well can, too." "So make me,"
he challenged. "Make me pay, Buffy. Take out your…" Buffy silenced him with
a savage kiss, so fired up that she completely forgot about her sore ribs, or
the pain in her body. She forced him back on the bed with her grip on his
wrists, and pushed his hands flat against the sheet. She hadn't broken the
kiss, and Angel moaned with the burning need to hold her against him, but he
made himself lie still, even when he responded to her desperate kiss with an
urgency of his own. Buffy squirmed back down
his body, instinctively seeking comfort from him; and when her heat met his,
and found him already hard and waiting for her, she joined with him in an
urgent and brutal coupling. Buffy clutched Angel's
wrists fiercely as she rode him hard, using her anger to give her strength
and speed. When it was done, she moved her legs and lay silently on top of
him, spent both physically and emotionally. She didn't cry, she had none
left; and when Angel's hand began to stroke the back of her head, she
couldn't find enough energy to respond. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered, soothing her with kisses in her hair. "I'm so sorry,
Buffy." Very gently, Angel cradled Buffy's small body against his chest,
calming her with kisses as he listened to her harsh breathing as it gradually
changed from ragged to shallow. He had known that sooner
or later, he would reach her limits of endurance and something would have to
change. Her fighting spirit was one of the things that he loved most about
her, and he didn't want to push her too far and break her. He was very
relieved that she had gotten so angry with him, because it meant that her
spirit was still intact and he hadn't, as he had begun to fear, already
crossed that line. Buffy had always prided
herself in being able to hold out for a long time before she let the pain
claim her. But recently, she had reached those limits earlier, and was less
responsive to many of the things he did. Some of that was to be expected: she
had learnt to control the pain over the years, and had developed her own set
of coping strategies. He loved to make her react to him, loved to make her
twist and squirm in response to his actions. He adored the way she panted and
whimpered for him, and it excited him immensely when she finally surrendered
to the pain, when she screamed and writhed, completely oblivious to anything
around her. "I ask too much of
you, don't I?" he mused, wondering again why she let him use her.
"Buffy, we don't need to do this - there has to be another way." She stirred, and raised
herself up on her arms to look at him. "We started this because you need
it, Angel. Are you telling me now that you don't?" "No," he
finally said. "I still need to do it." "Then what choice
do we have?" "I don't
know," he responded helplessly. "Buffy… earlier, you mentioned that
you wanted things to be like they were. What is it that you want?" "I want to feel
like I matter to you," she whispered. "What?" "When we… do
things… I feel like a piece of meat, Angel. The awful things you do - it
could be anybody in there with you." She was looking away
from him, embarrassed, and he wondered what he should say to her. He could
hardly tell her that he knew damn well who he held helpless in the room with
him, that it was always her body he dreamt of, always her he craved; That it
was always her he imagined squirming in agony, and that just the thought of
causing her excruciating pain excited him. "So, what can I do
to change that?" he asked carefully. "I want you to
touch me like you used to." She gazed up at him again, her eyes watery.
She took a deep breath and continued, "I want you to talk to me more.
It's so impersonal that I'm finding it hard to cope with it. You used to give
me pain and pleasure, but now it's just pain, and it's getting so bad now
that I don't know how much more I can take. I want a definite end to the
session, and we used to use sex to mark that. Nowadays, there's no defining
finish, and I find that hard. I know you make love to me the next day, but
sometimes I get so wound up that I need release now - even if it's
harsh and cold. I need you, Angel - not just pain." She broke off her
tirade, watching him awkwardly, not knowing how he was going to react. Angel was stunned. He
had not expected such a heated response to his question, and he considered
her complaints. He had withdrawn sex from the sessions because he didn't want
to tarnish that side of their relationship. She gave him so much, and he hadn't
wanted her to start fearing sex with him. He didn't talk much to her because
he believed that keeping it impersonal would make it easier on her. And he
was ashamed to realise that she was right about the pain and pleasure. He
used to give her both, but lately he had been so caught up in his own selfish
desires that he had not considered her needs in this, believing she submitted
only to please him, and that was an unforgivable oversight. "You would still
submit to me?" he asked. "Yes." She
confirmed. "Angel… the pain last night was bad - really bad. If
it's always going to be like that, I don't think that I can do it." Angel took that comment
in and digested it. She was a brave woman, but she had her limits and she was
now apparently dreading her sessions with him. If he wanted to continue, then
he had to make allowances for her human frailty. She was not Darla, or Dru;
and, slayer or not, her human body simply could not take the punishment that
a vampire body could. "It will be
different," he promised. "You want both pleasure and pain - I can
do that." The tension in Buffy's
shoulders subsided, and she looked relieved. "Thank you." The words pulled at his
heart, making him wince. "I should thank you," he said softly.
"You shouldn't have to do this." She gave him a
half-hearted glare, and teased, "Don't start. We've done the
soul-searching thing already." He smiled thinly back at
her, and she laid back down against his chest where he let his fingers idly
caress her. He had come so close to messing up this very tenuous part of
their relationship. It was noticeable that she had not asked for less pain,
only that he showed her more consideration, and he didn't think that was an
unreasonable request. In the early days, he had given her a lot of pleasure
to offset the pain, and he knew that she had actually enjoyed some of those
sessions. It was unrealistic to expect her just to endure everything while
getting nothing back. He had also done more to help her through the early
sessions, whether it was a caress or verbal encouragement. On occasion, he
had deliberately riled her, knowing she would draw on her anger for strength.
Lately, he had done none of this, and he was appalled at how complacent he
had become. He realised he had become lazy in understanding how difficult the
whole scenario was for her. He was silent for a long
time, mulling over her words and wondering what to do about it. Finally, he
said, "In a few days, when you feel better, I promise that our next session
will be different." Her whole body tensed.
"It… it's too soon, Angel," she mumbled. "I can't…" Her felt her distress,
and hurriedly added, "That's not what I meant, Buffy. I was thinking
that next time, I don't want to hurt you." She looked up at him in
confusion, and he gave her a slow smile. "Next time - I want
you to hurt me." End Part Four ~ Switch
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