Watcher
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Author: Dark Star Email: eternity_ds@hotmail.com Website: Dark Star's Lair Summary: Power comes in many forms Disclaimer: Joss Whedon is creator and owner of all things Angel Rating: Adult (NC 17) Warning: This story contains imagery some people might find disturbing. Notes: This is the 11th part of my S&M series, Harsh Reality. Part 1 can be found here: Hollow Pairing: B/A Category: Dark Distribution: Just ask, please. * He shifts in the
armchair, but his awareness of her never falters. He takes in every detail; he
sees the marks on her wrists caused by the chafing of the manacles. He sees
the wispy hairs escaping from her high ponytail and leaving straggly strands
round her ears. He notices every twitch of a finger, every mark and blemish
on her skin. Her head hangs low
and highlights her misery. Her shoulders are hunched, and dried rivulets of
blood stain her back, bottom and thighs; streaks of dried blood run down to
her bare feet - absolutely still on the cold floor. She is too tired to move;
her stiff arms are locked into position high above her head and she simply
waits, to see what he is going to do next. Angel steeples his
hands and brings them to his face, unconsciously leaning closer to her. He
likes to watch; sometimes he does it for hours, and she waits patiently in
silence for his next step. She doesn't mind these interludes; standing
motionless is uncomfortable but it is infinitely preferable to torture. He comes to a
decision and stands up. He moves toward her, wondering if she will sense him
approach. She doesn't flinch when he touches her arm and he knows that for
all of her outward appearance of exhaustion, she is still very much aware of
her surroundings. "Now that
you're rested," his voice purrs in her ear and her stomach curls up in response.
"I want to play a game." Buffy swallows
nervously. Great. A whimsical Angel. That is never a good development. Her
legs ache terribly, and her shoulders and raised arms are well past the
aching stage - she can't feel them at all. Angel steps away from her, and she
ignores the smirk he gives her, before crossing over to the chest. She waits
to see what kind of game he has in mind. When he returns, he
carries something in his hand. Goosebumps start to prickle her arms; with
dread forming in her gut she strains to see what it is. He is holding a
plastic box from which wires are hanging down. She is suddenly very alert by this unwelcome
development. He puts the box on the table, and she doesn't need to look at it
- she is already familiar with the equipment. Angel kneels down in
front of her. He eases the wires from the box, carefully untangling the ends
with the electrodes on. Gently easing her reluctant legs apart, he fastens
the electrodes to her cunt, and then tells her to stand on tiptoe. She obeys
very slowly, as though she can postpone the outcome by being sluggish. He
waits patiently, and when she has done what he has requested, he slips the
box under her raised feet, but it doesn't touch her. There are two very short
lengths of chain attached to the floor, and he wraps the manacles round her
ankles. She cannot move her feet away from the box at all. He looks up. "You know how
this works," he tells her, "when I turn this on, you must stand on
your toes. The whole top of the box is a sensor…" he pauses because her
scent changes. She is frightened, and he wonders if she is remembering what
it felt like last time. His voice drops a couple of octaves and Buffy tries -
unsuccessfully - to stop her lip quivering. She catches her lip between her
teeth determinedly - she's well aware of what he is trying to do. "There is power
in the box. A lot of power - enough even for you." Buffy's
breathing quickens and Angel reaches forward to caress her toes. "If you
put your feet down, at all, it will make contact with the electricity
and it will hurt." As he talks, his fingers slide up her leg
until he reaches the electrodes and Buffy flinches. "Bastard,"
she says under her breath, and he resists the urge to smile indulgently at
her. He loves it when she resists him. "All you have
to do," he continues, "is avoid putting your feet down." She scowls but makes
no reply. She knows it's not as simple as that. She has already endured hours
of pain tonight. She is very tired, and her muscles are aching and stiff. It
will be very hard to stand still, but she doesn't want to give him the
satisfaction of failing too early.
Angel sits down at
her feet and crosses his legs. He is comfortable, and he knows she is not.
She will weaken before he does and he wants a ringside seat when she does. He turns the power
on, and then sits unmoving at her feet. It feels like hours to Buffy. There
is no sound in the room except for the sound of her breathing. There is no
clock ticking, no dripping tap, nothing. She has not moved her feet or legs
at all, and he knows she must be feeling very uncomfortable. He longs to hear
her scream, and he debates what to do next. He could simply wait her out. Or
he could lean on the sensor to make contact, but that will upset her, and probably
make her angry. He could whip or spank her, hard enough to throw her off
balance and make her move, but that's a bit… vulgar. He has in mind something
subtler. He reaches out a
hand and caresses her thigh. The muscles are hard, where she has locked them
into position. He kisses the hard flesh, and there is the tiniest movement of
her feet. She is trying to shift position without touching the box. "Put your feet
down," he urges her. "You need to rest them." She doesn't answer,
but she looks down at him, and her expression is venomous. Oh yes…
that's his girl. His hard cock aches for her, and to be inside her would be
wonderful. But not yet: first, he should reward her. He alters position so
that he is kneeling in front of her. Her expression changes to one of
uncertainty, and he smells fear. Starting with her
feet, he slowly walks his fingers up her legs, caressing the tight skin, and
he is excited by the fragile tremble he feels through her body. She is frightened,
and yet she is determined not to move. It is inevitable that she will fail,
and she knows it; but she is using all of her mental resources to postpone it
for as long as she possibly can. He walks the fingers
up further, right to the top of her thigh. He runs his fingertips around the
edge of the electrodes, and she shivers. She looks away, makes herself stare
straight ahead so that she can't see what he is doing. It helps to calm her
but she can still feel. Angel has experimented extensively with her body for
decades. He knows how to touch her to get the reaction he wants, and his
dancing fingers slip inside her with no difficulty. She is wet inside, and
that alone speaks volumes to him. The fingers work inside her, and she moans,
trying not to squirm. She knows she must not move, but Angel's fingers feel
so good. Her senses are high, and every touch is magnified. She fears the
electricity, and she is determined to hold still, but oh, those fingers… her
hips want to move, to rock against his hand and she forces herself to stand
still. His thumb rubs roughly against her clit, and it's too much. If her
hands had been free, she would push him away, but she can't stop him.
Desperately, she begs, "Please, Angel. Oh, please… " He says something to
her, but she doesn't really hear what he says, she is too involved in trying
to curb her treacherous body and her fear is escalating. He knows where to
touch her, and how to coax her to orgasm but he doesn't want her to come yet
and he lets her dangle on the edge of the precipice for long, agonising
minutes. Her fear is delicious and her desperate pleas for clemency are
making him incredibly hard. When he finally makes her come she cannot control
the orgasmic spasms and her foot pushes down hard on the sensor. Contact is
made, and she shrieks with a mixture of pain and pleasure and she pulls her
foot up again instantly. But Angel has not
stopped playing with her and his fingers are still moving rhythmically,
bruising her clit with his thumb as he forces her again and again through
exhausting orgasms and the accompanying terrifying charges of electricity.
Her whole body is racked by pain, and she can do nothing except weather the
agonising storm as best she can and wait for it to end. When it does,
finally, her breath is coming in harsh sobs and tears are running down her
face. Everything hurts and her legs are threatening to let her down. Her whole body is trembling and her
thighs are shaking so hard that she is unable to stop it. She is terrified
that her legs will cramp, and she tries to make her abused body stand still.
She can't. She thinks maybe the electricity has affected her nerves and she
is afraid her body will spasm involuntarily and her mind's eye helpfully
supplies terrible images of what to expect if it does. Her mouth is dry,
and her throat feels like sandpaper. She is struggling to regain her
equilibrium and she instinctively searches for Angel's stability to ground
her. His hands are on her hips, doing nothing except holding her still, and
his voice is calm and reassuring. She doesn't understand the words, not yet,
but the tone is gentle and she latches onto it, letting him lead her out of
the dark. "You're doing
wonderfully," she hears him say, and the pride in his voice makes her
stomach hurt. His steadying hands move from her hips and go to her cunt and
she whines, fear lacing through her again like a spear. "Ssh," he
says soothingly, "It's over now." She feels him peel the little
electrode pads away from her skin. She feels him touching the area to see if
the current has left any damage.
There is more movement at her feet and she is too tired to look down
but she knows he is unchaining the manacles and removing the box. She hears a zip
being opened. Angel's hands are holding her hips again and he says,
"Hold on." She's learnt to do first and think after, and she grasps
the chain above her wrist manacles and holds them. Her overworked shoulders
scream in protest, but when she feels Angel's hands under her bottom, lifting
her and supporting her weight, the pain in her shoulders recedes. Angel's cock is
searching hungrily for her wet centre, and from somewhere she finds the
energy to wrap her legs round his waist. It's wonderful to take the weight
off her exhausted muscles, and she moans as Angel pushes inside her with no
difficulty at all. He pauses when he's sheathed fully inside her, enjoying
the heat of her skin, and the feel of her limp and bruised body in his arms. She smells good.
Scents of fear and sex mix with the smell of blood on her legs and he needs
to possess her. He knows she hasn't the strength left to ride him, but it
doesn't matter. He has enough strength for them both, and his hands under her
bottom guide her movements, matching them perfectly to his own fast and
furious pumping of her body. Buffy can do nothing except hang on. The chains
rattle loudly, almost drowning the exhausted girls' moans and the wet slap of
Angel's balls against her bottom. Finally he comes.
She's grateful for that because it means an end to the night's activities,
and her cunt is very sore from where the electricity has hurt her. "Can you
stand?" he asks. Can she? She doesn’t
know, and she can't seem to be able to make herself speak, so she slowly
shakes her head. "I'll carry
you," he tells her. "Hold tight while I unchain you." Her head moves in a
faint parody of a nod and he feels her sliding closer to him to get a better
grip. He unchains her quickly, and she falls forward, against his body, and
he wraps his arms round her protectively. He carries her away
from the chains, toward the bed, and his pride in this woman is powerful. He
strokes her hair as he walks, his tone soothing her, and he lays her down on
the bed. She has trusted him and she has endured, and now it's his
responsibility to take care of her. He pulls the blanket
round her faintly trembling body and pulls her close. "You were
amazing," he whispers. She stirs, tired eyes looking up at him
anxiously. "Am I…?"
she manages to say and he doesn't pretend to misunderstand her question. "Always,"
he says softly, kissing her hair. "Always." End. . Return to Fiction Index
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