All About Spike

Chapter: 1  2  3

Bondage Fun
By Moose

Author's Notes: This is the "missing" handcuffs scene from "Dead Things." Also note that this is *not* PWP (Porn Without Plot). It is quite plotted, thank you. :-)
Betas: Much thanks to Perletwo, Mezzibelle, Chen, and NikiB for the wonderful beta action. This story is the better for it.
Disclaimer: Joss is God. The characters are his. I'm merely having fun with them.

***NO MINORS PLEASE*** If you are under 18, go ask your parents if you can read a story titled "Bondage Fun." If they say yes, I'm sorry you have such crappy parents. Now read my PG-13 fic and be happy. Go on. Nothing naughty to see here.

Bondage Fun: How Wrong?

"Grab the chain," Spike said gruffly. Bossy chit.

Buffy had only a moment to do as he said before he threw her legs over his shoulders, and with his hands under her ass, lifted her off the bed and into his furious tongue. He attacked her clit with a passion: sucking, licking, nipping...

"Ugh!" Buffy said happily, and often.

She's just like that, Spike thought angrily, even as he arched two fingers into her well-oiled entrance. Damn Do-Me Queen...

At the first hint of orgasm, as her inner walls contracted and her thighs fluttered around his head, he sucked long and hard on her clit. She came bucking wildly, her screams nearly reaching the pitch of the jangling chains. He lowered her to the bed even before the final spasms had left her body.

"Happy now?" he grumbled, wiping her juice from his face and climbing off the bed. She didn't hear him. Her eyes were glazed and distant, and she was desperately sucking air like a fish out of water.

He sighed. "Love?"

She turned her head and looked at him, open-mouthed. The awe on her face mollified him some.

"Liked that, did you, pet?" he smirked.

She answered with a bright smile and he laughed. He never could stay angry with her for long.

"Well, in that case, ready for round two?"

"Okay," she said breathlessly.

Spike walked over the dresser. "Red or white, love?"

Huh? "I don't know. What wine goes with bondage?" she asked, curious.

Spike convulsed in silent laughter. Grinning, he gestured toward the dresser.

Oh, candles, Buffy thought. Then her eyes widened. Candles? "Um,"

"Good choice." Spike picked up a thick candle and his lighter off the dresser, setting them on the bed. He frowned slightly, looking at her.

"What?" she asked, nervous. He was staring at the chain holding her arms up.

"This will probably work better if you're lying down." He grabbed the key from the nightstand and unlocked the padlock connecting the chain to her cuffs.

Buffy winced as she lowered her arms, rolling her shoulders in relief. She watched as he slid the chain down off the pipe and unlocked it from the bedframe. Once done, he threw the chain into a corner of the room, and looked at her, his eyes dark with lust.

"Ready, love?"

She was torn, afraid and excited to find out what came next. But there was another fear surfacing again too.

The handcuffs felt almost natural now. What had he called them? Pretty jewelry. His shiny, pretty bound Buffy.


And he was there, holding her, stroking her hair. "It's okay, love. We can stop. You don't have to do anything you don't want."

Want. Yes, she didn't want this, shouldn't want this. She wondered if what came next could be it--the thing that makes her never want him again. The revolting thing that banishes the lust, makes this whole sordid affair a sad footnote at the end of a book now closed.

She hoped it would be, because she, needed to know--like waiting for test results on some incurable disease. She needed to know how bad it was.

She needed to know just how wrong she was.

"I..I didn't say the word," she said to him, avoiding his questioning eyes.

He pressed his cool lips to her forehead.

"Alright, love. Lie back." She did as he told her, lying supine, stretching her sore arms up toward the head of the bed. He undid one side of the cuffs and re-locked her wrists around the center metal post.

He picked up the bright red candle and lighter. Catching her eye, he winked as he flicked the wheel of lighter and lit the candlewick. Buffy's hands instinctively curled around the post, her eyes never leaving the orange flame. She started as he snapped the lighter closed, and she realized just how nervous she was.

Did he do this with Dru? Was this something he learned from her? I bet that vamp-ho-bag just loved...

Buffy was so lost in thought, she didn't notice the first drop of hot wax until it landed just above the areola of her right breast, forcing a shocked cry from her lips.

Damn vampire. "I hate you," she said with venom. He grinned.

"How much do you hate me?"

Drip. Gasp!

The candle hovering over her torso now had her undivided attention. She watched as a drab of red escaped from the candle.

It reminded her of those slow motion films of rain hitting blades of grass. It had amazed her, seeing the raindrops impact like atomic bombs.

Only now she felt it for herself--the blast, the fission of wax as it detonated on her skin. Hot. Searing.


Another wax droplet ignited and she moaned.

She tore her gaze from the candle and sought his eyes. He was concentrating, brow furrowed, but his eyes revealed the true battle waged within--a battle between lust, concern, and humor.

"You didn't answer my question, love."


"Do you hate me this much?"


The gob of red splashed across her nipple and she hissed. She needed time to catch her breath, but he wasn't giving her the time.


"M..more," she rasped. He looked amused.

"More, as in more of this..." Drip. Wince.

"Hate you," she muttered.

"You're repeating yourself, pet."

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Her skin was on fire. His meticulous method sought out the most tender flesh of her breasts and stomach for his aerial assault.

"You know what I think?" Spike asked her.


"I think this gets you..." Drip. "Wet."

Sure enough, Buffy could feel the dampness between her legs. And she was only dimly aware of her thighs rubbing together in a vain attempt for stimulation.

"Spike? Spike...please?"

"Not yet, love. We're not finished yet." His low tones made her shudder.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" The candle stopped its waxy-hot assault over her body, and she sucked at the air, breathing hard.

She looked at his face and saw his eyes soft and curious.

"I..I don't know..."

Drip. Gasp!

"Find a better answer, love," he said, a hint of steel creeping into his voice. "Here you are, chained to my bed. I, the Big Bad vampire that I am, could drain you in a heartbeat."

She didn't answer.

"I could bite you here..." The wax splashed on the top of her breast. Buffy bit her lip to keep silent.

"Or here..." Another drop exploded near her pelvic bone.

Still no answer.

"Or maybe even..." He moved the candle over her wet folds and her eyes widened comically. He turned his wrist slightly and the drop hit her inner thigh instead.

She almost, *almost*, sighed in relief.

"So, pet. Why aren't you afraid of me?" He was paused, the candle hovering over her.

"Because..." Buffy began.

Why? She didn't exactly know. He was Spike. He wouldn't hurt her. Well, not much. Not really hurt her. It was sort of a given between them. She could come to him--come under him, come over him, come fifty ways to Sunday--but he wouldn't...

"Just because," she said quietly, looking into his eyes.

Whatever was revealed in her gaze seemed to satisfy him, and he set the candle down on the nightstand, still burning. He reached for her cuffs.

"Spike? I didn't..." She started, confused.

He undid her left hand then snapped the empty cuff to the bed.

She looked at him confused, lips parted.

He couldn't resist. He plunged his lips down to hers, kissing her furiously. She responded with equal ferocity, her free hand grasping the back of his head, her fingers swimming through his blonde hair.

She moaned in protest as he pulled away.

"I want you to get yourself off this time," he said huskily.

He didn't have to tell her twice. Even before the kiss, her face was flushed with desire. Her body trembled and ached with the need for release. Her free hand immediately slipped down to her slick folds.

Spike picked up the candle again, watching her moist fingers dip inside her with heavy eyes. He let a drop of wax drip on her leg. She bucked in response, looking at him in surprise even as she continued to work her fingers in and out.

"Don't stop, love," he whispered.

No worries there. She didn't think she could even if she wanted to. The bed groaned as she pulled hard with her handcuffed hand. She wasn't used to using her left hand. She wondered briefly if that was intentional on his part.

Another couple of drops landed on her thigh and she whimpered.

"Better hurry," Spike told her, as he positioned the candle over the hand between her legs.

She opened her mouth in surprise as wax splashed on the back of her hand. Her first reaction was to pull away from the burning wax, but she stopped herself as another drop fell, landing on her hand. She continued working her fingers, mindful of the falling wax. A thick gob spattered smaller drops along the crease of her legs and she shook with pleasure.

"Faster, love," he said.

And she complied, even as the wax continued to rain on her hand. Her orgasm was close. She could feel it building deep and powerful inside. She closed her eyes. Her whole body quivered in anticipation.

She pulled at her clit, forgetting to guard against the wax, and a drop struck her outer folds like lightning. She screamed as her orgasm ripped through her, arching madly off the bed, her heels digging into the corners of the mattress. Wave after wave of orgasms shot through her as she convulsed helplessly. Everything around her disappeared in a colorless haze.

An eternity passed before she was aware again of where she was. Panting heavily, she found tears rolling unbidden down her cheeks. The snuffed candle on the nightstand still looped smoke into the air. Spike sat on the bed beside her, stroking her hair once more.

"Spike? That was...that was..." She found she couldn't form words.

He gently wiped the tears from her face and smiled. It wasn't an arrogant or smug smile; it was a happy, glad-I-could-give-you-this, smile.

She smiled back, warmly, and then quite firmly stated, "Mr. Gordo."

Spike chuckled even as he reached for the key to undo her cuffed hand.

"Mr. Gordo, huh?" he teased, releasing her wrist. She massaged her wrist with her wax covered hand.

"What? I like Mr. Gordo."

Spike got up and retrieved a wooden bowl. Gently, he began to remove the wax on her body, placing it in the bowl.

Sitting up, Buffy gazed down at herself with a small frown. "I look like one of those cheeses. With the wax. Gouda."

"I think you look good-ah too, pet."

Buffy groaned. "Save the puns, Spike. Even I have my limits."

"None that I've found," Spike grinned. She rolled her eyes. He continued removing the wax.



"I..." She struggled to speak, her mouth moving soundlessly.

"I don't...hate you."

"I know, love."

Continued in Bondage Fun: Put It On Me

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