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Chapter five

Just how much fun can you have in a man's shirt?

Buffy

I know I make him mad. We make each other mad. The trouble is that we’re both too strong. We both want to be on top But he’s not going to win this one He might think he’s the big bad wolf, but I have exactly what it takes to turn him into a drooling little puppy, lying on his back waiting for his tummy to be tickled.

Slave, willing or otherwise? We’ll see. I know the trick to winning this. Give him something he’s never had before. Rewrite the book of love. He’s been everywhere, done everything. Gotta be creative.

He’s stomping about, face all glowery, putting on the act. Locks the door as if that will hold me if I wanted to leave. Pours himself a whiskey, downs it. Stalks towards me with his poor, neglected cock all hard and needy. Begging for attention.

So let’s mix it up a bit. I’m naked so I bend down and pick up one of his discarded shirts. Bringing it to my face, I take a deep breath and inhale its scent.

“This smells like you after a hard day, Spike,” I tell him and then I walk to where he’s standing and he’s looking a little shocked now, because I don’t think he was expecting this, and I rub the material over his bare chest, letting it slip lower to his hard length.

“Want it to smell just like you when you’re about to come, I tell him. “Then I’m going to put it on Spike. Would you like me to do that?” I say, all the while slipping and sliding it over him, my hand gripping him, my fingers occasionally grazing bare flesh. He’s close, very close. But I don’t want him to come yet.

I stand back and he moves forward with me, making a desperate sound as I break contact, but I put my hand on his chest and push him gently back.

“Have you ever noticed how erotic it is watching a woman get dressed? The way she slips her breasts into her bra. What she looks like when she’s wearing only a garter belt and stockings. A mini skirt with no knickers. Clothes are very underrated, don’t you think, Spike? Naked is good,” I say, rubbing the fragrant shirt over my breasts, over my belly and down to my most pleasurable spot.

“But wouldn’t you like to see me in this? Wouldn’t you like that when I take it off, I’ll smell of you? Shall I put it on, Spike?”

His face is a picture as I undo the buttons, because men never undo the buttons, do they? And even more so when I hand it to him.

I’ve managed to shut him up already. That cocky mouth that was shooting off just now about me being his slut and his whore is hanging open as he takes it from me.

“You want me to wear this?” he says looking at it.

“No,” I say. “Be a gentleman and put it on me, would you?”

I offer him my back and he slips the shirt on me as I stretch out, then suddenly his arm’s an iron band across my chest and he yanks me back against him. I let him do it because in the ebb and flow of things I reckon it’s his turn for a little dominance. Neither of us has to do any of this, we’re both strong enough to break away any time we want, so we just have to decide when we’re giving up control. And when we want to take it back.

Physically nether of us have to do this. We’re in this exact spot because we want to be, but mentally? Now that’s where the problem is. He can’t leave me alone because he tells me I’m stuck in his head. Tells me he dreams about me. Says that I won’t leave. But that’s only because he doesn’t want me to.

And me? I tell myself I hate him. How many times have I had that stake poised and never let myself make that final flick of the wrist that would send him to oblivion and end my Spike problem for good.

Because deep down, on some primitive level that I’m not even going to try and understand, I know I want this. Both of his hands closing over my breasts as he pulls me against him. His breath on my neck as he talks his dirty words, making all the little hairs stand up. One hand slipping to my belly as he shoves his hard cock into my back. I flex my knees, giving him the friction he’s looking for. And he’s calling me his devil girl, his bloody sexy woman as he thrusts against me.

My hand goes up and reaches into his hair. I thread my fingers into the slippery, gelled strands and hang on for dear life as he jerks and spasms against my back. Coming all over me, all over the shirt.

Yeah, clothes are good. Round one to me, I think.

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Spike

This girl was born knowing what I like, but never in a million years did I think she would ever give it to me. Ain’t money grand?

I think I see how she wants to play this. She knows there isn’t much she can do to shock me, to surprise me. Knows I’ve been around the block a couple of times, and then some. And she knows that there’s more to this than the in – out - shake it all about that you can read in any dime novel.

Hand jobs, blow jobs, she’s so tight, he’s so big. I’m gonna come. Okay, so I might just let that last one slip sometime this afternoon, we men like to announce our climaxes. But, yeah, let’s look for something different.

I’m not saying all those things aren’t nice. Sometimes you just want a good, hard fuck with no talking or preamble. Sometimes you just want someone’s mouth on you bringing you off, but as I said, that I can get from anyone. That’s your ordinary, everyday stuff. This is fantasy time. Time to look a little deeper, to seek out those delicious, secret spaces in between. To find stuff that even she doesn’t know about, because that ape, Riley sure won’t be showing her.

“Liked the shirt love,” I tell her as I bunch it in my hands and pull it up. She lifts her arms to allow me to take it off her, but I let it drop.

“No love, keep it on. S’dead sexy. D’you know why?”

She’s still got her back to me, but she shakes her head her breathing shallow as she waits for me to tell her.

The flat of my hand trails down her back and I cover the sticky, wet patch I’ve just made with my hand.

“ ‘Cos when I do this,” I say rubbing in a light circle, “you will smell of me.” I bring my hand up and lightly ghost a finger over her lips, then I push my hand into her hair and pull back her head. “And when I do this,” my lips close over hers, “You’ll taste of me, too.”

And I only need a small sip to let me know that I’ll never taste anything this good again. Delicious Buffy bouquet with dangerous Spike overtones. Goes to my head quicker than the whiskey. Makes it spin, makes me dizzy. Makes me realise that the next few hours are all I’ll ever have of this. I keep kissing her. Gotta memorise it, imprint it on my brain. Make a movie that I can play over and over again in the long lonely nights without her. Gotta stop going all poetic, it’s gonna make me crazy.

She has this way of moulding herself around me, she’s doing it now. Her skin sits perfectly against mine. When she pushes herself against me she just fits like she was always meant to be there.

And there’s the danger of poetry.

A touch, a feeling the slide of hands against skin, her hair tickling my face. The warmth of her breath. They fade away. But once you’ve articulated it, put it into words it’s always there. I’ll always be reminded of the things I can’t have.

Her head’s tipped right back against me now, her throat all bare and inviting. Can feel the blood pulsing, my fangs tingling. Aching to come down and slip inside her. She must know this. She’s a bloody slayer. She must know the agony I feel as she looks up at me. If she gave me permission, I could bite her. I could offer now. Fifty thousand. She’d never refuse that. But I don’t. Because it would only taste bitter if I had to pay her for it. Better not to go there unless she's completely willing.

“So, you like the shirt?” She says winking at me. “Tell me more.”

“Well, I say,” pulling it down one shoulder and pressing my lips to the golden curve of flesh. “I like it because I can do this.” I grab the hem at the back and slide it along the bumps of her spine. Then I bend and kiss my way down. “And I can do this,” I tell her.

“And,” I say, spinning her around and catching her as she sways. “I can do this.”

I take the collar between my fingers and thumbs and push the material apart arranging it so that it falls loosely over her breasts, just touching the sides of them, nipples exposed, giving me a view of her belly button. The triangle of hair just below tantalisingly on display. The shirt falls to mid-thigh on her and she’s right. It’s doubly erotic to see those parts you desire most peeking through.

And what’s just as exciting is knowing that I can do this. She frowns as I take the material and slowly start to button it up. Starting at the top I close it, bit by bit hiding her from my view.

“Do you know what the most exciting thing of all is love?” I say, working my way down, being sure to let my fingertips come in constant contact with her as I’m doing it.

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head.

“It’s the knowledge that this is all for me. That when you’re wearing my clothes, you belong only to me. When you’re covered up like this I have to use my imagination. But I know what you’ve got under there love. And it makes me so hard.”

She looks so prim and proper, standing there done up like a birthday parcel with her sweet surprises hidden inside.

She’s got her finger in her mouth, knees slightly together like a naughty schoolgirl and then she brings her hands to her hair, pushes it up and lets it rain down again. As she does that I get a quick flash of her pussy as the shirt rides up, and then it’s gone as the material covers her again.

I get even harder.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you Spike? She says letting her hand drop to her thigh. I’m hypnotised as her fingers trace the contour, moving higher until it hooks into the hem of the shirt and continues its slow ride up. This time she flashes me the sharpness of a hipbone, the dip of her waist. And then the shirt drops once more.

“Wait up,” I say turning and rooting in a drawer. I find what I’m looking for as she looks on curiously.

“How vulnerable do you want to feel, love?” I hold up the camera. “Wanna do something you’re gonna regret for the rest of your life?”

She shakes he head and backs away. “Not that, Spike. I can’t do that. No one can know I was here.”

“Oh, I think you can love,” I say, matching her step for step. “It’s the most exciting thing of all. Doing something you know you’re gonna regret, but doing it anyway. Knowing that I’ll have pictures of you like this, that I can look at any time I want to. That I could show to anyone I wanted to. I could promise you that no one will ever see them but me. But you’ll never know the day, or the moment that I’m so pissed off with you that I break that promise. And I might show them to anyone. Riley, Giles, your mom. Put them on the internet. Have it blown up poster size and put on a frikking billboard."

“No.” She gives the tiniest whisper. A last gasp protest, even as she’s moving towards the bed.

“It’ll be your photo I’m looking at when I’m getting myself off. Would you like that?”

She shakes her head and lifts one knee to the bed.

“I’ll make it fifteen thousand.” I say closing in on her. I don’t have to do that, offer more money. I can see where she’s heading. Can see how turned on it’s making her. But I just want to be sure. Really need this. Just to prove this afternoon wasn’t a dream. Need some evidence that she really was here.

“Lie down love,” I’m like a devil sitting on her shoulder, tempting her to bad things. But I’m only really taking her to places she’s willing to go freely. She wants this as much as I do. Maybe she even needs it more than I do.

And I just love that moment when a woman gives in. I’m happy to go through the dance because I know how it works. I’m nothing if not persistent. Know how to wait until they’ve made up their minds. Yeah, I could take it, but where’s the pleasure in that? Been there, done it. Much more exciting when a woman wants me because she knows I’m going to be the best she’ll ever have. Because I’m going to give her something no man ever has.

A devil on one shoulder, an angel on the other. Again I caution her.

“I said you’d be my slave this afternoon, but only a willing one, Buffy. Again, I say, only do this if you want it as much s I want you to do it. Forget the money. I want you to pose for me on my bed, wearing nothing but my shirt. I’m going to keep the photos and you’ll have to trust that that’s all I’ll do with them.”

“Do you trust me, Buffy?”

“Never,” she says climbing up on the bed and lying down on the black, satin quilt.

“Where do you want me?”

tbc....





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