She packed her large black dufflebag with her standard assorted weapons, and her newly acquired supplies. Her plan was to seek him out, knock him unconscious and drag him back to the crypt. Anya could always see the simplest solution to a problem.
Entering the cemetery, she hid her bag and wandered aimlessly. Twirling her stake, she could sense him nearby. She sat on a large tombstone and waited, knowing he would be there soon.
Spike felt her presence. Knowing she was near, he sought her out. He longed to be with her in any sense of the word. His keen sense of smell told him she was near, very near.
She saw him coming towards her and hopped off the tombstone, still twirling her stake. She was looking forward to this, and was unable to hide the ear to ear grin that was plastered across her face.
Buffy was glowing. She was illuminated from within. Spike didn’t remember ever seeing her look as beautiful as she did right now in the moonlight. There was something very different about her tonight.
Spike’s puppy dog face looked a little different to her as he approached. Gone was the pleading look he normally wore and in its place was a look of peace and happiness. What was going on with him tonight? Something had changed, and she was curious to know what it was.
“Buffy, what are you doing this evening?", he asked as he looked at her through his thick lashes.
She felt her heart skip a beat. ‘What the hell was that all about?’ she wondered. She tucked her stake into her waistband and walked a bit closer to him. He didn’t flinch, or make any effort to move. He just looked down at her with his mesmerizing blue eyes. For a second, she forgot what she was doing.
“Spike, will you ever let it go? There is nothing between us!” she said, trying desperately to convince herself.
“Buffy, I know you feel it too. Why can’t we just talk about it?”
That was all it took for her to remember her plan. He never saw it coming as her roundhouse kick struck him in the side of his neck, knocking him out completely. Smiling, she walked over to where her bag was hidden, threw the strap over her head so that it sat diagonally across her chest, then reached down and grabbed Spike under his arms. It wasn’t easy dragging him back to his crypt, but she barely realized with all the adrenaline pumping through her body. She was so excited to start the evening.
Once in the crypt, she tossed the bag down the stairs, and threw Spike over her shoulder and carefully descended the ladder to the bedroom.
Remembering in her dream that Spike was naked, she hesitated but realized that she needed to try to replicate it exactly to understand its message. She laid him on the large bed and removed his clothes. He was amazing -- like a marble statue, chiseled into perfection. Grabbing the rope from her bag, she carefully lifted his naked body off the bed and carried him to the wall and began to lash him in place. It was a difficult task, but she managed it. He hung in the opening in the wall; his wrists were bound, but she left his feet free. Once he was secured, she grabbed her bag and went to change behind a folding screen he had standing in one corner.
She quickly put on the corset and thong, pulled her hair into a loose bun and secured it with what looked like two black chopsticks. She walked back to the bed, sat down and pulled her boots on. She needed to get set up before he woke up. The small table by the bed was moved closer to where Spike was bound, and her “supplies” were laid out just like in her dream.
Spike hung limply in his restraints, but he was beginning to stir. Buffy sauntered over to the table, picked up the ostrich feather riding crop, and waited for him to awaken.
He opened his eyes, trying desperately to focus on the sight in front of him. He tried to rub his eyes, but quickly realized that he couldn’t, for he was tied to the wall of his own bedroom, and there before him stood Buffy. The word hot didn’t even begin to describe the goddess who stood before him. He struggled, having some difficulty getting his feet underneath him, but finally managed to stand. Buffy walked a little closer, slapping her hand with the crop, smiling. Spike suddenly couldn’t decide if he was scared or aroused, but being naked, one feeling was obvious.
She realized at that moment that this was when she had woken up from her dream. Spike had the exact expression on his face she remembered. She was a little unsure of what to do next.
“Buffy, luv, what do you have planned?” he asked nervously, looking at the table in front of him.
“I have listened to you whine one too many times about how you love me, how we are meant to be together. I’m thinking you need to be taught a lesson. You need to see that I am not the nice girl you think I am,” she replied, slapping her hand with the crop again. She approached him and drug the feather down his chest.
Spike’s eyes rolled back as the feather tickled him, causing him to shiver in delight. He knew to her this was punishment, but he would be enjoying every minute.
“Open your eyes!” Buffy commanded, and slapped his left thigh sharply with the crop. She stood in front of him, hands on her hips, with a smirk on her face.
Spike opened his eyes and looked into her deep green ones. He was more turned on than he could remember being in the past hundred years. He could smell her arousal. It was obvious to him that she was trying to hide this fact from him and failing miserably.
Her stance, her corset, her sun-kissed skin, it was almost more than he could handle. His cock twitched, standing at full attention, begging for her to touch him.
She found herself unable to keep her eyes from his gorgeous member when she saw it jerk as she slapped his thigh. It was making her mouth water. Irritated by her own body’s reaction, her anger at Spike grew.
“I brought you here to punish you, but you seem to be enjoying this. Obviously, I need to show you I mean business.”
Deciding she would tease him a bit, she used the feather to lightly touch his balls. He immediately flinched, not knowing if she was going to tickle or swat. She picked up on his nervousness and quickly brought the crop across his chest, raising a long red welt. Spike hissed in pain. Slowly she drug the tip of the feather across the red mark. Spike struggled not to break the ropes that held him and throw her down on his bed. He wanted this. He wanted her dominate him, to explore this realm of pain and pleasure, to try something new. He could tell she was a natural. His vampire healing caused the welt to disappear almost immediately.
As the red mark disappeared, Buffy struck him repeatedly with the crop. He held tight to his restraints, hissing in pain with each blow, struggling to keep his game face at bay. When she stopped, she again used the feather to trace each mark. The pain was exquisite, the feathery touch was heavenly. Where had she learned that?
Gasping, he smiled and then snarkily asked, “Pet, am I supposed to not like this?”
Infuriated, she took the end of the crop and placed it just under his testicles, stepping a bit closer.
“I will make sure you don’t enjoy this, Spike. This is not about pleasure, not matter how much you would like it to be,” she harshly whispered to his face. She swiftly flicked the crop upward, slapping the underside of his sack.
His game face burst forth, with a loud growl. Shaking his head, he was able to remove the vampire face immediately, and a grin broke out across his face.
“I’m not the only one enjoying this evening, luv. You can’t hide how much this turns you on, not from me.” Spike took a deep whiff of the air.
“Show me what you got, Slayer,” he purred.
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