Three days later Buffy stood overlooking a cavernous, desert-like room. How a place like this existed inside Concentrico she didn’t know. Nor cared. Right now her focus was on reaching William, and deep down she knew the downhill, rutted path under her feet led the way.
The path took her past longhaired hoofed men, whipping those trying to escape crimson latex bindings. Into a copse of thorny bushes and trees where flagellants used barbed branches to mortify the flesh while clawed, winged women feasted on the tattered remains. Past the fancifully dressed being chased and mauled by growling vicious dogs.
Buffy ignored the ever-increasingly disturbing sights and sounds, finally reaching the end. Stretched out before her were miles and miles of fire-littered sands with dozens of sparsely clad men and women lying, sitting, or wandering in groups. Among them was William, squatting in front of one of the many fires. Without a word, he stood and approached. As he lowered his mouth toward hers, Buffy closed her eyes.
“No more games.”
Eyes open wide, Buffy wrested the hand wrapped tightly around her throat. William squeezed tighter, stilling her, and with his free hand snatched the chain holding the key to his cock cage from around her neck.
“Release me.”
Obediently, Buffy took the key and freed him.
“You must atone for your sins. On—your—knees.”
Kneeling, she lowered her head and eyes.
“Such a contradiction you are. Head bowed in supplication while your greedy cunt drips in want.”
Buffy watched William’s pants pool around his ankles before he cast them off to the side.
“Open that sinful mouth of yours.”
Buffy raised her head and did as she was told, taking him in as much as possible. When she felt the tip brushing the back of her throat, she began working him with long strokes.
“So eager to repent.” William fisted her hair and started thrusting.
Buffy reached between her thighs to tend to her own growing need, only to be stopped by the pain of his tightening grip.
“No. Your pleasure is only mine to give.”
William roughly pulled Buffy to standing and spun her around. Without haste, he rucked up her leather skirt, bent her over, and entered her. From the start, he set a frantic pace, bringing her to climax over and over. She lost count how many times.
“Oh—god.” Buffy slammed back in time with his thrusts.
Slowing his hips and returning his hand to her hair, William wrenched back her head and trailed something jagged along her cheek.
“Such a nasty blasphemer. Beg for my forgiveness.”
Buffy saw the switch a moment before it landed on her exposed backside. She cried out with each blow.
“You see?” William stilled completely. His cock slipped from her as he released her hair. Looping and tightening the branch around her throat, he gave it a brisk tug forcing her attention on the gathering audience.
“They’re here to bear witness to your sins—”
“No.” Buffy’s whispered protest died on her lips.
“—and watch me fit your neck with a lovely purse.”
“No!”
Buffy gathered all her strength. In one fluid motion, she grabbed William’s wrist, stepped and leaned forward. With a drop of her shoulder, she threw him to the sands. Now, standing over him, her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.
“Ah, there she is.” William unexpectedly kicked out his leg and swept Buffy’s own right out from under her. She landed hard, the air rushing fast from her lungs.
In an instant he was on her. They wrestled for dominance until William gained the upper hand and grabbed her wrists tightly. While he pinned her arms above her head, she struggled wildly to break free.
“Mm…have to say, violence becomes you.”
A wicked grin marked his victory as he brutally entered her again. With each thrust, Buffy felt a white-hot rage building. One like never before. One fueled by the need to be the bringer of pain. Without warning, Buffy wrapped her legs tightly around William’s midsection and rolled them.
“No! You beg for my mercy!”
Eyes wild and unfocused, Buffy pressed her forearm against his throat. Sliding forward, she placed her knees on his biceps and used all her weight to effectively pin him. William bucked, trying to dislodge her as his face reddening from lack of air.
She held firm, watching his eyes roll to white while he struggled less and less. He was on the verge of passing out. Not letting him get off that easily, Buffy released him. Standing and straightening her skirt, she picked up the branch he’d used on her. She tested its weight with a flick of her wrist. Pleased and smiling wickedly, she turned back to William.
He lay on his side facing away from her, gulping mouthfuls of air. Buffy towered over him, and with a rough shove of his shoulder, he landed face down in a boneless heap.
Then the whipping began.
Each lash, his skin swelled and split, weeping blood. William tried escaping her brutality, but this and his cries of ‘mercy’ only fueled her rage.
Nothing seemed to quell this overwhelming need to cause him more and more pain. Not even when right before her eyes, William’s features began to change. Transfigure.
First he wore a face of a stranger. Then like the pages of a book caught in a gust of wind, his face morphed with each brutal blow.
Melissa Hartley. Jessica Ramirez. Detective Esposito. Quinn.
“Please.”
Mid strike, this plea stayed her hand while the image of Quinn wavered and altered. Into her sister.
Dawn lay beaten and bloody at her feet. Stunned and shaken, Buffy’s eyes darted between Dawn and the switch. When her mind finally caught up, she dropped the branch and staggered back. Falling to her knees, she emptied her stomach onto the sand.
When the retching ended, she dared a glance. Facing away from her, Dawn’s broken body was completely still—as the dead. Half crawling, half running, Buffy rushed over to Dawn just stopping short of her torn and bloodied back.
“Dawn?”
With a voice as gravelly as the sand cutting into her knees, Buffy’s hand hovered over Dawn, afraid to make contact.
Was she real?
Buffy didn’t know. It had been some time since she had trusted herself to make such a call.
Unsure, Buffy watched for the smallest of movements. She needed to know seeing Dawn wasn’t just a trick of the eye or more so, her mind. Then Dawn moved. First it was the slow rise and fall of her chest. Then the tremble of a slim shoulder followed by the sound of hiccupped breaths.
Buffy’s heart broke all over again. Dawn was alive. She was alive, and Buffy had hurt her and made her cry.
Or so she thought.
In almost an owl-like manner, Dawn’s head turned until her chin touched her spine. With black fathomless eyes set on her, Buffy realized Dawn wasn’t crying. She was laughing.
Laughing
It was only when her apartment’s shower had run cold and her throat was raw from sobbing could Buffy drown out this evil, inhuman sound.