Sunday Girl

By Dead Soul

Prologue - Detroit 442

Scene: 1998, an all-night diner in Detroit, Michigan, 4:42 AM. A young woman huddles over a stale cup of coffee, chain-smoking Marlboro Reds, hardpack. She's dressed all in black in a style ten to fifteen years out of date. Like a very young Madonna in a badass mood. It's a look that's making a comeback. She has long blonde hair and heavy makeup, especially around the eyes, which, if they had looked at you would show nothing but contempt and emptiness with maybe just a spark of world-weary humor.

A young man approaches her, asks to share her table, orders his own coffee. Nothing special about him except for a desperate extroversion and an unwillingness to take no for an answer. She's laughing bitterly at something he's said, you overhear her reply, "What am I doing in a place like this?" The mirth doesn't last long. She stares long and hard into the man's eyes and comes to a decision. She begins to talk.

Chapter One - Will Anything Happen?

I was just another stupid little girl from Longisland. We said it just like that, running the "g" at the end of "Long" into the "I" in "Island" so it sounded like "Lawn Guyland." Secularly Jewish and right out of high school, enjoying a last summer of spending Dad's money in an amateurish way, as opposed to the professional way I'd be spending it when I started NYU in the fall.

It was the weekend before the big Labor Day weekend and a gaggle of us old high school friends was going to hit the city one last time before we scattered to our respective schools, jobs and shotgun marriages. Well, only the one shotgun marriage; my best friend Debbie had let herself get knocked up in order to finally pin down her longtime boyfriend, Steve. Oldest trick in the book, but it seemed to have worked for her - I'd already been fitted for the horrendous peach monstrosity of a bridesmaid gown that I'd be wearing in her "Harvest" themed October wedding. Early October, or her genuine knock-off Vera Wang wedding dress wouldn't be able to be let out enough. So this weekend was also to serve as Debbie's bachelorette party. Chippendales, here we come!

And there we were, Debbie, Tanya, Rachel and me, waiting on the platform for the LIRR train to the city as the sun was nearly completely set in the late summer sky. To the east the sky was blue jewel black with pinpricks of white. Our little high school clique - together since Hebrew School, but I was realistic enough to know that there was little chance we'd stay so tight. Debbie was the blond cheerleader marrying her high school quarterback sweetheart, Tanya was the slut and Rachel was the good girl. I'm sure there was more to them than that, but I really don't remember. I was the quiet, bookish one with a wild streak - the one who thought up the pranks and whispered the dirty things during class that would break the others up and get us all sent to after school detention where we'd whisper and giggle some more under the bored eyes of whatever teacher was unlucky enough to get stuck supervising.

They'd carefully coordinated their Saturday Night Fever outfits - similar enough to show that they belonged together, but different enough not to look too, they thought at the time, "tacky-twinny." I'd managed to misplace the memo and was dressed far more casually. Tanya was already passing around a flask of peach schnapps and we were well into the giggly stage. That the throwing up stage would be reached that night was a given. Debbie was passing the flask to me when something caught her eye and she poked me and pointed, snickering.

A little way down the platform stood an entwined couple. They looked and dressed completely differently, yet appeared made for each other. She was wisp thin, dark haired and dressed in a high-waisted, ankle-length white dress dripping with lace. He wore faded jeans, holes in the knees and ass, worn and pale. A black t-shirt with the arms ripped off and stuck through here and there with safety pins, heavy black belt and boots, silver bracelet, chunky silver or steel chain with a padlock as a pendant around his neck and something, another safety pin?, flashing from his black left eyebrow. Heavy black eyeliner and bleached white hair completed the, I snorted to myself, 'ensemble.'

I fancied that I wasn't a complete suburban bimbo - I'd heard of the growing 'punk' scene just catching on down in the Bowery at clubs like CBGB's and Max's Kansas City. There'd been the odd freak at my high school who'd wear the ripped clothes and petulant attitude. I even stayed up late one Friday night to catch a British band called "The Police" on the Midnight Special. Some song about a prostitute. To an ear used to smooth, over-processed glib disco, it sounded rough and amateurish.

But I had had to admit to myself it had something other music lacked - anger, passion, frustration. Things I felt but couldn't articulate. If I looked at my friends and wondered at their glassy-eyed acceptance of whatever they were fed, I would stop and remind myself that they were my friends, my best friends, and I'd buy whatever they were buying, listen to whatever they were listening to, wear whatever they were wearing. In my secret heart I was looking forward to making a life that didn't depend on their approval. So this one last night as part of the foursome I planned to make one to remember. As a kind of good-bye to them and the me I was around them.

Seeming to hear my snort, although surely he was too far away, the man in the jeans and torn black t-shirt looked over at me and his eyes snagged mine in one of those looks that lasts less than a second and stays with you forever. A stray headlight flashed across his pale face and the blue of his eyes leapt out in startling clarity. The strobe of light also broke our connection as it coincided with the arrival of the train. He and his companion entered one car while my drunken friends and I entered another.

By the time we rumbled into Penn Station, even tipsier from Tanya's schnapps, I had completely forgotten about him and the moment our eyes met, but I was filled with a strange kind of restlessness. I felt like I was outside myself - looking down with a kind of bemused affection at the four silly young things stumbling up the escalator into the hot humid smelly streets of Manhattan.

We cabbed it to Chippendales and it was all I'd expected it to be - loud, tacky and utterly boring but the others seemed to be having a good time so I let them get on with it. For a while, anyway, but my restlessness was increasing to the point where I couldn't sit still another moment longer. I grabbed Debbie and dragged her to the bathroom.

"I gotta get outta here," I yelled into her ear. Stray strands of her hairspray-stiff, smoky smelling Miss Clairol hair stuck to my lipstick, her spiky fluffy bangs threatened to take an eye out, and I pulled my face away in frustration. "I got the headache from hell and I think I'm gonna heave."

Thank god she was drunk enough not to care that I was leaving by myself at nearly midnight in the middle of New York City. Thank god she didn't know where I was planning to go. She just wanted to stuff some more bills into the g-strings of the dancers and drink two or eight more Lawn Guyland Iced Teas. She just said, "Whatever - call me tomorrow," and teetered on her Candies back to the action.

I paused as I left the club and took a deep breath of the hot exhaust-laden air. By myself, finally, and ready to find some trouble to get into.

Chapter Two - 11:59

An old yellow cab screamed up to the curb and disgorged four loud middle-aged women wearing too much make-up and perfume and clothes way too young for them. They looked like our mothers or what we could grow up to become. Picturing myself like them made my determination to escape that possible future all the more desperate. Their raucous laughter screeched in my ears as I fought through them to grab the taxi. "CBGB's," I told the driver. He gave me a "why would a nice girl like you want to go there" look but headed downtown.

I thought about what I was wearing. I must have known that I might want to ditch the girls and do some exploring on my own. I was the only one of the foursome to insist on wearing jeans and sneakers and a plain white t-shirt. Debbie had been adamant about doing my black hair like hers, but in the cab I rumpled it up, the heavy hairspray she'd used making it stay in crazy rattails and odd spikes. I pulled out the black eyeliner and dark red lipstick I had stashed in my back pocket and did the best I could in the bouncing car. If the liner went on a little jagged and thick, all the better. Taking the sharp nail file from the other back pocket, I used it to gash some strategic holes and rips in the t-shirt. I'm sure I looked exactly like what I was - a stupid girl from the suburbs slumming for a cheap thrill. But at the time I thought I'd pass.

The cab entered the Lower East Side and the Bowery and stopped in front of the club. The torn and dirty white awning over the entrance said "CBGB - OMFUG." There was a small crowd out front and I couldn't hear any music - just voices raised in loud conversation as the people milled about catching a breath between sets. I had no idea who was playing, probably hadn't heard of them anyway. I just wanted something different; something rough, not slick; something that would grab me and yank the good quiet bookish girl right out of me. My stomach in my mouth, I paid the driver, stepped out - and promptly tripped over the curb.

Praying that no one was watching, I hauled myself upright. No such luck. Applause, laughter and catcalls followed me as I ducked towards the club door. In a wild, reckless, if you can't beat them join them attempt to outface the embarrassment, I laughed myself and gave them all a pair of stiff middle fingers. Both my knees were bloody and my jeans were torn. As I turned to bow to my audience, still backing towards the door, I bumped into someone. Great, I thought, Queen Clutz strikes again.

Chapter Three - A Shark In Jet's Clothing

Red-faced I turned to apologize, nose to chest with a torn, sleeveless black t-shirt studded with safety pins. Can't be, I thought. But it was. I slowly looked up, same heavy chain and padlock, same sharp chin and full-lipped mouth. I tore my eyes away before they could meet the blue ones that had fascinated me on the train platform. Mumbling a belated apology, I ducked around him and into the dark, hot smelly club.

I could see that the stage was lit but empty as the bouncer checked my fake I.D. and took the cover charge, stamping my hand with a big black X. I fought through the crowd at the bar and ordered myself a beer. I wanted something stronger, but I also wanted to keep the amusing stumbles and bumps to a minimum. Some hope. Not a drop of the beer went into my mouth, it all went down the front of you know who's black, torn, safety-pinned t-shirt the minute I turned away from the bar. Jesus.

"What'd I ever do to you, you stupid cow?" he snarled, trying to brush some of the liquid off his shirt before it had a chance to soak in. Why don't earthquakes, fires and other natural disasters strike when you want them to? I'd have given anything for a small bomb to go off anywhere in the vicinity - anything to take his irritated blue eyes off of me so I could slink away in shame.

I muttered something, god knows what, and tried to get away, but while I was humiliating myself for the third time in about as many minutes, the band had come onto the stage and were getting ready to play. All the people from the street streamed into the club and to the bar, anxious to get another drink before the band really got going and it would be impossible for the bartender to hear their orders. I was pushed up against the wet, torn black t-shirt, completely unable to move in the press of hot bodies. A particularly strong bump from behind knocked me off my feet and he caught my elbows in strong hands while I struggled to get my feet back under me. His hands were surprisingly cool in the stifling heat.

Looking down at my flaming face, he started to laugh. "What say we get out of this crush, cutie," he said into my ear, cool breath tickling my ear. He grabbed my hand and, like an eel, he squirmed us through the crowd, down a hall with graffiti-covered walls and out the back door into a quiet, dank alley.

There were some wooden crates in the alley. He sat down and patted the one next to him, indicating that I should sit, too. This was a little more adventure than I had been looking for. I scanned the alley for other people, but we were alone. I was getting a little adrenalin rush, but wasn't yet spooked enough to bolt. He hadn't done anything to make me afraid and, indeed, he was taking the drink I'd spilled on him in quite good grace.

What's the worst that could happen? I thought. A little stand-up sex in a dark alley with a sexy Brit? Doesn't sound so bad. This was before AIDS had been heard of outside of the gay community, before herpes had become an epidemic and I was already on the pill. I almost felt that it was the least I could do for the guy. I sat down next to him, the crate teetering under my weight, threatening to dump me on the ground again. He caught my arm and quick as thought, pulled me into his lap.

"You're not safe to let go of," he said, laughing at me again.

I finally had had enough embarrassment and was getting mad. I struggled in his arms, trying to leap up and leave him. His arms tightened and my squirming was remarkably ineffective. He was having less trouble holding onto me than I would holding onto a week-old kitten. Well, I reminded myself, kittens have claws. I took my long sharp nails to his hands and arms, digging them in hard.

He stopped laughing. "Do it again," he breathed into my ear. Shocked, I stopped scratching and wiggling. I craned my head around to look at him. He had a slight smile on his face, full lips curling smugly and his eyes were heavy-lidded. I could feel something growing under my leg that hadn't been there before. My heart was beating quickly from something other than shame, fear or anger. He looked at me through his thick lashes and relaxed his hold on me. Not breaking the eye contact I dragged my nails back down his bare arms, leaving, I was sure, long red stripes on his white, white skin. His left hand moved down my side and over my thigh while his right hand came across my chest, over my breasts, reaching around to stroke the side of my neck closest to his face as I sat sideways on his lap. My breath was becoming short and shallow. The hand not on my neck continued down my leg, brushing over my skinned knee. I shrieked a little and jumped at the sudden pain.

His hand left my knee immediately. He brought it, red-stained, to his mouth and licked my blood off his fingers. His eyes widened. Then changed color from blue to yellow a fraction of a second before his whole face changed.

Chapter Four - Eat To The Beat

As his face changed, becoming something monstrous and fierce, my panic surged and increased exponentially, but the shock had left me paralyzed. His arms tightened hard around me and he buried his deformed face in my neck. I stiffened, then struck out, struggling wildly as he sank his long jagged fangs into my throat. The pain was unendurable, yet seemed to lessen as I stilled, an ancient place in my brain telling my muscles that this was what they should do - go limp like a mare when she's mounted and the stallion bites her neck. An ancient mating reflex stimulated by this creature's teeth in my throat, draining my blood.

A cloudy languor stole over me, my eyes closed, my fists unclenched, then caressed his head, my fingers running through his crisp yet soft blond hair, tracing the edge of his ear. What blood was left in me was hardening my nipples, swelling my sex. A steady beat was throbbing between my legs in time to the music I could hear through the walls of the club - something driving and frantic, tempo rising, quickening, both in my ears and my cunt. He loosened his death grip on me and clutched my breast roughly, kneading it in time to the music, in time to the sucking of his mouth, in time to the throbbing of my slickening center.

He grabbed my nipple roughly, twisting it, pinching it, sending stabs of arousal to my crotch. This was no unsure high school boy, so afraid of hurting me that I could barely feel his touch. His hands demanded, they wrung cries, gasps and moans from me. I was no longer still, I was writhing, my hips pumping the air, my hands clutching his hair, pulling it, pressing his head harder into my neck. Out of sheer cussedness, I thought, he slid his teeth from my throat and pulled his head away, shaking it slightly. He let go of my nipple and turned my face to his. His face was normal again and I was sure I'd imagined the monster - save for the blood I could feel trickling down my neck and chest.

He swung me around to straddle his body, I clutched him around his neck. He pushed my body back but didn't disengage my arms. Reaching for my shirt he tore it from the neck to the waist leaving my braless breasts completely bare. He licked down my neck and chest, cleaning away the blood his bite had let flow. He licked lower, bathing my left breast with his cool tongue, but, maddeningly, not touching the nipple. His hands had a hold of my ass, kneading and massaging it as his tongue circled closer to where I wanted it.

As he finally (finally!) took my nipple between his teeth, he moved his hands to the button and zipper of my prized Calvins. Drawing my nipple deep into his mouth, sucking strongly, rhythmically, he popped the button of my jeans, unzipped the zipper then took both halves of my open jeans and ripped them apart, breaking the bottom of the zipper and tearing the denim along the crotch seam halfway up my ass. And since, you know, nothing could come between me and my Calvins, there was nothing between me and his hands except the warm August night air.

My hands were no longer around his neck, I was struggling frantically with his own jeans, but I was having a damn hard time with his belt - the buckle seemed to be around somewhere to the side. I didn't want to reach around for it lest I disturb what his mouth was doing, what his hands were doing as he wormed one cold finger along my slit, rubbing back and forth, spreading my wetness.

Disappointed, I brought my hands up his sides, reaching under his arms to find his nipples, scratching my nails over them, pinching them. He sucked more frantically on my aching nipple and rammed a sudden finger deep inside me, plunging it in and out as he rubbed the heel of his hand hard on my clit. I scratched my nails over his denim-covered cock as he let go of my left nipple to attack the right one. A second finger joined the first pumping into my hot clutching cunt.

I was approaching a meltdown, but I couldn't get to what I needed. I was whimpering, pawing at his crotch, trying to find the tab of the zipper but it was covered by the smooth leather of his belt. Sensing my predicament, he suddenly stood, dumping me into a panting heap on the filthy alley floor.

He reached around to the buckle, unbuckled it and whipped the belt out of its loops. He roughly pulled me to my feet, spinning me around, pinning me against the club wall. He wrapped the belt around my arms, halfway up to my elbows, drawing my shoulders back and thrusting my breasts forward. Pushing his jeans down his thighs, he sat back down on the crate, restraddling me across his lap, his cock rubbing against my wet slit.

I squirmed and wriggled, trying to get that long thick piece of hard flesh inside me, rubbing my clit against it. He leaned back against the club wall, his hands behind his head, watching my desperation with amusement gleaming in his eyes. "Damn you, you prick," I hissed at him. "Help me or untie my hands so I can do it myself."

He reached down to where our bodies were touching. Lifting me slightly in his strong hands, his cock sprang upright and he lowered me onto it. Its cool length stretched me and touched places that had never been touched before. It hurt, but it hurt so good.

He leaned back again to watch what I would do. Grumbling and giving him dirty looks, I moved my hips around in a circle, getting used to the size of him. The crate was low enough that I could reach the ground with my toes. Slowly I pushed up, feeling his cock sliding out of me. Before it could escape I slid back down on it, over and over, faster and faster, driven by the music pounding though the walls of the club and by the blood boiling in my veins.

He tried to maintain his smug attitude, but it was getting to him, too. With a snarl, he gathered my bouncing body close to him, taking control, moving me up and down on him, grinding his pelvic bone against my clit on each downstroke. A storm was building in me as orgasm came closer and closer. My head was thrown back, my breath gasping, a red blush spreading across my chest and breasts.

Clutching my outthrust breasts against his face, I felt first his tongue then his teeth on my nipple. He caught it between his strong teeth, pulling it out, stretching it. The pain shrieked through me, intensifying the pleasure of his plunging cock and coarse pubic hair as it ground against my clit.

As I screamed my fulfillment, he plunged those sharp fangs into the flesh of my breast around my nipple. Before I passed out from passion and blood loss, I heard him growl, "God, Dru's gotta get a taste of this."

Chapter Five - Dreaming

I was having an absolutely terrific dream. I was Kate Nelligan playing Mina and Frank Langella was playing Dracula, like in that movie I'd seen a couple of years ago, when I was awakened by someone speaking very close to me.

"Did you bring me a present, my Spike?"

I came awake to see two dark eyes peering into mine from about an inch away. My head jerked back, cracking painfully against the hard brick wall. I blinked to clear my focus but the face was so close that the two eyes looking at me blurred into one big eye. I never was able to decide for sure what color Dru's eyes were - in different lights they could look blue, green, or gray or some unnamable mix of the three. Whatever color they were, they weren't eyes you could look away from.

Trilling a laugh, she backed far enough way that I could get a look at all of her and give a thought to where I was. I recognized immediately that she was the woman from the train platform who had been with, um, I never had gotten his name. Her long dark curls fell in ringlets from an elaborate hairstyle and she was impossibly thin. On other girls the thinness might have made her look scrawny but it made her look delicate and fragile. Her white dress also looked delicate and fragile and impossibly out of place in the dark dank basement we appeared to be in.

When she broke her eye contact with me, I became aware of a screaming pain in my shoulders. I tried to lower my arms and found I couldn't. My wrists were held over my head and I could hear a chain rattling when I tried to move them. I looked up - they were held in what looked like steel manacles and the sharp edges of the cuffs were biting into my skin, breaking it, thin lines of blood trickling down my bare arms.

My all of me was bare, I realized with a start. I struggled harder with the metal cuffs, drawing a breath to cry out, but my head went fuzzy, waves of darkness surged across my vision and my head was throbbing too hard to struggle any more.

Strong hands tilted my head back and something lovely, cool and wet was poured into my open mouth. Water. I swallowed greedily - suddenly I felt so dehydrated, and my head seemed to clear a bit. I opened my eyes and saw the man holding a glass of water, my jaw in his other hand. He gestured with the glass as if asking if I wanted more and I nodded. He released my face and gave me another drink. Gulping it down, I was still terrified and confused and in pain, but I no longer felt like I was about to pass out.

"Why are you bothering to water it, Spike?" She wound her arms around him from behind, running her hands across his chest and down towards his belt. "Let's just drain it, then you can put me in the chains and we can play." She was British, too, but her accent was different from his - more flower girl and less Sex Pistol.

"Dru, honey," He disengaged her hands and, after setting aside the glass, took them in both of his own. He drew her a little ways away but I could still hear him. "Do you remember that vamp we met in Boston, used to be a doctor?"

She nodded, "Told us all about the different kinds of blood."

"That's right, pet. He said that the reason that different people's blood tasted different was that there were different types of blood. And he said something about one of the types, the tastiest type, being the most rare."

"I remember," She put a finger in her mouth, sucking on it lightly. "He gave us a little taste - yummy. But we haven't had any since." She pouted and took the wet finger from her mouth and held it to the man's, Spike's, mouth. In the darkness I could see the red gleam where she'd bitten it. He licked it gently and sucked it deep into his own mouth.

"Now we have," he said around he finger. He removed it from his mouth and pointed it at me. "And if we keep her alive, we can have as much as we want."

Funnily enough, especially what with all the panic, I knew what he was talking about. Last year at the school Blood Drive, I'd found out that I had a very rare blood type, AB-, a type that only one half of one percent of the population has. The blood bank staff had fussed over me and were forever calling to ask me to donate again. It wasn't that I didn't want to; I just never seemed to get around to it. Looked like I was going to be donating now - whether I wanted to or not.

Funny what your mind can get used to when it has to. While I was unconscious, my brain seemed to have taken the available facts and brought itself around to believing that, yes, Virginia, vampires are real.

The two vampires, Spike and Dru, were looking at me, all but licking their chops. 'Oo Spike! Can I?" Dru asked.

"Just a taste, my precious, I got a little carried away before I brought her here and she doesn't have much left. If we're careful, we can have her blood for dessert every night."

Dru came to me. She ran a black-painted fingernail down the side of my face and on down my neck. With a strength that belied her seeming frailty, she twisted my face aside, tilting my head to bare the side of my neck that hadn't yet been bitten. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her face change in the instant before she drove her fangs into my neck.

Just like back in the alley, first I felt the stabbing pain, then the woozy limpness. As my knees buckled, I could feel, distantly, the pain in my wrists, but I was once again passing out. My last thought was at least I'd never have to wear that peach bridesmaid's dress.

Chapter Six - Kidnapper

Much to my surprise, I woke up again. God, I thought, this passing out shit is for the birds. I cautiously opened one eye, then the other. I was by myself, on a bed, not chained up and dressed. Sort of dressed. I was wearing Spike's torn black t-shirt, smelling of beer and cigarette smoke, and nothing else. From a barred window high on the wall over the bed, I could see daylight. I scrambled to my feet, well I tried to scramble to my feet, but got dizzy and had to sit back down. I was not, I told myself sternly, going to pass out again.

Next to the bed there was a table with a pitcher of orange juice, a glass and a plate with some fruit on it. The juice felt wonderful sliding down my throat - I could feel the nutrients and glucose rushing into my system, tingling through my veins. Thirst momentarily assuaged, I bit into the apple, its juice running down my chin. It tasted unbelievably good. I felt like I hadn't eaten in weeks. I made short work of the rest of the fruit and juice. Now, when I stood, I didn't feel like I would fall over.

Feeling pretty ridiculous, but also realizing how ridiculous I'd feel if the door had been open and I hadn't tried it, I crossed the room to do that. The concrete floor was cold under my bare feet. Of course the door was locked. And so solid that all my jerking and pounding didn't even budge it a fraction of an inch. There was another door along the same wall but when I checked, it only led to a windowless bathroom. I was grateful to know it was there.

I went back to the bed, standing on it, but my head was still a yard away from the small window. Even jumping, I could only see the back of some trashcans that were set out along the curb. As I jumped, I pounded on the window to see if I could break it and call out for help, but it was covered not in glass, but with some thick plexiglass or other transparent plastic material. Even after having drunk the juice and eaten the fruit, my head still wasn't up to all this bouncing around. I sank back down on the bed, thinking furiously.

The last time I'd seen this t-shirt that I was wearing, it had been covered with safety pins. Maybe I could use one to pick the lock on the door. I looked down; all the pins had been removed. Damn. I checked the pitcher, glass and plate thinking that I could use a glass shard as a weapon - nope, all plastic. I looked the room over carefully. The ceiling was a good fifteen feet high, covered with pipes running this way and that. Later, when my head was little clearer, I thought, I would see if I could reach those pipes. Maybe one would be loose and I could use that as a club. I stored the idea away. I was down on my hands and knees checking the bed for loose springs or anything sharp when I heard the door open.

Turning too quickly, I fell over on my ass, t-shirt riding up to flash whoever was at the door. I wasn't at all surprised when he laughed.

"See you've woken up, love," Spike said. At least I remembered his name from last night. And the other one's name was Dru. But she wasn't there with him. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt again, but this one, while also black, said "The Ramones" and still had its sleeves. His white-blond hair was rumpled and curling, as if he'd just woken up.

Before I could get up and lunge for the door, he closed it behind him, making a show of locking it and putting the key in his pocket. The bastard.

I opened my mouth to say, I don't know what, something pathetic and useless, I'm sure, like "Let me go and I won't tell anyone," or "What do you want from me?" I knew what they wanted from me - they were vampires and I was just brimming with tasty blood - apparently tastier blood that most and has promising not to tell ever worked for anyone?

He cut me off, "These are the rules. Don't try to escape, don't make a fuss and we'll leave you alive - for now anyway. Who knows, Dru might get bored and let you go. Can never tell with her. She also might get mad and kill you anytime, best thing to do is be as quiet as possible and hope she forgets about you. I don't much care either way. Be a treat to have your blood available to round off an evening's hunting, have on hand when I'm feeling peckish, but nothing I can't live without." He looked at me as if expecting me to say something. I didn't so he cocked an eyebrow, collected the pitcher, glass and plate from the table as I shrank away, and left. I heard the locking mechanism of the door engaging solidly.

It wasn't that I didn't have anything to say, it was just that I knew that nothing I said would matter and, since it didn't appear that they were going to kill me immediately, I thought it might be better to pretend to play their game for a while. To save my breath for cooling my porridge, or rather, for screaming bloody murder when there was someone around to hear and help.

I've always been kind of cool that way - I never go off half-cocked. Instead, I have a tendency to hang back and watch events unfold. Most times, things will take care of themselves, or a better time to act will present itself. That attitude has gotten me out of more than one jam. I wasn't sure if it would pay off now, but having hysterics certainly wasn't going to help.

I picked myself off the floor and went to the little bathroom. The juice, having done its job, was anxious to leave my body. I snapped on the light and thought about glass light bulbs, but the fixture was too high to reach and enclosed in a metal cage. There was a sink, a toilet and a narrow shower stall without a door or curtain. Nothing but a showerhead, two taps and a drain sunk in the floor. There was a roll of toilet paper on the back of the toilet tank next to a worn but clean towel. On top of the towel were a small bottle of shampoo, a bar of soap, a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste.

As I sat to use the toilet I ran a hand through my hair. Or rather, I tried to. It was stiff with hairspray and solid with tangles. I wiped a finger under my eye and looked at the running eyeliner I'd wiped away. I could also see the smudgy remains of the big black X the bouncer last night had stamped on my hand. The shower was looking awfully damn good. I stripped off the t-shirt and stepped in. The water, once I got the hang of the knobs, was wonderfully warm and the shampoo he'd left smelled good. But the thing about showers and bathing in general is, they leave you time to think while you're going through the mechanics of getting clean.

For the first time since this had all started I thought of my family and friends. They must be terribly worried. Or at least my family would be, god knows if any of my friends were even awake yet or able to think past their hangovers. My mom would be calling their moms who would be waking up their daughters to see if any of them knew where I was or why I hadn't come home last night. They might have already called the police. I realized I had no idea what time it was. Tears began to trickle down my face, mixing with the warm water and before I knew it I was sobbing for all I was worth. Or had been worth. Now, it seemed I was only worth the taste of my blood.

Chapter Seven - Pretty Baby

Slowly, as the water started to run cold, I pulled myself together, got out of the shower and dried myself with the worn towel. It was barely long enough, but I wrapped it around me and went into the other, the only other, room. I glanced up at the high window but it was dark, must be nighttime, I thought. My hair was clean but it was still a tangled mess. There was a drawer in the table next to the bed and when I checked it I found a comb and some, I sniffed to make sure, clean panties. I stepped into the panties and pulled them up. They must have been Dru's because they were a little tight and would have a tendency to ride up, but I was grateful to have anything clean. I was struggling to get the comb through my hair when the door opened again.

"Find everything you need?" Spike asked, closing and locking the door behind him. I felt a hysterical giggle rise in my throat at his polite question.

"Well, the TV doesn't get cable," I said, not thinking, "but then this would never be mistaken for the Ritz." I know I said before that I'm kinda cool and think before acting, but sometimes my mouth doesn't know this. Most of the jams I've been in have been caused by me being such a knee-jerk smart ass.

He looked a little surprised, but not unpleased by my attitude. He snorted a little laugh. He had a bundle of clothes in his hands and he threw them onto the bed next to me. Jeans and a t-shirt, but a clean t-shirt, black with "Never Mind the Bollocks" on it and a pair of delicate looking ballet slippers. An odd ensemble, but I was in no position to complain. Right?

"Ballet slippers? What am I, a ballerina? We rehearsing for Swan Lake? Where's your tutu?"

"Fine!" It took him two steps to be looming over me, prepared to grab back the clothes. "If you want to be bleedin' naked in front of the others, that's just fine with me." I guess one impertinent remark was okay, two and he felt he had to slap me down. He snatched back the bundle and turned to leave.

"Wait," I said, grabbing at the clothes. "I'm sorry. Thanks for the clothes." He let me take them from him and stood, waiting.

"I'm not going to get dressed with you watching," I said.

"Seen, and felt, everything you've got, sweetie," he smirked. "No secrets left to keep from me."

I could feel my face flaming as his words reminded me of the previous evening. How I'd behaved, what I'd done, what I'd let him do to me and where and how I'd found myself hanging at the end of it all - naked and in chains, his girlfriend biting into my neck. My hand stole up to feel the bite marks, one on each side, one from each of them. I looked away from him and quietly got dressed.

The jeans were a pretty good fit, a little tight across the hips. They must have been his. He was a lean man. Broad across the shoulders, muscular arms, but very narrow and tight in the hips. Even with all I knew about him, all he'd done to me, I still found him a beautiful man to look at. The t-shirt was fine, a little baggy, but the shoes fit perfectly. They looked pretty silly under the dragging hem of the jeans, but it beat going barefoot.

Spike handed me the paper bag he'd left by the door when he came in. Looking inside I saw another plastic bottle of orange juice and a sandwich wrapped in butcher's paper. I unwrapped it, I was still terribly hungry, and saw ham, cheese and lettuce on white. I hesitated for a second before biting into it. True, my family wasn't orthodox, but we didn't eat pork or mix meat and dairy. It was just a second's pause, though. I was too hungry to worry about keeping kosher.

As I ate and chugged down the delicious juice, Spike wandered about the room, never standing still for a moment. He reached into his pocket and brought out a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter. He lit up, looking at me to see if I'd object, although I couldn't imagine that he'd put it out if I did. Hell no, I thought, I'm gonna bum one off of him as soon as I finish eating. I swallowed the last bite of the sandwich and drained the last mouthful of juice and headed for the bathroom. He looked at me, a question on his face.

"Brush my teeth," I mumbled, sucking a stray piece of lettuce from between my teeth. He nodded and let me enter the bathroom. After I'd brushed my teeth I drank handfuls of water, still feeling dehydrated from the blood loss.

I came out of the bathroom to find him lounging on the bed, watching the smoke as it spiraled towards the ceiling. Even though he was lying still, I could feel him thrum with energy, feel it coiled up inside him, waiting to spring. I cleared my throat, "Can I bum a cigarette?" I asked. Silently he dug the pack and the lighter out of his pocket. I worked a bent and rather crumpled Camel out of the pack and lit it - handing the pack back to him. Hoping he wouldn't notice, I slipped the lighter into my own pocket. Sure enough, he stashed the cigarettes away and didn't seem to see that I hadn't returned the lighter at the same time.

Dragging in a grateful lungful of smoke, I said, hoping to distract him from his lack of lighter, "What happens now?"

He got up from them bed, big cat muscles flexing and said, "Now you get introduced to Drusilla. Properly."

He stood up and dropped his cigarette, stepping on it to put it out. He grabbed my arm. I gestured with my smoke that I wasn't done yet and he let me suck in a couple more drags before plucking it from my fingers, dropping it and stepping it out like he'd done his own. He took both my wrists behind me in one of his hands and frog-marched me to the door. He unlocked it, opened it and pushed me through a long dark hallway into a larger room - the room where I'd previously been chained.

I hadn't had much of a chance to look at it the night before. It was about twenty feet, by thirty feet. At one end was an old-fashioned, Edwardian looking fainting couch and a big cordovan leather club chair. There were overlapping oriental carpets on the cement floor and small tables with small, fringed lamps on them. The dim lamps were lit, providing the only illumination in the room. Posters for various punk acts papered the walls: The Sex Pistols, The Stooges, Richard Hell and the Voidoids and the Dead Boys among many others. The Sex Pistols were the only ones I'd ever heard of. The other end of the room, the end with the chains, was still in darkness.

Spike plunked me down on the couch and took a couple of lengths of rope from his back pocket. He tied my wrists behind me and my ankles to one of the legs of the couch. He fell into the club chair and just sat, drumming his fingers. I squirmed around, trying to get a little more comfortable while we waited.

He looked up suddenly, all his attention on the dark hall we'd come down. After a moment I could hear a small voice singing a nursery rhyme growing louder as it approached.

"Run and catch, run and catch," she sang tunelessly as she entered the room, "the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch." Her dress tonight was again white, but from the various embellishments, I could tell it was a different one than the one she'd worn the night before. Spike stood and she came to his arms, leaning in for a long kiss. She didn't appear to have noticed me yet.

"Dru, poodle," Spike said, "do you remember the present I brought you yesterday?" He turned her to look at me.

"Oh yes, the yummy treat," she said. "But why is it still here?"

"Remember," Spike said, "she tasted so good we thought we'd keep her around for puddings."

"Will it be like a pet?"

"Yes, she can be your pet, precious, and you can dress her and do her hair and when she's naughty you can punish her. And if we take good care of her and feed her an' all, we can drink little drinks of her yummy blood. Would you like that, my love?"

"Oh Spike, just like Miss Edith, only all life-sized and full of delicious blood. Can I name it?" As Dru came closer, bells started ringing outside. We must be close to a church, I thought. She looked up, listening to the bells. She appeared to be thinking. She turned to me, smiled and said, "It's Sunday, so your name shall be Sunday."

She stroked a gentle hand down my face, turning it up to look at her. "My Sunday's such a pretty baby. I'll take ever such good care of it."

Chapter Eight - Rip Her To Shreds

I feel like Alice in freakin' Vampireland, I thought. Either that or a life-sized Barbie doll. Spike had left to "hunt" he'd called it and Drusilla had spent the last hour and a half playing with me. She'd fixed my hair just like hers and done my makeup just like hers. She'd wanted me to wear one of her dresses, but none of them would fit me.

I had the usual American girl's hang-ups about my body, I wished my boobs were bigger, my waist smaller, all that, but I was by no stretch of the imagination fat. All the boys back in high school seemed to think that what I had was more than all right. But Drusilla was so thin; her bones so delicate that the one dress she'd tried to get me into would not even begin to meet across my back. She'd given up on the dress and put me back in the jeans and t-shirt Spike had given me. She was searching in her vanity case for a ribbon to put in my hair when Spike came storming back.

"My lighter, you stupid cow!" he yelled, getting right down in my face. "You've got my lighter and I want it back, right now!"

I shrank back, trying to decide whether or not to deny I had it, although I knew that he'd find it on me easily enough. Dru didn't seem to be at all concerned by Spike's rage. She acted as if he'd stopped by for a cup of tea and to discuss the weather. "See how pretty I made it?" she said. "Its hair was in an awful snarl, but I brushed it and brushed it and now it's all shiny and smooth." She found the ribbon she was looking for and held it out towards me. Spike snatched it from her hand and wrapped it around my neck.

Pulling it tightly enough to frighten me, but not tightly enough to totally choke off all my air, he said, in a much calmer tone, "Drusilla, my dearest love, Miss Sunday here has been very naughty. I fear she must be punished."

This new, cold tone of voice scared me more than his yelling had. I was opening my mouth to plead with him when Dru squealed, clapping her hands. "Oh yes! Let's punish it now. Bad Sunday!"

Spike dragged me up by the ribbon around my neck. After Dru had given up trying to dress me up, she'd retied my hands and feet so, as Spike pulled and I couldn't move my hobbled feet, I fell against him so hard and suddenly that I knocked him down too, landing heavily on top of him. Uh-oh, I thought, that's not going to make him any happier with me.

He pushed me off him irritably, but took the opportunity to dig in my pockets for his lighter. He fished it out and held it, lit, in front of my face. "Little girls who play with fire get burned," he hissed. He jerked me up and slung me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. Dru had gone ahead to the far end of the room and turned on the single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. He put me down next to where the manacles hung - leaning me face first against the wall.

Dru untied my hands and feet. She grabbed my left wrist and stretched it towards one of the steel cuffs. Spike stopped her. "Let's get her undressed first, love. Those are my clothes she's wearing and I'm rather fond of that shirt."

At that point I lost it. As they stripped the clothes off me, I struggled and screamed, tried to fight with everything in me but they were just too strong. As they hauled me to my feet and closed the manacles around my wrists, I was crying pathetically. I was stretched out face first against the cold brick wall, it chilled my wet cheeks and the roughness scraped my sensitive nipples. Drusilla took the wide red silk ribbon from around my neck and tied it over my eyes.

"Want your crop, sweetheart?" I heard Spike ask. "She's your toy, you get to punish her."

"What should I do to it, my darling?" she said. I could hear a swishing noise and got a very strong visual image of her swinging the riding crop back and forth, getting ready to lay into me.

"Rip her to shreds," came the cold reply. A shiver went through me. I knew I might very well not survive this. She was too crazy to know when to stop and he was too angry to care.

The first blow landed across my shoulders. It stung like hell, but the pain faded in a few seconds. But I knew that she was just getting warmed up. The following blows fell harder and faster all up and down my back, leaving me no time in between to recover. I was silent at first, trying to hang onto a tiny last shred of pride, but in no time I was screaming and writhing, trying uselessly to avoid the crop as it slashed across my back time and time again. I could feel the warm wetness of my blood trickling from the welts, I could hear, in between my screams, the drops of my blood flying off the end of the crop and splashing against the walls and the floor. The blows were being aimed lower, striping my ass and upper thighs now. I could no longer move to avoid them and the familiar blackness was creeping along the edges of my consciousness.

One more blow fell and I tensed myself for another, digging my nails into the wall. But instead of more pain, I felt a soothing wetness tracing the fiery streaks of pain on my back. "Mmm, it tastes like pain and fear," Drusilla said from right behind me. As she was licking the welts on my back, I felt two large hands on my hips and another tongue licking its way across the wounds on my ass and thighs.

I shuddered and sighed. It felt so good. The stinging turned to tingling and I could feel a warmth building inside me that grew as they licked the blood from my body. I let myself float, lulled into submission by their cool rough tongues, but, too soon, they stopped.

I was turned around, my back screaming again as it came into contact with the wall, and the ribbon was removed from my eyes. I blinked and saw Spike and Drusilla kissing, licking the blood, my blood, off each other's faces. When they were all clean, Spike whispered to his lover, "My turn to play with the pet, Pet?"

She smiled and nodded, turning to give me a cat that ate the canary look. "As long as I get to watch," she said.

Spike stalked towards me, fairly radiating menace. He dug the infamous lighter out of his pocket, once more holding it, lit, in front of my face. My eyes were drawn helplessly to the flame, watching as it came closer and closer. "How do you feel about your pet having no eyebrows, Dru?" he asked conversationally. I closed my eyes, not able to watch for another second.

"Don't hurt its pretty face," I heard Dru say in the background. "I want to play dress up with it and I can't if its face is all burned up." I opened my eyes hopefully.

Spike waved the flame towards my face once more and I jumped, but he lowered it. "What about her tits, my love, can I hurt her pretty tits?" I could feel the flame licking at the underside of my breasts as he moved it back and forth - never leaving it in one place long enough to actually burn me.

"Oh yeah, Spike," Dru said silkily. "Don't like her tits, they're bigger than mine."

"But not nearly as dainty and pretty, my plum." He clicked closed the lighter, extinguishing the flame and went over to Drusilla. He stood behind her and ran his hands over her small perky breasts, tweaking her nipples into stiffness. I could feel my own hardening as I watched. She rolled her head back into his neck and moaned a little, then opened her eyes to look at me.

"Look Spike, our pet likes to watch us play. But we're not done punishing it yet."

"Right you are, pumpkin. I'll finish with her and then you and I will have a good, long shag until the sun comes up."

Dru leaned away from him and he released her, going to a trunk in the corner that I hadn't noticed before. He withdrew a long black taper candle and lit it with his lighter. I'd seen colored tapers before and usually they were white on the inside with the color just a thin skin on the outside. This candle was black all the way through.

"I see you're noticing the special candle," he said as he got right up to me. "Black ones burn hotter, the darker the candle the hotter the wax." As he said this, he tipped the candle so a fat blob of molten wax fell onto my left breast. It burned like fire - the candle had been very close to my skin and the wax had had no time to cool before it hit me.

Chapter Nine - Rapture

Searing hot drops fell across the tops of my breasts until they were covered in a black crust of solid cooled black wax. Spike paused his torment for a moment to pick the crust off, ragged fingernails painted black some time ago, but with most of the polish flaked off scratching my irritated skin, leaving long red streaks along the hot pink flesh. Reaching above my head he tightened the chains, pulling me up on my toes, arching my back and making me thrust my breasts out. He tilted the candle again.

My scream rang out in the cement basement room, bouncing off the walls, seeming to grow in volume and timbre as the first drop of hot, hot wax fell on my right nipple from only an inch above it. He quickly hit the other one with a drop and I screamed again. Dru was standing right next to him and she reached out, picking the wax off my nipples with her frighteningly sharp nails, baring them for repeated assaults. The fire in my nipples spread throughout my body and I could feel, to my shock and horror, my sex swelling, moistening as my nipples stood up to take even more torture, swelling to reach the pain, hardening to intensify the sensation.

"Spike, my love," Drusilla crooned, "It likes it."

He leaned closer to me. With his free hand he felt my crotch, bringing his fingers up to smell my arousal. "Not another bloody one," he muttered, shaking his head. "Let's see just how deep it goes, then." He passed the flame of the candle itself across my nipples. I jerked and writhed but the feelings of arousal just intensified and grew.

He drew the flame, flickering, down my stomach towards my center. The acrid scent of burning hair filled the room. I couldn't see past my red, engorged tits, but I felt the heat burning close to my throbbing clit as it poked its way from under its hood. With two fingers, he opened my slit, driving the burning candle deep inside me. I was so wet the fire was extinguished immediately and I groaned, churning my hips as he drove the candle in and out of me, his thumb reaching out to flick my clit with each stroke.

First Dru and then Spike morphed into their vampire faces. Dru plunged her fangs into the red, inflamed skin across the top of one of my breasts while Spike bit the other one right on the nipple. I screamed again, but not from the pain. Well, not only from the pain, which I welcomed. As they drank, Spike continued to plunge the candle into me, working my hot clit.

I came, shuddering and groaning. Spike withdrew both the candle and his teeth, kissing the tip of my bloody nipple tenderly. He drew Drusilla off me, turning her to face him as, both still wearing their true faces; they kissed each other gently and delicately, licking my blood from each other's lips.

As their faces returned to their human guises, their kisses deepened and they sank to the floor in front of me, Spike drawing up Dru's skirts, revealing her long slender legs and smooth white mound. She made quicker work of getting his jeans open than I had the night before. His thick white cock stood up proudly as he rolled onto his back. She straddled him and sank down onto it, her eyes closing and mouth opening as she rode him, strange keening noises issuing from her as she drew her sharp nails first down her own chest and then down his. He gasped again, like he had the night before when I'd attacked him with my own long nails.

Ignoring me, they fucked long into the night. The last image I had of them before I fell into exhausted sleep hanging from my chains was Spike's face buried between Drusilla's long white thighs while she reached down and clawed bloody gashes across his back and shoulders

Chapter Ten - Cautious Lip

They left me pretty much alone for more than a week - letting me recuperate, I guess, letting my body replace all the blood they'd drained, letting some of the wounds heal a bit. The next day was hellish. I was stiff and sore from hanging, even sleeping, in the chains and the pain from the welts all up and down my back, ass and legs made the slightest movement torture. Compared to this, the bite wounds on my neck and breasts were trifles, but they could still complain pretty loudly if I accidentally touched them.

The only times I saw Spike, and I didn't see Drusilla at all, were when he brought me food and juice. He was apparently giving some thought to my health - no junk food, all food groups represented in the appropriate ratios, plenty of fluids. He also cared for my injuries. When I woke up the first time after the whipping, my wounds had been cleaned and dressed and at least once each day, he'd clean them again and re-dress them. I came to look forward to those times, although he seemed distracted and hurried at first - like taking care of me was a chore to be accomplished as quickly as possible.

After the first couple of days when all I could think about was the pain and sleep was the only way to escape it, I was bored, bored, bored, bored, bored. I paced the room (it was eight paces by eleven), tried jumping on the bed to reach the overhead pipes (they were still out of my reach), counted bricks in the walls, sang all the songs I knew, making up lyrics to replace ones I'd forgotten, and generally acted like a restless animal in a zoo.

I was still too nervous at first to complain about my boredom, but on the third day, while Spike was perfunctorily washing my back, I said, "It's awfully boring in here. Is there any chance of getting some books, or a TV?" I looked back over my shoulder to try to gauge his reaction.

He looked surprised. I didn't know why he should. Three days of being cooped up in a concrete and brick cell would be enough to drive a world champion Zen Buddhist meditator around the bend.

"Dru's never complained about it," he said.

"You lock Dru up in here?" I was very surprised - he seemed so solicitous of her, in fact, it seemed like she was the one in control of their relationship. Like all that mattered was her pleasure, catering to her whims. For god's sake, I was nothing more than a gift he'd given her.

"Sometimes have to." He looked down as he said this, making it plain that he didn't want to talk any more about it. But when he returned later that day with my dinner (steak that was cold and over-cooked, an unimaginative salad with thousand island, blech, dressing, a couple of slices of whole wheat bread, a glass of milk, double-blech, and a pitcher of grapefruit juice), he also brought, thank you god, a couple of beers, a pack of cigarettes, a small black and white TV and a tape player with a handful of home-recorded audio tapes.

He waited, smoking from the pack and drinking one of the beers, sitting at the foot of the narrow bed while I sat cross-legged at the head with the tray of food. When I finished eating and had set the tray on the floor, he lit up one of the cigarettes for me. My own damn fault, I told myself, for ripping off his lighter last time. He didn't need to worry. I'd never try that again. Twinges every time I moved were still reminding me of that lesson. I sucked in the smoke and sighed happily.

"Thanks," I said. "I've been dying for a smoke - although, not the nearly literal type of dying I did for the last smoke I had."

His eyes crinkled as he turned towards me and smiled a slow lazy smile, "Yeah," he drew the word out licentiously, "Quite a time we had. Gotta remember to go a little easier on you in the future. Forget sometimes how breakable humans are." He moved a little closer to me.

I blushed. I hadn't thought through all the implications of what I'd said. I felt a slow warmth begin to spread from my face and down my body as I remembered that night. The pain and the pleasure I'd felt through the pain, because of the pain.

"Betcha never knew that about yourself," he said, tilting his head to the side and giving me a long look up and down, his eyes returning to mine, gleaming smugly.

I looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about," I said primly, although I knew the redness of my face made me a complete liar.

"That anything that hurt so bad could feel so good." He leaned in closer. His face was inches from mine, my breath quickened. He whispered into my ear, his breath stirring the wispy strands of my hair, making it tickle me, "That this," I jumped as he suddenly bit my earlobe, "can feel just as good as this." He licked the lobe softly, sucking it gently into his mouth. I could feel my newly replenished blood supply driving my pulse to a quicker tempo as his cool tongue swirled in my ear.

He trailed his tongue slowly from my ear along the line of my jaw and, for the first time I realized, he kissed me. Gently at first but with increasing intensity his lips played mine, teasing them open, licking around them then thrusting his tongue deeply into my mouth. I sucked it in, giving myself completely to the sensations he caused in me, teasing it with my own then, remembering how he'd gasped when I'd scratched him, I bit it.

I felt him pause, then his mouth smiled against mine as he drew my tongue into his mouth and nipped it gently at first, then more sharply. Because his mouth was so cool, from a sudden increase in heat, I could tell that my tongue was bleeding. His teeth suddenly felt different, jagged, sharper. My eyes flickered open and he was wearing the face of his demon. I started to pull away, but he sucked more strongly on my tongue, nursing it, and the familiar drowsy pleasure suffused me and I leaned back into the kiss.

He broke the kiss way too soon for me. I blinked, in a daze, as he stood up, and then stooped to pick up the tray from where I'd put it on the floor when I was done eating. I watched him as he wordlessly left my cell, while every cell in my body screamed for him to come back and finish what he'd started.

The teasing went on for the remainder of the week. He'd come several times a day to bring me food and to attend to my injuries, which were healing very quickly (too quickly, it seemed to me). We'd kiss and grope a little and then he'd leave. Each time we'd go a little further, each time the feelings would be more intense, each time he'd mix a little more pain into the pleasure, completely blurring the line between them.

A careful caress along the underside of my breast would be followed by a sudden vicious pinch, and then the caressing would resume. Gently salving the fading welts on my back, he'd unexpectedly drag a fingernail along one of them, opening it, then licking the blood away. Likewise, while attending the welts on my ass, already nearly healed, as I lay stretched on my stomach and naked, he'd give it a flurry of slaps that would leave it bright pink and my cunt throbbing.

Because I had hours to think about it, I knew what he was doing. He was using the pleasure to make me crave the pain - mixing them up in my head until they were virtually one and the same. Still, he never gave me the release I needed. It made me furious. He could leave me, take his hard-on and use it on Dru while I had nothing but my fingers. The orgasms I could give myself were pale, weak things compared to the ones he'd given me - first in the alley and then with the candle while he and Drusilla drained my blood as I hung in their chains. Indeed, my self-induced orgasms were so disappointing that I soon stopped bothering.

On the seventh day, when he came in with my lunch, I was watching the small black and white television, trying to get involved in some soap opera, trying to figure out what was going on. He set the tray on the bed and seated himself next to me, pulling out a cigarette. He glanced over at the TV then surprised me nearly speechless. "Has Marlena figured out about Jon Black yet?"

"You watch this?" I squeaked, forkful of potato salad halfway to my mouth and hanging there. "You watch soaps?"

"Well, you try being stuck indoors all day with a bunch of useless, boring minions and you'd appreciate a good story on the telly, too."

I couldn't help it, I started laughing. The image of the big tough punk vampire watching the afternoon soaps was so incongruous, such a non sequitur. It was like thinking of John Wayne tatting antimacassars, Vincent Price pruning roses. I was laughing so hard that Spike snatched the tray off the bed and set it on the floor before I could upset it. I realized I was laughing longer and harder than the image strictly deserved, but I couldn't help it - it felt so good and it had been so long since I'd had a good laugh.

He stared down at me frowning, but eventually started smiling himself. As I wound down, gasping and wiping the tears from my face he said, "Never seen you smile before. Should do it more often. Looks good on you."

Of course, that just made me smile back more, almost made it impossible to stop smiling. "You should, too," I said. "It makes your eyes crinkle around the corners and look all warm and friendly."

He mock-scowled at me and said, voice low and growly, "You'd do well to remember I'm a big bad vampire who'd sooner kill you than look at you."

'Well, big bad, if you're not going to kill me today, sit down and tell me what the hell's going on on this show. Which one is Marlena?"

He gave me back the lunch tray and settled down next to me, explaining while I ate who Marlena was, that Jon Black was really her missing husband Roman (or something) and what the villain of the piece, Stefano (whom he really seemed to admire), had done to split them up. It all sounded like horseshit to me, but I played along, asking questions and hanging on his every word. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had decided to test me on it. And punish me if I got the answers wrong, although who knows, I might have gotten the answers wrong on purpose. I smiled to myself at this thought.

***

Oh fuck, I thought. My period.

The conversation I really, really didn't want to have would go, I imagined, something like this:

"Um, Spike?"

"What now?"

"There's something I need, women's things…."

After that, I didn't know what to say or what to expect - I mean, what is the male vampire's take on menstruation, anyway? Blood is blood? Or just Ewww! But in the meantime, I really needed tampons because the blood was positively gushing out of me. It was the heaviest period I could ever remember having. Probably because my hormones were all in a jangle from having, of necessity, gone off the pill.

I stuffed a handful of toilet paper into my underwear and nervously waited for Spike to show up with my dinner.

I was perched on the edge of the bed, chewing a ragged cuticle when right on schedule I heard the key in the lock. I stood up. This was a question I felt more comfortable asking while standing. Spike came in carrying a brown paper bag, but he dropped it immediately and rushed me, pushing me back down onto the bed then dropping to his knees on the floor. I squeaked in surprise when he grabbed my legs, yanking them apart and snuffling his face between them.

"You finally started," he growled, rubbing his demon face against my jeans-covered crotch. There was a loud ripping noise as he tore through the heavy cloth with sharp teeth. He ripped apart my panties and tossed aside the bloody wad of paper then paused. I looked down at him curiously. His eyes were closed and his nostrils were flaring as he took deep breaths.

"What in the world are you doing?" I asked.

"Smelling you," he said without opening his eyes. "Been smelling this coming on for a couple of days and now it's finally here."

"So I guess blood is blood. I've been wondering what the vampire reaction to this would be."

'More'n just blood. It's sex, it's meat, it's got texture, feel to it. Something to sink your fangs into." With rough, impatient fingers he pulled me open and buried his mouth in my bleeding cunt. First he licked up all the blood that was on the outside then positioned his mouth directly over the opening to my vagina and sucked. Sucked so hard it felt like he might pull me inside out. As he sucked, he thrust into me with his tongue, licking all around the entrance and jabbing it in as far as it would go, his fangs nicking me and still he pushed his face harder against me.

My back was bent like a bow as I raised my hips to meet his mouth, my breath coming in little gasps and moans. I could feel the pull of it all the way up to my eyebrows, rolling my eyes back in their sockets, sucking the very air out of my lungs. I was clutching the bedspread and rolling my head back and forth faster and faster as he drew the blood out of me, I knew that there must be a lot of my other juices mixing with the blood now and wondered if that made it taste better to him or if the taste of the blood itself overpowered it. It was the last thought I would be able to have for a long while.

Long, long minutes, hours went by as he sucked and licked, twisting his face against me to get deeper, get a better angle. The muscles in my back, hips, all the way down my legs and into my toes were screaming with the strain, held tensed and rigid, pushing me against him. I was making little yelps and squeals, alternating with deep moans and sighs as he kept me balanced forever on the pinnacle, on the edge, of coming. I wanted it so badly tears were beginning to leak out from under my eyelids and I grunted as I shoved my crotch up at him, trying to shift it to get my clit under his mouth, but he wouldn't let me. With strong, bruising hands he held my hips still, pinning them to the bed as he sucked and licked and sucked and licked until there could be nothing left - no blood left in my cunt, no blood left in my body.

Finally he pulled his face away. Crawling over me, he rubbed his bloody face on my torn jeans, raising my shirt to nuzzle my stomach. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up over me. All brow-ridged and fanged, his face smeared with my own blood, I seized him around the neck and kissed him hard, kissed him deep, tasting my blood and my wetness on his lips. I dug my fingers into his thick hair and wrapped my legs around his waist, plunging my tongue into his open mouth, putting all of my want and need and desire into the fierce combat of our mouths.

He pulled up against my grasping legs enough to get a hand between our bodies to knead one of my breasts, mauling it with strong fingers, digging his short nails into my flesh, pinching my nipple hard and twisting it. I tore my mouth away from his to take a deep ragged breath and he let go of my breast long enough to take the collar of my t-shirt in both hands and tear it all the way to the hem. As soon as it was out of the way, he kissed his way down to the other, so far untouched, breast and sucked my nipple deep into his mouth, nursing on it, pulling on it with a strong steady pulse. I looked down to watch his face as he suckled me, watched the demon retreat and the human part of him reemerge. As it did so, he became gentler, more tender.

It's not that he sucked any less powerfully. Maybe it was only the change in his face that made it seem that way. Or maybe seeing that face against my bosom, eyes closed, long dark eyelashes fanning his cheekbones made me feel more tender. I stroked his head and felt my frenzy being drained away with each pull of his lips. My pulse and heartbeat slowed to match it and my eyes closed of their own volition.

Inside my head, in the dark, I was only that feeling, that slow, steady, throbbing that grew stronger and deeper, like a relentless undertow pulling me down and out to sea, washing over me, shushing in my ears. The primal pulse of the universe, of things needed and needs sated yet never satisfied, the yearning beneath the fulfillment, the restlessness within contentment. I floated in it, in the blood warm sea. I could have stayed there forever.

Chapter Eleven - Little Girl Lies

I was up early the next morning, full of restless energy, busting out of my skin. I unplugged the TV from the single outlet in my cell, and plugged in the tape player. Grabbing one of the unlabeled, homemade tapes at random, I put it in the machine and punched the play button. The volume knob was twisted all the way to the right and loud driving guitars and frenetic drums filled the room. I winced a bit at the sonic assault, but quickly gave into the raw energy and enthusiasm of the music, bouncing around the room, dancing like a speed freak.

I was pogoing to "Sheena is a Punk Rocker" when Spike came in with my breakfast. I didn't see him at first, hadn't heard him opening the door. As he came over to set the tray down on the bed, I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye and came to a screeching, embarrassed halt. I quickly turned the tape player off.

"Feeling all better, hmm?" he said, smiling at me. "Ramones really rock, don't they?"

I was sweaty and red-faced, gasping for air. "I guess they're okay," I said. I pulled up the hem of the seventh black t-shirt he'd given me and wiped my face with it. He'd brought me a clean shirt and underwear every day that week. This one said 'Eat the Rich." I guess he meant that literally.

Suddenly I was flying across the room as he tackled me, piling me onto the bed, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of my bare stomach. Only his human teeth, though. He didn't break the skin, but he sucked and bit a huge purple hickey there. I was sighing and stroking his hair when the pitcher of juice on the tray he'd placed on the bed decided to tip over, soaking my face and hair.

I shrieked and jumped up so suddenly that I took him by surprise and was on my feet before he had a chance to hold me down. He fell back onto the bed himself, landing in the puddle. He jumped up too, the butt of his jeans soaked through. I stood there, feeling the trickles of juice running from my hair down my neck and back and started laughing at Spike as he twisted, trying to look at his ass while also trying to hold the wet denim away from his skin.

He looked up at me, laughing at him. He didn't look amused. I stopped laughing and started backing away from him as he stalked me around the room. "I-I wasn't laughing at you," I said, trying to placate him. "I just remembered this joke I heard. Wanna hear it?"

Apparently not. He grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder, smacking my ass hard as he walked us to the bathroom. He put me down, none too gently, on the closed lid of the toilet and turned the shower on. While his back was turned, I made a dash for it, although I have no idea what I hoped to accomplish. I just knew that sitting in a puddle of juice had seriously annoyed the vampire and the best thing to do with an annoyed vampire was to get the hell away from it.

I only got as far as the bathroom door. He grabbed me by the waistband of my jeans, his jeans actually, and yanked me back, shoving me into the shower, clothes and all. He quickly shucked his own clothes and stepped in with me.

This was the first time I had seen him completely naked. When he and Dru had fucked in front of me, they'd only moved aside their clothes in the necessary places. When she'd used her long sharp nails on him, she hadn't removed his shirt - she'd scratched right through it, leaving it in ribbons. He was magnificent. I'd never seen a body so white, so perfect. Think Michelangelo's "David," only leaner and harder. Although what he had between his legs could never be covered with a fig leaf. More like a banana leaf.

He let me stare for a minute, he knew how good he looked, then took the hem of my sopping wet shirt and pulled it over my head. He knelt in front of me and unbuttoned the button-fly of my jeans. Wet denim is a bitch to get off, and I nearly fell when he tried to yank the heavy cloth off my feet after peeling it down my legs. He steadied me with one hand on my hip as he tossed the jeans out to land with a squelch on the bathroom floor. Starting at my knees, he began kissing his way up my bare wet legs.

By the time he got to my crotch, I was completely noodlized. Weak as a kitten and limp as cooked spaghetti. He parted my legs and buried his face between them, pulling apart the sides of my slit to fasten his mouth directly onto my throbbing clit, as if to make up for avoiding it the previous evening. My knees let go completely and I had to grab onto his shoulders to stay upright. He sucked my clit hard, flicking it with his tongue, nibbling on it with his teeth. As my orgasm grew more and more imminent, I knew what I wanted.

"Bite me," I cried, "Bite me there, suck my blood from my cunt."

My words seemed to have the opposite affect to the one I wanted. He removed his mouth, pausing to give my clit one last, non-blood-drawing, nip. He stood. "Can't, love," he said, stroking my wet hair and kissing my neck. "Dru's remembered about you and wants to play with her pet again tonight. Gonna need all your blood for that."

"Well then, fuck me at least. You've been driving me apeshit all week and I don't know how much longer I can stand it." I was nearly crying with frustration. I reached between us to try to grab his hard cock that I could feel pressed up against my stomach.

He let me touch him, feel him, pump him for a minute while he kissed his way to my breast and suckled at my nipple. But he pulled away. "Can't do it, pet. Save it for tonight. It'll go easier for you if you're all hot and bothered. It's kind of a good-bye party and'll likely get pretty intense."

"Good-bye party?" I echoed, stupidly. "Who for?"

"I've got to go away for a little while, someone I got to find. I'm hoping that if I show Dru a really good time tonight, she won't take it out on you once I'm gone. Though she can do anything she wants to you, I gave you to her, after all."

My blood ran cold at his words. Even though Spike's anger over my theft of his lighter had been the reason for my 'punishment' the other night, Drusilla was the one who truly scared me; the one who had turned my back into so much raw meat with her riding crop. From what I'd observed and what he'd told me about her, I knew she was completely unpredictable, at turns savage and gentle. I desperately didn't want to be alone with her.

"Don't leave me with her," I begged, clutching at Spike. "You can let me go, tell her that I died from her beating."

I'd forgotten what he was, who he was. He turned a snarling face to me, grabbing my hair and pulling it hard, violence and rage in his eyes. I could see the visible effort it took for him to calm himself. He threw my head away from him, bouncing it against the concrete wall of the shower. "Get washed up before all the hot water's gone," he said in the coldest voice I'd ever heard him use.

He stepped out of the shower, turned around to face me and continued, "Never think I won't give Drusilla whatever she wants, whenever she wants, whomever she wants. She's my dark Goddess, my black beauty and you're a stupid little slut lucky enough to have good-tasting blood. But if Dru wants to drain you and throw you away tonight or any other night, I won't miss you and your mouth at all. You think I like taking care of you? I'd rip your throat out right now if Dru didn't still want to play with you some more." Still naked and dripping wet, he strode out of the bathroom. I heard the door to my cell slam behind him, shaking the very foundations of the building.

Numbly I finished the shower, washing the juice out of my hair, the final rinse in freezing cold water. Shivering and goose-bumped, I wrapped myself in a towel and left the bathroom. I had nothing to wear that wasn't wet and couldn't even get into the bed to warm up because it was a soaked, sticky mess. I slid down the wall to sit on the floor and began to cry.

I was an idiot, I told myself. I had let myself think that because he took care of me, he was coming to like me, even to care about me a little bit. I had forgotten who he was, what he was. I'd been telling myself lies, deluding myself. Like a little girl making up stories of nice monsters under the bed that would protect her from the nastier monsters in the closet. Monsters is monsters, I told myself. No such thing as nice ones, only nasty ones that want to eat you. I giggled feebly at this thought as I remembered the way the Spike-shaped monster had just been 'eating' me.

To my own deep shame, I couldn't stop thinking about him. And instead of being afraid of the coming ordeal, I was, god forgive me, becoming aroused.

I heard the door opening and I looked up hopefully. Maybe Spike had regretted what he said and was coming to assure me that everything would be all right and that he wouldn't let Dru kill me tonight. But, no, it was a vampire I'd never seen before, in full demon face. I drew the small towel closer around me and stood up.

He leered and tossed me a bundle of clothes, "The Mistress wants you to wear these tonight." He had trouble talking around his teeth. I almost laughed, a little hysterically, but kept a straight face and thanked him solemnly. He just grunted and left, making sure I heard him locking the door - the bolt sliding home with a resounding clunk.

From the position of the light coming through the small window high on the wall, I could see it was still morning and there were many hours to wait before the evening's festivities. Many hours to wait and worry and wonder if I'd survive. I slid back down the wall, burying my face in my hands.

Chapter Twelve - No Imagination

I must have spent hours huddled up against the wall, my ass chilled and numb from the cold floor. I was motionless, but I was thinking hard.

Dispassionately and rationally, as if I were a case to be analyzed, I reviewed the events of the last week and some days. The answer to my behavior presented itself pretty quickly - Stockholm Syndrome. What had happened to Patty Hearst when she'd been kidnapped by those terrorists and had become one herself. Subconsciously I'd been trying to like my captors in an effort to be more likable to them so they wouldn't kill me. We'd studied it in Psych class. I wondered how many opportunities to escape I'd let slide by unnoticed because of it.

None, really, that I could recall, but that didn't mean that I mightn't have failed to recognize one if it had presented itself. I gave myself a good mental shake. Now that I knew what was happening, I would be that much more alert, that much more prepared to act. Their guard had to be let down sometime and if, in the meantime, I'd shown that I wasn't trying to escape, they wouldn't be expecting it when it happened.

From the way Drusilla had treated me before Spike discovered my theft of his lighter, I thought that she might be craving a little female companionship. I could play on that, flatter her, do girly things with her. Show Spike I didn't need him, or expect him to protect me. Maybe even come between the two of them, get Dru on my side, get her to…. I stopped this train of thought in its tracks. I was supposed to be plotting my escape, not my revenge on Spike for not feeling about me the way I was coming to feel about him. Work on Dru, yes; revenge on Spike, don't bother - just get the hell away from him. That would be revenge enough.

That decided, I examined the clothes the unnamed vampire had brought me. I hoped that Drusilla had remembered that her clothes didn't fit me. I was surprised to find that they weren't like the doll clothes she wore. These looked more like something Spike would have chosen - punk bondage hooker wear. There were black fishnet stockings, complete with matching black garter belt (but no panties); high, high, stiletto-heeled black patent leather shoes; a short black leather mini-skirt and a black leather bustier that fastened with a silver zipper up the front. There were also zippers running under each cup in semicircles from where they met the vertical center zipper, dipping under my breasts and rising again on the outsides of the cups - exactly where the underwire would be on an underwire bra. There was a small zippered bag that had make-up in it. I spent the remainder of the afternoon trying on the clothes and experimenting with the make-up, trying to find just the right look to go with the ridiculous outfit.

I was dressed, made up and pacing nervously when the same vampire who'd brought the clothes to me came to take me to Drusilla. He was dressed exactly as I imagined a proper English butler would be dressed. I guess we all get costumes for this party, I thought. Before we left my cell he pulled my hands behind me, clapping a pair of handcuffs on my wrists. He also took the opportunity to try to play a little grabass until I stepped back heavily on his foot with the sharp heel of my shoe. Grumbling under his breath, he shoved me out the door and down the hall. As we emerged into what I'd come to think of as the 'main room' I set my face into an impassive expression, but my heart was beating a mile a minute.

The room was filled with, well I guess they weren't people. Vampires, then. Some were wearing their vamp faces, some weren't. I suppose I was only guessing that the ones with human faces weren't actually humans, but somehow I didn't think that Spike and Drusilla would be socializing with them if they were human. Slow music that I later learned was The Velvet Underground played the song "Venus in Furs" in the background and there were lit candles everywhere.

Along the three walls of the dungeon end of the room women were chained, some already looking pale and dead, bites all over them. As I watched, one huge, hulking brute of a vampire, dressed like a trucker, leaned over a young girl and literally tore her throat out with his teeth. My stomach flipped - not only from seeing it, seeing the blood sheeting down her front, but from the memory of Spike threatening to do that same thing to me. I stumbled on my high heels and nearly went down. With an exasperated sigh the butler vamp pulled me up by my handcuffed wrists and pushed me forward.

As we came a little farther into the room, Drusilla noticed us. With a few quick words, she detached herself from the small group with whom she had been talking and came over to me. "Sunday," she said warmly. She looked delighted to see me and pressed a kiss on each of my cheeks then, to my amazement and embarrassment, she kissed my mouth.

Frozen with shock, I stood still while Drusilla moved her soft mouth on mine. Over her shoulder I could see Spike, along with everyone else in the room, watching. My eyes narrowed then closed. If he wanted to watch, I'd give him something to see, I thought. I kissed Dru back. I kissed her passionately, frantically, my mouth open, my tongue tangling with hers. Soon I wasn't thinking about Spike at all. I'd never known that kissing a girl could be as sexy, as arousing as kissing a man. Her long delicate hands danced over my body and I longed to be able to embrace her, give her back the caresses she was giving me, but the handcuffs forced me to put all the passion I was feeling for her into the kiss itself.

Inevitably the moment came for the kiss to end. She pulled away, smiling and satisfied looking. She gave Spike her own long look over her shoulder. Turning back to me she said, "Oh dear, its lipstick is all smudged." From the dainty beaded purse that hung from her wrist, she took a handkerchief and wiped my face. She pulled out a lipstick next and carefully repainted my mouth.

When she had finished and was returning the lipstick to her purse I took my life in my hands and spoke to her. I had never dared before. "Please, Mistress, may I fix your lipstick, too?"

Her hand flew to her face as if she could feel how her makeup looked. I was so afraid that I had made her angry, said something about her appearance that she might consider disparaging. Stomach in my throat I waited while she considered. When she smiled and pulled the handkerchief and lipstick back out of her purse, my relief must have been palpable. She held them out, expecting me to take them. I gestured with my handcuffed wrists, twisting to show them to her. She snapped her fingers and pointed and the butler vamp unlocked and removed the cuffs.

Not pausing to rub my sore wrists, I took the handkerchief and lipstick from her. She held her face forward to me like a small child would hold a dirty face up to her mother. I gently wiped the smudged lipstick from around her mouth. As carefully as I could, as carefully as if my life depended on it, as well it could, I applied the dark red lipstick to her soft lips. Putting the lid back on the lipstick, I handed it and the handkerchief to her - raising her hand to my lips to place a reverential kiss on it. "Thank you, Mistress."

After replacing the items in her purse, she brought a caressing hand to my cheek while holding the other out imperiously to the butler vamp. Digging in his pockets, he brought out a black leather collar with a silver buckle and attached leash, which he handed to her. She placed the collar around my neck, adjusting it so that it was tight, but not too tight. Turning, leash in her hand, she walked, I followed her as, of course, I had to, to the fainting couch and sank down gracefully. When I began to sit next to her, she frowned and pointed to the floor. I sat on the floor and the party resumed around us. Show over, I guessed.

From my place on the floor I watched as all the attending vampires came up to Drusilla one at a time to exchange a few polite, respectful words. She was very much the queen holding court. During a pause in the stream of polite visits, she raised my hand. She drew a long sharp black nail along the vein on the inside of my wrist, making a break in the skin about an inch long. She raised my wrist to her mouth and sucked on the cut for a slow minute. Even without the pain of the bite, even though it was my wrist and not my neck, the familiar pleasure of being drunk from oozed through me and my eyes closed, my head fell back against the side of the couch. After she stopped drinking with a long lick along the length of the cut, she continued to hold my hand in hers, her thumb tracing the soft skin of my inner wrist, her other hand stroking my hair.

The music was soft and slow, Saint-Saens now, the lighting dim and low and all conversations were held in quiet tones. Drusilla, the girls chained to the walls and I were the only females there. All in all not what one would think a vampire party would be like. Not unless you noticed the comings and going from the far end of the room where the "refreshments" were. Even Spike seemed subdued as he went from group to group. Occasionally he'd take someone aside for some intense whispered talk. The someone would listen and nod, as if receiving instructions of some kind.

Spike finally came to Drusilla. He was dressed as he had been at CBGB's, the first time since then that I'd seen him with his platinum hair carefully spiked, black eyeliner and jewelry on. He sat next to her on the couch, shoving me out of the way with a black booted foot. "Dru, love," he said, "'bout time I shoved off."

"Must you, Spike?" Dru asked. She looked peevish.

"You know that we only have a little time left here before we meet Darla in Rome."

"Italians," Drusilla complained. "They always taste like garlic."

"You know that's just a myth, poodle. Anyway, garlic can't hurt you and you've been at me to go see Darla for ages now. Master doesn't let her leave the Hellmouth very often. Afraid if we went to see her there, the Master wouldn't let us leave and I'm not going to get stuck sucking up to his bat-facedness for the next fifty years."

"He thinks his freedom comes with the shaking, but only his doom shall follow."

"Shall it then? Well, never too soon for me. Can't stand these traditionalists, they've got no imagination."

He sat in silence with his arm over Drusilla's shoulder for a moment, but his heel was tapping a frenetic beat on the floor and he was drumming his fingers on his knee. He was looking in exasperation at the other vampires maintaining a cautious distance from him. "Bugger this for a game of soldiers," he muttered under his breath. He leaned over and spoke in Dru's ear, "What say we send the minions away and you and I can play with the pet? Reward her for her good behavior."

Drusilla looked down at me. I was careful to display no emotion, but I leaned my head into her stroking hand. "It has been a good little doggie," she said. "Yes, Spike, let's reward it."

Chapter Thirteen - Slow Motion

With a few claps and sharp words, Drusilla dismissed the minions who fell over themselves in their haste to obey her and leave. They left me alone with Drusilla and Spike, wondering what my reward would be. With them, there was no telling.

Oddly for that time, although I find nothing odd about it now, of course, I paid no mind to the poor humans chained up at the other end of the room. There was nothing I could do for them, the ones who were still alive anyway, and nothing I could think about besides how to survive, myself. I had no doubt that making any appeals on their behalf would quickly see me joining them. I resolutely put them out of my mind.

Dru stood and jerked on my leash, pulling me to my feet. Spike stood as well and took the leash from Drusilla. "I'll hold her while you get the toys," he drawled, surreptitiously running a hand under my skirt and over my bare ass. "Just the little box should be enough for now."

Dru fairly skipped to the far end of the room, pausing there only long enough to have a quick bite from one of the chained women before rummaging around in the large trunk from which Spike had taken the black candle the other night. She pulled out a small, highly polished wooden box and skipped back to Spike and me. By this time Spike had two fingers deep inside me and while I was careful to let nothing show on my face, I could feel my knees weakening.

"Oh, do pull your fingers out, Spike," she said fussily as she put the box down on the table closest to the couch. "It's not ready for that yet. You're always so impatient."
He withdrew his fingers casually and brought them to his mouth. Between licks he said, "Just warming her up, sweetness. And nice and warm she is."

Dru wasn't paying any attention to him; she was rummaging in the box, pulling items out and laying them aside on the table. To herself, she said "I'll have this and this and, no, not this, and maybe this. This I'll save for later…." When she had everything she wanted, she closed the box and set it on the floor.

The first things she used on me were a pair of leather manacles, or whatever manacles for ankles are called, with ropes attached. While Spike held me steady, she took one ankle and after fastening the cuff around it, tied it one of the legs of the couch. She repeated the action on my other ankle, tying it to the leg at the opposite end of the couch. This caused me to stand with my feet very far apart and forced the leather mini skirt to ride up high on my hips, barely covering my bare pussy and ass. Spike held me for the moment it took for me to find my balance in such an odd position.

Next Dru passed an odd glove-like looking thing made of black leather to Spike. It mostly resembled a long tube that laced up the side. He took this and threaded both of my arms behind me into it. As he laced it shut, it covered both my lower arms up to the elbow, pulling my elbows together and drawing my shoulders back in a way that pushed my leather covered breasts up and out to the point where they were only barely covered by the leather anymore. Looking down, which wasn't easy with my arms in that position, I could see a little of the dark area around my nipples peeking over the edge of the bustier.

Dru took each of the tabs of the zippers running under my breasts and pulled them. The leather cups fell away; leaving my breasts completely bare above the black leather that still covered my midriff.

I was helpless, frightened and very, very turned on. My nipples were stiffening in the cool air and I could feel that same cool air caressing the wetness between my legs. Drusilla stepped close to me and again kissed my lips. I felt no shock or shame this time. I returned the kiss immediately, opening my mouth to her, sucking on her tongue, then thrusting mine into her mouth to flick the roof, trace her teeth, twine with her cool nimble tongue.

She was holding my head as we kissed, her hands plunged into my hair, long spidery fingers massaging my scalp, but I felt two more hands reach from behind me to close over my breasts, wriggling between our two close-pressed bodies. Spike was kneeling on the couch behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his hard cock grinding against my ass, next to my bound hands.

He kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples as I arched my back to push them into his hands. I moaned into Dru's mouth as Spike began to bite my neck and shoulders, taking small nips and nibbles, worrying the sensitive place where my neck joined my shoulder, then licking up my neck to my ear, biting the lobe, breaking the skin so a thin trickle of blood started which he quickly lapped up.

Although it was awkward, I used my bound hands to rub his cock, scratching it through the denim. He removed one hand long enough to unzip and free himself, then reinserted his hand between me and Dru, only this time turning it to fondle her breast - I could feel the back of it against me, rubbing me. I drew one of my long nails along the underside of his cock, making it jump; he bit my neck harder in response. I pinched the head of it, feeling slippery fluid ooze out between my fingers, just a few drops. I spread the fluid over the head, as more oozed out, spreading it farther, using the slipperiness to pump his cock between my tethered hands.

Drusilla ended the kiss and stepped away. Her gown was disarranged where Spike had been fondling her breast and she left it that way, one breast uncovered. Small, white and round, the nipple was hard and pale pink. I wondered what it would taste like. "Spike," she said warningly, distracting him from what he was doing to me, what I was doing to him. He straightened and stepped off the far side of the backless fainting couch, zipping himself up as he came around to stand next to Dru. He rearranged her dress for her, pressing a quick kiss on her bare breast before pulling the bodice back over it.

She scrutinized me, looking me over as I stood there, legs far apart, arms tight behind my back. "It needs something pretty, something sparkly," she said, turning to the table where she'd lain the things she had taken from the wooden box. She selected something and turned back towards me. "Hold it still, Spike," she said, "This will hurt it."

Spike put one arm around the back of my shoulders, holding the one opposite to him and held me tight across the waist with the other. Dru held what looked like a long delicate chain with rhinestones between the links between her hands. She took one end of the chain and held it to my left nipple. There was a wicked looking alligator clamp with sharp teeth attached to the end of the chain. Spike moved his hand from my waist and pinched my nipple, stiffening it, holding it, and me, still. She pressed the ends of the clamp together, opening its little, vicious-looking mouth. I shrank back against Spike's arm, a spasm of fear and desire shooting through me in anticipation of the bite.

I wondered if it would be easier if I closed my eyes, but I couldn't. I could only watch in horrified fascination as she positioned the open toothy mouth of the clamp around my hard nipple. The action of her releasing the clamp came through my eyes and into my brain almost in slow motion, I saw the teeth bite into my flesh seconds; it seemed before the message of pain got from my nipple to my brain. But when it did get there it was screaming and so was I.

My knees crumpled, I would have fallen on my face if Spike hadn't held me up. With every beat of my heart, with every pounding pulse, my blood would try to force itself through my clamped, bleeding flesh and new waves of pain would scream through me. At this point, passing out seemed like something much to be desired. But no such luck. As I came to learn during my time with Spike and Drusilla, the point at which the pain could make me faint would be pushed further and further each time I was tested.

I had screamed myself hoarse while they stood and watched until I finally came to a gasping silence. The throbbing in my nipple was just barely more tolerable. I took a deep breath and steadied myself on my feet. I wished I hadn't. Spike immediately took hold of my other breast, thumbed the nipple to erectness and Drusilla quickly clamped it, too. I won't bore you repeating the description of the pain; suffice it to say that it was no less intolerable the second time around.

When I was once more in control of myself, Dru came to me and stroked my cheek, crooning, "There, there, dear. All better now, all pretty. See, Spike, how pretty it looks?"

"Pretty as a picture, love. Can I fuck her now?" came the leering reply as he reached around to gather some of my blood from the tiny rivulets running from my nipples. In my left ear I could hear him suck it from his finger before he reached down to give my nipple a gentle brush that sent fresh waves of pain zinging through me.

"Spike, Spike, always so impatient. Will you never learn that what comes before is more fun than the carnal relations?"

"Guess not. You'll have all the time you want to play with Sunday while I'm gone, but I've got to head out before dawn. Places to go, slayers to kill. Tell you what, I promise you that if Sunday's still alive when I get back, we'll play with her as long and hard as you want - make a party of it, a dead Slayer party."

She turned and spoke to me, "My Spike's going to kill another Slayer. I'm so proud of my darling." I tried to look properly impressed, I had no idea what she was talking about and was myself more than ready to be done with the before stuff and get on with the fucking. As the pain had ebbed to a tolerable level, the continuing throbbing was sending my cunt a message of lust, of need, of emptiness needing to be filled.

Drusilla sank gracefully into the leather club chair and waved a languid hand at Spike and me. "Do whatever you want with it. I shall just watch you."

With a growl, Spike leapt on me, tumbling me back over the couch. My ankles were still tied to its legs and my head and shoulders were hanging over the back of it, my bound hands trapped underneath my body.

He slid down my body, the rhinestones on the clamps and chain catching in the fabric of his shirt, tugging my nipples painfully. He continued to slide down between my knees and pushed up my short leather skirt. Using both hands he spread my pussy open and attacked it with mouth, tongue and teeth. Sucking my clit into his mouth, he let go with one hand long enough to reach up and wrap the chain attached to the clamps on my nipples around it. When he returned his hand to my cunt, the chain pulled hard on my nipples, but the pain became only one part of the pleasure he was giving me with his mouth, one part in the overall harmony of lust and need and blood and sex and mouths and cunts and fear and want and death and pain and pleasure and pleasure and pleasure.

I was screaming again, my breathing harsh and ragged. I was so close to coming and I could tell it would be an orgasm to make all previous orgasms seem as about pleasurable as a good sneeze. I was almost, almost, almost…. He stopped.

My growls of frustration lasted only as long as it took him to rise up on his knees, unbutton, unzip, push down his pants and plunge his thick cold cock into me. He fucked me so hard it felt like it would come out my throat. He fucked me so fast that I imagined all Drusilla would be able to see would be the white blur of his ass as he pounded me. He reached up and yanked a clamp off one of my nipples, replacing the clamp's teeth with his own, chewing it like a stick of gum, sucking it like a narrow straw in a really thick milkshake.

The force of my orgasm began in my toes, traveled up my legs and hit my cunt with the force of all of god's natural disasters rolled into one. But it didn't stop there - the waves continued to rise up my body and just as the tsunami force of it was about to blow out the top of my head, he sank his fangs into my nipple and drew great whopping mouthfuls, cupfuls, bucketfuls of my blood out through my tit, flooding my cunt with his cold semen.

Fainting seemed the only logical thing to do at this point, so I did. The last thing I remember was the sound of Dru's delighted applause.

Chapter Fourteen - One Way Or Another

Waking up someplace different from where I had fallen asleep, or passed out, whichever the case had been, was becoming the norm. And each time I managed to be surprised to be waking up at all. Yet, every time I did wake up, it made my determination to survive that much stronger. I wasn't going to end up like the refreshments at the party, like the girl hanging in chains with her throat ripped out. One way or another I was going to survive this and I was going to be stronger for it.

I did a lot of hard thinking and desperate acting during the two weeks that Spike was gone and I was alone with Drusilla. There were times when I felt like I'd found a new best friend and times I thought that my new best friend was going to rip my head from my shoulders.

To say that Dru was hard to get along with is like saying that jeans with those little appliqués sewn on them probably should never come back into style - each a masterpiece of understatement. Sorry, appliqués are a pet peeve of mine. You should have seen the number of them on the peach bridesmaid dress. Half made me glad to have been kidnapped if it meant I wouldn't have to wear that thing in public.

What I mean is that walking over acres of eggshells is easier than trying to get along with Drusilla, trying to guess her moods, knowing how to behave at any given time, trying to guess what might set her off.

Frankly, I'm surprised to have made it through with only the one scar to show for it. It's this little one here in my right eyebrow. Doesn't look like much now, thought I was going to lose the eye at the time.

Oh, you want more specifics about it? Well, at first it wasn't too bad. As long as I kept my mouth shut and let her push me around, dress me up and pet me like a dog, I seemed to do okay. But as the days went by, she got stranger and stranger, more mercurial, less, well, sane.