A kinky revision of season 4, in 10 parts, each in 7 chapters. BDSM and other entertainments among consenting adults are depicted. Kink levels and the associated ratings are high; the emphasis is not on the plot. See the header on the first story for warnings.
"You think too much," Jenny said to him.
Giles opened his mouth to protest-- no, I do not think too much-- but in the next moment she plucked off his glasses and the audacity chased his words away. She untied the scarf from around her waist-- black silk, yards of it, heavy and rough under his hands-- and wound it around his forehead, blinding him. Once, twice around. She tied it at the back of his head. The tails hung heavy down his back. Giles sucked in a breath. She couldn't know. Couldn't. Though his reaction might have given it away already; he was trembling. He raised a hand and touched the silk.
"Jenny--" he said, but didn't know how to continue.
"Rupert, sweetie, you spend too much time in here." Jenny's hands rested on his temples. "You live there. Behind your eyes. Thinking, reading, watching. I want you to live here tonight." She rested a hand on his chest, over his heart.
"Oh," he said, foolishly. He searched for some other response that wasn't inane, but thinking was difficult. All his blood seemed to have rushed below his waist. He wondered if she'd noticed. He wondered what she was planning to do.
"Where were we?" she said. "What were you about to do, Rupert?"
"Ah. Um. Kiss you. If you seemed agreeable, that is."
"And why would I not be? See, this is what I mean, Rupert."
Giles laughed nervously. Her fingertips stroked down his face, down his neck, and rested on his tie. She tugged at the knot. Giles felt it loosen, felt the collar of his shirt open as she undid one button, two. He concentrated on keeping his breathing steady, on the warmth of her body brushing against his, on her scent, on the pleasure of arousal.
"What were you hoping would happen tonight?"
"I, uh, more of what happened Tuesday."
Tuesday night had been dinner, followed by Jenny's invitation to have a glass of wine. The wine bottle had sat open on the coffee table, driven entirely from mind by their fascination with each other, their first tentative kisses and caresses. The evening had ended with them stretched out side by side along Jenny's sofa, pressed against each other. Not quite ready to go to bed, but close, so close. In a state of sweet sexual frustration, tightened and heightened and wound until at last they would yield. Soon. Tonight? Almost certainly. All the sweeter for the delay, in Giles' opinion.
"Is that all?"
He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, then pulled them out. He felt faintly ridiculous again. He rubbed his palms against his trousers. "Well, I-- I had some ambition. That we might consider, ah--"
"Consider what, Rupert? Hmm?"
"Going to bed. But I wasn't in a rush."
"Mm. Is that how it is with you?"
Giles touched his hand to the scarf again, at once abashed and pleased by her perception. Jenny tugged at his tie, and he obediently took a step forward. Two steps, into the center of her living room. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders. Giles obligingly shrugged it all the way off. She whisked it away from him and stepped away. He took the opportunity to slip his watch off and into his pocket. Thinking again, he realized. Thinking, planning, plotting, looking ahead. It took more than a simple blindfold to blind the Watcher. As Jenny would learn.
He shifted his stance, balanced himself, and got himself oriented. Reached out with trained senses. Found her-- three steps away, by the sofa. Giles moved, seized her around the waist, and bore her down onto the sofa, giggling. He pinned her and slipped his knee between hers and showed her what he hoped would happen next. At last he kissed her. He'd never tire of kissing this woman. Never.
He pulled back to catch his breath again. He nuzzled under her ear. "I love that scent. What is it?"
"Honey, musk, and rose," she said. "Do you like it?"
Giles answered by biting gently along her throat, down her neckline, between her breasts, as far as her dress would allow him. She'd scented herself here as well. He groaned. It was driving him mad. He needed to see her.
He reached up to push off the blindfold, but she laid her hand over his.
"Do something for me," she said, breath on his cheek. "Leave it on. Trust me."
"Whatever you wish," Giles said.
"Oh, really?"
"Yes." And he shuddered again.
She squirmed out from under him. Now he was underneath her. She had an agenda, it seemed: one shoe pulled off, dropped, then the other. There went his tie, yanked out from his collar. Jenny's weight shifted. She moved down so that she was straddling his hips. Giles groaned and writhed under her. She ignored him and made her way down his shirtbuttons. His shirt, gone. His chest was bared to her gaze unseen by him, to the warm air of her flat, to her hands moving everywhere. Flickering touches, through the hair on his chest, over his nipples, tickling down his ribs. He reached up to seize her and stop her, but her weight was gone.
She gripped his hand, reassuring and firm, and tugged him up. Giles stood uncertainly. She led him forward. He was too aroused now to be aware of where he was, and he stumbled. She guided his hand to her waist.
"Trust me," she said, and he stepped forward more confidently.
She led him out of the living room, down what felt like a hallway, into another room. Hushed, quiet. It smelled like incense-- piñon and chaparral. Wonderful; not what he would have expected. Giles drew in a deeper breath, and felt a little more of the tension leave his back and shoulders. He felt safe in this room, though he wasn't sure why.
He heard the sound of a match striking, then Jenny moving. Candle wax. He could imagine what she looked like in the warm light, dark eyes and dark hair, pale skin over the deep red of her dress. He raised his hand to the scarf again, at his temple, but left it in place.
Hands on his belt, tugging. Giles resisted the urge to help, to bare himself more quickly. Belt open, trousers undone, unzipped, pushed down. He lifted one foot, then the other. A moment of uncertain vanity: would she admire him? He wanted desperately to hear that he pleased her. Rustling, and then a touch on his chest, trailing down his belly. A hand on his hip.
"Mmmmm, nice. The tweed hides more secrets, doesn't it, Rupert?"
Giles felt a flash of satisfaction, then her hand stroked down the underside of his penis, and he was unable to answer. He swayed, and reached out to steady himself against her. But she had moved, and was behind him. She touched his rump.
"Why do they allow you to wear clothes? It's indecent to hide this."
Giles smiled, then hid his mouth behind a hand.
"I saw that, English," she said, but he could hear the laughter in her voice. "Okay, to bed with you."
She pushed his chest. Giles staggered two steps backward, then the bed caught him in the back of the knees. He fell into sheer bliss: satin sheets, soft pillows. He wriggled himself into the middle of the bed.
"You just relax, sweetheart."
Giles lay on his back on her slick sheets and tried to obey. It was impossible. He strained his ears listening, trying to guess what she was doing. Undressing, he hoped. The bed shifted; she was with him now. Skin to skin, breath to breath. Giles wished he could be looking into her eyes, hoping that she could see in them how he felt, because he had no words for it. Couldn't say it. I think I'm in love. I might be in love. I'm scared and thrilled and please please touch me like that again. He kissed her desperately and wished her to guess.
Jenny urged him onto his back. She sank down onto him. He raised his hips to meet her. He swore under his breath.
"I heard that," she said, but her voice was unsteady.
And now the timeless rhythm of man and woman, moving together, pleasuring each other. He slid a hand up along her thigh, her flank, seeking her breast, as yet unseen. Cupped. Dared to pinch, and was rewarded with a gasp.
"I wish I could see you. Jenny."
"What do you think I look like?"
"Beautiful. You're beautiful. My darling Jenny."
She would be a dark-haired goddess, astride him. One hand touching herself, he hoped, the other stroking his belly. Head thrown back, as she got closer and her breath grew more ragged. He groaned and thrust up underneath her. He shifted himself so his feet were flat on the bed, for better leverage. And then she was shuddering around him and crying out. Giles nearly followed. Not quite, not quite. He held still, letting her ride out the last of the waves.
She collapsed forward onto his chest. Her hands were on his shoulders. Rings on her fingers, the pendant around her neck falling forward, resting on his chest. Giles breathed in her scent: honey and musk, sweat, sex. He wrapped his arms around her and rolled, took command, willing to wait no longer. He left the scarf around his eyes. His eyes were closed underneath it anyway. She wrapped her legs around his back, pulled him in deep, and shuddered again beneath him. That was enough to send him over.
He slid off and collapsed face-down on her bed. She sighed and stretched next to him. He rubbed his face against her arm, kissed the warm skin, then let his head fall onto her pillows. Marvelous. Perfect. Everything he'd hoped for.
At last she undid the knot at the back of his head, and unwound the scarf. Giles blinked, and rubbed a hand over his face. His eyes adjusted. Flickering candlelight, a four-poster bed, hung with patterned fabric, dark colors against white walls. He pushed himself up onto an elbow and looked at his new lover at last. She was beautiful, and perfectly comfortable in her nudity, lounging next to him. Her skin shone with sweat, and her hair was a scattered ruin. Her jewelry glittered against her skin, rings and earrings and pendant resting between small perfect breasts. Something glinted in her navel-- a gold ring, with a red jewel.
"Oh! That's where you, ah, dangle--" He touched it with a cautious finger, then smiled up at her. He blew breath against her navel and recited. "My well-beloved was stripped. Knowing my whim, she wore her tinkling gems, but naught besides."
She closed her eyes. "Mmm. I'm no sultan's slave."
Rather the reverse, Giles thought, but he occupied his mouth kissing his way up from belly to breast. A gentle kiss between, another hint of that honeyed musk, and then he sighed. He subsided next to her, his head on her shoulder, one arm across her waist. Jenny idly wrapped the scarf around his wrist. Giles held out the other to her, tentatively, wondering if she played those games as well. She froze for a moment, then bound his wrists together, loosely. Giles shivered, and let his joined hands rest on her thigh.
"You've done this before," she said. She tugged at the scarf gently. "Cheater."
Giles cleared his throat. "Yes."
"You like this."
It was not exactly a question, but he answered anyway. "Quite a bit."
"Oh, Rupert, we are going to have such fun."
thady
BtVS, Giles/?
prompt: revelations
kink: blindfolds
Giles pushed himself up to a sitting position. Jenny arranged a pillow behind his head. He leaned back and winced. He was coming down slowly from the rush of climax, and he was finally aware that his whole body hurt. Or so it felt. He knew it wasn't truly so. Jenny stroked a hand over his forehead and ran her fingers through sweat-soaked hair. Giles turned his head and kissed her palm.
"Thank you," he said.
Jenny laughed. "Mmm. You're welcome."
She got out of bed and slipped into a robe. Dark red, silk, something like a kimono. Giles watched her belt it tight, hiding herself away. He sighed. He liked looking at her.
"Just stay right there, sweetie. I'll make us some tea."
Tea what was not what he wanted at that hour, but Giles declined to tell her so. He was in no mood to contradict her in any manner. Quite the opposite. If he'd had any energy at all, he would have used it to kneel before her, indulge her whims, and pray he pleased her. But he had no strength left, and she'd told him to stay where he was, so Giles let his head fall back on the pillow. She hadn't done anything he'd expected, but he'd arrived where he wanted to be anyway. How had she done this to him? She hadn't struck him, had bound his wrists together but restrained him no further. He was sore and exhausted and satisfied in a way he hadn't been in years.
He waited for her return, floating on waves of afterglow, both pain and pleasure still with him. Her bedroom was warm and the scent of the candles was sweet. They glowed. Giles remembered another night, long ago, a grimy flat in a dangerous neighborhood, the sweet sticky smell of herb, and Ethan's face through the flame of the candle he held over Giles's chest. Sober, intent, deliberate, then breaking into savage joy when wax spilled and Giles writhed.
Giles lifted a trembling hand and let it rest in the center of his chest, where that first pain still lived in memory, alongside tonight's new sensations. Another first experience for him. Several firsts, in fact. Most importantly, his first time with Jenny as his acknowledged mistress. And what a mistress she was! She'd been so intent on him, so careful, so marvelously cruel. Once she'd reassured herself that he was indeed serious, that he indeed wanted it, she'd granted him what he begged for. And he was satisfied.
She returned to him now with a laden tray. A teapot, two mugs, a bowl steaming with hot water, and a face towel. She pushed him back further on the pillows and washed his face clean of sweat, tears, and her own sex. She'd allowed him to taste her at the very beginning of the evening. She hadn't allowed him to take it to completion, though. Giles couldn't remember her taking pleasure later, either. There'd been long stretches of the evening when he'd been unaware of anything but his own body.
He was aware of her now, though, of her hands on him, gentle, soothing, her dark hair falling over her face and tickling against his skin. Hot water on his chest and belly, washing him clean. As the pain had washed him clean earlier. Giles liked the metaphor. She'd purified him. He gazed up at her gratefully, and she smiled down on him. Dark eyes, dark hair, her earrings dangling. She'd worn her jewelry every time they'd gone to bed together, since she'd learned he liked it. He loved the ring in her navel. So exotic. Like her.
Jenny set towel and bowl aside on the nightstand. She busied herself with teapot and mugs. She handed him one, steaming and heavy. His hands had finally stopped shaking, but he wrapped both around it anyway. He sipped carefully. Herbal tea, not black tea, with a tang to it he couldn't identify. Mint and something else. Giles sniffed uncertainly.
"Yucca and devil's claw," Jenny said. "To help you recover."
He drank without further demur. The heat felt good. He drained the mug and felt his strength slowly return. She took it from him and set it back on the tray. Then she pushed him down flat. Giles allowed himself to be arranged as she liked. He was naked, of course, stretched out across her soft bed, her rich blankets. Naked, sore, and bonelessly relaxed. She ran hands over his body possessively. She brushed her fingers across his nipples, and Giles flinched. She laughed and pinched him, gently enough, but he gasped with shock.
"Sensitive?"
Giles swallowed. "Rather."
"I bet. You really hadn't worn nipple clamps before?"
"No, truly I hadn't."
Jenny smiled at him. "And would you again?"
"Yes, of course, if you want--"
But she was shaking her head. "I already know you'll do whatever I want. I need to know what you want, Rupert. Total honesty, remember?"
Giles nodded ruefully. The experience of being questioned by her, of having all his desires spread out under a strong light and sorted through, was far worse for him than anything any of his partners had ever done to him. Though those beastly things tonight had been a shock. Clover clamps, she'd called them, when she'd asked him if he would consent to wear them for her. He'd agreed immediately, unwilling to disappoint her in any way on this first night on his knees to her, and moments later he'd learned his first lesson about clamps. They were nothing like being pinched by his lover's fingers. They were relentless, implacable, intense. And these, she explained, were special. They tightened when the fine chain attached to them was pulled. She'd demonstrated, then clipped the chain taut to the strap around his cock. He'd tormented himself every time he moved, every time he'd writhed under her hands.
He sighed. He had to confess it. "I want them again. Please. That was so--" He didn't have words for what it was. But Jenny nodded, seemingly satisfied.
She stroked his chest against, trailing down his belly. She slid her hand between his legs, to cup him in cruel fingers. Not as cruel as those clamps had been. Giles breathed in, and struggled to open his legs for her, to move toward her and not away. She shifted herself on the bed and leaned down to examine him.
"Ooh, lovely bruising already. You make a great canvas, Rupert."
He bit back a retort to that and instead concentrated on keeping his legs apart and his body still. Pain was different without sexual arousal below it, altering it. Though if she kept this up he might find himself roused again.
"Mmm. This was a surprise too, wasn't it. Did you like it?"
"Like" was the wrong word for the complicated set of reactions he'd had when she'd shown him another set of clamps and he'd realized where she intended to put them. He temporized. "What did you call it?"
"Predicament bondage."
"It was, quite. Lord."
Nipples to cock ring; scrotum to his wrists bound tight in the small of his back. He'd had a choice between arching his back to relieve the pain on his balls, or curling forward to ease the pressure on his nipples. He'd made his choice and spent uncounted minutes with back arched, trembling, wondering how long he could hold the position, how long she would want to watch him sweat. How many more of those fiendish plastic clips she had, how much more of his body she would decorate with them. She had infinite patience, he'd learned, and had determined in advance how long he would kneel on the carpet before her. She'd waited far longer than Giles thought he could bear before she'd grasped both sets of chains in her hands and taken all choice away from him with a steady and merciless pull. He'd begged her to release him, then, to give him relief, so she had. And he'd learned the final lesson about clamps. Over and over, as she removed them all slowly, giving him time to feel each one.
It was a kind of patience that Ethan had never shown with him. Giles wondered where else she would show it, what other ways she knew to make him suffer. He suspected he didn't know one tenth of what she did about bondage. All that bravado he'd flashed, when she'd asked him if he'd played these games before, and he'd said yes so confidently-- how foolish it looked now.
"Tell me, Rupert. Did you like the clamps here?" She grasped him again and closed her fingers.
When he could speak again, he stammered out an honest answer. "No! No. Not as much. Or rather... I liked... Oh, God, Jenny, this is difficult."
She didn't say anything, but she lay down next to him on the bed and stroked his face. He assembled the words for what he wanted to say, but he couldn't control his stammer when he spoke them at last.
"Frightening to let you hurt me there. But exciting. Almost unbearably."
"Trust. It's always about trust."
"Yes," he said, softly, and he felt his heart expand in his chest. He would do anything for her, just as she'd said. He did trust her, utterly. God, he was in love with her. He said nothing, though, just watched her. She met his gaze, and he blushed and looked away.
"Mmm," she said, but he didn't know what she meant by it.
She got out of bed and gathered up the tea things. He watched her carry the tray out of the room. She was so assured about everything she did. So bold. He wished she were strong enough to hold him down, strong like a-- He shook his head and cut off that line of thought. Likely Jenny knew ways to bind him that would use his own strength against himself. He'd seen the rings embedded in the posts of her bed, and knew he'd learn their uses soon.
She blew the candles out when she came to bed this time, and slipped the robe off. Giles pushed himself into motion far enough to crawl under the blankets next to her. He was once again aware of that rose and honey scent she wore. He laid his head on her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her waist. Skin on skin. Warm, safe, but-- Giles shifted. He turned restlessly against her.
"Jenny?" Tentatively, stammering again.
"Oh, Rupert, go to sleep."
"Forgive me, but-- Did I please you? Tonight?"
"Oh, Rupert, yes, you pleased me. So brave. So trusting. Even when you didn't have the faintest idea what you were in for."
Anyone else would have said that was folly, but she'd liked it. He'd pleased her. Giles slid up in bed and took her face in his hands and kissed her. She allowed him, kissed him back. He felt himself stir again, imagined himself making love to her, there in the dark. Imagined her saying sweet things to him. His heart ached in his chest again. He was completely gone; he was sure of himself now. The words of a deeper confession were almost on his lips but he held off. Fear. Too much, too fast, maybe she didn't return the feeling, maybe she was still testing him out.
She broke it off with a final caress. "Rest now, sweetie."
Giles obeyed and settled himself comfortably against her side. He let his face crease into a silly grin, burrowed there against her shoulder where she couldn't see it.
"Thank you for coming by, Buffy. I'm sorry about the short notice, but it's rather urgent."
Giles hadn't met her eyes since she'd come in the flat. Buffy began to feel nervous. What was he about to tell her? That he was going back to England? Her stomach felt funny when she thought about that idea. She freely admitted she hadn't seen much of him the last few weeks. Partly that was because Riley had thrown a jealous fit when she'd said she was thinking about training with Giles again. No, it was mostly because of that, and because Riley had invented things for them to do every time she tried to come over here. She'd had to tell him to get bent tonight, even.
Buffy was sick of that. She needed Giles' training, needed his special knowledge of Slaying and the occult. And it was past time she took charge of her life and did what she knew she needed. And what Buffy needed was a Watcher. Which wouldn't happen if Giles left. What was up? He was feeding her tea with little cookies. That said it was serious.
"Giles. This is killing me. Please just tell me what's up."
"I, I..." Giles shook himself, and when he spoke again his stammering was a little better. "I'm being blackmailed. Or rather, someone is trying to blackmail me, and I have told them to publish and be, be damned."
Buffy let her shoulders sag in relief for a moment. Then she tensed again. Somebody needed to have their head ripped off.
"Who?" she said.
"No one important to you. The information they're attempting to hide is important. The location and weakness of a demon new in town. They know of my connection to you, and were attempting to get me to hide it. I cannot... I cannot be used to protect demons." Giles still wouldn't look at her.
"Okay. I get that. What's the threat? Do you need me to stop it?"
"The threat involves you. I will tell you about the demon, you will Slay the demon, and then, ah. They will send photographs to you."
Buffy watched Giles's hands fidgeting with his teaspoon.
"There really isn't anybody else they could use against me," he continued, almost muttering. "I have no job, no other personal relationships. Nobody else matters to me as much as you do. I, uh, I will understand, Buffy, if you choose to, to avoid me after this."
"Avoid you more than I have been, you mean," Buffy said, drily.
"Well. It can get worse. Or so I have assured myself." He sounded endlessly sad, and worse. Resigned to it.
Buffy rubbed his shoulder, on impulse. Giles flinched. She kept rubbing, though, and he seemed to relax a tiny bit. "Okay, tell me what to expect. Photographs of what?"
Giles stiffened again. "Ah. Sexual activity."
"With what, a goat? 'Cause I gotta tell ya, regular old--"
"With a woman. A, a, professional."
"Oh," said Buffy. She thought about that for a bit. That had a lot of implications. At last, she said, "I'm not happy that my Watcher has to pay to get what he ought to be able to get from a regular smoochie-partner."
Giles flushed and cleared his throat. "Yes. Well. The reality is that I haven't been able to, to, to find a partner. And so I paid for it. And now I am paying again."
Buffy knew this had to be killing Giles, to go through exposing his private life to anybody. The idea that strangers had taken photos of him had to be hell all by itself. He looked like it was killing him, all hunched in on himself at the other end of the couch. "Hey. Giles. Don't worry. I promise not to hate you."
"Still. If you could refrain from looking at them, when they arrive, I would be obliged." He fumbled off his glasses and gave them a polish on his sweater.
"Right. Now tell me all about this demon I'm gonna kill tonight."
The package arrived two days later, in her dorm mailbox. A manila envelope, with a local postmark on it and no return address. Stiff from what felt like a piece of cardboard. A little thick. Buffy carried it up to her dorm room, tucked into the three-ring binder with her life sciences labwork. Willow was there, chattering about impending finals. Impending, hell; they were three weeks away and Willow was studying already. But Buffy couldn't do anything about the package while Willow was there to be curious about it. And she didn't want Willow knowing about this. Giles would die.
Willow took off around dinner time to hang out with Tara. Buffy continued with her English Lit reading for a little while after that, but the package was staring at her. Even hidden in the binder. She should burn it. Tearing it up probably wouldn't be enough. She dug in the drawer where she had a Zippo stashed away, for the naughtier sort of dorm parties, then stopped when she remembered she couldn't burn it in the dorm. Tonight on patrol, maybe? Would it catch fire all in a lump like that? Maybe she should burn the photos one at a time.
Buffy ripped it open and slid out the contents face-down. Photos, cover letter, sheet of cardboard. She counted. Twenty photos. Eight by ten glossies.
Buffy reasoned this way: If she didn't look, this would always work as a threat. If she didn't really, totally know all the way what Giles had to hide, somebody could always threaten to expose it. And how wild could it be, anyway? He'd said a woman. One woman.
She turned the cover letter over without reading it and looked at the first one. Okay, she could see why Giles didn't want people knowing about this. Yeah, it was sex with a woman, but it wasn't exactly vanilla. Vanilla didn't involve the guy on his knees with a blindfold on. And his hands tied. And wearing what Buffy had learned from Dorm Porn Night was a cock ring. Around what was a pretty impressive package, she had to say. Gotta hand it to the Watcher there.
Vanilla definitely didn't involve the stuff in the next few photos, either. Buffy had seen it all before, at the aforementioned Porn Night. And some of it she'd read about, in books that she kept hidden in boxes deep inside her closet where even Willow's curiosity wouldn't turn them up. The bondage video they'd run had had Buffy breathing hard in seconds. She'd hidden herself in the corner of the room and hoped nobody noticed. She was breathing hard again now.
Lucky Giles, who got to do some of that stuff, even if he paid for the privilege.
Though Buffy admitted, as she lingered on the one where Giles had come, she envied the woman in the photos more than him. You never saw more than her high-heeled boots and legs, and her hands with the whip and the other stuff, but in Buffy's book, she was having the most fun. Not that Giles wasn't. The expression on his face was amazing. Pained and ecstatic and wild. Buffy wanted to see it without the blindfold in the way. It was just that Buffy wanted to be making somebody else's face screw up like that. Be the one in charge.
She imagined doing those things with Riley. Good old solid soldier boy, with his hands tied in the small of his back and clamps on his nipples. Begging her. Buffy couldn't see it. That was never going to happen. Riley bitched when she wanted to be on top when they had sex. As if that meant anything at all.
The expression on Giles' face when she had said "bondage fun" to him once. The little dip of the head Giles made when she went into in-charge Slayer mode. The way Giles did what she ordered him to, when she bothered to. How amazingly turned on she was, right now, thinking about that first photo of him, just kneeling with his hands behind his back, cock jutting out.
Doing those things with Giles, now that would be hot. The thought of that careful, buttoned-up, controlled man, coming unglued, letting it all out. Oh, god. Pity he'd never consider doing it with her. He'd probably get all stuffy and talk about propriety. As if Watchers and Slayers hadn't been getting it on for centuries.
Buffy flipped back through the photos one at a time, paying careful attention to Giles' face. She knew him well, from years spent fighting together. Some of that stuff he loved, and some things he liked less. The top should have spent more time talking to him first. Buffy could do better, she bet.
She flipped back to the cover letter. Laser printed, her name in the salutation, then a single paragraph: "Perhaps you find this information as interesting as we did: He addressed her as Slayer."
Buffy slid the photos back into the envelope and locked it into her desk drawer, along with the Zippo. She sat back and thought. Planned. Seize the day. Bank balance, okay. She knew where the fetish shop was, and she knew that the tattoo and piercing place also carried BDSM stuff. But first, the university library. She had to know what she was doing, or this plane wouldn't fly.
The Slayer uncoiled herself from her chair and was in motion.
Five days after he and Buffy had cleared the nest of Kammer demons, at nine-thirty in the evening, Rupert Giles sat in his armchair, drinking two fingers of the Macallan neat and attempting to read a spy novel. He'd been staring at the same page for half an hour. He thought that he should probably give it up, toss back the whisky, and turn in early. He hadn't seen Buffy since they'd slaughtered the demons together, and he'd been on edge the entire time.
The demon's representative had to have followed through on the threat by now, and sent Buffy the photographs. Giles knew what they showed. The man had shown them all to Giles first. The bastard had been human, so Giles hadn't been able to kill him. Instead, he'd endured the humiliation for every second the man had wanted to draw it out.
And now his Slayer hadn't rung him or dropped by. Had she looked, despite her promise? Or was it just coincidence, and she'd simply forgotten about him again as she had so often this year? He had no idea.
Giles damned himself, his fetishes, every fool thing his willful cock had ever led him to do. Go to bed with Ethan. Raise demons. Seduce Olivia with lies. Hire that woman. Role-play with that woman. It had almost been worth it. Almost. To taste that release one more time. To be taken out of himself, purified, drained to serenity. Those moments of anticipation, feeling the bonds tight at his wrists and ankles, tugging at them and knowing himself helpless, the breathless wait for what would happen next, for the first touch of a merciless hand on him... God.
It wasn't going to happen again. He had to resign himself. The risk was too great. He was known as the Slayer's Watcher, here and in Los Angeles. There was no way he could find someone. It would be himself and his left hand, alone in his bed.
He wanted it worse than ever now that he knew he couldn't have it. Giles had a gulp of whisky and swore under his breath, deeply.
Someone knocked on his door. He twitched up from his armchair to answer it, but it opened before he finished standing. Buffy. She turned, closed it, and locked it. She stepped into his little living room area. She was wearing engineer boots and a leather jacket. Full Slayer mode, fierce and focused. Deadly and attractive. But the expression on her face was stormy.
Giles picked up his tumbler and had another gulp of whisky. Apparently the other shoe had dropped.
"Giles. Watcher." Buffy let her messenger bag slide to the floor.
"G-good evening, Buffy. What brings you here?" Disingenuous, pathetic.
"I have a problem. I think I know the solution, but I definitely have a problem."
"Oh! Er. What sort of..." Giles trailed off. She had advanced until she was standing in front of his fireplace.
"Stand up."
Giles had another pull of the whisky. What the hell was she up to?
She took the glass from him and sniffed it. She had a sip, shrugged, then put it on the mantel. "I believe I gave you an order, Watcher."
"Buffy, I--"
"Stand up."
Giles stood.
He thought about asking her again what was going on, but saw the look in her eye and decided against it. He stood watching her. He didn't know what to do with his hands. His palms were wet. He rubbed them against his jeans. He tried to breathe. When she'd snapped out those words, it had gone straight to his cock. This was not the time to be dizzy with lust for his Slayer. Again.
Buffy regarded him silently. She had another taste of his whisky. One booted foot was on the raised hearth. She was wearing black jeans. Tight jeans. Oh, God.
"Giles. We need to talk. About what was in those photographs."
"I asked you not to look at them!" Giles flushed red. Mercifully, his arousal faded.
"Well, I did. And I read the letter that came with them."
Giles had no idea what was in that letter, but whatever it had been, it had angered Buffy. Angered? Not exactly. The expression on her face was something else. Something far more frightening to him. She was intent, though to what purpose he could not guess. On humiliating him further?
Giles turned away. His shoulders were tight. Might as well get it over with. "Say what you need to say to me."
"Giles. Relax."
He snapped. "Why in sodding hell would I relax?"
Buffy took his arm and spun him around roughly to face her. "Giles. Calm down." She gave him a few moments, then said, "It's perfectly all right to want those things. What isn't all right is the way you got them. You laid yourself open to blackmail. You went to somebody else. You should have come to me."
Giles opened his mouth to protest, but found himself speechless. Eventually he sputtered out, "Buffy, don't be absurd."
Buffy advanced on him. He backed until he was against the wall beside his fireplace. She stood inches away. He could smell her leather jacket, the musky perfume she wore. He was half-hard again. His cock admitted what he wanted, even when he couldn't. Damnable fool.
"I've read Watcher diaries, Giles. I know what our predecessors got up to. We wouldn't be the first, or the last."
"You can't want--"
"But I do want. I want you. And I know that you want me."
"I don't--"
"Don't lie to me. I know you do. You called her Slayer."
Giles felt his world falling in on itself. Buffy's gaze on him was the only stable thing around him. He clung to it. She knew, and she was here, and she was... She wanted him? He flattened his hands against the wall, to hold himself up.
"I won't have you calling anybody else your Slayer, hear me? I'm your Slayer. I make you feel what you need to feel. I do those things to you. You're my Watcher, understand? Mine. Not going to share you."
"I haven't been your Watcher for a year," he whispered.
"Would you like to be my Watcher again?"
The shock of hope nearly brought him to his knees. "God. Buffy. You know I would."
Buffy said, "So. You will be my Watcher. You will train me, teach me, translate for me. Sharpen my sword. All that. In exchange, I will be everything you need in private. Your Slayer. Your mistress."
His mouth went dry, at the sound of that word from her lips. He fought to swallow. His mistress. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff. His Slayer was asking him to step off. No. He'd already stepped off. There was no going back on this conversation.
"An exchange," said Giles. His voice was hoarse. "Buffy, do you understand what you're offering me?"
"Yes."
"Have you, um, have you... done this before?"
"I don't have a lot of practical experience. Just reading. But I do know that what you want and what I want are a match. We go together."
She sighed. "I haven't been able to find anybody either. So many guys are either wimps or too macho. Like Riley. Think he's not a man if he's not on top. I've had enough of that. I want an adult. Somebody who knows himself."
Giles breathed out a nervous laugh. "I'm not sure I'm that. But I suspect I know myself better than your Riley does."
He stared at her boots, at the worn and creased leather, and thought hard. He wanted to say yes. God, he wanted to say yes. She was everything he'd ever desired in women: strong, willful, impish, quick-witted, capable. She was pure power and grace. She was the Slayer. Could he let himself say yes?
What would happen if he said no? She needed him. Needed his skills. He knew that. He knew it would kill her, eventually, if they carried on this way, and she were further separated from him.
He had to accept. For her own sake. And if that was rationalization, so be it. Giles surrendered, all in a heap.
"I... I accept your offer."
She shifted in place, sharply, as if preventing herself from moving to him.
"I will be your Watcher. And in exchange, you will, you will be..."
"Your mistress."
"My mistress." Giles whispered the last word.
She did move toward him then, stepping directly in front of him. He brought his head up and met her eyes. Solemn, intense, and pleased. She held out her hand to him, palm out. He pressed his hand against hers. "My Watcher."
"My Slayer."
She slipped her fingers between his and clasped his hand.
Giles reeled for a moment. The oath the Council had administered to him had been accompanied by lashings of stiff pomp and circumstance, but this simple exchange of words with his Slayer meant far more.
Buffy squeezed his hand. "We start tonight. I'll tell you what I want from you, as your mistress."
He swallowed, then nodded. "Buffy? Tomorrow. We'll discuss what I require of you, as your Watcher."
"Yes," Buffy said. Giles bent his head and kissed her hand.
Buffy took his whisky glass and settled herself in his armchair. "So. Let's talk."
"Talk?" Giles felt a moment of mingled relief and disappointment. Did she not want to follow through immediately?
"I need to know what you want."
"Oh. I, um." Jenny had done this to him as well, make him talk about things he'd never said aloud to anybody. She'd said she had to know, if she were to give him what he needed. And if Giles were to do this right, he'd have to reveal himself as fully to Buffy. How would she react? He rubbed his hands against his jeans again. His palms were still damp. He felt almost queasy from nerves.
"On your knees. Now. Right here." Buffy pointed.
He moved immediately to kneel at her feet, and folded his arms behind his back. He didn't dream of disobeying. That voice of command came naturally to her, Giles thought. As naturally as submission came to him. Giles couldn't believe he was doing this. His breath was coming fast. His chest felt tight. His head spun. He'd been half-hard since she'd ordered him to stand, and now this had taken him the rest of the way. He didn't dare reach into his jeans to adjust himself to make it more comfortable.
She was studying him. He wondered what she saw. He knew what he saw in her. She had changed so much in the last year. She'd had lovers, had been betrayed, had glimpsed the world of adulthood. She was no longer the girl who refused her destiny. This older Buffy would meet it head on. So much older than she'd been. And she'd always been wise beyond her years. The gift and curse of the Slayers, that her life would be lived more intensely than the lives of ordinary girls. But, ah, a lovely light.
What would she be like in bed? What pleased her? What would she do to him? Giles wanted to know. Needed to know. Would know before the evening was through. He watched her watching him. His hands were not trembling only because they gripped his arms behind his back.
"Okay, Giles. Tell me all about yourself. How did you get started with this?"
He opened his mouth to speak, but it was difficult. He fixed his gaze on her boots. It was easier not to look at her. Giles still could not speak.
"Let's start losing the armor. Take off your shoes and socks. And your sweater."
Giles obeyed, and set them to the side, the jumper neatly folded. He returned to his kneeling position. It was easier to take off his clothes than to tell her his secrets.
"Talk," she said. Commanded, rather. He twitched reflexively in response, and cleared his throat to obey.
"I've had fantasies about it since I first knew it was possible. But I mostly... the first lover who... it was Ethan." He looked up at her anxiously. She hadn't known about his bisexuality before this. She looked amused, and not surprised in the least.
"Giles. Relax." She held out his glass of whisky to him. He kept his hands behind his back and let her feed him a few sips. "I figured out about Ethan. So, did you confess your fantasies to him?"
"No. He discovered it. He dripped candle wax on me when we were, ah, having sex. By accident. He was trying to move the thing out of the way. And I didn't react the way he expected."
"Where did it land?"
"My chest. Just here." Giles rested two fingers below his collarbone.
"What did it feel like?"
"Surprised me. Hurt, but felt so bloody good. All mixed up with how turned on I was. Ethan took one look at me and did it again. He pinned me down."
He remembered that moment: his involuntary moan, and Ethan's startled eyes meeting his. Then the intent look on Ethan's face as he did it again while Giles held himself as still as he could. The hot wax-spatter on his chest, his almost wild excitement at the pain, Ethan's hand on his throat holding him in place. Ethan's delight in the discovery, and the savagely methodical manner in which he explored it over the following days. They hadn't talked about it at all. Ethan had silently acted, and Giles silently submitted.
"That guy pinned you?"
Giles smiled briefly. "I was much scrawnier at the time. And I wanted to be pinned. So he was my first."
"Have you been with a lot of men?"
"A few. Mostly not in, ah, this sort of relationship. I tend to be dominant with men, Ethan aside. And submissive with women. I... well, I have a theory about that." He looked away from her, at her boots on the rug next to him. She nudged his knee, gently, with a boot.
"It's, um, the Watcher training. They condition us, I'm fairly certain, from a young age. To admire power in women. Physical power. Fighting prowess. Everything the Slayer is. And long to serve it. To... bluntly, to worship our Slayers."
"Aha," said Buffy, very quietly. "That's why your fantasy was to call the dominatrix Slayer."
Giles flushed again. He couldn't look at her.
"There is no shame here, Giles. I'm happy you want that. I'm going to give it to you for real."
"Thank you," he said. A flood of strong emotion that he couldn't name welled up in him, and he bent to kiss her boot. He lingered for a moment, then her hand was on the back of his neck, pressing him down, gripping hard. He sighed in satisfaction. His worries that she would be tentative because of inexperience faded. She released him. He knelt up again, cautiously, and met her eyes. He saw approval there. She liked the little gestures, then. He would be careful to please her with them.
"Take off your shirt," she said. Giles immediately pulled it over his head and folded it. She was slowly stripping him bare. Oddly, more slowly than he would have, if he were in charge. He'd be naked already. Jenny had always said he needed to learn patience.
"What made you buy it from someone?"
"Desperation. It had been so long, I... I couldn't find anyone. Either they got frightened off by the Hellmouth, or they were, were, were killed by it. Jenny-- I couldn't risk that again. Getting involved with someone seemed... impossible. But I wanted the sensations. I thought... I thought it could be safe."
She reached out, then, and stroked his face. Giles closed his eyes and opened himself to the touch, to her wordless sympathy and affection.
She gave him another sip of whisky. It was helping. She coaxed it all out of him like that, gradually. A taste of whisky, a question, another secret yielded. It helped that he'd done this before, with Jenny, who'd taught him words for some of his more intense desires. It all came out. The jolt of pleasure he felt when his lover took command of him. The sweet terror of helplessness. The need to have control stripped from him, so that he could be carried beyond himself, let himself feel. His tangled emotions about pain: need, craving, fear. The floating euphoria of the trance-state. The build to breaking point, when he at last surrendered himself to his mistress' will, when he at last let go of himself.
Catharsis, he said to her, and watched her anxiously to see if she understood. She nodded, serious and respectful as she'd been all evening. He recognized the expression on her face. She was thinking deeply, her gaze somewhere over his head. She refocused and smiled at him.
"I can give you what you need," she said.
God, may it be so.
She fed him the last of the whisky. He wasn't drunk, not in the least, but he was smoothed out, damped down by it. He might have fled his own flat in terror without it. He wished he'd had the courage to ask her to bind him immediately.
Buffy stood and carried the tumbler to the kitchen. Giles remained where he was, on his knees, because she had not given him leave to stand. He heard her moving around, opening the refrigerator. She returned with a bottle of spring water. She sat in his armchair again and drank a little. She didn't offer him any.
"Okay. Next. What don't you like?"
Giles sighed. This part of the catechism was more frightening. Ethan would ask him what he didn't like, and then do exactly that. Buffy, he reminded himself, was no Ethan. "I don't like humiliation. Ethan used to like to do that to me, but I... I like being valued."
"Valued for the gift you give to your top, of your body. Your pain and compliance."
Giles was a little surprised she understood this. "Yes, exactly. As I value the gift my mistress gives me, of her attention and her, her, her--" Giles broke off. He didn't have a word to use other than "love", and he didn't want to bring that up with Buffy yet.
There were a few more things he couldn't abide, not even to please a demanding top, but those were easily dismissed by Buffy as uninteresting to her as well. At last she was satisfied. She leaned forward, focused on him with new intensity. His mouth went dry again at her expression. Her hand would be on him soon.
"Right," she said. "I think that's enough talk. It's time to give you a taste of that helplessness."
"Take off your belt and give it to me," Buffy said.
Giles obeyed. She took it from him and examined it as if considering what to do next. "Buffy? May I make a suggestion?"
"Go ahead."
"If you, if you wish to, to bind me, I have some gear you might find useful."
"Bring it to me."
Giles rose smoothly to his feet and padded up the stairs to his loft. It was all in the back of his clothes closet. He came down with a cardboard box. He'd stored the gear when Jenny had died, and it had been a long time before he'd been ready to experience those sensations with somebody else. And then he'd been fool enough to think a professional would be discreet. He laid the box at Buffy's feet and returned to his knees. It was rather a lot; some of Jenny's equipment had been in his flat when she'd died, and he'd had no idea how to return it to her family without enduring an agonizing conversation.
Buffy opened them and began removing the contents. New tools set at the ready for the Slayer, each a weapon to be evaluated solemnly.
Several riding crops. A leather flogger. A horsehair whip. A paddle. Wrist and ankle cuffs in heavy black leather. Carabiners and quick releases. Rope and chain. Nipple clamps. A velvet bag with a selection of cock rings in it, including a thick metal ring that he'd loved wearing. Sometimes the sensation of it snug and heavy around his cock and balls had been the only thing making Snyder's staff meetings bearable.
A few boxes with plugs, some silicone, some metal. Buffy examined each of them carefully, then returned them to their boxes.
And a wide leather collar with a buckle and rings. The first leather he'd ever owned. Or been owned with. Ethan had come home with it, probably stolen, the day after he'd discovered that his friend liked it rough. Giles recalled the feeling of it around his neck, buckled tight. He had worn it through some of the most intense experiences of his life. The leather had softened with age and use, but it was still solid. Heavy. He licked his lips.
Buffy was watching him. "Do you want to wear this?"
"God, yes. Forgive me, that is, if it pleases you."
Buffy smiled at him. "I like knowing you're eager. So long as you're not pushy, that's fine."
She came around behind him and wrapped it around his neck. As he'd hoped, she pulled it snug, so he felt it. He felt her tuck the buckle end through and moaned. She tugged at it again. Giles arched his back in response. She held him firmly, one hand on his collar, one around his chest. She slid her hand down to rest above his navel.
"Are you hard under those jeans?"
"Yes," he whispered.
"You like this, don't you." She pulled at the collar again.
"Yes. Oh, God. So much."
"This will be our sign, then. When you're wearing this, you're mine."
She undid the top button of his jeans and slipped her hand down inside, over his belly. Her fingers brushed down, tantalizing him. She still had a hand on his collar, pulling him back against her. Giles could feel her breasts pressed against his back, her breath on his neck, her knees between his. She was small. Deceptively small. She could hold him in place effortlessly if he decided to struggle.
Giles melted. "Oh, God," he whispered. "Please. Take me. Do what you want with me. Anything. Please." He rocked his hips, trying to coax her into touching him. Those hands, Slayer-hot, on his skin, so close to where he burned.
She pulled her hand away. He whimpered in dismay, but a moment later she had her hand on him, cupping him through the jeans. Squeezing. He groaned and thrust into her hand. Then it was gone again and she was standing, pulling him up with her with that amazing strength. The strength that made him dizzy.
She released him and returned to the armchair. He remained where she'd left him, his arms still folded behind his back. She'd given him no specific orders, but already he knew she liked the little reminders, the little cues in his bearing. He would gladly give them to her, teach her what she might wish to demand from other lovers.
"Jeans off," she said.
Giles unbuttoned his jeans and slid them off. He folded and added them to the little pile of his clothing. His modesty. His reservations. His decorum. The little pile of everything he'd been told about how to behave with his Slayer, how to treat her, how to manage her. As if he'd ever managed Buffy. She'd owned him from the first. They'd raised him to love her, and keep her alive, and serve her, and here he was. Standing before her nearly nude, hands behind his back, head down, the proof of his devotion and service tenting out his boxers.
"The rest of it. Shorts off too."
Giles hid a little smile when he turned to add his underwear to his discarded armor. The first sign of impatience in his Slayer.
He turned back to her and clasped his hands behind his back. Her eyes were on his cock. He hoped she liked what she saw. Most of his lovers had. He was suddenly self-conscious. She'd been with beautiful men-- the sculptured undead Angel, and now the soldier boy with his artificial strength. Young men, or men with the appearance of youth, anyway. Not his all-too-human middle age.
Before his worry could spin into fear, she was speaking again. "Kneel. Spread your legs. Wider."
He obeyed. This, this he loved. Waiting on his knees before his lover. Awaiting her pleasure.
"So beautiful," she said, quietly, as if to herself. She was still looking at his cock. Then, to him she said, "There are some things I want to do with you tonight. I want your consent first."
Giles almost laughed, but fortunately controlled himself. He was naked, on his knees, aching for her hand on him, and she wanted to discuss consent. Jenny had made a big fuss over that as well. Ethan had simply done to him what he'd wanted.
"Buffy. Anything you want. I... What do you desire of me?"
She wanted to put him in bondage. She wanted to whip him, to hurt him, to use all his toys on him. She wanted to take him to bed and give him pleasure. She would ask before she drew blood. Ask before she left permanent marks. Ask before she involved anyone else. Simple things. What he had expected. It had all been done to him before.
Giles inclined his head and consented. He was disinclined to deny his Slayer anything she asked for, even when she demanded the right to leave visible marks on him tonight. Giles consented to that with a shaky voice, more from the thought of what she'd do to him than from the idea of others knowing. Then he thought about how long it had been since he'd flaunted the evidence of a lover. He'd required-- requested, rather-- that Jenny not leave any traces that would excite the interest of the students. Or any school personnel. He had no such restrictions on him now.
Tomorrow, when he went out, everyone would know he had a lover.
"Hmm, you like that idea," Buffy said. She had a wicked grin on her face. "I do too. But I have something serious to take care of tonight. I need to punish you for not coming to me first."
"Oh. Yes. Of course," he whispered.
"I'll let you decide part of your punishment. Which of these do you want me to use on you?" She indicated the whips laid out on his coffee table.
Giles opened his mouth, but was unable to speak for a moment. She wanted him to choose. Not just consent to the pain, but choose how it would be given to him. Jenny had never done this to him. Clever. Buffy would not be satisfied with a minor punishment, a wrist-slap. Not if she was the mistress he wished her to be. He thought fast.
"I don't have a cane. That would be traditional. Six of the best. Absent that... The riding crop, please, Buffy. On my back and thighs. Hard enough that I'll be reminded every time I sit down for days."
"Hard enough to draw blood?"
Giles swallowed. "If, if it pleases you."
She smiled, and this time it was a feral smile. Frightening. "I like your plan. Hard enough so you'll feel it for days. And I'll draw blood with the last stripe. All right?"
Giles consented. His mouth was dry. He'd been in this position before. Jenny had whipped him that much, once. The memory was precious. He hated the suffering while he was in the midst of it, but the rush, the rush would be worth it. The flood of release afterward. He craved it, but could not give himself that sensation. He needed a merciless hand on him. Ethan, Jenny, and now Buffy.
"Let's begin," Buffy said to him, and stood up. Giles squeezed his eyes shut. He heard her leather jacket hit the floor, then her quiet step behind him.
Buffy walked slowly around her Watcher, her new lover. He was completely naked save for the collar. He was on his knees, his thighs well-spread. His arms were folded behind his back. His eyes were closed tight. His chest and face were flushed, and he was breathing hard. No wonder. He was as hard as Buffy had ever seen a man get. His cock was leaking.
Giles looked different out of his clothes. Without the baggy sweaters, or the layers of suit-coat and vest and shirt, he was a man. Not a textbook with arms. A man, with hair on his chest and more on his stomach, and a little bit at the very bottom of his spine. A handsome man. That jaw was magnificent.
Buffy thought it was time to touch him. She rested her hands on his shoulders. He flinched under her, then calmed himself. She ran her hands over those shoulders, feeling the surprising muscle. Down his back, over his glutes. She spread those with her hands and bent to look at his ass. Then around to his front. He met her eyes for a moment, then cast his gaze down. She pinched his nipples, hard, and held on. He gasped and moaned and arched his back. He moved into her hands, not away.
She released him. He held his position, offering his chest to her. She stroked her thumbs over his cheekbones. He closed his eyes again. She slipped two fingers into his mouth and he sucked eagerly. It was everything Buffy had dreamed. A pliant, sensitive submissive, someone she respected deeply, someone whose surrender was valuable. A strong man, willingly going to his knees for her. She had to be worthy of him. Keep her game up.
While Giles sucked on her fingers, she considered her next move. She'd come prepared to wing it and use his belt on him. All this gear was an unexpected bonus. She definitely wanted to hurt him tonight. Punishment was only part of it, she knew. She'd have had to hurt him anyway, to make his new status clear to him, and to give him what he craved. And for her own pleasure, of course. She was hot to see his face and hear him cry out. And see the traces she would leave on his skin.
First, a cock ring. Buffy chose a wide leather ring, and snapped it on tight. Giles whimpered when she touched his cock. It was big, far bigger than Riley or Parker had been. It was like Angel's, who'd been more unusual than she'd realized. It felt nice, hot and smooth, hard below the skin. She played with his foreskin. Riley didn't have one, and she hadn't had the chance to explore Angel's. It was sensitive, apparently. Giles was tense under her hands as she stroked him, trembling and tight and obviously struggling not to move. He was making the most wonderful noises, soft groans and little wordless pleas.
Buffy let go. His hips moved, thrusting into air, then he managed to get himself back under control. It was going to be fun working him to a state where he forgot to do that. Or didn't want to any more.
Next, cuffs for his ankles and wrists. Buffy chose the wrist gauntlets for him. He looked good in them. He'd probably look good in a harness as well. He shook a little as she buckled the cuffs tight. Sensation overload? She paused to stroke his hair, calm him down.
She lifted him to his feet again, since that had made him groan and swear under his breath before. She grabbed a few loops of rope, then led him upstairs to his loft.
Buffy bet that she wouldn't have to improvise here. Giles would probably have a bedroom all prepared for play. And she wasn't disappointed: there were eye bolts at top and bottom of each post of his four-poster, in discreet black. Eyebolts were also spaced along the rail at the foot. Buffy thought for a moment, then bound him spread-eagled to the posts at the foot of the bed, facing in. She pulled the ropes taut, so he had no play at all. She tied the knots so all she need do was pull the tag to release him. He'd taught her those knots.
She grinned, and took a step back to look at him. Magnificent. All stretched out and helpless. The muscles in his back and arms bunched. He was testing his bonds.
"Okay?" she asked him. He nodded, though his legs were spread wide enough that it had to be a little uncomfortable.
She laid the riding crop across the bed, where he could see it, and left him there. She went downstairs and shut up the apartment for the night. She put the whips back into the box, with the exception of the flogger. She tucked that into the waistband of her jeans, in the small of her back. She snagged another bottle of water. Giles was sweating a lot, which meant he'd need water.
When she went upstairs again she found him trembling in his bonds. She pulled off her boots and climbed onto the bed to hold him tight. "You okay, Giles?"
"Yes. God. I just... can't believe it's really happening. Wanted this so much. Can't believe you want it."
"Believe it. You are so amazingly sexy like this. I had no idea. Look at you. So hard. So helpless."
Buffy caressed his face and kissed his mouth for the first time. He returned the kiss eagerly, opening his mouth and allowing her in. He whispered her name and kissed her again. He was a pleasure to kiss. He tasted like the whisky. He smelled like leather and bay leaves and tea. He licked her lips and sighed and kissed along her jaw. God, she could do this all night. Someday soon she would.
Buffy pulled away. "More of that later, mister. Right now we have the matter of your whipping to attend to." She picked up the riding crop and showed it to him. His face changed. Fear and craving at once, she thought.
She put the crop back on the bed and slid down. The guy was so magnificent out of his clothes. She laid a hand on his ass. There ought to be a law against him wearing clothes and covering this up. Buffy grinned to herself. She could make a law like that, maybe, for nights when they were alone.
She gave him one last caress down his back and took the flogger out of her belt. She swished it at the air experimentally a few times, getting the feel of it. The Slayer skills were a big help here: she had absolute confidence in her ability to swing this thing exactly as hard as she wanted to, and hit exactly what she wanted. The question was how much Giles wanted. Her plan was to start slow, build, and watch his reactions. And then take him one notch further than he thought he wanted to go.
She knew his apartment walls were thick. Nobody had ever complained about demon fights going on inside. She wanted to hear him.
On a wicked impulse, she aimed a blow at the bedpost. The flogger tails snapped, and Giles' whole body jumped. He held himself tense, then slowly relaxed. Buffy smacked the bedpost again. He flinched again. Before he could relax this time, she swung again, this time at his ass. A very light stroke.
"What--" he said.
She swung again, a little harder. "I don't need any questions from you right now, Watcher."
She got into a rhythm with it. She wasn't hitting him hard, just enough to get his attention and keep it. Warm him up everywhere she intended to mark him with the riding crop. He'd gone silent and still after her warning, but he was definitely breathing harder. And yes, finally a gasp from him. When his gasps had built into moans, she stopped.
She caressed his ass. It was hot under her hands. Hot and reddened and sensitive, judging by how Giles flinched when she touched him. Perfect. While she was there, she took advantage of the easy access to his cock and balls. She experimented with squeezing to see how he reacted. Beautifully: he was moaning. She paused to run a fingertip around his entrance. He made more sounds; the man was entirely alive and sensitive to everything she did. It would be neat to penetrate him, open him and plug him up. He'd confessed he loved being fucked. Next session, maybe. There was plenty of time, and no reason to give him everything he wanted at once. Maybe she'd make him beg for it.
She went around and climbed onto the bed to check on him.
"Buffy," he said, in a husky voice. His face was dreamy. He was sweating freely. She offered him the water bottle again. He took a sip, then shook his head.
"Doing okay?"
"Oh, God, I..."
"Did you like that?"
Eyes closed for a moment, then a nod. "Yes."
"Good. Because you're about to get more."
"Oh, God."
"You're going to scream for me. Mmm, you look scared. Good. Afterwards I'm going to let you go down on me. Would you like that?"
Giles nodded again, frantically. "Oh, God, please, yes, my Slayer."
Buffy broke it off and got down off the bed. She took the riding crop this time. Time for the main act. She shifted her grip on the handle and considered his ass. She had to be careful now; reading wasn't the same as practical experience here. She didn't want to injure him by accidentally using Slayer strength. She'd save the savagery for the last blow. How many? Ten. Spaced out evenly, to make nice stripes. Then the last right across his butt.
Buffy rubbed the crop against Giles's legs for a moment, then flicked her wrist. The crop whistled, and it made a wonderful smack when it hit his ass. Giles went very still and tense. Buffy examined the welt closely, pressing at it with her fingers. It was dark red. She backed off a little and aimed for just below the first one. Giles jumped and then was still. She did it again, a little harder, and he made a sound. Not hard enough, she guessed. A little harder for the next one. This sort of fine control was trivial for the Slayer: it was a little game to line them up and space them perfectly, while Giles moaned and writhed and pulled at his bonds. She waited for him to come still, then struck again.
After the fifth, she checked on him. He was breathing in gasps and there were tears on his face. She rested her hand against his cheek, and he pushed his face into it.
"Don't fight it," she said to him. "Yield to it."
He took another deep breath.
"Scared?" He nodded. "Trust me. You have to let go and trust me."
"I do," he said. His voice was husky and whispery. He turned his head and kissed her palm. Buffy kissed his mouth again. This time he tasted salty.
Buffy slipped around behind him and caressed his ass again. It was very hot under her hands now. He whimpered a little when she scratched at the welts with her fingernail.
She stepped back, and with no warning landed blow number six across his buttocks, harder than before. He cried out and pulled hard enough at his bonds to make the bed creak. Perfect. She gave him four more just as hard, moving down until the last was across the middle of his thighs. He moaned and writhed with each one. His backside was marked up beautifully.
And now the final blow. Buffy put a little Slayer into that one. Whistle, crack, and that was definitely a choked-back scream, followed by whimpering. She had indeed drawn blood. Buffy was smug. Her first whipping had gone well.
Buffy moved back onto the bed, where she could see his face. More tears. He was flushed, and breathing hard. His chest and sides were dripping with sweat. She pushed his wet hair off his forehead, tenderly. She held the crop to his lips and he kissed it.
Buffy lifted his chin so he met her eyes. "You're mine now. If you need anything, you come to me and ask for it. I'll give it to you. Anything, Watcher. Understood?"
"Understood, my Slayer. Thank you." His voice was strained, and he was sagging against the ropes. Time to let him down. And besides, Buffy as hot as she'd ever been in her life. Hot and wet and open, all wrapped up in her jeans. She knew what she wanted from Giles next.
Buffy released Giles from the ropes. He slumped over the bedrail, then made an effort and stood up straight. He put his hands behind his back again, without being prompted. He'd been excellent all evening, keeping himself in submissive postures and making sweet gestures like kissing her boots, even now when he had just endured a whipping. Buffy felt a wave of affection for him rush over her. Such courage he'd shown, letting her do this to him. Trusting her so much, when she'd been so erratic before.
She slipped an arm around his waist and helped him over to the bed. She arranged him on his side curled around her with his head in her lap. She stroked his hair and face. He looked drained but serene, his eyes heavy-lidded. She fed him water in slow sips. He drank and sighed and wrapped his arms around her legs.
"How you doing? How do you feel?"
His voice was a little slurry when he answered. "Hurts. 'Ll hurt for days. So good, I feel so good. So-- oh, yeah, please, oh.."
She had taken his erection in hand and was caressing him slowly. He closed his eyes and thrust into her hand, almost involuntarily. The control she'd seen him display earlier had been stripped from him, possibly by the pain, possibly by the semi-trance he was in. Endorphin haze. He made little sounds, soft groans, more pleas to her to touch him.
Time for pleasure for him, now. And for her.
"Would you like to come tonight?"
His hand tightened on her knee. "Please, yes, Buffy, please, God, wanna come for you."
"You will, because you have been so good. But not until I tell you you may. Understood?"
"Understood, my Slayer." He kissed her leg where his face rested.
She cupped his balls, gave them a good squeeze, then released him. He whimpered in protest and opened his eyes. "On the floor, please. On your knees."
Giles shook himself and came out of his haze a little. Not fully. He was in a state Buffy had never imagined him in, mind on hold for the demands of his body. He knelt on the floor and spread his knees wide without being asked, but his face was still transformed by pleasure and desire and strain. His cock was red, urgently erect between those spread thighs. Buffy wondered which demand was foremost in his mind: the darkening stripes across his buttocks, or that cock? Or were they all mixed up?
He was fully alert now and watching her. He licked his lips again, a signal to Buffy that something in front of him was desirable. Her. It had to be her. Buffy stood, and removed her shirt. Yes, it was her. He was riveted, mouth a little open, body shifting forward slightly.
Buffy stripped slowly, carefully, methodically. She knew she looked good, and knew that Giles would like her tone, all the muscle that said she was his deadly Slayer. And indeed he watched her eagerly, moaning a little as she revealed his goddess to him. At the last she turned her back on Giles and bent to remove her panties. He groaned behind her and muttered something in that husky voice. She turned to him.
"What was that?"
His gaze moved everywhere on her, returning again and again to her sex. "So beautiful. You said I could--- you said you'd let me-- God, want to so much. Please? Let me taste you?"
Buffy smiled down at him and ran her fingers through his hair. "Yeah, you can. Make me happy. Make me want to let you do this again."
She sat on the edge of his bed, heels on the edge of the frame. She tugged Giles over to kneel before her.
"How should I... may I use my hands?"
"Use your imagination. Do your best. Worship me."
"God, yes, Buffy, I will, I do."
Giles kissed her bare feet, one at a time, on the instep. He slid his hands up her legs, rubbed his face against the inside of her knees. He parted her thighs gently, easing her open. His avid gaze did not move from her sex. Buffy leaned back on her elbows and watched his face. This didn't always work for Buffy. Sometimes she was slow to respond to it. But she'd let him have fun, let him get her all excited.
He kissed the inside of her knee, then brushed his lips over the other knee. He switched from left to right, slowly moving up her thighs to her sex, kissing softly, flickering his tongue on her skin. His breath was hot and damp. Buffy felt herself open for him, and he hadn't even touched her directly. He was breathing over her, brushing his hand over her mons. Was he ever going to lick her?
No! He was kissing up her belly, nuzzling her navel, rubbing his face against her. He stopped just below her breasts. He was leaning against her, his arms around her. His skin was hot against her belly and back. He kissed between her breasts, then looked up at her.
"May I?"
"Yeah," she said, breathless.
He ran his tongue gently up her breast and licked around the aureole before closing his lips around her nipple. He sucked and licked. Buffy felt herself harden under his mouth. He moved his head to the other breast, and kissed it to arousal. Buffy cradled his head in her arms. His hair was damp under her hands. He looked up and met her eyes as he sucked. Buffy had never seen Giles look so happy as at that moment.
She pushed him gently down, and he released her to lick his way downward again, as slowly as he had made his way up. When he finally kissed her sex, she shook in a single hard spasm. Anticipation, shock, a thrill running from her sex out. He teased at her clitoris, tracing delicately from her opening up with a tongue-tip then moving away. Buffy moaned, wondered distantly if she should be that out of control, then decided she didn't care. Because his tongue was tracing around her again, and she knew it wasn't going to be a matter of if, but how many times. She let her head fall back. Let herself make noise for him as he teased her again and again.
He thrust his tongue into her, then withdrew. Buffy moaned in protest, then had to bite it back because he'd slid a finger into her and was sucking her clit gently and flickering his tongue over her, and it was already building in her, already inevitable. The wave broke over her, and she cried out and shuddered around him. He eased off and kissed her soothingly. Then just when the waters had receded, he slid another finger into her and licked hard, once, twice, and she was shuddering again. He would have done it a third time, but she pulled herself together enough to stop him with a hand in his hair.
He leaned his head against her thigh and smiled up at her. His face glistened with moisture, with sweat and her juices. He didn't seem to care. He looked almost smug. Next time she'd tie his hands behind his back, make him work harder. But for now, Buffy was happy she hadn't. He knew what to do with the privilege, how to use those fingers.
"Nice," she told him. Her voice was unsteady.
"Thank you, my Slayer," he said, still with that faintly smug expression.
Her hands were trembling from her orgasms, but she had enough control of her body to lift him to his feet again and push him back onto the bed. He winced when his backside met the bedsheets; no more smug look. She clipped his wrists together, then ran a loop of rope through another one of those convenient eyebolts. Giles' bed was serious. Seriously convenient. Which was the point. He must have done this a whole lot with Miss Calendar, Buffy realized. Okay, not the time to think about that. Instead, think about Giles, all spread out underneath her, legs apart, panting, rocking his hips in an effort to entice her, to brush himself against her.
Or maybe it was just that he was completely out of control now that she'd bound him again. It was amazing. Buffy sat back on her heels and stroked a hand over his thighs and watched him writhe. She shifted to kneel between his thighs and run her hands up his flanks, over his chest, and back down. Slow soothing massage. He settled under her hands.
"Yeah, that's it, sweetie. Relax. I've got you. Yeah, like that."
Buffy took a cue from him, and kissed her way slowly up his legs to where his cock lay along his belly. She hovered there for a moment, not touching him. Giles groaned. He'd lifted his head and was watching her. Next time she'd blindfold him and surprise him.
She licked him from root to tip. Giles bucked, so she did it again. Licked him all over until he was moaning non-stop, and then pulled away. She straddled him and took his cock in her hand, positioned it just so. Let the tip slide inside. Another little shock-shiver of anticipation as it slid in, her body gathering itself for pleasure to come. Giles thrust his hips up, trying to push himself all the way inside. Buffy rose and stayed just beyond him, tantalizing him.
"Hold still," she said. Giles froze in place.
She lowered herself onto him slowly, as slowly as she could. He filled her wonderfully, stretching her just enough. He held himself still, as ordered, but it was a near thing. His eyes were closed and his lips were moving, repeating something under his breath that Buffy couldn't catch.
He was all the way inside now. It was good, so good. Buffy moved over him slowly, until the urgency built and she had to go faster, had to seek the finish. One hand on his chest, pinching his nipple, one hand on herself, circling, Giles's cock moving inside her-- Buffy felt the wave rising rising again, cresting, taking her and carrying her.
When she could think again, she looked down at her Watcher. Giles was still hard and thrusting inside her. His face was desperate.
"Please," he said, "God, please, have mercy. I can't--"
"Go ahead, Giles. Come now." She reached down to where their bodies joined and flicked the cock ring open. Giles thrust up under her. She moved down to meet him, and he was coming, bucking and gasping and crying out her name and swearing. His face was everything she'd wanted to see: pained, ecstatic, wild, completely out of control. When he was still again, she stretched herself out on top of him, head on his chest. He softened inside her. He was sweaty and rumpled and flushed all over. About as un-stuffy as a man could be.
Buffy rolled off him and undid his cuffs. Giles flexed his arms and legs and groaned. He sat up and found the water bottle and drank. Buffy reclined on her side and watched him. He splashed some of the water on his face, then drained it dry.
"You okay?"
"Mmm." He wrapped his arms around her and burrowed his face into her shoulder.
"That was what you needed?"
"Perfect, my Slayer. Thank you." His voice was a mumble against her. Buffy realized he was already more than halfway asleep. Well, she couldn't blame him.
That had been good. More work than she'd realized it would be, but it had been satisfying work. Giles' face, his cries, the way he'd writhed under her blows: it had been amazing and exciting. Better than she'd expected. The thrill of having so much power over somebody else, of knowing that somebody else had granted her that power. And then the feeling afterward that she'd done right by him, and taken him where he'd needed to be taken. This was good. This was what she wanted.
Buffy wrapped a hand around her Watcher's collar, and fell asleep.
Giles woke slowly. He was relaxed and at peace. He was aware first of sensation: the weight of someone's body sprawled over his back, a delicious burn across his backside and thighs that he hadn't felt in ages. Then scent, the smell of a woman on his face and hands. He came fully awake, and remembered whose weight it was across him, in whose body he'd been allowed to spend himself, whose hand had granted him those welts. That hand was moving idly across them now, caressing him. She'd left the collar on him all night. Gratifying. He moaned, softly, to let her know he was awake. He spread his legs further, to make himself more accessible to her, but otherwise held himself still. As still as he could, given the urge to move, to rock his hips. To be inside her again.
She'd been glorious.
Her weight left him, and he felt the bed shift as she moved. She settled between his knees. "You look amazing. The whip marks. My marks on you."
Giles turned a little on the bed and looked back at her. "It was a privilege to be marked by you," he said.
Her hand rested on his buttocks. "I broke the skin in two places," Buffy said. "Not very much. Scabbed over already."
Giles shivered. That last blow... he'd already been floating free on waves of pain when she'd landed that. If she'd asked him, he'd have begged her not to. But that was why he didn't leave it up to himself.
"So a cane would have been better, huh?"
"Traditional. And it feels... Well. Good. Leaves beautiful stripes."
"Hmm. I'd like to see that, because these are pretty great. They're really dark where I hit you harder." She pressed at his bruised thighs again. Giles breathed in shakily. It hurt. Not urgently, not unbearably. Enough that he would be constantly aware of it for a couple of days. Constantly aware that he had a mistress now. He shivered again, this time in anticipation.
She tugged gently at his collar. "Turn over."
His backside was not happy to be pressed against anything, not even his smooth sheets. Giles winced. He'd be controlling that wince for days. Exactly what he'd wanted. Buffy was watching him intently, he realized. Best to let her know how good she'd made him feel.
"Thank you," he said, putting all of himself into the words. Her face lit up.
"When would you like to do this again?" she said.
"That extreme? I, ah--"
"That was a special occasion. I mean, lighter play." She ran two fingers around his nipples, as if to demonstrate what she meant by lighter.
"Buffy, any time. I am yours now. Your Watcher, your lover, any time you need me in either role."
"For more vanilla stuff, too?" She sounded more tentative.
Giles smiled up at her. "It would be a pleasure."
She hadn't mentioned whether she was still with Riley or not. Giles assumed he would find out. Exclusivity did not matter to him, at least not sexually. It was far more important to him that she not train with the Initiative. And he would use his new rights as her Watcher to demand that, later. When they talked about what he wanted from her.
She unbuckled his collar and set it on the nightstand. Giles rubbed at his neck.
"You miss it?"
"Mmm."
"Here," she said. "A present." She kissed his neck, over the carotid, where a vampire would feed. Over his pulse. Then she shocked him by biting. He cried out and dug his fists into the sheets, struggling to keep himself motionless under her. His cock hardened; so predictable it was. When she released him he was frozen for a moment, wondering from the sting if she'd drawn blood. Then he snarled and lunged up. Caught her by surprise and pinned her down. She laughed in delight and let him hold her down, let him penetrate her, let him drive hard. Wrapped her legs around him and drew him in deep.
Giles rode her hard and fast, chasing his release single-mindedly. He felt her shudder around him once, twice, before he found what he sought. He cried out again and lost himself in her. He fell back beside her afterward, breathless and laughing.
"I should punish you for that," Buffy said, but he could hear that she was laughing as well.
"It will have been worth it," Giles said. He tugged her closer, and she snuggled into his shoulder. He felt wonderful. Relaxed, alive. Happy.
"You're giggly," Buffy said. "Never seen you giggly. Or so happy."
He petted her hair. "M'always like this afterward."
"I like it. Nice not to be all grim and Depeche Mode about it."
"Pardon?"
"Never mind. Anyway. I don't want you hiding that hickey, mister. No turtlenecks today."
Giles touched the place on his neck gingerly. She hadn't quite drawn blood, but he'd have an obvious bite mark. A woman's bite. He shivered a third time. Marked, publicly and privately.
"As you wish. What do you want me to say when someone asks where I got it?"
"Be evasive. For now. Let's keep this secret for a couple of days."
Giles sat up, lifting Buffy with him. "Secret?"
"For a little. Riley, um--" She faltered.
Giles made a thoughtful sound. She was probably making this decision emotionally, not rationally. "We'll talk about that today. Purely in tactical terms. When secrecy is useful. When it's a liability. Come along, then. Shower, breakfast, and then we'll start making you the Slayer again."
She took his hand and allowed him to lead her from his bed. Their bed. Giles grinned, and shivered again. Anticipation was sweet.
Giles could not turn away from her, could not look anywhere else. His Slayer was glorious in the nude. She probably worried that she was too muscled to be attractive, too obviously powerful. But Giles was drawn to that power, those muscles. He loved the sight of the hot water from the shower running down her lats and deltoids, the suds from his cocoa-vanilla soap melting away. He lathered her back again and set the soap on the dish. He ran his thumbs up along her spine. Buffy relaxed under him, with a soft exhalation of breath.
"Don't stop," she said.
"Mmm. You're very tight. And you've lost definition. Have you been training at all?"
"I do my step aerobics. And I've been doing some boxing with Riley and his buddies."
Giles grunted and worked his thumbs across her shoulders, using his full strength. Buffy was more than up to it. "You'll train with me, and only with me. We'll discuss exceptions for specialty skills as needed. I'll give you a workout plan."
"You mean, no more doing stuff with the Initiative?"
"No. Nothing. I don't want you so much as sparring with them."
"Why not? Riley likes it--"
"Because you will learn bad habits fighting humans. Because I doubt very much they use the weapons you'll need for demons. And because I forbid it, and you agreed to submit to my authority as your Watcher."
"Aha. The Watcher makes his demands."
"Just so. Trust me, Buffy."
"I do. I'll break the news to Riley. God, I missed this. You're so good at it."
He'd missed this too, this gentle contact with his Slayer. He used to massage her routinely after workouts, and sometimes when she felt more stressed than usual. But she'd been avoiding his touch entirely since he'd been fired. Since that thrice-damned Cruciamentum, and his ritual betrayal. No more. His loyalties were clear. He felt a little thrill of arousal shivering through him.
Giles reached for the shampoo and lathered up her hair. He massaged her scalp gently. She turned to rinse, throwing her head back under the spray. Her throat was magnificent; she was magnificent; she was his mistress; she was his Slayer again. He braced a hand on the wall of the shower, suddenly overcome with emotion.
He went to his knees before her, a trifle awkwardly in the little tub, and soaped her feet. He worked his way up to her knees, then paused. "May I touch you, my Slayer?" he said, looking up.
Buffy smiled down at him. "Go ahead."
Giles washed his way up her body, taking care not to touch her sex without invitation. They hadn't discussed that sort of submission, but he enjoyed it. And she seemed to appreciate it. So he would indulge himself, and not take liberties. Then she lifted a foot and rested it on the edge of the tub, giving him a clear view of her sex. And access. She meant it as an invitation, so he leaned in to worship her with his mouth again. He tasted soap and water and musk, the taste of her arousal slowly gaining ascendance as he licked and sucked. Her fingers gripped his hair, and he felt her shudder against him.
"You're good at that, too," she said, with an unsteady voice.
Giles smiled, and kissed her thighs. She tugged at his hair and pulled him to his feet.
"My turn," she said, and took the soap. "Turn around."
Giles braced himself against the wall and spread his legs as far as he could in the tub. She washed his backside and thighs. He felt her fingers moving on his welts again, pressing. He was sore, more sore than he'd realized earlier. Then her fingers moved to his arse. She'd played with him there only a little last night. Giles arched his back, hoping to entice her into playing more. And she gratified his wish immediately, sliding a soapy finger into him. She moved it slowly, exploring him. He sighed.
"You like this."
"Very much."
"You like being plugged?"
"Yes, mmm."
"Being taken by other men?"
Giles shook his head. "Not so much. For me... for me it's submission. And other men submit to me."
"I'd like to see that."
Giles opened his mouth to answer, but she chose that moment to push a second finger into him and he was unable.
"When's the last time someone took you this way?"
Her fingers found what she'd been seeking, and Giles gasped. "Oh. I-- Jenny. Two years now. God."
"When's the last time you were with another man?"
He could barely think, with her fingers caressing him like that. "Y-years. Before I came to the States. Six years? Longer. God, that feels so good, Buffy, please--"
"Hold still. Don't come unless I tell you you may."
A third finger, opening him further than he'd been opened in years. Giles leaned his head against his arms, angling himself so that his cock could not brush against the wall. Despite Buffy's warning he was in no danger of coming, not so soon after coming earlier, but he could enjoy it. And enjoy it he would. He gave himself over to the feeling of her fingers inside him, sliding in and out, claiming him. She had a hand on his hip, bracing herself.
"What's the most intense thing Jenny did to your ass?"
Giles shook himself and attempted to put his attention on her question instead of on those fingers. "She, ah. Oh, right. Made me wear a plug and the metal cock ring and sent me to school. I couldn't think about anything else all day. Had a raging erection. Had to hide in my office. You, ah, you told me I looked like I was coming down with something and should go home."
Buffy giggled. "Did you guys do that often?"
"I wore the cock ring many times, but not the plug. That night I requested that she not, because it interfered with training you. Then she, um, she whipped me for reminding her that she wasn't first in my life."
She'd understood, Jenny had, and yielded to necessity, but she'd also hated it. There had been a piece of Rupert Giles that had always faced away from her, pointing unerringly toward the true north of his life. And it hadn't been much later that he'd been forced to make it clear to everyone who had his loyalty.
"Poor baby. Fortunately, no conflicts of interest with your new mistress."
Her fingers were gone, and then she slapped him, hard, twice. He gasped from surprise, then groaned as the pain flooded through him a moment later. He held himself as still as he could, waiting for more. But apparently that was all she wanted, because next he felt the soap bar gliding over his bruised thighs. She washed his backside thoroughly, then turned him around to wash his front. She paid careful attention to his entire body. Inspecting him, satisfying her curiosity, he didn't know what. He was entirely hers now. She'd always owned his heart and mind, and now she owned his body as well. His loyalties and desires were at last one.
When she had satisfied herself, she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against him. Giles held his pole star tight.
Buffy brushed out her hair. Giles did not own a hair dryer. She'd forgotten that. It had been ages since she'd spent a night here and showered with Giles' funky soap. Funky soap, which had at least smelled chocolatey, and worse shampoo. And no conditioner. She'd have to bring some of her papaya stuff over, something that she could be sure wasn't making her split ends worse. And some clothes. She'd stashed some clean panties in her messenger bag, but it would be nice to have a fresh shirt. Something Saturday-morning perky.
She wandered out to the flat's main room, brushing thoughtfully. A drawer. She should take over one of his dresser drawers.
The front door rattled. Then somebody hammered on it. Giles leaned over the pass-through and looked at the door, then at Buffy. "May I ask you to answer that, Buffy?"
"No prob." Buffy slid the bolt open and twisted open the lock on the doorknob. She pulled the door back. Sunlight and an anxious Xander poured through.
"You okay? Giles okay? Never seen that door locked before. What?"
Buffy made a tilty-headed dumb-blonde expression at Xander. "Sorry, Xan. Didn't realize you were in the habit of walking in here."
Xander shrugged, and grinned, and his anxiety vanished. "See, I'd like to be. It smells nice in here. Like breakfast. I am digging that."
Giles' voice floated in from the kitchen. "Ah. I see. Should I be making more French toast, then?"
"Wouldn't say no," Xander said cheerfully. "You make good French toast."
Xander and Buffy installed themselves on the stools at Giles' kitchen counter. Giles handed a plate of French toast to Buffy, along with a fork. Xander watched the plate move from hand to hand closely. Butter and a shaker full of cinnamon and sugar were already set out. Buffy slathered both on. She ate a chunk of cinnamon-y egg-y bread. Seriously good stuff. Xander watched her with the air of a man who regretted every bite that wasn't going in his own mouth.
"Xan. Gilesy breakfast is a good reason to be here, I admit, but your urgency level seemed high for mere breakfast. Even for you."
"Oh, right! There was a reason. Yeah. Willow called, looking for you. Because Riley pounded on the dorm door at two AM wanting to know where you were."
Buffy rolled her eyes.
"Funny, that's exactly what Willow said to him, only much more politely and at much greater length with actual words, 'cause she's Willow. But he appeared again this morning still in a lather, so she called me. So here I am, about to eat Giles's delicious French toasties."
Xander took the plate Giles handed over. Giles turned back to the stove. Buffy watched him dip more bread into batter. It was so unreal, to look at him now, in baggy corduroy pants and one of those oversized shirts he was always wearing, and remember what he looked like naked and hard and dripping with sweat. What he looked like coming underneath her.
Giles turned and stuck another two pieces of toast on Xander's plate, then carried his own plate out of the kitchen to his desk. He caught her eye and held it while he sat. His face didn't change, but Buffy knew he was feeling every one of those ten stripes. She'd taken a good look at them earlier, and they were deep bruises. Buffy felt herself get a little excited, just thinking about what they looked like. How Giles had writhed. How thrilling it was to think that under his clothes, he had marks she'd given him.
Buffy gave him a tiny grin, then ate her last piece of French toast. Giles bent to his breakfast.
Xander kicked her. Buffy looked over at him. Xander pointed to his neck, then pointed over at Giles. The hickey was completely obvious over the loose neck of Giles's shirt. Xander made a wide-eyed comic face, then an impressed hand gesture. Then he stuffed more toast in. Buffy giggled. He'd make an even funnier face when he found out who'd bitten Giles.
The front door opened. Buffy was so going to get into the habit of bolting that thing. "Hey! Smells good in here."
Willow came in, followed by Tara. Tara ducked her head apologetically and shut the door behind them.
Giles waved his fork, then swallowed. "No more," he said.
"That's okay, we ate."
"Willow had a coupon for wheatgrass juice at the co-op, so we went there for something healthy. I think it was healthy. It tasted healthy. You know."
"Terrible," said Xander, with his mouth full.
"Exactly," said Tara. Buffy decided right then that she liked Tara about fifty times more than she'd expected to. There was something about the way the mischief was visible at the corners of her eyes.
"Anyway, we're here because Riley said there was a demon and he was worried about you. We weren't worried, but we thought you ought to know about this demon. It was standing--"
"The HST was standing in the intersection of MLK and Avenida de las Pulgas downtown," said somebody at the door. Buffy snapped around, on alert. Sunshine in the doorway, however, and the voice was Riley's. He took a step inside and shut the door behind him. "It was swinging this weird metal thing on a chain. Smoke everywhere. Smelled like church, only weirder. Dunno what it was."
"Thurible," said Giles, promptly. "Interesting. What did it look like?"
"Metal, silvery, chain less than one meter in length--"
"No, the demon, juggins." Giles stood and carried his plate to the kitchen, collecting Buffy's and Xander's along the way.
"Oh. Our report said two meters tall, a single back-swept horn and a tail."
"Hoofed feet?" said Giles, voice raised over dish clatter.
"Yeah, why?"
Giles came back from the kitchen. "Single horn, hoofs. The species was undoubtedly a Chuffer. Though what it was doing censing an intersection, I don't know. What time?"
"First report just past midnight."
"Oh ho!" said Willow.
"Was it asking to learn to play the guitar?" Xander said.
"Beg pardon?"
"Never mind," Buffy told Riley.
Giles was already burrowing in the shelves, pulling out books. This made Buffy nervous. She went over to him. "Scoop?"
"It's quite easy to kill. Use wood. A stake, a wooden knife. I have a couple you can use, in the weapons chest. You should have no trouble."
"So why the research?"
"Crossroads at midnight are mystically powerful. Might be up to something. Something more menacing than learning to play a musical instrument."
Giles handed Buffy a standard demonology and requested that she look up the Chuffer. He gave Xander the encyclopedia of demon religions that Buffy hated to look through, because it didn't have an index and was in order by some weird religion classification scheme the author had invented that was not alphabetical. Buffy flopped onto the couch with the book.
Riley sat next to her. "So where were you last night?"
Dammit. She and Giles hadn't had time for that talk on tactics he'd told her he wanted. He'd seemed to think there was something she wasn't thinking through with Riley. That was interesting. Giles, in saying that she needed to think tactically about her dealings with Riley, was implying that Riley was an enemy. Why?
Buffy considered Riley. He was smiling at her. A typical concerned boyfriend. "Why?" she said.
"I was worried when I couldn't find you," he said.
"I was here all night," Buffy said, which was the absolute truth. Something about what Riley had said irritated her. What? He didn't seem angry or annoyed. Just concerned.
"I didn't think to look for you here," Riley said, still the picture of the earnest boyfriend.
Buffy opened her demonology to the index. "Probably should get used to it."
"I'm sorry?"
"Giles and I had a long talk last night," Buffy said. She saw Giles color slightly and look down at the book in his lap. "We agreed some stuff needed to change. I need to start training again. So we made it official. He's my Watcher again."
"Cool," said Xander.
"That's really good news," Willow said.
"I'm very happy for both of you," Tara said. Buffy looked at her for a second, wondering if Tara had figured it out. She had the fewest preconceived notions about them, Buffy guessed.
"Wow. I'm really surprised."
Riley's voice was polite, and his face was carefully bland. Buffy kept her voice just as calm.
"Why?"
"We didn't discuss it," Riley said.
"Why would I discuss that with you?"
"Because I'm your boyfriend. I help you make decisions like that."
"No, you don't," said Buffy. "That's Watcher-Slayer business. I don't consult with you about this any more than you consulted with me about going for that parachute certification."
"But the Army is my job--" Riley seemed to realize what he'd said, because he stopped.
"Got it in one. You jump out of planes with guns for a living, and I Slay." Buffy gave him her perkiest smile. Then she didn't want to be sitting next to him any more. She picked up her book and carried it over to Giles' desk.
Giles had stood when she did, and was waiting beside his chair, which he pulled out to offer to her. He inclined his head to her, just enough for her to notice. He'd always been polite, with doors and chairs and so on, but this was a step further. This wasn't a game to him, she realized. He was demonstrating his respect, which was sincere and heartfelt and deep. She sat, and touched his hand in thanks. Giles went over to the kitchen pass-through with his book to stand and read.
Buffy held her hand over her mouth. She'd just figured something out.
She set it aside for now and opened the demonology. Time for work. For looking up this Chuffer thing, which had a name so silly that she was stumped trying to find a funny way to mispronounce it. That ought to be against the rules, as far as Buffy was concerned. She paged to the right section and started reading.
Five minutes later, Willow squeaked. "Ew! And yay me. I just found out what it's doing. It's trying to open a portal to Chufferland. So it can send back the dogs it collected. Which it eats. Last time it showed up in 1956 in New Jersey, it ate every single pet dog in town. Starting with the ones in the pound."
"I second your ew," said Buffy.
"Thirded," said Tara.
"Motion carried," said Xander.
Giles closed his book. "Well, then. Kill it and have done."
"How are you going to do that? Our bullets bounced right off."
"Oh, Giles already told me how to kill it."
Buffy didn't bother telling Riley how. He wouldn't believe her anyway. He was still not sure he bought that the Slayer wasn't a myth, even though Buffy had killed vamps right in front of his nose. He usually scoffed at the research stuff Giles did, and supplied his own reasons for why the tactics worked anyway. He said they were the rational ones, he and Professor Walsh and the Initiative. But didn't being rational mean taking in all the available information and reasoning about it? Okay, now he was sulking, and that was not what Buffy wanted. He was a nice guy, Riley was, maybe clueless sometimes, but he meant well. And he liked her. There was no point in hurting him.
Even if he didn't respect her calling and that meant the relationship was toast, eventually.
Think tactically. Buffy thought. Then she went over to Riley and popped up on her toes to kiss him.
"Don't fuss. The Slayer is on the job. We'll save the cute puppies."
She went over to Giles' weapons chest, where he kept the good stuff, and burrowed around until she came up with a wooden knife. She held it up to show Giles, and he nodded. She stuck it into her messenger bag.
"Hey, guys, I gotta hit the dorm soon. I have a paper to write for my lit class."
"Ooh, yeah, I have to work on my second draft for that one," Willow said. "Library time?"
"Yeah, think so," said Buffy. "Giles, I'll call ya when I've killed the Hufflepuff demon, okay?"
He smiled at her, just a brief flash, but for once refrained from correcting her. "I'll expect you tomorrow morning for our first session, Buffy. I'll give you a workout plan then. And some other material."
The gang packed up to head out together, the students back to campus and Xander to some place where he could watch Saturday morning cartoons in color. Or so he said. Buffy suspect him of heading off to find Anya for a session of whatever it was they did that left Xander looking so happy these days.
Giles saw them all off at his front door. Buffy watched the others head up the stairs to the street, then stepped close to Giles in the doorway.
"Hey. Giles. Watcher."
Giles inclined his head to her. "Yes, my Slayer?"
"I'm gonna come by after patrol. Not sure when. Maybe midnight or so. I want to find you naked except for the collar. In bed. And I want you to have your favorite plug ready."
She watched his throat work as he swallowed. Then he smiled at her, just a little quirk of his lips. "As you wish."
Beautiful. He was going to spend all day anticipating it.
Think tactically.
The gang headed up the sidewalk, away from Giles' flat. It was a January day, so cool and cloudy, but not rainy or windy: a good day for walking the two miles from Giles' place to campus. Buffy wished she could jog it. She was feeling good post Giles-massage, and wanting to stretch her legs. Though he'd told her in no uncertain terms that she wouldn't be slacking off on her workouts any more. And he'd given her a book to read on meditation.
Buffy liked that he was being pushy. It felt different now that she knew where it came from inside him, this urge to prepare her. To make her the best possible Slayer. She might have to rethink everything about her relationship with Giles. No, that was not a "might". That was a "definitely". You couldn't have sex like that with somebody and go on thinking of them as repressed. That had been seriously hot sex. Last night, and this morning when he'd--
"--hey! Earth to Buffy."
"What? Huh? Sorry, Xan, I was thinking about my paper. What was the question?"
Xander walked backwards in front of her for a second. "Can you believe the hickey Giles had?"
"It was kinda obvious," said Willow. "Is Olivia back?"
Xander said, thoughtfully, "No. He said she'd broken up for good. Couldn't cope with the creepies. He was kinda down about it."
Buffy said nothing. She hadn't asked Giles about Olivia. She hadn't known that her Watcher had been dumped. Xander knew more about what was going on with him. Or at least he had. Buffy set her jaw. She was going to make it up to her Watcher in a big way.
Xander continued. "Guess he's seeing somebody new, now. And having wild monkey sex with her."
"That would be the conclusion of nine out of ten people who saw him," Buffy said, drily.
"That thing was recent, too. He got his neck gnawed on in the last day."
Willow said, "How do you know that? Second thought, don't tell me. I already know too much."
Xander's face was red. "Can I help it if Anya likes, well, everything? At least to try it once."
Buffy laughed, but it was a cheerful laugh. "She likes a lot of stuff. It's refreshing. You know, to have somebody come right out and admit they like the things that everybody else likes but we're all too shy to say."
Now Tara was blushing, and Buffy hadn't quite figured out why. Something there.
"I like that idea," Xander was saying. "I feel liberated by it. I'm going to come out of the closet and say that I like oral sex. Sunnydale, I like oral sex!"
Buffy and Xander started giggling hard. Willow punched Xander in the shoulder, then gave in and laughed too. They staggered across the big street onto the campus grounds, laughing until Buffy's stomach hurt.
Riley wasn't laughing. He looked a little grim. It wasn't that he didn't like oral sex, as Buffy knew well. It was that he didn't think it was cool to talk about this stuff. Not even with her in private. Which was strange from a psychology grad student. Or maybe not: Freud had been pretty screwy.
She had a sudden idea, maybe a little bit wicked. She smacked Xander. "How much stuff do you guys try, anyway? How far do you go?"
Xander turned red again. "Well, uh, Anya is not particularly interested in, aware of, or at all concerned by convention. She has never met convention, and I think if she did she would ask it why it bothered. So, in answer to your question, Buff, I'd say, all the way. At least once in each direction."
Tara spoke up for the first time. "That's good. Exploration is, is, is important. In my opinion. You can't predict, sometimes."
Now Willow was blushing, but again, Buffy didn't know why. Maybe she'd done some kinky stuff with Oz?
Xander nodded. "Yeah. You can't know until you try it whether you're going to like the whipped cream."
"Or the corset," said Willow.
"Or the girl on top," Buffy said, watching Riley to see if he winced. He didn't.
"Tame!" said Xander. "Doggy style, sixty-nine, cross-legged bare-naked in a field in Breaker's Woods."
Tara giggled. "Ooh, a nature-lover."
"Or all tied up! Or with a bunch of people at once," Buffy said, again watching Riley. This time he reacted.
"You've never done that."
"No, but maybe I want to try it."
"You shouldn't want to."
"Exploration is healthy," Willow said, in one of those voices that meant she was about to launch into a lecture that demonstrated she'd read not just this year's text but the one for next year as well. Which was fine with Buffy if she was going to show up Riley. But she didn't get a chance, because Riley was now in full swing himself.
"Exploration is not about corsets and bondage and exhibitionism in Breaker's Woods."
Buffy muttered, "So says mister doesn't want the girl on top." Only it came out a little louder than she'd planned.
"Hoo boy." Riley had flushed red. Now Buffy felt guilty. Dirty laundry, aired in public. Not cool.
"I am sensing conflict," said Willow. "I am sensing the Buffy wanting things the Riley doesn't like."
"And now you all know," Riley said, half under his breath.
Xander, ever the peacemaker, stepped in and stuck his arm around Riley's shoulders. "Lemme give you some advice, confidentially, just from one guy to another. If she says she wants to try something different, say yes. If it doesn't work out, you can get your favorite thing from her later to make up. And if it does, hey! Maybe a new favorite thing!"
"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind, Harris." Riley's ears were still glowing.
"And with that parting shot, I say to you all, in a spirit of open and proud sharing, that it is my turn to pick up the porn vid today. Anya and I will be enjoying the experiences of some bi-curious co-eds, and I hope you all have as fine a day as I am planning on having. Ciao!"
And with that Xander was off, ambling toward downtown from the campus. Willow and Tara made their stumbling excuses and took off to Tara's dorm building. Buffy walked alongside Riley for a minute silently. She felt schmucky and grumpy at the same time.
"Sorry I said that in front of them," she said, eventually.
"Apology accepted."
They'd reached the front entrance of her dorm. Buffy perched up on the back of the bench, booted feet on the seat part. She scanned the traffic, one part of her always keeping watch. Riley stood with his head down. He was looking at her engineer boots.
"You look different today," he said, eventually.
"You mean the boots and jeans look?"
"No, I mean... something else. More confident? I don't know. Maybe it is just those boots. They're not very feminine."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Buffy said, eyebrow quirked. She'd defy anybody to call her anything other than feminine. Or cute. Or dressed with perfect taste.
"They're just... not."
"They're practical. I've got a stake in one and a knife in the other. And two more stakes and a bottle of holy water in my bag in my makeup kit. I keep the axe in my dorm closet, though. I tied a pink ribbon around the handle once. Does that help?"
Riley was standing in what Buffy had learned to recognize as an "at ease" stance, relaxed. He rocked back on his heels, then forward again. "That is, wow. You never stop, do you? No vacations."
"Slaying. It's not just a job, it's a lifetime." There was less bitterness in that than there might have been a couple of years ago. The Slaying had compensations.
"So. Were you serious? About wanting, you know?"
Buffy teetered on the edge right then. Tell him or not? She took too long deciding, because Riley sighed and went on with, "Paraphilias aren't healthy, Buffy."
Annoyance won, and Buffy tumbled into an attack. "I don't think it's exactly a para-whatsit to want to try a different position now and then."
Riley surprised her again, by not fighting back. "No, it isn't. You're right. I'm just being, I don't know, nervous. The guys in my squad talk about girls like... Never mind how. They're just such animals. I want to treat you better than that."
He shrugged, and looked ashamed, of all things. Why? Buffy was full of questions about her friends today. They were all acting hinky about sex. She was really starting to appreciate Anya and Xander. No hink, all kink. But she was still annoyed.
"I don't get why me wanting something turns you into an animal."
Riley opened his mouth, shut it again, then shuffled. "This is way too soon. And I'm not pushing. But I was thinking longer-term. With you. You're the sort of girl I'd like to take home to meet my parents, you know? Things with you are not just about fun."
"Woah."
"Like I said, too soon. But I just wanted to let know how I'm thinking. You're not just somebody I'm sleeping with."
Buffy leaned forward on the bench. Riley took a step closer. "Riley. That's sweet. Really. But I gotta say, just 'cause you're serious doesn't mean we can't also have fun. You're the first nice person I've ever slept with, you know? I kinda want to find out. Explore. Try stuff. Maybe not quite as methodically as Xander and Anya, but--"
That was a lie, though, and she knew it as she said it. Everything she'd just said, sort of true but mostly a lie.
"Yeah. Okay. I can do that." Riley smiled at her, and Buffy remembered all the reasons why she liked him.
"So what do you want? What's your most secret wish, the thing you've never asked a girlfriend to do that you've always wanted?"
Riley was bright red again. He looked around to make sure nobody was walking nearby before he answered. "Talk about it right here?"
"Naw. Think about it, and tell me next time we're in bed. Then we'll do it." Buffy tried to make herself sound enthusiastic. But Riley didn't need that, apparently, because he'd already worked himself up.
"Oh, man, I'm going to spend all day-- Oh, jeez. Tonight? Dinner and then my place?"
"Can't tonight. I have too much work. Need to catch up on some studying." She did have work. Really she did. It was more an omission than a lie. "Tomorrow?"
Riley bit his lip. "I have special training all day. Something new Professor Walsh wants to show me. Tuesday?"
"Yeah, okay, I'll pencil you in. Joke!" Buffy stood up on the bench and pulled Riley over for a kiss.
In her dorm room, finally alone, Buffy kicked off her boots and flopped back onto her bed. For a few minutes she didn't think about anything. She just breathed, and let her muscles relax. It was a training exercise she'd learned from Giles. Centering and calming. Any activity could follow from that centered place. Honing, meditating, studying. She hadn't done it in ages. She did it now, and then tried to think about what she wanted.
She wondered what Riley's secret fantasy was. She suspected it would be sort of charming. Ward and June Cleaver get kinky. The height of exotica for Iowa. Or he could surprise her. But she was not betting on it.
Then there was the guy whose fantasies she already knew. Later tonight, after she'd killed a demon with a piece of wood, Buffy was going to go over to her Watcher's apartment and tie him up, which would probably make him wild all by itself. Then she was going to fuck him, and he was going to moan and beg and go even more wild. He wasn't going to try to protect her from anything, and would probably glare at anyone who suggested that was a good idea.
There was no contest which one of them turned her on more. Which one of them she wanted at her back. Which one she was going to spend primo Saturday night time with.
So why hadn't she broken up with Riley?
No clue. And she was starting to feel exhausted by the introspection.
Buffy sat up and pulled her lit notebook out of her bag. She had a metric ton of work to do, starting with that lit paper. And she was not going to think about how Giles had moaned while she whipped him. Not. Not even a little. He was the one who was supposed to spend the day in a frenzy, not her. She was going to read Ethan "Whiner" Frome and not fantasize. At all.
At midnight, she was waiting at the intersection with Giles' wooden knife in her hand, thinking that the sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could get into bed with her Watcher.
The Chuffer didn't live long enough to know what hit it. Buffy walked to Oakpark Street with six happy dogs dancing around her feet.
Giles spent his day alone, but content to be so for once. He wrote up a workout plan for Buffy, one that involved some distance running and weight work, as well as martial arts training with him. He did housework. He went to the shops for his week's groceries, aware of the bite on his neck every moment that he was out in public. He baked bread for the week. He wrote in his journal. After a moment of hesitation, he recorded last night's events fully. He'd written about Jenny in his private journal as well. Future generations of Watchers would be entertained, perhaps even scandalized. Or more likely indifferent; he could not flatter himself. Assuming he let the bastards have his materials.
Always, as he moved around his flat, he was aware that she had laid a heavy hand on him. He avoided sitting down unless he must.
He was floating. Happy. It was absurd, but he was not going to stop to analyze it. Drink deep of the pleasure when it was offered to him.
Giles prepared for bed at eleven. He took another shower and washed himself thoroughly, taking care that Buffy would find nothing unpleasant when she used his body. He shaved again. He didn't bother to dress afterward. He walked around the house with a towel around his waist, shutting everything up for the night. He left the door unlocked and two lights on, to ease Buffy's way from door to bed.
In the bedroom, he shed the towel. Best to prepare the rest of the way nude, to help himself get into the right state of mind. Not that he needed much help. He'd spent the day in a frenzy like a teenaged boy, wondering what she'd choose to do to him. Anticipating. Speculating.
Giles set out candles, in case she wished to light them. He changed the sheets. Why not use the satin sheets? Indulgent, sensual. Buffy would love them.
He emptied the toy box onto the bed and considered what to do with everything. Buffy would want them ready to hand, he thought. Prepared and organized, as he prepared and organized her swords and crossbows. The smaller items he put into the nightstand drawer. Condoms, cockrings, clamps. The plugs he left on the bed for the moment, so he could choose. The whips... he considered carefully before hanging them up on the inside of his closet door. Neckties next to floggers. He slowly hardened while he worked, from anticipation. Wondering which she would choose to use on him first. When he healed and was ready for more marks, which whip would she prefer?
Finally, he put the collar on. He'd never done it himself before. Always his lover had done it for him. He pulled the buckle tight around his own neck.
God.
Giles slid to his knees next to his bed, alone in his flat.
"My clever Slayer," he whispered. "You own me. Utterly." She'd coaxed him into putting himself in chains, binding himself and handing himself over.
It was almost too much for him. Twenty-four hours before, he'd been sulking, convinced he'd never be able to taste release again, that fantasy was all that was left to him. And now he was offered everything. Everything he'd dreamed.
He rolled his shoulders and stretched, deliberately calming himself and slowing his breath. When he had control of himself again, he pushed himself to his feet to obey the second of her commands. He turned his attention to the toys ranged across his bed. He had to choose his favorite plug.
He had several. A couple of them were functional silicone things. They served to open him up and keep him open. There was a metal plug that could be worn for long periods, the one Jenny had made him wear to school that once. But Buffy had asked for his favorite. And that had to be the glass plug Jenny had bought for him, on a stolen weekend in San Francisco. He remembered flushing bright red when she'd paraded him around the shop, asking out loud if he'd like this item or the other used on him. It had been all very cheerful and friendly and brightly-lit, the shop, but he'd never get used to the idea of talking about these desires openly. Jenny had made it worth his while that night in their hotel room, at least. Giles sighed, and stroked his fingers over the glass. Poor Jenny. It wouldn't have lasted, even if she had lived, not with his Slayer in his life.
But she'd taught him many things, in their few months together, and one of them was that he liked feeling this inside him. It was heavy, and wide enough that he felt himself opened when his lover slid it into him, but narrow near the base, so it could be worn for as long as he liked. Or as long as his mistress liked him to. The heavy bulb rested in just the right place to drive him mad. And it was lovely to to look at, all those purple swirls deep inside the glass.
He set it out on its velvet bag, along with a bottle of lubricant, and tucked the others away in the nightstand.
Giles stretched himself out on the soft blankets, nude save for his collar as his Slayer had commanded. He waited. He had a mystery novel to read, but he couldn't settle. Too excited and nervous about what Buffy would want to do when she arrived. He shifted uneasily on the bed, unable to make himself comfortable. He turned to lie on his stomach, to give his sore thighs and backside a rest.
She wanted to penetrate him tonight. Open him. It had been a long time.
Giles remembered other times he'd waited like this, face down, for a lover to take him. Rarely, since Ethan. Most often it had been the other way around. At least with men.
But with Ethan, he'd given himself over. Bound face-down on the bed, trembling, unsure whether Ethan would strike him or stroke him. Then feeling Ethan settle himself between his thighs, and slide his oil-slick cock in the furrow of Giles' buttocks. How innocent they'd been! No condoms, just sweet almond oil, for massage and magic ritual. And for sex, for their explorations, slowly growing more expert with each other.
Ethan's fingers, teasing him, moving inside him, just enough to set Giles whimpering. Then the sweet burn of Ethan entering him. Total surrender of himself to Ethan's body and Ethan's will. Complete submission. When Giles had been penetrated, he had trouble concentrating on anything else, any sensation other than the demand of the penis inside him. It was his master.
Giles had once asked Jenny what it felt like to her, to have another person's body inside hers. She'd tilted her head, then answered that it depended on context: who it was, and how it was done. It was like being completed, she'd said, like welcoming her lover home. And for her, it hadn't been submissive at all. She'd owned Giles every time he'd penetrated her, whether she'd been on top or not.
Not the same, then, for men and for women. Though there was no way to know what the other sex felt, truly. Or what any other human being felt inside. What did Buffy feel when she struck the crop across his legs? What had Ethan felt, when he'd brought the flogger down on Giles' back even as he thrust inside him? Giles knew what he'd felt: a sort of wild joy, freedom, all the burdens of his mind rolled away. He was so grateful that he'd found someone willing to grant him that gift.
Giles had never struck another human being save in anger. Never used a whip with love in his heart. When he beat Ethan, as so often happened when he saw the bastard these days, it was with fists and feet in anger and fear. Fear that Ethan would hurt the one