Buffy The Vampire Slayer: Spike's Revenge

Buffy was on patrol. Well, her body was, but her mind kept wandering back to an English test scheduled for the next morning. Shakespeare. Ug. It was bad enough that she had to read some guy Mr. Nachez kept referring to as the "Bard", but to read it at four o'clock in the morning, after patrol, was unbearable. She would hardly be able to keep her eyes open, and the intensity of the material wasn't helping at all.

A breeze whistled through a nearby tree, rustling the dry, dying leaves. She startled, jumped back, and shook her head. Focus. I need to focus, she whispered. Sitting on a low brick wall, she let her hair down, brushing it against her shoulders. The night was getting cold, and she was glad she wore jeans and a black leather jacket over her white tank top. A sigh escaped her lips and melded with the echo of a distant scream.

Buffy was moving before the birds, silenced by the noise, started chirping again. She cut between two family plots, guarded by granite angels, and was almost through a clearing when the wailing recurred. The mausoleums. The sound could be recognized by its confinement. Someone was calling from inside. The slayer caught her breath in front of the marble structure, a box, simple, stately. A trap. It might be a trap. She slid along the wall, staying low, and came to an open back door.

"Is she coming?" someone said. A woman. Buffy's blood rose. Drusilla.

"Hush, princess, you'll scare her away. Have your little one scream again. She'll take the bait." Of course. Spike. Buffy backed away, just as another scream punctured the darkness. In the shadows she could see vampires laughing. A trap. As she turned to run, she felt a pair of hands grab her arms. A trap outside of a trap. As she kicked out, the black canvas bag slid over her head. Some sort of chemical on it, she observed, as she faded into darkness.

"So, you're awake, are you dutchess?" Spike whispered. The first sensation Buffy felt, mixed in with the vampire's voice, was the touch of cold rock on the small of her back. She was still fully clothed, but her shirt has bunched up (as she was being dragged, she presumed) and exposed her flesh. The slayer shook off the grog.

"Very funny, Spike. Why didn't you just kill me?" she said.

"Oh, that would be no fun at all," he whispered, rising from his chair, stretching out the last few words. "Much too easy." He looked at his watch. "Dawn coming, you know. It's a killer. But occasionally we can use it to our purposes." He slid back into the shadows.

Buffy tried the cords. Leather. Ankles and wrists. In a little time, if she could keep him talking, she might be able to slip an arm out. After that, she could get in the light, which was starting to form in pools around her, gently encroaching on the room through slits in the ceiling.

Spike laughed. "Struggle all you want, Slayer. You have about thirty seconds. Then the light hits the mirrors."

"So what? Then I get a tan?" She replied. Did her turn me into a vampire? she wondered. A shudder. Then a realization. No. Not a Vampire. She could feel her warm blood pulsing. And what about mirrors? She looked up and noticed panels at the four corners of her form, on stands, just as the light bled a little deeper into the room. She closed her eyes. Burning sun was pouring onto her.

"You see, Slayer," Spike said, from the shadows, his hands casually behind his back, "Light can serve darkness when manipulated correctly. The light is hitting mirrors coated in, well, rather choice blood. Thrice cursed. And when the light hits you in the eyes, it'll reach your soul. Whoever created that cliche about the eyes as windows wasn't far off. And when the bloodied light hits your soul, well, let me just put it this way. You're in for an attitude adjustment." He laughed, and slid back into the deepest part of the crypt, shutting the heavy granite door behind him.

Buffy struggled hard against her binds, keeping her eyes closed, feeling her skin warm, throwing her head back and forth. A bird whistled. She instinctively looked to see what is was.

The sun fell, and Buffy felt a young female vampire freeing her arms, then, as the slayer sat quietly, her ankles. Then the girl flowed away, almost effortlessly, before Buffy could get a look at her. She stood and stretched. Too many mysteries. She tried the door. It opened, heavy, into a candlelit room. Buffy could see the darkness seething, and prepared herself for defense.

"Silly, silly Slayer, don't bother. Please, come over and say hello."

Buffy froze. The voice started in the soles of her feet and, wave after wave, washed over her body. She started to shake. Say hello. Say hello. Say hello. A pressure began to build in her spine.

"Hello." she whispered, shuddering. The pressure stopped. She casually walked over to a throne. Spike was sitting, one leg across the other, watching with interest. He laughed out loud.

"Not bad, not bad at all. Not a bad little demon trick. Do you realize what's happened, Slayer. That was my blood on the mirrors. Therefore, my blood is in your soul." He stood up, and walked slowly around his enemy. "Nice ass. I never noticed it while I was trying to kick it." He laughed again. "I think you're starting to feel the change, Slayer. Don't you? Evil is spreading through you. Think about it. Vampires aren't so bad, are they? In fact, they're pretty damn cool."

Buffy fought it with all her soul. Shaking, gritting her teeth, as if she was getting the worst shot of her life. She could see her will breaking like a vase falling in slow motion.

"Vampires...aren't so bad." she whispered. So much easier to say it, to believe it, then feel the pressure.

Spike leaned to her ear from behind. "Vampires rule." he whispered.

"Vampires rule." Buffy whispered back. She smiled. So much easier...

Spike stood in front of her. "Vampires are the best fucks in the universe."

Buffy's eyes involuntarily fell to his black jeans. "yeah." she whispered back.

"You live to serve the vampire cause. You are a vampire's plaything. My plaything. You are my slave. You will see to my protection and advancement." He took her chin in his hands.

"Yes, Master" the slayer replied.

Spike walked a few paces away, his back to the slave. How unutterably delicious, he thought.

"See to my pleasure." he snapped.

Buffy shuddered. Her body thawed. She slid her jacket off and tossed her shirt after it. Shimmying out of her jeans, she revealed a black sports bra and cotton panties. Then the Slayer slid into her Master's arm, kissing him deeply, her hands unbuckling his jeans as she swayed, trying to keep her balance.

"The rest of it, silly slave." Spike said. She slipped her bra off and stepped out of her panties. Her body shined from the sweat and candlelight. He could tell she was hungry for him. He could read it in her eyes.

"What is your purpose."

"Your defense and pleasure, Master..."

"Will you give your womb to me?"

"Of course, Master, anything."

"You know, a child born to a Slayer, a child of a vampire, is a very powerful demon."

"May your family enslave the world." she replied, sliding to her knees before him. She took his growing vampirehood out and slid it into her mouth...her taut body serene, calm, in the firelight. A hum escaped her lips as she teased him to hardness.

"Against the granite." he whispered, when he was close. She slid off her knees, tossed her hair over her shoulders, and leaned over the slab that had confined her, the moonlight streaming in where light had enslaved her.

He slid deep into her in one stroke, her body reacting, up on her toes, she tossed her hair back and let the moonlight bathe her. A vampire child conceived in moonlight. An almost unstoppable demon. He sped up, his testicles slamming against her ass, then slowed down, savoring every stroke, his claws in her hair. No more games. The seed must be planted.

"Prepare to accept your child, slave." he whispered.

"Yes, Master, I am ready," the slayer said. She gazed back at him, her eyes glowing a crystalline black. Her eyes. That was enough for Spike. He poured ribbons of fluid into her, his knees buckling, her head tilted like a curious puppy, low, maternal moans escaping from her lips. When he pulled out he observed that little had stayed on his body or on her thighs. The seed had been planted.

Buffy stretched dreamily, then turned and placed Spike's hand on her womb.

"Any ideas for names?" she said.

"Get dressed, Slayer. Your friends are worried about you. Go out in the world and tell no one of this. Live your normal life. Return tonight with that gypsy bitch. Ms. Calendar. Make up an excuse to get her here. Clear?"

"Clear, Master," she whispered, dressing. As she moved into the dark night, Spike almost thanked God for his fortune. Until he remembered that God was on their side.