Disclaimer: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and lots of people in expensive suits. I'm not making any money here, just trying to create a happier Buffyverse for my favorite characters
Spoilers: None, really. Set post-Chosen
When we met outside the Bronze all those years ago, I never thought we'd end up together. Hey, I mean, you were straight, right? It didn't keep me from hoping. And I swear the only reason you kicked my ass in all those sparring sessions was because I was way too busy looking at yours. Man, that didn't mean I wasn't comin' up with some wicked fantasies starring the two of us, though…
I can't say I spend a lot of time thinking about the "why" of us. Not really my style. But right now, you've got me really thinking. See, when I finally got up the ovaries to admit what I felt for you on the trip to Cleveland, I wanted to do it right. Nothing hidden. Not one secret. I thought my face was going to burst into flames I was blushing so hard. I explained about leatherdykes, femme tops, and Daddies. Somehow I even admitted to having this stupid list of requirements for my eventual mate. Number Six always made you laugh: Likes to be called Sir or Ma'am. Even though you didn't get it, you stuck around. And, over the years, you even tried to fulfill my fantasies (including Number Six). It didn't work. You never could get past the idea that I really wanted you to hurt me, and I couldn't find a way to push your buttons enough to get you to punish me for all the things I've done (and continue to do) to hurt you. We settled in to domestic bliss, and things have been good. Although, I have always wondered just what it would have been like if you weren't so vanilla.
Now I think I'm about to find out. Last week, I got home from work to discover Xander coming out of the basement. As soon as he saw me, he started laughing. That was pretty freaky, 'cause Xander usually leers a little when he looks at me. Laughing Xander made me nervous. Once he and his tool belt disappeared, I went down to check out the work. There was a brand new padlock on the basement door. Who the fuck puts a lock on the door to the basement? I admit it – curiosity was getting the better of me, but I couldn't find a key anywhere. Hey, I'm a Slayer, though, so I don't need a key. I found out pretty quick that Xander wasn't the only Scooby in on this. Red must have helped, too, because I couldn't break the lock.
I waited until you got home and pretended I'd never tried to investigate the work in the basement. While you were in the shower, though, I searched your pockets and found a tiny padlock key on your key ring. Hands shaking from adrenaline, I rushed to the basement door. The lock opened easily, and I turned on the light as I opened the door. The basement stayed really dark even with the light on. I stepped around the stairwell, noticing that only one bulb seemed to be working. In the far corner of the basement, I saw that Xander had installed sound dampening tiles on the ceiling and the walls. I headed in that direction, but only got a few steps before you grabbed me from behind and slipped something over my eyes.
I couldn't see anything now and was starting to get creeped out. Maybe that's why my voice cracked when I asked: "B, what's goin' on?" I felt your arms wrap around me, hands resting on my breasts. Your breath tickled my ear as you chuckled. It didn't sound amused. "I had Will spell the lock and the key, Faith. I knew as soon as you took the key. Since you seem to be curious about what Xander is making us, why don't I give you a tour?" I nearly moaned at the deep, husky sound of your voice, and moisture gathered between my legs. You kept your hands on my breasts from behind, stroking the nipples through my T-shirt as you guided me farther into the basement. By the time we stopped moving, I was dripping, hot, and hard. My breath was coming in ragged gasps, and I desperately wanted to get my hands on your skin. I let my hands slide behind me, reaching for the zipper on the jeans you always wear at home, but the fabric felt different. It wasn't denim I touched, but something soft and supple. Leather? You're wearing leather, B? I opened my mouth to make a comment, but your hands left off stroking to grab my wrists. You drew my hands in front of my body; you moved around me as well. Cold metal wrapped around my right wrist and closed with a click. Handcuffs? As you locked the cuff around my left wrist, I heard myself moan. "Please, baby." You didn't respond. I felt you clip something to the links between the handcuffs. Suddenly, my arms were raised over my head, and they kept rising until I was balancing on the balls of my feet. My shoulders screamed in protest, and I could feel the metal of the cuffs cutting into my wrists. Despite the arousal that had me breathing in hoarse gasps, I was starting to panic. What the hell was going on? "B, come on. This isn't funny. Take the damned blindfold off, and get me out of these cuffs." It should have sounded like an order. It came out as an embarrassingly high-pitched whine.
Nothing. There was no response, no sound at all. I couldn't even sense where you were. I tried to rise up on my toes and unhook the cuffs from their anchor. I couldn't reach high enough. I tried to pull the cuffs apart. Red must have put a spell on these, too. Damn, B. I'm never gonna be able to look your friends in the eye. I gave up and just dangled there, feeling unbearably turned on and a little pissed off. I nearly yelled when your hands suddenly played at the waistband of my sweat pants. With one swift tug, you pulled them off. They fell to the floor, tangling with my bare feet. "B, Buffy, tell me…" This time, I did yell – as pain exploded in my ass. When the second blow fell, I was a bit more prepared. All you got out of me was a hissing breath. We were locked in a contest now; you trying to break my control with that paddle, and me resisting. I lost count of the times you painted my ass with fire. I was losing focus. Each time the paddle landed, I could feel my wetness increase and my nipples ached under my shirt. I stopped struggling. The next blow landed, and I started to beg. "Please, no more, please, ma'am, no more." You weren't listening. Twice more you slammed that paddle into my ass. "Ma'am, no more." I was sobbing; the blindfold was soaked with my tears. Finally, you did stop. You started kneading my blazing butt, and I jerked forward. It was the wrong thing to do. The two blows that punished my mistake took me off my feet, dangling, beaten, from my wrists. When you touched me this time, I sobbed in pain, but kept myself from pulling away.
"Good, girl." Finally, you broke the silence. The stroking was relieving some of the pain, but ratcheting up my desire. My head was swimming, and I was making sounds I would never have imagined possible. I was beyond pleading in words. My hips thrust forward, inviting you to touch my swollen clit. You stopped touching me, and I felt you move in front of me. There was the sound of a zipper and a faint jingling. Your hands touched my face, warm, tender. The blindfold came off, and I blinked against the last of the tears and the light. I gasped at the sight of you – naked breasts topped with rock hard nipples and covered with a sheen of sweat. Your hazel eyes were dark with desire. I watched as your right hand dropped to the open fly of your leather pants, and I almost passed out. An enormous black dildo nestled in the leather, and I caught a glimpse of the harness you wore as you started to move toward me. "How do you like your valentine's gift, F?"