Her Pet

Spike was having a hard time figuring out what had just happened.

One moment, he was idly sitting on the conference room table, preparing to answer whatever strange, abstract questions had made their way into Illyria’s strange, abstract mind…

And the next, he was bent over backwards across the table, one of her hands on his chest, and the other firmly grasping his suddenly eager manhood.

“Whoa, whoa, Blue!” he gasped out, with an effort pushing up against her hand until he was standing up straight again, one of his now-trembling hands reaching down between them to still hers -- though he was uncomfortably aware that he was not physically strong enough to stop her if she decided not to stop. “Wait just a bloody minute, here! What is this?”

Illyria’s eyes flashed with irritation as she stated sharply, “I told you. I wish to learn. I wish to learn of *you*. Your repetition wearies me.”

His eyes widened incredulously as Spike sputtered, shaking his head, trying to form words that wouldn’t seem to come, before he finally blurted out, “What is it exactly that you want to learn, pet? There are -- *other* ways, besides the soddin’ hands on approach…”

His words were cut off with a jerk as she impatiently pushed him down across the table again, one hand reaching to yank down the zipper of his jeans. He struggled briefly, reaching his hands up to stop her -- but she swiftly, easily, caught his wrists in her hands and held them over his head against the smooth wood of the table, looking into his eyes with a sort of clinical interest that was somehow -- amazingly -- arousing.

“I do not wish for you to struggle,” she stated imperiously, as if her wishing it should make it without question that it should happen. “I wish to hear the sounds of your pleasure, rather than your pain -- to compare and learn the differences between these -- sensations. Reactions.” She paused for a moment, her hands tightening on his wrists as she added, “Though I do not desire your pain, I can cause it if your resistance makes it necessary.”

Spike’s eyes widened at those words, and he swallowed hard in a mixture of fear and desire.

*Stupid wanker,* he derided himself. *Never could resist the strong ones…that’s why you spend so much time getting’ bloody pummeled by ‘em.*

Illyria did not wait for his response or decision, holding his wrists firmly over his head, pinned to the table, as her other hand yanked his jeans down around his knees, before returning to his rising erection with a strength in her grip that made him gasp in a mixture of pleasure and alarm.

Her head tilted to the side in a curious manner, as she squeezed slightly harder.

“Wait -- *wait*!” Spike yelped out the words in near panic, and her hand froze, as she looked at him, simply waiting. In that moment, Spike knew that if he outright refused to go along with this, she would most likely stop. After all, it was pleasure she was after, not suffering -- she had certainly seen enough of his reactions to suffering -- and surely even she knew that if he was not at least somewhat willing, she was not going to get very far.

The question was -- *was* he willing?

Moments of silence ticked by, as the former god-king waited for him to go on.

Finally, Spike broke the silence, his voice hoarse and his breathing shallow as he advised her softly, “Not -- not so very hard, Blue…we lesser beings damage a bit easier than you do, love…you’ve got to start off…start off slower…”

Even as he spoke the words, he cringed inwardly, realizing that he had all but given his permission at that point, his words implying that he was submitting to her desires, simply directing her as to how to be more effective -- and less bloody dangerous -- in going about fulfilling them.

“In this manner,” Illyria guessed, her tone a statement, though she was seeking his response, as her powerful hand gentled on his bare, vulnerable skin, encircling the base of his erection and pulling slowly toward her, removing her hand and repeating the gesture several times.

A low, desperate moan of pleasure was torn from the vampire’s lips, and his head fell back against the table, his breath coming faster as his doubts and reservations fell away, and he gasped out, “Yeah…yeah…*bloody hell*!…yeah, like that, pet…”

Instinctively his hands rose from the table, reaching for her and finding her sides, drawing her in closer to him -- until she suddenly released his erection and seized his wrists, slamming them painfully down against the table again. He flinched involuntarily, his body tensing at the very nearness of her, and at the blazing fury of her power he saw reflected in her fathomless eyes, as she glared down at him.

“You will not presume to touch me,” she declared in a dark, warning tone of voice that sent a shiver down his spine.

“Right,” he gasped out, nodding, his blue eyes wide and locked on hers, desperate to appease her in that moment -- though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure whether it was more to get her to ease her painful grip on his wrists, or to get her to resume her attentions to his swollen, aching manhood. “Right…sorry, love…no touching, got it…”

She did release his wrists, leaning back to stand straight and proud in front of him, glaring down at him with a sort of disdain -- not yet touching him again at all.

“You will not move. I will touch you -- explore your body -- discover what types of contact draw from you these sounds of pleasure -- but you will not touch me -- and you will not move.”

Spike knew that he should be angry, indignant, should resist her imperious, authoritative manner -- but somehow, he found that it only increased his arousal, his desire for her. His mind was insisting that he get up, then and there, refuse to go along with her little show and tell, and walk right out of the room.

His cock was insisting on something much different.

“Right,” he agreed readily, nodding against the table, his arms stretching upward until his hands could reach the edge of the table, and gripping it tightly, steeling his jaw as he added, “right…I won’t, pet…I won’t…”

Satisfied, Illyria returned her penetrating gaze to his fully erect, weeping member, and Spike felt his stomach drop at the intensity of her gaze, all focused on his most vital, vulnerable parts. Swiftly, in a movement so quick that it was barely visible, Illyria dropped to a crouch in front of him, her wide, staring eyes inches from his erection -- and Spike tried hard not to think about her mouth, almost as near.

No, there was no way she was going to be going there, he thought ruefully.

As her fingertips trailed slowly over the hard length of his erect organ, under and over and around, slowly exploring every piece of flesh she could touch, Spike found his hands clenching on the edge of the table, as he arched toward her touch, letting out a pleading, shuddering moan of desperation for more, stronger contact.

Illyria tilted her head up, studying his face as she repeated the same gestures, listening to the wordless sounds of pleasure and desire that he made. She then retraced her fingers up and down, around, her touch slightly harder, her face revealing her interest and curiosity when his moan became choked, desperate, almost frantic with urgency.

She watched his face closely as she closed her hand firmly around his body again, forming a loose fist, and he tensed slightly with mingled anticipation and apprehension, letting out a soft whimper that was a plea -- though whether it was for mercy, or for more of her touch, Illyria could not tell.

But it was not a sound of pain -- it was a pleasure sound, like the ones she had heard in the lobby.

She was pleased to find that the half-breed was so responsive to her touch, and she found herself enjoying the sense of power and pleasure that came over her, with each slight shift of her hand, or subtle change in pressure, that drew his moans and gasps and whimpers from him.

She could sense his pleasure building within him, felt his flesh beneath her hand grow firmer, fuller, as his body arched and his hands clenched at the wood beneath them in his desperate attempts to keep still against the powerful sensations she was creating within him.

She kept her intense gaze focused on his face, as she returned to softer, lighter touches, and the vampire growled in protest, raising his head off the table and turning smoldering eyes, glinting with flecks of gold, on her.

“Don’t…” he gasped out, “…don’t stop, love…harder…”

Illryia’s head rose in what would have been defiance in a lesser being, her jaw setting in a challenge, as she declared, “You will not presume to give me orders, half-breed. In your present condition your body is mine to command -- and I will handle it as I wish.”

With those words, she drew her fingernails lightly along the underside of his swollen manhood, and Spike yelped at the sudden, sharper contact, nearly jumping off the table, but just barely restraining himself. Illyria found herself increasingly fascinated by the fine line that seemed to exist for these creatures, between pleasure and pain -- the way that her harsher touches seemed to incite a greater need within the vampire.

She wished to understand it -- and began to feel frustrated that at the moment, he did not seem capable of enough speech to explain it to her.

She closed her hand in a tight fist around him again, drawing it slowly downward, while Spike shuddered and bucked against her hand, letting out a strangled cry of passion and need that did strange things to the body that Illyria was now housed in. She began to become aware of a building sense of pressure within her, an unsettled sort of sensation that she had never felt before.

In her tension and frustration, she tightened her grip slightly, at the same moment jerking her hand forward on Spike’s erection -- and with a hoarse cry of pleasure, the vampire arched up off the table, his sensitive organ trembling in her hand as it suddenly spurted a white, milky substance against the wall near the door.

As Spike collapsed against the table, gasping for breath, soft little whimpering breaths in the aftermath of his pleasure, Illyria gazed idly at the mess he had made, and observed that she was glad she had not been standing directly in front of him.

Turning her attention back to the vampire lying limply across the table, drawing in deep breaths as he stared at her through glassy, dazed eyes, Illyria reached toward his limp member again.

“N-no, *no*!” he stopped her, a tone of alarm in his voice, as one of his trembling hands released the edge of the table and reached down hastily to cover his exposed crotch. When she tilted her head at him in a silent question, he laughed softly, nervously, shaking his head as he said, “Can’t just go again just like that, pet. Need a bit of time.”

Illyria did not really understand, and she found that fact irritating -- but she meant to come to understand.

“How much time do you need before you can again feel pleasure?” she asked bluntly.

Spike stared at her in momentary disbelief. “Depends,” he answered vaguely, his common sense returning to him as the haze of pleasure faded from him. “ ‘S different, different times.”

“How do you know when you are once again able to participate in acts of coupling?” Illyria asked, once again in that flat, clinical tone that was vaguely unsettling, and strangely arousing.

Spike smiled at the words even as they came out of his mouth, as he explained to her the physiology of the matter, human arousal and erections and the physical evidences of desire. As he began to talk about it, in that same matter-of-fact, scientific sort of manner, he began to find himself responding physically again at the very words, and a strange sort of thought passed through his mind to explain his intense attraction to the strange creature intently listening to his explanations.

Illyria was both naïve, clueless virgin, and bold, commanding dominatrix in one exotic, enticing package.

And it was quite the package.

As he finished explaining to her, he noticed that her eyes were locked onto his groin again, and he suddenly remembered that his pants were still around his ankles. A bit self-consciously he laughed as he reached down to pull them up over the beginnings of the new erection he was developing -- and Illyria’s strong hand caught his wrist and stilled his hand.

“Your body is preparing itself for further physical pleasure,” she observed almost eagerly.

Spike felt his breathing quicken slightly at the desire in her eyes, as he gently tried to push her hand away. “Yeah, well -- little Spike doesn’t always know what’s best. The rest of my body is bloody well exhausted, and…”

His words of protest were cut off, as smoothly, easily, Illyria brought her other hand around in a fist to the back of his head, just hard enough to knock him completely, totally unconscious. She gazed down at him coolly for a moment, considering. She wanted to continue her research, and she had no intention of allowing him to refuse her, as he clearly intended to do.

She finished pulling Spike’s pants up, fastening them so as not to draw the attention of those they might pass in the hall, before easily lifting the unconscious vampire into her arms and heading out the door into the hallway.

She passed Angel, heading toward his office from the deeper part of the building, and the dark vampire did a double take, staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Illyria -- what are you doing?” he asked, shaking his head, bewildered.

She looked at him blankly as she replied without hesitation, “I told you. I wish to keep Spike as my pet.”

They stood still in the hallway for a long moment, before Angel finally broke the standoff by shrugging casually. “Oh, okay,” he replied, before turning and heading off toward his office.

Unhindered, Illyria continued down the hall toward the living chambers near the center of the building, where she spent her nights.

She still had much to learn.