One Man's Hell...

Trashy Lingerie. She was in a place called Trashy Lingerie, actually buying things. Things that cost her almost half a month’s rent. Things that made her blush and wince. Things that made her look like a different person, someone she didn’t recognize. Someone like that bitch demon who he seemed to pay attention and listen to. She’d conditioned him, that much was obvious.
“Miss, did you decide on the crotchless or—“
Buffy’s ponytail swung as she looked around to see if anyone had heard. Her color high, she pointed to the her choice of black leather and watched it get added to her pile of purchases. Once she finished paying, she asked in a small voice, “any chance of you having unmarked bags? Didn’t think so...”

* * *

[Hell]

The days bled into each other, the days into months. He wasn't sure if it was years. His method of marking time by "Mistress Buffy's" visits was tenuous at best. Sometime she'd be gone what only seemed a few seconds before returning to torment him all over again. Sometimes it would seem like days before she arrived. It didn't matter, he had stopped trying to mark the passage of time what seemed several lifetimes ago.

When he was alone, he tried not to think about Buffy. She was his last refuge, and he was sure when he thought of her was when they pulled her from his brain and perverted her into this final torture. No matter how hungry he got, or how thirsty, he never grew weak. They wanted him strong, to struggle, so they could break him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd tasted blood not his own, but he knew he wouldn't die from it.

This place wouldn't let him.

He hung from chains away from the post, now. The cold shackles bit into his arms, raised and spread. A metal collar locked around his throat which "Mistress Buffy" had attached to a leash for a time. His ankles were similarly fastened to the floor, and he rested with his eyes closed, trying for what sleep he could claim.

Buffy materialized in the far corner of the hellish dungeon and quickly moved away from the fire. Her eyes sought him out... he was still there, exactly where she'd left him. And how many times had that knock-off Buffy tortured him since then? And how the hell was she going to jump into the game and hurt him too?

No. She wasn't going to struggle with the idea anymore. She'd thought it through, every angle, the pros, the cons... and she always came to the same conclusion. Sometimes you had to hurt the one you loved in order to save him. As for his hate, she'd deal with it later. Better he be out of here, than stuck here for all eternity. Anyway, he probably already hated her... or at least that perversion who masqueraded as her.

She could do this. She'd spent hours getting the look down. Her hair was pulled severely back from her face. Black kohl lined her eyes, and dark make-up gave her a dramatic look, emphasizing and sharpening the angles of her face. Her leather and spandex body suit clung to her body like a second glove and didn't leave much to the imagination. Her bare skin peeked out along the sides of her body, all the way down to the top of her knee high boots, the material held together by the occasional large safety pin. Looking down, she swallowed at the sight of her plunging neckline... if you could call it that... cause really, there was no neckline. The vee of her outfit went all the way down to her navel and just barely covered her nipples. Okay, if it weren't for the metal studded leather choker, she'd consider herself pretty much naked. She touched the collar and started to walk toward him, tapping a short leather whip against her thigh with every step she took.

"Angel... Look over here," she said, forcing herself to emulate that monster and putting authority into every confident step and into each clipped order. "Look at me. Now."

Angel took a deep breath, wondering how long it'd been since she'd come before. Her voice was different. Filled with less malevolence, but still harsh, authoritative. He opened his eyes and saw the pointed toes of the high-heeled boots. He raised his eyes, and they widened slightly. This was sexier than she'd dressed before, and the surge that ran through his body was unbidden. The demon had found a new form of Buffy to take to effect him even more ashamedly. He shook his head slightly, pressed his lips tightly together, and then forced his eyes up to her face, and it was Buffy's. Beautiful. Harsher than normal, but beautiful nonetheless, and his heart sank, but he held her gaze.

"Good," her lips quirked into a smile, but the whip still thumped against her thigh as she came to a stop directly in front of him, her legs wide apart. "What's my name?"

He sighed miserably, the game beginning again. "Mistress," he said, holding to his one stubborn refusal to call her Buffy until she forced it.

Her gaze slid down his body and lingered on his hardening cock. "It's not what the rest of you says. What's my name?" Her eyes snapped up to his as she cracked the whip.

Despite himself, Angel jumped slightly with the sound of the whip. He looked down at her feet, and closed his eyes for a moment. He raised his head and met her eyes again. "Mistress Buffy," he replied, and his cock shifted at that simple thing. He closed his hands into fists, humiliated she was having this effect so quickly.

She took a step, forcing her leg between his and connecting with his arousal. Her breasts brushed against his chest when she leaned in and spoke against his ear. "Just Buffy. Say it. Buffy." Grinding her thigh against his cock, she repeated her demand.

He paused at that, gasping as her thigh ground against him. She was trying to take Buffy's name fully for herself. He clenched his fists even tighter, trying to push himself away from her distracting thigh. He wouldn't call her simply by Buffy's name. He loved her. He wouldn't let this thing claim her entirely from him. He met her eyes, his own shining with a combination of anger and lust, his cock achingly hard now that she was stimulating him. "No," he said firmly.

Immediately, she slapped him with the whip still in her hand. A red welt stood out in a line against his pale features. Open-mouthed, she kissed him where she'd hurt him, drew back and met his eyes. This time she brought the doubled up whip and wedged it under his chin, pushing his face up. "Say it," she ground out through gritted teeth. "Buffy."

The sharp sting was followed by an uncharacteristically gentle kiss, and his arousal surged again. He tugged on the chains, wanting her and being angry with her all at once for making this so cruel, for being so like her at this moment. He met her eyes and swallowed, his own eyes filled with sorrow and longing. "You're not her," he said, his voice small as he struggled for his defiance. He could still feel where she'd kissed him like a sweet burn.

"You will recognize me." Pushing his chin up even more painfully high, she smacked him with it again, harder... in the same place. "Now, or after I've turned you into a bloody mess... you will recognize me. Last chance Angel." Moving her hand down, she stroked his cock... again, and again, until his eyes lost that flat expression and were glazed. "Buffy. Buffy..." her mouth hovered over his as she made her demands. “Say it.”

He moaned softly, looking into her eyes. Her hand on him felt so good, working him more gently than she ever had before. Without the pain, without the sneering indifference. His body trembled with need, pure aching need for her. Without thinking, he arched his back slightly, surrendering his erection more to her grasp, chasing the feeling. For so long he'd wanted to be touched like this, and that was the last refuge he had, because he knew the sadism of the demon was so complete that even this small kindness was beyond her understanding.

Until now.

He blinked, his eyes struggling with tears, not wanting to say it, but needing her touch more than he ever had before. Her whispers were warm against his lips, so warm, so tender. How did they understand what he really needed, now? "Please," he whispered, and gasped as her thumb slid against the tip of his cock. He began to whisper haltingly. "B--Buffy."

Her heart leaped. At last... he was giving her a piece of himself. She should concentrate on her next move, she really should... but the desperation in his voice, and the surge of his cock in her palm, was making it difficult for her to think. And then there was that secret thrill from making him do something he didn't want to. It was wrong to feel like this... elated... powerful... it was wrong to get hot at the thought of making him do other things... breaking him to her will.

Her pulse was out of control. He could hear it, she knew that much. "Good... You like this?" She moved her closed fist faster over his shaft, alternating with slow motions over her thumb up and down the underside of his cock. "I'm going to stop... unless you say my name and tell me not to, I'm going to stop."

Dear God, he didn't want her to stop. That was the last thing he wanted. But he knew she would, anyway, despite his pleas. She always stopped, or gripped him so tightly that he couldn't come. She never granted him that release. Always the humiliation of needing it, never the satisfaction of reaching it. The way her pulse hammered, it was different. Subtle, but different, more human. He didn't know what she'd done to make this happen, but he knew now she could break him. She could take the last refuge of sanity and love he had left, and his heart ached, and his body betrayed him.

"Mistress..." He winced, rocking his hips, chasing her grip with his cock, the sensation was sending shockwaves of euphoria along his every nerve now, and he arched back even more. "Buffy. Don't...don't stop." His voice was heavy with need, of a desire long denied, even with the shame he felt at himself for doing it. "Please don't stop, Buffy. I like it so much."

"On my terms," she said, burying her face against his chest so he wouldn't see what was in her eyes. Not yet. She kissed his chest, grazed his smooth skin with her teeth and nipped him hard... licking the spot better. Kneeling, she moved her mouth over his abs and felt him quiver under her mouth.

"Angel." She snapped her fingers."Look at me. I kiss you here, and you know its your Buffy, you got that. Your Buffy. Say it... my Buffy... . Learn it." Hovering her mouth over his tip, she allowed her warm breath to skim his velvety smooth skin, so taut he had to be hurting with need.

Angel's brows furrowed. Even as he groaned with frustration when her hand on him slowed again, denying him release. He tugged against his chains, but they wouldn't break. He looked down at her as she knelt before him. He jumped at her breath, warm on his aching cock. He didn't understand what she wanted or why she was doing it, his brain muddled with maddening desire for her and shame at himself. "My Buffy?" He met her eyes, still confused.

She ached with need... the need to make him say it again... the need to rub herself over every inch of him and make him forget that other Buffy. But she didn't make him wait. He had to learn there was a difference between them... she would always tell him the truth, and make good on her promises. "My Angel," she whispered before opening her mouth and sucking on his crown while she worked his shaft with her hand.

Every sound that broke from the back of his throat, she took as a sign of victory... and gave him everything she had, licking, sucking, pumping with her hand. She knew he was on fire, and that he'd ignited her desires... but she wasn't going to take from him, not this time. Not even when images of standing up and riding him started to drive her to the edge of her control.

Her statement of possession was almost as arousing as her hand on him. And then her mouth was around the head of his cock, her soft, red lips wrapped around him. She had never done that before, and instantly it felt like his body was electric, her hot mouth closing around his cool skin. He pulled at the chains as she stroked his shaft with her mouth and hand. To his embarrassment, he writhed helpless in her grasp, soft moans and whimpers sliding from his throat. "Buffy, oh God," he gasped loudly, moaning with a pleasure long ignored. His muscles tightened, his skin felt hyper-aware of everything around him, and he focused down on Buffy, watching as she sucked him. He jerked in her grasp and felt himself start to come from her attention on his long-frustrated and abused body. His cock surged and pulsed as he exploded in her mouth, and he gasped and shuddered violently with the long-denied release.

She grasped one of his thighs to keep her balance and never stopped moving her mouth, sucking... taking everything he gave her as he came much harder than she expected. When he shuddered and relaxed, she released him, wiped her mouth, and kissed his tip one more time. "Your Buffy," she reminded him and stood up.

He'd never know how much she wanted him right now. How tempted she was to work him up again and demand he satisfy her. Order him, if she had to. Trying to get her breathing under control, she looked into his eyes... looking for him. "Do you want to go home?"

His mind was still swimming from his orgasm, from the state she'd worked him up to. From the release he hadn't had in so, so long. He hung in his chains, and looked her in the eye. He lowered his head, and rested it against her shoulder, eager for her comfort even when he knew this was all a game. But he desired even that small comfort, as fake as it was. He spoke quietly, miserably, "You can't be her." He stayed with his head resting on her for a few seconds longer, and forced his resolve back up. He pulled his head back and when he met her gaze, his eyes were flat again. "Do what you're gonna do," he told her, anticipating even more brutal punishment after such kind treatment.

"Okay. This is what I wanna do." Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she slanted her mouth over his and kissed him... kissed him as if his arms weren't chained, as if he weren't stripped like an animal, as if it was just him, and her, and they had all the time in the world. If she pressed herself into him, if she slightly rode his knee... it was because she couldn't help it. She needed him as much as he'd needed her, and it was going to be a long, lonely night back in Los Angeles.

It was hard to break the kiss when he was responding to it, kissing her back with a desperation equal to hers. What had they done... what had they done to be cursed like this? Why did pain follow them everywhere? Her heart ached as much as her body as she pulled away and let out a breath. "Remember. The one who kisses you, that's your Buffy. The other one..." she shook her head no, turned around and walked away from him.

(A/N: We're testing the waters to see if there is any interest in Bangel stories. If there isn't, we will stop posting this one here. Let us know?)