A Very Ordinary Evil

Part 23 The True Price of Disobedience


Immediately following part 22


As Spike and Willow walked inside and shut the door, Spike looked at his redheaded lover. Speaking firmly, deeply and controllingly, he almost barked “Strip, girl. NOW!”

Willow shuddered uncontrollably. In a matter of seconds she was naked, her clothes scattered around her in her desperation to comply with Spike’s order. “Good.” Spike almost purred his approval of her compliance. “Now girl, you told me what you need to feel when you’ve been bad, when you’ve been in trouble, didn’t you.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Tell me again, girl, now.”

“I need to feel pain, Sir, I need to hurt, to pay.”

“Why, girl?”

“B-because I have no knowledge of the real consequences of right and wrong, thanks to my parents.” Willow, even though feeling vulnerable, and more than a little apprehensive, spat the last word out with considerable venom.

Spike looked at her, his face a strange combination of compassion and sternness. “Follow me, girl. Three paces behind. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Willow turned and walked, keeping pace carefully, somehow knowing that he would detect any sln hen her part. She was confused as he led her into the hallway and then stopped.

Spike bent to roll up a Persian runner carpet. When he had done so, Willow saw a recessed handle fitted into the floorboards. It was a trapdoor. Spike pulled on the ring and the trap hinged up silently. As he reached down, Willow could hear the click of a light being turned on. “Down the steps girl, I’ll be right behind you.” Spike’s tone left Willow no room for argument or debate.

As she descended, she felt as if she were moving into another world. She could see, courtesy of muted indirect lighting, walls covered in implements of pain and pleasure. As she reached the bottom of the stairwell, she looked around more fully and caught her breath. She could see things that she had read about in the books Spike had bought, but their reality was still shocking. Some she knew instantly; like the large wooden X shape bolted to the wall, with leather restraints at eapex;pex; a Saint Andrew’s Cross. Others puzzled her, like the lengths of PVC tubing with leather cuffs at both ends and a large wing nut in the centre {At least the cuffs are padded,} was the thought that drifted, whimsically, through Willow’s mind. She continued turning and looked at the walls. There was a wide variety of sex toys, lingerie, paddles, crops, cats of nine tails, both leather and chainmail cuffs and collars, a stockwhip, and things that she did not even know the names for. She felt as if she had descended into a strange and exciting combination of heaven and hell.

Spike chuckled, startling her from her reverie and daydreams. “You like what you see girl?”

Willow jumped and turned. “I-I-I dear Goddess! How did all this get here?” Spike looked at her, his eyes hardening and one eyebrow raised. “Sorry. How did this get here Sir?” Willow corrected herself instantly.

Spike grinned at her. “Later, after your punishment. Understand?”

Willow’s back unconsciously straightened as she replied, “yes, Sir.”

Spike moved in close to Willow and taking her roughly by the hair, led her to the Saint Andrew’s Cross. He lifted first one arm to one of the points of the cross and by using the attached leather cuff, secured her arm there. He repeated the action and secured Willow’s other arm in the same manner. Kneeling, he pulled Willow’s left ankle to the restraint and cuffed her ankle securely to the cross. After making sure her whole foot was flat on the ground, he repeated the exercise with her other foot. He then checked each fastening to make sure it was secure on the cross as well as not cutting the redhead’s circulation, or so loose that a hand or foot could slip out. “Now girl, you know what I have to do, don’t you?” Spikes voice was pitched both deeper and harsher than usual.

“I have to be punished, Sir. For cutting myself. You have to punish me. I’m sorry, so sorry” Wils vos voice was small, and she felt herself trembling. What truly surprised her, however, was the fact that simply incurring Spike’s displeasure hurt more than any physical punishment possibly could. She could hear Spike’s boots clattering across the floor behind her, and the occasional sounds of things ‘whooshing’ through the air behind her. Spike remained silent as he practiced or tested or tortured her.

She was uncertain which it was. Time seemed to both slow and stretch for her; she had no idea of how long she had been there. Finally, something touched her naked back. It felt like leather. Spike began to trail something down over her shoulders. As he did so, he began to speak in a low, penetrating almost hypnotic voice. “This is called a flogger, girl. It’s a light multi-tailed whip. It can be used to tease, like this, or lightly stimulate, or really hurt. Remember it. This time it’s too early for you to taste it.” Willow was unsure whether she should be grateful to him or not. She still had no idea what was to happen.

The hard, unexpected slap of Spike’s hand on her naked bottom caught Willow utterly unprepared. Unable to stop herself, she let out a cry. Then the rain of blows began in earnest. He struck hard and fast, accompanying every stroke was a repeated phrase that became almost a mantra. ‘You must not harm yourself!’ Spike was chanting the phrase with each stroke of his hanilloillow began to lose control of her limbs and sank, supported only by the wrist cuffs. Pain, pleasure, desire and frantic arousal coursed through her simultaneously as the comforting sensation of subspace enveloped her. Spike’s onslaught continued remorselessly. He could see her cheeks first reddening and then almost welting as he administered what he saw as appropriate chastisement for her transgression. Willow had become incoherent, her moans of pleasure mixing with cries and gasps. Even before Spike stopped she had orgasmed, her body writhing and lashing back and forth within the cuffs.

At length, Spike stopped and gently, lovingly, uncuffed her ankles, and then supporting her as he did so, her wrists. As he shouldered her weight he was constantly murmuring reassurances in her ear. He carried her to the far side of the room, and lay her on the bed there. Immediately wrapping her in a blanket, he then opened the small bar fridge next to the bed, taking out chocolate and lemonade.

He then began talking to Willow, who was still incoherent. “You did fine, pet, punishment’s over now. I’m so very proud of you, little one.” He took one of the redhead’s small hands and gripped it firmly. “Pet, if you can hear me, squeeze hard.” Willow’s answering squeeze was all the response he needed. “It’s all right luv, I’m here. I’ll hold you, I won’t ignore you, I’ll be right here for as long as you want.” Spike’s murmuring litany continued, “I want you to open your mouth slightly pet. I’m going to pla pia piece of chocolate on it. Suck on it, pet. Let it dissolve. You need it. You’ve burned massive amounts of blood sugar. I’m going to pour a small glass of lemonade too pet. It’s just as good to rebalance your electrolytes as Gatorade and that stuff.”

Willow’s head rolled around to look at him. “Thanks,” she murmured. As she turned to take the glass, her bottom came into contact with the mattress for the first time. Her eyes bulged open and she gasped as the stinging hit her. “Jesus Spike, My bottom hurts!”

Spike chuckled, this time without menace. “Pet, I just punished you. What did you expect?”

“But it didn’t hurtI mean it hurt, but not like that. It hurt so good.” The last word was long and drawn out, lasting seconds. “It scared me, Spike. I came! I had an orgasm, without you ever touching me erotically. The pain made me cum! What does that say about me?”

“Nothing pet. You didn’t orgasm because of the pain. You came because I was punishing you.”

Willow looked at him, and Spike could actually watch her beginning to process that idea. She thought in silence for at least a half minute. “I think I understand,” she said, tentatively. “You’re saying that I orgasmed because …” Willow came to a halt as she reconsidered what she was about to say. “No, that wasn’t right. Wait a moment.” She was in full research mode now, and Spike was surprised at how quickly she had made the transition.

As the little redhead pondered and analysed, Spike thought back to what had happened. He was aware that,hit hit subspace so fast, she had to have already been in an acute state of anxiety, coupled with unlimited trust in him. Anxious that he would desert her for her ‘transgression’ and her trust in him to keep his word warring together. He smiled as he thought of her arousal levels and, just as he was drifting into a gratifying reverie, her voice interrupted. “I think I understand. You’re saying that I orgasmed because you kept your word, you showed me that you cared; cared enough to punish me when I was bad.”

“That’s part of it pet, but what else do you think there is?”

“Oh! I just realised, while you were doing it, you called me ‘girl’; never anything else. And you’ve not called me that before. Why was that?”

“It’s called a cue, pet. A way to tell you that you've displeased me ...” Spike stopped as Willow went a pasty white. “What’s wrong pet?” Spike’s voice was full of concern.

“Oh, sorry lover. I don’t quite know what happened. When you mentioned my displeasing you, I felt my tummy flip over and got nauseous.”

“Oh luv.” Spike beamed as she explained. “Let me explain. This is what power exchange is about. You’ve always been a very giving person, eager to please others. A power exchange, a D/s relationship allows you to express that openly, you don’t have to hide that desire behind symbols like birthdays, anniversaries and so on.”

Willow began to understand what Spike was saying. “This makes a lot of sense, Sir.” Willow looked surprised. “Why did I just fall back into calling you Sir then, Sir?”

Spike wrapped His arms around the little redhead once again, kissing her forehead. “Well luv,” he began, “I think that you realised that, since you don’t need the symbols to hide behind, doing this feels natural.”

Willow gave the idea some consideration before replying. Then, momentarily forgetting, she rolled back onto her bottom. “Ahhhhhhh! Blood---Dammit Spike. I won’t sit for days! And why am I talking like you? Do I look British? Goddess that hurts!” Willow ruefully rubbed her burning backside, wincing.

“Okay pet, let’s get back to the main line of the discussion, shall we? What we’re really talking about is trust and faith. You trust me to keep faith with you. It’s a two-way street luv. We both open ourselves more than in a vanilla relationship, and we’re both more vulnerable to the other hurting us, either by omission or commission. It means we have to talk about everything pet. No holding back, no secrets. In short, you orgasmed during that spanking for a variety of reasons. There was the fact, as you said, that it proved to you that I cared. There was also the fact that it showed each other our trust and faith. Lastly, and not unimportantly, when you were doing that self harm during puberty, you linked pleasure and pain together in your mind.”

Spike pulled the little redhead in close, embracing her fiercely. “Just remember pet, I love you. I always will. I won’t desert you, I won’t run from you.”

Willow looked at her blond lover, and suddenly a wave of pure emotion rolled over and through her with the force of a tsunami. Tears burst forth, a mixture of sheer amazement and growing unrelieved joy that anyone could care for her that deeply.

Spike looked totally bewildered. “Pet, Red, what on Earth’s wrong?”

“N-n-n-nothing,” Willow sobbed uncontrollably. “I-I-I j-just …” Willow’s tears returned full force as she blindly reached out for the comfort of the blond vampire’s arms. As she felt the muscles of his chest she burrowed blindly into him, getting as close as she possibly could. Her arms snaked around his chest and waist, her face buried into his torso just below the neck. The little witch gripped Spike so tightly that, if he had been human, he would have had some trouble breathing.

“Willow, luv. Talk to me. Why’re you crying?” The concern in his voice was palpable.

Willow sniffed and looked up at him, tears staining both cheeks. “You’re the most wonderful man I’ve ever met, Spike, but sometimes you really are a … a … man.”

Spike met her statement with a look of total bafflement. “Sorry luv. Can you explain that a bit for me.”

The little redhead made a sound part way between a giggle and a sigh. “I’ll try,” she whispered.

Chuckling somewhat ruefully, Willow sat up to explain the mysteries of women’s tears and winced as she did so. “I’m going to have to stand!” She moaned petulantly. “Sometimes, just sometimes, women, and occasionally men, cry for reasons other than sadness, dearest heart. Tears are a response to overwhelming emotion, it can be grief, or sadness, or joy, or relief, or anger or … lots of other things.” Willow had already slipped into what she thought of as ‘lecture mode’ and was building a good head of steam. She continued, almost before she could draw breath. “Culturally, we’re conditioned to accept the image of women crying, but not men. This is the basis of patriarchal power structures endemic throughout the world. It denies men the ability to express their emotions, whilst enslaving women to theirs. This controlled manipulation of social … dear Goddess! I’m not just babbling, I’m raving.” Willow looked both astonished and slightly embarrassed by what she had just said.

Blinking while still trying to absorb Willow’s verbal onslaught, Spike decided the most enjoyable way to prevent her starting up again was to silence her. He simply reached out and pulled her, almost roughly, into his arms and kissed her. Searingly. His tongue forced it’s way into her mouth and explored every inch of it. It tasted her, felt the formation of her palate, teeth and cheeks. It entwined her tongue as if it was a separate living being. When he finally broke the kiss, the little witch’s face was as red as her behind. Willow slowly drew breath several times to regain her composure before she asked. “Are you going to stop me babbling like that every time?”

Spike laughed wickedly. “No pet, only on special occasions.”

The redheads response of “Oh.” Was filled with a combination of regret and winsome hopefulness.