One Man's Hell...

Buffy had intended to wait a day or so before she returned, but couldn't. Not when the last beating Angel had received was her fault. Using the pendant, she appeared behind the pillar and made certain the demon wasn't with him, before she carefully approached. The sight of that greeted her was so horrifying, it knocked the breath out of her.

The demon had pulled Angel’s arms back behind his body, and then suspended him by the wrists with all of his weight being born by his shoulders, with all of the pressure on his sockets. Deep cuts criss-crossed over his entire body, and if that wasn't bad enough, he was gagged tight.

"Angel?" She hugged his limp body lightly. "Oh God... my fault... all my fault." Lifting up on her toes, she started to undo his gag. The corner of his mouth started to bleed when she tugged on the gag. Son of a...

He felt the pull of the leather of his gag as it tugged at his lips. After his constant backtalk to the demon, she'd forced the thick strap between his teeth to shut him up and left him that way, bound and in more pain than he'd been in for a long time. He grunted softly, and then he opened his eyes. Buffy's voice was like a beacon in the dark, and he could see only her feet, bound as he was. Finally, the gag was pulled free, and he released a slow, pained breath, his body sore all over. His mouth tasted of blood and leather, and his throat was dry. He tried to swallow, and he was terribly thirsty. He turned his head to try and see Buffy as best he could. And then he spoke, hoarsely, a single word, "Home."

Her heart leaped to her throat. "Home... you said home. You mean home?" she spoke like a machine gun, half afraid she'd only heard what she'd been yearning to for all this time.

Angel swallowed, his throat parched, his body weak. He tried to turn his head to see her face, but he was tied too strictly. "Are you my Buffy?"


"Your Buffy, yes. What do you want, Angel. Where do you want to go?" She stroked his shoulders and arms ever so lightly, afraid to cause him more pain.

He closed his eyes, and spoke hoarsely again. "I want to go home with you, Buffy. I want to believe you can do that. Please, I need to know it's you."

Her eyes widened as his meaning became clear. Just like a guy... okay, he was a guy. Her lips quirked into a half smile and she lowered her head, lifted his cock and lightly kissed his tip. "It's me... your Buffy. We're going home now," she said putting the amulet against his chest and pressing. One sharp edge cut into him, while the other edge cut into her palm. Their blood mingled over the pendant. "Let's go home Angel... home with Buffy."

Angel closed his eyes and thought about home with Buffy, needing to be there with her now. In the back of his mind, he hoped and prayed this wasn't another game, a cruel trick to rob him of his will, to break him even more. Because, God help him, he loved this woman who'd started coming to him, giving him the few moments of peace he'd ever known in the place. So he closed his eyes and thought of home, and of Buffy.

One minute she was bearing only some of his weight, the next, all of it... in her dingy little one room apartment. Home had never looked so good. Swallowing hard, she started to help him to the bed. "We're here... we're home. You're never gonna see that demon again Angel, not ever... unless it’s when we go there to kick her ass." And she wanted to... God how she wanted to. Never in her worst nightmares had she or could she have imagined Angel being broken, like this.

"Can you sit?" she asked, knowing he was stiff.

Angel nodded, and swallowed. He was weak all of a sudden, weaker than he ever remembered being. He sagged onto the bed. "Hungry," he said raggedly. He leaned against Buffy, and his head drooped. He was so tired, too! And being in the real world, it seemed like he felt all of his wounds that much more. His wrists burned where they'd been tied. "Tired," he muttered. He looked at Buffy. "You're really her," he said, his voice nearly cracking with relief.

"Am not her... am me." She brightened at the fact he was making sense, and standing in front of him, she bent down and gave him a light hug. "You're safe now. I'll get you something." When he didn't answer, she slowly pulled away and walked to the small kitchen. Ever since Whistler's visit, she'd kept a fresh bag of blood ... just in case. More than that would be a waste as blood had about the shelf life of milk... go figure. But this would be a good start, and tomorrow she'd bring him more.

Retrieving the bag, she felt his eyes shift to it... could almost feel his hunger. She cut the corner of the bag and held it out.

Angel didn't hesitate, as soon as he smelled the blood, he snatched at the bag, careful not to spill a drop. He put his mouth over the opened corner and upended the bag, taking long, healthy drinks from the bag. He had no need to breathe, so he never stopped as he swallowed the cold blood, which tasted of the plastic bag as much as anything else. It was the best meal he could ever remember having in his life. Once the bag was empty, Angel pulled the bag away and released a satisfied breath.
He looked up to see Buffy watching him, and felt vaguely ashamed. Not only for the greedy way he fed, but what he was, and what he'd done to her, and what she'd seen him turned into in the hell dimension. It all crashed around him, and he lowered his eyes, not able to look at her. The shame bloomed into something more intense, grief and sorrow and guilt all mixed together. "I'm sorry," he said brokenly.

"Me too." She bit her lip... hard, always so hard to tell him how she felt. "We... we both played someone else's game," she finally said. She'd forced and coaxed and said and did things she never would have under other circumstances. Maybe the weight of it all would come crashing down on her some day... or maybe she would find it inside herself to lift her chin and know she'd done what she had to... and that she'd never change a thing. "I... Let me help you shower, you'll feel better. And then sleep, hmm?"

Angel nodded, and tried to get up. Buffy was beside him and helped him. He leaned on her for support, and was suddenly aware of his nakedness around her. The real her. He tried to muster the energy to be embarrassed about that, but he couldn't manage. "Of course," he said quietly. "When it was you? Really you?" He cracked a half-smile, trying to get one from her. "It wasn't all bad."

She met his gaze and gave him a wry smile. "Of course, when you made me forget what I was supposed to be doing... it was really, really bad... but in a good kind of way."

They took a couple of steps, their eyes still locked together. Then she laughed. "Maybe we'll wake up and this was all a long nightmare..."

His smile faded. "Already had my long nightmare. Back to back." He held her gaze. "If this is the only thing real, then I'll be fine with that." He touched her cheek with one scarred hand, and leaned close to kiss her gently, missing the feel of her lips on his already. He needed her touch so much, almost as crazily as he'd needed it back in the other dimension. He leaned his forehead against hers. "Thank you."

Swamped by emotions, she couldn't answer him. Instead, she nodded and gave him a watery smile. Then she moved her face to the side and kissed his knuckles, and started to help him walk again.

The bathroom filled with steam. "Can you... do you need help inside or..."

"If you come in there with me, I won't let you leave, and we both know why that's a bad idea." Angel smiled sadly, and disengaged himself from Buffy. He was feeling stronger now that he had blood in him, his muscles looser, his wounds healing. He kissed her one more time and went inside. The shower was hot on his cool skin, the spray stung like needles. The dried blood on his back from the wounds flaked off and drained out, leaving crimson traces in the water before draining away. Angel stood under the water until the heat ran out, and then stood under it a while longer, until finally he shut off the water and shuffled out of the bathroom, dried and with a towel wrapped around his waist.

If Buffy's color was high, it was because she'd stayed for a while and watched him in the shower. Mostly it was to make sure he was stable, but a girl's mind did wander. As he lathered and scrubbed, she could almost feel him under her hands... she'd learned so much about his body over the past three months, so much that she wouldn't have learned even in a lifetime here, where they couldn't... No, she wasn't gonna bring herself down. She could still hold him, and kiss him... and be with him until what they had wasn't enough for him, if that day came.

She pulled the bed cover open and looked over at him. "Cheap mattress but I'm thinking it'll feel like the softest thing you've slept on since you left." Left... right. One day they'd have to talk about that too. She tried not to flinch under his gaze and merely gestured for him to get in the bed.

She was still beautiful, even if she wasn't dressed in skintight latex and high heels. He closed his eyes against the image. Not the best idea, he told himself silently. He moved to the bed and slipped under the covers. As he lay back, he sighed. He hadn't been in a bed in what felt like centuries. To him, it was centuries. He settled on the bed, and felt immediately weary. "Hey, Buffy? If nothing else, promise me one thing. You'll keep the shoes." He said the last with a wry smile, and took Buffy's hand as he shifted further into the bed, and pulled her in with him. He needed to feel her, to touch and smell her, even if they did nothing else. He needed even that small comfort from the woman he loved, the woman he knew he'd never really deserve.

Her breath was knocked out of her since she hadn't expected that. Scooting closer, she put her head on his chest and gave a low laugh. "You know... I could easily keep you awake with those shoes." She slid a bare foot up and down his leg. "No wait... this could keep me awake too. We should talk about it after we get some sleep." She kissed his chest, and mumbled against it, "Love you Angel... and, think we can keep the..."

Angel's eyes opened sleepily, his brows furrowing. "Did you say 'cuffs'?" He turned his head towards Buffy. "Buff?" Already she was asleep against his chest, and he smiled. He laid back, deciding in the morning there would be time enough to talk." He closed his eyes and drifted off soon after, Buffy warm on his chest.

*

He was in that dimension once again. He could hear the clicking of the demon's boots, her voice echoing in his ears, sneering, full of rage and disdain. Telling him he'd never be free, he'd always be hers, always be a slave. He felt tired, hungry, falling apart all over again as she put her hands on him, an insult always on her perfect lips. A perversion of everything he'd ever loved or taken joy in. Angel shivered and shook despite the heat of the place, and knew it was all a lie, he'd be here forever.

Angel awoke with a start, his body weak, tired despite the sleep. But more than anything, he was hungry. Hungrier than he could remember ever being, the bag of blood he'd had before only a small edge on his hunger, his body rebelling and weak. He tried to get out of bed, but couldn't manage. "Buff," he said weakly. He touched her arm. "Buffy. Hungry, Buffy. I need more...blood."

"Hmmm?" She'd had the best dream... one where Angel was with her, holding her, touching her, just like... this. Her eyes fluttered open and his words sank in. "Okay..." She turned to look at the clock. It was hours before morning. About to tell him that, she looked at him. The walkway light right outside her window allowed her to see his face, and what she saw was stark naked hunger... pain. As it had been for months, his pain was her pain. His need, hers. There was one solution. She was the Slayer, her solution the antithesis to all that she was and represented. And yet he wasn't just a vampire. He had never been just a vampire.

Her internal battle took only a minute or so. Decision made, she leaned over him and brushed his mouth with the side of her throat. "Try not to leave any... you know, hickies or scars." As cool and careless as her words were, her heart was pounding against her chest, and her fingers were digging into his shoulder. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she worried about whether he'd stop, and yet she offered herself to him. Couldn't help it.

Angel could hear her pulse pound in his ears, feel the rush of her blood against his lips as she pressed her skin to him. He was so weak and overcome with hunger, his face morphed instantly, changing into the fearsome visage of the predator he never wanted to be again. He licked his lips, and his tongue touched her skin. She tasted sweet, like she always did. He moaned softly, and reached up, grabbed her shoulder, weakly trying to push her away. "No," he said softly. He wasn't going to feed from her, turn her into something she'd never be. Prey, a victim. And if he couldn't stop? The thought was too much for him. "No," he said, his body too weak to force her away like he wanted to. He'd sooner die than do what she was asking.

She shivered... swallowed, her throat convulsing against his mouth. "Down there... I did things I never would have. I did it because I had to. It's your turn now. Do it," she said, an authoritative tone creeping into her tone. It had become second nature to her, after all that time snapping orders at him.

The tone awakened something in Angel's muddled brain, cutting through his thoughts. His fingers squeezed her arm a little tighter. He pulled her down against him, the hunger, the order, the memories all too much. He sank his fangs into her throat, and immediately began to drink from her. A soft moan escaped his lips as he tasted her, and immediately felt his body warm as he drank deeply. His grip on her arm tightened, and he closed his eyes with the sheer pleasure of feeding from her.

Once the sharp pain dulled, Buffy felt herself being dragged into an indescribable world of colors, of sensation, of sound... heartbeats and pulses, hers... beating harder, faster ...for him. The need to please, to give washed over her, then gave way to erotic sensations that were heightened each time he took another swallow. She found herself pressing closer, moving against him restlessly, begging wordlessly for more, more of him, more of this.

He drank greedily from her, his hunger barely satiated by the first few swallows, and he took more. He could feel her shifting her body atop his, and he thought he could hear a low moan escape her lips, but it was obscured by the rush of blood in his ears. He felt flush with it, his cock stirred as he felt her body rub against his, knowing what effect the feeding was having on her. His body surged, and he felt stronger. He moved swiftly, reversing their position, so that he was on top of her, pinning her to the bed, still drinking from her. A growl escaped his throat, remembering the commands she gave, reveling in the taste of her, and the power he now held.

A warning bell sounded in the far reaches of her mind, but her body's primal response drowned it out. She understood the messages he was sending her with every forceful motion of his body, the very way he used it to master her as he took her life blood... she was his, to do with as he wished. "Yes," she answered his unspoken question, arching her hips and struggling to touch him, to get more of him. Heat inched through her veins... burned where he was lapping at her throat... burned everywhere they touched and made her yearn for more. She was spinning out of control... getting lightheaded, but still, she asked him to keep going.

The murmured request for more, her hips rocking underneath him, seeking him still, drove him even wilder. He drank more deeply, filling himself. He opened his eyes, yellow and predatory, gleaming with lust and power. He could feel her heart beat, and felt that tell tale pulse that wasn't as strong, and immediately he began to return to himself. He slowed his feeding, and let his hands loosen on her arms. He drew his fangs away from neck, releasing a satisfied breath. He slid his tongue against the small wounds, lapping up what little blood that escaped her. "Are you okay?" His face changed back to normal, and he kissed the bite marks tenderly. He looked at her face, a little pale in the light. He caressed her cheek lovingly. "Are you okay?"

It took several minutes for her to come to her senses... to realize how close he'd been to the edge, and how ready she'd been to let him... "I..." I want more. How could she say that to him? How could she tell him... ask him for what they both knew he couldn't give her. Not now, not ever? Pressing her mouth into a smile, she nodded. "Fine..." Slowly, she untangled her limbs from his and sat up. "Sleep... I'm gonna get some orange juice."

"I'll get it," he told her, touching her shoulder. Drinking so deeply from Slayer blood filled him with energy, and his entire body felt warm and vigorous. "Can't sleep, anyway," he told her. He pushed the covers away and got up, stretching. He wasn't anywhere near as sore as he had been. He knew it was temporary, only as long as the Slayer blood would last, and then he'd be weak, in pain again, but for now he didn't want her to see him like that. He poured a glass of juice and returned, handing it to Buffy before reclaiming his spot in the bed.

She drew her knees up to her chest and took a few sips. "Know what?"

Angel looked over at Buffy, resting on his elbow to look at her. "What?"

"I keep liking things I shouldn't." She touched the spot where he's bitten her and found it was already healing. "This isn't going to be a new kinky habit we pick up, is it?"

"Well..." Angel turned his head to look at the bite mark, red and angry, but healing. "Not that. I'm not...prepared to do that very often. But I think we've got plenty of other kinks we just became aware of recently to worry about as it is."

Her mouth formed a silent O. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she gave a somewhat shy smile. "Makes me kinda afraid of what's next. But I'm keeping you awake, and I gotta get up and go to work in two hours..." she groaned, wondering if she could call in sick again.

"I'm a vampire," he pointed out. "I shouldn’t be sleeping, anyway." Still, he took her in his now-warm arms, and hugged her close to him, so she could go to sleep in his arms.


* * *

Angel stayed with Buffy in her small apartment in LA, where she worked and came home and helped nurse him back to health. She covered her windows over for him, and when she was gone, he slept fitfully. Dreams of hell, of the tortures and horrors he'd endured and witnessed plagued his sleep. During the night, he'd hold Buffy until she went to sleep, and then he'd venture out into the night. He'd stand on the rooftop of Buffy's apartment for hours on end, soaking in the moonlight, trying to forget. But by daylight and sleep, they'd always return.

Sometimes, when she called to him in the apartment, he'd jump without knowing why, instantly on edge. The longer it went on, the more he knew that what the demon had told him was true. He'd never be free of her or that place. Not really. It always felt like there was another shoe, just waiting to drop, something to put an end to these all-too-brief days of happiness away from Sunnydale. The summer was almost over soon, and he knew Buffy would return. She'd have to return. She had duties, she had school, she had a life. He had nightmares that never ceased, and he was soon coming to the conclusion that he should go.

His demons followed him everywhere, now, and they'd taken the form of what he loved most. The moments of peace with Buffy were fewer and far between than they should have been, and even as his strength returned, his melancholy grew. There had to be a way out, but Angel couldn't see it. All he could hear when he slept was her voice, cruelly mocking, her hands, brutally harsh. And he knew they'd claimed from him the one thing he hadn't been prepared to lose.

*

It was Sunday. Her weekend... cause she had Sundays and Mondays off, and that was all she looked forward to. It was good... well pretty good between them. They laughed, they watched movies, they went out at nights. Sometimes they cried. Sometimes she saw him crying, even if it was just on the inside.

It was afternoon. He was sleeping... or trying. She was cooking... or trying. It wasn't looking good for either of them, from the way he was tossing and turning, and she was counting and recounting... trying to figure out where she was in the instructions of the "Thirty Minute Meals" cookbook that lied.

Hearing him mutter, she gave up on the cooking and went to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. Course she couldn't exactly guess what he was dreaming about, other than it was her, that other Buffy. She'd tortured him in so many ways... for so long, how the hell was he supposed to get over that? It still burned her up that she hadn't had the chance to kick that demon's ass.... how must he feel? No, he wasn't gonna feel that way... he was gonna get revenge, he was gonna be the one in power, and that bitch would know his wrath.

Leaning over him, she put her hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Angel. Wake up."

Her voice cut through his slumber instantly, and Angel jerked awake, pulling from her grasp, shifting away from her voice. He looked up and saw Buffy sitting beside him. Really Buffy. His Buffy. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, looking at her through sleepy eyes. "Buffy," he said, and glanced to see the sun was still up. "What're you doing?" He looked at her, trying not to look like he was half-expecting her to turn on him, like he really believed all of this was over. "Is everything okay?"

She hated that she sometimes spooked him. She never had before. That demon had taken not only from him, but from her. Buffy wasn't gonna have it. She wasn't gonna give up. Not by a long shot.

Pretending she didn't didn't see the momentary rejection, she smiled and dragged her index finger down his chest, and drew imaginary patterns on him. "Well, I was … I was thinking. You know how we play 'normal couple' and, you know..." her gaze dropped to his lips and she swayed slightly toward him. "And then we stop before we.... you know?"

Angel nodded, brows furrowing. "Yeah," he said. "Right before I get all...happy. Right. You woke me up for that? Not that I'm complaining, just..." he shrugged. "You never did that before." He reached out and put his hand on her knee, wanting to reassure her. None of this was her fault, he wouldn't be the one to punish her.

"Not that I never wanted to," she laughed, but felt her cheeks warm. Wasn't it just too dumb that she could still blush after all that had happened between them? "And not that I'd say no now, but..." dropping her hand down over his, she looked into his eyes. "I think we should play another game. I think you need to play another game."

He pursed his lips at that. Maybe he still wasn't entirely up yet. "Another game? Like...Naked Twister?"

"Oh I'd beat you at that," her lips quirked. Okay, maybe she was trying to stall a bit. "No, a more serious game."

He met her eyes, watching her intently, trying to understand what she meant. "Buffy, I'm not sure what you mean by a more serious game. But I know if it gets really serious, I get really bad and then people start getting really dead." He stroked her knee with his thumb. "I think maybe we should stick with the regular game. The regular game's always fun."

She closed her eyes for a minute, enjoying the slight caress, then looking at him again. "I have some some chains and cuffs. Got them in case you were Angelus when I brought you back. But I knew you weren't."

Angel swallowed at what she was saying. He felt a surge of arousal, but a sudden pang of concern. He didn't know if he could ever be chained again, like that. Even with Buffy doing the things...she did. He had enjoyed it, then, but now the thought sent a swirl of uncertainty through him. And besides, there was still the question of the curse. "I don't know if I can...do that again, Buffy. I mean, it was fun. When you were...doing those things. It was...pleasant enough, I certainly needed everything you did." He swallowed, holding her eyes with his. "But...I just don't know. It's...too soon, maybe."

He was trying to let her down easy and had got it all wrong, sweet lovable idiot of a vampire that he was. She slanted her mouth over his and started to kiss him, slowly, but thoroughly, tasting him, taking all he had to offer, and then breaking the kiss. "I know. Stay here for a minute," she said, getting up and leaving the room.

In the hall, she rummaged through a closet and got everything this needed. Then she pulled her hair back, pulled up the zipper on each of her boots, and walked back in. Only, she wasn't smiling anymore, and she carried the chain in her hand. "I'm not Buffy. I'm her," she announced, never flinching away from his questioning gaze.

Angel cocked his head as he looked at Buffy, surprised. She was nude except for those boots, her face cooler than it had been since he'd arrived. All of her usual kindness was gone, except for the eyes, right now. The eyes were soft, Buffy's eyes. And then, surprisingly, they went colder.

In the middle of the room, there was a hook on the ceiling intended for a heavy chandelier... but no chandelier. On tip toes with her six inch heels, she was able to slip the chain through the hook. Still not saying anything else, she took one cuff, and wrapped it around one of her wrists, then did the same to the other. "Get your life back. If you dare," she challenged, her eyes as cold as the demon's had been.

Angel felt another surge of arousal roll through him as he saw her standing before him, chained and helpless, looking coldly at him. Everything he'd ever hated for so long, standing right there before him, waiting for him to touch her. To hurt her. He stood up, clad only in his underwear. He shook his head as he walked closer to her. Her hands strung up over her head, locked to the chain. He looked down into her eyes. "Buffy...I...I don't want to hurt you."

God. They had to be strong. She had to be for him. They couldn't have come all this way for him to be broken... a victim of his past in hell. Straightening, she spit at him. "I will have you on your knees again, and you will tell me how much you love me... how you need me... with every lash of the whip, you'll tell me," she said, through gritted teeth.

He wiped the saliva from his face, his eyes flashing. He swallowed hard. "Don't...don't do that," he said quietly, his voice going dark. He could hear that voice, echoing in his ears. One of his hands clenched. "You stop this. Right now."

"Stop, please..." she mocked him and gave a nasty laugh. "Damn you looked pretty with that gag in your mouth and your back so nice... so slippery. I'm going to ride you so hard bitch, you'll forget your name again... you'll forget everything. I want your cock at attention, now!"

Angel reacted instantly, the way he always wanted to, had his hands been free. He growled and got closer to her. His hand grabbed her chin fiercely and his eyes burned. "You shut your filthy fucking mouth before I return the favor and gag you tighter than you ever even imagined!" He sneered at Buffy, feeling the anger and power course through him, and his hands trembled slightly with his anger, and more disturbingly, with arousal.

There was a cold, sharp pain in her heart. She'd never been afraid of him before. Not when he was Angel. Her indecision was short-lived.

Her eyes flashed with insolence, though her voice was subdued. "Whatever you say."

He held her gaze for a long moment. Her eyes still tried to be cold, but he saw that other spark of a soul there. "What do you want from me?!" He strode closer again. "You want me to hurt you? Like I was hurt?" He grabbed her nipples, rolled them between his fingers, and then pinched harder. "You want to take that?!"

She bit her lip. No. she wanted to scream. She'd thought it would be less personal. She'd thought he'd hit her. When he didn't let go and the burn got too much, she raised her gaze to his. "I don't break easy. Not like you," she answered, her voice a bit strained as she stood perfectly still.

He sneered again. "You know what? I'm tired of listening to you." He released her nipples and stepped away. He looked around the apartment, and found one of Buffy's scarves hanging on the coat rack. He crossed to it and pulled it off. He tied a large knot in the center of the silky scarf and walked back. He pulled the scarf tightly between her teeth and tied it harshly behind her head. "I think somebody else is the bitch around here now," he said, and slapped her ass hard.

Her entire body swayed forward and away from his stinging slap, only there wasn't a whole lot of room to move. Tears stung her eyes as she tried to swallow around the material of the scarf. What came next? She shivered and looked over at him, her heart kicking up a notch when she realized his gaze was clinging to the nipple he'd tormented.

He looked at her nipple, a thought crossing his mind. "I wonder if you remember what you liked to do so well?" He leaned down and began licking around her nipple, drawing his tongue around the rosy bud in a lazy circle before he sucked it into his mouth. His hand trailed down to rub against her clit, teasing her first, getting her excited, and then making her hurt until it was all one big painfully aroused and confused experience.

It seemed to go on for hours. He touched her just right... knew exactly how to make her want him, want his mouth all over her, want his fingers to stroke her... knew how to make her thrash as she tried to chase his hand and seek relief. And just when she thought she might have it, pain washed over her. A thousand points of pain. He used his teeth, he used pressure, he pushed her so her body strained against the cuffs... until she thought she might break into two, and then he brought her pleasure again.
Her mind was a mess of questions, her eyes plead... but she didn't know for what... mostly for whatever would make the pain stop, and the pleasure peak. Her body ached and burned all at once. She wanted to call his name... wanted to curse and rail... wanted to beg, but the gag chocked her and ate any words that might have escaped. Her head lolled to the side, and when she looked at him, his eyes were as cold as the first time she'd seen him in hell.

The day wore into night, and then day again. She was sweating, pulled every which way, but he wasn't even close to exhausting himself. Years he'd spent at her mercy. Being pushed. Being hurt. Being forced to enjoy what he knew he shouldn't. He found some of her equipment, a flogger that looked more pleasant than anything she'd used in hell, but it was effective enough. He worked her back and her front, reddening her skin, calling out to her, telling her to dance. And then he'd play with her again, only to start oncee more. He flogged her from behind, the sun up, a whole day gone by. The flogger struck her back once more, and then he stalked immediately to her. "Oh, is the little bitch getting all wet again? You finally starting to learn who's in charge here?" He reached up to untie the harsh gag, and let it fall away. He stroked her, the flogger lightly slapping her thigh as he did. "Who's the little bitch, now?"

Exhausted and in pain, she gave a sob, and looked at him with accusing eyes. The worst of it was the confusion... how the hell could he hurt her like this and make her want him at the same time? How did that work? How could she be cursing him for doing this, and crying for more? Why did she want him to step between her legs and rub his arousal against her until the sensations washed away all memories of the pain? "Please... Angel... please," she begged, her words slurring slightly.

"Please, what? Does the slut want to come? Does she want to hurt more?" He dropped the flogger. "You never seemed to mind hurting me a little more." He spoke softly, whispering in her ear as his fingers slid against her wet lips. He pushed a finger inside her, and began stroking her softly. "Beg for me, bitch. Beg the way you made me beg. Come on. I want to hear you ask me for it. I want you to plead."

"Yes... no..." he was keeping her confused, speaking softly like a lover but demanding, speaking to her like a master to his slave. She wanted to tell him to fuck off... and a hundred other things that had crossed her mind when she couldn't speak. But she didn't want to be punished again. Didn't want him to stop making her feel good. Her muscles contracted around his finger... she bent her knees, trying to get more penetration. "Please... Angel please, don't stop..." A look at his implacable features told her that wasn't going to cut. "I beg you... please fuck me... please let me come... please."

She didn't recognize the sound of her own voice, not anymore. It was almost as if she were in the grips of a fever, and this was just a delusion... a delusion of pain and pleasure, pleasure used as a weapon, to be taken away, to demean. A sob broke out of her and she rolled her head back to look at him. "Please... help me."

Angel continued stroking her for another moment, and then smiled sweetly as he withdrew his finger and said the words she'd said to him so many times before. "Permission to come denied." He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. He leaned in and kissed her fiercely, cutting off any words of protest with his lips and tongue. He pulled quickly away from her and stepped back. He moved around behind her, trailing his hand along her reddened skin. He scraped his nails along her buttocks, leaving trails of white in her red skin. "I do like how you begged, though. So like a bitch aching to be ridden. I don't even know if I want to fuck you," he said harshly, giving her all the spite she'd given him and more.

She tried to hold on... she'd vowed to take every punishment he could mete out until it was out of his system, but the venom in his voice... the hatred, it broke her. Tears rolled down her cheeks unchecked. His laughter was like salt in her wounds. Her shoulders shook, her arms strained against the cuffs, her body ached and burned, her skin was so sensitive that every touch hurt or made her yearn for more."Stop it... stop... home. I want to home, Angel. I want to go home."

The request cut through his brain, through his anger and pain and thirst for vengeance. Her voice, small and broken and in pain echoed in his ears. And for the first time, the memory of hell drifted away. The veil of rage she'd awoken in him lifted, and all he was left with was the woman he loved, battered and broken, injured by his words and actions. Again.

All over again.

(A/N: One more chapter to go! Hope you are enjoying)