Antenna (antennapedia) wrote,

  • Mood:
  • Music:

FIC: Touch (Giles/Buffy, FRAO)

Title: Touch
Prompt: 3. Satin
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: FRAO
Word count: 2000
Table: Complete smut_69 prompt table, along with full headers & warnings.
Notes: BDSM kink. A Blackmail!verse story.

Buffy held the knife to his lips for one last kiss, then it was gone. Giles heard it snick closed, then the heavy metallic sound of it returning to the nightstand. Her weight lifted from his waist. More sounds from the side of the bed; he couldn't determine what. He remained where he was, still far gone in trance state, eyes half-closed.

Giles felt Buffy's hand under his back, urging him to roll over. He pulled himself together enough to cooperate. She had pillows ready to slip under his hips, raising his arse for her convenience. He settled himself and spread his legs wide for her. He was a puddle, completely relaxed and pliant under her hands. Whatever she would do to him, he would accept.

She knelt between his legs again.

"Mmm. You look so good like this. All marked up. Fantastic." Her hands stroked over his sore thighs, pressing on the welts she'd granted him. "Don't move."

More sounds. A plastic cap snicking open. The sound of a bottle being squeezed. Giles sighed and let himself relax further against the satin sheets. At last she was going to take him. The glass nudged at his body, stroking over the skin. A sensitive place, the anus. The first time he'd been touched there he'd nearly jumped out of bed, so surprised he'd been. The first time he'd been licked. The first time he'd been penetrated. The first time he'd slid fingers into another man's body and caressed. All these touches were good. This had always felt good to Giles, the push and slide and stroke. Sweet invasion. Surrender. The gift of his body to his possessor.

He strove to let himself open for her. She was moving slowly, demanding patience from him. He wanted to writhe under her, to thrust back and impale himself, to entice her into going faster. But he held still out of fear of what she would do to him if he disobeyed and moved.

But why disobey? Obedience was sweet. He was her toy, her willing servant, the instrument of her will. He had a vision of Buffy standing on a dais, in shining mail, armed with sword and shield. He knelt at her right hand, her most trusted advisor, her liegeman, wearing her livery, all silks and satins. Her collar around his neck, steel links welded together that he could never remove. And secretly, under the bright silk, her steel cock inside him, thick and hard and demanding. Everyone knew he was hers, everyone knew his condition, and he was the envy of them all. She was the Slayer, and he was her cherished Watcher.

Giles moaned aloud, and let the fantasy spin a while longer, while she held the head of the plug inside him at its widest point, stretching him.

She spoke. "This looks amazing. To see this inside you, opening you wide. The glass is gorgeous. I can see everything."

Giles could only groan in response.

"We're going to get more toys like this."

"As, as you wish."

She let the glass slide all the way in and settle. He clenched and felt it move inside him. It drove him mad, just as it always used to. The head was perfectly placed. He let himself writhe and gasp. She laughed above him, then laid a hand on his back and pressed him flat.

"Stay very still."

He opened his mouth to tell her that of course he would, but instead her hand came down on him hard and he cried out. She slapped him once on each buttock. The pain grew and spread, then settled into heat. He knew from experience how exquisitely sensitive his welted backside was. She slapped him again, on each thigh this time, not pulling her blows. Then respite, while he trembled beneath her and let the burn wash over him.

Don't fight the pain, he reminded himself. Welcome the pain. Flow with it. Let it take him far away. The pain was her gift to him.

He lay on his belly and awaited his mistress's pleasure.

The sound of a plastic cap again, and liquid, and this time something pooled warm in the small of his back. Her hands smoothed it over his skin, and he caught the scent: sandalwood and musk. His massage oil. She seemed to know what she was doing, to his surprise. Her fingers found all the knotted places in his shoulders and back.

She spread the oil over his buttocks and thighs as well, and dug deep into his muscles there while he moaned. Pain and pleasure at once, her fingers on the base of the plug moving it inside him, her hands on sore skin.

Then she slapped him again, no warning, just the sudden explosion of sound and pain. He struggled for a moment and found himself pinned flat by Slayer strength while she spanked him harder. He begged her forgiveness and let himself go limp under her hand, let himself cry out and sob.

Then the plug thrusting inside him again, building the pleasure while the pain eased. Then her hands gliding up his back, across his shoulders, her slight weight leaning on him.

She worked him for some time like that, refusing to settle into a rhythm with him, not letting him relax. Sometimes a slap on his backside or thighs, sometimes a caress, sometimes her hands stroking up and down his back, sometimes her fingers moving the plug inside him. Every touch sent him further into his body, soothed his ever-restless mind into quiet. A fusillade of blows brought him to tears that she then soothed away with oiled fingers kneading his shoulders and neck. She gradually eased down into steady massage, up and down his back, firm hands on his burning buttocks, his abused thighs. Fingers teasing at his balls.

Then her touches slowed, softened, and stopped. A towel, rough on his back. She turned him over again and propped him up half-sitting against the pillow. The slick sheets smooth and soothing to his heated flesh. He let her arrange his body as she willed. The wire-tight tension that had him trembling under the knife earlier in the evening was entirely gone. Only one part of him remained tense, straining, and eager. Perhaps she would allow him release. He was nearly at the end of what he could bear, overloaded with sensation and emotion and strain.

She was between his legs again, which promised well. She rested her hands on his thighs. "Watch. Make noise. Talk. I want to hear you. But don't move. And don't come until I say you can."

"Yes, my Slayer. Oh, God, please, yes."

She hovered over his cock, intent, blowing breath over him, thumbs stroking the soft skin inside his thighs. Then touch: the tip of her tongue circling the head of his cock, inside the foreskin, across the slit. Giles begged her for more, begged her to finish him. Wet, messy licks, kisses up and down his cock. He watched her, so focused, so solemn. Concentrating on him, on his cock.

"Suck me," he said. "Please. Take me. Do it."

She smiled. Her hand on his balls, gripping almost to the point of pain but riding the edge. Her fingers moving the plug inside him, sending shivers through him.

Giles watched her mouth stretch around him, watched himself slide in. She closed her lips around him and sucked. He shouted and drove his hips up. She pinned him with a hand gripping his hip, hard enough to leave bruises. It was so difficult not to buck up, not to drive himself into that hot mouth.

She wrapped a hand around him and let him thrust through it, into her mouth. Let him do the work. He could feel it starting inside, the tightening. He faltered, and gasped and begged her to stop, he couldn't take it. Buffy had mercy on him and pulled away. She sat up and stroked him everywhere but his cock, petting him down, until his breathing slowed and the strain on his face eased.

She stretched herself over his chest and kissed him. Giles kissed her eagerly in return. He hadn't kissed her nearly enough. Hadn't done nearly enough of anything. She pulled back and rubbed his nose with hers.

"What would you say if I bound you and left you like this all night?"

Giles closed his eyes for a moment. God, to spend all night with this thing hard inside him. It would take ages for his erection to subside enough to let him sleep. How long had he been aroused this evening? How much would he ache? His voice was husky when he answered at last.

"I would thank my mistress for her gracious attention."

She closed her hand around his collar and shook him gently. "What would you really say?"

He managed a smile. "I would swear at you, probably, then hold my wrists out for you to bind."

He followed word with deed. She gripped his wrists hard. Her hands weren't large enough to circle his wrists, but her strength awed him as always. Not that he fought her. He let her stretch his arms up over his head. She pinned him there, against the wall above the headboard.


"Why what, my Slayer?"

"Why would you let me do that to you?"

"Because you are my mistress," he said, puzzled. "I suffer for your pleasure."

She smiled at him and kissed him again, insistent, her tongue forcing itself inside. He submitted gracefully. And then she had released him, had slid down between his legs again.

"Come when you're ready to," she said.

Her mouth was on him again, hot and wet and soft and slick and so sweet, so sweet, her lips wrapped around him, her hands taking what her lips and tongue could not. Giles would not, could not, hold back any longer.

It rose in him, spreading and breaking outward, inevitable, huge. The image of her armed and shining again, this time on her knees before him, worshipping him-- he was bound and naked and penetrated and splayed out before her, but she knelt and took him in her mouth-- Giles cried out and thrust deep and came and gave her what he was, his life and service and blood and sweat and semen, everything in long pulsing waves.

Giles lay almost insensate, completely limp. He felt her slide the plug from his body, and moaned in protest. She shushed him, and he let his head loll back. When he could see again, think again, however weakly, she was sprawled over his chest, peering intently at his face. She reached up and wiped sweat from his forehead.

"Buffy... I... Lord. That was..."

Buffy grinned at him, one of the purest expressions of happiness he'd seen on her face in the entire time he'd known her. "You deserved it. My amazing Watcher."

She kissed him again and he opened his mouth eagerly. The taste of his own semen in her mouth was marvelous. He thrust his tongue deep, seeking more of it. It had been too long since he'd tasted any man but himself. Perhaps she would let him-- a thought for another day. Giles was beyond exhausted.

She released him and he fell backwards onto the pillows. He was dimly aware of her moving around his flat, of water running downstairs. He was on the edge of sleep when she returned. He blinked himself to wakefulness and watched her move around the bedroom. Blowing night's candles out, filling the room with the scent of smoke and hot wax. Unbuckling his collar. Undressing herself at last. She made him move and slide under the sheets, then slipped in next to him. Bare skin, Slayer-hot. He moved close to her and rested his head on her shoulder. She stroked his hair.

"May I do something for you?" he said.

"Nah. I'm good. This was all about you tonight. Making up for all the badness of the last two years."

"You have nothing to make up for."

"Oh yes, I do," she said.

"Nonsense. Be my Slayer. Be my magnificent warrior. That's all I want."

"Show me how."

"As you wish," he said, into her neck. He mumbled a kiss against her, and was asleep.

Continued in Ally.
Tags: fic:giles/buffy, fiction, series:blackmail, smut69

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded