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Dead Soul
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Angst/horror
Pairings: Spike/Drusilla, Spike/Sunday, Drusilla/Sunday, Spike/Drusilla/Sunday
Warnings: BDSM, non-consensual sex, violence, bloodplay, language, f/f slash,
inappropriate humor - all the good stuff
Disclaimers: Story and chapter titles are titles of Blondie songs. (I thought
about being careful with song dates and such but, like Spike, I got bored. Any
anachronisms are either intentional or so the hell what.) The usual disclaimers
for both characters and song titles. The only things I own are the things I
steal from dorm rooms. No, that sweater doesn't make you look fat. It just makes
you look purple
Distribution: Want? Take, have. But please let me know where
Feedback: Keeps the bloodlust in check, mailto:deadsoul820@aol.com
or drop me a comment on my LiveJournal, Dead Soul
Summary: Spike, Drusilla and Sunday in New York City, 1977. Ever wonder where Sunday (BtVS, Season 4, "The Freshman") came from? Why her fashion sense seems familiar, not to mention her attitude? She tells her story.
Searing hot drops fell across the tops of my breasts until they were covered in a black crust of solid cooled black wax. Spike paused his torment for a moment to pick the crust off, ragged fingernails painted black some time ago, but with most of the polish flaked off scratching my irritated skin, leaving long red streaks along the hot pink flesh. Reaching above my head he tightened the chains, pulling me up on my toes, arching my back and making me thrust my breasts out. He tilted the candle again.
My scream rang out in the cement basement room, bouncing off the walls, seeming to grow in volume and timbre as the first drop of hot, hot wax fell on my right nipple from only an inch above it. He quickly hit the other one with a drop and I screamed again. Dru was standing right next to him and she reached out, picking the wax off my nipples with her frighteningly sharp nails, baring them for repeated assaults. The fire in my nipples spread throughout my body and I could feel, to my shock and horror, my sex swelling, moistening as my nipples stood up to take even more torture, swelling to reach the pain, hardening to intensify the sensation.
"Spike, my love," Drusilla crooned, "It likes it."
He leaned closer to me. With his free hand he felt my crotch, bringing his fingers up to smell my arousal. "Not another bloody one," he muttered, shaking his head. "Let's see just how deep it goes, then." He passed the flame of the candle itself across my nipples. I jerked and writhed but the feelings of arousal just intensified and grew.
He drew the flame, flickering, down my stomach towards my center. The acrid scent of burning hair filled the room. I couldn't see past my red, engorged tits, but I felt the heat burning close to my throbbing clit as it poked its way from under its hood. With two fingers, he opened my slit, driving the burning candle deep inside me. I was so wet the fire was extinguished immediately and I groaned, churning my hips as he drove the candle in and out of me, his thumb reaching out to flick my clit with each stroke.
First Dru and then Spike morphed into their vampire faces. Dru plunged her fangs into the red, inflamed skin across the top of one of my breasts while Spike bit the other one right on the nipple. I screamed again, but not from the pain. Well, not only from the pain, which I welcomed. As they drank, Spike continued to plunge the candle into me, working my hot clit.
I came, shuddering and groaning. Spike withdrew both the candle and his teeth, kissing the tip of my bloody nipple tenderly. He drew Drusilla off me, turning her to face him as, both still wearing their true faces; they kissed each other gently and delicately, licking my blood from each other's lips.
As their faces returned to their human guises, their kisses deepened and they sank to the floor in front of me, Spike drawing up Dru's skirts, revealing her long slender legs and smooth white mound. She made quicker work of getting his jeans open than I had the night before. His thick white cock stood up proudly as he rolled onto his back. She straddled him and sank down onto it, her eyes closing and mouth opening as she rode him, strange keening noises issuing from her as she drew her sharp nails first down her own chest and then down his. He gasped again, like he had the night before when I'd attacked him with my own long nails.
Ignoring me, they fucked long into the night. The last image I had of them before I fell into exhausted sleep hanging from my chains was Spike's face buried between Drusilla's long white thighs while she reached down and clawed bloody gashes across his back and shoulders.
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