Announcement

Collapse
No announcement yet.

Bad Dogs

Collapse
X
 
  • Filter
  • Time
  • Show
Clear All
new posts

  • Bad Dogs

    [Warning: NC-17 for graphic violence, really rude language and sexual...stuff. Really sexual stuff.]

    Bad Dogs

    Summary: Sadist. Masochist. Suicide case. Whatever you want to call him, the minute his life changed, it became harder to be all three. Jordan took him in when he was a vampire but now that he's human, he's finding it harder and harder to live in his own skin. (AU, Post-Not Fade Away)

    Ships: Spike/OC, Spike/Angel

    Chapter One: Introduction to Pain

    The collar bit into his neck, bruising the skin beneath it. The chain attached to the leather was pulled tighter and the air in his throat was choked out of him.

    “You’re a bad dog,” the man cooed in his ear, pressing the cold tips of a taser against his throat, just beneath the collar. “Do you know why you’re a bad dog?”

    “Of course,” the man replied softly through the oxygen deprivation.

    “Now, what do I do to bad dogs?” his master asked, toying with the taser’s trigger.

    “You punish us.”

    “Exactly.”

    There was a blinding flash and a loud pop. Then there was nothing.



    He felt someone close to him. There was body heat and an urgent shift to the air around his body. There was flapping fabric against his bare skin. “Pulse is steady,” someone said over his head. He flinched, bringing the attention of his rescuer to his waking. “Sir, can you tell me your name?”

    He tried to think through the haze. “No.” he replied.

    “Do you have any I.D.?” the person—a woman—asked without missing a beat.

    “No.”

    “Alright, we’re going to get you looked at and we’ll go from there,” the woman continued. Finally, he opened his eyes and saw a young woman wearing hospital scrubs and a lab coat. She held an IV bag over his head and attached it to somewhere outside his vision.

    “Sir?” she asked, leaning over him and placing a hand gently over his chest. “Sir, can you try to tell me your name?”

    “Um,” he wracked his brain. Nothing made sense. “I think—“

    “Tim, when we get him stable we need to get him upstairs. I’m thinking possible head trama,” she said to someone else in the room. He didn’t know what she was talking about.

    “Spike,” he finally said, catching the word running through his brain that seemed to pop up in all his thoughts. He blurted it out before he could think of what he was saying, but once he said it he knew it was right.

    “Okay, Spike,” the woman turned back toward him, again, not missing a beat. “You’re in the emergency room at Lincoln General, is there someone we can call?”

    He thought about that question and knew the answer right away, “Jordan Reyns.”

  • #2
    Chapter Two: Lessons in Behavior

    "I didn't mean to put you in here, Spike," Jordan said, hands in his pockets as he paced at the foot of his bed. "And, let's be frank, it was you who put yourself in here, really."

    "Of course," Spike replied, looking down at the bleached blanket covering him. Jordan didn't like it when his dogs looked at him. It was a sign of disobedience.

    "But, still, you are mine and that means that whatever happens to you I am responsible for," Jordan said, a hair's breath from chastising him outright.

    "Of course," Spike repeated, the statement quickly becoming one of his favorites.

    "And I swear to God, if you say that one more time I'm going to give you a black eye," Jordan said conversationally. He was always so specific. He was also a man of his word.

    "Yes, sir," Spike replied, flatly.

    "Now, because you went into cardiac arrest, you have to be here for another day," Jordan explained. "And I suppose this means I'm going to have to find a new way of punishing you, too. Prolonged and extensive exposure to such?drastic electrical shocks causes the heart to weaken. I guess you're too bad too often."

    There was a long pause. Spike didn't say anything, but he heard Jordan walk closer to him.

    "You're going to come up with that new punishment, Spike," he whispered, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. He smoothed the wrinkles out of the lapels in his sport coat and crossed his legs. "And do try to be creative, I get bored easily."

    "Yes, sir," Spike said, still starring at the same spot on the blankets as he had been for fifteen minutes.

    "Now, you rest," Jordan said, his mock sense of caring almost coming off as kind. "And I'll come back to get you tomorrow. There's work to do and your clients are already less than thrilled that their appointments have been pushed back."

    "Yes sir," Spike said again.

    "And when I come back, I expect you to have a nice list of possible replacements for my little taser."

    "Of course," Spike said without thinking.

    The blow was hard: a closed fist. It felt like a warm brick when it hit his face and it burned. His head smacked the headboard behind him and his eyes began to water. He didn't cry out.

    There was a long pause and only the heart monitor's steady beep could be heard.

    When the moment became almost unbearable, Jordan stood up, smoothed the wrinkles in his lapels and cleared his throat.

    "I love you," Jordan said, turning his back and walking out.

    Comment


    • #3
      Chapter Three: Reviewing The Old Tricks

      His time at the hospital was brief and Jordan was back before noon. He made good on his promise and sent Spike straight back to work, starting with the highest paying customer Jordan had on the books. The man's name was Paul and he shelled out more to see Spike once a week than most people would pay in a month. Paul was also the most intense sadist the institute had ever seen.

      "****. You." Paul said as he picked Spike up and tossed him across the room like a beach ball. Paul was about two feet taller than Spike and worked out as a profession. He was also a raging homosexual with anger issues on the subject. Spike's face slammed it into the bookcase against the farthest wall and it made a sickening thud. His vision spluttered slightly and he couldn't help but giggle.

      "You like that?" the man asked, crossing the room in two large strides. "Do you like it when I smash your ****ing face?"

      "Yes," Spike replied quickly, feeling blood trickle down his nose. He didn't wipe it away: blood made Paul hard.

      "I bet you do," he chuckled, picking Spike up off the floor by the back of his neck. Spike struggled to get his feet under him, but he figured it didn't matter; he was going to be on his stomach soon anyway. "I should rip off your god-damned balls you limey ****!"

      For a few more minutes there was pain. It came mostly from his face, but also from his groin. Men, in particular, found it gratifying to try and castrate what they purchase. ****ing a hooker until she was redder than clay was the normal man's pastime, but for sadists, it was different. Their color was red, but they liked theirs a deep shade of blood.

      "I'm afraid that's out of bounds," Spike replied kindly, his voice neutral despite the flashes of pain. Paul punched Spike in the stomach and flipped him onto the bed. In a few seconds his pants would be around his ankles and Paul would be getting what he paid for.

      "I can do whatever the **** I want with you," Paul hissed into his ear. "I bought you and if I ****ing break you, I can pay for that too."

      "Of course," Spike gulped, suddenly worried that Paul might actually make good on his promise. He slowly dipped a hand between his body and the covers, brushing his fingers against his swollen groin.

      "But I wont do that," Paul said, taking a deep breathe. "Because I like Jordan too much and believe me, he likes you."

      "He owns me."

      "He sure as hell does," Paul said over the sound of a zipper. "And I own your ass."

      "For tonight."

      "Every night."

      Paul's hand came down hard on his left ass cheek and then again on his right shoulder blade. There was the sound of a cellophane wrapper and then the long pause before the condom was applied. Paul let out a deep sigh before leaning forward and attempting to enter him. Spike grunted at the pressure.

      Paul stopped and Spike imagined him shaking his head. "I forget sometimes that you're not a vampire anymore," Paul chuckled, the pressure leaving his backside. "You take a little time to get ready."
      He hear Paul lick his finger and then lean forward again. The finger entered him and after a brief moment, another joined it. The pain grew with each addition, but it was nothing Spike couldn't take.

      He closed his eyes and tried to pretend that the man behind him wasn't Paul. He thought about Buffy for a moment, but his mind made an unconcious flip to someone else's face. He smiled despite himself. Paul pumped the fingers in and out of him.

      Spike never imagined he'd ever think of Angel again, but somehow the thought was comforting.

      The fingers left him and the heavy head of Paul's **** was back. This time when Paul pushed forward, there was no resistance. Angel's face smiled at Spike.

      "I'm going to turn your ass into clay," Paul breathed, his **** moving like a worm through dirt inside of him.

      Comment


      • #4
        Chapter Four: The Mid-Term Exam

        Chapter Four: The Mid-Term Exam

        "You know what I think your problem is, Spike?” Jordan asked, his feet propped up on the edge of his deep oak desk. Spike shook his head a little and tested the handcuffs around his wrists. Jordan sighed and took his feet from the desk. “I think you get off too much on pain.”

        “No sir,” Spike replied, flatly.

        “Oh, I think you do. I can’t punish you anymore because,” Jordan paused, standing up and walking over to Spike. In his hand was the taser. “I can’t use this any more on you. Number one, it sends you into fits and number two, because I think you like it.”

        “No, sir,” Spike replied forcefully, almost trying to convince himself.

        There was a long pause and Jordan weighed the taser in his hand. Finally, he pocketed it and crossed his arms over his chest.

        “When you came here a few years ago I took you in because you were the perfect product. You were sexy, seductive and very dead. But now,” Jordan said, looking Spike directly in the eye. “Now you’re just like any other bondage hooker on the street. Now people have to be careful with you. And on top of that, you don’t respond to my punishment. So tell me, Spike, what good are you to me?”

        “I –“

        “You aren’t,” he finished for Spike, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the handcuff keys. “So what I don’t understand is why you want to be here.”

        “You took me in,” Spike said, softly.

        “Because you were of use to me,” Jordan spat. “You were broken, yes, but not unusable. And then, magically you woke up one morning and your memory had returned…along with your heartbeat.”

        There was another long pause and Jordan dangled the keys in front of his face.

        “You are here because you need me,” he pointed out, a wolf’s grin growing on his face.

        “Yes.”

        “You need me because…?” Jordan smiled again and tossed the keys over his shoulder; out of play.

        “I have nowhere else to go. ” Spike replied, looking down at the industrial-grade carpet. Angel’s face ghosted across his mind. Suddenly, there was a pressure at his stomach and he looked down to see the taser pressed against it.

        “If I hit the button, your hands fry. Electricity doesn’t like metal,” he said, smiling wider. “So tell me why you are really here. Now.”

        Spike hesitated and the prongs of the taser dug deeper. He shuddered, wondering if the electricity would send him into cardiac arrest again.

        “Because I like it,” Spike replied with a sigh.

        “You like what?”

        “The pain.”

        There was a flash of blinding white light in his vision and then he watched as the carpet rushed up to meet him.
        Last edited by AlidaHushII; 06-11-08, 07:30 AM.

        Comment

        Working...
        X