No Vacancy by Kindred

ReviewsRating: NC-17

Summary: Alternative S3 'Anne'. After sending Angel to hell, Buffy disappears into anonymity in a dusty Californian town until a little piece of Sunnydale finds her...

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Chapters 7-9

Spike's eyelid's fell thickly to half-mast. "Anybody ever taste that juicy slayer pussy, love?" he whispered with icy seduction and dropped to his knees. Contrary to his hardened tone he slid his fingers softly into her waistband and eased her plain white panties smoothly down her legs and off her feet. Spike pushed her right foot up onto the arm of the side chair and angled her knee outward. "Oh, very nice, kitty," he hummed into her mound in appreciation. His tone abruptly changed to pure sass. "Try not to like it," he challenged as he glared up at her.

The look on her face told him she'd not experienced this before. In Spike's estimation Angel was certifiable not to have sucked on this delicacy. That made no sense to Spike at all. Angel did her, did the dirt, lost his soul for it and never went down on her.

Spike could smell her arousal hasten at the anticipation of a tongue down there; specifically, a tongue that knew its way around the neighborhood. This flooded her with desire. His nose practically entered her lubricated passage as he inhaled her. Her abdominal muscles jumped at the sensation.

"Ouph!" escaped her lips as her hands moved convulsively to her pubis.

"Here, love," he directed softly as he paused to kiss her hands and place them on his head. "Put them here, I'm gonna take you someplace wonderful." He returned his attention back to her flesh. "Beautiful," a low voice Buffy would never have recognized as Spike's filled her ears. He inhaled the delirious scents once more. He knew she had finished her cycle mere days before and he cursed his timing.

"You smell like gumdrops."

He floated in her essence. As gently as he covered her mouth his lips touched her vulva. Again she reacted in a mindless convulsion. A high pitched breathless yelp rocketed out of her throat. He stilled himself, steadied her and looked into her questioning eyes again.

"Just let it happen, love," he soothed with another tender kiss. A soft kiss transformed into long luxurious licks up and down her cleft. He sopped up her flowing lubrication like a sponge. "Pussy candy," his voice hushed with delight. Buffy's gasping wordless exclamations hardened him severely. Her hands left his head and gripped the top of the chair with murderous intent.

He felt an unexpected pleasure and pride in initiating her in this activity. He would be thorough. She would not forget his tongue any time soon. She tried to brace herself but teetered as his tongue entered her passage. He curled it internally and drew out streams of fluid. She could hear him slurping it up with relish.

Pausing briefly he looked up into her quivering face and smirked. "You like it, don't you?" She opened her jaw but no words came out. Words hadn't yet been invented for this.

With no warning he growled sensuously into her tissues and she climaxed. Buffy had experienced orgasms before. The bad one she hurt Angel with was not her first. She knew how to pleasure herself but hadn't done so in a long time, not since before she left Sunnydale.

Now she was stunned not to experience the slow rise of sensation to an inevitable burst. Her climax slammed into her at full force, seemingly from nowhere. Her hands found his head again and held him in place. She never wanted him to move from that spot again.

An unfamiliar voice filled her ears with a shriek of pleasure. It was her voice. She was transforming in the dusty yellow light of her small room. She was being reshaped for pleasures yet to come.

Spike grinned at his success and claimed her clit. I'll make you howl, Slayer...make you sputter...make you forget the earth is round...

Her knees buckled under her as she hurdled into a second orgasm. Two fingers entered her aggressively and pumped with fevered urgency. Her juices flowed freely over his hand. The crescendo of sensation stunned her, it screamed in her ears. Another orgasm thundered through her body.

"No," she struggled. "I can't, I can't..." Her voice twisted with pain and then stopped. Her knees wobbled, she was crumbling, losing her balance. Spike grabbed her and pulled her forward down onto the carpet.

"Yes you can. Come on Slayer, be bold, show me want you need." That brief encouragement was met with a pained gasp from Buffy. Spike lay back and lifted her over his face. She spread her legs widely and arched herself into his mouth. No prodding was necessary to initiate the desired movement. It just happened. The Slayer fucked the face of this vampire as naturally as she once shopped for shoes, with fevered abandon.

A relentless tongue lassoed her clit. She flowed through hard peaks and valleys of unrivaled sensation. Her weight fell forward over his head and onto her palms and then her elbows as her hips ground her ferocious need into his mouth. Unusual spiraling cries vibrated through her lower jaw as she crested again and again.

Lost in this language she spoke in tongues she had never known.

Spike moved suddenly with swiftness that she had only glimpsed in battle. Ignoring his own need to take her right there on the carpet and pound into her for several hours he chose another selection. The need to show Buffy her own desires became paramount. He slipped out from under her and turned to pick her up. She was brought to standing facing the dresser.

"Climb up." His voice drifted inside her head. She felt her knees press against the smooth surface of the wooden dressed as she mounted it. A forceful knee knocked her deodorant, lipstick and a magazine off the dresser and onto the floor.

"Spread your legs." His voice was as soft as his tongued caresses had been. Gentle fingers slipped down her inner thighs urging her wider as her breath skittered from her lips.

Angel had been so attentive, so fixed on her pleasure and yet that first growling orgasm from Spike was the most devastating physical truth Buffy had ever experienced. Now she wanted Spike to take her to places she'd never been, places Angel had been too gentlemanly to dare visit.

Buffy wanted to know it all.

Chapter 8

"Oh, Slayer." Spike caressed up and down her sopping cleft. "You're soaking again, that's bloody wonderful, that is." He sucked his fingers loudly to demonstrate his pleasure. His tone was clipped by a lustful fervor that she'd heard many times but now it was tempered by something else. She couldn't place it. It was something wide-eyed and surprising, like a kid on Christmas morning. It was that delightful fullness of receiving, of being granted a bountiful treasure.

"Spike--" She turned her head to one side trying to see him through her mussed hair. Her arousal burned into his nostrils. She felt electrified and numbed simultaneously just balancing there, splayed on an ugly motel dresser, waiting and wanting to be taken, to be transformed. By Spike. The clanging of her heart was deafening; its beat bruised Spike's throat.

Into the land of the living, indeed.

"I'm here, pretty girl, I'm right here." The buzz of his zipper filled her ears as Spike opened his jeans fully and shoved them down his thighs. Buffy looked into the mirror and was stunned by the shocking reflection of her wanton position.

"Hands up, Slayer." His voice choked with lust as he led her hands up over the mirror and onto the wall. His arms curved around her body and his fingers traced down over the fullness of her lace covered breasts. Yeah, he'd get to that eventually, but right now she looked so nice just the way she was, all raunchy and bursting at the seams, ready to spill out all over him. He burrowed himself into the nape of her neck and tunneled into her hair with his nose. She felt the tip of his cock teasing her opening and turned again to try to see him.

"You want it, pet?" his low husky voice seized her mind. His eyes were closed as he began a relaxed interrogation. He couldn't resist playing with her. Buffy nodded dumbly.

"Fucking right you want it," he gritted out, barely able to control his own lust. "Do you have any idea how wet you are? How irresistible you smell? What you're doing to me this very second?"


"Let me do the same to you, pet. Tell me what you like," she hadn't expected him to say that, let alone his next sentence. "You even know what you like, love?" He rubbed himself slowly over her weeping aperture. She was scorching him already.

"Uhhhh," Buffy's sigh revealed a pained naivetT.

"Let's find out, yeah? See if you like it good...and hard," he ground his fingers into her hips at that statement and then relaxed them. "Do you want to find out?" His voice was so tender and calm. Her hips began to vibrate in response.

"Y-yeah." Her nodding whisper floated on a cloud.

"I bet you'll like a bit of the rough, all messy and hungry. You're probably starving for it, eh?" The softness of his voice was torturous.


"Are you a hungry kitty?" His free hand twisted loosely in her hair, grabbing and releasing fistfuls. She could feel his loose sneer as if he had cut it into her skin. "Ready to order, love?"

"H-huh?" Overwhelmed by the prospect before her, this thing she suddenly wanted more than her next breath, Buffy could hardly decipher his running comments.

"Problems with translation, love? You do get the picture here, don't you?" His hand suddenly gripped her hair firmly, holding her cheek immobile against his mouth. Buffy's mind swirled. She had no experience with this type of torture and that's what it was, torture. He released her hair and softly kissed her cheek. "Maybe we need to clarify a few things first. Tell me love, why exactly are you so delightfully poised on this dreadful wooden box?" His eyes gazed in appreciation down over her glistening curves.

"'re gonna..." her dry mouth struggled to form the words. Why was he even talking? One day she would enjoy slamming a stake through his chest. But today? Today she wanted him to shut up and push himself inside her body as deep and dark as the deep blue sea.

Today she wanted to disappear inside him.

"Yes, love? There's something I'm supposed to do?" His cock was drenched with her moisture as he swept it continually over her weeping folds. She wanted to slap his face really hard but she didn't want to move for fear he would stop doing what he was doing between her legs.

"You're... gonna..." her voice dwindled to near microscopic levels, "f-fuck me."

"Think you got the wrong word there, love." He pressed his chest tightly to her back, causing her to arch mindlessly into him in response.

What the hell was he doing to her? He had no business being there, inside her head. Telling her those things, making her want-- She could feel herself dripping onto the hardness nestled between her legs. Even she smelled it now, the unmistakable heady musk of her deepest need. It was a truth she could not stop. Jesus.

"We, Slayer. We are gonna fuck. You and me, lamb." He felt her jerk subtly in his embrace. This was going to be so sweet.

"Shall we go then, pet? See where the night takes us?" He goaded her carefully and threaded his fingers delicately through her hair.

"Yes." Her soft affirmation thickened on her tongue. It was a low animal sound from the deepest reaches of her being. It was Spike's kitty waking from her slumber. He could taste the lust percolating in her throat. She wanted it was badly as he did.

"Right. Look at yourself then, Slayer. Watch yourself come." Buffy looked into the mirror and saw almost a child's look of expectation and uncertainty on her face. Spike pressed forward solidly into her slick channel. She was lubricated enough for him to enter, but it was an impossibly tight fit. He failed to achieve the bruising pace his lust demanded but he pushed onward.

Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and gulped a shuddered breath in reply to his urgent presence within her small body. Spike had size and feral urgency in his corner. It hurt. She thought she knew what to expect, but this was nothing like it had been with Angel. Her brow darkened as she accepted the pain. She did not react at all. This was what she deserved, nothing less. After all, the damned deserve their torment.

And she was one of the damned now.

Chapter 9

The dresser surface cleared as items rolled off the edges with each successive thrust. The mirror perspective was quite odd. She saw her body inexplicably thrusting forward and her hips being invisibly pinched. Spike glanced at her reflection wanting to see the evidence of what he was feeling, unrivaled pleasure. What he saw was a twisted mask of pain on her beautiful features. He was hurting her.

"Fuck..." Spike clenched his jaw and stopped his hips. It suddenly dawned on him that she was not much more than the chaste virgin of Angel's obsession. The look of discomfort on her face troubled him beyond measure.

"Easy, pet," he whispered directly into her ear, "it's gonna be so good. You'll see, just let me..." He lifted her slightly and angled himself to ease their joining. His voice gentled as well. The smug edge of his interrogation left his tone entirely.

He meant those words and the realization floored him. Spike truly wanted this to be pleasurable for her. He had no interest in hurting or humiliating her sexually. His fingertips whispered a cascade of sensation down her spine.

"Arch your back, Slayer." Buffy did so and something shifted internally. "Is it better yet? There...yeah...can you feel it? Right there." Turning his mouth to her cheek he spoke gently. "You feel it?" Buffy gasped a faint reply and nodded. The pain was gone and replaced by something tingling and fluid and spreading beyond the boundaries of her mind. It was a graceful wordless communication.

Then she felt him inside her moving with her and moving through her. Their bodies merged and eased in symbiotic concert. Instinctively she knew how to move with him. It was an energetic cohesion, robust and raw but not brutal.

Angel was stillness and slow progressions and deep soulful kisses, but her jaw never vibrated like this. She could well condemn herself with her approaching orgasm. It stalked her like a tornado on the horizon. This was Spike inside her mind and body and she didn't feel punished at all. He leaned forward again and met her turned cheek. She looked at him from the corner or her eye. His hands roamed wantonly over her flesh.

"That's it, pet...oh yeah...much better...shoulda been more careful with a kitten like like it now? Like how that feels?" Spike put his palms to the sides of her face and gently turned her to face the mirror. "Look at yourself, love...look at what you want...what you need...what you are...beautiful...beautiful..." It was the oddest thing. Buffy could see Spike peripherally but he was nowhere to be found in the mirror.

His voice filled her mind with a truth she could not evade. "...Feel me, Slayer...fuck, you feel so...ahhh that's right, move with me...I know...I know,'s me how you like it...yeah...oh yeah...I could get stuck in you..." Spike continued to babble in a stream of consciousness commentary. He was not exactly aware of everything that fell from his mouth

Buffy tried to concentrate on her own hazel irises. She spoke silently to herself. No cries of passion or pleasure escaped her lips. A few plaintive gasps leaked out but she had said quite enough and Spike was doing enough talking for the both of them.

She bit her bottom lip until she feared drawing blood to stop her from saying anything further. She didn't want any words said during this surreal experience to come back and own her. The unimaginable feelings of ecstasy were devastating enough without betraying the truth aloud.

Spike was facing his own unexpected truths. What was it that Drusilla shamed him with? That he was covered by the Slayer? Consumed by her? His eyes traveled down over their heaving and dipping bodies. He was floating in her, covered with her.

No amount of fantasy imaginings could have prepared him for this. This was a sensation greater even than draining the life's blood from a slayer. This wasn't about death or mayhem or darkness anymore. This was truly sinful, and this bliss was theirs. It belonged to Spike and his slayer and it wasn't going to be ending any time soon.

Spike's left hand eased up her sweat slicked back and unhooked her bra. She moved her arms so Spike could pull it free from her body. Buffy's palms returned to the wall. She obeyed his instructions. She wanted to be led; she wanted to go where Spike would lead her. Long fingers slipped around her body and cupped her breasts, finding her painfully erect nipples.

"Give me some lube," he whispered and put a hand to her mouth. She sucked three fingers inside and slathered them with her tongue. Spike worked his fingers in and out of her mouth, entranced by the feel of her suction; then he removed them and traced his wet fingers back to her nipples working each one into a frenzy. She clamped muscularly around his shaft in response. Spike buckled and leaned heavily into her while he struggled for balance.

"Ahhhh...OHHH...sweet that again," he moaned, "strangle my cock." Buffy clamped down on him. "GaaaHHH...that...ohhh...yeahhhh..." he groaned and began to ejaculate. Unable to maintain control any further, Spike morphed in his sexual delirium and bit deeply into her shoulder. It was a non lethal strike, the purest expression of a swiftly mutating desire.

The contents of Spike's mind dissipated as if spewed by a centrifuge. All thoughts of killing her were summarily abandoned leaving something else entirely in their midst. Something small and feral and dangerous.

Something that had no name.

"Spike!" Buffy cried out in pain and lust and an undulating orgasm that snaked through her body. Her arms fell across her chest and held onto his arms. Buffy's eyes snapped to her side and she saw his demon face sucking and licking at her shoulder. His hips churned into her center as he spurted repeatedly. A slackened mouth left her shoulder and nuzzled deeply into her neck.

"Stay with it...fuck...come on...stay with me..." he begged with his hips and a growling voice of unrestrained need.

Then he was swept by a wave of purpose. Spike pulled her upright against his chest. He lifted her from the dresser and walked to the bed. His left arm supported her torso while his palm encircled her throat in a display of animal possession.

That sensation beat through Buffy's pelvis like a bass drum. She made no attempt to remove his hand. She drank deep the forbidden pleasure of submission to her sworn enemy, this demon inside her, the one to whom she surrendered her body and her blood.

This unexpected submission raced unimpeded through Spike. It was a stunning development. He did not stop to analyze or acknowledge anything beyond purely sensory stimulation. Something primal was occurring. Beyond speech, beyond reason, it was a solidness beneath bedrock, spiraling toward magma. To the core.

Buffy had no words for the sensation coursing through her. She didn't even know her own desire until she felt him take her blood. She wanted to be taken, that was a blood beat scouring her soul. She wanted to be taken by Spike.

Pure instinct took control. These were the dynamics of marking a mate, of taking possession. Any thoughts of fucking the Slayer just for bragging rights fled. This was no longer a game or strategy or a perversion of combat. It was a pure animal calling beyond the boundaries of his conscious mind. He wanted her now. He wanted to crush her and rebuild her; he wanted to brand her and claim her.

He wanted to name her.

"Slayer," his demon snarl rumbled sensuously from deep inside his chest. His fingers found her clit and worked her to another shattering orgasm. An incoherent cry spasmed through her throat as she jerked and shook through a wave of climaxes in his embrace. Scrambling for a handhold, her sweaty palms merely slipped off his skin. He tightened his hold on her in response. A vibrating snarl accompanied her soaring sensations.

She arched and curled around his vocalization as the thickened tones sank into her being. She'd never heard a snarl like that. It was sounded for one purpose, to accentuate and perpetuate her pleasure. Lost in his larynx she floated far from shore.

A dim memory of duty and righteousness floated abandoned in her internal atmosphere. Weeks earlier one of local cheerleaders handed Buffy a brochure on abstinence at the diner with her tip. She actually read the contents.

She could not rationally reconcile her feelings, but she left rational a few stops back. This new feeling slammed into her like a freight train. It was illicit and wicked and she wanted it. It was shiny and pulsating and fun.

Damnation had never felt so right as now, with Spike as her personal tour guide.


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