69Written by Glassdarkly
Rating: NC17, with some BDSM, non-con oral sex
Setting: As previous parts
Angelus generously gives Spike a blow-job for the first time
"There’s a good boy, open wide for daddy."
It’s not like he’s got any choice, Spike thinks, as the bloody great monolith that Angelus calls a dick pushes its way past the root of his tongue and inexorably down his throat. The metal dental retractors that have been fitted into his mouth – complete with neat leather straps that fasten tightly at the back of his head so he can’t push the contraption out with his tongue – hold his mouth open in a constant gape of jaw-aching surprise, his lips swollen and bruised from where the thing rests against them, pushing them apart. He probably looks like a fish on a hook, just as Angelus says; though the bastard always qualifies it by saying that he’s a very pretty fish.
He pulls restlessly on the chains that bind his arms to the bed head, wanting this over, hating the sound of his own convulsive gagging and choking as the huge, solid thing forces its way in further. He feels like he’s drowning in his own saliva, that he can’t swallow fast enough, or like that bloke in ‘Alien’, held trapped while a thick, monstrous slurry pours down his throat. Panic rises at the thought, and he pushes it back firmly, telling himself to just get on with it and get it finished.
He begins, with difficulty, to lick the underside of the huge column, while his throat muscles flutter round the head of it, which is now lodged so far down his gullet he thinks he’s begun to digest it. His world is confined to this enormous object filling his mouth like a too-large piece of meat, and to the looming shape of his sire’s body, poised over him, thrusting, hands palming his shaven head, then running covetously over the metal ratchets that adjust the stretch of the retractors to either side of his jaw, which he can just see out of the corners of his eyes.
"So pretty, so pretty," Angelus is saying. "Such a good, obedient little boy. He deserves a reward."
So saying, he turns his body carefully, his dick almost slipping out of Spike’s mouth, but then jamming back in hard, banging against his swollen lower lip and hurting the sides of his throat, as it forces its way back down. He bends over, giving Spike a view of his muscular arse which is a little too close for comfort, all the time continuing to thrust lazily, taking his own sweet time. But now his head – which Spike can just see if he looks down the length of his own naked body – is bobbing up and down, something small and shrivelled and pale appearing and disappearing between his lips.
"You total bastard!" Spike thinks, and he speeds up the actions of his aching throat muscles and tongue, and is finally rewarded by a slimy gush down his throat and a hairy groin pressed hard into his face as Angelus groans and relaxes onto him.
Angelus sits up, allowing Spike’s limp cock to slip from between his lips.
This is the first time it’s ever been there.
"No feeling below the belt yet, Spikey?" he says, sympathetically, squeezing the flaccid member in none-too-gentle fingers. And Spike. Feels. Nothing.
Angelus slides his own cock carefully out of Spike’s mouth, then bends down to lick the corners of his sore lips, searching for traces of his own cum. He sticks his tongue into the hollow cave of mouth, running it up the metal struts of the retractors, which hold it open, like jammed hinges.
Spike’s jaw aches like the devil.
"Pretty, pretty boy," Angelus says. "Pretty, pretty mouth. And always open, just for me."
Then he presses a quick kiss to Spike’s forehead before swinging his legs off the bed and dressing, whistling all the while.
"Same time tomorrow, pretty boy," he says, kindly, and leaves, taking the light with him. Next