“That was... different.”

    “Kinda the point.”

    Buffy looked down at Spike. “Now what?”

    Spike smiled. “Now who do you want to be?”

    Buffy held his arms down. “I think the question is, who do I want you to be.”

    “Whatever you need, Summers, you know that.”

    “I don’t want what I need,” Buffy almost snarled. “I want what I want.”

    Spike shrugged. “Then I’ll be that.”

***
    

    Queen Fi of the Poorly-Researched-Caliphate lay back on her luxurious bed of silk and gazed at her handsome eunuch. Because she was the sultan’s wife, she was not permitted access to complete men apart from her husband (whose name she couldn’t remember just now.) But because she was one of a harem of nearly a hundred wives, she hadn’t seen her husband much since the marriage, and she was getting just a little bit sick of going to bed alone. It seemed to be her lot in life – unsatisfactory relationships. This one... there was no question. He had no choice whatsoever but to do everything she wanted.

    “You,” she said to her eunuch. “Come here.”

    He was a slave, of course, this eunuch. He was not permitted clothing beyond a loincloth, because that was his uniform, so all could be certain he was not keeping any kind of weapon on his person. His chest was finely chiseled and his arms were firmly muscled and his legs – particularly his thighs – looked strong enough to lift houses. And he was all neatly bound up, and all hers. Every inch of him. She eyed him hungrily as he clinked his way over, his legs and arms in chains.

    “Why are you in chains?” she asked, her voice languid and sultry.

    “Because you put them on me, your majesty.”

    “And why did I do that?”

    “Because I tried to escape last week, your majesty.”

    “And why did you do that?”

    “Because I thought your husband was going to kill me, your majesty.”

    Oh. “And why was that?”

    “Because King Cardboard spends too much time getting his jollies from his questionable concubines,” the eunuch said, “instead of bowing at the feet of his magnificent sultana. And I went and told him as much.”

    Queen Fi sat up, her sumptuous jewels glittering around her nubile body. “You leave King Cardboard out of this.”

    “I intend to.”

    Queen Fi lay back again. “Come here, eunuch.”

    He looked up. “Excuse me?”

    “You heard me,” Fi said with a mischievous grin.

    “You said I was a slave.”

    “Ya-huh,” Buffy said. “And you’re neutered. Come here.”

    The eunuch glared at the ceiling for a long moment with an annoyed look on his face. “You’d better be bloody worth all this, your majesty,” he growled. “It was kinda hot getting these on, but–”

    “Rub me down, eunuch,” Queen Fi said. She reached for the side of the bed and pulled out the cut crystal vial of oil. “I want your hands all over me.”

    “Oh, is that what this is.”

    “Hey! Where’s my title, slave?”

    “Your majesty,” he said, sounding bored.

    “Yes,” Fi said. “That’s what this is. You’re going to rub me down, and give me what I want, and you’re not... capable... of taking anything for yourself.”

    The eunuch examined her. “Sick of selfish wankers, are you?”

    “None of your business. You just get to tend me, damn you, and shut up.”

    The slave’s eyes traveled down her form, dressed in golden chains and glittering rings, with a little scrap of a sheet – ah, toga – her only covering. “In a moment,” he said. His chains clinking, he pulled a brush from the bedside – ah... chest. The candles flickered, and he bowed his head meekly. “I shall tend you, your majesty. Allow me?”

    Queen Fi regarded the brush in his hand. Her hair was shorter than it used to be... it was still long enough to brush. It would probably feel good.... She sat up. “All right.”

    The eunuch climbed up beside her on the bed, and she turned her back on him, tossing her head so fast her hair hit him in the face. Her rich golden mane shimmered in the candlelight. Hampered by the fact that his chains only allowed him a foot or so of play between his hands, he reached up and ran the brush through her golden hair. Over and over again he passed it through her sweet tresses, until the hair was smooth and shiny as silk.

    “Oh, god. The scent of your hair,” he murmured in her ear, and was rewarded with a responsive shiver. “Your majesty,” he added slyly. “Drives me positively mad. I may have to be a very... disobedient slave.”     

    Queen Fi turned and slapped him. “You dare!”

    Her eunuch grabbed her and yanked her back against his chest. “I’m. Tending. You,” he growled. “Let me.”

    Queen Fi shuddered at his strength, but he didn’t do anything else. He released one shoulder, having abandoned the brush, and ran his fingers through her hair. His nails lightly massaged the scalp, and it made her gasp. Eventually she relaxed, and his other hand released her. “There,” he breathed. “I’m only your servant, your majesty. You know that. But a cat may look at a king.”

    “You’re not a cat,” she said.

    “We could pretend I am,” he purred. “But a servant can think what he likes about his mistress.”

    “I’m not your mistress.”

    “You know you are.” He chuckled. “Oh... my queen....” He kissed the side of her neck, just under her hairline. “Your hair is so luxurious, your majesty. Your body... like fine art.” He let his nose travel down around her ear, his breath tickle at her neck. “You’re worth so much more than that pissant fool of a king. He must have been blind to want any other creature to touch him.... Why couldn’t he see.”

    “I don’t want to talk about him,” Queen Fi said.

    “To bow at your slightest whim,” he whispered. “To be your willing slave for the merest crumb. Any man should be kneeling in gratitude for even that much. What more could he possibly have wanted, but the grace of your mere gaze?”

    “That’s enough.”

    “It would never be enough,” the eunuch said. He slipped his hands down the back of her neck, pressing with his fingers at her shoulder muscles, his chains resting on her back. “But it would be worth every second....” He pushed his body against her, and she made a small noise, but –

    “No,” she said slowly. “You get nothing.”

    He chuckled. “We’ll see about that,” the eunuch whispered. He finally took up the oil jar and poured some on his hands. He slid them down her neck and shoulders, sliding her toga down lower on her back. Her smooth skin became slippery beneath his hands, and her breathing quickened. With a clank of his chains he pushed her down roughly on her face. She almost sat back up with an indignant squawk, but his hands were on her then, holding her down, and then sliding up and down her back with smooth and even movements, working in the oil. She moaned instead, relaxing into the covers.

    He was strong. So much stronger than her stupid ex – sovereign. Her king, who claimed he loved her, and then... yes. Ran off with his skanky concubines, and said it was because she didn’t love him enough. It didn’t matter if she loved this slave. He had no rights, could not demand her perfect love. He was here for her, he belonged to her, and there was nothing she couldn’t do to him. He had no right to complain. No one to complain to. And he couldn’t run away. She was his queen, and he was just her prisoner.

    She didn’t have to be perfect.

    The strength of his powerful fingers manipulating her muscles made a warmth build inside her core. There he was, moving over her smooth skin, massaging her just at the edge between pain and pleasure, touching every single part of her back and shoulders. He slipped along her arm, massaging her bicep, working oil into her elbow, down her forearm, working out the sore tendons in her callused hands. (No. Soft hands. Queens don’t do dishes or flip burgers or wield stakes. Their hands are soft.) It felt good. Queen Fi moaned and melted into the bed. He climbed over her and massaged down her other arm. His chains clanked with every movement. Tink, clink. Tink, tink, clink. The touch of the chains brushing against her skin was cold and... and bad, he was so bad. She was worth more than some captured slave, she knew that. It was wrong to let him touch her. God, she didn’t want him to stop.

    He returned to her shoulders, her neck, and then traveled down her spine. He pushed against her toga, sliding it down and unwrapping it, revealing her bare buttocks. He slid his oiled fingers down over her glutes, digging in his fingers, working through the muscles, loosening all the knots. Her skin shone in the candlelight. “Look at you,” he whispered to her. “Glowing...” She knew how wrong this was. She never let him just... worship her like this. But – but he was her slave. She could make him massage her if she wanted.

    She wanted. She moaned as he slid his strong fingers between her legs, but he was only rubbing her thighs. First one, then the other, working out all the kinks and aches and sores that came from... ruling all day. He slid down one leg and rubbed all up and down her calf, adding a little more oil when his hands began to catch. She could feel his strong body against her leg, and found herself almost wishing he wasn’t really a eunuch.

    No. Better that way. He didn’t deserve pleasure. Even as he switched to her other leg and worked all the tension out of it, as if he cared – no. No, he was just a worthless eunuch....

    Who was sliding his strong hands along both legs again, and back up to her buttocks. Somehow managing to pull her legs apart as he did...

    With fresh oil on his hands he started sliding along her glutes, then slipped down along her ass. His finger slippery with oil he tickled at her anus. The little rosebud clenched, and twitched, and Buffy bit her lip. “Eunuch, am I?” he whispered. “I can still penetrate you, love.”

    “Oh....” Queen Fi felt her mouth open as her anus slowly relaxed. Without consciously deciding on it, she lifted her hips, bending her knees till she lay spread and angled up, as her eunuch gently worked in and out of her, caressing her inside, smooth and even, claiming her with his fingers. Her cunt slowly moistened until it seemed about to drip sweet juices onto the bed. “More,” she whispered.

    “What was that?” her eunuch murmured.

    “More.”

    “Say again?”

    “More!” she demanded, and he chuckled. He slid his fingers out of her turned her over manually.

    “Did you say you wanted more, your majesty?” he asked. “From me?”

    “Yes, damn you,” she snapped.

    Her eunuch smiled. He had such keen teeth... Queen Fi sat up and seized him, planting her lips against his in a fiery kiss. He tasted like sweet liquor with a hint of blood behind it. He nipped at her lips, and then pulled away, shoving her bodily onto the bed. “As you wish, your majesty,” he purred, and he dove between her legs.

    At the first touch of his tongue to her clit, Queen Fi cried out to the ceiling, no doubt alerting the whole harem to her seduction of this poor enslaved eunuch. He licked her, lapping at the swollen nub, laving it with his whole tongue. She moaned and spread her legs wide, pressing herself against him, as hungry for his touch as he seemed hungry for her.

    He brought her close... close... and then moved, lowering his tongue to lap at her core, sliding it inside her and licking, circling, seeming to devour her, then back up to her clit, over and over again. She lost count of how many times, her heart racing wildly. She cursed him, her hands laced through his hair, striving against him. Finally he had mercy upon her and sucked at her, drawing her tender bud into his mouth, and then grinding his tongue against her. Her hips bucked in desperation as she forced the sensation deeper and deeper. He slipped his thumb into her cunt, and his still oiled fingers back into her anus. Heat built between her legs, slowly glowing pleasure, and she tilted her head back, waiting for it... waiting.... There! She came, her inner muscles clenching around his hand, screaming until the chamber echoed.

    No doubt her husband would hear of this and kill the damn eunuch. Served him right.

    Queen Fi lay back panting, only to feel her almost naked eunuch climbing over her, his strong, hard body arching against hers as she lay, beaded with sweat, heart racing with spent lust. He kissed her, barely touching her hot lips with his cool ones. “Not capable, am I?” he whispered into her mouth. “Clipped, bound, impotent.” He kissed her over and over, as if tasting her, each tiny touch not quite enough. “You sure about that?”

    “Yes,” she whispered.

    “Can’t fight... can’t bite... can’t take my pleasure...” He kissed her further, holding her arms down. Touch, touch, touch, and his whole body pressed down along her, the weight of it heavy and sweet above. “You sure?”

    “Yes.”

    “That’s how you want it?” he asked. “Some... tripped up little housebroken puppy?” He expanded his kisses, each of them still tiny touches, but they traveled over her face, along her cheeks, caressing her cheekbones, her eyelids, her brow, down along her jawline, her chin, back to her lips. Her skin tingled and her breathing came hard. “You sure?”

    “Yes.”

    He kissed down to her throat, and started nibbling on it, sharp, wicked little teeth like rats biting at her, while his soft smooth lips made her skin hum with life. She made small, whimpering, humming noises, quite unable to control herself. The feel of his strength above her made her writhe, still hungry for more. Her legs spread, she lifted her hips to rub against his... loincloth. She wanted more. She needed more. His body felt cool and she welcomed it, reaching for it.

    He shifted, and suddenly the chain was against her throat. A little too tight to be entirely comfortable, but not dangerous. “You think I can’t hurt you?” he asked, his tone dark. “Incapable, am I?”

    Buffy was breathing hard, but, “Ya-huh,” she insisted

    “Neutered, am I?”

    “Yeah.”

    He ground his hips against her, no doubt saturating his loincloth with her juices. “You feel that, princess? You want it, don’t you. All of it. The strength and the power and the things you’d never admit to. You want me, princess, all of me. Admit it.”

    “Queen,” Fi insisted. “I am your queen.”

    The eunuch chuckled. “That you are,” he murmured. He lifted the chain from off her throat and slipped it over her head, so that he was holding her, bound to her, chained to her. “Your majesty. My queen. My keeper. My only, my goddess. I am your slave. Your willing servant, your lackey, your thrall. I want to bow before you and lay my kill at your feet.” It was a little violent for a cowed and coward slave, but, oh, what the hell, he came from warrior stock in the North. That made sense. “But you don’t want a puppy. You want the bad dog at your heel, and you know it, don’t you. You want me as potent and dangerous and deadly as your... royal guard.” He kissed her, biting her with strong, brutal little teeth. “Your eunuch’s got a secret, my queen.” He ground it against her. “And you know you want it.”

    Oh, fuck, god damn him for being right. “How did that happen?” Queen Fi asked, straining up against him. “No men allowed in a harem. So you tell me – why aren’t you neutered.”

    “Well, I’ve been keeping it just for you, my queen,” he whispered. “Had myself smuggled in here, to be your personal body slave. Wrapped up in a carpet like Ali Baba.”

    “Ali Baba?”

    “One of the Arabian Nights anyway,” the eunuch said. “Someone was carried in wrapped in a carpet. I can’t really remember which story just now.”

    “I thought you knew literature.”

    “That was someone else, love.”

    “Right. And you’re just my eunuch.”

    Her eunuch growled, and ground himself against her. “I thought we just established that that was not the case.”

    “Maybe not,” Queen Fi murmured.

    “Say it!” he growled. “Say I’m complete, say I’m a whole man, dammit!”

    “You...” Queen Fi wanted to say he was nothing, but she couldn’t. It simply wasn’t true, no matter how much she wished it. “You’re everything,” she breathed.

    “Damn straight, sister.”

    “But you’re mine,” she heard herself begging. “Right?”

    His face softened. “Oh, yeah, baby. I’m all yours.”

    “All mine?” Queen Fi asked. She desperately wanted to hear him say it, suddenly. “All of you?”

    Her slave kissed her tenderly. “Every drop of blood in my body is yours,” he whispered. “Every breath that passes my lips I take for you. Every move I make is in honor of you. Every glance is full of love for you. You are my goddess, my queen, my heart, my everything.” He kissed her again. “I give my all to you. Your devoted slave.”

    “Unh!” Queen Fi was drowning in his ice blue eyes, lost in his voice, burning beneath his touch. She wanted him inside her. She reached for his loincloth and unwrapped it, running her hands over his ass as it was revealed. Her slave yanked her upright as he shifted, revealing a full length and soft balls which did not, in any way, mark him as a eunuch. His chains were taut across her back, and she couldn’t escape unless he let her, now that she thought about it. He was chained, but she was bound within his arms...

    It didn’t matter. He had slid down, and his cock found her, and oh, but he was hard. He filled her, and he yanked her hard against him, bucking and grinding into her. “That’s it, my pet,” he was whispering. “Come for me again. Come, my queen. I’m all yours. Completely yours.”

    If she came, it was hard to tell, specifically. Her whole body was afire, her heart sending blood through her so powerfully she felt she was about to burn within the circle of his arms. She cried out, and he roared his own release, and he reached down and bit her throat hard enough to bruise. But whatever happened to her, she was left feeling warm and sated and tingling all over, barely able to move.

    He did not release her flesh for a long time, holding it with his blunt teeth as if he were contemplating biting a chunk off. After a while Queen Fi felt it necessary to shift her neck – the pain was starting to numb, and that could be dangerous. The slave – not a eunuch at all – sighed and released his jaws. He gazed down at her with a soft look in his eyes. She blinked, flushed, lips red, eyes shadowed with pleasure, golden and glowing and soft beneath him. “There, my queen,” he whispered softly. “I trust... that was what you wanted.”