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Possession by icemink
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Chapter 4: Training

Spike fell asleep a lot easier than he thought he would have. Of course that was in part due to getting rid of the cock ring. Once he'd realized that he was stuck and alone for the night, he'd taken hold of his cock and quickly began to stroke it. The fantasy came quick and hard to his mind. Slayer blood hot in his mouth, and his new owner lying underneath him as he pounded her into the ground. He was going to make her pay for thinking she could own him.

When he was done, a satisfied languor over took him. All he wanted to do was lie back on the cot and get some sleep. He did one thing first however, he got down on the dirt floor, and scraped out a little hole under the cot to hide the cock ring in, hoping that he would never see it again. Then he lay down and let sleep overtake him.

Despite the fact that he fell asleep easily, the sleep wasn't that restful. His body was still sore, and since he hadn't been given any blood, his injuries weren't healing as fast as they should. On top of that, some instinct kept him from relaxing fully, so he was startled awake by the sound of the front door being opened and shut the next morning.

Immediately he got up, honing his senses on every sound in the house. There weren't any. The little chit had gone and left him. His first thought was to try and escape, but then he remembered the collar and bracelet. However she must have left it somewhere in the house, or she hadn't gone far, because there were no signs of the pain he had been told would ensue if the collar got too far from the bracelet.

If it was in the house somewhere, then he could take it with him and get away. The problem was the vault door in front of him. It didn't take much to realize that even with his vampiric strength he wasn't going to be able to budge that door.

Well, if he couldn't use that door, he'd just make his own. The walls of the house seemed to be made out of some sort of adobe or clay. He pulled back his fist and punched the wall.

"Bloody hell!" he roared, as his fist slammed uselessly into the wall.

His knuckles came back bruised and bloody, and he hadn't even chipped it. He didn't know if the walls were enchanted, or if it was simply some sort of demon clay that was harder than steel, but he obviously wasn't going to get out that way either.

Finally he sank back down on his cot, sucking at his wounded fist. There didn't seem to be anything more he could try and do to escape from this room. It was obvious that he was going to have to try and find a way to get away once he was released into the rest of the house.

With nothing to do, he had no idea how long it was before she came back, although to him it felt like an eternity.

He could hear her moving about in the main room. He was debating whether or not he should call attention to himself by banging on the door, when he heard the locks unlatch.

The Slayer opened the door, leaving it wide open for him to pass through. Trying not to appear as eager to get out as he was, Spike moved into the main room. On the small hot plate some unidentifiable gruel was cooking, and on the table was a very large jar full of blood and a cup.

"I don't know how much blood you need," the Slayer said. "So drink what you want and put the rest in the fridge." Then she went to check on the food on the hot plate.

Not needing to be told twice, Spike hurried over to the jar, pouring himself a cup of blood. He was surprised to find that the blood he was being offered by the Slayer was in fact human blood. That was about the only thing good that could be said of it. It was cold, not entirely fresh, and it had come from several different people, all just mixed together to make a less than pleasing combination. But it was blood and he knew he would need his strength if he was going to escape, so he ended up pouring himself three cups before securing the lid and returning it to the fridge.

Besides, it was better than the sludge the Slayer was eating, so he didn't think complaining was likely to get him anywhere. They were done eating almost at the same time. The Slayer wolfed down her food, as if she was expecting someone to steal the plate away from her at any moment. She scraped away the very last traces of the slop she'd been eating, and Spike almost expected her to lick the plate clean.

When she was done she took her plate upstairs. Spike could hear the sounds of running water, and a few minutes later she reappeared with a clean plate. Spike was once again left wondering what his place was in this strange house.

"Follow me," she told him.

She led him into the other room, which Spike had thought was empty. In fact it was only the center of the large room that was empty; the walls were lined with various weapons.

"Move to the center of the room," she told him as she pulled down a staff from the wall.

Warily he did as he was told, keeping an eye on her. His instincts were right, because suddenly she struck with the staff, and he barely dodged out of the way.

"Do you know what the Circle is?" she asked as she tried to strike him again.

Once again he managed to stay out of her way, not that it was terribly hard.

"Sure, gladiatorial games," he said, trying to split his attention between the conversation and the staff she seemed determined to hit him with as she circled the room.

"It's best if you don't think of it as a game, at least not if you want to live past your first battle," she told him.

And just like that she had planted the butt of the staff in his stomach. He stumbled back. It might not be possible to knock the wind out of him, since he didn't breathe, but that didn't mean he liked having his stomach crushed.

At that point the Slayer stopped toying with him, and began trying to strike him in earnest.

"The Circle is full of just about every type of demon," she continued to lecture him as if she wasn't hitting him with a stick. "And most of them have claws or armor or poison, so pretty much, you're screwed. You need to learn not to care about the pain," she said as he blocked a vicious swipe at his head with one of his arms. "And cause them as much pain as possible."

"It's true that killing your opponent will get you an automatic victory, but the truth is most demons have only one weak spot and they guard it well. Maim them, break their bones, disable them, and hey, if you can kill them go for it. But remember, pain is your friend. If you can make them hurt so bad they can't think, then you've won."

By this time Spike had several new bruises. It wasn't that her blows were necessarily always landing where she intended. He blocked most of the ones he couldn't dodge. The problem was he had nothing to block with but his arms and legs.

Then out of nowhere, she swiped his legs out from under him. Before he could get back on his feet, she was on top of him, pinning his shoulders to the ground with her knees.

That's when he became aware of it, the scent of the Slayer's arousal. If he wasn't bruised, battered, and pinned to the floor he might have been amused by it. The other day she'd had no reaction to him being tied up and naked, but fighting seemed to get her motor going.

"Any questions?" she asked, as she looked down at him.

"Yeah," he replied. "Are you really this daft?"

Before she could reply he bent his knees so he could kick his legs up and hook them around her neck. Without pausing he yanked back, pulling her off of him. They both scrambled to their feet.

He expected her to be pissed off. Truth be told, he expected her to use that bracelet of hers to zap him with a bolt of pain.

Instead she smiled.

Then next thing he knew she was flying at him with feet and fists. For a moment he was purely on the defensive, but at the first opportunity he took a swing at her and felt his fist connect with her nose.

As the smell of her blood hit the air he forgot that he was her slave. He was a vampire, she was a slayer that was all there was. He snarled as his face shifted and his fangs descended.

She was like no one he'd ever fought; she even left the other two slayers he'd killed in the dust. She was vicious and precise, and more than anything else, she was having the time of her life.

Before he knew what had happened, he found himself on his back again. This time with her foot against his throat.

"That was fun," she said. "But we have work to do, at least if you want to live though your first match."


Buffy's body hummed as the water from her shower washed away the sweat of her first day of training with her new slave.

All things considered, it had gone well. He was a solid fighter and she was pretty sure that he'd survive more than a couple matches in the Circle. The only problem was his confidence. Confidence was good–important–but she was worried he thought a little too highly of himself and would underestimate his opponents.

But as hard as she tried to analyze his fighting style and figure out a training schedule, she was distracted by thoughts of what it had felt like to fight him. She had felt really alive for the first time in a long while.

And that scared her. If all she enjoyed was fighting, what could she possibly do with herself now that she was no longer a slave? She had already learned that there was no place for her back in the real world.

Of course she could always go back into the Circle herself. There was no rule that said you had to be a slave to fight there, but even that was no longer in her reach. She had won too often, killed too many opponents. No one would fight her anymore. That was the only reason she'd been set free.

Tain could no longer make money by entering her into the Circle so she was no longer worth her upkeep. He might have just had her killed, but he realized that freeing her was a better incentive for his other slaves to fight harder.

She pushed all those worries aside as she relived each blow she had traded with her new slave. She closed her eyes, letting the water wash over. Unconsciously her hand moved down between her legs, to try and relieve the ache caused by thoughts of fighting him again.
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