Breaking

Home : Stories by Author : Stories by Laure Alexander : Breaking

Summary: Based on a challenge, this fic is from a female character's POV of her imprisonment and the beatings and rape she endures at the hands of a male character. I don't want to give the pairing away, and it's certainly not a sweet relationship fic.

AUTHOR: Laure Alexander
EMAIL: lara@sunflower.com
RATING: NC-17, graphic BDSM and hints at rape and sexual torture
PAIRINGS: ?
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of the characters on the show. Joss Whedon and the WB Network own them (for now). No copyright infringement intended, so please don't sue.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Suspension of belief/disbelief required.
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My own whimpers sound like explosions in my ears, but I can't contain them any longer. The pain I live with has finally become too much.

Every nerve in my body feels like it's on fire, and the scent of my blood is nauseating.

I lie frozen on the cold stone floor, afraid to move because any movement causes another lash of pain through me, and I'm afraid that any more pain will drive me out of my mind.

If I'm not already there.

How long I've been here, I don't know. I lost track of time very quickly. The room I'm in is windowless, and I keep slipping unconscious from the pain or to escape it, with no idea as to how long I remain in that dreamless state. I eat whenever I'm given food, but I'm always hungry, so I can't count the days that way.

I think it's been at least a week.

I hope it's only been a week.

As I lie there, I try to remember exactly what brought me to this place, but the pain and hunger make it so hard to concentrate. I do know who did this to me. I figured that out really quickly, even though I'd never seen him.

And it only took me about twenty minutes to realize that something horrible had happened to him.

Twenty minutes in which my virginity was raped from me as I screamed and fought beneath his large, powerful and very determined body.

As he laughed and held me down with such ease, and licked away my tears, and bit two holes in my neck that have never totally healed.

I don't know what else has happened. If anyone I love remains alive. If anyone is searching for me. For the first few days, or maybe weeks, I tried to get him to tell me, begging and pleading for him to just tell me what he'd done, why this had happened.

But, he just smirked and denied me any knowledge of my friends, my lover, and every time I begged, he just took me again, destroying another little bit of me.

There's hardly anything left of me now.

So, maybe it's been more than a week.

Yesterday--I think it was yesterday--I changed tacks and asked him what he wanted from me.

That he deigned to tell me.

In five days there's an alignment of stars and at midnight he needs me to perform a ritual that will open a portal from which he can pull a book of prophecies on the end times. The ritual has to be performed by a Wiccan.

I don't know why he chose me. Surely there are Wiccans in L.A. I just read that our religion has seen a jump in membership over the last ten years of over a thousand percent. We're everywhere now.

So, why me?

Another useless question.

And I know why me over my lover. I'm powerful enough to perform the ritual, but I can't tap into the magics she can. She could have stopped him, turned him inside out before he could lay one finger on her.

All I could do was struggle and cry.

And break.

He seemed pleased when I began to break, when I stopped fighting and pleading, and lay still for his touch, accepting the relative gentleness of his large hands cupping my breasts, as my back throbbed with pain from the most recent beating. As he shoved my knees apart, I turned my head, baring my neck for him, shivering at his chuckle of pleasure at my surrender.

I don't know why I stopped fighting. I wasn't really afraid that he'd kill me anytime soon. After all, he'd had dozens of opportunities.

But, the pain...I just couldn't handle it anymore. Every time I fought him, struggled against him, he just hurt me more, and I...

I wanted him to stop hurting me.

But...he didn't, not really.

His raping of me wasn't as painful when I no longer fought him, but he continued to beat me whenever he felt like it, to tie me up and cut my skin and stick things in my body and...

A shudder runs through me and the pain crests, forcing a moan from my bruised lips.

And the moan carries to sensitive ears and the door opens.

No...

I can feel him approaching on silent feet, crouching down in front of me, grinning that evil smile that makes me want to vomit, but I refuse to open my eyes, to acknowledge him. I can't take it anymore.

His hand falls heavily on my hip and I scream helplessly as old wounds are aggravated and fresh blood leaks from lash marks.

And he laughs.

My eyes open then. I'm unable to keep them closed. Regardless of whether or not I can take it, I have to see what's next.

He's dressed all in black, as usual, so handsome, so...evil. He smirks down at me, his eyes glinting with a hint of the demon that rules him.

In his hands is a slender wooden switch, and I watch as he bends it slightly, showing me its suppleness.

Oh goddess, no more...

"Let's try out my new toy, shall we?"

His voice turns my stomach, but I clench my muscles tightly, refusing to vomit up the precious food I ate a few hours ago. I have to keep up my strength however I can.

His hands lift me carelessly, and dizziness sweeps over me. I sway against him, nearly falling, and he guides me across the room. The manacles hanging on the wall, the blood stained concrete floor, the image of myself writhing in pain, fill my eyes and mind, and I whimper again.

"Now, now, sweetness. Just let me play and you'll get fed."

He's been playing that card since I broke the first time. If I don't fight him, if I submit to the beatings and torture, he gives me more food and water, even the occasional bath or blanket.

I don't think he really cares one way or another. He seemed to enjoy my struggles as much as he enjoys my acquiescence.

Maybe he's looking forward to what might happen next.

I fear that will be my mind finally shattering.

He pushes me against the wall, face first, and I breathe a soft sigh of relief. My back has been toughened by previous whippings, the scars thick on the once soft skin. My breasts and stomach remain tender, only marred by the occasional scar, and when he hits me there, the pain is ten times worse.

Slowly I raise my hands, biting my lower lip as the sore skin on my back stretches, the pain flowing over me like water.

It hasn't been very long since he used a bull whip on me, making me count the strokes until I passed out from the stinging, bloody cuts and the shocking pain. I think I reached nine.

I think he continued to beat me long after that.

His hands easily fit the manacles around my wrists, pinning them just above my head. I rest my forehead on the cold concrete, trying to prepare myself, as the pain continues to wash back and forth through me, sending fire through my veins, and making me want to break down in tears.

But, there will be plenty of time for tears.

The first blow comes fast. I'm not ready for it. The switch cracks loudly across my bottom, and I shriek, bouncing on the balls of my feet, agony searing through me. My numb fingers wrap around the chains and hold me up, as my body wants to collapse.

The next blow falls lower, at the tender spot where my thighs and bottom join, and forces the tears down my cheeks. That spot has healed. He knows it's one of the most tender places on my body, so he only hits me there occasionally, letting the skin heal, the nerve endings renew themselves.

And then he beats me there again.

He's going to concentrate on that spot, I just know it, and the pain is going to drive me insane.

"Spread your legs, my lovely."

Slowly I obey, my legs already shaking from exertion and pain. I feel the switch slip between them, but I'm not ready for the next blow as the supple wood smacks upwards against my tender, torn cleft.

I shriek again, unable to control myself. The pain is new and horrifying, and pleas babble from my lips as I sob against the wall.

The switch touches me again, lightly, running along my abused labia, the tip bumping against my clitoris.

And something else besides pain shudders through me.

As I whimper in growing humiliation, he continues to manipulate me with the instrument of my pain. He's never done this, never cared to give me one hint of pleasure.

And I don't like it. I don't want it. Silently I beg with him to hit me again, because the pain has to be better than unwanted pleasure.

But...he's never merciful.

I feel moisture slipping from me, and for once it's not blood. Heat floods my face and I squirm against the wall, my legs trembling even more, my eyes hot with unshed tears.

The switch twirls, the tip pressing unrelentingly against my swelling clitoris, and I can feel my orgasm approaching on a rush of wet heat.

I don't want this.

"Please," breaks from me, my voice hoarse from days and weeks of screaming.

I can feel him smiling behind me as he rubs the switch harder and my hips start to move, thrusting into the touch.

And suddenly it's there, the wild pleasure I've only felt at the hands and lips of my lovers, and the experienced touch of my own fingers. No man has ever made me climax.

But, then, he's not a man.

My body shakes in pleasure and release, and I sob in humiliation and confusion.

Why?

The switch creases my bottom again, then my shoulders. Blows rain down on me, up and down my back, and I shudder and twitch and brokenly sob, but all I can really feel is the pleasure he brought to my body.

And how sickened that makes me.

And then...blackness.

*****

More days pass, more days of torture and whippings and unwanted intimacy.

He's realized that I hate the pleasure even more than the pain, so every time he makes me climax. His fingers, his lips and tongue are skilled beyond belief, and can be so gentle. I try to deny the pleasure, but my body no longer belongs to me, and every time I surrender to his touch.

And then he takes a strap and beats me or takes a knife and cuts little patterns on my skin or takes a match and burns me.

I've grown used to the sickening combination of pain and pleasure.

He continues to rape me, and I don't think I'll ever enjoy intercourse, even with the aftershocks of orgasm rolling through me.

He doesn't seem to care.

He enjoys my obvious revulsion as much as my cries of pleasure when I come.

But, then, there's revulsion in that as well.

I'm beginning to despise myself, my weakness, my traitorous body, and I know that's the final breaking. Giving into the pleasure is the ultimate betrayal of myself.

I'd almost rather beg for the whip, for the pain.

That's also sickening.

But, I can't control my reactions any longer.

I'm broken, and I'm his.

*****

The door opens and the light is switched on, revealing me huddled in one corner, naked and scarred, my hair dirty and matted around my shoulders, blood oozing from the most recent bite marks on my neck.

Hesitantly I look up, wondering why he's returning so soon. I know it's the night of the ritual, but he'd mentioned that it was still hours away.

But, it's not him who enters the room, dressed in leather, a chain leash dangling from one slender hand, and a smile of complete evil on her face.

Understanding hits me, complete knowledge of the whys and wherefores, and I lurch to my knees, vomiting violently. As I heave up my dinner, I scream inside my mind.

I now know what happened to him, why he turned, why no one has found me.

They're all dead. No one is coming to rescue me.

She killed them just as readily as she caused his destruction.

One perfect moment of happiness between them has destroyed my world.

As she pulls me to my feet, making some comment about my needing a bath before they use me for the ritual, I stare helplessly down at her, icy tears flowing down my cheeks.

Her skin is pale and flawless, her lips a bow of ruby red, her hair a shiny gold, her eyes...oh goddess, her eyes are green swamps of evil.

"Buffy..."

She smirks. "You'll be our pet witch, Tara, my first childe. We're going to have such fun ruling this world."

I scream.

And she laughs.

And the final break destroys my mind...

The End