CoF - Laure Alexander - The Existence

Summary: I finally am nearing the end. Sorry to make everyone wait nine months for another part. My version of Becoming. There was this big rock, see...

AUTHOR: Laure Alexander
EMAIL: lara@sunflower.com
RATING: NC-17, BDSM, Graphic Rape.
PAIRINGS: Xander/Angelus, Drusilla/Angelus
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.
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I've been courting death for a month now. Time for it to catch me. I'm rather looking forward to it. I'm really in hopes that there isn't anything on the other side. Blackness, emptiness, just being gone, really look good to me now.

From my place next to the stairs where I'm chained to the newel post, I watch a couple of minions wheel in a big rock and place it before the fireplace. Earlier Drusilla had been going on and on about visions of something coming.

A humongous demon, a couple of crazed harpies, a horde of killer weevils, sure, but not a big rock.

Or, maybe it's just that I haven't eaten anything in nearly four days and my mind is wandering.

As the minions depart for the bowels of the mansion, Spike wheels into the room. I wonder how long he's going to fake that he's injured. I saw him stand up and walk just ten days ago. He knows I know, but I guess he trusts that I won't tell anyone.

Since I usually have a ball gag or a cock in my mouth, it's kind of hard to talk anyway.

My master got tired of hearing me whimper and cry out when he beat and fucked me, so he started gagging me. It only comes off when he wants me to suck him off or when he tosses me food or lets me drink.

My cheeks and jaw are past numb into frozen pain. I don't know how many hours it's been on this time. I managed to sleep some and it's night again.

I think about removing the gag--my hands aren't chained, after all, just my ankle--but I still couldn't reach the bathroom and water. It would just earn me a vicious beating or something worse.

My master and Drusilla come in through the front door and I drop my eyes to the floor, tuning out their conversation. I really don't care to know what's going on. I'm sure Buffy and the rest of the Slayerettes will stop it.

I look up at my master and nod, trying not to look too eager. He crouches down and unsnaps the ball gag. I gasp and cough, my fingers massaging my jaw. It doesn't want to close, but I force it to. My master unchains me, then pulls me behind him up the stairs. I crawl as quickly as my shaky body will allow, but he still has to tug several times as I slow him down.

As soon as we enter his suite, I smell food. It's such a rarity in this place, that I can immediately scent it when I enter a room. My eyes light on a sack from Kentucky Fried Chicken. If I had any saliva, I'd drool.

My master drops the chain and lounges on the bed. "Go drink, eat. I don't want you dying on me just yet. When the world goes to Hell, I want you by my side."

I must have missed something, but the lure of food is too intense. I crawl quickly to the bathroom and pull myself to my feet. Filling a glass with water, I force myself to drink slowly. I know from experience that drinking too quickly will just knot my stomach.

After I drink three glasses, I drop back to my knees and return to the bedroom and the table where the bag sits. I sit Indian style and drag the bag onto my lap. Opening it I find three chicken legs, a biscuit and a carton of mashed potatoes. All cold, but I don't care. I eat carefully, not missing an ounce, using my fingers to scoop out the potatoes. I eat slowly as well, though my stomach tries to force my mouth to chew faster.

Hell, I can hardly chew at all. The pain eating causes my sore jaw is actually a good thing. It makes me eat slow enough to digest the food.

When I'm done, I lick my fingers clean, then glance hesitantly up at my master. He's reading a book, ignoring me, and I pull my knees up to my chin, waiting.

A couple of hours pass, I think, when my master beckons me to his bed. He seems in a jovial mood, but I watch him cautiously. I lay down on my stomach as he directs and watch as he removes his clothes and strokes himself.

Going up to my knees, I lean forward on my shoulder and reach behind my back to spread my ass cheeks. I can't help but wince at the constant soreness. I'm kind of glad for the sporadic food as shitting really hurts.

I feel him position himself behind me, then his cock rams into me. I bite deeply into my lower lip to keep from crying out. Even after a month of being fucked, entry still hurts.

He whistles as he fucks me, and I wonder again why he's so happy. As he comes, he lets out one final whistle, then a grunt of pleasure. He kicks me to the end of the bed and I curl up, hugging myself against the constant chill of his rooms.

I awaken from a doze to find my master standing over me, grinning evilly. "Time to send the world to Hell, Harris. See you there." He laughs, then spits on me, before strolling from the room.

Next time I wake up, it's to the sound of a woman crying and my master growling in fury. I curl into a tight ball at the end of the bed and hesitantly open my eyes.

The mattress bounces as Drusilla falls heavily onto her back. Her dress is ripped open, her breasts bared. There are angry bruises forming on the white mounds. She holds up her hands as if to stave off something and a masculine hand slams across her face.

"Why didn't it work, Dru? Why? It should have worked. Tell me, damn it. Tell me why it didn't work. Why didn't it work?" my master demands, punctuating each question and statement with another vicious blow.

"I don't know, daddy," she sobs through split lips. I watch in eery fascination as black blood trickles from the wounds. The sound of a belt being removed crackles through the air, and I hold my breath.

After a while, Drusilla stops crying, stops squirming. Her body jerks beneath the belt, but she falls limp, her eyes closed.

Finally, he drops the belt and reaches for her dress, tearing it all the way off.

I can't stop watching. It's like some sick version of theater, or driving past a train wreck. As my master rapes his unconscious childe, I watch helplessly. I try to be clinical--the only other time I've actually seen sex was about five minutes of a porno tape I watched with my cousin before my dad caught us.

Drusilla whimpers and I realize she's waking up. My master is pounding into her, smashing her down into the tangled bedding. Her white legs are sprawled wide on either side of his driving hips, and, as I watch, they stir, then creep up around his waist. Her hands go around his back.

She likes it. She likes the pain. It arouses her. She gets pleasure from him beating and raping her.

They fuck for hours and finally fall asleep, still joined together. I sleep as well, grateful that they both ignored me, grateful that I have a soft bed to lay upon, grateful that the ball gag was never replaced. When I awaken the next time, the room is empty.

My bladder makes demands and I slide off the bed to my knees--I never know when my master will appear as he never makes a sound when he walks, so I'm careful to crawl. After using the bathroom and washing up as best I can, I return to the bedroom. Carefully I pull aside the heavy curtains and glance out.

I awaken to a dry mouth and the shakes, and wonder why I was dreaming of sword fighting. Glancing around I note that I'm still alone, and the world seems to still be here.

Pillowing my head on my arms, I curl into a tighter ball, as shivers wrack my scrawny body from lying on the cold stone floor. I didn't dare return to the bed. My place is on the floor. I know that very well.

I hear the door open, but I don't look up. I just hope he brought me more food. The chicken and potatoes only took the edge off my hunger, and my stomach growls at the thought of sustenance.

A small gasp fills the room--feminine and full of pain. I know that voice. A dull empty feeling fills me and I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Not without you," Cordelia sobs softly, her hands closing on my shoulders, trying to turn me.

"I belong here." I pull away from her, pushing myself painfully back against the foot of the bed. My eyes open and all I see is her tear-streaked face. Footsteps sound in the hall and I panic. "Go away. He'll kill you." Frantically I shove at her, my eyes wild with fear. I know I won't be able to survive the sight of her raped and murdered. It'll be the final straw.

Cordelia doesn't move and her hands keep pushing mine aside, reaching for me. I'm crying now, so desperately wanting her to get away. There's movement behind her and I open my mouth to beg and plead and offer my own life...

And Buffy drops to her knees, exhaustion and pain on her pale face. "Let's get out of here," she whispers, her voice empty of emotion and barely audible.

"Noooo..." My eyes flash around the room and I start to shake in terror. "Go away, go away, go away. He'll kill you both, he'll kill you both." I mutter it over and over, a mantra of terror and horror.

"He's gone." I don't understand and I don't know what to do. When Buffy grabs my arm, I let her lift me to my feet, though my legs nearly give out as weakness merges with the ever present fear. "Get a blanket."

Cordelia grabs one from the bed and wraps it around me. All I know is that it's forbidden and I try to shrug it from my shoulders. I'm on my feet and that's forbidden too, but neither girl will let me drop back to my knees.

I have to stop them. I have to convince them to leave, but my mind isn't working and my tongue feels swollen and numb. Finally I slur, "No, I can't leave. Go away before he comes."

"He's not coming, Xander," Cordelia snaps in frustration, tears sparkling in her eyes.

I cower, confusing her with Drusilla for a moment, but then her words began to penetrate the fog in my mind. "What happened?" I manage to whisper.

"He said...he said he'd see me...in Hell. Is this...Hell?" Is he coming for me? My eyes dart around the room, expecting my master to appear and snap their necks and punish me.

Cordelia sobs softly and I feel one of her arms wrapping around my waist to support me. "No, this isn't Hell."

"He's gone?" It finally fully sinks in and something strange begins to fill me. An emotion that I don't recognize.

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Laure Alexander - lara@sunflower.com

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