“What’s the bloody emergency, Watcher?” Spike leaned on the table where Giles sat, as usual, surrounded by books and papers, “I had plans. And where’s the rest of the merry little band?”
“I wanted to talk to you first, Spike, you’re the most, well, experienced, for lack of a better word, and the least likely to go off half-cocked. And I need…I want…” Giles voice trailed off as he rubbed his temples. “Well, perhaps you’d best read this for yourself.”
Spike picked up the sheaf of papers the tired Watcher pushed towards him. It was a report from a “source” of the Watchers’ Council who had attended several recent gatherings hosted by an up-and-coming left-hand-path sorcerer. The guests, a mixture of vampires, humans, and the occasional demon, were described in good detail as was the sorcerer himself.
“So?” the blond looked at Giles in puzzlement, “I’ll admit this is a unpleasant lot—wouldn’t want to take them on without reason—but they’re not our problem.”
“Do you recognize anyone?”
Spike shrugged, “A few vamps from the old days. I’ve heard some of the others mentioned from time to time. No one I’ve ever been particularly close with. Why?”
“No one else?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Bloody hell! What is this, Twenty Questions?” Spike erupted, “I’ve told you I know some of the guests, and I haven’t met the host. The only others mentioned are the pets and party favors and most of them were probably dead by morning, so you can’t mean them. Can you?”
“Spike—”
Seeing the look on Giles’ face, Spike paused. Surely, the git didn’t really mean that… He quickly read the report again, this time concentrating on descriptions of those he had originally dismissed. There it was. A slender redhead who, according to the source, radiated magic. She was naked and collared, a leash running from that collar to the host’s hand.
“You think this chit’s Willow.” Spike’s voice was harsh, challenging Giles to disagree.
“Do you?”
“Could be,” the vampire shrugged, “Red disappeared back in May, wasn’t it?
“Yes. She had only been at Oxford for a few weeks. The last anyone saw of her she was on her way to the continent for the weekend. The police traced her to Calais where she boarded a train for Paris. There’s been no sign of her since. Now, I wish she’d never gone,” the Watcher sighed, “but it seemed like such an ideal opportunity. She was to spend Trinity term at Somerville College studying Celtic folklore with Dr. Mallory—she works with the council, you know—and gaining some magical discipline outside the rather disruptive atmosphere here on the Hellmouth.”
“Yeah, well it’s too late for regrets, mate, and we’ve been doing what we could to find her. Now we need to find out if this,” Spike pointed to the report in his hand, “is Willow. I know a bloke who may have an in with this crowd, or may know someone who does. Let me make a few calls and I’ll see what I can turn up.”
“All right, Spike. I’ll talk to the council member who sent me this report and see what he can find out.”
“No, don’t.” The vampire spoke sharply. “I’d rather see if we could do this ourselves. After all, the council helped arrange Willow’s trip to England, didn’t they.”
“Spike,” Giles looked shocked and upset, “you can’t think they’re involved in her disappearance!”
“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it, mate? And if this turns out to be a good lead, I’d rather not tip our hand if we can help it.
Giles sighed. Spike was right. Even aside from the question of renegades, the council had its own agenda, and he didn’t want to take any chances in case this redhead was their little witch.
“Alright. You can use the phone in the office if you like.”
A couple of hours later, Spike emerged from Giles’ office and dropped onto the sofa next to him. “Well, it took some talking, especially since I didn’t want to let on why we were interested in the girl, but one of my contacts does photography for some of that set, and he says he can wrangle an invitation to the sorcerer’s next party, a big bash at Samhain. He’ll shoot a bunch of film, particularly of the sorcerer’s pet and anyone else who fits Red’s description. We should have pictures in hand by Guy Fawkes Day.”
“So, Giles, what’s up?” Buffy slid into her chair, joining Xander, Anya and Spike. “I got the idea it was important.”
“Yes …well,” the Watcher nervously cleaned his glasses. “I don’t quite know how to start.”
“Spit it out, mate, it won’t get easier for waiting.” Spike cast him a sympathetic look that both confused and worried the others. Sympathy wasn’t something they expected from the blond vampire.
“You’re right, of course, Spike. It’s just…” Giles voice trailed off; then he drew a deep breath, visibly steeling himself for the task. “We think we’ve found Willow.”
Stunned silence, then Xander spoke for all of them. “Where? How? And what do you mean you think you’ve found her?”
“Is she…all right?” Buffy’s voice trembled.
It was Spike who answered her. “If it is Red, she’s far from all right—though she’s alive, which is what I think you really meant, pet.” He took a folder from the pile in front of Giles, who willingly surrendered it. He seemed just as happy to let Spike tell the rest.
“The Watchers’ Council sent Ripper some reports of a new bad-ass sorcerer on the continent. Goes by the name of Allyn Judson. Wanted to know if we’d heard anything here. A girl fitting Red’s description was among Judson’s …um … household. Ripper talked to me and I made a few calls; got someone to get some pix at one of the bugger’s parties.” Spike pushed the folder over to Xander, “You’ve known Red the longest, Chubs, is it her?”
As the rest looked on, Xander opened the file to find a pile of 8x10s; some in color, others, mercifully, in black and white. He looked at the first image, gasped and reached immediately for Anya’s hand. From the anguish on his face it seemed to the others that he was sure of the girl’s identity after the first few, but he doggedly continued through the pile, perhaps unable to stop himself, as he looked at picture after picture. Those images would haunt his dreams for weeks. “It’s her. Oh dear God, it’s Willow.”
Xander’s face was gray and he was shaking, so Buffy gently took the photos from him as Anya drew him into her arms. The Slayer looked at the pictures, and realized why Xander was so devastated, and why Spike and Giles had wanted his confirmation of the girl’s identity. At first glance, the redhead bore a strong resemblance to Willow Rosenberg, but no more than that. She was painfully thin and her body bore scars that Buffy knew she had never seen on her friend. Despite this, the woman in the photos—for she was clearly no longer a girl—was aware of her sexuality and her body in a way that Willow had never been before. The most significant change, however, was in her face. All traces of innocence were gone and her eyes held intimate knowledge of pain and despair. Buffy realized that between the changes in her appearance and the setting of the photos, she would never have been certain that this was the young witch had Xander not confirmed it.
In the first picture, Buffy saw her best friend, the friend she had been afraid she would never see again, kneeling at the feet of a darkly handsome man in his early thirties. The redhead was naked, save for a collar, from which a leash ran to the man’s wrist, making her status all too clear.
That was the easiest of the images to bear. Some showed the witch being whipped. Buffy could see faded bruises mingled with fresher, livid marks which made it plain that this was a regular occurrence. Others were more graphically sexual—including a number of pictures of Willow pleasuring guests—male, female, human, vampire and demon. The worst, though, were those that showed Willow’s face as she was being taken by the sorcerer in the middle of the party, for where Buffy expected to see pain and hate there was, instead, pleasure and a tinge of happiness.
Shocked, Buffy studied the witch’s expression in the other pictures. She could see hatred in some of them. Willow clearly disliked being the plaything of many of her captor’s guests. But other photos showed contentment and even some happiness, particularly those with her in Judson’s embrace.
As she looked up, Buffy met Spike’s gaze and realized she needed to talk to her Watcher and the vampire more privately if she was to understand what had happened. Xander didn’t need to cope with anything more just now, certainly not with the idea of his childhood friend finding pleasure as the toy of a dark sorcerer. “Anya,” the Slayer said softly, “Take Xander home. I’ll talk to Giles and Spike and let you know when we have a plan for getting Willow back.” Putting her arms around Xander, the blonde kissed his forehead, and whispered to him, “I promise we’ll bring her home.”
Once the door had closed behind the couple, Buffy turned to her mentor and, pointing to a picture of Willow in the sorcerer’s arms, said, “I don’t understand.”
“Obviously he has kidnapped Willow and is keeping her as a slave, Buffy. I can’t speak to his purpose.” Giles answered, deliberately misunderstanding his protégé.
“Giles! You know that’s not what I meant.” Buffy fumed. “How…why… Why does she look happy?” The Slayer pled silently for them to tell her she was wrong, that she had misinterpreted the redhead’s expression. “She can’t have gone with him willingly!”
“Buffy,” Spike’s gentle tone and his use of her name were so unusual that the Slayer knew instantly that she wouldn’t want to hear this. “There’s no reason to think Red chose this. She’s been in that bastard Judson’s hands for 6 months. That’s enough time to break anyone, luv.”
“No!” tears began to glisten in Buffy’s eyes, “She’s strong; she wouldn’t give in!”
Spike interrupted, “Hunger, lack of sleep, humiliation and pain, mixed with just enough kindness to make her want to please him; it wouldn’t matter how strong she was, pet. The right treatment will break anyone—make them eager to do anything to please the master. Believe me. Keeping a slave has never been a big thing for me, but I have had some experience with training ‘em. Assuming Judson knew what he was doing, Red was begging to please him after a couple of months at most.”
“You bastard,” Buffy snarled, almost lunging across the table at Spike. “How dare you say that about Willow.”
“Spike is right, Buffy,” the Watcher’s tired voice broke in. “It’s not just a matter of holding out against pain. She could have done that, for a while at least, been obedient but nothing more. It’s holding out against kindness and pleasure as well. That’s so much harder, and I’m sure Judson blended pleasure and pain skillfully. Nevertheless, that’s not the issue at the moment. We can worry about Willow’s mental health when we get her home. First, we have to get her out of there.”
With those words, the council of war began in earnest and continued until the early hours of the morning. They broke only when Buffy and Giles were falling asleep in their chairs, and agreed that they would meet at Buffy’s house the next night with Anya and Xander.
Willow knelt beside Judson’s chair at the dining table and ate the meager meal that had been set before her. It consisted of nothing more than bits and pieces from his plate, but she was grateful for it. Over the last 6 weeks she had learned not to disdain any scrap of food, even the bites she ate from the mage’s hand. Warren had warned her that first day that she would have to earn her food by pleasing her captor, but the lesson had been hard for the independent young woman to learn. She had gone hungry for 4 days in a row the first week and had considered allowing herself to starve rather than give in to Judson. At least her death would be a way out of the situation, and would keep him from using her or tempting her into dark magics. But that option, too, had been denied her. On the 5th day, Warren, Jared and another guard came to her cell and force-fed her. Two of them held her while Warren poured a rather tasteless fluid into her mouth, then held her nose until she was forced to swallow. Before leaving, Warren cuffed her hands behind her back, and explained that Judson would not allow her to starve. Her choice was only to strive to please him and thus earn food, or to be fed like this. The next day, she had tried harder than ever to obey and do as she was told, and had been pathetically grateful to be given normal food and drink.
The beginning of her captivity had been painful in other ways as well. She had spent the first few weeks doing menial chores—scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets and the like, from dawn to dusk. These tasks were exhausting and mind numbing and she was often hit or beaten for not doing them “right.” One afternoon, when told to scrub an obviously clean floor for the third time, she had wept bitterly, begging Warren to tell her what she was doing wrong. He had explained that the cleanliness of the floor was entirely beside the point. She was being taught obedience, her place in the household, the futility of resistance and her name. All these lessons, the new name in particular, were reinforced by physical discipline, which left her in constant pain. Whenever she forgot and responded to “Willow,” she was whipped and forced to repeat, “my name is Kitty” with every stroke.
The punishments continued even after the drudgework stopped, and Judson began training her for more intimate duties. Disobeying or refusing an order brought a whipping, and even hesitating earned her a swift spanking, as did any number of other minor infractions. In some ways, the spankings were worse for Willow than the more severe punishments. The whip produced only pain; a spanking added humiliation and shame to the pain. Willow was terribly embarrassed by being scolded and spanked as though she were a little girl again. What’s more, Judson believed that discipline was most effective when applied immediately; so the witch had found herself being turned over his knee and spanked regardless of whomever else might be present, which made the shame and embarrassment far worse.
After a while, the discipline began to be mingled with kindness, praise and little pleasures—a book to read, a walk in the garden, a cup of coffee, or even a piece of candy. She was given these things sparingly, and only when Judson was pleased with her, but they made a real difference in her life. Sometimes a kind word or a treat was all that kept her from sliding into deep, unremitting depression.
Once she’d thought about it, Willow had realized that she was being trained, like a puppy or a toddler. Good behavior was rewarded and bad behavior was punished. He was using the same techniques that she had learned to use with lab rats in Psych 101. That had been a humbling enough realization, but even worse was the knowledge that it was working—and working well. She hurried to obey lest she be spanked, and strove hard to make the sorcerer happy in hope of a reward. Books were one of the most effective of those rewards. Willow had discovered that she would willingly do almost anything if there were a chance she could have a book to take back to her little cell in the evening. The books occupied the idle hours, and let her escape, however briefly, from her life of slavery and the ever-present fear that she would never be free.
The bedroom held its own set of rewards and punishments—tools that Judson was skilled at using. He had waited for a couple of weeks before taking her to his bed. By then she had learned that resistance simply brought her pain without changing anything, and that every hurt she inflicted on Judson or anyone else was returned to her ten-fold. So she hadn’t fought him; she knew he would have her one way or another, and she had no desire to be beaten first. She hadn’t expected to feel any pleasure in the act, though, and she had been very wrong. The sorcerer had taken great care to awaken her desire before taking his pleasure of her. He had held her gently, using his fingers, lips and tongue to arouse her. He had nibbled and sucked at her breasts as his hands stroked her hips and ass, searching out the most sensitive spots. By the time he had finally entered her, “Kitty” had become a willing participant in her own ravishment, and had already climaxed once from his fingers sliding steadily in and out of her moist channel while his thumb rubbed her throbbing clit. Once inside her, the mage had brought the redhead to the peak of passion again and again while he fucked her, culminating in an incredibly intense mutual orgasm, his cock thrust deep in her cunny as he filled her with his seed. Then, as she lay sated in his arms, he had begun her instruction in giving him pleasure.
He had expected her to use those lessons from then on, and her own release was held hostage to his satisfaction with her efforts. If she gave him sufficient pleasure, she was allowed to come. If he was not satisfied with her performance, however, she paid for it by being brought to a fever pitch of arousal, but denied orgasm. Nor was this the extent of the discipline Judson imposed on her in bed.
The night he had taken her anally for the first time, she had been punished in a fashion she would never forget. Willow had been a virgin there, and despite knowing how futile it was she had begun to fight the dark mage once it became clear that he was planning to enter her back passage with more than a finger. Being taken like that had appalled her so much that she had lost all restraint—her anger and frustration coming to the fore. She had resisted both verbally and physically, going so far as to hit Judson several times. It hadn’t mattered; he had simply tied her down to the bed and used a belt on her until she was sobbing and apologizing for her behavior. Then he had sodomized her anyway—not roughly, as she expected, but in a manner designed to arouse the witch as much as possible. When at last he came in her ass, she was hanging desperately on the edge of release, begging almost incoherently for him to make her come. He didn’t. Instead, he bound her with her hands secured well away from her breasts and cunny and her legs spread. A crotch rope provided just enough stimulation to keep her on the edge, but never enough to push her over, no matter how she tried to wriggle and squirm. When he had untied her, hours later, Willow had knelt at his feet and abjectly begged to be allowed to pleasure him in any way he wanted. She never wanted to be tormented like that again.
She hated what was happening to her and the way she reacted to it. In particular, she despised the way she responded to Judson’s touch. She hadn’t wanted him, hadn’t had any choice about becoming his lover, if that term even applied. Her body, however, had responded to him anyway, which appalled her. At first, she had kept trying to fight the arousal, kept reminding herself that it was rape, no matter how pleasant it seemed, but over time she had given in to the pleasure. Now, she had begun to crave his touch, to look forward to nights in his bed, and she couldn’t help but wonder what that said about what she was becoming.
In fact, the only point of her training on which she had steadfastly refused to yield was calling the mage Master and admitting that she was his slave. So far, Judson seemed to be willing to let this slide, but Willow knew it was only a matter of time before he would insist. Moreover, she was sure that when that day came, the confrontation would end with a collar on her throat and the word Master on her lips. She had caught herself thinking of him as her Master several times in the last week, and she was all too well aware that she was a slave in all of the ways that mattered except for her own acceptance of that status.
As she pondered how much longer she could hold out, the redhead was startled from her reverie by Judson pushing his chair back and rising. She started to get up to follow him, as usual, but he stopped her.
“No, Kitty,” he said quickly, “Stay where you are. Jared will come for you when he’s finished eating. I’ve given you to him for the night.”
The mage had already turned and left, so he never saw the look of shock on her face. She was stunned. In the month and a half since her kidnapping, no one but Judson had done more than touch her, though Jared and others had certainly done enough of that. The idea that the mage would simply give her to someone else, even temporarily, had never crossed her mind. “I should have realized he wouldn’t be the only one I’d have to bed,” she thought, her eyes filling with tears.
When Jared came to fetch her, Willow numbly followed him to his room. She was unsure of what to expect, but was afraid it would involve little or no pleasure for her. Since stripping her in Judson’s office, the young bodyguard had taken every available opportunity to touch her, fondling her breasts or ass, even sliding his hand between her legs from time to time. These caresses were always rough, never gentle, and she was sure that sex with him would be the same.
Once they reached his room, Jared shoved the redhead inside and closed the door behind them.
“On your knees, slave,” he snapped.
Wincing at his tone and choice of words, Willow knelt. “I have to obey him,” she thought. “I don’t want to be punished.” She kept her eyes lowered and watched as the bodyguard crossed the room and settled in a comfortable chair.
“Come here,” he ordered. Then, as she started to rise, he added sternly, “Crawl. You are not to get up from your knees unless I tell you to. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” She crossed the room on hands and knees, and knelt again, this time at Jared’s feet.
“Now then, put that little mouth to good use.”
Obediently, the witch unfastened the young man’s belt, and lowered the zipper on his jeans, freeing his already rigid cock. He was reasonably well endowed, she noticed, with a generous girth and average length. She stroked him gently for a few moments, and then took the head of his cock in her mouth. As she began to lick and suck, Jared tangled his fingers in her hair pulling her closer and thrusting his full length into her mouth. Willow gagged slightly as the head of his cock hit the back of her throat, but she controlled the reflex and continued to suck the swollen shaft. Her tongue swirled around and over the glans as she slid her lips up and down. Jared’s moans assured Willow that she was pleasing him.
As the tempo of the witch’s licking and sucking increased, the bodyguard tightened his grip on her head and began to thrust himself more deeply into her mouth. Soon, as she caressed Jared’s balls and cock, she felt the tightening she knew signaled an impending climax and pulled back, keeping the head of the young man’s cock firmly in her mouth, and stroking him with her hand. With a cry he erupted, filling her mouth with his cum. Willow quickly swallowed the slightly bitter fluid, milking the last drops from him as she had been taught.
“Did that make you hot, little slave,” Jared asked when his breathing returned to normal, “Are you wet and ready for me?” Humiliated, both by his question and by the moisture beginning to pool between her legs Willow nodded and looked down. “Then get your pretty little ass into my bed.”
She crawled across the room and climbed onto the bed, then watched as Jared stripped off his clothes and joined her. Pushing her legs apart, he thrust two fingers roughly into her slit and smiled; clearly satisfied by the moisture that was lubricating her tight channel. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy fucking you, Kitty, pumping my cock in your tight cunt, and making you scream.” He placed his cock at her entrance and with a single thrust buried himself in her. “One thing you should know, slut. I like it rough. I like hearing cries of pain as well as pleasure.”
Willow cried out as the bodyguard began to fuck her hard and fast. His thickness stretched her pussy, mingling pain with the pleasure that was building inside her. There was, as she had anticipated, no gentleness in his touch, and no effort to stimulate and arouse her, but the erotic tension was building in her anyway. She wrapped her arms around her ravisher and met each thrust, rubbing her clit against his pelvis. All too soon, however, she felt his cock swelling inside her and she ground her hips against him as he as he thrust one final time, sending his cum deep into her. The spasms as he exploded in orgasm and the abrasion of his pubic hair against her clit were just enough to grant her the release she so desperately sought.
Over the next few hours, Jared took the witch twice more, plundering her mouth and cunt, and leaving her breasts swollen and bruised from his hands and mouth. As she lay recovering from their last bout of fucking, Willow began to drift to sleep, only to be awakened by a slap.
“I’m not finished with you yet, slave. Get up on your hands and knees.” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” she answered softly and quickly complied with his wishes. As she knelt in front of him, her head resting on a pillow and her ass in the air, she heard him retrieve something from the bedside table. Then his fingers slid quickly into her dripping cunt and he spread the fluids he found there over the pink rosette of her ass. Instinctively, she pulled away as a lubricant coated finger invaded her bottom, but Jared gripped her tightly with his other hand and continued to frig her ass, inserting first one, then two, then three of his fingers into her, preparing her for his thick cock.
Willow relaxed under his surprisingly gentle ministrations, and her anal sphincter began to stretch and give under his hands. Even this, however, was not enough. She moaned in pain as the bodyguard began to push the head of his cock slowly into her. She was no longer a virgin there, but the mage’s cock was much thinner, so the invasion of this thick rod caused wave after wave of pain. She began to adjust to his size once the head was firmly lodged in her bottom, and she hoped that his slow entry meant he would be gentler than he had been earlier. Then, the sadistic young guard thrust hard and buried himself to the hilt in her tight passage, and she screamed.
In excruciating pain, she jerked forward, pulling herself out of Jared’s hands and off his cock. When he grabbed for her hips, she squirmed out of his grasp, flinging herself off the bed and striking out at him. She made it to the door, and a few steps down the hall before she realized she had nowhere to flee and collapsed, sobbing from pain and frustration, on the floor. In a moment, Jared grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back, cursing her with every step. Once in his room, he locked the door and flung the witch back onto the bed.
“Bitch,” he snarled, picked up a belt and brought it down across the redhead’s backside. “Get on your stomach. You’ll be punished and then I intend to finish what I started.”
Within 10 minutes, Willow was again on her hands and knees, crying as Jared fucked her ass brutally. He had administered a thorough beating, and had promised that her behavior would be reported to Judson in the morning, and now he plunged in and out of her nether passage, giving her no shred of pleasure. The lubricant he had applied anew made little difference to the burning inside her, and the young guard ignored her cries of pain, telling her she had forfeited what little pleasure he had planned to give her by fighting him. At last, his hands tightened on her bruised hips and he flooded her bowels with his cum, which eased her pain a little. Still sobbing, Willow apologized for her behavior, curled up on the floor with the blanket Jared gave her and cried herself to sleep.
The next morning, she knelt in front of Judson as he sat in the library of his suite. Jared had dragged her there after breakfast and was reporting her misbehavior of the night before.
“Thank you Jared,” the mage said when the young man finished his description of the previous night. “Return to your duties, and I will deal with this matter.”
As the bodyguard left, the sorcerer looked down at the witch, his eyes black with anger. “Is this true, Kitty?” he asked sharply.
“Yes, sir, he was hurting me and I fought him. I know I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry.” She looked up at the sorcerer briefly. “Jared has already punished me for my behavior, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“No, it won’t.” She shivered at the anger in Judson’s voice. “This will be the last time you flout my authority,” the mage declared as he grabbed the witch by her hair and pulled her to her feet. Without another word, he dragged her from the room, through the bedroom, down the stairs and into the “playroom, ” where he quickly fastened her to the St. Andrews Cross.
“Do you remember this?” The sorcerer showed the crying redhead a narrow leather strap. “Do you remember the last lesson I taught you with it?”
“Yes, sir. You used it on me the first time you beat me.” Her voice shook with fear. “The time I bit you. I haven’t done that again, sir.”
“Then perhaps you will remember this lesson as well. By fighting Jared, you were fighting me. If I give you to someone you are to obey them as you would obey me, no matter whether they are kind or cruel.” As he spoke, he brought the strap down hard across Willow’s already bruised bottom, and she screamed. Again and again, the lash fell across her back and buttocks leaving trails of fire in its wake. Tears ran down the witch’s cheeks, and her cries were choked by sobs. The strap had been agony the first time she had been beaten, but it was far worse now. Not only was Judson putting more force behind each blow, but the blows were also landing on a body still sore from the first punishment for her foolish resistance. As she felt her skin being cut by the lash, she begged for mercy.
“Please forgive me, please, sir. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. No more, sir, please! I’ll do anything, anything,” she sobbed, begging over and over for forgiveness and for an end to the pain. Her pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears, as did her wails and screams. He meant to break her this time, she realized.
The sorcerer continued to rain blows on her, covering every inch from her shoulders to her knees. She could no longer stand, and her cries for mercy began to fade into incoherent moans as her strength failed. Her world was soon reduced to the searing pain of each new blow, the fire in her wrists and shoulders where they supported her and the cumulative agony in her body. Still, the beating continued until, mercifully, her vision began to go black and unconsciousness took her.
When Willow woke, later, she found herself lying on a carpet. The punishment had stopped, which was a blessed relief. As she took in her surroundings, she realized that she was once again in the library of Judson’s suite, and he was seated in a chair not far from her. She struggled to her knees, in terrible pain and desperately frightened, and waited, crying quietly and with eyes downcast, until he spoke.
“Kitty, I know you are in a great deal of pain,” the mage said gently. “I regret having to punish you so harshly but it was necessary. Do you understand why you were punished?’
“Yes, sir.”
“Then come here and tell me why.”
Still crying, the redhead crawled to Judson’s feet where she knelt again. “I was punished because I disobeyed you, sir, and because I disobeyed Jared.”
Gentle fingers stroked her hair. “That’s part of it,” he said, “what else?”
“Because… because I belong…” she stammered. “You can… I’m…” Unable to force the words out, Willow buried her face in her hands. “I can’t say it. I won’t say it,” she sobbed.
Judson’s voice grew harsh. “I’m tired of your intransigence, Kitty, you are far too stubborn for your own good. If this lesson has to be repeated every day, it will be. Is that what you want?”
The redhead looked up in horror. “No! Goddess, no! No, sir, please!”
“Then say it.” He grasped her hair tightly and pulled her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I would far rather continue to temper your training with kindness, little witch, but that is in your hands. Now, who are you, and who do you belong to?”
“I’m Kitty, sir,” she sobbed, “and I belong to you.”
“And why were you punished?”
“Because you can do anything you like with me, sir, even give me to someone else, and I must obey you.” Tears were running down “Kitty’s” face, as she put into words what she had learned over the past weeks. “And I didn’t. By fighting Jared I defied you.”
“Exactly.” The sorcerer smiled down at her. “Now was it really so hard to admit you belong to me?”
“Yes, it was!” Willow began crying again. “I don’t want to belong to anyone! I don’t want to be owned! I don’t want to be a slave!” She was sobbing almost hysterically.
Judson’s voice cut through her sobs, “But you are, aren’t you.”
“Yes,” she whispered. She knew it was true. She had been his slave since that first day but had refused to admit it, even to herself. Now, however, her will to resist had worn thin, and she was forced to face the reality of her situation.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you, Kitty.”
“Yes, Master.” She looked up at him. “I am your slave.”
As she spoke, Judson picked up the black leather collar from the table at his side and placed it around her throat, fastening it with a lock.
“Okay,” Buffy shifted in her chair, stiff from days of tension and hours of research and planning. “We’ve determined that Judson’s at his winter home outside Vienna, and that he has Willow with him. Giles thinks that if he’s planning anything major in the near future, it would be at the Winter Solstice, December 21st, so we should move before then.”
“Yes,” Giles added, “If he has a major working in hand, it’s sure to involve Willow in some way. He would be a fool to ignore her as a source of power, and that’s one thing we know he isn’t.”
“The estate’s large, and we have to assume it’s well guarded,” Xander commented. “A direct assault is right out. It would require a lot more manpower than we have, not to mention a substantial arsenal, which we don’t have either, and which we couldn’t exactly take to Europe with us even if we did. That leaves a quieter approach, basically kidnapping Willow back again.”
“I still think we should try the simplest approach first.” Spike interrupted, “Let me take a shot at buying Red from him. If it works, we’re home free, if not, we can get more aggressive.”
“You can’t buy someone, that’s illegal!” Xander snapped, “and besides, what would you do for money? You’re perpetually broke!”
“Look Chubs, just because it isn’t legal doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Women are bought and sold all the time, by humans and demons alike, I might add. It’s called white slavery; you should read a newspaper sometime.” Spike snapped, glaring at the boy. “As for money, I’ll be doing fine once we get abroad and I make a few stops. Most of my funds can only be got at in person, and I’ve run through what I brought with me, what with one thing and another. Don’t worry, I’ll have more than enough money to buy Red—if he’s willing to sell.”
“How likely is that?” Buffy asked,
“Don’t know,” Spike acknowledged, “She’s still a new toy; he won’t have tired of her; and Ripper’s probably right that he needs her for some casting or the other, so the chances that he’ll go for it are pretty slim. Still, I think it’s worth a shot.”
“Yeah,” Buffy sighed, “You’re right. We really don’t have a lot of other choices, do we? Unless Giles or Anya are hiding some talents we don’t know about.” She turned to the Watcher, “I don’t suppose they taught kidnapping in Watcher school, huh.”
“I’m afraid not,” Giles said, smiling at the idea. “We’d better go with Spike’s plan.”
“Not a plan yet, Watcher, and that’s what we need.”
Gradually a plan was hammered out. Buffy, Giles and Spike would fly to Austria as soon as possible. The trip would be long and cumbersome, due to the need to protect Spike from the sun, and the little matter of obtaining proper documents for someone who’d been dead since 1880. Once in Vienna, the Slayer and the Watcher would keep a low profile, doing the tourist thing, while Spike slid back into vampire society in the city and from there gained entrance to Judson’s circle. When he was in with the sorcerer, he’d develop an “interest” in Willow, and make an offer to buy her. If that failed, then they’d send for Xander and Anya. They would need all the bodies they could get if it came to a fight. Until then, the ex-demon and Xander would try to keep things in Sunnydale calm, and would look after Dawn. That declaration had not gone over well with the teen, who protested until her sister put her foot down. Then she just pouted. That left only one hole in the plan.
“We aren’t leaving you with any magic resources to speak of,” Buffy sighed. “No offense Anya, but you’re not in Giles’ league.”
“None taken,” the demon-turned-entrepreneur smiled at her friend. “I’ve spent most of my time and attention lately on Xander and the bedroom.”
“Anya!” Xander blushed.
“What? I didn’t mention us fucking in all the other rooms in the apartment!” she turned back to the subject at hand. “What about Tara?”
“What about her?” Spike scowled, “She wasn’t on the best of terms with Red after they broke up, and the chit’s given us all the cold shoulder lately. Is she even still in Sunnydale?”
“She’s in town,” Anya replied “I still see her when she comes into the store for supplies. I think she’d want to help. She doesn’t hate us, or anything, she just moved on. We could at least ask her.”
Grudgingly, the gang agreed to let Anya ask Tara if she would help out while they tried to get Willow back.
As she wandered through the gardens, Willow sighed. It was a beautiful day, oddly warm for fall; the sun warmed the air and a gentle breeze stirred her hair. Yet even here, alone and out of sight of the manor house, she still couldn’t forget. She couldn’t even pretend that the last several months hadn’t happened and that she was home in Sunnydale. The collar on her throat and her nakedness were ever-present reminders of the true state of affairs. She was Kitty, a slave, valued only for her body and the pleasure she could give her Master and others. She had no other useful skills here; she was unable to work magic and had been forbidden to touch a computer after Warren caught her trying to contact Giles via e-mail last month.
Until then, Warren had made some use of her computer skills in maintaining Judson’s systems, but she’d badly underestimated the bodyguard’s level of knowledge and expertise in computer security. She’d gotten into the e-mail program and drafted a message without attracting attention, but attempting to send it triggered an alarm that locked her out of the system and brought Warren down on her. Mercifully, he had refrained from telling Judson any details of the incident; simply informing him that Kitty could not be trusted with the computer. Then he had punished her himself. That was when she’d learned that Warren’s gentleness and concern for her didn’t affect his ability to impose effective discipline in the slightest. He had caned her every night for a week, and even now, he cuffed her wrists behind her anytime she was in the same room with a computer.
Her life was so different, now. She was so different. She hated her slavery, hated being her Master’s sex toy, but she responded to it. True, she had always had a healthy libido but this was more than that. With both Oz and Tara, the sex had been frequent and passionate; she had always orgasmed, often several times. Her responses now, however, were far more intense, her climaxes far more frequent.
She didn’t understand any of it. For Willow, sex had always been about love. Sex purely for enjoyment or release was something she just hadn’t done. That was what masturbation was for. And, though she had missed having a lover since Tara left, her desires had been easily met by self-pleasure. Now, however, “Kitty” was aroused and wanted sex—almost needed it—nearly all the time. The few days recently that neither her Master nor anyone else had fucked her, she had been unbelievably horny and had found herself trying to induce someone to bed her. Frankly, she hadn’t cared who; even Jared’s attentions would have been welcome. (She hadn’t touched herself, though, despite everything. The one time since her capture that she had done so, she’d been caught and punished very severely.)
Other things than her Master’s touch aroused her, too, and that disturbed the redhead far more than her reaction to the man who owned her. Shortly after he had collared her, the mage had begun to mingle pain with the pleasure he gave his slave—blurring the line between the two sensations. At first, it had been little things; he would tweak a nipple hard or nip gently at her clit as she started to climax, sending a jolt of pain through her even as she cried out in ecstasy. Later, there was more pain, and still more pleasure. Willow’s mind drifted as she remembered the first time he had spanked her other than as punishment.
Willow had trembled when he ordered her over his knees, expecting punishment, though she hadn’t known what she could have done to deserve it. However, his hand had only caressed her bottom, spread her legs and gently stroked her rapidly moistening sex.
“Tonight, little slave, we will begin another aspect of your training, and you will learn a new path to pleasure,” he had told her. “You are over my lap for a spanking, as I’m sure you know, but this is not punishment, rather it is for my pleasure—and yours.” As he spoke, the mage brought his hand down hard on Willow’s upturned cheeks, delivering six or seven sharp stinging swats that had made her cry out. But then, instead of further blows, she had felt his fingers stroking her clit and dipping into her cunny.
He had continued to fondle her—his fingers slipping in and out of her and his thumb gently circling her clit—until the redhead had begun to squirm in rising passion. The heat in her loins had almost overwhelmed the sting in her bottom when her Master had switched from frigging to spanking again. The alternation had continued, each bout of manipulation heightening the young woman’s level of arousal, and each flurry of smacks increasing the stinging, burning pain in her ass. The conflicting sensations had left Willow’s mind and body in turmoil. Was she feeling pleasure or pain? Sometimes she could barely tell.
Adding to it all had been Judson’s voice. “Do you feel it Kitty?” he had said as he fingered her. “Do you feel the sting and heat in your bottom adding to the heat in your pussy?” Then as he had spanked her, he had spoken soothingly. “It almost feels good, doesn’t it little witch; the feel of my hand on your ass; the sharp slap of my palm against your skin; the jolt of pain that seems to go straight to your groin; the heat in your reddening cheeks joining the heat and moisture between your legs. There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain, my dear. It’s so easy to step from one to the other.”
His words had worked on her mind, just as the alternating sensations had worked on her body. And as she had lain across his lap, her cries of pleasure and pain blending, the mage had slid a hand beneath her belly, moving it lower until his fingers rested on her swollen clit. Then he had begun to spank the already-sore ass cheeks with one hand while with the other he played with the button under his fingertips.
She had moaned and sobbed under the dual assault. Where the alternation of pleasure and pain had aroused her body and confused her mind, the combined sensations simply overwhelmed her. Each painful blow, which would have wrested tears and sobs from her in other circumstances, drove her clit against the mage’s fingers sending bursts of pleasure through her body. As the swats had continued, the pain had increased, but so had the pleasure until at last she had no longer been able to distinguish between them. Her cries had all been of pleasure then, and her hips had thrust against the rubbing fingers and risen to meet the punishing hand of their own accord. Then she had begun to beg.
“Please, Master, please…”
“Please what, little slave?”
“Please, Master, I need to come. I want to come, Master,” she babbled. “Please let me come.”
“Do you want me to stop spanking you? Is that what you’re asking, Kitty?” he had queried, landing a particularly hard smack on the sensitive juncture of her thighs and buttocks. “Are you asking me to stop spanking and fuck you?”
“Only if you want to, Master,” she had sobbed, grinding her pelvis against the mage’s hand and thigh. “Just, please make me come, Master. Any way you wish to; I don’t care. Just please, Master, make Kitty come; make your slave come.”
“Very well, since you beg so prettily.”
With these words, the mage had begun to rub “Kitty’s” clit harder and faster while still spanking her firmly. The witch’s body had trembled with building tension, and her hips had jerked harder under the combined stimulation of her clitoris and her backside. She had been lost in a storm of sensation—pain and pleasure mingling and merging. As she had neared the edge, almost ready to fall into the abyss of orgasmic release, she had heard his voice.
“That’s right, little one, feel the pain burning in your cheeks. Let it flow over you, blending with the pleasure and increasing it. You’re so lovely like this my slave, my kitten, with your ass on fire and your body writhing from my touch. Come for me slave. Come for me—now!” As he uttered the final word, Judson had dragged a fingernail roughly across his slave’s clit.
The sudden, intense feeling, half pleasure, half pain, had been all it took. She had convulsed in the first throes of an ecstatic orgasm, screaming “Master!” Her body had shuddered, muscles clenching and releasing, as waves of ecstasy and release washed over her.
That night had been a turning point, the redhead thought, as her mind came back to the garden where she sat, and last night had been another. Her Master had continued her training, teaching her to find more and more pleasure in the pain. He had spanked her and whipped her, used clamps on her sensitive nipples until they were bruised and so painful the slightest touch would make her cry out. But each time he had also frigged her, or fucked her amidst the pain, bringing her to climax again and again. One memorable night Judson had chained her hands above her head and her feet apart and had whipped her severely while Warren knelt between her thighs and pleasured her with his mouth and tongue. She had orgasmed no less that seven times that night. In short, the sorcerer had so skillfully blurred the line between pleasure and pain for her that she had begun to enjoy the pain itself. Last night had been the culmination of that journey. While she hung chained to the ceiling in the “playroom,” Willow’s Master had flogged her, but not touched her in any other way. She had climaxed from the beating alone.
“Here you go Spike,” Buffy tossed a large envelope to the vampire as he entered the living room.
Spike caught the packet, sat down on the couch and opened it. Airline tickets, a passport, driver’s license, credit card and a variety of other documents tumbled out. “What’s this, then?” he asked the Slayer as he examined the contents.
“A new mostly-legal identity, courtesy of contacts I’d really rather not think about.” The Slayer grinned, “the way airline security is now, Giles and I figured you’d better have documents that’ll pass muster. I had already decided to hit Angel up for the airfare for all of us since we’re trying not to get the Council involved, and you won’t have cash until we’re abroad. I was sure he’d want to do what he could to help rescue Willow. Anyway, I mentioned the problem of paperwork for you and he set me up with some of his contacts. I know you probably have an identity or two squirreled away somewhere, but this one is clean and as close to legal as we could get.”
“William Charles Seddon?” Spike asked, looking at the British passport.
“Hey, it could have been worse, one of the choices was William Thomas Dingle.” Buffy replied laughing. At his questioning look she continued. “They’re children born in about the right place at about the right time for your apparent age, who died shortly after birth and whose immediate family are also dead. There weren’t too many Williams to choose from.”
“You mean the birth certificate’s legit?”
“Well, except for being yours, yeah. I’m told it’s one of the best ways to start a false identity. A birth certificate is the basic document for lots of other forms of ID. The folks who got this stuff together said the biggest problem was the rush, if we’d had a couple of weeks instead of a couple of days it would have been easier—and cheaper. Personally, I would have thought the pictures would be a more of a challenge. I didn’t ask where or how they got them, but they sure do look like you.”
“They do at that,” the vampire agreed. As he continued to sift through the pile of documents, Spike came across a smaller envelope. Inside were coins and a stack of bills, but they weren’t any currency he was familiar with.
“These aren’t Austrian, pet. What’s up?”
“They’re Euro, Spike. It’s the unified currency for most of the EU countries as of January 2002. Well, that’s what the guy at the bank told me when Giles and I went to change some money. Giles kept muttering something about the new pound being bad enough without this, so I couldn’t get any useful information out of him,” Buffy replied.
“Is England using this, then? I may agree with Rupert for once.” Spike frowned at the colorful money.
“Nah, the UK is apparently one of the hold-outs.”
“It’s probably just as well, we’d never have heard the end of it from Giles, otherwise.” He turned back to the paperwork looking it over in more detail. The more he looked the more pleased he was. “This is bloody impressive, pet. Hell, I could get out of the crypt, into someplace a bit more hospitable now. That’s been one of the hold-ups, you know, besides the cash. They’re always asking for identification and such these days, nosy buggers.”
“Oh yeah, about that, since the crypt doesn’t exactly have a house number, we gave you Xander’s address. I figured it would look better if we didn’t have everybody at Revello Drive. And don’t get too carried away with the credit card, Anya will see to it you get the bills, and she’ll get pissed off if creditors start calling them.” Buffy smiled at the thought, and then went on to outline the travel plans. “Get packed ‘cause we’re leaving for LA late tonight. We fly out to New York as soon as it’s dark tomorrow, then New York to London the next day, and London to Vienna the day after that. Thank God it’s winter so the nights are fairly long.”
“Yeah, about the travel plans, luv,” Spike said, “I’ve been thinking it over and we need to make some changes. I need to travel separately from you and the Watcher.”
“What do you mean, Spike?” Buffy asked, “You agreed on us traveling together when we drew up the plans.”
“I know, and I suppose I should have thought of this sooner, but I’ve gotten so used to working with you lot it slipped my mind,” he explained. “Look, if I’m trying to establish myself in Vienna it won’t do me much good to be seen traveling with the Slayer, now will it?”
Buffy shook her head, “Well, no, I guess not. But how would anyone know? Apart from the airlines, I mean.”
“Intel, pet.” At Buffy’s puzzled look, the vampire elaborated. “Intelligence gathering, you know, spying.” He sighed as the Slayer continued to gaze at him in confusion. “Come now, Slayer, your Watchers’ Council spends lots of time and effort researching vampires and demons and keeping track of us; you don’t really think the demon community doesn’t do the same, do you? Face it, there isn’t a vampire more than 2 years undead who hasn’t heard of the Slayer, and your name and description were know to the leader of every clan in this area within weeks of your arrival in Sunnydale. The only reason I didn’t already know what you looked like when I came into town was that I’d been abroad or on the East Coast. By now, you’re known to every Master Vampire worth the name in the world. You step off the plane in Vienna and the Master of the city will hear about it within the hour. If I’m with you we’re blown before we start.”
“I see what you mean,” she said, thoughtfully, “So why didn’t Angel mention this? And more importantly, what do we do about it?”
“Peaches has had his head in the sand as far as the vampire community’s concerned for so long that it likely didn’t occur to him,” Spike answered disdainfully, “Things were a lot different a hundred years ago when he was last out and about. As for the travel, you and Giles should fly directly to Vienna. I’ll make my own arrangements. Traveling Transylvania Air will keep me perfectly safe, and let me start making contacts again right away.”
“Transylvania Air?” Buffy interrupted, “very funny, Spike.”
“No, really, pet,” the platinum blond laughed, “Marty, the human bloke who runs the outfit, has a wicked sense of humor. You wouldn’t have heard of it ‘cause it’s a small private firm. Caters to the vampire and demon trade exclusively. No windows in the passenger compartment, arrivals and departures timed for after sundown, blood available on board, that sort of thing. So I’ll travel that way, making stops in London and Zurich to deal with the bankers and set up some accounts I can access more easily. Then I’ll head to Vienna, make myself known around town and catch up with you lot.”
“OK. But how will we find you once you’re in town?” She thought over the arrangements, “You can’t be seen with us, and even asking about me or Giles could be a problem. We’ve got to coordinate stuff, though.”
“Yeah, we’ll need to meet regularly and privately. Best thing I can think of is for you to stay at the … Hotel Kaiserin Elisabeth, I think it is. It’s an ordinary four star hotel on the surface, but there are a couple of underground floors for travelers like me. It’s been run by a family of demons for as long as I remember. I’ll make the first contact with you and Giles, and then we can work things our from there.” He handed Buffy the plane tickets from the packet on his lap. “You’ll want to cash this in, luv. It’ll give you and Rupert some funds to play with until I get there.”
“This has been a very good day,” Willow thought as she snuggled under the warm blankets. “I wasn’t beaten, I had plenty to eat and now Master wants me to share his bed.” She still disliked being a slave, but she was growing fond of her Master, particularly so when he treated her as well as he had that day. He gave her such great pleasure, even though he had changed her life. Not all the days were good, however. There were other days, like yesterday when everything had gone wrong from the moment she awakened. She had tripped and spilled her Master’s coffee, earning a hard spanking, and then he had given her to one of his guests, an over-endowed demon, who had used her long and thoroughly. By the time she had been allowed to crawl into a corner to try and sleep, she was bruised and bleeding, having been fucked brutally in every way possible. Fortunately, days like that, really bad days, were fairly rare.
Life at the estate had some high points as well. Judson entertained extensively and some of the affairs were large and lavish. The party at Samhain had been one of those, and Willow had enjoyed it immensely. The atmosphere had been bright and festive and her duties had been relatively light. Even things she normally found distasteful, embarrassing and frequently hateful—being whipped publicly and having sex with any of the Master’s guests who desired her—had been bearable. Other parts of the evening had been delightful. The photographer had seemed fascinated with her, and she had kept her Master’s attention for most of the evening. He had held her and caressed her in front of everyone, telling her how proud he was to own her beauty and passion and that he wanted to show her ecstasy to everyone there. He had made her feel beautiful and wanted in ways only Tara and Oz had done before. At times like that, she forgot all the ills of her slavery, forgot the humiliation, pain and loneliness and felt only affection for the man who owned her. Then nothing he asked her to do seemed wrong or depraved, so she would do anything for him. On Samhain, she had done just that; she had been as uninhibited in the midst of the partygoers as she had ever been alone with Judson in his bed.
Just then, footsteps sounded in the hall and Willow scrambled up on her knees, head bent, waiting for her Master to enter the bedroom. As long as she was awake, she must greet him properly. The door opened and Judson stepped in. As he crossed the room, she held her breath. No matter how well things were going, she was always a little afraid that she would displease him. His temper was volatile and sometimes it took little to set it off.
A hand stroked her hair. “So, you are still awake, Kitty. Good. There is something I need you to do before you may sleep.”
“Yes, Master,” murmured Willow. She was puzzled; he had sent her to his bed not more than 10 minutes before. Why had he not mentioned this task then?
“Cuffs.” At the sharp command, Willow quickly presented her wrists, which were then cuffed and fastened behind her. “Leash.” She tipped her chin up so that the sorcerer could fasten a leather lead to the ring of her collar.
Judson led her through the back door of the bedroom and down the stairs to the basement. But instead of heading for the “playroom” as they had so often, the sorcerer opened one of the other doors on the corridor and urged his slave through it. As they entered, Willow looked around and realized that this was a heavily warded ritual room, although somewhat different from what she was used to. Cabinets along the walls housed spell books and components as well as ritual tools, and the outline and symbols of a protective circle were permanently inscribed in what appeared to be onyx or obsidian in the gray stone floor. Black torches hung lit in cressets along the walls of the room, and a wrought-iron brazier stood burning fitfully in the center of the circle, beside a small altar made of the same substance as the circle itself.
“Kneel inside the circle,” Judson ordered, dropping Willow’s leash.
Obediently, she crossed to the center of the circle and knelt. “What is he planning,” she thought, suddenly worried that she might not survive the night. This was her first encounter with her Master as a magic-user. A number of times she had felt dark power flowing and assumed it was her Master engaged in some working, but he had never involved her in his craft, and she had hoped he never would. Now he had and she couldn’t help thinking of the uses a blood-path mage might have for her. “That first day he talked about sacrificing me to increase his power, but he said that only works with virgins. He could need me as a focus for a ritual, I suppose, or to bind something he’s trying to summon or … Oh Goddess, it could be anything.”
Willow’s instinct for self-preservation warred with the obedience she had learned so painfully the last half-year. Instinct and a fierce desire to stay away from dark magic were winning, and she was on the verge of bolting when Judson returned to her side carrying a goblet and a chain. He set the goblet to one side and replaced the leash dangling from Willow’s collar with the chain which he fastened to a ring embedded in the side of the altar, then removed the cuffs binding the witch’s wrists.
“You’re trembling. Are you frightened?” As he spoke, the sorcerer picked up the goblet.
“Yes, Master,” Willow knew better than to lie to him, he always seemed to know, and she always suffered for it. “I don’t want to die.”
“It’s all right, little one. I need you for a working, but I don’t require your life. You’re worth more to me alive, and I’m enjoying you as my slave far too much to kill you in any case. However, your magic, like your body, belongs to me, and I will use it as I see fit. Drink this. It will help calm you.” He offered her the goblet and stroked her hair and skin gently as she raised it to her lips.
It contained a warm sweet wine that had been mulled with various herbs and spices. From her studies and experience Willow assumed that Judson’s aim was both to relax her and to make her more susceptible to whatever magical working he planned. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that she should refuse the cup and make things as difficult as possible for the dark mage, but she had been too well trained. Her earlier thoughts of fleeing had used up all her strength for rebellion, now the need to please her Master and the fear of his displeasure overshadowed all her other desires. She simply couldn’t disobey him, no matter what it cost her. She drank the wine, willfully pushing her fears and concerns out of her mind. Whatever her Master wanted from her, he would get, whether she was willing or not, just as he always did.
Soon, as the herbed wine worked, Willow’s thoughts began to move more slowly. She watched with detachment as the mage placed a silver bowl and a knife in front of her, and then began to seal the circle. The form of the ritual was very different from the one she used, the redhead noted fuzzily. The mage did not call the Quarters, nor was the circle was sealed with earth, air, fire and water.
Instead, Judson rolled up his right sleeve, revealing a tracery of small scars on his forearm. Picking up the blade in his left hand, he swiftly sliced into his right arm. He held his injured arm over the bowl, allowing his blood to flow into it, while his left hand thrust the knife into the brazier. When the bowl was over half-filled with blood, he removed the knife from the fire and pressed it against his forearm, whispering a short incantation. A sheen of sweat on his brow was the only indication of the pain he must be feeling. When he pulled the knife away, there was no sign of searing, but a new scar showed white against his arm.
Judson turned and set the bowl on the altar. Opening a wooden box that also sat there, he began to mix ingredients from within the box with his blood in the bowl, while softly chanting. Willow could neither identify the ingredients nor make out the words, for which part of her was very grateful. That small detached part that recognized what was happening to her but was powerless to intervene remembered that a follower of the Left-Hand Path did not work within the forces of nature as she did, but imposed his will against them, to warp that which was to what he willed it to be.
Finally, Judson picked up the bowl and a small flail, and walked around the circle, using the flail to scatter the blood mixture on the symbols embedded along its edge. As the blood touched each symbol, that section of the circle began to glow with a faint, smoky light. When he had completely circled the boundary, Judson turned and cast the final contents of the bowl into the brazier, calling out a short harsh phrase in a language Willow did not recognize. The flames in the brazier turned green, shot high into the air, and Willow felt her stomach wrench as the circle sealed.
Judson moved back to the altar to begin the next phase of his spellcasting. “Benedica questi attrezzi alla mia volontà, la mia signora di nerezza.” With these words, Judson began to cense the spell components, murmuring ritual phrases as each item was consecrated to its task.
First the bowl, “Come il sangue è raccolta, lasci l'potenza essere raccolto.”
Next, the knife, “Nel rovesciarsi del sangue, lasci l'potenza essere rovesciato.”
Finally, he turned to Willow, clouds of dragon’s blood incense surrounding her as he spoke, “Dal regalo del sangue, lasci l'potenza essere dato.”
Judson then knelt in front of the redhead and took her hand in his. Capturing her gaze with his, the mage murmured hypnotic phrases in a barely audible tone and gently stroked the inside of her wrist until the witch dropped into a light trance. Then, holding her arm over the bowl, he addressed her by her true name. “Willow, I have need of your blood. Will you give it to me, freely and without reservation?”
The ritual quality of the question evoked a similar response from the entranced witch. “I give you my blood freely and without reservation. It is yours, Master, as am I.” In that same buried corner of her mind as before, Willow screamed futile protests as she heard herself speak, but the herb-laced wine, the affection she had for her Master, and her fear of his wrath kept them from rising to the surface of her thoughts.
Swiftly, the dark mage cut into Willow’s wrist and let the blood flow into the silver bowl…