Versailles Undone :: Chapter Two.

[fenderlove]

Title: Versailles Undone
Author: fenderlove
Pairing: Spike/OCs
Rating: R for non-con, language, drugging, enemas, not worksafe.
Summary: What would have become of Spike if he had never escaped from the Initiative? In the wake of fierce overcrowding of its demonic captives, the Initiative finds a solution that both provides ample funding for their research and makes room for new subjects for their experiments.



Versailles Undone
Chapter Two: the New World.

When the time came for Spike to be transported from the Temporary Containment Unit, a gurney was rolled up to his cell by several commandoes. By this time, Spike had seen the standard operating procedure for vampires leaving the Unit. He remained seated on the floor as the door to his cell slid open. When he was told to stand, he quickly obeyed, not risking his one possible chance to get out of the wretched facility by being defiant. One soldier loaded up a tranquilizer gun, and Spike tried not to flinch as it was aimed at him. After the trigger was pulled, the vampire's next memories were a fog of sounds and images.

A gun-metal grey ceiling.

The echo of rain spattering against glass.

Whispers and idle chatter.

Just as Spike became lucid enough to realize that he was strapped to the gurney in the back of a moving vehicle with several heavily-armed and combat ready goons seated around him, a hypodermic was jabbed roughly into his arm.

Spike wasn't sure how long he'd been unconscious. His head felt fuzzy, and he was desperate for water or blood to wet his throat, but he kept his eyes closed so that he could remain awake without the soldiers drugging him. They were talking loudly over the rush of tires over rain-slicked pavement. There were three voices, but they all blended together as Spike fought off the after-effects of the tranquilizers.

"So this is the one Thompson fucked in the ass?"

"Yeah, Walsh wants him and Daniels psych-eval'd."

"I heard that he just shoved a broom-handle up there."

"That's still sick, man."

"What do you care? This is the same little fucker that knocked your tooth out when we first brought it in."

"Doesn't mean I want to go stickin' my dick in it."

Spike tried to drown out their words by listening to the dull thump-whoosh-thump of the windshield wipers in the front of the vehicle. Something was on his face, covering his mouth, and he envisioned it was a Hannibal Lector-style mask. He wondered if he could scare the boys by making jokes about fava beans and a nice Chianti, but decided that they likely would not share his sense of humor.

"What's really sick are these looney tunes buyin' Hostiles as pets," one of the soldiers continued.

"I don't think they're buying them to play fetch with, Reeves."

"Hostile Thirty-Four can fetch what's in my pants."

"You're fucking nasty."

"You know why they call her Thirty-Four, right?"

"Shut up, Mike."

"'Cause she's got thirty-four Triple-Ds, man!"

Spike couldn't keep his mouth shut even with the bite guard making it hard for him to move his lips, "Who would have guessed that all it would take to get you fellas to acknowledge we have gender is to give you wank material?"

One of the soldiers laughed at that. Spike thought it was a small victory, but it didn't stop him from getting a short taser jolt to his side followed by more drugs. They gave him a two shots this go-around, and the needle marks in Spike's arm itched terribly. The vampire didn't have much time to be bothered by them as he began dreaming of root beer springs and cigarette trees and Hostile Thirty-Four's enormous knockers.

*****

Warmth and softness were nearly alien sensations to Spike after his lengthy captivity. Waking up in comfort sent a thrill through his body that almost made his head spin. He refrained from opening his eyes, but through closed lids he could tell where-ever he was was filled with light. A delicate sweet smell hung in the air, and nearby a piano was quietly playing a languid, lilting tune.

People were milling about; their scents clean and not overpowered by colognes and body-sprays like the soldiers' had been. Spike flexed his body a tiny bit to deduce if he remained strapped down. He was in a semi-upright position on his back on a deliciously soft recliner of some kind. His arms were raised above his head, wrists bound together, and his legs were open, raised, and bent at the knee, padded restraints holding each ankle still. He also was no longer wearing the bite guard over his mouth.

Spike recognized the voice of the woman who had purchased him say, "He's been bathed, groomed, his hair washed, teeth brushed, so I believe that only leaves one last thing."

Spike did not know why, but the thought that someone brushed his teeth while he was unconscious was somehow more unsettling than most of the things that the soldiers and doctors had done to him. He had to admit, though, he didn't mind the minty taste in his mouth after months of nothing but stale, diluted blood.

Silk brushed over the vampire's thighs, and he assumed the small hands caressing him were those of his "owner." The touches were tender, almost loving, ghosting over his naked skin. Spike struggle to keep from raising his hips when the contact was broken.

"Pomme," the woman spoke, "come take my gloves, will you?"

And then there was her bare flesh against his as her fingers traced down the length of his penis. No one had intimately touched him in so long that Spike's member almost instantly began to swell.

"Well, at least part of him is awake," she laughed.

Spike wanted to rip her throat out, but he had to remind himself of his plan of escape. He was supposed to be a weak, obedient little creature, get her guard down, and find a way to flee, even if it meant losing some dignity in the process.

What is dignity without freedom anyway? Spike asked himself and then thought, Did someone say that? I should write that down. Eat your heart out, Rousseau.

The woman's hands went back to kneading his inner thighs momentarily before moving inward, stroking down his perineum to his exposed pucker. As her nails dragged gently over that indent of wrinkled flesh, Spike's muscles clenched. His curiosity made him unable to feign unconsciousness any longer, so the vampire opened his eyes a tiny sliver.

At first, the sights that greeted Spike made him think that all the tranquilizers had finally driven him loopy. It was like the very idea of Rococo had just been vomited over every surface. Spike could hardly focus on one thing before being distracted by another. Gleaming white paneled walls with shimmering gilded accents surrounded him. The ceiling was painted with dozens of nauseatingly adorable putti chasing each other around clouds or playing musical instruments. Perhaps most disconcerting of all was the anachronistic way in which his new owner and her apparent servants fit neatly into the interior but not in the real world.

The woman who'd walked around a high tech government facility in a 1950's frock was now wearing a late 18th Century brocaded satin gown trimmed in blue silk with flared ruffled sleeves accented with bows. Her black hair was swept to one side, allowing a cascade of thickly rolled curls to fall down over her shoulder. Her attendants were dressed of a similar yet simpler fashion. The two women wore polonaises with flounced skirts covered by heavy aprons while the two men wore embroidered silk waistcoats over gathered-sleeved shirts and breeches.

"I've died again and been resurrected into a Watteau painting," Spike had not meant to say that aloud.

The woman smiled and laughed again, "I'll take that as a compliment."

One of her female attendants held out a small jar to her, which she carefully dipped her fingers into, rubbing the emollient over her hands. She then returned her ministrations to Spike's body, pressing the tip of her smallest finger into his tight hole. He clenched again to try and stop her from going any further.

"Don't be naughty. I'd hate to have to punish you right after you just woke up," she warned.

Spike panted a little as her finger finally forced its way inside his body and tried to sound as pitiful as possible, "Please... it hurts..."

Her heart-shaped face was suddenly filled with concern. She took the jar from her maid and added more of the slick cream around Spike's hole, pressing her finger inside again even more gently. He turned his head fitfully, not wanting to look at the human woman so easily probing his body, reinforcing just how helpless he was no matter how well he could pretend that he retained a modicum of control. He felt something around his neck, and remembered the shock collar the guard had said would be placed on him. It didn't feel very heavy, and Spike wondered how difficult it would be to get it off.

"Don't sound so frightened, sweetheart," the woman said, "This is your home now, and you're going to be well taken care of if you're a good boy. Do you understand?"

Spike nodded, his traitorous cock hard and leaking against his stomach.

His quick response seemed to make her happy, and she continued in a clear, crisp voice, "You may call me Madame or Charise, whichever you prefer. You will be polite and gracious. You will be clean at all times. You will follow my instructions or you will be punished."

"Yes, Madame," he replied solemnly.

Charise leaned over to place a small kiss on Spike's upraised knee. It was then that Spike realized that his legs had been shaved as was his groin. He was fairly certain that she'd gotten his underarms as well. She ordered one of the male servants, Poire, to bring something to her. Spike's eyes went wide when he saw the servant holding up a plump enema bag, its long hose dangling down.

"Would you believe me, Madame," Spike tried to keep his tone civil, "if I told you that I was just given an enema a few days ago?"

"Even if I did believe you, you'd still get this one, Bashful," Charise replied as she coated the end of the thin nozzle attached to the hose with cream.

The hard plastic nozzle was no bigger than Charise's smallest finger, but Spike couldn't make his body relax as it was pressed deeper and deeper into his bowels. The clamp was undone with a small click, and warm water flowed inside his body. He wriggled a little, his brow furrowed as he tried not to think about the building pressure he was feeling.

As the rubber bag emptied its contents into his lower intestines, Spike tried to bring his knees closer to his body to relieve some of the cramping, but the stirrups which cupped his heels held his legs in place. Charise rubbed her hand low on his abdomen and began to massage him, which did little to ease his discomfort.

"Vampires don't even have bodily functions like this," Spike whined, hoping to garner more sympathy.

His protest was ignored, however, as the enema bag was refilled with more water.

"If you don't want it refilled a third time, I suggest you behave," Charise warned though her hand gently caressed his distending belly.

Spike shook his head and whimpered. As much as he told himself that the whimper was just part of his ruse, it wasn't. His stomach hurt, and the urgency at which he wanted to rid himself of the water sloshing around in his gut was growing.

Just when Spike thought that he couldn't take anymore, the bag was finally empty again and was handed off to the other maid, Pêche, while Poire and Citron, the second male attendant, removed the vampire's wrist restraints from the hook that held them aloft and allowed him to lean forward. Charise moved aside while Pomme held a porcelain chamberpot underneath him.

Spike felt furious, but he tried to play it up as shyness as the enema nozzle was removed, "Please, don't look..."

"Don't be embarrassed," Charise kept her hand on him, rubbing in slow circles around his navel, "You'll just have to get used to letting someone take care of you."

Not able to contain the water any longer, Spike gave up trying to hold it in and turned his head away from watching the spectacle, having never had an audience while "relieving" himself before. Charise petted him, told him that he was a "good boy," and it only served to make Spike feel completely ridiculous, as if he needed to be praised for such a base act. Perhaps there was a little Victorian left in him after all.

When he was finished, Spike was allowed to lay back against the chair, his bound wrists resting on his chest as Charise patted his backside dry with a towel. He was breathing heavily through his nose, mentally cataloging a thousand different ways to maim and kill her, inventing a few new ones along the way.

"Poire, I think that someone here could use a little supper."

Spike nearly balked as a baby bottle was placed in front of his lips, but it didn't take him long to latch on once he realized it was filled with blood. It was warm, fresh, and human. He sucked rapidly on the latex nipple, not caring what he looked like or the noises he was making, gulping down pull after pull of delicious blood. He barely took notice that in the ecstasy of his first real meal in months that he came, his seed spilling over his flat stomach.

Charise delicately mopped up the mess with the edge of the towel, tsking, "Guess you were hungrier than I thought."

Once the bottle was drained, a new one quickly replaced it, and Spike polished it off with the same gusto as the first. While he was lost in the sensations of feeding, Charise dipped a powderpuff into a tin of talc and gently tapped it around his genitals and bottom. Spike idly wondered if she had purchased him as an oversized babydoll rather than for sex; it was still somewhat kinky whatever the case. He felt totally sated, and as long as he was clean, warm, and fed, he didn't care what she did to him until he escaped. It amazed even him how vastly improved his disposition could be when not being gnawed at by hunger pains.

The soft cuffs were undone from Spike's wrists and ankles, allowing him to stand up from the reclining chair. The bathroom was vast, a large sunken tub surrounded by a colonnade of fluted pillars at its center. Throughout the room were busts of Roman deities in niches in the walls, and the marble floor was a bit cold beneath Spike's feet. He felt a certain pang for the loss of his jacket and boots as he was led into an even larger room.

"This," Charise gestured around, "is your petits apartments. When you are not with me, you'll be here. When you sleep here, Pomme and Pêche will be in the room to make sure that your needs are taken care of."

As he was guided around his suite, Spike got the impression from the women's body language that his "needs" that would be taken care of were not to be sexual ones. His bed, complete with heavy privacy curtains, was tucked into an alcove in the wall, a large medallion with the initials CSC incorporated into the design was mounted just above it. The gilding that had garishly been thrown about the bathroom was more subdued, more delicate and refined. The fabrics used for the bed, curtains, and chairs were all a light, airy blues of varying hues.

"Your library is through that door, and the salon is through there," Charise said as she gave Spike the tour. "And this is your dressing room."

Turning the large mermaid-shaped doorknob to the dressing area, she revealed a closet that was larger than most people's first flats. The racks were crammed full of clothing, and Spike held back a groan when he saw that it all went along with her pre-Revolution make-believe. He also disregarded the urge to mock her for having a set of three mirrors at the end of a closet meant for a vampire. Charise pulled him along, coaxing him to get closer to the mirrors. She pressed a small button hidden amongst the gilding, and static like poor reception on a bad television filled all three frames before Spike saw himself.

Stepping closer, Spike held out his hand and touched the mirror's surface. The perspective was a little off, but it was the only reflection or facsimile of one he'd seen in a very long time. His hair was much longer than he had thought for. Touching one of the long, curling strands hanging over his forehead, Spike realized that he was starting to look shabby with a half inch of his roots showing. His eyes were sunken and dark, and his lips were still somewhat cracked. Wrapping his arms around his middle, he felt a little embarrassed at how thin he appeared, his ribs displayed prominently.

"There are cameras set into the glass. I thought of it myself," Charise said proudly to Spike and then instructed her maids to dress him for bed.

They set to work immediately, holding out a pair of long cotton drawers for him to step into. Each leg of the pants was cuffed at the knee with a layer of lace topped by a blue silk band. The maids pulled a matching vest, though Spike had a sneaking suspicion that it was really a poor attempt to masculinize a camisole, over his arms, fastening the little pearl buttons up the front.

Spike felt his face flush warmly once he caught sight of himself in the ensemble in the mirror. The slightly sheer material left nothing the imagination. His nipples and genitals were pinkly visible beneath the gauzy fabric. The collar consisting of three rows of blue pearls with a cameo as its centerpiece also reminded him that he wasn't home-free yet.

Charise came up behind him, holding up a brocaded ivory satin robe trimmed with dark grey velvet. As he allowed her to gently pull it up and over his shoulders and tie it closed, Spike decided to make a calculated gesture to earn more of her favor and hopefully speed his escape plans along. He took her hand, slowly brought it to his lips, and kissed it.

"Thank you, Madame," he said, keeping his head humbly bowed.

She smiled prettily in return and threaded her fingers with his, "Tomorrow, I'm going to show you the rest of the house and, after dark, the grounds. We're going to have a very busy week ahead of us."

Spike simply nodded, and she tugged him along behind her, leaving his apartments behind and taking him down a long stretch of hallway. The two valets followed with candelabras to light the way. Everything was marble and parquet. Spike began to wonder exactly how long he was unconscious with the commandoes. He couldn't remember any home in Sunnyhell being this expansive or elegant. Even Angelus's Modern nightmare of a mansion wasn't as posh.

As they passed by a marble railing, Spike saw that they were on the second floor, overlooking a large foyer, the grandiose CSC initials inlaid into the marble entryway below. A huge window stretched from the first floor to the second, the rain still pouring down in the pitch blackness.

Gotta remember about those, Spike thought to himself. "Nasty way to get crispy-fried."

Citron and Poire placed their candelabras on sidetables next to chairs flanking a large ornate doorway, more decorated than the rest. The attendants held open the door and then took their seats as it closed.

Charise pulled Spike inside the room, "This is my bedchamber, and you will behave yourself doubly-so in here, understand?"

Spike nodded as another maid seemed to appear out of nowhere to help him out of his robe.

"Framboise is my personal maid, and you are to obey her as you would the others in your own room. Now, go sit on the bed."

Spike did as he was told, nearly falling backwards as he sank into the tremendously soft mattress. He watched as Charise sat at her vanity, taking off her jewelry while her maid was undoing her elaborate coiffure. From the folds of her gown, she removed an object that appeared to be a pink remote. She held it up for Spike to see.

"I don't want to have to use this, puddleduck," Charise said and carefully tapped her finger on a large 'X'-shaped button at the remote's center, "I press this, and you get a not very nice surprise."

She placed the remote on the vanity's surface as she removed her make-up with a cloth. Spike's eyes followed it as she did. If he could get the remote into his possession, there would be no impediment to him escaping. The young woman would not make it easy for him, however, as she took the remote with her as she and her maid went behind a dressing screen.

Taking in his surroundings, Spike noted a few naming books stacked on Charise's bedside table. They had titles like Naming Your Bundle of Joy and So You've Adopted a Kitten, Now What?" Curiously, he flipped through some of the pages. Apparently, she was having a hard time deciding what his name should be. He hoped that whatever she chose to call him wasn't something like "Lance" or "Mittens."

Emerging a few minutes later, gone was the gown as Charise stood in a long white negligee, her black hair hanging about her waist. She handed off the remote to her maid as she climbed into bed, pulling back the covers and motioning for Spike to join her. She paused for him to lay down before she curled up beside him, throwing her arm over his waist, and then Spike waited for the inevitable to happen as the lights went out.

But the inevitable wasn't so inevitable after all. No hands grabbed at him, no roaming fingers went below his waist, no lips tried to force unwanted affection. Spike turned his head slightly to look at her. She had absolutely no fear sleeping beside a vampire, and he had to admire that a little. He was none-the-less confused as to why he had been purchased. Over half-a-million dollars was a lot to pay for a talking cuddle-pillow or a dolly to dress up. There were human men who would accept less money to do the same and more.

Pushing those thoughts out of his head, Spike focused on his resolve. It didn't matter why he was in the Baroque Baroness's Slumber Party; it only mattered that he was in the outside world and could find a way to get back on his own at last. A few more filling meals and a good night's rest would set him on his way as soon as he could liberate the disgusting pink fetter keeping him chained to his owner.



Find all chapters for this story thus far here.

x-posted on nekid_spike and darker_spike.