Versailles Undone :: Chapter Six.

[fenderlove]

Title: Versailles Undone
Author: fenderlove
Pairing: Spike/OCs
Rating: R/Not Worksafe for pet!Spike, language, bondage, spanking, toys, electrical shocks, furniture!play, and abuse of stuffed animals.
Summary: After being sold by the Initiative, Spike is becoming accustomed to being the pet of an eccentric heiress. The small world he inhabits grows a little larger as he meets the eclectic members of her inner circle.



Versailles Undone
Chapter Six: the Bon Voyage Soiree.

The days leading up to Charise's departure for New York were mostly spent in her office while she gathered materials needed for the board meeting or with her friends who stayed at the estate for a never-ending string of send-off parties. During one of the lavish dinners, Spike became suitably buzzed on good wine, the closest to being drunk he had been since being captured by the commandoes. It was during that state that he had agreed to yet another outdoor romp with Charise and her friends.

In the comfort of the lush greenhouse grass, reclining against Charise's legs, Spike reflected on some of the rather naughty things he'd gotten up to with the group while they tried to have as much pleasure and amusement in what few days they had left together until the board meeting. Being nude outside and enjoying the sunshine was something that Spike had never been able to enjoy before being "adopted." It was such a simple, almost innocent sensual pleasure compared to the other wickedness. With his eyes closed, Spike recalled being used as a decanter for champagne during one dinner and how Charise had given Hart permission to lick the remaining fizzy droplets from the vampire's tight hole once the specialized tap-plug was removed. Spike had come on the young man's face from the stimulation. It was the first act that felt somewhat like real sex, though it was nothing more than foreplay. It cemented, for Spike, how much he needed an actual connection.

During a different night's entertainment, Charise and her friends indulged in storytelling. They sat in high-backed chairs in one of the parlors and began to weave tales in a round-robin style, each storyteller was allowed to take Spike over his or her lap, spanking him only for as long as they could tell their section of the fable and then passing him to the next person until all their hands were sore and imaginations exhausted. With no more stories to tell, Hart and Harriet produced a present that they had brought for Spike- a large teddy bear. While the humans recovered from the rousing fun of playing Midnight Society, they watched as Spike was instructed by Charise to frot against the stuffed animal until he orgasmed, his semen sticking to the toy's faux-fur. Perhaps most disturbingly, Charise had decided that the bear's name would be "Frottie." The poor button-eyed creature was currently cleaned and sitting on Spike's bed with a few other babyish stuffed animals that had been given to him as gifts.

On the last day before she was to leave on her business trip, Charise along with Harriet and Yolande had wiled away the morning cavorting around in gauzy lawn chemises à la Reine trimmed with brightly coloured satin ribbons, the ostrich plumes of their Leghorn straw hats dancing gaily in the wind as the ladies played croquet. For once, Spike was not alone in his nudity; Hart had decided that he too would like to take in the sun without his clothing. Spike wasn't sure how Charise and her friends came to know one another. It was like some deity just dropped them down to bacchanal with one another in frilly frivolity.

Croquet had given way to simply lounging around the garden table and relaxing. Charise munched on cream-filled profiteroles and lemon-glazed knot cookies and drank chilled raspberry tea while Spike was at her feet. Harriet was playing her cello nearby, and Yolande was sketching the foliage, Spike, and her friends. Hart had disappeared back into mansion only to return with a large, gilded steamer trunk.

"Let's have a game," Hart declared in a tone that suggested the type of game he was interested in was less than innocent as he placed the trunk on the ground near the garden table.

Charise tipped her teacup in his direction, "Do you have something in mind?"

"As if you have to ask," Harriet muttered with a soft smile as her swift, graceful hand worked up the fingerboard of the cello.

"It just so happens," Hart smirked, "I came prepared!"

The young man opened the trunk and pulled out two leather bridles with bits, decorated with flowers, ribbons, and rhinestones. He jangled the blue one in Spike's direction.

Hart grinned, "These were part of a stage show at the club, but I thought that today we should have a race in honour of Charie abandoning us for dreaded effort and work."

Charise took the blue bridle and held it in front of Spike's face, "What do you think, Bashful?"

Spike shrugged, "I've already been furniture. What's the harm of being a carousel pony too?"

"You're a peach," Charise kissed Spike's cheek before fastening the bridle around his head.

Harriet carefully packed her cello away and went to Hart to fix his lavender bridle while Yolande set aside her sketchbook and brought out some acrylic paints and brushes.

Yolande mixed a few bright pigments and said, "If you're a carousel pony, you should look the part."

Spike stood up and allowed Yolande to paint colour swaths of paint up his flanks in vines of pink, yellow, and green. Once finished with the vampire, Yolande turned to Hart to give his body a touch of pastel as well.

Hart flicked the bit out of his mouth with his finger, "I almost forgot." Reaching back into the trunk he pulled out two large dildos with thick braided ribbons, with colours to match the bridles, hanging off the ends, "Can't be horses without tails."

Before Spike could offer an dissenting opinion on the matter, Hart was already coating both hunks of silicon with lubricant. The young man handed one of the toys along with the tube of slick to Charise who was already motioning for Spike to bend over.

"I hope you sanitized these after the show," she said with a reproachful look at her friend.

Spike raised an eyebrow as he bent forward, his hands on his knees, "What kind of stage show uses sex toys?"

"Oh, Kippie," Hart chortled, "only the best! These are all props from the Softcore Derby, another fine theatrical production by the Pink Drink."

It must be said that Hart pronounced "Pink Drink" as "Pank Drank."

Taking an unnecessary breath as Charise's fingers gently pressed between his ass, Spike tried to relax as he was loosened inch by inch until he could comfortably take the dildo's girth. Though he tried to ignore the sounds of apparent pleasure as Harriet prepared her brother's entrance and pushed the lavender-hued toy home, Spike couldn't shrug off the prickly, uncomfortable feelings he got when the siblings got a little too close with one another. It did not seem to bother Yolande or Charise, who had both probably gotten used to the way brother and sister interacted.

Patting Spike's thigh, Charise announced, "All done, Bashful. Don't you look cute? You're my own My Little Pony."

The vampire made a very indignant snort through his nose as his jaw ticked in irritation when the bit was carefully pushed between his teeth.

"We'll race down to the gazebo, turn back, round the fountain, and the first one to touch the croquet rack wins. How about that?" Hart suggested as he tightened the bridle and returned the bit to his lips.

Spike nodded and watched Hart kneel down so that Yolande could climb onto his back, her long bare legs clamping around his middle, the white linen ruffles of her petticoat riding high while her wiry arms wrapped around his neck. Following suit, Spike took a knee and motioned for Charise to "saddle up" as it were.

His owner only laughed and waved her hand dismissively, "Sweetheart, I'm going to sit this one out. Let Harriet climb aboard."

Harriet untied the broad ribbon from her middle, letting the waist of her lawn gown flair out. As she straddled Spike's sides, the vampire locked his arms around her knees and gave her a small fright when he stood up suddenly, giving her a heft upwards as he shifted her weight to make it easier to carry her. When she grasped his shoulders to keep from losing her balance and tumbling backwards, Spike could feel that Harriet was not wearing any undergarments as she pressed closer, the slight moistness of her sex rubbing against his skin.

With both men lined up and riders situated, Charise shook an embroidered napkin to call the race to start. Hart, predictably, jumped the gun, not that it helped with Spike's demonic speed. Even with Harriet's weight on his back and clenching on the heavy phallus, Spike outpaced Hart almost instantly. Harriet let out an excited squeal as her straw hat was sent flying off her head as Spike ran, the ostrich plumes waving happily as the dapper chapeau wafted in the air before spinning around in the grass. Hart was calling out for Spike to slow down, obviously having difficulties keeping Yolande mounted on his slender back.

The braided tail with all its sparkly gems and baubles whipped almost painfully against Spike's calves as he rounded the fountain. He could not even fathom a guess as to why he'd gone along with this game. It was though he just did not want to rock Charise's pink chiffon armada. However, there was an inkling that if anyone he had known from his pre-captivity unlife was watching, the vampire would have protested vigorously, but now there did not seem to be much point to it. His desire to escape still fleetingly appeared, but it was usually quelled by blood, a delicious pastry, or an orgasm.

Finally returning to the croquet set, Spike turned to see that Hart was puffing and huffing, struggling to even stay upright as he lagged behind. Harriet made a small shout of triumph as she hopped off Spike's back and retrieved her hat.

"Who would have ever guessed that vampires would be so fast?" Hart gasped for breath as he trudged the last few yards to the finish line as though his legs were mired in cement.

Spike smirked, his words muffled somewhat by the bit in his mouth, "Guess you won't be asking for a best two-out-of-three, then?"

Hart croaked and spit out his bit as he collapsed on the grass, "Are you kidding? I'm just getting my second wind."

Stepping away from the young man's prone form, Yolande grabbed Harriet's hand and allowed her to ride piggy-back as she took off towards the fountain, both exclaiming their merriment as they went. Spike laughed softly at their silliness before he caught sight of Charise's content yet still somewhat sad expression.

"Your turn," the vampire tilted his head towards her.

Charise shook her head, "I appreciate your offer, but I'll break your back if you try to lift me."

"Unless you weigh as much as a church organ, you're not going to hurt me," Spike replied as he pulled the bit from his lips.

"No, it's all right. I don't want-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Spike knelt down, reached behind himself to grab Charise's arms, and yanked her onto his back before sprinting towards the opposite end of the greenhouse.

As she was jostled around when Spike picked up speed, Charise repeatedly shrieked, "Put me down!"

Spike didn't follow her instructions. He proceeded to run himself to exhaustion, getting out all of his auxiliary energy, long after Charise's friends were already tuckered out and resting in the garden chairs. When Spike eventually stopped running, Charise stood on her own feet, her face bright red from exuberance, as she took deep breaths to calm herself. Spike lowered himself to the grass, removing the tail and the bridle, and stretched out to gaze up at the beautiful blue sky through the protection of the specialized glass of the greenhouse.

Sitting beside Spike with her dress fanned out in a sea of white cloth, Charise stroked her hand up his flank, "You're better than a pony, Bashful."

"Damn right I am," came the vampire's reply.

"You're such a good boy, Kippie!" Hart chuckled, holding out a sugar cube between his thumb and forefinger just above Spike's lips. "Eduardo and I have to get one just like you."

Spike's tongue darted out to pull the sugar cube into his mouth, "Good luck with that, mate."

After a quiet respite, Yolande decided it would be interesting to paint Spike or, more accurately, paint on Spike. She took him to the fountain and splashed him with the cool water, washing the spiraling racing stripes away in rainbow rivulets. Finding a quiet spot with a decent composition, Yolande eased herself onto her short-legged painting chair and opened her small cask of pigments. While she mixed colours on her palette, Spike was seated in front of her, his back and upper shoulders to be Yolande's not-quite-living canvas.

Sitting in the grass near the gazebo, Spike shuddered as he felt cool acrylic paint being swept over his skin in the quick motions of a mink-haired brush. The gentle strokes of the paint were soothing, and Spike felt a purr rumble up thorugh his chest. Yolande's breathing became very measured, her pulse so steady. Her gesticulations as she carefully danced bristles over his skin were so methodical yet filled with emotion. Though he could not see what Yolande had picked as her subject matter, Spike closed his eyes and tried to mentally trace what the brush strokes were creating.

Spike had almost forgotten what it was like to interact long-term with humans. He'd spent over a hundred years mostly in the company of Drusilla alone. His conversations with average folk were limited to whatever it took to isolate them so that he could feed. To not worry about where his next meal was coming from, to be around those that wanted nothing from him except for him to look pretty and receive pleasure, created an odd sense of relief and frustration. He had never found the kind of satisfaction he wanted from violence; most opponents could not match him, save Slayers, so to have the choice to fight physically taken away from him while his needs were being met seemed to quench some of his fighting fervor, though not all of it. Spike was missing the adrenaline rush, metaphorical or not depending on how vampiric biology worked, of the hunt, a brawl, being in the thick of an angry mob. Tea parties and fancy clothing just reminded him of the parts of his life he'd rather forget. Of course, fluffy little William would have had a stroke if confronted with so much debauchery, no matter how lovely it was outwardly presented. To Spike, however, it was relatively tame.

Charise walked over to Spike and gently placed a wreath of garden flowers she had woven onto his head, and he smiled. Everything on her estate was like walking in the strangest dream ever forged by someone who had eaten too much buttercream frosting and candy floss, and yet parts of being there had been nice. Spike pondered if he was going soft from the chip being in his brain.



The morning Charise was to leave for New York was the first time Spike had seen her in "modern" clothing since she visited him in the commando lab. She wore a lilac A-line skirt with a matching blouse during breakfast, a pale green scarf jauntily tied around her neck. The meal had been a somewhat somber affair as her friends prepared to leave. Promptly when the bell struck nine, the same carriage that always brought the trio to the grounds emerged from the oak alley, the Clydesdales and Percherons clomping up the unpaved drive. Though they had arrived in 18th Century attire, they left in much less retro, if not still anachronistic, fashion. Tears were shed as the friends said farewell to Charise while their luggage was being carefully loaded into the carriage; Spike felt like the odd man out though he received his fair share of hugging as well.

The grand doors to the mansion's entryway were shut after Hart, Yolande, and Harriet, all waving until they were no longer in sight, disappeared beyond the estate's gate. Charise was pinning her small pillbox hat in her hair and donning a short jacket. A mountain of her suitcases and traveling trunks was sitting by the door while she waited for her chauffeur to arrive. She turned to Spike and fixed the lapels of his long robe.

"I know you'll be good for Pomme and Pêche," Charise smiled, her eyes a little misty.

"Yes, Mistress," Spike said, feeling uncomfortable for reasons that alluded him.

Charise leaned up to kiss the tip of his nose, "Don't be so glum. I wish I could take you with me. Tell you what, I'll bring you back a present. What would you like?"

"A pony."

"Weirdo."

"I'll settle for an 'I Heart New York' t-shirt," Spike shrugged as the sounds of Charise's ride pulling up outside echoed in the marble entryway.

Charise patted her hand against her hair, checking herself over to make sure everything was still in place, "Pomme and Pêche have the remote to your collar while I'm gone. I sincerely hope that they don't have to use it."

Spike rolled his eyes, "I'll behave."

The doors opened again to reveal a Rolls Royce Silver Wraith that had been painted, almost expectantly, pink. As Poire and Citron took her luggage to the car, Charise gave Spike several kisses on his cheek with an expression that seemed to say that she was on the precipice of crying. Spike felt her carefully applied lipstick smear on his face. He'd have to get one of his maids to help him get it off.

The young woman sniffled a little, "Bye, Bashful."

"Bye, Charise," Spike responded and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

"Oh," came the tiny gasp from Charise's perfectly glossed lips as she blushed.

As she walked out of the mansion and into the bright sunlight, Charise kept glancing back as if fearing that Spike would no longer be there if she turned away for too long. Spike watched the Rolls rumble down the drive; Charise waved her handkerchief in farewell out the car's window as it pulled away to a road unknown, and the gate clanged shut. The vampire debated about what he wanted to do. He knew that the reasonable thing, that most people would do in his situation, would be to plot another escape while Charise's watchful eye was gone, but that didn't seem so important anymore. Immediately upon learning that she would be leaving him to her servants to care for, Spike had been sure that he would have leapt into action the instant she was absent, but instead he returned to his room with his maids to get dressed.

No sense in worrying about that now. I've got a few days to decide, Spike thought to himself, more engrossed in being able to choose his own attire from the massive closet for the first time.

Settling on the blue pajama bottoms he'd been allowed to keep from his foiled escape attempt and a loosened stay, Spike asked Pomme and Pêche to a game of reduced-deck poker. He was surprised to find that his prim maids were quite adept swindlers. Of course, losing only cost him a few sweets from the bon-boniere. They had played for hours, ordering lunch service be brought to the small gaming table in Spike's parlor. Though the vampire had been allowed to request food items from time to time, he had never been able to dictate the whole menu. Spike decided on gastropub items, choosing Welsh rabbit, mussels, and sugar-cured duck along with a large amount of fresh blood.

It's good to be the King, Spike mused as he sipped on the deep red libation, most likely courtesy of the rabbit, poured for him while he engaged in a particularly amusing game of War with the maids.

The sun was setting when the dinner service arrived- rare steak, boiled potatoes, and a blooming onion, to which Spike declared Chef Jean-Pierre a genius. Spike kicked back in the parlor to watch some nameless Steven Seagal action-gasm with Pomme and Pêche, enjoying a bit of company over the blare of explosions on the television. Just as Spike was considering retiring to bed early, Dolmancé stood before him, towering grim and sour. He turned quickly to Pomme and Pêche with a disapproving glare.

"My flight has been cancelled, so I won't be able to attend the meeting in New York," the older man said through nearly gritted teeth, "In lieu of this, you may take your days off for the month until Miss St. Char returns."

Pomme's brow furrowed, "But what about the baby? Mistress instructed us to watch him-"

Dolmancé replied with an overabundance of arrogance, "Since I am in the house to manage things, you're both unnecessary."

"I don't really feel comfortable leaving. I mean, I would rather speak with the Mistress about this." Pêche shared a nervous glance with her workmate.

Sighing heavily, Dolmancé removed his PDA from his interior jacket pocket, using the stylus to poke at it for a few minutes before turning the screen for the maids to see, "Miss St. Char sent me this message from the airport upon learning that I would staying here for the duration of her trip."

Whatever the message was, Pomme and Pêche nodded to one another. Spike tried to hide the fact that he was trying to see what the message said before Dolmancé returned the PDA to his pocket. Both women wished the vampire a good-night and promised to return as soon as possible, giving him small kisses on the cheek.

As the maids approached the doorway, Dolmancé held out a hand, "Aren't you ladies forgetting something?"

Pomme pursed her lips together and reached into her apron to retrieve the remote to Spike's shock collar. With some hesitation, she placed the device in the old man's hand. Once the maids were gone with their overnight bags, Dolmancé nodded curtly to Spike before exiting the apartments. The whole exchange had unsettled Spike's nerves, which was not helped by the amount of blood he had consumed sloshing about in his stomach waiting to be absorbed or dissolved or whatever happens to what vampires eat. Turning off the television, Spike felt surrounded by the uneasy quiet of his rooms. Dolmancé was a creepy, controlling bastard, forever skulking around where he didn't belong. Spike always felt as though he was being spied on, specifically the gut churning sense that someone who was not fond of him was paying too much attention.

In the distance, Spike could hear the buzzer for the gate and got up to stand by the window. Even in the dark, he could just make out the forms of his maids, wearing street clothes and not their flounced polonaises as they were let through by security. Walking into the main apartment with his bed, Spike realized that he was practically alone. It was slightly disconcerting to him after being surrounded by people for so long. Spike paced around his room, knowing that he could wander about the mansion freely, but not liking the idea of seeing any more of Dolmancé that night.

Already starting to feel boredom encroaching upon him, Spike went to a few of his cabinets for some amusements. He picked out a few water-safe toys and a bottle of champagne he'd stolen from the kitchen stores. Normally, he wasn't much of a champagne-drinker, too poncy for his tastes, but he found himself enjoying the brand that Charise's chefs kept stocked. Slipping out of his pajama bottoms as he walked into his bathroom, Spike placed the assembled items on the marble floor beside the sunken tub. Perhaps he just needed to relax while he had a few moments solely to himself. As he lowered himself to sit on the seat that curved around the circumference of the tub and turned on the faucets and jets, Spike felt a twinge in his neck at the memory of the last time he'd had some alone-time, rubbing the skin just below the pearl shock collar.

As the water began to fill up around his ankles, Spike took a deep breath and began to pop the metal fasteners up the front of his stay, tossing the garment over his shoulder and onto the floor. He let his game-face descend as he grabbed the bottle of champagne, pulling out the cork with one of his fangs and spitting it into the water. Taking a long gulp of the sparkling liquid, Spike relished the taste of spicy pears before picking up one of his selected adult novelties, a neon blue stroker. Spike flicked open the cap on a bottle of "tropical"-scented lubricant and poured a generous amount into the small hole at one end of the toy. Lining up the stroker's entry with his penis in his other hand, Spike pushed forward as the water and foaming lather bobbed around his knees. He knew that his desperation was getting, well, desperate when the instant his penis touched the "cyberskin" of the stroker he hardened. Squeezing the toy around his member, feeling the gentle squish of warming lubricant and the ribbed interior of the stroker with all its rubbery little spines, the vampire sighed in pleasure. The smell of the lube and the citrusy fragrance of the bubblebath gave Spike a craving for sherbet.

"If you like piña coladas..." Spike mumbled softly as he picked up the pace of guiding the stroker up and down his shaft.

The water had risen over Spike's belly, and the sensation of toy and the jets around him were bringing him to the brink. His body relaxed further into the water as he reached out with his foot to turn off the faucets and turn up the intensity of the jets. It was at the moment of climax that Spike's body was jolted by the sudden and intense agony of his shock collar going off. The cords in his neck stood out as his entire body went rigid, his limbs flailing out stiff like a starfish as the shocks continued each on top of the previous one. All Spike could manage to do was make a strangled growl as his jaw snapped shut from the pain.

When the excruciating pulses of the collar stopped, Spike sagged half-conscious into the bath. As his head sank below the surface of the water, Spike opened his eyes. Through the sting of the soap and the haze of injury, Spike saw pink tendrils swirling about in the water and had just enough cognizance to recognize that it was not blood but the acrylics that Yolande had applied to his back washing off. Spike's last thought before darkness enveloped him was that he still had no idea what the woman had painted on his skin.

To be continued...




Find all chapters for this story thus far here.

x-posted on darker_spike and nekid_spike.