Versailles Undone :: Chapter Nine.

[fenderlove]

Title: Versailles Undone
Author: fenderlove
Pairing: Spike/OCs
Rating: NC-17 for pet!Spike, self-pleasure, babying, enemas, bathing, examinations, mentions of rape and BDSM.
Summary: After enduring a week of indignities at the hands of Dolmancé, Spike awaits the return of his "owner."



Versailles Undone
Chapter Nine: Petits Apartments.

Spike let his maids half-carry him into the spacious bathroom with its gilt-covered walls and ornate fixtures. The women eased him down next to the claw-footed bathtub. Pomme checked the temperature of the water as she turned the faucets on, and Pêche started to pour in the bathsalts and oils she normally used when bathing the vampire, but she glanced down at Spike's broken skin and thought better of it, placing the heavily-gilded jars back in their alcoves above the tub, not wanting to cause him any pain.

Spike gripped the edge of the bath and tried to pull himself up, but he still required assistance from his maids. He placed one foot in the tub and hissed as the warm water irritated the completely raw expanse of his ankle. Spike forced himself to sit in the water, and, as he gritted his teeth in pain, he was glad he could not see the damage to his backside. He glanced across the room to see that his corset and pajamas were still pooled on the floor near the sunken tub that had remained filled with water since Dolmancé spirited him into his chambers. The sex toys Spike had intended to use lay scattered on the marble floor as well.

"Can I get you anything, sweetheart?" Pêche asked, the overly moist appearance of her eyes making it seem as though she might begin crying.

Spike nodded slowly, "I'm hungry."

"Okay, I can get you food. Do you want anything in particular?" the maid carefully stroked the back of the vampire's head.

"Blood," Spike's throat was very dry, and his voice came out crackling like a teenaged boy's, "Human, if there's any... and as much as you can bring me."

Pêche went to the small intercom near the door into Spike's apartments and dialed the code for the kitchen. When she did not receive an answer, she left briskly to go downstairs herself.

Pomme picked up a small washcloth and lathered it with sweet-smelling soap. Starting with Spike's face, she bade him to close his eyes as she washed and rinsed the mess caked on his skin. She drew the cloth over Spike's chest and shoulders, flinching every time the vampire's body jerked away from the sting. Spike allowed himself to be bathed, trying to sit as still as possible despite the pain. As the water became more and more cloudy from dirt and blood, Pomme drained and refilled the tub. Spike put his hands under the running faucet and brought the cupped water to his face. He rinsed his mouth several times and rubbed his skin vigorously, digging his nails in around his cheeks and hairline until Pomme stopped him.

"Here, I'll wash your hair," Pomme said, hoping to distract him as she grabbed a bottle of shampoo and poured a generous amount of the pinkish-purple goo into her hand.

Spike tilted his head back, letting Pomme run her small fingers through his tangled, ungelled curls, working the flowery shampoo into his scalp. He sighed as her soapy digits massaged down the back of his head and around the top and bottom of the pearl-studded shock collar lock onto his throat. She hummed a gentle tune, trying to comfort him.

"Almost done. There's a good boy," Pomme whispered softly as if she were speaking to an upset toddler.

Spike held unneeded breath as Pomme grabbed the detachable showerhead and brought it down to gently spray over his hair and upper body until all the lather had sloughed down into the tub below. Though Pomme seemed scared to ask him to do it, Spike knelt forward on his hands and knees so that she could wash the rest of him, including his more intimate areas. Pomme had bathed him so many times since he had been brought to the mansion, always in a clinical yet caring fashion, but this was the first time she seemed tentative about touching any part of his body.

"Oh, sweetheart, what happened while we were gone?" Pomme's voice was trembling as she laid her hand flat on the center of Spike's backside as if she was trying to shield herself from seeing the blood encrusted on the vampire's skin.

Spike managed an abrupt reply, "Nothing."

Pomme slipped the washcloth between Spike's thighs, scrubbing away the layers of dried semen and blood. She issued many apologies for any pain she was causing as she cleaned between his buttocks. His asshole, normally pink and tight, was stretched, puffed, and reddened from misuse. Even though the cloth was quite soft, Spike bit his lip to keep from yelping as he was cleansed. As Pomme reached between his legs to wash his genitals, Spike roughly yanked the cloth out of her hand and began to attend to himself.

"I need... something else," Spike gasped as he realized just how much pain his lower body was in as he swiped the cloth over his penis.

"Anything, baby," Pomme replied solemnly as she drained the tub once more.

Spike, twisting the washcloth in his hands, agonized over the words, "I need you to... examine me... back there..."

"What-?"

"There might be something in there. I... I can't tell..." Spike felt humiliated for having to ask. "Just get the speculum out of the medical kit."

Helping Spike to stand, Pomme wrapped him in in a towel and briskly dried him off. She led Spike to the examination bench he had woken up on when he first was brought to Charise's mansion. Spike carefully laid down on the padded chair, raising his legs slowly into the soft-cuffed stirrups. Pomme went to the counters holding a set of deep-welled sinks and pulled the medical kit out of a drawer. Inside the pink plastic box, there were numerous supplies for simple injuries, but there were also a jar of Vaseline and a small anal speculum. Pulling a stool over to the bench, Pomme sat down and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. She carefully rubbed two fingers-full of Vaseline on Spike's abused pucker, using her smallest digit to press inside that tiny opening. Spike inhaled deeply, trying not to cry out. Pomme kept issuing apologies for hurting him as she withdrew her finger and proceeded to lubricate the speculum.

"It's a little cold," Pomme said softly, blowing puffs of hot breath on the tip of the instrument before pressing it against Spike's anus.

Spike dug his nails in the sides of the chair as he was breeched, and the speculum was widened inside his body. He felt more exposed than ever as that delicate woman examined him. He turned his head slightly and found a latex nipple near his mouth. He looked up to see Pêche holding a warmed bottle of blood for him.

Pêche gestured to the tray of identical bottles sitting on a tray on the counters. "I wasn't sure how much you wanted, so..."

Spike sighed and, without replying, latched onto the bottle, suckling rapidly.

Grabbing the pen light from the kit, Pomme peered inside the speculum, "I don't see anything... except a lot of tearing and blood."

Spike, not wanting to let go of the first meal he had received in a week, pointed towards the enema bags and nozzles hanging on the wall.

"You want an enema too?" Pomme asked, skeptically.

Spike had always put up a fuss about getting enemas, usually needing to be bribed with some privilege before agreeing to them, but now he just wanted to feel clean again, wanted every trace of the abuse he suffered to disappear. He nodded to the maid, holding up his hands to indicate that he wanted the largest bag.

While Pomme prepared the enema, Spike continued to feed, his vampiric ridges and fangs descending involuntarily as his lips worked around the latex nipple. Pêche smiled softly and rubbed the tip of her finger against the bumps that formed where his brow crunched into the bridge of his nose. She made a small "aww" noise. His monstrous visage had once terrified scores of grown men, sending legions to douse their knickers in fear at the mere sight of his golden eyes and sharp teeth. Now, a relatively young woman was cooing over these same features. She was either far braver or more jaded than Spike had thought, or it had more to do with the fact that he was sucking on a bottle like an overgrown baby. In either case, Spike did not care in that moment; he polished off one bottle and reached for another though he was content to let Pêche hold it for him.

Pomme lubricated the smallest nozzle she could find thoroughly and, holding the enema bag aloft in her opposite hand, slipped the thin tubing into Spike's anus. Unclamping retention clip on the tubing, she let the saline solution flood into the vampire's bowels. His body arched off the bench slightly before he calmed. Groaning at the pressure that instantly began building in his gut, Spike continued to suck down pull after pull of blood faster than before, indicating he wanted a third serving to which Pêche obliged. Despite the pain and humiliation, the fresh human blood and the gentle attention to his entrance caused a stirring in Spike's loins. His penis began to stiffen, the abraded foreskin pulling back to reveal its glistening pink crown.

Ignoring the vampire's erection, Pomme massaged Spike's lower abdomen, "It's not hurting your tummy too much, is it?"

Spike shook his head slightly, moaning around the bottle. He reached down to take hold of his cock, squeezing it. Usually, if he tried to pleasure himself in front of the maids, they would swat his hands away from his privates, but they now allowed him some indulgence. He let his fingers trail up and down his shaft, finding a modicum of comfort in being able to harden without wires strangling his genitals.

Shutting his eyes to avoid staring at the putti and cherubs staring at him from the ceiling mural, Spike realized that he was in the exact same position he awoke to over a month prior. He mentally ticked off his time since being captured by the Initiative. He relived in quick succession the three months of invasive and degrading experimentation, the uncertainty, and the near-starvation. Then, when Charise arrived in her prim dress, he saw a light at the end of the tunnel. She had rescued him in her own selfish way. Spike reflected on the five weeks of feigning obedience in her home until he did not have to pretend anymore; he obeyed, he acquiesced, and he eventually desired. Charise's gentility, the security she offered, and even the simplicity of having company were all things that had prevented him from escaping with more than half of his heart. Now, this last week had eclipsed the ease in which Spike had been living; he once again felt insecure and unsure. Lingering thoughts of escape began to creep into his mind, but he shoved them away. What had transpired with Dolmancé, Framboise, the Colonel, and "Trigger" only proved to Spike that he had been, without a doubt, reduced to a state in which he could no longer care for himself. He needed Charise, and he would have to find a way to never let her go away without him again lest he be vulnerable to the same cruelty that he had been the victim of for the past week.

"All done, baby," Pomme said, giving Spike a warning before removing the nozzle from his body.

Spike sat up slowly, reluctantly letting go of the third bottle and scooting himself to the edge of the bench as Pomme held a porcelain chamberpot underneath him. Relaxing his body, Spike did not try to hold any of the solution back, allowing it to exit his body. Spike was beyond caring about embarrassment as the saline splashed into the receptacle, and he climaxed, his semen splashing on his stomach and thankfully not on Pomme as she knelt between his open legs. A faint blush, fueled by passion and a fresh infusion of blood, painted the tips of Spike's ears and over the plains of his cheeks. When he finished expelling the enema solution, Spike eased himself down again, grabbing at the bottle remaining in Pêche's hand and popping the nipple back into his mouth. His pallor had drastically changed as he continued to drink. From pallid and waxy came back the vivid pink-peach flesh as fresh as it had been the night William had died in Drusilla's arms. Unfortunately, as lovely, uninjured patches of skin appeared, the greenish bruises that covered his body suddenly flooded into brilliant reds and violets. The burns and raw wounds seemed more angry, and the bite-marks were more defined. The maids quietly bandaged his injuries, and their attention was too appealing for Spike to tell them that Bandaids would likely be unnecessary now that he could feed.

While drinking through bottles four and five, Spike consented to Pomme using a nail-brush on his fingers and toes. Finally feeling somewhat sated, Spike momentarily pushed the bottle away. He did not really want to get up from the softness of the examination chair. The positive, supportive emotion around him was intoxicating, but the thought of remaining in the mansion while two of the people who had attacked him lived there continued to give him a fear which quaked him to the core. He wanted to be sure he could avoid them, but once Charise returned, he'd go back to sleeping in her room, which Framboise had access to. Surely, Charise's maid would not try anything once her employer returned.

Pêche petted Spike's hand, "Let's get you ready for bed; you look exhausted."

Spike knew he would be unable to sleep, but he nodded and slid off the bench. He looked at his clean fingernails, buffed to a slight shine. It was nice to be clean, and Spike wished it was enough to make him forget. Pomme turned down Spike's bed in its little niche while Pêche stepped over the disaster in the closet to get some of the vampire's clothing. Spike shifted a little from foot to foot as Pêche brought him a pair of white cotton drawers and a soft stay brocaded with silver thread. She held the drawers low so that Spike could step into them, pulling them up his legs and tying the baby blue bows on each side of his hips. Holding out his arms, Spike took a deep breath as the stay was wrapped around his middle, the laces drawn looser than he would have liked had he been uninjured. Dressed, Spike went to his small bed and practically collapsed on it. His body sank into the heavenly plush feather mattress, and he grabbed the large teddy bear that Hart and Harriet had given him before Charise left for her business trip. Spike pressed "Frottie" to his belly; the fuzzy toy smelled of Charise and her friends, which was a further comfort to the vampire.

Pomme pulled the bedclothes over Spike and tucked them in around him. Both maids drew chairs near Spike's bed, promising him that they would not leave his side while he slept. Keeping his back to them, Spike could not sleep though his eyes were closed. After a while, the maids began to talk quietly to one another, obviously believing the vampire was sound asleep.

"You know who's done this to him," Pêche whispered. "What are we going to tell, Miss St. Char?"

Pomme replied, stroking Spike's hair, "I don't know. I just can't believe that Mr. Dolmancé would do something like this, but why else would he have lured us out of the house?"

Pêche responded, "Not just us. You saw the carriage house- the only cars there are the security guards' and Framboise's. He rid himself of the whole staff for an entire week. You spoke to Miss St. Char as I did, and she never sent him a request to give us the week off, so he must have faked the message that he showed us."

"Where is Framboise?" Pomme asked, sounding as though she was worried for the girl's safety.

Hopefully drowning in a cesspool somewhere, Spike thought to himself as his fingers slowly threaded over the fur of his toy.

"I think a better question is who changed Miss St. Char's plane tickets to a later date, so that she wouldn't be able to come home when she was supposed to," Pêche said, swallowing a lump in her throat.

"The same person who faked a message from Miss St. Char telling us to go home for the week," Pomme sounded resigned that Dolmancé had indeed done some very nefarious things. "I can't imagine how angry Miss St. Char going to be when she finds out what he's done to the baby."

Spike bolted up and angrily pointed a finger at the young women, "You're not going to tell her a bloody thing. Do you understand?"

Pêche beseeched him, "Sweetheart, look at what he's done to you. We have to tell."

"I'll heal before she gets back. Charise'll never know," Spike spat, "And you should be more worried with how angry she's going to be with the two of you."

"Us?" Pomme gasped.

Spike took out some of his frustration on the maids, "You both left me. With him. Neither one of you bothered to confirm with Charise that she wanted you to leave me in the house alone with that asshole before you took off, did you? You're as guilty as he is."

Though he didn't mean what he had said, Spike realized he did hold some anger towards the women for following orders too easily.

Pomme's chin quivered as she held back some tears, "We would have never let him do this to you. We didn't know..."

Pêche fell haphazardly on Spike and hugged him tightly. After they'd taken care of him and fed him while showing obvious concern for his well-being, Spike could not stay angry with the maids, but he also was not able to stay silent any longer. Spike told them everything that had happened with Dolmancé from the hour after they had left the mansion up until the vampire awoke unchained and able to get back to his own room. Every insult and injury Spike suffered came spilling out of his lips, but, in the end, he forced the maids to promise to not tell Charise. They relented and agreed with heavy hearts, perhaps believing that the secret was not theirs to share.

The following morning, the mansion began to come back to life as the staff slowly returned. Spike watched, curled up in his favourite chair in his pajamas, from the window as the other housekeepers, chefs, and workers entered the house in their street clothing, carrying their overnight bags. Pomme and Pêche had changed into their flounced polonaises and aprons and began cleaning the petits apartments, including righting the furniture and sweeping all the broken glass from the closet. Spike had been drinking blood all morning, watching his wrists and ankles to see the transformation from raw, abraded flesh to no trace of bruising or injury remaining. Though he knew Charise would be suspicious of what had happened to him to prevent him from answering the phone and his tone upon talking to her, she would never have to know the truth. He would also have to come up with a convincing lie for what happened to the broken mirrors in his closet.

Around noon, the phone in Spike's apartment rang, and Pomme answered it. After hanging up, she announced that Charise had arrived at the airport and was on her way back to the mansion. Spike got up from his chair and explained to the maids that he wanted to dress for Charise's return in a way that would make her the most happy. Pomme and Pêche took him into the closet and picked out an outfit for him to wear that they knew would please their employer. After undressing Spike from his night attire, the maids began his ensemble with a pair of pink silk boxers, for lack of a better word. The underwear was barely more than a scrap of fabric gathered and ruched onto a broad satin waistband. Spike allowed himself to be squeezed into a white-and-mint-striped cincher fitted just beneath his pectorals. After slipping on a pair of white silk stockings with a rose brocade, Spike donned the white taffeta shirt with its lacy cuffs and a pink satin waistcoat with matching breeches. On top of it all, Spike slipped on a tight-fitting, pink satin, Prussian-style jerkin, decorated with ermine on the shoulders and a brocaded pattern to match the stockings.

After stepping into his grey slippers anointed with tiny rose-hued bows, Spike sat at the vanity table. Pomme brushed back his curls, letting them fall to one side in a more stylish coiffure than he normally allowed and then tinted his peroxided locks with a sweet-scented pink powder. Pêche took a pair of tweezers and carefully plucked each of Spike's eyebrows, emphasizing each with a black pencil. She then used the pencil to highlight the beauty mark beneath Spike's right eye. The maids lightly rouged his cheeks, painted his lips with a gloss, and then applied a mint-coloured polish to his nails. While he waited for his fingertips to dry, Spike tilted his chin up as Pomme added the final touch, covering up the pearl-encrusted shock collar with a voluptuously-tied light green gauze cravat with a white lace ruffle. Spike was very curious as to what kind of picture he painted, but the looks on Pomme and Pêche's faces told him that he must have looked quite delicious.

The weather had grown dismal, and rain was pouring down as Charise's bright pink Rolls Royce Silver Wraith entered the Oak Alley from the front gate. Spike paced a little, considering if he should go down to meet her or wait. He did not want to alert Charise that anything strange was going on. The choice turned out to be not his to make. As he snuck another look out the window, he saw Charise practically leap out of the car before the chauffeur could park. She ran into the house and, faster than the vampire would have given credit to a woman of her size and stature, entered Spike's apartments. Even from her short jaunt into the house, Charise was soaked. She was breathing very hard, wearing a very 1980s outfit rather than 1780s. Her oversized, pinstriped blouse clung to her body over a pair of black leggings. She wasn't wearing any shoes, and the large, white bow in her hair was drooping forlornly.

"Hi," was all Spike could manage.

After gulping down several breaths, Charise sputtered, "You look like a petit four,"

Spike forced a smile, "That was kind of the idea. Do you like?"

"Yes," she gave him another once-over, "Very much."

"What happened to your shoes?" the vampire asked.

Charise looked down at her French-tipped, pedicured toes, "They're downstairs. I thought it'd be faster without them."

"I'm glad you're home," Spike moved to embrace her.

Charise, accepting the affection with a sigh of relief, replied, "Me too."


To be continued...




Find all chapters for this story thus far here.

x-posted on nekid_spike and darker_spike.