I want to thank everyone for the awesome reviews! I know, I'm horrible about responding to them, but I just don't really know what to say other than "Thanks for reading and I'm glad you like it!" And I should probably say, "Please don't hate me for how mean I'm being to Spike. Honestly, it's not me; it's my evil, therapy-needing muse. I swear. He loves torturing the poor guy and I do my best to force him to let Spike receive some comfort, but as they say… It'll get worse before it gets better."

Service Unit

Chapter Four – Open

Buffy spun to face the demon cowering in the chair. "What the hell have you done to Spike?"

The demon sputtered in fear at the rage rolling off the small woman. "You are acquainted with this unit?"

Buffy had her hand fisted in the front of his robe and had jerked him out of the chair before he could blink. "Yeah, I know him. How did you get him?"

"It was given into service twenty three years ago and my employer assigned me as its trainer."

"Given? By who? And that's not freaking possible! He was in LA last week! Seven days ago! You said he's had two year leases and six months of whatever… How is that possible?"

The demon quivered and looked down at the hand tearing a hole in his robe. "Madam, I will explain everything. Kindly have a seat and I will answer any questions you have."

Buffy released the demon with a shove and he toppled back into the chair. "Nope." The demon relaxed slightly and Buffy snarled, "Oh, don't get me wrong, you're gonna explain, so you'd better not even think about moving from that chair. I'm gonna get Spike cleaned up and comfortable and then you and I are gonna have a nice long talk."

The demon nodded then said quietly, "As you wish, madam. I am required to remain until the customer is satisfied, so you do not need to worry about me while you tend to the unit."

"Fabulous. How do I get the cuffs off? Are they magic, too? What about the crap on his… uh…"

"The cuffs simply buckle on and the ring's release clasp is on the underside. If you do not wish the unit to ejaculate when the ring is opened, tap it in the center of its chest before you release the ring and it will not."

Buffy eyed Spike's still purple erection and huffed, "And how in the hell is he supposed to do that? Look at him. He looks like he's ready to explode."

"It has been trained so."

"Right. Of course he has." She turned to Spike and had to fight back a sudden burst of tears. He was still kneeling with his head tipped back in the position she'd left it in, but he hadn't opened his eyes or given any sign that he even knew she was there. She spoke over her shoulder in a quiet, cold voice, "Oh… and this is Spike. HE is not an it, and if you refer to him as 'the unit' or 'it' one more time, I'll make you into an 'it' if you aren't one already. And if you are, then I guess I'll just have to get… creative. Are we clear?"

She heard a small gulp then the demon answered, "Of course, madam."

Buffy nodded then moved toward Spike, speaking in a calm, soothing voice like she was talking to a trapped animal, "Spike? I'm going to un-cuff you now, so just be still, okay?"

There was no response as she stepped behind him and lightly touched his shoulder. She slid her fingertips down his arm until she reached the cuff on his right wrist. "Here we go, Spike." She quickly unbuckled the cuff and eased it away from his raw and abraded skin. He didn't move except for a slight twitch of the fingers on that hand. The left cuff was soon unbuckled and Buffy tossed them into the toy crate with a snort of disgust. Spike's hands were still positioned at his lower back, only now he was having to work to keep them there. His muscles were trembling slightly and Buffy noticed that his breathing had increased.

She lightly grasped his arms just above the abraded skin and started gently pulling them apart. He didn't resist her at all, but she stopped when he tensed, obviously in pain. His muscles had become accustomed to the position and it hurt him to move them to a new one. "Spike?"

She could hear his teeth grinding together as he forced his arms apart and moved them around to the front of his body, only to extend them out and press his wrists together at chest height. Buffy blinked then looked over at the demon. "Why is he doing that?"

"The u… er… he is waiting for new restraints to be applied. As I mentioned, he has not been unrestrained for his entire length of service."

Buffy stepped around Spike, noting that he still hadn't moved his head or opened his eyes. "Why won't he open his eyes or move or anything? Can he even hear me?"

"He has not been given a command to do either of those things, and no, he cannot hear you."

Buffy turned to the demon. "But I took the hood off."

"This u…" The demon paused, gulping again, then continued, "He was rendered deaf during training."

Buffy's voice was nearly a snarl. "Rendered deaf. Right. Just how, exactly, was that done? And for your sake, it had better be able to be reversed."

The demon hurried to speak, "Of course, madam, it is simply a magical item inserted into the ear canal. Once removed, normal hearing will return in a matter of moments."

"Why did you do that to him in the first place?"

"This… uh… he was rather difficult to tame, madam, and I was forced to use every method at my disposal to…"

Buffy slashed her hand through the air. "Just shut it, okay? I get it. You took everything you could away from him so he'd be the perfect little slave. Can he see? Can he talk? Can he smell?"

"His vision is unimpaired, although it may take some time for his eyes to adjust after wearing the hood. His sense of smell and voice, however…"

"However?"

"His abilities to scent and vocalize were also removed during training."

Buffy's hands clenched into fists and she had to fight off a wave of despair at never again hearing Spike's deep baritone. She desperately wanted him to say something… anything… some small reassurance that the Spike she knew was still in there somewhere. Even an insult would be welcome at this point. She'd cry with happiness if he told her that she had stupid hair or a tragic taste in men. She forced her hands to relax then pinned the demon with a glare. "Can they be returned?"

The demon nodded vigorously. "Yes, madam, if you wish them to be, although I must tell you that this… uh… he is quite… noisy… during certain… activities. His screaming becomes somewhat grating after a time…"

Buffy was across the living room in a flash and hoisting the demon out of the chair by the front of his robe… again. "Stop talking." She dragged him across the room and thrust him toward Spike. "Fix him. Remove whatever magical crap you need to so he can hear and talk and smell. And if you hurt him even a little tiny bit…"

She let the threat hang in the air as the demon gulped again and nodded toward one of the crates on the floor. "The tool I need is in that crate, madam."

"Great. Get it. And what in the hell is the hood for if you've already taken almost all his senses?" Buffy closed her eyes. "You know what? Don't bother answering because I've already figured it out. It's just one more 'method' to break him, isn't it? Take almost everything away and then lock him into the dark on top of it. God, you're sick." She opened her eyes and saw the demon just standing by the crate, not moving. She barked, "What the hell are you waiting for?" He jumped and bent to the crate, shuffling items around, and Buffy glowered at him then looked over at Spike. "How do I get him to open his eyes?"

"Tap an eyelid."

Buffy made another disgusted noise and moved to stand in front of Spike, reaching out to gently push his arms down. His brow furrowed a bit, but he didn't otherwise react as she directed his hands to rest on his thighs then gently uncurled his fingers. She stood in front of him and took a deep breath, wondering what exactly was going to happen when he opened his eyes.

She braced herself and reached tentatively toward his face.

XX

XXXX

XX

Spike's POV

He restrained himself from taking a deep breath of relief as he felt the hood dissolving, wondering how long he'd be without it this time. Not that wearing the hood was much different from not wearing it, being that his renters seldom allowed him to open his eyes, but still. Any small freedom he was allowed was to be celebrated and enjoyed for as long as possible.

He nearly jumped when he felt small, warm hands cup his face. Thumbs brushed over his cheekbones and he stayed still, not even daring to breathe, as he tried to ascertain what order this new renter was giving him, but the hands weren't giving any type of command that he understood.

The hands went away and he braced himself for the punishment he'd earned by not following the order, but nothing happened. He knelt there, wondering if his new renter was looking for something to punish him with or if his trainer was explaining the most effective punishments for disobedience. He sincerely hoped it was the former and that his trainer wasn't giving his renter any ideas. It was obvious from the trainer's demonstration of his features and abilities that his new renter was unfamiliar with his species, and yes, he could endure quite a lot of pain, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it, or wanted his new renter to be told how to inflict it.

He'd mostly locked away his current pain – he could still feel his injuries and the tight bindings around his cock and balls, but the pain was pushed down into the back of his mind – although any new injuries or inflicted pain would bring all of it slamming back to the fore and he'd be writhing in renewed agony.

He was so tired of being in pain. He'd been in pain for so long now that he couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been. He'd stopped trying to remember his past, because keeping those memories alive had only caused more pain, mostly located around his dead heart. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter as unwelcome flashes of memory played across his mind – blonde hair, shining hazel-green eyes, a soft smile, and two joined hands engulfed in flames.

He trembled and hurriedly shoved those memories away, locking them up tight. Thinking of her only made his current existence harder to deal with. He hadn't even thought her name – or his, if he was being completely honest with himself – in so long that he couldn't remember them, and he didn't want to try, not now when he had a new renter to acclimate to. He had to focus all his energy on his renter, learn what they wanted and how they wanted it, so he could perform his service adequately and hope to avoid a harsh punishment when he was returned to his trainer at the end of the lease. There was no way to avoid punishment altogether. No matter how well he performed, his trainer always found something worth punishing him for, but if he did well, then at least it wouldn't be very bad.

He'd become quite the proper little pleasure slave. He responded to commands quickly, almost without any thought at all, and he'd stopped trying to fight back ages ago. He just let whoever held his lease do whatever they wanted to him, no matter how brutal or degrading the act. He was also very good at showing how much whatever they were doing was hurting him because that's what they wanted… and what they were paying for. His renters received pleasure by causing him pain, and trying to be stoic throughout numerous beatings and rapes had only brought extended sessions of punishment from his trainer. So now, he just shut off the thinking part of himself and let his body react while his renter was beating or using him… or doing whatever it was that got them off – and he'd endured some strange practices in his years of service… because if the renter felt that they'd gotten their money's worth out of him then he didn't get punished… much. It was quite simple, really, when you stopped to think about it.

He knew precisely how far he'd fallen from what he'd once been. He used to be a fierce warrior, a Champion – he'd even saved the world, if he remembered correctly – but now… He was basically a toy. An expensive and highly sought after toy, but a toy nonetheless. He was a pair of holes, an occasional dildo, and a punching bag, and that was all. He had no worth as a sentient being and he knew it. Nobody cared about what he thought or felt or wanted, they only wanted to use him for their pleasure, pay the bill, and go on with their lives until the next time they needed to hurt something. It had taken him a while to realize that fact, but once he had, he'd shut the past away as tightly as he could manage. It didn't do him any good to compare his current existence with his past one. In fact, it made it harder to focus on what he had to do and endure to continue existing at all, so he'd done his level best to stop thinking about it.

Some days were easier than others at accomplishing that feat. On the days where all his attention was occupied by the short term renter currently pounding into his ass or mouth… or both at the same time – sometimes he was rented out to a group, a family, or as entertainment for a party… it was easy to not think about his past. He also didn't allow himself to think about anything but his renter during his longer leases, even during whatever downtime he experienced. He knelt wherever they instructed him to and waited to be used again, but he didn't let his mind wander. That led to slow command obedience which led to brutal punishments, so he made sure to stay focused. But on the days that he wasn't in service or being punished, rare though those days were, his mind wouldn't have anything to concentrate on besides maintaining whatever position he'd been ordered into, and remembering to keep his back straight as he knelt on the floor in the center of the cell he barely spent any time in didn't really take all that much brain power.

He nearly jumped again when something lightly touched his shoulder then slid down his right arm. Fingertips. And they were so gentle, barely even touching him at all. That was unusual. Nobody touched him gently. Even the creatures that were tasked with cleaning him after punishments and preparing him for his next renter caused him as much pain as they could get away with while performing their duties.

His renter unbuckled the cuff on his right wrist then unbuckled the left. He tried not to move, but his fingers twitched a little and then the muscles in his arms started trembling as he worked to keep his hands in the uncomfortable position without the assistance of the restraints. He didn't notice he'd started breathing again until the renter's fingers circled his arms and started pulling them apart.

Pain slammed into him as his muscles screamed at the movement and he tensed, trying to brace himself for more pain as his arms were moved further. The renter stopped applying pressure to his arms, but the command had already been given, so, gritting his teeth, he continued to bring his arms around to the front of his body, moving them into position to be restrained again.

He figured he was going to be hung up for a whipping as his punishment. At least he hoped it would only be a whipping and not one of the more inventive punishments his trainer had used in the past. He'd learned quite a lot about what his species could endure over the years, things that would be very interesting to that group of demented scientists that had kidnapped him eons ago.

Some days – actually, most days – he wished he was back in the stark white cell that still made cameo appearances in his nightmares… when he was allowed to sleep. His current existence was far more terrifying than even his worst nightmares, but the horrible things the soldiers and scientists had done to him were nothing compared to what his trainer and renters had subjected him to.

He waited, breathing heavily as he tried to maintain position through the painful knotting of his muscles. He'd had his hands restrained behind him for a while and he knew it would take time for his muscles to stop clenching enough to adjust to the new position. And when he was hung up for the whipping, they'd scream so loudly at having to take his weight that he wouldn't even notice the first five or six lashes of the whip.

He was ashamed at having earned a punishment so early into his new lease, and he knew he'd be punished even more by his trainer when the lease was up, no matter how harshly his renter punished him. His trainer loathed being embarrassed by his slaves and would mete out a punishment much greater than however much embarrassment he'd been caused.

He wanted to drop his head in submission, try to let his trainer and renter know that he was sorry he'd disobeyed, but he hadn't been given an order to move, so he stayed still, straining to hold his hands out in front of him. He jumped when his renter's hands touched his forearms and started applying downward pressure. He slowly lowered his arms, trying to figure out what punishment position he was meant to assume, then sat in shock as his renter placed his hands on his thighs and uncurled his fingers, laying them flat.

His fingers were touching his legs. He twitched them slightly, feeling the small hairs on his thighs brushing against the sensitive pads of his fingers, and his shock turned to near awe. His fingers hadn't touched any part of himself other than the palms of his hands in years… possibly decades. He had no idea how long he'd been a slave, but in nearly all that time, he'd been restrained in one fashion or another, not allowed to touch anything at all.

There was a light tap on his left eyelid and his training immediately took over, pushing all other thoughts away save one… I must please my renter. He opened his eyes and bright light bombarded him, causing him to squint as his eyes watered from the assault. He blinked several times, trying to hurry the adjustment along so his renter wouldn't become impatient and punish him for being too slow on top of punishing him for his disobedience.

When his vision cleared, he was sure that he was hallucinating. It couldn't be her. He blinked again and tried to focus his gaze, but it was difficult with his head tipped back the way it was. He was looking at her out the bottoms of his eyes and his brain was disbelieving of what his eyes were telling it. She turned her head slightly, looking at something out of his field of vision, and her mouth moved, then she reached out and tapped his chin. He lifted his head at the command and focused on her properly, still not believing what he was seeing. She was exactly the same as the vision he'd carried around in his head all this time. How was that possible? He'd been a slave for years and years and she looked as if no time had passed at all.

Then she smiled… that soft smile that haunted his thoughts whenever he let them wander down that particular path… and his heart sank. He was meant to service her. He wouldn't be here with his trainer otherwise. She'd purchased his services and had watched the demonstration of his functions, and now he was going to experience pain and degradation at the hands of the one person whose smile gracing his thoughts on occasion had kept him somewhat sane during his slavery.

All thoughts of how she managed to look exactly the same after so many years fled his mind as it tried to reconcile the person he remembered with the reason he was here. She wasn't supposed to be like this, she wasn't supposed to want to hurt people… he was sure he was remembering that part correctly. His heart filled with despair. He wasn't a person to her… he was sure he remembered THAT part correctly as well… and now she was going to use him like the toy he was.

He wanted to close his eyes again so he wouldn't have to see her, wouldn't have to watch her take pleasure in his pain, but he hadn't been commanded to, so he stared at her, watching her mouth move as she spoke to someone, probably his trainer. She nodded and he read the words on her lips, "Okay. Do it," and then something touched the back of his neck and everything went black.