Knowing full well that it was bad, naughty and straight-to-Hell wrong, Buffy jumped into Spike's lap anyway.
And Spike, knowing all of that too -- except for the wrong part -- rolled out a plush and cheerful welcome mat. Couldn't see why not, all of a sudden.
Buffy's list of cons faded as each spiraling thrust of his tongue left a giant checkmark on the side of pro. Say what you like about hundred year old vamps, but sweet merciful Lestat did they ever know how to kiss. And touch. And growl...
She tore away from his lips. "Don't fang out."
Impatient, he nodded. "Don't slay me."
"Uh-huh. Good." Less talk, more kiss.
Striving for a deeper, stronger, closer-than-physically-possible connection, they went on offense: she blitzed his mouth, he clutched her hair; she clawed at his neck, he scraped her lips; she grunted, he mewed... He mewed? Spike blamed it on the hearty lapdance. She was so hot, so eager, so deadly...
This was exactly like fighting, he realized. Only it felt a whole lot better.
Buffy blamed her raunchy, uncontrollable gyrations on the booze. That, and he was pinching her hips, which evidently for her was akin to dropping a Susan B. into a coin-operated stripper. Okay, so maybe the red-hot kisses were to blame too, but the rest was all booze. It had to be. Because whether or not she felt all that drunk, she would never in her right mind be attracted to a jerk like him. He was too brash, too possessive, too lethal... too... too...
"Tyah!" Did he have to lick her earlobe like that? And snarl like that? Slutty bump-and-grind at full tilt, she babbled mindlessly, "Oh god. Want you... so bad."
Yes. She did just say that. To him. Exultant, he popped the snaps of her minidress and breathed before recapturing her mouth with his, "Slayer."
Buffy tugged his red shirt down his arms and yanked at his tee. As he cast off both pieces, she almost drooled out loud. Spike wasn't just toned, he was a Greek statue come to life. Chiseled, shredded, flexing muscles of... Guh.
While the Slayer groped his pecs, Spike finally got to unzip that zip front. Hello, tight little beach bunny body I always knew was under there. He whipped the dress skyward and went for her bra. Goodbye, lacy black barrier, pretty as you may be...
Not long ago, he'd inquired about what sort of tits the Slayer had. In reply, Angel had punched him in the crotch, when really all the nonce had to say was bloody edible.
Spike was mesmerized by them: perfect pair of golden, baby-soft creampuffs with nipples that might as well be tattooed with the words Bite and Here. "God, you're cute."
Somehow, Spike made that sound like the ultimate compliment. It helped that he was fondling her breasts and looking at her like he wanted to eat her alive ...which was strangely okay with her, so long as he didn't get literal abou-- "Ow!" Literal! Not with fangs or to the point of skin-breaking, but still! "What the hell?"
"Sorry," he said, only slightly sheepish, not nearly sheepish enough in her opinion, and then he was back again, squeezing and licking and oh! Suckling! Loudly! And someone was making these high-pitched porno noises and -- oh, that was her.
And then with the hands on her hips again? What a sneak. What a sneaky, filthy, dirty, takemetakemetakeme... She thrashed on his lap.
Her blood. Her rich, zesty, elixirish Slayer blood; he could feel it everywhere, humming on his tongue, singing in his ears, warming up his fingers, pounding on his cock. And throbbing in time with the music.
He was talking? Why was he talking and not suckling? "Huh?"
"Want me to change the song, love?"
"The song? Izzit bothering you?"
Working hard to get my fill
"Oh." She'd completely tuned out the music in favor of all the groans and pants and suckles. Fighting an overwhelming urge to force his mouth back to her nipple, she gave him a casual shrug. "It's kinda growing on me."
"Bloody right it is." With a sneer, he pressed her against his pulsing hard-on. "Now about the song."
As she rolled her eyes, he licked her smiling lips and moved to stand up with her in his arms.
He was gonna fuck the hell out of this sweet--
He caught her meaning -- and the flying whiskey -- just in time, then tossed her onto the couch. As she lay there on her back, writhing and arching ever so winsomely in nothing but boots and knickers, he gently placed the truce juice on the floor.
Hurry, hurry, hurry, she thought, and realized she was squeezing her own nipples.
With a smirk, he zipped out his belt, dropped his pants to his ankles and took a flying leap.
"Ahhh!" she squealed as he kissed and bit at her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, and down, down, down her quivering torso until he yanked her panties up, off and away.
It was official. Buffy had officially entered Oppositeville, population two. She was 1) getting into a Journey song and 2) completely naked before her arch nemesis. Willingly completely naked. Well, except for the boots.
He stayed her hand at her boot zipper. "Leave them."
Oh really? she wanted to tease, but instead she shrieked, "OH F--!" Because without ceremony, totally ceremony-less, this guy had no concept of ceremony -- he'd spread her thighs, cleaved his tongue into her and gone to town.
Vice-gripping her ass, he shook his face against her skin and devoured her like a hungry, growling cheetah.
"Hu-unh!" Despite her best efforts, Buffy couldn't do a thing but grunt and whinny and twitch and contort like some kind of... cheetah food. Ugh, it must be so unsexy for him. Not that she cared what he thought and how many tongues did he have? Were those his fingers or-- "Hunh! Oh, m... hunh... fuckity... fuck!"
"Mmmgffmm." Tongue wagging and swirling, he roved her folds with his fingertips, exposed her swollen ruby of a clitoris and tickled her anus.
"What? F--Oh-- F-- Wh... Hunh! H..." She dug her boot heels into his back.
Spike laughed. This girl was fantasy made flesh: tasty as peach lemonade and wild as a rodeo calf. Way she held her tits and circled her pussy in his face, sputtering nonsense and naughties... How the hell did such a priggish, sanctimonious tightass become one of the choicest morsels he'd ever feasted upon?
How? How could such a cruel, conceited jackass be this good at oral sex? Granted, she didn't have a lot to compare it to, but there was no question in Buffy's mind that William the Bloody had a knack. And possibly a forked tongue. "Dyah!"
Just then, he coaxed a finger into her pussy and sucked on her clit and she lost all capacity to think beyond Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh. My. God God GOD GOD GOD
He could have teased her, kept her in a state of delirious pique while he continued to have his way with her, but 'Make Slayer Come On Tongue' had suddenly bumped the tried and true 'Kill Her' out of its eternal number one spot, just as 'Fuck Her Hard' shot to #2 with a bullet.
GOD GOD GOD GOD, went her intricate thought process. GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD THUMB! She gasped and tremored. There's a thumb! In my butt! It's in my... "Oh!" He pumped it inside of her. "Oh!" Oh! My... "GO-O-O-OD!"
While she screamed and mauled his skull and generally had a seizure, Spike drank his reward. Warm and tangy and profuse, it gave him even more of a rush than her blood. And that rush went right to his balls.
"Hoh. Hoh. Oh. Oh. Wow." Buffy needed a minute. Or better yet, an hour. "Wwow." She needed time, lots of time to recover from her first-ever not-self-induced orgasm, and to deal with this amazing revelation of gut-rippingly intense sexual gratifi...
Spike was looming over her, staring at her and licking his come-glazed lips, and somehow she got tingly and wanty all over again.
"Ever taste yourself, Slayer?" Without waiting for an answer, he kissed her roughly. "Could eat you all night."
Could you? Please? Whimpering, she wrapped her legs around his. I'll be your best--
"Na-agh!" She cried out in surprise when he shoved himself into her. All the way.
And then he just started ...going. Didn't ask if she was okay, didn't take it slow; Spike was the type of lover who couldn't be bothered by gentleness or patience or consideration. In other words, he was perfect.
Angel had been all of those nice things, and it was exactly what she'd needed -- then. Right now, exactly what she needed was this: Straight-up evil with a side of fantastic orgasm.
Besides, they both knew she could take it. Even if it was gigantic.
"Hunh... Sp... Nyah!"
"Bit snug?" He smirked at the understatement -- Slayer was tight as a virgin. But then, she wasn't far from it was she? Maybe he should have been more gentle...
Throwing her blood-stained knees over his shoulders, he gave her a good, deep seeing to. She was stronger than him by a nose, could stop him if she wanted -- except he noticed she was dewing up and swooning at every thrust. Was it any wonder the Slayer liked it rough? "Take it, Slayer."
"Hunh! Mmnah!" So. Wrong. "My name! Mmn, is not-- hyeah..."
"Right," he said, slowing down. She did have a name, and he sort of liked it. "Buffy."
Why was he suddenly gazing at her like he wanted to get married? "Know what? Slayer's fine."
"Slayer," he said and reverted to hard and fast and callous, eyes glazing over with good old comforting lust. "Slayer!"
"Yeah! That's me, baby! Don't you bloody ever forget it!"
"Unh! Oh! God! Yeah! Fuck!"
"Oh, I'm gonna fuck you, Slayer. I'm gonna fuck you 'til you can't bloody walk."
"Wrong!" She elbowed him in the face and shoved him off, breath heaving.
"What the hell was--?!" He noticed a minxy gleam in her eye and decided to wait for her next move.
She held up a finger to keep him put while she found the lasso. It wasn't that she didn't like what he was doing; she did. A lot. Maybe too much. But Spike needed to know who was in charge here. She was the wrangler and he was the bull. She snapped the lasso on the floor. "Only one of us is walking out of here, Spike."
Spike grinned, acutely turned on as she coiled the rope around his neck and wrists, pushed him to his back and mounted him. Cowgirl style. Giddy-bloody-up.
Holding his stiff, shining cock in her hand, she craned the tip toward her open pussy lips and rubbed it firmly over her slit.
"Hohhh," he said.
She backhanded him and yanked the rope. "Shut up."
This was too good to be true. He could see why she'd turned Angel into a raving lunatic -- he'd go a little mad himself if he couldn't have a second go at this.
"Unh... unh..." she said with each inch she dropped until she'd sheathed him completely. Oh god sex was nice. "Fuck."
Loved the way she said that. All breath and secrets, with a drawn-out ah.
One exploratory rise and fall, then another, and Buffy had a new favorite position.
Spike wasn't averse to it himself. Bound hands on her torso, coaxing her into a building rhythm, he watched her pussy swallow and release his cock, swallow and release, each time dousing it in more juice. "Oh, you hot little--"
She clapped a palm over his mouth. "Uh-uh. No talky." Truth was, Buffy dug his dirty talk more than she'd care to admit, but she had a point to make. Using his belt as a gag, she said, "That's better."
"Oo 'itch!" he said, trying to get it off.
She trained his hands to her breasts.
Yeah, okay, he thought. Didn't need to talk right this second anyway.
"I'm gonna fuck you, vampire." Eyes flashing, she teased him through spit-shined lips, "I'm gonna fuck you 'til you can't 'bloody' walk."
At that, Spike fell a little bit in love with her.
She made a right noble effort to live up to her promise, too: fingernails lodged in his chest, hips wrenching, hair whipping about, she forced herself upon his defenseless person -- oh, the violation of it all! -- until they were both at fever pitch.
That magic phrase spurring her on, Buffy rode Spike at a gallop while he huffed and snarled like a rabid, tethered beast. Oh right, he was a beast. Somewhat tethered. Hopefully not rabid. God, he was hot.
Her mouth stretched to an oval, and he had to touch it. In a happy twist, she sucked on his finger and gave it a nibble, all while merrily bouncing on his dick and oh yeah, masturbating.
To review: The Slayer. Was fucking him. While fellating his finger. And experimenting with bondage. And frigging herself. And moaning like no one would ever be-fucking-lieve...
Dear Penthouse. I never thought it would happen to me.
"Mmnh! Mmnh! Mnah!" Slackening his binds, she forced his hands to her hips, encouraged him to pinch. "Yeah, yeah, yeah -- yuuuuUUUUUNNH!"
Hold on to that fee-ee-ling...
"Hunh! Hunh! Hunh!"
"Gff! Mggh!" he sputtered into the belt, confounded by her rubberbanding tightness and the way she moved in orgasm -- she'd begun to do this undulation... oh, holy shit, he'd never felt anything like it before. He loosed the shoddy restraints and ripped off his gag. "Spin round."
"Spin round on me but don't stop what you're doing."
Hazy, she dismounted and turned her back to him. Not about to wait for her to carefully reboard the happy train, he speared her and held her down. She yelped and did that oscillating thing again.
"Oh hell. Oh, Christ," he said, pinching and spanking and spreading her ass cheeks. "You are a fucking goddess."
Though the lust-fueled worship was ...surprising, Buffy chalked it up to coincidence that immediately after he said that, her toes curled to the point of cramping and her orgasm crested, an unholy yowl escaping from her throat. Also, the song did a simultaneous fade-out.
Breath ragged, they stilled, waiting in the Journeyless silence.
Like a reliable old pal, the song returned, its detuned piano intro preventing any awkward reflection.
She felt a whiplike sting on her back. "Ahh!" The belt! "Give me that--"
"My turn to play leather daddy."
"Ew! I wasn't your dyahhh!--ffghh!"
He buckled the makeshift gag and gruffed into her ear, "Shut. Your mouth."
Hairs on the back of her neck prickling, she shut her mouth.
In record time, he'd lassoed her into a Shibari hogtie, then shoved her face to the couch. "Safeword is -- oh right, I don't do safewords." He chortled at his sparkling wit.
Well, sure. Kinda a gimme that the vampire was loads more effective at domination. But why hadn't she thought of whipping him? And what was this crazy macramé cage he'd locked her in? Clearly she had a lot to learn. Uh, not that she would ever behave this way again...
He snapped the rope taut, which somehow activated the big-ass knot he'd tied on her clit, and if that wasn't stimulating enough, he wasted not one second before plunging into her willy nilly from behind. Was it her fault she got all pornstar shrieky again?
"That's right," Spike snarled, maneuvering her by her wristbinds and going for broke. "You're my personal cumhole now. Fucking hot little Slayer cunt. You're mine."
Normally she'd take issue with all of the above, but he'd sexed away her ability to be offended by anything -- and now it was all just making her horny and hungry. Two mondo orgasms and Buffy was brainfried and boneless as a Chicken McNugget. Was there a McDonald's around here? Maybe they could go after...
Because yeah, we should totally hang now that we're fuck buddies. Hello? Vampire? Slayer killer? Sacred...? "Oh ma-eber!"
He undid her gag. "You all right, love?"
That was a loaded question. And a question he should not be asking. Especially when coupled with 'love'. She wanted Dominance Guy back. "Uh-huh. Fuck me. In my..." Okay, so she couldn't say 'cumhole'. Give her a few more years, maybe a steady soulless vampire booty call... "H-harder."
"Fucking hell, I will," he growled with renewed enthusiasm. "You know I will."
"Unh! Unh! Oh! Gnah!" Wow, that was harder. He'd been holding back.
Come inside of her? Or on her ass? Lower back? All three? Could be done... "Lemme see your mouth." He turned her head. "Lick your lips for me." She did. "Hohhh, sweet little jazz baby."
He paused. "Uh, gonna... jizz all over you. Baby."
"Oh... kay--Unh! Unh!"
"Love your lips. Fuck. So pretty."
"Hyeah!" Yes, okay? She was not immune to flattery, even if it was from a vile, evil, evile... so and so. "Unh! Nunh! Unh! ...Unh?" Why'd he stop?
Holding her still, he asked conversationally, "Ever suck a cock?"