Buffy Beaten update

Cordelia didn’t know how she fell for it. It was the oldest trick in the book. It was a Xander Harris trick. Her brain was to Xander’s as her cup size was to Willow’s. She could only blame an intoxicating sense the world made with his ruse.

He’d gotten his backbone at a jewelry store. He’d bought her something—something shiny—and knowing that it would grant him amnesty, he’d gotten in a few parting shots before calling a stop to hostilities. It was rebellious, it was feisty, it was retarded—it was Xander.

But if she didn’t want to deal with pea-brained masculinity, she’d have to be a lesbian, and no way Cordelia was cutting her hair higher than shoulder length. So she’d let him have his swagger, the same way she’d give a dog a treat after it performed a trick. Seeing as there was no way Xander would be able to go without foot in mouth for any amount of time, she might as well reward him when he properly apologized for being unappreciative of her deigning to date him. 

Xander rolled down the bleachers toward her, the scuff of his sneakers echoing through the auditorium like a reflection of the big man he thought he was. All noise, no shoe size. “Close your eyes,” he said, sounding cocky—the way guys were supposed to sound when they were dating her, the Queen of Sunnydale High. “Hold out your hand.”

Cordelia chanced one last look at the cheer squad—they were going through the motions without her micromanaging them, too relieved to be freed of her perfectionism to tempt fate by getting her attention. They were assiduously ignoring her, and under other circumstances, Cordelia might be pissed. But here, it’d be convenient. As nice as it would be to be seen getting paid homage to by her boy toy, Xander was nowhere near housebroken enough for their relationship to go public. She closed her eyes and held out her hand, hoping this would be short.

Xander grinned, picturing himself like Bluto in Animal House, smiling and winking to the audience before he got on with the outrageous pranks the audience came to see. If he were able to hear the small voice in Cordelia’s head telling her that surely he had something expensive for her—that even now had Cordelia calculating just how big and how sparkly a proper apology would be, and how long Xander would be punished with a dry spell when his attempt inevitably fell short—he would be surprised to learn that it sounded much the same as the voice in his head telling him he was the hero of a teen sex comedy.

Swiftly, and so quietly that somehow Cordelia’s ears did not prick up at the telltale sound, Xander drew down his zipper. He pulled out his member and smiled proudly at it. Though it had not given away the game while Cordelia had been watching, when she’d willingly closed her eyes and obligingly held out her hand, he had grown as erect as he could get.

“Here it is,” Xander said, and slapped his thickly swollen cock right down in Cordelia’s outstretched hand.

“Oh!” Cordelia squeaked, the last gasp of her motormouth as she was struck silent. 

She felt his rigid length filling her hand, overflowing it to either side. Cordelia didn’t have to look to know that the shaft proceeded endlessly to his cockhead in one direction and down to his bloated balls in the other. She could remember the sight, but it had never felt so big before, so much like… a man. That’s what she was feeling now. Not a boy, not a teenager, but a man.

“How do you like it?” Xander asked, laughter in his voice. Triumph. “I hope I got the right size. Be a shame if it didn’t fit.”

Cordelia forced her eyes open. She saw Xander’s cock in her hand and with the sight of it, its warmth and its weight and its hardness and all the reality of it flooded into her. She stared at it with her mouth open, a blush spreading across her face, a giggle trilling out from her dropped jaw.

“Do I get to keep it or are you going to be an Indian giver?” she asked, squeezing it tightly in her fist and not recognizing her own voice.

“Oh, I’ll be wanting it back,” Xander said with the patronizing tone of a game show host to his prize-toting bimbo. “But you can keep everything that comes out of it… if you keep squeezing it.”

Cordelia felt it jerk in her hand. She rolled her fingers down his length and back up it, milking a jot of precum from his cockhead. It made his prick really twitch and the bullet of precum dripped from his glans, falling to the ground. It landed on Cordelia’s cheer shoes, four hundred dollar Nikes that would be the envy of the entire basketball team, and all Cordelia could think was that she wished she was wearing open-toed sandals. 

She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She didn’t know what she was doing. But Xander was so hard. His cock was so big and it felt good to rub it—fun. She smiled mindlessly at she stroked his jutting prick faster and faster… the childish glee she would take in popping bubble wrap or incredulously describing Willow’s fashion sense.

“Dirty girl, aren’t you?” Xander breathed, his voice rough, masculine. It seemed to pull Cordelia’s panties against her sex so she could feel how wet they were… she was… “Dirty girl who likes big cocks.”

She cupped his balls in her other hand, squeezing him. Xander groaned softly—it was one of the sexiest sounds Cordelia had ever heard. It meant Xander felt good. It felt good to make Xander feel good.

“Big cocks belong in dirty girls’ mouths,” Xander continued and his words made perfect sense to her, clicking into her psyche like cheer routines or Zales catalogs. She was a dirty girl—if she wasn’t, why would she be stroking his cock in the middle of school like this? And he obviously had a big cock. 

So of course he put his hands on top of her head, not a care for how perfectly she’d arranged her hair, and pushed downward—a corded strength that Cordelia couldn’t believe in his tight grip and subtle pressure. She wondered just how strong Xander really was. She’d certainly never had a chance to find out…

Cordelia fell to her knees, not even thinking that she should resist—not when she was a dirty girl and he had a big cock—and she was faced suddenly with Xander’s swollen balls and immense manhood. Once more, the reality of it all swept over her. She was still unable to truly accept just how big he was, no matter how many times her hands had traveled the length of his erection. His shaft was so long that Cordelia could wrap both of her hands around it and still have his cockhead to put into her mouth. 

She found herself doing that, sliding her mouth over his glans and down his length, while his girth stretched her lips wide. Once more, the thought of how big he was fled her mind. All that mattered was having his prick inside her, it didn’t matter where. If she was a dirty girl, and she was, and he had a big cock, which he did, then didn’t it belong in her pussy as much as it did in her mouth? She liked having things in her pussy. Her fingers… her dildo… why not his prick? 

It would feel even better than having it in her mouth, she just knew. The same way she knew she was a dirty girl. Dirty girls had wet panties like she had. Dirty girls got fucked in whatever hole the big cock wanted to go.

Even her asshole. 

A note of panic flailed weakly in her overwhelmed mind, like a drowning man in a sea of blankness. He’ll kill me if he puts that thing in my ass. But she couldn’t bring herself to care whether she died or not, so long as she had him in one of her holes. Alive or dead, she was a dirty girl.

That was the scene Buffy saw when she came into the gym, looking for Xander, only to find him standing over Cordelia, the cheerleader kneeling at his crotch like they were posing for a National Lampoon poster. 

The moment she came in, Buffy’s acute senses detected her quarry and centered her gaze on him. Xander felt himself being watched, Buffy’s attention on him, like an electrical current suddenly switched on in his body. He raised his head to look at her, and as he did, his arms flexed, his hands still on Cordelia’s head. He pulled her in slightly, but more importantly, he thrust his hips forward, driving all of his cock into Cordelia’s mouth and down her throat while his eyes met Buffy’s.

Cordelia gagged instantly, even her finely honed sexual fantasy life, libraries of Cosmo advice, and months spent practicing on popsicles and bananas unable to prepare her for the impalement of her gullet. With the triggering of her gag reflex came roaring into Cordelia’s mind an awareness of where she was and what she was doing, delivered on the heels of sputtering and gurgling as Xander’s erection reached for her stomach through her esophagus. She was not a dirty girl. She was Cordelia Chase, Queen of Sunnydale High, and she did not suck anything off, she got sucked off.

Standing, she pulled herself off of Xander, turning on her heel and stalking away with a speed that even Buffy would be envious of. Her jaw ached. Her face was red. She could taste Xander’s precum, heady in her mouth, but she didn’t dare spit. She swallowed it, gulp by gulp, though it never seemed to leave her taste buds. 

And Buffy stood there, suddenly seeing Xander’s throbbing shaft of cock pushing out from his unzipped fly. He was hung like a horse—so long and so thick that he seemed barely able to wrap his fingers around the thing as he took hold of his cock and wedged it back beneath his zipper, then did himself back up.

All of the cheerleaders had taken notice of the sudden fracas, but none of them dared say anything. From halfway across the gym, it had looked like maybe Cordelia had bent to tie her shoe and then Xander had parked himself in front of her. Maybe she’d just smelt his loser funk, maybe he’d actually talked to her about Star Wars or something—none of them even thought that he could’ve exposed himself, that the forearm length of flesh they’d seen could’ve been real. Xander Harris could not be that well-endowed. The universe wasn’t that unfair. Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise would have a dick like that—not some nerd.

But even Harmony noticed how hoarse Cordelia sounded as she continued cheer practice.