Buffy Beaten update

As Giles considered the question of his new, unwanted and yet not-at-all wanting assistant, he paced. Normally, a thorny dilemma like this would drive him to his books, pondering the various considerations subconsciously while his eyes and higher thoughts were occupied with the blunt absorption of knowledge. But Ampata was so far inside his inner sanctum that he hardly dared to dive into the darker texts without a pressing need. After all he’d cautioned Buffy about maintaining her secret identity, he couldn’t possibly be the one to give her away…

He stepped in something. On something. Giles moved his foot and looked down to see what appeared to be a scrap of fabric on the library floor. He stooped down to idly examine it, wondering if this was some prank and if on top of everything else, he had to deal with some idiot teen being humorous on him. It only took one sweep of his hand to see that the fabric was attached to a waistband.

It was the crotch of a set of panties. No sooner had Giles realized this than he seemed to detect the sweetly acrid scent of femininity. These panties had been worn. What’s more, the crotch-band tapered into a cord halfway down its length, meant to slide between two exposed buttocks. It was a thong. 

Giles dared not examine it any further. He felt as though he were perusing a pornographic magazine somewhere desperately public. Taking out his handkerchief, he collected the garment inside it and tucked the entire concealed parcel into his pocket before looking around for Ampata. She was at the card catalogs, sorting through the Dewey decimal numbers to be assured everything was properly filed as Giles had intended to since time immemorial. 

“Excuse me… miss…” Giles stammered, coming haltingly towards her. He was both anxious to get too close and desirous of being close enough to talk to her in confidence. This hardly seemed a conversation to be shouted across the room, even if he would prefer such a safe distance between the two of them. 

Safe distance? Giles asked himself, almost being brought up short by his own wandering thoughts. Safe from what?

No matter. Clearing his mind of its detritus, Giles forced himself to take the remaining steps to the edge of Ampata’s personal space, maintaining a respectful distance but not keeping abreast from her like she was some wild animal that might bite. 

“Are these yours?” he asked, holding up the thong panties, safely quarantined as they were inside his handkerchief. 

“Si,” Ampata said, looking fondly from the panties to Giles’s slightly constipated expression. “They are mine. I felt warm, so I took them off. I feel much cooler now.”

Giles took a moment. “As you like it,” he finally said, rapidly handing the panties over to Ampata. “But in the future, I think it’d be best if you didn’t leave them out where they might be lost, or, or, or… misplaced.”

“We would not want that,” Ampata said, grinning at him as though they were bonding. She pulled open the neck of her sweater, showing Giles how the blouse underneath tightly clung to her curvaceous chest, and tucked her panties into a breast pocket. “By the way, I have found something as well. Tell me, is it yours?”

She fished a pill bottle out of her pocket and tossed it to Giles. Cringing, he managed to catch it, pills rattling around inside the plastic confines of the bottle. Giles looked over the label, adjusting his glasses to better read it. But he didn’t have to read the tiny writing to realize the significance of the little blue pills rolling around inside the bottle. Viagra.

“Oh, ah, no,” Giles said quickly, lowering the bottle as though if it got too close to his face, one of the pills might find a way to leap into his mouth. “They’re not mine.”

“Of course,” Ampata purred. “You hardly seem the sort of man who would need them.”

“Well, I, well…”

“Though I might.”

Giles craned his neck. “Beg pardon?”

“How do you say in America? ‘One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready…’”

Giles didn’t understand, but was still bemused by Ampata’s earthy accent being applied to the unfamiliar phrase. “I don’t think I’ve been in America quite that long, young lady…”

“Oh yes, of course… I am still working on my English and here you are, from its homeland… I mean to be saying that if you do a thing once, it can be very good, and it is very good for him and it is very good for her.” She took the pill bottle from Giles. “Then with these, he can do it again… even if he didn’t need them for the first time. And then it is very good for him and very good for her.”

“Oh… recreational use… I think I may have received a memo on that…” Principal Snyder was scrupulous to a fault when it came to those things, but Giles doubted that even the most hormonal teenager would feel the need to take Viagra. Going by his own teen years, such stimulation was hardly necessary. And with Ampata smiling at him the way she did, looking at him as she did, he felt every bit as potent as he had back then. “Perhaps we should dispose of it where none of our impressionable young charges can get their hands on it.”

Ampata tucked the bottle into her breast pocket and patted it soundly. “That is hardly necessary. We may find some use for it. You didn’t really believe me about the dream, did you?”

She turned, her skirt swooshing up her bare buttocks, and marched away, a slight rattle announcing the pills still being held by her. Giles felt a sudden need to mop his brow, but his handkerchief was still with Ampata.

It was all the reason he needed to watch her go.

***

In the school gymnasium, the cheer squad was mounting the balance beams, practicing for perfect style and grace. The routines were complicated, and under Cordelia’s ruthless dictatorship, the girls were both very good and defined by picture-perfect sex appeal. 

Cordelia was most definitely queen bee. Her yellow blouse held zealously to her body, showing off the proud breasts that stretched every stitch of the garment to capacity. Her red skirt was not skanky, but it was short enough to make her long legs seem to stretch on for miles. And as if that weren’t enough, Cordelia was fuming with anger—making her dark looks positively electric as she caught sight of Xander on the bleachers and stampeded up to him, every jostle of her chest and sway of her skirt scorching itself onto Xander’s retinas. For him, it was like looking at some awe-inspiring storm given human form.

Cordelia stopped in front of Xander’s spot on the bleachers, crossing her arms under her breasts to push them out and make them even more impressive. All while her anger grew explosively. She wasn’t just angry with him, although she was plenty angry with him. Cordelia was mad at herself for how turned on she was. She couldn’t seem to get enough of either Xander or her vibrator. The undercurrent of slutty self-indulgence that she knew she had to keep bottled up or face social exile had built to dangerous levels, as if her entire body was waiting to go off in a violent orgasm.

“Hey, thanks for the car wash, dick. I know guys have a thing for cars, but maybe stay faithful to whatever clunker you can afford instead of raping my jeep.”

Xander wasn’t cowed at all—the one infuriating, undeniable thing about him. “You sound jealous, Cordy. I just meant to get you an air freshener, but the gas station was all out. You’ve got to admit, though, a little helping of Harris smells a lot better than the usual beer and BO your ride smells like after you’ve had a few football players in it.”

“Oh, no, Harris, guys bathe when they want to get with me. I don’t know why you don’t. Maybe your parents didn’t pay the water bill, or maybe you just start smelling of eau de jockstrap the moment you towel off.”

“That man-musk is why you like me so much. And now you can take it along with you everywhere you drive!” Xander taunted her chipperly, giving Cordelia a big grin. “Sorry I couldn’t get it to you fresh, though. I know you prefer your meals farm to table.”

Cordelia tightened her grip on her biceps, her teeth grinding together with equal strength. Xander knew. For once in his life, Xander, the social reject whose only knowledge of the opposite sex was that they wanted nothing to do with him, had her pegged. She’d had to drive that jeep to a full-service car wash, stinking of Xander’s maleness—she couldn’t even pawn the job off on one of her minions for fear of them finding out the whole story. It was bad enough that everyone at the wash knew. 

That humiliation had curdled inside her, adding to the pressure she felt inside herself. The pressure of not getting to smell and taste all that delicious cum, fresh from his cock instead of cold and dry all over her dashboard. The smell alone had been incredible, tempting her—only the prospect of irrevocable embarrassment had stopped her from touching herself, surrounded by the musk of Xander’s lust for her, his enjoyment of himself. Enjoyment that she could’ve given him, satisfaction that she could’ve received. 

All that seed must’ve been amazing warm from his cock, warm with the heat of his body. Looking down at the massive heft that she knew was waiting to arise from Xander’s jeans, Cordelia knew that he could fill her up the same way he had her car, and anywhere she wanted him. In her mouth, her cunt, her ass. She still had enough sway over him to get his cum, as much as she wanted, wherever she wanted. She only had to mount the nerve to ask…

“God, Xander, where are you getting all this misplaced confidence?” she asked instead. “Are you an innovator and hitting the crack pipe, or is it the traditional vodka bottle in a brown paper bag?”

Xander stood angrily. “Insult me all you want, Cordy. You’re the one who’s going to come crawling back for more.”

“Moi?” Cordelia asked, pointedly resting a hand on her magnificent breasts as she indicated herself. “I’m going to come crawling back? Oh no… you’re the one who’s going to burn through his college fund making this up to me. Wait—no—even you’re not stupid enough to think you could get into college. I’ll have to come up with some kind of class-conscious way for you to apologize to me. Maybe you could give my jeep’s upholstery a spit shine.”

“Maybe you could take the stick out of your ass and free up enough room for my cock. It only hurts the first time, Cordy. And not too long either—“

“’Not too long,’ Cordelia repeated. “That about sums it up.”

Xander wouldn’t be deterred. He eyed Cordelia like he’d looked at Miss French, like he’d looked at Willow—knowing she wanted him and knowing that he could have her. 

“It’s what your pussy’s for, Cordelia. You’d start loving it before you even stopped aching. And the bigger the cock, the more you like it. No wonder you want me to be the first guy to ever fuck you—especially now that you know how much I can come.”

“I don’t know shit,” Cordelia retorted, weakly, leaving herself open to oodles of retorts. She was scared, and it scared her even more that Xander let the easy joke pass by for once. She thought about having his cock inside her and the idea struck a thrilling note down in her pussy. “Maybe you jacked off four or five times in my jeep. Maybe you saved up a whole mason jar of your man-batter to pour on my leather seats. Who knows how your brain works—you’re a C student!”

“You can trust me,” Xander said soothingly, his calmness scaring Cordelia into heated arousal. Why wasn’t he teasing her? Why did it seem like his eyes could see right through her clothes, her skin, to the arousal inside her? “I’ll take good care of you. I’ve even got a present for you.”

“A present?” Cordelia breathed, relieved to be back on familiar ground. People buying gifts for her—that made sense. Far more than Xander’s odd mix of defiance and reassurance, backing her into doing something with him.

“It’s a surprise,” Xander said, getting up and seeming much taller than Cordelia’d ever seen him. True, he was sitting high up in the bleachers, but the way he held himself seemed to make his body stretch to the rafters. “Close your eyes, Cordelia. Don’t peek. Just hold out your right hand and I’ll give it to you.”