Buffy Beaten update

Buffy awoke at the crack of dawn to the sound of Conrad fucking her mother. She sat up, in her morning daze confusing Joyce’s ecstatic screams for cries of terror. Then she realized what they truly were. Excitement whipped her heart to a quicker pace. The obscene noise of Joyce’s orgasmic bliss sounded like it was happening right next to Buffy’s room, against the wall even. 

Buffy didn’t know what to do. She laid down, hearing her mother being fucked out of her mind, and made a hesitant move to cover her ears with her pillow before abandoning the idea. She just knew she would still hear Joyce taking Conrad’s dick. So she laid there, still listening, growing more and more enthralled almost against her will. No matter how much she reminded herself that it was her mother making those lewd moans and frenzied outcries, she couldn’t seem to stop her pussy reacting to them—wishing it was her that was getting that fucking. Surely, from the way Joyce screamed, Conrad was pushing her to the edge of her endurance. A Slayer pussy would be able to handle his cock so much better…

Buffy’s nose wrinkled. What was she thinking? Fucking her mom’s boyfriend—a man she didn’t even know? That was gross. Illegal. And if it wasn’t illegal, it should be. It was wrong. Just plain wrong.

Buffy slid her hand between her thighs to stroke herself, finding her pussy lips swollen hungrily, her clit a greedy buzz from the very first touch. It felt good, but she knew it could be so much better. She could be shrieking like Joyce was. It wasn’t fair that she wasn’t. Joyce had been young, she’d had mind-blowing sex, or at least so much more of an opportunity for it than Buffy got. No Slaying, no demons, no vampires, no Watcher, just being a teenage girl with a hot little body. Now it was Buffy’s time and Joyce still looked good, she still got the guys—had they even stopped or had Conrad fucked her all night long?

Buffy licked her lips. She stroked her horny cunt quicker, quicker. She needed a boyfriend. She needed to find at least one eligible bachelor at school. She had eight periods. That was more than enough time, right? She was just not going home until she found someone. God, even a girl would do. A girl might not have a cock, but she could still fuck Buffy hard and fast. That was all she needed. Just a hard, fast fuck like Joyce was getting, ending in an orgasm even half as good as the one Buffy could feel building in her pussy even now.

She didn’t know how she was going to wait for the bus.

***

Xander Harris had an erection.

It happened. Usually it wasn’t much of a problem. He enjoyed jerking off, so having a hard cock was sort of like the job doing itself. And now that he was dating Cordy, at least sometimes he got to use the damn thing, even if it was only on her hand or maybe her mouth. After last night, it should’ve been days since he got another stiffie without even trying. He hadn’t had one of those hairtrigger hard-ons since he’d started dating Cordelia.

But now he was hard, his rampant erection throbbing away in his pants, and as pleasantly surprised as Xander was with just how hard he had gotten and how big his cock really was… and it felt enormous…

He was in biology class.

It was almost time for the bell, too. A student of Xander’s less-than-sterling GPA always knew when the bell was going to dismiss the class. He had only a few minutes, then he would have to stand up, his stiff cock on display right through his jeans, not at all caring about how Xander’s social status would dig a subbasement below rock bottom.

He tried to will his hard-on to go limp. It only throbbed harder. He commanded it to be flaccid and it pushed like a coiled spring at his fly. He tried to think of the least sexy thoughts the human mind could conjure up, and with all the demons, monsters, and dead bodies he’d seen since meeting Buffy, he had some choice goddamn cuts. 

But his erect cock pulsed maddeningly, pleasurably thundering against the confines of his jeans as if trying to Hulk out into open air. And the feel of that pressure on his dick, uncomfortable as it was, made him think of how good it would be with that edge of pain removed—if he were shoving his dick into a warm, ready female. Buffy. Cordelia. Even Willow. Fervent teenage imaginings of their naked bodies, as vivid as his adolescent urges could make them, spun in his mind’s eye. The fact that he knew for a fact some of how Cordelia looked and felt made it even worse—like he’d sampled crack and developed an addiction.

His cock was a junkyard dog. Harmless enough when it was on the chain, but when it got loose, watch out. Someday, maybe, some woman would tame the beast—play with it enough so it wouldn’t have such restless energy. But that day wasn’t today. Xander was still a virgin, with Cordelia offering him no hope of changing that status anytime soon. And his cock felt harder and readier than it had even last night. It seemed like there was no way to make it go down without either coming in his pants or giving himself a castration in the middle of class.

It didn’t help that he was surrounded by girls, all of whom were already giggly this close to the bell. What would they think of his bulging cock if they saw it? Would they think he was a pervert? Would Cordelia dump him once and for all? Xander tried to threaten his erection with that—all those girls looking at it, laughing at it, talking about it. But thinking of women just turned into thinking of tits, asses, cunts. 

His eyes circled the room, seeing Buffy, her blouse’s first few buttons open, revealing the beginning of the supple slope of her cleavage. He thought of how her panties flashed beneath her skirt’s pleats when she jumped into the air as a cheerleader. And Cordelia, her leggings just translucent enough for him to differentiate between the bare skin of her buttocks and the darker shade of her thong panties—and with the chair’s back just two metal prongs that came up to hold a backrest at Cordelia’s shoulder blades, he could see all of her ass, as round and firm as an apple still in the plastic bag from the grocery store. Then there was Willow, her skirt showing off sleek, trim thighs that had never opened for anyone, but surely would open for him—it was almost cliché—the two childhood friends finding romance as their developing bodies blossomed into adulthood… discovering sex together… making each other come… it’d be like The Blue Lagoon… only thank God, Willow had shorter hair…

He looked from one to another—Buffy’s petite yet sensual good looks, Willow’s lanky, adorable charms, and Cordelia’s smoldering, bitchy beauty. He gasped, gulped, as the erotic potential of one after the other assaulted his vision. He ran his tongue over his dry lips and clenched his fists on sweaty palms. His teeth locked together. He could not believe how hot these women were!

It wasn’t fair. It was one thing for him to get hard looking at hot girls in magazines, or on TV, or on a library computer when the place was even more abandoned than a library in California usually was. That was reasonable. Or if he even thought about sex, he got a hard-on, that made sense, that was his own fault. But now he was erect for no reason at all, with nothing to do with all that hardness. He was a teenage boy, he had a hair trigger already, he could get hard just seeing Cordelia work the stick transmission in her Jeep—thinking about how that hand could shift his gears anytime she wanted. But in the middle of biology class? As they talked about deers and frogs and pufferfish? 

Then Xander realized what had turned him on so much—something so erotic that it had gotten him hard without him even realizing it. Like there was some sex radiation in the air that had gone straight to his junk without having to go through his eyes.

He could see his teacher’s cunt.

Miss Natalie French, the new biology teacher, could only have been in her twenties. She had dark, sultry looks: a voluptuous body, toned olive skin, strong features and a severe haircut with her luscious black locks cut back from her face. She could’ve been the Baroness, or some Slavic seductress out to take down 007. In short, she had nothing in common with any of the other teachers at Sunnydale High—she looked more like she came out of an Whitesnake music video than a yearbook.

So it was no wonder Xander was looking at her pussy.

Miss French, innocent and entirely devoted to enlightening young minds, had perched herself on the edge of her desk as she propounded her lecture, her earthy accent huskily flowing from one point to the next. Her legs were crossed, her skirt riding up her nylon-darkened thighs, and somehow, Xander had ended up with a clear view of her groin. He could see her panties, black, sultry somehow… the crotch band was narrow… so narrow it had actually slipped between her labia, allowing him to see the lips of her cunt.

It was the first time Xander had seen a woman’s pussy in real life. None of the airbrushed porno rag pictures or pixelated internet videos could prepare him for the sight. No wonder his cock was pounding against his fly like a prisoner desperate to be let out while his head spun dizzily, like there was no blood left to send to his brain.

He grabbed hold of the edges of his desk, feeling like he could float away without a solid grip. His head shook from side to side as he tried to clear it. For the moment, that helped him look away from Miss French’s sex, but he was pulled back to it like a compass pointing north.

Larry Blaisdell chuckled. Larry was a big guy—tall, broad-shouldered, a starter on the football team. Xander doubted he went long without getting relief; Cordelia would definitely put out for someone like him.

Like a rat suddenly hearing a terrier, self-preservation overrode temptation and slid Xander’s eyes to Larry’s desk. The jock had seen up Miss French’s skirt too, but unlike Xander, he was taking it in stride. Leering at it. When he noticed Xander looking at him, Larry gave him a wink, then waggled his eyebrows, before snorting derisively at Xander and looking back at Miss French—as if Xander were somehow a pussy for not enjoying the sight of Miss French’s pussy to the fullest.

Xander actually felt a little relieved that another boy had been stricken with the same affliction as him, but having it be Larry still made him feel like shit. He couldn’t help but compare his anxiety attack to Larry’s self-confidence and feel that somehow, he was bungling this situation of getting a look at Miss French’s womanhood. Somehow.

Suddenly Xander noticed it was dead silent in the classroom. He looked around, and everyone looked back at him. Finally, he looked at Miss French, this time keeping his eyes on her face. Meeting her gaze, he realized she’d spoken to him.

“Daydreaming, Mr. Harris?” Miss French asked in her sultry accent.

“Err… I… wasn’t…”

Miss French eyed him sternly. “I asked you to define ‘osmosis.’ You shouldn’t find it too difficult at this point of the school year,” she said, seeming completely unaware that he could see her pussy.

As shaky a student as he was, Xander actually did know what osmosis was. Under normal circumstances, he could put together a comprehensive explanation of it. At the moment, however, he was stuck on the thought that there was no way reproducing by splitting yourself in half was anywhere near as fun as the old-fashioned way.

“I think you may need a tutor,” Miss French observed severely. She looked to Larry. “Could you tell us what osmosis is?”

As a member of the football team, Larry was used to treating classrooms as places where he could catch up on sleep from spending his nights out on the town—the kind of person the vampires of Sunnydale were very grateful for. He replied honestly: “Fuck no, who cares?”

There was a stunned silence from most of the students, gasps and giggles from a few. Miss French’s expression darkened. “And I think you may need to stay after class.”

Larry shrugged, wondering if he’d taken it too far. But he’d scored two touchdowns during his last game, so who cared? What could she do to them that the Coach wouldn’t throw out of court like Judge Judy?

The bell rang. Larry lounged in his seat as if he had nowhere to be while the others gathered their books. Xander slung his backpack in front of his crotch and tried to make it look natural as he left. He was grateful Larry had stolen attention away from him. Now if only he could cut class until his boner went away.

Miss French sat on the desk, waiting patiently for the last of her students to file out. Then she got up and crossed quickly to the door, shutting it. She turned again. Now her flat gaze seemed very alive, her symmetrical features more noticeable, the way she moved and held herself flattering her body. Larry found himself almost stricken as she approached him.

“You’re the big man around here, Larry,” Miss French purred, running her nails over the school desks as she passed them. “Very popular. Lots of attention. I’m sure you could get any girl you want. That sort of thing could go to anyone’s head.”

“Yeah? What’re you talking about?” Larry asked. There was something strange about Miss French. Hot, but weird-hot. Most girls didn’t do it for him. Too slutty or too ugly or too bossy or something. But Miss French was doing something to him. He didn’t get it. Sure, she was hot, but why was she all of a sudden… super-hot?

“And yet, you really haven’t taken advantage of your status.” Miss French rested her hands on the desks to either side of the aisle, leaning on them, her blouse hanging open before Larry. “I respect that. Saving yourself for the right girl. Not letting yourself be… spoiled… before the right time. It’s easy to mistake that for not even liking girls. But maybe, if you tried it, you’d find you were with the only woman you’d ever want…”

“Miss French,” Conrad said tightly, standing in the doorway. His voice jolted Miss French upright. 

Larry didn’t know who this guy was, but he felt the weirdest sense of relief as the old guy’s eyes swept over him. “You’re dismissed,” he said, and Larry fled—consoling himself that at least no other kids were around to see how quickly he was running. 

Outside the classroom, he slowed down to his usual casual stride and put the whole thing out of his mind, where it quickly withered like an untended plant. There was a reason few people in Sunnydale really noticed that anything was wrong with their town.

In the classroom, Conrad fixed Miss French with a stare. It was unusual for a man to meet Miss French’s eyes rather than taking in her body even once, but Conrad’s gaze was as level as a ray of light.

“I told you: no feeding. Nothing that could attract the Slayer’s attention. We can’t give her any reason to hold a stake.”

Miss French looked away. “No one would miss him,” she groused bitterly.

“Someone always misses them. That’s how these humans are.” Conrad grasped her chin tightly, forcing her to meet his eyes. When she did, it made her flinch like she’d been struck. “Look but don’t touch. If you want to play with someone, play with the Harris boy. He’s to your liking, isn’t he?”

Miss French licked her lips. “He’s fine…” Her eyes darted to Conrad’s challengingly before she looked away. “But what’s the point if I can’t eat him?”

Conrad curled his thumb down Miss French’s cheekbone. “You know the point, woman. You know the stakes. And you know the rules too. Can you play nice or do I have to find someone else?”

Miss French’s wet lips pursed together. “No eating. Fine.”

“Good,” Conrad replied. He let go of her face. “And buy some real panties. We’re going to be here a while. Someone will notice if you keep acting like a porn star.”