Buffy update

Buffy hadn’t slept well. The light streaming in through the open door had kept her up—though, if she was honest, it probably had more to do with what had happened over the past few days. The light just gave her something to stare at while she thought about it. 

But even if she could forget all the awful, yet sometimes thrilling things that had been done to her, the open door to the hallway let in noises that jarred her awake. Even the light creaking of the floorboards out there, crashed upon her jagged nerves like atom bombs. Joyce walked outside her room a lot; Buffy had never noticed before.

Finally, upon being woken up again by the groaning old house—it had always seemed so safe and peaceful before—she got out of bed to shut the door firmly. But she ended up just standing there, her hand on the chair that kept the door open. She held it there as if the chair weighted a hundred tons, as if she had to plan out just how she would shift its weight to accomplish the simple task of moving it out of the way. But the only weight was on her: how naked she was and the leather cuffs on her body and the two small chains that laid against her chest and back. She couldn’t follow through. She didn’t want to lose her mother’s trust, not after Joyce had interceded between her and Willow. Her mother had finally been able to protect her, the Slayer, as a mother should, where usually she would be powerless. How could Buffy finally repay that by disappointing her?

But even with that settled, and her back in bed, there was something else keeping her awake. Not just that, but alert, virtually tingling with suppressed motion like she was waiting impatiently to go into battle. She couldn’t get her little talk with Joyce out of her head. The tingling centered between her legs, and there it shouted for satisfaction.

Buffy’s hands would inch closer and closer to her pussy, the tips of her fingers making fleeting contact with the sensitivity of her labia, but she would always regain control and snatch them away, no matter how much she hated her own discipline.

Her cunt was still smoldering.

She decided that she could play with her breasts. They would give her some satisfaction and she would still be obeying her mother’s instructions. The alternative was to suffer restlessly all night with this terrible need inside her. 

She cupped her breasts together and lifted them up, letting herself see her thumbs as they ran across the hardened nipples. She trembled at the sensation. Then she lowered her chin to her breastbone. Her tongue emerged from her mouth slowly, as if afraid of the feeling she was about to experienced, and then she licked her stiff nipples. They swelled so hard, and with so much sensation, that it was like they were exploding into her lips.

Her cunt was damp as grass in the morning. The thought struck Buffy that, with all her flexibility, she could probably lick it herself. She had once tried to do that, throwing her legs over her head, pressing her knees to her chest while she bent her back into a deep bow and strained her neck almost to the breaking point. She hadn’t been able to go through with it, though. She hadn’t wanted to taste her pussy, no matter how good it would feel.

Now she found herself in similar straits, only if she could do it all over again, she would push her tongue out that last crucial half-inch and bring herself off, taste be damned. This was like being in sight but being unable to reach. It was frustrating as hell, so close and yet so far away. 

Her nipples couldn’t take anymore abuse. They were simply too tender to keep touching now; it felt like she had been at it for hours. Buffy decided that it would be okay to relieve her stress a little, so long as she didn’t actually come. And already, her hand was passing over her softly rounded belly, trailing down to her bare pubis. It felt so strange, having no hair there, not even the stubble of having been shaved. It was all soft and smooth, almost pleasant to the touch, but it just didn’t feel like hers. It was hard not to think of it as Willow’s. And even as she enjoyed the simmering contact between her defiant fingers and her taboo place, she vowed Willow would pay for what she had done.

But thoughts of vengeance did nothing to cool her ardor. Before she knew it, Buffy was almost helplessly rubbing her clit. She massaged its light, yet infinitely vast heft with her palm, then rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger, feeling the tiny springiness of the thing even as the weighty sensation nearly overwhelmed her. Soon, she was on fire with passion. Holding her labia spread open with the fingers of her left hand, she entered herself with the right. The thumb of that hand swept back and forth across her clit, trying to answer every tingling thrill it gave her.

She heard a noise, almost immediately after saw a shadow at her door, and instantly her hands were at her sides, fisted in the sheets of her mattress. She waited fearfully, wondering if it was her mother, if Joyce had seen her—worse yet, heard her.

And yet, her body still wanted relief. It was still simmering. Buffy began to touch herself again, even as she knew that her sexual excitement was all tied up in the shame and humiliation of her mother’s actions. 

It went like that almost all night. Buffy nodded off a few times, but mostly her night was a series of smoldering sexual tension, attempts at relief, and brisk panic as she thought her mother was about to catch her. Sometime after dawn she really did see her mother. Fortunately, Buffy had been quick enough to play dead that Joyce had no idea. She kept feigning sleep, her hands at her sides, as her mother went downstairs to start breakfast.

Buffy got up, looking at her clock. It was gone. Joyce must’ve taken it away yesterday. Buffy just sat there, looking where it had been, as her needy passion continued to fume inside her body. The thought that Willow would be there soon did a lot to discourage all but a sick, perverse part of herself that thought being with Willow would at least be some relief for her stricken pussy.

But no, it was more likely that ‘Mistress Willow’ wouldn’t let her come at all, and going to her with a wet cunt would be like waving a red cape in front of a bull. Joyce had told her she could ask for help if she needed it. It was shameful, embarrassing to go to her mother with this particular problem, but at least Joyce was kind… not at all like Willow. If Buffy just asked, shame-faced as she might be, she’d finally get some relief.

She told herself it was the smart choice.

Her mother was downstairs at the kitchen, sitting on a stool at the island. She’d made herself breakfast and a cup of coffee, and when she saw Buffy standing there uncertainly in the doorway, she smiled.

“Morning mom,” Buffy said, coming in. She hastily continued, “Just wanted to tell you that I’m… I’m gonna masturbate.”

She quickly turned to dash back upstairs, but Joyce’s voice stopped her cold.

“Okay! Hop up, Buffy.”

Buffy turned around, totally confused. “What?”

Joyce patted the kitchen island. “Hop up.” She saw that Buffy was just standing there, still confused. “You do want to masturbate, don’t you?” she asked, shaking her head.

Buffy nodded.

Joyce’s hand slapped down on the island like a judge’s gavel. “Well, then, hop up!”

Bewildered, but inclined to obey, Buffy hoisted herself up onto the island, right in front of her mom. Joyce wasted no time in grabbing Buffy’s ankles and opening her legs.

“Mom!” Buffy cried in surprise as the motion pulled her ass dangerously close to the edge of the island. She grabbed the counter to brace herself, but had to rearrange her grip as Joyce moved her around. Her feet were placed on the island’s corners, her legs spread wide open, and her knees bent so her pussy was fully exposed to Joyce’s view. The breakfast place and cup of coffee were now right in front of Buffy’s cunt.

Joyce had never gotten up from her seat.

Buffy made to pull her legs back together, but Joyce calmly said “Stay in position, sweetie,” and Buffy hesitantly pushed her feet back out to the corners. She still wanted her orgasm; she had known this would be awkward. But still, she looked questioningly at her grinning mother, wondering what the hell Joyce had in mind.

Joyce booped her on the nose. “You’re a slave, silly. My slave, to be exact. It’s good that you came to me and told me you needed an orgasm. That’s good slave behavior. It also means my trust in your wasn’t misplaced.”

Hearing this, Buffy averted her eyes from Joyce’s gentle gaze.

“Or was it misplaced?” Joyce asked. “Buffy? Is there something you want to tell me.

Buffy gulped and told her mother everything. She emphasized how she hadn’t climaxed and how sorry it was, hoping that would make a difference.

Joyce brought her forefinger up under Buffy’s pouting chin, lifting Buffy’s face to meet her gaze while keep a firmly implied grip on her. “That was bad. And I’m disappointed. But then you’re not a fully trained slave, not yet.” Joyce took a deep breath. “If you’d orgasmed without my permission, your owner’s permission, I’d judge this differently. But your pussy shows me you’re telling the truth. So I’ll be lenient, just this once.” She pried her fingernail into Buffy’s flesh, almost breaking the skin. “Do you understand me, Buffy?”

“Yes, mom, I understand,” Buffy answered nervously. A slow smile nonetheless graced her lips. “Uh, thanks for being you… not acting like Willow.” She lowered her gaze. “I love that you explain things to me.”

Joyce smiled back at her. “That’s nice, Buffy. But I want you to say it, use your own words and tell me what you just learned. And remember, I’m not only your mother, I’m your owner too.”

Buffy’s face went blank. The words caught in her throat; her ears burned. She had no idea how she could get the words out, how she could say such things in front of her mother.

She’s my owner, Buffy reminded herself firmly. You’re just saying these things to your owner.

“Uh, I'm not to touch my, uh, pussy, uh, breasts, and my ass, uh, sexually? If I want to p-pleasure, uh, myself, I need to ask my owner, uh, that's you, mom, for permission? Uh, and thanks, for not punishing me, uh, for my disobedience, I think?" Blushing, but hopeful, she waited for her mom's reaction.

Joyce smiled tightly. “We should work on your stammer. But, I’ll give you a pass.”

“Thanks, mom. Can I, uh, go upstairs? For the, uh, business?”

Joyce laughed. “Why, Buffy? You can do your business just fine right here. Now, I want you to use this.”

She handed Buffy a small plastic vibrator. It was about the size of a pencil, so thin that Buffy had a bit of trouble just getting a grip on the thing in her current state. “Come on, Buffy,” Joyce said, gesturing impartially to Buffy’s sex. “I thought you wanted an orgasm?”

Hesitating, blushing, Buffy moved the vibrator down to her pussy. She moved her other hand down too, but Joyce stopped her, blocking it with her fork. “No, Buffy, that dildo or no orgasm at all. I don’t want your fingers touching your pussy. It’s your decision.”

Buffy put her free hand down on the island. “How come?”

Joyce sighed. “Remember yesterday? The spell? You agreed to be my slave so that I could help you explore this part of your personality.”

“Y-yes.” How could she forget? The shame still clung to her like it had happened only moments ago. She still couldn’t believe that any part of her would want to be a slave.

Joyce gently ran her fingers along Buffy’s ankles, playfully tugging at the leather cuffs. “I’m doing this to help you. Repressing that part of you, that hidden desire to be a slave and be owned, it’s not healthy. It’s not something that you can just ignore and hope goes away. No, this is not how this works. I know, Buffy. I care.”

Buffy felt a lump in her throat. Even though it didn’t get rid of the humiliation and shame that seemed to have sunken down to her bones, she was still lucky to have Joyce in her life. A rock of soothing love that would always support her.

“I’m not just your mom anymore,” Joyce continued. “I own you now. You’re my slave. And as my slave you need to learn to use the tools I give you. Like this vibrator. Believe me, Buffy, I’m being very nice to give you this.”

Buffy nodded hesitantly. “But why here? Why… in front of you?”

“Well, I thought we’d just talked about that. It’s obvious you lack a trained slave’s self-control, so what’s to stop a horny little girl like you from giving yourself more than one orgasm? Not just the one I’ve given you permission for, but as many as you like? So it’s here because I want to keep an eye on you.”

Buffy was blushing crimson at this point. She thought of just saying no, of exercising the option that Willow had denied her and just stopping this. She could hand that joke of a dildo back, hop off the kitchen island, and go back to her room. To orgasm in front of her mother—it was almost unthinkable.

But then, hadn’t Joyce climaxed in front of her just yesterday. Surely, this had to be just as hard for her. A shudder went through Buffy’s body as she remembered how Joyce had ejaculated in her face, her mouth. But that had been an accident. Exactly the kind of harrowing difficulty she could imagine Joyce barely getting through. So how could she refuse now?

Besides, Buffy admitted even as her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, her pussy clearly needed the attention. She looked at her mother’s expectant face and mentally conceded. The need for a release was greater than her pride.

“T-thanks for explaining, mom.”

Her face flaming red, Buffy turned the vibrator on. She had to grip the tiny shaft tightly, holding it with the tip of her fingers, and even then she could barely grasp the end. She hardly felt any friction as she moved the dildo’s tip over her wet lips. Joyce just sat there, calmly drinking her coffee as she watched.

Biting her lip, Buffy moved the vibrator to her clit, hoping to have some more success there. It was a slow, leaden process, because if her clit couldn’t flicker into flame, it could damn sure sting with the overappliance of the vibrator’s tip. But Buffy paced herself, stroking around slowly and determinedly with her small vibrator. She felt herself heating up and, distantly, realized Joyce had finished her breakfast. Buffy’s mother got up to take her dirty dishes to the sink and busied herself in the kitchen. Having her mother no longer sitting in front of her, staring curiously at her sex helped Buffy to relax.

Closing her eyes and blocking out the sound of Joyce bustling about, Buffy gingerly laid half the length of the vibrator directly between her legs, upon the slowly reawakening warmth of her pussy. Soon it felt so good that she wanted to swoon. But if she did that, she would no longer be able to watch the beautiful alchemy of her arousal. Her pink cuntlips were becoming more livid, more wet, in their picturesque setting of her nubile white thighs, her clit distended, visibly throbbing. She had to force herself to go slowly with the tiny vibrator’s interactions there, moving at only the most sedate speed as she circled her clitoris in narrowing spirals that sent all different shades of pleasure soothingly into her now overheated cunt.

She began to fuck herself with wilder abandon. She forgot to muffle her cries or to control her movements. In fact, Buffy felt like she was building toward an orgasm more shattering than any she’d ever felt before.

The vibrator was tremoring relentlessly inside her, a continual explosion within her incredibly drenched sex. She became wilder and wilder, one hand touching the tingling sensitivity of her heaving breasts while the other anchored the vibrator inside her. She brought her legs up, pressing her knees up against her chest. She nearly somersaulted backward. Then she began a rhythmic rocking, almost fucking the vibrator she had inside herself.

Words and garbled moans escaped her lips as if to let off some of the pressure of the orgasmic explosion about to occur within her. Her legs quivered. Her stomach trembled. She was plunging toward orgasm, her brain high on her own pitched reeling into it. 

Buffy was so invested and involved in the seemingly arcane ritual of moving the vibrator to bring the maximum pleasure to her with the minimum of pain, that she didn’t notice Joyce until her mother had taken her seat once again, setting down a glass of water and a plate of sliced and buttered bread. Buffy was suddenly ashamed of her own heightening pleasure, and her mortification rose as Joyce lifted the glass to Buffy’s mouth and both let and forced her to sip from it. Almost defiantly, she continued masturbating. It felt good, and curdled with her humiliation to become something neither good or bad, but just intense. After the guttering, flailing half-sensations of the night’s denial, she was willing to accept intensity. She traced the vibrator over her pussy, accepting the pleasure like lashes from a whip as Joyce fed her breakfast.

She continued to writhe as the thought of Joyce’s presence blanketed her mind. Instead of immediately stopping her masturbation, she kept fingering her breasts and sex, but slowly tapering off until the slickened vibrator, wet from her pussy, finally slipped from her fingers.

She should have felt frustration, but there was nothing of the sort left in her. Her burning blood swirled like a tornado inside her. She wanted to faint as Joyce got up, went to retrieve some paper towels, wiped off the vibrator, and put it back in her trembling hand.

Buffy began masturbating again, with her mother gaping down at her, staring at the vibrator that Buffy herself was letting hum deep into her cunt. God, is this real? Why does it have to be real? So completely, irrevocably real?

She had been on the verge of coming and now her lust seemed to have braked right on the precipice of her orgasm. She wasn’t cooling off and she wasn’t getting hotter. Her clit throbbed as if demanding attention, while proving numb to the flicks of the vibrator that she gave it. While her body went right on burning, her consciousness wanted no part of the excitement it felt. All Buffy could think about was the strange circumstances that confronted her.

Her legs lowered and unspooled off the edge of the island. The vibrator slipped away from her sex, still buzzing.

“This is taking too long,” Joyce said, once more chilling Buffy after she’d recovered from the interruption of the vibrator slipping away. “You still have a lot to learn,” she concluded as she reached out to rub Buffy’s nipples, her winding fingers kindling a queasy arousal in them.

“Mom, what are you—you don’t have to—this is…”

“It’s no trouble,” Joyce said firmly, overriding her. “In fact, I really should’ve done a better job of taking care of you from the start. Pay attention, Buffy. I want you to be able to do this yourself next time.”

She took hold of the vibrator, long fingers twining around its slender length, and Buffy closed her eyes as Joyce drove its tip into her cunt.

“God!” Buffy cried. “UNNNGHH!”

It moved fast, seeming warmer, bigger, and longer than it had been before, Joyce’s crisp strokes stretching Buffy delicious apart. The sharp tingling sensations that she’d managed by herself now became incredible, anticipatory spasms that made her whole body cry out for relief.

“UUNNG! AHH!” Buffy screamed, teary-eyed not just with the awareness that Joyce was masturbating her, masturbating for her, but that she was enjoying it immensely. Thinking more, shove more in me, give me moooooooore!

“At least we know there’s no problem with your snatch,” Joyce complimented. She slid the vibrator back and forth, churning it slightly so that the smooth sides further agitated the lips of Buffy’s sex, fucking her from the opening of her pussy to its furthest depths. “Quite the opposite. Most girls can take just an inch or two of this at a time. But with you, I’d lose it if I weren’t holding onto it!”

“Really?” Buffy asked, thinking of how small the vibrator had seemed, only satisfactory at all because of its outsized vibrations, but all that she could say were the embarrassing guttural vocalizations that Joyce drew out of her like some distant cousin of pain. This barely seemed like pleasure, more like setting a bone, fitting in some way that she desperately needed but did not go hand in hand with her traditional conception of comfort or enjoyment.

But she had no willpower left. The action in her cunt took her speech away from her, her thought. Slowly she felt herself sailing away from reality, into the delicious and uncomplicated world of obedience. Joyce wanted her to come, so she would come. Fuck me, she said inwardly, not caring that it was her own mother that this thought was directed to. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck meeee…

The vibrations poured through the clenching of her cunt and were carried throughout her body, finding welcome home in her clit, her breasts, even her swollen lips which puckered as if expecting a kiss to come with this voluptuous pleasure. She felt her brain burn away in the heat of her body, her teeth rattled by the buzzing vibrator. Joyce continued to force the vibe faster and faster through Buffy’s gushing cunt, until it felt like her folds would ignite from the intense friction. Her thoughts were not her own; they felt like they were shaking along with the vibrator.

Oh shit, oh fuck, mommy, Jesus, jam that thing into me, shove it into me, mommy, into me, into my cunt!

Buffy was writhing on the kitchen island desperately now. She could feel her tits swelling as if begging to be touched. Her nipples clenched and tightened so hard that they ached from their own erection. Buffy slapped her sweaty palms on top of her breasts, mashing in the taut nipples and, as if in answer, raised her shaking knees higher and higher to give her mother all the access she could ever need.

Thank you, mommy, thank you, thank you—

Buffy screamed, throwing her hands down on the island with a jarring impact, then raising them up once more and squeezing the aching softness of her breasts. They, like the rest of her, seemed to be jetting toward climax so fast that she needed to soothe them tenderly before her flammable body arrived at the incendiary moment itself.

Then the vibrator wasn’t buzzing anymore. Buffy stopped her autoerotic dance long enough to reach down and twist the knob automatically, but it did nothing at all. Joyce was holding it in the off position. Buffy had waited too long to be denied any part of the pleasure she had shamed herself for, and so she was instantly grabbing for Joyce’s hands as her mother took the vibrator, silent and dead, from her protesting cunt.

“We’re out of time,” Joyce said. “Willow will be here soon. Come on. Time for you to get in the shower.”

Buffy actually cried, tears of frustration, as Joyce herded her upstairs, swatting her on her ass to hurry her into the bathroom and into the tub.

“I’d better cool you off,” Joyce said as she turned on the water, dousing Buffy with a literal cold shower.

Buffy shrieked in shock as her arousal was swept out of her, leaving only the bittersweet memories of how close she had been. If only she’d asked Joyce to, if she’d been more comfortable with her mother---

Buffy put her hands over her pussy, trying to protect it from the bracing cold water. It felt very… intense… on her heated womanhood.