Buffy Beaten update

Conrad left Willow moaning and sighing with her broken virginity, her gleeful entry into the world of sex, and returned to the Summers house. He startled Buffy as he went into the kitchen. She was fixing a meal for herself, a selection of frozen potato skins on a cookie sheet that she was about to put into the oven.

“Good idea,” he told her. “Mind fixing a few for me too?”

“Yeah,” Buffy said, throwing some more onto the sheet. “Sure.”

He sat down at the kitchen table. “You’re looking good tonight, kiddo.”

Buffy found it hard to keep from trembling as she spaced out the potato skins. She was very aware of Conrad’s eyes on her. It made her wish she had worn something a little less revealing. But then, she hadn’t known Conrad would drop by. Joyce was working that evening and how could Buffy know that Conrad would show up at the house while she wasn’t there?

Maybe he was just cheap and saw no need to pay for his own food when he could take advantage of the well-stocked larder Joyce kept. But he kept looking at Buffy in such a funny way. There was unquestionably something he was looking for when he looked at her.

Buffy resolved to ignore him. She shoved the cookie sheet into the oven and let it run, pulling out her cell phone and playing around on it just to show Conrad that he couldn’t bother her. And he didn’t, though it got harder and harder to ignore how he was undressing her with his eyes. 

Somehow, he seemed so adept at it, so perfectly able to look through her exterior to the nakedness within—even deeper, into what she was thinking and feeling—that Buffy could’ve sworn she felt a breeze against her naked flesh. She pinched her sleeve between two fingers, rubbing it to remind herself that she was wearing clothes no matter how closely Conrad looked at her.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” Conrad asked.

Buffy glanced at the oven timer. Dinner was almost ready. Then she wouldn’t have to deal with him. “What gave you that idea?”

“You’re always trying to avoid me.”

“No, I’m not,” Buffy said.

She did, though. She didn’t like having him around, even if he did make her mom happy—orgasmically happy. Not that he was a bad-looking man. He was tall and well-built and Buffy could see how her mother would go for him. But Buffy wasn’t the kind of girl who went for older men. Except for a few vampires, who didn’t age, so that hardly counted, and anyway she could admit that was a bad idea in the first place.

“It’s a shame we just can’t seem to get along,” Conrad said. “After all, I like blondes. And you’re even blonder than your mother.”

Buffy shivered, feeling his eyes undressing her as she wondered if he’d insulted her or not. Didn’t he ever get bored of picturing her naked? She should be used to people staring at her by now. She’d been a cheerleader, after all. But not many people looked at her as deeply as Conrad seemed to.

“My mom looks great,” Buffy said.

“She sure does. And you look even better. You’re one hot piece of ass.”

Buffy flushed. She opened the oven door and took the potato skins out, and the heat of the oven didn’t feel nearly as hot as her blushing cheeks. “You shouldn’t talk like that,” she said, quickly spatulaing the potato skins onto two separate plates.

“Why not? Don’t you know you’re a hot piece of ass? Why else would Xander want to fuck you so bad?”

Like a robot, Buffy brought Conrad his plate. She felt his eyes wandering over her body still. He seemed to be able to see right into her sex, how tight it was, what it was feeling… how it tingled. “Who told you that? Did my mom tell you that?”

“Not to mention Willow. Now me, I’m cute, but I’ve never been so cute I made a guy want to play for the other team.”

Buffy picked up her own plate. “I’m going upstairs. I have some homework to do. I’ll do the dishes later.”

It was ridiculous that she could stand up to demons and vampires, yet find herself in such a terrible hurry to get out of the kitchen and be away from her mom’s boyfriend. Everything seemed to have shifted in Sunnydale lately. She didn’t feel comfortable in her own skin, and when she was comfortable, it was about the wrongest things.

When Conrad had said Xander wanted to fuck her, a part of her had been overjoyed to hear it. After all, anyone would be better for him than Cordelia. And Willow… could Willow really want to…

Nearly running up the stairs to her bedroom, Buffy slipped and fell. She tumbled down the few steps she’d already ascended, her dinner go flying, and as her body hit the floor, she found herself looking up at Conrad. His eyes were on her white panties; her skirt had tangled around her hips in the fall. She reached down to straighten it.

“Easy, Buffy. Don’t try to move.” He bent down and picked her up with such confident assertion that Buffy didn’t think better of it until she was in the air. “You might have sprained something.”

He carried her into the living room and set her down on the couch. Buffy was grateful to be out of his arms before she screamed, but her relief hadn’t even set in before he was kneeling over her. He ran his hands delicately up her left leg, squeezing, massaging, rubbing—saying “Does this hurt? How about here?”

Buffy lay there, her head resting on the arm of the couch, so adroitly pinned between his concern and his lust that she couldn’t make a move to dissuade him. His hand moved over her knee and Buffy stiffened to feel him touching her thigh. Conrad sensed her tension and paused. Now suspended between the pleasure of him going higher and the relief of him taking his hand away, Buffy felt her discomfort grow.

“Well? Does it hurt?” Conrad asked.

“No, I’m okay,” Buffy nodded. “Nothing hurts.”

“Then let’s check the other one.”

Buffy deeply sucked in breath as she felt the gentle, soothing touch of his hands moving up her right leg. It felt funny, left her feeling tingly not only where he touched, but all over. She wanted to wiggle and squirm, but couldn’t give away how this was making her feel. 

His hands roamed over her knee and ran up her thigh, higher than they’d gone before, touching under her skirt. Buffy flinched nervously, almost afraid of what she was feeling now. It seemed weirder than before—tingling deep in her groin somewhere, not as light as it should’ve been. Conrad’s huge body loomed over her. Buffy could smell his cologne. It didn’t smell bad.

“There,” Conrad said, sliding his finger back down over the sensitive spot that had made her flinch. “You are hurt. I’ll kiss it and make it better.”

Buffy thought he was joking. No one really did that. Not at her age. But Conrad opened her legs and leaned down to put his head between them. Buffy forced herself to relax. It was just a kiss, she told herself. His lips pressed against the sensitive spot. His mouth was hot and wet. She trembled, feeling his tongue needling into her tender flesh, but she bit her lip to say nothing.

Oh geez! Geez! It’s not supposed to feel like this! Whatever this is, it’s not supposed to feel like this!

Conrad raised his head. “Feel better?”

“Yes… yeah… much better…”

“Good,” Conrad nodded. “I’ll go see if your dinner can be salvaged. I know they landed on the floor, but your mom does vacuum an awful lot.”

Then he rose, revealing to her the bulge at his groin. Buffy let out a squeak. It was so… so big.

And if he’d just gotten away with kissing her inner thigh, she wondered what was stopping him from using that on her… making her just as much of a fucked-out slut as he had her mother.

A thought popped into her head: That’s just what men do to dirty cunts. And Buffy had to agree, even if she’d never thought of Joyce that way before. Her mother was a dirty cunt. That was why she got fucked so hard. The lucky, dirty cunt.