Buffy Beaten update

Willow and Cordelia came to shortly after Conrad left. Or, at least, the awareness of what they were doing finally outweighed the pleasure of doing it. Consciousness ping-ponged back and forth between them, Willow discovering that she was kissing Cordelia, which made Cordelia realize that Willow knew she was kissing her, and back and forth their awareness grew until it was greater than the wonderful feeling of their lips locking together in the taste of Conrad’s cum, sharing it and each other and the satisfaction of what they’d done, the slutty depravity that was both for its own sake and for something as degrading as material gain. That whorishness only made them like it more, to the point where the very enjoyment was unsettling to them. They were good girls. Having been debased and defiled for something as stupid as fake IDs, they could not have compounded their sin by liking their own victimization.

Yet, neither one could deny their arousal, even as their realization hit its peak and the full knowledge of what had happened and who they were and what all of this made them hit like the rush of water after a dam had broken.

They were so overwhelmed by this shock of wakefulness that neither of them spoke. As frazzled as Willow was, she didn’t babble one word. As incensed as Cordelia was, she didn’t make one comment. In their despoiled underwear, dripping with cum, they picked up their clothes from the ground—dank with the moisture of now-polluted rainfall, but still infinitely preferable to how they had appeared to Conrad and each other in what now seemed like an orgy in their memories.

As they gathered their clothes in their arms, not yet discerning between one set of clothing and the other, the fake IDs spilled down onto the glistening blacktop. Four of them. For all they represented, the IDs could not be left behind—neither girl could come away from being ravished as they had empty-handed. 

They reached for the IDs in the same instant and their hands brushed together, a shock of pleasure marking the contact—the first time they’d touched after the long kiss that had served as afterglow to the orgasm of being used by Conrad, used on each other like living sex toys, enjoying it more than their own willing sexual escapades had ever pleased them. 

Cordelia thought of how Xander had felt when he’d been inside her, in that dissatisfying yet tantalizing echo of how she might have lost her virginity, if only she could remember. Willow thought of how she’d touched herself with the added thrill of voyeurism, watching Xander, and Buffy, and Cordelia, feeling like she was joining them all together in one big bacchanalia with her fervent imaginings. She wanted them all to fuck her; did that make her the sluttiest of all of them? Everyone’s bitch?

The town fucking bicycle, Willow heard in Cordelia’s voice so vividly that she looked to the brunette to see if she’d actually spoken.

In that sudden eye contact, one connection was forged and another lost. Once again, they came back to themselves, abandoning the fantasies that had briefly linked them. Without saying a word, Cordelia took her own fake ID. Willow took hers and Buffy’s and Xander’s. In their sleep, they could’ve imagined the other’s dialogue. Cordelia disdaining the rest of the gang, saying she only cared about getting an ID for herself, and Willow self-sacrificing, promising to deliver Buffy and Xander their IDs on Cordelia’s behalf.

Now in a new kind of haze, they wandered the maze of backalleys behind the Bronze, both following the other, neither knowing where they were really going, until an open doorway called out to them. There was no telling what the building was meant for, only that the hallway that initially presented itself seemed empty, and two restroom doors, male and female, preceded the propped-open exit that they entered through.

They let themselves into the ladies’ restroom. Thankfully, it was nowhere near as squalid and messy as the rest of their evening. That would’ve been the last straw, a bridge too far for sanity. But in its sparkling cleanliness, all the tiles gleaming, all the mirrors mercilessly reflective, there was its own kind of torture. 

For once in her life, Cordelia felt cheap and shabby, like she actually wasn’t good enough for a public restroom. She was quick to throw herself to the banks of sinks along the wall, turning on the hot water, but she didn’t actually touch the stream that jetted out of the tap, sending billowing clouds of steam up to humidify the air. Perhaps it was the sight of herself in the mirror—undressed, plastered with cum, and under it, her lipstick smeared with that of Willow’s—or perhaps it was just that Cordelia wanted to savor being anything other than the Queen Bee of Sunnydale High… even a wanton slut… for a little while longer.

She looked over at Willow and was surprised by the sympathy she saw in the redhead’s big green eyes. Willow wasn’t cleaning herself off either. Cordelia felt close to her in that moment. What they’d shared, what they’d enjoyed together—how many people could there be that could both go through what they’d been through… both relished it?

Then the door began to move, creaking open with an apocalyptic squeak of its hinges. Cordelia hustled into the handicapped stall, where she finally had the privacy to clean herself up and redress. She heard the stall next to her shut too, Willow’s reassuring presence inside. When had Willow become someone she was so comfortable with? It didn’t matter. She listened as two sets of footsteps moved to the sinks, taking advantage of the running water Cordelia had left on.

“I suppose I should have eaten your little friend’s cunt before tossing her aside,” someone laughed, female, sounding very much like Buffy. “I bet there was a lot more than one mouthful of hot cum up there by the time you were through.”

“You would have loved the hot load I pumped into her asshole,” a man announced happily, sounding so much like Xander that Cordelia felt herself automatically bending, drawn toward the gapes in the handicapped stall, trying to see through to identify if it really was him. “For such a slut, she really had one hell of a tight ass.”

The water shut off. The door swung open and closed again, this time sounding much quieter. The threat of being seen was over. Cordelia exhaled raggedly, and in her relief, became aware of the warm stickiness of the cum that covered her face, smeared all over her by Willow’s make-out session, the redhead as delighted by the taste of Conrad’s seed as she had been…

Grabbing toilet paper from the dispenser, Cordelia wadded it up into a thick sponge and then wiped her face clean, or at least dry. As she rid herself of the layer of corruption that blazed on her skin, Cordelia became aware of how her bra felt. It was sodden with sweat, as were her panties—although her panties adhered so tightly and warmly to her mound that it couldn’t just be sweat that soaked them—but her bra felt different somehow, strange, foreign. Her nipples tingled. It felt almost like hands were touching her, fingers. Unthinkingly, Cordelia undid her bra hook and eased the garment away from her breasts. 

Conrad’s spunk had dribbled down her face, down her throat, thick rivulets of it ending up under her bra, beyond the reach of her clean-up. As she looked down at her cleavage, she saw that a pearly drop of cum hung from the darkly engorged nipple of her left breast. Cordelia reached to remove it, even willing to use her bare hand to free herself of the obscenity, but instead her hand pressed into her tit, smearing the cum over her bumpy areola until the tip of her breast gleamed with wetness.

Like a woman possessed, Cordelia stayed in motion. She licked her palm, both tasting Conrad’s seed and adding some saliva to the mix before she rubbed her right breast, coating it in traces of Conrad’s jism, making it gleam to match her left tit. Then, hyperventilating, Cordelia was back in the driver’s seat. She pulled her bra back on, somehow comfortable again, and then started to put on her clothes. 

She could still feel the warmth of Conrad’s semen on her hand, between her fingers, a scummy layer of physical degradation that she was still reluctant to part with. She wondered what miniscule amounts of it would adhere to her clothes as she fit them onto her body, would move from her clothes onto the body they covered, would spread onto the rest of her clothes in the washer and dryer, until she was forever touching Conrad’s sperm, whatever she wore, whatever she was doing—marked eternally by what had happened. 

She squeezed her right hand into a fist and rubbed Conrad’s cum and her own saliva—proof that she had licked his ejaculatory ropes off of Willow’s face and shared them in endless kisses—between her fingers. It felt good, right. As good as her breasts felt, tingling warmly like they were in Xander’s hands as he squeezed and rubbed until she was almost ready to let him in her pussy just so the feeling would go on…

Willow scrubbed her face with her hands, dragging her palms down from her hairline to her jaw, working all the cum off her closed eyes and closed lips until every drop of it was either smeared irrevocably into her skin or cupped in her joined palms. Willow looked down at the pool of sperm in her hands, potent and malignant, seeming almost odiously smug in how it clung to her fingers and warmed her palms. It had touched her. It had been tasted by her. This was what it all came down to, what fucking was all about—getting this warm, white quicksilver from a man’s thing to a woman’s womb. 

In a way, it was pure sex. What filled your mouth after a blowjob, what was in your hand after a handjob. She hadn’t jerked Conrad off, but she had made him come, performing for him with Cordelia like they were two private strippers. And it was still so warm. It must’ve tasted just the same as it had when she and Cordelia kissed, tongues clashing against each other as if they were battling for the flavor…

She ran her tongue from her wrists to the tips of her fingers, lapping up all she could of the milky white residue, then sucked off her sticky fingers. She tasted Conrad’s orgasm on her pinky, her thumb, her forefinger… her slender fingers were nowhere near as big as his member, but they were still enough to make Willow wish she really did have a cock in her mouth, ready to feed her more of this delicious slime. 

If it tasted so good after splattering her face, she could only imagine how it tasted straight from the source, pumped into a girl’s mouth like Conrad had done with lucky, lucky Cordelia. Willow rubbed her licked-clean, saliva-wet palms over her face, sensitive skin tingling all over again, still remembering the taint of being covered in Conrad’s seed. She tried to recall the fleeting sensation, but her spit was thinner and more tepid than Conrad’s hearty cum.

Together they sorted out their mixed clothes, passing items of it under the stalls until they were fully dressed once more. Willow having worn more than Cordelia, she finished dressing last. She stepped out of the toilet stall to see Cordelia standing there, lost in thought, staring at her soiled hand as if unsure whether to go ahead and wash it clean in the sink. And Willow saw her chance. 

She grabbed Cordelia by the wrist and held her hand up to her face, licking the palm, then taking the bunched fingers into her mouth knuckle deep and sucking them dry. She could taste more than cum on Cordelia’s hand. She could taste Cordy—and she was almost as delicious. It felt like she was mouthing Conrad’s prick right after he’d penetrated Cordelia, so his length tasted of both of them. That made Willow wonder: when Cordelia had been kissing her, how much of the taste was Conrad and how much was her?

If Willow sucking her fingers clean didn’t bring Cordelia out of her stupor, didn’t do more than stun her further, than Willow’s lip-smacking satisfaction at the taste she encountered was finally enough to bring Cordelia back to herself. She looked at Willow, eyebrows knitting together, beautiful features curdling with disgust as she took Willow in and saw something of herself in the redhead’s embarrassing enjoyment of embarrassment.

“God, you fucking freak—you got off on that? You really enjoyed it, huh? I knew it, I knew it from the start, doesn’t matter if you’re a demon or a witch or a Slayer, you’re still just some messed up dyke who can’t come from normal shit, so you do all sorts of kinky, all sorts of fucked up—“

Willow’s eyes flashed with menace and then her hand shot between Cordelia’s legs, grabbing her sex. Through her skirt, through her panties, Willow’s usually cool flesh now seemed so cold that it burned, icy heat cutting through the soaked curls of Cordelia’s pubic hair and into the fragile pink sensitivity of her womanhood. Cordelia’s breathing hitched as if she were struggling to fill her lungs. She responded instinctively to the sudden blare of pleasure inside her, hips twisting, pressing her cunt hard into Willow’s hand, while the redhead squeezed her hard enough to cause pain. Then Cordelia’s pussy melted in Willow’s hand.

Cordelia gaped—she gasped—she went cross-eyed, a mortified smile fluttering across her twitching lips—a shrill whine came from her strangled throat, all of which Willow drank in, watching Cordelia lose herself, all her poise and calculation and social hierarchy suddenly shattered to leave a bitch in heat that Willow, Willow, had fucked.

“You’re just as much a freak,” Willow said, taking her hand away. Cordelia moaned in dismay. 

As she left, Willow looked at the hand that had cupped Cordelia’s orgasmic pussy and was now dripping with her juices. She pursed her lips and, as if applying lipstick, ran her fingers along her open, trembling lips. 

As was only reasonable, the taste was exquisite, but for once, Willow didn’t mind how perfect Cordelia was in every bodily aspect. Deep down, Cordelia was like her. An animal.