Buffy Beaten update

Buffy was hardly in the best state as she walked in on Willow. Not only buzzed, but she had visions of her mother and Conrad and Ray Stratford dancing through her mind. Sensible instincts had driven her to seek the healing influence of Willow, but she hadn’t counted on how intoxicated Willow herself was. In her present condition, though, she hardly noticed.

“Hey Will,” she tolled listlessly, standing in the entryway to the living room. Willow squeaked in a sudden flood of embarrassment, but Buffy just took that as surprise. “Sorry for scaring you.”

Willow had fallen off the couch, hitting the ground so hard it shook the liquor bottle on the coffee table. The thing nearly fell over. “That’s… okay, Buff. I… what’re you doing here?”

“Let’s just say I’m checking in on you,” Buffy said with fond sympathy, at least aware enough to know that Willow wasn’t her best self just then either. “I guess going shot for shot with the Slayer didn’t work out well for either of us.”

“N-no,” Willow said meagerly, coming up to her feet, but hunched over, with her hands coiled before her groin, hoping the shadows and Buffy’s lack of attention would hide some of her present circumstances.

“You wanna go to bed?”

“What?” Willow squeaked, not at all ready for that question despite the fact that she’d just been imagining the possible answers in some detail.

“C’mon,” Buffy said. “I’ll tuck you in.”

“I…” Willow lost her train of thought entirely as Buffy took her by the arm—her hand had just been in her pussy—and pulled her along to her bedroom. “Okay.”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Buffy asked, sliding her hand down Willow’s arm to link her fingers with Willow. She noticed the moisture on Willow’s hand, but took it to be the cool dew from the bottle she’d seen on the coffee table. She decided to discreetly leave it unmentioned.

Willow, for her part, could not tell with her foggy mind whether Buffy’s offer was platonic or… elsewise. She decided to accept in either case. “Yeah, Buffster. Whatever you want.”

Buffy led her up the stairs to her bedroom, which thanks to the wonders of tract housing was largely the same as Buffy’s, at least in layout. She helped Willow through the door, then concerned herself with carefully closing it behind them, while Willow made a loopy circle around the bed before sitting on the mattress, pulling up the covers to hide her lower nudity. It occurred to her suddenly that her nakedness would be less noteworthy somehow if she didn’t have any clothes left to throw it into such sharp relief.

“Buffy, my shirt itches. I’m gonna take it off,” she said, then giggled as if it were funny.

“Okay, Will,” Buffy said, stepping out of her own footwear. “Nobody here but us chickens, right?”

“Byuck,” Willow said in reasonable imitation of a rooster, and both of them dissolved into helpless giggles.

I was right, Buffy thought to herself. Willow always makes everything better.

Willow peeled off her belly shirt, leaving herself with not a stitch on. Buffy allowed herself to look at her. There were no hidden curves to Willow, no unexpected D-cups she’d had concealed in her baggy sweaters all along. She was as sylphlike naked as she ever was in her overalls and tie-dye shirts, but she still looked good, pale and slender, something classical about the sleek breasts that held tight to her chest and the slim but most definitely round buttocks that rolled out from her boyish hips. Buffy couldn’t understand why Willow was single. She was so good-looking, and nice, and smart even. If I stay celibate any longer, I just might date her.

Buffy sat on the other side of the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted, even afraid. She’d thought she’d gotten used to how precarious and weird life in Sunnydale could be, but as it turned out, she’d always relied on her mother for some small sense of stability. That had been disrupted. Things would never be the same again. And Buffy didn’t know what was worse: her mom being such a slut or she herself staying to watch. It was all too insane, too fresh in her mind, and her only recourse was for Buffy to tell herself she was too tired to really think about it then.

Buffy took her panties out of her pocket and dropped them on the floor, then reached under her shirt to finally remove the bra she’d had uncomfortably bunched about her midsection the entire way to Willow’s. She kept going, divesting herself of every item of clothing with the oddest feeling of relief, of cleansing, until she was bare. 

She glanced at herself in Willow’s dresser mirror. It was hard not to see her mother’s naked body in her own nudity. She combed her hair with her fingers—that would have to do for her nightly routine—and then slid under the covers with Willow. In the darkness, Willow’s bare shoulders with their fair skin gleamed brightly, her shoulder blades rigid through her almost translucent flesh. Buffy slid her hand over them, until she was embracing Willow, holding her from behind, not even thinking that there could be anything else to their two naked bodies joining together under the covers of one bed. 

“Thanks for letting me stay over, Will,” Buffy whispered.

“Did you call me by a guy’s name?” Willow asked, slurring her words, both tired and drunk.

“Uh-huh,” Buffy said, a little confused. “I always call you Will.”

“Yeah, but… is that like I’m your guy or something?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy laughed. Slim though Willow may be, there was no mistaking her for a guy. Something about the delicacy of her features, her overweening cuteness, the sheer poise of her slender figure—it was all unmistakably feminine. “Do you wanna be?”

Willow turned over to face Buffy, her pert breasts tingling as they brushed against Buffy’s. As petite as the blonde was, she was better endowed than Willow, and a certain charge went through her cleavage as it met Willow’s. Buffy felt her breath coming heavier, a heightened awareness of how sensitive and wet her pussy still was after watching her mother’s threesome.

For once, Willow seemed mysterious. Either oblivious to the feelings swaying through Buffy or very, very aware of the effect she was having on her. “I don’t know… do you think I’d make a good boy?”

“I think you’d be good at anything.”

Willow nodded sagely. “You’re nice. Do you like sleeping alone?”

Buffy shook her head. “Not as much as this.”

“Me neither. Buffy. You’re so soft.”

Her arms went around Buffy’s body. Their legs tangled with each other. They embraced, naked flesh against naked flesh, everything they touched warm, smooth, soft downy hair greeting their fingertips, their breathing the same, their heartbeat the same. Buffy felt the fuzz of Willow’s pubic hair against her thigh.

“You’re not wearing any clothes, Will,” Buffy said, the haze in her mind seeming to grow. It was so hard to think. She didn’t want to. She was tired. She was so comfortable. She was touching Willow and it was good to touch Willow. Willow was soft and warm.

“Neither are you,” Willow replied, with a slight giggle as she ran her hand over Buffy’s naked body. Buffy sighed as Willow’s hand went over some of her curves, some of her places.

“I… I…” Buffy threw her leg over Willow’s hips. Now she was holding Willow in her legs as well as in her arms, her sex touching Willow, the two of them melting together at the breast, the hips, even at their lips. “You taste good.”

“So do you,” Willow purred. “Should we stop?”

“I don’t know.”

“Should we keep going?”

“Willow.”

“Buffy…”

Sleep came to Buffy, but her dreams were as erotic as her life had become. And to her horror, she found herself doing what she’d seen Joyce doing. She found herself liking it. But there was no one else sharing her guilt. There was only Conrad. And he fucked her like she was as big a whore as her mother.