Buffy Beaten update

Willow unlocked her front door thinking only of Xander. And Cordelia. How he’d been all over her and she’d been all over him, practically sitting in his lap as they drove off together after dropping Willow at home. Willow went inside. Her parents were out again. A spa weekend. She went to the liquor cabinet. 

Usually, they trusted her—she was always the good girl, never interesting enough to be bad—the cabinet wasn’t even locked. She grabbed a bottle of scotch, took it and a glass to the refrigerator, puzzled for a moment over how many ice cubes to add before deciding on two. She put them in, poured the glass full, then drank. The scotch wasn’t nearly as good as the gin, it burned all the way down and sent her into such a hoarse coughing fit that Willow worried her parents would hear. She had to remind herself they weren’t home. She was on her own, all by herself… Xander had Cordelia, Cordelia had Xander, and Buffy had Xander if she wanted him, but she didn’t even… she could afford to just toss him aside, and Willow didn’t even get Buffy’s table scraps, Cordelia got that. Plus, Buffy was the Slayer. She had superpowers.

Willow drank more, forcing it down despite the burn, telling herself it would bring back the warm glow she’d felt from the gin at the Bronze. Cordelia was such a slut. Such a damn, horny, dirty slut that of course Xander couldn’t say no to her, he was a guy. But then he couldn’t say no to Buffy either, he’d do anything for Buffy, and Buffy wasn’t a slut. 

Willow realized slowly that her glass was empty, and all she was drinking was the melting ice cubes. She filled it full of scotch again, talking to herself now, mumbling and muttering as she went through her house from room to room, trying to get away from the bitterness of being alone, but finding no escape, not even solace. Buffy was alone because she chose to be and Xander wasn’t alone, so what the hell was wrong with her? Why was it Xander wouldn’t make a pass at her? That was all he had to do, give her an opening, then she’d throw herself at him—let him do whatever he wanted to her. There was no way a prude like Cordelia would let him do as much as Willow would; Cordelia was the sluttish prude Willow had ever met!

In her half-audible rant, she lurched against a wall, pushed herself away from it, and lost her balance. Stumbling, she ran into the arm of a couch and sprawled across its cushions. Willow gasped from the impact. Her legs stretched out. Home alone, she had taken off most of her clothes, her pants and her bra, her shoes and socks, leaving herself in only black boy-cut panties and a thin belly shirt that she never would’ve worn in public without a jacket or vest. Her breasts, slight as they were, jiggled nakedly through the thin silk that held them. She rolled around on the couch, getting comfortable. Her legs spread. Her left foot landed on the floor. The crotch of her panties shifted, leaving her red-haired pussy exposed. 

Well, what difference does it make? Willow asked herself. Why shouldn’t she act like a ho? Cordelia did. Buffy didn’t, but it sure didn’t make her happy. Willow would rather be Cordelia, having Xander fuck her, probably doing her in every hole, morning and noon and night, when he wasn’t jacking off to her like he had at school. Christ, that was how much of a man Xander was. Cordelia couldn’t even keep up with all his sexual stamina; he had to jerk it if he wanted to be satisfied. And all that masculinity, that raw sex, was wasted on Cordelia, who didn’t even appreciate him. Willow could appreciate him. She’d never let him jerk off. She’d want every drop of his cum, even if it tasted bad. It couldn’t be much worse than the scotch and she’d certainly gotten used to that…

It startled Willow to realize she was jealous of Cordelia Chase. Cordy would probably love that. Willow knew she shouldn’t. Cordelia was horrible, no matter how she looked—Willow would rather be nice and smart and kind and sweet and… alone. While gorgeous, voluptuous Cordelia had all the guys she wanted, even Xander, who she claimed not to want. She’d probably changed her tune after he’d fucked her. Yeah, that explained everything. No matter how she despised him, she couldn’t do without that huge cock Willow had seen. And Xander couldn’t do without that hot body of Cordelia’s.

“Fuck ‘em!” Willow cried, her face contorting with shock and regret once the obscene words had burst out of her. Then she brought the glass back to her lips and sucked the last drops of scotch from the bottom, drowning the ear-burning shame of having said it. “Fuck them both!” she shouted, doubling down, as if either of them were near enough to hear her declarations instead of being wrapped around each other like two octopi who’d lost track of whose tentacles were whose.

Willow was lucky in one respect, though. She’d left the bottle on the coffee table when she started walking through her tirade so now, like magic, it was there for a refill. She reached for it, and as she turned to extend her hand, the glass slipped from her grasp, ice cubes flying out onto the carpet.

“Fuck!” Willow cried one last time. She nearly fell off the end of the couch. “Screw it—who needs a glass? It’s not like being some… genteel lady person has worked out for me so far!”

She stretched out her arm to grab the bottle by its neck, the reach working her slit even further out from under her panties, so that the undergarment lay crooked over her pubis, the crotch landing uncomfortably on her mound. Grunting in irritation, Willow reached down to push the panties away, then kicked and shimmied until she’d gotten them off her legs altogether. She lay there on the couch, cradling the bottle to her chest, wearing only a thin shirt, her pussy out, her naked ass on the couch cushion. 

“This slutty enough for you, Xander?” she asked the ceiling as she brought the bottle to her lips. A long swig of scotch went down her throat, making her cough and burn, but it was almost pleasurable now. Her eyes were bleary. She heaved a sigh, trying to get comfortable once more—lifting her right leg to drop it on the back of the couch. Her pussy was not just exposed now, it was open. She looked down at it, ginger hair neatly trimmed, inner flesh gleaming pink. Virgin. Didn’t guys like that?

No, she was sexy, desirable. It was just her bad luck that Cordelia and Buffy were so much more… obvious about it, wearing the latest fashions, flaunting themselves about, being the Slayer. And the head cheerleader, which was probably a bigger deal to Xander Harris.

Xander was too dumb to see her worth—that was her bad luck too. He got lost in Cordelia and Buffy’s looks, not seeing that she had a perfectly fine body, and friendship, and loyalty, and she’d let him put it in her butt. 

Or maybe he did know that. Guys were only after one thing, everything always said so. Maybe he knew exactly how desirable she was and how far he could get with her. More than that, maybe he could tell how good a fuck Willow was, even before she fucked. Maybe she wasn’t hot. Maybe she wasn’t good at sex. Maybe he’d rather have whatever he had with Cordelia than a loving, fulfilling relationship with her.

Willow sank into self-pity with another gulp at her bottle. She knew the direction her mind was going, but she couldn’t, wasn’t willing to halt the self-destruction of her psyche. That was something else she couldn’t do alone. If Xander were here, he could tell her, show her that she was sexy and desirable, bring her out of this… booze-soaked malaise she was in now. Which would only be fitting, since it was his damn fault in the first place. Him and Cordelia, her tonsils at the tip of his tongue…

Willow desperately wanted him there, being her friend, being nice to her. Not even fucking her, but just being himself. Appreciating her even without getting any pussy out of it. He was like that. And she would appreciate him. She would kiss him and hold him and he could, he could fuck her, show her that she really was sexy, as sexy as Cordelia and as sexy as Buffy—he’d enjoy fucking her and she’d enjoy being fucked by him, enjoy that she could be fucked.

Willow sighed with hunger, her mind swimming in irony. Her friend Buffy was a Slayer, but she needed her man friend, guy friend, boyfriend, making everything okay. Normal, boring Xander was every bit as important to her as slutty, prudish Cordelia somehow was to him. Did that make any sense? Did she make sense? She didn’t know if she did. Willow always thought she had…

Her fingers found their way between her legs. She touched herself. It made her shiver. Willow smiled. She had a responsive little pussy. Xander would like that—how the slightest touch made her whimper and throb and just imagine how good a cock would be. She’d go absolutely wild. Probably come within the first minute of the fuck. And then keep coming, over and over again, minute after minute, as Xander kept fucking her…

Willow burst out laughing. What was the point of fantasizing? Xander wasn’t going to come into her house and take her in her arms and make her his woman. She was just going to lie there, sinking deeper and deeper into an alcoholic stupor. No bra, no panties, and no one to give a damn about it.

“Fuck it!” Willow cried out, getting more comfortable with the word all the time. She took another long swig from the bottle, gasping as the scotch tore its molten way down her throat. She shut her eyes. “So what if I don’t have a man? Who needs a man? I’m happy all by myself. I can make myself happy. I don’t need a man to feel good, I just need my fingers.”

She rubbed at herself, moaning, a new warmth rising in her to rival the one left behind by the scotch as it dropped down to simmer in her stomach. “I don’t need a cock… not a big one, not a small one, not any cock. I have my fingers—not even Xander’s cock. Yeah, they’re good, they’re so good. They’re all I need…”

She slid her middle and ring finger inside herself. It felt wonderful. Almost holy. She was so turned on. It seemed insane for Willow to be so horny when she was so depressed, but it made a kind of sense. She’d said that she was as sexy as Cordelia and Buffy. Why shouldn’t she be sexy even when her spirits were low? Xander didn’t know what he was missing!

She kept fondling her pussy. The fingers inside her she twirled around and around, moaning with rising pleasure as they found the secret places that felt so good to be touched. Willow pumped her fingers in and out several times, hearing the liquid sound that came from her slit filling with aroused juices. She shook from head to toe, draping her right foot over the couch so it dangled down the back. Her cunt opened wider. Willow pressed four fingers inside, fucking them in and out of her quivering womanhood.

The depressed fog she was in was brightening with the intensity of what she was feeling, but she was too befuddled to think of a fantasy for her self-pleasure. She didn’t want to think about Xander after he’d betrayed her by screwing Cordelia and not shown up to fuck her just now, but her fantasy life only had him in it. She could still hear his voice from her old masturbatory imaginings. 

Willow, you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had. I never want anyone else in my bed. I can’t believe I lasted as long as I did, it feels so amazing inside your hot cunt. I’m hard again, Will. Let’s do it again.

Even as she touched herself now, that felt pathetic, not arousing but something to either cry about or laugh about. She didn’t want to think about Xander. She wanted to be in a better mood, obliterating him from her mind with the orgasm she gave herself. Yes, that would make her feel good, if she could eke a climax out of this sweet feeling in her pussy—a nice, wet orgasm to bring her back to life without a Xander Harris in sight…

Concentrate, Willow told herself. Sexy thoughts. She tried to think of some fantasies other than Xander. There had to be some. It wasn’t like she was obsessed or anything. She could remember some. She remembered one. Buffy. Mall changing room. Trying on different clothes, bras, panties. Buffy in nothing but black bra, black panties, black garters and stockings. Outlining and showcasing and displaying her small, tight curves like the treasures they were. And at her groin, in a dreamy twist of remembrances, a strap-on cock. Bigger than a real man’s, bigger than anything she’d seen in porn—big as Xander’s. Thick and long and it had to be as hard as stone, harder than flesh and blood could ever be.

“Bend over, Will,” Buffy said, her voice friendly, smiling, until it assumed the darker, sultry aspect of fantasy. Demanding. Domineering. “Bend over now. I want your pussy. And what the Slayer wants, the Slayer gets.”

It made Willow so wet. So ready to be fucked. But she was so hot now that she would fuck a demon, only she didn’t have to settle for one. She didn’t have to settle for anything, she had Buffy—her bestie—bestie with a big strap-on cock for her. Fucking her. Fucking her more than once, because strap-ons didn’t get soft, didn’t go flaccid, they were always hard and they fucked and fucked and fucked. Buffy would fuck her three, four times before her Slayer strength gave out, if it ever did. 

Willow pushed her whole fist into her cunt (so how could Xander not fit?) as she thought of Buffy fucking her brains out. Her thighs clutched tightly, squeezing her fingers in, drowning them in her wetness. It felt good, too damn good, she moaned—shouldn’t feel so good, not thinking about her friend, her girlfriend, friend that was a girl and she wasn’t gay. Would a real cock be even better? Flesh and blood, warm and tender, a man holding her and squeezing her and treating her like a woman while that cock—“Ghhh!”—that indomitable cock, it fucked her hard-fast-cruel like she wanted, like Buffy could do to her. Maybe they should both fuck her, Buffy and Xander. She had enough holes. And one left over for Cordelia. She could spit on Cordelia. Rich girls only got to watch. No, that cheerleader bitch didn’t even deserve to watch. She could hear, listen in as Xander told Willow how good her pussy felt, how hard she made him, how much he was going to come when his stamina finally gave in to her ginger sex appeal, after hours and hours of fucking her, Willow you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had, bend over Willow, I never want anyone else in my bed, bend over NOW, I can’t believe I lasted as long as I did, I want your pussy, it feels so amazing inside your hot cunt, and what the Slayer wants, I’m hard again Will, the Slayer GETS, let’s do it again—

Willow felt a sudden blitz of pleasure pour through her, an unexpected orgasm moving through her flesh, touching every part of her body. She shook. She moaned. She wished she had Buf—Xander there to elevate this satiating orgasm into the explosive kind she imagined Cordelia having, that lucky horny bitch with Xander all to herself…. 

Willow twisted and convulsed around fingers that weren’t Buffy’s, weren’t Xander’s, weren’t any kind of cock. She was so wrapped up in sensations both real and imagined that she didn’t hear the click of a lock being turned, the creak of the front door opening, the boots padding inside, the door closing, the lock locking once more. Buffy was in the house with her now, listening drunkenly as Willow panted out the pleasure she’d had imagining their Sapphic togetherness.