Buffy update

As soon as Willow left the house, Buffy’s hands clicked free of her chains. She raced to the kitchen sink and rinsed Willow’s secretions off her face. She wanted to keep doing it, but she could feel Willow’s taste lingering in her mouth, even more than the feel of her juices on Buffy’s skin. In a sprint, Buffy was upstairs in her bathroom, brushing her teeth hard enough to wear the bristles down to a nub. After that, she was feeling loose enough to scream out her frustration, so she did. That let her think much more clearly. She washed herself off once more, just for good measure, and felt something like herself again.

Except for the many leather cuffs on her body. She pulled at them and at her collar, trying to get them off, but it was magic. If an A-bomb went off, her skeleton would probably still be wearing the damned things. Which meant she had to go for the spellbook.

Buffy didn’t bother to dress—it seemed completely unimportant in the face of this. She searched her room. It wasn’t anywhere out in the open. She checked her dresser. She found something there, alright. All of her underwear and socks were gone. She couldn’t open any of the other furniture, either. Her discarded clothes were missing from the floor and furnishings; the hamper was empty. She couldn’t even find her shoes.

Willow had condemned her to be a nudist.

Buffy gritted her teeth. She had to find the book.

She searched the rest of the house. She spent so long on it that she became self-conscious about her nudity—it just felt wrong to be naked for so long, even alone. She felt like she was on display at a zoo. 

She couldn’t find the book anywhere. Willow had taken it with her, the bitch, that was the only answer that made sense.

She heard her mom’s car coming up the driveway, interrupting some rich fantasizing about how she could get back at Willow and get the book. Buffy panicked. Her mom could not find her like this. Couldn’t see her little girl with a collar and manacles and chains all over her. Couldn’t find her bed looking like it’d been put together by a dominatrix.

Running to her room, Buffy found that the chains were still hanging from it, laying on the mattress. Buffy threw her blanket over as much of them as she could, mostly hiding it. Next she ran to the storeroom, dragging a quilt from her room behind her. In a big box marked ‘Old Stuff,’ Joyce kept some of her old clothes. And now Joyce was scratching her key at the front door. Buffy grabbed as much as she could and ran back to her room, throwing the quilt over the two sideways chains. It now looked just as if Buffy had gotten cold and added an extra blanket to her covers.

Breathing a little easier with that done, Buffy rustled through the clothes. There was a sweater, some pants—no underwear. Both the old, worn sweater and the thin, faded sweatpants were much too large on her shorter and, frankly, slimmer form, but this was an emergency. She let her hands be swallowed up by the sleeves and rolled the ankle hems up her legs, but got herself at least visibly decent. And the too-large clothes hid her cuffs. A scarf would hide the collar around her neck. She’d look like a hobo, but at least a hobo who wasn’t into S&M.

Buffy just managed to complete her look when there was a knock at the door and Joyce pushed it open. “Oh, Buffy, good, you’re still here. Do you need anything from the store?”

An entire wardrobe. “No, Mom, I’m good.”

“Alright, sweetie. How’s your day been? You have fun with Willow?”

She had fun with me, more like. “Yeah, Mom.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you to your monosyllables.” She closed the door behind her.

As if prompted by the sound of the door shutting, the thought of the bathroom shot into Buffy’s mind. She smacked the heel of her hand against her forehead. How could she have forgotten that place was rigged up like a sex dungeon too? Buffy ran to the door, listened at it, heard the familiar sounds of her mother busying about her own room. She made her way quickly but quietly to the bathroom and, taking two big towels from the closet, folded them over the ring. Scuzzy, but it would at least buy her some time.

As she came out of the bathroom, Joyce intercepted and hijacked her, asking her if she wanted anything to eat.

“Sure, mom,” Buffy replied brightly. “Whatever’s good.” Joyce had already warned her off acting too suspiciously, so now she had to go along with whatever Joyce suggested. She went downstairs, watched as Joyce ovened something up for them, and felt utterly out of her body as the chains and leather cuffs prickled against her bare skin.

She ate, but soon excused herself and went to bed. It was uneasy, unpleasant, but still better than the last one.

***

Not long after Joyce left in the morning, the phone rang. Buffy answered it, as she had a million times before, not thinking anything of it. Feeling halfway normal, or as normal as a Slayer ever could feel.

“Hello, slave,” Willow said, sounding as bright as Buffy’s intended “Summers residence” would’ve been.

A full-body shudder ran through Buffy and she moved to slam the receiver down, only barely stopping herself in time. The book. She didn’t have the book. She had to be clever and play along and wait for her chance, because if she didn’t, Willow would not only order her to do it anyway, but be too suspicious to ever let her near the thing.

“I have a little plan I’d like your help with,” Willow continued.

“Of course, mistress,” Buffy said, raising the phone to her ear again. “Whatever you say.”

It was sick. Twisted. Buffy wished she’d hung up. And evidently Willow could discern her unease even over the phone lines, because the first thing she said after explaining it was “If my slave thinks she can’t please her mistress on her own, I can come over myself…”

“No, no, I’ll do it. No problem.” She wanted her asshole to stay exactly how it was. She’d hated the way it’d kept healing, making it virgin-tight for Willow again and again, but now at least it could stay as if it had never been used. Preferably never to be used again.

A little humiliation would be well worth that.

***

Buffy nervously paced, trying to think of something else, but only coming up with the sound of her own footsteps, getting more and more irritating. It was an early Sunday afternoon and the quiet sereneness was becoming oppressive—downright claustrophobic. She was alone with her thoughts and with the task Willow had given her.

Finally, a new sound, though Buffy doubted it would make anything better. Her mom’s car was coming up the driveway. Buffy wasn’t even doing anything, but she still had the sudden-onset nausea feel of being caught. She picked up her phone and dialed Willow’s number. The person—once her friend, now her mistress, only the two were all mixed up—answered on the first ring.

“Yes?”

Buffy swallowed, trying to force too little saliva past the parched dryness of her throat. “It’s me… Buffy… my mom is home.”

“Good. Then do as you were told.”

Willow didn’t say or else, but it was plain in her voice—a steely, threatening assertiveness that Buffy wouldn’t have imagined Willow capable of. She set the phone down in its cradle, but was careful to misalign it so the receiver wasn’t pressed down. Willow had been very clear that the phone had to look like it was hung up, but the call would not, could not be aborted.

“Willow?” Buffy asked, her ear to the resting shell of the phone.

“Mistress Willow,” the redhead corrected obnoxiously, her voice the same tenor that would’ve promised punishment if she were present. The fact that she wasn’t did nothing to stop Buffy’s nerves from fraying. 

She took it out on Willow, not giving her the correction despite the prompt, despite the risk. Willow couldn’t complain too much, surely, not with her plan working so far.

Buffy headed downstairs. She wasn’t ready to greet her mother and carry on with Willow’s sickening plan, but she had no choice.

“Hey, mom, can we talk?” She felt tense, she hated how tense she was, Joyce picking up on it, but fortunately being more bemused than anything else…

“Of course, dear.”

“In my room?” 

Joyce took off her jacket, folding it neatly over her chair at the kitchen table. “Sure thing.”

***

Joyce sat down on Buffy’s bed, Buffy cringing as she imagined the chains below shifting with Joyce’s weight. “What is it, sweetie?”

“I just… want to apologize,” Buffy said, instinctively drifting toward a mumble, but then forcing herself to enunciate clearly for Willow’s perverted benefit. “I’m really sorry for running away this summer and… all those other things.” Buffy’s voice wavered, her face coloring with a warm flush. “I already made amends to Willow—our relationship is on this whole new level—and now I feel like it’s your turn.”

“Buffy,” Joyce said, “what is this?”

And as Buffy’s eyes widened in horror, Joyce pulled the blankets back to find the bar and chains that the spell had installed there, that she’d accidentally brushed against.

“Oh my,” Joyce said in an interested murmur, leaning to examine them more closely. “Is this why you’ve been acting so strange?”

“Yeah… sorta…” Buffy had broken out in a cold sweat, but this was all practically part of the plan anyway. All it meant was that there was no going back. “I’m a… I’m making things up to Willow. By being her slave. I’ve given myself to her. And I want… Willow thought… that I should do the same for you. Make amends to you. Let you… punish me.”

Joyce stood up, smiling patiently, as if touched by the offer. “What do you mean… slave?”

She was very close and she reached up as if to fix Buffy’s scarf. Buffy almost tried to stop her, but it was too late, didn’t matter. Joyce pulled it aside, finding the collar around her neck. 

“Is this why you’ve been wearing my old clothes? Do you have more… restraints on?”

“Yes,” Buffy admitted quietly. “They’re on my wrists. And my ankles.”

“I would like to see them, please.”

The warm flush now flaming through Buffy’s body, she took off her sweater, then wiggled out of her pants. 

“My, my, my,” Joyce said, examining the leather cuffs as if she were appraising them. Buffy colored, she burned, but she was helpless to hide herself. Willow had demanded this.

“And what are these?” Joyce asked, rattling the chains resting on Buffy’s upper back.

“They’re for my hands,” Buffy said. “Those on the front too.”

“Show me,” Joyce insisted.

Buffy moved her hands behind her back, demonstrating the submissive pose that Willow had forced her to model for so long. Once more, Joyce examined them, taking hold of both Buffy’s wrists to see how they met the ends of the chains.

“Uh, mom… what are you doing?”

Then Buffy heard a click.

She gave a small tug, confirming that her hands were caught behind her back, once more connected to chains at her wrists.

The mortified lump in her throat plummeted through the bottom of her stomach. 

“Mom? Mom, I can’t move my hands.”

“I know, sweetie,” Joyce assured her. “Don’t worry, I’m just very curious how all this works. The bed is part of this.”

“Yeah, mom, I don’t wanna talk about—“

“Just show me, dear. I really need to see.”

Joyce’s hand slapped at Buffy’s naked ass, making Buffy’s cheeks blazed as she felt her mother’s fond touch against her sensitive, vulnerable, unprotected flesh. Following the motions Joyce had indicated, she went to the bed, almost hissing as she saw the bar before her.

“You bend over, don’t you Buffy?” Joyce asked. “Willow must really appreciate that. You really have a cute little tush, dear. It must look great bent over that bar.” Her hand landed on Buffy’s back, pushing her forward, and forward, and forward, until Buffy gave in and obedient bent over the bar.

Without her ballet boots, Buffy had to stretch out to her very tippy toes to wiggle herself into the proper position. Joyce’s hands were on her hips, stopping her from falling, but also distracting her with their unthinking intimacy. She couldn’t believe her mom was touching her this way. It felt nice, like Joyce was rubbing her back, but wrong. That wasn’t her back.

“It’s like this,” Buffy said, “but I usually wear these, like… these kinky boots, I guess, they’re really hard to walk in…”

“I get the picture,” Joyce said. She sounded distracted, and Buffy looked at her mother upside-down to find that she was attaching the chains on the bed to her ankle and knee cuffs.

“Mom!” Buffy squeaked in surprise. “You don’t have to do that! Trust me, they work!”

Buffy tried to move her legs, but Joyce had locked her in like a true professional. The spell itself couldn’t have done it better.

“Nonsense, Buffy. I could see you were struggling. That’s alright, dear. I know you’re new at this.” Now at the side of the bed, Joyce picked up the two chains lying on the mattress. “And where do these go? Don’t tell me you have your nipples pierced… wait, wait, I see. Here, let me get that for you.”

Buffy couldn’t even utter a word of protest before Joyce fastened the chains onto either side of her collar, holding her head in place. That done, Joyce stroked Buffy’s hair as if congratulating her on some accomplishment, even if she had helped with it.

“That looks really nice, Buffy. I must say, I’m impressed.” She went back behind Buffy’s raised ass, and the Slayer gasped as she felt Joyce give them a loving stroke. It felt good and bad and wrong and right—like Joyce had petted her hair and like Angel had caressed her and like Willow had patted her bottom after she’d spanked it so hard. It was like a lover, but like a mom too. Buffy couldn’t sort out how the two could be so close.

“Now, on to your punishment,” Joyce said. “As you asked so nicely, I’m going to be giving you ten spanks. Ten on each side. Brace yourself now. I love you too much to be gentle.”

And, with that, her hand went high up in the air and slammed down hard on Buffy's naked, quivering asscheeks, first on the right one, then the left, then the right, then the left. Over and over again, Joyce spanked her daughter's ass as hard as she could.

"Yeoooowwwww!" Buffy screamed with each stinging spank, trying desperately to pull away from her mother, but the chains held her firmly in place, keeping her at the mercy of her weak, frail mother.

The young girl was in tears now. This was much more than anything she had bargained for when Willow had given her her orders.

She deliberately tensed her asscheeks, trying to ward off some of the sting from the painful blows. But Joyce saw through her right away and she laughed as if Buffy were a small child amusing her with her seriousness.

"Go ahead, Buffy, tense your muscles. I'll just wait you out. You'll have to relax them again sooner or later and, when you do, I'll finish your punishment! So, it's up to you! You want to cooperate now and let me finish punishing you the way you deserve? Or you wanna play games and get it twice as hard later on?" she asked.

Buffy choked back a sob. Her tender asscheeks felt red and hot and stinging. And still, Joyce's hand came down again and again, burning the imprint of that small, slender hand into her flesh, the brand feeling ten times as big as Joyce’s tender touch had been.

Tears of pain and humiliation began rolling down her beautiful face but, even as Buffy moaned with pain, she felt her little pussy responding excitedly to the savageness Willow had conditioned it to expect, sending out a flood of arousal which filled her cunt and trickled down her inner thighs.

"Please stop... spanking me... Mom," she panted as that small hand continued to come down on her ass relentlessly.

"When you apologize... and mean it… that's when I'll stop," Joyce responded.

Slap! Slap! More sharp blows rained on her helpless little ass. The heat from the spanks spread deeply from her ass into her cunt.

"Pleeeease! I'm... sorrrryyyy! Please stop!" she sobbed.

Through the pain of the spanking, she felt the wet stickiness of her juices overflowing from between her bloated cuntlips. Hot rippling contractions shot through her pussy. Her tits tingled, and her nipples grew hard.

Joyce stopped just as Buffy’s lustful feelings were at an apex, allowing them to grow unhindered through Buffy’s pitched body. She rested her hand on Buffy’s red, flaming asscheeks.

Buffy made small choking sounds now, and she trembled all over, feeling more turned on than she had thought possible. Joyce stroked her red, naked ass. 

"I didn't mean to hurt you, baby," she said soothingly as she caressed Buffy’s silken thighs. “I only wanted to be sure you learn your lesson. Willow is far too young to be an effective mistress. She doesn’t know what you really need.”

The young girl stared at her mother, feeling at a loss for words. She watched the muscles in Joyce’s jaw working tensely as she carefully took in everything about her face, her hair, her aching naked body.

“Oh, Buffy, look,” Joyce said. “Your phone’s not laid down properly. I bet the telephone company will find a way to bill us for that if we let it go much longer. You stay there and think about whether or not you ever want to be punished like that again. I’ll fix this little pig sty for you one more time, my slave.”

***

Throwing herself backward onto the bed, Willow stared unblinkingly at the ceiling. Closing her eyes finally, she heard that same dog barking in the distance, the wooshing sound of a car creeping along the street, and the dial tone of her phone. How was she supposed to go on as if everything were normal when it wasn't? 

"Ohhhhh, God!"

Covering her face with both hands, the young girl rolled over, pressing one of her burning cheeks into the pillow. And how her pussy burned! It was on fire as she imagined how Buffy had looked all tied up, the chains cutting into her flesh while her own mother laughed at her wild attempts to wriggle free! There was something about it, something about the helplessness of it all that sent thrills of unspeakable lust racing up and down her spine.

Now Joyce knew. She practically approved. Willow’s control over Buffy was more certain than ever. Willow chewed the pillow and pushed her trembling fingers deep into the soft material as images of Joyce's sneering face flashed through her mind. What was she doing? Oh, God, she was pulling her skirt up, raising her hips slightly and shoving her ass in the air so she could push down her panties. Yes, she was going to touch herself, touch her cunt, and think about what she’d heard Joyce doing to her own daughter.

With one hand, Willow found herself peeling the outer lips of her cunt back while she massaged the slick fluid flowing from her pussy down into her sensitive skin. Oh, yes she was quite used to doing this, especially during those warm nights when she couldn't sleep as she thought about Buffy.

How Joyce had spanked her! Oh, God, how Buffy had moaned! How she’d begged for it to stop! How Joyce must’ve enjoyed herself!

Willow began letting out shivery groans, her legs jerking up, snapping together, then sliding back down to the bed. Oh, how those hot folds pulsing against her finger made her feel so good and hot and sexy inside! She thought of all the boys Buffy had gone out with, boys who wouldn’t even be allowed to look at B now that she was Willow’s property. Most of the guys were pretty dumb about things, knowing more about how to change spark plugs than going down on a girl. But Joyce knew everything, she bet, everything the girls whispered about in the ladies’ room, and probably a whole lot more!

"Ummmmmm," she moaned.

Willow rolled to one side, curling up her feet and pressing her knees against her tits. She liked lying in the fetal position as she fingered herself, her ass prancing there in the air, pressing back while her hand roamed up and down her thighs and cunt.

"Uhhhhh."

Willow found her special spot once more. Electricity seeped from her tiny clit as the girl straightened her legs and rolled slowly back onto her ass. How the room spun around and around as she searched out that odd little flap of wet flesh again and again. How her breathing changed, became shallow, almost raspy. Yes, that's how Buffy had sounded when Joyce began tying her up, then discipling her! Closing her glazed eyes, the redhead thought of that more and more, thought of her enslaved friend, of her own sadistic mother on top of her, working one hand into Buffy at the same time she slapped her into submission. 

Willow could almost feel Joyce doing the same thing to her. She jerked spasmodically as if someone had hit her, feeling her tits jiggling in the confines of her bra. Yes, she wanted Joyce Summers on her, wanted Joyce tying her up, exciting her until she thought she would die. And then... then she could give her a strap-on right in her cunt.

"Ohhhhh," she groaned.

Willow's skirt had roped around her waist now, and her panties dangled loosely around one ankle. Her thighs were ridged with tensed muscles while she pointed her toes out against the mattress. Oh, yes, it was wonderful to think of Joyce and her daughter, think of what they would do to her. Her breathing quickened again as she moved her fingers faster and faster along the split of her cuntlips. Two fingers shined with slickness there in the semidarkness. How swollen, red and itchy her pussy was as Willow kept dipping her fingers in and out, in and out, fucking herself while her plump asscheeks pumped up and down faster and faster.

"Oh God... God!"

It was wild, incredible! Yes, Joyce would discipline her, make her learn, teach her all the fine details about fucking while she dildoed her mercilessly! Willow rocked her body from left to right, her head rolling over the mattress as tangles of hairs stuck to her cheeks and forehead. Yes, she was as much of a slut as Buffy! It must have been why they were friends, a kind of sexual bond that made their cunts stimulated by such awful, sadistic thoughts!

Willow was pumping her ass up and down harder, letting her fingertips just graze the tiny bulge of her clit now to tease herself. There was another rush of thrills making her head swim. It felt as if she were on some wild kind of drug or something. Her thighs felt as if they were on fire and the flesh between her toes itched. Willow shut her eyes a third time, feeling the coverlet under her jiggling asscheeks wrinkle up. She was spreading her legs, too, bending them at the knees, letting them fall apart as if Joyce were there to fuck her, to take Willow as her own.

"Ohhh, wow... wowowowowow!"

Could her father hear? No, he was still downstairs, as if nothing had happened. And then her legs began flopping loosely down once more as she dug at the mattress with her heels. Her straight red hair splashed over the pillow, tangling wetly at the corners of her mouth. No, she didn't care about her mother and what she thought. That wild, hot, itchy feeling was becoming more and more concentrated, something close to pain, yet something so wonderful, so very, very delightful! Cumming! Oh, yes, a climax that would blow her out the side of the wall. Again, Willow thought of Joyce, thought of ropes, of how Buffy would look hog tied there on her king-sized bed. Her entire body felt hot and buzzy.

"Ooooo!"

With a sharp cry, Willow rolled onto her belly, shoving her face into the pillow and breathing with coughing gasps. Her fingers still squished wetly between her tightening cuntlips. Oh yes, it was happening! She pumped her ass up and down in a fucking motion, a motion she wished could have had a friend helping her with. Her shoulders started jerking while a violent vibration shook her from head to toe. With another groan, the girl grabbed a pillow in wild haste and jammed it between her thighs. She clamped it hard, pumping her ass crazily now. That pillow became Joyce for an instant as she gouged against it harder and harder. Brilliant lights flashed in front of her now, those same lights that had carried her away as she fucked Buffy, and that had probably carried away her friend.

"Ohhhhh," she whimpered.

And then it was over. She calmed down now, moving her body like a serpent, rubbing her tits, belly and thighs as she rolled back onto her ass. How her clothes stuck to her! Yes, she needed a shower, something to wash away the dirt and perspiration she had gathered after spying on her mother and then doing this.

"My God..."

What a big strap-on Joyce would have dangling there between her legs! Oh, God, even now Willow mentally measured its imagined size, then spread her fingers apart and pressed them against her belly, seeing just how far that thing would go! God! It would almost take her over!

Maybe they could both fuck Buffy at once, one in each hole. Who said someone couldn’t serve two masters?

She swung her legs off the bed, searching for her panties that had come off earlier. Cracking the door open, she saw a bright shaft of light coming up from the stairs and partially illuminating the long corridor. Willow could now hear the steady drone of the television. 

Holding tightly onto her panties Willow tiptoed down the hall, still feeling high and flushed from her exciting cum. The juicy heat in her pussy was still there, still making her cunt feel so sexy and itchy as she walked the short distance to the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, Willow undressed quickly, stepping into the shower and letting a cool spray wash over her tense, eager young body. How good it felt, almost making her forget what had happened. But then thoughts of Buffy and her mother crept back in, and the girl stopped toweling herself off for a moment in the small, steamy room and wondering what was going to happen next. Oh well, the show was over for now anyway. It wasn’t like she was going to miss anything important.