Buffy

“Hey, Will? It’s Buffy.”

Willow frowned into her cell-phone, wishing there was some way of telling who was calling her before she answered. Not that she didn’t want to talk to Buffy, but after she’d abandoned all of them over the summer, it was an effort to call up the sunny greeting she knew a friend deserved. “Buffy, hey. What’s up?”

Buffy was as oblivious as her hair was blonde. Sometimes, it was enough to make Willow wish the Slayer was even as tuned into social cues as Xander. In a lot of ways, Buffy was just as weird as anyone in their little club, burdened with responsibility and trauma. Willow tried to empathize with her. Sometimes, though, she was just irritated by her.

“Are you free tonight? I’ve got a surprise for you at my place. Think you’re really like it.”

“A surprise? Like what?”

“Good curiosity, Wills. Just come over and you’ll find out. Classic two-part surprise.”

“Okay, I’m on my way. Just don’t—“ Willow paused, unsure how to tell Buffy not to waste her time on some thoughtless antic.

“Just don’t what?”

“Nothing,” Willow sighed. “I’ll be right over.”

“Thanks, Will. Let’s just say this will make up for a lot of water in proximity to bridge. I know you’re gonna love it. In fact, I hope we both will.”

***

“Buffy, you mind, honey?”

Joyce was standing in Buffy’s doorway, putting on an earring. Her dress was unzipped, so Buffy sprang up to help her do it up.

“Why all the candles?” Joyce asked, looking over the circle of tiny flames in the middle of Buffy’s darkened room. “You’re not having a guy over?”

Buffy zipped her up. “No, mom, just Willow. It’s sort of a girls’ night in. Pedicures and cucumber slices.”

“I know about a girls’ night in, dear, I’m not that old.” Joyce looked over the candles again. “Just be sure to put those out before too long. Just because I can afford a night on the town doesn’t mean I can afford a new house.”

“So that’s a no on the oily rags beauty treatment?”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked for your friend.”

Joyce closed the door behind her and Buffy returned to the setup, taking off her necklace and setting it down in the middle of the candles. Then she began to chant.

She really did want to make up to Willow for freaking out and ghosting, even if Willow was being great and didn’t mind one bit. The best way she could think of, short of becoming a genius overnight and doing Willow’s AP homework, was to support Wills in some of her witchy endeavors. 

So when she’d seen the book of binding spells in Giles’s secret stash, she thought she’d start in on the ‘capture spell’ she’d seen on the first page. Learning how to use it, sharing that with Willow, would make them both badass BFFs and give her a leg-up on Faith. They both had Slayer strength, but only Buffy would have magic. Faithy would just have to make do with low-cut tops.

She was mostly thankful someone (Giles?) had written “capture spell” next to all the exotic words she’d had to sound out, and the illustration had shown the spell’s setup right down to the crystal pendant.

Following the instructions she’d bothered-slash-managed to Google, she plucked a few hairs off her head and wound them around the crystal, then took a needle from her pocket and pricked her finger. The wince made her pause her chanting a moment, but she picked up instantly as she dripped her blood onto the crystal. 

She felt a sense of warmth, of exertion flushing her skin. Without moving, it was like lifting weights, hitting a runner’s high while she jogged. It was power flowing through her, into her, out of her, a circling pattern that grew and grew. Her hair was drawn into the crystal. Her blood sizzled away.

Even though the window was closed, a gust of wind kicked up, snapping the candles out, even knocking one over. But that was nothing. Buffy was knocked backward, head over heels, and she thought a vague hell. This never would’ve happened to Faith. In fact, people probably praised Faith for not getting herself body-slammed by self-cast spells.

Picking herself up, Buffy saw the crystal glow softly, a red the color of the blood she’d sacrificed. She broke out into a grin. Faith wouldn’t be top dog after all; a female dog, maybe. 

Her triumph was short-lived. All of a sudden Buffy’s clothes dissolved into nothingness, exposing her with shocking explicitness. Even though she was alone, being stripped so quickly, so forthrightly, so mercilessly—it sent a charge of adrenaline through Buffy that was almost thrilling.

Then the feeling of bareness was replaced with the pressure of sturdy leather cuffs forming around her wrists and ankles. The sudden press of their heaviness into her skin was especially bracing after being stripped. They were tight, too, almost painful in how fast they held her.

Naturally, Buffy yelped in surprise, but it was cut off by a ball gag forming in her mouth, filling it, muffling her. A palpable sense of outrage struck Buffy as rapidly as any of the magic. Bondaging her up and taking her clothes was one thing—especially taking her clothes—but being rendered speechless just rankled.

She moved immediately to rip the gag away, no longer caring about removing the tight leather or covering herself, but the magic was even quicker. Her restraints pulled her, as if tied to some invisible ropes, over to the bed. They yanked her off-balance without warning and only Buffy’s Slayer reflexes let her get her feet under her as she was dragged over, kicking and muttering and naked, only now feeling embarrassed as she felt the jiggle of her unrestrained breasts and the cool air on her bare cunt. Naked, she was naked—

The pulling restraints jerked downward suddenly, beaching her on the foot of the bed as if throwing her down on it. She was bent over it, her ass in the air, her face pressed down against the mattress so hard that it knocked the gag deeper into her mouth, rattling her teeth. The restraints around her ankles pulled apart, holding her down with her legs spread, her thighs open. 

It was an intensely shameful position, one Buffy couldn’t imagine adopting under any circumstance. She couldn’t even believe a spell could have the audacity to force her into a Playboy pose like this. No, not even Playboy, Xander said Playboy was classy, this was downright Hustler.

“Are you done?” Buffy demanded of the magic, though with the gag in her mouth, it came out as a series of muted mumbles. It was holding her in place, pulling on her arms and legs as if trying to yank her further into some impossible stance. Take a picture, buddy, it’ll last longer.

Then a collar—no, a frickin’ muzzle that extended from her chin to her sternum, holding her head completely in place—tightened around her slender neck. She couldn’t turn her head an inch. She was forced to look at the front of the bed, and that indignity would’ve had her demanding to talk with Dr. Strange’s manager if it weren’t for the fact that she saw chains appearing from nowhere, pulling taut between her wrist cuffs and the posts at the far end of the bed. She heard more chains rustling, another shift in the pressures at work, and she knew that more chains were roping her ankle cuffs, attaching her to the bed’s rear posts. 

More cuffs formed around her ankles, her elbows, with more chains leading off of them. Thankfully, some slack entered the equation with the chains taking over her bondage instead of the magical force continuing its pull on her. Immediately, angrily, she ripped her right arm toward her body, hoping to shear off the bedpost that was holding that hand. 

As impossible as it seemed, the chain attached to nothing more than a wooden post stopped her superstrong arm in mid-air. 

Stunned, Buffy forced her head to turn as much as it could. She could really only shift her eyes. The various restraints held her so firmly that the most she could do was wiggle her ass, and she was in no mood to put on a show like that!

She forced herself to take stock of the situation, now that it seemed to have finished developing. There was a leather manacle around her wrist. There was a chain holding it, and that led off to the bedpost, which was either super-strong or the chain was doing something to negate her power. 

Buffy quickly experimented with all of her limbs, but the most minute attempt at movement was enough to show that she was securely anchored by both her wrists and both her ankles. Still, she struggled. The cool clean feeling of the sheets under her nudity mocked her. Her long slim legs moved in the tightly constrained arcs the chains left her, doing little more than wiggling her ass like a stripper. 

Buffy felt like a stripper, putting on a show for some perverted, unseen onlooker. All her struggles were futile, meaningless. The only thing she was allowed to do was show off her pert ass for the obscene, unmistakably malevolent force that this spell had taken form as. She held as still as she could, intent on hanging onto as much dignity as possible.

Willow would be here soon. Willow would see the book she’d used to cast the spell, figure out a counterspell, and even keep the whole thing under one of her fishing hats. All Buffy had to do was wait patiently and not give whatever super-dead, super-horny magician that had created this spell the satisfaction of writhing around like Dita von Teese.

“Buffy!” someone gasped, shocked.

Buffy suddenly felt more embarrassed than ever. She hadn’t even had time to get used to her own bullshit; Willow was there.

Her cheeks went red as her heart soared. Willow—who was seeing her naked—would get her the fuck out of this thing!

***

This had better be good, Willow thought as she approached Buffy’s front step. She tried not to think it. It was the thought that counted. Buffy had got her something, anything, and that was the important thing. She steeled herself not to be disappointed if it was just a stake on a Roomba or something.

She tried. That didn’t mean she succeeded.

Joyce let her in after a quick knock, saying that Buffy was upstairs waiting for her and the two should have fun. “And can you lock up for me?”

Willow agreed, locking the door after Joyce had stepped outside. From her fancy dress, Willow had already guessed Joyce would be gone a while. The note of finality to the lock turning seemed to confirm it.

Not a moment had went by before Willow heard a tiny crash and a muffled cry from upstairs. My present, she thought uncharitably, but was pleased to find Buffy! was close on its heels. She rushed up the stairs to Buffy’s room, throwing the door open to find something that was, to a certain way of thing, quite good.

“Buffy!”

She was laid out for Willow like a smorgasbord, limbs bound, body bared, an evident strap in back of her head gagging her. Automatically wanting some light, Willow reached for the light switch, but apparently a fuse had blown. Then she saw the unlit candles circled on the floor. She waved her hand, lighting them, and in the flare of illumination she saw the open spellbook on the floor, a necklace glittering beside it.

Now knowing that it was magic, that thought took precedent. As embarrassing—or as appealing—as Buffy’s circumstances, Willow didn’t dare interfere with the spell. Still, she kept a close eye on Buffy’s wiggling ass—the cheeks pert, the neat line between contouring to add definition to the buoyant curves on either side of it. Willow wished her own ass looked that good. Heck, maybe it did—she couldn’t trust Cordelia to give her an accurate opinion on it.

Still glancing at Buffy’s naked ass as if it were an animal that might bite, Willow picked up the book and necklace, holding one in either hand. With all the exercises Giles had made her do, it was no problem to translate the page beyond the phonetic soundings and Cliff’s Notes Buffy had used.

“A binding spell?” Willow asked, circling the bed. She had to keep going to put herself in range of Buffy’s restrained line of sight, but when she did, she saw Buffy was looking at her with eyes full of hope. “This is my surprise?”

Buffy grunted, barely audible over the gag stuffed in her mouth, and blinked her eyes frantically. 

“You… you did this spell yourself? You bound yourself?”

“MMPH! MMF!” Buffy went, wiggling around feverishly, but almost totally unable to move with her body so locked down.

Her motions sent a writhing through her perky body, making the appealing nudity almost obscenely enticing. Her ass shaking, her breasts swaying beneath her, her hair flying about in swirls of Disneyesque magic. She was like a painting come to life, if any of the Old Masters had been real into S&M.

“You want me… to get you off?”

***

Yes! Buffy signaled frantically, pulling at her bonds for all her worth, almost screaming herself hoarse for a sound that barely passed through the gag. Get me out of this thing or get me off of it or whatever, Willow! Undo the spell! 

Willow looked down at the spellbook. “This spell makes you my property, Buffy. It makes you my slave.”

So undo it already!

“This is all really nice, but—“ Willow smiled nervously. “You wouldn’t mind if maybe I made a few adjustments? Not that this isn’t great—it’s awesome—the perfect way to put everything behind us—but as long as we’re going kinky, maybe a little extra kink?”

WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!? Buffy demanded, though the sounds she made fellatiating her gag hardly translated.

“Of course. Duh, Willow.” Willow booped her own forehead. “You want me to be your mistress, so of course whatever I want is fine.”

Yes, that’s right, get these manacles off me and we can laugh about your super-funny bondage joke—wait, what?

***

Willow put on the necklace, loving the warmth of the power being channeled. It laid in the red crystal, nice and toasty between her breasts. “You don’t mind if I take a page from Faith’s book, do you? I saw her wearing one of these once and, uh, well… what works for one Slayer…”

***

I cannot fucking believe Faith is even better at sex slave fashion than me. I’m bent over like a goddamn Japanese cartoon, what more does she want?

Buffy quickly got her answer as a finely-boned leather corset enclosed her waist. In way, it was a relief. At least she was wearing something. But this wasn’t some corset top or comic book super-outfit. It was just a black hourglass corset, collaring her midsection, stopping well clear of her breasts and her ass. Its tightness pushed in on Buffy, stealing her breath as if someone had drawn a length of soft satin into tension around her neck, and to be anywhere remotely comfortable, she had to raise her ass high in the air, making it the highest point of her body.

“And some shoes,” Willow cried, almost giggling. “You’ll like this—the spell lets me put my victim, err, volunteer, into whatever I want. Maybe later we can go with some Louboutins, but for now…”

Buffy moaned aloud as she felt her feet being pushed onto their tippy toes, far beyond what any high heel would do. Even Cordelia’s fuck-me pumps would’ve called it quits long before these did. What in fuck was she wearing?

***

Willow nearly clapped. The ballet boots put Buffy’s perfect ass on even better display, their iron-riveted laces looping up her shins all the way to her knees. Almost bashfully, Willow reached out to touch the expanse of skin on the back of Buffy’s thigh, still left bare by the boots and the corset. She didn’t know if she could bear to touch Buffy’s ass yet. 

Oh, it was magnificent, more prominent than ever between the boots and the corset. Buffy’s ass had always been perfect—she’d just never known how to properly showcase it… not without Willow’s help.

“You look wonderful, Buffy. I should take pictures of you.”

Buffy muttered angrily into her gag and, chagrinned, Willow put her hand down. “Sorry. I know you must’ve been waiting a while and… I’m sure you want to get on with it. You’re probably dripping wet, aren’t you? Just a few more minor adjustments. I don’t think I like my slave having that little unsightly landing strip between her legs. You should be trimmed bare for me, like Xander’s perfect girlfriend would be for him. I mean, I would never ask you to shave down there, but since you’re my property, I can take care of that for you!”

Buffy let out her loudest moan yet, and Willow couldn’t tell if it was more disappointment at the delay or additional lust to submit to her mistress.

Feeling utterly brazen, almost whorishly shameful, Willow’s hand lashed out and smacked Buffy on the bottom. “Quiet down!” she commanded, however small her voice was. “It won’t take long and you’ll look so much better for me!”

***

Please be pranking me, please be pranking me, please be pranking me. It seemed impossible that this was anything other than Willow punking her, but Willow just kept going with it, beyond what any friend should do to tease her over her embarrassing mistake. Buffy didn’t think even Cordelia would go this far! And if Xander or Oz had done even a fraction of what Willow had already done, she would’ve kicked their asses the moment she got loose.

Then, Buffy felt a small tingle on her crotch.

No way! Willow isn’t touching me there—is she?

***

Buffy’s pubic hair went into a little plastic baggie that Willow had been keeping animal crackers in before she ate them all. The underarm hair she just vanished. She liked her slave to be hairless from the neck down.

Wow, think about it—Buffy Summers, my slave?

It seemed too good to be true, but weirder things had happened in Sunnydale. And Willow resolved that she would be a great mistress. She knew Buffy got off on pain—she was a Slayer, after all—but Willow would be sure to give her lots of cuddles and snuggles too.

It was then that Buffy tried another struggle, another moaning refrain. Willow smiled at her, almost indulgently. Of course. What Buffy really wanted was some hardcore fucking. There was a reason she’d propositioned Willow by stripping down naked and casting a spell on herself to be made chattel. She must’ve been really hard up. And now that Willow had her looking just perfect, better than perfect, it was time to pleasure that perfect body.

Standing behind Buffy, Willow finally dared to touch Buffy’s ass, running her hands over Buffy’s thighs and her hips and finally onto the plum contours of her bottom. For such a slender girl, Buffy sure had a lot of baggage. Then again, baggage was kind of her thing. 

“You feel so good,” Willow said, almost moaning. “Oh Buffy, why wouldn’t we have done this sooner? I know it must’ve taken a lot of courage to get up the nerve to be mine like this, but just kissing you… just touching you… that would’ve been so much. You feel so good,” she repeated, reaching underneath Buffy—there was something even better than perfect about reaching from Buffy’s warm skin, over the cool leather, and then to where the leather bit into the soft flesh again. She cupped Buffy’s hanging breasts. They were magnificent.

Buffy shook—it was like she was trying to shove herself into Willow’s hands—and moaned even louder. The gag barely muffled her; it was like Willow could hear her with crystal clarity. Fuck me, Wills! Don’t make me wait any longer! I need you in my pussy!

“Don’t be hasty, Buff.” Willow smiled to herself. Before, she would’ve been head over heels trying to please Buffy. It took Buffy being her slave—Buffy literally being chained up and gagged and corseted like the most degenerate whore in existence—for Willow to be able to remind herself that she was the mistress, that Buffy was hers, and she could do with her whatever the hell she wanted. “You’re my property, and I think I’m going to inspect my property before I use it.”

She slid her hands over the lips of Buffy’s sex—they felt so nice with all the hair magicked away—and then mercilessly pulled them open to inspect the glossy interior of Buffy’s cunt. Her cunt.

***

This is not happening, this isn’t Willow, there’s no way Willow could ever do this to me, ever want this, ever think about this! Buffy was almost more adamant about this not being Willow than it being done to her. Being molested this way was one thing. Having it done by her best friend was something else. 

She kept thinking insistently how Willow was like a sister to her, how Willow loved her and thought this was what she wanted. She was doing this to please Buffy and it felt so good and it felt so wrong and Buffy had no idea how that could be so. She felt like some farm animal being inspected by a prospective buyer. She felt like she was trying on a dress and Willow was glorying in how good it looked on her, every bit as much as Willow was now glorying in how she looked naked and bent over and dominated like a hardcore porn star.

I am a porn star, she thought helplessly. I’m Willow’s personal porn star…

***

Willow chuckled to herself as she fingered Buffy’s pussy, unable to believe Buffy was letting her do it, that Buffy was actually moaning as she forced two fingers inside her cunt, fucked them in and out like a cock, she could do that, Buffy was her property, she could do whatever she wanted with her and Buffy liked it!

“Wow. I can feel your pussy sucking at my fingers. No wonder Xander’s so obsessed with you. I guess boys can just tell. Of course, I can too. I knew you’d be a great fuck.”

***

Buffy’s body betrayed her. Her inner passage was lubricating, letting Willow’s fingers slide smoothly in and out of her as if Buffy really did belong to the redhead. I’m not a lesbian, Willow! Just because I like this doesn’t make me a lesbian! Anyone’s fingers would do this to me! I’m not tensing up because I like this, I’m doing it because I’m trying to keep your fingers out, keep them from fucking me, fucking me, fuck me—

Suddenly Buffy felt something else. A croaking sound came out of her throat—blocked by the gag like everything else—as she felt Willow’s finger was penetrating her asshole.

She had two fingers in her cunt and now a third in her ass.

No one had ever humiliated her like this. Her face pressed against the mattress, she began sobbing as Willow explored her pussy and ass. Just like they belonged to her.

***

“You’re real tight, Buffy. Your ass is even tighter than your cunt, but then, I know you’re not a virgin there.” Willow smiled angelically as she gazed down at her fingers moving in and out of Buffy’s body. She had her middle finger and forefinger in Buffy’s cunt and her thumb in Buffy’s ass. “I’m so glad you have something left to give me… some virginity left for me to take. I’m going to take it, Buffy. I’m going to show you how much I appreciate you giving me your… your anal cherry.”

***

Buffy shivered as Willow’s fingers now jerked out of her sex. Willow still had a finger in her ass, and now she twisted it like a corkscrew as she pumped it in and out of her anus. I’m not a lesbian! I’m not going to have anal sex, ever, with anyone! I’m not your property!

Her groaning sounded weaker and weaker to her own ears, as her blood pounded in her temples like some ecstatic headache, driven there by the crazy immensity in her lower body. A moment later, she felt something pushing into her impaled anus. She groaned with panic as she realized it was another finger.

Now Willow would fuck her.

Now Willow would possess her.

The gag muffled the wailing sound that came out of her throat as she felt herself part before Willow’s demanded intrusion. I’m not Willow’s lesbian anal sex slave! she tried to say, but it didn’t even sound vehement inside her own head.

***

Despite the resistance Buffy’s anus gave her second finger, Willow smiled to herself. It was just barely giving. “That’s Slayer powers for you, Buff. I can barely stretch you at all. Shame I don’t have something a little more—meaty to put in there. Something… sensitive… you know? I know how much you like that, I mean how much Faith likes that… but maybe I could give myself one, if that Angelus thing hasn’t scared you off them for life.”

It seemed like Buffy was roaring into her gag. Probably desperate for Willow to just get on with it. Willow supposed she was torturing Buffy a little, giving her a few fingers when she had so much more to do with the blonde.

“Don’t worry, the spell would wear off. Maybe not before I make you suck on it a few times.”

Then again, torturing Buffy had a nice ring to it.

“Hey, Buff—how do you feel about making amends for the summer? Because we could’ve been doing this a lot sooner. Seems like you should be beating yourself up a little for that.” Willow pulled her fingers free. “Or at least, letting me.”

***

I’m not Willow’s lesbian submissive slut, I’m not Willow’s lesbian submissive slut…

***

Stepping back, Willow wiped her hands off her shirt, then concentrated on the necklace’s pendant once again. The spell also provided her with tools to discipline her new plaything. 

A leather strap, long and wide, appeared in her hands. Willow meatily thwacked it against her opposite palm. It made a firm, hard impact. How could anyone not enjoy being smacked by something with such volume?

Willow dangled it in front of Buffy’s face, and was more pleased than she cared to admit to see that even a certified bottom bitch like Buffy blanched at just how much heavy leather was about to be headed her way.

“You’re going to be so sensitive once I finish punishing you,” Willow promised. “And when I fuck you in the ass after—if it’d anything like when I use a buttplug after pretending I’m Cordelia and spanking myself a little—you’re really going to love it.” She bit her lip. “That’s an order.”

Buffy took a moment to admire Buffy’s perfectly pretty ass. It was lily white. But not for long.

She reeled her arm back…

***

Please, Willow, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t whip me with that thing!

She was crying, the fear so much worse than any monster or demon had ever conjured up because there was nothing she could do about this. With Willow’s fingers inside her, the pain and shame of her violation had verged into pleasure, and she had been unable to hide it from her tormenter. It had spurred Willow on. If the hard sting of leather on her soft flesh aroused her, she was certain she would be totally lost. She trembled at the thought; her body still aching from the quakes Willow had left in her.

***

“Kind of a small target,” Willow quipped, her eyes focused on the round firm flesh before her as it twisted and struggled, helpless to escape the taste of attacking leather. She violently swung the strap over her head, landing a direct blow on Buffy’s round ass. A surge of power rushed over her as she watched a red welt rise on Buffy’s skin and then instantly be healed. It would take more than that to injure a Slayer.

Willow was eager to find out how much more.

***

Stop… please… Buffy moaned, the flailing leather bringing tears to her eyes. But she couldn’t deny the flare of sensation it sent through her as well. She was terrified that she would end up getting off on being hurt, just as Willow was getting off on her pain.

“Scream, you little whore!” Willow barked at her. “Scream for me!”

She swung the strap as hard as she could, smacking Buffy again and again across her quivering ass. Her ass bounced and jiggled with the hits it turn, turning steadily red, the punishment piling up as if Willow were adding coat after coat of paint to her creamy white ass. 

Buffy bit into the gag; she was determined not to cry or plead anymore. She knew that was what Willow wanted, as much as she wanted her to enjoy the stinging blow. 

“I’m gonna beat your ass until you learn to love it,” Willow spat. “If you don’t already.”

The belt whistled through the air, cracking Buffy along her pert asscheeks. A second blow quickly followed the first, striking her across the groin and belly. A third lashing struck her before she had recovered from either of the others, making the back of her thighs show red. All three of Willow’s biting strokes had been perfectly placed. She stood back to watch the result they had on the Slayer.

***

Buffy had done everything she could not to scream when the leather snapped at her flesh and she had succeeded in keeping her groaning down, but she had been unable to do anything about the tears that flowed freely from her eyes. The blow that had landed on her sex had hurt, but at the same time it had made the blood rush to her already engorged labia, the pain and pleasure intermixing there, confusing her more than ever about the way her body was reacting to this. To Willow.

“Oh, I get it,” Willow said. “Silly of me—your gag’s giving you something to bite down on. Allow me, sweetie.” Abruptly, Buffy felt her mouth being pried open, her lips peeled back. She wasn’t wearing the solid gag anymore, but some kind of dental ring that held her mouth wide open. Finally, she could speak!

“Willow, please, please--!” she cried, the words mangled but blissfully understandable to her own ears.

Nonetheless: “Here it comes, Buff!” Willow said as the strap spun through the air, landing on Buffy’s ass and pussy with a resounding crack. Buffy cried out, the change in gag like a finger being taken out of a dike. She sobbed, she mewled, she screamed as Willow aimed twice more, both times hitting the squirming target on the ass and her hot, dripping pussy.

“You’re driving me out of my mind!” Buffy wailed unintelligibly as more blows rained down, striking her already swollen cunt and her beaten ass, both tingling in pain that created pleasure.

“That’s it, you cow! Scream for me! Beg for me to stop! Plead like the bitch you are!”

“Stoooooop!” Buffy moaned as another lashing stroke landed over the sensitized throbbing left by another. The tail-end nipped into her clit and sent a spasm rocketing through her body. The pain was bleeding into pleasure and there was nothing she could do about it but beg.

“Don’t forget to moan, my sweet little cunt!” Despite her words, Willow’s voice was bubbling over with happiness. She seemed ecstatic, a shared glee in what she and Buffy had together. It reminded Buffy of when they got hot chocolate together. “Moan so I know how much you appreciate being my anal whore?”

“Ohhh… ahhh… nnngh…” Buffy helplessly sighed, unable to hide the truth any longer. The last hard lash across her cunt had sparked a fire she would never forget. She thought her pussy would burn from the heat of the blood that rushed and pounded along it.

“Good Slayer,” Willow chimed. “Your ass is such a nice shade of red; it looks great. I should buy you some clothes that shade. It’s definitely your color.”

***

It was more than Willow had dared hope for. The moaning was the last of Buffy’s self-respect fluttering away; she was completely submersing herself into being a bottom bitch for Willow. It was incredible. She’d had no idea Buffy could sub so hard. Maybe Buffy hadn’t known either.

The blonde had an incredible capacity for a sex, a reservoir that hadn’t been tapped until today, that had been waiting for someone to release it. And Willow—lucky, blessed Willow Rosenberg—had been tagged by Buffy to do just that. It was the perfect distillation of their friendship, the perfect relationship for both of them. After years of taking Buffy’s shit, now Willow would be dishing it out.

“Okay, Buff. If I keep whipping your ass, there won’t be anything left to fuck. And I really want to fuck that ass.” Calling on the spell again, Willow formed a strap-on around her waist. Nice and thick.