Catholic School Willow by Finknottle

No, Willow thought. That can't be right. And it wasn't. Looking again, concentrating on reading—not easy to do while fleeing for your life in the wooded areas on the outskirts of Sunnydale—she saw 'Saint Thesbia: College Preparatory School for Young Women'. There were no lights lining the road on the lonely stretch of highway running past the walled compound, and the words, painted on the stucco arch high above the entryway, were barely visible in the pale moonlight and headlight flare of the few passing cars.

How sad is this? thought Willow, gasping, clutching a stitch in her side. Running from vampires, and still so horny not even that can stop me from thinking about girls!

Thanking her lucky stars she had picked a side with a nice wide open gate—there was no way she could have scaled that 10 foot high wall—Willow dashed inside.

Any hope of confounding pursuit, though, died with the whoop of triumph and rush of steps which came then from behind her. Without looking back, Willow knew that one—or both—of the vampires chasing her had emerged from the edge of the woods, had spotted her, and that she was mere seconds from becoming someone's hearty meal.

She cried out and ran through the arch onto the shadowy grounds of the school, expecting a weight of talons and fangs to hurl into her at any moment. In her panic she almost dropped the crossbow. Exhausted as she was, the weight of it seemed to be holding her in place—certainly there was no time to turn and shoot the thing—but she held onto it and fled.

What she expected was a few seconds of pain and terror, followed by blood loss, disorientation, unconsciousness, and death. Instead, she heard, again from behind her—very interesting place this 'behind her', everything seemed to be happening there—the blare of a horn and the squeal of tires. Her would-be killer, it seemed, was currently occupied by the dodging (or not) of traffic.

Beaten and bruised, scraped and bleeding, trembling with fear and exhaustion, Willow Rosenberg was still a brain. She recognized an unexpected chance, however slim, when she saw it.

The grounds here were dark. Further in, beyond a stand of trees, there was light, but none here. As best Willow could make out, there were large clumps of bushes and shrubs to either side of the tarmac strip she was standing on. She stepped off to the right onto the spongier turf and quickly found cover. Then, crouching, she hefted the crossbow and aimed toward the arch, where she assumed her attacker—no, make that target—was about to appear.

Willow noted with dismay how the front sight of her crossbow was bobbing all over the place, reflecting her rapid pulse and ragged breathing. Too, her arms were trembling and beginning to ache after mere seconds of having shouldered the weapon. She took a slow, deliberate breath and willed herself to calm down.

I'm a Scoobie, she thought, trying to bolster her sagging confidence. I don't run from demons (at least not when they're faster than me anyway), I kill them! Well, mostly I stand by and look on with admiration as Buffy kills them, she admitted to herself, but—damn it—she's not here! And, hey, I've dusted a few, got one tonight as a matter of fact. True, it took all of my bolts, except for this last one here that my life's depending on, but hey, it was dark and I was running. Cutting me some slack here.

Of course, the vampire would soon be cutting her throat, rather than her 'slack', if she failed to destroy it. Definitely do or die time. And, with Buffy still away for the summer, and both Giles and Xander clueless as to her current whereabouts, she was definitely on her lonesome here.

Nothing of the road was visible from here, but she heard angry voices, loud enough to carry over the freshening wind, and then a car burning rubber to speed off into the night. Under the Doppler fade of the sound she caught snickering laughter and smiled grimly, guessing that the vamp had game-faced to scare the driver off. She was heartened that her pursuer would take the time to do this; obviously she was perceived to be neither a threat nor at risk to escape.

Good, she thought. Underestimate me! Step through the arch and take a nice long look around, really get the lay of land. And give me a great shot while you're at it!

Certainly, she was going to need one; shooting under poor conditions, near the end of her physical endurance, she had to put a wooden shaft through her enemy's heart, an object about the size of her fist. And was that something crawling up her pant leg?

Almost too late she caught the flicker of movement, saw the vampire, not standing in the entry, but vaulting easily over the perimeter wall to her left. Cursing, she pivoted to aim, glimpsed the form silhouetted against the white stucco, and fired.

The vampire had landed in a crouch, then immediately stood up, perhaps to get a fix on his potty mouthed prey. Willow saw his body rock with the impact of the bolt, but, for a horrible moment, nothing happened. Then the undead thing looked down at the feathered stick protruding from his chest and unceremoniously disintegrated. Willow, who had been nearly sick with the certainty of having wasted her one precious shot, registered all this, but through a haze of adrenalin and fatigue too thick to allow her to feel anything resembling relief.

"Yay, me," she said weakly. Limbs trembling, heart thudding in her chest, Willow sank slowly to the ground and lay back on the damp earth.

She mumbled a centering spell and immediately felt energy flowing up from the ground into her. Goddess, it felt good.

It was her shyness over her newly discovered talent that had gotten Willow into her current predicament. Giles had plenty of books on Wicca in his library, but she had not yet been willing to out herself to him—or the others—as a witch. That, of course, was no big surprise, keeping things in the closet was so second nature to her. It was hard not to be reminded of that now, because the earth-mom energy, for whatever reason, insisted on pouring into her body cunt first. As a consequence, though she was looking up at clouds scudding across a waxing moon, her inner eye was seeing naked Buffy in the locker room. (Funny how she had never realized how erotic plain white, institutional, chlorine smelling, towels could be until she had seen the Slayer using one to sop up the water droplets—just like little jewels they were—from her freshly showered body.) And, although it was really mystic energy flowing like electricity over her clitoris, her mind kept insisting that it was her best friend's tongue.

And the connection was broken. She had been building to orgasm, but had stopped it, mostly because she was still in danger, but partially out of self disgust.

She had lusted after so many of the girls in her life, Buffy being only the most recent in a long line of treasured masturbatory objects. But she had never approached any of these girls, not one. Never admitted or shared any of this with anyone. And she was a coward who kept her mouth shut when her friends gay bashed. She didn't deserve the orgasm.

So, closet case lesbian, closet case Wiccan. Not too surprising that she hadn't turned to her friends for help, opting instead for the plan to bike it to U.C. Sunnydale and research magic on her own.

The vampires—two male, one female in outdated disco clothing—had come at her suddenly, already in game face. She had plunged the bike into the wooded parkland bordering the University, pedaling over the dark, dangerous ground at breakneck speed, fleeing for her life.

Taunts from the vampires had come from all about her. Clearly they had been playing, savoring her fear before moving in for the kill. And it was obvious this was no random attack; their words made it plain, she had been targeted as friend to the Slayer.

Inevitably, she had lost control, crashing painfully. Fortunately, her injuries had amounted to little more than scrapes and bruises, nothing to impair her ability run like hell. And, being a Scoobie, she handled the setback well, disentangling, grabbing the crossbow from the saddlebag, sprinting away on foot without even a pause for thought.

The weapon, a gravity fed repeater, held five bolts. She had shot four times on the fly, the first three missiles whizzing off into the dark, the fourth landing true, turning one of the males to dust. She had run through him as came apart and found herself suddenly and literally out of the woods. Unfortunately, she had not been near the anticipated campus police station. In fact, she had not been on University property at all, but rather across the road from what turned out to be St. Lesbia—uh make that 'Thesbia'!

Well, she had managed now to bag a second, but that still left the female, probably the trio's alpha. And here she was savoring her gay angst, thinking about a girl she could never have, and replaying recent events instead of working on the get-away. Real swift—not!

Nevertheless, Willow continued to lie on the ground, not quite ready to move again, despite the vulnerability of her position. Ostensibly she had ended the spell, yet there still came a trickle of energy, a steady thrumming deep inside her pelvis. Impulsively, Willow took a moment to send an offering, a prayer, back along to the energy's source.

"Goddess," she said, speaking aloud, mindless of the danger, "if I survive this night, give me the strength to share who I am with the people I love! Give me the courage to stop hiding behind lies and deceit!"

And then the connection did break, but not before she felt a small pulse in the energy. It felt like an answer, an encouraging pat on the uterus, instead of the back.

Willing herself to move, Willow slowly rose into a crouch and assessed her situation. There were all the normal night sounds, insects, the hooting of an owl, plus a splashing that sounded like a nearby fountain. Nothing to indicate the presences of the undead, but Willow didn't kid herself that vamp bitch wasn't out there!

One thing for sure, the cool night breeze prickling her sweaty scalp was coming from behind, blowing her scent directly where she imagined her would be killer to be. She had to get out there, and quickly.

Keeping low, she turned and saw, past the trees, the silhouettes of buildings illumed against the night sky. The convent school, she presumed. Good! She could hide there until daybreak came, or maybe even find a way to call for help.

She left the now useless crossbow where it lay and began to cautiously make her way toward the school. There was a wooden cross in the pocket of her windbreaker, her one remaining weapon since her nice pointy stakes were all back in the saddle bags on the wrecked bike. She took this out now, feeling a little peeved, as always, that vampires couldn't be repelled by the Star of David or a Mezuzah. She wondered how her very Jewish father would react if he could see her now. Of course, since her parents were out of town for a medical conference, having left her home alone as usual, there was little chance of that happening.

Ten blessedly uneventful minutes later, found her skirting the burbling fountain to walk up the front steps of a rambling, mission style building. A placard read 'Welcome New Students', but there was no one in sight. The huge oaken doors were ajar. Peering in, she heard voices, but could see no one. She slipped inside and found herself at the entry to a large open courtyard. On the other side of it she saw several nuns hovering about a flock of apparently new students, all adolescent females of course.

Willow felt an involuntary wash of lust. All the students were in blue/black checked skirts, crisp white shirts, saddle shoes, and knee socks. Willow had lusted after Catholic schoolgirls all her life, and the ones before her were a cornucopia of teenage, nubile, parochial school goodness.

"I'm sorry," one of the nuns was saying, "but our new phone system is having a few bugs. No one will be able to call their parents until tomorrow."

She was a young nun with a cute Latina accent and Willow found herself lusting after her too! Was there no female—even one married to God—truly safe from her?

"Your luggage will be delivered to your rooms tomorrow, after the sisters have inspected them for prohibited items. The rest of your uniforms will be delivered then too. Room assignments are posted near the showers. Continuing students are not arriving until tomorrow, so those of you rooming with one will be alone tonight. Clean up if you need to, but then go to bed. Lights out in thirty minutes, please. And remember to say your prayers!"

No phone! So she would have to stay the night, but—Willow looked down at herself—she didn't blend. She needed to blend, but how?

One of the students, a plump yummy looking little Goth brunette, was stopped as she marched past the cute Hispanic nun.

"This is the skirt you pick? Oh, no! It is way too short for you! Bend over, please. Yes, I can see your underwear. You need to change this now!"

The cotton pantied bottom was indeed deliciously exposed for all to see. When Willow remembered to close her mouth she saw the pale skinned girl pass through a door and then reemerge minutes later wearing a longer skirt. When the nuns and the students had filed away, presumably heading for the dormitories, Willow made like a shot for what she presumed to be the uniform storage area.

It may have looked like a room full of uniforms, but in reality it was the living embodiment of a treasured fetish. There were racks of skirts, heaping shelf-loads of shirts, and a veritable flying buttress of shoe boxes. There were even neat piles of socks and pure white under-things. And Willow, who had given herself many a self-inflicted orgasm in languorous contemplation of warm female flesh clad in these garments, was now, for entirely justifiable—nay, even noble—reasons going to garb herself in these self-same sexual treasures!

Moving quickly about the room, breathlessly gathering up the various items that would transform her from Drowned-Mouse-Bedraggled Willow into Catholic School Willow, she became aware of several long, low tables against the far wall. On them, in neatly folded stacks, were the street clothes of the new students. Each had a little 3x5 index card with handwritten information left by the absent owners, each supplying the young lady's name, as well her size in each category of uniform apparel.

Willow hastily stripped to bra and underwear, then, hesitating, shed even these; she felt grotty and stinky after the evening's unplanned commando fest, and it seemed reasonable to assume that any lingering fear sweat might make it easier for vamp bitch to track her. Nevertheless, she felt a pang of genuine regret while tucking her panties amongst the little pile of Willow clothing, having taken a moment to hold the soft cloth against her face and inhale deeply.

She loved her own scent and taste, often smelling herself and sampling the flavor-de-jour from her own hands while masturbating. Sometimes, she would purposely wear the same underwear a couple of days running, just to ensure they were nice and ripe. Then, she would put them on over her head and play with herself, imagining the rich earthy aroma to be coming from her imaginary lover. The pheromonal goodness of this particular pair was unspeakably erotic and, inhaling, she felt a small weight of moisture gathering at her core. She spread her legs slightly, swiped the middle and ring fingers through the wet, and tasted.

Goddess! So good! She was going to have to find a way to come soon or she'd…

Looking up, Willow was horrified to see the Hispanic nun staring at her. She whimpered and pulled the fingers she had been sucking out of her mouth, the small popping noise only adding to her embarrassment. Too startled to cover herself, Willow just made small apoplectic noises, her brain refusing to engage the gears of her mouth. She felt the heat of her blush rising from naked, nipply breast level to fill her throat and burn fiercely in her cheeks.

"I think you better finish selecting your clothes, Michelle," said the nun. She turned away in deference to Willow's obvious embarrassment. After a moment she cleared her throat and continued speaking. "You know, Michelle, this does not surprise me. I know Sister Bernice from your old school in Michigan… Are you dressing yourself? I don't hear anything."

Willow, who had remained frozen in place, finally came unstuck with the suggestion that she clothe herself. She grabbed at the bags of white cotton panties, tossing the first few—which were the wrong size—over her shoulders. She found an appropriate pack and ripped the plastic so violently that the Sister did finally turn around to look at her amusedly.

"You know, from what Sister Bernice said, I am not surprised to see you in this, uh… situation. It seems to suit what she told me of you."

Willow had managed to get into the panties and was now fumbling with the bras. Again, she let fly a barrage of ones that would not have fit her. Eventually, she got one of them properly fastened and looked up to find the nun staring at her, not unkindly.

"Sister Bernice told me how intelligent you are and what a sweet spirit you have. She mentioned, of course, about the trouble you've gotten into, why you've been sent to us, and the promise you made to your parents. She also told me of her utter faith that you will keep this promise."

Willow stared dumbfounded, unsure of what to say. The nun clearly thought Willow was someone named 'Michelle' and that they were having a 'moment', only of course they weren't. As bad as it was to have been caught self-pleasuring, this was somehow worse. Sister Bernice had said some very nice things, and Willow somehow felt responsible for living up to them in Michelle's absence. She opened her mouth to speak, but the thought of vamp bitch made her stop.

How would the Sister react to Willow's unbelievable tale? While she doubted the nun would throw her out, what would she do? Probably take a few of the other sisters and search the grounds, putting themselves in danger. Well how about a car? There was no phone with which to call someone—like Giles—for help, but there was probably a car. She thought about making up some story that would get her a lift, but couldn't think of anything that would both protect the nuns and keep her out of the hands of the police as a potential runaway. No, far better to stay here the night, then sneak out at first light. She hated to think of the panic this would cause Giles and Xander, should they realize she was missing, but a night of worry wouldn't kill them. She wasn't sure she could say the same for the nuns, if she told them the truth.

In the awkward silence, she quickly found the shirt, skirt, shoes, and socks to complete her outfit. Playing the role of Michelle to the hilt, she even wrote the proper sizes of everything she wore on an index card and placed it on her little pile of torn, soiled clothing.

When Willow was ready to go, she found the nun looking approvingly at the simple wooden cross she clutched to her chest, the one item she had retained. Not as useful as stake would have been, but perfect for her disguise.

She felt the weight of the other's eyes upon her, but said nothing, reasoning that the best way to avoid a misstep was to say nothing at all. Unfortunately, the nun seemed to mistake silence for sullenness. She sighed and draped a, well, sisterly arm over Willow's shoulders.

"My name is Sister Bonita, Michelle. I hope we will be friends. I know this is less freedom than you are used to, but it won't be so bad, I promise. After all, your Aunt and cousin live here in Sunnydale. Your parents have given permission for you to spend weekends and holidays with them if you desire.

"Ah, here are the bathrooms and showers. I think you need one, hey. There are sleeping gowns, robes, and slippers. Take what you need and write the information on the cards, just like downstairs. There is toothpaste, soap, shampoo, everything you need. You wash up and I'll wait for you here."

Willow found herself in a large communal bathroom and shower facility. Just like gym class, but without the lockers, just a wall of cubicles for holding street clothes. Most of the girls were already gone. The few stragglers Willow passed on their way out were dressed in identical sleeping dresses of thin, white cotton. Very aware of the gentle sway of breasts beneath this material and the faint dark triangles below, Willow was reminded of how horny she was. In the shower, though, she resolutely refused to do anything except thoroughly bathe herself; there was no way she was going to get caught in the act again!

Even without an orgasm, the hot water coursing over her bruised and aching body felt marvelous. The last effects of her extended foray into the land of fight or flight seemed to drain away with the dirt and grime. She fought against this, trying to maintain her alert status, telling herself over and over again that she was not out of danger. Nevertheless, she felt tension desert her to be replaced by a marvelous lassitude.

The situation was not helped when she emerged wearing night dress, robe, and slippers, carrying the neatly folded uniform, and found Sister Bonita waiting with a well laden tray. The aromas emanating from covered dishes served immediate notice to the young Wiccan of the large empty where her stomach used to be. Suddenly Willow had thoughts only for food and a soft place to lie down.

"Just soup and little something else," the nun said. "You look like you could use it!"

She followed the Sister and the soft swish of her habit across the darkened courtyard, up a flight of stairs, and into a hallway lined with rooms on both sides. Halfway down, Sister Bonita stopped to juggle the tray and open a door leading to a chamber on the outer perimeter.

The room was Spartan, furnished for two with old, but sturdy looking furniture in scarred oak. The light from the overhead fixtures gave the whitewashed walls a stark, institutional air, belied somewhat by the warmth of the ancient terra cotta tiles underfoot, and by a rug of Native American design that supplied a spot of bright color. A single mirror hung between the twin beds, and the crucifixes residing above them, supplied the rooms' only other adornment, save for white gauzy curtains flanking an open window.

There was a single round table with two chairs about it. Sister Bonita placed the tray there, said, "There's a little surprise to go with your soup, something from home. It would have come back to you by tomorrow, anyway, but I thought you might feel more at home having it tonight."

"I'm going to have to ask you to eat your meal in the dark. We're a little past 'lights out'."

There was a click, the lights went out, and Willow became aware of the nearly full moon visible outside the window. Even with no time for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she could still see well enough. With sudden dismay, Willow realized how readily visible they would have been to anyone lurking outside, at least up until the lights had gone out.

Sister Bonita hesitated, seeming almost preternaturally sensitivity to Willow's sudden apprehension.

"Are you sure you're alright? I know what you've been through recently. Sister Bernice has said that there is strength in you, and I can see that. But, when I saw you downstairs… Well, not when I first saw you downstairs, but afterwards… Well, you looked like something being hunted and…"

Willow closed the distance between herself and the older woman—well not much older really, couldn't be more than ten years her senior, she thought—and impulsively wrapped her arms about her. The Sister, she found, was a good hugger, one of those people who are totally there, yet manage somehow to convey a sense of lightness in their body. Buffy hugs like this, she thought, finding suddenly she had to break contact or risk crying.

"I did feel that way," said Willow, barely on the side of non-blubbering side of composure. "Just exactly like that, but you've made me feel safe and okay when I had right to!"

You caught me masturbating and made it a 'no big', thought Willow. Pretty awesome!

After saying their goodnights—Willow felt a pang of guilt when they promised to talk more the next day—the nun left and Willow was alone. She went to the open windows, standing where her pale night dress could blend with the billowing drapery, and cautiously gazed out.

The room, she found, was situated above the front entrance of the school, giving her a full view of the territory she had traversed on the way in, and over which she would be retracing her steps in the morning. Despite her hunger, she stood by the window a long time, searching the shadows for any subtle hint of movement. She found plenty, the more she looked, Sunnydale being a coastal city with lots of night breeze from the Pacific to shake the trees, but nothing that made her think stalking fiend more than windswept branch, and eventually she gave up and went to her food.

The soup was cooling now, but still delicious—tomato, um-um good—and she ate ravenously, breaking off pieces of an accompanying roll to wipe the bowl clean. There was also a cheese sandwich and a glass of moo-juice to wash it down with. Wiping away the milk mustache with the back of her hand, she turned finally to the last item on the tray, a rectangular case with a silver metal clasp. Opening this, she saw the gleam of what she recognized to be a flute, disassembled now, the individual parts nesting in depressions in the velvet lined case.

She became aware, then, of a low rumble that grew until she recognized it for the sound of an approaching car. Going to the window she saw headlights. Taking advantage of the sweeping beams, she looked hard again for lurking vamps, but failed to see anything noteworthy. Eventually, an SUV rounded the last bend of the tree lined drive and pulled into view in front of the school.

It was hard to be sure, but Willow thought the vehicle looked familiar. Unfortunately, her view was blocked where it pulled to a stop and she did not get a good look. Even more maddening were the snatches of conversation she heard coming from there. The voices sounded tantalizingly familiar, but, at this distance, with the night wind tearing at the sound, she couldn't begin to place them. Before she could puzzle it out, a door slammed, the motor gunned, and the car was driving off again. When the taillights were just about out of sight, there was a creak and the door opened.

Willow raised the cross, ready to fend off Vamp-bitch. How could she have been so stupid to get separated from her stakes? Why hadn't she improvised one while waiting, instead of just staring out into the dark like a frightened child? Why hadn't she gone downstairs and searched for some holy water or something? How was she going to face Xander and Giles if she got herself killed?

A figure slipped silently into the room, indistinct in the shadows near the door. A moment later it tensed and Willow realized she had been spotted. She gripped the crucifix at arms length, keeping it between her and the newcomer, all the while fighting the urge to scream.

The voice was feminine and cheerful, its owner clearly unbothered by Willow's cross brandishing.

Realizing how bizarre all this must look, Willow hastily set the cross onto her uniform, resting neatly on the tabletop.

"Well, I'm Michelle Flaherty," said the newcomer. She bubbled with exuberance and seemed unperturbed to have met a stranger ready to fend her off with a religious icon.

Either she's extraordinarily willing to make allowances, Willow reasoned, or else she just didn't get a good look in the dark.

"Nice to meet you, just a little surprised to be doing it tonight. They said my roommate wasn't due until tomorrow."

Michelle stepped forward, extending her hand. Willow did the same. In doing so, each girl stepped out of shadows into the center of the moonlit room. Willow saw a lithe form in tee-shirt and shorts, and then she and Michelle were shaking hands. As they did so, both suddenly froze in amazement.

"Oh my God!" The hand not being held by Michelle flew to the open 'O' of Willow's mouth. "That explains a lot."

"Oh boy… One of the nuns, the real pretty one… Sister Bonita? Well, she kind of mistook me for you, earlier. And, I kind of didn't set her straight about it."

"Well, it all turned out okay, but…" Willow looked up at Michelle. "It's kind of embarrassing."

Michelle smiled crookedly. "Aw, c'mon… It can't be that bad. Just tell me. This is a Catholic school, after all. Confession, kind of expected, you know?"

"Oh boy… Not much 'confessing girl' here. Kind of more 'bottle it up and hide everything girl'."

"Been a while since your last confession, eh?" Michelle asked, smiling brightly. She seemed not the least concerned with what might have transpired between Willow and the nun. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

Wish I could be more like that, thought Willow, as Michelle led her to one of the beds and made her sit. "Here, I'll go first," said Michelle. And then, without further preamble, "I'm a nymphomaniac."

"Yes, that's why I'm here!" she said brightly. Then, leaning in conspiratorially, "I got in trouble for boning too many boys at band camp, and whoosh, it's off to the convent I go! How about you?"

"Pretty much," Michelle nodded. "This is a school for 'troubled' girls. Brilliant, but troubled, actually—a kind of feminized, teen, Mensa version of Father Flannagan's. It has a great rep academically, but it's a little like a prison, kinda', sorta'. But you knew that, right?"

"Oh, just remembered something! Sister said I… meaning 'you' could stay with your aunt and cousin on the weekends—if you kept your promise."

"But what's the promise?" Willow asked impulsively, then blushed. "Sorry, not my business, shouldn't have asked."

"Of course you should ask!" Michelle affirmed. "We're doing confessions here! What I did was promise my parents not to bone any more boys until I was eighteen."

"Oh! The nun here knows one of your nuns back home. Sister Bernice. Sister Bernice says she knows you'll keep your promise."

"Well, there's the whole punishment factor. Plus my reputation's shot. This is to give me a fresh start and all."

"The Sister… She brought your flute by. She said I looked like 'I'—meaning 'you'—needed something from home, so she brought your flute. It's over there."

Michelle let go of Willow's hand—she had been holding it all this time—and ran delightedly to the table. Willow, absently admiring the other girl's legs, felt strangely aware of the hand Michelle had been holding. It felt warm and, for some reason, that seemed to make her chest ache, but not in a bad way. Just like the khaki clad bottom, which she now had carte blanche to admire leisurely, did funny things to her breathing. It occurred to Willow how Sister Bonita would not have approved of the shorts. They were wonderfully tight, riding up into the crack so you could see perfectly the shape of the girl they contained. The lower curve of each lovely buttock was almost visible, and…

Suddenly, Willow felt it again, that mystical, encouraging pat on uterus, just like before, when she had finished her post dusting recharge. And she remembered her prayer…

Okay, she thought. I can do this. If Michelle can say the most outrageous things with delight and abandon, so can I! I can share myself with a person. I can be myself in front of Michelle. I don't have to hide anymore, I don't have to hide anymore, I don't have to…

"You know, you're cute when you talk to yourself?" Michelle had returned with the reassembled flute, the mattress dipping with her weight as she sat down, sliding Willow closer to her. The thighs of the two girls were touching, nothing but the thin material of Willow's night dress separating them. "Now 'fess up! Why are you here?"

"I'm gay," Willow said simply. Obviously, this wasn't the whole truth, but Michelle was a civilian, and Scoobie secrets had to be guarded. Besides, if she hadn't been such a closet case, she wouldn't have been jumped by the vamps, wouldn't have been here in the first place. So, technically, it wasn't a lie, right? Willow told herself that was so, but still she felt bad about holding back from this strangely charming girl who was, by contrast, being so open with her.

"Cool!" said Michelle, appearing not only unfazed, but utterly thrilled as well.

"Nope! Remember?" she said, leaning in conspiratorially, "Sent here for boy boning?"

"But I'm totally bi! And…" she cocked her head to the side for emphasis, "I haven't promised anyone not to play with girls."

Willow came to a decision; she couldn't tell the whole truth, but she didn't have to lie either!

"Michelle, being gay is not the only reason I'm here, it's not even the real one. There are things I can't tell you right now, so, please, don't ask, because I really, really like you, and I so do not want to have to lie to you."

Willow felt herself blushing, lowered her eyes, said, "Yeah, I know, it's stupid…"

"No it's not!" Michelle laughed. "I feel it too! What we've got here is a case of mutual like at first sight, a bad one. And," she leaned in close enough for the warmth of her breath to tickle Willow's cheek, "you do know how to confess, don't you?"

She was shocked, but in a good way, when Michelle purposefully brushed a cheek against her own. She heard a moan and realized it had been hers. Goddess, but she'd never felt anything so soft.

"No," Willow shook her head. "None at all! I'm a total virgin. And," she said disgustedly, "I've been a total coward. Nobody knows I'm gay. All these beautiful girls—my best friend—and… It doesn't matter if it would have turned out they were straight and not interested. I hid myself, who I am, so completely that I never even gave them the opportunity to be interested."

"Yes…" Willow dared to brush her open lips softly against Michelle's. "I have."

Michelle pulled back and looked at Willow with an emotion the latter couldn't identify. Was it longing? Was it lust? It seemed joyful and touched with sadness all at the same time.

"Being a virgin is special," Michelle said softy. "And not because of any of that happy crap about the beauty of purity and innocence. It's just that right now sex—with someone else, at least—is a mystery, part of the big scary unknown, and mysteries are cool. It's kind of like on Star Trek, you know, when Spock said, how wanting a thing could be like way cooler than actually having it."

"Oh no, trust me, you'll love it. It's just that, you're first time should be special, and who to do it with is a big decision—like whether you should play flute or trumpet, because, believe me, that was a tough one! This one time, when I was thinking about going to band camp, I had a friend throw my tarot and…"

And Willow, leaning forward, lips parted, heart pounding, trembling, ready to kiss, found herself stopped by a single word.

Michelle smiled, licked her lips, and made a low, sultry sound that was very much like a growl before replying.

"Oh don't worry," she said, "everything you want to happen will happen. But," and here she shifted suddenly from nymphomaniac Amazonian princess back to band geek, "what you're giving me… It's like, you know, you're my present, and I should get to unwrap you as slowly as I want. Besides…" and now the nerd shifted gears once again, transforming back into the nubile sex goddess, "I haven't finished asking questions. Now, tell me—and don't even think about lying, Missy—what happened with the nun?"

"She caught me masturbating," Willow said without hesitation, too fascinated and dazzled by the rapid fire changes in the other's demeanor to even consider editing.

"You mean she caught me, or thinks she did anyway! Well, what were you doing? Give me the details."

Willow gave a very exact account of the events leading up to Sister Bonita catching her performing her self-taste test.

Michelle got up, stripped off her shorts, then lay back down, chuckling to observe herself being observed.

She was wearing white cotton panties that clung nicely to the contours of her mound. Willow couldn't seem to find her voice, just nodded.

"You know, getting here from Michigan today," Michelle said, beginning to stroke herself through the underwear. "Well, it was a real adventure in absorbency! I traipsed around three different airports, wearing the same underwear I have on now. And there was nothing to do except think about sex. I was so wet and horny, I squished when I walked. On one flight, the lady next to me fell asleep, and I rubbed through my shorts until I came. I know the stewardess was watching. She smiled and winked. And here I am now, soaked through all over again. Would you like to smell me? Yes? Well go ahead, but no touching yet."

Willow could already smell. In fact, her head was swimming with Michelle's natural perfume. It was all sweet and musky, but with a pleasant tang, like wood smoke.

She crawled between Michelle's open legs and lowered her face to the girl's crotch. In the low glow of the moonlight, she could just see a dark spot of wet between the pale, creamy thighs. The scent here, near the source, was wonderful, compelling and irresistible.

Willow bumped the tip of her nose to the wet spot, below where the other girl's fingers were moving in small rapid circles. She found unexpected delight in the little squelching sounds Michelle's pussy made as she masturbated. Familiar as she was with it, having played that music on her own instrument, it was charming to hear it coming from another's, and to learn that other pussies behaved so similarly to her own.

Michelle threw her head back and moaned. Willow, knowing the other girl was getting close, opened her mouth to lick and kiss through the material, but never reached her target. The other girl's hands had shot out to tangle roughly in her hair and grip her face.

"No!" came Michelle's snarl. "You're my virgin and I get to unwrap you as slowly as I want! Now, take my panties off, bitch!"

Willow did as she was told, unnerved by the change in the other, but, if anything, even more excited. Michelle, lifting her bottom to facilitate, shivered at the touch of fingers insinuating themselves between cloth and skin. Willow, fascinated, worked slowly, trying to draw out these reactions. At times, Michelle actually whimpered at the pulling and tugging that gradually exposed her, and Willow thought that she had never heard anything so frankly sexual in all her life.

Willow skimmed the underwear down the long, smooth legs, and then put her face back into Michelle's crotch. Her eyes were fully adjusted to the dark and the moon really was quite bright, so she could see very well. She found herself utterly charmed.

There was a small triangle of neatly trimmed curls on the mound, but the outer lips themselves were shaved bare. The inner were flushed and open like the petals of some hothouse flower, glistening with Michelle's home made dew. Willow inhaled the aphrodisiac aroma and groaned.

"You are so beautiful," Willow sighed, her mouth so close that Michelle quivered from prickle her breath there. Willow, noticing this pressed her advantage, puckering her lips to blow softly upon the delicate tissues. Michelle adjusted her position so the stream of air bathed her clitoris and moaned.

Willow hesitated, confused. She tried to turn away, but the hand held her in place and she could only avert her eyes.

"The right answer," Michelle said slowly, "is that you do! You should know this, and I think you would, except that you're just not looking at things the right way. Here, I'll show you."

Michelle sat up and leaned against the wall. She directed Willow to lie face down over her lap. Moving to comply, Willow felt Michelle cup one of her breasts through the nightdress she was still wearing. The hand held her firmly enough to hold her in place, but not to hurt.

"Do you mind me being like this?" asked Michelle. "All take charge girl and all? It's kinda who I am sexually."

"It's fine," Willow said. "It's better than fine! In fact," she said very softly, "I like it."

"I'm not sure why, but, yes, I do. I mean, just met you and all, but saying 'yes' to lust, laughing in the face of abstinence, and—oh, yeah—in the middle of a convent no less. But…"

Willow positioned herself over the naked lap while Michelle arranged pillows to make her comfortable. She smiled dreamily to feel her ass being fondled, sighed appreciatively.

"This one time," said Michelle, "at band camp, a bunch of us went skinny dipping. There wasn't any sex involved, just swimming in the moonlight, nice and peaceful and free. It felt totally different from anytime I'd ever been stripped for sex, you know?"

Willow's response was a little distracted, but fingers tracing the space between her buttocks consumed the lioness' share of her awareness.

"I got it all figured it out, though… When I skinny dip, I'm nude. When I fuck, I'm naked, stripped and bared… Not just without my clothing, but denied my clothing. Robbed of anyway to hide or cover myself."

Willow whimpered as the delicious teasing hand left her tingly bottom—and then gasped when she felt fingernails graze the back of her thigh, just below the hem of the night dress.

Willow's breathing quickened as she felt the garment being drawn up, the crisp material and fingers slowly dragging up warm flesh, exposed now to cool night air.

And then the night dress was sliding up, lifting away, and there was a delicious feeling of knowing she was fully exposed, available for Michelle's delight, awaiting and craving her touch, feeling vulnerable and exposed—feeling naked.

And the wished for hand was back, all lightly tickling brush of fingertips, warming caress of palm. She moved her hips, lifting to aid, encourage, and abet. The hand slid in to cup her from below, and she shuddered and gasped at even this indirect pressure to her clit. She moaned in response to fingers entering her, again when they slowly pulled out, marveled to the feel of their wet trek to her asshole, and at her surprised but willing surrender to the intimacy of the lazy circles they turned there.

Willow she waited expectantly for their return, felt panic when they did not. She had done something wrong. She knew, with a horrible certainty, that she had done something, and now Michelle no longer wanted her. She was almost ready to beg, if that was what it took, when the hand, the sweet wonderful hand, returned, flooding her with relief, and drawing from her a sigh of utter contentment.

The hand was patting her bottom. Not caressing or teasing or fondling or probing, just patting the base of her buttocks.

Willow was startled at first, began to tense, but Michelle made soothing sounds and she zoned into them, relaxed, even lifted her ass a bit to meet the little smacks peppering her. It was weird, in a way, but nice in another. Quite nice, really. Little waves of force gathering into a node of resonant pleasure centered in—she could admit this—her asshole. Spreading her cheeks a bit, she felt Michelle's hand actually touch her asshole and that was good too. Talk about eating at the forbidden fruit bowl!

Nice, she thought, practically purring. Surprising, but nice! Me kinky girl!

Then suddenly the blows were coming faster, harder, no longer concentrated in a single spot, but raining all over her ass. Raining like fire that is, she thought. This genuinely hurt!

Once again, there was the urge to resist, a flash of panic that made the strokes, now falling on tightly clenched butt cheeks, sting all the more.

Willow had not been aware of holding her breath, but, releasing it now with a great whoosh, she began to take long, deep inhalations, and slow, deliberate exhalations. As her muscles softened, she was amazed to feel pain change to something else. Hmmm, warmth? Yes, comforting warmth. She pictured her ass cheeks pink and flushed, not unlike some of the images she had masturbated to while one handedly porn surfing the internet, and sighed contentedly. "Willow, what am I doing?" Michelle asked innocently.

"Reward," she answered, smiling and lifting her ass to the pleasurable little blows.

The sharp blow, much harder than the others, landed squarely in the middle, right were tushy met thighs. Willow almost protested, but the hand… After thudding home, it remained in place, massaging, rubbing, comforting. More than that, the shockwave of force had rolled all the way through her from hotly stinging ass to happy squishy pussy.

"Very good, you're right, I am rewarding you. I'm going to reward you for all the things you think you ought to be punished for. Now, here…"

Willow felt something land on her head. She recognized the lovely aroma even as her hand found the object and brought it to where her eyes could see.

"Stuff those in your mouth so you don't get too loud and attract an audience. I think you've given the nuns enough of a show tonight, don't you think?"

Willow did as she was told and almost swooned, it was so good. She longed so for the source of the tastes and smells assailing her—so rich, so spicy, so earthy—that she wanted to turn the tables, take charge, launch a full assault, and take Michelle then and there. But all that was happening, this ecstatic surrender, this confusion of pleasure and pain, she just had to see it through.

"Why, Willow," Michelle said, as though surprised. "I do believe I can feel your pussy juice dripping down my thigh!"

"Omh, ahm soffy," came Willow's attempt to mouth an apology around her mouthful of pungent undergarment.

"No need to be sorry, I want you turned on. I want you so wet you splash when I spank you!"

"First up, I want to thank you for your virginity and for your decision to end it. We're not here, making love, because your mom, or your guidance counselor, or your priest thought it was a good idea. We're here because you've decided to take the next step in your sexual evolution. I am honored to be a part of it! Let's celebrate!"

"And I want to thank you for staying in the closet, until you were ready to come out, that is. Sweetie, the world is a dangerous place, full of people willing to hurt, or even kill you, for loving in a way different from their own. It's alright to fret awhile before deciding how much you're willing to be in harm's way. Outing yourself is an accomplishment you make in your own time and your own place. No one has the right to tell you how much you share and how much you keep private."

"And, of course, I exercise my right to be contradictory by thanking you now for coming out of the closet. If every straight person in the world had a gay friend, then there would be no gay bashing. Your willingness to risk ridicule, censure, rejection, job discrimination, and physical harm moves the world a step closer to this lofty goal. Of course, with only about ten percent of the population gay, you're going to have to make a lot of friends…"

"And, most of all, I want to thank you for being here with me, for sharing yourself with me. Sweetie, I'm having emotional orgasms just being with you like this."

Willow was afloat in a strange sea of jumbled emotion and sensation. The force of each resounding crack rocketed through muscle and bone, breaking in waves deep inside her sex. It was unimaginably hot, but the nerve endings on her ass were going nuts from the cumulative effect. Too, the simple validation of Michelle's words had her nearly in tears. She would have wept, but for the overwhelming feeling of lightness as the emotional baggage dropped by the wayside.

There should be an infomercial for this stuff, she thought, feeling happy, and, if a very basic way, much, much better than 'okay'.

She knew she was close the limit of what, for this night at least, she was willing to take.

So expecting force and heat was she that she reacted to the new stimulus as though someone had laid a hot poker across her ass cheeks. It was a shock to realize that what she was feeling was just the opposite, cool and pleasant.

She rolled the cool metal lightly over Willow's bottom, soothing the burn and sting. Willow moaned with pleasure when she felt the length of cool metal between her cheeks rubbing over asshole, then again when it dipped lower to slide through the wetness there.

Willow lifted and lowered her hips as the metal tube dipped down and forward, the end result being the slit of her mound resting pleasantly on the flute. She began to hump the instrument, sliding her clit over the now pussy juice slicked brass, all the while with Michelle nibbling her ears, kissing neck and shoulders, whispering encouragement.

Suddenly, Willow had had enough of inanimate objects. As much fun as pheromone juiced panties and musical instruments could be, what she really wanted was to make love to the warm, soft young woman beside her.

Turning her head, she caught in her own the lips that had been nuzzling her throat, felt them smile appreciatively and open to her, tasted the offered mouth, marveling at the wonderful textures of teeth and tongue.

Sensing perhaps that her plans were being derailed, Michelle tried to withdraw, but Willow chased as fast as the other fled, pressing her advantage to move into a full embrace and deepen the kiss. Any further objections were dissolved in the immediacy of Willow's need, and control quickly became something for them to yield and reclaim in the process of exploration and arousal. Now it was Willow who touched and tasted, lost herself in the savor of the willing offering. Now it was Michelle who pushed the other back, pinning arms to trap, relishing the near swooning pleasure Willow found in surrender.

Clothing became an insupportable burden, no longer to be endured. Frantic hands insinuated themselves between skin and cloth to find purchase for the pulling and tugging that freed and revealed, until one happy, naked girl welcomed the other, renewing the kiss, feeling the soft warmth of breasts against her own.

Willow's eyes widened in astonishment; she could feel the fevered beat of Michelle's heart thudding against her chest.

That's from me, she thought. Little 'ole Willow Rosenberg, teen lesbian witch, is making love to another girl.

Moaning, she ground her pelvis into Michelle's, felt hands cup her ass and pull her roughly in. The she was moving and bumping with the other, rhythm seeking timing seeking swing body jazz movement and secret music sweetly shared. Then the kiss broke and conversation was carried on below the waist in a dialect of friction and joyous thrust.

It was the smell of arousal permeating the room that reminded Willow of that which she had not yet partaken.

It took longer than either intended to reach their mouths to the other's sex. Nipples, breast, quivering tummies… There were simply too many distractions along the way! Eventually, though, Willow found herself planting kisses at the border of Michelle's lovely red curls, her hands scooping around to take hold even as her own ass felt a similar handling. She felt small soft wonderful nibbles on her inner thighs, and then a pause. Knowing then that all teasing was done, she lowered her head and began to feed even as she herself began to be devoured.

At first it was almost impossible for Willow to take in all she was experiencing. How many hours had she longed for the feel of another woman's mouth on her genitals? In masturbating, how many ways had she tried to produce what her imagination told her the longed for reality would feel like? Wet wash cloths, shower massagers, her fingers dipped in candle warmed massage oil… None of them came close to matching what it felt like to be eaten by this remarkable girl. Yet the actual event was so utterly without precedent, so beyond her previous experience, that it took a little time to understand all she was feeling, to resolve the melting heat at her core into the broad wet strokes of an insistent tongue.

So much simpler, by comparison, was it to give pleasure to Michelle! No mystery of cause and effect here:

Willow licked delicious sweat from the juncture of thigh and torso, and Michelle shuddered. Remembering ministrations to her own asshole, Willow dipped a daring tongue tip into the shadow beyond the wetness, teasing the small tight opening there, and was rewarded by crooning that left no doubt as to Michelle's feelings on the matter. She her cheeks and lips and nose over the warmth and wet of the offered vagina and felt a hand on the back of her head, pressing her face in, felt the pelvis she was holding curve up to meet her. Then locked in on the flesh surrounding the clitoris and fed, even as she reached down to pet the head feeding upon her.

And for a time there were no thoughts or questions or mysteries. Only tastes and textures and temperatures, cool night air cooling, hot, sweet smelling girl, and the sounds they coaxed from each other.

There came a point where Willow's pleasure had grown beyond containment. Orgasm was inevitable, mere seconds away.

"Goddess…" she said. One word, not a spell, but spoken with reverence, it was enough.

Willow felt something loosen and flow deep inside her. Not coming, not yet. This was something else. And in a startled moment, she realized exactly what it was.

The feeling she had had earlier, the encouraging pat to the uterus concluding her mystic recharge, it had been something else entirely. More, she now recognized, like energy being stored away in a battery. But now the nearness of sexual release, coupled with the power of her utterance, was shaking it loose, setting it in motion, a warm wave moving outward from the base of her spine.

Willow came and the energy exploded out of her, pulsing in waves on her breath, through her tongue, through her eyes. Out of her—and into Michelle, who groaned, stiffened, and cried out even as Willow felt and tasted sweet, warm nectar gushing into her mouth. She swallowed, surprised, but not displeased to have triggered Michelle's orgasm in this fashion, but then suddenly felt the buzzing electric essence was flowing back into her—coming now from Michelle. At first, it entered her cunt and her anus haphazardly in staccato bursts torn from the Michelle's ragged breaths, then in a steady, eye-opening rush funneling almost unbearably through her clitoris via the lips and the tongue that had come to rest there. Her last coherent thought and action, before cresting into a second even stronger orgasm, was to keep the circuit complete, to bring her own lips and tongue softly, gently, over Michelle's clitoral hood.

The orgasms, hers and Michelle's, lasted a very long time, waves of pleasure reinforced and buoyed along by the resonant energy circulating between them, further sustained by their own willful acts. Eventually, though, energies dissipated, pleasure lost focus, and they segued from frenzied fornication to autumnal afterglow. Although it took great effort—her limbs just didn't seem to want to obey her—Willow reversed herself to lie along side, and gratefully intertwine limbs with, the naked happy girl nesting with her amid the rumpled, tousled bedclothes.

"Are you okay?" Willow asked, nervous, but greatly relieved by Michelle's answering purr and stretch/yawn of happiness.

Willow was aware how she had failed to obtain permission before blending witchcraft with sex-craft. Not that she had done it on purpose! Still, it was disturbing how, just weeks into Wicca, she had used it, albeit inadvertently, to commit an irresponsible act. She was going to have to get guidance from Giles, and soon.

"Sorry, had to get your attention. You need to let me up. Unless, that is…" she leaned in conspiratorially, "…you want me to pee on you."

The statement had been about ninety percent rhetorical. Willow surprised herself by answering the other ten percent.

"I'll try anything you want to! Knowing it turned you on, would turn me on too. So, yeah, you can pee on me, only… Could we do it tomorrow? Just wanna lie here now."

Michelle chuckled, kissed her deeply before bouncing out of the bed to snatch up the robe.

"You are the perfect girlfriend!" said Michelle. "I almost wish I were a guy—it would so great to get the blowjobs without the begging!"

Willow propped herself on an elbow and watched the lithe form, beautiful and alive, glowing in the moonlight. When Michelle paused at the door, it was too dark to read her expression, but the voice was warm and wistful.

Willow, alone now, had about ten perfect seconds of dreamy, peaceful lassitude. Then her eyes shot open as reality said 'hello' and began to parade before her the problems the immediacy of the girl had driven from her mind:

She was not the perfect roommate! She wasn't a roommate at all! She did not belong here, could not stay with Michelle. Would soon, in fact, have to make up some cockamamie story, tell her the truth (might as well just say 'convince her you're insane'), or—and her mind cringed at the thought—just vanish without a word.

No, life couldn't be that cruel! She wouldn't let it. She would tell Michelle the truth, make her believe, take her on a patrol. Whatever it took, she would find a way to keep Michelle in her life!

"Michelle…" she said—and stopped. It wasn't Michelle. The dark silhouette was nun shaped. "Sister Bonita?"

The voice was soft and had a strange undertone, a mixture of playfulness and—could that possibly be right?—cruelty.

Willow, realizing she was naked, snatched up the night dress and held it before her.

The dark form moved forward and Willow peered into the shadows beneath the wimple, but could make out no features there, save for the sharp gleam of the eyes.

"You know why I've come here, don't you? The noises you were making… Disgusting!"

The figure stepped closer and Willow felt an unreasonable panic. She wanted to step back, put some distance between her and this newcomer, but was unsure of the protocols and etiquette guiding behavior between naked Catholic girls and night wandering nuns. Not wanting to make trouble for Michelle, Willow held her ground, kept her eyes down, and waited. She was surprised to feel icy fingers take her chin and redirect her gaze upward.

"This room," hissed the voice. "It reeks of sex! What were you doing? Playing with yourself? Sticking your dirty little fingers up your dirty little pussy? Storing up self abuse stories for the confessional?"

Willow shocked, tried to step back, but hands like cold steel shot out and gripped her biceps, making her cry out. The dress she'd been holding fell away.

Willow didn't scream, but she did struggle, which turned them enough to put her captor's face into the moonlight. She was vamp-faced now, as she had been hours before, when she and the others had attacked.

"Please scream," she said. "No? Want a few more seconds of life, hey? A few minutes? Well, hey, how about an eternity of afterlife? The Anointed One would be pleased if I turned you, wouldn't he. Turned the best friend of the Slayer… Tell you what, you get to decide."

Willow tried to keep her chin scrunched down, but she was no match for the other's supernatural strength. Her jaw was forced inexorably upward as the other pressed in. Cold lips, fangs, and an icy tongue tip brushed her throat.

The thing's breath was clammy, like a breath of air from the morgue, and Willow whimpered in disgust.

The back of Willow's left hand touched something cool and hard hanging from the nun's habit the vampire was wearing.

Rosary! They had crosses on them, didn't they? Willow's hands gripped tightly around the strand of round wooden beads. Then she leaned back hard and forced her hands up between them.

It was working! She pushed hard on vamp bitch's sternum, just like in self defense practice with Giles, and was rewarded by the release of her arms and a few feet of precious space between her and the beast.

She stepped back and yanked violently on the rosary, felt it snap and come away with her, beads pattering away into the dark. It all slow motion, like a dream, her hands fumbling, desperately seeking the cross.

"Ooh, hurry, hurry!" she mocked. "Find it. Find the cross. Quickly, before it's too late!"

The vampire turned, gasped in surprise, looking back from one girl to the other.

"What is this?" she demanded, clearly on guard for tricks. "Which one of you belongs to the slayer?"

Willow, taking advantage of the confusion, broke free, dashed to her pile of school clothes, and snatched up the cross she had left resting atop it.

Vamp bitch was focused now less upon Willow and more on the newcomer. A bad mistake, it turned out. She turned just in time for Willow to press the cross hard into her face, where it sank, sizzling into flesh. Then, the vampire, stumbling away, snarling in pain, was suddenly windmilling her arms, fighting for balance, having nearly slipped on the beads from the rosary.

Willow saw Michelle reach into her backpack, then watched with amazement as the girl did a perfect tuck and roll, coming upright again to stand before the struggling vampire. Her arm, arm already moving, flashed in a brief arc. There was a meaty thud, then the vampire crumbled to dust, and Willow found herself staring with shocked disbelief at her new girlfriend, who seemed to be holding a wooden stake.

Willow made the connection then. The SUV earlier, the one she thought she had recognized, it had brought Michelle back to the school after visiting her aunt. Her aunt! The voice she heard, the one that seemed so familiar…

"Joyce Summers!" exclaimed Willow, the pieces all falling neatly into place. "Joyce Summers is your aunt! And Buffy—the Slayer—is your cousin!"

"And you… You're cousin Buffy's Willow! The one she talks about all the time."

When, eventually, Michelle had the full story, her eyes grew wide and she started dashing about the room.

"Want you? Abso-fucking-lutely! Which is why you can't be caught here. Baby, you don't want me to have to make my parents any new promises, now do you?"

Willow began to dress hurriedly in the shorts and band camp shirt Michelle had arrived in.

When Willow was ready, Michelle peaked out into the hall. "Coast is clear," she said quietly. "You'll be okay?"

"Oh yeah. All the vamps are dead and—sneaky?—got that stuff down pat! No worries!"

Michelle kissed her hard and deep, and somehow Willow's hands ended up inside the robe, encircling the warm naked girl body.

Michelle, recognizing where things were going, broke the kiss, pushed the other forcefully away, said, "Now go! But be at my aunt's house at four p.m. on Friday. We can have a slumber party, then pickup Buffy Saturday morning at the Greyhound station. She's coming back from summer vacation then."

"Hey! How come Joyce never told us how much we look alike? She knows us both. Come to think of it, how come Buffy never said anything?"

"I'm sure my Slayer cousin swore Aunt Joyce to secrecy. As for Buffy? Well, she spent some of her summer in Michigan, visiting me. We already knew I'd be coming to Sunnydale, then, and she just outright said she had some really big, wonderful surprise waiting for me here. I'm thinking it was you. Now go!"

"Buffy is gonna be so sore! A: I spoiled her surprise. B: I got to make love to you first."

"Who told you that? Not her! Sweetie, she's as bi as I am. Hey, who do you think it was who taught me about girls?"

"In the way?" Michelle shook her head. "If anything, I'll be the odd girl out! Buffy wants you bad, and you'll be there with her, out of closet girl, every single day. Me? I'm just the weekend slut."

"No!" and Willow moved to embrace Michelle again. "I'm not giving you up! You saved me! You've spanked me! I'm yours! You're not…"

"Shh…" Michelle pressed a finger to Willow's lips and smiled. "You know, you're awfully cute when you panic? Don't worry, you're not going to lose me. Only…"

She leaned into Willow's embrace, reassuring with her body, while her mouth asked the question, and her eyes gazed steadily to gauge the reaction.

Willow considered: Life could be hard anywhere. In Sunnydale, it could be murder, literally. She had no illusions as to the danger aligning herself with the slayer could bring. And as for Buffy… Well, they didn't talk about it, but the Watcher's Journals… It chilled her how they contained no information about old, or even middle-aged, slayers! Considering all that…

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Catholic School Willow

by Finknottle

Copyright © 2003

finknottle777@yahoo.com