No one knew of the personal ad or the weekly rendezvous resulting from it. The man was nice. She was sure he was a good husband and father, reliable worker, church deacon or something. He seemed that way at least. Just a normal guy who needs to work it out. So every week they meet here at Sunnydale's finest dive during his long lunch hour. 'This time', Buffy laughed coldly to herself, 'we find ourselves in Faith's old room.' It wasn't the first time and the irony pleased her each time. He stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a sex shop slandered version of a policeman's uniform, dangling a pair of handcuffs from his finger. Each week, a uniform of some kind and restraints, and the same story unfolds. Her hands cuffed around the rails of the bed's headboard, she didn't know and didn't care what he was working out. And her issues with authority could just fuck her in the ass.
"Now Xander. Right here and now." Anya glared at him, her voice easily carrying through the crowded restaurant.
"Anya, please, lower your voice. I don't think everyone wants to know what it is you want at this particular and peculiar moment. We call it TMI." Xander whispered harshly as example, glancing around and smiling at fellow patrons who were trying to politely ignore them.
"But I don't care if they know. That's the whole point." Anya not so patiently explained, her voice lowered a little.
"Yes, but remember what we've learned, discretion is the better part of exhibitionism. And lends one's self far less likely to end up in jail." Xander tried to remind Anya.
"Fine, then discreetly move your chair closer and play with me under the table." Anya whispered at almost a shout. "I'm all hot and wet and I have a chocolate dessert in front of me. And if you don't do this right now, you'll never get me to wear those break my neck high heeled shoes again."
"Okay, okay. It's not like I ask you to walk in those heels." Xander gave in, moving his chair quickly and quietly over next to her.
"But one of these days you'll hurt yourself and I want to have children someday." Anya fed Xander a forkful of the dessert as a peace offering, even as his hand traced it's way up her thigh and under her skirt.
"You're not wearing any underwear." He accused her playfully.
"Of course not. I knew we were going out." Anya was oblivious, enjoying dessert and the feel of Xander's fingers stroking slowly over her slick folds, casually exploring.
"You know, we human's have this silly little line between public and private." He whispered in her ear, as her free hand started gently squeezing the bulge forming in his pants.
"I know that. I just enjoy it more to have our private in public. As reward, tonight I'll wear the red 6 inch ones that tie all the way up the calves." She mentioned casually, looking to any who glanced their way like they were having a soft conversation while sharing dessert. At the mention of the shoes suggested, Xander hid a moan around a bite and his fingers grew more aggressive.
Anya loved these dinners out.
Tara had felt it again. A Willow tanged spell prowling around her personal shield, seeking a way in. It was the last straw. Tara loved her, yes, but some small part in the very back of her memories finally snapped. She had tried supportive and understanding girlfriend. She had even tried leaving her for her own good. It was obvious by the latest spell attempt Willow wasn't willing to let her go. And Tara didn't really want to leave. But there had to be new rules laid down. Willow needed a firm hand and strict discipline Tara realized. After her first lesson, Willow could see what a bad girl she had become and willingly submitted to her girlfriend's wisdom and experience. Experience, years of experience with discipline. Willow clutched the bed cover, draped across Tara's lap, counting out loud as she's spanked with her hair brush. And was grateful for the moment away from her mind and the screaming silence that echoes through the void left by dark magics. New rules, new roles, strict discipline.
"Lesson the first." Spike was slowly circling Buffy. "Every slayer has a death wish. Do you remember that one luv?"
Buffy was chained laying spread eagle on the stone lid to Spike's crypt. She remembered the need to fight and the bet. The winner had the rest of the night to do as they wished. She thought maybe, if she really needed to, she might be able to break the chains that bound her now, maybe.
"Lesson the second." Spike was bringing lighted candles closer. "Most vampires love life. We feed off it, imitate it, spend eternity watching it, craving its warmth around us and inside of us. And in the act of sex, the act of creating life itself, for a moment our hearts beat. Once, maybe twice. We are more aware of life than the living."
Buffy lay naked. The air was chilled. The iron around her limbs weighed cold and hard. The stone against her back cooled her flushed skin. Even now, turned on past the fear of what Spike might do to her, Buffy felt cold and still.
"Lesson the third." Spike removed the tattered remains of his shirt, and sitting beside Buffy, started trailing his fingers over her heated skin, tracing random patterns. "Candles as foreplay."
Buffy felt the ice of his touch over her breasts and up her thighs to her center. Then gasped as she felt the brief burn of wax dripped across her belly. Watching in fascination as he positioned a candle over a nipple.
Amy smoothed the powder over her breasts, spending a moment to lightly tease her nipples in absent thought of what she planned to wear tonight. The stereotype of the witch wearing only layers of natural cottons dyed in earth tones needed undoing. She smoked now. She drank. She loved the feel of rolling on the black rubber dress, shined with silicon spray. Her warm tight second skin disclosing parts of her body even as the built in corset like ribs restricted her. The rubber stretching slightly at each movement, pulling her back to form when she relaxed. The club was in another dimension and time sync, and daddy would never know that she was away.
"Come on boys, faster. That's it. Girls like it quick. And whoever finishes first gets to play with me." The image of a cheerleader encouraged them, her pompoms covering her bare breasts from view, sometimes teasing them with a quick peek as she cheered the three on.
Andrew, Warren and Jonathan sat in a circle in the basement, VR visors over their eyes and hands rapidly stroking themselves in a circle jerk race for time with the cheerleader.
It was time, finally time. Xander and Willow were there for moral support and help as Buffy went through her mother's personal things. No-one could have expected what they found though, even after years living on the hellmouth. They sat on the floor around the box they found in the very back of the closet. A man's suit lay almost forgotten on the bed. A photo album from college days lay open on Buffy's lap. A diary haltingly read out loud by Willow. It took some time to figure out that the pictures were of her mother. Her hair was short, her breasts hidden, jeans, tee-shirt, leather jacket and a cigarette hanging from her mouth. The slight bulge in her jeans kept drawing Buffy's eyes back to the picture on the open page of the album. The diary entries revealing a youth spent in more than classic college experimentation. The best in drag award proudly confusing everyone.
Cordelia let herself into her apartment and set down her bags. She loved shopping. That these toys and videos were the only way her and Angel could be together bothered her at first. But she quickly gained an affection for the things themselves. Her vast wardrobe of the kinky hanging in a dark part of the closet. The TV cabinet hiding a video collection imported from Amsterdam. Toys and various whips stashed in an unassuming dresser. Only the best of silicon and leather. Her pride and joy kept behind curtains along the wall. A spider's web of rope and metal rungs covered one full wall of the bedroom. More fitting to her personality she thought than just a rack or cross or simple chains. And providing infinite possibilities of restraint. Definitely one for Better Homes and Gardens, the SM addition.
Angel lost the bet fair and square but was still barely able to keep his side of the bargain. The loser had to wear the most SM item of clothing of the period they were alive. He took a sudden intake of unneeded breath as Cordy cinched the corset tighter. All night she said he would have to wear this thing. Still he couldn't deny the erection that pulsed over the bottom of his new attire.
Wesley smiled to himself as he worked in the office. He had grown finally into quite a man he realized. No longer did he scream like a girl when attacked. No longer did he pause in indecision. The heat of battle forged a backbone. His will to survive pounded the creation of a warrior and leader. But he still had his humanity and his secret. The last traces of his affection for femininity hidden under tee-shirt and jeans. The feel of lace and silk cut wrong and covering him oddly, restraining and caressing him. He knew Victoria's Secret and it was his own.
Gunn wandered the streets this warm night alone. He had always walked these streets, patrolling for those that would prey on his people. What he never counted on was what watching for the demons would show him about himself. He struggled still with his truth revealed, each night his mind warring with his desires. Each night wandering the streets anyway. He still remembered that first time, the couple in an alley beside one of the many clubs. He thought it was a vampire at first, then could not pull himself away from the scene. He spent so many years looking for demons and in looking he found he loved to watch, people and sex. He glanced through their windows, looked in their cars, and stood in the shadows as they played in darkened corners. Prowling and searching, to protect, to observe.
Fred quietly sneaked off to her room and locked the door. Anticipation exciting her even before she pulled the machine from its hidden spot under the bed. She couldn't ask anyone to do this for her, even if she had someone in her life to ask. So she built something herself. She was always good at that. She dropped her pants and positioned herself bent over the padded seat. Her breathing and pulse quickened as she prepared to turn the switch. In near silence the mechanical paddle struck her bottom, the vibrating egg set at the perfect angle to tease her clit, and she bit her bottom lip to remain quiet, opening her mind to the fantasy.
It was a ruse, being sent to the hole. Faith in her effort to pay for her deeds and reclaim her life had become a model prisoner. And this was one of the strange rewards that came from that. An uneven relationship with a female guard that she was even beginning to care about. She was picked not long after she had arrived at the prison and the question requiring yes or no was never brought up and never really an issue. She welcomed the distraction from the routine as much as the almost free ride within the walls, and honestly loved the play itself. She wasn't sure what this guard's deal was but was quickly learning something about her own. So, again and a few times every month she was accused of an infraction and sent to isolation. The waiting was the worst, the anticipation making her pace around the dark cell as she replayed the last time in her mind and imagined what was to come. Finally the guard came into the cell and it was locked behind her. Not saying a word, handing Faith the nightstick and cuffs, she began to strip.
Here she was in England, all over again. At least she was having fun. Hunting each of the watchers in turn and bringing each back to her lair. Drusilla loved the lace. It was so fragile looking yet stretched in giving strength when they struggled. Each watcher she stripped and reverently wrapped in lace, bound from feet to neck, before feeding herself and killing them as they struggled in their delicate binds.
Giles retired from the watchers to the seedier part of town. Retreating and reverting from his pain to his youth as Ripper. Since the dark of magic stripped him of all he held dear, it was to the dark of magic he would direct the rest of his life and the remains of his anger. He had watched his talented student fall into that void and bring back with her the shell of his beloved slayer. He would rage now against that dark on these rain washed streets and in these secret clubs. Once in the sun, he had let the whip fall upon his back to tame and contain the part of himself that craved the youth and power. Now in the night, he holds the whip and the leash, using the ordered and defined Master/servant world to keep the chaos from his mind long enough. Long enough to walk through the maze of motives and desires, to focus his magics and his power, to stake the very heart of darkness.
Dawn was pacing around her room, frustrated. A million thoughts and feelings were running through her. She had finally kissed a boy and it felt lame and exciting at the same time. She kept feeling like kissing her best friend and that was beyond confusing though she knew that Willow would know about that. She had tried to talk to Buffy only it was hard and she couldn't say it right and Buffy wouldn't answer her anyway. She tried to talk to Willow, but Willow just rambled and babbled and mumbled and it didn't make any sense and then she ran away. Xander just said she was too young. She even tried Anya. She got the most from Anya but she wasn't sure what chocolate desserts had to do with anything. She felt like screaming. No-one would talk with her about sex.
The End
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