The Good Girl
by Elaine Martin
Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Author's Notes: A reclusive weekend for poor Elaine, who fell from a table, cried hysterically, was rushed off in an ambulance, waited for 6 hours in Casualty, procured a highly expensive X-ray (Big thanks to Mammy Martin :) and learned that she had a sprained ankle... but I do have a shiny pair of crutches for my troubles PLUS a week off work! Sadly, college must still be attended :(
- Again, thanks to all my 'F' Factor feedbackers. The fic has been on hiatus for a while, but I PROMISE another part this weekend.
- And a big plug for SWAYSLAYER (read ALL of her fics.)
- STAR (she writes top notch fics, AND she created Taz.)
- Faithful Chickie (The BATH scene!!! That's some good writing!)

Hello. My name is Buffy Ann Summers and I'm a good girl.

Hi! I'm Buffy and I do the right thing!

Nice to meet you! I'm Buffy, the chosen one, avenger of evil, good to the bad.

The mirror lies, but it does a good job. Wide eyed puppy dog expression, tilt of head, pout of lips. Even I was convinced for a while. Buffy Summers, goodness personified. I smile revealing perfect white teeth. Perfect as the general public concensus has it. That's the word for Buffy.

Bet you never knew that I gave Oz a hand job in the Bronze. Willow was off dancing with Xander, cute in her nerdy little needs-a-good-fuck kinda way. Every so often she would look over at us and wave, cute little smile to match her cute little outfit. We would wave back, echo her smile, and then Oz would continue to stare at her with lovestruck intensity. But I knew he wasn't getting any.

It had been a great night slayage was. Five vamps in 45 minutes. Faith hit the proverbial nail on the head when she coined her post slayage mantra, only I'm too much of a good girl to admit it.

So there we were, me all hot and bothered, Oz all loved up. I laughed off the idea at first. He wouldn't be into it; he'd tell Willow; someone would see us... I decided to test the waters. I stretched my legs, positioning them on the table in front of us. Have you ever seen my legs? I've got great legs...

Shit! He hadn't noticed. I ran my hands along them: Damn, they were smooth. Bingo! Oz turned in his chair and I saw him blush. I smiled at him, he smiled back. We talked for a while, the usual inane chit-chat.

Willow just kept on dancing, her and Xander bouncing like Duracell bunnies on E. But I had Oz's full attention. I manouvered my skirt so that my panties were visible: unintentionally of course. He gasped and looked at me, I looked back. Held the gaze. Mission a go-go. Deftly, I unbuckled his belt, unzipped his fly and released the little major. I threw my cardigan over the general area and pumped. I'm lucky in that I don't suffer from wrist cramp like the rest of the female population. Good old slayer endurance for good girl Buffy. He popped after about 20 seconds, exploding all over my cardigan which now resides in a dustbin behind the Bronze.

The next day I cried, told him I had no idea what got into me. He told me he understood, that he should never have let it happen. Big hugs all around... Bet you never heard that story.

*****

My next conquest was to be Faith, I just didn't know how to play it. She WAS me, just without the wrapping, and yet she had no clue. They're all clueless.

We're patrolling tonight. Good girl Buffy and bad girl Faithy. I'm bringing along food to get things rolling. Hunger always comes first.

She's waiting for me outside Restwood, twirling her stake in her hands. She looks damn sexy in a foxy leather number: trousers and a backless halter neck.

"Ready to inflict some damage?" I watch her lips as they curl into a grin. So red and full. She swaggers ahead of me, leather encasing her tight little ass. Such naughty thoughts for such a good girl.

We slay, no need for description, you've seen it before. When all the Vamps look at though they're fit for the hoover, I produce the sambos. Chicken I think.

"B, you fuckin star!" Faith collapes onto the ground and tears into her sandwich, swallowing it after only three bites. She licks her lips greedily, cleaning them of crumbs. Full, wet red lips. She notices me staring at her, glances at me curiously.

"Something wrong B?"

Game plan decided. I crawl over to her, watching as her eyes widen. With What? fear? desire? I'm in between her legs, looking up at her. I push her onto her back violently, and straddle her torso before she can move. Her wrists are locked in my grip, as my free hand works to untie the string of her halter top.

"Jesus Christ B, what the fuck are you doing!"

She struggles beneath me, pretending that she doesn't want it. She squirms for a few more minutes before lying still. Our eyes are locked, the eternal power struggle. I smile down at her, licking my lips suggestively. Fuck, this is fun! The best part is the shock factor - they never see it coming, not in a million. Buffy's a good girl. Buffy's a hell of an actress!

She looks like she's weighing up her options. Not that she has any. As a bonus, we've also discovered who's the stronger slayer.

I slide my hands beneath her top, having got nowhere with the string of her halter. For a self confessed slut, she's all tied up like Fort Knox. Quelle suprise, she's braless. Her breasts are large and full, nipples erect. I run my thumb over the former, and I'm happy to report that I elicit a groan.

I continue my ministrations for a while, noting how her pupils dilate, black merging with brown. It's all quiet but for Faith's murmurs of approval. Time to head south.

She says nothing as I work the buttons on her pants. They contract against the leather, creating a slight creaking sound. Faith raises her legs, aiding me in their removal. My, my Faithy, you really are a little slut.

I'm slightly dissapointed to find that her panties are regulation cotton: Black, but still cotton. I had somehow imagined her as a thong girl, or, better still, a member of pantiless international. Nonetheless, they're soaked.

I release my grip on Faith's wrists to prise the pants from her body. They're tight as hell, and I have to struggle to drag them down her legs. At last, when they have been sufficiently disposed of, I'm allowed to survey her. Damn, that girl should wear a skirt more often. Long and sunkissed legs lead to a tight ass, and I allow my tongue to follow the path, from black painted toes upwards.

Her hands clutch at the grass, and her head is tilted backwards, eyes closed. On reaching her torso, I rip at her halter top, appeased when it tears in two. She is naked, but for her panties, her form vaugely illuminated by a distant street light. I take one of her breasts in my mouth and nip gently, teasingly, on the nipple. She groans audibly, running a grass stained hand through my hair.

I slide down her body, dragging my nails against her. They tear into her skin, drawing blood. I hear a sharp intake of breath, a stifled moan. I grin broadly against Faith's stomach, running my tongue from her belly button to the elastic of her underwear.

Her thighs twitch as I take the elastic between my teeth. Slowly, I prise the panties from her body, crawling backwards so as to remove them completely. Her scent is everywhere. Scent of a slut. It should be bottled.

I stand to survey my handiwork. Poor Faithy is all worked up, and reaches for me, frustrated by the sudden loss of bodily contact. I smile down at her, a vintage Buffy smile. She's staring at me, a mixture of desire, frustration and confusion. Poor, poor scratched up naked Faith.

I straddle her once again, and she envelopes me, tries furioulsy to remove my tank top. I grab her wrists again, and shake my head. She ignores me, wrenching her arms from my grip and flipping me onto my back.

I lie still as she positions herself atop me.

"Fuck B..." Her breathing is harsh and ragged as her mouth finds mine. Our tongues meet, and I acknowledge that her promiscuity has paid off... she wriggles above me, easing her knee between my legs. She applies a slight pressure, and my body reponds favourably. I almost surrender, but this isn't the plan. It's a game, and Buffy's going to win.

I shove her off me, and she sprawls backwards, her head narrowly avoiding contact with a headstone. She grins. She likes the game.

"Jesus B, I never would have known." She spreads her legs and leers at me invitingly. "And here I was thinking you were such a good girl."

"But I AM a good girl Faith." I lean down to retrieve Faith's halter top and panties. Her leather pants are slung over my shoulder. "I'm Buffy, and this is WRONG."

Faith's grin falters. "B, what're you doing with my clothes?!"

I look at her and shake my head sadly. Turning, so she doesn't see my grin, I stride purposefully from the graveyard. I ignore her shouts as I make my way through the darkness, the light from the halo above my head acting as a guide.

...continued in The Good Girl 2...