Babysitting Buffy
by JT Langdon
Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. I just took them out for a little spin and made them do naughty things.
WARNING! This story contains sex between an adult and a minor. If that isn't your cup of tea then STOP READING NOW! If you keep going, then you forfeit the right to bitch about the ick factor. You can criticize my style, my grammar, my overuse of the simile, but if you whine about the content I . . . I . . . I will curse in your general direction.
Author's Notes: This is an AU story, with all that implies.

+1=2=3=4=5+

CHAPTER ONE

I stared up at the house in disbelief, comparing the address on the wrought iron gate with the address scribbled on the scrap of paper in my hand. Yeah. It was the right place. This was where Hank and Joyce Summers lived. It was like something right out of a fucking prime time soap, like I'd stepped out of my shitty life, gone through the TV, and into a world with different rules, where everyone was beautiful and lived in mansions with perfectly manicured lawns and kidney shaped swimming pools. But this wasn't a dream.

It amazed me that people actually lived like this.

Growing up in the wrong part of Boston, with a no-show father and a mother who was more interested in the getting drunk and passing out parts of life than raising her daughter, life wasn't exactly picture perfect. Actually, it sucked balls. But it was all I knew, and for a long time I never believed something better existed. I thought that was just how life was, that the happy families I saw on television were about as real as little green men from outer space and magical sisters who were destined to protect the world from evil. It wasn't until later I realized life had more to offer me. And that's when I bailed. I got on my bike and just fucking left it all behind me. Haven't looked back since, haven't missed that life at all.

But I wasn't a part of this other world, either. I was still watching it from the sidelines. Just had a better view now. Houses like this one would never be mine; I could only look up at them through wrought iron gates. People like me lived in rundown apartments with worn carpeting coming up around the edge of the floor, apartments with chipped bathroom tile that should have been replaced two occupants ago.

I let my bike idle and pressed the intercom button. A girl's voice answered.

"What?"

Bratty. That was the first word that came to mind. The voice sounded bratty. Impudent, defiant. But under that, something else, almost like a purr, the way a cat might sound if it learned to speak.

"Um, yeah," I said. "My name is Faith. The temp agency sent me over?"

What came over the intercom combined impatience and disgust in one annoying burst of sound. I was about to push the button again when the gates began to open in front of me. When the gates had opened completely I put the bike into gear and headed up the driveway that led to the house.

I pulled up next to the Jag parked outside the front door, killed the bike's engine, and popped out the kickstand with the heel of my boot. Of all the jobs the temp agency had sent me on, this one freaked me out the most. I could file paperwork, no problem. And when I needed to, I could fake a cheerful voice when I answered the phone. But what the fuck did I know about babysitting? My mother's idea of a babysitter was turning on the TV before she walked out the door. But I wasn't my mother. I'd gotten away from the life she wallowed in. I could handle this, right?

As I got off my bike the front door opened and a man stepped out to greet me. He must have been in his late thirties, handsome enough, I supposed, with a short crop of reddish brown hair and a clean-shaven almost boyish face. The pullover sweater and khakis he had on made him look casual and stylish. I suddenly felt self-conscious. The house in all its splendor hadn't bothered me, but seeing him there, dressed like that, and me in leather jacket, white tanktop, and black denim jeans, getting off my bike, made me feel like white trash, like I should be going around the back to the servant's entrance, not through the front door.

"Hi," the man said. "I'm Hank Summers. Faith, is it?"

I nodded. "That's me."

He smiled warmly. "Well, come on in Faith."

From someone else it might have sounded like a come on, but he seemed so fucking sincere that I didn't take it that way, and felt a little more comfortable as I walked into the foyer, comfortable enough that I could actually dole out a compliment without sounding too envious.

"Nice crib, Mr. Summers," I said.

He closed the door. "Thank you. And please, call me Hank."

"Sure, Hank," I said.

That made him smile. He gestured me forward. It looked like we were heading into the kitchen "Do you have your papers from the temp agency?"

"Yeah, sure." I fished them out of my jacket pocket, handing them too him. He barely looked them over then nodded, handing them back to me, apparently assured that I was who I claimed to be. Maybe he was just that trusting.

We were definitely heading for the kitchen. It wasn't like any kitchen I'd ever been in, or would ever have for myself. The Summers kitchen was straight out of some home improvement show on cable, with its stainless steel appliances, breakfast counter, and chopping block island. Jesus. A breakfast counter? I ate over the fucking sink.

"Ok," Hank said, snatching up a piece of paper from the breakfast bar. "My wife told me to go over this checklist with you, so bear with me."

I laughed. "Sure."

Hank smiled and started to read from the list. "Let's see. We'll be back late, after midnight I'm sure. The Rosenberg's rarely have a party that ends before then. We've left you their number, just in case you need to reach us. Help yourself to any food in the house. Okay so far?"

"Five by five," I said.

"Good," Hank said. He seemed to be thinking hard about something, then put the list down and looked at me. "I wasn't going to mention this right off the bat, but . . . well, my wife and I are planning to take cruise. Kind of a second honeymoon thing. We'd be gone ten days. And we'd need someone to stay here. So if you are open to the idea, we'd like to consider tonight a trial run of sorts. If you're comfortable, and things work out, we'll pay generously. And if you aren't comfortable, that's fine, just tell us, so we can look for someone else. Time is running out, you know?"

Before I could answer I heard a door slam somewhere in the house and then the same bratty voice that answered me when I buzzed the intercom sliced through the air.

"This is so unfair!"

I heard the stomping of feet then another voice, an older woman's voice, filled the air.

"Buffy Anne Summers get back here right now!"

"But Mom! I don't need a babysitter!"

More stomping, louder, closer, then a teenage girl stormed into the room with an older woman close on her heels. I knew the older woman had to be Joyce Summer's, Hank's wife, the girl's mom, but I didn't notice her . . . not really.

I was staring at the young girl. Buffy Anne Summers. She was fifteen. I knew that because the temp agency had told me so. But she didn't have the body of a fifteen year old. The cuteness, yeah. But her body? Now that was all woman. And she had this look in her eyes . . . like she was thinking about something naughty. She had on this lemon polo shirt with a white tennis skirt that was a little short for a girl her age. But I wasn't complaining. She had great legs and could definitely get away with skirts that short. Her legs were smooth and tan, ending in white leather Reeboks that would never see a scuffmark. I probably shouldn't have noticed her legs, just like I shouldn't have noticed how full and round her breasts were swelled against that polo shirt. But I was definitely noticing her, and she was definitely noticing me. She swished her long blond hair to the side, a practiced movement that was now second nature to her, her gaze looking me up and down, taking me in. Was it my imagination or did her eyes seem to linger a bit on my tits? Nah. I had to be imagining that. Right? But she *was* looking at me, sizing me up. I could hear the gears turning as she wondered how far she could push me, how much crap I would take from her. I gave her a look that should have made it clear the answers were not far, and not much. She answered with a look that said we'd see about that. It was gonna be battle of wills tonight. I could tell.

"Joyce, Buffy," Hank said. "This is Faith. From the temp agency. Faith? My wife Joyce, and my daughter Buffy."

The older woman moved closer. She looked nice, hair a little darker than her daughter's, with some gray showing. It made her look classy, not old. Joyce Summers had a solid body, too, nicely shaped, with curves in all the right places, curves her red dress showed off pretty well. When she offered her hand I took it, her skin soft against mine. I liked it, liked her firm handshake. Most women never get it right. She did. Extra points to her.

"Nice to meet you, Faith," Joyce said. She had a gentle, melodic voice when she wasn't screaming at her daughter. It was a mom's voice, or at least the kind of voice I always thought a mom should have, the voice I used to imagine reading me bedtime stories before I grew up and got a clue.

I let go of her hand and turned to Buffy. She stared at me, eyes narrowed, hands on her hips in a challenge. But I just smiled. "Hey, kid."

The look in her eyes was cold fury. She didn't like being called a kid, didn't like being reminded that I was her babysitter. Then Buffy seemed to realize that she'd just revealed one of the buttons I could push and she returned my smile. Damn. I bet that smile got her out of a lot of trouble. Probably worked wonders with her daddy. Mom wouldn't be so gullible. Neither was I. But she had a nice smile.

"Hi," Buffy said. Without the whine to drown it out the purr in her voice I thought I'd heard over the intercom was even clearer. She sounded sexy as all hell and I was betting she knew it, too, betting she knew how to use that voice, that smile, and that hot little body to get what she wanted. Buffy Anne Summers was dangerous.

Joyce was looking at her watch. "We have to get going, dear. Did you go over the list with her?"

"I think we covered everything," Hank said, nodding. He looked at me. "Do you have any questions?"

"I'm good to go," I said.

"Terrific," Hank said.

I walked Hank and Joyce to the front door and shooed them out of the house, assuring them that I'd be fine. Joyce told me again to call the number they'd left if I had any problems and I said I would, though I didn't think I'd need to. She smiled at that and with a nod finally left. I watched her get into the Jag, watched the car tear down the driveway, then closed the door and locked it.

When I turned around Buffy was standing behind me. The smile was gone from her face. She had her arms folded across her chest. Too bad. It was shame to cover up tits like that. Did I really just think that? Shit. Rob the cradle much, Faith? What the fuck was that all about? I smiled at her. That just made her glare at me even harder.

"If you think you can tell me what to do," Buffy said icily. "You're wrong."

I watched her turn around in a huff, watched her storm down the hall and head back to the kitchen. Her legs looked even nicer from the back and she had a cute little butt that wiggled when she was being all pissy. I followed after her. She was rummaging through the pantry when I caught up with her, hunched over a little, her tight little ass thrust back at me. Was it on purpose? Did she want me to be looking at it when I walked in? No . . . she couldn't have. I was just skanky.

"So whatta ya got to eat around here?" I went over to the stainless steel fridge an opened it, taking a quick inventory, glad to see it wasn't all tofu and carrots and low carb shit. Just real food. As I searched for something to snack on Buffy ducked under my arm and squeezed in front of me, her tight little butt rubbing up against me. I bit back a moan. Damn. That had to be deliberate. I resisted the urge to thrust against her. What kind of game was she playing? When she reached into the back of the fridge to get something she bent forward a little, pushing her butt even harder into me, grinding it into my crotch. It was almost enough to keep me from noticing that she was pulling out a bottle of Cornona.

"Whoa," I said. I snatched the bottle from her hand and put it back in the fridge. "I'm pretty sure there is nothing on your mom's list about letting you drink beer."

Buffy made an impatient sound and dug her elbow into my gut, squirming out from between me in the fridge. I wasn't sure what pissed her off more . . . that I wouldn't let her have her way, or that her little butt trick hadn't worked on me. Maybe both. She grabbed the bag of chips she'd scored from the pantry and stormed off.

"I'll be in my room," she told me over her shoulder.

When she was gone I took a deep, calming breath. I was still a little dizzy from the feel of her butt pressed into me, rubbing against my crotch. It would have been so easy to slide my hands under her skirt, lift it up over her hips. . . shit. I definitely should not have been thinking about stuff like that. Had I lost my fucking mind? I'm in the house ten minutes and I'm all Humbert Humbert. What the fuck?

I shook the thoughts out of my head and tried to concentrate on something else. Food. Yeah. That's what I needed. Something to eat. Yeah, like Buffy's cute little ass. No! Stop that, now. There was a rising crust pizza in the freezer that looked good. I went through drawers and cabinets looking for a pizza pan, and when I couldn't find one decided to use a cookie sheet instead. It took me ten minutes to figure out how to program the state-of-the-art oven but I nailed it, finally, and got the pizza going.

It was a little too quiet in the house. Teenage girls should never be that quiet. Something was up. I searched the first floor for her bedroom but came up with nothing so I headed upstairs, nervous. What if she snuck out on me? Yeah, that'd be nice. Mr. and Mrs. Summers? I kinda misplaced your daughter. Do I still get paid? Shit. I walked a little faster down the long, carpeted hallway, peering into rooms, looking for signs of life.

The last room, the one at the end of the hall, turned out to be hers. It was bigger than my apartment, cleaner, too. Weren't teenagers notorious slobs? I was. But not Buffy Anne Summers. Her room was immaculate. The bed made, the desk orderly. Not a single dust mote to be found. Perfect. That was all I could think of when I looked at her room. It was the perfect girl's bedroom. But the girl wasn't in it.

I started to panic until I noticed the door to the adjoining bathroom was open. I crossed the room, making as little noise as possible, and peeked inside.

Buffy was sitting on the toilet, skirt hiked up, panties around her ankles. Oh fuck! Since she had her eyes closed so she didn't notice me standing there. I looked at her a little longer than I should have then backed away from the door, out of her room, into the hall, my heart pounding a mile a minute. I leaned against the wall and tried to breathe, telling myself that I needed to get a fucking grip.

When I heard the toilet flush I swallowed hard, waited a second, then peered into the doorway of her bedroom. Buffy was just coming out of the bathroom, lightly tugging her skirt back into place. She noticed me.

"What do you want?"

I leaned against the doorframe. "I'm making a pizza. Thought maybe we could watch a movie or something. Interested?"

"You trying to bond with me . . . Faith?" The way my name rolled off her tongue made my pulse race a little faster. She made my name sound like a dirty word, something a good girl would never say.

"Look," I said. "You don't want me here. I'm getting that. Maybe I even agree that you don't need a babysitter. But quit busting my chops, will ya? If you got a problem, take it up with your parents. I'm just doing a job. Now you can either make the best of a shitty situation, or you can stay up here and sulk. It's your call. I get paid either way. So you make your up mind. I'm going to kick back, have some pizza, and watch a movie."

I left without waiting for an answer. It seemed like the kind of thing Joyce would do. Besides, I needed to get away from her. I couldn't get the image of her sitting on the can out of my mind. Skirt hiked up. Panties around her ankles. That relieved look on her face. Damn.

The pizza wasn't quite done yet. I went into the den. By now the Summers house should have stopped impressing me, but I was again overwhelmed. The den was incredible. Leather furniture. Glass-topped coffee tables. Full bar. Pool table. And then there was the entertainment center with its flat screen TV, DVD, surround sound. The works. I picked through their DVD collection, not sure what I was in the mood for. Not that it mattered. They had me covered. Their DVD collection was bigger than Blockbusters. I settled on The Mummy Returns.

When I went back into the kitchen the pizza was done. I had better luck finding the pizza cutter and sliced it up, got a plate out of the cupboard, and loaded it up. For a moment I thought about having the beer I wouldn't let Buffy have, but that would have been a definite no-no on the job. Instead I grabbed a can of Coke and went back into the den. I got the DVD player playing then settled on the leather sofa with my food.

The movie was starting and I was just about to chow down when I got the feeling someone was watching me. I looked up. Buffy was standing across the room with a plate of pizza and can of Coke.

"What are we watching?" she asked. She still sounded snotty, but it was a start.

We sat together on the sofa, eating, watching the movie. I was hyper-aware of how close she was to me, of her body heat, of the smell of her hair. If Buffy noticed the affect she had on me she didn't let on. She seemed to be pretty focused on the movie.

"I love this part," Buffy said.

There were two scantily clad women on screen now, sparring with each other. Did Buffy just like the action, or did she like watching two beautiful women getting each other all breathless and sweaty?

"I'm gonna get another soda," I told her. "You want anything?"

"Nah. I'm good."

I nodded and went into the kitchen, heart thudding against my chest, unsure if I could take much more of this. Being so close to her was killing me. I wanted to rip her clothes off right there on the sofa, wanted to grab her by the hair and pull her mouth to mine. What was wrong with me? I was getting all hot and bothered over a kid! Yeah, okay, so she was a kid loaded for bear . . . but she was still only fifteen! I might only have been four years older than her, but . . . fifteen. I had to quit obsessing over it, had to get a grip. No problem, right?

The pizza was gone, but I was still hungry. I got a bag of corn chips out of the pantry, grabbed another Coke from the fridge, then went back into the den. When I got there I almost lost it. Buffy had moved from the sofa to the floor. She was on her back, knees drawn up, head tilted to one side, still engrossed in the movie. Her skirt had ridden up, giving me a glimpse of her panties. I noticed now that they were white with little red hearts on them.

I plopped down on the sofa with my corn chips and soda, trying to watch the movie, trying not to let my gaze drift down to the teenage girl on the floor. But it did. I caught myself looking at her again and again, watching her every movement, the way she knocked her knees together, spreading then closing then spreading her thighs, flashing me more and more of her panties. She was making me wet. This fifteen year old kid was actually making me wet. Did she have any clue? Was she trying to make me crazy? She had to know I could see right up her skirt. Is that what she wanted? Did Buffy like me watching her? Was it making her wet? As if I'd asked that last question out loud Buffy reached between her legs, making like she had a mosquito bite on her inner thigh, then sneakily dragged her finger over the crotch of her panties. I couldn't believe it. She just rubbed her pussy in front of me! I came. Then and there I fucking creamed myself. Okay, so it wasn't an earthshaking, toe-curling, feel-it-in-your-gut orgasm . . .but I still came. Because of her. Buffy Anne Summers got me off.

When the movie was over she joined me on the sofa again as I channel surfed looking for something good to watch. We ended up watching back-to-back episodes of "Punk'd" on MTV. She eventually fell asleep next to me, curled up in a tight little ball on the end of the sofa. Damn. No one should look that cute and hot at the same time. Shouldn't it have been against the law? Her thighs were so smooth and inviting. I wanted to run my hand along them . . . my hand, then my tongue.

I got up before that thought could fester, before I lost whatever was left of my mind and did something I'd be sorry for later. As quiet as possible, not wanting to wake her, I grabbed our empty Coke cans, our plates, the bag of corn chips, took one last look at her, then carried everything back into the kitchen. I was just finishing cleaning up when I heard the front door open. I looked at the clock. It was after one. Fuck. Where had the time gone?

Joyce came into the kitchen first, looking tired and glad to be home. She saw me and her face brightened a little. "We're home."

"I see."

"Any problems?"

"Nope."

"Really?" Joyce asked. She arched a suspicious eyebrow at me. "You babysat my daughter and there were no problems?"

I laughed. "She's great. We got along fine. She fell asleep while we were watching TV."

Before she could ask any more questions Hank came in. He looked a little less tired, but still just as happy to be home. I watched him drop his car keys on the breakfast bar, watched him slide up next to his wife. "Everything okay?"

"Fine, apparently," Joyce said.

Hank took out his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills. I put up a hand to stop him.

"You just gotta sign my card for the temp agency," I told him.

"Please, take it," Hank said, thrusting the money at me. "I'm sure you earned it."

I tried not to laugh. If leering at his teenage daughter all night was what I'd been hired to do then yeah, I earned it all right. And then some. But hey, I took the money. No one had to offer cash to me twice. I'm not that way.

"Thanks," I said.

Hank nodded. "Have you given any thought to that job offer?"

Honestly, I hadn't. It never even entered my mind. I'd been too busy drooling over Buffy's tanned legs and looking up her skirt to think about that, too busy trying not to do something about the urges seeing her panties brought out in me. The best thing for me to do was politely say no, say I didn't think it would work out. But I really needed the money. And I wanted to see Buffy again.

"Yeah," I said. "I think I'd be interested."

CHAPTER TWO

Since Hank and Joyce had to leave at the butt crack of dawn on Friday, Hank asked me to come over on Thursday night so we could go over a few things then, he said, I could just crash in the guest room I'd be using while I was there. Sounded like a plan to me. It was hard not to laugh when he kept asking me if I was sure I didn't mind, that he would understand if I had plans I couldn't break, making it sound like I would be doing him this huge favor by coming over, telling me he would gladly count it as a full day when it came time to pay me. I told him it was cool, that I had nothing to do, that I could be there Thursday night, no problem. But it had nothing to do with the money. I wanted to see Buffy again.

It had been six days since I saw her, and I hadn't stopped thinking about her in all that time. I thought about her when I was temping at a dentist's office, I thought about her when I watched TV, and I thought about her at night while I stroked myself under the covers. Every night since I'd babysat for her I'd gotten myself off thinking about Buffy Anne Summers in her white tennis skirt, her legs perfectly tanned, her cute little butt wiggling at me. I'd never come so hard on my own like I had fingering my pussy while I thought about her skirt riding up, catching a peek at her white cotton panties with little red hearts on them. Fuck. Maybe I shouldn't have taken this job after all.

But it was too late. I couldn't back out now.

The house looked exactly the same as it did six nights ago when I first pulled up to the gate. Since Hank had given me a code to punch in I didn't need to wait for someone to let me in, but I sat on my bike, letting it idle for a minute, staring up at the Summers house. She was in there, somewhere. What was she doing? What was she wearing? Had she thought about me at all since I'd last seen her? Probably not. I doubted that self-absorbed little shit thought about anyone but herself.

There was a keypad next to the intercom button. I punched in the code Hank had given me and the gates slowly opened. When there was enough room for the bike to squeeze through I put it into gear and headed up the driveway for the second time in a week, my heart beating just a little faster. This time, though, it wasn't because I didn't know fuck-all about babysitting and was nervous. It was the thought of seeing her again that made my pulse quicken, my palms sweaty. Was I going to be like this for the next ten days? Shit. By the time Hank and Joyce got back I'd be a wreck.

I parked my bike hear the front door and climbed off, untying my duffel from the back of the seat. Since I was going to be gone ten days I probably should have put more thought into packing than just throwing some clothes (not all over them clean) and whatever else I figured I'd need into the khaki bag I got at the army/navy surplus store. I felt like a merchant marine about to ship out.

Hank met me at the front door. He was dressed in a Nike T-shirt and charcoal gray sweatpants, which should have made him look out of place. But he didn't. Hank Summers looked perfectly natural standing there like that. I was the one out of place, the townie in her black tank and faded jeans, looking like I just came from the trailer park. Hank smiled at me. It wasn't condescending, and he wasn't coming on to me. He was just glad I was there. Weird. Would Buffy be glad, too?

Something good must have been cooking in the kitchen because the house smelled wonderful. My stomach growled at me, loud enough that I was sure Hank heard it. I wanted to crawl under a rock and hide for a week. He was polite enough to pretend he didn't hear anything. Maybe he hadn't.

"I hope you haven't had dinner yet," Hank said. "Joyce is cooking Mexican."

"Sounds good," I said.

Hank smiled. "Why don't I show you to the guest room. We'll talk more at dinner."

I nodded. As Hank led me through the house and up the stairs I looked around for signs of Buffy. But I didn't see her, didn't hear any tantrums being thrown, didn't hear any voices raised in anger. She *was* there, wasn't she? The thought of not seeing her tonight made my chest tighten a little, made my pulse race even faster than it had at the thought of seeing her again. I felt all panicky. What was my problem, anyway?

"I hope this will be okay," Hank said when we reached the guest room.

Was he kidding me? The room was incredible. It was the same size as Buffy's bedroom, and just as neat and orderly as I remembered hers being. The furniture was a set, not like my mismatched rummage sale collection, and the bed was a full compared to the single I slept in every night. Like Buffy's room, this one had an adjoining bathroom. Jesus H. My own fucking bathroom?

"Yeah," I said. "This is great."

"Good," Hank said, grinning. He actually seemed pleased that the room had my stamp of approval. "Dinner will be ready in a little bit, so I'll let you get settled and see you downstairs."

I nodded and watched Hank leave, watched the door close behind him. When he was gone I breathed a sigh and looked around again, still not quite believing it. I could definitely get used to this. But I knew I couldn't let myself get used to it. This was a guest room, and I was just a guest there. After ten days it would be back to my crappy little apartment, with its shabby furniture and walls so thin I knew more about my neighbors than I ever wanted to. But for a while I could enjoy the good life, could pretend I lived in this world.

I slung my duffel onto the bed, dug out the gallon-size Ziploc bag I had all my toiletries in, and took it into the bathroom. It was a little smaller than the one connected to Buffy's room, but it was still better than I was used to. The tile was off-white, the hardware shiny chrome. There was a shower stall in the corner instead of a bathtub, which suited me just fine, its opaque glass doors framed with the same chrome as the sink. Even the bathroom was a set.

A shower sounded nice. In my apartment building, if I had ten minutes worth of lukewarm water in the morning I was lucky. But I was betting that was never a problem at the Summers house. Later. I'd indulge in a long, hot shower later. For now I just washed my hands and face, reapplied my deodorant, ran a brush through my hair, made myself look semi-presentable, and headed out.

Buffy was in my room.

I lurched to a stop. She was wearing a white half-shirt that showed off her hard, flat stomach, and a pair of cherry red jeans slung low on her hips. Between the two she seemed to be showing more skin than she was covering. Seeing her again, and especially like that, tightened my insides into a knot. It was almost enough to make me overlook the fact that she was going through my duffel.

Some of my clothes had been tossed on the bed, including a couple pairs of underwear. Had she been touching them? Did it excite her? I didn't know whether to be turned on or furious, then realized I could be both at the same time.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked her.

Buffy looked up. Her eyes still had that look of mischief in them, as if she was always plotting something wicked, and her hair was still the same blonde I thought about at night when I touched my pussy. She nodded at the dresser, at the stack of towels there that hadn't been before.

"Mom told me to bring you some extra towels."

"And that gives your permission to go through my stuff?" I snatched one of my T-shirts out of her hand and tossed it back in the duffel bag.

"Jeeze, uptight much?" Buffy grabbed my CD wallet and plopped down on the bed, flipping through sleeve after sleeve with her nose crinkled in disgust. "You actually listen to this stuff?"

"No," I growled, taking that back from her, too. "I brought the CDs I don't listen to. What do you think?"

Buffy huffed at me and rolled off the bed. "I'm also supposed to ask you if you eat meat or not. Cuz mom can do vegetarian, too."

"Whatever you're having is fine," I said.

We stared at each other almost like two boxers before the opening bell. Damn. She was so hot. And I got the feeling she knew it, too, that Buffy knew she had it going on and liked it, liked being sexy. Maybe it was the power it gave her, maybe it just turned her on to know that people wanted her. But she liked it. Her eyes left mine, dipped a little, then she turned to leave, dragging her fingers along the bedspread as she went. The jeans she had on rode so low that the crack of her ass was showing and I winced as she walked out the door, suddenly imagining what it would be like to have my tongue there. Shit. I was in over my fucking head.

*****

Even though Hank and Joyce told me I didn't need to get up with them and see them off I planned to anyway. But I overslept. When I woke up and rolled over to look at the clock radio on the nightstand the big digital numbers told me it was after eleven. Hank and Joyce had been gone six hours. I was alone in the house with Buffy.

The thought alone gave me a tingle between the legs. I felt like such a perv. She hadn't said much to me at dinner last night, and after that made herself scarce while her parents went over some things with me, numbers to call in case of an emergency, how I could get in touch with them if I really need to, on and on and on. I pretended to listen, pretended to be hanging on every word, when really I was thinking about Buffy, wondering what she was doing while I sat there. Was she in bed? Taking a shower? I doubted Hank and Joyce would have left me alone with their teenage daughter if they knew I was getting wet imagining her in the shower. But who knows? Maybe good babysitters were really that hard to find.

I had to pass Buffy's room when I went bed and I caught myself before I opened the door and peered inside. But it had been tempting. I wanted to see what she looked like curled up under the covers so when I went to bed I could imagine her curled up next to me. For some reason, though, spying on her while she slept seemed to cross that line between basic skank and sexual predator. So I just went straight to the guest room and closed the door. I still thought about her, though, and did the same thing under the covers I had every night since I'd first met her. It was even more intense than usual. Was it because she was fresh in my mind, or was it just the naughtiness of knowing she was right down the hall? Either way I came groaning into a pillow to muffle the sound.

The bed wasn't just big, it was comfortable, and I could have stayed in it all day, just being lazy. But I had to get up. She could be up already, for all I knew, and what kind of babysitter would that make me, leaving her all unsupervised? I tossed off the covers and rolled out of bed, yawning as I gathered my clothes off the floor and got dressed. I could shower after I checked on the little brat.

I was disappointed to see her bedroom door still closed, partly because I'd gotten out of bed for nothing but also because I was looking forward to seeing her. Ah, well. Not like I wouldn't be seeing enough of her over the next ten days. I headed down to the kitchen, wondering what I could scrounge up for breakfast. Maybe some left over enchiladas. Joyce was a great cook.

There was a note and a set of car keys on the breakfast bar. The handwritten note signed by Hank and Joyce thanked me again for being there to look after Buffy and went on to tell me that the BMW in the carport had a full tank of gas and was at my disposal while I was there. No shit. Really? I scooped up the keys and smiled. I'd definitely have to take that puppy out for a spin and see what it could do.

I heard the shuffle of tired feet and looked up, feeling a twinge in my gut when I saw Buffy standing there. She had on a pink Powerpuff Girls T-shirt and panties, nothing else, her blonde hair mussed, her eyes half-closed. The T-shirt clung to her body, showing off her breasts, but didn't quite stretch to her waist, as if it was a size too small, so that her bellybutton was showing. Her panties were simple white cotton but the way my insides clenched it was as if she was wearing the naughtiest lingerie Frederick's of Hollywood had to offer. The car keys slipped from my hand and landed on the breakfast counter with a loud jangle.

"Good morning," I managed to croak.

"Ugh."

I guessed that meant she wasn't a morning person. She walked around me, closer than she needed to, almost brushing against me, then headed for the fridge, staring into it like the meaning of life was being revealed to her. Her underwear didn't fit quite right and her butt cheeks were slipping out the bottom, so she kept reaching back to tug her panties down. Was she toying with me? She could have put something on before she came downstairs like, I don't know, pants? Even a robe. Did she want me seeing her in her underwear? No . . . I was reading too much into it. This was her house. She probably came downstairs like that every morning. Why wouldn't she? In my apartment I walked around in next to nothing all the time. So there was nothing unusual about her doing the same. Right?

Buffy closed the fridge and turned to face me. The cold air had firmed her nipples, turning them into little pebbles straining against her tight pink T-shirt. Her smile told me she knew I'd noticed them. Had she even been looking for something to eat? I didn't like the thought of her playing games with me, but I didn't put it past her either. Shit. I think maybe I'd underestimated her.

"So what do you want to do today?" I asked her.

Something flickered behind her eyes, a thought I couldn't read, maybe something I didn't want to know, then Buffy moved closer, reaching around me to grab the car keys I'd dropped on the breakfast bar. When she did, her breasts brushed up against my arm, letting me feel the nipples the open fridge had turned to stone. I shuddered.

"Let's go to the mall," Buffy said.

*****

I hated shopping. Hated it. When I wanted something I just went out and got it. Want, take, have. That simple. In, out. Minimal fuss, minimal effort. I never browsed. What was the point of looking at stuff I didn't need and couldn't afford anyway? And of all the subcategories of shopping, the one I hated most of all was shopping for clothes. Buffy, however, was just the opposite. She loved shopping, she loved shopping for clothes, she loved browsing, and with her everything was a big production number. She couldn't just look at something, she had to fawn over it, touch it, comment on it, compare it with something similar on the next rack. And it was driving me crazy. She'd dragged me into every clothing store in the mall, which, to my surprise and frustration, turned out to be quite a few. I don't know how long we'd been there. Maybe only a few hours. Though it seemed like a lot longer. And in all that time she hadn't bought one fucking thing. Nothing! Not the suede boots she spent twenty minutes trying on, not the red halter-top with the spaghetti straps. Nothing. I was reaching my breaking point.

"I wanna go in here," Buffy said.

It was some place called Elaine's. Mannequins in the window were dolled up in designer clothes. My shoulders slumped at the prospect of going in. "Haven't you had enough yet?"

"Last one, I promise," Buffy said.

I started to protest but she was already going in. What could I do? I followed after her.

The place was like every other clothing store in the mall. Honestly, I couldn't see a difference. They all offered overpriced clothes with labels I didn't recognize, emblazoned with designer names that meant absolutely nothing to me. Buffy knew them all, though. She squealed when she saw them, sang their praises like I gave crap. But it did keep her occupied.

I was looking out the window, into the mall, people watching, when she bounced over to me with a blouse in her hand. "You should try this on."

"Why?"

"It would look good on you," Buffy said.

I laughed. "It's not my style."

"Well your style could use a little improving," Buffy said. "Try it on. Please? For me?"

I knew what she was doing with the whiny voice and the fluttering eyelashes and it still got to me. Damn. When talking about most people, saying they could get away with murder was just a figure of speech. But not with Buffy. She really could get away with murder.

Besides, standing there arguing with her wasn't going to get me out of the store any sooner, so I took the blouse from her with a resigned sigh and headed toward the back, where the fitting rooms were. I found an empty cubicle and went in, shrugging off my jacket and hanging it and my shirt on the hook in the wall. The blouse really wasn't my style, but I slipped it on anyway, looked at myself in the mirror. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.

"Faith?"

I looked over my shoulder. "Yeah. In here."

"Where?"

"On the end."

A second later someone tried to open the door. "Let me in!"

I did. Buffy had a couple more blouses with her. She stepped in and closed the door behind her, locked it, then looked at me. She smiled when she saw I had on the top she picked out for me.

"See? I told you that would look nice on you."

I watched her turn to look in the mirror, watched her check out her reflection. She seemed to like looking at herself, posing. Like a fashion model, considering herself from all angles, the way her low-cut blouse accented her breasts, the way her skirt showed off her legs. Then her eyes met mine in the mirror and my knees buckled. She knew I was watching her. Did she like it? Was she posing for me? As I wondered about that she started to unbutton her blouse.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying some stuff on."

"In here?"

"All the others are taken," Buffy said matter-of-factly.

I couldn't argue with her, not because I couldn't think of anything more to say, but because by now she had her blouse unbuttoned. Even though I should have told her to stop, should have made her stop, I just couldn't. The thought of seeing her without her blouse was too much. My heart thudded against my chest as she took off her shirt and hung it on the hook over mine. I noticed first how the band of her bra stretched across her back, how it looked against her pale skin, how easy the clasp would have been to undo, then I glanced over her shoulder, checked out her reflection in the mirror. Her breasts were practically spilling out of her bra, creamy mounds barely contained by white lace. I bit down on my lip to keep from groaning.

While she tried on the blouses she'd brought in I just stood there, unmoving, unable to think, feeling the dampness pooling between my legs. Some part of my brain registered the fact that she was asking me what I thought of her choices, and that same part of my brain managed to grunt out what sounded like approval. But I wasn't really there. I was off on some other planet. The planet of perfect tits and hot fifteen-year old girls. I was on fucking Uranus.

I blinked when I realized she had her own blouse back on and was talking to me. "What?"

"I said I'm putting these back," Buffy told me.

"Yeah, okay," I muttered.

The cubicle wasn't that big, and it wasn't made for two people, but there was still enough room for both of us to maneuver around each other, so she really didn't have to brush against me when she walked by . . . but she did, rubbing her ass up against my thigh as she left. What the fuck? She really was playing with me. There was no other explanation. She knew exactly what she was doing. Was she having fun being a tease? Was that it? I stripped off the blouse I'd tried on for her and put my own shirt back on, feeling better instantly, more like myself, more in control.

I left the blouse on the hook in the fitting room and headed out, looking around the store for Buffy. Shopping trip over. I was ready to go home now. But I didn't see her. Shit. I walked up to the middle-aged sales clerk behind the counter.

"Have you seen the girl I came in here with?"

The clerk nodded. "She just left."

I could have put my fist through the wall. That little bitch! I ran out of the store and looked up and down the crowded mall for her golden blonde hair, without luck. Damn it. What the fuck was she thinking? She wasn't thinking of course, except about herself. When I found her, I would kill her. And I *would* find her, just for the satisfaction of getting my hands around her neck.

I bustled through the mall, looking into the windows of stores we'd been in, stores we'd skipped the first time around, all of them. Still no sign of her. Would she have left? I checked my pocket. Still had the keys to the BMW. That didn't mean she didn't have a spare key on her. I suddenly had visions of her tooling around Sunnydale in daddy's BMW while I called him on the cruise ship. Yeah. That was a phone call I wanted to make. Hello, Hank? It's Faith. Yeah, I sorta misplaced your daughter. Shit. How could I lose her on the first day?

The second time around the mall I really started to panic, convinced she had bailed on me. I was just about to pull a mall security guard aside and ask for help when I saw her standing in line at Mrs. Fields. I marched up to her, seething, shoving her in the shoulder.

"Hey!"

"What the fuck is your problem?" I asked. "You ditched me!"

"I wanted a cookie," Buffy said.

I had to fight the urge to slap her. She said that to me like it explained everything, like it made perfect sense. And maybe in her warped little mind it did . . . Buffy wants something, Buffy goes and gets what she wants. Fuck that. Not on my watch.

"Listen," I said coldly, "I am responsible for you. Don't you ever pull that kind of shit on me again."

Buffy rolled her eyes at me. "Whatever."

I gave her shoulder another shove. "Come on. We're leaving."

"What about my cookie?"

I didn't say anything else.

*****

We didn't talk in the car. When I asked her if she wanted Chinese food for dinner she just grunted and stared out her window, refusing to even look at me. Fine. What did I care? I called ahead to the restaurant, ordered more than enough food for both of us just in case she changed her mind, and made her go in with me to get it. I wasn't letting her out of my sight for two seconds.

It was after five when we got home. I was exhausted, starving, and frustrated. She was still pissy. Looked like we were in for a long night. I took our bag of Chinese food into the kitchen and started to take out little white take-out cartons while she plopped down on a stool at the breakfast counter and sat there sighing deeply.

"Why don't you get us some plates?" I suggested.

Buffy gave me her sweetest smile and said, "Why don't you fuck off?"

I let that slide, getting out plates and silverware while she watched from the breakfast bar, glaring at me, sighing her impatient sighs, letting me know again and again that she was pissed at me. Like I hadn't figured that out yet. But I wasn't going to take the bait. She couldn't goad me. I set a plate and some silverware down in front of her, then handed her a carton.

"Here, eat something," I said.

To my surprise Buffy took the carton from me . . . then she hurled it across the room. It smashed against the far wall with a loud splat, sending our pork friend rice flying everywhere. I couldn't fucking believe her! She smiled again.

"Not hungry," Buffy said. She hopped off her stool and left.

Maybe I should have let her go, given us both a chance to simmer down a little, but she had pushed me too far. I followed her upstairs, followed her into her room. She whirled around, glared at me, hands on her hips, challenging me, daring me to start something. I hated to break it to her, but something had already been started. I was just there to finish it.

"You," I said, "get your ass downstairs and clean up that mess."

"Or what?"

I should have anticipated that and come up with a better answer than, "Or I will call your parents and you can explain to them why I had to interrupt them on their second honeymoon."

"Fine," Buffy said, "call them. Maybe I'll just tell them how you like to watch me while I go to the bathroom."

I felt the color drain from my face. "Excuse me?"

That made her laugh. Not a nice laugh, not a pretty laugh. Something more devious. "What, you think I didn't hear you come in that night? You think I didn't know you were standing there watching me while I peed? Wonder what my parents would think of that, huh, Faith? Bet they'd be kinda mad. Bet they'd come straight home."

"You little shit," I whispered.

"So I don't think I'll be cleaning up downstairs," Buffy continued. "I'll think I'll let you do that for me. You'll do that for me, won't you, Faith? You'll do whatever I tell you."

That was it. I couldn't take any more of her shit. I'd had enough of her attitude, of her teasing, of her mind games. Fuck. I'd just had enough of her. The little bitch needed to be reminded she was messing with a big girl. I grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her over to the bed. She kicked, she screamed, she called me words even I don't use. But I didn't give a shit. I sat down on the edge of the bed and hauled Buffy over my lap, pushing her skirt up. If she was going to act like a spoiled little brat, then I was going to treat her like one.

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked. There was panic in her voice. Good. She should have been scared.

I ignored her whining, focused on her ass, on what I wanted to do to it. She had on a pair of plain white cotton panties, panties I quickly pushed down, out of the way. Her ass was a perfect globe, smooth and round, and when I ran the flat of my palm over her skin Buffy sucked in a sharp, hissing breath that sounded more pleased than surprised. So she liked that, huh? Let's see if she liked this. I brought my hand down on her butt, hard, the sound of flesh smacking flesh cracking through the air like thunder. I felt a sense of satisfaction flow over me the moment my hand landed on her rump. It felt good to smack her on the bottom. It felt very, very good. But there was more to it than just the pleasure of giving the snot-nosed little shit the spanking she had coming. Much more. It excited me, too.

"Ow!" Buffy cried. "I cannot believe you just-"

I shut her up with another smack of that pampered rich girl ass, bringing my hand down even harder this time, so hard it left a splotchy red imprint on her backside. It made me wet to see her like that, to feel her butt under my fingertips, to watch her ass cheeks quiver under the impact. I brought my hand down again . . . and again . . . each smack making my clit twitch a little more.

Buffy cried out after every smack, but I noticed she wasn't fighting me so much anymore. In fact, she seemed to be anticipating each blow, raising her butt a little to meet my hand as I brought it down. Shit. The little brat was loving this! Just to test my theory I started to bring my hand down and sure enough, she lifted her butt a little. I made her wait for the next one and I was sure I heard her whimper, a pitiful, needy whimper, like a caged puppy at the pound wanting a home. When she lifted her butt up a little higher I slapped it. Buffy cried out again. But it wasn't a cry of pain or even surprise. Nuh uh. I knew the sound of pleasure when I heard it, and that's what I heard from her. Pleasure . . . arousal. It grew heavier with each smack of her butt.

When I brought my hand down for the last time both of us were breathing hard. My hand was still on her ass, just resting there. Her skin was warm and red from the spanking I'd given her. Somehow it seemed even more perfect now than when I'd first pulled down her panties. I slid my hand over her adorable red ass, caressing her tender cheeks. Buffy shifted slightly in my lap. Getting comfortable? Or did she have a nagging itch between her legs that needed to be scratched? I let my finger slip into the crack of her ass and Buffy moaned softly.

"Faith," she whispered.

I dragged my finger down her crack, finding the tight ring of her asshole, teasing it with the tip of my finger. She gurgled like a little baby, shifting on my lap again, pushing her ass at me, begging for more. No problem there. I licked my finger, wetting it, then pushed into her asshole, just a little . . . then a little more, slowly working in and out of her ass. Buffy purred like a kitten, fidgeting impatiently on my lap as I slowly finger-fucked her tight little hole. Was she as wet as I am? Was her pussy dripping? Fuck. I had to find out.

I slid my free hand down to her pussy, testing the waters. Oh yeah. Little Ms. Buffy was soaking wet, wet from getting spanked, wet from me fingering her ass. Wonder what the country club set would think of that? I teased her pussy, stroking her lightly, wanting to hear it, wanting to make her say it, wanting her to mean it. I knew she would. Sooner or later she would fold like a house of cards. But what surprised me was how quickly I got to her.

"Please," Buffy whimpered.

"Please . . . what?"

"Please . . . fuck me."

I smiled as I thrust into her, sliding two fingers into her warm, wet pussy, meeting no resistance. Fuck. She wasn't a virgin. Was I surprised? Nah. Disappointed? Maybe just a little bit. Maybe I'd wanted to bust her cherry. Buffy moaned low in her throat, a pitiful, needy moan and it must have really burned her up to let me hear how bad she wanted it as I fucked both her holes at the same time. I kept one finger up her tight little ass while I pumped two others between her slick folds, feeling her pussy quiver around me. Jesus. The little shit was going to come in my lap. Just thinking about it made my own pussy throb. I fucked her harder, faster, sliding my fingers in and out of her cunt, rolling my other finger around inside her asshole. Since I was fucking her overhand I rubbed the underbelly of her clit, from the inside, stroking the hard little pebble. Buffy gasped in surprised. Guess that was new to her. Didn't the boys at school know that trick? Too bad. But I could tell she liked it. Yeah. Buffy liked it a lot.

"Don't stop . . . don't stop . . ."

For moment I thought about stopping, just out of spite. But I wanted her to come, wanted to feel her pussy clench around my fingers, wanted to feel the warmth of her juices spilling down my wrist. I wanted to get her off, not just because I could, but because I wanted the little bitch to always remember that she'd begged to have my fingers inside her. So I kept at it, teasing her asshole, sliding my fingers into her, rubbing her clit, staring down at her sprawled across my lap, skirt up, panties down, a little rich girl getting fucked good and proper in both her holes by a townie. Her teenage pussy spasmed around my fingers then she grunted, hips bucking a little. Damn. She fucking came. I eased up a little, slowing my rhythm, easing my fingers out of her, one hole at a time.

I was in a kind of daze, as if a fog had settled over me for a few minutes and was just now starting to lift. Things started to get a little clearer. I was aware of the weight of Buffy's body across my thighs and I looked down, almost surprised to see her bare butt in my lap. I stared at my fingers and noticed they were wet and shiny, then realized they were wet and shiny because I'd had them up her pussy, because I'd fucked her with them. I'd fucked Buffy.

I pushed her off my lap and bolted from the room, my chest heavy and tingling. Shit. Was I having a fucking heart attack or what? If I'd believed in God I would have said it was punishment for my sins. But since I didn't maybe it was just poetic justice. I retreated to the guest room and started to pace like a caged animal, fists balled up at my sides. Jesus H. Christ. What had I done? Broken several California statutes, that's what. What the hell had gotten into me? What had I been thinking? I hadn't been thinking. Not with my brain, at least. I looked down at my crotch. What kind of trouble have you gotten me into now? Shit. I could feel Buffy's juices getting tacky on my fingers and brought my fingers to my lips, breathing in the scent of her, flicking my tongue over them for a brief taste. I could almost feel the warmth of her pussy again, could almost hear her whimpering, could almost see her cute teenage ass all sore from the spanking I'd given her. This was bad. I was in deep. I'd dug a big hole for myself, one I didn't think I could get out of. What the fuck was I going to do?

Something made me look up. Not sure what because I didn't hear anything, and I didn't feel like someone was watching me. But I looked up and there she was. Buffy. Standing in the doorway. She'd changed her clothes, took off the blouse and skirt she'd had on (the skirt I'd lifted up so I could spank her) and put on a red silk kimono with a black sash looped around her waist. Did she have on anything under the robe? Was she still wearing the bra I'd seen her wearing in the fitting room at Elaine's, still wearing the white cotton panties she'd had on before, the ones I'd pulled down to spank her bare ass then fuck her? I couldn't tell. She stared at me, face a little flushed, lips parted slightly, her tongue sticking out a bit like she was panting.

I felt a pang of hunger deep in my gut, like someone had punched me. Usually when you've dug yourself into a hole the best thing you can do is stop digging. But I just couldn't put the fucking shovel down. And actually, she made the first move, coming toward me like she did, but I met her halfway, pulled her to me and kissed her. I was kissing Buffy. Her lips were soft against mine, warm, wet, eager and hungry, easily keeping up with the tempo I set. How could someone her age feel that kind of hunger? Damn. She slid her hands over me, frantically tugging at my clothes as I worked at undoing the sash of the kimono.

We tripped over our impatience, hurting our cause more than we helped it at times. Somehow I managed to get the sash unknotted and I opened her robe, pushing it off shoulders. I wrenched my mouth away from hers and stepped back, gasping, looking her over as I tried to catch my breath. She had taken off her panties, too, and her bra. Her body was perfect, lean and well-defined, with skin so flawless it boggled the mind. She really did have great tits, two heaving mounds capped with tiny pink pebbles that made my mouth water. I was almost afraid to glance down but I did, the breath catching in my throat. Her bush was a golden tuft of hair between her thighs, unruly and beautiful. I wanted to run my fingers through it, feel it against my face.

I noticed she was blushing a little, but her eyes were focused and intent. Or was that expectant? She obviously thought I was overdressed. So did I. But that was a problem easily fixed. I pulled off my T-shirt and threw it on the floor with her robe, then unhooked my bra and let my breasts spill out. Her eyes went wide when she saw the ring trough my nipple then a pleased smile spread over her face. I unsnapped my jeans and pushed them and my underwear down over my hips in one fell swoop, stepping out of them both to stand there as naked as she was. Buffy looked me over, much like I had with her, and it thrilled me to have checking me out, to watch her gaze move from my breasts, down my stomach, then, finally, between my legs, where, unlike her, I didn't have any hair at all. Seeing me shaved made her eyes go even wider, made her smile even bigger. She liked.

We kissed again, our hands even more impatient on each other now that we were both undressed. She pawed at my ass as I cupped her breast, squeezed it, used the flat of my thumb to tease her eraser-like nipple. Buffy moaned against my lips, her tongue flicking hotly over mine. Damn. This girl was making me crazy! I pushed her toward the bed and when she fell back I pounced on her, kissing her deeply, wedging my thigh between her legs, feeling the wetness of her pussy on my skin. She moaned and arched against me, slopping her teenage cunt all over my leg. Perfectly manicured fingernails clawed at my back as I ground my thigh into her mound.

"Faith," Buffy panted between kisses. "Faith . . . Faith . . ."

It was like my name was the only word she knew. I nibbled on her earlobe then kissed my way along the side of her neck, sloppy wet kisses with a single destination in mind . . . her sweet tits. I had to have them in my mouth, had to suck on them, have her little pink nipples between my lips. Buffy combed her fingers through my hair, nudging me toward them. I guessed she wanted the same thing. Her nipples were semi-hard points when I reached them but quickly turned to stone under teasing flicks of my tongue. I moved from one to the other, kissing them, licking them, using my hand on whichever one I didn't have stuffed in my mouth. Buffy gasped and sighed under me, fingers tangled in my hair, arching her back to push even more of her breast into my mouth. Who was I to say no to that? As I closed my mouth around her breast I slipped a hand between her legs, fingering the hot teenage pussy I'd fucked just a little while ago. She felt even wetter now. Damn. I had to have taste of that!

I slid my lips from her breast and kissed my way down her incredibly flat tummy, inching lower and lower until I felt her blonde bush tickling my chin. The musky scent of her made me groan. Buffy spread for me without any urging and I quickly slipped my shoulders under her thighs, pressing my mouth to her hot, wet slit. She groaned low in her throat as I went down on her sucking on her cuntlips, dipping my tongue into her again and again. Her pussy was delicious. Sweeter than wine, with a hint of spice . . . was it cinnamon? Cloves? Something . . . pungent and wonderful. I loved the taste of her in my mouth, on my lips. Her hips bucked out of control as I licked her, burrowing into her with my tongue, burying my face in her pussy. She clawed at the bed like she was falling and trying to grab hold of something to save her life, ending up with fistfuls of down comforter.

"Faith . . . yes . . . oh . . . God!"

I spread her cuntlips with my fingers, exposing the little pearl that was her clit. The hard little nub reminded me of her nipples and I worked it over like I had her breast, teasing it, making tiny circles around it with the tip of my tongue before pressing my lips to the hard little button and sucking it. Buffy answered that with a groan. I could feel her pussy clenching around my face as she neared orgasm and I sucked her clit even harder, flicking it with my tongue at the same time. She came with a strangulated moan, heaving off the bed, her thighs clamping down around my head as if to trap me there, keep me imprisoned there forever. I wouldn't have minded that at all.

When the last tremors of climax faded she relaxed a little, parting her thighs again, releasing me. I dropped a kiss on her belly then crawled up next to, kissing her with lips dripping with her come. She moaned into the kiss, draping her leg over my thigh like she was trying to climb over me, surprising me when she slipped a hand between my legs. Now I was the one moaning for more. Fuck. I sounded so damn needy. She kept playing with my pussy, fingering me, fondling my cuntlips. She found my opening and thrust into me, hard, deep, fast. A little too much of all three. I opened my eyes, found her looking at me.

"Easy, easy," I whispered against her lips.

Buffy slowed down a little, staring into my eyes as she gently slid her fingers in and out of me. She seemed to be waiting for my approval and I nodded, murmuring wordlessly as she fucked me. Damn. She was actually fucking me. I moved against her hand, humping her, riding her fingers, gazing into her eyes, seeing the look of wonderment . . . the arousal . . . the fascination . . . the look of someone who had never had her fingers inside any pussy but her own but liked it. A lot. The feeling was definitely mutual. I liked my fingers in her pussy, and I liked having her fingers in mine. Reaching down, I slid my hand over hers and guided her thumb so that it was bumping against my clit when she thrust into me. Fuck, yeah. She took it from there, using her thumb to stroke my clit while she pumped her fingers in and out of me. Jesus H. I was going to come already. Buffy was going to get me off. I felt a tingling in my toes that quickly spread through my entire body then a universe of starts exploded in my head and I cried out, thrusting my hips at her, coming all over her hand.

"Fuck," I mumbled, pressing my forehead to her shoulder.

As Buffy slid her fingers out of me with a sloppy wet plop and I tried to get my heart beating again I got the distinct feeling I was in for a wild ride over the next ten days.

CHAPTER THREE

I didn't wake up until almost noon. But then fucking a teenage girl into the wee hours of the morning could take a lot out of a woman, even one with my stamina. Buffy was still asleep, curled up next to me, naked, her back to me, a single bare shoulder sticking out from under the covers. She turned out to be insatiable and a fast learner, a combination that had left my body pleasantly aching all over, some places more than others. Every muscle twinge reminded of the things we'd done to each other, how we'd used our mouths and hands (and somehow in this Fellini moment, my foot) to bring each other off again and again. What a little vixen Buffy Anne Summers was! She was as much of a wildcat in bed as she was out of it, a handful that's for sure. And what a potty mouth on that girl! Just thinking about the things she'd said made me wet. When she wasn't growling at me to fuck her harder she was asking me in this little baby voice if I wanted to wick her widdle pussy. Shit. Like I was gonna say no to that. And that bothered the crap out of me. Not because I was doing a fifteen-year old girl, but because no one should have had that kind of power over me. I needed to get a grip, needed to get control of myself, of this situation, before things got any more out of hand. Maybe it was closing the barn door after the horses had escaped, but I needed to do something, right, had to try? That sounded reasonable enough.

But then I watched Buffy twitch in her sleep and knew I was a lost cause. She was just too beautiful for words. I couldn't stop looking at her. And there was always something new to see, too, some little detail I hadn't noticed before. Like her hair. Yeah, okay, I knew she was a blonde, and after last night I knew she was a natural blonde, but with the sunlight coming through the bedroom window I could see all the different shades of blonde that came together in her hair, the mix of light and dark that blended together to create a new color that was just for her. If gold could have been spun on a loom, hammered into thin strands then woven together, it might have looked like that. Ugh. What was up with that shit? I get a little and suddenly I'm Rod McKuen? If I started to doodle little hearts with our initials in them it would be time to jam a fork in my eye.

Buffy shifted again, just a little, fidgeting under the covers. Was she finally waking up? Hoped so. I bent down and pressed my lips to her slim shoulder, to skin warm and smooth to the touch. Damn. She tasted good. I pulled the covers down a little so I could kiss along her shoulder blade, making my way across her back to the nape of her neck. When I kissed her there she moaned softly and pushed back against me, her cute little butt grinding into my mound. Could she feel how wet I was for her already? Damn. That was just giving her even more power over me, and the little shit had more than enough of that already. I eased my hand over her hips as I kissed and nibbled her earlobe. She sighed.

"I didn't think you'd ever wake up," I whispered.

Buffy wiggled her butt. "I didn't think you'd wait for me to wake up."

I laughed. "If you'd slept any longer, maybe I wouldn't have."

"Maybe I wouldn't have minded," Buffy said.

The thought of waking Buffy with a couple of fingers in her pussy gave me a wicked little thrill. "You wouldn't have minded that, huh?"

"Nope," Buffy said. "Something to remember for next time."

"And who says there's gonna be a next time?"

Buffy pushed back against me again, teasing my damp mound with that firm, round ass of hers. "I say. And I'm right, aren't I, Faith?"

"Yes," I answered in a sigh. Damn her . . . damn her for being so hot . . . damn her for feeling so nice in my arms first thing in the morning . . . and damn her for being right. She rolled over under the covers, turning to face me, the wanton smile on her lips hitting me like a quick jab in the gut. But maybe I could turn the tables on her. I leaned in to kiss her, slipping a hand between her legs as our lips met, not the least bit surprised to find that she was just as wet as I was, just as warm. When I stroked her damp flesh she moaned.

"F-faith," Buffy stuttered.

"What, baby?"

"Feels . . . so . . . good . . ."

I started to gnaw on her lower lip. "Then I guess I'm doing it right."

"Mmhmmm."

"But," I said, pulling my fingers out of her, "I can stop if you don't like it."

Buffy grunted impatiently and grabbed my hand under the covers, guiding my fingers back into her pussy then holding them there as she started to move against me. I stared into her eyes, seeing the hunger in them, the desire, an intense, determined look that became even more so as she frantically rode my captive hand. Even though she had been vocal last night she didn't make a sound now, not peep, her lips pressed into a thin line, her nostrils flaring with each breath she took. I kept my hand where she put it but let her do all the work, making her earn the climax we both knew she wanted, my eyes daring her to come, her eyes defiantly telling me she would. Buffy humped my fingers, grinding her pussy into my hand as she stared daggers at me and I her, moving faster . . .faster . . . faster . . . until I felt her pussy clench then an almost pained look flickered over her face, a look that eventually became one of relief. The tension left her body like all her bones had disappeared and she sagged against me with a sigh, panting for breath, my fingers still nestled deep inside her.

I continued to stroke her as the last tremors of orgasm rippled through her, petting her like a cat. "Before I came over I was thinking we could go to a movie today."

"You mean before you took advantage of innocent little me?" Buffy asked teasingly.

"Uh huh," I said, grinning at her wolfishly. My fingers were still busy between her legs, slowing down, but busy. The breath would catch in her throat every now and then, like she had the hiccups or something, but otherwise she gave no indication that I was playing with her pussy. "We can still do that. Or we can stay in bed all day. Up to you."

Buffy breathed a long sigh. "W-will you buy me popcorn?"

"I may even splurge on Junior Mints."

"O-k-kay," Buffy stammered. "And then back to bed?"

I eased my fingers out of her. "We'll see."

"Meanie," Buffy pouted.

"Yeah, I'm a real bitch." I kissed her, hard, covering her mouth with mine. It surprised her a little, but seemed to please her even more. Buffy moaned against my lips, bringing her hand seemingly out of nowhere to cup my breast, squeezing a moan out of me. She loved to play with my tits, and she especially loved the ring through my nipple. That just fascinated her. She had pestered me with questions about it. Did it hurt when I had it done? Could she touch it? Was it okay if she sucked on it too? The answers were all yes. She started to play with it again now, flicking it with her thumb, flipping it back and forth like it was a doorknocker. If she wanted to know if she could come in, the answer to that was yes, too.

"If we're going out," Buffy muttered between kisses, "maybe we should take a shower."

Smiling against her lips, I said, "Oh, definitely."

I crawled over her to get out of bed, ignoring her giggled objections and the goosebumps that swept across my naked skin as I headed into the guest bathroom. When I had shower going and clouds of steam started to fill the air, I sat down on the toilet to pee. It wasn't until I was nearly done that I noticed Buffy standing in the doorway, grinning at me, her nipples hard little points, her thighs glistening with the juices I'd just pumped out of her.

"Now we're even," Buffy said.

The room started to feel like a sauna and the mirror above the sink was completely fogged up when I stepped into the shower stall. I stood under the pounding hot spray, slicking back my hair, letting the water caress my skin and soothe my tired muscles. Damn that felt good. Buffy joined me a moment later, moving up behind me, pressing her body tight against my back. That felt even better. I could feel her nipples digging into me, two small pebbles wanting attention. Nice. But there were other parts of her I wanted first.

I turned to face her then kissed her again, deeply, hungrily, hot water sluicing down our naked bodies. Her lips were fierce against mine, eager, willing lips that had explored every single inch of me, kissed every part of me, yet still seemed to want more. I slid my hand over her breast, using the flat of my thumb on one of the nipples I'd felt against my back. Buffy moaned into the kiss as I teased the hardened nub, arching her back, pushing even more of her breast into my hand as if looking for rougher handling. But I denied her that for now, lightly stroking her nipple instead, feeling it stiffen even more. Did her nipples ache? Was Buffy desperate to have me suck them? Her impatient whimpers pretty much told me that they did, that she was. Good. I liked her desperate and aching for my touch.

When I spun her around Buffy leaned forward a little without me having to tell her, pressing her hands flat against the opaque glass wall of the shower stall, thrusting that cute little butt at me. Was she that intuitive, or did she just know me that well already? Both possibilities scared me. But with that sweet ass of hers there for the taking I wasn't about to dwell on it. I crouched down behind her, sliding my hands over her butt cheeks, spreading them, exposing the tight ring of her asshole then flicking it with my tongue. Buffy moaned in answer. I circled her asshole with the tip of my tongue then pushed inside her, just a little, and she moaned again, a pitiful, needy moan that begged me without words to give her more. This time I gave in to her demands, plunging deep into her ass, fucking her with my tongue as I groped and squeezed her firm butt cheeks.

"Uhn . . . Faith . . . suck my ass . . ."

I groaned into her ass, pressing my mouth tighter against her puckered opening and sucking it, kissing it, wiggling my tongue inside her tight hole. Buffy squealed in pleasure and pushed back into me, grinding her ass in my face, a greedy little slut wanting more and more. With my tongue wrenched deep in her ass, I got a hand between her legs and thrust two fingers into her gushing wet pussy, fucking her from underneath, hard, fast, sliding in and out of her while I tongued her asshole. Her knees buckled a little and she stiff- armed the shower wall for support, grunting and gasping as I worked over both her holes. When I felt the slick walls of her pussy tightening around my fingers I knew she was almost there.

"Play with your clit," I muttered.

"Mmhmm . . . uh huh . . ."

As I went back to tongue-fucking her ass Buffy started fingering her clit, rubbing it frantically, wanting to get off so bad it wasn't funny. But I still laughed, laughed with my tongue in her ass and two fingers deep in her cunt, laughed as Buffy Anne Summers impatiently diddled her teenage clit while I had my way with her. Her pussy spasmed around my fingers to a manic beat, pulsing, throbbing, clenching and unclenching in fits and starts as I plunged my tongue and fingers into her at the same time. Buffy came with a gut- wrenching moan that made my own pussy twitch with sympathetic envy.

I slid my fingers out of her first, keeping my tongue lodged in her tight little asshole until her climax faded into stillness. When it seemed like she was breathing almost normally again I stood up, sliding my hands over her hips, pulling her upright. Buffy turned in my arms and I kissed her, pushing her up against the wall of the shower, pinning her there with my naked body as I devoured her lips, wanting her badly, needing her desperately, not even caring that she knew it. She pawed at my breast again, using the butt of her palm to caress a moan out of me. Damn. Was it really me sounding that pathetic? She kissed her way down my throat then pushed me away a little, not much, just enough that she could dip her head and start to suckle at my breast. Her lips gently closed around my nipple, the one with the ring through it, of course, her favorite, and I sighed, combing my fingers through her wet blonde hair as she kissed and licked my tit, lightly tugging on my nipple ring, flicking it with her tongue. She would have done it for hours and some other time I might have let her, but I needed to get off . . . needed to have her mouth on me. I pushed down on her head, urging her lower, half- expecting her to resist me. But she didn't. Buffy sank to her knees, the sound of her ass sliding down the glass wall of the shower making me grin. But then she leaned into me, covered my slit with her mouth, and the smile was gone. Oh fuck! She hungrily sucked my pussy, snorting with the effort, wagging her tongue inside me, nuzzling her face into my warm, wet folds. I tossed my head back with a groan, grabbing the top of the shower stall for support as Buffy went down on me. She wasn't the first lover I'd ever broken in but she took to eating pussy faster than the others, burrowing into me, sucking my cuntlips, teasing my clit. I slopped my cunt all over her face, riding her, wildly grinding my hips. The little bitch was going to make me come. I held back as long as I could, trying to make it last, trying to draw it out, but she was unrelenting and my orgasm was unstoppable. I came all over her face.

My knuckles were practically white from holding the shower wall so hard and I had to force myself to let go. I stepped back and let Buffy up. She got to her feet with a smirk on her face, looking all proud of herself for getting me off. I laughed and pulled her to me, holding her body tight against mine under the spray of the shower, and as her hands moved down my back I wondered if we'd ever get to the movies.

*****

The mutiplex was hoppin'. But then there really wasn't that much else to do in Sunnydale at three in the afternoon on a Saturday. Except maybe fool around with hot teenage girls whose parents were away on a cruise and had entrusted you with her care. I parked the Jag at the far end of the lot, away from all the other cars, just to be on the safe side. There would be no dings I hadda pay for when Hank and Joyce got home.

I let Buffy get a little ahead of me as we made our way to the main entrance so I could ogle her. She had a great ass and the tight jeans she had on showed it off well. It was so . . . grabbable . . . and squeezable . . . and lickable . .. and fuckable. Shit. Why did we leave the house again? Right. Movie. Buffy knew I was checking her out, too, because she kept wiggling that cute little butt, shaking it for me, making me crazy. I caught up to her and swatted her behind. She giggled.

"Hey!"

"What?" I asked innocently.

"So what are we gonna see?"

"Up to you," I said.

The movie she picked was rated R and when the woman at the ticket counter didn't ask if she was under seventeen I felt a little less like a pervert. Maybe she just didn't care, maybe she looked at me and I figured I was her guardian. Shit. I paid for the tickets then Buffy dragged me to the concession stand.

"You promised me popcorn," Buffy said. "And Junior Mints!"

I laughed. "Anything you want."

That turned out to be a large tub of popcorn with extra butter, a vat of Dr. Pepper big enough to go snorkeling in, an overpriced box of Junior Mints and an equally expensive box of Milk Duds. But she was kinda worth it, and her parents were paying me enough that I could afford to give her what she wanted. I got some strawberry Twizzlers, too. What was a movie without Twizzlers? Even between the two of us we could barely carry it all, but somehow we managed to get from the concession stand to the theater without dropping a kernel or spilling a drop. Small wonder.

"Where do you wanna sit?" Buffy asked.

"You pick."

Buffy made a face at me. "Can't you make at least one decision?"

"I can only make two decisions in a twenty-four hour period," I said. "And I made my second one picking the Twizzlers."

"What was the first?"

I answered her by very deliberately licking my lips then acting like I tasted something on them that surprised me. It was semi-dark in the theater but I could still see her blush. She looked away quickly and headed up to the nosebleed seats, picking two in the middle of the row. I smiled and followed after her, sitting down next to her, leaning back, kicking my feet up, getting comfortable. When the lights went down and the previews started she snuggled a little closer, as close as she could with the damn armrest between us, putting her head on my shoulder.

We were seeing a horror flick, and any time there was even the potential for something scary or gross to happen on screen Buffy would cling to me, hooking her arm around mine, burying her face in my neck so she wouldn't have to look. I didn't mind that at all. And when she wasn't cowering against me she kept her hand on my thigh, absently stroking me, her actions hidden by the position of our seats, the dark, and the tub of popcorn on her lap. I didn't mind that, either. The movie turned out to be kinda sucky but it didn't really matter. I was enjoying being with her, enjoying the weight of her head on my shoulder, the feel of her hand moving up and down my thigh, enjoying the closeness of her. What happened on the screen was more of a distraction.

As I gnawed on a Twizzler I felt Buffy's hand moving higher up my thigh, between my legs. I looked over at her, a what-the-fuck? arch to my brow, but her eyes were glued to the screen. Little Miss Innocent. Not up to anything. Just watching the movie. Yeah, right. Like I believed that. She pressed into me suddenly, hard, digging her fingers into the crotch of my jeans, teasing my pussy. If not for THX the entire theater would have heard me moan. She would pay for that later.

*****

On the way home from the movie theater Buffy whined about being hungry. I didn't see how that was humanly possible since she pretty much polished off the tub of extra-buttered popcorn all by herself, along with the vat of Dr. Pepper and the entire box Junior Mints. But she had generously allowed me a handful of Milk Duds, and I guess that made all the difference in her little tummy not being full yet. So I relented and pulled the Jag into the first place that met with her approval, and that ended up being Double Meat Palace.

It was the middle of the dinner rush when we walked in and the place was packed. I told Buffy to snag us a table while I went and got our food. The little eating machine told me what she wanted and went to look for a place to sit while I got in line. I was glad to be on this side of the counter. When I started with the temp agency, one of the first places they sent me was Double Meat Palace. Worst fucking job ever. I vowed I would never work there again, never, no matter how bad things got for me, no matter how desperate I became. I'd rather beg for money on Main Street than work at Double Meat Palace again. But I would eat there if that was what Buffy wanted.

The woman working the register remembered me from when I temped there and "forgot" to charge me for half the food I ordered, then added a few extra things I hadn't ordered. We shared a smile, the kind of sly smile only two people sticking it to a company they both hated could share. Or maybe she was just flirting with me. Who knows? Either way I scored some freebies. I walked off with the ill-gotten munchables and went looking for Buffy in the crowded dining area. She was sitting at a table at the far end of the restaurant, staring out the window, watching traffic, looking incredible. It was like she struck a pose without even knowing it, as if a movie camera were on her at all times and she had to look absolutely perfect. Which she did. Maybe it was me.

I sat down across from her and plunked the tray down between us. She looked at all the food and her eyebrows went up.

"Jeeze," she said, stealing a French fry, "couldja have ordered a little more?"

"Bonus munchies," I said. "From someone I used to work with."

"You worked here?"

"Briefly," I said. "And even that was longer than I wanted."

Buffy made a face like someone at the next table had just cut one and it finally reached her. "Ugh. I don't think I could work at a place like this."

I tried to imagine that, tried to imagine Buffy in the Double Meat Palace uniform, working behind the counter, or lowering a basket of onion rings into the deep fryer. But I just couldn't picture that. Buffy Anne Summers was out of place sitting there, never mind working there. Maybe she was just out place working, period. She needed to be taken care of by townies like me who schlepped all day to make sure she was pampered, taken care of, looked after. Could I be her sugar daddy? Because she was too good for a place like Double Meat Palace. Shit. Who was I kidding? Buffy Anne Summers was too good for me. I watched her unwrap a sandwich and take huge bite. The way she devoured her food reminded me of how she went down on me, eagerly, hungrily, stuffing her face. Damn. Should watching her eat have made me wet?

"So," Buffy said, "first a movie, now dinner. Are we like on a date?"

I laughed. "Yeah. I guess we are."

That must have been the answer Buffy had hoped for because she smiled, obviously pleased. She opened a packet of ketchup and doused her French fries. "Have you dated a lot of girls?"

I didn't know how to answer that, at least not tactfully. The honest answer was no, so I could have stuck with that. I'd fucked a lot of girls, sure, but I'd never dated them. Something told me that wasn't what Buffy wanted to hear. "Really haven't done a whole lot of the dating thing, ya know?"

"Why not?"

"Just never came natural to me."

"Maybe it wasn't you," Buffy said. "Maybe you just hadn't met the right person."

I looked at her. Hadn't met the right person? Not, haven't met the right person? Maybe she didn't mean anything by it, maybe she didn't even know what she'd said. And it wasn't like I was an English major or anything. But her words still rang in my ears long after she'd said them, like an echo, repeating over and over again.

"Maybe not," I said.

*****

As soon as we got back home I had to pee really bad. It just hit me. Bam. Guess I'd had one too many free refills at Double Meat Palace. I tossed the keys to the Jag on the breakfast counter and sprinted up the stairs, taking two at a time, my jeans practically around my ankles before I even reached the guest room. It was a close call. Photo finish. But I did make it. Sweet relief flooded through me and I sighed tiredly. Damn. Gotta ease up on those soft drinks. Suddenly the floor began to tremble underneath me, rattling the bathroom walls, vibrating up through the toilet and tickling my thighs. My first thought was earthquake, my second thought was of getting downstairs to where Buffy was, to make sure she was safe. Then I heard the telltale thumpa-thumpa-thumpa of a synthesized bass and rolled my eyes. She'd put on some music and cranked it up full blast.

I pulled up my pants and headed back downstairs. The music was loud enough to wake the dead. Though I was being awfully generous calling whatever crap she was listening to music, and at that volume even the best music was little more than noise with a steady rhythm. I followed the driving beat to the den where Buffy was moving it in time to the music. Whatever anger might have been brewing inside me quickly faded and turned to lust when I saw Buffy shaking her ass. Damn. She could really work that body of hers. Her movements were fluid, hypnotic. I never really believed that stuff about someone's dance moves being an indicator of how good they were in the sack, but with her there was definitely a connection. Buffy wasn't just dancing . . . she was fucking.

The way she gyrated her hips it was like invisible fingers were pumping in and out of her pussy at a frantic pace and she was riding them, like an unseen mouth was pressed tight against her hot, wet slit and she was grinding her mouth against the tongue wagging inside her. And as the momentum grew to a frenzy her moves became more intense then it was like she was coming, body shaking, hips bucking out of control. Watching Buffy dance made my pussy throb with need, made me want her more than ever, made we wet. I felt the dampness pool between my legs then start to drip down my leg, wetness that was all for Buffy. It seemed only fair to offer her some.

I moved up behind her, sliding my hands over her swaying hips. It was like trying to rein in a hurricane. Because the music was too loud for her to hear me coming my touch surprised her. Buffy flinched, startled, then turned to face me, still moving to the music. She smiled playfully and put her hands on me, urging me to dance with her, pressing that hot teenage body against mine. With the music blaring around us I started to move with her, dancing with her, the two of us bumping and grinding into each other. I grabbed her ass with both hands, clutching it possessively, letting her know it was mine. She answered me by squeezing my breast, using her thumb to tease my nipple ring through my shirt. I leaned in and kissed her, our lips crashing together in hunger. She flicked her tongue over mine and I captured it, sucked on, feeling her moan more than hearing her. I couldn't hear myself think with that music so damn loud, but then I wasn't capable of much thought at all, except one . . . get her naked. Get Buffy naked and take her. Right now.

I pushed her back against the side of the pool table, hard. She might have grunted. I lifted her shirt up and broke free of the kiss long enough to pull it over her head, tossing it aside, not caring where it landed. It wasn't like she was gonna need it any time soon. I eased my hand over her smooth flat stomach as we kissed again, deeply, hungrily, mouths opening wider and wider like we were trying to devour each other. The clasp of her frilly lace bra didn't stand much of a chance against me, not in the state I was in. I got her bra unclasped and pushed it over her shoulders, freeing her tits. Her nipples were already hard little pebbles begging for my attention. I bent down and took one between my lips, sucking on it greedily. The firm little nub felt wonderful in my mouth, and tasted even better. Buffy tangled her fingers in my hair, tugging gently then not-so- gently as I flicked my tongue over her nipples, kissing and licking each one, jumping from breast to breast like one might get jealous if I favored the other too long. Her fingers tightened in my hair. The message was clear. She wanted more.

Sliding my lips from her nipple, I kissed the side of Buffy's neck as I grabbed her ass in both hands again. Even with the loud music I heard her shriek with surprise as I lifted her up and planted her on the edge of the pool table. Her legs dangled over the side and I nestled between them, kissing her again, swirling my tongue over and around hers. She wrapped her legs around me, ankles crossed behind my back, capturing me, pulling me even tighter against her as our lips fused together. I groped and pawed at her breast, dragging the flat of my thumb over her rock-solid nipple, stroking it, teasing it . . . teasing her. She still had her hands in my hair and answered my teasing by yanking my head back, hard, and looking at me. Her face was flushed and her eyes had a fuck-me-now look in them that made my gut tighten.

I snared her bottom lip between my teeth and released it with a snap then went to work getting her jeans off, unzipping her fly, peeling her jeans open. Buffy leaned back on the heels of her palms and lifted her butt up so I could help her out of her jeans and panties, which I did, quickly, pulling them down to her ankles with both hands. She kicked off her shoes for me then I finished undressing her, pulling off her jeans and underwear with an exaggerated flourish. I left her socks on, though. It made her look kinda slutty to be naked except for a pair of white bobby socks. Slutty looked good on her. Oh yeah. It looked great.

Running my hands up both her thighs I pushed her legs apart, spread her wide open, then buried my face in the slick folds of her pussy. She was so fucking wet. I greedily sucked on her cuntlips, the music drowning out the crude sounds that would otherwise have filled the den as I went down on her, chewing on her swollen clit, dipping my tongue into her again and again. Buffy leaned back even more, her ankles locked behind my neck, thrusting her hips up at me, grinding her hot little teenage pussy into my face, meeting each thrust of my tongue as I ate her out, hungrily and ferociously, stuffing her into my mouth. Damp flesh spasmed against my lips as she neared climax. Fuck. She was gonna come for me. I flicked my tongue over her clit, lashing the hard little pebble until her hips bucked and she slammed against me and her pussy was quivering around my face. She collapsed back on the pool table.

I ducked out from under her legs and stood up, wiping her juices off my mouth with the back of my hand. Buffy looked so fucking hot sprawled across the pool table, naked, with her white socks, panting for breath, her thighs glistening with her come, her pussy all pink and shiny and just-used. She lifted her head and looked at me, a lazy smile spreading over her face, the smile of a girl who had just been fucked, who had come hard, liked it, and wanted more. And she could have more, lots more. But first she had to do a little something for me.

As she watched from the pool table I stripped off my clothes, pulling off my shirt, sliding my shoes off, wiggling out of my jeans then ditching my bra and panties, unable to be naked fast enough. When I was, though, I crawled on top of her, wedging my thigh between her legs as I kissed her, letting her taste herself on my lips, reminding her, in case she'd forgotten, that I'd brought her off. Now it was time to return the favor. I moved up to straddle her face, my pussy hovering just above her mouth, the green felt top of the pool table smooth against my knees. When I looked down my stomach I could see Buffy's eyes between my legs, glazed over with arousal. Did she like staring up into my cunt? Did she want it in her mouth? I got my answer when she dug her nails into the flesh of my rump and pulled me down to her, pulled my pussy down to her mouth and started to lick me from underneath. I moaned as her tongue wagged inside me. Damn her. How did she manage to steal control away from me? But hell. Her tongue felt too good inside me to complain. I rolled my hips to the beat of the music like she had been doing when I first walked in the room, and I wasn't dancing, either. I was fucking, fucking her, riding her face, grinding my pussy into her mouth, drenching her in my juices. She still had her claws in my ass and the harder I rode her the harder she dug into me, pleasure and pain surging through my body in one delicious sensation. I bounced up and down on Buffy's face even faster, reaching down to finger my clit as I humped her wiggling tongue, smothering her with my pussy, slopping my wetness all over her. I felt wild, like an animal, out of control. She made me that way. Made me crazy. Turned me inside out. And she was gonna make me come. Fuck, yeah. I was gonna come all over Buffy Anne Summer's pretty little face. She dug her nails even harder into my butt and I grunted, frantically diddling my clit as I rode her to climax. I could feel my orgasm building up inside me like an over- inflated balloon about to pop, the tension almost too much . . . too fucking much . . . couldn't take anymore . . . everything coming together . . . her mouth . . . my fingers . . . and then I was coming, coming in her mouth, thrusting against her, forcing my juices down her throat, making her take it all.

The last few aftershocks were still rumbling through when I slid off her face and rolled onto my side, next to her, both of us naked and stretched out on the pool table. Buffy seemed as breathless as I was, her face slick with my come. I smiled at her, at how cheap and used and beautiful she looked. She crooked her finger at me and before I could stop myself I was responding like an obedient, well-trained dog, coming when she called me. We kissed again, deeply, passionately, as if letting each other know the spark hadn't dimmed just yet, that there was still plenty of fire left to burn. She started to push me flat on my back but something hard jabbed me in the ribs. I grunted against her lips, looking back to see what the fuck was digging into me. The cue ball. Shit. It was resting against the rail of the pool table. I'd probably have a nice bruise in the morning now. But seeing it gave me a wicked idea and the smile to go with it.

I picked up the cue ball, ran my thumb over the horizon of it, felt its smoothness, its hardness, then I showed it to Buffy, held it up like it was the greatest discovery in the history of the world. Her eyes went wide when she saw it and even with the music so loud I was sure I heard a whimper. I dragged the cue ball between her breasts then circled her nipple, letting Buffy feel how smooth it was, letting her imagine where else I might let her feel it. Her already firm nipples seemed to harden even more as I teased them with the cue ball, making figure-eights around her breasts, watching the arousal flicker over her face. I zigzagged the cue ball down her stomach, moving lower until I was almost on top of her mound. Then I looked at, raised a single eyebrow. She nodded eagerly.

Holding the cue ball with just the tips of my fingers I dragged it over her hot, wet slit, watching the corners of her lips curl upwards in pleasure. Buffy started to squirm on top of the pool table, eyes narrowed but still focused on me, her face flushed salmon pink as I lightly teased her pussy with the cue ball. She looked so content, like I could lull her to sleep. Well that wasn't gonna happen. No rest for the wicked. I ground the cue ball into her clit, hard. She heaved off the table, bending in half like she was doing ab crunches, an almost pained look on her face. I twisted the cue ball back and forth, clockwise then counter-clockwise, rubbing it against her clit. Buffy reached for me, slid her hand up the back of my beck and grabbed a handful of hair, holding onto me as I bore down again, pressing the cue ball into her clit harder still. She tightened her grip in my hair and stared into my eyes as I mashed the cue ball into her clit, then her nostrils flared and her lips twitched and I knew she was coming. When she pulled my mouth downs to hers I let the cue ball roll away, kissing her again, wanting her again . . . wanting her still. Would I ever get enough of Buffy Anne Summers? Something told me that I never would, that it wasn't possible to get enough of her, that the more I got of her, the more I would want. Maybe that should have worried me. But it didn't.

The music stopped. Something about it didn't seem right but I was too distracted by kissing Buffy, too distracted by the feel of her naked body under mine for it to hit me right away. But it finally did. The CD hadn't stopped because it was over. It had stopped mid-song; someone had stopped it. Lifting my head up, I saw Hank standing by the entertainment center with the remote for the CD changer in his hand. Joyce was standing in the doorway of the den, a horrified look on her face. For a moment it was like I stepped outside myself, seeing what Hank and Joyce must have seen when they walked in . . . a naked grown woman and their naked fifteen-year old daughter entwined on the pool table. Then I felt a weird tugging sensation, like I was being sucked down, then I was back in my own body, on top of Buffy, and in serious trouble.

"I guess you didn't hear us come in," Hank said quietly.

This was so not good. No . . . definitely not good at all.

CHAPTER FOUR

The laundromat around the corner from my apartment was pretty much dead on Sunday afternoons, especially during football season, so I had the run of the place. I scooped damp clothes out of two heavy- duty washers and carted them over to the row of dryers on the other side of the room. Since I was alone I claimed four of them so I could get done that much sooner, finish up there and get back to my apartment in time to maybe catch the end of a wildcard game. As I fed quarters into the change slots and started up the dryers it occurred to me that I had no whites, none, not even underwear. Like everything else I owned, all my bras and panties were darks . . . red ones, blue ones, and black ones, of course. But not white. That seemed fitting. White was a symbol of purity, innocence. I wasn't pure, and I sure as hell wasn't innocent. Someone like me didn't deserve to wear white. It was strictly dark colors for me, for the bad girl. Buffy wore white panties. She wasn't exactly a good girl, but somehow that didn't really matter. White underthings were meant for girls like her, not for me.

I bought a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos from the vending machine and stared out the front window while I munched on them, wondering where she was right now, what she was doing, how she looked doing it, whether she was thinking about me at all. What happened after Joyce and Hank came home was still a blur, like a dream I could barely remember, bits and pieces of it coming to me in ugly flashes. I remembered Joyce telling me to get my things and get out, remembered the coldness in her voice, how it sent a chill down my back. Or maybe I'd just been cold because I'd been naked at the time. I must have gathered my clothes off the floor and went upstairs with them, but I didn't actually remember doing. I did remember being back in the guestroom, though, shoving my stuff into my duffel bag. The one thing I wish I didn't remember was hearing Buffy down the hall, bawling her eyes out, each sob making me wince. Voices raised in anger shouted at her, first a man's voice then a woman's voice. I couldn't really hear what Hank and Joyce were saying, but at one point I heard Buffy scream at the top of her lungs, "Don't you call her that!" followed by a loud crash that I was betting was her clock radio smashing into the bedroom wall. At that point I tossed my duffel bag down on the bed, fighting the urge to run down the hall and get into the middle of it, silently pleading with Buffy to stop making things worse as if she could read my mind, hear my thoughts. I let it go. I'd caused enough trouble in the Summers house, done enough damage. I finished packing my stuff and left without saying good-bye, the sound of Buffy crying the last thing I heard from her.

I shook the awful sound from my head and sighed. How could things have turned to shit so quickly? For a while yesterday had been perfect, maybe the most perfect day of my life, and then it had all fallen apart in a matter of seconds. One thing done differently, just one little thing, and my life would have been completely turned around. If Buffy and I had only just stayed home instead of going to the movies we might have heard on the news about an outbreak of food poisoning on a cruise ship that had forced the captain to turn the ship around and head back to port after one day at sea. Or if I'd checked the answering machine when we got home instead of running straight upstairs to pee I would have gotten the message from Joyce telling me they were coming home. And if Buffy hadn't been so damn sexy when she danced . . . fuck. Who was I trying to kid? It was my own damn fault. I never should have laid a finger or anything else on her. Yeah, she'd wanted it just as much as I had. It wasn't like I'd taken advantage of her. But I was the adult, I should have known better, should have had the willpower to resist her. Instead I'd given in, given in to Buffy Anne Summers and her come-play-with-me smile, given in to her sweet lips and the kisses they promised, given in to her cute little butt and her perfect tits and her hot little pussy. And what had that gotten me? There I was back in my little world, alone, while she was up there in her world with a shattered family. Good work there, Faith. Ruin lives, much? It wasn't enough that I fucked up my own life; now I had to go around fucking up other people's lives, too. In spite of running from my past I had somehow still turned into my mother.

The dryers stopped one after the other like dominoes falling. I tossed the empty Cheetos bag in a lint-filled trash can then gathered my toasty warm clothes and put them in the plastic laundry basket I picked up at the dollar store. There was a bottle of tequila at home with my name on it. What the hell? If I was gonna be my mother anyway, might as well do the whole nine yards. Yeah, life would still suck when I was hammered; I just wouldn't give a shit.

I lived on the second floor of a redbrick apartment building on the wrong side of the tracks, which in Sunnydale was within pissing distance of the right side of the tracks. But there was a definitive line separating the two worlds and it wasn't meant to be crossed. I should have remembered that. As I walked up the stairs of my apartment building with my basket of dark laundry the bottle of tequila I knew waited for me sounded more and more inviting, and by the time I reached the top of the stairs I was really looking forward to spending the afternoon in a stupor. But the bottle of tequila wasn't the only thing waiting for me when I got back.

Buffy was standing in the hall outside my apartment.

Several feelings hit me at once, like a volley of rapid punches coming out of nowhere, leaving me dizzy and confused. Some of them I understood, like the lust. She had on this skimpy white top that stopped about half way down her stomach, showing off plenty of skin, skin I had touched and tasted, skin I knew to be warm and smooth and sweet. The designer jeans she on showed off her cute little butt, the curve of her hips. And she had on white panties. I knew that because her underwear was sticking out from the waistband of her jeans in the front, just a little, just to tease. But seeing her brought out more than lust. It brought out fear, anxiety. What was she doing there? Had any of my neighbors seen her? What would they think? I felt something else, too. Something I didn't recognize at first, maybe because I'd never really felt it before that moment. And when I realized what that feeling was the fear and anxiety just got worse, because I didn't know how to handle it, because above everything else seeing Buffy Anne Summers filled me with joy. I wasn't just happy to see her . . . I wasn't glad . . . I was overjoyed. And if the look on her face was any indication, the feeling was mutual.

We stared at each other, me frozen in my tracks with a laundry basket in my arms, her out of place in the dingy little hallway. I dropped the laundry basket on the floor and closed the distance between us in three quick steps, pulling her into my arms and hugging her. Buffy slid her hands over my hips and clasped them behind my back, trapping me, making sure I couldn't get away. She had her face buried in the crook of my neck and I felt her breath against my skin, warm and uneven. Then she kissed me there, gently, almost hesitantly. I pulled back a little and covered her mouth with mine, kissing her properly, deeply and hungrily, that feeling I'd only just figured out surging through me, getting even stronger.

I had to come up for air sometime, though, and when I did both of us were panting for breath. Buffy put her head on my shoulder. It felt nice. So nice I almost forgot we were still in the hall. Untangling myself from her, I fished my keys out of my pocket and got the door open, gesturing her inside. I grabbed the laundry basket off the floor and followed after her.

Even when it was cleaned up my apartment was a dump, and when it was a mess, like it was now, it was even dumpier. Buffy Anne Summers looked so out of place in my crappy living room. She didn't belong there, didn't belong with me. I was totally wrong for her, no good, a bad girl. More trouble than she needed, more trouble than I was worth.

"You shouldn't have come here," I said.

Buffy looked wounded. "I had to see you."

"It's too dangerous," I said. "How'd you get my address?"

"The temp agency," Buffy said. She started to pout. "I thought you'd be glad to see me."

That got to me. I went over to her, collected her in my arms, held her close to me. "I am glad to see you. Really. I am. But we're in deep as it is, ya know?"

"I know," Buffy whispered. She crushed her face into my shoulder. "Faith, I'm really scared. Daddy is acting completely crazy. I overheard him on the phone to his lawyer this morning. Something about talking to the police."

I pulled back and held her at arm's length. "He's gonna call the cops? Are you sure? What did he say, exactly?"

"I . . . I don't know," Buffy stammered. "I didn't hear all of it."

This couldn't be happening. No . . . no, this just could not be happening. Oh I was so fucked. Totally, royally fucked. If Hank Summers brought the cops into this . . . shit! I started to pace. What the fuck was I gonna do?

"I don't believe this," I muttered. "I don't fucking believe this!"

Buffy touched my arm. "It's okay. I'll tell them exactly what happened. It's not like you molested me or something. I . . . I consented."

I looked at her. For the first time since I met her she seemed like a kid. "Buffy, the cops aren't gonna give a rat's ass whether you said yes or not. You're fifteen. That makes you underage. Do you understand what that means? It means they're gonna throw my sorry ass in jail. Then when I get out I'm gonna be a registered sex offender. I'm gonna be one of those people no one wants living in their neighborhood. I am screwed. Do you get that? Screwed."

"Faith . . ."

Buffy reached out to me again, offering comfort, but I backed away from her as if her touch was lethal. I needed time to think, needed time to figure things out. But I couldn't do that here, now. No. I couldn't stay in Sunnydale. I had to laugh. When I left Boston, I'd been trying to escape my past. Now I had to try and escape my future. Maybe I always would be running from something. Maybe that's all life really was. Some people escaped into a bottle, some people escaped into their work. Even death was just a way of escaping life. And that's what I had to do. Escape.

"I gotta go," I muttered, grabbing the laundry basket and heading for the bedroom.

"What? Where? Faith, wait!"

I dumped the basket of clean clothes on my unmade bed in a big heap then got my duffel bag out of the closet and started shoving stuff in as Buffy appeared in the doorway. In spite of all the trouble I was in, seeing her standing there, feeling her watching me, I wanted her again . . . still. Fuck. What was wrong with me? That piece of ass was gonna end up costing me everything, and still I wanted her. I was like a kid who kept touching a hot stove, kept getting burned, but kept doing it. Maybe the kid was just too fucking stupid to figure it out, maybe the kid just liked getting burned. Or maybe in those few moments it took the brain to register pain, the heat of the stove was worth touching. And maybe I should have stopped waxing philosophical and made with the packing and running before the cops showed up at my door with an arrest warrant.

"You're really leaving?" Buffy asked.

"That's pretty much the plan."

"What about me?"

I looked up at her. "Jesus, B. I'm looking at hard time for statutory rape and you still manage to make this all about you. How you can be that fucking self-centered?"

Tears filled her eyes and her bottom lip started to quiver like she was cold. "I didn't mean to be self-centered, okay? God. You can be such an asshole. How can you just think of leaving me? Doesn't it bother you, even a little? Or am I just some kid you fucked? Is that all I am to you? You cunt! I hate you!"

I stopped packing and made a move toward her. She must have thought I was gonna hit or something because she flinched. And maybe I was gonna hit her. In that few seconds it took me to reach her I didn't know what I wanted to do, slap some sense into her or kiss her. Until I was right on top of her I hadn't made up my mind. But then I was face to face with her, looking into her eyes, and I didn't need to think about what I wanted. It was instinct. I kissed her. Buffy melted into me, her body going limp in my arms, her mouth opening under mine, her lips soft and warm and willing. Kisses like that weren't meant to be broken. Those kinds of kisses led to other things, naked things. But I broke the kiss. I had to. Before things got out of hand.

When I pulled back I cupped Buffy's face in my hands, brushed the tears from her cheeks with the flats of my thumbs. "You are not just some kid I fucked. Okay?"

"Okay," Buffy whispered.

"But I have to go," I said. "Not because I want to, because I have to. Understand?"

Buffy nodded. "So take me with you."

The look in her eyes and the whine in her voice made it clear I wasn't going to win any argument we had about it right now. So I decided to give in, for the time being, and just take her with me. I could ditch her along the way somewhere, leave her at a truck stop or a gas station where she could call her parents to come and get her. It would be for her own good. And until then I could spend a little more time with Buffy Anne Summers.

*****

I first motored into Sunnydale on my bike with everything I owned in a duffel bag. Now I was leaving pretty much the same way, only on the way out I had a fifteen-year old blonde hottie on the back of the bike with her arms around me, holding on tight. I couldn't have just gotten a snowglobe or a refrigerator magnet or something. That woulda been too easy. I headed north. Mexico was closer and probably easier to get in and out of, but it was also an obvious choice for someone on the run. When I dumped Buffy I could always double back and head for Baja or continue heading north and actually go to Canada like I told her I was gonna do when we left. Hadn't decided yet. Not like I had a plan or anything. I was pretty much winging it.

I'd never found anything to match the thrill of speeding down the highway on my bike, except fucking. The feeling was incredible. It was liberating and exhilarating, and just dangerous enough. With the wind whipping through my hair, and my heart pumping, and the seat humming between my legs, it was like getting laid. I could fucking come riding my bike. And Buffy clinging to me just made it better. She had me in a bear hug and was pressed tight against my back, either because she was afraid of falling off, she just wanted to hold me, or both. Was she getting off on this, too? Were the vibrations making her as wet as I was? Just thinking about it made me shudder.

Racing down the highway on my bike with Buffy hanging onto me was almost enough to make me forget why we'd bailed Sunnydale in the first place. Almost. But then a couple of CHP's would pass us or I'd see a squad car parked on the side of the road and I would remember why we left all over again. So I kept the bike under 65mph and signaled with every fucking lane change, not giving them a reason to pull me over, ask questions. I was the poster girl for motorcycle safety.

When we were well out of town I started to think about ways to get rid of her. Stop for gas, tell her to take a pee before we hit the road, then take off while she was in the john. Yeah. That'd work. She'd be okay until her parents got there. Better than she would be with me, that's for sure. She would never forgive me, of course. And maybe that was a good thing.

So if leaving her somewhere was for the best, why didn't I just do it already? Why didn't I pull into the first gas station we passed and get rid of her? The answers were obvious. Because I liked the feel of her body tight against mine, liked having her arms around me. Fuck. I just liked her. And I wasn't ready to get rid of her just yet.

As we whizzed by a truck stop I told myself that I would let her off at the next one. I just wanted a few more minutes with her, that's all. Just a few more minutes of her holding onto me and then I would leave Buffy behind forever.

*****

At dusk I stopped pretending that I was gonna abandon Buffy at some truck stop and found us a motel for the night. If I'd been by myself, I would have just pulled over to the side of the road and slept outdoors since the weather was decent. But I wasn't going to make Buffy Anne Summers rough it. Shit. The motel was roughing it for her. It was a dump. Even more of a dump than my apartment, and that wasn't good enough for her. But the manager accepted cash, no questions asked, and there was a gas station/convenience store across from it. I told Buffy to take a shower while I went over to the convenience store to pick up a few things. She smiled and told me to hurry back. And to bring back something chocolatey. I said I would do both.

As I crossed the street I thought again about leaving her. It would have been so easy to just get on my bike and ride off while she was in the shower. And when I saw the payphone at the gas station I thought about calling Hank Summers myself, telling him where his daughter was, that he should come get her, that I would go away forever if he would just keep the cops out of this and ease up a little on Buffy. But even as I thought about it I knew deep down I wasn't going to do it. Not now. Tomorrow I would make the call. I wanted another night with Buffy, just one more night. That's all. Then I would get out of her life. I had to.

The guy working the counter at the convenience store was watching a portable TV but perked up when I walked in and I smiled, shaking my ass a little, letting him get his hopes -and probably other things- up. What the hell? Maybe I could score some free stuff. Couldn't hurt. I grabbed us some pre-wrapped sandwiches, assorted bags of chips, two of everything from the Little Debbie rack, a shitload of candy bars, and a fridge pack of Coke. The place had cold beer, too, and I thought about that, wondered if the guy at the counter would like my ass enough not to card me. Fuck it. I didn't need to get drunk anyway. But when I took the stuff up to the counter I *did* grab a lighter and asked the guy for a pack of Marlboros. I hadn't had a smoke in months, mostly because I couldn't afford them, but I was itching for one bad. He charged me for everything. Damn. Guess I wiggled my ass for nothing. Maybe he was gay. Or maybe I should have sent Buffy out for food instead.

I heard the shower running when I got back to the motel room, and as I slid the security chain in place I imagined her standing under the water, naked, soaping up her breasts, sliding a hand between her legs to wash her inner thighs, reaching around to clean between her butt cheeks. Shit. Thoughts like that had caused this mess in the first place, were the reason I hadn't ditched her ass two exits back. Maybe I should have a smoke, take the edge off a little? Later, maybe. I set the bag of groceries on the dresser next to the TV then kicked off my shoes and sat down on the edge of bed. It really wasn't that late but I was exhausted, drained. Too much had happened and it had taken a lot out of me. I wanted to crash, sleep for a week. Then I heard the water stop running in the bathroom, heard the shower curtain being pulled back, and I felt like I could pull an all- nighter.

The bathroom door creaked open then Buffy stepped out, wrapped in a towel, blonde hair wet and combed straight back. Fuck. Even without make-up, standing in a crappy motel room, straight from the shower, Buffy Anne Summers looked incredible. She noticed me sitting there and smiled.

"You're back."

"Uh huh."

"Did you bring lots of chocolatey goodness with you?"

I nodded at bag on the dresser. "Hope that's enough."

Clutching the towel, arms folded across her chest, Buffy walked over to the dresser and peered into the bag. She made a face. "You smoke?"

"Sometimes," I said.

"Yuck."

"I'll smoke outside."

Buffy circled around the bed and stood in front of me, smelling like cheap shampoo and hard water. "Yeah. But then you'll come inside and kiss me with cigarette lips. Gross."

I could feel the heat coming off her and swallowed hard. The only thing between me and her naked body was a couple of inches and that fucking towel. "Then I just won't kiss you."

"I think you will," Buffy said. She let the towel fall to floor.

Even though her body was nothing new to me I felt the same twinge in my gut that hit me the very first time I saw her naked, when I got my first look at her perfect little tits, her flat stomach, the inviting tuft of blonde hair between her legs. Something told me that feeling would never go away, that I would never get tired of looking at her, that after twenty years she would still make my pulse race. And it made me a little sad that I would never find out for sure.

I slid my hands over her slim hips and pulled her into my lap, plunking her down on my thigh, hard. Buffy giggled and threaded her arms around my neck, leaning into me, her lips almost -but not quite- touching mine. She wanted me to kiss her, not the other way around, and I did, like we both knew I would, closing the paper-thin gap between us and hungrily pressing my mouth to hers. Her lips were eager against mine, urgent and needy. It was like we were picking up where we left off in my apartment, only this time I didn't break the kiss, didn't worry about things getting out of hand. I had to have her one more time.

As her tongue slithered over mine I rolled Buffy onto her back, laying her flat on the small bed. She was already tugging at my shirt, trying to lift it off me, and I tore myself away from her long enough to pull off my shirt then I went back to kissing her, desperately, passionately, nibbling on her lips, chewing on them. Impatient hands struggled with the clasp of my bra, getting it open, my breasts spilling out. I moved against her, my tits mashed against hers, teasing her nipple with the gold ring through mine. She moaned against my lips, bringing her hands up my back to tangle them in my hair, holding onto me as the friction of the my half-naked body moving against her completely naked teenage body moved the bed. Rickety springs squeaked to a frenzied beat as I rocked against her, skin on skin, our tits pressed together, kissing each other like we'd die on the spot if we stopped even for a second, even if to just catch our breath. But when I felt her nipples stiffen against my skin I knew I would have to risk it, because I had to suck on them, needed to have those hard little pebbles in my mouth.

I wrenched my mouth from hers and kissed along the side of her neck, inching lower until I reached the curve of her breast. Buffy arched her back when my kisses paused there, thrusting her little pink nipples at me, begging me not to stop. Like that was even an option. I flicked my tongue over her nipple then captured the hard little nub between my teeth, tugging on it then releasing it with a snap before closing my lips around it and sucking it. Buffy writhed under me, raking demanding fingers through my hair as I suckled at her breast, kissing and licking her rock-hard nipples, groping whichever breast I didn't have stuffed in my mouth. She breathed in gasps and sighs when she even breathed at all, making fists in my hair, holding me against her breast to make sure my lips never strayed.

"Faith . . . Faith . . . yes . . . yes . . ."

The desire in her voice made my cunt ache. I slid my mouth from her breast and kissed my way down her stomach, scooting lower down the bed until I had my face in her thick blonde curls. Buffy spread for me, parting her thighs and exposing the glistening pink folds of her young pussy. The scent of her arousal was thick between her legs and I breathed in the rich musk, savored it before pressing my mouth to her hot, wet slit. She moaned deep in her throat as I went down on her, sucking on her netherlips, dipping my tongue into her again and again. I dragged my tongue up the length of her cleft then burrowed into her. She still had her fists in my hair and she pulled me tight against her, rubbing my face in her pussy, slopping her wetness all over me as I licked her. I groaned into her slick hole, getting my mouth tight against her, sucking her sweet young pussy, swirling my tongue around inside her.

"Make me come . . . Faith . . . please make me come . . ."

I nearly came myself hearing her beg for it like that. Spreading her cuntlips with my fingers, I exposed her pearl of a clit and flicked my tongue over it. She hissed in answer, hips bucking. Gee, did she like that? I circled her clit with the very tip of my tongue then pressed my lips to her hard little button, sucking it and the meaty flesh surrounding it, sucking her hard, reaching down and teasing her asshole with my finger while I did, pressing into her a little. Buffy cried out, slamming her head back against the bed, hips arching against me, fingers tightening in my hair as her pussy twitched in climax. I let go of her clit but kept my face between her legs, licking her now and then, tasting the sweetness of her come, staying there until the last tremors faded away. When she stopped shaking I dropped a kiss on her tummy then crawled up next to her, brushing my lips over hers, stirring her from whatever haze she was in.

"Faith," Buffy murmured.

"Don't conk out on me now, Summers," I teased her. "You still got work to do."

"Like what?"

"Like getting me off," I said.

"Do I hafta?"

I rolled onto my back, pulling her on top of me, grabbing a fistful of blonde hair and snapping her head back. Desire burned in her eyes when she stared down at me. "Yeah. You hafta. Got a problem with that?"

"No," Buffy whispered. "No problem."

"Good." I brought her mouth down to mine, kissing her, wanting her. She slid a hand over my breast, cupping it, squeezing a moan out of me, using her thumb to tease my nipple ring. Fuck. Would she ever get tired of it? Or was she fascinated by it as I was with the sight of her naked body? Would she still like it twenty years from now? Fuck. She teased my nipple firm and I groaned against her lips as my flesh tightened around the gold ring.

"Do you want me to kiss it, Faith?" she asked softly.

"No," I growled, "I want you to suck it."

Buffy slid her body down mine and got her mouth around my breast, sucking my nipple ring between her warm, wet lips. I moaned as she rolled the ring around inside her mouth, flicking it with her tongue, tugging on it, stretching my nipple. She pawed at my other breast, holding it in her hand, rolling that nipple between her thumb and finger, pinching it, twisting, filing me with a mixture of pleasure and pain, making me even wetter, more desperate than ever to have her attention focused lower.

As if reading my mind Buffy started to kiss her way down my stomach, licking playfully at my skin, nipping at me not-so-playfully, moving lower and lower until she reached the waist of my jeans. She quickly unsnapped them, pulled them down over my hips, got them off me. My panties, too. Then she wiggled between my thighs, her face so close to my pussy that I could feel the warmth of her breath tickling my clit. But she kept me waiting. The little bitch kept me waiting, got me all cranked up then left me hanging, until I grunted at her. She smiled, then, pleased with herself, pleased that I had broken before she had. Buffy could have her small victory if she would hurry up and lick me.

And she did. Buffy covered my slit with her mouth, sucking my pussy, eating me out, fucking me with her tongue. I pounded my fists against the bed as she went down on me, her blonde head bobbing wildly between my legs. She wagged her tongue inside me, nibbled my pussylips, teased my clit. Fuck. She had gotten way too good at this. It seemed like she had me on the edge of climax in no time at all. But I wanted more . . . needed more . . . much more. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her off me, actually lifted her mouth from my pussy in mid-lick. She looked up at me, surprised, confused, my juices dripping messily from her chin.

"Doesn't it feel good?"

"Use your fingers," I panted. "I want you inside me."

The surprised look on her face became a smile then Buffy nodded eagerly, easing two fingers into me. She slid them in and out, slowly at first, then started to move faster, faster, pumping her fingers in and out of me, fucking me hard and deep. I grunted and rolled my hips against her hand, meeting each thrust, crazed, blinded by lust, needing more than what she was giving me.

"More . . . fuck me with more fingers . . ."

Buffy worked another finger into me, using three now, pounding into me harder . . . faster . . . deeper. It should have been enough . . . but it wasn't. Not even close. My cunt was sopping wet and there was plenty of room in there. I wanted to be full, stuffed with her fingers. Why didn't she understand that? My frustration erupted in a howl.

"I want more, damn it! Put your fucking hand inside me!"

Buffy stared up at me, eyes wide. "Won't that . . .hurt?"

"Take it slow." I held up my hand, showed her how to tuck her thumb into her palm. "Like this. Do it! Just fucking do it! Now!"

Still looking uncertain, Buffy nodded. She kept sliding her fingers in and out of me, still just three, then four . . . four fingers thrusting into my pussy. I sucked in breath after breath without exhaling, waiting for it, wanting it so bad I could have screamed at the top of my lungs. Buffy fucked me harder, faster, four nimble fingers slamming into my pussy, my body crying for more, more, more, then I felt her pushing in deep, felt my pussy stretching around her little hand, stretching and stretching, oh fuck, she was gonna split my right open, wasn't she, then the last bit of resistance gave way and the heel of her palm was slipping into me with a whoosh and I felt full at last. I heard a soft, astonished gasp and looked down at her, looked down my stomach and between my legs and saw Buffy Anne Summers up to her wrist in my pussy. The look of awe on her face was precious. I stared into her eyes as I reached down and cupped my mound, felt her hand moving inside me.

"Now *fuck* me," I muttered.

As if in a trance, Buffy started to ease her hand back and forth inside me. Even the tiniest movement sent waves of pleasure crashing over me, around me, through me, dragging sounds out of me that were more animal than human, strangulated cries and gut-wrenching moans that could have been either agony or ecstasy. The more Buffy realized it was that second one the more relaxed she became, the more comfortable she was, and the harder she fucked me, turning her fist a little as she pushed into me, moving faster now . . . faster . . . putting more into it. I moved with her, rocking my hips, my entire body undulating, the two of us finding our rhythm, becoming one. I could feel my orgasm start to build. Could she feel it, too? Did the clenching around her hand tip her off? Her eyes never left mine, intense, determined eyes that bored into mine as she fucked me with her hand. The burn started in the tips of my toes and crept upward like I had been set on fire, the flames sweeping across my body until it completely engulfed me, her hand still moving inside me, the heat intense, making me dizzy, unable to breathe, think, see, and the whole time her hand was moving inside me, faster, faster, turning, twisting, filling me, completing me, fuck yeah, I was gonna come with her hand inside me, yes, yes, oh god, yes, I was gonna come while Buffy Anne Summers fucked me her fist. My head was spinning, the room a blur, and with Buffy's hand deep inside my pussy I came. Was that me screaming at the top of my lugs? It must have been . . . yes . . . that was me screaming . . . because I was coming . . . coming . . . coming . . .

I checked out for a minute, not passed out cold, more like stood outside myself for a bit. Everything around me had a dreamlike quality to it. I knew Buffy had pulled her hand out of me, knew there was this sudden empty feeling inside me and between my legs, then suddenly she was crawling on top of me, resting her head against my chest. Were those tears I felt against my skin? Was she trembling? Or was that me? I put my arms around her, held her naked, shuddering body tight against mine, unable to speak, unsure of what I'd say even if I could. Sleeping seemed easier, less complicated.

*****

I woke up suddenly from a dreamless sleep, as if an alarm had gone off. Sunlight framed the edges of the burnt orange drapes in front of the window, telling me it was morning. I glanced at the cheap clock radio bolted to the night table and sighed. It was almost seven. When had we finally drifted off? Was it before midnight? After? Shit. I couldn't remember. Buffy was still asleep, curled up in a tight ball next to me, snoring lightly, looking adorable, making me want her again. The last time we'd spent the night together I'd wanted her first thing in the morning, had waited for her to wake up before fucking again, had been told bluntly that I didn't have to wait for her to be awake, that she wouldn't mind if I started without her the next time . . . the next time. Now here I was waking up beside her again, wanting her just as much as I had the night before, and the night before that. And thoughts of kissing her all over, of waking her with a couple fingers in her pussy, stirred me, made my pussy damp. But the next time she suggested wouldn't happen . . couldn't happen. This had to be it. I would never have another chance like I had now to do the right thing, the sensible thing . . . the *only* thing. I had to go, had to leave her, had to let her get on with her life. That didn't mean I wanted to, that it was easy. Getting out of the bed would be the hardest thing I had ever done, but I knew I had to, for her sake.

Turning away from her, I quietly slipped out from under the covers and gathered my clothes off the floor. I looked away from her as I got dressed. If I allowed myself to look at her even for a minute it would become five minutes . . . then ten . . . then she'd be awake . . . and we would fuck again . . . then we'd have breakfast, hit the road, and I would be telling myself all afternoon that when we reached the next gas station I was going to ditch her until night fell and I started looking for another motel. So it had to be now. This had to be the end of it. I slipped on my underwear without looking at her, not even a glance, getting dressed in the dark, making as little noise as possible.

I got the pack Marlboros and the lighter from the bag on the dresser and stuffed them into my jeans pocket. My duffel was by the bed, and when I went to grab it I couldn't help but look at her. Buffy was still sleeping, covers pulled over her naked body, face half buried in her pillow. Damn. Why'd Buffy Anne Summers have to be so fucking beautiful? I sighed and turned to leave.

And that's when all hell broke loose.

It happened fast. There was nothing surreal about it, and it wasn't like watching life unfold in slow motion. This was real-time. Like a bolt of lightning out of a clear night sky. The door crashed open, busted off its hinges, splintered wood flying everywhere. Then guys in flak jackets and Kevlar vests came pouring into the motel room, guns out, telling me to freeze, to not fucking move. I heard Buffy scream for me, panic and sleepiness in her voice. Instinct said go to her, comfort her. But the two hundred pound guy who took me to the ground, who shoved my face into the carpet was stronger than my instinct.

As my hands were forced behind my back and metal cuffs slid over my wrists I knew someone was telling me that I had the right to remain silent, that anything I said could be held against me in a court of law. But all I heard was Buffy calling out to me.

"Faith!"

CHAPTER FIVE

I guess I should have known my ass would end up in jail someday. Okay, so I was in a holding cell in some backwater county sheriff's office, but it was still a cramped little square room with gray metal bars, a small cot pushed against the back wall, and a hole in the corner to piss in. Fuck. If this wasn't jail, I didn't want to see the real deal. I felt like a caged animal, helpless, trapped. The walls seemed to be closing in around me, squeezing all the air out of the cell, suffocating me. I'd been processed but not booked, which meant I had been felt up by a tough-as-all-fucking-shit female deputy who had a little too much fun patting me down for contraband, but not charged with a crime. At least not yet. I assumed they would get around to that, of course. It was just a matter of time. But I still didn't know what I'd be charged with.

From the snippets of conversation and police radio chatter I'd overheard, I managed to piece together what had happened. Hank Summers had called the police some time yesterday evening and reported that their fifteen-year old daughter Buffy Anne Summers had gone missing, and was presumed kidnapped. Kidnapped! Jesus fucking Christ! They thought I'd kidnapped her! Law enforcement agencies throughout California had been told that Buffy might be in the company of a nineteen year old white female approximately 5'5 with dark hair, riding a motorcycle. From what I gathered, the guy at the convenience store who hadn't been impressed with the way I shook my ass had seen a news report about a missing teenage girl, and when my driver's license picture was flashed on the screen he recognized me and called the tip-line that had been set up. Deputies from the local sheriff's office had been sent to investigate the tip, which led them to the motel across the street from the convenience store, where the desk manager there confirmed that a woman matching the description of the kidnapper had rented a room there *and* that he had seen this woman in the company of a young blonde teenage girl. He gave them the room number. A check of the license plate on the motorcycle parked outside the room clinched it for them and within just a couple of hours after getting the tip from the guy at the convenience store the sheriff's department was busting down the door of the motel room.

I knew what happened from there. The cops cuffed me, read me rights, dragged me out of the motel room, and shoved me into the back of a patrol car. As we drove off I saw two female deputies escorting Buffy out of the room. She was wrapped in a blanket and it looked like she was crying. That was my parting image of her. I would much rather have thought about her on her back, with her legs spread open, her hot little pussy so wet and inviting. Or thought about her bent in half, ass in the air, begging for me to put my tongue inside her. I wanted to remember her adoring eyes gazing into mine after we fucked, when we'd worn each other out and collapsed on top of each other in a naked, sweaty heap. I wanted to remember Buffy with her head on my shoulder, lazily teasing my nipple ring while I combed my fingers through her blonde hair, the warmth of her body next to mine just about the most wonderful thing in the world. But all I saw when I closed my eyes was Buffy wrapped in a blanket, looking dazed, cheeks red, tears in her eyes, choking on sobs as two sheriff's deputies led her from the motel room.

The image haunted me. What had I done? Buffy should never have been forced to go through that. If I had just ditched her like I'd originally planned, she would have been pissed off at me, even hurt, but she would have gotten over it eventually. But that would have been the right thing. That would have been the decent thing. Instead I had been selfish, and now Buffy would be fucked up for life because I had been thinking with my cunt. How could I have done that to her? The thought of her being traumatized over this, over me, made me ache deep down in my gut. Maybe I deserved to go to prison. Not for fucking her, but for fucking with her. If I knew Buffy was all right, if I could be sure she would make it through all this shit without any more suffering, then I'd confess to everything and sign my name on the dotted-fucking-line. It wouldn't matter what happened to me as long as I knew Buffy would be okay. Yesterday I'd told her she wasn't just some kid I'd fucked. Maybe I shouldn't have. Maybe I should have told her she was nothing to me, just a hot little piece of ass that happened to fall into my lap. She would have stormed out of my apartment, slammed the door, and gone back home to her fancy house and her pampered life. Maybe I'd still be in the shithouse, but I'd rather have her pissed at me and wanting revenge than scarred for life. Maybe she would have been, anyway. What the fuck did I know? Nothing. Except that I had made a huge mess of things, and was probably where I belonged because of it.

I heard footsteps outside the cell and looked up, a chill running up my spine when I saw the sheriff standing on the other side of the bars. He was a tall man with broad shoulders, bald, sporting a goatee, with skin the color of imported dark chocolate. When I'd been processed I heard someone call him Sheriff Wood. Why had the sheriff come to my cell and not a deputy?

The two of us regarded each other then Sheriff Wood motioned to someone I couldn't see and the cell door clanged open. I stiffened a little. Looked like this was it for me. End of the line. Someone with more sense than I had would have been scared shitless, but all I could think was that there was something I should have told Buffy when I had the chance, something I would never have a chance to tell her now. Not that it would have made a difference, made up for what I'd put her through. But I still wished I had said it. Now it was too late.

Sheriff Wood stared at me. I could feel his disgust. It radiated from him. He looked at me and saw a pervert, a predator, someone who had corrupted an innocent young girl. Maybe he was right. But I still didn't like the way he looked at me.

"What?" I asked.

The sheriff flexed his shoulders. "On behalf of the entire Sheriff's Department I'd like to apologize for this misunderstanding."

I stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Mrs. Summers explained that she had given her daughter permission to travel upstate with you," Sheriff Wood said. "But she apparently neglected to tell her husband."

What? Mrs. Summers had told them that? I had to be dreaming. Because there was no fucking way this could really be happening. She never would have said that, never would have stuck up for me. Not after what I did, not after what she saw when she got home that night. But this didn't feel like a dream and I was thinking Sheriff Wood didn't have much of a sense of humor. So that was it? What about the other stuff? Even if I wasn't a kidnapper I'd still been caught fucking a fifteen year old . . . except when the cops busted down the door I was already dressed, so they hadn't seen anything, hadn't caught me doing anything. It all came down to what Hank and Joyce said to them. Did Buffy have something to do with that? For the first time since I'd been thrown in the holding cell I saw a glimmer of hope at the end of a long, dark sewer tunnel.

"Um, yeah," I said. "That's what I tried to tell your boys when they were taking me down this morning."

"Right," Sheriff Wood said. If he was trying to keep the skepticism from his voice, he was doing a piss-poor job of it. "So, anyway, you are free to go. Again, with our apologies."

"S'ok," I said. "We're five by five."

I walked out of the cell before he changed his mind or I woke up, whichever it turned out to be.

*****

Even after a week I was glad to be home. My crappy little apartment had never been more comfortable. The worn carpeting, the second-hand sofa, the drab curtains. I fucking loved it. Every morning I woke up in my own bed I wanted to shout out to the hills that I was a free woman. Well, sort of free. The "disappearance" of "that Summers girl" had been big news around Sunnydale, and my picture had been plastered all over the local news and in the morning paper. Conversation dropped to a whisper when I walked into stores, people with kids would cross the street when they saw me coming down the sidewalk. It didn't seem to matter to them that no charges had ever been filed against me. I had been labeled a troublemaker and people avoided me like I was a fucking leper. The temp agency had no real cause to fire me since I hadn't officially done anything illegal, but I noticed they'd stopped calling me with job opportunities. So I pretty much hung around my apartment all day, while I could, anyway, until I ran out of cash and was evicted, smoking, watching Passions, eating take out. It wasn't the high-life, but I wasn't locked behind bars, either. I could leave if I wanted. I had a choice. That made all the difference.

When I started to feel cooped up I'd climb on my bike and just take off, tooling around Sunnydale without a destination in mind, loving the freedom of it, the feel of the wind whipping through my hair, the sound of my tires on the pavement. I'd never take those things for granted, never. One night when I went out to get a pack of cigs I thought about driving by the Summers house. Not stopping, just a quick drive by. But when I was within a few blocks good sense made me turn my bike around and go back home. What was the point? To remind me of what I couldn't have? Of what I'd lost?

I didn't see any sign of Buffy or her parents when I left the sheriff's office that afternoon, and I hadn't heard from her at all since I got back. Not that I expected to. Still, every time the phone rang my heart beat a little faster at the thought that it might be her. Usually turned out to be a telemarketer. Hadn't that no-call list gone into effect yet? While I was doing laundry the other day a blonde walked by the window and for a moment, just for a split second, I thought it might be her. It wasn't, of course. And it never would be. I would never answer the phone and hear her voice, would never run into her at The Bronze. Buffy Anne Summers was out of my life forever.

Since there was nothing to keep me in Sunnydale, and people were doing their best to make me feel unwelcome, and I would be thrown out of my apartment soon anyway, I should have just left. Packed up the few things I really needed, hopped on my bike, and gotten the fuck out of there. But I was tired of running from my problems, tired of escaping my shitty life. When did it end? When I finally checked out for good? Fuck that. I was staying put. For better or for worse I'd ended up in Sunnydale, and that's where I was gonna stay. I would make it work, somehow, some way. Even if I had to go to the manager at Double Meat Palace and beg her for a lousy job. This was home now. I wasn't leaving it. Maybe I would enroll at UCS, take some classes. Fuck. Anything was possible.

A knock at the door startled me. I hadn't ordered a pizza or anything, and I wasn't expecting anybody. Who did I know, anyway? Not like I had a lot of friends these days. It couldn't be her. There was no way it could be her. And yet my pulse raced a little faster and my chest felt tight just imagining that it might be her. I took a deep breath and went to the door, slid back the security chain, heart thumping faster and faster as I pulled the door open.

It wasn't her.

But I couldn't have been more surprised at who was standing in the hallway, though.

"Joyce," I whispered.

Mrs. Summers shifted like a cockroach had just run up her pants leg. Did it bother her that much just to hear me say her name? Guess I couldn't blame her for that. She looked good, really good, made the same impression on me that she had the first time I met her. Dignified, refined. Classy. That was it. Joyce Summers was a classy woman. She had on a simple beige top and tan slacks. For her that was probably dressing down. She made it look elegant, though.

"Hello, Faith," Joyce said. "May I come in?"

"Uh, yeah," I said. "Sure. Come on in."

I stepped aside and let her into the apartment, closing the door behind her, feeling the same embarrassment I had when Buffy had come over. The older Summers woman looked even more out of place than her daughter had.

"I like what you've neglected to do with the place," Joyce said, looking around. Her eyes found mine and softened a little. "Sorry. That was bitchy, wasn't it?"

"Maybe just a little," I said, my voice tight. "I'd ask you to sit down, but you might get your prim little ass a dirty."

"I deserved that," Joyce said. She made herself comfortable on the sofa. When I didn't join her she cocked her head and sighed. "Faith, please. Sit down. I promise not to stay long."

I told myself I was sitting down because that's what I wanted to do, but that was just to make me feel better about the fact that I was doing what she told me. But I sat on the opposite end, as far away from her as I could get without perching on the arm of the sofa. Even as I did it I felt silly. But I didn't care. I shouldn't feel like this in my own apartment, like a kid, like she was my mother.

"So what brings you by, Joyce?" I asked.

Joyce stared down at the floor. "Are you in love with my daughter?"

If I'd grown a dick and a pair of hairy balls I couldn't have been more surprised than I was right at that moment. "What?"

"Oh, you heard me," Joyce replied warily. "Just answer the question."

"I don't think I want to," I said.

Joyce looked over at me. "I'm sure you've been wondering why I told the police Buffy had permission to be with you."

"Nah," I said, leaning back a little. "I figured she threw a hissy and you caved."

That made Joyce laugh. "You're closer to the truth than you know. Yes, Buffy did throw quite a temper tantrum. And I must say, it was one of her finest performances to date."

"I knew she had it in her," I said.

"Yes," Joyce replied, nodding. "Buffy is used to getting her way. I'm afraid her father and I are to blame for that. Anyway, she told us everything that happened and promised she would never try to see you again if we didn't press charges. I knew my daughter was sexually active before you came along. I'm not happy about it, but I've known about it. My husband, bless his heart, thought she would be a virgin until her wedding night. In any case, since it was clear you didn't take advantage of her, I didn't see the need to ruin your life and finally convinced him of that too."

"Thanks," I said. "That what you wanna hear, Joyce? Thank you? Fine. Thank you."

Joyce shook her head. "You are a piece of work. I understand what she sees in you. But if you'll put the attitude on hold for a moment, I'll continue. To be honest, I fully expected Buffy to start begging us to let her see you again the minute you were set free. And if we didn't let her, I expected her to sneak off to see you."

"She hasn't," I assured her. "I haven't seen her in a week."

"I know," Joyce said. She sounded amazed. "And that's why I'm here. My daughter is a spoiled, self-centered brat. She has her father wrapped around her little finger and frankly I'm not that much better with her. But I've seen a different side of Buffy lately. She's been miserable all week. I know she wants to see you. But she's keeping her word, not for us, but for you, to keep you out of trouble. For the first time in fifteen years my daughter has actually put someone else's needs ahead of her own. Your needs. Her first, and to my knowledge *only*, selfless act is because of you. And it is clear to me, whether she knows it or not, that Buffy is in love with you. So Faith, I'm going to ask you again, are you in love with my daughter?"

I sat there like an idiot, mouth hanging open, not sure I'd heard her right, not sure I'd heard her at all. There was just so much to process. It was a little overwhelming. And my brain was kinda stuck on the part about Buffy being in love with me. Joyce looked like she was waiting for me to say something. Why? Oh right. She'd asked me a question. Was I in love with her daughter? Good question, Joyce. Was I? Even as I asked myself the question I heard myself answering her.

"Yes," I whispered.

Had I really said that? Had that come out of me? Fuck. It had. I said it. I admitted I loved Buffy. Since I said it, I must have meant it. Right? Sure. That made sense. So I meant it. I loved her. Yeah. I loved Buffy Anne Summers. Joyce was looking at me. No . . . she was smiling at me.

"You sound surprised," Joyce said.

"Maybe I am."

Joyce nodded like I'd asked her a question. Maybe she just understood what I meant. She got up, smoothing out the creases in her designer slacks. "I said I wouldn't stay long, and I meant that. So I will go. I'm glad we had a chance to talk."

"Yeah," I said.

I walked her to the door, still feeling a little shell-shocked from the bomb she'd dropped on me. She started to leave then paused in the doorway, turned, looked at me, her eyes, I noticed, a lot like Buffy's, intense and piercing.

"One more thing," Joyce said. "Hank and I are attending a fundraiser for the museum this evening. Are you available to baby-sit?"

Still a little dazed, I could only answer her with a nod.

*****

I pulled up to the wrought iron gate outside the Summers house a few minutes before seven with a tightness in my chest like I was wearing a bra two sizes too small for me. Which didn't make a whole lot of sense, really; I wasn't even wearing a bra. Since Joyce had been to see me that afternoon I had been a nervous wreck, unable to sit still, pacing back and forth in my apartment. I'd gone through a pack of Marlboros and started on another before it was time for me to leave. But now that I was there, actually there at Buffy's house, I sat outside the gate letting my bike idle, staring up the driveway, heart pounding, my palms clammy. Would Buffy be glad to see me? Was she as anxious as I was? When I wasn't pacing or taking a long drag from a cigarette I imagined what it would be like when we were together again, what we would say to each other, what we would do first. Would Buffy throw herself into my arms? Would I pull her to me, kiss her? By the second pack of Marlboros I must have run through every possible reunion scenario for us. Now all I had to do was go up there and make one of them happen. Hank and Joyce were expecting me. So what the hell was I waiting for? If it was for a sign, I got one. The gates started to open without me punching in a code or pressing the intercom button and asking to be let in.

Taking that as an invitation, I put the bike in first gear and rode up to the front door of the house. The BMW was parked in the driveway tonight. Guess it must have been more of a museum fundraiser kinda car than the Jag. I rolled to a stop, killed the engine, pushed out the kickstand, and climbed off my bike. As I circled around the BWM I remembered how much fun I had driving it. Not as much fun as riding my bike on the open highway, but still fun. Hank met me at the door. He had on a tux, and looked good in it. Damn good. I hadn't seen him since he caught me naked and on top of his daughter, and he didn't seem particularly happy about me being there, but he made what could have been an awkward reunion a little easier on both of us by flashing me that charming smile of his. Some of the tension left my shoulders.

"Looking good," I said.

Hank nodded as he let me inside. "Thank you."

I walked through the foyer and headed straight for the kitchen. Would Buffy be waiting there for me? Shit. Of all the scenes I'd played out in my head that afternoon I didn't remember one of them taking place in the kitchen. I felt unprepared. Turned out it didn't matter. She wasn't in there. I didn't know how it was possible, but I was relieved and disappointed at the same time. Shouldn't those two things have been incompatible? Yet that's how I felt. Too fucking weird.

Joyce wandered in from the hall, looking killer in a red evening dress, her face all made up. Would Buffy look that good when she was in her forties? Nah. She'd look even better than that. But Joyce definitely had it going on. She noticed me standing there and smiled.

"Faith," Joyce said. "You're here. Good. Make yourself at home. Buffy is up in her room, sulking. She thinks we hired a new sitter from the temp agency. You might want to let her know it's you."

"I'll do that," I said.

Joyce nodded then looked over at her husband. "We'd better get a move on, dear, or we'll be late." Taking his cue, Hank left the room without a word. When he was gone Joyce turned to me. "Oh, and Faith? Just so we avoid any little surprises later, assume we'll be home at eleven and plan accordingly."

I was glad Joyce didn't wait for answer, was glad she just walked out of the kitchen without even looking at me for a response. Because I didn't want her to see me blush.

When I heard the front door close, I took a deep breath, counted to ten, then headed upstairs. Each step I took, the closer I got to Buffy, the harder it was for me to breathe. Jesus H., Faith. Need to chill out, much? Just fucking go up there already. The door to her bedroom was closed. But I could picture her in there, on the bed, sulking like Joyce had said, looking adorable doing it. I knocked on the door.

"I'm fine, okay?" Buffy shouted through the door. "Now leave me alone."

I smiled and opened the door. Buffy was just like I pictured her, face down on the bed, ankles crossed, paging through the magazine spread open in front of her. She had on a bulky green pullover sweater with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows and a pair black denim jeans that showed off her cute little butt. I watched her turn another page then she made an annoyed, impatient sound.

"Did I say you could come in?" Buffy asked. "Uh, no. Don't think so."

"Sorry, I'll just go back downstairs then."

Buffy glanced up from her magazine and her eyes went wide. The annoyed look on her face disappeared and was replaced with . . . nothing. Her face went blank. Not the blank stare of someone who wasn't feeling anything, but the look of someone feeling too many things at once. The look of someone overwhelmed. I could relate. "Faith?"

"Hey," I said. When I'd thought about all the things I wanted to say to Buffy when I saw her again, I was usually much more eloquent than that. But now that I was actually with her I was going on monosyllabic. And in my fantasies we were usually in each other's arms by now. This wasn't going well at all. She rolled out off the bed, knocking her magazine to the floor when she did, leaving it there.

"Oh my God," Buffy whispered. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello? Babysitter," I said.

It shouldn't have been possible but her eyes got even wider, even prettier. "You? The agency sent you?"

"No," I said. "Your mom asked me."

"What?"

"Yeah. Go figure."

We stared at each other, me with my hands shoved in my back pockets, her with her arm across her chest, clutching her elbow like she had a booboo she wanted me to kiss and make better. There should have been a lot to say after everything that had happened, but we just got quiet and stood there. She was so beautiful, with her golden hair and puppy-dog eyes and perfect body. Tension filled the room like a bad smell. I pulled my hands from my pockets, she dropped her arms to her sides, then we rushed each other like a starting pistol had been fired. She crashed into me with a thud, slamming her face into my chest, throwing her arms around me, holding me tighter than she had when she was on the back of my bike.

"Oh God, Faith," Buffy muttered. "I never thought I would see you again."

I combed my fingers through her hair. "Ditto, babe."

"I missed you so much," Buffy sniffled into my chest. She pushed away suddenly and scowled. "You've been smoking."

"Yeah."

"You know that's totally bad for you, right?"

I laughed. "This mean you're not gonna kiss me now?"

"Maybe."

I grabbed a handful of bulky green sweater and pulled her to me, pulled her to me and kissed her hard, on the mouth, like I'd thought about doing all afternoon. Buffy groaned into the kiss, her lips urgent against mine, impatient, needy and hungry. She slid her hands up and down my back in long, frantic strokes, and when she passed between my shoulders and didn't feel a bra strap she groaned again. I flicked my tongue over hers and the kissed deepened even more.

As she pulled me toward the bed I started to lift up her sweater, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over her head. Unlike me Buffy *was* wearing a bra, a frilly pink lace one that barely held her creamy young breasts, pushing them together creating the Grand Canyon of cleavage, offering up her tits on a platter. It was almost a shame to take it off her but I did, undoing the clasp behind her back and pulling her bra off. Her little pink nipples were already starting to get hard. Maybe she was just cold. But I didn't think so. I cupped her breast as I bent to kiss her again, dragging the flat of my thumb over one of her nipples, feeling it stiffen under my touch. She moaned.

"Like that, huh?" I muttered between kisses.

"Yes . . . yes . . . touch me."

And I did. I kneaded her breast with the butt of my palm, still using my thumb to tease her nipple. She answered that by easing her hands over my ass, grabbing me firmly, squeezing a pitiful little moan out of me. We shuffled closer to the bed, kissing, groping each other, me still with a handful of tit, her tugging at my shirt now, both of us in a frenzy, wanting to be naked like ten minutes ago. Buffy fell back on the bed and stared up at me with crazed eyes as she started to undo her jeans, getting them open, wiggling out of them. I pulled off my top, hurrying to catch up with her, pushing my jeans over my hips, stepping out of them. I hadn't bothered to wear panties, either. She pulled down hers.

I crawled into bed, climbed on top of her, pinned her down with the weight of my body and the hunger of my kiss as I covered her mouth with mine. Buffy clawed at my back, wriggling under me as our bodies pressed together, my pussy grinding into hers, the friction sending ripples of pleasure through me. I could feel her hot little teenage cunt spasm against mine, each little tremor making my own pussy respond in kind. I kissed her as I pushed our cunts together, wetness to wetness, damp flesh rubbing damp flesh, clit bumping clit, our momentum building, her headboard thumping against the wall as we writhed against each other. Shit I was gonna come. Just from this I was gonna fucking come, gonna come in her tight little fifteen year old pussy. Buffy was almost there, too. I could feel her cunt twitch under mine and moved faster, faster, slopping my pussy all over hers, mashing them together, feeling that delicious burn in my gut while she muttered breathlessly, feeling what I was, feeling us both about to climax, our cunts throbbing, clenching and unclenching, fused together, desperately sucking onto each other, feeding off each other, every spasm that rippled her pussy pushing me closer to orgasm, each shudder that ran through mine having the same effect on her, until we were both on the edge, hanging there for what seemed like forever and then I came, the contractions in my pussy setting her off, pushing her over the edge, the two of us creaming into each other cunts.

Both her pussy and mine were still trembling with aftershocks as I started to kiss her neck, nibbling and licking her there. Had she ever been given a hickey? Well she would wear mine tomorrow. Buffy sighed under me as I sucked at her neck like a vampire, murmuring wordlessly, through the impatient fingers she combed through my hair said everything she didn't, told me to kiss lower, much lower. I knew exactly where she wanted me to kiss her, and it definitely wasn't the side of her neck. Sliding my body over hers, I kissed my way lower, not as low as she wanted, but still lower, to the round of her perfect breast, closing my mouth around the creamy mound, capturing her nipple between my lips. I flicked the hard little pebble with my tongue then sucked on it, greedily, noisily, making crude wet sounds as I suckled at her tit, first one then the other, slobbering all over them until her breasts glistened with my spittle. Buffy moaned in obvious pleasure, but the slender fingers tangled in my hair still begged me to keep moving lower.

I let go of her breast with a soft wet plop and kissed a zigzagging path down her flat stomach, inching closer and closer to the furnace that burned between her legs. Buffy pushed on my head like she was trying to submerge me, urging me to move lower, faster, managing to have an attitude even though she wasn't actually saying anything. She might as well have said lick me, bitch in her brattiest, whiniest voice. I wouldn't have denied her either way. Scooting further down the bed, I slid my shoulders under her thighs and got my mouth on her, covered her hot, wet slit with my mouth and started sucking, kissing her pussylips like I would kiss her other lips, deeply, passionately, with a little bit of tongue just to tease her. Buffy squealed in pleasure, thrusting her hips at me, rubbing her sweet little cunt on my face, pounding her fists against the mattress as I went down on her.

"Yes . . . yes . . . oh . . God! Faith! Yes! Lick me! Lick my pussy!"

Hearing Buffy talk like that made me shudder. I burrowed into her with my tongue, fucking her, lapping at her tender folds, nibbling and sucking on them, nuzzling my face into her wetness until I was up to my ears in teenage pussy, loving the feel of her warm wet flesh against my cheeks. Buffy moaned low in her throat, fidgeting on the bed, mussing the sheets, pounding her heels into my back.

"I want to come . . . Faith, please! I want to come!"

I wanted her to come, too, wanted to feel her sopping wet fifteen year old pussy clenching around my face, taste her sweet young honey on my lips. Her clit was the perfect target, swollen, pink, straining from its protective hood. I flicked my tongue over the hard little nub, teasing a moan out of her, then I pressed my lips to clit and sucked it, hard, sucked her off, brought Buffy to orgasm with her clit snagged between my lips. She cried out, arching off the bed, hips bucking wildly, slamming into me, thrusting her pussy against my mouth as she climaxed, coming in my mouth. Sweet cream flowed over my tongue and I drank it down, loving the taste of her, wanting more, unable to get enough, like a lush on a bender wanting a second drink before she even finished her first.

Unwilling to stop licking Buffy's sweet pussy just yet, I turned around and maneuvered into a sixty-nine so she could give as good as she was getting. I heard a needy whimper behind me then frisky hands were grabbing my ass and spreading apart my cheeks. Buffy flicked her tongue over my asshole and I moaned into her pussy, sucking on her juicy cuntlips while she rimmed me. She swirled her tongue around my tight hole then pushed into me, just a bit, easing inside, slowly working into me until her tongue was wrenched up my ass. The feel of her tongue inside me made my entire body shudder with pleasure. I licked her a little faster while Buffy tongue-fucked my asshole, thrusting into me, driving me wild. We traded jabs like prizefighters, my tongue fluttering over her clit getting me a hungry mouth pressed against my asshole in return. I moaned into her again. She answered that by thrusting two fingers into my pussy, fucking me while she sucked my ass. My cunt tightened around her fingers, pulling them in, wanting them deeper, and Buffy gave my cunt exactly what it wanted, pumping her fingers in and out of me, harder, faster, deeper. I groaned around the slick flesh in mouth, sucking her pussy while she fucked mine, her tongue still wiggling inside my asshole. The combination of her fingers in my pussy and her tongue in my ass took me to the brink of climax again. I focused on her clit once more, wanting her to get off when I did, flicking my tongue over the glistening little pearl, licking and sucking it like a fiend. Buffy moaned into my ass, driving her fingers even deeper into me, thrusting her tongue up my asshole. Everything seemed to fall into place, our every movement synchronous, my lips around her clit, her fingers in my pussy and her tongue in my ass, the two of us becoming one, a fucking machine, every gear turning in unison, every piston firing at the same time. When I felt the burn in my gut I knew she felt one in hers, too, then my pussy spasmed around her fingers, her cunt twitched around my face, and we were coming, both of us, coming hard, moaning into each other as we reached orgasm.

We snuggled up together on top of the covers, a naked, sweaty, sticky mess. I was on my back and Buffy was half on top of me, her leg draped over my thigh, her head resting on my shoulder. She was playing with my nipple ring again, teasing it with the tip of her finger. I stroked her hair. As much as I loved fucking her, and I loved it a lot, this part was almost better, the aftermath, the feel of her next to me, the feeling of . . . contentment? Is that what it was? Yeah. That's how I felt. Content. Like it couldn't get any better than this. And it couldn't. Life couldn't get better than this, couldn't give me more than Buffy Anne Summer naked and curled up next to, digging me, fondling my tit.

"Faith?"

"Hmmmm?"

"I think I'm falling in love with you. Actually, I think already have."

Okay, so I was wrong. Life could get better. I said, "I'm in love with you, too."

The End