Afternoons at Sunnydale Private School, it wasn't unusual to see the English teacher Mr. Pratt sitting at his desk enjoying a cup of coffee and a crossword puzzle.

“Hey Mr. Pratt! ” his students would wave as they passed his office. William Pratt was a popular teacher, although his class was notoriously difficult and he was known to be quite strict with his students. But he was much admired for his interesting class lectures as he was for his charming British accent. Combined with his angular features, baby blue eyes, and shock of peroxide blonde hair, he was certifiably on the hottie-to-ogle list. Students, teachers, even the lunch lady, couldn't deny how attractive he was.

The school was lucky to have someone of his caliber teach at this institution, or so the administration told him. He was vague about his history, hoping the school would not press into why he left a professorship position in England to teach high school in America. After a year or so, no one seemed to question his story that he was just tired of the weather and California sunshine seemed like a good remedy for London rain. Now he was settled at the school and even won a teacher-of-the-year award. No one asked for details, or inquired about his past.

Besides, doesn't everyone have skeletons in the closet?

Of course, not even the luckiest bastard has a 17-year old head cheerleader huddled under the desk quietly licking and sucking on his cock. Thank God for the private school funds that paid for this roomy furniture.

“Another crossword puzzle, Will?” Ms. Cordelia Chase, the Ethics teacher asked, leaning in the frame of the doorway.

He cleared his throat. “You know me, Ms. Chase. I'm a bit of a fuddy duddy.”

“Not at all...” Cordelia uncrossed her arms as she entered the room, perching at the edge of his desk. She was a beautiful woman whom William briefly dated. But after their third date, he felt there was zero attraction between them. Sure she was gorgeous, but it was her incessant need to gossip and talk about the price of her shoes that both baffled and disinterested him. Their relationship ended amicably but he sensed that she thought there was unfinished business between them, and she continued to seek him out, usually dressed in something salacious such as today. She adjusted her short pencil skirt as she crossed her legs and dangled a platform stiletto over the edge of the wooden desk.

“C'mon, what's with this 'Ms. Chase' business? It's after hours. And you know we're definitely on a first name basis.” She winked. “Look, I've been thinking. I know we agreed to stop seeing each other outside of work... but I don't think you're having any fun. You're always in here doing crosswords and working yourself like a dog.” Her voice dropped low. “ I could show you a good time, Will.”

Frankly, she wasn't his type. And he knew how to have a good time. If Cordelia sat a few inches closer, she would've been able to make out the plaid skirt and blonde locks belonging to one Buffy Summers showing Mr. Pratt exactly what a good time entailed.

William sucked in his cheekbones just as Buffy sweetly drew in the head of his erect penis into her warm mouth again.

“I don't think that's a good idea, Cor. We're not exactly compatible.” He said, biting the corner of his lip to suppress a groan.

“Why is that? Because I don't read Shakespeare or like word games?” She asked, picking up his newspaper and wanting to prove that she was dateable potential. “Okay. How about this. I correctly fill in one of these clues, and you agree to dinner with me. I think that sounds fair, agreed?”

This should be interesting. “Alright, what's the clue, luv?” He hated to admit that it made his cock jut hard and thick knowing that he was on the receiving end of a dirty deed right underneath the nose of a colleague and former girlfriend. He was sure she wouldn't get the answer right anyhow.

“How about this one. 9 Down- like a rocketship, constriction. 8 letters.”

“Give it your best shot and dinner's on me.”William smirked, as Cordelia furrowed her forehead seemingly deep in thought.

“You're on.” Cordelia tapped the pencil rhythmically against the desk as she tried to figure out the clue. She's not going to get it, William thought. His hand absentmindedly stroked the soft hair of his student, as she licked his length in silence.

Buffy's mouth was wet and heavy with saliva and her jaw hurt. By now she was bathing his delicious rod in earnest, and the full length of him was hitting the back of her throat.

She was used to this treatment. It wasn't the first time Mr. Pratt took a meeting while hiding her under his desk. Only last week it was Principal Snyder going over a proposed budget for the film club that Mr. Pratt agreed to head. The meeting lasted a good 30 minutes. Her pussy was so hot and she desperately wanted to drive her fingers into her cunny and bring herself off, but she held back. “When I say you can, pet.” Mr. Pratt's voice rang in her ears. By the end of the session her panties were drenched, and her mouth was slack and sore. After Snyder left, Mr. Pratt didn't even let her come. He only made her body tingle hotter and wetter by rewarding her good behavior with a little smirk and an unexpected kiss, letting his tongue run into the cavern of her mouth, tasting himself on her breath. “That's my good girl.” He patted her head like a child and sent her on her merry way.

Buffy had to run to the girl's locker room to bring herself off. Slamming herself against the lockers with her hand down her little white cotton briefs, she licked the corners of her lips to savor the remnant taste of her teacher while she manipulated her engorged clit with the palm of her hand, driving two fingers deep inside her aching pussy. Even though she saw him regularly, he never made any move to feel her where she longed to experience his touch. And his permitting her to come involved pulling down her panties and asking her to masturbate for him while he languidly stroked himself. When he felt like being tender, he'd reward her with a kiss, usually a chaste peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Miss Summers.” He'd say. “You may go now. See you in class and don't forget to read Chapter 3 and answer the review questions.” As if nothing happened.

But this moment was special. Their first real kiss. His lips on her mouth so sweet and soft, letting his tongue venture into unknown territory. She leaned into the hard metal and whimpered his name in a tiny voice. “Mr. Pratt... uh yes... Mr. Pratt.... fuck me William....” she cried, not caring who heard her nasty little daydream as her body shook with pleasure.

These “meetings” happened every so often for two months now. Almost always with his office door open, daring her to suck him off quietly while he did other things-- grade papers, hold office hours, do crossword puzzles. Sometimes he invited faculty into his office to chat. He and Mr. Giles, the librarian would shoot the breeze, talk Manchester United without batting an eye. His voice always even and controlled, never letting on that the head cheerleader and vice-president of the honor society was on her knees slurping away with her teacher's cock buried deep inside her rosy pink mouth.

The tapping stopped.

“Did you hear something?” Cordelia looked up with her ears perked.

“I don't hear anything.”

“It sounds like, someone drinking soda or ….eating soup.”

William cleared his throat, and his hand tightened around the back of Buffy's head. “ It's probably just a student outside snacking on something. You know how these kids love to break rules. It's a silly rule isn't it? No food in the hallway?” He coughed loudly, believing this was a reasonable excuse. “So...the clue... any idea?”

Cordelia shrugged. “ Well, fifth letter is a T....” She bit her lip, examining the puzzle and returning to her tapping.

William nodded and released his grip on Buffy when she unlatched her mouth from him.

Buffy couldn't believe that Mr. Pratt was really entertaining the idea of going out with this airhead of a teacher. She was unaware of their history, but didn't like what she was hearing one bit. Buffy was in Ms. Chase's Ethics class, and found it hard to believe a woman like her could teach Ethics to begin with. She always wore too tight clothes, paraded her body around in insensible high heeled shoes, and was heavily rumored to fix grades for students she favored. Her ex- boyfriend Angel Connor was in the class too, flirted shamelessly with Ms. Chase, but couldn't tell her nose from her mouth since his eyes were permanently glued to her tits. Naturally Angel was pulling an A in the class while she languished behind with a B- despite her active participation.

Buffy rolled her eyes. Oh us kids love to break rules alright, she thought angrily. Without warning, she sucked in her cheeks and started to blow Mr. Pratt's cock with such force and vigor, that he lurched forward in his chair and had to steady himself with both hands on the armrests. He was shocked. What the hell was she doing? William audibly drew in his breath as Buffy sucked him hard, working both her small hands around the base of the cock, while she lapped the small hole and went on to thump the underside against her raw tongue. Hollowing out her cheeks she took him in further, bathing him in her hot spit. When she felt his cock tighten in her mouth, she pulled off, and alternatively licked his balls, drawing letters against the skin.

William's forehead started to bead with sweat. He felt lightheaded. Fuck, she was going to give themselves away. He tried to pull it together, as he felt his stomach tighten. He desperately wanted to scream profanities at the top of his voice and pull her head back onto his cock, so he could shamelessly fuck her mouth without abandon. But she had none of that. She held the stiff member in her hand, and continued to lick. He could hardly make out the letters, but ever so faintly he felt them form. She was spelling.

Why you saucy chit... he thought.

T..... H..... R......

“I don't know what it could be. Constriction? That's the confusing part.” Cordelia said perplexed, shaking her leg.

Hearing the word “constriction,” Buffy sucked the cock in her mouth again and swirled her tongue repeatedly over the head. William felt her intention. It was the letter O.

“Why do you have to make it so hard for me?” Cordelia asked, chewing on the pencil.

I don't make it hard for you, William thought. I make it hard for her. Buffy was a hot little thing who showed up late to the first day of class and not bothering to change out of her cheerleading outfit. He realized he didn't make it easy for her to live up to her potential with his constant teasing. “Forget your pom poms, love?”He recalled how he sneered and assumed she was just another dense bimbo. She surprised everyone, including himself when she raised her hand and gave a very educated response to his question about Hamlet's soliloquy blowing every stereotype he had about cheerleaders out of the water. It made him hot that she was as intelligent as she was beautiful. But not smart enough to know better and stay away from him. He forgot how she had turned from his star pupil into this hungry vixen as currently she was making it hard to concentrate on anything other than blowing his load. His balls felt heavy and ached with need so Buffy returned her attention to where it was due.

T.....T..... L..... E.....

Throttle. That was the word for it. The way she enveloped his cock in one warm shining breath, milking him for cum, providing him with a solution to a stiff problem. She closed her mouth yet again, wriggling and sucking the length as she moved the bulbous head past the ring of muscles at the back of her throat. He felt her tighten around him for a few brief seconds before she removed herself completely with a soft barely audible gasp. She was catching her breath, and roughly stroked the cock wet with her saliva.

“8 letters..... oh I got it! BLAST OFF!” Cordelia shouted, pleased with herself.

“Oh lord.....” He turned pale and closed his eyes as thick strings of milky white semen shot from his throbbing cock. He wasn't sure where it landed as Buffy made no attempt to put him back into her mouth like he had instructed. It was his preference that she finish him in her mouth, savoring the feeling of her swallowing his fluids. Now the girl was breaking all sorts of rules, and he didn't know what to make of it.

Voice hoarse as his eyes focused on the doorway.“It's not blast off, you ninny. It's throttle.” He tried to regain his composure. But it was proving too difficult with his ex staring at him like a wide eyed git. “Please get out.”

“Wow, rude much? It's just a stupid crossword. What's wrong with you anyway, why do you look so funny?” Cordelia eyed him suspiciously.

“Not feeling well. And you're not helping.” William's skin looked clammy.

“Poor baby...” Cordelia attempted to feel his forehead as William was pale with sweat dripping down his skin. He caught her wrist before it reached his face.

“Don't.” He said averting her eyes and quickly dropping her hand.

Cordelia smiled provocatively. “Maybe now is not the right time to discuss this, but soon, Will. You can't avoid me forever.” Before she headed for the door, she planted a kiss on her fingers and pressed her lipstick stained digits to his head. “Feel better sweetheart,” she blew him a kiss and turned down the hall.

When the sound of her clicking heels faded into the hallway and he was quite certain no one else would be coming around, he rolled his chair back.

“Get up, Miss Summers.”

He tucked himself back into his pants and wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, wiping sweat and crimson lipstick. Buffy crawled out from her hiding spot and with an annoyed expression but he was focused on how amazingly beautiful she looked with his cum splattered across her face and mouth.

“Clean yourself off.” He ordered, handing her a box of tissues.

Buffy made no move for the tissues. Instead she licked her lips and darted her tongue as far out as possible, cleaning and tasting Mr. Pratt's spendings off her face.

“I believe you owe me dinner.” Buffy said.

Oh god, what have I gotten myself into? He wondered.

The sushi bar is bustling with people, strange for a remote restaurant cozied up at the edge of town by the water. The scent of the ocean permeates the room, and comforting aromas waft from the bowls of hot miso soup. There is something about this place that Buffy likes. It reminds her of home-- like the neighborhood dives in her hometown of Los Angeles. Although in L.A., she never had secret dinner dates with any of her teachers.

“More saké, Buffy?”

And they certainly didn't try to seduce her in tucked away sushi bars. Ha. The thought of old Mrs. Perridine feeding her saké almost made her laugh out loud.

“Mr. Pratt, you know I'm not old enough to drink.” Her speech slurs slightly and she takes a look around the establishment noticing that a waitress is watching them with interest. The woman looks unsure of whether to refill their beverage of choice or fetch Buffy a chocolate milk and call the cops. Buffy wishes she was dressed more maturely but Mr. Pratt insisted that she meet him for dinner in her school uniform; white button down, plaid skirt, right down to her bobby socks and Mary Janes.

“You're very mature for your age.” William says, following her gaze. “Besides, what's life without a little liquid courage, am I right?” He makes a grand show of pouring the dry liquor into her cup.

She's warm and a little tipsy, but not enough to protest. Besides, she likes this version of Mr. Pratt. He's more relaxed. His sleeves are rolled up, and she can admire his strong hands, the tendons flexing like piano wire. Buffy wants to know how it feels to have those same arms wrapped around her. He gently starts tracing lines into her upturned palm and the delicious shivers running up her arm makes her wish she could stay in this moment for as long as possible.

“Like that, do you?”

“Uh huh.” She likes it a lot.

“You ever wonder what else I can do with my hands?”

She swallows hard. What should she say? That she dreamed of this moment ever since she walked into his class? That every look, whether innocent or purposeful made her throat dry? She was at a loss for words. All she could manage was a murmur of acknowledgment, which seemed to amuse him greatly.

“They have a special table reserved for us. Would you like to see it?”

Buffy nods and Mr. Pratt quietly leads her to the back of the restaurant where a low black wooden table stretches across the center of the room. There is only one mat on the floor.

Puzzled, Buffy asks, “Where do I sit?”

His blue eyes darken noticeably in the flicker of the candlelight, but there is no mistaking the wicked intentions behind the grin that spreads across his face. “You don't. You're going to make sure I enjoy my dinner.”

Buffy hesitates. “I don't understand.”

“Of course you do, baby. Otherwise we wouldn't be here.” Mr. Pratt runs his hand through her hair, and lets the golden locks slip through his finger tips, as he examines the strands with interest. “Take off your clothes,” he orders.

“But Mr. Pratt, everyone's watching.” Her voice hushed.

“I know. Pity we're not charging them for dinner and a show,” he breathes, lips hovering at the nape of her neck. “Now be a good girl, and do as I say.”

She loves it-- everything he says turns her red hot. Buffy squeezes her thighs shut, letting the warm tingling sensation pervade her body. Couples stop chewing their dinner; some with their chopsticks mid-air and leaning past the thin veil divider to get a better look. Groups of college kids halt their saké bombs, curious at William's commanding tone. She knows they see her. She can see them too. The way the young women (and some of the men) are looking at William causes her face to burn. She unbuttons her shirt and lets it fall to the floor.

“The bra too, pet. This is no time to be shy.” She obeys, and the controlled expression on his face causes her panties to dampen. He likes what he sees. She shimmies out of her skirt, and he nods in approval. She kicks off her shoes and socks, starts to slide down her underwear, but he stops her. “Leave it on.”

William takes her hand again and helps her lie down on the table. Buffy's mind is stilled, like a fish after the moment of capture. Many years ago as a little girl, her father took her fishing. She recognized the expression in the animal's eyes, when it bites and is reeled into its demise. The violent struggle against its inevitable fate was pointless. You are my dinner. Now, as her hair fans out beneath her in an ocean of blonde waves, she closes her eyes and prays for Mr. Pratt to hook her too. She tries to even out her breathing which becomes more difficult than she assumed it would be since he places something on her body. Her eyes flutter open to see a row of sashimi running down the smooth plateau above her breasts straight down to her belly, where a little cold saucer of soy sauce trembles on her stomach.

“Stay perfectly still,” he commands, picking up a piece of white fish, and dipping it into her belly. “So delicious.” He licks. She watches him from the corner of her eye, his long tongue catching the flesh into his mouth. Moisture trickles between her legs. Touch me please. Her eyes are pleading.

Did he read her mind? Mr. Pratt cleans the chopsticks in his mouth, licking them dry. Instead of reaching for another piece of sushi, he runs the tips across her nipples. He squeezes slightly and watches them pucker as Buffy hisses.

“Am I hurting you?” He asks with faux concern, running the lacquered wood over and over again across her tits. Buffy wants to shake, scream. It takes all of her mental ability to force her body to stay still, but the maddening expression on her face gives away her true feelings-- the longer he toyed with her, the harder it was to stop herself from melting into a big , messy puddle of Buffy.

“I'm sorry, where are my manners?” He picks up a piece of firm tuna with his chopsticks and dangles it in front of Buffy's open mouth. “Hungry?”

“Starved.” She snaps at the fish, as Mr. Pratt teasingly dodges it from her lips and puts it into his own mouth, smacking loudly.

“Goodness, this is…so tasty.”

“Not funny.” Turning her head to him, she sticks out her lip.

“Aw, don't pout, Buffy. You know I saved the juiciest piece for you anyway.” Picking it up, he feeds it to her as promised. “Only the best for my girl.”

He trails his assault further down her body, tickling her ribcage and her stomach, sending ripples into the soy sauce as she does her best to steady the dish. It was so difficult. The persistent teasing was sending her over the edge. Then, Mr. Pratt uses his chopsticks to lift the band of her panties to peek underneath, savoring the glimpse of her soft folds.

He arches an eyebrow, and whispers hotly into her ear. “Are you saving the juiciest bit for me?”

The waitress drops their bill on the table with a loud thud.

A thud?

“How much food did you order?”

“Buffy, you left your calculus book in my car,” Mr. Pratt's voice reminds her before fading completely.

-*********-

“Your calculus book, Buffy.” A female voice repeats this time.

Her bleary eyes crack open and the cafeteria's fluorescent lights flood her sensitive green irises. She was so tired. Not that she was regretted her recent engagement with Mr. Pratt less than an hour ago. What came over her? She’d never done anything like that before-- take charge of the situation like that. But she was tired of his denial that there was nothing more between them than sex; one-sided sex for that matter. As much as she loved to feel his cock throbbing in her mouth, using her fingers to get herself off was starting to feel very last season, and thinking about him night in and night out was starting to take its toll on her energy level.

“Huh...whaa...who...” A blurred figure stood over her, but the halo of red hair was unmistakable. “Willow? What happened to the sushi?” She asks groggily, wanting desperately to go back to sleep. There was saké! And the soon-to-be ravaging of me! She sighed. Who could blame her for wanting to get some well-deserved shut-eye? Especially when Mr. Pratt was the star of the show?

“I think you were dreaming.” Willow says, motioning to her cheek. “Oh...and I think you were drooling. You've got some dried spit on your face.”

Um, that's not spit, but something totally better. What would her best friend think if she found out about her dirty trysts with Mr. Pratt? And then having her sexy, illicit dreams? Buffy giggled nervously. “Got any Kleenex?”

“Uh huh…here, let me.” Willow reached into her back pocket and wet a tissue with the bottle of water she was holding. Willow was always motherly, she and Buffy had been best friends since middle school despite the fact that they were as opposite as night and day. When Buffy's dad stepped out on her mom, she knew she could turn to Willow for support. More importantly, Willow helped Buffy realize her potential. “Just because you have a pretty face, does not mean you have to suck at French!” She was a patient tutor, and when once her grades picked up, Willow encouraged Buffy to run alongside her for office in the honor society.

She gently wiped her friend's cheek. “We missed you at the meeting,” she said evenly. Willow took her duties as president very seriously, and made sure that the members conducted themselves in a manner worthy of their inclusion. Translation? Sexy time with the crazy hot English teacher was a very bad excuse to miss a meeting-- to Willow. Buffy was still working on convincing herself otherwise.

“Uh... I'm sorry?” Buffy squeaked.

“What's going on with you anyway? These past few months, you've been so distant.” She chucked the soiled tissue in the trash.

“I've just... been sort of preoccupied.”

“Is it Angel? Because you guys broke up almost three months ago. You know you can talk to me, right?” Willow said, looking hurt.

“I know, Will. It's just been a strange time for me,” she said carefully. “I have a lot on my plate.”

Willow pulled out a chair and sat next to her friend. “I don't want to sound like I'm complaining, which I'm not. And I've been working on my non-whiny-leader voice.” She stopped. “Is it working?”

“Like a charm.”

“Good, because I would really hate to get stern, it's not a good look for me.” She put on a silly frown. “Just let me know what's going on with you, okay? I'm worried about you.” Willow looked over to see a teacher approaching them from behind the kitchen and buffet line. “Oh, hi Mr. Pratt!”

Buffy couldn't help but feel a little pang of jealousy at how happy her friend looked to see him. It was hard to forget that he was a teacher, and a popular one at that.

“What are you doing here so late?” Willow inquired.

“I...um...” William searched his brain for an excuse and looked at the platter in his hand. “Well, Miss Summers was so kind to help me with the film club preparations that she forgot to eat. Would you like one, Ms. Rosenberg?”

“Oh great-- fish sticks,” Buffy remarked wryly, crunching on the flaky and definitely not-like- sashimi-substance. She shot him a look, as if saying this was not what she meant by him owing her dinner.

“No thanks,” Willow wrinkled her nose. “But film club, that sounds so cool! Buffy, how come you never mentioned this? Is this why you've been so tired? You’ve been helping Mr. Pratt?”

“I'm always happy to give a hand,” Buffy mumbled. “Or two,” she added in a mutter under her breath.

Willow pulled her into a hug. “Well I hope you haven't been working Buffy too hard,” she went on to say, causing Buffy to nearly choke on her fish stick.

William flashed a winning smile “Certainly not, Miss Summers gets lots of praise for her work ethic. Always going above and beyond, isn't that right?” In reply all he got was a muffled, “Uh huh.”

But he continued on, “I do hope you ladies will join us for our first viewing.”

“What film are you watching?” asked Willow.

“Lolita.”

At this, Buffy’s fish stick most definitely went down the wrong pipe.

“What film are you showing?” Ms. Rosenberg asked.

“Lolita.”

“Let's go, Willow.” Buffy choked, dragging a very confused Ms. Rosenberg along with her.

“Well, bye Mr. Pratt!” The redhead called before they both disappeared through the double doors.

That evening, William went home and ransacked his liquor cabinet thinking about how Buffy's cheeks turned a deep shade of red when he had mentioned the coquettish namesake. Judging by the change in demeanor around her friend, he could bet that Buffy hadn't told anyone about their relationship. That was a great relief to him. If anyone found out about their little meetings, he could get fired, thrown in jail, or worse-- people would start talking, asking questions about how he ended up in California in the first place. And he couldn't have that. William had worked hard to start a new life and he truly couldn't risk it by continuing these dalliances with his student.

But he didn't know if he possessed the willpower to stop.

Sitting in his leather arm chair, he thought about their first time, squeezing a tumbler of whiskey till his knuckles went white.

-----***************-----

She stormed into his office, demanding to know why she received a C for the trimester.

“While your class participation is duly noted, the bulk of your papers contain thin arguments, and mediocre writing at best.” She stared at him agape, which prompted him to continue. “And…you continue to show up to class in your cheerleading uniform which, need I remind you, is against school policy. Not to mention, completely inappropriate for the classroom environment.”

“What? This is totally unfair. Half of those other Slutty McSluts show up to class with their plaid skirts rolled up to their ass cheeks. I'm rushing to get to your stupid class and I don't have time to change,” she retorted. “Plus, I know you check me out. Don't even get me started on how inappropriate that is.”

She was mocking him. Had she really noticed? Despite his best attempts to think unsexy thoughts when she was around, her mere presence definitely got a rise out of him. So much in fact, that he resorted to lecturing from behind his desk, desperately trying to hide the stiffness in his pants. In a sea of faceless, nameless girls, this one was a lightning rod. And damn it, God was probably going to strike him with a few thousand bolts for what he proposed she do to improve her grade.


But no one was more surprised than him, when she agreed. The first time he came in her mouth, she had smiled up at him and admitted she’d fantasized about this scenario; being on her on her knees, lording over his impressive member. “It's so big”, she cooed, confessing that she had been dumbing down her work to see what kind of reaction she could elicit. It was indeed, quite a reaction.

“I'll have the revised papers ready for you on Monday.” Again, her soft hand stroked him to hardness, and William gritted his teeth trying to battle the little voice inside that was screaming for him to end this now.

But then she started showing up to his office on a weekly basis, so he didn't. Because frankly, it felt too good to stop. What happened to boundaries, mate? Each time he drew a line she crossed it, so he would mentally erase it and draw it again. He was afraid to think where this was going.

The following week he had tried to express his disapproval.

“This has to stop.” It came out weak, and lacked assurance.

“Why?” She frowned. Even her pout was delicious. He fought against every reflex to brush those berry stained lips with his thumb and drag her head into his lap.

“Because it's wrong. We've gone beyond inappropriate, sweetheart.” He fiddled with his pen, thinking of ways to convince himself that this should end. “I could get in serious trouble. And you--- well, you should be with someone your own age!”

“I don't like anyone my own age. I like you.”

His face softened. She likes me! This is a bloody riot. “Well you shouldn't. It's wrong and completely perverse.” He worked up the nerve to examine her reaction. She didn't budge.
So William decided to frighten her, it was the only way to kill this in its tracks.

He’d brought this upon himself. Part of the reason he left London was precisely because he initiated a relationship eerily similar to this one. It had been different with Drusilla though. He hadn't thought of her in a long time, but his insides wretched when he thought of how that relationship ended.

It couldn’t happen again. No. Not with Buffy. He wouldn’t let it happen. He'd been too sweet, and too encouraging. It was time to show her his dark side. God knows he was damn well capable of it. He dusted off an arsenal of words he swore he would never use again. “You still want to suck my cock, you little pervert?” His voice was shaky. He hoped she wouldn't notice.

Buffy's jaw dropped. She didn't seem to notice his hesitation.

“Get up and shut the door, Miss Summers. Then get on my desk.”

She paused, and William sighed a breath of relief. “It's not too late. You can leave now and we can forget any of this ever happened.” Please tell me I disgust you so I can go back to thinking about you and wanking in private. Then they could end this and get on with their lives.

But a tiny part of him hoped she wouldn't say anything, and it sickened him.

She flinched at first, but nevertheless obeyed. He rolled his chair around to the side and picked up her legs, planting them on either side of his armrests. He held her by the ankles as he barked his orders.

“Lift up your skirt.” He watched as she toyed with the hem, fear and excitement flashing across her face. “You want me, is that right? Then don't keep me waiting.”

As she pinned it over her belly, William noticed the damp spot forming on her panties. He was mesmerized. She spent so much time lavishing him with pleasure that he didn't even know this wet gem was hidden underneath that dainty skirt.

“Tsk tsk tsk... Look at these dirty little knickers. Are you always so soaked?”

She shook her head.

He gulped. “Do I make you wet?”

“Uh huh.”

“How so?” Oh lord. It was like the air sucked out of the room as he awaited her response.

“Everything you do; your silky voice, and that accent. The way you say my name--- oh god! The way you crook your eyebrow in class when someone says something funny or smart, the way you walk down the hall like you own the place. The way your butt looks when you're writing…” She paused, searching for the right word. “…vigorously on the chalkboard....um... oh fuck.”

In spite of his original intentions, he was pleased. “You're clearly good for my ego, Miss Summers,” he snickered. “Tell me, what do you do when you think about me? Do you play with your nasty little snatch? Stick a few fingers in and whisper my name into the abyss?”

Her fingers twisted into her skirt and she writhed against the wooden desk. He swallowed hard and squirmed in his seat too. Perhaps, this was a bad idea.

She's only 17. What kind of man are you? His conscience had a habit of rearing its annoying head a moment too late. But the sexy mewls bubbling from this girl made it easier ignore the better voice of reason. The words started to spill from this deep seated place inside. His demeanor shifted. He was getting into a character that he long thought was dead and buried.

“Hmm? Tell me all the sordid things you do to yourself under your Hello Kitty covers. No, better yet, show me. Let's see if I'm right about you being a perverted slut.” When he found himself lowering his zipper and releasing his throbbing cock, he knew this was a really bad idea. But he couldn't stop now.

With a trembling hand she pushed her white cotton briefs aside and swirled a finger around her swollen nub. Such a beautiful sight, all swollen and glistening. She rubbed it lightly before pushing a nervous finger inside her hole. So bloody perfect.

“Come on, you can do better than that,” he baited. “Don't tell me you don't fuck yourself, thinking of me. Imagining it was my cock ripping you apart.” The rougher the words, the harder he stroked.

At this, she worked in another finger and pushed both deep inside her cavern. “Oh...uh...mmm...” She pulled them out and thrust again. And again. Watching her pink polished nails disappear and reappear was like a sick game of Peek-a-Boo. Each time she pulled out her fingers, they were shinier than the last. They looked so delectable, dripping with sticky sweet sin. He wanted to wrap those fingers with his lips and suck them dry.

But that wasn't part of the plan, was it? He was supposed to scare her senseless. And here he was, getting off on watching her do all the work. Just being near her drove him wild. But he wasn't going to touch her there. No. There would be no pleasure; only pain. It started with one hand frigging himself senseless, but the other snaked its way up her leg, massaging her lovely calf. His fingers tensed, and he applied pressure. Not a man, just a monster.

She squealed. It felt good at first-- it always did. And then he tightened his grasp, squeezing the firm flesh till she began to whimper in pain. “Stop... stop!”

He released his grip. “Had enough?”

She sat up, annoyance written across her face. “You can't leave bruises. I have a game tomorrow.”

William was flabbergasted at her response. “That's all your worried about? Don't you want to run and scream bloody murder?”

“Why should I?” She gingerly touched the reddening skin. “The Hello Kitty sheets were a nice touch by the way. But I haven't had them since I was like, ten.”

Which wasn't that long ago. “Why you naughty little minx... Don't think I won't punish you for this. In fact, punishment starts now. I want an extra essay on Ophelia. Make it good and don't skimp on those footnotes.”

She turned up her lip in protest.

He patted her head gently. “I'm a bad, rude man. So you can forget about cumming too.”

-----************-----

The whiskey was long gone. William was in the shower trying to sober up.

And trying to rinse away the mess he’d made on the tiles.

It seemed his every waking moment was spent thinking about her. She invaded his thoughts and set up home. There was no getting her out.

His conscience made one last plea. It's not too late to stop.

An image of Buffy flashed before him. On her back and squirming with her hand darting underneath her skirt. His balls stirred in recollection, and he cradled them in his wet palm.

Afraid it is, mate.

Buffy rapped her nails impatiently against Willow's locker.

“Hurry up, Will. I wanna get good seats.”

The last school bell rang for the week and the other students were scrambling to get home. With the exception of a few others, Buffy and Willow would be making their way to the auditorium for Mr. Pratt's film screening.

“What's the rush?” Willow voice was muffled behind her locker door. But when she finally closed it, the last two people on earth whom Buffy wanted to see were leaning against the metal grate.

“Buffy! Can I talk to you?” Angel asked, his arm around his current girlfriend. Looking bored, Darla flipped her blonde hair. She tucked a shiny lock neatly behind her ears, revealing her diamond studs as she warily eyed Angel's ex. Buffy recognized that look in her eye. Darla was giving her the once over, sizing up the competition. It was the sort of look girls usually reserved for other girls; to intimidate them.

“What do you want?” Buffy's tone was flat.

Seeing the two of them together made her tense up. But just being around him at all; it made her ache inside. There was still a part of her that still loved him. No matter how hard she tried to quell those feelings, there were definitely times when it was difficult. Being near him. Hearing his voice.

“Nice to see you too, sweetheart. Remember how you said you'd help me out with my English assignment?”

Even when he acted like an ass hat.

Angel had broken up with her, yet seemed bent on making her life as uncomfortable as possible. Who could blame her for snapping at him when the guy who broke her heart continued to follow her around calling her pet names like it meant something? Not to mention, doing this in front his current girlfriend? Like she needed to be reminded that she wasn't good enough to be with him, except when he needed help with his homework.

“I never said I'd help you.” She hated that he still sought her help with his homework. Angel wasn't the brightest star in the galaxy, and as his girlfriend, she didn't mind helping him, but now she wished he would just leave her alone.

“Cute hair, Buffy.” Darla said with faux enthusiasm. “And Willow, is it fuzzy sweater day again?”

Willow stared at her feet, and Buffy put her arm protectively around her friend.

Angel gave Darla a kiss on the cheek. “Hey babe, why don't you go to the auditorium and save us some seats, okay?”

“Sure, whatever. Don't take too long though.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows. “Why are you guys going to the auditorium?”

“Oh, who's that new teacher? The one with the fake English accent? Mr. Pratt? He's giving extra credit to any student who comes to that lame film club. He's probably going to show some old people movie. I hope it doesn't have subtitles, 'cause that would suck.”

“You two are going to that?” Buffy's voice quivered, nearing the point of losing it. It was one thing to feel like she was over Angel. It was another to be stuck in a room with him, knowing full well that he was going to be making out with his current girlfriend the entire time. Buffy just didn't have the energy to deal with this.

“Yeah, if he's stupid enough to hand out extra credit to anybody who shows up. I'm not even in his class.” He snorted. “Buff, sweetie, let's talk about my essay. I was hoping you'd write it for me, since you're so good with words...”

His voice was drowned by the pounding in her head. She felt like she was going to vomit. Too bad Darla left, would've liked to puke on her thousand dollar shoes.

All of a sudden, Willow piped up. “Buffy and I would be glad to help you with your essay.”

“Really?” He seemed surprised that Willow was still standing there considering his girlfriend had just insulted her. He blinked at the peppiness of her response. ”You're okay, Rosenberg. I just thought you were a nerdy dork.”

“Um, thanks— I think,” Willow mumbled as he squeezed past them.

Once Angel was out of earshot, Buffy poked her.

“Ow!”

“Will, why did you say we'd write his essay?!”

“Didn't you see how desperate he was? He really needs our help.”

I know Willow is always willing to help people, but really?

“I know, but I—” Buffy started to speak but Willow cut her off.

“No, no. He'd be totally lost without us.”

“I don't even know what he needed help with. But you, of all people, know it's wrong to write someone else's paper.”

Willow held up her hand to silence her friend.

“'Didn't you hear how he needed help with the 'Count of Mount Crisco'?”

“I must've missed that part, seeing as I thought I was going to projectile vomit in his direction. Oh yeah, that'll really give me brownie points with the cool kids...wait a sec...Count Crisco?”

Willow was in project mode. “I'm thinking we write his essay for him. Picture this— Count Chocula defends Land O' Lakes from the cinnamon-y paws of the Pillsbury Doughboy. What do you think? It's at best D- work, and that's not taking into account the monstrosity of spelling errors I plan on making.

Buffy could kiss her. “Willow! Look at you! Stepping over to the dark side. ”

Willow gave her a sly smile. “I don't know what you saw in the guy. He's denser than wood. I mean yeah, he's kind of cute if you like that broody type. But you're way too good for him.”

“He was my first... everything. And to lose him to someone like Darla.” She began to fume.

“You know you're like, a hundred times cooler than her.”

“Really? Only a hundred? Think more zeroes, Willow.” She smiled and gave her a friendly hug. It felt good to know someone always had her back.

Willow pulled at her purple jumper. “So, be honest. Is my sweater too fuzzy?”

-***********************-

The auditorium was packed. Apparently these kids needed a lot of extra credit. But scanning the room, she noticed there were mostly girls and theatre types. No doubt, they were there for Mr. Pratt. Except for their friends Xander, Oz, and the aforementioned Angel and his crew, there was nary a heterosexual guy within a fifty foot radius.

She spotted Mr. Pratt fiddling with the switches at the back of the room. With his sleeves, rolled up and his tie removed, he looked ten years younger.

I mean, who wouldn't want a piece of him? Damn, he looks so good. Just like in my dream.

Her tummy did a little flip when she remembered the deliciously naughty things he’d done in her dream. Buffy sighed, if only the line between dreams and reality would blur.

Darla's lilting laughter broke her short-lived day dream. She turned her head to see the two seated at the side of the auditorium. Angel whispered something and Darla swatting him playfully, “Oh Angel! Here? Not in front of everybody!” Angel stroked Darla's neck and grinned, his hand working down her arm, and then down the side of her body to a place Buffy knew all too well. You're beautiful, baby. Let me touch you. Let me make you feel good. She’d let those words worm into her heart once. And it did feel good; to be touched, loved, made to feel like she belonged. And then he dumped her like yesterday's trash.

Buffy didn't care for Darla, long before she became Angel's new girlfriend. Darla belonged to the Aurelius family, which was the largest patron to their school. Angel's excuse for dumping Buffy had to do with a reputation he wanted to uphold; money and power could do a lot for a young man's reputation. It didn't help Buffy that Darla was also incredibly beautiful, with crystalline eyes and a toothy smile.

Theirs was a private school, and as Buffy attended on a scholarship she might as well have stamped ‘poor loser’ on her forehead. Even though she was smart, athletic and pretty, the fact that she had no wealth meant that her peers looked down on her. Or worse, that they talked behind her back while they pretended to be her friend.

Of course she loved that Willow always had her back. She couldn't have asked for a better friend but even so, Buffy was so over high school. Once this hell ended, she was going to high-tail out of this town. Now that she had the grades to make it, Buffy set her sights on her top choice, Northwestern. Though it might be kinda hard to work on my tan in the snow...

Angel looked up and caught poor Buffy staring. There was a slight look of surprise in his eyes as if he didn't expect his ex to watch him paw and feel up the most powerful girl in school. But it didn't stop him. He winked to acknowledge her before continuing whatever ministrations he was performing on Darla. The nerve of that bastard!

She continued to feel the burn in her cheeks when Willow tugged her sleeve.

“Look, it's Xander and Oz!” Willow pointed to their friends, and then frowned. “Oh, there's only one extra seat.”

Her feet were glued to the floor and she could feel her embarrassment well up inside. A lump formed in her throat. Don't cry! All she really wanted to do was turn on her heels and walk out of the place.

Stupid, stupid Buffy! I don't know what I'm trying to prove by coming here. What? That maybe Mr. Pratt would swoop me into his arms and tell the world that he's not just banging his student, but that he loves me ?

If she said it out loud, it would sound even more preposterous. So Buffy bit her lip and groaned instead.

“Nice to see you made it.” William worked his way down the steps. He nodded at Willow. “Ms. Rosenberg, you won't mind if I borrow your friend? I'd like Buffy to take notes for me during the film. She can sit with me.”

“Problem solved.” Willow grinned. “You'll be okay right? Don't let Angel and Darla get to you. We'll work on Operation Crisco later.” She winked.

Buffy could only nod meekly and let Mr. Pratt lead her up the carpeted stairs.

“Are we baking me cookies?” He teased, wondering about the redhead's remark.

“Huh? What? Who has cookies?” She glanced up at him, and then turned her head to peek at Angel when Darla let out a small squeal that pierced the room. A few girls giggled, and a couple of Angel's friends, Riley and Forrest whistled. “Yeah, hit that!” Forrest hollered. It was like a freight crash that she couldn't pull her eyes away from.

Mr. Pratt took note, and followed her gaze. “Never mind,” he said abruptly as he realized where her attention was focused.

They sat side by side at the back of the room. A low divider separated their desk from the last row in the theatre. Buffy took out her notebook while Mr. Pratt asked the students to settle down as he dimmed the lights and flipped on the movie projector.

Lolita, Buffy scribbled at the top of the page. She underlined it for emphasis. And underlined it harder, which snapped her pencil in two. Oops. All the while, Mr. Pratt didn't say a word.

They watched in silence. Preoccupied with her task, she didn't notice Mr. Pratt glancing in her direction. It would have delighted her on any other day, but today, her mind was elsewhere. She imagined the kinds of things Angel must have been doing for Darla to have squealed like that. Her face burned at the thought, and her addled teenage brain couldn't handle the drama.

She forced herself to pay attention to the movie. Just need a good distraction, that's all. Don't think about Angel. Don't think about Mr. Pratt. Just get through the movie and get through today. Keep it together! But, oh, Mr. Pratt, he does look so good in his –

Oh.

She felt a hand brush across her knee, and turned to face him. In the dimly lit room, she couldn't make out the full form of his face, only the shadows of his eyes. They were dark as a stilled storm, heavy and foreboding.

She faltered. “What are you doing?”

He gently lifted her skirt, his fingers sliding across her cool skin and resting flat on her thigh.

“Wiping that frown off your face.”

It was embarrassing how fast she responded to his touch. As if by instinct, her body was preparing itself for him. He greeted the silky feel of juices by idly stroking the hot cotton of her panties, growling at the welcoming warmth of her desire. He quickly pushed them aside and exposed her sex to the world.

“Tell me what's on your mind, sweetheart.” He scooted his chair closer to Buffy, and she grimaced as it scraped across the floor. She prayed no one would turn around, but even if someone did, she doubted she would stop him.

He twisted the fabric and let it dig into her sensitive pussy. Her skin felt raw as his knuckles brushed roughly against her swollen clit. He rubbed against it, knocking the delicate nubbin and demanding entry. “But if your answer has anything to do with that lump of hair gel—” She whimpered and his features softened. The grip slackened. “What did you ever see in him?” He asked softly.

“I don't know. I just loved him.” It came out coarse and lame. Like she was eating her own words and only tasting the bitterness for the first time.

“Do you still?”

“No.”

“Why is that?”

“I'd rather not talk about it.”

He pulled his hand away.

“Hey...”

“I thought we'd have a nice round of share time, but if you'd rather not tell me what's got your panties in a bunch, er... well, not in a bunch, rather, then we can—”

“Fine.” He was proving to come up with all sorts of convincing arguments. “He broke my heart, okay? He decided he didn't want me anymore and dumped me to date Little Miss Syphilis.”

He frowned. “Wow, that's absolutely horrible.”

“I know!”

“No I mean, that title! Imagine riding a float in that parade?” William mimed his best pageant wave and Buffy stiffed a giggle. The laughter came so naturally that she wished she didn't have to keep her voice down. She searched his eyes, allowing their bodies connect shoulder to shoulder.

His voice lowered. “So...are you afraid I'll break your heart too?”

What kind of question was that? The honest answer was yes, but what they had right now wasn't love, was it? On a good day it felt like a losing game of chess, or a tug of war. Naked, sweaty, orgasm inducing tug of war, where one or both players ended up losing the game.

“I didn't know it was yours to break.” She challenged, eyes glittering.

“And there she is.” He turned momentarily to the movie projected on the big screen. Lolita entered the picture, hips in movement, holding a hula hoop in orbit.

“See how relaxed you're getting?” Lolita's mother chimed.

“Well, at least you're not moping anymore.”

“I was not moping. You try seeing your ex with the biggest slut in the school, then see how you feel about it.” She crossed her arms.

“Now, no need to get snippy, darling. It might be good for you to keep your voice down too.” He suggested as a few students stirred in the last two rows at the growing commotion in the back of the room.

She closed her notebook, and folded her arms. “I'm wasn't snipping,” she hissed. “Really, I wasn't.”

“Frankly, I think you had poor taste. From what his teachers say about him, the boy's so dense he'd sink a freighter.”

“He wasn't that bad,” Buffy said quietly.

“Why are you defending him? Must've been a bloke to let a girl like you go.”

“He wasn't always that guy.” She motioned to the boy oblivious to her existence. “He was different; kept promises. After my dad left, he made sure my mom and I were okay. I like to think that he did that because he loved me.”

“Let me tell you something, Buffy. Boys will say and do anything to get what they want from a vulnerable girl. And who's more wounded than a pretty girl with daddy issues? The whole lot of 'em are nothing more than horn dogs on long leashes.”

She looked up suddenly. “So what kind are you? The kind that takes advantage of girls like me? Young, trusting and naïve?”

“Well there's the kicker. I'm not a boy, am I?” He chuckled again. “Not to say that men don't act like boys, but only the brain dead would let you slip through their fingers.” Buffy blushed.

“And I'm not just saying that. You're anything but naïve, darling. You pretend like you are, but I know you. Tasted you. I've seen where you live.” The hand returned to the skirt.

“I think you're gonna make me hurt,” she said carefully. “All men were boys once.”

“Presume not that I am the thing I was.” He abandoned his chair, moving onto her seat till she had no choice but to scoot onto his lap or fall to the ground with a thud. Obviously she couldn't do that! Imagine the horror when the other students turned to see the commotion and found the two of them in their current predicament.

She breathed, unsure if she understood his words or their meaning. “Don't think it know that one.”

“Shakespeare, love. You'll get the lesson soon enough.”

“I will?” She gulped. Her slick pussy pulsed with need. Something about him getting all teacher-y kicked her lust up to another level. He picked up on it immediately and his hand returned to its resting place on her knee.

“I'm still wet,” she announced meekly. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not sure.” He sniffed, “All that talk about your ex is killed the mood, didn't it?”

Buffy reached between them, brushing her fingertips over his trousers and taking exactly what she needed. Where this boldness came from, she didn't know, but—

“As long as you're planning to do a lot of laundry tonight and brought a couple of extra big rolls of quarters along,” she smiled. “Then I'd have to go with no.”

“Right then. Oh, you're so innocent and naïve, Buffy.” He chided, rolling his pretty blue eyes.

He let out a low chuckle and adjusted Buffy till she straddled his lap sideways. Caressing her cheek, he tilted her to face him, and gently brushed his lips against hers. He started with a few light kisses, getting her acquainted to the feeling. When Buffy pressed a little harder against him, he kissed her firmly, licking across the edge of her lower lip. Back and forth, back and forth, claiming it as his. Her body melted in his arms, and her belly grew hot. He slipped his tongue into her panting mouth and she tasted peppermint on his breath. More kisses, more touching. It was a soft, slow torture that she'd gladly chain herself up for second helpings. If he would only put that wicked tongue inside her mouth, against her breasts, and taste the sweet juice that flowed freely between her thighs. God, she wanted him so bad she ached.

“The things I'm gonna do to you...” Daring himself to let his fingers tangle in her hair, he breathed in her flowery vanilla scent. “Christ, you smell so good, baby.”

The side of her body was starting to ache from this position so she quickly moved to straddle him till there was little separating their naughtiest bits except their tiresome clothes.

He pressed his forehead to hers. The dusty reel churned and beams of light hovered above them as he captured her rosy mouth. Silent kisses sparked a fire, a burning grace, and she kissed him back with equal force. His hands moved nimbly downward, flipped up her skirt and caressing the smooth flesh at the back of her thighs. “You're absolutely stunning, you know that right?” He breathed before returning his attention to her panting mouth.

Buffy shook her head and blushed at the compliment but her cheeks were not the only part of her body reddening. Each pass of their lips made Buffy grow warmer and warmer till she felt like she was burning up. She thought of Lolita gyrating her hips, counting rotations of her hula hoop as Hubert stared in awe. Buffy lightly circled her own hips now, letting her round ass tell Mr. Pratt what was in store for him. Her pussy lips swelled at the touch of his fabric covered cock rubbing up against her. She felt bold, brazen; like the Buffy she remembered— sexy and full of life. He did this to me. Rocking her pelvis against him, she simulated something she always wanted to try. The lap dance, or the makeshift version of one. She cautiously took a peek behind her to make sure no one was watching and then began rocking slowly. With her fingers lacing behind his head, she ran her tongue across the edge of his cheekbone and mentally counted each swing of her hips. Sometime between rotations 5 and 10 she spun in the other direction. Just a little more, oh god... yes... She felt him straining in his pants and could make out the bulbous tip of his cock as it pressed against her, rubbing into her till her eyes rolled back. More, more... so close! 19? 23? She rolled her hips a little faster, a little slower. 16? 18? What's counting?

All the numbers blurred into nothing when he firmly grabbed her waist and held her still.

“Mmm...” He growled into her neck. “Keep that up, and I'm not going to last.”

Resisting his effort to restrain her, she began to move again. “Just make sure you... oh god, keep it up...”

He lightly spanked her bottom. “Hmm, is that a challenge?” He hadn’t hit her enough to make much noise, but the slight stinging sensation made her tremble.

When someone in the auditorium sneezed loudly, they were forced back to reality. A crowded room with gossipy teenagers wasn't the ideal place to get their freak on, but Buffy didn't think she could wait any longer. Every nerve in her body screamed for his touch. Was it even humanly possible to feel so much passion and desire?

“I want you so bad Mr. Pratt,” she murmured. Her senses were overloaded with the warmth of his touch and the smell of his skin.

“I want you too, Buffy.” He gently removed her hand, and placed it between them, dragging her trembling fingers over his hardness. “All for you, baby.” He quickly surveyed the room. “But I think this is neither the time nor place.” As he pulled away, his fingers brushed the inside of her thigh, slick with sweat and her heady moisture. He looked down at his hand, and stared at her in awe.

“Christ, you're soaked.”

She had no idea she was capable of being that wet. His hand was gleaming with her arousal, shiny as a gem, a wet beating heart. And with her skirt up and her panties wrecked, she was sure she’d deposited her molten liquid all over his slacks.

“Oh... no. Your pants,” she said apologetically.

“Don't apologize. You don't know how much that turns me on.” His jaw clenched as he possessed her mouth for one more searing kiss.

Buffy shut her eyes tightly and felt herself out of breath. “Mmm... I'm not dreaming am I?” Her eyelids fluttered open.

“No love, you're not dreaming,” he smirked. “You're fucking adorable.” He licked her nectar off his fingers. “Like peach you are, ripe and juicy.”

Her pussy pulsed at that word, triggering a flood of memories. The scent of the sea, the ache in her muscles, the sound of clinking sake cups and the feel of her little skirt as it pooled around her ankles. Oh God. She grabbed his hand and sucked the rest of her sticky fluid clean. “Yeah... the juiciest?”

His eyes narrowed, and Buffy felt full length of his cock elongate against her thigh.

“No more waiting,” he growled and dragged her towards the storage room.

William and Buffy slinked towards the storage room. Resting his fingers lightly on the handle, he opened the door for her as she slid inside. An illicit click closed the door behind them.

Buffy stumbled backwards in the dark, nearly knocking over a stack of CD cases on the shelf.

“Careful, sweetheart.” He said.

He tried the light switch and found the fluorescent bulbs were in need of changing. They blinked and buzzed so much he decided to just leave the light off. The way his heart was leaping, it seemed like a good idea to not have a visual on what he was about to do.

She reached for him and grinned as her fingers fumbled for his belt. Her little stunt outside seemed to fill her with confidence and she was taking the initiative. If baby wants to play, it would be more than okay with him. He was happy to let her take the lead, but she was overzealous with her motions, yanking open the buckle, and stepping over herself. He slinked one arm around her waist to keep her steady.

"I got you." He whispered, leaning into her feminine form, pressing against her small body. It felt so easy, so natural.

“We have time, Buffy.”

Trembling hands cupped her face, and he kissed both her cheeks, landing soft swipes against the skin before finding her mouth. They were a little sticky from her lip-gloss. Some sort of fruit flavor that he couldn’t put a finger on. Kiwi? Pineapple? He sucked on her bottom lip and she mewled, which only made him harder.

“You are,” he whispered, glancing down as her hands grazed slowly up the front of his shirt, “-- the most divine creature I have ever laid eyes on.”

She linked her slender fingers behind his neck and looked down at her shoes.

“Yeah?”

There was a hint of shyness in her voice that he didn’t count on given her eagerness a few moments ago. He wondered if she was having second thoughts and was combatting her nervousness by giving in to him.

“We—“ he started, clearing his throat. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

A lazy smile crept across her lips. “I climb on top of you, grind my lady parts, as what,”—lulling her head to the side—“a nice way of saying hello?

Relieved, he let out a low chuckle, and planted a kiss to the tendon of her neck, taking a moment to inhale her scent. “Best greeting I ever got. Tell the truth pet, where did you learn to move like that?”

She pulled away slightly and made a face. “If I tell you, will you promise not to laugh?”

William made a show of swearing. “Cross my heart.”

“… erm… one part Showgirls, one part Carmen Electra from her work-out DVD…” Buffy buried her face in his shirt and mumbled. “I know, embarrassing, right?”

“No, I’m just surprised your mum let’s you watch such erm…. shall we say, adult material?” He laughed.

She gave a teasing smack. “Pftt. You’re one to talk. Besides my friend Faith brought them over when mom was out of town. Actually, come to think of it, those were some of the more tame items she’s brought into my house.”

“Is that so? I think I would like to see what other contraband this Faith has stashed.” He said idly, letting his arms wrap around Buffy’s body, his hands caressing her back. He continued to do this for a little while as she fell silent.

“You want to meet her? You’d probably like Faith.” Buffy finally said. “She’s this tall, curvy, brunette. Oozes sex appeal.”

“I think adorable petite blondes are more my type.” He pulled her closer and lightly stroked her hair and felt Buffy tense up. Something was clearly bothering the girl and William didn’t know what. Did he say something wrong? Surely she didn’t really think he’d really prefer Faith to her.

“Come now, spill it. What’s on your mind?”

She turned away and folded her arms. “It just seems like historically, you know, you have a thing for tall….curvy…brunettes….” She stopped, “like… Ms. Chase for instance.”

He wondered when she would bring that up. “That bint? We dated briefly but there was no spark between us. You know that. We’re just colleagues now.” William rubbed her shoulders, a small gesture of comfort.

“Really? Because it didn’t seem like it when she came into your office the other day.” Her voice took on an edge and she pulled away from him.

“I wasn’t paying attention to her. If you recall, I was trying not to direct attention to what was happening under my desk. I didn’t exactly want to blow our cover,” He rolled his eyes. “Poor choice of words.”

“So do you think that’s all I am? A silly schoolgirl with a crush you keep around handy for a blowjob?” She began to pace. “What am I to you, honestly Mr. Pratt? Are you ashamed of me?” Buffy said, her voice cracking, and William flinched.

“I’m not. You must know that.”

“I … I don’t know why I brought it up.” She stammered, shaking her head. “Maybe all of this is just a mistake. I think I should go.”

She was walking towards the door.

“Buffy, wait---“

William caught her wrist and pulled her into his arms, closing them around, needing to protect her. It was overwhelming and was screwing with his judgment. This is depraved, and it’s wrong. But then Buffy started to cry, and all William had the strength to do was hold her as close as possible, wanting to quiet her tears. She rubbed her cheek against the material of his shirt and sniffled quietly.

“Shhh…. Shhh…it’s okay, pet.”

William blamed himself. Here he was, this middle-aged man having an affair with his student, a young woman, still a girl, and he couldn’t find the right words to make all the hurt go away; an English teacher at loss for words.

A lump formed in his throat. Their games were thrilling, but he’d sodding knew what they really were: any excuse to be near her.

From the day he laid eyes on Buffy Summers his first week, he was tongue-tied. She was the most spectacular creature--- a golden goddess. And then she waltzed into his classroom with a pep in her step in her flouncy cheerleading uniform (that image was fodder enough for a few cold showers before their kinky games), he spent a little too much time gawking. And the girl was smart too. The way she’d eagerly raise her hand to answer questions was a constant reminder that she was a student. Yes, a student and no teacher should cross that line. Oh, it didn’t stop him from wanking in the privacy of his home though. If anything it made the fantasy of having Buffy that much hotter. And all the while he wondered how those smooth legs would feel around his waist as he took her deep and hard. But that was okay. It was safe. The extent of their relationship rested in this perverse fantasy and he vowed to keep it there if he knew what was good for him.

And then one day he overheard her talking to Willow in the hall.

“I thought I saw Mr. Pratt… with an erection when I went to office hours last week. And I know it wasn’t there before. Isn’t that so dirty?” They giggled like the teenagers they were, sharing a secret, and Buffy hushed her friend. “I don’t know, Will. I could be wrong since he’s much too British and stuffy to do a thing like that. Still, he’s pretty hot, isn’t he?”

So Buffy found him attractive. This was new information. But stuffy? She thought that too? The news burned.

Dru never thought him stuffy. She was his student too and their time together was wild and passionate. The things she let him do to her, god. If William was a church going man, he might fear the eyes of God looking upon them. Angels would blush at the crimes of flesh committed and damn his soul for he should’ve known better, behaved more like a man and less like a monster. But Drusilla was a study of night and day--a classic beauty. In lecture she was quiet, contemplative, and mostly kept to herself. The only clue that a hidden fire lurked beneath the surface was when she would stare at him with those wide set eyes. They were brimming with emotion.

William was besotted. He lavished attention on her. Invited her for extra lessons so he had a reason to see her privately. He flirted, she responded, and he craved a connection. Then one day she climbed into his lap and wordlessly unbuttoned her shirt. This untouched flower presented herself.

My sweet, William, I trust you.

Drusilla, his soft white rose sheathed in darkness. He had the power to turn her away. It was the right thing to do. The only choice a good man should make.

He chose to pluck the rose.

But now in Sunnydale, those memories were a world away. Everything felt different with Buffy. There was lightness and exhilaration that buzzed in his chest when they are together that didn’t come from getting away with something taboo. He felt like a new man. There was no such thing as light and dark with Buffy. Only color.

“You’re not some shameful secret.” William said breaking the silence. “If I could tell the whole world how about us—in a heartbeat, I would do it.”

“But you can’t.”

“And I shouldn’t. Do you know the trouble it would put us in? I would lose my job, and you might get expelled. I can’t let that happen. You’ve been through enough.”

“So what do we do?”

“I don’t know. Do we have to talk about it now?”

She didn’t answer him.

“Kiss me,” she finally said, but it sounded more like a question. She looked up at him with worn eyes. “Just do it, please?”

How could he deny her anything? Every time he tried to pull away, give her an out, he was reeled back in. When their mouths connected once more, he was hardly able to catch his breath. It felt like his head was going to explode. This was much more intimate than anything else they'd ever done. While naughty blowjobs certainly had their appeal, nothing could compare to just holding her and feeling every fiber of her being melt into him.

Forfeiting the battle of their tongues and mouths, he slowly unhinged and lowered his head to lick the hollow of her neck, nipping slightly. This was his favorite spot, and his body responded to every taste of her skin. He cupped her breasts through the material of her shirt. Too much clothing, he thought. Want to spread her out naked and feast on her.

“Mr. Pratt?” Buffy gently gasped.

“Yes, baby?” He rasped, tugging at her buttons.

“Do you...have a condom?”

Shit.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on this, pet.”

“I’m not on the pill.” She admitted. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“It’s okay, Buffy.” He made a mental note to stop by the pharmacy on the way home for condoms. Now, he would focus on making her feel good. Make her feel like the goddess she is. He reached down and inched her skirt up for better access.

He smirked. “There are other things we can do.”

Their mouths met again for a searing kiss and they walked on their toes towards the rear of the room. A small folding table was set up with a few boxes on top. He quickly removed them and guided Buffy to sit atop the table before dropping to his knees.

“Keep quiet.” His heart was leaping still, faster than before.

“Mmm hmm.”

Ever so slowly he spread her legs open, and was greeted with the heady scent of her arousal. A lone finger reached out to brush across the center of her cotton knickers, drenched, and clinging to the cleft of her sex. His cock twitched in his pants as he pulled them down inch by inch, and stuffed them into his pocket. He pushed her legs back, and marveled at the feel of her neatly trimmed curls, hiding the swollen hard pebble he ached to lick. He wet his lips now and dove between her thighs, tongue outstretched to tickle her clit.

Buffy stirred and sighed contently.

William ran the back of his tongue down to her pussy hole, dripping with nectar. He sipped from her, savoring the sweet tang in his mouth. A juicy peach was right on target. This taste he would memorize. File it away for rainy days like a dog-eared classic with passages he could recite by heart. He flattened his tongue and put his mouth on the full of her sex. Tongue inside, lips nuzzling as he sunk head first into heaven.

He could hear Buffy clawing at the table. But other than that, she didn’t make a noise. He smiled between her thighs. The girl was always good at following orders. She tasted of peaches and cream and he couldn’t believe in all their time together, he never went down on her. It would’ve only been fair. Give head to get head, that’s the motto. Not that he didn’t want to either. Suppose it was the intimacy thing. Once he had a taste, there would be no way to forget or deny what they have. All that’s left is a carnal craving, and he couldn’t forget this delicious sweetness if he tried.

Their little humpfest outside had left him painfully hard. Without removing himself from her, he unzipped his pants to free his cock and stroked himself in time with his movements. William sensed her pussy constrict around his tongue. My baby’s so close. Wanna make her feel good. Gotta make her feel so good. He knew where all her desires resided, and his free hand moved deftly to her clit. He rubbed the nubbin with the rough pad of his thumb and she seemed to really like that. Slow and soft circular patterns at first, till she began to writhe, and then he rubbed her fast and hard and let his tongue fuck her into a creamy puddle.

“…..uh….uh….UHHHH….oh…” she dry sobbed, her back arching.

She came hard and was still throbbing, filling his mouth with more fluid than he was prepared for, but he lapped her up eagerly. Could drink from her all day. When she came down finally and her breathing returned to normal, Buffy struggled to sit upright.

“Did you enjoy that? He asked, licking his lips to get the last remnants of Buffy cleaned off.

Her dainty hands came down to cup his face lovingly “I wanted to scream so bad.”

“But you didn’t. You were very good.”

His cock was still in his hand, straining and twitching with each pull.

Eyebrows raised, he asked if she was ready to return the favor.

She dropped to her knees. “I thought you’d never ask.”

-----------------

The pair spent the next few moments swimming in a spell of post-orgasmic bliss. His pants still hung around his ankles, but he was too lazy to care. Buffy curled up in his arms, and he sweetly kissed the top of her head.

Just when he thought he could hold her like this forever, the handle of the door rattled. “Did you hear that?” William paused briefly as Buffy nuzzled his neck.

“Hmm? Hear what?”

When it was followed by three sharp knocks on the door, he knew he was in trouble. He hitched his trousers up and quickly buckled his pants.

“Mr. Pratt? Are you in there? A voice called.

FUCK. FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK. He didn’t think to check the lock before. William fumbled for the zipper. Not a moment to lose, he smoothed out his shirt and tried to compose himself. He placed a finger Buffy’s mouth signaling her to stay quiet. He felt her nod.

The door opened slowly. It was one of his other students-- a mousy thing with a hell of an imagination. “Andrew!” He spun around quickly, hiding Buffy behind him. He baited his hands, motioning for her to hide.

“What are you doing in here... in the dark?” Andrew asked, peeking his head through the doorway. He made no move to come in, and William hoped he’d stay that way.

“Light fixture's broken, and I'm trying to uh... find a stapler.” William answered with as much nonchalance as he could muster. That’s as good an excuse as any, right?

"Oh okay." Andrew replied, sounding a little unconvinced.

“Ah here it is!” He said, pulling one from the office supply box so quickly, that he knocked it over. Andrew stepped towards him as if to help and William brushed him back. “I got it. Don’t worry I’ll get that cleaned up.”

Eager to change the subject, William asked, "Is something the matter?”

“The reel is skipping. Can you come out and fix it?”

“Of course, just uh….” He glanced back, “give me a few moments.”

“You really should consider getting a digital projector.” Andrew advised matter-of-factly. “They cost more but the price of upkeep of these older models just isn’t worth it. Heh.”

William offered a thin smile, and Andrew prattled on.

“My friend Warren actually just purchased a digital projector. We’re going to marathon Doctor Who every Friday night on it. It’s going to be a dude-party. Maybe his mom will bake us cinnabuns.”

He didn’t know or care who Warren was. “Sounds like a hell of a time, son. Look why don’t you head back out and let the class know we’ll pick up where we left off at our next meeting. I’ll be out in just a moment.”

When Andrew finally left, he turned to find Buffy pressed against the side of a shelf.

“I’ll be right back. William whispered.

“Mmm hmm.” Buffy mumbled.

That was too close.

Buffy gingerly shut the house door, and grimaced when the hinges squeaked. She always complained about this stupid, squeaky door; a sneaky teenager’s worse nightmare. But it was late, so she hoped her mother would be in bed already. Tiptoeing inside, she made a beeline for the stairs.



“Did you have a good day at school, honey?” Her mother Joyce called from the living room, walking over with folded arms. Couldn’t escape the definite mom disapproval that masked that innocuous question.



Damn.



“I’m sorry— I lost track of time.”



“Do you know how late it is? I was expecting you home hours ago. Where were you?”



Buffy fidgeted and scratched the back of her thigh, suddenly aware of the bareness of said thigh considering her underwear was still in Mr. Pratt’s pocket.



Her legs closing around Mr. Pratt’s head. Sweat trickling down her back as he licked and sucked at places that only her hands had the pleasure of traveling. His fingers digging into her hips. Not wanting to be gentle. Not ever. Not when it can feel this good. The tip of his nose brushing roughly against her little button. She can hear him inhale and feel him smile. And then the tongue—inside—curling—guhhhh



“Buffy?”



Gulp. “Yea, mom. I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”



“You didn’t answer my question.”



Buffy wiped her brow. “I was at film club and it ran late. I promise I’ll call next time.”



“Running late is an hour or two and calling so the people who love you don’t worry their heads off. It’s almost 11pm.” Joyce’s eyes narrowed. “Come on, sweetie. I wasn’t born yesterday. Is it Angel? Are you seeing him again?”



“God no.” She chuckled. Angel was the furthest thing from her mind.



“Because if you are—you need to make sure you’re using protection.”



“Oh my god! No. And again, no and also—ew. Angel and I are definitely over!”



“You wouldn’t have any reason to be out this late otherwise.” Joyce unfolded her arms and placed them on her hips.



“Contrary to popular opinion, I do have a life, mom.”



“So? Share with me, Buffy. Please.” Joyce waited for an explanation. “Where were you?”



“I told you… film club ran late, Mr. Pratt needed help cleaning up afterwards-- you remember him--from parent-teacher night?”



“The Englishman with the plaid ties?”



“No um... That was Mr. Giles, the librarian. But— Mr. Pratt is also English.”



“Oh yes. I do remember. He’s a little gruff if you ask me.”



Buffy bit her lip. Fibbing didn’t come easily to her, and lying to her mother was the worse.



“Anyway, he felt so bad about keeping us late—uh, because—oh, Willow was there too-- that he took us out for a bite to eat and then he dropped us off.” The lies were flowing like honey. Really bitter honey. Well, they weren’t all lies. Half-truths sprinkled with colorful exaggerations are still technically true, right?



Joyce blinked. “I should call Mr. Pratt and tell him how… unsavory it is to keep his students out this late.”



“Unsavory? What is he mom, a cracker? And says the woman who was giving me the safe sex speech!”



“Don’t raise your voice at me, young lady.”



This was not good at all. Buffy took a breath and continued. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Mr. Pratt promised to write me a glowing recommendation for my college applications, and I just want to make a good impression by being extra involved.”



Joyce paused and Buffy noticed how tired she looked. Her mom was worn out and didn’t want to pick a fight, which Buffy was glad for but not at the cost of putting her mom through this unnecessary battle.



“You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” She said, shaking her head. “I’m always pushing you to do more at school and I shouldn’t be angry with you when you do.”



“It’s really, okay.”



“It’s not, Buffy.” Joyce leaned against the staircase, looking at her daughter with tired eyes. “I feel like I’m pushing you away sometimes. I know I don’t win any points for mother of the year, especially with my long hours at the gallery, and then what I put you through with my illness…”



Buffy felt awful. “Stop it, mom. Please.” She choked. “This is my fault. I should have called. It won’t happen again, I promise.”



She started for the stairs and averted her eyes, feeling the burden of a guilty conscience.



“Buffy?”



“Yeah?”



“You know I love you, right?”



“I do.”



“Okay, sweetie. As long as you know.” Joyce smiled, coming in for a kiss to the cheek. “Just get washed up and ready for bed.”



Buffy gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and darted up the steps.



I shouldn’t be kissing my mother with this mouth.



-------



Buffy waited till Joyce’s bedroom light went off, and then went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. She stared at the reflection in the mirror and hardly recognized the face. Who was this reckless girl? “Not a girl. Not yet a woman,” Buffy sang to herself, and snorted. She always hated that song. It was so cheesy. Not her favorite Britney ballad. “All I need is time. A moment that is mine”



Legally, she’d be a woman next week. Her 18th birthday was approaching, but she didn’t feel very much excitement. She doubted she’d reach any eye opening revelations about growing up by then. Seventeen years on earth and she didn’t have anything major to show for her time here. Maybe she tried too hard to be perfect-- daughter, student, friend, and just ended up failing at all of it. Other girls would be planning big parties and begging their parents for expensive gifts, but Buffy had other things on her mind. But this thing—whatever it was—that she had with Mr. Pratt, this didn’t feel like failing. It didn’t feel like success. It felt like escaping into a beautiful gray area where she didn’t have to worry anymore. She was safe.



And it was the first bit of fun she’s enjoyed in a very long while.



It was more than fun though. Mr. Pratt was beautiful to look at of course. God, when those smoldering blue eyes looked at her in just the right, or wrong way, her fingers couldn’t work herself off fast enough. But then he’d tilt his head and it was like he was seeing her for the first time. For who she really is. Like he made her acutely aware of her grown-up self, a woman free to make her own choices. And he was glad he chose her.



Buffy stood in front of the mirror and shed her clothes, poking at her flesh. Every nerve on alert signaled the places he touched. Markings on her hips where his fingers met her body. Pinkish bruising down her belly where he sucked and nipped at the skin. A hand slowly moved between her legs.



All roads lead here.



They always do.

----

(Earlier that day)



She waited for Mr. Pratt like he asked and he came for her soon after. The hallways were now quiet and empty. It seemed everyone was gone for the day and he offered to take her home, which she happily obliged, giddy that they’d have more time alone. They drove in silence for a little while until they hit a traffic light. Drive with two hands on the wheel at 10 and 2, she reminded him and he did as he was told. Very responsible, he grinned.



She was in a playful mood.



You should smile more, she said. It looks good on you.



And then at a stop sign, he kept one hand on 10 and the other hand was on her thigh. You’re going to drive like this? She asked incredulously, and he didn’t answer her. Because 2 was now inching up her skirt. He flipped up the scrap of fabric and wedged his hand between her legs. She swallowed hard.



Pull over, she ordered.



As you wish.



She was wet already, and he knew it. A strong hand teased her curls, and Buffy closed her eyes to savor this moment. His index and middle finger rhythmically tapped her box, and Buffy groaned, pulling against her seat belt, which caused the mechanism to loosen and retract, tightening the belt around her, and binding her to the seat. Mr. Pratt noticed this, and his eyes went dark.



Unbutton your shirt, sweetheart, he commanded and wordlessly, Buffy did as she was told.



Pull out your tits, he breathed.

The tone of his voice sent shivers through her body. Her pussy clenched at his words, and she pulled her breasts out from under the cups of her bra. The edges of the seat belt scratched against her skin uncomfortably.



Mr. Pratt unbuckled from his position and turned to face her, stroking her with one hand, and gripping the base of her neck with the other.



Now watch me, he ordered.



She struggled to keep her eyes open as she met his. He alternated between staring into her blinking irises, and looking at her open mouth as she licked her dry lips.



His fingers continued their merciless tapping, refusing admittance, grazing her opening with deliberate caution. Every move was purposely slow, and Buffy watched in a lusty haze the pleasure he took from the teasing. His thumb bumped against her swollen clit and Buffy pitched forward, and bit the air. He watched, nodding. She was always so ready. Two fingers splayed her open, and the third finger cut through her wetness like a hot knife through butter. She grimaced and waited and then nothing. She closed her legs around his hand, trapping him there.



More, please, she begged.



He tightened the grip on her neck and pushed her head towards his, pressing their damp and sticky foreheads together.



Ask nicely.



This game again and Buffy was happy to play. She pulled against the restraints and caught his mouth with hers, worrying her tongue into his, clumsily at first like putting a key in a lock in the dark. Then she felt the lock give in.



I said please, she reminded.



He blinked, took a second to compose himself.



And you’re crushing my hand, he laughed, looking at the vice of a grip she had with his hand buried between her thighs.



She released him. My bad, was her sheepish reply.



He gave her a soft peck on the cheek, and nuzzled his face in her hair. Mmm… I can’t wait to feel those legs around me when I fuck you, he growled into her ear.



His strong fingers opened her up again, and the car filled with her scent. Her wetness. Her sex. Buffy. Marking this space as her own. Her fluid was flowing freely around him, and Mr. Pratt had no trouble sliding a single digit inside her.



She gulped as this one finger rubbed her from the inside out, and then he added a second, and then a third. He waited patiently till she was adequately stretched. Buffy felt so good, so raw, so full. She gasped and let the wave of pleasure crash over her. Goosebumps ran down her arms in salute. Rise and meet your master.



Do it, she sighed



He gripped her neck and tipped her head to the side, sucking hard on a tendon while three fingers began their assault. They bucked in and out of her at a frenzy pace, and Buffy howled.



Do you know how beautiful you look like this, Buffy? He whispered into her ear. Your pretty tits rubbing against that belt while I fuck your lovely wet snatch with my fingers?

Listen. Do you hear that?



In the darkness, and on this empty street. No noise. Alone in a void.



He slid out of her slowly and she sighed with defeat, distressed at the emptiness.



Yes. I hate that sound too.



Snug inside again, he fucked her in earnest this time, and she thrust into his movements. He felt for that elusive spot, found it, and let her fluid drench his hand. All roads lead here. Buffy arched into him, coming with a guttural cry. She caught her breath and tried to speak. A grateful word. A name.



Mr. Pratt.



William. Call me, William.



Disengaging his slippery digits, he took a look at her offering. The fingers once submerged in her hot liquid were now puckered, wrinkled, overripe fruit.



Delicious, he said, sucking a finger clean before taking the moisture from the others and tracing the curve of her breasts, looking pleased with his handiwork. He blew on the skin, lips inches from her tits. His warm breath ghosting over exposed flesh.



Buffy wanted him to take her in his mouth, but she was afraid to speak and could only watch in speechless awe. She was impervious to movement as if even the slightest sway would make all this go away. She never wanted to stop this feeling.



You should come more, he finally said. It looks good on you.



And then he sunk his fingers in and began again.



---------

Buffy stared at herself in the glass for a long while till her face was nothing more than a blur. She blinked, and traced the path of his fingers in the reflection and watched the fingerprints fog up the cool shiny mirror.



She drew a bath, and watched the water fill the tub halfway before shutting off the faucet and yanking out the stopper. The water takes so long to fill but washes down the drain so quickly. A swoosh and a gurgle, and then gone. Empty.



She sat at the tub with legs open, and balanced herself with one hand. The other was furiously rubbing her pussy. She pictured his face. His eyes. Feeling him with her now. Her William. But it wasn’t the same.



“Reckless.” she whispered to herself, before getting up to turn off the light.



She walked to her room a sticky mess and decided tonight she just didn’t give a damn if she went to sleep dirty.

Thank you again to Emma for looking over this chapter, and helping me with my British phrasings.

“Have the imported foods moved to a different section, mate?” William paced the aisle at the grocery store twice before giving up and asking the stock boy.

It was harder and harder to purchase the little things that reminded him of home. It was probably not such a good idea to keep drinking his brand of tea or eating Dru’s preferred biscuits. But it was the only brand the market carried, and suppose it served him right. Eat his guilt and choke that down with some scalding hot tea. Served him right indeed.

His brother Wesley snuck a care package in his suitcase when he left England for the States. He was never more grateful than when he arrived, and found crumbled McVities tucked next to his socks. Wesley was the only one who knew where he was. What he did. He wished he could talk to him now, but they agreed that limited contact was best and that he would keep watch over the situation at home. Wesley said he’d keep an eye on Drusilla, and he’d contact him when it was safe. Wesley, the older brother, was his mother’s pride and joy and William was something of a rebel who steered on and off the path of redemption much to his family’s disappointment. Why can’t you be more like your brother? His mother would ask emphatically when they bailed him out of juvenile detention for the fifth time.

But he looked up to Wesley. He never held a grudge that his brother was the preferred child, and it was Wesley who tutored him and encouraged his love for reading. He was never cruel, and didn’t even give him a hard time about his bleached hair phase. “Mother is going to kill you.” Wesley laughed, before admitting that the bleached look didn’t look half bad. It was Wesley who never lost faith in him, and after their mother died, supported him through university, and ultimately got him a position as an English professor at a small school on the outskirts of London; the school where he was much beloved and flourished professionally.

The school where he fell head over heels in love with Drusilla Aurelius.

The place where everything went to hell.

He remembered how his fingers trembled when he got the letter of acceptance for the position in Sunnydale. It was unexpected. He and Drusilla had talked about running away together and Drusilla encouraged him to apply to positions as far away from England as possible. Her father was a powerful man and protective of his only daughter. “He’d never let us be together,” she explained. It was Drusilla who suggested Sunnydale, California. He never thought he would actually get accepted.

But then Dru’s accident. He didn’t mean for any of it to happen.

Once again, it was his brother who came to clean up his mess.

“Take the job, William.” His brother said, rummaging through his drawers and stuffing his suitcases in a frenzy.

He sat on the bed, stripped bare of its sheets. Wesley already packed a suitcase with some of his belongings. Guilt and doubt surged through him. But mostly he felt like a coward for running.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can do this, Wes.”

Wesley dropped a duffel bag at his feet, and took his brother by the shoulders. “This is your chance to start fresh.”

“I don’t deserve it.” William croaked, and couldn’t bear to look his brother in the eyes.

“Look at me,” Wes ordered. When William hung his head, Wesley smacked his face. “Hey, look at me.”

Tears were starting to brim. He felt like such a git.

“Everyone deserves a second chance. Don’t waste it.”

Standing in the grocery store, thinking of his brother, his heart felt heavy.

William turned the tin of tea slowly in his hand and chucked it into his basket.

He wondered what his brother would say if he knew how superbly he has failed yet again.

*************

“Mom, we really don’t need all of this.” Buffy traipsed along side her mother, removing two bags of chips for every three that Joyce dropped into their cart.

“A girl only turns eighteen once, sweetie. I would think you’d be more excited about this.”

“I am.” Buffy admitted. “But you really don’t need to go through all this trouble. It’s just going to be a small group of friends at the Bronze. This cart looks like you’re throwing a Super Bowl party.”

“Well, can you blame me for wanting to celebrate my little girl all grown up?” Joyce said, giving her daughter a big hug, and then pinching her cheek like she did when Buffy was a child.

“Okay… public displays of affection…. All good and dandy.” Buffy said, rubbing her face, before stealing the cart and peeling ahead of her mother. “This is enough, mom!” She called back, weaving the cart down the aisle to the checkout line.

Buffy pulled into the shortest line and turned back to look for her mother who seemed to be distracted by the row of gossip magazines on display a few lines away.

“Hello, cutie.”

Her heart jumped. She could recognize that voice anywhere. She slowly turned and was met with a grinning Mr. Pratt.

“Mr. Pratt.” She didn’t mean for her voice to sound all low and inviting but she couldn’t help herself. The object of her affection was dressed casually in jeans and a black t-shirt. His hair was a little messy and it didn’t look like he meant to run into anyone, especially her, at the supermarket of all places.

He leaned in till their faces were inches apart, and Buffy thought he was going to kiss her. Her mind was slowly turning to mush. A shiver ran down her spine as she waited, preparing to throw all caution to the wind. They were close enough that she could smell him, and she reflexively closed her eyes, and inhaled that manly mix of musk and mint that she grew familiar with and waited for his next action.

The baby hairs on the side of her head prickled as Mr. Pratt touched her shoulder.

“William. Remember? Call me, William.” he whispered into her ear, before loudly exclaiming, “Excuse me, miss,” yanking a package of chewing gum from the display directly next to her.

She stared into his twinkling blue eyes, briefly startled by the gall. This shouldn’t turn her on so much. They were always so careful to keep this part of their relationship hidden. She relished the thrill of the tease, but felt an uneasy closeness since their admittance of mutual feelings last week. It didn’t really change anything. It is what it is, right?

It was a moment of weakness. That’s all. Angel dumped her and he comforted her the only way he knew how. That was it. That’s all it was. Was she just deluding herself into thinking that there could be something more? He said if he could tell the world about them, he would.

But he couldn't.

And she couldn’t either. No one would understand. There was too much on the line. She shouldn’t have been so stupid to get caught up in her emotions, and let down her guard long enough to fall for him.

“What are you doing here?” She hissed.

“Well I suppose the same thing you’re doing here, pet. Shopping.”

Smiling, he added, “A man’s got to eat.”

He ran one hand casually over his abdomen and Buffy took note of the hard muscles underneath, and cleared her throat awkwardly.

William took a peek in her cart, and took note of the copious amount of junk food.

“Having a slumber party, are we?” He leered, tongue wagging.

She gulped. That tongue. Keep it together, Buffy.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I believe I would. Gonna invite me?”

“You wish.” She rolled her eyes.

“It’d be fun. We could stay up late eating naughty treats, play spin the bottle, and then I get to see what sort of frilly jammies you wear to bed.” He joked.

That knowing smirk on his face did it. Cocky son of a bitch.

“Well that’s funny,” she leaned into him barely touching except for the fabric of their clothes brushing softly. Just two strangers sharing a space too small within the confines of politeness. She felt the heat radiate from his body and it was her turn to smile.

“I sleep naked.”

She yanked a package of chocolate from the display next to him.

“Pardon me, sir,” She said loudly, dropping the package in her cart.

Buffy smiled coyly when she successfully wiped the smug look on his face. William’s jaw tightened, and he stirred visibly. His hand went to his belt buckle and Buffy’s eyes followed, knowing full well what was happening underneath his pants.

But there was a dampness already forming in her underwear, like her body was instinctively preparing herself for him. And what did he say to her in the car last week when he gripped her neck and fingered her till she forgot her own name? That he couldn’t wait to feel her legs wrapped around him while he fucked her? Shit…

She wanted more moments of weakness. It couldn’t be helped. She wanted to grab his hand and drag him out to his car right now, and make him do all the things he promised. She bit down on her lip and seriously considered disappearing with him right then and there.

And then Buffy's mother came up behind and startled them both.

“Buffy, did we remember the ice cream?”

“Uh…yeah, mom. See? Ben and Jerry. All happy in the cart together.” Buffy replied as cheerfully as possible, sneaking glances at William, who composed himself, and amused at how flustered Buffy became.

Joyce looked at William, and seemed to recognize him. “Do I know you?” She asked, eyebrows knitted.

“Hi Ms. Summers. I’m Buffy’s English teacher, William Pratt. So lovely to see you again.” He offered his hand to Joyce, who shook it.

“Mr. Pratt… you’re the teacher that kept my daughter late after film club. You know, it’s really unprofessional to keep your students out that late on a school night.”

“Oh, so Buffy told you….?” William looked at Buffy who was warning him with her eyes.

Buffy mouthed. “She knows nothing.”

“I’m terribly sorry about that. It was truly deplorable of me. Won’t happen again.” He assured her. “Buffy is one of my brightest students, and I’m so happy she volunteered to help.

“She says you’re writing her college recommendation. I hope it will be a glowing one.”

“Certainly. Buffy is a special girl. Glowing recommendation for a glowing student. Shall I drop it off at your home tomorrow?” Mr, Pratt asked.

“A teacher that makes house calls on a Saturday, Mr. Pratt?” Joyce relaxed, and put her arm around her daughter. “That’s unorthodox.”

“Well the parents pay good money for the best education so it’s important to service our pupils the best way we can.” William smiled brightly at Joyce. “Isn’t that right, Buffy?”

He said it so casually. So innocently. She wanted to smack him.

“But it’s Buffy’s birthday tomorrow.

William looked at Buffy, and smiled. “Oh, is it?”

Buffy shifted uncomfortably. “Mmm hmm.”

“How old are you turning, Buffy?”

“Eighteen.” She mumbled, looking him dead in the eyes.

“That’s a very special age.” He said. “Where will you be celebrating? I hope somewhere exciting,” he added, teeth flashing.

“You want this to be a day to remember.”

“Oh we’re having a small party at the Bronze.” Buffy’s mother said.

“Well that sounds delightful.” William dropped his basket under the check out line, as he paid his bill, and gathered his groceries.

“It was a pleasure seeing you again Ms. Summers.”

Joyce nodded, and waved.

“And Buffy?"

She peered at him through hooded eyes.

Happy Birthday.” He winked.

Buffy’s tummy flipped as she willed herself to stay upright. She wanted to follow him out of there.

The wheels were turning in his head; she just knew it.