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.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you so much to my new beta Emma for reviewing this chapter! Hope you all enjoy.
Chapter End Notes:
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