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.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Yes! Chapter 2!
And thank you to my wonderful beta, peroxidelove.
And thank you to my wonderful beta, peroxidelove.
Chapter End Notes:
TBC... and c'mon, who's craving a spider roll right now? :raises hand:
Thanks for reading, and please review!
Thanks for reading, and please review!