Magic Fingers

Section Une

Buffy rolled her shoulders and twisted her neck. Her tense upper body was riddled with the kinks of muscular distress. Her mother told her three times a day that she needed to see a masseuse but she really didn’t want a girl to knead her into cookie dough, because there was a slim chance she might get a happy at the end. That was not how she wanted her first orgasm of three years to play out.

Growling inhumanly, she thrust herself out of the office chair and walked towards the bathroom. If she sat on the toilet for a while, maybe the ache between her legs would disappear in the endless pains rolling across her back.

For the love of God she wanted to orgasm. And she wanted to get rid of the ridiculous back pains that perpetrated such horrible uncomfortableness day to day.

But Buffy knew if she let a fully licensed masseur touch her, she’d be off like a sprocket flying out of a snapped chain.

But there was no way she was going to pay a man to touch her. A hooker would be cheaper, and so would her conscience.

Her fingers did nothing to release the uncomfortable build up between her legs, her butt hovering over the toilet seat as her fingers poked and prodded at her insides in every angle she could muster.

“Stupid short arms,” she muttered before wiping away the mess on her fingers on the toilet paper and pulling up her skirt and panties that had held her legs in position. She grabbed the ream of paper and ripped off a few pieces to clean up the useless juices. She started rubbing harder and harder, little tremors tickling down her legs, until the paper disintegrated into the toilet bowl.

“AH!”

“Um, Buffy, are you alright?”

Buffy sighed and unlocked the door with her clean hand. She smiled at Willow, her colleague and friend, and washed her hands thoroughly.

A twinge in her rear flared up once more, her sexually frustrated front forgotten as the pain swelled in her back.

“Don’t worry Willow my back’s still a bit sore.” She gently kneaded her lower back as she walked back into the office. Her resolve was shattered as the aches doubled.

Buffy arrived home from work, still growling, and her mother passed her the phonebook.

“You won’t regret it, dear.”

And boy, did mother know best.

****

The ad was under the licensed massages section. And yes! The phone book did have an unlicensed section. Half of those appeared to be Govenator look-a-like hookers. It was the wording that gave Buffy license to look at it twice. She scanned past the adverts that displayed the lewd pictures of semi-naked bodies and skipped the indignant ads that said things like, ‘It doesn’t matter how attractive I am or how well hung you are, this is a massage ad’.

With Spike’s, she had to look twice. His name made her quickly bypass it on her first skim, but when her search became frustratingly useless and the pain began to crinkle up her back, she looked back at the page where the corner declared: ‘Spike the Masseur: can sooth your back pains through several licensed massage therapies, registered in seven countries. Spike will give you a release on life.’

Buffy’s eyes bulged at the last sentence. The guy seemed to be a professional and he knew what would eventually happen before his hands would begin their journey kneading up and down her back. If anything, she would get the two things she longed for. Buffy gave the finger to morality and dialled his number.

“Spike’s glorious sex pad of pain and pleasure. Who, may I ask, is calling?”

“Oh, I think I got the wrong number.”

“No, sweet thing, it sounds like you got just the right one.”

An angry growl ripped through the fibre optics and a disgruntled British voice said, “I’m sorry about my flatmate Lorne. This is Spike, how can I help you?”

“I’m in desperate need of a massage. I’m incredibly tense and my back has been in pain for days.”

Unfortunately, Spike appeared to have spectacular hearing.

He exclaimed “Really?” after hearing her mumble, “And I really need to come.”

Buffy blushed but quickly asked the question she needed to have answered.

“Do you do manssages?”

“Manssages? As in man on man—blow WHAT? That’s the most...um... ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” He scoffed.

“Have you heard of Cheesus? Religious themed cheese sculptures?”

“Okay, I take that back. Manssages while eating cheesuses would probably be the most ridiculous.” Buffy hoped that the timbre of his nummy accent meant he was smirking. She needed to provoke him more to hear that delicious tone.

“What about—?”

“No, okay, I only have female clients.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, love.”

“Welcome? Why didn’t you answer me straight away?”

“’Cause you said the word manssage. No, you created a word. A word that’s completely redundant.”

“This whole conversation is redundant. Will you come tomorrow?”

“No, but you will.”

“God, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Just so you know, this is the most unprofessional phone call I have ever had the displeasure to take part in. Give me the time and place and I’ll be at your doorstep.”

Buffy hung up shortly after negotiating details, now pleasantly flustered.

****

Buffy sat on the toilet, apprehensive. Spike was due to arrive in half an hour and she desperately needed to not embarrass herself if he was as quippy in real life as he was over the phone. Her quick comebacks quota may have been exceeded during their previous conversation.

She stripped off her work clothes and stubbornly decided to try for one last attempt at coming before he arrived.

She slipped behind the glass doors and rubbed the cake of soap over every inch of her body, the lather building on her breasts and in her southern curls. She abruptly realised she needed to shave as the soap glided along the coarse hairs on her legs.

Cursing the procrastination time she spent sitting on the toilet pondering her predicament, Buffy hurriedly flicked the razor up and down her legs and heard the doorbell toll.

“I’m coming!” She grimaced as soon as the words flew out of her mouth at her top volume. “I mean, give me five minutes.”

Buffy was adamant that she’d get off before he’d touch her so she curled she shower hose off its stand and flipped the nozzle upside down between her legs. The jet of water caressed her tender skin until she upped the water pressure. The liquid blasted onto her clitoris and her legs flew out from beneath her. Her last thought was of a specific British voice before her arse harshly hit the smooth tiles of her shower as she quickly slid down to the tub floor.

“Urgh! Ow! Damnit!”

Buffy groaned. Any pleasure that had been building was replaced with the terrible pain running Rambo across her back and butt.

“Are you alright?”

Panic slew her body into becoming a frozen statuette on the bottom of her bathtub. The British voice she had just fanaticised about was on the other side of her bathroom door.

Buffy grabbed her towel and limped across the floor to rip open the door.

God, he was even better than she dimly imagined. His hair was gelled down in bleached curls that were above dark roots.

“I set up in the lounge room because your front door was open.”

She needed to shut her gaping mouth.

But his eyes were indescribably blue and they roved up her bare legs and over the slit in her towel and across the top of her fleshy globes. His eyes met her pouting lips and he snuck a look up at her delicious emerald eyes.

“Bloody hell, I hope you’re Buffy.”

“I hope you aren’t actually in my home yet, Spike.” His name dripped with venom as it left her mouth that no longer gaped as it remembered the anger coursing through her body and ending in a comfortable section below her belly.

“Seeing as you’ve had a problem, I though the massage would take a little longer.”

“Yeah, well…urgh, I can’t think of anything to say to that. Get out of my way.”

He smirked and leant an arm against the frame, blocking her into the bathroom.

“Did you want me to do you in here?”

“Get out of my way.” Her tone was a viper.

He surrendered, hands in the air. He walked back into her living room, Buffy watching his delectable trousered arse as he strolled.

Spike felt her stare directed to his derriere and turned back, smirking again.

He nodded towards her chest where the towel had fallen to show more of her perky breasts.

“Come on love, let’s get you all limp.”

TBC

Buffy looked over at the table in the living room and gulped. The headrest and armrest were stationary but the end of the table was jutting into the air. It was a yummy chocolate brown and stood out in her mother’s homely living room.

Pictures of naughty positions fluttered into her head: Spike’s long fingers gripping her love handles as he lifted her onto the sensual table, her head tilted away from the soft leather upholstery and her legs splayed in the air as guided by the upright end of the table. Her wet pussy pressed up against the leather until those elongated fingers lifted her hips to let his lengthy firm prick plough into her. His taut buttocks tensing as her nipples slid against the soft tabletop and that hot long muscle pistons in and out, up and down, up and up and…

“Buffy? BUFFY!”

“Huh, what?”

“You okay?”

Buffy looked away from the table, trying to focus on anything of interest in her living room that wasn’t chocolate brown or astonishingly blonde.

“Uh, you know, just so you know, I’m not expecting anything, like…finishing.”

“Yes, you are.” His god sinful smirk covered those gorgeous features none too covertly.

“No, I’m not.”

“Whatever you say, love. What were you just daydreaming about?”

“Nothing of any import.”

“Import, huh? Why don’t you hop up on top, pet?”

Buffy climbed up onto the table, making sure her body was covered by the towel before she lay down. Her pointy nipples grazed the soft top and she let the towel fall to her bottom.

Spike hadn’t watched as she jumped onto the massage table, he was too aroused from seeing her in just the piece of fluffy material with the glistening water droplets sparkling across her sunshined skin.

He thought of her as a blend of life and death and desire and despair and definitely a beautiful fury of the endless haunting dreams. He could drown in dreams of her till the end of his miserable life. If he touched her, he didn’t know if she’d still be real.

“Are you going to touch me soon?”

Spike hesitantly stepped forward, sure that he’d soil his trousers as soon as his hands touched her luscious skin. Maybe, just maybe, he’d explode into dust in a fit of intense lust before he had to touch her tense muscles.

‘Oh god,’ Spike thought as something swam from his chest into his brain. He had a sudden need to sooth her pain, forever. The chocked feeling in the back of his throat was only there because he could see her grimace when the pain flared up. God, he’d only just met her, only argued with her, didn’t even know her.

“Hey, Massage Boy, you dead over there or what? I’m paying you to touch me.”

“I’m sorry, just warming up my hands.”

His hands were not in the least bit warm. He felt like he’d been stuck overnight in a meat locker and all the blood had rushed to his head. His other head.

He rubbed his hands together after grabbing some peppermint oil and delicately splaying it onto his hands. He finally touched her.

Spike began to rub her shoulders, knowing he could work up her back because he needed some time to control himself before he reached her bottom. He was hurting her but Buffy could take it, she need to take it. He dug and dug into her muscles, furrowing into her skin as he made his way down her back.

“Mmm, don’t stop.” She said when his hands stilled half way down her spine.

“Sorry love, but I’m going to have to get up on the table with you if you want me to continue the deep tissue stuff.”

“Yes,” she breathily moaned.

“He swung his leg up and over her and situated himself to hover over her arse.

Too late did he realise he’d left his fly open when his trouser button popped off and his hard headed hunk of meat smacked her towel covered arse.

“What’s that?”

“Bloody hell. Have you got a needle?”

“A NEEDLE!” She instantly sat up, forgetting her nakedness.

“My button popped off.”

She looked back and her eyes widened.

“Um, maybe you could, like, finish the massage?” Buffy swore she was blushing as her subtle innuendo passed between the still air surrounding their bodies.

He gulped and attempted to readjust himself but as he moved and kneaded her cookie dough muscles, he kept slipping out of his trousers.

His fingers finally found her lumbar region and she sighed as he pounded her skin, his manhood dangling above her.

God, she was so close. So incredibly close that she quickly flipped around beneath him and grabbed his cock in her hands.

His eyes practically removed themselves from his skull as she flicked the towel away, annoyed. She was so astonishingly beautiful, every little bump and knot and tender spot. Her hair spread around her face like a wicked angel that contradicted the sinful smile on her face. His dick throbbed in her little hands and he almost came as she started to explore the individuality of his penis.

When she positioned him right at the entrance to the gateways of life and death he fell backwards off the table.

He stuttered, his Britishness arriving in full force as he paced beside the table and avoiding her at all costs.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…ah…oh dear lord…I’ve never, I mean, I don’t have sexual relations with my clients.”

“Oh.” Her lips formed that surprised ‘oh’ shape and he couldn’t help but become incredibly and suddenly angry.

“What do you mean, oh? I’m not some freaking hustler. I’m a professional masseur! I’ve bloody helped professional athletes to get their careers back! I’ve travelled the bloody world learning and helping people! And you think you have the right to question my morality!”

His face was purple and his legs had practically burrowed a trench in her rugs.

“Ah…I didn’t mean…I thought…I thought you wanted me.”

It was his turn to make vowel shapes on his mouth.

“It’s just…I’ve never, I mean to say that, I’ve only been with one woman.” He whispered quietly, shyly Buffy thought.

“So you’re just a shy little boy under all the swagger. Well, we can fix that.”

He gulped again, and not for the last time that night.

Section Trois

Previously on Magic Fingers:

“It’s just…I’ve never, I mean to say that, I’ve only been with one woman.” He whispered quietly, ‘Shyly,’ Buffy thought.

“So, you’re just a shy little boy under all the swagger. Well, we can fix that.”

He gulped again, and not for the last time that night.

…


Holy frijoles, Buffy was ready to pop.

“I thought…you said…you’ve only been…with one woman.” She managed to gasp as his tongue flicked against her skin. His sexy swaggering smirk was smacked straight back on his stupid face and Buffy just wanted to rip it off with her teeth. Except that his face was between her legs.

“I have. Never told you how many times, though. Might teach you to stop jumping to conclusions, love.” His tongue went straight back to her overtly moist folds and his long fingers teasingly traced the opening of her—

“Buffy, you home?” The front door swung open and Buffy’s eyes went wide. The brink she had almost stepped over was quickly washed away.

“Holy macaroni, nude much?” Dawn, Buffy’s sister, picked up the towel Buffy had carelessly thrown away. Dawn threw it over Buffy as Spike stood up and desperately cleaned off his face before Buffy’s mother walked through to the living room. She smiled brightly when she saw Spike, standing with his hands placed strategically over his groin.

“Hi Joyce.”

“William, I didn’t know Buffy was hiring you.”

“Wait, William? Do you know Spike?” Buffy looked at her mother in surprise.

“Yes, he works for me at the gallery during the week.”

“Wait, Spike is the guy you fawn over all the time?” Dawn’s face lit up she saw the effect of her sister’s words on the already embarrassed hot guy in her living room.

“Ladies?” He gulped. Spike was getting a desperate need to run out of the house very quickly. But he had a little problem.

“Buffy Anne Summers, I do not fawn. Go upstairs and get dressed.”

“Where’d you learn a word like fawn anyway, sis? Isn’t that one too many letters for your vocabulary?” Dawn was having the time of her life.

“Shut it Dawn, just because I dropped out of collage doesn’t mean I’m dumb.”

“Yeah, just a skannnnnnn—,” Buffy grabbed onto Dawn’s long brunette hair and tugged and Joyce stepped forward to break her daughters apart.

“LADIES!” The three women turned to look at the rumpled Spike who was desperately trying to cover himself up and not look at naked angry Buffy. “Do you think you could help me find the button?”

****

“Button, button, who’s got the button?” Buffy sang as she found it behind a chair.

Joyce insisted Spike change into a baggy pair of Buffy’s sweats so she could sew the button back onto his trousers. At her continuing insistence, Spike reassured Joyce and Dawn he’d stay for dinner.

As soon as Joyce was out of earshot, Buffy leaned over and grabbed his earlobe between her teeth.

“I’m hungry for something solid,” she growled and her sweatpants became extra tight.

“Love, I appreciate your eagerness to jump my bones but my boss, your mother, is in the next room fixing us some tea.”

“Tea? I don’t drink tea.”

“Dinner, tea, meal of the evening, supper, nibblies, plate o’ grub.”

Dawn was watching the couple from her pile of homework at the table as they teased each other in the doorway. As soon as she heard their mother trudge up the stairs, she hotly whispered, “So what’s with the hanky panky in the living room? Thought you had a sore back, sis.”

“I don’t anymore, pain.”

“Yeah, looked like all you were in was pleasure.”

Dawn looked over at Spike and was pleased at the blush that covered his ridiculously pale cheeks.

“I never want to see that disgusting sight again. Keep it in the bedroom.”

“If I hear one word of this to anyone…if you so much as look at a boy…”

Joyce walked back down the stairs and into the dining room, looking at her daughters.

“You two better not be fighting in front of our guest. I’m sure he has better things to do than listen to two young girls squabble. You are going to scare him away.”

Buffy and Dawn simultaneously groaned at their mother.

“Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Please try not to bore William.”

“We’re just going to go up to my room to finish the massage.”

“Why won’t you be in the living room?” Dawn asked saucily.

“Because I don’t want to flash you my naughty bits while you are doing your homework.” Buffy retorted and grabbed Spike’s hand and dragged him upstairs.

****

Buffy removed her sweatpants from his waist and pushed Spike against her closed door. Her lips sought out his for a passionate lip tug-o-war.

“Slow down there, love. Have you got protection?”

William tried to push her away but she jumped up onto his naked lower torso and attempted to peel off his shirt.

“I’m on the pill and clean.”

He raised an eyebrow at her admission and helped Buffy rid her body of the clothes she had quickly thrown on at her mother’s request.

“To regulate my hormones.” She answered his silent question.

“S’not doing a very good job.”

“Hey! Shut up and finish your job.”

He gently placed Buffy on her stomach in the centre of her large bed. She looked so tiny surrounded by the endless blankets and pillows. She needed him to join her, take away her insignificance and he was all too happy to comply.

Spike’s million dollar hands rubbed at her lower back, kneading the tender lumbar tissue.

“Oh god, Spike.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“What?” She had trouble getting that one word out as the pain briefly flared up as she turned around onto her back. Spike was sitting next to her, naked like a poet pouring out his soul, though also the nude kind of naked.

“Intercourse, pet. I don’t want to hurt you when you’re obviously still in pain.”

She giggled and he tilted his gorgeous head to look at her. Another silent question.

“You said intercourse.”

“What are you, twelve?” He smirked at her, a playful fight dancing in his eyes.

‘Probably doing the tango,’ Buffy thought before she looked properly and saw the simmering saucy sultriness that burned and she changed her mind instantly. Flamenco.

“If I were twelve, this would just be a wet dream.”

He covered her mouth hungrily and she instantly responded by sliding her tongue out to tangle with his.

“Dinner’s ready!”

****

Dawn heard twin groans through Buffy’s door after her cheery announcement. She bounded back down the steps two at a time. She wondered if her sister and the scrumptious masseur could keep their hands to themselves throughout dinner.

Buffy and Spike came down the stairs and Dawn saw Buffy move to readjust Spike’s polo shirt.

“Why are you grinning like a maniac?” Buffy looked at her annoying pest of a sister who looked like she’d been given a puppy.

“Why are you frowning like a hag?” Buffy made a start towards Dawn but Spike stopped her with the smallest of touches.

“Buffy, leave the nibblet alone.”

Before Dawn could comment on the steamy look between the pair, Joyce walked into the dining room with a plate full of vegetables.

“Feeling better dear?” Buffy grumbled.

“I think Buffy will need a few more sessions before the pain is completely gone. Can I help you with anything Ms Summers?”

“Sure William, you can collect the plates while Buffy brings out the rest of our meal.”
Buffy’s hand snuck onto William’s thigh when his fork hovered in front of his mouth, piled full of mashed potato. He almost dropped the mash into his lap in surprise. Buffy smiled saccharinely at her mother and inquired about Joyce’s day.

Before he could think of revenge, her little hands snuck between his legs and began to fondle his dual sacks of life.

‘No wonder I’ve only been with Drusilla…dual sacks of life, what a poncy thing to think.’

But he couldn’t think anymore as she squeezed gently.

A small noise of urgency fled his lips.

“Are you okay William?”

“Fine, Ms Summers. I think I’d best change into my trousers and head home, if you don’t mind my swift retreat?”

“Of course, William. I didn’t expect you to spend your whole evening with us girls. Your trousers are in the living room, change while we cleanup.”

Buffy sulked, her actions not warranting the end she envisioned. She cornered William as he returned from the bathroom.

“Love, I’m really not comfortable.” Her hands played their way up beneath his shirt.

“I don’t care. I’m sore and horny and I’ve been interrupted from coming more times this evening than Julius Caesar.”

“I don’t think I followed you round that bend, love.” His eyebrow lifted in that oh-so-sexy way.

“You know, I came, I saw, I conquered.”

“I never took you for a history buff.”

“I know you want to buff—god damn it Dawn, what do you want?”

Dawn’s brilliant grin spread across her face.

“Just wanted to know if you were taking your table with you, Spike.”

William gulped again. Buffy’s little sister was scary. In what way? He wasn’t sure.

Buffy showed him to the door, his muscles hardly straining as he lifted the heavy collapsible carry table over the front door threshold.

“Same time, next week?”

“I don’t think I can hold on that long. How bout you ditch the massage table and we go out Wednesday night?”

“Buffy, I’m not sure about whatever this is.” She made a fake gasp and covered her open mouth.

“A man being honest about what he is feeling! What ever will I do?” She became exasperated as he stared at her with such a confuddled look on his face. “So, do you feel good when we’re doing stuff or not?”

They both looked down at his raging hard on poking out of his trousers, threatening to do away with the button again.

“My question answered, pick me up at seven.”

She pecked him on the lips and closed the door.

Section Quatre

Buffy sighed the most put out sigh ever to have been sighed in the office or possibly the country. She had still been denied orgasm. She screamed in frustration whenever she could, sometimes into her hand in the toilet cubicles at work as her other hand moved furiously. Sometimes into her pillow as she humped the one beneath her legs at two o’clock in the morning. Sometimes, when she was on a business trip and passing an open plain of grass, she’d just get out of the car and scream. Buffy hadn’t orgasmed in three years. Not even via self stimulation. She was always…ALWAYS interrupted. Or her arm would give out. She was on the brink of release and her mother would yell out to bring down her dirty laundry, forgetting that Buffy stoutly refused Joyce’s washing help as most of her underclothes (and sometimes her pants), sheets and towels were covered with desperate secretions.

Buffy half expected the cause of her back pains were from the awkward lengths she’d gone to come. Awkward lengths meaning awkward positions.

And now all she could think about was Spike putting her in those positions.

Willow noticed her distant demeanour and popped around to Buffy’s cubicle.

As soon as Willow saw the lust and frustration swirling in her eyes she giggled.

“Spill. Who’s the guy, Buffy?”

“What? There is no guy.” Buffy’s hand fidgeted in her lap as she swung around to answer Willow.

“Yeah, and you’re the Queen of Egypt.” The smile was firmly implanted on Willow’s face even through Buffy’s counter argument.

“There is no Queen of Egypt. The last one was Cleopatra.”

Willow pulled up a vacated chair and looked, with the utmost resolve, towards Buffy.

“Okay, okay. Back down with the facial expressions already. There’s a guy. His name is Spik…William. He’s my…he works for Mom.”

“And? Juicy gossip please. How far have you gone? Are you having naughty thoughts about him? Have you seen him naked?” Buffy’s cotton boy short panties flooded with desire and her throat clogged up. She took a few second a breather before attempting to answer.

“Will, I just met him, I was a little forward and we’re going out on our first date Wednesday night.”

Willow squealed.

Buffy plopped her head in her hands. She knew her body would wait two more days until release but Buffy had finally found the thing…the guy…that WOULD make her go pop and she didn’t want to stop. Nah-uh, they were going to get in his car and go for it. Buffy would rip off his shirt (which probably wouldn’t be polo like his self imposed uniform, more like a skin tight black shirt) and impale herself right there, in his car on her driveway, on his massive dick and would squeeze and squeeze then make him nip and flick until she came. And then she’d make him make her come again.

Buffy’s desk phone rang on her desk and Willow giggled as Buffy was thrown from her *ahem* reverie.

“Hello, DM Palace HQ Sales Department, this is Buffy Summers speaking.”

“’lo, love.” Buffy mouthed ‘William’ to her redheaded friend before turning around to face her computer screen.

“’Sup, Spike. See you aren’t the only one with the alliteration skills.”

“Ahuh…So, what are you doing?”

“Mortification.” Buffy flicked a look towards a giggling Willow.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I’m hanging up now, Spike. Don’t call me at work again. See you Wednesday night.”

Buffy heard his chuckle as the phone was placed back in the cradle.

‘How did he go from husky sexy swaggery god of lust to wee Wee Wittle Willy Wimpkins?’ Buffy almost lost herself to naughty thoughts of said sex god before remembering Willow was STILL hanging around.

“Summers! Rosenberg! Back to work. You were supposed to organise those forms on the manhandling of goods by the overseas freighter company, YESTERDAY.”

The women shot each other an exasperated look over their resident tyrant boss, Synder, before Willow headed back to her cubicle.

Buffy sighed and said just beneath her breath, “Spike can manhandle my goods any day.”

****

Buffy was late home again.

“Did you steal my jacket, airhead?”

“Dawn, be nice.” Joyce called out from the bathroom.

Buffy gracefully sneered at Dawn through her open bedroom door before continuing to her bed to collapse.

A few minutes passed before Joyce poked her head into Buffy’s room and looked at the pain passing across her eldest’s face.

“Aww, honey, is your back still sore?”

Buffy made a show of lifting her head from the soft down pillow and making a face at Joyce.

“You aren’t still mad at me for not introducing you to William earlier, are you? Really dear, you are exaggerating your lack of social life. And you’re going out with him Wednesday, yes?”

Buffy was as stubborn as a teenage rhinoceros. Well, more horny. But Buffy could probably give the rhinos a run for their money in the stubborn race.

“Well, fine, act like a child and ignore me. I have a date.”

Buffy shot up from the creaking bed.

“Mom, I don’t trust this guy. He…he…he sounded funny over the phone. And he has a Great Dane. Who has Great Danes?”

Buffy was ignored and that was fine by her. She had a plan, even if it was driving her crazy with need. Every second since she got home, since she saw the places in her home where Spike had given her the electrifying chills from his touch, her loins ached. So now, with her undergarments wetter than a whale, she was as desperate for some action as Tom Cruise. She needed some ‘alone with her hand’ time and hoped her mother was out on her date with the Dane guy for a long while after Dawn went to sleep.

Her wishes weren’t answered.

Her mother arrived home at ten pm claiming the danish was a serial killer.

Buffy sighed and heard her mother’s door close. She lay in bed for almost three hours, her body strung so tight she was ready to scream.

Buffy punched her pillow in frustrated ire before throwing a sheet onto her bare expanse of floor.

Discarding her pyjama bottoms, she slipped her burgundy boy short panties down her legs from her slender hips. She’d worn them all day and could smell the desire that had pumped out of her during the many hours she’d spent thinking about Spike. Casually grabbing the bra she’d thrown across her chair, she clipped the wired lace lingerie just above her nipples then threw her panties on over her head and around her neck. The crotch hung just beneath her nose, the sweet smell of sex wafting into her lungs.

Positioning the pillow beneath her thighs, Buffy lowered herself on the sheeted ground like a dying salmon, her limbs flailing into a ‘comfortable’ position.

Buffy looked up at the laptop she’d left on the floor, the web cam screen showing her breasts peeking out beneath the embroidered white roses on black lace. Her breath hitched, her mind again wandering to Spike, wondering whether he’d ever let her tape the acts they were definitely going to play.

Clicking on the preloaded porn, Buffy’s hand went immediately to her pussy, fingers teasing the folds and curling up into her slickness.

The women on screen touched each other, kneaded their breasts, licked their pussies, sucked their vibes, moaned and squealed and shook.

Buffy grabbed her dildo and angled it just so, her pillow tightly held between her thighs and her breasts touching the coarse carpet.

Needing to hear the moans as the three blondes by the pool shuddered in succession; Buffy grabbed her headphones and shoved them into her ears, listening to the half-fake moans as the orgasming woman glanced at the camera.

Buffy hated seeing strange men’s penises. The ones she’d dealt with in real life were ugly enough, so whenever she felt the need to watch porn, it’d be lesbian. She hated that most porn makers thought only men watched the chicks get it on and needed the bad moaning and dodgy angles. Buffy just needed to see the orgasms. She needed to vicariously feel the pleasurable shakes that rocketed through the women

Buffy inhaled deeply; her hips moved quickly, her fingers pinched her nipples and eyes stared intently at the screen.

“I…just…want…to…come…GRAAAH!” Buffy’s muscles pushed the dildo out of her pussy in one flush of unsatisfied liquid and Buffy scrambled to push it back in so she could just get over the mark. But it was too late. Buffy flung the wobbling silicone carelessly across the room.

She inhaled once more and slumped down and sobbed, the need pulsing relentlessly through her nerves as her mother knocked on the door.

“I’m fine Mom,” She said, quickly slipping into a slumber of thoughts about her upcoming date. She knew, she just knew, that the weird connection she felt towards Spike signified her final coming. He would be the one who would make her come after three very, very long years.