TITLE:
Boy #2
AUTHOR: Mint Witch
PAIRING: B/S, kinda but not really.
RATING: PG-13 for adult themes.
SPOILERS: Through S6
DISCLAIMER: Do I look like a paunchy guy with male pattern baldness? No. Okay.
Let's all move on.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a kind of a pro-pro-prologue to the Buffy
Kink series. After Cravings, before Coincidence. Yes,
I realize I'm lame.
DISTRIBUTION: I'm not only easy, I'm free. Just ask. And
fanfiction.net.
FEEDBACK: Give it to me baby, uh huh uh huh! Mintwitch@yahoo.com
*
John was kinky.
The Internet is a wonderful thing. Now, I know why
He liked spanking. And ball gags. And fun with handcuffs. I didn't have the
heart to tell him I'd been there, done that, bought the T-shirt.
He tried so hard.
And really, compared to the others in the club, he was quite the Dom. But, when
you've been topped by the best, well . . .
There's really no comparison, is there?
Spank me, baby. Oh. Yeah. Huh. Huh. Oh. Did that sound sincere?
I'm trying, okay?
But I remember the cock that first invaded my virgin ass. I remember how wet I
was, begging for it. Begging him to take me, make me his.
After that, well . . .
John was kinky. John works for Microsoft. John has a whole room of toys.
But he doesn't keep chains under his bed.
No, they're neatly segregated, in a box, in a room, in his basement. And no one
knows that John is a little . . . perverse.
John never bites my clit and drinks my cunt's blood. He doesn't spank me until
my ass is cherry red. He doesn't fuck like tomorrow may never come.
John is close, but he's no vampire.
I have a fetish. A sick, wrong, evil fetish. I looked
it up. It's definitely a fetish. According to www.sexuality.org, there is
nothing wrong with me.
I'm okay, you're okay.
But I'm the Slayer. Fetishes are most definitely not allowed. The handbook
probably has a whole chapter on how wrong this is.
But Spike is gone, gone to someplace I can't follow, and
Thirty-second erotica. Liquid Latex.
Yesterday, I ordered a Rabbit Pearl.
There's a party at the docks on Saturday. Maybe I'll go. It's not really my
thing, but. . .
Maybe he's back. It might be the sort of thing he'd do. Fuck. I don't know. I'm
not waiting around or anything, but.
If I saw him. If I bent over, oh so
slowly. If my skirt rode up and somehow I was, oh,
unarmed, or something.
I won't go. I never go. But I wonder. What if he was there?