Buffy the Shemale Vampire Slayer

by Cal Y. Pygia

 

Waking to sunlight streaming through her bedroom window, between the parted curtains, Buffy Summers frowned, blinking. She'd had some strange dreams, including a few that had been prophetic, but nothing like the bizarre nightmare she'd awakened from just now. Last night, she'd fought a Feral demon and the damned thing had bitten her! Of course, she'd slain it—eventually—but, by then, she'd already begun to feel sick and, concerned, she'd gone straight to bed. She was always troubled whenever a demon of any kind managed to bite or claw her, because no one could say with certainty what unexpected effects a demon's bite or scratch might have on its victim or, for that matter, when these effects might become manifest.

Once, she'd been bitten by a demon and, as a result, she'd almost been driven insane from her sudden ability to read the mind of everyone within earshot. Not only had she been made privy to the innermost secrets of friends, enemies, acquaintances, and strangers, becoming a psychic eavesdropper, but she'd also been unable to shut out the incessant din. It hadn't been a pleasant experience, not at all, but it had allowed her to stop Jonathan from committing suicide and to become a thorn in her side, later, when he joined forces with Andrew and Warren to form the Troika who were responsible for Tara's murder and Willow's attempt to destroy the world. So far, other than the strange dream she'd had (and a nasty-looking bite mark), nothing, fortunately, had resulted from the Feral demon's bite. Still, just the dream itself had been so wacky as to be frightening. It had also seemed utterly real. Buffy had dreamed that she had a penis and a pair of testicles inside a scrotum that dangled in front of the cleft of her own female sex. Absurd, of course—but disturbing, anyway.

Just to convince herself that everything was as it should be, she glanced quickly at the crotch of her panties—and her eyes widened in horror, her mouth gaping in shock, as she noticed that the smooth contour of her underwear was disturbed by the bulging outlines of what were obviously male genitals! The dream had come true: Buffy Summers had a cock and balls!

She scrambled from her bed, grabbing her robe from the back of the chair where she'd pitched it after returning to her room last night following her shower, and shrugged into the terrycloth housecoat. She opened her bedroom door and, although it made no sense to do so, looked quickly to the left and right before she darted across the hallway, into the bathroom, and hastily closed and locked its door. She stood before the full-length mirror, under the fluorescent bulbs overhead, and prayed, Please let this be part of the dream! Let me wake up and see that I'm still a girl! She closed her eyes, opened the robe, removed the garment, and let it drop to the floor. Then, grimacing, she opened her right eye a slit and consulted her reflection in the mirror.

Quickly, she closed her eye again—tightly—but not before she'd confirmed that the penis and testicles were still there!

She was a boy!

Well, no, not a boy. Not exactly.

After all, she has breasts, and her buttocks were full and round, like a girl's, and she still had a pussy—behind her male genitals. If anything, she was a hermaphrodite, a person with both male and female sex organs. Ugh! she thought, opening her eyes again to consult the mirror. Having a penis and testicles was really gross!

Gingerly, she took the flaccid member in her hand or, rather, between her thumb and first two fingers. The skin felt loose upon the shaft. Experimentally, she rolled the column of flesh back and forth. The penis twisted and jiggled. Odd, she thought. She gathered the loose scrotum in her fingers, pulled the wrinkled flesh gently, turned it in her fingers. The skin was surprisingly soft, she thought—and, like the penis—odd. Male genitals, though not unattractive, were alien to her; after all, she was a girl—or had been, until a few minutes ago. She supposed that her pussy would seem as strange to a boy who suddenly came into possession of one of his own as the cock and balls she'd recently come to own seemed to her.

As Buffy handled her cock and balls, the penis swelled and stretched, thickening and stiffening until, after a few moments, it stood upright before her belly. She smiled at herself in the full-length mirror, considering the rigid erection that jutted from her girl's groin. She'd always wondered what an orgasm felt like to a boy and, more specifically, what it would feel like to ejaculate, shooting semen from a penis. Now that she had male genitals of her own, there was no need to wonder any longer. She could know exactly what an orgasm felt like for a guy, and she could know exactly what it felt like to spurt semen out of a bloated, rigid prick.

She made her hand into a fist, gripping the erect penis firmly but gently, and pumped her closed hand up and down, pulling and pushing the flesh back and forth upon the straining shaft. At first, she didn't feel much, other than an insistent hardness throughout her prick. However, as she continued to pump her fist up and down, a tickling sensation flooded her loins, and she gasped. Her breath came quicker, in short pants, and her heart beat faster. Her thighs quivered, and her anus fluttered. She quickened the tempo of the up and down thrusts of her hands upon the stiff-standing, swollen member, and her cock lurched in her grasp, twitching and jerking. Her balls rose to form a tight clump at the base of her member. She moaned softly, trembling all over. Suddenly, thick, warm semen was spewing from the purple glans of her penis. The first streamer was followed by a second and a third. The semen continued to erupt from her cock, spurting against her belly, her breasts, and her pubes. All the strength seemed to flood from her, with the issue of her seed, and she leaned back against the bathroom's tile wall, her heart pounding, breathing in rasping pants. Her fingers were sticky with the creamy semen that had spurted from her loins. She wiped the viscous seed on her upper leg. Her thighs were wet with the juices that had flowed from the labia behind her scrotum, and the inner walls of her cunt were drenched.

Buffy continued to lean back, against the cool tile of the wall as she labored to breathe and willed her racing heart to slow. When she'd regained her strength and her head had cleared, she wiped the semen and the cunt juices from her body, washed herself, and donned her robe again. Then, she crossed the hallway, returning to her bedroom. She'd planned to wear a sundress today, but, now that she was sporting a cock and balls as well as a cunt, she decided to wear a pair of jeans instead. However, as soon as she'd put them on, she realized that she couldn't wear the jeans, either. They were too tight. Normally, the tightness wouldn't matter, because she'd have no conspicuous bulge in her pants to hide. Now, tight jeans would reveal the outline of her male genitals, and, she knew, neither her little sister Dawn; her friends Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg; her Watcher, Rupert Giles; nor anyone else she knew would know what to make of their sister, friend, or protégé, a girl mere hours ago, having all-too-evident male genitals. Instead of jeans, she chose a pair of comfy, roomy sweatpants.

As she dressed, seeing the creamy, smooth flesh of her firm, high, round breasts, Buffy thought of Willow. Since her friend's discovery that she was gay, Buffy had wondered what it was like for Willow to make love to her girlfriend, Tara—before Tara had been shot to death, that is. A few times, Buffy had even fantasized about trading places with Tara. After all, Buffy had known Willow far longer than Tara had, and, she was certain, Willow would gladly welcome the opportunity to make love to Buffy. They'd been best friends since Buffy had come to Sunnydale, over seven years ago, as a frightened, uncertain freshman.

Buffy had seen the way that Willow regarded her when they'd shared a dormitory room at UC Sunnydale a year or so ago, and she'd known the meaning of those looks—they held the same message as the covert messages that Buffy herself had sent to Willow in similar looks when she'd thought that the witch wouldn't notice. Buffy hadn't acted on her desires, because she knew, deep down, that she was heterosexual rather than gay, and she wasn't prepared to try lesbianism just because she found Willow attractive and was curious about the lifestyle that gay women lived. Now that she had a cock and balls as well as a cunt, though, it would be perfectly fine to experiment with Willow, wouldn't it? At last, Buffy could learn what Tara had found so irresistible about Willow and why making love to another woman had provided both Willow and Tara so much fun and pleasure—before the nerds, Jonathan, Andrew, And Warren had killed Willow's lesbian lover.

She smiled to herself as she thought that being both a man and a woman at the same time, a hermaphrodite, might not be too bad, not too bad at all.

Buffy waited until twilight, hiding out in her bedroom, as she tried to come to terms with the bizarre fate that had befallen her, thanks to the Feral demon's bite. It wasn't easy, psychologically, physically, or otherwise, to have gone to sleep a girl and to have awakened a hermaphrodite. She wasn't sure how to feel about the weird transformation that had changed her into a shemale. It was strangely titillating. At the same time, it was also horrifying. She knew one thing, though. She didn't want anyone to know that she was a he-she. No one, that is, except Willow. She and the witch were best friends. Besides, Willow knew what it felt like to be "different. " The witch had always been something of an outcast, even before she'd discovered that, her teenage crushes on Xander and Oz notwithstanding, she was gay. She'd never quite fit in with the crowd. More than anyone, even her mentor, the Watcher Rupert Giles, Willow (and maybe Xander, who, like Willow, had also been something of a pariah in high school) would understand how Buffy felt as a hermaphrodite who was no longer completely female or male but was suddenly both—and neither. Besides, Buffy hoped, Willow might be able to cast a spell that would make Buffy's male genitals disappear, restoring her femininity.

As daylight faded under a pink and purple sky, Buffy crept downstairs, went outdoors, and hastened toward the sidewalk beyond her front yard. As she neared the tall oak near the sidewalk, a shadow loomed out of the gathering twilight, and a familiar voice greeted her: "Hello, Cutie. "

Spike! The one person Buffy didn't want to see tonight, or ever, was the platinum-blonde, Sid Vicious look-alike vampire. Ergo, here he was. "What do you want?" she growled.

"I heard about the Feral demon. "

Buffy ignored him, maintaining her hurried stride.

He kept pace beside her. "Feral demon bites can be bad," he warned her.

"That's why I'm going to see Willow. I hope she'll be able to do something. " As she started to go on her way, Spike spun around, caught her in his arms, and kissed her hard upon the lips.

She spluttered, breaking his embrace.

He snatched her back, and she let him hold her. Their mouths locked upon one another. Their tongues slipped through one another's lips and swirled about each other. Spike's hands found Buffy's buttocks, and he squeezed them firmly.

Again, Buffy broke away.

"Now what?" Spike demanded, frustrated and angry.

"We go inside," Buffy said.

"It's almost dark. No one can see us. "

"There's a streetlight not thirty feet away, the porch light's on, and people can see us. "

Spike shrugged. Humoring her, he started toward her house.

"Not inside my house!" Buffy protested. She took his hand in hers, leading him away.

Spike shook his head. He'd never understand women, not if he lived another couple hundred years. Oh, well, he thought, as long as he got the good stuff, what did it matter?

It was dark by the time that Buffy and Spike arrived at their destination—the mausoleum in one of Sunnydale's dozen cemeteries in which the vampire had set up housekeeping. In all the years that Buffy had been trespassing on the town's burial grounds, she hadn't been arrested once, nor, for that matter, had Spike. In fact, Buffy seldom saw police officers on patrol in the vicinity of any of Sunnydale's graveyards. Most likely, the cops knew or suspected that something inexplicable and evil was associated, if not caused by, the cemeteries and that these cities of the dead were best left alone. The lack of a police presence in and around the cemeteries made Buffy's (and Spike's) comings and goings simple and easy.

Now, as they walked through the graveyard, Buffy was glad to be alone with Spike. Although she and the vampire had a longstanding love-hate relationship that equally excited and disgusted Buffy, the Slayer was unable completely to dissociate herself from her former lover and sometimes-enemy. Their relationship was complex—and, to Buffy, at least—disgusting. She hated herself for not totally hating Spike. Having feelings for the undead was, well, unhealthy, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. There was, within the platinum-blond, Sid Vicious look-alike, something dark. There was also something dark within Buffy, and she didn't like to think about that. When she was with Spike, especially when she was fucking him, it was hard to repress her knowledge that, in the depths of her being, there was a darkness that was not altogether unlike the blackness at the bottom of the vampire's heart. Buffy knew that she was good, but she also understood that, as with all opposites, there was a thin line between good and evil.

The couple wended their way among the headstones, many of the names upon which Buffy knew, because of the inordinate amount of time she'd spent in this city of the dead. Buffy was glad when she spied the familiar mausoleum in which Spike made his home. She wanted Spike, but she wanted him quickly. Then, she could find Willow, and maybe—after she and her best friend had had sex with one another—the witch could find a spell that would remove her male genitals. She wasn't concerned that Spike might discover that, in addition to her breasts, her womanly buttocks, and her pussy, Buffy now also possessed a cock and a pair of balls. She'd get him all hot and bothered and then suck his cock; once he'd gotten his rocks off, Spike wouldn't think about Buffy anymore. When it came to sex, Spike was totally into his own needs.

At the mausoleum, Spike made a show of standing aside so that Buffy could enter the tomb before him, which might have been pleasant had she not known that such gestures were more ironic, or even sarcastic, than they were sincere and chivalrous. Nevertheless, she smiled at him, playing the game, and stepped into the crypt's dark interior. It was cool inside, and there was, despite Spike's repeated efforts to deodorize the tomb, a slight odor of decay that, Buffy thought, wrinkling her nose, did absolutely nothing to create a romantic mood.

Turning to face him, Buffy told the vampire, "I want your cock. "

Spike smiled. "Let's not waste a moment on foreplay. "

Buffy knelt before him. Reaching around his thighs, her hands held his ass cheeks.

Spike unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, tugging them down, over his hips and thighs, past his knees and calves, to let them drop in a heap around his ankles. His cock stiffened and swelled before Buffy's eyes, and she smiled to see how quickly and fully the vampire's manhood became erect. He must have drunk plenty of blood of late, to have his penis fill with the vital fluid so quickly and completely.

Hungrily, Buffy took his prick into her mouth, letting the wide circle of her lips slide down the smooth, stiff shaft, all the way to the vampire's balls. Spike moaned, watching her blonde head as it bobbed up and down.

Buffy loved to suck cock. She'd had plenty of practice, too, not only with Spike but also with Angel, Riley Finn, and even Xander Harris, although only she and Xander knew about their occasional trysts.

She loved the way Spike's penis lurched and strained within the ring of her lips and thrust back and forth inside the warm-soft-wetness of her mouth. She loved the silky skin of his risen scrotum, which had become taut and small at the base of his prick. She loved the way his fleshly member went, magically, as it seemed, from soft and limp to hard and stiff. She loved her power to transform his impotent little penis into a huge, omnipotent erection that would spew his seed from the depths of his balls. Her ability to make Spike weak in the knees, to make him almost swoon from overwhelming ecstasy, and to make him ejaculate in spastic, frenzied passion made her as much his mistress as her power to beat him to a bloody pulp or even to kill him if she wished. Buffy had learned that sex, like everything else in life, was more about power than it was about love. Maybe that's why, when it came to sex, Buffy liked a little monster in her man, when possible, settling for guys like Riley or Xander only when someone like Angel or Spike was unavailable. There was something forbidden, even bestial, about fucking one of the undead.

Spike groaned, his thighs quivering and his hips bucking. Buffy plunged her open mouth down the vampire's saliva-slick cock until her nose and cheeks were firmly pressed into the vampire's lower belly. Holding the back of her head, Spike surrendered to the flood of passion that swept through his loins. He closed his eyes, threw back his head, and howled as jet after thick, cold jet of his viscid semen launched from his balls and filled the reservoir of the Slayer's mouth. Buffy swallowed again and again, drinking the vampire's salty seed. She held his member inside her mouth until he'd spent himself and his cock had dwindled back to its normal, flaccid state. Best of all about sucking a vamp's cock was that doing so resulted in a flood of ice-cold semen. Like other demonic creatures, vampires' seed was freezing rather than warm, even if they'd filled their veins with a human's blood moments before sex. The iciness of Spike's semen was terribly exciting, reminding Buffy, as it did, that she wasn't having sex with another human being, but with one who shunned the light and the warmth of the sun and skulked among the sepulchers of the dead. There was something perverse about swallowing semen that was freezing cold, something that suggested necrophilia.

"You suck cock better than anyone," Spike said, watching the last drop of his semen drip from the tip of his purple glans.

"Better than Drusilla?"

Spike nodded.

"Better than Darla?"

Again, the vampire nodded.

"Better than Angel?"

Spike frowned, an angry look on his pale face. "What the hell are you implying?" he demanded.

Buffy shrugged, considering him with her most innocent, wide-eyed look. "That Angel's a cock sucker?"

"Bloody hell!"

"Oh, don't act so outraged, Spike. You and Angel have been close for a couple centuries. You guys must have—"

"Get out!"

"Am I better than Angel, Spike?"

"Get out of my bloody home, you depraved bitch. "

She stared at him, offering him a haughty smile. "Why don't you throw me out?"

Spike started toward her, and Buffy kicked him in the groin. The vampire screamed, falling to his knees as he clutched his balls.

Buffy left him there, kneeling before her, as, a moment before, she had knelt before him. She smiled at his pain. "See you later, lover. "

It felt good, leaving him that way. After all, although he was a lover (when it was convenient to her and she was needy), he was also one of the undead and, as such, he was also as much an enemy as he was a friend—and she, whatever else she might be, was a Slayer.

Faith, the reformed renegade Slayer, had gotten it right when it came to "men" like Spike: "get some, and get gone. " Now, having "gotten some," it was time for Buffy to "get gone" to Willow's place. In the doorway, she paused to blow Spike a kiss. Then, she stepped back into the starry, warm southern California night.

A moment later, the vampire recovered enough from the pain in his groin to utter, through clenched teeth, a single-word retort: "Bitch!"

By then, though, Buffy was long gone.

 

Buffy couldn't stop smiling.

It felt great to have left Spike on his knees, clutching his balls in pain after she'd sucked his cock and swallowed his load of icy vampire's semen. Sex was about power, not love, and nothing made a girl feel more powerful than reducing a man—or, in Spike's case, a used-to-be man—to a gasping, cursing victim in pain. The humiliation that Spike felt because of her abusive treatment of him also fed her sense of superiority and power. For Buffy, especially when it came to Spike, it wasn't so much a matter of love him and leave him as it was use—or abuse—him and lose him.

As she walked the streets of Sunnydale, to the motel in which Willow was staying, temporarily, until she could come to terms with Tara's death, Buffy thought of the other men and monsters she'd humiliated and abused. She'd learned a lot on that subject from her first love, the vampire with a soul, known as Angel (or Angelus, when his evil alter ego asserted itself). He'd made her love him, and the happiness that their consummation of their love brought him canceled the curse that had restored his soul, and he'd reverted to his true demonic self, stalking Buffy and her friends and playing cruelly with Buffy's heartstrings, making a mockery of her love and their former relationship. In the end, though, after Willow had restored Angel's soul, Buffy had hurt him at least as much as he'd hurt her, although unintentionally. In the process, she'd learned a lot about the narrow line between love and hate, between power and vulnerability, between dominance and submission.

She'd learned a lot more from Xander's one-time floozy, the vengeance demon Anya. Love—or the romantic variety, at least—was an illusion in this world, Buffy had discovered. The revelation had broken her heart, leaving her harder and colder, if wiser to the ways of the world. Since her realization that sex was about power, Buffy had more and more adopted Faith's maxim, "Get some and get gone. " Of course, it made a girl feel good if, in the process, she could break a heart or two. Breaking hearts was more fulfilling, she felt, than staking them. After all, a stake through the heart killed a man or annihilated a vamp, turning him to dust, whereas a broken heart killed the soul but allowed the body and the mind to live—and to grieve.

Riley Finn, the undercover commando who captured demons and other "subhumans" as an agent of the top secret military operation known as the Initiative, also taught Buffy bittersweet lessons about loving and leaving someone. She'd loved him as far as she'd been able to do so, but, despite giving him her body and her heart, she'd kept the deepest, most central part of herself—her soul—from him. She'd not been able to become one hundred percent his, not after having been betrayed by Angel. She'd never again place herself in the position of loving someone else so completely that she risked the heartbreak that followed a lover's abandonment.

In the end, Riley had sought solace in the arms of female vampires, feeling needed because of their need: in letting them suck his blood, he had provided not only nourishment to them, but life itself. Being the source of life to them had been more than emotionally satisfying; it had filled him with a sense of power and vitality; it had made him feel like a god. For a time, it had allowed him to remain with Buffy, more used than loved by her and a thing of convenience to her, to be fucked or sucked at her pleasure and otherwise largely ignored. On a level deeper than the Slayer had realized, however, Buffy, in her own way, had genuinely cared about Riley. When he left, she'd felt as if she would die. She hadn't, though. She'd survived this loss as she had so many others, and it had made her stronger—or, at any rate, it had made her harder, colder, and crueler.

Spike had also taught Buffy how to love and hate and how to gain and hold the upper hand in a relationship. From him, she'd learned both to be "love's bitch" and to be the mistress of such a bitch. Lead a guy on; then, when he was most vulnerable and needy, sexually and emotionally, either leave him or make him act against his own nature to attain temporary, fleeting gratification. Before long, he'd be completely in Buffy's power, and she could exercise divine-like powers over him, becoming a goddess whom he would worship just for a little pussy or a ten-minute blowjob. Men were so easy, she thought, smirking, even when they were undead!

Women were another matter altogether, especially women like Willow. A high school sophomore when Buffy, also a high school sophomore at the time, had met her, Willow had been a shy, timid girl with low self-esteem and a decided lack of self-respect who, except for Xander and Buffy, was without friends. In fact, like Xander, she'd been a social pariah.

She'd escaped in books, computers, and magic. By devoting long hours to the uses (and abuses) of enchantment, she had become a powerful witch, acquainted with both white and black magic. Outwardly, she'd also become more confident and self-assured, developing greater self-respect and self-esteem. She'd gone from having a childhood crush on Xander to having sex with Oz, and from a relationship with the werewolf band member to a passionate liaison with Tara.

Nevertheless, those who knew Willow well—Tara, Xander, Buffy, and Buffy's Watcher, Rupert Giles—understood that, beneath the superficial appearance of confidence, Willow was still Willow, lacking in self-assurance and a strong sense of identity. Buffy, as someone who was (mostly) the epitome of confidence, courage, and determination, found Willow sexy as hell. There was a charming innocence and straightforwardness about the witch that appealed to men and women alike. Buffy wasn't immune to Willow's seductive girlishness; as a heterosexual, however, she'd repressed the lesbian attraction she sometimes felt for her high school friend. After all, girls were soft and cuddly, but Buffy liked hard, fiercely independent men. She especially liked to humiliate them. There was no need to humiliate someone like Willow, who had almost no ego at all. Still, as someone who had both sets of genitals, male and female, Buffy was intrigued as to how it would feel to play the part of the male with a soft, sleek babe like Willow, and she intended to find out—the Sunnydale Motel was just around the next corner. After Tara's murder, Willow had taken up residence in the run-down, Spartan hostel, occupying the same room in which Faith had resided after the rogue Slayer had come to town, fleeing the ancient vamp known as Kakistos.

Reaching the door to Willow's room, Buffy knocked sharply. She waited. When there was no response, she knocked again, more loudly. Still, there was no answer. Buffy leaned to her right, to peer in through the small window beside the door, but the curtain was closed, and it was as dark inside the motel room as it was outside. She couldn't see anything in there.

"Can I help you?" an annoyed male voice demanded.

Buffy straightened, turned, and faced the motel's manager. "Uh, I was just—"

"Peeking in one of my guest's windows?"

Buffy blushed. "I wasn't peeking," she objected. "I was more like peeping. "

Another of the renter's lesbian friends, the manager thought. "She isn't in there. "

"Do you know where she might be?"

The manager looked Buffy and down. "Depends. "

Buffy arched an eyebrow, her hands involuntarily curling into fists at her sides. If this asshole said anything out of the way, she was going to pummel him good. "Depends on what?"

"What's your name?"

"Little Miss Muffet. "

"Sorry. Wrong answer. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. "

As he turned away, Buffy stopped him, placing a hand on his forearm. "Why do you want to know my name?"

"If you're a certain party, the lady who rents this room wanted me to tell you—"

"I'm Buffy. "

The manager hesitated. Then, he shrugged. "All right, Little Missy Buffy Muffet, she said that, if you were to come by, she'd be at Xander's house. "

Buffy sighed. Xander's house was all the way on the other side of town. "Thanks."

 

It was late afternoon by the time Buffy had switched buses twice to reach her destination. The bus stop at which she'd disembarked from the lumbering vehicle was only half a block from Xander's house. She walked briskly.

Along the way, she thought of her hermaphroditic fate. She still wasn't sure how she should feel about having both male and female genitals. It was both sexy and frightening. She decided that she'd like to revert to her normal girl-self as soon as possible, although not before she'd sampled Willow's charms. Lost in such musings, she was at Xander's house before she knew it. She knocked at the front door.

Her friend's father answered. He wore a stained T-shirt, rumpled slacks with a wide-open zipper that revealed the white cotton of his not-so-bulgy briefs, and dirty white socks. His hair was a wild mess, and his face was covered in a two-days'-old growth of whiskers. He held an open beer can in his hand. Regarding Buffy through narrowed, rheumy eyes, he asked, "What do you want?"

"I came to see Xander. "

Mr. Harris opened the door, indicating another door, off the kitchen. "He's down there," he declared, "in the basement. "

"Do you mind if I--?"

Mr. Harris took a long pull at his beer. He belched loudly, frowning. "Go ahead. "

Poor Xander, Buffy thought, as she stepped past her friend's drunken father, hastened to the basement door, opened it, and scrambled down the steep wooden steps into the cool, damp, dimly lit of the underground chamber.

At the bottom of the stairs, a doorway led into the furnished room that served as Xander's studio apartment. Pausing, Buffy lifted her fist to rap at the doorsill with her knuckles. Once, she'd entered Xander's apartment without pausing to knock, and she'd embarrassed both only herself but Xander and Anya as well, who, nude, were in the midst of some heavy-duty lovemaking. She didn't want to surprise Xander that way ever again. As she was about to knock, she heard a stranger's voice. It was a man's voice, moaning. Xander! Buffy thought. He might be in danger!

She rushed through the doorway, hearing another moan, and then a masculine voice: "Fuck me, Xander! Fuck me fast and hard!"

Buffy stopped, her mouth agape, staring in shock at Xander as he drove his erect member into his male partner's impaled ass. Her friend withdrew his cock, letting all but its glans pull out of the other man's derriere. He paused before plunging his prick again into the deep cleavage of his partner's tight, compact buttocks. Repeatedly, Xander lifted his ass, withdrawing his cock again, and rammed it home. "Xander?" she called, too stunned to stop herself from uttering his name—and giving away her presence.

Immediately, Xander jerked his cock from the other man's ass, rolling toward Buffy and trying, unsuccessfully, to cover his erect member with his hands. He was as staggered as Buffy to find the Slayer here, now. He needn't have bothered trying to conceal his nakedness; Buffy had seen him nude before and had, in fact, been on the receiving end of his manhood, just as this stranger was now, although with Xander's prick in her cunt rather than up her ass. "Buffy!" he cried, his face a mask of fear and horror.

Xander's guest rolled onto his side, looking back at the intruder who'd interrupted their lovemaking session. He frowned, not looking at all friendly. To Xander, he said, "Who's the bimbo?"

Buffy blushed again, but with anger this time, rather than embarrassment. "From where I'm standing," she retorted, "it looks like you're the bimbo. "

Not knowing what to say, Xander blurted, "Buffy, this is Chester. " He looked from the Slayer's annoyed countenance to his sexual partner's angry face. "Chester, meet Buffy. " When neither of his friends spoke, but, instead continued to eye one another like enemies about to come to blows, Xander, more to fill the silence than anything, added, "Chester works for me, on my construction crew. "

"Oh," Buffy replied, nonplussed. "I see. "

"We were just in the middle of an erection," Chester said, smiling lasciviously.

Xander said, "What's up, Buff?"

"Something," she said, staring pointedly at the naked Chester.

Taking the clue, Xander turned to his friend. "Chester, could we, uh—" he blushed, glancing at Buffy—"finish this later?"

"Sure, sweetie. " He rose, and Buffy averted her eyes from his nakedness, but not before she'd observed his half-erect penis. Eight inches long and as thick as her wrist, it was huge even in its semi-flaccid state. It must look formidable, indeed, in its full glory, Buffy thought, wondering whether Xander had ever had that monster cock up his ass, the way he'd had his cock in Chester's bottom just a few moments ago. She blushed at the thought.

Chester leaned into Xander, kissing his lips. "Later, lover. "

Xander gulped. What must Buffy think of him? he wondered. Nodding to Chester, he whispered, "Yeah, later. "

Chester smiled at his discomfort, kissed him again, harder, and added, "Love you. "

"Yeah, me, too," Xander managed to mumble.

Collecting his clothing from the chair in which he'd deposited it, Chester drew on his slacks, not bothering with his underwear, and pulled on his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned to reveal his broad, deep chest and his tight, rippling abs. He strolled toward Buffy. As he came abreast of her, he said, "Remember, he's mine, Blondie. "

After Chester had ascended the stairs and they were alone together, Xander glanced at Buffy. "I'm sorry, Buff," he said sheepishly.

"For what?" she replied, intending her response to sound casual. Instead, it sounded artificial.

"I should have told you I'm bisexual. I should have told Willow, too. "

"No big," Buffy lied. She changed the subject. "Speaking of Will, have you seen her?"

"No. "

Buffy frowned.

"Should I have?" Xander asked.

"The mangy manager of the motel where she's staying said she was coming to your house. "

Xander was glad Willow hadn't walked in on him and Chester. It was bad enough that Buffy had. "Well, she hasn't been here," he assured Buffy. "I've been here all day. " The thought of himself in bed with Chester, fucking him, made Xander blush again. Despite his extreme discomfort, he stared into the Slayer's eyes. "About what happened here, Buffy—can it be our secret? I'm very comfortable living in the closet, and—"

"Closet? I thought you lived in your parents' basement," Buffy joked.

He looked somewhat relieved. "Thanks, Buffy. "

Poor Xander, she thought. He looked devastated. It must be really hard to have one of your best friends discover such a secret about you. "You okay?"

"Fine. Promise not to tell?"

He didn't look fine, she thought. He looked sick. "Sure. "

"Buffy, no one can know. Not Willow, not Giles, not Anya, not—"

"No one's going to know," Buffy assured him. "What someone does in the privacy of his own home is totally his business. " Buffy was watching her friend closely as she spoke to him, and now she frowned. "Xander? Is that a tear I see? Are you crying?"

He wiped the teardrop away. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice breaking. He sobbed, the tears coming fast and furiously. His frame shook, and a keening, wailing sound seemed to emanate from the depths of his being.

Buffy crossed the room, holding him. Although he was naked, she hardly noticed, and neither of them cared. Xander was too frightened and ashamed to care, and Buffy was too concerned. She held him the way that a mother might hold a frightened child, cooing soothingly to him. "It's all right, Xander," she whispered. "It's all right. "

"It's been so hard living a lie all these years," he confessed between the sobs that wracked his body. "I've wanted to tell you, tell Willow, tell Giles, tell the others. I wanted to tell everyone so many times. "

"It's all right," Buffy repeated softly.

"No one can ever know," Buffy. "I'm so ashamed. "

"There's no need to be ashamed," Buffy assured him. "We are who we are, Xander. "

He continued to weep; she continued to hold him.

"Willow's gay," Buffy reminded him, "but that doesn't make us love her any the less. "

That was true, Xander thought, but their knowing that Willow was a lesbian had changed their relationships as friends. Although he and Buffy loved Willow just as much as they ever had before she'd announced her lesbianism, their friendship was different now in some ways, and it always would be, just as his friendship with Buffy had been irrevocably changed by her discovery of his bisexuality.

"Look," Buffy said, releasing him and stepping back a few feet. "I want to show you something. "

Xander waited.

Buffy hitched her thumbs in the waistband of her sweatpants and lowered them to her knees. She hadn't put on any panties, and her cock and balls dangled between her legs.

Xander's eyes became huge. His mouth hung open. "Buffy! You're a boy!"

She chuckled, moving the male genitals aside to reveal the cleft of her female sex behind the cock and balls. "Not quite," she corrected him. "I'm a boy and a girl—a hermaphrodite. "

"A hermaphro-what-ite?"

She told him the myth, adding, "In reality, a baby is rarely born with the genitals of both sexes. When such a birth does occur, the parents decide which way to raise the child, whether as a boy or a girl, and the baby is surgically altered accordingly. "

"You weren't born that way," Xander objected. He and Buffy had had sex, and he knew that she hadn't been sporting male genitals—unfortunately—during their lovemaking sessions.

"No," Buffy agreed.

"So how?"

"A Feral demon bit me last night; this morning, I woke up with these. "

Xander smiled. "They're beautiful," he complimented her, "just like the rest of you. " An idea occurred to him, and his smile widened into a grin. "Hey! You want to--?"

"Down, boy. I want to get rid of these jewels. I mean, they're great, but, you know, I've kind of gotten used to being a girl. That's why I was looking for Willow. " She pulled her sweats back up.

"I'll help you find her. "

"Shouldn't you be getting back to Chester?"

Xander looked as if she'd slapped him. "What was that for?" he asked, hurt.

She looked puzzled. "What was what for?"

"The not-so-little, no-so-subtle dig. "

"It wasn't a dig. It was a suggestion. "

"You're really okay with my being bi?"

She nodded, stepping up to him and kissing him. Her fingers found his cock and gave it a playful squeeze. "As long as you're bi, guy. "

Xander smiled. "That's me: bi guy. " He kissed her back.

"See you later. "

"You can have sloppy seconds, if you want," Xander promised.

"Maybe I'll take you up on that," she said.

Xander watched Buffy as she walked across the room and up the steps, her hips swiveling and her buttocks swaying. His prick started to swell. He was glad that he was bisexual. A girl like Buffy, whether she was packing or not, was just too damned beautiful to miss out on. Of course, Chester wasn't bad, either. He smiled, thinking of Woody Allen's quip about how being bisexual doubled one's chances for a date on Saturday night.

He thought of something else, too. Although Buffy had caught him in bed with Chester, she remained ignorant of Xander's many trysts with her sometimes-boyfriend, Spike, which was just as well. He didn't need a jealous, pissed off Slayer on his hands. He preferred the sympathetic, consoling, friendly Buffy.

Damn!

Wherever Willow was, she wasn't home. The witch still hadn't returned to her motel room. At least, this time, Buffy hadn't had to rely on Sunnydale's public transportation system. Xander had given her a ride across town. He'd offered to wait, to make sure that Willow was back, but Buffy, wanting to be alone with the witch, had dismissed her chauffeur. Although Xander was no doubt anxious to get back together with Chester, the construction crew member he'd been fucking when Buffy had arrived at Xander's house earlier in the afternoon, Xander was also notoriously spontaneous, and his favorite company were Willow and Buffy. It was possible that he'd defer sex with Chester for time to spend with his two favorite girls, especially now that he knew of Buffy's transformation into a chick with a dick and the Slayer's hope of making love to Willow. He might hope to turn their lesbian coupling into a bisexual threesome.

With Xander gone and Willow still not home, Buffy wasn't sure what to do. Should she visit her mentor, Rupert Giles? Her former Watcher's apartment was near the UC Sunnydale campus, which was within walking distance or, for that matter, she could call him or she could call Xander. However, she didn't want to interrupt his liaison with Chester a second time, even though Buffy was a little concerned about Willow. It wasn't like her to say that she was going someplace and then not show. Maybe she and Giles should organize a search party, and—no. Willow was a grown woman, not a careless teen. She was also an extremely powerful witch, well able to handle herself against anyone who was foolish enough to attempt to assault her. She'd wait a while. Then, if Willow still hadn't shown or called anyone, Buffy would contact Giles.

Meanwhile, there was another not-so-small problem to contend with. Buffy had an erection. Since she'd left Xander's house, her cock had become rigid. The stiff, swollen member jutted from her groin, making a tent at the crotch of her sweatpants. It was very embarrassing. Buffy had no idea how guys put up with an errant member that seemed to act upon its own volition. How could a person function with a penis that stood erect at the most inopportune times? At first, Buffy assumed that she was sexually aroused, but how could she be sexually aroused without knowing it? That didn't make sense. Besides, if she were aroused, wouldn't her pussy be wet, too? Moreover, when she was horny, her nipples were usually erect as well. At the moment, her cunt wasn't awash in its own juices and her nipples were not stiff and swollen. Nevertheless, she had a raging erection, and it didn't seem about to diminish any time soon.

Anya! Xander's former girlfriend, the vengeance demon whom he'd jilted at the altar, lived nearby. At the time, Xander had attributed his rejection of Anya to his fears that their marriage might end up like that of his parents. He claimed to have been visited by his future self, a slovenly bum whose marriage to Anya was a hellish existence for them both. It wouldn't have helped their relationship as husband and wife that his parents were boorish, uncultured louts and hers were demons, he'd argued. Now that Buffy had learned of Xander's sexual proclivities, she wondered whether his sexual interests in men and women both had had anything with his reluctance to be legally tied to a female for the remainder of his days. Maybe all that stuff about his parents and Anya's family had been a smokescreen. Whereas another man might secretly indulge himself with other males, to do so when he was wed to Anya, a vengeance demon, would be to incur a long, slow, torturous death at the hands of a scorned female of tremendous powers. If Xander wasn't ready, able, and willing to renounce other men in favor of a lifelong marriage to Anya, it would be much safer for him to back out of the marriage, as he had. That way, he could have his cake and eat it, too, so to speak, without having to fear evisceration, castration, or worse at the hands of his supernatural spouse.

Buffy made up her mind about what to do. She'd visit Anya. Although the demon and the witch weren't the best of friends, it was possible that Willow had gone to see Anya. Besides, the vengeance demon had always seemed to Buffy to been an especially hot lover to Xander. Buffy would like to find out whether she'd been right to assume this about Anya. Besides, Anya was a hottie. It would be nice to have sex with her.

Have sex with Anya? What was Buffy thinking? Maybe she was horny on a level much deeper than conscious thought. If so, she had the Feral demon to thank for this state of affairs, too. Buffy glanced at the demon's bite mark. It still looked as bad as it had when the bastard had sunk its teeth into her arm the night before. That worried her, too, because, normally, her Slayer's blood was filled with such a high number of white blood cells and antibodies that she healed extraordinarily quickly. A bite, for example, would usually heal within minutes. This one was almost as fresh now as it had been hours ago. Maybe, she thought, her erection would last forever, too. That was an unsettling thought!

Still, while she had a cock, a pair of balls, breasts, a feminine ass, and a cunt, she might as well make good use of them. There might be no better way to start than by having sex with a vengeance demon.

 

Seducing Anya was easier than Buffy had thought it would be. In fact, it wasn't clear who'd seduced whom, which was surprising since Anya had always come across as thoroughly heterosexual. If there were a term for womanly women that equated with "macho" for masculine men, it would apply to Anya—or so Buffy had thought. Maybe, in a way, it still did. The instant that Anya opened her apartment door to see Buffy's stiff-standing erection jutting against the cotton of the Slayer's sweatpants, Anya had been attracted to Buffy the way that, previously, she'd been attracted only to Xander and (one time, while she'd been on the rebound, to Spike). After all, the attraction was, as far as Buffy could tell, to Buffy's newly acquired male genitals and not to the Slayer's feminine charms.

"Hi, Buffy," Anya had said, upon admitting the Slayer, "how's every—whoa! What the hell?" Her eyes had widened at the sight of the bulge in Buffy's sweatpants. "You have a cock!"

Buffy had nodded, adding, "And balls. " She'd explained to Anya about the Feral demon's bite.

Now, they talked about the attack.

"Feral demons are nasty," Anya said.

"How long do the, uh, side-effects last?"

Anya shrugged. "I've never been bitten by one. " She gazed at Buffy's crotch. "Unfortunately. " Anya bit her lower lip in thought. "They tend to recur, though. "

Buffy frowned. "That's all I need. "

Anya stepped close. She put her hands upon the cheeks of Buffy's ass, kissing her firmly upon the lips as she squeezed the Slayer's firm, compact buttocks. "Are you sure about that, Buffy?" she whispered, her breath warm upon Buffy's neck.

Buffy kissed her back, sliding her tongue between Anya's lips. They lost themselves in one another, surrendering entirely to the physical sensations that swept through their minds and bodies. Buffy had come here to seduce Anya, but it wasn't clear to her who was seducing whom, nor did it matter.

Their tongues swirled about one another, smooth, slick muscles flicking and thrusting and rolling about in each other's wet mouth-pussies. Their nipples swelled and stiffened, and their clitorises enlarged within the moist caverns of their cunts. Buffy felt a tremble of excitement flash through her, and she returned Anya's embrace, clutching the demon's buttocks with the same fervent intensity with which Anya cupped Buffy's ass cheeks.

"I've thought of doing this with you many times," Anya confessed.

"Me, too," Buffy admitted.

"Let's get naked," Anya invited, as bold and direct in speaking her mind as ever.

They undressed. Of similar height, both women were beautiful blondes with comparable charms. Both had relatively small breasts that were high and round, topped with pink nipples about the size of pencil erasers, surrounded by puffy areolas. Their tummies were concave, their hips narrow, and their legs long and smooth. Each had sleek, compact buttocks. Each was also equipped with a tight, wet pussy behind somewhat thick labia, inside of which their respective clitorises had swelled like the buds of blossoming flowers. However, Buffy's cunt was hidden from view behind the testicles-filled scrotum that dangled beneath the upright, nine-inch penis within the golden thatch of her neatly trimmed pubic hair.

The ladies kissed again, their hands releasing one another's buttocks to explore their partner's breasts.

"You're beautiful," Buffy complimented Anya.

"So are you," Anya returned her praise. "But let's not waste time on small talk or, for that matter, foreplay. "

"Okay," Buffy agreed.

Ever forthright, Anya announced, "I want you to eat my pussy. "

"Okay," Buffy agreed again.

Taking her hand, Anya led her naked guest to her bed. The demon laid upon her back, her thighs spread wide, and Buffy knelt on the mattress, resting her upper body upon her elbows, the hard nipples of her breasts brushing the bed's satin sheets. She lowered her head, her blonde hair spilling over Anya's thighs, like a sprinkle of soft silk. Anya moaned, squirming. Buffy slipped her hands under Anya's buttocks, feeling the weight of her sleek ass cheeks pressing down upon her palms. She kissed the demon's labia, tasting the dew that had gathered on the petals of Anya's sex. Then, she licked the demon's soft, thick pussy lips before slipping the tip of her moist, pink tongue into the folds of Anya's cunt to lick the hard, smooth button of her swollen clitoris. Again, Anya moaned, twisting upon the bed.

Buffy's lips, nose, and chin were wet with Anya's cunt juices. A river seemed to have sprung up inside the demon's pussy, and it overflowed with a constant stream of fluid. Buffy lapped the flood, rubbed her nose in it, drank deeply of it, and still more of the nectar gushed from Anya's quivering loins. Grasping Anya's tits, Buffy squeezed them in her hands; she kneaded, lightly pinched, and tweaked their stiff nipples with her thumbs and fingers. Mostly, though, she concentrated on the smooth, hard nub of Anya's wet, pink clit, lavishing loving attention upon this bud of her femininity, this blossom from which her sexuality bloomed and flourished. Her tongue licked the firm button of flesh while she kissed and nuzzled the slick, glistening labia that continually drooled the juices from the demon's overflowing cunt. Although Buffy knew that a pussy was meant for a dick, that it was vestibule to the womb, in which babies were conceived and developed and were brought forth into the world, it seemed, just now, to have no other purpose than to be licked, bathed, and washed with another woman's tongue; to be kissed with another woman's lips; and to be rubbed and caressed and fondled by another woman's fingertips. Any other use of such a holy place seemed impious and wrong. It seemed self-evident that a pussy was intended solely as a means by which women could worship their femininity, giving pleasure to and receiving bliss from one another.

As she licked and sucked Anya's pussy, Buffy made occasional slurping sounds that would normally have embarrassed her. However, in the context of their lovemaking, these rude sounds were merely titillating, making the sight of her tongue probing and licking Anya's watery, pink cunt all the more exciting. With renewed vigor, Buffy stroked and bathed Anya's lust-hardened clit. The demon cried out, writhing, as orgasm swept through her, clutching at Buffy's hair. "Willow! Oh! Eat my cunt, you lesbian slut!"

Willow?

Buffy frowned, drawing back from the flooded cunt she'd been licking and poking with her tongue. Suddenly, she saw something terrible inside her mind, so frightening that it obliterated all the lust that had, only moments ago, possessed Buffy so completely as to have nearly overwhelmed her. Her own sopping cunt, her throbbing erection, and the insistent stiffness of her aching nipples were forgotten as the vision asserted itself, and she saw her best friend, Willow, cowering before a band of hideous monsters that had surrounded her at the edge of a sheer precipice beyond which flames flared hundreds of feet into thick, sulfurous air.

Caught in the throes of orgasm, Anya rolled rapidly back and forth, from side to side, her eyes shut tightly, her face a grimace, and her fists balled in Buffy's hair. "Willow!" she cried again.

Buffy knocked Anya's hands away, dismounted from the bed, and grabbed Anya's wrist. "Where's Willow?" she demanded. "What have you done to her?"

Anya allowed the Slayer to pull her off the bed and onto her feet, but it was a different Anya who got out of the bed than the naked young woman who'd gotten into bed. Anya had transformed herself into Anyanka, the vengeance demon. As such, she was a formidable adversary. True, Buffy had beaten Anyanka before, but, as sports teams proved every day, a previous victory didn't mean that the winner wouldn't be vanquished by the loser during their next encounter.

Buffy punched the demon in the face. In turn, Anyanka slammed a fist into the Slayer's ribs. Both of them, imbued with supernatural strength, had blows like sledgehammers. Fortunately, they had skeletons like steel, too, and their soft tissues could withstand the punishing blows that their kind delivered. Moreover, their bodies healed with unnatural speed—except, it seemed, in the case of a Feral demon's bite.

The combatants separated, eyeing each other warily.

"What have you done with Willow?" Buffy demanded again, delivering a powerful blow to Anyanka's midsection.

The demon slumped.

Buffy closed the distance between them, raising her fist to strike again, but Anyanka blocked the punch, answering Buffy's attempted battery with a blow of her own that sent the Slayer sprawling across the bed, her cock and balls bouncing and jiggling. The sight of the male genitals gave Anyanka a plan. When Buffy rebounded from the bed and spun to face her foe, the demon kicked her savagely between the legs.

Buffy howled, dropping to her knees. Tears sprang to her eyes as she clutched her balls, gritting her teeth in anguish. Suddenly, she believed that she knew why Slayers were always girls and never guys. Despite the superior strength that most boys had, they were equipped with a serious weak spot. Kicked in the balls, all a guy could do was try to breathe and maintain a heartbeat while he recovered from the intense, crippling pain that owned him, body and soul.

Now that Buffy was helpless, Anyanka informed her that she'd sent Willow into a demon dimension after she'd "fucked the bitch with a strap-on dildo. "

Between gasps of pain, Buffy managed to whisper, "Why?"

"Why do you think? She and Xander have been best friends—in a Platonic way, of course—since early childhood. What better way is there to get back at the bastard for jilting me at the altar?"

"That's ancient history," Buffy mumbled.

"You don't know what 'ancient' is, girlie. Wait until you're a few millennia old before you talk about 'ancient. ' Oh, wait. You're not likely to live to such a ripe, old age, are you?" Anyanka kicked Buffy in the ass, and the Slayer grunted, falling onto her face.

When she could speak, Buffy whispered, "I thought you'd forgiven Xander. "

Anyanka laughed. "Vengeance demons don't forgive; they get even. "

Buffy struggled, gritting her teeth. She managed to get to her knees. She also managed to block Anyanka's kick to her face. Holding the demon by the ankle, Buffy upended her, and Anyanka fell heavily onto her back. Straddling her, Buffy ignored the pressure of her scrotum against Anyanka's thighs and the feel of the demon's sleek, cushiony buttocks against her bobbing, swaying erection. "How do I get Willow back?" she demanded.

"You don't. "

Buffy wrenched one of Anyanka's arms behind her back, forcing it up, toward her shoulders. "How?" she repeated.

"Fuck you!"

Buffy applied more force, and Anyanka grimaced at the sudden pain in her twisted arm.

"How?"

"Fuck you, super bitch!"

Buffy jerked the arm higher.

Anyanka screamed.

"I'll break it," Buffy warned.

"All right! All right! I'll tell you. "

Buffy maintained the pressure on the demon's arm.

"Just let up. "

"Tell me first. "

"I'll tell you, but you won't like it. "

"I'm losing patience. When I lose patience, things get broken. "

Anyanka told her.

The demon was right. Buffy didn't like it, not at all. "You're lucky I don't break your arm," she told the demon.

Instead, she let Anyanka go, but the vanquished foe made no move to get up.

"If anything happens to Willow," Buffy told the demon, "I will break it. "

Even after Buffy had stalked from the room, Anyanka remained lying on the floor. She'd come close to being killed for what she'd done to Willow, she thought, and for what Buffy—and Giles—would have to do to retrieve the witch from the demon dimension. Anyanka couldn't say she'd blame the Slayer if Buffy had killed her. If she'd been in Buffy's place, she certainly would have; a broken arm wouldn't be nearly enough pay back for what Buffy and Giles were about to go through. After all, even if Buffy and her Watcher managed to escape with their lives, some things were worse than death.

Much worse.

She smiled at the thought of telling Xander all about it.

 

By the time that Buffy arrived at Rupert Giles' apartment, the former librarian, her ex-Watcher, had just finished reading a new volume of what Edgar Allan Poe, in The Raven, had referred to as a "curious and quaint volume of forgotten lore. " He'd just settled the large, leather-bound volume back onto the shelf with the others of its kind when he heard the knock at his front door.

He checked his watch. It was nearly nine o'clock. The hour wasn't late for Buffy and her friends, although it would be past calling time for most older adults. There was a good chance, then, that his visitor would be Buffy, Willow, Xander, or one of the others in the Slayer's group, the "Scoobies" as they were wont to call themselves. Nevertheless, in Sunnydale, one could never be too careful. Before opening the door, Giles picked up the crossbow on the table in his entrance hall and notched a wooden arrow into its string. He also checked the large milk urn beside the door to make sure that it held the broadsword that he kept there, in case it was a demon or some other monster, rather than a vampire, who meant to do him harm. Since Kakistos had fooled Buffy and Faith into opening Faith's motel room door by hiding behind the propped-up corpse of the motel manager, whom his henchmen had just murdered, Giles and the others had learned that it could be risky to open their doors even to someone whose identity they'd identified by a quick gaze through their peepholes. It was still a good thing to look through one's peephole, of course, and Giles did just that, now, smiling to see that it was his former protégé, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, who stood without.

In a few moments, he'd opened his deadbolt and the other locks and had invited his visitor inside.

It took Buffy a little longer to share the details of her humiliating transformation and even longer to explain the procedure that they would have to perform if they ever expected to return Willow from the demon dimension that Buffy had seen while she'd been having sex with Anya.

During the first part of the explanation, Giles said next to nothing, regarding Buffy with a worried expression that made her think that he might suppose her to have gone mad.

Finally, he said, "A penis? Testicles?"

Buffy, forlorn, nodded. "Giles, what am I going to do?"

Giles said nothing. He merely continued to study his former protégé. When at last he did speak, it was with a tone of resignation. "There's a spell. "

Buffy brightened. "That's swell!"

Giles didn't return her smile. In fact, he looked way too somber for Buffy.

"It is, isn't it?" she asked hopefully. "It's swell there's a spell?"

"A Feral demon's bite is nasty," he replied.

"Everyone keeps saying that!"

"And the effects tend to recur. "

"That's what Anya said. "

"But we can reverse the effects. "

For the first time since the Feral demon had bitten her, Buffy looked relieved.

"There's something more important for us to do first, though. "

"Willow," Buffy said.

"Right. " Giles looked at Buffy. She was blushing. Like her, he felt utterly mortified, and he wondered if it showed on his face. "You're sure there's no other way?"

"Not according to Anya. "

"We can't, Buffy. "

"We don't have a choice. "

"There's always a choice. "

"Not if we want Willow back. "

"Think about what you're suggesting. "

"I have thought about it, all the way over here, and I'm as grossed out about it as you are. It's revolting and vile and disgusting, but there's no other way, Giles. "

"You're sure?"

Buffy felt tears gathering in her eyes. She blinked. "Yes. "

Giles looked at the girl who'd been like a daughter to him since Buffy had enrolled in Sunnydale High School at the age of sixteen. He couldn't believe he was going to do what he was about to do, but, as Buffy had said, he had no choice, any more than Buffy did, not if they wanted to retrieve Willow from the demon dimension into which Anya had cast the witch to spite Xander. "You're a fine friend, Buffy," he said softly. "I know how hard this is for you. " He did know, too, for it was just as hard for him. They had Anya to thank for their predicament. It was she who'd worked out the counter spell that would bring Willow back from the demon dimension into which Anya had cast her. Anya had stipulated the requirements of the ritual that they must perform to retrieve Willow. After this was over, Anya would pay dearly for her depraved treachery. Giles would see to it personally. He had a hunch that Buffy would, too.

"Let's get it over with," Buffy said, and they took off their clothes.

To return Willow from the demon dimension, Buffy had to travel there. Her ticket was to have sex with her mentor. Both Giles and Buffy were horrified at the thought of having sex with one another. Not only was Giles old enough to be her father, but he had been her father—or a father surrogate, at least. From the time that Buffy was sixteen, Giles had loved her, advised her, taught her, comforted and consoled her, disciplined her, trained her, and, in general, cared for her. As his superior on the Watchers' Council had declared, Giles had had a "father's love for the child. " It was unthinkable that he should now have sex with her, but, if they ever wanted to see Willow again, that is exactly what they'd have to do.

Once they were naked, try as they might, they could not completely avert their eyes from one another's nakedness. It was a matter both of human nature and of curiosity. Buffy and her mentor stole furtive glances at each other. At last, Buffy got to see what Giles had concealed under the heavy tweed suits he'd worn during his years as Sunnydale High School's librarian, and he got to see what Buffy had hidden beneath the stylish outfits—blouses, mini-skirts, and knee-length boots, for the most part—that she had worn during her high school days.

The renegade Slayer, Faith, had once described Giles as "young and cute," and, although Buffy couldn't agree that he was young, she had always thought him cute, in his own older-adult kind of way. Naked, he was more than merely cute; he was sexy. He had broad shoulders, a deep chest, a firm, flat abdomen, and sturdy thighs. His buttocks were small and tight. His cock, even flaccid, was long—nine inches, Buffy reckoned—thick, and circumcised. He had big balls, too, which, like his large member, suggested both virility and potency.

Buffy had small breasts, but she was by no means flat, as Willow appeared to be. Her tits were high, round, and firm, topped by pert nipples surrounded by puffy areolas. Her tummy was concave. She had long, shapely legs, if a bit thin, and a lovely round ass. The seven-inch cock and the testicles-filled scrotum that hung from her girl's groin were incongruous—and, Giles had to admit, if only to himself, sexy. He was disappointed that he couldn't see her labia behind the male genitals, but, from Buffy's earlier testimony in describing the effects of the Feral demon's bite, he knew there was a functioning cunt behind her cock and balls, which was also sexy. Despite his horror at the idea of fucking what amounted to his own daughter, Giles felt his cock stir as it swelled. To distract himself, he started to work algebraic problems in his head. His burgeoning penis soon reverted to its natural, flaccid state.

After disrobing, they drew a rough inverted pentagram on the floor of Giles' apartment. They turned out the lights and lit a candle, which they placed in the center of the upside-down, five-pointed star that represented the devil. Then, Giles and Buffy sat opposite one another and chanted the prescribed ritual that Anya had given Buffy:

 

Let them, who were as father and daughter,

Each become the lover of the other,

Trading self-respect for shame, love for sex,

Thereby breaking the vengeance demon's hex.

 

For each vampire the girl has turned to dust,

A thousand-thousand times increase her lust,

That both the Watcher and the Slayer be

Free to realize their secret fantasies.

 

Let the protégé become but mouth, hands,

Breasts, buttocks, cunt, cock, and balls, to which stands

Her mentor's virile member, thick, swollen,

And rigid from lust-filled thoughts of dire sin.

 

As soon as they'd finished the chant, a change come over Buffy and Giles. Moments before, they'd felt ashamed and humiliated, and they'd averted their eyes from one another's nudity, Buffy feeling it as wrong to be naked in front of the man she regarded as her father as Giles did to be unclothed before the young woman he considered his daughter. Now, however, neither suffered from any such compunctions, and they stared boldly across the encircled pentagram that separated them, Buffy admiring the swollen, stiff-standing cock that rose against the former librarian's pubes and belly, and Giles marveling at Buffy's small, pert breasts, concave tummy, smooth, creamy thighs, and the light blonde wisps of hair that decorated her lower abdomen, above her own erect penis and tightly contracted scrotum. The knowledge that she was also equipped with a functional pussy was all the more enticing. Giles made a mental note to thank Anya. If it hadn't been for the vengeance demon, he'd never have seen Buffy naked, nor would he have had the opportunity, as he did now, of fucking the delectable hottie his protégé had been ever since he'd first laid eyes on her as a teen. Even then, he realized, he'd wanted to stuff his prick up her cunt and fuck her fast and hard, but he'd repressed these desires so thoroughly that he'd been unaware of them—until now. The spell enabled him to acknowledge his deepest, most secret desires. He wondered if Buffy had harbored similar forbidden fantasies about him, her mentor.

As the candle's flame leaped and fluttered, causing shadows to write upon the walls and ceiling, the Slayer said, "Fuck me, Giles. " She looked at him with naked lust, unashamed. "I've wanted your thick, hard British cock inside me since the day I arrived in Sunnydale. "

Giles grinned. Rising, he skirted the circle. In a moment, he was at her side. She smiled as he penetrated her mouth with his tongue, and she swirled her own tongue around his as he did the same. Their mouths were warm and wet, like twin cunts.

After a moment, Buffy withdrew, a tendril of saliva joining her lower lip to her mentor's. "I can't wait," she breathed. "I have to feel you inside me—now. " She positioned herself on her elbows and her knees, her legs spread wide and her ass high in the air.

Giles knelt behind her. He took his prick in hand, guiding it between the rose-petal-soft petals of Buffy's cunt. She was already soaking wet. The spell, Giles thought.

"Not my pussy," Buffy corrected him. "My ass. You have to butt fuck me, Anya said. "

Giles' grin widened further. Here was another reason to thank Anya. The vengeance demon hadn't been content merely to make Buffy and her mentor, as much like daughter and father as any who'd been related through procreation, fuck each other; the demon had had to require that their intercourse be anal, as if she'd been rubbing salt into the wound of compelling them to commit incest. No doubt, Buffy had been horrified to learn of this requirement, before she was under Anya's spell, but, now, like Giles, the condition pleased her. She wiggled her but invitingly. "Stick your dick up my ass," she demanded. "Fuck me!"

Giles didn't need to be told twice. He adjusted his position, hopping on first one knee and then the other until, his kneecaps closer together, he'd increased his height by as much as possible and inserted his penis into the deep cleavage between Buffy's silken smooth buttocks. He felt a few inches of the taut skin upon his distended, rigid shaft slide past the sleek inward-curving slopes of the Slayer's ass cheeks, and then his purple, swollen glans met the stout resistance of Buffy's small, tight asshole. Giles studied the thickness of his cock and the diminutive circle of his "daughter's" anus. It looked as if his member would never fit within the ring of muscle that led to the mire spacious accommodations of her rectum, but Giles knew that, despite these appearances to the contrary, Buffy's sphincter would expand sufficiently to accept his organ. It would be fun forcing his cock into her tight little butt hole.

Taking Buffy's hips in his hands, he drew her lower body back as he shoved his own hips forward, driving his glans through the Slayer's anus, past the sphincter, and into her rectum. Her asshole contracted, fluttering frantically about his erection, as if in a vain (but futile) effort to dislodge the trespassing member. It felt wonderful to Giles, as it did to Buffy. To him, the trembling, quivering anus felt like a tiny circular clamp, squeezing and squeezing the circumference of his cock. To her, her fluttering asshole seemed to milk his manhood, wringing and wringing the thick shaft. The sensations were intense, for both of them, almost overpowering.

Giles waited until the spasms subsided. Within a few moments, her anus had relaxed, allowing Giles to slide the rest of his prick into her buttocks, and he did so, watching as inch after inch of his thick, hard cock vanished inside her impaled asshole, feeling its rigid length slide past her silken ass cheeks.

Buffy moaned, biting her lower lip. Her own cock was stiff and swollen, just like Giles', and she took her manhood in hand, stroking it fast and hard. Beneath her risen, contracted scrotum, her labia felt like drenched rose petals; cunt juices trickled down her inner thighs.

When he'd penetrated her ass to his balls, Giles paused, letting his protégé feel what it was like to have her rectum crammed full of a man's cock. Then, he withdrew, until only the tip of his penis remained within the ring of her sphincter. He plunged his prick back into her depths, flattening her firm, sleek buttocks under his pubes. She grunted, her frame rocked forward by his thrust. He withdrew again, shoving his erection again into her rectum, quickening the tempo with each renewed assault upon her backside.

Buffy's fist pumped her cock. Her cunt was drenched. "Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!" she cried, as the ecstasy that had been building inside her reached a crescendo. An overwhelming tickling sensation swept through her loins, and her penis, lurching and straining in her gripping palm, erupted, spewing thick, warm semen over her belly and breasts. "Uggggghhhhhhhhhh!" she cried, delirious with passion.

Giles continued to fuck her, his cock a piston inside her bowels. He shoved his hips hard and fast into her bouncing buttocks, ramming his penis through her asshole before wrenching it free to thrust it again into her rectum, deep and hard, hammering her. Her body rocked before his assault.

Buffy grimaced, feeling as if her beloved mentor—her "father"—would split her in half. Giles' cock was huge—nine inches, at least, and thicker than her wrist—and her ass was small. Her asshole was even smaller. She couldn't take such a pounding—yet, she was taking it. She was the Slayer. As such, she had supernatural strength and endurance, and she could recover and heal far more rapidly than any normal man or woman. She wondered whether she'd have been able to take such a coring had she been a mere mortal. She released her sperm-slick, sticky penis, which was already beginning to wilt and droop, and concentrated upon stimulating her stiff, swollen clitoris. As the hard, smooth bud of flesh responded to her flicking, twirling fingertips, her attention shifted from the uncomfortable sensation of having her stuffed ass brutally fucked to the rising tide of passion sweeping through her loins. Her cunt was a river, awash in its own juices.

Giles gritted his teeth, his brow furrowing as his thighs trembled and his penis lurched inside Buffy's impaled ass. Orgasm swept through him. His heart beat wildly. He breathed in short, quick gasps. He felt as if he were being poured out through his penis, along with the semen that spurted in thick jets from the smooth, hard column of flesh, deep into the Slayer's bowels. He shuddered, crying out, and more of his seed spewed into Buffy's depths. For all intents and purposes, he was fucking his own daughter and, thanks to Anya's spell, the thought that he and the Slayer were committing what amounted to incest, rather than horrifying him, excited him terribly. More semen spurted from his cock, geyser after geyser spraying the walls of Buffy's rectum.

Sensing that he was near the end of his climax, the Slayer shoved her buttocks back hard, grinding them against her mentor's pubes. "Fuck me, Giles!" she cried, wriggling her fingertips against her clit as more of her cunt juices flooded her thighs.

Giles' semen spurted a last time, deep into Buffy's ass, as he collapsed atop her, his heart hammering furiously and his chest pumping like a bellows. A thick film of sweat bonded their naked bodies together, and Buffy could feel Giles' heart beating between her shoulder blades. He stayed inside her until his cock dwindled, passing out of her gaping asshole like a small, soft turd and trailing his vital fluid down the backs of her satin-soft thighs.

"Buffy," he sighed, utterly drained, spent, and satiated. His eyes snapped wide, and his mouth gaped as he fell forward, onto the floor. Buffy was no longer with him. She was gone, transported into the demon dimension into which Anya had earlier cast Willow. Their act of anal intercourse had worked, as the vengeance demon had vowed it would.

Now, hopefully, Buffy would be able to bring the witch back.

 

Buffy arrived in the demon dimension on her elbows and knees, just as she'd been when her mentor, Rupert Giles, had been butt fucking her a moment before the spell they'd cast transported her from his apartment to this bizarre land of the damned. Her legs were still spread wide apart, and ass was still high in the air. Although Giles had not been transported with her, it felt to her as if his huge, stiff cock were still stretching her asshole to many times its normal size. The sensation was perhaps rather like the phantom pains that amputees are said to experience, Buffy thought.

Instead of Giles' apartment, Buffy was in an environment totally alien to her. Rising to her feet, Buffy surveyed her surroundings. It took her but a moment to discern that she stood at the edge of a cliff that overlooked a long, wide, gently sloping valley.

Great, towering mesas rose from a plain that stretched on all sides to the horizon, beneath a sky illuminated by a sun the rays of which formed a rainbow in all directions, filling the sky with radiant bands of color—red, orange, yellow, purple, green, and blue. The mesas were columns, formed, it appeared, of limestone, topped with roughly circular lawns from which, among tufts of exotic flowers, smaller columnar mesas, also topped with verdant lawns, rose against the sky. Some of the mesa tops contained pools that spilled over their edges, falling between the smaller mesas that rose at the edge of the stream that ringed the perimeter of the circular tablelands, contributing to the river that meandered, like a ribbon, through the center of the green plain far below. Between most of the rearing mesas, natural stone bridges had formed, presumably as a means of steadying and reinforcing the strange, tall towers. Against the far northern horizon, a mountain of jagged white ice rose. A pale lime-green, rectangular structure stood atop the summit of the ice mountains. It was so light that Buffy did not notice it at first. It seemed but a continuation of the mountaintop. It was only upon further reflection that its true nature as a probable building if some sort asserted itself, and it was only after even further reflection that its size became apparent. Although it looked relatively small, compared to the mountain of ice upon which it was perched, the fact that it was discernable at all, and the fact that Buffy had mistaken it, at first glance, for the top of the mountain itself suggested that the structure must be truly immense. Somewhere in this exotic landscape, perhaps in the mountaintop building, Willow was at the mercy of a demon horde that dwelled in a realm of fire and brimstone.

The question was how to get off the top of this soaring mesa and down into the presumably subterranean hellhole in which her friend, the witch, was being held hostage by her tormentors. If the sides of the mesa upon the top of which Buffy had landed—or materialized out of thin air—was like the others, and there was no reason to suspect that it was not, since the rest all looked the same, it would be ribbed with bands of rock that slow centuries of erosion had carved into it. If the bands were close enough together, they might offer toe- and footholds that would allow Buffy to climb down to the plain. However, the prairie was hundreds of feet below; even her Slayer's strength and stamina might not be sufficient to endure such a test. She might not be able to hang on to the ribbed rock surface long enough to make it to the low grassland, and a fall from such a height would no doubt kill her. Dead, she wouldn't be any help to Willow or anyone else. Since Buffy had endured the humiliating ordeal of allowing her fatherly mentor to fuck her in the ass to gain access to this demon dimension so that she could rescue Willow, dying before she could do so wasn't an option.

Like those of the sun on Earth, the rainbow rays of the demon dimension's star were warm and bright. Nevertheless, there was a slight breeze in the air that chilled Buffy, keeping the Slayer's nipples stiff and swollen and keeping her horny. Since leaving Xander's apartment, her cock had remained perpetually erect—another side-effect of the Feral demon's bite, Buffy assumed, like the male genitals themselves with which she'd awakened after fighting the demon the night before, during which event the bastard had bitten her. For the umpteenth time, Buffy, shaking her head at the absurd sight of the stiff, upright cock that jutted from her downy girl's groin, thought boys were damned freaky. Having an out-of-control cock was totally weird—and, well, embarrassing. Now, she thought she might understand better why boys acted so awkward and bashful around girls. They were probably terrified that their pricks would decide to rear up, stiff and swollen, and humiliate them. Girls, fortunately, didn't have to worry about such betrayals by their own bodies unless they went braless. Then, their nipples could behave rudely and treacherously, making firm points beneath tight shirts, blouses, or halter tops. Still, there was quite a difference between a pair of erect nipples and a raging hard on!

Buffy's quandary as to how to reach the plain below her was solved for her by the pterodactyl-like creature that swooped down from the sky, seizing her in its long, thick, curved talons and sweeping her from the lip of the lofty precipice. The great creature carried Buffy across the landscape below at a speed that made the grassy plain a blur of green. Before she had time to be frightened, the avian beast had set her upon the ground, and her bare feet came to a rest upon the soft grass of the prairie that stretched, seemingly endlessly, beneath the rainbow-colored sky.

The pterodactyl-thing's claws had left deep slashes in the Slayer's shoulders and upper back, which hurt like hell, but Buffy wasn't worried about them. She had supernatural healing abilities. Her blood was inhospitable to every imaginable germ, and her wounds always healed at an incredible rate, usually within seconds. If she faced a threat in this Godforsaken world, it wouldn't be as the result of a few lacerations.

Now that she was on the ground, rather than standing at the edge of one of the mesa tops, Buffy's perspective had changed. The valley didn't seem as flat as it had from hundreds of feet in the air. Rather, it was a rolling plain, with gently rising swells, like a sea of grass rolling toward the ice-mountains that reared against the northern sky. She couldn't see the river that wound through the center of the valley any more; it was lost to sight among the gently rolling hills. Had she not seen it from her earlier vantage point, high above, she'd not have known of its existence. The soaring tablelands also looked different. The more distant ones looked like massive tree trunks of rock rather than wood. The closer ones were like walls in which nooks and crannies and fissures were discernable, along with lichen- and moss-like plants in a profusion of odd colors that grew within the deep crevices between the outcroppings of the banded rock.

The whole landscape, although beautiful in its own, bizarre way, was as alien to Buffy as the surface of a world in another galaxy, far, far away would be. Strangest of all, perhaps, was the lack of animal life. Other than the pterodactyl-thing, she'd seen no signs of any life besides that of the plants, grass, and flowers. There were no small, furry, fuzzy animals among the grassy hills. No birds flew in the kaleidoscope skies. It seemed unlikely that there would be any beasts among the icy mountains of the north, either. Nowhere, with the single exception of the lizard-bird that had deposited her upon the plain below the towering mesa columns, was there predator or prey—except, of course, for the very predatory demons who held Willow against her will, wherever they were hidden.

While Buffy stood, surveying her surroundings, her cock still stiff and swollen, despite any lust or sexual interest whatsoever on her part, wondering what she should do next to find Willow, a sphere of light, about the size of a grapefruit, appeared in the air before her, and the Slayer grinned, delighted, as she recognized the ball to be a guide sent to her by the witch. Willow and her late girlfriend, Tara, another witch, often used spheres of light to guide one another to themselves when they were lost or separated. Somehow, Willow knew that Buffy was here, and she was directing her rescuer to her location!

Buffy smiled, following the signal. The ball of light was a welcome sight. It meant that Willow was aware of Buffy's presence. It was an act of communication. More than that, it was a connection between the witch who'd sent it and the Slayer who followed it. As Buffy alternated between sprinting and walking, she concentrated upon this incandescent sphere, which was her only link to her friend. She vowed anew to herself that she would rescue Willow, no matter how great the cost, and she knew that the cost might be much higher than her having allowed Giles to fuck her in the ass in order to make Anya's inter-dimensional transportation spell work and bring her here from her mentor's apartment in Sunnydale. No matter. Whatever the price, even if it were to be her own life, Buffy would pay it if need be to save her best friend.

Buffy followed the light sphere to the top of a grassy rise. As she descended the knoll, the grass before her shifted, and something rose out of its midst, something green and grassy, like the plain itself—something huge, of a vaguely humanoid shape. Buffy had no idea what it might be, but she knew what she and her friends back home would unhesitatingly call it—a monster. That was all right with Buffy, though, since, after all, she was a monster slayer.

As the risen entity lunged toward her, Buffy glimpsed its face and form more clearly; involuntarily, she shivered. Matted vines, resembling thick, green dreadlocks, hung from the top of the thing's head. Its eyes were opaque and white, like the pods of a milkweed plant. Thick grass formed a dense beard and a heavy mustache upon the creature's verdant face, and large, thick leaves formed its ears. Its lips were roots, twisted into an elliptical shape; when they parted, she saw large, jagged teeth, of granite, inside its black, cavernous mouth. Shaggy grass draped its powerful chest and belly. The legs were of densely packed earth, in which thick vines formed veins and arteries that carried whatever vital fluid circulated through the monster's impossible, grotesque body instead of blood.

As hideous as the creature was, the worst, most hideous aspect of its appearance was the penis that reared from its grassy groin. A log-like column of wood about which vines twisted, the phallic appendage bore small leaves as well as sharp, sturdy thorns. Below the penis, a pair of stony testicles hung inside a mossy scrotum. Buffy could only guess what vile substance might spurt from the monstrosity's balls instead of semen.

All these observations occurred to Buffy during the instant between which the monster had spring from within the grass of the field and the moment in which it seized her with its powerful vine-fingers. The thing's grip was immensely strong—and painful—but, fortunately, as the Slayer, Buffy possessed enormous strength of her own, and she managed to pry the creature's fingers from her arms and shove it back. A look of surprise, followed by an expression of rage, twisted the creature's grotesque features, and then it bounded forward again. It moved fast, considering the fact that it was twice the size of an average man, but Buffy was faster, and she side-stepped the assault. The monster's lunge carried it past Buffy, and she ran, thinking discretion—and escape—better than senseless valor, in this instance at least. She had no doubt that she could outrun the fantastic creature that had attacked her. Males ere all alike, she thought wryly; even in a demon dimension, the fiends wanted just one thing—pussy. Well, she was damned if she was going to be raped by a grass-covered freak with a log for a cock and stones for balls.

She loped across the field, briars and brambles snatching at her naked legs. After thirty seconds, she glanced over her shoulder. The huge, grass-covered creature was in hot pursuit, although it was thirty feet or so behind her; as Buffy had suspected, she was in no danger of being caught by the hulking predator.

She smiled as she thought that this would-be rapist was one fucker who was going to be disappointed—and, then, she tripped over a root, falling headlong into the thick grass underfoot. Fortunately, she was unhurt. She shoved herself up from the ground, onto one knee, and rose. She started to run again, when she fell a second time, her foot caught in another root. She gazed in the direction of her pursuer. The thing was much closer. Still, she could increase the distance between them again easily enough. Regaining her feet, she sped off again, tripping over a third root that sent her sprawling. With a swell of dread, Buffy realized, as she rose a third time from the meadow, that the creature, spawned, perhaps, of the grassy plain itself, controlled the prairie's greenery; it was the monster that had caused the roots to trip her. Now, the hideous predator was upon her, and, twist and struggle as she might, she was unable to free her feet and calves from the roots and vines that had ensnared her. The meadowland demon pounced upon her.

It was absurd, Buffy thought, what one noticed at the strangest times. Here she was, fighting for her honor, if not her life, and she was noticing the small wildflowers that grew from her would-be rapist's cheeks, chest, belly, groin, and thighs—violets, periwinkles, goldenrods, bellflowers, foxgloves, and others.

The demon straddled Buffy, its massive buttocks, formed of hard-packed soil and rock, resting upon the Slayer's groin and lower belly, crushing her erection and her balls as it struggled to force its log-penis into the cunt behind Buffy's scrotum. Buffy twisted, wriggling beneath the demon's tremendous weight as she struggled to topple the would-be rapist. If it managed to shove that gnarly log of a prick into her, its jagged end would rip and tear her pussy to shreds, and she would die in agony. She fought desperately, but the demon's weight restricted her movements, and, as powerful as she was, the demon's strength matched—maybe surpassed—her own. It continued to jab at the rose-petal soft lips of her pussy, and Buffy felt a stab of pain, as if she'd been poked by a needle. Then, she felt more prickling sensations, and she realized that her monstrous adversary was about to impale her with its log-cock. She gave a last, huge, desperate shove, but to no avail.

The demon screamed, rearing, as a brilliance shone amid the grass, vines, leaves, and twigs that had formed its misshapen head, and the milkweed pods that had served as its eyes exploded, spewing their vile, milky contents over Buffy's breasts and face, as if the exploding eyes were ejaculating a foul semen. The remnants of the head, like the grassy body, was on fire. Thick black smoke poured from the fiery mass as red, orange, and yellow flames crackled and spat within the blackening vegetation of the demon's chest, belly, groin, and legs. With horror, Buffy saw that the thing's penis was also on fire. All she needed was for that flaming member to cauterize her cunt, sealing her vagina closed forever—or, at least, until some embarrassing and humiliating surgery, not to mention the need to concoct some unlikely cover story as to how she'd received such a bizarre injury! Buffy shoved the demon, and, this time, concerned for its survival more than its intent to rape the Slayer and weakened severely by the damage that the fire had done to it, the demon offered no resistance, toppling sideways. Buffy rolled away from it.

Gaining her feet, Buffy saw the cause of the meadowland demon's immolation: Willow's reconnaissance sphere glowed brightly within the vitals of the demon. By chance or design, the ball of light that Willow used to use to communicate with Tara had collided with the demon, setting it ablaze. Buffy watched the fucker burn. Within minutes, the would-be rapist was nothing but a charred heap of burned grass and smoking earth. Buffy scowled at the burning rubbish. "Loser," she said.

When she was sure that the demon was no longer a threat to her, Buffy examined her pussy. It was sore, as if the labia had been pierced with needles, and she saw that the demon had left two splinters of its log-penis in her labia. Using her fingernails as forceps, she extracted the slivers and tossed them upon the demon's smoking remains, to burn along with the rest of him. She felt uneasy. Like the feral demon's bite that had transformed her into a hermaphrodite, the wounds from this demon's phallic splinters, although slight, could have unpredictable consequences, too, which, like those of the feral demon's bite, may or may nor recur. Buffy gulped. She didn't want to imagine what bizarre, depraved effects might result from her having been pierced by splinter's from this demon's log-penis.

Looking back to the ball of light—or to the place she'd seen it last—Buffy discovered that the sphere was yards ahead of her, streaking toward the ice mountains of the north. If she didn't want to lose it, she'd better move. The Slayer ran, following her only link to her best friend—and the demons who were holding Willow here, in this demon dimension, against her will. The thought that the witch might be subjected to the same fate that the meadowland demon had had in store for Buffy made the Slayer run even faster.

 

Buffy's cock bounced and her balls dipped and swayed as she ran, but she paid her male genitals no mind. Now that the novelty of having a penis and testicles had worn off, she found them not so much titillating, as they'd seemed at first, but, rather, something of nuisance. No wonder Xander and the rest of the boys at Sunnydale High had worn jockstraps to keep them in check. The sphere continued on its course, toward the distant mountains of ice in the frozen northlands, and the Slayer gave chase. She seemed to have run miles already, which, thanks to her Slayer strength and stamina, were nothing to her; she could run all day, if she had to do so, before she'd need to rest. She only wished she were at her destination—if, indeed, the ice mountains were her destination—so that she could rescue Willow from the clutches of her demon captors. Were they having their way with the witch, this moment, as the meadowland demon had tried to have its way with Buffy? The Slayer didn't want to think about it. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be ravished by demons, she thought. As if to disprove her notion that she couldn't imagine such a fate, images sprang into Buffy's mind—vile, hideous images of rape and torture.

She saw a gnarled and twisted cock, eighteen or more inches long and thick at the wide end of a baseball bat, oozing greenish-yellow fluid that smoked and made hissing sounds as it dripped onto the stone floor of a cavern lit with hot flames. The fiery curtains cast bright, flickering light—orange, red, and yellow—against the limestone walls. Willow screamed as the demon's abominable phallus penetrated her, searing the pink lips of her labia with the burning fluid that seeped from its bloated, knotted shaft.

This image was replaced by another, equally horrible. A short, squat, toad-like monstrosity with a thick, hard cock that branched into two shafts, was fucking the redheaded witch from behind. Its massive hands—or paws—grasped Willow's creamy hips, sinking its talons deep into her smooth flesh, and the longer, larger portion of its two-pronged cock rammed again and again into Willow's vagina while the shorter, smaller prong slammed itself repeatedly through the witch's anus. Willow screamed in fear, rage, and humiliation, tears streaming down her cute, heart-shaped face.

In the third vision that flashed before the Slayer's mind's-eye, Willow was being assaulted by three demons at the same time. One pumped its cock inside the witch's rounded mouth; the second, inside her cunt; the third up her ass. Willow wept silently, gagging and choking on the purple prick that filled her face. It was knobbed from the demon's balls to the glans of the penis, which was itself a knob. The knobs were of greater circumference the nearer they were to the creature's groin, becoming smaller and smaller as they approached the round tip. Buffy supposed that having a knobbed atrocity like that shoved repeatedly down her throat would make any woman gag and choke—and weep—as Willow did. The Slayer's fists tightened. She'd repay any and all demons who, in any way, had violated her friend, she vowed. The second demon—the one whose phallus was embedded deep in Willow's ass—panted and grunted, sweating profusely. Its prick was orange, looking rather like a slowly melting Popsicle. Bright, liquid orange beads formed along its length, dripping onto Willow's impaled buttocks, the backs of her creamy, smooth thighs, and onto her shapely calves. The third prick, a blue-black, iridescent monster, stretched Willow's cunt as wide as a softball as it slammed home, all of its foot-and-a-half length vanishing and disappearing repeatedly inside the stretch orifice. The demons grimaced, their distorted monsters' faces appearing truly horrific as their glowing red eyes widened and their mouths gaped to reveal long, thick fangs as curved and sharp as scimitars. They shuddered, jerking their hips back, and Buffy saw long streamers of semen unfurl in the air above the witch. But these were not the while, opalescent banners of spunk with which Angel, Parker, Riley, Spike, and Buffy's other boyfriends had splattered over her breasts, belly, pubes, ass, and thighs on various occasions; these ribbons were fiery and molten and red and orange and yellow, like lava erupting from a volcano. Each spurt and drop that spattered, sprayed, or dripped upon Willow hissed and bubbled, her flesh blistering and burning as the tortured witch screamed and writhed on her elbows and knees.

Fortunately, this third vision was the last to flash through Buffy's mind. Were these hideous images merely the products of her own frightened imagination or were they clairvoyant perceptions of the torments that her friend, even now, was suffering at the hands, claws, pincers, talons, and tentacles of her abductors? Buffy didn't know—and she sure as hell didn't want to guess. She knew two things only—she must rescue Willow and she must make Anya pay for subjecting her best friend to the torments of this hellish demon dimension. She swore she would accomplish both objectives.

Continuing to run as fast as she could, following the spherical light that Willow had sent to guide the Slayer, Buffy flung out her arms, her eyes snapping wide as her lower jaw dropped, astonished to find that the ground underfoot was—well—no longer underfoot. Instead, she was falling through thin air. Darkness rushed past her. Then, abruptly, something solid struck her, and she twisted, landing upon her left side. The sphere of light was nowhere to be seen.

Painfully, Buffy rose. Her left shoulder ached, but no bones seemed to have been broken, for which she could, once again, thank her superhuman condition. She must have fallen the equivalent of several stories. Such a fall would have killed a normal person, but it had left Buff no more than badly shaken, with nothing more than bruises and a few cuts, scrapes, and scratches. The lacerations, abrasions, and contusions were already beginning to heal.

She'd be all right.

She hoped she'd be able to say the same for Willow.

The light globe was gone. Presumably, it had remained upon the planet's surface, failing to accompany the Slayer underground when she'd fallen through whatever it was she'd fallen through—a thin part of the crust, a hidden crater, the concealed entrance to a vast subterranean cavern, or, perhaps, a trapdoor. The light was faint, but enough illumination pierced the underground chamber for Buffy to realize that she was in a cave or a tunnel. The ceiling, like the walls and floor, was an arch cut, either by erosion or technology, through the bowels of the demon dimension. The rock was a strange color, though. Mostly, it was red, but streaks of dark pink, purple, and rust also appeared at irregular intervals in odd, intermittent shapes. The ceiling was wet, too. Great gobs of thick white goo dripped in long strands from the vaulted dome. When it broke upon the rocky floor of the shaft, it splattered. A strange but familiar scent filled the cavernous chamber, and Buffy made a face as she realized that the goo smelled similar to the semen that her various boyfriends had deposited within and upon her at various times since she and Angel had first been intimate, when Buffy had been sweet sixteen and Angel had been—what?--two hundred and something?

Yuck, she thought, the damned tunnel or mine or cavern, whatever it was, was full of demon cum! Another long strand dripped from the ceiling, and Buffy dodged it—darting right into a second huge drop of the viscid goo. The splattering semen drenched her, slicking her hair and coating her body. Instinctively, her eyes closed and she held her breath, but not before the thick, sticky seed had filled her mouth. Outraged, Buffy stepped back, slipped, and went down hard in the ankle-deep stream of demon semen in which she was now standing. She gasped, accidentally swallowing most of the foul fluid, and spit out the rest. It poured from her mouth, down her breasts and belly, and over her smooth, creamy thighs. "Ugh!" she cried, wiping away the semen with her forearms, her hands, and her fingers. "Yuck!"

Something in the semen was moving! Buffy felt what seemed to be a swarm of bees in her hair and on her naked body. There was a tickling, thrilling rush down her arms, breasts, tummy, groin, back, buttocks, genitals and thighs. Things—bees or locusts or flies—streaked and fluttered and darted through her hair, across her brow, under her eyes, down her cheeks, across her chin, down her neck, over her nipples and areolas and breasts, into her navel and through her pubes. She felt something shoot along her erect penis and over her taut, risen scrotum. She wiped at the semen with renewed vigor, frightened and aghast at the crawling, squirming sensation that poured and spilled over her bare flesh.

The things, whatever they were, didn't streak downward only, she observed, but darted upward, too, coming both from the goo that had dripped onto Buffy from the vaulted ceiling of the cave or tunnel and from the lake of semen in which she waded. A moment ago, the fluid had been ankle deep; now, the semen had risen to her knees. The things she's thought were bees or locusts or flies, she realized, were sperm! The semen was full of the male sex cells. Indeed, now that she'd regained control of her senses, Buffy saw that she could actually see the gametes. Their tails thrashed from side to side, propelling them through the thick, sticky white demon semen with which Buffy was drenched, swimming for all their lives in search of an egg they wouldn't find. The sperm didn't know that their effort was in vain, of course, any more than sperm that was ejaculated down a throat or up a rectum knew that it would never locate an egg. The sperm swam because its purpose was to swim, just as Buffy herself slew because it was her purpose to slay.

More sperm fell upon Buffy, and she felt thousands and millions more sperm swim through the thick fluid. Buffy wasn't in a tunnel, she realized, nor was she in a mine or a cavern. She was inside a giant vagina—and one that had just been visited by a gargantuan prick that had spurted its load inside the planet's pussy. This freaky demon planet was freakier than Buffy would ever have imagined. The damned thing was equipped with its own cunt, which was, no doubt, as vast as the Grand Canyon. She had no idea where the cock had come from that had ejaculated this river of semen, and she had no interest in finding out what its origin might be. She wanted only to get out of the lake of semen that splashed about her hips and the layers of fluid that rained from the upper side of the vast vagina into which she'd fallen.

A planet with its own cunt and a giant prick to service it? The idea wasn't merely disturbing; it was ludicrous—absolutely ludicrous—even in a demon dimension. Nevertheless, it was true; Buffy stood inside the vast fleshly tunnel, in semen up to her ass, with sperm swimming over her bare flesh and through her hair.

As Buffy stood, overwhelmed at the realization that she was inside a planetary cunt, she heard a crashing, gurgling sound, and a flood of semen rushed through the passageway, splashing off the rounded sides and knocking the Slayer off her feet. She spluttered as the thick semen filled her nose and mouth. Despite her effort not to do so, she swallowed several mouthfuls of the viscid, thick fluid. Her mouth tasted of salt. Splashing about in the demon seed, she managed, at last, to gain her feet. Millions more sperm swam up and down her naked body, washing along the cleavage between her buttocks and the valley between her breasts. More of the long-tailed, flat-headed cells wiggled against her cock, balls, and labia, while thousands streaked over her breasts, areolas, and nipples. Literally covered in sperm and semen, the Slayer fought for her breath—and for her footing. The thick semen and the horde of sperm made standing difficult, as the fluid, although viscid, was slick.

It occurred to Buffy that the glans of the gigantic cock must be inside the cavernous cunt. Whatever god or demon it belonged to was ejaculating his load inside the planet's pussy. For the first time since realizing what was happening, Buffy was frightened. It was possible that she could drown in the flood of semen. What had started as an ankle-deep lake of the white stuff was now a raging river as high as the lower halves of her breasts. Another spurt or two from the huge ejaculating cock might fill the cavernous cunt, washing Buffy before the deluge as if she were nothing more than one of the millions of sperm that thrashed about in the sea of semen.

Another torrent of semen rushed through the cavernous vagina, sweeping Buffy before its irresistible force. Again, she felt millions of fresh sperm wriggling over her bare flesh, thrashing their whip-like flagella against her erect nipples, puffy areolas, pert breasts, concave tummy, downy pubes, stiff cock and bunched scrotum, rounded ass, and shapely legs. The male sex gametes were all over her, writhing and squirming for all they were worth in their frantic, desperate attempt to locate an egg that may or may not exist within the planet pussy in which they swam. Rather than attempt to resist the deluge of the thick, viscid fluid that filled the demon dimension's gargantuan cunt, Buffy let herself be swept along by its current. Although she held her breath, she'd swallowed several mouthfuls of the warm, salty semen. She could feel oversize sperm swimming over her tongue, against the insides of her cheeks, and against the roof of her mouth. Resigning herself to the act, she swallowed yet again, drinking this last mouthful of the demonic seed.

The latest flood of semen swept the Slayer rapidly through the tunnel of rock-become-flesh. Buffy let her body go limp (except, of course, her nipples and cock, which remained steadfastly erect). Within minutes, she'd come to a channel that led off to the right, deeper into the subterranean world of the planet's pussy, entering what she supposed must be one of the Fallopian tubes. The sperm continued to race and dart against and about her, seeking the demon-egg.

There were no additional floods of ejaculate from the monstrous prick that, presumably, had released its load inside the cavernous cunt. Apparently, the entity to which the enormous cock belonged, whether physical or incorporeal, had exhausted its supply of seed and withdrawn its virile member. Now that no further semen spurted into the planet's pussy, the flood began to recede, and Buffy let the warm, thick fluid carry her back toward the entrance to the passageway, where she could see the faint radiance of the rainbow-colored sky without. As she floated upon her back, past the stone-flesh walls of the cunt, surrounded by questing sperm, great gobs of the thick, viscid semen ran down the curved sides of the pussy and dripped from its ceiling, often splattering Buffy anew. Occasionally, some of the salty seed would fall into her face. She wiped it away with the semen-smeared back of her hand. Buffy had been fucked many times—by Angel, by Parker, by Riley, by Spike, and by others—and her own cunt, on a much reduced scale, had suffered this same irrigation from their cocks, filling with their semen and sperm. She'd never before experienced an ejaculation on this scale and from this perspective—no woman had; now that she had, however, she felt a kinship toward her own pussy. She felt sympathetic to her cunt and the near-violence of repeated ejaculations (to say nothing of her male partners' repeated pelvic thrusts and penile jabs) that it must endure.

The semen carried Buffy to the opening of the cunt, and, as it oozed forth, she rode a crest outside, onto the limestone lips of the pussy's labia.

 

She'd lost precious time, and Willow was still in the hands—or claws—or tentacles

--of the demons who'd abducted her. For all Buffy knew, they might, even now, be having their way with the witch. Buffy had already had visions of what demons "having their way" with Willow might represent, and she didn't want to think about that again—it had been horrible. Instead, the semen still running in slow, meandering streams down her breasts, belly, genitals, thighs, back, and ass, and the sperm still frantically darting up and down and across her bare flesh, Buffy waded through the pool of semen that had washed back out of the planet's pussy and made her way across the solid rock of the labia. She resumed her trek toward the north, at a right angle to the sun that, now that dusk was at hand, was sinking in the west. She hoped that the sphere of light with which Willow had been directing her might reappear to direct her again, but she had no real hope that it would. Unless the ball of light did reappear, the gigantic fortress atop the ice mountains to the north seemed Buffy's best chance at locating Willow's captors.

The extreme oddity of a planet's being equipped with a pussy occurred to the Buffy, of course, but she dismissed the thought. In her career as a vampire slayer, she'd seen countless bizarre phenomena. A planet pussy was weird, no doubt, but it wasn't necessarily any stranger than many of the things Buffy had witnessed, including her possession of male genitals in addition to her own pussy, courtesy of the Feral demon's bite she'd received yesterday—or had it been centuries ago? Time seemed to stretch toward eternity in this damned demon dimension. Poor Willow must feel as if she'd been here lifetimes already, suffering the unspeakable acts perpetrated by her demonic abductors.

She did consider one thought, though, as she trekked toward the mountains of ice. It was one to which her mind returned from time to time, for, although any final answer was elusive, the topic was irresistibly interesting to her, possibly because, as the Slayer, she had seen so many bizarre spectacles. She'd even researched the subject—a little—when she'd attended Sunnydale High and, later—for a brief period, at least—UC Sunnydale.

Why did people—and, apparently, demons—find that which was perverse to be so engrossing, even, oftentimes, titillating. As an example, she considered her current hermaphroditic state. When she'd awakened yesterday, she'd been horrified to observe that, in addition to her pussy, she now sported both a cock and a pair of balls. She'd always found a penis and a scrotum full of testicles a handsome, exciting sight before, when they'd adorned the masculine physiques of her male lovers. When she'd seen male genitals protruding from her own groin, however, she'd shuddered at the sight. They'd filled her with disgust. Immediately, she'd wondered how to get rid of them. Over time, as she'd become accustomed to them, she began to enjoy the sight of the male genitals, especially after the dangling, flaccid penis had become erect and stood upright and proud before her girl's tummy. Having breasts, a pussy, a rounded ass, shapely legs—and a cock and balls—was exciting. It felt somehow wicked and, at the same time, delightful. It felt sinful.

Buffy recalled watching Xander fuck the guy on his construction crew. Unannounced, Buffy had come to see Xander after she'd visited Willow's motel room and had found that the witch wasn't home. Admitted by Xander's dad, Buffy had descended the stairs to the basement, which Xander had converted into an apartment that he rented from his parents. When she'd seen Xander and his friend in action, she'd uncovered her friend's deepest secret. Xander, whom she, like everyone else, had always supposed was thoroughly into chicks, was a bisexual. Talk about something incongruous! The sight of a stiff, hard cock shoved through the wide-stretched anus of another man, whose own half-erect prick and balls are left to jiggle and sway between his spread thighs while he is brutally assaulted, was totally inconsistent with Buffy's image of both Xander and men in general. All the guys she'd ever known, except Larry, one of her high school's jocks, was heterosexual. Seeing Xander pumping his cock inside another man's ass had been shocking, to say the least. Nevertheless, once she'd processed the information, she'd found the memory of seeing Xander in such a compromising position to have been—and to be—very arousing. Even the thought that his cock and balls were doomed to failure in the sense that they could never fulfill their biological destiny by impregnating another male was exciting to Buffy because the frustration of the genitals' purpose—and, on a more cosmic level, she realized, God's will—was, although evil and sinful, titillating.

Two women having sex was also sexy because forbidden. When she herself had had sex with Anya, Buffy had been more than merely aroused. Licking the demon's pussy had been heaven. Of course, even the thought of lesbian sex should have seemed like hell to both Buffy and Anya. Instead, Xander's former fiancée had enjoyed Buffy's tongue action as much as the Slayer had enjoyed slurping, licking, and lapping at the hard bud of Anya's erect clitoris and the dewy petals of her wet, slick labia. The very idea that she was performing cunnilingus upon another woman was wildly thrilling—and not simply because of the physical sensations—indeed, the thrill was more due to the perverse nature of the act than anything else. Two women could no more conceive a child than could two men, especially when their only form of sex was oral. The inner tissues of Anya's watermelon-red cunt, the flood of her warm juices, and the slick lips of her labia against Buffy's probing, lapping tongue, like the proximity of the demon's hairy cleft, was exciting in the extreme, and Buffy's own pussy had been soaked behind the stiff male organ that jutted from her downy pubes.

The ancient Greeks had known something of the excitement that manipulating nature could effect. What was a centaur, for example, but a reshaping of creation? Nature had made horses and men as separate creatures; in combining them, the Greeks had transformed nature, flouting the will of the Creator. The same was true, in general, of all art. For example, the Beatles, not God, had created "kaleidoscope eyes" and "marmalade skies," just as, from his observations of, and thoughts upon, life and human nature, William Shakespeare had created Hamlet, Prince of Denmark and hundreds of other fictitious characters. Each was his creation, not God's, just as each of his plays was his version of reality, not God's.

The thought that the frustration of God's will should be sexy, should be arousing, was also very disturbing, for, she knew, that sinners—unrepentant sinners—would suffer forever in hell. Damnation was the ultimate price that one must pay for delighting in the ways of the flesh and the ways of the devil, for "the wages of sin are death. " To be delighted at the prospect of eternal anguish was astonishing, but isn't that what alternative sexuality, centaurs, Hamlet, demons, and her own hermaphroditic state suggest, ultimately? Weren't they all frustrations and perversions of the will of God? It seemed that, as a Slayer, Buffy served the will of God, for she was his scourge, but did she not, at the same time, serve her own will—and, possibly other wills as well, which were, at times, at least, antithetical to the will of God? Wasn't a delight in wickedness itself a wickedness? Wasn't an attraction to that which was perverse an act of sin? If so, did such an attraction lead, eventually and inevitably, to an endless, tormented existence in just such a demon dimension as the one in which Buffy found herself at the moment?

Although, as she walked through the darkening, twilight countryside, Buffy continuously wiped the coating of semen from her bare body, it seemed that she couldn't wipe away the thick, viscid seed completely. She still felt the squirming, wriggling sperm as they swam this way and that across her breasts, belly, groin, legs, back, and ass. She made a face as she remembered, from her biology class, that sperm—human sperm, at any rate—could live for twenty-four hours or more after they'd been ejaculated. Did that mean that she'd still be covered with writhing sperm as late as tomorrow evening? It would be just her luck, Buffy thought, sighing.

The Slayer stepped on something that felt nothing like earth or rock or plant. It was shaped like a cylinder, and it was as thick as her wrist. It wasn't soft, but it gave under the pressure of her bare foot, and she sprang back, thinking she'd stepped on some sort of serpent. Then, a safe distance from the snake or whatever it was she'd stepped on, Buffy gazed down at the ground. Her eyes widened at the impossible thing she saw. She hadn't stepped on a snake, and she hadn't stepped on a vine or a root. She'd stepped on a phallus! All around her, as far as she could see, the demon plain was thick with phalli. They grew from the prairie, the way that cacti or mushrooms might grow, in profusion, but, instead of being composed of leaves and stems, these phalli were fleshly. They grew out of the ground, like plants, but they were erect penises, with fleshly shafts, pink, domed glans, and thick blue veins. Some were topped with clear drops of dewy fluid. She wondered whether their testicles grew, like bulbs, beneath the ground. Could these fleshly penis-plants impregnate or would they be sterile? Buffy certainly did not want to know.

The Slayer didn't remember seeing this small forest of phalli before she'd begun to trek cross country, but, then again, she'd been lost in her own thoughts until now, speculating upon why some people, herself included, seemed fascinated with the bizarre, the eerie, the uncanny, the paranormal, and the supernatural each day. Maybe she'd been walking among them for several minutes without being aware of them. Fine, she thought, This was just what she needed—a fresh crop of stiff, hard cocks. This was one fucking weird planet, even for a demon dimension.

She shook her head, deciding to quicken her stride. There were hundreds, probably thousands of the pricks, on every hand, but she could clear them—she hoped—before twilight turned to darkness. If possible, she'd just as soon not camp in the middle of a forest of erect penises. Camp? She hadn't thought she'd be spending the night in this godless place, but, now, it was obvious she would. She judged that there was only half an hour of daylight left, if that, and she hadn't found Willow. In fact, she had no idea, really, where the witch was. She wasn't leaving without her best friends, though, not if she had to spend a dozen or a hundred or a thousand nights on this wild world. Even so, she didn't have to sleep upon a prairie full of cocks.

Walking much faster, Buffy watched her step, dodging the pricks that jutted from the ground. The penises were from five to twelve inches, pink, brown, reddish-brown, and black in color, with pink, purple, chocolate, or muddy brown mushroom heads. Some ran with a white, sticky fluid. It wasn't sap, Buffy suspected, but semen. Perhaps, as she'd imagined, they did have subterranean testicles.

Although she hurried, Buffy stepped high. She stepped gingerly. She stepped cautiously. She hadn't liked the feel of the cock under her bare foot, soft but not squishy and round despite her having flattened it. She didn't want to step on another one.

Instead, she tripped over one—a big one.

She fell headlong into a patch of the damned things. She felt wetness against her cheeks and chin and lips. Licking her lips, she tasted salt and realized that the moisture was semen. The cocks glistened with the fluid of their thick, viscid seed. She grunted in disgust as she shoved herself away from the foul members. Getting a knee under herself, she started to stand when a much longer penis, wavering in the air behind her as if it were the tentacle of some predatory beast, rammed itself between the smooth, round cheeks of her bare ass, seeking the tight little opening within the sleek, compact globes. Reaching behind her, Buffy seized the trespassing organ in her fists and yanked it from between her buttocks. Holding it at bay, she stood, just as a second cock sprang up between her legs, darting between her labia and into her pussy. Keeping a grip with one hand on the first prick, Buffy now grasped the second with her other hand, wresting it from her cunt. She felt like the infant Hercules, strangling the snakes that the jealous Hera had sent to kill him in his cradle. A third penis rose past the Slayer's breasts, shoving itself between her lips and into her mouth. It was thick and hard. As it slithered into her throat, she choked, her eyes widening in fear. Releasing one of the other attacking cocks, she pulled the third member from her gullet. The released penis streaked toward her pussy, and she stepped back, stumbling over a clump of pricks that grew directly behind her. Tripping, she fell, and a bed of penises looped over her, their purple and muddy brown tips seeking to pierce and to penetrate her anywhere they could gain an entrance. Several probed her anus. Others prodded her cunt. Still others poked at her mouth. Once or twice, a penis also shoved itself against her ears and eyes. Buffy shrieked, afraid that she might be fucked deaf and blind by the lively, writhing cocks.

(continued)

  

  

  

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