Ship of Fools

“Mom!” Joyce turned, her dominant daughter was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a pale pink T-shirt. Joyce had been awaiting this nervously all day – it had been white until Joyce had accidentally put it in with the coloureds.

“I’m sorry,” Joyce looked at the floor contritely.

“It’s ruined,” said Buffy, “a brand new top. It’s all pink.”

“I know Buffy, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” said Joyce, she looked up, “I’m making some brownies.”

Her daughter refused to be mollified, she dropped the T-shirt in the bin, “It’s just not good enough. I’m out risking my life – any vampire that saw me wearing that would die – laughing. Wash your hands and then come up to my room.”

Joyce watched her daughter stomp off, she still looked damn sexy. She ran her hands up the tap, dried them and followed Buffy to her room. The teenager was sitting on her bed, tapping her foot with impatience, “What took you?”

Joyce didn’t reply, she just lowered her head apologetically. She could see her feet were automatically fidgeting, more like a naughty schoolgirl, than a grown woman.

“That was just slack,” Buffy continued, “I would let you off with just a telling off if I thought it would make any difference, but just because we’re fucking doesn’t mean you can stop being my Mom and doing the chores. God knows, I have enough on.”

“Yes, Buffy,” Joyce refused to meet her daughter’s eye. She had been a bad Mom and she knew it.

“I can see the only thing you’re going to understand is a spanking,” said Buffy.

“I’ll try harder,” Joyce said meekly, but internally her stomach was turning cartwheels. Buffy had Slayer strength; it was bound to hurt and being paddled by your eighteen-year-old daughter would be humiliating for anyone. But at the same time Joyce wanted to please Buffy and she had a feeling her daughter had been looking for an excuse for several days. Was that, Joyce wondered, why she had accidentally slipped the T-shirt into the wrong basket – to allow Buffy to punish her.

“Take off your panties,” ordered Buffy.

Without a word Joyce obediently obeyed. She reached up and pulled her panties down to her ankles, standing up she held them in her hand, until Buffy gestured for her to drop them.

“Pick up the table tennis bat and pass it to me,” Buffy’s voice had an edge of excitement beneath the sterness.

Joyce reached over and picked it up, her hand was shaking as she past the bat to Buffy. She had assumed Buffy would use her hand, painful enough, but not nearly as sore as being spanked by a table tennis bat was going to be. She waited dutifully as Buffy gave a few practice swings, before looking at her Mom again, “Over my knee.”

Again Joyce obeyed, resting her stomach over Buffy's thighs and dangling her legs and arms helplessly over the floor. Buffy pulled up her Mom’s skirt and Joyce could feel the coolness of the air play over her naked skin. For a few seconds Buffy was silent savouring the pale skin of her Mom’s naked cheeks.

“I think twelve should be enough, don’t you,” Buffy said.

“Yes, Buffy,” agreed Joyce, wondering if she should have suggested less, or even more.

“Count them out,” Buffy ordered.

The bat cracked against Joyce’s butt and the Mom squealed in pain as red-hot shoots of agony flooded across her skin, “One,” she cried out.

She had no time to recover, before Buffy laid the bat across her ass a second time, the rubber covering biting deep into the flesh, like a million pinpricks, “Two,” screamed Joyce.

“Three,” she cried again.

“Four,” the bat thwacked down with force, the crack of it hitting her flesh sounding like an explosion.

“It’s for your own good,” intoned Buffy, using the time-honoured phrase of parents and teachers everywhere.

“Yes, Buffy,” Joyce nodded, she could fear a tear trickling down her face. They were only a third of the way through and already her ass felt like it had been dipped in acid.

Buffy raised the bat again, slamming it down so hard that Joyce felt herself being driven down into Buffy thighs, “Five,” she gasped.

“Six,” even as she screamed out the words, Buffy brought the paddle down in exactly the same spot, “Seven.”

Buffy paused for a few seconds, her spare hand rubbing over Joyce’s warm backside. Normally the touch of Buffy’s fingers on her skin was enjoyable, but with her ass as sore as it was the movement just sent further bursts of pain.

Swish! Crack! The bat pounded on Joyce’s ass, the two cheeks springing with the impact, “Eight!” squeaked Joyce.

“Nine, ten,” she cried out, tears were rolling down her cheeks, she could taste the salt as they brushed over her lips.

“Eleven!” the pain was agonising, a flaming explosion wracking her ass and flooding her nerve endings. Joyce waited for the final blow, “Twelve!”

“You can get up now,” said Buffy. Joyce pulled herself off her daughter’s thighs. It was so sore she could barely stand. Buffy gave her a smile and Joyce felt her stomach shoot to her heart. The teen put down the bat beside her and looked at her Mom “I don’t want to have to spank you, but I’ll do it if I have too.”

“Yes, Buffy” Joyce said meekly, “I understand. I’ll do better – I promise I will.”

“Okay, let’s forget about this,” Buffy smiled.

Joyce nodded in gratitude. She turned her ass towards the mirror and lifted her skirt, so she could see the damage. Her ass was glowing, with little indentations where the rubber had bitten in, making her ass look like a field of rabbit warrens under a red dawn sky. She dropped the skirt, “Thank you Buffy.”

*

“You want slaves – we got ‘em,” the red skinned demon, Kate wasn’t sure of his type, gestured with his hands towards a line-up of chained women, “busty ones, skinny ones, old ones, young ones. They’ll do anything – won’t you bitches,” the women nodded, “and if you’re tastes run different,” the demon carried on down the line to a group of men chained together wearing nothing, but posing pouches, “we got’ em too.”

The camera panned away and the demon walked towards it, “Come to our auction house today – good quality slaves at a price you can afford.”

Kate switched off the television, of the many changes in the last two years, legal slavery being advertised on prime time was the strangest, or perhaps not. She put aside the empty plate and reached for the file, she had read it dozens of times already, so often she could probably quote in verbatim. But she reread it because by some miracle there might be something she’d missed, some clue to why the higher-ups were letting Faith get away with murder.

There was a knock on the apartment door. Kate shut the file and slid it into her bag, it was against LAPD policy to take documents out of the office, she didn’t want a nosy neighbour spotting it and reporting her to Internal Affairs. She opened the door; no-one was there. She gazed down the passage, no sign of life disturbed the tranquillity.

“Fucking kids,” muttered Kate to herself, as she turned to go in she saw the package on the floor. She picked it up, it was light, curiosity overcome caution. Closing the door behind her she opened the package, a DVD and a folded note were within. She looked at the note, “Darla and Faith were lovers,” it read. Kate sucked in, the file had always said that Faith was the deepthroat in the Slayer’s Council, something which the media rumoured at, but it said nothing about her and Darla.

She picked up the DVD and slotted it into her machine, fuzz of static shot across the screen to slowly fade to reveal a black and white, grainy scene of what looked like a hotel room. Kate had seen enough surveillance video’s to recognise one, though who had filmed it or why remained a mystery. The second question didn’t remain unanswered for long. Into view stepped Faith, she was younger and happy, not the sardonic, sullen ex-Slayer who had stared across at Kate at the interview table. She was also naked apart from a pair of suspenders, probably white, but definitely light coloured. She seemed to be talking to someone, but whoever had filmed it had either not bothered with sound or someone had wiped it before it came to Kate. On screen Faith laughed, her face creased in amusement at an unheard comment. She got on the bed, jumping on her hands and knees. Her ass wiggled at the person out of view and again she laughed, it wasn’t unattractive. Darla came into view, she too was naked, apart from a strap-on. The two women kissed, before Darla started to guide the dildo into Faith. Kate watched with fascination as Darla started to bang back and forth, her face contorted in enjoyment. Below her Faith was silently screaming in pleasure. For the benefit of her neighbours Kate was glad there was no sound. Suddenly the screen went blank – it didn’t matter; the evidence that Darla and Faith had once been intimate was conclusive.

*

Once Willy’s Place had been the seediest bar in Sunnydale. Hidden down a side street, it was not a place casual drinkers chanced on by accident, and those that did very seldom left it alive. Now, it was Sunnydale’s trendiest drinking place, at least for those that could afford it – which meant mainly demons and a few very rich humans. The factory opposite, which had once shielded it from view, had been replaced with a car park – filled with vehicles that the average person would have taken twenty years of strict saving to afford. But money couldn’t buy class, thought Willow, the neon sign winked like a demented dust mote, flashing a garish display of colours onto the street as it advertised ‘beer, food, hookers’. Another sign below it blinked less frequently, “Sunnydale Tours – Home of the Hellmouth”. That was what Sunnydale had become; a tourist destination for demons who wanted a nostalgia buzz.

With a sigh Willow, unclipped her seat belt, gave her Mom a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and headed towards the staff entrance. Money was tight; taxes on humans had risen to pay for the war and unemployment amongst academics, such as her Mom, was high – free thinking being frowned upon. She opened the door and walked down the corridor to the changing room.

It was like it was every Friday night, half a dozen waitresses stripping from their work clothes to a pair of suspender belts and high heels. Willow began to strip, placing her clothes in the cheap locker that Willy provided. It wasn’t the greatest Saturday job in the world, but at least it paid – not as much as the performers, but then she didn’t have to give blowjobs through glory holes or bounce on a demon’s cock for the amusement of the clientele.

“Hurry up,” Willy entered the room clapping his hands in agitation, “if I wanted you to stand around doing nothing I’d put it in your contracts.”

Willow put on the last touches of her make-up and started to follow the other waitresses out. As she reached the door, Willy grabbed her arm, “You in trouble?”

Willow shook her head, “No, I don’t think so.”

“There’s a woman out there, asked when you were on. Told me to send her your way when you came in,” he shrugged, “Told her you came in at seven.”

“I don’t do that sort of thing,” Willow protested, “I wait tables, that’s all.”

There was another shrug from Willy, “We all need to make a living, hun. She’s at table fifteen – go see her. What you do is your business.”

He let go off Willow’s arm and gave a sad smile. Willow smiled back, Willy wasn’t bad – he was just like everyone else trying to make a go off it in a fucked up world. Steeling herself Willow walked out into the bar. As normal it was crowded, dancers gyrating on stage to the calls of two dozen different types of demon. Liquids and foods to fit all tastes and palettes were being trotted out by semi-naked waitresses – the more expert among them deftly avoiding the outstretch paws and hands; the less adept squeaking in disapproval as their naked butts were pinched. Willow sidled through the throng and approached table fifteen.

There was only one occupant, human or at least with the appearance of one, she sat ignoring the dancers and ribaldry, reading, of all things, Tolstoy’s War and Peace. She looked up as Willow approached, “Dressed to impress,” she drawled with a Texas accent, “I’m Winifred Burkle, but everyone call’s me Fred.”

“Willow – you already know that don’t you?” Willow stood beside the table, unsure whether to sit or take Fred’s order.

Fred made the decision for her. She reached over and pushed an empty chair away from the table, “Take a seat.” She slid a business card across the table, the logo of the Department for Non-Human Sentient Relations prominently emblazoned on it’s top.

Willow sat and waited for Fred to speak. The other didn’t seem in any hurry to do so, instead she took a sip of her wine and looked Willow up and down. The redhead blushed, normally she was used to the customers looking at her naked body, but it was different when you were sitting directly opposite them – it really hit that your tits and pussy was on display and there’s wasn’t. Finally Fred spoke, “You tested for magical latency didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Willow nodded, “I haven’t used it. I haven’t got a licence. I don’t break the law.” Lawbreakers, especially magical ones, tended to end up in Slave Auctions, or according to some rumours even worse.

“I’m sure you haven’t,” grinned Fred, “you know why you weren’t given a licence?”

Willow shook her head. The Department for Magical Affairs had sent a curt letter, telling her that no licence would be granted and any attempt to use magic would result in the full majesty of the law falling on top of her. There was no appeal.

“It’s because you’re too close to a Slayer,” she paused, longer than was needed before adding, “Sorry, I meant ex-Slayer.”

“Buffy’s not a Slayer any more,” Willow felt the need to confirm what Fred had just said, there was something about the tone of the other woman’s voice which suggested she found the idea that Buffy had given up slaying humorous, “She’s accepted the Watcher’s Council was wrong. We all have.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” replied Fred, with an expression which said that she didn’t believe it at all, “Still there’s plenty of high ups in the Department for Non-Human Sentient Relations who question whether that’s too big a risk” she shrugged as if the matter was off no importance, “Higher you go the more you deal with politics – it isn’t my business whether Buffy should be in protective custody or not.”

Willow frowned, she wasn’t sure whether that was a threat against her best friend. If it was Fred would find Willow was made of sterner stuff that to submit to blackmail; at least Willow hoped Fred would.

“Mind you I could see about getting you your licence; you just need to do a little job for the Department,” Fred took another sip of the wine.

Here it was the offer – Willow paused, hoping she held the silence long enough to appear like she was only vaguely curious, “What’s the job?”

“Well it’s really Buffy we want, or rather her skills – though for obvious reasons we’re not sure she’d be overjoyed if we gave her a call,” Fred smiled as if she had cracked a funny joke.

“No,” Willow agreed, “I guess not.”

“In a few days a couple of Gorgorth demons will be coming to Sunnydale, it seems their ambassador is missing – which given the current situation with Gorgorth demanding that humanity steps up to the plate to fight our shared enemies – is unfortunate. We don’t want whatever happened to the ambassador to happen to the investigators. Negotiations with the Gorgorth at a tricky stage; we’re trying to limit the number of new soldiers we have to send to the warzone. And if we can’t protect the Gorgorths here, they’re likely to not be happy non-human Sentients. I want you to persuade Buffy to protect them, and in return…” Fred trailed off, but her smile told Willow that she was offering a deal.

“I’ll think about it,” replied Willow. Protecting demons struck against every principle she held, but if she got her licence… well humanity needed powerful witches more than it needed the death of two minor foot soldiers of a middle-ranking demonic power.

*

Stepping out of the shower, Fred reached for her towel. She started patting down her long, brown hair as she walked naked into her bedroom, Willow had been as easy to reel in as a suicidal shrimp. She had expected the redhead to be harder, she had, after all, once hunted with a Slayer. Still, that had been a long time ago – everyone made compromises now, it was the nature of humanity to adapt.

There was the sound of movement in the main room. Fred tensed, she was alone, no lover or friend awaiting her. Her job made her lots of enemies, and many of them wanted her dead. She dropped the towel and reached into her bedside cabinet. A browning 9mm lay, its dark contours glinting evilly at her. She took it out and reached for a box of bullets, she shook heavily as she slid them into the magazine. She’d done it loads of times on the range, but it felt different for real. Opening the door she moved out as confidently as she could, “Stay still!”

“Unless those bullets are wooden, all they’re going to do is give me a splitting headache,” Darla said dryly. She looked up from the couch and crossed her legs, her cool eyes moved up and down Fred, apprising her naked body, “Caught you at a bad time?”

“No,” Fred slid back the safety catch and ejected the magazine, “let me get a towel.”

“No hurry,” grinned Darla, “Anyway you might as well get dressed we’re going clubbing.”

Fred hurried back into her room; it wasn’t often she saw Darla in the flesh, normally the vampire called and gave her instructions. It unnerved her that Darla had turned up unannounced; even though the vampire owned the flat and didn’t strictly speaking needed an invitation it would still have been polite to warn her. A few minutes later Fred was ready, her hair was still damp, but she didn’t think Darla would want to wait.

“Have you got a club in mind?” asked Fred as she locked the door behind her.

“The Bronze,” Darla replied, she led Fred towards her sports car, “Did I ever mention I almost got staked by Buffy there – an inch higher and I’d have been dust.”

“You never said,” replied Fred, not sure if Darla was looking for an answer or not. The vampire didn’t reply, instead she unlocked the doors and jumped into the car.

They zoomed towards the Bronze, the Vampire ignoring all speed signs and red-lights. It would take a brave traffic cop to book any demon, never mind one who sat on the Non-Human Sentients Council. Darla screeched into a parking space just outside the Bronze. Fred followed her into the club, like Darla flashing her ID – free entrance was a perk of having a card from the Department.

“How’s your pick-up technique?” Darla shouted above the throbbing guitars.

“My what?” yelled Fred back, not sure she’d heard.

“Pick-up technique – getting into others pants,” Darla clarified.

There was a shrug from Fred, “I get enough.”

Darla grinned, “You can never get enough in my opinion,” she walked over to a free table and sat down, Fred joined her. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Darla scanning the dance floor and Fred trying to follow the vampire’s eye movements to see what she was looking at. Suddenly Darla’s stopped and a smile spread over her face as she pointed, “You recognise her?”

Fred followed the vampire’s finger, a teenager in a short dress was dancing energetically, her long hair flying about her head like tendrils, “I’ve done my research, that’s Dawn Summers, the Slayer’s sister.”

“She’s supposed to be easy,” Darla said.

“So the files say,” responded Fred, her brow creased into a frown, “Why?”

“Yours not to reason why,” misquoted Darla, “Get her a drink and see where it goes.”

It went surprisingly well, Dawn didn’t even need any alcohol, just a coke and Fred could feel the teenager’s body rubbing against her on the dance floor. She shot a smirk at Darla and pulled Dawn closer. Through the thin T-shirt she could feel Dawn’s nipple slide across her body. The teenager’s hands were on her buttocks and as the music slowed down Dawn rested her head on top of Fred’s tits, Fred was sure if she’d been topless Dawn’s mouth would have been open and she’d have been suckling like a new born lamb.

“…” Dawn said.

Fred disentangled herself enough to move closer, “What?”

“I said you want to go for a walk to cool off?” shouted Dawn.

Fred nodded, they walked from the dance floor, hands lightly clasping the other’s ass. Fred swung a look at Darla as she exited. The vampire was watching a slight smile on her face; it was more enigmatic than the Mona Lisa.

Without air conditioning, the summer night wasn’t much cooler than the Bronze. And Fred felt her own temperature sky rocket as Dawn opened her mouth and kissed her. The teenager’s hand swung down to Fred’s butt, clawing desperately as she lifted Fred’s dress to get at the flesh underneath. Fred let Dawn guide her away from the entrance to a secluded bench, hidden by some trees from the highway and the club entrance.

“You’re cute,” Dawn held both Fred’s hands in hers, “Want me to eat you?”

Fred was taken aback by the teen’s bluntness, if Darla was using this as a test of Fred’s seduction skills she’d chosen the wrong target. She smiled at the attractive teen, “You’re cute too, and yes.”

With her dress hoisted up the wooden bench felt cool against Fred’s naked ass. She pulled the dress higher and then let it drop back down over Dawn’s head as the teen got between her thighs. The dress bumped up and down, not that Fred noticed. She just closed her eyes and savoured the feel of Dawn’s tongue touching her flesh. The teen ran over the lips, wiping away the first traces of Fred’s girl cum.

“Oooohhh,” Fred clenched her fists as Dawn slid her tongue into the damp hole with the skill of the expert. Dawn’s slurps were audible, even above Fred’s throaty moans of pleasure. The teenager was doing delicious things to Fred’s clit and the older woman felt the orgasm rising in her.

“Fuck,” she gasped and let herself go, the waves of joy crashing through her body like an avalanche. Her fingers flexed in and out uncontrollably and her entire body arched as if electricity was pumping through her. There was a pause and Dawn’s headed popped out from under the dress, looking like a long haired mole coming up for air. The teen smiled, and a dribble of girl cum drip from her lips, “Enjoy that?”

“Yes,” Fred panted, as her nerves slowly returned to normal.

“Good,” replied Dawn, “I’ll see you later – my friend will be wondering where I’ve gone.”

Fred watched her go, she’d heard of ‘wham-bang thank you ma’am’ sex, but Dawn had taken it to a new art form. Standing up she rearranged her dress, so that casual observers wouldn’t notice it had recently been half way up her midriff and re-entered the Bronze. Darla was sitting where she left her. The vampire’s eyebrows raised as Fred sat down, “I take it you managed to fuck her?”

“Yeah, but it was hardly a meeting of minds,” Fred paused and looked at the dance floor full of gyrating teens and twenty somethings, “Why did you want me to seduce her? What’s the plan?”

“Oh, no plan,” Darla grinned back, “I just thought after all your hard work you could do some fun.”