Ship of Fools

“Happy Birthday Buffy,” Joyce crawled from underneath the kitchen table, her daughter’s cum still dripping from her face. The Milf loved that Buffy was a gusher, her juice always tasted so sweet and Buffy could produce lots of it.

“Great birthday pressie, Mom,” enthused Buffy. Her thighs were damp where the juice had splashed against them and her face was red as she recovered from the high she’d been on seconds before.

“That’s not your present,” Joyce gave an adoring look at her lover. She chose her next words carefully to make sure that Buffy didn’t think she was trying to boss her, “If you want to get dressed we can go into town and get your main present.”

“Go and shower and then we’ll go into Sunnydale,” Buffy ordered. To have said anything else would have meant she was following her Mom, this way she remained in control as both she and Joyce wanted.

Joyce quickly stepped into the shower, washing away the sweat and cum which had accumulated on her skin. She had thought long and hard about what to get Buffy for her eighteenth. It was a special day and Joyce wanted something her daughter would remember and enjoy always; for ages she hadn’t been able to think of anything. But a couple of nights ago, as she lay on her front waiting for her back hole to shrink to a more respectable size after Buffy’s ass pounding, it had struck her. The perfect gift for her perfect lover.

“Hurry up,” shouted Buffy.

Joyce quickly stepped out of the shower and into the bedroom, galvanised by her daughter’s impatience. A few minutes she was ready, wearing one of the low cut tops that Buffy favoured and her lips painted a garish red. Shortly after that they were in the car and heading towards Sunnydale centre.

*

A rucksack, not even a large one; it wasn’t much to show for seventeen years on this earth. But it still contained everything Faith owned, apart from the clothes she was wearing. She took one last look at the apartment, less for any sorrow about leaving, but more to make sure there was nothing she would need to come back for. It was as soulless as when she had lived there.

She shut the door behind her and walked down the stairs, the lift, as usual, was broken. No one put their heads out their doors to say goodbye; like everyone else in the apartment block she lived here in anonymity and that was the way she liked it. She didn’t think the same would be true of Sunnydale; she’d never been there before, but she’d heard of it. It had been busy enough when there’d been the Hellmouth under the High School. But there were now easier and more comfortable routes from the other dimensions and all that Sunnydale had now was a minor tourist industry; catering to demons with a nostalgia kick.

About half a dozen taxi’s ignored her, until one deigned to pull over, “The Greyhound station, near South Alameda Street,” she instructed the driver.

He grunted something, which Faith took as an affirmative, and as he drove in the right direction she didn’t mention his surliness. Nowadays you had a right to be grumpy. She sat back in her seat and watched the city crawl by. She wasn’t sorry to be leaving, the pollution, people and bad memories gave her no reason to say. But she still wasn’t sure why she was heading to Sunnydale, sure Fred had asked her to go and the delectable Dawn and Janice had suggested she visit for another bout. But hell, she was still attractive and attractive women could get fucked anywhere if they fancied it. And Fred’s invite was to help fight a war between demons, as if Faith cared which bunch of scum actually won. But still she was going, like a moth attracted to a flame…

But she was aware that moths that flew to close got themselves burned…

*

“The Town Hall?” asked Buffy. She raised an eyebrow quizzically; it seemed a strange place to take her for her birthday, unless her Mom was planning to hold a celebration that she was now able to vote.

“Yes,” Joyce gave an excited grin and almost ran up the steps. Buffy followed her. Inside the place was almost empty, a lot of powers had been transferred under emergency legislation. A couple of suited middle aged men stood in the corner of the lobby discussing what was left, dog licences or waste collection, perhaps.

Joyce turned round as Buffy came up behind her, “Buffy, I want to give you something special for your eighteenth…”

“Sounds good Mom,” interrupted Buffy, looking around for a hidden box.

Joyce bowed her head, letting Buffy interrupt and only when she was sure that she wouldn’t be talking over her did she continue, “I want to give you me.”

“You mean…” Buffy was astounded, pleased yes, but hell this was one hell of a present.

“Yes, Buffy, I want to make it official,” Joyce got down on her knees and looked up at Buffy, “I want to be your slave.”

Town councils may have lost a lot of powers, but a new one they’d got was the right to do voluntary enslavement ceremonies. You could get all sorts, ranging from a few weeks to life, with the slaves loosing all rights during the time they were enslaved. Some of the stronger contracts even gave the owner the right of life and death over their slave, and others gave the owner the ability to sell the slave. Most of them didn’t go that far; they were short term between a creditor and a debtor that couldn’t pay or between a dom and their sub. And of course most slaves weren’t voluntary, but were criminals or from towns who’d been unable to meet their conscript quota for the army.

It took Buffy all of a millisecond to say, “Yes,” she would be the first person in High School to own a slave, even Cordelia and Harmony hadn’t got one, though Harmony’s parents had recently bought one to manage the garden.

Joyce stood up, a happy smile on her face. She glanced over to a door, “Enslavement Unit” was stencilled on the glass pane. Buffy stepped towards it, motioning for Joyce to follow. The soon to be slave trotted after her.

A bored looking official in her early thirties looked up, “You here for voluntary enslavement,” she said through a wad of gum.

“Yes, she is” Buffy pointed at her Mom, she proudly added, “I’m going to be the mistress.”

The official rooted in a draw and pulled out a couple of forms, “Fill these in,” she slid them over the desk towards Buffy and Joyce. There was only one seat, Buffy took it.

“How long for?” asked the official, as she pulled out a third form to fill in herself.

“Life?” asked Joyce hopefully.

Buffy ignored her, “Until I get bored off her.”

“Can’t do that – need to have a specific time,” the official said, “Tell you what put down life, with a sales clause. That way you can get rid of her when you’re bored or free her, if that takes your fancy instead.”

“Okay,” Buffy ticked the boxes suggested.

“Fill in this form,” the official passed Joyce another piece of paper, “That transfers all your assets to your mistress, forever.”

Hastily Joyce signed and passed it back, as if she was worried that Buffy might change her mind about enslaving her. Buffy took her time, she wasn’t in any hurry and she didn’t want to make a mistake; trying to sort out bureaucratic hiccups wasn’t her idea of a relaxing time.

Once the forms were signed and dated the official stapled them together. She picked up a rubber stamp, “The law says I need to check that you understand that by entering this contract your giving up all rights…ya de yah.”

Joyce nodded, “I do,” her voice was a whisper of anticipation.

The rubber stamp hit the paper so hard that it made the desk bounce.

“Okay,” the official stood up, “I officially announce,” she looked down at the papers, “Joyce Summers is the property of Buffy Summers.

“Congratulations, Buffy, seems like a fine slave you have there,” she continued in the same deadpan voice she’d used for the rest of the ceremony, suggesting that the final words were as much a rote as the ones before. Buffy didn’t care, Joyce was a damn good looking slave and Buffy almost salivated at the thought she owned every bit of her.

“A present from Sunnydale Council,” the official passed Buffy a metal collar and a key. Buffy snapped the collar in place round Joyce’s throat, a hook jangled down from the collar; it was empty but there was space in it for a lead and a tag. Dropping the key into her purse, Buffy turned to Joyce, “Come on slave, let’s go shopping and get you kitted out.”

*

It felt, to Fred, like a cattle stampede was happening inside her head. She groaned and hoped the noise at the vague distance of her consciousness would go away and let her die in peace. It was her own fault; after Fred had fucked Dawn, Darla had been in such a good mood she kept ordering more and drinks to the table. Fred should have guessed that a vampires metabolism would be different from a human’s; Darla might be able to put away enough drink to supply a small army, Fred couldn’t.

The doorbell rang again. Whoever was there was persistent. With a grunt of annoyance Fred pushed back the bedclothes. As she stood up the floor swirled like it was whirlpool, by the time she had steadied herself the doorbell had rung again.

“Hold on, I’m coming,” said Fred to herself. She slipped on a dressing gown and headed to the front door.

The light hurt her eyes so much, she briefly wondered if Darla had bitten her, but as she didn’t explode in flames her stupefied brain eventually twigged it was the hangover, “Hello…” her voice scarcely able to rise above a whisper, “… Faith.”

“Hi,” the brunette looked her up and down, a sardonic smile on her face, “Heavy night?”

“Yes, come on in,” Fred gestured her inside and shut the door.

“I came,” said Faith superfluously.

“Good, let me get a glass of water,” Fred didn’t wait for an answer, but stumbled into the kitchen.

“Looks like you need a shower as well,” Faith shouted after her. The loudness of her voice sounded like a buzz saw “I’ll make myself comfortable.”

Thirty minutes later Fred was feeling, if not well, at least better. She headed back downstairs. Faith was sitting on her couch, her feet resting on the coffee table, she was still wearing her boots. She looked up as Fred entered, “I told you a shower would make you feel better.”

Nodding Fred sat down on a seat opposite the Slayer. There was silence for a moment before Faith spoke again, “I decided to swim with the tide, fight your war. It still means killing demons, right?”

“Sometimes,” Fred responded, “Sometimes it means working with them, can you handle that?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Faith’s tone was half mocking, half serious. Again the smile passed her lips, except this time Fred wondered if she had it right when she thought it was sardonic and mocking; it also looked sad.

“I’ve got a spare room, you can have that. It’ll save on a Motel bill,” Fred explained.

“And you can keep an eye on me – make sure I’m a good little girl.”

That was exactly what Fred meant, but she didn’t reply, instead she said, “You know Buffy Summers lives in Sunnydale. Best if you kept out of her way.”

“Nobody likes a traitor, eh,” Faith’s smile was definitely sad.

“Let’s just say in a fight I’d hate to see who’d win,” Fred replied, “You want me to show you to your room?”

“Sure, when does the killing start?”

“When I tell you,” Fred’s response was curt, she paused, awaiting Faith’s response. The Slayer just gave a shrug and picked up her rucksack.

“Whatever you say,” Faith stood up.

“It’ll be soon,” Fred threw the Slayer a metaphorical bone, “And it’ll be against demons. But don’t ask anything more – you’ll be told all you need.”

*

It wasn’t Buffy walking down the street that grabbed Cordelia’s attention. Nor was it that Joyce was trotting behind her dressed in a leather skirt that didn’t cover her cunt and a top that ended beneath her tits. No, what made Cordelia do a double take and swear under her breath in jealousy was that Buffy was leading Joyce by a chain, the end of which was threaded through a couple of nipple rings. In recent years seeing slaves on the streets of Sunnydale, like many places, had become common place. But Buffy was the first student in Sunnydale High; the fact that the slave was her own Mom only increased Cordelia’s jealousy.

“Hi Buffy,” called Harmony. Cordelia gave her a murderous look. It wasn’t that she actively disliked Buffy, she was a fellow cheerleader after all. But she was also an ex-Slayer and Cordelia’s suspected that the powers that be in Government kept a close eye on her. And in turn anyone who was near her would become a suspect of whatever crime the Government wanted to fit them up with.

A quick expression of displeasure crossed Buffy face, then the smile returned and she led Joyce over to Cordelia and Harmony.

“Cool,” cooed Harmony, her eyes fixated on Joyce’s chest and little bit of dribble slid from her mouth, before she licked her lips and forced herself to look at Buffy, “Is she your slave?”

In answer Buffy turned to her Mom, “Show them your ass.”

Obediently Joyce turned and lifted the thin strip of leather masquerading as a skirt. Tattooed high on the cheek was ‘Property of Buffy Summers’.

“We just did it this morning,” explained Buffy, “my birthday present.”

Inwardly Cordelia scowled, for her eighteenth she had been dropping hints about having her own slave; instead her parents had bought her a two-seater sports car – there wasn’t even a back seat for canoodling. For half a minute she sat in uncomfortable silence, holding her cappuccino as Buffy shuffled her feet and looked like she wanted to be elsewhere. Nor, looking at her slave, Cordelia could blame her. Harmony seemed not to notice as she looked agog at Joyce’s ass, “Can I touch?” she asked.

“Sure, go ahead,” replied Buffy.

Harmony leant forward and nipped at the Milf’s butt cheeks, snatching her hand away as if burnt and going red, “Bouncy,” she said.

“I was thinking of bringing her to cheerleader practice tomorrow,” said Buffy, “If you fancy a go.”

Cordelia had always liked Buffy; the ex-Slayer was a friend in a million - so what if the Government was suspicious of her past, it was hardly her fault she’d been suckered into a murderous bunch of fascists, “We’ll be there,” Cordelia grinned.

*

“Happy birthday Buffy,” trilled Willow as her friend opened the door. She didn’t wait for an answer before thrusting the neatly wrapped present into her friend’s hands.

“Thanks Will… come in,” Buffy led the redhead into the main room and unwrapped the present with feverish speed, “Wow thanks, Will,” Buffy held up the strap-on and gave her friend a beaming smile.

“I know you’ve got a couple, but this one has a little clip which vibrates within you when you use it,” explained Willow. She leant forward and flicked the clip to show how it moved.

“Oh a girl can never have enough strap-ons. It certainly beats Dawn’s present,” Buffy gestured at a hardback book sitting on the table, ‘The Little Girls Book of Ponies’ a reduced sticker still covering the show jumpers head, “I think Dawn needs her pocket money increased.”

Willow grinned, “Yeah, or at least find out whether you’re interested in dressage. What did your Mom get you? I bet it was good.”

“I’ll show you… but let’s go upstairs and let me put on your present first.”

That sounded promising and Willow followed her friend to Buffy’s room. It didn’t take them long to get naked. Buffy pulled up the strap-on and with Willow’s help slid the clip, so that it rubbed comfortably against her own clit.

“Slave,” Buffy called out, “Get your ass in here.”

“She bought you a slave?” gasped Willow in surprise.

“Even better…” replied Buffy as her bedroom door opened.

A naked Joyce bowed her head in supplication, “Mistress.”

Willow’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish which suddenly found itself out of its bowl, finally she forced herself to speak, “Oh my God…”

“Great isn’t it,” grinned Buffy. She walked over to Joyce and flicked at her nipple rings, “I can thread a lead through these,” reaching to the Milf’s waist she roughly dragged her round so that Willow was standing behind her. Buffy’s hand slapped down on her Mom’s ass grabbing the flesh round the tattoo, “And we made it official.”

“What a great present,” conceded Willow, she whistled in appreciation, “I’m not sure I mentioned it before, but your Mom has a great butt.”

There was a laugh from Buffy, “You’ve mentioned it. And it’s all mine. You want a go again?”

This time it was Willow’s turn to laugh, “Do I ever.”

“Wanna share?” grinned Buffy.

“Sure,” laughed Willow. She noticed that Joyce gave a little, though she wasn’t sure whether it was excitement or fear, “Shall I go in first – you’re much more supple.”

“Go on,” said Buffy. She pushed Joyce down to her knees and pulled her ass cheeks apart, widening the back hole so that Willow was able to push the dildo up it. There was a little squeak from Joyce as the large plastic phallus entered her. Willow grunted, slowly forcing it downwards, Joyce continued to give little squeals interspersed with sexual grunts, until Willow had it half way in. Buffy put her hand on Willow’s chest, holding her back, “Hey Will, that’s far enough, I want to get in as well.”

Squatting opposite Willow, Buffy took her cock in her hand and began to push down. There was hardly any space between the flesh of the ass wall and the rubber of Willow’s cock, but gradually Buffy began to push it in, her body sweating with the strain and her face contorted in concentration. Joyce let out some very unladylike screams, but the teens ignored her. Willow moved her own strap-on up and down, attempting to widen the hole and let Buffy in. Eventually there combined efforts told and the two dildos were encased in Joyce’s ass.

“Let’s fuck,” grinned Buffy and began to move up and down. For a second Willow paused, calculating her friend’s rhythm, before she began to join. As one went in, the other went out. The yells of Joyce became more subdued and were replaced by quiet orgasmic moans. So close were the teens that every time they moved Will could feel her friend’s hard nipples glance against hers, it just added to the enjoyment. They moved slowly, but hard, over time speeding up as Joyce’s ass became more used to the pounding it was receiving and opening up. After a while they were sweating with exertion and moaning with enjoyment.

“Will,” gasped Buffy suddenly, “I’m about to cum – look out.”

Even as she spoke a gush of cunt juice ripped from her pussy and down the cock. It filled Joyce’s anal cavity and bounced against her cheeks, before spreading on Willow’s thighs. It was warm. Buffy gave a groan and pulled out, leaving Willow on her own. Each thrust acted like a plunger, sending sprays of Buffy’s juice out of Joyce’s ass to trickle down the Milf’s butt and drop to the floor.

“Oh that’s enough,” Willow pulled out her cock and slumped exhausted onto the bed.

There was a laugh from Buffy, she pointed down to her new strap-on, “I better get it cleaned, don’t want your pressie dirty on it’s first outing.”

Willow watched as Buffy stood in front of her Mom, “Open wide,” she ordered.

The Milf did as she was told and Buffy slid her cock into her slave’s open mouth. She continued to push it forward until Joyce was gagging and the dildo had disappeared from view. Grabbing the back of her Mom’s head Buffy began to throat fuck her. Water coursed from the Milf’s eyes, pouring out at such a rate that Joyce had to continually blink to stop herself being blinded by the salt. Buffy gave a low moan and sped up, saliva spewed from Joyce’s mouth. Buffy didn’t care, and slammed away. She gave another groan and pulled out the cock, Joyce collapsed forward gagging and struggling from breath. Buffy ignored her and took off the cock, only then did she turn to her Mom, “Carry on with dinner.”

“Yes, mistress,” Joyce staggered to her feet and left the room.

Dropping on the bed beside Willow, Buffy asked, “What did you think?”

“Good fun wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” agreed Buffy, “we ought to double fuck her more often.”

The two of them lay for a few minutes in silence, until Willow spoke again, “Buffy…”

“Will…” replied her friend sleepily.

“Can I ask you a favour?”

There was no pause before the response, “Sure – what?”

For a second Willow was quiet as she wondered how to articulate her request, “You know that I’m not allowed to practice magic?”

“Yeah, it’s a crime,” said Buffy, “You had real talent…” there was a pause and Willow could see that Buffy was adding tow and two together, “You want my help in ignoring the Department’s instructions.”

There was a sigh from Willow, Buffy had made five, “No, I was made an offer. I need your help. That’s the favour.”

“How?”

This was going to be the difficult bit, “I’ve been made an offer. Two demons are coming to Sunnydale, they need to be protected. I was told if I could persuade you to look after them, well I could get my licence.”

Buffy was silent and Willow could tell she was thinking it over, the frown on the blonde’s face showed at least she was considering the idea, “And if you get your licence?”

“If I’m inside the tent perhaps I can do some good,” Willow said. The world was screwed up, too many in the Department either cared only about their own advancement or to integrate themselves with their new masters. Willow knew she would be different, tat if she was in the Department she could change things, making protecting humans – not demons – a Departmental priority.

“I guess protecting a couple couldn’t hurt,” replied Buffy. She turned her head and smiled at her friend.

*

Whistling merrily, Fred rummaged inside the security camera’s innards. It swung towards the cemetery entrance, whirring as Fred touched a couple of wires. Below her Faith gave a grunt. Fred looked down, she was balanced precariously on the brunette’s shoulders, her ankles being held tightly by the Slayer.

“When you said you had a job for me,” Faith said, “I was thinking it was more than being your step-ladder.”

“Almost finished,” replied Fred, “They also serve who stand and wait,” she quoted.

Delicately she slid a remote controlled chip into the camera. It gave another whirr and glided round to face her, as if it was looking into her face. Fred gave it a grin and jumped down, “Done.”

Faith followed her back to the car, sitting in the driver’s seat, whilst Fred slid in the passenger’s. Leaning down Fred rooted around in her bag and pulled out what looked like a mobile phone, but wasn’t. She pressed a few buttons and her face appeared on the screen, grinning, the cemetery visible behind her.

“We better delete this… don’t want anyone to realise that we’ve been playing with Sunnydale’s CCTV,” she pressed a few more buttons and her face faded from view. A few more tweaks and the time-clock in the corner changed, leaving to all but the most observant, no trace that a small section had been removed from the tape.

“Let’s go home,” said Fred.