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Chapter Text

The lighter flicks and the fire is like a snake or a flag. Drusilla thinks of burning to dust. She shivers.

That's what fire means. A little piece of sun, ready to gobble her up.

The smell of Spike's tobacco fills the room.  He blows it in her face and she sniffs it up.  Her Spike.  Her fire-drinker.  He gives her a smoky kiss, and she sucks him in eagerly.  He tastes of dry.

He tears open her dress.  Such an eager boy.  The cigarette glows red like an eye, as he lowers it to the soft of her belly.

Every time, she thinks she might really burn up.  But she doesn't.  It's just a hot tickle.  A mean tickle.  The best kind.

She pulls his cock from his trousers, hikes up her skirt, and lowers herself onto him.

As she rides, he lights another.  She can't wait to see where he'll mark her this time.

Chapter Text

Willow figured she'd end up walking in on Oz getting dressed one of these wolf nights. His shirt's on, and his boxers are at about calf-level.

So that's what all the fuss is about.

He covers himself.  "Mornings.  Sorry."

"It's, um, I was going to see it at some point, maybe, eventually..."

"I look forward to that phase of the relationship."  Is this a joke?  Or does he really?  Of course he does.  She's very much someone who people want to have see their penises.  Why doubt that?  She is penis-showing material, isn't she?

And now she's all...excited.  Great.

"Has...has it got a name?"

"We don't really converse."

"I just...I heard guys name their..."

"Dicks?  Maybe.  We don't really talk about that.  Unless I'm missing out."

"Can I..."

Oz takes his hands away.  It's a nice penis.  Willow doesn't really have a basis for comparison, but it's nice in its own right.  All pink and pudgy--it occurs to her that it's kind of thick.

They sit down next to each other.  "So, how's it measure up?" asks Oz.

"Well, it's attached to you, so it's the best penis in the world as far as I'm concerned."

Willow reaches for it.  Oz doesn't object.  She grips it lightly, and feels it harden.  She rubs her thumb on the head, tentatively.

"Here," Oz says.  He sits in her lap, and places his hand on hers, "Let me give you the guided tour."  Willow is suddenly very glad she keeps hand lotion in her backpack.  No one wants a chafey boyfriend.

He gives little pointers as he guides her strokes, then takes his hand away.  Willow thinks she's got it.  At least, Oz's breathing makes it feel like she has.  He lets out a powerful exhale and wow, look at that.  Somehow it surprises her that his cum is warm, but why wouldn't it be? 

"So, um, what do I do with this?"

"I'm fond of kleenex, myself."

"That doesn't sound fun."

"I mean, the fun's sort of over by then."

"Not for me.  I'm gonna get my hands nice and clean, and then I'm gonna show you how I have one of those."  Is that sexy talk?  She hopes it's sexy talk.  Maybe it doesn't matter now that he's come?  Anyway, Willow really is that horny.

"Okay."

He said okay!  He said okay to sexy things!  Her sexy things.  This is just the beginning, Willow thinks.  Willow Rosenberg, sexual being!

Who'd've thought?

Chapter Text

Willow brushed the patch of blonde hair with her fingers.  Tara giggled.

"Sorry, I know it's kind of a tickly place."

"I don't mind."

Tara had told her she hadn't shaved since she left home.  Before she knew she was, you know, into Tara, Willow knew that she thought she looked good with armpit hair.  That she wore it well.  That, though Willow didn't put this word to it until they'd done some spells together, it was sexy.

Willow snuck her other hand down the waistband of Tara's pajama pants.  Her pubic hair was coarser than the hair under her arms.  She fumbled around, then found the wet warmth she was looking for.

Tara gave a happy little whimper.

The heel of Willow's hand brushed Tara's belly, and Willow could feel the little hairs leading up to her navel.  When she first saw Tara naked, she had said Tara had gold between her legs.  Spun gold.

The candlelight (which was a fire hazard so they really shouldn't have it in the dorm, Willow worried) made the hairs on Tara's calf sparkle.  Willow teased Tara's underarm hair with the tip of her nose, catching a whiff of her own deodorant (Tara was a little moocher!).  She slid her free hand onto Tara's breast, circling the nipple till it poked up through the fabric of her tank top.

With the hand in Tara's pants, Willow started working hard on the other witch's clit.   Her palm rubbed Tara's wet pubic hair, letting those gold threads paint Tara's musk onto her.

Tara got very noisy.  Willow was doing it right.  She still wasn't always sure of herself, with another woman.

As Tara came, Willow's eyes remained fixed on that patch of gold under her arm.  Gold.  A treasure.

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She's glad to piss on him.

Apparently it has something to do with the fact vampires can't do it. Or maybe he's just even grosser than she thought.

Her bladder is aching as she straddles his chest. He's doing that thing where he smiles and sucks on his fangs and that shouldn't work as well as it does but it does.

She lets go. Her piss has almost no color, and it's a fierce stream. She grinds against him while she continues to spray. It's pooling between her thighs, dripping underneath and behind her down his unfairly flawless stomach. She bets it's getting on his cock.

She reaches back. It is. She begins to stroke.  Every time she reaches the base of his cock, his pubic hair is just a little more urine-drenched.

He comes quick.  She should give him grief about that.

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Lilah looks at the bodies around her, and feels hot urine run down her leg. One of Wolfram and Hart's top lawyers, and she's pissing herself in fear.

She sees Drusilla walk toward her. The vampire steps behind her and traces the side of her face with her palm. Lilah's bowels turn to water, and she noisily fills her pantyhose with mushy shit.

"Oh, no no no," says Drusilla, as shit slides down Lilah's leg.

Her bladder is still emptying itself, piss pooling in her shoes and soaking into the rug. Another fear-spasm runs through her gut, forcing out even looser shit.

"Messy girl." she says. She takes Lilah's hand. Lilah follows her. Drusilla sits in a chair, and points at her knee. "Needs punishing."

Lilah freezes. Drusilla yanks on her arm. She bends over the vampire's knee. She feels a hard slap on her buttocks, accompanied by the wet smack of Drusilla's hand against her shit-covered backside. Another slap, then another. Her shit is being rubbed into her ass and thighs with each spank. She feels an unbidden rush of arousal.

"Harder," she says.

Drusilla laughs a giddy laugh. "Messy girl just saved her life." She hits again, decidedly harder. Lilah moans.

Her stomach is still in knots, and more shit explodes out of her.

"Apologize--" spank "--For that."

"I'm sorry," says Lilah, "I can't stop."

"We shall have to get all this washed off, messy girl," says Drusilla, undoing the zipper on the back of Lilah's skirt.

Lilah stands and skins down her soaked and stinking pantyhose. Shit lands loudly on the floor. She smiles at Drusilla.

She's back in control.

Chapter Text

One thing Willow quickly learned about living with Tara was that alone time behind closed doors meant naked time. And everyday walking-around naked is different from sexy-naked. You notice more.

The end result of all this is Tara with her rear in the air and her cheeks spread.

See, every now and then Tara would bend or squat in the right way, and, oh, hey, butthole. And Willow started really looking forward to those little peeks. She thought Tara had a really cute butthole, if a butthole was allowed to be cute.

So there they were, Willow getting a nice close look.

"You're sure you washed it really thoroughly?"

Tara laughed.

"That's a yes?"

"It is."

Willow gave Tara's pucker a little closed-mouth kiss, then licked from the top of the cleft of her buttocks down to the hole.  She tasted like sweat and soap.  Willow prodded Tara's hole with her tongue, lightly at first, then more forcefully.  Tara was giggling.

"Should I stop?" asked Willow, "I mean, should I not start up again, or..."

"Do what you want.  It's just, you know, butts."

Willow giggled.  "Butts indeed."

She traced around Tara's hole with a finger.  Tara opened slightly, and Willow pushed her finger inside.

"Ouch, no, wait."

Willow withdrew.  Tara got up and fished some lube out of a drawer.  "Good thing one of us likes to use toys, huh?"

Willow applied a liberal amount of lube, and began to prod Tara's hole.  She went in a knuckle at a time.

Tara let out a little moan.

"Good moan?" Asked Willow.

"Yeah.  This is nice."

"You feel really cool inside."  Willow wiggled her finger a little.  There were sexier ways of putting it, but not more honest ones.

"Another." said Tara.

Willow slid out, then entered with her index and middle, far more quickly this time.

Tara made what Willow called one of her little happy noises, and, with her own hand, began working her clit.

Willow made little mini-thrusts, then bigger, faster ones.

Tara came loudly.  It always sort of amused Willow that someone so quiet could be so vocal in this specific context.

Willow slowly removed her fingers.

"I can still kind of feel you," said Tara.

"So that's a yes on anal?"  Willow said eagerly.

"Oh, yes."

Willow took the lube and squeezed a little onto Tara's fingers.  "Guess I better see what the fuss is about."

Chapter Text

The shit on Lilah's thighs was beginning to dry. It clung in uncomfortable ways. She shakily walked to the unfamiliar tub.

"Face down," ordered Drusilla.

Lilah obliged.

"It's not fair if I'm not naked too."  Drusilla stripped in an absentminded way.  She was remarkably skinny.  Lilah imagined fucking her right there, on the bathroom floor, biting those collarbones and running her tongue along those little breasts.

"You know, I think shitting myself was kind of a turn-on," said Lilah.

"Messy girl's perverse."  Drusilla laughed to no one in particular.  Lilah felt Drusilla straddle her calves, her slick vulva idly brushing them as she moved.  She felt a nail run along her shit-caked thigh.

"You're all rotted inside," Drusilla said, "Worse than the rest of them."

"I, um, I have irritable bowel syndrome.  Just a mild case."  Lilah was a bit uneasy, being unable to see Drusilla.  At the same time, the danger was exciting.

"Messy girl's all messy all the time."

"I...usually make it to a ba--"  She went silent as she felt an icy tongue at the top of the cleft of her ass.  Drusilla roughly spread her buttocks, and began tonguing her sludgy anus.  The cold made her clench a little, but she found herself relaxing as the vampire continued.  She felt Drusilla enter her, slightly.  Then a sharp pain hit her gut.

Before she could warn Drusilla, a gassy spray of liquid shit exited her, no doubt covering Drusilla's face.

A hard slap came down on her ass.  It felt as though Drusilla put all her vampire strength into the strike.

"You shan't do that again!"

"No promises," said Lilah with a smirk.  And she certainly couldn't make any promises.  She was probably going to be having diarrhea on and off all night.

She heard Drusilla step away.  She lifted her head.  Drusilla was covered in shit from her lips to her sternum.  Lilah stood, and turned on the shower head.

"I think it's best we get clean the conventional way."

Drusilla walked toward her.  Lilah shuddered a little.  A smile formed on the vampire's face.  "We're both messy girls."  She stepped in.  "I'm keeping you."

Lilah shivered with both dread and excitement.

Chapter Text

"So, you changed her bucket yourself?"

Wesley rolled over, half-awake. "Where is this going, Lilah?"

"I think you know.  When I take fifteen minutes in the bathroom, you're always so glad to see me come back."

Wesley was silent.

"I can stop spraying air-freshener.  I can wear my stained panties.  I can even go with the door open.  Ever seen me when I don't watch what I eat?  Trust me, these bowels can get very irritable."

"I have an idea."

******

They'd put down a rubber sheet.  Lilah was cuffed to the bed, in her nicest work clothes.  The safeword was 'Immodium.'

Her stomach groaned.  She'd overeaten for maximum output, and she was feeling it.  She wasn't desperate yet, but if she knew her digestion as well as she thought she did, she wouldn't be able to hold it for long once she was.

She passed an oily fart that almost definitely left a stain.  Wes was sitting across from her, cock in hand, hard as a rock.  He'd stroke for a bit, then wait for it to get a little soft, then wake it up again.

She felt the mass in her gut shifting.  Almost involuntarily, she let out two more farts.  God, those smelled like pure rot.

"You know, it's ironic," said Wesley,  "You're the image of the well-groomed professional on the outside, every hair in place, makeup perfect--"

"Damn straight."

"--but inside, you're a roiling mass of shit."

"You caught me.  I've got the colon of Dorian Grey."  Pressure began to build in her back passage.  Rapidly.  "And speaking of which..."

"Hold it."  Wesley began masturbating in earnest now.

"Oh, do I have to?" 

Wesley put on his dominant voice, which was so over-the-top that Lilah just found it cute. "Hold it."

She did.  The pressure quickly became pain.  She clenched.  Her insides felt like they were going through a wringer.  She'd long since stopped being anxious about impending accidents; Hell, she'd shit herself in the car if traffic on the way home was too much. 

And that thought made her lose control.  She shat herself noisily, and it burned as it came out.  Somewhere between the second and third wave of gassy diarrhea, she saw thick strings of cum shoot from Wes' cock.  If the whole of her panties weren't inundated with liquid shit, she'd have started masturbating then and there.

Finally, she stopped shitting.  She exhaled heavily.  That was a rush.

"Let's get me out of these cuffs so you can scrub me off, huh?" she said.

Chapter Text

The thought occurred to Willow that Tara had nice feet.  You know, nice to look at.

They were kind of big, she thought, but then again her points of comparison were herself and Buffy, both of whom were all of two feet tall.  But that was part of what made them nice to look at.

Tara was always flexing and unflexing her toes, or shaking her foot at the ankle, or something.  These little movements kept catching Willow's attention.

Tara told her that she'd never had her toenails painted.  Willow offered.  The night before, she was kept up with excitement, which sort of surprised her.  I mean, she didn't have a lot of female friends to do this with, but, you know, it was just a silly little thing.  She kept thinking of Tara's foot on her lap, and it hit her all at once.

This thing she had for Tara's feet was kind of gay, wasn't it?

Chapter Text

"And how long has it been since your last confession?"  Angelus' voice was oil and knives.  Got Drusilla all warm in her nethers.

"A century.  It was a very wicked century."

"Wicked in what manner?"

She told him all of it.  Every bloody deed she'd done, every way she and Spike had rutted.  In detail.  She could see his trousers tenting.

"Well, now, that requires some mortification of the flesh, my child."  He put on a glove, and procured a cross.  It was made of some hideous modern plastic, smelled of factory floors and loneliness.  "Have you had the lord inside you?"

She lifted her skirts.  This was going to hurt.  This was going to be agony.  She couldn't wait.

"Now, now,"  Angelus wagged his finger.  "No sense spoiling a perfectly good cunt.  This is for your ass.  After all, you're not using it for anything anymore, now are you?"

Drusilla bent over.  She felt Angelus' oiled finger slide easily into her little rosebud.  She could slacken her arse easily.  Spike liked to use it, and Grandmum liked it even better.  A second finger went in, and pumped for a bit.

Then came the pressure, and the burning.  She gasped.  It was like coals.  She felt the cross slowly enter her, the pain making its way deeper and deeper, till it felt like it was crawling all the way up to her belly.  She was dripping wet.  Spike didn't have it in him to torture her properly, he still had a poet's heart.

Then he began to fuck her,  As the cross withdrew each time, she felt a measure of relief, and then with each thrust the fire returned.  It was thrilling.  She brushed her slick folds, then snuck a finger inside herself.  It almost felt as thought the burning would eat right through her back passage and into her cunt.  She went to work on her clit--that was what the modern pornographers called it--and the joy in her nethers began to compete with the misery in her arse.  One would slide into focus, then the other.  Her holes were arguing.  She giggled at that.

The pain was only growing, and she actually began to feel the little tightness in her heart that came with danger.  And that pushed her over the edge.  She spouted a thousand profanities in pure happiness as she came, and came, and finally came down.

Angelus pulled the cross from her arse, and she could feel the walls inside touch, and shivered again with pain.

How she had missed her dear Angelus, her father confessor.

Chapter Text

Willow must have been really stoned, because a beautiful girl had just taken her shirt off, and her attention was mostly on those lacy patterns on her bra.  They were intricate enough to be kind of trippy.

They'd agreed, before anyone took a puff of anything, that sexy things were on the table.  Except there wasn't a table in the room.  Just the floor.  Willow laying back, head propped up with her hands.  She giggled at nothing.

And then Fred sort of wriggled up onto her and started kissing her neck.  Whoa.

"Whoa." said Willow.

Fred stopped.

"No.  Good whoa.  Just gonna get nakeder for this."

"Let me help." Fred unzipped Willow's jeans and slid them off.  She wished she'd worn nice underwear like Fred.  Instead it was just boring old grey panties.  Fred ran the back of her hand up and down Willow's thigh.  Willow's body suddenly acknowledged that sexy things were happening.  She was very warm and very wet and Fred had just taken off her own pants.  Willow could feel the little hairs on the other woman's thighs rubbing up against her own smooth thigh.

"Whoa, " she said, again.

"Good word," said Fred, stripping off Willow's sweater and undershirt in one go. Now their chests were rubbing together and Fred's bra was scratchy, which actually felt kind of cool.

Willow got passive when she got high.  Like, she sort of just wanted to see and hear and feel things and not have to worry about interacting with her surroundings.  She kind of wanted to play with the wispy hair under Fred's arms right now, though.

Fred blushed as Willow brushed it.  "Never did start shaving again.  After...ooh!"

Willow had put her other hand down Fred's waistband.  "It's sexy." she said.  She slid her fingers across the other woman's wet folds.  She was so caught up in the feeling of her.  Her lips and walls against Willow's fingers.  She just sort of explored.

Fred pulled away.  "Sorry.  You're...kinda...doing it wrong."

"What?"

"I dunno.  Just feels weird.  I'm kinda too stoned to tell you what to do.  I'd just...I dunno."  She giggled, and kissed Willow's belly.  "I'll do me.  You do you."

Willow laughed.  "Cool," she said.

Willow came quick when she got her hands on herself.  Fred was still going.  Willow sort of lost herself in the movements of Fred's fingers.  Pale skin and brown hair and pink, pink cunt.  It was so cool.  Bodies were so cool.

Fred yipped and yelped when she came.  She fell in a heap onto Willow, slick fingers running through Willow's hair.

"Gone in the morning, huh?"

Willow sighed.  "Yeah."

Fred kissed Willow's neck.  "We can keep going, you know."

Willow traced little circles on the other woman's lower back.  "I know."

Chapter Text

Gunn lathers Wes' hair.  See, this is why a shaved head is good for the sort of work they do.  Not that Wes doesn't have sexy hair.

What rinses off is green-tinted.  Ichor.  That's an SAT word for you.

Gunn presses up close to his boyfriend, his chest against Wes' shoulder blades, his stiff cock against the small of his back.

Wes reaches behind him to knead Gunn's ass.  Gunn's not sure if all Brits are ass-men, but damned if English doesn't give his ass a hell of a lot of attention.

"Let me take you in my mouth," breathes Wesley.  Man turns into a goddamn romance novel heroine in bed.

"Anytime, English."

He turns, kneels, and leans forward, runs his tongue along the length of Gunn's cock, and begins to tease the head.  Gunn has no idea where he gets the idea for some of this shit; like, last guy Gunn was seeing it was just, get the lube, fuck, nut, peace out.  Wes is just...playful.

He beings to suck, then pauses.  He takes a little of the lube they keep in the shower because that's the kind of life they lead, and puts it on his finger.    He starts sucking again, and slips his lubed finger into Gunn's ass and sweet baby Jesus and the three wise men and the donkey.

Between the mouth around his cock and the finger on his prostate, Gunn sees stars.

Wes makes a point of visibly swallowing.  It's kind of sexy how much of a damn show-off he is.

Makes Gunn just want to grab his dick.

Chapter Text

"So how's the whole convalescence thing going, baby?"

Tara groaned.

Willow kissed her forehead.  "Still pretty sore, huh?"

"I m-mean, the percocet's doing its job and all, it's just...it's kind of messing with my, um, my stomach."

Willow instinctively went to rub Tara's belly.  It was a little swollen, and felt hard.

Tara blushed, hard.  "I...I'm really backed up.  I tried eating a lot of fiber but I think that kind of m-made things worse."

Willow'd been living with Tara to know she was pretty regular--she pooped once after her morning coffee, and once around bedtime.

A fart squeaked out of Tara.  It was bad, and it lingered.  Poor Tara.

"Can I help?" asked Willow.

"I don't know," said Tara.  She didn't like taking laxatives--something about her family life that she didn't want to talk about.

"Well, Nurse Rosenberg is on call."

******

Tara finally got up to try to go.  After what felt like a while, Willow heard her call her name.

"I know there's something in there," said Tara.  "It's just not coming out."

She stood up, and Willow knew now wasn't the time, but she just loved seeing Tara with her pants off.

There was what looked like a little coffee bean in the bowl.

"Y-you know how you like, um, anal?  Giving anal?"  Tara was blushing hard.

"Sometimes it shakes things loose, right?" asked Willow.

They didn't have any condoms, and Willow wasn't about to get poop on her strap-on, so she put on a latex glove, and got the lube.

Tara was squatted over a triple layer of paper towels.  Willow slid her finger inside Tara.  There was definitely something in here.   She poked and wiggled and generally tried to agitate things.  A couple little pieces of poop worked their way out.  Tara didn't normally leave a smell in the bathroom, so the stink of even this small amount was a huge surprise to Willow.

"I think I'm m-making, um, progress," said Tara.  "Also, that feels really good."

Willow snuck in a second finger.  She scissored her two fingers lightly, then went in and out, then scissored again.

"Pull out," said Tara.  "I think something's coming."

Something certainly was coming.  A wide, knobbly log crowned.  A few little raisinets fell off of it as it did.  Tara groaned.  

"You hurting, baby?"

"It feels big." Tara's voice was strained.

It was.  It was about the diameter of a soda can.  It inched out of Tara's ass slowly. The smell was indescribable.

As the massive log smoothed out, it passed more quickly.  The last eight inches came out quicker than the first four.  Tara pinched it off, and stood up.

She looked down and giggled a little.  "Is that going to flush?"

Willow genuinely wasn't sure.

"I s-still feel kind of full," said Tara.  "I don't think I can, um, go now though."

"I'm here if you need me," said Willow.  She was kind of hoping they were going to try and flush what Tara had produced.  The stink was worse than anything Willow had smelled in a bathroom, and that included her cousin Rachael when she cheated and had a whole pint of ice cream.

"Can, I, um, admit something?" asked Tara.

"Of course, baby."

"I'm sort of turned on right now."

 

Chapter Text

Fred could fit nicely in between Charles and Wesley. If she moved in the right way, that was. Which meant her leg was across Charles' thigh at the moment.  She could easily have wrapped around him entirely, but that would have left Wesley out.

The bathtubs in the Hyperion were big and deep, and the water was hot.  Hot water was something she had missed so badly.

She traced circles on Charles' chest with one hand, and then reached back toward Wesley with the other.  She found his cock, which was just halfway toward erect.  She pulled it back.

"Sorry."

"It's nothing you haven't handled before," said Wesley.

"I know, it's just I musta surprised you."

"A little," Wesley admitted, "But, er..."

"I think what English is saying," interjected Charles, "is that we're all three of us naked in here."  He reached across Fred to stroke Wesley's chest.  "Ain't that right?"

"Precisely," said Wesley,

"Well alright then," said Fred.  She rolled off of Charles, took Wesley's hand and brought it to her nipple.  Wesley pinched.  Fred squeaked a little.  Both men's cocks were hard now, sticking out of the water like submarine periscopes.

"Well, look at you." she said.

Wes was still attending to Fred's breast, his rough thumb and forefinger on her nipple, rolling it between them with a grip just tight enough to not quite hurt. Charles took his hand off of Wesley and reached for the other.  He made gentle circles across her areola, just brushing the nipple itself.  His hands were soft.

"Fellas," she said after a little while, "I could honestly have y'all do this all day."

"Could you, now?" said Wesley.  His other hand was on his cock, not really jerking it, just sort of cradling it.

"Yeah," she said, and slipped a hand between her legs.

"Trade ya," said Charles to Wesley.  Each took the other's cock.

Fred loved not having to choose between them.

Chapter Text

Willow listens intently to the urine splashing in the bowl.

Oz always takes at least one bathroom break when they're together.  She kisses him more hungrily when he's back.  She wants to be in there with him; to watch him.  She's scared to admit it, but she wants to run her hand through the stream, or maybe more.

He flushes and re-enters the room.  "Sorry.  I think this is a wolf thing."

Willow furrows her brow.  "How so?"

"Wolves mark territory.  When I get back home, after not being there for a few days, or whatever, I have to go."

Willow's not sure what he means.  Does he think of her dorm room as his territory?  That's a little presumptuous.  Not that she's complaining, what with the whole 'thin bathroom doors' thing.

He continues.  "I don't want to say you're mine.  Because you're yours.  But I think you feel like home to me, now.  So...pee."

Willow jumps up, grabs him, and kisses him hard.  "We need to talk," she says.

Twenty minutes later, he has to go again.  Willow kneels in the shower, lets his stream trickle down her chest, between her breasts, onto her belly.  The warmth of it is comforting.  She bows her head and lets it get in her hair, drip down her face.  She takes a little into her mouth--it doesn't taste as bad as she fears.

She won't wash off yet.  She wants to smell like him.  She wants to smell like home.

Chapter Text

Tara's feet are to be adored.

Willow kisses and suckles, taking each toe in turn, licking the soles.  She is wet and hot, but she is not to touch herself yet.  Now, she is paying homage.

Tara's feet are to be cared for.

Willow digs a thumb in and Tara moans for her.  Willow will barely have to touch her to bring her to climax.

Tara's feet are to be made beautiful.

Willow gently brushes the glittering gold across each toenail.  When she is done, she blows softly.

Tara's feet are, when all this is done, giving and kind.

Willow grinds her cunt against Tara's heel, smearing juices she will be glad to lick off.  She gasps.  Grinds harder.  And howls.

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Willow can't stand how much Anya thinks about sex.  This is the fourth time tonight.

She gasps as Willow circles a nipple with her forefinger.  She's so sensitive.

Anya takes her hand. "I want you to penetrate me with your fingers."  Willow can't stand how bluntly she puts things.

Willow takes a finger and slowly brushes Anya's lower lips.  She teasingly enters, then withdraws.  She sucks her finger and smiles.

Willow can't stand how good Anya tastes.

"Oh, just stick them in already!"

Willow can't stand how impatient Anya is.

She takes three fingers and slides in slow.

"Harder."

She pumps her hand vigorously, and attacks Anya's clit with her thumb.

Willow can't stand how loudly Anya comes.  Willow can't stand how hard she digs her fingers into Willow's back.

Oh, it's just the worst.

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People always ask where she puts it all, like she hasn't got the same workings as everyone else. And they ask it on dates, like there's some cute little girly answer.

The fact is, Fred's gotten mighty good at plunging a toilet over the years.

It's not like her BMs are any worse or messier than anyone else's or anything, but they're pretty dang big.  She's little, but she stretches.  And that big old food-baby everyone likes to tease after she's had a big meal with them, well, that thing gets birthed, you know?

She kind of likes seeing what she's made.  Maybe it isn't ladylike, but honestly the size of them is sort of a point of pride.   Sometimes it's one long coil, sometimes it's these big thick logs that hurt her butthole in a way she kind of likes.  And every once in a while it's just a mudslide.  She doesn't get the runs very often, thank god, but when she does it just doesn't stop.

Hopefully, when Fred has to share a bathroom with someone, they won't be too grossed out.  Maybe they'll think it's fun, too.  Maybe they'll make it a contest!  Not that it'd be fair.  Fred really is the queen of her throne.

Chapter Text

Ripper's so urgent.  He yanks down her tights and panties and god she's already dripping wet as he thrusts in.  She's trying to avoid moaning but she wants him to know how good he is and she just asks him to go harder and harder and he does and she can't believe how deep he's getting.

She asks him to slap her ass and he does and she asks him to pull her hair and he does and when was sex ever like this?  She wants it so much more than she has in years and it feels like she's getting away with something and not because she's in public and oh god how does he do that?  She digs her nails hard into her hand as she comes.  She feels his hot spunk on the small of her back.  She says his name.

She stands up, not even bothering to wipe herself off.

"That was nice," she says.

Ripper makes a noise that could be interpreted as a 'yeah.'

"We didn't even use the handcuffs, you know."