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This Year's Love

by Elaine M

Rating: R
Stoned: Very
Hungry: Yes
Pizza: Please

Print Version: Adobe Reader PDF


I'm savouring this. Going slowly, despite my most primal of instincts, which demand speed. I've waited so long for this. Too long. Countless nights spent getting myself off, thinking of her, imagining just how I would pleasure her. Show her the world with my fingertips.

Slender fingers tipped pastel pink slowly work the buttons of her blouse. Behind me, the bath releases a quiet torrent, vanilla scented bubbles swirling, delivering that familiar fragrance that I have for so long associated with desire.

The blouse flutters to the ground, forgotten, as tiny hands gently cup breasts encased in delicate white lace. My breath catches, and I force myself to exhale as the bra joins its fallen comrade on the floor.

A pink skirt slides down shapely bronzed legs, a dainty foot pushing it aside. My heatbeat hastens, shallow quivering breath fuelling my need to touch.

A hand dissapears beneath the waist band of her panties, fingers rubbing the moist centre, eliciting a caged moan. As the ministrations continue, so too do her groans, animalistic and without abandon.

She comes, all over my hands. All over her hands. I gaze at my reflection, barely visible through the fogged mirror. I smile, and she smiles back at me, imitating my actions. I relinquish her body of the saturated panties, and stare unabashedly at her most intimate of regions. Again, I am enveloped by lust.

I watch myself again in the mirror, as I run my hands over her taut midriff, teasing fingertips smoothing her soft blonde curls. She reponds, arching her back as I slide a finger inside her. All the while I watch. Watch her body buck against my touch. My body now, to do with as I wish.

Through the wave of my second orgasm, I briefly wonder where she is. If she likes my body as much as I do hers. I giggle, a very Buffy giggle, soon interuppted by a very Buffy moan as I come again, dripping my desire on very Buffy hands.

I come to, and something's not right. I'm shackled to the ground, my arms and legs trapped beneath heavy metal restraints. I try to move, to no avail. Only my head responds, trashing wildly against the steel of the floor.

Beneath me, the ground rumbles, and I deduce that I'm in a vehicle, probably a van, given that my body is stretched to capacity. I shout, and my voice is alien...but familiar.

A decidedly English accent responds to my protest. "Check this out mate, our little rougey's come to."

There is laughter, and I feel the vehicle pulling to an abrupt halt, the gravelly sound of stone and debris grinding beneath tyres. A door swings open, and is just as quickly slammed. Where the hell am I? I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember, but nothing surfaces. We were looking for Faith...she's awake... Faith!

A key turns in a lock, and again, doors squeak open, a blast of cool air sweeping across my sqirming body. A figure stands over me, cigarette smoke billowing from a leering mouth. He moves closer, wary. He's standing above me now, his face drawing slowly closer to my own. Large, thick rimmed glasses frame his features, and through the sparse lighting of my confines, I am allowed a glimpse of my reflection... she stares back at me, her mouth open, echoing my scream... HER voice piercing this unknown location. She is my last thought as the needle descends upon me, and suddenly, all is black.

In all my fantasies, and there have been a fuckload, I never imagined myself having so much fun. Shit, maybe I'm not that creative. After the bath and Buffy-bonding session, I toweled myself dry and padded naked around her room, admiring this body from every angle, touching every fucking square inch of it, marvelling at the sensitivity of these tiny pink nipples as they harden directly beneath my touch.

I lounge back on her bed, tossing a dog earred stuffed pig across the room with such force that its snout rips slightly, eliciting a Buffy giggle. Her sheets are soft beneath this ripe naked bod, and I twist them around me, smearing them with her every scent. I could stay here all fuckin' day, just me and the B-bod... maybe a few choice utensils... I sigh, imagining the possibilites. Shit, I have all the time in the world.

I lazily rifle through her bedside drawers: Photos of her, Red and the worst fuck in the world. I idly wonder about Xander as I flip through the photos. Wonder if he's finally got his shit together and can perform over the 7 minute record he set with me... Wonder if he's still crushing on B, wanting to get his hands all over this hot little body. Wouldn't that be fun, a nice little present for my favourite girl on the off chance that she gets this body back. Not a fuckin' hope of that happening... but still...

The phone rings, and Joyce... Mommy... calls from downstairs. I pick it up, and the Buffy in me springs forth. "Hello", I purr. Top marks.

Speak of the fucking devil. A grin the size of Illinois graces my features as the Xan-man enqires as to my well being. Now this is going to be damn fun!

Buffster, you o.k?" The Xan-mans voice is dripping with concern, and I adopt my most Buffy-esqe tone in reply.

"I don't know Xander... I mean, she was here with my Mom. If I hadn't arrived when I did... who knows?" I sigh for effect, admiring my naked breasts in the mirror.

Xander sympathises, offers all the 'Buffy you're a God and Faith's evil' crap, and I do myself proud by remaining in character, rather then slamming the phone down and hunting out his Zeppo ass for a beating he'd never forget.

A beep indicating another caller interrupts his tirade, and I excuse myself, sweet as Buffy pie, promising to return momentarily.

"Buffy?" Unmistakably Giles.

"Hi Giles..."

He clears his throat, and I'm almost there with him as he polishes his glasses. Good old predictable G-man.

"I trust that everything is alright...both with yourself and your mother."

Yep, we're five by...we're fine!" Shit, a slip up like that could cost me.

"I have just received information that the police vehicle transporting Faith was intercepted..."

Crap. My heart seizes in my chest...

"She is currently under the watch of the council, who are preparing carriage to England."

Heartbeat returns to normal, and I watch as Buffy's beautiful mouth curls into an enormous grin.

"Good. I'm glad. She deserves it. Faith is evil, a bad, bad girl."

Giles seems unsure. "This is an unexampled situation. I fear that the council are ill equipped to deal with a predicament of this magnitude. Indeed, Faith is a deeply troubled young woman, but I believe that through implementation of the proper channels, she may some day be...."

I stifle a yawn. "Giles, I'm kinda tired, so if we could return to this thoroughly riveting discussion tomorrow, that would be great."


"Look Giles, Faith is evil. She killed two men, tried to kill me, my Mom, Willow and Xander. She's exactly where she deserves to be."

I can tell that Giles is fighting the urge to argue. Believe me G-man, I'd slit your throat in a second, and laugh as I did it.

He relents. "Yes... well, get some rest."

I click off. "Xander, you still there?"

Xander responds in the affirmative.

"That was Giles. It seems that evil kanevil is being shipped off to the mother land. The council grabbed her out of the cop car, and she's currently en route to a life of biscuits and tea parties." I'm fuckin' grinning like the recipent of multiple orgasms. Sorry B, rather you then me Babe.

"I take it that I'm not the only one calling for a chorous of 'Do You Hear The People Sing' a la Les Mis the musical."

I'm frowning suddenly. I'm going to mess with this fuckers head so damn much.

"Xander, I'm kinda... I dunno, wigged I guess." Good call. Taken straight from the book of 'Stupid Scooby Vocab, volume one.' "I sorta don't want to be alone tonight... could you maybe, come over and keep me company?" The innuendo is not only lost on him, but it is flushed into the crapper before it even reaches him.

"Sorry Buff, Anya's asleep already, and I've got that 'Pizza Delivery boy' interview in the morning... I couldn't bear to destroy my parents dreams for me by missing that one. What would they have to brag about in the annual 'happy Harris' missive?... Maybe we can hang tomorrow. It's been a while..."

Anya? Who the fuck?!....

I ensure that my dissapointment is evident, sighing deeply for good measure. "Sure Xander, sounds good. I'll be fine...just knowing that she's locked up and unable to harm anyone is justice enough for me..."

"I'll call you tomorrow Buff. Sleep well."

Yeah, fuck you.

"I'll try. Thanks Xander."

My head throbs as I struggle to open weighted eyelids. Through a distorted haze, I vaguely survey my surroundings. Three men, presumably my captors, sit to the left of me, slugging from a single bottle. I'm in a room, large and barn like. The rancid smell of manure assaults my nostrils. Definitley a barn.

The man nearest to me notes my conciousness, alerting his friends with a snigger.

"Looks like it's still alive."

Laughter as the men stare in my direction.


"Fuck that, you bollox. I'm up first. I've been like a bleedin' rock all day, staring at the sluts massive titties."

More laughter, and the man stands, swaggers towards me, leering as he walks.


I struggle, metal clanging against metal, body swinging violently from side to side. It's no use, he's above me... lying on me... rancid alcohol stained breath obliterating my senses. I sqeeze my eyes shut tight as a rough hand grapples with my breast. Please God... please, this can't happen... The terror inside me builds as I await the inevitable.

"Get off her immediately!"

I recognise the voice, although I can't place a face to it. The heavy body above me shifts, pinching fingers loosening on my breasts. My would-be assailant curses softly under his breath before removing his bulk entirely, and clambouring awkwardly to his feet.

"Mr Travers, sir..."

Quentin Travers. A feeling of immense relief washes through me. Ok, so were not exactly solid buds, but he's bona fide council. He plays by the book... right?

He's standing above me now, having waved my pleading captor aside amid threats to deal with him later. His features are shadowed, only his lips illuminated by a 0 watt bulb swinging lazily from the ceiling above. They remain closed and I take this as my cue to speak.

"Mr Travers, there's been a mistake... It's me, Buffy Summers. Faith somehow switched our bodies... we were fighting and she grabbed my hand and then I was in her body and she in mine... Please believe me... She's with my Mom, Mr Travers... with my friends..." Ok, not my greatest speech ever, but he seems to be listening. Maybe he knows, maybe Giles or Will realised what happened and he's here to release me. His lips part. He's about to speak..

"Sedate her. Enough for 24 hours. We will transport her in the morning."

"No! Please, you don't understand..." But the needle's coming at me and his only response is to watch me disinterestedly before turning on his heels and walking away.

For a second I'm confused as shit. I'm surrounded by fluffy pink pillows, one of which is wedged between my ass cheeks. My decidedly naked ass cheeks... With a prolonged yawn, I stretch, admiring the body flexing before me. If this isn't the very moment to adopt a shit eating grin, then there really isn't one. "Mornin' B."

Clean sheets are dislodged by tiny pedicured feet revealing slayer supreme in all her glory. And slayer supreme really can't keep her hands off herself. Her moans are the biggest fuckin turn on. She's a screamer, always knew it... writhes on the bed giving it all she's got, panting like a dog in heat. Her fingers are everywhere; rubbing, squeezing, caressing in all the right places. We come together over and over, lost count after round 4...

"Buffy?" Aw Fuck...

I retrieve the fallen sheets, wrapping them around me while willing my breath to stabilise. "Yeah Mom?" Sounds authentic enough.

"Honey, are you ok? I thought I heard screaming

Stifling a giggle B-style, I respond. "No, no, everything's hunky dory Mom, I just woke up this second."

"Alright then hon. I'm heading to the gallery now, but I left some money on the kitchen table for you. Willow called and said she and Xander would stop by at 11 to pick you up."

Pick me up? What mind numbing crap have the "scoobs" got lined up for today?

Shopping, or farewell to the pastels. Red eyes me curiously as I grab a black leather belt masquerading as a skirt and head for the fitting rooms. Xander merely stifles a yawn, completely unaware of the show he's in for.

Skirt, tight tank and black knee length boots in place, I admire the perfection that is B, before shoving the changing room partition aside and strutting for my gaping mouthed audience. Red stares in shock, while Xander floods the lingerie section with drool. "So, what do you think?"

Red blushes, her lips moving soundlessly. "It's um... It's different Buffy. Not your usual style."

"Not that we don't like it," Xander intones, a bra clasped in his strategically placed hands. "No, defintely big with the liking."

Red stammers slightly, her gaze resting on my exposed torso before averting her eyes snd staring with intensity at her feet. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Red was checking B out. "You- you look good Buffy, but, sorta Faithy... and Faith is a big evil slut-bomb from hell. And, and you're... well you're not any of those things."

Sharp Knife, Reds gut, repeated gouging...

Shit, unclench jaw. I smile. Maybe the word is beam... that's what B does; beam. "I know Will, not trying to channel her or anything, but despite all the girls shortcomings," To this Red nods vigourously, brows furrowed in agreement. The stabbing frenzies continues... I carry on. "Faith had style. And that whole pastel phase, it got old."

The little bitch looks baffled, but wisely chooses not to say anything. I ease up on the knife. Turning to Xander I offer him a patented Buffy grin, all radiance and light. He smiles back awkwardly, trying, without success, to inconspicuously check out B's goodies. This is too damn easy.

Really, Nothing beats a good mind fuck.

The accents are definitely British, although the voices are muffled and distorted. My cell, for want of a better description, is cramped and tiny. A single soiled matress takes up much of the space, and I shift on it uneasily as I come to. I'm still shackled, my ankles bound to the floor by heavy iron chains offering enough leeway to walk around my confines.

The voices are louder now, as hastening footsteps echo in the exterior hallway. Quentin Travers peers at me through the bars that further hinder my chances of escape. Behind him, an incalcuable number of tweed wearers eye me with interest. Travers accepts a proffered brief case from tweedy number 7, and removes a folder which he proceeds to rifle through.

Turning to the anxious group he nods before speaking, his tone hushed. Every word is as audible to me as though he were shouting. "It seems that everything here is in order. When all ingredients have been accumulated and assembled, we will send for the shaman. Within fourty eight hours, our rogue slayer will have no memories as to her past or identity." The group turns, led by Travers, their footsteps fading as they disappear from sight. I stare after them, my eyes filling with tears. If this spell is enacted, I forget everything. Who I am, my calling, my friends and family... and I forget her. Forget where she is and who she's with... I can't let that happen. My anguished scream seems to echo through the vast unseen halls outside my cage, long after I have given in to silent sobs. Long after the light outside turns to black and I realise that I'm truly alone.


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