Author: Salamanda
Rating: As a whole NC-17, 'cuz it's just, smutty porn which kinda rattles my cage. Hope that everyone else enjoys jus' a 'li'l bit'. This part specifically: f/f, spanking and a little incest to spice it. Basically there's kink ahead. Successive parts - pretty much the same sorta stuff!
As usual, if this ain't your bag don't read it - best just use the back button and go find something that it!
Disclaimer: Oh the usual: They ain't mine, none of, not a one of 'em - still wishin' tho'. They belong to a whole mess of other folk, too numerous (and lucky) to mention. There's not a bean o' profit in it - ain't that the truth! I'm a just doin' it for the love o' the smut.
Distribution/Archiving: You want it, you can have it. Once it's out there... Be nice if you asked though. I'm gonna say yes!
Feedback: Love some. As the song says: "Feed Me!" Don't make me beg. OK?
Notes: This is the first part of severa; - I reckon 5 - but y' never know. I'll be taking some liberties with timelines and stuff as I go along - poetic license and all that! So please bear with me!
Summary: Tara weaves tales for her mistress. In this, the first tale, they go dancing at a certain club in San Francisco... and Tara gets it but good!


Tara set down her pen as she squirmed at her desk, waiting impatiently for Willow's return.

Her cunt oozed, dripping her arousal onto the hard wooden seat. Inside her the invested phallus throbbed. Willow had cast over it before inserting it into her lover prior to her departure. The spell caused it to expand within Tara stretching her magically taut inner walls and thrusting itself forwards to nestle, pulsing in the neck of her cervix.

Tara's thighs squeezed together as she tried desperately to intensify the sensation.

Remembering Willow's stern words before she left to join the Scoobies, Tara picked up her pen again:

"We're going to play a game this week pet. I'm going to go out every night to either the Magic Box, or The Bronze, or on patrol."

Standing naked before her lover, hands on her head, her legs parted, Tara had moaned, hips bucking, as the red haired witch's thumb had toyed over her clit.

"You will not touch yourself pet, while I'm gone." Indicating the glowing globe that shimmered with an eldritch light as it hovered above the blonde she continued: "This little spell will tell me if you are unable to resist. I will deal very severely with any failure... Do you understand Tara?"

Tara had simply nodded her head in compliance.

An act which she had quickly regretted.

"I - can't - hear - you - pet!"

Willow punctuated each word with a sharp stinging spank on Tara's naked buttocks.

"Now (smack) do (smack) you (smack) understand (smack) Tara (smack)?"

"Yes mistress." Tara's reply had been breathless.

"That's a good pet. Now while I'm gone you will write me a fantasy."


"Yes." The redhead nodded to herself. "A fantasy. You will sit at the desk every night and write an erotic fantasy for me to read on my return. Think of yourself as a latter day Scheherazade. If I like it you will spend the night in ecstasy." She said with a flourish. "If I don't like it, well we'll have to see how much..." Willow paused as if in thought, considering her words carefully "...other stimulation you can take. You will write about yourself, in explicit detail. Am I clear Tara?"

Willow's hand caressed Tara's blushing bottom cheeks, feeling their warmth as she spoke.

"Y-ye-yes mistress."

"There's a good pet. And tomorrow you will write again... Each night you will write more of your... adventures... you really will be my very own, personal, Scheherazade."

Stroking Tara's hair Willow had kissed her girlfriend softly on the cheek and left without another word.

So Tara tried to dispel the cruelly demanding urge between her legs and began to read through her composition, checking it for errors, knowing all too well what the cost of a misspelt word might be.

Willow had been fiendish in the task she had set this night. She had compelled Tara to reveal more of her inner self to her lover, knowing the effect the erotic process of writing the embarrassing fantasy would have on the blonde, and all the while the magical cock filled her; hot, pulsing, throbbing inside her womanhood.

The beat is rhythmic, sensual. The music in the club fills my senses as I sway against you. You love to dance with me. Holding me tightly to you, your leg intrudes between mine and you thrust against me rocking my body against the hard incursion of your thigh with one hand on my hip the other and firm, at the small of my back.

The club is heaving. Hot, humid a seething mass of females: crushed together, gyrating, singly, in couples, in larger groups of three, four and more; bodies close pressed, entangled, thrusting, thrashing, touching; hands exploring, mouths joined in passion.

"Cool! Hey look Tara, that club has a lesbian night tonight. We'll go there." You'd calmly announced as we drove into San Francisco this morning.

And now here we are; hot, buzzing, horny; like all the other ladies in P3.

My top sticks to my sweat drenched body. My shin is flushed, my breath short. My heart races. There is more to my feverish state than simply the dancing.

I tremble in your arms. My core is hot, wet, pulsing in contact with your thigh. My panties are sodden with my arousal as my hips buck in need against you.

I sigh as your mouth lifts from the soft flesh at the junction of my jaw and neck. My blood flutters at the pulse-point as your tongue washes over the mark you have raised.

"Tara baby." Your voice is husky, breathless, sensual but oh so dominant, commanding.

My face rises for my eyes to meet yours. My breath catches in my throat. Your eyes are dark, lust filled: pools of hunger.

I am unable to form words as I ride against your thrusting thigh.

"Mmmmm..." I groan softly.

"Tara... gotto have you...gotto fuck you baby... gotto fuck you now."


You continue to rock me against you driving me on to a place where I'm unable to do anything but comply.

Your words are hungry, almost rough in my ear.

"You want me to fuck you baby?"

Again I mumble against you.

It's not enough for you. Your words are demanding as you seek a clearer response.

"Tell me baby. You want me to fuck you?"

Your hand drops to my ass, clutching me, drawing me sharply forward against you.

"Ahhh... yeahsss pleassse Willow... p-please fuck me."

"Good girl Tara."

I whimper slightly as you release me, removing the insistent, delicious pressure between my legs.

"Come on baby."

You lead me through the crazed throng of bodies to the dark booth. The settee curves around the booth forming a low u-shape. We fall into it and your mouth finds mine. Hungry, demanding your tongue forces its way between my lips to swirl inside. Dueling with mine, you drive it conquering, into me, probing, exploring my mouth.

I subside into your arms at the passionate fury of your kiss.

Your hand traces a course from my jaw, down my neck to begin a slow journey of exploration of my breasts. You skirt around them, gently at first, caressing my curves, testing their weight, before your grasp becomes more insistent as you claim their taut, puckered tips.

I moan softly into your mouth as you squeeze and pinch one stiffened point, then the other through the flimsy material of my top and brassiere, tweaking their already responsive erections to peaks of jutting, achingly sensitive flesh.

You release my nipples and your hand travels lower to find the exposed flesh of my midriff below the edge of my short halter top. I shiver as your nails scratch lightly at my abdomen, dipping into the niche of my belly button, before they move down my belly towards the centre of my need.

You break off from the kiss long enough to stare into my eyes. Your hand presses hard, through my clothes, onto my core. I writhe against you as you stroke my liquid cunt through the layers.

"Gonna fuck you here Tara. Now!"

My eyes bulge but I am powerless to resist your will as your hand reaches under my skirt, to roam up my leg, your nails scoring gently on the tender flesh of my inner thigh. Your hand draws my skirt up my thighs as you search for my centre.

I groan as your fingers stroke over the crotch of my panties. Drenched with my secretions, clinging tautly to my swollen, tender lips, your hand roams over them, tracing the shape of my vulva, probing subtly into the wetness they contain. I tremble again at your intimate touch.

Your voice is sultry, thick with desire in my ear.

"Take them off baby."

I hesitate, unsure, torn between need and reticence.

Your grasp at my waist tightens whilst your hand, between my legs, slips inside the wet scrap of satin that is my panties to ease within the folds of my labia and into the well of my cunt.

I gasp as your fingers swim over my lush inner flesh.

"What are you baby?"

"Yours." I mumble.

"My what baby?"

"Your... your slave."

"So who am I baby?"

"M-m-m-Mistress" I gasp, hardly able to speak as you enter me, raiding inside the tension of my slick velvet passage.

"Good girl Tara... so when I tell you to do something... what do you do baby?"


"That's right baby."

You repeat your earlier command but your voice is firmer, sterner. I quake, melting, gushing against your hand, at the authority of your tone.

"Take them off Tara."

Hesitant still, I reach to obey. Trying vainly to preserve my modesty I reach under my skirt and lift my hips to slide the satin thong past my buttocks to my thighs and then to my knees from where it falls to my feet.

Lifting my feet, you reach to recover the sodden wisp of my thong and place it on the booth table before us.

Turning to me again your new command leaves me shocked once more.

"Lift your skirt Tara."

Again I waver. Your eyebrow arches. You trace your fingers over my lips. I can taste myself on them.

"You want me to fuck you Tara?"

"Yuh-yess. Oh yess pu-please Willow."

"Mistress..." You correct me gently, firmly. Your fingers, seasoned with my musk, are in my mouth, probing gently.

"Mmmmm... sorry, Mistress." I softly reply around your fingers.

"So are you going to obey, Tara?"

"Mmmm... y-yes Mistress."

"Good girl pet."

I reach for my long flowing skirt to draw it up, slowly revealing my legs.

"All the way pet." Your voice urges in my ear.

I raise my skirt to my hips exposing myself to any who might look into our darkened recess.

"Mmmmm... good girl." You murmur in my ear. Your hand insinuates itself between my thighs again to flutter over my clitoris. I moan softly as my core responds to your touch. "Now, spread your legs baby."

Sensing my hesitation your next words are harsher.

"Now girl!"

I flinch, whimpering. Your hand leaves my nubbin to sting the top my thigh striking twice, sharply.

The pain cuts through my reticence and hurriedly I comply, lifting my left leg to rest it on the curved settee. My right swings towards you.

"That's better baby."

Your hand is gentle again as it retraces its earlier course to my centre. Your tongue finds my ear as your fingers open me to slide into my wetness.

I close my eyes sighing as you enter me. My hips buck slightly against you as you spread my lips to explore again the inner contours of my womanhood.

"Wait pet." You breathe in my ear. Your tongue continues to delve; a reflection of the actions of your fingers.

"Wait pet." You repeat as I groan aloud in response to the flick of your thumb over my clit.

"Nnnnahhh!" My moaning sigh is louder, as, without releasing the pressure on my button, your skilful fingers dip lower to penetrate again into the innermost entry to my core.

"You like that baby?" You question in response to my gasp.

I can hardly speak to reply as I ooze around your persistent fingers when they start to ease slowly in and out of me.

"Mmmmmm... yuh-yuh-yessss..." My mouth labors to form the words.

Your hand moves faster now, plunging deeper into me, stroking harder the muscle walls of my womanhood.

Your words are hot, breathless in my ear.

"You like it when I fuck you don't you baby?"


"I want to hear you say it pet..."

The words tumble from me, almost without my willing it.

"I-I-I l-like it wh-when y-you fuck me... m-m-mistress."

"Mmm... good girl pet."

I feel ready to faint as you slide another finger into me.

Your thumb grazes harder on my nubbin and my hips buck again. My throat makes small pleading noises: the cries of a tiny, desperate creature, of cornered prey.

"You want to come pet?"

"Ohhhh... oh y-y-yes m-mistress."

Your voice is torment in my ear; your hand torture in my cunt.

"Tell me pet."

"Ohhh pur-please mistress. Please let me come." I plead for my release, breathless, desperate.

Your hand continues to pump inside me ravishing the supple, taut muscles of my core.

"Open your eyes pet."

My eyes open languidly to reveal a blurred, semi-dark world of writhing, twisting forms.

"You've got an audience."

Reality swims slowly into focus as you continue to fuck me.

On the dance floor before me are three dark haired girls. Statuesque, strongly feminine, their beauty makes me ache. Something about them is... almost familiar. Their eyes are fastened on us. On me. Facing us they dance close together, their bodies held tight against each other. Their hips grind against each other as hands drift over buttocks, breasts, dipping between thighs to caress and fondle.

My eyes are held by them.

Their gaze is hungry, burning with lust, turning my shame to wanton abandon as I give myself to you, riding your hand.

"I think they want to see you coming baby... come baby... come now."

I spread myself wider, thrusting myself down onto you, and under their watchful hunger I follow your urging

Your voice is insistent in my ear.

"Come on. Show them baby. Show them how you come."

My head snaps back as I begin to crest wildly.

My muscles tighten hard around you, clamping your thrusting digits inside me. I can feel every detail, every ridge of every knuckle as you drive me on. My hips pound against you as I scream silently at the wave of energy that sweeps over me overwhelming me, inundating me in its raw untamed power.

My heart races as my body hurtles on its own course. I milk your fingers, suckling fiercely at them. My legs kick slightly, my ass bouncing on the fabric beneath me as I spasm. The surge of fire burns though me leaving me gasping, breathless, head hanging in exhaustion as it crests and begins to subside.

Your fingers continue to softly stroke my inner being as you thumb my clit, dragging the aftershocks of my climax on and on as I plunge ever deeper into ecstatic oblivion.

Eventually I calm and am able to think again.

"I think you made an impression Tara." You nod toward the three watchers.

They dance still, but now aligned. Two of them hold each other close, their mouths joined, tongues plunged hungrily inside. The third is taller than the others, perhaps older by a couple of years. Her breasts are large and full, barely contained by the tight silk shirt that she wears tied off to leave her belly bare. She is tightly snuggled against the smallest one sandwiching her between them. Her hips thrusting against tautly curved buttocks, her breasts are crushed to the naked back of the middle companion. Her mouth suckles beneath the raven hair-line at the smooth skinned neck her tongue tracing the dark lines of the tattoo. Her hands reach around and between the others, to move rhythmically between their thighs. A third hand - I cannot see whose - works similarly on her.

There is a similarity to them. I wonder - sisters? Again the wave of familiarity flows over me.

You laugh softly at my frown.

"Come on baby; don't tell me you don't recognize a witch when you see one... or three?"

You turn my face towards you to claim my lips.

"Mmmm." You sigh into my mouth. Your tongue is hot and insistent.

"...Mmmm... I've not finished with you yet."

I look up into the dark pools of your eyes.

You break the kiss and, nodding to the dance-floor, whisper in my ear:

"Why don't you watch the floor show while I get the coats?"

As I turn to watch the three witches your hand dips again in to my centre. I gasp as it roams within me, coating itself with my sap before you get up to leave.

"Don't move baby..."

I lie in the booth; my skirt still raised, my legs parted wide, revealing myself to any who wish to see. I watch the dancers. The middle one, perhaps the youngest, now has her jeans opened, allowing the one she kisses to finger her deeply. The one behind, her skirt raised, squirms on the searching hand of the second as she reaches behind her to probe inside a tiny scrap of underwear. The first rides on the third, whose hand reaches under her skirt to fuck her.

The eroticism of the scene sets my heart racing again. My cunt pulses hungrily as my hand reaches to touch my throbbing clit.

They watch through lidded eyes as you approach them. My heart twinges jealously. Your hand rises to waft beneath their noses. My breath catches. My eyes follow your fingers to the third for you to paint her lips with my juices. She quirks an eyebrow as you share a few words before your mouths meet. Your tongues entwine hungrily and I groan; my emotions divided between jealousy and the intensity of my lust. My fingers play over my clit as the second witch raises your fingers to her mouth to suckle them, cleaning them of my liquor.

Momentarily you enter their embrace. Their hands roam over the perfection of your slender body, finding your nipples, caressing your face, easing between your legs to stroke over your crotch exploring every nook, before you ease yourself free. A few more words are shared and you turn to me smiling before heading for the coat-check. Their eyes follow yours. I continue to pinch at my bud, working it, the lewd nature of my display forgotten as, swaying still in time to the beat, eyes fixed on me, their hands return to their ministrations.

My climax approaches again as you return. You watch momentarily as I pleasure myself, before your hand reaches to stop me.

"Not yet pet. You have to earn the next one baby."

"Mmm?" I moan in soft complaint.

You hand draws me to my feet and my skirt falls to cover me. Your hand is firm, imperious at the base of my skull. I quake at your next words.

"I'm going to spank you now pet."

My knuckle rises to my mouth in fear.


"But what pet?"

I have no reply and you continue.

"What are you pet?"

"Y-yours." My words are exhaled, breathless.

"My what Tara?"

Your words hold me unrelenting, demanding, remorseless.

I would whisper my reply but the music pounds and I speak clearly, repeating the familiar refrain: "Your slave, mistress."

"Good girl... and what does that mean pet?"

"I have to obey mistress."

"And what else pet?"

"Tha-that I-I belong to you mistress."

"And what does that mean Tara?"

Your questions are spoken softly; you make it all so reasonable.

"That you c-can do what you want with me mistress."

"Good girl. So now I want to take you outside and spank you pet."

My resistance over, my head bows in supplicant acceptance.

The club is a blur as we leave it. I hardly see you pick up my panties to drop them into the outstretched hand of third, dark-haired witch.

The next thing I'm aware of is the darkness of the alley beside the club. At the end is a bare brick wall. Beside us is the fire exit. From beyond it I can hear the dull thump of the bass beat.

You are close behind me, your body pressed against mine. Your groin humps softly against my buttocks in time to the music. Your hands roam my body, caressing my breasts, teasing my nipples, squeezing again at my core.

Your voice is low against my ear.

"When could we ever do this in Sunnydale Tara? Mmmm?"

Your hands find the fastenings of my skirt as you continue.

"Too dangerous... so here we are in good ole San Francisco..." Your voice is implausibly cheerful. "...and I guess it's just time to take advantage... of our location... of your body." You finish lightly

My skirt falls to the floor, leaving my lower body naked in the chill evening air. It is cool over the still heated flesh of my womanhood.

One of your hands renews its exploration of my aching wetness. The other fondles the cheeks of my ass, palming it, pinching it, caressing, squeezing.

"Mmm... nice ass baby."

I moan softly against you as your hands caress me. The butterflies in the pit of my stomach flutter with fear and arousal as my mind contrasts how soft your hands are now with how hard they will be when you punish me.

"Now lean forward Tara. Hands on the wall."

I reach forward as instructed, bending, until I lean, arms straight in front of me, against the wall.

Your hand withdraws from my slit to join its partner on my butt.

"Now, what have we here pet?" You ask as you continue to stroke my cheeks.

"My bottom, mistress." I reply.

My breath is snatched away as your hand falls to sting my cheeks with a sharp smack.

"Whose bottom pet?"

"Y-yours mistress."

"That's right pet." You return to your fondling; now pinching me cruelly.

"Now pet. If it's mine I can do what I want with it can't I?"

"Yes mistress." My wincing reply is hardly needed as you continue.

"So if I want to spank it pet I can. Can't I?"

"Yes mistress."

"Yes mistress indeed..." You pause slyly. "...oh by the way baby I've invited some friends to watch you get your spanking... Well they seem to like watching you being fucked so I thought they'd like to see you being... disciplined."

I crane my head to see the three witches. They stand between us and the alley's entrance, arms slung easily about each other, hands casually seeking out sensitive, needy flesh.

I swallow, uncertain of how to respond.

Fortunately it seems that no response is necessary as you continue.

"Now Tara, open your legs and push out your ass."

I feel you release my bottom, stepping to my left as I move to comply, exposing myself again to their hungry view.

"Ready pet?"

I nod my head dumbly, before I realise my error. You hand falls twice, hard; smack, smack, on my presented cheeks.

"You need to tell me pet. You know the rules."

"Sorry mistress."

"Good girl... Now... ready pet?"

"Yes mistress. I'm ready for my spanking."

There are no more words. The sharp retort of each stroke and my moans, my cries, my tearful pleadings provide all the language we need as your hand descends: smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack covering my buttocks and thighs in a blushing rose pink, leaving me aching, smarting, wanton.

My complaints begin hushed, low, soft. As your hand rains down they grow in intensity to echo the rising temperature of my flanks. "Mmm, ahh, nnnn, ohhh, oww, ouch, ahhh, ahh, ooh, owww, nahh, owwwch, ohhh, ohhh, ahhh, no-o-o-o, ahhnno, unnnhh, ahhh, n-n-o-o-o, haaaa, ooohh, owwww, ahhhhh, ouuuwwwuhh, aiyyyy, arrgggh, no-no-no, p-please, nnnoo, p-p-please, ahhhhhhh, nowwahhh..."

Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack.

Your hand is hard, severe, unrelenting as it beats out its primal rhythm on my buttocks.

Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack.

I am tearful, desperate, pitiful.

"Ahhhhhh, ahhhhhnnn, arrrrgggghhh, ooooooohhhh, no, please, n-o-o, ohhhhhhh, ahhhhhh, ooooooohhhch, owowowow, aiyyyyy, oh no, please, no more, no, ow, pleeease, ahhhhh, oh mistress, please nnnahhhhhhh..."

Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack...

You continue until your hand hurts.

I sob softly, my flanks burning hot in the night cool, radiating heat. I know what they look like. You have shown me the mirror before now, the pictures you posted on the internet.

But it is not over yet. From your purse you extract the little red paddle you always carry. Oval in shape the leather is flexible but stiff. The handle is six inches long and shaped like a phallus.

Through my moans I hear you talking.

"She likes this one." You say. "Either end!"

Your laugh is light. The handle end nudges the mouth of my womanhood. I moan lustfully at the intrusion into my sopping, hungry cunt-mouth.

"Urrgggnnnnmmm..." I groan as you sink it home. I begin to pant as you thrust it into me.

"See..." You laugh again as it eases in and out, penetrating me deeper with each stroke.

"Now Tara, twenty with the paddle."

My groan is repeated as you extract the impaling shaft.

I gulp for air. 'Twenty with the paddle? Oh Goddess!'

"Count them all... you know the rules."

"Yes mistress."

"Well please tell our... friends, pet."

"I must count each stroke mistress and thank you for each one. If I lose count the stroke doesn't count. If I forget to thank you, you will start again."

"There's a good pet. So we'll begin."


I yelp in surprise at the impact. It stings my already flushed, flaming, sore cheeks.

"Ooooh. One thank you mistress."


"Ohhhh. Two thank you mistress."


"Ahhhhhh. Three thank you mistress."


"Hahhhhhh. Four thank you mistress."

Each successive blow is harder, heating the furnace of my tormented buttocks; hotter and hotter; marking them with a clear oval stamp of leathern pain.

Dutifully, obediently, punctuated by my cries of anguish, I repeat my sobbing refrain without fail, after each and every stroke.

"Ahhhhhh... Five thank you mistress."

From high on the top of my buttocks to the backs and insides of my wide spread thighs, you bathe me in the burning flames of your will.

"Six, seven, eight... thank you mistress, thank you mistress, thank you mistress... nine, ten, eleven, twelve... thank you mistress, thank you mistress, thank you mistress, thank you mistress... thank you mistress"

Eventually the paddle strikes for the twentieth and final time.

My groan is low, agonized, pregnant with the extremity of my arousal.

"Ohhhhggggghhhhhnnnnn..." Groaning, panting my breathless gratitude..."Ohhh Thank you mistress." Earning myself, at the last, an extra stroke.

"How many Tara?"

Your voice is stern. Your question a demand.

I breathe my response, hushed but clear.

"Ohh forgive me mistress... Nineteen thank you mistress..."

The paddle stings again. The spank is loud, clear, sharp...painful.

"Oooohhhhhwwwwww... Twenty thank you mistress."

I wonder again that your hands could be so hard as they punish. They are smooth and soft as they stroke my tormented cheeks. Your words are softly soothing, comforting, filled with pride as you continue to sample the heat of my punished body.

"Good girl... it's over now baby... you did so well... you're so beautiful baby... so responsive... your ass is perfect... so soft... so hot... you look so perfect as you're being punished... so beautiful... like a goddess... a soft, compliant, beautiful goddess... mmmm... baby... so hot..."

Your hands roam my fesses, stroking, loving as they ease beneath me to sample again the moist, honeyed slickness of my core.

"Yes baby." You breathe as I groan against your invasion. "You've certainly earned your pleasure tonight."

Your hand gently pumps me.

"But let's see if we can find a bed for the night..."

You release me, turning leaving me still supplicant, moaning, wanton, to address the tallest of three witches.

"Hey there... well, you've seen mine... gonna show me yours?"

"Oh I think that can be arranged."

"Cool. As long as you can provide somewhere Tara here's mouth can keep its appointment with my pussy."

"Mmmm... that I'd like to see... get the car sis..."

I hear the third witch turn away.

"Fuckin' amazing... mmm...we are soo gonna get fucked" She says as her feet retreat down the alley

"C'mmon Tara baby... we're not finished yet!"

I bend to raise my skirt.

"Give that to me pet. I want you on display tonight."

I hand it to you and turn, half naked, revealing my recently shaved pubis, to see the two remaining members of my audience. The tall witch has her hand behind the younger sister and up her raised, short skirt. She bends forwards slightly, her mouth opened in a silent groan, her eyes liquid with desire. Her hips sway gently as her lover's wrist moves with a gentle thrusting motion between her buttocks.

We stand, you and I, hand in hand watching their casual performance. I am almost as disappointed as the complaining younger witch when, with the sound of a horn, a car pulls up at the alley entrance and the hand ceases its activity to draw her towards the vehicle.

We are already following as she turns to ask with a wink, "You coming then?"

Tara set down her pen, her blood rushing in her veins. Her core thrummed with her arousal. It was satisfactory. She saw no errors.

She had written her fantasy as her lover had asked - demanded. Despite her initial reluctance to play the game, Willow had demonstrated a surprising competence even talent for her dominant role. Tara was glad she had worn down that reticence. Her red haired girlfriend was proving a most willing and imaginative mistress.

The blonde moaned slightly as she squeezed her thighs together stimulating her pulsing centre, clamping her inner muscles on the intruding phallus as it throbbed inside her. Rocking herself on her chair she felt the sparks of her arousal shoot through her. Her sly smile of pleasure faded to a frown as she watched the spy orb darken above her. Her rocking motion ceased.

She waited. Her cunt seeped her juices onto the chair.

The cock thrummed inside her. In Willow's enthusiastic assumption of her role in their relationship she had proved most adept at finding reasons to punish the blonde wiccan. Tara, expecting a spanking on her lover's return regardless of her behavior began to think that a little self gratification was worth the extra swats it would undoubtedly earn her. She had however, hardly begun to move her hand towards her centre when she heard the red-head returning. Her face flushed with guilt as she snatched it away.

The door opened. Her lover stood in the doorway, breathless.

"Hi sweetie. I-I ran back from the Magic Box to get here. They all asked after you but I told them you had the ''flu' and couldn't be there. They all send their love - even Anya!."

The words spilled from Willow as if from a faucet. Tara sat squirming in her seat as the red head babbled on for a while about the various Scooby discussions. Desperately aroused she just wanted Willow to get on with it.

'For fuck's sake Wil' just fuck me already. Fuck me, spank me, whatever just get on with it and do me,' she thought desperately.

As if she could read her lover's thoughts, Willow's change of tack was seamless. One moment she was talking about some demon or other, or how much money Anya had made today and the next she was asking, sweetly: "So did you write me a fantasy sweetie? Is that it there?"

Tara replied with a nod and a whisper of: "Yes mistress."

Willow leaned over her girlfriend to pluck it from the desk. Her nostrils flared as she detected the aroma of Tara's arousal. Her hand dropped between her lover's legs as she collected the manuscript.

Tara gasped as Willow's fingers coursed though her liquid centre, teasing her clitoris.

"Well it must be very rude pet if you're this wet mustn't it?"

Willow's question came out in a teasing sing-song voice.

"I don't know Mistress." Tara responded.

"It must have been sooo hard to sit here, so aroused like this and not touch baby." The red-head continued, her tone teasing, an eyebrow raised archly. "Well perhaps I should have a look then pet."

Willow turned to the bed, licking her fingers clean of Tara's fragrant liquor, and threw herself onto it. Tara watched her, eyes yearning.

Willow poured over Tara's work, color raising in her cheeks, on her neck, her breasts. Her hand traced the shape of her neck. It moved down into the valley between her breasts before drifting down to the junction of her thighs. The red haired witch kneaded her core through the material of her sweat pants.

"Mmmm", she sighed softly. "Well Tara, that was quite... arousing... you do have a fevered imagination don't you pet?" She drawled distractedly as she tried to resume control of the situation.

"Yes mistress." Tara lisped her response as coyly as she could. The phallus pulsed again in her depths.

"I think this is a very good game pet...I shall look forward to tomorrow night's tale!"

"I hope to please mistress."

"Yes I'm sure you do pet... but..."

"Mistress?" Tara asked nervously.

"I think that you're teasing me."

"I-I-I don't understand mistress."

"Well pet... your fantasy... it's unfinished... I want to know what happens next..."

"I'm sorry mistress I thought you'd like to make that up for yourself."

Willow frowned.

"You did, did you? And is it your place to decide what I want?"

"N-no mistress."

"No indeed Tara." Willow allowed her ire to harden her tone further. "Didn't I explain that I wanted explicit detail? I want to read your fantasies Tara - not mine. I know mine! They include giving your fanny the sound paddling that your oversight has earned. And while you get it you can tell me all about what happened next." Willow paused, a lustful, dreamy look crossing her features. "Mmmm... I must admit I rather like the idea of watching you being... enjoyed... by our new friends..."

Tara's insides turned over at her lover's words. Her own were hushed. "Yes mistress."

"Before that though baby you better crawl over here and relieve of some of my... tension. As you said... your mouth has an appointment with my pussy."

Continue to Scheherazade Part Two

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