Return to Scheherazade Part Two


Author: Salamanda
Rating: NC-17.
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.
Credits: Peter Meilinger, Pasha. Thanks for the suggestions and inspiration. I hope this meets with your approval. As for all other FB'ers and anyone who has been kind enough to express their interest and gratitude: thanks for the support & motivation. May I reply by simply saying thank you; for the encouragement and your generous applause? You are, of course, why I do it. Well that and the obvious!
Anyways I appreciate it and I hope that you all find this worth a few minutes of your time. I am always happy to entertain any ideas you may have... no promises though!
Pairings: W/T/X/A - contains m/f.


"You know," Buffy exclaimed as she arched her back. Arms outstretched, her flat belly exposed by the crop t-shirt, her high firm breasts drawn up as she eased the kinks from her back.

"You know," she repeated herself a sly smile playing over her face. "When I see that 7 of 9, I think I understand what makes you two dance your end of the dance-floor!"

Willow and Tara gaped.

The end credits played as Buffy's teasing grin grew at the look of surprise on the witches' faces. Next to her, her sister watched the two lover's shocked expressions deepen with growing amusement.

Eventually she could control herself no longer and Dawn's giggles burst out of her.

The blonde Slayer turned to her sister with a fake scowl, to slap her, playfully, on the arm.

"Dawnie... I'm serious!"

"Yeah, sure thing Buffy!" The younger Summers girl continued to giggle.

"Oh very funny you two..." Willow began, for her blonde girlfriend to interrupt her.

"...Really Buffy? I have to admit I prefer Captain Janeway myself... the Borg is a little too... obvious for my tastes... too much the sophomoric fantasy figure... now the Klingon, she is an entirely different matter..."

"Tara!" The slimmer Wiccan began, only for her partner to interrupt her again.

"Well she is babe... but the Captain... mmmmm... she can so be my Captain any time..."

Willow coughed, swallowing in shock as she listened to Tara's confession.

The other two girls were still giggling, but between sniggers Dawn managed to splutter.

"Nah... I'm not much for Star Trek myself... now I could go for that Sabrina the Teenage Witch!"

Buffy raised her hand to high five her sister.

"...Ha, hah, hah, ha... Sabrina! Oh good one sis'!"

"You two should know better!" Willow briefly feigned anger as she watched the other two giggling before a grin began to curl her lips.

"Hmmm... maybe I know what you're saying about Sabrina, Dawnie!" She rolled her eyes at the brunette. "...but I guess you're right Tar' 7 is a bit too obvious... mind you I could so see the Klingon chick and the blondie getting sweaty!"

"Mmmm I know what you're saying hon... but it's still Janeway for this gal... Tara waggled her eyebrows as she spoke squeezing lightly on Willow's thigh. "Hey can I help it if I like red-heads?"

"Oh yeah and the fact that she is a complete Top is a coincidence is it baby?"

It was now Tara's turn to squeal in shock.

"Willow!" She cried, coloring brightly.

"Oh come on baby!" The red-head continued. "You know you like it rough."

"And so does everyone else within about a block and a half." Buffy interjected.

"Ohhh yeah." Dawn continued happily. "Oh yes mistress, please mistress, oww mistress... ohhhh mistresss..." her impression of Tara surprisingly accurate.


The three older girls all cried out at once, in shock, as Tara blushed even deeper.

"What?" Dawn asked, her face a picture of innocence.

"You shouldn't be listening young lady!" Buffy chastised gently, still smiling; fully aware of the impossibility of what she suggested.

"So who else lights your candle Will?" Dawn continued oblivious to her sister's concerns.

"Ohhh... I know..." Tara interjected causing Willow's eyes to widen in alarm.

"Tara!" Willow's voice was low as she spoke, a note of warning entering her tone.

"Oh who Tara... who?" Dawn bounced as she watched the other witch squirm slightly.

"Well, if I go for red-haired dommes then my baby prefers pretty blonde subs... dontcha baby?"

Willow's grin showed her teeth.

"Oh you are so going to pay for this later Tara Maclay!" She threatened softly.

Tara wriggled, slightly uncomfortable, incipient heat turning damp at the apex of her legs.

Undeterred, though, she continued.

"You liked that little blonde girl who was in Voyager at the beginning and you sooo have the hots for Gabrielle don't you babe? You know from Xena: Warrior Princess." She finished turning to the other two.

"Ohh yah." Willow responded with a shrug. "I could sooo put her over my knee and warm her sweet fanny... mmmmm yeah!" She finished with a groan, her core tightening as the image of the blonde bard in the aforementioned distressing position played across her mind's eye.

Buffy and Dawn blushed now as the conversation took an uncomfortable turn.

Willow turned again to her girlfriend.

"I think you've got some work waiting for you upstairs haven't you baby?" She purred, coyly.

Tara stiffened at the low tone of iron that had entered Willow's voice. A tone meant only for her.

"Off you go Tar'." Willow dismissed the fair-haired witch. "I'll be up to see to you later."

Tara's womanhood clenched, oozing wetly, spilling her arousal into her panties.

"Yu-yehss" she sighed breathlessly standing to leave. "Yes mistress."

"Say goodnight to Dawn and Buffy sweetie!" Willow's eyes were ebon, filled with dark promise, as she smiled up at her love.

Flushing again Tara stammered a goodnight to the sisters. They sat in embarrassed silence as she headed for the stairs.

"So Buffy, Dawn 7 of 9 and Sabrina... any other TV gals I should know about?" Willow asked with a laugh as Tara closed the door.

Tara found writing difficult tonight. Downstairs she could hear the three girls laughing, distracting her. She found that, without the encouragement of Willow's hand on her rear or something to provide alternative stimulation her fantasies failed to force their way to the top of her consciousness.

Frustration and fear quickened in her stomach. Looking at the clock she realized that she had been wrestling with her imagination fruitlessly for over half an hour. Sighing to herself she wondered if there was anything she could do to stimulate the creative juices.

Despite the full knowledge that Willow had made it perfectly clear that she was forbidden to pleasure herself, Tara's hand eased its way between her legs.

"Mmmmm..." she moaned softly to herself.

The ever present, magical, 'watcher ball' darkened as her fingers stroked over the outer lips of her hairless sex, caressing them gently, causing them to pout and part allowing her fingers to slide, slipping into the slickness of her increasingly damp cunt.

"Ahhhh..." She gasped as she saw the orb discolor. She knew that she would pay for this disobedience, her heart rate quickened at the thought. But it was better, perhaps, to be punished for masturbating than for failing to provide her lover with the required fantasy.

Catching her clit with her thumb her groan deepened and her hand moved quicker within her core. The images she sought began to form in her mind.

"I love to watch you baby."

Your eyes are dark, lidded, heavy with lust as they rake my body.

I arch off of the sofa, my hips rising pushing towards you. Fingers, now deep inside me, pumping, stroking my inner walls, curling to reach for my sweet spot.

My legs are spread, my knees raised, opening myself wide, exposing the heated flesh of my center to you. My left hand holds my labia apart to show you the dark pink flushed folds of my cunt.

My hips buck as spasms of pleasure shoot through me, muscles tightening on my fingers, my g-spot thrumming.

"Oh... that's nice baby... I like that..."

Sitting across from me your eyes burn into me. They travel over my partially clad body, drinking in the sight of my lewd display. My panties trail around one ankle, my skirt long discarded. My gypsy top is pulled up to expose my breasts in response to your earlier demand: "Show me your tits baby"...lifted out of my bra, my nipples are stiff, exposed to your hungry eyes, igniting avid fires in your gaze.

You move now. Standing to lean in closer, your eyes wide, watching closely as I slide a third finger into myself.

I moan softly.

"That's good baby... mmmmm... yeah... that's good... fuck yourself harder baby."

I begin to move my fingers faster at your encouragement. Sweat beads on my brow, sheens on the bare skin of my belly, pools in the hollow of my navel. A different moisture oozes, spilling between my legs. Lush, slick it coats my fingers, easing their frantic passage within me.

"Ohhhh..." I groan again. My body tightens.

You begin to prowl around me.

"That's my baby... good girl..." you purr. "You look so good like that... with your legs spread... your cunt open for me... showing me as you play with yourself... so slutty... does it feel good my pretty slut? Mmmmmm?"

Your words burn into me. My hips rise again. My fingers thrust deeper, harder.

"Ohh... ohhh... oh yes it f-feels g-good..."

You stand above my head now, leaning over me, eyes dark, burning down into mine.

I stare up at you.

Reaching over me now your fingers fasten on the erect nubs of my nipples, teasing, squeezing, pinching.

I gasp, moaning.

"That's right baby... mmmm... I love watching you."

Your head dips to bring your mouth over mine. You claim my lower lip, suckling on it, biting gently. I gulp for air at the surging electric spark of your touch. I moan again and you swallow my cry as your tongue strokes the tender sensitivity of my lip.

"Mmmmm baby... so good..." You purr above me as you release my lip. "Now play with your clit baby..."

I jerk, bucking as I obey. My response so much more intense as you control my masturbation than on those, now forbidden, occasions when I used to be free to pleasure myself.

My thumb jags on the pulsing, sensitive kernel of my need, flicking it, setting up a rhythm in counter-point to the thrust of my fingers.

"Ohhhhh..." I moan, sweat running down to form on my lip. Your tongue sweeps to sample the salty tang of my tension. My body hums, resonating like a guitar string. Only your willpower holds my climax at bay.

Whimpering, my eyes plead for your release, permission, to come.

You hold me a little longer, your fingers still taunting my nipples, pushing me ever closer to the precipice but never releasing me, refusing me the fall into the oblivion, the sea of bliss that surges around me.

Your voice is slow, thick with lust. I thrill as I hear your desire for me strong in your voice.

"That's good baby... so good... I love watching you... I think I want to watch you with someone else..."

My eyes start, wide, staring. I inch a little further towards the brink.

"Mmmmm... yeah baby... watch you fucking... being fucked... you'd like that wouldn't you baby... putting on a show for me with someone else... mmm?"

Unable to talk I manage a dumb nod. You know I would. You know I would do anything you say... anything you ask... demand...

"That's my baby... my little slut of a baby... you want to come don't you baby?"

Again I nod managing to groan aloud my plea.

"Ohh... oh y-uh-uhh... yes p-p-please..."

Your fingers tighten painfully on my buds as you nod.

"Come then baby... come now..."

And the restraining ties of your will release me. I topple over, falling into the abyss of my orgasm. My fingers pump, my wrist a blur and my clit quivers under my furious thumb.

"Ohhh... ohhhhh... ohhhhhhhh..."

I cry out. Not the high keening wail of release of a girl brought, often tearfully, to a pain wracked peak by the skilled ministrations of her mistress, but the low, desperate grunts of a need filled slut, gratifying herself, giving herself over to the basest of urges.

"Ohhhh... ohhh... ohh..." My hips buck, gyrating, rocking as I spasm. My insides tighten, my belly tense as, moaning, I crash over; my display becoming ever more lewd than before.

A look of hunger lurks behind your eyes as they sparkle, glints of light against their dark sea green pools of fire, reflecting the smile that curves your lips.

They hold my gaze, locking my eyes on yours.

"That's good baby... so hot... you're gonna look so hot as you fuck someone else..."

I tremble, shivering slightly as the after shocks of my climax rumble slowly through me, stripping me of vigor, leaving me enervated, languid.

"Oh yeah... now who can we get to fuck you baby?"

I stare silently into your eyes.

"Perhaps we could get a hooker... mmmm... maybe we'll go cruising and I'll watch you pick up a whore..."

My insides tighten again, in alarm or arousal.

"Mmmm... my whore with another whore... nice... but... nah... I have a better idea..."

You pause, an eyebrow raised, taunting, waiting me to ask.

"Wh-what W-Will... t-tell me p-please."

The silence drags out. I begin to squirm uncomfortably as your eyes drift slowly over my body.

Eventually you speak.

"Xander and Anya... they like to play... we'll ask them..."

My eyes widen again.

"Oh... oh no Will... no please..."

"Yes baby... in fact it gives me another idea..."

Again you pause, mischief and menace playing across your features.

"...I think I'll give you to Xander..."

Stunned, speechless I swallow, desperate to argue to reason with you. 'Oh no please Will... don't... no please.'

But no protest leaves my lips.

"You've never had a man have you sweetie?"

Panic settles like ice in my stomach. My jaw works but words will not come.

"Mmmm..." You're moan is low, heavy, growling with lust. "I'm so gonna love watching Xander fuck you baby... take your 'virginity'..."

Finally I manage to speak.

"N-no... oh p-please no Willow... d-don't make me... I-I don't want..."

"Hush baby." You interrupt my objection, your head dipping to brush your lips over mine again. "You'll do it baby... you know you will... you'll do it because I want you to."

My protests subside; the truth of the matter hitting home. I know it as well as you do. I'll do anything you ask.

Tears well in the corners of my eyes. My head shakes in stifled denial.

The zipper of your jeans whispers, catching in my ear as you slide your pants over your hips.

"In the meantime..."

Your panties follow them to the floor.

"...I'm gonna ride your pretty face baby..."

Your leg swings over my face to straddle me.

Your cunt is hot and humid, wet, succulent, spicy, intense as it lowers onto my mouth.

I hear your groan as my tongue begins to explore the contours, the sculpted fleshy shape of your pussy.

"Aggghhhh..." She screams.

"Aggghhhh..." Again.

And again "Aggghhh..."

Her cries are low, guttural howls. Heavy, desperate they drip with need, as her agony saws through her body, transporting her, rendering her week with desire. Her suffering continues unabated as her lust grows to a new intensity.

I kneel quietly on the floor, my hands secured, cuffed in leather, behind me, resting above my buttocks as I watch, my heart racing, my liquor oozing, wetly from the heated center of my being, seeping past fat, flushed, pouting labia to coat my thighs; slick, hot, liquid fire. My stomach twists, my core tightening. I watch through hooded eyes, dark with envy and arousal.

"Aggghhh..." She cries.

She is long past the begging, imploring, pleas for mercy, the pathetic offers of her charms, of her body in service to you. Now she simply, cries, moaning, screaming wordlessly, in her suffering, spilling bitter, salty tears that track lines of moisture down the perfection of a face distorted by agony.

She hangs from you; her arms clasped about your neck, your left arm around her steadying her against you. Her head rests, tearful on your shoulder. Trying vainly to satisfy her heated arousal, to relieve the tormenting, wild longing in her loins, her hips jerk and thrust against your hip, lewd, needy, desperate, lustful as she bucks, crying out in exquisite agony; tear stained, agonized arousal.




She screams over and again, writhing in your embrace. The whip, short multi-tailed, traces an endless multitude of strands of fire across her body. Her back is flushed striped, marked with crimson agony. Her legs, from her calves to her thighs are ablaze, scored with myriad lines of painted scarlet fire. A tracery of misery, of burning distress; a skein of tortuous, torturous streaks emblazons her buttocks as the whip rises and falls over and over, turning her flanks a flaring, scorching, incandescent orange/pink.



Foolish, her head raises. She thinks her ordeal is over as your hand falls still. I learned long ago to read the signs of your body as I am punished. Hope burns in her eyes. She believes that now you will release her, bring her gasping and crying, crashing to her peak. She awaits your touch as you take her, fucking her to a cresting, exploding crisis.

I know her error.

She whimpers slightly as you turn her in your arms so she leans against you, the aching, tender flesh of her shoulders rests against your breasts, contained in the soft, red leather of your bodice. She winces crying at this contact. At a word from you, whispered, quiet but so commanding, oh I know how commanding, she pushes her hips forwards, parting her legs. Silly girl, she spreads herself for you, offering her core to you, awaiting the joy of you entering her, raiding her womanhood, penetrating her. Foolish ex-demon! She has not yet earned so easy a passage to bliss. Does she not know that she will be delivered to ecstasy only through greater torment?

Oh Goddess, I know. I know only too well. My clit throbs as my sex spasms in desire. How I wish that pain, that rapture could be mine. Yet here I kneel, patient, but unattended; my part in 'The Exchange' still to come. My stomach turns. Ice forms deep inside me as my cunt tightens clasping in fear and expectation.

I had been unsurprised, I guess, that Xander had been so enthusiastic about your proposal. I had not however expected him to offer Anya to you; to complete 'The Exchange' as he put it.

"Well I've been thinking I'd like to see her with another girl for a while y'know. I mean she might have centuries of experience but what's the use of that if I don't get to experience the good bits? 'Sides she always gets kinda antsy whenever the subject of girl on girl lovin' comes up. Either she doesn't like the idea or she likes it a bit too much for comfort... anyhoo it's a win/win sitch for me!"

You were far too polite to demur!

"Ahhhhhh..." she gasps. Her head falling back on your shoulder as you take a nipple rolling its tumescent erection between thumb and forefinger.

"Ahhh... ohhh..."

You tease her, giving her ever more reason to hope, plucking at the thickened, taut nub of flesh, straining at it, tugging, pinching, toying with it.

"Mmmm..." Her moan is heavy, pregnant with arousal as you suckle on her neck, sampling the musky, slick sweat of her skin, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse point under your tongue, raising a mark, a hickey to claim her this night.

She trembles under you. Poor girl.

"Ahhhhhh..." A note of discomfort enters her tone as she gasps again. Your fingers tighten, bruising, crushing now at her bud, stretching it away from her breast.

My own pebbles thicken in response. I know what awaits her. I would take her place in a heartbeat.

Your hand releases the jutting point of flesh. It's tempting morsel snapping back and she moans again.

And then she cries out.

The whip whistles in the air to land heavy, with an angry swat sound across her breasts.

"Agggghhhh..." She screams again as my sap gushes to soak my thighs anew.

The whip rises and falls, brushing those trails of burning agony across the soft feminine swell of her breasts.




As the whip swings again and again to brand the sweet tenderness of her flesh your hand roams, almost absently down her belly. It traces the flat abdomen, testing the dusky niche of her belly button, before twining in the soft, fragrant, dewy curls at the base of her belly. Kept trimmed but unshaved her pubes seem to distract you briefly. Your preference for nakedness keeps my own mons depilated and smooth.

She moans at the brief cessation of her punishment as your fingers twist gently in her hairs.

"Agggghhhh..." She cries again as you quickly resume her torment, the lash spreading out as it lands with a swish across her breasts.

She struggles, writhing as she gushes and cries, but her hands remain clasped behind her as instructed. Despite the extremity of her distress, her obedience is well ingrained. Regardless of your doubts, her training has been skillfully, scrupulously accomplished.

"Aggghhhh..." she screams again. Her cries seem endless as the whip sings over and over.

You enter her; her screams taking on a richer, deeper, more guttural tone as she bows her legs slightly, bearing down, seeking to impale herself onto you.


Your hand pumps between her thighs, fucking her as she thrusts against you, lewd, needful, wild, whoreish; all the while she screams her throaty cries of tortured need as the flogger flashes down on her torso.

She is ready. I can see it in her eyes, in the rigid tension of her shoulders.

What I sense, you sense and with sublime cruelty your hand eases from her. Sighing from the slick, angry, pink flesh of her core, leaving her perched, suspended on the edge of her crisis.

Your lips curl in a satisfied grin, a cruelly, malevolent smirk of pleasure. The smile that I adore.

"Shhhhhhh..." You soothe her, your hand toying again in the soft wire of her curls before it smoothes again over the tender skin of her belly.

My eyes close in anticipation. My tongue flickers to moisten my lips. I know what comes.


The multitude of red stripes that greets me as I re-open my eyes confirms what I knew. The whip falls yet again.


A new lacing of anguish blossoms across her belly, overlaying the first.

"Agggghhhh..." Another lattice of burning fury. "Aggghhhh..." And another. "Aggghhh..." And another.

So many cries, so many tears. She shakes in her bitter torment as over and over you whip the flailing lash across her midrift.

"Agggghhhh... Agggghhhh... Agggghhhh... Agggghhhhhhh..."

Your other hand toys again with her nipples, tormenting their tortured, beaten puckered flesh; their resilient, puckered erections jutting in sweet agony against your fingers.

The whip descends. Lower now. She cries louder, ever louder as she begins to comprehend its next destination. Between her cries she sobs, finding again the energy, the will to plead, begging, pitiful in her denial of the inevitable.

"Aggggghhhh... oh no... oh please no... agggghhhh... oh... please not there... ohh... ggghhh... ohh no... please m-miss... aggghhhhh... n-no oh no... arrrrrggggghhhhhh..."

Her scream reaches new heights as the thongs of the whip curl lovingly between her thighs to kiss her womanhood with tongues of fire that sip at her liquor, insinuating themselves between the pouting spread of her split.

"Arrrrrggggghhhhh... noooooooooo..."

Foolish demon.

She should know by now that the red witch is not to be denied. She is remorseless, cruel, ruthless, but glorious, beautiful, supreme. You are utterly dominant, severe. I belong to you wholly. I would give anything to be in the former demon's place now.

But that is denied to me. My part is yet to come.


She presses her hips forward. Despite her agony, her pleading, she craves more. The sign of a true slave. She has indeed been well schooled.


Her cries take on a plaintive quality and I wonder: Does your skill know no bounds? As the whip loves her sex, worshipping it in its own uniquely cruel way, the tails moistening in her essence, it drives her close again, so close to her crest, and to the plunging, plummeting crash into the abyss.

But again you deny her. Adding familiar cruelty to familiar cruelty the scourge falls still again. She writhes, moaning, pleading now with little gasps and cries for more.

"Ohhh... p-please... please... don't stop miss... the whip... please... more..."

Again your voice soothes in her ear as gently, too gently you sample the heated inflammation of newly tortured femininity. Your fingers are light, tender, a new, soft agony, within the stinging well of her crimson cunt.

She gasps as slowly, measured, tormenting, deliberate, you enter her again, your fingers curling inside her to find the secret inner sweet-spot.

"Ahhh..." She sighs.

And then screams.

Oh so cruel.

The scourge snakes around and down to mark the tender flesh of her slender thighs. She twitches, crying out, screaming as the whip weaves a net of agony, of your special witchcraft across the sensitive, tanned skin.

She writhes now against you. Her breathing is labored, her breasts, tortured, inflamed, heave as she rotates her hips, grinding down and against your hand as you plunge a third and then a fourth finger into her clasping center. Her screams change again as forehand and then backhand you swish the whip between her legs to scorch her thighs.

Her body is a crucible of agony. A searing network of many striped agony encompasses her body. Her legs; the tender skin behind her knees; her calves and thighs; the glorious feminine swell of her buttocks; her hips; her slim waist; her shoulders; her heaving breasts with their thrusting hard pointed peaks; her belly and the grasping needy lushness of her cunt all burn, all sting and smart and cry out, so she screams again and again and again as she crests, finally climaxing in a mad spasm of furious, mind breaking orgasm that leaves her sobbing and shaking as she comes, clenching hard on your impaling fingers.

Dry mouthed my heart pounds. She is so beautiful and you are so glorious. I am transfixed. I can scarcely think, wishing only that soon it may be me who you drive to such tortured heights of blissful agony.

Oh how my heart burns with envy.

And as her spasm passes, the quaking aftershocks of orgasm fading, your lips move beside her ear. I look away a tear dimming my eyes.

I look up again as you lead her across the room to the chair. Settling yourself down to hitch aside the short leather of your skirt, you place her, kneeling, between your thighs, her hands still clasped behind her. Your legs spread wider as you lift your feet to rest on the tormented flesh of her abused shoulders. She winces in renewed agony as her head dips between your thighs to worship, lovingly, at your core. A soft moan, low and heated escapes your lips as her tongue probes into you, lapping hungrily at the juices that spill from you mingling with her tears, to smear her cheeks.

Oh Goddess! How I wish to be allowed to pleasure you, to bring you even as she does to that gasping height of pleasure; that paroxysm of delight that surges through you as you come in her mouth, filling her with your scented, honeyed, liquor.

Your eyes flutter as you crest your hips pressing gently against her lips, your hand reaching to twine in her hair as you press her deeper into your womanhood and with a gasping, sigh of satisfaction your climax passes from you.

Settling back further into your throne you moan softly as her lips and tongue continue to flit in your center, cleaning you, sipping, drinking down every drop of your essence from your thighs and your sex.

I weep silently as I watch in my state of abject arousal.

As you stir, lifting your feet from the supplicant ex-demon's shoulders his voice sounds softly from the shadowed edge of the room, beyond the lights.

"I told you she was good."

His voice is cool, steady. So unlike the big lug, the Xander I know. My mind still balks at the turn of events that sees him Anya's master.

"And you were so right..." You reply softly.

"You cannot live as long as Anyanka and not learn a sexual encyclopedia full of tricks... that said... she seems to have learned so much more with the right... ...encouragement..."

"I think I owe you an apology Xander," you begin. "...I-I didn't believe you could possibly have her so well trained..."

"That's OK Will." He responds with a low laugh. His acknowledgment is light. How long has he lived with our humorous, loving contempt? "But now it's my turn to try yours isn't it?" He finishes, his voice turning darker.

That spike of icy fear shoots through me again at his words.

'Oh Goddess,' I pray silently. 'Anything but this... please...'

But I know it is hopeless; a pointless plea. You are my Goddess. And your command is my law.

His cock is hot. It throbs dully in my mouth, jutting obscenely from the opening of his jeans. It has a vaguely bitter flavor.

It is salty, tangy, almost metallic. I can't quite place it. His hand his firm, strong where he grasps my hair at the base of my skull. Still kneeling, my wrists remain cuffed behind me; I feel powerless as he holds my head steady for him to thrust into me.

The heated, purple head of his cock slips, alien, past my teeth. He gasps at that slight contact. My eyes widen as I begin to understand just how sensitive his manhood is.

"That's right baby." Your voice is soft almost soothing by my ear. I wasn't aware of you leaving your seat to join us.

"Take him in baby," you purr. "Take his cock into you. Take him deep in your throat sweetie."

He thrusts deeper into me. The veiny contours of his shaft have a unique, unfamiliar texture in my mouth. My tongue traces the rippled surface of his rigid flesh and he gasps again.

His is different from even the most lifelike of your many cocks; more uneven in its firmness. It throbs dully, his heart beat pulsing in my mouth.

"That's it baby," you coo, teasing, in my ear. "Suck on it baby. Suck on his cock."

My cheeks hollow as I increase the pressure on him, emulating the many times I have knelt before you to suckle on the plastic and silicone and glass strapped to your groin. His hips rock gently in counterpoint to the bobbing movement of my head in his grasp as he feeds me more of his dick.

He isn't as big as the largest of your dildos but he is bigger than most and I gag slightly as I feel the swollen bulge of his cock-head bottom out engaging with my throat.

"Ohhfffuhhhckk..." He gasps a moan of surprised pleasure as I suppress my reflex, as you have taught me to take him further in, deep-throating his erection.

My head bobs now and he moans, fucking my face.

Your voice is soft, encouraging, tormenting, gently insidious, sly beside me as I use every mote of Willow taught skill to commit this unfamiliar yet accustomed act.

"Open your eyes baby... I want you to see what you're doing."

My eyes flicker open. When had I closed them?

"Look up."

I raise my eyes to look up the hard, lean length of Xander's body to his eyes as they stare down, hungry, triumphant, boring into me. So, it seems, you aren't the only one who likes the sight of my mouth closed around a cock - real or otherwise.

His eyes narrow as they meet mine and I feel his man-hood twitch in my throat.

There is a change to the flavor in my mouth. Something over-sweet, bitter, courses over my taste buds. He grunts softly.

"Uhhhnn... Uhh... yeah... s'good.."

A movement, a stirring distracts me briefly but his eyes hold me just like his hand controls the tempo of my bobbing head, slowing it to prolong his pleasure.

"Nnnnn... you sure you've not been holding out on us Tara? 'Coz for a dyke... you sure know how to suck cock..."

He growls, each word is punctuated by the thrust of his hips, easing his shaft gently in and out of my mouth.

My eyes widen at the soft sensation between my thighs. In my confused state, overwhelmed as I am by my abasement to Xander, I hardly recognize it at first.

The sound of your voice heightens my tension, confusing me still further.

"Good girl... that's right..."

I gurgle around his erection as I identify the probing, teasing of a mouth on my cunt. My hips roll as Anya, now lying beneath me enters me with her tongue, lapping a broad sweep between the folds of my sex, tracing my lush flesh from bottom to top. My hips buck as it catches at the apex, on the tingling, jutting pebble of my clitoris. It is too much for me. In my aroused, confused state, I feel heavy, immobile, trapped by my own torpor. Skewered between them I cannot tell where her tongue ends and his cock begins; where my pleasure and his are distinct; where my simple, instinctive revulsion ends and my orgasm originates.

Her tongue is skilled for a straight girl. He's right. She is good. Maybe those dozen centuries have taught her many lessons. Maybe she's just a natural, but with a few clever stabbing, sweeping swirls of her tongue over my bud I'm coming, tightening, quaking, spasming, to spill my sap on her, showering her face with the musky essence of my body.

And as if on cue his voice rises, a shout of triumph almost as he reads my climax, silent, muffled, gagged as it is by his manhood, in my eyes and his hips thrust wildly, driving his shaft, pulsing, spasming, deep into my throat as it pumps me full with the sharp, bitter/salt flavor of his seed.

"Yes baby... yes that's right... swallow it... swallow his come baby... all of it... swallow all of it."

Your voice is taut, heady with excitement, breathless as you watch him use me. Eyes narrowed, closely watching my humiliation, drinking in the sight of my virgin mouth as it fills with his male essence.

There seems to be an abundance of the slick, sticky, acrid fluid that floods my mouth, my throat, coursing into my gut as I gulp it down at your gleeful urging.

Uncertain, I continue to suckle on the bar of male flesh as it rests now quiescent in my mouth. He moans; a quiet groan of satisfaction as he allows himself to luxuriate in the sensation of my mouth around his manhood. Unsure still, I am surprised to discover that he remains hard, erect between my lips. I recall from some biology class that the penis is supposed to return to its flaccid, resting state after the male orgasm. His throbs hot, demanding, angry against the hollow of my cheeks.

Looking up in hesitant surprise my eyes find his. They are dark, intense beneath the brooding mass of his brows.

"A little Willow magic to keep Xander junior up to the mark!" He quips, waggling his eyebrows, in answer to my unspoken question. He grins as he eases his shaft from my still obedient mouth leaving me wondering about the degree of planning you and he had indulged in prior to tonight. It seems that Anya and I are truly pawns in this game.

I sigh with a shudder at the realization, my arousal spiking again. It is not a slave's place to bemoan her fate. Looking at Anya as you draw her from beneath me, her face smeared, shining with my juices, I read the same truth, acceptance, submission in her eyes.

Turning to you I meet your gaze and your dark, lustful smile. It offers no comfort.

I quake inside.

"That was outstanding Tara... sooo cool... I'm soooo gonna love watching Xander fuck you!"

A tiny whimper of fear and arousal escapes my throat as you continue.

"My poor Tara. Gonna get so fucked. Sweet, gay, little Tara with her pretty virgin pussy packed full of manflesh... mmmmmm... I'm so gonna love watching you squirm. But it's not gonna help you baby 'cos with all that man between your thighs, on top of you, pressing down on you, into you, crushing you as he pounds your precious tight little 'no man's land' pussy, you ain't gonna move an inch. Ohhh yeah..."

I feel tears sting my eyes. I want to shout out, to protest, to refuse but I know I won't - you were right. You always are. I'm yours and I'll do anything, anything, you demand.

"In the meantime baby I'm sure Xander's gonna want to warm that pretty fanny of yours..."

His arms are strong, so strong as he lifts me, carrying me to the bed where he drapes me, still bound, over his knees, settling me into his lap where my hip nudges the hard, maleness of his cock as he draws me close.

Everything about him seems big. Oh I know he's not a large man. Not by the standards of some but in comparison to you, my slight, slender mistress he is huge. His hand, his arms that ripple, his shoulders and thighs, his cock, they all terrify me. No matter how cruel, how merciless you are, how severely you treat me I have never felt fear like this. Sometimes when you mount me, taking me wildly, riding me with the biggest of you collection of strap-ons that seem almost to tear my poor, abused, suffering sex, I cry in fear. But not like this. Your domination is more subtle, more pervasive. Relying on more than brute strength and terror it engages my intellect, my emotions. It weaves a complex, gossamer web of cruelty and domination and love that captivates, enthralls, completes me. He simply threatens to overwhelm me, subduing me physically, with the size of his frame. This fear is more basic, visceral. Something feels... wrong... almost unsatisfying.

And then it comes to me; a flash of comprehension, a blazing, enlightening, bolt of understanding.

He is no more than a toy, an object, a tool of your domination. It is not he who masters me but you.

I moisten at the realization as it strikes me with almost tangible force.

I give myself not to him but to you. He is simply the whip that sears my flanks, the strap that marks my buttocks with its fiery tattoo, the dildo that stretches me, filling my cunt, my ass. It is by your command that I find myself bucking fiercely as his hand lands massively heavy, agonizing on my behind.


I gasp, inhaling sharply to release a high whine of complaint. I cry as much with the shock of comprehension as the pain.


His hand lands hard again on the orbs of my bottom; a swatting smack that sends jolting, starting, spikes of pain surging through me.

"Ahhhhh" I gasp and his hand lands again; so heavy, so painful.


"Ahhhhh" I respond in refrain.

SPANK... "Ahhhhh"... SPANK... "Ahhhhh"...

A steady rhythmic, almost musical flow of pain and submission.

As I give myself up to him, responding to the agony he gives me. Submitting I feel my arousal burgeon. Despite my horror of his maleness or perhaps in because of it... because I feel myself being made, forced to accept his mastery; compelled by your ownership of me, to yield myself, sexually to him.

Each blow drives the pain deeper into me as I moisten, leeching my sap where I am crushed against his thigh.

Tears form in my eyes as I realise what you have done to me.

If he lacks your finesse, your subtle skill that builds the sweet agony of my chastisement, he makes up for it in vigorous strength, his hand setting a blazing fire across my butt that spreads like wildfire throughout my nether regions as the fierce weight of his spanks rains down. I understand now why Anya, brash, self-absorbed, insensitive would respond so well to his crude, brutal mastery.

Soon I am crying out, begging, pleading for mercy as I writhe on his thighs.

"Ahhhhh... Ohhhhh... Owwwww... Hahhhhh... Ahhhhh... Aggggghhh... Oooooohhhh..."

I quickly run through my repertoire of gasps and moans, cries and screams, my legs kicking wildly, displaying my sex to him as I struggle on his lap.

Your newest means of punishing me, of humiliating me, soon seems to be the most ingeniously, subtly, cleverly effective ever. But then, aren't they all? Despite my almost visceral fear, revulsion of the power you grant him over me, I feel a stirring deep in my loins. My sap oozes from my depths to bathe his thighs, staining the denim of his jeans with my musk.


His massive hand, as wide as a leather paddle, as heavy as the wooden seems to cover the broad expanse of my rear with heated agony. It is wide enough to preclude the need for your clever spreading of fire over my cheeks as you cover my buttocks with a myriad spanks, making me almost unaware of how widely he roams over my flesh, until I feel the hot outrage of a fierce blow on my thigh.

My legs kick wildly now as he enflames the tender flesh at the back of my legs with a rapid, stuttering tirade of spanks...

Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack...

...which sets me screaming; loud, shrill, abject as my punishment extends into a savage eternity of heated, agony.

Your voice purrs beside me again, husky, deep, shot through with arousal:

"Ah... it hurts Tara? Yes? Mmmm?"

Somehow I find from deep within the blank of my mind the ability to speak.

"Aggghhhh... y-yuh... y-yess...ohhhh G-g-goddess yes... it hurts so much mistress."

"Good Tara... soon you'll be ready love... ready for his cock, his seed inside you..."

"Aggghhhh..." I scream my eyes clamped shut in misery at your warning and at the unceasing torment of his hand as it falls heavy and cruel on my poor, tormented flanks.

Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack, Smack

My body seems to burn; heated by the blazing fire of my buttocks, my thighs. Deep inside, my arousal is incandescent now; an answering fire, a quaking, seizing response to my abasement, my agonized humiliation.

The perversion of my instincts, my innate preferences, by your clever manipulation of my need to submit to your mastery has left me aching, desperate and lustful as I wince at the unremitting anguish of his hand across my behind.

My legs flail wildly, exposing myself to him and my face flushes brightly, almost as hot as my bottom as I realise that despite my best efforts, that no matter how mortifying the experience, I am showing him precisely how aroused I am. As if in response he ceases his assault on my derriere. Helping me up from his lap to free me from my restraints, unbuckling the cuff that binds my wrists, he half leads, half drags me to the bed. I flinch as my buttocks make contact with the sheets. He lowers me onto my back, opening my legs, parting them to expose the heated, niche of my oozing sex.

Wet and hungry before his gaze I squirm, and betraying me utterly, my cunt is ready for this: something I never dreamed possible even in my darkest fantasies.

Your breath is hot, your voice insistent, torrid beside my ear.

"You ready baby? Ready for his manhood"

That last seems to roll in your mouth as you imbue it with meaning, threat.

My eyes are misty, damp with tears of fear, of frustration, of confused arousal as I nod in response. My voice shakes, my words breaking as I surrender in uncertain desperation, to my desire.

"Unnhhhh... yuh-yuh-yess..."

I gasp.

His cock nudges at the moist niche of my slot. It eases into me, my legs straining wider to allow him deeper, to allow his broad hips and thighs further between my thighs, offering myself, thrusting towards him.

I cry out as, with a thrust, a single rapid press of his loins he enters me fully. Fear tightens me against his entry and I feel it all the more as he drives himself deep into me with a groan, forcing his shaft past the feebly restricting resistance of my clasping cunt walls.

"Oh yeah..." He groans again as he eases himself, slowly, out of me again until only the head of his penis nestles in the mouth of my womanhood. "So tight..."

Of course I am tight. A simple spell ensures that I am kept how you like me. Xander is simply the grateful beneficiary of your preference.

My moan is softer, little more than a whimper. I take his erection deeper again as he deflowers me, filling me with flesh, with real, blood heated, male cock.

His hands grasp my wrists dragging them above my head to pin them, immobile, secured by the iron strength of his grasp as he thrusts deeper into my body.

Again my heart flutters with fear, but despite myself I feel my hips rising towards him, my back arching to answer his thrusts.

'Oh Goddess...' I pray. 'Oh Goddess no...'

'Oh Goddess no...' That part of my mind cries out again but it is swept away by the welter of emotions, of needs that flow over and through me.

Appalled by my reaction, by the ease with which I have been manipulated, made to respond, I sob as he pleasures me. My desperation, my horror tightens, intensifies my response.

Huge; his shoulders, his arms, chest, abdomen, he sinks down onto me crushing me, helpless and feeble, into the mattress that receives my body, my hips, my scorching buttocks as he drives himself relentlessly into me. His weight is so much greater than yours, his body so much more massive. His chest, his stomach are covered by a dusting of soft hairs that itch against my breasts, my nipples, my belly. His face descends to mine, the bristles on his face rasping on my face as his tongue forces its way imperious and demanding into my mouth.

'Oh Goddess... no...' My heart almost seizes in panic as he penetrates me twice, but the building rhythm of his cock, hard, thrusting deep inside my intimate passage possesses me.

And your voice; seductive, cruelly demanding next to my ear keeps me anchored.

"Can you feel him baby? Deep inside you as he fucks you? Can you feel his cock inside you? Yes?"

"Mmmm... ahhh..." I gasp as he pounds down into me, his body crushing mine, rendering me weak, overwrought, utterly trapped, taken, overwhelmed.

"Can you feel him baby?" Your question is remorseless. It prevents me from slipping away, losing myself in catatonia. "You like Xander fucking you? His cock in your cunt? Thrusting into you? Riding you like a whore? Yes? You like that Tara?"

"Ahhhh..." I cry. "Ahhhh... Ahh... yuh-yes I feel him... Oh Goddess... oh please no... please no... I... I'm going to... I'm going to come... no oh please mistress no...!

I plead, desperate now to avoid this; this final shame; this utter betrayal of my body. But he continues. Driving his manhood, his maleness deeper, harder, fucking me. Your voice continues, breathless, heated, cruel in the shell of my ear.

"Come then Tara, come now... take him in... take his seed into you..."

He shouts out, grunting, a groan of release, close to me but so far. I am hardly aware as he begins to come. My consciousness splits between the hypnotic rasp of your voice as it drives me and the raging inferno of need that builds from being forced, against my will, compelled to submit to this... this pleasuring, to a crescendo coiling and twisting from deep inside, threatening to explode, a bursting blast of orgasm.

Deep within me, in the depths of my core, I feel a splash of liquid of liquid fire burst from him seeming to spray the walls of my womb with his essence. The sensation is distant and remote yet immediate and pressing all at once. Even as it shocks, appals me, it triggers my own crisis. My inner walls tighten, rippling, clamping on the shaft of his manhood, constricting on him, milking his seed from him.

My head thrashes wildly, my body bucking uselessly beneath his bulk as I scream out in dismay and ecstasy.

My mind goes blank.

Consciousness returns with a groan as I feel his weight shift above me, extracting his still rigid member from my body. I shiver, gasping in complaint at the loss of his impaling manhood from the grasping, traitorous flesh of my cunt. But your lips are hot, demanding, insistent, contemptuous of my enfeebled, weary state as they claim mine in passion. Your tongue is hungry, sinuous, dominant as it quests into my mouth.

"Goddess Tara," you pant your breath fervid, torrid in my mouth. "That was... hot... got to have you... now... need your head... between my thighs... your lips... tongue on my clit..."

Quickly, desperate with your need to take pleasure of me, discarding your skirt, you move to straddle me. Shuffling your way up the length of my body to sit astride my face, the sweat scent of your musk fills my senses. Your cunt pouts, lush, liquid, exquisite. It oozes to drip your honeyed liquor onto me. Sighing, with a groan you lower yourself onto me and your hips buck as, obedient as always, I find your clit with my tongue. Despite my wearied, emotional state, my mouth works furiously for your pleasure. You gasp, riding my face, grinding the hot center of your being down onto me, as I feast on the humid, savoury, richness of your flesh, the blade of my tongue dragging through your viscous wetness, searching out every familiar fold and detail of your sex, and though I can still taste his sticky essence in my mouth, the sweat liquor of your arousal burns on my tongue, purifying me of his alien flavour.

Beside us on the bed Anya whimpers as with a flurry of smacks to her aching, agonized flanks he orders her, voice hard, to her hands and knees.

"Up girl... smack... come on... smack... on all fours... smack... get your ass up high... smack... now... smack, smack, smack... get your face in the mattress... smack"

Her succeeding groan tells me he has entered her. His still erect manhood, even now slick from me, thrusting deep into her. She cries out, moaning in pain and arousal, as the slaps continue whilst he fucks her.

My heart flutters again at the memory of him and a secret part of me, deep almost hidden in the dark depths of my desires, almost unrecognized by myself, entertains the hope that you will make me service him again.

Above me, you come, with a cry, on my tongue, coating my face, filling my mouth with your feminine essence, the flavour of your arousal, your climax, bucking in rapture on my face.

Looking down, your eyes lock onto mine holding them as my tongue moves slower now, more gently within you, and I know you see deep into that dark, deep recess of my soul. You smile in triumph as you note that new part of me. There are no limits, no ends to what I will do for you and I know it.

So do you my love, my mistress.

They left only minutes ago but already it seems like a dream. With a chaste kiss on his cheek, a pat on her bottom and a grin you close the door behind them and turn to me where I sit patiently.

"Mmmmm sweetie... Did you you like it? Did you like Xander riding you? Your first experience of cock?"

The final word is breathed, breathless, suggestive, crude.

I whimper, uncertain how to reply. Still appalled by the memory of his stabbing maleness, his size, his physical strength, the sense of being overwhelmed, swamped by him, my arousal spikes again at the feeling of helplessness, the sense of vulnerability of giving myself to him, for you.

"You did, didn't you Tara? Mmmmm..." Your groan is heated, heavy with lust. "You're such as slut Tara aren't you?"

Timidly, fearful, I nod slightly in reply.

"Y-yes mistress," I whisper. "I'm a slut... your slut..."

"Oh such a good girl Tara... such a good, obedient little slut..."

Your hand pets my hair, stroking it, comforting me.

"Maybe next time..." My heart seems to stop as your voice takes on that sing song tone it gains as ideas tumble through your mind. "Maybe next time we'll get you made airtight baby..."

My insides lurch, quaking at your words. My body seems to burn at the suggestion.

'Oh Goddess... oh no... oh please no...'

And yet I long for you to make me.

"But first love... I saw you. Watching as Anya took her whipping. I saw the hunger in your eyes. You wanted it didn't you?"

Your eyes are dark, demanding as you retrieve the whip from where it fell earlier.

"Didn't you Tara?"

I nod as you bid me stand and spread for you.

Willow's eyes were immediately drawn to the 'watcher ball'.

Glowing red now, a swirling, fiery ball of bronze and gold, amber and scarlet, it pulsed in time with Tara's racing heart.

The crimson haired witch's lips twisted into a sinister smile, a fiercely gleeful grin.

"Ahhhh pet... what have we here?" She asked with a soft murmur of triumph. "Not able to keep your hands to yourself Tara? Hmmm? Or maybe really it's the opposite? Unable to keep your hands from yourself?" She finished wryly.

Tara's mouth was parched. Words stuck in her throat. Caught, trapped between the rock of displeasing her red-haired mistress by failing to produce the required fantasy and the hard place of disobedience of the forbidden pleasure of masturbation, she had erred on the side of self-gratification. Now she sat on the edge of the bed in silence fully aware of the consequences, eyes wide, appealing, a knot of tension tightening, twisting, winding in her lower abdomen.

Instinctively the blonde knew what was coming and she was very certain it would not be her - not yet anyway.

Willow let out a sigh: a long release of breath as she considered her good fortune with a twinkle in her eye. After what she could only describe as a stimulating evening of conversation with Buffy and Dawn about the relative merits of various TV characters and the games she might like to play with them, she had left the two sisters clearly stirred, disturbed even, but not a little aroused, to rejoin her lover. She suspected that her two friends would be spending somewhat sleepless, heated nights, while unaccustomed feelings, dark new desires set fingers searching, probing between parted legs, into hungry, thrusting dampness.

Even now the witch's magically enhanced senses could sense both of them racing lustful, head-long in an urgent explosion of self-pleasure.

'Ahhh... maybe one day...' she mused silently.

Her own arousal having built all evening, she looked now at her lover with a keen sense of anticipation. The irony of her thoughts was not lost on her. Here she was wondering about Buffy and Dawn both spending the night in self-pleasure whilst planning to punish her girlfriend for the very same.

Her lips curled again, a predatory glint flickering in her eyes.

"So, Tara, I believe you have some explaining to do..."

Her eyebrow arched.

Tara shuddered at the sudden harshness in her lover's tone. A lump formed in her throat as she felt the insidious trickle of her arousal within the folds of her labia.

"Well girl?" Willow demanded and a barbed shaft of fear, icy and paralyzing shot through the blonde, her nipples spiking in response. Almost without control her head seemed to shake in silent denial.

Willow was not inclined to be denied. Truth be told the red-head was horny and keen to play. Not that much of her life with Tara left her anything but horny. What with the ongoing battle against evil, the constant use of her growing powers and the loving presence of her beautiful, submissive girlfriend, Willow was pretty much permanently turned on: an incessant twisting tangle of heightened hormones. Their exhilarating but strangely life-affirming love-life served only to make her want, no crave, more and ever more from her lover, immersing herself in their strange pleasures at every instance.

'Still,' she thought to herself. 'There was something perfectly apposite, spiritual, Wiccan even, about the sex they shared. The Goddess would... approve.'

"Nothing to say...?"

The blonde managed only a shake of her head.

"Is it that I've not explained clearly to you?"

Again that mute shake of the head was the only response.

"So you know that you are forbidden to touch yourself don't you?"

Tara nodded.

"Your pleasure is mine Tara; mine to give and mine to deny. Isn't it Tara?"

Again Tara could manage only a nod of agreement, acceptance.

"I can't hear you Tara!" Willow snapped. Tell me girl... your pleasure is mine isn't it Tara?"

Flustered, trembling, aching for her mistress, for any touch, no matter how cruel, the other girl swallowed hard and, her mouth dry, answered timorously.

"Y-yes m-mistress. I-it's yours... I-I-I'm yours."

Willow smiled.

"That's right Tara. So if it's mine what were you doing taking what's mine without permission."

"I-I d-don't know mistress..."

Tara heard the pathetic inadequacy of her answer.

Inside Willow's heart seemed to turn.

'So cute... ' She thought.

What she said was all together harsher, more acute, scathing.

"Don't know? You don't know Tara?" The witch's tone screamed incredulity as she continued her verbal tirade. "You don't know why you've been..." Willow paused for effect, selecting her word carefully, maximizing the effect of its crudity. "...wanking?"

Tara blenched, her emotions in turmoil, her arousal burning so hot as to leave her breathless, confused, her body throbbing.

"I-I'm sorry mistress..." She sighed, her head dropping to fix her gaze on the floor.

"Sorry Tara? Sorry I caught you playing with yourself or sorry you're a disobedient slut Tara?"

Tara's face colored, flushing with embarrassment, chagrin.

Lifting her eyes to meet the red-head's passion filled orbs she managed a nod as tears began to well in her eyes. Humiliation surged through her, a storm of arousal that made her nipples ache, set her liquor boiling in the heat between her thighs, the pebble of her clit throbbing, jutting from its sheath, the hood seeming to contact around her nubbin, intensifying the fury of her arousal, causing her to tighten internally.

The red-head's eyes burned into her, unforgivably demanding and Tara knew that her lover would make her say it.

The words were thick in her throat.

"I'm s-sorry mistress. I'm a disobedient slut."

Willow's eyes narrowed, hardly disguising her joy as her own center tightened, moisture spilling into her underwear, onto her thighs.

"That's right Tara," she whispered. "You are a disobedient slut. And what is it that happens to disobedient sluts?"

The blonde closed her eyes in brief surrender.

"They are punished mistress... severely mistress..."

"Ahhh yesss..." Willow hissed in response, turning to the 'toy box' that stood at the foot of the bed.

Tara quailed as she watched her lover extract the long, multi-tailed flogger from the box.

"We'll start with this Tara. You have something for me to read?"

Tara shivered as she offered her lover the pages of manuscript she had composed.

"Y-yes mistress."

Willow nodded as she took it.

"Good. Now as I read this, since you decided to find pleasure on your own you will now find pain on your own." The scarlet haired witch exchanged the pages for the whip. "You will punish yourself Tara - severely. I will instruct you as you go and believe me I will know if you fail to lay it on hard enough." She pointed to the 'watcher orb'. "It has many uses. You would not want to disappoint me again would you Tara?"

The other witch simply nodded in understanding.

"So when you are naked you may begin with your shoulders, before proceeding to your belly, your buttocks, thighs and finally, your cunt..."

As Willow settled down sighing, her hand snaking its way between her thighs, the whip hissed in the air to land with a splash of leather fronds on her lover's shoulders. Smiling she looked up at Tara's soft gasp.

Setting aside Tara's tale for now, her hand stroked gently over the honeyed flesh of her split. There would be plenty of time for that later.

For now she sat back to enjoy the show, she was particularly looking forward to watching the whip's downward progress and the inevitable tears...

Continue to Scheherazade Part Four

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