The Ultimate Superheroines Forum

Buffy and the Gypsy Queen

by Doctor Dominator

I wrote this story a couple of years back for a friend who's an avid Buffy fan and have his permission to post it here. I hope people enjoy it. Buffy feels like she's a superheroine so I don't think this story is out of place in this forum. Let me know what you think.

Buffy, Willow, Xander and Giles are all licensed and copyrighted characters and are used in this story merely for entertainment purposes. The remaining characters belong to me and cannot be used without written permission from the author. Because there will be highly-charged sexual situations in this story, you should be of legal age to read it, meaning 18 in the United States and who knows how old in other countries. In any case, this wasn’t written for profit, I can assure you that!!

If you like what you read however, payment in the way of your comments, opinions and advice is sincerely accepted and encouraged. Post your comments here, write me a PM if you prefer or send me an email to [email protected].

Chapter 1: A Fresh Beginning


“Buffy, you’re simply not going to get all that in there, no matter how hard you shove it.”

“Why do they make these college dorm closets so small?” Buffy says, letting up on the badly bent box she’s trying to cram onto the floor of the closet that’s already stacked three high with them. She adds to her complaint to her mom standing behind her and shaking her head. “Don’t they know who’s living here? College girls! Clothes whores gone wild. Duh! Would a 20 x 20 walk-in closet be too much to ask?”

“You can stash a lot of clothes under the bed if you buy a plastic drawer like I have,” says the voice suddenly standing next to Joyce, just at the end of the closet wall running half the length of the room and separating the two sides of the dorm suite.

“Hey, terrific idea....uhhh...” Buffy says, looking upward.

“Mandy Palmer. Formally, it’s Amanda, but if you call me that I’ll have to hurt you.”

Smiling, Mandy’s 40Cs are pushing out of a yellow cotton blouse with big blue polka dots that’s tied in a knot around her rib cage. Her cleavage rivals the Mariana Trench. The blonde bombshell is wearing cutoff jeans that have about three inches of leg material, if that. She’s barefoot and sucking on a Tootsie Pop as she leans against the end of the closet wall.

“Don’t want that,” Buffy says, trying not too successfully to hide her shock at Daisy Mae standing there. “Hi. I’m Buffy, Buffy Summers. This is my mom, Joyce.”

“Hello Amanda,” Buffy’s mom says, not trying to hide her shock in the least and breaking the first rule already. “Did you move in so quickly on the first day?”

“Me? Oh no, I’m a sophomore and we got to move in yesterday. This is my second year in this room. My roommate...well, she’s not here anymore.”

“Academic issues?” Joyce pries.

“She fell hard for someone. It happens a lot. She lost her head over a boy. Didn’t make it.”

“How horrible,” Joyce says, looking at Buffy as if the object lesson couldn’t be clearer. Buffy rolls her eyes and Mandy gives her a rapid nod that Joyce doesn’t catch.

“Yeah. Listen,” Mandy says, waving her Tootsie Pop toward the hall behind her, “I just came from the communal ladies room which is down the hall across from the elevators if you haven’t located that crypt of horror yet. Anyway, are you on the meal plan and are you hungry? If so, they’re going to close lunch down in about 15 minutes before they start their dinner prep.”

“Oh, I was going to take Buffy to a nice restaurant; kind of a ‘congratulations-on-a-new- chapter-in-your-life-dinner’ for just the two of us,” Joyce says, rather pointedly to the buxom girl leaning on the wall before her.

Mandy gives Joyce a momentary piercing glance before looking down. “Oh, sure I understand. That will be nice. I’ll see you two later then, I better get down to the cafeteria though. I could eat a bear.” Walking out the door and away before either Buffy or her mom can say anything else, Mandy strides down the hallway with her back erect, her breasts bouncing heavily in her shirt and the eyes of every brother helping his college-age sister unload her belongings glued to either her chest or her swiveling ass.

“Mom, that was downright rude.” Buffy glowers at Joyce.

“I hope she won’t be trouble,” is all that Joyce replies, her eyes recording the departing sophomore with suspicion. “I’m sorry Buffy. Let’s finish unpacking and then go to dinner. Maybe if Willow’s free she’d like to join us. After that, we’ll stop off and buy you one of those under-bed plastic drawers. You’re new roommate has good sense about storage at least...if not clothing.” Joyce hasn’t let her eyes off the roommate until Mandy opens the second floor stairwell door. Finally she turns her head and looks at Buffy. “How does that sound?”

“Like matching thumbscrews,” mutters Buffy, then much more loudly, her mouth twitching into a poor excuse for a smile, “Fun!”


* * *


“So, I’ve put all the computer floppies in cases right here above the desk in alphabetical order,” Willow shows Xander, who’s been helping her unload the car and get her dorm room arranged. “My college...I love that word, don’t you...college. I’m in College!...anyway my shelving is all set up over here to hold the college textbooks I’ll be buying for all the classes I’ll be taking.”

“Obsessive much? Who said that?” Xander looks around in mock surprise, handing his red-headed friend the fat catalog of courses available at Sunnydale.

“It’s no crime to be organized, Xan. In fact, it’s efficient. It makes things easier, you know, when you can get your hands on things quickly. Like your toolbox: You need to know just where your rasps and hackisaws are for carpentry, right?

“Yeah, right, if I can’t find my hackisaws, I can’t kick them in the air to my friends in the hackisaw circle,” Xander grins.

“What? I got it wrong?”

“So close. But you get the Hackisaw home game version.”

“Jerk! Hand me that bookend.”

There is a knock on Willow’s dorm room door. Xander, close by, opens it wide and a shapely brunette stands there expectantly in a dark blue silk shirt and light blue jeans that she fills out very nicely.

“Hello,” he says, enjoying the view. “Please tell me you’re Willow’s roommate.”

“I’m Willow’s roommate,” she answers, looking askance and giving Xander some space as she takes half a step back. “At least that’s what it says on my housing sheet here.”

“I knew I should have enrolled!”

“Don’t mind him. Come on in, this is your room, too,” Willow says waving the hesitant girl into the room from her chair. “You don’t have to knock. What’s your name again? I’m sorry, I can’t find my sheet.”

“Aha!” Xander says with finger pointing up triumphantly.

Sidling quickly past him like he’s a nest of buzzing hornets, the petite brunette extends her hand to shake with Willow. “I’m Brooke Fenimore. Freshman, fancy free and ready for fun.”

“Boy, have you got the wrong room,” Xander blurts.

“Hey! He’s no one. His name’s Xander but pay no mind to that man behind the curtain. I’m fun.”

“Fun doesn’t begin to describe her!”

“Take a hike, Xan. I’m bonding here. Or trying to.”

“Is he always like this?” Brooke raises an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, only more so. Xandy plus!”

“A shame. All that cute and no brains.”

“Brains are over-rated. I hardly use mine,” Xander says.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” both girls reply at the same time, look at each other and break into giggles.

“Hoo boy. This can’t be good,” Xander looks at both of them and they continue to smirk at him and smile at each other.

“So what courses are you taking,” Willow asks, getting serious.

“Husband 101,” Brooke replies with a wink that catches Willow by surprise.

“What...why...I mean...really?”

“Sure. Why not? There are some nice hunks walking around here. Even your friend Sparky here isn’t half bad.”

“Eeewww!” Willow waves her hands in the air.

“Got any money, Sparky? Rich parents? Trust fund? Named in rich Grampy’s will perhaps?”

“Strike one, two and three. I’m out. You’re out. All god’s childrens is out. I’ll go get your trunk, Will,” Xander says, giving Brooke a look from behind her as he walks by that she doesn’t see. It shows he thinks she’s damaged goods but with very exquisite wrapping paper.

Willow and Brooke continue to cover the topic of hunky boys.


* * *


The stunningly attractive woman with long, wavy hair the color of dark apricots, an aquiline nose and full lips, strode across the circular driveway with definite purpose. Her black umbrella swung back and forth with every step while her brown and orange paisley skirt and ruffled white blouse showed off an attractive figure. A moment later the tall beauty stopped at the front door.

The mansion house that the driveway led up to featured intricately-carved cherry wood entry doors and a huge brass lion doorknocker. Both spoke of old money. The booming thump of heavy metal on wood spoke of tiresome traditions. Doorbells were faster and more efficient. Though she was a respected witch in the Order of Eliphas Levi, that didn’t mean the woman didn’t appreciate modern conveniences. Regan Macklimore tapped her foot and waited for her host to answer the door.

It wasn’t her host who pulled open the huge door after an irritating 70 seconds however but a man in a black suit and navy tie: the butler, an Englishman of exquisite breeding somewhere between the age of 55 and Methusula.

“Good afternoon, Miss Macklimore. Mr. Fowles requests that you meet him in the library, if you will follow me. May I take your umbrella?”

“Not if you wish to keep your hand, Willoughby.”

“As you wish, Mistress. This way.”

The library sports a magnificent two-story atrium with shelves on both upper and lower tiers and a sliding ladder to retrieve any of the thousands of volumes of handsomely-bound books showcased there. The glass dome allows in ample sunlight during this sunny day. Ornate black and gold sconces fashioned in the shape of bats with wings spread are dotted frequently around the walls for night time illumination. In the center of the room sit two red leather couches and two matching armchairs in a conversational grouping around an oval coffee table. A manila folder rests on the glass top of the table.

A tall thin handsome man wearing a white suit with a pale yellow pinstripe rises to greet Regan once she has taken in the remarkable beauty of the room. He extends his hand and smiles warmly at his guest. “Please, sit, Ms. Macklimore. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. “

“The pleasure is mine, Baron Fowles,” the red-headed woman smiles back at the man. His face is bronzed and glowing with health, but the witch knows this is a tan from a tube. The Baron could no more go out on the beach for a day of tanning than he could resist passing a destroyed blood bank in the middle of an all-out riot. He is a full-fledged vampire and has all the powers, habits and weaknesses of one.

The newly-met people take seats in the two armchairs paired across from each other. They’d talked on the phone a few times but had never seen each other until now. Breaking the ice, the Baron starts with a smile and a suggestion.

“Since we’ll be working so closely over the course of the next year, I feel we can dispense a bit with the formalities and use our given names. Call me Lester,” he says with easy authority.

“Very well, Lester. You may address me as Regan.”

“Delighted, Regan. I’ve been looking forward to this day for quite some time. Would you care for something to drink: coffee, tea, soda or something stronger, perhaps?”

“If you have a glass of ginger ale that would be nice,” Regan replies.

“Of course,” the baron replies. “Willoughby, please bring me a ginger ale as well and a plate of your delicious finger sandwiches.”

The butler answers in the affirmative, clicks his heels, bows his way backward out of the room, closing the double doors as he does.

“I trust Willoughby has provided everything you’ve needed prior to my arrival here?”

“The man is remarkable actually. I can see why you use him,” Regan nods. “He’s been incredibly helpful and very ingenious in supplying me with everything on the list I provided.”

“Excellent! Yes, he’s very resourceful and extremely loyal. He’s been irreplaceable while I recovered from that little uprising back in Moravia,” But things here in California are ripe for our plans and I expect a much, much better outcome here.”

“I would certainly hope so,” replies the 31-year old witch with her customary bluntness that she instantly regrets. The sudden frown on the Baron’s face is deeply furrowed. “I mean, we both stand a lot to gain and I will do everything in my power to assure our mutual success, Lester. I mean that sincerely.”

Lester’s smile returns anew and he opens a new subject. “Have you made contact yet with the slayer’s watcher, this Rupert Giles.”

“I will be doing so this afternoon. I’m hugely overqualified for the assistant’s position he’s offering in his shop but I won’t overplay my experience. It will be a perfect way to keep an eye on him and the slayer as I’m sure she will be in constant contact with him.”

“It’s an incredible stroke of luck that this position opened up,” says Lester.

“Not as much luck as you think,” replies Regan. “His first assistant met with a sudden sickness. A little something I brewed up in my kitchen.”

“Ahh. Foolish of me to assume it was a coincidence. Your skills as a witch will come in handy in this assignment apparently.”

“I doubt you would have hired me without them, Lester.”

“That IS true, Regan. Still, it’s quite encouraging to see you put them to use so skillfully and quickly for the sake of our group’s plans.”

“So you intend to establish a sort of fiefdom around Hellmouth then?”

“Yes about 25 miles in all directions around the mouth,” the gentleman answers with an air of suave self-confidence. “We’ll be asserting our influence with your assistance on the leadership of all the small towns in the area. Taking over key positions with our own people where possible, and using blackmail and other means where necessary.

“Then what?”

At that moment, the library doors swing open and Willoughby wheels in a dining cart bearing a pristine while tablecloth upon which sits a silver tray with two sweating glasses of ice-cold golden ginger ale and a plate of triangular-shaped sandwiches. It silently rolls up near the circle of furniture and the servant carries the drink tray over to the coffee table and sets it down with practiced ease. The wide plate of sandwiches follows. It is stacked three high with a base of five sandwiches on the bottom and one final sandwich topping the pyramid of food. Bright toothpicks with colorful shreds of red, yellow, green and blue plastic pierce the sandwiches.

“Will there be anything else, sir.”

“No this is fine, Willoughby. But sit down and join us. You play as important a role in this affair as we.”

“This is highly irregular, sir. The butler does not sit with the host and his guest!”

“Then take off your butler hat and put on your conniving conspirator hat,” jokes Fowles, enjoying his servant’s discomfort.

“Baron Fowles, I do not connive nor conspire. I simply facilitate.”

“Then facilitate your ass down there, Willough, old chap. We may need your brain power,” the Gypsy witch cajoles, pointing at the empty couch to her side.

“Of that I have little doubt,” Willoughby answers with a pointed sniff. He turns to Fowles quickly though and nods at him. “Not meaning you, of course, sir.”

It’s obvious to the Baron that the duo has gotten comfortable in their time working together on this project. Their bantering insults bespeak a fine camaraderie already. He’s pleased to see how well they mesh.

“Of course,” smirks Lester, who takes up a triangle sandwich of smoked salmon and Swiss cheese in his fingertips. He takes a healthy bite and smiles broadly at the flavors mingling on his tongue. The expression of delight has Regan reaching for her own sandwich and the watercress and Portabella mushroom combination fills her with equal delight.

“Mmmhh. Willoughby, I’ve always maintained that your talents as a minion are wasted,” Regan says, swiping a crumb of bread off the corner of her mouth with her tongue. “You should be a chef at a two-star Michelin restaurant.” Regan reaches forward and takes a sip of her ginger ale.

“I say! Hardly a minion. And Madam knows I wouldn’t settle for anything less than a three-star enterprise. Now what sort of assistance do you two require,” asks Willoughby as he sets himself down on the couch with stiff formality.

“Regan was just asking what happens after we take over key leadership positions in towns around the Hellmouth. I think we should tell her about our endgame.”

“Are you sure the inner council won’t object, sir?”

“Seeing as I’m the president, I think I can handle them, Willoughby. Why don’t you fill her in while I take another of these delightful sandwiches of yours?”
“I’d rather prefer not to be the one to ‘spill the beans’ as it were sir. Inasmuch as I have no seat on nor sway with the council, I’d prefer not to chance their somewhat nasty discipline procedure. No offense, Baron.”
“Well, I suppose you make a good point there, Willoughby. They do tend to be rather prickly about secrets and quite insistent on their punishments,” Baron Fowles acknowledges. He leans forward to take one of the glasses of ginger ale off the tray and takes a sip. “Fine, I will take the risk and inform Ms. Macklimore of the final phase of what we hope to achieve.”

Willoughby sits back relieved as the Baron leans forward toward the gypsy witch.

“The fact is that when we establish this 50-mile diameter circle around the Hellmouth, it will prepare the way for the rising of the Vampire King, T’Zuuz. With his influence and mental force we can march forth and multiply our numbers at a far greater rate and within several years time, grab full power over this planet and its mortals.”

“I sincerely hope you will grant favor to those who helped you along the way to this great achievement?” Regan coyly munches on her second sandwich and flutters her eyelashes at the Baron. He smiles at this amusing touch of hers, knowing she could probably whip up a nasty hex retribution as easily as using this feminine wile instead. He likes the dangerous aspect of her. As a vampire of great power of his own, he doesn’t fear the gypsy witch but he does respect her.

“Of course we will reward those who help us gain control. Besides the payment you will receive for your efforts, what would you have, my dear?” The Baron’s smile is so wide his pointed incisors show.

“Let me think about that, Lester. In the meantime, let’s talk through some details about what’s going to happen over the next couple of days. I don’t have an unlimited amount of time to stay here. My appointment with Giles is at 4 pm and I want to change into something that will open his eyes a bit more to my charms.”

“With your looks and witchcraft, I shan’t think the poor man will stand a chance. Will you be using some potion on him?”

“I’ll be using a very weak one. I think the slayer….uhm…Buffy, would pick up on any strange behavior. I think a regular old-fashioned seduction with just a little extra help from a mild love potion followed by a memory fogger is called for here: slow and steady and very traditional.”

“Not too slow, Regan, my dear,” the Baron advises. “There are schedules to keep.”

“Sir,” Willoughby interjects, “Regarding those schedules, I’m beginning to get worried about the night feedings on the local livestock. The number of new stories has increased. It’s being noticed, not by any national media as of yet, but that could change. We may have to move up our schedule if some national news source picks up the story and runs with it.”

“Excellent point, Will,” nods the Baron grimly, lowering his head and thinking while the other two just watch. After half a minute, the bronzed face comes up smiling. “I believe I have an answer to that problem. It will take a chunk of our discretionary slush fund but I think it’s called for. I’ll notify the council that in the next day or so, we will be purchasing a dairy farm. The cattle will be ours and should be enough to feed our growing family until the time is ripe for us to begin feeding on the humans and turning us to our side.”

“Now that’s thinking outside the barn,” smiles Regan. After that, the Baron opens up the manila file on the coffee table and the threesome talk over their plans for another hour. When the conversation lags for a moment after that, Regan stands up and excuses herself from the meeting.

“I really do have to go now. I will be in contact via these throwaway cell phones, Lester. And here’s yours, Willoughby. From here on out, don’t use land lines to discuss anything sensitive. These phones have been fitted with special scrambling chips and software. They can’t be intercepted by any government agency trying to scoop up transmissions in their sweep of terrorist activities.”

“You’re quite the spy, Regan.”

“That’s why you’re paying me so much, Les. I’ll call you. Thanks for the sandwiches, Billy boy. See you two later,” the statuesque gypsy stands, shakes hands with both men and departs.

“She knows how much I detest that moniker,” sighs Willoughby.

“Of course she does,” the Baron grins. “Why do you think she uses it?”

“She can be a bother.”

“On the contrary, Billy boy, she’s wonderful.”

“Shall I pack my bags and get my references ready, sir?”

“Okay, fine. I apologize, Willoughby. You won’t hear me use that nickname again. If I do, you can add a grand to your next weekly paycheck.”

“Duly noted, Baron,” Willoughby nods. “I will clear these dishes away now if you’re done with the plate, sir?”

“Thank you, yes I am. Delicious as ever. Maybe next time, try making one of them with blood sausage?”

“Consider it done, sir.”

Whoa! This is great - is there more of this? You do a stunning job of pulling off the tone of Whedon's writing/world, and you seem to do so comfortably. That's super impressive, and it makes this feel like an authentic tale about the characters. I'm really in for this - everything set up here is suitably tantalising and I like the glimpse we've had so far of our villains. Buffy is a fantastic character to imperil, imo. She's such a strong personality and has a really compelling, layered character, and you do a perfect job of writing her here.

You said that you wrote this years ago? What other bombs are you keeping in your pockets, Dr D? Damn. But more importantly, is there more of this?

Chapter 2: Trouble in the Magic Box

The little brass bell above the front door of The Magic Box jingled lightly announcing the entrance of another customer. Rupert Giles looked up from the black velvet cloth on which he’d laid out an intricately-worked copper hex ward bracelet for one of his best customers. The slightly stooped matron, Mrs. Gladys Longworthy, a woman of advanced years but sharp clear eyes of stunning periwinkle, also turned to look at the front door. Both saw a tall attractive female with striking red hair wearing a form-fitting navy business suit with a cutaway jacket that revealed an amazingly fit figure and an ample chest beneath a silky cream ruffled blouse. Giles eyes widened and even Gladys’ showed a sparkle of appreciation.

“Be with you in a moment. Have a look around,” Giles called out, then focused back on the curved band resting on the black cloth, pointing at the beautiful workmanship.

“Now, this entwined silver strand is what gives the bracelet its true strength. It works with the copper to provide much more than normal repulsing action. I don’t know if you need anything this strong though, Gladys. Are you fighting many wizards these days?”

The amusement in Giles' brown eyes is quickly dampened down however by Gladys’ response.

“Just my son-in-law who seems eager to hasten me along for the inheritance he expects I’ll pass down to my daughter.”

“Ahh, well, then maybe you do need a ward bracelet of this caliber. I’m sorry to hear of your troubles.”

“What’s the damage?”

“Pardon?”

“How much? What’s the price?”

“Ah, $320 dollars, and that includes this hand-carved wooden puzzle box to keep it safe. It’s a bit tricky so let me show you how it works. You have to twist here and then pull out this small round pin in this direction, after that the whole thing slides away like this, revealing the storage area, see?”

“Quite clever, yes I see. How much less is it without the annoying box? I have a touch of arthritis, dear boy.”

“$275, but I do recommend the wood. Let me give you the small wooden shipping box it came in then, for free,” Giles hastily adds. “It will protect the bracelet from bad influences. Oh, and the copper in the bracelet may even help with the arthritis.”

“I’ll take it. Thank you, Giles. I knew you’d have something in this delightful shop that would do the trick. My son-in-law will be quite frustrated I expect by my continued good health.” The periwinkle-colored eyes sparkle with mirth even as Gladys pulls a wallet out of her purse and lays out three Franklins on the counter.

“His loss is the world’s gain, Gladys.” Giles says, ringing up the sale and giving the woman her change.

“Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, young man,” Gladys replies with an impish smirk.

Giles places the bracelet in a wood box he takes from under the counter, wraps the square form in pale yellow tissue paper and then puts it inside a small brown bag with the shop’s logo on it: a dark brown box inside a circle of tiny triangles that represent a glow. The curvy script font forming a crescent over that image displays the shop name “The Magic Box” with a stylish panache.

“Thank you, Giles. I’ll let you move on to helping the young woman then. I know how to make a graceful exit at least when love is in the air.”

Giles blushes and gives out a muttered “ahem,” pushing his glasses back on his face with a nervous tic. He rocks back on his heels with discomfort at the prospect he’d been so obvious in his appraisal of the redhead. Meanwhile, Gladys moves away to the front door and leaves with her purchase; her step lively, her head erect.

“What a delightful character,” says a warm voice from one of the middle aisles in the store, her body hidden by the pair of seven-foot shelves running down the center of the store. Giles can hear figurines on the shelves being moved about. He takes a look at a curved mirror mounted in a high corner and can see the woman picking up a fairly stocky carved ebony dragon on a wood base. She hefts it to eye level and inspects the workmanship. “Quite a profitable sale for you, too,” adds the redhead. “She was wrong about the box though. Yours would have been much better in the long run in terms of protection.”

“Do you know much about magic and such, Miss…?” Giles watches the mirror image replace the dragon and pick up a jade elf figurine brandishing a sword over its head. She brings this up to eyesight and inspects it closely as well.

“Macklimore. Regan Macklimore. And I should hope that I do know the ways of magic if I’m going to work in a magic shop.” Giles sees her put down the elf statue and make her way down the aisle until she rounds the end of the big shelf and he can see her directly in his line of sight. She’s even prettier than he first realized from his quick glance at her entrance. Her cobalt blue eyes with light gray flecks were nothing short of entrancing. They search his own eyes with a touch of playful appraisal as she walks toward him. When she comes to a halt across the counter from him, she extends her hand and Rupert shakes it weakly, coming to grips with the notion of who this woman is before him. He feels a charge of excitement before he releases his grip.

“Oh, oh, right…the job. You’re here for the job interview.”

“Exactly so. I’m very much in need of employment and this would suit me perfectly.” Delving into her burgundy satchel over her shoulder, the woman extracts a file and hands it to Giles. “My references as discussed on the phone three days ago.”

“Ahh, yes, uhmm…thank you.” Giles opens the file and scans the first page, a neatly printed resume on pale yellow paper. The fonts are crisp and the impression is quite professional. And the work history is quite formidable.

“You spent three years as an apprentice to Seer Agnes of Belgrade? Goodness! That must have been quite a fascinating and illuminating experience.”

“To say the least,” responds Regan with a chuckle. “I heard her give no less than a dozen death pronouncements to the top people in central Europe. And every single one of them came true. People were afraid to go to her after a while, even though she foretold riches and fame as well. When she started looking at me with pity in her eyes one day, I asked her not to tell me what she saw and she complied. I quit the next day and three days after that she was killed in a traffic accident. I’ll never know what she saw.”

“Zounds! What a tale. Do you…do you have more like that? You’re fascinating.”

The redhead smiles widely at that comment. Toying with the edge of her scoop neck with a nervous little chuckle and focusing Giles eager eyes on her cleavage, Regan replies, “Oh yes. I have others. For example, that first job in the Astrologers Review Council was intimidating at first since their mission was to ferret out charlatan astrologers who were practicing without proper training and no licenses. I was the one who had to contact those people and tell them to come to the Council chambers for review hearings. I think I must have been cursed seven times in the first three months on the job.”

“There’s no call for bad language like that, especially to such a refined lady as you.”

“No, I meant actual curses placed on me. Bad language I can bloody well take as well as anyone,” Regan says with a wink.

“Ahh, yes, smartly put. Wait, what? Real curses? Did any of them come to pass?”

“No. Because they were cast by charlatans so I didn’t….”

The bell above the front door distracts the pair from their talk. Two young men and a woman of questionable hair and clothing maintenance walk in. Giles eyes widen in alarm and he slowly reaches below the counter for his object of defense, a sturdy cricket bat.

“Can I help you with anything today, young people?” Giles projects only the kindliest shop owner courtesy while he grips the bat tightly. Regan, across the counter, turns her body to face the trio, sliding her hand into her satchel for her own defensive piece, a small ceramic globe.

“We’re just looking. Never noticed this shop before,” says the short male with a blue Mohawk and a worn brown leather bomber jacket worn open to expose a Black Sabbath t-shirt. “Lots of strange little geegaws in here.” He picks up a pale yellow crystal unicorn with some disdain in his face.

“Be careful with that, please,” Giles warns, his hand stretching out in alarm, his face going slightly pale while his other hand quivers below the counter, the cricket bat shaking. “It’s quite expensive and we… we have a ‘You broke it, you bought it’ policy here.”

“Z’at so?” The taller of the young males cocks his shaved head as he stands blocking the doorway. “So if I was to tear this poster of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, that’d cost me what, $8.50?”

“Well, no that’s a promotional poster so…”

SHRRIIIIPPPPPP

“So, no harm, no foul then,” says the bald lad, holding the torn bottom dangling half of the poster in his fist. The pectoral muscles on his six-foot frame bulge out against the “You can never be too drunk” t-shirt.

“I’m afraid I shall have to ask you three to leave or I shall be forced to call the police,” Giles says in a firm tone.

“But I haven’t done anything,” says the chunky dirty-blonde female wearing an amply-filled blue tube top, a black-and-white plaid mid-thigh schoolgirl’s skirt and gray-and-white camouflage jacket. Upon saying that, she knocks a glass figurine of Tinkerbelle off the shelf beside her. It shatters on impact. “Oops. Better clap your hands real hard if you believe in fairies, ‘cause it looks like poor Tinkerbelle is toast.” The raw low chuckle in the girl’s throat is anything but cheery.

“Well, that’s just being nasty,” says Giles. “Now I am going to have to call the authorities. Stay right where you are, you three!” Giles takes a step back and reaches with his free hand toward the phone on the counter behind him when suddenly the short male with the Mohawk hisses, his mouth wide open with long, pointed incisors showing.

“I don’t think ssso, sss..shop keeper,” he says, his voice sizzling. He takes one long step forward when Regan cocks her arm and throws her ceramic ball to the floor at his feet.

KHRAAGKK! HISSSSSSSSHHHHH!

It breaks open with a surprisingly large plume of orange smoke that engulfs the short vampire completely. After halting and virtually disappearing in the thick cloud, his form walks forward out of the plume. His face and hands are covered in orange-colored pustules with angry whiteheads as he comes to a standstill, his head shaking back and forth vehemently.

“AAUURRHH! MAN THAT ITCHES! WHAT THE FUCK, LADY!”

“Be gone, vile creatures. I have worse in my bag to make you wish you were more undead than you already are.”

Giles’ eyebrow arches up at this. It’s unclear whether it’s the quaint wording of her threat or her tenacity that surprises him most, but when the chunky female vamp rushes at him with fangs bared, he instantly swings the cricket bat in a wide horizontal arc that catches the heavyset vampiress hard in the temple. She collapses forward to her knees in a swoon. Her breasts hang low below her in her spandex top, the round forms wobbling like drowsy snakes in a bag.

“Whoa! What a cow shot,” exclaims the tall vampire guarding the door. His referral to the strength of Giles’ blow to the girl’s head in cricket terms and the slight accents of the trio confirms the small band as English-born vamps to the surprised Watcher.

What are British vamps doing here in Sunnydale?

He has no time to speculate further as the pustule-covered face of the short vampire is suddenly directly in front of his own. The angry vamp’s arm jolts forward and he palms Giles’ throat, shaking it hard, knocking the glasses off the startled man’s face. He tightens his grip and sneers, “Sorry, mate, but I’m making this at bat of yours a cameo.” With his other hand, he snatches the cricket bat out of Giles’ grasp and flings it away behind him. A reverberating clang of metal announces the surprising feat of hitting the large ceremonial gong hung off to the side of the shop.

A sudden harsh elbow to his ribs from the fiercely-aggressive Regan to his right changes Blue Mohawk’s plans however. With a grunt and a gasp, he releases Giles and jerks to his right, bending over to protect himself. The follow-up short hard uppercut to his nose knocks the vampire backward three steps but the wobbly young man manages to stay on his feet, though he’s shaken. Standing there with her legs spread for balance in a way that stretches her tight business skirt to the max, the redheaded beauty looks every inch the daunting figure she’s turned out to be.

With two of his cronies hurt, the tall vampire moves forward from the front door, his gaze fixed on the pretty redhead with the nice jugs. He stalks forward aiming to teach her a lesson in manners and maybe catch a nice crushing feel of those pretty titties.
He glances to his left and sees Sheena groggily straightening up. And to his other side, Reggie eyes are clearing and they’re boring into his adversaries’ eyes, back and forth between them, with deep and obvious hate. Together, the undead trio walks slowly toward Giles and Regan with silent hostility. Giles instantly bends forward and snatches another weapon off the shelf from under the counter before him. He brings up a crossbow loaded with a thin six-inch oak stake.

“Stop! That’s far enough. Back out of here now or I’ll turn you into a pile of black ash.”

The three vampires halt in place, seven feet from their foes.

“I say ‘e’s bluffin,’” declares Sheena.

“Don’t look like ‘e is,” answers the wary short vamp.

“I agree with Reg,” nods the tall vampire to his cohort’s side.”

“PUSSIES!” Sheena screams out and launches herself directly at Giles who doesn’t flinch. He pulls the trigger on the crossbow and the female vamp takes the stake right in her chest, exploding into a large cloud of black and gray dust that covers his entire body in dead vampire ash. He reels back choking and gasping, the crossbow falling to the floor behind the counter with a clatter.

Hearing the weapon fall, the other two vampires, blazing with fury now, rush at a wide-eyed Regan. This was getting out of hand. These vamps were just supposed to intimidate Giles and by association, her. That was the plan but now, with one of their troop dead, the Gypsy witch sees the hateful gleam in the eyes of the two males running at her. Their hunger would follow. Any chance at control of the situation seems lost.

She turns to run into the middle of the floor to escape and the canny males swerve immediately, dashing ahead to cut her off, their reflexes amazingly fast. When they fall for her fake, Regan then spins in place, hikes up her tight skirt and hurls herself over the counter. She lands near Giles’ feet and tucks and rolls in the cramped area until she stops. Crouched down, she puts another stake from the lower shelf into the weapon she snatches off the floor and rises to a standing position with the crossbow at the ready.

“Enough! Get out now and live!” She is shaking but determined. Her cream-colored blouse is askew, the rounded neck pulled off to the side with one nipple clearly showing.

Now wild with frustration at this trick, even the vision of an exposed nipple fails to distract the tall vampire. He rushes forward with two long strides only to take a screaming stake in his heart. He too explodes into his own wide cloud of black ash. Even as it settles to the floor and the soot-covered duo stare out from dirty faces grim with resolve at the final male vampire, he cools his gaze and turns to leave. At the door, he looks back at the redheaded witch with a cold stony stare.

“This ain’t over!” The bell jingles gaily with his departure, a jarring sound in the now somber shop.

“Hell’s bells,” Giles finally blurts after a full ten seconds of silence. “Where did they come from? Why did they come? That was absolutely starkers! Beyond all reason.”

“Yes,” answers Regan. “I can’t imagine why they would be here. They sounded English. Did they know you? More importantly, does this happen often? I’m not sure I need a job this badly.”

“What? Often? Know me? Goodness, no! This is a first, I assure you. It’s actually quite quiet and peaceful. Virtually all the time,” he assures her. “Well, until today that is. Most curious,” his hand cradling his chin, Rupert turns to Regan. “Are you alright? Oh, I say,” he blushes seeing her exposed nipple and swivels his head away immediately.

“I’m fine. You?” She sees him go red and turn his head, wagging a single forefinger at her and mumbling something about ‘fixing up.’ She looks down, sees her tit exposed and gives out a simple “Hmm” as she puts herself away. “Really, how old are you, Mr. Giles? So put out by a simple breast. How will you survive?”

“Ah well, yes, ahh, I will persevere somehow, Ms. Macklimore,” blusters Giles. “Perhaps a shower will do the trick.”

“Is that an invitation, Rupert?”

“Heavens, no. I never meant to imply. I mean surely not. Ahh, not that it wouldn’t be…Bollux! That’s not what I meant either. Uhhmmm….So, what was that cloud you used, boils powder?”

“Close, Orange Pox,” answers Regan, her deep blue eyes glimmering with amusement at the man’s obvious discomfort. “He’ll be scratching for days unless he knows to use a paste of talcum, ground oxtail and corn oil.”

“Ah, yes. I see. Well, I will write that down later,” Giles says with a weak smile. “Just in case you use it on me sometime if I get fresh around the shop.”

“That sounds like an offer to hire, unless I’m much mistaken,” says Regan, her cobalt eyes looking directly into Giles, who nods affirmatively then takes off his glasses and rubs them with a handkerchief from his back pocket.

“It is,” he says. “Any woman who carries her own exploding ampoule of Orange Pox in her bag is clearly qualified to work in a magic shop.” He replaces his glasses to his face, finally calmed. “Will you take the position, madam?”

“Only if you agree to call me Regan,” she replies. She takes some sanitizing lotion from her bag and wipes her hands with it, cleaning off some of the dust from the vanquished vamps. She even rubs some on her neck to clean the soot off there.

“In private I shall. In the shop I prefer Miss Macklimore and Mr. Giles as a rule.”

“Make it Ms. Macklimore and you have a deal.”

“Ms. it is,” he says, offering his hand to seal the deal.

The comely witch gives Rupert a beaming smile that sets his heart beating and takes his hand in hers, her other hand sandwiching his and clasping it tight with a warm squeeze. Giles’ heart beats faster yet, his eyes blinking with delight at this hire. And the promise of what he hopes is a long association with this stunning creature.

“When shall I start?”

“Why not immediately?”

“That’s fine by me. I’ll start with sweeping up poor Tinkerbelle then? I hope she wasn’t too expensive?”

“She only cost me $13. She sells for $26. Broom’s in the cupboard behind that door there.”

“Is that your normal markup?” Regan asks as she retrieves a blue plastic sweep broom and dustpan.

“Mostly,” he replies. “It’s a bit less on the more expensive pieces.” Giles can’t stop admiring her beauty as she walks over to the site of the smashed glass.

She sweeps the whole pile with a couple of easy strokes and eyes the floor for glimmers of tiny shards. The clean blonde oak floor makes it easy to spot the few stray slivers cast about which she maneuvers deftly into the dustpan, squatting down to do so. The flash of calf and the stretch of navy fabric over Regan’s flexing thigh gives Rupert a visible shiver of joy. To busy himself and renew his focus on things, he goes over to the cupboard and takes out a wide push broom and begins to clean up behind the counter.

Regan sweeps up the remains of the girl vampire, filling her dustpan to the brim. “Where shall I toss the tosspot?”

Giles smiles at the wordplay. “There’s a barrel in the backroom. I shall retrieve it. The tall one here made quite a mess as well.”

Ten minutes later, the shop is cleaned, the ripped Harry Potter poster taken down and replaced by one for Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. Together the pair meets over the mouth of the barrel, dumping their dustpans simultaneously. When Giles goes to take Regan’s plastic dustpan from her hand, the redhead begins to tremble in place, her body going stiff and her lips quivering as if chilled to the bone. Even her teeth begin to chatter.

“Good lord, what is it?”

“Juh..j..just a bit shaky, I g..guh…guess. The whole encounter …suh..s..seems to have caught up with my brain. We were in muh…m..mortal danger there!”

“Yes, I suppose we were at that. Come sit down in the back room. I have comfortable furniture back there. I’ll make you some tea if you’d like.”

“That would be great,” nods a shivering Regan. “I feel so foolish.”

“Not at all. It’s through that door. I’ll just hang the closed sign on the front door for a while. Won’t be two shakes…”

“Thank you, Rup…Mr. Giles.”

This is great! You nail the Whedon style very nicely. Everyone is very appropriately characterised and fun, particularly Rupert "Steal Yo' Girl" Giles. Some of the cockneying was a little on the nose, maybe, but otherwise a great start!

Thanks Void and Damselbinder for the kind feedback. I watched the first full season of Buffy and then only occasional episodes after that so I'm not sure I nailed their later college age personas but I did the best I could. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Great character portrayals. Giles and Regan's fierce defensive attack is impressive. Hot battle action! The cocky trio didn't even know what they were in for. Brilliant story.

Chapter 3 - A Comfort and a Joy...but not for Buffy or Willow


In the backroom, Regan sits on the brown velvet couch, pulling her legs up underneath herself to let her skirt ride up and show off long stretches of smooth thigh. She is looking forward to seducing this Watcher and putting the Slayer at an extreme disadvantage. She might even have a shot at scrambling her friends’ brains a bit. That wouldn’t be bad either. She smiles widely at that thought then turns it to a tremulous look of anxiety as she hears Giles walking along the back hallway.

“So, can I get you that cuppa?”

“Y..yes.. that would be wonderful. I’m so sorry, Mr. Giles. I usually have more fortitude than this. I feel very much the schoolgirl.”

“Tosh, Regan. The door’s shut now. We’re not in the shop. Relax, breathe easily. The tea won’t be but a minute. I’ve an electric kettle.”

“Thank you, Rupert.” The redhead shivers and clasps her arms about herself and takes deep breaths while Giles busies himself with his china tea service, teabags and such.

The witch looks about the small room. A curtain behind the couch separates it from the rest of the back storeroom where extra stock is kept she sees, pulling the cloth to the side slightly.

“May I ask what your turnover is on stock?”

“Certainly,” Giles answers gamely. “On the less expensive popular items it’s about three to five times per year. On the larger stuff, only once a year, twice if I’m lucky.”

“And how long have you had the shop?”

“Two years now, well as of next month,” Giles replies, filling the teapot with boiling water from the kettle.

“And do you have a life outside the shop? It must keep you very busy, what with no help up until now.”

“I manage. I…uh..have a few friends about. I’m not that pitiful a creature,” Giles says, smiling broadly as he carries the tea service over to the low table and sets the tray before Regan.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply any such thing, Rupert, and you know it. You’re having me on now.”

“Just a tad,” he grins, reaching down and offering the sugar bowl to his new employee.

“Two lumps please,” she says and he drops two small white cubes into her cup. She looks at her watch and Giles frowns.

“Do you have to be going? There are a few official forms and such for you to fill in and sign.”

“Go? No, not at all. I’m just checking my watch to see if the tea’s brewed long enough. I noted when you put in the bags.”

“Well, well,” Giles says with a raised eyebrow. “There won’t be much getting past you, I see. Excellent. Really excellent,” he beams, putting in a cube, pouring his tea and then settling back in his chair, delighted with his new hire.

“And that kettle is new I noticed,” Regan declares, drawing her bag beside her.

“Why, yes, yes it is,” Giles replies, astounded. He turns to look back at the kettle, searching if he’d left the new box about anywhere. As he does, Regan swiftly removes a small glass vial from her bag, uncorks it and taps twice on it, dusting Giles’ tea with a pale brown powder then stirring it once with her finger so there’s no telltale clinking of a spoon. The hot water hurts but she endures it. By the time the impressed shop owner turns back to look at her smiling face, the tea has settled.

“Well, I’m looking forward to helping you have more free time so you can spend it with your friends,” Regan says, pouring her own tea now. “I’d love to meet them sometime.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will, they come by fairly frequently.”

“Are they into magic too?” Regan stirs her tea and bats her eyelashes.

“In a way,” Giles says, smirking to himself slightly.

“They’re not Goth are they? Those types tend to give me the willies,” admits Regan, worriedly.

“Me too!” Giles nods rapidly. “No, they’re not Goth. They are university students, first years. I help them with their studies now and then. I used to work with them in high school when I was their librarian. Oh dear, now it sounds like I’m some sort of stalker.”

“Not at all, Rupert,” she says, raising her cup to clink it with Giles lightly. “I’m sure they’re lovely and that they treasure your guidance. Here’s to us all getting on splendidly,” she toasts. Giles touches his cup to hers and then drains a hefty gulp of lightly-sweetened Earl Grey.

After ten minutes of quiet conversation and slightly risqué innuendoes from Regan, as well as her shifting now and again in place, flashing a long creamy thigh before drawing her skirt into proper position, Regan deems the Watcher is suitably entranced by her movements and her subtle dose of Amore powder to make her move.

“Rupert,” she purrs, leaning forward to give the Englishman a charming view down the cleavage she has surreptitiously arranged for his pleasure, “would you please come here and sit by me on the couch. I’m still a bit anxious about that man-beast that walked off after we killed his friends. You don’t think he would come back and break in, do you?”

“Well, I shouldn’t think so. We gave him and his cohorts quite the drubbing. I’d imagine he’s gone off to lick his wounds. Maybe gather reinforcements. Hmmm.” Giles shows a glimmer of alarm at his own suggestion.

“REINFORCEMENTS? Oh dear!” Regan hands begin to shake.

Giles immediately rises to join her at the couch to comfort her. His balance is a tad unsteady on the way so he sits down heavily beside her, wrapping his left arm around her shoulder and roughly pulling her unexpectedly close to him with his eagerness and slight confusion.

“Not to worry, Miss Macklimore! Rupert Giles will defend you to his last breath!”

With her warm palm on his chest and their faces only inches apart, Giles feels a sudden rush of heat and disorientation. He sways slightly in place, meaning well but feeling befuddled. The kiss that the beautiful redhead leans forward to give him reduces his brain function to a null state. He just accepts it at first, the light grazing of soft lips brushing his, followed by a firmer press and then a sealing of their mouths tightly locked in a moment of pure bliss.

Giles’ eyes flutter as he is swept away. His other arm encloses Regan and the kiss turns into even more. Her lips part and her tongue sweeps into his mouth, electrifying his own tongue and before he knows it, they are entangled and twisting, the pleasure of the French kiss raising passions even as their bodies collapse together side by side against the brown velvet cushions. Then Regan’s hands begin to work at the buttons of Giles’ shirt. He returns the favor and before he knows it, he’s like a teenager who has hit the jackpot in a game of spin the bottle and run off to the closet with an eager and helpful prom queen. He’s never been this lucky in his life!

His hands are magic in motion, removing her blouse and bra with a bravado and ease that he’s never accomplished before. He astounds himself even as she removes his pants with equal deftness. This is exactly how these things are supposed to go! Why hasn’t it ever been this expeditious in the past?

An un-entranced third party might cheekily point out the badly-fumbled belt buckle, the rolling eyes of the female involved, and the sighing resignation of said female when the bra clasp was finally released on the third attempt by the awkward male suitor, but that would be cynical and undeserving of Giles’ romantic dreamlike entrapment in the romance novel world he’d been swept into by the Amore powder.

The removal of underwear by both parties was finally achieved, and with only a small measure of delay by Giles’ reckoning, so let’s go with that, because if there were any more eye-rolls by the gypsy witch, they’d be squeaking at this point.

Suffice it to say, Giles is more than man enough at his task and he enters the willing beauty’s cave of desire with a lusty thrust that actually does take the lady’s breath away with a surprising grunt of astonished pleasure. With all the fumbling and confusion and delay, she’d not actually gotten a chance to spy the lengthy muscle. And lengthy it was indeed. The Watcher had game and then some!

“Wow!” Regan chuffs heartily as she takes the full measure of the nicely-endowed gentleman caller. He withdraws and thrusts with an eagerness that delights them both. “Wow and a half,” she embellishes with a throaty purr in the realization that her plan is far more fun than she expected it to be.

Giles is kissing her neck and holding her naked right breast and clasping her close with his other hand on her back as he works his length within her, stroking it with a feverish intensity that has the lady’s full attention.

“You are beauty personified, my sweet,” Giles whispers near her ear as he hilts himself with a lusty jerk against her pelvis.

“Back at you, beefcake! And don’t stop til the twat lady sings.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Just a…huhnnnghh…little joke, big fella…oohhhhh….you’re quite a surprise!”

“My passion surprises you?” His thrusting hips have a metronomic quality that has the redhead quaking in his arms.

“Y..yuh…your…your size a..ah..amazes me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh, it’s something. It’s more than s..s..suh…suh…some…..some….THING!!!” The witch’s climax has Giles shaking his head from the noise but he too is enraptured by the moment and the friction and Amore powder all coming to a head within his addled brain. He feels himself let go with a weeping cry of joy and collapses atop the lovely lady with a rush of absolute pleasure jetting within her. He lies there in a gray fog of pure delight. The pair of them smiles contentedly for several minutes until Regan pats Giles on the back. She whispers for him to roll off her so she can use the bathroom to freshen up. She does so and then doctors a glass of water with a powerful fogger that will cover the last hour and block all memories of their tryst together. When she hands it to the lightly dozing Giles, he accepts it readily, sits up and drinks it down, his thirst from his excursions significant.

In twenty minutes time, Regan Macklimore has filled out all the employment papers and is waving a cheery goodbye to Giles back in the store while he stands behind the counter giddily waving back at her.

“You were such a solace to me, Giles, after those brutes attacked. Thank you.”

“Was I?” Giles doesn’t recall anything after the big brute of a vampire left his shop over an hour ago. He does know that the enticing rear end clad in that tight navy blue business skirt that is sashaying toward his shop door is something he hopes he can one day enjoy in the far future. But then he admonishes himself for thinking so forwardly about someone he’s just met. And an employee at that!

“I just know I shall be so pleased working under you here in the shop. Bye, Mr. Giles.”

“Uhhmm. Yes, quite,” Giles agrees with a guilty final wave as Regan leaves his shop. “Bye, Ms. Macklimore,” he says.

The gypsy queen then turns the sign to face “Open” before she walks away with a hidden smirk.


* * *


“What looks good?” Joyce raised her eyes to watch the two girls studying their menus before them. Le Clique Francais was Sunnydale’s recently-opened high-tone French restaurant with highly-polished brass sconces, heavy silverware, hushed voices, and, from the looks of the portions at nearby tables, some sort of food shortage in the kitchen. Were those merely four string beans on that plate? Still, Buffy’s mom wanted everything to be perfect now that she’d be seeing Buffy so much less with her in college now.

“Wow, Mom, this dinner will cost more than all my text books for the semester. We didn’t have to go so fancy. I would have been just as happy at Olive Garden.”

“Yeah, Mrs. S, this is so far above and beyond,” Willow nodded, her eyes desperately scanning down the ornate script as she tried to find the lowest figure she could find for an entrée. “I think I might just have an appetizer and the soup. I’m really not that hungry.”

“Now, girls, don’t you know it’s impolite to discuss the check with the person picking it up?” Joyce’s admonishment would have been more convincing if she hadn’t gulped at the end of it. “Well, no matter. Are you two excited to start your new chapters in your lives?”

“So, so much,” Willow said. “Away from home, out of the dungeon, the chains and handcuffs taken off, the freed….um…” The red-head stopped short as she looked up from her menu into Joyce’s glare and then into Buffy’s rolling eyes. “And all the great new stuff I’ll be learning,” she added weakly.

Joyce was about to launch into a cautionary tale of what happened to good girls gone wild when the waiter in a dark chocolate-colored suit that perfectly matched the table napkins appeared at the table to take their orders.

“May I take your drink orders,” he suggested.

“Champagne, girls? I think the occasion calls for it.”

“No, mom, thanks,” Buffy said diplomatically, having looked at the price of a bottle. She wanted to go to college for more than a year. “Just a ginger ale for me.”

“Gee,” Willow said, enthused, “I think champagne would be…oww!” Buffy’s kick to her shin under the table had the redhead rethinking her choice. “Would be just too overwhelming for me,” she continued. “It’s been such a, you know, crazy and exciting day. Why pile on when you’re having so much fun already? I’ll have a coke, please.”

Somewhat relieved, Joyce nodded at the waiter. “I’ll take a bourbon, neat. What?” Joyce responds to the girls’ dropped jaws with a shrug. “It’s not every day I drop my girl off to college. I need a little moral fortitude. Make it a double.”

“Very good, madam, I shall return for your dinner choices momentarily.”

“What are you having, Willow,” Joyce inquired.

“I thought I’d have the vichyssoise and the appetizer of garlic-crusted lamb medallions.”

“Is that all? No entrée?” Joyce is surprised.

“Yes, I’m not all that hungry. Buff, you want to split a salad?”

“Sure, Will, good idea. And I’m going to go for the escargot appetizer.”

“Just snails?” Joyce’s surprise tunes up even higher.”Nothing else?”

“Sure, when in France... Besides, my tummy’s funny with all the, you know, changes that today…uhmm.. inspires.”

“Well, I’m going to have the Coq au’ vin. My friend Celeste raved about it.”

“Good choice, mom.”

“Speaking of good choices, girls, I want to talk to you about what you’re going to be tempted by in this new life you’re starting.”

“Mom, please…” Buffy’s whimper recalls years of shame her mother has heaped on her in front of her friends.

Proceeding without a pause at Buffy’s protest, Joyce declares, “These college boys will want to have sex with you. It’s all they’ll expect. And respect? Doesn’t factor in, ladies! Not one little bit!”

“Joyce!” Buffy’s voice is a whisper but quite snakelike in its warning. “Not here! Not now. It’s inappropriate!”

“It’s never inappropriate to advise good girls how not to go bad, daughter, especially when a mother knows of what she speaks. I’ve sowed my wild oats in my day, you know!”

“Oh god, don’t do this,” Buffy whines. “I’m begging you…”

“No, it’s true,” Joyce continues. “Your father wasn’t’ the first man in my life, you know.”

“I think I’ll excuse myself,” Willow says, rising. “Ladies room.”

Joyce grabs her wrist and pulls her back down to her chair with a thump.

“You should stay to hear this too, Willow. I know your mother raised you right. Your manners are impeccable but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn a thing or two from the voice of experience.”

“Please, mom. Not the voice of experience…” Buffy’s face blooms to a rich crimson.

“There were plenty of men sniffing around me in college, I’ll have you know.”

“Sniffing?!!” Buffy pulls a napkin to her face like a mobster in a perp walk. Willow’s eyes widen and she quickly bows her head as if she’s Buffy’s shamed attorney.

“There was this one young man, Thomas Zigmont… Why he practically…”

“Your drinks, ladies,” says the waiter appearing out of nowhere with a tray. Buffy wonders if 50% is too much to tip.

However, once the trio orders and Joyce takes a hefty draw on her bourbon, she launches into a ten-minute talk about different types of contraceptive methods and the entire metaphor of bases reached and how to avoid home runs using guile, charm and ultimately fists if necessary. By the end, Buffy’s head is hanging low, shaking over her ginger ale. Willow’s eyes are glazed, her elbow is supporting her chin and she’s nodding at Joyce in grim acknowledgement at appropriate intervals.

“Anyway, I just thought you should know what to expect from college. Not all your learning will come from books. Oh and here’s our food.” Joyce merrily knocks back the last of her bourbon before taking up her knife and fork. “This all looks scrumptious!”

The two girls barely pick at the expensive dishes placed before them.


* * *


“That was brutal,” Willow declares as Buffy’s mother tearfully drives off after a final hug for the twosome in front of their dorm, “even by the Joyce scale of shame!”

“There’s no way I can ever apologize enough,” Buffy says. “That’s a given, right?” Willow nods gravely to this. “So I’m buying all your drinks tonight. All night. Whatever you want. But we never ever...EVER…speak of this again. Deal?”

“Deal!” Willow puts her hand out and Buffy shakes it. “What are friends for? Now let’s go get plastered. We’re in college and I have a boyfriend to get over!!”

“I can help with that. And the first thing we need to do is go to our rooms and change.”

“Why, what’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“That? Get out of the convent much, sister?”

“Oh.” Willow looks down at her conservative outfit and nods.

“Yeah, oh. I’ll go to your room first to help you pick something out,” Buffy directs. “Then you come to mine and help me.”

“That works.”

Damn, that's some steamy stuff. Again, everyone's character is very much on point, and I'm interested in what the larger plans of our seductress are. Also, I enjoyed Joyce's embarrassing mother shenanigans - again, very true to the show. I suppose my only criticism would be, well - Giles is coming across as extremely British. Otherwise, good stuff.

Thanks, damselbinder, for the kind words. And now, another chapter of our favorite vampire slayer...


Chapter 4: A Fun Night Out at the Dancing Penguin

Buffy and Willow have, with absolutely zero persuasion required, brought their roommates out with them for the evening’s activities: a night of drinking and dancing at the hottest local nightspot on the outskirts of Sunnydale, the Dancing Penguin.

Dressed in their finest club wear, all four women look extremely attractive in short dresses with hems that barely have a passing acquaintance with their knees six inches below. With every energetic swirl on the dance floor, the opportunities to catch a glimpse of colorful panties will have the male contingent in the room most attentive.

Buffy is wearing a robin’s egg blue dress with matching sequins that give her a dangerously sexy flash. Willow sports a more conservative dark purple number that still manages to show off her cute little body. Buffy’s roommate Mandy is wearing a scoop-necked yellow cocktail dress that clings to her figure like a drowning man to a life raft while showing off her set of 40Cs to their best advantage. Several tongues drop out like waving banners as she passes by. Willow’s roomie, Brooke is grabbing more than her fair share of attention in her basic little black number that covers all the essentials while seemingly defying logic in that all such essentials seem to feel readily available to one and all. It’s her dress’ version of a Jedi mind trick.

The girls make it through the crowded room, nudging their figures past very appreciative men and more than a few of their jealous dates, until they reach the bar. After a few minutes, they are finally greeted by a good-looking male bartender, a college senior with hair the color of cocoa. He’s wearing gold-frame glasses and a ready smile and calls out to Mandy through the noise.

“Candy-Mandy,” he grins, using his nickname for her and reaching out across the bar to shake her hand. “Welcome back. I see you brought fresh meat with you. Three lovely freshmen, right?”

“Good eye as always, Conrad. What’s the special drink tonight?”

“Zombie coolers.”

“Four please. Still half price for freshman on move-in day, yeah?”

“Of course, and yours too since you’re vouching for their ages right?” The quick wink is barely noticeable.

“Natch. Run a tab, we’ll settle up later, Con.”

“Four Z coolers coming right up.” The bartender does his thing as the girls chat in a circle.

“What’s in a Zombie cooler?” Willow asks.

“You know, I never asked. Uumm…I wanna’ say rum. Maybe brandy, too. A bunch a’ stuff,” Mandy shrugs. “You’ll love ‘em. Have a few. They taste great. Oh, but watch it; they pack a kick like a Missouri mule.”

“I can handle my liquor,” Brooke puts in. “Never met a guy who could drink me under the table. Of course, I’d go under the table for the right guy in a nanosecond. And drink him,” Brooke says with a wink.

Willow’s mouth drops and then she quickly compresses her lips and looks down at the floor, blushing deeply at the mental image that Brooke has conjured. Mandy lets out a loud snort and Buffy just shakes her head and checks out the dance floor. Plenty of decent looking guys out there. The place had a fun vibe with the DJ keeping the music pumping between sets as the house band is on break. The drinks are served up by Conrad and handed around by the quartet.

Mandy raises her glass and the others follow. “To college life: where knowledge meets alcohol and they fight it out for four years: May the best ‘man’ win.” She drains a healthy gulp as does Brooke. Buffy and Willow sip theirs a bit more demurely but both nod appreciatively at the taste.

“Just wait til you hear the band,” Mandy leans in to the standing circle so she can be heard above the din of music and conversation all around them. “They’re nasty good! And their lead guy is to die for.”

“That’s cool,” Willow says sipping her drink through the tiny red straw.

“I’m going to work the room; say hi to my friends,” Mandy announces. “I haven’t seen most of them since last semester ended. Mingle, girls. Show off the goods!” So saying, Mandy heads off to a group sitting around a square table in the corner and shrieks of delight greet her.

“Your roomie seems great, Buf,” Willow nods at the group hugging in the corner. “She seems to know everyone and everything.”

“And she also seems to have that all-important party gene,” Brooke adds. “This could be an interesting year!”

“To an interesting year!” Buffy raises her glass in a toast and they all clink glasses then take long pulls from their tasty concoctions, all of them licking their lips and enjoying the moment. “Wow, that is strong,” says Buffy, the newly-minted freshman then takes another good-sized gulp. “But it’s sure tasty!”

“Greetings, to all you regular degenerates and to all you new babes in the wood…and the babes who give wood.” The thumping rim shot to the punch line tells the room that the band’s break is over and they’re ready to start their next set. The lanky lead singer at the microphone has long curly black hair with little ringlets that occasionally obscure his bright blue eyes. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans with holes in the knees. His band mates are dressed in similarly grungy attire. “My name is Bennett and we are… Bennett and the Jets!” And with that, the band goes into its cover of Elton John’s “Bennie and the Jets” to enthusiastic applause and cheering from the regulars.

“Hey Kids, glad we’re here together
This college scene is something
Be you students or whatever
We’ll kill us plenty drafts tonight
So stick around
You’re gonna hear electric music
Solid walls of sound

Say, Mandy and Conrad, have you seen them yet
Uh, but they’re so spaced out, B-B-B-Bennett and the Jets
Oh, but they’re weird and they’re wonderful
This Bennett you need to see
He’s got a crazy dad that owns this pad
You know I heard he gets his drinks for free.
B-B-B-Bennett and the Jets

The band continues to play their own lyrics to the tune and the room comes alive with shouting, wild dancing and foot stomping to the irresistible beat and excellent delivery. Buffy and Mandy have worked their way out onto the dance floor, each one waving one arm in the air while trying not to spill their drinks with the other.

Willow has been hit on by a somewhat shy fellow named Robbie Nettles who’s gotten up the nerve to talk to her and is currently expressing his deep concern that his advanced chemistry course might get filled up before he can register for it tomorrow.

“I suspect that won’t be a problem, Robbie,” Willow says, keeping the best straight face she can. “I was thinking I might take that course too but I was afraid it might be too tough to handle.”

“Oh, no, you should take it! Absolutely! I’ll help you. I’m a whiz at that stuff. We can be study partners…oh…uhhmm…if you want to, that is…I mean…well, you know…. whatever… no biggie….”

“NO! Oh…I WANT TO…uh…that is…uhh..sure…maybe I will…you know, think about it,” Willow says, then nervously sucks up the last third of her drink like a sump pump while checking out the ceiling with desperate interest.

“That’s cool. You want another one of those?” Robbie points to the empty glass with the pineapple chunk at the bottom. Willow spears it with her straw, fishes it out and swallows it eagerly. Some of the juice runs down her chin as she goofily smiles and then wipes her face with the cocktail napkin off the bar.

“Sure, why not. Thanks!”

“Barkeep, another Zombie for the lady and another Harvey’s for me.”

“Harvey’s?” Willow’s eyes go up at the dark brown liquor remaining in Robbie’s glass.

“Harvey’s Bristol Cream. It’s a kind of sherry, sweet and smooth. My dad had it stocked in his bar while I was growing up. He rarely drank the stuff so I knew he wouldn’t miss it when I snuck some. One New Year’s Eve he and my mom went out and I was alone, maybe 15 at the time. I finished the bottle and got so drunk on it that well…I don’t need to go into my sordid past. Still, it was a fun drunk and it goes down easy. Want to take a taste?”

“Okay,” Willow agrees, taking the glass and sipping just a bit. “That isn’t bad. I’ll put that on my list for next time I’m out,” she says, handing him back the tumbler that he drains with a quick toss back of his head. “I don’t think I should mix that with my Zombies though.”

“No, I hear these are very strong,” Robbie says, handing back the empty and taking the two drinks handed over by Conrad.

“They are, I guess, but I can handle my liquor. Not like Buffy, she’s an easy drunk. Well…I mean she gets drunk easily, not that she’s easy when she’s drunk. Though she may be. I’m not sure,” Willow says to a very intrigued Robbie who’s politely nodding while checking out Willow’s pretty set of breasts that fill out her purple dress so nicely.

“Uhh…who’s Buffy?”

“Just my best friend ever! She’s over there on the dance floor with…uh…wow…that blond guy with the silly razor cut who’s moving his hand down to her butt just now. He may lose it if he’s not…oh..uh..gee…maybe she IS easy when she’s drunk,” Willow narrates. “Oh, no, there’s my girl. That looks painful. Hope his wrist is okay. Her reaction time must be off from the Zombie. I should go help her.”

“No! Don’t go!! I mean, she looks like she’s got it under control. Stay here. We’re just getting to know each other. She’s fine, look! Now she’s dancing with that short guy who’s getting an eyeful. Stay here.”

“Well, okay. It’s not like Buffy can’t handle herself.”

“Cool,” Robbie says, clinking his fresh drink glass against Willow’s. They both take long sips, Willow through her red straw, Robbie straight from the tumbler. “Does she work out,” he asks.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Willow replies, then she changes the subject. “So what other courses are you signing up for?”

As Willow and Robbie trade notes on their course curriculum and expectations for the semester, Brooke continues to flirt with Conrad while he works the bar. He’s been slicing limes, washing glasses, serving drinks, ringing up tabs and occasionally coming over to the far end of the bar where Brooke is hanging out sipping her Zombie Cooler. She’s been getting the lowdown on the bar’s background and all the highlights of the major events on campus during the school year from the senior.

Brooke is halfway through her second Zombie by the time the band has run through its 45-minute set of song covers ranging from ‘N Sync’s ‘Bye Bye Bye’ to a male take on Alanis Morissette’s ‘You Oughta Know’ to Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’ The freshman has plenty of great info she can share with Willow back in the room later. She also has a serious crush on Conrad and loves the twinkle in his dark brown eyes when he has the time to point them in her direction during his busy shift. Brooke is hardly the first freshman to be caught in the chocolate swirl of those eyes. Conrad drives a used cherry red 1993 Miata thanks to the tips earned by those dreamy irises.

On the dance floor Mandy is grinding her luxurious curves against a delighted black student as the DJ is back at work and slowing down the evening’s pace considerably with Foreigner’s ‘I Want to Know What Love Is.’ The pace may be slow but Mandy’s dance partner’s pulse is going a mile a minute as the two of them work their way around the floor in carnal delight.

Buffy is standing by the bar, chatting with Willow and Robbie when the band’s lead singer comes out from a private door in the back. Bennett heads over to Conrad who’s working near the end of the bar and still chatting up Brooke.

“Hey Con. Rack up a set of Coors drafts for me and my hard-workin’ band mates in the back, will ya?”

“You got it, Ben.”

Buffy sees the tall good-looking singer and quickly makes her way over toward him as he surveys the room.

“Nice size crowd tonight. How’s the take?” Bennett asks the bartender while the senior scrapes the head off the mug he’s working at the tap.

“At least a third over average, maybe more,” Conrad answers, placing the mug on a round tray.”

“Dad’ll be thrilled to hear it. Just send Jennie back with those,” the owner’s son says, nodding at the tray of beer steins being built. He turns to head back into the bar’s version of the green room when he feels a hand on his shoulder that turns him back around.

“I really enjoyed your set…uh…Bennett,” Buffy smiles. “Your guitar work is fantastic and your voice has a nice tone and great range.”

The singer smiles at the attractive blonde whose hand remains gently clutching his shoulder. The light blue dress with its sequins brings out her captivating eyes. She’s young, probably a freshman, he gauges, but those eyes have seen a lot more than usual for someone her age. Her steadiness impresses him and he nods his head slowly, warming to this vision before him.

“It’s always a pleasure to hear from a fan, especially one who likes my range. Can I buy you a fresh drink? That one seems nearly empty.”

“Gosh, I’m not sure. That would be my third,” Buffy says. “I think two’s my limit. In fact, I’m feeling a bit dizzy as it is,” the blonde says, swaying a bit as she presses her left palm against her temple.

“Come with me then….uhmmm…..”

“Buffy.”

“Let’s get you some fresh air, Buffy.” Taking her hand, Bennett leads the wobbly freshman down a corridor past the rest rooms to a back door that leads to a bricked alleyway between the bar and the hair salon next door.

“Whew, that’s better already,” Buffy says, leaning against the wall and deeply breathing in the cool night air. “I’m sorry. This isn’t some ploy to get you alone. I really was feeling those Zombies. Is there any juice in them or is it all just mixed up liquor with a pineapple chunk tossed in for fiber?”

Chuckling, Bennett looks over the pretty woman before him, noting the soft curves balanced against the sinewy strength and likes what he sees. “Well, there are at least two ounces of pineapple juice in there and two ounces of cranberry juice.”

“In a 16-oz glass?! That’s a lot of liquor making up the difference!”

“You’re not allowing for the volume of the ice, though.”

“Uh huh,” Buffy says skeptically. “No wonder there are two of you,” she smirks.

“There aren’t really, are there?”

“No. I’m joking. One of you is enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“Enough to…well….rescue me I suppose.”

“You don’t seem like the type to need rescuing. I don’t get that kind of vibe from you; more the opposite actually.”

“I hold my own I guess.”

Leaning in, Bennett smiles at her widely, “I bet you do. And you’re uncomfortable when somebody has to hold yours for you, so to speak.”

“No…I…I can… handle it…being the damsel in distress. Sometimes it’s nice being on the receiving end of a rescue. It’s….it’s different.”

“Well then, as your shining knight it’s only right I get my thank you kiss, wouldn’t you say?”

“I…uh…ummm…wouldn’t…you know…object..I suppo….”

His kiss cuts Buffy off and she relaxes back against the cool brick as his warm lips match nicely against her own. One of his hands presses against the brick wall just above her left ear, the other hand curves against her hip, savoring the feel of her flesh under the silk. The kiss goes on and then they both break at the same time, taking deep breaths and realizing their connection was very good.

“…mmmhh…that was nice,” Buffy mutters, her arms reaching out to Bennett’s waist to pull him in. “I’ll have another, sir knight.”

The second kiss is even better especially when their tongues get involved. Tiny exhalations and grunts fill the alley for the better part of half a minute when Bennett’s right hand caresses Buffy’s chest, his palm feeling silk and sequins, feminine warmth and a rapidly beating heart. Buffy allows the maneuver, relishes the sensation actually and sighs with the sudden thrill as his palm squeezes down with gentle insistence, rubbing her left sister with careful attention. His face bows low as Buffy arches her neck in pleasure, so Bennett smoothly moves in to kiss her throat. This draws a shivered moan and the eager lad moves his hand from over the dress’ bodice to beneath it, sliding his palm across the heated silkiness of Buffy’s naked breast beneath. The bra-less Buffy has her peaches fondled and the two Zombie Coolers put her on just the wrong side of a good decision but she really doesn’t care that much. She’s a college freshman and this is what they do. When Bennett’s other hand wanders down from Buffy’s hip to reach below the hem of her skirt however she does have enough restraint to slap it away while murmuring between lip locks… “no….not there…nothing below…my waist….”

“Sure…uh…okay…” he answers and uses the blocked left hand to reach up and fondle the right breast, squeezing both of the sisters with slightly rougher familiarity, one hand on the outside compressing her firmly while the other palm envelops her completely as the fingertips gently work the nipple.

“OHH!..oohhh…whuhh…w..wow…i…th..that’s…incredible….”

“You…you’re…incredible…” Bennett goes back in for another French kiss, his body now pressing Buffy against the brick wall, his hands virtually pinning her in place as the two of them heat up the alleyway with their rampant lust. Buffy’s rear slides down the wall slightly her knees flexing slightly and her thighs parting as Bennett’s left hand moves off Buffy’s breast to slide down, smooth a wide circle against her stomach and then reach down once more for the promised land between her knees.

Before he knows what hits him, the overeager paramour is suddenly spun in place and body slammed against the wall with Buffy holding his wrist in the middle of his back.

“OWWW! WHAT THE HELL?!! STOP! Stop it, Buffy. You’re hurting me!”

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you, Ben,” Buffy growls, angry at all men.

“Jeez! You never told me your safe word.”

“It’s ICU, pal. Like where you’ll be if you try that again.”

“Okay! Okay! I give. Let me loose. Owww!”

“No means no, Bennett. You hear me?”

“I hear you, I hear you. No means no. Fucking no, fucking not ever.”

“I didn’t say not ever! But I’m the one who decides, yes?”

“Yes! Yes! For Christ sake, Yes. Please let me go. I’ve got a final set to play. I need that wrist, this arm, this body. PLEASE!”

Releasing the grimacing young man, Buffy steps back and straightens everything back in order with her dress, arranging herself and taking a deep breath. He flexes his arm, his wrist and rotates his shoulder with a wince.

“Feels like you ripped my arm out.”

“I didn’t. You’d know if I had. So anyway, that was fun. I enjoyed meeting you. A lot! Call me.”

“Seriously? After all that?”

“That? That was just me setting clear boundaries. You’re cute and you’ve got great potential. Here,” Buffy says reaching down to pick up the small matching robin’s egg blue clutch purse she’d dropped off to the side during their first kiss. She takes out a pen then rolls up his sleeve and writes her full name and dorm room number on his forearm through the silky black hairs. Then she pats his shoulder. He winces a bit as she shrugs, smiles and offers an “oops.” Then she pulls the door open and heads back into the club leaving Bennett to simply shake his head and slowly smile.

“Well, she’s interesting!”

As Buffy walks back to the bar toward Willow, she collects Brooke, telling her she wants to head back. Brooke checks her watch and agrees. She makes the “call me” sign with her hand to Conrad with whom she’s left the number of the pay phone on her dorm’s floor on a cocktail napkin. She follows close on Buffy’s heels.

At the middle of the bar, Buffy sees Willow twisting on her stool. Robbie stands next to her with both hands on her neck as they kiss deeply for an endless moment. Buffy watches as Willow’s eyes flutter and the irises drift up lazily. Little murmurs of delight issue from the couple like a pair of hungry puppies. Buffy waits as long as she can, hoping the couple will come up for air. Possibly they’re crossbred with whales because they’re just not breaking. Finally Buffy clears her throat loudly and Willow looks over with one eye and finally does break the kiss off.

“Oh, hi, Buf. What’s up?”

“I think we should head back to the dorm. Registration starts at 8 am and it’s past eleven now. I’ll go collect Mandy and meet you outside at the campus bus stop. Say goodbye to your pet slave.” Buffy goes off to the now sparsely occupied dance floor and separates Mandy from another slow dance with a different student body without the use of a crowbar, barely.

Meanwhile, Willow and Robbie just grin at each other and give each other another kiss, one that doesn’t break records for breath control.

“I’ll see you at registration tomorrow,” Willow declares. “I think I will sign up for that advanced chemistry class after all…since ours is so good together.”

“I look forward to forming an ionic bond…study partner,” Robbie answers back.

“See now, I get the gist of that but I’ll need more information to fully appreciate its true witular depth,” Willow grins.

“Witular?”

“Hey! I’m drunk. I’m allowed to be silly. Bye, Robbie,” Willow waves and heads toward the front door with Brooke leaving a very self-satisfied Robbie Nettles behind.

“What a woman!”

Nearby, Conrad just shakes his head. “Freshman! They never get old.”

At the bus stop just down the street from the Penguin, all four girls wait in a circle for their ride back to the dorm. Mandy, Brooke and Willow are all tipsy but not out of control.

“Wow, Willow,” says Brooke. “That was some major league tonsil hockey you were playing with that guy.”

“Tonsil what?” The redhead has never heard the term before.

“You know, kissing like it’s a full body contact sport,” Mandy smirks.

“Oh, you should talk, Mandy” Buffy says, coming to her BFF’s defense. “The way you were clinging to the guys on that dance floor was enough to have Saran Wrap doubting itself!”

“Yeah? I couldn’t help notice you disappeared into the alley with the lead guitarist there, Buffy,” Brooke points out. “I guess you were just helping him tune up his axe? Did you get his chords down?”

“Let’s just say he got to second bass fiddle…or fiddle with second base,” Buffy says with an unapologetic grin. The quartet squeals together at this just as bus brakes squeal when it pulls up.

It’s been a fantastic first night at college!

That was pretty fun. Buffy in particular was very, very sensually described. The tension when she was fooling around with Bennett was nicely done.

Character-wise, though, I'm not sure Buffy would let a guy get that handsy with her that quick and I'm REALLY not sure that, even when she called him out for crossing a line, she'd then be like "cool, call me later."

Thanks for the comment, db. As for Buffy's attitude in the Dancing Penguin, she was cutting loose and wanting to experience the college experience. Plus, she's an easy drunk. She did like the guy however and was sloshed enough to be "all over the map" emotionally. I hope you give her a pass.

Chapter 5: Course Work and Coarse Work

Willow and Buffy are standing in the freshman registration line that winds through the gym. Long folding tables have been set up in four groups across the floor, one for each class starting the year. The freshman line is by far the longest with patient guides helping sort out the confusion that comes from not knowing for sure which courses are required and which are electives.

The senior line is the shortest, only a dozen people stand there, savvy students who’ve worked the system for their college career and know from experience and their friends which courses have difficult professors and those who allow some slack. That line moves quickly while the freshman line seems unmoving. The sophomore and junior lines are full but proceeding more smoothly.

Once the student gets his course curriculum sheet with course choices based on their preliminary declared major at the class table, it’s his or her responsibility to proceed to the individual course tables spread throughout the gym to register for each class. Willow is standing on her toes and nervously craning her neck to find the Advanced Chemistry course table. There are so many individual course signs punctuating the gym, it’s hard to fathom the system employed. Then she notices the large banners hanging overhead and reads “Psychology” “Sociology” “Fine Arts” “Physics” “Sports” and others. She calms down a bit when she finally spots “Chemistry” off in the distance. It’s too far to make out which of the seven tables is the one she wants but from the lack of lines in the area, she thinks she might not be closed out of the course. Still she’s apprehensive.

“I’ve seen snails whizzing by me. This line is the worst!” The red-head groans deeply.

“Relax, Willow,” Buffy sighs, “nobody wants to enroll in Advanced Chemistry. You’d have to be mental, present company included.”

“You never know. I’m sure it’s required for pre-med students.”

“Is that what Robbie is? Pre-Med?”

“No, I don’t think so. He’s just a super-nerd.”

“Well, takes one to know one.”

“Aren’t you sweet? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed, Buff?”

“On the wrong side of the planet is more like it. Those Zombie coolers were strong. I may be having a bit of a hangover.”

“Welcome to college,” Willow grins. “I feel fine,” she adds with a giggle.

“Bite me, Will.”

“That doesn’t sound like BFF talk to me,” Robbie says, leaning between them from out of nowhere.

“Only the best of friends can talk to each other like that,” Willow explains. “Else wise, how would I know she cares? But never mind, did you get into Advanced Chem? Is there still room?”

“Yes and plenty, Willow. Don’t worry, I told them to expect you and while they can’t hold your place, it’s not an issue.”

“Great!” Willow’s face lights up with glee as Buffy rolls her eyes.

“What courses are you thinking about Buffy?” Robbie inquires politely.

“I’m thinking mostly all freshman requirements: English, Sociology, maybe lacrosse for my sport requirement, and whatever science course the football team takes since that should be easy.”

“That’s probably only 13 credits if the science course has a lab which it usually does. You need to take at least 15 credits.”

“Yeah,” Buffy nods, “I’m not sure what my fifth course will be. Maybe religion or some finance course like balancing a checkbook.”

“You really enjoy challenging yourself I see,” grins Robbie.

“I just want to get the lay of the land first. If I can handle it, I might push to 18 credits the second semester.”

“Like what, Fundamentals of Baking,” Willow jokes.

“That bite me still stands, Rosenberg,” Buffy snaps back with a toss of her hair.

“So noted,” smiles Willow, putting her arm in Robbie’s and pulling him to her side. “At least I have one nice person to keep me company,” she beams.

“Not actually,” Robbie says earnestly. “I have to sign up for my other courses. I got here an hour early and stood on line so I could get everything I want. Good luck, Willow. We can meet for lunch in the Granderson cafeteria. You know where that is?”

Pouting a bit, Willow whips out her campus map and peers at it. “Oh yeah, I see it. Okay, when do you think we’ll be finished here?”

“It shouldn’t take you more than another two hours at most.”

Both girls groan and shift their legs. Robbie moves off with a wave and a grin.

“Should have gotten here earlier,” he taunts back and then heads across the gym to the Psychology section.

“Like I said, super-nerd,” Willow declares. But she’s smiling nonetheless.

“Peas in a pod,” Buffy says and takes a whole step forward as the line moves up.


* * *


A warm breeze caresses the faces of the three friends heading through the streets of Sunnydale toward Giles’ magic shop. It’s just past 9 p.m. on the Saturday following the college’s Friday registration and Giles has asked the Scoobies to join him after he’s closed the shop to meet “someone new in my life.”

“Do you think Giles actually has a main squeeze now?” Buffy asks, barely believing the possibility. She is walking backward for a bit, facing Willow and Xander as her white blouse ruffles and her long yellow skirt billows about her legs, defining her strong calves as it clings to them and then releases.

“I’m beyond skeptical,” Willow declares. She’s wearing a light blue cardigan over a white blouse of her own and a navy blue pencil skirt.

“I left skeptical the second I hung up after your call, Will,” Xander says. “I’m currently hovering at blatant denial. The man’s nice and all but…” He shrugs his shoulders, crinkling the collar of his red and blue striped Rugby shirt.

“What, you don’t think Giles has a certain boyish charm,” Buffy asks as they turn the corner, reaching the slightly depressed area in which Giles’ shop is located.

“It has no affect on me,” responds Xander.

“That’s because he’s not a girl with a pulse…otherwise…” Willow smirks.

“Hey, I like the ladies. Shoot me.”

“Too bad it’s not reciprocated by any of them,” Buffy chuffs as they reach the door of “The Magic Shop.” Her knock drowns out the sound of Xander’s grunting acknowledgment.

The dark silhouette of a man blocks the frosted window and then the door swings open and a gregarious Giles beckons the trio forward.

“Come in, come in. I’m so glad you all could make it. I know you’re all busy with college and work,” he declares, nodding at Xander with that last phrase. “May I take your coats?”

“Uhh, we’re not wearing any Giles. It’s like 78 degrees out,” Xander replies, his arms spread to show proof that he’s coatless.

“Oh, right. Certainly, I..uh…guess I’m a tad nervous.”

“Okay, Giles. Spill. Who is she and where is she?” Buffy’s hands are on her hips and she’s turning her head left and right looking through the shop.

“What makes you so sure it’s a she?” Giles teases.

“Because you’re all, like, giddy and we’re too nice to call you a poofter,” Willow cracks.

This tease from the usually quiet Willow knocks the reserved Giles back on his heels a bit.

“I say! That’s a rare jibe coming from you, Willow. I’d be sorely wounded if I weren’t so happy.”

“Come on, Giles, tell us. What’s going on with you,” Buffy demands.

“Follow me into the back and I’ll introduce you to the new woman in my life.”

Three incredulous faces pace after Giles who almost skips to the back room of his shop. He swings the wooden door open and waves his arm toward the attractive red-headed woman seated on the old red leather couch in the expansive back room of the shop.

“May I present Regan Macklimore, shop assistant par excellence and witch of no small stature.”

The young threesome is shocked to the core by this pronouncement and Regan stands immediately with a dismissive wave at Giles and a beaming smile for the trio.

“Giles, you’re impossible. We discussed this. Bandying about my magical talents is just not cool!” Reaching out to Buffy for a handshake, she continues her smile and grips Buffy’s hand firmly and holds the grip for a moment.

“You must be Buffy Summers. Oh! The strength I get from you is remarkable. Giles is so right. You’re a veritable beacon of light. A pleasure to meet you, my dear!”

Buffy smiles and then gives a sidelong glance at Giles, wondering just how much about her he’s told the tall redhead. “I’m glad to meet you, Ms. Macklimore.”

“Oh, please, let’s forego the formalities. Regan is fine.”

“And so is Buffy,” the blonde nods withdrawing her hand after one final shake from Regan.

“Willow Rosenberg,” says the shorter redhead of the group. “Nice to meet you, Regan.”

“Such a lovely Jewess,” Regan says. “Giles says you’re quite the intelligent whip. That pleases me to no end.”

“Well, you know us Jews. Education is paramount,” Willow says without smiling.

“Xander Harris,” The tall dark young man cuts in quickly, sensing the frost in Willow’s tone. He bows toward Regan and kisses her proffered knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet a good friend of Giles.”

“Well, chivalry is on the upswing,” Regan says with a smile and a quick semblance of a curtsy. “So nice to meet a man of manners, the pleasure is mine Xander. Come let’s sit down and chat. Giles has told me about you all but I’d love to hear from yourselves how you’re enjoying your new adventures now that you’ve finished high school and are venturing into the big bad world.”

“I’d hardly call Sunnydale College the big bad world,” Buffy replies as she sits down on the long red leather couch next to Willow and Xander. “It’s pretty removed from the daily grind. And we’re only starting classes on Monday so we haven’t gotten into anything all that difficult yet…beyond the crushing chore of registration.”

“Difficult was it, Buffy?” Giles asks. He chooses the straight-back chair next to the now-sitting Regan in a worn armchair and takes her hand upon seating himself. All three young people in the room find this act remarkable for the normally highly-reserved Giles. Regan notices the surprise in their faces yet lets Giles squeeze her hand warmly.

“It took up most of the day but in the end I got courses I think I’ll like. It’s mostly all required curriculum but I’m looking forward to the Principles of Marketing course which fulfills my liberal arts elective.”

“I didn’t realize there were any principles involved in marketing,” Xander quips.

“Aahh, I take your point Xander. Nicely played,” Giles nods with a smirk.

“So, Regan, what is Giles having you do around here,” Willow interjects, getting down to cases. “Removing curses from his magical Burundi wands? Decanting sleep potions? Herding newts?”

“Nothing so fantastical I’m afraid: sweeping the shop, minding the till…er…cash register I mean, checking stock supplies. Oh, maybe beheading the occasional chicken for a dark arts ceremony.”

Giles blurts out a laugh and sweeps his palm at Regan. “Well, you can see why I treasure her company. She’s not only an excellent worker but quite sharp with her tongue when I least expect it.”

“Well, I do enjoy the work. It’s quite different every day and the shop has a most interesting clientele,” Regan affirms, squeezing Giles’ hand.

“I’ve put up some tea and sandwiches for us, let me just get them while we talk…”

“Oh no, Giles, you haven’t spent time with your friends all summer being so busy getting the shop into shape. You catch up with them and I’ll fetch everything. You do pay me to be helpful around here after all.”

“Very well, my dear, thank you. Xander, how are things going with your construction job?”

“Not bad. We just started framing out a new block of condominiums way over in Sunnydale Heights called “The Mews.” It could take us through a good six months work or more. It’s about 50 units. Money’s decent too. We might have to work one weekend a month to make the scheduled grand opening.

“Six months. So you’ll be out there in the winter hammering away,” Willow asks with concern.

“Winter in Southern California ain’t no thing,” Xander says, trying on his cool ghetto voice.

“Let me guess,” groans Buffy, “you’ve got black co-workers and you’re trying to nail down their style.”

“Well, yes! Spoken like the whitest white girl in Sunnydale. If you were any more pure, you’d be Ivory Soap, Buffy.”

“I’m not all that pure,” grumbles the girl with the pale complexion.

“Anyway, a body’s got to fit in, right?” Xander gives a lame version of a gang sign.

“Keep that up and you’ll be lucky not to be buried in some cement foundation by your third week trying that kind of thing,” Willow says with a head shake.

“Nah, I be fine!”

“Yes, well, let’s hope so,” Giles answers, not believing himself for a moment.

“Here are the refreshments,” announces Regan threading her way between chairs and placing a silver tea service tray on the low coffee table centered in the furniture grouping.

“Wow, breaking out the good china. I didn’t think we rated that highly,” Buffy jests.

“I tried to convince Regan to keep the old chipped mismatched mugs for you lot,” Giles announces, “but the willful wench tossed them in the bin. You’ll have to make do with the good stuff, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll be sure to keep my pinky raised,” Xander says, leaning forward to take the flowered china cup that Regan has poured him.

“Sugar and cream are on the tray. Take what you will, says the willful wench,” Regan says with a smile.

“What? No low-fat milk? Off with her head,” Willow grins.

“Do you prefer that, Willow? I think we have a three-month old carton of that coagulating in the back of the fridge that Giles has overlooked,” Regan spars back.

“I’ll just have to make do with the cream, thank you,” Willow replies with a smile, pouring herself a dollop that swirls through the amber liquid like a cloud.

Buffy reaches forward for a neat triangular cut sandwich from a stack of them on a Wedgewood plate: ham and Swiss on whole wheat bread. She then peppers Regan with a series of questions about her background. The answers from the attractive redhead fascinate the Scoobies and the conversation proceeds in a lively manner for a good while, with much give and take with an occasional smart-alecky jibe tossed in.

Giles is beside himself with satisfaction with how well everyone is getting along. It’s better than he could have imagined -- the smiling faces, the laughter, the instant camaraderie formed. Even Buffy seems lighter and more relaxed than he’s seen in her some time. ‘Perhaps she’s finally fully accepted the weight of the role of a slayer’ he thinks.

“Well, Willow,” Buffy is saying, “perhaps if you put down your History of Herbs book for more than twelve seconds you would have heard your roommate’s heavy breathing and known what was going on over there!”

Willow blushes even as the clever dig draws a huge laugh from everyone in the room. Xander has done something of a spit take towards Buffy whose face now drips with tea. Regan laughs heartily at this picture as does Giles. Even Willow’s blush turns a deeper red as her laughter builds higher and higher. The room is filled with gales of laughter, loud whooping and even gasps as the moment turns from unrestrained humor to something closer to hysteria. The trio of young adults on the couch is bent forward in spasms of utter breathlessness, completely overtaken by the yawning chasm of lunacy.

Giles falls to his knees off the armchair and rolls on the floor, his face beet red, glasses askew. Pointing at him, Buffy launches into even greater gusts of blowing laughter and her eyes run with tears. Willow and Xander topple off in different directions and then Buffy slumps into herself and passes out, followed by her two friends, hands clutching their throats in pained need for air that does not come. Giles’ form is on the rug, still and silent. Regan looks over the scene with a cold smile.

“Hysterium Asphyxius. It’s my own special potion and a good one if I do say so myself. Did you enjoy the tea, Scoobies?”

The Scoobies knocked out by fiendish potions? Buffy herself helplessly drugged? Say it ain't so!

Very interested to see where this goes, though frankly I'm not sure why their alarm bells didn't start ringing hard when Regan called Willow a "Jewess."

Chapter 6: Curses! Regan Works Her Charms on the Scoobies.

Regan casually steps over the prone body of the lightly-breathing Giles, confident that her potion will keep her victims out of commission for at least 45 minutes. She sits on the arm of the leather couch and slowly strokes Buffy’s hair. Then Regan takes a tea towel off the coffee table and gently and carefully pats the spit tea from Xander off of Buffy’s face before replacing it on the table.

The slayer is her main objective in this attack but the talented witch will handle all those present in the room, embedding each person with their own carefully-tailored curse.

With her left hand she pets Buffy’s head as her right hand glides over the front of the young woman’s white blouse, gently surrounding the slouching beauty’s right breast. Regan teases the nipple lightly with her thumb, stiffening the nub so it pokes through the soft bra and the blouse, tenting the fabric slightly.

“I need you to hear me Slayer,” Regan intones softly, her voice mellow and lilting. “...to drink in my words and feel the truth of them…to absorb them into your heart and make them your own.”

Buffy’s body shifts slightly, her distress displayed physically as she sags further into the couch as if to withdraw from the threat caressing her with her hands and her voice. But there’s no escape for the Slayer.

“You will open your soul to me, Buffy. You will unlock your innermost sanctum and let me place a portion of my will within you.” The willful moan from the blonde in her arms only makes the Gypsy witch smile.

“You resist of course. I would expect nothing less from a strong young Slayer of such stature. Such a weight it must be for you to bear though, is it not, my new young friend? Fighting constantly the darkness with your light, so tiring, no? Don’t the shadows beckon you, Buffy? Doesn’t the quietness of the darkness loom like an invitation to rest?”

Regan’s lips graze the lobe of Buffy’s ear as she pours her siren song of corruption into the Slayer’s soul. Her fingers lightly squeeze and caress the soft fullness of the younger woman’s breasts, spreading gentle heat with her suggestive words.

“Shouldn’t a pretty girl your age be doing the things that others enjoy? Living a normal life, wouldn’t that be nirvana for you, my friend? Wouldn’t you prefer to sample your body’s amazing resources for something other than piercing vampire hearts? Dallying with young men your age with powerful equipment that in nature’s wisdom is meant to fill your spaces with heat and desire, isn’t that what’s best? Isn’t that what’s right for a woman of your age and beauty?”

Another moan, less resistant, whispers out of Buffy’s mouth. Her eyelids twitch as do the fingers on her limp hands.

“You know I am right, sweet Buffy Summers. You know it’s not natural for you to creep through the night searching out evil that never truly ends. There’s always more of it dashing out to threaten you, isn’t there?”

The witch’s hands slide beneath the hem of Buffy’s yellow skirt and caress between her slightly-parted thighs, the fingers dimpling the soft yellow cotton panties. Buffy’s breath puffs out in a gust of need along with another moan as the witch’s words wind around her soul.

“Think of it, all those wasted hours, Slayer. Think of all those days and night’s passing, all the time of your life, your very youth, slipping away from you, spiraling down the drain of time, un-reclaimable. Such a squandered asset, is it not, my child? And the tragedy is compounded when you realize that your life is no unending thread spinning out for unseen years. No, it’s not like that for you, Buffy, as you well know. You have but a very short string, one that will be snipped and ended at the unforgiving age of a mere 25 years. Tell me a worse travesty, Buffy, than to toss away years of a rich life so brief on such a vain attempt. Is it your true desire to forestall an evil which never abates? Should you stop the tide from surging on a beach? Should you stop the sun from crossing the sky, my dear? Or should you rather embrace your life and all the wonders that young girls deserve? Do you not deserve to drink deeply from life’s tap? I think we both know the way that’s best for you, do we not, child?”

The cleft in Buffy’s panties moistens slightly with the dew of her yearning.

“Open yourself, Buffy, so that I might help you to live the life that being a Slayer has denied you. Throw wide your heart’s doors, child, and let me provide the relief you so dearly desire. I will help you become that normal young woman whose life deserves to be full and who has only a few scant years left to experience the sunlight of love on your face. Open your soul, dear, to your new friend Regan. She is here to help you gain all you cherish.”

Regan’s hand moves from Buffy’s stiff nipple to her twitching hand and the gypsy witch calms the trembling fingers with a warm clutching squeeze. Her other hand traces the infinity sign against the damp cleft in Buffy’s underwear.

“It is time, my dear, to choose the life we know you crave. Give yourself the chance and open your soul, Buffy Summers. Open it now!”

The blonde Slayer’s mouth opens with a whispered grunt and her jaw clicks. Regan feels the opening and thrusts her words into the opened ear beside her lips.

“Anima Corruptus!” The words pierce deep into Buffy and her body jolts in place, a rigor mortis that stretches her mouth into a rigid grimace of agony. The gypsy leans forward and places her mouth on the stretched lips of her victim, her own lips sealing the curse within Buffy. The witch pulls back and Buffy’s grimace slides quickly away. It is replaced by a dull slackness. There is a slight wheeze as her body slouches into itself, limp with a slight sheen of perspiration on her brow.

“Excellent. It is done, my child. Part of me rests in you and will do so for a full 30 days. On that 30th day, you will come to me and I will renew our pact for another month with a kiss. For now, Buffy, you will sleep here until I awaken you. I have your friends to see to. And thank you, my naïve young Slayer, for being so easily swayed.”



Standing up, the shapely gypsy gingerly walks between the couch and the coffee table with the tea cooling in the china cups and proceeds to sit herself between Buffy and Willow. She pulls the slouching Willow away from Xander, and gives the heavy young man a firm shove that has him flopping onto the end of the couch with a grunt.

“Away for now, beastly drone, I have a fair maiden to influence.” Regan gathers Willow up toward her, embracing her shoulders with one arm while stroking her face with the other.

“Sweet, sweet, Willow, will you open yourself to me? I would share some knowledge with you. I know you love knowledge. Giles has told me of your drive to understand the world through a library’s worth of books. I’m so looking forward…”

Willow’s body suddenly lurches left and out of her captor’s embrace, flopping low against Xander’s hip. Regan is shocked by this, an event of such stunning willfulness. She’s never encountered such an act in a subject under this potion before and it rattles her confidence.

“What is this heresy? You would dare to match wills with me, Jewess? You take on a challenge far greater than you imagine!” Regan reaches forward and begins to pull Willow’s stiff body into her shoulder embrace again only to find her stomach jabbed by Willow’s flailing elbow.

“Guunff!” Regan recoils more in shock than pain and Willow drops back onto Xander’s hip once again. “What in Hades’ dark realm is this magic? No one has ever breached this potion’s pull. Are you a witch, one with arts I haven’t learned? How can this be?”

Carefully, Regan pulls Willow off her male friend’s body for the third time and holds her shoulders hard in the tight grip of her arm.

“Quiet yourself, young Willow. Be at peace, my dear. I mean you no harm.”

Regan studies the face before her. The soft features have all gone rigid: the jaw set firmly, the brow furrowed, the nostrils flared. Even under the potion’s influence Willow’s demeanor is stern and unyielding.

“This is quite astounding,” murmurs the witch. “You will clearly be the most formidable foe I’ve faced in years. Who would have thought it: a tigress Jew.”

Yet again, Regan feels a muscular yank from the body in her grasp but she’s ready for it this time and Willow is restrained.

“Aaahh, now I see. You resent my insult of your race. You are soundly-tempered by the teachings of the Chosen People and would have me feel your wrath. I understand you now, my flower of Zion. Ahh, ahh! No, stop, no, do not struggle. I wish to apologize. Hear me, Willow.”

There’s another muscle spasm that must be restrained but Regan continues, her voice softening as she whispers into Willow’s ear.

“I was wrong, sweet Willow, to so carelessly address you without the full respect your people have earned through so many years of hardship. You were right to take umbrage in my callow behavior. I beseech your favor and promise it shall not happen again. Will you hear me out? Will you hear of my deep admiration of what your people treasure so dearly? Will you listen to me, Willow, and accept my apology?”
Some of the tenseness in the younger redhead’s frame dissipates but not much. When Regan’s hand reaches under the blue cardigan to embrace Willow’s breast however, the young woman’s body pulls back. Regan’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“Wow, this is one tough nut to crack,” the gypsy utters softly. Then more loudly she says, “Too soon for that I see. Fine, I understand. Let me explain my admiration then, child, and you may then yield my point. Your people treasure knowledge and it has formed a foundation that has kept all your tribes unified throughout the centuries. You, young Willow, carry that torch proudly and this I vouch is worthy and noble. It is undeniable. You are a credit to your people’s vast history and I would battle on your behalf for your right to fulfill your desire to know all that you can from books. It is your birthright and your calling.”

Once again, Willow’s frame loses some of its steely vigor and Regan proceeds very carefully.

“But please, I beg you, Willow, to hear my plea. All knowledge is not found in books alone. Knowledge is found all around you… in the friends you share … in the natural world with which you must interact … in the song of frogs leaping across lily pads. Your heart should tell you this, Willow. You need to know that you can learn so much from the world outside books. And you need not be afraid of this knowledge. You need to know that this knowledge is here and waiting for you to embrace it.”

Once again Regan’s hand slides beneath the sweater with the long fingers gently encompassing Willow’s breast and finally the young woman’s body does not rebel. Her breath sighs out with a squeaking note of questioning interest that draws the first smile from Regan since she’s sat down beside this young woman. She kneads the softness there, gently stroking away as she continues to speak.

“Your quest for understanding will take you in many places, my dear, and you must be brave and you must be willing to face the knowledge you seek so desperately, to accept that knowledge and to carry it within your breast,” Regan declares, giving the tit a firmer squeeze to embed the point in Willow’s physiology, “as what’s called a heart’s truth – one that’s as valid as any fact imprinted on paper, yes? You understand me? You hear me, Willow?”

A muffled sniff of acknowledgement issues from Willow and Regan proceeds with her plan to pry this bitch’s mind open and stuff her curse deep into her soul. While infuriated at Willow’s stubborn streak that she’d lost a precious six minutes to, outwardly the gypsy is as peaceful and cooing as a dove.

“This knowledge you gain will enrich you deeply, my dear. It will lift you higher than you ever believed possible. And it will make you more desirable than you ever dreamed. You will find your insights and understanding of the world redoubles that of your book sharpness and soon, believe it or not, sweet Willow, you will draw men to you like a magnet.”

The younger redhead’s body quivers within Regan’s embrace and the smiling witch slowly twists Willow’s nipple under her blouse between her fingers, the nub stiffening to the hardness of a peanut at her deft touch.

“Believe me, young maiden, your charms will not be hidden any longer by countless hours in musty library stacks. No, you will find delight in sharing your new knowledge with men of all types. You will dazzle them with your intelligence and they will see your inner beauty and respond with sonnets, with bouquets of adoration, with lusty surges of interest in all you have to give, my dear. You want to give them your all, don’t you, sweet Willow? You wish to dazzle them all with what you know. You long to share yourself, your knowledge with oh so many men, do you not, my dear?”

The soft moan of acceptance from the slowly writhing Willow pulls an evil grin from Regan even as the witch’s hand glides beneath the navy pencil skirt and her palm comes to rest on white silk panties. Finding several cotton embroidered ruffles stretching across the front of the panties widens Regan’s smile even more. Such a frilly girlish choice for the young woman; it’s preciously perfect. Her fingertips trace along the smooth silk between the embroidered ruffles bringing a sudden moistness to the fabric.

“Of course you do, sweet girl. Every girl loves to give of themselves freely to their soul mates. I’m certain your quest to find one will be successful once you acquire a new depth of understanding from the natural world. Won’t that be something for you, Willow? Isn’t that a dream you’d dearly love to come true? We know it is. We know you want this. You simply have to open yourself to the possibility, dear girl. Will you do that now, Willow? Will you open yourself to the full scope of knowledge you so dearly need to chase?”

There is no sigh and there is no click of the jaw and there is no opening in which the gypsy can force her curse. Willow is, even now, still resistant to the velvety coercion that Regan has woven around her mind. Her brow is furrowed again even as Regan’s fingers teasingly circle her nipple and sign her crotch with the infinity symbol. In fact, the young bitch is growing colder at her touch. Steeling herself against her own fury, Regan’s own brain is afire with confusion now. She’d thought she’d unlocked every important catch in Willow’s mind and heart, but her soul remains sealed to her.

“What is it?!!! What is it that keeps you from me, my dear,” Regan whines desperately. Time is fleeting and this girl has yet to be claimed. The witch is not sure she even has enough time left to take the big dumb male and Giles both. It’s been 25 minutes since the potion’s first effects. How could she be so dumb not to…. And then she knows and the gypsy gasps aloud.

“Of course!” She realizes she needs to mirror the young woman’s desires and make her see things backwards in a way.

“Hear me, my young protégé. You have taught the teacher a lesson and she treasures you for it. It is not simply the love of knowledge in all its forms that moves you. It is the desire to NOT always have an answer at hand that also plays a role here. The freedom to be unknowing at times offers its own release, does it not, my sweet Willow? That silky pleasure of being… what? ... dumb… about the world: To not always know what to do, this is a vice you’d cling to, is it not, my dear? This is a deep need you share with the stupidest grunting ox, correct, girl? You long to be dumb as a stump sometimes. Not a pretty picture but an accurate one, isn’t it, my brightest star. You sometimes long to be very very very dim, do you not? At times, you’d prefer to be a blank space in the firmament, a yawning chasm of incoherence with no voice, no answer, no clue, correct, Willow?”

The loudest grunt of all from the young redhead fills the air like a pig snort and Regan buries her chuckle by burying her face in Willow’s shoulder. She has the little cunt now! Quickly tracing the infinity symbol once again in the cleft of Willow’s rapidly dampening panties, Regan poses the question to her once more.

“Dear, dear, Willow. We have been honest together here today. We have shared our trust and we have taught each other much. So now I ask you again, for both our sakes and for the birth of a new woman from the ashes of old ignorance, will you open yourself to me Willow Rosenberg? Will you do that, my sweet young friend?”

It’s all there now, the open mouth, the accepting grunt and the click of the jaw. Willow has opened her soul.

“Anima Corruptus!” And Willow falls to the witch next, her body stiff, her soul infected with a poisonous piece of Regan’s will. The gypsy witch seals the young redhead’s fate with a sealing kiss and Willow’s expression goes into slack insensitiveness. The breathy wheeze signifies her fate and Regan pulls the limp body hard until it slouches in an ungainly pose against her blonde friend, both young women deeply cursed by the grinning Gypsy Queen.

“Formidable but not indomitable,” muses the older redhead over the dormant Willow and then she turns around toward Xander.



“Well, here’s where I can make up some time,” smirks Regan, glancing at her watch. “The male of the species is supposed to be the stronger one? Yeah, that’ll be the day.”

Once again the gypsy witch pulls one of the Scoobies close to her and whispers in an ear.

“Xander Harris. Hello in there. This is your lucky day. Your desire to be a chick magnet is about to come true. All you have to do is open your heart and soul to pretty Regan here. I can make it all a reality for you, stud. We both know you want to be seen as smart, cool, good-looking and suave so let’s make that happen, shall we?”

Xander’s mouth twitches uncomfortably and Regan is surprised there’s any resistance there.

“What’s the delay, lover boy? You’re not worried about being disloyal to Willow are you? You know you’re just good friends; neither of you thinks of each other that way. In fact, I’m sure Willow would be happy to see you so happy. It might even make her a little jealous. That would show her, right? Tossing all those digs at you… and Buffy too. Let’s show those two just who the real Xander Harris is, why don’t we? In fact, you might even want to hit the gym and tone that body of yours up a notch. Build up these pecs a tad, yes?”
Regan’s hands glide over the front of Xander’s chest, smoothing against the striped Rugby shirt and the firm body beneath it in a way that draws a gentle grunt of pleasure.

“That’s what I’m talking about. Give all those women passing your construction sight something to drool over. And trade quips with them that get them all blushing like debutantes, eh? Show them how clever you are. Show them all that you’re the real deal, my young Lancelot; the whole package!”

Regan continues to caress the young man’s chest as her other hand reaches down to his crotch to enfold the awakening snake within. Her palm slowly squeezes the firmness there, eliciting another grunt, this one deeper and longer. She then sings softly into his ear.

“Who’s the righteous dick that’s a sex machine to all the chicks? That’s you, Shaft! Who’s the man that would risk his neck for his brother man? Shhhhaaaafffftttt! Can you dig it, Xander. Who’s the cat who won’t cop out when there’s pussy all about? It’s you brother Xander. All you have to do is open yourself to me and your life becomes a whole lot sweeter. Will you do that for me, Mr. Big and Hard?”

Xander’s dick is thrusting hard against his pants as Regan holds it firmly. She’s careful not to stroke it because she doesn’t want this dumb prick cumming in his pants. The dark spot of pre-cum on his slacks is more than enough to get the job done.

“Open yourself to me, Xander. Let your new life begin. Open yourself to me now!”

Xander’s eyelids twitch, his lips pull apart slightly in a smile, his jaw clicks lightly and Regan feels his soul open like baseball glove ready to catch a fly ball.

“Anima Corruptus!” Xander’s body spasms in place, his hands jittering and his head abruptly flopping away to the side away from the frowning witch. She grabs the jerking boy by the hair and yanks him to her, kissing his grimacing lips forcefully, unyieldingly until his body goes slack. She pulls away and his chin doubles into fleshy folds as he slouches there helpless, a flaccid vessel of cursed inertness.

“Three down and one to…oh dear,” Regan pauses. Seeing the time on her watch, she declares, “There’s not enough time for you, Rupert, my little clay man. I’ll have to deal with you later I suppose. It shouldn’t be a problem. You’re more than moldable.”

Regan stands up and stretches out her arms, eyeing each of the slumping figures one by one as she waves her palms in a slow and sultry gathering motion.

“Hear me now: Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg, Xander Harris and Rupert Giles. You will not remember passing out, you will not remember my voice or my cursing of you. You all will think you spaced out for a moment and will awake laughing heartily.”

Regan retakes her seat in the plush armchair as she continues her instructions, “The wetness between your legs Buffy, Willow and Xander, you will ascribe to a slight loss of bladder control from all the laughter you’ve enjoyed. Think nothing of it. It’s been a delightful evening. You’re all enchanted with me and are thrilled that Rupert has such a wonderful woman in his life. In 30 days you will seek me out for reasons of your own choosing. For now I release you from your demi-comas. Sit up everybody, think of the funniest thing you’ve ever imagined and ....Laugh!”

The large backroom of the shop suddenly explodes in laughter as all the Scoobies and Regan pitch about in expressions of irrepressible mirth. Tears begin to roll down several faces while others pat their chests while howling with glee.

“You all are the funniest group of people I’ve been with in ages,” Regan says. “History of Herbs indeed! Willow, was it really that engrossing a book?”

“Well I thought so,” smiles Willow, not minding being the butt of the joke. It was funny now that she thought about it.

“I have to say, this evening has been a pure delight.”

All the Scoobies nod in agreement and Buffy rises to head out. “I couldn’t agree more, Regan, but I have to call it a night now. I’ve got an early Sunday morning run that I do and if I don’t I’ll feel like a slug all week.

“You’ve got the willpower of a squad of soldiers storming a fort, young lady. I admire that,” Regan declares as she also stands. She holds out her arms and goes to hug Buffy who accepts it with a smile.

“Thank you, Regan. Giles is lucky to have you. Treat her well, Giles. Pay her a living wage while you’re at it,” Buffy mocks with a grin.

“Next you’ll have me unchaining her from the cellar, Buffy. That’s a slippery slope,” Giles retorts.

The rest of the Scoobies say their goodbyes and are quickly packed off into the warm night with hugs all around and a feeling of great pleasure.

Taking up the tea tray and bringing it into the kitchen, Giles announces with great satisfaction, “I think that went smashingly well, don’t you, Regan.”

“Absolutely so, my dear,” she replies, her wide smile matching his tooth for tooth.

God damn. A whole chapter of Regan toying with sleepy damsels (and Xander)? Colour me intrigued. I love that stuff with Regan and Buffy especially. It's interesting: I actually just watched an episode where Spike explains that he managed to kill two slayers before because all slayers secretly harbour a death wish: I can see shades of that here, almost like the corollary of what Spike was saying. All that attention to Buffy's lovely, KO'd body was pretty fab as well. Good shit!

Ughh... The scene with Regan cursing Buffy was absolutely perfect. The only thing wrong with it was that it ended. The slow, sensual unraveling of her will to resist, and the beautiful details of her twitching hand as she helplessly holds on against the pull of temptation - it's the kind of scene that absolutely rekindles my love of this genre. I love how the story is set up before this moment, and all the breathlessly exciting things that could now follow on from this. I'm so excited to see where you might take things from here.

I also loved the whole dynamic and feel of the scene where Buffy was getting frisky with a guy that tried to push it too far - both for the feel of the scene itself and for the interesting character and relationship stuff that sort of spills out of that. This is just so good, Dr D, and has me hot under the collar and gasping for more. Massive apologies I took this long to come back to it - a story this good deserves *way* more attention. Fingers crossed we get to see much more of Buffy's descent down the dark path Regan has schemed for her. Anima Corruptus, indeed!

Great start, is there more of this story some other place or is this all there is? Either way, well made beginning.

I've been so busy with other writing I haven't taken the time to post the next chapter. I will get to that in a day or two. Thanks for your comments, Mlod.