Buffy the Size Queen

Willow and Tara looked up from a pile of spell books at the advancing vampire slayer, taking quick note of Buffy’s mood but focusing on the charged nipples with the same hidden delight as the men in the room.

The pair wanted Buffy in a three-some but despaired of their chances. The Slayer’s weird, good-girl-wants-to-go-bad-but-can’t-give-in-to-the-Dark-Side sexuality was a turn-off for the gay girls as much as the killer body was a turn-on. They made Buffy their special topic for pillow talk instead. Willow, who had been Buffy’s best pal since the Slayer arrived in Sunnydale, provided most of the fodder for their discussions, recounting the many times she had witnessed Buffy in her own skin at sleepovers and in locker rooms where modesty was not expected. Tara got wet just listening to her lover describe Buffy’s prayer-soft skin, her angelic form, the alluring demarcation from bronze to cream at her tan lines, and the famous — at least to Willow and Tara — bullet-hard nipples.

**********

“In high school, in gym class, Buffy almost never got through a shower without them doing their poochy-pointy thing,” Will recalled for Tara.

“Is she just sensitive, I mean, more than us regular girls?”

“Dunno. Maybe it’s some Slayer power thing. More rev’s from the engine. More voodoo for the boob-doo. Or maybe she’s just a little slut mama. And, who are you kiddin’ anyhoo? We’re not exactly regular girls.”

***********

Xander, in one corner of The Magic Box with ex-demon girlfriend Anya tucked under his shoulder, was turning loose his own fantasies about the Buffy bod. In real life she never begged for anything, but in Xander’s dog-eared and worn dreams about her, the Slayer always panted her need for his big cock. The cock was big enough in truth for Anya, who was too busy price tagging toad skins (in FreshSeal™ pouches) to notice the new arrival. In his Buffy fantasies, however, Xander’s merely large penis turned into a man-meat cannon easily capable of punching through the independent, stake-driving girl’s defenses. He was especially fixed on bending the Slayer over the back of a sofa, or a convenient coffee table, or anything that would prop up girl warrior’s curvaceous ass and present her holes to him.

Giles worked at balancing the cash drawer, fumbling money and receipts, properly mindful that he shouldn’t stare at Buffy’s young figure. He was a secret teen freak, never caught, even by the members of the “Scooby Gang” who were Buffy’s sidekicks. Deeply ashamed of his nearly overpowering urges, he covered constant impulses to stare at and touch teenage girls with an air of confusion and slight bewilderment. Everyone ascribed the strangeness to his being bookish and British.

Dawn ignored her older sister, except to sniff a little jealously at the noticeable nipples and Buffy’s so unfair ability to fasten everyone’s attention on her. Dawn just knew she was a hottie in her own right with prettier, longer hair — even if she was a brunette — and bigger, higher boobs. Screw Miss Nipples.

“Dawn, I want you to...” Buffy began and stopped, seeing Dawn’s pencil scratching at an algebra problem. She was actually studying for once. “Oh ... good then. You’re already at it.”

Dawn smirked back, little sister style. Screw you again, you sweet-faced bitch.

“OK, uh, has anyone seen Riley?” the Slayer asked her gang. “I need him to help me search for Adam. Cyborg thing’s minions were out again last night. We really need to get this guy under control, or dead, whichever comes first.”

Riley was Buffy’s boyfriend, the sort that straight girls put at the top of their late-night topic list. He hadn’t checked in with Buffy or any of the Scoobies for three days.

“Well, yes, I’ve made some progress in that area — not about Riley — I mean, I should say, finding Adam,” Giles said, aware surreptiously that his young protegé was still making points through the fabric of her dress. He started to stiffen below the belt and consequently to stutter.

“It’s quite obvious, I mean I think it should be, that he, uh, Adam, our human-demon-cybernetic hybrid, will, for all his unique intelligence, be sequestered where he feels most at home. Of course we all seek refuge in the familiar, and it’s no different with Adam. Surprisingly ...”

“Giles, the point, get to it soon,” Buffy interrupted.

“Patience, Buffy, I’m there,” Giles chided. “I believe Adam has probably hunkered down, as it were, in the catacombs and caves near the Initiative labs, his birthplace.”

“You mean, the underground place where he was created and assembled by those whack-brained G-men and G-gals.” Xander piped. Giles nodded, a little annoyed by “Xan-man.”

“There are miles of caves and stuff in that area, Giles,” the Slayer complained. “How are we going to find him soon?”

Willow raised her hand, appealingly carrot-topped, freckled, and cute as a button. She wished best bud Buffy had turned gay at the same time she had discovered her own new orientation. The Buffy booty was to die for.

“With a locator spell?” she offered. “Or maybe one for Riley, ’cuze, once we find him, he might have, like, a map or something, of the catacombs? He was Initiative Boy a lot longer than he’s been with us.”

Willow was guessing that Buffy was really more worked up about the lack of boyfriend time than the lack of demon hybrid slaying time. Adam had been kicking supergirl’s ass anyway in their few and brief encounters so far. No worries though. Buffy always found a way to triumph over the unbeatable Big Bad.

“Do that,” Buffy ordered. “Right away.”

“It’ll take some time. Tara and I will need to gather some ingredients and find a quiet place...”

“Just get started.”

“On which ... ?” the pixie witch asked sweetly, pretending not to know who the hard-up Slayer wanted to catch in the spell’s web.

Buffy, sun dress almost frayed through by double-nub friction, stared pointedly but a little chagrined at sly Willow.

“Oh, him,” Willow relented.

“Do you really think Riley ...” Giles began.

“Yes, I’m sure he can find Adam for us,” slay girl snapped, anxious that Giles not intuit the true reason she wanted to track down her soldier boyfriend so badly. “You should do some research. Get Willow to hack into the Initiative’s database for you and find out what bugs our government’s billions failed to fix in Adam’s design. He’s just a prototype, Riley said. There’s got to be a good bureaucratic screw-up in his make-up somewhere.”

“Right, of course, Buffy. That’s very good,” Giles agreed.

“Yeah, we could slip something nasty into his foundation or his eyeliner,” Xander quipped. Everyone stared at him. “You know, in his make-up. C’mon, that was great timing.”

Buffy sighed, dropped her purse and toed it under Willow’s table before swinging her gaze back to Giles. He nodded his assent again.

The Watcher thought he might need some time alone with his hand before he could begin his duties, however. The Slayer’s short dress was tight in places other than the girl’s bra-less bosom. Her pint-sized, teen babe body always made Giles forget Buffy was no longer in the age bracket he preferred. It also made him forget her enormous strength. She would squash him, British balls and all, if she ever learned the things he thought about both her and Dawn, who was in the ripest year for Giles’ particular twistedness.

“Xander,” Buffy said, before the fantasizing geek could ask some half-witty question about his assignment. “Take Anya and patrol in the area outside the catacombs. Not in, just outside. Check for any activity or strangeness, any indication Adam might be planning a welcome for us.”

The 5-foot-2 butt-kicking bombshell did nothing more overt than look up at her taller, wise-cracking friend, but the unexpressed appeal in her gaze made him want to wag his tail.

“Check,” was all Xander managed for a reply. Xander good puppy. He didn’t relish patrolling without the Slayer, but how could he disappoint those eyes? They were a fetching blue now. The gun-metal lethality had been holstered.

“Check,” Willow added, just for fun, earning a smile from Tara.

Besides Buffy’s nipples, the lesbian pair most often gossiped about the Slayer’s other famous sexual aspect. Not much different from Xander’s dreams, she had a whispered predisposition for cunt-splitting dicks. Willow couldn’t think of a single Buffy sex partner who, according to the most reliable rumors, wasn’t equipped with a pussy punisher.

Angel, Buffy’s estranged but true-love vampire boyfriend, had a long one, a real swinger with dangling testes to match. Willow had seen the undead package early on, before the Slayer began to trust Angel’s attempts to help her destroy his own kind. Willow had been dispatched to spy on the mysterious vampire, and she had crouched outside a window just in time to see Angel’s love muscle unfold from his pubic hair as he kicked out of some very vamp-chic leather pants.

The sight had inspired her. She had spent the remaining minutes before sunrise of that night furiously rubbing at her clit. It had been a different time in Willow’s life. She had been just as hypnotized by the male figure then as she was now by the female. Sometimes she wondered vaguely if Tara had cast a spell to make her forget boys.

Buffy, meanwhile, was still straight, legendarily dick-whipped, and possessed of a talent for finding “big boned” men and vampires. Both Riley, whose high-pressure hose was sizeably thicker than Angel’s gracefully long shaft, and Spike were well-known to be well-endowed males. Spike’s nickname, contrary to the Watchers Council histories, didn’t have anything to do with torturing his victims with railroad spikes. The two Slayers he had defeated had expired only after choking on and sufferering under his real spike. Of course, William the Bloody wasn’t Buffy’s boyfriend or lover yet, Willow admitted to herself. Somehow, though, he seemed part of the pack of cockhounds that always trailed the gorgeous Slayer.

Buffy seemed about to say more to her friends, then turned instead for the door after a quick goodbye, looking back once to check on the studying Dawn.

Willow whispered into Tara’s ear. “There she goes, Buffy the Size Queen.” Tara giggled. Occassionally, even good witches —even those without familiars — can be catty.

*********

The Slayer’s abrupt exit was as bell jarring as her entrance. She knew she should stay and help with the gang’s research, but it had been three days since she had ridden Riley’s 12-inch stairway to heaven. She trembled, remembering how tempted she had been to let Riley push his manmeat into her anus. Despite her unquenchable thirst for cock, Buffy never let a big man take too much interest in her sphincter. Even normally proportioned guys, the rare ones she allowed into her bed, injected pain if they aimed their needle dicks at her butt. She recognized, somewhat humorously, that she really was a “tight ass.”

Buffy stayed lost in lustful thoughts as her footsteps launched her into the dangerous part of Sunnydale where crumbling cemeteries vied with crumbling industrial real estate for space. It was so familiar from her endless patrols that she barely looked up.

Riley had worked for the privilege of poking her ass the last time they had made love. His teeth and tongue had teased her mouth and neck, her breasts and nipples, her clit — all of the soft tissue areas that like to swell under wet caresses. In the end, she had still been fearful of the soldier’s flesh bayonet. “Don’t stake my little ass tonight with your big thing,” she had cooed at Riley. He had relented, content to season his sausage again with what he called her “Puffy Buffy” parts.

Under any sort of teasing, the surging blood from Buffy’s powerful Slayer heart stretched tender skin to its limit. If Buffy measured her bustline when her milk points were standing at attention, the tape proclaimed her a cup-size bigger than she really was. She was almost afraid a lover’s talents would one day cause her pop-up nipples to split.

Two years ago, Angel had nicked her with a fang during one of the teasing sexual encounters that were their usual substitutes for real fucking. A shooting stream of blood from her breast had hit the back of his mouth, making him cough and then changing him with its potency into one of the feral Undead. She had slammed a heel into his left nut in response and then sucked him to the edge of orgasm for 45 minutes. Buffy logic.

Her body had ached for Angel then and it did now for Riley, who was huge, more than the vampire, and able to pound her mercilessly when she needed it, as she did more frequently these days. Angel’s inability to mate with her — without turning into his evil alter-ego Angelus — had kept the maturing Slayer’s cock hunger in check. Then Angel had left, neither wanting the parting but unable to reconcile the dangers inherent in their bond.

Riley had come along after a series of lesser relationships, her appetite for bigger and better lovers whetted by then, and things had changed. These days, if she wasn’t slaying, she was fucking. Her good girl conscience was always stricken as a result. At the moment, the blunt point of her soldier boy’s entrenching tool was all she could think about.

She stopped her ad libbed patrol under a streetlamp, only half aware of the lonesome target she presented. She wished she had let Riley prod her between the cheeks. Maybe he wouldn’t have gone AWOL. Maybe his magnum-sized dick wouldn’t have damaged her petite body. Maybe she wouldn’t be pussy wet and alone right now.

“I can smell your cunt, Slayer.”

Buffy whirled to find a vampire at her back. He was tall and slender but obviously powerful and obviously newly made.

“What!”

“I can smell it. You’re dripping. I’ll satisfy you if that’s your last request, or even if it isn’t.”

“Your sire must have kicked you in the head before he made you. I’m the Slayer. Get it? No week-old vampire is going to take me no matter what his nose tells him.”

“But you want it, bitch, the week-old dick if not the week-old bite. Besides, I’m not just representin’ myself.”

The gun-metal eyes traversed again and their 360-degree arc confirmed the vampire’s boast. At least six pairs of fangs were poised at the edge of the light where Buffy had stopped during her reverie on the pleasures of giant cock. Did her purse have enough stakes for all of them? No, she had left it under Willow and Tara’s table at The Magic Box.

Time to bluff.

“I don’t touch weak, old dick,” Buffy said, purposely misunderstanding the taunt. “I think I’ll just stake you — all of you. Step up.”

Tall vamp smiled, revealing his new fangled teeth, and thrust his pelvis at her.

“Here, why don’t you use this piece of wood then,” he said, pointing to the tented crotch of his slacks. “You might want to lick it a little first. It’ll slide in easier. Asses to ashes, dicks to dust.”

The tremble was back, part cock lust, part fear at having been caught without so much as a pencil to defend herself. Tall vamp was certainly armed with more than a pencil. Long-delayed need began to win over good girl’s better instincts. Not easily. She was disgusted that she had immediately wanted this vampire, and maybe the others, too. She was disgusted that she might so readily forsake her commitment to Riley. And she was disgusted at her itch to let them take her and then kill them once her desire had been blunted.

One thing she shared with the vampires in her current unfucked state, she would put off killing lust to satisfy the lusts of the flesh — theirs undead, hers sweetly alive. Giles had never told her how much of her power was sexual or how often it needed to be fed. She assumed he didn’t know. She mentally crossed her fingers in the hope it was just Slayer strangeness that made her such a nymph. Good girl shouldn’t go bad, no matter what ancient forces were bending her will.

Two things ended her hesitation. First, the area was empty of packing crates, loading palettes and tool handles, or any other impromptu stake material. If she lured the vamps into a hidey hole where they could ravage her, she might find a weapon. Second, tall vamp had just pulled his zipper down. The penis that sprang forth was at least a plump 11-incher, not Riley-sized, but nothing to turn her cute little nose up at either. The vamp’s handsome smile and confident stare made her feel naked.

For an instant, she wondered if the convenience of a hugely hung, new-made vampire meant one of her many enemies had learned her kinks and was using them to set a trap, but she dismissed the idea. She was the Slayer and these vamps weren’t the Big Bad, they were just trolling bloodsuckers. Asses to ashes.

“Chase me,” she said with a wink and hurried into the maze of Sunnydale’s alleyways and backstreets.

The vampires, the tall one leading, laughed and streamed after her. Slayer pussy and Slayer blood on a Thursday night. Undeath doesn’t get any better than this.

************

Buffy, her golden tresses like a flag for the vampires to follow, ran down alley after alley, trying to gain a little distance on her pursuers without losing them. She needed just enough time to scope out a building with enough room for a fight, enough comfort for a gangbang and a little wood for the climax.

The Slayer found her best hope in an abandoned furniture warehouse that hadn’t yet been torched for the insurance pay-off. Dusty, three-legged sofas and tables shedding varnish could be seen from the windows. Toward the back, what looked like a covert love nest — some local executive’s romantically trashy trysting place for a pretty underling — waited to host Buffy’s conditional surrender to tall vamp and his cheering section. Excellent.

She crashed her slight shoulder into the double metal doors of the warehouse, bursting the rusted lock far enough ahead of the pack that she had time to shove a push broom through the door handles on the other side. Tall vamp smashed through the barrier without effort, smiling his pretty vampire smile. The awesome dick was still out, waving at her with every step, unfazed by the beating his thighs must have given it as he ran. He didn’t notice the splintered broom handles. If he had, he might have guessed Buffy had just made instant stakes for later.

Tall vamp saw only that Buffy was gathering the folds of her dress, pulling the already short hem higher up her sculpted, slender, California-girl thighs.

The other vamps, piling up in the entrance like Keystone Kops, caught a glimpse of white silk panties just before the teasing Slayer sprinted again, firm ass moving gorgeously under the flirty sun dress as she made for the borrowed love nest.

This time, she laughed.

*********

A mini-fridge, a standing clothes rack and a dresser surrounded a plush velvet covered bed, all situated near the warehouse bathroom for easy clean-up after sticky sex. Somebody had put some thought into the extramarital affair that took place here. A harmless looking whip and a pair of handcuffs dangled from hooks on one wall. Buffy was relieved that she wasn’t the only human in Sunnydale with sexual hangups.

She cataloged everything quickly in the half-second before the vampires cornered her. The girl who came here to satisfy her clandestine lover must be young, Buffy thought. Sunlight shows wrinkles, her mother always said, and afternoon glare would spill through the big windows during lunchtime romps. A thirty-something mistress would never allow her lover to set up shop here.

At night, only moonglow lit the secluded corner. Buffy felt it on her sensitive skin — there was so much the Council never guessed about Slayer powers — and knew she must look like a silver-gold goddess, nearly nude with the pale light outlining her silhouette through the thin dress.

As the Slayer turned to face tall vamp for the third time, she discovered he was quicker to his mark than expected. His dick was wobbling but hard, the head just three inches away from a spot two inches above her belly button. Damn he was big, Buffy thought again. Tall and slender, big and hard. Just what she needed.

He curled a long-fingered hand into the modestly scooped neckline of her dress, vampire nails scratching her silky skin, and pulled with the undead’s speed and strength. The flimsy fabric ripped away, leaving her up-tilted, coral pink nipples bare before the eyes of the vampires. Their dead orbs under moonlight looked like a cold day in Hell. Maybe they weren’t Keystone Kops after all.

Buffy decided she didn’t care about the ruined dress. She had known the vamps would play rough. They wanted her dead after all. After a good rape, of course. If they were really feeling evil, she guessed, they would prod her with their undead dicks right to the feet of the Grim Reaper, then drain the last drop of precious Slayer blood before inviting Mr. Scythe to unsheath his own skeletal pussy tap as she crossed over.

Don’t fear the Reaper. (That’s what BOC always sang. Giles had some really old vinyl, and a turntable that he called his “hi-fi.”) Well, she didn’t. Her plan would work. Her plans always worked.

“What’s your name, new boy?” she asked tall vamp, forgeting the unpleasant image of disaster on the banks of the River Styx.

Tall vamp’s big right hand was back, cupping and molding her left breast before rolling the eraser tipped nipple between a calloused thumb and forefinger.

“I’m Killian,” he said, “like the beer.” Tingling heat surged in her kneaded titty point. She almost expected sparks between his fingers and her excited flesh. Supergirl energy definitely enhanced sensual pleasures.

“I know the brand,” she giggled, “an Irish red vamp. What would mother say?

“Call her on my cell,” he replied. “The more blood the merrier.”

“Hunh.” Buffy was unimpressed by anyone else’s humor where it concerned her mother. “Have you got any balls, Killian? I see this nice piledriving meat.” She nudged his foreskin back a centimeter with a fingernail. “But no undead sperm makers. How they hangin’?”

“Check for yourself.”

Buffy could sense the other bloodsuckers closing in around her, drinking in the sight of the dreaded Slayer with only panties to ward her virtue. She shivered, half with anticipation, half with loathing. She knew it wouldn’t be long before they started touching too — and biting. Slayer blood was an intoxicant to the undead, just as being bitten became addictive for slayers. (She would never admit that to the Scooby Gang.) What the vampires thought about Slayer pussy, she couldn’t be sure, but judging from the reactions of first Angel and now Killian, she guessed they would probably fight over the first lick at her clit and the last stroke up her cunt.

Killian let Buffy unbuckle his belt and push down his slacks as she moved closer. Her eyes took in the fresh bite scars on his neck from his recent siring then lowered. No briefs, no boxers. His unfettered hardness pushed against her belly with enough force to tweak her solar plexus before he flexed the small man-muscle that squeezes another ounce of blood into the penis, angling it higher until the glans stopped poking to skid deliciously up her abs toward her ribs. The donkey-sized specimen bent at its root and folded hotly between his body and hers. God, she thought, he just might be as big as Riley.

The vampire’s balls were donkey-sized as well. Killian urged her face lower with a spread hand that nearly enclosed her head. A tad moist, warm and resting at the bottom of their deep bag, the studly nuts looked like tennis balls, although Buffy knew they couldn’t be more than Grade AA egg-sized. She caught one gently and squeezed, her diminutive palm making it seem a Grade AA ostrich egg. It was firm, but it yielded, even though Killian growled at the pressure. She bent under the insistence of his hand and the twitching monster rod bumped her baby soft cheek. She lapped quickly at it to quiet the vamp’s rising anger from the ball squeezing. Then she compressed the other one, with both hands. Buffy logic again.

Killian roared his pain while his fellows and Buffy laughed. Enraged, he jerked his hips back, took the Slayer’s delicate jaw hinge in one hand and squeezed in return, vampire strength forcing her surprised mouth wide. The pelvis shot forward, slick balls popping out of the Slayer’s fingers, and, just like that, Buffy was being face fucked.

OK, she thought, wincing a little at what she knew was coming, I deserve this. Crush-testing vamp testicles is not appreciated.

Buffy the Size Queen. New code name: Deep Throat.

Killian’s monster pole pushed her tongue down, her tonsils back and strummed her vocal cords again and again. Buffy tried to whip her head away from the choking meat, but Killian wouldn’t let up. The purple-veined monstrosity jacked in and out of the Slayer’s cute mouth in tune to a spontaneous vampire chant a là any fraternity party gangbang. “Fuck-her-face, fuck-her-face, fuck-her-face.”

Killian clamped spread paws on either side of Buffy’s beautiful head to control her efforts to reject the bone gag. The Slayer’s hands fought for purchase on his thighs. A chanting vampire caught at one wrist and held it. She managed to rip her other hand away from another’s claws while the face rape drew more gleeful howls from her audience. Killian continued to buck away at her tender mouth and throat for frantic seconds until her free hand found his balls again.

He got the message.

The chanting died.

“Sorry, sweet thing,” he said, pulling the ruler’s length of spit-lubed cock out of her airway. “Let’s try not to be so rough on each other. OK?”

They both knew he was full of shit.

Buffy straightened, her wrist freed. Her eyes locked with Killian’s. They seemed gentler in spite of, or maybe because of, his vengeful treatment of her. Then, she felt another hand, harder and older, at her hip, slipping into her panties, the last bit of modesty she still possessed after her oral violation. Ancient ugliness skulked at the corner of her vision. The creature connected to the hand didn’t want her to see it just yet. The panties peeled away, torn easily without hurting her. Old vamps must learn new tricks over the centuries, she thought, entirely naked now. The moonglow burned its gentle shine into her small, exposed sex. The children of the dark panted desire for the golden areas where the sun kissed her each day and for the milky hide that she hid under satiny things until the moon came out.

The Slayer, still in full lust despite the face pounding, but more mindful of her safety, crossed slender girl arms behind Killian’s neck and pulled herself up, brushing her silken bush over the top of his gigantic prick, then wriggling the tip back towards her soft wetness. She wanted him in her so she could pull him backward for a long ride on the bed, covering her, and effectively denying the other vampires access to most of her succulent girl flesh. He did what she hoped and drove inside her fully as her back touched the velvet coverlet.

“Unhhhunh, oh, ohhhnnh, mmmm, God. Holy Hell,” Buffy gasped. The other vamps chuckled low at her I’m-getting-fucked moans.

Size queen or not, the Slayer’s cunt had never loosened in all her short, but busy sexually active years. She was tight as a virgin every time a cock forced its way below her love button. Killian’s vampire log drove vaginal walls and smooth supergirl muscles slickly to each side, warming both of them with the incredible wet friction of first penetration.

The long ride began.

For a new vampire, Killian had supernatural staying power. The rhythm of the monster’s mighty meat thrusts released Buffy’s three days of sexual frustration. She came once and then quickly again. Buffy was multi-orgasmic, of course. No self-respecting Slayer slut would be anything else.

Stroke after stroke of Killian’s rigid purple worm swung her like the pendulum slap of his big balls from stretching pain to elastic pleasure. When pelvic bone met pelvic bone, Buffy could swear the dick was crushing ovaries. His lips, tongue and razor teeth were trading licks, nips and kisses over her face, neck and breasts. Willow would have been in awe as the famous nipples neared their maximum p.s.i. More minor tremors signaled a trainload of little O’s. The big one was on its way.

Good girl was being banged into unconsciousness. Bad girl was having a tube steak picnic with no ants.

Well, maybe a few ants.

Stinging bites, followed by the narcotic flow of blood into vampire mouths told the orgasmic Buffy the vampire tease was becoming dangerous. Her squeals from having her kitty pounded had coaxed the predators in from their cautious circle. No longer satisfied with fraternity antics, the vamp crew wanted its gang bang, and Slayer blood on the side. Killian whispered something to the noisy girl about the moon, her pink-silver nipples, prophecies and the bloody cum from giant vampire dicks. It didn’t make any sense. Didn’t need to. Bad girl’s desperate desire was being fulfilled.

She felt an explosion inside her starting to build as her vampire lover neared 17 minutes of slamming Slayer slit. Ecstasy pooled in her bite wounds. The crowding vampires rationed her finite blood supply, wanting it to last as much as she wanted the dizzying swoon of their sucking to continue. At last, a hard, bony finger with a sharp nail slipped between her downy pubes and Killian’s wiry curls. She saw ugly vamp again at the edge of her straining eyes. The bony finger pressed her button. Another old vamp trick?

Yes.

A galvanic spasm rocked the Slayer’s gracile body. Her clitoris jumped under its little hood and her hips shivered, shaking her spine to jolt the firm jelly of her young breasts. Surf’s up. Buffy is catching a whole set of jacked up orgasm waves. The Big-O had arrived. Killian rode the leaping, bucking crest of each curling climax before hammering back, his stretching mule cock now squirting frothy blood cum into the Slayer’s snatch. The boys always came when Buffy hit it big. Her gripping girl muscles during orgasmic contractions never failed to turn on their cum jets.

The other vampires, tasting the intensity of Buffy’s orgasm waves through her blood and seeing it in her thrashing, decided with their pack mind to stop playing around. They wanted their turn.

The bigger ones pulled Killian off the quivering sex toy without waiting for its spring to completely wind down. Feminine limbs still twitched with sexual overload. The tiny snatch, snapping back into tightness already, had barely begun to leak the flow of vamp cum.

Before she could react, clawlike hands flipped Buffy onto her stomach. Her chest was pressed into the bed while a forearm scooped her hips up into doggy position, and that old bony hand pulled her head back by its shining gold hair, forcing the breathtaking line of her back to arch. Perfect ass-pounding position.

The tables were turning.

Her dazed senses finally engaged, switching from full Buffy-slut ecstasy to siren-sounding Slayer overdrive. The vampire bites regained their sting as she jerked arms and legs away from their fangs. She gathered herself for a breakout lunge toward the nearest wood furniture but froze at a gargling splat sound behind her. Hot, slick something poured over her ass crack and swam up the narrow gape of her cunt. She snapped her head around, ignoring the pain from the twisted hair in ugly vamp’s fist.

Killian’s handsome head was hanging from his neck by a strip of gristle and skin. The splat had been his gushing new vampire blood, crimson across the moonlit white skin below her bikini line. Gouting streams still fountained down on her.

“Beautiful contrast, don’t you think?” ugly vamp asked politely, letting her see him close for the first time. (Jeepers, creepers, where’d you get those peepers?) “You such a delicate Slayer, beautiful in your white girl skin, painted with his so red blood, the moonlight falling upon you, turning you from suntanned ‘babe’ to ghostly receptacle for the Undead’s violence.”

Buffy shuddered at the import of his words.

“Did you know that a new vampire’s blood is especially slippery? It doesn’t clot. It makes a perfect lubricant,” old vamp added.

More hands than she could count had seized Buffy’s iced limbs before they could thaw and locked down like deadbolts snicking into door jambs. She couldn’t move, couldn’t fight.

This wasn’t possible.

Buffy wanted to know what had suddenly happened to her grand plan for a gang bang and vampire dusting festival? All the lovely undead dicks for her to control? It had been a good plan, she knew. Had ugly vamp blown it away when his finger pressed her orgasm button? Or had it gone to Hell when he made that awful noise with Killian’s head to prepare her ass for raping?

She tried to remember that she was the Slayer, the Slayer, with extraordinary abilities and arcane powers ready to conjure her victory. But this was no normal vamp fight where she had momentum, speed and a little distance to aid her strength. This time, she had been surprised, gulled by her own cunt, her supergirl passions, three frustrating days of no sex.

The vamps, instead of the six she thought she had seen, were now more than a dozen, and it seemed every one was holding her, refusing the miniscule leverage she needed to unleash herself. She was helpless. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Size Queen was contained and bent into position by heavily hung creatures of the dark with only the moonglow to bear impartial witness to her cumming rape.

Ugly vamp, the hard old one, spoke again while slipping a finger into Buffy’s virgin butt, pushing against one side of her anus so Killian’s lubricant blood could trickle into the tight space.

“By the way, since you like to know names, dear Buffy, I am Oculus,” he said. “I was a slave of Europeans long before they started shipping Africans to the Americas. They gave me this fanciful Roman name and forced me to live in the dirt with their herd animals. I hate all white people, even though no one can tell, now, what my race was before I became Undead.

“And it’s true, you know, what they say about African males, about all of my minions now around you.”

Buffy turned her head, gun-metal eyes now fearful blue with her dwindling sense of control. The Keystone Kops that had followed her here had transformed into massive, dignified, old nightmares. Their hulking frames were covered in steroid-user muscles, filling the small space of the love nest. Even Oculus appeared less gnarled, although still repulsive.

The smallest of their jutting, bobbing penises was easily bigger than Riley’s.

Fear stabbed Buffy through her Slayer’s heart. Sixty seconds ago, she had exuded power, even flat on her back being sucked and fucked by a gang of blood drinkers. The long history, the ancient legend of the invincible Slayer had been Buffy in every inch of her untamed, unmatched beauty. The vampires had been just a dalliance to soothe her passions.

Now the dalliance was behind her, literally, probing at her clenching sphincter with sharp claws and big-knuckled fingers. Black meat, swaying and gorgeous in its horrible, thickening length touched the small circle at the center of her oh-so-tight young ass. Pushing gently at first, Oculus waited for the panic to rise in Buffy’s suddenly vulnerable psyche. A second later the rigid column of the vampire’s masculinity slammed forward, hastened by Killian’s blood, into its unready new home.

Buffy heard her reaction from a distance, just as the memoirs of old soldiers described such things. “I heard screaming,” the cliched histories always read, “and then I realized it was my own voice.” The Slayer’s same realization ramped up her terror. She tried to crawl inside her skull and shut out the pain, but Oculus kept ripping at her insides with the sickening enormity of his 15-inch cock. There was no escape.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer succumbed to anal, oral and vaginal rape by the Undead, a legend all their own, full of contempt and cum for the pretense to power of a 19-year-old cocktease. Sunnydale’s new generations of vampires could not compare.

The long ride started anew. The dark Undead pressed in to fuck and feast on the trapped Slayer. Time blurred.

************

Each time an Undead penis, all more than 12 inches long, erupted in a gout of blood cum inside her throat, her ass or her cunt, Buffy understood again why rape is so terrifying to women. Willing sex offers the weaker female a measure of control, the ability to accept or deny. For Buffy, stronger than any man and most of the things in Hell, the sex act had always been hers to dictate, even when she surrendered to the jackhammer need of her lovers’ gargantuan dicks. It was her need too, so why resist? Power and choice were always hers, so she hadn’t understood how a little cock swabbing of the female plumbing could traumatize a woman.

Buffy begged to return her to her innocence. She didn’t often invoke the Almighty, but at every chance now — between the clogging monster dicks sliding in and out of her slender throat — the Size Queen whimpered a prayer or screamed for Him to save her. It was comedy hour for the vampires, who mocked her cries, especially Oculus, reveling in a white girl’s horror for the mess they were making of her sweet, rip-easy holes.

If citizens of Sunnydale had viewed the scene from the window of the warehouse, they would have seen a small, stunning, nude blonde girl held down by dozens of hands, kissed by a dozen mouths, stuffed in all three sex channels by oversized cocks rooted in black-skinned men. They might think it was a porn studio that had found a low-rent place to shoot fake scenes of interracial rape. They wouldn’t guess it was Buffy the Vampire Slayer, their oft-time savior, at the mercy of the real Undead.

The pain of her violation was unrelenting. Buffy knew Oculus had torn something in that first, unreal expansion of her virgin colon. His gross member was longer and thicker than all of the giant dicks that followed, and that first stroke had brought his flopping elephant nuts into bruising contact with her tender clitoris. When Oculus withdrew long minutes later, the other vamps worked at the rip he had begun, clumsily but effectively. Dicks, large ones especially, can’t manage the fine control of artificial torture instruments, but Oculus laughed hollowly every time a skillful stroke from some vamp’s pulsing hugeness made her jerk and shriek.

She didn’t understand why her cries should send the pack into such a frenzy. She tried to be silent, but she couldn’t control even that much of her subjugation. Just a little whine sometimes prompted a bruising cock to spit stinging cum into her raw passages. Buffy would jerk again and another cry would slip past the penis plugging away at her mouth. More vamp goo would fill her.

She could only jerk a little against their torments; the vampires still held the Slayer securely, even when they stretched and twisted her helpless body into frightening new positions.

Once the pack became more confident in their victimization of the weakened Slayer, they lifted her upright off the bed, dangling her in the air between two of them. With helping hands the pair mounted the doll-sized girl onto their vertical cocks, letting her own small weight impale her cunt and ass. They began a grotesque, lumberjack humping, one vampire pushing his saw in, the other dragging it out. Other vamps reached to paw at her breasts, rubbing with surprising gentleness at her still erect nipples. Once, to her shame, Buffy’s vagina unwilling contracted, the babe clit triggered and her slut’s core spasmed again, with surprising vigor and ego-shattering humiliation. How could she orgasm to the horrors they were heaping on her?

Other vamps took over from the first pair in the dance, excited to repeat her slutty reaction, to prove that the Slayer enjoyed their abuse. When a vampire with a literally hot 13-inch cock assaulted her pussy, the sweetly clenching Buffy muscles grasped at the pounding pleasure meat until it oiled her again with blood cum. Sensing her at the verge, the vamp ground a thumb into the top of her slit, crushing another electric discharge from the fleshy nub of her clitoris. “Ooohh-ooo-oh, huh, hunh, huh,” the pack mocked her in chorus. The laughter generated by her never-ending need for cock scarred her soul.

They tried and kept trying to buck her into another spasm, failing for a long period until Oculus himself took a second turn. Her misery and pain warred with her addiction to dicks the size of which should only be found on draft animals. The old African sported the biggest thing she had ever imagined, and it was so hard.

Good girl had moved aside for bad girl under Killian. Now Oculus replaced bad girl with sick girl. He did it very simply, not by burying his whole length inside her, but by balancing the frail weight of the Slayer on the engorged organ as if her thighs were straddling a fence rail. She was turned away from him so Oculus’ minions could watch her face and heaving, pointed tits. He rocked slowly. She moaned. Her labia divided across the vamp’s meat while the little flower of her femininity was stimulated by a bulging purple vein.

Most guys couldn’t hold up a damp towel at their most erect. Oculus’ cock was levered from nearly vertical to horizontal, but it held Buffy off the floor easily. Sick girl so loved the very idea of such a rigid bone that she summoned the strength to begin dragging her pussy back and forth along the top of the African avenger. She wept for the first time in self-loathing. Amusement and mimicry poured from the vampires as she worked herself to climax with no urging from the leader of her rapists. Buffy knew she was a whore whose coin could be counted in inches of cock.

Her uncontrolled trembling at the conclusion of her fourth orgasm series didn’t inspire mercy in Oculus. Casually, he curled her torso forward and her head down until her mouth was forced open and her blonde hair hung upended. The once-proud Slayer was face fucked again, bent nearly double, to sounds of popping vertebrae. Her small hands gripped him for balance, unable to close completely around the dick’s incredible thickness. She was careful even in her doubled pain to protect the head from her teeth, imagining his anger if they scraped at the sensitive bundle of nerves on the underside of his cock. After an eternity that lasted perhaps not more than 90 seconds, the giant penis began to pump its caustic seed, filling her mouth and then dripping into in her overturned sinuses. She sneezed vampire cum. If she hadn’t been dying, it might have been funny.

After Oculus was done, he threw her back onto the bed where the Cupid’s bow of her mouth could be shared again along with her other holes. And so the others could feed.

Their teeth in her flesh were no longer a narcotic. No more dreamy trickles ran from her now. The old Undead were thirsty. They almost never squirted vamp juice unless they were drawing Slayer blood simultaneously. Her accelerated healing ability produced new blood and worked to mend the reopening rips and tears. Buffy recognized that her power was working overtime to keep the vampires’ violent passions from killing her, but it was draining away.

Oculus watched the doomed Buffy squirm and whine against new depravities, the pain and injury overcoming even her humiliating lust. His minions abused every part of the girl except her small clitoris and the coral colored nipples. They all remembered those were his to take, at the right moment.

Now, he thought, tired of being patient.

He pushed at a snarling minion who was aiming his dick at her pussy and grabbed the Slayer, lifting her jello-fleshed bosom toward his face with one arm while squeezing a soft breast into a cone for his corrupted mouth. The ugly vamp’s shifting of her well-raped body dragged a gagging foot of arm-thick dick from Buffy’s lips and popped another hulking member out of her stretched anus.

The fleeting moment when nothing pounded her wasn’t relief for the hot-bodied girl. Like a deflated balloon after a birthday party, Buffy without the raging cock columns to support her hollowed insides was near collapse. Her intestines shifted as if they might invert and drop coiling out of her to the blood-drenched velvet. Used to sucking air between thrusts of vamp meat, she couldn’t seem to draw breath into her constricting throat.

The fleeting moment passed. Oculus bit deep into a bullet-hard nipple. They had never retreated under the vampires’ assault, proud testament to her waning power, but now the sweetest of the Slayer’s charmed blood burst from her milk tip into the inhuman, sucking wound of the Oculus’ mouth. The heartbreakingly beautiful pink circle turned carmine, withering almost immediately. Oculus searched with his teeth and tongue for the edges of the shrunken areola, found them and gouged the punctured bit of flesh completely from her breast, flipping it with his tongue, his head rising to show the other vamps the tasty, tender trophy he had liberated from the Slayer. They were envious.

Buffy found her air and screamed once more for her lost innocence, knowing there was nothing the vampires wouldn’t take from her now before they emptied her of life. Slayer essence flowed from the area where her nipple had been, and a vampire head darted in to lap at its hot, sticky power.

Oculus patted her gracefully curved behind, letting her drop into the midst of the other bloodsuckers and Slayer fuckers as he began to speak again.

Buffy struggled to focus on his words. Maybe after taking such an intimate part of her, the old vampire would let her go. She imagined him bragging to other masters among the old Undead about how he had tricked her, mastered her, mutilated her, then ignored her. They would applaud his cleverness for destroying the Slayer’s spirit instead of her mortal coil. They would announce to all the Underworld: the Slayer was too filled with self-hate and too emptied of fight ever to worry them again. No new gung-ho girl would rise in replacement because this Slayer hadn’t the courage to die. Humans would be unprotected until old age claimed Buffy, and she was going to be the longest-lived Slayer in history.

But Oculus didn’t speak those humiliating words of mercy. Vampires aren’t know for mercy or strategic thinking.

“The prophecies of (something unpronounceable that Buffy didn’t understand) predict this moment,” he said. “When the Slayer’s bowels are pierced and her bosom ripped, on that night she dies. I’d say they’ve been pierced and ripped, wouldn’t you, little rag-doll Slayer? Are you talking out of that end yet?” He nudged her ass with a foot.

Hope for reprieve crushed, a dumb thing now in her renewed fright, Buffy ignored the jibe. Then a niggling thought came to the surface of her tortured consciousness. The Slayer survival kit wasn’t quite empty. She watched Oculus’ mouth, his grotesque collection of teeth toying with — for her benefit — what was left of the pink nipple. She sought with her weakened mind and confidence to understand the thought’s significance.

A mote of light appeared in the Slayer’s gun-metal eyes. Oculus mistook it for a last spark of her fabled cock-lust. Good. She licked her lips with a tiny tongue and flicked it in the direction of his sagging dangle of monster meat. The other vamps recognized the invitation too and were surprised. They thought the Buffy tube steak picnic was nearly over, the army of ants victorious. Oculus had only to remove her other nipple and her button, then they would tear her apart to draw the last drops of charmed blood from the pieces. Undead eyes turned toward their Master to see what he would do.

Oculus was in less of a hurry now that he had tasted breast blood from the Slayer. His patience was restored. The power to be had from the death of a Slayer should be savored.

Before her cocksucking invite (please R.S.V.P.), he had been thinking of trying to stuff one of his elephant balls into her stretched anus and the other into her gaping pussy just to see if he could generate a little pleasure-pain from her efforts to squeeze them out of the abused orifices. Putting out the light in those tear-filled, liquid blue eyes seemed like more fun. He wanted wounded horror and despair to return.

“Please Oculus,” she begged. “Before you drain my last bit of sweetness, let me drain you of your seed, let me drink from your Black Dragon again. I want to die with your cum in my mouth.”

Buffy thought she might have overdone it, but no, Oculus was as gullible as she had been.

Shaking his 15 inches awake, the master vampire approached the young girl kneeling at the edge of the bed. In spite of the glint in her eyes, the warrior angel no longer looked like the champion of the mortal world. She seemed just another toy human broken for vampire sport. Buffy opened her inviting mouth and fixed him with the bluest eyes that moonlight could illuminate.

The Devil take her, she’s so beautiful, Oculus thought, even splattered with cum, bleeding and maimed. He guided the purple glans of his undead black cock past her perfect teeth and over her licking tongue to probe at the abraided throat. The gag reflex of her helpless body rippled the incredible length of his meat, sending pleasure impulses to his moldering, centuries-old brain. He wondered if he would get stomach acid on the flaring helmet of his dick if he pushed far enough. He pressed down, the Dark trying to extinguish the Light.

Good guess, he decided, about the acid. A burning sensation circled his dick, but strangely at its thick base, not the tapered, snakelike head.

***********

Buffy had remembered she had teeth, too.

Uh-oh.

She bit down again, preventing Oculus’ attempts to withdraw and sawing at his masculine sinews with the even line of her white-enamel dick cutters. The sheer size of the meat mass was hampering her efforts, but half dead Slayers are more than half strong. Buffy’s jaws tightened and Oculus howled at the inconceivable notion of being emasculated by this defeated descendant of slavers. As the once fear-inspiring penis separated from its ancient host, Oculus struck out blindly, sending minions flying instead of pounding the Slayer into pulp.

Two quick snaps of Buffy’s incisors opened strategic gaps in Oculus scrotum, his severed dick still visibly bulging the front of her neck. Buffy grabbed the nutsack, along with the elephant balls beneath, and yanked. She retched the dark, wriggling length of the detached penis at the same time the pendulous nuts ripped loose in her hand. The vomited demon dick bounced off the corner of the red-stained velvet before smacking the wood floor to twitch and ooze blood from its opened cavernosa.

Buffy had taken all of his maleness in a second-and-a-half.

Oculus screamed a second time but only until the revenant Slayer stuffed the opening with one bulging half of his nutsack. Payback was a bitch named Buffy. She gulped air once before making her long-delayed lunge between the stunned and scattered vampires, racing toward the splintered broomstick near the doors. She doubted she had the strength to dismantle furniture for stakes.

No one followed Buffy for a long heartbeat, then the Keystone Kops were back, falling over each other to reach the fleeing supergirl, vital with energy once again. Through a gap in the onrushing vampires, Buffy spotted Oculus’ exposed chest above his torn, blank groin. She hurled a shard of broomstick at his heart. He dusted impressively. It was too good for him, the Slayer knew, but a crazy old vampire who was missing his most precious because of her would be a relentless enemy.

As Buffy spun to escape the warehouse and the remaining vampires, she took one look at the moon. The night was still young. Maybe she would still die tonight as the prophecy foretold. She meant to prove the Prophet Unpronounceable wrong.