In some ways leather is better than sex. It lasts longer, smells and feels
   as good, and holds up well against my hard-hitting lifestyle. My demon and
   I appreciate it with equal fervor, which is one of the reasons I have not
   worn leather pants--other than during my brief deception with Faith--since I
   fell out of hell.

   Buffy said once that leather pants remind her of my evil alter ego. It
   temporarily knocked much of leather's appeal for me right out of the
   ballpark. I would do anything--ANYTHING--to erase those memories if I
   could.

   Standing amidst racks and racks of leather jackets, skirts, pants,
   tops...my aversion was taking a prolonged hiatus. I stroked my hand over a
   suede skirt, absently adding the coat hanger to the collection-to-try-on
   growing in my other hand. After all, what harm was there? Willow in
   leather should not conjure images of my demon.

   "Can I take those for you to a dressing room?" A cute salesgirl smiled at
   me and extended her hand.

   I smiled back. "Thanks," I said, handing her my selections. I chose a few
   more things to try on, including leather pants, and a tight-fitting halter
   top with a lace-up bodice, and hurried to the dressing rooms.

   A hour later I bought the four items I could afford, a pair of pants, the
   halter top, a skirt, and a trench--all black--and regretfully handed over my
   last three hundred dollars to the cashier. I wished that I had brought more
   and vowed to return again later.

   But I had accomplished what I set out to do. I had bought Willow a whole
   new look and I had done in under four hours. Triumphantly, I set out for
   home.

   #

   By now I must be conjuring mental images of Willow the Leather Slut or
   Willow, Angel with tits. Both are right, with plenty of room for crossover
   within the wardrobe. I was dressing to please the male eye--in this case my
   own--and Willow's body was my Barbie doll.

   I will admit that maybe I went a little overboard but what can I say? I was
   rediscovering my sexuality and I was having a blast doing so. I had been
   handed beautiful breasts, a tight ass, and killer legs, along with
   everything else in between. It was carte blanche to a sensual orgy and my
   name was on the invitation.

   I mean, look at things from my perspective! I recently endured a few
   hundred who-knows-how-many years in hell. Add a year of devout celibacy.
   Yes, I know that I have mentioned whacking off in the shower... The first
   time I did partake in such shower time activities I was paralyzed that
   masturbation would cost me my soul. Again.

   I did it anyway. I was that horny.

   Spike has taken plenty of free hits at my repression, and as much as I would
   like to beat him senseless with a crowbar, my loudmouth, swaggering little
   brat of a child has a talent for calling the shots. I *am* repressed but
   sure as hell not by choice.

   That peroxide toothpick is right on at least one count. I *have* worked up
   a load of sexual tension. Hell, maybe I do "prance like a magnificent
   poof". The last year has been hell on my libido and I have *lots* of lost
   time to make up for.

   I must sound like a sex-starved maniac, but really, I am not that bad.
   Really. I just really, really, really like sex a lot. Despite the
   heartache that followed my lost day with Buffy--and the sensual orgy that it
   had entailed--it was worth it. It does not take a Rhodes scholar to figure
   out that sex makes me happy. REALLY HAPPY.

   Duh.

   It was not like I was planning on *sleeping* with anyone while in Willow's
   body. I have too much respect for her to do that. BUT... There was
   nothing in the rulebook about pleasing myself. As the temporary caretaker
   and custodian of Willow's body, *it* and *I* have certain needs which must
   be met.

   With this whole sad, pathetic rationalization going, I tore a page out of
   the phone book while I was calling the cab. It came, I hopped in, I gave
   the driver the address, and off we went.

   #

   At Atomic Toys I was guaranteed to "Blast myself into ecstasy" or my money
   back. Considering that I was pretty much ready to "Blast myself into
   ecstasy" from anticipation and an overactive imagination, I assumed that I
   would not be returning anything.

   I started with sex toys, indecisively eyeing dildos and vibrators of various
   lengths, thickness, textures, materials, and speeds. I chose a couple,
   going for a wide range, and then I added a few more to my basket. After
   all, I was afraid of hurting myself...but I was also worried about being too
   conservative and not getting my money's worth.

   "Can I help you, Miss?" The shady shopkeeper leered at me.

   "No thanks." I brushed him off coldly and moved on to other accessories. I
   wished wistfully that Faith had not gone bad, joined forces with the Mayor,
   and wound up in a coma. Her assistance would have been useful and welcome.

   They had some really neat butt plugs. I chose a couple and optimistically
   added a strap-on. I know that I swore I would not do anything with a
   partner...but I could not shake the image of Buffy spread-eagled under me...

   Bad Angel bad...

   After that I went more than a little overboard again. I chastised myself,
   swearing that I would take no partners, and added a bunch of toys that were
   pretty much interactive. Handcuffs, a riding crop, clitoral stimulators,
   leather straps, a ball gag, massage oil, some lube, and even a polyvinyl
   outfit that Willow looked fabulous in.

   I had to use a credit card because my cash was gone. The bill set me back a
   pretty penny but then who can put a price tag on happiness?

   Not I.

   #

   Monday classes were over and the sun was setting when I finally made it back
   to the dorm room, which Willow shared with Buffy. Ready to drop from
   exhaustion, I hauled my weary carcass--totting all of my purchases--up the
   stairs and fumbled with the room key, trying to get it out of the tight,
   tight pocket of my short, revealing skirt.

   Without warning, the door yanked open. I squawked and fell in as Spike's
   peroxide head appeared before me. "Right!" he greeted with his
   characteristic verbal astuteness. He exclaimed as he caught me and packages
   flew everywhere.

   Spike probably saved me from a black eye or a concussion but I was too
   furious and off-guard to care. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

   He ignored my inquiry. "That's a cheeky outfit, peaches," he complimented,
   looking me up and down with an appraising leer. He bent to pick up packages
   at the same time I did and got a look straight down my blouse. His
   shit-eating grin told me he appreciated my new underwear.

   "DON'T TOUCH THAT!" I slapped his hand hard as he reached for one of the
   Atomic Toy shop packages. Panic suffused me. I could not stand the thought
   of *Spike* discovering the contents of that bag.

   He picked it up anyway despite my attempts to reach it first. Spike is both
   faster and stronger than Willow. "Gimme that!" I exclaimed, grabbing the
   bag.

   "I'm just trying to help, pet."

   "I don't want your help!" I was angry, embarrassed, scared to death of
   discovery. "What the fuck are doing here?"

   "Such language." Spike tisked, refusing to let go of the bag. "Giles is
   with his orgasm friend, Xander and Anya were feeling pelvic. Again. That
   stuck me here with the Slayer while you were gone, pet."

   "I'M NOT YOUR PEACHES OR YOUR PET!" I screamed at him, hysterical and
   flustered. Finding Spike here had not been part of my plan. With a mighty
   effort, I tore the bag from his hands.

   Tore. Tore is the right word. The Atomic Toys "Blast yourself into
   ecstasy" bag BLASTED right open and Atomic Toys flew all over the room.
   Dildos, vibrators, handcuffs, and my brand spanking new polyvinyl outfit
   spurted all over in an explosion of licentious lust.

   "Bloody Hell!" The look on Spike's face was priceless. I can only imagine
   the look on my own but it was obvious that Spike could not believe his eyes.
   With a totally blank expression, he reached down and picked up a dildo.

   Then he grinned.

   Willow's delicate complexion caught fire. It was the most horrible,
   embarrassing moment of my entire life. It was worse than being tortured for
   hours, worse than being run through with a sword by my lover, worse than
   five hundred years in hell. I had lost face in front of Spike.

   It was humiliating.

   "Need some help with this, luv?" Wearing a huge grin, Spike waved the dildo
   under my nose. It was a soft latex one, about seven inches long, with
   multiple speeds. I could smell it as he tickled the bridge of my nose and
   brushed my lips. "Cause I'd be happy to oblige!"

   I slapped him with an open hand but only succeeded in getting him excited.
   "Oh baby, foreplay!" he chanted, bouncing with glee. "Hit me harder, give
   it to me hard you naughty little vixen, you!" He really got into taunting
   me, taking obvious pleasure, and he was only just getting started.

   I lost my temper. I flew from cringing horror to blind rage within the
   blink of an eye. My hand found and drew the dagger, yanking it free of its
   sheathe. I stepped up to him and had the blade against his nuts before he
   finished speaking.

   "ERRK!" Spike finished his rant with a strangled gurgle as I shoved a
   six-inch dagger into his balls.

   "If you tell anyone, I mean *anyone* about this," I hissed, "I'm gonna cut
   your testicles off and feed them to you. Understand?" My hand was steady,
   my eyes unwavering. If I had still been a vampire, I would have been in
   game face.

   I was more than capable of completing the threat. I have performed this
   action before in the past and right then would have eagerly gelded my child
   and force-fed him his balls AND his dick.

   Buried rage was surging in my heart. Spike tortured me for HOURS. He and
   his vicious little minion impaled me, tormented me, and worst of all, almost
   broke me. I welcomed an opportunity to get even and it shone in my eyes.

   Spike is smart. He has good survival instincts and he knows people. The
   Willow he knew would not--could not-have completed my threat but the person
   in her body wanted to so desperately that it trembled with eagerness and
   Spike could see it.

   "Easy luv," he said, swallowing nervously. His Adam's apple bobbed
   convulsively. He dropped the dildo and held up his hands. "I was just fun
   'in."

   I tightened my hold on the knife and pressed it harder against his groin.
   The unyielding pressure had already begun to cut through his leather pants.
   "Let's get one thing straight," I hissed, using the knife to move him
   further into the room.

   He yielded ground and power to me with every step. "I'm not your peaches,
   your pet, your luv, or your princess. YOU'RE my bitch and if you address me
   it's as Willow or Mistress. Is that clear?"

   The back of his legs hit the bed and he sat. His head nodded. "Yes
   Mistress," he answered obediently and our relationship righted itself once
   again. Spike is my child and subordinate to me in all things. I WILL NOT
   have it any other way.

   I realize that he would have fought if he could but the implant had rendered
   him helpless. Willow had explained all about Spike's trip to the vet. It
   gave me one hell of an advantage.

   Lucky for him, I have a conscience. Besides, I never could have explained
   the mess it would have made on the carpet to Buffy. I withdrew the knife
   and stepped back, sheathing it with a clean motion. "Help me clean this
   mess up," I ordered.

   "Yes Mistress." He rushed to obey. The look on his face was
   submissive...and smitten. Downright goofy. I almost moaned in horror as
   the full implications of our interaction finally sank in.

   Spike had not submitted to Angel, he had submitted to Willow. I have known
   him for over a hundred years and I know what that expression meant. If
   anything, I had just made matters worse with my dominatrix behavior.

   Spike is in love.

   With Willow.

 
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