Spike slipped up during our car hunt and started calling
me "luv" and "Red"
again. I let it go for the time being. Besides, car hunting
more or less
involved us being in the public eye, so I suppose he was
technically in the
clear.
Car hunting was fun. Hanging out with an old buddy was
fun; cock-teasing
the living shit out of my old "buddy" was even more fun.
I flirted like a
floozy. Wesley would have called me a doxy. It was my
finest hour as a
thespian.
I bent over engine blocks, purposefully displaying excessive
amounts of
cleavage. I leaned into windows, wiggling my ass in the
air. I rubbed up
against him like a cat in heat and talked to him with
a little girl pout.
Spike gritted his teeth and took it in the ass. He tolerated,
put up with,
and endured. It was really very admirable of him, the
way he bore up.
Spike is a real stand up guy.
Ironically, I turned myself on too. It did not take a lot...
I think I
have already mentioned how happy sex makes me...and how
thrilling it was to
be test driving my very own Willow body, specially equipped
with great tits,
killer legs, and a tight little ass. I want to be fucked
so bad my pussy
aches.
I was really hamming it up by the time we reached the used
Ford dealer. I
deserved a sound spanking but every time I started to
feel bad for Spike I
thought of Marcus...and steel rods being driven through
my body.
OK, so there I was leading Spike around by the balls, visions
of Willow and
polyvinyl, butt plugs and cock rings dancing in his head.
The more worked
up he got, the more outrageous my behavior became.
Finally, Spike began to lose his temper. I was getting
to him. He got
*that* look on his face, the one he used to get when Dru
became particularly
whiney. "Bloody hell," he said under his breath. "I don't
know why I'm
putting up with this crap."
"Because you want to fuck me," I answered over my shoulder.
Spike muttered something profane. He had not meant for
me to hear him. I
looked over my shoulder and smiled sweetly. He reached
out and grabbed my
hair, pulling it tight. It did not hurt or--obviously--he
would have
doubled over with mind-numbing pain. It was enough to
immobilize me though.
"I'm still evil," he hissed in my ear.
I grinned and rammed my ass back into his crotch, raising
and lowering it
like we were fucking. "Oh, I remember," I told him. "You're
the BIG BAD.
You can insult nice girls like me and make me want to
cry. Boo-hoo.
Boo-hoo. I'm so *fucking* impressed."
Spike grunted and tightened the contact. Oh man, he was
desperate for any
kind of pussy action. Before I knew it, we were dry humping
behind an old
green Ford Explorer. We were rutting like beasts. Spike
rode my ass like a
big horny goat while I mentally reviewed all of my reasons
for not hiking my
skirt, lowering my panties, presenting him with my backside.
For one, I swore no partners. Two, like Spike said, he
is still evil.
Three, he is an ass. Willow told me about the mean things
Spike said to her
while he was trying to get himself staked. His comments
about her ability
to satisfy Oz had cut particularly deep.
"Don't know why you want to fuck me so bad," I moaned.
I glanced over my
shoulder at his strained face. My nose and lips were almost
in his mouth.
"After all, I couldn't even satisfy dog boy."
"Shut-up!" Spike grunted.
"Bugger off!" I pushed him off me. Spike had hurt Willow
deeply with his
mean words. She had tried not to let on but I had been
able to tell. In my
mind, it was one more thing to get even for. Willow is
one of the sweetest
young women I know and I count her among my few friends.
Only a moron picks
on a lamb like Willow.
"Why are you acting like this?" Spike demanded, clenching
his fists. He
wanted to hit someone, break something, throw a raging
fit, and fuck me so
hard it hurt. Both of us.
"Because I can," I hissed at him. I got in his face. "Because
you hurt me
and I never got a chance to retaliate!" Without intending
to, I drew back
my fist and socked him, hard, right on the jaw. More blows
followed. All
Spike could do to defend himself was raise his arms over
his head for
protection.
I am not sure what happened, one second I was in control
and the next tears
were streaming down my face. I yelled at him. I raged.
I said really
nasty things about his looks and his lineage. I just totally
lost it.
The next thing I knew the salesman was yelling at us to
leave or he would
call the police. His intervention knocked some of the
sense back into me.
I stopped beating on Spike and turned, running off the
lot in tears.
Spike followed, glutton for punishment that he is. He ran
me down, caught
me around the waist, and turned me in his arms. "You have
no idea how much
it hurt," I whimpered. "How much YOU hurt me."
"I know," he said, holding my head to his shoulder. "Believe
me, luv, I'm
bloody sorry. And if I could take it back, I would."
I believed him because he meant it. For Willow, he would
have taken back
the cruel words to spare her tears. He loves her that
much. God help me
but I closed my eyes and pretended that he meant the words
for me. For
Angel.
I pressed my face against his shoulder and cried. I let
my oldest enemy and
my oldest friend offer me succor. I had not broken the
day they tortured me
in the warehouse but I was broken today. And it was Spike's
kind words and
Spike's kisses that put it better.
He cheered me up, put me back on my feet, fixed my makeup.
He apologized
over and over for hurting me, and I continued to pretend
that he meant it
for Angel. I am too scared and confused to closely examine
my reasons. For
the time being, it was a Band Aid I needed.
It was at Spike's insistence that we continued our car
hunt. We crossed on
foot to the other side of the auto mall and the next lot.
Another fruitless
hour of searching passed and I began to feel better, but
also frustrated and
tired. *That* is when I found HER.
"She's gorgeous," I said, circling my find.
"It's a bloody piece of crap. Looks like it fell out of
the
bloody
Hellmouth," Spike contradicted, following me. "In fact,
that's being too
kind. It looks like the Hellmouth PUKED it up."
"This is a nice fixer-upper!" Our salesman hurried to interrupt
Spike's
scathing monologue. "A real nice first car for a young
lady." He patted
the rusted passenger side door, which came unhinged and
fell off. He
hastily righted it.
I ignored them both. I was in love and love is blind...and
deaf...and dumb.
Which is basically what you had to be to consider buying
a junk heap like
this one. "Spike, come' ere," I cooed, peering past the
salesman to the
ripped up interior.
He came, grudgingly Spike came. "Look," I spread my hands
and presented the
interior to him with a lavish gesture. Spike leaned a
hand on the roof,
another on the door and leaned his platinum head into
the car.
I'm lookin' luv, but I'm not see' in."
I put a hand on his shoulder. It was corded muscle and
cool flesh under my
palm. I was aware of his body with hypersensitivity. I
had been all
evening. I was primed to play, a huge repressed bundle
of super sexuality.
My roller-coaster ride with hysteria had only made the
matter worse once I
calmed down.
"Climb in," I urged. Spike looked at my hand and then at
me. With a sigh,
he climbed into the car, scooting over until he sat behind
the wheel. I
flashed the salesman a look. "Give us a sec." He nodded
and retreated
across the lot.
I climbed in beside Spike, who refused to look comfortable.
"Spike! It's a
1955 Ford Thunderbird! Convertible!" I grabbed that sexy
arm again, unable
to keep my hands off him any longer. More than anything
I wanted to rip
open his fly, mount his cock, and ride the hell out of
him in the front seat
of this beat up old car.
He must have been able to smell me because there was a
burr in his voice.
"Pet...Willow..." He sighed. "This...car...is falling
apart." He
gestured. "It's not fit for parking, let alone driving."
"Close your eyes," I ordered. He rolled his eyes in a display
of
irritability but complied. At this point, I suspect he
would have done
anything I asked. As a demon, I never felt guilty but
Spike seems to be
capable of sincere remorse as well as caring. Not to mention
sincere
horniness.
"Now put your hands on the wheel and lean back." He did
so and I snuggled
closer, sliding a hand onto his thigh. The leather was
smooth beneath my
palm.
"I don't see what good this is going to do," he complained.
"Spread your arms," I said and he did so, settling one
over my shoulders and
the other on the door. He was in a cruising posture now.
"Now envision her
as she could be, fully restored..."
"292 cubic inch engine..." I purred in his ear.
"198 horsepower..." I blew softly.
"Steel crank..." The tip of my tongue touched his earlobe.
"Heavy duty double timing chain..." I licked him, tracing
the shell of his
ear with my tongue.
"Rebuilt automatic transmission..." I slid my hand up his
thigh to his
crotch. There was a rock hard bulge in his pants. Big
surprise.
"Black and white leather interior..." I gave that bulge
a nice, hard,
friendly rub. He moaned appreciatively.
"Stainless steel exhaust system..." I inserted two fingers
through that
convenient little hole in his crotch. His cock was cold
and swollen with
blood. Which might explain a lot. Spike had been walking
around all
evening with most of his blood in his dick, which would
normally be in his
head.
"Coker radials..." I bit him, hard, on the neck. Amongst
vampires it was
only a little love bite but it was also a sign that I
was ready to be taken.
"ALL RIGHT! ENOUGH ALREADY!" Spike's eyes popped open and
he threw up his
hands. He leaned out the window and yelled at the car
salesman. "We'll
take it!"
"Great! I'll just go draw up the paperwork!" He ran off.
"Hope you know what you're doing," Spike panted. "This
beast is going to
take a hell of a lot of..." He stopped and stared at me.
I simpered at him
from under lowered lashes and pouted. "Now, luv, I'm not
a grease
monkey..."
I smiled and kept smiling. Spike tried to deny me for a
while but in the
end, he gave in. Simply put, he was too desperate to get
me alone to argue.
So I acquired my very own 1955 Ford Thunderbird Convertible,
soon to be
restored by my very own boy toy.
God but I am starting to love being a girl.