Writer’s note: I wrote a little Miranda and Spike PWP a while back for the amusement of my beta readers, which chronologically should go here. The thing is, unlike the rest of the story, I wrote it from Spike's point of view (just for yucks). I've pasted it in below.
Scene: At home with Miranda and Spike. Spike’s POV.
I hate summer. Twelve bloody hours of daylight can give a vampire cabin fever something awful. Sure, I’ve got it better than most now, but nevertheless, I’m not inclined to dive out into the California sun at midday. Hurts my eyes. And I burn easily. Just as soon stay inside and sleep or watch the telly or...[eyebrow raise] I wonder what Miranda’s up to. Heard her slink out of bed at a ridiculous hour. She’s been rather obsessed with tidying the past few days. If I get up and find her, she might try to get me to do something and I really can’t be arsed. Still, could be the perfect opportunity for good row. The thing is, Miranda’s always been good about putting me in my place—not taking any shit. That’s not to say that I give a lot of shit—at the end of the day, I’d say I’m better than most. But, I do, on occasion, deserve a good tongue thrashing. I can’t help it—I’m a bloke and I do and say stupid things now and again. Nothing too godawful, but things I really shouldn’t get away with. Used to be, she’d let me have it good when I messed up and truth be told, I didn’t much mind. She’s downright irresistible when she’s angry. And honestly, I need someone to keep me in line—left to my own devices, I have a history of putting my foot in it. Go figure. But that’s all changed. Ever since that business with Angel, it’s like she’s stepping on eggshells around me. I can do no wrong, which frankly is absurd. I get that she feels guilty and all about everything—well she should, but I’d rather things just got back to the way they were. So lately, I’ve been pushing it a bit to try to get a rise out of her. Aside from a few promising sighs, nothing’s come of it. She’s got to have a breaking point, though, so I keep with the game. Yeah, I’ll see what she’s up to.
[He puts some pants on and heads upstairs. He finds her folding laundry. She smiles warmly when she sees him.]
Miranda: “You’re up early today.”
Spike: “Was that sarcasm?” I say, hopefully.
Miranda: “It is the earliest I’ve seen you up all week. Since the house-cleaning started, I think.”
Perhaps, we’re getting somewhere.
Spike: “Think I may be allergic to cleaning fluids.”
Miranda: “I see. Perhaps we can work around that. How do you feel about brushes? The front hall needs a good sweep.”
Spike: “I try to stay away from things with wooden handles. Wouldn’t want to slip and end up a pile of dust—would rather defeat the purpose, don’t you think?”
Come on, love. Tell me to get my finger out of it.
Miranda: [shaking her head] “Remind me to pick up one of those swiffer things—the handle’s made of metal as I recall. [pause] Did you boil the empty blood bags last night like I asked? They were really starting to smell.”
Spike: “Nah—ended up going out for a bit of poker with the lads.”
This is a complete lie. I did clean the bags AND the bloody freezer, too. You might not guess it, but I’m rather a tidy bloke, me. Especially not fond of odd smells about. And she knows she would have heard about it from the idiot patrol if I’d gone out. Still, She stops folding for a moment and looks down. Oh, we’re close. She’s tightening her lips like she does when she’s cheesed off. She takes a deep breath and I’m ready for the onslaught. I feel myself get just a bit hard in anticipation. Wait. Uh oh. No frown. Usually the frown comes right after the tight lips and THEN the scolding.
Miranda: [in a much too pleasant voice] “We have to have everything ready to go by Friday, so if you could get to it tonight, I’d appreciate it.”
[She goes back to folding.]
Damn it. The thing is, I don’t like annoying her, really and I HATE it when she holds it all inside and acts all nice and pouty and everything. All I want is a good-humored row that will lead to a rousing bout of apology sex. Is that so much to ask? The sad truth is that just the thought of getting a rise out of her has given me a bit of a rise and now I know what I want to do with the rest of the daylight hours. Perhaps a change of strategy is required at this point. I can switch from useless to seductive on a dime, no worries. I light a cigarette and watch her—no need to rush things. Every time she bends over to pick up a piece of laundry to fold, I get a nice flash down her shirt at those wonderfully rounded breasts of hers. Miranda’s got exactly the right sized breasts—a nice hefty handful. Is that a new bra? It looks very insubstantial, which I like because it lets them hang and sway freely. Nice. She’s standing up straight now and the top of her knickers are just showing over the seam of her sweat pants. Purple. Wonder which ones those are. I start reviewing in my mind Miranda’s collection of panties when suddenly I realize that she’s talking to me. All I hear are the last three words...
Miranda: “...would you mind?”
Brilliant. I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to say. Could go either way on that one. And from the way she’s standing, I’m quite sure she’s already repeated herself due to my lack of response. Seriously what I really want to know is how likely is it that my answer will bugger up my chances of getting laid this afternoon. I’m a pretty good guesser, though, especially when it comes to women so maybe I can pull this one out. To give myself another few seconds, I take a drag from my cigarette. The next thing I know, she’s pulling the cigarette out of my mouth and throwing it out the window.
I say “Hey, I wasn’t finished with that yet.” I wasn’t.
And she says, now quite irritated. “I thought we’d agreed no smoking in the house this week—we’ve got to get rid of the smell before we pack everything up. I asked you twice nicely to put it out. Honestly, William, sometimes I think you deliberately try to push my buttons.”
Oh yeah. My lad’s at full attention now and I’m suddenly regretting my choice of such tight fitting trousers. Nevermind. Still not as much venom in her ‘honestly, William’ as I would have hoped, but it’s the best so far. And the frown. Yep. I fight the urge to say something about what buttons of hers I’d like to push. There’s an art to knowing at what point to let on that you’re gagging for it. My instincts tell me to hold back. Well, my instincts and the fact that she’s now doing the worst job of folding laundry I’ve ever seen. Seriously, she’s punishing the clothes. Now, unlike most blokes who would stupidly ignore this little clue and assume everything’s alright now that their bird’s stopped talking, I’m going to take it to mean that she is, in fact, angry with me at this point. I am the laundry, so to speak. So maybe she needs a bit of warming up before I indicate my desire to shag her rotten. Hey, I’ve learned a few things in my 130 odd years. ‘Course there is a certain appeal to the more direct route, which involves simply picking her up and carrying her to the bedroom. A bit risky in this situation. It could backfire. Right, warming her with my irresistible charm it is. I walk over and lean against the table with the laundry. I touch her arm, gently and with the sweetest voice I can muster say.
Me: “Hey, sorry about the fag, love. I completely forgot. I can spend the rest of the day downstairs and you can open all the windows up here—it’ll air out.”
She just shrugs, but I think she’s warming.
Me: “We’ll get it all done, no worries. I’ll stop being such a slacker. Promise.”
Miranda: [small smile] “I’m just a bit stressed, is all. [she shakes it off] Just keep me company while I finish the laundry, alright?”
I give her my best smile. She starts folding and I start lightly running my hand down her back and around her waist as she works. I get a little smile from her. She playfully bats my hand away when I tug on the exposed part of her panties, so I run my hand down over her ass instead.
Me: “I don’t see why you bother with these” I say as I snap the elastic from her knickers on her bum through her sweat pants.
Miranda: “Trust me, they’re useful.”
Me: “Just another layer of fabric between my hand and your ass, is all, if you ask me. Nothing useful in that.”
Miranda: [shaking her head] “But they’re pretty...And sexy.” She says as she tosses a handful of knickers from the laundry at my face. I look at them.
Me: “Not sexier than what’s underneath.”
Yep, we’re getting there. Any moment now and it’s over the shoulder and into the bedroom. Or maybe right here on the table...
Miranda: [playfully] “We’ve been through this before, William. Any self respecting woman in this society wears undergarments most of the time. It’s just something we do. Now let it go.”
As I leisurely sift through the heaping mound of knickers on the table, I manage to mutter under my breath in response “Dru never bothered with any of that business.”
Hang on a minute. Did I seriously just say that out loud? Please tell me she didn’t hear it. What was that before about saying stupid things? I freeze, afraid to look in her direction. Maybe she wasn’t paying attention. But then she abruptly turns to face me. Fuck. I’d like to point out that this is actually the first time I’ve accidentally brought up Dru. Come on, that’s not bad considering. I think about telling her that, but I just get this feeling it would only piss her off more. I also think about playing it cool—what’s the big deal? Most blokes out there wouldn’t even think twice about a comment like that. I, on the other hand, know women enough to understand that that one little sentence could get me cut off for a week. Damn. I shoulda gone with the direct approach. I scrunch up my face and look up guiltily.
Miranda: “Tell me you didn’t just say what I think you said.”
It’s the most fire in her eyes I’ve seen in quite some time.
I offer hopefully: “It wasn’t me.”
Who says you can’t learn anything from the bloody radio? Nothing wrong with a bit of humor in these situations, I always say. Her lips are doing something I’ve not seen before—they’ve almost disappeared entirely. There’s just a thin pink line where her mouth is. Ooh, there go the nostrils. Here we go. Now, you’re probably thinking that I should be pleased at this development—after all, I had just been trying to wind her up tight enough to pop. But the thing is, ex-girlfriends are tricky. Especially ones who have chained and tortured your current girlfriend. Well, it’s not so much that as that bloody dream she had—Angel’s memory of me and Dru in our heyday. S’made her a wee bit insecure. Tricky, like I said. Will have to handle this delicately if I have any chance at all of getting in her pants.
Miranda: “Dru may not have bothered with undergarments, but she was also a crazy_sadistic_bitch, with whom, I do not appreciate being compared, William. I cannot believe...”
I interrupt her before she picks up momentum—I’ve got an idea.
Me: “That’s an awfully rude thing to say about someone you’ve never met.”
This throws her, and all she can muster is a look of complete confusion (mixed with anger, of course).
Miranda: “What?”
Me: “Drew Barrymore, the curvy bird from Charlie’s Angels. You didn’t think I meant Drusilla, did you? How stupid do you think I am?” Smooth. Actually, the first ‘Drew’ that came to mind was the fat guy with the glasses, but I figured knowing anything about his dressing habits would make me sound kind of gay.
Miranda: “Drew Barrymore—as in E.T. child star. And how exactly do you know anything about her tendency to wear knickers?”
Me: “There was an expose just the other night on Access News or Hollywood squares or whatever the bloody show’s called. Yep, it seems ol’ Drew likes to go commando and it became quite the source of angst and ire on the set of her new movie. Seems it made her co-stars uncomfortable, what with the short skirts and all.” Clever—It’s all in the details.
Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying. I think I may see a glimmer of a smile—at the very least, I hope to get a few points for effort. I give her my best innocent bystander look.
Miranda: “You’re insane. What a load of bollocks. You’re not getting off that easy—you were talking about Drusilla, full stop. What dreadful timing. This is how you were going to seduce me?”
Wha? How did she...?? Women are bloody psychic. We men don’t have a chance.
Me: “What makes you think that’s what I had in mind?”
Miranda: “Come on, William. You always get this look when you have a hard-on. I can always tell. It’s one of the most adorable things about you.”
I’m not buying it. Must just be a lucky guess.
Me: “You don’t ALWAYS know. “ Ok, so maybe I’m a bit defensive.
Miranda: “Always”
This is rather disconcerting.
I blurt out: “I bet you didn’t know the other day at the Waffle House.”
This does get a smile.
She responds, sarcastically “I didn’t know hash browns got you so worked up.”
I say, with maybe a wee touch of petulance: “See, you don’t always know.”
Miranda: “Most of the time. Back to the topic at hand. What has gotten into you lately? You’ve been acting like a right prick and I’m not about to stand here and take any more. I’ve tried to cut you some slack, what with recent events and all, but this is too much. It’s time you took the finger out of your ass and started being more than just a layabout around here.”
Blah blah blah, she goes on a bit, but I just tune out and focus on her beautifully angry face. There’s my girl. But suddenly, her expression changes and she stops in mid-scold.
Miranda: “You’ve got a boner again.”
Dammit. It’s times like these that I wouldn’t mind seeing my reflection a bit more clearly.
Miranda: “You’ve been doing this on purpose. You’ve been winding me up this whole time.”
She looks at me like she can’t quite figure out why I’d do it. It’s true, of course, except for the Dru comment—that was an honest mistake, but I’d much rather she think it was part of the plan.
Me: “I just want things to be like they were.”
She does her little quick confused frown thing—I can see her mind working. After a minute, we lock eyes and I can tell she’s figured it out—she knows exactly what I’m talking about. There’s another thing’s good about Miranda and me—we don’t need to spell things out so much. We got a way of understanding each other. True, things got a bit muddled there for a while, but I think we’re back on track. I swear I can see the tension lift off her. No more eggshells to step around.
Ooh, I like the look she’s giving me now—a wry smile with some steam behind it.
Me: “Are you undressing me with your eyes?”
Miranda: “Now that would be a useful trick. How’s that erection coming along?”
Ah, Miranda. Not one to faff about. That’s one of the things I love about her. Well, that and the fact that she can fuck like no one I’ve ever been with. Or heard of. So the question of the moment: is it over the shoulder and down to the bedroom, or a quickie up against the wall to get things rolling? Off her look, I take a step towards her and press her back into the wall with my body. I grind my pelvis into her, letting her feel my hardness. She lets out a small gasp—it’s bloody music, that. The friction is nice—feel like I could pop the buttons on these levis in a minute if things keep going like this. She kisses me hard on the mouth and takes a nip at my lower lip—naughty girl, I can tell she’s up for a bit more than usual by the fact that I’m now tasting my own blood from her little love bite. She pulls her head back and looks at me with almost a snarl and dammit I’ve got to get out of these jeans and into her body in the next few seconds. I grab at her sweats and pull them and her knickers down to just above her knee, letting my fingers cop a feel on the way back up. Just as I work my fingers between her lips, I feel her hand reach out and grab hold of my cock through my jeans. I can’t help but let out grunt of approval—says she likes it when I make noise, so I try not to hold back. And, god she’s wet already. Don’t know how she manages it sometimes—I swear she can go form zero to dripping in less time than it takes me to get her naked. And I’m pretty fast at that, what with my brilliant hand-eye coordination and, well, vampire strength if I’m in even more of a hurry. I can’t help myself from sliding a finger in, between those amazing warm, slippery folds. It’s her turn to sound ridiculous. I think I’d describe it as some kind of squeal/moan hybrid. Whatever it is, the pressure in my pants is getting unbearable. I kiss her again, pushing my tongue deep in her mouth imitating what I’m about to do further south.
Breaking away, I say “So, you gonna set it free or do I have to beg?”
She takes hold of my belt and unfastens it. She unbuttons the top button and then stops.
She says: “What do you plan to do with that monster once I let it out of its cage?”
She does love her dirty talk, M. Personally, I don’t have the patience for it, but I’m willing to compromise.
I reply in a deep forceful whisper: “Well, first off I plan on sticking it in that warm, wet hole you’ve got down there. And then I’m going to pull it out and stick it back in and pull out and stick it back in and I’m gonna do that as many times as I can possibly manage before I explode. And afterwards, if you’re lucky, I may start all over again.”
Miranda: “Well that sounds lovely, William, but what’s in it for me?”
And with that, I decide I’m not going to play the game anymore and I quickly pull the rest of the buttons, lift her legs around me and push myself deep insider her. Now comes the loudest and most ridiculous noise she’ll hear from me today. You might think that would be later, when I’m shooting my load into her well-pummeled pussy, but you’d be wrong . It’s impossible to describe exactly what it feels like when I push my room-temperature todger into her 98.6 body the first time. It’s like my cock’s being licked by tiny tongues of fire—it’s close to pain, but of an utterly exquisite variety. Today’s more extreme than usual, as I just got up and haven’t had anything to eat—I’m cold as a stone. Or was cold as a stone. After I push in, I hold the position for a minute, savoring the intensity of the contrast—soon the brilliant pain subsides, as her heat warms me. The heat travels up through my groin and by the end of it, will have warmed my entire body. Well, assuming we keep at it. Just at this moment, I decide I want to fuck her all day. I never know until we get started whether it’s going to be a one-off or a day’s work. As I start to thrust, feeling the glorious friction caused by the motion, intensified by those amazing muscles she has that are like massaging sponges, I figure I’ll fill her in on my little plan.
I whisper in her ear as I start to forcefully dive in and out of her. “I want to fuck you all day. [thud thud] I’m going to keep driving my dick into you from as many different directions as I can think of and for as long as it takes to make your pussy swollen and sore. [thud thud thud] I want to fuck you ‘till you beg me to stop.”
Sounds a bit harsh, but from the sounds she’s making, she’s up for it. As this is just the warm up, I decide to be a bit selfish and keep up the current pace without interruption, knowing that I won’t be able to hold it long. She’s breathing heavily now and calling out my name (it’s always Spike when we’re fucking) as she digs her nails into my back. Yeah, she’s having a good time—she’ll get hers plenty before the day’s through, so I’m not going to pull out any special moves just yet. [thud thud thud thud] I’m so close. I swear I feel her grip me tighter from the inside and my knob feels as big as the bloody Empire State Building. I’m just going with it, feeling the pressure build—I’m slamming her pretty hard now. Hope it’s not too much, too soon for her, but to be honest at the moment, I don’t think I could slow myself down. She starts to let out little yelps of pleasure—she closes her eyes. God, she’s beautiful. I’m just about to give in to it and put an end to the warm up, when she starts to pant and says in an almost surprised voice,
“I’m gonna come.”
What? Now? Oh, Jesus. She almost never comes from just this—no fingers, no props—least not in this position. Ok, then. Change of plan.
She whines “just a little more, baby.” [thud thud thud]
Oh God, so now I have to wait, because seriously, despite what I said before, when Miranda comes with me inside, all bets are off. There will definitely be more ridiculous noises coming from these lips. In desperation, I start trying to think of non-sexy things. [thud thud thud] Oh, but she’s biting my ear and those whimpers. No. Must wait. [thud thud thud] If only I could think of something. Football--Manchester U. [thud] No. Uh, BBC documentaries. [thud thud] Xander. Don’t want to overdo it now. What was that line from the Austin Powers movie? ‘Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day’, ‘Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day’. That might work for a few more seconds. [thud thud thud] Oh this is it. I can feel her start to clench—she’s holding her breath. She lets out a scream, which frankly, I barely hear because I’m fixated on what feels like a million tiny fingers alternately gripping and releasing my now enormous rock hard cock. I stop the thrusting for just a moment to take in the sensation. And then I feel it hit like a tidal wave. I no longer have control over my body as I feel my pelvis reflexively thrust quickly a few more times as my body releases what seems like a gallon of liquid. And yes, I couldn’t stop myself from uttering some sort of groan/wail that probably sounded something like
“ugghau..gguuuahhhuhhh.”
Oh, shit—it’s a knee trembler, that. Literally, my knees are gone. I fall on my ass. That’s the problem with shagging upright—the knees. Miranda just slides down the wall until she’s sitting on the floor with me. She’s got quite the pleased grin on her face. So much for the warm up. I shake my head, trying to clear the orgasm induced cloud from my brain.
Holding back a giggle, Miranda says with a pathetic attempt at a straight face: “That wasn’t bad.”
I say “not bad? I’ll show you not bad.”
I pull my trousers off the rest of the way as I get to my feet, pull her up and toss her over my shoulder, her bare ass next to my face. Uh, oh. Here it comes. “phewapp”—Is the sound it makes as her hand slaps my naked ass. Ouch that stings. She can never resist when she’s over my shoulder like this. Says she likes the sound.
“Am I going to have to beat you?” I say.
“Please.” she responds in the usual way.
I turn to the staircase leading down to the bedroom.
She blurts out “Wait, the windows.”
And so I swing her around and stroll over to the front windows to open them. Get a quick flash of sun on my ass as I turn away. It sort of tickles. I take her downstairs and toss her on the bed. She giggles and then quickly makes her way to the edge as I hop on the mattress with a big bounce.
“Be back in a moment, love.” She says as she makes her way to the loo.
I watch her go and then return in a minute with a steaming hot wet washcloth. She pulls off the sweatpants and her socks. The washcloth is to wipe off the baby gravy that has now collected on the curlies of her lips and run slightly down the inside of her left thigh. She puts her left foot on the bed as she slowly wipes the liquid first from her thigh and then upwards to the slightly parted lips of her furry cup and I can’t help but think that’s got to be about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Just the idea that the juices were moments ago deep inside her, put there by me during that earthquake of an orgasm. The old chap’s at full attention again. This time, no facial expression necessary to give it away. I take hold of it because, you know, it’s there and big and that’s just what we men do. I watch her toss the washcloth aside when she’s finished and then strip off her shirt and bra. I never get tired of watching her. It’s funny because I’ve got a box of sex toys, videos and the like sittin’ in the closet, still waiting to be cracked. I brought ‘em from my old place thinking we’d break into it sooner or later to add a bit of spice to things. But we haven’t—never think of it until we’re already going and then it hardly seems the effort. Good to know it’s there, I suppose. We’ll get to it. What’s the rush? Not to sound all twee or anything, but this love business changes things a bit. Makes you need less to get off, I suppose. Listen to me, being all philosophical while I hold my enormous wanger.
“That for me?” She says in a damn sexy voice, glancing at what’s in my hand.
“If you want it”
“Hm. Maybe I need to taste it first.”
She crawls on the bed and comes at me on all fours. Hm. Tempting, but I think I need to taste her first. That mouth of hers is dangerous and I’d rather let it build a bit. So I reach out, grab hold of her leg and flip her onto her back.
“Me first.” I say as I get off my back and onto my knees.
I start with a little nibble on her neck. I try to cover every inch of it with the exception of the little scar from the last time I bit into her. If I were to happen to find my teeth in that spot, it might be impossible to pull away. It’s been a while—she’s been recovering for a bit and I don’t want to risk putting her out again. Another time.
“You gonna bite me?” She whispers.
I can tell she wouldn’t mind. I feel my cock twitch at the thought.
“Maybe later. I’ll surprise you.”
I hear her breath catch. This is our exciting new game. The uncertainty gets her very hot, though she must know that I wouldn’t today. Still, we’ll play. I slowly make my way to her breasts—can’t leave the girls out of this. I suck her nipples and then blow on them ‘til they get nice and hard. Perfect. Then down further, tasting the dried sweat on her skin from our more quick and vigorous bout. Just as I pass her belly button, I feel her legs open wider. She’s not terribly subtle ‘bout what she wants. Can’t blame her. I give bloody fantastic head. Besides, I’m a man and couldn’t give a flying fuck about subtlety. I scoot down and get in position. I take a look at the beautifully shiny, pink folds peaking out at me from behind her outer lips. I let my tongue slide in between, opening her up more. Hm—warm and sweet. She’s still a bit swollen from the vigorous thrusting, making everything just a bit more firm to the touch. She lets out a delicious gasp when my tongue first touches the base of her clit. I move my tongue here and there, taking my time. I like being in such total control of her pleasure, knowing I have the ability to make her scream and writhe whenever I want. Soon, I settle on the part that induces the most whimpers and set to serious work. The faster I flick my tongue, the louder her moans and the harder I feel myself get. Any man who doesn’t find the whimpering sounds of a woman nearing orgasm unbearably sexy shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a muff. God, she’s getting close and her legs spread even wider and I think I must be leaking a bit, it’s so fucking hot—she’s grasping at my hair now. I think it’s going to be a loud one. Her breathing stops for an instant and then she grinds her pelvis into my face as she screams loud enough that I swear the neighbor’s dog starts to bark. Sometimes I worry she’ll set off car alarms. I can feel her opening squeeze against my tongue. Even more wetness now. I’m careful not to move my face until she relaxes and the pulsing just about stops. There she goes. A bit of giggling perhaps? Miranda’s a bit of a giggler. Found it a bit off-putting at first, honestly. You’re grinding away after she comes for the second time and she’s giggling like a hysterical teenager. Kind of hard to focus. But now I like it. Means she’s relaxed. I work my way back up and kiss her softly as I slip my ridiculously hard willie straight in. I’m warm now, so it’s not so shocking as before. Still feels fantastic, though—so slippery. I thrust a few times and then she decides she wants to be on top. We roll over and I take in the sight of her riding me—her breasts bouncing lightly with each of her pelvic thrusts. I could seriously do this all day. Not to brag or anything, but I’ve got some serious stamina, especially after getting the first load out of the way to take the edge off. So I just sit back and let her work on me a bit. So good. Hmmmmm. I close my eyes for a moment, enjoying every squeeze and twist of her body. Then a sudden cold as she raises herself off me—I can’t help but let out a complaining whimper.
“Be patient. It’s only for a second—haven’t gotten that taste yet.” She purrs as she scoots down and quickly takes my cock in her mouth.
Oooohhh yeah. Uh. Mmmm. Now I watch her lips slide up and down on it with her ass waving up in the air—not a bad sight, that. Again, I’m ready to do this all day. I reach down and touch her hair as she sucks me in and out—she can’t fit all of me in at once, so she squeezes the base with her right hand. My mouth’s starting to get a bit pasty, what with all the fluids rushing down to a certain highly sensitive area. Still, I’m ready to drag this out—maybe in just a minute, I’ll push her off and take her from behind. That’d be fun. In a minute. Wonder if she’ll...
“uhuhhhghhhg. Aahahggfuck. Aawwwjesusaaaah.” [etc., etc.]
She’s started that thing she does—the thing where one minute I’m in complete control, enjoying the moment in a fairly relaxed way, and the next I don’t think I could remember my bloody name. Seriously, my mind is wiped clean by the sensation of whatever the heck she’s doing to my cock. She’s in total control now. It could all be over in a matter of seconds. Never think to ask what exactly is going on down there, but I’ll bet it involves many different muscles, swirling, sucking and squeezing. There must be hands involved and maybe massaging. Honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck because I’m going to shoot my load deep into her throat and I hope she’s ready for it. I’m making any number of outrageous noises now—so much for stamina. I can’t stop myself from grabbing hold of her head and thrusting deep into her throat. It feels unimaginably good. I feel the spasms start and...
“uhgahgahhagshgeszegoh”
I think time has elapsed since my last conscious thought, but I can’t be sure. No, it must have done, as she’s now kissing her way up my abs to my neck. I let out a huge sigh, followed by a pleased purring sound. She smiles warmly at me.
“That’s quite a mouth you’ve got.” I stammer.
“That’s quite a cock you’ve got.” She replies, pleased with herself.
“Is it naptime?” I say with heavy eyelids.
“Sounds about right.”
We’ll save round 3 for a bit later, I think. She drapes herself across my chest and nestles her head into my neck. I run my hands across her back. This is nice. This is very nice. Maybe summer isn’t so bad after all.
**
Scene 13
A couple of weeks pass and Miranda and Spike have packed up the house and have loaded what they’re taking to New York in a moving truck. They’ve left a lot of the furniture. Miranda has signed over the deed to Willow and Tara, who can do what they like with the house until they die, at which point, Miranda will have the option of taking back possession of it. Alex is driving the moving truck and Miranda and Spike are traveling by car. Alex leaves ahead of them. Miranda and Spike are having one last cigarette by the car before they leave. Miranda is looking at the house, trying to hold back tears at leaving it.
Spike: “We should push off soon. Long drive and all.”
Miranda: “You think we’ll be back?”
Spike: “Dunno.”
Miranda: “You’re supposed to say ‘Of course. We’ll be back before you know it.’ to make this easier.”
Spike: “Never been much for saying things to make people feel better.”
Miranda: “Yeah, I know.”
Spike: “So what are we going to do when we get out there?”
Miranda: [shrugs] “I still like the side-kick idea...with the shoes and all that.”
Spike: “Traditionally, only heroes and villains have side-kicks, love.”
Miranda: “What about criminals or mobsters?”
Spike: “Girlfriends, maybe, but not side-kicks per se.”
Miranda: “I don’t want to just be a bloody girlfriend.”
Spike: “With me not killing anyone, that limits our choices somewhat.”
Miranda: “We’ve got 36 hours in a car to come up with some ideas. Do detectives have side-kicks?”
Spike: “Maybe, but that’s kind of boring, isn’t it?”
Miranda: “We could be demon detectives—there could be lots of fighting and mayhem.”
Spike: [skeptical, shaking his head] “Not grabbing me.”
Miranda: “We’ll figure something out. [They put out their cigarettes and move to get into the car.] Oh, but more importantly we have to decide about Halloween costumes. I want to have a big party and invite EVERYONE.”
Spike: “We don’t know anyone yet, love.”
Miranda: “But we will. Maybe we should go as the Beckhams—you can wear that ManU t-shirt I bought you and one of my sarongs. But how would I dress as Posh Spice?”
Spike: [They’re driving away.] “That is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. Why don’t we just go as Sid and Nancy again? The chest carving went over well last time. And you know I always like you in fish-nets.”
Miranda: “You’re not getting into the spirit of this—we have to be original.”
Spike: “Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee. You could get some big melons and a blond wig—Alex could help with the video.”
Miranda: [eye roll] “Not a chance. Perhaps we should move away from reality a bit—too scary. What about Breakfast at Tiffany’s—I’ll be Holly and you can be Fred. We’ve already got Cat.”
Spike: [Spike makes a disgusted face.] “I retract my previous assessment of your stupidest idea ever. [beat] Courtney love and Kurt Cobain—Hey, I’m already dead, so that part’s easy.”
Miranda: “You’ve always had a thing for her, haven’t you?”
Spike: “She’s got a certain appeal.”
The chatting fades as they pull away. We catch the car again, as they drive past the ‘Sunnydale’ sign. The car screeches to a halt and Spike jumps out, breaks off the sign and tosses it in the back seat. He gets back in and they drive off.
The End