TITLE: My Dirty Little Secret
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the following characters, I just enjoy exploiting them. ;)
Despite the divine interventions underlying my ordained sacrifice it isn't easy playing martyr for someone that's been transplanted into your memory; someone that isn't truly bona fide. A lithe, statuesque someone named Dawn, my 12 month old teenage sister or "The Key", depending on which species and dimension you're from. The rational 1% of my brain often rebukes the decision, while the other 2% overrules my better judgment. And so began my journey into my inane subconscious.
It had been a few weeks since I had taken the economy class freight train back to the land of frivolous humanoids complete with a corpse sodden casket of wonder. I remember chatting up with Kurt Cobain and former classmates over tea and crumpets. I asked him how he had been commissioned into rapture, and Kurt told me God was a devout Nirvana nark. God had, on a fanatical whim, drafted him halfway through the intersection junket at purgatory. No sooner did the notion, Who'd a thunk it? traverse my mind did I find myself spiraling down a tunnel of fluorescent light. It felt like the time my date had siphoned something into my drink, and I ended up throwing up all over my lace dress after a pleasurably appalling acid trip. It was a,"Beam me up, Scotty," faux pas with better special effects, like the gamma ray had been sulking in surplus radiation for eons and someone finally pressed the red button. A kaleidoscope cacophony of particles looped over my head, weaved under my limbs, slithered through my flesh until the blurbs of color and sound had meshed into one line of intonating clarity, the purest form of nirvana.
It was around that time I started to notice her in an aberrant, non-platonic, B rated porn flick type of way. I found myself lurking in the dustiest recesses of her room at night, watching the steady cadence of her chest, and wondering if Angel had indulged in the same perverted thoughts when he observed me. Over the days, I feigned the occasional hellish nightmare so she'd offer to shelter me. Dawn was so empathetic during those nights, allowing me to tuck my head under her chin and sprawl across her taller build. If she knew I contemplated the color of her nipples or the pitch of her screams during those exact instances I doubted whether she'd provide the same hospitality or recoil queasily and call me abnormal.
Dawn garbled incoherently as she stirred from a dream, sluggishly opening her eyes. The lethargic quality in her pupils progressively scattered into vigilance. "Hey, cutie," I whispered, running my thumb along her jaw line. "The sun's not up yet, go back to sleep."
Her nostrils flared in time with the flush flooding her cheeks. "I-I have to go to the bathroom," she stammered, grappling to prop herself up on the mattress.
"Is it some sort of national holiday?" I teased. "You should mark it down in the calendar." Her eyes fluttered shut and she clamped down on her bottom lip as she continued to struggle beneath me. I stared at her outlandishly, wondering why she was acting like a vamp caught in a Scooby snare.
"Uh, B-Buffy?" she squeaked, her voice sounded uncertain, husky. I wanted to know why. "Your h-hand is, umm," she trailed off as the covers slid down my back, pooling above the swell of my backside. My eyes hacked through the muddled darkness, finding my errant hand, lightly draped over Dawn's crotch. Oh. Her warmth was inviting.
"Buffy?" she stammered, jaunting my psyche from a naughty reverie.
I dragged my eyes to her face, lightly pressing into the outskirts of the wetness, inhaling the heady scent of arousal lynching thickly in the atmosphere. Musk infiltrated my senses, numbing my nerves like fine codeine. "Sorry," I muttered nimbly, listlessly. My hand hadn't moved.
Why shouldn't I have pushed further? She was mine--I died for her. Why shouldn't I have pushed further? "I-I really have to go to the bathroom, B-Buffy." Ahh, that's why. I rolled onto my back and slumped down on the mattress as Dawn staggered onto her feet and out the room. I should have pushed.
I shut my eyes when she tiptoed through the door in return, and felt her hesitate slightly prior to crawling back under the comforter. I could sense her searching my face in the dark, before she turned away from me and curled into a ball, a defensive huddle. I figured it was her attempt at shielding my advances. My fists clenched. How dare she deny what was mine? My face furled into a scowl and I snuggled closer until my breasts pressed against her back and my thigh draped over her hip. Her body tensed, but she relented.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I woke up I was alone, and nursing a major migraine. I needed something sugary, a Coke, or the next best thing--a similar tasting economic brand. Money was tight. Planning to grab a soda and getting up were two different things as I found out while flopping into my fuzzy bunny slippers. It felt like my conscience was getting even for ignoring it the previous night, and had decided to shred my brain tissue with chop sticks and a four wheeler. When I attempted to take a step it seemed like my conscience had taken a crap in the blistering hole. The sensations continued throughout my descent to the kitchen so by the time I reached the rickety fridge I could feel the shit drizzling out my ears and onto my shoulders. I swore to listen to my conscience--whom I dubbed Hughbert--from the point my palm connected with the icy, aluminum can to the time it touched my lips.
Until Dawn walked in wearing that. That inconsiderate bi--ouch! I couldn't complete the thought without another throbbing punt from Hughbert. I hated the little bastar--ouch! Sorry, gees. Sensitive much? I took another chug and stealthily eyed Dawn with painful precision. Where had she gotten that outfit? I made a note of salvaging my slush funds and offering to take her shopping sometime in the near future. "Hi," she chirped, adding a faltering smile for my benefit.
The can crumpled under my ministrations and I tossed it in the trash. "Hi," I echoed, pawing at another sugary beverage.
She pointed at the can. "Migraine?" she asked knowingly. I suddenly hated monks, those clad in potato sack robes, and manufacturers of shiny orby things. The monks who had built her to know me better than I knew myself. I wondered if those principles applied on a strictly physical level, but then Hughbert threw a wrench at my central nervous system. The veins beneath my temples bulged with pain.
Dawn climbed onto a stool, her shorts hiked up. Did those apply as shorts? I remembered someone calling an exact replica of them "coochie cutters". A more fitting title. If my slobber glands had been functioning properly I would have drooled right on Mr. and Mrs. Floppers, my bunny slippers. I realized I hadn't said anything in a few minutes apart from a lame greeting, and my eyes were probably digging potholes into her skin. So I did the right thing, I opened my mouth to address the happenings of the latter night and most of the wee morning,"About yesterday--" Hughbert eased up on the agony.
Then Dawn cut me off. "Say no more," she insisted, holding a hand in front of her as if to say," Shut up." She smiled shyly, a quick quirk that reminded me of Tara. "It's forgotten."
I was totally dejected. I wanted to protest, but Hughbert had plugged my vocal cords. My mouth opened and closed a few times, like the goldfish I used to have in third grade. Dawn kept talking," I know since you came back from ... where you were that you've been kind of, well, different. And I-I think I understand what you're going through and how you've been like all emotional and stuff. I just, I want you to know I'm here for you." She stalked closer, in preparation for a post-talk hug.
My arms hung at my sides limply as she buried me in a tight embrace. The places where our flesh met tingled and swirled to the tips of my fingers, making my toes curl with delight. "I love you, Buffy," she murmured. Oh God, and then I was kissing her.
At that moment I hoped Mom wasn't watching us. But only for a nanosecond because the words "eternal damnation" kept popping up. I groaned into her lips. My little sis was a good kisser-- Oh God, I'm going to hell.
She pulled away a little reluctantly. I could almost hear our lips parting with a wet smack. The delicious sound that occurs when you get your lip caught in the opening of a bottle, and after much struggling with the suction it just kind of pops out.
I opened my eyes. Dawn stared at me with a smirk. "Was it good for you?" she asked smugly. Typical ego-maniac.
I let her indulge. "You know it was," I purred.
"Oh, I don't know," she started, in her best unconvinced strut. What a sham. "I'm sure there are some people in LA who didn't quite hear your moans of pleasure."
Moans of pleasure? I mouthed. Had she gotten into Mom's old stash of Danielle Steele novels? Oh yeah, we were bantering, it was my turn. "Damn that reception."
She beamed and hugged me again. I kissed the top of her head. "Still think I'm "like all emotional and stuff"? " I asked, quoting her words.
She jabbed my ribs with her index finger. "I was coping, okay?" she mumbled.
My hands wandered. I groped her ass. "You know what we're doing is illegal in every state, but the Bible belt?" I tried to make conversation.
Jab. This time she looked up wearing a cute scowl. "You couldn't have asked about the weather?" We kissed again. Willow strolled into the kitchen accompanied by the distinct freshly nookied glow, and we froze.
"Hey, Buffy! What are you--holy shit!" Thud.
Then Tara walked in. "Willow? What--oh!" She joined Willow on the floor.
Shit. My best friend had just caught me with my tongue down my little sister's throat and my grubby hands pawing at her luscious, firm--err--ass. But I put it this way: things could have been worse. Oh please, spare me! Ahh, perfect timing from my logic as usual. A few more seconds and that 2% of irration I spoke about earlier was bound to show up. Well it could have. Sucker.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I excused myself to take a shower while Dawn attended to the fallen duo. I only felt a twinge of guilt when I dove at my pussy and proceeded to rub the stress and worry from whatever remained of my depraved intellect. I attacked the source, just like slayer tactic, only better. Hughbert started wreaking havoc when my fingers began an encore performance. After the kinks had gone away I felt a teensy amount of relief--maybe 'cause my clit had stopped pounding and I could think without wanting to hump the nearest noun.
I made my way down the stairs no longer feeling like I was dangling from a noose, more like groveling under the guillotine, but still alive! And that was the important thing, right? Right? At least I would die in a freshly scrubbed pink, fresh and clean like that Outkast song.
It looked like Willow had called a Scooby meeting, minus many Scoobies. They were seated around the dining room table. I hadn't decided on whether or not I'd beg then, or later, maybe both. Willow glanced up at me and pointed at the far end of the table. "Buffy, you sit there," she instructed blankly.
"It's my house, I'll sit very damn well where I please," I scoffed defiantly. Shit, why'd you have to go and do that? And then wisely added a very tiny, "Please?"
Willow flashed her resolve face and I knew I was in for it. So, I sat ... at the other end of the table, away from Dawn, who was firmly compressed between the wiccans. Tara averted her eyes when I tried to make direct eye contact.
Oh man. It was worse than that time Mom had caught Faith and I dry fucking in the living room. We talked. She blamed my hormones. Then she caught us again a few days later, only not so dry. After that the subject just never seemed to come up. I couldn't blame it on hormones, could I? It was worth a try. "Willow, Tara, I can explain," I commenced.
They gawked, bemused. I continued, uttering a single word, "Hormones." There, that should have said it all.
But it didn't. Willow leaned forward, and inquired, "Hormones?"
"Yes, hormones." I nodded, standing by my only justification.
"You were feeling up on Dawn, your sister, because of hormones?" She spoke very incredulously. It would have worked on Xander. Well, at least she hadn't jumped over the brink and broken down into hand motions. Uh oh. Hand motions. I was screwed. She was still talking, animatedly by the looks of it. Her hands flailed wildly as if she were trying to flag down a chopper.
Say something, you idiot. And say something I did, "Uh ... yeah." That was good
apart from the grunting. Mental note: civilized people do not grunt outside of
sex, except for Faith, but she was an exception.
Tara and Willow did that thing with their eyes. I guess it was soul mate speech or something, I never could figure it out. Normal couples--or as normal as one can get on the Hellmouth--sure had it made. "We need to talk to Dawn." Tara spoke, no stutters. I nodded. She added, "Alone." The way she said it made me shiver and want to hobble away with my tail tucked in-between by legs.
Dawn glanced at me for help. I dared not make eye contact in case Willow was to pick up on it. I kept my gaze trained on the table as the wiccans pulled Dawn into a group cluster, very footballsy, mucho scary. They continued to ogle at me fretfully as they whispered conspiringly into my sister's ears. I wanted to whine, but I didn't 'cause I was an adult. By who's standards? Mine--which wasn't saying much.
We spent the rest of the day in a state of awkward tension, and at 10 PM they hauled Dawn upstairs to give her a "talk". They were probably setting up a makeshift cot by their bed and stapling a band around her wrist like insecure parents. I heard a door close and figured it was time to entertain the Sandman.
I sprawled across my bed and tried counting sheep until my brain was tongue-tied, and then fumbled onto my stomach, reciting nursery rhymes. No dice. I flipped over and thought about heating up some milk. I never did like warm milk; it always left my mouth with a filter of fuzz. Ewe. I went back to counting and tore through the whole animal kingdom without as much as a yawn. I heard a noise outside my door and tensed, grabbing the stake attached to my pillow. The hinges creaked as it swung open. Dawn walked in. "What are you doing here? I thought Willow had shackled you to her dungeon?" I was ecstatic.
She clamped her hand over my mouth. "Shut up," she hissed. "And no, they didn't chain me up, they let me sleep in my room. But they left their door open."
I nodded and she withdrew her hand to crawl under the blanket. I remembered the team huddle they had enforced on Dawn in the early afternoon, and curiosity quickly bubbled. I turned towards her. "So, what's the verdict?"
Dawn grinned and snickered. "They think you're possessed," she informed me. I gaped, she persisted, "And when I told them I liked it they got really quiet, and then told me that I've been brain washed or something. The whole theory was so ridiculous. In fact, they're still trying to convince themselves."
"That ruling was kind of harsh," I mumbled, my stomach hurt. I needed comfort. Dawn kissed my neck and pushed me onto my back so she could straddle my hips. Not that much comfort. I shoved her softly.
"Dawn, no. My would-be executioner and jury are sleeping just down the hall."
Her hands slipped under my shirt and her thumbs smoothed over my stiff nipples. "Oh, I doubt they're sleeping," she breathed into my cheek. "I heard a weird humming noise and then lots of groaning." Right, so they were awake. Awake. What the fuck was she doing in here?!
"Dawn, stop," I panted. Damn, she was making this so hard.
She sat up, looked me in the eye and rolled her nighty up over her stomach, breasts, and head. "Do you really want me to?" she asked.
I shook my head, hell no. What I wanted was her to suck my pussy. Being the direct type I chose to vocalize my needs, "Go down on me." It was an order.
"Excuse me?" she scoffed in disbelief.
Her eyebrow quirked. What the hell didn't she grasp? Maybe she thought she'd be on the receiving end first. "You are so not the boss of me, Buffy Anne Summers." I'd make her pay later, but first I'd put my baby sis in her place, which was between my knobby knees.
"Dawn, baby, listen to my logic for a second, okay?" I tried to sound cool and collected.
She folded her arms across her chest, covering her plump, dark pink nipples. I wondered if they tasted like raspberries. "Fine," she simpered, peeved.
I tugged her arms apart to gain access to her supple breasts. "I was born first, right?" I questioned, flicking the nubs oh-so gently, I'd make her understand. She nodded with a slight tremor. "Meaning that I have seniority over you, therefore, little sis, I get to cum first." My hands dropped to her ample hips.
"Bitch." She stuck her tongue out at me, but eased down my body until she rested snuggly between my thighs. I felt her finger probe my slit and she groaned. "You are so wet."
"Dawnie, no digits, just tongue, you follow?"
She grumbled and nuzzled my sticky inner thigh, lightly sucking at the moisture with her mouth. I felt her tongue lick little patterns along the sensitive area, sweeping up the excess wetness and replacing it with her own. "Stop fucking around, baby," I huffed, placing my hand on the back of her head, tangling my fingers in her thick chestnut hair. She drove through my folds with her tongue, pressing her lips between my engorged cuntlips. "Ahh," I hissed, tugging her face into my pussy with a sharp thrust. She whimpered and wrapped her mouth around my swollen clit, caressing the inflamed pleasure point with gentle sweeps of her tongue. My fist tightened around her hair, pulling at the ends implanted into her scalp. I felt her cry out in vain. I was so close. Her teeth scraped the bulge of my clit and I sobbed.
Dawn glanced up when my grip loosened. "Are you okay?" she asked uneasily. Her face glistened with my juices; I wanted to lick it off. But my cunt still throbbed.
"I'm fine, just don't stop," I replied sharply, pushing her face into my soaking pussy again. She sucked me into multiple-orgasms, tongue fucking me until I released her head.
"I have cum all over my face," she whispered as I kissed her, tasting myself on her ripe, pink lips. My tongue traced her bottom lip, and I nipped at her chin and cheeks until I had swallowed all the moisture, the residue of my arousal.
"Where'd you learn how to do that?" I asked a little breathlessly.
She rolled onto my stomach. "Slumber parties, why do you think I'm always over at Jen's house? She has a mouth like a Hoover." She wiggled her eyebrows at me, and kissed my collar. "I'm kidding, Buffy. I have never eaten pussy, okay? I'm just not exactly asexual, I get horny just like everyone else and--," she blushed. "Y'know."
Imagining Dawn rubbing her sopping cunt to satisfaction made my folds clench. "Show me."
She burrowed her face into my shoulder. "What?" she gaped. Her constantly reoccurring hearing problem was so not cute anymore. I was a growing slayer, I had needs.
"Dawn, I really want to see you touch yourself. Please?"
Her congealed features softened. "Okay," she huffed. "But I don't have to like it."
I shrugged. "Of course not, as long as I do."
She removed her underwear and squatted above my chest, bracing her feet on either side of my head. She was so pussy whipped. It was almost endearing. She sucked in a deep breathe and pinched one of her nipples as her other hand traveled down the smooth expanse of her abdomen and over the tasty looking slit. The pink flush of her fingertips tentatively stroked the fleshy outer lips. I licked my lips, courtside seats were always the best. She gasped, swallowing gulps of air as her finger pads grazed her clit. "What do you think about?" I asked, gently clasping her hips. "I mean, when you're doing that."
"Sex." Naturally. "Sometimes homework or a sitcom." What?
"You get off on sitcoms?"
She smiled bashfully and shook her head. "No, you dork. My mind tends to wander." Riiiight. My sis got off on sitcoms. Creepy.
"What type of sex?"
She grunted, her index finger was wedged inside her tight cunt. "What?" Dawn sputtered.
"What type of sex do you think of when you're doing that," I repeated. Not that again! Mas-tur-bate. I knew I knew it, she knew I knew it, what was the dilemma?
"All kinds, every kind. Sometimes Willow and Tara," she admitted. "Or stuff I see in porn."
Since when did my baby sis watch porn? She had moved onto my stomach and was sitting on her hand. Two fingers were securely jammed up her channel while an expandable thumb played with her clit. "Mmm, ahh. I never thought show-and-tell would get my juices flowing," she grunted. Dawn had been bouncing up and down on her fingers, her tits shook with each plunge.
"Where've you been all these years? It's like scientifically proven to stimulate any libido."
She sighed pensively. "Living a lie," was her response to my rhetorical question. I cupped her ass and pulled her pussy up to my face so I could bury my tongue in her cunt. She squealed as my tongue wiggled over her clit. Finger lickin' good. Thank you Colonel Sanders.
Dawn panted and pushed herself onto my face. I eagerly lapped at her, basking in her silent moans and stifled cries. "Buffy," she whimpered. "Oooh, God!" I clamped down on her quivering clit, and she sobbed as she came.
She scooted her convulsing cunt away from my face, painting a trail of wetness over my chest and tummy. "That was stellar," she mumbled sleepily, giving my cheek a sloppy kiss.
"Is that a good thing?"
"Uh huh." At least it was better than just nice. Grrrr, I hated those words with the fury of a thousand blistering vengeance demons. "Buffy?" She was speaking again.
"Mmm?" What did she want?
Dawn fidgeted uncomfortably and tentatively met my eyes. "Does this mean I get to be your dirty little secret?" Her lips were twisted into a hopeful smile.
I groaned. What the hell? If I was going to spend my afterlife roasting in the fiery pits of the largest ethereal fast food chain than why not mollycoddle in debauchery for a while? "Yeah, Dawn. You're my dirty little secret," I whispered, kissing her softly. She hugged me tighter.