Love In An Elevator
Still wearing a bland smile and holding her shoulders in an artificially erect posture, Joyce breezed past her daughters with Spike in tow. "Looks like no one's in," she observed, walking up to the front desk and punching the bell with a crisp ring. Several more rings and long minutes later, Joyce concluded, "Angel must be asleep, honey. And his staff probably doesn't get in till later."
She straightened and hooked Spike's arm. "I think I'll take Spike and start searching the top floor. Why don't you girls start here and we'll meet in the middle," she suggested in a motherly fashion that was clearly an order. Before erstwhile offspring could summon a protest, Joyce whisked Spike off in the lift, straight to the top floor.
She contemplated her prey with a simpering stare during the ride up and only turned to confront him after she'd hit the Stop button. "Spike," Joyce drawled. Her soft voice held a clear threat.
"I've noticed how you look at my daughter." Sashaying up to the ol' Big Bad, Joyce ran an aggressive finger down Spike's chest, neatly popping open buttons the whole way.
Her lips pursed. "I think it might do you good to remember just *how* influential a mother can be with her daughter's choice of man. A right word here." She touched his pectoral, rubbing his flat male nipple. "A wrong word there" Her index finger rimmed the pert bud. "And the next thing you know, certain vampires are exiled to Los Angeles."
She smiled and waited, implication clear. Put out or else
Spike swallowed heavily and leaned away as far as he could with the elevator wall at his back. Joyce's hand moved down and was doing things along the waistband of his denims that caused his stomach to flip in a very, very bad way. He silently cursed her, Buffy, Drusilla, Sunnydale, and finally himself for being such an utter poofter. The personality changed when a demon took over the body? Pfiffle. He was about as manly as Jack on 'Will & Grace.' Slip a pair of specs on his face and watch as William the Bloody Poet stutters and simpers in front of a woman.
"Joy-ce," his voice cracked, making him more the spineless demon. He searched his mind for an excuse. "Joyce, I- I- I can't use you like that."
He shuddered at the smile she graced him with in response. "Use me all you'd like," she purred. "I don't mind."
Joyce's fingers slipped further down to the front of his denims, and Spike squeaked, "Joyce!"
She laughed, low and kind of seductively, if he was attracted to her and not repulsed. She was like his mum, for bloody sake! And she wanted him to whore himself to get in good with her daughter. He highly doubted he could get it up, even if he did stoop to that level.
Joyce squeezed him cruelly, and he found his traitorous member growing hard. He'd forgotten -- he was male, his body did what it wanted without control from him. And a bit of pain was always a turn on. He was a vampire, he couldn't help it.
"Well, Spike," Joyce said, her evil fingers popping the buttons of his fly. "What do you say?"
As he spilled out into her waiting hand, Spike closed his eyes and thwacked his head against the elevator wall with a whimper. Where was his cool, vicious, evil persona now? He felt all the world like a slender fourteen-year-old in the hands of a naughty tutor. If he opened his eyes, would he have curls again and be dressed in shortpants?
"Mmm, look at you," Joyce caressed his length, causing it to fully harden. "So long and slender. And is this foreskin?"
"Joy-ce!" She squeezed him, and he scrambled for the waist-high hand railing running around the elevator. His hands closed over the brass rail and he held on for dear unlife.
Spike jeans ended up around his ankles and Joyce had her hands in places no one had touched for very long time. "Joyce!" he exclaimed, practically jumping out of his skin when two of her digits pushed their way inside him. Where the bloody hell had she learned THAT?!
Joyce chuckled, her breath hot on his neck, her body pressed flush against him. It wasn't fair, she was taller than him in her heels, adding to the illusion of Schoolteacher and Bad Student. If she pulled out a paddle... He shuddered, making the fingers inside him hit just that right spot, causing him to shudder again, and the cycle repeated itself.
"Do we have a deal?" she asked in a sultry whisper.
Let's see, Joyce had his knackers in one hand and the fingers of her other hand up his hole in the most scandalous manner. Did he dare say no? "Yes, Mrs. Summers," the Little Schoolboy meeped.
Joyce smiled wickedly. "Very good... William."
Joyce released Spike just enough to put her hands on his shoulders and push him to his knees before her. She scratched her fingers through his hair, breaking the gel and mussing the platinum locks. "Pleasure me, William," she directed.
Spike quickly unbuttoned her slacks and pulled them and her undergarments to her knees. The sooner he started, the sooner he could go throw himself off the roof of the hotel. Where was the Big Bad when Spike needed him? Yeah, okay, he *was* the Big Bad, but for some reason unrelated to the chip he was on his knees about to service the Slayer's mum.
He knew he was Love's Bitch, but this was going a bit too far.
The fingers in his hair gripped him tighter and guided him towards the neatly clipped, blondish bush at the juncture of Joyce's thighs. At least she was clean, and the musky scent of her arousal wasn't off-putting. It could've been worse. He could've been on his knees in front of Xander. Gah.
Like Joyce's pussy was a swimming pool, Spike dived in without testing the waters. He wanted to get this degradation over with, and lolligagging about wasn't going to get it done. She was hot and sweet-tasting, which was a blessing. He lapped and nipped and sucked at her distended nub, listening to her moan and throaty whisper: "Harder... suck me... that's it... good William..."
Good William. No one had said that to him with that particular inflection and meaning since he *was* a blushing, curly-haired schoolboy just beyond the cusp of puberty. Back then, though, words were said by a he, not a she, and the tutor had been released as soon as William had worked up the courage to tell his mum what had been happening during his "lessons."
A hundred thirty-odd years later, and he was on his knees again by command and not desire. Who said history didn't repeated itself?
Joyce clenched his face to her and let out a cry of delight as she climaxed. He was smothered by the heady smell of her orgasm, and his mouth and chin were soaked with her juices.
She pushed him away abruptly and straightened her clothing. He waited, head down, jeans still around his ankles as he knelt before her. His erection had deflated some, which was a relief. It must've been the recollection of Monsieur Julien that had caused it. He liked men as much as he liked women -- in all honesty, men more, because at least he spoke the same language -- but he hated it when people he trusted used him. Witness Joyce.
"I expect you to be at my beck and call like the good little boy that you are," Joyce began, caressing the side of his face. "If you continue to please me, William, I will try to persuade Buffy to see you in a different light. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes, Mrs. Summers," Spike replied in barely a whisper. Fuck, he hated himself, the chip, and his love for Buffy. This never would've happened if it wasn't for that girl. Hell, if it wasn't for the Slayer, he would still be in Drusilla's arms, loving her as he had for over a century. Yeah, he acted as her little schoolboy bitch, too, but at least she loved him back. Or so he thought.
"Fix yourself and let's go, before my daughters reach this floor and wonder why we haven't even left
the elevator," Joyce said, hitting the Stop button. The elevator started moving again as Spike stood
and redressed. He refused to look at the woman riding with him. If he did, he might do something
unbelievably nancyish, like cry.