Rating — UK 18 or R18, or FRM
Warnings — Smut, with Spanking.
Part 7 — Buffy
She followed him across the floor; as usual he opened the door and stepped back to allow her to precede him. She walked as far as his desk, and turned. He was frowning at her.
“What was that about?” he asked. She looked away. “Buffy, I’m serious. I don’t know, I don’t know what’s got into you at the moment. You aren’t, you’ve been daydreaming since you got here, leaving the others to pick up your share of the work as well as their own, which is, is lazy and ungrateful of you. Then you missed training with me both yesterday and today. You said something important had, had come up, but you haven’t mentioned it since. Tell me what’s the matter.”
She couldn’t look at him. His voice hardened. “Buffy.”
She shrugged, helplessly.
“Was any part of that true?”
She risked a glance; he was doing that thing with his mouth, where it went all tight. Sometimes it looked almost like a pout when he did it, and it made her smile, particularly when it was because he was ticked at somebody, usually Xander. Willow thought it was cute.
“Buffy! Pay attention! Where were you yesterday when you should have been training?”
Yeah, she had blown him off. Now… now his expression looked less like a pout, more like he was keeping tight control of his temper. He was exasperated with her a lot, but this looked like more than exasperation. Now he looked really mad. “Where were you?”
“At the mall,” she whispered.
She thought of not answering but he was glaring at her and it didn’t seem to be an option. She muttered something incoherent about shoes.
“Shoes,” he repeated, contemptuously. “And today? Where were you today?”
She’d gone for ice cream with Jared. Jared was cute.
“Cute.” Hell, she’d said that one out loud. And what was with Giles repeating everything she said?
“So you’ve been lying to me, Buffy, lying about where you were going and what you were doing.”
Her head came up. “I just…” and it trailed away. He nodded once, sharply.
“It’s a nasty word, isn’t it? Lying? Have you got a better one?”
“I needed some time off,” she burst out, indignantly. “I can’t be the Slayer all the time.” Even as she said it, she was cringing. She was the Slayer all the time, just like he was the Watcher all the time, and they both knew it.
“At the moment,” he said sharply, “you don’t seem to be the Slayer any of the time.”
That hurt. “I patrol every night,” she muttered, sullenly.
“So do I, and I’m not the Slayer, although I’ll grant you I accept that it’s my duty. So does Xander. So does Willow, and Oz. None of them is the Slayer, Buffy. They’re covering your work for you. Wesley and Faith are working, and it’s hard for them because they have so little in common, but they’re trying. When did you last come to a research night? Monday? Xander struggles with the research, it’s difficult for him, but he’s been here every night this week. It’s full moon in three days, Oz is getting twitchy, but he’s here. Willow might like to go shopping and hang out with cute boys too, but she’s here. Wesley is here, and he’s hurt and shocked, he should really be at home but I would rather have him here because there’s nobody to look after him if he goes. Even Spike is here, and heaven knows, this isn’t any part of his responsibility. You’re doing the bare minimum, my girl; you’re patrolling and nothing more. When was the last time you did anything over the basic patrol? Anything by way of research or, or training?”
“I was practising what you said about reconnoitring! I practised that tonight!” Maybe indignation would turn him away from criticising her.
“You tried to sneak up on Xander and me,” he said contemptuously. “I heard you as soon as you touched the gate. I could have killed you three times before you ever came inside.”
Her shoulders slumped and she looked at the floor. He snorted. “Let’s summarise, shall we? You’ve been skipping training, you’ve been skipping the research nights, you’ve been cutting corners when you patrol and you’ve lied to me about all of them. Your lack of discipline is disgraceful, Buffy. I’m thoroughly disappointed in you.” Oh, she hated that. She grumbled about him, about her Watcher and his demands on her, but to know that she had disappointed him… “You’re childish and immature, aren’t you?” Her eyes filled with tears, she couldn’t help it. “What are we going to do about it?”
She looked up at him; she tended to forget, because she had Slayer strength on her side, just what a big man he was. His expression was unforgiving. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
“I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this,” he said regretfully, loosening his tie and unfastening his cuffs. “I hoped that you were gaining some degree of maturity, that you were recognising and accepting your responsibilities.” She was hypnotised; he turned his cuff inside out, with careful precision, and began to roll up his sleeve, stopping only when two-thirds of his forearm was revealed. “It seems I was mistaken, and you need a reminder that if you behave like a disobedient child, you can be treated like one.” The other cuff was being rolled up; she could see the muscles flex above his wrists. With his forearms bare, his hands looked disturbingly large; her thoughts were sticky and slow in her head. He couldn’t possibly mean to do what…
He turned to drag the chair away from his desk and into the centre of the floor, seating himself calmly and holding out a hand to her. “Come here, Buffy. Across my knee, please. We’ll see if a good sharp spanking reminds you that you have work to do, and that it has to be done properly.”
No. No. He couldn’t be serious. She wasn’t a child, he was her Watcher, not her father, he had no right even to say such a thing to her. No way would she submit to anything of the kind. Which didn’t explain why she was stumbling across the office to his side, eyes already swimming because she had let him down and she knew she had.
“Skirt up. This time, I’ll allow you to keep your underwear but if we ever have to do this again, you’ll have your backside bare for it, is that plain?”
“Oh, no, please!”
“Skirt up, Buffy. Now.”
“Please!” She was nearly crying; he was implacable.
“You’ll take your skirt up yourself, or I’ll do it for you. I’m not spanking you through a layer of denim. You know what you’ve done to get yourself in this position: you’ve failed to pick up your own responsibilities and you’ve left them for other people. The least you can do is face your failings. Are you telling me you don’t think you deserve this?”
Her mouth quivered but she shook her head. She so deserved it, and she deserved it from him, but she couldn’t, couldn’t, pull up her skirt. Not in front of Giles! He made an impatient noise and his hand closed on her wrist; Slayer reflexes or not, she was tipping, off balance, over him, and his hand grabbed the bottom of her skirt and yanked it upward. She landed on his lap, skirt bunched above her hips, and let out a low wail of desperation.
He laughed and for a moment she hated him, before a hot red tide of shame swept over her and she scrabbled frantically behind her back at the hem of her skirt. He slapped the back of her hand and she snatched it away again. She couldn’t help it: she squirmed, and he laughed again, and patted her lightly on the bottom. The bare bottom. Her thong was going to give her no protection at all. She was bent over Giles’ knee and to all intents and purposes, she was bare-ass for a spanking, and she knew, knew, that there was no point in arguing.
“I’ve no sympathy for you, you know. We’ve had more than one conversation about the unsuitability of your clothes, Buffy, haven’t we? I’ve told you over and over again that practicality should be more important to you than fashion. Maybe this time you’ll believe me, maybe a hands-on experiment will convince you that I do actually know what I’m talking about.” Yeah, maybe it would. Giles had seen most of her, one way or another, what with slimed clothes and wounds and all; come to that, she’d seen most of Giles. But he’d never seen her like this, and she bit back a whimper of shame. He was going to spank her. He was going to ignore the fact that she had Slayer healing, and he was going to smack her bare bottom.
He did. He did, and after a minute she was horribly aware of having misjudged him. Slayer healing was all very well, but it didn’t get her out of something that hurt – hurt a lot – in the first place. She hadn’t thought that Giles was a big man, strong, fit, capable of swinging an axe for half an hour without apparent difficulty. Smacking her bottom was well within his capabilities. She squirmed again, for discomfort this time, and found that she could shift a little forward, an inch or two away from his big hard hand. A moment later she found that it had been a bad move, since all it achieved was to drop her head lower and shunt her ass higher – and higher meant that it was more vulnerable. Higher meant that Giles could reach the tops of her thighs, and the tops of her thighs, she discovered, were dreadfully tender. She had her teeth in her lip; she wasn’t going to make a sound. They had to be able to hear this outside, Oz and Spike and Xander and Willow and Wesley, they had to be able to hear this. They had to know, they had to be able to work out what was happening. She forced her head up to look around. The door was shut, and the blinds were down, which was a mercy, but they would be able to hear it, they could hear Giles’ hand cracking down on her bare ass, and she had to be silent. She wanted to yell, she wanted to cry, to fight Giles, to get away…
No. No, she didn’t. She wanted to stay just where she was while Giles pounded good sense and good manners into her. She wanted to stop being powerful, to stop being the Slayer who always had to be on duty and in charge. She wanted to let Giles tell her what to do, and then just to do it, and to know that if she didn’t do it, she would end up just where she deserved to be, over his knee with her ass bare, learning better. She wanted to let go, not to have to make decisions, to let him do it. She wanted him to make her be what she ought to be.
She wanted him to touch her. To spank the nonsense out of her, and to let her cry, and then to slip one of those big strong hands between her thighs. Oh God, she was trembling, her nipples were tight, and there was a low, slow ache building in her and she needed everything that Giles could give her. He knew how. He knew about women, he knew what they wanted. He knew how to give them what they wanted. He knew what she wanted, even when she didn’t know herself. She was wet, she knew she was wet, and she was dreadfully afraid that he knew it too, he must know, although he didn’t say anything. He must know that she was getting turned on by him spanking her, that she hated it and loved it at the same time, that she so desperately wanted him to touch her.
His palm fell on her, lightly, a feather touch that made her cry out the way none of the harsh smacks had done. His hand curved around her flesh, caressed down over one heated cheek. She whimpered with aching need, flexed her spine, let her legs fall open and offered herself to him wordlessly.
“Buffy,” he said, gently, his tone promising everything. He loved her. She knew he did and she loved him. He could give her everything she so desperately needed.
“Buffy?” he questioned again. She smiled. It was so like him to ask, gently, when she would simply let him take. Want, take, have, Giles. She wanted him, and she was sure that he wanted her. They could take, have…
Her eyes snapped open. Giles was frowning at her. Spike was smirking knowingly, Oz had his head tipped, and looked questioning. Willow and Xander were frankly staring, and Wesley looked embarrassed. She looked around for rescue. It didn’t come.
“Buffy, I said, we need to talk. You’re, you’ve been all anyhow since you arrived tonight. Come into the office and… unless, unless, are you not feeling well?”
Lifeline. She grabbed it. “No. Not well at all. Sorry, Giles, sorry, guys, not feeling well, not sure I should have come. Shouldn’t have come! Not that I… Home! Go home. I’ll go home.”
Giles turned towards the office. “Let, let me get my jacket and I’ll run you home in the car, if you’re not well. Or, or maybe Oz…”
Oz shrugged and reached for the van keys. “Sure thing.”
Willow’s face was scrunched with concern. “Want me to come with you, Buffy? Should we call your mom? Tell her you’re sick?”
She shook her head desperately. “No thanks, guys, I’ll walk home, fresh air and all that, go to bed early, sleep it off, don’t think it’s anything.” Get some more batteries at the 7-Eleven because she so needed that vibrator to be working tonight.
“But Buff, don’t you think one of us should come with you?” That was Xander, sweet Xander, always concerned about her, and the very idea of Xander coming with her because she totally did not think of him that way…