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by Kate Bolin

Subject: [glass_onion] Fic: Territorial 1/1 (BtVS) Date: Wednesday, June 19, 2002 6:41 PM

TITLE: Territorial
AUTHOR: Kate Bolin
SUMMARY: Faith marks ownership.
ARCHIVE: My site, list sites, standing orders, otherwise ask.

RATING: Strong NC-17, for f/f slash, graphic sex, and water-sports (and we're not talking synchronized swimming here, okay?)

FEEDBACK: Privately, please. It saves annoyance, and you're more likely to get a reply.

DISCLAIMER: The characters and universe herein are the property of Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar, and Kuzui Productions. This piece of fan-written fiction means no infringement.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Made a crack about how I could rec the hardest nastiest kink on betterbuffyfics, and it wouldn't cause as big of a stir as a sweet innocent kiss between a Real Person and a Buffy character. Realized a lack of nasty kinks in the fandom, and before I knew it, this appeared. Oh, and the song in the front is "Yellow Lasers". Find it at . You know you want to. Strong graphic kinky content. You're warned. In advance.

"'Cause I got something for you...something shiny, something clean...come on up and I'll adore you...with my yellow laser beam..." -- MC Frontalot

Sometimes, I really like the way B smells.

Kinda peachy, kinda flowery, a mix of whatever her mom put in the laundry, whatever gunk she has in her hair, and that perfume she picks up at those shops in the mall -- all fruit, vanilla, and sage -- like a spice rack or something.

Shit, she even sweats nicely -- no stink for Buffy. She always smells like baby powder or something -- patting herself with a scented towel and never ever stinking of sweat.

Sometimes, it pisses me off.

Sometimes I just want to smell her, slick wet moving down her legs and staining the bedsheets.

But she never lets herself stink.

So it's up to me.

We're making out on my bed, buck naked, kissing up and down over and under, each of us trapping each other's thigh between our legs and just rubbing and rubbing until we burn the whole place down, until we fly away on each other, until we crash and burn alive. She's making those little moans that I love, and I know she's close, but when I lean down to lick her neck, I smell it.

Well, no, I *don't* smell it. That's the problem. There's nothing that smells of sex on her -- no cunt, no sweat, just baby powder and citrus.

I'm covered in sweat and her thigh's covered in wetness, and the stink coming off of me would drive a fucking monastery wild and she smells of nothing. Nothing but processed girl, wrapped in plastic, ready to serve.

It's too much. It's all just too much.

I push her back down on the bed, holding her shoulders down as I get up on my knees and straddle her. She's smiling and looking up at me, trying to figure out what I'm gonna do next. I don't know what I'm gonna do next, but I know that I want to do something.

I've got to do something.

She's looking up at me, trying to figure out if I'm going to make her eat me out or if I'm gonna eat her, but rubbing my pussy against her face just won't be enough anymore. Sure, she'll smell like me, and it'll smear all over that sweet and precious scent of hers, but it just won't be enough.

It can never be enough.

But I know what can.

I start rubbing myself, sliding that wetness up and down me, swirling my middle finger around my clit, moving my hips back and forth as I tease her. She's looking up at me, and I know she wants something -- my pussy right up against her nose, my tongue against her hole, my fingers four-deep in her -- something that'll make this teasing stop.

I got something she never expected. I got something she'll never forget.

I'm beating off over her, and it takes a second, 'cause it's new and I've been too well trained, but once it starts, it goes fast and hard --just a spurt, just a drop, then a steady stream from me -- pissing all over her breasts and stomach.

She recoils from the heat and the stench, and curses at me as she tries to get up, but I still got one hand on her shoulder, holding her down, keeping her gaze locked on me, keeping her with me, as I ride through it while still jerking off.

It's a feeling I ain't ever felt before -- like everything in my body's getting pissed out on her, everything that's good and bad and me landing on her belly in yellow water. It's sliding off of her and onto the bed, staining the sheets, but that's okay, 'cause if they ain't stained with come, they're stained with piss anyway, and when I finish, when I finally finish, she's soaked from tits to pussy.

And I could swear that the dampness down there just ain't from my piss.

She's still glaring at me, though, and swearin' up a storm, something about the smell and the badness and "It's wrong, Faith. You're sick in the head," but I can't hear nothing, 'cause I'm landing on top of her, rubbing against her thigh again, trapping hers against muscles and I'm thrusting and kissing her and rubbing it in, rubbing that rich tangy scent in, rubbing it all into her skin and she won't ever be able to get it out, ever be able to get me out, I've marked her good, I've marked her proper, and when I come, all I can smell is me.

On every inch.

All mine.

"Where's your self re-cocking-spect?"
Kate Bolin | ICQ: 3326944 | AIM: DymphnaNet |

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Kate Bolin

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