The Kitchen Counter

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Summary: Inspired by Angelus' line about turning Fred over the kitchen counter, I wrote this little smut/angst fic set during the Billy episode. What if Wes had caught Fred?

AUTHOR: Laure Alexander
EMAIL: lara@sunflower.com
RATING: NC-17, nonconsensual
PAIRINGS: Wesley/Fred
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of the characters on the show. Joss Whedon and the WB Network own them (for now). No copyright infringement intended, so please don't sue.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: There's a twist here. And more A/N at the bottom which explains why I wrote this.
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He cornered her in the kitchen. Gasping for breath, Fred watched him advance, the look on his face terrifying her. A combination of fury and lust she never would have associated with him.

Weakened from running for over thirty minutes and from the aching blow to her face, all she could do was bat at the hands reaching for her and shake her head in wild denial.

And silently pray that he wouldn't kill her.

She'd do anything to keep him from killing her.

Wesley grabbed Fred's upper arms in a bruising grip and sneered down into her tear-filled eyes. "All done running, whore?"

"Please don't hurt me," burbled out of her as terror screamed through her veins. Her legs buckled and she moaned as his hands tightened to hold her up.

"You shouldn't have run, Winifred," he crooned, pressing her against the counter until the edge dug painfully into her back. "You've made me so angry with you. I warned you what would happen if you made me angry."

Her plea was barely a whisper it was so faint. "Please."

Spinning her around, Wesley grabbed her head in one large hand and shoved it down onto the counter as he thrust one knee between her quivering legs.

The cheek he'd slapped smacked hard on the butcher block, and she whimpered, her whole body shaking in pain and fear. For a moment Fred tried to struggle, but her terror was her weakness, and he was so strong.

As Wesley's free hand found the hem of her dress and pulled it slowly up her body, she concentrated on the wood beneath her cheek. If she focused hard enough, she could almost feel each grain bruising her skin.

If she focused hard enough, she could pretend those rough, hard, yet oddly delicate hands were fondling someone else's bottom.

A crack across one buttock brought her back to reality and Fred started to cry.

"I told you I was going to punish you," Wesley whispered silkily into her ear, then spanked her again. "And you deserve double for wearing this piece of garbage." His finger snapped the elastic of her lacy thong. "Only trollops wear things like this." He hit her again, and pain lanced through her.

It had been years since anyone had spanked her, and that had been over her daddy's lap and through the layers of thin skirt and prim cotton panties. Afterwards he'd held her as she cried, then taken her out for ice-cream.

Fred knew there'd be no ice-cream today.

Another blow fell and another, sharp, cracking spanks alternating from one cheek to the next until she could feel heat through the pain, and knew her pale skin must be bright red. Finally he stopped, and Fred gasped and shuddered, waiting.

"Very pretty. I think you will need daily disciplining, hm? Perhaps tomorrow over my lap with your own hairbrush. Would you like that, Winifred?"

She tried to shake her head, but he was still holding her down, and all she could do was pitifully moan his name. As she did so, Fred felt his hand on her again, then the rasp of lace as the thong was yanked down her legs. It slipped to her ankles, caught there by her shoes, and she bit her lip to keep from screaming for help.

No one was coming to save her so why waste her breath and make him angrier?

"Spread your legs, dear." The menace in Wesley's voice made her obey, and she stepped her feet as far apart as the thong would allow. His hand cupped her soft cleft, then cruelly squeezed until she cried out. As she adjusted to that indignity, two fingers thrust into her, and, shocked, she bucked against his hand. "Swollen and wet. Not a good girl at all."

The sound of his zipper going down filled her head like a gunshot, and then she felt it, hard and heavy against her bottom, sliding between her legs. Wesley's hand left her head and his arm wrapped around her waist, angling her just right for his entry.

As the tip of his cock pushed into her, Fred moaned and lay still, not even trying to rise or struggle. Fresh tears streaming down her hot cheeks, she gripped the edge of the counter top and squeezed her eyes shut. Helpless against him, she knew this was inevitable. She heard Wesley grunt above her, felt his hand grip one of her hips, and then the final deep thrust as he impaled her.

"Not a virgin. Tsk, tsk. One more thing to punish you for, my dear slut." And he began to hum softly to himself as he withdrew and thrust, back and forth, pushing her harder and harder against the edge of the counter.

Whimpering, Fred welcomed the pain across her sternum as a reminder that Wesley was punishing her, for deep inside her womb a pit of molten lava was forming with each hard thrust of his cock along her dampening and swelling passage.

Leaning down, he murmured cruelly in her ear, "I think you like my cock in you." His pace increased, his pelvis smacking hard against her upturned bottom. Fred wriggled and whimpered, and his fingers wrapped her in hair, jerking her head up. "Yes," he hissed. "You do."

Fred let out a long moan and bucked her hips against him, driving him deeper. Her teeth caught her lower lip as she begged, "Please."

"Whore." He slammed her head down again and she cried out at the pain and dizziness. "I've barely touched you and your cunt is on fire for it. Do you like the pain, Winifred, is that it?" His fingers dug into her scalp and at the new source of pain Fred felt her inner thighs become slick with her own emissions. She reddened in humiliation, but couldn't stop the pleasure growing inside her.

"Only bad girls get taken like this, Winifred, over the kitchen counter, clothes still on, no kisses or caresses. Only trollops. Only whores." Wesley grunted again, louder, this time, and slammed his hips forward in rapid pumps.

As she felt him coming, Fred shattered into her own orgasm and screamed, "Yes."

"Oh baby, that's so good..."

Fred blinked open her eyes and saw Charles smiling down at her as he rocked gently back and forth between her legs. They were in her bed, beneath the sheets, she on her back, he on top of her.

Making love.

Swallowing hard, Fred gave him a tremulous smile and caressed her hands up and down his shoulders, encouraging him without words to finish. She watched as his eyes rolled back and felt him pump harder, and then he collapsed on her.

Still she caressed him, murmuring love words in his ear, as her body rumbled with need and he drifted to sleep.

And her mind slid back into the fantasy.

End

This story was inspired by Angelus' line to Wes about Fred paraphrased here "bending her over the kitchen counter", and discussions on LJ and a private list about rape fantasies and fanfic. Some see no problem with it, some are all for it as an expression of the dark side of our psyches, some find it distasteful, some fear that people will take it seriously, some don't think that rape should be a part of fantasy at all. I'm still up in the air about it, so I decided to have a character having one of her own.

Plus, I'm still mad at Gunn for his macho bullshit behavior, so here I am getting back at him. *g*