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I, Buffy	By : LL72 Category: -Buffy the Vampire Slayer > FemmeSlash - Female/Female Views: 150658 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any of the characters. I am not making any money from this story

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"Buffy, are you a tramp?" asked Mom.
"Mmmphhfff," I replied. It was hard to say anything else as she was sitting on my face as I lapped at her twat.
"Pardon, I couldn’t hear you," replied Mom and ground herself deeper into my mouth, "Oh that’s a good girl, lick Mommy’s spot."
I resumed my lapping. As were both naked on my bed with my tongue up her pussy and that last weekend I’d been fucked by the entire cheerleading squad I guessed the question was rhetorical. Of course I was a tramp; a slutty, whorish tramp and I was loving it. Certainly Mom didn’t ask me again, instead she started to groan loudly as I did my magic work. I licked harder and Mom gave a squeal, her juice shot down her twat in a deluge. I tried to swallow the squirt, but plenty of it missed and coated my face.
Mom got up of me and looked at me proudly, she did love marking her territory, like a cat against a tree. I smiled back, I may have an open relationship and fuck around, but at heart I’m a Mommy’s girl. Mom walked over to the camera and switched it off. She turned back to face me, "Buffy, are you a tramp?"
I sat up and spread my legs, cupping my titties I leant forward, "Yes, Mommy, I’m a nasty dirty tramp. I’m a complete slut, a total whore."
Mom smiled, "That’s what I thought Buffy, so I thought its time you were tramp stamped?"
"Tramp stamped?" I’d never heard of it, though from the sound of it I would enjoy it.
"Yes, Buffy. It’s what all the tramps have. A sexy tattoo at the small of your back, just above your ass. It shows you’re a slut," Mom smiled.
"I thought you didn’t want me to have tattoos," I said vaguely remembering a Mom-daughter talk about a year ago.
Mom frowned and then laughed, "That was before I realised you were a slut. Now I’m fucking that ass, well things are different."
I nodded, that made sense. Mom’s don’t want their sweet little daughters to do anything that might ruin their future reputations. Mom’s with fuck toy daughters don’t worry about that, my chance for a virginal marriage had already gone, "Sure Mom. I’m game."
"Oh Buffy, I know you are. We’ll hit the mall tomorrow. I already have a design in mind."
*
As normal when we went out I dressed to impress. My pumps and bobby socks covered more of my legs than the teensy-tiny shorts I was wearing. And my upper half was hardly covered by the crop top I was wearing, so low cut that every time I bent over my titties risked springing out to the delight of any bystanders. Mom dressed a lot more conservatively with slacks and blouse, I guess she wanted to show she was banging a slut, not that she was one herself.
Not surprisingly as I sauntered through the Mall I got a lot off attention, from both men and woman. I could almost hear the saliva dropping from mouths to floor as I sashayed by. It didn’t do any harm that I was practising my sexy walk, an oversized ass wiggle, which made by buttocks bounce in my denim shorts. Mom squeezed my hand, "You seem to have a lot of fans."
I nodded and wiggled my butt, whilst ‘accidentally’ pushing my top out so that my titties almost bounced free. It’s great being popular, and unlike cheerleading, I hardly had to do any work.
The tattoo parlour was in a small corner of the Mall. Unlike many tattooists it was a dingy back-street operation reeking of sweat and illegal drugs, but a brightly coloured shop front, with photos advertising its wares and the inside was clean, with comfortable seats and magazines, more like a doctor’s waiting room than a tattooist. It was typical of Mom that she would take me to the best.
A heavily tattooed woman looked up from the magazine she was reading, "You here for a tattoo?"
Well, we were unlikely to have popped in for a milk shake and some cookies, but before I could reply Mom was speaking, "Buffy’s here for a tramp stamp."
The woman smiled and looked me up and down. I went into a slutty pose as she undressed me with her eyes, "I could have guessed," she said. She turned to me, "Any particular design?"
I hadn’t thought of it and looked at Mom, who nodded and centred the conversation on her again, "Yes, I was thinking the number thirty nine in your catalogue."
The receptionist pulled out a catalogue from under her desk and flicked through the pages, before swivelling the book round so we could look at it, "This the one?"
It was a naked angel with oversize wings, sitting on a heart. It wasn’t what I’d have chosen myself, but if Mom wanted it I wanted it. I nodded, but the receptionist had already learnt that Mom was the customer and waited for her to speak, "Yes, that’s it."
The receptionist looked at her watch, "You can wait ten minutes or get an appointment for later."
"We’ll wait," said Mom and took a seat. I sat down beside her and watched as she flicked through a magazine. I could see why she wanted me to be tramp-stamped as some of the photo’s looked damned sexy.
It was nearer twenty minutes than ten when the receptionist called out, "We’re ready, go in the back."
Mom and me stepped into the back room. It was well lit, with posters covering every inch of the wall. In the middle was a table, and clustered round the side were some chairs. The tattooist was a woman in her early thirties, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Her face was the only bit of available skin which wasn’t inked, I guess she liked to advertise her trade. She looked at the slip of paper Mom gave her, "Thirty nine?" she asked.
"For my daughter," Mom confirmed.
The tattooist looked at me and smiled, I guess she could see what a trampy slut I was. She gestured at the table, "Take off your shorts and lie down on this.."
I slid out of my shorts, I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. The tattooist raised her eyebrows as she got a full-on look at my shaven snatch. I stood there for longer than was decent, letting her have a good peer, it was one of the perks of her job I guessed, before lying face down on the table. The tattooist hovered over me and I could hear the buzz of the needle, "This will sting," she said.
She wasn’t exaggerating. It more than stung. It hurt like buggery, except, unlike with buggery, I wasn’t also being cosseted in a series of spectacular orgasms. I’m not sure how long it took, but it seemed like for hours my back was continually jabbed with red hot pokers. As if that wasn’t bad enough the whole time the tattooist and Mom had a conversation about great artists. Now don’t get me wrong, I like Renoir and Van Gogh as much as any sixteen year old girl does, but I could do without them being discussed whilst someone is pushing sharp needles into me.
Eventually the tattooist stood back, "All done."
"That looks lovely," said Mom admiringly, "So sexy."
The tattooist positioned a mirror so I can look at my new tat. It did look nice I had to admit. Even if the colours seemed dim against the red swelling of my back. The tattooist seemed to guess what I was thinking, "Don’t worry the swelling will go down in a day or two."
*
She was wrong about that. With my Slayer healing the swelling was down by the time we got home. Mom could hardly wait to get some photos of my new inking. We’d barely put away the groceries when she was getting out her camera, "Buffy, get changed into that bikini I just bought you."
It was hardly worth calling the two thin strips of material a bikini. But I did as Mom told me. By the time I got down Mom had set up the lights, for the more professional shoot and had put a small dildo on the table. She smiled as I came down, "Very sexy, I’ll be taking shots from behind."
"’kay, Mom," I turned and put my hands on my ass in a sexy pose.
I could hear the camera click behind me and I ran my hands lightly over my cheeks, as Mom said, "Twist your head and give me a smile."
I flicked my head round, sending my hair in cascades down my back and gave her a beam. Mom gave a lustful growl, "Lower your bikini bottoms."
I slid them down to my knees, making sure I bent over and pushed up my pert buttocks. Mom took some more photos and yet more as I kicked off the bikini, moved my hands back to my butt and pulled apart the hole, "That’s it you dirty slut," Mom called, "spread that ass for me."
More photos followed, until Mom called out again, "Now use that dildo in your bare bottom."
I didn’t do as Mom said straight away. Instead I slid it into my mouth and licked it seductively. From the whinnying sound that Mom made and rapid click of the camera I think she appreciated. Once it was good and wet I gripped one cheek with my hand and used the other to push the toy into my back-hole. It wasn’t the largest dildo I’ve ever had up there, but it meant it slid in easily. I quickly started to masturbate myself with it as Mom took picture after picture.
Soon I could feel my pussy dampening up and I let go off my butt, to transfer that hand to rub my slit. My palm soaked up as I ran it over my wet hole, whilst still slamming the dildo deep into my ass. I couldn’t help but give a series of groans.
"Oh that’s good," breathed Mom, "Fuck yourself for the camera you skanky dirty whore."
I hammered the toy further into my butt, gasping and groaning as it drove me to orgasm. My front-hole was absolutely sopping, cum spreading out over my hand and slipping down my legs. Harder and harder I pushed the dildo until I came with an explosive intensity, "Yessss, yesssss, yesssss," I screamed, "I’m….. aaaaaarrrgghhhh."
I dropped exhausted onto the sofa. Mom sat down beside and we skimmed through the pictures. I think they were some of the best I’ve done; the tattoo does add an extra whoreishness to my normal slutty poses. Mom evidently agreed, as she wasn’t deleting many, "The cheerleaders will love these when I go for the sleepover tonight."
My ears perked up, masturbating for Mom followed by a cheerleader gang-bang sounded like a perfect day, "We’re going to a sleepover!"
Mom looked at me sternly, "I am, you’re not. I told you to persuade Cordy. All you had to do was act as toilet, which you didn’t do."
I started to protest, but Mom shushed me, "Think of it as a lesson Buffy. You can’t get everything you want."
She’s right, but it’s a tough lesson for any sixteen year old to learn.
*

If you have comments on this or any others of my stories please e-mail me at llfic72@googlemail.com
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I, Buffy