The hot, steaming water sluiced between Willow’s tiny breasts, down her concave belly, and through her trim red bush. She circled the soapy washcloth over her bare flesh and scrubbed her labia and the inside of her cunt. Reaching behind herself, she bathed her buttocks, washing between the smooth, gleaming mounds of her ass cheeks. She rubbed the washcloth against her firm, sleek thighs. Then, she rinsed herself under the slanting needles of water until she’d washed away the foamy suds.
Willow hadn’t taken a cold shower, as Buffy had suggested. She was taking a long, hot one. She wasn’t horny after masturbating herself from one climax to the next as, using her magic powers, she’d visited first Buffy’s mind, as the Slayer had taken her shower, a few minutes earlier, and then Baubo’s mind, as the goddess had recalled her sexual tryst with the Amazon warrior named Aegina, experiencing their thoughts and feelings. Buffy’s thoughts, as always, were indistinct and guarded, but Baubo’s had been as clear and easy to see as pornographic movie clips. Baubo’s recollections of having had oral sex with the woman warrior had given the witch plenty to which to masturbate. Willow had experienced one wild orgasm after another, flooding her blankets, sheets, and mattress with her overflowing cunt juices.
While she’d watched Baubo as she made love, in her memory, to Aegina, Willow had conceived of the perfect punishment for Andrew, the science nerd who, with Jonathan and Warren, had been responsible for Tara’s death. Willow remembered the fatal moment of her girlfriend’s death as vividly as if the terrible event were transpiring before her again this moment. One instant, Tara had been standing in front of Willow; the next, a red spot had appeared upon–or in–Tara’s breast, and her blood had splattered over Willow. Then, Tara had fallen; by the time her body hit the floor, she was dead.
Willow had hunted Warren down and stripped the flesh from his body, literally skinning him alive. She’d have done the same to Andrew, but Buffy and Xander had stopped her before she’d had the chance. Every moment since Willow had watched her lover die, the witch had sworn to avenge Tara’s death. Willow had thought of flaying Andrew alive, as she had Warren, but transforming the bastard into a companion for Baubo was better by far.
Baubo was a Humpty Dumpty-like female. Two and a half feet tall, she had long, shapely legs; smooth, compact buttocks; and a face in her belly. Her large eyes were framed with mascara, and her cunt was a cleft in her chin. She had neither head, neck, nor arms and hands. To be her opposite, Andrew would have to lose his head, too–and his arms and hands. He’d keep his legs and ass, as Baubo had, and his face would be in his belly. Instead of a cunt in his face, Andrew’s cock and balls would dangle from his chin. For the rest of his days, Andrew would suffer the horror and degradation of being less than a man. He’d be a true freak with no one else in the world like him except his female counterpart. Willow giggled as she imagined Andrew in his transformed state–with an erection! How absurd the bastard would look with his cock projecting out, stiff and straight, from his chin or standing upright against his belly-face, his balls dangling below. This opportunity was too wonderful to resist. It would be far more fitting a punishment than flaying Andrew alive.
Stepping out of the shower, she dried herself with a towel before pulling on the same pair of jeans, the same simple top, and the same sandals she’d worn into the bathroom. There was neither bra nor panties to don; she’d dispensed with wearing undergarments when she’d become Tara’s lover. Underwear had seemed unnecessary to the lesbian couple. They’d preferred one another as close to naked as possible. Simply by removing their blouses and shorts, slacks, jeans, or skirts and kicking off their shoes, they could be naked for one another anytime and anyplace. They could, that is, while Tara had still been alive–before Andrew, Jonathan, and Warren had killed her.
Warren had killed Jonathan in some blood ritual, and Willow had killed Warren–after flaying him alive. Of the three, only Andrew had escaped. Willow intended to make him suffer, too, and soon. Before long, he would be a male version of the headless, armless Baubo, his face in his belly, and his cock and balls dangling from his chin.
Making sure the door was unlocked in case Buffy needed to use the bathroom before she returned, Willow placed her fingertips on either temple and, imagining herself elsewhere, vanished in a flash of light from her motel room. When she reappeared, she was on a street in Sunnydale. Somewhere nearby, Baubo would be wandering the same street, no doubt keeping to the shadows, shrubbery, and other cover as she made her way through what was, to the ancient Greek goddess, a strange and, no doubt, terrifying world.
It wasn’t Baubo that the witch sought, however; it was Andrew. He was out here, somewhere, and Willow would find him. When she did, he’d rue the day he’d participated in Tara’s murder.
As she continued to roam the streets of this strange world, Baubo’s thoughts were miles–and centuries–away as she recalled the time she’d spent with one of the most bizarre lovers the goddess had ever had–the lamia.
After leaving Aegina’s domicile in Themiscyra, Baubo departed Pontus, and, after a few days’ travel, came again into the hills and fields of her homeland. Greece had never looked so good, she thought. She enjoyed traveling, but, even more, she enjoyed the return to the dear, familiar world of her origin. She had sojourned long among the mountains, the islands, the rivers, and the seas that made up her country, traveling from Dodoni and Acheron, northwest of the Pindos Mountain Range, to Thermopyles, Delti, Thebes, and Platees in the north central region, to Cape Artemisio and Evia in the northeast. She had been to Marathon, Eletsina, Athens, Salamis, Sounio, Korinthos, Mycenae, Argos, Natplio, Epidavros, Poros, Hydra, Spetses, Sparta, Patra, and, of course, Olympia. She had been to a hundred other city-states, towns, and villages as well. Despite her journeys, she never tired of the beauty of the Grecian mainland or the glory of its many islands. The loveliness of the countryside, like that of the sea, continued to amaze and astound her.
Baubo loved the coliseum, the Parthenon, the aqueducts, the villas of Pompeii and Herculaneum, Plato’s Academy, the agora of Athens, the baths and fountains and pools, the law courts and the stoas, the temples and the altars, the Bouleuterion, the walls and crypts, the statues, and all the other wonders of the cities. She also loved the deep blue seas and the steep cliffs and mountainsides that rose, majestically, above the seas, lost in the hazy clouds of heaven. Often, she hiked the rough, stone-strewn hillsides, climbing hundreds of feet above the level of the sea, and peered through columns of stone or stands of cypress, over the islands that stretched southward into the blue deeps. The sight always took her breath away. There was no place on earth, not even Mount Olympus, she believed, as beautiful as the coast viewed from such a height.
It was as she was wending her way down from a narrow trail that wound along a ridge that she encountered the lamia–or, rather, the remarkable creature encountered her.
Something smooth–something tubular–slid past Baubo’s legs, tripping the diminutive deity, and she fell, tumbling down the steep, rocky path. The stones smashed into her, scraping and lacerating her bare flesh. Another smooth coil flashed past the somersaulting goddess, and Baubo slammed hard into the thick, sleek loop, stopping her slide. Glancing behind her, she gasped when she saw the serpent-woman. The coil against which Baubo had collided was part of the lamia’s long, serpent body. Half the length of the green-skinned monster was coiled on the ground; the other half, which was mostly snake as well, reared against the sky. The serpent’s body blended with the upper thighs of a beautiful woman–or, rather, hermaphrodite–much the way the a siren’s fish body merges at the waist of a beautiful woman, scales and fins giving way to smooth flesh.
Beyond the upper thighs, a penis and scrotum-shrouded testicles bobbed and weaved below a firm, flat belly. Above the belly, a pair of full, high, round, womanly breasts swelled, their nipples erect in the centers of their puffy areolas. The creature’s curly blonde locks, like rings of yellow fire, hung to its shoulders. The irises of its lidless eyes were green, with vertical, elliptical pupils and, above its slender, barely protruding nose, full, soft lips, the color of coral, parted, revealing a forked serpent’s tongue and slender, curved fangs. It was as much a woman as a man, as much a human being as it was a monster.
Suddenly, the human part of its body shot into the air, towering above the startled goddess. The lower part of the serpent-woman’s body looped itself around Baubo, before the petite deity could duck or dodge. The coils tightened around her legs, buttocks, and belly-face. She struggled, twisting and turning as best she could in the lamia’s serpentine grasp and flexing her thighs and calves as she fought to kick her legs. It was no use, Baubo soon realized. The monster was far too strong. Not only did the hermaphroditic snake-woman restrain her easily, but the monster could also crush her to death within seconds, with no real effort. Baubo relaxed her body, allowing herself to go limp within the firm-soft grasp of the lamia’s muscular coils, hoping thus to show that she had surrendered.
A coil loosened, sliding past Baubo’s face. The goddess’ eyes widened in her belly-face as she saw, mere inches from her own countenance, the visage of the serpent-woman. Looking into Baubo’s startled eyes, the monster hissed, “Fear not; I don’t intend to hurt you.”
“You can speak!” Baubo blurted, shocked.
“Of courssse I can ssspeak,” the lamia replied, telling Baubo the story of how she’d become the monster that the goddess beheld. Once a queen of Libya, she had had the misfortune of attracting Zeus with her great beauty. As a result of their assignations, the queen conceived a child, and, in due time, delivered Zeus’ offspring, thereby enraging Hera, his wife. To avenge herself, Hera slew the bastard, further punishing the queen by turning her into a snake and refusing to let her close her eyes so that she would always have to look upon her murdered children. However, Zeus took pity upon his lover and granted her the ability to remove (and return) her eyes; the lamia was, in this way, able to find an uneasy peace, although she seldom slept. Nevertheless, the lamia envied other mothers their children and she would steal and devour any whom she could. To punish her for committing infanticide, Hera had transformed her from a snake-woman into a hermaphrodite.
What, Baubo wondered, did the monster want with her? Childless, Baubo had no offspring for the lamia to steal and eat. Baubo didn’t have to wait long to learn the answer to her unstated question. The lamia didn’t waste time; the snake-woman (or hermaphrodite) made her will known through her actions as something narrow, but firm, wriggled between Baubo’s buttocks.
The goddess squirmed, but the coils of the snake-woman’s lower body were wound firmly around Baubo’s legs, holding her fast, and she could not escape. The smooth, narrow tendril continued to slither between the silken mounds of the goddess’ ass, probing the puckered ring of her anus. It was amazing, Baubo thought, how the fleshly stalk of the lamia’s tail–for Baubo realized that this is what the tendril must be–was so dexterous and agile. It flicked her asshole with greater dexterity than any fingertip that had ever stroked or tickled her there. The appendage was wonderfully soft and supple, but, at the same time, it could stiffen, dart, and probe as if it were a stick rather than a tentacle-like appendage.
The monster’s tail became erect, and it shoved firmly against Baubo’s anus, penetrating her sphincter and entering her rectum. Inside her bowel, the questing tail wriggled and squirmed. Baubo’s chin moistened with the drool of her cunt juices. “Oh!” she exclaimed as more and more of the tail pushed its way into her depths. Like any snake’s tail, the appendage tapered, narrowing more and more as it extended farther and farther away from its head–or, in this case, the head of the woman to whose body, from the thighs up, the serpent was joined. However, since the lamia was inserting its tail into Baubo’s asshole, the extremity widened, rather than narrowed, as it filled the goddess’ nether orifice. At a height of only two and a half feet, Baubo was a tiny woman. Her buttocks were correspondingly small, as was their interior, and the writhing serpent’s tail soon stretched her anus to many times its normal size. She was afraid that, should the monster continue to worm its tail up her ass, the thickening appendage might cause severe, even life-threatening, injuries to her. Another inch of the increasingly larger tail slid through Baubo’s asshole, and the goddess’ discomfort at being crammed full of the monster’s tail abruptly intensified, becoming painful. She cried out: “Stop! You’re hurting me! I can’t take any more of you inside me!”
The tail stopped. The lamia, her face still only inches from Baubo’s, stared intently into the goddess’ eyes. “Relaxxx,” she said, “I promisssed I would not hurt you, and I won’t.”
“You already are.”
A few inches of the tail pulled back through Baubo’s anus, and her asshole narrowed. The pain vanished.
“Isss that better?” the lamia asked.
“Yes,” Baubo admitted. “Thank you.”
“You are a beautiful woman,” the monster observed. “I sssaw you hiking the narrow trail that meandersss through the highlandsss, and I followed you.”
The serpent-woman smiled. “Why do you think?” Her face drew even nearer to Baubo’s, and the goddess felt smooth, full lips upon her own as the lamia kissed her. The monster’s forked tongue flickered inside Baubo’s mouth, tickling her lips and the roof of the goddess’ mouth. The snake-woman’s tail descended from Baubo’s bowel; a moment later, it slid back into the depths of her ass. Back and forth, in and out, the tail moved, gliding between the sleek mounds of Baubo’s buttocks as it fucked her ass. The goddess’ anus had relaxed, and Baubo enjoyed the back-and-forth action. Her clitoris stiffened, swelling, and her chin-cunt was awash in its rising juices.
The lamia surprised Baubo again as the coils loosened around her legs. A loop slid between her legs, making a large inverted “U” that, pressing against the goddess’ chin-cunt, lifted Baubo into the air. The loop slid back and forth between Baubo’s legs, putting a constant, sliding pressure upon her labia and clitoris that delighted Baubo more than she’d ever been thrilled. The sensation was as novel–and erotic–as it was exciting. While the lamia rubbed the sleek, firm coil back and forth against Baubo’s chin-cunt, it continued to fuck her in the ass with its tail. The sensations were wild, wonderful, unbearable! A river of cunt juices streamed continuously down Baubo’s chin, sluicing down her inner thighs.
The snake-woman withdrew the humped coil between Baubo’s legs. Before the disappointed goddess could protest, the lamia had repositioned itself. Now, its cock, as erect as Baubo’s clitoris, stood upright before the goddess’ face. Baubo grinned. Opening her mouth, she plunged her rounded lips down upon the stiff-standing penis, taking the thick, smooth organ into her mouth. In her ass, the lamia’s tail continued to wriggle and writhe, driving the diminutive deity half mad with tremendous excitement.
Baubo’ licked and kissed the bloated cock, pausing occasionally to take the snake-woman’s balls into her mouth. She pushed her belly-face forward, letting the erection slide between her lips, into her mouth. Then, she backed away, letting the cock slide back through the firm ring of her lips until only the rubbery glans remained within her liquid embrace. Wriggling her belly, she worried the cock as a dog worries a bone. The lamia gasped. The forked tongue sampled the air. Apparently, no other lover had used such a technique on the serpent-woman. She seemed to enjoy it, Baubo noted; she seemed to enjoy it a lot.
The lamia jerked away from Baubo. Startled by the monster’s sudden movement, the goddess’ eyes widened. Maybe the lamia hadn’t liked the sensation of having her cock thrashed back and forth inside Baubo’s mouth, after all. But, no, it wasn’t shock or fear or rage that had seized the serpent-woman; it was orgasm. Semen erupted from the monster’s lurching prick, jetting into the air. A gob splattered Baubo’s face. Another blast caught the goddess in the eye, and, too late, she squinted. Her vision obscured by the thick white fluid, Baubo sighed. Why must her male lovers–or, in this case, her hermaphroditic lover–spurt their seed in her eyes?
The tail inside Baubo’s ass withdrew. The goddess felt the long appendage pull through her asshole. Inch after inch, the tapering column extracted itself until, at last, the very tip pulled free, tickling Baubo’s buttocks as it flailed across her backside.
The serpent-woman gasped, moaning. Its coils loosened, its sinuous body becoming limp. Baubo smiled. She’d had some strange lovers in her time, she thought, but this hermaphroditic snake-woman was one of the most bizarre–and one of the most satisfied, if not one of the most satisfying.
After recovering, the lamia asked, “Where were you bound–before our little asssignation?”
“Nowhere in particular,” Baubo admitted.
“If you like, I will give you a ride.”
“I am a woman–or a man-woman–as much as I am a sssnake,” the monster pointed out, “and, asss sssuch, I can move fassst. You’re welcome to ride me, asss if I were a mount.”
Ride a snake? Baubo considered the lamia’s offer. It was intriguing, she thought, but she decided against it. “Thanks,” she answered, “but I think I’d rather walk. I enjoy hiking. I love Greece, and I’ve been away a while; I’d like to see the countryside–at a leisurely pace.”
“I underssstand. If you ever need me–for any reassson–pleassse remember thisss: I am yoursss.”
Baubo started on her way. After a few steps, she stopped and turned, facing the lamia. “Thank you,” she said.
The lamia smiled.
“I’ve heard the myths and legends about you,” Baubo told the creature. “They differ in some ways, but, in one particular, they all agree.”
“In what way do they agree?” the snake-woman asked, obviously curious.
“They say you’re a monster.”
The lamia said nothing as she considered Baubo’s words. “And you?” she asked finally. “What do you sssay?”
“I say they’re wrong,” the goddess answered. “You’re not a monster; you’re a creature as lovely as you are unique. I am proud to know you. I’m proud to have been your lover. I’m proud to be your friend.”
In Sunnydale, Willow Rosenberg quickened her stride. She had decided to put her plan into effect. She’d find Andrew, the last living puke who’d had a hand in her girlfriend’s death. When the witch located him, she’d transform him into a Humpty-Dumpty look-alike, complete with cock and balls dangling from his chin, who, as such, would be the perfect consort for Baubo, the headless, armless woman-thing with the cunt in her chin.
The witch smiled. She couldn’t imagine a better, more fitting revenge against the nerd who, along with his now-dead partners, Jonathan and Warren, had taken from her the one and only person she’d ever loved, besides Oz, more than she loved herself or life itself.
Andrew, she promised herself, you are going to wish it had been you, not Tara, who died. Willow–and, the witch was certain, Baubo, too–would see to that.