image of women sitting in armchair writing

Just Call Me Mistress Joyce

Giles was strumming the beginnings of a tune on his guitar when there was an knock at the door. It was mid-afternoon and he wasn't expecting any visitors. Buffy and her friends were supposed to be coming round later in the evening to spend some much needed quality time together. It was a consensual decision, following the recent nasty business with Adam and the first Slayer manipulating their dreams.

Replacing his instrument carefully in its case, Giles wandered over to the door. He peered through the spy hole and was surprised, pleasantly so, to see Buffy's mother standing on the porch. Running a hand through his hair, he quickly unfastened the lock and opened the door.

"Mrs Summers, good afternoon," he greeted, smiling briefly. Relations had been rather awkward between them since last year's... encounter on the hood of a police car when they'd been under the influence of magik candy bars. Needless to say, the liaison had never been discussed. To be honest, Giles had always been awkward around Mrs Summers, given their often conflicting opinions over the direction of Buffy's life. Still, he had tremendous respect for the woman as she always had Buffy's best interests at heart. "I'm, ah, afraid Buffy isn't here right now. I expect she's..."

"I'm not here to see Buffy," Joyce interrupted smoothly with a warm smile. The retired librarian noticed the normally conservative-looking woman's make-up was rather elaborately applied today. She was also wearing a black raincoat, securely tied at the front, the hem of which touched thigh-high leather boots. Her curly blonde hair was teased into a bouffant. Giles was at a loss as to why the woman was here if it wasn't to find her daughter.

"Oh?" he inquired.

"I wanted to talk to you, Rupert. May I call you Rupert?" Joyce flashed another smile.

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course." He suddenly remembered his manners. "Please, do come in Mrs Summers." He stepped aside and Joyce accepted the invitation. As she walked past him, she brushed her shoulder against his chest, deliberately so it seemed. Giles dutifully shut the door as they blonde woman sashayed into the unkempt living room.

The Watcher gestured apologetically towards the assorted mess of newspapers and pizza boxes. "I would've tidied if I'd known I'd have a guest, Mrs Summers."

The woman turned to face him. "Joyce."

"What?" He stared at her for a moment in incomprehension. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his brain. The strong scent of the woman's perfume was disorientating. "Oh, yes, of course. Please, take a seat." He nodded his head towards the couch and quickly cleared the pile of unwashed laundry off the seat. He sat down gingerly himself, on the other side of the room. Joyce descended gracefully upon the proffered sofa, crossing one leg demurely over the other. The raincoat rode up several inches to reveal a considerable portion of thigh. Giles tried to avert his eyes but he couldn't help but wonder just how short the woman's skirt must be. As he dragged his gaze back up to Joyce's painted face, he found, with a start, that she was staring directly at him, a sensual smile on her face.

"Uh, what can I do for you, Mrs, er, Joyce?" he asked in a strained voice, taking off his spectacles and polishing the lenses.

"Well, I'm glad you asked," Joyce began and stood, loosening the belt that held the raincoat shut. "I think there's a lot you can do for me."

Giles raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yes," Joyce continued. The black raincoat slipped from her shoulders and puddled on the carpet. Giles' eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He sat back breathlessly in his chair, hands clutching at the arms. Joyce, Mrs Summers, Buffy's mother was resplendent in a black PVC basque with a zip that ran from the crotch to the top of her breasts. It was a formidable outfit. "You see, when you came over to Buffy's sleepover last week, I couldn't help but remember that time we were together last year."

If it were possible, Giles' eyebrows would've shot off the top of his forehead by this point. "Really?" was the only word that escaped his lips.

"And if I remember correctly," Joyce went on, stooping to reach for her coat, giving Giles an eyeful of her shapely rear and retrieving something metallic from the pocket. "You really enjoyed those handcuffs." She held up said handcuffs for the retired librarian to see. She'd kept them? He gulped and Joyce gave a wicked smile, shaking her blonde curls out to their full volume.

The Slayer's mother strutted towards Giles, her hips undulating. His mouth went dry as he watched her and he could feel his member stir. Rationality dictated that he ought to get up, apologise to the woman and send her packing. Strangely, his limbs refused to listen to common sense. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Joyce had slipped one of the cuffs around his wrist, closing the other around the arm of the chair. She took his spectacles from his other hand and placed them carefully on the coffee table.

"Joyce, I - I must insist," he stammered, testing the cuffs but they were securely attached. Joyce merely frowned.

"From now on, you will call me Mistress," the blonde woman said, with a dangerous glint in her eyes.


A spiked heel was brought swiftly up to rest at the apex of Giles' thighs, narrowly missing impaling his manhood. "Is that understood, Rupert?"

The former librarian broke out in a nervous sweat. He could feel the sharp heel of Joyce's fuck-me boots against his privates and was strangely turned on by that thought. "Y- Yes."

"Yes, what?" Joyce demanded impatiently, pressing the flat of her foot down on Giles' crotch. He shuddered.

"Yes, Mistress!" Giles cried obediently before the woman did any permanent damage. When Joyce removed the foot wedged between his now quivering thighs, Giles was torn between relief and disappointment. He watched with anticipation as Joyce picked up her coat again, delving into the depths of the pockets. He tensed as Joyce pulled out, first, a riding crop, followed by a sinister pair of, what he assumed to be, nipple clamps. The Watcher whimpered audibly as Joyce stalked towards him once more. She brought one leather-clad foot up between his thighs again.

She pointed imperiously towards her foot with a painted red fingernail. "Lick it," she commanded.

Giles blinked up at her in bewilderment. "What?" he asked nervously.

"I am Mistress Joyce," the bouffanted one snapped, "and you will obey me. Or do I have to train you like a dog? Mmm?" She brought the riding crop down hard on Giles' cuffed hand. He squeaked in pain. Bloody hell, and he thought Angelus had been bad...

"No, Mistress," he replied obediently and strained his neck to run his tongue up the stiff leather that encased Joyce's calf.

"That's better. Good dogs deserve a reward. Would my dog like a treat?" Joyce questioned, her voice soft again.

Giles nodded eagerly, feeling his cock stir again. Joyce looked up suddenly and smiled beyond his shoulder. The ex-librarian inched his head around to see Spike lounging against the doorframe, a great big smirk on his face. Closing his eyes in shame, Giles sunk down in the chair. He knew that Spike would never let him live this down, in fact, the English vampire would take great pleasure in spending the rest of his immortal life goading Giles about it. The vampire sauntered into the room, hands buried in the pockets of his leather trenchcoat.

"Spike," Joyce stepped back, tapping the riding crop in her palm. "Would you like to give my dog his reward for good behaviour?"

Spike swaggered up to Joyce and looked her up and down lustfully. He threw a possessive arm around her waist, tugging her close to him and covered her mouth in a rough kiss. The blonde woman moaned gratefully into Spike's mouth, dragging her nails down his back like talons. Meanwhile, Giles pursed his lips in jealousy, though he would be hard pressed to admit which one of them he was more jealous of...

"That I would," Spike replied as he released Joyce. He took the nipple clamps from her and without a word he tore open the front of Giles' knitted sweater. Despite the Watcher's squirming, Spike affixed the nipple clamps to already pert tips. The vampire began to shrug off his leather coat but Giles piped up. "No, keep it on," he murmured. Spike and Joyce exchanged raised eyebrows. As the vampire reached for the zip of the retired librarian's brown corduroy trousers, Joyce settled herself comfortably on the couch, making sure that she had a good view of the proceedings. She set her riding crop on the coffee table then reached for the zip on her Basque, pulling it down to the very bottom. Whetting her lips, she watched Spike pull down Giles' cords to the ankles along with his underpants. The Watcher was stiff already. Moments later the blonde vampire went down on him, taking the erect penis into his mouth. Giles' hand came to the back of Spike's neck, urging him on.

The vampire nibbled his way down the shaft of Giles' cock towards his bollocks. He paused to take one of the testes into his mouth and he enthusiastically sucked on it. The Watcher's hips lifted off the seat to allow Spike greater access. Spike licked a wet path back up the length of the tumescent member to run his tongue teasingly around the head before closing his lips around it. Meanwhile, Joyce's fingers slipped inside the Basque, into her moist sex as she began to pleasure herself. She moaned quietly as she watched Spike's head bobbing up and down on Giles' cock. Giles bucked his hips wildly as the blonde vampire continued to feast upon his rod. Finally, after a few minutes, Giles cried out and shot his load into the vampire's eager mouth. Almost simultaneously, Joyce stiffened as her own orgasm took hold of her, and she let out a high pitched moan.

Just then the door opened and Buffy and her friends walked in. "Good God," Giles whispered and Spike turned to look at them, Giles' manmilk dribbling off his chin. They stared from the ex-librarian to the vampire in mute shock. Then they noticed Joyce reclining on the couch, her hand still within the confines of the PVC basque.

"Hi, honey," Joyce said with a feeble smile and promptly zipped herself up again.

"Uh, I can explain..." Giles began weakly. The Slayer and her friends backed out of the house and closed the door behind them.

Spike stood, scratching his crotch. He sniffed. "Right, which one of you kids is gonna do me then?"

The End