If Faith were Willow, no way she wouldn't've turned Fred down. Forget the magic and old books; she wanted to be the one settled between slim, white hips or grip even slimmer wrists tightly in her hands. She'd work her way up Fred's body, lick her tongue from ankles to the warm inside of her thighs, between small, firm tits and then back down again. Back down to that slippery, wet, warmth between girlish thighs to lick hungrily. She'd made Fred whimper and cry, squirm and dig her heels into the mattress as Faith ate her out. Small, delicate, breakable, beautiful... Oh, yeah, Faith would make her gush warmly over twisting fingers and force her down to slide her own pretty little fingers inside Faith. She could take her, fuck her, break her. Pretty little girl, couldn't say no to that.
Guess that's what makes Faith different from Willow.
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