Willow and Anya were currently helping Buffy unpack, busying themselves with setting up her kitchen while she went to the bedroom to start putting clothes away. She began by taking everything that was still on a hanger and moving them into the closet so they wouldn’t wrinkle. That went quickly, so she opened a storage-bin marked ‘bedroom’ next and pulled out several shoeboxes. Balancing on her tip toes, she pushed one after the other onto the overhead closet shelf. While attempting to slide them towards the back to make room for more, she heard a ‘clunk’ right before she was met with some resistance to shoving things flush to the wall.
“What the...” Being too short to see or to reach the source of the noise, she dragged her vanity bench over and stood on it to find out what it was, knowing she hadn’t placed anything up there prior to her shoes.
Not wanting her hand to come into contact with any furry or crawly surprises, she pushed everything aside to see what was there.
“And again with what the...” She picked up the small stone statue and brought it out into the light for a better look. “Hey Anya,” she hollered out. “I think you should come here and take a look at something.” Her sex-obsessed friend would definitely appreciate the little, er, big discovery. She held it out in front of her when Anya came walking through the doorway.
“Whoa!” Anya’s eyes perked up. “He got a brother?”
Both girls laughed as Willow walked in and gasped an ‘oh my’ at the ridiculous looking object.
“Looks like Buffy has her very own dick statue.”
“That’s disturbing,” Willow mused.
Buffy was still laughing through her next statement. “I’ll say. Must be a bitch finding a girl brave enough to take that on.” Naturally Anya was the one who raised her hand as if volunteering claiming ‘waste not, want not’.
“Not quite what I meant,” she chuckled. “I understand the previous owner accidentally leaving something behind but this is, well, disturbing.” The red head stood by her previous statement while Buffy shrugged at her and took the statue back from Anya and addressed them both.
“It was on the shelf in the closet. They probably thought it was hideous and forgot it on purpose.” Though why someone would buy it in the first place was beyond her.
“Personally I’d put it on display.” Anya put in her two cents. “Maybe if you stroke it, it will bring really endowed men who are capable of giving you many orgasms to your doorstep.” She joked, but cocked her head as if contemplating the possibility.
“Or it could ejaculate pebbles at me.” Anya chuckled while Willow made a ‘ewww’ face. “I’ll show it to my mom. If it’s worth something then I’ll need to return it.”
~~~~~~
Later that evening...
She ran her finger up and down the over-sized phallus, thinking the little stone statue was quite comical in appearance. Its face was obscured on purpose, as if the artist intended only the shallow depressions left behind by his tools where the features should have been, perhaps leaving it up to its owner to decide what face to give it. The body, however, was highly defined. Everything from the legs and arms to its chest and backside were beautifully carved into lean, sinewy muscles, all very proportionate to one another. That is, except its penis. This particular part was the highlight of the entire piece. Probably some male artist with an inferiority complex. Or maybe a lady who wasn’t getting enough… She rolled her eyes to herself at her last thought.
She wondered if the sculptor had a human model pose while creating this work of art. That’s what it was. It didn’t matter how ridiculous it looked, she recognized a piece of art when she saw one. And why would the previous owner leave such a thing behind? Would they come back for it once they found it missing from their belongings? Should she call tonight and make arrangements to return it? Maybe. For right now she was more concerned with getting settled into her new home.
She had to admit, it looked like the perfect penis, as perfect penises go anyway. From the very tip of the helmet shaped head where a slit for the opening was created to the ridges and thick, ropy veins that adorned the column to its base. The scrotum was asymmetrical though, but that was probably because the creature was molded into a squatting position. Still, it had to mean something that the artist had so painstakingly detailed everything while seemingly paid no heed to the facial features.
“Now what, or rather who, do you think you’re going to do with that?” She tapped the end of the monstrosity between its legs. Oh yeah, she knew what SHE could do with a penis that size. Sex was, after all, non-existent for her as of late. After her last boyfriend and the horrible break-up she’d endured, there wasn’t much motivation to go out and get involved again anytime soon. At least she had her handy-dandy vibrator. Yup, the ‘Platinum Rabbit’, straight from Anne Summer’s adult store in merry ole England. Seems the British had sex toys down to a technological art, at least that’s what Anya claimed when introducing her to the website since Buffy wouldn’t be caught dead walking into an ‘Adult’ store for such a purchase.
“Well, Mister. What should I call you, hmmm? What’s that?” She cocked her head to the side as if it answered her. “You want me to give you a name? Okay.” She thought about it for no longer than a couple of seconds, flicking the sculptured penis lightly. “How about... Spike?” She snorted with laughter, feeling rather silly for talking to ‘it’ at all. “Must be painful having a permanent hard-on like that.” Let alone awfully unfair when other guys are popping Viagra to get it up in the first place.
After turning it over in her hands a few more times, she set it down on the night stand and sighed. She was tired. Tired and sore from lifting boxes and unpacking her essential belongings all day. The whole ‘balancing-on-toes’ routine to get the rest of the boxes settled above the closet was more exercise than any stair master and added to the pains in her muscles, making her entire body one big giant knot. A nice hot soak in the tub was in order and after that, a good night’s sleep.
~~*~~
Slipping between the sheets, a much more relaxed Buffy leaned over to turn the table lamp off when she spied the statue again. Smiling, she patted its head. “Sweet dreams, Spike.” Flicking the switch to the lamp, she rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, welcoming the much needed sleep.
Sometime during the night...
Hands.
Warm, strong hands with long fingers.
A pair of male hands glided slowly up her shins. A touch so sensual as to leave tingles of passion in its wake to dance beneath her skin.
“Mmmmm.”
Nothing.
She could see nothing.
It was only a dream. A dream full of... sensations. A dream where her eyes saw nothing but her body felt everything. Lean fingers and warm palms drifted north along her thighs to... “Ahhhh.” The distinct feel of thumbs lightly grazed the mound of her sex through her shorts then drifted outward to slowly caress her hips.
“More,” she whispered, not wanting it to end. It felt so good.
Her shirt rose along with these hands and soon... “Mmmmm.” Her breasts were being kneaded, nipples rolled expertly, forcing them to tighten and... “Ohhhhh.” Her back arched off the bed as a warm mouth engulfed one mound.
Soft lips stretched to surround her while a skilled tongue laved her hardened peaks in circles. Back and forth this man, this dream man whom she could not see paid equal attention to both aching breasts, his breath hot on her skin, igniting a fire between her thighs the likes of which she hadn’t experienced in a very, very long time – if ever.
He moved to thread the fingers of one hand through her hair, cradling her head while kissing a wet path up her chest, throat, chin and upon reaching her mouth, teased her lips with his tongue, tracing their outline.
His scent filled her nostrils. It was like nothing she’d ever smelled before. Yes, it was definitely a masculine smell devoid of cologne but it was more than that. Like a combination of appealing things, sandalwood, earth, incenses... desire? Does desire have a scent? It was powerful, heady, erotic, no less than an irresistible pheromone that had her arms reaching out to wrap around invisible but strong shoulders, the hardened muscles dancing beneath her fingertips draped in skin so smooth it put the finest of silks to shame.
He taunted her with a seductive tickling of his tongue until she could take it no longer. “Please... Kiss me.” And he did, slowly at first, keeping the pressure gentle until she parted her lips in invitation and he invaded her mouth.
Wow! When their tongues met, his taste was like nothing she’d ever known, like a blend of spices, sweet and potent. As she explored the hot cavern of his mouth she felt drugged by both his flavor and scent, as if she couldn’t get enough, as if she didn’t own her mind or body and was acting solely upon the effects of his aphrodisiac. When her kisses grew more demanding she felt him respond, trying to feed her that elusive ‘more’ she was craving though it still didn’t seem to be enough.
She could sense his body as it hovered over hers; feel the air between them growing thick with lust, heavy and palpable, the distance close between them as he lowered himself. His weight bore down on her, the contact of his flesh against hers stoking her need.
“Touch me,” she panted from the corner of her mouth and instinctively parted her legs when he trailed a hand down her side. Odd that she never felt the presence of his manhood but with the myriad of provocative sensations he impressed upon her, it seemed somehow insignificant. He turned his hand, fingers pointing downward and slid beneath her shorts and the lace of her panties in the same unhurried manner he’d touched all of her, further inciting her desire.
“Oh God, yes... yes.” Two fingers slid between her moist folds, over and over, drawing more of her juices out to coat the puffy lips of her sex. His thumb manipulated the swollen button of her arousal in circles and her hips bucked into his hand, seeking more. Her fingernails dug into the skin of his back as she felt him enter her and he kissed her harder, and began pumping his fingers deep within her core. Of their own accord, her hips rocked against him, inviting a third finger to join the other two while he swallowed her moans of ecstasy.
Perfect. Flawless. Like poetry in motion this man seemed to know her body, its rhythm and rhyme, where to place more pressure with the whole of his hand and when to drag only his fingertips in a feathery caress as it roamed freely. She’d never, in all her time as a woman, ever had a sexual dream quite as intense as this. It felt so real and so centered on... touch. This dream was a kinetic pantomime, the stage her body, performed to the backdrop of her breathy sighs, the actor faceless.
Everywhere. His body surrounded her, his firm chest heaving against hers, the delicious feel of hardened muscles as they pressed against her breasts. And those hands. Those amazing hands that suddenly seemed to be everywhere at once, caressing her both inside and out, wrestling tiny “ooo’s” and “ahhh’s” from her born of the need for those hands to continue their work so she could...
“AHHHHHH!!!”
Without any warning, her body clamped down on him. She came hard, harder than she thought possible from such a simple act as this. There was a warm, liquid rush of passion leaving her body as her walls pulsed around him and he carried her through the crashing waves of bliss, still driving his fingers in and out of her, prolonging her orgasm by drawing out the sensation for what seemed like forever.
She wanted so badly to see him, to know what this man who had brought her so much pleasure looked like. But however many times she blinked or tried to focus, there was not even so much as a shadowy image before her. Why can’t I see him? Why can’t I...
She bolted upright in her bed, wide awake, gasping for air, her body still quaking in the aftermath of her orgasm. Jumping out of the bed, she whirled around as if at any second the man she was with would be standing there somewhere in her room. Her eyes searched every shadowed corner while her mind denied the possibility of someone actually being there with her.
“Get a grip, Buffy, get a grip.” It was just a dream. Granted a very vivid dream where the textures of this man’s features came alive, but a dream nonetheless. The realization brought with it a pang of regret. Of course. No flesh and blood man could make my body respond that way. She ran into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, trying to comprehend how it was possible to feel so real.
Coming back to sit on her bed, she looked at the clock. Six thirty. One hour away from having to get up and get ready for work. Shaking her head as if to clear it, she decided it was best to remain awake. Not out of fear for what she might dream next, but to bring out her journal and write down what had happened while the details were clear.
... felt so real, too real. It was almost frightening had it not been for the nature of the dream.
She closed it up and slid it back into the drawer of her nightstand then eyed the statue. “It’s probably all your fault, Spike,” she joked while shaking a finger at it.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Thanks to Dusty273 and Sotia for their help in re-editing this first chapter and with their help on every chapter from this point forward. A very special thanks goes to petxnd - who is the original artist of the white-Spike pic and for allowing my dear friend OKDeanna to add to it Buffy's pic for an absolutely fabulous banner. I love you guys.