There was a knock on the door of the hotel room not two minutes after cryptic Buffy had
disappeared. Hitting the pillow over his face with his hands, Spike hoped whoever it was would
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"This is just not my decade," Spike sighed, climbing out of the bed to answer the door. His cock
was throbbing under his jeans, still hard and aching from the events of earlier that night. Whoever
it was knocked again, egging on his short temper. "Hold your bloody horses."
He grabbed the door handle, pushed it down, and opened the door to find a pleasant surprise.
There, standing at in the hall, was the Slayer. She was dressed in all pink, her hair loose and she
had a sardonic smile on her face. His nightdream had returned, which was more than fine by him,
because he was hornier than a puberty-stricken sixteen year old during third hour class with the
gorgeous student teacher who liked to wear low cut tops.
"Hi, Spike," Buffy said.
Spike's reply was to reach out, grab her by the front of her pink top, and yank her into the hotel
room. The door slammed shut, then he slammed her back against it and slammed his mouth down
upon hers -- and more slamming was still to come.
He held her captive against the door, plundering her mouth with his tongue, his teeth bruising her
lips. One of his hands was buried in her soft hair, the other was roaming along the front of her
body, cupping and kneading her breast through her top. She whimpered into his mouth and he
responded with a low rumbling deep in his chest.
His hand continued its buffalo imitation, roaming further down to the front of her knee-length,
pink skirt. He pressed against her mound, feeling her heat through the material, his mouth never
leaving his torment of the depths of hers. He inched the skirt up with his fingers until he reached
the hem. Then under his hand went, heading straight for her panties, pushing them down mid-thigh.
Spelunking, by definition, is the exploration of deep, dark, moist caves and his fingers were now
engaged in that activity. One digit, then two, delved into her hot recess, the scouts before the
main team. She arched towards him, seeking more, and his thumb joined in the fun by rubbing
against her clit.
Her hands, which had grasped both of his arms, squeezed tightly as she started to climax, bruising
him. She forcefully ripped away from his mouth, his teeth scraping hard enough against her lips
to cut them, and she let out a low keen. Spike was quite pleased with himself when she started to
tremble, signaling the onslaught of her orgasm, and when she bucked wildly against his hand, the
scent of her filling the room, he could have easily been satisfied with that.
His penis, however, was selfish and wanted to take a turn at muff-diving.
As Buffy leaned heavily against the door, Spike dropped down and yanked her panties to her
ankles, urging each foot up in order to remove them completely. While he was down there, he
bunched her skirt up around her waist, then had a little Buffy-flavored Gatorade to keep his
energy up. She jumped at the first invasion of his tongue, but she soon moaned, spread her legs
and arched her pelvis forward to give him easier access at the all-you-can-eat snatch bar.
When he'd had his fill, and Mr. Happy was becoming Mr. I-Want-In-Her-Pussy-Now, he returned
to his feet and captured her mouth again, forcing her to taste her tangy juices. His tongue pulled
hers into a fast samba as he worked to free himself from the confines of his jeans. With a violent
shove, they offending denim was down around his knees.
He moved between her still spread legs and put his hand behind each soft cheek of her ass. He
lifted her, his hardness brushing down the softness of her curls, the hair tickling his sensitive skin.
The tip of his shaft ran along her hot, wet slit and he growled in anticipation. Moving one hand
between them, he positioned himself at her opening, barely pushing the head of his cock inside of
her sweltering core.
He heard Buffy growl in frustration into his mouth and it inflamed him. With one hard thrust, he
was buried as far into her as he could get in that position. His eyes rolled up under his lids as he
didn't move for a moment, simply enjoying the feel of her hot softness surrounding his cool steel,
her tongue dancing with his.
Then the predicted slamming began.
Spike started off with long, slow thrusts; but his cock became more demanding than a wife, and
he sped up his pace until he was pounding her into the wood of the door. He wouldn't be
surprised if there was a Buffy-shaped imprint when they were finished.
He could no longer kiss her and slam her at the same time, and he broke away from her. He used
the opportunity to open his eyes and examine her face. Her eyes were closed tightly in pleasure,
her face flushed, her breathing ragged. She was mewling softly with each hit of his pelvis against
Without warning, he felt the tightening in his sac and he clenched his teeth together so as not to
come before she came again. He shifted slightly in order to get his hand between them and he
pinched her clit between his first two fingers.
She went off like a bottle-rocket, complete with high-pitched scream. He snarled ferally as her
muscles clamped around his stiff flesh and, two thrusts later, he was shooting his semen inside of
her, flooding her chamber quicker than the sinking Titanic. He held her pressed up against the
door, allowing the pleasure to wash over him, causing him to shudder in aftershock.
Spike took a purposeful, deep breath and opened his eyes, which had closed tightly as he
climaxed. He leaned back and looked at Buffy's post-orgasmic face, then gently molded his
mouth against her slightly open, panting one. His tongue slipped inside, this time to caress rather
Reluctantly, and because of the cramp forming in his leg, he pulled away from her completely,
setting her back on her feet. He pulled his jeans up, leaving them unfastened, then pushed her
skirt down. He placed another soft kiss on her lips and smoothed her hair back away from her
"I'm glad you came back, luv," Spike said quietly. "I was randier than a goat because of your
earlier tortures. Cor, I'm going to be in therapy the rest of eternity from seeing you give the
Buffy opened her eyes and stared at him, a strange look on her face. "I...I have to go."
"I know. I'm probably going to come back from this nightdream in wet jeans," he sighed. He
moved away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, then fell straight back and put his arm over
his eyes. "One of these days you'll be real and my unlife will be heaven."
He heard the door open and close. After a moment of silence, he swore under his non-existent
breath. "Bloody hell, I should have asked her to give me a friggin' clue about whatever truth I'm
suppose to tell her."