Vanessa very foolishly wrote on impure-l:
>The challenge is this: to write a story or story part that
>mentions or includes all the following things:
>smut (of course!)
>Indiana Jones or a movie thereof
>Prinicpal Snyder's underwear.
<snicker> Oh, you really shouldn't have gone there, Vanessa.
TITLE: The 101th Use For A Pez Dispenser
SYNOPSIS: Buffy has a REALLY wiggy dream.
Buffy was tired.
But she couldn't seem to sleep. She tossed, and she turned, and she moaned, and she whined, and she bundled up under the covers, then got hot and kicked them off again.
She was driving Angel nuts.
He rolled over. "Baby," he muttered, "What is *wrong*?"
"I can't *sleep*!" she whined.
"You can't sleep so you won't let me sleep either?"
"You're dead. You don't need to sleep," she said petulantly, punching her pillow into more comfortable shape.
He rolled his eyes. "Could you be crankier?"
"Wanna try me?"
"How about I punch you in the jaw, knock you out?" he offered helpfully.
She pondered that one. "Unless you punched me really hard, it wouldn't work. I don't have a glass jaw. Unlike some people."
Angel leaned over her. "Are you insinuating that I have a glass jaw?"
"If the shoe fits..."
His mouth dropped open. "That's it. You're in a foul, foul mood. I'm going elsewhere." Naked, he threw back the covers and padded out of the room.
"Where are you going?" she called out, annoyed.
"Away from you" was the reply as he slammed the door.
"Bastard," she snarled, dropping back to the mattress.
Eventually, she fell into a troubled, fitful sleep.
When she woke up, she was no longer in their bed. She was in a house that she had never seen before, in what appeared to be the bathroom. She figured it was the bathroom due to the fact that she was standing in a bathtub.
Her brow furrowed. "What the hell is going on?" She stepped out of the tub, and opened the medicine chest, looking for a clue as to where she was. Or maybe she was just being nosy. Either one. There were a bunch of prescription medicine bottles there, and she picked one up. "Peter Snyder," she read off the label. "*Snyder*?" A horrible thought occured to her. What if it was *Principal* Snyder? Oh God!
She turned and fled the room.
Leaving the bathroom, she found herself in the living room. As living rooms went, it was rather bland, filled with beige furniture and weird postmodern art. There was a huge tv blaring in the corner, with Harrison Ford, whip in hand, in a freeze frame. She crept closer to the tv, when she tripped on something and staggered forward, just barely avoiding falling to the floor. She looked down to see her feet tangled in a pair of underwear.
Her hands clapped over her mouth to prevent a scream of disgust from erupting. With a stifled shriek, she kicked them away from her. "Major grossness!" she muttered, glaring at the offending undergarments.
Just then she heard a low moan coming from in front of the tv. She froze. There was someone in the room with her. She moved around the couch, so she could peer over the high back.
Bile rose to the back of her throat as she saw her principal laying on the couch naked, his cock clasped firmly in his right hand.
"Oh, god, Indy," Snyder muttered, his fist wrapping around the straining head of his cock, "Yes, oh, yes, fuck me, fuck me Indy." He tugged at his member, arousing himself further.
Buffy fought back the urge to vomit. Principal Snyder, masturbating to 'Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom'? Scarred for life!
Snyder was really working himself, both hands gripping his penis, yanking roughly at the engorged flesh. Then he shifted in the chair, hanging his ass over the side.
She cringed back against the wall as she saw the object protruding from his anus. Was that...a Pez dispenser?
The sound of her own screams woke her up.
As reality re-formed around her, Angel crashed into the room. "What is it? What happened?" His head swung back and forth as he searched the room for any hidden threats. "Are you all right?"
She sat up straight in bed, hugging her arms. "I had a nightmare." Her eyes were huge in her face.
His game face disappeared as he realized Buffy was in no danger. With a strangled sigh, Angel crawled back into bed, enveloping her in his arms. She sighed happily as she nestled against his chest. He would protect her from the gross and disturbing dreams.
"Are you going to be able to sleep now?" he yawned, burying his face in her hair.
Quickly, she slid a thigh across his stomach. She was too wired to sleep. "Are you sure you wanna *sleep*?" she said, rubbing her knee across his manhood.
Angel just groaned.
On the other side of town, Peter Snyder fell asleep with a smile on his face.