around-for-kaja mf, sf I wake, naked, stirring slowly, comfortable and cool, feet sliding against the blanket, making soft, wondering little sounds: ah, I feel so good, but there's something that can make me feel better, and I turn to reach out in the dark for my lovely lover, fine, tall, deep-voiced, generous and extravagantly passionate creature that he is; my touch on his thigh wakens him in exactly the same agreeable state that I enjoy. I slide my finger-tips lightly up and along and find him already hard - rigid and silky, responsive to my touch. He murmurs to me, low in the dark, but I do not hear. I am listening with my body. I draw my hand smoothly away and tease a line with my fingertips to the inner hollow of his thigh...his skin is very smooth everywhere but most especially there...his balls are always taut and drawn together in a neat, finely furred pouch, and I cup them with a light hand. He rolls on his back, arches slightly, silent and breathing shallow. I dip my head and dart my tongue against the firm flesh all around my fingers, which stroke sometimes a little harder, more knowingly, and then drift back to stroking almost as lightly as the puffs of cool air I blow on the moisture my tongue has left behind. But I'm not going to suck him, this time. I want him hard and urgent as he takes his time pleasing me. Hah. Pleasing *us*. For as I pull away, brushing along his body as I crawl up and lie on my back, a silent demand, I reach out in my mind's eye for Kaja. I can do this, in this state, sleepy but alert with desire. Kaja, as I had hoped, is still sleeping - well, it's at least two A.M. - there she is, dreaming downstairs, on her couch, in her robe, with a cat, and a book lying face-down on the floor beside her. It's dark there, as it is here, but my attention illuminates her clearly. In the heart-beats that follow as I wait for my lover to surface from his own pleasure and move to me, I draw a line like a bright thread from my own left eye to Kaja's sleeping right, and I *tug* -- [Mmm?] she mumbles, waking in my right eye, then stretching slowly through the right side of my body. She tenses slightly as she surfaces, becoming aware that she does not feel the same as when she had lain down her book and slept: that her body is not her body, though this one feels such a marvelous stirring and stretching - and her tensing only arches my back and revolves my hips, and I repeat this on my side, thrusting up against the warm dark. [Where are you?] murmurs Kaja, who has recognized me and made an effortless decision to accept anything. [Here,] I say, and giggle aloud. [Yeah,] and a ghost giggle ripples through my head like an echo. She stretches her arm up over my head; her hand finds the cold brass bars of the headboard, then move on, idly questing. [Is he here? Will he . . . is he going to fuck . . . us?] [Oh, eventually.] I shrug on the left, then stretch my arm up too, arching again. [But first, the scenic route. He'll tease us first . . . both of us together, pally, and no waiting, no "Line Forms at Left"...] we both giggle now...[and he'll do it as long as it takes to make us both come like a storm, as long as we need...] [I don't think it will take too long, this time,] says Kaja, and then gasps softly through my mouth as his fingers brush softly against close-cropped, soft hair, and our hips rise together and fall again. But he keeps my silent promise and his fingers smooth up and along my belly to tease at my left breast, and I make a soft sound and nudge his hand over to Kaja's side. [Oh,] she whispers as he feathers his fingertip in an ever-narrowing circle around my right breast which is hers for now, and the nipple is hard and tight all at once, and feels like a rosebud. [Oh, that feels...] [Certain advantages to having small breasts,] I tell her, smiling, touching mine as he touches hers. He draws once, almost hard, on her nipple with his wide, mobile mouth, drawing a soft, wondering sound from her, before slinking backward (his cock still so hard and smooth silking down our body) and pressing our thighs apart with his big, gentle hands. He sits there bent over our widespread sex, almost breathing on it, his long, soft hair brushing all over it, and together we roll our hips as if offering up our panting, moist pussy in a pagan sacrifice. Then the whole world collapses down to his fingers, and what they do, and what they don't do...and what we want them to do... and what I know they will do, soon now...soon. They brush along the very outermost, silk-furred petals of the tropical hot-house flower at the center of our outspread body, tangling the hairs in tingling sparks of feeling, which draw down and funnel like a Disney dust-devil and glow hot in our clit. Ahh, says Kaja, and I say it aloud for both of us. He repeats this a few times, and each time the funnel of sparks froths up into our straining, pulsing clit, and then his tongue, his *tongue*, but not where we really want it, not yet, crying with need; his tongue descending in a point, tracing a line down, darting just with the tip into the juices welling there, just inside. It draws the juices out, flicking and flickering like a hummingbird's. "Ahh," we say together this time, "ahh, God," as he frosts us liberally in our own honey with his hummingbird's tongue. And just as it's getting to be too much, just as a rolling BOOM of ominous thunder begins to grumble, lightning strikes! - his tongue driving and curling and bathing our clit in saliva and in our own wet sweetness! - *Ahh!* tense and panting, nursing at the spreading, white-hot star, gathering and clenching and holding against it, the undertow hissing and pulling and the tongue darts and darts wet and strong and his lips nibble briefly at the fever-hard clit and we arch and arch and clutch back and hold fast to the bed-rails, thrusting and pushing our pussy into his face, soon, it's going to be soon, and mentally we dance around each other, blowing sparks at the hot expanding star that's going to explode soon, an act of creation from lips and cunt and tongue, driving still, holding that rhythm, if it stops we'll DIE we'll DIE-- "please, yes, please don't stop -!" and now it's coming, nothing can stop it now, inexorable slide into the violent slipstream, up and up, gonna get there, gonna have it, a massive wave poised to crash, straining open, clutching the bed rails, arching, both of us as one, spread impossibly wide and trembling and his tongue and our clit and his tongue and - N O W !! Now! Fire in the darkness behind my eye and her eye. Now! The wave, the fury of the ocean, dashing itself to a billion drops of intolerable pleasure, spattering his forgotten mouth. *Now!* I twist the sensations from my side into a swirling mass and thrust them into her mind and [now] -- we shatter apart into separate darknesses, Kaja and I: she opens her eyes with a gasp! - and slowly finds the darkness of her own basement room, and the post-orgasm thumping of her heartbeat in her own wet sex under the blankets and her robe. Languidly she wonders if it could have been real; no, a dream, surely. She wonders if she'll dare tell me of it, if she'll even remember. And she doesn't mention it. But I know she remembers.