Without further teasing or experimentation - I couldn't if I wanted to, and I don't, I want this, want and want it, and I am having it now, pumping my rigid rod in and out of her incredible, incredible encasing cunt which feels as if it's pulling me in, inexorable, thrumming with heat, open and grasping and so tight, that word fills my mind, so tight as I lunge and withdraw, lunge and withdraw, in and out and in . . . she is moaning, her voice which begins light and almost high is deepening, hoarsening, dropping almost an entire octave as I fuck her, pumping smoothly, watching her face contorting into a near-feral grimace, she loves this, I am bringing her sweet pleasure even as I receive it myself from her.

My cock is growing even thicker, even bigger, swelling against the constricting walls, and she feels it, and we both realize that I'm going to come. I wanted to make her come first, and I try to slow down, hold it off, but she reaches around and grips What's-his-name's taut, straining buttocks, insisting on the fast rhythm, urging me on.

"You're going to cooome," she croons, "let it happen, let it come . . ."

A sound to the side attracts our attention for a moment. There I am - no, there he is, in my customary body, he would have had to go somewhere, after all. There is my face, but I can see quite clearly even in my delirium of lust that it is not me behind it, and the expression is foolish, confused, mouth and eyes open wide. He is sitting up, staring at us, then looks down between the legs of my own body at my visibly wet and engorged pussy. Almost by itself the hand reaches down to touch the clit, gingerly, as if the fingers might be burned. The fingers of my own body's hand look long and elegant as they begin the rhythm to which they are so accustomed: I feel a twinge of absurd pride.

I have taken all this in in the space of a few seconds. I cannot spare any more attention. As one Kaja and I look back at one another, and her face is triumphant and welcoming and she grips my ass and pulls me against her so hard I feel I could almost go through her, over and over, in and in and out and out and I am swelling, and a massive spasm is beginning in my almost painfully tightened balls and boiling in my cock and it bursts all at once, leaping, jerking, and I throw back my head and howl in victory and ecstasy, my eyes squeezed shut, dark red explosions blooming against the darkness behind the lids, and I am spurting hot and thick, heartbeat hammering in my cock as I come and come in the dark, wet clutch of Kaja, straining, arching, coming, as she wraps her legs around my back, holding tight to me as I howl and strive. It seems to go on an impossibly long time, though I know it's only several seconds really . . . and at last the wave has broken, the glory of it ebbing slowly, and I bend forward to rest on my elbows, my head cushioned between her breasts, heart slamming in my chest, I feel it all through this body, thrumming in my cock as it begins to lose that marble hardness.

Dimly I hear Kaja laughing softly in pleasure and wonder, dimly I hear What's-his-name moaning in my voice as he approaches coming himself in my body, and a roaring like water rises over me, drowning out all real sounds, and a spinning, sparkling blackness sweeps over my eyes, a lost moment of surrender and vertigo.

I jerk to consciousness in my own proper place in my own native body, my fingers wildly rubbing my clit - awkward, it's my right hand, I'm a lefty, but no matter: I am there, I come with violence, legs trembling, cunt singing and shouting, clit throbbing and thumping with my pulse, and then gradually the orgasm recedes, stars gleaming behind my eyes.

It takes me a few minutes to catch my breath, to come back to myself, settling easily back into the skin that I have always known. Faintly I am aware of What's-his-name sputtering incoherently, then the bedsprings jerk as he gets up from the bed, stomps across the room to the bathroom, and sulkily slams the door.

I open my eyes at last to stare into Kaja's. I know that our expressions must be identical: we are gloating with the knowledge of the impossible thing that we have done . . . and over cheating our lover not once, but twice, of magnificent release. Well, it isn't kind, I know, but we certainly aren't going to let him go home till we've made it up to him, and I say so as I reach for my glass of deep rich red wine.

Our laughter rises so high and lasts so long that What's-his-name in the bathroom turns on the shower to drown us out.

"What a night," says Kaja, still laughing.

"Yes," I reply, slowly sitting up, pushing back my tousled hair from my face, and eye her with knowing greed. She is still flushed from fucking, her own long hair a tangled riot of red-gold curls on her shoulders. I lean forward to leer, "And you haven't even come yet."

She smiles at me. Slowly.

Part 2