It had been a while since they touched. Since they touched each other. In intimate ways. Their history was one of months of exploration, first of exploring the boundaries that separated them, then of exploring each other without separation. But now there were boundaries again, and the exploration was of the limits imposed by those boundaries.

He spoke so many words to her, that he exhausted her. She found it hard to listen. So many of the words were painful. She wanted him. He wanted her. But she felt she could not have him, and should not have him, for different reasons. He was not available to be had, she thought, and she did not want to hurt him, or hurt herself.

She did not want to be “the other”. She did not want her life to be a secret. She...she had many reasons which she felt, and which she tried to convey to him. Yes, she wanted him. She needed him. But she felt she had to do without it for now. And she could not say how long "now" would last. So the exploration stopped.

He still spoke to her. That was his way. His way was of words, of exploring through words. And this was not her way. She listened patiently. And then impatiently. He was pushing with his words. It was his way to explore - no longer through touch, but through his words. He sought to understand, so he spoke. And she listened, but it wore her down. Not her resolve, but her strength. She grew tired and could no longer hold her head up and listen. She needed rest.

And she sat in the chair, in the flickering light of a silent television. And he sat beside her in a chair, bathed in the same light, talking, and then seeing she had fallen asleep, he stopped talking. He looked at her in that artificial electronic glow, the wavering light alternately creating definition and shadows. She was still beautiful to him, even with boundaries. The wants. The needs. They were still there. The light. The dark. Both defined the two as they sat together, one aware, the other now distant in her sleep.

He knew that she must rest, and he hesitated to wake her, to rouse her from this peace and tell her to go to her bed and get a proper place for her slumber. He hesitated because of how perfect her sleep seemed. How even in her state of unawareness, she still projected the boundaries, and he hesitated to touch her, even to rouse her.

But he did not want to see her sleep in a chair. Still dressed from her day at work, sleeping upright in that chair.

He rose from his chair and turned off the television. He lowered the window blinds in the living room where they sat, and he looked at her. He was not a big man, and he felt inadequate at his thought of lifting her and carrying her to her bed. He would surely wake her as he struggled to lift her, but he persisted in feeling she should be in her bed.

So he pushed. He pushed the chair from the living room and into her bedroom. Slowly. Carefully. Quietly. So as not to rouse her from her perfect rest. And he pushed the chair to the side of her bed. And gathering all that he had within him, he lifted her from the chair and onto her bed. It was not easy for him, but he found the strength to do this, to do something for her that was touch and yet still within the boundaries.

He rolled her onto her bed, and covered her with her blankets. Making sure her head gently lay on her pillows. And he crossed a boundary by gently stroking her hair, only once, and whispering to her "good night."

It was late, perhaps closer to midnight than he had imagined at first, and he knew he should go. She had not invited him to stay the night. And that was one of her reasons. For wanting but not being able to have. She knew he had to be elsewhere, and when she thought of that, she drew no pleasure from the thought of him belonging elsewhere. When she wanted him, she wanted him to belong there. Beside her. With no restrictions. But...there was always a but. And so she knew he had to leave.

But...once, months earlier, she had given him a key. Back then she had thought of his touch differently. She wanted him to be able to come to her, in the night or the early hours of the morning, and to crawl into bed beside her as she slept. And to touch her. So he had a key. He had never used it. He had always respected her privacy. Her space. And he never came into her home without asking first. And waiting for her words to appear on the small black screen of his telephone. "Door is open."

But this night he remembered the key. And he left her alone in her bed, in her house, and used the key to lock the door behind himself. To leave her alone in her boundaries on this late Friday night. To leave her locked inside her feelings, and not to touch her.

So he left. And he returned to where he was supposed to be, just as she had described it. Not to where he wanted to be. He left behind him, he left in that bed, the better part of himself. He left behind his soul and his desire, and just his body returned to where she said he had to go.

The night was long as it was short. Only a few hours, but he could not sleep. Only a few hours, but they seemed more. The second hand on his clock, moving deliberately, and he could count each second. Seeing how sixty turned into one minute, and how each minute slowly turned one hour into the next. And all the while it was just his body, just his eyes, which kept watch on the clock. And all the while, he remained behind in her bedroom, imagining her lying there, alone, protected from his touch by the boundaries of the words "should" and "cannot".

The night was short. Cut short by his separation. He had made his appearance, he had shown up to where he should be, but now, as the clock moved him closer to morning, he could not keep himself separated. His body and soul needed to re-unite. He remembered the key, and he knew he had to return, and re-unite the body with the soul.

He took his leave, as he had on previous mornings. On previous Saturday mornings when he had read the words "Door is open" and then entered her sanctuary. But this morning he did not wait for those words. He was not going to cross her boundaries, but he simply needed to return and to make himself whole again.

He could not leave her alone without making sure. He was not certain what he needed to check, but he had to see her. To convince himself, perhaps, that what he had done a few hours earlier was real. That he had pushed her chair to her bedroom, and had placed her in her bed, to rest. To rest from his words. To regain her strength, which she so desperately wanted. She needed that strength to maintain her boundaries. She felt that she had to.

He drove to her. And stood at her door, and listened. No sound. No television. No lights. Just silence. And he took a chance that she would not feel he had crossed the boundary by returning, and that she would see his actions for what they were. That he was simply doing what he felt he should do, after leaving her alone, and not saying goodnight. After leaving her alone, and her being unaware of what he had done. After leaving her alone.

He entered her house again, and removed his shoes. And he quietly walked to her bedroom, and saw her lying alone in her bed, just as he had left her. And he wanted to lay beside her, almost as a dog would sleep on its master's bed, to simply keep watch and protect her. So he removed his jeans and his shirt, and lay down on the bed wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt, still dressed, but more appropriate for bed. And he quietly lay down on the bed beside her, careful not to touch her. Careful to leave space between them, to honor her boundary. And he lay down, and simply watched over her, fighting his own tiredness to stay awake and watch over her.

And his body was now re-united with his soul, as he watched her sleep. As he watched his friend alone in her boundary, he felt at peace, knowing that his words were no longer necessary. Just his presence.

I don't know how I got here in bed. All I remember is him talking to me. On and on, the same words. He doesn't get it. He doesn't understand that I know what he is saying and that he doesn't have to say it again. So he keeps on talking. I'll let him, though. He has put up with my shit. My silence at times. So his way is different, and I'll just let him talk. And eventually he'll get it.

He has no faith in me, sometimes I think that. So I think that's why he talks so much. He has no faith that I do want him. That I do desire him. That it is as hard for me to resist him as it is for him to be resisted. Maybe harder, because I have to show the strength and resist. He has no faith that everything we have done together meant something to me. Means so much to me still.

He has no faith in me, I think, because he pushes me. Too much. So impatient. So little faith that I...he doesn't believe the depth of what I am feeling, just that I don't or can't express it to him the same way. I don't want to be hurt. I don't want to hurt him. I can't have him the way I want. I can't be to him what he wants. But he thinks that I am saying no to him, when if he listened...if he had faith...he would know that I am saying no to myself. And not to him. And that I am leaving the future open, because...

But he wants the future now. And I don't know. So I am careful of what I say. I am careful of not saying things which would hurt him. Or me. And he doesn't get it. He doesn't get that I understand him, and that I am not trying to push him away. Just that I am trying to be true to myself.

He lay beside her, feeling no warmth from her body, because he had been careful to create that space between them on the bed. He watched her, as her chest gently rose and fell with her breath, as her face lay there motionless but not expressionless. As he watched her, he wondered what she thought about, what went on inside of her as she slept. As she dreamt. He watched her and tried to imagine her thoughts, but he too was tired, and he fell asleep beside her, losing the battle to his exhaustion, to the too few hours of sleep he has had during the weeks before.

He fell asleep, and he lay there, on his back and uncovered by the blankets he had spread over her alone. He lay there open to the night, and his body and soul, re-united, surrendered to his own dreams.

How did I get into bed? I don't remember getting up from the living room and coming here. And I am still in my clothes. I always change into my pajamas.

Holy shit! He's in bed beside me. How did he get here too? Holy fucking shit! Took off his pants too, lying next to me in his underwear. Damn, I'm already wet thinking about his underwear. He has no fucking clue how horny I still get thinking about when we used to make love. Damn, I am wet.

I can't. I'm not that woman. I don't want to be that woman. I need to matter. To be. Not to be invisible. Not to be perceived as “the other”. I can't. Doesn't he get that? Is he so fucking selfish or so fucking stupid? What does he want from me? Friends don't do what we have been doing, and all I can be is his friend.

But...watching him lying there. I can't believe he's asleep on my bed, in his underwear. What the fuck is he doing? He shouldn't be here. He's supposed to be elsewhere. Where he has to be right now. What time is it? Five fucking thirty? Can't believe he spent the night on my bed. Shit. This isn't going to be good.

Mmmmm...I know those boxer shorts so well. He always had them on when he was wearing a suit. Monday to Friday, when he came over, it was boxers. Briefs on the weekend. What day is it? Saturday morning. So it should be briefs. But if he spent the night...ok, that explains the boxers. So sexy on him. He's got to know that I'm still feeling it. That when I see him, it takes all I've got not to give in to him. Not to say yes when he wants to touch me. So sexy the way his legs emerge from the boxers. The same legs he wraps around me when we fuck.

The white undershirt too. I wish I could tell him how sexy that is too. In a nerdy kind of way. But I love that about him. He's not a Greek god, that's for sure. But he is real. In an ordinary way, he's so sexy. To me, at least. I guess if I can find him sexy, then maybe he's not just feeding me a line when he calls me sexy. But I'm not. He just makes me feel sexy when he touches me, and when he pays attention to me. I don't really matter in his life - I can't matter - but he makes me feel like I do, even when it's just when we lie together naked.

I can't. I shouldn't. I can't.

He snored a little bit. She had heard it once before. The time they did spend the whole night together. The one time he had fallen asleep without one foot on the ground and one eye on the clock. And so he snored a little this time, lying beside her, because he had nothing left to fight. He surrendered to his exhaustion completely, and he was unaware of where he was, or that he lay beside her.

I can't.

Fuck! He's got a fucking hard-on. The tip is sticking out of the fly on his boxers. I can't. How can I look at his cock sticking out of his boxers? The other night, when he was over, I wouldn't let him see me naked while I put on my pajamas, and now I'm looking at the tip of his hard cock sticking out of his shorts. Mmmmm...I am so damn wet, though. I love his cock. I love the way he would tease me, putting the tip in between my pussy lips, getting the tip wet with my...oh fuck, I love it when he teases my pussy. He gets so hard. Even the tip feels hard, yet it is so soft and delicious. Ok, I have to get up and change. Put on my pajamas. I'm getting so wet, I can't just lie here in my work clothes. How the hell did I get in bed anyway like this? Not like he could carry me in here. He'd get a hernia from me...ok, another hernia from me. Hehehe. Fuck, giggling again like a schoolgirl. I must be tired.

She rose from the bed and went into her bathroom. Brushed her teeth. Peed. Changed into her pajamas in there, away from his closed eyes. Looked at herself in the mirror and wondered how he could find her desirable. In her bed, he still snored, motionless. She returned and lay down beside him, resting on her elbow and watching him.

He must be horny. It's been a while since he's cum. Ok, maybe there was the one night he jacked off at his home, that he told me about. When was that? A week? And I played with my vibrator on the phone for him? A week and a half? Two weeks? Fuck, he must be horny. His cock looks so hard now, just the tip, and is that...damn, it looks like something wet on the tip. He's leaking, he's so hard.

I don't think I've tasted his cum for a while. The last few times, he's tasted me. He's fucked me too. But I'm not sure when the last time was that I took his cock in my mouth and tasted his cum. He doesn't know how much I like that. I don't know why, but I do. Ok, I did. I can't anymore. But that is so sexy, seeing the tip with some cum on it now.

What if I just touched the cum? Not his cock, but just took my pinky and touched the cum and then tasted it from my finger. What if I do that? He's asleep. He won't know. I will. Slippery slope. I can't. I want it but I can't. But just one little drop of cum. Mmmm...I so fucking want to taste it. To be naughty and he won't know. Payback, maybe. Who knows what he did while I was asleep. He probably grabbed a feel of my ass. He so fucking worships my ass. Don't know why. It's fat. Too big. And it's an ass. I don't know how he puts his tongue...ewwww.

I so want that cum. I know I can't, but I want it. I want to touch it and feel its slipperiness. I want to feel its wetness and then taste it. Just one little drop and one little taste. Get it out of my system, and then move on. No harm. He won't know. I will and I'll have to deal with it. But not him. He won’t know.

Mmmmm...I am so wet. Fuck, I'm touching myself without even realizing it. My finger smells like my pussy. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Even when he's asleep. Even when I can't. I don't know why, but he makes me wet. If only he knew...

Mmmmm...I need my toy. But the sound will wake him up. But I need it. I need his cock inside me, but I'll have to use my toy. I'll use it with the power off and just slide it inside of me. But I have the real thing next to me too. So unfair. So fucking unfair. I want him inside me. I want him to cum inside of me. I want to feel his cock filling me, while his hands play with my breasts. I want it.

I can't.

I so fucking want it. I'm making myself crazy. I need to be touched. But I can't.

Ok. Just do it. Oh, god, that feels so good. Oh fuck. That one little drop of cum. I don't know whether I should taste it or rub it on my nipple. The way he does with his cum sometimes. Oh that feels so naughty, now that I've done it. Now that I have this one drop of cum on my pinky. Oh fuck. Mmmm...it tastes the way I remember it. Oh fuck. I want more. I want his cum inside me. I want him to taste my wetness and his cum mixed together after we fuck. I want it. Mmmmm....holy fuck. Why can't I stop this? Why?

I can't. But I want to. Let me just touch him again, the way I used to after we fucked. Just softly play with his cock. So soft he won't wake up. He won't even feel it. Damn, his cock is so hard even when he's asleep. He feels so soft too. So gentle. I loved the way he feels inside of me, the way he is so hard and stretches me, and yet even when he fucks me hard, he is still so soft and gentle with me. Even when he bites me, it hurts, but it is still not hurtful. So soft and so hard. So many feelings at once. Mmmm...I can't believe I'm stroking his cock while he's asleep. So slowly, I don't want to wake him. Maybe I can coax some more cum out of him. Just a small drop on the tip again. Just a small taste.

I can't do this. I shouldn't do this. But I am doing this. Fuck it! So not fair. Why can't I just do it? When I want. When he wants. So not fair. I hate this.

I hate the way his cock makes me feel. So not fair! I love the feel of his skin, smooth as my hand slowly stretches it up and then down on his shaft, the way his skin bunches up near the head when I stroke up, and how long and lean and smooth it is when I stroke down. How his pubic hair is so sexy on him - he asked me if I wanted him to shave it, and I told him to fuck off, that it looks better with the hair. I love when the edge of my finger brushes against it. So soft and it tickles a bit. And such a contrast to the way his cock feels in my hand. And I love the way, after we fuck, his pubic hair is all wet from the two of us. Mmmmm, I can't believe I'm touching him this way, and he's still sleeping. Fuck, I'd love to feel him inside of me. I can't. Shouldn't. Not even this. But he's asleep and nobody will know. Not even him.

Oh god, I'm so wet. Still. Even more than before. I just want to squeeze my legs together and feel...I don't know what I want to feel anymore. So wet. My pussy is on fire and I keep imagining what he feels like inside me. Or the feel of his tongue on me. His lips. His lips sucking my clit into his mouth, as he gently spreads my lips with his fingers. Oh, yeah...when he runs his tongue up and down between my lips. He has no idea. And even when he licks me along the outside edge of my lips, close to my inner thighs. He has no idea. How his warm wet tongue feels, and then the cool tingling after his tongue leaves that spot and moves on to another spot. Mmmm...it has been so long since he tasted me. He must be going crazy, not tasting me. But I can't let him do that. No matter how much I want it. Or he wants it. I can't.

He's still so hard in my hand. No cum yet. How long do I have to stroke him before I get my reward? Hehehe...scrunching his cock up in my hand...my toy...my warm, soft and hard toy.

Damn. Didn't even realize it but my other hand has been on my pussy while I'm stroking him. My fingers are so wet and...mmmm...they smell like me and...oh god, I love to taste myself. That must be weird for him when I do that, but it makes me feel closer to him. Like I get a sense of what he feels when he sticks his finger inside my pussy and then sucks off my wetness from his finger. He has no idea how that makes me feel. Makes me feel so sexy. So desirable. So naughty. Like when he just reaches into my pants and fingers me quickly, just to get a quick taste. He may like it too, but he has no idea how much I like it when he tastes me.

My fingers are so wet. I can feel my pussy lips so swollen, so wanting. My pussy wants to be filled. It wants to feel something hard, stretching it. It wants his cock in it. Can't. Mmmm...I want something inside me. I need to get off. It's just building too much, and I have to get off. I have to get something. I'm just so unfinished this way.

She released his hardness from her hand, and gently lifted herself up from the bed, and walked over to the other side, where her dresser stood. She reached inside the top drawer, toward the back, and found a toy, the new one that he had bought her. The new one that she first used just about two weeks ago. And the one she first used while he listened on the phone, as he sat alone in his car. As he sat motionless, unable to touch himself where he wanted to, unable to share in her pleasure except to listen. As she said how she imagined him inside her, as she said that she wished it was his cock, and not the toy, inside of her.

She pulled out the toy, and as she walked back to her side of the bed, she slipped off her pajama shorts, and crawled back into bed, covering her naked lower body with her blankets. He still lay there on her bed, his hardness now fully withdrawn through the fly of his boxer shorts, in the open air with a hint of his pubic hair showing, catching some of the dim light coming through her window from the street lamps outside. So soft and brown and curly, she thought.

She lay down on her back and in one hand again took his hardness, and slowly she began to stroke him, lightly brushing against his pubic hair. With her other hand, she took her toy, and placed the tip at the opening of her wet lips, and she spread her legs apart, bringing her knees up. She was so wet, so ready, so open - the toy plunged deep within her, no resistance being met.

Oh god...I don't dare turn on the power on this thing...but it feels so good when it's on, but I don't want to wake him up with the noise. Shit. This is so damn not fair. Two cocks in my hands and still not what I want. One real, but I can't. One I can, but it's not real. Oh fuck, but it feels so good inside me. Makes me remember when he fucked me last, how thick and hard he was inside of me. How he did not stop, even after he came inside me, how he just kept moving in me, filling me, thrusting in me, with my wetness and his cum making him slide in me so easily.

He just kept on fucking me, and I didn't know if I could take it any more, but I didn't want it to stop either. So not fair!

Fuck it. He is still so hard. How does he do that fast asleep? What's going on in his head that he is so hard? Do I make him that hard? Or is he like that all the time? Do I make him that hard? Does he find me that desirable? Or is he just a fucking horny...oh damn, now he is leaking a bit. Oh shit! I want to feel his cum inside me, not just sitting on the tip of his cock. Fuck. I can't. I can't.

Fuck it! I'm turning this baby on. Just low speed at first. I need it. I need to feel it move inside me. Holy shit! I can't believe how this feels. Mmmm....and how his cock feels in my hand. I'm afraid. I don't want to wake him. Mmmm....oh shit. Oh my god. This is so unreal. Mmmmm...

She closed her eyes and slowly moved her toy inside of her. Not thrusting, just sliding it in and out, slowly, as the vibration massaged her wet insides. As she became more wet, it glided inside of her. So smooth, so thick, it filled her. Her hand rhythmically sliding it in deeper, and then pulling it out almost to where the tip emerged from her swollen pink lips, but still staying within her enough to part them gently. The way he used to do that with his hardness, the way he teased her by making her want more, making her want all of him within her.

She closed her eyes and her other hand released his hardness. She put both hands on her toy and eased it back inside of her, letting it stay there, feeling the soft, low humming vibrations touching her inside. She closed her eyes, and remembered how he had fucked her so many times, the same way as now, on an early Saturday morning, as she had just woken from sleep. The way he had stood naked beside her bed, after arriving, and then gently joined her in her bed, laying beside her, pressing his warmth, his nakedness against her body. She remembered the feeling of his arms surrounding her body from behind, as her arms were crossed in front of her breasts, and as he cradled her body against hers.

She closed her eyes, and remembered how his hands would cup her breasts, the flatness of the palms of his hands pressing against her nipples, and how he would gently rub his hands over them, feeling their hardness against the softness of his palms. She remembered how he would take her nipples between his fingers, and play with them, and then draw circles around them.

She closed her eyes and remembered how he would reach down with his hand and touch her wetness. First by touching the outer lips, and then slowly penetrating her with his finger, and using her wetness to gently part her lips.

She slowly lost herself in these images and memories, as her hands moved with automatic and deliberate intent, moving the toy within her and imagining that it moved itself, that it was not a toy but his hardness that explored her. She lost herself in these images and forgot where she was, and forgot that he lay beside her. She forgot that she was not alone, and she imagined that he was making love to her. That she felt the warmth of his breath against her neck, as he held her from behind. As he softly kissed her neck while touching her.

She imagined that she felt his hand over her own hand, guiding her every movement, guiding the toy. She imagined that his hand cradled her own hand, and that he controlled the pace now, that he was fucking her with her toy. That he was sharing in her solitary pleasure.

Holy fuck! He's awake and his hand is on mine. How long has he been watching me fuck myself with my toy? I can't let him do this. I can't. It's not right or fair. He can't do this. Friends don't do this.

Holy fuck! He knows what to do with that toy. Mmmm....he's being more gentle with me, than I was with myself. I would just be fucking myself hard if I was alone, but he is so deliberate and patient. He is not rushing me. He is not rushing me to cum. He is just sliding it into me, slowly and gently, like a slow and gentle massage. So not fair. he is not even being sexual, the way he is doing it. He is just being patient. What if I want it hard and fast now? Do I say anything? Do I do anything? Or should I just keep my eyes closed and let him continue? I don't know. I'm so uncertain. I can't but he's already doing it. I should stop this. I should just stop this. I should...

I can't. I want this. This feels so good. How am I so selfish that I can lie here and let him do this to me? I gave him a fucking slow hand job, but he didn't even get to enjoy it. He was asleep. And now he's being patient and massaging me. He's not even fucking me. Damn, this feels so much better when he does it. How does he know my body so well? How is it so easy for me to be naked with him? To let him touch me in such ways? Why is it so easy with him? Even when I can't. Even when I shouldn't. It's still so easy just to be with him. So painful, it hurts me. So unfair. So...just so easy.

Mmmm....how long will he do this? When will he tire of just doing this to me? Does he even know that I'm aware of him doing this?

Oh shit. I'm so wet. He must know. He must know that I know. Damn...I'm so caught up I didn't even feel his other hand. I can't believe it. Hehehe...oh shit, that feels so funny. So intense.

He kept one hand on her own hands, guiding her movements, guiding the toy in the gentle and steady massage. The gentle and steady exploration of her inner wetness. And his other hand had slid under her top and was cradling her right breast. His fingers playing with her nipple. But so gently. Not like the times when he would pinch her, or nibble or suck hard on them. Sucking hard or nibbling to the point of making her jump. A little pain. But then he would release, and then gently kiss or lick them, as if to try to soothe them. But now he simply stroked her breast, gently brushed his hands and fingers over her nipple, feeling it harden beneath his touch, feeling the fullness of her breast beneath his hand.

He matched the pace of his two hands. One hand guiding her own hands as he filled her pussy with her own toy, the other hand working alone and making love - no not yet making love - the other hand re-introducing himself to her through her breast. And all the while, his warmth pressed against her back, his hardness pressed against her ass but separated by the thin cotton of his boxer shorts.

Mmmm...that feels so good. So good. I can't do this, so why am I doing this? Am I so selfish that I'll set boundaries but still let him touch me because it feels so good? Because I love the way he touches me? Because...just because. Am I so weak that I can't say no? Is that why I set boundaries? Because I can't say no, and because I know that I can't be what he wants, and he can't give me all that I want? Is that why I set boundaries? So I won't get hurt? So I won't be “the other”? Even when he says I am not, that's how I see myself and that is how I think others will see me.

Is that why I set boundaries? With my head? Not with my body? And now...oh, hold on...oh...holy fuck! My body is so alive when he touches it. Why can't I resist this touch? His touch. Why is it so easy to let him touch me? To let him do this. Why is it so easy, even when I can't. Friends don't and shouldn't. But damn I want this. Why am I so selfish?

Mmmmm...how does he know that is the way I want to be touched right now? How does he know to switch hands and to play with my other nipple. My god, he hasn't let up for a moment. He's been fucking me with the toy for...oh shit...half an hour at least...so patient. He's still in his boxers. His cock is against me and it feels so hard, but it is covered. Oh god, I want to feel his cock inside me. I want to feel how hard he gets inside me, and I want to feel him cum inside me.

He slowly shifted his body, and kept his one hand on her hands, still guiding the toy. But he gently rolled her onto her back, and he lay beside her in a way that her right breast was at his face, and his right hand continued to cradle her hands. He gently flicked his tongue over her right nipple, and then again, and then licked slow deliberate circles around her nipple. He ran his tongue along the underside of her breast, and then back up to her waiting and erect nipple. Her eyes remained closed, and while he knew she was awake and aware of his actions, he did not speak. He did not make a sound, other than to breathe and even that he did quietly, so as not to break the moment. He did not speak, but simply continued to guide her toy within her witness, and to use his mouth to play with her breast.

Fireworks. That's what it feels like. Holy. He must know that I know what he's doing. I have to stop him. I can't let this happen. I can't. Friends don't do this. I don't care how many times we did this before. I can't now. I can't. I can't. I...

Mmmm...why can't I stop this? His tongue is making my nipple feel so electric. It's like every nerve in my body is being touched when his tongue touches my nipple. Even just thinking about his tongue on my breasts, that makes me wet.

I can't. Fuck that! I have to. I want to. I'm going to. He's here. I'm here. Friends don't do that, so maybe he isn't a friend. Maybe I'm not being friend when I do this, but I can't stop this. I want. I want. I want his tongue to taste me. Mmmm...oh, I can still remember the feeling of his tongue, parting my pussy open, and then exploring inside my wetness. I want that now. I'll deal with the "I can't" part later. I know I can't, but I will.

She opened her eyes for the first time since the two began sharing their movement together on the bed. She looked up, and then over to the side, and saw him laying beside her, on his side, his mouth against her breast, and looking down, his hand upon her hands, guiding the toy in and out of herself. She looked up again at his face, and his eyes were closed.

I want you to taste me.

She spoke. Only one sentence. But she broke the silence and then repeated herself.

I want you to taste me.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. She brushed his hand off of her hands, and then she slowly slid her toy out from within her, and placed it on the bed beside her. She took her right hand, and placed her forefinger to her lips, shaking her head as if to say "no...don't speak" and then she again repeated herself.

I want you to taste me.

He lowered himself to be between her spread legs, his face against her moist and ready lips, and she reached down and pulled his undershirt up over his head. She spread her legs apart wider, and lay back, holding onto his undershirt, pressing it against her own face and inhaling his scent. The soapy smell from his shower was still there, the same soap that she had bought for him and left in her shower, from the days when he would come over before and make love to her, and then shower before leaving. She could also smell his deodorant, the same one in her medicine chest, for those same times when they made love for hours in her bed, in her house. She could still smell him on the shirt, and she did not want to let it go.

He placed his mouth against her wetness, and pressed his lips against her. He parted her lips, first with his tongue, and then reaching down with his hands, and he ran his tongue up and down her pussy. She had shaved and was bare, and the slickness of her wetness, along with the wetness of his tongue, was smooth and easy, his tongue gliding with no resistance. His tongue touching all of the familiar spots he had tasted so many times before. Her hips shifted under him, as he continued the up and down exploration of her. He placed his hands under her ass, and pulled her closer to him, burying his face, nuzzling his face into her pussy, pressing his mouth hard against her, and his tongue probing between her lips.

He moved higher, and found her clit. He took it between his lips, and then between his teeth, and he clamped down lightly on her clit, making her shudder. It hurt a bit, and when he felt her reaction, he loosened up on it, and then gently circled her clit with his tongue before sucking it again between his lips and into his mouth, where inside his mouth he played with it using his tongue.

Her wetness was all over his face, and on his hands too, as he again parted her lips open with his fingers, to allow him to taste her more deeply. To touch her clit. To touch her lips with his tongue. To probe her opening, more deeply, more intimately. To lick her at the bottom of her pussy, and to the area just before reaching her anus. Yes, he did love her ass, and he moved his tongue closer, feeling her wetness had spread and covered her all over, down below. She was so wet, and her scent and taste covered his face.

Oh...oh...fuck...why am I...oh...fuck...mmmm, that is so fucking incredible. Oh fuck, don't touch me there...oh fuck...not...no...oh...mmmmm. Oh my god! Holy fuck!

She said nothing, but he had heard her many times before. He knew what she might say, but he moved lower and slid a finger down to her lowest opening, to her ass, and into her from behind, he slipped a finger inside of her from behind as his tongue continued to lick her wetness and to taste her arousal. He inserted it gently. Slowly. Her wetness made it too easy. It simply went in. He entered her from behind with his finger, and she froze, and her breathing became panicked.

There were no words. He did not ask her if he should stop. She did not ask him to stop. The two simply lay there, with his tongue and lips continuing to explore her, while his finger lay within her, in an intimacy so different from what she had ever known before he had done this to her for the first time, so long ago. It still frightened her, but it also touched her in a way that she could not describe.

He slowly pulled his finger out from inside of her, but he continued to taste her. He licked her below, and kissed her on her ass. He took both hands and cupped her ass again, and brought her pussy closer to his mouth. He pressed his face hard into her, kissing her, inhaling her, tasting her. Not releasing her. He kissed her swollen lips. He kissed her clit. He sucked on her, and moved his tongue around her, trying desperately to touch every part of her.

What is he doing to me? Oh my god. Why? Why am I doing this now? Why am I letting him do this? I can't do this. But I can't stop here. I need more. I want more. I need to feel satisfied. I want him to feel me. I want him inside of me. I want him to cum inside me and to make me even more wet. I want to feel those spasms as his cock explodes and shoots his cum into me. I want to feel the warmth and thickness of his cum as it is released in me, and as his cock spreads his cum inside of me. And fills me. I want that. I want it.

He broke his grip upon her ass, and pulled his face from her wetness. He slowly kissed her above her pussy, and then up along her belly, tonguing her navel as he moved higher. He stopped at her breasts, and kissed each one, sucking briefly on each nipple. He slid up and kissed her, higher and higher, until his mouth reached her mouth, and he kissed her deeply, his tongue meeting her tongue, his lips against hers, her own wetness being tasted by her, from his lips. He kissed her long and held her head, keeping himself close to her, his eyes closed as he kissed her and as he held her body close to his.

Get those fucking boxers off! I can't say that to him. I can't do this. I can't ask him to be inside me. Friends shouldn't even do what we've done so far, let alone what I want him to do now. I can't do this. I can't ask.

As he moved up to kiss her, he slid his boxers off, and the full extent of his hardness was now open to her grasp. She reached down and felt him, running her hands along his length, stroking him and reaching down to play with his balls, and reaching behind him to feel his ass. She grasped his hardness and guided it to her opening, and guided him inside of her, raising her hips to meet his entry.

Oh, that's what I wanted. Not the toy. His cock. It feels too good inside me. I can't believe how easily I open myself for him. How is it so easy for me to be this way with him? Naked? Open? Mmmm....he's fucking teasing me again. Sliding out so just the tip is in me. Mmmmm....I love when he teases me. It makes it feel that much better when he finally thrusts with his full length into me, when he fucks me and doesn't play the teasing game. When he gets that look on his face, and that focus, and all he is doing is fucking me. Filling me. Fucking me harder, and stretching me. Making me feel every movement. No subtlety. Just hard fucking. Oh my god. Fuck me now! Just stop the damn game playing, and fuck me. Fuck me. Now!

Oh yeah...that's it. He knows what to do, without me even saying it. It's like our bodies talk to each other without words, and he knows what my body wants. What I want. I can't do this, but I'll deal with that later. For now, I want this. I can't believe how hard he is inside me. How that ordinary body of his can feel so damn good. How is he so sexy when he is with me? He's not like this when he's with other people. If only they knew what he was like with me. And that's what is so unfair. I want to be able to tell my friends that I am with him, and that I had the most fantastic night with him. I don't want this feeling to be such a secret. I hate that I am doing this - it feels so fucking good, and I can't share it with anybody. That's why I set the boundaries. That's why I said no to him. That's why I said friends don't do this. That's why I stop talking and get tired of listening to his words. Because I can't have what I want. Because it's so fucking unfair. Because I want this every night. Every morning. I want it whenever I want it, and I want to do it without being invisible to everyone else. It's so damn fucking unfair. I want what I want. So I can't. I can't do this. I can't.

What do I do now? Do I push him away? Oh fuck...I can't. It feels so good, his cock inside of me. He still has that face. That focus. That look. All he is now is a machine. My own fucking machine. He just wants to cum inside me, because he knows that is what I love. That's why I went on the fucking pill last year, so he could fuck me and cum inside me. Ok, so I wouldn't take any chances either, but I wouldn't need the pill if he wasn't fucking me and if I didn't want him to cum inside me. Oh fuck...he is still so hard...how does he keep it up so long without cumming? How does he have the strength to fuck me so hard like this?

I can't push him away. As much as I can't do this. As much as I shouldn't do this. It feels too fucking good. Oh my god...I can't stop the waves I'm feeling. I just want him to come. If only he knew how much I want him to cum. Not just because it feels good for me. But because I love to know that I can make him feel satisfied. He has no clue. He has no idea that it is so wonderful how I can make him cum. How I love to take him in my mouth and suck his cock. Or how I love to stroke him and jack him off. He has no fucking clue how sexy it is, how good it makes me feel, to satisfy him too. So I want him to cum. Oh, shit. He is still just pounding my pussy with his hard cock. He hasn't let up one bit. He just keeps driving it hard into me. On and on. Like a fucking machine. With no on/off switch. Just on. Just fucking. Oh fuck! Oh my fucking lord, what is he doing? He's turning me sideways while he's fucking me, spreading me like a pair of scissors and fucking me sideways. Holy shit, he is going so deep in me now, I can feel the head of his cock against my cervix. Oh shit, I'm going to explode if he doesn't cum soon. Oh fuck...keep on fucking me. Oh my. Keep on. Just keep fucking me until you cum. Oh fuck yes! Shit, I think he's going to cum soon. I can feel his cock getting harder. Getting much harder. If it's possible, it feels like it's getting longer too. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, yes, cum inside me, I can feel him now, his cock straining against the inside of my pussy. His cock is stretching me and getting me ready for his cum.

I can't. I can't. I can't. Oh, but I have to now. I can't stop. I want his cum and I can feel his cock shuddering in me. I can feel his thrusting pause, as his cock shudders and...oh yes, I felt that. Oh my god, he just came in me. I can feel that. Still that look on his face. So much focus. So intense. Oh god, he's still shuddering. His whole body is shaking as he cums. He is still so hard inside me. Solid. So strong and hard. Oh my god. Mmmm....I'm so bad. Now I want him to taste me, because I want him to taste his cum and my wetness together. And then I want him to tell me how good it tastes.

Oh fucking holy shit! Taste me, you fucking idiot! You know I want that. Do I have to spell it out for him? My pussy is raw. I want to feel his tongue inside me, tasting ourselves mixed together. Taste me! Fuck…now! Taste me

His body went limp, and his full weight rested upon her body. He was spent. His hardness was still within her, the spasm of his orgasm subsided, his hardness simply lay still within her raw, throbbing wetness. He wrapped his arms under her body, and drew her close to him, holding his body against hers. His breathing was still quick and deep, but his body was still. Her full and soft breasts heaving, and pressed against his chest. Sweat from his forehead dripping, he held her close to him, tight, not pulling out from within her. He knew she hated when he pulled out while still hard, and how she used to ask him to stay within her, to grow soft while inside of her. But he also knew she used to ask him to taste her after he would cum. But he simply held her. Tight.

Neither spoke. Each knew what the other was thinking. His mind was recalling the past few weeks, the boundaries, the "I can't" and the "I shouldn't" and he knew that when their bodies cooled off, and as the sun rose, those words would again be spoken. He knew that she would grow quiet, and he would try to find words. But that was still a few hours away, and all he could do was to hold her. To not say anything. No words. Just to hold her, and to be silent.

And she recalled her words, and knew that he would want to talk, to express things to her, to share his feelings. And she wouldn't have anything to say. She just wanted silence. She just wanted him to hold her for now, and she didn't want to have to think. No words. She just wanted to be held, and not to have him leave her. She wanted to feel the nakedness of their being together. She wanted to forget, for the moment, the boundaries. She just wanted to be touched for as long as he could hold her.