Posted from Taxi Murders Sextet Hyperfiction
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Angela Leven. Novel Date: March 11, 1992 
Part II. Another Night or Day (Henry's turn)

When done with one, the other would be there, Henry ready, 
playing with it, letting the bend in its neck show against the 
lights of the windows. Watching him, staring Angela waited for 
Henry. Reaching down kissing him. Henry on his knees now put his 
cock against Angela's breasts, rubbing between them. 

Angela ready again, catching her breath, feeling the ache in her 
cunt where Henry had ravaged, she signaled Henry, now, crawl 
forward speaking softly, curling her finger, beckoning. 
Brushing her mouth on his breasts, as she called them, imagining 
them as hers, confusing man and woman. Bite my tits, Henry 
laughed. No, you bite mine, she screamed back, and then in this 
odd circle they sucked the other, punishing.

Angela finally said, lifting them up, offering, what only could 
be a second and third stretch to more and longer orgasms: "make 
them drip again."

"Make mine," Henry called back.

On other days, Angela loved to tease the two very great friends 
being with both men at the same time. They like it better that 
way for some reason. 

Switching between the men, their cocks, their mouths, she rubbed 
them inside her thighs, not letting them inside, until she was 
ready. Intent, focused, she lowered herself slowly down on one 
then the other. Inch by inch, slower and slower, taking their 
dear pricks into throat of her cunt she invoked the gods with 
curses. 

"Fuck, shit, fuck me cock sucker, motherfucker, daddy, shit, beat 
it baby, don't you stop, shit, no, make me come, you mother 
humping fuck." 

Sometimes, bored with holy drama, Angela would delicately moan 
when she was done, crying aloud that ragged animal sound, known 
by all and invisible. 

"Quiet." Henry loved silence, and Henry directed his silent, 
pained expressions, catching Angela in that after breath of 
orgasm, when she had finished him, licking the patch of his cock 
and he her clit, taking her whole cunt in his mouth.

Covering her completely Henry probed her divided spaces softly, 
harder, faster, slow. So slow, at times, he would seem 
disconnected, disassociated. That was at least, what Henry had 
called it. 

As the beats of Henry's life and heart were not congruent with 
Aaron, pure delusion, he told them both.

"I do not know you then," Aaron said, touching Angela's face, 
lifting her hair from her cheek.
Not knowing her talent for mimicry, Angela appeared neither whore 
nor prude. Not lecherous nor calculating and often, suddenly, 
surprised, Henry would wake with Angela's mouth on his cock 
surprised by it all. 








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