She rose from the bed quietly, as not to wake him. He was snoring slightly, ever so cutely. She simply could not resist that handsome face. Gently she bent over him, kissing him on the forehead. He was a sweet kind soul, but sweet and kind were not what she needed at three in the morning, and there was a much rougher, wilder, take-charge copy of that face waiting in the room next door.

Slowly she opened the door that separated the two rooms, her two worlds, her two lives. It was a massive wooden door. Substantial. Appropriate for such a heavy metaphor. She leaned against it, pushing it, feeling the rough wood against her breasts.

The other twin was awake, waiting, and hard. He was on her before she could stop to admire him, grabbing her, pushing the door shut behind her, pushing her against the door, pushing his tongue into her mouth, pushing his cock between her legs.

She was ready to be fucked. She needed no foreplay. The evening's love making had been foreplay enough. She thought of it that way too. Foreplay for the later fuck, though she knew it was more than enough for him, that she was more than enough for him, that she was more than enough for both of them. The long blond amazon, the Norwegian sex machine, the insatiable slut wrapped one long pale leg around the rougher brother, pulled him in, and gasped through gritted teeth as his huge cock entered her, filled her, withdrew and then slammed into her, pounding her beautiful high round ass into the door.

She wondered, as she kissed, him, as she stared into those identical eyes, as she listened to the slap of flesh on wood, if he ever noticed on the other side, if the sound of her ass on the door interrupted his sleep like a demon knocking on the gates of hell. Did he sleep? Did he know? Did he care? Did he lie there listening each night, cock in hand, stroking with his brother at each fleshy slap, or on the nights when they fucked the other way, her legs spread wide, bent at the waist, screaming into the door with each thrust, did he scream with her?

Her breath quickening, her face inches from his, her hair plastered to her neck and forehead with the sweat of exertion and sweltering August, she grabbed the back of his head, her tongue darting out to meet his, flicking, wanting to bite, to possess, to throw open the door, to take them both, both and more, to merge them both into one giant four-armed, four-legged, two-mouthed, two-cocked lover, to merge herself into one complete sexual spiritual being.

She was coming. She could not stop it, could not stop the trembling in her legs, could not stop the explosion that ripped through her brain, dragging a muffled scream from her, leaving her shaking in his arms, leaning back against the door that must remain closed but for those brief seconds of slipping through, the door that would separate her worlds forever.

A tear trickled down her sweaty cheek. He saw it, smiled, and kissed her again, for he knew she was crying with pleasure.

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