Rain falling outside, its cadence peaceful and inspiring.

Wind blowing, whistling against the windows, its song in accordance with the rain.

The music was as soft as the bed, jazz and a yielding mattress pulling me into rapture.

Forty-nine...one hundred and forty-nine...fifty...fifty-one...fifty-two...one hundred and fifty-three...fifty-four...oh God...fifty...one hundred and forty-five...I mean fifty-five.

My legs were open wide, secrets revealed. My nectar being savored by a skilled tongue. With each lick the developer had me kicking my legs, had me rolling my hips.

Karl, the twin with the angelic tattoos, the bad-boy photographer, he was good. He was near my head, leaning over me, massaging and licking my breasts, sucking my nipples, keeping me squirming in the middle of the bed.

They had taken off their jackets. Taken off their shirts. Flawless physiques surrounded me.

Don't stop counting, Nia. Count every lick. Count until you come.

Okay okay fifty-six...fifty-seven...fifty-eight...fifty-nine...sixty...one hundred and...sixty-one...sixty-two...three four five six seven eight...oh God...oh God...you're licking me so so so fast...

I moaned endlessly. No two moans were the same, they had similarities, but each was its own song, its own length, incredible, unending, a singsong melody reminiscent of the beautiful accents in Trinidad. In between my delectable sounds, as I writhed and surrendered, became more submissive each time his tongue painted my sexual canvas, my submission evident, deepening with my every tattered breath, every singsong moan a testament to my acquiescence. When there was a pause between the sounds, my unwavering sounds, as my chest heaved, as my swollen breasts ached, my sense of sound returned and I heard a noise so orgasmic it almost pushed me over the edge. That sound of carnality created poetry. In that moment, heat rising like the sun, I listened to sounds more stimulating than my own arousing singsong moans, my ears savoring the sounds of his tongue against my wetness, enjoying the sound of his passionate breathing, the music from his song, the melodious sound of his moan.

His brother was not to be outdone, did not stop stimulating me as my yoni was being licked, savored, tasted, sucked. Karl's tongue moved from my breasts to my neck, suckled my neck, drove me crazy in his own way before moving on to my earlobes, the center of my sexual arousal, the one place more sensitive, more arousing than the licking of my yoni, the combination of their passion making my singsong moans desperate and strong, desperate and elongated, my moans being stolen, my ability to sing my song being stolen as Karl sucked my tongue, his sucking equal to what his brother was doing to me. I moaned a thousand times. Every moan as soft as a snowflake, beautiful and unique. The sounds I made were called moans, but the description of a sound so exciting, an arousing hum that was rooted in bottomless plea sure, I found that description inadequate, not marvelous enough to describe what was being created by my entire life force being stirred, the marvelous being inspired by the marvel of lust.

They had undressed me. My skirt was gone but I still had my high heels on.

This was wrong. And what was wrong was amazing.

I was entitled to wrongdoing. I deserved amazing. I deserved what was marvelous.

My face dank with the dew of ecstasy, my gaze went to the photographer, witnessed him smiling at me, the dank of lust and desire shining on his skin, saw the need to orgasm on his handsome face, in the way he licked his lips, in the way sexual tension had manifested itself in his forehead, in his brow. His expression became intense. As dark as his erection was hard.

I struggled with myself, my words riding on the winds of moans. "What are you doing to me?"

Karl kissed me again, his tongue deep, his breathing extreme, excited. "Keep counting."

"I can't count...not while you...not while Mark is...what are you doing to me?"

Mark rubbed my legs, his breathing heavy as well, echoing his aroused state. "Want us to stop?"

I swallowed, twitched, struggled to find my lost breath. "No."

I suffered, my punishment being to endure the heat of the three fires burning down this room.

Mark stopped licking me, began kissing my belly. "You're sweeter than a Bajan cherry."

Karl whispered, "Did you know that, Nia? Your yoni is sweeter than a Bajan cherry."

"Her skin is just as sweet."

Mark eased his strong hand under my backside, his hands touching my lower spine, drawing me closer...closer to him...first his tongue on my inner thigh...his breath on my clit...my legs opening wider...wider...feeling him kiss my clit...him tasting me as he squeezed my ass...held my ass as if he adored and appreciated my blessing, spread my cheeks and whispered my name as he tongued, licked, sucked, hummed on, and kissed my skin. Karl sucked my nipples, his sucks, his suckling magnifying every sensation. But Mark...his passion was killing me...his tongue sliding between my thighs, moving in and out of my yoni...now flicking over and over...devastating my senses. I jerked and freed sacrilegious phrases when his tongue moved inside me, as it flicked my clitoris, as he pulled me to his face and made figure eights, as he licked the center of my humidity, held my ass, and savored my sex like he owned my yoni.

It became too much goodness at once, I became overwhelmed, felt myself becoming free and primal, wanted to stop before I exploded, had to cry, beg them to slow down, to let me breathe.

In the kindest voice Mark asked, "Are you okay?"

I nodded, body twitching, eyes closed tight, this moment so personal.

"Want us to stop?"

Unable to form words, I shook my head.

They did what my body language asked, remained gentle lovers, moving slowly. Kissing my lips...sucking my breasts...licking my nipples...kissing my forehead...massaging my body...tracing my lips with tongue...playing with my hair...again kissing my face...my eyes...my nose...my eyelashes.

Again I surrendered to my lovers, gave them my body to do whatever they wanted to do.

Plea sure was like love, subjective, personal, not the same for any two people. Like the interstate in the morning, many on the same road, few taking the same journey, only cars passing in the sunrise. Thinking these thoughts, listening to my desires, allowing them to whisper in my ear, give me mental images, all of that led to the inevitable. Acting on these thoughts created a transformation.

I desired transformation.

But I fought the change, battled like a caterpillar resisting becoming a butterfly.

The conservative one, the married one, his adulterous touch became a little rough, the strength of envy, his touch very competitive, demanding my attention. My moans were as profound as his touch.

It was so good I lost my smile.

He was rough. I loved rough. Loved gentle. But needed rough too.

Needed yin and yang. A rough touch. A gentle touch.

It equaled out, both sides of erotic plea sure being given all at once.

I started sucking my fingers...oral fixation taking on a life of its own...but my hands were taken...moved away from me...as if I wasn't allowed to plea sure myself in any way...more kissing...more licking the flames...more sucking my swollen clit.

They savored me like I was chocolate-covered strawberries, salmon filet, wild rice and fresh vegetables, licked me like my skin was covered with home-cooked macaroni and cheese baked in my mother's casserole dish, had me intoxicated like I was inhaling mango martinis, mint juleps and red wine.

Deeper twitches rose with urgency. Wicked singsong moan followed wicked singsong moan.

My breathing, so ragged, suffocating in a room filled with air with my eyes closed tight.

The sense of sight shut down so all others could be enhanced.

Oh God oh God oh God.

Hands on my breasts, squeezing nipples, then licking nipples.

Again my hands went to my breasts. I squeezed them, tried to lick my own nipples.

I heard one moan. Then the other moaned. A powerful song. Turned on. By my sensuality.

Karl moved my hand, licked between each of my fingers, sucked my nipples again.

Oh God. Oh my God.

My yoni was being licked so fucking good. Mark's tongue lagged around the edges. Made figure eights. Darted inside. Then, while I was being licked, two fingers were eased inside my wetness. Two fingers took me closer to orgasm. Breasts were being sucked while I was being finger-fucked and licked.

I was moaning. Suffocating in plea sure. Licking my lips. Sucking my fingers.

I reached up to the one on my breasts, to Karl, found his penis, held it, tried to stroke it.

I tried to reach down, find Mark's erection, wanted to feel his penis, but he was too far away.

Karl said, "Want this, baby? Want to feel this big dick inside your mouth? Want to suck this fat dick and make me come?"

I moaned, his vulgar words direct and unambiguous, scaring and exciting me all at once.

That moan ended when I felt his erection at my lips, easing inside my mouth, at the back of my throat. I sucked him. I sucked him like I was famished. I sucked him so good he had to pull away.

I licked as I was being licked...was close to orgasm...didn't want to come...yet...tried to push it away...keep it at bay...but the orgasm...it had power...Mark's sucking...orgasm inevitable...his tongue...as I was trying to suck the honey out of Karl...my orgasm was being unearthed by rapid licks...being pulled to the surface by the flicking of a tongue...it was being sucked...fingered...oh God...coming...was coming hard...body went into convulsions...legs trembled like they had a life of their own.

My singsong moan was longer than all other moans, my vision becoming so sensitive as I came, as if I had been licked and fingered and touched and led into a sexual concussion. Every nerve was alive and blazing, senses exaggerated. My soft, singsong moans magnified. My soul was floating through a surreal whiteness, a version of heaven on earth. My orgasm arrived in wonderful degrees of plea sure. A thousand little deaths caused me to arch my back and release a stream of beautiful vulgarities.

I was being pleased. By two men. Men who came from the same egg.

Identical sins.

EIGHT.

An orgasm erupted like thunder.

That loud, sensual outburst that came from the heavens seeped into my dreams.

With a start I awakened, naked, soft covers on my legs, on a yielding bed, the side closest to the windows, curtains pulled back, sleeping on my side, so as my eyes opened momentarily I witnessed it all.

The whiteness of the room remained remarkable, ethereal, both surreal and heavenly.

My eyes closed again.

Again thunder erupted like vocalizations at the end of long-overdue sex, as if the damp sky was experiencing muscular spasms, those spasms sending shock waves through me, a euphoric sensation.

My eyes opened in degrees, small degrees, barely open enough to realize my new reality.

In a daze, somewhere between sleep and consciousness, I became a voyeur, watching, imagining all the angels having simultaneous orgasms. Nonstop sonic booms created endless chills. Explosions rang out like orgasmic echoes. I was afraid of thunder, but it didn't scare me this time.

Body relaxed and warm, I gazed out the window, in a trance, unmoving, still barely conscious, mesmerized by flashes, that light event better than the Fourth of July laser show at Stone Mountain.

I shifted, consciousness trying to take over, assaulting my sleep, reality and my five senses returning to my world in degrees, like a sunken ship being raised to the surface against its will.

I had been abandoned. Left alone in a vast bed.

I was free. And inside that relieved feeling lived a house made of sadness.

When I shifted I felt warm skin resting against mine. Felt firm muscles against my skin.

I wasn't alone.

I pushed up on my elbows, looked at his hand, no wedding ring. Inspected his arms, saw his untold story in indelible ink. I moved a bit, he reached out, held me closer. He was sleeping, holding me in his dreams. He was unaware, but that mannish part of him was awake, poking me in my back.

He aroused me. And that arousal disturbed me.

There was something so erotic about middle-of-the-night sex.

And it was the middle of the night. Those bewitching hours had arrived.

With the exception of the flashes of light, it was dark out, like power was out in the city.

When the explosions paused I could hear the soft drumbeat of the pouring rain.

Was almost put back to sleep by the sounds of that slow and easy rain.

That peaceful moment allowed me to hear sounds slipping from the bathroom.

The shower was on. His brother was in the shower.

They had pleasured me into sensory overload, had sexed me into a coma.

The married one was in the shower. That meant he was leaving. Married men made love on borrowed time, always had to rush back to the woman who wore a matching wedding ring.

I wanted him to stay. Wanted him to penetrate me. Wanted him to penetrate me first. Wanted him first because he was married. Wanted to corrupt someone for a change. Wanted him first because I would be emotionally safer with him. Wanted him because I knew I couldn't have him. Wanted him because I knew a married man would be a cushion to my already damaged heart.

They had given me oral plea sure, but my body wanted to be penetrated. Needed more than oral penetration. Desired more than fingers. My yoni was screaming, begging to be infiltrated by delight. Screaming so damn loud.

I moved, looked at the twin next to me. Karl, his energy so shady. That of a player. That of a man who'd had many sexual experiences. I wanted him too. I wanted to absorb his knowledge.

This was wrong. This was so wrong. But it was so good. So damn good.

I should choose. One. I should choose one. Women always had to choose one.

At that moment my eyes went to the bathroom door. Toward the married one.

He was the safe one. I couldn't get hooked on a man who had obligations. And even if we did engage in an affair, it wouldn't last long. It would be a fling that I would endure no more than a season.

I looked at the man with the tats. The single man who relished being single. I looked at the twin named Karl. He was the kind who could break my heart. Just the thought of being powerless, being under his control, that made me dislike him.