My mind, if that’s what it was, raced ahead. I could drop by Ana’s, give her that cuddle, and still make it in time to deal with Sa’afia at six. 

Well, the chances of getting out of Ana’s place without having fucked her were close to zero. But I thought of an excuse: what the hell, the poor lonely girl needed a good comfort-fuck right then, and surely, as someone who cared about her, I was the one to give it. A good hard comfort-fuck. 

Reasons are easy.

Then a vision came, not in words but in colour and feel, of how it would be: Ana fucked kneeling on her bed, then a quick shower, and racing over to Sa’afia, to push her down over her table and fuck her, with occasional touches with the stick across the sides of her ass and thighs. I could compare the two girls from the inside.

The feel of their hips in my hands as I held each girl down, petite Ana and womanly Sa’afia, and I could consider each cunt in connoissuer terms, giving full attention to their texture, viscosity, tightness and mobility. And responsiveness. I might never realise that dream I’d been blessed with, the one in which I had the two of them at once. But this would be the next best thing. Would it be worth getting fired for? Definitely.  

My brain came back, reluctantly. Actually, sex with both Ana and Sa’afia probably would be worth getting fired for, if all that was at stake was getting a new job. But that was never the point. 

“Ah hell,” I said. “Fucking hell. Ana, I really can’t.”