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“Let's play husbands,” Celia said. Her hand already slipped through the neck hole of Rosalind's nightgown and gently rubbed her shoulder until she was sure Rosalind was awake.


Rosalind was groggy at first. “Dear Celia, how oft must you interrupt my slumber for your games?” She curled into a tight ball, and Celia curled around her.


“You know you enjoy it as much as I, and besides, we won't have time for maid's games once you are married to fair Orlando.”


“Aye, if he ever sees through my clever disguise.” It had been sometime since they played their game, not since the arrived in the forest of Arden, nay longer. Not since Rosalind met the love of her life. They had always created imagined men, sometimes vulgar soldiers that took their wives by force, other times gentle poets all dandy and soft, but none of these fantasies could be as perfect as Orlando.


“Imagine your husband attired for your wedding night. Do you suppose Orlando carries but a little dagger.”


“Nay, cousin,” Rosalind spun around to face Celia, though the two girls were but shadows in the dark. “'Tis sure he had a long gentleman's sword.”


“But how does he use his weapon?” Celia said, poking Rosalind in her belly, “All wildly swinging, not minding if he tears through a maid?”


“Peace, peace,” Rosalind said laughing until Celia stopped her poking. “I'm sure he uses but delicate and careful strokes.”


“You should play Orlando and show me how he fences.”

Rosalind paused, then spoke dreamily, “I'm fit to play Orlando, because we who are in love are one.”

“Then I'll be your Rosalind,” Celia said, not adding that she felt equally fit for her role. She then imitated Rosalind's husky tenor, “When will these trifles be over. I want to sleep.”

“Oh, wife,” Rosalind said. “Our sacred marital duties are no game. Heaven ordained that we please one another, and with this kiss I do obey.”
Rosalind reached into the dark and felt for Celia's lips. She found them already moist and pouted. As Rosalind's mouth met Celia's, her warm arm's envelope her. Rosalind felt a swelling inside her as her small, sensitive breast were pillowed by Celia's.

Celia lifted her head away. “Orlando,” she murmured.

“Celia,” Rosalind said, then cleared her throat and corrected herself. “My Rosalind.”

“Let me, in my wifely duties, undress thee.” Celia untied the front of Rosalind's nightgown, and Rosalind could feel the prick of night air as her breast spilled out. Celia began kissing, first and Rosalind's collar bone, then moving down. Rosalind thought how she would soon miss Celia's mouth on her skin. But she tried to put the thought from her mind as she cradled Celia's head against her breast.

“My wife, my wife,” Rosalind whispered as Celia pulled Rosalind's nightgown above her head. Celia dove into Rosalind's embrace, clutching her as if she might never feel Rosalind's naked flesh again.

Rosalind moved away enough to untie Celia's nightgown. But instead of ripping it over her head, Rosalind slid her hand under slowly caressing Celia's heart-shaped bottom, moving one finger so slowly that she might count the number of tiny hairs she raised. Celia buried her face in Rosalind's shoulder, moaning, then kissing, then moaning once more. “Satisfy me, husband,” Celia cried, but Rosalind felt it wasn't time.

Rosalind lay Celia's back on the bed. Celia's body trembled so erratically her legs could hardly lay flat. Rosalind rested on her shoulder alongside her. Even in the dark, the white expanses of Celia's bosom seemed to glow. Rosalind ran her tongue in circles around Celia's erect nipple, then in spiraling circles around the greater portion of her breast, but Celia kept pushing Rosalind's head back to the sensitive aureole. At the same time, Rosalind reached her hand underneath Celia's skit and stroked her quivering stomach, moving down, and down.

At last, Rosalind's finger's met Celia's lower lips, she waited until she felt Celia shudder then joked, “My hands are but a poor substitute for Orlando's manly sword.”
“Hush, hush,” Celia whimpered, and Rosalind began moving her hand, in and out of the entrance-way, like a pulse, then around in circles, still not in more than a knuckle. Celia wriggled her body to push Rosalind further in. Rosalind increased her speed, pressing hard against the bump just inside Celia. Celia made soft mewing noises, like a newborn kitten, then grabbed Rosalind's other hand and pressed it so hard against her breast that Rosalind could feel Celia's heart pounding, and Rosalind thought her own must be nearly as quick. When Celia's juices thickened, so did hers. Rosalind felt she could pleasure Celia all night if she herself did not feel ready to burst.

Celia's insides tightened and she gaped for air. Rosalind bite her lip to stop herself from screaming as her inner parts sent shocks down her arms. Celia pulled out Rosalind's hand and hugged her tight. Rosalind's body turned to butter as her husband's duty was over.

“No husband shall please me like my Orlando,” Celia whispered, snuggling into Rosalind's arms.

“No,” Rosalind said. “None shall.”