“Mmm,” I hissed, in that particular hiss that was my equivalent of a purr. “So we're playing 'naif and naga', hmm...” Gently, I took her palm, slid my fingertips up to her wrist, found her pulse. I squeezed it – short, short, long, short. “That's how you tell me to stop,” I told her, “when my coils are<span style="font-style: italic">squeezing</span>you so tight you can't breath a word.” Said coils were shifting and writhing and looping on the bed. I was pretty<span style="font-style: italic">stirred up</span>. She'd done a very good job of pretending to be prey, and I wasn't going to stop for her protests or her fear anymore – not when I knew they were faked for my benefit.<br/><br/>Xarces flirted shamelessly for awhile, putting on a show for us, stirring Nywra appetite... and mine, too. Strangely, I didn't feel jealous anymore. Widow's prey act – and her foot massage - was working overtime on my tummy, and it was<span style="font-style: italic">expecting</span>her to come sliding down my throat sometime soon, even though I knew that (probably) wasn't going to happen. It was like Nyrwa and I were old friends, just sharing a pair of pretty meals in a private room.<br/><br/>“This is making my tummy grumbly,” I said, shifting round to lean back against Widow, draping one arm around her neck. “You need to massage it,” I told her, capturing her wrists with my free hand and towing them down across my breasts and on to my belly. “Then once you've settled it you can go up or down,” I suggested, indicating my full breasts or the scaley flap that covered my most intimate places, “and if you can't and its still grumbly,” I teased, tilting my head up to kiss her chin “I'll have to send you<span style="font-style: italic">in</span>to see if you can do a better job soothing it from inside.”