       Laura - Chapter 355
       
       
       
       
       
       
       Makeeda had never appeared at a club or cabaret in the Bay Area because, she confessed to Laura, she was afraid to.  She knew people, lots of them.  She had grown up in Oakland, gone briefly to San Francisco State, worked in restaurants in the city itself, had at least a passing acquaintance with scores of people.  They would all be judging her.  She had by now developed a worldwide reputation as a singer.  Of course the number of fans who followed and celebrated her kind of singing could not compare with the fandom of pop artists, but it was still respectable, and growing.
       
       “It would kill me to bomb,” she told Laura.  “I think I would . . . just collapse.  End of story.  I wouldn’t be able to go on.  I wouldn’t be able to leave the house.”
       
       “Nonsense,” Laura said.  “You are a miracle.  Everybody knows it but you.”
       
       Makeeda chewed her knuckle.  “Maybe some day.”
       
       “I’m going to call your agent.”
       
       “No, you’re not!”
       
       And they had tussled, then wrestled, then ended up in bed, as they usually did.  The sex quotient went up when Makeeda was home.  Laura now and then thought she was overdoing it in the sex department, but in reality she had sex with other girlfriends only three or four times a week.  With Makeeda it was often several times every day.
       
       Out of respect, she did not call Makeeda’s agent, but the agent had apparently been thinking the same thing and floated a two-day engagement at the Rrazz Room in front of Makeeda about a week after Laura had mentioned it.  It would be followed a week later by a single night at Yoshi’s in Oakland.  If everything went well, there would be longer gigs at both clubs to follow in the months ahead.  
       
       Makeeda reluctantly accepted.  “I’m scared shitless,” she confessed to Laura.  “I’ll freeze up.  I’ll pee my panties.  I’ll die up there.  You’ll have to come.  I’ll get you a close-up table, so you can rush on and catch me before I hit the floor when I faint.”
       
       “You’ll be fine.  You sing before audiences in Amsterdam, in Paris, in New York and Chicago.”
       
       “I don’t know anybody there!” Makeeda said, with asperity.  “Anybody!”
       
       “I’ll be there with you every night.”
       
       “Promise?”
       
       Laura knew she herself would be petrified performing anything in front of an audience of even five people.  She got the jitters when she had to give a slide presentation at work.  So it constantly astonished her how anyone, including Makeeda, could sing to crowds.  And it puzzled her even more how the same person could be paralyzed by fear each time she approached the stage.
       
       “Of course I promise.  Every night.  With roses and champagne.”
       
       “You’re too sweet.”  Makeeda kissed her forehead.  “Everybody will know we’re fucking.  All they’ll have to do is look at the way we stare at each other.”
       
       “You mean like now?”
       
       “Yes, like now!”
       
       And, as Laura and Makeeda’s agent had both predicted, it was a triumph, though of course only a minor triumph meant chiefly for the cognoscenti.  The hordes did not like jazz or cabaret singing, but the few connoisseurs who did could become wildly enthusiastic.  And Makeeda, to Laura’s great pleasure, had in the past two or so years, with the help of an L.A. entertainment consultant, polished an act that showed great skill.  A piano player and a bass player with whom she often worked came up from L.A. for a week.  They rehearsed, they hammered together a tight little show featuring old and new tunes, and a few lovely obscure things Makeeda herself had dug up.
       
       The most shocking thing for Laura, however, occurred on the opening night.  Laura was sitting at a front row table with the old friends of Makeeda’s who owned Bistro Rondine, the restaurant where Makeeda had been working as hostess when Laura had first met her.  She turned away for a moment, distracted by something, and when she turned back she saw Shelley Collins, the Macy’s underwear model with whom she had had an on-and-off affair for two or so years, coming into the room, accompanied by a stunning tall blonde who was obviously the Margaret, Shelley’s lover, whom Shelley was forever blathering about.  The two of them were dressed in slinky evening dresses, Shelley’s a deep burgundy, Margaret’s a scintillating bronze, that left their gorgeous necks and shoulders naked.  They were a striking pair, especially Shelley with her scores of long thin braids and her curvy body (but then I love to fuck her, Laura thought, and would of course be more attracted to her!) and obviously relishing the attention of the other audience members.
       
       “Look at them!” Makeeda’s old friend Marilyn said to her husband Jake, and to Laura.  “Do you suppose they’re lezzies?  Aren’t they gorgeous?  Do you think they know Cynthia?”
       
       The first reference was forgivable since Marilyn was an old friend of Makeeda’s, and now of Laura’s, who was quite comfortable with their relationship and even wanted to host a formal wedding for them at Bistro Rondine.  The second referred to Makeeda’s real name, which only her closest friends knew.  
       
       Laura glanced now and then furtively in the direction of the two women, especially scrutinizing Shelley for brief seconds, unable to keep herself from recalling their thrilling sexual moments together.  Shelley, with her tan lines—so unusual on a black woman—and her braids and her marvelous lean curvy body and her craving to be rammed from behind, was a delicious fuck.  But Laura forced herself to stop mulling it over.  After all, this was Makeeda’s evening, her local debut, and it would be a shocking lapse of taste to dwell on her, Laura’s, own reveries of sexual peccadilloes.  She did not think Shelley noticed her at all.  But of course Shelley, as Laura knew, was totally besotted by her love for St. Margaret, as Laura had come to call her in her thoughts.  St. Margaret, whom Laura had never met, was clearly the stronger personality of the two and exerted a power over Shelley that was amazingly firm even in her absences, which were frequent since she was a model in high demand.  St. Margaret could do no wrong, and Shelley was her slave (pardon the hateful word, Laura begged herself).  Love slave.  There, that’s better.
       
       At any rate, the lights soon dimmed, and Shelley continued to be unaware of Laura’s presence.  The show was everything one could have wished for.  The backup musicians cooked, the songs were touching or dazzling by turns, and Makeeda herself had developed a stage presence that so totally belied her confessed stage fright and wavering confidence that one could almost suspect her of lying about them, if one had not known her well enough to believe her.  Laura had not seen her perform in front of an audience for more than a year, and in that time she had matured wonderfully.  She could draw the audience into the act, using her physical charms as well as her almost shy, self-effacing patter, and of course her rich, throaty, amazingly flexible voice.
       
       About two-thirds of her way through the show she astonished everyone, but most of all Laura, by approaching the table where Laura was sitting, with Jake and Marilyn.  “I know this is very . . . shall we say unprofessional of me . . .” she confessed in a soft voice to the audience, holding the microphone in one hand as she reached out and took Laura’s hand with the other.  Laura instantly blushed hotly, but did not pull her hand back.  Oh god, I’m as besotted with her as Shelley is with St. Margaret! she realized.  “. . . but I want to take a moment to sing a special song to a special person who I am so glad is here with me tonight to share this special moment.”
       
         Obviously, though this was a complete surprise to Laura, it had been rehearsed by Makeeda and the musicians in advance since they easily flowed into a soft intro and Makeeda began singing directly to Laura, as if no one else were present.
       
        There is no greater love than what I feel for you.
        No sweeter song, no heart so true.
        There is no greater thrill than what you bring to me,
        No sweeter song than what you sing to me.
       
        You’re the sweetest thing I have ever known,
        And to think that you are mine alone.
        There is no greater love in all the world, it’s true.
        No greater love than what I feel for you.
       
       
       It was a simple, very touching song, though the two musicians and Makeeda dressed it up a little by repeating the bridge passage as a waltz, then the last eight bars as an up-tempo swinger before lapsing back into a slow, but soaring, coda at the end of which no one would ever again doubt Makeeda’s love for Laura.  Who was in tears by the time the song finished.
       
       She realized through her helpless tears that there was nothing ‘unprofessional’ about it at all, since the audience, any audience, loved Love, and they were going wild with applause.  You might not be able to get away with a naked confession of lesbian love in Dubuque or Ashtabula, Laura reflected, but nobody here was going to be anything but pierced through the heart by it.  As she was herself.  She did not want to let go of Makeeda’s hand when it was over, and that was clear to everybody.
       
       Yet even though her eyes were clouded with tears, when she happened to let her gaze drift among the other nearby tables she thought she could see Shelley looking straight at her, smiling, and then—a fleeting instant—St. Margaret, sitting next to Shelley, exchange a quick glance with Makeeda.  Her eyes naturally drifted back and caught Makeeda in the glance, too; though it happened so fast she could have been mistaken.  Oh god, you’re wrong! she thought, instantly.  Cut it out!  Don’t spoil this beautiful moment!
       
       Makeeda, as if to completely expunge and erase this possibility, leaned down to kiss Laura on the forehead before releasing her hand and drawing apart to finish her show, which she did with a rousing and virtuosic trip through a Cole Porter medley, finishing up with Blow, Gabriel Blow, her voice soaring through acrobatics Laura had not thought it possible for anyone to do.  The tender moment of her song to Laura, as well as the possible (it can’t be true, Laura thought; just forget it) exchange of glances with St. Margaret, were, if not forgotten, then totally overshadowed by the fiery, even brassy and wildly exuberant, flourish of her finish, and the audience erupted in deafening applause.  At least it would have been deafening, had there been more than a few dozen in the small audience.
       
       It could hardly have been a more perfect event, and the subsequent two evenings were even better since people had to be turned away at the door due to the rave reviews.  Makeeda was walking on air, and the possible eye contact between her and St. Margaret that had so disturbed Laura was completely forgotten.  In fact, it did not even reenter her consciousness until five days later when they were lounging together beside the pool at the Napa Valley Inn, their favorite retreat, where they had gone to spend a couple of days before Makeeda’s planned one-nighter at Yoshi’s in Oakland.  
       
       Makeeda had bought while on one of her trips the most incredible bikini that she wanted to wear out to the pool, and they had nearly had a dangerous little row over it.  The thing was composed chiefly of a lot of white strings, with a tiny triangular patch of white cloth at the crotch, and three small cloth flower blossoms of pink with yellow centers, two scarcely covering her very beautiful large black nipples, the third perched above the white crotch patch.  It was the most astonishing thing Laura had ever seen.
       
       “You can’t be serious.  You’re not wearing that out there.  Are you?”
       
       Makeeda smirked.  She turned this way and that, posing, smirking, teasing.  She had a spectacular body, and Laura was exceedingly vulnerable to its piercing, throat-catching beauty.  The bikini only made things worse, or better.  “You don’t like it?” Makeeda teased.  “I bought it just for you.  I mean, just to wear for you.  Only you.”
       
       “If you wear it out there to the pool, they’ll have you arrested.  Everybody who sees you in it will want to fuck you.”
       
       Makeeda gave her an arrow glance.  They both knew that almost everybody wanted to fuck Makeeda anyway, when they got a glimpse of her amazing body.  “As long as it makes you want to,” she said to Laura.
       
       They were still in their room, with the door securely locked, and Laura could not restrain herself.  Somehow Makeeda, she realized, had known she wouldn’t.  She went across the room to her and quickly undid all the strings, except the one that tied behind Makeeda’s neck and that still held the flimsy top barely in place.  The flower blossoms were both sliding a little to the side, so that her big, jutting black nipples and wide areolas were becoming visible.
       
       After a hot glare into Makeeda’s astonishing hazel eyes, she lowered her head and snaked out her tongue, flicking it under one bright pink cloth blossom, chasing Makeeda’s nipple with the tip of it.  Makeeda giggled and pulled back.  Laura pulled her close again and got most of her tongue under the blossom, tonguing Makeeda’s nipple sensually with it.  They were both pretty aroused, and she could hear Makeeda softly panting, even though she pretended to whimper and pull away again.
       
       “Don’t,” she gasped.  “That . . . tickles!”
       
       “It’s going to do more than tickle,” Laura threatened, brushing the flimsy cloth aside so that she could suck Makeeda’s entire nipple into her mouth, which she did with sharp hunger.
       
       “Ungghh!” Makeeda gasped, even louder, looking down at her nipple disappearing into Laura’s mouth.  “Oh shit . . . I love it when you do that!”
       
       She threw her head back while Laura mouth-mauled her lovely naked breast, with the thin white strings and cloth flower dangling around it.  Laura held the round globe in both hands as if she would never let it go.
       
       Miraculously, the other blossom was still half-covering Makeeda’s other nipple and had not been completely drawn askew by Laura’s toying with the first one. Makeeda’s other large black nipple was winking out from under it.  Laura flicked it with her tongue as she had done with the first one, moving her hands over to Makeeda’s other breast, finally sweeping the blossom aside with the edge of her hand and quickly trying to swallow Makeeda’s other nipple.  She could feel Makeeda’s body quake a little under her hands as she sucked it in deep.
       
       “Unngghgh!” she gasped again.  “Oh shit!”
       
       Laura, after a long mouth-rape, released both of her breasts and clutched them possessively in her hands, kissing her neck now, and her ear, and breathing into it, and murmuring soft fuck words to her.  “I don’t think we’re going to make it to the pool.”
       
       Makeeda responded with a soft, throaty laugh that reminded Laura of the way she would sometimes turn a phrase when singing.  “I was hoping you’d feel that way,” she told Laura, shrugging her way—which wasn’t difficult since it was mostly strings—out of the rest of the bikini and drawing Laura over to one of the huge beds.  “Want you to fuck me, darling,” she murmured into Laura’s ear.  “Want you to fuck me hard.  Want you to make me come and pass out.”
       
       And for the next twenty minutes, Laura tried to do exactly that.  After a few years of practice, she now knew every secret nerve in this fantastic body, and she set about teasing and tormenting every one, giving full reign to her oral mania, kissing and sucking every secret and not so secret part of Makeeda’s luscious flesh, running her lips across the woman’s spectacular abs and hard, sleek thighs.  Makeeda’s splendid body was always in fine tone due to the constant swimming she did even when on the road, and Laura luxuriated in the feel of this marvelous flesh under her lips, her fingertips, her cheeks, her tongue.  “I love your body . . . I love your body . . .” she murmured softly, while kissing every inch of it, and feeling the happiness spread through her as Makeeda began to twist and moan and pant more urgently.
       
       “Laura . . . do it . . . do it to me . . . don’t make me wait!” she gasped, her eyes fluttering open as Laura sucked and licked her beautiful black pussy, tonguing it purposefully, and sucking her pretty little dark pink clit until it was erect and poking out from its little tent like a hard berry.
       
       At this point she was consumed by a craving to feel this marvelous wet, puckering pussy pressing against her own inflamed slit, and she quickly maneuvered their bodies into position so that she could bring her crotch into intimate contact with Makeeda’s.  There were many ways to trib, and they practiced every one of them, it seemed; sometimes gentle scissoring accompanied by toe-sucking and calf-kissing, or face-to-face sitting and kissing and squirming, or missionary humping, or a dozen other positions.  But this time it was Laura on top, with one of Makeeda’s legs propped over her left shoulder, and a lot of leverage supplied by one of her own knees digging into the mattress as she jammed her wet, pulsing cunt down into Makeeda’s splayed and juicy quim, fucking it slowly at first, then harder and faster, until they were both gasping and panting uncontrollably.  
       
       Sometimes you could come this way and sometimes not.  Sometimes you had to shift to another position, or another technique, until the fires leaped alive in both bodies.  But this time there was no waiting, no slow percolating.  Ever since the night Makeeda had sung to Laura in front of an audience in the nightclub, their sex had been even more incendiary than usual, and it was no different now as Laura poured on the heat and both of them were quickly whipped into a frenzy that threatened to make the bed rock.  Laura pumped and pumped, churning her pelvis and jamming her wet pussy into Makeeda’s, gripping her flawless breasts in both hands and squeezing them almost too hard, watching the wincing pleasure seize Makeeda’s face, watching her surge and climb toward an excruciating climax, hearing her gurgle and groan with throbbing sexual tension.
       
       “Ungghh!  Ungghh!  Oh god, yes!  Oh . . . Laura!  Ummnnggh!  Yes . . . do it harder!  Ahnnnggg!  Oh honey . . . oh honey!”
       
       Laura, for her part, could not keep her mouth off Makeeda’s marvelous naked breasts for long.  She spent, it sometimes seemed to her, half her life inhaling the luscious globes, but suddenly it was not enough, and she had to bend down and forward while rapidly fucking Makeeda with her pussy in order to suck them again, voraciously, squeezing the firm globes in her hands and half-swallowing Makeeda’s bulging black nipples, until Makeeda began keening and whimpering and gasping as if she were about to come.
       
       She was the only woman Laura had ever known who would occasionally, without warning, succumb to an orgasm so crushing, so total, that she nearly lost consciousness and went into a deep swoon while trembling and quivering and gurgling softly in the grip of an ecstasy so rending and complete that you wondered if she would ever return.  She said only Laura and her previous partner Diane had been able to take her there; and Laura, though she was improving, had always been jealous of Diane for sharing in that honor.  The bitch.  She can’t ever have loved her as much as I love her.
       
       The only trouble with such an orgasm was that it came unexpectedly.  You could not set out, either of you, with achieving it in mind.  It just appeared.  And Laura at this moment wished and willed for it to appear with all her heart.  Now that she felt it might actually be possible, she marshaled every effort and skill point to that purpose, focusing all her attention on the sensation of her wet pussy sliding and grinding against Makeeda’s, and murmuring hot words to her as if she could coax the crushing, overpowering climax to life in Makeeda’s undulating body by the sheer force of her desire to make it happen.
       
       “Come for me, honey,” she murmured, still sucking Makeeda’s nipples, but not as savagely now, trying to bring her along, slowly if necessary, to lift her to the pinnacle.  “Come for me, honey.  I’m taking you there.  Yes. Yes.  I love you so much.  Come for me, honey.”
       
       “Ungghhh!  Oh!” Makeeda gasped.
       
       “Yes!  You’re there!  You’re almost there!  Come for me, baby!”
       
       “Auungghhh!” Makeeda suddenly cried out, her body seizing up in a sharp spasm, then almost floating out into a long, quivering wave as the deep coma orgasm began to grip her.  
       
       They were silent, these climaxes.  Only a traumatic kind of faint squeaking sometimes seemed to emerge from deep in Makeeda’s throat as she rode the endless waves of coming, her eyelids fluttering, her flesh spasming and quivering, while Laura held her and quit pumping and grinding.  She just leaned forward to hold her and smiled as she could feel Makeeda’s body quaking deep inside.  There was no time, just the complete union of their bodies, Makeeda trembling in an endless ecstasy, Laura tingling and thrilling just to be holding her, feeling that even an orgasm of her own at the same moment would only detract from her joy in being the one who had brought Makeeda to this state.
       
       She had no idea how much time elapsed during these episodes.  She never did.  She only knew that eventually the trembling stopped, and their heart rates and breathing slowly returned to normal.  And finally Makeeda blinked a few times and turned her head to look at Laura, her hazel eyes now liquid with adoration and the stunned aftermath of a fierce physical event.  
       
       “You . . . did it again,” she croaked softly.
       
       Laura kissed her nose.  “No.  You did it again.”
       
       “I wish I could make you come like that.”
       
       Laura nuzzled her neck and her ear.  “If I could come like that, we’d both have to wear one of those buzzers around our necks like old people use to call 911.  ‘Oh god, help me!  We’ve killed each other by fucking!  Please send an ambulance!’”
       
       They both erupted in laughter, which revived Makeeda enough to encourage her to repay Laura’s efforts with a little hot loving of her own, until Laura, though not climaxing in quite the shockingly severe way Makeeda had done, nevertheless had a deep and resonant orgasm too, after which they decided to go out to the pool after all.
       
       “You’re not going to wear that thing out there,” Laura pointed to the limp strings of Makeeda’s amazing bikini on the floor.  “I’m not kidding, they’ll have us arrested.”
       
       Makeeda smirked sexily.  “Okay.  I’ll wear another one.”  She went to her bag.  “It served its purpose.  I only wore it to provoke you anyway.”
       
       But Laura still couldn’t help wondering.  If I hadn’t put up a stink about it, would she have worn it outside to the pool?  After all, she is a little bit more of an exhibitionist than I am.  She’s used to being gawked at in public.  How do I know what she does when she’s away?  
       
       As they were lying in the sun by the pool, these thoughts seemed to lead her back in the direction of Margaret, Shelley’s lover, and how she believed she had seen Makeeda and Margaret exchange furtive glances.  It was a few days ago now, and she found herself wondering if she had really seen it after all.  It was so easy to make up things like that, if you were paranoid, or insecure.  Maybe she had imagined it.
       
       Anyway, she told herself, we don’t ask each other things like that.  What if she asked you whom you may have been fucking while she was gone?  How would you like it?  What would you say?  Oh, there’s this sweet little yoga nut with pigtails who looks about thirteen and who thinks she’s falling in love with me, and then my old friend Brenda and I fisted each other crazy one night, and there’s this skinny beautiful dark-as-midnight lawyer I’ve been fucking for over a year now, and then this cute teenager who waters plants in the office needed help with her algebra, and so on, and so on  . . .
       
       Laura almost blushed, even lying there in the sun beside the love her of her life, just thinking all this.  So.  Maybe she went to bed with Shelley’s roommate, the beautiful blonde model.  So what.  Big deal.  She’s here now, isn’t she?  With me.  Having just had one of her little I’m-dying orgasms.  In my arms.  So what.  Who cares about St. Margaret?  Not me.
       
       But she did.  She couldn’t help it.  Her thoughts kept coming back to it.  
       
       “Did you see those two girls at the Rrazz Room on opening night?  The ones in the slinky evening dresses?  The black one and the white one?”  She blurted this out to Makeeda without any forethought, almost as if her lips and tongue and mouth were not a part of her and had decided to ask this question on their own.
       
       She realized she was carefully scrutinizing Makeeda’s face for some telltale sign of lying.  Of course they were both wearing sun glasses, so it was not exactly easy to detect any duplicity.  
       
       “I did,” Makeeda said, calmly.  “You think they were girlfriends?”
       
       “Probably.  They sure seemed interested in you.”  She paused for effect.  “The blonde one, anyway.”
       
       Suddenly she hated herself for having said all this and wished she could have back every word.  It was not like her to be overtly suspicious, and she hated the querulous, nasty sound of her voice.
       
       “Since they paid to get in, they were probably there to see me,” Makeeda said, with exaggerated patience.  Then she broke into a smile.  “Why?  Are you jealous?”
       
       “Yes,” Laura said bluntly.  “She was gorgeous.  All I could do was think of her fucking you.”
       
       Makeeda looked around the pool.  There was a man reading a newspaper at the far end, and two teenaged girls cavorting in the shallow part.  Otherwise, no one else.
       
       “You shouldn’t talk like that,” she said in a whisper.  “Somebody might hear you.”
       
       Laura laughed back.  “You were the one who wanted to wear the Lady Godiva bikini out here.”
       
       Makeeda said nothing.  Laura plunged forward, heedless of the emotional turmoil she was about to cause, or unable to stop herself.  “Did you wear it for her?”

       Makeeda sat up and took off her sun glasses so that Laura could see her steely eyes, usually a thrilling liquid hazel, with green and gold flecks and swirls, but now hard and unflinching.  “If you want to accuse me of something, I think you ought to do it.”
       
       Laura pouted.  “I . . . I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean anything.”
       
       “I’m afraid you did.  Look, let me tell you two things.  One, I bought the bikini in Tampa one day when I was bored and lonely and thinking of you.  Two, I did sleep with the blonde girl once.  Her name is Margaret Carlson, she’s a super model or whatever they call those now, and she was in Orlando when I was appearing there two nights in a jazz club.  She and I were both lonely.  She’s in love with that pretty bimbo she was with at the club.  It was only once, and it meant nothing as far as you and I go, but it did happen, yes.  And I’m sorry you had to find out, and I’m sorry if it hurts you.  Okay?  She is basically a nice person but a little self-centered and full of herself.”
       
       “And gorgeous,” Laura interjected, petulantly.
       
       Makeeda nodded.  “Yes.  But not as gorgeous as you are.”  She gave Laura a hard stare.  “And if you must know, not in the same league in bed, either.”
       
       “You’re just saying that.”
       
       Makeeda lifted her head haughtily.  Up to now she had been trying to placate Laura, but she had had enough, apparently, of this silly petulance.  “Suit yourself.”  She put her sun glasses back and on and settled down again on her back on the chaise lounge, stretching her dark golden thighs and the rest of her amazing goddess’s body as if to taunt Laura with its beauty.  Laura’s eyes raced over the sleek tawny flesh, the smooth hard abs, the incredible breasts.  Makeeda was wearing a more conventional bikini this time, not mere strings, but still white patches of cloth that contrasted beautifully with her richly dark mahogany skin.  Laura had run her lips over that skin hundreds of times, most recently only about half an hour earlier, and gazing at it like this made her very aware of wanting to do it again, to do it forever and ever, until Makeeda gasped and panted again, and again.
       
       Also, paradoxically, this little tiff they were having aroused her wildly.  She could feel her pussy aching and moistening.  She remembered that in the past Makeeda would occasionally lie about something to make Laura jealous, then bait her into spanking or otherwise sexually assaulting her, until both of them succumbed to a blazing, scorching fury of fucking that left them weak with happiness.  But this time was different.  It wasn’t a lie this time.  She really had slept with St. Margaret, and Laura knew that for her part it was impossible to ignore since she knew Shelley, and through her a little of Margaret, and so the event, whenever it had happened, was not sex with a stray stranger but with an actual person she had seen, and whose lover she herself and had fucked to the moon and back a hundred times.
       
       Her feelings were in a turmoil, and she knew she had to get control of them instantly or this mini vacation and retreat would be spoiled for good.  Makeeda was ignoring her.  And why shouldn’t she? Laura reasoned.  How can I be jealous when I have done the same thing?  But she doesn’t know the girls I’ve slept with.  She hasn’t had to look at them fawning over me, like that obnoxious cunt Margaret was fawning over her.  Oh wait a minute, you’re blowing this up way out of proportion.  The fact is they were only giving secret little smiles to each other so that I, and Shelley, wouldn’t notice.
       
       She suddenly wanted to make love to Makeeda again immediately.  Not here outside by the pool, of course.  She wanted to coax her back to their room and tie her to the bed.  If only I had brought a rope, she smiled slyly to herself.  She looked over at her, watching the curvature of her beautiful bare stomach as her breathing made it slightly rise and sink, rise and sink.  I want to kiss it.  I want to rub my pussy on it.  And when Makeeda stretched, a little theatrically for Laura’s benefit, and for anybody else who happened to be watching, Laura felt the breath catch in her throat.  Makeeda turned over onto her stomach, resting her cheek on her crossed forearms, facing away from Laura.  Her amazing ass was amazingly revealed in part by the tiny patch of her bikini bottom, two splendid dark brown cantaloupes that Laura wanted to lick and suck.
       
       She got the idea of rubbing more sun block onto Makeeda’s back.  They had already sun-blocked one another thoroughly when they had first lain down like this, but that was half an hour ago.  Moving very quietly, Laura took the tube from the table and straddled the chaise lounge and Makeeda’s body over the backs of her thighs, then squeezed out the smooth worm of paste onto Makeeda’s voluptuous back.  Makeeda barely gave notice that any of this was happening.  The most she revealed was a tiny tug of a smile around the corners of her mouth as Laura massaged the sun block into her back lovingly.
       
       Finally, Laura could restrain herself no longer.  Her fingers were rubbing Makeeda’s dark golden shoulders, and she brushed her hair up a little to expose the nape of her neck, then bent to kiss it, a long, sensual kiss, followed by a suck that made Makeeda shiver.  “I hate you for telling me that,” she whispered, running her fingers down to Makeeda’s shoulder blades and tickling them in a special spot she knew would get a response.
       
       Makeeda giggled softly.  “You asked for it,” she whispered back, squirming a little.
       
       “I want to fuck you again,” Laura murmured against her warm back, smelling of sweat and sun block.  “You make me so horny.”
       
       Makeeda lifted her cheek off her forearms and twisted her head up to look at Laura.  “You’re going to get us kicked out of here, and we’ll never be able to come back,” she smiled.
       
       “Oh, pooh.  This is Northern California.  Nobody cares if a couple of lesbians make out by the pool.”
       
       “They might.”  She tilted her head toward the man who was reading a newspaper at the other end of the very large pool.  He was indeed watching them, but furtively.
       
       “Let them get their kicks,” Laura teased, bending to kiss the nape of her neck again.
       
       But Makeeda twisted around to sit up and face her, forcing Laura to stand, then crouch next to the chaise lounge.  “You’re sure you forgive me for my little lapse?” she asked, trying, like Laura, to make peace between them.
       
       “Of course I don’t,” Laura pouted, but this time clearly a theatrical pout, not a real one.  “I hate you for it, I told you.  But you did sing to me in front of all those people.  Not to her.”
       
       “I meant every word of it.”
       
       “I would sing to you . . . if I could sing,” Laura said, feeling a little sheepish.  “And I would mean it, too.”
       
       Makeeda softened.  Her shoulders slumped as she relaxed, and Laura for the first time realized how tense she had been.  Even the sun block massage had not softened her, until now.  “I think we better go inside or we’re going to give that guy at the end of the pool the show he’s wishing for.”
       
       Laura smirked.  “He’ll have to imagine it.  Swim first?”
       
       They both plunged into the pool and did a little race from one end to the other and back, a race Makeeda won, but just barely.  “Just for that,” Laura murmured to her sotto voce as they toweled each other off, “you have to let me have my way with you.”
       
       Makeeda winked at her from beneath the towel she was using to dry her hair.  “I was planning to anyway.  Nothing I like more than being raped by my darling.”
       
       Inside their room again, Laura approached her with playful menace, after double locking the door.  “Hey, wait a minute!” Makeeda laughed, putting up her hands to thwart Laura.  “To the victor belongs the spoils, right?  Didn’t I win?  Don’t I get to have my way with you first?”
       
       Laura pushed her hands aside and embraced her.  They were both still damp from the pool, despite drying off.  Laura sucked her neck.  “Hold still vhile I suck your bluuuud!” she said in her Dracula voice.
       
       Makeeda could not stop laughing.  “Help!” she gasped through her laughter in a tiny, high voice.
       
       But the more Laura sucked her beautiful smooth damp neck, the more serious she got.  She was indeed very horny.  Lying in the sun by the pool had made her horny, and the revelations Makeeda had confessed, no matter how disturbing, had also made her horny.  The brief visions she had allowed herself of the horrid but undeniably beautiful Margaret Carlson coiled naked together with Makeeda had made her blood roil and boil not only with horror and vivid jealousy, but also with hot throbbing lust.  And, since Margaret and Shelley had been together at the club, she had not been able to avoid thinking of Shelley too, Shelley’s sinuous and lean dark naked body coiled together with her own, Shelley yelping when she came and then feeling guilty for betraying St. Margaret with Laura.  It all jumbled together in Laura’s head and made her hornier than ever.
       
       She already had Makeeda’s bikini top off and was filling her hands with the woman’s incredibly beautiful breasts, squeezing them perhaps a bit more roughly than she should.  
       
       “Ouch!” Makeeda said, but still laughing a little.  “You really mean it, don’t you.  You’re going to ravish me.”
       
       “I am going to suuuuck your bluuuuud!” Laura repeated, sucking her neck again.
       
       “If you leave a hickey on me, I’m going to kill you,” Makeeda threatened.
       
       “I am going to fuck you and fuck you,” Laura growled, continuing her Dracula voice, while quickly divesting both of them of their skimpy bikinis.
       
       “Oh god, I love it when you get rough and nasty,” Makeeda laughed, letting herself be pulled down onto the bed.  “You are a terror in the sack, Laura Robbins.”
       
       Laura was busy trying to swallow her nipples, one by one.  She also had her hand in Makeeda’s crotch, finger-invading her wet pussy and fucking it roughly and rapidly.
       
       “Ungghh!  Unh!  Unh!  God, you mean business, don’t you!” Makeeda gasped, still giggling raggedly at the force of Laura’s love assault, but also half-overwhelmed by the relentlessness of it.
       
       Laura was momentarily too possessed by raging lust to reply.  Her hands were everywhere, and her mouth, that insanely voracious mouth, was everywhere too.  Still fingering the wet, slippery blossom of Makeeda’s beautiful black pussy, she slid lower to get her mouth on it too, and realized that she was already fucking Makeeda with three fingers.  She had never fist-fucked her.  In all the fucking they had done, over a few years now, she had never somehow had the inclination to do it until now.  
       
       Quickly she had four fingers, then a wedge of all five, in the outer edge of Makeeda’s warm runny slit, and, glancing up, she realized that Makeeda knew it.  
       
       “Ohhh . . . Jesus!” she heard and saw her say softly, in a shocked voice.
       
       And an instant later Laura’s entire hand was inside of her.  She began twisting her fingers, making a fist inside the tight slippery channel, watching Makeeda’s face.  Laura began to slide her hand, her fist, slowly in and out.
       
       “Unhhhh . . . unhhhhh . . .” Makeeda panted, suddenly chewing her lower lip, her burning hazel eyes glaring into Laura’s.
       
       For the briefest few seconds, Laura could not be sure Makeeda was enjoying it or deeply angry at her for trying it.  Her striking hazel eyes burned and flickered with hot inner fires.  But her body began undulating almost imperceptibly, and certainly involuntarily, under Laura’s slow, even thrusts, and Laura began to realize that Makeeda could not squelch the sexual tornado that was being born inside her clenching cunt.
       
       “Unhh!  Unhhh!” Makeeda began gasping softly.
       
       “You’re mine, Cynthia,” Laura almost hissed at her, looking at her hand embedded up to the wrist in Makeeda’s shapely black pussy.  “You’re mine . . . you belong to me.”
       
       Determined to possess this wonderful woman more thoroughly and more completely than ever before, and very conscious of the welter of feelings that churned and roiled within both of them, she slid her other hand under Makeeda’s hard, jouncing asscheeks and slithered two fingers up into the crack between them, probing, pushing, until they slid into Makeeda’s tight little asshole.
       
       Makeeda’s eyes watered.  She looked at Laura in disbelief.  They had done nearly everything you could do, but never this.  Laura had both hands inside her body and was sucking and licking her distended clit with maniacal fervor.  
       
       And Makeeda gave herself over to it totally.  “Yes!” she panted, now gyrating her pelvis more rapidly, churning, pushing her ass and pussy down into Laura’s invading hands.  “Yes!  Oh god, you’re going to make me come, if you keep this up!”
       
       Laura merely grinned up at her and redoubled her efforts, fucking her more roughly, and rapidly.  She realized that the mysteriously deep feelings of intimacy that often accompanied fisting had not even had a chance to be born this time and were being superseded by a crackling sexual fire to intense that it obliterated everything but their panting, whimpering need, their fierce urgency, and their scalding, searing love.  
       
       “Oh . . . shit!” Makeeda suddenly gasped, with a start, her body suddenly clenching from neck to toe.  “Oh . . . god . . . Laur—”
       
       She didn’t get all of Laura’s name out of her mouth before a loud yelp of shocking ecstasy replaced and inundated it.  “Aawwoonnngggg!” she roared, so loudly that Laura feared they would be heard all the way back down the corridors to the swimming pool.
       
       “Oh honey . . . oh honey!” she gasped involuntarily, unable to do anything but hold on and watch as Makeeda went into the sharp convulsions of a stupendous climax.
       
       Her body flipped and strained and convulsed by turns, leaping off the bed, still impaled by Laura’s arm and her other hand between Makeeda’s clenching buns, her cries reduced to tiny cawing squeaks as successive wave after wave of a crushing orgasm shook her.  Finally, deep, agonizing lowing sounds began to come from deep in her chest, a gorgeous flow of wrenching ecstatic moaning that reminded Laura of this beautiful singing voice that was now twisted and throttled by the ferocious sexual bliss she herself had brought on.
       
       “Oaaanngghhhh!  Oooaannnghhh!  Ahnnnggg!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh . . . Laura Laura!  Oh Laura, I love you . . . I love you I love yooooouuuuuu!”
       
       “Shhhhhh . . . shhhhh!” Laura smothered her face with kisses, pulling both her hands free as  gently as possible so as not to disrupt the flow of the orgasmic waves that were still rending Makeeda’s undulating body, this beautiful body, so crushed by this stupendous love-climax.  “I love you too.  Shhhhhhh!  They’ll hear us.”
       
       “I don’t care!” Makeeda gasped, her eyelids fluttering open.  “I don’t care if everybody knows.”
       
       “Obviously,” Laura grinned.  “But we might want to come back here some day.”
       
       Makeeda was silent for a minute or two while she regained her breath and her composure.  “Nobody ever fucked me like that,” she finally croaked softly, looking at Laura with awe and love.  “Nobody.”
       
       Laura resisted the opportunity to say: Not even Margaret?  You’re bigger than that, Laura, I hope, she thought, exerting an iron grip on her residual petulance.  She kissed Makeeda’s cheek and stroked her breasts.
       
       “You’re getting vagina juice all over my nipples,” Makeeda finally grinned at her.
       
       “Just so I can lick it off again,” Laura murmured.
       
       Makeeda took her in a wild, fierce embrace.  “If you ever leave me I’ll kill myself,” she said with wide-eyed exuberance.
       
       “You don’t seem like the type,” Laura teased her.  “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about that because I’m never leaving.  You and I will be sitting together on the porch at the Old Folks’ Home some day, remembering this moment.”
       
       “You mean when you nearly fucked me to death at the Napa Valley Inn?  All because of your petty little moment of jealousy?”
       
       Laura bowed her head demurely, ashamed or embarrassed to answer this.  Makeeda embraced her hard again, this time sucking her neck.  
       
       “If you give me a hickey, you won’t have to kill yourself.  I’ll do it for you.”
       
       “I think I’m going to make you jealous again, just so I can get you to fist-fuck me to heaven.”
       
       They wrestled for a few minutes, but gently, with lots of tickling.  Finally, they tired of it and stopped.  “All you need to do is ask,” Laura whispered in her marvelous dark brown ear.  No more St. Margaret, okay?  It kills me inside.  But she did not say this and kept kissing.
       

       
       
       
       
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The Laura story chapters are now available, in both text and html formats, on the ASS html archive site at http://www.asstr.org/~laura.  Text files may also be downloaded via FTP at ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/laura.  The chapters are now also available in html format at http://www.thevalkyrie.com/stories/miranda/index.html.  © Copyright Miranda Mars, 1999-2011.  It is unlawful to reprint or otherwise distribute this material without the written consent of the author. 



