by Miranda Mars
“Ungghh! Mnneee! Ooohhh . . . you do it hard!”
“I know,” Laura chuckled softly. “I want to swallow them.”
“Good!” Gail ran her own hands up to her breasts and held them steady for Laura's sexual attack, even pushing each one harder into Laura's mouth, while Laura indeed tried to swallow her nipples.
“Hhhhh! Hhhhh!” Gail panted.
Effortlessly, Laura slid between Gail's thighs, scissoring her groin with both thighs and rising up perpendicular to her while bringing her own pussy closer to Gail's. They both froze for the briefest instant when each felt their wet, swollen cunts finally touching. But the sensation only made them want to vigorously mash them together, which they did excitedly. Gail began to whimper, her cute face contorting into an expression of piercing sexual emotion.
“Oh! Laura! Maybe . . . I can! Maybe I can! Shit, that feels so good!”
Gail had a tight little slit of a pussy, so different from the extravagant floppy-lipped blossom of Nyomi's that Laura had been enthusiastically sucking and fucking only days earlier; and to really feel it, she had to slide one hand down and maneuver Gail's pussy lips open wider so that she could, they both could, feel the hot slick wet flesh inside mashing against her own. She did this and then began pumping pretty vigorously, rubbing her pussy against Gail's until she saw her eyes roll up and her face contort in a brief seizure of gathering sexual storm.
“Oh shit . . . oh Laura . . .” Gail gasped, clutching Laura's thighs with her fingers, doing her best to gyrate her groin up into Laura's thrusts, but quivering and flexing as sexual pleasure began to permeate every part of her body. Her pretty breasts swirled and shook. “Oh shit . . . I'm going to come . . . keep it up . . . keep it . . . up!”
Laura needed no encouragement, but as often happened with Gail, this was a false alarm. Even though she was clearly being swept quickly toward a sharp physical explosion, somehow her concentration lapsed momentarily, and she slumped back into a trough, whining softly and still gyrating and wincing excitedly, but not getting any closer to a climax. Laura, while not pausing for an instant in her gentle pumping and pelvis-swirling, soothed her and caressed her body lovingly.
“It's okay, honey . . . it's okay . . . we're getting there . . . just relax. We're getting there . . . I promise.”
She bent down and forward to kiss Gail, which they did for a long minute of thrilling tongue-dancing, a kiss that somehow reawakened Gail's physical need, for in the middle of it she began thrusting again, and grabbing Laura's hands, pulling them up to her jiggling, swirling breasts.
“Squeeze them . . . and fuck me hard!” she suddenly gasped. “Oh shit, I think I'm getting there again!”
Laura smiled, doing as she had been asked. It was never a problem to hold Gail's adorable little breasts in her hands, or to fuck her hard. She immediately increased the vigor and speed of her thrusts, watching with fascination as Gail's face reflected the swelling tension of her sexual need, and she hurtled now toward release. Laura too was feeling it, and she knew she herself might come before Gail did, at this rate.
They were finally locked in the hot, inevitable moment, jouncing and pumping and gurgling and gasping together, in the final surge, no going back, the bed shaking, the room echoing with their increasingly hysterical whimpering. Laura could feel the slippery wet hot flesh of Gail's tight little pussy rubbing against her own, against her swollen, throbbing clit, lighting fires deep inside her womb, which suddenly, without warning, burst into fiery spurts of sweet coming that wrenched a savage cry of almost painful physical pleasure from her lungs.
“Anngghmmnniiieeee!” she wailed, her body jerking and clenching, wracked by sharp spasms.
And Gail climaxed too, right behind her, shuddering and arching her back and writhing, but not crying out like Laura. Instead, a steady, barely audible squeal of ecstasy seemed clotted in her throat, cawing its way out, as she winced and grimaced and came in jolt after jolt.
“Nnnngggiiiiieeee!” she squealed, tossing her head back and forth, her lovely young body clenching and squirming under Laura as repeated shocks wrenched her too.
Together they wailed and squealed until the sweet spasms slowly died away, and their bodies unclenched, and their exhausted muscles twitched and quivered uncontrollably. Laura rolled onto her side and drew Gail's still-quivering body against her own, kissing her cheek, her forehead. “Oh honey . . . I think that was the best one we ever did together,” she murmured against Gail's ear.
But Gail did not respond for nearly a minute. She just panted softly, against Laura's shoulder. Then, she blinked. Then a wan smile spread over her face. Then a tear came out of one eye, but she quickly wiped it away, as if she were embarrassed for it to be seen. “I don't love you, you know,” she whispered. “I don't. But it's pretty close.”
“Oh honey.” Laura squeezed her tightly and kissed her. “I'll miss you so much. You have to write me every week.”
Gail made a comical face. “Duh. Facebook?”
“I don't use Facebook.”
Gail frowned. “Why not?”
“I'm . . . too busy,” Laura scrambled for reasons. “Don't like everybody knowing everything about me.”
Gail shrugged. “Email.”
Laura nodded. They were still, clinging nakedly together, pulling the sheet up, listening to the foghorns.
“If you stay till morning, we can fuck more times. Maybe two or three.”
“I can't. You know that.”
“I know,” Gail nodded. “Don't make me cry again.”
Laura grinned sternly at her. “You know I didn't make you do that,” she said, but softly.
“I know. You want to know something? You're like a mother and a sister and a lover all rolled into one. It's no wonder I feel these . . . strong things about you.”
Her vulnerability, so rare for Gail, made Laura again wildly horny. Why is that? she wondered. She's sad . . . so I want to fuck her madly?
She conquered this immediate impulse, but not for good. Before the hour was out they were coupling wildly and exhaustively again, and by the time Gail sadly said goodbye to Laura at the door, it was one a.m. and the fog was swirling and the foghorns were bleating and both were smiling and gulping to hold back their tears..
The End
Her reunion with Lila in Dallas had been sweet, and scorching, by turns, and so absorbing that all thought of Sara had slipped Laura's mind for nearly the duration. They kissed one last time, and then Lila slipped out of Laura's hotel room and waved back at Laura when she got to the elevator lobby. Laura was only peeking out the door, still being stark naked. When Lila disappeared into the elevator, Laura returned to the bed, feeling dreamy and sensual and satiated. It was only about nine-thirty. Suddenly she remembered Sara.
Oh my god! She snatched up the phone, then put it slowly back down again, knowing that she had to get control of her mood first. You couldn't just call your lover after having spent a flaming evening in bed with a voluptuous love goddess like Lila. For a few minutes¸ she lay there letting her mind drift, especially letting it drift back to Sara, letting all the deep feelings she had for her reawaken, letting the few days here with Lila drift into the background.
When she was finally in the right mood, she picked up the phone again. Unfortunately, she reached Sara's answering machine. “Leave a message after the beepo, Beepo.”
Of course, Laura giggled, Sara could not be expected to leave a straightforward, simple answering machine greeting. But it was troubling. She should be home. Tomorrow was a work day. Sara was almost always home at this hour.
“Sara . . . it's Laura,” Laura said, trying not to sound upset. “Pick up, if you're there.” She waited a few seconds. “Pick up. Sara? I've got to talk to you. Sara . . . oh god, I miss you so much. I'm coming home tomorrow. I love you, Sara. Are you there? Please pick up.”
Nothing. Laura waited a few more seconds and then hung up, not wanting the tape to run out. Where could she be? She's always there at this
hour. She knows I'm going to call. Maybe she's out tracking Dee Dee down? Oh god.
Laura had a quick vision of a drunken or drugged-out Dee Dee suddenly pouring out the truth to Sara about her fucking with Laura. This made Laura almost physically sick. Quickly, she tried to put it out of her mind. Alternatively, she found herself thinking that Sara might be in bed with someone else, as she herself had been only moments earlier with Lila.
In spite of her efforts to be fair, and to realize that she did not own Sara, that Sara had as much right as she, Laura, did to give in to her irresistible urges, Laura felt almost worse about this than she did about the prospect of Dee Dee spilling the beans. It was a long, long night, and she slept only a few hours before morning.
When she got home the following day, she raced to the telephone the moment she got inside the door. She was going to call Sara at work, but first she checked her home voice mail. Surely Sara had left her a message there, especially after the message Laura had left on Sara's answering machine the previous evening from Dallas, after Lila had departed.
And Sara had left a message, the third one in the queue. Unfortunately, it was not what Laura had hoped for. Sara was very somber. She spoke slowly and very softly. Her voice was deep, very unlike her usual voice, and sounded somehow disembodied, denatured, even wooden.
“Laura . . . I know you won't think it's right to leave you a message like this,” Sara said evenly. “I've thought about it, and I'm going to do it anyway. I don't want to see you. I don't want either one of us to go through that.” [There was a pause here while Sara swallowed and composed herself further.] “Dee Dee told me about you two. [Another pause.] She drinks . . . smokes weed . . . snorts. I don't know how you thought she wouldn't spill it sooner or later. Anyway, she's jealous of me and likes to hurt me.” [Another devastating pause, during which Laura could actually hear her own whimpering, which until now she had been unaware of.] “I want you to know I really did love you. I never loved anybody so much. But I don't love you any more. I don't want to see you. Please don't try to see me. It was a mistake. Let's leave it at that. Don't call.”
The cloying, automated whine of the voice mail lady came on the phone. “End of message. To repeat message, press one. To reply, press two. To erase--”
Laura was so shattered that it was all she could do just to get her quivering hand to hang up the phone. After a few moments she noticed that her nearly silent moaning and whimpering had stopped. The tightness in her chest and stomach was agonizing. Silent tears were sliding down her cheeks, dripping off her chin onto her hands. Her throat was so tightly pinched that no sound could escape. She was sure she had never felt such intense emotional pain.
For an immensely long time, she sat like this, alone in her living room, unable to cry, unable to do anything but hurt. She knew she had brought this on herself. Her own recklessness had been the cause. Dee Dee had tempted her, but she should have been able to turn away. No one had ever meant as much to her as Sara, and she had thrown it away for a few cheap moments of thrilling sex.
She wanted to talk to her but knew it was impossible. Also unwise, given both Sara's admonitions and her own certainty that she would simply blubber and grovel and plead and beg and look altogether as despicable and contemptible as she felt. She remembered losing some boy, when she was a teenager, to a high school rival and feeling a devastating loss, as though she could not live without him. This was the way she felt about Sara. Only now she was no longer a teenager, no longer theatrically suffering the sharp though callow yearnings of adolescence, but a responsible adult who simply felt like she was going to die of this pain, this horrible agony of loss. I love her, she thought bleakly. I love her forever.
She cut herself short on this one, not letting her mind linger on it. Yes, you love her. Now you can love her in her absence. Don't think about it, at least not right now. You'll only feel worse. As if that were possible.
She had arrived home at 3 p.m. and at eight-twenty she looked at a clock and realized that she had no idea what had happened in the past five and a half hours. She was not hungry. She was numb. She looked at her face in the bathroom mirror and realized that she had been crying, apparently pretty heavily, but had little memory of it. Her throat, however, was sore from the tight sobs. Now she felt drained, giddy. Is it grief that makes you feel this way? she asked herself.
Again she plotted and had to stop herself. What would she do if I just showed up there, on her doorstep? Like when she gets home from work? There I am. Would she be cruel? Send me away? Would she let me in? Would she listen to my apologies?
Oh god, I hate myself. I want her to know how much I hate myself. Maybe I should call her and leave her another message, tell her how much I hate myself. How sorry I am. Maybe I should send her a letter. Maybe I should send her flowers. Ha, maybe that's it! Remember how happy Dawn was to get those flowers I brought? Maybe I could send her something else. A telegram. A simple telegram. 'I Love You. I Always Will. I'm So Sorry. Signed, Laura.'
Oh shit, no, she thought.
I can't do any of that. Something like that only makes things worse. It only hardens her and makes me look pathetic. What am I going to do? I have to do something!
But Laura knew it was hopeless. She believed Sara when she said she had truly loved Laura. They had touched each other's inner core, and not only sexually. She knew that under Sara's joking, happy-go-lucky exterior there was a flinty, tough, and resilient woman, a rock, a woman one could actually love and respect and adore, as well as desire. This was the woman Laura had offended, and she had done it not with some stranger or past lover but with Sara's own feckless but wildly sexy younger sister.
True, time could dissipate pain and anguish and feelings of rejection, even sexual betrayal. If Laura had cheated with someone else, that person would perhaps disappear, die, move, get hooked up in another relationship. But every time Sara looked at Dee Dee--whom she was constantly rescuing from the consequences of her own worst impulses anyway--she would see Laura writhing naked with her in bed, grimacing and screaming with Dee Dee's face between her legs. You couldn't go on living with such a vision.
Sara would not forgive it. Laura knew she never would. Some things, maybe, but sleeping with Dee Dee, never. Would I forgive it? No. A thousand times: NO.
Months of alternating between sodden remorse and piercing grief lay ahead for her, Laura knew. Worse, she had to return to work the following morning as if nothing had happened, as if she had not been crushed and left bleeding by this horrible event. She was in a daze, not having eaten since Dallas, having got little sleep, her insides feeling knotted and raw and clenched in the effort to conceal her pain, even from herself, though it gnawed at her like an evil, poison worm.
Laura ducked into the shadows. Fortunately, there was a shuttered liquor store next to Sara's apartment building, and the tattered awning threw a deep trapezoidal shadow out from the doorway. She was nearly invisible to passersby once she got under the awning.
Her heart was racing, and a fierce blush suffused her cheeks and neck. She had never expected it to happen this way. After weeks of self-inflicted misery, she had decided that she must speak with Sara, no matter what. She had to clear the air. She had to make a stab at it.
She had come to Sara's apartment directly from work, hoping to intercept Sara when she arrived home from work herself. She had never in her wildest fears expected what she saw. Sara did come home, and walking with her--they were laughing, joking, almost clinging to one another as they strolled down the sidewalk toward Laura--was a lovely Hispanic girl with flashing black eyes, sensual red lips, and long black hair.
Laura was momentarily transfixed, as if her feet were somehow embedded in the concrete of the sidewalk, her eyes riveted on them. The girl with Sara was vivacious and attractive, but most of all Laura was electrified, even pierced, by the sight of Sara's face, which she had not seen since before her trip, the disastrous trip, to Dallas. Sara's pillowy, sensual lips, her dark, laughing eyes, her sw
eet, malleable, face, so easily changing into one droll expression after another. Laura melted. She quivered.
Before either one of them could see her, she slipped into the shadows. But the shock and jealousy and grief and burning envy she felt were almost too much to bear. They were so at ease together, so relaxed, so happy. She could hear them murmuring almost intimately as Sara unlocked the door. She could hear their footsteps and their affectionate giggling as they ascended the stairs inside.
Laura's emotional pain was boundless. She stood in the shadows under the awning, quivering, quaking inside, almost physically ill. After a while her pain turned slowly to numbness, but she still did not dare to move. What if they were looking out the window? They would see her. She felt like a stalker, like a lurker. Why did I do this? Oh god . . . she and that girl . . .