by Miranda Mars
WARNING
This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. It may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults ONLY.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Please store your files wisely where they cannot be accessed by underage readers.
Please feel free to send me an email. Just know that these emails are filtered by my publisher. Good news is always welcome.
Miranda Mars - [email protected]
You might also want to check my blog for Updates and interesting info.
http://miranda-mars.awesomeauthors.org/
Copyright © 2014 by Miranda Mars
All Rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known, hereinafter invented, without express written permission of 4Fun Publishing. For more information contact 4Fun Publishing. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
About the Publisher
4Fun Publishing, a member of BLVNP Incorporated, 340 S. Lemon #6200, Walnut CA 91789, [email protected] / [email protected]
NOTE: Due to the highly emotional reaction of some people to works of erotic fiction, any email sent to the above address that contains foul language or religious references is automatically deleted by our anti-spam software and will not be seen. All other communications are welcome.
DISCLAIMER
Please don’t be stupid and kill yourself. This book is a work of FICTION.
Do not try any new sexual practice that you find in this book. It is fiction and not to be confused with reality. Neither the author nor the publisher or its associates assume any responsibility for any loss, injury, death or legal consequences resulting from acting on the contents in this book. Every character in this book is over 18 years of age. The author’s opinions are not to be construed as the opinions of the publisher. The material in this book is for entertainment purposes ONLY. Enjoy.
The Laura and Shamika Chronicles, Part 1
WATER MY FICUS
And Take Me to Bed
Lesbian Erotica
By: Miranda Mars
© Miranda Mars 2014
ISBN: 978-1-62761-858-8
SHAMIKA THREW herself a birthday party, but to Laura’s surprise and delight, she invited only— Laura. She had turned nineteen three days earlier.
“I’m a big girl now,” she had whispered playfully to Laura when she had come to water the plants in Laura’s office. She had given Laura a very coquettish glance. “I can do big girl things.” Then she waggled her spectacular butt at Laura and vanished out the door. She carried a big green plastic watering can with a long, curved spout like the proboscis of some weird animal, and as a coda, she waggled that too at Laura in the doorway before yanking it after her.
This little provocative gesture took Laura dreamily back immediately . . . back to a few weeks earlier, when Shamika, then eighteen and working for her aunt Iola’s plant-watering business, had entered her office for the first time.
It had been an unpleasantly anxious period at work, with Arab billionaires and American corporate raiders hovering on the periphery, though no new potential merger partners had appeared as yet on the horizon. Laura was cleaning up a backlog of reports in her office one Saturday morning, as well as nervously revising her resumé. The only other person in the office at that time, as far as she knew, would be the people who tended to the office plants to water and prune. In fact, she only saw one of them, though she knew from past encounters that there had to be two, or three. A young black girl in a green polo shirt with the words “The Green Thumb” silk-screened across the back entered her office silently and began to water the ficus, using the same plastic watering can with a long curving spout like the proboscis of a huge green insect..
Laura, pretending to be busy at her desk, tried not to look too hard at her. She was probably between eighteen and twenty, very pretty, and had a very pretty, tight bottom, and small, jutting young breasts under the shirt. Oh god, I’m such a sucker for pretty things like her, Laura realized. They are my catnip. I want to roll around with them in bed, all of them, and make them whimper and squeal.
“Hi,” Laura said when the girl looked up for a moment and glanced over at her. “I’m Laura.”
“Hi.” Bashful. Quickly back to watering, turning her head away, no eye contact.
She’s probably trained to do that, Laura realized. Don’t disturb the office occupants. Just quietly water the plants and leave. “And your name is . . . ?” Laura prompted gently.
The girl looked back at her and smiled bashfully again. “Shamika.”
“What a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.”
“Shamika . . . you look too young to be working already. Shouldn’t you be home doing your school work?” Laura tried hard to sound casual, though she was really just trying to keep the ball rolling.
Shamika again grinned bashfully. “My aunt owns the business. She lets me work on Saturdays to make a little money.”
Laura immediately realized that Shamika’s aunt was probably the other part of this team, and was no doubt watering the plants in the offices on the opposite side of the suite. That would explain the girl’s nervousness. Don’t disturb the office occupants. Shamika was about to leave, and Laura didn’t know how to make her stay. There was only one plant, and it was already watered.
She got up slowly from her desk and walked over to the door, closing it a little, just leaving a narrow gap. This, she saw in a second, struck a fear into Shamika, who suddenly looked like a trapped animal. “Sorry,” Laura said, reopening the door.
Now, how are you going to explain that, she asked herself. Clumsily, she leaned against the door and again readjusted it to be completely open, pretending that she had accidentally brushed against it, making it close. This was a transparent ruse, but apparently enough to get her out of this uncomfortable situation, since Shamika was happy enough that it was again open. What did she think I was going to do, rape her? Laura wondered.
In fact, it appeared that Shamika only wanted to get on with her appointed tasks. “Have to do the other offices,” she murmured to Laura as she slipped past her and out the door, not lingering enough to speculate on whatever had just happened.
Well, this is certainly embarrassing, Laura reflected. Maybe I give off lust vibes or something. I could’ve sworn she was afraid of me. All I wanted to do was talk to her some more. Look at her. Long for her. After a minute she gave in: Face it, Laura, you wanted to kiss her. And more. Lovely little thing. I can’t apologize for wanting her. Oh well.
She shrugged it off, or tried to. You couldn’t actually go chasing after a pretty young thing like that, hoping to make mawkish and clumsy
apologies for clearly wanting to fuck her, when her aunt, the owner of the company, was watering plants in other offices on the opposite side of this floor. And who might show up at any moment. Laura was mortified. I thought by now I knew how to control myself better, she reflected.
But she did the best she could to put it out of her mind.
Still, she would go into work on Saturday mornings now, even if she did not have to, in hopes of seeing Shamika. Two Saturday mornings in a row she sat in her office trying to seem busy, or completing tasks that could well wait until Monday. Shamika did not appear. On the first Saturday, no one at all appeared to water the ficus. Laura watered it herself, before leaving. On the second Saturday, a young black man named Marcus appeared to water it. Laura was too embarrassed to ask where Shamika might be. The appearance of Marcus, though, was enough to cause her a mild depression. Shamika might never return.
Oh well, she thought. It wasn’t as if she had no bed partners. The delicious, if quirky, Gail, of course. The shockingly gorgeous Frankie, who, however, was usually either working or exhausted on the weekends. And she toyed with the thought of insinuating herself into Bonnie’s affections again, whatever Bonnie’s odious new girlfriend (what was her name again? Winifred? No, Meredith. The cunt Meredith.) might think or want. The cunt, she repeated to herself. LaVonda by now was in Sacramento, but a drive up there was not out of the question. She knew she could also hook up with either Yvette or Tamara again, if she so chose. But just the thought of the pretty little teenager Shamika could make her go all dreamy and wet-sexy. I want to take her clothes off and kiss her all over her body, she thought. That wonderful tight little body.
Shamika did not reappear at all, and soon other worries overtook Laura. Her company did eventually offer her Rhonda’s job, though to her mind, they had taken their sweet time about it. Rhonda had abruptly resigned during the first Dubai-sheik-acquisition-scare. And what did that mean, this delay? Was she second, or even third, choice? Did that signify reluctance on upper management’s part that might bode ill for her future? She had a week to accept the offer, and she dithered about it, her stomach in turmoil.
And then, on a Wednesday afternoon, Shamika suddenly appeared in her office, carrying the big green plastic watering can with the long spout. “Well . . . look who’s here,” Laura smiled brightly at her. “Hello, stranger. I mean, Shamika.”
Shamika grinned bashfully. Laura, in fantasizing about her, had forgotten how bashful she seemed to be. “Hi.”
“Laura. Remember?”
“Hi, Laura.” She quickly went about her task, turning her back on Laura.
This was okay, Laura thought, because she loved admiring Shamika’s splendid high jutting bottom, which she could do much more comfortably if Shamika didn’t know she was doing it. It was indeed a masterpiece, a perfect ‘ghetto booty,’ as Ashley, who also had one, had taught Laura to call it. High, round, taut, curvy, out-jutting; in every way a mouth-watering ass. Shamika turned once and saw Laura looking at it, but then turned back to her watering, which in fact only took a few seconds. A few seconds more and she would be gone again! Laura almost panicked.
“I missed you on Saturday,” she said, pointedly, maybe too pointedly, since it sounded to her ears very much like a transparent come-on. Lecherous old white lesbian making suggestive remarks to sweet innocent young girl, who is only trying to pick up a few bucks on a part-time job. Laura, you creep.
But Shamika did not seem offended and smiled shyly back. “She had me working at another building, where one of her employees was sick.”
After this she dusted the leaves of the plant with a feather duster while Laura frantically worried over how to keep her there a few more minutes. A hopeless wish. In seconds, Shamika had finished and was gone, with however a little grin back at Laura as she skittered out the door and on to her next office. Oh shit! Laura swore to herself. I couldn’t come up with anything. Damn it!
She thought all was lost and was still broiling over this mishap a half an hour later when Shamika suddenly stuck her head in the doorway. “Laura?”
Laura almost threw her neck out of joint in swiveling her head around. She remembers my name! “Yes,” she swallowed to keep calm. “Come on in. Don’t be shy.”
Shamika stood in the doorway. “Do you . . . know anything about algebra?”
“Gosh . . . I guess I . . . do.” She certainly wasn’t going to say no. She knew about as much about algebra as she did about quantum mechanics or how to compose a symphony. “It’s . . . been a long time, but I . . . think I still know a little. Why?”
She noticed for the first time that Shamika had an enchanting sexy little separation between her two upper front teeth, the kind of thing that always made Laura want to christen it with a ravenous kiss. Shamika grew shy again. “I need help with my homework. I was just wondering if . . . you know, like after work . . . a few minutes . . .”
“You brought your school books with you to work?”
“Oh no. But I live near here. With my aunt. You know, the one who gave me this job. She has a place over by the ballpark. Off the Embarcadero. You ever been over there?”
Laura shook her head. “But I know where it is. What about your aunt? Can’t she help you?” I can’t believe I’m trying to get out of this, she thought. Algebra! Then, she panicked. “Is it high school algebra?”
She had no idea if Shamika was still in high school or now in college, or community college.
“City,” Shamika said. “City College. Taking a pre-nursing course. I never have been good at math.”
“And what about your aunt?” Laura asked her again, slightly relieved to find that Shamika was definitely not jail bait.
“She went down to San Jose earlier, to see her boyfriend. She’s staying overnight. I did about six of these problems, but I’ve still got fifteen to do, and I’m not very good at it.”
That will probably make two of us, sweetie, Laura thought. But maybe we can find some other way to have a pleasurable evening. “I would be happy to help you. If I can. Did you want to get your books and bring them back here? Or maybe I could just give you a ride home and we could do it there.”
This, a truly clumsy, inadvertent statement, nearly made her laugh out loud, with embarrassed shock that she had said such a thing. Was it a Freudian slip? Never mind, Shamika did not seem to get it or find it funny, and so Laura didn’t bother to rephrase it. Instead of being shocked, Shamika smiled in her shy, infectious way.
“That would be good.”
Laura looked at her watch, trying not to seem too eager. “How about five-thirty? Can you wait till then?”
Shamika nodded.
“Okay, meet me downstairs in the lobby.” Laura smiled at her with warm affection, trying not to let the lust pop through. “See you then?”
Again, Shamika nodded. Laura turned back to her papers, specifically to keep herself from looking at the girl’s darling butt as Shamika turned and left, still clutching her watering can. Oh god, keep your hands off this charming little angel, Laura, she told herself. She needs help with her algebra, not with any initiation into sweet lesbian sex that you may be tempted to devise, you lecher.
Shamika lived with her aunt in one of those upscale townhouses that clustered around the baseball stadium at the southern end of the Embarcadero, a formerly drab and rundown industrial part of town, warehouses and loading docks that had been transformed into a lively urban setting of bars, restaurants, stylish shops and expensive gentrified housing. The building had an underground parking garage, where Laura parked in Shamika’s aunt’s vacant space, since the aunt was in San Jose. The townhouse itself had a view of the bay and the Bay Bridge, and was decorated in a very ‘House Beautiful’ fashion, with multi-colored throw pillows and severely cut Scandinavian style furniture everywhere, spare and exhilarating.
“Looks like the plant watering business is pretty lucrative,” Laura remarked, glancing around.
“She has six or seven really big contracts,�
�� Shamika said. “And dozens of smaller ones. She’s also a ‘woman and minority-owned business.’ It helps.”
“I can see that it does,” Laura said, admiringly. “Mind if I ask why you live here with her instead of with your parents?”
Shamika turned in a flash from warm and friendly to remote and glum. “My mother . . . was found murdered in McLaren Park about a year ago.”
“Oh god, honey, I’m sorry!” Laura blurted out. She had not imagined anything like this.
“My father lives in Morgan Hill. He has two boys who are . . . problem kids? You know? Drugs and stuff? So, he has his hands full with them, and my aunt Iola said I could live here since she’s got plenty of room. We get along. It’s good.”
“I’m so sorry about your mother.” Laura was still stunned by this news. She knew such things happened, but it still threw you when they came so close.
She wanted to hug Shamika, and not only for sexual reasons, though it was impossible to exclude them. But she wanted to comfort her, soothe her, in some way make it up to her for what life had handed her so young. Shamika, however, seemed less grief struck than resigned and terminally sad. Of course it had been a year; one did adjust, and give up grief for resignation. Laura’s father had died, but he had been in his seventies. She missed him, but it was not like losing him when she was eighteen or nineteen.