Laura the Laugher Part Two — Jeremy Edwards

Did you miss Laura the Laugher Part One? Check it out here.

The laughter in the room was overtaken by applause. The comical shadows made discreet exits, and the house lights went up.

Regina gasped when she found she was alone again—and that she had never been so aroused in her life.

When she’d arrived, the management had shown her which door to proceed through after Laura’s act, in order to keep her interview appointment in the dressing room. While other patrons moved casually toward the bar or the restrooms, Regina rushed in the opposite direction, as desperately as if she were trying to catch a train. “Best I’ve ever seen from her,” she heard someone say to a companion as she hurried past.

She flashed her press pass at the hipster who sat on a stool in the corridor, breathing one burning word out to him: “Laura.”

He nodded to the left, toward a black door set into a black wall. “She just flew by ten seconds ago. Probably had to pee.”

Regina blushed, daring to hope that the stagehand had correctly read Laura’s urgency—but incorrectly read its cause. In her imagination, it was nothing as biologically mundane as an eager bladder that had sent Laura rocketing into the privacy of her dressing room in the wake of her onstage exhilaration. Regina wanted to know that Laura, hyperalive and trembling from her performance, was one giggle away from a thunderous orgasm, and that the Laugher had raced to her dressing room to bring it upon herself without further delay.

As she navigated past the hipster, she was suddenly afraid that Laura would be doing precisely what she hoped she’d be doing—but that she herself would be excluded: locked out, her interview relegated to the lobby and its subject cool and professional, fifteen minutes hence . . . when nothing would matter anymore. Feeling a need that scurried from her pussy to her knuckles, she rapped hungrily on Laura’s door.

The hesitation was brief, but Regina thought she could discern the noises of slick digits being extricated and elastic snapping back into place. “Come in.”

It startled her to realize that, until now, she hadn’t heard Laura speak—only laugh. Did she imagine it, or did even the polite neutrality of Laura’s come in echo with teasing titters?

The dressing room was femininely fragrant. Regina might have feared that it was her own beseeching scent that colored the atmosphere, giving her away; but this was a sweeter, rounder aroma than her sharp, familiar tang. Unsure of her words, she chuckled foolishly.

Laura smiled from her seat at the makeup table and chuckled back. The vibrato played on Regina like a thousand intimate, exploratory fingers.

“We have an interview scheduled, yes?”

Regina nodded. “Is—is this a bad time?”

The star smiled again, this time as if at some secret joke. She shook her head to dismiss Regina’s concerns. “Please don’t mind if I’m a bit . . . keyed up. It’s always that way after a performance.”

“I guess it would be,” said Regina. The delectable essence of Laura’s pussy was making her dizzy.

The Laugher’s ass shifted on her seat, the silk feathers on her hips fluttering under the fluorescent lights.

And Regina lost it.

“Can I touch you?”

Laura’s eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch.

“Oh my god.” Regina felt as if she were choking. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

But her hostess cut her off with a laugh—a large, loud, Laura laugh, which knocked Regina down to her knees, with her hands clasped between her legs. Her reporter’s notebook dropped independently to the floor, forgotten.

Laura laughed anew—more delicately, so that it felt like a kiss. And Regina watched Laura’s hand stray to the most alluring point on her shimmering stage knickers, where it teased the ripe plumpness.

Then Laura stood. She walked gracefully toward Regina, then squatted effortlessly in front of the journalist, her muscular thighs bouncing lightly. “You made my show, reporter. Sitting there all alone with your cute little notebook and your ginger ale . . . front and center, looking so out of place.”

Regina felt naked. She blushed a blush even deeper than the one she’d already been inhabiting.

“Did you sense me playing to you tonight? Straight to you, only to you?” Laura punctuated these questions with mellifluous, tinkling giggles, and the questions seemed to require no other answer from either of them.

The star’s hand drifted to the front of her confection-pink knickers again. “When I won you over, my sweetie, I thought I was going to come, right there on the stage.”

Regina whimpered. She clutched the dampness under her skirt.

“I saved it for you,” the performer said gently, as she took Regina’s free hand and placed it where she needed it. Laura’s next laugh was impossibly soft, almost more a coo than a chortle. “Can you feel how close I am?”

As Regina stroked the wet silk, Laura’s laughter became richer, and soon the small room reverberated with her bliss. Regina noted how the other woman’s ticklishness was psychological, not physical: when the hand that pleasured her went beneath the feathers, the laughter artist’s flesh remained stable, churning with a controlled rhythm rather than the quivering chaos that the reporter was experiencing from her very own touch.

The Laugher’s wetness was a warm comfort to Regina’s fingers. Regina felt herself floating in the smell of Laura’s arousal, in the magic of Laura’s increasingly excited trills. She had looked lost, Laura had said; and lost was exactly how she felt now, only in a wonderful way—lost like a tourist who knows that some bright adventure is around every confusing corner. Exploring the unseen territory within the performer’s cunt, Regina was high on the thrill of bringing the soap bubbles of Laura’s laughter up from the cauldron of her privacy, her clumsy fingers agents of glistening ecstasy. Each stroke seemed to elicit a new river of glee, as if the Laugher were a wellspring whence came a hundred flavors of joy. And touching Laura’s clit seemed to make all the flavors flow at once.

“Oo-EEE-hee-hee-hee . . .”

When Laura’s entire body began shaking, the star had to hold Regina by the wrist to keep her hand from losing contact. Laura’s eyes were even more brilliant than they’d been in the watermelon spotlight, and her gaping, laughing mouth was the sexiest thing Regina had ever been close to.

“Oo-EEE-hee-hee-HEEEEEEEEEEEE . . .”

Regina was barely aware of her other hand, the one that was jammed into her own drenched panties, until it dutifully showed her the reflection of Laura’s climax. And she felt even more like a tourist upon realizing she’d never known what a really good orgasm was. Her legs felt as if they’d ejected themselves from her stockings, and the hard floor of the dressing room caressed her bottom like the softest of chairs. Between her thighs was an oven of happiness; she wrapped her whole being around it as its radiance painted her, inch by inch.

She closed her eyes as Laura kissed her. For several seconds, a delicious mixture of satisfaction and hunger ate at her lips. Then she recognized that something was being pressed into her hand. Her notebook.

She opened her eyes just as Laura was beginning to laugh again. “Now I’m afraid I don’t have time for the interview.”

Regina’s face broke into the relaxed smile of someone who didn’t give a flying fuck on a unicycle about any interview.

“You’ll have to come back tomorrow, okay?” The Laugher stood up, adjusted her knickers, and gave a practice shimmy, making her silk feathers dance across her hips, bringing each one to life like a hopeful clitoris.

That night, Regina laughed herself to sleep in the dark.

____________________

Did you miss the first chapter of Laura the Laugher? Read it here.

Jeremy Edwards is the author of the erotocomedic novel Rock My Socks Off and the erotic story collection Spark My Moment (both published by Xcite Books). His libidinous short stories have been widely published online, as well as in over forty anthologies. His work was selected for The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica, vols. 7, 8, and 9, and he has read at New York’s In the Flesh and Philadelphia’s Erotic Literary Salon. Jeremy’s greatest goal in life is to be sexy and witty at the same moment—ideally in lighting that flatters his profile. You may find Jeremy here: http://www.jeremyedwardserotica.com.