The Best Day Ever

Knowing how to cook was a crucial prerequisite if you wanted to be the wife of Bubbles Burste. The only thing that came close to her ravenous appetite for sex was her ravenous appetite for food. So, while Mariah was by no means a world class chef, she’d picked up quite a few things over the years, and was better at cooking Bubbles’ favorite Deep South meals than any West Coast upscale girl had any right to be.

Always an early riser, Mariah decided to get up and fix some food, dipping into the ingredients they’d brought over from America. Bubbles was sort of a random waker, sleeping for however long she felt, but she knew that might not apply to Faheema. Sure enough, the Nubian was up in due time, and Mariah greeted her with a long, lazy smile. ”Hello yourself.” She threw a frilly wave at the woman she’d spent all night fucking and fondling. ”You look well-rested.”

She didn’t just look well-rested, she looked like she was on the verge of leaping across the table and eating the food straight off of Mariah’s plate. A sheepish grin graced her face as Faheema asked for her food, barely restrained with every word. How could someone so lethal be so cute?

”I’ll fix you a plate of your own.” She held up a finger. ”One minute, hold on.”

Mariah pushed up off the chair and made her way over to the stove and drawers, where she fetched an extra plate and started to work, loading Faheema up. ”I forget to say, thanks for being so...up for everything last night.” She had a warm chuckle. ”I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen Bubbles so alive. I mean, she’s Bubbles, she always like that, but last night...whew.”

Faheema rotated in her chair as Mariah talked about her lively wife, glimpsing over her shoulder at the mountain of flesh undulating beneath the bed covers. Yes, Bubbles had been quite an appropriate playmate for her, capable of exceeding even her considerable strength, being rewarded in return with a woman that she could get uncommonly rough with.

“For women like you, there is much that I would do,” Faheema said, turning back toward Mariah with lips curled into a sultry grin. “Like I told Bubbles in the ring, I've lived my life without sexual satisfaction. I always prayed for a woman that would embrace me in every sense, and got two instead. Being your 'prisoner of war' has given me great satisfaction.” It was such a strange premise for a wrestling match, Faheema thought to herself as Mariah prepared her breakfast. She had been a prisoner before, and they didn't have altogether too much fun. They certainly weren't treated with the courtesy that Mariah and Bubbles had granted her. Faheema hadn't felt this comfortable among other people in a long time.

“I couldn't let you do everything, though. Couldn't let you hit me with those thin striking implements you own, not after being scarred by one,” Faheema emphasized, throwing a thumb over her shoulder as she talked. The thin, orderly scars on her back couldn't have come from anywhere else, really, and although she wouldn't confess her weakness, the memory still haunted her. No lash would ever grace her skin again.

Turning her attention back to breakfast, Faheema's eyes coasted toward Mariah, leering at those black panties of hers, set against the backdrop of her creamy skin. Bubbles may have been asleep, but her wife would find both her appetite and her lust fully represented in their guest as she awaited the under-appreciated luxury of freshly prepared meat.

As Faheema spoke, Mariah went about fixing her food, giving her a heaping portion, while still leaving enough for Bubbles to consume. Her wife was many things, but a frugal eater was not one of them - she could put away food like no living being she had ever seen, especially after a night of crazy sex, which was more nights that not.

As she spoke, she glanced back Faheema's way and listened to the woman speak, taking in her facial expressions, watching her when she wasn’t in the throes of passion. It was almost hard to believe this woman - this fun, pleasant woman - could rip her to shreds in under five minutes if she wanted to.

”I’m glad you’re getting a kick out of it.” She added some pepper to the eggs, figuring Faheema would appreciate the burn in her food, giving it some fight. ”You did a good job of satisfying us, too. Even without the whips. There aren’t too many women who can keep up with Bubbles, who’d be crazy enough to even try. You did that and so much more.”

Her task finished, Mariah spun about and laid a full plate out for Faheema, more than enough to keep her belly full for a few hours. A fork followed a moment later, and a glass of orange juice came right after that. Everything a growing girl needed.

She took her seat once more and leaned back for the moment, eager to see Faheema fill herself. Once she’d had a little while to devour, Mariah spoke up and crossed her legs, getting nice and comfy. ”So, I owe you a shirt, at the least, and today I want to make good on that. This might be a silly question, I know, but...what are your tastes in clothing?”

Mariah didn't ask for more information when Faheema told her what had produced the thin scars on her back, and maybe that was for the best. It was the sort of story that never left a good taste in anyone's mouth, unlike the bacon and sausage that Faheema was about to enjoy! The food looked wonderful, and as the plate landed in front of her, Faheema smiled and tipped her head toward the chef.

“Thank you,” she said. At first, Faheema ate slowly – as slowly as she could force herself to, anyway. Mariah was the head of this “household”, so to speak, and with Faheema's upbringing, that meant that she commanded authority and respect...not that Faheema would ever feed her ego by admitting that. Her first taste of bacon needed to be savored, anyway. The first shriveled strip brought a smile to her face, as the bold flavor made her mouth water enough to almost drool on the plate sitting beneath her.

Once she had the taste for it, Faheema's hunger ran away with her, and she started clearing her plate more quickly. The bacon strips slid into her mouth one-by-one, faster and faster, pausing only to hydrate herself with some of the sweet orange juice Mariah had provided. By the time she had reached the sausage, Faheema was only chewing enough to make sure she didn't choke by accident. It was all delicious, even if Faheema did feel a little dirty for choosing to eat it.

“My village followed the religious customs that were encouraged by our government,” Faheema remarked, sharing a little part of her past life in between mouthfuls. “This is the first time I've been allowed to try the meat of a pig. Cattle and alcohol were off limits too, albeit for other reasons. I must get drunk and eat hamburgers to complete my transformation to a woman of your world,” she said with a husky laugh. There was a lot to life outside of Africa that she hadn't gotten to experience, yet.

When Mariah suggested that the two of them go shopping for clothes, Faheema puzzled over the wording of her question. “I don't really have 'taste' in clothing. I wear what I find that fits, and I rarely have the money to pay for it. To be honest, I was going to steal one of her shirts to replace the one that she ruined, but you've both been so good to me,” she said, turning her head toward the sleeping giant behind her. No, she couldn't bring herself to rob either of these women, even though they seemed much wealthier than anyone she'd met in Alexandria.

“If I was to choose, I would want durable clothing. Maybe something inconspicuous, to keep people from staring at me,” she said, having endured enough street harassment in Egypt to desire keeping a low profile. “I guess I don't know fashion the way you and Bubbles do.”

[color=Gray]”You are quite welcome.”[/clor]

Mariah sat back and watched as Faheema started on her morning meal, always loving to see how her work was received. She could’ve easily ordered for room service and had whatever they wanted delivered, but in her mind, that would be besides the point of what they were building, here. This was a personal day. She wanted to keep things between the three of them as much as possible. Besides, it was a nice little olive branch to the Nubian, as if the boundless sex between them last night wasn’t quite enough.

Sure enough, Faheema went to town on the food in short order, chowing it down like...well, Mariah didn’t want to compare her to a dog, but that was precisely what she reminded her of, the way she messily scarfed it all down, bite after bite after bite. It simultaneously cute and a little scary. ”Might want to chew that a little more.” Mariah reached over, grabbed the pitcher of orange juice, and gave Faheema quick refill. ”Just a thought.”

She listened to Faheema explain again, as she once more talked about the world she’d come from. The Nubian seemed to love sliding the occasional factoid about her life, and Mariah didn’t mind at all. Ever since a young age, she’d loved documentaries, autobiographies and the like. Stepping into Faheema’s figurative shoes was a fascinating thing.

”We can try a hamburger or two while we’re out and about, though I’d suggest we save the drunkenness until we’re back in the room. I feel an inebriated version of yourself isn’t something we should let roam about.” She went back to her own plate, worrying at a piece of sausage with her fork.

Her little admission about stealing the clothes brought a chuckle from Mariah, and she shook her head, letting the giggles peter out. ”If you want ‘inconspicuous’ and ‘durable’, Bubbles’ clothes are the worst to pick. She tends towards bigger clothing, and she loves it bright.” She rubbed her chin. ”Those don’t have to be different choices, though. Maybe we can find something that ticks all the boxes, for you.”

Faheema gave a small scowl when Mariah teased her about her unwillingness to chew her food. The snarky woman wasn't alone in viewing the Nubian through an animalistic lens, but she would never compare herself to a lowly dog. She was a lioness, or perhaps a hyena, struggling to survive on the plains of Africa. On her low budget, Faheema struggled to maintain a diet that would keep her healthy enough to allow her to fight at full strength in combat. Like the predators of Africa, when Faheema came across fresh meat, she filled her stomach as much as she could, for fear that she may go hungry when food became scarce again.

Besides, Mariah and Faheema had other business to attend to this morning. A date together in the shower, where the Nubian intended to enlist the skilled hands of Mariah in cleaning hair that hadn't been adequately washed in years. The young vagrant would repay her by putting her own hands to work cleaning Mariah's body in the meantime. The sooner they finished breakfast, the sooner the two women could start enjoying each other in the steaming waters of the shower.

Polishing off the sausage and bacon, Faheema started scooping the freshly prepared eggs into her mouth, wincing momentarily as the spices hit her tongue. She wasn't used to eggs that had any distinctive flavor, so this change wasn't unwelcome, but Faheema did end up chugging a lot more orange juice as she worked to finish her meal.

“Have you two always supported yourselves by wrestling?” Faheema asked, encouraging her hostess to shed light on her past life while her guest ate and listened. “I don't know many women who dreamed as children of growing up to punch each other in front of a live audience, no matter how fun it turned out to be. Did you have other work before you made your business as a manager?”

Mariah held up her hands at Faheema’s scowl, hoping to take more steps forward than back in their relationship. It wasn’t on the most stable ground to begin with, the two of them coming from totally different worlds, two people who wouldn’t likely be in the same continent, much less the same room. ”It’s healthier for you. Good for the digestion, trust me.”

With that momentary tiff behind them, Mariah went back into relaxation mode and started polishing off a final glass of orange juice, a little something before they got things underway. She found herself shifting focus to Faheema’s hair, taking note and imagining certain possibilities. Dirty, ratty, unkempt, but she could see the beauty underneath, just waiting to be tapped into. That was the definition of this woman in general, a perfect diamond in the rough, begging to be discovered. In another world, she might’ve been gracing magazine covers and runways.

Faheema’s words dragged her back, though, and brought a slim smile to her cheeks. ”Oh? How many women do you really know?” She giggled, just a little tease. ”Bubbles was a bodybuilder before she took to the ring. She actually used to be bigger than she is now, believe it or not. Not stronger, necessarily, but her body had more definition and tone.” She brushed a few hairs to the side as she idly thought about the old days, remembering her wife’s iron form.

”Me, I wanted to be...a lot of things.” Mariah brought up a hand to tick a few off. ”A writer, a painter, a taxi driver, a lawyer. I never had much aptitude for them, though I did have some skills for logistics. I was always a fairly good athlete, though, and I did love wrestling as a kid. I tried it out a bit in college, got hooked, and that was how I got started there.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Faheema pouted at Mariah's advice, but her scowl vanished quickly. Mariah was reminding Faheema of her mom, an awkward, rather uncomfortable comparison given what Mariah and Faheema had been doing last night. Granted, her own mom was just about Mariah's opposite aside from their shared compassion, but it was still nice to have discovered another person that would chide the still young Faheema over her health.

Hell, that benevolent nagging probably kept her own wife in line, too. Everyone needed a Mariah in their life, and before her new life in Japan came to a close, Faheema intended to find a woman of her own.

Listening to Mariah, Faheema briefly gagged on the eggs in her mouth when Bubbles came up. “Lord, she felt pretty big last night when she was throwing me about the place! We are lucky that she possesses a kind heart, or she may have used her strength to enslave us all,” Faheema hushed in an exasperated tone. Her exaggerated fawning was intended to amuse Mariah, but it also reflected real distress on her guest's part, that women could be so much more imposing than her. Had even a single man she fought in her journey out of Africa been as strong, Faheema would not have been in a position to share her life with Mariah...or anyone else, for that matter.

“I didn't have many career ambitions growing up,” Faheema remarked, pausing to swallow the last egg on her plate, sticking her flexible tongue out to slurp up some yolk that threatened to dribble down her chin. “Life was too moment-to-moment for it. I was whatever I needed to be, whenever I needed to be it. It was a life that lent itself to physical conditioning and general intuition over the development of any specific skills. Manual labor and violence were routine parts of life, so that's what I grew up prepared to handle.”

Taking one final gulp from her glass, Faheema set the cup down and shifted her body away from the table to stand up. “You, on the other hand, are more than just a fighter. Last night you told me that you are a manager for Bubbles. Is that where your logistics come into play? What is it that you do for your clients?” she asked, unsure of what role Mariah played in her wife's career. If she didn't appear at ringside with the purpose of aiding Bubbles directly, to help her gain an unfair advantage as the Nubian had expected, what benefit did she provide?

It was probably not the best time to tell Faheema this, but she was insanely adorable when she pouted. She already had the sweetest pair of lips, but when the came out like that and swelled, she looked like such a cute child. A cute child who could rip you to shreds if you crossed her, but all the same.

”I can think of far worse fates than being enslaved by Bubbles.” Mariah pushed off from the table, nice and slow, careful not to make too much of a noise and awaken the sleeping giantess. All the same, she managed to get the lewdness in her voice across, even as she spoke in a hushed tone. ”I’m sure you would agree.”

With their meal finished, Mariah gathered the plates and began to set them in a tray off the side, for housekeeping to deal with while they were all out for the day. She needed to get back into the habit of doing her own work like this, knowing that the AFW was going to foot the bill for this hotel room indefinitely, but this wasn’t the time to get acclimated. They had a busy day ahead of them. Little time to waste. On that note...

Mariah slid off her robe, letting it fall to the floor, and stood there topless, naked save for the panties around her waist. There was still a light sheen on her from the night, one that she was desperate to clean off. She was about to lead the way to a shower excursion, when her darkened companion threw her off with her latest question. The woman liked to learn, Mariah would give her credit for that much.

”What does a manager do?” She folded her arms under her breast and took a moment to ponder the question, considering the best way to answer. ”To sum it up? I do all things that Bubbles doesn’t want to do. Contract negotiations, pushing for matches that suit her, getting her title shots if she wants them, advertisement deals, stuff like that. Most wrestlers in the AFW just have to do whatever management wants, and they can get screwed over. I ensure that never happens.”

Mariah rubbed her chin, thinking about the more practical applications she knew Faheema was considering. ”As far as hanging at ringside goes, I can offer her moral support, watch her back in case our opponents try anything sneaky, stuff like that.” She shrugged. ”Bubbles likes me there, she says it makes her fight better knowing I’m close.”

“Huh,” Faheema muttered, pondering the service that Mariah provided. “Sounds useful for women who have boundaries that they don't want to cross. It's a good thing that there are no fights that I wouldn't gladly take, because the managers probably have more power over me than any other woman in Friction.” Faheema's license to wrestle was the only reason she was allowed to reside in Japan. Deportation was a very real threat, and for the Nubian who had ventured so far and risked so much, being sent back to Sudan was not an option for her.

Since Mariah had gotten derailed by the question, Faheema decided to lead her to the shower instead. She stood up and twisted her curvy hips toward the doorway to the bathroom, curling a finger toward Mariah to beckon her before the Nubian strutted away. Her feet fell softly on the plush carpet, gliding past Bubbles without making a noise to disturb her. Only when Mariah and her were both safely in the confines of the shower would she speak up again.

“I even told the manager who handled my orientation to sign me up for handicap matches if they ever needed a volunteer. Street fights in Cairo were never fair, and I frequently dealt with two or even three attackers at a time. Scrawny men, but hyenas are dangerous in groups, and I got my ass kicked a lot,” Faheema remarked, scratching her dirty scalp nervously. Improving her performance against multiple attackers was the next step in her evolution as a fighter, a goal that the Nubian would pursue with stubborn determination.

Fiddling with the knobs of the shower, Faheema experimented with the water's temperature until it was hot enough to dissolve the sticky layer of sweat off her skin. To her, it was an incredible feeling to have such regular access to the comfort of a hot shower. In the past, she'd needed to live with her filth, but not here. Not anymore.

The Nubian's hair, unfortunately, was so matted that the water couldn't penetrate through the canopy to hit her head. Her scalp almost felt cold, left out from the soothing sensation the rest of her body was getting. While she waited on Mariah to climb in, she did her best to get the entirety of her mane as wet as she could, still hoping that her host would indulge her by helping her clean it.

Just to make the challenge of taming her mane a bit more accessible, Faheema dropped down to her knees, as if she were to begin a morning's prayer. Her head didn't tip down, however; it stayed upright, with the curls at the perfect elevation for Mariah to look down into them and get at whatever part of Faheema's head she needed to. With a bar of soap in her right hand, Faheema intended to massage the filth off of Mariah's body while she worked her magic on Faheema's head.

“Ready for you,” Faheema's voice was a sultry whisper that gave away her own eager anticipation.