Meeting my Mistress:A London Adventure

I needed to gather up some will, and when need courage I sometimes lecture myself. ?Girl, you're in London. You're overseas for the first time in your life. You just got divorced and you need to have some fun.? That's what I told myself when I was packing for a three-month stint working in London. I told myself that again as I checked in at my hotel, which turned out to be old and bit run-down. The lower cost had made accounting happy and what in the world could be more important than a happy accountant? That's what I told myself at least.*My target date was my first free weekend in town.Of course, my first free weekend didn't come immediately, adding to my frustration. The London branch wanted to show me around, which was nice. A salesman from Brighton seemed to think I had come here specifically to sleep with him, which was less pleasant for us both. I certainly wanted to get laid. It had been way too long because my lawyer advised me to keep my legs crossed until the papers were final. I had been good far too long, now I could be bad in a city where no one knew I'd ever kissed a man.No, Tim did not turn me into a lesbian. The sexual part of our relationship was not a*problem. It was the ?everything else? part that led me to leave. Nor was he was horrible. He was*wrong*and wrong is enough when you're talking about the rest of your life. I'd dated men and women alternately for years before I met Tim. Since I'd just spent five years with a man, at this point in my life I decided women deserved equal time. Fact is, I*only*wanted to date women for a while.And I was in London. Here I could have an epic fling and no one I knew need ever find out about my passions. I could try the things I'd only read about, live out the secret fantasies lurking in the back of my mind. Overseas is*always*the best place to experiment because if I failed spectacularly the witnesses could be left behind with ease. Unlike my marriage, for example.*But the thing is where do you go when you're in a strange city and looking for same-sex dating? In Afghanistan, I'd have been fucked, and not in the way I wanted. But England is a civilized country. They have lesbians here and treat them like actual human beings. In the 21st*century,*gay people don't have to hide. We go to the internet. Lo and behold, a web search soon uncovered that about five blocks from my hotel stood*a place called La Bustier. It sounded like it was for drag queens, but it was near my tube station so easy to check out. Which I did. I didn't see anything scary. I saw women in the doorway. Women in leather.*That turned me on. You see I may be a sweet-looking Midwestern girl, but I'm not entirely vanilla. A few years earlier my husband talked me into trying anal sex. Not being stupid, I read up on the joy of sodomy and prepared myself using a specially purchased probe, which likely gave the TSA guys an extra thrill when they X-rayed my suitcase. It turned out watching me prepare for butt sex turned Tim on, so the Anal Experiment did our sex life a lot of good for a while. And I got to*like*the dirty, nasty feeling of a cock deep in my ass and later the sensation of walking around with friends with his seed in my bowels. When we finally were coming apart a brief affair with a bull dyke taught me that yes, I really did like being spanked, and almanbahis second that there is simply nothing hotter than having your face shoved into another woman's pussy. Women in leather also made me hot. The cross around my neck isn't just for show, but I have my dark side. And so I decided La Bustier would be a good place to begin my English Adventure.*Having researched the establishment thoroughly (Thanks Google!) I mapped out my strategy. I knew that I liked being the bottom, and I really wanted to get laid. So if the place is full of Leather, which I owned very little of anyway, it struck me the smart thing to do was go in Lace. I did own a rather tight strapless blue dress with a short flared skirt that showed off all the dieting and exercising I'd done since leaving Tim. I don't have a ton up top, but I had a peach strapless bra that did a mighty good job of pushing up what I do have. I had a cute peach thong to match and white lace stockings with garters built into their top. I chose heels just low enough to dance in should I be asked. An hour spent primping in front of the mirror and I looked pretty good indeed. I picked up my smallest purse and put in the bare essentials, my passport, phone, wallet a couple of condoms (just in case), and on impulse a tube of lubricant, lipstick, eyeshadow, and some breath mints. I was, as they say in Britain, ?all tarted up?. Being smart I had an Uber run me over to the door though it was within easy walking distance.*La Bustier turned out louder than I'd expected, but hip-hop and loud metallic punk never bothered me. It didn't smell bad either, which was a plus. I stepped inside and immediately realized I had chosen the right strategy. I was a mouse in a room full of cats. Two very leather dykes in tight t-shirts with too many piercings stood by the jukebox, joking and looking at the tunes. A very, very tall butch girl leaned over the pool table making a shot. Other women congregated around the bar, some in lace, far more in leather. I liked what I saw and a few of them liked me enough to look back. I slowly perused the room, mapping out a strategy, figuring out where I should plant myself for the best effect.*Then I saw*her, the woman I hoped would take me home. She was tall, clad in a leather biker jacket, leather heeled boots, and tight faded blue jeans that showed off a trim, toned body. Her hair was long and dark, just a little wild. Lots of eye makeup with blue over the eyes and her lipstick was blood red, bringing out her lips. Her earrings sparkled. Real diamonds, I realized. Only the real thing sparkles like that. Whoever she was, she wasn't working class. Before I'd finished the appraisal I knew she was the woman I was looking for.*Now in America, I might have plopped down next to her and bought her a drink. But I was England, and it suddenly occurred to me that I had not the slightest idea what proper international lesbian seduction etiquette might be. I realized that ?Nice boots, let's fuck? probably wouldn't get it. Neither would running back to my hotel, which a part of me argued was exactly what I should do. I compromised enough to choose a sane middle ground; which meant a seat at the bar with two stools between us. If she wanted to move over she could. If she didn't, well the bartender was kinda cute. Nor was she almanbahis yeni giriş the only hottie. But I had my dream woman in my sights and sadly, but encouragingly, she was one of the few who didn't look as I made my way to the bar. In fact, she barely even looked at me. ?Well, damn,? I told myself, sat down, ordered zinfandel, and contemplated the bartender's bottom. My mystery paramour stayed where she was. I could watch her drinking and laughing reflected in the mirror behind the bars.*Oh was she cute. I sat there feeling very clever, the very model of discrete stalking. And frustrated because my grand plan had not yet borne fruit.*Naturally, she was not the first predator to approach me. I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to face a round-faced woman, about my height but bigger-boned and much more buxom. She wore her hair in a buzzcut with a line of*rings in her ear, a ring in her nose, and a little stud in her tongue. She wore a leather bustier, that pushed up her quite impressive cleavage and tight jeans and tall heels. Not horrible, but hardly what I was looking for. She put her arm around my shoulder and leaned over me. I could smell the whiskey on her breath. ?Hey Darling, don't I know you from somewhere???I rather doubt that,? I said. ?I've only been in London for a little while now.??You're a Yank,? she said in a distinct Cockney accent. Turning around to point me out she continued ?Lookie here, we got a Yank. Tell me, sweetums, did you come all this way just to get fooocked?? She sort of slurred the ?fucked? and I realized she'd had more than a couple of drinks by then, not a good sign. She leaned in close and practically slobbered in my ear.*?Darling, you've proven your point,? said a rich, deep elegant voice from the other side. It was my dream woman, come to my rescue, in her heels towering over her rival. She ran her lips along my ear and whispered ?just go with it? and then turned to kiss me. Her kiss started out polite, mostly for show. My part of the show wasn't! I'd wanted to talk to this woman since I'd laid eyes on her and decided the best way to let her know was to just plain kiss her with intent. And she was surprised for an instant before going for it and sliding her tongue between my lips. Her lips were soft, slick and her lipstick tasted of strawberries. I felt my cunt tingling.*?Is this your tart Laura?" said the other woman, suddenly jealous.*?Why yes, Heather,? Laura said, her voice as melodious and deep as I'd imagined. Oh, she was perfect and I thanked my lucky stars. ?We had a bet to establish who would get hit on first, and she has won.??Now you have to spank me twice,? I added without batting an eye. ?And this tart's name is Donna,? I said smiling back at interloper Heather. I figured Laura would quickly pick up that I'd really meant that for her.*?Twice it is,? she said, ?tonight and in the morning.? Her eyes were full of mirth as if this were all part of an elaborately planned joke rather than something that had just happened. And then she leaned in to kiss me again, and this was a hot kiss, a claiming kiss, a kiss that curled my toes and set my cunt oozing. I pressed into her, tight, and slipped my hand around her waist to squeeze her bottom. Which turned out to be every bit as firm as I'd imagined. Truly a delightful almanbahis giriş beginning. She sat down next to me but left her arm about my waist. I left mine with my thumb hooked in the loop of her jeans.*?Quite the daring approach,? she said, a bit of a smile on your face. ?That might have gone badly for you.?*?Well, they don't sell any manuals explaining how to pick up a proper English lesbian,? I said with a smile and lifted my glass. ?So I thought I'd try what Americans are supposed to do best and improvise.?*She laughed. ?I'm not actually a lesbian,? she said.*?I do enjoy fucking men.??Strangely enough so do I. But tonight men are off the menu. I am, and warn you I'm more than an appetizer.?She laughed, it was rich and deep and it made me smile. ?My heavens, what a brat you are. Girls like you are likely to get spanked!??Twice,? I said with a twinkle in my eye.*?Twice,? she replied with a smile. This woman was exquisite, a fantasy come true. When I was a girl my first lesbian crush had come watching old episodes of The Avengers with my Dad, featuring a young Diana Rigg as Mrs. Emma Peel, a strong, beautiful, vibrant woman, sexual and unashamed or afraid, every bit the equal of her male partner. I'd fallen for her at first sight and Dad was happy to give me a poster of her in her leather combat suit for my birthday. I don't think he understood*how I felt about her. Now I was lip to lip with a modern-day Mrs. Peel, with her arm around me and my hand resting on her ass. If schoolgirl fantasies can come true, Laura was exactly what mine looked like.*?Well darling,? she said as if making up her mind. ?Don't you think we should pop on home and get started with that spanking???Absolutely,? I replied setting a couple of pounds on the bar as a tip. I smiled at the cute bartender, ignored Heather's glare, and headed out with this Laura into the night. Laura smirked and raised an eyebrow, as I think she'd half expected me to bail. She took my offered hand, led me to her motorcycle, a vintage Triumph with a kickstarter She reached into the side pod and handed me a helmet, I put it on, and climbed on behind her. She kicked twice, the motor caught, and we were off.*And were we! Laura rode fast and hard, weaving between cars in a way that might have terrified me if I hadn't been so damned horny. The speed, the danger excited me, sped up my blood. I felt her waist, the lean of the bike, the vibrations of the motor coming up through the seat. I held her tight and felt her muscles shift as she steered us down crowded streets, zipping between cars as we rode into the London night.*We stopped somewhere in a semi-lit alley, took off our helmets and she tucked them back in her saddlebags. She took me by the hand and dragged me to a large building. The lobby was deserted and none-to-elegant but I didn't care, not with her fingers laced in mine. I could hear a television laugh track in the background as she pulled me into the elevator and pushed the button The moment the door clicked shut she was on me pushing me hard into the back wall of the elevator, pressing me tight against the back wall, chest tight to mine, kissing me hard, tongue pushing directly into my mouth and not taking no for an answer. She kissed with hunger and I delighted in the raw passion in her lips and tongue, my body ecstatic from the heat of her body pressing down on me and the thigh she'd pushed between my legs up against my cunt. I sucked on her tongue and ground on her thigh, delighted, happy, finally being taken the way I'd dreamed of being taken.*