For Mistress Picked Up In London

I needed to gather up some will, and when I do that 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 made accounting happy and what in the world could be more important than a happy accountant? And it's what I told myself as I began my first free weekend night in town.

Of course my first free weekend didn't come immediately, adding to my frustration. London branch wanted to show me around, which was nice. A salesman from Brighton seemed to think I had come her specifically to sleep with him, which was less pleasant for us both. Oh, I 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 the problem. It was the "everything else" part that lead me to leave. Nor was he was horrible. He was

wrong

and wrong is enough when you're talking about he rest of your life . I'd dated men and women alternately for years before I met Tim. Since I'd spent five years with a man, at this point in my life I decided women deserved equal time. Fact is, I just wanted to date women for a while.

And I was in London. Here I could have an epic fling and no I knew need ever find out about it. I could try the things I'd read about, live out the secret fantasies living in the back of my mind. Overseas is

always

the best place to experiment because if I failed spectacularly the witnesses cold 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. So I went to the internet. And lo and behold, about five blocks from my bar was 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 topic 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 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 the sensation of walking around with friends later 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 second that there is simply nothing hotter than having your face shoved into another woman's pussy. Women in leather make me hot. The cross around my neck isn't 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 I 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 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 did 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 m smallest purse and put in the bare essentials, my passport, phone, wallet a couple 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 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 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 about a strategy, figuring out where I should plant myself for best effect.

Then that 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 of 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. Miss Caution lost. I compromised enough to her to chose 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 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 a zinfandel and contemplated the bartender's bottom. My mystery paramour stayed where she was. I could watch her drinking a and laughing reflected in the mirror behind the bars. And oh was she cute. I felt very clever, the very model of discrete stalking.

Naturally she was not the first predator to approach me. I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was a round faced woman, about my height but bigger boned and much more buxom. She wore her hair in a buzzcut with a line fo rings in her ear, a ring in her nose and 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. "Lookie here, we got a Yank. Tell me sweetums, did you come all this way just to get foocked." She sort of slurred the "fucked" and I realized she'd had more than a couple drinks by then, not a good sign. She leaned in close and practically slobbered in my ear.

"Darling, you've proven your point" said an rich, deep elegant voice from the other side. It was my dream woman, come to my rescue, in her heels towering over rival. She ran her lips along my year and whispered "just go with it" and then turned to kiss me. Her kiss was polite, mostly for show. Mine 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 at the touch of her lips.

"Is this your tart Laura, said the other woman, suddenly jealous.

"Why yes she is Heather," Laura said, her voice as melodius and deep as I'd imagined. Oh, she was perfect and I thanked my lucky stars. "We had bet who would get hit on first, and she has won."

"Now you have to spank me twice," I added without batting an eye. "And the 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. And oh, it turned out to be every bit as firm as I'd imagined. Truly a delightful 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, the don't sell any manuals about how to pick up a proper English lesbian," I said with a smile and lift of 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 I 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 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 for at first site and Dad was happy to give me a poster of her in her leather combat suit for my birthday. I don't think he understand how I felt about her. Now I was lip to lip with a modern day Mrs Peel, with her arm round 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 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 handn't been so damned horny. The speed, the danger excited me, sped up my blood. I felt the 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 between cars down streets crowded, zipping between cars as we rode into the London night.

We stopped somewhere, in a a semi-lit alley we took of our helmets and she tucked them back in her saddlebags and then she took me by the hand and dragged me to a large building. The lobby was deserted and none-to-elegant but 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 my tight her lips on mine, kissing me hard, chest tight to mine, her kiss direct, 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.

We pressed togther grinding into each other until the elevator creaked to a stop. She dragged my by the hand and pulled me down the hall until her key slid in the lock and it clicked open. One tug and I was inside, barely having a moment to glance before I was up against the wall, my lips plastered to hers, tongues dancing the minuet. I hadn't had to play coy a single second, not talking about our position or what we wanted from life. There was none of that. We were here to fuck and I knew instantly this would be a night to remember. Then she pulled back and pulled off her jacket. "Strip," she ordered.

I obeyed in a rush. Our eyes locked on each other as we tore off our clothes and tossed them aside not knowing or caring where anything landed. There would be time enough to sort things out later. Oh I did notice a few things, how neat and clean the place was the row of bookshelves in the living room, there good art on the wall. My Laura had good taste.

But those were glances because I couldn't tear my eyes from her, and seeing her pleaure as I undressed made me thankful for every dish of ice cream I'd turned down and every extra lap at the pool. She was beautiful, eyes flashing, breasts high and proud, body was toned and her cunt was bare and shining, wet just as mine was. "God you're lovely," she said, and her words pierced me, to hear that from this Goddess who had taken me away. She shoved back upon her bed, on my back, facing her, and I held my legs wide open so she could see what was Hers.

Her eyes fell on my cunt, hungry her lips shining, mouth in a wicked smile and she came to me, standing over me, crawling the bed, legs straddling me, her wet cunt lowered to my belly, leaving tracks as she smeared her sex upon me, moving up, making a steady path up to my mouth. My cunt convulsed for I love giving head, I love having my mouth takena nd ridden. The way she mounted me told me that soon I would feast, soon I would taste this Goddess, let her cunt ride upon me, press me into the bed. Soon long, lovely legs were set on each side of my head, long fingers pulling my hair, pushing it down as her perfect pink pussy was lowered onto my lips.

Normally, when I give head I'm active, no matter my lover's gender. I love taking charge, for when you are on or in my mouth, you are

mine

. I can feel exactly where my lover is through lips and tongue and delight in taking that lucky one upon a roller coaster of passion. With Laura, I knew she was different. She was in charge and I merely the vessel chosen to recieve her passion. I sensed this was not the time to show off, but to accept. I I lay still, mouth open, tongue extended, ready to be mashed with wet pussy, and flattened my tongue for her. She tasted of musk and something indescribable, something

her

alone. I felt her pearl upon my tongue and I held there, steady, a platform for her to ride upon, to scribe her design upon, a vessel for he hunger, offered willingly and with delight. She grounds slowly onto me, a naughty smile on her face as she pressed onto me. "Taste me, little whore," she hissed as she ground her cunt upon my lips. There was power in her ride, and the pressure spread down my body, down to my cunt with tingled and opened and closed, winking in need to be take. I heard her grunt, watched as her breasts swayed as she ground her cunt into me. And I saw her eyes, shining with desire and lust while she began to moan. I could not take my eyes from hers even as her pearl pressed down on my tongue, as my lips and tongue strained under the weight of her mound, loving the sheer force and power of each thrust of her hips upon me. The bedsprings squeaked as she rode me, taking her pleasure, which I offered freely. With each breath I moaned, which each fresh drop of juice coating my lips and cheeks. I thought for a moment of touching myself, but then decided I'd rather touch Her and lifted my fingers up to cup her toned cheeks in my palms and fingers. And when I did she groaned and picked up the intensity of her ride upon my lips.

So she likes having her ass touched

, I told, a little naughty thrill passing through me, and I wondered how else Laura and I might be well suited. Her muscles were drawn tight as drum, trembling under the strain, a feeling I could not miss even through the relentless thrusts down upon my lips and so I took my middle finder and slide it into her crack to seek out her star. Touching it, she moaned again so I took the plunge and pushed the tip inside her bottom.

She screamed, her voice loud and clear, reverberating off the windows. She mashed down hard on my mouth, full weight upon me and held, and through the pressure her cunt began a series of rapid convulsions. Sweeter still, fresh juice poured from her urethra, onto my tongue, into my mouth, over my cheeks, down my neck and below. My pussy began it's own contractions and my whole body began to feel light with lust. But I held myself as I was, certain Laura was not done with me.

Nor was she, for she kept on her ride. True I was beginning to feel it, but there was the pump of her hips, the grind and the way her pussy winked upon my tongue that had my own hips pumping in time. And my finger slid deep, telling me I was not the first to explore her back door. And knowing that my own began to tingle, I began to wonder, telling me just how kinky my prize was. I had to know, I burned to know.

So I kept on, thrusting my finger into her ass, twisting it inside her while her cunt plastered itself to my shiny wet mouth. "God, what a hungry whore you are," she hissed before a fresh round of moans and spasms. She spoke truly! Yes, I was indeed a hungry whore, hungry for her. I nodded and moaned into her cunt as my own neglected cunt contracted and my hips pumped with need.

She laughed and lifted herself from your mouth, eyes looking down on me. She looked down at my, dark eyes flashing. "You're really quite pretty with your face and lips all shiny like that." She didn't say a thing as my finger slipped from her bottom but she made her way across the room. "Sticking my finger up my bottom was inspired, little whore. I wouldn't have expected it from you. And it think it tells me something about you," she said with a wry smile while rifling through a drawer.

"What, pray tell, is that," I asked with big grin and deliberately undulating my hips, legs open so she could see the shine on my pussy lips Laura looked too, stared hard at me. And so, for Her, I reached down to let my middle finger play along the outside of my cunt.

She stopped to watch. "So, show me little whore?"

Oh, I'll show You!

I told myself, I burned but made myself go slow. I let my finger glide slowly up and down my clit, like I did when just beginning an episode of masturbation. I wanted her to see how I pleasured myself. I wanted her to know, figuring it might come in handy. She watched, stopping her movement in the drawer as my fingertip traced out each fold and dip of my pussy lips. She watched me moan as I rolled and unrolled it up and down the center of my cunt. My hips twisted and thrusted, my body wanting it inside me, but I did not relent letting only the tip slip inside as I gathered juice with which to coat my clit.