Wrong Place at the Right Time

This is a work of lesbian fantasy, and should in no way be misconstrued as a realistic or plausible scenario. All participating characters are 18 or older. Please read Part1 for necessary continuity.

*****

Back at my apartment I was an absolute wreck. Everything about me reeked of sex: my panties, my dress pants, my face; an extraordinary bouquet of licentious girl-funk. I poured myself a quick glass of wine before peeling everything off and tossing it all on the bed, which I was fairly certain I wouldn't be sleeping in that night, and rushed into the shower just to keep myself from lying down and masturbating to all the enticing recollections of the evening so far. The warm water was rewardingly soothing, and I couldn't help but be hyper-aware of my own body, thinking about how well admired it had been only an hour earlier. I looked at my rich, dark skin, slick and gleaming under the cascade of water, so familiar but still intimately arousing. I thought of how my new paramour Ms. Lindqvist had seen it. "Beautiful and exotic" had been her exact words. I knew I was beautiful, and I also knew I was little exotic being one quarter Asian. I've been blessed with great genes, and a killer body, I know it. But I've never really thought about it, honestly. I get the sex I need with my girl Ronni, and she's every bit as hot as I am, so it's not like it's even a thing between us. But being so fully desired but such an arousing and intriguing woman a full generation older had me second-guessing everything. I found myself wanting to be the woman she wanted me to be. And the woman she was had rooted herself in the very base of my brain, turning it upside down with a single word, and making me think only of pleasing her.

I couldn't help it; I was touching myself. I'd cleaned and rinsed myself top to bottom and was luxuriating for a bit before grooming. I gave my legs a quick shave, but spent an extra amount of attention to detail, running my hands again and again up and down their length, especially my wonderful thick thighs, making sure every last inch was as smooth as could be. When I turned my attention to my pubic area, I found I was already, or rather still wet, and my lips were swollen and slick, noticeable even under the constant stream of water. I soaped myself and ran the razor mechanically over my bikini, leaving the slim patch of tight dark accentuation curls that I and every other woman I'd ever been with enjoyed. It was a black thing: every non-black girl out there wonders how the carpet compares the infinitely mystifying drapes of a Negress. I'd gone entirely bare from time to time, but found a certain seductive aesthetic to having a snug bed of jet fleece drawing attention to my pretty girl. So once I'd meticulously smoothed every bit but that, my fingers lingered in their search for strays. With the razor still in my hand I leaned against the tile wall while I gently massaged my lips, nothing too wanton or escalating, just a slow, rhythmic circulation as I thought of Katja, Naomi, and the night ahead. I edged myself a little until I was almost moaning, then backed myself down and cooled the water for a final rinse.

I toweled off and powdered my body, something I rarely do any more, and gave myself a few indulgent mists of fragrance all over. Wiping the steam from the mirror, I regarded my toned curves admiringly, still confident my twenty-something body was a force to be reckoned with. I cupped my precious little C's and tugged slightly at my nipples, drawing in my umber areolae to their perfect compact proportion, tickling the undersides with my nails, which I noticed I should take the time to give a fresh coat. I was a schoolgirl on a first date all over again, and it felt wonderful.

Painting my nails I thought about what to wear to dinner. Surely this wasn't just a meal and a drink, but certainly it would be in a public space. Despite the long weekend ahead, there were surely other faculty who might also be present, so nothing too risqué. But then nothing too conservative, or dressy, and definitely nothing too obstructive. A skirt and blouse was too ordinary, but a long dress would be too formal. Something cocktail length, for sure, one piece and ideally something that wouldn't require a bra. Thinking over my collection I came up with the perfect number. A matte silk burgundy A-line with spaghetti straps and a high neck that hung just right and flowed just so. Since Katja was so rapt with my skin, no stockings, but I had the perfect pair of mauve heels and a thong that almost matched. Dress, panties, shoes. Anything more is overdressed. A quick check of my hair and light touch of blush and I was off. Hopefully like a prom dress.

I'd only been in the lounge of the Faculty Building once, and that was way back the previous summer when I was interviewing. I remembered the quaint little bar and dining room, but really paid no attention since I was being chaperoned the entire time. Now I walked in a realized it wasn't quite like I remembered it, and found myself at a reception desk I'd never even seen, behind which sat a charming young girl in a smart navy blazer over a low white halter. She had dead straight sandy brown hair that hung just past her shoulders, and a tanned complexion that just screamed California. Something about silky straight hair has always fascinated me, and I really wanted to stay and flirt with this girl.

"Could you point me to the dining room?" I asked as nonchalantly as possible.

"Yes," the girl beamed, "Right down this hallway on your right." Her eyes stayed with me even after I thanked her and turned to go, when she hesitatingly asked, "Miss Denton?" I stopped and turned, acknowledging.

"You're meeting Ms. Lindqvist?"

"Yes."

"She's down this way to your left," she said, pointing to the opposite side the desk, "in the Bannon Room."

The building was of the classic institutional stately manor type, with carpeted hallways, wallpaper, rich wooden wainscoting and doorways. A fair contrast to the newer buildings where the classrooms were. It was like stepping back in time, into a mysterious and storied past. I passed three doors before I found the little brass plate with the correct name on it, and turned the handle of the heavy oak door.

"There you are, Miss Denton," Katja said from across the room, "Do come in."

I was astonished. The room was nothing like what I'd been expecting. No grand bustling dining room with a low murmur of conversation and staff scurrying about. This room would hardly have been big enough for a good-sized conference table. Well, maybe just, but it was arranged more like a private den. Fully paneled walls hung with landscapes and bookshelves, an arrangement of Chippendale furniture in blood red leather to one side, and a dark wooden table, apparently set for only two on the opposite side of the entrance. There were additional closed doorways on either end of the room.

My hostess was sitting in a high wingback chair dressed in a blue velvet gown with a deep, tight bodice that drew immediate attention to her ample bosom. In her elegant pearl choker with her silvering blonde hair pulled up in a loose bun, the entire look accentuated the graceful length of her neck and the strikingly angular shape of her noble face. That's the word I'd been searching for in my mind to describe her: noble. She just exuded that air of unquestioned eminence, of benevolent greatness. I felt small and underdressed.

"And don't you look simply marvelous, my darling girl!" she said, rising up to greet me as I walked over to her. She held out both hands, palms down, and gave mine a long comforting squeeze as she took me in with her eyes. "Come, sit with me," she said, as if I were a long lost companion suddenly come home. There was an identical chair next to hers, separated by a small table, and a long tufted couch opposite them both. I took a seat on the side of the couch nearest her as she descended again regally. All she lacked was a tiara. The glossy leather against the backs of my thighs was luxuriating, and I wished I hadn't worn any panties at all.

Ever the mind reader, Katja gave me a smile and said, "Leather is such a pleasurable sensation, isn't it?" She shifted her weight to one side and crossed her legs beneath her gown, and the slit up the side revealed she had on black stockings and a pair of black pumps. "I'm sure you have many questions, do you not Lisa?" she continued. "Where would you like me to begin?"

Of all the elephants in the room, the first thing I wanted to know was, "How did you know I'm gay?"

"Yes, well, as I mentioned, this community isn't as big as your relatively young mind perceives it to be, and having been here thirty years, I'm fairly well connected within it. I don't know who every lesbian is, of course, but I can certainly find out about one or two if I'm curious. Something about you at your interview registered with me, but I can't say what exactly. Most likely it was just your demeanor; you were noticeably more confident and composed than most women your age are, Miss Denton, and while the two don't necessarily go hand in hand, it made me curious, so I did a little digging." She paused as a side door behind the table on the other side of the room opened, and in walked the lovely girl from the reception desk, carrying two bubbling flutes.

"Ah, thank you, Julia. Champagne?" Beneath the girl's blazer I could now see she wore an extremely short pleated skirt, white knee high stockings and a pair of low mary jane heels. If I wasn't so smitten by her beauty I would've laughed at how cliché her outfit was. When she leaned over to hand me my glass I could no longer see her halter-top, and when she leaned over to Katja, it became clear she wasn't wearing panties, either.

"Have you met Miss Denton, Julia?" The girl turned and smiled at me. "Only just now at the front desk, Miss Katja. Hello again, Miss Denton. Is there anything I can do for you?" Such a loaded question delivered from a powerfully loaded gun. I was trying to think of a way to phrase the thoughts my dampening pussy was sending my brain when Katje interjected. "That will be all for now Julia. We'll expect dinner in five minutes. Thank you." The girl turned with a slight bow and walked out without saying another word.

"So," Katja said after a long sip, "you intrigued me, and I just love to be intrigued. You and your friend Veronica make a lovely pair together I'm told. But I'm sure you hear that all the time." I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, but it caught me off guard, as so much of what this woman said did. She knew about Ronni and me. I didn't really feel like asking how exactly, since it was becoming clear she knew pretty much everything, and what she didn't know was probably just a phone call or two away, so I just sat sipping my champagne, trying not to react.

"I fought very hard to get you here once I knew more about you. Mostly because of your qualifications of course, but I knew a young woman like yourself would fit in quite nicely in a place like this. Of course, an all-girls school will naturally be an attractive workplace for lesbian women, as we generally don't prefer an atmosphere of being around boys or too many men if given the choice. And it usually isn't a question of sexual intentions, not at the outset anyway, just that it's more comfortable to live and work in a predominantly female environment."

Everything she said made sense, of course, and I guess I'd been kidding myself about keeping the various compartments of my life sequestered from the others, but it still made me uneasy this woman could peal away my layers of secrecy so easily. If she knew so much about me, how many others might also?

"So is this common knowledge," I asked, "my being lesbian?"

"Well, I can tell you it is among the lesbians. We've been waiting patiently for you to become comfortable enough here to begin to blossom, as we sometimes refer to it. But don't worry, Lisa, we're not a bunch of bull dykes running rampant through the school, coercing the new girls and converting the students. We're all very comfortable with our situation, and we're not about to do anything to upset it."

"Like keeping girls after class for spankings," I'd said it before I could stop myself, "or parading them around in public half naked," nodding to the doorway across the room. It was perhaps a bit brusque, but I was growing impatient with her self-conviction. Before she could respond, the side door opened again, and Julia set two small plates at each place before departing again, bare cheeks and all.

"Let us shift to the dining table, shall we," Katja said, rising. "I'm famished!" We sat down and ate our salads in silence for a few moments of before the conversation resumed.

"You're every bit the firebrand I was hoping you'd be, Lisa," she said with a smile. "I love how direct you can be, and I very much admire and respect you for that quality, one of many among your numerous favorable attributes." She said it without condescension, and I believed her. "I'm sure you're aware that in a setting like this it's perfectly natural for the students to develop relationships of a sexual nature between them at their age. Of course it doesn't inevitably lead to lesbianism in the long term, but some pupils enjoy the sex and the companionship that only a female can give another female. And, by matter of course, it's also natural for sexual relationships to develop between the older girls and their instructors. I've explained the relationship I have with Miss Sylvan, and as for Julia and her attire, you don't really think she's walking around the entire building like that, do you?"

I felt foolish for my outburst, putting down my fork quietly as I finished my salad.

"Girls of eighteen are permitted to work in the Faculty Building for modest compensation. Some of us like to take advantage of the convenience that brings about. These rooms in this wing are connected yet isolated from other parts of the premises, allowing for more, intimacy." She paused before completing her sentence to make the meaning clear, though it was hardly lost on me at this point.

Julia once again returned to retrieve our plates, but before she could pick them up Katja stopped her.

"Julia, dear, come here." Katja said as she reached out and took the girl's hand. "Give us a kiss, child." She raised her face to meet Julia's, and their lips embraced in a long, loving, sensuous kiss, moving their mouths together gently as their tongues entwined. "Mmmm, that's SO lovely. Thank you. Now please give our guest a kiss as well."

My heart missed a beat as she came toward me, her perfume bathing me as she put her hand on my bare shoulder and lowered her face to mine. It was a wonderful kiss, girlish without being tentative, and with genuine passion behind it. It began to dawn on me that for the past several months I'd been a tacit object of desire throughout the school without ever catching on. The raw emotion and hunger behind this kiss left no doubt that Julia had a deep, deep attraction to me, and it was all I could do to keep from letting my hand slink up her thigh to confirm her excitement. When our lips finally parted I stared into her scintillating hazel eyes until she finally turned to Katja for approval.

"Thank you, Julia. We're ready for the main course now." She gave me a little smile as she gathered our plates, and I blushed.

Our meal was served along with a bottle of wine, and I was aching from head to toe for more of Julia as I followed her tight little buns around the room. I had to make a serious effort to bring my mind back to Katja and our conversation as we ate while she answered more of my questions. She, and some of her colleagues which I could assumed would soon include me, no longer actively engaged in finding the right sort of girls, as she put it, they more or less sort themselves out and naturally present themselves when the time is right. For her, it all started decades ago in her early years at the school. There was a time when she would cautiously pursue individual girls, she explained, watching them over the course of semesters as they interacted with their classmates. In casual and sometimes private conversations, she would slip in little suggestions or expressions here and there and gauge their reaction. If the response was positive she'd go a little further, eventually finding a way to engage them physically, if only just to start with a kiss. Over time, though, as she developed relationships with several girls over several years, she found it was easier to rely on them to do this vetting for her, since they as peers has far more intimate access to each other. And once that mechanism was in place, it became self-sustaining.

It was all so matter of fact. Listening to the tone of her voice as she described the dense sexual undercurrent of the school, we could have just as easily been discussing next semester's curriculum or going over grading procedures. But my god, I was getting so wet thinking about all those scenarios playing out through the campus, probably even now as we were talking. My nipples had been hard since she'd been talking about drawing her first girls in, and I was eager to begin my own journey of seduction and acquisition. I did my best to sit still and remain an attentive guest without letting my imagination wander too far off.

"We all have our particular tastes," she said, again referring to her colleagues, whom she was careful not to name. "Some prefer the innocent ones, impressionable, eager to please and win approval, that sort of thing. Others go for athletes and tomboys, or the more demure and bookish types. Some just need the sex and will go for any of them. I should also tell you many of the girls are steadfastly heterosexual, and will only consort with some of our male instructors. It's just like anywhere else, there's something for everyone. I've always preferred girls with a darker side, more mature interests shall we say, something deeper to explore. Although by no means do I limit myself. Time has been good to me, physically, and I'm grateful there are many girls with varying interests who continue to come my way."

I thought of her regal and matronly nature, and how much of a beacon she must be to these girls, as indeed she was to me. I was about to make a comment to that effect when she began to talk about Naomi.

"Our little French cherub made quite an impression on you this afternoon, n'est-ce pas?

"Mais oui," I smiled. "She's quite captivating. I never, ever would have suspected such a quiet girl would-" I tried to find the right words, but gave up, "would do that."

"I have to admit I was surprised myself, but you will learn. Sometimes the less they show, the more there is concealed in their active little minds and bodies, and so the more there is to learn." We were just about finished with our meal at this point, and she put her fork down carefully on her plate. "Delicious," she said. "Naomi, I mean. I was just about ready to devour her myself when you appeared. I figured it would be more entertaining for all of us if I sacrificed my own hunger for the sake of making you acquaintance. But, oh my, I could eat that little darling's pussy all day long, and I'll tell you I thought I would pass out from lust when I tasted her on your lips afterward. It nearly broke my heart to send her home all plugged up that way, but I wanted to keep her in a heightened state. And she loves that sort of treatment. I imagine she's done nothing but masturbate in her room this entire time, probably in front of a room full of girls. I tell you, she's really just an unassuming young attention whore, but I guess they all are in their own way.

Julia appeared and gathered our plates, and Katja filled our glasses with the last of the bottle. "Come, let's have dessert over in the sitting area. Julia, as soon as you're ready, s'il vous plait."