14-03-2020, 06:09 AM
The opportunity was too good not to take...even if it meant leaving my homeland, England, and moving to America; Boston to be exact.
At only twenty-one, I had already made a name for myself as a financial whiz kid and was head hunted by a few companies right out of college (which I started a year early, skipping a grade in middle college).
So I left my small town in the county of Yorkshire and headed across the ocean, leaving Europe for the first time. I was both excited at the opportunity and terrified as I had never been on my own before...but I loved a challenge.
Regardless, I took the risk and moved to Boston. To my surprise, Boston was a relatively small city, compared to London, where I went to college; yet, like London, it oozed history which was something that intrigued me.
I arrived a week early and toured the college district, including Harvard (I had attended Oxford and wanted to know how they compared) and did the whole history walk through Boston.
When I first arrived at the bank, I could sense many were not happy with my hire. I was younger than everyone in the company, even the tellers, and not being American seemed to also put a target on my back.
Over the first couple of weeks, I tried to befriend some of my coworkers, and eventually found a small group of women all only a couple years older than me. And although I didn't see any of them being besties for life, I did begin to have some remote semblance of a social life.
The bank was giving a lengthy long weekend with Easter so early this year, so April 1st was the last day of work before a four day weekend. The girls suggested we celebrate by taking me out on the town, starting at a bar called the Le Chateau Club at nine. I hated bars, as I rarely drank at all (I lost control the last time I drank a lot and ended up in bed with a much older man) and if I did it was usually a glass of wine, but decided to go in my attempt to fit in with my new American friends.
Becky declared the day before as we were getting ready to leave for the day, "And we all 'slut it up'?"
Tamara agreed, "We're all single, so showcase what The Lord gave ya."
Amber added, "You in, Dione?"
I nodded, "Of course, although I'm not sure I have anything in my wardrobe that says slut it up."
"I'll bring something for you," Amber offered.
"Really?" I asked, sharing clothing something only friends did.
"Everything Amber owns is in the slut it up category," Tamara joked.
"If you got it, flaunt it," Amber shrugged, while cupping her large breasts and adding, "And I got it."
I laughed, finally feeling like I had found some friends, although Becky clearly wasn't a big fan of me.
"What size tits do you have?" Amber asked.
"36C," I answered, even though the question was rather personal.
"I know exactly what outfit will work for you," Amber said, looking me over.
"Although you are incredibly white...don't they have sun in Europe?" Amber asked.
I joked, reflecting on the crazy amount of rain we did get, "We have clouds."
"Don't you have tanning beds?" Becky quipped.
"Then you better wear pantyhose," Amber said, ignoring Becky, before adding, "either beige, tan or mocha."
"Okay," I nodded, although I never wore pantyhose, seeing them as a man-made invention to sexualize women.
Becky added, "No fucking way."
"What?" Amber asked.
"If we're taking royalty out for a night of American debauchery, she isn't going to be all prim and proper like that fucking duchess chick who is always pregnant."
"Do you mean Princess Kate?" I asked, who I admired immensely as a woman of class.
"Yes, that fucking chick," Becky nodded."
"She dresses with class," I point out.
"Exactly," Becky agreed, "and tomorrow night is not about class, it's about ass."
"How poetic," Tamara laughed, shaking her head.
"Meaning?" Amber asked, clearly annoyed by Becky's usual meandering without a point.
"She needs to be in thigh highs," Becky declared.
"Delicious," Tamara nodded in approval.
"Agreed," Amber also nodded. "Do you own any thigh high stockings?"
"No, I don't even know what they are," I admitted.
"Fuck, you are precious," Becky said, shaking her head, her tone implying she didn't mean it as a compliment.
"Go to Victoria's Secret on the way home and buy some, and probably a thong," Amber instructed, "I'm guessing you only have grandma panties."
I didn't know what grandma panties were, but I shrugged lying, "I have a wide range of knickers."
"Knickers," Becky scoffed. "You really are fucking precious."
Tamara scolded, "Stop picking on Dione, she just comes from a different world."
"Yes, Mars," Becky quipped.
"Enough," Amber said, raising her voice. "Stop being such a bitch, Becky. You are making us Americans look judgemental and petty."
"Whatever," Becky said.
"I'll buy what you suggested," I said, desperate to fit in.
"Great," Amber smiled, "tomorrow will be the beginning of a new world for you."
"I can't wait," I said, feeling like I was finally beginning to fit in...a little bit at least.
After work, I purchased a few new things including a couple pair of thigh high stockings (which were just pantyhose without the top half I learned), a new lace bra with a matching thong and three new sexy pairs of knickers.
I was ready for my Americanization, I chuckled to myself.
.....
The dress Amber brought for me was not something I would ever wear at work and would never have worn it before this day. I even pointed out that the red dress, which was beautiful, but short, would barely hide the top of the lace top stockings.
Becky called me a prude, continuing to judge me.
It pissed me off and made me want to prove to her I wasn't a stick in the mud. "You know, in England, most see American women as prudes," I countered.
"How so?" Becky questioned, challenging me.
"It's all window dressing," I continued.
"What the fuck does that even mean," Becky questioned, clearly perturbed by being challenged by me.
"You talk the talk," I responded, "but you don't walk the walk."
"And you do Princess Virgin?" Becky countered, her voice dripping with disdain.
"I've shagged lots of blokes," I countered, which was kind of true, depending on your definition of 'lots'.
"Are you even speaking fucking English?" Becky questioned.
"For Christ's sake," Amber sighed, "give it up, you two. You fight like a married couple."
Becky laughed, glaring at me, "Do princesses eat cunt?"
I never use the 'c' word, and I was shocked by the turn of the conversation. I stammered, "G-g-god, no."
Tamara finally spoke, "You don't know what you're missing, girl."
"You're a lesbian?" I asked, surprised, because she always talked about Bart, a security guard whom she was trying to seduce.
Tamara laughed, "No, I love cock too much, but I don't mind some pussy on occasion."
Becky added, "Stop tainting our princess virgin, you may make her pass out in shock."
Amber added, "Don't judge Dione, until you've tried it. A woman knows another woman's body a lot better than oblivious men."
"I second that," Tamara declared, before adding, "but I still need some hard man meat."
"Every couple hours," Becky quipped, finally turning her acid tongue on someone else.
"I wish," Tamara laughed.
"So, we'll meet you at nine," Amber said to me, shaking her head at the other two.
"Sounds great," I nodded, looking forward to an evening away from work, although in a perfect world Becky wouldn't join us.
At home, I had two glasses of wine, hating paying for overpriced, watered down drinks. I put on the matching lace bra and panties, and the thigh high stockings, and looked in the mirror. The attire definitely made me look sexy, unlike what I usually wore. I wondered what Jimmy, my last boyfriend who had called me a pretentious feminist, would think if he saw me in such an outfit...he'd probably keel over in shock or shag me senseless...man, I could use a shag.
I put on the dress and realized that if I even sat down, the top of the lace stockings would be visible, let alone if I danced with any sort of exuberance. But Becky's words and disdain aimed at me made me ignore my better judgement and go out in public dressed in the sluttiest outfit I had ever worn.
I called for a taxi, already feeling just the hint of a buzz since I drink so rarely, and headed to the Le Chateau Club. Just as I paid the taxi driver, I got a text from Amber:
We are running late. But we will be there.
I texted back, not liking being at a bar by myself:
Please hurry.
She texted back:
Be there as soon as Becky is ready. Oh, get us a table.
Figures, I sighed to myself.
I wasn't going to wait outside dressed as I was, the wind very chilly, so I walked into the club.
In London, I only went to pubs, so I wasn't really ready for the intense bass that echoed throughout the club as I walked in.
After paying the cover, I walked into the bar. It wasn't overly busy and I quickly went and grabbed a table near the dance floor, but away from the big speakers.
Within seconds, a very pretty waitress came and took my order. I ordered a glass of wine and began to look around. As I scanned the dance floor, which was still pretty empty, I realized that they were all women. A realization beginning to form, I quickly scanned the rest of the club and confirmed my suspicion...this was a lesbian bar. I shook my head, trying to figure out why they would choose this bar.
Before I had time to really process this information, a very pretty older woman, holding a cosmopolitan, asked, "May I join you?"
I stammered, instantly overwhelmed by the situation, "I-I-I'm just waiting for my friends."
The pretty brunette sat down beside me and smiled, "I'll just sit down for a drink then and keep you company."
"O-o-okay," I agreed, not sure what else to say.
"My name is Laura," she greeted, extending her hand.
"I'm Dione," I revealed, shaking her hand, wishing my friends would get here, but instead the wine did.
"What a unique name," she smiled warmly.
I joked, "It's impossible to find on key chains or other tourist items."
"I suppose so," she laughed, seeming to listen to every word I said. After a pause, she asked, "First time here?"
"Is it that obvious?" I asked, half my wine already downed.
"You seem rather nervous," she properly observed.
"I am," I nodded, "I had no idea I was coming to a," I paused not wanting to offend her.
"A lesbian club," she smiled, finishing my sentence.
"Yes," I nodded.
"You're straight, I'm guessing," she assessed correctly again.
"Yes," I nodded, thankful to get that out of the way. I was enjoying the conversation, but wanted to make it clear I wasn't interested in anything sexual.
"Then I'd better wait with you until your friends arrive," she suggested, explaining, "You're fresh meat here and I guarantee you the hungry sharks are already sizing up their prey."
"Really?" I asked, looking up and glancing around the area to see if any women were looking my way. Although no one was obvious like a guy would be, I did notice a couple of women seeming to be looking in my direction.
"Oh yes," she nodded, "the club is a great place to hang out with fellow lesbians and drink and dance, but it's also a great place to find your next conquest."
"Oh," I said, finishing my third glass of wine and checking my phone wondering where the hell they were.
Laura waved her hand towards the bar and continued, "This place is much more than it first appears."
"How so?" I asked, curious.
"Well, you need to look closely," she said, before adding, "as the night gets later and the booze flows freely it gets a lot more obvious."
I looked around again, this time paying closer attention to my surroundings. I didn't see anything overly crazy, although two girls were making out wildly on the dance floor and there was a line of four women upstairs waiting outside what I now realized looked like small rooms.
"Those are for some of the elite guests," Laura explained, noticing what I was looking at.
"And the line?" I asked out of curiosity.
"That's Big Rosie's room," she answered, as if that explained everything.
"Big Rosie?" I questioned.
"If I can be frank," she began, "she is a large black woman with the sweetest tasting pussy in the city."
"People line up to lick her pussy?" I asked, completely flabbergasted by such a thought.
"Every night without fail," she nodded, "the longest line I ever saw was last New Year's Eve when fifteen were in line at one point."
In awe, I mindlessly said, "Christ, I can't even have multiple orgasms," before realizing what I had said and blushing beet red.
"You just haven't found the right person," she smiled warmly; I noticed she hadn't said 'man'..
"Maybe," I shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the conversation.
"Do you see the chubby older woman with the green blouse at the table over there?" she asked.
"Yes," I nodded looking at a rather plain older looking woman, dressed like a diva.
"Do you see anything out of the ordinary?" she asked.
I looked at her. She looked like a grandma quite frankly, although I really didn't see anything out of the ordinary. I said, "No, not reeeeeally," just as I realized there were a pair of heels poking out from underneath the table.
"That is Penelope Benson," Laura explained, "she is always on the hunt for young girls to please her."
"But she is in her sixties," I said, unable to fathom why anyone would do that.
"You've heard of sugar daddies?" She asked.
"Of course," I nodded.
"She is a sugar momma," she revealed.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, I see."
Changing the topic completely, she said, "So your accent, you're obviously from England."
"Born and raised," I nodded, as the waitress came with two more drinks, one for each of us. Although I knew I was going to get pretty drunk at this rate, I needed the liquid courage to stay comfortable in this strange foreign situation.
"What brings you to Boston? Work or pleasure?" she asked.
The way she said 'pleasure' sent a chill up my spine as it was sexy as hell. Drinking half my fourth glass of wine, I retold my journey here to America. She asked a couple of questions through my story and then asked, "And what brings you here today?"
Looking at my phone, I saw my light flashing, which I must have missed during my storytelling. I grabbed my phone and said, "My so-called new friends."
Entering my password, I read my message. It was just two words:
April Fools
As I realized the meaning of those two words, I cursed, something I almost never did, "Well, bloody hell." I cursed, while I finished my wine.
"What?" She asked, genuinely concerned.
"They aren't coming," I said, completely disappointed, realizing I had been played and that my so-called friends were just bitches.
"Why?" She asked, moving closer.
"They set me up," I sighed, "and to make it worse," I continued, showing her the pathetic message, "April Fool's day ends at mid-day!"
She put her hand on my leg, which startled me. Her hand felt incredibly warm on my leg. I hadn't had sex in three months and that was a quickie that ended in a three minute shag where he got off and I didn't, so any touch, even that of a woman, had a pleasurable effect on me. Realizing I was getting in over my head, even though my body was beginning to betray me, I stammered, "I-I-I should probably go," as I began to move out the other side of the booth.
Just then, the waitress brought another round of drinks and another woman, also older, but blonde, I'm guessing a few years older than Laura, joined the table and asked, "So who is our new friend?"
I cursed to myself, suddenly trapped, my head spinning.
The word 'our' was odd, but Laura introduced us. "Dione, this is my significant other Chantelle, Chantelle, this is my new friend Dione."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Chantelle greeted, leaning in and giving me a hug.
A chill went up my spine as I was currently being touched by two lesbians.
"You too," I replied, my panties frustratingly suddenly getting lightly damp. I knew then I desperately needed to get out of the club, right then and there, before it was too late.
Yet, I had women on both sides of me, and couldn't find any words to say to get me out of this bar, this situation.
Laura's hand moved up my leg slightly and under my skanky dress, as she retold my story to Chantelle, who was apparently her girlfriend. The whole time she spoke, her hand slithered ever so slowly up my leg, past my lace topped thigh highs and dangerously close to my increasingly wet pussy...which continued to betray my very straight mindset.
I tried to remain frozen and not let Laura know the impact she was having on me, plus I didn't want to let Chantelle know her girlfriend was touching me, having no idea how these types of things worked.
Chantelle asked, once Laura was done retelling my boring life story, "So you're a pussy virgin?"
I stammered, just as Laura's finger touched my pussy lips, "Aaah, I-I-I guess so."
"Is Laura's finger in your cunt, sweetheart?" Chantelle bluntly asked, moving closer to me.
"Noooooo," I moaned involuntarily, which was true, her finger was not in me, but driving me mad tapping my clit through the thin fabric.
"Do you want her finger inside you?" Chantelle whispered into my ear, her hot breath only enhancing my wetness and the complete overwhelming feeling of uncomfortable euphoria I was struggling to control.
"What?" I asked, even though I heard the question.
"Do you want Laura to finger that wet cunt of yours? It is wet, isn't it?" Chantelle asked, her lips so close to my ear, as Laura's finger slid underneath my thong.
"Yes," I whimpered, although I wasn't sure which question I was actually answering, so overwhelmed by the situation, and the finger so tantalizing close to entering me.
"Yes, you're wet or yes you want Laura's finger inside your cunt, sweetheart?" she asked, her lips tugging on my ear.
"Oh God," I moaned, the finger parting my pussy lips and the hot breath on my ear making me incapable of thinking straight (pun intended).
"I'll take that as a yes to both," Chantelle chuckled tenderly.
Laura explained, as her finger reached my volcanic entrance, which was dying to erupt after months of being dormant, in a whisper, "Just so you know, Chantelle and I are in an exclusive relationship."
My face flushed, my body continuing to betray me, I asked, "Then why is your finger almost in my pussy?"
Suddenly a hand was on my other leg and Chantelle answered, leaning in, "Because after a great dinner, like we had an hour and a half ago, we always want to share a dessert."
"Oh fuuuuuuuck," I moaned, way louder than I meant to, as Laura's finger slid inside me and I realized without a doubt the intention of these two lesbians.
"You're coming home with us now," Chantelle ordered.
"What?" I asked, as Laura's finger laid buried deep within me, not moving.
"Tell us, sweetheart, do you want to come home with us?" Chantelle asked, strange since she just told me I was going home with them.
"I don't know," I answered, which was the truth. Part of me was completely at the whim of these two...my desire to get off driving me wild and making me reckless; on the other hand, I wasn't a lesbian and even though I had had a few drinks and was definitely intoxicated, I wasn't one to make reckless choices.
At only twenty-one, I had already made a name for myself as a financial whiz kid and was head hunted by a few companies right out of college (which I started a year early, skipping a grade in middle college).
So I left my small town in the county of Yorkshire and headed across the ocean, leaving Europe for the first time. I was both excited at the opportunity and terrified as I had never been on my own before...but I loved a challenge.
Regardless, I took the risk and moved to Boston. To my surprise, Boston was a relatively small city, compared to London, where I went to college; yet, like London, it oozed history which was something that intrigued me.
I arrived a week early and toured the college district, including Harvard (I had attended Oxford and wanted to know how they compared) and did the whole history walk through Boston.
When I first arrived at the bank, I could sense many were not happy with my hire. I was younger than everyone in the company, even the tellers, and not being American seemed to also put a target on my back.
Over the first couple of weeks, I tried to befriend some of my coworkers, and eventually found a small group of women all only a couple years older than me. And although I didn't see any of them being besties for life, I did begin to have some remote semblance of a social life.
The bank was giving a lengthy long weekend with Easter so early this year, so April 1st was the last day of work before a four day weekend. The girls suggested we celebrate by taking me out on the town, starting at a bar called the Le Chateau Club at nine. I hated bars, as I rarely drank at all (I lost control the last time I drank a lot and ended up in bed with a much older man) and if I did it was usually a glass of wine, but decided to go in my attempt to fit in with my new American friends.
Becky declared the day before as we were getting ready to leave for the day, "And we all 'slut it up'?"
Tamara agreed, "We're all single, so showcase what The Lord gave ya."
Amber added, "You in, Dione?"
I nodded, "Of course, although I'm not sure I have anything in my wardrobe that says slut it up."
"I'll bring something for you," Amber offered.
"Really?" I asked, sharing clothing something only friends did.
"Everything Amber owns is in the slut it up category," Tamara joked.
"If you got it, flaunt it," Amber shrugged, while cupping her large breasts and adding, "And I got it."
I laughed, finally feeling like I had found some friends, although Becky clearly wasn't a big fan of me.
"What size tits do you have?" Amber asked.
"36C," I answered, even though the question was rather personal.
"I know exactly what outfit will work for you," Amber said, looking me over.
"Although you are incredibly white...don't they have sun in Europe?" Amber asked.
I joked, reflecting on the crazy amount of rain we did get, "We have clouds."
"Don't you have tanning beds?" Becky quipped.
"Then you better wear pantyhose," Amber said, ignoring Becky, before adding, "either beige, tan or mocha."
"Okay," I nodded, although I never wore pantyhose, seeing them as a man-made invention to sexualize women.
Becky added, "No fucking way."
"What?" Amber asked.
"If we're taking royalty out for a night of American debauchery, she isn't going to be all prim and proper like that fucking duchess chick who is always pregnant."
"Do you mean Princess Kate?" I asked, who I admired immensely as a woman of class.
"Yes, that fucking chick," Becky nodded."
"She dresses with class," I point out.
"Exactly," Becky agreed, "and tomorrow night is not about class, it's about ass."
"How poetic," Tamara laughed, shaking her head.
"Meaning?" Amber asked, clearly annoyed by Becky's usual meandering without a point.
"She needs to be in thigh highs," Becky declared.
"Delicious," Tamara nodded in approval.
"Agreed," Amber also nodded. "Do you own any thigh high stockings?"
"No, I don't even know what they are," I admitted.
"Fuck, you are precious," Becky said, shaking her head, her tone implying she didn't mean it as a compliment.
"Go to Victoria's Secret on the way home and buy some, and probably a thong," Amber instructed, "I'm guessing you only have grandma panties."
I didn't know what grandma panties were, but I shrugged lying, "I have a wide range of knickers."
"Knickers," Becky scoffed. "You really are fucking precious."
Tamara scolded, "Stop picking on Dione, she just comes from a different world."
"Yes, Mars," Becky quipped.
"Enough," Amber said, raising her voice. "Stop being such a bitch, Becky. You are making us Americans look judgemental and petty."
"Whatever," Becky said.
"I'll buy what you suggested," I said, desperate to fit in.
"Great," Amber smiled, "tomorrow will be the beginning of a new world for you."
"I can't wait," I said, feeling like I was finally beginning to fit in...a little bit at least.
After work, I purchased a few new things including a couple pair of thigh high stockings (which were just pantyhose without the top half I learned), a new lace bra with a matching thong and three new sexy pairs of knickers.
I was ready for my Americanization, I chuckled to myself.
.....
The dress Amber brought for me was not something I would ever wear at work and would never have worn it before this day. I even pointed out that the red dress, which was beautiful, but short, would barely hide the top of the lace top stockings.
Becky called me a prude, continuing to judge me.
It pissed me off and made me want to prove to her I wasn't a stick in the mud. "You know, in England, most see American women as prudes," I countered.
"How so?" Becky questioned, challenging me.
"It's all window dressing," I continued.
"What the fuck does that even mean," Becky questioned, clearly perturbed by being challenged by me.
"You talk the talk," I responded, "but you don't walk the walk."
"And you do Princess Virgin?" Becky countered, her voice dripping with disdain.
"I've shagged lots of blokes," I countered, which was kind of true, depending on your definition of 'lots'.
"Are you even speaking fucking English?" Becky questioned.
"For Christ's sake," Amber sighed, "give it up, you two. You fight like a married couple."
Becky laughed, glaring at me, "Do princesses eat cunt?"
I never use the 'c' word, and I was shocked by the turn of the conversation. I stammered, "G-g-god, no."
Tamara finally spoke, "You don't know what you're missing, girl."
"You're a lesbian?" I asked, surprised, because she always talked about Bart, a security guard whom she was trying to seduce.
Tamara laughed, "No, I love cock too much, but I don't mind some pussy on occasion."
Becky added, "Stop tainting our princess virgin, you may make her pass out in shock."
Amber added, "Don't judge Dione, until you've tried it. A woman knows another woman's body a lot better than oblivious men."
"I second that," Tamara declared, before adding, "but I still need some hard man meat."
"Every couple hours," Becky quipped, finally turning her acid tongue on someone else.
"I wish," Tamara laughed.
"So, we'll meet you at nine," Amber said to me, shaking her head at the other two.
"Sounds great," I nodded, looking forward to an evening away from work, although in a perfect world Becky wouldn't join us.
At home, I had two glasses of wine, hating paying for overpriced, watered down drinks. I put on the matching lace bra and panties, and the thigh high stockings, and looked in the mirror. The attire definitely made me look sexy, unlike what I usually wore. I wondered what Jimmy, my last boyfriend who had called me a pretentious feminist, would think if he saw me in such an outfit...he'd probably keel over in shock or shag me senseless...man, I could use a shag.
I put on the dress and realized that if I even sat down, the top of the lace stockings would be visible, let alone if I danced with any sort of exuberance. But Becky's words and disdain aimed at me made me ignore my better judgement and go out in public dressed in the sluttiest outfit I had ever worn.
I called for a taxi, already feeling just the hint of a buzz since I drink so rarely, and headed to the Le Chateau Club. Just as I paid the taxi driver, I got a text from Amber:
We are running late. But we will be there.
I texted back, not liking being at a bar by myself:
Please hurry.
She texted back:
Be there as soon as Becky is ready. Oh, get us a table.
Figures, I sighed to myself.
I wasn't going to wait outside dressed as I was, the wind very chilly, so I walked into the club.
In London, I only went to pubs, so I wasn't really ready for the intense bass that echoed throughout the club as I walked in.
After paying the cover, I walked into the bar. It wasn't overly busy and I quickly went and grabbed a table near the dance floor, but away from the big speakers.
Within seconds, a very pretty waitress came and took my order. I ordered a glass of wine and began to look around. As I scanned the dance floor, which was still pretty empty, I realized that they were all women. A realization beginning to form, I quickly scanned the rest of the club and confirmed my suspicion...this was a lesbian bar. I shook my head, trying to figure out why they would choose this bar.
Before I had time to really process this information, a very pretty older woman, holding a cosmopolitan, asked, "May I join you?"
I stammered, instantly overwhelmed by the situation, "I-I-I'm just waiting for my friends."
The pretty brunette sat down beside me and smiled, "I'll just sit down for a drink then and keep you company."
"O-o-okay," I agreed, not sure what else to say.
"My name is Laura," she greeted, extending her hand.
"I'm Dione," I revealed, shaking her hand, wishing my friends would get here, but instead the wine did.
"What a unique name," she smiled warmly.
I joked, "It's impossible to find on key chains or other tourist items."
"I suppose so," she laughed, seeming to listen to every word I said. After a pause, she asked, "First time here?"
"Is it that obvious?" I asked, half my wine already downed.
"You seem rather nervous," she properly observed.
"I am," I nodded, "I had no idea I was coming to a," I paused not wanting to offend her.
"A lesbian club," she smiled, finishing my sentence.
"Yes," I nodded.
"You're straight, I'm guessing," she assessed correctly again.
"Yes," I nodded, thankful to get that out of the way. I was enjoying the conversation, but wanted to make it clear I wasn't interested in anything sexual.
"Then I'd better wait with you until your friends arrive," she suggested, explaining, "You're fresh meat here and I guarantee you the hungry sharks are already sizing up their prey."
"Really?" I asked, looking up and glancing around the area to see if any women were looking my way. Although no one was obvious like a guy would be, I did notice a couple of women seeming to be looking in my direction.
"Oh yes," she nodded, "the club is a great place to hang out with fellow lesbians and drink and dance, but it's also a great place to find your next conquest."
"Oh," I said, finishing my third glass of wine and checking my phone wondering where the hell they were.
Laura waved her hand towards the bar and continued, "This place is much more than it first appears."
"How so?" I asked, curious.
"Well, you need to look closely," she said, before adding, "as the night gets later and the booze flows freely it gets a lot more obvious."
I looked around again, this time paying closer attention to my surroundings. I didn't see anything overly crazy, although two girls were making out wildly on the dance floor and there was a line of four women upstairs waiting outside what I now realized looked like small rooms.
"Those are for some of the elite guests," Laura explained, noticing what I was looking at.
"And the line?" I asked out of curiosity.
"That's Big Rosie's room," she answered, as if that explained everything.
"Big Rosie?" I questioned.
"If I can be frank," she began, "she is a large black woman with the sweetest tasting pussy in the city."
"People line up to lick her pussy?" I asked, completely flabbergasted by such a thought.
"Every night without fail," she nodded, "the longest line I ever saw was last New Year's Eve when fifteen were in line at one point."
In awe, I mindlessly said, "Christ, I can't even have multiple orgasms," before realizing what I had said and blushing beet red.
"You just haven't found the right person," she smiled warmly; I noticed she hadn't said 'man'..
"Maybe," I shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the conversation.
"Do you see the chubby older woman with the green blouse at the table over there?" she asked.
"Yes," I nodded looking at a rather plain older looking woman, dressed like a diva.
"Do you see anything out of the ordinary?" she asked.
I looked at her. She looked like a grandma quite frankly, although I really didn't see anything out of the ordinary. I said, "No, not reeeeeally," just as I realized there were a pair of heels poking out from underneath the table.
"That is Penelope Benson," Laura explained, "she is always on the hunt for young girls to please her."
"But she is in her sixties," I said, unable to fathom why anyone would do that.
"You've heard of sugar daddies?" She asked.
"Of course," I nodded.
"She is a sugar momma," she revealed.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, I see."
Changing the topic completely, she said, "So your accent, you're obviously from England."
"Born and raised," I nodded, as the waitress came with two more drinks, one for each of us. Although I knew I was going to get pretty drunk at this rate, I needed the liquid courage to stay comfortable in this strange foreign situation.
"What brings you to Boston? Work or pleasure?" she asked.
The way she said 'pleasure' sent a chill up my spine as it was sexy as hell. Drinking half my fourth glass of wine, I retold my journey here to America. She asked a couple of questions through my story and then asked, "And what brings you here today?"
Looking at my phone, I saw my light flashing, which I must have missed during my storytelling. I grabbed my phone and said, "My so-called new friends."
Entering my password, I read my message. It was just two words:
April Fools
As I realized the meaning of those two words, I cursed, something I almost never did, "Well, bloody hell." I cursed, while I finished my wine.
"What?" She asked, genuinely concerned.
"They aren't coming," I said, completely disappointed, realizing I had been played and that my so-called friends were just bitches.
"Why?" She asked, moving closer.
"They set me up," I sighed, "and to make it worse," I continued, showing her the pathetic message, "April Fool's day ends at mid-day!"
She put her hand on my leg, which startled me. Her hand felt incredibly warm on my leg. I hadn't had sex in three months and that was a quickie that ended in a three minute shag where he got off and I didn't, so any touch, even that of a woman, had a pleasurable effect on me. Realizing I was getting in over my head, even though my body was beginning to betray me, I stammered, "I-I-I should probably go," as I began to move out the other side of the booth.
Just then, the waitress brought another round of drinks and another woman, also older, but blonde, I'm guessing a few years older than Laura, joined the table and asked, "So who is our new friend?"
I cursed to myself, suddenly trapped, my head spinning.
The word 'our' was odd, but Laura introduced us. "Dione, this is my significant other Chantelle, Chantelle, this is my new friend Dione."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Chantelle greeted, leaning in and giving me a hug.
A chill went up my spine as I was currently being touched by two lesbians.
"You too," I replied, my panties frustratingly suddenly getting lightly damp. I knew then I desperately needed to get out of the club, right then and there, before it was too late.
Yet, I had women on both sides of me, and couldn't find any words to say to get me out of this bar, this situation.
Laura's hand moved up my leg slightly and under my skanky dress, as she retold my story to Chantelle, who was apparently her girlfriend. The whole time she spoke, her hand slithered ever so slowly up my leg, past my lace topped thigh highs and dangerously close to my increasingly wet pussy...which continued to betray my very straight mindset.
I tried to remain frozen and not let Laura know the impact she was having on me, plus I didn't want to let Chantelle know her girlfriend was touching me, having no idea how these types of things worked.
Chantelle asked, once Laura was done retelling my boring life story, "So you're a pussy virgin?"
I stammered, just as Laura's finger touched my pussy lips, "Aaah, I-I-I guess so."
"Is Laura's finger in your cunt, sweetheart?" Chantelle bluntly asked, moving closer to me.
"Noooooo," I moaned involuntarily, which was true, her finger was not in me, but driving me mad tapping my clit through the thin fabric.
"Do you want her finger inside you?" Chantelle whispered into my ear, her hot breath only enhancing my wetness and the complete overwhelming feeling of uncomfortable euphoria I was struggling to control.
"What?" I asked, even though I heard the question.
"Do you want Laura to finger that wet cunt of yours? It is wet, isn't it?" Chantelle asked, her lips so close to my ear, as Laura's finger slid underneath my thong.
"Yes," I whimpered, although I wasn't sure which question I was actually answering, so overwhelmed by the situation, and the finger so tantalizing close to entering me.
"Yes, you're wet or yes you want Laura's finger inside your cunt, sweetheart?" she asked, her lips tugging on my ear.
"Oh God," I moaned, the finger parting my pussy lips and the hot breath on my ear making me incapable of thinking straight (pun intended).
"I'll take that as a yes to both," Chantelle chuckled tenderly.
Laura explained, as her finger reached my volcanic entrance, which was dying to erupt after months of being dormant, in a whisper, "Just so you know, Chantelle and I are in an exclusive relationship."
My face flushed, my body continuing to betray me, I asked, "Then why is your finger almost in my pussy?"
Suddenly a hand was on my other leg and Chantelle answered, leaning in, "Because after a great dinner, like we had an hour and a half ago, we always want to share a dessert."
"Oh fuuuuuuuck," I moaned, way louder than I meant to, as Laura's finger slid inside me and I realized without a doubt the intention of these two lesbians.
"You're coming home with us now," Chantelle ordered.
"What?" I asked, as Laura's finger laid buried deep within me, not moving.
"Tell us, sweetheart, do you want to come home with us?" Chantelle asked, strange since she just told me I was going home with them.
"I don't know," I answered, which was the truth. Part of me was completely at the whim of these two...my desire to get off driving me wild and making me reckless; on the other hand, I wasn't a lesbian and even though I had had a few drinks and was definitely intoxicated, I wasn't one to make reckless choices.
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