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 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 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 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. 

We pressed together grinding into each other until the elevator creaked to a stop. She dragged me 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 one second wasted talking about our work 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. There was a row of bookshelves in the living room and the 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 pleasure 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, her body was toned and her cunt 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 me 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 taken and 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 was merely the vessel chosen to receive her passion. I sensed this was not the time to show off, but to accept. 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. I was Her platform to ride upon, to inscribe her design, a vessel for her hunger, offered willingly and with delight. She ground slowly onto me, a naughty smile on her face as she pressed down. “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 taken. 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. I whimpered with 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 myself. A naughty little thrill passed through me, and I wondered how else Laura and I might be well suited. Her muscles were drawn tight as a 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 finger 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 its 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 me, 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. 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 a 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. “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 thrust, 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. 

“Did you think you'd be fucking yourself in a strange woman's apartment whom you've never met in a city you do not know?”

“I'd hoped,” I said, in a moan. I was breathing heavily now, needing air to feed the hunger in my loins. “I'd hoped for exactly this, being here in your apartment, my face soaked with Your juice.” 

“You wanted to be fucked,” she whispered, lips wet, a bit of drool rolling over her lower lip. Raspberry nipples sticking straight out. 

“I needed to be fucked, and I still need to be fucked” I told this Goddess, even while I licked my lips to recover a bit more of her flavor. “I craved it from the moment I laid eyes on You.” 

She chuckled. “Well, we can't have you speaking poorly of English hospitality. And I have just the thing.” She removed a harness from her drawer, the likes of which I had never seen before. Truth is I'd never taken a strap on before, knowing only my fingers, my dildo, and my ex-husband's cock. It had a wide leather base for her mound from which jutted a most impressive blue phallus. It was bigger than my ex, for sure. Bigger even than the veiny toy I'd bought as a college girl. But the leather plate and the big dildo isn't what made it different, it was the second shaft, the one that pointed backward, into her. It was the sight of it disappearing into her juicy cunt as she donned it, the little moan she gave as she was filled and moved, to tighten the straps. 

I am naughty, and I like sucking cock when I'm with a man. Why not her? Granted a dildo can't feel a thing, but that includes teeth and teeth grant a fine grip upon a thing. I crawled to her, mouth open, and slipped my lips over it, the way I sucked all my men, only I didn't have to shield any tender flesh with my lips. So I gripped it, moving it, thinking that if I did that the other end might move within Her. 

A low groan told me I was right. So I kept working, ten sliding my lips up and down her shaft like I would when I wanted to drink. I popped it from my lips, letting spittle trail in a long line down to the tip of her she-cock. “Does Miss enjoy how I suck her?”

“God, you're a total whore, aren't you?”

“Not a total whore. A total whore would expect payment. I'm sucking you for free!”

“Not true,” she said in her oh so proper English accent. “You're charging me a spanking.”

“And I expect a proper spanking!” A turned on the bed, putting my head to the pillows, my bottom facing her, high in the air offered.

“Bitch,” she said, but I could hear her laugh. I turned to see her holding her hairbrush. A moment later it struck my cheeks. 

Oh, it hurt, it hurt, far more than the time that motorcycle dyke had spanked me before feeding me her cunt. Yes, it hurt, but this time was better too, because Laura gave each strike time to bloom, time for the pain to blossom into heat that spread from my cheek out into my loins. Only when it had bloomed did she strike again. On the other cheek, the redness growing, the pain turning into heat. My ass bounced a bit back into her, but I mastered myself and lifted my bottom offering it to her, my cunt burning, certain she could see the shine of juice upon my pussy lips. And she struck again, hard, and I moaned but held steady, the pain deeper, but they burn too and I knew the rose-red color was rising in my cheeks. 

The hairbrush landed in the corner, tossed casually aside as her soft fingers took my hips. She was gentle, and then forceful holding me tight while her she-cock sought its way into my cunt. Once she found my hole, there was no subtlety. She just jammed it right in and once again I screamed. But not in pain. 

There is a thing about fucking, It doesn't hurt, but sometimes you scream. When it's really, really good you scream As she fucked me, I screamed. I screamed loud enough the windows rattled and a cat hissed in the night. She pressed her thighs tight to mine, wrapped her fingers in my hair to yank my head back, so my back would arch so she could drive deeper. Her hips drove into me, and mine pushed back to the squish-squish of her she-cock snaking in and out my cunt, the emptiness of the withdrawal followed by the delightful fullness of each deep thrust. Laura was not subtle. If I had come to be fucked, she was here to fuck. Her thrusts were deep and fast, she grunted with them, breasts bouncing as mine shock with each deep thrust. 

And most of all it was the rhythm, hard and inevitable, the sweet pleasure the slickness of her she-cock and my pussy so hungry to grab it, to hold it yet loving the sweet friction as she rode me hard. I turned my head back to her, to see her grunting, sweat glistening between her breasts, lips wet and perfect. I saw her fucking me and was lost, my head spinning with feeling. At that moment I became Hers, enslaved to the pleasure, the rhythm of her she-cock, the sweet brutality in every thrust. I was an addict, consumed, and burning. 

And then I was lost, lost, screaming so loud my cries reverberated off the windows. I heard pounding on the floor from angry neighbors, and I didn't give a fuck. All that mattered was how she was fucking me, and the white-hot light of orgasm, flooding my groin with joy and making my cunt convulse around her she-cock. She screamed too, mouth open, moaning as she had upon my mouth cumming but not stopping, fucking me through our orgasm to drive us both into the next. 

The world swirled around my pussy for the next few minutes, there was nothing but her the she-cock linking us, our cries rattling the windows, and the sound of neighbors pounding on the door. Who cared? There were no others, there was only Her and I, and the shaking bed upon which she took me.