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Carla - Chapter 1

A girl's night out doesn't go exactly to plan

The pretty butch pushed me back against the wall behind the bar and, hands on my shoulders, pressed her crotch hard against mine. I’d noticed the clearly non-biological bulge in her leather cut offs when I’d first caught sight of her indoors, it had been hard not to but now I could feel it.

It had been a mistake, of course, to take a night off going to the bar but, to be fair, my bodyguarding duties were not required for a while since the businesswoman who employed me, the CEO of one of the country’s largest pharmaceutical companies, was safely abroad with a friend from her University days and another bodyguard. She had been gone for two weeks and wasn’t due back for another. It had been a while since I’d had the pleasure and, well, a girl has needs. A woman, I should say. I’m forty five after all. I’d decided to go out dressed so as not to be too obvious. I’d worn a neat, fairly short pleated, check skirt in a mix of browns with a white silk camisole and a brown leather waistcoat; stockings, naturally and my brown knee boots with three inch heels that were good for the shape of my calves. The waistcoat covered my braless nipples but could, if I wanted, be moved to reveal them.

The butch was about 5’8” and aside from the cutoffs, she was wearing nice little ankle boots and a pretty cute denim shirt with short sleeves. The muscles on her forearms were firm with unusually delicate tattoos and her skin quite dark. Black eyes and short, soft black hair softened her masculine appearance. At the bar I had stood next to her and for some inexplicable reason the waistcoat had moved aside to let her see my rather obvious nipples. It didn’t take more than a few minutes for her to proposition me and, when I accepted, lead me out into the alley.

She kissed me, her hand running over my nipples. Her free hand went under my skirt and I felt her nails tracing around the hem of my panties. She kept the hand up my skirt but the one on my tit moved down as she kissed me deeper, her tongue deep in my mouth. I felt her hand moving lower down and I assumed, hopefully, she was releasing her bulge to complete the deal but then I felt something come between us. I looked down to see the tip of a nasty looking four-inch blade resting between my tits, pointing up towards my chin.

‘Give me your bag, sweets.’

‘Oh dear, this is such a mistake.’

‘We all make them, honey.’ Her grin was cruel and feral. ‘Now give me your fucking bag or I’ll mark you.’

It didn’t last long. Training, long hard hours of it, kicks in almost automatically and the toughest amateur is no match for a professional. She was lying at my feet now, stunned and I had the blade secured in my handbag. I knew she’d brought me somewhere where the CCTV would not see us because it made sense and anyway I had checked the place out before I went in. I hadn’t let my need remove all my natural caution. So, no rush then.

I could hear her rasping breath where the second blow had caught her neck. The first had been a surprise for her. My hand had gone to her wrist, the one holding the knife, as if to help her stab me but I had gripped and twisted as my instructor had taught me so many moons before and she’d yelped, a cry cut short by the elbow to the throat.

I hefted her to her feet. ‘No hard feelings, sweets, but you just picked the wrong dyke to roll.’ Her breath came easier and she was torn between holding her bruised neck or her wrist. “You’ll feel better soon. You do this often?’

‘Fuck you.’

‘I had rather thought, hoped in fact, that that was the general idea. Don’t come back inside, babe, I want some fun. Get lost.’

I saw something in her eyes and suspected she might be about to try turn the tables and shout ‘rape’ so I gripped her arm hard enough for her to feel my strength.

‘See this button?’ I touched a button on the waistcoat. “It’s a camera. Sends a pic to my phone every five seconds. Clever huh?’ It was also true. In my job you need to watch your back. ‘So think yourself lucky and fuck off.’

I saw in her eyes that there was a chance she’d have another go but something, my eyes probably, dissuaded her. I watched her limp down the alley. I’d given her knee a kick just for good measure. You can’t be too careful in my game.

Fuck it, I thought. I come out to get laid and ended up laying out the best-looking butch in the place. Oh well, the night was young and there were two more bars for me to try. Butch is not my normal choice but I have a maxim. If you’re out for a quickie a butch is a cert. Lipstick lesbians like me take time. We are no less eager than the butch girls but we like to be wooed. I didn’t have the time or inclination. That night I wanted pussy. Why? Well, as I said it had been a while. Between ourselves (and my boss in fact because he knew) my client liked a woman too. In fact she liked a woman a lot. This was not the reason I’d been assigned but it had helped. She’d decided about a week into our relationship she’d feel safer with me in bed beside her now and then and that worked for me too. It wasn’t a regular thing but just occasionally we fucked.

Damn but I’d fancied the butch. She was one of those whose eyes told you fun was at hand. Her tight leather pants with the ill-concealed bulge told the same story but less subtly. That bulge also indicated the nature of the fun and it was just the sort of fun I wanted. I decided not to go back into the bar I’d just left so I made my way down the alley, cautious in case she’d had second thoughts, and out into the main drag. There was no sign of her. I grabbed a cab, gave the driver the name of my next attempt and sat back and smiled. It’s good to test the skills sometimes.

The next bar was a wash out. It was a University night out for a group of baby dykes and to be frank that wasn’t my idea of fun at all. More likely get puked on than fucked.

When all else fails, go to Ernie’s.

Ernie, more properly Ernestine Drummond but nobody calls her that, runs an understanding little bar for dykes down near the racecourse. Understanding because she is one of us. She’s masculine (being kind to her) and nonetheless lovely for it. She always wears a tuxedo despite the fact the bar is less than classy. ‘Standards, Carla darling, standards.’ She once invited me up to her flat above the bar and pounced. Can’t say I minded. Might not have minded that night either but it was not to be.

I went straight to the bar and found Ernie. I leaned across the bar and took her hands in mine. ‘Hi, Ern. Any chance of a gin with some gin in it?’

She grinned. ‘I’ll give you some of my own special reserve but for fuck’s sake don’t let the punters know. I’ll go bust.’

Seconds later I was sipping a g and t with real gin in it and chatting to Ernie. I think she got the drift that I was not looking for the slow seduction of the girl of my dreams.

‘Check out the blonde serving at the far end of the bar.’

I looked, following her gaze. ‘Holy shit, Ern. Where do you find them?’

Six feet of Eastern European blonde; svelte, hair to her arse and legs to her armpits; she almost had clothes on and her tits were something to behold.

‘This particular model I found in Bulgaria. She was cleaning rooms in my hotel in Sofia and I offered her a “live-in position” here in the UK. No strings as long as she fucked on demand and didn’t steal from the till. So far she has observed both rules.’

‘So I guess you’re not going to repeat your indecent assault on me then?’

‘I haven’t got the strength, Carla, darling. Wajena, and I promise that really is her name, has drained this old dyke of all her energy. It’s all I can do to get upstairs.’

‘Wajena?’ She’d pronounced the ‘w’ as a ‘v’.

‘I kid you not. Hang on here, babes. Ernie has a few errands to run. I’ll tell Waj to make sure you get you the real gin if you need more.’ She smirked as she wandered off.

I watched the blonde from my side of the bar and wondered at Ernie’s pulling power. Truth to tell Ernie was no beauty but, give her her due, she was no slouch in the sack. Wajena looked as though she might be a back-breaker though. When she poured me another drink she turned on the full beams and I felt like a rabbit caught in them. Nice girl.

I noticed her eyes turn to someone who had approached the bar beside me and I turned to see who it was. I’m 5’ 5” and I had to look up at my new neighbour. She was about 6’ and slender, short black hair, cut like a cap around an elfin face with dark eyes. About my sort of age, I guessed. I did the usual survey and noted a denim jacket over a button down shirt and, lower, blue trousers tucked into black leather, knee length boots with low heels. A large hint of the butch but softened, if you get my drift? Her eyes were, gratifyingly, looking at me and not the barmaid.

She may have been looking at me but she spoke to Wajena. ‘A scotch for me and, er, whatever this lady’s drinking.’

She smiled then and revealed a row of perfect teeth.

‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure. You’re Carla? Don’t look surprised, Ernie told me when I asked her.’

‘What made you ask?’

She grinned. ‘I hope you’re not going to be tiresomely modest? Why do you think I asked?’

‘Because I am stunning?’

Her grin widened. Our drinks arrived and she thanked the barmaid then turned sideways so she could face me directly. ‘Let’s take a seat?’

I followed her as she led me to a table in a quiet corner of the bar and we sat facing each other.

‘I’m Angela.’ I’m always glad when butches don’t use men’s names. I’m a lesbian for heaven’s sake and I’m not looking for a man. I asked if she had an angelic nature and she did that grin again. ‘Hardly. Not a bad woman but no saint. Are you saintly?’


We talked for a while. I felt her knee hard against my own under the small table and her hand touched mine occasionally and by no means accidentally. Promising, very, in fact. The hand descended onto my knee and touched the hem of my skirt. She admired my taste in clothes, she told me and I felt her hand slide up my stockinged leg under my skirt.

‘I do like a femme who knows how to dress.’ Her finger stroked the top of my stocking. My legs parted and there was that smile again.

The scotch had, I noted, gone, so I offered to buy her another.

‘You know what?’ she smiled, ‘Ernie has suggested we might care to take a drink in her flat.’ She removed the flat key from her jacket pocket and dangled it in front of me. ‘Apparently she keeps a good supply up there.’

Not just drink, I thought to myself, remembering Ernie’s collection of strapons. She was something of an enthusiast.

It was past midnight by this time. I didn’t care. After the excitement with the butch in the alley and the attendant disappointment I had rather doubted my luck, but the gleam in Angela’s dark eyes renewed my hopes. I nodded and once again followed her as she made her way across the bar to the door that led to the stairs to the flat. Angela ushered me though the door and as we ascended the stairs she probably got a fine view of my arse and stockings. I certainly did nothing to prevent it. I waited as she opened the door and then led the way into the flat which in contrast with the bar was tidy, neatly furnished and comfortable. She closed the door and leant against it. She cocked an eyelid.

‘I’m told the spare bedroom is comfortable.’

I nodded and turned my back to her and walked through into the spare room, turning on the light as I did so. She followed me and it was obvious we hadn’t come up for a drink. I was surprised to see she was holding a strapon in her hand. Now, where had that come from? She grinned. I sat on the bed and watched as she removed her boots and pulled her trousers down. She was wearing pale blue panties and they came off too to reveal a dark, trimmed triangle of hair shaped as a heart. Pretty. Her eyes held mine as she strapped the dildo in place, adjusting it until she was satisfied. This lady was not intending to hurry. She took off her jacket, shirt and bra as I watched and I was surprised again to see tits much larger than I had imagined; firm and pointed. I slipped off my leather waistcoat but she gave me a look when I went to remove my other clothes so I didn’t.

‘You don’t need to strip, sweetheart. Angie likes a girl dressed. One of my little kinks.’ She smiled. ‘On the bed, pretty girl. Face down, bum high please.’

No second bidding was required. She was clearly in the mood for the same as me, a quickie with no messing about. I lifted my arse and felt her hands running over it, then flipping my skirt over my back. Then her hands traced the shape of my arse and, deliciously, ran between my legs, stroking firmly and finding my silk panties wet, actually, very wet.

‘Mmm. It seems we’re ready?’

I didn’t get a chance to reply. I felt her pull my knickers down to my knees and then her dildo at my entrance, the hard but slippery silicone pressing gently but with determination. It wasn’t big but who needed size. It overcame any slight resistance and then she was in me, her body curled over me a little, her hands under me, cupping my breasts through the silk of my camisole. The heat of her hands and the soft silk made me gasp. Her hips began a slow but relentless series of thrusts, gentle at first but I could tell from her breathing that she was getting fired up. So was I. She was good, her hips made circular motions as well as forward and back and the squeezing of my nipples combined to lift me from horny to ecstatic. Her hands left me and I saw them, palms down, on the bed beside me as she curled over me more and I felt like the bitch to her dog as she drove into me, her mouth now biting the skin of my neck gently. She muttered something which sounded like a growl and I sensed she wouldn’t be long. I was wrong. She kept thundering into me and when I came with a howl and an arched back she kept going, despite the fact I had slumped forward. Her orgasm followed but not quickly. In fact it was long enough for my second to arrive almost with it.

Later, I don’t know what time, she had me again, face to face this time and slower. She’d removed her strappy and all my clothes and we tribbed, puss to puss, eyes locked. We didn’t cum together but that didn’t matter. We both came and that did matter.

In the morning I woke up first and went down on her to wake her and thank her. She seemed suitably grateful. She watched me dress, smiling.

‘Come back soon, babe. Any time you need a quickie, Angie’s waiting.’ Now, there’s an offer.


Frank, the driver, waited in the driving seat while I sat in the rear facing seat of the passenger compartment of the stretched Mercedes that we’d taken to meet Lauren, our client at the airport. I say our client. We were appointed by a department of government that provided protection to senior figures who faced threats and Lauren had had plenty. Now, don’t get me wrong. Everyone is entitled to their opinion but to protest against certain industrial practices by bombing property and killing executives is simply not on. A few crazies had made Lauren a target and she needed, really needed protection. I wore the pistol under my left arm ready for my right-handed cross draw. I knew Frank had a weapon too and that the car was armoured. This lady mattered.

She arrived in haste, a permanent state with her. She almost flew in through the passenger door and leant forward to slide her hand onto my tit and kiss me firmly despite the fact that Jenny, her PA was with her and following close behind. Jenny sat on the seat beside Lauren who had slumped back and immediately started making phone calls. Waiting for a response to her call, Lauren smiled at me.

‘I tried to seduce Jen but she says it would be unprofessional. Prissy cow.’

Jenny has the PA look. Hair long black hair drawn back severely, dark-framed glasses and sensible clothes. I happened to know that her appearance belied a very alert and humorous mindset but more of that later.

Our drive was uneventful and we turned into the driveway of her house in Chelsea between automatic gates that opened as we approached and closed behind us. Safely off the street, Frank drove us to the enclosed porch and Lauren and her entourage, Jenny and me, got out of the motor and made our way into the house.

‘A fucking great brandy for me, Jen, if you’d be a darling. And get yourself and Marion whatever you fancy.’

She called me ‘Marion’ in reference to John Wayne’s real name – her favourite film was, she said, ‘True Grit.’

‘I’m sleeping alone tonight, darling.’ She said this as she kissed me. ‘Nothing personal but I have an early one so we both need to be wide awake at 5.30. Okay?’

Thank heaven for Angela I thought to myself.

The morning went smoothly. I’d seen her into the building for her meeting and went for a coffee with Frank. When Jen sent me a text to say the meeting was over, Frank returned to the car and I waited for her and Lauren at the entrance to the premises. I walked with Lauren, my long leather coat open just in case. Frank opened the car door and we both entered the car followed quickly by Jen. Lauren’s itinerary was planned almost to the minute and Frank needed no instructions. The big car smoothly negotiated the city’s streets and within a few minutes we arrived at her next meeting venue. Neither Frank nor I fancied this one. Lauren had to walk about fifty yards from the car and we both felt exposed. Jenny walked alone in front of us and I walked beside Lauren, with Frank following.

Something disturbed me. I looked to my right and saw a dark alley. Movement. Instinctively I threw Lauren to the floor and as she made a scream of protest I heard a pop and felt a punch to my chest, just below my left breast. The last thing I heard was the crack of Frank’s pistol and then nothing.

Chapter 2 coming soon.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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