I had found the bar by searching the Internet. ‘A lesbian bar that caters for a mature, sophisticated clientele.’ At least that was how I had translated the German. If I was right it sounded less seedy than some and would therefore be safer for me.
I’d been working in Berlin for two weeks and although my colleagues were friendly enough I’d had no society outside the office and evenings alone in an hotel, no matter how god the hotel, were beginning to make me feel like a prisoner, albeit in a gilded cage.
After dinner that Friday I dressed myself up in a long, striped skirt, with stockings and heels beneath and a white camisole and open blouse above. I tied my hair loosely back and went to the lobby, ordered a cab and made my way to Lise’s Bar which proved to be in a small side street not so far from my hotel. I’m not a natural gay bar patron so it was with some trepidation that I opened the heavy wooden door. It opened onto a small foyer and a woman in a booth welcomed me, took my overcoat in exchange for a ticket and pointed me through another door. The club wasn’t busy (it was about 9pm) but the people were chatting and there was low music and low lights. I made my way across to the bar and ordered a Sekt from the butch but attractive woman serving.
‘I am Lise and this is my bar. You are English?’
I confessed I was and introduced myself.
‘Then you are most welcome. Please,’ this she pronounced “pliss,” ‘your first drink is on the house.’ I thanked her and she went off to serve another woman. All the customers were women, some femme, some clearly not. One or two wore what I think our American cousins call the ‘wife-beater’ vest and uniform jeans and boots. One or two were in business suits and others in clothes more like mine. It was an eclectic mix and more and more clients arrived as the evening drew on.
It was about 10.30 when I felt someone standing close to me and I half turned to look at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Tall and slender, about forty with close cut black hair and a slightly too large nose was my first impression. She wore a black jacket over a white shirt and her head was turned away from me so I felt safe to turn to look at her. Beneath the jacket she was wearing well-tailored trousers which were high on her waist with pleats. Her left hand was on the bar beside me; unvarnished short nails and slim, elegant fingers. The bracelet around her wrist made me shiver. It was a representation of a whip!
‘Lise tells me you are English. Is it not considered rude to stare in England?’
Startled, I looked up at her and saw a mischievous glint in her dark eyes and a broad smile on her lips.
‘Forgive me, please. I didn’t mean to be rude.’
‘I am joking. I am also Greta and you, I think, are Kitty?’ She did something with an eyebrow that made it a question which I answered in the affirmative.
‘Let me get you a drink?’
I had no time to refuse. Lise was already pouring me a fresh glass and placing it in front of me.
‘Greta,’ she said, ‘is a nice lady. Be nice to her, Kitty.’ She smiled and busied herself with other customers.
Greta settled herself on the stool next to me, her knees wide as a man might sit, one hand on her knee the other caressing (that is the only word I can find) her glass.
‘Lise and I are very good friends.’
‘This seems a good bar.’
‘It is the best. We own it together but tonight is my night to be a customer not the boss. Lise is in charge and I am free to enjoy myself. Free to enjoy you too, if you would like that?’
Wow, I thought, this lady does not waste time. I smiled at her, hoping my smile was a cautious yes.
‘You like my bracelet?’
Nobody in their right mind likes a whip, in my view, but what it symbolised in my imagination was a dominant woman and that I did like. I decided on a carefully chosen reply.
‘It is very striking.’ She seemed to like the choice of words and her right hand covered the bracelet and turned it around her wrist to reveal the clasp, which was a tiny pair of handcuffs.
‘Lise gave it to me. We are close friends and business partners but not lovers. She gave it to me because we have, how would you put it in English? similar tastes, perhaps?’
I know I must have looked a little stunned because her left hand, the one with the bloody bracelet that was stealing all my normal self-confidence, covered my right hand on the bar. ‘Don’t be afraid, Kitty. This is a good bar with nice clients. Lise and I insist on that.’
‘May I buy you a drink?’
‘I would like that very much. I am going to the toilet, please don’t go away.’
As she stood, turned and walked away Lise came over and I ordered our drinks.
‘Greta will be nice to you, Kitty. I can tell she likes you. She is very good looking, yes?’
I nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the events.
Greta returned and, as she sat, pulled her stool closer to mine so that her leg touched against mine.
‘Tell me, Kitty, do you have a lady back home in England.’
Safer territory. I told her I had recently ended a relationship of six years because I had found my lover was having a relationship with another woman. I had come to work in Berlin for a couple of weeks to give her time to get her things out of my flat and out of my life. I could almost accept her need for another woman but not in my bed and definitely not when I was likely to come home and find the two of them mouth to pussy in my sitting room. I admitted that when I had gone into the room and found my ex with her head on the sofa’s seat and her legs over the back of the chair with her lover astride her face and between her thighs I had, at first, thought it was some kind of performance for me. It wouldn’t have been the first time Angie had brought another girl home – she loved threesomes. But I knew from her look of utter shock that this was different.
‘Ah, so you are not entirely bourgeois then? You do not mind her having other women, just not secret women, is that it?’
Well, it sort of was that, yes. I nodded.
Greta’s hand took mine and her thumb stroked the webbing between my fingers. A woman in a deep red skirt to her knees and a totally transparent black top with a high neck appeared and put her arm around Greta’s neck. She had very large breasts which looked as if they might break free from the thin material and her nipples were pierced with large, gold rings. She spoke to Greta in German but Greta said to speak in English in honour of her new friend. She did not let my hand go.
‘Greta, darling, you absolutely must tell me all about your friend. I demand it.’
‘Elsa, this is Kitty.’
‘Oh my goodness. I do so love Kitty. She is very beautiful. You will fuck her tonight and I shall be so jealous!’ Elsa suddenly pounced to kiss me on the mouth and then, grinning delightedly, left us.
‘Elsa drinks too much. Sometimes, though, she speaks correctly. Am I going to fuck you, Kitty? Perhaps I will if you are a good girl.’ Her thumb continued its suggestive stroking, as if the web between my fingers was the space between my legs. ‘Would you like that?’ The eyebrow thing again.
The truth was that I had come out that evening vaguely hoping to get picked up. I wasn’t altogether sure that a woman with a whip bracelet was an entirely safe bet but what with her appearance, the Sekt, her stroking and the decadent feeling of the club, my reticence was eroded.
Abruptly, Greta stood and took my hand and led me firmly to a curtained entrance at the rear of the club, passing, as we did so, the pouting Elsa who was groping a black girl in a booth. I heard her say, ‘You see, Gretchen, Greta is going to fuck...’
We passed through the curtain and ascended a short flight of stairs to a carpeted landing and then through a door into a softly lit room with deep chairs and heavily curtained windows. She told me to sit, then went to a cupboard, opened it and took out two glasses and a bottle of Sekt. She took off her jacket.
‘How long are you staying in Berlin?’
‘I have another three weeks' work to do here.’
‘Excellent. Then tonight we will get to know each other.’ She sat. ‘If we like each other we will explore together.’ She crossed her legs and her shoe dangled from her foot, its slender heel of steel glinting in the soft light of the room.
‘You are a slave?’
‘I am a submissive.’
She smiled. ‘This is excellent.’ Her hand touched her bracelet. ‘You liked my bracelet?’
‘What do you like about it? Do you love the whip?’
I hesitated. ‘I do not like the whip.’ I thought it best to get that clear. ‘I do not enjoy pain but I know a sub sometimes has to accept it. Your bracelet is beautifully made and sends a message. It says, “I am a dominant woman.” I like that.’
Greta smiled and placed her glass carefully on the small table beside her chair, stood and came to stand behind me. She untied my hair and stroked it so it fell beside my face. Her left hand cupped my chin, lifting and turning it so my face was looking up at hers. She kissed my mouth, firmly and I responded, my lips opening and welcoming her tongue. She was gentle but firm. As we kissed, her free hand ran down over my breast and palmed my hardening nipple, then slipped inside my camisole and squeezed that nipple a little harder so that I made a small gasp into her mouth.
She broke the kiss and returned to her chair.
‘The lady who is leaving your home, she was your Mistress?’
‘She was the dominant partner but she was not, strictly speaking, a Mistress.’
She smiled again. ‘”Strictly speaking” is a good term – one I will store. My English is not so good I think.’ I disagreed. ‘Well, let us say it is good for me to practice with you.’ I could not miss the double meaning in her words and smiled.
‘Pour us more wine.’
I went to the cupboard where she had found the drink and refilled our glasses and took one to her. She extended her hand but not to take the glass. As I placed it on the table beside her she ran her hand over my thigh. I stood still, enjoying the feeling of her hand roaming over me in that casual way. It stroked over my hip and down to my knee and she smiled.
‘Do all English women wear stockings?’
‘No, Miss – but I like them.’
Her hand stroked over my arse and patted it. ‘I like them too. Show me.’
I lifted my skirt until she could see the tops of my stockings. ‘Higher, please.’ I lifted it further and she raised both her eyebrows when she saw I was not wearing panties.
‘It is not normal for an Englishwoman to go without panties, I think?’
It was my turn to smile. ‘No, Miss, probably not.’
Her hand ran up my leg and her fingernail traced the line of my trimmed triangle. ‘Sit, please.’
I went back to my chair and sat. We talked. We talked about ordinary things, home, work, education, movies – anything except what was uppermost in my mind. I felt comfortable with her.
‘Why did you come without panties?’
‘It was a whim.’
‘Explain please “whim”’
‘I just wanted to. It makes me feel sexy sometimes not to wear them.’
‘Did you hope someone would take advantage of you?’
Now, there’s a question. ‘I hoped I might meet someone, someone I could talk to, maybe get friendly with.’
I lowered my eyes. She laughed.
‘Well, Lise and I like to please our clients. Come here.’
Her commands were irresistible. I stood and went to her, standing in front of her. Once again she placed her glass deliberately on the table beside her then looked up at me.
‘Tonight we will have sex. Tomorrow you will come to me here in the morning. We will go out together, shopping perhaps. We will have lunch. I will show you the Brandenburg Gate and other great sites of this fine city. I like you, Kitty and I won't hurt you, Well, not too much anyway. Perhaps better I say harm you than hurt you, yes?’
She stood. Without any hurry she undid the waist of her trousers and slowly lowered them. She was wearing tight but sheer silk panties that almost enhanced the sight of her perfectly bald pussy. She sat again, her legs open and patted her thigh.
I straddled her thigh and lifted my skirt so that my pussy was touching her skin. Her hands covered my breasts over my camisole then, grasping my hard nipples pretty tightly between her nails she pulled me towards her and kissed me. It started gentle but became fierce and her arms went around my neck as her tongue ravished my mouth. She pushed me away and opened her shirt, then pulled me to her nipple and I suckled it, gently to begin with but with increasing vigour as she pressed me to her.
Once more she pushed me away and said, ‘I want you mouth on my pussy, Kitty. I should maybe say, kitty, Kitty, no?’ She laughed as I dropped to my knees.
I wanted my mouth on her now. I was intoxicated, aroused, abandoned. I would have let her do anything.
I gave her my mouth without any finesses; I just sucked and licked and squeezed, loving her clit, her lips and right down to her arsehole which I licked and probed. Her fingers were in my hair and they slowly tightened until I feared she’d pull my hair out. She came then, a roaring, primeval scream which almost made me cum too. She was a messy woman when she came. Her juices were copious and sticky on my face. I loved it.
She was gentle then. She leant forward and held my face. ‘You do good. I think you will make Greta a good little friend for the next three weeks. Now I shall fuck you. Get my strapon; it is in the cupboard, in a drawer below the drinks.
I fetched it for her. She had risen from her chair and removed her shirt but replaced, inexplicably, her shoes. She deftly attached the dildo to herself, led me to the back of her chair and bent me forwards over it. She didn’t need to ask if I was ready, my pussy must have been glistening when she lifted my skirt up over my arse.
She entered me slowly, millimetre by millimetre. Each subtle movement made me gasp. Her hands ran over my back, still covered as it was in the silk of my camisole. She leant over me and entered me a little more, her hands coming under me to hold my breasts. Then she was deep inside me. She stayed like that, motionless and then began to move her hips forward and back. Her body was almost tight against my back now.
Her pace increased and she said, ‘Tell me where you are. How close you are. I like words when I fuck.’
I am not used to that and for a few moments I could not find words. But then they came in a torrent. I feel you deep in me, you are invading me, taking me, having me, fucking me, bringing me closer. I don’t even know now if I actually said any of this, but she seemed satisfied.
‘You must ask to cum – orgasms are my gift, not your right.’
Ask I did and permission was granted which was a bloody good thing because it has a mind of its own and there was no way I was stopping this one. I arched my back as her fingers strummed my clit and I may have bellowed or that might have been imagination too but something happened because I genuinely lost consciousness. I didn’t feel her pull out of me. I came to, still bent over that chair. She was in front of me, holding my face and licking my mouth.
We walked down the stairs and into the club hand in hand. She led me past Elsa who cried drunkenly, ‘Greta has fucked the English.’ She roared with laughter.
She led me to Lise and said, ‘Kitty will be spending a little time with me I hope. She is here for three weeks, perhaps we can ensure she leaves Germany thinking well of us?’
Lise came from behind the bar and kissed my mouth in a far from sisterly manner. ‘Of course, Greta.’
Greta said, “11 tomorrow, Kitty. And, for heaven’s sake, do not forget your panties again or we Germans will think all English are whore.’ She smiled and kissed me.
And so, back to my hotel where I jilled under the shower and again in bed and waited for the morning.
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