First Time Out

The place is not what I expected. The atmosphere is bright, glitzy, with an overall techno feel that seems almost cold. I had expected something warmer, more ... nurturing, feminine, I guess, from a place that caters exclusively to women. I wonder if this appeals to the butch types, and then laugh at myself for indulging in stereotypes. What do I know, anyway - it's my first time in a "girl bar".

Yep, first time - finally legal, just two weeks past my twenty-first birthday, out with all the grown-up lesbians. Already I feel self-conscious, like a little girl who doesn't belong here, doesn't know what she's in for. After all, I'm petite (5' 2") and look even younger than I am. The security person at the door was skeptical when she first saw me, but then she checked my ID, gave a little laugh, and said, "Welcome to the club, big girl." I laughed with her, but I was nervous, too. I'm not really the bar type, but I've always wondered how it would be in a place like this.

It's fairly empty - not surprising, I guess, at just past 7:00. I have my choice of spots and I choose a barstool at the curved end of the bar, where I can see as much as possible, without being conspicuous myself. I'm the only one there, and the bartender is friendly, calls me "Sweetie." I try to be cool as I order a glass of Chardonnay. "First time here?" she asks. "Well, just relax, hon, and have a good time. Everybody's pretty nice here, they'll treat you good. Especially you - you're cute." She touches me lightly under the chin, and I give her a smile in return. I wonder if she's coming on to me, but then decide that she's just being nice, the friendly-flirty bartender.

Looking around, I realize it's more crowded than I thought. The dance floor is essentially empty (I assume that will pick up later), but I notice there are darker spots around the perimeter that are more populated - two women together in several spots, a larger group in one area, and a number of single women at tables. I wonder if the single women are waiting for friends or if they are there, like me, to find new ones. I try to subtly check them out, but it's too hard to tell from this distance.

I sip my wine for a while, hoping that the drink works its magic on my nerves without getting too out of hand. In about 30 minutes, I finish the first glass and order another. The warm glow of the alcohol is starting, and I feel myself becoming more relaxed. More relaxed and a little horny, too. After all, there's a reason I came here tonight. I even had the foresight to take a cab, just in case something (someone) interesting came up.

The barstools have started to fill up now, so I can blend into the background more. I check out the other patrons at the bar. It's a diverse group - a few butch girls, some "soft", some harder, some femme types like me, and even a couple I would call "bull dykes". I notice the latter two eyeing me and start to get uneasy - not my type, for sure. But when I avoid their stares and show no interest, they get the hint and go back to their own conversation.

Just as my second Chardonnay arrives, someone new sits down at the other end of the bar. From my spot, I have a clear view of her. In any case, I couldn't help but notice her. She's the type of woman that always draws my attention - attractive and feminine, conservatively well-dressed, professional-looking, not the type the average person would expect to see in a gay bar (another stereotype that isn't true). Her full mane of hair looks to be a darker brown than my own, or maybe black, but as she moves into the light I realize that it's actually a deep, rich red. It falls over her shoulders, about the same length as my own, and frames a face of icy-cool beauty. Even from this distance, I am caught by her eyes - steely blue daggers, which, I suspect, could look right through me, into my soul. She looks to be somewhere in her thirties, and carries herself in a way that exudes strength, confidence and competence. She's clearly a professional. My guess is that she came here directly from work. I'm immediately captivated.

Myra, the bartender, notices my interest and chimes in with some advice. "Careful of that one, sweetie. Know what you're doin' there."

"Oh?" I ask. "You know her?"

Myra shrugs. "Don't exactly know her, but she's kind of a regular here, comes in every couple of weeks, alone. Doesn't usually leave that way, though." She gives me a look that implies she knows a lot more.

"I see," I respond, still keeping a sidelong, admiring look at the object of our discussion.

"The point is, hon," she continues, "she's not lookin' for a girlfriend, if you know what I mean. Never seen her leave with the same girl twice."

I'm still looking down the bar as she talks to me. Noticing my distraction, she continues, "Of course, if you're into that, well ... whatever. Like I said, just know what you're doin'" She gives me one last questioning look, which I return with a weak smile, and then she goes back to her work behind the bar.

The fact is, I am into that. A relationship is great - supportive, fulfilling, even empowering - but anonymous sex provides a special thrill. The occasional one-night stand is an adventure, a feeling that can't be captured again after that first time. There's just something delightfully sinful about meeting someone new and ending up in her bed the same night. Yes, it's a little risky, too, but that's part of the thrill, isn't it? And for my first night out, that sounds pretty good.

I drink my wine and continue to survey the room, but my gaze keeps returning to my mystery woman, who seems to be doing her own survey, like a lioness stalking prey. As I glance back one more time, I'm surprised to see her looking directly at me! Those amazing eyes stay on me for several seconds, apparently evaluating me, and I stay with her, transfixed. I try to smile, but I just can't, I'm too nervous, and then it's over and she's off to someone else. I exhale and realize that I had stopped breathing during our visual encounter. Suddenly I'm very flustered.

I gulp down the rest of my drink and want to order another, but I know I should slow down, so I wait. I distract myself for a while by reading the signs behind the bar and watching Myra fill drink orders. Finally I chance one more look down the bar. My heart almost stops as I realize she's looking at me again! This time the stare is longer, more intense, like she's considering the possibilities I present. Her mouth forms an almost-smile, but it's not one of affection or friendliness. It's more like she's smiling to herself, like she's figured me out and is enjoying the situation.

I tear myself from her gaze and quickly order a third drink, keeping my eyes down as I wait for Myra to bring it. Just as she's setting it in front of me, I'm startled my a low, silky voice in my left ear. "Why don't you let me get that. Okay?"

I turn to my left and there she is, her face just inches from mine. I feel tingly all over just being this close to her, but I try to stay cool as I accept her offer. I start to ask her to sit, but she doesn't need an invitation and takes the seat next to me without asking. "I'm Lydia." she says, running a long, insistent finger down the inside of my thigh. Yeah, she's confident, I think. She leans back on the stool, facing me, and smiles. The smile is more obvious this time, but still formal and controlled. Her eyes continue to lock onto mine, still probing, analyzing me.

Myra comes over now and chimes in. "Hey, Lydia, go easy on her. She's a newbie." She gives me a wink as she sets my drink down.

Lydia tilts her head to the side and raises one well-groomed eyebrow. She looks amused. "A newbie, huh? I thought you looked young. Just legal?"

I confirm that I just turned 21 and tell her my name is Milene. I worry that she may dismiss me as too young, but in fact, this seems to intrigue her.

We chat for a while and I become a little more comfortable with her, though she still maintains a distance between us, and it's clear that she is a cut above me. From the conversation, I surmise that she is in her early thirties, and I can tell that she is extremely intelligent. It turns out my guess was right - she is a professional, a lawyer, and judging by her clothes, a pretty successful one. She's wearing a slinky, expensive-looking skirt, subdued but well-crafted jewelry, and a beautiful silk top, whose plunging neckline provides a lovely view of her creamy cleavage. She just exudes class and power.

"So, is Myra right? Should I 'go easy' on you?" Her lips move easily into a smirk. She seems to sense that I'm really ready for her.

"No," I answer, trying to sound annoyed and confident. "I may be young, but I'm not 'innocent'." That draws an outright laugh from Lydia and the only genuine smile I've seen so far.

"So you're not innocent, hey?" I sense a gentle mocking tone in her voice. "Okay, okay, I like that. Out in the big world and ready for adventure. My kind of girl." She offers her glass as in a toast, and I smile sheepishly, but feel good that she smiled and still seems interested.

As I'm trying to think of something else to say, Lydia startles me. She leans in close and looks me intently in the eyes for several long seconds. Finally she whispers, so only I can hear her. "You're sub, aren't you?" I stare back at her, astonished by her insight. She leans back and gives me that same intense, icy gaze, then a satisfied smile. "Yeah, I can always tell, spot it a mile away." She takes a sip of her drink, then continues, "Something about the eyes, there's a yearning, a need. And you've definitely got it, girl. You may not even know it, because you're so young, but it's there." I simply look at her, my silence an acknowledgement of the truth in her words. Her pretty mouth slips into a leer. "Well, it's all good" she says, "I like subs - a lot," she Her voice is filled with both promise and warning.

Lydia suggests that we move to someplace "more private" and points to one of the booths in the dark area of the bar. Thrilled at the way things are going, I nod my agreement. As soon as we are in the booth, Lydia places a hand on my thigh and urges me closer so we can "get to know each other." I slide over until my leg is against her, finding the warmth of her thigh just as intoxicating as the drinks I've been having. She runs her fingers boldly up and down my leg as she studies my face for a reaction. I move my legs farther apart as her hand reaches the spot between them. She smiles as she rubs me through my jeans. "Mmmmm," she murmurs. "Not innocent, indeed."

As if to prove the point, she takes my left hand in hers and places it in her lap. Her eyes stay locked onto mine as she then slips it under her skirt and up into her crotch. My heart beats faster as I feel the silky fabric of her panties and the obvious warmth beneath it. "Go ahead, sweetie," she says with a lewd smile, "Explore."

Taking her cue, I let my fingers wander over the fabric until I find the edge and slip inside. I feel a small tuft of hair and then find the moist cleft at her center. My trembling fingers slip inside to find the warm liquid of her cunt. Her response is pleasant but reserved - a barely perceptible gasp under her breath. She spreads her legs just a bit for me and leans back as I spend the next several minutes playing inside her. The feel of her heat around my fingers and the whole situation has me extremely excited. Lydia seems completely calm and detached, but I'm pretty sure this is just a matter of self control. God, I really want this woman.

"Does it feel good in there, pet? You really like having your fingers in me, don't you?" Her eyes move back and forth, studying my reaction, until a look of recognition crosses her face. "Oh god, you're dying to lick me, too, aren't you? The idea that I might let you get your face between my legs is just driving you wild. God, I do love subbies." She moves in, her face inches from mine, and she chuckles as she feels my fingers moving more energetically inside her. "You can almost taste it, can't you? Don't deny it, because we both know it's true."

She pulls my hand from between her legs and urges it firmly toward my mouth. "Go ahead, pet, indulge." She's enjoying my submissiveness, and I am, too. I place the wet fingers in my mouth and close my eyes as I get my first tangy taste of her essence. As I begin to lick them clean, I wonder if anyone is watching this little exhibition. Behind the bar, I see Myra taking it all in, realizing I'm going to ignore all her advice.

"You taste wonderful," I sigh. She moves forward, grips my hair to pull my head back, then kisses me, softly, her moist lips gliding over my trembling ones, her tongue dipping lightly into my mouth, sliding along my teeth. I feel the moisture leaking into my panties.

She gets more aggressive now, oblivious to anyone else in the room. Her mouth devours mine as her hands wander over me like I'm her personal possession. Her left hand reaches boldly up my top while her right goes down the back of my pants. I feel her fingers exploring between my butt cheeks until one finds my rear hole, firmly circles it, and then nudges the tip inside. I moan shamelessly against her tongue. I love ass play anyway, but this is more than that - it's a show of power, an invasion of my most private spot, in a public place, an indication that she can and will do whatever she wants to me.

"You little slut," she whispers, "you like my finger up your butt, don't you?" I respond with an inaudible cry, and she continues, "Well, I like it, too," she breathes, her fingertip inching deeper into me. "And when we're done tonight, I'll enjoy knowing I've had my fingers way up inside your sweet little bottom, and I'll remember how you squirmed and moaned and begged for more."

I can only whimper in response. She is driving me wild, stimulating both my body and my mind. At that moment, I just need to go somewhere with her and do anything and everything she wants.

She kisses me again and I sense her passion growing like mine, but suddenly she breaks it off. "You know what?" she says. She has that same commanding look in her eyes as she continues, quite matter-of-factly, "I think it's time you sucked me. Get under the table."

I'm shocked and I hesitate, looking around us. She wants me, no, she expects me to lick her right here, now, with all these people nearby! Unable to resist, I look quickly around the room to see if anyone is watching, then slip down into the darkness.

My face is just inches from the crotch of her panties. A heady aroma fills my nostrils. I placed her mouth directly over her panty-covered mound and suck gently on the fabric, taking in the soft flesh beneath it. As I suck, my tongue works up and down over the hidden slit, and I feel the first bit of fluids seeping out of her. Her hips edge forward just a bit and I can tell she likes what I'm doing for her. I'm really excited now. My one hand moves to caress her thigh while the other pulls her panty aside, providing direct access to the delicate flesh of her genitals. I place a gentle kiss on her wetness, then a quick, soft lick. I'm about to dig deeper into her sweetness when suddenly it's over, just as quickly as it began! Her hand is in my hair again, and I groan in frustration as she pulls me away from her. "Get back up here," she says, just loud enough for me to hear.

There's a satisfied smirk on her face as I shimmy back up into the booth. It's clear to me now that this was a test, not of my sexual ability, but of my willingness to please her. "Sorry, pet," she says. "I know you enjoyed doing that, but I just needed to see if you're worth my time." I search her face for a clue, hoping the answer is Yes. She runs her finger lightly over my lower lip. "Don't worry," she says. "You passed. That's a talented little mouth you have there, dearie. I'm going to enjoy you." The way she says this - "enjoy you" - makes me wetter than ever. When I came here tonight I didn't know what I was looking for, but I know now. I want badly to experience what this woman has to offer.

We sit and drink a while and continue the conversation, which now turns more seriously to the situation at hand. "You know, " she says, "I don't usually go for ones as young as you. Most girls you age are really not very mature. ...But I sense a difference with you."

"I hope so," I respond. I don't know why she thinks this, but I'm not going to argue.

"Of course, sometimes you younger ones can't handle my tastes. I've had a couple of bad experiences, misunderstandings." I look at her inquisitively, hoping for more explanation. "The fact is," she continues, "a younger woman can be very exciting for me, but I can be a really nasty bitch, you know? And I don't just mean saying nasty things." I look even more confused now, so she continues. "I mean, dearie, that sometimes a young woman - or an older one, for that matter - can be a really naughty girl, and must be taught a lesson. In fact, I very much enjoy teaching them a lesson, but sometimes they're not ready for it, can't handle it." She looks directly at me now, very intently to make her point clear. "DO you understand, my pet?" If the point wasn't clear before, the tone of "my pet" makes it abundantly so. I nod my understanding, muttering a low "uh huh" to go with it. I've never played the sort of games she's talking about, but I've thought about it, and looking at her now, and having experienced pleasures with her so far this evening, she definitely has my attention.

For the time being, Lydia seems satisfied with my answer. We continue drinking, more or less in silence, watching the crowd of women who are starting to fill the dance floor. Around the room I can see several women looking at us. I wonder if they saw our earlier antics, Lydia furiously petting me, or me slipping briefly out of sight to please her. How many other girls have they seen here with her, just like me? Or maybe they've been in my place themselves, about to become her plaything for the night.

Finally, Lydia turns to me again and says, "So, are you feeling naughty now, Sweet Milene?" Her eyes move suggestively from my face to her lap. She lifts her skirt and parts her legs discreetly, indicating that I may play with her some more. I move slightly toward her to let my right hand move between her thighs, and she takes the opportunity to kiss me. We mesh together, and her kisses become more ardent as my fingers get busy between her legs. This time I have a better chance to "explore" and I take full advantage. Her pussy is hot and slick, her outer lips plump, and I can feel the firm bump of her already erect clitoris. In our embrace, I'm pressed against her full breasts, and I can feel her nipples poking through the fabric of her thin bra and blouse. On the other hand, I'm amazed at her composure, despite her obvious physical arousal. The change in her breathing is barely noticeable, and the only sign of response to my manipulations is an occasional flex of her thighs around my hand. Still, her kissing is clearly inspired, and for my part, I am quickly spinning out of control.

At last she breaks our kiss and asks me, "So, little Milene, are you ready to go home with me?" I'm so excited now that I can only nod my acceptance, but Lydia wants more assurance. "Are you sure you can handle this? Everything? Remember what I said - I can be a nasty bitch when I want to." I think about what she's said, about "naughty girls" and "lessons" and situations I've never been in before. Part of me is scared, but a bigger part is so, so ready to go with her - more ready because her hand is back between my legs, firmly massaging my clit through the thick denim of my jeans. Finally, I manage to push a single, desperate word from my lips. "Ple..ee..a..se!" A satisfied smile fills Lydia's face and we get up to leave.