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My Lesbian Seduction

123

I was lying on my front. He was on his back. We were both naked for we had just had sex. His hand rested on the small of my back, mine was on his hip. Both hands would occasionally stray; his into the crease of my bottom, mine into his crinkly pubic hairs and onto his semi-hard dick. We both knew that we would have sex again quite soon.

I was just twenty at the time. I was also inexperienced. I had reluctantly in some ways given my virginity away a couple of years earlier and had subsequently slept with him a few times before we broke up. I then went with another guy of my age for a few months having sex occasionally before being pulled by this older guy of thirty two a few weeks ago. We had been having sex regularly since then, mainly at his flat, but a few times in his car. I found that very exciting. He had taught me a lot.

As we lie on his bed half dozing and softly caressing each other in preparation for the 'second round' he asked.

"Have you ever been with another girl Tina?"

"No" I answered immediately, feeling guilty.

"Would you like to?"

"I don't know, it's never occurred to me" I mumbled into the pillow, not at all wanting to talk about it

"Ever been propositioned?" He asked running his fingers along the inside of the crease of my bottom. Him caressing and stroking me there had been new to me in my sexual experience. New, but amazingly exciting for it felt very naughty, almost taboo.

"No."

"Ever felt attracted?"

"No, not really" I lied.

"What do you mean not really?"

"Well I see girls and women of course who I think are very sexy and beautiful."

"But have you ever thought you would like to touch them or be touched by them or maybe kiss them."

"No" I lied for I had many times. "Why are you asking me these questions?" I asked as he pulled me onto my side facing away from him.

As I felt his cock between my legs the head of it finding my lips, his hand snaked round me and he squeezed my double D cup boobs.

"Because I would love to see you with another girl" he whispered into my ear as he pushed himself into me.

I grunted at the sensation. That was part arousal, but also part revulsion. I really couldn't make out in my mind whether I loved sex and thus, put up with men or whether I was becoming a lesbian.

"Does that mean yes?" He asked as he started to fuck me. "For I have a friend who would happily join us.

As the sexual arousal overcame the partial revulsion I felt only one word came into my mind. 'Men!'

*

Despite not going to uni., I managed somehow to get a job on a national newspaper that I was told could lead to me becoming a journalist or a reporter, which was my ambition. I was employed initially in the advertising department partly selling advertising space, but also helping out on the exhibitions and the other events the paper ran.

It was 1985 and I was nineteen. London was still 'swinging' and it was a fun place to work and live, especially in an industry like the media. I was constantly 'star struck' with the engaging and glamorous people I met and the fabulous clubs, pubs, restaurants and parties I got to go to through work.

Although I was sexually very inexperienced and rather naïve, I realised that many of the men at work and at the events were friendly towards me mainly for one reason, well two actually: they wanted to get at my tits and they wanted to fuck me.

When I had started at the agency the Personnel lady had explained that the culture is very male orientated and that girls like me are often looked on as 'cannon fodder.'

"Just a friendly tip" the rather manly woman said, her gaze running up and down my body and pausing on my tits as we completed my two-day induction programme.

Lighting a Marlboro red she went on. "Do everything to keep your knickers on and don't give it away easily or too frequently. Reputations are easy to lose and terribly hard to get back" she said smiling and then added looking pointedly at my tits. "And with assets like those Tina there will be great competition not only to get into your knickers, but also to get your bra off."

"Thanks Philippa" I replied not really sure what I appreciated more, the advice or the vibes she was putting out to me.

"If you need any advice you know where to come don't you?"

"Yes thanks."

"At any time luv and I mean it pop in and see me to chat about anything" she paused as she took a long drag on her cigarette before adding. "And I do mean anything Tina."

It was good advice and I made a vow to not let any of the guys at work get too close to me and certainly, I promised myself, none would fuck me. After I had been there for about six months and was getting on well I had managed, just about to keep that vow, well the second part. Still no one had fucked me, but I had to admit that a couple had kissed and groped me and one of the senior sub-editirs had got my tits out of my bra in his locked office after a client party.

Career-wise, things were progressing very well. I was writing copy for a few small, mainly print ads and was acting as deputy copywriter on a large whisky account. It was challenging, but exciting.

I went on my first big event after I had been at the paper for nine months or so. It was the British launch of a new car by Honda. We were sponsoring a number of events involved with the launch as well as doing a major feature for the Scottish editions of the paper. That was going to be a four-page pull out with loads of photos so we had several teams from the paper at the event.

We were staying just outside Perth on a hunting and fishing complex that had a number of lodges scattered around a central reception, bar and restaurant. Each cabin was quite luxurious some being one bedroomed and others two or three. We had just about finished and were having a sort of wrap party in the bar of the complex on the last night of shooting even though I, as the junior and a couple of others were staying on for most of the next day to tidy things up. The rest of the crew and agency people were leaving early the next day to get back to London. We had been advised to 'glam' up a bit and I was wearing a red, short sleeved, shift dress with, of course, quite large, Dynasty type shoulder pads. It was made from a thin clingy material, had a scooped front so my 'assets' created a nice, deep cleavage and it ended fashionably about six inches above my knee. As we were in Scotland in October it was cold so I was wearing black tights.

With an early start for most people, it was a rather lack-lustre party for they just wanted to get to bed and set off home. Before that, though, we all had dinner together and I found myself next to Marcia. She was the director, a very powerful person on a shoot. She was also known to be one of the best in London and was quite famous in the ad and newspaper industries at the time. She was in her mid-thirties at least. Very slim, and just about my height with an almost boy like figure she had jet black hair cut in a short bob around her chin line and very dark, large, mysteriously probing eyes. She was very powerful and authoritative around the shoot hurling as much abuse at the senior art directors as she did at the cameramen when they screwed things up. She had no hesitation whatsoever in using both the 'f' and 'c' words in front of everyone, but then in the media world such swearing was commonplace even with women present, something I I had struggled with, but had now become used to it.

I, obviously knew her from the shoot, but hadn't chatted to her much up until then. At the dinner she was very attentive asking me loads of questions about my job and career aspirations, about why I'd left uni., about the newspaper and boy-friends. She was surprisingly easy to talk with, although I found myself a little in awe of her and the fact that such a senior person in the industry was bothering with a young, bird like me.

We all drank quite a lot and everyone was laughing, particularly at her witty and rather sacrilegious views on the ad industry. She told me about her production company and how that had enabled her to have a house in Hampstead and an apartment in Marbella, to drive a Porsche and to have a boat.

I had heard rumours of her possible lesbian tendencies, but then the guys gossiped about most women who were either 'right slags,' 'real goers' or 'lessies,' this was well before PC reared its ugly head. Hence, when her attention became a bit closer than with straight woman I was a little scared, but also hugely flattered. After all she was an older, experienced woman, a luminary in the ad industry and a very striking and, I suppose, sexy woman. Other than some brief fumblings with other girls at parties, there was nothing in my experience to call upon, I had no idea how to handle her or what to do. So, when she rested her fingertips on my wrist a couple of times or placed her hand on my shoulder to emphasise points I didn't flinch or move away for I had no idea what to do. It hit me as she looked into my eyes while her fingers lightly touched the back of my hand that also I didn't want to do anything for I was enjoying it.

When she turned her head, which accentuated her long, slender neck, and looked at me she held my gaze probably longer than was needed. Although my womanly instincts told me one thing, I wasn't at all sure that I was even reading the situation correctly; after all creative people are very 'touchy feely.' I suppose, though, that I may have sent out some signals to her for I also held her gaze as she did mine. I didn't know for sure whether they were attempts to check me out for they were only fleeting moments so I just ignored them and did nothing to overtly indicate whether I would be interested or not. In any case, I thought, she probably wouldn't be interested in a kid like me and in all probability the touches were her just her being a bit lovey as many in the industry are. When she leaned back and let her hand fall on the seat of my chair so that it brushed against my leg I wasn't quite so sure. When she left it there and gently rubbed the side of my bottom I didn't become sure, but I did think she was probably suggesting something.

Dinner broke up and a number of us went to the very small bar. I was in a corner at the end of the bar sitting on a stool when Marcia and most of 'brass' came in making the bar even more crowded. She stood at the bar and bought everyone drinks edging a little closer to me as people picked theirs up. When the serving was finished she stood half in front of me leaning back against the bar her body shielding my legs from the others view. The rather short skirt had ridden well up my thighs so quite a lot of my legs were on view, but in the thick, black tights that didn't matter. Everyone was talking and laughing and having a roaring time when I felt something on my knee. I looked down and saw her hand moving away. Another accident or an overt gesture, I wondered still not being sure?

It happened again a few minutes later and then a third time. What she was doing was seemingly accidentally just letting her hand fall down so that if we wanted it could be seen as an inadvertent gesture. A mistake I suppose. However, what I felt was becoming clear was that they were not mistakes. Especially when on the fourth time the back of her hand ran all the way up my leg from the knee to the hem of the skirt. A little panicky I looked around to make sure no one could see but was reassured on that for Marcia had, if anything, moved more in front of me blocking my legs completely from anyone's view.

Still, though, she was acting if nothing was happening, turning from chatting to me stuck in the corner and other members of the crew across the bar separating what she was doing to me from them. Still, though, there was nothing too overt and I realised that she was still making sure that there was a way out without her losing face for now she had both her hands wrapped around her brandy glass and was asking me about my job as if nothing at all was happening. Then as a group of the crew burst into loud laughter at probably some really filthy joke she turned to look at them so that her back was towards me. I watched her hand once more slip down and behind her. This time it did not brush my nylon covered leg. This time it was not a quick or surreptitious movement. No this time I watched as the perfectly manicured, white, square cut nails stretched over the fleshy part of my leg just above my knee and I saw the fingers encircle it. They lingered there squeezing gently. There was no way that this could be anything other than a very obvious caress; a suggestive gesture and an invitation to me.

I didn't know what to do. I was excited and flattered at her attention. I was, though, slightly alarmed and concerned. I was well outside my comfort zone and area of familiarity. This was clearly big girl's stuff. It was beyond the messing around with girls, the limited sex with boys and the fling with the older guy that my short sex life had experienced. It was also with someone who it was rumoured could be lesbian, even though she was married and had children.

Whilst I didn't consider that I had such tendencies, I was by no means sure of my sexuality. Recently, I had become alarmed at the way I felt with men, the odd combination of feelings I had when I held, or had a cock in me. The blend of excitement and revulsion, of desire and guilt and of curiosity and fear. The stronger feelings I was recently experiencing when I looked at women and saw a little too much leg or breasts. So yes I was mixed up and so unsure about just what I wanted from sex.

I was also a little confused by the drink and the party atmosphere. Confused for sure, but also very excited and I have to admit aroused. Sitting there on that bar stool my skirt above mid-thigh looking down and seeing Marcia's fingers, almost idly now, gently touching my leg some eight inches above my knee I just didn't know how to react. I didn't know what I wanted to happen or what I thought might happen or indeed if anything would happen. My heart was beating and my mind was racing as I simply stared at that hand and those tempting, suggestive fingers on my leg.

I could move and I guess no face would be lost. I could slip, off the stool, go to the loo, join another group or move away so that I would show I wasn't interested. Or I could, perhaps, place my hand on hers showing that I was interested, maybe press my leg more firmly or even touch her back to show that I was receptive to her. I knew that I couldn't do that for I was not particularly attracted to her, at least not on a sexual level, well I was I suppose, but hadn't yet admitted that to myself. In the end I took the line of least resistance. I did nothing. I did nothing to encourage or deter her. I in fact put the ball firmly back in her court, or so I thought.

Marcia was, though, clearly too experienced to be put off or discouraged by such a simple gesture. No, obviously she had been here before. She knew what to do. She must have recognised something in me, some signs or signals. I had no idea that I had transmitted any indication of either, being bi, interested in her or being available. She must have known that somehow she'd primed me, built me up perfectly, maybe aroused my interest and reduced my resistance.

She immediately recognised the signal I was transmitting about events now being back in her court. And she was able, ready and so eager to return it right back in mine. After a moment or two instead of just removing her hand she slid it up my legs briefly letting her fingers go under the hem of my skirt and giving the inside of my thigh a little squeeze. There was absolutely no way that could be a mistake and that gesture could be nothing but a come on, a request, an asking for something from me. Turning she stared right into my eyes and with a look of relief, pleasure and assurance on her face she smiled and raised her thin eyebrows. I did nothing, but smiled back. I think it was then that she felt she had got me. I just couldn't think. I didn't know what to do or even think. I had no clear idea on what I was feeling or what I wanted. I couldn't recall ever really having a lesbian feeling in my life. I had only rarely recently wondered what another girl or woman looked like naked and I had never had a strong urge to go beyond the brief kisses and cuddles that young women exchange. Yet here I was sitting on a bar stool as a much older woman made an overtly lesbian gesture towards me. I suppose by sitting there as her fingertips ran along the hem of my skirt I was accepting her invitation. But what was the invitation for, I wondered in my slightly tipsy state?

The party started breaking up shortly after that and following the usual rather exaggerated kisses and hugs. I should have left with the others from the newspaper, but something stopped me. There were only four or five of the film unit left with Marcia and me. The others were sitting round the fire in easy chairs with Marcia standing with them. They were finishing a bottle of the local single malt. I was still where I had been all evening in the corner by the bar. I had remained sitting on the stool and forgetfully I had not pulled my skirt down so it was now almost up to my crutch. Fortunately, in some ways, tights provide a woman with security and to an extent, protection. It seems far more reasonable to show most of your legs when in tights than with bare legs or when wearing stockings. That's why I guess we tend to 'flash our pins' more when wearing them, that and knowing almost whatever happens our panties will not be exposed through the nylon, particularly if they are the same colours and mine were, black.

Marcia turned, looked at me, smiled and raised her whisky glass. She mouthed what looked like 'salute' said something to the guys and walked over to me. I was hellishly nervous as she came up close to me and bought me another drink. She smiled at me very confidently and said lightly.

"Your place or mine Tina?" I stammered out that I didn't know and she said. "Why don't you make your goodbyes now and wait in your cabin for me? I'll only be twenty minutes or so."

Almost transfixed with the situation and the awe I suppose of firstly being so comprehensively 'pulled' and secondly by such a rich, famous and glamorous woman wanting me I did as she said. As I said my good nights to the camera crew I hardly thought about what I was doing. It didn't really hit me that I had just accepted a lesbian advance and that I had agreed to her visiting my room presumably for us to have sex. It also didn't occur to me that the four guys might have realised what was happening between Marcia and me as equally I didn't even consider that this might be quite the norm for her.

In the room, though, the nerves really set in and I didn't know what to do. I wondered for a moment if I was dreaming and I would wake up. Could this really be happening? Could a mature and worldly-wise, successful woman like Marcia really want me? More to the point, I realised, could a young, rather sexually naïve junior writer, with as good as no bi experience and no previous desires to have sex with another woman, be receptive to such a situation? Smiling to myself as I recalled the feel of Marcia's fingers on my leg, I realised that yes she could be receptive. I realised that for accompanying the nerves was a tingling all over my skin, a heat in my tummy and fullness in my breasts, which seemed to feel heavier and warmer than usual. I recognised that I was sexually aroused and that Marcia was causing that.

But I didn't know what to do. I had no experience bank to call on. I'd never had sex in a hotel only in a guy's flat, my bed at home once and a few times in cars. I had never had to wait in my room for 'my lover' and of course, I had never been in a position where sex with another woman was the only agenda item.

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