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Summary: A straight woman discovers the joys of lesbian sex.
Note: In my Bedding the Babysitter series chapter 2 there’s a scene where a straight woman succumbs to Megan’s charms… I had always liked that scene and wished I had done more with it. So now, some eight years later, I’ve rewritten and expanded the same story from Ophelia’s point of view.
Note 2: Thanks to Eric for requesting this story so many years after that original story was written.
Note 3: Thanks to Tex Beethoven, Robert, and Wayne for editing.
Le Chateau Club: Bride-to-Be Straight No More
Zelda, my best friend since middle school, doesn’t take no for an answer.
So, after we’d spent six hours (yes, six whole hours and my own fault) choosing a centerpiece for my upcoming wedding’s gift table (sorry, I’m a bit of a perfectionist), Zelda had demanded that I come out clubbing with her and her new girlfriend (no, I didn’t buy the idea she was a lesbian, because this was just another phase of hers, she’d always been one to charge ahead and experiment with whatever new insanity came into her head). I told her, “No way am I going.”
I stressed that I was tired.
I reiterated that I was getting married soon and club life bored me.
I told her I needed to Skype with Eric, my fiancé.
I lied and said I was on my period.
I repeated that I was tired.
As usual my excuses, which I admit were frivolous ones, were dismissed with a royal wave of her hand (no, she wasn’t really royalty, whoever heard of a queen named Zelda? She just wouldn’t take no for an answer and got snooty about it) and ignoring my sixth protest… the one where I said I wouldn’t be caught dead in a lezzie club… she proceeded (snooty royal affectations, remember?) into my bedroom and examined the contents of my closet.
Treating me with all the respect she would a human-shaped toy, she announced, “We’re going to get you all dolled up.”
“Dolled up for a lezzie club?” I objected.
“It’s an exclusive club and it hosts very classy clientele,” she explained, handing me a sexy, short, black cocktail dress.
My sarcastic wit took over as I asked, “Then why do they let you in there?”
“Brat,” she said, slapping my ass… she had been slapping my ass (qualifying her as a royal pain in the butt) since we were in high school.
“Can’t I just wear jeans?” I asked, dresses being something I didn’t wear too often.
“They won’t even let you into the parking lot in jeans,” she said, repulsed.
“Fine,” I sighed dramatically, meaning it wasn’t fine.
She knew what I meant and said, “Don’t get all dramatic with me, you’re the one fucking up our friendship with your whole I’m only going to fuck one guy shit.”
“You mean by getting married?” I asked, as I began to undress. Even though Zelda was going through her lesbian phase and she’d been trying to talk me into a girly threesome for weeks, she had seen me naked literally hundreds of times, so I was completely comfortable getting undressed in front of her.
“Yes, who settles down at twenty-two?” she asked.
“People in love,” I answered.
“Gross,” she said, miming gagging.
“Don’t you usually only gag when you’re getting face fucked?” I shot at her. Zelda had always been a slut and I the good girl. I had lost my virginity at prom (I know that sounds typical and cliché), while she was next door in the hotel getting triple penetrated at prom (not so cliché). She also always said her favorite hobby was sucking cock or getting face fucked and her favorite beverage was cum. And then she acts like a queen. Back off, bitch! I’m the one who was named for one!
She shrugged, “I admit Debbie’s strap-on is pretty long, and she does like how it sounds when I do that.”
It was my turn to say, “Gross!”
“You just don’t know what you’re missing,” she insisted.
“Right now I’m missing Eric’s cock,” I complained, he having been gone for two months this time, and although my vibrator was able to give me an orgasm, I missed the tongue pleasure, the intimacy and the cuddling.
“I have one in my purse,” she said.
“A cock?” I asked.
“Better, a strap-on,” she said, reaching into her purse and indeed pulling out a cock with a harness.
“Why in the world would you carry something like that around in your purse?” I asked, baffled.
“Like Mastercard,” she smiled, “never leave home without it.”
“I understand you less and less all the time,” I said.
“But is it yes or no?” she asked, waving the cock in her hand invitingly.
“That would be a hard no,” I said, even though I was standing there in only my bra and panties and kinda didn’t mind she was obviously enjoying the view.
“Oh, it’s definitely hard,” she said, “and unlike with men, it stays hard.”
“Zelda!” I huffed, exasperated.
“What?” she asked, “don’t knock it until casino oyna you try it.”
“Strap-ons or dyking out?” I asked, slipping the dress on over my head.
“Well both of course,” she said, before adding, “although the term dyke refers to butch women who dominate you. Is that your thing? Debbie and I like to roleplay: we’ll be happy to help.”
“You’re insatiable,” I sighed, as I went in my closet to grab a pair of heels.
“Nylons too,” she said, almost as an order. “Actually, do you have any thigh highs?”
“What are thigh highs?” I asked.
“Stockings that stay up on your thigh by themselves,” she said, looking at me like I was an alien.
“I have a garter-belt and stockings, but they’re both white and I’m saving them for my wedding night,” I demurred, having bought them to surprise Eric with some very sexy lingerie during the honeymoon.
“If you were any more predicable I could write your obituary right now and keep it handy for after I shoot you to put you out of your misery,” she said.
“What?” I asked, thinking that was kind of harsh.
“Which what? Obit or misery? Here’s both: Married by 22, two kids by 25 and living in a house with a white picket fence in some suburb while you wait for your kids to get old enough to make you a soccer mom,” she said.
“That sounds perfect,” I said, not mentioning I was also hoping to have a third kid by 27. “I like soccer.”
“Your entire life is already planned then,” she said, as if that were a terrible thing.
“And your whole life is chaotic,” I countered.
“I live day by day,” she admitted. She then added, “but you, poor thing, live plan by plan.”
“I like structure,” I defended myself.
“I bet you even schedule your sex life,” she accused.
My face went red, as indeed Eric and I did schedule our sex. I mean, it’s practical. It’s important to get intimate regularly and not get distracted by life on the one hand but not muss your hair before going out to dinner on the other.
“Oh my God, you actually do!” she realized, always able to read me.
“Whatever,” I sighed, as I went and found a pair of black pantyhose. I actually had three pair still in the package.
As I pulled them on, Zelda continued, “Seriously Ophelia, you just need to let loose.”
“I do,” I protested, “whenever Eric’s home.”
“So every six months then,” Zelda said.
“That makes it more intense,” I argued, which was true. Whenever Eric returned home, we fucked hard and rough. Although I was perceived by most, even by Zelda, as always rather calm and collected, in the bedroom I was quite submissive and loved getting fucked hard. Zelda had no idea I loved taking it in the ass, or that having Eric face fuck me so deep I was struggling to breathe was a complete turn on. These were things only one person knew. I loved Zelda, but if she knew my true demeanor in the bedroom she would either tease me relentlessly about it or somehow use it to her advantage… or likely do both. (Somehow I knew she wouldn’t object to such kinks, she’d just try to figure out how to redirect them to include herself.)
She scoffed, “I imagine you’re right about the intense part: you’re pretty much a fucking born-again virgin every time you get laid because you’ve had so much recovery time to shrivel back up again.”
My pantyhose in place, I sighed, “Let’s go. I’m not sure I can handle much more deep analysis of my allegedly pathetic life.”
“You know I love you though,” she relented, kissing my cheek.
“Yeah, sometimes I’m not so sure, but I love you too,” I said, knowing that Zelda was Zelda and she was never going to change, and when push came to shove I wouldn’t want her to.
We drove to her place, where she changed into a plaid skirt and white blouse, looking like a complete schoolgirl, then added white thigh high stockings that were completely in view as the skirt was way too short to hide them.
I asked, “Are we going to a Halloween party?”
She shrugged, “I told you, I like roleplaying.”
“I bet you do,” I said, shaking my head.
“What?” she asked. “You live in a fantasy world where only one man can make you happy for the rest of your life, and I live in a world where every day is an adventure.”
“When you meet your own one man, lezzie girl, you’ll be singing a different tune,” I shot back, as we headed back out… her ensemble finished with a pair of five-inch heels that looked sexy, slutty and ridiculous all at the same time.
For a reply she burst into song: “Well sometimes I kiss a girl on the cunt lips and like it,” she sang to me as I cringed at her use of the ‘c’ word.
“You know I hate that word,” I complained.
“That’s exactly why I use it,” she smiled schoolgirlishly as we got into her car. She then continued her sexually twisted serenade as she sang, “When I think about your cunt, I touch myself.”
“Aaaaaah,” I screamed, covering my ears.
She sang louder, “Relax slot oyna and lick me, when you want to come, relax and munch me, when you want my cunt.”
“You’re so fucked up,” I sighed, knowing she was going to do this to me the entire drive and yet oddly impressed by her ability to take a set of lyrics and twist them even dirtier.
“Let’s talk about cunt, baby, talk about you and me,” she sang.
“How long have you wanted to munch my pussy?” I asked, deciding maybe by playing along she would change.
She answered in song after a brief pause, “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here begging for you.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I said, knowing she was just playing with me. We’d been friends for years, and she wouldn’t wreck that for some wild lesbian affair.
She then created a rather impressive medley, “You have a raspberry pussy… you can’t hurry lust… I would lick a hundred cunts and I would fuck a hundred girls… pour some lube on me in the name of anal… she lick, you lick and we lick, I lick, you lick and they lick, we lick be lick a lu lick my cunt.”
“You’re either a complete dyke or a future YouPorn musical genius,” I said.
“I’ll still suck a cock or get pounded by some big lunk, but yes I do prefer a nice wet juicy cunt,” she said, stressing the ‘c’ word, as she pulled into the parking lot of Le Chateau Club.
“We’ve never been here before,” I said.
“It’s a pretty amazing dance-and-whatever club,” she said.
“Okay,” I said, figuring since we were out, I may as well have a good time, “I may as well bust a move.”
“Or your lez cherry,” she quipped, as she got out of the car.
I shook my head at her obsession with my lezzing out with her as I followed her into the club. Sure, I’d rather be at home planning my wedding than out at a bar… I mean, clubbing had stopped being fun when the possibility of getting laid was no longer on the table. My fiancé was in the American military and was returning home from duty in four weeks… our wedding was in eight weeks and there was so much to do… especially when I was planning it all by myself.
Yet, I figured a night out might indeed serve as a nice stress relief break.
Some drinking, some dancing, some socializing.
Yet once we were inside, Zelda’s intentions looked suddenly very questionable. It was obvious in seconds that my earlier shot-in-the-dark jibes about a lezzie club had actually been spot on: I was in a lesbian club. I mean as far as the eye could see there was nobody but women in this huge place.
However, this place definitely qualified as a Classy Lesbian Club, upper-case letters and all. Everyone was wearing a dress or a skirt and they were all looking top drawer.
Was Zelda serious about fucking me?
I also learned that her so-called girlfriend Debbie was already here waiting for us at a table and shots were already waiting there too, as well as a chilled bottle of white wine with three glasses.
Zelda went over to Debbie and kissed her before raising a shot glass to me, toasting, “Here’s to the demise of your sex life in a few weeks.”
“I’ll be having more sex then,” I protested.
“Your vibe doesn’t count,” she countered, handing me a shot to toss back.
“What is this?” I asked.
“A blue lesbian,” she answered.
“Shouldn’t it be a pink lesbian?” I joked, before downing the shot.
“Now you’re learning,” Zelda laughed, as she downed hers.
During the next half hour we drank an entire bottle of wine and started on a second one.
Every time I looked around I saw girls dancing and kissing each other.
I was surprised when I saw an older woman crawling across the dance floor on all fours wearing a collar, with its leash controlled by a much younger woman (who Debbie told me was a twentyish dominant named Bree, well-known in these circles). I was equally surprised when I saw a pair of heels sticking out from under a table with three women in their late fifties chatting and laughing, so I was therefore less surprised when I saw a girl getting fingered right out there on the dance floor.
I was curious when I headed to the washroom to pee and saw a line-up for a single occupied stall while at least two others were unoccupied, then was shocked when I asked about it and learned the stall was permanently reserved for a large black woman named Big Rosie, and these girls were lined up to lick her pussy.
As I went pee (in one of the unoccupied stalls thank you), I even heard the unseen black woman moan loudly, even theatrically, “Yes, eat my black cunt!”
By this time I was quite tipsy and equally horny, the surreal events I had been witnessing turning me on… I definitely needed Eric to return home very soon.
I returned to the table and attempted to shock the others: “Did you know there’s a line-up in the bathroom to orally service a woman?”
“Big Rosie,” Zelda nodded, not at all surprised or shocked. canlı casino siteleri
“She has an amazing-tasting pussy,” Debbie added, “you should give her a try.”
“That is so weird,” I said.
“It only seems weird because you haven’t tasted her yet,” Debbie said. “Once you go black…”
As we chatted, a very pretty woman in her mid thirties, give or take, walked over to our table, smiled slightly and orated to us rather bluntly, “Hello, you three ladies are all quite attractive. I’m not one for small talk; I’m horny, my slave is in the bathroom with who knows what happening to her and I need an orgasm. If one of you would be willing to eat my delicious pussy, please come over to my table, tell me your name and then crawl under the table to please me.”
She then did a one eighty and returned to a table directly across from us.
I gasped, “Oh my God!”
“She’s hot,” Debbie said.
“And I’ve always wanted to be one of those gals under a table,” Zelda said.
“Zelda!” I gasped again.
“What?” she asked, in her usual unflappable way.
“You wouldn’t?” I asked.
Zelda ignored my question as she turned to Debbie and asked, “May I, hon?”
“Sure,” Debbie nodded.
“Oh my God, are you serious?” I asked.
“When in Rome…” she shrugged, standing up.
I watched flabbergasted as she gave me a wink and sauntered over to the pretty woman.
I watched intensely as Zelda spoke with her for thirty seconds or so before she grinned back at us, lowered herself to the floor and crawled under the table.
“She actually did it!” Debbie crowed, as surprised as I was but far more enthusiastic.
“I can’t believe it!” I said. I mean I’d watched her give head to two guys in a crowded hot tub back at a party a few years ago so I knew she could be wild… but this was over-the-top crazy.
“She is pretty unpredictable,” Debbie said, staring admiringly at the table.
“That is the understatement of the year,” I joked.
Debbie laughed as well and we both silently watched Zelda pleasuring someone sexually in public… although we couldn’t really see anything more than Zelda’s heels.
A gorgeous young brunette wearing a hot red dress and who couldn’t possibly qualify as twenty-one joined the intriguing woman and they chatted for the next two or three minutes as if there weren’t a woman under their table.
Suddenly the mystery woman looked up at us, raised her arm over her head, snapped her fingers imperiously and beckoned.
“She wants us to come over,” I said, incredulously. “She’s actually summoning us!”
“Cool,” Debbie said. “Let’s do it.”
“We shouldn’t,” I said.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because it’s weird,” I answered.
“No weirder than Zelda already being under her table without her supportive friends there to cheer her on,” Debbie pointed out. “Plus, it’s not like you’ll have to do anything.”
“Come on,” she said impatiently, already beginning to move. “You must be curious to hear what this sexy icon has to say.”
“Fine,” I gave in with a heavy sigh.
We walked over and the woman greeted us, “Hi, I’m Megan and this is my slave Jenny.”
Debbie replied, as I was still trying to process the word ‘slave’ and remember to breathe at the same time, “Hi, I’m Debbie and this is my friend Ophelia.”
The woman gestured for us to sit down and we did. She then addressed me with a sly smile, “You’re Ophelia, the tragic Hamlet character?”
I sighed, having endured this incessant question for many years, my parents not realizing the negative impact that naming me after a famous tragic character would have, “The one and only.”
The woman, Megan I think she’d called herself, continued, “Of course Ophelia died because of a forbidden love that she couldn’t fulfill.”
I had painstakingly analyzed every aspect of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, especially the character of Ophelia, so I pointed out the obvious, “Well, the rejection of her love and her father’s death did drive her crazy.”
“Or,” she said, the smile never leaving her lips, “The fact that she couldn’t have the forbidden joy she so desperately wanted and craved, led her to become so obsessed by its lack that she went insane.”
“Well, that is a reach,” I prevaricated, although even seeing what she was doing… as for the first time ever I was feeling attracted to another woman… I couldn’t help but admit she was drawing me in.
“I don’t think so,” she said before interjecting, “but just a minute please, your friend is getting me close.” She pressed both her hands on the table, closed her eyes and appeared to be about to orgasm… right out here in public!
I couldn’t help but stare… she looked so beautiful with her lips pursed as she approached her orgasm. I suddenly had a vision of myself under the table just as it shook slightly when she came… without a word… as I still pictured myself…
Then I felt awkward.
I wasn’t sure where to look.
So I looked around and saw the club had gotten busier, so I pretended to watch, dazed and unseeing as uninhibited women did everything you can imagine with each other out on the dance floor.
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