An English Dalliance

An English Dalliance

By Lowered Eyes

1.

I was, as usual, late.  I had been shopping for a few last minute items for the wedding of an old university friend that Saturday afternoon.  For others, "last minute items" might not be considered to include the dress, shoes and bag I intended to wear or carry but for me they were.  I had finally found the dress.  It was blue, a dark, rich, blue silk.  The bodice was like a basque, laced up the front over a modesty panel, tiny straps over each shoulder.  From the waist the dress fell as a full skirt with a ragged hem.  Black stockings and, dark blue, low heels, which had been the devil to find, completed the lower half of me.  My shoulder length black hair, normally fairly unruly, was disciplined into a loose pony and topped by a white hat, having found nothing in blue that would quite do the trick.

I had meant to check in to the hotel where the reception was to be held and change there before the wedding in the local church but my tardiness precluded that. So, fully dressed, I drove the 150 miles to the church.  I managed to clatter to a pew just before the service began.

Mary, the bride, looked stunning, as always, and the ceremony was perfect. Afterward, the rich crowd of supporters sparkled in the autumn sunlight which bathed a typical English churchyard as the photos were taken.  I looked around and saw only two other people I knew, Mary's brother, Tom and her mother. I'd had a brief fling with Tom before realizing that whatever I was, hetero wasn't it.  It wasn't his fault.  He was a generous and loving man, but he was a man.  To his credit we had remained friends, and he was easy with my confessed sexual preference.  I kissed them both and we exchanged the usual information regarding current home, job and partner.  In his case, this was a tall, willowy blonde by the name of Sally. He advised me, jokingly as he introduced us that I was to keep my hands off her.  In my case, there was no-one. My last girl-friend had left to return to her native India and continue her medical career.

The wedding breakfast was delicious, the speeches unusually funny and the party that ensued was boisterous. As the day faded, the soft lights in the hotel created an atmosphere of warmth and intimacy.

The band played Glenn Miller and other period stuff which had almost everyone dancing. I had been dancing with Tom until I was breathing hard and afraid that my heels might not stand further abuse. I left him to continue his exertions with Sally and I went in search of a life saving glass of champagne.

There she was, standing at the bar. I don't quite understand how I had not noticed her before.  If I had been asked to write my fantasy it could not have sprung to life any more perfectly. She was tall, and had short, almost white, blond hair. She wore a man's dark grey suit or rather a suit cut to look like a man's, but clearly by a clever tailor, for it followed her slender curves perfectly. Under the jacket was a white, silk shirt sporting French cuffs adorned with simple, silver links and a tie loosely made up at the collar. On her feet were plain court shoes, black and dully polished.  I took all this in, as a woman does, in about 3 seconds whilst I waited for my wine.

"I saw you arrive at the church.......late.  Is that your normal style?"

Not only was this embodiment of my fantasies addressing me, she had noticed me arrive alone too.

"I'm afraid it is." I admitted, sheepishly.

"I was here last night but then I expect I had further to come than you."  Her accent was clearly American.

"Which part of the USA are you from?" I asked.

"New York," she smiled.  "Is it that obvious?"

"I didn't mean to be rude."

"I didn't take it as rude." She held out her hand.  "Kate."

"Samantha."  I took her hand. It squeezed mine with surprising strength and I felt myself shudder.

We had been standing, chatting at the bar for some time. Kate was, I hoped, flirting but one learns to be careful. Caution is a virtue for a lesbian at a function such as a reception, where people are naturally friendly, but there was something about Kate which made me feel quite sure I wasn't mistaken. It wasn't so much her clothes or her hair. Plenty of straight girls know how sexy they look in mannish attire. It heightens their femininity. It was her manner. A girl learns to recognize the signs I guess, especially when one has made so many silly mistakes, embarrassed or angered enough people. I wasn't about to make a mistake in this case. In any event I have never been inclined to take the initiative. I tended to be submissive, to be led, to be the seduced, not the seducer. Her occasional touches, the way her eyes slid over my breasts made me feel hot. Physically hot, not sexually aroused. Well, alright, that too, but mainly over heated.

I suppose I was more certain when she said, "Look, Sara, why don't we take a bottle of champagne up to my room and relax a little?" She removed any shred of doubt when she kissed me in the lift.

How to describe that kiss? She was, as I have said, tall. She was carrying the champagne like a truncheon, wrapped in a paper bag, holding it by the neck. She leant forward, slowly, and kissed me on the lips. It was brief but, to my mind, full of intense sexuality. Cliché of the day –my knees turned to jelly. They turned to water when, as she broke the kiss, her tongue licked my lips.

"Yep, Sam my girl, this is a dyke and she fancies you." I thought, "Don't mess this up, girl."

She led me down the passage to her door and smiled at me as she produced the key from her pocket. No handbag I noticed, the key was in her trouser pocket. Manly. Why has that always done it for me?

I don't think I'd said anything between the bar and her room. The room was big, much bigger than mine. The bed seemed huge and the view over the hotel's lawns and gardens to the city beyond was impressive. I stood by the window looking until I heard a pop behind me and turned. Kate poured two glasses of fizz, one of which she proffered to me. I took it and thanked her but before I could drink, she took a sip of hers and moved in close to kiss me and share her mouthful of wine. It trickled over my chin and she licked it away. Another cliché, my heart became a hammer in my chest. How many more clichés could a girl take in one day? She moved away slightly and drank her wine. I sipped mine and we simply looked at each other over the rims of our glasses. Kate took my glass from me and placed it, with hers, on the desk by the wall.

"Champagne always tastes better in a bedroom, don't you think?"

She moved in like a predator and kissed me again but it was no peck, it was a full blown kiss, her tongue invaded my mouth and her hands pulled me into her. I opened my mouth to her and let my arms go up around her neck. I felt her grip my bum, tight. Then one of them seemed to move seamlessly from my bottom to my right breast and she cupped it, surprisingly gently, as her tongue wrestled with mine. The gentle cupping became a grasp and then a squeeze. Her fingers found my nipple, by this time hard as a small nut. She held it through the silk of my dress and twisted it deliciously, evoking a small moan from me into her mouth. She pulled away, her hand still on my breast, and she appraised me, a slight smile on her lovely face.

"How exactly does a girl undo that dress?"

I didn't answer, but I undid the lacing and opened it for her. I wanted her to see my braless breasts, or as she no doubt she would call them, tits. I left the straps over my shoulders, for her. She lowered them slowly. I showed her where the small group of buttons were that would loosen the waist band, but she smiled that smile of hers and moved away, removing her jacket. The white shirt was perfect and she wore no bra beneath it. Her tie was a dark blue strip between two silk draped peaks. The trousers were quite tight on her backside and I wondered for the first time what she might be wearing underneath them.

Kate took her time hanging her jacket, leaving me to stand with my breasts exposed as I watched her. I didn't care. I was too absorbed in her.

When she came back to me she said nothing but undid the buttons at my waist. She peeled me. She let a month's salary worth of fabric fall in a pool around my feet and stepped back. I stood stock still, feeling the weight of her inspection. Searching for a safe place for my eyes, I ended up staring at myself in a wall mirror. There I was in a hat, no bra, dark blue, silk knickers, a suspender belt and stockings. My shoes hidden under the draping of my dress along with any pride that might have remained.

"More champagne?"

I could only shake my head.

"Turn around then. Bend forward and show me your ass."

I turned for her so that she could enjoy my backside. I stilled my tremors by leaning my hands to the dresser.

"I meant, show me your ass, Sara."

Taking her meaning then, I reached back and lowered my pretty blue knickers, wondering if my bare arse was as flushed as my cheeks.

"Show me!"

Her voice now had a commanding tone and it dawned on me that I was to be completely humiliated.

"Every hole you have is open to me."

With my back to her, bent slightly forward at the waist, my knickers pulled down and my hands spreading my buttocks, those words rang in my ears. There I was, exposing myself, totally, for heaven's sake, to a woman I'd met only a short while ago. This was not like a one-nighter where I had danced with a girl, snogged her in the toilet or the taxi and let her seduce me over the course of an evening. This was daylight, before a stranger with whom I had only shared a glass of wine. I knew nothing about her. She might have been a crazy, a sadist, a murderer for God's sake. But somehow I didn't care. She was beautiful.

"Undress me and then I'll have you on the bed!"

I stood up straight and turned to face her, stepping out of the dress that lay around my feet and reached up to remove my hat.

"Leave the hat."

This order made me feel even more foolish. I pushed my knickers down and stepped out of them, glad that I had shaved that morning. I walked to her, looking up into those dark eyes and reached to the buttons of her shirt. The silk felt cool beneath my fingers and, wordless, I opened each one. When I reached her waistband I unzipped, inexpertly, the trousers and unbuttoned the waist and knelt as I eased the trousers down. She touched the top of my hat as I knelt.

I studied her bare legs as they were exposed. I looked up and was surprised to see a pair of thin, silk panties barely covering her mound. It looked full and round. I forced myself to look down to her feet as I slipped off her shoes and held the trousers so she could lift her feet from each leg. I raised my eyes again and saw the silk of the shirt, open now, and her breasts, small and firm with large, dark nipples just visible.

I stood and took her trousers to the wardrobe and hung them. She just watched me. I walked back to move behind her and took the shirt from her shoulders. There was a moment's confusion as the cuffs caught on her hands, but this was quickly resolved and I stood, clutching her shirt to me. The soft silk felt lovely against my skin and I felt a rush of…..what? Fear? Arousal? Kate turned, slowly, with that smile again and I saw her near-nakedness. It made me conscious, so conscious, of my stockings, my suspenders, and my heels. A fresh blush of embarrassment assailed me and wondered inanely how I had ever thought my damned silly hat fetching.

She took the shirt from me and placed it on a chair. She moved in close again and put her hands on my shoulders, pulling me to her. Her breasts nestled against mine. I gasped as she kissed me. The kiss was hard, almost brutal. I felt the warm silk of her panties against my thigh. Every synapse was sparked to capacity, every sinew taut with anticipation.

She turned me around and pushed me up on to her bed, the covers still spread across it. I found myself kneeling on the bed and I felt it depress as she climbed up behind me. She tapped the inside of my thigh and I spread my legs, my arse trembling in the air, my elbows supporting me. I felt a complete slut as I awaited her pleasure. I had never suspected until that moment how thrilling I would find it to be so utterly controlled.

2.

Looking at Samantha on the bed, waiting for me with her ass raised and her head lowered submissively. I decided to keep her there awhile. I poured champagne and thought back pleasantly over how easily I had brought her to this state.

I had watched her arrive, flustered and alone. I thought then she looked delightful, just the thing to pass the time, and, oh, that hat! An English dalliance. Well, after my long flight and that ghastly hotel at London airport I'd felt I deserved something.

At the party downstairs, amidst "Edwardian Splendour, to quote the hotel's pompous publicity blurb, I'd watched her talking to a few people. She was definitely alone and the old gaydar had somehow picked up her vibes. Ok, bi maybe, les with luck, but I wondered if she was a sub. I'd decided to find out. When she'd headed for the bar I'd managed to get there ahead of her. She'd looked me over. I'd felt her eyes on me, taking in the clothes. Once I'd got the conversation going, I gave her the "full pull" as my girl back home calls it. Lots of touches… on the wrist…on the shoulder…all calculated to draw her to me. I'd even used the old "eye down the dress" technique, and let my approval show. Her skin had turned a nice shade of red then, like a freshly smacked ass and I knew everything was going to be just fine.

By the time we'd got in the room, my God, was she responding. As a feeler I'd tried a little pain, squeezing her nipple and I nearly came from the way she moaned into my mouth.

By then I'd wanted to see what I was getting, so I made some flip remark about getting her out of her dress and she'd simply undone the lacing down her front and pulled it open. Her tits were small but appealing. I'd left her standing there, tits out, and hung my coat. It always paid to let a submissive girl wait and it was a good test. She'd passed that one and when I went back to her and slipped her dress off, there she was, in a garter belt, French cut panties and that amazing fucking hat. I'd felt a real rush then and wondered where the hell in rural England a girl could get a strap on. Not knowing what British Customs were going to be like I'd left mine behind.

When I'd had her turn around and bend to show me her ass, it had been another test. I'd had to be a bit more demanding before she got the picture and spread her ass. I'd been confident then that the ground rules were established and that little brown ring had begun to stir my mind.

I took a last, tart taste of champagne and set aside the shell. All the while I had been replaying my conquest; I had also been taking in the sight of her waiting on me. The good figure, the hair tied lightly back under that fucking hat, that's how I would always remember her, with the fucking-hat. I decided she'd had enough suspense and moved for her.

I knelt up behind her and ran my hands down her flanks and over her ass. I lowered my face and kissed the base of her spine, licked it as I reached up under her to milk her tits. I gave her a bit more pain then and loved her squeal. I knew it was going to be so, so good.

I licked between her buttocks and down to her cunt. I tongued around it, back up to her asshole and back to her cunt. Writhing, she started making low grunts and I could taste her. "Easy Kate," I thought, "Make the subby wait for the boss." To slow things a bit, I reluctantly left her to wait again and walked to the bathroom. I took a piss and washed myself. Had they never heard of the bidet in England? When I got back, she'd turned onto her side; the hat was beside her on the bed.

"Did I say to take the hat off?"

She looked at me and meekly put it back on. "We're getting there" I thought.

"Did I say to stop kneeling?"

She went to move back, but the point was made so I stopped her and sat on the bed.

"Fetch me some more champagne, Samantha. You may have some too."

She got off the bed and refilled our glasses. I sat with the headboard hard against my back and sipped. She seemed to be waiting for instructions, good little English girl that she was, so I let her shiver for a few minutes then told her to sit on the foot of the bed, facing me. Then I talked to her. I laid it out a little clearer for her. I told her I was staying a few days and would want a companion. I explained that being with me would be a learning curve. Was she interested? I had already established during our chat downstairs that her job as a teacher at the University meant she was free until the new term arrived. So I figured it would be just a matter of a few simple arrangements and I'd have free accommodation, a guide and what I hoped would be not only a very decent fuck, but might also be a wild power trip . I had deliberately timed the offer so that it followed my first assault on her naked body, it's so hard to refuse someone who has just licked your clitoris, don't you think?

Before she could answer, I told her to touch her cunt, to spread her lips and masturbate for me as she answered. She was quicker to do that than she was to answer my question. Her eyes never left mine, one hand in her crotch and one still holding the glass. She took a deep draught of her bubbles and watched me over her glass and then said, "OK." Just like that, what a dream.

3.

I'd been in heaven. Kate had folded herself around my back and kissed and nibbled my neck. She'd stroked me and gripped my breasts, hurting them deliciously. I'd never felt so inescapably mastered and when her tongue finally landed on my bum I nearly came there and then, She worked me, opening my lips with her tongue and then lapping up to my bum. I was near being incoherent but suddenly, she was gone and I'd been left panting. I'd collapsed onto my side to still my shaking and pulled the bloody hat she seemed so fond of loose in frustration.

I'd heard her pee while she hummed softly in the loo and when she'd come back, her silk panties were gone. She'd got stern about the hat and so, feeling ridiculous again, I had put it back on. Well, a girl would. Wouldn't she?

She'd sat on the bed and told me to get us both another drink. I'd done that and then she told me to sit at the end of the bed facing her and listen. It was amazing how I'd managed to appear outwardly at ease, despite my inner turmoil.

She had a girlfriend back home, Emmy. They'd lived together for 4 years. Emmy knew she was not exclusive but she loved Kate in spite of this. If I wanted to clear my "prissy English conscience" I'd been invited to phone and ask her. Emmy was her submissive, she'd explained, as were all her girls. She liked to hurt a little, to train a girl to her ways. She usually got bored with a girl fairly quickly, but not always. To put it in a nutshell, Kate gave me a warts and all account of what I could expect if, during the days of her visit to England, I were to be her escort. I don't know if she used the word "escort" but it seemed to me to be appropriate. A short term girl; I had just re-read The World of Suzy Wong," so perhaps the notion was in my mind rather than hers.

She'd had me masturbate for her. I'd done so but, but my mind wasn't on it. I'd been consumed with deciding whether I was going to be her whore for a while.

Well, what else would a girl do?

4.

For me, that evening continued delightfully. Samantha was not a trained submissive, that much was obvious, but if ever there has been a more willing student, I had yet to find her. I didn't jump her over any extreme obstacles but I had her spend a great deal of time with her head between my thighs. She was good with her tongue and, with a little guidance, she'd become even better.

I put an overseas call through to Emmy and had Samantha keep working on me. I had a most delicious climax with Emmy listening over the line. I told her about the little English toy I'd found and painted a picture of Samantha, face smeared with my cunt juice as she lapped away between my slick thighs like a devoted bitch. I even held the phone out and let Emmy listen to the wet sounds and muffled grunts. She didn't like that much I don't think but it worked for me and, as I explained to her, that was pretty much all that mattered. Establish the rules of engagement early my Daddy used to say. He was a General in the army and he certainly knew what he was talking about.

Whether she liked it or not, it didn't seem to reduce her enthusiasm. Even when I began my assault on that little piece of darkness between her buttocks, there was no protest. She seemed like a natural. I spanked her ass when she came without permission. That embarrassed the hell out of her and caused a few tears but there was no harm in that. I did the gentle bit, which, oddly enough, I found rather easy. I held her as she sobbed, kissed her tears and comforted her. I told her it was what we both needed and although I don't think she understood the significance of what I was saying, she didn't contradict me...

I got a little sleep but the night was punctuated by a couple of bouts of honest, old-fashioned sex. Vanilla is not my favorite flavor but it is still sweet on the tongue. When I got up to ease my bladder, I took her along to the bathroom with me. I considered having her take a drop or two of pee but decided against it. Too far, too fast and I might just have frightened this little bird away...

My problem was that, because this was a chance encounter I hadn't really had the chance to devise a strategy for training her. With Emmy I had planned her seduction and taken a long time to break and develop her. This girl seemed so naturally submissive, and my kind of submissive at that, that my usual methods would be out of sync. As she slept with her head on my belly and her hair spread across me, I pondered this. Eventually, I decided to sleep on it and talk to her about it in the morning. I'd had her body but somewhere along the line I'd come to crave her soul as well. One way or another I intended to devour this little chick, feathers, funny, fucking hat and all.