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At the Club

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She knew there was a danger with even going there; a danger that she might discover things that she knew but did not want to admit to knowing. Was that even a thing, she wondered?

It had been the irrepressible Bernie who had suggested that they should celebrate mid-summer’s eve by going to a Club. Pixie had said “yes” before realising that she was talking not about a night club but a fetish club. But having said “yes.” She could not back out without looking like a complete wimp.

They had met up at Bernadette’s house. Bernie had always been the live-wire member of their group, even at school, and at university she had become, if anything, even more adventurous. When Pixie expressed her doubts, Bernie just laughed and said it would “do you good to explore.”

Bernie’s curly red hair and ivory skin spoke of her Irish roots. She’d been the first of the friends to develop what their Headmistress, Mrs Mallory called “womanly attributes.” At eighteen she was already a 38DD, and by the time they went to uni, “Bernie’s bouncers,” as she called them, ensured she had a welcoming pack of male admirers. Much as Pixie loved her, she struggled to keep up. Fortunately, Bernie seemed not to notice.

Pixie had in fact been very careful not to “explore.” The English class-system provided her with sufficient places to hide. Although on the petite side, she was, if she said so herself, not bad looking. She had taken refuge from her feelings by adopting the persona of a distant, aloof goddess whose cool attitude to boys could be explained away by an arrogance that would seem natural to others. Only Pixie knew the truth; or did she?

The persona came to her rescue when they got to Bernie’s. Her friends, Laura and Shelley giggled as they undressed, making comments on each other’s undies and bodies, and Bernie joined in; Pixie remained above it all.

Slyly, she could not help looking at Laura. Tall and brunette, Laura had been the serious one in their group. She had worked hard at school, but her real talent was revealed on the hockey pitch, where the quiet and determined Laura gave way to a ruthless driven captain of the team. Pixie, who had no interest in sport, liked watching hockey. Looking at Laura’s long legs as she changed – and stealing glances at her big breasts. Pixie was reminded of why she had spent so many hours cheering the team on.

Pixie could understand why Shelley was giggling, she loved a good girly play-time. The archetypical bubbly blonde, Shelley wanted to work in PR. At school, she’d been the great organiser of parties, a role she’d continued at uni. Pixie couldn’t help notice that her breasts jiggled as she laughed; she liked the way they swayed when she bent to remove her tights.

Her reverie was interrupted.

“Are you going as you are, Pixie? What’s the character, superior blonde bitch – as usual?”

That was Bernie, always foremost with the moistest.

“I thought costumes were your responsibility Bernie, if you haven’t got one, that’s fine, I can always find another use for a Saturday night!”

She was so pleased she could sound so confident, and if, as it looked, she’d also found a way out of her predicament, so much the better.

Bernie smirked.

“Not so fast young lady!”

Her tone, those words, they sent a shiver down Pixie’s spine.

She gave Laura the Wonder-woman outfit, complete with golden lasso and impossibly tight panties. Laura’s gorgeous big tits were accentuated and thrust out. Pixie felt herself getting aroused. The sexy witch’s outfit handed to Shelley was not so arousing, and the saucy nun outfit on Bernie, while looking good, did nothing for Pixie either. Maybe she would be okay at this club after all?

“Here’s yours, Pix, sorry I couldn’t get a sexy one, but they don’t do them in your size,” Bernie laughed, “but your mum let me have your old sixth-form school uniform, so we know it will fit. I had the skirt lifted by four inches though, so you can flash your schoolgirl knickers!”

The girls laughed.

Pixie blushed as Bernie handed her the uniform.

“What’s up Pix, chicken?”

“No, of course not,” Pixie declared hotly, “as if.”

“It has to be the whole thing, so get your knickers off you slag!”

The girls started clapping and cheering. Pixie uneasily slipped the straps of her blue dress from her shoulders, wriggling out of it with exaggerated sexiness. The fact that her tits were in a padded bra became obvious as she took it off. She hoped no one noticed. Taking her black lacy knickers off made her nude in a room with clothed women; that made her feel odd. She could feel her cunt get wetter. She hoped no one else had marmaris escort noticed the gusset sticking momentarily as she had slipped her knickers off.

“There, you tarts, like what you see?”

Pixie stared defiantly.

“Oh my god Pix, if only the guys at the club could see you like that – if I was les I’d do you like a shot,” said Laura.

That brought a grin from Pixie, and produced more wetness where she was already moist.

Swiftly she slipped the white schoolgirl knickers on, then the skirt and blouse. The skirt felt indecently short. Pixie knew she’d struggle to retain her modesty. It felt odd. As her adult clothes were discarded, it seemed as though she was reverting to her eighteen year persona. She pulled herself together.

“There, so, are we off!”

She was proud of herself. She had overcome the strange feelings and presented a bold front to her friends. Appearances must, after all, as her mother had often said, be maintained.

The taxi driver acted like all his Christmases had come at once. His obvious interest in his exotically-dressed fares inspired Bernie to play up. At one stage she had to warn him to keep his eyes on the road. Shelly joked that it would be easier if Bernie put her “bouncers” away. Bernie’s response was to push Pixie’s legs apart, giving the driver a view right up her skirt.

Pixie was relieved when they got to the Club, but her heart fell at the size of the queue. It was one thing to parade inside looking like a slutty adult schoolgirl, but to be out in the street was too much. But as it happened the doorman let them in at once – that was one plus point about Bernie. She knew everyone worth knowing, so they were able to cut the queue.

“Worth the blowjob, and besides he’s hung like a fucking horse, so it wasn’t exactly a hardship,” she laughed.

Pixie was rather shocked. The idea of sucking man’s equipment repulsed her. She was feeling very uneasy now.

It took Pixie’s eyes time to adjust to the dim light in the club. The first thing that hit her was the acrid smell. There was a sweet sickly scent, a sure sign that despite the ‘no smoking’ signs, something was being smoked. Pixie felt queasy at the semi-nude male figures, and was relieved when Bernie found them a table and announced:

“Okay girls, first round coming up!”

They had all pooled resources, each ponying up £50 so there would be no unseemly haggling over who had had what. Bernie, as ever, was in the driving seat. She and Shelley went to the bar.

The music was too loud, and it was far too hot. Pixie could see men and women dressed, or rather under-dressed in a whole variety of fetish gear. She shivered a little, despite the heat. Her school blouse was damp with perspiration; her regulation school knickers were wetter.

“You okay Pix?” Laura leaned over, giving a generous display of cleavage, which Pixie could not help looking at. That made her cunt ache.

“Yes, yes, just a bit freaked out. Too many naked guys for me!”

Laura giggled, “not naked enough for me. God look at him, fuck do you think that cod-piece is an indication of the size of his cock?”

Pixie suddenly felt ill. All this male nakedness was too much.

Then Bernie was back with the cocktails. That cheered Pixie up, she did like a good “old-fashioned,” and felt better once it began to take effect.

There were several parts to the club, and on the stage near where they were sitting, was a woman being whipped by a man who was naked but for a thong. They were joined by others in bondage gear, and the action began to get steamy. Pixie shifted in her seat. She tried not to identify with the woman; her moistness increased.

“Fuck this,” Bernie laughed, “time for action girls, let’s go get that group of guys dressed as super heroes over there!’

Laura and Shelley got up with enthusiasm.

“I’ll join you later, I need the ladies.”

“Okay Pix, but don’t blame us if you end up with the nerdy one.”

Pixie made her way to the queue for the ladies.

She kept her eyes down. She looked over to where her friends were, and true to form, Bernie was already snogging a brawny rugby type, while Laura seemed to be having her tonsils investigated by his friend; Shelley’s arse was the subject of intense investigation by another boy. The whole thing made Pixie uneasy. She couldn’t go back to join them; but how could she manage alone in this place?

The noise and the smell were getting to her. When she was with the others she’d taken refuge in the familiarity of their presence, blocking out the environment; on her own, she could no longer do so. She felt uneasy, even a little scared; not marmaris escort bayan that she would admit to it.

Finally, she got into the ladies. As she squatted above the stall and peed, she pondered her dilemma, but came up with no answers. Wiping carefully, she pulled her knickers up, adjusted her skirt and set out for the maelstrom.

She couldn’t even see her friends now. The lights had been turned low, and the spotlight was focussing on two women who were pulling men on leads across the stage. It was no good, she had to get out; but how?

“Hey doll, need a teacher?”

She turned, there were two men, both more than a foot taller than she was. She suddenly felt small and vulnerable.

“Even sixth-formers need discipline, don’t you think Frank?”

“I do Jay, and this young thing probably needs her panties checking.”

“Look, I don’t want any trouble, so get out of my way.”

Pixie tried to move, but her way was blocked. She felt a hand go under her skirt.

She felt very vulnerable. The two men were closing in and all she could do was freeze.

“Stop that!” She squealed as his finger touched between her legs.

“Or what, little lady?”

“Or I’ll fucking well cut your balls off and feed them to my dog. You heard the lady, she doesn’t want you.” The voice came from behind Pixie.

One of the men went for the source of the voice, a tall blonde dressed in a nurse’s uniform. She caught his lunge, twisted his arm up and kicked his crotch. He went down.

“Would you like the same? That your fetish, getting kicked in the balls by an Aussie nurse?”

The other man backed off.

Pixie looked at her rescuer.

‘Oh my god! Thank you.”

“It’s okay now pet, if you need a hug come here. I’m Annie by the way.”

“I’m Pixie,” she said, throwing herself into the ample bosom of her rescuer. God, she thought, she’s drop dead gorgeous, and this feels so good.

Annie stroked Pixie’s hair and pulled her into her bosom; suddenly she did not feel vulnerable any more. The Club receded; the noise and the smells were still there, but had been replaced by better ones. Annie was sweaty from the club’s heat, but Pixie loved the smell of her sweat, and nuzzled against her breasts. She felt safe and held. This was nice, she wanted to stay here.

“How come you’re by yourself, a sweet thing like you ought to be with friends?”

“I was,” she said.

Annie guided her to a seat and ordered a drink from the waitress.

Pixie poured out her story, and told her about Bernie and the others, and that she didn’t know where they were. She could not help her eyes lingering on the generously-exposed cleavage.

Annie was clearly a natural blonde, and her blue eyes were so striking that it took all of a moment for Pixie to turn her gaze from them to Annie’s ample bosom.

“You like my breasts, Pixie?”

Blushing at being busted, Pixie stammered, admitting that she did. Annie smiled, then, with an exaggerated fluttering of her eyelashes asked:

“Are you gay Pixie?”

Since puberty set in Pixie had asked that question of herself, but buried the answer deep under her upper-class persona. To have it exhumed in public, in this setting, by this self-confident sexy Australian blonde was a strain Pixie could not bear any longer. Her facade was crumbling, she could feel herself slipping away into a new, exciting, but scary place where she wanted to tell the truth to this woman.

“I, I’m not sure Annie.”

Annie laughed gently and her long fingers stroked Pixie’s pretty elfin face, pushing her hair back.

“Let’s try Annie’s infallible test in two parts.”

She was positively grinning now. The lights from the stage cast shadows across her beautiful face, and she looked almost like a dark icon of beauty. Pixie shivered with pleasure, and prepared herself.

Their lips touched. Pixie’s knickers, already damp, now flooded, so much so that she almost wondered whether her period had come on a few days early. As their lips met, Pixie responded, and as Annie’s sweet tongue probed her lips, they opened to receive. It was, and felt, so intimate that she never wanted the moment to end. As Annie’s tongue explored the recesses of her mouth, Pixie relaxed into it, sucking and welcoming the invader.

The Club was dark again, the acts on stage absorbing the light. Pixie had been fascinated, but also repelled by the open acts of sexual touching which were going on – and now she was the subject of one. Annie’s “second test” was to part her legs and put her hand up her skirt until she touched the saddle of her knickers. Pulling it aside, she put her fingers into escort marmaris the thick, warm, gooey mess. Pixie groaned, not caring who heard; this was what she needed.

“Pixie,” Annie whispered in a voice hoarse with desire, “I think there is no fucking doubt that you are a lesbian. Your cunt is dripping. You do have a cunt, don’t you, you little slut?”

That word, which a moment ago Pixie would have resented and rejected seemed, in this context, appropriate. She found herself embracing it, even, oh god, welcoming it; the idea of having a “cunt” overwhelmed her defences.

As Annie touched her so intimately, Pixie surrendered to her feelings. “My cunt, yes, yes,” she whimpered, “it is a cunt, I am a slut.” She just wanted to do whatever Annie said. She was consumed by this sudden urge to submit her will to Annie’s.

“I already have a girl-friend Pixie, but want you too. How does that seem? Greedy?”

“No, Miss,” she whispered, wondering where the last word had come from? It was somewhere from the inner depths, as deep inside as she wanted Annie’s fingers. Pixie pushed herself shamelessly onto those fingers, her cunt making her knickers a sodden mess. She was being finger-fucked in public, it was wrong, so bad; but even as her brain generated the thoughts, it sent shock-waves through her trembling body.

“Oh, I see my little slut likes that?”

Annie was leaning in now, Pixie could feel her breasts pushing against her, and her breath on her face. She felt overwhelmed, but the evident desire the blonde felt for her was turning her on more than she had ever been turned on before. Hardly able to speak for the feelings shooting through her cunt to her arse and nipples, Pixie simply moaned, pushing her face into Annie’s tits. She slipped into some new dimension, one her subconscious mind recognised as her rightful place.

The world had now vanished. The Club was still there, somewhere in the background Pixie was vaguely conscious of some noise and lots of people, but here, now, Annie, her scent, her fingers, and her own urgent need, that was all there was.

“Pixie, what the fuck?”

It was Bernie’s voice, somewhere a million miles away.

“Who is this Pixie?”

“It, it’s my friend, Bernieeeeeee!!”

“Oh my God, Pixie, fuck, are you, are cumming?”

She was, shamelessly and on Annie’s questing fingers. She could no more stop than she could stop a great flood. Annie kissed her hard.

Somewhere she heard voices.

“Shelley, Laura, look at Pixie!”

It was no use. Annie’s fingers were being gripped by her cunt; Pixie needed them there. She did not care if her friends saw, the mask was off.

As Pixie’s eyes stopped rolling and her breath returned to something like normal, Annie pulled her fingers out and put them to her lips. She could see Bernie and the others watching incredulously as Pixie sucked her own juices.

Annie looked at them.

“What’s up, never seen a girl suck her own juices before? Guess you’ve never done that then ladies?”

They all had the honesty to giggle, and Annie smiled.

When her fingers were clean, Pixie introduced her friends to Annie, who smiled and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek.

“So,” she said, “I’m guessing Pixie was not ‘out’ before this evening?”

Simultaneously they confirmed it, but Bernie added:

“It was pretty obvious – just had to see the way she gazed at Laura’s tits!”

Laura blushed, but accepted the compliment.

“Where are the guys?” Pixie asked.

“Oh them, waste of space,” Bernie added, typically acerbic. “But you seem to have found someone?”

Annie looked at Bernie. “She has, she is mine, and that means any teasing of her will be met with a very firm response from me. I am the only one who will tease her.”

It was said with such a grin that they all laughed. Annie, as Pixie was discovering, was a genius at breaking the ice and getting people to work together. Her sunny self-confidence was untinged by any arrogance, perhaps it was the Aussie style, or perhaps it was that she was so gorgeous, but whatever the reason others, including Pixie, wanted to work with and for her.

“So, ladies, I think some champagne is called for, as Pixie, who was lost has found herself.”

Their table formed an oasis of happiness amidst the turmoil and the lust. Pixie suddenly realised that her friends loved her, and that while they might tease her, they were happy that she had found her lover. She snugged into Annie, who stroked her hair.

“And now, my darlings, I’d better get back to the nursing station to see all is going well. Pixie, I will be back for you. What?” she asked seeing their incredulous looks, “you didn’t think I was a perv like the rest of you, I am actually a nurse!”

And with that, she exited stage right, Mistress of all she surveyed. Pixie was not the only one who sighed.

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