I had no idea that I could be so easily seduced. All it had taken was a few glances, a couple of touches, and here I was, in less than five minutes, spreading for a total stranger – why, I didn’t even know her name!

In truth, I was simply gagging for it, and perhaps it showed somehow, radiating subliminal signals to anyone attuned enough to pick them up. I was sixteen and a half, a lesbian without a lover or any prospect of one (in fact, with no sex life at all), and I would have gone with any woman who made a pass at me – I just wish some of them had known that!

So here I was, a demure-looking schoolgirl, pretty as a picture in my uniform of navy blue unbuttoned cardigan, matching pleated skirt, white knee socks, crisply-ironed white shirt and striped tie – underneath all of which was a frustrated sapphic slut just begging to be let loose. I nicely look my age, perhaps even a little less, with my open features and slightly snub nose. My eyes are a clear grey, and my hair – light brunette which I streak with a little blonde colouring – falls straight from a single centre parting to hang below my shoulders, where it ends in slight curls and twists. My figure is slim, but with more than hints of the woman to come; at the moment there is more curve to my ass (which juts out fetchingly) than my tits, which are still only an A cup – but heading soon to upgrade to a B. My misleading look of innocent purity was completed by the modest plain white bra and panties I was wearing underneath.

It was a weekday afternoon, and I was idling time away after leaving school, doing one of my favourite things – browsing the women’s clothes in our town’s largest department store. I was enjoying looking at the ‘little black dress’ selection, inspecting one or two, and fantasising about having them unzipped and peeled away from my body by someone really sexy – like, say, Ms Carraway, a busty good-looking teacher in her late 20s who I had a real crush upon, but who disappointingly seemed to be heterosexual or an adherent to the rules (or probably both!).

At that time of day, the store was not very busy, and I couldn’t help noticing a woman who was also checking out similar racks of dresses. She looked to be in her late twenties, and was smart and attractive. She was stylishly but simply dressed, wearing a classic style of short black dress, low-backed with single spaghetti straps, that contrasted with a plain white short-sleeve top. On her feet were pointed-toe black heels, her slim legs were encased in plain black panty-hose or hold-ups, and she was carrying a largish black handbag. Her hair was blonde (but from a bottle, not natural), of similar shape and length to my own, but somehow more adult in cut. I saw from the corner of my eye that she had a good figure: slender waist, nice neat ass, and the rounded swell of medium-sized shapely breasts.

In the natural way of things, our glances met a few times, and on the third occasion she smiled at me – and so I smiled rather shyly in return. It was enough of a bridge for an opening gambit, and she moved a couple of feet nearer to stand beside me, apparently interested in the same black party dresses. She made a casual remark – I have no recollection now of what it was – and I replied, and we chatted for a moment or two in the inconsequential way of passing strangers. However, I couldn’t help feeling that she was appraising me in some way, and certainly her eyes ran a couple of times up and down my body, and a slight gleam came into her eyes. That might have been because I was checking her out as well – and, being young and inexperienced, was probably rather more obvious about it.

After a moment, she said something like: ‘Well, I shouldn’t keep you – you’re such a pretty girl, I’m sure you’ve got a boyfriend waiting for you somewhere!’

‘Oh, no!’ I assured her, with vigorous emphasis, ‘nothing like that, I don’t have a boyfriend’; and then I artlessly added: ‘I’ve got lots of time, really.’

I suppose my subconscious could have made it a little less subtle – like maybe unfurling a huge banner proclaiming ‘fuck me, fuck me, fuck me’.

The woman had an attractive smile, which warmed my stomach and loosened my hips. She turned aside (letting my eyes fall on the profile of her bust – nice, oh very nice!), and picked up the dress that she had been looking at a few minutes before. She held it up, and said:

‘I think this would look good on you – you have such a nice figure.’

I was flattered and thrilled, blushing and mumbling back something inane like: ‘Oh, really? Do you think so?’

‘Mmm, yes!’ she said, and followed with a certain emphasis: ‘I’m quite sure – I know what I like’.

Without saying anything more, she held the dress against my body, her hands lingering far longer than could ever have been necessary in an innocent encounter. Seeing that I made no complaint or resistance, her touch became firmer and bolder, cupping and stroking my breasts through the three layers of thin fabric – the black dress, my school shirt and my soft cotton bra. Her thumb rubbed from side to side across my nipples, bringing them almost instantly to a hard, tingling erectness – which she must have detected.

One of her hands smoothed the short sexy dress down over my stomach to my upper thighs, and then pressed in firmly between my legs, pushing against my Venus mound. I gave a gasp, made up of one part surprise, two parts arousal and three parts desire. She slid her hand down my crotch, unerringly tracing the fold of my cleft, and then quickly thrust under my school uniform skirt and cupped my cunt. The feel of her fingers on my pussy, separated only by the thin layer of my cotton panties (now quite damp and clinging), was unbelievably exhilarating. It was such a sexual rush, such a release of my intense longing and desire, that I almost fainted. I moaned softly, hardly able to believe my luck – there was not a shred of doubt that I was being propositioned sexually; at long last, it was happening, and I would gladly give myself without a second’s hesitation.

All the time, whilst she was caressing me, her gaze had been locked on mine, holding me transfixed. In fact, one thing that made her physical advances so arousing was that she did not look at what her hands were doing, confident that they had reached their target and were attaining their mission objectives. My pupils were dilated, my nostrils were flared, my face was flushed and my breathing was coming in short shallow pants – it was clear from this, and my sopping pussy, that I was more than ready to be plucked and fucked. The blonde woman smiled in satisfaction, and said quietly:

‘I want you, come with me – I know where we can go, there’ll be no problem.’

She gave me the black dress to hold, took my other hand in one of hers, and quickly led me through the clothing department to the fitting-rooms in the far corner. They are surprisingly spacious, almost as if they had been designed to allow you to take a friend in with you. Best of all, they did not need to be regulated by a member of staff, because all of the merchandise was electronically security-tagged, and there were also cameras at various places around the store. At such a quiet time, there was no one about to notice us; the blonde woman and I slipped into the end fitting-room together, and she clicked the plywood door closed behind us. I hung the black dress on one of the hooks provided on the wall – both of us knowing that it had nothing to do with why we were there.

I leaned back against the rear wall, my tongue wetting my lips in anticipation, and for a tantalising moment we just looked at each other, consumed with lesbian lust. Then she stepped closer, undid my school tie and unbuttoned the shirt, pulling it sideways to expose my chest and my budding breasts, encased in a girlish plain white cotton bra. She ran her fingertips below the cups, which had an electrifying effect, and then traced around to the nipples. With a deft movement, she scooped both of my tits out of their bra caps and bent her head to suck on each of them in turn. I gasped with the tingling stimulus of pleasure that resulted, as the sensuous tickle of her blonde hair fell across my shoulders and my upper chest.

In response, I hoisted my skirt up to my hips and thrust my pelvis forward, legs spread slightly apart. The delectable blonde’s hand almost instantly slipped inside my panties to feel me for a while, until with one hand I pulled the gusset aside to expose my cunt, spreading my legs still wider. Her fingers stroked me again, rippling teasingly along my slit.

‘Are you a virgin?’ she asked. I replied that it was OK, she could go ahead – I had seen to that myself (although, in truth, this had not been by calculation: I knew where my mother kept her vibrator, which I used on myself when alone in the house for an evening, but a few weeks before I had got carried away and thrust it in too hard, breaking my own hymen).

The blonde woman dropped to her haunches, bringing her face level with my cunt. Using two fingers, she spread my labia apart and prised open the pink treasure hole between, and her mouth fastened onto my pussy. After a moment, her tongue moved up to the top of my slit, searching under the clitoral hood for the sweet nub itself; in its place, two fingers were pushed deep into my vagina and began pumping in and out.

Whilst she was doing this, she tucked her own skirt around her hips and thrust her unoccupied hand between her legs, pulling aside her panties and frigging herself even faster and more roughly than she was doing to me. We both began to breathe raggedly, to gasp quietly and to start to shudder, building our way to a climax – of what would be, for me, my first orgasm from the ministrations of another lesbian, which I considered to be my true loss of virginity.

At that moment, utterly without warning, the fitting-room door was whisked open (Jesus Christ – hadn’t she locked it?!!), and our making-out session was interrupted by the uniformed female store security guard. Her body loomed over the crouching blonde, one hand descending to grip her shoulder. As I stared this astonishing apparition in the face, I emitted a strangled high-pitched shriek – partly of horror at being discovered and exposed, with all the consequences which would flow from that with family, friends and school, and partly of desperate frustration. No, no! – the cup (or rather, cunt) could not be dashed from my lips in this way, it just wasn’t fair! I was on the point of bursting into tears, when I noticed two unexpected things: the security officer was smiling at me, with hungry desire in her eyes, and the woman eating my pussy seemed to be not in the slightest bit surprised or alarmed at this intrusion into our impromptu love-nest.

The guard gave me a wicked grin, and said: ‘I see you’ve met my bitch, then?’ She gave a firm and possessive caress to the top of the blonde woman’s head, fortunately not interrupting the slurping of the latter’s tongue in my vagina and the mounting bursts of wild sensation that were coursing through me in response.

‘Or, rather, she’s met you, pretty titties, hasn’t she?’ And to my delight, the uniformed guard pulled the booth’s door closed behind her – and locked it (yes!!). She reached forward and stroked my breasts, taking one of my stiff nipples between her first and second fingers, and squeezing it firmly. The effect sent a new wave of arousal which somehow amplified those radiating from my cunt.

I stared at the security guard, open-mouthed until she leaned closer and kissed me, her warm tongue pushing between my lips and sweeping around my gums like a cavalry charge. She was a handsome woman in her early thirties, a little taller than her companion. Her mid-brown hair fell from a centre parting in a straight cut that was attractively shaped to frame her face, longer at the front of her neck than at the back. Her warm brown eyes were highlighted by dark make-up, and her full lips were accentuated by a rose pink lipstick which contrasted well with the faint olive tone to her skin – a hint of something Mediterranean, perhaps French or Italian, in her ancestry. Her uniform added to her authority and charisma; she was outfitted in black boots, a fairly short and tight black skirt, a shirt in light brown or khaki, with a contrasting dark brown tie and uniform cap.

The guard’s hands did not falter in their fondling of my breasts, whilst the blonde woman – her lover, I now understood – increased the tempo of her pussy-munching. Under the combined attentions of the two women (Oh, wonderful, how could I be so lucky! I thought), I soon recovered my nerve, and my body began again to enter the throes of sexual climax. I was less audible now, because the uniformed guard had her mouth mashed against mine, French kissing me vigorously. She had one of my breasts in each hand, stroking, squeezing and teasing by rubbing the palms of her hands across them and then trapping the tit between two fingers and pulling on it. Down below, the blonde was still giving me the full benefit of her skills with her mouth and one hand (and she was clearly a practiced pussy-eater), whilst shafting her own cunt with her other hand. My own hands were splayed out against the wall on either side of me, partly to steady myself lest the fireworks exploding in my body and brain should cause me to faint, and partly to brace myself and push my pelvis outwards so that the blonde woman could get at more of my pussy.

The sensations mounted like a ride on a jerky escalator, but always heading to the top. At last, I reached the crest and plunged over, stunned by the explosive pleasure of my first-ever full orgasm. Tears were streaming down my cheeks – tears of release and relief, tears of delight and joy. The uniformed guard produced a tissue from somewhere, and with gentle solicitude wiped my eyes dry, murmuring ‘there, there, baby doll, you’re just fine now’. Her partner gave me some last licks on the cunt, lapping up my juices, and then rose to her feet and kissed her lover, who drew my taste into her mouth, savouring it. I noticed the two women briefly exchange a glance and a nod.

The brunette guard turned back to me, and for a moment her hand explored my pussy, slipping a finger into me for an inch or so. I gave a sigh of pleasure and tried to spread my legs further apart for her, responses which she noted with an approving smile. She told me that what she intended to do to me would get too noisy for here, and so the blonde and I smoothed down our clothes and followed her across the shop floor, into the lift, and down to the security office in the basement. This was quite a bare room, with two desks and a couple of chairs, some lockers against one wall and, along the other, the most useful thing of all – a sturdy camp bed covered with a large grey blanket.

It became apparent that the blonde woman was not only the security guard’s lover and live-in partner, but her work colleague as well – in fact, she was the undercover plain-clothes store detective. No wonder that she had the time to cruise the various departments, making casual soundings of the attractive women or pretty teens who she encountered. It was their practice, when either of them spotted someone who they thought might be receptive, for the blonde to start the opening moves whilst the uniformed guard watched through the security cameras. If the blonde could persuade her prey to come into the fitting room, the guard allowed five minutes for things to get hot and then staged the ‘discovery’.

‘Nearly all of the lesbians in this town pass through our hands, at some point or other,’ said the uniformed guard with evident satisfaction. ‘After all,’ she continued, ‘most women shop here at least sometimes, and we are pretty good at picking out the vibes from the lezzies, whether they’re fourteen or forty – it’s just something in the way they are looking at the other women, checking them out.’

‘It’s true’, affirmed the sexy blonde, ‘especially if you watch how they look at a pretty young chick, or someone with a short skirt or a lot of cleavage showing. I mean, straight women will look too, of course, it’s instinctive to take note of the competition, but us lesbos have a different kind of interest, another way of doing it, with just a special sort of glance – and we are experts at spotting that!’

They explained that, as a result, they were at the centre of a wide lesbian network, having roles varying from match-makers to party organisers. In particular – and my interest in this was obvious – they could put young teens in contact with experienced mature women who had a place where both could enjoy mutual pleasure, the older woman tutoring the young girl in the lesbian arts. This sounded good, so good – and it had all been here, been going on under my nose, and I never knew it before!

I asked tentatively whether there was any danger of their activities being found out by the store manager. The uniformed guard replied with a derisive laugh:

‘That dyke bitch? No way – she has a thing for young black chicks, and the deal is that if we get one of them, we break her in and then pass her pussy upstairs to the boss. That keeps her happy – and her mouth full of black cunt, just the way she likes it!’

‘In fact’, added her blonde lover, eyeing my school uniform, ‘the last black bitch to drop her panties for us was wearing the same uniform you are – I’ll bet you know her, she was hot stuff.’ I gasped in wet arousal at the prospect that any of the girls at my school, black or white, was an active promiscuous lesbian.

The uniformed guard took up her stance, leaning back against one of the desks, her hips resting against its edge and her feet about a yard apart. The blonde woman gestured me to kneel in front of her lover, and I hastened to comply – for it heralded another first, one in many ways I was looking forward to most: my first turn at making love to another woman, my first taste of female cunt. As I assumed my position, the blonde slowly pulled up the other woman’s uniform skirt, like the lifting of the curtain at the theatre for act one of the play. There came into view a stunning sight, for the brunette had a traditional taste in underwear: her old-fashioned stockings were held up by straps from a lovely garter belt in a soft lilac colour, with matching panties that were decorated with sections of black lace. With a sense of wonder, I slipped a finger inside the waistband of her panties at each side, and felt a luxuriant thrill as I slowly drew them down her legs. This revealed to my delighted gaze her protruding and completely shaven pudenda, glistening along its central slit with a sheen of wetness.

The security guard took over the duty of holding up her skirt, as the blonde woman transferred her attention to her partner’s uniform shirt, unbuttoning it and pulling it back to hang from the shoulders. This revealed the bra that completed her lingerie set, its lilac side panels and cups decorated with black polka-dots, and with the top half of the cups made of the black lace. She had firm breasts, medium-sized but probably at least one cup size larger than those of her blonde companion. The latter began to caress these with one hand, whilst with the other she gave an encouraging push on the back of my head, impelling my mouth forward onto her lover’s pussy, and avidly watching everything that I did.

I tried to remember how the blonde had serviced me, and did my best to emulate it – an effort which turned out to be pretty good, from both the noises and physical reactions which followed. When I found what I was sure must be the nub of the woman’s clit with my mouth, I sucked and licked it as firmly as possible, and pushed my index finger deep into the vaginal hole, savouring its warm and wet muscular strength. After I had pulled this in and out a dozen or so times, at increasing tempo, she suddenly shouted: ‘Oh, fuck – I’m coming, I’m coming! – yeah, now baby, fuck me now!’ I was electrified, and gasped as her hips juddered violently and sweet juices ran out of her pussy all over my face and hand. I felt wonderful – I had made a woman orgasm, and had enjoyed it so much I thought that I had probably come myself when she did.

Finally, they gave me the last step in my initiation into fully-fledged lesbianism – my first ever full penetrations by another woman. The guard removed her skirt and shirt, remaining a true vision of female dominance in her boots, stockings, garter belt and bra, whilst her blonde companion stripped down to just her hold-ups and bra. From one of the lockers, the guard produced matching strap-on dildos, and they each fastened one into place. My eyes bulged at the sight: I did feel a moment of anxiety, but nothing was going to stop me now. I shed everything except my white knee socks and lay down on the camp bed, legs spread open. The guard knelt between my thighs, and with a firm forward push inserted her dildo into my pussy, whilst her lover offered her plastic rod to my mouth, and I sucked on it as the brunette began shafting me in the missionary position. I was too inexperienced to be able to hold back my orgasm for long, and within a minute or so my back arched, I thrust my hips into the air, my fists beat on the side of the bed, and I gave an ululating cry of ecstasy.

It had been amazing and wonderful, but I found that the next stage was even more to my taste. After the brunette pulled out of me, her blonde companion got me to roll over onto my hands and knees, my ass thrust up and out at her. She scratched my back for a moment (very sensuous, let me recommend it), reached under to squeeze my tits again, and then the next thing that I felt was the tip of her strap-on nudging between my gaping labial lips. The blonde took a firm grip at my waist, and with a smooth thrust slid the plastic phallus deep into my well-lubricated hole. The arousal and eroticism was indescribable, and in this way I discovered my favourite sex position. I squealed with pleasure, and my begging encouragements for her to be harder, faster and deeper produced the requested result. I felt almost as if I was on the end of a battering ram, and my breaths became strangled gasps and shudders as I was bowled along into the biggest, best, most bone-shaking orgasm of them all.

After it, I was weak and exhausted, but deliriously happy. As I lay on the camp bed between them, my body receiving their gentle fluttering kisses and caresses, my thoughts returned to the tale of the black girl from my school who had eagerly responded to their advances – and who, I suddenly realised, had also been taken by the same strap-ons that had just been shafting my own pussy. I wheedled more details from them, until suddenly the blonde detective recalled that she had kept some of the security camera film from that day (which had been about four weeks ago). She put it in the video player, and my knees buckled with surprise when I saw who it showed. I recognised her at once, of course, with mingled shock and instant blazing lust, for she was indeed gorgeous and beautiful. Miranda was none other than Deputy Head Girl of the school, someone I had always thought of as a swot and a complete goody-goody. She was openly very Christian and moral, although as her father was an evangelical preacher, maybe she didn’t have much option there – in fact, I mused, watching Miranda’s eager response to the blonde woman, as she hurried with her into the fitting room, maybe her surface appearance was all just an act, maybe she was just like me, a lesbo slut gagging for pussy.

I thanked them both profoundly – for giving me my first lesbian experiences in such a fantastic and complete way, and for the information about the full-breasted black babe. Even if she was regularly spreading for the store manager, there must be plenty of other times when she was on her own, and perhaps she would be keen to have a girlfriend who shared her tastes – and who tasted her. I tottered from the building, sore and a bit bruised between the legs, but wonderfully fulfilled and transported with excitement at the prospects so suddenly opening up ahead of me.

Before I left, the blonde woman gave me her mobile phone number and said to call them if I wanted more; if I did, they would give me directions to their house, where I could come and be fucked all day on Sunday; I could also then arrange to be put in touch with some other women. I walked out into the street, stopped under the awning at the shop’s front, and rang the number immediately. The blonde woman answered, and laughed when she realised who it was.

‘Tell me now, please, and I’ll be there’, I said, ‘I just can’t wait!’

And I couldn’t, not only for Sunday but also for the very next day … never had I been so impatient to get to school before, where I was longing for a quiet word with our stunning, curvaceous and – it would seem – lesbian Deputy Head Girl.

If you enjoyed this, check out ‘Shoplifter Surprise’ and my other stories … you might like them too … (to find them, follow the author link at the top of this story)