The Lesbian Bar
Copyright© 2026 by Ashley
Chapter 2
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Jennifer and Patrick decided that they were going to get married when they were both only twelve years old. Eleven years later, and they're still saving up for their dream wedding. She finds their lovemaking enjoyable, although nowadays it rarely satisfies her needs. Having known nothing else, though, she is happy enough. Then, while away on a business trip, she accidentally strays into a lesbian bar and is seduced by a young and beautiful girl.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/Fa Consensual Lesbian Fiction Analingus First Masturbation Oral Sex Petting
On the flight home, I have a lot of time to think about what I’ve done.
Patrick and I had been childhood sweethearts, and, admittedly, under some pressure from our parents, we didn’t have sex until we got engaged when we were eighteen. Sex had been exciting and thrilling at first, but I suppose it was inevitable that with so little experience, we’d settled into a routine. I still enjoyed it very much, but ... well ... I very rarely had an orgasm anymore. What’s worse was that I’d begun to fake them. I actually got most of my sexual relief courtesy of the handheld shower in the bath.
Patrick had gone down on me. Once. I’d loved it, but after not-quite-enough time, he’d stopped and mounted me in the predictable missionary position, and finished not much later. He didn’t say anything, but the fact that he never did it again made it pretty clear that he hadn’t really enjoyed it. We never talked much about sex, and ... well ... there was always the shower head.
If nothing else, Marie had taught me that there was a whole lot more enjoyment to be had from sex than what we’d been doing up to now. I somehow needed to get us out of the rut we were in, but how?
I was broken out of my reverie by a softly spoken, “Excuse me.” It was the young woman across the aisle from me who I’d noticed when I was going to my seat. We’d smiled at each other, and I’d felt a little tingle. God, I’d thought, am I a lesbian now?
“I just need something from my bag,” she explains, glancing at the locker above my head.
“That’s fine,” I tell her, captivated by the radiant smile on her beautiful face. As she reaches above me, her blouse gapes, and I have the most marvellous view of her boobs, barely contained by a gorgeous lacy bra that’s only inches from my face. The tingling comes back with vengeance as I find myself imagining nuzzling my face between them and sucking her nipples to hardness.
It seems to take her a long time to find whatever she’s looking for, and all the time her lovely breasts are jiggling enticingly right before my eyes.
“Sorry about that,” she says as she shuts the locker; she has what appears to be a sleep mask in her hand.
“Oh, that’s fine. No problem,” I say, hoping my face isn’t betraying my arousal too much.
Did she do that on purpose? I wonder as she sits down. Was she coming on to me? Am I giving off some kind of vibe now?
I’m just wondering if I should try to engage her in conversation, when she puts the mask on and leans her head back against the rest.
I can still see a little of her bra, and it’s very, very pretty. Maybe I should buy some new underwear? Except that hers isn’t underwear; it’s lingerie. Underwear is what I wear: sensible, comfy ... and boring. I decide there and then that after I get home - hopefully not too late that morning - I’ll grab a quick shower and a bite to eat, and then go into town and buy myself - no, us - some sexy lingerie.
While I’m showering, I remember how beautiful Marie’s vulva looked, totally shaven, and I get a fresh razor out of the pack and, very carefully, shave my pussy. I love the way that it feels afterwards, and I’m positive that Patrick will too.
So that’s how I find myself standing a little nervously in what’s called the ‘Intimate Apparel’ department, surrounded by rack after rack of laciness.
Then I see a sales assistant in the next aisle, dealing with another customer. I can’t help but stare because she is stunningly gorgeous. Her shoulder length, wavy blonde hair frames a beautiful but delicate face with lovely large eyes that, even at this distance, I can see are a piercing blue color. It’s hard to tell her age: she might be as young as twenty, but possibly twenty-five. I can’t take my eyes off her, and reach out without looking to pick up a hanger at random as cover in case she should look my way.
So far so normal: no reason at all why one grown woman shouldn’t admire the beauty of another. Then her face lights up as she smiles at something the customer says to her. It’s a generous, open, and honest smile that I instantly want bequeathed on me. It draws my eyes to her full, sensuous lips, and I feel a tingle down below as I imagine what it would be like to kiss them.
She turns my way, and my face burns as I’m caught gazing at her. But she just nods, and mouths ‘two minutes’ to me. I manage what I know is a nervous smile back, and then drag my eyes away and pretend to examine the items on the hanger, but I’m not really looking at them; I’m peeking under my eyebrows at her high, firm breasts, hugged by a simple white blouse. Suddenly I’m flashing on the memory of Marie, suckling on rubbery nipples while caressing the impossibly soft skin of her pert breasts.
My nipples harden, and the tingling of my clit is joined by an undeniable moistness inside. God, I want to kiss her so, so badly! Shit! I think, as the girl’s eyes flick in my direction again. All I can do is pray that my eyes aren’t betraying the desires that I’m feeling. When she smiles at me, all the strength seems to leak away from my legs, and my heart is pounding in my chest. I can’t think straight, and I force my eyes to scan the rack in front of me, but I’m not really paying any attention to them at all.
“Can I help you, madam?” The voice is soft and almost musical, and it’s accompanied by a perfume that’s warmly floral, with notes of vanilla and a hint of musk. It’s lovely, and I turn, and the breath catches in my throat at the sight of her smile.
“I ... er ... I’m ... I’m...” My brain just refuses to work, and I gabble like an imbecile.
“Are you looking for some lingerie?” she asks.
“Yes,” I gasp, hugely grateful for her lifeline. “Yes, yes, that’s right. I am.”
“Not this, though, I don’t think,” she says, gently taking the hanger from my hand. Now I finally look at it; it’s the type of underwear that I’ve always imagined my mother, or even my grandmother, might wear, and once again the blood rushes to my face.
Her eyes travel slowly down my body, and then back up again, and my already wobbly legs tremble.
“Something sexy and sensual, but not too--”
“Yes,” I interrupt. Sexy and sensual is what I need! “But I’ve never really...” I trail off, embarrassed to admit that I’ve never bought underwear in a store before.
“Would you like me to choose some things for you to try on?”
My mind begins to unravel: She’s going to choose what she thinks will look good on me? Try on? Try on?! You can try things on?!
“Yes please,” I say, or more accurately, squeak.
She looks me up and down again, further adding to my arousal. “Thirty-five, twenty-five, thirty ... erm six, and a C?”
I can’t for the life of me remember what size I am. It sounds about right. “I ... erm ... think so,” I mumble.
“I’ll just get a selection,” she says, and then I watch as she moves across several racks, pursing her lips as she picks out four sets on hangers; they all look very tiny, and my pussy clenches as I imagine trying them on, and I begin to panic: Oh, God, what if I start to leak?
She turns back to me. “Shall we try these?”, she says and then heads off, and I meekly follow. “Are these a treat for someone?” she asks as we walk.
“Yes,” I admit.
“Were they good, or were you bad?” she asks, smiling over her shoulder at me. I feel my face blanch as a wave of guilt washes through me, and her smile vanishes. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”
I try desperately to regain some composure: she really has my emotions in turmoil. “No, no. That’s fine,” I say as airily as I can manage.
We go into a short corridor where there are five doors, and she gestures for me to go into the first open one. With the door closed behind us, she puts the hangers she’s been carrying on hooks, and then turns to me.
“Let’s get these clothes off then, shall we?” She says it so matter-of-factly that it seems like the most normal thing in the world. And it’s only when I’m standing in front of her in just my bra and panties, that I begin to feel a little uncomfortable.
“Right then, let’s check these measurements,” she continues calmly, taking a tape measure from a pocket. “Arms up for me, please, Madam.”
“Please call me Jennifer,” I say, putting my arms up. “Madam makes me feel so old.”
“What a beautiful name,” she says. “I’m Drew.” Then she points to the badge on her chest, adding, “Duh!” and we both giggle. She measures me below my breasts, and then moves the tape up, laying it carefully over my nipples. I’m embarrassed because it feels nice, and they immediately and quite obviously harden. “I’m sorry,” I say, blushing again,
“Please don’t be, Jennifer. You have lovely breasts and these...” she pauses as she strokes my right nipple! ... are quite delightful.” A shiver goes right through me, and both nipples stick out like little bullets.
“Thank you,” I whisper automatically, even though I’m completely flustered by what she’s done. I try to tell myself that it’s probably quite normal for two young women to be quite relaxed about their bodies, but it’s sent my pulse racing and heated my skin all over.
“Now your waist,” she says, dropping to her knees in front of me. I begin to tremble as she reaches around me, her face just inches from my pussy as she arranges the tape around my middle.
“OK. Now here,” she says, and her fingers brush the cheeks of my bottom as she lowers the tape down below my hips. As she brings the end of the tape together to take the measurement, she’s pressing directly on my pussy. Right on the bit at the top, which feels so very, very good! “Hmm,” she says, adjusting it a few times, “Between a thirty-five and a thirty-six.” The sensations of her fingers on my most very sensitive part are ... well, frankly, they’re gorgeous, and I can’t catch my breath. “A thirty-six, I think we’ll call it,” she says after a few more exquisite adjustments. I almost moan out loud when she stops touching me and stands up.
Reaching into another pocket, she pulls out a paper packet. As she undoes it, it becomes apparent that it’s a paper thong. “It’s store policy to wear this underneath, I’m afraid,” she says, handing it to me. I look at it, and my already rapid heart rate skyrockets: I’m going to be naked apart from this tiny scrap of paper!
She riffles through the hangers she brought and hands me a tiny pair of black lacy panties and a bra that looks like it will barely contain half of my boobs. For a heart-stopping moment, I think that she expects me to try them on while she watches, but then she smiles at me. “You try those, and I’ll see what else I can find in your size,” she says, slipping out of the door.
As I look at myself in one of the mirrors, the comparison between what I’m wearing and what I’m holding in my hand is like chalk and cheese. I stand there frozen for a few seconds before I realize that if I dawdle too much, Drew might come back and find me totally naked.
I quickly take off my underwear and then pull on the thong and then the new panties. They’re tiny, barely covering my mound, and the edges of the thong are escaping around the edges. The bra is tiny as well, only just covering my still-hard nipples. Peering over my shoulder, I can see that the panties don’t cover my bottom hardly at all. It’s at that moment that Marie opens the door. Her eyes look me up and down, lingering, I’m sure, on my groin, and then do the same to my reflection in the mirror.