Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By JetBoy

As I passed by a neighborhood church today just as the Sunday service had ended, I paused to watch as the congregation made its way through the exit doors — adults exchanging halfhearted greetings with one another and stifling yawns; children spilling out into the sunlight, giddy with freedom.

I thought of where those people had been just moments ago, listening to their minister as he droned on and on about sin and redemption, then found myself wondering how they would respond if they knew the pure, unvarnished truth about me and my daughter.

Imagine the uproar from these good Christian souls if I were to stand before them and publicly confess what goes on between my little girl and me behind the doors of our home. What disdain, what condemnation, what outright hatred would they call down upon me for loving my child as I do?

Then again, perhaps there are a few other mommies here who might feel a twinge of hidden kinship with me, having pleasured and enjoyed their daughters in the same way — or they merely long to, and lack the courage to try.

My name? For our purpose, let’s say it‘s Carrie. In nearly every respect, I’m a typical suburban single mom, divorced and in my late twenties. I have a daughter who I’ll call Lori, ten years old. She is the light of my life, in more ways than one.

Lori is different from the other children in our neighborhood in one crucial way: she is autistic, the fragile shoots of her mind damaged before they had the chance to sprout and thrive.

In some ways, her autism is mild — she doesn’t injure herself or have fits. On the other hand, her language and communication skills are stunted. She seldom speaks, and will probably never be able to read, even on the level of a kindergartner. For the rest of her life, Lori will be a little girl who needs to be cared for.

It’s not easy, at first, to tell that Lori is who she is. Her eyes aren’t dull and lusterless, like those of so many autistic kids. Instead, they are large, bright as winter snow, but lack involvement with the world around her. My daughter has an angelic face, one that enchants strangers until they come to realize her condition. I’ve encountered it dozens and dozens of times, and still I feel impotent rage at the cheap pity I see on people’s faces when they realize. Oh, I see. Retarded. What a shame, what-a-shame.

My husband Mitch was like that — except that most of the pity he felt was for himself, saddled with the misfortune of a defective child. Oh, he went through the motions of being a caring father, but they seldom rang true. He never was truly at ease around Lori, and she sensed it.

What infuriated me was that Mitch couldn’t get far enough past our daughter’s disability to understand what a sweet, beautiful soul she had. Lori was an enchanting little girl in her special way, endlessly lovable — but to him she was damaged goods. He never said as much, but I knew, and it couldn’t help but affect what we had. By the time our marriage fell apart, I was coming to despise him. He’s out of our lives completely now, and good riddance.

As my daughter grew older, there was a change she went through that I hadn’t expected: she became more aware of her body and as a result, grew a bit more shy. Not long after she turned seven, Lori decided that she no longer wanted me to bathe with her. By then, my child was mostly able to wash herself anyhow, so I gave Lori her privacy. I’d often shared the tub with my little girl in a completely innocent way — nothing at all sexual in the experience, or at least not that I understood at the time. Since things changed between Lori and I, we bathe together often and love it.

So what happened to my daughter and I to set us on this path of forbidden pleasure? Simple enough: it started one evening when I began chatting on a lesbian website, a few months after Lori’s ninth birthday.

One day, a few of my co-workers and I were snickering over an article in our local alternative weekly about women who engaged in dirty talk on the computer. We joked about the whole thing, but I found myself intrigued by the idea of sharing sexy thoughts with a complete stranger. Eventually, my curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to seek out one of these chat sites and take it for a test drive.

There was another reason that the idea of anonymous internet sex appealed to me: I’d been having secret fantasies about women for years, and since Mitch had abandoned me and Lori to run off with a receptionist from his accountancy firm, I was fed up to the tits with men — hungering for something, anything different. Seeking out interested women via my computer seemed like a safe, anonymous way for me to dip a toe into the lesbian lifestyle without committing myself.

So one night, I sat down in front of the computer, logged on, took a deep breath and entered the address of the site I wanted. Lori was asleep, and I was feeling lonely.

My first impression was shock when I saw how blatant and forward these women were, right from the outset, without any hesitation or build-up. They wanted to know was how old I was, if I shaved my pussy, if I liked large breasts, if I owned a strap-on — and, yes, if I would meet them for sex. There were teenage girls who claimed to be looking for a mommy figure to fuck them, housewives eager to cheat on their husbands with a woman, grown ladies seeking young hotties. It was all pretty overwhelming, truth be told.

I got over my nervousness surprisingly fast, though — and after an hour or so, found that I was totally wet. I’d never done anything remotely like this before, and the rush I got from it was exhilarating! There were gay women who wanted to chat with me about everything imaginable, and I reveled in their attention.

Finally I’d had enough, and went to my bedroom to masturbate. Lying naked on the bed, I fingered myself without mercy as I imagined meeting some of the women I’d chatted with to indulge myself in pleasures of the flesh, allowing my new lovers to do whatever they wanted: eat my pussy, fuck me with a dildo, lick my asshole.

Then I began to imagine myself doing those things, drifting into a new fantasy where I was going down on a woman and eating her juicy cunt — and that only got me hotter.

When I finally came, I practically soaked the bed! It seemed like ages since I’d been so aroused — and so satisfied.

The next day at work I was sipping coffee in the break room when one of my co-workers brought up the subject of sex chat rooms again, a bit embarrassed as she admitted that she’d visited one herself just last night. I couldn’t help but grin, and she instantly knew that I’d done the same. I blushed when she prodded me for details and only shook my head, knowing there was no way I could tell her that my internet sex talk had all been with other women — and how much the experience had turned me on!

That night, I drank a few glasses of wine to make myself warm and tingly, impatient for 9 PM to roll around to I could put Lori to bed.

As soon as I’d tucked her in, I hustled myself into the study, stripped naked, switched on the computer and logged onto the lesbian site. Knowing what to expect this time, I’d put a thick towel down in my desk chair before sitting.

Right away, a dozen women were trying to engage me in a chat. The funny thing was even though my profile was accurate – single mother, age thirty-four, with a daughter of nine — I was just as popular as if I’d claimed to be eighteen and in college. Women don’t seem to be as fixated with having young lovers as men — though as I quickly discovered, some females not only have an obsession with youth, they take it to an extreme.

At first, all the chats were about pretty standard stuff – women fucking women in a variety of role-playing situations. Then, out of the blue, one woman wrote: I’d like for your little girl to join us when we fuck.

Needless to say, I was stunned. What kind of woman would even think about sex with a nine-year-old girl?

It made me feel all weird to even imagine involving my little girl in such a perverted discussion, fantasy or not. My pulse was racing, and my palms suddenly felt damp. This isn’t right, I told myself.

I was just about to kill the site and shut off the computer, then paused; thought about it.

Did I really want to run away from this chance to explore my sexuality, just because the chat had moved past my comfort zone? I couldn’t help but feel like it would be chickening out.

I pondered this mystery woman’s proposal. Since this would be just roleplaying, would it really be all that bad? It certainly wasn’t like I’d actually be doing anything with Lori, after all. Nothing but a fantasy, really. After all, I told myself, you used to masturbate while dreaming of being fucked by the family dog.

Still, it is your own little girl we’re talking about here…

I sat in front of the computer, frozen with uncertainty as my conscience struggled with itself. Despite my apprehension, I found something strangely fascinating about this kinky scenario of Lori, me and a lesbian stranger in bed together.

Could it be some kind of weird joke? I wondered. Maybe she’s just trying to get a rise out of me.

The beep of an incoming message broke me out of my trance, and I saw that the woman I’d been chatting with had posted a new comment: Are you still there?

Taking a deep breath, I typed, What is it exactly that you want to do with my daughter??

She answered simply: I would LOVE to lick her pussy while you watch. Then I want to see you make love to her, kiss her sweet little naked body all over.

I stared blankly at the monitor. The shock I felt at seeing those words somehow knocked me completely off guard, so much so that I didn’t even recognize a wave of sexual heat building up in me until it hit like a loaded truck.

Somehow I managed to shut down the chat window before I fell to the floor, thrusting a hand between my legs to masturbate. I lay there panting furiously, fingering my cunt even harder than I had the night before, lost in a freaky fantasy like nothing I’d ever imagined.

I was thinking of my little girl as a sexual creature, imagining myself cuddling naked with her, teaching her about love. I pictured her bare, virgin slit, and saw myself licking it. I dreamed of the two of us, sharing passionate tongue kisses. I saw my own little nine-year-old daughter, joyfully giving herself to me.

What hidden corner of my mind had this desire emerged from? To this day, I don’t know the answer. True, I’d always enjoyed bathing with Lori, and had felt a keen disappointment when she no longer wanted me to join her in the tub. And I’d always been stirred by how beautiful my child was, the sight of her often making me glow inside. But those feelings had always seemed normal, something any mother might experience.

Had I already wanted my little girl as a lover without knowing it? As I lay there on the carpet, plunging three fingers into my dripping cunt, just about anything seemed possible.

I pounded myself through two frenzied orgasms, one immediately following the first —  immersed all the while in weird sex scenarios involving Lori. Somehow afterwards I made it to my feet and stumbled into the bedroom, where I promptly passed out.

The next morning, I made my way to the kitchen in a daze as if I’d been boozing it up the night before, all the lewd thoughts I’d had forgotten as I started the coffee, steeling myself for another day at the office. But when I saw Lori wander in, sleepy-eyed in her little pink top and white cotton panties, it came back to me in a rush, all the sordid images of incest and pedophilia I’d masturbated to just hours earlier.

I was consumed with remorse. My God, how could I have ever have had such thoughts about my baby? She was so sweet, so innocent, and above all, so trusting — and there I was, getting off to thoughts of taking her into my bed for my own fucked-up, selfish pleasure. For heaven’s sake, I was her mother. How could I fantasize about my little girl that way, even if it was just a masturbation scenario?

After breakfast, I passed by my study and stared grimly at the computer, sitting there silently, betraying not a hint of the perversion it had spurred me into.

Maybe I should have the Internet account closed, I thought.

I toyed with the notion for a few minutes, then decided to sleep on it for a day or two before I did anything drastic.

As the day passed on the job, I began to calm down a bit. Maybe I’d gotten carried away the night before because it had been so damn long since I’d gotten laid. Taking care of Lori filled up so much of my life, after all, and let’s face it, being the single mother of a “special needs” child — God, how I hate that fucking expression! —  made the dating scene a hell of a lot more complicated than it already was. Just finding a competent babysitter could be a major headache.

Still, I told myself, if you’re having perverted sex fantasies about your nine-year-old daughter, it’s a sign that, whatever it takes, you need to get out there and find someone to fuck, if only for one night.

Maybe that was what I needed — a good old-fashioned one-night stand. No relationship, no potential love interest, just someone to make my bed shake for one crazy evening. And since I’d been thinking in terms of a female partner, it was definitely a woman I longed for. Still, I didn’t feel quite ready to hit the lesbian bar scene, not yet.

By the time I picked Lori up from her school, I was feeling somewhat better. True, the memory of my twisted fantasies about her were still fresh, and I could feel stirrings of arousal at the sight of my smiling little girl as she ran to the car, her bare legs flashing in the afternoon sun beneath that pretty blue skirt she wore. But I felt that these longings were temporary, and I was strong-willed enough to purge them from my mind.

All of which, I suppose, goes to show how foolish we can be in the face of sexual desire. Lust is a demon who, once conjured up, won’t be banished with the wave of a magician’s wand. She’ll catch you unawares when you least expect it — and there you’ll be, a bitch in heat with itching fingers and soaked panties.

That night, as I tucked Lori into bed, I bent down to kiss her goodnight, just as I always have. When my lips touched her cheek, I suddenly felt an almost uncontrollable urge to turn her face to mine and kiss her on the mouth. In my mind’s eye, I saw my tongue sliding between Lori’s lips; saw an affectionate peck turn passionate.

I recoiled, frantic with fear at the realization what I’d almost done — what I longed to do. I felt it between my legs, that familiar twinge I get when I’m on fire with sexual want. But it wasn’t thoughts of a grownup lover that filled my mind, male or female — it was my nine-year-old daughter who made me wet!

No, no, no! This isn’t happening…

I hurriedly whispered “Goodnight, baby girl,” rushed into my room and threw myself on the bed, terrified and shivering at this… this insane thing that was snarling and writhing inside me. For God’s sake — did I have no control over myself?

As if to prove that I didn’t, my hand seemed to naturally find its way into the skimpy panties I wore, seeking my shaved pussy. In desperation, I plunged two fingers deep into my vagina, trying to visualize something, anything besides my little girl, stretched out on her bed naked, gazing up at me with those big blue eyes, so warm and loving — no, God damn it, NO!

Desperately flailing about for a distraction from these thoughts of Lori, I summoned up the memory of a lesbian film clip I’d seen once and never forgotten: a thirtyish woman having her pussy eaten by a cute young dyke with a crew cut. In my mind I desperately seized the image, hugged it close, pictured myself spread out on a bed, imagined a hot, eager mouth feasting on my cunt.

Yes, this is what I should be dreaming of, being taken by a real lover… mmmmyeah, a strong, sexy girl.

I made the young lesbian go down on me, visualized my trembling fingers touching her bristling red hair, cropped close on her skull. Something about that spurred my crazy lust even higher.

Suddenly the fantasy shifted; it wasn’t me she was licking, but my nine-year-old daughter. I saw this imaginary lesbian going down on Lori, tasting the bare slit of my child, whose face was aglow with bliss. I stood naked next to the bed, watching this butch teen make love to my little girl.

Lost in this fantasy, I did the most unimaginable thing. Clambering onto the bed, I carefully straddled Lori’s face, lowering my wet sex to her open mouth.

As I masturbated, I imagined the feel of her tongue as it cautiously explored my cunt, then grew bolder, burrowing inside me. I fingered my clit as my little girl ate me sweetly, lovingly; all the while watching her getting licked by that sexy teen with the crew cut.

Then I was coming hard, blows of pleasure crashing into me, battering away what little sense I had left.

After coming at least three times, I laid in bed totally exhausted. My head spun crazily, as if I’d spent the night knocking back tequila shots. The very walls seemed to be wobbling. Finally, I collected myself — and that’s when the guilt set in, just like before.

My God, I’d done it again! My poor little Lori. She was only a child, for Christ’s sake; my daughter, my own flesh and blood! I couldn’t allow myself to feel this way, not ever.

And yet, and yet… the vision of my naked child taunted me, made me crave things I shouldn’t. I pictured her wearing nothing but a sweet smile, wanting Mommy to play with her in this new, exciting way.

I felt torn in two as the motherly, protective side of me did battle with the newly emerging lesbian, the half that ached to teach my little girl everything about love.

Oh, I told myself that this was just a momentary craving — I was sure to get over it once I really explored sex with a woman.