Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By KaiaKitty

“Hello little one.”

The words formed on the page in front of me. For weeks I had been writing in the large leather-bound book with a lock that my aunt had bought for me to use as a diary. The book was old but all of its pages had been blank, and I had been writing my most secret thoughts in it… everything from the bad stuff that sometimes happened at school to the names of the girls and teachers that I thought were pretty. But the handwriting that appeared on the first page was not my own.

I flipped through the rest of the book and realized that all of my diary entries had disappeared. Flipping back to the front, I saw that another line of the elegant cursive writing had appeared.

“Are you there?”

Hesitantly, I picked up my pen and wrote: “Who is this? Is this a trick?”

“I’m sorry, little one. I didn’t mean to alarm you. My name is Alana. I found your Dream Book in the library and I was intrigued by it, so I took the book home so I could write to you.”

“Dream book? I don’t understand.”

“Have you not used one before?”

“No. I don’t even know what it is. Is this some kind of a joke?”

“The Dream Book allows people to share their dreams across different worlds. Here in Liandine we have a library where these books are kept.”

I hesitated for a moment.

“So you read my diary?”

“Is that what you were writing about? I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was meant to be private.”

This had to be a trick of some kind. I examined the book to look for some clue as to how this was happening. But there were no wires or secret little microchips that I could find, and the paper seemed like ordinary parchment.

“How do I know this is real?”

“How do we know anything is real, little one? But I do know that your name is Alyssa Knight and that you live in a town called Kenmore, that you are eleven years old and your brother sometimes steals your bacon and you hate your algebra class, but you think your teacher Ms. Pattinson is really pretty. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Who are you again?”

“My name is Alana. I’m a woman who lives in a village called Liandine, in a world in very different from yours.”

“Like in space?”

“Ha ha… every world is in space, child. But mine is probably in another reality.”

“Another reality? Is that even possible?” I asked, skeptical.

“Would you like to see it?”

I thought for a moment.

“How?”

“Tonight before you go to sleep, focus on the book and say, ‘Take me to the Book of Dreams.’ You’ll be able to see my world then. And then maybe you will believe this isn’t a trick.”

That night before I went to sleep I did as she had told me. I held the book in my arms and whispered, “Take me to the Book of Dreams.” I lay back in my bed and tried to sleep, but I kept wondering what would happen. I wondered if this wasn’t just a stupid joke after all, or if it was real, what kind of a world I would see.

In my dreams I saw a village with stone buildings painted white, like the pictures of the villages in the Greek Islands that I had seen before. I was walking through the narrow streets and I could feel the gentle breeze of the wind and the warmth of the twin suns in the sky above me. I could smell the exotic dishes in the marketplace and touch the skins of the strange fruits and vegetables displayed in the stalls, and the women and girls that wandered the streets in brightly colored dresses.

I awoke with a start, grabbed the book and began writing furiously.

“It’s real! OMG It’s really real!!! Are you there? Hello? Alana are you there??”

After a long moment, her writing appeared.

“I’m here, little one. So now you believe me?”

“Yes! This is so awesome!”

I imagined that she must have been smiling at my enthusiasm.

“Yes, I suppose it is. I’m glad you enjoyed your visit.”

“I have so many questions but I have to get ready for school!”

“Well then, you should get ready for school.”

“But your village is so beautiful. I just want to see it again.”

“You will. But for now you need to do the right thing. I will be here when you return.”

“But…”

“Go on! But first, answer me this one question.”

“Anything.”

“What does OMG mean?”

*  *  *

There was no way I could concentrate on school. All I could think about was the village and the magic book that was now my secret refuge. I wanted desperately for the day to end so I could go back and ask Alana questions. I wanted to know everything about her and the world she lived in. When the bus dropped me off I ran all the way home and straight up to my room.

“Alana? Are you there?”

“Yes I’m here, little one. I can sense when you are near the book. How was school?”

“Good, but I don’t want to talk about it right now. I want to talk about you.”

“All right. What do you wish to know?”

“Everything.”

She told me she made a living as a painter and that she had come to live in Liandine after coming of age, whatever that meant. She wrote that the dream books were sometimes used to write to people in other villages, but that some of the books wound up passing through something called the ether and appeared in other worlds.

“You sound amazing,” I wrote back, “I wish I could paint like you.”

“Maybe I can teach you through the book.”

“I’d like that.”

I paused for a moment.

“Alana, what do you look like?”

“Would you like to see?”

“Yes, if it’s okay.”

“Turn the page.”

The image of a blonde woman appeared on the following page, painted, it seemed, in soft colors. She wore a white toga-like dress and sat on a stool with one of her long legs curled up under her. Her eyes were blue and her hair braided in a long tress behind her. Her smiling face appeared kind and gentle. It was hard to tell but I guess she must have been in her late thirties, around my mom’s age.

“Wow, you’re beautiful,” I wrote back. “How did you do that?”

“If you hold a picture to the pages, its image is transferred to the book.”

Not thinking, I grabbed the nearest picture of myself, a simple photo of me climbing up a tree and looking back at the camera. I placed the picture between the pages and held it there for a moment, then opened the book again and waited.

“This is you?”

“Yes,” I wrote, biting my lip. I was nervous about what she might think of me.

“You have a beautiful smile, little one. And such lovely brown hair.”

I blushed even though she wasn’t even in the room. “Thank you.”

“And such a beautiful little bottom. You’re a sexy little girl.”

My eyes widened.

“WHAT?”

“I’m sorry… was that too forward?”

“Um, yeah, just a little bit.”

“Oh my dear, I’m terribly sorry if I offended you. I thought there was an attraction.”

I thought for a moment. This was all moving too fast. But after the shock wore off I realized that what she had written wasn’t so bad.

“No… it’s okay… well… I mean, nobody has ever said that to me before.”

“I find that hard to believe, little one. I’m sure lots of women would find you very sexy.”

I paused again. This was getting weird.

“Um… actually… women don’t usually say that about girls here.”

“Really? Why not?”

“They just don’t.”

“How odd. How do you choose your First, then?”

“My first?”

“Yes, don’t you have a First to guide you to adulthood?”

“Well we have teachers… but… I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“A First is the person a child chooses to share their first lovemaking. They become their first lover and guide them through their adolescence to their adulthood.”

“A First is an adult?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And they… have sex with you? When you’re my age?”

“Yes, it is considered a great honor to be chosen as a child’s First. It is a heavy responsibility.”

I paused for a long while. The idea seemed repulsive to me at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder about it.

“Are you still there, little one?”

“I am. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About what you said. That kind of thing doesn’t happen on my world. Here adults can get into trouble if they do that with children.”

“So you go through your adolescence with nobody to guide you? No one to share your first intimacies with?”

“Well, we can date in high school and stuff, like when we’re teenagers. But no, there’s no one.”

“It must be a very lonely way to grow up.”

“Yeah. Sometimes, I guess,” I wrote back.

There was a long pause. Finally she wrote back., “Well, let’s not dwell on such sad things. Would you like to tell me about your day?”

Our conversation shifted to safer topics. I told her all about how my day at school went, and she listened, and she told me a bit about how her day was. We wrote back and forth for a couple of hours, until dinner, and then a little more that night.

*  *  *

This went on for several weeks. We would write to each other and share our experiences, and sometimes she would offer advice, but mostly she just listened and understood. We were able to learn a lot from one another, and through our dreams we got to share the experience of each other’s worlds.

I found out that in her world, women could live together in villages away from men, and that nobody minded if you were gay or lesbian. She told me that it was no surprise that such things were barely tolerated on my world. “Repressed” is how she described it. But she was always very careful not to write anything that might upset or shock me. She never spoke about firsts or sex or called me anything but “little one”. But as we grew closer I found myself wanting to understand her better, and that meant trying to understand how her world worked.

“Alana,” I wrote one late evening, “who was your First?”

“Are you sure you want to know, little one? People from your world would find it disturbing.”

“No, it’s okay. I really want to know.”

“I don’t want to upset you or tell you anything you might find… difficult.”

“It’s okay. I promise. I just want to know more about you.”

It seemed like she was taking a moment to decide what was safe to tell me. But finally the words appeared:

“I chose my mother, but her desires were not the same as mine. But fortunately her sister, my aunt, shared the same preferences as myself.”

I tried to suppress my shock.

“Parents can be Firsts?”

“Yes, as long as they are of the same gender. It’s not that uncommon. I am told the experience can be very intense.”

“And you wanted your mother to be your First?”

“I did. Desperately. It broke her heart to deny me. But my aunt accepted and I adored every moment of our time together.”

“What was it like?” I asked. “Weren’t you scared?”

“A little, at first. But she was very patient. We began living together and all through those first months she never pressed me once. We spent most of our time talking and getting to know each other better and she was always very kind to me.”

“So she waited until you were ready?” I asked.

“Yes. Finally, one cool summer night as we lay together in her bed, I turned to her and said I was ready.”

“And then what happened?”

“Do you honestly wish to know?”

I paused for a moment, wondering just how much she would be willing to share.

“Of course.” I wrote. “Please tell me.”

“I remember she smiled at me. It was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. Then she touched my cheek gently and drew me to her and we shared our first kiss. It was magical.”

I read, at a loss for words.

“Then what happened?” I wrote finally.

“She stood in the moonlight coming through the window and undressed for me. I remember her dark hair shimmering on her shoulders. I wish I could describe how beautiful she was, and how the way she looked at me made me feel safe and excited at the same time.”

There was a pause.

“Are you all right? I don’t wish to go on if this disturbs you.”

I hesitated for a moment before I answered.

“Please go on.”

“She turned around in the moonlight while I watched her, then she came and sat on the bed next to me. She took my hands in hers and placed them on her breasts and she let me explore her body. Her skin was very soft and I remember how her large breasts felt in my small hands… how her nipples stiffened as I ran circles around them with my fingers.

She drew me in again and we kissed for a very long time. She lay me back on the bed and kissed me harder. ”

“What was that like?”

“I remember the weight of her body pressing down on mine. When you’re a little girl with a woman it’s very different. Her body surrounds you and you feel so tiny against her. It’s overwhelming and exciting at the same time.”

Alana’s words drifted through me and I imagined myself lying on a bed with a beautiful woman, my little eleven-year-old body beneath her as she kissed me urgently.

“Then what happened?”

“She slipped my night dress off and sat there gazing at me for a while. I can’t describe the way it felt having her eyes on me like that… knowing that she wanted me. Then she reached out with her hands and ran them along my body… along my arms and chest and my unformed breasts… along my thighs and finally to the crevice between my legs.”

“To your pussy?” I wrote, wondering if the word meant the same in her reality.

“Yes. She touched me very gently there. I recall her eyes never left mine. I think she wanted to see how her fingers were affecting me.”

“Did it feel good?” I asked. I was growing bolder in my excitement.

“Yes. Almost as good as her tongue lapping at my nipples. Are you all right? Is this too much?”

“No it’s fine,” I wrote, almost annoyed at how she was hesitating. “Please tell me more.”

“That was how she drew my first orgasm from me… with the gentle touch of her hands.  Afterwards she lay next to me and kissed me and stroked me tenderly, and after we had rested she climaxed me again using her tongue.”

“Oh wow.”

“I see I have your interest, child. How do you feel about what I’ve told you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You do not find what I’ve told you… distasteful?”

“No,” I wrote honestly, “I think it’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad.”

“Did she… ever let you touch her?”

“Oh, of course. That very night she showed me how to pleasure her with my hands. In some ways it was more exciting than what she had done for me. She cried so loud I thought I had hurt her, but then she grabbed me and held me tightly and kissed me over and over again.”

My mouth watered as I wrote:

“Did you ever… taste her down there?”

“Child, you are so shy. You’ve already written the word. You can write it again.”

I blushed.

“Did you ever lick her pussy?”

“Strangely she denied me that pleasure for several weeks after our first tryst. She said she wanted me to be comfortable about it because to do that is not always an easy thing for a young girl. So she began to train me, if you will.”

“How?”

“She would pleasure herself while I watched, licking her own juices from her fingers. At first she would just lie next to me while she did so, but then she let me sit between her legs and watch as her fingers explored her pussy. Later on I would lay my head against her thigh while she climaxed. I became accustomed to her scent… and then aroused by it… but she still denied me.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

“One morning I awoke and found her straddling me, her knees on either side of my head, her fingers working in and out of her while she moaned. I tried to raise my head to her but she pushed me back and made me lie there while she came so hard. I remember feeling her juices spatter against my face. Then she rolled away from me sobbing.

‘Why are you crying?’ I asked.

‘Because I want you so very badly, little one,’ she told me. ‘You have no idea how much I long for you. Look at me.’

“She rolled over and spread her legs for me. Her fingers went down and opened her labia. I could see how wet and glistening her pussy was. Her eyes met mine and she said, ‘This is what you do to me, young one. This is how you make me feel every time I look at you.  I love you dearly, but my desire for you is boundless.’

“At that moment I felt like I would rather die than deny her anything.

‘Please Auntie. Please let me do this.’

‘Do you desire it, child?’

It was then that I realized why she had waited. She wanted this to be a true act of desire, not out of obligation or duty or even as a demonstration of the love she knew I already felt. Until then I had been aroused by her, excited by her, and mesmerized by her beauty, but for the first time in my life I felt desire for her, so much so that it burned me inside.”

‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘More than anything.’

“I lay down between her legs and stared at her, memorizing every small feature of her pussy. I looked up at her and saw her gazing at me in expectation. Finally, deliberately, I leaned forward, extended my tongue and traced it up along her labia until I found her clit. I licked very slowly, exploring, listening to her gasping breath. I felt her hands reach down and her fingers entwine in my hair as she drew me closer. I was drowned in the scent of her.

“I don’t know how long I lay there, cradled between her thighs, lapping at her pussy and feeling her climax over and over. I know that my hand found my own clit and I came twice myself. When it was over, I lay atop her body and fell asleep to the rise and fall of her chest.

 

“Are you there? Alyssa, are you there?”

I was there, but I was too busy climaxing and screaming into my pillow so my parents wouldn’t know what I was doing.

“Yes I’m here,” I finally wrote. “That was amazing.”

“It was. Would you like to see a portrait of us?”

“Yes please.”

The image that appeared in my dream book was that of a young girl, about my age, but with golden blonde hair, her nude body in the arms of an equally nude woman with dark hair and blue eyes. Somehow, the artist had captured the expression of pure, perfect love shared between them, tinged with a soft wisp of desire.

To be continued…