Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Sammy

Now, where was I? Oh yes, frigging myself to thoughts of munching my thirteen-year-old daughter’s cunt.

Tonight, I decided on production snaps from Talk to Me, Toledo, a sitcom pilot Robin did once — and disowned in the press before filming even finished — about an obnoxious radio DJ raising his beautiful tween daughter, an aspiring model who delights in pushing his many buttons. The first and only episode involved Dad freaking out over a minor modeling gig for sunscreen after walking in on his baby girl a little too scantily clad.

It was dreck, but the production assistant, a cute intern named Tegan from the local arts school, was ‘helpful’ enough to snap a few extra pictures I said were for a demanding director interested in a ‘spiritual sequel’ to the movie Robin won her Oscar for, and he wanted candid and sensual. This wasn’t as brazen on my part as it might seem. Assistants routinely get weirder requests every day, and dropping Oscar and a dummy phrase like ‘spiritual sequel’ to something successful can sometimes be enough to get you anything in Hollywood. Besides, we had done some pretty serious flirting a few times, and I had a feeling she’d be amenable. Maybe even more than that.

“Sure, Rose! How… sensual are we talking?” The arch in her eyebrow was perfectly almost-imperceptible. She was good.

“Oh, you know… like reading a choice passage from Lolita. Enough for a guilty little spike.”

“Lolita, huh? … Is that bedtime reading for you and your… little girl?” The lip-bit “little” told me all I needed to know. I stepped forward into her nostrils.

“That copy of To the Lighthouse I saw you reading in the cafeteria the other day is actually more my speed.”

She blinked. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Smart dykes,” I breathed out, then inhaled whatever scent still hovered around her.

And with that I walked away, everything in my body wanting to scream with joy at having finally done something so bold. I had only been with a few women since leaving my husband, mostly quickies when I was on the road with my daughter. When she was with Danny, I oddly didn’t feel the need to turn my bachelorette pad into a revolving door of pussy, even though I should have. It took me too long to admit to myself that I was behaving the exact same way I had when Danny was doing shows on the road: I was simply waiting for my lovely to come home, looking at pictures of us together, and, most distressingly masturbating to mental images of us fucking. Except this time it was my daughter, so I always finished far more quickly. But like I said, tonight I was taking my time.

I cycled through the photos Tegan had taken, amazed at how sneaky she could get, the lens managing marvelous angles of Robin’s supple thighs perched on benches and seated for lunch, scant panty shots of sweaty cotton stuck up her ass, even a stray pube escaping the kind of tiny thong she had promised she wouldn’t wear outside the house. I’d have to find a way to talk to her about it… after I fucked myself to it.

I was sitting in the corner of our sectional, my dripping pussy pooling on a towel I had laid over the fabric, my laptop hooked up to the huge flat screen against the wall, my daughter’s camel toe in a bikini. It was from a surprise wrap party we had at the beach, where we banned cameras! The little minx. I imagine Tegan joining us on the beach, sneaking off to a secret little cove around the bend, nestling into the sand as we slip off our bathing suits under sizzling sun rays, my daughter and I bringing our lips together as Tegan watches and uses one hand to tweak an already hard nipple, the other moving down to furiously palm her wet pubic hair. I start finger-fucking my daughter in earnest, using her cunt juice to lube up her asshole before I force my thumb inside, making her squeal half in shock as Tegan comes for the first time, yelping, “Mommy!” herself as the sand under her cunt gets wet enough to build a castle out of. Or a pussy turret, at least.

I came, too, my daughter’s face five-feet wide on the wall dripping wet as my cunt did the same to yet another ruined towel. I fell asleep like that, as I usually did after an earthshaking orgasm, and woke up with plenty of time to spare before my daughter was to come home. I showered, shaved, and was coming down to start breakfast when I saw her at my laptop in the kitchen.

“Mom! Ohmigod what is this?”

I nearly had a heart attack. Had I left evidence? Robin almost never allowed herself to sound like an actual teenager, so I knew something big was up. But I saw she was logged into her e-mail, to a message with a picture of her fully nude in the shower, seemingly taken with a hidden camera in the faucet, with black bars over her chest and privates. Below the picture was a bolded message:

SEND 50 MORE BY FRIDAY OR I RELEASE THE SET!!!

She burst into tears and threw her arms around me. I held her as she cried, not knowing what to say. Afterwards we talked a little, about who might have done it, or why, and we had no idea. We had five days till Friday, so we agreed to soldier on with her current TV project, on which Tegan was also currently working, and put out soft feelers in the industry before going to the police. Unfortunately, I knew way too much about star-fucking & fame-seeking cops to trust them over close associates, if only for a little while.

The next day was fairly uneventful. Robin prided herself on her professionalism, and didn’t let anything show beyond a few additional takes here and there. She went off with some friends afterwards, leaving me with Tegan at the craft table. Nothing more had happened between us after my impulsive come-on (except catching eyes every chance).

“How have you been, Ms. Bell? It’s been a while.”

“I’ve been okay, Tegan. It’s nice to see you again. Keeping busy?”

“Totally. New project every week it seems like. Robin’s doing great, as I knew she would.”

“Yes, she’s very happy with her career.”

“Mmm.” She made a move for the satchel around her shoulder. “That reminds me! I have some pictures on my camera to show you. But, uh, the light here’s a little lame.”

“Lame?” I looked at her, and she blushed.

“Yeah. It’s better in, uh, Robin’s dressing room.”

“I’m sure it is, dear. Lead away.”

As soon as we were inside, I pushed into her against the makeup window, picking her up and putting her down on the edge of it, roughly. As my lips pulled back from hers, my eyes strayed to a photo of me and Robin tucked into the corner of her mirror, one of us from behind walking down a long leafy path at sunset, our bodies tilted toward each other and nestled in neck-to-shoulder. When I finally pulled my eyes away and back toward Tegan, I was struck by her look of recognition.

“You know, I used to be an actress…”

“Y-you did?”

“Uh-huh. I was nowhere near as good as your little girl, but I was okay.”

I gained a little confidence. “I’m sure you were just the cutest little thing.”

She blushed again, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was on command.

“I was on Letterman once… he was a dick.”

I chuckled. “I’ve always encouraged Robin to be ‘busy’ when his people call.”

“Smart Mommy. He’s also a bit of a perv… not that that’s always a bad thing. Not all perverts are dicks.”

“No, my lovely, certainly not. But I think that’s enough…” my hands slid up the insides of her thighs, “dick talk for tonight.”

“Mmm. More Smart Mommy. How does Robin keep those cute little hands offa you?” She grinned and pecked me on the lips, slipping me a hint of tongue, and gazed into my eyes.

“Thank you for meeting me in my dressing room like I asked you to, Mommy.”

I stumbled for a second, but quickly found my footing. “S-sure baby. I’d do anything for you.”

“I know you would, Mommy. And thank you for being on-set like you are. It really helps me feel safe.”

“Oh baby girl, c’mere…” I pulled her into me, her hair smelling of apple shampoo and strong pot. “You’re my everything. You’ll always be safe when I’m around.”

“I know, Mommy, I know. Mmmm. You feel so good.”

“You too, baby. You’re becoming such a lovely young woman.”

“I hope I grow up to be as beautiful as you… with such sexy breasts.”

“Yours look pretty tasty, too…” I used the tip of my finger to softly prod around her areola, clearly visible beneath her thin white tank top.

“You said you’d do anything for me, right, Mommy?”

My cheeks burned. “Yes, sweetie, I did…”

Tegan kissed me gently on the lips. “Good. ‘Cuz that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.” Her cheeks squinched adorably.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I think about us doing things together…”

“What kinda things?”

“Sexy things. Naked things. Loving things.”

I swallowed. “That sounds… very nice.”

“Mmm. Come over here and I’ll tell you all about it.”

We were soon on the futon in the corner, wasting no time pulling it out, falling together lengthwise and fitting into each other’s spaces like sweet harmony. Deep kisses, half-awkward-soon-strong explorations of breasts and other soft bumps, her hands up my shirt and inside my panties as I’m ripping her tank top off and biting her breasts.

“Mmm, Mommy, bite me, bite me…”

“You like it when Mommy’s rough, baby?”

“Yeah, Mommy, harder…”

I obeyed my master, digging my teeth into her pale pink skin, not enough for blood but for a bruise she’d remember.

“I’m coming Mommy, you’re making me come!” And she did, just from my nibbles and knee in her crotch. We took our time after that, eating each other out in a sweet sixty-nine and even bringing out a strap-on she kept in her bag. Who was this girl? She fucked me like I never had been before, all nine inches pushing to the limits of my cervix as I creamed and even squirted — for the first time ever — all over the sofa. No matter — I wasn’t really a producer, but I more or less had the powers of one. I made careful never to cross into conflict-of-interest territory with my writing — I’m all kinds of anal — but I was no stranger to greasing the wheels of this filthy town.

Afterwards we lay cuddling, the room lit only by the half-powered vanity lights.

“Are you okay?” She asked. “You seem kind of… not-here.”

“Yeah, I’m just thinking about Robin.”

“And what we did?”

“A little.”

“Don’t. I’ve seen my share of lousy moms, especially lousy stage moms, and you are definitely not that. I can tell just by the way Robin looks at you that she knows you’ll always be there for her… and she for you.”

“Oh, I know that… it’s more. Robin’s really upset. She got an e-mail today with a… suggestive picture, demanding she give a bunch more to him or he’ll release more himself. By Friday.”

Tegan looked vacant. “What… did the picture look like?”

“It was just Robin in the shower, naked, looked like it had been taken with a hidden camera.”

“Uh—” She looked like she had seen a ghost, and hastily started dressing. “I gotta go. Sorry.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” I was confused, worried, and a little suspicious.

“Derrick Fulton. That’s all I can say. I’m sorry.”

“Derrick Fulton? How do you know him?”

“I’m sorry, I have to go.” And she was gone, and I was dumbstruck. Derrick Fulton. The manager who had posted the video of Robin as a child. The one we had fired.

Continue on to Part Three