Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Naughty Mommy

This short story came to me in a dream. I woke up very early, around 5:30 AM, and just had to get out of bed and write it all down. Hope you find it tasty! – N.M.

I love children. I always wanted to be a mom, but never found the right man and so I never married. I’m still a single girl (if I can call myself a girl at age 38).

Anyway, it’s almost 3:30 now, time for them to start arriving. I have everything ready, cupcakes freshly made, juice ready to pour. Just because I’m not a mother, that doesn’t mean I can’t spend many happy hours around the ones I love: those adorable children, my precious little girls.

The doorbell rings. The first to appear, as usual, is Jenny. Seven years old and as cute as she can be. I open the door and let her in. Jenny reaches up and wraps her arms around my neck, giving me a big hug. I return the hug and kiss her pretty mouth. Dressed today in a dark red pinafore over a long-sleeved white shirt, she is just adorable, her cheeks rosy from the cold air outside.

I take Jenny’s coat and give her another kiss, then lead her into the playroom. The small table, child-size, is all set. As she sits down, the doorbell rings again.

Twenty minutes later, everyone is here. My usual group, five girls between ages six and ten. I do their mothers a favor by watching these children for a couple of hours every day after school. I don’t charge anything for this service. It’s my pleasure.

The girls enjoy their cupcakes and juice. I love watching them eat, sitting around the low table in their miniature chairs, giggling and licking their fingers, their darling lips and chins gooey with frosting. I sit with them and sip my scotch, waiting for them to finish.

When the last crumbs have been consumed, it’s time for me to perform. The kids turn to me expectant, faces glowing with anticipation, eyes bright with excitement. They’ve had their sugar rush, and now they’re ready for another kind of thrill.

The oldest, Monica, nods slowly to me, her dark eyes hooded. She’s the only one, so far, who has followed my example. I expect the others will in time. I certainly hope so.

I put down my empty glass and spread my legs. My skirt rides up. I’m not wearing any panties. The children ooh and ahh. My pussy is very wet. I open my blouse, revealing my braless breasts. I take them in my hands, squeezing them, pinching the erect nipples as I gaze into the eyes of the girls. More sighs and murmurs of approval. Monica has a hand between her legs now, rubbing herself.

My breasts are rather large, pendulous enough that I can suck my own nipples. My young guests love to watch me do this, and I love watching them watch me. It makes my pussy even wetter to see their eager faces. My clit throbs as I lick and suck the stiff brown nipples. I spread my legs very wide, leaning back in the chair. The scent of my lust fills the room. The children are enthralled by what they’re viewing and by what they smell.

I finish with my breasts, then lower both hands to my crotch. I massage the swollen labia, fingers growing slippery with lubrication. A groan escapes me, unbidden. This is what I live for, to give my special girls a very special show each day.

My mouth is watering. I swallow and lick my lips, breath coming fast, chest heaving. I’m already close to a climax, though I haven’t yet touched my clit. All day long, as I bake and prepare and look forward to what the children and I will do later, after school, my arousal steadily builds until it becomes nearly unbearable — but I never allow myself to relieve the pressure. I hold it all in, preserving it for my little friends, my audience.

Monica’s hand is inside her panties, rubbing. At ten years old, she is more than capable of giving herself an orgasm, even if she is still hairless and almost completely flat-chested. The delight of sexual pleasure is something that comes early for girls, a gift we can enjoy from a very young age.

I’ve been masturbating for as long as I can remember, always loving the feel of my fingers working between my legs. At around six or seven, I can’t remember for certain, I had my first orgasm and was hooked for life. I’ve never stopped playing with myself, though now I restrict my climaxes to a certain time each afternoon. That makes them all the more powerful.

A drip of gooey moisture oozes out of my cunt, sliding down to my anus. I finger myself there, watching the eyes of the kids grow wide as I diddle my asshole. Then I lift my feet to the table, scooting lower in my chair, opening myself all the way to them, fully exposing my sex. They are captivated by the sight.

Slowly, hungrily, I spread my pussy lips with my hands. I’m trembling so hard now, and nearly gasping for air, that I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. And anyway, there are no words that can convey what I’m demonstrating with my actions. That says it all.

As I place a fingertip at the opening of my vagina and begin to push it in, I notice that Olivia, one of my two eight-year-olds, has pulled up her little dress and is rubbing herself, massaging her crotch through her panties. This is the first time I’ve seen her do that. I’m very pleased.

I fuck my cunt, first with one finger, then with two. Sometimes after pressing my fingers very deep inside, I’ll draw them out and hold my hand up for the kids, letting them see the gleaming, slippery wetness. I do that now, and every one of the girls licks her lips. I smile at them, then fuck myself some more.

But god, I really can’t wait much longer. My pussy aches with need. Juices are streaming out of me, dripping down between my legs. It’s almost time.

I show them my clit, pulling the skin back. I have a very big clitoris, larger than most, I think. Erect, as it is now, it sticks up proudly, half an inch at least, pink and fat and glistening. The children shift closer in their chairs, eyes very wide, wanting to see.

The tension is thick. I’m right there, on the edge. The slightest touch on my clit will send me shooting over the top. I can see that the little girls are aroused too, their faces flushed. Monica is panting, huffing and puffing as she plays with herself. She’s ready.

Gritting my teeth — hoping that for once I can keep my eyes open when I come so I can observe their reactions — I push my hands together, squeezing my clit between my lips and doing a quick scissoring motion with my fingers. It takes only a moment, and then I explode into orgasm, grunting and groaning loudly. The sensations are too intense and my eyes slam shut, my body writhing as wave after wave of climactic pleasure crashes over me. I feel the gush of juices flowing from my vagina, dripping onto the chair. Somehow, somewhere, I can hear Monica coming too, making her high-pitched squeal.

I don’t stop with one. So much pent-up desire has accumulated inside me throughout the day that I can easily come again, numerous times. I ride the wave, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, jiggling my hands, drawing the pleasure out, extending my rapture for as long as I possibly can. Along the way, I sometimes catch little sounds of approval from the girls, exclamations of excitement, even clapping.

When I finally finish, several minutes later, I’m totally exhausted, spent, worn out. My head lolls back as my chest heaves. My hands fall away, dropping to the floor. I know my legs are still spread wide, my sodden pussy in full view. What a sight this must make: five little girls seated around a doll table, staring at a woman’s juicy cunt.

I often wonder if one of my guests will ever try anything else, if they might want to touch me or even lick me at this point. So far, no one has. But maybe someday.

The doorbell rings.

I gather myself together as best I can, smiling to the kids while rising unsteadily to my feet. I walk to the door, licking my fingers, not bothering to button my blouse.

Emma’s mother is here. She gives me a wink, kisses my cheek, then helps Emma on with her coat. They leave. Shortly after, Monica’s mother arrives, and then Cindy’s. They greet me cheerfully, thanking me, taking their girls and departing.

By 5:30, the house is empty again, except for me. I wipe off the messy chair, clean up the few dishes, and think about what treat I might bake for the girls tomorrow.