Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Passing Cloud

{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in November 2012 }

It was many years ago that I attended primary school. My sister Katherine, who is three years older, was at the same school. We walked there together every day. In those days it was safe to do so. Unusually, I think, we got on well. She looked after me, and I respected and admired her. We were forced apart in classes by our respective ages, but always met up at lunch times. Her regular friends tolerated me at first, but after a while it just became accepted that I was part of the group and so I became affectionately known as “Little Sis,” and then simply “Sis.”

Childhood drifted slowly by, lazy hazy days of navy knickers and knee socks, laughter and innocence.

Then she arrived.

I was seven and my sister ten when we found out that a new girl was starting after half term in my sister’s class.

It was lunchtime of that first day, back when I met her. She had instantly become the focal point of Kathy’s group, and as I joined them in the playground she stood out like a beacon.

Her name was Maria B.

Half Italian, she had long, black lustrous hair; large, deep brown eyes; full red lips, and she was half a head taller than any of us. I was tiny by comparison, and looking up at her she seemed more like a woman to me than a girl — especially since, and I stared in wonder, she had breasts. Looking back, I suspect they weren’t as huge as my idealistic memory suggests, but at the time they seemed enormous. Ten years old with breasts! I was fascinated, entranced and, quite simply, smitten.

She noticed me staring at her and her eyes widened, a broad smile showing her gleaming teeth lit up her face and, with a rich, exotic accent she said, “Hello, little girl. Who are you? You are so pretty.”

Her tone was so kindly, her expression so warm, “smitten,” immediately became “in love”. It is true to say that from that moment, and for the next year and a half, until she moved on and out of my life, she was the centre of my universe. I worshipped and adored her, followed her around, tried to copy her mannerisms, even attempted to talk in her accent. She was my goddess and I would do anything for her. Imagine my delight, then, when I was invited to be one of her “special” friends.

A few weeks after that first day, as I was walking home with Kathy, my sister suddenly said, “What do you think of Maria?”

Surprised by the question, I stammered a little in my response. “I… I like her. She’s really nice.”

“She likes you, you know,” she paused. “She says you’re sexy.”

My heart leaped in my chest, my stomach churned, I felt myself flushing red… but not with embarrassment. I knew what sexy meant. Even at age seven. Little girls talk, you know, and they aren’t stupid.

“She says you can come under the stage tomorrow, around dinner time.”

Now I understood what “under the stage,” meant. In the school main hall at one end was a timber stage (typically used when the Head was holding assemblies or for plays and pantomimes and the likes) enclosed all round with boarding, but with an access door into a crawl space where gym equipment — mats and other apparatus — was stored. So going “under the stage,” meant precisely that. What I didn’t understand, however, was the implication.

So I said, “What for?”

Kathy came closer to me as we walked along and, leaning over, whispered in my ear, “Promise you won’t tell anybody?”

“Yes. Promise.” I was all curiosity now.

So Kathy continued, “Last time we did gym, we put the mats back under — me, Maria, Nancy and Jude — and Miss Kirk,” (the sports mistress), “left us to lock up. So we were in there for a few minutes on our own. We could see all right, ‘cos the door was open a bit and we were just messing about and laughing, and then all of a sudden Maria just said, ‘who wants to see my tits?’ Just like that. She just came out with it.”

I was at once shocked and excited. Shocked that my beautiful heroine could be so rude and forthright, yet excited to think about what else might be happening in that murky secret place ‘under the stage’.

“What did you say?” I asked in hushed awe.

“Well. We all said we did. Who wouldn’t want to see them?” she replied.

“So did she show you?” I gasped.

“Yes. She just lifted her blouse, pulled her bra up and let us have a good look.”

I was speechless for a moment as I tried to visualise this wonderful little tableau.

Eventually I asked, “What are they like?”

Kathy answered simply, “fantastic!”

Suddenly I was wracked with envy, so jealous that my sister had been so intimate with the girl that I adored that I felt close to tears. All was put right, though, when Kathy went on, “She reckons she can get the keys tomorrow morning, and we can sneak under and spend all dinner time there. And if you come too, she says she’ll strip off and let us see her with nothing on.”

I gasped in amazement. “Really? Nothing at all?”

“That’s what she said.”

My mind was racing now as it played strange erotic games. Between my little-girl legs, something was stirring. A welcome warmth.

Kathy continued, however. “And she reckons she’s got hair,” she nodded towards my crotch, “you know, there.”

Again my mouth opened in wonder. I thought of my own tight little hairless vagina. How childish I must seem to someone like Maria. I felt pathetic and inadequate, but filled with a fervent desire to see Maria naked; to see her breasts and pubic hair. I couldn’t imagine any more detail, but I was determined not to miss this opportunity.

“Anyway, she says you’re sexy,” Kathy carried on. “She likes your face and your bum, she says, and she wants you to come too.”

I was overjoyed and could hardly contain my excitement as I eagerly nodded, “Yes, I’ll come.”

But Kathy hadn’t finished yet, saying, “And she told me to ask you if you’ll take your knickers off for her. She said she wants to give you a feel.”

Now this was different territory indeed. I hadn’t even considered anything like it, even in my fantasies. My dreams of Maria had been romantic idylls at best — although I mostly saw myself as some sort of unworthy servant — being treated kindly, maybe stealing a kiss here and there.

I had never been touched intimately by anyone, other than my mother at bath time (so I knew a little of sexual pleasure — but that’s another story), and I was nonplussed by this development.

Confused but excited, I asked Kathy, “Why? Wouldn’t she rather do that to you or one of the others?” I thought about Jude and Nancy. They were both pretty. And sometimes they’d said things which suggested they’d already done something similar. Jude in particular, on one occasion, had said she’d been ‘fingered’ by her brother. I didn’t really understand fully at the time, but got the drift, I think.

“No,” Kathy replied. She sounded almost despondent. “Maria says she likes them little and smooth. What should I tell her?”

Suddenly elated, I grinned at Kathy and said, “Tell her she can do anything she wants!” and then I skipped all the way home.

That evening passed in a silent frenzy of anticipation. Although I slept soundly (as far as I can remember), the next morning — especially during lessons — my mind was in similar turmoil. I can remember my inability to concentrate and was, unusually, berated by the teacher for, “obviously not listening.”

Eventually it was dinner time, and I literally raced to meet my sister and the others (one other, especially).

To my absolute and utter delight I saw, as I raced around the corner of the main hall, the little group complete. Kathy, Jude, Nancy and, dominant in her statuesque beauty, Maria.

She saw me running towards them and beamed at me. Her beautiful lips uttered words I’ll never forget. “We’ve been waiting for you, Sis. Do you want to see what I’ve got to show you?”

Beaming back, I nodded vigorously, and so Maria took my hand (I was almost in ecstasy now) and, glancing around to make sure no-one was watching, opened the side door to the hall.

We slipped inside and headed straight for the stage.

I didn’t know how she’d got hold of the keys, and didn’t ask. I was just glad she had as she unlocked the low door and, glancing cautiously round again, ushered us inside.

Locking the door behind us, we crawled into the middle of the space under the stage. Equipment was scattered around, but there was a reasonably sized area of open space where the gym mats lay. We flopped down on them and slowly allowed our eyes to accustom themselves to the low light.

Jude said, in a slightly disgruntled tone, “It’s a bit dark.”

“It’s a good job I brought this, then,” said Maria, and from her shoulder bag pulled out a large metal torch.

Jude giggled as Maria switched it on and flooded the space with a strong beam. Reaching across me (her breasts tantalisingly brushing my shoulder), she handed the torch to Kathy. “You hold it, Kathy.” My heart was racing. “Point it wherever you like while I do it.”

The next few minutes were some of the most memorable of my life. I watched in stunned fascination, my hand unconsciously pressing on the ‘hot spot’ between my legs, heart racing as the gorgeous Maria, my love, my mistress, at ten years old the queen of my universe, took off her clothes.

First she unfastened the buttons of her blouse and peeled it off — a little awkwardly in the confined space — and she was soon sitting there in her bra. I remember it was white, that’s all. Transfixed by the sight of her partly undressed, I stared at the swell of her breasts standing out in the sharp light of the electric torch. She paused for a few seconds, pushing her chest out.

“All right?” she asked. “Can you see okay?”

Invisible nods and a couple of choked affirmatives, spluttered in the dark outside of the torch beam, encouraged her to continue.

I saw her fingers hook underneath the front of her bra, noticed a little smile appear on her face, and couldn’t help myself gasping in delight as she lifted it, stretched and pulled it over her head, then sat back and caressed, squeezed and then cupped those beautiful firm orbs in her hands as she held them out for us to inspect.

Again she asked, “Is that all right?” Again, frenzied nods and strangled yeses.

She knelt up then, and started to work on the buttons of her skirt. My eyes, which had been desperately following the movement of her breasts, inspecting the glorious detail of her erect brown nipples, were now drawn to the activity of her busy fingers.

In seconds she had loosened the waist of her grey pleated skirt and dropped it to the mat. Sitting back down, she lifted her legs together and drew the skirt off. She quickly slipped her shoes off as well so now she was wearing only her white knee socks and a pair of white pants — really rather brief for a girl of ten, I now realise.

She knelt up again so we could see her better.

Cupping her breasts again, she said, “If you want, when I’ve taken my knickers off, you can take it in turns to have a feel.” I swear I nearly fainted with excitement.

Sliding her hands across her abdomen like some sort of elfin striptease artiste, she hooked her thumbs in the waist of her pants and, glancing up into the torchlight, said “Ready?” and then slid them down to her knees.

She quickly sat again, lifted her legs and slipped them off.

She was naked now apart from her socks, which she kept on. Instead of kneeling up, though, she stretched out on her back, opened her legs and said in a low voice, almost a murmur, “Shine the torch on my cunt. Have a good look.”

I knew the word. I knew how rude it was. I was surprised to hear it, but it seemed right. It made the moment more ‘rude,’ more ‘dirty,’ more erotic. Oblivious now to the other, older, girls, I leaned forward until my face was just inches away and stared in unbridled joy at the patch of hair between her thighs. It was the most excited and aroused I have ever been, and I loved it. I loved her.

She said, “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” I replied.

She stretched her legs even wider and said, “You can have first feel if you want.”

Continue on to Chapter 2