Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By JetBoy

A week on from that incredible night by the lake, I was still getting myself off regularly to dirty fantasies of Lisa, and my conscience wasn’t nearly as bothered by it as before. By then, the lust I felt for her seemed as familiar as a comfy pair of sneakers. Of course, the fact that she’d invited me to fondle her to orgasm didn’t hurt.

What did disturb me was the thoughts I’d been having about my daughter Vanessa after seeing her in the nude.

Despite my best efforts, she’d been elbowing her way into my sexual reveries, her face — and that lovely bare bottom of hers — turning up when it shouldn’t. Like when I was stretched out naked on my bed, giving my cunt a vigorous workout and daydreaming.

At first, it was only images of Nessa’s naked body, thoughts of how desirable it was. That, I told myself, wasn’t such a big deal — like appreciating a beautiful flower, or an exquisite piece of art. It was the best excuse I could come up with.

But then Vanessa began to assume a more active role in my perverted imagination, and that was much more difficult to explain away.

It began one afternoon while I was taking a break from chopping vegetables, fingering myself on the living room sofa. I’d allowed my thoughts to stray away from Lisa for a moment to picture my daughter as she’d been when I spied on her — stark naked, shaking her pretty butt to the stereo.

Then my fictional Nessa turned around, met my gaze, and smiled. Hey, Mom, she said, casually teasing one of her nipples with the tip of a finger, take off your clothes and come dance with me!

That was when I came — slammed by an orgasm that ripped through my body like a tornado, tossing bits and pieces of me this way and that. I rode that storm as high as the sky, then slowly drifted back to myself in a tangle of damp sheets.

“Oh, hell,” I whispered, feeling the color drain from my face. Not good, I chided myself. Not good at all.

The very sight of my daughter had begun to affect me in unsettling ways. It didn’t help that Vanessa had always been casual about what she wore around the house, especially since my divorce. She never went completely nude in my presence, but her favorite nighttime wear was a t-shirt and panties, which she often displayed to stunning effect — sprawled on the floor, stretched out on the sofa, or padding through a room with that gazelle-like stride of hers. My eyes were drawn over and over again to Nessa’s pert little ass, and down the front of her t-shirt when she bent over.

Making the situation even more difficult, Vanessa had grown more physical in her affection toward me, far freer with her hugs and kisses. She’d taken to coming up from behind and wrapping both arms around my waist, purring happily as she nestled her slender frame against mine. As a mother, I loved it; as a woman with a newly-realized craving for underage girls, it had my nerves jangling.

Then there was one night after dinner when Nessa and I were watching some silly sitcom on TV. We’d just finished dessert — slices of apple pie — and she offered to take our plates and forks back to the kitchen and put them in the sink. I gratefully handed her my plate, then shifted my attention back to the show.

Moments later she sauntered back into the living room, came over to where I sat on the sofa, and casually climbed into my lap, twining her silken arms around my neck.

At first, I was surprised and pleased at such a loving display from my child. Nessa hadn’t sat in my lap for at least three years or so.

“Hmmm… what’s this all about, hon?” I asked Vanessa, cradling her to me.

I felt her shrug. “I miss sittin’ in your lap, Mom,” she insisted. “You’re all warm and snuggly.”

It was a lovely moment between us. But we’d already changed into our nightwear, and her presence in my arms, clad in nothing more than an anime t-shirt and panties, had that unwelcome demon Lust paying me a visit again.

Lifting her face, Nessa gave me a wry smile. “Hey… I’m not too heavy for ya, am I?” She punctuated her words with a few experimental bounces.

Putting on a slight grimace and rolling my eyes heavenward, I spoke in a strained voice, “T-too heavy? Oh, no, honeybunch! You’re — ooooff! — light as a feather.”

“Mo-om!” she protested, then giggled. “Don’t be a jerk.” With a contented sigh she cuddled closer, resting her head against my breasts. “I still love you… even if you think I’m a big ol’ fat hippo.”

I had to laugh. “Oh, Nessa, you know I’m only kidding. You’re nothing like a hippopotamus. Well, you did used to play around in the mud quite a bit, as I recall…”

“Yeah, back when I was just a kid,” she retorted. She gave my chin a clumsy kiss, then relaxed once more.

We quietly watched the rest of the TV show, but my mind was on other things — mostly, how wonderful it felt to hold my little girl this way. The softness of her thigh against my wrist, the delicate thrum of Nessa’s heartbeat, the mysteriously spicy aroma of her, that lingering image of my daughter’s nakedness… these things and more had my body pulsing with a deep, urgent need to love and be loved.

It would be so easy, I thought. First, put a hand on her knee. Gradually begin to stroke those amazingly soft thighs. Slip a hand beneath that t-shirt and rub her tummy, inching my way higher with each caress. Tease her nipple with a fingertip. Bend down and place a warm, lingering kiss on her neck…

It was too much, damn it. These twisted longings were doing my head in.

The credits were starting to roll, but Vanessa showed no inclination to get up. Finally, I gently patted her leg. “Hon, I need to visit the ladies’ room.”

“Mmm. Okay,” she replied, and slowly rose from my lap.

I got up and made my way toward the hall. Glancing back over my shoulder, I said “Be right back.”

“See ya!” chirped Nessa, stretching herself out on the couch. Her t-shirt was hiked up, revealing every inch of those long, beautiful bare legs. Another prickle of sexual heat unfolded between my thighs.

Seconds later I was in the bathroom, the door locked. Reaching beneath my nightie, I tugged a sodden pair of panties down and off, then lay down on the plush bath mat. There I masturbated, hard and fast.

This time the fantasies were only of my daughter, and I didn’t even try to distract myself with thoughts of Lisa. I was whispering, “Oh, Nessa baby, Mommy loves you, you’re so beautiful. Kiss me, sweetheart. Do you like this, Nessa, like the way Mommy is touching you…?” I was ranting, immersed in images of incest with my eleven-year-old child, rubbing my cunt until I went off in a convulsive orgasm.

Exhausted, both in body and mind, I lay on the floor of the downstairs bathroom, my stomach clenched in a cold knot of fear. My God, I told myself, I’m going crazy.

Desperately needing to feel like I was still a half-decent person, I fumbled once again for ways to excuse these feelings for my daughter. The best I could come up with went something like this: it’s just a fantasy, forbidden things are what fantasies are made for, it wasn’t like I’d ever try to seduce Nessa, eventually I’d get over it.

As arguments go, it wasn’t too bad. Only one problem: these were more or less the same alibis I’d made for myself when dealing with my lust for Lisa. And look how that worked out, my conscience said.

*****

It was about three weeks into July when I finally got to see Lisa again.

Vanessa had spent a few days with Bob — her father, my ex. I’d made plans for a barbecue with family and friends, and invited Bob to join the party when he drove Nessa back.

Our divorce, thankfully, had been an amicable one, and the two of us managed to emerge from the split as friends. Bob was a good man, but something of a straight-arrow type, and in the end, my bisexuality was simply too much for him.

I did enjoy having him visit — especially when I was hosting a cookout, because he could grill like nobody’s business. He’d designed and built the brick barbecue pit next to the patio, and his 80 Horsepower marinade was famous throughout our neighborhood. I’d already made him promise to mix up a few gallons of the stuff for the occasion.

I chatted with Vanessa the day before Bob brought her home, and she wanted to invite Lisa over to spend the night. They hadn’t seen each other for a couple of weeks, and Nessa missed her best friend.

Of course, I said yes.

*****

I was coming out of the kitchen and onto the patio with a gallon of marinade when Lisa made her entrance. Nessa raced over to her, shrieking, “Hey, LISA!” and they did a little dancing embrace.

Oh, God, she was as cute and desirable as ever. But most of our guests had already arrived, and I was busy being hostess and playing assistant chef to Bob as he worked the barbecue pit. So I had to satisfy myself with glimpses of Lisa — splashing in the pool, cavorting on the lawn, traipsing through the kitchen — doing my best all the while to make sure the party was running smoothly.

And the little imp knew I was thinking about her. Whenever I had the luxury of taking a quick glance Lisa’s way, I’d catch her eyes on me. She was good at it, too — her looks seemed just as casual and innocent as I hoped mine did. But in those brief exchanges, it was crystal clear to us both what we wanted. Somehow, I knew that if we stole enough time together, just the two of us, we would be making love.

By then I was on fire with excitement, almost certain that something thrilling was going to happen between us. But when Lisa made her big move, it caught me completely by surprise.

Whenever there is a decent-sized gathering at our place, I always get everyone together for a group photo by the pool. Having set up my automatic camera on its tripod, I herded the pack of friends and relations in front of the sliding glass doors that lead into the living room, then got them to pose as I readied the shot.

I hadn’t noticed that Lisa was missing from the group, but it certainly captured my attention when I saw her standing behind the glass doors, facing me and no one else. She’d changed out of her bathing suit by then, and was wearing a white top with a navy blue skirt.

I was just about to call her out to join us, but the words died on my lips when Lisa hoisted up her skirt to reveal that she was completely bare underneath — no panties, no anything.

Somehow I summoned up the presence of mind to hide my astonishment, fiddling with the camera while drinking in the sight of this young girl’s nudity. Lisa just stood there, stroking her tummy, her pretty pussy on display for me.

I wanted a good long look, but had to take the picture before anyone turned around and caught her. Taking a quick breath, I called out, “Okay, that’s good. Now, don’t anyone move! Big smiles…”

And another quick glance through the glass showed me that Lisa had turned around with her skirt still lifted, treating to a full-on view of her tight little ass.

Somehow I managed to set the camera’s timer and dash over to my place in the shot, heart throbbing like a jackhammer. Whirrrr, click — and I immediately stole a glance over my shoulder and into the house, relieved to see that Lisa had left the room.

The rest of that afternoon found me in a daze, doing my best to give a convincing portrayal of The Perfect Hostess. I mostly pulled it off, though Bob did jokingly ask if I’d had a few too many glasses of Cabernet. “You’re looking kinda flushed, babe,” he murmured with a wink.

Lisa kept her distance for awhile. Perhaps she thought I was upset, that her little indecent exposure stunt was going too far. But I suspected that it was part and parcel of her game of seduction. Because she was definitely seducing me, I knew that for certain… and with a level of skill that seemed impossible in a girl of eleven.

So the million-dollar question was: What would I do when she made her big play for me?

*****

I finally saw Lisa that evening, after the last of the guests had departed. Bob, bless him, stayed the latest, helping me clean up the party wreckage. We put the leftovers in the fridge, piled all the dishes and cutlery in the sink to soak, then exchanged a brief hug before he left, tooting a goodbye on the horn of his Lexus.

Making my way upstairs, I stripped and took a quick shower, where I thought about masturbating beneath the flowing water, finally deciding not to. If anything was to happen with Lisa that night, I wanted my desire to be razor-sharp.

I spent some time choosing my sleepwear for the night, but finally decided to go with the same t-shirt and panties combination that the girls favored. Just one of the gang, I thought, appraising myself in the mirror.

Settling myself in the living room with a tall, cool club soda, I waited for the girls to show, Sure enough, they came thumping down the stairs moments later.

“Heyyyy, Mom!” sang Vanessa as she entered the room.

“Hey, Ms. Johnson,” Lisa chimed in. She was all perfect innocence — a far cry from the bold nymphet who had flashed me not two hours earlier.

“Girls,” I replied with a nod. They’d changed into their nightwear, too. T-shirts and panties, what else? “Okay, I ordered the pizza — should be here in about an hour. You two want to watch a little TV with me?”

Their reply was overwhelmingly affirmative. Of course, they had to make a run to the kitchen for beverages first, but five minutes later, with me on the couch and the girls on the floor, we were settled in and watching an old Honeymooners episode.

I was hardly able to take in anything on the screen, as I was too wrapped up in the sight of those two perky little bottoms, barely hidden beneath cute underpants. Nessa’s were yellow, Lisa’s pink.

Before long I was so filled with sexual tension that I went to the bathroom, closed the door, pulled down my panties and leaned back against the counter top. I was so hot and bothered that I was able to bring myself to a pleasantly shuddering orgasm within seconds.

After cleaning myself up, I decided, on the spur of the moment, to leave off my panties. The t-shirt went down to mid-thigh, so what the hell. Besides, the very idea of going commando in Lisa’s presence thrilled me to pieces.

It turned out to be an excellent idea on my part… for as I emerged from the bathroom, who should be in the kitchen but Lisa. She was reaching up to a cabinet on tiptoe, her pink knickers peeking out from underneath. Be still, my beating heart.

I drew closer, trying to sound completely relaxed. “What’re you looking for, hon?”

Lisa grinned back at me, eyes dancing. She knew exactly where my eyes had been. “I wanted a 7-Up.”

“Oh, I’ve got cold ones in the fridge.” I opened the refrigerator, and then a very wicked idea hit me.

Turning my head, I called to my daughter in the other room. “Nessa? Do you want anything else from the kitchen?”

A disinterested, “No, thanks,” drifted in from the other room. Good. She wouldn’t be coming in for the next few seconds, at least. Time enough to show Lisa that I could tease, too.

Hunkering down in front of the open refrigerator, I sensed Lisa backing away a step as I hiked my t-shirt up to my hips, fully exposing my bare ass to her. She gave an almost inaudible gasp.

The show didn’t end there, though. Reaching to the back of the bottom shelf where the chilled cans of soda were, I shamelessly thrust my butt up and out, knees planted far enough apart that Lisa was getting an excellent view of my cunt as well.

So there I was, brazenly flaunting my naughty bits to a girl of eleven, letting my sweet Lisa see it all. I felt the cool air caress my skin as I squatted there for a long moment, then slowly, casually stood. My shirt fell back down to mid-thigh, and I turned to Lisa, offering her the 7-Up she’d asked for with a knowing smile.

Lisa’s mouth was slack, her pretty flushed a rosy pink as she stared up at me.

I reached out, touched her cheek with my hand. “Gotcha back.”

She swallowed and her head moved slightly, turning my touch into a caress. A slow grin, teeth catching her lower lip, her eyes burning into mine, the passion in her gaze obvious as an apple. She nodded, whispering, “Yeah. You got me…” Then she turned and padded back into the living room as if she was sleepwalking.

My knees were literally trembling, I was so shaken by our little kitchen one-act. Had I really just done that, deliberately exposed myself to an underage girl?

I was frantically nervous, yet aroused. What am I becoming? Why am I doing these perverse things? Will I take this even further tonight? God, I so want to. I want to!

Instead of rejoining the girls, I lingered in the kitchen, struggling to decompress. My cunt was on fire, aching to be touched… and I’d just masturbated not ten minutes ago!

Okay, Roxanne, time to calm yourself. Think about something, anything else. Think…

Well, okay, there’s the heliotrope that I need to pick up for the garden, Laura said that it really flourishes in August. I need to decide which wallpaper pattern I want for redoing the study, too. Let’s see, what else — oh, hell, I forgot to reserve tickets for the theatre next week! And once that’s taken care of, I’ve still got to get an evening dress to wear for it. I’ll go to Errol’s at the mall to look for something. Maybe the girls would like to come along. Wonder if I could buy something cute for Lisa? I’d slip into the changing room, help her try some things, help her undress, kiss her delicious little bottom —

STOP.

I sighed. This was stupid… and pointless! All the mental distractions in the world weren’t going to keep me from thinking about what I wanted. What I needed.

I’d had a taste of sex with a girl, and now I was hopelessly addicted. No twelve-step programs out there for the likes of you, I told my reflection in the kettle. Might as well indulge yourself.

I took a deep, deep breath and walked back into the living room, back to the girls.

Continue on to Chapter 4