Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Misty Meadow

Do you like to remember your first great passion — when you first understood what it meant to feel sexual hunger for another person? I certainly do. In fact, it’s my favourite masturbation fantasy, one that gets my cunt leaking like a wonky faucet.

My first obsession took hold of me when I was a prepubescent girl of twelve. Unlike most girls of that age, my crazy dream actually came true. Like to hear about it? Sit back and relax, then — I’ll tell you the whole story of that incredible day, pretty much as I remember it.

*****

I’m in love, head over heels in love! I absolutely worship her. She’s so… I don’t know how to describe her. Elegant, sophisticated, charming, there aren’t any words that are adequate!

I’m gonna have to get a grip on myself. Come on, Misty, get real.

My gym teacher, Miss Darling — an appropriate name, don’tcha think? — is tall, slender, poised, and has a powerful presence that’s swept me off my feet.

One time I Googled her and learned that at the age of eleven, she was enrolled in the Royal Ballet School, located in Richmond Park just Southwest of London, and eventually graduated to the Corps de Ballet (that’s like the chorus line) of the Royal Ballet Company. Mind you, she never got to be the principal dancer — still, just to be in the Company was achievement enough. She left after two years at the age of twenty-one, served in the military and is now the Phys. Ed. teacher of Birkenhurst Girls’ Grammar School, where I’m currently a second former.

Mind you, I’m not the only girl who has a crush on her. Several pupils from different years have admitted that they’re in love with her, and who knows how many more, like me, are keeping quiet about it? We look forward to P.E. every week with barely contained excitement. We chatter away as we change into our leotards and she stands, glancing all round the room, never letting her gaze fall on any girl for more than a few seconds, and then we’re out in the gym, doing our stuff — mat, bar, vaulting horse, the works. Then it’s time to get dressed again.

I always try to be the last to leave, so I can speak to her. Having rehearsed what I plan to say all week, I usually manage to sound reasonably intelligent. I’ve told her about how last year my parents took me to Covent Garden to see Romeo and Juliet — that was when I became obsessed with becoming a dancer.

Miss Darling told me that it’s a long and difficult road to travel, with very little chance of going professional unless my parents were able to afford full time ballet schooling for me, which they can’t. Still, the memory of that incredible performance and my adoration of Miss Darling continue to fuel my ambition.

Week after week, I look for any sign that she has some special interest in me, that she likes me more than the other girls… but she’s scrupulous in not singling out any pupil for special attention. I work as hard as I can at gym but she never says anything more than, “Well done, Misty, keep up the good work.” I’m going to have to do something drastic to get her attention.

Further research on the internet reveals that Miss Darling offers private one-on-one ballet lessons in her “studio” (which I later learn is a double garage converted with wall mirrors, a barre, etc.), for fees that are pretty steep. There are also rumours, unconfirmed, that some of the older school girls have been invited to her house after school and on weekends — though for what purpose, I have no idea.

Fact is, there’s a lot of speculation swirling around our teacher, not the least of which is that she’s gay. This seems quite probable as, from time to time, she’ll position our bodies during some gym activity, her hands briefly brushing between our legs — never long enough to cause alarm, just enough to be passed off as an accident if ever she’s called on it, She never is, though.

If she is gay, I’d be delighted. How can she ever return my love if she’s not? But there isn’t any hard evidence, and I’m old enough not to believe every idle rumour I hear. All I can do is adore her from afar, gazing up at her as she stands, perfectly poised, on the pedestal I’ve created in my imagination.

But then an idea begins to grow in my mind. Her birthday, which my Googling has unearthed, is coming up this Sunday and I decide to take a huge chance and offer to dance for her. Now I know that she’s not going to be thrilled by the idea of one of her second formers performing for her, unless there’s some kind of special attraction.

Today, we have P.E. for second period. After the lesson, in the changing room, I wait until Miss Darling comes in, wearing her customary skimpy jogging shorts with bikini briefs underneath, and a white cotton singlet that isn’t quite thick enough to conceal her nipples. Miss Darling doesn’t need to be with us in the changing room, but I suspect that she likes watching us get dressed, her bright eyes darting around the room as we slip out of our our leotards and put on our undies, blouses and skirts.

With my leotard off, I stand naked, waiting for her gaze to land on me, then take my white cotton knickers off the hook. She’s stares at me, comes a step closer — and I take the plunge.

“Miss Darling, last summer holidays, I went with my family to a naturist resort in the South of France. It was awesome!”

“Like a nudist colony?” she asks, drawing close to me.

“Yeah, but a proper hotel. It was such fun. I found out that I kinda like being naked.” I do a pirouette, then hold my arms out. “Ta-dah!” I sing. “Like this.” Some of the girls glance at me, but her gaze is riveted on my bare body. I pull my knickers on slowly, dragging them up over my hips and letting the elastic waist snap. I see Miss Darling steal a quick glance at my camel toe. “The best part was where I got to dance on the stage in front of everyone.”

“In the nude?” she asks, an eyebrow raised.

“Not a stitch on!” I giggled. “Everyone applauded, too. I still wanna be a ballet dancer when I grow up.”

“Not a naked one, though,” she laughs. “Not many employment opportunities there, I dare say.”

The other kids are leaving. I put my blouse on and start buttoning it. “It’s your birthday on Sunday, isn’t it?” I say. “I Googled you.”

“It is, yes.”

I take a deep breath. This is the moment. Either my dreams will come true, or my life will be over. “I’ve choreographed a short piece, just three or four minutes, and there’s no one to do it for on except you.” I gaze right into her eyes. “Miss Darling, I’d like to dance for you, for your birthday,” I continue, my voice breaking with emotion.

She doesn’t immediately respond, so I drop the bomb. “Oh, and I wanna do it naked.” There, I’ve said it. My whole fate is now in this teacher’s hands. I daren’t think about what I’ll do if she rejects me.

“Oh, Misty,” she says, her eyes alight. “What a lovely idea! I’d love to see you dance and yes, I don’t mind if you’re naked — in fact, it’ll be fun. No one’s ever danced nude for me before; you’ll be the first. Can you come to my studio on Sunday morning? You know where I live, right?” I do. “Don’t mention this to anyone else. We don’t want any rumours circulating about us, do we?”

To be honest, I wouldn’t mind having rumours about me and Miss Darling spreading round the school; it would do wonders for my reputation and self esteem. Still, I nod in agreement. “Okay, I’ll, um, be there,” I say, trying and probably failing to conceal the excitement I feel.

She just smiles. “My place, ten o’clock on Sunday, then. And bring your birthday suit.”

Inside, my tummy is quivering with excitement. I’m gonna get naked for the woman I’m in love with, and anything might happen, anything at all! I hardly dare to let my imagination run free, as I don’t want to be disappointed if nothing ends up happening between us.

I step into my tartan skirt and pull it up. Miss Darling pats my shoulder. “Run along, sweetheart, you don’t want to be late for your next lesson.” Then she turned and walked away.

I stood there staring like an idiot — hypnotized by her ass, thrilled to pieces by her words. She called me ‘sweetheart!’ No one ever gets called that! Oh my God, how’m I gonna be able to wait until Sunday?

*****

I’m one of those late developers with an ultra-slender figure — really, a nice way to say “skinny” — which happens to be the perfect shape for a ballet dancer. Yeah, I know I’m twelve, but I seem to be a long way off from my first period, what with my flat chest and my baby-smooth pussy. That’s right — “pussy.” I don’t call it by those stupid kiddie names any more, I’m a big girl now.

I know all there is to know about sex… considering that I haven’t really done it yet! Thank God for the internet, know what I mean? My laptop has parental controls so I can’t surf porn, but whenever I have a question about sex I simply Google it. That leads me from link to link, leading to more questions — and more importantly, answers. I’ve learned a lot about gay sex, lesbians and stuff. It’s all quite fascinating.

When I read in Wikipedia about masturbation, I learned that it was the proper name for what I’d call, “nice rubbing,” that thing I do almost every night in bed. And those wonderful moments where it feels like my body is lit up like a holiday firework? Those are called orgasms. The most exciting thing I read, though, was the bit about mutual masturbation, where girls rub each other instead of themselves. I figured out right away how that would be even better than doing it alone.

I wonder if Miss Darling masturbates. Maybe it’s cos I’m so in love with her, but to me she seems to be above such earthly pleasures. In my eyes, she’s a goddess-like creature of perfect purity, so it’s hard to imagine her actually touching her own pussy. Wikipedia indicates otherwise, though. Nearly all women masturbate, it tells me, and who am I to argue?

*****

It’s Sunday, and I can’t think about anything else other than Miss Darling and the little show I’m going to put on for her. For my musical accompaniment, I download the second movement of a classical guitar concerto onto my laptop. I dress in a pair of brand new blinding white cotton knickers and an old white cotton sun dress — which is not only dangerously short, it’s so washed out that in bright light you can see my knickers right through it. On my feet are sparkly sandals. I study myself in the mirror and like what I see. Snatching up my laptop, I dance downstairs, call out, “Later, Mom,” and I’m off!

I walk through the village of Birkenhurst but the High Street is deserted, folks being either in church or still in bed, so there’s no one to see me and disapprove of my provocative outfit. Never mind, Miss Darling will see me. In fact, she’s gonna see a whole lot of me!

I arrive at her house, my heart in my mouth. Fighting to stay cool and collected, I ring the bell and the door opens.

There she stands, the centre of my life, the goddess I worship, the exquisite Miss Darling, dressed in a short silk dressing gown that barely reaches the tops of her thighs. Oh my God, she is stunning.

On her face is a welcoming smile. “Right on time, Misty. Oh, I love that dress! It’s so naughty.” Placing a hand on her chest, she laughs. Oh, my — I can see your knickers through it.” The joy I hear in her voice thrills me. “Come on in. Can I get you anything? Coke? Glass of water?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks, Miss Darling.”

“You can call me ‘Dusty’ when we’re alone together. ‘Miss Darling’ is for school. Come, let’s go through to the studio.” Her garage has been fitted with mirrors and barres on three walls, and the floor is polished hardwood. An upright piano stands in the corner.

“I’ve brought my own music,” I tell her, placing my laptop on top of the piano.

She folds her arms, moistens her lips. “So… you’re going to dance naked for me?” Her eyes are alight.

I just look at her and smile. “Yeah, that’s the plan.”

“Well,” she continues. “I thought that you’d be more comfortable if I were naked, too.” I stand there staring at her with my mouth hanging open as she takes one end of the belt on her dressing gown and hands it to me. “Pull!” she commands. I tug on it and her robe opens. She shrugs it off her shoulders.

Oh, my God! I’m familiar with her figure, but now I have the privilege of seeing her cleanly shaved pussy, her small but perfect tits and her big brown nipples. There’s a short pause while I look at her — drinking in her loveliness, her classic beauty, her total lack of self-consciousness. Miss Darling seems to be as eager to display her body as I am.

“Your turn…” she murmurs.

I can read it in her eyes, how much she wants to see me naked. For the first time since I hatched this daft scheme, I realize that my fantasy of Miss Darling might really come true. Time to make it happen…

I sit on the piano stool and lift one leg at a time to take my sandals off, giving her a nice upskirt view. Then I stand and lift my dress over my head, fold it carefully and place it on the stool. My excitement is building as I turn to face her, hooking my fingers into the waist of my knickers, slowly dragging them down over my hips and thighs, then stepping out. She’s seen me naked before, but I’ve never undressed like this in the school changing room. I’m doing a deliberate striptease, and her eyes are locked on my body.

I’m about to put my knickers on the stool with my dress — but then I get an inspired notion, and offer them to Miss Darling instead. Her hand closes on them as I point at the laptop and say, “When I give you the signal, press ‘enter’ to start the music.”

As I walk slowly to the centre of the floor, I can see her in the mirror as she briefly presses my knickers to her face, then lays them aside. I turn to face her, place my feet in first position, raise my arms and nod to her. The music starts.

I’ve never had any kind of real ballet lessons, so my choreography is unsophisticated, based on gym routines that I know well — chosen for the way that they’re going to put my pussy on display. I begin with a pirouette, some leg lifts and then crouch down, my forearms flat on the floor. I bring my weight forward until my centre of gravity is over my arms, lift my feet off the floor, then slowly invert my body so I’m vertical, but upside down. Then I scissor my legs open, spreading them as wide as I can so they form a straight horizontal line from foot to foot, leaving my pussy as centre of the “composition”, as it were. Then I lift my legs and spread them fore and aft, hold for a second, then switch legs. With legs vertical again, I slowly fall until my feet reach the floor. Now I’m bent down, my back to her, my two orifices in full view.

“Oh, my,” I hear her whisper.

I straighten up and do some handsprings, then, placing my hands on the floor, do another handstand and go over until my feet are on the floor again — body arched, legs parted, every inch of my pussy on show. I do several more gym routines, mostly splits and body positions that are, frankly, simply lewd.

At one point, I’m lying on my chest, legs bent backwards over my back, over my head until they reach the floor in front of me, so I’m doubled over. It’s more contortionism than gymnastics and it’s painful, but I manage it, knowing it will display my pussy beautifully. Another few backflips and the music ends with me lying on my back, my legs straight and splayed as I grip my ankles and try to spread myself open even further.

I slowly rise and take a bow. “Happy birthday,” I say.

“Bravo!” she cheers, clapping vigorously. “That was magnificent, Misty. From now on, when I teach your class, I’ll be seeing all the other girls in their leotards, but in my mind you’ll always be naked, just like you are now, showing me your perfect body.” She rises to her feet, drawing closer to me. “I’ll never forget this, my dear. Thank you so much for a wonderful birthday present. I enjoyed it so much.”

“Not as much as I enjoyed doing it, I bet,” I say, grinning.

“In fact, seeing you dance naked was such a lovely sight that I’d like for you to do your routine again for me. Only this time, I want to take pictures. Are you okay with that?”

Oh, what joy! She gonna have pictures of me showing off my pussy! “What will you do with them?” I ask, coyly.

“Oh, no one else will ever see them. I’ll look at them at night, before I go to bed.”

“Will you masturbate when you do?” I ask, boldly. She looks shocked, but now I’m on a roll that I can’t stop. “I love to rub my pussy, Miss Darling.” I can’t bring myself to call her “Dusty,” I revere her too much. “I think of you every night when I’m in bed, and I masturbate until I come.” I’m pushing my luck, I know. This conversation has gone well over the top.

Instead of telling me not to be so unladylike, she says, “Oh, my God, Misty! If only I’d known, I’d have invited you here sooner.”

“Yes, you can take pictures of me,” I say, eagerly. “Take as many as you like, lots and lots of close ups of my pussy.”

Miss Darling takes a camera from the compartment in the piano stool as I dash back to the centre of the floor, taking my position again. She starts the music and I go into my routine, but this time I’m not focused on elegant dancing or perfectly controlled gymnastics, I’m only interested in showing off my little girl’s pee pee, my pussy, my cunt, for the camera and for her.

She moves around me as if in a trance, taking shots from all angles, wide and close up, the flash going off every few seconds.

When the music stops, I sit beside her on the stool and we study the viewing screen of the camera, awed by what we see. There she is, little twelve-year-old Misty Meadow, showing off her most intimate self in the lewdest manner imaginable, bending and stretching to best display her pussy. It’s a lot more like stills from a porno movie than a dance routine — and that idea makes me so hot I can barely sit still.

“I’m sexy, aren’t I?” I say, grinning at her.

“A gross understatement, my darling. You’re my own personal porn star.”

“Can I take pictures of you now?” I ask.

Miss Darling nods. “Yes, but later. I’ll pose in any position you like, but first I’m gonna take you into my bedroom and get to know your sweet young body a little bit better.” She picks me up, cradling me in her arms, carrying me to her bedroom. The camera dangles from her wrist by its strap.

Once we’re in her bedroom, she gently lays me down on the bed — my bum on the edge, my feet on the floor. Kneeling between my thighs, she leans in close, staring at my pussy. “You’re so wet,” she breathes, “It’s dripping out of you.” It’s true, my pussy has been moist since I took my knickers off. “I’m gonna lick it off.”

She lowers her head and I feel her lips press against my slit in a loving kiss. Then her tongue touches my pussy, licking from my opening up to my clit in one long lick, then back down again. A second time, on the way up, she pauses at the entrance and presses her tongue into me. Her eyes, filled with adoration, look up to meet mine.

My whole lower half feels like it’s on fire, waves of lust radiating outward as her tongue goes back up to my tiny clit — circling it teasingly, then flicking at it. I hear myself groan. Then there’s a wonderful new sensation as her middle finger slides into me. It meets no resistance; I broke my own hymen years ago with the butt end of a candle. Miss Darling rotates her hand and curls her finger so that she touches that special spot.

“Use two!” I gasp — then gasp even louder as I feel the second finger go in. In the same instant, her lips press at the top of my slit, sucking my clit in and out rapidly.

That’s all it takes to make me explode like a nuclear blast, an orgasm twice as big as the best I’ve ever had. My body arches, my toes curl, and waves of love batter me from all sides, then gently wash me to heaven.

“Miss Darling, oh, Miss Darling, I love you so much,” I whisper as I come back down to earth.

She cradles my face in her warm hands. “And I love you too, Misty. You’ve always been special to me, ever since your first P.E. class. I’ve been longing for this day, but I was afraid to let you know how I felt, that you might report me and cost me my job. Thank God you feel the same way I do.” Then she laughs. “And you don’t have to call me ‘Miss Darling’, remember? ‘Dusty’ is fine.”

I shake my head. “I like ‘Miss Darling’ better. Don’t want to call you anything else.”

“If that’s what you want, love,” she says. I can feel her fingertip toying with my nipple. It feels lovely, but I’ve got something else in mind.

“Now it’s my turn to play with you,” I declare. “Come lie down.” She obeys without a murmur, lying back on the bed so that her feet, like mine, are resting on the floor. I rise, walk around to the end of the bed and kneel between her thighs, gazing in awe at the loveliness of Miss Darling’s pussy.

I see her camera is nearby, lying where she dropped it. I pick it up, frame her pussy so it fills the whole screen, then say, “I’m gonna get a nice close-up of your treasure.” I click the shutter, then draw away to take several more shots. “Now I can masturbate to these when I’m alone,” I say, now totally uninhibited. “Wow, you’re wet, too. It’s dripping onto the bedspread.”

“Taste it, Misty,” she moans. “Lick my pussy. Make me come!”

I’m only too happy to oblige. My childish worship of this goddess of the dance has morphed into raging lust as the pungent aroma of her cunt drives my excitement to new heights. I bury my face between her thighs and inhale deeply, letting her hear me so she’ll know how much I appreciate the scent of her.

Mind you, I’ve never gone down on a woman before — actually, I’ve never even gone all the way with a girl, nothing more than kissing and some touching — but I’ve been reading and fantasising about eating pussy ever since I knew I was gay. I gently kiss her outer lips, then begin to explore her with my tongue, licking all around the entrance to her pink grotto, then pushing in as far as it’ll go.

Miss Darling’s sighs of pleasure let me know right away that she likes what I’m doing. “Oh, yessss… oh my sweet little lover, that’s so — so wonderful…”

I lick her until my tongue starts to ache. Then I trail upwards to that special thing, that little bump that, in my case, I touch every night to make myself come. My clitoris is still tiny, but Miss Darling has a swollen nubbin of impressive size. I flick it with my tongue and hear her groan. I run my tongue round it in circles, teasing it. When she gasps, I take it between my lips and suck it, then release it and suck again — in and out, in and out as she writhes and twitches, her cries growing louder and louder until she’s screaming in a very unladylike manner.

I press two fingers inside her cunt, searching for that special spot that will drive her crazy, like it always does to me. “Oh, fuck! Fuck!” she yells. “You little fuckin’ sex fiend! You’re gonna make me come!”

Gone is the composed, sophisticated Miss Darling of Birkenhurst Girls’ Grammar School, replaced by a randy, lust-crazed lesbian who can’t get enough of my mouth and fingers. “Don’t stop! Don’t you d-dare stop! Oh, I’m coming, I’m coming. Oh, sweet Jesus!” With a final loud cry, her hips thrust upwards and her fingers dig into my scalp.

I’m flooded with joy! I’ve made her come. I’ve made my darling Miss Darling come! The thrill of knowing that sends me over the top, and my own pussy lights up, spreading that marvelous feeling all through me until my own orgasm shakes me like an earthquake, finally leaving me limp and drained, still kneeling with my face resting between my new lover’s legs.

Slowly lifting my head, I look up at her. Miss Darling’s eyes drift open to meet mine, and we share smiles. I know that the expression on my face must be one of absolute adoration.

“Oh, my darling Misty,” she murmurs. “That was a dance that we simply must do again.”

I climb onto the bed, crawl up to where she lies and stretch out next to her. She puts one arm round my shoulders as I lay my head on her breast, cupping the other in my hand, gently squeezing it and playing with her nipple.

“Any time, Miss Darling,” I reply, my soul glowing with happiness. “Any time you like.”

The End