Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Una

The afterglow of my thrill was still there as I undressed and sponge-washed. Cold water removed tell-tale redness on my cheeks and neck. I slipped on my once beautiful royal blue swimsuit. It was too tight, misshapen. I looked so childish in the mirror. I coveted my sister Ann’s shape. I longed to have her faultless figure, her long legs and quiet confidence about her body.

Thoughts of Ann’s shape inspired a new wave of desire. A mind picture of what I’d seen earlier appeared — Ann, stepping into her swimsuit, straightening slowly to display a dark triangle as she wriggled and tugged the stretch material to her knees.

Did I imagine it, or did she pause in that instant before it moved up her thighs to cover her secret parts? Of course I did. Sometimes my mind runs away — but why, then, did she turn to face me? Why did she flash that special smile as she gripped the swimsuit — her naked form held motionless for that few seconds? Was she flaunting her developed femininity to her skinny sister — or was she flirting?

Of course not! Ann wasn’t like me, wasn’t tortured by temptations of the flesh. Didn’t have silly, silent arguments with herself.

I thought of old Sister Agnes, the Deputy Head nun. She was the perfect counterweight to Ann. It was hard to tell what age she was. She had a moustache and was at least forty. I imagined Sister Agnes, naked, climbing into bed beside me, kissing me with her foul breath. Oh my God! The horror drove all impure thoughts about Ann from my mind.

I felt better. The temptation to give into impure thoughts had gone. My mind turned to a pleasant day on the sunny beach.

I checked my face again for revealing signs of redness. Mother had an unerring way of knowing when I had been bold. I looked fine. I greeted her briefly as I raced through the kitchen. The smouldering lust for Ann had gone. All I wanted now was some cool respite from the summer heat in the rock pool.

She was with another girl when I got there. Mary and I were introduced. The three of us frolicked, splashing and chatting before hunting for sea life at the far end of the rock pool. The tide was coming in. We had to move. Mary checked with her mother, relaxing in the sun some distance up the strand.

We found a suitable spot in the dunes and sprawled on the hot sand, discussing schools, clothes, hairstyles, music and the Beatles. Mary’s mother came up to meet us. Introductions, more chat, then finally, Mary and her mum were heading off to their holiday home a mile along the beach.

Ann and I lay back, lost in our own thoughts. Gentle Irish Sea waves hissed rhythmically on the beach. The rest of the world didn’t seem to exist.

I studied the fine blonde hairs on Ann’s shins. Strange, I hadn’t noticed them before. They were so sparse and white that without wet sand clinging to them they would be invisible. I didn’t mention them. She was easily offended.

I thought of body hair — of the darker hair I’d seen earlier, when Ann pulled on her swimsuit. But I thought of it merely with curiosity. It was as though she was a different creature now: my big sister, my companion for as long as I could remember, how could I ever have thought of her in such sinful terms? I loved her. But it was nicer to love her like this — more as a sister and friend for life than as an occasion of sin.

We talked. I sat up, arms hugging knees. Ann moved behind me. She brushed sand from my shoulders. Oh God, not again! A reflex on my neck made me shiver as her fingers delicately moved under the hairline. Temptation was back with a vengeance, the solitude, the stillness, heat beating down on my body — all were combining to fill my head with the most exquisite, sinful cravings.

Our eyes met for a moment. I knew from that smouldering look that Ann shared my thoughts. But seconds later she was saying we had to get back. We’d no idea of the time and it was near lunch.

We went in the car with Mum and Dad after lunch. Ann and I sat in the back. Our knees touched as we swerved around corners on the winding road. It was stiflingly hot. I felt baked, like a cake in an oven. I was wearing a thin cotton dress, knickers and sandals. Sister Agnes had told us once that heat and immodest summer clothes invited the Devil to visit. I hadn’t understood. Neither had my friends. Now I knew. The warm sun beaming through the car window and my light clothes had me in a strange, excited mood.

I studied the symmetry of the toes peeping from Ann’s flip-flops. She was, I thought, a perfect creature. I wanted to look like her. I crossed my legs. I tried to think of Sister Agnes. But Ann was too close. I could feel her hip against mine.

I asked if she was hot. She waved a hand like a fan and pulled a face to show she was. She was lightly dressed like me. I had a mind-picture of the meeting point between her legs. Under that thigh-length sun dress was a pair of Aertex briefs. In my imagination the cotton clung to the warm dampness between her crossed legs.

I’d been there when she scrambled into her going-out clothes. She’d turned her back modestly as I entered the bedroom. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Now, in the car, my glance kept returning to her chest, a baby-pink nipple visible under the gossamer-thin white fabric. It seemed terribly daring. Mum would scold if she noticed.

I punished myself for having weird thoughts about my sister. Why do I think so differently from other girls? Why don’t I fantasise the way my friends do — about Elvis, or Mick Jagger?

My mind returned to the scene in the bedroom as we prepared to go out with Mum and Dad. I wandered into the room as Ann changed. She had turned her back. Was she sending a message — saying there could be nothing carnal between us — or did she thoughtlessly screen her naked body from my gaze? Was it an instinctive move that would have been the same if Mother had entered instead of me?

We had been sleeping in separate rooms for so long now that it was rare to see Ann dress or undress — and rarer still to see any part of her body unclothed.

The car bumped on. I looked out the window, bored. I had a flashback to our pre-departure preparations. I saw Ann’s womanly hips and buttocks as she stooped to draw those white Aertex pants up from her ankles. I hated Aertex knickers: they were cheap and uncomfortable. It was a myth of my mother’s that they were cooler in hot weather. But on Ann, they looked divine.

I stared at the passing green fields behind — preferring to think of my mother’s sometimes silly notions of what her girls should wear, inside and out, as a way of halting my sinful thoughts.

We stopped, then swerved onto a side road. Ann swayed towards me. Our knees touched. It felt as though a coiled spring had been released somewhere inside me. I had butterflies, unseen shivers along that sensitive part of my back.

I pushed my knee against hers in return. Oh my God. My mouth went dry as she pushed back, deliberately. I stole a glance at her face. She was staring fixedly out the window, as though nothing had happened.

I pushed my knee on hers again. As we rounded another corner, I drew it high along her leg before our knees parted, dragging the hem of her short sundress up to her groin.

She didn’t respond. I thought about Sister Agnes, wondering why she was always cross. She had puffy hands. I’d felt them once, when she’d grabbed my bare arm to warn me for running on the stairs. Funny, how I’d never forgotten that clammy grip.

Ann was asking if we could stop somewhere. She was dying to pee. Father said we were near the hotel, she could wait till then. Mother said no. “Stop somewhere quiet, Jim, and she can go behind a hedge.”

We both climbed over a five-bar gate into a pasture field. Ann had her dress up and pants down before I’d scrambled to join her. I took up position like a sentry, peering this way and that along the deserted road in case of interruption. Even squatting in an undignified pose, Ann looked strangely attractive.

The sight of her exposed, rounded hip made me think there was something special about the shared intimacy between sisters. We’d bathed together for years as children. I knew her body as well as my own then. But now there were different rules. We had to behave modestly in private moments, according to the nuns, my mother and everyone else in the world. We were forbidden the closeness we had as children.

Relieving our bladders together was something we’d done since we were toddlers. But this seemed different. There was an air of expectation in the air as Ann stood, fumbled her clothes into place and gave me another of her enigmatic smiles. Her glance around emphasised that some bond between us had been renewed that day.

She seemed to be checking that her moment of necessity — this moment of private business for both of us — had not been observed by anyone else. But really, her gestures and shy smiles said this was more. This was a conspiracy between sisters.

I was crouching now, following Ann’s example. She picked some wildflowers from the grassy bank as I stood and fixed my clothes. We turned to go. Suddenly, she swept her dress above her hips as if she was alone, and tugged at her pants, making them more comfortable.

A tidal wave of desire washed over me. In the blink of an eye, I’d seen the outline of her sex. The forbidden cleft, that wonderful secret crevice, that opening to her inner self had been profiled on her damp knickers in the instant before she had pulled them clear. Her dress fell as quickly as it had risen.

Breathlessly, I settled back into the car. Had Ann done that deliberately? Had she contrived that gesture, or was my imagination running going wild again?

I tried to think of Sister Agnes and her horrible features. But the picture wouldn’t appear. All I could see in my mind were disjointed images of Ann, secret images that no one else had ever seen.

That full-fronted nakedness as she put on her swimsuit this morning; the teasing glimpse of her unclothed rear as she dressed for our car journey; the pink shape of a nipple under her white sundress, the tantalising view of those peach segments between her legs after we peed — all were overwhelming me.

I bumped my knee against Ann’s, no longer concerned that, as the younger sister, my role should be passive. My forehead was moist and sticky, but it was as nothing compared with the heat and damp elsewhere. I uncrossed my legs and parted them, placing one foot on the seat ahead — feeling air from the open car window rush to cool my ardour. I nudged Ann again with my knee, frantically this time. I wanted a sign that she shared my feelings.

But she didn’t return the gesture. The bitch. I was in a high state of excitement, and she was playing with me, pretending she hadn’t noticed. All my life she had been doing that — teasing, taking toys from me, excluding me when she had friends with her.

I clenched my teeth and stared out the window. I wanted to do something awful to her. I thought of some mad ideas. I’d steal her boyfriend. I’d seduce him. But she didn’t have a boyfriend, and I couldn’t seduce anyone anyhow. I’d only just learned from Margaret how to French kiss.

I decided that I would have an affair with Sister Agnes. That would really embarrass Ann with her friends. They’d say they saw Agnes holding my hand behind the refectory, kissing. Oh my God. I shuddered at the thought of touching my lips the the nun’s wrinkled, moustached mouth. Besides, Ann and her friends would laugh at me, not at her.

We arrived at the hotel. Ann had to go to the loo again. She invited me. I sulked. When she came back, I went alone. I sat quietly during our meal. Mother wanted to know what was wrong. So did Ann. I stayed silent, merely shrugging.

Back at our holiday home, after a couple of hours sulking and listening to the radio, I went to bed. At least Charlie was nice to me. I climbed into bed naked except for a t-shirt. I hugged Charlie chastely. I was still so angry with Ann that I couldn’t even seek comfort in my ragged panda.

I must have fallen asleep. I woke to hear Ann moving quietly about the darkened room. I could see her silhouette as she undressed. She pulled back the covers and climbed into bed without a nightie. I wondered if she had kept her knickers on, or if she was naked.

Oh God, those old thoughts were back again. I fell asleep, exhausted. It must have been midnight when I heard Ann whisper. She was kneeling beside my bed. She wanted to know if I’d been able to get to sleep.

I wasn’t sure, I said. I knew what was next. She agreed it was cold when I pointed out she had no nightie on. I threw aside the bedclothes and she squeezed in. We cuddled as though this was an every-night occurrence.

Her arms were around my waist, drawing me towards her. I was clinging to her neck. Her bare breasts were pressing my chest through the t-shirt.

She regretted offending me today. I said I was sorry. Over and over I told her how bad I felt about sulking. I punctuated my apologies by squeezing close, pushing my knee into the soft damp softness of her knickers.

We were whispering so low that we had to put lips to each other’s ears. Her tongue touched my earlobe, so softly at first that it seemed an illusion. My shoulders rose in a squirm and uncontrollable desire welled up like a magic spring in a steaming, volcanic valley. Her tongue withdrew, leaving its wetness behind.

I pushed my head against her mouth — and was thrilled as the tip of her tongue flicked across the nub of flesh below my ear. I tightened my arms around her neck. She drew my waist to hers, flattening her tummy against my hip, moving subtly as if we were dancing a slow rumba. Oh my God. If this ends now it will have been the most memorable, the most thrilling night of my life.

But it wasn’t going to end. It seemed like hours since Ann first climbed into bed, but it was probably merely minutes since she had licked my earlobe. We hugged, tighter and tighter, wriggling into various positions for mutual pleasure.

Ann had sucked my lobe into her mouth, tonguing it, spreading tingling rivulets of sinful desire to every part of me. I wanted more. My instinct drove me on. I turned my face towards hers. Our mouths met like two magnets. Her tongue was inside me, penetrating, probing, fencing with mine. All that Margaret had taught me about French kissing was there, and more.

I was lost in a misty world of passion now. I wanted to do everything, to feel everything. We tossed, we turned, we squirmed, we wriggled. Each move seemed to inspire in my sister to some greater passion, as it did me.

She rolled on top. My bare mound was pressing on the peach-shaped prominence inside her knickers. Our pleasure centres rubbed — like Eskimos rubbing noses, I thought.

Ann’s grinding had parted my secret lips, revealing the wetness there, tugging some inner part, sending wave after wave of lust crashing over me. My God, how could anything be so intense? I was intoxicated, uncaring about the time or the place — all I wanted was this joy with Ann to last forever and ever.

My hand was on her breast. I kneaded its balloon-like softness with a feather touch. The nipple was firm, as solidly stiff as the rubber on the end of our school pencils. My curious thumb explored its shape, Ann sighed — then sighed again.

Her palms were pressing on my ears. She was kissing my lips sweetly, pushed my head lower, leaning away, her breasts thrust forward. She whispered. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” then she steered my head lower, until it rested in the folds of her small but beautiful cleavage.

I didn’t answer. I was too far gone. I couldn’t speak. But I knew what she wanted. I turned my mouth, lightly kissing her soft skin. She lifted one breast and guided the nipple to my mouth.

I devoured it like a lost soul finding water in a desert. The surge of heat and pleasure which convulsed me as I sucked part of my sister’s body into mine was indescribable. We were flying in the face of every taboo that had ever existed. But here, in this dark room in an unfamiliar room in the middle of the night, it felt sublime.

Wave after wave of pleasure kept crashing over me. Ann sighed and gasped as we drifted, apart yet together, towards our forbidden gratification.

For a moment, I was forced to pause. I had reached the cliff-edge where I often wandered with Charlie. When his knee was between my thighs, then I whirled into a wonderful parallel world, like Dorothy being whirled away from the Yellow Brick Road, over the rainbow.

The bubbling cauldron down below told me I could fly off the cliff at any minute, falling into a warm sea of satisfaction. But I didn’t want any pleasure of mine to interfere with Ann’s thrilling journey. I pulled my mouth from her breast and moved away, breathing deeply to regain control.

Her head was on my chest at once, lips seeking my nipple. Her mouth had latched onto me with a suddenness that made me jump. Her sucking was intense, manic. Her lips tightened on the tingling nub, drawing it deep. She was love-biting my nipple. Oh God. What more can there be?

I held her head, attempting to control her frantic desire. She licked, she sucked, she coated all of my budding growth in delicious, slippery saliva. My little nipple seemed huge as she flicked it inside her mouth. Oh God. I can’t hold back. Charlie never felt like this.

Ann’s hand was on my mouth, covering it, whispering. Shush, shush. I wasn’t aware that I was making any sound. I had left the world and was spinning in space. I dragged Ann’s head away from my breast and whispered, “I love you. I really love you, for always.”

Her hand was between my legs, like a magic wand about to wave me into an enchanted, fairy world. My thighs opened instinctively. My body was ready, I needed a finale, needed to have my sister’s fingers consummate our love.

She parted my hidden crevice so deftly, so expertly, that I knew she’d done it before. A finger slithered along my wetness. It investigated the bumps and bits which I’d only ever seen in a hand-mirror in the bath.

It drifted upwards, rolling back the squishy flesh covering the tiny, swollen, purple triangle which epitomised my desire. I heaved and wriggled. The sensation of bliss was so intense that it was almost painful.

I gasped loudly, so loud that even I was aware of it. But I didn’t care who heard. No one could ever take the memory of this pleasure away. I was hooked on love, a special love, secret sisterly love.

I snuggled against Ann. Resting my head on her shoulder, I cried. I don’t know why I cried. I’d never been so happy in my life.

Continue on to Chapter 4