Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

From my mom, I get my interest in yoga, and my love of photography comes from my dad. He’s passed away now, and I’m twenty-two years old.

It’s hard to believe that it was ten years ago that Dad last helped me take pictures with my 35-mm SLR. He had an amazing eye and could find just the right view to make an ordinary scene come alive. Mom has been a widow now for a decade. Thanks to yoga, meditation, and a healthy lifestyle, at 48 she has the slim, flexible body of a woman in her twenties. When we go out together, people assume that we’re friends, not that we’re mother and daughter. Mom has long brown hair, brown eyes, small breasts and a slim figure, while I take after the women in Dad’s family — blond, green-eyed, with large breasts and behind.

People are sometimes surprised that I don’t live on my own, but I could never find a better roommate than Mom, or a nicer place than the house that my father built with his own hands.

Though I still live with Mom, I run my business, “Marina’s Studio,” from a space in an old factory that’s been cut up into smaller rental spaces — used for storage, car repair, a gym, and what have you. It’s typical of the repurposed buildings here in Southside Virginia. When I first started, I specialized in children’s photos and in weddings, and those lines are still my main activities; but a couple of years ago I got into glamour photography and then video.

They’re often women I meet at weddings, many of them bridesmaids and even some brides, who are happy to pose for pictorial sets that I can sell to internet sites. Since 2008 a lot of women have struggled with mortgages and other urgent money needs, and posing nude for a friendly female photographer is an unthreatening experience.

My studio is well decorated, full of plants and sunlight. I let my models choose the music they like, and often I light incense. Almost everyone who models for me says that it was one of their pleasantest moments. They come back again and tell their friends, and I’m now having to say “no” reluctantly to some women who want to pose.

There really are a lot of pretty women in this town, women who may not even feel sexy or seem that way when they are ringing up groceries at the supermarket or delivering mail or teaching school, but who can reveal their glamorous and sensual nature when they strip out of their flower-print dresses or their jeans. Most boyfriends and husbands are amazingly supportive. As one, a preacher, told me, “It’s an act of reverence to show the beauty that only God could create.” Amen.

As I said, women find it easier to pose for a woman photographer, but what is not easy for me is to resist temptation. When I got into this line of work, I considered myself entirely straight, but I have to admit that several times I ended up naked and gasping for breath in the arms of one of my models. It’s usually the first time for them twice over: their first nude shoot and their first woman lover.

I didn’t expect to become sexually intimate with any of my models, but in retrospect it’s not hard to understand — how can I watch a woman unbutton her shirt, shyly slip off her bra cups so that her stiff nipples emerge, pull down her jeans and then her panties — revealing a pussy that is sometimes bare, sometimes furry, but nearly always glistening with the evidence of their excitement — and not become aroused? How can I kneel on the carpet next to her, encouraging her to spread her legs and then her lips and to finger herself while I look through the camera lens at the pale-pink, moist clitoris that, at that moment, has started to swell — how can I do this, without feeling a wet warmth between my own legs?

I never make the first move. Never. I am a professional, and I think it would be wrong to take advantage of the vulnerability of a woman who has undressed for me with the idea that we will only make pictures. But when a woman, after a shoot, stands beside me while we look at the unedited results of the session on my computer screen and she leans her naked body on my clothed one and then puts her arm around my waist as her hair brushes my face, and then she kisses me on the back of my neck — well, I don’t push her away. And we do what comes naturally.

My mother always encouraged me in my vocation as a photographer, which started as a child and persisted through college, where I majored in art and design. When I started doing glamour photos, I was careful at first to show Mom only the most classic of my sessions: beautiful clean-cut women without tattoos or piercings and without any sexual action. I avoided showing her photos of my models masturbating, even though I encouraged them to do that, since it is so popular at the websites where I place my work. Eventually, though, I let my mother see the more explicit stuff, though I never let her know about my sexual involvement with any of the models.

Mom was slightly shocked, but not really disapproving. She was just amazed that I could find so many women willing to pose in our community, women she often recognized from the store, from church, or from the yoga studio.

She continues to do yoga; in fact she teaches classes in the evenings and on weekends. During the day, until a year ago, she worked as an accountant in the local parks and recreation department. The survivor benefits from dad’s pension are really not adequate to live on, but with her job, mom lived comfortably. Then the state cut funding to localities and there was a big debate about tax rates, with the result that lots of city and county jobs were cut, including Mom’s. She is smart and hard-working, but the jobs just aren’t there.

This was the situation that indirectly led to Mom accepting an offer that I had repeated many times before, the offer to do a photo session with me. At first she treated it as a joke. She said that she was too old, that in her generation “nice” women just didn’t pose nude, and that “people will talk.” None of her arguments made sense, of course, especially the last one. Who would see the pictures except people who wanted to? I could always do the photos just for her and never publish them anywhere if she didn’t like the results. But if I did sell them to a site, it would definitely help her budget.

What finally changed her mind was Connie’s baby. Connie is Mom’s favorite niece, and when her first child was born after years of trying, Mom wanted to buy a really nice present for the occasion. She needed money, and that was when my mother finally agreed to pose nude for me.

It was an early spring morning when Mom and I drove to the studio. She wore a pretty blue, white, and yellow cotton dress. Not new but very nice. Her shining chestnut hair fell over her shoulders, and she wore a pearl necklace that was her favorite piece of jewelry, with matching teardrop earrings. As usual, she wore little makeup; just a little eyeliner and eye shadow. Mom had her black pumps on, the ones she favored for church and dress-up occasions, in place of her usual flats.

I could feel my mother’s nervousness, and was a little on edge myself. I’d taken hundreds of pictures of Mom in my lifetime, but it seemed incredible that I would soon be photographing her naked.

Before we even got inside, I snapped a few pictures of her outside the building. There was a pleasing contrast between the soft prettiness of mom and her dress against the hard, old, distressed brick of the factory. As I clicked away I thought to myself that these would be the last pictures of my mom in the old way, mom before she became a nude model.

I lit some incense and put on some new-age music that mom liked. The background for the shoot was just a neutral off-white sheet with a black sofa in front. I guided mom as she stood and slowly unbuttoned her dress. Her fingers trembled and her smile was nervous. As I had asked her, she did not wear a bra, so gradually we began to have a glimpse of her breasts and finally her right nipple emerged. The close-up of her face, her eyes glancing down at her erect nipple just peeking out of the flower print is priceless.

Her dress finally came off her shoulders, and then slid down so that her white panties came into view. They already had a small damp patch in the crotch. I loved this — my models are almost always first-timers, and the simple act of undressing in front of a camera arouses them beyond anything that I could do or say. It makes for wonderful photos, and in Mom’s case the many years of covering up carefully made this day of first exposure seem all the more powerfully forbidden and exciting.

I told her to let her dress fall to the floor. There she stood, trembling, wearing only her damp panties and her black pumps, her hair framing her blushing face, nipples stiff, slim girlish body in all its awkward glory. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. She had her left hand — she’s a lefty — with its wedding band, on her right hip as if, in a small symbolic way, to cover up.

I told her to slip her hand into her panties. She hesitated, said “I don’t think I can do that…” and then nonetheless complied. Her left fingers slid out of view behind the cotton.

I came in close and got several shots as her fingers moved between her lips — this was spontaneous, instinctive, and didn’t come from me. The wetness made the cotton a bit translucent in the center, and thanks to the high resolution from my camera you can see the golden gleam of the wedding band through the fabric as she works her pussy. Except for mom’s breathing and some moans there was no sound except the clicks of my camera.

I asked her to pull the panties down with her other hand without stopping what she was doing so that I could get a better view. She looked at me right in the eyes with a serious almost trance-like look. She said, “Do you really want this, Marina?”

I said yes, and she pulled the panties out of the way to reveal her fingers rubbing against a very swollen clitoris. At my direction she squeezed it between her ring and middle fingers, making it stand out still more. Since she had seen other models in photos, mom had thoughtfully shaved completely to prepare for our session. Her mound was bare and beautiful.

At this point I realized that she was becoming unsteady on her feet with excitement, so I asked her to lie down on the sofa. She gratefully lay down and spread her legs, nude except for her pearls and pumps. She has just the most amazing body! Her legs, which I now saw for the first time full length unencumbered with clothing, were so long, toned, and graceful. Without prompting, she continued to finger herself, sometimes closing her eyes, and sometimes opening them to stare at me.

All of a sudden her hips started to buck and her whole body began to jerk in spasms. Then she fell back on the sofa with her eyes closed and put two fingers of her right hand into her vagina while she continued to rub her button with her left hand. She fucked herself like this with her fingers for a minute or two and then had such a powerful orgasm that it scared me. She lifted her body, her feet on the floor and her shoulders against the back cushions of the sofa, propelling her crotch into the air as she fucked with both hands, her fluids dripping along her thighs, and then, as if possessed, her body sprang forward off the sofa and she was on the carpet on her knees. Her right hand came away from her pussy and onto the floor to steady herself while her left hand continued its work and her hips bucked several more times with decreasing force. Finally she let herself down onto the floor and lay still, bathed in sweat.

Although I had shot some pretty intense sessions in which a woman pleasured herself, I had never seen anything like this. Add the fact that this was my beautiful, mature, reserved mother and you will have an idea of the state I was in. I was upset, shocked, shaken, disoriented — and aroused. I felt guilt at having put my mother into this situation and even guiltier at the warm wet feeling between my legs — in fact, I felt suddenly so warm and flushed that I needed to take off my top.

My mother gazed at me as I cast my blouse to one side. “Honey,” she whispered, “I — I love you…”

Bare-breasted and in my jeans, I knelt down next to my naked, panting mother and took her in my arms.

I meant merely to comfort her, but she eagerly turned her face to mine and before I knew what was happening, my mother and I were kissing passionately.

As her tongue pushed its way into my mouth, my right hand began to caress her left breast and to feel her hard erect nipple against my palm. A shock of desire surged through my body. Almost without thinking, my left hand moved down over Mom’s firm tummy towards her pussy.

Despite our passionate kisses, I didn’t know if this was what she wanted. Yet I couldn’t help exploring. My hand moved ever so slowly downwards, feeling the soft warmth of her body, encountering no resistance. She wanted this as much as I did.

Finally my middle finger reached her pussy and slipped between her lips. Her swollen clit pushed hard against my finger! She was now rocking her pelvis against my hand, seeking pleasure from me! A wonderful feeling of love and acceptance coursed through me. I needed to taste the pussy that I had just photographed in all its glistening pink glory.

Mom almost didn’t let me pull my mouth away from hers, but when she felt me kiss my way down her throat, down her chest, and take a few moments to suck on her nipples before continuing on my way, she said, “Marina, my baby, yes, please, kiss me down there!” Now my tongue was parting her lips, exploring them on the inside, then thrusting deep into her vagina.

She tasted incredible. I could feel her wet thighs against my cheeks and my ears as I thrust and licked, and then I started sucking on her clit. It did not take long before she quaked with another powerful orgasm, which was followed shortly by my own. Without thinking much, I had thrust my right hand into my jeans and had been rocking against it while I ate out mom.

After we came, we kissed some more, and Mom said, “Why are you still wearing those pants?”

Trembling with lust, I stood to peel off my jeans and sopping panties. It was hard to do, because I was so excited at the thought that my mother would soon be tasting my cunt. I found myself wondering if I was her first lesbian lover.

Mom pushed me back onto the sofa and knelt before me, between my legs. She slid her hands under my thighs so that she could cup my cheeks while she looked at my crotch. “I’ve never seen a woman’s pussy up close,” she breathed. “How could I have spent all these years without trying this?” So it was her first time. That only excited me more…

I was eager to feel her mouth against my mound but she first licked the juices off my thighs, going back and forth, from left to right, for what seemed to me to be an eternity of aroused suspense. It was beautiful to watch her, her dark hair — usually so neatly combed — all tousled and wet, her face — usually so serene and meditative — so possessed with the hunger for another woman.

Finally, I felt her tongue licking on either side of my pussy, outside the outer lips. But as her tongue explored my crotch, her face brushed against my clit and made my body jerk with excitement. Then she moved her tongue inside! My God in heaven, what a moment! The woman I loved most in the world was now penetrating me with her tongue, exploring every intimate fold, and then sucking on my clit, pulling it in between her lips, then letting go and licking…

After that, it was all a huge, glorious blur of repeated orgasms. I remember that I later spread her on the floor on her stomach and tongued her asshole while she humped against her fingers, and then still later we were lying on the sofa bathed in sweat and kissing.

Several hours must have passed. It was afternoon when we woke up, holding each other, naked, on the sofa.

The next day I wondered whether to send the edited photos to the usual web site. Now I felt the caution of a daughter and the jealousy of a lover. Mom insisted, though. She said that she wanted to get something really nice for Connie’s baby.

My mother and I still make love every now and then. We’re both in relationships with other women — after we fucked that first time, it was enough to convince Mom that she was gay — but we still get together occasionally for a hot romp in the sheets. She’s my beloved parent, my best friend, my roommate and my fuck-buddy, all wrapped up in one wonderful, desirable hunk of woman, and I adore her to bits.

The End