Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Maverick

Tracked down by Sapphmore, reworked by JetBoy for Juicy Secrets

{ This story was originally posted at Sex4Stories in February 2018 }

Note from JetBoy: I might as well tell you up front: this is another two-part story where all the actual sex takes place in the second half. It’s one hell of a second half, though — so don’t pass the first chapter up. As a reward for your patience, I’ll post Part Two fairly soon. Many thanks to Sapphmore, our Site Story Detective, for finding this one!

***

Watching my mom fall deep into despair after her divorce was the most awful thing I’d ever seen. I wished with all my heart that I knew what to do to help her find happiness again.

Mom was a sweet woman who deserved far better. She’d been there for me my entire life. She’d been strict with me when I needed it, but never with anger. She convinced me I was special.

When I’d been five and thrown a mammoth tantrum over something incredibly important that I don’t even remember anymore, she’d carried me up to my room, still crying and struggling and calling her names, and explained through my hysteria she was declaring a time out. I was to remain in my room until I had spent two continuous hours with no loud noises. Any fresh outbursts and I would start over. She then quietly locked me in and went back downstairs while I continued caterwauling.

When I finally calmed down and had completed one hour of silence, she brought me a brownie, saying, “Well done, sweetheart, carry on.” When I’d completed the whole two hours, she came in, gave me a big hug and kisses all over my face, tickled me until I giggled, and took me out for ice cream! That was my very last tantrum.

In my freshman year of high school, when she’d grounded me for toilet papering the house of a girl who’d been bullying me, our evenings were spent together watching TV or playing Scrabble until she released me from ‘the joint’ a week early for good behavior, and started taking me to Karate class. A couple months later my bully ambushed me again, but ended up with good cause to apologize.

I could tell you dozens of stories about times Mom did everything she could to resolve situations that had caused me to act out in the first place. Even though I wasn’t always the sweet angel she said I was, she’d never struck me or done anything to me out of anger. Not once in eighteen years!

When I was sad, she offered me her shoulder and her ear and long cuddles. When I was angry, she asked me sympathetic questions and listened for as long as I needed and never offered suggestions until I’d talked myself out and asked for them. When I was good, she loved me and made me feel like the most wonderful girl in the world.

My father, the asshole that he was, had left Mom on December first for a woman only four years older than me… four fucking years!

It completely crushed Mom. Seeing her like that completely crushed me.

Mom was thirty-four and had never had a job, not marrying my father at eighteen. For the first several years of her marriage she’d insisted on going for a degree in English and had obtained her Bachelor’s diploma, but had never done anything with it. Instead, she’d always been a stay-at-home mom for me.

Dad made lots of money as a stockbroker, and insisted that his wife shouldn’t work. So she stayed home in a comfortable house, like a stereotypical housewife.

After the divorce, Mom had no idea what to do with herself. Thanks to his money and connections, Dad had achieved an amazingly quick separation: he’d wanted to retire and start traveling with his cradle-robbed sexpot. He’d easily gotten the divorce because Mom was too disheartened to put up much of a fight, and anyway, why fight to keep a man who no longer loved you?

At least he didn’t emerge from the split completely unscathed. Thanks to a perceptive judge, we got a very generous ruling on how much support Dad would have to provide. So money wouldn’t be a problem for Mom, but she felt cast adrift: what would she do with herself?

I was in my senior year of high school and would be leaving for college in less than a year. I knew that empty nest syndrome was going to hit her really hard. Dad and I had always been her entire life, and that heartless bastard had abandoned us both, but I didn’t miss him a bit. Hell, I was glad he was gone. He’d dumped Mom during the holiday season, which only made him a bigger dick than I’d already thought he was.

He was one of the reasons I was a lesbian.

Oh sure, sexual attraction was the main one, but my hatred for the way my dad had treated Mom my entire life had generalized itself into a very early dislike for men, thus boys, and at eighteen I was definitely one hundred percent gay. He didn’t make me into a lesbian, but he sure made it easier for me to accept that any great love in my life wouldn’t be packing a dick. Not a flesh-and-blood one, anyhow.

Mom didn’t know I was queer. I was perceived by her and by most people who knew me as a sweet, shy, nerdy young woman. I was far from that, but didn’t mind letting most people think I was. Shy around boys vs couldn’t care less about boys didn’t look so different from the outside. Either way I wasn’t dating any, or even flirting.

Few, besides my best friend and partner in crime Amanda, a still closeted athlete Brittany (I knew where her closet was, and visited her there regularly), my neighbor Mrs. Benson, my teacher Mrs. Walker, and a few other trusted souls had any clue that I was a lesbian.

I hadn’t originally planned on seducing Mom, but one thing led to another and… well, here’s the story of my craziest, most life-altering Valentine’s Day ever.

I came home from school, and although she smiled resolutely as she greeted me, it was obvious Mom had been crying… and it broke my heart all over again.

As always, I asked the stupid question, “Are you okay, Mom?”

“I’m fine, honey,” she answered like she always did, wiping away some streaks of evidence to the contrary, attempting to be casual about it. Today was Valentine’s Day, her first since Dad had left two months ago. She was obviously feeling especially sad about being alone on the Day of Love, while her ex-husband was drinking Mai Tais on the beaches of Hawaii with his new slut.

She was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, so I sat across the corner from her and looked into her eyes gently. “Mom, you know you can talk to me,” I said, letting her know I loved her and wasn’t buying any bull crap about her feeling fine. “I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. And he left me, too.”

This seemed to make Mom even sadder.

“I know, honey,” she nodded. “It’s just that… I don’t want to burden you with my troubles.”

“Mom, your troubles are my troubles, too,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “After all the things you’ve done for me my whole life, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“It’s just… I don’t know, I’m still in denial mode,” Mom said.

I smiled, “I’ve moved on to angry mode.”

“I think I’m in a lot of modes,” she laughed. “Denial, anger, frustration…”

“Frustration?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, quickly pulling her hands away and moving to the kitchen counter. I followed, of course.

“You can’t confide something you feel and then not explain,” I said.

“It’s just… personal, honey,” she said, avoiding eye contact.

“Personal, shmersonal! Mom, you can tell me anything,” I offered.

“It’s just…” she began and paused.

“It’s just what?” I asked.

“I feel like such a failure,” she admitted, although I could tell that wasn’t what she really meant.

I pulled Mom into a hug and said, “Mom, you’re not a failure. Dad is. He’s a failure as a husband, as a father and as a man.”

“Oh, honey,” Mom said, bursting into tears again.

“You deserve better than Dad,” I said. “He treated you like a slave.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” she wailed through her tears.

“All you did was love your family and get older,” I told her. “You’re better off without him. We are better off without him. Dad is an asshole!”

“Hannah!” Mom gasped.

“Mom, he is, and he always has been!”

“Hannah, please don’t speak about….”

I interrupted, now not only angry at him, but at my mom for trying to defend him, “Mom, be thankful he’s gone! He was a terrible insensitive husband and a useless father. It’s only thanks to you he was never a child-beater, too!”

“It was never that black and white,” she protested.

“Mom, enough!” I shouted, slamming my palm onto the counter, a technique my father had often used to get our undivided attention.

She looked at me in shock as I took her hand, leading her to the couch.

“Mom, stop defending him,” I said, not holding back my anger. “He’s an unfaithful, insensitive, arrogant prick of a man and we both deserve better,” I ranted so vehemently I could feel my face turning red.

“But he’s your father,” Mom pointed out.

“He’s my sperm donor,” I said. “No more, no less. Well, actually far less. Any damn fool can ejaculate into a woman’s cunt.”

“Hannah, language,” Mom scolded. Swearing is not something I usually do in front of my mother, or she in front of me.

“Sorry, Mom,” I softly said, putting a hand on her nylon-clad leg. “I just hate how he still makes you feel worthless. You’re a special woman, and you deserve to be treated like a goddess.”

“Oh, Hannah,” she smiled, suddenly close to shedding tears of a different kind. “I needed to hear that.”

“Mom, you’re a beautiful woman inside and out,” I continued, a sweet idea popping into my head. Maybe I could help her out of this funk!

“Thank you, honey,” she said, enjoying the compliments, while my hand slithered at a snail’s pace up her thigh.

“Where do you get these nylons? They’re super soft,” I said, knowing they were real silk and not some cheap brand.

“Some girls spend their money on shoes, I spend mine on stockings,” she replied, seemingly okay with me  caressing her legs.

“Good choice,” I approved. “They’re as soft as silk and really make those lovely legs of yours stand out.”

“Thank you, honey,” she smiled again. “Your father never seemed to notice.”

“His loss,” I said, moving my hand ever so slightly under her dress to discover she was actually wearing stockings and a garter. “Mom!” I asked, surprised. “This is some sexy stuff! Who are you wearing it for?”

“Myself,” she answered with a shy smile, allowing me to lift up her dress enough to admire her black lace garter.

I took her hands, pulled her up off the sofa and dropped to my knees.

Did part of me want to bury my face in my mother’s pussy?

God, yes. I wanted it badly and I knew she needed it badly, but a slow seduction was much better for my long-term goal.

Mom looked down at me, surprised. “Hannah, what are you doing?”

“Just taking a look at this lovely garter,” I said, which was partly true. I was also trying to see if Mom was shaved.

She was!

“Oh, I bought it online. I buy all my nylons and lingerie that way,” she said, standing there like a sexy mannequin as I traced my hand over the garter belt, resisting the temptation to touch her cute black panties… which looked more like a thong, actually.

“Are you wearing a thong. Mom?”

“Thongs are all I own,” she admitted.

“Mom, you are a complete enigma,” I said, as I took the risk and flicked my hands around to her ass to grab the thong and tug it out then snap it back into her ass.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, moving away slightly.

“Sorry,” I apologized again. “It’s just something we do in the change room to girls who wear thongs.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” I nodded. “Guys whip towels at each other’s asses, and we tug thongs.”

“Why?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” I answered.

“Weird,” she said, although she didn’t move any further away from me.

“Do you have any more of these sheer nylons?” I asked, an idea of how to seduce my mother slowly blossoming in my head.

“Quite a few,” she laughed. “It’s my shopping addiction.”

“Can I try on a pair?” I asked, standing up. “All I wear are these cheap ones.”

“Sure,” she said with a nod.

I took her hand. “Let’s go try some now.”

“Now?” she asked.

“I can’t think of a better way to cheer a girl up than by trying on clothes,” I said.

“Well, okay,” she said, following me, though probably trying to process how me trying clothes were going to cheer her up.

Just wait, Mommy dearest. If I have my way, you’ll be cheered up and then some.

I said, “Nothing puts me in a better mood than shopping, and shopping in my mom’s closet seems like the ultimate thrill.”

“What do I get out of this?” she asked playfully, catching the mood.

“Oh, I have some fashionable stuff you can try on,” I said, deciding I was going to play Barbie with my mom.

“Hey!” she objected as she realized I was being critical of her fashion choices.

“You dress like a housewife,” I pointed out.

“I am a housewife,” she countered. “Or was, anyway.”

“Exactly,” I nodded. “But as I’m learning this very afternoon, looks can be deceiving.”

“How so?” she asked, as she went to her dresser drawer and pulled out a few pairs of stockings, still in the package.

“Well, underneath your mother-goes-to-market clothes, you’re wearing some very hot lingerie,” I pointed out.

“I like wearing lace bras, garters and stockings underneath,” she said. “They make me feel sexy.”

“They make you look sexy, too, I imagine,” I complimented, “let’s see.” I reached around and unzipped her dress.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I want to see your underwear,” I said. “Did you say lace bra?”

“But I’m your mother,” she protested.

“We’re both adults, Mom,” I reminded her. “I see girls completely naked almost every day.” I withheld the fact that we were naked so they could lick me, and vice versa.

“I guess,” she responded tentatively.

When she didn’t move away, I slipped the dress off her shoulders and down her torso to her hips. Stepping a foot back for a better view, I unveiled her sexy lingerie, and gasped — a little overdramatically, I suppose, “Holy shit, Mom! You have an amazing body!”

“Hannah!” she gasped, although clearly appreciating the compliment.

“Seriously,” I continued, knowing flattery worked wonders. That was doubly true for insecure women, at least from my experience. “You’ve got a better body than most high school girls.”

“You’re being silly,” she said, but didn’t move away as I finally dropped her dress to the floor. Taking a chance, I quickly unclasped her bra.

“My God, sweetie, what are you doing?” she said, surprised by my boldness.

Ignoring her protests, I tossed Mom’s bra onto the floor and quickly cupped her big, firm breasts. As she stood there shocked, I told her, “I got your eyes and your hair, but not these.”

“Hannah, I…” she began, but I interrupted her.

“Seriously, your breasts are so full and lovely, and mine are so small,” I pouted, then jerked my sweater off. “See?”

“You’re not wearing a bra,” she said, surprised.

Truth was, I’d left it at Amanda’s after a quickie fuck after school, but that information could remain hidden a little while longer as I continued my slow seduction. I played the insecurity card, cupping my 34B breasts. “I don’t need any bra for these.”

“Honey, trust me, yours are the perfect size,” she said.

“How so?” I asked, even though I wasn’t really insecure about my breasts. Truth was, they were almost the perfect size: not too big, not too small; as Goldilocks would say, just right.

She cupped her own tits and said, growing more comfortable about topless state, “These mamas are back-breakers.”

“I can imagine,” I nodded, knowing that was true for Elle, a big-breasted chubby but lively girl who had first introduced me to the world of cunnilingus at summer camp.

“You have an amazing body, too,” she said.

“Thanks,” I smiled, enjoying the compliment. After a pause I asked, as I walked to the bed where the packages all were, “So can I try on a pair of these fancy nylons?”

“Go ahead, honey,” she offered.

I looked at the wide array of packages. “You like variety.”

“I do,” she nodded, as I gazed at the selection of colors that included black, beige, mocha, white, tan, navy and red. “I treat my hosiery like I do my jewelry — as an accessory to enhance the entire package.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said, as I removed my skirt to reveal I also wasn’t wearing panties, just a pair of thigh-highs.

“You’re deceiving, too,” she said with a smirk.

“Like mother, like daughter,” I said, sliding one stocking down my leg and off.

“Do you usually go without panties?” she asked — not accusing, just curious.

“Sometimes,” I shrugged. “You?”

“Just thongs,” she answered.

“You should try going commando; it’s quite liberating,” I said. “In the winter you can feel Jack Frost nipping at your… you know.” I removed the other stocking.

“Since when did you start wearing thigh-highs?” Mom asked.

“Blame Amanda,” I answered, who was my best friend and the one I messed around with the most. She said she liked quick access to my pussy when she wanted a quick snack, and that could be just about anywhere —  in the cafeteria bathroom, in the car, at her house or mine, and once in an empty movie theater. Amanda said I had the sweetest pussy she’d ever tasted, and that her second home was between my legs.

“Blame her how?” Mom asked, as I selected the mocha pair, which was my favorite color, really enhancing my pale legs.

“She convinced me they were sexier and more comfortable than pantyhose,” I answered.

“I can’t argue with that,” Mom nodded, before adding, as I rolled up the first stocking in my hands, “but there is nothing sexier than stockings with a garter belt.”

As I began putting the first stocking on my foot, I smiled, taking in the sexy sight of my mother in a thong, garter and stockings, and nothing else. “You’re certainly proof of that statement.”

“Oh, thanks,” Mom said, blushing slightly.

“God, these feel so sexy,” I said, in awe of how much softer they were than my usual nylons.

“They’re the only kind I wear now,” she replied.

As I pulled the stocking up my leg, I said, “Damn, I’m going to need a garter belt for these, huh?”

“Hold on.” She went over to her top dresser drawer, shuffled through it for a second, then returned with a red one. “This will contrast nicely with those mocha stockings. They really set each other off.”

“You’re a lingerie guru,” I joked as I took the garter, something I’d never worn before.

I strapped it around my waist, then decided to take things a little further in the seduction of my mother. “Can you help me with this, Mom?” I asked, standing up.

“Sure, honey,” she said, getting down on her knees in front of me. Her face was now less than a foot away from my pussy. Can she smell how turned on I am? I wondered.

Mom attached the first clasp to the stocking as she explained, “Always take your time fastening these.”

“Okay,” I said. My heart throbbed at her touch, the warmth of her breath caressing my thigh. I did notice that Mom stole a glance at my pussy as she finished the front clasp.

She moved around back and fastened the clasp behind. Then Mom surprised me. Reaching out for the other stocking, she told me, “Sit on the edge of the bed and lift your foot.”

I wanted to say something flirtatious. Instead, like the little girl I no longer was, I did exactly as she said, leaning back on both elbows as I offered Mom my bare foot. Taking hold of it, Mom carefully slipped the sheer stocking on, then rolled it up my leg. “Now stand back up.”

I rose, then she did the other front clasp. This time, my mother definitely took a long, lingering look at my wet pussy. A wave of sexual heat surged through me as I got the crazy notion that my seduction might be working.

Mom moved around back once more, did that last clasp, then asked me, “Care to try on something kinda sexy?”

“You always said I should never say ‘kinda’,” I teased. My mother, with her English degree, had long taken serious issue with words like “kinda,” “sorta,” and “gotta.”

“Brat,” she playfully scolded me, going back to her dresser for another silken treasure.

“Just wanted you to know that I was listening all those years you corrected my speech, teach,” I said.

She returned with a red crop top and said, “Try this on.”

I grinned as I took it and, being very careful not to seem at all opposed to the idea, said, “Really? Now I feel like we’re playing Naughty Barbie.”

Mom laughed as I slipped into the silk top, which didn’t leave much to the imagination. “This is getting a little out there; I admit that.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, eh? Okay, then, I’m dressing you next,” I replied, already knowing exactly what I was going to put on her.

Out of nowhere, Mom suddenly asked me, “By the way, what’s the name of Barbie’s mom?”

I thought about it, then shrugged. “No idea… you should Google it.” Funny thing — all those years of playing with Barbie dolls, and I couldn’t answer that simple question.

“You look amazing in that,” Mom said.

I thought about asking her, ‘Good enough to eat?’ but managed to restrain myself. Instead, I turned to the mirror and said, “Wow, I do look hot.” I struck a few poses, “It really showcases my assets.”

“It sure does,” she said, yet again peeking at my pussy, which was still in full view and very well hydrated.

Not for the first time, I wondered if Mom had ever experimented with women. Deciding it was time to reveal my sexual bias, I added, “Amanda will love me in this.”

“What?” she asked.

I repeated, “I’m sure Amanda will love me in this. She has a thing for nylons, and if I wear this outfit, she’ll be on her knees in no time.”

Mom stared at me silently — wheels turning, processing what I’d just said, trying to think of an alternative to the obvious.

Deciding to help her, I said, “Mom, you do know I’m a lesbian, right?”

“I, um, no,” she responded, still in shock.

“I blame my sperm donor,” I continued. “I saw how he treated someone as wonderful as you, realized that there are a lot more like him out there… and since then. I’ve never really been interested in guys.”

“That… well, it never occurred to me at all,” Mom said, still processing.

“What, that I like girls?” I asked, avoiding saying something crude like, I love licking pussy.

“Yeah,” she said, even as she glanced again at my ripe, juicy cunt. I was pretty sure she really liked what she saw, but didn’t want me to know that.

“I’m sorry to just spring this on you, Mom. Er… are you okay with it?” I suddenly felt a bit apprehensive. I’d always figured that Mom would be fine with me being gay, but her lack of response had me feeling insecure.

“Oh, honey,” she said, coming over and giving me a big reassuring hug, her large breasts pressing oh, so deliciously against mine, “of course I am.”

I hugged her back, feeling good again about where we were, and quickly returned to my objective: seducing her. “I tried guys a couple times, but I never got off with them.”

“Tell me about it!” she laughed.

“Girls,” I smiled, “on the other hand, get me off every time.”

“Hannah!” she said.

“Often multiple times,” I added, slyly offering her glimpses of the perks of a female lover.

I noticed that Mom’s nipples were erect, just like mine, and thought about how she’d been checking me out ever since I got naked — but subtly, as if she didn’t want me to know. Rather than seducing her, could I be awakening something in my mother that was already simmering beneath the surface?

My head swam as I considered it — the idea that Mom might already be visualizing me in a sexual way.

“Haven’t you ever at least thought about sex with another woman, Mom?”

“Oh, I had the, um, occasional crush on other girls when I was in high school,” she said, “but that was then. I’m too old to think about that kind of thing now.”

I rolled my eyes. “Mom, you’re only forty-two, for God’s sake.” I said, taking her hand, “and I’m about to make you look even younger.”

“Good luck with that,” my mother replied as I led her into my room.

“You’ll see.” Letting go of her hand, I said, “Wait here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mom responded with a cute smile, which made me wonder if she was secretly submissive. I knew a couple of women who were — and they always tried to hide it from the world, all the while offering sly hints to that effect. My first adult lover, the town librarian, had originally piqued my interest that way, calling me “Ms. Hannah,” whenever I saw her. One day she insisted on helping me seek out a certain book I was looking for, and I fucked her with my fingers right there in the stacks.

Was that what Mom wanted — to be taken by a strong, assertive lover? And was it possible that such a lover could be a woman?

More to the point: could I be that woman?

“Good girl,” I told my mother, giving her the response she would crave if she was truly submissive. She just smiled.

I selected a plaid skirt and a white blouse that I knew would be too tight for Mom, and brought them over to her.

“You want me to dress like a schoolgirl?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“You’re my Barbie mom, and you’ll wear whatever I tell you to,” I replied, though in a joking fashion, “Is that clear?”

“Fine!” she replied dramatically, taking the blouse. I could tell she was secretly excited at this sudden new direction our relationship was taking. She was enjoying the attention, but also the idea of her daughter taking charge.

I called her bluff. “Don’t ‘fine’ me. You like being my Barbie mom, don’t you?”

She laughed as she shrugged the blouse on, “You caught me.” We were both behaving in a playful way, like this was a big joke, but something about the moment felt very real. For the first time, it seemed like my sex fantasy of Mom was within my grasp.

“On that note,” I said, picking up my phone. “Let’s see what Barbie’s mom’s name really is.”

Mom was struggling to button the blouse. She pointed out the obvious, “This top is pretty tight.”

“Just button it up,” I said, as I googled barbie’s mom.

“So bossy,” she said, but did as she was told.

After a few more seconds I burst out laughing. “I don’t believe it!”

“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“You really are my Barbie mom,” I said, noticing that her nipples were clearly outlined through the tight white blouse.

“What do you mean?” she asked, finishing the last button.

“Barbie’s mom’s name is Margaret,” I said. It was also my mother’s name.

“No way!” she exclaimed.

“See for yourself,” I said, handing her my phone.

“Well, I’ll be,” she said, standing before me in a too-tight blouse, a thong, and a garter belt with stockings. She looked absolutely scrumptious.

“Your tits really are a lot bigger than mine,” I said, openly staring at her upper half.

“Breasts,” she corrected.

“I like the word tits,” I said, feeling especially bold, “I also like the word pussy, and although many people are offended by it, my favorite word is cunt.”

“Hannah!” Mom gasped. Funny; this seemed to shock her more than all the other revelations of the day.

“Mother!” I fired back, then soldiered on, “When you and Dad fucked, what did you say — ‘Please push your willy in and out of my hoo-hah’?”

“Hannah, sweetheart — that’s too much,” Mom protested.

“No, you didn’t — you asked him to fuck your cunt,” I said, then added, “The wall between our bedrooms is pretty thin, Mom.”

“Oh my God!” Mom said, shocked by the realization that I’d heard her and Dad having sex.

“That’s usually what you said when you faked your orgasms, wasn’t it?” I asked.

“Hannah, stop,” she said, then shook her head. “I can’t believe you heard us.” Her cheeks were ruby red.

I shrugged, “Parents fuck. I get it. I mean, I was born and all. Plus, you were pretty loud.”

“I’m not sure I like this enlightened version of you,” Mom said, her cheeks still flushed.

“You will,” I told her.

On to Part Two!