Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Sheilamuffin

Reworked by JetBoy for Juicy Secrets

{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in July 2009}

My eight-year-old daughter comes into the bedroom. She is naked. She climbs on to my bed and straddles my face. And giggles.

Her slit is spread over my mouth, my nose pressed against her sweet little pucker. What should I do? What would you do?

No, I didn’t expect this. No, I didn’t put her up to it. Though I am a lesbian, there is no history of me doing sex things with my daughter.

Yes, I am aroused, The clean, sweet taste and smell of her, the lovely pink cleft of her bare vagina… I’d be crazy not to be aroused. But I am also amazed. The weirdest part was the giggle. Like she knew she was being naughty, and loved it. The way children take such pleasure from casual wickedness.

She wriggles, my darling Megan. I have made no move to push her off my face. I am supine, passive, awaiting outcomes. She wriggles, and I hear her girlish laughter again. I resist the temptation to explore her pretty little slit with my tongue.

But I want to. Despite myself. Despite my upbringing. Despite the terrifying taboos of pedophilia and incest.

“Mommy, please don’t be mad at me, okay?” she whispers.

You know those phrases in porn stories like “my cunt was on fire,” “I was dripping wet,” et cetera? Well, though I was more aroused than I could ever remember being, I can’t tell you about the state of my cunt right then… because my whole being was focused on the sweet hairless sex that was brushing my lips. I didn’t reply to Megan. I couldn’t. Surely if I so much as parted my lips, I would be kissing my eight-year-old daughter’s cunny.

“Becky dared me to.”

Oh. An explanation, then. Becky, my little girl’s best friend — same age, and already well aware of the effect sexy little girls had on certain twisted grown women — Becky had dared my Megan to sit on her mommy’s face. Well, there you are.

Megan continued to speak. “Becky and her mom do sex stuff, and she dared me to do something with you.”

I froze. Becky’s mom has sex with her daughter?

Megan’s voice fell to a soft murmur. “But it didn’t matter that she dared me to, Mommy. I… I kinda wanted to do this with you anyhow, after Becky told me about her mom.”

My heart was racing, sent into high speed by this bombshell. Megan wanted this, desired that I take her smooth, little-girl pussy into my mouth and pleasure her.

Which left me with a life-changing decision: should I have sex with my own daughter?

I knew what society would say… and pretty much everyone else I knew: absolutely not!

And yet. And yet.

Megan’s pussy is still positioned over my mouth, and I am finding it increasingly difficult not to give in to this sexual insanity that consumes me. To kiss that pretty little slit, to explore my child’s vagina with my tongue.

No. I have to resist. I push her away from me… not violently, but firmly.

“Mommy!” A cry of anguish. The sound of hurt feelings.

“Sorry, angel, but this is wrong.”

I take Megan in my arms and cuddle her, trying to reassure her that I love her. But not in that way.

She snuggles into me. The way little ones do. Nuzzling my breasts… then she was touching them with her hands, weighing their heft, teasing my aching nipples. Taking comfort from her mommy. Stealing my breath away.

I’m trembling from head to toe. Touch my breasts, you see, and I am lost in the most intense arousal. And Megan wasn’t just touching… she was making love to them. There was no other way to describe it.

“Sorry, Mommy,” she mumbles into my chest. “It was just a dare.” Her angel-soft lips brush my nipple, and it’s all I can do not to gasp.

Soothing words are needed here. Somehow, I summon them. “That’s all right, sweetie. Becky’s a very silly girl.”

More snuggling. “Mommy?”

“Yes, angel?”

“Mommy, I liked it… sitting up over your face. I — I kinda wish you had kissed me down there.” She pauses. “That’s what Becky’s mom does to her.”

Oh my God. This wasn’t going to go away. Because I had liked it, too. I wanted to know what it would be like to make a meal out of my daughter’s pretty pussy.

But the little angel on my left shoulder whispered: “No, it’s wrong!” To which the little demon on my right hissed: “Why? If you both enjoy it, what’s wrong?”

My cunt was on fire. I was dripping. I had to face the fact that I was totally aroused; madly in love. Megan was in my arms, naked, rubbing her face against my breasts, and I was responding naturally.

I am unable to keep the words from escaping my trembling lips. “That’s okay, sweetie… I liked it too.”

I did not just say that… okay, actually I did.

Come on, Sheila, I say to myself, think about what you’re getting yourself into here!

Incest. Lesbian incest with a child of eight.

“Mommy, are you okay? You’re breathing funny. You aren’t sick, are you?”

Sick? No. But yes. Well, hell, who knows? Love is love.

“No, I’m fine, baby. Come here, give Mommy a cuddle.”

And that was it. What do they call it — crossing the Rubicon?

No way out now. Megan’s naked body is pressed against mine, never mind the size difference, everything touching everything. Our lips meet in a kiss — clumsy, yes, but it’s also the sweetest kiss I’ve ever experienced. No tongues, just lips. Tongues come later.

No, you don’t want to know what happened next. You don’t get involved with this kind of stuff. Do you? DO you? You do? Well, I am happy to know that I’m not the only one, not the only mother who got into lovemaking with her underage daughter.

I hate those detailed descriptions you get in porn stories, you know, all that stuff about tongues probing and fingers probing and endless licking and flowing and orgasms like Niagara. It isn’t like that. It’s more like a dream, a stream that flows over you, sometimes rapids that make you breathless. But what you remember afterwards, and forever, is how you lost track of time. It’s as if the kissing and the touching and the probing tongues in mouth and pussy combine to make you lose track of your existence on the planet.

Sorry, but if you’ve never spent hours making love to an enthusiastic and responsive eight-year old, I can’t explain it to you any better than that. The fact that Megan is also my own child only makes my sin all the sweeter. Me and my daughter, against the whole damned world.

“Mommy?”

I am cradling my angel in my arms. My lips and chin are wet with her essence. We are both exhausted — stunned, even, by what we have done together. Megan can still speak. I can hardly breathe.

“Mommy, I love you.”

My little Megan means it, too, but in a whole new way. And I love my daughter like I never thought possible. It’s possible, though. Believe me.

The End