Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Kinkychic

I did tell Mother that Chantelle had called and no, she had not told me what she wanted, and yes, I had looked after her properly. That almost made me smile too much, but I managed to keep my naughty secret.

I never did learn what Chantelle had wanted to see my mother about – not that it mattered to me. All I could think about was seeing her again, though “seeing” was too weak a word for my intentions. Thoughts of her and what we had done filled my every waking moment.

I quickly realised that I was most likely only one of her many lovers, but that did not concern me in the slightest. I knew only that I wanted to hold those lovely breasts again.

Then one day Mother came home in a foul mood. I could hear her banging and swearing – words I had never heard from her before. I covered myself in my bedclothes and pretended I was fast asleep.

The next day, I could not help but notice the strange looks she gave me. I waited for her to say something, but she just seemed to build up to a bad mood again.

Finally, I could no longer stand it. “Mother,” I said, “what have I done wrong? I can’t imagine what I’ve done, but it must be something bad. Please tell me.”

That seemed to calm her down. She said for me to sit. “The lady who called – her name is Chantelle – she has been talking about you, quite a lot actually.”

I felt myself colour, but she did not notice, as her eyes were fixed on her hands squeezed together in her lap.

“Why would she talk about me? I don’t understand.”

Now, she looked up at me, “Do you know what work I do? Have you figured it out?”

I found that I could not look directly at her when I answered. “Yes, I know, Mother. Is that all you’ve been worrying about? You shouldn’t, you know, because I don’t mind. I know you’ve done what you had to do, and that it must be hard for you. But I know that I’ve been fortunate. I have a good mother, so much better than some I know about.”

She took my hand before she spoke again. “You can’t know how relieved I am to hear that, but no, it’s not really what’s been upsetting me. I’ve had a huge row with Chantelle. I even told her that I was leaving, but she asked me not to be too hasty, and to go away and have a think. Well, I have, and I’ve decided to tell you what she has had to say.”

She looked to me for any reaction, but I kept a straight face, even though I did not know what to think.

Very hesitantly, she asked, “I want to ask you, have you had any… Oh God, I’m sorry, I don’t know how to word this really. Have you had sex relations with anybody? Do you even know what I’m talking about?” She had now watched me closely. “It’s all right, you don’t need to answer if you don’t want to. I can see that you have. I can see by the way you’ve coloured.”

I watched the turmoil on her face. She was thinking furiously. Then there was a look of realisation. “She’s talked about you so much – it’s Chantelle, isn’t it? I can see now. What did she do? Did she force you? That’s it, it must be.”

I felt like crying, but I took a deep breath. “No, she didn’t force me, not into anything,” I said. “She was lovely, and I was willing, so very willing. I could love her, but I know that’s silly. But I would do anything she asked me if it meant that I could be with her again.”

Mother was crying softly, and she looked very sad. “I’ve not been a good mother, so how can I be cross with you? I just worried that you’d been hurt.”

“Oh, Mother, you’ve been so wonderful. I already said that I don’t care what you do. Have I been hurt? No, I haven’t. I’ve never been happier. Will you tell me what Chantelle has said?”

She still looked uncertain, but she appeared to be looking at me in a different way now. She had clearly come to a decision. “Did Chantelle ask you to call on her? Be honest. I won’t be cross with you.”

“Yes, she did,” I confessed, “and I’ve been wanting to, but it hasn’t been possible – not yet.”

“We argued because it’s not just that she wants to see you,” Mother continued. “She wants you to come and work for her as well. It shocked me badly, but then she told me that you weren’t as naïve as I thought. Can that be true?”

I was stunned. Yes, I wanted to see her – to touch her and kiss her and lick her endlessly – but to work for her? No, I did not want that. I despised the drunken men that constantly tried to grope me in the streets, and I had no wish to service such beasts.

Mother must have seen my look of disgust. “I didn’t make that very clear, did I? She doesn’t want you to go with the men customers. She wants you for just a few special ladies. She thought that you might be happy with that, and of course, the money would be very good.”

I know I smiled then. This was different, and the mere thought excited me. I could like that, and I would even be paid to indulge my newly awakened desires. I would be rich.

“I think that I’m old enough to know what I want now, don’t you think so?” I said. “Men disgust me – but the ladies, I think I might like that. Would you be cross with me? I want to be with Chantelle, but I wouldn’t do any more, unless you give me your blessing.”

She held out her hands to me. “Come here my sweet. You’ve grown up, and I didn’t see.” We cuddled with each other. “It’s for you to decide, not I, and I shall try and be happy with whatever you do.”

It was then that I first felt myself to be a woman – young, perhaps, but empowered to make my own choices. I held my mother to me. “Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for letting me grow up.”

***

I wore the most sumptuous new gown, one that Mother had bought me. She had restyled my hair, which was piled high for the first time. I stood before the mirror, astounded at the sight. I actually looked and felt grown up. The dress exposed the very top of my modest bosom. I was not yet endowed to the degree of my mother and Chantelle, but still, I looked so very alluring. Not quite a woman, but certainly quite a tempting young girl.

Mother stood behind me, looking almost as if she were going to cry. “My God, Frances, you look so beautiful, so very grown-up. Hug me for a minute while I say goodbye to my baby.”

I gave her a little kiss. “Mother, I’m Francine now. Frances is gone. Please don’t be sad. I’m not.”

***

I knocked twice, just as Chantelle had instructed me, and the door opened almost at once. The giant of a man was there, glaring at me. Involuntarily, I took a step back. His face was a mess of scars, with a horribly bent nose and one eye half-shut.

I recovered myself and handed him the card Chantelle had given me. It vanished in his massive hand, but then he smiled at me. The smile completely changed his face, and I saw the kindness he kept hidden beneath his disfigurement. “I guess you be Francine?” he asked in a deep American drawl I barely understood.

He cocked his head as the sound of an argument between two drunken Frenchmen reached us from the front porch. “Dang varmints, always arguing about going back to France. Whyn’t they just git? Should know better’n to be here, makes the boss mad.” The next thing I saw, the giant was half-carrying, half dragging them both by the scruff of the neck. When he was far enough away, he gave them each a mighty kick which sent them sprawling into the street. “Now don’t you be lettin’ me see you ag’in!” he called after them.

He walked back, shaking his head, but he was laughing merrily. He opened the door before beckoning me inside. “This way, Missy. Mah name is Will’em, by the way. Folks call me Bill.” He led me to the most gorgeous garden I had ever seen. A mass of flowering shrubs and small trees provided shade, a fountain tinkled merrily in the sunlight, and golden fish darted about in the pool.

Here I saw Chantelle again for the first time since our initial meeting. My heart leaped. She was so much more beautiful than I remembered. “Will she still like me?” was all I could think.

I stopped in front of her as she regarded me. Then she slowly clapped her hands. “Magnifique!” she exclaimed. “Tout à fait magnifique!” Though my French was poor, I knew what she meant. I never felt more pleased with myself than I did at that moment.

She gestured for me to come and sit by her side. “So, Marianna – I mean your mother – has spoken to you, and here you are and you are not upset with me, at what I plan for you?”

How could I tell her how excited I was with the whole idea? And so I did not try. Instead, I merely answered, “Just so long as I get to spend some time with you. That’s all I want.” I thought for a moment. “And if you promise you won’t ask me to go with any men, not for any price.”

She laughed – the first time I’d heard her laugh out loud, and it was music to my ears. “Oh, my little Francine. You’re far too precious to waste on the men. Don’t you worry your little head. That will never happen. Certainly not until you are much older, and only then if you say so.”

She rang a bell that had been standing on the small table next to her. A pretty young Negress came rushing over so fast that she must have been waiting, ready to be called. “Daphné, will you fetch some champagne, my sweet? A good one for my special guest.”

I’d heard of champagne, but I had never seen it, let alone tasted it. I knew that like anything French, it must cost a fortune due to the interdiction of trade by the British navy. There was only what was brought in from France by those sea captains brave or foolhardy enough to run the blockade.

I almost jumped out of my skin when the girl popped the cork, and I watched in amazement at the bubbles that sparkled in the golden wine.

Chantelle passed me a glass, but she did not drink. “So, Francine, do you come and work for me?” she said. “Not too often, just enough for a few certain ladies. Tell me what you think.”

I tried hard to be an adult. “Yes, Madame, just so long as you are also my Chantelle sometimes.”

“Très bon. So now we drink a toast, to my beautiful Francine, and a very rewarding future for both of us.”

I almost sneezed when the bubbles skittered up my nose, but I also knew that from this moment on, I would forever love champagne. Never could I have imagined such a glorious thing to drink. I saw the amusement in Chantelle’s eyes as she watched me. She wasn’t being cruel. She merely enjoyed watching me experience a newfound, worldly pleasure.

“I think that maybe we have a little bit of teaching to do before you are ready. I will enjoy that.” She got to her feet. “Bring your wine with you. I think perhaps we should go to my bedroom and begin our lessons, yes?”

The room to which she led me made me gasp – not only for its lush femininity, but also for the most glorious and colourful drapes that hung at the windows and around the most capacious bed I had ever seen. But it was the paintings on the walls that captured my attention most intensely. All were of women, most without any clothes. Some embraced one another in the most suggestive poses. Others were engaged in behaviours that I would have, only a few weeks ago, regarded as quite rude. I could have learned my lessons merely by studying what these paintings portrayed.

Chantelle brought my wandering mind back to the matter at hand. “Come, my love, you will have plenty of time to study those later. Now I want to see you undress for me. This is your first lesson. I want you to imagine a lady sitting here. Your aim is to excite her, arouse her. You have to be teasing and erotic in the way you undress. It is not easy at first, but don’t be shy. Be proud of yourself and your body. Show me what you can do.”

Perhaps it was the champagne, but more likely, it was that I desired to please her. I wanted her to find me worthy, and at that moment I truly did feel beautiful. I was already aroused from my proximity to her, and from inspecting her unusual art collection.

I believed that I managed to give her an erotic and exciting tease in the way I slowly removed my clothes. She certainly smiled all the time. When I was naked, I stood in what I thought was an inviting pose. She clapped, and then laughed. I was uncertain whether I should be proud or embarrassed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t making fun of you,” she said. “It was actually a much better first time than most of the girls who come here. But now you sit and I will show you. You must study and learn.”

I wasn’t at all prepared for the demonstration she gave me. Slowly, I began to understand what an erotic tease really was, with glimpses of things to come that yet remained obscured. She built my expectations, and my arousal. I felt the tingle in my cunt, along with the growing moisture. My nipples grew hard, jutting from my breasts without even being touched.

When she had dropped the last item, her back was toward me, but she had turned her head to look over her shoulder. I tore my eyes away from her beautifully rounded backside, and, looking up, the side of a breast just showing, and the provocative look on her face.

She turned full about and pointed at my privates. “You see, mon cherie, how you are aroused. I can see your pussy is wet, even from here.”

My pussy? For just a moment I thought, “I didn’t bring a cat with me,” but then I knew she meant my slit. I had never heard it called that before. Such a nice name, I thought as I looked down. She was right, though. I was quite damp, almost dripping.

She had walked toward me as she spoke before pushing me back onto the bed. She lifted my legs, and placed them over her shoulders, her head between my legs, her eyes fixed on mine.

“Now I taste my little Francine to see how sweet you are.”

I could only stare as her lips embraced my slit. No not my slit –  my pussy. First, she kissed me, but then I felt, although I could not see, the probing of her tongue. The last time, I had loved her fingers, but this was altogether something more. A small shriek escaped my mouth. My body was on fire.

For a moment she raised her head. “Oh yes, you will be a clit girl, I can see that,” she said. Then she went back to sucking me there, while her fingers roamed about, causing the most extraordinary sensations. I was ecstatic, wondering where she would touch me next.

Without warning, I was fast approaching the explosive moment. I did not want to finish, not yet, but I could not stop it. I had lost control over my body as I writhed and thrashed about.

My body, my mind, my entire being was in thrall to her expert touch. I was barely aware of what I felt, as it was beyond my experience. My mind exploded, and I felt my body striving, reaching – but for what? I could not know. Then came the glory, the most concentrated feeling of joy I could imagine. I was coming wildly, far in excess of what I had experienced our first time.

Chantelle spoke to me, and I struggled to follow her words. “… most forceful orgasm for such a young thing. You must learn to make it last, to have some control, though I do see that my ladies are going to love you.”

When I had recovered myself, we drank some more champagne. We kissed. We touched each other. Chantelle poured the sparkling wine on my bosom and my pussy, then licked and sucked it from me. Little things I needed to learn, she told me. Finally, we made real love. No lesson, but only our need.

I visited the Palacio three afternoons a week. I was introduced to a few of the girls, all much older than myself. I was the only real child. One other, who had been thirteen, had run off with a sea captain. But I did notice one of the girls, who was perhaps fifteen. She seemed to take a special interest in me. Was it because we were closer in age? Or did she want something more? Her smile seemed to convey such thoughts, but I averted my eyes from her.

The girls were of many differing nationalities and shades of color, but beautiful without exception, and all quite aware of their sexual power. Much to my delight, I was propositioned several times. I knew I was going to love it here at the Palacio.

I was disappointed with the salon, however, when I had a chance to look around. It was much rougher than I’d expected, considering how posh the Palacio was reputed to be. The furniture was of poor quality, the decoration almost nonexistent. It was like any other drinking bar, not that I’d ever been inside very many. It was just that I had expected something much more comfortable.

Chantelle saw that I was unimpressed. When the introductions were over, she beckoned me to follow her upstairs. “You don’t seem to think much of what you have seen,” she began. “Let me explain.”

She told me that since the Palacio was built on a hill, the ground floor was split into two levels. When she had first taken over as madame, her clientele had been different than it was today.

The lower salon in those days was for the common soldier or citizen, and as such, it was quite basic in both decor and furnishings. Fights were a regular occurrence, and there was little point in anything more expensive. Like most bars, the Palacio’s was just large enough to be cleared quickly whenever a brawl broke out. Bill had intervened in many such fights, hurling the combatants a short, convenient distance to the street.

We approached two ornate doors of frosted glass. “Now you will see, my angel,” Chantelle said.

I stopped in my tracks and stared in awe. This was what I had expected. The upper salon could not have been more different than the dive below. A separate entrance led to these plush surroundings from the street. Everything was decorated in the French manner. Thick, richly brocaded drapes hung everywhere. Paintings adorned the walls, and some looked to be quite expensive. The lighting was subdued, enhancing the intimate atmosphere. The sofas were plush and overstuffed – some arranged in such a manner to create discreetly private nooks, others standing in the open, allowing the girls to display themselves to prospective clients.

Oh, yes. Now I was impressed.

My sessions with Chantelle continued to be wonderful as she tutored me in the art of seducing and giving pleasure to other women.

I saw the older girl again, smiling at me in the same way she had when we first met. I felt she wished to speak with me, but we did not have the opportunity. I found myself wanting to meet her, perhaps to grow fully acquainted.

Bill, I discovered, was a wonderfully kind-hearted person, big and ugly as he was. One day, as he was walking me home, I plucked up the courage to ask him how he had come to be so badly scarred.

He told me he had been a riverboat captain and then a prizefighter. One day another giant of a man, also a riverboat captain, although not from this area, said to him, “I’ve been looking for you, Bill Tucker. I heard you’re good, but I don’t see nothin’ so special about you.” Bill slowly lowered his stein of beer and looked up at the stranger. He gave the man a shrug, then turned away.

The stranger persisted. “We fight, you and me, boats put up as prize,” he said.

The fight lasted an hour and a half. Both men were a battered and bloody mess, each barely able to raise his fist. Only then, finally, when both were on their knees, still exchanging blows, did Chantelle put an end to the contest. “Enough, it is a draw,” she said. Bill guessed that someone had earned a fortune that day, as no one had bet on a stalemate.

They became good friends after that, but Bill decided he’d had enough of fighting. He had almost lost an eye in that fight. “It were Madame, said she got a job for me, bein’ a bodyguard for the girls an’ her, an’ throwin’ the bums out,” he said. “Seemed better’n gettin’ bust up.”

Bill took a genuine and fatherly sort of interest in me. He insisted that I was never to walk to or from the Palacio without him. There had been much unrest in the province of late, and the streets were often quite unsafe. In short, he became my best friend, one in whom I could readily confide. He made it clear to any man who presumed to make unwanted advances toward me that they were ill-advised, and the brute was quickly dissuaded. Between him and Chantelle, men learned that I was off limits, no matter what price they offered.

I had begun to wonder when I might get my first paying customer, not that I minded the way things were. But I did want to start earning my keep, and I was ready to put my newfound skills to good use.

On to Chapter 3!