Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By JetBoy

Fay and I had been lovers for nearly a year before things changed drastically in our lives. What happened to us then was — but I’m getting ahead of the story.

My name is Nicole, but everyone calls me Nicky. When Fay and I first met, I was a receptionist for a pharmaceutical company and she was a chemist whose excuses for visiting the front office were getting lamer every day, since she was obviously coming to flirt with me. Finally, I told her that she should just ask me for a date and get it over with. She did, and I accepted.

I was a fairly attractive girl at twenty-three with a slim figure, a bit shy and reserved in my ways. I was never what you would call wild as a teenager, and even now I think of watching an old silent movie with a big bowl of popcorn as a satisfying way to spend an evening.

Fay was stunning at thirty-two. Downright beautiful, in fact, with a shapely figure and a humorous, outgoing personality that made you smile from across the room. I’d dated boys as a teen, though I’d had crushes on other girls for as long as I could remember. I finally worked out that I was a lesbian not long after starting college. Fay had known all her life.

The first time we went out was an old-fashioned date, with dinner and a long walk, ending with her giving me a chaste goodnight kiss at my apartment door. As for the second date — well, we didn’t make it out of her apartment for the entire weekend, lost in a marathon of every imaginable kind of sex that two women could share. We seemed to be made for one another, able to relate as friends as well as lovers.

There was only one odd note in our new relationship: when the subject of our fantasies arose one night while we were cuddling in bed, Fay shied away from the topic. I let it go, not wanting to seem nosy, but was still curious. I actually tried to tap into her computer files about a week after we became involved, to see what websites she might frequent — but it quickly became clear that Fay took the time to cover her tracks. This secrecy on her part left me slightly uneasy, but I decided to be patient and wait until she felt comfortable enough to share, telling myself to keep an open mind.

Fay and I seemed to mesh perfectly. At first we’d spend the weekends together and the rest in our own apartments; but quickly ended up wanting more, and finally moved in together. It worked out beautifully for us both. We were amazingly compatible as housemates, and the sex was awesome. I was walking on air, convinced that I had found the love of my life.

We had lived together for a year or so when Fay received the news: her sister Angela, a widow, had been killed in a car accident. She had lived more than a thousand miles away and didn’t have much to do with her lesbian sibling. I wasn’t sure why; Fay was always vague on the subject, and I didn’t push it.

Despite whatever it was between them, Fay chose to attend her sister’s funeral, catching a flight the next day. I expected her back a day or two later; she ended up staying nearly a week, letting me know that there was unresolved family business she was obliged to attend to.

Fay phoned a day before her flight home, and I immediately sensed that something was up.

“Nicky,” she began, “I need to talk to you about something… it’s pretty important.”

Oh, hell, I thought, a knot of tension suddenly pulsing at the base of my spine. This doesn’t sound good. “What’s up?” I asked, trying and failing to sound calm.

“Don’t panic, for God’s sake. Something’s come up, but it’s not a disaster, I promise. More of… an obligation, really.”

I felt a measure of relief, but was still nervous. “Just tell me you haven’t hooked up with some old high school girlfriend… and you’re giving me the heave-ho for her.”

“What? No, no — it’s nothing like that. I still love you madly, honeybunch. Now hush, and let me tell you what’s going on. It’s about my sister’s kids…”

She quickly laid out the details. Angela had two daughters, both still in grade school. The last time Fay had seen her sister, the oldest was only a toddler.

“They’re amazing,” she declared. “Sweet, bright and — well, they’re utterly adorable. You’ll see for yourself.”

“Um… I will?” I interjected, surprised.

“Oh, crap,” Fay groaned. “I didn’t mean to tell you like that. Okay, let me explain.” So she laid out the situation that had fallen in her lap — and mine.

With the death of their mother, Emily and Christina had no one to turn to but Fay. The girls’ father had died of a heart attack five years earlier, and their only living grandparent, the father of Angela’s late husband, had advanced Alzheimer’s. There was also an uncle, a brother-in-law who had made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of taking in his nieces. “Not that I’d want him to, anyhow,” Fay muttered. “He’s a creep. Fucker hit on me right after the funeral.”

That left my lover as their only other blood relation, and Fay had already decided that she couldn’t allow her sister’s children to become wards of the state.

“I’m sorry to spring this on you, babe,” she sighed, “but I’ve got a responsibility here. We only really touched on the possibility of having kids of our own, so I’ll understand if you aren’t ready for this.”

I couldn’t help but giggle. “You jerk. Think I’d leave you in the lurch the first time things got sticky?”

She had the good grace to sound sheepish. “Well… I didn’t know how ready you were to be a first-time mom…”

“Readier than you are, cupcake,” I countered. “God, I’m trying to imagine you raising two pre-teen girls on your lonesome. They’d be living like primates within a month.”

“Oooooohh!” she squealed. “I’m gonna spank you for that when we get back!”

“Oh, I’m ready to be punished by you, funbuns. You can smack me around with that nasty tongue of yours.”

After a few more choice pleasantries and the arrival time of her flight home the next day, we exchanged I-love-yous and she rang off. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I wondered how much Fay had told her nieces about me — and her lifestyle.

*****

Two days later I met my lover at the airport, where she stood next to the baggage carousel with one arm draped around the shoulders of a beautiful little girl. Then a slightly older girl peeked timidly from behind Fay.

“Welcome to San Francisco, guys,” Fay told her nieces, glancing from one to the other. “I want you to meet my roommate and best friend in the whole world, Nicky.”

Just like that, I was introduced to nine-year-old Emily and eleven-year-old Christina, two of the cutest kids I’d ever seen. They seemed dazed and shaken, no doubt overwhelmed by the emotional whirlwind of the last week, and my heart went out to them.

I greeted the girls warmly, giving them hugs and sunny smiles, then led our new family to where I’d parked.

On the drive home, Fay and I did our best to keep the mood lighthearted; it worked fairly well, given the circumstances. Little Emily began to ask questions about the sights, and soon Fay managed to draw big sister Christina into the conversation too.

Once the girls began to relax and grow more animated, I quickly found myself liking them enormously. Fay had not exaggerated one bit when she’d told me how bright and adorable her nieces were. The cold, cruel reality of their mother’s death still lingered, but I could tell that Christina and Emily were trying to make the best of this new situation — and their new life.

We detoured into a ice cream shop, where Fay gave the kids money and told them to get whatever they wanted.

The girls got in line, scanning the marquee for flavors, while I turned to my lover.

“Okay, I’m sold,” I told her. “If you’re ready to be a mom, then so am I.”

Breaking into an enormous smile, Fay reached for my hand, gave it a squeeze. “It it okay for me to be a little scared?”

“You’d be crazy not to be,” I assured her. “I sure am. But it’s the right thing to do.”

“God, I love you,” she whispered. “It’s going to be a hell of a ride… but we’ll make it work, won’t we?”

“Absolutely. Now come on, Mom — let’s grab a table.”

And just like that, our lives were changed completely.

*****

Clearly, our apartment was too small for a family of four, so we began the search for a suitable new home, immersing ourselves in the roller coaster of the Bay Area real estate market. The house we found was perfect and affordable, but wouldn’t be available for two months, so the girls were to sleep with Fay in her bed until we moved.

Having just lost their mother, thrust into a new environment, Fay and I decided not to complicate things even more by revealing the true nature of our relationship, so we elected not to come out to the kids just yet. I was magically transformed into Aunt Nicky, Fay’s best friend and roommate.

The kids seemed to adjust quickly to their new lives, all things considered, though Fay’s attempts at taking care of what I called “mom business,” were sometimes clumsy, often hilarious. She did her best, though, and the girls were amazingly patient and understanding. Before long, parenthood seemed like second nature to Fay. It was a side of my lover that I never even knew was there. I did my share of the mothering, too, and by the end of the first month we were a genuine family.

It helped that the girls were so good-natured. Emily was quiet, sweet, and very, very cute. Christina was smart as a whip and drop-dead gorgeous, with a face that told you she was going to be an enchantress when she grew into womanhood. I’d noticed how Fay almost seemed spellbound by her at times, and I knew just how she felt — the child was that striking.

Fay and I tried to maintain an atmosphere of normality in our household, but to be honest, I missed my lover. I missed tasting her pussy. I missed spending time in her bed straddling her, rubbing our moist cunts together. I missed spreading her buttocks apart and licking her asshole. I missed having her warm body next to mine while I slept.

We toyed with the notion of getting away for a night of steamy sex in a hotel, but Fay was nervous about leaving the kids with a babysitter just yet. So we settled for what snatches of sex we could steal — a furtive hand slipped into Fay’s panties, a heavy petting session on the couch as the kids slept down the hall, a hot tongue kiss now and then.

It was during one of these make-out sessions — me with a hand in her slacks, fingering her pussy and anus, Fay groping me inside my shirt, rolling my nipples between her fingers — that she suddenly decided to reveal her secret side.

“Okay. So you want to know what really turns me on?” she whispered. “I mean, you’ve asked me enough times.”

“Yes,” I panted excitedly, “Please, Fay, tell me!” She could see in my eyes that I was ready to know the truth.

Fay moistened her lips, parted them to speak… then Emily could be heard in the hallway, crying that she’d had a nightmare.

I could have screamed with sheer frustration. Instead I gave a heavy sigh. Fay quickly rose to her feet, adjusted herself and, with a resigned smile, went to soothe her niece. After awhile, she came into the living room with Emily, who was drifting off to sleep in her arms.

She kissed me and shrugged. “I promise, babe,” she said, “Tomorrow night, I’ll tell you everything.”

The next evening, the girls had a blanket spread out on the living room floor and were watching Dexter’s Laboratory while we adults were cuddling on the couch. Suddenly Fay raised her head, peering at Christina and Emily. Following her gaze, I saw that the girls had both fallen asleep.

Turning to shush me, Fay slipped from my arms, rose to her feet and tiptoed from the room, telling me with a gesture to stay put. My heart began to throb in anticipation, knowing that my lover had something exciting planned.

Soon, she rejoined me on the sofa, cradling what looked like a photo album in her hands. Gazing warmly at me, she tapped it with a nervous smile. “This is what you wanted to know about me,” she whispered. “What I’m into.”

Aching with curiosity, I reached out for the thick plastic-covered binder.

Handing it to me, Fay whispered, “Now you have to understand, I’ve never done this kind of thing myself… but it turns me on more than just about anything.”

When I opened the book, I felt a flush of surprised arousal. On the first page was a beautifully drawn picture of a young girl, about six or seven, completely nude. She was posing for the artist in an unashamed manner; legs parted, her bare slit slightly open.

I gasped and stared at Fay, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. I turned the page, then another — and saw more drawings, lithographs and sketches with the same theme. One had two young girls touching each other’s slits; another beautifully rendered line drawing had a mother and daughter — both nude, the child sitting on her mother’s lap suckling her breast, the woman’s hand provocatively placed under the girl’s bottom.

I turned another page to see a Japanese anime shot of a woman being licked by a girl child, then a series of very old photographs from what appeared to be almost a century ago, all of naked little girls.

I felt my mouth go dry, my heart race. I kept looking at the drawings, unsure of how to respond, conscious of how incredibly wet my pussy was — stunned by how perfectly the forbidden desires of my lover mirrored my own.

By my eighteenth year, I’d finally understood that I was gay, and the secret longings I felt for other girls were part and parcel of my real self. That summer, my mom and dad had taken me to Granddad’s lodge at Lake Sims, where we met up with my Aunt Edna, Uncle Fred and my twelve-year-old cousin Rebecca, who I hadn’t seen for at least five years.

Rebecca and I shared a room at the lodge, and gravitated naturally into hanging out together — which freed up the adults to spend their time listening to country music, watching Fox News and playing endless games of bridge — all of which I hated with a passion.

I was surprised and a little frightened to find myself feeling a sexual attraction to Rebecca. She was a sweet, adorable kid who was just beginning to bloom into womanhood, and soon I was indulging in hot masturbation fantasies about her while she slept in the bed next to mine.

Nothing came of my lust for her, of course — I was still grappling with the idea of being gay, and there was no way I could have ever summoned up the nerve to make a move on my underage cousin. She and I went skinny dipping a few times, and once I got to dry her off afterwards.

That week at the lake and those magical hours with Rebecca made its mark on my soul, leaving me with a secret hunger for cute nymphets. It troubled, even frightened me, but those dangerous longings wouldn’t be denied.

Oh, I threw myself headlong into the queer lifestyle once I’d returned to college, but still found myself lusting after pre-teen girls. The Olsen twins got me wet, Hilary Duff brought me to the boil. And as for Emma Watson — well, my friends were constantly making fun of me about my obsession with the early Harry Potter movies. They didn’t know how often I fingered myself to orgasm, dreaming of attending Hogwarts and romping in bed for hours with Hermione Granger… or indulging in wild threesomes with her and Ginny Weasley.

Then there were the little girls I saw in real life — baby sisters of my school friends, kids at neighborhood playgrounds, at the local library or the mall. No matter how much sex I had with women my age or older, I still fixated on girls twelve or younger — sometimes as young as seven or eight.

It became second nature for me to keep these feelings hidden, so it had never occurred to me to share them with Fay. After all my obsession about her sexual appetites, it struck me that I’d been just as secretive.

I turned to see Fay studying me with nervous anticipation, so scared that I’d be disgusted with her. So I whispered, “Wow, babe… this is fucking hot.”

“Really!?” she squeaked, her face lighting up.

I shushed her, and leaned forward to check the kids… both still asleep. I took advantage of this by kissing Fay passionately, probing her mouth with my tongue. I felt her hand unfasten my pants, slipping inside to cup my wet cunt. Soon the only sounds in the room were wacky cartoon voices and my squishing pussy.

I glanced up at the girls again — and suddenly, I was drinking in the sight of Christina as she lay on her belly, feeling a crazy urge to pull down her panties and kiss her bare bottom. No, no… I can’t think like that.

Opening the book again, I fumbled through its pages while Fay pleasured me — and when I saw an illustration of two mature women disrobing a young girl, I went off like a firework, grabbing a throw pillow and clutching it to my mouth as Fay’s fingers brought me to a mind-blowing orgasm.

I grabbed my lover by the hand and led her quickly into the bedroom, where I pushed her onto the bed, tore our clothes off and, lifting her leg up, crushed our pussies together. As our thrusts found a steady rhythm, we began to fuck like crazed animals, grinding wetly until Fay and I exploded in a glorious mutual climax.

Afterwards we lay entwined, basking in a shared sense of well-being. I’d never loved Fay more, now that I knew I was no longer alone in my feelings for little girls.

Brushing my damp bangs to one side, she murmured, “I love you, Nicky. God, I was so worried that you’d think I was a horrible person.”

“No, babe,” I crooned, kissing the tip of her nose. “Never. And I love you too.”

*****

It was astonishing just how quickly things changed for Fay and I after the kids came into our lives. In the space of a few months we went from two single lesbians to a family of four — complete with PTA meetings, Saturday morning cartoons, scattered toys, juice boxes and helping with homework.

We finally picked a day to sit the girls down and tell them that their aunt and I were a couple. We were a little nervous and halting in our presentation, so Christina helped explain things to her little sister.

“See, Emily, instead of a man and woman, Aunt Fay and Aunt Nicky are a woman and a woman,” she told her sibling, as if she was a second grade teacher explaining to her class how the letter “C” has two different sounds.

Kids are way too sophisticated these days. It turned out that at least one other child in her new class had gay parents, and the school was liberal about such matters, being far more concerned about students who were from single-parent homes.

Fay and I were delighted that the girls were okay with our relationship, yet something about their response seemed odd to me, something I couldn’t quite pin down. For one thing, they didn’t seem very curious about the whole thing. The night before, after the girls had gone to bed, I’d sat down at the kitchen table with Fay and we’d discussed how we would answer the barrage of questions they were certain to hit us with, once the cat was out of the bag about our being lovers.

Instead, Christina and Emily had seemed very matter-of-fact about our revelation. It seemed a little weird, but I finally decided with a shrug that, after all, gays and lesbians were so much more visible these days that kids didn’t see same-sex preference as such a big deal.

Anyhow, it was fantastic to finally be open about ourselves to the girls — we could be openly affectionate with each other in front of them, cuddling and kissing one another. Like most parents, though, Fay and I always waited until the girls were asleep before allowing our passions to flare hot and heavy.

All in all, our little experiment in domesticity was a success. The kids seemed perfectly happy with their new home, as were Fay and I. Neither of us had ever planned on having children, or even given any serious thought to the matter — but now we couldn’t imagine life without Christina and Emily.

The one thing we kept from the girls was our secret passion for, well, little girls. Fay and I delighted in our lovemaking, but every once in awhile we would pull that album of photos and drawings out of hiding and pore through its pages before attacking each other in a lustful frenzy. Now and again, we would surprise each other with new drawings or photos, mostly found on the internet. One day, I stumbled upon a website with hundreds and hundreds of lesbian stories about young girls. Needless to say, that site became a frequent stop of ours.

Then there were certain times when Fay and I would nestle close, finger each other’s cunts and, in hushed tones, fantasize about Christina and Emily, getting off to wild fantasies of the things we would love to do with our kids.

Mind you, we were determined to be good parents and had promised each other that our children would always be off limits in that sense. Not that we didn’t fantasize about them, mind you.

First there was Christina. My God, that girl was so beautiful. At eleven, her body seemed to manifest what I loved most in a little girl: a boyish shape that seemed to radiate femininity. She moved gracefully, lithe and relaxed as a cat. Her face was striking — lips that made you long to nibble them, a cute button nose and eyes that warmed your soul. She could have been a child model, and was clearly destined to be a gorgeous woman. Every time I saw her bottom jiggle as she walked away from me, I had to remind myself of the promise Fay and I had made to behave ourselves.

Then there was Emily — the pixie, the enchantress. She moved so quickly and quietly that the rest of us made jokes about her magical ability to vanish and appear at will. Emily had a wisdom beyond her nine years; she wasn’t a chatterbox like so many girls of her age, but couldn’t be called timid either. Her hair was cut short — she preferred it that way — and her eyes were deep pools of blue. She still had a child’s body, innocent of womanly attributes. Yet I desired Emily almost as strongly as I did her big sister, especially when she raced about the house wearing nothing but colorful underpants. I’d imagine what it would be like to press my face between her bare thighs, lips and nose buried in the soft cotton, breathing in her little-girl scent — then I’d chide myself yet again. Enough already, Nicole. Enough!

Fay and I might have gone on for years, secretly desiring our girls and always fighting that desire. But then one day, I witnessed something that would ultimately turn all our lives upside down.

Continue on to Part Two