“Mommy, tell us the story about you ‘n your Mommy again, okay? Please?” It was my ten-year-old daughter, Kristen.
“Yes, Mommy, please? We love that story!” That was Andrea, my twelve-year-old.
I looked over at my other daughter, Bethany, the oldest at thirteen. She nodded in agreement with her sisters, her pretty blue eyes shining.
“Oh, my dear girls, you sure do seem to enjoy hearing about that.”
It was a Friday night. We had just finished our dinner, and after cleaning up the kitchen together, we’d gone into the family room to decide whether to watch TV, play a game, or find some other entertainment.
I’d no sooner sat down than Kristen jumped into my lap, flinging her thin arms around my neck. “Yes, Mommy, we love that story — please, tell it to us again!” She rained kisses on my cheeks and my lips.
How could I possibly refuse?
“Okay, little babies, I will then. Sit down with me here on the sofa and let’s all get comfortable.”
They arranged themselves around me. Kristen slid off my lap and nestled in beside me. She is still just a little girl, with a flat chest and narrow hips — though she has the eagerness to learn, about certain things, of someone several years older than herself. I put my arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
Andrea snuggled up on my other side. Unlike her sisters, who are blondes, she has red hair, quite curly, and lots of freckles. Her eyes are green while theirs are blue, as are mine. Andrea also is developing faster physically than either of the other girls. At only twelve years old, her breasts already have achieved a pleasing roundness.
Bethany sat next to Andrea and rested an arm on her shoulder. My firstborn is growing up so fast! She is an inch taller than me now, 5’6” to my 5’5”, but very slender, with long, smooth, elegant legs.
I’m thirty-five years old, a natural blonde with fair skin and a light coating of freckles. Being careful to eat properly, and getting plenty of exercise, I still have a nice figure, even though I’ve given birth to three children. Men look at me quite often — as do some women — but I never go out on dates, because I’m perfectly happy with what I have in my life.
Although my daughters have heard this story dozens of times, they never seem to tire of it. So, I began…
“When I was a little girl, I thought my mother was the prettiest and sweetest person in the world.”
“Just like we think you are, Mommy!” interrupted Andrea, as she squeezed my arm.
“Oh, thank you, darling,” I smiled, leaning over to give her a quick kiss on the lips. The other girls giggled.
“Anyway, I loved my mother very much and wanted to be just like her if I could. Sometimes I would go into her bedroom closet and try on some of her clothes, because it made me feel, well, happy. I loved her pretty dresses and her fancy underwear. I loved looking at them, and touching them, and feeling them against my own skin.
“More than a few times when I was young, my mother found me in her closet, naked and surrounded by her lovely clothes, with maybe a lacy black bra around my shoulders, or sometimes wearing one of her sheer nighties.
“She would always laugh at this, picking me up and giving me a big hug. She was never angry about it. Sometimes my mother would ask me then if I wanted to play ‘dress-up’ with her, and she would take off all her clothes, letting me choose the ones I wanted to see on her.”
“Like you do with us sometimes,” said Kristen.
“That’s right, honey. Just like we do.”
“Did you like seeing your mother naked?” asked Bethany.
“Yes, I did, sweetie. I thought she looked very beautiful,” I answered, recalling in my mind the image of my gorgeous young mother.
“As you girls know, I never met my father, never even knew who he was. Just the same as with you. My whole life was my darling mother. She was tall, a little taller than I am now, with long beautiful legs and full, round breasts. Her hair was red, like yours is, Andie, but longer and straighter, falling almost to her waist. Her milky white skin was covered with freckles. My mother’s soft lips were naturally pink, the same color as her nipples, and her eyes were a delicate shade of light blue-green.
“She was only seventeen when I was born, and so she really was a young woman as I was growing up. It was when I was eleven, and she was twenty-eight, that the story actually begins.
“As I got older, I would go to her room and try on her things a little less often, perhaps because my mother was now letting me get some sexy clothes of my own, cute little undies and short skirts and see-through nighties, things like that.
“But I’d still go in there sometimes, just to see if she had anything new that I hadn’t found yet. And on this one special day…”
I paused for a moment and looked at each of my daughters in turn, judging their interest in having me continue with the long story. It was perfectly obvious, I was pleased to see, that they were all very excited about hearing the rest of it.
“On this one special day, when I was eleven years old, I went into her bedroom… for some reason, though, instead of going to the closet, I stopped and decided to look inside a little cabinet that was beside her bed. There was nothing very interesting in the top drawer, just a couple of hankies, a few pens, a writing pad, a bottle of eye drops.
“When I opened the cabinet doors, however, I got a surprise. It was filled with a big stack of glossy magazines — and do you know what kind of magazines they were?”
“Lesbian magazines!”
“Yes, Kristen, you’re right. They were lesbian magazines.” I winked at her.
“On the cover of the one on top was a picture of two beautiful young girls lying on a bed, and they were both naked, and they were holding each other and kissing. I was amazed. I had never seen anything like that in my life.
“This was after school one day, and my mother was still at work, so I was alone in the house. I took the top magazine out of the cabinet, sat down on the floor, and opened it up. Inside were many more pictures like the one on the cover. Sexy, pretty girls, all of them naked or nearly naked, most of them looking like they were teenagers or maybe in their early twenties, and they were all so exciting for me to look at.
“Remember, all my life I had loved looking at my mother’s body, but she was the only woman I had ever seen without her clothes on. Now, for the first time, I had a whole bunch of naked women, or girls, to look at. And not only were they all beautiful, but it was the things they were doing with each other that almost made my eyes pop out!”
“What kind of things, Mommy?” asked Andrea, with a naughty little smile.
Of course she already knew, because I’ve told my girls this story many times. But they always love hearing me describe what I saw that day.
“Well, as I said, some of them were kissing. But some of them were also touching each other.”
I looked down at Andie. She was wearing a sleeveless top with a floral pattern and a white eyelet collar. I reached over and started opening the buttons. Soon I could see that she was not wearing a bra.
“They were touching each other. Like, they were holding their tits.” I slipped my hand inside her top, cupping her little round breast.
Andrea moaned and arched her breast toward my hand. Bethany leaned in close, to see what I was doing with her sister.
“And in some of the pictures, the girls were playing with each other’s nipples, making them hard.”
I pinched my daughter’s nipple, making her flinch slightly, then moved my hand to her other breast, pulling her top away so the other girls could see everything.
“They were touching each other’s breasts and nipples, and some of them were even kissing or licking or sucking on them.”
As I said this, I saw Bethany slide her hand up inside her t-shirt, to fondle her own nipples.
“What else, Mommy?” asked Kristen.
“Well, sweetie, as I turned the pages of that magazine, I discovered that these girls and women also seemed to enjoy kissing and licking the naked girls down here, between their legs.”
I parted my thighs and pulled my loose skirt up, showing them my light blue cotton panties. I gently rubbed my vulva for them.
“They touched each other and kissed each other down here, and some of them even put their fingers inside.”
“Like you do with us…” whispered Andie.
“Yes, my darling, just like I do with you, and like you do with each other.”
Kristen suddenly moved around to straddle my bare leg, her short dress pulled up so her panty-covered pussy was pressing against my thigh. She started rocking back and forth, a ten-year-old girl humping her mother’s leg.
I put my hand on her knee. “Whoa, now slow down, girls. If we go too fast, you won’t be able to hear the whole story. Is that what you want?”
Bethany pulled her hand out from under her shirt. “No, I like hearing the story, the whole thing. Please tell it to us?”
“Yeah, tell us more!” urged Andrea, as she re-buttoned her top.
Even Kristen reluctantly slid off my leg and then back to her position by my side.
I wanted to tease them. I kept my legs spread wide apart and rubbed my fingers over my pussy. “Are you sure? Because we can stop now and do something else if you want to.”
Kristen stared at my fingers as I caressed myself. I turned to Andrea. She was looking there, too, and licking her lips.
But Bethany insisted. “Mommy, no, not yet. We really do want to hear everything about you and your mom.”
“Yeah, we do,” nodded Andrea.
“Okay,” I said, putting my knees back together and pulling my skirt down a little. “I’m sorry for distracting you that way. It really was my fault for starting up with Andie. I’ll try to control myself and concentrate on telling the story.”
The girls giggled at my obviously fake contrition.
“So, that was the first day I discovered all those magazines in my mother’s bedside cabinet. I was eleven years old, and from then on, every chance I got, every time my mother was out of the house, I went into her room and looked at those wonderful pictures.
“But, as you know, it wasn’t right away that I started masturbating. I mean, it didn’t take very long actually, but it wasn’t the first day or anything.
“It was a couple of weeks later, when I got down toward the bottom of the pile of magazines. There were a lot of them for me to go through, several dozen, and some of the magazines had very young-looking naked girls in them — I really liked those — and some of them had pictures of older women making love with young girls, and some of them had three girls, or four girls, having sex together, or even big groups of girls, all having a lesbian orgy.
“There were so many amazing things for me to look at, and so I would rush home from school each day, and in the hour or so I had before my mother got home, I would sit on the floor in her room, slowly turning the pages of one magazine after another, carefully looking at the pictures on each page.
“But at the bottom of the pile, some of the magazines were a bit different. Instead of having two or more girls and women kissing and caressing each other, they just had individual girls taking off their clothes, looking at the camera, usually touching their own breasts and nipples, or rubbing themselves down here, between their legs” (I pointed to my pussy) “sometimes even putting their fingers inside. And that day, when I saw what those girls were doing, and how they were doing it, is when I began to masturbate.”
“When you were eleven?” asked ten-year-old Kristen.
“That’s right, baby, when I was eleven. I didn’t get started nearly as young as you girls did.”
That made them giggle again.
* * * * *
When I was eighteen years old, a senior in high school, my mother died. I entered college the next year on a full scholarship (I had a 4.0+ grade point average), and I put her life insurance money in savings so that after I graduated with degrees in both political science and philosophy, I could use that money to start having a family — without getting married. I traveled to an expensive clinic where they had the expertise, the equipment, and the sperm donor base that would help me get what I wanted.
I chose a donor whose mother (the clinic had photos not only of each donor, but of the donor’s parents) was a beautiful shapely redhead, like my mother, and whose father was a handsome, brilliant, blue-eyed blonde. The donor himself was tall, slim, good-looking, well-educated, artistically talented, and very successful. I certainly would not have been interested in dating him, but I wanted to have his children. What sealed the deal for me was that he was gay and his two sisters were lesbians. Plus, the clinic had plenty of his sperm in storage, so I could have as many children from him as I wanted. They also guaranteed that I would give birth only to girls, if that was my preference, which it was.
At age twenty-two, I was implanted with an embryo that grew to become Bethany. A year and a half after she was born, I had Andrea. During that time, I worked as a staff writer for a national magazine and I also pursued my Masters degree. By the time Kristen was born, when I was twenty-five, I was doing very well in my career.
I’ve worked hard to get where I am. Today, my non-fiction books, written under a pseudonym, are best sellers, and I have enough money that I can live off the interest on my investments. When the girls were little and I was still establishing myself as an influential thinker, I had to employ nannies or au pairs to help take care of them (replaced twice a year, to prevent my daughters from becoming too attached to any of them), but I always intended to be ready at a certain stage to spend much more time with them.
Now I am a full-time mom, working on my books and other writing from home while they are at school. This also has allowed me to, shall we say, give them a special kind of education in certain matters without being concerned that someone else might take notice or interfere.
* * * * *
“I remember when you taught me to masturbate, Mommy,” said Bethany, with a happy smile.
“And can you remember how old you were, sweetie?”
“Yeah, I was nine.”
“I was nine, too, when you taught me,” said Andrea.
Kristen grabbed my arm, “But I was only eight!”
“That’s right, honey,” I patted her hand. “I wanted to begin even younger with you, so that all four of us could start having fun together.”
My daughters beamed at me. Their happy faces, so eager and willing, filled me with joy.
“But now, let’s get back to the story, okay?”
They all nodded.
“As I said, when I saw the pictures in those magazines of the pretty girls touching themselves that way, it gave me the idea that I should try it for myself. So, on the days when I came home from school and my mother wasn’t there, I would go into her room and pull out the magazines and start looking at them — but now I concentrated on the ones that showed pictures of girls masturbating. Because even though I’d probably heard the word by then, I really didn’t know what it meant, and I certainly hadn’t ever had anyone tell me or show me how to do it like you girls did.”
“You showed us, Mommy,” said Andrea, as she snuggled in close to me.
“That’s right, honey, I did. And the reason I wanted to show you girls is because I never had anyone to show me. I had to learn how for myself, mostly from looking at the pictures in those magazines. I did learn though.
“It took me a few weeks of practicing, of sitting on the floor in my mother’s bedroom and touching my little breasts. They were very small then, much smaller than yours are, Andrea…”
She giggled, and the other girls smiled.
“…and I would take off my panties and spread my legs apart and try to rub myself the way it looked like the women in the magazines were doing it. I did that as often as I could while I was looking at the magazines, and then I did it some more when I was alone in my own bedroom, usually at night after the lights were out.”
“Did it work?” Bethany winked at me.
“Not at first. I mean, it felt okay, but it wasn’t until one night when I was in my bed and it was dark and I was touching myself that way, and I was trying to remember exactly how the girls in the magazines had done it… and then I had an idea, that I should pretend one of the girls was there with me, and she was showing me what to do.
“And then, when I turned on my side, and I imagined I was looking at a beautiful sexy young girl, not much older than me but more experienced, naked in my bed with me, showing me her body and showing me how she touched herself… when I pretended she was right there, and I could hear her voice, and I could see her pretty face, and I could feel the heat from her body, and I could smell her scent, and if I wanted to, I could reach out and touch her… then I began to have this new kind of feeling inside, a sort of heat that was radiating from exactly the spot where I was touching myself.”
I put my hand between my legs, over the top of my skirt, and pressed down on my clit, showing them the spot I meant. All three of my daughters put their own hands between their own legs, copying me.
“It felt so good, and so I pretended to tell the imaginary girl in my bed how nice it felt, and then she asked me to kiss her, and when I thought about kissing her and having her kiss me, it happened.”
“You had a orgasm!”
“That’s right, Kristen, I had my very first orgasm that night in my bed. Do you remember how old you were when you had your first orgasm?”
“Uh-huh. I was eight.”
“That’s right, baby. You had just turned eight years old, and I was showing you how you could touch yourself, and I rubbed you a little bit to show you how…”
“I like it when you rub my pussy, Mommy!”
I looked at her radiant smile and her shining blue eyes as she gazed up at me. I so adored that child! I leaned over and gave her a soft, warm kiss on the lips. She put her little hand behind my head and kissed me back, slipping her tongue into my mouth.
We kissed that way for a minute or so, until I felt myself getting very wet between my legs. Reluctantly, I drew my lips away from hers, and said, “And do you know what happened next, my darling daughters?”
“Uh-huh,” answered Andrea. “But tell us anyway!”
I patted my twelve-year-old on the knee. “Well, after that, I started masturbating every day, sometimes more than once a day, and almost always I was able to give myself wonderful orgasms. It was such an amazing time for me. I loved how each climax felt, and I loved learning what my body wanted, how I could play with my nipples, or draw my fingers up the inside of my bare thighs, how I could gently rub my pussy, slowly at first, then faster and faster until I was right on the edge — and then slow down for a minute or two before starting up again, until I had the most powerful, earth-shaking orgasms.
“And what I also learned was that if I kept rubbing myself after one climax was over, then sometimes I could have more than one. Some nights I would go on and on, making myself come again and again. You know how that works, don’t you — because I taught you!”
All three of my girls nodded.
“I counted one time,” boasted Bethany, “and I had ten orgasms, all in one night.”
“I remember that, ‘cuz you told me about it the next day,” said Andie. “And so I tried it too, but I couldn’t get as many. But then you started licking me, and I had a lot!”
The two girls giggled with each other and shared a short kiss… then they turned back to me, waiting to hear more of my story.
Continue on to Chapter 2