Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Mia Ireland

{ This story was originally posted at the Nifty Archive }

I can’t remember a time my beautiful mama didn’t softly, gently, cup my cunt.

Only back then I called it my cunny, of course. Or my kitty when I did stuff with my best friend Ellie.

We had such pretty, innocent words for it back then, before it became sex. Before it became need.

Before it became our white hot craving, and cunt.

My mama gave birth to me at 25, with the one man she dared to have sex with. A quiet boy she met in college. His name was Jonathan, and they had tea together in the student union, and had laughs together in the good times, and for whatever crazy reason, Jonathan, who was gay, and my mama, who was also gay, decided they should fuck each other to make sure they weren’t straight, and it turns out they weren’t.

But it also turns out that they made me, which is equal parts my bad luck and my good fortune. Because here I am, alive and well, fatherless and proud. I am strong, sure, but I’ve never quite known if I’m a blessing or an error.

But whatever I am, or whatever I was when I was ten, I still know how amazingly good it felt when my mama cupped my cunny. And my mama, I know, loved me very, very much. That much was clear.

There was never a time when she didn’t hold my vagina with the most tender of touches. Or if there was, I can’t remember it. From my youngest age, I would sit on her lap, naked and soft on the couch, both of us nude, both of us watching TV and cuddled under a big warm blanket, and my soft bottom would always press into my mama’s warm lap, her bare-shaved pussy, which was always warm and inviting, completely naked like mine, never stubbly or rough. She was so smoothly shaven, impeccably bare, that it was almost as if she’d never grown up or grown hair in the first place.

“My baby,” she’d whisper in my ear as I rubbed my butt back against her slowly-spreading wetness. “My sweet baby girl.”

I’d feel her spread herself. I’d know she was softly spreading, adjusting, letting my soft bottom rub her where she needed to be rubbed.

And she’d reach down and cup her hand around my cunny, never penetrating me with her finger, just softly cupping my mons, reaching down lower to cover my taint, and the feeling would be safe and warm and glorious, and I would slowly push my bare vagina up against her hand, softly rubbing and bucking myself into her sweet, gentle cupping, as my naked bottom slid across the wetness of her slit. Together we’d pleasure each other that way, until we both slipped into shuddering, long, shivering, sweet completeness.

Later I’d go into the bathroom to pee, and the wetness of my mama’s sweet vagina, her fluid, her loving essence, her need for me, would still be wet and sticky, like glazed after-love, all over my tiny butt cheeks. I’d reach back and rub it with my hand. I’d bring my hand up to my face and smell it deeply and greedily.

I loved the smell she left on my bottom. It was soft and wet and good like her. I’d lick it off my hand. Gingerbread spice I couldn’t put a name to. Its flavor was so new to me. So strong and so good. I was in love with the way my mama’s pussy tasted years before my lips ever touched it.

Then we made love. A few years later we started to love each other the way lovers do. On Christmas Eve. A midnight clear.

I was ten years old that Christmas Eve when my mama and I finally made love to each other with our mouths and our hands and our fingers and our wet bare pussies rubbing together.

The cupping had gone on forever. The cuddling, the cupping, the slipping and sliding and sitting in her lap. It was understood. It was what we did. We sat together naked on the couch, and if she didn’t cup me on her own, I’d take her hand in mine and gently place it over my cunny, letting her know I needed this. Letting her know it was always her time to cup me.

And even at ten, the night it started for real, we had already cupped as we always did at night. She’d cupped me until I felt the shivers, and her wetness still lingered on my bottom as she carried me upstairs and tucked me in my princess bed with promises of Santa Claus, who I no longer believed in, and promises of her warm love tomorrow, which I did.

But I had bad dreams that night, mean reindeers and bad Grinches, and I silently slipped into her bed down the hall, naked and trembling, cold and little, needing her warmth and her comfort.

“Shhh, baby girl,” she sleep-whispered, drawing me to her naked body. I reveled in her closeness. She smelled good, like baby lotion and apricots. Cocoa butter and peppermint. Christmas carols were playing on her radio. It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.

“Scary dream,” I whispered, looking into her eyes. Bringing my hands up to touch her face. To frame her nearness like I’ve always done since I was a very little girl. Holding her face in my hands to confirm her stability.

“Shhh,” she said, kissing my nose, and then my eyelids. “Sleep with Mama tonight.” And then she kissed me again on the lips, on the mouth. And I kissed her back on the lips, on the mouth. And then we were kissing. And then the world broke open into spiral beauty, and we were kissing and kissing like never before.

My mama and I had never kissed like this, like grownups kiss, alive and wanting. I heard a soft sound that confused me, but I realized it was me, moaning into her mouth. Her hands reached down to cup my bottom. My hand reached forward to cup her cunny, bare and hot and wet already. This time I cupped my mama’s cunt. Her wetness felt good on the skin of my hand.

She reached down to cup mine, still kissing me.

“No, Mama,” I whispered, urging her past her own innocence, her desire not to hurt me. “Like this.”

I reach down and extended her finger and touched it to myself. To my slit. To my clitty. To the place I touched myself in my own bed. I loved my mama. I wanted her in me.

“Baby girl,” she whispered, hesitating.

“Please, Mama,” I asked her. “Please. Like this.”

I pressed her finger into me. My slit. My hole. My private sweet places.

“Please, Mama. Inside me.”

Mama kissed me with a whimper in her voice and she steadily, slowly-at-first, but eagerly-after, fingered my wet, aching cunny. Oh, God, it felt so good to have her touch me this way. To finally enter me. To touch me this way.

I squeezed her cunny with my hand, and soon my fingers were entering her too. She was slippery, and pushed back against me. We whimpered and kissed together. Nothing could be this good. Nothing ever. This felt so right. Please, God. Please, baby Jesus. Make this Christmas Eve last forever.

Mama pulled her hand away. I moaned, wanting more.

“Do you trust me, Ammy?” she said, kissing my eyelids.

I nodded yes. I trusted her with everything.

“Come up to my face, baby,” she coaxed me, helping me straddle her chest, her beautiful soft breasts. She brought my tiny frame up to her face, so my cunny was laid open before her. My gateway pressing into the soft folds of her lips.

And oh, how I arched my back and my neck raised prayerfully to the sky as my mama’s soft tongue started dancing through my labia, my perineum, my shivering anus. I never thought of being kissed there before! Or licked there before! Was this okay? Could this really happen?

I felt her beautiful tongue licking me everywhere. My cunny and my butthole. My clean places. My nasty places. Places no one had ever licked before. Places I’d never dreamed I’d be kissed on! I shuddered and seized, I shivered and came, twitching and gasping and grinding out my joy into my mama’s face, crying out loud in the night, a whine, a joy, bucking onto her tongue with the shivery dampness of my grateful excitement.

I was so hungry for my mama. I was so hungry to taste her now. It’s all I wanted. My body was desperate for her completely. To taste her every flavor.

“Now yours, Mama,” I begged with shaky breath. “Please, Mama. Let me, too.”

“Baby,” she started. “You don’t have to. You don’t – ”

I shushed her with my fingertip and I turned around on top of her. I laid my cunny back on her face, but then buried my own face in the heat of her wetness, her hot sweet triangle. And oh God. So sweet! So sweet!

The taste was overwhelming. Hot and rich and familiar from how I’d licked it off my hand, but now it was wild and wet and directly on my mouth. And I don’t know if I did it right, but I sucked her, and I licked her, and I tasted her in all the beautiful ways she’d tasted me, and I felt myself crying it felt so good to taste her like this, to know her like this.

I tasted her cunny and tears. Sweet Christmas tears for the beautiful, strong nearness of her. I tasted the copper of her skin folds on my tongue. The cinnamon-nutmeg brandy of her heartbeat, so much stronger than mine. So much better.

It tasted like mine, her pussy flavor. We tasted the same. But hers was wilder. Richer. Deeper and more grown-up. She moaned. Her back arched. She pressed her thighs together trapping my head as her body twisted up from the mattress.

My little fingers explored her everywhere. As I locked my mouth around my mama’s sweet cunny, sucking her hungrily with no possibility of stopping, my fingers reached up to explore her inside. Her hole and her clitty. Her tight-button anus, which I pushed against and felt my wet finger slip in, wet with her pussy juice and slippery with her own lubrication. She hissed when my finger penetrated her special place. I licked her, and kissed her and put my fingers in her, everywhere, wherever they could go.

She was pulling me away. Lifting me up away from her.

“No, Mama,” I begged. “Don’t make me stop.”

“Kiss me, baby,” she said, grabbing my head and making me come up for air. “Kiss Mama, Ammy.”

I came up sad. So sad to be away from her mama flavors, but I did what she said. I came up to her face. She wrapped her arms around me and I kissed her some more.

I could taste my own cunny on her tongue and she could taste hers on mine. We kissed as the Christmas carols played, tasting each other’s sweet, shared flavor. It came upon a midnight clear. That glorious song of old.

“Baby, wrap your legs in mine, like this, like scissors.”

She adjusted herself around me. Showed me what to do. Our legs intertwined. It was so easy. So natural. I thought that she’d invented it.

Our wet pussies touched.

It was electric.

Hotness, wetness, bareness together.

Naked, slippery, rubbing our pussies. Oh! So good! I gasped!

Our cunny juices were mingling, the two of us rubbing and pushing against each other, arching, gasping, shuddering! Oh, so shivery!

Mama came!

She cried out loud and gasped my name. “Ammy!”

She came! Pressing her pussy against mine, I could feel even more wetness cascade from her as she shook and shivered.

“So good,” she whispered, biting at my lower lip. Nipping it. Sucking it into her mouth. “Ammy, so good.”

She flipped me onto my back. She lifted my knees up. Pushed my knees up like I was going to have a baby, and put her face between my legs and sucked me greedily. Hard. Pushed her tongue so far up into my hole I thought I would cry out from the heaven of it.

She locked her mouth around my little hard clit, and sucked it until I quivered, and bucked, and grabbed her head and mashed her to my cunny as I jerked uncontrollably and I came all over her face.

“Mama,” I cried as she tasted my love shakes. “Mama, I love you. So much, so much.”

I pulled her head back up to me, she cuddled me, held me to her chest. I nuzzled into her neck. Kissed its soft warm saltiness. Swallowed her sweaty rivulets. Worked my way lower to her perfect breast and nursed on her nipple, which was already hard the moment my mouth wrapped around it.

I lay there in the moonlight of Christmas, nursing on my beautiful mama.

I reached down and cupped her cunny. She reached down and cupped mine, and we fell asleep like that, captured in time, shivering and satisfied until warmth and exhaustion lulled us to sleep.

From angels bending near the earth, to touch their harps of gold.

A Christmas Eve. A Midnight Clear.

A brand new song for my mama and me.

THE END — and a very Merry Christmas to all our readers at Juicy Secrets!