Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Shy Mom

I awoke in the middle of the night to find myself naked, spooning my daughter Olivia. The lights were still on.

Beautiful, angelic Olivia!

She lay curled in a fetal position. Her bottom rested against me, grazing my pubis. Eight years ago, she had lain inside me.

My heart tugged.

I drew up my knees, gently so as to not wake her. Her body shifted against mine, nestling in its warmth. I didn’t want this moment to end.

Olivia had fallen asleep with me many times before, and we had spent those nights as mother and daughter. Now, were we cuddling as lovers?

Technically, we hadn’t had sex. We hadn’t fucked. Not yet.

Surprisingly, my carnal desire for my little girl didn’t shock me. A month ago—heck, a day ago—words such as “pervert” and “pedophile” might have come to mind, with all their societal judgment. But as I have learned at critical junctures, experience makes the best teacher. And if last night taught me anything, it was that my sexual hunger for Olivia sprung from my maternal core. Moreover, the direction our relationship had taken promised an undiscovered country of mother-daughter delights that were sure to broaden and deepen our bonds.

That, and I want to fuck her, plain and simple. There, I admitted it to myself. Our masturbation session had awakened a wild desire.

But what did Olivia want?

No doubt, my youngest would follow me to the edge of the world, even over it. But my maternal compass always pointed to what was best for my girls, even if I sometimes fumbled to discern it. I knew I could overthink things, a trait Olivia occasionally exhibited. Last night, though, her child’s trust in the wholesomeness of our love led her without hesitation to fall into my arms—and lick the cum off my fingers.

Maybe I should follow her lead and not second-guess where our affection had taken us.

I started to sweat against Olivia’s nightgown and cotton panties. At first, it felt good to have her clothes stick to me. But soon, I chafed at how they separated us. They had to go.

First, I dealt with the nightgown. It was a pink cotton affair that ran mid-thigh, though now it pooled around her hips. Lying side by side, I lifted it slowly. Without seeming to wake, Olivia shifted to accommodate me.

Next, I pulled off her panties. As I slid down the length of Olivia’s back to do so, my breasts pressed against her. My nipples, turning upwards, brushed her warm flesh. Wow.

On the way back up, I pressed into Olivia again, more deliberately, rolling my nipples against my little girl. They’d never felt anything softer—except, perhaps, when she kissed my breast earlier in the evening.

I settled back into spooning Olivia. The sweat of our bodies merged with our nakedness. The touch of her skin against mine—of her skin sticking to mine—warmed my heart and heated my pussy.

I sighed and closed my eyes. Following Olivia’s breathing, I fell into its pattern. I could drift off so easily, fall into dreamland …

The nipples were so tiny, so perfect.

Nestled atop slight bumps of gooseflesh, they stuck out like miniature gumdrops. They sank into baby fat when pressed, then rose back of their own buoyancy. Everything about them seemed magical.

My other hand slipped downward, found the tender cleft. It was closed. What was the magic word? In the dreamy haze, it eluded me.

The flesh on either side yielded to my touch. Bare. Baby soft. I ran my finger up one side and down the other, light as a whisper. I marveled at the feel of it. I could do this all night.

The cleft opened, like a night flower. My finger slipped in to explore. A slit. Small. Impossibly smooth. Moisture had collected at the bottom, where there was an indentation of flesh.

I pressed inward. The hot flesh contracted around my fingertip. It gripped and pulled. It was insistent. It was so hard to resist. I didn’t want to resist. I gave in … and met resistance. A membrane—thin, yielding, yet resilient. I drew back, prepared to thrust—

The word came to me. I knew it. I whispered it. “Cunt.”

Did anyone hear?

My slick finger withdrew. The opening closed. Relief and sadness crept over me.

My finger continued to explore, tracing every delicate fold and crevice, smearing them with dew. I knew to avoid the bud. Soon, but not yet.

My finger found the hood, so familiar, but somehow smaller. I thought of the potion from Alice in Wonderland. Had I swallowed it? Lost in a trance, I couldn’t recall.

I went back for more wetness, then returned to the hood. Rub three times, I had read somewhere. So I did—back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

I wish …

A child moaned. My eyes flew open.

Oh my God—I was touching Olivia, and she was responding! This was no dream, it never had been.

“Mommy,” Olivia breathed, “don’t stop.”

My head cleared. My heart pounded. I didn’t know what to do.

Olivia did. She clutched my hands with hers, pressing one to her chest, the other between her thighs.

Panicked, I hesitated, “Olivia, maybe we shouldn’t—”

“But Mommy … I love this …”

So do I, I admitted to myself, and kept my hands where my daughter had put them.

Then, hearing Olivia moan, feeling her move under me, my heart swelled and my pussy ached. Unable to tell her no, I gave in and consciously resumed fondling my child.

Her pebbly nipples felt sexier than any others I’d had the pleasure to touch, including my own. And oh, that sweet virgin pussy. I’d gotten to know every delicate fold of flesh by washing and wiping Olivia as a baby hundreds—no, thousands—of times. Once, I knew this pussy better than mine, touched and pampered it even more than my own.

Now, just like my little girl, Olivia’s sex seemed to have blossomed overnight. No longer adorably puffy, it had begun taking on the familiar shape of a woman’s cunt, teasing with its erotic promise, yet still retaining its child-like smoothness. And it was wet. Not the syrupy grown-up wetness I’d come to know and love by taste and feel. Her nectar was less sticky than mine, more dew than honey.

“Oh, Mommy! That feels sooo good.”

“For me too, love. I’ve never felt anything better, anything more … heavenly!”

“Really?!” Olivia sounded so pleased.

“Really!”

I continued to pleasure my daughter, who was now sandwiched between my massaging hands and naked body. Her bottom bounced and ground against my pubis while I pressed my tits against her back.

“Remember earlier, when I said your pussy was nicer than Mommy’s?”

“My girl cunt!” Olivia corrected.

“Yes, your girl cunt.”

“Uh-huh, I do. But you never explained why, Mommy.”

“Sorry, darling. I got terribly distracted.”

Olivia tilted her head, looking up at me. “You did?”

“I did. A little angel was sucking cunt juices from my fingers.”

“Oh yeah,” my girl recalled, grinning. “Sucking mommy juices!”

Olivia had certainly picked up my vocabulary, as well as my actions. The memory of her licking and sucking my sticky fingers made me shiver with pleasure. In response, Olivia wriggled deliciously against me.

Fighting a sudden urge to slide down and lick that pert little bottom, I made an effort to go on. “You see, darling, girl cunts really are the nicest.”

“They are!” Olivia accepted my verdict without hesitation. “But why?”

I stifled a laugh. After all, this was Take Two of our lesson on The Superior Virtues of Girl Cunt. Though we were sheltering at home, far from school, there was still serious education to be had!

“First of all, their outsides are so smooth and baby soft.”

“Outsides?”

“Yes, the puffy outer lips.” I touched hers. “If you want to get technical, they’re called the ‘labia majora.’”

“Labia … majora.” Perfect! “That’s a funny name!”

“For such a fun part!” I rubbed it for emphasis.

“Mmm …”

“Well, ‘labia’ is Latin for ‘lips,’ and you can guess what ‘majora’ means.”

“Um … major?”

“Yes!” I rewarded Olivia by stroking up and down those outer lips in earnest. Positive reinforcement, that’s what teacher training had taught us.

“What else …” Olivia’s body seemed caught up in the glorious sensations of me masturbating her—for that was certainly what I was doing—but her mind wanted more, too.

I parted her outer lips. Olivia gasped.

“And these …” gliding my middle finger over her already slick inner folds, “… are the ‘labia minora.’”

Olivia’s breath caught. “Oh, Mommy … Mommy …”

“This is lovemaking, baby,” I breathed. With my other hand, I hugged my daughter to me. My finger circled a nipple while I caressed her slit. “Mommy is making love to you.”

“You are?” Her awe was so utterly endearing.

“You’re so sweet and desirable, darling … I can’t resist.”

With feeling, she implored, “I don’t want you to!”

I responded by pressing my finger against her inner lips. They parted for me. My heart fluttered as I felt her exposed heat and wetness.

“And girl cunts are the nicest because their inner lips—their pussy lips—are as silky and lovely as flower petals.”

“I like how you say that, Mommy!”

I was amazed that I could still teach as I touched, and that Olivia could still follow along. In her place, I would’ve been driven to distraction. Then again, I’d been my little girl’s teacher and she my adoring pupil for so long that she was still eager to learn from me, even while I fondled her like this. Like a lover.

“Now, at the top your inner lips—”

She quickly corrected me. “My pussy lips.”

“Atop your inner pussy lips sits a tiny pea.”

“A pee-pee?”

This time, I did laugh. “No, dear. I mean like The Princess and the Pea.”

“Oh …”

“Come to think of it,” I said, half to myself, “that fairytale probably was about her clit … how it vexed her all night, untouched, while she tossed and turned …”

As I continued making love to her exquisite pussy, Olivia kept squirming, but also listening. “What’s a clit, Mommy?”

“Short for ‘clitoris,’ baby. It’s a most precious part of your girl cunt.”

“Clit.” She seemed to like the sound of the word.

“I think it’s Greek for ‘key’ … as in the key to a woman’s—or little girl’s—sexual pleasure.”

To show Olivia, I edged my finger toward her clit, then around it. Her sex was so small that it took a lot of care to tease the tiny nub without actually touching it. I traced small circles over her hood.

“Oh, God, Mommy! Oh, God …”

“Heavenly, isn’t it?” It was such a joy to feel—literally feel—my daughter’s budding ecstasy.

“It is, Mommy.”

Inspiration struck me. “Olivia’s clit, listen up! I christen thee ‘Princess Pea.’”

Between heavy breaths, Olivia giggled. “I—I like it!” I wasn’t sure whether she was referring to the name I’d just given her girl clit, or what I was doing to it.

“And the pleasure of Her Highness, Princess Pea, will not be denied …”

I applied slightly more pressure with my swirling finger.

“Oh, Mommy … oh, Mommy … oh … oh …”

Oliva’s gasps guided my ministrations. Her hood became engorged.

I felt almost predatory, circling her vulnerable clitoris like a shark ready to bite. It didn’t help that I was also toying with her nipples as well as rubbing myself against her sweaty backside. And that I was her mother!

Olivia kept thrusting against my unrelenting finger.

“Mommy …” she whimpered.

She wanted to come. I could tell.

“Mommy …”

She needed to come. I could feel her desperation.

“Mommy … please!”

Even if she didn’t know what “coming” was, had never felt anything like it.

“Mommy … oh, Mommy!”

I’d show her.

“Mommy!”

Take her.

“Mommy!”

Turn the key.

“Mommy!”

Pinch her hood … now.

“MOMMY!”

Again.

“MOMMY!”

And again.

“MOMMY!”

I flicked the tip of her exposed clit with my slick finger, like a lover’s tongue.

“MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY!”

I cupped her vulva in my hand … and squeezed … and squeezed … and squeezed …

Thrashing in her mother’s arms, at the tender age of eight, my darling Olivia had her first orgasm.

Sweet, precocious girl!

On to Chapter Four!