Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Shy Mom

I miss swimming and spinning, in that order. Our nearby YMCA, where I’ve exercised for years, has been closed, due to the pandemic. While my dear little girls have been keeping my tummy, ass, and cunt tight with a doubling (at least) of daily orgasms, I find myself missing the diverse community one finds at the Y.

If you were to observe my regular visits, you might find it surprising that I feel any connection with people there. An introvert by nature, I keep mostly to myself in public, including in spin classes and at the pool.

To be sure, I come out of that shell for my third-grade girls, who expect and deserve affection and vivacity from their teacher and look on me as a surrogate mother. For their sake, I can also put on a show for their parents—though I certainly never anticipated the kind that Genette enticed me into perform during our extremely lewd Zoom session.

Within the bounds of our Catholic school dress code, I enjoy modeling provocative styles and fashions for my little ladies. There is no rule, for example, against form-fitting blouses and pencil skirts. Nor is there one against thongs, g-strings, or going completely bare below to keep my backside smooth, especially when I lean over a desk to assist a student with her lesson.

At the Y, I could indulge in this seemingly contradictory urge to keep to myself and expose my body. Perhaps my predilection for exhibitionism is rooted in vanity, and I admit to taking pride in my figure after three decades and two daughters. But I believe my motives are simpler and purer.

I abhor selfishness, and keeping something beautiful to oneself, like caging a butterfly, seems a crime against nature. Bringing a smidgen of joy to those who find beauty in my body makes our corner of the world happier for all concerned, if only for a brief while. I don’t think I’m alone in my views, as I’ve shared smiles with other lovely women—and sometimes little girls—with whom I’ve exchanged looks of mutual admiration.

There are three things I enjoyed about spin class, none of which was spinning itself, which is grueling. First, I liked the results. A firm ass and taut legs are features a woman my age can no longer take for granted. Second, I liked the instructor, Carly. True, she inflicted escalating degrees of pain as our sessions progressed, and did so with an inhuman level of good cheer. I couldn’t hold a grudge against her, however, as she put in as much effort as she demanded from us. Moreover, she was stunning. As Carly rode her cycle, her ass flexed in a mesmerizing tempo, and her shapely boobs bounced in time.

She was among the women with whom I exchanged appreciative glances at the Y, which leads to my third reason for enjoying spin class: the opportunity to put myself on display. I always arrived early to take a bicycle in the front row. My favorite bikes were just to the right or left of Carly, where I got a prime view down her sports bra and, from the wall mirror behind her, a fine reflection of her ass. Spinning from the front row also allowed me to show off my own curves and crevices—revealed more than hidden by the skintight workout wear I favored—to those ladies who always seemed to pick spots behind me when they worked out.

Swimming has always been a favored form of exercise for me. The sense of weightlessness and freedom as the cool watercourses past while caressing every inch of my body… it’s a pleasure unmatched by anything else that burns calories and tones muscles—except fucking, of course. What especially enhances the joy of swimming is the opportunity to expose myself.

The Y, of course, was a family establishment, and the dress code for the pool area expressly forbade “thong bikinis.” I happily complied with the letter of the rule, which made no mention of one-piece swimsuits. Accordingly, I bought an attractive one-piece with a thong-cut in every available hue—white, aqua, violet, and my favorite, watermelon. Though a small would have suited, I got mine in extra-small for the curve-hugging, crevice-invading fit.

What makes these swimsuits especially racy is their fabric, which turns sheer when it gets wet. From experience, as I shall relate, I can attest that the thin material does not distinguish between chlorinated water and a juicy cunt.

In all my years at the Y, I never heard a single complaint against my swimwear. Instead, I frequently felt eyes on me as I climbed in and out of the lap pool. I was happy to linger for anyone who wanted a glimpse, especially female patrons. They ranged from seniors getting daily exercise, to mothers keeping in shape, to high schoolers improving lap times. Their interest in me seemed to vary, from intrigue or admiration to envy or lust.

Perhaps my greatest fans were the teenage lifeguards, all of whom were girls. One of them, a lithesome sixteen-year-old named Gwen, had actually been a third-grader in my class. Back then, the blonde still had quite a bit of baby fat, but puberty and swimming had transformed her into someone whom I might have recognized in my own mirror during my high school days. When I did the backstroke past the lifeguard perch, I occasionally caught Gwen hastily crossing her legs. Sometimes I wondered if she might be willing to moonlight as a babysitter.

***

Reminiscing on my displays at the Y inspired me one evening to suggest a fashion show as our family activity. Like most little girls, mine loved dressing up, so they jumped at the proposal. I had plenty of swimwear and lingerie to go around, most of it so skimpy that the size wouldn’t matter.

I’d done this kind of thing before, back in college. Every year, my sorority put on a hugely popular fashion show as a fundraiser for a local women’s shelter, but the ones we held for ourselves, in the sworn privacy of our sorority house, were the most memorable. They were also the wildest.

At those events, we modeled sexy party dresses, daring swimsuits, and racy lingerie. Because we all pitched in to help each other look our best, the shows were a feast for the eyes. Often, girls would pair up to walk down the runway, teasing each other and their audience with kissing, groping, and sometimes more as the alcohol flowed and the catcalling swelled.

As a new pledge, it surprised me at first that my sorority sisters seemed to have dirtier minds and mouths than most men, but I soon became as naughty as they were. I supposed my libido was fanned from living among so many sweet and desirable girls, whom I grew to love as family.

One evening, Alyssa and I were on the runway when we gave our sorority even more to see. Of course, there were no secrets within our tight-knit community, so it was common knowledge that the two of us were an item. The hooting and hollering predictably rose when we strutted down our improvised catwalk, two blondes in scanty bras and g-strings. At the end of the runway, we locked lips in a sizzling kiss and rubbed tits, then flossed each other’s asses with the g-strings. For the coup de grace, we fingered one another and, as cheers erupted, fed one another our honey. On the way out, our bare bottoms got plenty of affectionate slaps, then we practically raced back to our room and fucked like cats in heat.

Now, as I collected an armful of titillating swimwear and lingerie, I was anticipating how far my little girls and I would take our mother-daughter fashion show.

***

Ashley and Olivia sat side by side on the plush velvet sofa in our living room. They wore matching white terry robes—gifts from Genette, the same style Bella had worn during our parent-teacher Zoom. In return, I’d given the Flambeau family three lacy green thongs, imagining how the color would complement their auburn hair. That was when we shed our clothes and came together in a two-family lesbian sex party that lasted for hours. Maybe I’ll share that story with the world one day.

In our adjacent kitchen, which served as the staging area, I got ready for my part of the show. Our plan called for me to model three outfits before turning over the floor to the girls, and to keep our choices a secret, to heighten the anticipation. For my first round, I chose my one-piece swimsuit in white.

Slipping into character, I strutted into the living room like a model, placing one leg in front of the other, hips swaying. My daughters’ eyes lit up as I paraded back and forth. Pausing in front of the girls, I stopped to present my thong-cut backside, then cupped and shook it for them.

OIivia and Ashley squealed in delight. I blew kisses over my shoulder, which they blew back, their puckered lips both girlish and sexy in the hot pink lip gloss I’d selected for them.

Because my daughters didn’t go with me to the Y, they had no idea that my swimsuit turned sheer when damp, and the prospect of exposing myself that way aroused me no end. Extending a finger to each of their luscious mouths, I instructed, “Get them nice and wet for me.”

A tingle ran through me as the girls coated my fingers with their warm saliva. They sighed when I withdrew, stared when I coated my nipples through the swimsuit, and gasped when they saw the effect that had.

“I didn’t know they made those!” exclaimed Ashley.

“I want one!” Olivia announced.

I laughed. “Well, if you’re good—or maybe bad—I’ll let you borrow mine when you’re big enough.” I could imagine a teenage Olivia turning heads in it, especially mine.

Then, like a late-night commercial, I added, “But wait! There’s more…”

The girls watched as I pulled up the high-waisted front panel. It stretched snugly against my vulva, bringing the folds of my moist sex into vivid relief.

I ran a finger up my slit, then wafted it under my daughters’ noses. Olivia opened her mouth expectantly, like a little bird, and Ashley lunged for that finger like she was trying to bite it. I drew my hand back just in time, and licked it myself. The girls made faces and protested, but it was all good fun.

Taking one last sexy stroll through the living , I bowed and exited.

Next, I put on a black “slingkini.” If you’ve never encountered one, it consists of a small patch just big enough to conceal my shaved cunt. From that tiny bit of material, one string runs up my ass crack and over my spine, then divides into two and wraps around my body, leading to a pair of even tinier patches that cover my nipples (but nothing else) before plunging down to hold up the pubic patch from the front. I should add that nearly every move I make causes the immodest patch down below to wriggle a bit into my cleft.

On a dare, I once modeled this swimsuit for my sorority sisters, but had never mustered the courage to flaunt it in public, even with my exhibitionist streak. I was pleased that my body still showed to good advantage in the slingkini, which made me feel sexier than going completely nude.

Taking a breath, I entered the living room. My daughters were spellbound at the sight. I prowled in front of them, feeling as wicked as I looked. Stopping in front of the sofa, I paused to stroke my nipples through the gauze-thin fabric, making them even stiffer than they already were. The girls squealed and applauded in approval.

I turned around and spread my legs. Then, I bent over slowly, sliding my hands down my limbs as I thrust my ass up. I couldn’t see the girls’ faces, but heard their inhaled breaths as the rear string bisected my bottom.

The suddenly familiar position triggered a flashback to my college days: Alyssa behind me, on the floor of my sorority bedroom, her face buried in my upturned ass, devouring my cunt with such hunger that I was sure she’d eat right through me.

Burning with that memory, I bowed and made my second exit.

In the kitchen, I furiously pawed myself to a quick orgasm, then downed a swig of ice water. After recovering my breath, I stripped off the slingkini and reentered the living room for my big finish.

The girls gawked at me quizzically, for I wore nothing but a smile. As they took in my nakedness, however, their looks of confusion turned into stares of longing.

I was pleased that my body produced the desired effect, but I was far from done. I had one more surprise, a lewd little secret to reveal. Standing before my daughters, I raised an eyebrow to get their attention. I had it, of course, one hundred percent.

Lowering myself into a squat, I reached down with one hand to spread my lips wide, exposing the maw of my cunt. My daughters gaped. With the other hand, I reached into my vagina and delicately pulled out a pink string that gradually grew into a thong. The fabric was dripping wet.

I’d never witnessed such wonder on my girls’ faces. It was like Christmas morning, and after all their unwrapping, I conjured one more present out of thin air. Except this present came from my cunt.

“See girls? I did have something to show after all.”

Ashley found her voice first. “How …”

“It was there the whole time. Soaking in my juices.”

“Wow …” Olivia breathed. Her lips were still parted, so I offered her the thong, bringing it closer to my little girl’s face.

My impulse surprised me as much as it did Olivia. Her eyes bulged almost out of their sockets. But she got over that right away, opening her mouth even wider so that I could feed her my soaked undies. When the taste of my pussy hit her, she started sucking greedily at the wet material.

Ashley looked on with longing.

“Olivia, dear,” I said gently. “Share that with your sister?”

My sweet girl nodded, and began to take the thong out of her mouth. I had a different idea, though. Enfolding Ashley and Olivia in my arms, I brought them together for a kiss.

Their lips touched tenderly at first, but soon their kissing became open-mouthed and urgent as they shared my flavor between them. I could not envision a better way of ending my part of the show, unless I joined my children in a three-way kiss. So I did.

After the g-string had been sucked clean, we drifted apart, exchanging lustful glances. I was ravenous for sex, and sensed the same hunger in my girls. But before we gave in to our mutual desire, I reminded them that we still had their half of our fashion show to enjoy. With their thoughts turned, they bounded out of the room excitedly.

I sat naked, waiting for the girls to reappear, the blanket I’d thoughtfully draped over the sofa earlier damp with my anticipation.

After much shuffling and giggling in the kitchen, my daughters bounced back in … still in the same terry cloth robes they had been wearing when they left the room.

It was my turn to look quizzical. But, like my final outfit, theirs proved to be more than meets the eye.

The girls danced in front of me, attempting to sway their hips in a seductive way. However, their inability to move in unison and outbursts of tittering tickled my funny bone more than my cunt. Still, I took delight in their joy, knowing they would appease my lust before very long.

So they did. At a signal from Ashley, the girls slowly lifted their robes, which fell about mid-thigh. As the juncture of their thighs were revealed, I caught glimpses of white little-girl panties—the same kind Olivia wore on the night that lit our incestuous relationship.

No surprise, their panties were visibly wet. My desire to slip those adorable underpants down and taste my little girls now seemed as natural as basking in their sweet scent when we hugged. Once again, I was amazed by how radically our lives had changed in these months of quarantine.

“Mommy loves our panties,” Olivia remarked, more to her sister than me. “It made her wet when she saw mine.”

“Indeed it did,” I admitted.

“Are you wet now, Momma?” asked Ashley.

In answer, I spread my cunt for them to see.

“She is!” Olivia exclaimed.

“You too,” I laughed, glancing from one crotch to the other.

Their act wasn’t over. Turning around, their robes still lifted, the sisters shook their booties, again more in silliness than seduction. Ashley grasped the waistband of Olivia’s panties and tugged them up until they were nestled in her crack like a thong, then presented her rump to a giggling Olivia, who returned the favor. Their exposed cheeks taunted me, cried out to be spanked. Not hard, mind you—just enough to tease.

Going down on her knees, Ashley smooched her little sister’s left buttock, the lipstick she wore leaving a glossy pink kiss mark. When she got to her feet, Olivia once again imitated her big sister, enthusiastically branding Ashley on the right cheek. Then they turned away from me and pushed their hips together—putting their lip prints on their bottoms side by side, as if they were kissing.

The girls spun around and bowed. I clapped and cheered as they skipped out of the room.

A couple of minutes later, the winsome pair paraded back into the room, still in their robes. They got into position in front of me, Ashley directly behind Olivia. At a signal from Ashley, the girls swayed in opposite directions and waved their arms, an imitation of dances we’d seen in Bollywood films. I had to applaud.

Next, Ashley wrapped arms around Olivia from behind, groping her flat chest. I’ve enjoyed being on the giving and receiving end of this particular move, but hadn’t imagined how arousing it would be when performed by little girls.

“Like how that feels, Olivia?” I asked, my voice thick with arousal.

“Yes, Mommy,” she replied, wriggling against her sister.

Then, like parting curtains, Ashley unfurled the front of Olivia’s robe. Above, she was topless, and below, wearing only a micro-bottom in highlighter yellow that barely cupped her pouty lips. My breath caught at the tantalizing sight.

The girls switched places and again went into their dance. At the end, without as much ceremony, Olivia pulled open Ashley’s robe. My ten-year-old wore the matching top of the micro-bikini, the tiny triangles barely covering her preadolescent bumps. But it was what I saw below that riveted me.

Ashley wore nothing but honey-blonde wisps of hair. Barely more than peach fuzz, they garnished her pussy as perfectly as chocolate shavings on a Michelin-starred dessert. I wanted to gobble her up.

Instead, gazing at my daughter’s cunt, I masturbated even harder.

Taking Olivia’s little hands in hers, Ashley covered her sex. She smiled mischievously as I pouted in disappointment.

The girls took their bows, tittering as they ran out.

From the kitchen, Ashley called, “Get out your phone, Mommy!” It was already beside me on the sofa, but I put it between my legs for easier access before resuming my self-stimulation.

Minutes later, the girls flitted in like fairies, holding hands, their willowy bodies draped in translucent negligees. On me, the lingerie barely covered my ass, but on the girls, the fabric floated ethereally above their knees.

I was reminded of one of my favorite paintings, Botticelli’s Primavera, which I once had the pleasure of viewing in Florence. The vision before me improved on Botticelli’s masterpiece in two key respects: my graces were much younger and more beautiful.

Another departure from Botticelli’s painting was Ashley’s iPhone, which she held as my daughters danced into position before me, giving me a view in profile. Olivia stood in front, legs spread, and Ashley sat on her heels close behind, her face nearly touching Olivia’s bottom. She placed the phone on the floor between her little sister’s legs.

Ashley then made a FaceTime call, which I accepted, my heart aflutter. I was greeted with a perfect upskirt view of my eight-year-old’s pussy.

“God,” I murmured, gazing at the smooth slit on the screen, just inches from my own mature cunt.

“Spread your butt, Olivia,” Ashley instructed. Olivia obeyed, prying her cheeks apart. Without further warning, Ashley began to lick her little sister’s rosebud. Olivia gasped in awe at this loving invasion, then began to tremble.

Fuck. The sight of my younger daughter being rimmed by her older sister was more than I could take. I pumped my cunt furiously with two fingers as I thrust a pinky into my asshole and thumbed my clit. Moments later, I came hard—and surprised myself as well as Olivia by gushing all over the front of her negligee.

My view of that pretty pink slit on the screen was now partly obscured by splatters of cunt juice and pee. I picked up the phone and began to lick it clean.

As I did so, it occurred to me that I was also licking my little girl on the screen. Turning the phone for Olivia to see, I tongued the image of her cunt.

“Oh, Mommy!” Olivia cried. Thrusting both hands between her thighs, she started petting her pussy through the negligee, staring at me with lust-glazed eyes. Ashley held her little sister’s buttocks apart, still licking between them.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” Olivia gasped, as an orgasm shook her small frame.

In my wildest, wickedest dreams, I’d never conjured anything close to the lurid scene taking place before me. It was utterly lewd—yet somehow lovely, too. With a finger in each of my holes, I came again, less wet this time but every bit as satisfying.

Spent, Olivia fell into my arms, and Ashley followed. I hugged both girls warmly, our mingled juices and sweat making the embrace a damp one.

What a fashion show! Even as I luxuriated in our closeness, I eagerly anticipated the after-show party to come.

On to Chapter Seven!