Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Shy Mom

Mother’s Day this year fell on May 10, 2020. It was my tenth celebration as a mom and my eighth with both daughters. It would be the first time I marked the holiday by making love to my girls.

Over the past weeks, my daughters and I had made many kinds of love. Since that first evening with Olivia, the three of us had at least masturbated each other almost every day. After Ashley had eaten my pussy in the kitchen, the girls had often feasted on my cunt. They had also come to enjoy sex with each other. Indeed, my little sexpots could hardly devour enough pussy to satiate their burgeoning libidos. More surprisingly, they had acquired a taste for anal play as well, taking considerable delight in probing tight bottoms with fingers and tongues. All in all, our sheltering at home had evolved into an incestuous lesbian sexcapade that fanned our love—and lust—as a family.

Nevertheless, there were lines I had yet to cross, though it took all of my will power and lots of diversionary orgasms to resist. I had not eaten my daughters’ cunts. I had not rimmed their rosebuds. I had not even sucked their nipples.

My restraint did not arise from any sense of guilt or taboo, mind you. Given how joyful and natural sex with my daughters felt, I never experienced the former, and the latter only made our lovemaking all the more delectable. Rather, my faithfulness to these boundaries sprung from Ashley’s heart-warming revelation that she had planned on “doing sex” with me as a Mother’s Day surprise. So, while I allowed the girls all the pleasures of my body, I abstained from sampling their treasures so they could offer them to me on my special day.

When Mother’s Day arrived, Ashley, Olivia and I spent quality time together in the morning and afternoon, enjoying a light brunch, playing board games, and watching my favorite food and travel shows. As evening approached, we separated. I went off to primp myself, while the girls prepared dinner.

I felt thrilled and giddy preparing my body for my darlings, my daughters.

I took an aromatherapy bath with lavender vanilla oil to cleanse my pores, soften my skin, and clear my senses. I had to resist the urge to masturbate while soaking in the silky, scented bubbles. Next, I washed my hair with coconut oil and cocoa butter shampoo, then shaved my legs and vulva, leaving the faintest of landing strips just above the clitoral hood. Afterward, I rubbed generous handfuls of honey lavender lotion over every inch of my body, especially those areas the girls would linger over. Again, I had to overcome the temptation to get myself off. Instead, I blow-dried my sunny blonde hair, styling it into layers that looked windswept, but not wild.

After these spa treatments, the bathroom and bedroom were filled with an alluring mix of scents. I detected flowers, vanilla, coconut, honey, butter, and dark chocolate. Tendrils of a more tempting fragrance also wafted through the master suite: the heady aroma of wet cunt. It was highly arousing.

At last, I got dressed.

First, I put on my finest pearl necklace. When the girls played dress-up, they favored this elegant piece of jewelry.

Then, I dressed in an expensive thong that I’d specially ordered for the occasion. Its belt of delicate French lace wrapped around the top of my hips. Below, coverage was provided solely by a string of pearls that hung from a tiny hook in front and a satin bow in the back, each of which could be easily undone like gift wrapping. As I moved, the lustrous orbs slid about my crevices. I’d never worn anything that looked as sexy or felt as stimulating.

Aside from those few things, I was naked.

As I squared away the packaging of my body for the girls, I discovered alternative instructions for how to wear the pearl string. Instead of fastening it to the bow, it could be stuffed into a cavity of one’s choice. After going back and forth between the possible options, I settled on my vagina.

Finally, I was ready. So were my daughters, who called to me from our formal dining room.

I strode in slowly, one leg in front of the other, to give the girls plenty of opportunity to ogle me. In turn, they took my breath away with their own vision of girlish beauty.

Ashley and Olivia stood next to the formal dining table, on which they had placed lit candles. My daughters wore matching sleeveless dresses. The lavender shade was more pink than purple, with ruffles in front that led the eyes upwards and downwards.

The girls had crimped their blonde hair in waves that fell over their shoulders, and anointed their mouths with the same hot pink lip gloss from our fashion show. As they ogled my evening wear, their teeth shone through open mouths, and their cheeks flushed a rosy hue.

I could see the candle flames flicker in my daughters’ eyes, which darted from my own flushed face to the fine pearl necklace, from my bare breasts to the half-sunken pearl string.

“Wow …” was all that Ashley could manage.

“Mommy, you’re beautiful!” Olivia gushed.

“You girls are … are angels,” I said at last. “So lovely. I can hardly believe you’re mine.”

They glowed with my compliment, and Olivia repaid it with, “We are yours, Mommy, and we got our looks from you.”

Ashley tried to find the words she needed. “Momma … your hair … the necklace … your boobs … and the panties … and everything! … I … I want …”

“To fuck me?” I filled in.

“Yes!” Ashley affirmed.

“Me too!” Olivia squealed.

“I’m glad my looks got the desired effect,” I said. “Seeing how stunning you look makes me want to fuck both of you too.”

At my declaration of desire, the girls exchanged thrilled glances.

“First things first, girls.” Knowing how hard they had worked to make dinner, I didn’t want to skip to dessert, though the temptation was powerful indeed.

They pulled out the chair at the head of the table for me. Sitting down, I shivered as the pearls dug deeper into my crevices.

“Momma, you smell really nice,” Ashley said.

“Like flowers and honey and … and sex,” added Olivia, after taking a moment to breathe in my fragrance.

When my daughters served dinner, I returned their compliments. “Your feast looks and smells every bit as delectable as you girls.”

I was exaggerating a little. Though the girls’ efforts were touching, the results tickled me. For the main dish, they had prepared steaming Swedish meatballs—courtesy of our last IKEA run and the microwave. For sides, they’d made mashed potatoes with plenty of lumps, and unevenly sliced pears that had browned considerably. For drinks, the girls poured ice water.

My daughters served no dessert. They were to be the dessert.

So, after our Mother’s Day dinner, we headed for the master bedroom. It would be our family bedroom from that night forward.

Holding their hands, I led my eight- and ten-year-olds to the foot of the king-sized bed. Their faces glowed and their eyes sparkled as they peered up at me. I bent down and gave each a lover’s kiss, then brought my daughters together. They kissed deeply, their caresses of sisterly affection soon turning into gropings of lust. I found myself profoundly moved by the sight. One of the nicest things about our new relationship as a family was the willingness of my children to love each other, just as they both loved me.

While the girls kissed, I slipped my hands under their dresses, one for each daughter. I traced the delightful rise and fall of their pert bottoms, Olivia’s slightly rounder, Ashley’s a bit firmer. It took a second to register—no panties! My heart fluttered.

I continued upward, caressing their smooth backs along their arched spines, between shoulder blades that were evocative of angel wings. As my hands ascended, so did their lavender dresses. In one motion, which the sisters broke their kiss to accommodate, I tugged the dresses up over their heads and flung them onto the floor. The girls stood naked, eyes sparkling.

“Ashley … Olivia … Mommy loves you.”

“We love you,” my daughters responded in unison. Nothing more needed to be said.

I indicated the foot of the bed, and the girls seated themselves side by side on its edge, facing me with dangling feet.

Recalling their wandering eyes of my children at dinner, I cupped my breasts and leaned forward, offering one to each. My daughters suckled, their mouths warm and wet, their tug insistent.

Oh, I was tempted to pleasure myself, as I’d sometimes done when they breastfed as babies. Instead, I broke away, eager to make love to them. My beautiful daughters’ flushed faces, halting breath, and erect nipples made clear that they were more than ready.

I started with Ashley, taking one of her breast buds in an open-mouthed kiss. It was soft and yielding except for the nipple, which felt pebbly against my tongue.

“God …” Ashley murmured.

Wrapping my arms around her, I rolled and flicked my tongue around the tip of my oldest girl’s breast. I could feel her thighs rubbing together below me as her need grew stronger. I shifted to the other nipple, giving it the same loving attention.

“Oh, Momma … Momma …” Ashley moaned, clasping the back of my head.

Beside us, I could hear Olivia’s ragged breath. I released Ashley for the time being and turned to my youngest.

I knew what she needed, and it matched my own hunger. Unlike Ashley, who would leap into adulthood overnight if she could, Olivia remained a little girl at heart. For her, being mothered and being pleasured were two sides of the same coin.

Just as I’d done with her big sister, I began with Olivia’s nipples, flicking each gently with my tongue. She lolled her head back, eyes drifting shut as she swam in purest bliss.

Ashley leaned over and took her little sister’s open mouth in a gentle kiss, surprising me with her tenderness.

I planted soft kisses on my eight-year-old’s nipples like they were bee stings needing balm. The kisses turned to sucks, and a moan escaped from her lips.

It was time to go down on my baby girl.

I trailed kisses down Olivia’s tummy, pausing at her belly button to give a preview of the pleasures to come. Olivia squirmed, then giggled.

As I spread Olivia’s legs, she fell back onto the bed. Ashley continued our double-teaming of her baby sister with kisses that grew increasingly passionate.

Dallying over Olivia’s bare mound, pillowed by baby fat, I licked a line where a landing strip of soft pubes might someday appear. I imagined honey-gold hair grazing my tongue, even as I delighted in the smoothness she already had.

At the last moment, I skipped over Olivia’s pussy to land on her dark pink rosebud. She sighed, a mix of protest and pleasure.

I circled the star of her anus, grazing the minute ridges that radiated from the point of singularity, pulling me in to the center. Lifting her bottom and prying apart her cheeks, I pushed.

“Mommy!” she gasped.

My surprise matched Olivia’s as my tongue penetrated just past the tip. Immediately I felt the vise of her sphincter as the flavor of mushrooms hit me, secret and succulent.

I thrust in and out, in a lulling rhythm. It felt as intimate as breastfeeding. Olivia cooed with delight.

But there remained more of my child to taste, and I was ravenous. With a kiss, I bade farewell to her sweet pucker, then trailed my tongue upward to her slit.

My God. I had never touched anything so gossamer as my eight-year-old’s tiny labia. I feared her delicate lips would dissolve on my tongue. But the folds unfurled as I burrowed inward and upward.

Her wetness was warm, like dew touched by sunlight. The taste, so clean and clear, was almost of nothing, but hinted at a flavor I knew well.

I wrapped my arms around Olivia’s thighs and spread her vulva open with two fingers. The interior of her vagina beckoned like a little mouth, and I frenched it as adoringly as I’ve ever kissed any lover—woman or child. Against the tip of my tongue, her hymen proved to be soft, slippery, and resilient.

Olivia whimpered, desperate to come. I enveloped her vulva in my mouth, clit and all, and gently sucked.

In moments, my daughter orgasmed. It was lovely, marked by small shudders and gasps. I drank her in.

My cunt now ached for attention. Those nestled pearls only aggravated this need, imparting teeny jolts of pleasure with every movement I made—nudging me toward the edge, but not over.

With Olivia glowing in perfect contentment, I turned to Ashley. She was absentmindedly drawing circles around her sister’s nipples, her eyes tracking me as I crawled toward her on all fours.

I pushed my ten-year-old onto her back and crawled up the length of her body. As I knelt astride her face, Ashley gazed up at my cunt, which was literally dripping with desire.

Her eyes then followed the trail of the gleaming pearls, from the hook in front to where they entered my cleft.

“Pull them out,” I ordered.

Ashley understood what them referred to, but not how I wanted her to carry out my command. She reached for the pearls.

“No,” I said, holding down the offending hand.

She looked up quizzically. Then how? her eyes asked.

“Try again,” I encouraged.

Ashley reached out with her other hand. I pushed it down too.

“No.”

“Then …” she looked from one trapped hand to the other, indicating her lack of options.

“You’re a smart girl, darling,” I reminded her. “If your mouth is free to speak …”

Ashley’s eyes widened. Then, after an intake of breath, she stretched out her tongue to latch onto the string.  Her efforts—tentative, then vigorous, finally desperate—only had the effect of pushing the strand further into my vaginal fissure.

“Do you want it, Ashley?”

“Yes, Momma.”

“It’s been in my cunt the whole time.”

“I know.”

I lowered myself another inch.

Ashley finally managed to worm her tongue underneath the string of pearls, between clit and vagina, and tug. I relaxed my muscles. The lubricated pearls slid out.

There was more buried treasure than Ashley had bargained for. The pearls fell onto her face. She extended her tongue, trying to draw them into her mouth to suck, but couldn’t do much more than lick a few.

Ashley seemed at a loss as to what to do, but I wasn’t. Unfastening the string from the hook in front, still pinioning her hands with mine, I slid down her body until our noses were touching.

“You want a real taste, don’t you?”

She gave a jerky nod. “Y-yes …”

With my teeth, I picked up the pearls and deposited them on Ashley’s lips. As she parted them, I pushed the string into her mouth with my tongue. My daughter eagerly sucked.

When Ashley had cleaned off the evidence of where those pearls had been, I presented my cunt to her, drawing closer until my clit was brushing her nose. I was so wet that my juices were dripping onto her face.

“Fuck me, Ashley. Please.”

Ashley burrowed her tongue into my cleft, then plowed up its length, all the while gazing into my eyes with such warmth that I could have melted. In her mouth, my cunt felt like it was dissolving into honey and heat.

Then Ashley nudged my thighs back so that I tipped forward and slid down, my clit landing squarely in her mouth. Taking it between her lips, she nursed at it like a baby might.

At first, the rhythm of Ashley’s sucking was gentle and steady. I pinched my nipples to heighten the pleasure that was steadily building in my core.

Then, while she sucked, Ashley began to lick my clit, teasing the tip with tiny little flicks of her tongue. My God, she was good—a skilled lesbian lover at the age of ten. I rode on the edge of orgasm, letting it carry me to the point of no return, then retreating to catch the next heaving wave.

When my daughter lightly nibbled the inflamed nub, I climaxed—my body seizing, then spasming, finally going limp. I collapsed on top of Ashley, but she didn’t stop, her mouth clamped to my pussy, probing me with that sweet, sweet tongue, aggravating my state of delirium until I came again.

Utterly spent at last, I lay limp as a dishrag between my daughters, panting for breath.

“Thank you, girls,” I murmured.

“Thank you, Momma …” Ashley whispered, still in awe.

From the sidelines, an enraptured Olivia had been watching the whole time. She had a hand between her legs, carefully drawing a finger up and down through her bare slit again and again.

As my body started coming back online, I mentally inventoried my Mother’s Day wishlist, realizing that it was not quite complete. There was one little lady whose cunt I had not tasted, who had yet to enjoy an orgasm of her own.

“Olivia, love … would you clean up your sister’s pretty face?” I asked, wanting to bring her back into the fold.

My youngest leapt right to it, kissing and licking her sister’s face with the unabashed enthusiasm of an eight-year-old.

With Olivia occupied, I crawled between Ashley’s thighs. Up close, her prepubescent cunt took my breath away. Graced with golden down, the outer lips looked ripe as a summer peach. From the parted center, slight folds peeped out. They were a girlish shade of pink, and moist with dew. At the apex of her slit, a tiny pearl protruded from the shelter of its thin hood.

With one luscious gulp, I enveloped all of Ashley’s mouth-watering sex with my mouth, then began to lovingly drink from my little girl, her precious secretions trickling down my throat. Its taste was divine, so full of her pure essence that I felt I was imbibing her unblemished beauty, love, and passion with every swallow.

But I was not so selfish as to only satisfy my own craving. I licked between my daughter’s lips, then entered her, probing her vagina as far as her hymen allowed.

Ashley’s moans of pleasure soon turned to pleas for release. Surrounding her glistening clit with my lips, I sucked with all the tenderness and affection I had for my oldest daughter.

Little tremors shook the hips that I grasped, her ecstasy building and building until Ashley spasmed and her cunt gushed hot and wet for me. Her female essence was sweeter than honey, headier than wine. I gulped down as much as I could.

Afterwards, the three of us lay together, Ashley spooning Olivia, me enfolding both girls in my arms.

“Mommy loves you, each more than the other,” I said.

“That’s silly!” Olivia giggled.

“But true.”

“And we love you!” they replied.

Nothing more needed to be said. Depleted from our lovemaking, we soon fell asleep on our incestuous family bed, basking in perfect mother-daughter bliss.

The End

Afterword:

I deeply appreciate the warm reception and encouraging comments that Sheltering has received from its kind readers. When I began writing it, I had no idea whether I could produce anything that would not embarrass, much less that would entertain and arouse some of the most dedicated members of the Juicy Secrets community. Thank you.

This story leveled up considerably in polish and eroticism thanks to the consummate editing of JetBoy, who helped me realize its potential in small and significant respects.

Like the readers of this series, I am grateful to have shared in Bev’s journey of love and lust for her darling girls.