Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

Author Unknown

Found this one ages ago, no idea where. I reread it a few days ago and found it worthy of sharing with you good people (after shining it up a bit). Do enjoy. — JetBoy

***

I stared at her beautiful face, the way I usually do when I see a pretty little girl when I’m shopping, walking along the sidewalk or in a store when a family comes in with a young cutie in tow.

Almost always, these girls turn away from my gaze. Which allows me to continue to stare without them knowing. Admire them and dream about them without their knowing. On rare occasions, they might glance at me a second time, but the result is still the same: they quickly turn away from my gaze.

If a mother catches me ogling their daughters — and they sometimes do — I always remark how pretty the girl is, which of course is the truth, and the mother is nearly always flattered.

This night, though, was different. I was dining alone in a neighborhood Chinese restaurant, had just laid my chopsticks to one side when I spied her. My God, she was exquisite. A pulse began to throb between my thighs, one that would have to be dealt with soon.

Then I got an unexpected surprise. This little girl returned my look with such an intensity that this time, I was the one who turned away first, embarrassed to have been caught out.

But I soon looked again, unable to resist temptation — and there she was, still staring at me. And she was so lovely, so flawless. I wanted to drink her in with my eyes. Let me absorb all of her, let her possess me.

Flirting with the eyes is very much an adult game, but what this girl was doing was definitely that, no mistake. She forced me to look away a second time, to scope out her mother and her older sister as I did to see if there was a clue in their faces that would explain her behavior. But no, they seemed perfectly normal, and oblivious of what the girl was up to.

The third time I looked, she was still staring at me. Only now she was smiling, a twinkle in her eye. Was that a wink I saw? No, couldn’t have been.

She was ten, maybe eleven. Just the age I prefer. It’s just tucked between things, isn’t it? Childhood is behind them. The hormone-induced, petulant teen years are ahead of them. Sometimes they’ve commenced puberty by then, but typically not. If their breasts have begun to form, there usually isn’t any body hair yet. I prefer it that way. The mound still smooth and bare, the chest only beginning to bud.

This time, as our gaze held, we were fully engaged. I wasn’t letting up. I needed to soak her in to keep me steady. Another victim of my secret life. I’m like a vampire that way. Needing the blood of another in order to stay alive.

She wanted me, this little girl, as much as I wanted her. But how could she? How could she know? Was she taught to stare down someone staring at her in? No, I didn’t think so. She was too circumspect. I saw her glance occasionally at her sister, who was across from her, and to the left at her mother who, if she’d been paying attention, would have caught us.

I don’t know how I knew it, but I did: this child of ten, maybe eleven, was already into girls. Maybe women. Perhaps especially women.

***

I had a little girl once, all to myself. It was ten years ago, back when I was in my twenties. I was employed as a nanny for an extended period of time.

Going into it, I didn’t even know I liked little girls. Oh, I knew I liked girls, or at least most of the time. Guys were okay too, at least back then. I wasn’t a complete lesbian at the time, but I soon would be.

This little girl and I would be inseparable for months, I knew that much when I took the job. I had no other responsibilities other than looking after her, and the parents were going to be out of the country. Needless to say, the thought of sex with my young charge never entered my mind. My mind was on how I could sneak girls into the house for a little hot fun without her knowing.

In the end, it was the little girl that seduced me. She was ten and, as it turned out, her own mother had taken advantage of the child’s innocence to serve their own needs. Now that Mommy was away, my little pixie decided that I was to be her new lover.

What she had in this relationship with her mother took some getting used to, as I came to understand what had become routine for her, what kinds of sexual things she needed to be happy.

Nearly every night after hours, Mommy would visit her bedroom, wearing nothing but a quickly discarded nightie. Daddy had typically turned in earlier; an older, very busy business man that had married Mommy when she was young and beautiful, a trophy. As an infant, she had breastfed my little girl in the nursery instead of bringing her into the master bedroom. Since there wasn’t any particular compelling reason to return to her husband’s bed, at least during the week, Mommy often didn’t. There was a full-sized bed in the nursery and she usually bunked there overnight.

As my little girl got old enough to graduate out of her crib and into that bed, Mommy was usually still there, spending the night with her little girl. The evening ritual of nursing, which was no longer necessary, was continued anyhow, supplemented with additional comforting activities that involved the mouth and the hands and being naked. Soon enough, these pleasurable games became rituals in and of themselves, Mother and daughter would fall asleep in each other’s arms, skin to skin, sharing caresses and sweet kisses.

It must have been emotionally wrenching, the business obligation that took Mommy away from that. It certainly was for my little girl. What was the mother to do, though? She was an equal partner in her husband’s business, and was obliged to join him for a six-month stay in Bahrain while a crucial deal was being hammered out. She knew that taking her daughter along would have been an ordeal for the child. So she stayed with me, the nanny, and we muddled along nicely — some might say, even thrived.

In the end, I more or less picked up where Mommy left off, and the little girl settled into a routine that was as anxiety-free and comforting as the one she’d before her parents had to leave.

Our bedtime ritual would begin with a bath or a shower. At her age, a shower was more useful, but sometimes she would insist on a bath so we could share the tub. We showered together too, but in the tub we could cuddle, be close. I could hold her between my legs. She could lean back against my chest.

After drying off each other with large, fluffy towels we would hold hands and padded naked into her room. Climbing into bed together, there was a chapter or two of whatever book we were enjoying at the time, taking turns reading to each other. And when the book was laid to rest for the evening, it was time for making love.

My little girl would roll onto me, cupping a breast in her hands and taking the nipple into her mouth. She would stretch her legs out straight, putting a knee on either side of one leg, then press her girlish center into my thigh, humping me.

The first time she did that, it was magical. I could feel the warmth of her smooth mound on my leg as she rode me. Even after I began to expect it as something we did every night, the pressure of her vulva against my thigh and her sweet hot mouth nursing from my nipple never failed to arouse me.

After nursing, my little girl would wrap her little arms around my neck and our lips would meet. Small pecks at first, but our kissing soon grew increasingly heated. If I rocked my hips up — and I was often instructed to, pulling my heels up to my bottom — our pussies would touch. We would gently stimulate each other this way, our tongues meeting, mingling.

Then my little girl would bring her smooth sex up to my mouth for me to love. Butterfly kisses to begin, of course, gentle enough to almost seem innocent. But shortly, the child would be grinding her slit into my face, wanting, expecting, desiring more direct contact, my lips on hers. I sought out her tiny clitoris and sucked it into my mouth.

It was bliss. My little girl, writhing on top of me, her juices flowing freely. I would often touch myself while I drank from her. Did Mommy touch herself then, while she kissed her baby girl’s cunt? I don’t know, I never asked. How could she have resisted the urge?

The little girl would pleasure herself on my face for quite awhile, until she came for me. Nothing tentative about it. She knew what she wanted, and wasn’t afraid to take it.

Like this little one I was checking out a few years later, sitting just beyond me at a nearby table. Something tells me that her personality is much the same as my former lover of ten.

She was staring at me, ogling me. I could feel my panties growing wet as her eyes so intently met mine. I wondered if there would be a puddle left behind in my seat when I arose.

Where is your bathroom? I asked a waiter — but slowly enough so that the little girl could read my lips. She said the same thing to her mother, who got up to let her out. I let the girl pass and was only a step behind her.

We were going the wrong way, though. I knew it, but she didn’t. She’d walked toward me, the restroom was the other way. But I could do nothing but follow her. I couldn’t give us away by correcting her. How would I know that she was going to the bathroom if I hadn’t been watching her so intently? Of course, where else would a girl her age be going? To the bar?

***

The last thing Mommy taught my little girl was how to pleasure her in return. The last barrier crossed. The taboos of lesbianism, incest and pedophilia fully mingled. Fully fulfilled. Taking pleasure from your daughter, pleasure that you might have found elsewhere but didn’t.

How it began. Can I do that to you, Mommy? Can I kiss you there, Mommy? 

Will you do this for me, honey? Can I show you what I like, little one?

My little girl would dismount my face and lower herself to my middle. She would part my labia, knowing where to find my clit without poking and probing around. She was always gentle with me. No lover had ever treated me so well. So considerate of my sensibilities. Her hands so soft, her mouth so skilled, her lips so sensuous, her tongue so engaging.

After licking me for a while, she would swivel her body around. She knew just when I was satisfied enough to want access to her sweet holes again. God, her cunt was so juicy… and even for a little girl, her aroma was intoxicating. I licked from the back forward and when I got to her anus, I moistened it with a few swipes of the tongue, then carefully inserted a finger. Once I was probing my little girl’s rectum, I clamped my lips onto her clit. She sucked on mine expertly. We came in waves, she and I.

Every night I was with her it was the same. We were insatiable, the two of us, drunk on one another.

***

We were headed to the bar, the little one and I. My intention was to set us going in the right direction with as little embarrassment and fuss as possible. Once we were far enough away from her family’s table, our conspiracy would not be revealed.

The bathroom is the other way. 

Oh. How come you didn’t you say so before? 

Just because. I thought maybe we would walk this way awhile, so it would seem neither one of us knew where we were going. 

I still don’t — but I’ll follow you. Do we have to go back by my mom and sister? 

No. It’s that way, but let’s go to the bar so that we can pretend we asked directions.

Good plan. Already a full blown conspiracy — and I didn’t even know this girl, did I?

***

My little girl and I would snuggle as we recovered from our exertions, struggling for breath. I think of how much pleasure we derived from one another. Night after night. Was it worse or better for her because I wasn’t her mother? Weren’t we just two strangers who had become lovers? Might she think of me as her mother? These thoughts of mine, and many more like them, would remain unspoken forever. Drifting off, we would sleep soundly in each other’s arms.

The morning would bring a new day filled with child carrying, child entertainment, child functions like school and sports and birthday parties. The night time would repeat itself, over and over again. Was it too much responsibility for a girl so young? She never complained. Was it too much responsibility for me? Never.

***

Luckily we were the only ones in the bathroom when we finally got there.

You’re very pretty, she said. I couldn’t stop looking at you. 

You are very pretty too, I replied, and I couldn’t stop looking at you either. 

We faced the mirrors in the bathroom, each staring at the other — a reflection instead of the real thing, with nothing to protect ourselves from what might happen next. What I wanted to happen next. What did she want? She was so young. But my little girl had been young, too.

***

What happened with me and my little one? Her mother returned. Earlier than expected. Earlier than we both expected.

What have you two been up to? What stories has my little one told you? 

Not only stories, Mommy. We acted them out. 

Oh, you did? 

Yes, and we still do. Every night. 

Oh, you do? Well, I’m back now. 

What should we do so that we don’t make a mess of this? I wanted to know.

We’ll be together for awhile. The three of us. We owe it to her. You owe it to me. 

I owe it to you? You started this, I just pretended to be you. It wasn’t easy at first, now it’s impossible to imagine life without it.

You’ll just have to deal with that. She’s my daughter, you know. 

Yes, of course I know, she learned from you. 

I learned from her.

The three of us were lovers for several months. I had learned how to love little girls from the daughter and I applied what I’d learned to her mother. We were incredibly happy, the three of us.

***

My new friend and I entered a stall together. She pulled her jeans and panties down. I squatted before her. She leaned forward and brought her lips to mine. The kiss was soft at first, but my head spun when the tip of her tongue shyly slipped into my mouth. The next thing I knew, we were kissing like lovers. My pulse was racing as we finally parted.

How do you know how to do that, honey? 

From when my mother kissed me. 

Like that? 

Well, maybe not like that, but I felt like kissing you like that. 

She stood up, but left her pants down around her ankles. I picked up my skirt and pulled down my panties before I sat down. As I did, she touched me and touched herself.

How do you know about all of this? 

I just do, why? 

Because you’re so young. 

I talk to my friends. I touch myself — masturbate, Mommy calls it. I read stuff on the internet.

We kissed again. I touched her. She moaned, grinding her smooth sex against my hand.

It was too much for me to resist. I lifted her up, setting her bare bottom down on the toilet seat. Kneeling before her, I burrowed between those thin thighs, nuzzling this lovely child’s slit. My tongue emerged to take a lick, and she shivered.

I wanted to make love to her for hours, but minutes were all we had. So I went down on my little girl lover, using everything I know to bring her off quickly. Once she was warmed up and whimpering with pleasure, I sought out her clitoris, gently nibbling at the tiny pearl.

With an astonished gasp she was coming, squeezing my face between her thighs, gripping my head with both hands. I kept the good feelings coursing through her, the tart honey of the child’s climax flowing down my throat like wine. I was drunk on this luscious nymphet, drinking from her until she pleaded for me to stop.

I rose from aching knees, leaned to kiss the rosebud of her mouth. She returned my kiss joyously, tasting herself on my lips and liking it. Our tongues entwined, Our tongues entwined, and we moaned together.

She wanted to pleasure me, to return the pleasure I’d shown her. I felt her hands fumbling for the clasp of my skirt. I stopped her, though. This place was much too dangerous for our lovemaking. She was disappointed, but understood.

I nibbled at her ear. How do I reach you? How do I talk to you again? 

She whispered her email address.

We kissed again, still touching each other intimately. One additional moment and it would have been beyond my ability to control it, to end it. I would have had to steal away with her. Maybe that would have been the best thing for both of us. But we didn’t. We pulled ourselves together, kissed one more time, even more passionately this time, and left the restroom.

I’ll write you tonight, I whispered as she walked ahead of me to our respective tables.

She mouthed the words I love you as she got back to her seat beside her mother, then gave me a sweet smile.

The End