Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Jacqueline Jillinghoff

Had it all been a dream?

I know — it’s a cliché and a copout, but it really was the first thing on my mind when I woke up. In the bright morning, my memory of the girls’ lovemaking seemed unreal and, frankly, impossible. And it had been lovemaking, not some game of I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours. Those two were mad for each other, and if what I saw happen happened, telling them to cool it wouldn’t accomplish a thing.

But first, I had to pee. I got up and looked around for some evidence of last night’s apparition. I was still naked from the waist down, and my pussy was quite fragrant, so that checked out, though I could have stripped and masturbated in my sleep. (It’s happened before.) More telling was the bedroom door: it was shut all the way, and I remembered having closed it after spying on the girls.

My pajama bottoms were missing, likely tangled in the sheets. I wasn’t about to risk being seen with my sandy delta on display a second time, so I shed my top, pulled my briefest robe from the closet, and sidled over to the bathroom.

Pissing took the pressure off in more ways than one. Empty bladder, light heart, I guess. So the kids had sex. So what? The world hadn’t come to an end. Or was I just in denial, afraid to think about the talk I knew was coming? I took my time washing up, scrubbing my face and hands with rose-scented soap before tightening my robe and opening the door onto this new world of preadolescent lesbian love.

I prayed I would find the girls as they had been when I’d kissed them goodnight — in their nighties, lying chastely side by side. No such luck. They were spooning, Billie behind, holding Kimberly close, like a stuffed bunny, and nuzzling her hair. They had pulled the sheets up during the night, but their shoulders were bare, and I could only assume the rest of them was, too.

I had to stop and admire the scene before I intruded. Sweet is the only word for it. It had been years since I’d spent the night with a lover, warm and naked, our bodies pressed together as we slept. I knew how Billie and Kimberly must have felt, and I also knew if Kimberly’s mother ever found out about what I’d allowed to happen, she’d have me up on trafficking charges.

Even so, I couldn’t help smiling. And Kimberly’s mom wasn’t due to pick her up till eleven. So there was time for a bit of fun.

Taking the sheet and blanket in hand, I walked briskly along the bed, peeling them back like the foil on a cup of yogurt.

“Good morning, ladies!” I said. “Rise and shine!”

If they weren’t awake when I came in, they were now. And yes, they were naked. I didn’t mention it, though. Each of them was free to assess her predicament and react in her own way.

Kimberly flew into an adorable panic. She flopped onto her belly, hanging half off the bed, and groped at the floor for her gown. The search gave me a good long look at her elfin behind. I also noticed, as her feet waved in the air, she was wearing a thin silver anklet, which gave me as much of a tingle as her pocket-sized tush. Any girl who cares enough to adorn her feet has to be aware of how pretty she is.

The green gown was nowhere to be found. I knew where it was, and I wasn’t telling. It had come off the bed with the covers and was buried beneath them on the floor behind me. Kimberly finally realized the quest was hopeless. She sat up, hugged a pillow to her bare chest, and scooted off to the bathroom.

Billie, on the other hand, wasn’t at all self-conscious about being caught nude. Living in close quarters, we’d accepted long ago that modesty was a luxury we couldn’t afford. She was so used to being naked in front of Mom, in fact, that it never occurred to her that Mom might wonder how she and her little friend came to be naked in the first place. All she did was stretch like a baby, fists balled up beside her ears, toes pointed, and legs open enough to show me the pink cranny between. It looked awfully tight and fresh for the workout it had received.

“Sleep well, honey?” I asked.

“Mm-hmm,” she said, and she rubbed her eyes. She had the silliest grin on her face, and why not? She was getting more action than I was.

“Come on,” I said. “Time to get up.”

“Aw, why?” she said.

The toilet flushed, and Kimberly came back from the bathroom wrapped in one of our towels, still holding the pillow in front. Billie was on her way out, and as they crossed paths behind the sofa, she wrestled the towel and the pillow away. Poor Kimberly yelped and dropped to the floor. Billie, laughing, joined her there, and they were out of my sight for an uncomfortably long time.

Silence at first, then a few giggles, then a decidedly suggestive mmm from Billie.

“Come on, you two,” I said. “Cut the comedy.”

That’s something Mother always said. I found myself thinking a lot about her this morning, imagining how she would botch a situation like this and vowing not to repeat her mistakes. Echoing her didn’t seem like a very good start.

Billie popped up and marched off to pee, taking the towel and the pillow with her. It was her playful way of putting her girlfriend on the spot, but I must say Kimberly was up to the challenge. She stayed hidden awhile, as if considering her options before catching on that no form of protection would be forthcoming. At that point she emerged from behind the bed, one arm across her chest and one hand over the nothing between her legs.

I picked up her overnight bag, which we’d stashed in the corner, and placed it on the bed.

“Here you go, dear,” I said.

I made a show of looking her directly in the face. Not a word about her being naked. I wanted her to understand she needn’t be embarrassed. I think she got it, because she took her time rooting through the bag. She seemed to be making up her mind about what to wear, though she couldn’t have brought too many choices with her. Maybe she was trying to be more uninhibited, like Billie. Or maybe she wasn’t all that shy to begin with. Whatever the reason for the delay, she settled, finally, on a white jersey with green sleeves — green seemed to be her color — that covered her bottom without the need for panties.

Billie chose to stay naked, to show Kimberly it was no big deal, I guess. Together, they helped me fold the couch, straighten the living room, and make my own bed. Billie brushed Kimberly’s hair, tossing aside the headband she’d worn all night, while I went off to the kitchen. Then the three of us sat down to breakfast.

The girls ate like longshoremen. Billie was on her third bowl of instant oatmeal and Kimberly her second blueberry muffin when I dropped the hammer.

“Nice to have an appetite, huh, chicka?” I said.

“I’m starved,” Billie said.

“How about you?” I asked Kimberly.

“Mm-hm,” was all she could say with her mouth full.

“I’m not surprised,” I said. “You two went at it pretty hard last night.”

The chewing stopped. The little delinquents looked at one another sideways with that wide-eyed, tight-lipped expression kids get when they know they’ve been nailed.

“We need to talk about this,” I went on. “I’m not angry, and it wasn’t really wrong, not exactly, but you’re both so young, and you understand, you need to understand, that what you did, what I heard you do, overheard you do, when anybody does that, even grownups, well, it’s only supposed to be grownups, and they — we — know there’s a lot more to it than just feeling good—”

I was immediately lost in a maze of my own devising. I wasn’t making sense, I had no idea what to say next, and for a responsible parent beginning a frank talk about the joys and dangers of sex, I hadn’t even uttered the word.

So I was as relieved as they were when a knock at the front door cut my rambling short.

“If that’s your mom, she’s early,” I told Kimberly. “Billie, put something on.”

And Billie, like every eleven-year-old who’s given a direct order, didn’t budge.

I went to the door in my flirty robe. Through the peephole, I saw what appeared to be a young girl in a red turtleneck, jeans, and a part-colored, crocheted vest. She stood with her back to me, looking toward the courtyard, but she was quite small and seemed harmless enough. I opened the door.

“Yes?” I said.

She turned around, and she wasn’t a girl. She looked almost forty, with deep-set eyes and lines around her broad mouth, but she was a slip of a thing, slender as a gymnast and a head shorter than me. She looked me over, starting with my bare legs and stopping at my tits, which were packed tight inside my robe.

“May I help you?” I prodded her.

“I’m Kimberly’s mother.”

“Liz?” I said. We had spoken on the phone when we arranged the sleepover, but we hadn’t met. “You’re early. Come in. I’m sorry. Brain freeze. I was expecting —”

“You were expecting someone more imposing.”

“I guess.”

“Everyone’s always surprised I’m not a three-hundred-pound diva,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “We haven’t dressed yet—”

And some of us were less dressed than others. I glowered at Billie over my shoulder. We both saw the problem: there was no way for her to run to the bedroom for some clothes without flashing her heinie for our guest. All she could do was leap into the kitchen the instant before Liz and I came in from the entryway.

“Don’t let me disturb your morning,” Liz said. “I’ll collect my charge and be on my way. Hello, Kimberly.”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“It was okay,” Kimberly said.

“Okay,” Liz repeated. “Your daughter is all she talks about.”

“She talks?” I asked.

“She’s shy with new people, but at home, she’s quite the chatterbox. Aren’t you, honey?”

“I guess,” Kimberly said.

I got the feeling Liz’s definition of “chatterbox” differed from my own to a large degree.

“Speaking of your daughter, I’d like to meet her,” Liz said.

“Oh, she’s around. Billie?” I called.

“In the kitchen, Mom.”

“Take your time,” I said, and I meant it. To Liz, I said, “Would you like something to eat? There’s plenty. The girls were pretty hungry.”

“I’ve eaten, thank you.”

“Coffee, then? You’re not in any hurry, are you? Our daughters have become BFFs. We should get acquainted.”

“Would you like to stay awhile longer, Kimberly?”

“Yes, please,” the girl said.

“Coffee would be fine, then,” Liz said.

I got my cup and sat on the sofa, very much aware of how much leg I was showing. And if the bottom of my robe parted at all, I’d be showing quite a bit more. I held the corners together with my free hand.

Liz seemed to sense my discomfort. She stole a glance at my crotch as she sat down beside me. The sofa-bed is only a two-seater. It turns strangers into friends very quickly.

“Billie,” I called, “would you be a good girl and bring our guest some coffee, please? There’s some left in the press.”

“Okay!”

I would have been amused, if it hadn’t been so awkward. How would Liz react to being served by a naked little girl? And how bold would Billie be in front of a stranger — especially one on whom she needed to make a good impression?

But my daughter, ever resourceful, made her entrance without a trace of embarrassment. She was wearing my full-length red apron. I wanted to applaud.

Billie set the cup down on the coffee table, bending low, but careful to face Liz head on. Kimberly, though, had the full view from the table. She got the same look she had when I tried to start my sex talk — like her world was about to implode at any second.

“It’s nice to meet you at last,” Liz said, offering her hand.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Billie replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Knowing Kimberly has improved her manners,” I said.

“Is there any cream?” Liz asked.

“Of course,” I said. “Billie, I left the half-and-half on the counter. Would you be so kind?”

If Liz thought there was anything strange in my daughter’s backing out of the room, she was too polite to mention it.

Billie returned in a moment, still rigidly facing front, and placed the carton on the coffee table. She also brought a teaspoon, which I thought showed real presence of mind under the circumstances.

“Thank you, dear,” Liz said.

As she poured and stirred, she examined my daughter closely, as if trying to figure out what it was about her that wasn’t quite right. Billie was barefoot, bare-legged, and bare-shouldered, but completely at ease. She was also bare-assed, though that wouldn’t become fully apparent for another few minutes.

“Honey,” I said, “why don’t you go in and change?”

“That’s okay,” she said, and she sat crossed-legged in front of the coffee table, all set to join the adults in conversation, with the apron draped discreetly over her crotch.

“Are you sure?” I said.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

The little pisser had me, and she knew it. I could hardly say, in front of company, You’re not fine. You’re stark naked. Go put some damned clothes on.

Billie glanced back at Kimberly, who brought her orange juice over and plunked herself down. She sat on her heels, which hid her pussy well enough, but pulled the hem of the jersey above her bare behind. Fortunately, that particular attraction was pointed away from us, and I didn’t think Liz could quite see over the table from our side of the sofa.

“Well, this is cozy,” Liz said.

Sure. Just four hens at a morning coffee klatch. The fact that three of us were naked to varying degrees didn’t seem to be an issue.

The girls leaned into each other, the way they’d been doing since Kimberly’s arrival, and while Liz held forth on singing and her travels and her ex, they took turns sipping Kimberly’s juice. Billie, on the left, drank with her right hand. Kimberly, on the right, drank with her left. Their other hands, out of sight, stroked each other’s backs and shoulders.

“There’s the stereotype of the fat opera singer,” Liz was saying. “But weight has nothing to do with the power of your voice.”

“No?” I asked.

“Not at all. It’s just baggage. What about weight would add strength to a voice?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said.

She rolled the cup in her hands, swirling the coffee. And she didn’t seem to see Billie’s hand creeping down her daughter’s back. I gave Billie another look, and the arm came up, only to drop even lower a moment later. She found the curve of Kimberly’s bottom and continued around. At the same time, her apron slackened as Kimberly tugged the string in back.

I thought I could see Billie’s nipples poking through the apron, but that could have been my imagination. What wasn’t imaginary was my own nipples standing up under my robe, which was not only short, but thin. I held the cup to my lips, clamping my forearms over my breasts.

I should have expected this after last night. The girls had behaved themselves over breakfast, content with a little footsie under the table, but now that their bellies were full, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

Kimberly laid her head on Billie’s shoulder. Her beautiful lips were parted in the laziest, most sensuous way, and she was breathing through them. There was no doubt where Billie’s hidden hand was, or what it was doing.

At last, Liz stopped talking about herself and took some notice of what was going on.

“Looks like Kimberly’s got a new favorite toy,” she said, more to her daughter than to me.

“I never thought of Billie as a toy,” I said.

“She is,” Liz said. “Kimberly is her toy, too. They’re kids.”

Kimberly seemed to take that as permission to play. She kissed Billie on the cheek — a lingering kiss, with her eyes closed — and slipped a hand under the apron in front. The red drape, now held in place only by the strap around Billie’s neck, was nudged aside, and I glimpsed Billie’s bare chest as Kimberly’s fingers glided across it.

Kimberly raised her head, Billie lowered hers, and their lips touched. It was no more than a peck, but it expressed more than any pillow talk I’d ever been a party to. They drew back, processing the experience, decided they liked it, and pecked again.

They quickly discovered they didn’t have to break off every time. On the third try, the kiss went on — lightly, to be sure, but indulgent.  The next movement, unfolding in slow motion, was Kimberly’s: she laid a hand directly over Billie’s left nipple. The apron wasn’t hiding much at this point, and when Billie’s tongue rolled into Kimberly’s mouth, I banged down my cup.

“Girls,” I said. “Come on. Fun’s fun.”

“Fun’s fun?” Liz asked.

“For some reason, I’m channeling my mother this morning,” I said.

“I get that,” she said. “My ex used to say that we fall back on the familiar to deal with the unfamiliar. He was talking about modern music, but still.”

“You’re familiar with this?”

“Kimberly’s always been curious,” she said. “Touching herself — and other kids. I caught her once with our neighbor’s five-year-old boy.”

“She seems so shy.”

“She is,” Liz said. “But she’s also very sexual.”

“At her age?”

“At their age,” she said, and she extended her cup toward the floor show.

The apron had become a hindrance. Billie tossed it off over her head and let Kimberly go on squeezing her chest. Was my daughter growing boobs? Those looked like the beginning of fatty pads under the soft pink dots, or maybe the light from the balcony was casting deceptive shadows.

Billie ran a hand up under the jersey and pressed her face into Kimberly’s neck, which gave the little girl a noticeable surge of pleasure.

“Oh!” she squeaked.

I thought she was going to faint. The strength drained from her face, and she melted onto the floor, dragging Billie down with her. The jersey rode up, of course. Kimberly’s lack of underwear was now public knowledge. Liz showed no surprise. Her daughter’s baby pussy, really nothing more than a tight pink seam, was just one detail in the game playing out before our eyes. More arresting was the way the girls kept on making out — mothers be damned. If we wanted to watch, that was fine with them, apparently. For all they cared, our presence made no difference one way or the other.

“No sense trying to stop them,” Liz said.

“Really, you think this is okay?”

“The question is, why don’t you?” she said. “Two little girls making each other feel good, where’s the harm? If there’s a problem here, it might be yours. Is there any more coffee?”

“I was thinking I could use some wine,” I said.

“Not a bad idea.”

I stepped over the girls on my way to the kitchen. When I returned with the bottle and glasses, Kimberly was lingually reaming my daughter’s ear. The effect was visible down to Billie’s toes, which were flexing and wriggling and spreading stiffly apart.

“Don’t mind me, ladies,” I said, stepping over them once again.

Of course, they didn’t mind me. I didn’t exist. I sat and poured Liz and myself each a generous portion of pinot.

“I can’t get over how beautiful Kimberly’s face is,” I said, even though what was holding my attention at the moment was her naked lower half. “I can see where she gets it.”

“Thank you,” Liz said. “Your daughter has the cutest bottom. I can see where she gets that.”

“Is it showing?”

“The robe’s kind of snug in back. Don’t be embarrassed. I enjoyed watching you walk.”

Once the ear-licking had reduced Billie to a compliant mass of gelatin, Kimberly told her, for all to hear, “You can put your mouth on it.”

“Can I?” Billie said.

“Yeah, do it,” Kimberly said.

Billie had no choice but to obey — not that there was any doubt she wanted to. Sitting up, rolling forward, she raised the hem of Kimberly’s jersey, exposing her tummy. For a moment she gazed at the hairless shadow-line, as though trying to make up her mind how to approach it. Then, with a sudden resolve, she opened her mouth wide, and Kimberly got her wish. “Oh!” she squeaked again. She raised her foot — the one with the sparkling silver anklet — as the wheat-blond crown of Billie’s head dipped toward the floor.

“That takes me back,” Liz said. “I haven’t eaten pussy since I was a girl at music camp.”

“Lost your taste for it?” I said.

“It was a lot of experimenting. I’d need to revisit.”

“Well,” I said, “we may have some left over you can have.”

I sank back into the corner of the sofa, raising my glass toward the girls in salute, and with a single motion I thought was pretty graceful, given that the wine was going to my head, I drew a knee up to the cushion and undid the bow at my waist.

Liz took a sip of wine and looked me over. She seemed both amused and appreciative. My cunt was aching to be touched, but she wasn’t making any moves just yet. I couldn’t stand to wait, and if she wouldn’t pleasure me, I would pleasure myself. That brought a sly smile to her lips.

The air of wry detachment was infuriating — and an immense turn-on. I had never masturbated in front of anyone, and Liz’s gaze was palpable, like two extra fingers pressing on my clit. I liked showing off.

“So I guess watching the girls make out isn’t a problem for you,” she said.

“Oh, don’t be so superior.”

“You have beautiful tits,” she said, and took another sip of wine. “I’m jealous.”

“What have you got to be jealous about?” I said. “You get to suck on them. I don’t.”

She set down her glass. “Are you asking?”

“Please.”

“The girls will see.”

“Let them,” I decided.

Liz cupped my breasts at the sides, wobbling them, puffing them up, playing with them like a little girl wondering if her tits will ever be as big as Mommy’s. I slid her vest off her shoulders and began pulling at her top as her head came down. Her tongue circled my left nipple, then her lips closed around it. She suckled with abandon, pressing her nose into the flesh and inhaling deeply, relishing the warm scent. It took me back to when I was breastfeeding Billie, except now, I wasn’t disturbed by the sexual feelings it aroused.

“That’s so nice,” I said. Her fingers found my pussy, moving my own aside. I was well-oiled and pliable, and she pushed comfortably through the softened lips. That old, delicious tightness, familiar but too long absent, began to bind me up. The warmth of the wine and the heat from my cunt mingled in my veins. She fucked me expertly, her thumb mashing my swollen clit, while her mouth moved from one breast to the other, and back. I clutched her hair, pressing her face to my bosom.

I wasn’t thinking clearly, but one question that came to me was, between me and little Kimberly, who was more turned on? This was answered almost at once by a soft cry from the floor. I glanced over. Little Kimmie was staring up at me with an unmistakable O-face — wide-eyed, fish-lipped, with a strong suggestion of surprise.

“Billie!” she gasped. “I love you!”

“Fuck!” I said.

“Are you teaching my daughter bad language?” Liz teased.

“I’m gonna come,” I said.

It had been years for Liz, and Billie was new to it, but by memory or instinct, they were both exquisite pussy-lovers. Each knew where her own pleasure was centered, and they knew where to find it in me and in Kimberly. Where to cause it in us. Of course, it helped that Kimmie and I were both ravenously horny.

Each of us saw her own pleasure reflected in the face of the other. I felt her pleasure, and I swear she felt mine. We were breathing in unison, linked body and mind by a simultaneous climax.

Kimberly pinched her own chest through her jersey. She had no tits to hold, but her nipples were erect, and twisting them kept her rolling on the crest of the wave. Billie’s head bobbed between her legs. Liz fucked me hard with four fingers. She kissed my tits, my neck, my face. Kimberly and I were at their mercy, unable to move or think, but surrender is a liberating experience.

“Don’t stop,” I begged. “Please don’t fucking stop!”

It made me feel like a mentor when Kimberly repeated my words — except she surpassed me, because she wasn’t begging.

“Don’t fucking stop,” she commanded Billie. “Don’t you fucking stop!”

The words tore away her last shred of innocence, and I watched the orgasm convulse her childish body. Mine followed in an instant.

Kimberly gazed at me in wild-eyed disbelief, unable to fathom how one bitty spot could hold such enormous power. I managed a half-smile, as if to say, It’s all right baby, let it happen. It was all the encouragement she needed. She gave herself over to the wonder of it, and we each let out a wail that signaled our second climax.

Liz said later we’d been harmonizing in perfect fifths.

It felt like forever before we recovered. Kimberly and I floated on warm waves of contentment while Billie and Liz exchanged smug, self-congratulatory looks.

“Proud of yourselves?” I said.

“I think we’re entitled,” Liz said.

“Oh, I’m an easy lay,” I said.

“So I see.”

Yet the party wasn’t over. Billie and Kim were in each other’s arms again, kissing with roving lips and eager tongues.

“I love you, too,” Billie was saying. “I love you so much.” And they were off again like animals — insatiable, inexhaustible animals. I was dying to see where their sense of discovery and their lack of inhibition would lead them next.

And to be honest, I was jealous. I’d just had a flabbergasting come, and Liz was willing enough, but we’d only just met, and there was no question of the kind of love our daughters had — that sweet, first-time girl-crush that makes you feel the sky is twirling overhead. Maybe love would come, but there was no way to know. For now, there was nothing to do but fuck.

“One of these things is not like the others,” I said.

“Meaning—?” Liz said.

“You’ve still got your clothes on.”

She leaned back with an inviting smirk.  I slid off the sofa, kneeling in front of her, and pulled off her shoes and socks. And hey, she had a tattoo — a crescent tattoo on her right instep, with a star and three musical notes. It was a surprisingly sexy touch, like Kimberly’s anklet. I couldn’t resist kissing it.

“Queen of the Night,” Liz said.

She lifted her butt and pushed her jeans and panties down. I was greeted at once by the thick smell of cunt. She was slick and warm and ready, and she responded to my touch with her entire body, going slack all over, as though the air was leaking out of her. I pulled her jeans the rest of the way off, and the panties with them.

The hair around her cunt was full, but trimmed at the edges. The flesh inside was grayish-pink, and the scent grew stronger as I approached. For a moment I was at a loss. Did I even remember how to do this? But then my lips touched the steaming mud puddle, and my long-neglected skills kicked in. Liz shoved her crotch into my face.

“Oh, that’s it,” she breathed.

There was really nothing there I could make out, nothing I could  feel with my tongue. A cunt, after all, is just a shapeless recess with a tiny pip hiding somewhere under the petals, but I found it, and I brought it to life, with Liz’s sighs as my guide. She turns inward when she comes, like her daughter. For an opera singer, there’s not a lot of vocalizing. Not so much as a trill. But her orgasm was real, and deep, and she gave me every encouragement as I lapped at her clit.

“Fuck it, girl,” she said, quietly, and that was all.

I expected her to be gazing down at me with endless affection, or at least a bit of gratitude, but she was looking past me, over my head, at whatever the kids were up to. It was obvious watching them got her off every bit as much as my superlative tongue-fucking. She raised her head a notch, as if to say, see for yourself. 

So I twisted around, my butt thumping between her feet, and, using her thighs for armrests, took a front-row seat for the next spot on the program: Bronco Bustin’ Billie, ridin’ cowgirl on Kimberly’s face. I saw the underside of Kimmie’s chin, at the end of her extended throat, wedged in my daughter’s snatch, which sawed back and forth in short snaps. With every forward thrust, Billie’s clitty flashed at the tip of Kimmie’s tongue.

There’s something about looking into your daughter’s eyes when she orgasms. You feel plugged into every generation of women before you. And I nearly came again myself. It turns out that when she doesn’t have to be quiet, as she had during the night, Billie’s a real squealer. Each cry was louder, longer and higher than the one before it — Ah!  Ahhh!  Ahhhhhh!

“Oh, darling,” I said to myself. “My little girl…”

She gave her last rebel yell, pitched forward, and rolled over on the floor. Kimberly gasped for air. Her face was shiny with sweat, spit, and pussy juice, but the real glow was underneath, in her expression. Call it rapture. She squeezed Billie’s hand, and that was the only movement from either of them. They lay still, head to toe, happily wiped out.

“That ought to hold them for a while,” Liz said.

“I doubt it,” I said.

“How about you?”

“I’m still horny.”

She ruffled my hair from above. “We could take this to the bedroom.”

“I was going to suggest that.”

We headed off, leaving the girls to their exhaustion. I can remember how the air felt, filling my robe as I led Liz by the hand. She stripped off her top and bra matter-of-factly and lay on the bed. I had to admire her body a moment before I joined her. Her tits were small and flattish with age, but the nipples stood up like dark drinking straws, ready for sucking. I shrugged out of my robe and crawled over to her, and we shared a soulful kiss, breasts together, arms tightening, thighs pushing into crotches.

It was heaven, but it couldn’t last, because, as I’d predicted, the girls recovered quickly. I heard titters and the pounding of feet from the other room, then suddenly the bed was shaking, and they were on us like puppies.

“Whatcha doin’?” Billie said, like she didn’t know.

“We were having a nice time,” I said. “Give us some privacy.”

“They let us watch,” Liz said.

“That’s on them,” I said.

The kids had the nerve to start a tickle fight with us, but of course they didn’t stand a chance. We threw them on their backs and showed no mercy until Billie swore she was going to pee. It was all innocent fun — just four chicks at a sleepover, playing and showing off for each other. But when the laughing stopped, Liz was still there, still willing, and I was hotter than ever. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to finger her pussy. I wanted to feel her come as her tongue filled my mouth.

But it couldn’t happen that way, not with the girls on board. Kimberly crawled up my back, peering at her mother over my shoulder. Billie snuggled against Liz’s side, fascinated by her little tits, squeezing and stroking them, and probably fantasizing how Kimberly would look in a year or two.

I slid two fingers into Liz’s cunt. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips for a kiss, but my daughter got there first. They traded tongues. Did Liz know it was Billie and not me?

“Hey!” I said, but they didn’t stop.

Kimberly’s hand slid down my ass and dug between my legs. She fingered me the way she’d seen me finger her mom — not as hard, or as deep, but the point was made. I kissed her lightly over my shoulder. She pushed forward, offering her tongue, but only ended up tumbling onto her mother.

Billie yelped, Liz went oof!, and we all laughed again. That should have ruined the mood, but it only put the devil into us. We fell over each other in a tangle, kissing at random, our mouths moving from one body to the next. I ate up Kimberly’s toes (at last!), and they were every bit as delectable as I’d imagined. Liz planted a loud smack on Billie’s behind. Somebody’s tongue went up my ass, and everyone wanted a turn sucking my tits.

It was when Kimberly’s mouth found my cunt that things got serious. Billie had ended up lying with her head toward the foot of the bed and her pussy an inch from my nose, smooth as porcelain and too appetizing to pass up. Just a nibble, I thought, but the nibble grew into a snack, and the snack grew into a feast. I became the filling in an oral sandwich, with a child at each end.

“Oh, let me in on that,” Liz said.

She pushed herself between the girls, and after a few seconds of scooching and bouncing and honey-move-your-butts, we were locked in an incestuous rectangle with the girls as the short sides. Each mother ate out her daughter. Each daughter ate out her best friend’s mom.

The room was filled with the soft sound of lapping tongues and the head-spinning smell of girl-sex. We were in no hurry, either. We didn’t have to prove ourselves like men. We licked and sucked for the pleasure of each moment, with no thought of what it meant or where it was going, which made it so much sweeter when it finally happened, for all of us, all at once.

It started with Kimberly, who moaned into my pussy. The buzzing set me off. I tongue-whipped Billie’s clit. She, in turn, gave one of her patented squeals, muffled by Liz’s cunt. Then Liz took up the chorus, and the circle was complete. It was one long rolling orgasm — Kimmie to me to Billie to Liz to Kimmie to me. My body rattled each time the wave passed through it. My tits shook so hard I thought they would burst. I kept thinking, if it doesn’t stop I’ll lose my mind. But who wants to be sane?

“Oh, my!” someone said. It was Liz, telling us she was finished. Billie relaxed, too. I gave her pussy one last smack. Then I felt a draft on my wet cunt, and I knew Kimmie had pulled away. The four of us lay in a broken circle, breathless, each with her head on her neighbor’s leg.

“It’s so strange,” I said. “It’s like we were all … in sync.”

“It was wonderful,” Liz said.

“Are you girls okay?” I asked.

“Uh,” Billie said.

“What about you, angel?” Liz asked Kimberly.

“Hm,” Kimberly said.

“They approve,” Liz said.

It was only then that I realized the enormity of what had happened.

“Oh, God,” I said, my hands over my face. “What did we just do?”

“It’s all right, darling,” Liz said. “There’s no harm.”

“Don’t cry, Mom,” Billie said. “Please?”

“I’m not, sweetheart. I’m not. But you think we could do something wholesome this afternoon? Maybe a picnic?”

“Why?” Liz said. “We’d only have to put our clothes back on.”

That was my last scruple. I’d found my libido, thanks to those little exhibitionists, and I wasn’t about to lose it again.

“Do you have anyplace to be?” I asked Liz.

“I’m free all day,” she said.

“Then why don’t you come over here?”

It was the kids’ turn to watch. They still needed to learn about tribbing.

The End