Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Kinkychic

Chantelle was livid over the damage my bath with Violette had caused. We had been careless with our splashing, and water had dripped down to the salon. For a moment I had been at a loss for an answer, but the mind, faced with a stern rebuke, can be wonderfully inventive. “Chantelle,” I said, “just think what damage the British might have caused. The redcoats might have ravished us all, and you would not have been paid a farthing. So what is a little drip in the ceiling? Besides, we’ll requite you for the repair, won’t we, Violette?”

The struggle was clear on Chantelle’s face. Yes, she was cross, but she loved us, and it was hard for her to maintain her anger.

“The bath, I beg to inform Madame, is not so well designed,” I went on. “You see, the water splashes over the side when we fuck.” I’d never used language like that before in public, but I was trying to be witty, to force Chantelle to laugh.

The girls roared with laughter. To my relief, Chantelle joined in, and soon we were all laughing.

But then she clapped her hands, and instantly there was silence. She looked at us both.  We were still holding hands, and I saw that Chantelle was trying to keep her expression stern.

“So, my lovely ones, is it official then?” She looked around at the girls. “I think, ladies, we have two little lovebirds among us. So, you will show us. We want to see you kiss.”

I was not shy in front of the other girls as a rule, and was not so now. I turned to Violette and saw the love in her eyes. Oblivious of all those watching, we joined lips as only true lovers can. I could feel myself instantly becoming aroused again, my fingers beginning to explore.

There was a sudden commotion as Bill returned to the salon. “It’s over, ladies,” he announced. ”The damn’d Lobsters’re gone. Only dead ‘uns left. Safe for you to be goin’ home now.”

The noise was jubilant as some cheered and others debated whether we should open for business. The piano player, who’d had far too much to drink, pounded the piano. But everyone was happy.

I forced my breathing back to normal as Violette grinned at me. “That nearly got rather naughty, I think,” she said.

My mother walked up to us. “You will come home with us, Violette? Have something to eat before you go home.”

Violette gave me a doubtful look. “Violette, I want you to come, please,” I told her.

Back at our lodgings, we sat at the table as Mother produced a simple meal of bread, ham, cheese and pickles. We were hungry after drinking wine all day with nothing to eat – and with our exertions in the bath. Orgasms are surely a tonic to the appetite.

“Violette, we don’t know much about you,” Mother said. “I had thought you were a bit young to be working at the Palacio – with men, I mean. Where do you live? What is your story?”

I saw the pain in her eyes, and I reached for her hand. “There’s no need, if you don’t wish to speak of it,” I said.

But slowly, she shared her tale with us.

“My mother died a few years ago,” she began. “It was awful with her gone. It was she alone who kept my father away from me. He is always drunk. It’s all he cares about, his next jug of rum, and leering at me. I was frightened all the time. We had so little money, only what my brother could pick up with odd jobs at the docks, and the little I got begging. We’d have to spend it on food before father got his hands on it.” She stopped talking and dabbed a kerchief at her eyes.

“Then he tried to sell me to one of his so-called friends for…that.  My brother fought with him. He even threatened to kill the man if he ever came near me. He saved me.”

I was crying as well now but I squeezed her hand. “Enough. We’ve heard enough.”

But she shook her head and continued. “It got so bad, with no money, and no food. I was starving. Then one day I went and stood on a corner, close to where the whores all stand. I dreaded that someone would actually stop. I was about to run, when a carriage drew up. I was petrified. But that carriage – or rather the person in it – changed my life. It was Chantelle. She invited me to sit beside her, and we talked for ages as we drove along, before she invited me to the Palacio. It took me a few days to pluck up the courage, but eventually, I went. I was introduced to some of the girls, who were so kind.”

Her tears had stopped. There was even a little smile. “Chantelle charged my first customer a small fortune for my virginity, but I was fortunate. She’d picked the right man. He was gentle in the way he approached me. I felt a bit mixed up. I wanted to give myself for love one day, and not for gain. So I was sad, but when I held the money in my hand, I knew I’d done the right thing.

“There’s one more thing I want to say. The day I first saw you, it was almost like love at first sight, I didn’t understand why I had those feelings for another girl. I just knew I did. I had to meet you, and now I have.”

I looked at Mother. She saw the look in my eyes and understood. “Violette, would you like to come and stay with us? I believe it’s what Frances wants.”

Violette gave me a quick look. “Frances?”

“At home, I’m Frances, not Francine,” I said. “And you would be Veronica. What do you think? Will you come and live with us? Mother is saying you may.”

I saw the uncertainty on her face, and I dreaded that might say no, but my mother took her hand. “Come and stay. It would make Frances happy, I can see that.”

She looked from one to the other of us, then said, “I hate my father. My brother’s often told me to find a man and get away, but I just didn’t know how.” She gave Mother’s hand a squeeze. “I’d love to stay here – if you’d have me.”

I squealed with delight and embraced her avidly. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mother leave the room, and I kissed my new … what should I call her? Sister? Lover? Spouse?

We planned on how to fetch her few possessions. She said that only her brother would know where she was, and he would be happy for her.

“Where will I sleep? Can I see?”

I led her to my room, and pointed at the bed, she looked about and saw my things. “With you?”

“Of course, if you want. It will be as if we’re married.”

She gave me a coy look. “Could we try it now – to see how it suits us?”

A little later – well, much later – she returned to her old home to take her leave. I accompanied her, at her invitation. Even though I saw Veronica’s sadness, I felt it was most likely for her brother, or perhaps the memory of her mother, and not for the home that she’d taken so little pleasure in. Her brother was there, but not her father.

“I have so little, just a few clothes and this.” She searched at the back of a shelf where there was hidden a beautiful little box, which she passed to me. Upon opening it, a mechanical tiny bird popped up and began to sing. Never had I seen anything so beautiful. “It was a birthday present from my mother. I hid it, or Father would have sold it for whiskey.”

Her brother came into the room. “Hurry, get your stuff,” he warned us. “Father might come back.”

He looked at me. “I know very little about you, Miss, but my sister has spoken of you. She seems to fancy you in a way I don’t understand, but you’re taking her away from here, and for that I’m obliged to you.”

I watched them hug, until he pushed her away. “Go, quickly. I know where you are.” He took my hand. “Look after her. Now I’ve met you, I think you will. Thank you.”

Back in my room – in our room –I made space for her clothes. I was shocked at how little she had, but then I remembered how only a little while ago, I had not owned much more. I was about to tell her not to look so worried, and that this was her home now, when Mother called us for dinner.

Veronica watched us nervously as we ate, trying to duplicate the way we handled our knives and forks. I took her hand. “Veronica, please, please, this is your home now. I want you here. Mother wants you here. Please don’t feel awkward. Make yourself at home.”

The wine mother had opened was delicious – as though she had been saving it for just such an occasion. Gradually, I saw Veronica relax. I loved how she was quite funny when she stopped trying to be so correct.

The meal was cleared away. It was quite late. Mother looked disconcerted, and I took her hand. “I know, Mother. I understand. I’m going to bed with a girl – my girl – but I think you’ve known for a while it’s the way I am. Perhaps you looked at my work as something different, but it’s not. I want Veronica here. I want her. Do you see?”

Her answer was a smile. When she held her arms out, it was to both of us. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything. Now off to bed with you.”

Perhaps because I was conscious of Mother’s nearness, or, more likely, because I had my love with me in my own bed, I took the most gentle possession of Veronica. “Are you happy?” I asked her after we both had come quietly. “I love you. Can you love me?”

She pushed me back. “How can you ask? I loved you before I even knew you. I wanted you so badly it hurt. Today, you captured my heart.”

“Darling–” I said, only to hear how it sounded.

“My little wife,” she replied.

“Am I, truly?”

“Truly–”

“Say it once more, please?”

And we whispered such endearments late into the night, laughing at our own foolishness, yet growing fonder all the while. Each new phrase was rewarded with a kiss, and the kisses strayed across our bodies, until lips and tongues once more caressed the spot that most defines our sex.

But it was with mixed emotions that I went to breakfast the next morning. Yes, I was happy, my mind awhirl with love for a girl I still hardly knew. Yet it felt awkward, to appear for the first time before my mother as part of a couple, following the consummation of our nuptials in Mother’s own house. It seemed strange, in truth. I was still a child, though I no longer felt like one.

Yet Mother took it all in stride. She kissed us both‘“good morning”, and carried on preparing our meal as if nothing had changed. I saw the tension drain away from Veronica, and this helped me to feel more contented. Everything, it appeared, was going to be fine.

***

Neither of us was ever jealous of what the other did at the Palacio. Whomever we fucked there – it was simply our job. When necessary, we bathed the day and the clients away, and washed them down the drain. We were happy and in love with each other.

But the Contessa was becoming more demanding. She offered – in the most imperious manner  – to take me on as her handmaid and was angry when I declined. How could my lowly station as a ladies’ whore mean more to me than a life at the Governor’s residence, where I could have her whenever I wanted? And my wages would be much higher – more in a week than most earned in two or three years. She did not understand how I could possibly refuse. “I thought you loved me,” she said.

“I love you in my own way,” I replied. “But I’m happier here. I’m sorry.”

It was only a short time later that she told me the Spanish would soon be vacating the city. A deal had been arranged whereby that disgusting Napoleon would sell the whole Louisiana territory to the Americans. The Contessa in essence ordered me to come to Spain with her, promising, at the same time, to deposit five hundred guineas in an account for me. I would be rich. It was true – I would be rich. I could hardly imagine what being in possession of five hundred guineas would really mean.

Other than being astounded at her proposal, I was cross that she should think that she could buy me this way. She had always bought me, of course – but only an hour at a time. She had never owned my whole person, my soul. It made me stop and think of Veronica, for whom my feelings were stronger than ever. I could never leave her, no matter how much I was offered. I never saw the Contessa again.

***

Although the territory had for a short while been once again under the dominion of France, they had left the Spanish to govern. Then Napoleon changed everything. The Spanish military forces withdrew, and Americans took their place. The territory of Louisiana would eventually be split into fifteen different states of the Union.

The Palacio was the scene of much conjecture. How would these political manoeuvrings affect our business? Would things be better or worse for us?

Chantelle purchased the Palacio from its Spanish owner at a knockdown price. She needn’t have paid him anything, really, but he had threatened to burn the place down before he left, and so a deal was struck. She also gained several houses from him.

Before long, the Spanish vacated the fort and the garrison. A huge parade saw them lined up in their hundreds before they filed onto the several ships that awaited. Many took their wives and children with them. Others left weeping women at the quayside. They were the ones who probably already had families back in Spain. It was a sad end to a prosperous, if precarious, era.

The fort was occupied at once by the Americans, who, in fact, sent more troops than the Spanish had ever had. The United States were worried whether, as their relations with both France and Britain grew increasingly strained, they could hold on to their newly acquired territory.

I continued to be both comfortable and happy with my work. Our private circumstances had also considerably improved.

Mother, Veronica and I became Chantelle’s tenants, moving to a residence that had belonged to the Spanish owner of the Palacio. It was twice the size of our previous home, even though we still paid the same rent, and it stood on a street that was partially paved and lighted. There were no hags here, and few drunks. We spent quite a sum on new furnishings and other luxury items, and in a short while, the place felt  like a real home to us. It seemed almost as if we had made it in the world.

The departure of the Spanish had caused the prices of homes to fall, but that would not last, not once the Americans settled in. “Chantelle, you should buy a few more houses, whatever you can afford,” I told her. “Prices are so low at the moment, but I think they will go through the roof when the Americans start buying. You could make a small fortune.”

Chantelle clapped her hands and laughed. “My goodness, now I have a finance minister, but yes, you are right, it is the time to buy. You will come with me to see the agent, then we will look at some houses together.”

She bought another two houses in the decent area, and four more in a lesser part of town. It was Veronica who suggested that we should perhaps look at the circumstances of the girls and indeed, the other women – the maids and so on – who worked for us. Some had decent enough homes, but others did not. Perhaps some might like to share a home. Chantelle thought it a splendid idea, although I suggested, “But why just our girls? Why not any girls, at least from the better bordellos? There would have to be some rules though, or we might start losing some of our business if any of them took customers there.”

Christmas 1804 saw the biggest celebrations ever held in New Orleans. The revels seemed to last for days. Business at the Palacio boomed. Not only did the Americans have more money to spend than the Spanish ever had, but the British were also returning, as the  Americans permitted the merchant ships of their old Colonial masters to enter the port. Once more, rivers of coin flowed freely.

Both my mother’s and Veronica’s earnings increased, although mine dropped slightly. There didn’t seem to be as many ladies wanting to fuck a young girl these days.

Veronica told me that she wouldn’t be cross with me if I took on male customers as well, adding that because I was older now, perhaps the time had come to consider it.

I laughed. “You should know me better by now, darling. I’ll never take a man to bed. I’m a ladies-only girl, and that’s the way I’ll stay.”

Some months later, Chantelle sent for me. I wondered if she had found me a new client, or perhaps I’d done something wrong. Neither could have been further from the truth.

As ever, she got straight to the point. “You’re fifteen now, Francine, and you have become too old for some of my clients. I’ve been looking for another, younger girl for a while, and I believe I’ve found her.”

She saw the apprehensive look on my face. “Oh, how stupid of me! I didn’t mean you would have to go. On the contrary, your position here is secure as long as you want it. But I have a task for you. You will assess and train the new girl. You will look after her. I do believe that you will like her.”

Her name was Ann, but of course, Chantelle renamed her Antoinette. I could not imagine why, as she was an American who spoke no French. She was clearly nervous when we were introduced, and I immediately sensed she was unsure about coming to us. Hastily, I signalled for Chantelle to leave us alone.

I took my young protégé down to the gardens, where we sat in one of the shady nooks, and asked her to tell me about herself.

Her parents came from the north and had settled somewhere near Natchitoches. The Indians had been fighting the French, but they attacked anyone with a white skin. Her brother and her father had been killed. She and her mother had survived only by hiding in the cellar before French troops arrived and drove the Indians off.

It had taken them weeks to get to Natchez, further up the Mississippi. Their small savings would not last long, and so her mother had decided they should make their way downriver to New Orleans, where, she believed, there would be more opportunities to find gainful employment. It was not  long, however, before their hopes were dashed.

They had been here a few months and were struggling to survive. Then Ann met a girl who told her she might get work at the Palacio, where the madame was always in need of pretty young girls. She herself had tried for the position but had not been considered desirable enough. The girl was quite candid about what the work would entail, and Ann was not at all keen on the idea. To her shock, however, she found her mother was. It had taken her a few more weeks of seeing her circumstances worsen before she had decided to come and see Chantelle.

She was nearly twelve, she told me, and no, she had never been “touched” in that way. I asked if she ever played with herself, and she only knitted her brow, as if the question made no sense in the present circumstances. She was interviewing to become a whore. Why was I talking to her about children’s games?

“I had a dolly I loved when I was small,” she said. “I played by myself with her. But she was lost when we fled the Indians.”

“No,” I said, stifling a smile. “I mean, have you ever made yourself come?”

“I made myself come here today,” she said, her confusion mounting.

I could contain my mirth no longer.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I burst out, “Do you ever diddle your cunt?”

“I don’t know what that means,” she said, though she had turned scarlet instantly.

“You’ll learn,” I said. “And it will be the greatest lesson of your life.”

My heart went out to her – a lost babe fighting her reservations, scarcely aware of her own body. Yet I saw a determination in her that told me she might yet become the willing slut Chantelle was looking for. And her innocence would certainly appeal to our clientele.

We talked of many things as we walked about the gardens. She squeezed my hand when I took hers in mine. In a quiet corner, I stopped, and turned her to face me. For the first time, she looked at me directly and gave me a little smile that seemed to blot out her fears. “You should smile like that more often.” I told her. “It is such a lovely smile.”

She blushed slightly, but seemed pleased with my compliment.

“May I kiss you?” I asked.

She answered by leaning towards me, her eyes closed, her lips puckered. I almost laughed at the childish way she offered herself, but I quickly told myself that she did not yet know any other way.

My lips caressed hers softly. Then I embraced her, and we carried on with our walk. I watched how she seemed to become more at ease with me as we chatted.

At one point she interrupted me. “Tell me about the ladies you’ve met. What were they like?”

I thought a bit before I answered. “There’s never been one that I wished I hadn’t met. One or two, I wasn’t so keen on, perhaps, but overall, they’ve been fine. In fact, most have been lovely, and I’ve generally loved my time with them. Not once was I disgusted by what I was called upon to do. And I’ve earned a good deal of money.”

She held me back. “I think I feel better now, thank you, Francine. Er… just one more question. Will you teach me? I do hope so.”

I told her I would, then added, “Would you like to begin today? Or perhaps tomorrow, to give you time to get prepared?”

She took a deep breath. “I think right now would be best–?”

When we had reached my usual room, I ushered her in and, upon closing the door, beckoned her to me. I took her into my arms and put my lips to hers once more, whispering, just as they met, “Kiss me.”

This time, she tried to kiss in earnest. Soon, she began to copy me. She was obviously inexperienced, but still, her youth and her willingness made her efforts diverting.

I did not use the same methods as Chantelle had with me, all that time ago. I didn’t feel that Antoinette would be comfortable putting on a display for me just yet. Rather, I edged her toward the bed even as our lips remained joined.

Her body trembled as we lay down. She seemed to be extremely anxious. Gently, I held her to me, my fingers softly tickling her ear and her neck. Her arms lay flat beside her. I traced my fingers down to her hand, giving it a little squeeze, then rose upward once again, maintaining the softest, most feathery touch possible.

When I reached her neck, she raised her arms and wrapped them around me. She did not draw me to her, but at least she was embracing me. I pulled her closer, and slightly onto her side, my hand going to her back, all the time lightly caressing her – down to her waist, then up along her side. I did this several times until, at last, I brushed the side of her small breast with my thumb. She did not react in any way, as she seemed more preoccupied with our kiss.

I stroked her neck again. Then a little lower, across the front of her gown. I pulled back from the kiss, gazing at her, and letting my arm rest upon her bosom as my fingers softly tickled the small exposed area between the décolletage and her throat.

“Pleasing?” I asked her quietly.

Her smile told me enough. I looked into her eyes as my hand moved upon her breast. Her own hand came around between us, pressing mine, and she nodded slightly.

I closed my hand, squeezing the small breast beneath her garment. She pressed my hand again and kept it there as I unfastened one button, then another, and another, until I had pushed the dress aside.

I was looking down at two beautiful, budding breasts. “So lovely.” I said.

Her smile broadened when I cupped one in my hand. Softly I moved my fingers in circles, gradually approaching the centre. Her eyes closed, and I knew the point of no return was near. My touch was giving her pleasure.

Her eyes flew open when my fingers took hold of a nipple, but there was no protest, merely a sort of awed expression on her face. Her eyes closed once more, and she took another deep breath. I played for a while, moving from one nipple to the other, watching them grow and stiffen at my touch. Then I lowered my head, kissing one nipple delicately before drawing it into my mouth.

My hand now went to her stomach, wandering from side to side, lower and still lower. I pressed her front, where her small mound was, but did not linger there. I proceeded, rather, to draw up her skirts. Her legs were soft as down, yet smooth as marble. My hand was on the outside of her thigh when I reached her drawers. Gently, I made my way toward the middle, but, teasing her, went down the leg once more. For a moment, I fondled her knee, then came up again slowly, this time between her legs. Reaching her drawers once more, I paused, waiting for any sign that she was ready for my touch, my hand resting between her legs.

There was the slightest of movements: ever so subtly, she spread her legs further apart. This was enough for me. I went up under her skirts, but still outside her coarse, homespun drawers, until I was at her mound again. I paused once again, as still, I suckled her nipple.

Gently, I cupped my palm and bore down, pressing the heel of my hand into her pussy. I curled my fingers, rubbing her, caressing her mound, until she pushed upward to meet my touch.

Taking hold of her undergarment at the waist, I eased the front down, softly skimming her flesh. She gave a little squirm, a clear indication that she was now ready for more.

I pulled the undergarment lower. My hand once again covered her mound, but with no cloth between us now. My palm ground her clitty, and my fingers lay along the tight slit beneath. I began to move, feeling her with the lightest of touches. She gave a low moan, and her fingers clutched my neck. She was quite wet. I slipped slowly into her centre, and a tightness gripped me there.

Again, her legs spread a bit wider, and I penetrated further. I raised my head from her breast, and she opened her eyes. “Francine,” she whispered. I began to move my fingers in and out of her, watching her expression all the while. Then she pulled me down, and our lips met once more.

Now her hips were moving, meeting my hand. Suddenly, she gasped into my mouth just as my thumb t found her clit. I began to massage her, gradually quickening as her body responded.

She broke the kiss, pulling my head alongside hers and holding me fiercely as she stiffened. She shuddered, then tried to lift her body, straining an instant before she started to shake in earnest. My little lost babe was coming – for the first time in her life.

She neither shouted or screamed, merely issuing a stream of ooh’s. Her climax did not last long, although for a moment it was quite intense. She kissed my ear, then my cheek, before I lay beside her and let her rest.

“Why was I frightened?” she said after a while, more to herself than to me. “That was so … bonny.”

I brushed her cheek, and she turned and kissed my fingers. “When is my next lesson?” she asked.

“Tomorrow, my little lovely.”

“Oh… so long?”

“Well,” I said. “You may practise your assignments at home.”

On to Chapter Six!