Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By hornykate

{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in August 2013 }

We used to live in a block of flats. It wasn’t a bad area. We had some rough types as neighbours, though they may have thought the same about us. I was a single mother with three young daughters aged eight, seven and six. They were friends with some of the neighbours’ kids and I used to enjoy watching them all play on the front garden through my upstairs kitchen window.

Some of the kids I REALLY enjoyed watching, such as Angel (who wasn’t an angel at all, she was the opposite, and I spent many nights wondering just how un-angelic she could be!). Then there was May, a seemingly quiet child, but one who had some odd character traits. She was eight years old but she always used to aim straight for my six year old, and often tried to pick her up as though she were a baby. Once or twice I caught them in some seemingly private place whispering furtively. I kept my eye on that girl. There was definitely something a little strange about her.

I’d bought one of those flimsy pop-up tents for my daughters to play in, and one day I noticed from my window that May and my six-year-old Daisy had gone into the tent and were clearly on their own in there. A gut feeling told me to go downstairs and see what they were up to. For some reason, I literally crept up to the tent, feeling sure I’d catch them in the middle of something they shouldn’t be doing, and when I whipped back the tent door flap my six year old was naked.

“What on earth is going on here?” I asked, outwardly calm but inwardly a little less so.

“May told me to take my clothes off!” said Daisy, looking for all the world like she was about to cry.

I calmed my little girl down, not wanting her to think she was in trouble, then looked to May. “Well?” I asked, “why did you do that, May?”

She had no answer. I didn’t expect her to have one, and again I didn’t want her to feel she was in trouble. Kids stuff, I told myself. Natural curiosity.

“It’s okay,” I told them both, “but keep your clothes on next time.”

That was May. Pleasant, polite, quiet. But odd. I thought of the adage ‘quiet rivers run deep’ and that’s how I felt about her. She was no taller than Zoë, my eldest, but she seemed so because she was skinnier. Facially, she was beautiful. Long blonde hair, lithe of limb, but always seeming a little on the unwashed side. In the USA you’d probably describe her as white trailer-trash. Is that the phrase?

Her lack of personal hygiene actually did something for me. It evoked a very strong emotional response that came from my childhood.

When I was about ten I had what was undoubtedly my first lesbian experience. There was a group of us that hung around together; school friends and a few sisters of school friends. One of these sisters was a girl called Tracey. The family were clearly very poor, and looking back now, I realize that the mother had what we now call learning difficulties.

Anyway, one day I happened to find myself alone with Tracey, on a piece of waste land we called the rec, short for Recreational Area. It was dusk. She was sitting opposite me on the grass. I could see her panties. They were originally white but they seemed faded and slightly yellow. And there was a piss stain right on the crotch. I couldn’t keep my eyes off it. The discoloured panties were probably a reaction from an even earlier childhood event that I wasn’t aware of, but it was such an erotic turn on for me.

We talked about nothing much really, but I was slowly moving closer and closer to her. I’m not deliberately skipping details here, I genuinely can’t remember how it happened, but I began kissing her. Then I had her stand up in front of me so I could kiss her cunt through her panties. It seems really odd that I should have done that, but at the time it felt like a normal thing to do.

I was a rather sexual little thing as a youngster, starting masturbating when I was seven or eight and often looking for things I could put into myself. I even did something I feel a little shame about: I took a carrot from the veg bowl and used it on myself, actually getting it inside my cunt, and for dinner that night we had a beef stew and my little carrot was there, in the dinner! (Oops!). But I’m losing myself in my memories.

Suffice it to say, I had a sense that May was, shall we say, a little under-washed. And what with that, and my discovery of her undressing my youngest in a tent, my thoughts that night as I lay in bed were not exactly innocent.

The following days were free of incident. No more unusual behaviour. But about a week later, I was watching the children play in the garden. My ex was due to pick the kids up and, bang on time he turned up, the children waved me goodbye, my ex blew me a kiss (we were still friends!) and my three jumped aboard his beat up Rover and were gone, leaving a few stray children in the garden. It was a communal space, so they carried on playing.

May was there, wearing a skirt that was too short and a crop-top that revealed a flat little tummy. Ah, her skinny little legs. I loved them.

I noticed her younger sister was there too, just as something happened that shocked me, it was so unexpected and so out of character. May, for whatever reason, hit her little sister really hard on the back of the head.

I knew she was odd, but violent? Her little sister started crying. It was upsetting, to be honest, and I felt quite angry. I don’t like bullying of any sort. I opened the kitchen window and shouted “May!”

She looked up and froze. I curled my Peter Pointer finger and beckoned her upstairs. Why, I wasn’t sure. She wasn’t my child. I had no real authority to tell her off. But then, I wasn’t going to tell her off, I just wanted to talk to her, tell her what she’d done was not acceptable.

I heard her slowly climb the concrete stairs, and I waited until I could see her in the frosted glass of the door. I opened it, sharply, as if to convey my authority. “Come in a minute, May,” I said, straight faced, “I’d like a word.” She came inside and I closed the door and ushered her into the living room. “Sit down, please.”

She sat. Legs together. Prim. Abashed. She knew she’d been rumbled. I sat on the coffee table opposite her, a big solid oak thing. “Why did you do that?”

“What?” she asked, quietly but sort of defiant.

“You know what. You hit your little sister. You made her cry.”

In spite of myself, I realized I was taking advantage of the fact she was staring at the floor by looking at her legs. Wrong, I know. It was funny, really. Funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha, that on the one hand I was being my usual maternal self in protecting a young child, but was at that moment being most UN- maternal in trying to look up this eight year old’s skirt.

“No-one likes a bully,” I said whilst desperately trying to alter the angle of my gaze, “and what I saw looked like bullying.”

Silence.

“How would you feel if someone older than you hit you on the back of the head?”

More silence. Then I noticed her poor little face. Tears were starting to roll down her cheeks.

I felt bad. Had I gone too far? Chastised too much? I left the coffee table and sat down next to her. She had her hands in her lap. I took one in my hands and stroked it gently. She didn’t pull away.

I apologized, but still insisting that she shouldn’t have done what she did. She agreed. She nodded her head, snuffled, wiped away the tears with her free hand. I was still stroking the other.

And then everything sort of changed. I moved a little closer so we touched, then slowly wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “Are you okay?” I asked. She nodded again, but was still a little tearful.

I was now rubbing, stroking her shoulder. And I could smell her. Unwashed female genitalia may not appeal to most, but for reasons I’ve already explained, it gets me every time. This smell, this aroma, took me back so many years. We sat there together, she slowly calming down, me slowly doing the opposite. I was still stroking her shoulder and she seemed to turn in to me, and it felt the most natural thing in the world to bring her towards me so her head was nestling on my shoulder. At that point I moved my hand away from HER shoulder and placed it on the side of her head, where I continued stroking, caressing.

I felt a little giddy. The close proximity of this child, the intimate contact, the smell, and yes, the shortness of her skirt all combined to create a situation that I knew I should put a stop to. I placed May’s hand back in her lap, but kept my own hand there, enclosing hers in mine so that my fingers rested on her bare leg, the one nearest me.

I was in a daze. My middle finger began to draw a vague arch on her thigh. It was a gamble. I was thinking, would I be able to explain such a thing if she suddenly sat bolt upright and asked what I was doing? Probably not. But I didn’t stop. Consider what’s happening, I told myself. I’m with an eight year old child, she has her head nestled in the crook of my neck, I’m drawing small figures on her thigh, she’s not pulling away, not running from my flat in hysterics, she’s actually more calm now than at any point since she walked through my door.

Then her legs parted, ever so slightly, and the vague one-fingered arcs I was tracing on her leg became bolder, more definitive. My breathing became more laboured as she nestled ever closer to me, her legs parting a little more. My finger, joined by the other fingers, began to caress her inner thigh, the smell becoming intoxicating.

I impetuously kissed the top of her head. May’s hair was clean, but I could smell the unwashed aroma of her sex, the panties that I guessed had not been changed for days, the beautiful heady aroma of piss and little girl cunt.

I was transported through the years, I was ten again and back with Tracey on the rec at dusk on a warm summer evening, licking the slightly soiled gusset of a preteen girl.

Back in the present, I hadn’t realized how high my hand had travelled along May’s thigh and… and… and my fingers were now touching the frilled edge of her knickers. I was stroking the sinews at the top of her thighs as she opened her legs as wide as she could.

Realizing the situation had already gone beyond my control, I ran my finger along her panty-covered slit. I’d gone past what would be acceptable, I was in the Kingdom of Desire, and I was lost. My middle finger was now sliding up and down the groove in her panties, and I could feel the wetness of her eight year old cunt. May was breathing heavily into my neck. My head was swimming as I traced the waistband of her knickers, felt the taut flatness of her tummy, diverted into her belly-button, then down and beneath the elastic to touch the bare, naked, hairlessness of her vulva.

She was wet. So wet, in fact, it surprised me. And I’m no expert, but I don’t think she was a virgin. I slid one finger inside her, not wanting to hurt her but it went in so easily that I added another finger. My God, she was wet. Really, yes, children do respond to sexual stimuli.

I had to kiss her, I wanted to so much. I positioned her head so she was looking towards me and leant forward until our lips met. She was no stranger to this. Her tongue slid into my mouth and, not wanting to be outdone, I met her tongue with mine. We kissed. I expected nervousness, timidity. But no, she kissed me like a lover, like one who has kissed before. I tasted her saliva. I used the hand I wasn’t fingering with to cup her face, feel her delicate cheekbones. My tongue was in her mouth, licking along her teeth.

I had two fingers inside May’s cunt, but wanted to taste her through her knickers, so I slid down to the floor and positioned myself between her legs. I looked up into her eyes as if seeking confirmation, and she just stared at me, her eyes sort of half-lidded, almost lizard-like, but aware enough of what I was about to do. I put a hand on each thigh to keep them apart, not that I thought I’d have any resistance. I looked, gazed, stared at her concealed slit.

Her panties, like Tracey’s, were slightly soiled, with a faint tint of yellow. I bent forward and ran my tongue along her piss scented cunt, thinking about taking her knickers off and putting them under my pillow. But I didn’t. I licked. And licked. And licked, until her knickers were so wet I could’ve wrung them out. I licked, then kissed her cunt, her prominent pubic bone, her beautifully flat tummy, her immature but developing chest, licking each nipple in turn, then up to her face, where I kissed her again. I wanted to kiss her hard, with passion, but didn’t. We kissed gently, delicately.

“Why’d you undress Daisy?” I asked, between kisses. “Did you want to do this with her?”

She didn’t answer, just smiled.

So I made the return journey down her skinny little body, kissing both her nipples, firstly through her crop-top, then rucking up the material so we could be skin on skin. Her breasts were barely there but her nipples stood out, enough for me to gently bite them.

After a minute or two I felt her hand on my head, exerting a gentle downward pressure, and I knew she wanted me between her legs again. But I wanted her to ask, so instead I raised my head so we were face to face.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked in a barely audible whisper.

“What you did before,” she replied, just as quietly.

“Tell me,” I said, “tell me you want me to lick your cunt.”

And slowly, the words came out. “I want you to lick me,” she said. I didn’t move. “I want you to lick my cunt. Please. Lick my cunt.”

I almost came there and then, but managed to control myself. Instead, I did as May asked. I kissed my way down that beautiful little body until my head was between her legs once more, looking at the now soaked gusset of her panties, the sight and smell driving me insane. I gently moved the gusset to one side and licked along her baby slit; up first, then moving downward, not stopping until my tongue was teasing her little butthole.

That seemed to trigger an erotic response from her, in that she lifted her legs up from the floor and drew her knees up to her body, exposing her puckered hole to my invasive tongue. And like her cunt, May’s rosebud was a tad unwashed, which inflamed my lust even further. My tongue first licked, teased, then slid into her rectum. Her breathing was ragged, laboured. I alternated between her ass and her cunt, savouring the delicious taste of both, my tongue slipping easily into both holes.

I wanted this little eight year old girl to come, wanted her to explode in my face. I could taste her cunt juice, I could taste her piss, and I could taste her shit too. That may revolt some, but it only made me want her more.

Then it happened. I felt May’s hands on my head as I concentrated on her clit, then her juices flowed into my mouth. And as she came, I was thinking of her in the pop-up tent with my daughter Daisy, wondering what would’ve happened had I not interrupted them. I had a feeling that would be a staple fantasy of mine for years to come.