Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Jane Doe

It’s hot, too hot to sleep. That’s my first thought as I slowly drift upwards through the layers of consciousness. I’m sweating, even though I’m naked aside from the sheet. Why am I sleeping naked? It smells like something, musky and strange, not a smell I’m used to. I reach out across the bed and for some reason I’m expecting to find something there, but there’s nothing but empty space.

My eyes slowly open to the light of morning and my gaze drifts across the room to my desk. Clean and neat, like I always keep it. A slight movement catches my eye and my eyes are drawn to Sara as she sits at her desk. The sight of her hits me like a punch in the chest and the memories of last night flood my brain. How can she be so beautiful? The question tears at my heart, making me feel like I’m going to choke on the lump rising in my throat. Her dark hair is spilling down her back, the soft yellow morning light lending a bronze cast to her skin. She’s sitting there motionless with her laptop in front of her, through the slats in the back of her chair I can see the curve of her back, a light sheen of sweat making her contours glisten. Now I know what I was expecting to find beside me… her scent is still on my pillows and sheets, the sight of her sitting there naked, even if I’m not seeing… I feel like I’m going crazy.

I’m up and out of the room, wrapped in my bathrobe and carrying my little basket of toiletries down to the bathroom. The water is almost scalding hot as it rains down on me, and I let it flow over me at first, just standing there. Then I start scrubbing. I have to get her scent off me. Out of my hair, off of my skin. What the fuck is wrong with her? What was she thinking? That I would like it? I scrub until my skin is raw. I think I’ve washed my hair three times, but I still don’t feel clean. I want nothing more than to get the feel of her off of me, but it’s like her hands are still there. Her hands and her lips, moving over my skin… I shudder with the memory of it, leaning back against the cold wall of the shower. What’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with me? Fuck this, she’s going to get a piece of my mind.

I climb out of the shower, wrap myself in my bath robe and storm down the hallway, ready to let her know what I think of her sick little perversions. I throw open our door, tirade half formed in the throat, but she’s gone. NO! She can’t do this to me and then just walk out… hide from the consequences of her actions like she always does. She can’t do this. What was it to her? Just another fuck, to be ditched in the morning? I wouldn’t doubt it knowing her.

Trembling with rage I slam the door shut behind me. Tears well up in my eyes but I don’t know why. I slide down, back against the door, heart twisting in my chest; the pain I feel punishing me for my own impotence. I hope it was worth it for her. I’m going to make her life a living hell. Just like she’s been doing to me.

I can’t do anything but cry and curse her until I notice the time. Hell… Now she’s made me late for class too. I throw on my uniform, try to hide the effects of my crying with makeup and get to class as quickly as possible. She’ll just have to wait. God, I hate her.

*****

It’s been an awful day, class after class, long and dull, and even when I see Sara I have to keep my rage bottled up. I don’t need to be the one expelled. Even with that in mind, every time I see her in the halls, everything boils up into my throat and I have to choke it back, as though it were a vile conglomeration of bodily fluids that seeped into my stomach and need to be expelled. Every time I see her my mind’s eye opens, showing me snapshots of what we did, things I wish I could forget.

For her part, she’s still Sara. As though nothing had happened. The same blasé look; the same slow, dignified gait; the same disinterested stare and aloof attitude. Am I nothing to her? Does she just not give a damn about any of it? When I think these things I feel like I’m going to cry, despair clutching at my heart and tears threatening to well up in my eyes.

But why does it matter? She’s a freak, a pervert and a bitch. I know how she uses people and then drops them. She’s just like Mom, and I hate them both.

Finally class ends and I find myself out in the courtyard, so lost in my own thoughts I was unaware I had made it so far. Standing in the bright sunlight, I cast my eyes about for an anchor to pull me out of my disorientation. As if God felt my need, the best anchor possible comes walking through the gate. I grin like a goon and run to meet Mark as he saunters on in, catching me in his arms easily. Troubles momentarily forgotten I plant a kiss on his lips and soon we’re surrounded by friends and everything seems normal. Thank the Lord for small favors.

With Mark’s arm around me and gossip being passed around our little circle I don’t even notice her until I catch my boyfriend’s gaze wandering past me. Of course he would notice her, right beside me, listening to my friends chatter with that passive look on her face and smug gleam in her eyes. Fury and outrage swell and threaten to boil over as she gives me a faint smile. How dare she just wander in and disrupt my world like this? I settle in against Mark’s side even closer, sliding an arm around his waist possessively and I see her smile falter then fade. It’s my turn to smile. She doesn’t like that, does she? Every bit of attention I lavish on him seems to sour her mood a bit more. Nuzzling his shoulder, playing with his hair, kissing his cheek; every little move bringing another crystal of ice into her eyes. Driving her farther back behind her pretentious façade. Does she think she has some kind of right to me? That she’s laid some sort of claim? I think not.

When I can see the fury simmering in her, a mirror to my own, I pull away from Mark just a bit, lacing my fingers with his as his arm drops from my shoulder. I give him a sly smile and a wink, excusing us from the gabbing circle of girls to… take a little walk. The girls get the idea and our departure is accompanied by giggles and knowing glances. Sara’s eyes are locked on Mark… he might think she looks interested. But I know her better than that, the only interest she has in him is possibly to castrate him at this point. Her anger is like a sweet balm to my mind and heart, and I feel lighthearted and unburdened as we wander the grounds, searching for a bit of privacy.

*****

I’ve avoided it as long as I can. Mark had to leave in time to get back to his school for dinner, though the making out in the meantime had been an escape. I went to dinner, studied, hung out in Charlotte’s room, talking about guys, anything I could think of to stay out of my room, stay away from her.

I sigh, staring up at the dormitory, dreading what waits inside. I guess I have to bite the bullet eventually, but as I pass into the building my feet feel like lead and I have to steel myself for the long slow climb up the stairs. I feel like I’m walking to the chopping block, the executioner waiting with his razor sharp axe. But why? It’s my room too. Why should she have this power over me, to make me feel like I can’t even return to my room?

My pace quickens and by the time I reach our door I’m almost running. I open the door forcefully and nearly slam it behind me as I enter. She doesn’t even look up. I stare at her with burning defiance until she meets my gaze. She’s lying on her bed, stretched out on her stomach with books open in front of her, maybe doing homework, maybe just doodling as she reads.

Her look is cold and closed. Distant, uncaring, the very essence of my dear sister. Our eyes lock and I will her to acknowledge my defiance, my independence, the fact that I will not be a slave to her whims and desires.

I should’ve known better. Once again I’m left with twisting frustration in my gut and embarrassment rising to my cheeks as she goes back to her books, her look dismissing me as an overemotional, overdramatic child. How does she do this to me? She doesn’t even have to speak to make me feel like this, as though I wasn’t even worth more than a moment of her time. To make me feel so ashamed of what I do, of how I feel. As if I were the unreasonable one.

Suddenly I feel like crying, my frustration jumping from my stomach to create a knot in my throat and make my eyes burn with shame.

Somehow I hold it in, clamping down with all my strength and willing myself to not let her see my vulnerability. So I simply slide into my bed quietly, doing all I can to maintain control. I lay there, staring up at the bunk above me where my sister, my twin, lies, and I can almost feel her disdain drip down from above.

*****

All is silent until lights out. I watch her as she climbs down, putting away her books and then turning off the lights, only changing into her pajamas in the darkness. My eyes haven’t adjusted enough to be able to see anything other than her vague form across the room by her dresser, and I have to ask myself if I really want to see more. She wears what she always wears, a white button down shirt and a pair of underwear. I don’t have to see detail to know that.

To my surprise instead of climbing back up onto her bunk she slides into mine, lying on her side, facing me. I don’t quite know what to think, but I don’t trust this one bit. We stare at one another in silence for a long while. As my eyes adjust I can see her, faintly illuminated by the feeble light of the moon outside our window. Why is her face always so calm, her eyes so impenetrable? It’s times like this I hate the most. At times like this not even I can read her. It makes me want to lash out, hurt her, get her angry, at least then I know where I stand.

“Why did you do that?” Her voice is soft but clear, utterly devoid of any feeling. I have to ponder a moment before answering.

“Why did I do what?” Searching her eyes I find nothing, they seem as flat and empty as her voice. It scares me in some fashion, having her look at me like this, talk to me like this. It feels unnatural, and then it dawns on me… this is how she talks to Mom and Dad. The irrepressible urge to do something, anything, to get her back to normal wells up. She can’t do this to me, she can’t look at me like she does them, no, no, NO!

She rolls onto her back as though she’ll get up, but I can’t let her. I can’t let her leave me like this. I can’t be like them, I can’t! I slide my arm over her waist and move so I’m lying half on top of her, my chest on hers and my chin resting lightly just below her collarbone. She doesn’t resist me, she isn’t reacting at all. Complete indifference. This I fear above any other response at all. I can feel the tears I held back springing to my eyes, threatening to spill over as my heart lurches in my chest.

“No. I won’t let you leave.” It’s all I can think to say. Even if it doesn’t make that much sense. But she wouldn’t just be climbing up to her bunk. There’s an air of finality in the room, clinging to us, cradling our words and lending our tiniest movements a staggering weight.

“Why not? You already left me.” And in my mind’s eye I see the stare she gave Mark. I see the smile she gave me, I see the warmth in her eyes through the day that I willed myself not to see at the time. And my tears make good on their threat, spilling out and down my cheeks, as what I’ve done staggers me. I sag against her; laying my cheek on her chest I let my tears fall. Were I standing I would’ve sank to my knees.

I can’t even speak. Insidious weakness and revulsion wash over me, turning my silent tears slowly into wracking sobs, curling in against her. My body and soul beg her forgiveness, even if my voice cannot. I feel her arms slowly slide around me as I cry, eventually cradling me against her and her fingers gently sliding through my hair. Slowly my sobs fade, leaving me exhausted and depressed. I do my best to find my voice, though all I can manage to produce is a ragged whisper.

“I’m sorry, Sara. I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else I can say. I can’t deny it. I didn’t just leave her. I ran screaming from her. I still don’t know what I think about what we did… maybe she is sick. Maybe she’s totally fucked in the head, but I can’t be like them. I can’t just ignore it and lock her out, leave her in the cold, alone. We may hate each other sometimes, but we’ve always had each other to hate, and to join in hating our parents. There’s nothing worse than nothing.

She gently cups my chin and tilts my head up to look at her. I can see her face plainly now, her lovely face, delicate features normally given strength by her confidence and unbreakable will, sad and tired here in the darkness of our room. Her eyes, her eyes are what pain me the most. They’re not only sad, but so damn lonely. A loneliness I know all too well. It’s heartbreaking to see so much of myself in her, and briefly I hate her for letting me see it.

“Does he tell you he loves you?” Her shell is cracking, her walls crumbling down. This has never happened before, not in all the time we’ve been together; never once in our shared lives has Sara lost it. I do all the time, but never her. It scares the hell out of me.

“Of course he does.” He told me when we left school last year. He’s been telling me since we came back. Of course he tells me that; he wants in my pants.

“Why do they always lie to us? Why does everyone lie…” Her voice is barely a whisper, and I can see the wetness in her ice blue eyes. She’s breaking, and I have no idea what to do. She’s not supposed to, she’s never supposed to, but what right do I have to expect that from her? I do nothing but try to break her. I try to break her, and when she crumbles I hate her for being so much like me. Is it really her I hate? I feel so lost, but as a tear slides down her porcelain cheek I know I might be lost, but I’m not alone. And I won’t let her feel alone either.

With trembling hands I cup her face, wiping her tears away, my eyes searching for hers until she allows them to meet. I can’t say anything to what I see in her eyes, and I can’t do anything but will her to see my response in my own. I want to tell her it will be okay. This time I’ll be strong for her, but it won’t do any good unless she can see it, unless she can feel it, without words, without lies. Her eyes have never told me anything untrue, whenever I really looked. Why haven’t I looked more often? Why wasn’t I willing to see what’s been right in front of me all along? Maybe I had to break her to get to this point. I don’t know, but I wish I hadn’t.

I can feel her body trembling under mine, I can feel the tremors of her loneliness and sadness taking over. Was it me that hurt her so badly, or did I just strike the final blow? I prop myself up on one elbow, and looking down at her I know I have to be true to her, to myself, to the promise my eyes made. I can’t stand seeing her like this. I think of her disdain for our parents when they forgot birthdays and school plays, her condemnation of their sometimes unthinking cruelty. How she always stood strong for me when I needed it, and how our strength may have been drawn from our hatred, but for the first time I can see it was drawn from being together.

With all this in my mind and my heart I am steady and I am strong, if only for her. Leaning in my lips catch hers, ever so softly, for once encouraging her with love. I’ve had enough hate for one life. I can feel her crying begin in earnest as I kiss her, and I let her tears fall. Sometimes it’s okay to cry.

I hold her close and kiss her lips then her cheeks and her chin and her eyelids, growing more ardent and adoring as I do so. So maybe I’m pretty sick too. She trembles like a leaf and all I can do is kiss her, endlessly kiss her, finally parting her lips with my tongue and acknowledging her as more than just my sister.

Last night she was in charge. She did as she wished and gave everything to me… now it’s my turn. I kiss her deeply, trying to suck the pain from her soul, to let her know I’m willing to bear the burden with her, and as I do so I begin slowly unbuttoning her nightshirt, exposing the bare flesh of the valley between her breasts, down over her stomach to her navel, slowly pushing away the thin cloth that is her only remaining defense, the only thing keeping me from having her completely and totally vulnerable in every way.

I shift up on top of her, kissing her deeply, then begin a slow move downwards, over her chin and along her throat, feeling almost drunk with the taste and smell of her skin. I dive into the hollow of her throat, sucking and nibbling at every curve and hollow, her gasps and soft moans like music to my ears. My hands travel down over her sides as though they had never known the feeling of another body before, seeking to know and glorify her body in every way possible, to elicit every last ounce of pleasure for her and myself.

I spread her shirt farther, exposing her perfect breasts as my mouth works down between them, and I sit up for a moment, leaning back to gaze down upon her prone form, her skin so pale it almost seems to glow in the dimly diffused moonlight. I let my fingers wander back up her sides, slowly cupping the soft beautiful orbs that are her breasts, each pale globe accentuated by a dark nipple, contrast in tone, heightened by the lack of true illumination. Her eyes say everything I need to know; they make a wordless pledge of not only her body, but her heart and soul as well. In this moment I know I love her, perhaps more than I should. But in knowing that, I feel complete. And I know that she is the only one that can make me feel this way. My twin, my other half. I think we understand that now.

Smiling gently I lean down to take her left nipple into my mouth, first sucking and then lightly nibbling, flicking my tongue over its quickly stiffening tip. I feel her moan reverberating through her chest more than I hear it, and I quickly switch to the right nipple, lavishing attention on each in turn. The smoothness of her flesh and softness of her skin is a marvel to me, a true wonder to be explored and worshiped.

I’m far from satisfied with just her nipples, though, and my mouth greedily wanders around them, covering each breast in turn and moves slowly outward from them, around the supple sides and down to the barest beginnings of their swelling from her chest, and then down over her ribs and the flat expanse of her stomach. Her navel draws me back to her midline and I nibble and lick in and around it, adoring the feel of her hands in my hair.

I caress the flare of her hips, gently gripping and stroking them before hooking my fingers into the waistband of her panties, slowly dragging them down to expose yet more of her, and my lips and tongue soon follow my fingers. She squirms and writhes as I traverse the lines of her hips and slide down over her thighs, dragging her panties farther down as my mouth requires access. I can feel the heat of her body rising, her hips lifting to ease the removal of her underwear, granting me a glimpse of her neatly trimmed mound and allowing her scent to permeate my senses. And my god, she smells like heaven.

I let my kisses wander between her navel and the beginnings of her neat patch as I slide a hand up her inner thigh, marveling at the warmth I can sense at her core. It takes a feat of willpower to keep from ducking my head between her thighs. Instead I let my fingers trail ever so slowly upwards, finally coming into contact with her slick, hot center after what seems like an eternity.

At first I merely let my fingertips slide along her slit, feeling her writhe and strain for greater contact. She’s so soft, so incredibly wet it’s a nearly frictionless touch, simply gliding over her most tender parts. Her gasps and soft cries take on a more pleading tone and I can no longer resist her pull. I slide my fingers deeper into her valley and allow her hips to find the placement as she impales herself on me, taking my fingers deep inside and grinding on them.

I’m so lost in the sensation it’s almost a surprise when the top of her cleft meets with my chin. She lets out a soft cry and I drop my mouth the scant distance necessary to truly taste her. Near where my chin had rested I find her neat little bud, a perfect place for sucking and I do so without thinking; as lost in her sweetness as I am, I continue to thrust and explore her insides with my fingers.

One of her hands grips the sheets and the other holds my head in place as her writhing reaches new heights, her chest heaving as she pants for air. I can do nothing but marvel at her beauty and utter abandon, my mouth and hands continuing of their own accord. As her frenzy works to a fever pitch, I’m mesmerized, totally in her power as she is in mine, and she lets out a guttural cry, primal, from some dark part of her soul as her insides clamp down on my fingers and I can feel her slickness coating my hand and her inner thighs. She’s like some primitive goddess, pure and animalistic, loving and brutal.

Awe turns to horror as I hear fast footfalls outside our door, followed by a pounding. I can barely throw the blankets up over her before the door is thrown open and our floor monitor bursts in. My heart seizes in my chest for a moment as Sara looks up, flushed and groggily confused.

“My Lord, Abigail! What’s going on in here!?” My eyes are wide and I can feel my heart seize in my chest. I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“She was having a bad dream. I don’t know… I tried to wake her…” My mind is locked in terror and my heart goes from a complete stop to a hundred miles an hour, thundering in my chest and ears.

I quickly stand and step back as the forty-something nun crosses to my sister’s bedside and sits down beside her. Sara just looks confused and all I can do is pray the smell and wetness on my hands and face go unnoticed. Sister Francis lays a gentle hand on Sara’s forehead, giving her a concerned look.

“She seems to have a bit of a fever. Are you all right, Sara dear?” I feel very near fainting. Sara faintly smiles and gazes over at me, still breathing a bit heavily.

“I think I’ll be fine. It was just a dream. Could Abby sleep with me though? I feel better with her close.” Her voice is dreamy and soft, I can almost see the tough old nun’s heart melt. She’s certainly been familiar with our fighting.

“Certainly, dear.” She stands and gives me a stern look. “Abigail, I know you two don’t always get along, but your sister is sick and she needs you. Look after her. There’s nothing more important in this world than your sister.” I stare gape-jawed for a moment, then slowly nod.

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

Under Francis’ watchful gaze I strip and pull on a nightshirt, then crawl into bed beside Sara, doing my best to keep her naked form covered. The nun gives me one last commanding glare, then retreats, closing the door and enveloping us in darkness once again.

Sara immediately pulls me into a lingering kiss, letting her hands slide up under my nightshirt, sending a thrill up my spine. After the kiss breaks I hold her close. I never want to let her go.

“You looked guilty as sin there, Sis. If you were anyone else we would’ve been so busted.” Softly giggling she settles in against me, still completely naked under the covers.

“Yeah, well… maybe that just means God wants us together. He kept our secret safe right in front of one of his daughter-in-laws.” Our giggling continues long into the night, and we fall asleep nestled together, finally in tune with our other halves.

 The End