Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Passing Cloud

I remember a feeling of empowerment when I awoke the next morning.

I had given my older sister an experience of ecstasy for the first time in her life. I had done it — no-one else. It was a sense of achievement; an awareness of my own capabilities. I felt proud and in control.

Then on top of that, I had found a way to give myself that same experience. With deft manipulation I could have that self-pleasure virtually any time. Two major events in one night, three in one day. My god, what would happen today? I strode purposefully off to school, my big sister trailing in my wake. My mind raced and I thought about Maria. I wished and hoped that she would be eager for some sort of repeat of yesterday, and I would have a chance to show her what I could do. To show her my newfound talents; to give her a taste of the pleasure that she’d already given me. I wanted her to love and want me like I did her.

It didn’t quite turn out that way, though.

My morning passed again in a haze of imaginings, but I did manage to stay out of trouble with the teachers until, at lunchtime, I was able to sprint off in search of Maria and the ‘gang’.

I met them, out of breath, in the playground near the library. They greeted me warmly, particularly Maria who, as I ran to her, casually put her arm across my shoulders (my heart leapt) and affectionately stroked the back of my head, trailing her fingers through my hair, briefly touching the skin on the back of my neck. (Oh, my…)

To my dismay, the first thing she said was “I couldn’t get the key today, so we can’t go in there,” nodding towards the hall. Then, seeing the disappointment written on my face, she smiled broadly, gave my shoulders an encouraging squeeze, and said, “But that’s alright; we’ll find somewhere else to go with my favourite little girlfriend.”

With her arm still resting casually on my shoulders, and me positively glowing after her “favourite little girlfriend” line, we wandered off behind the library — seemingly aimlessly — but actually with real purpose.

It was an old school covering many acres and, as newer facilities had been developed, the older buildings had fallen into varying levels of disuse. Such a one was before us now — a detached double unit, dating from the forties, boasting high steel-framed windows — still miraculously intact — now used as an almost-forgotten storage space for random pieces of school furniture and paraphernalia.

There was no one else about, so Maria tried the door. The old steel handle squealed as she pushed it down, and the frame juddered and groaned as she pulled, but happily, with just a little effort, the door creaked open just enough for a little girl to get through.

We quickly slipped inside, pulled the door closed behind us, and disappeared behind the haphazardly stored furniture.

It was a sunny day, and dust danced in the intensified light which burned through the tall windows. It was hot, much hotter than outside, and there was an eerie quiet — broken only by the sound of our feet as we shuffled through the maze of old furniture. I was dazzled by the glare as I gazed around, following Maria as she manoeuvred through the melee. There were butterflies in my stomach: adrenalin rising.

We came to a small area in the midst of an array of tall cupboards — an area out of sight from the outside, where a number of chairs were stacked beside a low table.

Maria pulled a chair off the stack and sat down, commenting, “Nobody can see us here.”

In turn taking a chair and sitting down, Nancy said, “What should we do, then?”

Kathy and Jude followed suit, taking a chair each and dropping into place with Nancy and Maria. They unconsciously formed a little enclave around the low table, one on each side, facing inwards. There were no more chairs.

Suddenly feeling isolated and awkward, I stood meekly behind Maria, saying nothing, self-consciously twisting my hair around the fingers of one hand while nervously gnawing a knuckle of the other.

Maria spun around, straddling the chair. She leaned on the chair back, rested her chin on her arms as she looked at me. There was a glow about her, a spark in her big brown eyes. A huge smile spread across her face and I was once more bewitched by her beauty; her full red lips, her even white teeth. I longed for her. She really was stunning. I noticed the flash of her pink tongue as she spoke.

“I know what I’d like to do.” She paused. “I’d like to see my little girlfriend naked.”

The butterflies instantly returned as panic swept through me. I didn’t know what to say. Wide-eyed, I looked around to the left, to the right — as though desperately seeking a way out.

The panic didn’t last long, however.

Maria stood, took my hand in hers. She lifted my chin with her fingertips, gazed into my eyes, said, “Will you, Little Sis… for me?”

Then the clincher. She bent down, put her lips to my cheek, kissed me gently and whispered, “Please.”

I felt the imprint of her lips like a burn. I was hers. No doubt. I would do whatever she wanted.

I bowed my head a little, and looked up at her from under my brows. It was a look of humility. I managed a sweet little smile, then nodded my assent.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, “fantastic!” She took my hand again and, leading me as if onto a stage, said, “Here. Stand on the table and do it there so we can see you properly.”

As I stepped onto the low table (fortunately in one piece and quite stable), the others, who had been silently watching up to this point, burst into a spontaneous (if quiet) round of applause. Jude started to hum the tune from “The Stripper,” and the others all laughed, even Maria.

For a moment I had second thoughts, and pleaded, “Don’t make fun, or I won’t do it.”

Again Maria soothed me. She put her hand on my arm, squeezing gently. “We’re not making fun of you, Sis, I promise. Come on, strip off for us.”

She sat down and there I was, surrounded on all sides by eleven-year-old girls who were intensely scrutinising me, waiting for me. I was the centre of their attention. Suddenly I felt important, wanted. I began to feel good.

I was facing Maria, who smiled up at me. To my left was my sister Kathy, to my right Nancy, and behind me Jude.

“Take off your blouse,” instructed Maria.

I pulled my crisp cotton blouse out of the waistband of my skirt and hurriedly unfastened the buttons. Taking hold of the open front, I quickly checked the faces around me. They were all staring, all smiling.

I removed the blouse and threw it onto an adjacent chest of drawers.

For a moment I self-consciously wrapped my arms around my naked torso. I felt vulnerable, exposed. Then I felt it. That warm glow between my legs, the feeling I had begun to crave: arousal.

In my language of the time, I was starting to feel “sexy.”

“Take your skirt off.” It was Maria again, another instruction — and more compliance from me.

I unfastened my skirt and let it drop to the table top. I stepped out of it and threw it alongside my discarded blouse.

There were a couple of comments then. “Ooh, sexy bum!” Nancy shouted.

“Nice knickers!” giggled Jude.

“Take them off,” said Maria.

I looked around again. The faces were suddenly more intense, more alert. Half-smiles flickered, tongues licked lips. I noticed a slight flush to Nancy’s cheeks. My sister was leaning forward, her arms folded in her lap. Jude’s eyes seemed strangely liquid.

I realise now that she wore her lust like a badge.

I faced Maria again. I looked into her eyes and watched as her gaze lowered; became focused between my legs.

I kept my eyes on her as I started to push my panties down. I slid them along my thighs, slowly — then, when they were at my knees, I let them fall. I stood up and stepped out of them.

Automatically my hands went to cover myself, flapping nervously in front of my bare vulva.

“Move your hands,” ordered Maria. “Put them on your head.”

I should have felt embarrassed, but I was actually grateful for the instruction. Having somewhere to put them, they were no longer my responsibility. Not my problem.

So I stood, naked except for my shoes and socks, and displayed myself.

Maria spoke again. Leadership seemed effortless to her. “Take your shoes and socks off. I want you with nothing on at all. Then put your hands back up.”

It was a strange moment for me. Essentially naked, I was feeling quite comfortable exposed like that, with the girls examining me. But as I passively removed first my shoes, then my socks, I began to feel more than naked.

In the brilliant, relentless sunshine, I felt oddly helpless, with no one to protect me. Vulnerable, like a baby.

Now with my hands back on my head, Maria instructed me again. “Open your legs a bit. Let’s have a good look at you.”

As I moved my little feet slightly apart — the table top wouldn’t allow any more — Maria got up and stood facing me. She was close, so close I could feel her breath on my face. Then, smiling warmly throughout, she started to feel me.

First she put her hands on my face, caressed my cheeks, my eyelids, my lips. She ran her fingers through my hair, then stroked my hands and forearms, which remained in place as she had instructed.

Her hands started to move down to my neck, then my shoulders.

She felt along the inside of my raised arms, stroked my sensitive armpits. I squirmed, my face contorting.

“Does it tickle?” she asked, her hands resting on my sensitive skin.

I nodded, suppressing a giggle, and looked pleadingly into her eyes.

Her grin widened and hinted at wickedness, as she said, “Don’t move,” then started to tickle me in earnest. Her flickering fingers drummed and played in my armpits, then tormented my ribs, then back under my arms. Again and again she did this, for what seemed like minutes. Her smile turned to laughter as I squirmed and wriggled under her gorgeous cruelty. She laughed as she ordered me to, “Stay still. How can I tickle you properly if you keep moving about?” The others were all laughing and giggling too as she tortured me, but I somehow managed to stay upright, to endure, to actually enjoy what she was doing to me. My helplessness manifest; and I was soaking.

Her tickles turned to caresses then as she felt my chest, gliding across my tiny nipples, making me tremble.

It felt lovely and I wanted her to do it again.

Instead she crouched down, sliding her hands down my flanks, reaching behind to caress my small, round buttocks, then down the full length of my legs — front and back — then, even, to my naked toes, which she stroked and examined in detail.

She stood up then, trailing her hands up the inside of my thighs until, blissfully, I felt her cup my vulva in her hand and slide her finger along the tight slit.

She said, “Let’s show the others,” and nudged me round so I was facing Nancy. Crouching down again, she carefully parted my little lips and, smiling at Nancy, simply said “Look at her little cunt. I love it!”

Nancy, even more flushed, reached out to touch me. Maria stretched me wider as Nancy’s finger tips tickled my exposed clitoris. She chuckled playfully as my hips involuntarily jerked, and I uttered an appreciative “Oooh!”

Softly she asked, “Is that nice?”

I could only respond through tightly pressed lips. “Mmmm.”

She took hold of my hips and told me to turn around. Jude was looking up at me. She was also smiling. Her eyes lustfully roamed up and down my body.

Maria, however, hadn’t finished with Nancy yet. With a hand on each of my buttocks, she used her thumbs to part my cheeks. I sensed the movement as Maria and Nancy moved closer to look at my anus.

I could feel their breath on the back of my thighs.

I can’t begin to express how exciting it was, that personal inspection — my most secret, private place (or so I thought) being looked at, examined in broad daylight. It felt so rude, so forbidden. I loved it.

Again I instinctively jerked my hips as I felt a fingertip’s soft caress between my cheeks.

Misunderstanding my reaction, Maria gently chided, “No, Sis, don’t do that. Don’t move away. Let her.”

I felt the finger touch my anus and Nancy sigh, “Oh,” then “Ooh,” then, to Maria, “I can’t believe I’m touching her here.” She giggled then and I felt a light pressure on my anus. It felt so nice that I wanted her to push harder, but instead Maria said, “Okay, move round. It’s Jude’s turn now.”

So the process was repeated — first with Jude, then with my sister Kathy. Jude seemed to be allowed longer to examine my anus — which she did while simultaneously tickling my clitoris — all the while commenting on how it looked and felt. Finally, as she almost penetrated my sphincter with her probing finger, she said, “That’s great. I love her little bum hole.”

By comparison, my sister only spent a short time inspecting me — presumably in reaction to her passive role at my hands the previous night — but nevertheless her soft touch and eager praise sent thrills of pleasure through me.

When they’d all had their turn, Maria stood up in front of me again. She put her hand between my legs and started to stroke me rhythmically along my slit. Her other hand played with my nipples, stroking, squeezing and lightly pinching them in turn.

It felt wonderful.

I stared at her lovely face as she played with me. I was gently swaying to this sensual rhythm, floating in pleasure, loving her more and more with each caress, when she leaned forward and whispered the question, “Have you ever been tongued?”

Continue on to Chapter 4

Introduction by JetBoy: A Little History

It was about seven years ago when I first stumbled onto Muffi’s story “Mommy, Show Me How” while idly searching the Internet for juicy lesbian fiction. Immediately smitten by what I read, I dropped her a line to tell her how much I enjoyed it. She went on to join yours truly among the roster of authors at the Lesbian Lolita site, and a long-distance friendship was born.

Soon she began a new story, a lengthy one, “My Niece Janelle.” Four chapters were completed and posted, then Muffi contacted me with a problem: her regular editor was unavailable, and she’d never worked without one. She asked me to take on the task, and I happily accepted.

We quickly discovered that the two of us worked extremely well as a team. She would write the chapter, I’d tinker with it and make suggestions, and we agreed about 99.5% of the time. (Much later, I went back to the earlier chapters and edited those as well. These will appear for the first time at Juicy Secrets.)

Muffi’s characters are so vividly drawn that it was easy to get into their heads and think like they do. This came in handy when she got stuck on chapter 9 and found herself unable to finish it. She asked me to complete the chapter… and we were both pleased with the result.

Muffi chose to depart our scene a couple of years ago for personal reasons. She is profoundly missed. As her editor and occasional collaborator, my hope is to write a concluding chapter for this story. Like all the others, it will be credited to Muffi. “My Niece Janelle” will always be her creation. She built the house — all I did was slap on a coat of paint and move the furniture around a bit.

Wherever you are, Muffi, my thanks, love, regards, and eternal friendship go out to you.

yrs, JetBoy

---

My Niece Janelle
By Muffi

{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in February 2010 }

For the men out there reading this, you’ll pardon me if I’m a bit cynical, but I believe that you’ll enjoy this story that I’m about to tell you if for no other reason than the fact that it illustrates that women can be every bit as perverted as any man. I’ve also noticed that for some reason, men seem to be completely fascinated by the idea of two females being sexually involved with each other. I’m not sure why that is, but whatever. Let’s just say that what you’re about to read isn’t your typical girl-does-girl story, leave it at that, and let you read on.

This is a serialized story, and as such, it will take some time to get to the lesbian sex. Please be patient…

***

My name is Meagan Bristol.I’m a thirty-something-year-old woman, queer as a three dollar bill, and this is about how I made the startling discovery that little girls are the ultimate sexual turn-on for me. Well, at least one little girl is.

Mind you, I don’t run around seeking out children to molest. But I have fallen completely, utterly, desperately, head over heels in love and lust with one little nine-year-old girl. She’s my sister’s daughter, Janelle. And we now share a relationship that is quite simply the most amazing experience of my life.

Furthermore, my niece has seen fit to bring her best friend into our relationship. That initially scared the living hell out of me, but I’ve grown accustomed to it, and as you’ll see, it can be quite, um… stimulating, shall we say?

Janelle and I have always been close. Ever since she was a toddler, we’ve spent a lot of time together. We’ve always been more like best friends than aunt and niece. These days, most families are in the position where husband and wife, or partner and partner, both have to work in order to make ends meet, and my sister and her husband are no exception. As a freelance graphic artist, I’m pretty much able to set my own schedule, which leaves me free to take care of Janelle while her parents are at work, saving them some considerable money in child care expenses. I’ve never minded — quite the contrary. I love being with Janelle, spending time with her, doing things with her. As I said, we’re more like best friends than anything else, regardless of the difference in our ages.

Contrary to the opinions of some, most gay people are not interested in children as sex partners. We aren’t all out there on the prowl, seeking to molest the first little boy or little girl we come across. For my part, I never once thought of a child in a sexual way before I became smitten with Janelle.

I don’t know what will happen between us down the road, but I’m a realist. I’m more than twenty years older than Janelle is. I seriously doubt that this will last forever. If it does, then I won’t complain, but if it doesn’t, which is much more likely, I won’t hesitate to let go of her, either. But for now, I’m going to enjoy what my niece and I share together, revel in it, and do my best to make sure she knows how much she’s loved.

This all began about six months ago, give or take a few weeks. It was the day before Janelle’s ninth birthday. I’d picked her up after school and brought her back to my place, where we were planning to spend some “girl time” together until her Mom got off work and picked her up. I’d promised to help her paint her fingernails and toenails in preparation for the big day, which fell on a Saturday. She was beside herself with excitement, because she was going to have a big party that afternoon.

Janelle is something of a tomboy, really. Not what you’d call a “hardcore” tomboy, but she’s definitely not a girly-girl, either. She’ll put on dresses and skirts for special occasions, but she much prefers jeans and sneakers. That Saturday definitely counted as one of those special occasions, so we were planning on dolling her up completely, making sure that she looked the proper ladylike part.

We’d done the whole girl thing in the past, but this was the first time that Janelle had ever thought about having her toenails painted. Her mother had bought her a cute little pair of open-toed sandals, and when I mentioned doing her nails, she thought that sounded like a fabulous idea. So there we were on the day before her birthday, sitting in the middle of my bed with bottles of nail polish and a bag of cotton balls. We were chatting and giggling, having a wonderful time.

Janelle was fascinated by the toenail painting process. Her feet are terribly ticklish, so it took a little while to get the cotton balls snugly situated between her toes. She kept squirming, laughing insanely while I tried to wedge the bits of cotton in place. The task finally accomplished, we sat facing each other and I got to work, one tiny foot cradled in my lap as I applied the bright pink polish to her toenails.

I was intent on what I was doing, peering down at her foot as I began to apply the first coat. Janelle suddenly went silent for a few moments. I thought that she was just concentrating on not being ticklish. When she spoke, though, there was a serious tone to her voice.

“Aunt Meagan, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Sweetie,” I absently replied, carefully finishing the edge of a toenail. “You can ask me anything, you know that.”

She hesitated for a few heartbeats. I looked up at her, and saw that her face was very serious now.

“What is it, Sweetie?” I asked.

“What does “bulldyke” mean?”

What the hell? I thought. Where did that come from?

“Sweetie, where did you hear that?” I asked her.

“From Sarah,” she replied. “See, there’s this girl at school, her name is Sara, too, ‘cept she doesn’t have an “H” at the end of her name. Anyways, most of the kids don’t like her, I don’t know why. She’s really quiet, and she doesn’t hang out with hardly anyone at school. So, today, I decided to eat my lunch at the same table with her and try to talk to her. I feel sorry for her, cause nobody else really likes to be around her cause she’s kinda different. Anyways, after lunch, Sarah — the other Sarah, I mean — told me I shouldn’t hang out with Sara, cause she’s a bulldyke. What did she mean, Aunt Meagan?”

It took me a moment to sort out the rush of words, and to get Sarah and Sara straight. I felt a sharp stab of sympathy for little Sara, who seemed to have earned, somehow, the hateful label of bulldyke.

I took a deep breath, then looked back down at Janelle’s toes, continuing to apply nail polish.

“Well,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully, “that’s a term that some people use to describe gay women.”

Janelle knew already about my sexual orientation. Her parents are quite open with her about things like that, and on those occasions when she’d seen me with a date or with one of my short-lived girlfriends, she’d been curious. So she knew what it meant for a person to be gay. She didn’t seem to have any problem with it, just a natural curiosity.

Apparently, though, she’d never heard some of the more vicious terms for non-heterosexual people. Welcome to real life, Sweetie, I thought.

“But what’s it mean, Aunt Meagan?”

“Uhmm…” I was trying to figure out the best way to describe to a little girl, a day shy of being nine years old, what it meant to be a bulldyke.

“Bulldyke is a stereotype, Sweetie. Do you know what that is?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“A stereotype is when you believe that a certain thing is true of everyone in a group of people. Like, when you say that Irish people drink a lot of booze, or all black people have big lips, or all gay men act like girls, or all Asian people are really smart. “Bulldyke” is a term that people think of when they see a woman who looks like a man. When she’s big and strong, and maybe has really short hair, or acts like a man. Some people, as soon as they find out that a woman is gay, start calling her a bulldyke as an insult.”

Well, that was probably the worst definition I’d ever heard for the term — but then, I’d never been asked to define it before.

“But Sara doesn’t look like a man,” Janelle said — rather indignantly, I thought.

I laughed. God, to be nine years old again.

“I’m sure she doesn’t, Sweetie,” I said. “But she’s quiet, and she doesn’t hang out with the other kids much, right?”

“Yeah. She’s really shy, I think. She just keeps to herself mosta the time.”

“Sweetie, sometimes, when people think that someone is different than they are, they don’t know how to react. For some reason, they’re afraid of people who are different. So, they call them names and insult them. I don’t know why, really; it’s just the way that some people act.”

I had finished with Janelle’s right foot, and I took her left foot in my hand and began to paint her toenails.

“That’s just stupid!” Janelle exclaimed. “When I ate lunch with Sara today, she was nice. She didn’t say much, but she was nice. Why would Sarah say that about her?”

Sarah/Sara again, I thought.

“I don’t know, Sweetie,” I said. “Maybe she got jealous because you sat with Sara and not with her. She might be afraid that she’ll lose a friend.”

“Well, that’s just silly. I can be friends with more than one person, can’t I?”

“Of course you can. I really don’t know why Sarah would say something like that, Sweetie. You’d have to ask her.”

Janelle got quiet again for a few moments. I kept on painting her toenails.

“Aunt Meagan, why do people hate gay people so much?”

This one was pretty easy. We’d talked about this before.

“Because most people are afraid of anyone they think is different, Sweetie.”

“But, why?” she asked, almost desperately.

“Well,” I began, “it’s just how people are. Look, you’re not afraid of snakes, are you?”

“Nuh-uh,” Janelle said, shaking her head.

“But, do you remember when you used to be so scared of them?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“That was because you didn’t understand them. Snakes are different than you, of course. They’re snakes, not people. You just didn’t understand anything about them. But when you learned about them, and found out that they’re pretty cool, you stopped being afraid, because you understood them better. It’s sort of the same thing. If someone is different, a lot of people are afraid of them, because they don’t understand them.”

I keep a couple of boa constrictors as pets, in case you were wondering why I used snakes as an example. Janelle used to be terrified of them. Now, she has to at least pet both of them every time she visits, and she loves to drape them around her neck now. Snakes make good, low maintenance pets. Toss them the occasional rat, and they’re good to go.

“But, that’s not the same,” Janelle said. “I mean, snakes are animals. Gay people are just people. Why would anyone be afraid of them?”

“For the same reason that some people are afraid of people who don’t have the same color skin as they do. They’re afraid because they’re different.”

Janelle sighed. “I’ll never get it,” she said.

“Honestly, Sweetie, I hope you never do get it,” I said. “I hope you go through your whole life not worrying about how people are different from you, and just focus on how they’re really the same as you are.” I sat up straight. “Okay, the first coat is done. We’ll let that dry, and then put on a second coat, okay?”

Janelle lifted one foot, looking at her toes, wiggling them a little.

“That looks so cool!”

“I’m glad you approve of my artwork,” I said.

She beamed at me.

Janelle is such a beautiful little girl. Even for her age, she’s small and very slender. Willowy, would be a good word to describe her body type. She has a face like the classic faerie, complete with the tiny button nose and enormous, liquid looking eyes. The eyes are her most striking facial feature. They’re a rich, deep, almost cobalt blue color. They’re the most unusual color of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They dominate her face. When she grows up, they’re still going to be large, and probably even more striking, if that’s possible.

Her soft, fine hair is strawberry blonde, more towards the reddish side. It’s cut in the classic pageboy style, with the ends just brushing her shoulders, and bangs that just touch her slender eyebrows. Her mouth reminds me of Drew Barrymore’s mouth at that age, with full lips shaped like a perfect Cupid’s bow. Her chin is delicate and pointed, and she has a heavy dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Like I said, she’s small, petite and very slender. She still has that boyish figure that all little girls have, but I have no doubt that she’s going to grow into a breathtakingly beautiful young woman one day.

“Aunt Meagan?”

“Yes, Sweetie?” I replied.

“Can you help me find Sara’s phone number?”

I was confused for a moment. She talked to Sarah almost every day on the phone. Then it dawned on me. She meant Sara-with-no-“H” in her name.

“Do you know her last name?” I asked.

“Davidson,” she said, nodding.

“Okay,” I said, “let me get the phone book, and we’ll see what we can find.”

I was curious, but I didn’t say anything.

I went across the hall to my office and grabbed the phone book, as well as the phone. I plopped myself back on the bed with Janelle and opened up the book, looking for that last name of “Davidson.” Thankfully, there were only three listed. Smaller towns have their advantages.

The first try was a wrong number, of course. When she dialed the second number, though, and asked for Sara, she had the right one.

“Is Sara there?” she asked.

“This is Janelle McCarthy, from school,” she said a moment later; then, “Thank you.”

She was silent for a moment, waiting for the other girl to come to the phone. I watched her as she began to speak again.

“Hi Sara! This is Janelle. From school? I ate lunch with you today, remember?”

Another moment of silence.

“Well, I was just calling to see if you wanted to come to my house tomorrow afternoon. It’s my birthday, an’ I’m having a party. And since we had lunch together today an’ you seem pretty cool and stuff, I thought maybe you’d like to come to my party.”

Again, silence as she listened.

“You don’t hafta get me a present,” she said. “I don’t care about that. I just thought maybe you’d like to come and hang out with me for a while.”

There was a longer silence this time.

“You can? Awesome! Okay, it’s at two o’clock at my house, and uhm…” Her eyes rolled up to look at me. “Maybe I better let my aunt talk to your Mom to give her directions? ‘Kay, you get your Mom, and I’ll put my aunt on the phone.”

What an amazing little girl, I thought. I was very, very proud of my niece at that moment.

“Hello?”

The woman sounded slightly hesitant, with a very soft, almost timid voice. I introduced myself, and confirmed that yes, Janelle was indeed having a birthday party tomorrow afternoon, and that she very much wanted Sara to come.

“I… I’m afraid that we wouldn’t be able to get her a gift,” she said, her voice full of apology, and something else that I couldn’t quite put a name to.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” I said. “Janelle is much more concerned with being a social butterfly than with getting gifts. She just wants Sara to come to the party and hang out with her and her friends for the afternoon.”

Janelle gave me a slap on the leg for calling her a social butterfly, and I grinned at her.

I gave Sara’s mother directions to my sister’s house, and told her we’d see her tomorrow afternoon. I told her to drop Sara off anytime after one o’clock, and that if she wanted, she was welcome to stay, or I could just bring Sara home after the party.

“Thank you, but I won’t be able to stay,” she said. “I’ll have to be at work tomorrow at three, so if you could bring her home, that would be wonderful.”

“No problem,” I told her. “We’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Janelle was tugging on the leg of my jeans, telling me that she wanted to talk to Sara again.

“Janelle wants to speak with Sara again, if that’s okay. It was nice talking to you.”

“Thanks, nice talking to you, too,” she replied quietly.

“Sara? ‘Kay, so you’re coming, right? Awesome!! Oh, and bring a bathing suit or some old shorts and a tee shirt. We don’t have a pool, but my Mom said if it’s warm enough we can turn on the lawn sprinkler and mess around in the water in the back yard, ‘kay? ‘Kay, see you tomorrow! Bye!!”

She pushed the button to turn off the phone and handed it back to me. I looked at her and smiled.

“Janelle, that was a very nice thing you just did,” I said.

She shrugged. “Sarah’s not gonna like it,” she said, “but that’s too bad. I like Sara. Sarah’s just gonna hafta get over it.”

“Well, it was still a very nice thing to do.”

Janelle blushed prettily.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said. “I really do like her.”

“I’m sure you do, Sweetie. I’m just saying that sometimes, it takes real courage to reach out to someone that your friends don’t like. I’m proud of you.”

“Aunt Meagan, stop it!” Janelle squealed. “You’re embarrassing me!”

“Well, if it embarrasses you that I’m proud of you,” I said, “then get used to it. I’m never going to stop being proud of you.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon finishing up with Janelle’s toenails and fingernails, talking and giggling like two little girls. That’s one of the things I love so much about my niece. Sometimes, she makes me feel like I’m a kid again.

My sister, Katherine, came by after work to pick up Janelle. Janelle excitedly told her that there would be another guest at the party tomorrow.

“Another one? Do I know who it is?”

“Nope, you never met her,” Janelle said. “I decided to invite her this afternoon.”

“Sweetie,” I said, “why don’t you get your things together, okay?”

Janelle nodded and ran off to gather up her school books, jacket, purse, and all of the other odds and ends that little girls find indispensable. While she did, I gave Kate a quick rundown about the Sarah/Sara situation, and how Janelle was choosing to handle it.

“Oh, God,” she said. “That Sarah — the one I do know — is a snotty little brat. I really can’t stand that kid, but she’s Janelle’s friend, so I try to put up with her. I can only take her in small doses, though. She really is a supreme little bitch.”

“So I gathered,” I said. “I hope she knows enough to keep her mouth shut and behave tomorrow.”

“Probably not,” Kate sighed. “No worries, though, I can handle her if it comes to that.”

“Good,” I said. “I could handle her, too, but probably not the way that you can. I’ll probably choke her if she gets out of hand.”

Kate laughed. “Now, now. Can’t be beating up on little girls, Meagan,” she said.

“Listen, any nine-year-old girl who calls another little girl a ‘bulldyke’ needs to be throttled,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” said Kate. “We’ll just play it by ear. Actually, I think Janelle can probably handle it herself, to be honest with you.”

“I have no doubt,” I laughed. “She’s quite the little crusader sometimes. By the way, I’ll be there early to help you with setting things up,” I said. “I’ll be making her cake tonight.”

“She’s going to be so excited that you’re baking her cake,” she said. “I haven’t told her. She thinks I’m going to do my usual cake mix thing for her.”

“You might not be so grateful when you see what I’m doing,” I said, with an evil smile.

Kate raised her hand. “I don’t want to know,” she said. “Just surprise me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Just don’t get sexual with it, okay? Remember, these are kids, not adults.”

“Oh, please,” I said. “Do you really think I’d do something like that?”

“No,” she grinned, “but I have to give my oversexed lesbian big sister a hard time once in a while.”

“Bitch,” I said, glaring at her.

She snickered. “You’re just too easy to needle, Meagan.”

Janelle came thumping back into the room at that moment, then looked at her mother apologetically. “I didn’t do my homework yet, Mom,” she said. “Me and Aunt Meagan were too busy with my nails. I’ll do it tonight after supper, though, I promise.”

“That’s fine, Baby,” said Kate. “You getting your schoolwork done is not a worry I have. You always do it, and you always do it well.”

“What’re we having for supper?”

“Well, I thought that since tomorrow is going to be very busy, we could start celebrating your birthday with supper tonight, so…” She let the sentence trail off into silence.

Janelle’s huge, cobalt blue eyes lit up. “Pizza? Really?” She squealed out the words.

“Yes, really,” Kate said, laughing. “Pizza. With lots and lots of extra cheese, extra pepperoni, and extra “smushrooms,” just the way you like it.”

“Yessss!!” It was a hiss, and both Kate and I laughed out loud.

“Don’t eat too much, Janelle,” I said, looking her up and down. “Lord knows you can’t afford the extra weight.”

“Huh?” Janelle looked down at her waifish little body, then back up at me. “Cut it out, Aunt Meagan! I’m not fat!”

“No, you certainly aren’t, little one,” I said. “I was being sarcastic. You could stand to put on about ten pounds, actually.”

Kate gave me a look. “You sound like Mom,” she said, smirking at me.

I grimaced. There’s very little love lost between our mother and I. “Don’t even think like that,” I said.

“Too easy, Meagan,” she grinned. “Just too easy.”

I stuck my tongue out at her. Yeah, I’m really mature sometimes. Janelle giggled.

“Okay, we should be going,” said Kate. “Just show up whenever, Meagan, and I’ll put you right to work.”

I followed my sister and my niece to the front door. Janelle made a quick detour into the living room, stopping near the two glass aquariums that hold my pet boa constrictors. Kate gave a grimace of distaste.

“Bye, Ellie, bye, Nellie,” Janelle sang.

The snakes didn’t move. They’d been fed the day before, so they were quite lethargic.

Kate shook her head, but she didn’t say anything. She’d given up making comments about my choice of pets.

“Bye, Aunt Meagan! See you tomorrow!!”

“Bye, Sweetie,” I said. “Try to get a little bit of sleep tonight, okay?”

“I will,” Janelle said.

“Fat chance,” said Kate, smiling.

After they left, I returned to the kitchen, heated up some leftover meatloaf, and made a sandwich for myself. After I’d eaten, I poured a glass of wine, and set to work baking Janelle’s birthday cake.

I have a pretty good sense of design. It’s what I do for a living, after all, and I’d decided to do a special theme for Janelle’s cake. I’m also a pretty good baker, so I was looking forward to doing this for her. The cake would be chocolate, of course, Janelle’s favorite. The motif would probably irk my younger sister, but not nearly as much as the reason I’d chosen it. I grinned suddenly. Kate was going to be pissed off at me, but she’d get over it.

After I’d baked and cooled the cakes, I set about cutting, arranging, and decorating the result. I was pleased. I’d done a pretty good job, actually. Janelle would love it, I knew. Transporting it might be a problem, though. I’d have to find a way to stitch together a box that was long enough and wide enough. I’d figure something out.

By the time I was finished, it was almost midnight, and I was tired. I went upstairs to the bathroom, peeled off my clothes, turned on the shower, and waited for the water to get hot. As I waited, I did a short appraisal of myself in the bathroom mirror.

While I’m beginning to show some signs of the fact that I’m well beyond the wrong side of thirty-five, all things considered, I’m not doing too badly in the looks department. I’m five feet, seven inches tall, and I weigh in at about one-thirty. Not skinny, but not close to being fat, either. I try to work out on a semi-regular basis, and I’ve managed to keep fairly trim looking.

The one thing that I really hate about myself is my hair. My sister Kate has the exact same hair that her daughter does, that luscious, brilliant strawberry blonde that just gleams in the sunlight. I’d ended up with mousy, dirty blonde hair that always looks dull to me. I refused to color it, though. Even professional dye jobs will ruin your hair eventually, and I’d rather have the plain, dull color and keep my hair healthy than ruin it with chemicals. My hair is all one length, falling to the top of my breasts.

Overall, I’m satisfied with my body. I have curves in all the right places, and I have a splendid ass, if I must tell the truth. My breasts are starting to feel the pull of gravity, though. Not too much, not yet, at least. But the sagging is starting to set in. They’re a healthy, 34-C, with bright pink nipples capping the tips. My nipples are rather prominent. They seem to be in a perpetually erect state. While that can be attractive, it can also force me to have to wear a padded bra sometimes, mostly for business purposes. It’s a small sacrifice though, considering that they can be a turn on for some women. Works for me!

I keep my pubic hair trimmed to a proverbial “landing strip” that’s about a half-inch wide, and ends right at the top of the cleft of my labia. I shave there daily, so the skin is as smooth as the day that I was born. The first time that I shaved my pubic hair, I was amazed at how much more sensitive I was to caresses and touches, and I vowed to keep it that way permanently. My almost total lack of pubic hair makes masturbation even more pleasurable than it had been before. And I tend to masturbate a lot.

No, really. I mean, a lot. Like, twice a day at the bare minimum, whether I’m seeing anyone or not. Three times that number on a regular basis. Currently I’m flying solo, so I do spend a good amount of time pleasuring myself. What can I say? I like orgasms…

My legs are passable, slender without being too thin, and not heavily muscled. My pussy is rather girlish looking; by that I mean that my inner labia are small and rather delicate. They don’t protrude into view unless I hold myself open. Otherwise, they’re hidden from sight, much like a young girl. In a sense, it adds a bit of an illusion of youth to my appearance, at least when I’m naked. I rather like that.

Satisfied, I turned to the shower, which was now steaming hot. I got in and reached for the shampoo, washing my hair, then adding conditioner and letting it sit there and soak in while I soaped up my body. I felt the familiar tingling spasm in my belly when I slid my slick hands down over my pussy, and I lingered there for a moment, caressing myself.

Decisions, decisions… Should I masturbate now, or wait until I was comfortably snuggled into bed? Or both? That sounded like a good idea, but I was really tired, and I decided that I’d rather wait until I was in bed, so that I could drift right off to sleep when I was finished. With mild pang of regret, I stopped caressing my pussy, and finished up getting clean.

I rinsed off, rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, turned off the shower, and slid the door open, reaching for a towel. I blotted the excess water from my skin, then wrapped the towel around my head so my hair wouldn’t be dripping down my back. I reached for the jar of body cream on the vanity, and scooped some out, beginning to rub it into my skin. Gotta keep the skin moisturized, you know. Can’t have it drying out on me.

As I massaged the cream into the skin of my breasts, I felt that stab of desire in my pussy again. Jesus, I really was horny! My hands lingered at my breasts, spending far more time than was necessary just to massage in some body cream. I rolled my nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, gasping as I pinched down hard on them. My pussy suddenly felt warmer, damp with a wetness that had nothing to do with the shower that I’d just finished.

Quickly, I finished massaging the body cream into my belly, legs, and ass. When I started to rub it into my pussy, I sagged a little. God, that felt good! I spread my feet a little wider apart, using both hands to massage the cream into my mons. It only took a few seconds for me to be massaging more than just body cream into my skin. My pussy had started to leak, heavily.

I need to get to bed, I thought. Right now…

I pulled the towel from my head, making sure that I dried it enough so that it wouldn’t soak my bedding. I hung the towel on the rack to dry, then quickly padded off to my bedroom. I turned the blankets down, then opened the drawer of my nightstand.

More important decisions… which toy did I want? I have a fairly extensive collection, but I keep my favorites in the nightstand drawer, close at hand. I do try to be prepared for every eventuality.

I settled on a slender purple vibrator with a wired remote control. The wire could be a pain at times, but it has an amazing variety of settings, and it never fails to help bring me to several screaming orgasms. I left the lubricant in the drawer. I was relatively certain that I’d have no need for it. I seldom do, unless deep anal play comes into the activities. If that happened, it would still be close by.

I know, I know. I’m horny and oversexed. A lesbian nymphomaniac, if the truth has to be told. I prefer to think that I just have a very healthy appetite for sex. You should try it. It’s rather fun, and quite rewarding.

I dimmed the bedroom lights, but didn’t turn them off. Unlike some women I’ve known, I’m rather visual when it comes to sexual activities. I like to see as well as touch and taste. I prefer to leave the lights on when I’m playing. Dimming them just makes things look a bit softer, more romantic.

What? Just because I’m flying solo doesn’t mean that I can’t be romantic with myself, does it?

Two walls of my bedroom are floor to ceiling mirrors. That means that pretty much anytime I want to look at what’s going on in my bed, I only have to turn my head slightly to get a couple of different angles on the activity. I’d stopped short of having a mirror installed on the ceiling above the bed, though. It seemed a bit much. I do still toy with the idea now and then. Maybe one day.

I slid onto my bed, my body now tingling all over in anticipation of a soon to be realized orgasm. Or two. Maybe three, even.

I relaxed down into my pillows with one hand behind my head, my hair lying damp on the tops of my breasts. Slowly, lazily almost, I began to trail my free hand lightly down my body, starting at my collarbone and gliding softly over the skin of my breasts, then my belly, my hips, and along one thigh. I felt my skin tighten as goosebumps rose up in response to the touch. Using the tips of my fingernails, I trailed my hand back up along my skin, shivering slightly at the sensation. Almost a tickle, but so much more.

Turning my head to one side, I watched myself as I continued the slow, teasing exploration of my own body with my fingertips. As my nails brushed over my pussy, I felt a wet spot beginning to form on the sheet beneath my ass. I moaned softly, sliding the palm of my hand up along my belly to my left breast. I watched in the mirror as my hand slid up to cup it, still more firm than not, squeezing it gently.

My fingers dug firmly into the flesh of my breast, kneading it, and I moaned again. Bringing my fingertips together slowly, I grasped my left nipple, pinching it hard, then rolling it between my fingers. I pinched down harder and pulled, lifting the weight of my breast up away from my body by the tip of my nipple, and moaned again. My nipples like to be treated roughly.

Still watching myself, I dipped my head downwards, my hand moving under my breast and lifting it towards my face. I opened my mouth, and sucked my nipple in, closing my teeth on it. I stared at myself as I bit down, bringing yet another moan and making my hips writhe on the bed, the wet spot growing larger. I bit harder, the tip of my tongue fluttering over my nipple as I worried at it with my teeth. I felt a sharp spasm in my pussy, and I knew that the first orgasm wouldn’t require the use of any toys.

Panting, I released my nipple from the grip of my mouth. It fell back with a soft slurping sound as my mouth let go. Damn, but I was horny! Of their own volition, both of my hands slid down my body, fingertips pressing down against my mons, sliding down between my legs. I gasped as one finger slid into the cleft, brushing across my clit, already swollen and distended, peeking out from its delicate little hood.

My pussy almost ached with need. I was close already; this was going to happen fast tonight.

I turned my head again as I spread my legs wide, pulling my feet up and dropping my knees sideways so that I was splayed open. I moved my gaze to the wall that faces the foot of the bed, another wall of mirrors. I saw my legs spread almost obscenely wide, my pussy gaping open and glistening with wetness. I put my hands on my knees, and slid them up along my inner thighs. When they reached the top, I brought my left hand up further, settling my first three fingers into the open cleft of my labia, so that the pad of my middle finger rested directly on top of my swollen clit. I moaned again.

The first two fingers of my right hand dipped into my pussy, sliding easily through the wet, slick lubrication there. I gasped, both at the sight and at the sensations, and began to move the fingers of my left hand in a steady circle on my clit. I watched as my hips lifted, bringing my ass up from the bed, meeting my hands and burying the fingers of my right hand deeply into my wet tunnel.

I moaned loudly as I felt the first hard spasm clench my pussy. I was sloppy wet tonight; well, I usually get quite wet anyway, but it was heavy even for me. I could hear the liquid sounds as my fingers began to pummel into my pussy faster and harder. Looking into the mirror, I could see the fluids flowing freely over my hand and down the crack of my ass, soaking the sheet beneath me. I should have brought that towel with me, I thought, then promptly forgot to care about it.

My left hand was moving faster, too, rubbing tight little circles against my sensitive clit, sending wave after wave of pure pleasure through my body. I pressed them down harder, moaning, reveling in the ecstasy that was washing over me in endless, hot waves. I felt the peak beginning to approach, and I groped my way towards it, reaching desperately for the sweet, overwhelming release of orgasm.

I felt it rising from deep inside my pussy, like a hard knot in the pit of my stomach, slowly unwinding itself. My ass clenched tightly as my pussy started to spasm in rhythmic waves, muscles rippling, caressing the fingers that were buried deep within me. The last thing I saw in the mirror before my eyes rolled back in my head was a deep crimson flush spreading over my upper chest and into my neck. I didn’t see anything after that, all I could do was feel…

When it hit me, it was amazing. There’s that old cliche about an orgasm washing over you like waves; this was no wave, it was a fucking tsunami! Dimly, I heard myself moaning, a long, deep growling sound that seemed like it was being ripped from inside of me. My mind lost all coherent thought, I was only aware of blackness peppered with exploding, silvery pinpoints of light behind my eyelids. Talk about fireworks!

It went on and on. My fingers were crammed as far into my pussy as I could force them, almost being crushed by the spasms that ripped through me. The fingers on my clit had slowed, but pressed down with much stronger pressure now; a slow, hard, circular motion against the sensitive, blood-engorged little nub. My body was rigid, arched up off the mattress, shuddering it’s way through this mind-numbing explosion. I only know that I was still breathing because I continued to let out that long, gutteral moaning sound.

It left me slowly, almost reluctantly. I let it do what it wanted; I was incapable of arguing with anything about anything. I didn’t have the energy; even breathing seemed like work at the moment. My breasts were heaving. When I opened my eyes finally, still at the tail end of that orgasm, I glanced in the mirror next to me, and saw that I was still arched up from the bed, body still tense. My chest and neck were deeply flushed. My ass and thighs were quivering from the strain of holding myself up in that position. The sight was erotic as all hell.

Slowly, I let my ass sink back to the mattress. The hand that had been working my swollen clit fell to my side; my right hand stayed where it was, fingers crammed into the wet heat of my pussy. The slick walls were still rippling around them, though the spasms had lightened now, responding to the little aftershocks that coursed through my body, making me twitch and tremble. I rolled my head so that I was looking up at the ceiling and blinked very slowly once, twice, then a third time.

“Holy… fucking… Christ… Almighty…” It came out as a hoarse, ragged whisper.

I was pretty sure that Christ Almighty hadn’t just been fucking me, though that orgasm could have been described as divine. Christian believers will tell you that sex is a gift from God. They might just have something there. Though, most good Christians would probably view my indulging in what they tend to think of as self-abuse with some measure of condemnation. Personally, I prefer to think of it as self-love. Whatever. I was pretty sure, though, that if Christ himself ever did decide to fuck me, even he would have a hard time matching that orgasm. Wouldn’t matter anyway, because I don’t do men. Although if they could make me come like that, I might have to reconsider my position.

Okay, so my mind goes in strange directions when I’m well and freshly fucked. Even when I’m the one doing the fucking. Sue me.

I sighed, and let my eyes slip closed as I slid my fingers from inside my pussy, reluctantly. Automatically, I brought them to my lips, extending my tongue and cleaning the essence of myself from them. I’m not shy about things like that; pussy tastes wonderful, and tasting my own is almost always amazingly erotic. When I had cleaned all traces of my own wetness from them, my hand fell back on the pillow above my head. I was literally spent.

Do I want another one? I wondered silently.

Hell, yes, I did. There’s no such thing as too much sex, and particularly, no such thing as too many orgasms. But that one had exhausted me completely. My body still quivered here and there with aftershocks, but I was completely worn out. My mind felt like I’d just finished drinking a magnum of wine by myself, but without any risk of a hangover. In fact, I was aware that when I woke in the morning, I was going to feel absolutely wonderful.

There would be time enough in the morning to play again. In the morning, I thought. Right now, I just want to float away on this dreamy afterglow and drift off to sleep.

That’s precisely what I did. But for some reason, I found myself with a picture of Janelle’s pretty, smiling face in my mind as I sank into unconsciousness. What the hell? I thought dimly. What are you doing here, Sweetie? It was the last thing I was aware of as I fell into slumber.

Continue on to Chapter 2

By Passing Cloud

Trembling with excitement, I crawled even closer. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to embarrass myself with my inexperience, but I couldn’t miss out on this fantastic opportunity.

I tentatively reached out and put my hand on her thigh, just above the knee. She inhaled deeply, then said, “Can you all see? Come closer if you want.” She lifted her hips slightly as if to emphasise the point and then, to me, said, “Move your hand up, further, right to the top. I’ll tell you what to do.”

The other girls shuffled closer. Kathy focused the torch between Maria’s outstretched legs. Maria moved her hand to her vulva and carefully spread her labia. It was a revelation to me when I saw how wet her pink slit was. I could clearly see the neat lines of her lips, and the bud of her clitoris. I thought it was perfect.

Kathy also showed her appreciation, whispering, “Oh, look at that. Oh God. That’s brilliant.”

As instructed, I moved my hand along Maria’s thigh. Her skin was smooth and soft. I caressed it gently as I inched towards her beautiful cunt. I said the word in my head: cunt. It somehow enhanced the moment for me.

Maria spoke to me again. “Put your finger here.” She pointed to her clitoris.

I carefully placed my fingertip on the glistening point.

“Rub it,” she instructed. I noticed her voice had changed. It was softer, yet breaking somehow, as though she was having difficulty speaking. I understand now. I didn’t understand then. It didn’t stop me from doing what she said, though.

Gently, carefully, I tickled that beautiful bud with the tip of my finger.

I kept doing it when she started to move her hips around, and carried on as she lifted them up, pushing her cunt towards me. She took hold of my hand then, stopping my movements. She sighed heavily again and clamped her legs tightly together. “Ooooh, that feels really nice,” she breathed. “Better let the others have a go, though.”

She kept her legs tensed together for another few seconds, then sat up, more composed. “Sit here,” she instructed me. As I moved to sit next to her, she opened her legs again, affording the other three a clear view of her sex.

“Who’s next?” she grinned.

With what, in retrospect, can only be described as a leer, Nancy volunteered, “Me!” and scurried into place between Maria’s thighs. Without any preamble, she put her hand straight onto Maria’s vulva. I saw her fingers slide into that wet slit and watched breathlessly as she worked her hand along the entire length. Up and down. Long slow rhythmic strokes.

Kathy and Jude edged closer, bringing the torch between Maria’s thighs and highlighting the lascivious detail in sharp relief. Nancy was clearly enamoured. As she caressed and probed between Maria’s thighs, she was constantly murmuring, “That’s lovely. Feel that. God, it’s so wet.”

Maria, still sitting up but leaning back on her hands, turned her lovely face towards me. I could see in the subdued light, on the periphery of the torch beam, that her cheeks were a little flushed, her eyelids heavy.

She looked so beautiful.

To Nancy she said, “Don’t stop,” then to me, closer, her lips almost touching my cheek, “It’s your turn now, Sis. While they’re doing that, take your knickers off. Let me see.”

I felt a moment’s hesitation about exposing myself in front of the others, but that passed. I had already, in my mind, committed myself unreservedly to Maria and so, in an excited rush, I pulled my little pants down and off. I gripped them in my fist as I sat beside her, and my heart raced again as she put a warm hand on my thigh and started to push my skirt up.

Her lips were still close to my cheek, and I could feel her body moving in time to the steady rubbing of Nancy.

I heard Jude say, “Let me have a go!” Nancy, reluctantly I thought, gave way to Jude, but then saw Maria lifting my skirt and, with a grin, moved over to sit the other side of me. Kathy saw too, and shone the torch in my direction just as Maria lifted my skirt above my waist.

I squirmed in the glare of light, turned my head away and squeezed my eyes shut, but when Maria whispered. “Open your legs, Sis,” I did just that. I lay back and wantonly spread my thighs as wide as I could.

Maria leaned over me. I could feel her breath on my face when she spoke. “What a pretty little cunt. Let me feel.” She in turn was still being attended to by Jude, and it seemed that in leaning over me, she’d spread herself open just as wantonly as I had.

Jude, in awe, whispered, “Oh Maria, that’s fantastic. I can see everything.”

I sensed the light move back to Maria as her fingers started to play with my vulva. She stroked my slit gently, and I raised my hips a little to allow her easy access to all of it. She murmured appreciatively, “That’s right. Lift up. Keep your legs open.”

In the background, my sister Kathy exchanged places with Jude. She said to Maria, “Is that all right? Can I touch you here?”

Maria, maintaining her stroking of my slit, turned to Kathy. “Do what you want. Put your fingers inside if you like.”

I heard Kathy give a little appreciative, “Oh, yes,” as Maria turned back to me.

Maria probed a little between my tight lips, rubbing and tickling. It felt so, so good. Then she found a particular spot which, as she touched it, made me gasp — and my hips jerked in a reaction I couldn’t control. I felt, rather than saw, her smile. “Is that nice?” she asked, concentrating her attention on that one spot.

I managed to reply, “Yes. Yes. Don’t stop. Please!”

Then Maria turned to Jude and Nancy. “You can feel my tits if you want, while Kathy’s doing that.”

Jude replied, “Me first!” and I heard her scrabbling across the mats to indulge.

Nancy, in control of the light, first played the beam between Maria’s legs so she could watch Kathy’s fervent fingering, then scanned up her body to gaze in envy at Jude, stroking Maria’s lovely breasts, and then to my stretched thighs where Maria was giving me her delightful attention.

For me, though, heaven was descending. The feeling between my legs was getting more and more intense. I couldn’t speak. I know I was lying almost rigid now, my mouth agape, eyes staring into nowhere. All I understood was that my darling Maria was giving me such pleasure, such a feeling — like nothing I had ever known or imagined. On and on, she moved her fingers until I couldn’t feel them anymore. Not like fingers. Not like a part of someone, just a wonderful, wonderful feeling. Growing, growing, and then, and then…

I heard myself cry out. I couldn’t control it or stop myself. My back arched violently. My hips thrust high into the air. I was pushing upwards with all my strength — stretched, convex, heaving, balanced on my shoulders and heels. Great waves of ecstasy tore through my tiny body. I heaved, I moaned, I stared wildly at Maria, who was smiling at me as her fingers continued to play.

“How does it feel?” she gently asked as my first orgasm ripped me, bared me to my soul.

I tried to reply even as wave after wave of pleasure engulfed me. My mouth opened and closed. Guttural noises issued. I tried to smile my pleasure, my joy — but another wave hit me, and another, and my back arched again. My hips trembled and heaved.

My first orgasm. I remember it so well. It makes me wet even now to think of it, to think of Maria, my first love. My first lover.

I don’t remember much about us getting dressed and moving out — back into the ‘real’ world of sunshine and innocence — but we did. We all managed to compose ourselves and go about our normal business. Although I know I spent most of that afternoon in a dream state, rerunning those events again and again. The wonderful feeling that had almost overwhelmed me left a residual warmth and tingling between my eager young thighs, and a fantastic state of well-being throughout my whole body.

The main thing, though, was the turmoil in my mind. It wasn’t confusion, or apprehension. I wasn’t upset in any way, I just wanted more: more of that fantastic physical sensation that my lovely Maria had given me, more of those subtle longings that had so excited me as I watched her strip, as I inspected her nakedness, as I touched and stroked her secret places.

The walk home with my sister was strangely subdued. It was as though the sudden extreme intimacy we had shared ‘under the stage’ should be confined to that place: a secret, not something that should be brought into our routine lives.

Later that night, however, as we lay in bed in our shared room, Kathy whispered in the darkness “You know, today…”

“Yes…” I responded.

“When Maria did that to you…”

“Yes?”

Did it really feel that nice?”

I paused before answering, reliving the moment again in my mind. “It was fantastic,” I eventually replied.

Another pause, then, “Will you show me what she did, Sis? I saw her hand between your legs, rubbing… and then you started jerking around and I couldn’t really see what she was doing.”

“I’m not sure,” I replied, “she tickled me in a special place, right on my button. It felt different.”

The room was quiet. I could hear Kathy breathing, she was obviously waiting for me to carry on.

Finally I whispered, “Do you want me to do it to you?”

In a small voice — it seemed unusual for my big sister to sound so meek — she replied, “Okay.”

It was a warm night, so I quickly slipped out of bed and quietly padded across the room to where Kathy was waiting. I was wearing pyjamas, but I could see, as I sat on the edge of her bed, that Kathy was wearing a nightie. Well, not actually wearing it. She had pulled the bedclothes to one side and drawn her nightdress up to her chin, so in effect my elder sister was lying there naked.

I looked at her body, gleaming in the half light. Her skin seemed pale, almost blue. I let my eyes wander the length of her torso. I noticed the slightest hint of budding breasts and then, further down, her slit — hairless, like mine. She looked young, much younger than Maria, even though they were nearly the same age.

Nevertheless, I realised that I was enjoying looking at my sister’s body. I had never really thought of her in a sexual way before (not until earlier today), but there I was, about to do things to her which I really didn’t understand, things that were so personal and intimate that I had to catch my breath as I thought about it. The same feeling started to grow in my ‘cunt’ as it had earlier with Maria.

I was aroused.

I gently placed my hand on her belly. She flinched, but didn’t move. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted and expectant.

As I started to move my fingers across her skin, I realised with a thrill that I could do what I wanted to this naked girl’s body. It didn’t even matter that it was my sister. It was as if I was watching this scene, slightly detached from it, and could therefore study it more intensely. I savoured the freedom with which my fingers roamed across her belly, up to her chest, tracing the lines of her ribs as she wriggled her torso under my gentle tickling.

“Don’t move,” I gently instructed. To my delight, she held still, her back slightly arched and tensed.

“It tickles,” she murmured, her eyes still tightly closed.

“It’s supposed to,” I lied, enjoying this power over my big sister, relishing her strange compliance. “That makes it better. See how long you can stand it.”

So I started this new little game, a game within a game. I don’t know where it came from, but the excitement and arousal I was feeling grew suddenly much more intense as I delighted in being in control, of bringing a little sumptuous torment to my naked, submissive sister.

With the lightest of touches, my fingers played all over her exposed skin. My right hand wormed its way to her nipples, my fingers working rapidly — tickling, tickling. My left hand, working in a similar way, crawled lustfully down to her thighs, tickling again along that sublime little crease that lies in a little girl’s groin, formed by her vulva and thigh.

I stroked along the soft skin on the inside of her thighs and, with the faintest of caresses, like a breath, touched her lightly on her tiny, tight slit.

She opened her eyes then, as a little gasp escaped her moist lips. “Oh!” She stared blankly for a brief moment, as though concentrating on something invisible; something in her mind’s eye. Then, with a sigh, she closed her eyes again.

I whispered, “Open your legs, Kathy.”

She instantly stretched her thighs wide, drawing her heels up almost to her buttocks. Her hips were slightly raised. “That’s it, that’s it,” I said. “Like that. Now don’t move.”

I ran my finger along the length of her slit and bent my head closer, so I could see better what I was doing.

Kathy’s raised hips and stretched legs revealed her to me completely. For the first time, I could see my sister’s anus in complete detail. Strangely, this excited me even more — such a personal, private place. I wanted to touch her there as well, but thought it might be too intrusive and so held back.

I concentrated on her slit.

On her ‘cunt’.

That word again.

Parting the smooth lips with my finger, I continued to rub her. I felt warm wetness as I sought out her ‘button’ and started to play with it.

It wasn’t long before we had set a rhythm. It just seemed natural. The fingers of my left hand caressed her clitoris in time with the undulations of her hips, while my right hand squeezed and stroked her nipples — first one, then the other.

It wasn’t long before Kathy appeared to be approaching the state that I’d reached earlier in the day. Her hips were raised higher, the movements more pronounced. She licked her lips, her breathing more rapid. She started to moan — a strange helpless mewling, like a kitten.

I giggled, couldn’t help it, then carried on with glee, a broad grin on my face. I was doing this to my sister, giving her this fabulous feeling just as Maria had done for me. Maybe Kathy would worship me afterwards, like I did Maria.

I kept going, faster.

Kathy started to heave, and her moans became louder.

Still grinning, I hissed, “Ssshh. Don’t make so much noise!” Remembering how Maria had questioned me in my helplessness, I cruelly asked, “How does it feel? Do you want me to stop?”

But unlike me, Kathy managed a reply. “Don’t stop. Keep doing it. It feels… it feels…”

Then she exploded. I was aware that I was seeing this from the other side. She was completely helpless, completely in my power as she convulsed and heaved beneath me. She clamped her thighs hard on my hand, but I still managed to work on her clitoris — tweaking it and rubbing it as, through lips pressed tightly together, her stifled moans inflamed my lust.

She flung her legs wide as I continued, then squeezed them back together, then wide apart again. Her head rolled from side to side and her hands twitched and flapped as her orgasm slowly, slowly  subsided. Eventually she calmed down.

I removed my hand — trailing a warm and sticky track across her belly as I did so.

She pulled her nightdress down, lay on her side and drew her knees up to her chest. We were both silent for a few moments. Her breathing grew quieter. She turned her face to look at me. A shy smile appeared.

“Next time you should take your clothes off, too,”

She couldn’t see as my hand moved under the bedclothes, slipped inside my pyjamas and felt my wet vagina. She didn’t know that my mind was awash with images of her and Maria, of naked young bodies, slick wet slits, smooth, wide-open thighs. She couldn’t see how, that night, I masturbated for the first time.

Continue on to Chapter 3

By Passing Cloud

{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in November 2012 }

It was many years ago that I attended primary school. My sister Katherine, who is three years older, was at the same school. We walked there together every day. In those days it was safe to do so. Unusually, I think, we got on well. She looked after me, and I respected and admired her. We were forced apart in classes by our respective ages, but always met up at lunch times. Her regular friends tolerated me at first, but after a while it just became accepted that I was part of the group and so I became affectionately known as “Little Sis,” and then simply “Sis.”

Childhood drifted slowly by, lazy hazy days of navy knickers and knee socks, laughter and innocence.

Then she arrived.

I was seven and my sister ten when we found out that a new girl was starting after half term in my sister’s class.

It was lunchtime of that first day, back when I met her. She had instantly become the focal point of Kathy’s group, and as I joined them in the playground she stood out like a beacon.

Her name was Maria B.

Half Italian, she had long, black lustrous hair; large, deep brown eyes; full red lips, and she was half a head taller than any of us. I was tiny by comparison, and looking up at her she seemed more like a woman to me than a girl — especially since, and I stared in wonder, she had breasts. Looking back, I suspect they weren’t as huge as my idealistic memory suggests, but at the time they seemed enormous. Ten years old with breasts! I was fascinated, entranced and, quite simply, smitten.

She noticed me staring at her and her eyes widened, a broad smile showing her gleaming teeth lit up her face and, with a rich, exotic accent she said, “Hello, little girl. Who are you? You are so pretty.”

Her tone was so kindly, her expression so warm, “smitten,” immediately became “in love”. It is true to say that from that moment, and for the next year and a half, until she moved on and out of my life, she was the centre of my universe. I worshipped and adored her, followed her around, tried to copy her mannerisms, even attempted to talk in her accent. She was my goddess and I would do anything for her. Imagine my delight, then, when I was invited to be one of her “special” friends.

A few weeks after that first day, as I was walking home with Kathy, my sister suddenly said, “What do you think of Maria?”

Surprised by the question, I stammered a little in my response. “I… I like her. She’s really nice.”

“She likes you, you know,” she paused. “She says you’re sexy.”

My heart leaped in my chest, my stomach churned, I felt myself flushing red… but not with embarrassment. I knew what sexy meant. Even at age seven. Little girls talk, you know, and they aren’t stupid.

“She says you can come under the stage tomorrow, around dinner time.”

Now I understood what “under the stage,” meant. In the school main hall at one end was a timber stage (typically used when the Head was holding assemblies or for plays and pantomimes and the likes) enclosed all round with boarding, but with an access door into a crawl space where gym equipment — mats and other apparatus — was stored. So going “under the stage,” meant precisely that. What I didn’t understand, however, was the implication.

So I said, “What for?”

Kathy came closer to me as we walked along and, leaning over, whispered in my ear, “Promise you won’t tell anybody?”

“Yes. Promise.” I was all curiosity now.

So Kathy continued, “Last time we did gym, we put the mats back under — me, Maria, Nancy and Jude — and Miss Kirk,” (the sports mistress), “left us to lock up. So we were in there for a few minutes on our own. We could see all right, ‘cos the door was open a bit and we were just messing about and laughing, and then all of a sudden Maria just said, ‘who wants to see my tits?’ Just like that. She just came out with it.”

I was at once shocked and excited. Shocked that my beautiful heroine could be so rude and forthright, yet excited to think about what else might be happening in that murky secret place ‘under the stage’.

“What did you say?” I asked in hushed awe.

“Well. We all said we did. Who wouldn’t want to see them?” she replied.

“So did she show you?” I gasped.

“Yes. She just lifted her blouse, pulled her bra up and let us have a good look.”

I was speechless for a moment as I tried to visualise this wonderful little tableau.

Eventually I asked, “What are they like?”

Kathy answered simply, “fantastic!”

Suddenly I was wracked with envy, so jealous that my sister had been so intimate with the girl that I adored that I felt close to tears. All was put right, though, when Kathy went on, “She reckons she can get the keys tomorrow morning, and we can sneak under and spend all dinner time there. And if you come too, she says she’ll strip off and let us see her with nothing on.”

I gasped in amazement. “Really? Nothing at all?”

“That’s what she said.”

My mind was racing now as it played strange erotic games. Between my little-girl legs, something was stirring. A welcome warmth.

Kathy continued, however. “And she reckons she’s got hair,” she nodded towards my crotch, “you know, there.”

Again my mouth opened in wonder. I thought of my own tight little hairless vagina. How childish I must seem to someone like Maria. I felt pathetic and inadequate, but filled with a fervent desire to see Maria naked; to see her breasts and pubic hair. I couldn’t imagine any more detail, but I was determined not to miss this opportunity.

“Anyway, she says you’re sexy,” Kathy carried on. “She likes your face and your bum, she says, and she wants you to come too.”

I was overjoyed and could hardly contain my excitement as I eagerly nodded, “Yes, I’ll come.”

But Kathy hadn’t finished yet, saying, “And she told me to ask you if you’ll take your knickers off for her. She said she wants to give you a feel.”

Now this was different territory indeed. I hadn’t even considered anything like it, even in my fantasies. My dreams of Maria had been romantic idylls at best — although I mostly saw myself as some sort of unworthy servant — being treated kindly, maybe stealing a kiss here and there.

I had never been touched intimately by anyone, other than my mother at bath time (so I knew a little of sexual pleasure — but that’s another story), and I was nonplussed by this development.

Confused but excited, I asked Kathy, “Why? Wouldn’t she rather do that to you or one of the others?” I thought about Jude and Nancy. They were both pretty. And sometimes they’d said things which suggested they’d already done something similar. Jude in particular, on one occasion, had said she’d been ‘fingered’ by her brother. I didn’t really understand fully at the time, but got the drift, I think.

“No,” Kathy replied. She sounded almost despondent. “Maria says she likes them little and smooth. What should I tell her?”

Suddenly elated, I grinned at Kathy and said, “Tell her she can do anything she wants!” and then I skipped all the way home.

That evening passed in a silent frenzy of anticipation. Although I slept soundly (as far as I can remember), the next morning — especially during lessons — my mind was in similar turmoil. I can remember my inability to concentrate and was, unusually, berated by the teacher for, “obviously not listening.”

Eventually it was dinner time, and I literally raced to meet my sister and the others (one other, especially).

To my absolute and utter delight I saw, as I raced around the corner of the main hall, the little group complete. Kathy, Jude, Nancy and, dominant in her statuesque beauty, Maria.

She saw me running towards them and beamed at me. Her beautiful lips uttered words I’ll never forget. “We’ve been waiting for you, Sis. Do you want to see what I’ve got to show you?”

Beaming back, I nodded vigorously, and so Maria took my hand (I was almost in ecstasy now) and, glancing around to make sure no-one was watching, opened the side door to the hall.

We slipped inside and headed straight for the stage.

I didn’t know how she’d got hold of the keys, and didn’t ask. I was just glad she had as she unlocked the low door and, glancing cautiously round again, ushered us inside.

Locking the door behind us, we crawled into the middle of the space under the stage. Equipment was scattered around, but there was a reasonably sized area of open space where the gym mats lay. We flopped down on them and slowly allowed our eyes to accustom themselves to the low light.

Jude said, in a slightly disgruntled tone, “It’s a bit dark.”

“It’s a good job I brought this, then,” said Maria, and from her shoulder bag pulled out a large metal torch.

Jude giggled as Maria switched it on and flooded the space with a strong beam. Reaching across me (her breasts tantalisingly brushing my shoulder), she handed the torch to Kathy. “You hold it, Kathy.” My heart was racing. “Point it wherever you like while I do it.”

The next few minutes were some of the most memorable of my life. I watched in stunned fascination, my hand unconsciously pressing on the ‘hot spot’ between my legs, heart racing as the gorgeous Maria, my love, my mistress, at ten years old the queen of my universe, took off her clothes.

First she unfastened the buttons of her blouse and peeled it off — a little awkwardly in the confined space — and she was soon sitting there in her bra. I remember it was white, that’s all. Transfixed by the sight of her partly undressed, I stared at the swell of her breasts standing out in the sharp light of the electric torch. She paused for a few seconds, pushing her chest out.

“All right?” she asked. “Can you see okay?”

Invisible nods and a couple of choked affirmatives, spluttered in the dark outside of the torch beam, encouraged her to continue.

I saw her fingers hook underneath the front of her bra, noticed a little smile appear on her face, and couldn’t help myself gasping in delight as she lifted it, stretched and pulled it over her head, then sat back and caressed, squeezed and then cupped those beautiful firm orbs in her hands as she held them out for us to inspect.

Again she asked, “Is that all right?” Again, frenzied nods and strangled yeses.

She knelt up then, and started to work on the buttons of her skirt. My eyes, which had been desperately following the movement of her breasts, inspecting the glorious detail of her erect brown nipples, were now drawn to the activity of her busy fingers.

In seconds she had loosened the waist of her grey pleated skirt and dropped it to the mat. Sitting back down, she lifted her legs together and drew the skirt off. She quickly slipped her shoes off as well so now she was wearing only her white knee socks and a pair of white pants — really rather brief for a girl of ten, I now realise.

She knelt up again so we could see her better.

Cupping her breasts again, she said, “If you want, when I’ve taken my knickers off, you can take it in turns to have a feel.” I swear I nearly fainted with excitement.

Sliding her hands across her abdomen like some sort of elfin striptease artiste, she hooked her thumbs in the waist of her pants and, glancing up into the torchlight, said “Ready?” and then slid them down to her knees.

She quickly sat again, lifted her legs and slipped them off.

She was naked now apart from her socks, which she kept on. Instead of kneeling up, though, she stretched out on her back, opened her legs and said in a low voice, almost a murmur, “Shine the torch on my cunt. Have a good look.”

I knew the word. I knew how rude it was. I was surprised to hear it, but it seemed right. It made the moment more ‘rude,’ more ‘dirty,’ more erotic. Oblivious now to the other, older, girls, I leaned forward until my face was just inches away and stared in unbridled joy at the patch of hair between her thighs. It was the most excited and aroused I have ever been, and I loved it. I loved her.

She said, “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” I replied.

She stretched her legs even wider and said, “You can have first feel if you want.”

Continue on to Chapter 2