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Island of Joys, Chapter 6

  • Posted on June 16, 2017 at 1:37 pm

By Cheryl Taggert

Two more weeks went by, and life settled down to a routine of sorts. They would work in the morning, rest through the heat of the middle of the day, then do final chores in the late afternoon as the sun was setting. They were nearly finished building a hut from palm trees and other brush that had fallen over in a storm prior to their arrival — possibly the one they survived — and soon they would move into it.

Sharon was especially pleased with the way the hut was coming. The reason was she had begun to worry about something else entirely. She had spent some time with a man in San Francisco before she’d noticed her ex-husband and left for Australia. She had let him get her in bed. That had been nearly two months ago, and now she was late. She’d skipped a few periods in her life — they’d always been fairly irregular — but she’d never missed two of them in a row, and now she was overdue for the second one. That meant she’d last had a period over two months ago.

Not only that, but she was also waking in the morning and feeling queasy. She wondered what they would do if she were, in fact, pregnant. Nobody there had ever received any medical training, especially as it related to childbirth. She knew many women and babies died during delivery, and this preyed on her mind, troubling her to the extent that it was interfering with her sleep.

Beverly noticed Sharon was more tired than usual and approached her to find out what the problem was. She came to her during what they thought of as their siesta time during mid-day and asked her to take a walk with her.

Once they were out of earshot of the girls, who had already started kissing as a prelude to another bout of sex, Beverly said to Sharon, “Is something wrong? I’ve noticed you aren’t yourself lately and was wondering if there was anything I could do.”

Sharon heaved a deep sigh. She had known that eventually she would either start her period or have to talk to Beverly about this. And since her period was still absent….

“I’m late,” she said.

“Late?” Beverly asked, not understanding at first.

“My mensus,” was all Sharon could say. She felt she would burst into frightened tears at any second.

It suddenly occurred to Beverly she had endured two periods since their arrival, yet she hadn’t really noticed whether or not Sharon had gone through one. She was ashamed she hadn’t noticed.

“Do you think you’re ill?” Beverly asked, not even entertaining the idea that Sharon could be with child. After all, Sharon had not seen her ex-husband in a long time.

“No, not ill — at least not in that way.”

“Sharon, there’s no way you could be with child. You haven’t seen your ex-husband in a long time, and you even told me you would masturbate to avoid having sexual thoughts about him to avoid it.”

Sharon became cross with Beverly, her anger more the manifestation of her situation and worry than it was actually from being upset with her lover. “He’s not the only man in the world, Beverly!”

Only then did it occur to Beverly that of course, Sharon could have had sex with another  man. She herself had not even considered it after her husband’s death, so she had naturally thought that Sharon had been completely celibate after she’d left the monster she’d been married to, using only her hands for pleasure.

“Oh, Sharon, of course. I’m sorry. It just never occurred to me…. I mean, I never considered you might, well, have sex with someone else, but of course you would. You’re a healthy woman with natural desires, and you hadn’t, well, been forced into having sex with another woman yet. Oh, my, I’m so sorry.”

Sharon looked at Beverly and pulled her into a hug. “First, I’m sorry I became angry. It’s just that I’ve worried so much about this. And never think I’m being ‘forced’ into sex with a woman. I’m now wondering what I ever saw in a man, sexually. Our life is wonderful together, and I wouldn’t have it any other way — well, except for not being stranded on this island. And in addition to being late, I’ve been very queasy the past week when I woke.” She paused to look around the underbrush of the island, which was as wild as the sea itself. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do if I’m expecting. The baby would be born here in all likelihood. And there are no doctors, no hospital. We’d be on our own with this.”

“We’ve survived this far, haven’t we?” Beverly asked, hoping to cheer Sharon up and pulling her into another hug.

“But this is more than just a tummy ache. This is giving birth. To a real, live baby.”

“What became of that woman who is such a survivalist?” Beverly asked.

“She never had to survive childbirth without the benefits of a doctor, or at least a trained mid-wife.”

“Women have been having babies for centuries without either of them. We’ll manage just fine.”

“What if it’s breached? We don’t know what to do about that!” Sharon said. “Susan was a breached baby. It was such a difficult delivery.”

“You’re getting all worked up over nothing. You’ll probably start your period tomorrow, and this will all be worrying for no reason.”

“No, I know I’m pregnant. I just know it. I’m never late the second month after skipping a period, and I had this same nausea when I was first expecting Susan.”

“If you are, we’ll get you through this, and a year from now we’ll wonder what all the fuss was about.”

They returned to what they now considered home and found Karen and Susan locked in a sixty-nine. The women were not in the mood, but they enjoyed watching their daughters engaging in sex in what had become a daily event. After the girls climaxed, they lay back and caught their breath and cooled down.

The following week Sharon had started throwing up in the mornings. She had still not started her period, and she had begun to accept that she would be giving birth in another seven months or so. She wasn’t sure if she wanted a boy or girl, and the gender wasn’t that important anyway. She just wanted him or her to be healthy. Still, she could see an advantage to either sex. First, if it were a girl, then the girl-girl sex would just naturally continue when the baby was old enough to take part in the fun. Then again, if it were a boy, he could get Karen pregnant one day to continue the lineage of the two families. And because either gender would have its advantages, she decided not to worry about it at all. Like the pregnancy itself, it would work itself out.

But she did worry. Not about the gender but about the delivery. Beverly had said it would be fine, but what if something bad happened? Something bad was always happening to women in childbirth. They were in a modern age. The Industrial Revolution had brought along so many advantages to their lives in the mid-1800′s, and they had enjoyed those advantages in the world of San Francisco. But here on this island, life was different. They had only themselves to depend upon.

She was making herself sicker from the constant worry. Dark circles were starting to show beneath her eyes. Beverly noticed this and resolved to do something about it. Sharon, in her fatigue caused by the pregnancy, slept more than the others. When Susan asked Beverly what was wrong with her mom during one of Sharon’s naps, the woman decided it was time to tell the girls and see if they could do something to alleviate Sharon’s sense of doom, if not eradicate it entirely.

Beverly looked into the worried face of Susan and said, “Well, I suppose it’s time you both knew.”

“Knew what?” Susan asked, starting to cry as every possible thing that she’d worried might be wrong with her mother burst into reality in her mind.

“Come over here so we don’t wake her,” Beverly said, herding the girls into the underbrush a short distance from the unfinished hut.

“What is it, Mommy?” Karen asked, tears sprouting from her own beautiful eyes. “Is Sharon dying?”

“No, of course not!” Beverly answered, hoping she was right. Despite her assurances to Sharon, she was aware of what could happen during childbirth. Her own aunt had died giving birth to her second child. “She’s, well, she’s with child.”

Karen was instantly excited. “She’s going to have a baby!?” Her wet eyes now shown with glee in the glare of the sun.

Susan was much less enthused. Being older, she understood her mother’s predicament better than Karen did. “But… she could… die, couldn’t she?” she asked, a permanent sort of panic starting to set in.

“She’s not going to die,” Beverly said, doing her best to soothe the girl’s fears. “Women have babies all the time. After all, every person you’ve ever seen went through childbirth, and some mothers have a dozen babies or more during their lives.”

“But that’s with doctors. We don’t have doctors,” Susan said.

“No, we don’t, but I’ve helped with a birth before,” Beverly lied. She had no idea how to go about helping a woman give birth, but since she’d done it herself and had been conscious throughout, she felt she at least knew something about it. All the woman knew was that if she was going to cheer Sharon up, she had to have the girls’ confidence that all would turn out splendidly for them all, especially Sharon. A small lie was necessary as far as Beverly could tell.

“You have?” Susan asked, obviously cheered somewhat by this news.

“Yes, I have,” Beverly answered. Then to at least add a small part of truth to her lie, she said, “And after all, I’ve been through one birth myself, bringing this one into the world.” She gestured to Karen and smiled a smile she wasn’t feeling but hoped looked as though she were. Karen smiled in return, her excitement returning.

“You’re sure she’ll be okay?” Susan asked.

“Positive! And after all, she brought you into this world too, so she’s no novice either.”

“What’s a novice?” Karen asked.

“Someone who’s never done something before.”

“Oh,” she said. Then looking at Susan, she giggled and said, “You came out of her pussy!”

“Well, you came out of your mom’s pussy, too, you know!” Susan said, smiling.

Beverly relaxed a bit, feeling that hurdle was over now.

“Yes, you both came out of pussies, and so did Sharon and I. So, because it happens so frequently, we shouldn’t worry about it unless something happens that makes us worry. Until then, we’re going to be happy about this new baby brother or sister.”

Susan was suddenly shocked at this idea. “Brother? But I don’t want a brother! He’ll be walking around all day with his thingy hanging out!”

Karen’s eyes widened at this as well. “Yes, Mommy. We don’t want a brother! I don’t wanna have to look at his thingy every day!”

Beverly decided she would have to be truthful about this. She would have to get the girls to at least accept the idea of a brother should the baby be a boy. Otherwise, they would never accept him once he was born.

“Well, we have no control over that. And I will tell you right now that, boy or girl, we will love this baby completely. That’s nature’s way. You’ll be very surprised how much you will love the baby, no matter which sex it is.”

“Well, I want her to decide to be a girl!” Karen said.

“It’s not the baby’s decision or ours,” said Beverly. “It’s nature’s decision, and nature always knows what’s best. So whatever sex the baby is, we will know it was the best choice for that baby — and for us.”

“Okay,” said Karen, though her voice was dripping with reluctance.

Beverly looked at the girls, making sure she had their attention. “Now, girls, we have a job to do.”

“What job?” Karen asked.

“We need to make sure Sharon’s life is simpler from now on until she has the baby. We can’t worry her, because all mother’s worry about their babies. It’s another thing that is part of nature. We never stop worrying about them, in fact.”

“You mean you still worry about me?” Karen asked.

“Yes, my love, I do. And Sharon worries about Susan, and she especially worries about the new baby. As I said, it’s nature’s way.”

“So how do we help?” asked Susan, getting more involved with the imminent birth.

“We must work to cheer your mother up,” Beverly said.

“Well,” she said, pausing to build some suspense. “I was thinking about a… wedding!

“A wedding?” Karen asked. “But there’s no daddy for a wedding!”

“That’s what’s special about this one. This wedding will be uniting two women instead,” Beverly said.

“Can two women get married?” Susan asked.

“They can here,” Beverly said. “This is our island, and we can make whatever rules we want, right? I mean, we already allow everyone to go naked and have sex whenever they want as long as the chores are done, don’t we?” The girls nodded, enthusiasm growing in their faces. “That never happened in San Francisco, did it?” Beverly continued.

“No,” the girls said in unison.

“So since this is our own private island nation, we can make the laws. And our law says two women can get married.”

“Will it be you and my mom getting married?” Susan asked.

“Yes, it will.”

“Does she know?” said Karen.

“Not yet, but I think she’ll like the idea,” Beverly said, hoping she was right.

Susan smiled, a twinkle in her eyes. “Will you have a wedding night?” she asked, her meaning obvious.

“Certainly!” Beverly said, her own enthusiasm growing.

“And we can watch?” Karen asked, excited.

“You can do even more than that! You can join in!” Beverly said, and the girls were jumping up and down in complete joy.

Susan looked into Beverly eyes. “Is it okay if we practice for it now?”

“Sure,” Beverly said. “As long as you don’t wake your mom from her nap. Women in her condition need more sleep than the rest of us.”

At that, Susan jumped at Beverly and wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist. She kissed the soft flesh of Beverly’s tummy above her mound.

“So lie down!” the girl said, pushing on the woman to get her to lie on the small spot of sand so she could begin doing whatever she wanted to her.

When Beverly had lain on the soft bed of sand, Susan moved between her thighs, crawling up to where she could make love to the woman’s pussy.

Karen, meanwhile, had straddled her mother’s head and knelt there, wanting her mother to lick her bald pussy. The child was facing her mother’s pussy so she could watch Susan as the girl began touching and licking her mom’s pussy.

Beverly felt Susan’s mouth approaching her sensitive flesh. Her clit seemed to be straining for the contact as the child’s mouth came nearer. Susan’s breath was teasing the woman’s genitals, causing Beverly’s mound to anticipate the luscious bath Susan’s tongue would give it.

Meanwhile, Karen lowered her own bald mound to her mother’s mouth. As Beverly’s lips and tongue met the child’s clit, the girl hissed a moan of pleasure.

Beverly could see her daughter’s rosebud was clean as well and made sure her tongue traveled up to the tiny opening to bathe the tender spot. Karen made an ‘uhh’ sound as her mother moved her mouth to the girl’s butthole.

Through her own explorations, as well as Susan’s help, Karen had discovered how sensitive that spot could be. She recalled the first time Susan had touched her there with a wet finger to caress her friend’s private spot. She had been quite surprised at how nice the feeling was. Now, she especially enjoyed when her mom, Susan, or Sharon used their tongue there. It made her orgasms that much more intense.

Meanwhile, Susan used her fingers to spread Beverly’s mature outer cunt lips. Looking into the woman’s pussy, she could see the juices that thickly coated the delicate interior wings. A pool of Beverly’s honey sat at the entrance to her vagina, ready to be smeared throughout the woman’s mound or drip down to her butthole to coat it with nectar.

Susan decided there was a third choice. Leaning closer, she dipped her tongue into the tiny pool of milky wetness and scooped it into her mouth, which was watering for a taste of Beverly’s fluids. She allowed the creamy juices to coat the inside of her mouth then used her tongue like a fleshy spoon again to bring more of nature’s lubricant into her mouth. She swallowed the cream as though she were a starving kitten.

Then placing her mouth on Beverly’s slit, she began massaging the woman’s labia and clit with her tongue, doing her best to give her friend’s mother a magnificent orgasm.

Susan’s attentions made Beverly all the more determined to bring her daughter to climax. She redoubled her efforts, moving her tongue like a tiny switch, batting at her daughter’s clit and making the child whimper with the need to come. Karen’s mother moved her tongue back and forth on the small nubbin of hypersensitive flesh before bathing the child’s rosebud for a few seconds, whereupon she would return to little girl’s clit to start her manipulations once again.

Suddenly, a voice sounded from nearby.

“Well, what have we here?” Sharon had awakened to find no sign of Beverly and the girls, so she had come in search of them. She hadn’t needed to walk far to find the three in the middle of making love.

Beverly turned her gaze in the direction of the voice, but all she could see was her daughter’s cute little butt wiggling on her face. “Hi, Sharon,” she heard her daughter say, nearly breathless with the intensity of the approaching orgasm. “Mom’s licking… my pussy and… and my butt.” The girl hissed once again as the intense pleasure sliced through her once more.

“Is there a place I can join in?” Sharon asked, feeling more sexually aroused than she’s felt in weeks.

Susan stopped drinking from Beverly’s pussy long enough to say, “Lie down where Karen can lick you and I’ll move to where you can lick me while I lick Beverly.”

Looking over the sexy pile, Sharon decided the best thing would be to lie alongside Beverly’s legs where she could get to her daughter’s pussy, allowing Karen to lean over and lick her. Soon, each of them was licking someone while being licked as they formed a rather oddly shaped chain of sexual enjoyment.

Karen began to come first. The others heard  the child’s staccato moans rising in volume and intensity. She began to grunt out the orgasm that now had taken over her entire body. Beverly came next, her own moans joining the symphony of pleasure begun by her daughter. Soon after Beverly’s climax had crested, Susan started her own orgasm.

The only one who had not enjoyed a come yet was Sharon. The two girls and Beverly moved her so that she was lying on her back. The girls started with sucking and kissing Sharon’s breasts, and Beverly began licking the pregnant woman’s pussy. Then Susan was tapping Beverly on the shoulder, indicating it was her turn to lick her mom. Beverly moved to the tit that Susan had been suckling and continued giving her lover pleasure there.

Soon, Karen moved to Sharon’s pussy and tapped Susan, indicating it was now the youngest girl’s turn to lick Sharon’s soaked pussy. They continued this round-robin method of making love to Sharon until she climaxed intensely. Beverly was the one engaged at Sharon’s pussy when she came. The orgasm rippled throughout Sharon’s body.

Afterwards, they lay beside each other, each mother cuddling her daughter as they all basked in the afterglow of their peaks.

“We know, Mommy,” Susan said.

Sharon looked into her daughter’s eyes. “You’re okay with that?” she asked. “You don’t mind a younger brother or sister?”

“Well, I prefer a younger sister, but I guess if it has to be a brother, that’s okay too,” Susan said.

“There’s not much we can do about the gender of the baby,” Sharon said.

“Not much?” Beverly asked. “How about not anything?”

They all laughed at that.

“If it’s a girl, can we teach her about her pussy?” Karen asked.

“Of course,” Sharon said, “but we should wait until the baby has a chance to understand what we do is up to him or her first. The baby should be at least four before that can happen.”

“Oh, okay,” Karen said, obviously disappointed they would have to wait that long. “But I hope it’s a girl so we have another pussy to lick.”

“Me, too!” Susan said.

The women began kissing their daughters, passion building once again.

Soon they were making love again. This time they paired in a mother-daughter orgy. It wasn’t until hunger took them that they stopped, but by then they were all satisfied. And everyone, including Sharon, slept well that night. In fact, it was the first time Sharon didn’t worry about being pregnant. In fact, she found she was starting to like the idea of another child in their little family.

Chapter 7 is coming soon!

Sisters in Love

  • Posted on June 12, 2017 at 12:06 pm

By Cheryl Taggert

NOTE:  The following early story of mine was originally published at the now-defunct Sisters in Love website. I was given my own author page at that site by the SiL owner, and that was where many of my stories had resided, even those published elsewhere, such as at Nifty and Lesbian Lolita.

As many of you know, the owner of the SiL site eventually found religion and abandoned the site, putting in its place an exhortation to find God. I suppose this fact is evidence of how much religion can change a person. She had been consumed with fantasies about sisters having sex together since she was a teenager and watched two sisters kissing, or at least that was the story she told me, and I had, nor do I have, any reason to doubt her.

To my knowledge, this is the only story I published at SiL that did not appear anywhere else, and since I had kept no personal archives, I considered it lost in cyberspace forever. Then we discovered that someone out there had made electronic copies of the stories prior to the site’s dismantling. This led to our Other Sites archive, and JetBoy explained in a recent blog article how that developed. This story, however, is being published once again at the main Juicy Secrets site because, after all, I am both the author of this piece and part-owner of this website.

There was an original foreword to this story at the SiL site, but I won’t place it here since if you are reading this, you know what kind of imagination I have, along with the topic of my favorite fantasies. I spent most of that foreword defending the subject matter that permeates my stories. However, I did laugh at one thing: I used a pseudonym for Lisa’s sister, Rachel, since back then she had not given me permission to use her real name, not to mention she was still under eighteen at that time. As I’ve said – times, they do change!

So, here is the newly polished, long-lost story, which I have re-titled in honor of the dead website to pay homage to what once was a very stimulating repository for wonderful, lesbian-themed, incest-related erotica. And no, I did not know Lisa when I was sixteen years old. This entire story is pure fiction.


It is true that I am a lesbian. I admitted it long ago and recently found myself wondering what it would be like to enjoy sex with those whom I loved the most, my younger sisters, especially Tammy, the older of the two. It wasn’t until I was sixteen and had experienced touching and mutual masturbation with a friend, Lisa, that I found out how wonderful such an existence could be.

I was intrigued by the possibilities with my sisters, but a bit disconcerted by the label that surely accompanied such an act. Incest. It was such a taboo word. Ugly. Like rape or abuse and, in certain circles, lesbianism. But somehow these words just didn’t fit my image of what occupied my mind regarding my sisters. For one thing, I wasn’t wanting to control anyone or force anyone to do anything. Nor was I feeling that anything I could do would be categorized as abusive. My sisters, Tammy and Jenny, were very close to me. We had always been close, and even when I wanted to, I couldn’t control them or get them to do anything they didn’t want to do. In fact Jenny, the youngest, was the most stubborn of the three of us. So the very idea that I could “abuse” them was ridiculous. We loved each other. As it turns out, we loved each other in a way most people would find distasteful at best. But we are happy.

Trust me. If we ever did have any kind of erotic play, it wouldn’t be abusive. Loving, yes. Abusive? No way.

Perhaps I should explain how it came to be that we developed from loving sisters to LOVING sisters.

It was about ten years ago that it happened, when I was sixteen. I had been thinking these thoughts for a couple of months when the fantasy became a reality. And as it happened, I was not the one to begin the seduction. It was Tammy and Jenny who made the first moves. Since I am the oldest, how could that be abusive?

It all began when I was taking a bath and Tammy, who was fourteen at the time, entered the bathroom the three of us shared.

I was lying in the tub, enjoying the down time and the thoughts that were strolling through my mind. It wasn’t that I was horny exactly. I was just feeling, well, erotic. The warm water enveloped my body as I began to remember the time with my friend Lisa the night before. She had spent the night with me and we had fooled around, fingering each other and moving on to hump each other’s leg to orgasm, our usual method of mutual masturbation, but nothing more. Never anything more, it seemed. I was lying there in the water and wondering what it would be like to taste a girl. At that fateful moment, Tammy entered the bathroom. She needed to pee and couldn’t wait. Since we all three shared the one bathroom, I was used to this intrusion. Dropping her shorts and panties, Tammy sat on the toilet and began to talk while the sound of her pee splashed against the side of the bowl.

“Is Lisa gone home?” she asked.

“Yeah. She left about fifteen minutes ago. Why?”

“Just wondering,” she said, smiling slyly. I was immediately suspicious. I had seen that smile before. It meant Tammy knew something she wasn’t willing to tell, at least not without prodding. At fourteen, she could be a pest that way.

“What does that mean?” I asked, soaping my boobs. I noticed her eyes watching the movement of my bare hands as they soaped my larger titties.

“Oh, nothing,” said Tammy. The smile was still there, and as her older sister I worried that she may have something on me. Usually, when she said, “Oh, nothing,” she actually meant, “really something.”

“What do you know that you aren’t saying?”

“Oh, let’s just say I peeked into your room last night, and you weren’t exactly sleeping.”

It was obvious. She had seen me and Lisa together. There was obviously no reason to try to deny what had happened, her look said it all. I was caught.

“Are you going to tell?” I asked, suddenly afraid that she was setting up blackmail of her older sister.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

My little sister, true to form, was being enigmatic. I persisted.

“And what is THAT supposed to mean?”

“Well, it depends.”

“On what?” I asked, expecting something like I have to clean her room or do some other chores normally reserved for her.

“On if you’ll tell me about it or not.”

Now I understood. Tammy was curious and perhaps wanted to try it. I was not surprised really. She is, after all, my sister, and I was the girl incapable of going a day without a thousand sexual thoughts.

“Is that all? You just want me to tell you about it?”

“Well…. yeah.” She was hesitant to admit she was wanting to try it, but she was always the transparent sister. She couldn’t hide her thoughts if her life depended on it.

I realized she was still sitting on the toilet with her panties down below her knees. Her legs were spread, and I could see her downy slit, covered in her sparse, almost invisible, light blond hair. I looked up and noticed that her little nipples were beginning to show themselves through her cotton tee-shirt since she wasn’t wearing a bra. My God, she’s horny, I thought to myself. I felt myself getting warmer… everywhere.

“Well,” I began. “If I do tell you, you have to promise never to tell.”

At this point she would have promised anything. “Okay, I won’t tell Mom or Dad. I promise.”

I realized the omission. “What about Jenny? You can’t tell her either.”

“Too late. She saw you and Lisa too.” Her smile was enough to make me realize I’d been had.

Now I WAS nervous. Jenny, being only twelve at the time, would be harder to convince not to tattle. It occurred to me she may have already done so. Tammy read my thoughts. “She hasn’t told. I convinced her not to.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I told her I’d get you to tell us all about it.”

This was new. “US?”

“Yeah. If you’ll include her in your little story time, she won’t tell either.”

I was suddenly getting very horny despite my nervousness. This was sort of my own fantasy coming true. My sisters seemed to be willing to become involved in my sexual life. Could this be leading to even more? I was curious to discover if it would. I didn’t want to “seduce” my sisters, but they seemed to be trying to seduce me. I swallowed hard and felt the lump in my throat subside just a bit.

“Where is she?”

“In our room. She’s waiting to hear from me.”

“Are Mom and Dad gone yet?” My parents had been getting ready for work when I had started my bath. We were home for the summer vacation.

“Yes,” said my younger sister, grinning in the knowledge that she and Jenny had succeeded in their little “plan” for hearing how I got started with girl-girl sex. The house was ours since we were alone.

I made my decision. Not a difficult one to be sure, and I understood that it had been made the moment she had asked me to tell them about my night with Lisa. “Call her.”

“Jenny!” Tammy called out.

“Yeah?” we heard Jenny answer.

“Get your ass in here! She’s gonna tell us.”

I warmed the bath with more hot water while we waited for little Jenny to enter our mutual bathroom as well as what would become our mutual secret.

“Really?” Jenny asked when she had entered. She looked over at Tammy sitting on the toilet with her panties down around her ankles then at me in the bath. She had seen both of us naked before, plenty of times really, but there was something decidedly different about the way she was looking at us now. It was the same way Tammy had been looking at me since she had entered the bathroom. Now I realized what that difference was. They were both horny and were noticing me for the first time… noticing me sexually. I could feel the moisture between my legs increase. This could definitely be fun, I decided.

I took a deep breath and spoke up. “Okay. I will tell you everything, but ONLY if you don’t tell Mom or Dad — EVER!!!”

Jenny grinned. There was excitement in her eyes. “I promise.”

“First, tell me how you caught me.”

Tammy responded, telling how it happened that my most private moments were discovered. “I heard some moaning when I went past the door to your bedroom. I knew right away what was happening. I listened at the door for a couple of minutes and finally eased it open just a crack. By that time Jenny had seen what I was doing and had joined me. We watched you two humping each other. We saw you shudder really hard, and I took Jenny back to our room and explained that you had had an orgasm. She knows what they are, but she hasn’t had one yet.”

“Are you sure Mom and Dad didn’t notice what was happening?” I was still nervous that they might know something, especially since my sisters had caught me so easily. How difficult would it be for my parents to have heard?

“No. They were already in bed. I think they were fucking in fact,” said Jenny, a gleam in her eye at her use of the forbidden word.

I looked at my sisters. Both of them were staring at me, waiting for the details. Jenny was still in her pj’s.

Tammy was still in a tee shirt and her panties. Well barely, since those were gathered in a heap around her ankles.

“Okay, Lisa and I have been lovers for a couple of months now. We were talking about sex one night and Lisa asked if I ever masturbated when I was horny. We both admitted we did. Then the next thing you know, we were masturbating ourselves. No touching of each other at first. Just doing ourselves. Soon, one of her hands eased over and touched my thigh, up near my pussy. The feeling was fantastic. It was so different from touching myself. Even though she was just touching my leg, the touch was electric. I enjoyed that feeling, and decided she probably wouldn’t mind if I touched her thigh too. So I did. Her moans increased when I did that. We were lying side-by-side and her hand began to inch upwards towards my pussy. I was rubbing my clit and I could feel my skin responding to her touch. Soon her hand was at the crook where my leg and pussy meet. I was sure she could feel my pubic hair. I did the same, moving my hand to the same area on her. She squeezed the area there; I did the same. On we went, me copying her movements. Then she just turned and we dropped all pretense. We were hot for each other. Our hands sought out each other’s pussy. We began finger-fucking each other, lying close together, and we began kissing too. Soon, we began to hump each other’s thighs. Now that is our favorite way to do each other.”

“Have you ever….” Tammy began slowly, not sure how to say what was on her mind. I had been involved in my own story, not really noticing my little sisters. Now I saw that Tammy and Jenny had both been busy. Tammy now had her legs spread and her hand was in her lap, touching herself, not frantically, just enough to keep her pussy simmering. Jenny was rubbing her little pussy through the thin material of her pj’s. I could see through the material enough to notice that she was not wearing panties, but she rarely did for bed unless she was on her period, which had only begun a couple of months ago.

“Have I ever… what?” I asked, thinking I might know the question, but wanting to hear it said.

“…. eaten a pussy before?” Tammy finished, blushing. I decided it was definitely time to try it. Her hand increased its urgency. Jenny was watching Tammy, her eyes moving with the tiny movements of her sister’s hand.

“No,” I answered. “I take it neither of you have ever done anything with another girl?”

My own hand, almost without a thought from me, had begun exploring my throbbing clit. I was slippery wet, and not from the water. I was completely slick from my juices.

Tammy’s eyes followed my hand to its destination. She watched as her breathing increased, matching the gentle rhythms of her own touches. I decided to perform for both my sisters as Jenny turned her attention to me as well. My hand began its trained motions. My index finger entered my soft canal, coating itself with my juices. I leaned back, my left hand joining my right, and I began to masturbate for my little sisters.

I looked over and now Jenny had her pj’s down below her knees just like Tammy’s panties. She was playing with her little clit, which was swollen between her nearly bald, puffy lips. I could see the moisture there and the pinkness of her most private skin. Tammy was beginning to really get busy with her pussy. She had more hair around her cunt than Jenny did, but it was still very sparse. Jenny had a tiny growing patch of soft hair, so thin I could still see the bare skin of her pussy mound beneath it.

The sight of my baby sister’s pussy was too much for my over-sexed brain to handle. I felt my climax start deep inside my pussy and begin to work itself outward to the rest of my body.

I arched my back, and my two sisters watched in amazement as I came in front of them for the second time, but certainly not for the last time in our lives. I moaned and panted out the intensity of it. But it was far from enough. I had decided to taste Tammy’s pussy first, then Jenny’s.

I got up finally and squatted before Tammy’s heavenly, down-covered lips. She was glassy-eyed with her arousal. Jenny left her small chair and positioned herself on the floor to watch. I moved in and glued my lips to my younger sister’s pussy. It tasted wonderful, better than I had imagined in fact. She instantly responded. Her back arched, moving her pussy into my lips. I tongued that hard nub that was usually enfolded within her pussy, but which was now a firm button that was reaching for my tongue and lips. I could feel Jenny’s head hovering. I looked up. She was fascinated, aroused, rubbing her own little pussy. I could hear the squishiness of it. I reached up and kissed her passionately on the lips. She returned the kiss ardently. Her lack of experience was touching, her movements tentative. I stuck out my tongue and she tasted her sister on my mouth. I offered Tammy’s pussy to her. She hesitated for only a second and then plunged her face between Tammy’s thighs just as Tammy moved to the floor, placing her face at my pussy and beginning to lick me. I pulled Jenny to me. Soon we were in a delightful daisy chain. Finally, Tammy came, bucking against Jenny’s cum-smeared face. I then had the pleasure of giving Jenny her first orgasm. She was shocked by the sudden feelings that seemed to slam her body. Finally, I had my second orgasm, my third since the night before, rocking my hips against Tammy’s face.

Finally, we lay back to catch our breath. Then I looked at each of my little sisters.

“I guess you know this changes everything about our relationship?” I said to them.

“Isn’t that great?” Tammy said, smiling.

“I’ll say,” said little Jenny, exhausted and licking her lips to taste her sister’s juices on them.

“I think I agree,” I answered, thinking about the many nights and remaining summer days without our parents home that we would have together, and wondering how long ago we could have started this shared pleasure. “In fact, I know I do.”

*****

Well, that is my story of me and my sisters. We are older now, of course. And we live together as a loving threesome. My parents still don’t suspect anything, thinking we are just together for financial reasons. Roommates. We are more than that, of course. We are lovers. It is a double taboo, being both lesbians and sisters in a loving incestuous relationship. But we don’t care. The world can kiss our asses, for all we care.

In fact, that might even be fun.

Island of Joys, Chapter 5

  • Posted on June 7, 2017 at 12:40 pm

By Cheryl Taggert

The next evening, Sharon found herself unwilling to go to bed. She realized she had suffered through a night of unpleasant dreams the night before, and thinking about that had led her to discover the cause.

Her ex-husband.

Well, he wasn’t exactly her ex since they’d never divorced. But she would never see him again, and she was glad of that if for nothing else.

She decided she had to talk it out with Beverly or the images would remain with her, possibly leading to another restless night. They had mentioned him briefly, and that had been enough to cause her mind to suffer all through the night before. She hoped sharing her story would help alleviate the stress she was experiencing despite the surety that he would never find her, especially out here in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

As Beverly rose to go to bed — the girls had fallen asleep over an hour before — Sharon reached out and touched the younger woman’s arm. The touch seemed urgent to Beverly, somehow conveying an air of need, and she sat back down to look into the woman’s beautiful eyes, the brows now furrowed in worry.

“What is it?” Beverly asked. “Is everything okay?”

Sharon felt a tear begin a slow journey down her cheek and wiped it away.

“I’m not sure. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Why not?”

“I think it was because of my husband. We mentioned him and I think the memory gave me nightmares.”

“Oh, Sharon. I’m so sorry. Is there something I could do to help?”

“Would you listen to my story? I think if I got it out and talked about it at long last, I might find some relief from the terrible memories.”

“Of course,” Beverly said. “Please, go ahead. Empty your heart to me. I know talking about things that are troubling me always helps.”

Sharon took a deep breath, exhaled, and began.

“Well, my husband — whom, thank God, I’ll never see again — was a terrible man. I didn’t realize it at first, of course. He was charming, attentive, the perfect husband. Well, I should have been suspicious. Perfection is, after all, impossible. But he swept me off my feet. Romantic and so damn handsome. I was enthralled. I won’t lie to you. He was good in bed, and I even had quite a few fantasies about him that ended with multiple orgasms while alone in my bed at night before we ever even had sex for the first time.

“He held me under his spell until we were married. Within days, he had changed. Or rather I should say he didn’t change. He just allowed his true self to come out from behind the mask.

“The first time that happened, I had cooked him a wonderful dinner, but he was late coming home. And I mean late. He didn’t get home until well after eleven o’clock at night. He was drunk, something I’d never seen. And when I asked where he’d been, he looked at me with such… hatred and anger. I remember wondering if he was going to ask me for a divorce, claiming he had made a mistake.

“But I wasn’t that lucky. He called me terrible names, grabbed me by the arm, and told me never to question him again. He kicked me in the behind and I went sprawling onto the floor. He continued kicking, bruising me terribly. Then he grabbed my breast and twisted it, pinching and twisting the nipple until the pain was excruciating. I literally thought he was going to twist the damn thing off.

“Then he picked me up and threw me on the bed, ripping my dress off and tumbling on top of me. Soon, he was inside me and moments later, he was finished. It was the first time he had not made sure I was made to feel special and an object of supreme love. He rutted like a dog and cast me aside once he was through.”

Sharon looked down at her lap as if remembering the penetration — the rape really. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think I became pregnant with Susan after that night. If not that time, one of the times that followed, either accompanied by his anger and poisonous remarks, or just a quick fucking, one in which I was not an active participant.”

“Was every time like that?” Beverly asked, concern evident in her voice.

“No. There were good times, but they occurred so seldom really. There were times when he felt remorse from what he’d done and then he would revert to the nice person he had been, but that was short-lived, and I knew it wouldn’t last.

“Then,” she began, but the sobs that began to shake her kept her from talking.

“It’s okay,” Beverly said. “Forget him.”

“No,” Sharon said. “I have to tell you this. It’s the worst part and what I think was the trigger for the nightmares.”

Beverly sat back, knowing Sharon knew best and willing to listen to it all, no matter how ugly the story became.

“He, well, he started — allowing — his friends to have me.”

“You mean –?” Beverly could not say what she meant. It was too ugly for her mouth to give voice to.

Sharon nodded emphatically. “They were all ages, all… desires. Every orifice was assaulted. No form of debauchery was ignored.

“Then one night after Susan was born, he told me the truth. He was selling my body to his friends and their friends. He was making money from my pain and degradation. I was forced to do despicable things. He had even been selling me during my pregnancy, up until Susan was born. It was after that, he told me I had to get back into shape as soon as I could because, as he said, “Nobody wants to pay as much money as he charged for me if I looked like a pig. Apparently, they didn’t mind my stomach if I was pregnant, but they didn’t want the post-pregnancy flabbiness.”

“That’s — lord — that’s terrible. I have no idea how you didn’t kill yourself,” Beverly said before adding, “or him.”

“I thought about it, but then I’d look at Susan and know I couldn’t leave her like that. And as for killing him, that would end up with me in jail, making Susan a ward of the state. I couldn’t allow them to take my daughter from me.”

“And you stayed with him until just before we sailed?” Beverly asked, incredulous that she could handle such abuse for so many years.

“Not exactly. I left him when Susan was only four. Oddly, I left after discovering him in bed with her, licking her pussy. I think the thing about it that bothered me the most was that she seemed to enjoy it. I left him the next day, and I was surprised just how easy it was. I went to San Francisco and stayed and worked there until I saw him walking down a street in town. He didn’t see me, but I knew if he did, my life would be over. That’s when I found passage on the ship where we met.”

The tears had dried up, and Sharon just sat there, looking into the loving eyes of Beverly, the woman she was quickly falling in love with. She had been a very sexual person all her life, only finding sex to be a terrible aspect of life once she’d begun to be raped much more often than made love to. Her comment from the night before was true — she had masturbated to prevent feeling the need for sexual gratification from him, but the complete truth was that it was actually the only sexual enjoyment she had during her marriage. It was the only time she reached orgasm, and while the monster to whom she’d been married had made male-female sex disgusting for her, the desire for orgasms hadn’t disappeared.

And now, she found herself falling in love with Beverly. She realized she wasn’t just enjoying the sex with Beverly. She was falling in love, and so she began to deal with the reality that she was a lesbian. Perhaps she had been her entire life and just didn’t realize it until faced with the ugliness of her marriage.

Leaning forward, Sharon let her lips meet Beverly’s. The kiss was tender at first. A kiss of love more than one of desire. Then the kiss began to replicate itself, seemingly without their choice, quick kisses that started soft and slow and grew in intensity until they were communicating their blossoming desire.

Beverly could feel her own sex begin to swell and moisten as the kiss began to change from tender to torrid. She could feel her clit begin to stiffen and her vaginal juices start to flow. Despite the warmth of the air, her nipples began to pucker and tighten. This sensation grew from one of slight desire to a demand for satisfaction. Her breasts ached to be touched, fondled, squeezed. They longed to be kissed, licked, chewed gently, and sucked.

Heat became a flame; want became need.

And need promised satisfaction.

Sharon could feel that promise. Her heart surged with emotion and the tears returned, but this time they were tears of happiness and desire. Tears of promises kept. Tears of love.

“Kiss my breasts!” Beverly said, the urgency clear in her voice.

Sharon moved her head down to the twin globes and gladly pressed her lips against her lover’s pliant flesh. As her lips made contact with the sensitive nipple of Beverly’s left breast, she could feel Beverly shiver. Sharon drew the puckered flesh into her hungry mouth, sucking on the fleshy tip and savoring the way the nipple felt against her tongue and the roof of her mouth.

Beverly, meanwhile, continued to shiver with the desire that coursed through her veins. Her blood pounded throughout her body, lighting small fires of passion on its journey. Her clit seemed to become more sensitive than she ever remembered, and her vagina flooded her labia with lubrication to the point that she could feel the fluids begin to form a small river down toward her butt hole. She felt as though her body was on fire, which made the shivering that would not cease seem both out of place and appropriate.

Sharon moved to her lover’s right breast, mimicking what she’d done to the left mound, much to Beverly’s delight. Beverly had always had such sensitive breasts, and the realization that she longed for Sharon to make love to them as she was doing so well made the eroticism of the moment more intense.

Beverly held Sharon’s head against her chest and did her best to catch her breath as the lovely sensations flowed through her, but the panting only increased.

For her part, Sharon continued to feel the sting of tears as she realized she wanted to make Beverly reach her climax more than she wanted one for herself. Yes, she admitted to herself, she was in love — more in love than she’d ever been with a man.

Sharon reached for Beverly’s cunt and spread the lips apart while her mouth made love to the woman’s breasts. She plunged a finger down through the creamy crevice, feeling the stiff button of the woman’s clitoris as she passed her finger down toward the source of Beverly’s erotic flood, the moisture that seemed to bubble from deep within the woman’s sex like lava.

Beverly lay back, reclining on the soft pillow of sand, where she spread her legs to allow Sharon access to her most intimate area. They had engaged in sex only a couple of times before, but this was different. This was not the satisfying of sexual cravings, not the wanton journey to a needed orgasm. This was making love. This was a physical declaration of more than desire; it was a moment in which the women wordlessly declared emotional love for one another.

Each woman felt as if this were something similar to a wedding night.

“I love you!” Sharon breathed, uttering those sacred words without shame.

“I love you, too!” Beverly exclaimed, tears of joy springing to her eyes.

Sharon lay on top of Beverly, molding her flesh to Beverly’s. Nipple kissed nipple, clitoris kissed clitoris, lips kissed lips. The two began to hump against each other, savoring the delight that spread from their wombs to the farthest reaches of their flesh. They felt the luxurious contact of skin to skin as their grunts of pleasure and loving abandon filled the night air.

Karen awoke to these sounds and through the fog of sleep began to realize two things: Her mother and Sharon were making love outside their sleeping quarters, and she had to pee. She wondered if she should wait or go ahead and answer nature’s call. She didn’t want to disturb the two women, but she also felt the urge begin to burn inside her.

She glanced over at Susan, who was still asleep, her mouth slightly open and some drool beginning to puddle beneath her jaw. The girl’s breathing indicated she was nowhere near to wakefulness. She wanted to ask Susan if she thought it would be okay to go ahead and walk past the two women to reach the area that had been designated the community bathroom. She didn’t need to poop, which was good. That would entail digging a hole first. But the urge to pee was now becoming painful.

Rising, she figured if her mother or Sharon didn’t like being interrupted, they would just have to deal with it.

She walked as softly as she could past the women, who were writhing together on a bed of sand. Sharon was on top of her mother, she saw, and the two women were making fucking motions against each other. Grunts and squeals punctuated the air as the child crept past them, hoping not to be seen.

She reached the bathroom area successfully and squatted just as the women reached their orgasms simultaneously. They were making quite a bit of noise, and she wondered how in the world Susan was sleeping through this.

After finishing her business, Karen stood and crept down to the water’s edge to rinse her slit, which the women had told them to do to remain clean and free of any rashes that could develop. She squatted and pooled some of the water in her hand before raising it to her mound and splashing the area, repeating this several times to clean it of pee.

She was somewhat surprised that her clit was swollen now, apparently having reacted to the sounds of her mother and Sharon having sex. The touches started a small spark of desire, and as she continued fondling herself there, the spark set off a small fire in her loins. Soon, that fire had grown to a small blaze, and she was squatting in the gentle surf, rubbing her pussy toward an orgasm.

Several minutes went by, and she forgot about her mother and Sharon. All she knew now was that they had grown quiet, so she began to concentrate on her own tender pussy.

“Karen?’

The voice of her mother startled her, and she stopped her unplanned masturbation session to look toward the voice.

Her mother was standing nearby, holding hands with Sharon. They had apparently walked to where the small waves were breaking against the shore and had been standing there enjoying the stars as they glimmered on the water when they’d spotted Karen rubbing herself at the ocean’s edge.

“Are you masturbating?” Beverly asked, as if asking if the girl were awake.

“Uh-huh. Is that okay?” the child asked, still not used to the new rules. Perhaps her mother would not want her to do this after they’d gone to bed for the night? She didn’t know.

Karen could feel the women gazing at her naked body, her hand still cupping her bald pussy.

“Um, of course,” Beverly said. “Go ahead.”

Karen began to return slowly to her impromptu fun, as if still unsure.

“Did we wake you?” Sharon asked.

“Not really. I woke up and needed to pee.”

“You walked right past us while we were –?” Beverly asked.

For some reason Karen knew her mother was blushing, although she could not see her face in the dark.

“Yeah,” Karen confessed. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is, honey,” Sharon said. “You had to pee.”

Karen’s hand was beginning to pick up speed as the women watched, spellbound.

“Did seeing us cause you to want to… well… do this?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah,” Karen answered, blushing some herself. “And hearing you.”

“Well,” Beverly said, “we’re going to go back and lie down now. Just ignore us, okay?”

Karen, whose breathing was becoming erratic, said, “Okay” and continued her session of self-love.

The girl watched the two women return to the bed of soft sand and lie down, this time moving into a sixty-nine. They started slowly, but soon they were once again moaning their passion to the skies.

Karen kept her gaze on them. The full moon was up and she could make their movements out in the light it supplied.

The trembling began deep inside her, and soon it burst from her, causing her to tremble and shake with its power.

When she was finished, she realized she was still not satisfied. Susan had been like this a few times. She was new to the idea of having orgasms, and prior to this time she had been satisfied with one, not really wanting another until she had rested for a bit, but this time was different. The first one had only seemed to make her hungry for more.

She decided for the first time she wanted to have another one right away, but she wanted to do something first.

Standing, she crept over to where her mother and Sharon were making love. Choosing a spot about five feet away from them, she squatted and began to rub her tender slit again, spreading what little fluid she produced around in her puss.

She did not know the term voyeur but she learned that night she was one, despite not knowing a word for what stimulated her the most. She found she enjoyed watching people having sex — it heightened her own desires to extreme levels — and she began to have an endless series of orgasms while watching her mother and Sharon together.

When the two women noticed they were not alone, they mostly ignored Karen. They were fine with her watching them, but they did not wish to do anything with her at that moment. This time was special for them, and it seemed fitting that one of their girls should be there to witness it.

What surprised them, however, was that the child was still there when they finally lay back in exhaustion to enjoy the afterglow of their lovemaking. The child climaxed twice more after they had finished. Then Karen stood and, without a word, moved back to her makeshift bed for the night.

Continue on to Chapter 6

Island of Joys, Chapter 4

  • Posted on June 2, 2017 at 3:17 pm

By Cheryl Taggert 

Beverly had no idea what time it was when she awoke in the middle of the night to find someone’s lips on her cunt. They had all decided that morning to open themselves up to the possibilities that stood before them. To allow for any and all expressions of sexual desire, wherever or whenever they might occur. The only rule was that if a job had to be done, the job came first. Playtime would have to wait until later.

Apparently, one of the girls had taken this to heart. She wasn’t upset that she had basically been molested in her sleep. Had it been a stranger doing the molesting she would have felt different. This, apparently, was simply the result of one of the girls getting horny in the night and taking advantage of the opportunity.

Beverly could tell that it wasn’t Sharon between her legs. First, the mouth just seemed too small, but second, and most important, she could see the dim outline of Sharon sleeping a few feet away, her breast shining in the moonlight.

So she knew that either her own daughter or Sharon’s daughter was now feasting on her mound, licking the juices from her slit, which was now flooded with her vaginal excretions and the saliva of the girl eating her cunt. The girl was consuming the fluids like a starving child.

And providing Beverly with an orgasm that had yet to come but was already beginning to signal its imminent arrival.

She wondered if she should let the child know she was awake, but decided against it for the time being. Whichever girl was doing this apparently enjoyed the sneakiness of what she was doing. They could talk later about respecting someone while she slept, but the sensations that were flooding her brain made Beverly much more accepting of the intrusion.

Beverly did her best to look around the ground beneath the lean-to in order to discover which of the children had decided to molest her in the night. On the one hand, she should be angry, but on the other, she recognized this as a natural extension of the conversation from earlier that day. These were, after all, children, and it was well-known that children loved to see if they could do something without being discovered.

She recalled when she was little and she and Barbara, her best friend, had played “nobody sees us,” a game in which they would sneak through rooms with adults in them in an effort to make it to the next room without being seen. This game being played between her legs was of a similar nature, except that it involved sexual contact. It was still a game of “can I do it without being caught?” Furthermore, the playing of this game had rewards beyond the sneakiness. From the feelings coursing through Beverly’s body, she reckoned the reward this time would be big indeed.

As she lay there doing her best to remain still — not an easy task — she realized that whoever the child was lying between her legs was humping her own hand as she lay there performing cunnilingus.

Apparently, the girls were fast learners as well. She and Sharon had pointed out their clits, explaining the importance of the small nubbin of nerve-packed flesh. The child was spending most of her time working her lips and tongue on Beverly’s clit, which was making motionless silence more difficult with each passing second.

Small moans and deep breaths signaled the child was about to reach her climax. It was obvious the girl was doing her best to hide what she was doing, so Beverly remained as still as possible, but she could feel her orgasm rushing up on her, and she wondered how long this charade could continue.

As the child began her orgasm, Beverly’s launched itself as well. The two middle-of-the-night lovers climaxed simultaneously. Beverly managed to keep her hips from bucking wildly about, more to keep Sharon and whichever girl was still sleeping from waking than any effort to prevent the child licking her cunt from knowing the woman she licked was coming. That fact could never be hidden.

When the orgasm ended, the child moved stealthily away from Beverly’s muff. It then occurred to the woman that the child thought she was still sleeping, having reached her peak without waking. She decided to continue the pretense, allowing the child to think she managed to do all of this without waking her ‘victim’ from her slumber.

Beverly managed to glimpse the silhouette of the child as she lay back down on her sleeping mat.

Susan.

She had suspected it might be Sharon’s daughter, and she was right. It just seemed like the kind of thing an older child would consider doing.

Newly satisfied, Beverly began to drift off to sleep once again. She was almost there when movement woke her. Stealthy movement. Beverly decided to turn onto her side in order to better see the girls. She felt rather than saw Susan freeze in her movement, but once Beverly had settled again, she watched and saw that Susan was playing with Karen’s bald little slit, rubbing it gently. Was she going to play her little game again, this time on Karen? She felt her clit twinge at the thought of what she might see.

Beverly’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough that she could plainly see the bodies of the two children. Susan’s fingers were playing in her friend’s cunt, coaxing the child’s clit to stiffen in response.

She heard a giggle and knew that Karen had awakened.

“Shh,” Susan shushed her friend.

“You’re playing with my pussy,” Karen said, stifling more giggles.

“I just licked your mom’s and she reached her peak. She slept through it,” Susan offered.

“Really?” Karen asked.

“Yeah. Older women taste different, though. You really don’t have much taste, or at least you taste kinda sweeter or something, but your mom’s cunt has a musky taste to it, kind of sharp but really tasty,” Susan whispered, doing her best to sound extremely knowledgeable on the topic.

“Really? I wanna taste it,” Karen said and began to sit up.

“No, don’t lick her right now. She just turned over and she might wake up.” Susan thought for a second. “I know. You can kiss me. There’s still plenty of your mother’s stuff on my lips.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Here.”

Beverly heard the girls kissing. She could see their faces pressed together in the dark.

“Lick my lips,” Susan offered. The woman watched, getting excited once again as she witnessed her daughter feasting on the fluids that had dried on Susan’s lips.

“What’d'ya think?” Susan asked.

“I like it. You’re right. She tastes different than you do.”

“Why don’t you lick my mom, and I can lick you? She’s hard to wake up, so she should stay asleep. Just take it slow.”

“My mom didn’t wake up when you licked her?” Karen whispered.

“No.”

“Wow. She’s usually easy to wake up. You musta been real careful.”

“I was. If she did wake up, she never let me know it. So, you gonna lick my mother?”

“Are you gonna lick me?” Karen asked.

“Yeah. I was going to anyway, but you woke up.”

It occurred to Beverly that Susan was quite a sexpot. She evidently had taken to sex like a duck to water. Months later, she would think of this moment of clarity about the child and realize just how right she was. Susan would have numerous orgasms every day, either playing with herself, with Karen, or with one of both or the women.

And of course there were the times they all enjoyed each other in a small orgy.

Beverly watched as her daughter crawled over to Sharon, lying between the woman’s spread legs. Leaning forward, Karen extended her tongue and began to softly lick Sharon’s slit.

This progressed until the child covered Sharon’s cunt with her mouth. She could no longer see her daughter’s tongue, but it was obvious what she was doing. Susan, meanwhile, was licking Karen’s mound, once again looking like a starving child. She obviously loved this activity above any other.

Soon, Beverly could hear the obvious sounds of the woman approaching an orgasm. She wasn’t sure if Sharon had awakened, but if not, her dreams must have been very erotic.

Karen had lifted her butt a little to give Susan easier access to her mound. At the same time, she kept her own mouth glued to Sharon’s cunt.

Sharon began her climax, waking up at the same moment it started.

“Huh? What? What are you–? Oh! Aaaahh!” the woman gasped and moaned as her orgasm took her.

Karen had not climaxed yet, so after she finished bringing Sharon through hers, she turned onto her back and spread her legs wide, accidentally kicking Beverly’s leg in the process. She was beyond caring if her mother woke. The nine-year-old needed her orgasm, and it seemed that nothing would stop her from getting it.

All pretense for sleep was abandoned. Beverly got up and almost fell onto Susan, wanting to return the favor she had provided her. Beverly’s mouth locked onto the girl’s little puss, edging her hand and fingers that had been rubbing her slit out of the way.

Within seconds, both the young girls were in the middle of powerful climaxes, at least powerful for girls their age. Susan bucked her hips against the older woman’s mouth, moaning and grunting loudly.

Sharon, meanwhile, sat up and watched as the two little girls peaked. Sharon’s grogginess from being awakened in the night quickly evaporated.

When the girls were finished, Sharon said, “What is going on?”

Susan laughed. “We were licking you and Beverly while you slept!”

“Girls, that’s not very nice. I don’t know about Beverly, but I need my beauty sleep.” Sharon was perturbed, but not angry. She had, after all, just enjoyed a marvelous orgasm.

“You don’t need beauty sleep,” Karen said. “You’re plenty beautiful.”

“Aww, thank you, dear. But really, molesting someone in the middle of the night is wrong.”

“Why is it wrong?” Karen asked. “Did you not like it?” The girl appeared hurt that her attempts to pleasure Sharon had not worked well.

“Well, no, of course I liked it.”

“Then why was it wrong?” the girl repeated.

“Well, because, um –” Sharon looked at Beverly for help.

“Don’t look at me. I for one enjoyed it.”

“Well, I did, too,” Sharon said, “but don’t you think we should prevent them from molesting someone in their sleep?”

“Whom would they molest?” Beverly asked. “There’s only the four of us on the island. And while I wouldn’t want to be awakened every night, or even most nights, I see this as a children’s game of sorts.”

“Beverly, there isn’t much that’s childish about this sort of activity.”

“Well, of course there isn’t,” Beverly said. “But it’s like a game I played as a child.” Beverly went on to explain about “Nobody Sees Us.” She finished with, “They’re just children wanting to see if they can get away with it. You know, lick our clits without us being aware.”

Sharon looked at the girls. “Well, don’t be doing that too often, especially to me. I like my sleep.”

Beverly chuckled. “Yes, and I could see you liked your orgasm, too.” The girls laughed at this.

“I thought you wouldn’t wake up,” Susan said. “Beverly didn’t. She even slept through her peak.”

Sharon looked at Beverly, obviously doubting that she’d slept through the entire thing. Beverly just winked surreptitiously, hoping Sharon wouldn’t spoil Susan’s excitement over having brought the woman to a climax without being caught.

The next morning, to no one’s surprise, they slept until the sun was well up in the sky. A beautiful blue spread from horizon to horizon over the ocean, and a gentle breeze massaged the island, bringing sounds from the fronds of the trees and bushes that sounded like sighs of delight.

After their day before — and night — the women thought that sex would not be a part of the day for any of them.

That was the first time that Beverly noticed how powerful Susan’s libido was. She talked Karen into a sixty-nine before the noon meal, and masturbated herself another two times before going to bed. The eleven-year-old came twice on the last masturbation session, and both women noticed her experimenting with putting a finger up her butthole while playing with her hairless puss.

After the girls had gone to bed, Sharon asked Beverly to sit up and chat for a while.

“Susan’s quite the sexual thing,” Sharon began. “I’m a bit worried, actually.”

“Worried about what?” Beverly asked.

“That she may become over-sexed. She’s like a man, really. She can’t seem to keep her hands off herself — or others.”

“Who and what could it possibly hurt?” Beverly asked. “Like I said before, there isn’t anyone else here but us. If the girl wants to get herself off, why stop her?” Smiling, she added, “Besides, I kind of like the show.”

“But we haven’t even been allowing them to do this in the open for two full days yet, and she must have already had eight or nine orgasms.”

“What? Is there some limit to the number of orgasms a girl can have in a lifetime? If so, I may be nearing my own limit.”

“Don’t be flippant. Of course not. But still, she just seems a lot more interested in having them than I thought she would.”

“Sharon?”

“What?”

“When you were a child, did you have a favorite candy?”

“Peppermint, why?”

“Would your parents let you have all the peppermint you wanted, whenever or wherever you wanted it?”

“Of course not. I’d have grown as fat as a cow with rotten teeth with all that sugar.”

“But if you had been given that opportunity, would you have eaten more of it? As much of it as you wanted? After all, as a child, you wouldn’t understand any bad effects from eating all the peppermint you wanted.”

“Okay, probably, but what’s your point? That we’ve allowed the girls to have as many orgasms as they want, so they’re indulging a bit?”

“That’s exactly my point. Orgasms are Susan’s peppermint. They won’t make her fat. They won’t make her teeth rot. They won’t do anything bad to her at all. They are just enjoyable. She can’t even get with a boy when she starts her cycles and get pregnant because there aren’t any boys here.”

Sharon considered that, her face a mask of deep thought.

Beverly continued. “I imagine that it won’t be long before orgasms are Karen’s peppermint, too. She’s just nine and isn’t as constantly on edge sexually as Susan is because she’s older and entering puberty. In essence, we’ve given our daughters permission to eat as much peppermint as they wish, without repercussions from us, each other, or society. For Susan, it’s like a favorite toy or food. She’s indulging herself. Don’t worry. I won’t say she’ll grow out of it because she won’t. She will, in all likelihood, eventually slow it down some.”

“Well, I see your point, I suppose,” Sharon said. “But what if we are rescued from here one day? She’ll want to be at it every day.”

“She’ll adjust to society’s expectations. I wouldn’t worry. She won’t stand in the middle of a city street and masturbate in broad daylight. She’ll just do it when alone, or find a partner who enjoys it as much, and there are plenty of them around, male and female.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sharon said, resigned to her daughter’s delight in her own mound.

“Of course I am,” Beverly answered. “Look at it this way. If you’d discovered orgasms at age eleven and your parents said, ‘That’s fine, dear, you can do it whenever and wherever you like, with whomever you like, even go naked all day and night to ease access to your mound,’ what would you have done?”

Sharon grinned sheepishly. “I suppose I would have worn it out. Or at least tried to.”

“Okay, then. Anyway, that wearing it out thing works. I suppose she’ll start getting a bit sore in a few days and back off some.”

Sharon giggled like a school girl. “Have you ever done that? Worn it out?”

Beverly looked at her and grinned as if they were sharing a wonderful secret. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because, there’s nobody else on the island but us. You said so yourself.” Sharon was still giggling.

“Okay. A few times maybe. What about you?”

Sharon’s mood changed in a blink. She said seriously, “More than a few, I’m afraid. I used to do it just to make sure I wasn’t on edge because I didn’t want my husband to be able to seduce me into sex.”

“My God. He was a terrible man, wasn’t he?”

“Awful.” Sharon took a deep breath, cleansing her mind of the bad memories. “But I don’t want to talk about it now.”

Sharon stood and went to the lean-to. Lying down, she tried to sleep. Beverly joined her a few minutes later. Everyone was well asleep by the time Sharon finally nodded off.

Her dreams were frightening ones, but when she awakened the next morning, all she felt was a sense of disquiet, the details of the dreams themselves lost in the strange alleys of sleep.

And though Susan more than made up for it, engaging Beverly in lovemaking that allowed the older woman to teach her some new things, as well as masturbating at least once that her mother saw, Sharon did not desire sex the entire day.

Continue on to Chapter 5

I Was the Daughter of a Porn Star: Afterword

  • Posted on May 28, 2017 at 3:54 pm

By Cheryl Taggert

Ending something as long and arduous to write as this three-part novel makes one think about beginnings. This story came into being when I saw a video online of a young girl who was entering the adult film industry talking about her mother, who had also been in the business.

This, of course, led to some rather wild imaginings on my part. What would it have been like to be raised by a woman with obviously liberal attitudes about sex, and what if those attitudes were extreme when it came to raising her daughter? I certainly had no idea. My own upbringing was so closed-minded, I’m surprised I am who I am today. In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t commit suicide in my teen years. (Yes, I indeed thought about it, quite seriously in fact.)

However, this speculation and the fantasies that resulted from it led to my deciding to write a story about such a relationship between a sexually precocious daughter and her extremely open-minded mother. Following publication of chapter one on the Lesbian Lolita site on July 8, 2012, the comments I received were overwhelmingly positive. Overwhelmingly as in 100%.

This led to other chapters until I grew bored with the project after sixteen installments, the last of them published at LL on July 21, 2013. That was shortly after I was more or less attacked because I had included some minor bestiality in the story, in which a very young girl has discovered that when her little dog licks her in certain places it felt really good. Such comments, especially from someone who had been enjoying the story, can sour someone on a project, and that’s what happened with me. Not that I’d ever really finished a story before, but that’s how this one ended.

After being invited to join Naughty Mommy and JetBoy to start this wonderful site, I decided at a point that I should finish the stories I had started. Actually, my partners prodded me and prodded me to finish what I’d started. Many readers had asked me when I was going to continue them as well, so continue — and finish them — I did.

This was the last one to need completion. I finished writing the first draft of the last chapter yesterday, March 8, 2017, nearly a year after posting the first “new” chapter, #17, on March 28, 2016. This means that the entire work took two years to write, with a very long break in between. Back when I renewed my writing of this book, I looked forward to it. I had always liked the premise, and I felt that many wonderful adventures could be a part of it. Now that it’s finished, I know I will miss working on it. After all, one doesn’t separate from two years of one’s life easily.

Many of the adventures I included were based either loosely or strongly on real events and situations in my life. My other stories had included such things, such as the rocking horse I really had that I named Shadow (probably with help from my parents), which provided me my first small but pleasurable orgasms, and this tale was no different. The fact that it is so lengthy, however, means that there are even more things that are based on my life. I’m not suggesting, however, that this mirrors my life, and that is what this post is all about. How does a writer incorporate real events without making it an autobiography? First, my autobiography would be rather boring 98% of the time, but second, and most importantly, I did have that 2% that could be turned into something that resembled an interesting tale.

I had chosen to name the title character after myself, since ultimately this began as a fantasy about a fictional mother I never had, a mother who resembled my own about as much as Donald Trump resembles Pope Francis. This led to being able to freely intertwine the two lives of the fictional me with an even more fictional mother in my mind. As I wrote the first sixteen chapters, I wanted to make sure there was hot sex in every chapter. I have to tell you, that is very difficult to do and keep the sex fresh. As I think I’ve said before, just how many ways can one write about a woman having an orgasm? Yes, there are many, as our stories here will prove, but when you get right down to it, an orgasm is basically the same feeling each time we have one. Only the intensity and duration change. (I have also often wondered how different an orgasm feels to a man since his “equipment” is all external. Do they feel them in their toes the way I do?) Ultimately, though, it’s all the same.

This, of course, leads to the idea of multiple partners. When age, personality, likes and dislikes come into play, the dynamic is different. The fact that I’ve had (wait a sec, I’m counting…) eight partners in my life does not qualify me for super-sexual woman of the decade. (Bet you all thought it was more.) But my imagination can think of countless ones, and sometimes I can even include pieces of people I’ve known, in an intimate manner and otherwise, to populate my story.

Deanna has the name of a girl I knew online for several years (she’s disappeared in the past year and I worry), but her personality in many ways is based on a girl I fooled around with when I was fourteen. We were best friends and would often spend the night with each other. We had many wonderful and youthful orgasms together. She had an older sister I had a big crush on, and Deanna’s sister in the story is based on her, though my friend’s sister and I never did anything together. In this way, including the sister became a sort of wish-fulfillment. (A quick note about characters’ names: NONE of the last names are the same as the person on whom they may have been based, including me, with one exception, noted below.)

The character of Marie is based on one of my students from last school year. I suspected she was dealing with questions of her sexuality, though I have no proof that she was. I thought that she had a crush on a girl in class based on her interactions with her and the fact that while this other girl was not a close friend, Marie (her real first name) would always try to be around her. For example, when I announced a project that would be done in pairs, Marie approached this girl immediately. Of course, by then I was watching for the signs, partly because I was anxious to see if after a random weekend the two seemed closer. As far as I know, Marie and her friend never “got together” like that, but it was fun to consider. And it broke my heart that the friend did the project with someone else.

The “licking dog” episode was based on me. Yes, I allowed my dog to lick my pussy when I was thirteen. I remember being thirteen in eighth grade and thinking what would people think if they knew I had allowed my dog to lick me to an orgasm the night before. That didn’t last long, but it did happen. I finally started feeling weird about it, not to mention she would want to lick me no matter where we were, like in the den watching TV. It took a while to break her of trying, but she finally got the idea I didn’t want her doing that anymore. Plus, I started making her sleep outside my bedroom to avoid having her start in on me when I was asleep or something. She never did that, but I imagined she might. When my ultra-suspicious mother asked why I didn’t let the dog sleep with me anymore (not that she was necessarily thinking it was for a sexual reason, but who knows?), I had to make up a lie that she kept waking me up scratching herself. And no, I didn’t count the dog among my eight partners.

The episode with Erin, the girl Cheryl is a “companion” for, is nearly all true, except we never got caught because the mother did indeed call every day before coming home. When I was fifteen a woman down the street who knew my mom asked me if I would be a companion over the summer break for her daughter who had indeed gotten into some trouble shoplifting the previous summer. Emily (Erin’s real name) was one wild girl. She’d been left to her own devices for a long time, being a “latch-key kid” since age seven. Looking back, she was probably looking for attention from her mom. Her dad was not in the picture at all. One thing that was different was I was not happy about this, no matter that I was making good money for a girl my age. I saw this as tying me to a job all summer, one that would last all day, and I had my own social life to work on, but my mother would not let me decline the offer. It also took a little longer to get things rolling as far as sex went. I plied her with internet porn, which she’d not discovered. That made everything else easier. I’m not exactly proud that I seduced an eleven-year-old when I was fifteen, but it was a lot of fun at times, and Emily never once suggested she resented anything we ever did, which was everything two girls could do together.

Chandra, the large African-American woman who does hair and makeup for the production company Kayleigh works for, is entirely based on an African-American woman I knew growing up. Her last name in both the story and real life was Jackson, which appears only in the “Who’s Who” section of the story. She lived not too far from where my house was when I was still living with my parents, and she would listen to my problems in a way my mother never could or would. Chandra, her real name, was also a hairstylist. What is called in writer’s circles her “voice” is exactly as I remember it. No nonsense and wise, a good listener with even better advice. In fact it was Chandra I turned to when I hated myself so much I was considering suicide. I didn’t mention my desire for young girls to her, just my lesbianism, but she understood me and loved me (no, not like that), and I loved her like the mother I never had once I came out to my parents. She may be the reason I am alive now. I miss her terribly. (She died when I was eighteen.) Including her in my story helped me bring her back to life for a while. She doesn’t appear often because memory can be painful at times, but the tribute, even in a story like this one, is sincere.

As far as the situation in the story involving Cindy, it is 100% fabrication. I had decided to try to make the book more than just a sex-act-of-the-week episode. What’s interesting is that while I was intensely interested in that part of the book while I was writing it, the process of writing it was much more difficult. I had to make everything up, no relying on characters based on people I knew once. The plot had to be plausible, and I spent a great deal of time and effort making sure that it was. I didn’t want anyone coming on to tell me I had something wrong. I even checked things like where small airports were near Bogota and picked out an area on a map to choose the location of the compound. I researched things like how far a Learjet could fly on one tank of fuel and how long a runway had to be for take-offs and landings. (I never knew the fuel was stored in the wings!) I was actually very surprised at how long the flight was from Los Angeles, the home of the porn industry in the U.S., to the Santiago Vila airport near Girardot, Colombia, near Bogota. It made me wish I’d made the compound in Mexico instead, but I figured the Mexican people had suffered enough bad press from Trump.

Finally, Lisa is, of course, based on my wife. We married two years ago this June. Our story is involved and there are some real heartbreaks in our relationship. After all, we are a real couple, and real couples often deal with pain that the other one causes, though in reality when a relationship goes through trouble, usually both partners share the fault, and that is true for us.

Lisa and I did meet in college, though not how it’s portrayed in the book. We met at a party that was much like the one where the two get together finally in the book. It was at Halloween, and she was dressed as a prisoner, complete with the stripes. To be honest I had forgotten what costume I was wearing. Lisa reminded me that I was a witch. Very original, I know. I changed it in the chapter about the party because I consider a witch a rather boring choice. I kept Lisa in the prison garb.

We hit it off at this party and ended up spending the night together in my apartment. We exchanged digits, as they say, and we ended up dating for a while before moving in together that January when the new semester started. Lisa was a freshman, and I was a junior. Yes, I am two years older than she is. She was eighteen when we met, and I had just turned twenty a month earlier.

Lisa gave me permission to share the rest of our story with you as well.

Now, things weren’t always “the perfect couple” between us. Lisa was working for Hooters Restaurant as a waitress and later became the manager of a new location. She met another girl while working there who managed to talk her into leaving me a few years after I graduated and was working as a teacher. Yes, Lisa cheated on me. She admits it and regrets it. I debated whether or not to include that in my book. I finally decided to make it where the evil Clare decides to break up the fictional counterparts of Lisa and me for no apparent reason, only that she can. Clare became my Iago.

Now, here’s where life makes its real acquaintance with art. The name of the girl who stole my Lisa from me back then? Clare. Yep, I had a wonderful time making her into the most evil girl I could imagine. I knew when I created the character she would be evil and cause our heroine a lot of grief. Originally, I thought of having Clare steal Lisa from Cheryl, but I realized that would be much too close to reality for my tastes. I was able to make the girl modeled on my nemesis in real life end up paying dearly for her acts of selfishness and hatefulness in the story. It was cathartic.

For those who don’t know about how Lisa and I ended up back together, it goes like this:

A few years back, the autumn before I helped found this site (actually late summer), I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. It was in its earliest stages and was confined only to my cervix. I’d been having some odd periods and my doctor decided to check for any serious problems so she could rule them out. When the pap smear came back positive for cancer cells, I was devastated. I cried for days, thinking this was it. I would die soon from this terrible disease.

My oncologist told me that I should talk to the closest friend I had in an effort to cheer me up. The fact was, though, that I was mostly a loner then. I had people I knew from my job as a teacher, but I tried to keep my private life private because I feared being fired if anyone discovered I am a lesbian. I am not butch by any means, so it isn’t easily apparent from my appearance.

Lisa heard about my situation. She came to see me, and I nearly fainted. I had convinced myself that I was over her. I’d even dated a few women, but nothing serious. The moment I saw her, I knew I’d been kidding myself, and that was a case of kidding myself for several YEARS. I wanted to kiss her the moment I saw her.

We chatted, and the next day she came over again and brought me flowers. She presented me with a bunch of gladioli. I was touched and thanked her. Finally, I started to cry. She held me while I sobbed, and by the time I’d stopped crying, we were making out like a couple of teenagers on a hot date. Then she told me she still loved me and that she’d made a huge mistake by leaving me for Clare. That relationship had ended within a year of moving in with her, but she’d heard I was dating someone else by then and never contacted me until she heard about the cancer and that I was single.

Finally, she asked me if I knew what the gladiolus flower symbolized. I didn’t, and she told me. They symbolize remembrance, infatuation, strength, and faithfulness. Apparently, she had researched flowers to find the perfect one for me at that moment.

It wasn’t long before she moved back in with me, and we’ve been together and happy ever since. She had been a girl of twenty-five when she’d left me. She is turning thirty-three later this year. We are older and more mature. We are now legally married to each other. We are now happy. Please don’t blame her for leaving me. I am no piece of cake to live with. That she continues to live with and love me every day is a blessing and a miracle to me.

I know some may wonder why I skipped over the wedding in the story, choosing not to describe it in any sort of detail. I know my site partners wondered about that. I thought a long time about including details from the wedding and decided against it. Lisa and I did actually get married, though not in Amsterdam (which we did visit on a honeymoon last September), and I realized I didn’t want to write anything about the wedding in this story because our own wedding is such a wonderful memory, and I didn’t want to attempt to fictionalize the actual ceremony. I know, that’s crazy, but I felt I would never be able to do the emotions and everything else justice. I guess it’s just a personal thing. In our real wedding we chose to wear bridesmaids’ dresses we liked instead of wedding gowns because I couldn’t really afford one to match anything Lisa could have afforded. Lisa offered to buy my wedding dress, but I wouldn’t let her. It ended up being something special to us that we were wearing those dresses instead of bridal gowns. I won’t go into that because I’m already tearing up thinking about it, but that’s how I want it to be in the story — that the fictional counterparts get married but the ceremony remains private.

To make clear what everyone knows, I got Lisa’s permission to tell our true story here. I have retold our story in a fictional method in the book, based on our real story at times. I used our shared fantasy life and the attractions we both feel. She discovered my enjoyment of the shared fantasy we all have here when I left my computer open by mistake when we first lived together and she saw a story I was writing. She’d had these fantasies herself, and she admitted it to me as well as the fact that she and her sister, Rachel, had been messing around together since they were little girls, with the form of messing around they did growing more adult as they aged. I told her how jealous of her I am for that.

Now, I use things we have done or talked about to spice up my stories. We have fantasized about going to a nice hotel that caters to their customers by turning their heads from legal but titillating fun and ordering room service, requesting a girl to remain and “serve” us as a waitress while we eat our breakfast in the nude, only to let the girl watch us afterwards. No, we probably will never do that, but our fantasies about it helped me in writing what I consider a very hot scene. We have masturbated in a public place in New Orleans on our honeymoon, and I will include that in a story I began planning just yesterday. The start of her relationship with Rachel is a part of this book, though Lisa’s parents have no clue it has been going on all these years, despite sharing a room (twin beds, though) much of their lives. Paulette was the result of our fantasy about a little girl we saw when out shopping. She didn’t look to be five — she was more like ten — but her beauty was mesmerizing.

So that’s how it works. Take a single little true thing and put it in your stories if you are writing one. Then see what allowing your mind to carry it anywhere brings to your story. Using reality makes writing easier. It’s a lot easier than making up every detail and having to do research on planes, a country, and its airports.

So, to alter a term that was used long before I was born, “WRITE ON!” Even if you write only for yourself, what you write will be yours in a way nothing else can be, like painting a picture. It satisfies a need to create. So try it. You won’t be sorry.

Island of Joys, Chapter 3

  • Posted on May 23, 2017 at 3:00 pm

By Cheryl Taggert 

Sharon blushed and moved to where her daughter sat. “Lie down,” she said.

As Susan did as her mother said, Sharon looked directly into her eyes. She was searching for the answer to a very important question: Do you really want to do this or are you just going along?

Susan was now on her back, her legs splayed open, exposing her immature slit for everyone to see. But what the girl’s pussy lacked in maturity, it made up for with desire. The inner lips were the color of the pinkest coral, and the nub of her clit was protruding slightly from its tiny cavern of flesh. She had also recently started producing quite a lot of fluids when she became aroused, and it was evident now.

Sharon noticed the copious amount of cream that coated her daughter’s inner labia. Then again, what would she expect? They had spent the past ten minutes watching Beverly licking her own nine-year-old daughter’s pussy, and both Sharon and her daughter, Susan, had openly played with themselves while happily observing a brazen sex act that was forbidden everywhere in the world. Or at least everywhere but here.

Sharon had heard of such things happening, of course, and both modern and ancient literature were filled with overt references to lesbianism and all kinds of incest, not to mention bestiality, as in the story of Leda and the Swan, among many others. Therefore, she knew that whatever form of sex could be conceived in the mind had taken place numerous times throughout history.

Still, stumbling upon a literary text as opposed to actually committing lesbian incest with your eleven-year-old daughter was like the difference between reading about climbing a mountain and actually climbing one. She felt many opposing emotions. Fear and courage. Shame and audacity. Excitement and. . . . No, she realized she did not feel the opposite of that. There was only the excitement, blatantly sexual in nature.

Still, she was shocked in a way that this had been the outcome of what she was certain at the beginning of the chat would be a mere talk about the adults’ need for intimacy with each other. Where had the conversation shifted to the inclusion of their two children?

All of these thoughts powered through her mind in a matter of seconds as she stared down at the young mound of Venus she knew she was about to perform oral love upon. Yes, she knew that this intimate act of sexual love was what she would be doing soon, regardless of her thoughts concerning the two sides of the decision. Her mouth watered for the taste of her daughter’s juices, even though she’d only tasted her own, which was a private act she had never dared to share with another living soul. The fact that she loved her own flavor always made her wonder if she were truly a woman who was interested in lesbian sex.

And the oddest thing about the answer was that her first female partner would be her own young daughter, a girl who had been right there since birth.

“Are you okay with this?” she asked Susan. “We can stop right now if you want to.”

“Do you want to?” Susan asked, slight disappointment showing in the way her mouth turned down slightly at the question her mother had asked.

“Only if you do,” Sharon said. “I could always make love with Beverly.”

“Is it okay if I say I want you to do it to me and not Beverly?”

“Sure, honey. I would love to. I never thought about it before, but now it seems… natural,” Sharon said. “But it’s okay if I do it with Beverly later, isn’t it?”

Susan grinned. “Can Karen and I watch?”

Sharon couldn’t believe this conversation was even happening. She wondered if she had fallen asleep and was dreaming this entire episode. She feared she might awaken any moment and find it was actually near midnight, and this had been a fantasy taking over her mind during sleep.

“If you wish, and as long as Beverly doesn’t mind.”

“Beverly doesn’t mind anything, except how long it’s taking the two of you to start,” Beverly said, laughing.

Sharon and Susan laughed with her and Sharon lay on her tummy, her head positioned over the bald mound that she’d wiped and cleaned when Susan was a baby. Once again her mouth watered. She wondered if Susan’s cream would taste different from her own.

Well, there was one way to find out.

Susan watched as her mother lowered her mouth to her mound. She felt the first contact, and pleasure bathed her body the way light bathed a room when someone lit a candle. Soon, she could feel her mother’s tongue prancing along the inside of her slit, dipping into the various small crevices formed by her inner and outer lips and caressing the magic button near the top of the child’s immature ribbons of sensitive flesh.

Susan lay back to enjoy this. She’d never thought about any kind of sex with her mom. She’d thought about sex and wondered what it would be like. She had played with herself down there for quite a while as well. However, she had never considered anyone as a partner before. Now she would have three! She realized she couldn’t wait to try out sex with Beverly and Karen. But she especially wanted to return the pleasure her mother was now giving her.

With her eyes closed, she could concentrate on the feelings. She felt as though her body had awakened from a slumber to find that sensuality had taken over.

The twinges in her little lady were beginning to happen more rapidly than ever before. She had always enjoyed the feel of her hands on her special place, but this was different. This felt like magic, as if she were being put into some type of trance where the entire universe was happy.

Her nipples itched with pleasure as well. This was the first time she had noticed any connection between good feelings below creating good feelings in her nipples. The little caps that rested on her boobs tingled, so she brought her hands up to them and gently pinched the nipples, giving them added pleasure to accompany the wonderful feelings that were coursing throughout her body like a runaway train.

Sharon couldn’t believe her daughter’s taste. She had always loved her own juices that would spill from her when she became excited like this. Her daughter’s, however, tasted fresher, more flavorful. It was like the difference between a good wine and a cheap one. Her fluids — the cheap wine — tasted good enough. Susan’s fluids, by comparison, were like a bottle of the best wine from the Bordeaux region of France.

Sharon suddenly realized she could be happy having no other sexual partners besides the girls and Beverly.

Louder moans and meaningless verbal noise came from Susan while her mother licked her secret place. She could tell something big was about to happen, but she just didn’t know what. Her breathing started hitching in her throat and her mouth dried up from the panting. Her head tossed from side to side as small gasps of delight and what had been unknown depths of desire punctuated her groans and whimpers of joy.

Sharon could feel her daughter tensing up involuntarily for her first orgasm. The child’s body knew what the conscious brain did not. The girl’s pleasure grew on breathless squeals and panting moans.

Susan’s life changed in an instant. One moment she was enjoying the wonderful sensations brought on by her mother’s exploring lips and tongue but still unaware of the intense pleasure that was hers for life now. The next moment she was howling her spasms to the wind.

The young girl was aware of the shivering bolts of pleasure as they zipped from her mound to her scalp, to her fingertips, and to her toes. Ripples of joy and a longing to experience this again shivered through her. Susan was hooked for life now. She hoped to have one of these feelings once a day, if not more often.

Susan was soon lying on her back, the others staring down at her nudity. She grinned and waved her fingers at her mother and their friends.

“Congratulations on your first orgasms, girls,” Beverly said. “What do you think of them?”

“They’re great!” Karen said, grinning.

“I love them,” Susan said before she stretched her body, raising her arms above her head where her hand almost knocked over one of the water jugs.

“Well, I think we should pair up again, but this time the two women will partner and the two girls can do the same. If you don’t want to do anything with each other, that’s fine,” Beverly said. “But I’m dripping, I’m so excited, and I really must reach an orgasm.” She turned to Sharon. “What about you? Do you want to have some fun with me?”

In reply, Sharon just walked up to Beverly and kissed her, the women’s tongues scurrying around inside each other’s mouths.

Susan and Karen watched their mothers kissing. Susan turned to Karen and said, “Let’s watch for a while, okay?” Karen nodded. She was getting tingly again already from just seeing her mother and Sharon kissing.

Beverly cupped Sharon’s breast and flicked the nipple several times with her thumb, causing the flesh to pucker in anticipation. A small moan escaped Sharon as the sensations spread throughout her body. Beverly thought about how at long last she would have a partner to enjoy these times with. Then it occurred to her. She wouldn’t have one partner, but three.

Sharon broke the kiss and trailed a series of small pecks down along the side of Beverly’s throat, moving along the shoulder, and finally coming to rest on the woman’s nipple. She sucked it, teasing it with her teeth, and dancing on it with her tongue.

Beverly could feel her breathing change from slow, deep breaths to nearly panting. She missed having her breasts made love to in this way. She could pinch her own nipples, but that could not compare with having someone worship her breasts with their lips, tongue, and teeth. And although her late husband had spent time making love to her breasts, it was the memory from her puberty, the first time her friend had done this to her newly developing breasts, that sprang to mind while Sharon suckled her.

Beverly shifted her gaze to their daughters. Both Susan and Karen were rapt while watching what their mothers were doing to each other. Small grins spread on their beautiful faces. They were on their tummies, and Beverly looked at their little butts. She wanted to squeeze the firm flesh, but that would wait until later. Beverly noticed that both girls had snaked their hands under their bodies, where she could tell they were each playfully stroking their clits. She could see the lust in their eyes as each soft touch they gave themselves increased their desires.

Now that they had permission to touch themselves openly, Beverly wondered if this would become a nearly daily occurrence, to see them touching themselves, bringing the wonderful explosions with touches that would become more capable with time and practice. She knew that if she had been allowed such liberties, she would have brought herself orgasms every day since discovering them, especially during her puberty.

Sharon’s hand swam down Beverly’s sensitive skin to her mound. Parting the labia and hair, her middle finger traced the furrow between her lips and stroked Beverly’s clit for the first time. This brought a small gasp from Beverly, a gasp that was echoed by their audience of two.

Susan could not believe what was happening. She had watched her mother on more than one occasion, but she had decided maybe she shouldn’t mention that in her confession. Now they would all be able to do whatever they liked whenever they liked. And now that her mound had experienced that mysterious explosion, it seemed much less elusive. Her hand had wandered down to her slit almost immediately after the girls had begun watching their mothers make love, and already she could feel the first hint of another orgasm heading her way.

She had noticed that when she had started touching herself that Karen had copied her actions. Now both of them were masturbating. She wondered if Karen would be able to bring herself an orgasm. Susan decided that if the girl had trouble with achieving one, she would be glad to help.

She pictured herself pressing her mouth to Karen’s mound, and that was when her next orgasm struck. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” she grunted, as the waves crashed over her. She felt rather than saw Karen shift herself to watch her as she peaked.

When Susan once again opened her eyes, she saw near desperation in Karen’s eyes. Her friend had turned over onto her back, and now her hand was flying over her mound, doing its best to bring that wonderful feeling.

Susan leaned over and kissed Karen, copying what she’d seen their mothers doing just minutes ago, and the young girl kissed her back, complete with tongue. Susan reached over Karen, who was now turned to face her, and put her hand on the little girl’s buttocks, squeezing the firm flesh.

The girls scooted closer to each other and were soon wrapped in a lover’s embrace. Now Karen’s hand had been replaced by Susan’s thigh, and the little girls humped each other.

Karen, like Susan, realized that she now recognized the signs of an approaching orgasm. She felt it building inside her and knew she would reach her peak soon.

Beverly and Sharon were now lying down as well, but they had assumed a different position. They were head to cunt, and each was enjoying the taste of the other. They had stopped momentarily when they’d heard Susan reach her orgasm, and now they could hear little Karen as she trembled out her own climax. Each woman glanced at their daughters and saw them humping each other’s thigh, with Karen pressing herself against Susan with all her strength as she peaked. Beverly could see the tight muscles of her daughter’s buttocks clenching rhythmically as the orgasm shook the young girl.

The women returned to each other with renewed lust. Their tongues slashed along each other’s wet vaginal slits, pressing against clits and relishing the taste of the other’s juices.

Beverly reached her climax first, and Sharon was there moments later. Spasms rocked each woman until they lay there beneath the lean-to and regained their breath.

When they looked at their daughters, the girls had managed to copy their mothers. Each girl was now licking the other’s mound, performing oral sex for the first time. And apparently loving it.

After the girls had both reached their peak, they looked at their mothers and blushed.

“It’s okay, girls,” Beverly said.

“Yes, you may do that whenever you wish in your free time,” Sharon added.

“As long as it’s okay for us to join you if we want,” Beverly said with a chuckle.

Continue on to Chapter 4

I Was the Daughter of a Porn Star, Chapter 88

  • Posted on May 18, 2017 at 4:06 pm

The Circle of Abundant Happiness

By Cheryl Taggert 

If you need help keeping up with the characters, you may go here.

Time passed, as it always does, and we settled into our own routine. Mom let Lisa and me move in with each other. We rented an apartment near the university and started making a life for ourselves. We were happy, blissful even. We would invite others for sleepovers. My mom and Cindy, Aunt Emmy and Danni, Jenna, the twins, Rachel, even Lisa’s mom, Donna. Occasionally, Marie or Deanna would drop by and we would renew the wonderful lives we had shared. There were even times Lisa and I stayed in one of the many hotels in Hollywood for a night to enjoy some fun and games with one of the girls who worked there.

We got our undergraduate degrees, and I started graduate school. I was still working on my former project, the interviews with girls who had started their sex lives early, which eventually became my Master’s Thesis and later, in an expanded form, my Doctoral Dissertation. I ended up publishing it, of course, and it became required reading in quite a few colleges and universities for people studying child psychology, including my alma mater, UCLA. I always felt its popularity was mostly due to the fact that it offered a different conclusion than most people had about children who had experienced early sexual experimentation, even with adults.

The FBI even hounded me after publication to try to get the names of some of the people who had been what they called “victims of child abuse.” I ended up going to court to defend my right to maintain my subjects’ privacy, as I’d said I would when conducting my research. I explained my findings, and the judge agreed that since the so-called victims didn’t see themselves as such, it wasn’t the job of the FBI to try to convince them that they were. He had the view that if they weren’t damaged psychologically, why do something that might cause them damage? I had interviewed plenty of girls who had suffered guilt after being discovered and their insistence that the pain and shame were a manifestation of society’s finger-pointing, not the acts themselves. I also made sure I interviewed girls who had been forced into sex, and the pain from the experiences were not from society’s reactions but the fact that their participation was forced, not a mutual decision. In those cases, however, the rapists and molesters had been tried already, or the victims chose not to pursue legal punishment for their tormentors, so the FBI was not interested in those cases.

When I had earned my Master’s in Child Psychology, I started working with the local school system as my first job and quickly earned a reputation for being able to help girls whom many had considered incorrigible become happier, more productive people. I never shared my secret to my success. I was certain nobody would ever understand — unless they were like me, and there was no way of telling that.

Two years later, when Lisa and I were both 26, I opened my own practice counseling young girls. I limited my practice to girls only, ages seven to seventeen.  I also finished my PhD. I was now Doctor Taylor. The following year, we bought a house together not far from the campus where we had met.

Both our lives changed drastically, however, when the county brought me five-year-old Paulette. She was two years younger than the youngest girls I normally took on, but Jerri, a female social worker I knew from CPS, or Child Protection Services, called and begged me to work with the girl.

Her mother had died of a drug overdose, and nobody knew who her father was. On the birth certificate there was no name for father, meaning he probably didn’t even know the woman he had fucked had gotten pregnant. Hell, he may not even remember having sex if he had been too stoned at the time. There had never been any efforts to find him.

So little Paulette was an orphan, completely without family since her mother had had no living relatives anyone could find.

And she was more beautiful than any little girl I’d ever met.

She had the looks of a child movie star. I had always considered the young actress who’d portrayed Hermione in the Harry Potter movies to be gorgeous, but that girl had nothing on Paulette.

Her black hair hung in waves down her back and over her shoulders. Her dark brown eyes seemed to stare into my soul when she favored me with a glance. Her gorgeous mouth was naturally red with surprisingly white teeth for a girl who’d been mostly neglected. The only way to describe her skin was alabaster. Of course, she wasn’t all that clean when I first met her, but I could see the striking beauty beneath the layered dirt. Also, her clothes did not fit the rest of her. I don’t mean they were too big or too small. I mean they were too drab, barely more than rags.

When I first met her, she sat in my office for nearly thirty minutes in total silence. She just sat there taking in the various decorations that spotted my office walls — colorful paintings by some of the girls I’d worked with mostly.

Jerri, the social worker from CPS, told me the little girl’s story, and my heart went out to her immediately. Her mom had been a drug addict all the child’s life, and while she’d tried to make a life for herself and her daughter, the lure of drugs always got in the way. She had sold her daughter to men by the hour to get money for drugs, or in direct exchange for the poison she needed.

“Cheryl,” Jerri concluded, “the biggest problem I have is I don’t want to put her in juvee,” meaning juvenile hall, a place with beds and food but little else. “What I really need is a place where she can stay. Somewhere she can be safe and try to attempt a life that at least borders on normal.”

Jerri was looking at me, her brow arched with suggestions and dire requests.

“You want me to bring her home?” I said, Jerri’s meaning finally dawning on me.

“Only for a few days until I can find a suitable foster home. A week at the most.”

I looked back at the angel who sat at the small table, sized for little girls, her eyes slowly drifting around the room, taking in everything and nothing.

“A week?” I asked, obviously weakening, though I was never truly considering saying no.

“At the most,” Jerri said, encouragement in her voice.

“Jerri,” I said, figuring I probably should be completely honest with her. “I don’t exactly hide it, but I don’t shout it from the rooftops either.”

“What?”

“I’m a lesbian. I live with my wife over near UCLA.”

“Pff,” she said. “You think that matters? This is the twenty-first century.”

“Not in some parts of the country,” I said.

“Well it is in this little corner of the world. We don’t screen for that anymore,” Jerri concluded, her tone suggesting a finality that said it wasn’t an issue and would not be mentioned again, much less discussed. “Besides, I was told by someone you were a lesbian — I forget who — which makes you a perfect person to take her in right now. She doesn’t trust men.”

That made sense. She had probably felt abused by men her whole life if her mom had been forcing her to have sex with them for drug money. I looked at Paulette again, wondering what Lisa would say when I brought her home. This wasn’t like bringing home a puppy.

“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?” Jerri said, causing me to look at her and wonder if she meant it the way I thought about such beauty. But she was just being motherly, not being a horny lesbian whose pussy creamed at such sights as the little girl sitting in my office.

I had managed to seduce or be seduced by quite a few girls who came to me, often inviting Lisa to join in for a session when she could make it. This one was different, though. I thought about the men she’d been forced to pleasure, and while my body wanted to make love with this little vision of beauty, my mind and heart refused to allow me to go there. I considered her forbidden fruit because of the probable trauma she had already suffered. I was sure any attempt at seduction would not be welcomed by Paulette. And that prevented me from trying to get her interested in anything like that. Her soul would have to be healed first. Then she might be taught that sex could be a joy.

“Okay,” I said, thinking of Lisa. “A week.”

“Thanks! She’ll be so much happier there than at juvee. I’ll call you the minute I have someone lined up.”

“No hurry,” I said, hoping that sentiment was true for Lisa as well.

After Jerri left, I finally managed to get Paulette to talk.

“Hi,” I began. “I’m Cheryl.”

She looked at me, her features blank, no emotion at all. “Hi. I’m Paulette, but you know that.”

Well, she’d been listening to my conversation with Jerri, at least.

But more than that, the maturity of the girl’s conversation surprised me. Startled me in fact. She was only five, but she conversed like a much older girl, maybe ten. In some ways, she didn’t even talk like a child.

She pointed at a picture of a yellow cat, an original artwork by one of my patients.

“That’s pretty,” Paulette said. “Who painted it?”

“One of my patients,” I said.

“What kind of doctor are you?”

“I’m a child psychologist,” I answered, wondering if I would now need to explain what I did.

“Oh,” Paulette said, as if that explained everything.

“Do you like to draw and paint?” I asked, thinking she was hinting at an activity she’d like to do.

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”

I again marveled at the level of maturity in her conversation. If her voice sounded as old as her conversation made her sound, I would be able to close my eyes and think I was talking to one of my older patients, not the youngest one I’d ever had.

She interrupted my thoughts when she said something that really astounded me. “I like to read, though.”

Read? At age five? I began to wonder what her IQ was.

I got up and retrieved a copy of a Dr. Seuss book, that old stand-by The Cat in the Hat. 

“Not like those,” she said, disdain dripping from her tone. “Do you have Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire? I’m reading that right now, but I left it in my room.”

Harry Potter? She’s reading Harry Potter? I figured her verbal IQ would definitely test well into the genius range, at least 150.

Because I had many girls right now who were reading that series, I had a copy of the book she wanted in my office. I brought it to her and asked if she would read it aloud to me.

She shrugged, as if my request were a simple one, and after finding where she’d last read, began to read to me. After five minutes, I had her stop reading aloud.

“Who taught you to read?” I asked as if it weren’t important.

She looked at me with an intelligent gaze as if deciding if my question were worth answering. “TV,” she said, as if that answered all my questions.

I had never worked with a child like this, not even close. On the one hand, it frightened me. Could I work with such an intelligent child? Dealing with super-intelligent children is an art. They could rarely be treated like someone their own physical age, yet they didn’t respond well if they were treated more like someone their mental age. It was a delicate situation. On the other hand, I was elated, eager, overjoyed. Many child psychologists could go an entire career without even meeting a child this smart.

While Paulette sat there reading, I went into my office, closed the door, and called my wife.

As it turned out, I needn’t have worried about Lisa. She was thrilled we would be keeping Paulette for as much as a week.

After Paulette and I arrived at our house, I suggested the girl take a bath. She readily agreed and stripped right there in front of both Lisa and me. We watched as she revealed her slender body slowly to our eyes.

“My mom used to like to watch me, too,” she said.

“Your mom used to like to watch you do what?” I asked, figuring she would say something about getting undressed, but her response surprised me.

“Everything,” she said before asking, “where’s the bathroom?”

I glanced at Lisa and put my hand on Paulette’s shoulder, guiding her down the hallway to the bathroom.  I noticed the shabby clothing on the floor as we walked by. The panties had a big hole in them.

I turned to Lisa. “Would you throw those out?” I asked, nodding towards the pile of rags that had passed for clothing.

“Sure,” Lisa answered, her eyes tearing at the sight of the meager and ragged clothes the child had been forced to wear.

I ran the bath for the lovely creature that would be staying with us for at least the next few days, and halfway through that, Lisa showed up at the bathroom door. Like me, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off of Paulette’s beauty.

When I heard Lisa gasp, I looked around to see what had made her do that.

Then I gasped. Paulette was sitting on the toilet, the fingers of her right hand inside herself, fucking her little pussy. The fingers of her left hand were rubbing her tiny clit. As we watched, she brought her left hand to her mouth, licked it to wet it, and returned to her pussy. Her breathing was already becoming ragged from the orgasm that seemed to be perhaps a minute away.

Then she was coming. She grunted and gasped as the feelings washed over her. After finishing her climax, she stood back up and looked at Lisa and me with a smile. Then she had stuck the fingers from her right hand inside her mouth to lick them clean of the small amount of pussy juice that her vagina had produced.

I looked at Lisa, who looked at me. Then we both looked at Paulette.

“Do you do that a lot?” I asked.

“Yes. It relaxes me,” she said.

“Is that what your mom used to watch you do?” Lisa asked.

Paulette nodded. “One of them.”

Something told me the other things would be just as interesting.

She climbed into the tub and sat there, making no move to wash herself. Instead, she looked up at me and Lisa as if waiting. Then it hit me. She didn’t bathe herself; her mother did that for her. I reached for the washcloth I’d taken out of the linen closet for her, dipped it in the bathwater, and began to soap it.

Then I noticed she was looking oddly at the washcloth. “Why are you using that?” she asked.

“Didn’t your mom use a washcloth to bathe you?” I asked.

“No. She just used her hands.”

I glanced back at Lisa, who was obviously getting turned on by this, thankful I’d agreed to bring this treasure into our home. A week? A month would be too short a time. I had planned not to do anything sexual with Paulette because I thought she was traumatized about sex. The situation was proving to be quite the contrary. Still, Jerri had mentioned a fear of men. Perhaps the child was only traumatized by men, not women? Something that happened later would answer that question clearly, but for now I was left to wonder.

And to enjoy this bath.

I started soaping my hands. I smiled at Paulette, but she was frowning, her brow furrowed in clear disappointment. Something else about bath time was missing.

I stopped lathering the soap. “What is it, honey?”

She looked at me with those piercing eyes. “Aren’t you going to get in with me?”

My breath caught. A few seconds passed and I closed my hanging mouth. Looking back at Lisa, I saw she had her eyebrows raised. Then Lisa spoke up. “Yeah, Cheryl, aren’t you getting in with her?” I could hear the lust in her voice.

I looked back at Paulette. Disappointment and hope seemed to drip from her like the water from my soapy hands. It was obvious she wanted me to undress and join her in the tub. It occurred to me that we could have moved this to our private bath, which had what was basically a hot tub, not this standard sized one. All three of us would fit easily there.

But Paulette was looking at me. She saw me as her rescuer. I was the mother figure to her. Since her arrival, she’d been nice to Lisa, but her view of us was more like I was her new mother, and Lisa a favorite aunt. I wondered how she would take the suggestion we move into the bigger tub for the bath. Would she panic? Would she refuse? It was becoming more and more apparent she wanted me to do sexual things to her. This was apparently the norm for the baths she’d had all her life.

I decided to check her out on the new tub idea, making it a suggestion she was free to turn down.

“Honey, Lisa and I have a much bigger tub than this one. It’s like a little swimming pool in our bathroom. We could be more comfortable in there if you’d like to move there.”

Those enigmatic eyes brightened and her delicious lips spread into a smile — the first since I’d met her. She nodded enthusiastically.

I turned to Lisa. “Lisa, while I get Paulette out of the small tub, why don’t you go start running the water in the big one?

Before Lisa could leave the bathroom, I looked back at Paulette. “How would you like it if we all three take a bath together? There’s lots of room.”

Her smile widened. I had my answer.

We moved to the spacious bathroom off our bedroom, and Lisa was running the bath for all of us. She was also busy removing her clothes when we entered. Paulette stared at my wife as she revealed herself to the child. When Lisa’s pussy came into view, the child’s stare became even more intense, as if she were trying to memorize every detail.

As the water rose higher, I placed Paulette into the giant tub and began removing my own clothing. Once again, she stared without a hint of awkwardness at my nudity as each garment was removed. Because I had been at work, there was more to take off, including pantyhose. By the time I was finished stripping, the tub was nearly full enough for us.

I stepped carefully into the tub and moved next to Paulette and Lisa, who had already joined our unplanned guest. Paulette was sitting astride Lisa, her legs on either side of my wife’s thighs. She was facing her.

“Can I wash your breasts?” Paulette asked a very happy Lisa.

“Sure,” was the expected answer.

Paulette reached over and grabbed the bar of gentle soap from the soap dish, and after lathering her hands, began to massage the slippery bubbles of soap onto Lisa’s breasts, which are quite a bit larger than mine.

The child seemed fascinated with the globes of flesh, each capped by a light pink nipple as big around as a ping-pong ball with a small point of flesh protruding from its center to form a hard point that I knew from experience felt wonderful against a soapy palm.

Finally, Paulette looked deeply into Lisa’s eyes and said, “You can touch me down there if you want.”

I could see that Lisa was so turned on by this that I thought she might come right then and there. Instead, she reached down and began to play with the fleshy lips of Paulette’s pussy. The little girl, who I still had trouble believing was only five years old, rinsed Lisa’s boobs and leaned into her chest to suckle my wife’s breasts. There was more than sexuality to the movement. This was an act of love and joy.

When she leaned back after beginning to squirm under the expert touches by Lisa, she looked at the woman whose breasts had received such loving attention and said, “Is it okay if I have some fun with Cheryl now?” Lisa nodded, of course.

It was odd. Until that moment she had not said my name once. I was actually touched by her saying it like that and in that context, as if we had been very special friends since her birth.

As the naked child moved to straddle my hips, I indicated my wife and said, “You know who she is?”

She smiled at her and said, “Sure. She’s Lisa.”

She looked at me then and said, “You can touch me down there too. You can both do whatever you want with me. I like it.” Her face clouded. “I just don’t like penises.” She meant what she said, too.

“What did your mommy call this?” I asked, touching her slit.

“My pussy or my cunt. Sometimes she called it my slit or mound, and even my kitty. She showed me where my clit is, and that’s what feels the best. I love how it feels when I touch it, and I love it even more when my mommy touched it.” She looked at Lisa. “You touched it nice too.”

“Do I touch it nice?” I asked, feeling the tender flesh beneath my probing fingers.

“Yes,” she said, smiling at me. Her pleasure was evident on her face. “Are you gonna make me come?”

“I hope so,” I said. “Did your mommy ever touch you with anything else, like her lips and tongue?”

“Yeah, that was the nicest of all, I think. I liked doing that to her, too.” I was amazed at the casualness of the child’s conversation about the lesbian incest she’d experienced — and enjoyed — with her mother. It was obvious that she considered those experiences to be normal, as if all children engaged in sex with their parent.

Paulette’s pussy was now clean from the rubbing by Lisa and me. I lifted her up and planted my lips on her mound, beginning to run my tongue over its surface. I couldn’t hold her there for long, but Lisa stood up and guided this lovely child to where she could sit on the edge of the tub and have her pussy licked.

She eagerly spread her legs and I continued pleasuring this lovely child.

Her breathing quickened and she began to chant, “I’m almost there! I’m almost there!” Then she was. She came like a grown woman would. Not with the flow of juices — her body was still only five — just as far as the orgasm’s intensity was concerned.

She came down from her sexual peak and moved to kiss me on the lips that had just been pressed against her little girl mound.

Lisa interrupted. “Uh, can we move this to the bed?”

I grinned at her. It was a wonderful idea. Before we got out of the tub, we all finished bathing, Lisa and I taking turns washing Paulette all over.

Soon we had dried off enough to move to our bed. Paulette gently urged us onto our backs next to each other, and she started by licking Lisa first, I suppose because she had been the first to touch her pussy.

Soon, Lisa was nearing an orgasm, and I mean within only a few seconds. Then the orgasm burst upon her, sending her body into paroxysms of released desire.

When she was finished coming, she looked at me, incredulity bathing her face. “Oh, my God!” she said. “I’ve not had a young girl that good at licking pussy since Laura.”

“Who’s Laura?” Paulette asked.

“We’ll tell you later,” Lisa said. “Do you want to lick Cheryl now?”

The child grinned and nodded and was soon giving me the best oral sex a five-year-old girl could ever give. Lisa was right. This girl’s ability was amazing for one so young.

Soon, I came as well, and it took me several minutes to recover.

“Can I come live here?” Paulette asked, looking deeply into my eyes.

Lisa chuckled and said, “Yeah, Cheryl, can she?”

I said, “We can talk about it.”

Lisa smiled and said, “I’ll fix her some dinner. You get in touch with whoever you have to contact to make this happen.”

By the next day, I had arranged to be Paulette’s foster mother. Jerri was thrilled. “I was hoping you’d say that!” she exclaimed.

*******

A month later Lisa and I sat in bed, discussing our future.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lisa said.

“What about?”

“Us.”

“Okay,” I said. “What about us have you been thinking about?”

Lisa snuggled up against me. We had spent the evening making love with Paulette. She was becoming more and more a fixture in our lives.

“I’m thinking I want to be a mom.”

“Being an aunt to Rachel’s children isn’t enough?” I asked. Rachel had married and now had two children, both girls. Their initiation into lesbian sex would begin soon.

“No.”

“So how do you propose to get pregnant? Artificial insemination?”

“No. Adoption,” she said.

I looked at my wife, my lover. Of course, I knew who she meant.

“You want to adopt Paulette?” I asked. She nodded. “That’s a big step.”

“I know,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I love her so much. She’s like our daughter already. And she loves us, too.”

“I know.” She did, too. She told us all the time how much she loved us. I had been afraid she would be adopted by a heterosexual couple. This girl really didn’t like men at all.

One Saturday our neighbor, Greg, had stopped by to drop off some tomatoes from his garden. He was just being neighborly. But when we let him into the house, we wanted to introduce him to Paulette, but we couldn’t find her. When we finally located her, she was inside the closet in her bedroom, hiding. She had been afraid we had decided to share her with Greg. She was terrified.

I could see the problems that would arise if a man and woman wanted to adopt this beautiful child. She would never be able to love the man. She would always fear him.

We assured her that Greg would never hurt her, but it was no use. Paulette wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, it took over a year for her to be able to trust him, and that was after much work with her child psychologist mother.

Now, my Lisa was talking of adopting this precious girl. And I was already close to agreeing with her. I adored Paulette in a way I never thought I would adore a child. Yes, there was the sex, but it was more. Just as my love of Lisa was about more than the sex or even our shared desire for young girls.

The next day I called and asked Jerri if our adoption of Paulette was possible. She had laughed happily on the phone and said, “Considering I doubt that she could ever be happy in a home where there was a man, I would strongly support your efforts to do just that.”

I called my mother that afternoon. She thought the idea of adopting this lovely girl was a great idea. She had spent plenty of time with the girl that would be her granddaughter if we did indeed adopt her, and she loved the girl. There was a strong emotional attachment.

Finally, we asked the person whose views on the subject were more important than anyone else’s.

As the darling girl sat on the sofa, her gaze piercing Lisa and me to the core of our hearts, I asked her how she would feel about becoming our daughter. I didn’t have to explain about the difference between adoption and foster care. She was keenly aware that as our foster child, she could be removed without notice.

As her adoptive parents, she would be ours forever.

“That’s what I’ve wanted since the first night I was here,” she said, sounding as if we were silly not to have known it already, and I suppose in a way we were. And for the first time since setting eyes on her, I saw Paulette shed tears of happiness.

Now, here we were, six months after making that decision, standing before a judge, who was listening to Jerri give her unqualified support for our adoption of Paulette Hargrove, who until that day had never had a middle name. The judge granted our petition, and he signed the paperwork that would forever change her name to Paulette Brown-Taylor.  But now, not only did she have a new hyphenated last name, she would have a middle name as well. Henceforth, the judge declared, she would legally be known as Paulette Gwendolyn Brown-Taylor. She would forever carry the name of one of the bravest women I’d ever met, a woman who had given her life to return Cindy to her family, rescuing the woman I considered another mother from that Hell of a jungle compound in Colombia. It was a fitting tribute to Gwen to name this lost but now found girl after her.

That night, we went to my mom’s house to celebrate. It wasn’t a night for sex. It was a night for celebration and remembering. Besides Mom and Cindy, who cried when she was told Paulette’s new middle name, Lisa’s mom was there, as were Rachel, Jenna and her partner Miranda a lovely girl from Panama whom Jenna had met last year, and one who shared Jenna’s youthful tastes. The twins Sophia and Sonia who were now twenty and considered each other their life partner, sat beside each other making it look as if a mirror had been placed next to one of them. My aunt Emmy and her partner Danni, were there of course, and finally there was Deanna and Marie, who had moved in with each other over a year ago, much to my delight and surprise. Paulette was the guest of honor, and Lisa and I were the proud parents who beamed at our daughter with love and pride.

No men were present. Lisa’s father and Rachel’s husband, who were keeping Rachel’s daughters while we had this party, had understood. They’d been told about our daughter’s fear of men, as well as being assured that eventually they would be welcome at such an occasion as this after Paulette’s psychologist mother had time to work with her daughter on that fear. They still lived in complete ignorance of the special relationship we all had, but they were men and easily fooled by the women they loved.

After the feast we’d shared, I looked around the large dining table at the people who meant the most to me over my lifetime. They were all there, and my tears began to flow freely. They were tears of abundant happiness. The love that I was feeling had turned to tears and had overflowed my eyelids. This was my family, each of them. They had all done their part to shape who I had become, many of them unaware of the profound influence their own lives had had on mine. I was thankful for each one of them, and that night I made sure they each knew the depth of my gratitude for them.

I recalled a night when we had feasted years before. That fateful night before Gwen and Mom left to rescue Cindy. This time, the love was not colored in hues of sadness and fear. This time it was radiant in its splendor, alive with promise.

My life was good, and now it felt fulfilled. I was twenty-seven and very happily married, though as yet not legally in the United States, one of the world’s most backward nations as far as sex went. I had become a successful child psychologist who had a very secret method for dealing with problem girls, and now I was a mother. I looked at my lover, my wife. Lisa was crying openly as well.

It was 2009. Life had come full circle, and I was discovering that I had arrived where I’d begun, in a life of supreme love and happiness, where pleasure was celebrated, not frowned upon.

I raised my glass of wine to them all. “To family!” I squeaked, my throat tight with emotion as the tears flowed freely, and they all repeated my toast. “To family!”

– Finis –

Click here to read the Author’s Afterword

In the Beginning…

  • Posted on May 16, 2017 at 3:44 pm

By Cheryl Taggert

Recently, Juicy Secrets received an email asking for advice on how to begin a story. While many new authors have no problems at all with starting a story, some do. After some emailed discussions between my site partners and me, we decided to post the information in my reply as a blog entry to continue our series of posts regarding the craft of writing. The following is the result of this endeavor.

Often fledgling authors come up with great ideas for a story, or even a book. Major aspects of the plot materialize and the thought occurs that these concepts should be put together for others to read and enjoy. The potential author sits down at the keyboard, enthused by the idea of creating a story. He or she stares at the blank screen. And stares. And stares. The idea is a good one, but where should the story begin? They’ve always heard “begin at the beginning,” but what exactly IS the beginning?

Sadly, for some the beginning of their story idea is also the ending of it. The story remains unwritten; the computer screen remains blank. I can understand the intimidation of the blank screen. Anyone who has set out to attempt to write anything has heard how important the beginning is. It must grab the reader’s attention immediately without seeming to try too hard to do so.

Published writers will disagree on which one of the “big three” — character, plot, or conflict — is the most important element in a story, so there is no set answer. For me, the most important is character. Who these people are that populate the story, especially the protagonist (the main character), is essential to a story’s opening. The plot and situation, or conflict, can come later — not TOO much later, but I feel if a reader cares about or is at least intrigued by the characters, he or she will continue to read. The opening line is important, which makes the start of a story so crucial.

For example, in addition to erotica, I love mystery stories. When I was in high school, I started reading Lawrence Sanders. In his novel The Tenth Commandment, he begins with this sentence: “I was an only child, so I became an only man.” Think about what this says about the first person narrator, whose name was Joshua Bigg. We’re told in the book’s second sentence that the character’s name is one of life’s jokes, since Joshua Bigg is very short — five-feet-three and three-eighths inches. However, this irony is clearly not for comic effect in the story. That first line says it all. It was an opening I’ve never forgotten (clearly), and I also never forgot the lesson I learned from it as a writer: Beginnings are the most important part of any story.

The truth is that no story actually begins “at the beginning.” In reality the lives of the characters you are creating have already been going on for a while. It is simply a case of thinking of a basic scenario that at least one of your characters finds herself in. (From this point I will be addressing how to write for our website, so nearly all of the characters would be girls or women.) It is also important that we know who this is, and that does not mean her name. But just having this character sitting on a sofa drinking a glass of wine is all well and good, but something does have to happen to her in order to keep us interested. So while I say character is the most important aspect in the opening, we must have plot, or a situation in which the character finds herself.

Many of the details of that situation are dependent on where the story the writer has envisioned will be going. Here are a few questions someone should consider when starting a story:

  1. Who is my protagonist (the main character)? What kind of person is she? Overbearing? Curious? A divorcee? A widow? Shy? Outgoing?
  2. What is her life situation? (How old is she? If she is a child, how much does she know about sex? Where is she? At home? School? Outside? Inside? What is occupying her mind when we meet her? Those kinds of things.)
  3. How much time will be spent developing the characters before actual sex takes place? (This can be tricky. Too little, and the reader can feel as though the characters aren’t important. Too much, and the reader can get bored before the fun even starts.)
  4. Who will my protagonist have sex with first? A friend? A relative? An adult? A playmate? Herself?
  5. How will I set up a situation in which my main character succeeds in having sex with this other person? Or if she is masturbating, how will I make sure she has enough private time to complete the act? If she is having sex for the first time with someone, she will still need privacy. How I provide that is up to me and will dictate the setting.
  6. Are there any problems that must be considered prior to the first sex scene?

These are just a few questions that a writer should consider. Most of these can be answered as you write, but some basics must be in place to set up the scenario the character finds herself in.

Take my current story (at the time of this writing), “Island of Joys,” as an example. When I began, I knew the following:

It would be a period piece, in this case the mid-1800s. I knew this would limit some of the things I included in my story. Battery-powered toys, for example, would be an anachronism, or out of place for that time period. Next, I decided that there would be four main characters in the story, two adult women and their two daughters. I wanted the women to be about two years apart in age, with the second main adult character, Sharon, slightly older and running from an abusive man. The primary protagonist would be recently widowed and taking her daughter to Australia. The children would be a mirror of their mothers regarding age differences: the younger woman’s daughter would be about two years younger than the older woman’s daughter. I would open with the four on a boat they had caught a ride to Australia on, having left from San Francisco, California, several days prior to the beginning of the story. There would be a storm that would sink the ship and cause the women and their daughters to be separated from the boat and the remaining crew. I also knew that the seaman who was rowing their lifeboat would attack someone the first night out after the storm had sunk the boat and be killed in the ensuing fight. I knew the sex between characters would take care of itself, which is what I think would happen regardless of the gender and situation the shipwrecked people found themselves in.

Those were the things I KNEW when I began writing the story. Since I knew the ship would sink in a storm, the best place to start the story was the storm itself. That is why I said that the situation the characters will face determines a number of aspects regarding the beginning of the story. If you go back and look at that opening chapter, you will see I begin with the captain warning one of the women about the storm. The rest sort of wrote itself after that because I knew where I wanted the story and situation to be by the end of that first chapter.

This brings up the point that a writer should ALWAYS have the target situation in mind when writing. Otherwise, an author can write him- or herself into a corner VERY easily. So… the story doesn’t start “at the beginning.” It starts in the middle of everything. I fill in the gaps of information with narrative later, such as how Sharon learned about survival. I will admit that this was a later addition, after JetBoy read the first few chapters and mentioned how unlikely it seemed that women in that time period weren’t totally paralyzed with fear when faced with surviving on a desert island. I thought about his comment and realized he was 100% right. This was not in the days of women in the military. This was the mid-19th century, when women, like children, were seen and not heard, as well as constantly ordered about by men. Thus, I used Sharon’s situation — running from an abusive husband — to help explain why she’s so prepared for this frightening task. So having a reader or two goes a LOOOONNNNGGG way to being a successful writer. All professional authors have them in addition to their agents. (Thank you, JetBoy!)

Therefore, because I knew where I wanted the situation to end up, I knew what had to be told to the reader in that first chapter. Because I knew that a special situation had to be in the story — a ship wrecked by a storm — I knew where I had to begin my story. After the opening line, it was easy as far as what would happen. When a mother accompanied by her young daughter is on a ship in the middle of an ocean and is warned about an approaching storm, she finds her daughter before doing anything else. That’s only natural. Then she sets about following the captain’s suggestion in this case to “tie everything down.” At that point, it’s all about getting my characters onto that desert island, where the idea of sex would eventually make itself known, which is already chronicled in chapter two.

So now our fledgling author might be thinking, ‘Okay, I have this girl age eleven who has discovered that she can find a lot of pleasure by rubbing her pussy.’ This brings up the question, how and where did she learn? Did a friend tell her about a sexy website (a very common storyline)? Was she washing herself in the shower or tub and had a ‘hey, that feels good… I wonder what would happen if I did it more and harder’ moment? Let’s say our author chooses the second one, the shower. She could start with the girl either getting into the shower OR she could have her lying in bed that night thinking about it and wondering about doing more… maybe she had a friend who had hinted at such feelings and she is curious about them. Who knows? The fact is how our new writer develops the plot is totally up to her or him.  One can begin ANYWHERE in the story, so long as it helps set up the first scenario the main character finds herself in. Here is a beginning to such a story:

Beth lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering about the feelings she had experienced in the shower that night. The sensations seemed to come out of nowhere. She remembered how her best friend, Leanne, had smiled in an odd way when mentioning how her nightly shower was her favorite time of the day. Beth had wondered if Leanne had been talking about some sort of sex thing because of that smile. It had been… suggestive.

Suddenly, Beth had an understanding of a term she had only thought she understood. A suggestive smile. She had heard that term before but had never realized it had something to do with sex. She’d just thought it involved a secret. Any secret. Here she was a normal, healthy eleven-year-old girl who got good grades in her sixth grade classes, and she had never realized the meaning of that term until now… when she had put two and two together and arrived at an adult understanding of something that had escaped her before. Did this mean she was finally growing up?

She had accidentally aimed the handheld shower massage unit at her pussy. She’d been thinking of Bobby Tyler and what it might feel like to kiss him when ZAM! the shower’s powerful sprat had hit her square in the pussy and sent shivers running through her. She’d pulled the handheld unit away suddenly, as if it had stung her. Then she had realized that if that was what it meant to be stinging her, then let the stinging commence! The accidental squirting of her pussy with the shower massage had started feelings she’d never experienced. Oh, things had felt “nice” before when certain pressures had taken place, but this was different the same way that riding a plastic horse on a carousel was different from riding a roller coaster.

She had aimed the jets of water once again at her center and had felt the most incredible things. Tingles had run through her like an electric current. She had shivered involuntarily although the water was very warm, almost hot in fact, the way she liked it. And the sensations she felt down below her waist were, well, both amazing and scary.

Slightly frightened and wondering if she were hurting herself without meaning to, she had put the shower head back in place and finished showering, intending to forget about what had happened.

But now she could do nothing BUT think about it.

And wonder how she could repeat those feelings now that she was no longer in the shower but lying here in her bed.

Now, look what we have here. We know the main character, Beth, is eleven years old and in sixth grade. Her best friend, Leanne, is probably slightly ahead of Beth in the sexual discovery department, something sure to come into play later, which foreshadows events that serve as an additional hook for the reader, who is now anxious to read about the characters’ future experiences. Beth is a good student, and she is discovering things she had never realized existed before. She has discovered that there’s something more to her pussy than something to pee from and bring babies into the world. She is obviously rather sheltered from the facts of life as far as her parents and explaining her body are concerned. She is on the edge of discovering some wonderful things about her body. And now the nocturnal situation our heroine finds herself in can lead to a full-on exploration of her pussy, an act of further discovery that could or could not end with her first orgasm. Frankly, if I were to continue writing this, I would have her not reach a climax this soon. I would want her to talk to her friend Leanne about this discovery first. However, the exploration could be a LOT of fun to write as well as to read.

I’m already thinking of where to take this — a sure sign that the story will hold my interest. At this point I would have to decide if I wanted the conversation between the girls to take place in this chapter or the next. If I’m writing only a short story instead of a longer work with chapters, I would get to that talk faster and end up with Leanne and Beth discovering more than just how to reach an orgasm when alone, but in all honesty doing that would be rushing events a bit too much, so this scenario would best be served by a multiple-chapter story at the very least, or an erotic novel should I get interested enough in these characters and their situation.

As far as creating a beginning to a story goes, all I’ve done is put a girl in a situation in which she is thinking about sex. There’s no set way to begin a story. The beginning all depends on where the author wishes to take the story in the long run. Our fledgling author could just place a character in a situation and tell us about it through her actions, dialogue, and thoughts… Once upon a time there was a little girl who thought about sex. It’s as easy as that.

If you are a fledgling author, give it a try. The feelings of accomplishment are well worth the effort. Just ask a few of our Guest Authors featured at Juicy Secrets. They’ll tell you. And who knows? Your new story could even be as hot as a Carolina reaper pepper.

Island of Joys, Chapter 2

  • Posted on May 13, 2017 at 3:36 pm

By Cheryl Taggert 

The women and their daughters had been on the island for a week, and their lives had settled into a basic routine. Each morning, they gathered fruit for meals, and after breakfast, they would explore areas of the island they hadn’t had the chance to see.

They were hoping to be rescued, so they had also managed to start a fire using a magnifying glass they’d found in the pouch from the life boat. At the time they found it, the others had wondered what use it would be until Sharon demonstrated why the instrument had been included.

They made sure the fire was kept away from the treeline and above the ocean’s high tide. They didn’t fancy a forest fire, nor did they wish to be forced into starting another fire.

Sharon also taught the girls how to build traps for some of the small animals that inhabited the island. Not only that, but she had also managed to construct some spears and a crude but workable bow for arrows, using the tools found in the leather pouch.

She had almost finished creating some arrows, using the hatchet to chop down some thin trees and shaving the wood down to thin, fairly straight shafts, to which she attached feathers that had molted from some of the many birds on the island. They weren’t perfect, but they would have to do. She had used the whetstone to sharpen small rocks into tips, which she would tie to the ends of the shafts. Practice in using them would be important.

The girls were busy weaving a fish net from pliable vines, another skill Sharon had taught them. Every day they would show how much of the net they’d completed, and their mothers were quite proud.

As they sat for their evening meal, Beverly glanced for the thousandth time at Sharon. Something would have to be done about their need for privacy. They all slept under the lean-to — a more permanent shelter being in the planning stages — and any large movements would wake one or both of the girls, so getting together for some adult fun was not going to happen, it seemed. She had listened to Sharon masturbating the night before, long after the girls had gone to sleep. The woman’s movements had been so slight and so quiet that it had taken Beverly a while before she figured out what was happening. Sharon’s peak had involved strong breathing, nothing more, though she knew the woman wanted to shriek her climax to the night sky.

After Sharon had finished and Beverly allowed enough time to pass for the other woman to fall asleep, she decided to chance masturbating for herself. She was certainly excited enough. Her slit was a soaking mess.

Still, she hadn’t reached her peak because in the middle of her self-pleasuring, Karen had awakened.

The girl had whispered, “Mommy? Are you okay?”

Beverly had stopped immediately and said, “Yes, honey. I think I was dreaming.”

Her daughter had gone back to sleep, but Beverly could no longer attempt to bring herself to orgasm. She had lain there for what seemed like hours, trying to sleep. She had finally managed to drift off, and her dreams had been sexual in nature and involved Sharon and the girl she’d known when she herself was young.

She had awakened with an itching need in her mound and an awareness that the memory and dreams had excited her beyond tolerance, a realization that was frightening. She had been an adult in her dreams, as she was now, but the girl had been as she remembered her, firmly involved with puberty. In her dream she and Sharon had enjoyed sex with the young girl, as if the girl had been an adult and not still a child.

She had never felt these particular stirrings before in which an imagined sexual partner had been a child. Was she a pedophile? The dreams had been very erotic and had seemed quite real to her sleeping mind. In her dreams she had experienced no guilt, just pleasure.

Now, she sat beside Sharon and their daughters. For the first time, Beverly had taken a long look at the girls’ mounds of private flesh. Did they get excited sexually? She remembered she had felt twinges long before discovering a way to satisfy the urges those twinges brought on. How old had she been? Six? Seven? It had certainly been around that time of her life when she had noticed the wonderful feelings that were brought about by accidental touches and pressure on her mound.

Now she looked at Karen, her daughter. Had she felt those stirrings already? She was nine, at least two years older than Beverly had been the first time she noticed the private tingles that sprouted inside her.

And what about last night? Had Karen been awake long enough to realize her mother was rubbing her own mound? Because of what Jack had done to her, Karen was certainly aware that adults enjoyed such things.

She decided it was time for a confrontation. She realized she would not be able to continue like this, wanting sex with Sharon but never having the time away from the girls to enjoy it.

Beverly looked again at Sharon and the woman returned the look with raised brows, as if to say, ‘What?’ Beverly wasn’t aware of what kind of look she was giving Sharon, but it had obviously created puzzlement in the beautiful woman.

Now she looked at their daughters.

“Girls, we need to talk about some things,” she began. Glancing at Sharon, she said, “Adult things.”

“Beverly, I don’t think –” Sharon said, but Beverly interrupted her protest.

“I do think!” Beverly said, her need causing her to sound angry.

Sharon sat where she was, silent and stunned.

Beverly took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just that something must be done, and the only way for that to happen is if we tell the girls the facts of life.” She continued to look meaningfully at Sharon and continued. “I was awake last night.”

Sharon blushed before looking at the girls and back at Beverly.

“Okay. I guess you’re right.”

“Girls, Sharon and I are adults, and, well, adults have certain… needs.”

Both girls furrowed their brows, wondering what this would lead to.

“Needs?” Susan asked.

“Yes, dear. Physical needs,” Beverly said.

Susan’s expression showed she had an inkling about what this was about, but Karen still looked perplexed.

“What kind of physical needs?” Karen asked. “Naps?”

Beverly smiled, but Susan answered the girl’s question.

“She’s talking about sex.”

Karen turned red with embarrassment and said, “Oh.”

“You see,” Beverly continued, “sex is a basic human need. It’s more than just physical, it’s about closeness and tenderness and, well, happiness.”

“I want you to be happy,” Karen said to her mother.

“Yes, dear, I know you do, but you see, sex involves more than one person usually, and –”

“What do you mean ‘usually’?” Karen asked, interrupting her mother.

“Well,” Beverly said, blushing deeply, “a man or a woman can, um, give themselves sexual pleasure and satisfaction through what’s called masturbation.” She realized her daughter would ask what masturbation was, so she continued. “Masturbation is touching yourself in a sexual way to make your body feel good. It involves touching your vagina and your breasts and other things that feel good in a sexual way to achieve what is called an orgasm.”

Susan spoke up. “You mean like my mom last night?”

Shocked by the revelation that Susan had been aware her mother was masturbating the night before, the two women looked at Susan, their eyes wide, staring.

“You… knew?” Sharon asked.

“Sure,” Susan said. “I woke up and heard you breathing kind of funny, so I listened to find out if you were awake or asleep and maybe having a nightmare, but then I heard that sticky sound of your hand touching yourself… down there.”

“How do you know about that ‘sticky sound’?” Sharon asked.

Susan blushed. “Well, I’ve… uh… sort of… watched you do it.”

Sharon was both shocked and angry at having her privacy invaded like that. “You… watched me? Masturbating?”

Susan nodded. “I’m sorry, Mommy! I walked in on you and you didn’t notice, so I sneaked back out of the room and, well, I watched. I was just curious.”

Sharon eased her emotions enough to say, “Can I ask you something?”

“What?” Susan said.

“Why were you so curious about what I do in private?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to see what you were doing. It’s not like I hadn’t touched myself before too, you know.”

“Oh, dear Lord! You’ve masturbated?” Sharon asked.

“Yeah, but I don’t have whatever that is that happens when you finish. I heard you last night and it was like some kind of explosion or something, and it’s real obvious you like it. But it just feels nice to me. I never have done that explosion thing.”

Beverly had been watching the exchange between Sharon and Susan and hadn’t noticed her own daughter. Now she looked at her and saw that the girl was looking at her mound and running her fingers up and down her slit, experimenting with the feeling.

Sharon heard Beverly gasp slightly and looked at her before following the woman’s gaze to see Karen masturbating right there in front of them.

“Karen?” Beverly said.

The girl looked up at her mother. “I was just touching it. I’ve made it feel nice before, too, but there’s not any kind of explosion.”

Susan giggled. “See? Not only grown-ups do that. Even Karen does it, and she’s only nine.”

Beverly realized the conversation had turned to something she hadn’t intended. She took a deep breath, but before she could continue, Sharon spoke up.

“It seems we all need to take some time to understand each other and our needs. I think it would be a good time to get everything out in the open, which is what you were intending, wasn’t it, Beverly?” she said.

Sharon was right, and Beverly recalled that just that morning she had wondered if her daughter felt anything sexual in her vagina.

“Yes, I suppose that’s right.” Beverly looked at the two girls. Karen had stopped masturbating, at least, so Beverly was more able to continue with this important conversation. “Are you two girls willing to discuss your experiences as it regards sex?”

The girls looked at one another before looking back at Beverly and nodding. Susan added, “I guess so. As long as I’m not in trouble.”

“You’re not. We just, well, we just weren’t prepared for this… revelation.” Beverly said. Looking at her daughter, she asked, “How long have you known about the special feelings touching yourself there can bring you?”

“A couple years, I guess. That was the first thing I noticed when that man started touching me there. When I touch it, it feels good, but when he touched it, it didn’t. In fact, it hurt.”

Beverly said, “You never told me he caused you physical pain down there.” She began to worry that the man had done damage to her daughter’s hymen.

“I was scared,” Karen said.

“Is there any pain there now?”

“No.”

“Did you bleed any after he touched you?” Beverly continued asking questions to determine the extent of the physical damage Jack may have inflicted.

“A little. Is that bad?”

“No, dear,” Beverly said. “It’s not bad, but I think he may have torn your hymen.”

“What’s a hymen?” Karen asked.

“It’s a small amount of tissue at the entrance to your vagina, the sleeve of flesh that babies come through,” Beverly said. She had already told Karen where babies came from.

“Do I need to see a doctor about it?” Karen asked. “We don’t have a doctor here.”

“No, honey, but if you don’t mind, I would like to inspect your vagina to see if everything is okay there.”

Karen blushed, but she stood up and went to her mom, saying, “Okay.”

“Lie down,” Beverly instructed her.

When Karen was lying on her back, Beverly got on her knees so she could look at her daughter’s vulva and the area where her hymen should be.

Reaching out, she spread her daughter’s labia. The first thing she noticed was that the little girl’s clitoris was slightly enlarged, though still no larger than a small seed, and a small amount of vaginal fluid was coating her inner labia. She knew that at age nine, Karen wouldn’t be producing much in the way of lubricating secretions, but this amount surprised her.

As she began exploring the inner recesses of her daughter’s mound, she made contact with Karen’s clitoris. This caused the little girl to jump, as if pricked by a needle. It dawned on Beverly that her little girl was sexually excited. She marveled that several minutes after stopping her rudimentary masturbation, Karen was still sensitive enough to react to a slight touch on her little bump.

“Karen?”

“Yes, Mommy?”

“Did it feel nice when I touched you where I did?”

Karen blushed and nodded.

Beverly remembered her dream as she realized she, too, was sexually excited.

Her daughter’s mons reminded her of Jessica’s, the girl her age that she’d experimented sexually with as a young girl. Beverly had a sudden urge to lean down and kiss her daughter’s clitoris and labia. She was sweating now, and her desires nearly took over. She glanced at Sharon to see what she knew would be disapproving looks, but she found the woman’s gaze to be totally different from an admonition to her to stop what she was doing before things went too far.

Sharon was sweating as well. Her hands were casually caressing her torso, avoiding her nipples and vaginal mound, but the touches she was giving herself were sexual nonetheless.

Beverly looked at Susan, and she seemed to be in a trance. She was staring at Karen’s mound and sweating as well. Her hands were rubbing up and down her thighs. Like her mother, the caresses avoided the most important areas, but they were extremely sexual. Erotic, in fact.

Sharon spoke, and her voice was soft and husky sounding. “You’ve not checked her hymen.”

“No, I haven’t,” Beverly said, then added, “Are you seeing what I’m seeing here?”

“You mean the swelling? The moisture?”

Beverly swallowed. “Yes.”

“Yes, I see it,” Sharon said needlessly. Beverly noticed that Sharon’s breathing had increased, becoming a quicker pace than normal.

She looked again at Susan. She noticed that every third stroke or so of her thighs, Susan would make quick contact with her mound, swiping a finger at her slit while trying to be secretive about the action. The three of them were enjoying this much more than she ever thought they might. All three of them were getting very excited, the sexual atmosphere was palpable. She looked back at Karen. No, she corrected herself. All four of them were excited.

Beverly’s hand was still holding Karen’s labia open to allow them all to see the wet interior of her most private body part. She looked back at Sharon, whose eyelids were now half-closed in lust.

She made eye contact with Sharon and then did the same with Susan. Making a decision, Beverly said to them, “Go ahead. It’s alright. There’s nobody here to object and nobody to tell anyone about it.”

“Are you sure?” Sharon gasped.

“Of course I am,” Beverly said. “It’s not as if your daughter doesn’t know you do it. She’s watched you.” Beverly looked at Susan. “She’s emulated you, seeking that wild and wonderful explosion between her thighs.”

Sharon moved her roving hands to her nipples, pinching them before letting her right hand trail down to her hair-covered slit. Two fingers spread the wet labia before scissoring the clitoris, pinching it firmly.

Susan, at first unaware of what Beverly had been talking about, realized the woman was saying it was okay to masturbate, to touch themselves in the most private way. She followed her mother’s lead, hoping to find that magical explosion by doing what her mother did.

Beverly realized she could just as easily lick and kiss Susan’s mound as well.

Doubt and fear filled her for a moment. This would mean she was indeed a pedophile. There was no way around that fact. She was getting erotically excited while inspecting her daughter’s mound, and Sharon and Susan were watching and masturbating. She knew that, given enough time, Sharon would reach her climax. Since Beverly planned to have one or two orgasms herself before this little activity ended, she would make sure her explorations of Karen’s vulva lasted long enough for Sharon to fulfill her desires.

Leaning down and peering into the open mons, she spread the lips wider to afford her a look at her daughter’s vagina itself. She could see that indeed the hymen was partially torn. She looked up over her daughter’s belly to Karen’s eyes, which were intently watching what her mother was doing, with an occasional glance toward Sharon and Susan, who were openly masturbating.

Taking her thumb, Beverly began stroking her daughter’s clitoris. The girl jumped again, taking in a sudden gasp of breath, but otherwise the child did nothing. Beverly continued stroking the tiny pea of flesh, and her daughter was starting to tremble.

Then Beverly looked back at Sharon and said, “Never tell anyone about this.”

“I won’t,” Sharon managed, her eyes still glued to Beverly’s thumb and Karen’s clitoris.

Then Beverly leaned over and placed her mouth on her daughter’s cunt. Yes, it was now a cunt to her, not just a mound or a vagina. It was a sexual thing. Something that gave pleasure to her daughter as well as anyone else her daughter allowed to satisfy it.

Her lips wrapped themselves around her daughter’s small clitoris, and her tongue did a fast, rhythmic dance on it. She heard Sharon gasp and utter, “Oh, my God.” Beverly ignored it and continued lavishing her attentions on her daughter’s center of desire.

Karen’s reaction was instantaneous. She squealed and began to buck her hips involuntarily, as moans came from her that the young girl had never known existed.

She watched her mommy assaulting her mound, feeling her mother’s lips, tongue, and teeth bring that tiny area intense pleasure. And the feelings she experienced from this were beyond anything she’d ever felt or even imagined.

Then, without much warning at all, she had her first orgasm while her mother’s mouth and tongue made love to the soft flesh.

The moment she began to come, Sharon’s own orgasm seized her. Only Beverly and Susan did not reach their peaks yet.

But Beverly intended to change that. In fact, Beverly considered that Sharon was about to do something to her daughter that she’d never thought of before. But if Beverly had brought her daughter to orgasm with her mouth, then Sharon would do the same for her own daughter. It was important to Beverly that Sharon join in the debauchery so Beverly could avoid the guilt that threatened her even as her own hand delved below her waist to the burning desire she felt emanating from her swollen gash.

Beverly had decided that this must be their future, and if that were going to happen, then Sharon would have to do the same thing Beverly had.

Lifting her head from her daughter’s cunt, Beverly said to Sharon, “Your turn. Show your daughter how to have an orgasm.”

Susan smiled. “She’s going to do that to me?”

“Yes.” Beverly’s answer left no room for argument from Sharon.

Sharon blushed and moved to where her daughter sat. “Lie down,” she said. She was surprised at her own willingness to do this. No, not willingness. Eagerness.

She wanted it like nothing she’d ever done before. Perhaps she would explain later how she’d dreamed of doing this to her little girl, though of course she’d never told a soul of her fantasies.

Continue on to Chapter 3

I Was the Daughter of a Porn Star, Chapter 87

  • Posted on May 8, 2017 at 5:26 pm

The Honeymoon, Lily, and Laura

By Cheryl Taggert 

If you need help keeping up with the characters, you may go here.

We had fun in Amsterdam for a few days, enjoying everything from the red-light district to the Anne Frank House. A lot of people there ride bicycles, and the streets have special areas for bikes and scooters, and renting a bicycle was much cheaper than it would be in the states, so that’s how we got around the city. Lisa and I fell in love with Amsterdam and plan to return one day.

That first morning after the reception we lay in bed after making love and cuddled. I wanted to discuss what had happened the day before in this bed, not so much what she and I did with her cousins Joanne and Crystal, but what her mom had done.

“So, what do you think about your mom and your cousins?” I asked.

“Holy shit!” Lisa said. “Talk about something coming out of nowhere! Mom’s like a complete freak about this stuff now.”

“Yeah,” I said, “she’s really into it. Kinda freaked me out some, too. I mean, I know you and Rachel had sex with her at my house that day, but she got this… I don’t know… this look when she found out Joanne and Crystal were back in our room having sex. I thought she might have an orgasm standing right there in the ballroom.”

“She and Rachel are rooming together. I wonder if something happened last night when they went to bed?”

“No telling. I mean, she didn’t come back to the party for over an hour when she came here to have sex with her nieces. Maybe she got enough from them and was too tired,” I said.

“It’s kinda weird knowing my mom has had sexual thoughts about me and Rachel all this time. I mean, since we were kids. I never had any idea. She must’ve been checking us out whenever she had the chance.”

“Well, I knew she was a very sexual person from our talk in your kitchen that day.”

Lisa sat up on one elbow and looked at me. “Yeah, that reminds me, you never told me about that conversation other than she wanted you to tell me all about your sexual history.”

“She’s seen the videos,” I said. Lisa knew exactly which videos I meant, the ones I made with Deanna, with one including my mom.

“Oh my God! Really?!” I nodded. “Did she guess about you and your mom? I mean that was really intimate between you two.”

“No, I don’t think so. At least she didn’t give any indication she suspected it. Maybe she did, though. I mean there she was hiding from me that she’d been lusting after you and Rachel since you were little. Maybe she wondered about it.”

“I don’t know. She was pretty shocked when she got to your house that day and caught us all naked on one bed while the twins were getting it on in the other.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said. “I suppose the Mom gene was in control right then. I mean she also seemed upset that you were naked while not having a problem with a couple of eleven-year-olds having sex in the next bed. Knowing what we know now, a part of her had to be turned on, like, instantly when she saw that.”

“I agree. I mean, was it for appearances? She’d never told us or anyone about her desires before, so she had to keep up the appearance of having a problem with it?”

“I guess so.”

Lisa moved to another topic, the movies. “So, my mom saw your movie, huh? What did she think of it?”

“Actually, she never said. At the time I thought she shut it down when she recognized me. She may have even said that, I don’t recall. What she did say was that something like that could cause problems for us. I told her you already knew about it because you’d watched it.”

“You told my mom I watched internet porn?”

“Sure. I mean, you obviously were sexually active. She admitted she should have already known you did.”

“Well, thanks for discussing my masturbation habits with my mom. I’m sure she appreciated it.”

“Knowing what we know now, you can bet on it,” I said with a smirk that got me a sharp goosing from my wife.

We talked to Joanne and Crystal later, and they said that when Lisa’s mom walked in, they didn’t hear her at all they were so involved in having sex. They said they heard someone clearing her throat, and because they knew we had left, they started scrambling for covers when they saw it was their aunt.

Then they noticed that their sexy aunt was also naked and was rubbing her pussy softly.

“That was so fucking wild,” Joanne said. “Before we knew it, she was in the bed and taking turns licking us. I came like crazy.”

“So did I,” Crystal said. Then looking at Lisa, she said, “And your mom’s cunt is really juicy and delicious. You should try it sometime.”

“I have,” Lisa said, and their jaws dropped while their eyes bugged.

When we saw Rachel later that morning, she was all smiles.

“Mom woke me up this morning by eating me out,” she said as if telling us it was sunny outside. “I told her after we got each other off a couple of times that she should have done something about her desires sooner. She said she thought about it a million times but always managed to talk herself out of it because she thought we’d be all warped because she had sex with us.

“Then when she found out Cheryl and her mom had been having sex since Cheryl was little,” Rachel continued, “she realized that if it was done in a loving way, there would be no problems. I know I intend to teach my kids about sex.”

“Even if you have a son?” Lisa asked.

“Hey, I’m not like you. I’m bi.”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot,” Lisa said, grinning. “But if you have a daughter will you let us have some fun with her?”

Rachel smiled at us. “Of course.”

That night Lisa and I joined her mom and Rachel for a little orgy. It was one of the best times we had while in Amsterdam. It was also the first time I had sex with Lisa’s mom. I also found that Crystal was right. Her cunt really was juicy and delicious.

After our days in that lovely city we checked out of our hotel and left to board our flight to London. Although our honeymoon had technically already begun with the fun we had with Joanne and Crystal, we were looking forward to our week there without everyone else around.

It was a short flight, just an hour, and when we landed at Heathrow, we took a long cab ride to our hotel, which was near Central London. It actually took five minutes longer to get from the airport to downtown London as it did to fly from Amsterdam to London. We were staying at the Trafalgar Hotel, adjacent to Trafalgar Square, which was an eight-minute walk to Big Ben.

In other words, we were in Heaven.

Mom had contacted the hotel to let them know we had just married in Amsterdam, and they were gracious beyond belief. A bottle of Dom Perignon was waiting in the room for us, chilling in an ice bucket. Rose petals were scattered on the bed and along the carpet when we entered the room. The manager told us that a friend of my family’s had provided a large sum of money to ensure our stay was “exquisite.” When we got back home, we found out that Cindy and Lisa’s mom had paired up to do that. Tips were not common in London, so they weren’t used to receiving money to, as they said, “do our jobs,” but they would hope that we gave them a good report upon our return home.

We have no idea how much money they had given, but we didn’t have to pay for a single meal while we were there if we ate at the hotel, and the prices were rather steep.

The second day, we chanced upon a wonderful young girl and her mother. We were walking through the Piccadilly area of the city when we saw a young girl, maybe ten-years-old, playing outside a building in a fountain. The girl was playing in the water… fully clothed in thin cotton garments.

This made the clothing totally transparent. We could easily see the girl’s nipples (stiff), as well as her butt and pussy (obviously sans panties). Her light green top and yellow shorts, which clung to her naked body beneath, may as well have been discarded on the side of the street.

Lisa and I couldn’t help but stop to watch, pretending to enjoy the girl’s antics rather than her body. The mother, however, knew better.

We were standing there, watching the girl while exchanging glances that showed our appreciation for the local scenery, when we heard a woman speak up right behind us.

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” the woman asked in a refined English accent. “She shows such joy in her play.”

We were startled by the woman — we didn’t realize she was there — and our shock registered as we turned suddenly to face her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just noticed your appreciation for my daughter,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “She looks like she’s having a lot of fun. But won’t she get in trouble for playing in the building’s fountain?”

“Well, I suppose she could if the owners of the building took issue with her playing in their fountain. But since I’m the owner of the building as well as Laura’s mother, I doubt she will get into any trouble.” Our new acquaintance, who was very pretty and looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties, smiled at her little joke.

We chuckled as well, probably more from nerves at being observed watching this child than at the joke. Lisa tackled the public exposing of the girl’s nude body beneath the transparent clothes.

“But what about the fact her body is totally on display? Isn’t that illegal?”

“We aren’t as shocked at nudity here in Europe as you Americans are. She’s just a young girl enjoying the water,” the woman answered. “Besides, the two of you seemed to be enjoying the view.”

Lisa and I exchanged a look. I felt myself blushing, which matched Lisa’s face. Had the woman noticed our true interest in watching her daughter playing in the water?

I stammered, “Well, um, I –”

The woman chuckled. “Don’t let it bother you that your appreciation was obvious to me. I’ve seen it countless times, right here while she let the world see her nudity beneath the wet clothing. Usually, it’s men or boys, regardless of age. It’s amazing how many tented pants I’ve seen here. But sometimes we get lucky and a young woman stops to admire Laura’s body.”

“But,” Lisa managed to protest, “we weren’t looking at her body. We were just watching her having fun.”

The woman leaned closer to us. “Come now. You both were practically drooling.” We faced this woman, shock coloring our faces. “Don’t worry, dears. Your secret’s safe with me. After all, don’t you Americans always say, “It takes one to know one”? The woman smiled slyly, obviously sharing her secret with us. She appreciated her daughter’s body as well.

We were, it seemed, among friends.

Again, the woman leaned close. “My name is Lily. Laura is my daughter. When we’re in a — particular mood — we come out here and she plays in the fountain in clothing that will become unnecessary within seconds. So you see, dears, this is a fishing expedition. Laura is the bait.” Lily smiled gaily. “And it appears I’ve hooked two instead of one.”

I saw a man ogling Laura, his pants already tenting at the crotch. “Actually, three,” I said, nodding towards the man.

Lily’s reaction was immediate.

“Excuse me! You there! What do you think you’re doing?” Lily admonished, gesturing toward the man’s crotch. “She’s just a little girl!”

The man looked at the woman with wide eyes and scampered away.

When Lily came back to us, I said, “I don’t understand. If you’re fishing for people interested in your daughter’s, well, charms, why chase him away?”

“Oh, my dear, it’s obvious, isn’t it? We much prefer young ladies to men, especially Laura, who is a virgin and won’t allow a man to stick his stinking shaft into her, usually angering the man or boy. Yeah, we do have them up occasionally, but sometimes the rules are a bit restrictive for the blokes.”

That’s when it dawned on us.

“You have people up to your place to have sex with your daughter?”

“I’ll deny it if you say anything to anyone about it,” the woman said. “That’s why I’ve kept our conversation private. What we like is nobody’s business.

I glanced at Laura and she was looking our way with a saucy smile. She got out of the fountain and joined the three of us. Then holding out a wet hand for me to shake, she said, “Hello, there. I’m Laura. Won’t you come up for some tea?”

She shook hands with Lisa as well, and Lily guided us toward the building’s front door. We were escorted inside, and it occurred to me that we could be in some danger, but that feeling was short-lived as Laura shed her wet clothes and sat in a nearby chair while her mom talked to the two of us. I was distracted by Laura, who couldn’t seem  to stop running her hands over her body and stopping occasionally to stroke her bald pussy for a moment before moving on again to touch somewhere else.

“You see,” Lily began, “we enjoy sex. Laura can’t seem to get enough. Me? I like to watch others with my darling daughter. The men and boys she will masturbate or suck while allowing them to touch her and get her off with their hands and fingers or their mouths. The women, though, have the freedom to do whatever they want since they lack the equipment Laura doesn’t want inside her. And I want what Laura wants. We’re always delighted when a girl or woman gets interested. You two seem to be a bit of both. Not quite old enough to be strictly considered a woman, yet too old to be a child.”

“We’re eighteen,” I said by way of explanation.

“Oh, my. A perfect age for today’s fun. We’ve had all ages.”

“You have young girls, children, expressing interest?” I asked.

“Oh, my yes,” Lily answered. “We’ve had girls as young as Laura is. Last summer there was even one a year younger than Laura, and my daughter was nine at the time. The girl’s mother enjoyed the show as much as I did.”

“Well fuck me twice and let me die,” Lisa said, using her favorite line to express shock.

“Well, Laura can do that, too. She’s even done some fisting of older women,” Lily said in response to Lisa’s statement. Laura giggled just as Lily added, “So, then. Are you two game? Would you like to play with Laura?”

I looked at Lily, unsure how to broach this subject. “Um, is there a charge?”

“Heavens, no. We should pay you! No, this is all about enjoyment. Take all the time you need or want. I can tell you Laura is quite turned on today. She told me earlier she wanted some fun, and I’m certain she loves it that you two dishes are her reward for showing the world her sexy body beneath those clothes.”

“So what do we do?” I asked, unsure how to begin and feeling awkward.

“Anything you’d like, but I imagine you’ll enjoy it more if you’re naked.”

“What about you?” Lisa asked. “Won’t you be joining us?”

“I like to watch. You two just get started and I’ll join in by myself as your lovemaking progresses.”

I shrugged at Lisa as if to say, ‘What the hell?’ and she returned the shrug. We began to undress in front of Lily and Laura.

As we finished getting undressed, I asked Lily, “Do you mind if I ask your age?”

“Not at all,” Lily said. “I’ll be thirty next month.”

I looked at Laura, and she was smiling at Lisa and me.

“You’re both bald there, too!” she said.

“Yes, I’ve permanently removed my hair there. I like to be like I was when I was your age,” I said.

“And I like to be like my wife,” Lisa said.

“You’re married to each other?” Laura asked.

“Yes, just last week we got married in Amsterdam,” Lisa said.

“Who wants to lick me to my second orgasm of the day?” Laura said, lying back on the sofa. Lisa and I both raised our hands and laughed.

“Second orgasm?” Lily asked. “When was your first?”

“When I was squatting over the fountain and letting it jet against my clit,” the girl said.

“You are a little minx, aren’t you?” Lily said, and I watched as the girl’s mother tweaked her own nipples through her dress.

This was going to be wild.

Laura didn’t have to wait long to get her bald, little pussy licked. Lisa and I both moved between the girl’s outstretched legs and began taking turns tasting the fresh, young cunt offered to us.

Laura began to squirm right away as Lisa took her turn first. I watched as my wife licked the child, causing Laura to moan at the first contact of Lisa’s lips to her excited flesh.

By the time it was my turn, Laura was bucking her hips to increase the pressure on her clit. I was amazed that we had happened on this pair.

Lisa decided to squat over Laura’s face when the child began to beg for someone to offer a pussy for her to lick. I would have but I figured it was only fair for the one not engaged in giving pleasure to the young girl to have that opportunity.

“Oh, my God!” Lisa exclaimed as the girl’s lips and tongue began their assault of her pussy. “Cheryl’s she’s fantastic. Really knows — really knows what she’s… doing with… with her mouth.”

I couldn’t wait to experience the girl’s talent. Lisa could barely put words together to form a sentence she was so involved in the erotic sensations the child was so expertly giving her.

Meanwhile, I could hear some rustling of clothing beside me and looked to see Lily taking off her slacks, followed by her shirt. She now had only a bra and panties on. They were a gorgeous, matching set, black with lacy red trim along the edges. The waistband of the panties and the red trim at the cleavage of the bra had tiny yellow flowers spaced along them. The panties were translucent and the bra did magnificent things to Lily’s cleavage. I could see through the panties enough to know the woman was as bald as I was on her mound. Lily was sitting where I could watch her a little bit in my peripheral vision.

I continued licking Laura as her mother began to touch herself, first pinching her nipples through the fabric of the bra before reaching down to push her hand inside the panties. I wondered if masturbating would be all she’d do or if she might join us at some point.

Laura was now bucking her hips against my mouth in earnest. I felt she was getting close to orgasm, though having never seen her come before, I wasn’t sure. She’d been pretty wild since we had started.

Then Lisa began her own climax, and it was a doozey, based on the guttural moans and near screams that were echoing throughout the room. Laura kept her mouth glued to Lisa’s pussy until she had finished that orgasm, and remained there until Lisa was coming once again, this time even harder than the one before, again judging from the sounds my wife made.

I was almost jealous that a ten-year-old girl could lick her at least as well as I could, perhaps better.

Then Laura was coming, and I kept things up until she was through. Guessing the child might be as multi-orgasmic as Lisa and I were, I remained there, as she had done with Lisa, and sure enough, seconds later, she was coming again, grinding herself against my mouth as I swallowed the surprising amount of juices the girl was producing for me.

Lisa finally could take no more and climbed off the girl’s wet face. Turning over, my wife began licking her juices from the girl’s face, stopping periodically to kiss Laura and let the girl suck the juices from her tongue.

The look on Lisa’s face was priceless. She looked to be in love with the girl.

Lisa tapped me on the shoulder as Laura finished another in a series of climaxes. I moved from the girl’s hairless pussy and positioned myself over the girl’s still wet mouth. Pressing down, I felt her talented tongue make contact with my pussy.

I now knew what Lisa meant about how skilled the girl was at licking pussy. I thought I would go into orbit any second. However, she realized I was close and backed off for just a moment to allow my nerve endings to calm before moving back to full pressure. Her tongue danced around my clit.

I could hear a sound echoing in the room and it took me a moment to realize that I was the one making them. Squeals of delight and erotic joy came from deep within me. Good Lord! This girl could make money giving pussy eating lessons!

Laura began to come again, and I looked down to see my wife’s face. I could tell that if her mouth weren’t full of the girl’s tender pussy that she would be smiling knowingly at me. Her eyes seemed to say, “I wasn’t kidding, was I?”

Right after that, the world exploded. I began to come in one long orgasm that rolled right into another. I may have screamed, I’m not sure. I rode Laura’s face until I couldn’t ride it any more and remain conscious. Rolling off her, I lay on the floor beside the sofa and did my best to catch my breath and allow the sweat that was pouring off me to dry and cool me down.

At that moment, Lily began to come. She had now stripped completely, and her hand was a blur as it swiped across her cunt, bathing her fingers in the copious fluids that were pouring from her vagina. I looked at her and my eyes asked if I could have a taste of her vagina. She nodded, and I moved to where I could lick the woman’s bare pubes.

I moaned she was so tasty. Her fluids tasted clean, with a slight tartness that gave her a distinct flavor.

I brought her to another orgasm, and Lisa was there to take over for me. I looked over and saw that Laura was rubbing herself as she watched us licking her mother’s pussy. She was licking her lips absently, as if she were imagining her mother’s delicious juices.

I moved to Laura and began licking her.

Once again, I thought about our luck. What a wonderful situation to come upon.

Ten minutes later, we were all sprawled in various chairs and on the sofa. We chatted for a few minutes before finally getting up to get dressed again. That’s when we found out that mother and daughter slept together each night, living as lovers, but that they reserved their own lovemaking for their own private times. I guess I couldn’t blame them, especially Lily. That was one awesome little girl. I suddenly wondered if she’d learned her pussy-licking technique from Lily, her mother. If so, I’d love to be able to sample Lily’s talent in that area.

Then as Lisa and I left, we made a date to come back the next day.

Continue on to Chapter 88