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YOUNG-LESBIANS_01.MPG


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In high school, it had always been me, Marissa, and Doreen. I couldn't have hoped for a closer relationship, even with sisters. We were sort of nerds in high school, but under the acne, clueless fashion, and dumb crushes were fun-loving, very teenage lesbians teenage women waiting to break free. Since graduation we'd taken on different roles: Marissa was the curvy jock, Doreen the sultry diva, and I the skinny smart one. Despite our changing interests and personalities, however, we stayed true to each other.

College put a damper on our friendship, but couldn't stifle it completely. Marissa and I went to different state universities and Doreen (her family being quite a bit wealthier than ours), a private east-coast college. Through Facebook and email, we managed to keep on top of each other's lives.

Still, there was no substitute for being together. When summer rolled around, we made each other our first priority. There wasn't enough time in the span of three months to do all the shopping, bar-hopping and gossiping a proper friendship required.

The summer after junior year was no different. The day after school let out, Marissa and I went to Doreen's to surprise her. We had always lived at each other's houses, so it didn't seem strange at all to walk right through Doreen's front door without ringing the bell.

Laughing, our arms around each other, Marissa and I called out "Doreen! Are you home? It's us!" Our voices echoed in the marble foyer.

Silence met our ears.

"Maybe she's in the solarium," Marissa suggested. We walked toward the back of the large house. As we approached the solarium we saw a dark-haired female figure sitting in a plush chair with her back to us, watching TV.

"It's Mrs. Wyeth," I whispered. Doreen's mom was not a normal mom. She always wore a dress with high heels and pearls, no matter what time of day or night, ordered fancy dinners in for every meal, and had really expensive tastes. She was stunning, but I thought she was materialistic and snobby. Marissa, on the other hand, always talked about her as though she were some sort of goddess.

Marissa tugged on my sleeve and pointed to the TV. Mrs. Wyeth was watching a home video of people having sex.

Doreen's mom was a sex therapist. Doreen said sometimes she ordered her clients to videotape themselves having sex so she could research what might be going wrong in their bedrooms.

"She's working," I murmured, pressing against Marissa, eager to get the hell out of there. "Let's go."

Before I could grab Marissa's arm and drag her away undetected, Mrs. Wyeth spun around in the chair. To our complete surprise, she was wearing a red silk, Asian-print robe, wide open, nude underneath. The fingers of her right hand glistened with fresh pussy juices.

I was very teenage lesbians certain the couples who came to her for professional advice didn't pay her to get off on their recreational activities.

When she saw us standing there, she didn't startle, cover up, or yell at us. She smiled.

"Girls," she said in a husky voice, repositioning herself seductively, "come explore."

I almost ran in the opposite direction, out the door, down the driveway, across town. But Marissa obeyed the command as if in a trance. She descended the stairs and slowly sat down on the floor in front of Mrs. Wyeth, her eyes fixated on her gorgeous body.

Mrs. Wyeth stroked Marissa's hair. "It's normal for teenage lesbians to be curious," she said in a motherly tone. "It's okay. Touch."

Marissa reached out and brushed Mrs. Wyeth's right breast with her fingertips. Before long, she was caressing both breasts eagerly.

"Oh...." Mrs. Wyeth said, leaning back, straining to maintain her calm voice despite growing excitement. "It's good for teenage lesbians to be curious."

Mrs. Wyeth continued to stroke Marissa's hair. Then, she pulled up on Marissa's head and brought it to her breast. Without hesitation, Marissa took a dark, hard nipple in her lips and rolled it around with her tongue, getting a feel for its taste and texture. She was clearly enjoying this and, it seemed to me, acting on a long-treasured fantasy. How many years had she secretly desired this?

Not content with breast stimulation alone, Mrs. Wyeth took Marissa's hand and guided it toward her mound. Marissa looked at Mrs. Wyeth with wide, unbelieving eyes as her fingers disappeared beneath Mrs. Wyeth's neatly-trimmed pubic hair. First one, then two, then after a murmured "more" from Mrs. Wyeth, three.

I could hardly admit it to myself, but the scene unfolding in front of me was arousing. Was Mrs. Wyeth right? Was there something about being a teenage lesbians that automatically made you interested in other women?

The married couple on TV began to sixty-nine as Marissa moved her hand in and out of Mrs. Wyeth's vagina. Mrs. Wyeth lost composure as she gave into her desire. Sweat appeared on her forehead. She panted audibly as she swung her hips back and forth opposite Marissa's pumping motion between her thighs. She tilted Marissa's head upward and brought their mouths together. Hungry, eager female full lips and tongues met in a deep kiss that seemed to radiate heat.

Without even realizing it, I had descended the stairs and was now standing in front of them, drawn to their sexual activity like a moth to a flame. Mrs. Wyeth broke away from Marissa's mouth and smiled. "It's hard to resist, isn't it?" she said as she slid her hands up my legs and under my skirt. "Soft skin, warm flesh, sweet wetness...."

I gasped as Mrs. Wyeth's hand slid past my panties and deep inside my slickening slit. There had been no warning, no warm-up. Relentlessly, she moved probing fingers in and out of me while Marissa resumed the same activity between Mrs. Wyeth's legs. I grew weak in the knees, losing the battle to pleasure that I still wasn't sure I wanted.

Then Mrs. Wyeth suddenly stopped. I cried, "Keep going!" and put a hand up to my mouth, shocked at my own revelation.

Mrs. Wyeth smirked, knowing she had us both in her trap. She rose to her feet before us and let her silk robe flutter to the floor, revealing her entire stunning body to us.

She stood with her thighs widely spread, eyes closed, working hard to control her breathing. Her entire body shook with anticipation as she hissed, "Marissa...clit. Amanda...hole."

We knew exactly what she meant. Marissa knelt down in front of her, I in back. Looking upward toward our mentor, we slid our tongues into the designated areas. At first sensation, Mrs. Wyeth let out a guttural moan that dissolved into a strained, almost painful-sounding "Yes, my small darlings. YES!"

Hardly believing what I was doing, I wormed my tongue deep inside Mrs. Wyeth's canal. it was a kind sweet and salty all at once. With strong, circular movements I rolled my tongue against the wet interior walls of her vagina. I ran my hands up and down her silky legs, feeling her muscles flex as she struggled to remain upright amid this intense pleasure.

On the other side, I heard Marissa's tongue flapping against Mrs. Wyeth's clitoris over and over again. The entire room was filled with the slurping sounds of sex and the grunts and groans from the couple on TV.

"Yes!" Mrs. Wyeth panted, throwing her head back and clutching at her breasts like an animal. "Yes, my hot small sweethearts. Unleash your teenage sexuality. Enjoy me with your mouths. Don't stop until I come. Don't you dare stop until...I...ohhh...!"

She froze then weakened, filling the air with sharp, high-pitched wails. Her vaginal muscles contracted tightly around my tongue over and over again. Marissa's head bobbed on her other side, squeezing every second of bliss out of her orgasm.

Finally, Mrs. Wyeth came down. With a face glowing from sexual release and perspiration, she looked down at us and cupped our chins in her hands.

"My small proteges," she sighed. We knelt humbly before her, aroused beyond comprehension and not sure what would happen next.

"Undress each other, teenage lesbians," she commanded, walking over to the coffee table and picking up the remote. With the push of a few buttons the married couple on the screen disappeared and was replaced by two women making out.

Without a word, Marissa crawled over to me on her knees and began unbuttoning my shirt. Her eyes were glassy and distant, as though she wasn't really aware of what she was doing. Something sinister and sexual had overtaken her. It both frightened and delighted me.

I pulled Marissa's t-shirt over her head. Hands brushed against skin and eyes lingered as we removed each other's bras, skirts, and panties. Despite our closer-than-close friendship, I had never seen Marissa naked. What I saw now didn't disappoint. Marissa was curvier than I but had a small waist to complement her perky breasts and round hips. She took in my leaner, more model-like body with unapologetic desire.

"Sit," Mrs. Wyeth said, indicating the leather sofa. We did as we were told.

"Look," she continued, pointing to the TV. "These are true lesbians, not porn stars pretending for men's amusement. Look at how slow and soft the movements are." As she spoke, Mrs. Wyeth gently nudged my legs apart.

The women on the screen were sitting on a bed, facing each other with legs open. Their hands reached down into each other's pussies. With slight, feather-like motions they teased each other's clits.

"Notice how they watch each other's faces. Unlike men, lesbians are highly attuned to female body language. Each matches the speed and intensity of her sex play to the other woman's needs perfectly." Mrs. Wyeth picked up my hand and guided it toward my aching, untouched pussy. I began to rub gently, just like the women whose sex I was so intently studying.

"Lesbians know how to be the pleasurer and the pleasuree at the same time. They simply do what they want done to them. "

Mrs. Wyeth pulled my hand away and replaced it with Marissa's. I felt warm, wet, not-my-own flesh against my fingertips and heard a sigh escape Marissa's lips.

"Yes...." Mrs. Wyeth whispered, as if talking too loud would disrupt the fragile fantasy she had just orchestrated. "Master each other's flesh. Yes, just like that...."

Marissa's clitoris was swollen and tight. My fingers rolled easily against its most sensitive areas over and over. She closed her eyes. Her choppy, throaty groans matched the sounds now coming from the women on the TV.

Between my legs, things were different. Marissa's rubbing felt good, don't get me wrong, but more like a good massage than something that was going to have me screaming in sexual ecstasy any moment.

Not so distracted by my own desire at the moment, I poured my all into getting my friend off. Her face looked pained, her body twitched. She muttered unintelligibly. I recognized all the signs of imminent female release.

Mrs. Wyeth smiled, recognizing the signs as well. She leaned in toward Marissa and egged her on with silky encouragement: "Not long now. Invite it, Marissa, welcome it. Come into Amanda's hand, sweetheart. Let it go. That's it, that's it-oh, yes...."

In that instant Marissa's body morphed from wound-up, tight, wholly focused on achieving orgasm to glowing, flowing, transcendent. She murmured "gooood...yes, it's gooood" as she rolled her head from side to side, feeling orgasmic explosions penetrate every nerve ending in her body. The lesbians on the TV screen slipped into orgasm at the same moment. Three female voices in rapturous unison filled my ears and made me crave my own sweet release.

Mrs. Wyeth grabbed my fingers and forced me to slow my rubbing down.

"Always prolong the pleasure," she explained. "Always...."

With Mrs. Wyeth's expertise, we made Marissa's orgasm last for what felt like forever. After it was a kind over, she slumped over on the side of the couch, out of breath and out of commission for the time being.

On the TV, the lesbians were now sliding thick dildos inside each other's cunts. My own pussy was sore with unsatisfied arousal, ravenous for fulfillment. I shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.

"Not all women can come from others' manual stimulation," Mrs. Wyeth said, noticing my distress.

"Well, I guess I'm one of those," I muttered.

She smiled. "All you need is someone who knows what she's doing."

With a sexy, alluring look, Mrs. Wyeth's face disappeared between my legs. I gasped as the most amazing lips, tongue, and mouth made contact with my aching vagina.

I can hardly describe the incredible things she did to me. Between deep, strong strokes with her tongue, she dangled her full lips over my clitoris and puckered them softly, over and over, just grazing the sensitive flesh and leaving me hungry for more. She sucked my nib into young lesbians, activating all the sweet spots in rapid succession. As if that weren't enough, I felt four fingers slip inside my gaping slit and roll back and forth, knuckles and rings stimulating female erogenous zones within me in a way no man's penis ever could.

I began to moan, arching my back, almost trying to escape from the obscene amount of pleasure she was giving me. "Mrs. Wyeth--Oh--Help--No, it's too much! I can't stop--can't stop--here it comes, here it is, oh yesss...!"

All I could think about as I slid into the most exquisite bliss I had known in my teenage life was the whitewater rafting trip I'd taken the previous summer. Up, down, up, down, I rode my orgasm like I rode those currents, only this felt a hundred times better. As soon as I thought the ride was over, Mrs. Wyeth would coax my clitoris into giving up another powerful wave of rapture.

"Mom! I can't believe you!"

As my orgasm finally subsided, we were all rudely awakened by Doreen's sudden presence in the doorway. Marissa and I nearly jumped out of our skin at the unexpected intrusion and exchanged worried glances.

Mrs. Wyeth pulled away from my vagina and wiped my dew from her lips.

"Now, my small darling," she said sweetly. "You weren't home, and they were here, and...."

"I can't believe you didn't wait for me." Doreen flew down the stairs, sat down next to her mother and folded her hands in her lap. "I'm ready for my next assignment. Which one will it be?"