The Lesbian Daughter Swapping Fantasy Club

by Amanda Clover

  “Oh, Miss Lindsay, I am sorry,” she says, standing and bowing deferentially.

  “You must like the music,” I say, reaching for her headphones.

  She pulls them out of my reach and winds the cord around her headphones.

  “Yes, it is good,” she says. “You are… teacher… to help me with English.”

  “Yeah, your English seems pretty good.” And I add, in my very limited Japanese, “Better than my Japanese.”

  “Oh, Missy Lindsay!” Her expression brightens. “You speak Japanese?”

  “Tiny, tiny amount,” I continue in Japanese, gesturing as if I am holding a grain of rice in my fingers. I switch back to English, having used up just about all of my Japanese. “I studied abroad in college. One year in Kyoto. It was very beautiful.”

  “You are… good. Pretty to talk to.” She blushes. “You speak Japanese well, I mean to say. Yes, my speaking of English is good. But I have problem with… this English.”

  She holds up her English book and then gestures to a few other books on a small writing desk. I get it. Her problem isn’t with the English language, it’s with English literature. I pick up a few of the books. The Scarlet Letter, the Great Gatsby, and Catcher in the Rye. Pretty standard high school reading. And probably totally strange to an eighteen year old Japanese girl.

  I spend a little time explaining the books on her reading list, watching her and admiring her prim sensuality as I explain the plots and characters to her. I watch her pen on her lower lip. The way her tongue tastes it when she pulls the pen away. The smile I see in her brown eyes before it curls her mouth.

  “I think, the biggest problem is,” she furrows her brow to explain the concept in English. “It is, characters say things or books say things, but there is… another thing being said. Under this thing.”

  “Subtext,” I say.

  “Yes,” she says, relief showing on her face. “Yes. I can understand plot most of the time, but this subtext is not reaching me.”

  “So let’s work on that,” I say.

  I sit down on the bed and pat the spot next to me. Hitomi sits down, her knees together and a small stack of books in her lap. I study her porcelain perfect skin and the faint blush of embarrassment in her cheeks. She reminds me of Sofia. She doesn’t look like Sofia, other than being young and fairly petite, but it is her innocence. She reminds me of my daughter a year ago or two years ago, before she was corrupted by Tyler and then by me.

  Or did Sofia corrupt me? I don’t know anymore.

  I take a deep breath and it quakes a little in my lungs. I’m nervous. I want this too much. She’s just an innocent girl, I try to tell myself. You shouldn’t pursue her, no matter how beautiful she is.

  “Probably the easiest way to explain subtext is,” deep breath, “in an erotic context.”

  “E-rotic?” Hitomi raises a dark eyebrow.

  “Sexual,” I say. “Because so much literature was written during conservative times in society, authors often concealed sexuality as subtext. Would you like an example?”

  “Mmmhmm,” she says. “Yes, please.”

  “Alright, let’s say there are two female characters, like you and I, riding in a carriage together.” I bounce the bed a little to simulate the rocking of a carriage and Hitomi covers her mouth as she giggles. “They are two friends. They begin to discuss a peach. Now a peach is sometimes used as a metaphor for a woman, her body, her bottom or her vagina. So they begin to discuss a peach they ate. And as they talk about this, they describe the sweetness of the juice on their tongue and how it ran down their chin. The other friend is curious and asks if it was fuzzy or smooth. Back and forth like this, you see?”

  “They are talking about… lesbian sex?”

  “Yes, but it’s never openly about lesbian sex. So no one could accuse the author of perverse content.” I see her shocked expression and I chuckle. “I am obviously exaggerating with this example, but subtext is a way of talking about things that a character or the author cannot state openly.”

  “Secrets,” says Hitomi and she looks at her hands.

  “Desires that you aren’t supposed to speak aloud,” I say and slide my hand onto her thigh. “Things that maybe we need, desperately, but we are afraid to ask.”

  Peeking from beneath her jacket, I can see Hitomi’s nipples are hard under her button-up shirt. Her breathing is heavier and her face is flushed. There is no question that I have her excited, but is this something she is ready to accept? There is only one way to find out.

  I bring my hand up to her chin and slowly turn her face towards mine. Her long lashes hide her eyes. I tilt her chin up a little and she finally lifts her gaze to mine. Her brown eyes are huge and welling with emotion. She trembles slightly.

  “Tell me,” I murmur softly, “what you were listening to when I walked in.”

  Her eyes widen slightly in surprise.

  “It’s okay. You can talk to me. What was it?”

  She pulls away from me and picks up the headphones. She tentatively settles them over my ears and presses play on her phone. She watches me for a reaction as I hear strange sounds instead of music. There are cars. Voices, some close and some distant, speaking in Japanese. Wind chimes and faraway birds and the rush of trees. I close my eyes and smile.

  “You brought your home with you,” I murmur.

  “Yes. Before I come to America I record hours of sounds. This is my neighborhood. I sleep with the sound of my bedroom. I can hear my brother watching his television through the wall. The buzz of the street light. It makes me feel at home.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I say, truly moved by her sweet secret. I take off the headphones. I look into her eyes again and softly say, “You are beautiful, Hitomi.”

  She closes her eyes as I lean closer. Our lips brush so softly they are barely touching.

  “I will teach you everything,” I whisper.

  “Yes,” she moans. “Yes, teach me, Miss Lindsay.”

  The kiss is electric. Her scent is in my nose, her sweetness and softness, opening to me like a flower to the sun. Her mouth as sweet and hot and damp as I had fantasized. Our tongues meet within that kiss and compete in a torrid dance. Hitomi’s tongue is darting and teasing, mine controls her teenage mouth, exploring it and stoking the heat that burns between us.

  A glistening strand of saliva momentarily connects our lips as I separate. I gaze into her deep eyes once more to be sure she feels the same intensity as I do. My hand slides onto her silky thigh, fingers teasing under the pleats of her skirt.

  “Do you want this?” I whisper to her.

  She is beyond words. She nods her head and softly moans.

  I rise from the bed and she looks up at me with confusion on her face. I take hold of her legs and pull her to the very edge of the bed. She lets out a startled yelp and giggles as she sits up straight once more.

  “Take off your jacket,” I say, standing between her blue knee-sock covered legs.

  She starts, but she’s too slow and my need is too great. My hands slip under the shoulders of her jacket and I help her take it off and push it from her body. It falls onto the bed behind her and I take a moment to admire the shape of her slender body in her well-fitted shirt. We work together on the buttons, fumbling, fingers fluttering, giggling together in a conspiratorial way until I see the white cups of her bra and the pale flesh of her apple-sized breasts.

  “You’re gorgeous,” I murmur, slipping my hands over her bra and around to her back. I kiss her supple neck as I work the clasp behind her back. Her breasts are freed in a moment. They are youthfully perfect, symmetrical, with small brown nipples that stand erect beneath my stroking fingers.

  “Miss Lindsay,” she moans and we kiss again, lips sliding together and tongues meeting.

  I pluck her nipples delicately and she cries against my mouth. My hands move lower, caressing her flat belly and her inner thighs. I kiss from her lips to her shoulder. My lips move from her shoulder to her succulent breasts. I s
uck one nipple and she cries out, almost whining, looking away in embarrassment from my hungry gaze. I push her skirt up with my hands as I my mouth seeks her other breast, her other nipple, and I suck her there as well.

  “This is so fast,” she moans in Japanese.

  Her hands battle gently with mine. She tries to keep my fingers from sliding deeper under her skirt. I kiss her breasts and thrill at her reluctant lust.

  “Let it flow over you,” I reply in my Japanese and I flick her nipple with my tongue. “Do not fight your desire.”

  “Ohhhh, yes, Miss Lindsay,” she moans, surrendering to my desire and her own.

  I push Hitomi’s skirt up her pale and slender thighs, gradually exposing her blue striped panties. A faint gray spot of moisture shows at the cusp of her sex. I run my thumb over that soft line, pressing lightly, feeling the heat and movement of Hitomi’s pussy. I am on my knees, inhaling the sweet notes of her soapy freshness against the deeper musk of her arousal. She can’t bear to look at me, but I watch her as I lean my face between her thighs.

  “Hitomi,” I moan so she feels her name in my breath against her thigh.

  My kiss prowls her inner thigh, moving closer to her mound. I stroke her and pull her panties to the side. Her thatch of dark hair does not hide the delicate brown and pink of her pussy. She jerks as my fingers tease her dewy folds and brush, very lightly, against the tiny bud of her clit. Each touch there triggers a reaction like an electric shock. Her thighs shake and she arches on the bed.

  I push her legs up and together and pull her panties out from under her firm little bottom. She helps me get her panties off and kicks them free of her leg. I descend on her pussy before she can reposition herself, pressing my nose into her thick, musky hair and driving my tongue into her slick channel. She cries out like a little girl, so high-pitched and desperate that I think I might have hurt her. I lick her more gently and the whining continues, but she is not trying to escape me. She wiggles and pushes her pussy against my tongue.

  I moan with lust, spreading her folds, taking long licks at her groove and lapping at her clit. It is too small for me to suck, but I lather it with my tongue. I pull her knee-socked legs over my shoulders, burying myself in her smell and her taste.

  “Ohhhhh, Miss Lindsay, it’s so good,” she cries. She continues in Japanese, “Your tongue is on my pearl. Oh, yes, lick it, please. Lick me there. It is embarrassing. It is so good.”

  Her whining pleasure grows louder. Her juices pour into my mouth and slick my chin. I suck at her folds. I swallow her sweetness. I lick furiously at her clit and I have no intention of stopping until she cums. I press two fingers into her tight channel. She squeezes against my fingers and her grasp tightens on the top sheet of the bed. She arches and thrusts herself against me.

  “Cum for me!” I cry and I batter my tongue against her clit and fuck my fingers in and out.

  Her thighs tighten almost painfully around my head and her ass actually lifts off the bed, Hitomi arches so furiously against my face. I suck and lick at her pussy and drink the juices that flow into my mouth. She has a distinctive sweetness to her cum, like no girl I have tasted before, and I love it. I slip a hand beneath her ass and support her with my free hand. My fingers tease into her crack and gently rub at her little asshole.

  “Miss Lindsay,” she moans, finally crossing over the peak of her orgasm and descending into the overheated aftermath. She is breathless and flushed. Her face is dewed with sweat.

  I slip my fingers out of her pussy and bring them up to her mouth. She looks at me as she licks and sucks my fingers, cleaning her juices off. I only give her a moment because I crave her kiss. My hungry lips meld with hers and our tongues dance together, sharing the hot, slippery sweetness of Hitomi’s cum.

  Our lips separate and I stretch out next to her naked beauty on the bed. I am still fully clothed – I’m even wearing my shoes – and perhaps this is why some of the shyness seems to return to Hitomi. She covers her breasts with her hands.

  “I have never done that before,” she says.

  “You’ve never been with a woman?”

  “With anyone,” she admits. “I have kissed a boy when I was younger. And there was a teacher, a woman teacher, I wrote her notes, she did not go past… what is it you say… Ichatsukimas?”

  “Flirting,” I say, but I’m only half listening. I just took Hitomi’s virginity. There was no blood, but that is not at all unusual, particularly for a girl who has waited until the age of eighteen. I approached this like any other hookup and now I feel the weight of guilt.

  I sit up. What do I say to her? How do I act? My confidence is drained.

  Hitomi sits up next to me and leans against my arm.

  “You are very pretty, Miss Lindsay.”

  She places her hand on my shapely thigh. She is trying to return my desire. I’m suddenly very aware of my surroundings, the room and the house. I stand up abruptly, clearing my throat and smoothing my skirt. My face is hot with shame.

  “Hitomi,” I say in Japanese, “I did not know you were a virgin.”

  She takes my hands and stands up. Her brown eyes are painfully full of affection. Why do I deserve such adoration?

  “You give me my fantasy,” she says in English. “I want to give you pleasure now. To try this.”

  I back away from her and give her a stern, “No.”

  She flinches from my sharp reaction. My tone softens as I continue with the only solution that I enters my mind.

  “Your hosts might return home. We can’t continue this here.” I even manage to smile. “Tomorrow you will come to my house and we will continue your studies. I promise, Hitomi.”

  “Yes, oh, thank you!” Joy returns to her face. “How will I get to your house? Is it far?”

  I need some space to think about this. She’s falling in love with me and I can see it in her eyes. But I can’t break her heart. I can’t… because I feel it too. She’s so beautiful. So much like my daughter before she was corrupted by Tyler.

  “I’ll work it out with Elaine and hire a car to drive you.”

  She wiggles her narrow hips as she slides on her underwear. The blue-striped panties cradle her little, firm ass.

  “What time may I see you, Miss Lindsay?”

  “Three o’clock,” I say and I turn to leave. “I really must go now, Hitomi.”

  “Wait,” she cries.

  I turn back and she throws her arms around me, nearly leaping into my arms. She is still topless. Her hard nipples press against my breasts. I pull her to me, unable to resist the warmth of her body nor the sweetness of her lips. I know I should stop her. Instead, I yield to her lust, catching her beneath her thigh and slipping my tongue into her mouth.

  “Oh, Hitomi,” I moan against her lips. “You must… you must show more discipline.”

  I finally push her away from me. I try to hide my breathlessness. She is panting for more.

  “Please,” she says, falling to her knees. “I will do whatever you desire.”

  I straighten up and give her my best angry teacher voice.

  “Dicipline!” I say, fighting my inner urge to give her what she wants. “I will see you tomorrow, Hitomi.”

  Somehow, I make it out of that bedroom.

  Hitomi’s Visit

  I rarely spend time in the front room of my house. It’s finished in white tiles and decorated with this boring modern art Tyler bought when he took a trip to Europe in the nineties. There is a long, white leather couch and two matching love seats arranged around a low, steel-framed and stone-finished coffee table. I’ve lit the gas fireplace to add a little warmth and color to the otherwise cold and sterile room.

  I sit on the loveseat closest to the fire, my knees primly together and some “school supplies” in a wooden box on the coffee table. I am wearing almost the same outfit I was wearing the day before. I have on the same shoes and a nearly identical light yellow, high-collared button-up blouse and a tight skirt, this time tan in color. I’ve skip
ped the pantyhose and gone with matching white bra and panty, the panties worn over my garter so they can be slid down over my white stockings.

  I’ve added a pair of reading glasses to my look. I’ve done a better job putting my hair up this time, though I’ve left a teasing blond lock hanging beside my face.

  Did I put too much thought into my setting and my outfit? If I did, it’s because I could hardly sleep last night. My mind was running wild with fantasies of Hitomi. She’s so beautiful, so innocent, and so completely under my influence. It took only hours for my craving for her teenage body to replace my guilt with fresh lust.

  It’s no surprise when the doorbell rings, promptly at three o’clock. I take a deep breath and answer the door. Hitomi is there, looking adorable in a variation on her school girl uniform from the day before. Her knee socks are white and she isn’t wearing the jacket. Her randoseru backpack hangs from her back, the straps framing and slightly enhancing her pert, b-cup breasts.

  “Miss Lindsay, is this the correct time?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I say, stepping back from the door. “Please come in and make yourself comfortable in the front room there.”

  Here kitten heels click on the tiles. I follow behind her, nearly a foot taller than her despite her long legs.

  “Please put your books on the table,” I say, indicating the coffee table.

  Hitomi unshoulders her backpack and arranged her books neatly on the table. I sit down on the loveseat nearest the fire and slowly cross my legs.

  “Did you sleep well?” I ask in Japanese.

  “Yes, Miss Lindsay,” she says, bowing her head. “I will practice much better discipline today.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” I have already planned my next move. “Undress for me, Hitomi. Remove everything except for your knee socks.”

  “Y-yes, Miss Lindsay,” she says and begins to disrobe.

  My heart beats a little faster as she sheds her blouse and unbuckles her white bra. Her breasts are lusciously pert and her nipples erect. She glances at me and continues her slow-motion and very shy striptease. I watch her crouch to remove her shoes and I try to conceal any reaction whatsoever. It’s difficult, as her short skirt lifts and reveals the backside of her pale blue panties.