There's No Business Like Show Business

by Misty Meadow

“Hello, Mum!” I call as I come home from school. The house is silent; Mum must be out. I go up to my room and dump my backpack on my bed. I look at myself in the full length mirror next to the dresser and see a typical twelve year old school girl in her uniform, a navy blue skirt, a bit on the short side, an untucked white shirt with short sleeves, unbuttoned at the neck with my tie hanging loose and a pair of white knees socks. I sit on the end of the bed and take my sneakers off, still looking at myself in the mirror, noting how visible my white cotton knickers are as I lift my legs. The room is a bit too dark, as the floor to ceiling curtains are closed and rather than open them, I simply switch the light on. I stand in front of the mirror again. I'm one of the few girls in my class who hasn't yet reached puberty, though it won't be long now.

I imagine I'm standing on the stage at the Albert Hall, the auditorium filled with gay women of all ages, who've heard about my astounding beauty and smoldering sexuality, and have come to watch me as I undress and flaunt my naked body for them.

“Look, folks!” I say to the mirror, “my tits are beginning to grow. I'll show you in a minute.” I imagine some clapping and cheering. “But I don't have any pubic hair, yet. By applause, how many of you like preteen girls?” My mind registers thunderous clapping. “What about knickers? I flashed Miss Owens at school today, spreading my legs wide and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. I think she has the hots for me. Wanna see them?” My imaginary audience roars its assent. I lift my skirt up high on my chest, a stunt that's deliberately provocative, a clear invitation to . . . what exactly, I'm not sure. I'll think of something. The crowd behind the mirror shouts and whistles its approval. I let my skirt drop, lift my tie over my head and slowly unbutton my shirt from bottom to top. I'm wearing a white cotton tank-top vest with a little rim of lace round the scooped neck. Should I show them my new titlets? No, not yet, I'll let them wait. I shrug the shirt from my shoulders and let it fall.

I unzip my skirt at the side and let it slowly fall down my legs, then step out of it. Here I am, a twelve year old nymphet in her knickers and vest, a paedophile's dream. My imaginary audience is, of course, made up of lesbian child lovers, to a man, so to speak. In my mind, I hear shouts of “Take your knickers off, Misty! Get 'em off!” I fully intend do, but first I'm going to have a little fun. I start to pull them down, but “change my mind” and pull them back up again, this time so high that the crotch is creased into my little girl's slit to form a perfect camel toe. I turn my body from side to side so that all my “audience” can see it, even the stage hands standing in the wings.

I want to give them a show they'll never forget, so I slowly slide my hand down the front of my knickers, farther and farther until it's between my legs. I push my middle finger into my cunt as far as it'll go, then pump it in and out. The movement is perfectly visible, even though my hand is hidden. I part my legs and put on what I imagine is the facial expression of a girl who is sexually aroused. I hear more cheers, and shouts of “We wanna see your cunt!” I bet you do, I think, you dirty lesbian voyeurs and I'm going to let you, but not just yet. I remove my hand from down my knickers and hold my finger under my nose to sniff it, thrilling at the scent of my cunt, then pop it in my mouth. The audience goes wild.

“Wanna see my tits? They're just beginning to grow.” More roars of approval as I lift my vest to expose barely perceptible budding breast with little pink nipples. I pinch them and feel them harden, just a bit. When the cacophany dies down, I let my vest fall and put my thumbs into the waist of my knickers at the hips. I pause for dramatic effect, then ever so slowly push downwards, a centimetre at a time until my bald mound comes into view. I wait for a beat, feeling the growing excitement of my audience, lace my fingers behind my neck and push my hips forward. “Show us! Show us!” the shouts echo round the huge theatre. I finally have mercy on them and give a final push so my knickers are now at mid-thigh, my cunt in full view. The noise is deafening and I imagine row upon row of lesbians, hands up their skirts, masturbating, their faces flushed with pure lust.

I finger myself again, this time using two digits, pumping in and out and with my other hand, using a finger tip to strum on my tiny clit. This is how I masturbate every night in bed and during the day, too, in the toilets at school. My cunt is getting nice and wet and every few seconds I take my fingers out and suck on them for the benefit of the crowd.

“Let's see your tits again,” I hear a voice call from the back of the hall and I slowly lift my vest over my head, twirl it round my head and toss it aside. The clapping is deafening. Once again, I twist from side to side, then sway my hips, twerking for them. The walls seem to vibrate from the thunderous noise.

“Okay,” I say to the mirror, “I'm gonna lose the knickers!” More applause! I push them down, step out of them then deftly flick them up with my toe and catch them, pressing them to my face and inhaling. “My cunt smells awesome, nice and fishy!” I inform my admirers, then toss them aside. “Now for somehing special.” I open my dresser drawer, feel under the neat pile of clean knickers and extract a dildo that I bought from a girl at school who'd stolen it from her Mum. I wave it about for all to see, then put it in my mouth and suck on it. I sit on the edge of the bed, spread my legs as wide as I can and place the tip against my little slit. “Do it! Do it!” I hear. “Fuck yourself, Misty, fuck yourself for us!” I push the tip in to my cunt which is already nicely wet from my own self arousal. “Deeper, deeper!” I hear and push it right in. My cherry was popped months ago by the handle of my hair brush, so it meets no resistance. I lie back and thrust it in and out, imagining hundreds of desperate lesbians scrambling over the seat backs, fighting to get on to the stage. I extract the dildo and suck on it, enjoying the flavour of my cunt.

I still have my knee socks on, for that “schoolgirl” look that many think is so sexy, and I'm about to lift my legs to take them off, to give them an improved view but suddenly I hear a cry and a loud thump. Lifting my head I see Mum lying on the floor by the curtains, wearing just a slip and knickers, down the front of which her hand is trapped. Oh, my God, she was hiding behind the curtain all the time, watching me! For a few seconds, I feel outrage at this unacceptable invasion of privacy, but it instantly evaporates, replaced by a surge of excitement. I had a real audience after all!

“What the fuck, Mum?” I cry, faking anger. She's speechless, gasping for breath. She's been masturbating and she must've cum and passed out, but then I see her eyes are looking at me in a way I've never seen before. “You were watching? What did you see?” She pulls her hand from her knickers, rolls on to all fours and gets to her feet.

“Everything. I'm sorry, my darling, I should never have done that. I don't know what came over me, but I just wanted to watch you undress. But then when you started performing for the mirror . . . by the way, who were you imagining as your audience?”

“The Royal Albert Hall full of lesbians,” I confess with a guilty grin. She smiles. I reach for the hand that had been in her knickers, pull her to her feet, sniff her fingers and suck on them. “Oh, I see you've forgiven me, then,” she says, looking relieved.

“How did you enjoy the show?” I ask.

“I've never seen anything so erotic in my whole life. I came so hard, I passed out for a second. I wonder if your imaginary audience was as excited as I was.”

“The applause brought the house down.” She grins. I'm still sitting on the end of my bed, the dildo still four inches up my cunt and Mum looks down at it.

“I'm sorry to have interrupted your pleasure,” she says.

“Don't apologise, you added to it. A real audience is better than an imaginary one. Do you mind if I carry on?”

“Oh, please, please do!” I take hold of the end of the dildo and resume fucking myself but after a few seconds, she tells me she wants to take over.

“Go ahead,” I tell her and lie back.

Let me tell you, being fucked by your own lesbian mother, especially one as beautiful as she is, and not having any secrets from her, is one of the most wonderful experiences a young girl can have. She's an expert, thrusting, twisting, pulling it out and re-inserting it while she works on my clit with her other hand and I pinch my own nipples. The aroma of sex is overpowering, coming from both of us. She leans in and sucks on my clit. No one's ever done that to me before, and it sets me on fire.

“Cum for Mummy, my darling, cum for your Mummy!” Being addressed as though I'm a toddler somehow adds extra spice to her assault. “Mummy wants her little girl to cum! Mummy loves your sweet little cunt and Mummy wants to lick it!” She slides the dildo out of me, sucks it dry then presses her mouth on to my cunt. Her tongue drives me even crazier. Showing off my cunt might be a huge thrill, but having it licked in such depraved circumstances is ten times better.

I look over to the mirror and see us both, Mother and daughter enjoying incestuous oral sex, and beyond us, the crowded theatre filled with screaming fans.

“After I cum,” I say to them, “I'm going to eat Mum's cunt and make her cum again.”

The response is so deafening, I'm sure Mum can hear it, too.

The end.