Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

For a list of the many characters who populate this saga, check out Dramatis Personae.

The vicar of Derwold has been murdered by an unknown assailant. Unaware of the events that are about to unfold, Sadie tries to fathom the mysteries of the ancient standing stone near her cottage with the help of Freya and Millie. Later, Freya pays a visit to Derwold Manor, and she and Elsa enjoy an afternoon of passion. It turns out Elsa is using Freya for her own ends, and the eleven-year-old is tricked into revealing all their secrets.

And now, dear readers, we make our way into the next installment. Read on…

by BlueJean

1

Sadie could easily sympathise with Daniel the spaniel. His mistress was highly strung, hyper-emotional, and knew next to nothing about dogs. Daniel needed a strong pack leader to follow, but Jill Sanders clearly wasn’t up to the task.

So Daniel had been given no choice but to step up to the plate and assume that role himself. The trouble was, he simply wasn’t designed for leadership. It left him feeling stressed and upset, and all he really wanted to do was cock his leg against trees and sniff the occasional bottom.

Worst of all, Daniel had a really silly name.

“Has he got cancer?” Jill whispered behind a hand, as if Daniel not only understood complex sentences but might also be able to lip-read.

“No, no, nothing like that,” Sadie assured her client.

Pet readings were part of what Sadie considered ‘minor witch business’ – the small stuff, the stuff that didn’t draw attention. Other aspects of minor witch business included homeopathy, dowsing, and cleansing homes of negative influences. She’d also located missing pets and livestock, but that was strictly off the books.

“What’s wrong with him, then?” Jill whined, nervously chewing on a fingernail.

Sadie knew the tears would begin soon. Jill Sanders was a crier. She just bloody was.

“There’s nothing wrong with him, Jill. Not really. It’s just… well, there’s no easy way to say this.”

Jill buried her face in Daniel’s fur. Daniel didn’t seem particularly thrilled about it. “Oh, God, tell me, Sadie!”

Sadie lay a comforting hand atop Jill’s, then ploughed ahead. “The thing is, Jill… Daniel… well, he doesn’t like his name.”

Jill stared disbelieving for a long, awkward moment. “What?”

Any minute now, Sadie thought. Any. Minute. Now.

“He’s not too keen on his name.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, pet readings aren’t an exact science, but yeah, that’s what I’m getting. To start with.”

Let’s go slowly here. One bombshell at a time. Tears are one thing, but we don’t want the poor woman shrieking like a banshee and pulling her hair out. With Jill, anything was on the table.

“But… that’s his name!” Jill cried, her previously concerned demeanor rapidly giving way to purest misery. “How can he not like his name? I d-don’t understand, Sadie. Help me to unders-s-s-stand!”

And the tears came, accompanied by huge racking sobs.

Sadie reached out to pat Jill’s hand. “Aww, no, you mustn’t cry, Jill. It’s not a huge deal, is it? Just pick a new name for him. How many pets get to have a brand new name? He’s a lucky dog!”

“But he’s been Daniel since he was a puppy! The only other name that rhymes with spaniel is Nathaniel, and I can’t call him that because his litter brother’s called Nathaniel. Nathaniel’s owned by my friends Joan and Tony. We walk the dogs together sometimes. How can they both have the same name? Oh, this is awful!”

Sadie took an awkward sip of her tea. Maybe this pet reading venture had been a mistake. Sure, it was nice to make a bit of extra money during the summer holidays while the school was closed down, but… well, it just seemed a bit tacky. Oh, it was all above board – most witches were able to read animals on some level, no smoke and mirrors there. But compared to sending spirits back to the cycle, or delving into ancestral memories to see through the eyes of the Mother of Humanity, pet readings were like getting a weekend job at Carphone Warehouse after spending all week as an astrophysicist.

Needs must, Sadie supposed. And it wouldn’t do to act all high and mighty, would it? Witches were duty bound to help people in need, after all, not get ideas above their station.

Humility, Sadie, humility. Remember, Daniel the spaniel’s counting on you!

“We want to try and get away from the whole rhyming thing if we can, Jill,” Sadie explained as tactfully as she was able. “I think it’s the ‘aniel’ part he doesn’t like.”

Jill wiped her nose with a hanky and did her best to compose herself. “I do kind of like ‘Geoffrey’ as an alternative. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to not calling him Daniel, though.” The distraught woman regarded Sadie with red, puffy eyes, and no small amount of caution. “W-what else did he tell you?”

Sadie steeled herself. “He, er, doesn’t like the dried biscuits you feed him. And he needs you to stop feeling sorry for yourself and show some leadership.”

Jill’s eyes filled with horror. Her fists shook to either side of her head as if she were playing an invisible set of maracas. “Oh, God! I’m not a bad person, am I?!” she wailed. “What’ve I done to deserve all this heartaaaaache!”

That last word rose into an ear-piercing shriek. Daniel leapt off his mistress’ lap and shot through the dog flap in the back door.

Run, Geoffrey, formerly known as Daniel! Run like the wind!

2

Sadie had not long left the Sanders farm when her phone began vibrating in her cardigan pocket. She pulled her car onto the side of the road and left the engine idling. The caller was Vivaan Dinesh, Derwold’s resident doctor. Sadie rarely received calls from him, unless it was to remind her about an appointment.

“Hi, Viv.”

The line was choppy as usual. Derwold’s poor mobile coverage was something the residents grumbled about endlessly, but ultimately learned to live with. It was beautiful, peaceful countryside or a decent phone signal. Never both. The reception had been especially poor these last couple of days, though.

“…adie. Can you come over to… gery…”

“Say again, Viv? The line’s awful.”

“I need to see you at the surgery… urgent…”

“Is something wrong? Has someone been hurt?”

“… want to say over the phone… know who else to call… soon as you can, Sadie.”

“Okay, Viv. I’m on my way. Hello? Are you there, Viv?”

The call ended abruptly. Vivaan had sounded tired and agitated, which was unlike him. Sadie drove the short distance to the small surgery, unsure what to expect when she got there.

3

Millie was obliged to play alone more often than not these days. Freya was more interested in pop music, or reading books, or tending to her herbs in the greenhouse.

“Your sister’s becoming civilised,” her mum had told her half-jokingly, and Millie wondered if ‘civilised’ might be the exact opposite of ‘fun’.

Regardless, there was no choice for the eight-year-old but to adapt.

She considered seeking out the other children that lived within walking distance of Beekeeper Cottage, but her options were limited. At six years old, Lola Hughes was too young to be of any real use, and Lola’s mum always insisted that her little one was Millie’s responsibility whenever they played together. Millie just wanted to have fun, not be responsible for someone.

Archie Cornaby was her other choice, but his idea of fun was to throw rocks at trees or count cows (he usually made it to nine before he lost count and had to start again). The boy had the imagination of a tree stump.

It was one balmy afternoon, while she was traversing the wilder parts of Derwold Woods, pretending to be a famous explorer, that Millie heard a faint cry off in the distance. She did her best to follow its source, but each time she was sure she must be heading the right way, the wind carried the sound in some new direction.

Nevertheless, Millie had a great deal of experience traversing the forest, and after several course corrections, finally arrived at a curious scene.

Bernard the Druid was frantically clinging to a branch halfway up a large tree. Pacing back and forth on the forest floor, sharp eyes ever watchful, was the black panther that had accosted Millie in the churchyard a few days before.

Having seen Millie approach, Bernard’s eyes widened in alarm. “Run, Millie! Run for your life! I’m done for, but you still have your whole life ahead of you!”

The big cat briefly regarded Millie, then peered hungrily back up at Bernard.

Prey.

Millie projected a thought at the creature. Not prey. Bernard.

The panther clearly didn’t agree with the human child’s assessment. It raised itself up on its hind legs and hooked its claws into the trunk of the tree.

Bernard emitted a high pitch squeal and made a clumsy effort to climb even higher. “No! Help me, Millie! It’s coming to get me! Brân, Ogma, Danu, Esus, and several other Gods whose names I can’t bring to mind, help meeeeee!”

“Keep calm, Bernard!” Millie hollered. “Mum says if you panic around a bee, it’ll sting you.”

“It’s not a bee, Millie! It’s a whacking great panther! They climb trees! They. Climb. Treeeees!”

Prey?

No! Not prey. Go hunt a deer or I’ll tug your tail!

The panther gave one last look at the potential meal cowering in the tree, then decided it probably wasn’t worth the effort. It stalked quietly away through the ferns.

“You can come down now, Bernard.”

“Oh, thank the Gods! I thought I was done for.”

Bernard made his way awkwardly down the tree. Several times, Millie was sure he’d take the quickest route and simply fall to the bottom, but somehow he managed to keep his footing. “Bear with me, my friend. I’m not quite as adept at climbing trees as I once was. And robes aren’t the ideal climbing attire. Who in the name of buggery would let a panther loose?!”

“I’ve seen it before,” said Millie. “Maybe it escaped from a zoo.”

After what seemed like an eternity, Bernard set foot on the forest floor with a relieved sob.

“Are you all right, Bernard?”

Bernard sat himself down on a moss-strewn log and exhaled a tremulous breath. “I’ll not lie to you, Millie. I’m afraid I’ve wet myself.”

Millie took a place next to the hapless druid. “Oh. Well, that’s one good thing about wearing robes, isn’t it? The wee just runs down your legs and out the bottom.”

Bernard considered that particular silver lining. “There are some perks to wearing robes, I suppose. On the other hand, one’s socks and boots tend to take the brunt. Oh, Millie, I’m such a coward! A coward and a fool.”

“You’re not a coward,” Millie told him, offering what support she could. “Anyone would’ve been scared if a panther was going to eat them.”

“But it’s not just the panther,” a deflated Bernard admitted with a dramatic sigh. “The truth is, I’ve been afraid all my life. I’m not who people think I am. They see me as this mighty druidic figurehead, strong and resourceful, worthy of their respect.”

Millie wasn’t sure people saw Bernard that way at all, but didn’t want to upset him even more by pointing it out.

“But, and I realise this might come as a shock to you, I’m not even a real druid. I’m a fraud. A phony. A charlatan. I’m ashamed to say it’s all smoke and mirrors.”

“But… you have a robe and a staff.”

“Oh, it’s true, I look the part. But I was never ordained, you see, never even trained. In my old life, I was a banker, you know. Quite a well respected one, if truth be told. But the board members at the bank where I worked were putting unbearable pressure on me to meet quotas. And my wife… well, she was having an affair with one of my work colleagues. I was too cowardly to confront either of them. And if that wasn’t bad enough, my grown up children were constantly bullying me for money whilst telling me what an awful father I was. One day, I’d simply had enough.”

A sad smile curled the corners of Bernard’s mouth. “I played a druid in World of Warcraft for many years – it was a sanctuary from all the stress in my life. One day I thought to myself, ‘what if I were to become a real druid? What if I just abandon everything and live my dream?’ So I sent away for a robe and a staff, purchased some books on the druidic faith, and away I went!”

Bernard raised his fists into the air, then let them slump back into his lap again. “I thought it was the bravest thing I’d ever done. But it was just another act of cowardice, wasn’t it? I ran away. Ran away from my responsibilities. Most of all, I ran away from myself. And now here I am wearing this ridiculous robe, boots filled with wee, telling my sob story to a small child.“ He offered Millie an apologetic smile. “No offense meant.”

Millie let out a big sigh, then placed a comforting hand on Bernard’s shoulder. “Oh, Bernard. You really are a sausage.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s okay to have secrets. It’s okay to pretend to be someone else – I do it all the time. But whatever you do, the most important thing is to be kind, and try to help people. Then everyone will see who you really are.

“I have a friend who has a big secret. She’s like a superhero, but she can’t tell anyone who she really is because people like her weren’t treated very nicely in the olden days. When I found out her secret, it didn’t really change anything because she was still my friend. She was still her. And I already knew she was brave and kind. Because that’s what bravery is. It’s all the little things you do, not the big things. You don’t need to save the world to be brave.”

Bernard considered Millie’s words. Her delivery was a little muddled, and it didn’t quite get to the root of all those issues. But there did seem to be a kernel of truth in there somewhere.

“You might be on to something there,” Bernard said. “I should stop feeling sorry for myself and jolly well pull my socks up. Er… not these socks, though. These socks are destined for the bin, I fear.”

Millie giggled at that.

Bernard gave her a quick pat on the knee, laughing along with her. “Ah, you’re wise beyond your years, my young friend!”

Millie bounced off the log with a boundless energy Bernard could only dream of. “Let’s go before the panther comes back. I’ll make sure you get back to your tent safely.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you,” Bernard said, pushing himself off the log with his staff. “I can’t deny, I’m in dire need of a dry pair of underpants and a change of socks. Thank you for rescuing this old fool.”

Millie only just managed to stop herself laughing at the squelching sound when the unfortunate man got to his feet.

“I wonder if we might keep this whole fake druid business hush-hush for the time being,” Bernard cautioned. “And, er, the part where I piss myself, ideally.”

“It’s okay, I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“Excellent! You’re a true friend, Millie!” Bernard raised a fist into the air. “A-ranging we go, then. Onward ho!”

Millie raised her own fist aloft. “Onward ho!”

4

The surgery was quiet, as usual. Recently, there had been some concern amongst the villagers that its days were numbered. General practice surgeries across the country were disappearing at an alarming rate, usually merging into what the county councils liked to refer to as hubs, a roundabout way of saying they didn’t have enough money to keep things running as they were.

Vivaan met Sadie at the entrance. The doctor looked tired and drawn. “Thank God you’re here. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

Sadie lay a hand on his arm. “What’s happened, Viv?”

Vivaan hesitated. “I… it’s probably best if I just show you. But I need to warn you, Sadie, it’s not a pretty sight. If you have an aversion to dead bodies, more specifically, ones that’ve been… interfered with, please tell me now and I won’t burden you with this.”

“It’s okay. I’ve always had a robust disposition. You’re scaring me, though. What’s going on?”

Sadie followed the doctor down a short flight of stairs to the basement that served as Derwold’s mortuary. In the absence of an official coroner, Vivaan was left with no choice but to perform the post-mortem himself.

He turned the overhead strip light on, then led Sadie to a stainless steel table where a body lay covered by a plastic shroud.

Sadie’s stomach lurched when he pulled it back.

“Okay?” Vivaan asked her.

It took her a long moment to recognise the vicar. His eyes were gone, his throat had been cut from ear to ear, and there was a large hole in his skull. Sadie felt a rising horror and fought to push it down. Clearly her disposition was not quite as robust as she’d believed, though a sight like this would’ve shaken anyone.

“Sadie, talk to me.”

“What?”

“Are you okay? I need to know you’re okay before we continue. I know this is difficult to look at.”

“I’m all right. No, of course I’m not all right. Who the hell did this?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Shit, Viv. We need the police here.”

“They won’t come.”

Sadie frowned. “What do you mean, ‘they won’t come’?”

“I keep phoning them. They keep promising to send someone, but no one comes. Each time I speak to them they have no recollection of my calls. Something’s terribly wrong here, Sadie. It’s why I called you. I think this might be, you know, supernatural business.”

Vivaan was one of the few people who knew of Sadie’s dual life. His own grandmother had been one of the last remaining professional witches back in his native India.

Sadie forced her eyes down the length of the dead man’s pallid body. He’d been cut open at the stomach, but above that, something had been carved into his chest. “A pentagram…”

“It’s satanic, right?”

“Yes.”

“The work of some cult, you think?”

Sadie shook her head. “There are less than two hundred people living in Derwold, and we know them all. The idea there’s a secret satanic cult in the village that suddenly decided to make itself known just doesn’t seem plausible.”

“A lone perpetrator, then?”

“Maybe. Is there anybody staying in Derwold right now that we don’t know?”

Vivaan thought about it. “The only person I can think of is that druid chap.”

“Bernard? What about his friends?”

“Friends?”

“The young potheads that shuffle around after him. His ‘followers’, I guess.”

“Oh. They moved on with all the other festival folk. I got the feeling they were rather underwhelmed by our druid.”

“And they all left the village before the vicar was…” Sadie could barely bring herself to say the word, “murdered?”

“Yeah. At least a week before. The body was at the vicarage for two days before I realised no one was coming out here to deal with it and moved it here.”

“So that just leaves Bernard,” said Sadie. “If we’re to believe it was someone close at hand. It might not’ve been.“

“I find it impossible to believe he could do this. That man couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag, let alone kill someone with this kind of brutality. It could’ve been someone from outside the village. But Derwold’s so remote, it makes you wonder why anyone would travel all the way out here to kill a vicar. Unless they had good reason to.”

“Jesus, we’re way out of our league here, Viv. I’m a schoolteacher.”

“You told me once that there was some sort of barrier around Derwold. Is that what’s stopping the police from getting through?”

“No. No, it wouldn’t stop people coming and going,” Sadie explained. “How could it, when we get all those people coming through during the summer months, and all the mail and supplies that get delivered?

“It was part of the whole Derwold legend – the dryad supposedly placed a protective spell over the village centuries ago. It was meant to deter destructive forces from entering, but a spell like that is more discouragement than anything, it’s not an actual physical barrier. If someone really wants to get through, they will.”

She paused a moment to think, then added, “The police never set foot in Derwold, do they? I don’t think any of us have really stopped to consider that or what it means. On the other hand, the Witchfinders came through here centuries ago when my ancestor Isabel was arrested and executed. So if there is a protective wall around the village, it’s more like… like the power of suggestion, I guess.“

“It didn’t do a very good job of keeping out the baddies this time, did it?” Vivaan said with an eye towards the corpse on the table.

“No,” Sadie agreed. “Unless the killer has always been here. Unless Derwold is home for them.” The name suddenly felt strange on Sadie’s tongue. Like a cold shard of ice. “The Derwolds…”

“The Derwolds? The family, you mean? What about them?”

Sadie shook her head. “Maybe nothing. Who found the vicar?”

“His housekeeper, Glenda Moore. She was in a right state. I told her to keep it under wraps until the police arrived. I’ll pop by her house later to see how she’s holding up.”

“Good. If this gets out, there’ll be a panic. When you see Glenda again, you need to emphasise how important it is that she keep quiet about this. At least for the time being.”

“We can’t keep this secret forever, Sadie. People will notice the vicar’s absence before too long.”

“I know.” She turned to leave.

“Where are you going?”

Seeing the vicar like that horrified her, to be sure, but Sadie was surprised how calm she felt, given the circumstances. She and the vicar had never exactly been friends but, like all the villagers, she knew him well, had worked alongside him organising festivals and fêtes. Oh, she’d heard the rumours about his penchant for little boys and girls, like everyone else, but Sadie had never seen anything untoward herself, and how could she, of all people, judge anyone for something like that?

Perhaps there was folly in that – to turn a blind eye instead of asking awkward questions. But hadn’t that always been the way of small, remote communities? Anyway, it was too late now.

There was a killer on the loose somewhere out there. And a very real possibility they were still here, watching, waiting. Despite all that, Sadie felt more alive than she had in months. Pet readings were all well and good, but this was real witch business. Her every nerve ending seemed poised for the task at hand.

She turned back to Vivaan briefly. “Where am I going? To catch a killer, of course.”

5

Sometimes sex just wants to happen. Desire infuses the air like the sweetest of contagions.

While Sadie is out conducting her murder investigation, Georgia, Freya and Millie, oblivious to the danger around them, are drawn together in a subtle choreography of mutual arousal.

Georgia passes the greenhouse where Freya tends to her herbs. Her hand brushes along the metal frame. Freya turns, and the two of them share a smile.

Millie runs round and round the garden with Bee in tow. She laughs gleefully. She’s feeling frisky, naughty.

Freya washes her hands at the kitchen sink. Her mother ghosts behind her and reaches round to wash hers, too. Her daughter’s hair is sweet smelling. They giggle together. Millie helps herself to juice from the fridge. The three of them share a look.

Georgia reclines on the couch in the living room, taking respite from the stifling afternoon heat. Her chores are done, and the rest of the day is hers. The patio doors are slung wide, allowing a breeze to stir the skin on her bare legs. She wiggles her feet. She’s feeling lazy. The heat makes her horny.

Freya is teaching Millie a yoga move on the floor. She lifts one of her sister’s legs up behind her body and stretches it gently but firmly. Millie giggles. Freya looks back at her mum to see if she’s watching.

Georgia watches. And watches.

Sometimes sex just wants to happen.

Millie rolls over onto her back and adopts a crab pose. Before she can react, Freya hooks her fingers into the waistband of her sister’s shorts and tugs them down around her knees, along with her panties.

Millie laughs breathlessly. “Take them all the way off.”

Freya obliges. Now the eight-year-old is naked from the waist down. “Take yours off, too,” Millie tells her big sister. Freya shimmies out of her leggings, almost tripping on them as they bunch around her feet.

“Remember when we used to do this?” Freya asks her sister as she climbs on top of her, pressing their bare slits together.

Millie twines both arms around her sister’s neck. “Mm-hmm. Humpy humpy!”

“I remember, too,” Georgia coos as she slips a hand into her shorts.

“You weren’t there when we did this, Mummy,” Millie insists.

“Oh, but I was. Two little imps hiding in the poppy field, rubbing their girly bits together.”

Freya grinds against her sister, arching her back to press down more firmly. “How do you know about that, Mum?”

“A mother always knows what her little ones are up to. Never doubt it.”

Georgia rises languidly from the couch, then advances toward her daughters. She likes to watch, for sure, but watching just isn’t cutting it anymore. Sitting on her heels, she reaches out to stroke Freya’s bum as it moves back and forth. She can smell her little girls, the  intoxicating perfume of their arousal.

Her fingers delve into the crease of Freya’s arse until they are briefly trapped between two warm, moist little pussies. When she withdraws them, the tips are coated with wetness. Georgia smells her fingers, then sucks them clean. There’s no place for inhibition any more. They’ve all been through too much to hide anything.

“Stop humping a minute,” Georgia tells Freya. She reaches behind and grabs a cushion from the couch, then has Millie lift her hips briefly so she can push it beneath her bum. “Get up on your knees, Freya.”

“Mummy’s gonna do something naugh-tee!” Millie warbles gleefully.

Now Georgia has her girls right where she wants them. Freya is kneeling over Millie, her pussy almost touching her sister’s. Underneath, Millie spreads her legs wide.

Georgia cranes her neck and licks Freya first. Her oldest daughter exudes a clean musk. She’s becoming a woman. Her tongue slithers through warm, wet folds, chin brushing against a sparse smattering of virgin down.

A brief dip of the head and she’s mouth to pussy with her youngest, the smooth slit a stark contrast to Freya’s musky confection, but no less delicious for that. She stabs her way inside Millie’s snug hole, savouring the tart flavour. Then she prises Freya’s arse cheeks open to marvel at the flower of her anus.

When it’s Freya’s turn again, Georgia runs her tongue all the way from her pussy to her arsehole. She scrubs her tongue round the dusky orifice. When she’s done rimming Freya, she seeks out Millie’s little pucker, giving it the same treatment.

The two girls emit muffled whimpers, and when Georgia leans her head out briefly, her suspicions are confirmed: her two angels are deeply engaged in a soul kiss. Now she moves back and forth between them, a finger in each of their tight, gooey little pussies while she sucks on their clits, eager to see who will come in her mouth first.

Freya’s legs suddenly quiver uncontrollably. Her pussy squirts a small amount of ejaculate that coats her mother’s mouth and trickles into her sister’s slit. “Oh! Oh! Oooh!”

“Do me, Mummy!” Millie squeals, pulling her pussy lips apart.

How did we end up here? Georgia muses as she flicks her tongue over her little girl’s clit and fingers her tight hole. How did we end up at such a place of exquisite debauchery?

Then Millie comes too. She lies on the floor, arms and legs splayed out while a big wide grin lights up her face.

Georgia wonders what to do about her own needs. Perhaps she’ll go upstairs to bring herself off, or maybe she’ll just stay down here and do it in front of her children. That would surely make her come all the harder.

But then the girls fall upon their mother with giggles and breathless squeals.

It’s like any game of rough ‘n tumble two children might play with their mum, but when Millie and Freya start to unfasten Georgia’s clothes, the facade of innocence falls away to reveal the stark truth of their relationship – they are lovers.

When Georgia is left in nothing but her panties, she nudges the girls aside and gets to her feet. “Millie, lay back on the carpet for me.”

Millie does as she’s told. Freya sits and watches with interest, a hand toying idly between her thighs.

Georgia slips a very moist pair of knickers down her legs. She steps out of them, then brings them to her face to smell. The heat of the day has left them intensely musky, her arousal only increasing the aroma.

She happens to know a little girl who likes dirty panties.

Freya regards the sodden prize with greedy eyes. Barely a night goes by without a pair of used knickers being squirrelled away beneath her pillow, sometimes Sadie’s, sometimes her mum’s. Often both.

Georgia throws the panties at her oldest daughter. “Sniff these while I rub my pussy on Millie’s mouth.”

Freya inhales her mother’s discarded knickers while she fingers herself.

Georgia steps over Millie, peering down at her. “Will you lick my pussy, pixie? Mummy licked yours, so I think it’s only fair.”

“Okay,” Millie agrees, her eyes dancing. She knows what’s coming next.

Georgia sinks down into a lewd squat over her little girl’s face. “Ready?”

“Yah!”

Georgia closes the last few inches between her throbbing sex and Millie’s mouth. She moves her hips back and forth, brushing her pussy against the child’s lips. Millie pokes her tongue out and lets the tart, earthy taste of Mummy’s cunt fill her mouth.

Freya retreats to the couch. Sitting back against the cushions with her legs slung wide, one hand strums her clit while the other clutches the soiled panties to her face. She watches her mother rubbing herself on her little sister.

Georgia regards her oldest daughter with a knowing smirk. “Yeah, sniff those panties for Mummy,” she hisses. She reaches out and pushes a finger into the crease of Millie’s pussy, massaging her firm lips. Her hips move back and forth over Millie’s face.

Millie does her best to stick her tongue inside her mother’s pussy, so she can fuck her with it, but Mummy just won’t sit still long enough to give her a chance.

With her youngest daughter eating her out, and her oldest sniffing her knickers, Georgia knows it won’t be long until she tumbles over the precipice and into an earth-shattering climax. She knows just the thing to take her those last few inches, too. “F-Freya… it’s time to put Mummy’s panties down now. Come and lick your sister.”

She remembers the first time she caught them eating each other out, mouth to pussy in their bedroom when they should have been fast asleep, the sight of it as shocking as it was arousing. Georgia had watched them through a gap in the open door. Watched and masturbated.

Freya crawls off the couch and plants her hands on the back of Millie’s thighs, drawing her knees up and out. She dips her head between her little sister’s legs and flicks her tongue through the puffy labia.

Millie twitches and whimpers. Georgia can feel her little one’s warm breath on her sex. Hands on her hips, she grinds a little faster. “Oh, you dirty girls. My sweet, dirty little girls. I’m going to come all over your mouth, Millie. Mummy’s going to have her orgasm on your pretty lips. Here it comes. Oh, fuck yes. Fuck!”

Millie twitches and writhes beneath her climaxing mother. She’s coming too. Georgia thinks she deserves it for doing such a fine job on her mummy. Dismounting Millie’s face, she dips down to kiss the eight-year-old on her messy mouth, then moves down to kiss Freya, too. While she’s there, she plants a gentle peck on Millie’s flushed pussy.

Freya decides not to come again just yet. Instead, she’ll pay her new friend Elsa a visit and see what naughty things they can get up to.

6

The borders of Derwold were marked – relatively speaking – by a ring of ancient standing stones. It was widely believed the menhir in the field adjacent to Sadie’s cottage was the last one remaining, but Sadie knew there were others. True, some of them were long gone, uprooted to make way for agriculture, or perhaps simply pilfered, but the rest lay hidden amongst trees and dense foliage in the woods that surrounded the village, or had toppled over and been swallowed up by the earth over long centuries or even millennia.

Sadie knew where most of the remaining stones were situated. From that mental map she set out to trace the village border and follow its circumference, to determine if any residue of ancient Dryad magic still remained, enough that it might be preventing the police from entering.

The closer she came to the edge of the small hamlet, the more certain she became that something was terribly wrong.

Billy Buckham discovered the dark magic at work before his mistress did, and it had nearly been his undoing. Smelling death on the wind, he followed its heady trail to find one dead animal after another – birds, small mammals, even a deer or two – scattered along woods and fields that marked the borders of Derwold. By the time he’d thanked whatever god cats pray to for the veritable feast laid out before him, he was already shaking his head in confusion, tongue lolling.

Sadie snatched him up and carried him several metres back to safety. Billy recovered quickly, but Sadie suspected if she hadn’t been here he would’ve likely ended his days like the rest of these forest animals. “Stay here, Billy,” she told the tomcat. “It’s not safe, you hear me?”

Still somewhat perplexed, Billy could only blink at his mistress.

Sadie approached the dead animals tentatively, then pushed further on, fighting the feeling of dread and confusion that met her. It was like walking through a river of glue. Her limbs screamed with the effort, her head filled with a dense, murky fog.

Nothing made sense. Up was down, back was forward. The trees seemed to bend towards her like malevolent sentinels; the sky darkened and then crushed downwards. Nausea enveloped her, and Sadie realised with a jolt of horror that she hadn’t drawn a breath of air for several long seconds, almost as if that vital function seemed unimportant.

Now it was clear how all these animals had died – they’d simply forgotten to breathe.

Finally she could advance no further. If she tried, she was sure to fall here in this seldom-traveled part of the woods and perhaps never be found again.

Retreating was much easier, as if the village wanted her to go back, wanted her to return to the safety of its confines. And of course, that was the very nature of the hex that had been woven along the borders of Derwold: to keep those on the inside in and those on the outside out. Something or someone had turned Derwold into a prison.

“What the hell has she done, Billy?” Sadie groaned as she stumbled back towards her cat. “Why would the dryad do this?”

“Not I, witchling. Not I.”

Sadie spun to face the speaker. For a moment she saw nothing but trees and greenery, but then her eyes adjusted. There, perched upon a fallen tree trunk a short distance away was The Green Lady. The Dryad of Derwold.

“Astris…” Sadie whispered.

“We must speak, you and I,” Astris said. “Sister to sister.”

Soon to come: Chapter Six!