The Beekeeper’s Daughters, Chapter 1

  • Posted on October 31, 2021 at 3:20 pm

by BlueJean

Summer is flowing honey.

It’s fields of poppies and nesting swifts. It’s butterflies and wildflower meadows and the sweet buzzing of bees.

Once upon a time, it was noisy sirens and diesel fumes. Overtime in hot office blocks and terrible hangovers. Too much alcohol, too much stress, too much unhappiness.

These days I work from home, the days spent tending to my bee colonies and collecting the sweet nectar they produce. We live out in the sticks, in a fairly remote part of the country, away from the hustle and bustle of city life.

It’s a good place to be. Not just for me, but my two daughters. I didn’t want to raise them in a city. I wanted them to grow up around nature like I’d done when I was little; to have space to run wild, to breathe clean air, to learn that we’re all just a small part of a bigger whole.

Freya and Millie loved school summer holidays. Their days were spent running through fields, playing in the woods, and paddling in the little stream that snaked its way alongside our thatched cottage. Some days it was a real struggle to get them to come inside to eat or sleep.

They were playing in their treehouse at the bottom of our garden with our Hungarian Vizsla puppy Bee, who was barking up at the girls in frustration when I called them inside to help me make dinner. Ten-year-old Freya descended first, followed by her little sister, seven-year-old Millie. Bee danced around them happily as they ran back to the house.

I noticed they had their naughty faces on, all smiles and twinkling eyes. They liked to think that their mum didn’t notice these things, but being a beekeeper teaches you to be observant.

“What have you been up to, imps?” I asked them as I cut up some chicken thighs.

“Nothing,” Freya said and glanced at her sister knowingly.

“Just playing in the treehouse,” Millie added.

“Hmm.” I looked down at Bee, who was sitting on the kitchen floor like a good girl, waiting for a piece of chicken that she wasn’t going to get. “What were they doing, Bee? Were they being naughty up there?”

Bee obviously thought I meant, ‘Jump up here and help yourself to this chicken’. “No, Bee. Down. Down!” I commanded the puppy and she sat back down on the floor. “Good girl.”

“Good girl, Bee,” Millie said, getting down on her haunches and stroking the pup behind the ears.

“Freya, can you cut up a cucumber and some tomatoes?” I asked my eldest daughter.

“Okay,” Freya said and went to the fridge.

“What shall I do, Mummy?” Millie asked me.

“You can separate the tortillas and put them on a baking tray.”

“‘Kay.”

When all the ingredients were ready, the three of us had fun making our own fajitas. Millie, as usual, tried to put too much filling into her tortillas and couldn’t roll them up. I gave her a knife and fork.

“You always do that, Millie,” Freya told her sister, laughing.

“I like them like this,” Millie said, trying to pick up a fajita that looked more like a collapsed tent. The filling fell out of the sides and ended up back on her plate, except for a stray piece of chicken which bounced on the kitchen floor and was retrieved by a pleased-looking Bee.

“Just use the knife and fork, that’s why I put them there for you,” I told Millie.

Millie sighed and picked up the knife and fork begrudgingly. Half the fun of fajitas was eating them with your hands, after all.

Freya picked up one of her own neatly rolled fajitas and gave Millie a smug grin as she daintily nibbled on it.

“At least I don’t show people my kitty,” Millie muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” I said, nearly choking on my own fajita.

“Shut up, Millie,” Freya told her sister, and gave me an abashed look.

“She showed me loads of times, and some other girls at school too,” Millie said.

“I didn’t.”

“You did! She did, Mummy.”

“So? You showed me yours, too,” Freya shot back.

“Only because you made me, though.”

“Just the first time… then you wanted to show me after that.”

“No, I didn’t. You wanted to show me all the time.”

“You did.”

“No, you did! She did, Mummy!”

“Enough, please!” I said. “Both of you stop talking about your private bits and eat your dinner.”

The girls gave each other dirty looks, then went back to their meals.

So Freya was starting to think about that kind of thing, was she? I suppose I must have been of a similar age when I began to be curious about what was between my legs. It was a natural part of growing up, and I knew enough about nature to keep me from feeling threatened by such revelations. I wasn’t sure Millie needed to know about that just yet, though. I supposed it was all just harmless fun.

***

Later in the week, I was out in the orchard doing my weekly inspection of the hives while Bee and the girls played in the poppy field next to our cottage. Every now and then I could see two little heads moving through the red flowers.

The colonies were doing okay. No parasites, all queens present and correct. Soon the honey would be ready for the first harvest of the year.

As I secured the hives and closed the gate to the orchard, I noticed the girls had not appeared for a while. I could hear Bee barking, though, so I knew they were still amongst the poppies somewhere. I put my smoker down and took my protective veil off, thinking it would be fun to sneak up and surprise them.

I strolled towards the field and entered a sea of red.

The poppies were almost a meter tall, plenty big enough to hide two little girls, but I knew the puppy would give them away. I homed in on Bee’s yapping, crouching down and sneaking through the flowers until I could hear voices.

“Rub against me harder.” That was Freya.

“I am,” I heard Millie reply.

I crawled forward on my hands and knees as quietly as I could and saw movement between the poppy stalks. I froze, knowing if I moved any closer, Bee would find me.

“Don’t squeeze my bum so hard!” Millie told her sister.

“I’m trying to pull you in more, that’s all,” Freya said.

The girls were in a little clearing of squashed poppies. Freya was lying on her back and Millie was on top of her, rubbing herself against her big sister. Both of them had pulled their shorts and panties down round their ankles. Bee sat next to them and let out a little bark every now and then as if asking them what on earth they were doing.

Shush, Bee!” Freya whispered to the pup.

“Go home, Bee!” Millie said and half-heartedly tried to push the puppy away.

I should have turned around and crept away. This was an invasion of their privacy and it didn’t feel right spying on them. But I was also struck by the erotic beauty of the scene before me, and couldn’t quite bring myself to avert my gaze and leave.

Freya cupped her little sister’s buttocks as they rubbed their slits together. “Do you like it?” she asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Millie hummed, nodding. Judging from the way she was humping her sister, I’d say she definitely liked it.

“Go down a bit,” Freya said.

“Huh?”

“You keep missing my kitty. Go down a bit, so they’re rubbing together more.”

“‘Kay,” Millie said and looked down between her big sister’s legs so she could do some fine-tuning.

“That’s better. Now rub against me really hard.”

“Stop saying that, I’m trying to!” Millie whined.

“Shhh!”

Bee told them off again.

“Go away, Bee!” Freya said and Millie giggled.

I kept as still as I could behind the poppies, careful not to even breathe too loudly. I was enthralled. Even a little… no. Not aroused. These were my little girls, for heaven’s sake. If witnessing this scene of adolescent frolicking was turning me on, it was a perfectly natural physical reaction — not a psychological one, I reasoned. I didn’t have much control over several million years of hardwired primate behaviour, after all.

“It feels really nice,” Freya was saying. “It’s making my kitty feel all funny. Rub on me harder.”

“Don’t keep saying it!” Millie hissed.

“Let’s do a kiss,” Freya suggested.

“Urgh, no way!” Millie said and I had to stifle a laugh.

Bee looked right at me.

I crawled backward, but it was too late. The puppy warily stalked me through the poppies, not sure who or what I was. I managed to get up on my feet and tried to sneak away but Bee caught up to me, screwing up her snout in a smile and thrashing her tail around in excitement, having discovered who I was. I held a finger up to my lips to shush her, as if a dog was going to understand that.

“Quick, pull your pants up! I think someone’s coming!” I heard a frantic Freya tell her sister.

I reached the edge of the field with Bee jumping up at me excitedly. I stood up and shouted to the girls, to make it seem like I’d just arrived. “Girls? Are you in there?”

Two little heads popped up amidst the ocean of poppies.

“Yeah, we’re here!” Freya shouted back, looking a little flushed.

“We were just playing,” Millie said, looking a bit guilty.

“Come inside and get cleaned up,” I told them, walking back to the house.

“Aww!” they both whined in unison.

***

Me and my sister like to do rude things together sometimes.

Oh, wait.

I should have said who I was first.

I’m Freya and my little sister is Millie. My mum’s real name is Georgia but obviously, we just call her Mum.

There.

So recently I started feeling funny between my legs and I found out that it feels really good to touch myself down there. At school, I showed my kitty to a couple of friends under the table and they showed me theirs, and then later on at home I asked Millie if she wanted to see it. Millie said no but I showed her anyway. Soon I got her to show me hers and it became like a fun game for us to flash each other when Mum wasn’t around.

When Mum nearly caught us in the poppy field, it was the first time we had rubbed our kitties together like that. It felt really exciting and I didn’t think it would be the last time we did it.

Now I’ll tell you about Mr. Dalliard, who has nothing to do with us rubbing our kitties together but it’s quite interesting anyway.

Mr Dalliard is a nice old man who lives in a house near ours and comes over sometimes to help Mum with carpentry and painting and odd jobs and stuff. My sister is sure that he’s the oldest man in the world but I think that’s just something he told her as a joke. He is pretty old though.

Oh. He also built our treehouse.

Today he was around our house to help Mum repair and paint some old beehives. Mum insisted they use water based paint as it’s better for the bees and for the environment too but Mr Dalliard said oil-based was better and that’s what he had used his whole life. Mum won.

“She won’t last five minutes, girl,” Mr. Dalliard told Mum as he slapped the paint on with a brush. No idea why but Mr Dalliard likes to call things ‘she’ and ‘he’. Weird.

“Water-based paint is much better than it used to be, Mr. Dalliard,” Mum told him.

“The weather’ll get into her, you mark my words,” Mr. Dalliard grumped.

“Mr Dalliard, how old are you?” Millie asked, just like she asked him every time.

“Older’n any person alive, young’un,” Mr. Dalliard told my sister, grinning.

I don’t think Mr. Dalliard has ever called us by our actual names. It’s always ‘young’un’ or ‘littlun’ or ‘whippersnapper’ and stuff like that. I keep meaning to Google ‘whippersnapper’.

“Yeah, but how old?” Millie kept on. My sister is almost as stubborn as Mr. Dalliard.

“How old d’ya think I is?”

“I dunno ’cause you never tell me,” Millie said.

“Guess then,” Mr. Dalliard said.

“As old as Yoda?”

“Who the ‘ell’s Yoga?”

“Yoda, not Yoga! He’s the leader of the Jedi,” Millie explained.

“Oh, I see. How old’s ‘e then?”

“About five hundred years old, I think.”

Mr Dalliard did a loud, raspy, coughy noise that was probably a laugh.

“I saw an old Japanese lady on YouTube who was a hundred and twenty and there’s no way you’re that old,” I said, pleased with myself.

“Don’t gimme that YouTube rubbish! they prolly dressed ‘er up ta make ‘er look old,” Mr. Dalliard wheezed, having none of it.

“They didn’t, it was real,” I insisted.

“Bah, you can keep yer YouTubes and yer Yoghurts. I’s the oldest person in the world, I is.”

Millie stared at Mr. Dalliard for a while. “He might be,” she said to me.

“He’s not,” I said in a quiet voice, a little annoyed.

“I’m sure if Mr. Dalliard wanted you to know how old he was, he’d tell you,” Mum told us.

“Ask the lady in the tree, she’ll tell ye how old I is,” Mr. Dalliard said as he slapped on more paint.

“What lady?” I asked.

“The old Dryad, one that lives in the big ole oak down yonder. Knew me as a young’un, she did.”

Me, my sister and my mum looked at each other. Mr. Dalliard said weird stuff sometimes.

“Okay, Mr. Dalliard,” Mum said. “Would you like another cup of tea?”

I must remember to Google ‘Dryad’ too.

***

Later on, that evening after Mum had sent us to bed, I thought about sharing my secret with my sister but I wasn’t sure if she could be trusted after telling Mum about me flashing my kitty.

“Millie?” I said to her as she read her book in the bed next to mine.

“What?”

“Why did you tell Mum about me showing my kitty?”

“‘Cause you laughed at my fajitas,” Millie said.

“I didn’t mean to laugh, but we have to keep stuff like that secret, okay?”

Millie looked up from her book. “Okay I’m sorry, I won’t tell Mummy again.”

“D’you promise?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

Millie sighed dramatically. “I promise not to tell Mummy about the rude things.”

Satisfied that she would keep her word, I pulled something out from under my pillow. “Look what I have,” I said, grinning.

Millie put her book down. “What is it?” she asked.

“A pair of Mum’s knickers.”

“Why do you have those?”

“I took them from the washing basket.”

“Yeah, but why?”

I climbed out of bed and tiptoed over to my sister’s bed with the knickers in my hand. I sat down and held them near her face.

“Smell them,” I said and brought the dirty underwear up to her nose.

“I don’t want to,” Millie said, pulling away.

“Go on, they smell really nice,” I insisted.

“Like what?”

“Like Mum’s kitty,” I said and took a big sniff.

“Okay, I’ll try them,” my sister decided.

I held the soiled panties under her nose again. Millie took a little sniff, then a bigger one.

“Do you like the smell?” I asked her.

Millie shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Just okay?” I said, disappointed. How could the smell not be as exciting to her as it was to me?

“I don’t mind it, but sneaking Mummy’s dirty knickers into our room is a bit weird.”

“Will you rub your kitty on mine while I smell them?” I asked.

Millie giggled. “Okay.”

I went back to lay on my own bed and pulled my knickers and pajama bottoms down round my ankles. Millie crept over and pulled hers down too. She climbed over me and lowered herself on top of my body.

“Make sure they’re touching together,” I told her.

As my sister lay on top of me and rubbed herself against my kitty, I opened my mum’s dirty panties and inspected them. They were just normal cotton knickers, light blue with a yellow trim. There were some stains in there, some yellow ones and some whitish ones.

I held them up to my nose and breathed in. I’m not sure I can describe how they smelled, kind of fruity and dirty, but I really liked it. And with my little sister rubbing her private parts on mine it felt even better.

I pushed the panties into Millie’s face. “Are you sure you don’t like the smell?”

“Stop it, Freya!” my sister said but she was grinning when she said it so I didn’t think she was too bothered.

“I wonder why my panties don’t smell this good,” I mused.

“They would do if you didn’t wash them,” Millie said and we giggled.

“I really like doing this,” I said and gave Mum’s panties another sniff.

“The rubbing thing or smelling Mummy’s knickers?”

“Both, but I meant the rubbing.”

“I like it too.”

My kitty felt really tingly and almost sore and I felt like I was building up to something but I wasn’t sure what and I wasn’t sure how to get there. But it felt nice anyway.

I put Mum’s panties over Millie’s head so she was wearing them like a balaclava.

“Take them off, Freya!” my sister squealed.

“Shhh!” I whispered, laughing.

Millie pulled the knickers off her head and threw them at me. “You’re horrible!” she said, but still giggling.

“I can hear you up there! Go to sleep!” Mum shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

Millie climbed off me, pulled her panties and pajamas back up, and scampered back to her own bed.

I covered myself up with my summer quilt but kept my panties pulled down. I wanted to touch myself down there and smell Mum’s knickers a bit more before I went to sleep.

***

It was mid-morning, and Freya and Millie were playing outside in the stream while I made a quick zoom call to my friend and the girls’ teacher. Sadie, or Miss Laine as Freya and Millie called her, was a bubbly young lady with long chestnut hair and a natural kind of beauty that was the envy of other women, including me. She was also a pillar of the community, working tirelessly to help her little charges, and she enjoyed organising events in the village. I should have wanted to slap her repeatedly but, of course, I adored her like everyone else.

“Good morning, Miss Laine,” I droned, imitating her pupils’ traditional morning greeting.

Sadie laughed. “Can you see me?” she asked.

Zoom meetings were a new thing to us. We only lived a ten minute drive away from each other, so it was a bit lazy of us, but also a convenient way of having a quick chat.

“Yeah, I can see you,” I told her as I sat down on the couch with a cup of herbal tea. “Looking hot as usual.” Sadie liked to wear pretty summer dresses and rarely felt the need to wear much make-up, natural beauty that she was.

“Ooh, what a nice compliment!” my friend said and swished her hair back in an exaggerated manner.

“Okay, don’t let it go to your head,” I told her, laughing.

“What are you up to?” Sadie asked me.

“Uh, well, I have a load of herb seeds that need planting in the greenhouse. Loads of little maintenance jobs to do around the house too. I can’t rely on Mr Dalliard too much, he’s not getting any younger.”

“No, poor old bugger.”

“How about you?”

“Oh, I still have the mock exams to mark over the holidays. The vicar wants me to help with the church fête, too.”

“Tell him to get someone else. He’s always asking you for help.”

“I don’t mind, you know I like to keep busy.”

“He takes advantage,” I said. The vicar was a slimy little fucker in my opinion. There were rumours, too…

“Oh, don’t be a meanie! He’s not so bad,” Sadie said. “Are the girls behaving?”

“Mostly,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“What? Are they being naughty?”

“Not naughty really but… well…”

“Do they need Miss Laine to come round and give them a good talking to?” Sadie said, trying to put on a stern looking face.

“Freya has discovered her vagina,” I said.

Sadie burst out laughing. “Oh, my goodness! How embarrassing!”

I smiled. “Yeah, she’s going through that ‘flash your kitty at anything that moves’ phase, I’m afraid.”

Sadie managed to compose herself, went to speak and then burst out laughing again. Even her laugh was attractive. Soft and infectious.

“That’s it, get it out of your system,” I laughed with her. “I was hoping for some teacherly advice, but you’re no help at all.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, it was just the way you said it!” Sadie giggled. “I’ve caught her and some of the other girls doing it at school too, to be honest.”

“You have?”

“Yes. They didn’t know I was watching, but I could see what they were doing under the table.”

“Didn’t you tell them off?”

“Well, I don’t want to humiliate them in front of the class, so I just tell them to stop messing about and pay attention to their work.”

“Oh, okay. Maybe I need to have a chat with her, she’s got Millie doing it now too,” I said.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. Every year I have little girls in my class who like to show their private bits. It’s just a normal part of growing up.”

“I’m not that worried. I used to do it too when I was Freya’s age.”

“Didn’t we all? I used to love flashing my pussy to all the other little girls and boys,” Sadie said and gave me a naughty look.

“Prim and proper Sadie Laine, a pussy flasher? Surely not!” I gasped, a hand to my mouth.

Sadie burst out laughing again. “I did! I was awful!”

“Well I certainly hope the vicar doesn’t find out what a little hussy his favourite helper used to be!”

We giggled hysterically like a couple of schoolgirls.

“Oh dear, I’m getting all flushed,” Sadie said, fanning herself with a hand.

“Okay, I’m gonna go before I pee myself,” I said, still laughing.

“All right. Let’s meet up sometime. Zoom meetings are fun, but there’s no substitute for good old fashioned get-togethers.”

“I agree.”

“Say hi to the girls!”

“Will do!”

“Bye!”

“Bye-bye!”

We both sat there staring at each other.

“I don’t know how to turn it off!” Sadie said in a sing-song voice.

“Me nei-ther!” I sang back.

“I’m just gonna push random buttons!”

“Me too then. Bye-bye!”

“Bye! I hope the girls don’t flash their puss-”

Not sure what I’d pressed, but Sadie was cut off mid-sentence and the screen went black. I closed my laptop and chuckled to myself. “Daft cow.”

***

Me, Millie and Bee followed the little stream down past our house and the wheat fields, eels and little fish darting away to avoid us. Millie and me took our sandals off and paddled barefoot through the cool, clear water. Mum had made sure we went out with our sunhats on to keep our heads from getting burned.

Whenever we came to a wide part of the stream, we would stop and play for a bit, splashing each other with water and climbing up the shallow bank to see if there was anything worth investigating. Bee wanted to eat everything in sight and I had to keep pulling things out of her mouth.

Soon we came to a part of the stream that was so wide, it had a little flat shingle island and an old dead log in the middle of it. I think it might have been wide enough to call a river.

“This would be a good place to make camp,” I said to my sister. I was the voice of authority on camping and survival but my sister was good with fish and insects.

“I dunno if we’d fit a tent on here, it’s quite a small island,” Millie said, bending down to look at the log.

“We’d get a small tent on here easy.”

“What’s the point of camping in the middle of a river though?” my sister argued.

“Shut up, I know more about camping than you,” I told her.

“You shut up.”

“Let’s keep following the stream,” I said, deciding it was time to break camp and get back on our journey.

“We shouldn’t go much farther,” Millie said. “Mummy said not to go too far away from the house.”

“We’re not that far, Millie. She meant like miles away.”

“A dragonfly!” my sister yelled and pointed to a shimmering turquoise shape hovering near the far bank.

“Oh wow, it’s beautiful!” I said.

“It’s really pretty! Let’s follow it!” Millie said and splashed across the stream towards the flying insect.

“Come on, Bee!” I shouted to the puppy and we ran after my sister.

We climbed up the bank and chased the dragonfly across a field of golden rapeseed, laughing as we ran along with our sandals in our hands, Bee barking at us.

“Ow!” Millie shouted and bent down to rub her foot.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her as I came to a halt.

“I stepped on something sharp. I’m gonna put my sandals on.”

“Me too,” I said and we both slipped back into our sandals.

The dragonfly had gone but when I looked across the field I could see a massive tree just on the other side. “Millie, look,” I said, pointing at it.

“It’s huge!” Millie said.

“Let’s go and have a look at it,” I said and we ran over to the edge of the field and climbed over a low wooden fence, while Bee scrambled underneath.

It was an oak tree, I knew, and it was definitely the biggest one I had ever seen in my life, maybe thirty or forty feet wide, all gnarly, with big roots snaking out. It sat on a big patch of grass where two dirt roads came together.

“I think this is the tree Mr Dalliard was talking about,” I said.

“Is it?”

“Maybe. I remember Mum taking us to see it too, when we were little.”

“I don’t remember.”

“She said it was the oldest tree in the country.”

Mr Dalliard said a tree lady lived in it,” my sister said.

“It’s called a Dryad. It’s like a tree nymph or something.”

“Hello, tree lady!” Millie shouted through her cupped hands.

A crow perched on a branch cawed down at us. Bee told it off and then whimpered, having second thoughts.

As I looked up I could see a shape in the massive tree trunk. Almost like a figure if you looked at it from a certain angle and squinted. It looked like it was growing out of the oak.

I think my sister saw it too. “Freya, I want to go home,” she said.

“Me too,” I agreed and we ran along the dirt track, back to the safety of our little cottage.

***

My herb planting had gone quicker than I thought it would. Finding it too hot to exert myself on maintenance tasks outside, I sought sanctuary in the cool interior of our cottage to busy myself with a bit of halfhearted housework.

I usually made the girls tidy up their bedroom themselves, knowing that it did them both good to learn to take responsibility for their own things, but as I was running the hoover round upstairs anyway, I thought I might as well vacuum their room.

As I was hoovering under Freya’s bed, I caught a glimpse of something sticking out from under her pillow. I turned the hoover off and pulled the material out. A pair of my panties? What were they doing here? I brought them to my nose and sniffed them. They were dirty. I could only assume my eldest daughter had fished them out of the washing basket and smuggled them back to her room.

But why? I supposed the answer was obvious: my ten-year-old daughter had a panty fetish.

Maybe I was just jumping to conclusions. Perhaps Millie had put them under there as a joke. I’m sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation why Freya had my dirty knickers hidden under her pillow. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal.

I was feeling really horny all of a sudden. I’m sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for that, too.

I put my panties back under Freya’s pillow, left the hoover where it was and went to my room. I lay on my bed, pulled my trousers and panties down to my knees and touched myself between the legs. I slipped my other hand inside my t-shirt and squeezed my breasts. I don’t usually wear a bra. My tits are not so big that they end up dragging on the ground and I just find a bra too restrictive, so I was free to massage my tits and pinch my nipples without hindrance.

I pushed my fingers through my moist labia and then back up through my bush. God, how I loved the smell of my pussy juice on my pubic hair. Did Freya enjoy my smell too? Did she lay in her bed at night with my dirty knickers held to her face?

I tried to push the image aside and replace it with another, more acceptable one. Ladies licking each other out, rubbing their pussies together, sixty-nining. I’d been married to a man once but these days, most of my masturbatory fantasies involved other women.

But the image of my ten year old daughter smelling my dirty knickers wouldn’t go away, so I let it back in, along with the image of Freya and Millie rubbing their pussies together in the poppy field. I pulled my linen trousers off and spread my legs even wider, plunging two fingers inside myself and scissoring them in and out.

“Oh, God, yes,” I moaned and lifted my t-shirt up to smear pussy juice on my nipples. Fuck, that wonderful smell.

My fingers found my cunt again and I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensations radiating through my body, a gentle breeze blowing across my skin from the open window.

Did Freya finger herself too as she sniffed my panties?

“Oh, fuck.”

Did she hump her pillow as she sniffed Mummy’s dirty knickers?

“Gonna come.”

Did she rub herself against her little sister as she breathed in Mummy’s aroma?

“Oh, fuck yes!” I groaned as I came on my fingers.

“Mummy, we saw the lady in the tree!” Millie squealed as she came bounding into my bedroom. Freya was right behind her, followed by Bee.

“Shit! What? Oh… yes, that’s nice,” I blurted, my legs wide open, knickers stretched around my knees.

Oh, dear…

On to Chapter Two!

 

22 Comments on The Beekeeper’s Daughters, Chapter 1

  1. Keiko says:

    Thank You Juicy Secrets in bringing this story from Leslita to here. I was so sad to think we would not be able to follow this tale to its conclusion. There is so much to enjoy here…

  2. eloquent delinquent says:

    I’m also delighted to see this (literally) magical tale of naughty joy make its way to Juicy.

    And it’s just as much fun to read the second time around!

    • DaughterLover says:

      I hope your story “The Unmentionable Tug” (sorry if I remember the title wrong!) makes it here, too!! That’s another wonderful story I just found on LL 🙂

      • eloquent delinquent says:

        You’ll be happy to know that all my work (that the site deems fit) will be platformed here over time, including “Tug” and “Just This Once.” I hope you’ll enjoy re-visiting them!

  3. Anna says:

    So glad you have managed to transfer this story from Leslita. It would be nice if a couple more could also be moved that I have enjoyed reading.. New Life for Lucy and Catherine Browns School for Girls.

    • Sapphmore says:

      I do have both those saved. I have a very strong feeling from the way it’s written that English is not the first language of the author of ‘The new life of Lucy by Dream’. It ends at chapter 10 and it would need a fair bit of editing work if it was deemed good enough for JS.
      ‘Catherine Brown’s school for young girls by ExtraSweet’ is much better written but would still require some work and ends at chapter 4.
      I’ll do some digging if I get time to see if there is more of both I’ve just not copied.

      • Sapphmore says:

        One thing I will mention on the Extrasweet story, is that there is a lot of swearing and filthy talk that I personally find a tad off-putting. Now and again in a charged situation if fine but for me it seemed over the top and added for other reasons, maybe to just make it dirty/sexy/whatever, but I don’t think it works.

        • JetBoy says:

          The author of “The New Life of Lucy” submitted their story to JS, but I reluctantly turned it down, at least for now. There’s much of value to be found there, but the story needs more editing work than I can give it at this time.

          Right now, the only items I’m able to accept are stories that need minimal editing at most. My story load is absolutely ridiculous these days, what with a small avalanche from Lesbian Lolita piling up in the inbox. I’ve been neglecting my own writing for months, trying to keep the pipeline of quality material flowing to this site.

          If someone out there with decent proofreading/editing skills is willing to pitch in and tackle stories like “The New Life of Lucy,” for JS, I’d welcome you with open arms and eternal friendship. Only serious, committed offers, please.

          • Ms. Mommy says:

            Pleeeeease reconsider new life of lucy that story was incredibly hot and I was loving it.

      • ExtraSweet says:

        There are no other chapter published of the Catherine Brown’s school for young girls after chapter 4. I was almost done chapter 6 when LL disappeared.

        You’re right in saying there is lot of swearing and dirty talk in my stories. I got this remark before. Maybe, if one day LL gets back from the dead, I’ll re-post a toned down version of the story without sacrificing too much of the naughty atmosphere I like to put in my stories. I’ll try a different approach.

        I doubt I would be accepted here. I was turned down once (rightfully so) with another story because my English wasn’t top notch. I (like to) think I got better since, but I doubt it would be enough to make the big league. 😀

        Much love

        ExtraSweet

  4. Leslita Fan says:

    I agree completly. I have also been engrossed in these other stories and would hate to not be able to follow them to their conclusion.

  5. DaughterLover says:

    YES!! I had just recently started reading this story on Leslita (I think I was on Ch. 5), and was stunned when that wonderful site was forced down a couple of weeks ago 🙁

  6. Erotica_lover says:

    I agree, great to see this story transferred as I looked forward to every chapter. Hopefully you’ll be able to rescue some more stories?

  7. BlueJean says:

    Thanks for all the great comments.

    And a special thank you to Eloquent Delinquent who supported my stories on Leslita and gave me a gentle nudge in the direction of Juicy Secrets.

    Thanks to Jetboy too, who will definitely want to bludgeon me over the head with a mallet by the time this story is finished.

    • Jacqueline Jillinghoff says:

      Well, you’re not the only one Jetboy wants to bludgeon.

      I’m delighted by this story. It’s sweet, sexy, and well written, with enough creativity to overflow into sidelights like Mr. Dalliard and the Dryad. Why does the best writing always seem to come out of the UK?

      Looking forward to more.

    • Thing9 says:

      I’ve posted a few comments on your stories at Leslita but they never got through for some reason. Your stories are crafted with great depth and prowess and I can’t wait for the rest of the chapters in this series!

  8. lofftie50 says:

    lovely story ..great 1st chapter

  9. Erocritique says:

    .
    Yes, this story had a certain magical quality to it . I was hooked within the first few moments of reading. JS is lucky to have access to this talent. Thank you to everyone who was involved in bringing BlueJean into the fold, and especially thank you to BlueJean for coming. *cheers*

  10. Kim & Sue says:

    Thank you BlueJean. A wonderful story. We love the mix of views from the different characters perspective. Perfectly written like a story from a really good book, but of course it contains our favorite subject matter instead.

    Great job and looking forward to another chapter soon.

  11. Tim says:

    I loved this story so much I had to find the original, and now there I have just finished the 4th chapter.
    Honestly, I find it so well written, so beautiful, and I have to say also now highly erotic and arousing.
    BlueJean you have a wonderful talent. The characters are so good, the personalities just right, and the love between mum and her two daughters, not to mention their teacher, is special indeed.
    Thanks Jetboy, a great addition for this great site, and thanks for writing BlueJean.

  12. BlueJean says:

    Back on Leslita, I got into the habit of replying to each comment on my stories, figuring if people were taking the time to offer feedback, then I should make the effort to respond. But where I was generally receiving two or three comments per story over there, the amazing avalanche of feedback I’ve been blessed with on Juicy makes if difficult to respond to each and every person in any meaningful way, beyond a basic “Thanks, I appreciate it!”.

    So I’ll just thank you all again for the incredible response to chapter 1, and for welcoming me to this wonderful community. I hope you come back again for future chapters.

    Also, you’re all welcome to head over Leslita to read some of the other chapters but I should tell you that the versions I’m posting here are slightly revised versions and they won’t exactly marry up with their Leslita counterparts. And obviously the JS versions have been given the usual Jetboy coat of paint.

    • Tim says:

      Thanks BlueJean.
      And from a readers perspective, it’s so easy to comment on here, whereas it seems more longwinded on Leslita (I haven’t found a way to log in yet!!!). But at least on Leslita I could binge read and get ahead of here.
      Thanks again, Tim

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