The Beekeeper’s Daughters, Chapter 8

  • Posted on April 24, 2022 at 2:33 pm

by BlueJean


Calm, Isabel. Be at peace.

Where is my sweet child?

Long departed, sister. Long departed. Let me soothe you.

You lie, Astris! Always you lie. She is near. She calls for her mama.

Hush, Isabel. That one is not your child.

She is mine!

No. She belongs to another. You must not harm her.

Liar! For long and long have you kept me anchored to this tree! But your power wanes, Astris. I can feel you fading, yet my reach grows further each day.

Do not fight me, Isabel. I am not your enemy.

Enough! Your kind knows nothing of motherhood… Eliza, my sweet, Mama is coming for you…


Mum says all honey is unique. It tastes different depending on where it comes from and what kind of nectar the bees collect. Newton honey is made from wildflower nectar and has a special flavour.

It took us nearly a whole day to harvest the second batch of honey and put it into jars. Some of it would go to the post office so Mrs. Jeffries could sell it for us, and the rest Mum would sell online, along with beeswax, royal jelly and something called propolis, which looks like bee poo but is actually a mix of saliva and beeswax that the bees use to seal up small holes in the hives. Mum says it’s an ingredient in some kind of varnish people use for musical instruments.

When we’d finished bottling the honey, Millie went outside to play with Bee, while me and Mum cleaned up. As I washed the storage buckets in the sink, I could see my sister through the kitchen window, standing in the garden with her back to me. She looked like she was shaking or something. Bee was sitting close by, poking her with a paw.

“What’s that girl doing now?” I mumbled.

“Hmm?” Mum stacked the last of the honey into boxes and then wandered over to peer out the window. “Let’s go see what’s happened.”

We hurried outside to find Millie cupping a little yellow bundle of feathers, tears streaming down her face. “He’s… he’s dead, Mummy! Nigel’s d-dead!” she sobbed, barely able to get the words out.

Mum knelt down and put her arms around my sister. “Oh, Millie. I’m so sorry.”

“Did Bee do it?” I asked, but Millie was crying so much she could only shake her head.

“I think it may have been a bird of prey,” Mum told me as she held my sister’s hand.

“It’s not fair! He spent his whole life in a cage and then… and then when he was finally free, something k-killed him!” Millie wailed.

Mum wiped away my sister’s tears and kissed her on the head. “Sometimes nature can be cruel, Millie. Your little bird didn’t understand about all the dangers out there in the world. He didn’t have anyone to teach him when he was young.”

“I hate nature, then!” Millie sobbed. “I’ll go live in the big tree where no one can hurt me or make me cry anymore!”

I stroked my sister’s back. “Don’t say that, Millie.” Hearing her talk like that made me feel scared. She could be a bit annoying sometimes but I didn’t want her to disappear inside a tree.

Mum managed to persuade Millie to part with Nigel so she could put him into a big matchbox. “We could have a funeral for him. Would you like that?” she asked my sister.

Millie gave a sad nod. “We should invite Miss Laine.”

“Oh. Well, Sadie didn’t really know your canary, sweetie.”

“I want her to come, though,” Millie insisted.

“All right, I’ll ask her.”

“And Mr. Dalliard, too.”

“We probably shouldn’t bother Mr. Dalliard.”

My sister turned to me. “He’d be quite upset if we didn’t invite him, wouldn’t he Freya?”

I didn’t think Mr. Dalliard would be too bothered really, but I knew Millie would start crying again if I didn’t agree with her. “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

So, the next day we held a little service for Nigel in the garden.

Mr. Dalliard turned up wearing his WW2 beret and all his medals attached to his smart blazer. He used a walking stick to get around, which I’d never seen him do before. I hadn’t really believed him when he said he was the oldest person in the world, but he definitely looked older lately. Old and tired.

“Oh, Mr. Dalliard, you didn’t need to go to all that effort,” Mum told him as she fetched him a chair.

“Weren’t no bother, really,” Mr. Dalliard said and gave my sister’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “‘Ow ya ‘oldin’ up, littlun?”

Millie did a big sigh. “I’m okay, thanks.”

Miss Laine knelt down and took my sister’s hand. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Millie.”

Millie looked a bit confused. “Pardon?”

“I’m very sorry for your loss. That’s what you say to people when they lose someone special.”

“I didn’t lose him, Miss Laine. A nasty bird pecked him to death.”

“Oh. yes, I didn’t mean you’d actually lost him. Pecked to death, though, that’s… that’s horrible… poor thing.”

“Terrible way to go,” Mr. Dalliard agreed.

Mum put the big matchbox down on the ground next to a hole that we’d dug in the rose bed, then cleared her throat. “So, we’re gathered here today to pay our respects to… um… sorry, what was his name?”

“Nigel,” Millie said with a frown.

“To Nigel, who was Millie’s beloved canary, and whose life was cut tragically short.” Mum paused and then continued. “It’s always hard when a friend dies, isn’t it? Really hard. And sad. Really, really sad. So… yeah… Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” She trailed off awkwardly. Mum wasn’t very good at this kind of thing, not really.

Miss Laine stepped forward. “If it wasn’t for Millie, that poor little bird would have spent his whole life in a cage on Mrs. Jeffries’ shop counter, which is no life for anyone. But Millie saved him, and thanks to her, for the first time in his life he discovered the freedom of the skies. Isn’t that amazing?”

“But a bird got him and pecked him to death,” Millie pointed out.

“And then he got pecked to death. Which is not ideal,” Miss Laine concluded.

“Terrible,” Mr. Dalliard added.

“Yes… thank you, Sadie,” Mum said. “Would you like to say some words, Millie?”

Millie took a big breath. “Well, I just wanted to set Nigel free because it’s really sad to see a bird in a cage and there’s no point having wings if you can’t use them to fly and it’s like having… it’s like… having legs but not being able to run. Well, you can have a wheelchair to get around, actually, but it’s better to be able to run… and birds don’t have wheelchairs anyway. So he was really happy to fly for the first time and he was definitely happy because he used to fly around and go, ‘tweet tweet tweet!’ and so that’s how I know he was happy, but then a big bird swooped down and pecked him to death and the big bird didn’t even eat him, so it probably just pecked him to death for fun, which is really mean, and I hope an even bigger bird swoops down and pecks the big bird to death too, so it knows how it feels to be pecked to death.”

We all stared at Millie, unsure what to say after a speech like that.

“I’ve finished now,” my sister informed us and sniffed.

“That was lovely, Millie,” Miss Laine said and put her arm around my sister.

“Aye, a fine speech,” Mr. Dalliard agreed.

“Would you like to say something, Freya?” Mum asked me.

“No thanks,” I replied, but Millie gave me the stare of death. “Um, just that, I’m glad he found some happiness with us, really.”

Millie clearly wasn’t satisfied with that, though.

“And… we didn’t have to pay much for him? So that was good,” I offered.

“Will Mrs. Jeffries give us our money back, Mummy?” Millie asked.

“Oh, I think that ship’s sailed, sweetie,” Mum told her.

“Always keep the receipt,” Mr. Dalliard said, helpfully.

Mum spoke again. “Well. Unless anybody else would like to say something, I think we should lower Neville—”


“Uh, I think we should lower Nigel into the grave. Girls, would you do the honours?”

It felt a bit silly, putting a matchbox into the flowerbed with Millie. One person could have done it easily but it was important that I was there for my sister on this terrible day. So we took a side each and lowered the little coffin into the ground and then covered it over with soil. I hoped Bee didn’t dig it up and eat what was left of Nigel. Millie took a cross she had made out of lollipop sticks and stuck it in the little grave.

Mr. Dalliard sang an old war song about fallen comrades, which was a little bit embarrassing, but it was a nice thing to do, I suppose.

Miss Laine had a bunch of flowers in her hands but she just picked a single flower to put on Nigel’s grave, leaving me wondering why she didn’t leave them all.

After we’d eaten some sandwiches and had a glass of lemonade, Mr. Dalliard got up to head home. Mum tried to persuade him to accept a lift in the car but Mr. Dalliard insisted he would keep walking as much as he could while he was still able. Before leaving, he went over to have a chat with Miss Laine. They were speaking really quietly and kept looking over at me and Millie. I wondered what they were talking about.

Miss Laine told us she needed to visit someone and would be back soon. As Mum and Millie took the plates and glasses inside to wash them up, I watched my teacher moving along the dirt track on the other side of the poppy field, heading toward the forest. I didn’t have a clue who she might be visiting – there weren’t any other houses in that direction for miles, and anyway, wouldn’t it have been quicker to take her car?

I decided to follow her. “Mum, I’m just going up to the post office to buy some sweets,” I shouted through the kitchen window.

“Okay, but take Millie and Bee with you,” Mum called back.

“I move quicker alone…” I replied in a really cool voice, then set off, taking a shortcut through the poppy field in pursuit of my elusive quarry.


“Freya! I said take – Oh, that girl!” I exclaimed as my wayward daughter ran off through the poppy field.

“I don’t want to go to the post office anyway, Mummy – I’m in mourning,” Millie declared.

“Oh, my baby’s in mourning!” I said dramatically and picked her up, peppering her face with kisses.

Millie tried her best not to smile, so I trailed more kisses down her neck. Finally her resolve broke, and she burst out laughing.

“Oh my goodness! Our little mourner is having a giggling fit!” I gasped, attacking her with more kisses.

“You made me!” Millie squealed.

She started to slip down my body, so I cupped her bum and hoofed her up. “You’re getting big,” I told her.

You’re big!”

You are!”

“No, you are!”



She rested her head in the crook of my neck and we laughed together. We stayed like that for a spell – me cradling my younger daughter, rocking her gently from side to side, just as I’d done when she was a babe.

“Why do things have to die, Mummy?” Millie asked me softly.

I wasn’t sure how to answer a question like that. Children seem to think their parents have a unique understanding of how the universe works. I tried my best to answer truthfully. “It’s all part of a big cycle, I suppose. Old things pass away and new things take their place.”

“Nigel wasn’t old, though.”

“Some things go before their time, Pixie. I’m not sure why.”

“Daddy wasn’t old either, was he?”

“No. No, he wasn’t.”

“At least he wasn’t pecked to death,” Millie offered.

Being pecked to death was probably preferable to slowly dying of cancer in a hospice bed, but my little girl didn’t need to know that.

“Let’s move over to the couch before you break my back.” I carried her into the lounge where the french doors were slung back to suffuse the room in a hazy afternoon light. I stroked her bum as she sat in my lap.

Millie began caressing my collar bone with her fingertips. She glanced up at me with an impish grin. “Does that tickle?”

“Not really,” I replied. “It feels nice, though.”

“Shall we do a dare?” Millie asked.

“What kind of dare?”

“I’ll let you put your hand up my skirt if you let me touch your boobies.”

My heart fluttered in my chest. “I’m not sure that’s a dare,” I told her.

“It is, because I might say no or you might say no.”

“I probably won’t say no. Will you?”

Millie giggled and shook her head. “No.”

“I don’t think it’s a dare, then.”

She thought about that for a second. “Okay, but shall we do it anyway?”

Gently does it, I told myself. Let’s see where this is going. “Go on, then. Undo the buttons on my shirt.”

“‘Kay. You can put your hand up my skirt while I’m doing that.”

I moved my hand down onto her bare legs and then back up underneath her skirt, caressing my daughter’s podgy bottom through her panties.

Millie, meanwhile, unhooked the buttons on my linen shirt, down and down until it hung open slightly, teasing the swell of my cleavage.

“Shall I touch them now?” she asked me.

I smiled and nodded to her. “Pull my shirt open first, so you can see what you’re doing.”

She tugged the halves of my shirt apart, gave me a big grin, then asked, “Mummy, why don’t you wear a bra much?”

“Bras are for city girls. Country girls like to hang free,” I told her with a wry smile.

I stroked and squeezed her bum as she explored my breasts, and soon the familiar glow of arousal smouldered between my legs.

I wanted to experiment with my youngest daughter, I realised, just as I’d done with Freya. But Millie was only seven and I wasn’t sure how far I should take things with her, so I was content to let her initiate and lead this sexy little game, wherever she might choose to take it.

“How does that feel?” I asked as she sat on my lap kneading my tits, occasionally rolling my nipples between her fingers.

“Do you mean me feeling your boobies, or you feeling my bottom?”

“Well… both, I suppose.”

“Oh, it’s quite nice. Your boobies are all squidgy!”

“So’s your bum!” I said and gave her arse a playful pinch.

“Ahhh!” Millie squealed and wriggled about on my lap. She looked me in the eye, then that impish smile was back. “Mummy, I know some other things we could do, but if they’re too rude, do you promise not to tell me off?”

Hearing my little girl say that sent a surge of lust through me that quickly centred in my pussy. How rude could a seven-year-old be? I’d seen her going down on her big sister, and that left me wondering what it would feel like to have a little girl licking my cunt.

I gave her a serious look. “I promise not to tell you off, but whatever we do has to be our secret, okay?”

She gave me a big exaggerated nod. “It’s okay, I won’t tell.”

“What would you like to do, then?”

“So… I could suck your boobies… you know, like a baby,” Millie suggested.

I nearly moaned out loud. “I don’t mind if you do that, but you have to think of something I could do to you, too,” I told her, playing along with her childish erotic game.

Millie thought for a moment. “Um… okay, I’ll let you touch the front of my panties instead of the back.”

God, yes. “That works for me,” I said and slid my hand round to place it on my child’s panty-covered mound, stroking her there.

Millie latched onto my nipple and suckled like a newborn. I wondered if some part of her subconscious remembered feeding from me, reawakening some dormant instinct.

“That’s nice,” I told her and stroked her hair with my free hand. I traced the crease of her pussy lips, feeling the warmth of it through her knickers.

Millie released my breast with a pop. “How long shall we do this for?” She asked me, her breath warm against my moist nipple.

“However long you want,” I told her.

“No, you have to say. Then when we’re done, I’ll think of something even ruder we can do, okay?”

I found myself wondering what naughty ideas my little girl might conjure up next. “All right, then. How about… five minutes?” I suggested.

“Okey-dokey!” Millie chirped, then proceeded to nurse at my other tit as I fondled her between the legs.

Occasionally checking my watch, I let my little girl suckle from me until our five minutes had expired. I took my hand from under her skirt and lightly tapped her shoulder. “Time’s up, imp.”

“Oh, that went quick, didn’t it?” Millie said matter-of-factly.

“It sure did. So what’s next?” I said, giving her a little nudge of encouragement.

“Now you have to close your eyes,” she told me.

“Ah, this is where you steal all my valuables and run away, isn’t it?” I joked.

Millie laughed. “No, I won’t do that, I promise. But don’t open them until I say, okay?”

“All right, I’m trusting you.” Closing my eyes, I felt the weight of her vanish from my lap as she climbed off me.

I could hear the rustling of clothes and her little huffs and puffs as she went about doing whatever it was she was doing. “You can open your eyes now,” she said.

I snapped open my eyes to find my little girl on the couch, standing astride my legs, her pantied crotch mere inches from my face. She’d tucked the hem of her pink skirt into its waistband, and had pulled her matching panties right up so the material stretched over her vulva like a second skin.

“Look, you can see my kitty through my knickers!” Millie told me, just in case it wasn’t obvious.

I stared between my daughter’s legs. “I certainly can.”

“I’ll actually let you kiss it, if you want.”

My pussy ached and throbbed. I needed a hand inside my panties – I just wasn’t sure whose hand. “That’s very daring of you,” I told her.

“Yeah, I am quite daring, to be honest. More than Freya,” Millie boasted.

“So… I should kiss it?” I asked her, gently steering us back on track.

“Mm-hmm,” Millie hummed at me with a nod.

I planted my lips on her mound and kissed my daughter through her panties. She giggled, twitching away for an instant, but then pushing her crotch into my face for more. I made contact again – longer this time, gently sucking on her pussy lips as she pressed her hips forward, almost humping my face.

After a while, I gazed up at her. “Enough?”

Millie shook her head. “No… but wait. Close your eyes again, Mummy.”

I shut my eyes and smiled, wondering what I would open them to this time.

More rustling of clothing and a soft jingly laugh. Whatever she was doing, she was certainly enjoying herself.

“And you definitely won’t tell me off?” Millie asked me.

“I definitely won’t,” I reassured her.

“Almost… okay, almost ready. You can kiss it again, but keep your eyes closed until I say.”

“All right, then.”

She drew my head towards her, guiding me between her legs, and quite unexpectedly, it wasn’t her panties that brushed against my lips but the silky smooth skin of a little girl.

Millie giggled. “Now you can open your eyes, Mummy.”

Her panties were gone. So was her skirt. My daughter stood over me in just her t-shirt and cute little pink socks. Her puffy mound was hairless and blemish free, a rose bulb not yet ready to burst into flower. I’d seen my seven-year-old naked many times, of course, but now I viewed her through a lens of sexual attraction.

“I made you kiss my kitty!” a pleased Millie gasped.

“You did,” I told her. “And now… now I’m going to kiss it again.”

I put my mouth over her mons and gently sucked, sampling her flavour. She tasted incredible – sweet; tart, the forbidden spice of a child, no hint yet of the muskiness of sexual maturity. I planted a kiss on one little lip, then the other, savouring the moment.

“I don’t mind if you lick it,” Millie told me.

That was the only encouragement I needed. I drew my tongue up her childish slit.

I was actually doing it, going down on my seven-year-old daughter. Too late for regrets now. A line crossed is a line crossed forever.

Clutching my head, Millie ground against me while my tongue explored freely, flicking and lashing over her sweet baby cunt. I reached round to cup her bum – two soft globes in the palm of my hands.

All pretences of a fun little game had been pushed aside. This was lovemaking, plain and simple. I licked Millie’s pretty pink cleft, then nuzzled her tiny clit until, quite suddenly, she tensed against me and exhaled a big sigh, her mouth hanging ajar, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she came. Her legs trembled slightly as I peppered a few final kisses on her beautiful pussy.

“I think you just had an orgasm, Pixie,” I said, smiling up at her.

She slumped back down into my lap and nodded, strands of damp hair plastered to her forehead.

“Can Mummy have a kiss?” I asked my daughter.

Millie lunged at me and crushed her mouth to mine, then gave me what I can only describe as a rather vigorous face wash.

I put a finger on her lips and she pulled back, looking pleased with herself. “Wow! Okay. That was different,” I told her, laughing.

Millie grinned at me. “That’s how they do it on the telly.”

“Not quite, my little facehugger.” I gently pulled her towards me. “Our tongues are supposed to dance together, not fight each other to the death. Like this.” Parting my lips, I kissed my little girl, tongue lightly teasing hers. Soon enough, Millie found my rhythm, and we kissed as lovers.

When finally we separated, my daughter had a chuckle for me. “You taste like marmalade.”

“Well, you taste like bubblegum,” I retorted, rubbing her little nose with mine.

“I’ll lick your kitty now, okay? I know how to lick kitties,” she declared.

“Oh, do you now? And where would a little girl learn something like that, I wonder?” I teased, knowing full well what she and her sister had been getting up to.

Millie made a face like a startled monkey – her fibbing face. “Um… Miss Laine taught us about it in school.”

I laughed. “Nice try, sweetie, but I don’t think Miss Laine would teach her pupils something like that.” Actually, I suspected Miss Laine would very much like to teach her young charges those kinds of lessons.

“No, not Miss Laine. I meant… I saw it on the telly.”

“You’ve been watching ladies licking each other’s kitties on the TV?” I asked, pretending to be shocked.

Millie shook her head. “No. It was a book, actually. I… read it by accident.”

I smiled and kissed her on the nose. “I think you’re a little fibber. And as punishment I think you should get down on your hands and knees, pull Mummy’s panties off and give her pussy a really good licking.”

Millie grinned at me and shuffled off the couch while I took my trousers off and threw them on the floor. I sat up and scooted to the edge of the couch as my daughter sat intrigued beneath me. She grasped the waistband of my now sopping knickers and I lifted my bum slightly so she could slip them down my legs.

“Did you wee in them?” Millie asked me, tossing the wet undies on the floor.

“No, I’m fully house trained, thank you very much. They’re all wet because you made me very excited, if you must know.”

I did?”

You did.”

“’Cause you liked licking my kitty?”

“Exactly.” I spread my knees apart and cupped her chin, gently guiding her towards my steaming cunt. “Now lick my pussy. Just like I licked yours.”

I thought Millie might hesitate, but it seemed she was keen to taste her mummy. Her little kitten tongue flicked playfully against my cunt, and I jolted slightly at the sensation, my pent up arousal finally given an outlet. She tasted me again, then licked her lips, sampling the musky tang. Clearly approving, she pushed her tongue through my outer labia.

I closed my eyes and let out a long sigh, surrendering to my child’s mouth. “That’s so nice, Millie.”

“It tastes different to… oh, never mind,” she said, then returned to her task.

I ran my fingers through her hair. “It’s okay, Pixie. I know you and your sister have been doing rude things together. I don’t mind. Now lick Mummy out like a big girl. Make me come on your face.”

Millie put her fingers on my cunt and prised me open, spreading my fleshy lips apart and inspecting me with considerable interest. It occurred to me how different she was to her sister – Freya was shy, often uncertain, whereas Millie was bold and outgoing, always keen to try new things. And this was certainly new.

“Do you like looking inside Mummy’s pussy? Is it exciting?” I asked her.

“It’s really juicy in there,” she told me, then casually added, “I’m gonna put my tongue in, okay?”

Cradling my daughter’s head, I guided her to my waiting cunt, then attended to the urgent throb of my clit with a free hand. “Eat me, baby girl. Tongue fuck Mummy.”

Millie pressed her mouth to my steamy cunt, spreading my labia open and probing the hot pink flesh within – a busy little bee supping at her queen’s flower. And although that image didn’t quite make sense, the absurdity of it filled me with delight and drew a titter from my lips.

I stroked my little girl’s hair as she feasted upon me. “There you go, little bee. Drink Mummy’s nectar. Buzz buzz buzz.”

Millie gazed up at me, her tongue still eagerly flicking away. “Nnn?”

Naughty little buzzy bee,” I gasped, spreading my legs as wide as I could. “Look at all the sweet honey you’re making. Lick it all up, baby bee!”

My daughter must have thought I’d gone completely mad, yet still she busied herself between my legs, lapping at my throbbing cunt while I humped against her, my impending climax fast approaching boiling point.

“Ooh yeah, little bee!” I cried, as my orgasm erupted violently. “Eat Mummy’s sticky flower! Suck my cunt! Oh! Fuck!”

I held Millie against my twitching loins as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over me. For those few seconds I could hear nothing, see nothing – my entire being condensed down into a singular point of orgasmic bliss. Once the storm had passed, I closed my eyes and slumped back into the couch, basking in the pleasant afterglow.

Eventually, I came back down to Planet Earth and opened my eyes again. Millie was still kneeling on the floor looking up at me, her mouth smeared with my essence. “You said a lot of bad words, Mummy,” she told me in no uncertain terms.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I most certainly did!” I confessed, slapping myself on the wrist. “Naughty Mummy!” I cleaned Millie’s face up with her panties, then handed them to her. “Put those on, sweetie. Freya will be back soon.”



Footprints. Flat heeled. Size four, maybe a five. Freshly made and heading towards the forest.

She was no more than half a day in front of me, but I would need to pick up the pace if I was going to catch up to her.

I stood up and spat on the ground, squinting against the glare of the hot sun, then made my way towards the line of trees in the distance.

Freshly snapped branches. Insignificant to anyone else, but not me. I was an expert tracker, having been captured and raised by the Apaches. It gave me an edge as a bounty hunter; it was why I had a reputation for being the best.

This is where she had entered the forest, probably thinking she could lose me amongst the trees. But I knew these woods like the back of my hand, having been raised by wolves here. Before the Apaches found me, obviously.

Continuing to observe the signs, I followed the trail until finally it led me to her.

As I suspected. The old fireplace in the woods.

She was bent down, her back to me. I knew how this would go: I would sneak up on her and just as I was but a few feet away she would suddenly turn to face me and say something like, “Ah, Freya Newton. I’ve been expecting you.”

I stepped on a twig and snapped it.

Miss Laine spun round. “Arrgh!” she screamed, flapping her hands up and down.

“Waaaah!” I screamed back, startled.

“Freya! You nearly made me pee my pants!”

“I – I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Why are you sneaking around in the woods?” Miss Laine demanded to know.

“I… I was just out for a nice walk,” I improvised, before adding, “Fancy meeting you here!”

I should have known better than to try and fool my teacher. Miss Laine stood there with her hands on her hips. “Did you follow me, young lady?”

“No. Yes. A bit.”

Miss Laine threw her head back and laughed. She had a nice laugh – soft and jingly like… er… a fluffy bell? Maybe? Well, I like her laugh anyway. Finally giving me a smile, she said, “Can I ask why you followed me?”

“I dunno, really. Just curious to know where you were going, I suppose.”

“Well, now you know, Nosy Newton!” Miss Laine stepped away from the old fireplace and I could see the bunch of flowers she’d placed there – the same ones I’d noticed her holding back at our house.

“So it was you who’s been leaving flowers here,” I said to her.

Miss Laine looked surprised. “You’ve been here before?”

I nodded. “Millie found the fireplace a while back. We wondered who’d left the flowers.”

“And now you know that too, I guess.”

“Why do you leave flowers here?”

Miss Laine sighed and studied the remains of the old hut, as if she was trying to imagine what it might have looked like before the forest rotted it away. “To honour the memory of the lady who used to live here.”

Intrigued, I asked, “Who was she?”

“An ancestor of mine. Her name was Isabel.”

“Why’d she live in a forest?”

“Well, Isabel was a herbalist and a healer. I imagine most of her herbs came from the forest, so it seems like a sensible place to live. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“That’s what Millie said too,” I pondered.

Miss Laine looked confused. “Er… you might need to explain that.”

“Millie said something about a lady who makes medicine. She must have meant Isabel.”

“How on earth would Millie know that?”

So I told Miss Laine the same tale I’d shared with Mr. Dalliard – about how Millie would touch things and space out and say weird stuff, and about our trip through the Menhir Stone. When I finished, I expected my teacher to burst out laughing or tell me off for lying, but to my surprise she put a hand on my shoulder and gave me a serious look.

“And this all started when your sister touched the ancient oak tree, you say?”


Miss Laine put both hands to her head and made a face. “I’ve been going to the wrong place all this time,” she said, more to herself than to me. “Isabel wasn’t here at all, she was in that damned tree. Shit!” She gave me a sheepish look. “Um, excuse my language.”

“That’s okay, I won’t tell,” I assured her. “What do you mean about Isabel not being here, though?”

Miss Laine studied me carefully, as if she were deciding whether I could be trusted or not. “Let’s walk home and I’ll do my best to explain. Some of it, at least.”

We left the old fireplace behind and came out on the hikers’ track that wound its way through the forest.

“I’ve been trying to send Isabel on her way, Freya,” Miss Laine explained. “It’s what I came here to do.”

That confused me. If Isabel was an ancestor, didn’t that mean she wasn’t alive? “Send her where?”

“Onwards. To the place where spirits go.”

“Huh?” I said, still not really understanding.

“Okay, that part’s complicated… and it’s not important right now. The point is, something bad happened to Isabel and her spirit didn’t move on. So she needs help.”

“What happened to her?”

Miss Laine came to a halt and gave me another serious look. “I’m not sure you’re old enough to know about that.”

I crossed my arms and stood up straight, giving my teacher a fierce look. “I bloody well am old enough, actually! I’ve been back in time and seen Dryads and Neanderthals! And now I’m trying to help my sister ’cause she’s in trouble, so don’t you give me any of that ‘you’re too young’ shit, okay?!”

“Freya Newton!” gasped Miss Laine, then burst out laughing, a hand held up to her mouth in shock.

“I’m not joking!” I shouted at her.

“Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll tell you. But you probably shouldn’t mention this to your mum.”

I uncrossed my arms and relaxed a bit. I couldn’t quite believe I’d just spoken to my teacher like that!

“It’s not a nice thing to talk about, but some bad people said Isabel was a witch and hung her to death from the oak tree down by the fields – the same one Millie touched.”

I was shocked to hear that. “A witch? But they must have known witches aren’t real.”

It was Miss Laine’s turn to cross her arms now. “And what makes you think witches aren’t real?”

“They only exist in fairy tales and stories, don’t they?” I replied.

“Are Dryads real?” Miss Laine asked me.

It wasn’t long ago that I had told Mum and Miss Laine that Millie had been making it up about the Dryad. But after our trip through the Menhir Stone, I saw things differently. “Yeah… I think they might be.”

Miss Laine simply raised an eyebrow, and then I understood. This was how she taught us in school. She never told us the answer, just pointed us in the right direction and let us discover the truth ourselves. It was a really clever way of teaching.

“I guess witches could be real too, if Dryads are,” I admitted.

We continued on towards the edge of the forest.

“So Isabel was a witch?” I said.


“But aren’t witches bad?”

“Witches are probably not what you think they are, Freya. History has taken the image of the witch and turned it into something to be feared and loathed. People have hunted witches for thousands of years, and Isabel learnt that the hard way – they took her away and killed her. But something happened and her spirit didn’t move on like it should have. Do you understand?”

I wasn’t sure I did, but kind of got the gist of it. “I think so. How do you know all this, though?”

“That’s hard to explain. Basically, I’ve spent a long time trying to piece it all together. The tree was the missing part. I thought she would have gone home, and there’s certainly old magic around that hut – the mushrooms indicate as much. But it could be the tree she’s anchored to. It would make sense, if that was where she died.”

My mind was a whirlwind of questions and confusion. Maybe all the weird stuff Millie was doing wasn’t the Dryad at all – maybe it was this Isabel. My sister had mentioned a ‘bad Dryad’. Could she have meant Miss Laine’s ancestor? “I’m not exactly sure what you’re talking about, but do you think Isabel has maybe, um… possessed my sister or something?”

Miss Laine mulled that over. “I’m honestly not sure, Freya. You see, I’m quite new at all this. Millie must be very receptive to magic if Isabel has managed to latch on to her. And tapping into the Menhir Stone like she did is definitely out of my league. I need to do some more research. In the meantime, keep this conversation between us, but keep a close eye on your sister. If anything odd happens, you let me know straight away, all right?”

“Yeah, I will.” I suddenly felt relieved that we might actually be getting somewhere with this. And also that Miss Laine didn’t think I was completely mental.

But there was something else I wanted to ask, too – something a bit embarrassing. “Um… Sadie?”

“Hmm?” Miss Laine said, her mind clearly on more important things.

“Did you give Mum your knickers so she could give them to me?” I asked and felt my face glow.

“My knickers? Oh. Well.” Miss Laine burst out laughing again. “I suppose I did, yes.”

I smiled shyly and pretended to scratch my nose. “Why?”

My teacher put a hand on my shoulder. “A little bird told me you like to have fun with dirty panties. Did I get it wrong?”

OMG, what else had Mum told Miss Laine about me? She made me promise not to speak to anyone about the rude things we’d been doing, but apparently she was allowed to tell whoever she liked. Parents are such hippopotamuses!

I shrugged and told Miss Laine, “It’s a bit embarrassing to admit… but yeah, I do kind of like them.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed. It’s normal to experiment at your age. At any age, actually,” Miss Laine told me. I felt her touch the back of my neck, lightly stroking me there. “I have a confession, too.”

“You do?” I asked, intrigued.

Miss Laine came to a halt, bent down and whispered in my ear. “I really liked kissing your bottom!”

I let out a stupid high-pitched giggle then, suddenly feeling awkward, cleared my throat. “Oh. Um… thanks. Well, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to kiss it again, you know?”

Miss Laine seemed to consider that very carefully, but shook her head. “Oh, Freya, there’s nothing I’d like more than to kiss your pretty bottom again, but we shouldn’t do anything like that without your mum’s permission.”

“Mum won’t mind,” I insisted.

“Maybe she will and maybe she won’t, but either way, it’s important that she has the final say. I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I did things behind her back, now would I?”

I sighed. “I suppose not.” Then I had an idea. “We could show each other our kitties, though. That’s not actually touching, is it?”

Miss Laine laughed again. “Oh, my goodness! You’re incorrigible!”

“Can we, though?” I persisted.

Miss Laine looked around to make sure no one was in the vicinity. “Come into the trees, then. I don’t want anyone seeing us.”

We headed off the path and into the forest a little ways.

Miss Laine knelt down amongst the ferns and slowly shook her head. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. You first.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Will you definitely show me yours afterward?”

“I’m a woman of my word. If I say I’ll show you, I’ll show you.”

“You didn’t actually say you’d show me, though,” I pointed out.

“I’ll show you!” Miss Laine said, quick as a flash.

“Okay, good.” I pulled my shorts and panties down to my knees in one quick movement, then lifted my t-shirt up so she had a good view of everything.

Miss Laine stared between my legs with a dreamy look on her face. “My goodness, what a pretty little kitty,” she said in a hushed voice.

“Is it?” I asked.

“Oh yes, it’s beautiful. So smooth and fresh…”

I wanted her to touch it. But I knew that wouldn’t happen today. “Can I see yours now?”

“Show me your bum first,” my teacher said.

I turned around and gave her a little wiggle. “Do you like my bum, too?”

“It’s perfect,” Miss Laine told me with a happy sigh.

Then, feeling daring, I took hold of my bum cheeks and spread them apart, showing off my bumhole in a really dirty way. I hoped I was clean back there. “What about now? Do you still like it when I do this?” I asked my teacher with a smirk.

“Oh, dear.” Miss Laine perched a finger on her bottom lip and blinked a few times, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “What a naughty young lady. It’s… it’s so incredibly rude to spread yourself open like that.” Well, the way she was staring, I don’t think Miss Laine was quite as shocked as she pretended to be.

Letting go of my bum cheeks, I turned round to face my teacher. “Your turn now,” I insisted.

Miss Laine stood up and leant back against a tree. “Kneel down then, and I’ll show you.”

I squatted down in front of her, my knickers still stretched around my knees.

Miss Laine lifted her red dress up, revealing matching lacy panties and stockings. “Are you sure you want to see?” she asked me.

I nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I definitely do.”

She peeled her knickers to one side, and there I was, face to face with my teacher’s kitty for the first time ever. Except, you know, kitties don’t really have a face.

It was true what Mum had said: Miss Laine liked to shave her pussy. It was as smooth as mine except for a little tuft of hair at the top. I stared and stared, my mouth hanging open in awe.

“Do you approve, Freya Newton?” my teacher asked me in a husky voice.

I nodded slowly. “It’s really pretty. I… I’d love to touch it.”

Miss Laine shook her head and waggled a finger at me. “No tou-ching! Not each other, at least.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, looking up at her.

“Take your panties off and give them to me,” Miss Laine instructed.

I didn’t hesitate; just slipped my shorts and panties off and then handed her the knickers.

Miss Laine pulled her own undies round her knees and then inspected mine. “Little girl panties with butterflies on. How delightful.” Pressing my knickers between her legs, she began rubbing them up and down her kitty.

“Oh, wow,” I gushed. I think I preferred touching, but after seeing Mum play with herself and now Miss Laine, I knew that watching could be lots of fun, too. No wonder adults liked looking at rude videos on the internet!

Miss Laine spread her pussy open and pushed my knickers between her lips, masturbating herself. “Is this okay, Freya? Making myself feel good with your panties?”

“Yeah, I really like watching rude stuff,” I replied, enthralled.

“Oh gosh, I feel so horny. I hope you don’t mind if I come on your knickers.”

“I don’t mind,” I told her as she scrubbed her gorgeous pussy with my panties, soaking all the butterflies in her juices. I slipped a hand between my legs and fingered myself, amazed at the dirty thing my teacher was doing in front of me.

“I could see you in class, Freya Newton,” Miss Laine told me as she rubbed herself. “Showing all the other girls your pussy under the table.”

Oh my God, she’d seen me do that? So embarrassing! But also… kind of exciting!

“I so wanted you to show me your pussy, too,” she continued. “And now you have. And your sexy little bumhole. Now I’m going to come. All over your pretty butterfly panties.”

Miss Laine went all tense and froze in place. “Oh, goodness! You. Sexy. Little. Girl!” She clutched my knickers to her kitty, making a mess of them as she orgasmed.

After seeing that, I was close to doing an orgasm too. I pushed my middle finger in and out of myself until that familiar feeling rushed up and surrounded me. “Miss Laine! I’m gonna lick your kitty one day!” I gasped, without really thinking what I was saying. I only just managed to keep my balance as I came, still squatting just above the ground.

Miss Laine bent to kiss me on the head, then handed me back my panties. “Put those back on, and then let’s get you home before your mum starts to worry.”

I slipped into my knickers. They were warm and wet and I didn’t ever want to take them off. Miss Laine pulled her own panties back up and pushed her dress down. I put my shorts on and, hand in hand, we headed home.


I was hanging out the laundry with Millie when Sadie and Freya strolled through the poppy field and up the garden towards us. Freya ran over to her sister, babbling about witches and someone called Isabel. Another one of their games, no doubt.

Sadie sauntered over and smiled, a slightly flushed look to her face.

I smirked at her. “Been sneaking off with my daughter, have you?”

“Not exactly,” Sadie replied.

I could smell sex on her. “Have you… been doing stuff together?” I asked.

Sadie winced a little. “No. I mean, a little showing, but no touching. Is that okay?”

I kissed Sadie on the mouth, a bedsheet gently blowing in the breeze, hiding us from the girls’ view. “Yes, it’s okay,” I told my best friend. “Actually… I think it’s about time the four of us had some naughty fun together… don’t you?”

Sadie’s eyes lit up. “That sounds nice. What did you have in mind?”

“Dinner here, tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night sounds good. But Iet’s make it my place for a change.”

“It’s a date.”

Sadie gave me a dirty grin. “Ask the girls to wear something… pretty,” she said, reaching down to stroke herself between the legs.

I could feel all the pieces falling into place – Me; Millie; Freya; Sadie. This was how the universe wanted things to be. Nature is defined by patterns of chaos – try to establish some semblance of order within that chaos, or simply dive in and see where it takes you. So I took a deep breath… and leapt.

On to Chapter Nine!


15 Comments on The Beekeeper’s Daughters, Chapter 8

  1. Kim & Sue says:

    A beautiful chapter. The sadness of death and a young child trying to understand it. And Milly and her Mom. And Freya and Miss Laine. And what sort of naughty fun will dinner at Sadie’s bring? And Sadie and Isabelle?

    Very much looking forward to the next chapter.

  2. cherryco says:

    Once again, a killer chapter. Damn, this story keeps getting better and better! Folks, if you aren’t reading this, you’re TOTALLY missing out on an AWESOME read!

  3. Steve says:

    Fantastic chapter keep it kinky

  4. Bryan says:

    Absolutely freaking awesome woo next chapter please

  5. Erocritique says:

    I feel the word “Gobsmacked” was invented for stories like this. The author continues to push the envelope on all the fantasy aspects, while at the same time managing to completely suspend my disbelief. Simply magical. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

  6. David says:

    “WOW” about says it all BlueJean! What an excellent chapter, well written and detailed. The game that Millie and her mom played and then Freya and Miss Laine in the woods was so hot. I can’t wait for the next chapter and what will happen at dinner and days and months ahead. Keep up the great writing, I love this series so much!

  7. BlueJean says:

    Welcome to Chapter 8 – newly polished and augmented with over 1000 carefully placed extra words! New lines of dialogue are spoken! New thoughts are expressed! Most notably, the word ‘Hippopotamuses’ appears in one of my stories for the very first time! Which, I think we can all agree, is a word that’s not used nearly often enough in erotic fiction.

    Thank you to all the regulars who have shared their thoughts here again. It means a great deal to see you returning with each new installment. Self doubt is a curse, but it can also be a driving force to do better. I don’t think writers ever stop learning.

    And thanks to JetBoy too, for all his valuable insight and hard work on Beekeeper. He still insists I’m not annoying – which is a little disappointing if I’m honest…

    • JetBoy says:

      Believe me, BlueJean — I have dealt with some authors with heads so hard you could drive golf balls with them, and you are NOWHERE NEAR that level of aggravation.

      I recall one writer in particular who passed along a story and gave me carte blanche to change anything I saw fit. After knocking off six or seven pages, I asked him if he wanted to see what I’d done thus far, and his reply could be summed up thusly: I changed my mind — if you run this story at Juicy Secrets, I want it exactly as I wrote it, word for word.

      I replied saying that I understood, but then provided a few examples of honest-to-god mistakes I’d found in his text (took me about thirty seconds to unearth them), asking if he’d at least want me to correct that kind of thing, if nothing else. Well, let’s just say that he took extreme offense, claimed I’d insulted him (I hadn’t), and that he would no longer permit any of his writings to appear at Juicy Secrets.

      I was tempted to reply “Boo fucking hoo,” but opted for the gentlemanly approach — Well, if that’s how you feel, I get it… but there’s no need to be hostile, sir. He responded with even greater hostility, claiming to have been showered with praise at other story sites, and what a colossal jerk I was for impugning that his writing was anything less than stellar. I suggested that he submit his story to one of those sites, and our correspondence came to an end.

      As for “Beekeeper”… I’m actually going to miss editing that one. Working on it was a great way to unwind, and never really felt like work. Helps that it’s a truly awesome story, one of the best we’ve ever run, and I feel honored to have contributed to the final result.

      • BlueJean says:

        I think one of the greatest challenges for any author is to step outside their bubble and try to look at their writing from a different perspective. I guess this is why every writer needs an editor – It’s another pair of eyes, ones that will see things the author won’t. I assumed people would pick up on some of those subtler elements until you pointed out they probably wouldn’t without further dialogue or exposition. If you want to learn how to write, you need to learn how to compromise first, I believe.

        So again, I’m grateful for your feedback. Beekeeper is all the better for it.

        Anyway, enough mutual back slapping!

  8. Moldwarp says:

    This is truly awesome! Such an engaging story and such a turn on at the same time, so beautifully crafted. Excellent.

  9. Keiko says:

    every time… with every chapter… i fall into deep longing of being either child… and i drink in the words and i am there…

    thank you so so much for the beauty, sensuality, care for your characters and everything else…

  10. Daz says:

    This is long winded nonsense

    • BlueJean says:

      Absolutely – Long winded nonsense is my forte. Thanks for the detailed and thought-provoking comment.

    • kinkychic says:

      Daz, if you had prefixed your comment with – I found this… that would have been fair enough.

      As it is, your comment is meaningless. The story is clearly not long-winded nonsense. The fact is, it’s simply not to your taste.

      I would guess you would say the same about Tolkien as well.

      It is in fact, a mini-masterpiece.

      • Sapphmore says:

        Methinks Daz might be the secret identity of Mr Awful! It begs the question of why he (she?) continues reading the stories. All (well most) writers welcome constructive feedback or even a simple liked/didn’t like. This is the second comment on these lines I’ve seen from Daz today (I’m in the midst of replying to the other one now), so I’d perhaps suggest he submits his own tale to show us how it should be done.

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