Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

The story thus far: Seeking a missing Texas Ranger, our old acquaintance The Tequila Kid comes across a poor family named Miller. Like many others in the area, this widow Sarah and her two little girls, Amy and Cindy, have been brutalized by a wealthy scoundrel named McCuller, who intends to drive away all the owners of small farms and ranches in the area and take their land. Later, drying off from heavy rain at the local stable, Sheriff Lucas Clay comes in search of The Kid, demanding she surrender her guns. Knowing Clay to be corrupt (and in league with McCuller), The Kid asks to speak with him in private. Moments later at the jail, he threatens her, and she deals him a beat-down, then informs him that she means to arrest McCuller and Tyson Avidite (a banker who is part of the conspiracy) before she leaves.

From the sheriff’s office, she goes to the Silver Slipper, the town’s saloon, gambling house and brothel. There, she encounters a young man named Jud Nelson, who she’d seen Sheriff Clay harass earlier. Recognizing him as a decent sort, she hires him to watch the jail to see if Clay leaves. Then she meets a twelve-year-old girl named Dixie, who does menial work at the Silver Slipper and is bullied by Toots, the brutish bartender. The Kid asks Dixie which girl is the most popular of the whores. Star, the girl replies, and The Kid gives Dixie the money to pay for Star’s services that evening.

Upstairs in one of the bedrooms, The Kid enjoys an intense hour of sex with Star. Afterwards, she asks the prostitute a few questions about the town and its doings. She learns that Clark Hansen, the missing Texas Ranger she seeks, disappeared around the same time as Dixie’s older sister Dallas, who was one of the whores at the Silver Slipper. The Kid asks about Ben McCuller, but Star refuses to answer, claiming “it’s too dangerous.” When The Kid goes back downstairs, Jud returns to let her know that Sheriff Clay just left town, riding hard in the direction of McCuller’s place. Figuring she’s done as much as she can for one night, The Kid decides to join an ongoing card game.

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

By Purple Les

The Kid stood for a moment by the empty chair at the poker table. The elderly man in the black suit rose and took a slight bow. “Allow me to introduce myself, Miss. I am Colonel Beauregard Haskill, though you can call me Bo. I’m sure I speak for all my fellow players in saying that we would be honored to have you join our game.”

“Reckon I will, then,” The Kid replied. She dumped her poker chips she had in her hat on to the table, right in front of the empty chair. Returning the hat to her head, she sat down.

The Colonel gestured to his right. “This gentleman is Mr Harv Benson.”

Harv Benson, a clean shaven middle-aged man who seemed average in every imaginable way, nodded his head saying, “How do, ma’am.”

“And this,” The Colonel paused, his jaw tightening slightly, “Is Mr Final Preston.”

Final Preston was overweight, sweaty, unshaven and, The Kid suspected, a born loser of his own making.

“The deck passes to the right. Dealer’s choice.” Preston told The Kid, anxious to get back to the game.

The Kid could see why: Preston had the smallest amount of chips left. Hmm. Bo’s doin’ fine, Benson’s holdin’ his own, and Preston’s desperate to win his money back.

She gave the players a brief nod “Nice to meet you, Bo. Howdy, gents. I’m the Tequila Kid. Who’s deal is it then?”

Colonel Haskill raised an eyebrow in surprise, but otherwise maintained his poker face. The name didn’t seem to mean anything to the other two men, or if it did, they didn’t let it show.

“It’s my deal,” Final Preston said. “Five card stud. Everybody ante up.”

The Kid played slow and quiet at first. Contributing to the kitty, folding early and watching others take the pot. She rolled a cigarette or two while observing the game, taking the measure of the three gamblers. There was a bottle of fine Kentucky bourbon on the table. “I abhor cheap whiskey,” said Colonel Haskill. “Luckily, this establishment stocks a few bottles of superior stuff at my request. Young lady,” he continued, signalling to Dixie, who came right over. “I’d like a clean glass for my friend.”

“Yes, sir,” the young girl murmured, then hastened to fetch.

As the game continued, Haskill told stories of his life before, during and after the Civil War. The Kid saw an old rogue with blue eyes, a smile on his lips, and an underlying touch of sadness that he was nearly able to conceal. He looked tired, but explained, “Unfortunately, all the beds here are already occupied. True, I could share one, but I’d rather enjoy myself at cards than lay in a crowded bed with a snoring stranger.”

As for Harv Benson, he was married and owned a freight business. He was using the bad weather as an excuse to postpone his trip home. “Told my missus I had to wait up at the office for a late wagon.” He told them. “If she knew what I was doin’ right now, she’d call God’s wrath down on me. See, my wife caught the religious bug ‘bout a year back. Now she hates card playin’ worse than damn near anything. Tells me, ‘It’s Satan you’re a-gamblin’ with, and your soul is the stakes’.” Sighing, he laid down a pair of cards. “Dealer takes two.” Benson won often enough that his pile of chips didn’t gain or lose much.

Everything about Final Preston marked him as a loser. His greasy brown hair hung limply over his forehead. His stubbly face and shifty brown eyes gave him a feral look. Sort of like having my mornin’ coffee with a Gila monster, The Kid thought. Occasionally Preston would win a pot, then lose it and more besides on the next few hands.

The Kid began to rake in some of the bigger pots as the night wore on, all the while pretending to be a novice. “Now what beats a pair again?” she’d ask, scratching her head. Plenty of men were quick to assume no woman could possibly know her way around a deck of cards; an error The Kid often used to her advantage. Before long, she had more chips than anyone.

As she continued to play, The Kid watched the customers thinning out; settling their tabs, then vanishing into the night. Eventually, the piano player closed the lid on his battered instrument, clapped a derby hat on his head and exited without a word to anyone.

A few minutes later, The Kid saw Belle, Kitty, and Star hand over any tips they’d made to the bartender Toots. He was about six feet tall with a high head of black hair that had been greased and combed back. His face was pockmarked and clean shaven.

Once he’d taken the girls’ money, they turned to leave. Dixie was with them, looking utterly exhausted. The Kid’s jaw tightened when Toots gave her one last smack to the back of her head. The other girls gave him dirty looks, but none of them said anything.

I don’t rightly know if there’s a God up above or not, The Kid mused, but if I ever see him face to face, I’ll ask why it is women and girls have such a hard row to hoe in this life. What’s that Dixie child ever done that she should get treated so bad?

Memories of her own younger days flooded The Kid’s mind. At the age of twelve, she went through her tribe’s initiation rites into womanhood, where she’d been named White Raven and given the dark blue tattoos on her chin and around her upper arms.

A week later, the U.S. Cavalry attacked the Indian camp when the warriors were away. The blue coats slaughtered the elders, then raped the women and killed them, along with the children. Many of the corpses were mutilated for souvenirs. The white men laughed as they piled the bodies high, doused the heap with coal oil and set it ablaze. Years later, The Kid could still recall the hideous stench of the burning.

She, however, had survived. A cavalryman who had intended to rape White Raven noticed her blue eyes. Quickly realizing she was white, he saw a better use for her. Instead of forcing himself on the girl, the blue coat took her with him, hoping to find her family and collect a handsome reward for her return.

She was brought back to the Army fort and the nearby town. The Kid remembered how the town folk gathered to see the mysterious girl who had been raised by Indians. The blue coat asked the crowd if there was a good Christian family among them who would take the girl in, at least until her family could be found.

There were no takers. The onlookers shouted things like, “She’s a heathen savage,” or “She ain’t white no more.” The local preacher just shook his head, muttering, “This girl’s been ruined by their men. No respectable family would have her now.” The men ogled her near nudity, the woman turned away in disgust, and the children spat at her, throwing stones and clumps of dirt.

The Kid remembered the French woman who approached the cavalryman and said, “I will take this girl.” By then, he was fed up and ready to cut his losses, so he handed White Raven over without a word and went on his way. This woman smiled and said, “Come, child,” and the girl meekly followed.

Big Bertha ran a combination trading post and brothel. She was a keen observer of people, and sensed there was more to this girl than met the eye.

Bertha gave her clothes. Taught her to speak French. She passed along her considerable cooking skills. She even showed the girl how to play checkers. This strange creature would not tell anyone her Indian or her white name, so Bertha and the others simply called her “Kid.”

The girls who serviced men at the brothel grew very fond of The Kid, as did the women who served as cashiers at the trading post. As for Bertha, she was extremely protective of her young charge. Any man who tried to bed the girl was apt to get a thrashing from Cedric, the bouncer and the sole male employee in Bertha’s hire… or from Bertha herself, who could throw a wicked punch.

Some of the skills The Kid had acquired with her tribe were put to use in her new life. Bertha noticed right away that the girl liked being around horses, so she was made a stablehand. Furthermore, The Kid was an excellent shot, so she was able to hunt wild game for the brothel’s dinner table.

The Kid recalled the horse Big Bertha had saved, a mare that had killed a man who was taunting her colt. Bertha had taken the horse instead of allowing her to be shot. The mare quickly came to be known as Devil Bitch. With time, effort and a good amount of patience, The Kid befriended the horse. Soon, she was the only one who could ride her.

One late evening after closing time, an armed bandit robbed the trading post. Holding a gun to Bertha’s head, he forced her to open the safe and empty it of cash, then locked her and the cashier in the office. Only The Kid was left, and the bandit demanded that she fetch him a horse. Leading the man out to the stable, The Kid saddled up Devil Bitch and handed him the reins. “Her name’s Buttercup,” was all she said.

When the outlaw mounted her, the large bay mare immediately threw him to the ground, then crushed his skull with one blow of her hoof.

Not long after that, Bertha made a gift of the horse to The Kid, who named her Buttercup. The mare never lost her disdain for strangers, but she was always sweet-natured to The Kid.

Remembering Buttercup, The Kid felt an all-too familiar jolt of sorrow. Her horse had broken a leg while they were riding, attempting to evade the armed thugs of Rameses Kingsley. At least Kingsley had paid for this and many other crimes with his life, but the ache she felt for Buttercup was still tender. I’d rather of shot myself than that horse.

The Kid started when she heard Colonel Haskill’s voice, “Pardon me, dear lady… but the deal is yours.” Opening her eyes, she saw the deck resting on the felt at her elbow. Picking up the cards, she shuffled, passed the deck to Benson for the cut, then dealt out four hands.

After a half hour had passed, Toots announced, “I’m done closin’ up the bar. You folks’ll have to stop playin’ soon, cash in and head out.”

Harv Benson stood, stretching his limbs. “Reckon I’d best be makin’ tracks. If I stay much longer, my missus’ll have her preacher out huntin’ me down – Bible in one hand, a cross in the other.” Gathering up his chips, he nodded. “Evenin’, all,” then took his winnings over to the cage, where the very bored-looking cashier sat.

Colonel Haskill took out a pocket watch and checked the time. “I believe I’ll cash in as well. Maybe some of the men are hitting the trail again, and I can find myself an empty bed. Thank you for a very pleasant evening.” With a brief bow to The Kid, he followed Benson to the cashier cage.

“How ‘bout a hand of showdown, Kid?” Final Preston asked, gazing hungrily at The Kid’s pile of chips.

“I’m game,” The Kid replied.

Final pushed half his remaining chips into the middle of the table. The Kid saw his bet, then gave Final the cut before she dealt the first card. Jud Nelson watched from the bar with keen interest.

The Kid turned up an ace for Final and a deuce for herself. “Your bet,” she said.

Final added a couple of chips to the pot. The Kid matched it, then turned over a jack to Final and a four to herself.

“No help to either of us. Ace bets,” The Kid said.

Final grinned and put a couple more chips in, with The Kid covering him.

The third card brought another jack up for Final and a six for The Kid. “Pair of jacks bets,” she said.

After the chips were added, The Kid turned up the fourth cards. Another ace to Final, a trey for herself.

“You got two pair, Final.” The Kid said, studying at the cards in front of them. “Bet’s to you.”

Final took a slug from his glass, staring at the cards on the table. I got two pair, and she’s workin’ on an inside straight. Even if she makes it, I’d win with a full house. Besides, she gotta draw a five to fill that straight… otherwise, the best she can manage is a pair, and I got that beat already. He pushed the remainder of his chips into the center.

The Kid matched him, then picked up a chip, studying it thoughtfully. “If I raise you, the game’s over, Final… unless you got somethin’ else to bet.”

Final rubbed his mouth, then quickly said, “Y’know, I feel good about this hand. Tell you what… I got a horse I’ll throw in. Push the rest of your chips in and I’ll put up my horse.”

“Where’s your horse at?” The Kid asked. “I wonder what makes it worth the rest of my chips.”

“Why, she’s right outside. A real beauty.” Final declared.

With a snort of derisive laughter, The Kid said, “The one outside? Shit, that poor critter can barely stand.” She kept her cool, but fumed inside. Anyone treats a horse like that oughta have his butt kicked. I’ll take a chance on losing my money just to get that pitiful creature away from him.

“I got that horse ‘bout five towns east of here,” Final said. “She’s a beautiful filly. Family was down on their luck. It was their little girl’s horse. I thought she’d bust a gut cryin’ when they sold it to me, but they needed the cash. That horse is worth five times what I paid for her. C’mon, how ‘bout it?”

The Kid pushed her chips into the center. “Fine, you’re covered. Mind you, I’m only doin’ this to get that poor animal away from you ‘fore you kill it.”

The Kid took the top card off the deck and turned it up slowly. Final winced. It was a nine, but he still had his two pair. By then Jud, Toots, and the cashier in his cage were all watching the players.

The Kid slowly picked the top card off the deck and looked at it, her face blank. The three spectators watched with held breath. The Kid slowly put the card down on the table with her others.

Final’s face fell when he saw the five of hearts. “Goddamn,” he muttered, slumping back in his chair.

“Well, I’ll be switched. That gives me a straight, and the pot,” The Kid murmured as she raked all the chips over to herself. “Now let’s see the bill of sale for that horse, mister, or I might think you got her by dishonest means. Jud, could you lend me your eyes?”

Jud read the bill of sale out for The Kid. He had Final Preston sign it over, then The Kid added her mark, the outline drawing of a raven. Next to it, Jud wrote The Tequila Kid.

Sauntering over to the cage, The Kid cashed in her chips. With her winnings, she now had three hundred and ten dollars in cash. Not a bad night’s work. she thought.

“That’s it. We’re closed,” Toots announced.

The Kid made her way back to the table. She, Jud and Final put on their coats and hats and made their exit, Toots locking the door behind them. The rain had dwindled to an icy mist.

Final Preston fell to his knees in despair. “Shit! I’m flat busted.”

“No, you ain’t,” The Kid replied. Stepping down into the muddy street, she took the rope from the saddle, cut off a good length with her Bowie knife and fashioned a rough hackamore from it, which she draped over her shoulder. She removed the saddle, bridle and all the other gear from the horse, then heaved the lot into the street.

As she put the hackamore on the horse, The Kid told Final, “If you sell this saddle and the rest, there oughta be enough for breakfast and a coach ticket out of town. Which I recommend you take, ‘cause anyone who treats a horse this way is already on my bad side. Now get your sorry ass out of my sight.”

Rushing into the street, Final gathered up the saddle and as much of the gear as he could carry, slipping in the mud several times, then hastened away, puffing with exertion.

The Kid approached Jud. “You let me know the second Clay gets back in town,” she murmured, then led her new horse down to the livery stable.

***

Waking at sunrise as he always did, Abner went to the neighborhood hash house for breakfast. When he got back, the old man was surprised to find The Kid grooming a horse, one he hadn’t seen before. Opening for business, he got caught up with a steady stream of cowboys picking up their horses, ready to hit the trail, and didn’t have time to chat with The Kid.

Finally, when things had settled down a bit, he went over to watch The Kid as she finished cleaning the horse.

Drawing closer, Abner ran his hands up and down the mare’s legs. “She’s a mite underfed, but seems sound enough. Where’d you get her? Least I got space for another horse now.”

“Won her in a poker game.” The Kid said. “I was right surprised to find a nice Palomino under all that dirt.”

“Well, let’s get her fed proper,” Abner said. Stuffing a feed bag with oats, he put it on the mare, then patted her neck as she tucked in. “Yep, she’s a real beauty.”

The Kid took the hard boiled egg from her coat and ate it slowly while Abner fed and watered Button.

Jud Nelson came in, giving The Kid a nod. She approached. “Clay get back to town?”

“No.” Jud stated. “But Cy Warren just rode in. He let himself into the Sheriff’s office with a key.”

The Kid rubbed her chin. “Cy Warren… ain’t he McCuller’s dirty jobs man?”

“The same,” Jud answered.

Putting her coat on, The Kid took a couple of bills from her pocket and gave them to the young man. “Here’s your ten. You done a good job. Now… care to accompany me to the sheriff’s office?”

Jud hesitated, then shrugged. “Guess I will.”

Abner watched The Kid and Jud step into the street. He stood in the entrance for a moment, lost in thought, then went back mucking out the stalls.

***

The morning sky was a dark gray as they walked toward the sheriff’s office. Suddenly The Kid came to a stop on the boardwalk, so abruptly that Jud Nelson bumped into her. She was staring at a large, jet-black stallion tied to the hitching rail in front of the sheriff’s office.

As The Kid came close, the stallion nickered at the familiar smell and sound of her.

Patting the horse’s neck while he nuzzled her, The Kid said, “Good to see you, Thunder. I sure wish you could tell me what happened to Clark Hansen.” She stepped back, her gaze fastened on the office door. “Don’t you worry none, big fella,” The Kid added, giving the stallion’s flank a pat. “I’m gonna find out where Clark is.”

She turned to Jud. “Ranger Hansen don’t go nowhere without this horse. Look, he’s still wearin’ all Clark’s gear, too.”

Jud studied the hand tooled-black leather saddle and matching bridle. It was one of the finest saddles he’d ever seen, complete with detailed metal work. The Kid examined the rifle scabbard, which still held Clark’s Winchester. The letters CH were engraved on the stock. As well as the leather saddle bags as well. The Kid looked into these, but they held nothing of Clark’s.

Jud felt the hair on his neck rise when The Kid turned to him, a cold fury in her eyes, and said, “Cy Warren, huh? Well let’s go see this feller. The horse can’t talk, so I’ll get my answers from him.”

Knowing Cy Warren for the vicious killer he was, Jud felt a knot in his stomach as The Kid grasped the doorknob and pushed her way into the office.

Soon to come: Chapter Five!

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

A brief summary of the previous chapter: The next day, Freya has a chance meeting with Elsa Hart, wife of the new lord of Derwold Manor. A little later, Freya joins Sadie and her sister Millie for a lesson in alchemy, but things don’t quite go as planned when Millie inadvertently amplifies the potency of the love potion they’ve brewed. After the effects have worn off, Millie visits the churchyard to pay her respects to an old friend. Whilst there, she has an encounter with a black panther, and discovers she can communicate with the creature.

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

by BlueJean

1

Lord and Lady Derwold had pulled out all the stops for their housewarming party. A large marquis had been set up in the grounds of the old manor house, where crisply-attired catering staff served food and drink. A DJ presided over the entertainment, along with jugglers, fire breathers and tarot card readers. Fiery torches were planted into the ground here and there, giving the whole jamboree a pagan-style ambiance.

It made sense to host the soirée in the sprawling grounds of the manor – the weather was warm and pleasant, too good to be cooped up indoors. And even though Simon and Elsa had already moved in, renovation work on the interior had yet to be completed. Georgia wondered if that was merely an excuse to keep the peasantry outside where they belonged, then chided herself for such cynicism.

At any rate, the peasantry had certainly turned up in force. Apart from a few families who tended to jet off to more exotic climes during the school summer break, just about everyone from the village was present and correct. Mrs. Jeffries, accompanied by her husband Jeff, seemed to be in particularly fine spirits. She was already looking a little worse for wear, and Georgia had borne witness to Sally Jeffries when she’d had a skinful. Oh, they’d all been privy to that particular spectacle at one time or another.

There were a few stragglers, too – the spill-over from the summer solstice festivals they’d been having down on the village green. Morris men had donned livery and wielded sticks to perform their ancient dances, and Bernard the Druid was hanging around like a bad cold that couldn’t quite be shaken off.

Bernard was an ex-banker who had either suffered a nervous breakdown or a midlife crisis, depending on which source you believed. This had somehow led him to the conclusion that his life’s calling was to become an ordained druid. By all accounts, he spent his days touring the ancient standing stones dotted around Britain. He was a plump man with a comb-over and a bristling moustache, and a personality that fell somewhere between bumbling and pompous. He had his own following, too – a handful of naïve young unfortunates who seemed to spend most of their time stoned shitless. Still, poor old Bernard was harmless enough, Georgia supposed. And Millie seemed to like him.

Bernard was currently engaged in a heated debate with the vicar. “I won’t deny you your god, my good man,” he was saying, rocking on his heels in the way that some men do when they feel the need to add gravity to their words. “But you need to understand that He’s only one of many.”

The vicar’s thin, nasally voice could only pale in comparison to Bernard’s booming timbre. “I admire your conviction, Bernard, I do. It’s a fine thing to have one’s beliefs. But I’m afraid there’s only one true God.”

“Nonsense! People were paying homage to the Old Gods long before Christianity emerged.”

The vicar’s eyes were furtive beads flickering to Millie and Freya, then the other children in the vicinity. Georgia wondered what the penalty for twatting a dirty old vicar was in the 21st century. They’d have undoubtedly stuck you on a burning pyre for assaulting a man of the cloth back in the day, but freedom of expression had come a long way since then.

“Ha! Quite so, Bernard, quite so. But could it be that your ‘Old Gods’ are in fact other facets of the one true God? Could that be a possibility, do you think?“

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I’m afraid not, vicar.” Bernard laced his arms behind his back and rocked on his heels again. “When I was a banker, we used to have a saying, you know.” He briefly paused to make sure everyone was listening, then continued. “Better banking. Higher purpose.”

The vicar waited for Bernard to elaborate, while the druid’s followers hung on his every word. After an awkward few moments, it soon became apparent that Bernard had nothing more to add to these rather bizarre pearls of wisdom.

The confused vicar scratched his head. “Ah. Yes. That, er, that seems to be more of a slogan than a saying. And… well, I’m not sure what your point would be.”

Judging from Bernard’s smug smile, he considered that a victory. “It’s hard to teach the ignorant. Come along, my young friends – those prawn vol-au-vents won’t eat themselves, you know!” And with that, he marched off towards the food tent, his entourage in tow.

“If there’s a god,” Georgia confided to her friend Roy, “I really hope She’s a woman.”

Roy offered sympathetic hums. “Spare a thought for me, girlfriend,” he said. “Bernard and the vicar are the only eligible men here. Serves me right for moving to a village populated almost exclusively by married farmers. My dating options are practically non-existent!”

Georgia gave her friend a consoling pat on the arm. “I don’t know about the vicar, but maybe Bernard’s up for a bit of man-love.”

Roy shuddered at the thought.

Sadie, ever popular, was being fawned over by some of the local children and their parents. Georgia sidled up and kissed her on the cheek. Everyone slowly drifted away from them. It happened sometimes, but what of it? Georgia didn’t need their approval, and Sadie was so comfortable in her own skin she barely seemed to notice.

“So where’re the Lord and Lady of the Manor?” Georgia asked.

Sadie pointed to where Freya and one of her school friends were chatting to a tall, slender woman with frizzy red hair. “That’s Lady Derwold herself. Her husband seems to be keeping a low profile.”

“She’s called Elsa Hart, by the way,” said Georgia. “I’m reliably informed she decided not to take her husband’s name.”

“Oh, I see.”

“So, let me get this straight – Mr. Derwold purchased the manor back? Or his family never sold it in the first place?”

“I’m not really sure,” admitted Sadie. “There was some sort of scandal, and the family just upped and left. This was back in the seventies. There aren’t many people from those days still living in the village. I keep meaning to go online and dig up some information.”

“How mysterious.”

“Isn’t it just?”

The sound of accordion music cut through the low murmur of conversation, and the sharp jingle of shin bells heralded another round of merriment from the Morris dancers. There was something inherently mesmerising about watching a group of grown men dressed in flowery outfits skipping about like children, Georgia thought.

It was then that she realised an actual child was weaving in out and out amongst them.

Sadie did a double take. “Er… is that Millie?”

Georgia put a hand to her mouth in astonishment.

Millie was doing her level best to keep up with the dancing men as they pranced about with their sticks, clutching an improvised baton of her own that she’d fashioned from a tree branch. Her tongue was poking out in concentration as she tried to mimic their choreographed moves – whirling and stepping and bowing.

When the dancers formed two lines opposite each other and cracked their sticks together above their heads, Millie did her own little dance through the middle, hands on hips while she spun and pirouetted. The Morris dancers broke away, then circled round to form a single line.

As each dancer skipped past Millie, they knocked her homemade baton with their own, then passed again to form a circle around her. The dance concluded, they lifted her above their heads and gave a great cheer. Millie threw her stick into the air and joined them in their whoops and hollers.

After being deposited back onto the ground, Millie came running over to Sadie and Georgia with a triumphant grin. “Did you see me?! Did you?!”

“The whole village saw you, pixie!” Georgia told her with a hug. “You were amazing!”

“That was quite the impromptu performance,” Sadie agreed.

“I asked them if I could join in, but they didn’t think it was a good idea because of health and safety. They said they might whack me over the head with their sticks or tread on me by accident, so I said, ‘Okay, bye then!’ and pretended to go away, but I found a stick and waited until they started dancing, and then just joined in anyway!”

“If Millie Newton wants to dance, Millie Newton will dance! Health and safety be damned!” Sadie exclaimed.

2

Freya and Elsa found themselves laughing together as Millie did her funny little dance with the Morris men.

The eleven-year-old had been thrilled when the Lady of the Manor had recognised her amongst the throng of villagers, even remembering her name. Her classmate Mia had shot her the filthiest of looks, and that only added to Freya’s elated mood. It was always a good day when you could piss Mia Webb off.

Elsa had poured herself into a tight-fitting crimson dress that seemed like something a 1940s film star might wear. Her red hair was wild and untamed. To Freya, she looked like some kind of fiery queen holding court.

“Your sister certainly knows how to make an entrance,” Elsa said, curiosity infiltrating her freckled face. “She has a very unusual aura.”

“She’s not that great, really,” Freya told her, suddenly worried that her new friend might be more interested in Millie than her. That wouldn’t do at all. “She’s, um… she’s a special needs child.” Freya felt a bit guilty for saying such a thing about her sister. Only a bit, though. Millie did do some weird stuff, so it wasn’t entirely untrue.

Elsa gave her a knowing smile. “You’re not jealous of your sister, are you, Freya?”

“Huh? No. No way!”

The idea was horrifying. Being annoyed by Millie wasn’t the same as being jealous of her. Was it?

Elsa placed a hand on the small of Freya’s back. “I’m certain you have your own talents. You may not know they’re there yet, but one day they’ll bubble to the surface. Often, it’s self-doubt that stops us from realising our full potential.”

“Is it?”

“Oh, yes. I was the same at your age, always worrying about things beyond my control. Then I discovered who I was meant to be. You learn to navigate your way through life as you get older. And to accept yourself.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

Elsa glanced up at the manor behind them, then back at Freya with a sly smile. “How about you and I sneak off for a while? I’ll give you an exclusive tour of Derwold Manor.”

3

The very air of the manor was thick with history and neglect. Elsa led Freya through room after room, some newly painted and furnished, but most untouched, peeling wallpaper and the smell of mildew a testament to long years of abandonment.

Tradesmen worked throughout the building, with several busying themselves installing a huge chandelier in what Elsa called The Great Hall. A central staircase dominated the cavernous space, and Freya thought it looked like something borrowed from the set of Downton Abbey.

Her attention was drawn to the curious-looking man descending the stairs. He wore a tweed jacket and a garish pair of mustard-coloured trousers, and his shock of grey-brown hair seemed to snake out like tentacles, wild and untamed. “And who’s this?” he asked in ardent tones.

“This is my friend, Freya,” Elsa told him. “We’re having a little sneak-peek, aren’t we, Freya?”

Freya offered a nod. “It’s an awesome house.”

The man skipped down the last few remaining steps, hiked his impressively vulgar trousers up, then peered down at her with a wide, slightly unhinged grin. “I’m delighted you approve, Lady Freya, she of beauty and fertility!”

“Pardon?”

“Freya is one of the old Norse goddesses,” he explained. “Did your mother and father not name you as such?”

“I – I dunno, to be honest. I suppose they just liked the name.”

The man put his hands to his face in a theatrical display of shock. “Oh, the shame of ignorance! Names should never be taken lightly, you know. Names have power.”

Elsa let her hands rest on Freya’s shoulders. “Stop teasing, Simon. Freya, this is my husband, Simon.”

“Oh, you’re the new lord of Derwold.”

Simon took Freya’s hand and shook it heartily. “Indeed I am, Lady Freya. Born and raised. Blood and bone!”

Freya offered a confused smile. “O-kay?”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Freya. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have guests to entertain!”

And with that, the strange new lord of Derwold Manor kissed his wife on the lips, then trotted away at a brisk clip.

“Shall we continue our tour?” Elsa asked, and Freya agreed that they should.

4

Simon Derwold looked as mad as a badger to Georgia. The rather scruffy-looking Lord of the Manor seemed to have a permanent grin on his face, and his eyes never seemed to stop moving. He was the kind of man you tried to put some distance between when he starts whistling too loudly in the coffee shop, or decides to start doing pushups on the bus. Yes indeed, something was just a little bit off about Simon Derwold.

“Welcome to our humble home!” Mr. Derwold hollered into the mic he’d commandeered from the DJ. He was flanked by two burly looking men. Georgia had seen them around the village from time to time, presumably performing various tasks for their employer. She thought they might have been called Burt and Ernie, like the puppets from Sesame Street, but on consideration, that seemed improbable.

“You honour us with your presence,” Simon Derwold was saying. He surveyed the crowd of people before him like a child gleefully eyeing up candy in a sweet shop. “Many moons ago my forebears wandered the halls of this manor. And it’s true, they didn’t always afford the people of Derwold the respect they deserved. But times change. We honour our ancestors, but also acknowledge their shortcomings.

“I’d like to think I’m a man of some integrity, and I’m sure there are many ways I can give back to the birthplace of my namesake. I really just see myself as another villager. I hope you’ll treat me as such.”

“Does he think we were all just about to get down on our knees, then?” Georgia muttered.

“Shhh!” Roy hissed with an accompanying snort of amusement.

“And besides,” the lord of the manor continued, “the law prohibits me from hanging villagers from trees these days. It’s political correctness gone mad, I tell you!”

Sadie’s brow darkened at that. She’d never considered it until now, but wouldn’t it have been one of Simon’s ancestors who had been responsible for facilitating her own ancestor Isabel’s execution all those centuries ago?

“I’m joking! I’m joking!“ Simon tittered. “Now, enough of my nonsense! Let me just thank the Old Gods,” he gave the vicar a cursory glance, “for guiding me back to my ancestral home. Feast! Dance! Be merry!”

He handed the mic back to the DJ, then Destiny’s Child boomed out of the speakers.

“He’s a character, isn’t he?” Sadie opined.

“Quite dishy, in a mad professor sort of way,” Roy mused. “A bit rich for my blood, though.“

Georgia’s attention seemed to be focused elsewhere. “I think we might have a problem…” she intoned.

Sadie turned to her. “What’s the matter?”

Georgia pointed across to where some of the villagers were dancing to “Bootylicious”.

“Oh, shitting hell,” Roy muttered.

Sally Jeffries looked like she was about to take off. Her plump bottom quivered around the dance floor as if someone had passed five-hundred volts of electricity directly into her anus. Her arms thrashed around like lethal pistons made of flesh, and she seemed either oblivious or unconcerned about who might get caught in the crossfire.

“Who let the dogs out!” she hollered. “Who let the dogs out! Techno, techno, techno, techno!”

“She’s doing it,” Sadie said in horror and amazement. “It’s happening.”

“Do you think we should talk her down before she goes to the Bad Place?” Roy asked.

“It’s too late,” Georgia insisted. “All we can do now is watch.”

“You fancy some of this, do ya?!” Sally shrieked to a stunned Morris man, wiggling her substantial arse at him. “You want some of this boo-tay?! My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!”

As people cautiously backed away, Sally twerked across the lawn like a hovercraft on legs, knocking over one of the torches that’d been set up around the grounds. It toppled over, the flame catching the edge of Bernard the Druid’s robe.

Bernard hopped backwards, unaware at first that he was beginning to smoulder. “Extraordinary woman.”

Millie ran up to the clueless druid. “Bernard! You’re on fire!”

“Hmm? What’s that, Millie?”

“You’re on fire!”

“Fire? On fire, you say?” Bernard’s eyes travelled down to his feet, then widened in alarm. “Augghhh! I’m on fire!”

“Oh, shit!” Sadie yelled as she ran over to help. “Someone put Bernard out!”

Roy and Georgia stood rooted to the spot as the flames travelled up the druid’s robe with alarming speed. One of the Morris dancers took aim, then hurled a large tankard full of ale at Bernard as he frantically tried to separate himself from the flaming vestment.

And Sally Jeffries, postmistress extraordinaire, was a terrible force of nature that could not be stopped. “I’m a firestarter! Twisted firestarter!”

Sally’s husband Jeff stepped in to try and calm her. “Steady, Sal. You’ll ‘ave someone’s eye out in a minute.”

“Who let the dogs out, Jeff? Eh? Who let the fuckin’ dogs out?”

“I dunno, luv. It might be an idea to stick ’em back in the kennel, though. You set poor Bernard alight. Not ideal, is it? Reckon it’s a good time to call it a night, yeah?”

Sally shuddered to a halt. Everyone stared open-mouthed. And then the night entered her eyes. “What the fuck you lot lookin’ at?!”

“Come on, Sal. Let’s not make a scene again, eh?”

“Why’s the newspapers late again this morning, Sally?! How come you ain’t got no Hobnobs in this week, Sally?! There’s broken fuckin’ eggs in this carton, Sally! You fuckers! I ain’t your bitch!”

“Sally Drodge! As I live and breathe!”

It was the new Lord of the Manor who spoke. Most of the other onlookers were either peering down at their feet in embarrassment, or simply staring open-mouthed, but Simon Derwold seemed thrilled with the postmistress’ outburst. Did he and Sally know each other, then? Georgia wasn’t sure this was the best time for reunions.

Sally squinted through a drink-fuelled haze. “It’s Jeffries now, if you must know. And may I enquire who the fuck you might be?” Her eyes widened. “Simon Derwold…”

“It’s nice to see a familiar face. How long’s it been, Sally?”

The postmistress stalked forward. “Not long enough. Oh, you were a nasty boy, Simon. Weren’t ya? Eh? You was the worst…”

That wide, wide grin again. “That’s no way to greet an old friend, is it?”

“I know what you done, Simon. I remembers. Nasty, nasty boy…”

Jeff put his arm around his wife’s waist. “Let’s get you home, Sal. Have a nice cuppa cocoa and an early night, shall we?”

Sally Jeffries allowed herself to be led away. As for Simon, he idly wandered off with his minders in tow.

Bernard stood nearby in nothing but a pair of Thomas the Tank Engine boxer shorts and a white vest, gazing sadly at the smouldering remains of his robe. It’d been stamped on, beaten repeatedly with several very stylish garden cushions, and doused with enough real ale to intoxicate a small village. Even the wildly optimistic would have had no choice but to deem it entirely unsalvageable.

“I like your underpants, Bernard,” Millie told him earnestly. “I have quite a few pairs of knickers with cartoons on.”

Bernard looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but nevertheless he raised his ox horn of cider gamely. “Well… here’s to unusual underpants, Millie, my friend!”

5

By the time Georgia and Sadie decided they’d had enough of the festivities, the light was beginning to fade from the sky, but the party was still in full swing, and would be for many hours to come.

Freya elected to stay behind with Elsa, who promised to have her home by ten. Georgia’s oldest seemed to get a kick out of being Lady Derwold’s new chum, so they left her to it. That was one of the great things about living in a small community in the country – everyone knew everyone, and trust was a given. And who safer than the Lord and Lady of the Manor?

Millie, on the other hand, was happy to accompany Sadie and her mum home. After her spontaneous performance with the Morris men, and the kind of excitement only a flaming druid can muster, she was all tuckered out and ready for bed.

The summer evening was warm and balmy as they traversed the narrow country lanes back to Beekeeper Cottage. It was that magical time of day when the sun sits heavy on the horizon, and the distant hum of farm machinery fades away to an almost zen-like stillness, only punctuated by the occasional sparrow preparing to nest down for the night, or a fox-call off in the distance.

Georgia and Sadie held Millie’s hands as she skipped between them. The big girls were a little tipsy, basking in that sweet spot of alcohol consumption somewhere between not enough and too much.

“I wonder what Astris is doing now,” Millie pondered.

“Who knows?” Sadie said. “Having a party of her own with the creatures of the forest, maybe.”

They’d seen nothing of their mysterious dryad for months now, the large acorn she’d left them being the only reminder that she’d not simply been a figment of their imagination all along. Sadie wondered if they might not have forgotten her altogether, if not for that parting gift. Perhaps that was its purpose – to remind them she was still out there somewhere, still protecting the village.

“I’m still not convinced she’s real,” Georgia said defiantly.

Millie gave her mum a disapproving look. “Astris is definitely real, Mummy. I saw her. Freya did too.”

“But is she actual flesh and blood or just a – a dream thing?”

“Both, I think,” Sadie ventured. She considered trying to explain that there was a spectral realm beyond the veil of our own world, but didn’t think Georgia was in a ‘spectral realm’ kind of mood. And besides – how could she explain something she was only beginning to understand herself? “My great aunt Muriel wrote in her journal that she spoke to Astris. Her description matches Millie and Freya’s perfectly.”

Georgia blew out a big breath. “I… I just can’t get my head round it.”

Sadie knew her girlfriend was firmly rooted in the secular world. It was Georgia’s anchor; her protective wall. And maybe a witch needs someone like that in her life – someone to keep her grounded. A yin to her yang.

“But you saw her, didn’t you?” Sadie asked. “That night at the tree?”

“I saw something,” Georgia admitted. “I saw too much that night, I think…”

“I can almost figure it out,” Millie said in a faraway voice. “How it all fits together. The dryads and the other special people. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle with some of the pieces missing.”

Georgia pushed Millie’s hair back behind her ears, an almost nondescript gesture that seemed to encompass so many different things – the protection of motherhood, a reaffirming of bonds, an element of rebuke or restraint. “I’d much rather you concern yourself with regular little girl stuff, thank you.”

Sadie held her tongue. Millie’s arcane abilities remained a point of contention between her and Georgia. She believed Millie needed guidance, but her mother was in denial. Georgia allowed her girlfriend to train her daughters in the Wiccan disciplines, but Sadie didn’t think she really believed it was anything more than a bit of fun – Sadie and the girls playing at witches and magic, keeps them out of mischief.

The truth was, nearly all practitioners of Wiccan were healers and herbalists who knew how to tap into the Earth’s power, enhancing whatever innate skills they already possessed. But Millie was something else entirely. Sadie wasn’t exactly sure of the true nature of her power, but she felt a duty to protect her young charge nonetheless – from herself, if nothing else. Yes, Georgia was her mother, but Sadie was her teacher – both in witchcraft and more conventional learning – and that carried its own responsibility.

When they got back to the cottage, Bee greeted them as if she hadn’t seen them for months, her snout screwed up into a smile; tail whipping from side to side at a hundred miles an hour.

“Aww, Bumblebee!” Millie cooed. “Did we leave you on your own? Did we leave da poor puppy on her own?”

Sadie couldn’t imagine Billy Buckham being that pleased to see her. Billy liked playing hard to get.

“Jammies and wine time!” Georgia declared as she kicked off her shoes.

“Can I stay up with you and Sadie for a while, Mum?” Millie asked.

“I dunno, pixie, it’s getting late. You look like you’re ready for bed.”

Millie did puppy-dog eyes, then added an angelic smile for good measure. “Oh, pleeease! Just until Freya comes back, okay? I’m not even that tired anymore.” Her smile morphed into something decidedly less angelic. “I’ll let you both do stuff to me…”

Sadie hooked her hands into her hips. “Millie Newton, are you trying to bribe us?”

“Yep. Did it work?”

“Consider me intrigued,” her teacher said with just the right amount of pause. “I suppose your mum gets the final vote.”

Millie and Sadie turned to Georgia. Two pairs of puppy-dog-eyes were surely more than even the most responsible mother could resist. The beekeeper gave a resigned sigh. “My mother warned me about witches and their apprentices. Let’s go put our pyjamas on, then.”

Five minutes later the three of them were in the lounge in their jimjams, a bottle of wine adorning the coffee table. Millie clambered into Sadie’s lap while Georgia drew the drapes across the patio doors.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have them opened up?” Sadie suggested. “Let some cool air in?”

“And have Freya come in through the back with Mrs. Derwold in tow? Who knows what unspeakable things the lady of the manor might witness.”

Millie giggled at that. “Lady Derwold would probably do this,” she said, making a face that bore an uncanny resemblance to Edvard Munch’s The Scream. “Aieeee! What is happening here?! Those bad ladies are doing naughty things with the very pretty and awesome little girl. Run away! Run away!”

“Oh, wouldn’t that be awful!” Sadie chuckled, peppering the eight-year-old’s neck with kisses.

Georgia sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the coffee table. She poured out two glasses of wine, slid one across the table towards Sadie, then took a mouthful of her own.

“Not joining us on the sofa?” Sadie asked.

“I might in a bit,” Georgia crooned. “But first, I’d like to watch you take my daughter’s pyjamas off.”

“Would you now?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Bee trotted over to offer her head for strokes. Georgia ran a hand through the dog’s soft fur, her other poised between her own legs. “Unbutton her top for me.”

Millie’s pyjama top had four big silver buttons. Sadie popped each one through its hook. “What now?”

Georgia continued stroking Bee. A finger teased the front of her pyjama bottoms. “What do you think? Take it off.”

Millie leaned forward to let Sadie slip the garment from her shoulders. Her chest was pale and boyish, her nipples so nondescript they were barely there. Sadie found herself wishing her young charge could stay like that forever, well aware of how selfish the thought was.

Georgia pushed her pyjama bottoms down her legs and kicked them away. She slung one leg across the arm of the chair, exposing herself to all that cared to look. Bee tried to sniff her crotch, and Georgia pushed her gently but firmly away. She turned her attention back to her daughter and girlfriend. “Lick two fingers, then tease my little girl’s nipples with them.”

Millie cooed softly as wet fingers came into contact with her skin. She turned to her teacher and Sadie kissed her on the mouth, tongue gliding over the child’s soft lips. Her nipples were coaxed to a rubbery stiffness as Sadie pinched them between forefingers and thumbs.

Georgia plunged two fingers into her cunt. “Lift your bum up, Millie. Sadie’s going to take your pyjama bottoms off.”

The momentary absence of Millie’s weight drew Sadie’s attention to her own aching need. She pushed it aside for the moment, hooking her thumbs into the elastic of Millie’s pyjama bottoms and pushing them down. Like Georgia and Sadie, Millie wore nothing underneath.

“I’ll take mine off, too,” Sadie said, managing to shimmy out of her pyjamas with Millie still in her lap.

Georgia gave further instructions. “Now sit back against Sadie, Millie. Then bring your feet up onto her legs. Yeah, just like that. Sadie, play with her pussy. And you better make a good show of it because I’m just about to get off.”

Sadie kissed the nape of Millie’s neck, breathing in the child’s sweet scent. “Let’s see how hard we can make Mummy come,” she whispered in her ear.

“Okay,” Millie giggled, then drew the lips of her pussy open. “Look, Mummy. Now you can see Sadie stick her finger in me. I love it when she does that.”

Sadie licked a finger, then brought it to the entrance of Millie’s pussy. She teased the moist opening, tracing circles around the circumference of the warm hole. “Shall I put my finger inside now?” the witch cooed. “Is that what you want to see?”

“Yes, finger my little girl,” Georgia hissed.

Sadie slipped a lubricated finger deep into Millie’s tight, gooey little cunt, drawing a surprised gasp from the eight-year-old.

“Ooh, yeah,” Georgia gushed approvingly, strumming her clit with an ever-increasing urgency. “Fuck that naughty little pixie, Sadie Laine.”

There was nothing to do but oblige. A mother’s will must be obeyed, after all.

Sadie plunged her finger in and out of Millie’s tight hole as the eight-year-old held herself open lewdly. The liquid sounds it produced thrilled Georgia, fanning the flames of her arousal all the more.

Millie slid forward a little and hoisted her knees up to her flat chest. “Put a finger up my bum too, Sadie!”

“Y-you heard my daughter,” Georgia panted. “Give her what she wants.”

Reaching beneath Millie’s bottom with her free hand, Sadie slipped a finger into the little girl’s anus.

Millie gasped, then gave a shrill giggle as her teacher violated both holes. “Look, Mummy!” she squealed. “Isn’t that just the rudest thing you ever saw?”

Sadie worked on Millie a while longer, then settled into a new rhythm of fingering the child with one hand whilst strumming her little clit with the other.

Millie suddenly arched her back and went slack-jawed. “Uh. Uh. Ughh!”

Sadie had to wrap an arm around her young student to stop her tumbling to the floor. “That’s it, let it out, cutie.”

Georgia let her own climax consume her, a hand trapped between her legs as she writhed in the chair.

Sadie began flicking her own clit, and Georgia realised her lover was the only one who hadn’t come yet. “You don’t need to do that, babe,” she murmured, and when she crossed the lounge on weak legs, Bee wasted no time in claiming the vacated chair. “Millie, would you like to help me lick Sadie out before you go to bed?”

“Yah, okay,” a flushed Millie piped, slipping from Sadie’s lap and folding to her knees on the floor.

Georgia took a place beside her little girl, fingers tracing the curve of Millie’s bare bottom. She pushed Sadie’s thighs apart, then pulled back her clitoral hood.

“You smell so nice, Sadie,” Millie told her teacher.

“Flick your tongue over her clit, sweetie,” Georgia instructed. “Ooh, yeah, that looks so sexy. Move your head round a bit so I can get my tongue in there too. That’s it, good girl. Let’s make Sadie feel good.“

Sadie peered down at mother and daughter working their magic on her. Sex with Georgia was always good, but involving Freya and Millie never failed to take it to another level. It was the culmination of all those years sneaking peeks up little girls’ skirts in class, stockinged thighs pressed tightly together beneath her desk as she imagined all the things she longed to do to them. Oh, the days she had gone back to her little round cottage when class had finished, her lacy panties soaked through. She would masturbate furiously, but it had never really been enough to satisfy her hunger. Then Georgia and the girls had come into her life.

Sadie’s orgasm oozed out of her like warm honey. “Give me a nice kiss, Millie,” she heard Georgia say somewhere far away. “Mummy wants to taste Sadie on your lips.”

Sadie watched them exchange tongues through a post-orgasmic haze.

Then the doorbell rang. Alarmed, the three of them shot to their feet.

“Quick, jammies back on!” Georgia crowed, then hollered, “Just a minute, we’re coming!”

“Don’t let them in yet!” Sadie hissed, scrabbling to pull her pyjama bottoms on. She tripped on the corner of the coffee table and went arse over tit. “Ow, bollocks!”

Millie flapped her hands up and down, her pyjama top on backwards. “It smells of sex in here!“

6

The beekeeper and her teacher girlfriend answered the door in their pyjamas – each other’s pyjamas, by the look of it, seemingly having swapped the bottom halves. Their faces were flushed, and their hair was in disarray. They slung their arms around one another’s waists, as if trying to project an air of normality. Elsa had obviously caught them in the middle of having sex, probably in the lounge while the youngest Newton daughter slept upstairs.

Elsa had met Georgia briefly at the party when Freya had dragged her over to ask if she could stay a little while longer, but she had yet to make the acquaintance of Sadie Laine, the village teacher. The young woman was certainly attractive, but Elsa couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling that there was more to this teacher than met the eye.

“One daughter returned safe and sound, as promised,” Elsa said, a hand upon Freya’s shoulder.

“Why did you lock the door?” Freya asked brusquely.

Georgia looked surprised, like she hadn’t expected to be asked such a question. “Uh…” She turned to her lover. “Why did we lock the door?”

Sadie looked equally perplexed. “Because… I don’t know? It’s your house, isn’t it, darling?”

“Did you forget your key?” Georgia asked Freya.

The girl folded her arms. “I didn’t take my key, because we never lock the door.”

An awkward silence ensued.

Elsa offered her hand to Sadie. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Elsa.”

The schoolteacher reached out a dainty hand. Elsa allowed the smallest flow of energy to pass between them. Just enough to take measure of the woman. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

“Sadie. Sadie Laine. I teach at the local school. It’s lovely to meet you, Elsa.”

“I don’t have many friends here yet,” Elsa said. “It’d be wonderful if I could count you both among them. And Freya, of course. By the way, is Mrs. Jeffries usually that terrifying?”

Georgia put a hand to her mouth. “God, I’m so sorry about Sally!”

“She’s really lovely in the shop,” Sadie explained. “It’s just… well, it’s best not to make eye contact with her when she’s had a few drinks.”

“And whatever you do,” Georgia added, “don’t mention anything to her about it in the post office. It’s easier to pretend it never happened.”

“I see. Well, we all have our crosses to bear, I suppose,” Elsa said. She could see a little head poking out between the two women. “And you must be Millie.”

A hand shot out. “I am, actually. You must be the lady in the big house. I like your hair. Lovely to meet you.”

Elsa took the child’s hand. Energy thrummed through her, raw and untamed, so hungry it seemed as if it wanted to fill every part of her; consume her from the inside out. She put her barriers up quickly, and it was all she could do not to cry out in alarm. The little girl peered up at her curiously. Her pyjama top appeared to be on back to front.

“Would you like to come in for a glass of wine, Elsa?” Georgia asked.

“I won’t, but thank you. It’s late and I should be getting back before Simon burns the manor down.”

“All right. Thanks for bringing Freya back.”

Elsa walked back to her car and climbed in. When she peered into the rearview mirror, the beekeeper’s cosy little family had closed the door and retreated back into their cottage. One could only imagine what went on behind those walls. She brought a hand up to her face and breathed in the faint aroma of cunt. Are Georgia and Sadie having sex with little Millie? Surely not.

A shape separated itself from the shadows in the back of the car and settled on the headrest of her seat.

“My word, Minerva,” Elsa said as she pulled away from the Newtons’ driveway. “We seem to have some very interesting neighbours.”

On to Chapter Four!

by kinky_sis, assisted by kinkychic

I was somewhat nervous about seeing Ric home. After all, I’d just had sex with her! What if her parents could smell it on us? I never was a very good liar, and if they confronted me, I’d have a hell of a time trying to talk my way out of it.

As it turned out, Ric’s parents weren’t as bad as she made them out to be. The house was a bit disorganised, but it was clean, and smelled nice. Her father barely took any notice of me – he was engrossed in some rugby match on the TV – but her mother was different. Ric had said they didn’t care about what she got up to, but her mum studied me closely, asking what I did for a living. When she suddenly shot me a strange look and left the room, Ric shrugged in answer to my questioning look.

Her mother came back triumphantly waving a magazine. She tapped a half-page picture of burning oil wells in Iraq. There, in tiny print, was my name under the picture. I didn’t even know it had been published.

She asked me how old I was. “Twenty-six,” I told her, and that made her frown for a moment. Then her face softened somewhat. “Well, if it’s what Erica wants.”

And that was that. We agreed that I would be here at nine in the morning to pick Ric up.

My thoughts were in such a whirl, I found it hard to concentrate on my driving. I arrived home and got the coffee going. At some point, I’d have to tidy up after the way Sylvia had left things. Then I saw the answering machine was flashing. I played back the message.

“Hi, Jay, if you’re home. I’m not sure how to say this… other than to just say it. I won’t be back. I’m sorry to do it like this. I’ll send for my stuff as soon as I can. I hope we can still be friends.”

My first reaction was one of anger. Had our relationship really been that shallow? Deep down, I knew Sylvia had never fully committed herself. I should have expected this day would come; just not for it to happen like this.

My temper eased as I thought it through. In truth, I probably hadn’t been any more committed than Sylvia. I’d been upset with her after she’d gone off with Brenda, and most likely would have asked her to leave anyway.

My heart suddenly leapt. Sylvia had unknowingly done me a favour. I was going to ring Ric later, wanting to say goodnight to her before she went to bed. Now, I had a better reason. With Sylvia gone, I briefly wondered whether Ric’s parents would object to her staying with me for a while. I told myself it was too soon for things like that. Better to let events unfold.

Ric’s mum answered the phone. I made some small talk with her, then asked if Ric was there. She wasn’t quite done with me, however.

“You know your pictures are everywhere. I Googled you, you’re quite famous, and I think you’re very brave, what with some of these places you go to.” She paused, but I knew there was more. “Er… I need to ask you something, if I may. Why Erica? She’s only a child, what can someone like you see in her? I don’t understand.”

I’d been asking myself that very same question. Was it because Ric was so young and innocent after everything I had to deal with? Or, was it a side of me that I hadn’t known about until now? I didn’t know, and to be honest I didn’t much care. I wanted her in my life.

“Well, to be fair, she’s more than just a child,” I said. “She’s clever and funny, and more importantly, she knows what she wants. It was her that asked me if she could be my girlfriend, I didn’t go chasing her. Besides all that, I think she’s wonderful, and I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt her, that I promise.”

I heard Ric’s voice in the background. There was a clatter – that noise telephones make when they’re being passed about – then she was there. “I hoped you’d call. Sorry about Mum. What did you say to her?”

“Oh, I just told her you were a bad girl that needed a very firm hand.”

“Jay! I don’t believe you!” Ric cried. “You couldn’t have said that… could you?”

“Oh, babe, of course not, I told her you were wonderful. I was going to call just to say goodnight, but then I got some news, and I wanted to share it with you. Sylvia’s not coming back. She’s gone. For good.”

I heard a little squeal. “Oh, my God! That’s my biggest worry gone. I wasn’t sure what would happen when she came back, to be honest. I thought you might not want me any more.”

“Ric, there was never any chance of that. I said you were my girlfriend now, and I meant it, every word. You had nothing to worry about.” I heard a sniffle on the other end of the line. “Hey, you’re not crying, are you? I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Jay, I’m so happy. It’s just relief. It got the better of me for a second, that’s all.”

“I’m glad you’re happy. And so am I, never happier. Now I’ve got some tidying up to do, dumping all of Sylvie’s stuff, then making the place decent for my special visitor tomorrow. Sweet dreams, babe. I’ll be thinking about you.”

“Jay?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. Thank you for changing my life.”

***

I’d hoped that it would just be a brief stop to pick Ric up, but her mum had other ideas. She wanted to chat, get to know me, she said. It seemed to drag on forever, but finally we made our escape.

I had my own car back now. Ric stopped dead in her tracks when she saw it. “Oh wow, a Lotus! You never told me you had a Lotus. And not just any Lotus either, an Evora.”

I was surprised. It’s not the sort of thing I expected a young girl to know. “You like it, then?”

“There are three cars I want when I’m rich: An Ultimate Aero, a McLaren F1, and a Lotus Evora. And you’ve got one of them!”

“Well, we have got expensive tastes, haven’t we? Come on, jump in.”

Ric spent most of the short journey telling me things about my own car even I didn’t know. She was still nattering away when we reached my flat.

I opened the door and ushered her in, knowing she’d be impressed. I’ve earned a lot of money from my job, and had no qualms about living comfortably. It wasn’t too flashy – I wasn’t into anything garish – but everything had to be top quality.

Ric was speechless. She didn’t know where to look first. I just stood and watched her wander around. She touched everything, sometimes with just a finger, sometimes with a caress. Then she stopped and stared at the new picture I had put up that morning.

It was a portrayal of pure sexual abandon. Just a glimpse of those beautiful eyes through a tangle of hair, lips peeking through, slightly parted in invitation. Her bare back was facing the camera, a shoulder turned slightly towards me. Her elbow was resting on a raised knee, barely revealing the swell of a breast. Her head was tilted back a little, peering across her shoulder. It was a stunning portrait.

Eventually, Ric turned to me. “It’s so beautiful. I can’t believe that’s me.” She paused for a moment, looking around again. “Now I wonder more than ever. Why me? You must be rich, you could have anyone you wanted.”

I put my arms around her. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” I lifted her chin. “You haven’t kissed me today. I’ve been waiting.”

It may have been more than ten minutes before we came up for air.

“I know it’s still early, but shall we have some wine to celebrate your birthday?” I said. “I have a little surprise for you.”

“But you can’t have got me a present already. You haven’t had time.”

I laughed. “You’ll see.”

I opened a decent bottle of Prosecco and poured two glasses. We clinked them together. “Happy birthday, Ric.”

I handed her a small box. She sat there staring at it, turning it this way and that. “Am I allowed to guess?” she asked, and I nodded. “A ring? Or maybe some earrings. But I think it’s a ring.”

She unwrapped the package, then flipped the lid. Her hand went to her mouth, and she peered up at me. I could see tears welling in her eyes. “It’s so beautiful.”

I took the ring out, worried it might not fit, but it slipped on Ric’s middle finger as if it had been made for her.

She took hold of my hands. “A friendship ring… it’s the most beautiful present I could have wished for. Thank you so very much, Jay.”

I glanced at the clock. “What do you want to do? Go out for some lunch? Or is it still too early?”

“Jay, there’s only one thing I want. Will you take me to bed, please?” She held me back before I could get to my feet. “I’ve got another confession to make first, though. I got a bit nervous last night. See, I don’t know much about sex, and I was scared you’d find me stupid in bed, so I searched some lesbian porn sites. I’ve never been on a porn site before. I thought I might be shocked, but what I found was so beautiful. I saw the lovely things they did, and it made me want to be with you so much. I… I went to bed and touched myself while I thought about you. Was that bad?”

“Oh, Ric, there’s nothing wrong with that, but even if it was, I wouldn’t have cared. Whatever you don’t know about sex, I’ll teach you. Besides, I masturbated last night, as well. I was processing your pictures, and, well, I got pretty worked up. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

I didn’t expect her to be shy, not after the way she posed for my camera the day before, but today seemed different. She was clearly nervous.

Pulling her towards me, I told her, “Relax, my love.”

I kissed her doubts away, and her ardour quickly mounted. She lifted both arms when I raised her top, then let her skirt fall to the floor. Taking her hands, I guided them to my blouse. Her fingers worked their way down the buttons until she was able to push it off my shoulders. She unclipped my bra, and it joined the rest of the pile on the floor.

Kneeling in front of Ric, I hooked my fingers into her knickers. A thought popped into my head: I needed to buy her some nice sexy underwear. Not that I had anything against her plain white knickers, but I wanted her to feel grown up.

I slid Ric’s knickers down slowly, savouring the moment. I stopped when her pubis came into view and peered up at her. She was looking apprehensive again, so I leaned in and kissed the sparse jumble of hairs, pressing my lips to her mound.

I tugged her knickers lower, my kisses following until my mouth was covering her pussy. I let Ric’s knickers drop to the floor, then reached round to cup the cheeks of her arse, drawing her tightly to me.

Ric’s expression had changed. Now she looked excited, a knuckle caught between her teeth, the other hand creeping up her tummy. Extending my tongue, I slipped it into her. Her legs were trembling even as she cupped her breast, and she gave a breathless sigh, moving her feet apart. The sight of this young girl clutching her boobs seemed so wonderfully erotic to me.

I licked slow and deep, savouring the divine flavour, then took her clit between my lips, sucking gently. Ric’s response was clear when she thrust her hips at me, making soft mewing sounds. Her trembling increased, her moans growing louder. I felt a hand grip my shoulder.

Then she was bending at the hips, leaning forward. I kept my tongue moving, forcing her to a climax. She began to jerk, her nails digging into me. I welcomed the pain, knowing it was derived from my lover’s pleasure.

Ric shook almost violently as she came, a much more powerful orgasm than the one she’d had the day before. I knew she was going to fall, but I was ready, gathering her in as she collapsed onto me. Her arms were twined around my neck, her head resting on my shoulder. I rocked her gently as her breathing slowed.

“Can we go to bed now?” she mumbled. “I want to be in bed with you.”

Ric gave me a lovely view of her arse as she climbed into bed. As soon as I’d gotten rid of my knickers, I joined her, wondering whether it would be too soon to introduce her to a bit of arse play. I drew my beautiful girl to me, her lithe body fitting snugly into mine.

Her face went straight to my breasts. “I love your boobs,” she mumbled between mouthfuls of nipple. I was more than happy to let her play, simply closing my eyes and basking in the sensations.

“Will you lie still for a while?” she asked a moment later. “I want to explore your body.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise. I might need to get my hands on that sexy little arse of yours.”

There was that little giggle I loved so much. She put her lips to me again, working her way down my body until she reached my tummy. She took an age doing it, with little tickles here and there that were driving me mad with anticipation. She spent so long in that one area, I wondered whether she would go any lower.

She did. Her lips were still on my tummy, but straying closer to my mons. Her fingers trailed up and down my thigh, sometimes dipping between. Each time Ric moved, I thought she would finally get to my pussy, but although she did draw close several times, she never quite reached it.

I was just about to beg the girl to stop teasing when her lips suddenly brushed my sex, feather light kisses that soon became as frustrating as nothing at all. She clumsily pushed my legs apart, and I prayed relief was coming at last. I spread myself wide, inviting my young lover in.

Ric traced the cleft of my pussy, then slid her fingers inside and wriggled them about; feeling me, exploring. She took her time with it, and I let her, though I was getting quite desperate to come.

Then Ric gave me the touch I needed. I felt her fingers exposing my clit, and she gave it a little tug. She glanced up at me with a grin. “So beautiful, Jay.”

“Babe, it’s what you’re doing to me that’s beautiful. You’re driving me mad.”

Her smile turned impish, and she leaned into me to kiss my clit, never taking her eyes from mine. I watched as her lips pursed, and she sucked my clit into her mouth, giving her head a little wiggle from side to side.

I couldn’t keep myself still any longer. I lifted my hips, encouraging her, needing release. “Ric, fuck me. Make me come.”

She’d already done a good job exploring me, and soon I was surging towards my climax. My heart filled as it struck me that I’d found someone special to fill the void that Sylvia had never been able to. This girl was something else… and now she was mine.

As my pleasure mounted, I stopped thinking and just let go. I was vaguely aware that I was calling Ric’s name, and then it came like an explosion, an orgasm so utterly powerful I couldn’t breathe, blasting through me as I thrashed from side to side. I felt it slowly fade, then flopped back, my body limp. Ric touched me somewhere inside, and it was enough to trigger another orgasm.

I heard myself cry out, then I was shaking uncontrollably. I needed her to stop, but I didn’t want her to stop. Oh, God, it was wonderful.

I opened my eyes to find Ric staring at me, wearing a big grin. “Was that all right, then?”

Tears pricked at my eyes. “If that was you learning how to make love, God help me when you know what you’re doing!”

She came into my open arms, and we rolled together, caught up in a long kiss. I’d never felt such a closeness with anyone before. We lay in each other’s embrace, happily snuggled together.

I was frightened of what I wanted to say, but I felt it was needed. “Ric, I love you so deeply already. But you’re young, and this is all so new to you. I don’t want to risk losing you, not when we’ve just found each other. If I do or say anything that’s too much for you, you have to tell me. Please don’t be scared to speak your mind. Fair enough?”

She drew back to look at me, a very serious look on her face. I could almost hear her brain ticking. “I know I’m young, and haven’t had that many sexy feelings, and I definitely never knew I felt this way about girls… or ladies.” She gave a nervous giggle. “But when I saw you taking pictures at the river, and knew it was mostly me you were looking at… well, I got excited in a way I didn’t understand. But I liked it, and it’s why I waited for you. I never felt so turned on. I knew then I couldn’t let you get away. I wanted you.” She paused, lifting her fingers to my lips. “And it was super brilliant. God, I’m so very, very happy. I only want you to love me.”

Now, I couldn’t stop the tears coming, but it didn’t matter anymore. I pulled her to me and held her close.

***

I woke to find Ric gone. Panic gripped me for a second, but then I realised that she wouldn’t have wandered very far.

Barefooted, I padded into the living room to find her sitting at my computer, flicking through the pictures of her I’d taken the day before. I stood in the doorway and quietly watched her. She scrolled through the pictures quickly, pausing every so often to study a select few.

When she got to the hotter images, she slowed down. She came to one particular photo – the one where she was leaning over the top bar of the stile and looking back between her legs, her arsehole and pussy on clear display. She clicked the zoom button, drawing in on her bare bum.

I watched as she slipped a hand between her legs, then I saw her elbow moving back and forth.

She scrolled forward, still rubbing herself, then came to the picture where she’d prised her pussy lips open. She sat still for a moment, then zoomed in again. My God, you could see right inside her.

I came up behind Ric, my mouth close to her ear. “Do you like watching yourself? Does it make you hot?” I reached round and found her hand, still touching her pussy. I pressed my fingers against hers, moving them up and down. “Keep going. I want to see you come.”

I pulled another chair over and sat down next to her, then put a hand to my pussy, watching Ric all the time. She hadn’t stopped rubbing; she was too far gone to stop. But she glanced at me, her eyes going to my hand, a huge grin on her face.

My fingers curled around my clit and stroked the stiff nubbin as we watched each other. I’d seen girls masturbate before, but this girl was only sixteen. She was a picture of innocence until you noticed what she was doing, the intense hunger in her eyes as they fixed on my pussy and my busy fingers.

Ric was building up to a climax, and I rubbed myself faster in response, wanting to come with her. I found that it aroused my senses more to study her face, with just an occasional glance at her budding breasts or delicate sex.

Then she was making that face, the glazed look in her eyes telling me she was completely absorbed in an approaching climax. Forgetting about my own needs. I snatched up my camera and got to my feet, taking shot after shot from different angles, concentrating on close-ups of her ever-changing expressions. She didn’t seem aware of what I was doing, working to capture the sheer ecstasy she felt – a young girl in the throes of extreme sexual arousal, striving for orgasm.

Ric’s eyes closed; her body went taut. For several seconds she didn’t move, then she grabbed the sides of the chair as her body began to judder uncontrollably. She was coming. Her eyes snapped wide open and she was staring at me as a massive orgasm rippled through her. Ric wasn’t even touching herself as she came. I’d never seen that happen before.

Camera forgotten, I stood transfixed on the spot as I witnessed my young lover’s glorious climax.

Her eyes closed again as the tension drained from her body. I rushed to wrap her in my arms; felt her tremble as I whispered in her ear, “My beautiful baby, you were magnificent.” I plied soft kisses all over her face.

Her arms went around my waist and she clung to me. Eventually she looked up. “I never… it was… what happened?”

“Oh, baby, you just had the most amazing orgasm, and without being touched. It was beautiful.”

Ric looked over at the camera. “Were you taking pictures? Can we look? I want to see what I look like when… well, you know.”

I grabbed the laptop. “Let’s upload them first. Then you can see them on the screen.”

“I like posing for you,” Ric said while we waited for the pics to upload. “I want to do it some more. Sexy, naughty, any way you like.”

Now that I wasn’t concentrating on taking pictures, I was able to see the true beauty of what I’d captured. The range of Ric’s expressions conveyed pure sex. I could almost feel what she had just experienced.

Ric grinned at me. “I don’t think you got to finish, though, Jay. Maybe I can help with that…”

We took a shower together and made love once more. Then it was time for me to take Ric home.

On to Part Three!

The story thus far: Seeking a missing Texas Ranger, our old acquaintance The Tequila Kid comes across a poor family named Miller. Like many others in the area, this widow Sarah and her two little girls, Amy and Cindy, have been brutalized by a wealthy scoundrel named McCuller, who intends to drive away all the owners of small farms and ranches in the area and take their land. Later, drying off from heavy rain at the local stable, Sheriff Lucas Clay comes in search of The Kid, demanding she surrender her guns. Knowing Clay to be corrupt (and in league with McCuller), The Kid asks to speak with him in private. Moments later at the jail, he threatens her, and she deals him a beat-down, then informs him that she means to arrest McCuller and Tyson Avidite (a banker who is part of the conspiracy) before she leaves.

From the sheriff’s office, she goes to the Silver Slipper, the town’s saloon, gambling house and brothel. There, she encounters a young man named Jud Nelson, who she’d seen Sheriff Clay harass earlier. Recognizing him as a decent sort, she hires him to watch the jail to see if Clay leaves. Then she meets a twelve-year-old girl named Dixie, who does menial work at the Silver Slipper and is bullied by Toots, the brutish bartender. The Kid asks Dixie which girl is the most popular of the whores. Star, the girl replies, and The Kid gives Dixie the money to pay for Star’s services that evening.

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

By Purple Les

Leading The Kid up the stairs, Star gestured her into one of the rooms, then followed close behind, shutting the door. She leaned back against it, studying the woman who had paid for her services. Of course, Star had been with women before, but she’d never had one as a customer.

And this one looked like no woman she’d ever seen. For one thing, she was dressed as a man, sporting  a pair of pistols. Guess she’s not run into Sheriff Clay yet. He don’t let anyone wear guns but his own self.

The Tequila Kid glanced around the room. There was a small bed. Two plain wooden chairs. No windows. A dressing screen, next to a small wood table that held a wash bowl and pitcher, along with a towel and a bar of soap. The room was lit by one oil lamp on a nightstand.

Star looked the nineteen-year-old up and down, liking what she saw. She’d make a good whore if it weren’t for them tattoos on her chin. A real pretty girl otherwise. I do believe I’m gonna enjoy this.

“Well, you’re paying. What’s your pleasure, girl?” Star asked.

“My pleasure is to give you pleasure,” The Kid said, speaking softly. “Take that dress off, for starters.”

“What’s your name?” Star murmured, drawing closer.

“You can call me Kid. That’s what my friends call me… and them that wants to be.”

Star nodded. “Reckon I’d like bein’ your friend, Kid.” Reaching around, she undid the few stays on the back of the dress, then let it fall to the floor with the flick of a finger.

The Kid nodded approvingly. Other than red fishnet stockings and shiny black patent leather high heel slippers, Star was completely nude, a gentle smile adorning her lips.

“You look mighty good,” The Kid told her. “Now turn your back to me.”

When Star did as she was told, The Kid moved closer. “That’s a fine caboose you got, Star,” she said, reaching out to fondle the woman’s bare buttocks.

She’s younger than she looks, and puts up a good front… but she’s afraid. Of what, I ain’t sure. Not of me, anyhow. Hell, I reckon doin’ this kinda thing for a livin’ would scare most women. The Kid slowly walked around Star, taking in the view. She’s short, but has a nice figure. That red hair ain’t really red; I can tell that from seeing her pussy patch. Nice eyes, light brown, and big. Well, I best get what I paid for.

The Kid moved behind Star and leaned forward, her lips grazing the woman’s ear. “Be my gal for a little bit, Star,” she whispered. “I want to make you spend. You don’t have to do nothin’… just let me have that beautiful body of yours to play with.”

The Kid put both hands on Star’s shoulders, then slowly moved them down till she was cupping the whore’s full breasts. She gave them a squeeze, then scissored the nipples between her fingers. Star gasped in mixed surprise and delight.

“I like women… girls, too. I like to give ‘em kisses. See ‘em naked. Touch their titties; kiss their cunts. Most folks think that makes me a sinner, but I can’t say as I care.”

The Kid turned Star around to face her, then looked the woman up and down, a growing hunger in her eyes. Leaning close, The Kid brushed her lips against Star’s, then moved in for a long, deep kiss.

Star was left breathless. She’d laid with women many times before; usually as a means to unwind, nearly always with other good-time girls she’d known. It felt good; didn’t mean much more than that. A little  something soft and pleasant after endless days of servicing tradesmen, cowpokes and drifters.

But there was a sweet urgency to The Kid’s passion that Star found downright enchanting. Without a second thought, she gave herself over to the kiss, spearing her tongue into the younger woman’s mouth. She never kissed men that way, not unless they insisted on it.

Gently breaking away, The Kid stepped back just enough to stroke Star’s breasts with the tips of her fingers. Star looked down, watching the girl’s fingers tease her nipples to a throbbing stiffness. When Star raised her face to gaze into The Kid’s eyes, she felt herself start to melt inside. This one’s special, she thought. Hell fire, I’m really gonna enjoy this.

“Lay down on the bed for me,” The Kid said. Star obliged, stretching out on her back. “Yeah, good. My, you sure do look fine. Now, spread them pretty legs apart some. Show me what you got.”

Star slowly parted her thighs, thrilled to see The Kid smile as she stared at the patch of soft brown pubes framing a now moist pink slit. A French whore she’d met once had taught her the art of trimming her bush. At the time, it seemed silly to Star, but something about a neatly done pubic triangle could really get a man going, and add to a bar girl’s popularity. The Kid seemed to appreciate it too.

“Like what you see?” Star asked, actually feeling a little shy.

“Sure do.” The Kid answered. “Ever been with girls before?”

“Yes.” Star replied, feeling a renewed twinge of lust. “I…” Star began, then thought better of it and went silent. Maybe I shouldn’t talk about that.

“Tell me.” The Kid said as she sat on the bed and began to stroke the inside of Star’s thighs. “Tell me how old you was when you loved a girl the first time.” Spreading Star’s legs further apart she added “Was it a friend? Maybe your sister… your momma, even? Were you a child yourself then, or growed up already?”

The Kid lightly trailed a finger up and down through Star’s swelling pussy lips as she spoke.

Star moaned, then said, “It was my Aunt Olive. She was my aunt, but she weren’t much older than me. I was ten, she was fourteen.”

“How’d it start?” The Kid asked as her finger touched Star’s clit for a second, making Star quiver. “Please tell me.” Her voice was like warm honey dripping down a fresh, hot buttermilk biscuit. Now she was using two fingers, teasing Star’s vaginal opening.

“It was a hot day.” Star began. “A week after my tenth birthday.” She tried to collect her thoughts as The Kid’s finger slid easily into her cunt.

The Kid bent down to kiss Star on the mouth before saying, “You was ten, your aunt fourteen. I like that. How’d she make you feel?”

“I loved it.” Star declared, a hot stirring taking place down below, a feeling she hadn’t experienced for ages. “I’d seen my Aunt Olive holding a boy’s pecker, jerkin’ him off. I liked seeing it, but what I really wanted was to see her naked. I’d been havin’ thoughts about Olive, wantin’ us to be closer… but I was too young to know what that meant. See, her body had been more like mine, then she changed, lookin’ more like a woman. All curves and such. Well that’s how it seemed to me anyway, bein’ only ten. I’d never seen that happen to a girl before.”

“So you were tellin’ me about that hot day…” The Kid whispered as she carefully slipped three fingers into Star’s very wet pussy.

“Well, we ended up near the woods where it was cool. It was  just us with the whole world to ourselves. I told her I wished I was a boy. When she asked why, I told her so she could touch my pecker. She was surprised I’d seen her doin’ that. But she didn’t mind, cause I’d kept it to myself.

“Then Olive said to me, ‘I can make you feel good anyway. Girls don’t have peckers, but we got something else even more fun’. Oh God, Kid, that feels wonderful. D-don’t stop!”

By then, The Kid was working her fingers in and out of Star’s juicy cunt. Eager to take her lover even higher, she placed the tip of her pinky against Star’s anus, which opened enough to take its full length on the next stroke.

“Oh!” Star cried  “Oh, yeah, Kid. F-fuck my butthole!”

Damn, The Kid thought. Her story reminds me of Arabella, the way she learned about love from her big sister. Even when enjoyin’ a fuck with a good woman like Star, I’ve still got Arabella on my mind. Can’t help but miss that sweet little girl. Wonder if she ever thinks of me? I know for sure I’ll never forget her. 

Chiding herself for getting distracted from the task at hand, The Kid said, “What happened then? Tell me all of it.”

“I t-told Olive how I’d love to see her naked. She smiled and, and took off all her clothes. I was scared ‘cause we were outdoors, but she told me not to worry, th-this was a private place and no one was gonna see. Then she undressed me, so both of us was naked. Olive let me take a good long look, explainin’ why she had hair down there, and how her… her breasts had got so big. Told me how I’d look more like her one day, but she liked my little girl body the way it was.”

I would have too, The Kid thought. Just the same way I liked Arabella. No, no – stop thinkin’ about her. You’re with Star now.

Bringing her knees up, Star spread them far apart, giving The Kid full access to her holes. “Olive started by teachin’ me to kiss, then all the rest of it. She let me touch her, wherever and however I pleased. Ohhhh, Kid… that feels so good.

“It was the first time me and Olive done it, but n-not the last. For years, we made love as much as we could. Didn’t stop till she was seventeen and got married. Didn’t even quit then, not really. We meant to, but both of us wanted it too much. Our last time was not long after she had her third baby. That was when I – I moved on.”

Still pleasuring Star with her fingers, The Kid wondered what happened that caused her to leave home. Instead, she asked, “Did Olive ever lick that sweet little slit of yours?”

Star’s eyes lit up again. “Oh hell, yes! We did it all, anything we could think of. She sure did teach me about girl love. One time we got another cousin of ours to join in. Even younger’n me, she was. Only about eight. Much as I loved Olive, somethin’ about Jean’s sweet little girl pussy got me all hot and crazy inside.” Star smiled, dreamy-eyed with arousal at the memory of it.

Sensing Star was on the edge of release, The Kid began to manipulate her lover’s clitoris with the right hand, still fucking her with the left. Star was shivering in rapture, her body moving in time with The Kid’s thrusts. “Do it harder,” she mumbled. “M-make me feel it!”

Soon the woman’s body was pumping frantically, her whimpers and gasps accompanying the squeaking bed frame, along with the sound of wetness as The Kid drove her fingers in and out of Star’s juicy vagina. In addition, traces of the piano could be heard from downstairs, filtering through the floorboards.

Star burst into orgasm – a real one, unlike when she’d occasionally pretend to come for one of her more valued customers. Most of the time, she didn’t even bother to pretend. But now she seized up, helpless to do much more than groan, her womanly frame racked by spasm after spasm of rapture. Clutching The Kid’s wrist to hold it in place, Star blurted, “That’s it, fuck me. D-d-don’t stop!”

The Kid grinned as she spurred Star on, driving her from one blissful peak to the next, finally easing off when she was sure the woman could take no more. Withdrawing her fingers, The Kid brought them to her mouth, purring happily at the familiar, yet always different taste of cunt.

Star was spread out on the bed, spent and panting. After a moment she slowly sat up, swinging her legs to the floor. The Kid was startled to realize Star was in tears..

She quickly sat down next to the sobbing woman, wrapping an arm around Star’s waist. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? I… I’m sorry if I hurt you.” Tough as she was, The Kid felt helpless as a child when a woman or girl cried in her presence.

With a shaky laugh, Star wiped her tears away, sniffling a bit. “Oh, don’t you fret, Kid. I always cry when I have a real good come.” She smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “I ain’t cried for a good long while.” Shaking her head as if to clear it, she turned to The Kid, murmuring, “Thanks, darlin’. That was… it was a nice surprise. Why don’t you get undressed and let me make you spend?” Glancing at a small watch pinned to her dress, she added, “You paid for an hour, and we still got time left.”

Though tempted, Kid shook her head. “I’d like that, but maybe some other time. Right now, I’d be much obliged if you’d answer a couple questions for me.”

Star’s mouth tightened slightly. With a long sigh, she said, “Was I you, I’d hide them guns before you run into Sheriff Clay.”

“Thanks.” The Kid said with a brief smile. “We already come to a mutual agreement on that.”

Slowly rising to her feet, Star said, “‘Scuse me for a moment.” She went behind the dressing screen, and The Kid heard her piss into the chamber pot. She came back around and poured some water into the bowl, using it to clean her hands, then used the damp washcloth to wipe between her thighs. Glancing up at The Kid, she said, “You can wash your hands, if you’re of a mind to.”

The Kid took her turn at the bowl, drying her hands on a nearby towel. When she turned around, Star was plucking her dress from the floor, then stepping into it. The Kid walked over and did up the back of the dress for her.

“Thanks. What’s your question?” Star said, taking a small sack from her dress pocket.

“You or any of the girls ever had Ben McCuller, Cy Warren, or Tyson Avidite for a customer? Know anything about ‘em?”

Withdrawing a small brown bottle from the sack, Star frowned. “I’m not s’posed to talk about my customers… ‘specially them as runs this crummy hole of a town. Why are you askin’, anyhow?”

The Kid took her badge out and showed it to Star. “I’m the Tequila Kid, a special agent for the Texas Rangers. These men are tied up in a land grab scheme. Anything you can tell me might help save a lot of people their homes. Maybe even their lives.”

The bottle Star held had a label that The Kid couldn’t read, but when she uncorked it The Kid knew what it was from the smell. Laudanum.

Without apology or explanation Star took a big swig from the bottle, corked it, put it back in the sack and returned it to her pocket. The Kid watched without comment.

Star paused to think, then said, “Tyson don’t come here. He’s married, but I heard tell he likes it best with boys. Cy Warren always takes the girls from behind. He fucks hard, like he’s tryin’ to make it hurt, but his dick is too small.” She giggled. “We always pretend it’s too much, beg him to stop. I don’t know nothin’ more about him, ‘cept folks say he’s mean as a snake.” Star glanced at The Kid, suddenly alarmed. “You best not let any of this get back to Cy. He’d wring my neck for sure.”

“Won’t breathe a word,” The Kid vowed. “What about McCuller?”

Star shook her head. “Him I won’t talk about. Sorry, it’s too dangerous.”

“Fair enough. What’s that girl Dixie’s story?”

“Her? She turned up about…” Star ticked the numbers off on her fingers. “…maybe five or so months ago. She came with her big sister Dallas. Their folks had died and they’d been driftin’ from town to town, doin’ whatever it took to get by. You know how it can be.”

The Kid nodded and Star said, “Anyway, Sheriff Clay got tough with ‘em – big surprise there, right? Dallas needed a job, and nobody round here was hirin’ women but Toots. So she went to work for him.”

“Toots. He that tall feller behind the bar?”

Star nodded. “That’s him. As my daddy would say, that man is ten pounds of shit in a five-pound sack. Well, long story short, Dallas vanished a couple months ago, so now Dixie’s workin’ here. Not as a whore, mind you, just drudge work. Us girls got a shack to ourselves across the alley, and Dixie stays with us.”

The Kid frowned thoughtfully. “Does she get paid?”

“Food and a room, that’s all,” Star replied. “She don’t even get to keep tips. It all goes into Toots’ pocket.”

No real pay, not much food, and a lot of work. The Kid told herself. Well, she won’t be gettin’ treated like a slave for much longer.

In the meantime, Star went through the process of getting her laudanum bottle out once more and taking another swig. The drug was already beginning to take effect, her eyes taking on a far away look. “Now I recall somethin’ else. You ain’t the first Texas Ranger to come through askin’ questions, Kid. There was another, a big handsome fella who wore buckskins. Dallas fell hard for him.”

“Clark Hansen?” The Kid asked.

Star contemplated the bottle in her hand. “I think that was his handle, yes.”

“The Rangers haven’t heard from him in months. Any idea what could of happened?”

“Well, I heard he left town. Dallas left too, so I reckon they run off together. That’s what we all figured, anyway.” Star took a small sip from the bottle and smiled at nothing. “One thing I never did understand is why she left Dixie behind. They was real close.”

“Sisters are, usually,” The Kid put in.

Star winked. “Oh, I mean real close. Me and the girls like to play around with each other when we get in the mood. Well, it turned out that Dallas and Dixie had been given’ each other pleasure for years. Don’t that beat all? So they fit right in here. I tell you, seein’ them make love to each other was an eyeful.”

Rubbing her chin, The Kid said, “I’d like to get Dixie out of here, find a home for her, or find out where her sister went. Any ideas on that?”

“Know what? That’s just what that other Ranger said. Told Dallas he’d get her and Dixie set up somewhere so they could live decent.” Star took one last sip and put the bottle away. “Then those two run off together.” Shaking her head, she added, “You’ll have to ask someone else about Ben McCuller. I won’t talk about him at all.”

“That’s all right, Star. You helped me plenty.” She drew closer, giving Star a gentle kiss. “I’d like to come see you again some time.”

“You do that. I won’t even charge,” Star said. She glanced at her watch, then grimaced. “Hell’s bells… I got to get back to work.” She opened the door, glumly peering through. “Another damn day, another damn dollar.”

Gathering her coat and slicker, The Kid followed Star out the door. Placing both hands on the balcony rail,  Star looked absently at The Kid and said, “Thanks. It was real nice, bein’ with you.”

The Kid descended the stairs, returning to her table. She watched Star making her way to the bottom, where she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Her eyes popped open, a big smile appeared on her face, and she strutted over to a table full of men. “Howdy, boys!” she announced. “Who’s got the next dance with me?”

With a sigh, The Kid looked away. Hell of a thing, she thought. Some women got a mighty hard row to hoe.

She sat brooding for a couple of minutes, then went to the table where the poker game was going on. “Mind if I play a few hands?” she asked.

An elderly man in a black suit and hat stood up. He removed the hat to reveal thick white hair, took a bow and said, “Young lady, we would be honored for you to join our game. You can get chips over there at the cashier.”

Leaving her coat and slicker on an empty chair, The Kid went to the cashier cage, where she bought twenty dollars worth of chips, dumping them into her hat. Sure hope I win some tonight – this is the end of my money, just about. I’ll play till I win some, or till Jud gets back. She stood for a moment watching the table, studying the individual players. The old feller is a pro. The other man looks like he plays a good game. That other man’s a born loser. Well, here goes.

Just then, Jud Nelson entered. He saw The Kid and quickly approached.

“Anything happen?” The Kid said.

Jud nodded. “Just like you said. Sheriff Clay came out of his office. He stood there lookin’ at the banker’s house from across the street. He started to go there, then stopped and went to the livery stable instead. He rode out of town just now like the hounds of hell were after him.”

“To McCuller’s?” Tequila asked.

Jud took off a soaked hat, ran his fingers through his thick blonde hair and said, “Well, he rode the right direction out of town, so I reckon that’s sure ‘nough where he’s headed.”

“How far’s the ride to McCuller’s?”

“If you rode hard on a good day, maybe an hour or so. A night like this? Probably three or four.”

“Here you go,” The Kid said, handing Jud his five dollars. “Want to make it ten?”

“Well, sure,” the young man replied.

“Just let me know when Clay gets back… if he ever does. For now, have a drink and get warmed up. I reckon the sheriff won’t be back for a while yet. Till then, I got some poker to play.” The Kid gave her hat a shake, making the chips rattle.

On to Chapter Four!

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

A brief summary of the previous chapter: In the village of Derwold, the summer holidays begin for the Newton girls. Eleven-year-old Freya struggles to cope with the changes that adolescence brings, and wonders why she feels so angry and alone. To add to her unhappiness, she experiences her first period.

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

by BlueJean

Local residents have noticed a flurry of activity at the old Derwold Manor in recent days. The manor, which dates back to the Elizabethan era, has been left abandoned since the 1970s when the ancestral Derwold family became bankrupt. Ownership of the manor has always been unclear, with many believing local authorities took control of the property, others assuming the Derwold family still owns the estate. Either way, the new renovation work seems to indicate the old manor house may soon host a new family.

Article from the Derwold Gazette

1

Freya spent the first day of her summer holidays buying panty pads. Georgia had given her a couple to use, along with a hug and a few tears, but Freya decided to go up to the post office the next day and buy her own.

Her first period ended as quickly as it began, but the eleven-year-old wanted to be prepared for next time. Georgia told her it was a rite of passage for all young girls, and Freya did feel kind of grown-up about it, but honestly, it was hard to muster much enthusiasm about leaking blood. In truth, it had scared her a bit, not that she would ever admit that to anyone.

Mrs. Jeffries was restocking the shelves when Freya walked through the post office doors that morning. The postmistress was renowned for her wicked sense of humour, and usually her greetings went something like this: “What the bloody ‘ell do you want?!” or “Didn’t you see the sign outside? ‘No oompa loompas’ it says!” or “Nick anything and I’ll chop yer ‘ands off!” Or Freya’s personal favourite: “Shit in me shop and you’re cleaning it up!”

Today she turned to her young customer, rosy-faced and out of breath, and offered a simple, “‘Ello, Freya, ya little cowbag!”

“Hi, Mrs. Jeffries.”

“How ’bout this for an idea – You restock the shelves for me, and I’ll go and ‘ave a nice cup of tea and a lie down.”

“I think there are laws against child labour,” Freya told her with a smile. “I can’t, anyway. I’m going over to Sadie’s.”

“Fat lotta good you are.” Mrs. Jeffries climbed down from her step-stool and took her usual place behind the counter. “How come our Sadie ain’t sold that house of ‘ers, anyway? She’s been livin’ with you for the last six months, ain’t she?”

“Her cat refuses to move out,” Freya said, and it honestly was the best theory she had. It didn’t seem like a very good reason for not selling a house, though. Maybe Sadie was just attached to the old round cottage. She often referred to it as her ‘sanctuary’. It also happened to be the base of operations for witchcraft lessons. Freya couldn’t tell Mrs. Jeffries that, of course.

The postmistress didn’t seem convinced by the cat theory either. “Right…” She clapped her hands together in a down-to-business manner. “So what’ll it be, the usual? Gin? Ciggies? One ‘o them mucky magazines?”

Freya selected three of the freshly baked eccles cakes that Mrs. Jeffries kept stocked, dropping them into one of the paper bags that hung from a hook. She picked up a box of sanitary pads and put them on the counter along with the pastries. “Just those, please.”

The post mistress raised an eyebrow, then gave Freya’s hand a quick pat. “Ah, joined the menarche club, ‘ave we? I remember me first period – bled like a slaughtered pig, I did. Looked like I’d had a fight with an axe murderer.”

Freya gave the plump woman a horrified look, and Mrs. Jeffries realised too late how insensitive her words had been. “That mouth o’ yours is gonna get you into trouble one o’ these days, Sal,” her husband Jeff frequently reminded her. Truth was, barely a day went by without Sally Jeffries’ mouth getting her into trouble. Georgia patiently explained to the girls that their postmistress didn’t have a filter.

Mrs. Jeffries did her best to offer something more sympathetic. “Well, don’t suppose yours’ll be that bad, mind. And they’s always worse to start with.”

“Okay,” Freya said, taking a self-conscious nibble of one of the cakes. “Thanks?”

The shop bell gave a sharp tinkle and Freya turned to find a middle-aged woman standing in the doorway.

“Bloody ‘ell, it’s the Bride of Frankenstein!” Mrs. Jeffries blurted out, then slapped a hand across her mouth.

The woman’s frizzy red hair was tied back into a barely contained bun. Two flashes of white/grey streaked through the sides like the haphazard brush strokes of some frustrated artist. She was pretty, in a severe sort of way, and her clothes were smart and elegant. The attire of someone who has money to spare, Freya thought.

If the woman had heard Mrs. Jeffries’ comment, she chose to ignore it. “I hope I’m not intruding. My husband and I have just moved into the area, so I’ve been familiarising myself with the village.”

“Well, in that case, welcome to our neck o’ the woods,” Mrs. Jeffries offered. “I’m Sally, the postmistress. And this little sh— er, little poppet is Freya. Her mum’s the local beekeeper.”

“Hi,” Freya said, giving the woman a brief wave.

“It’s very nice to meet you both. I’m Elsa. Elsa Hart. My husband is Simon Derwold.”

“Derwold?” Freya said. “That’s the name of our village.”

The woman gave the eleven-year-old a thin smile, and for a brief moment Freya felt like a fly trapped in a web. “Your little village was named after my husband’s ancestors, in point of fact. I suppose officially he’s the current Lord Derwold, but there are some ongoing legal disputes that I won’t bore you with. We’ll be moving into the manor up on the hill.”

“But if he’s your husband, wouldn’t you be called Derwold too?” Freya pointed out.

“I happen to be rather attached to my own name,” Elsa said with a hint of haughty pride. “A woman taking her husband’s name is such an old fashioned idea, don’t you think?”

Freya had never thought much about it, but it did seem an odd thing to do, almost like a man was taking ownership of a woman instead of marrying her. “Yeah, I suppose,” she admitted. “It’s pretty cool that you kept your own name, actually.”

“The Derwolds are back…” Mrs. Jeffries muttered, then offered her rosiest smile. “I’m honoured to ‘ave you in my post office, m’lady. If you ever need anything, we’ve probably got it. We ain’t exactly M&S but we’re well stocked, at least.”

“Oh, none of that ‘m’lady’ tosh,” Elsa said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Simon and I are very down to earth. We haven’t quite moved in yet, but once the manor is done up and fit for habitation, we plan to host a housewarming party. The whole village will be invited, of course. Spread the word.”

“I loves a good party!” a delighted Mrs. Jeffries announced, then gave her plump bottom a little shake. “You should see me dancin’ round me handbag. Best twerker in the village, I am!”

“Well, I certainly look forward to seeing that, Sally,” Elsa said with a chuckle. She offered Freya another smile, this one slightly warmer than the first, then glanced briefly down at the box of sanitary pads in her hand. “And I hope to see you and your family there too, young Freya.”

“I’ll let Mum know,” Freya replied.

Elsa browsed the shop while Mrs. Jeffries nattered away to her, finally selecting several items from the small delicatessen the shop boasted. Freya regarded the woman with great interest, trying not to be obvious about it.

Once the lady of the manor had made her purchases and departed, Freya turned to Mrs. Jeffries. “She seems nice.“ The postmistress seemed lost in thought. “Mrs. Jeffries? Earth to Mrs. Jeffries!”

“Hmm…? Put a sock in it, ya cheeky little trollop!”

***

Derwold’s most ancient oak tree continues to amaze with its inexplicable and apparently miraculous powers of regeneration. The tree, which is believed to be well over a thousand years old, was assumed to be dying. Not long after last year’s big summer storm, it began to display brand new growth. A year later and the oak is aglow with a lush green canopy and a healthy looking trunk. Local legend says an ancient forest spirit lives in the tree and protects the village. 

Article from the Derwold Gazette

2

“What do you see?”

“A tree.”

Sadie and Millie were sitting cross-legged on yoga mats in Sadie’s overgrown conservatory. These days, it was more like a jungle. The various herbs and plants the witch had cultivated over the years had exploded into bushes in recent months, and it was all Millie’s doing. Sadie didn’t know exactly how her young apprentice had achieved it, but she’d managed to draw more energy from the soil than it should have been able to give, then amplified it even further.

The basis of all Wiccan magic revolves around drawing power from the Earth, but witchcraft is supposed to be subtle – something to be nurtured over time. Nature can be manipulated, as any farmer or gardener knows, but the laws of science still apply. Everything has a finite supply of energy, or at least Sadie thought. Whatever Millie was doing was anything but subtle.

“A tree?”

“Yup,” said Millie matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that what you see?”

“I just follow the paths, really,” Sadie told her apprentice. “Most times they don’t reveal themselves until I need them.”

“I… I think the paths are the branches,” Millie explained tentatively. “And I’m the… the big bit.”

“The trunk?”

“The trunk, yeah.”

And there was another conundrum: Ancestral memories. They were supposed to be vague. If you didn’t understand that what you were experiencing were the memories of long dead ancestors locked inside your DNA, they could easily be misinterpreted in a number of ways – Déjà vu, ghost sightings, hallucinations. The memories took decades to master. Some witches had dedicated their entire lives to understanding and clarifying them. Apparently, Millie’s ancestral memories were laid out in front of her like a mood board.

“Can you follow one of the branches?” Sadie asked her.

“Any of them, I think.”

“Concentrate now. Pick a path and tell me what you see.”

Then all at once, Millie was inside Sadie’s head. Or perhaps she’d dragged Sadie inside hers. “It’s easier to show you. It’s an older memory, so we both have it.”

“Millie… wh-what’re you doing?!”

The clarity with which the image flooded Sadie’s mind was astounding. Whoever’s eyes they were looking through was sitting in what looked like the mouth of a huge cavern. The woman was grinding some kind of seed on a flat rock with a smaller, hand-held stone. Her hands were marked with the rough skin and callouses of daily toil.

There were others there, too. They were dark-skinned, African for certain, but their faces were strangely robust and archaic – not quite human, or not long human. They were laughing and smiling. There were words, but the words were simple; guttural.

All other memories stemmed from this one, and with sudden breathtaking realisation, Sadie understood its significance. This was not branch, or even trunk. This was the root. This ancient woman whose eyes looked out onto a world that had long since moved on was Mitochondrial Eve. The Mother of Humanity.

Of course, Sadie knew it wasn’t that straightforward. If the current ancestral line became broken, another woman from the prehistoric past would claim the title of Mitochondrial Eve. But it was easy to get caught up in the romance of it. To see through the eyes of this prehistoric woman was incredible. Overwhelming, actually. She was beginning to feel an acute nausea.

“Millie… stop now. It’s too much…”

And just like that, Sadie was back in her overgrown conservatory. Her cat familiar, Billy Buckham, sat before them, purring so loudly Sadie swore she could feel it vibrating through the ornate mosaic floor. She turned to Millie. “I think we need to establish a few rules regarding entering people’s heads without permission.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Just warn me before you try something like that.”

Freya let herself into the conservatory, and Billy waltzed over to greet her like a feline butler. She knelt down to scratch him behind his ears and he offered a low growl. “Oh, stop playing hard to get,” she told the grumpy tom cat. “You know you like me.”

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Millie said to her sister.

Freya gave a shrug. “I changed my mind.”

“Are you feeling better this morning?” Sadie asked. Georgia had told her about Freya’s first period, and she could see for herself how down the eleven-year-old had been of late. Sadie wanted her to know it wasn’t something that needed to be hidden, that it was okay to talk about. She also had a cunning plan to lift her mood.

“Yeah. Thanks for asking,” Freya replied, sitting herself down on a vacant yoga mat.

“What’s in there?” Millie asked, trying to peek into her sister’s shopping bag.

Freya pulled out the smaller paper bag and shared its contents. “Cakes. I’ll bet even witches get hungry sometimes.”

She put the bigger hemp bag down on the floor and discreetly pulled the sides down to reveal a box of sanitary towels. Sadie briefly considered imparting the words, Whoop whoop! Panty pads are cooool! before realising her street cred would hit rock bottom and probably never recover. She offered Freya a smile instead.

The cakes were sweet and delicious, and they devoured them with gusto. Energy levels restored, the three of them set about studying something a little more approachable than ancestral memories.

“Today…” Sadie announced with more pause than was strictly warranted, “…we are going to make a love potion.”

“A what?!” Millie said, wide-eyed.

Freya gave a small snigger. “That sounds like something they’d do in a Disney movie. I don’t think love potions are an actual thing.”

Hands on hips, Sadie gave the eleven-year-old a stern look. The problem was, something always seemed to get lost in translation and it just ended up making her look constipated instead. She had no idea this was the case until Georgia pointed it out.

“Oh, Freya Newton, ye of little faith! Love potions are indeed a thing, and have been a thing for a long time. A very potent thing, if brewed correctly.” She paused before adding, “I shall stop saying thing now.”

“Does it make you love someone?” Millie asked, and it was a reasonable enough question.

“Not exactly, despite the name. Love potions promote a feeling of wellbeing and calm. And, er… they may have some aphrodisiacal qualities as well.”

“Afro…” Millie began.

“She means a sex aid. Like Viagra,” Freya explained in the tones of a worldly woman who’s been there and done that.

“Enough chatter, my apprentices! Freya, fetch some dried jasmine, rose petals, a vanilla pod, and a cinnamon stick. Millie, prepare the distilling apparatus!”

“Do you mean the camp stove?”

“Indeed I do!”

“You don’t need to be so melodramatic,” Freya said, trying her best to pretend she wasn’t having fun.

“Silence! My ingredients, if you please!”

Freya made her selections from Sadie’s well-stocked shelf of jars and bottles while Millie placed the small portable stove on the conservatory floor, then put a small receptacle partially filled with spring water on top. It was shaped like a cauldron and cost £19.99 from Amazon. Some might have called it a novelty pot, but Sadie would have vehemently disagreed with that assessment. It was made of metal. It was cauldron-shaped. And Sadie was a witch. Therefore, it was a witches’ cauldron. End of.

Freya measured out the ingredients according to Sadie’s instructions. When the water had reached boiling point, she tipped them into the cauldron. Sadie brought the liquid down to a simmer, letting it tick away for a few minutes before allowing it to cool.

Next, the witch fetched her antique potion bottles from the top shelf. They had once belonged to her great-great-great Aunt Muriel, a bonafide professionally trained witch during the Victorian era. It had taken a great deal of persuasion to convince Sadie’s mum – who kept them in a glass cabinet in the kitchen – to part with them.

Sadie had Freya strain the liquid through muslin cloth, then funnel it into one of the small bottles. Millie stoppered the finished potion with a cork. They could have left it at that and it still would’ve qualified as a love potion. But a witch’s love potion required an extra touch of magic.

Teacher and apprentices filtered out into the garden, where Sadie handed Millie the potion. “You know what to do. Do you remember the incantation?”

Millie nodded. She knelt on the grass and placed her free hand on the ground. “Imbue an potion seo le cumhacht an domhain!”

The liquid in the bottle bubbled alarmingly for a second or two, then was still. Sadie hadn’t seen a potion imbued with earth magic behave quite that violently before. More often than not, it entered the liquid with a mere ripple. “Try not to make my nice antique bottle implode, thank you very much,” she cautioned.

“It is done!” Millie hollered, the potion held aloft proudly. Sadie very much approved of her sense of the dramatic, but Freya evidently felt it deserved one of her patented eye-rolls.

“Very good,” Sadie said. “Now let us return to the atelier and sample our potion!”

“God, it’s like someone forced me to appear in a Shakespeare play as punishment,” Freya muttered as they made their way indoors.

I should have been more responsible, Sadie would consider later. Should’ve insisted on tiny sips instead of gulping down the entire potion. If she had any defense, it was that the ingredients weren’t in any way dangerous – they were natural and safe, not even a hint of anything that could be construed as narcotic. And yes, she felt a bit cowardly blaming her eight-year-old student and apprentice, but it was Millie’s fault. It was her magic that made the potion so potent.

Georgia’s words to Sadie when she first took the girls on as apprentices haunted her that day: “Please don’t poison my children or anything, okay?“

Millie. “I feel funny…”

Freya. “Ooooh, floaty…”

Sadie. “Oh dear…”

Millie clambered up onto Sadie’s tattered couch and into her lap. She slung her arms around the witch’s neck. “Is this what being drunk feels like?”

“What did you do to the potion…?” Sadie heard someone ask, then realised it was her.

Everything was inexplicably amplified – colours were brighter, sounds were clearer, smell was sharper. And… well, it was a love potion, wasn’t it?

“Cuddle me,” Millie demanded of her teacher.

“It’s all pink…” Freya said, gazing around in amazement. “And fluffy. Is it supposed to be pink and fluffy?”

Sadie was acutely aware of the warm weight pressing against her body, and the sweet scent that accompanied it. She cupped Millie’s buttocks and drew her closer. “Give me a nice kiss and I’ll give you a cuddle.”

“But you’re already cuddling me.”

“You owe me a kiss, then.”

Millie wrapped her arms around Sadie’s neck and kissed her, tongue slipping easily into the witch’s mouth. The youngster had never tasted so sweet to Sadie, like rainbow-flavoured candy. When she felt her apprentice fumbling at her shirt buttons, she helped with the remaining few, then watched as the eight-year-old scooped out her breasts from the lacy confines of her bra. Transfixed, Millie toyed with the fleshy pillows for a while, then helped herself to a nipple aperitif.

The conservatory seemed to pulse around them, the glass expanding and contracting, as if they were inside some living, breathing creature.

“Would you like to suck one too, Freya?” Sadie heard herself ask.

“Ahhh… I’d rather lick your pussy,” Freya crooned, already pulling Sadie’s trousers and panties down her legs.

Sadie kicked the garments away, glad to be free of them. She spread herself wide for Freya, hoisting Millie up to make room for her sister. Millie, now practically sitting on her mentor’s tits, must have thought Sadie’s intention was to have her pussy in her face. She stood up to pull down her shorts and knickers, then thrust her smooth mound against Sadie’s mouth. Snaking her tongue out, Sadie was amazed to find she could visualise the taste, although if pressed, she would never have been able to describe it.

Freya used two fingers to prise her teacher’s pussy open, her tongue darting in and out of Sadie’s cunt like a hummingbird sipping from a flower.

Sadie’s orgasm arrived without much warning, a searing white hot wave that caused her body to arch spasmodically. For one brief, peculiar moment, she was struck by the utterly unfamiliar sensation of time coming to a stop before threatening to continue in reverse. Like a rubber band that’s reached the limits of its elasticity, the young witch was catapulted back to the here and now with a desperate wail. “Holy shit!“

Even after an orgasm of such intensity, Sadie found herself still ravenous for more. “Into my bedroom, both of you,” she told the girls in the no-nonsense tone employed when someone was misbehaving in class.

The three of them hastened into Sadie’s room, Millie and Freya now clad in nothing but their socks and sneakers, Sadie completely naked.

“Bend over my bed,” Sadie demanded. “Then play with each other’s pussies while I put my stockings on.”

Sadie had always loved the feel of lingerie against her skin. It felt especially sexy at school, and most days she would sit at her desk and run her fingers over the smooth nylon. She’d recently managed to persuade Georgia to doll herself up the same way, and more than once, they’d both slipped into their intimate things for a night of fun with the two little ones.

A shame Millie and Freya didn’t come wearing their school uniforms, Sadie mused. She’d long harboured one very particular fantasy, in which a pretty young lesbian teacher takes two of her little charges home for some ‘extra tuition’. One day she would act out that scenario in full, perhaps with Georgia playing the role of mother-who-likes-to-watch.

Sadie pulled on a pair of sheer thigh stockings, then slipped into her heels. She approached the girls, still bent over the bed, the two of them giggling away while they toyed with one another. “Hands to your sides,” she demanded, and the two of them quickly complied.

She reached out to caress their bare bottoms in turn, squeezing and massaging the pliant flesh before sinking to her knees and spreading Freya’s arse cheeks open. Unconcerned with any notion of dignity, Sadie lapped at her like a dog, drawing her tongue up and down the entirety of the eleven-year-old’s crack from slit to anus. Then she switched to Millie, giving the younger sister the same lustful attention.

Sadie fed her hunger for a few blissful minutes, dipping greedily between the two girls. But her own need had grown too acute to ignore, so she found her feet and gave each of their bums a swat. “I need you both to make me come. Think you can do that?”

“Yes, Miss Laine,” the girls chanted, falling easily back into the role of obedient students at their teacher’s assertive tone. Sadie had never exactly been strict in class, but she had always commanded a certain respect from the children in her care.

Sadie climbed onto the bed, spreading herself out upon the satin sheets. She had Millie straddle her so they were both mouth to pussy, then instructed Freya to position herself between her legs so she and her sister could both eat their teacher out. Sadie slung her legs across the bed, then spread Millie open to get at the tender flesh of her sex.

Hard to say how long they remained tangled together that way, since their perception of time had become equally as skewed as their perception of reality. At some point, Millie came in Sadie’s mouth while Sadie allowed her own climax to wash over her. Then Freya mounted one of her teacher’s stockinged legs and rubbed her pussy against it until she came, too.

The three of them lay tangled atop Sadie’s bed, dazed and exhausted.

The effects of the potion seemed to wear off as quickly as they had arrived – the fleeting dissipation of magic rather than the slow retreat of narcotic substances.

“We probably shouldn’t mention this to your mum,” Sadie cautioned the girls.

She hated lying to Georgia, but choosing not to volunteer certain information didn’t really qualify as lying, did it? And besides, she didn’t want to worry her girlfriend. Georgia still wasn’t fully on board with the whole Wiccan thing, and it was understandable after everything that happened the previous year. It hadn’t been the ideal introduction to the world of the arcane.

The irony was that Sadie could beat herself up over not telling Georgia about a harmless little potion, but she had no reason at all to hide the fact that she’d just had sex with her lover’s two preteen daughters. That was the new normal for the four of them these days. Stranger than magic.

***

Big cat sightings in Derwold and its surrounding areas have increased in recent weeks. Several eyewitnesses have reported seeing large black panther-like creatures, some even providing mobile phone footage, usually grainy and shot at too much of a distance to prove conclusive. The jury is still out on whether these big cat rumours, which have become ingrained into British folklore, are real or imagined. 

Article from the Derwold Gazette

3

While Freya and Sadie headed back to Beekeeper Cottage, Millie made her weekly pilgrimage to Mr. Dalliard’s grave.

The cemetery was a place of quiet contemplation for the eight-year-old. She’d sit and talk to her old friend, telling him about recent events at school, or keeping him up to date with her Wiccan lessons.

She didn’t think he could actually hear her – the last time she’d seen Mr. Dalliard alive, his spirit had somehow found its way inside a stag, and she was sure he’d since moved on – but it was nice to chat with him anyway. She could almost imagine him chipping in with the occasional, “Oh, aye? Sounds like a right kerfuffle!” Or, “Crikey, nipper. You go easy there, won’t ya?”

Millie missed the old man. Desperately so, sometimes. It was like reaching out for something that wasn’t there anymore, but somehow you still expect to find it in your hand.

Today she was telling him about the start of their summer holidays. She also told him about the love potion, but left out the rude parts – Mr. Dalliard didn’t need to know about that.

“Freya said it was my fault. She said I did something wrong when I was imbuing the potion, so I told her it was her fault because she was the one who picked the ingredients, and she probably didn’t get the measurements right.”

As she nattered away, Millie carefully deadheaded the roses that adorned Mr. Dalliard’s last place of rest, the way Mum had taught her. She’d planted the rose last year, just after he’d passed away, but the groundsman had told her off for it, explaining that only loose flowers and gifts were to be left at the graveside. Millie didn’t like cut flowers, though – why sever something from the earth when you knew it would shrivel and die? Seemed totally stupid to her. She’d told the groundsman as much, and added that she didn’t care if it was allowed or not, and that if he dared dig up her rose she’d put poo through his letterbox. He’d left the rose alone.

“And Sadie was all quiet,” Millie continued, “and she was giving me this funny look, like she agreed with what Freya was saying, and I said to her that she should’ve checked we were doing it right ’cause she’s, like, the teacher? And that’s, like, her job? You know? And then Sadie said that we should all calm down and have some of her homemade lemonade, so we did. The lemonade was nice, actually. Sadie puts our honey in to make it sweeter. I’ll be back in a minute, I’m just going to get the watering can, okay?”

Millie was filling up the watering can from the tap on the back wall of the church when something crept out of the trees and stalked towards her, its head low to the ground, unerring yellow eyes fixed sharply on her. Millie caught the movement from the corner of her eye, and thought at first that it was Billy Buckham, wondering why Sadie’s cat had followed her here. She quickly realised it was far too big to be Billy.

As it moved closer, the dark shape projected a thought that solidified into a single irrefutable word inside Millie’s mind.

Prey.

“Huh?”

The creature threaded through the gravestones, silent as an assassin. It was a cat, Millie had been right about that. Just not one that had any business prowling the English countryside. It looked for all the world like a black panther. No. It was a black panther.

Prey.

Millie slowly sidled along the church wall, away from the approaching animal. “Where did you come from?”

Stand still, prey. Hungry.

“Uh… I’m not food, okay?”

Prey. Food.

Not prey. The thought rippled out from Millie before she had time to consider how she’d managed it.

The panther stopped in its tracks. The prey didn’t usually talk back. It didn’t smell much like prey, either. It smelled like the green female that dwelled in the forest. Old and dangerous.

Not prey?

Millie pushed the thought out again, stronger this time, a wave instead of a ripple.

Not. Prey.

The big cat moved back a few steps, unsure.

Emboldened, Millie added, Maybe you’re my prey, kitty cat…

The thing turned and ran, disappearing back into the trees.

“Hey, I was only joking!”

A hand fell on Millie’s shoulder, startling her. “Are you all right, child?”

Millie nearly jumped out of her skin. “Waaaaah!”

The vicar pulled his hands away as if he’d been burnt, holding them up in a gesture of surrender. “No, no, no, there’s no need for alarm! Shhh! I won’t touch you anymore, I promise! See? I’m not touching you!”

He had no intention of getting himself into trouble again this late in his tenure. The bishop had managed to pull some strings last time, but it’d been a close call. Too close. It just wasn’t worth it this near to retirement, especially as he hadn’t actually done anything to the girl.

“It’s okay, you just scared me a bit,” Millie told him. “There was a big panther that wanted to eat me, but I scared it off. Did you see it?”

Best to humour the girl. She was a tad strange, the vicar had noticed. “No, I’m afraid not. Would you like to come back to the vicarage with me? I have ice cream.” Good God, what was he saying! Now wasn’t the time for the old chat-up lines!

“No thanks,” Millie told him, picking up the overflowing watering can with both hands. “I need to water Mr. Dalliard’s grave and then I’m going home. Bye.”

“Y-yes, no, that’s… that’s for the best, I’m sure. Quite the relief, in truth… You carry on, Millie. Don’t let me hold you up. Praise the Lord!”

When Millie looked back over her shoulder, the vicar was gone. She was glad – she could see exactly what he was thinking when he ogled her with those beady little eyes. Yuck!

She found herself peering into the trees where the panther had vanished. What a strange encounter. Where on earth had such a creature come from? She could only think it had escaped from a nearby zoo, unless someone had been keeping it as a pet. Were people even allowed to keep panthers as pets?

As she made ready to leave, a subtle change in the air alerted Millie’s senses to some other presence. Beneath the forest of stone sentinels, the dead stirred. She could feel their restlessness, hear their whispers. They were the ones who had never moved on – the frightened and the confused, spirits entirely unaware that they had died.

She wondered what’d roused them. Was it still possible to send these poor souls onwards, the way Sadie had sent Isabel on? Her fingers tingled madly, primed for that very task, but Sadie had told her she wasn’t ready to perform The Sending yet. It was advanced witchcraft, and Millie was but an apprentice.

So she left the dead to their madness and headed home.

On to Chapter Three!

 

by kinky_sis, assisted by kinkychic

I’d had an awful wait for my flight out of Erbil in Iraq. A nearby bomb had temporarily closed the airport, but I eventually boarded the plane, hot, tired and fed up.

I didn’t want to be leaving. I felt I still had a job to do, but head office had decided to pull me out. Tensions were running too high, they said, and it wasn’t safe. That pissed me off – I was a bloody war photographer. I expected tensions to be high. It was how I made my living, for God’s sake.

As soon as we were airborne, I got the stewardess to bring me two double brandies. They were swiftly downed, and soon my eyes were drifting shut.

Sometime later, I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Seat belt, please,” the stewardess said. “We’re making our approach to Heathrow.”

Christ, I’d slept the whole way.

By the time I was collecting my hire car, I felt wide awake and pleasantly refreshed, all things considered. I had three days off before I needed to check in at the office in London. I headed out onto the M25, a short ride to my flat in Amersham.

When I arrived, I unlocked the door and called out for Sylvia. “I’m back, gorgeous.”

I was met with a deathly silence. Where was she? It was only a quarter to eight, so she wouldn’t have left for work yet.

Then I saw the note. I ripped it open and read what she’d written.

Hi, Babe. I heard you might be back, or might not. Brenda invited me to Majorca for ten days, all expenses paid, and I just couldn’t say no. See you soon. Love you, xxxx.

I detested Brenda and Sylvia fucking knew it. She’d been trying to get into my girlfriend’s knickers for years. All expenses paid? Of course they fucking were – the bitch had Sylvia to herself for nearly two weeks. Well, fuck you too, Sylvia, I thought.

I took a quick shower, then fixed myself up some coffee and toast. With not much reason to stick around, I packed a few bits into a bag and headed out to the nearby nature reserve.

I needed the peace of the countryside. Whenever I’d been on a particularly gruelling assignment, I found taking pictures of nature, instead of the dead and wounded, was an effective palliative.

***

By the time I parked up, I’d managed to get myself into a better frame of mind, and was looking forward to seeing what I could find. I thought I’d follow the river – it was often a good spot for wildlife, and the scenery was stunning – but I hadn’t walked far when I heard screams and giggles.

Kids. That’s all I needed.

I knew there was a weir along there, and guessed that’s where they were. Sure enough, half a dozen young girls were swinging on two ropes out over the water. I stopped and watched for a while, finding this scene of adolescent frolicking surprisingly picturesque

Unable to swing back to the bank, several of the girls had to drop down into the water, wet t-shirts clinging to their young bodies. I swapped the lens on my camera for a 400mm zoom, figuring I could sneak a few innocent shots.

Having focused on one girl climbing from the water, my heart gave a little flutter. I could see her boobs quite clearly through the transparent material of her t-shirt. I’d never looked at youngsters that way before, never felt inclined, but something about this girl made me start snapping away with the camera. I kept the shutter pressed, shot after shot, even a few where she lifted the front of her t-shirt to wipe her face, giving me a few brief glimpses of the most beautiful pair of little breasts.

I found somewhere to sit and just kept clicking away. They didn’t seem to be aware of my presence, or perhaps just didn’t care. After a while, they seemed to grow bored of their game and went to sit in the sunshine. I could still hear them laughing and giggling, like a bunch of noisy sparrows.

I retrieved my lunch box and leaned back against a tree to enjoy an egg and tomato sandwich, then undid the screw top of the bottle of wine I’d brought along and took a good swig. The girls and their carefree games had cheered me up no end, and I was feeling quite relaxed.

After the girls had finally left, I took my camera down to the river. Dragonflies were hovering and flitting over the water, but nothing else really caught my attention, so I collected my bag and set off along the bank.

When I came round a curve in the river, there she was – the little tit flasher herself. She was sitting alone on a stile, swinging her legs back and forth.

She saw me coming and a smile lit up her face. “Hi.”

“And hi to you. Where are your friends?”

“Oh, they had to go, but I wanted to stay a bit. I like it here, and sometimes it’s nice being on my own.” She gave me a sheepish look. “Oh, sorry, I don’t mean you have to, y’know, go away or anything.”

“Well, thanks. That’s very kind of you.”

“I saw you with your camera. You seemed to be taking an awful lot of pictures of us.”

“Sorry, I probably should’ve asked first. I’m a photographer. It’s what I do – take hundreds of shots, and if I’m lucky, I might get a few good ones.”

“Hey, that’s way cool,” the girl said. She seemed to consider a moment. “So, did you get any good ones of us on the swings?”

“I don’t know yet, I haven’t looked. I usually do that on my laptop when I get home.”

“Well, can’t we look now? I’d really love to see.”

This girl was quite forward. She was very pretty as well, even though her hair was in an awful tangle from its dunking in the river.

I switched the camera to view and passed it to her. “Just press the forward button.”

She quickly flicked through the pics, but then slowed. She briefly glanced up at me with a smirk before scrolling through the rest.

Shit! I thought. I’d forgotten about the shots with her shirt raised.

She passed the camera back to me. “They’re good. I guess you must really know your stuff.”

“It’s my job. Although, I don’t usually take pictures of pretty girls like you.” I hadn’t meant to add that last part, it just sort of slipped out.

She looked pleased by the compliment, though. “You could take some more if you wanted, but my hair’s a real mess, so maybe not.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a hairbrush. “There you go.”

“Seriously? I was only joking. But you’re not, are you?”

“I’d love to get some more shots of you, some really nice ones. Like for example, sitting where you are now. But don’t brush your hair yet, just pull it over your face, all sort of wild-like.”

She did as I asked, then gave me a smile.

“No, don’t smile. Turn your head away a little, then look through your hair. Kind of serious, but not sad. Do you see what I mean?” She followed my instructions and I took a few shots. “Now lean forward and tilt your head back a little. Yes, that’s it, perfect.”

She looked to be enjoying herself.

“Right, I want you to keep moving, different poses. Don’t wait for me, just keep going, you okay with that?”

“Sure.”

In a few minutes, she’d slipped right into the role, pose after pose, no shyness at all. She was a natural.

“I need to put another memory card in. Take a break for a sec. By the way, what’s your name? I’m Jay.”

“Erica, but everyone calls me Ric.”

I got the camera set up again. “Okay, Ric, let’s go.”

She went straight back into it. I didn’t know there were so many ways of sitting and hanging on a stile.

“Ric, you wanna try looking a bit sexy, sort of teasing-like? Give it a try.”

I thought that might put her off, but was I wrong. My God, sexy? She pouted, blew kisses, even managed to look coy. I got the works. Even as I took shot after shot, I was tingling for this young girl. For the first time, I considered her age. She could have been anything from thirteen to fifteen, I guessed.

As she adopted a new pose, I froze. She had one leg hooked around the lower stile step, the other pulled up onto the upper one, her chin resting on her knee. Her shorts had opened wide enough that I could see her knickers.

I pulled myself together enough to keep shooting.

When Ric reached for her shorts, I thought she was going to pull them closed, but instead she moved her knee out, allowing me to see even more.

“Is that better?” she asked. “Can you see enough?”

“B-beautiful, Ric,” I said, slightly taken aback, then continued to take some more shots.

Ric stayed exactly where she was, but now she was taking hold of her t-shirt. Slowly, she lifted it, pausing teasingly now and again.

I saw the swell of her breasts and wondered if she’d stop there. I soon got my answer. The t-shirt continued on up until her tits came fully into view. She tucked it under her armpits and began to pose again.

She would thrust her chest out in front of her, hold the pose, reach for her t-shirt, hold, begin lifting it above her head, hold, and so on. Then she took the t-shirt right off and dropped it to the ground.

Her hands came to her breasts and pushed them up.

Hold.

Pressing them together.

Hold.

Cupping them.

Hold.

“Sexy enough for you, Jay?” she asked, grinning at me.

“Fucking hot, babe,” was all I could think to answer.

She took her nipples between her fingers and began to tweak them. My camera shook in my hands.

Christ, girl, at least try to be professional!

Ric put a finger to her lips, sucking on the tip. Her other hand went to her shorts, and she began to unfasten them. She changed her position, leaning over the stile facing away from me. She wiggled her arse, then hooked her fingers into the waistband, slowly sliding them down.

Click, click, click my camera went, faster than you could count.

The cheeks of her arse were beautiful. Lower still the shorts went, and her knickers with them. She leaned further forward, her feet moving wider apart. Now I could see her pussy lips.

She peered over her shoulder at me, one hand holding her tousled hair across her face, a look of pure sexual abandon. She let go of the shorts, and they fell to her feet. I kept shooting as she kicked them away. Spreading her feet even wider, she pushed her arse out, her little rosebud winking at me.

She bent over the stile even further until she was looking at me through her legs, a truly wicked grin on her face.

“You like, Jay? Do you think I have a nice arse?”

“Ric, it’s fucking gorgeous. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

She stood up and turned around. “So, how’d you like to see this, then?”

She sat down on the lower step, and a series of poses followed, mostly discreet ones. Then her legs swung wide open.

I could have died right there. I guessed she must have been nearer fifteen, because she had beautiful little pussy lips, not just a tight little slit. I could see a light fuzz of hair above her pussy, but more than that, the hood over her clit was quite clear to see.

I moved closer, focusing the lens to maximise clarity, then took a few carefully considered shots.

Her fingers were spreading her lips, prising herself open.

I took some more shots, then lowered the camera.

“What’s the matter, Jay? Something wrong?”

“Ric, I have to stop. You don’t know what you’re doing to me. I’m getting frightened by my feelings.”

“Why would you be frightened?” Her fingers went to her clit, and she began to rub, her eyes watching me. “Are you frightened of this?” Then she rubbed herself faster. “You got me all hot, posing sexy for you. Now I want to make you hot. Are you?”

I could only nod my head, not trusting myself to speak.

“You can just stand there and watch me get off, if you want. Or you can play with yourself, too. Or… you could come over here and help me.”

I took a step forward, then stopped, fighting my conscience. I couldn’t risk touching her, I just couldn’t. But I could touch myself.

I started to unfasten my jeans, still uncertain. Ric smiled as I pushed them down.

I saw her eyes follow my hand as it reached between my legs and gave the front of my knickers a few rubs. She gasped when I pushed my knickers down and spread my pussy open. Her own hand was still as she stared, watching my every move. I found my clit already swollen, slippery and wet. I started to rub, and that seemed to jolt her back into action, touching between her legs again.

I’d never done anything like this before. There I was, standing in front of a young girl, the two  of us masturbating for each other. It was utterly thrilling.

Ric got to her feet and moved towards me, her eyes staring into mine. “Can I… I want to touch you,” she said in a soft voice.

I hesitated for a moment, then reached out and took her hand, pressing it to my sex. My own hand settled between her legs, fingers brushing her clit while she began to caress me. It was my turn to step closer, our bodies almost touching now.

She closed her eyes, a look of pure bliss on her face. I closed my own, savouring the feel of her hand on my clit. I wasn’t aware of how it happened, but my lips found hers. My arm twined around her waist, and I pulled her to me.

Ric was trying to pull my top up, so I took a step back to help her. Together we lifted it above my breasts, my bra along with it. We pressed together once more, her perky tits rubbing against my larger ones.

Our groping and rubbing became more urgent, her kisses more aggressive than I would have expected. My conscience had disappeared completely. I felt my legs getting shaky, and soon I was dropping to my knees, pulling her with me. Then I was coming.

I gripped Ric’s arse and fucked her faster. Her mouth was wide open, and she was gasping. Her head buried into my shoulder, her body trembling against mine. I was still riding out my own climax when she came too.

Her arms twined around my neck. “Oh, Jay…” she groaned as she clung to me.

We held each other in a tight embrace. I could feel her little tremors. I pulled my head back, and she opened her eyes. “Holy fuck,” I said.

“Wow!” she answered.

Then we were kissing again. We lay down in the grass and rested for a long while, happily holding each other. I wanted to ask her so many things, but had no idea where to start.

But she spoke first. “I need to tell you something,” she said. “When you were taking photos of us at the river, I was watching you. I could see you were taking more of me than the rest. I wondered why, at first, but I kinda guessed. I wanted to meet you, that’s why I waited. I was hoping you’d come this way. Then I saw the pics on your camera, and I was right, they were nearly all of me. Even before you asked me for more photos, I was going to suggest it anyway, and then see what you’d do when I started posing sexy.”

“How old are you, Ric?” I asked.

“I’m sixteen tomorrow, and I just had the best early birthday present ever.”

Fuck, I’d been a bit out there. I was trying to decide what to ask next, but she beat me to it. “Where do you live, Jay? Are you very far away from here?”

“No, not too far. Just outside Amersham, about ten miles.”

“Do you live alone… or is there someone?”

I pulled away a little and studied her face. I saw the hope there, and knew what she was suggesting, what she wanted.

I thought carefully. What would I tell her? What did I want for myself?

I’d spent so long musing over my dilemma that Ric was starting to look worried, and I thought she might cry.

“I had someone,” I said. “A girlfriend. But I just got back from working abroad and found out she’d gone on holiday with another girl, a girl she knows I don’t like. It was never really the real thing between us anyway, just something that was convenient for us both. Now I don’t think I want her back.”

Ric went to speak, hesitated, then continued. “Do you like me? Or am I too young? Would you have me as your girlfriend?”

I found myself welling up. I hardly ever cried – I was one tough lady – but I was very close to losing it now. “You can’t be my girlfriend today, you’re only fifteen, but tomorrow… I guess that’s another matter.”

Her eyes went wide. Then she was smiling. “You mean… you will?”

“I have a couple more questions. What about home, your parents? Can you come and go as you want?”

She gave me a cute frown. “Home? They don’t care what I do. I don’t mean they’re nasty or anything, it’s just that they’re too lazy to bother about anything. So, yes, I do as I please. But I’m tidy! And I’m honest!”

For a second there, she’d sounded like a young child, and I had to ask myself again if this was a good idea. But I’d already made up my mind. “So, do I walk home with you now? Or shall I collect you tomorrow?”

“You didn’t actually say I’m your girlfriend now, but it sorta sounds like it. Am I, Jay?”

I smiled at her. “Ric, my love. I’d like it very much if you were my girlfriend.”

She gave a girly squeal. I could grow to like that, I told myself. When she leaned across to kiss me, I thought, That too.

We got ourselves dressed. It was still early afternoon, and there was plenty of daylight left, so I said, “Let’s walk.”

Ric bent to pick up my bag and hung it over her shoulder. I smiled when she took my hand, and the realisation hit me that some of that weight of the last few days had been lifted. I felt happy again. Who needed fucking Sylvia and her bullshit?

We found a lovely quiet spot along the river. We sat and shared the rest of my sandwiches. I saw little things, things that appealed to me – the way she daintily picked at her food, how she appreciated the wine. Lazy or not, her parents hadn’t done a bad job. Her manners were perfect.

We kissed some more. Ric played with my tits, even talking to them, telling them how beautiful they were. I could feel the tingles beginning again, but time was getting on.

“Tomorrow, my love. We’ll have all day tomorrow. I should walk you home.”

On to Part Two!