Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

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.”

Soon to come: Chapter Four!