Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

For a brief description of what takes place in each of the previous chapters, visit this page.

For a list of the characters from the story you are now reading, visit this page. 

For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.

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

by Rachael Yukey

Chapter 21

I never needed love before
Until I met you girl
A girl like you I have never seen
You came into my life like a whirlwind girl
You let me know what loving really means
Def Leppard, 1981

Mallory approached the machine shed for the second time that day, carrying one of the wicker baskets her mom left behind when she moved out all those years ago, a kitchen towel draped over the top. It occurred to her to wonder if the basketful of food combined with the faded red hoodie she’d donned to stave off the unseasonable chill might make her a target for big bad wolves. A smile touched the corners of her mouth.

She’d just laid a hand on the door handle when an obnoxious rattle-clack that she couldn’t quite place began to emanate from within. Frowning, she opened the door and slipped through. Her eyes followed her ears, fixing themselves upon the source of the racket. Julie was pushing an engine hoist across the shop, the grind of steel casters on concrete reverberating throughout the cavernous building.

Breaking into a trot, Mallory crossed the floor, came up alongside Julie and placed her free hand on the hoist’s central steel pillar.

Julie paused, the heavy implement clattering to a halt. “Now hold on there, preggers. Don’t go straining yourself. I’ve got it.”

“Relax, spazzatron. I’m just adding a little extra oomph. You’re still doing most of the work.”

Julie shrugged, set her shoulders and resumed her trek across the cement. With Mallory lending her weight, they rapidly traversed the shop floor to the corner where the faded green tractor lurked. Mallory tried to recall when her dad had actually acquired the damn thing. If she remembered right, she’d have been no more than twelve or thirteen.

“Okay, time out,” Mallory instructed her partner. “Get yourself washed up. Since you didn’t come back in, I brought you a late lunch.” With that, she made her way across the floor to the desk where her dad had spent so many hours perusing his repair manuals. Julie, she noted, had tucked the office chair back where it belonged. A thick volume sat open on the desk, a parts breakdown visible on the page.

Mallory set the basket down on the desk. Taking care not to lose Julie’s place in the book, she flipped the cover back to get a peek at the title, raising mental eyebrows at the realization that she was looking at a brand-new copy of the official John Deere repair manual for the Model R. Then she spied a smaller book, also obviously new, tucked beneath the open front cover of the repair manual. Mallory hefted “The Ultimate Do-It-Yourself Guide to Rebuilding and Restoring Deere Two-Cylinder Tractors”, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards.

Julie was ambling across the shop, hands and forearms freshly scrubbed, carrying the metal stool Mallory’s father had always used when working on equipment. She plunked it down next to the desk, a sheepish grin overtaking her lips at the sight of the book in Mallory’s hand.

“Just thought it’d be fun to get the engine running, huh?” Mallory managed a stern expression, but couldn’t quite keep the mirth out of her voice. Setting the book back on the desk, she eased herself into the old office chair.

Julie let out a snort of laughter as she settled onto the stool. “Okay, so I might or might not have stopped by the John Deere dealer in Johnstown while you were going through the used records in that thrift store. And—you know, maybe I picked up some literature.”

Mallory removed the threadbare maroon hand towel she’d used to cover the food, then took out a plastic container of roast beef sandwiches with gouda cheese. Setting this on the desk, she reached in again and came up with a thermos of hot, sweet herbal tea and two tin cups. As she poured, Julie pried the lid off the box of sandwiches. “Mmmm,” she murmured. “Looks great.”

“There’s an apple and a granola bar each in the basket,” Mallory remarked, accepting the sandwich Julie offered her.

“You’re too good to me,” said Julie. She bit into a sandwich, chewed, swallowed. “Yummy.”

Mallory jerked a thumb in the direction of the aged tractor that had captured Julie’s interest. “What do you need the hoist for? I thought you were just going to clean up the fuel system and then try to pull-start it.”

Julie shrugged as she swallowed another bite. That awkward grin was on her face again. “Oh, I sort of got it into my head that maybe I should just do the thing right and figure out what’s wrong with the pony engine. Which is tucked way up in under the hood, just forward of the fuel tank. It’ll be a lot easier to get at if I take the hood off. I need the hoist to lift the hood, then to pull the pony engine if I decide it needs to come out.”

“You really think you can make it go? I’m pretty sure the thing’s been parked in that corner for fifteen years or thereabouts. Hell, I don’t know if it was even running when Dad brought it home. It might have been sitting unused way longer than that.”

“If everything I’ve read about these old two-popper Johnnies is true, it’ll probably fire up if the diesel is clean and the engine isn’t frozen. I’ve cleaned up the fuel delivery system for the big engine and drained the tank. I just need to get fresh diesel in it and figure out how to get it started.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I think I’ll try to fix the pony engine before I resort to a pull-start. I just wish there was more guidance available.”

Mallory’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t that what this is for?” she said, indicating the service manual still open on the table.

Julie made a face. “The damn thing kind of makes the assumption that you’re a John Deere tech who’s got training and experience with this kind of equipment. It’s got good parts breakdowns, but that’s about it. I’m getting better info from this.” She tapped the restoration guidebook. “Also some internet forums. I’ve joined three of them since yesterday evening.”

Mallory burst out laughing. “Just want to see if the engine will start, my ass.”

“I’m getting it figured out,” said Julie with a wave of her hand. “It’d be nice if the info on these things wasn’t so scattered around. Someone should make a video tutorial or something.”

“Isn’t this where your master’s degree in engineering saves the day?”

Julie let out a peal of laughter. “I’m the one who’s always saying you shouldn’t be an engineer if you’re not at least a decent mechanic. Guess it’s time to prove myself, huh?”

Polishing off the first of her sandwiches, Mallory plucked one of the apples from the basket, taking a big bite. Juice sprayed on her chin. “Jesus,” she muttered around the mouthful of fruit, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

She swallowed, then spoke. “On another note, I’m going to Grandma’s house tomorrow morning. I told her I had something to talk to her about, and she invited us to brunch. Think you can tear yourself away from whatever the hell this is long enough to dig into some Eggs Benedict?”

Julie selected a second sandwich from the plastic box. “Since when did I ever turn down Paulette’s Eggs Benedict?”

Mallory nodded. “I figured, but I didn’t know if you’d want to be around when I ask her about Mom. Thought I’d offer you an out.”

Julie seemed lost in thought for a moment. “I’m fine with it, but will she be less likely to talk if I’m there?”

“I don’t think so. She’s always treated you like a granddaughter.”

“She sure has.” Conversation lapsed, the two women taking simple joy in the food and each other’s company. They were long since past the need to fill every silence.

“When do you want to tell your folks about the baby?” said Mallory, after she had polished off her second sandwich.

“Well, I was thinking this evening, but I just found out from Lisa that Vicky’s going to a sleepover. So if we want to tell all three of them together—”

“A sleepover? Please tell me it’s not those same silly bitches that messed with her head last time.”

Julie laughed, placing her free hand on Mallory’s arm. The other clutched a chocolate chip granola bar. “Easy, mama bear. Sometimes I think you’re even more protective of Vicky than I am. She has to pick her own battles.”

Mallory turned her eyes to the ceiling. “I know it.”

Julie shoved the last of her granola into her mouth, chewed, swallowed. “Anyway, I’d rather just do it once. So we’ll wait a day or two.”

“Works for me.” Mallory waved her own half-eaten bar in the direction of the tractor and hoist. “Why don’t you make a video tutorial?”

“Huh?”

“You haven’t really done anything yet, right? Just flushed out some fuel lines. So we’ve got your phone, my phone, and a full-on digital camcorder back at the house. Set up a few different angles, and anything you actually have to take apart and fix, talk about it while you work. Document the whole thing. Stick it on YouTube. If you think there needs to be a video guide, just fucking make one.”

A slow smile was spreading across Julie’s face. “Did you know you’re a genius, babe?”

“Sure, but I can always use the affirmation. Say it a couple more times, will you?”

Julie rolled her eyes. “I withdraw the compliment.”

“Anyway,” Mallory went on, “I can help you with the video part. I can even be your lovely assistant when you need one. For instance, those sheet metal hoods really aren’t all that heavy, just awkward. Do you really need the hoist to lift it off?”

“By myself I do—oh. I get you!”

Mallory pushed herself out of the chair. “I helped Dad take the hood off of the 1586 a few times; it was way bigger than that thing. I’ll run back to the house and grab the cam and tripod. Back in five!”

***

Two heads swiveled at the light rap on Crissy Moen’s bedroom door, one blonde and curly, the other straight and pink. Vicky and Crissy were sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through pictures of dresses using a laptop perched on Crissy’s thighs. Crissy was planning ahead for homecoming.

“I know it’s months away, and I don’t have a date yet,” she’d told Vicky with a laugh, “but whoever asks me is going with the best-dressed bitch at the dance!”

Another knock. “Come in,” Crissy called out. The door swung open, Crissy’s mom standing on the threshold.

“Patty’s here,” said Triniti Moen, beckoning to someone waiting in the hall. Patricia Spisak stepped into view. Tall with hair the color of walnut, thin to the point of gangliness, Patty was retiring and self-conscious at the best of times. Just now she looked like a mouse meeting the gaze of a hungry tomcat.

“Hey, Pats!” said Crissy, a wide grin cracking her face.

Vicky raised her hand and gave a somewhat more restrained smile. “Hey,” she said.

Triniti’s face creased in a frown. “What are you girls listening to?” She waved her hand at the bluetooth speakers on Crissy’s dresser, from which snarling guitars powered by a ferocious double kick drum were emanating.

“Oh, it was Vicky’s turn to pick the music,” said Crissy, “since she didn’t get to at my birthday party. It’s a playlist her cousin up in Bronning made for her.”

Triniti’s brow smoothed, her eyes widening slightly. “Oh, you mean Nettie?”

Vicky smiled. “The one and only.”

“Sure, I remember her from when she was a little kid. She used to hang around with Crissy’s aunt Cindy when—um—” Now Triniti looked a little contrite. “When she stayed here in Dickson for a little while.”

Understanding Triniti’s consternation, Vicky let her off the hook with a wan smile. “Sure. I was born while she was here, or so they tell me.”

Still looking a bit discomfited, Triniti gave a small nod. “I’ll leave you girls to it.” Turning away, she slipped past Patty and made her way down the hall. Patty just stood there in the hallway, uneasy eyes fixed on the two girls seated on the bed.

Closing her laptop and putting it aside, Crissy got to her feet, her mouth stretching into a warm smile. “Don’t just stand there, girl. Get in here.” Patty stepped forward cautiously, her shoulders hunched.

Crissy enveloped Patty in a hug, which was gingerly returned. Patty towered over Crissy; if anything, she was even taller than Vicky’s big sister Julie. But where Julie exuded confidence, Patty wore her stature self-consciously. And she was so thin! The tall, dark-haired girl was looking over Crissy’s shoulder at Vicky, trepidation written all over her face. When Vicky met her eyes, Patty looked away.

Crissy let her arms drop to her sides and took a step away. “I gotta use the can. Be right back.” Stepping around Patty, she exited the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

An awkward silence fell. Patty seemed rooted to the spot. Finally, just as Vicky was opening her mouth to offer a token greeting, Patty met her eyes. “You’re mad at me, huh?”

Vicky shrugged. “Kind of.”

A slight smile touched the corners of Patty’s mouth. “You know, I’m glad you said that. Most people would just try to pretend like everything’s cool, and I think it just makes things worse.” She drew in a shaky breath.

Despite the knot of anger still lingering in the pit of her stomach, Vicky was beginning to feel a touch of sympathy for the girl. She was trying to think of how best to reply when, once again, Patty spoke first.

“I was a bitch,” she said, stepping forward and carefully seating herself next to Vicky on the bed. She rested the tips of her fingers on Vicky’s wrist. “I did everything I hate when people do it to me. There’s no excuse. I’m so sorry.”

Her voice was steady, and Vicky liked her a little better for not putting on a show of tears. Even more so for not trying to place all the blame on Sarah Spencer. Still…

“Did Crissy put you up to this?” Vicky didn’t mean to say that; the words just spilled out.

Those thin shoulders rose in an elaborate shrug. “In a way, I guess. I went to her and told her I was sorry for acting that way at her birthday party. She forgave me, but told me that you’re the one I really needed to apologize to. I mean, I already knew that, but—” she trailed off helplessly.

“But what?” Vicky’s armor was softening, but she’d been wounded pretty badly, and wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

When Patty spoke again, there was a tremor in her voice. “It’s just that what I did was so messed up. I was s-scared to face you. I figured you’d just tell me what an awful person I am, and—and you’d be right.”

With a heavy sigh, Vicky placed her hand on Patty’s, the fingers of which were still resting on her arm. “Look, I get that you were just trying to impress Sarah, but—”

“I wasn’t going to mention that,” Patty cut in, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah, that is why it happened, but it’s still the shittiest excuse ever.”

“What I don’t understand,” said Vicky, “is why it was so important. I can tell you really are sorry, and that you’re really beating yourself up about this. What I don’t get is why you’d do stuff you hate just to get her to like you.”

Patty fixed her eyes on her lap, her already slouched shoulders drooping even further, as if she was slowly deflating. “Because when you’re a total loser like me, getting a popular girl to be even halfway nice to you seems like the most important thing in the world.” Now she did sound close to tears. “That just makes me sound like an even crappier person, doesn’t it?”

The last sliver of ice in Vicky’s heart melted. She pulled Patty’s hand into her lap, folded it between both of hers. “It makes you sound like a person who doesn’t know that she’s worth something. You’re the best player in the chess club, aren’t you? You won a tournament that was mostly college kids. How can you call yourself a loser when you’re doing stuff like that?”

Patty let out a teary little laugh. “It’s not the same as being cool.”

Vicky gave a derisive snort. “If being cool means being anything like Sarah Spencer, I’ll settle for being a geek, thanks very much.”

Finally Patty lifted her gaze, head turning to meet Vicky’s eyes. “I don’t want to be like Sarah. I…I wish I was like you. You believe in yourself, and you’ve got skin like an alligator.”

Not feeling particularly thick-skinned at the moment, Vicky was casting around for a reply when a thought struck her. “I thought Crissy was just going to the bathroom.”

Patty let out a snort of laughter, dashing tears from her eyes with the hand that wasn’t still lying in Vicky’s lap. “I’ll bet she’d taking her time because she’s hoping we’ll—”

“Do exactly this?” Both girls laughed.

As if on cue, the door swung open. Crissy stood framed in the entrance, wearing a huge grin. “Perfect!” she said, her tone one of triumph. “Now we can relax and have a good time.”

***

Hours later, the three girls lounged on the living room couch in their pajamas, Vicky in the middle. They were idly debating the merits of watching a movie. Crissy’s mom had bailed immediately after dinner, informing the girls that she would be spending the evening with her sister, and possibly the night.

“Like hell she is,” Crissy had said with a giggle as they watched Triniti’s car back down the driveway. “Mom’s got a new boyfriend she thinks I don’t know about.” She sighed, stretched. “So… what do you guys want to watch?”

“I’m clueless,” said Vicky. “At home, I mostly listen to music.”

“Speaking of which,” said Patty. “That was a really cool playlist you brought over! I was too chickenshit to say so in front of Sarah at Crissy’s party, but it’s almost all stuff I listen to.”

Vicky had to laugh. “Honestly, I couldn’t even tell you what most of it was. I asked Nettie for a playlist of music she listens to that’s more or less recent. I’m just kinda checking it out myself.”

Patty smiled, looking more comfortable than she had all evening. She was a lot cuter that way, Vicky decided. “There was… let’s see.” She began ticking off names on her fingers. “Semblant, Arch Enemy, Avenged Sevenfold, Epica, Amon Amarth—a few others. She gave you what you asked for; it’s all pretty modern heavy music.”

Crissy nodded. “And that’s what you listen to, Patty, when you’re not worried about Sarah or someone like that razzing you about it?”

“Yeah.”

Crissy flicked her eyes to Vicky. “What about you, Vick? If that’s really your cousin’s music, what’s your music? Is it classical? I know you play it on the guitar. Can you show us some?”

With a mental shrug, Vicky picked up her phone from where it lay on an end table, bringing up a YouTube video of a woman playing Bach on a lute.

“So that’s what a lute is,” said Patty.

“Yeah,” Vicky replied. “I’m hoping to get one soon.”

“That’s actually really different… and cool,” said Patty.

“Can’t say I’m in love with this,” Crissy admitted, “but it’s better than that heavy stuff you were playing earlier, not gonna lie!”

Vicky was feeling tremendously empowered by Crissy’s simple acceptance. It was such a rare thing amongst girls their age. “I’m not crazy about your Taylor Swift playlist, either,” she said. “So what? That’s why we take turns.”

“Right on!” Patty enthused.

“We should decide what movie we’re watching,” said Crissy, “or else I’m getting the laptop back out and we’re gonna do more shopping for homecoming dresses!”

“Well, there’s a threat you don’t hear every day,” said Vicky with a snort of laughter.

“Are you even going with anybody yet?” asked Patty.

“No,” Crissy admitted. “Trouble is, my last boyfriend was Mark Bedford, and a lot of people are scared of him. I think dudes are afraid to ask me out because they don’t wanna piss him off.”

Patty opened her mouth, then quickly closed it. That wasn’t lost on Crissy. “Patty, you’ve gotta stop doing that,” she said. “We’re friends here. You can say what you’re thinking.”

Patty’s complexion went bright red. “I was just gonna say I… I never understood what you saw in him. I’m sorry, I—”

“Hush,” said Crissy, putting a hand on Patty’s arm. “He’s a douche; I know that. It’s a flaw I have. I like guys with tattoos, long hair, and bad attitudes. Okay, wrong word. I don’t even really like them. I’m just, y’know—”

“Attracted to them,” Vicky finished for her.

“Yeah, that,” Crissy agreed. “If I see a dude who looks like he’s going to ruin my life, I wanna stick my hand in his Levis. How messed up is that?”

Vicky giggled. “My dad has a t-shirt that says ‘mothers like good boys, but chicks dig bad boys’. Kinda like that, huh?”

Crissy rolled her eyes. “Exactly like that. I don’t get horny for the kind of guys that would be good for me. I hope you two are smarter than I am.”

“Well, I—” Patty seemed unable to continue.

“You went out with a football player!” Chrissy said, laughing. “I’m not sure that’s much better.”

Patty was gazing at her lap again. “Actually—”

Crissy frowned. “Actually what?”

Patty buried her face in her hands. “Oh, God… I totally made that up. Guys, I’m so sorry—you and Sarah were talking about these dudes you’d hooked up with, and I didn’t want to look like a loser. That’s why I said the ‘football player’ was from Alexandria, so it wouldn’t be easy to check. I’ve never had sex with anybody. I’ve never even been on a date.”

“Oh, Patty. It’s okay,” said Crissy.

Patty tilted her gaze towards Vicky. “At least you had the guts to be honest about being a virgin. I’m one, too.”

Vicky tried to suppress the grin that was overtaking her face, failing miserably.

Her expression wasn’t lost on Crissy. “Something’s happened since then!” she crowed. “Hasn’t it?”

Warmth spread across Vicky’s face, and she knew a fairly impressive blush must be creeping up. All the same, she was smiling. “Could be something did,” she said.

“Well, come on now—details!” Crissy insisted.

Vicky’s smile faded a bit. “Maybe the less said the better.”

Crissy looked at her sidelong. “So, no names. Fine. I still want the whole dirty story!”

Vicky shook her head, good humor fading. “It’s not that simple.”

“It was with a girl, wasn’t it?!” Patty blurted, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Vicky said nothing, but knew the truth had to be written all over her face.

Crissy picked up on it, all right. She slung an arm across Vicky’s shoulder, pulling her close. “Good for you if it was,” she said. “Tell you what, I’d probably have a lot less problems if I swung that way.”

Patty was stroking her chin, a pensive look on her face.

“You okay, Pats?” Crissy wanted to know.

Patty sighed heavily. “Oh, just something else I need to apologize for. The stuff Sarah was saying about Vick’s sister Julie, and I joined in on. About her being a dyke. I’m sorry, Vicky. I’ve only met Julie a couple of times, but I really liked her. Everything about her just screams ‘I know exactly who I am, and I’m proud to be her’. She’s beyond cool.”

“So cool,” Crissy agreed. “Her and Mallory both. I still remember them being besties with my aunt Cindy, back when we were little. Nobody follows their arrow like Julie and Mallory. If I’ve ever met two chicks I kinda want to be like, it’s them.”

“Yeah,” said Patty. “I think the thing I hate most about myself is, well, I don’t like myself. Julie’s totally down with who she is. Does that make sense?”

Crissy reached across Vicky’s lap, patting her tall friend’s hand. “What’s not to like?”

Patty laid her head back against the cushion, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t relate to people most of the time,” she said. “I don’t understand the things they do, or what they like. And I’m always saying the wrong thing. I even know why.” Sitting up straight, she glanced from Chrissy to Vicky. “I’ve never told anyone at school this, but I’m autistic.”

Crissy slowly nodded. “I thought you maybe had a touch of the ‘tism. My uncle’s autistic, and that’s his term for it. Touch of the ‘tism. So what? You’re a little awkward socially. I don’t care. Bet Vick doesn’t either.”

Vicky shook her head. “I’d rather deal with that than the crap you get from those manipulative bitches like Sarah Spencer. You know, the ones who are really good at reading social cues, and end up using them against people.”

“Girl,” said Crissy with a shake of her head, “that’s just called high school.”

“But there’s more to you than that, Patty,” Vicky went on. “Way more. Like, everyone at school knows you’re an information gathering machine, and when you get interested in something, you’re like a, a terrier with your teeth in someone’s leg. Remember when we had to write those military history papers, and drew the topics out of a hat? You got the events that led to World War Two, and in a couple of days time you just knew everything there was.”

“And you would not shut up about it!” said Crissy, laughing.

“I still remember some of the details,” Vicky added, giggling. “Like how Hitler couldn’t make it as an artist.”

Patty didn’t crack a smile. “That’s not such a great thing,” she said. “I get obsessed. If I’m even a little interested in something, I want to know everything there is to know about it. And then I just want to share it with the whole world, and forget that nobody cares but me.”

“But it’s still impressive,” said Crissy. “I won’t lie: it gets a little annoying sometimes. But—oh damn it, I’m not sure how to put what I’m thinking into words.” She looked to the ceiling for a moment, then continued. “How about this: even when I’m annoyed at you, I’m a little jealous, too. I’m obsessed with picking a homecoming dress. You’re obsessed with the Beer Hall Putz. Something that actually matters. Some people think that makes you a spaz because it’s not the same stuff everyone else is into, but I think it makes you super-cool.”

“It’s Putsch,” Patty corrected her, “and the World War Two thing was a pretty short obsession. Wanna know what it led to? You’re gonna laugh at this.”

Vicky gave Patty’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “No, I won’t. I’m obsessed with 18th century lute manuscripts. So what did the Beer Hall thingie lead to?”

Patty couldn’t restrain a shy grin. “Battleships. Wanna know what the biggest battleships in history were? The Yamato class, in World War Two. The Japanese built them. Or I could tell you all the workarounds countries came up with in the 1930s to get around Washington Naval Treaty restrictions. Did you know that the US was building two battlecruisers at the time the treaty was signed that ended up being too big to meet the new requirements, so they turned them into aircraft carriers? They were—”

She broke off, mortified. “And there I go again—I just want to start talking about it, thinking that other people will be interested, even though I know they won’t.” She hesitated, then added, “Can you guys do me a favor?”

“You bet,” said Crissy.

“Of course,” Vicky chimed in.

“If I’m being a chatterbox, tell me. With you two I’ll know it’s not coming from a mean place, and I’ll shut up.”

“I think we can manage that,” said Crissy. “Anyway—we still don’t have any details, Vicky! I mean, your first time getting busy? Don’t even try to keep that to yourself!”

“I see what you’re obsessed with,” Vicky remarked, drawing a much-needed round of laughter.

Vicky took a deep breath. “Patty’s right. It was a lesbian thing. And not just with a girl. It was more than one.”

Crissy’s mouth dropped open. “You had group sex for your first time?!”

Suddenly self-conscious, Vicky looked down at her hands, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

“That’s so totally hot!” Crissy exclaimed.

Vicky looked up, startled. “You really mean that?”

“Yeah! I love the idea of group sex. I’ve just never done it. So—dish! How many girls are we talking about? Three? Fifty?”

“Four, including me.” Vicky was smiling now.

“Wow,” said Patty. Even that single syllable came out a bit shaky.

“So—” Crissy’s voice became tentative. “You’re gay, then?”

Vicky pursed her lips. “Not completely. I’m attracted to guys, too. And trans people—I’ve kind of got a thing for Josie Barber at school. I don’t really have a type.”

“That’s pansexual,” said Patty.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that,” said Vicky. “According to one of my sister’s friends, it means I have a cookware fetish.” All three girls cracked up.

“I’m gay,” Patty blurted. Her face went bright red. “I think,” she added in a more hesitant tone. “I guess I sometimes think guys are cute. But when I have fantasies—” It seemed impossible, but her blush deepened even more. “Um, never mind,” she mumbled, then fell silent.”

“So… you only think about girls when you touch yourself?” said Vicky.

Patty  broke into a huge grin. “Yeah, that’s what I mean! God, I feel like I can talk to you guys about anything.”

Crissy gave her head a quick shake. “Damn, this is turning into the weirdest sleepover ever. But I guess if you girls can say it, I can too. I mostly think of myself as straight, but I’ve had fantasies about chicks before. It’s different from guys, though. More, ummm—I think abstract is the word I’m looking for. It’s not like I see girls at school and I’m all like, yeah, I wanna jump on that. It’s more something I feel when I’m alone in my bed at night. Does that make any sense at all?”

Vicky thought about that for a moment. “Not to me it doesn’t, but that’s okay. We’re all different.”

“You’re bi-curious, maybe,” said Patty.

“Yeah, maybe that,” Crissy replied. She let out a single laugh. “We were talking about what to watch before. I’m starting to think the answer is porn!” Vicky snorted laughter.

Patty giggled, covering her eyes with one hand. “I watch it, sometimes,” she admitted. “The lesbian stuff, that is. Wanna know what’s funny? It’s not even to watch the sex. I like looking at those naked women, and pretending my body is as pretty as theirs.”

Making a face, Crissy reached across Vicky to slap Patty’s arm. “Knock it off, already. You’re prettier than you think.”

“I’m not. I’m too tall, too skinny, and too clumsy.”

“You have a beautiful face,” Vicky countered. “And great eyes. I love your eyes. There’s nothing wrong with being tall—on you, it’s totally hot. Your only problem is that you walk around like you’re embarrassed about yourself. Just relax and be who you are, and you’ll turn heads.”

A different, intrigued light came into Patty’s eyes. “You really think I’m hot?” Then she blushed again. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean that the way it c-came out.”

At that moment, Vicky realized something unexpected: she did think Patty was hot. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed before because of Patty’s association with jerks like Sarah Spencer. But now that she was able to give it some headspace, there was something about this shy, awkward, gangly girl that was pushing all of her buttons at once.

She gave Patty a sideways look. “Are you sure you didn’t mean it the way it sounded?” she asked. “Because if you didn’t, I think I’m a little disappointed.”

“If I was gay, I’d do you,” Crissy chimed in.

Patty hung her head. “You guys are being so nice to me. I don’t deserve it, not after the way I acted when Sarah was here.”

Twisting sideways, Vicky wrapped both arms around those bony shoulders, pulling Patty into a hug. “I know you’re sorry,” she whispered into the tall, dark-haired girl’s ear. “I know it wasn’t really you saying those things, and I know you said them because you don’t feel good about yourself. Forget about it.” She pulled away, hands on Patty’s shoulders, holding her at arms length.

“Thanks s-so much, guys,” Patty stammered. “You’re the best!” There were tears on her cheeks.

“You just need to know you’re worth something, that’s all,” Vicky told her. “You’re so much better than people like Sarah Spencer. I wish I knew how to convince you of that.”

“Sarah’s better than Sarah,” said Crissy. The other two girls turned their heads in her direction.

“Honest to God, I don’t know what happened to her,” Crissy went on. “She was my best friend for ages, then she turned into a total bitch ever since we joined the cheerleading squad.”

A thought struck Vicky. “You know,” she said, “maybe Sarah’s more insecure than you think. Maybe she cuts other people down to build herself up.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Crissy. Then she laughed. “You’re amazing, you know that? Sarah treated you like shit, and here you are trying to put yourself in her shoes.”

Vicky shrugged, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I guess I have a hard time thinking that anyone is really that awful.”

Crissy nodded slowly, folding both hands in her lap. A slow smile crept over her lips. “You’re really not gonna tell us who you hooked up with?”

Vicky smiled back. “Really not.”

“Great,” Crissy murmured. “Now I’m gonna spend hours trying to figure it out.” She began to nibble her lower lip. “Hmmm… three other girls at once—or was it three women?”

“Not telling,” Vicky said. “No hints, either.”

Patty was shaking her head. “I’m just trying to imagine even having the nerve to do a group thing for my first time.”

Vicky waved her hand dismissively. “It wasn’t like I started it or anything. More like I got invited to join in.”

“You know,” said Crissy in a contemplative tone, “even though I mostly like dudes, I’m not sure I’d be able to turn an offer like that down. Just picturing it gets me fired up.”

Vicky had been trying to ignore a steadily increasing sense of arousal, but found it all but impossible, now that her panties were growing damp. She realized there were possibilities for an especially thrilling evening, if she played her cards right.

“Is thinking about my lesbian foursome getting you hot, Crissy?” she asked. She took a teasing tone, but the gaze she fixed upon her friend radiated desire.

Crissy, to her delight, met the gaze head-on. “It kind of is,” she admitted.

“You don’t even want to know what’s happening over here,” Patty confessed.

Vicky turned her attention from Crissy to Patty. “Actually,” she said, deciding to go just a little further out on this limb, “I do want to know.” Hesitantly reaching out, she caressed Patty’s neck. The tall girl shivered, the breath hissing through her teeth. A mortified expression crossed her face, but Vicky eased the tension with a smile.

“That’s what I hoped was happening,” she murmured. She glanced over her shoulder at Crissy. “So what’s going on with you?”

“About the same thing,” said Crissy, her voice unsteady. “I’m not sure what this even is, but it’s doing a number on me.”

Vicky lifted an eyebrow. “What do you want it to be?”

“I—I’m not sure.”

Vicky shifted her attention back to Patty. “What about you?”

“I guess—I mean, I want—I—” Patty floundered helplessly, then fell silent.

Vicky felt a light touch on her arm from behind. “What do you want, Vicky?” Crissy intoned.

“Right now,” Vicky murmured, “I’d really like to kiss Patty.” She gave the dazed walnut-haired beauty a sultry smile. Patty’s visage was a study in contrasts; astonishment, desire and fear all on display.

“Should I kiss you, Patty?” said Vicky, her voice down to a whisper, “or should we figure out what movie to watch?”

Soon to come: Chapter Twenty-Two!

The Story Thus Far

Chapter 1: In which Sarah and Frankie peruse some rather risqué entertainment, then get intimately acquainted with a pair of soiled undies. Who says staying at home on weekends is boring?

Chapter 2: In which Kerry comes home, the Panty Fairy pays a visit, Sarah confides in her sister Judy, Kerry catches a whiff of pussy on Mummy’s fingers, and plans are made to let Kerry watch Sarah and Frankie have sex. Goodness me!

Chapter 3: In which Sarah and Kerry’s pussy-smelling game escalates, Sarah has a quick diddle in the school carpark, and Sarah and Frankie put their unorthodox sex education lesson into motion. Oh, and a traumatised teddy bear called Mr. Ruffles.

Chapter 4: In which smelling becomes tasting, and a visit to the bird sanctuary turns into an afternoon of naughty panty-modeling fun with Sarah, Judy and five-year-old Izzy. Bloody hell, now sister and niece are in on the act!

Chapter 5: In which poor Mr Ruffles suffers more teddy abuse, Sarah and Kerry’s kinky game goes one step further, and Judy pops round for coffee with little Izzy. A shared lollipop leads to more sharing. Appalling!

 

by BlueJean

1

Frankie and I didn’t talk much afterward about what happened when Judy and Izzy visited; how we’d teamed up on my five-year-old niece, drawn her into our sordid little sex game. I guess we were each trying to process it in our own way. Or maybe we both knew it was a spell that could easily be broken with a careless word.

Did we regret what happened? Frankie didn’t. She was oblivious to everything but her own impulses. To her, implications and consequences were things that happened to other people. I used to find her laid-back attitude rather endearing until I saw it from another angle. Until I realised it looked very much like someone putting their conscience to one side whenever it suited them.

And me? Well, I suppose I was doing much the same as Frankie, in my own way. To me, these fits of perversion were singular events rather than individual parts of one big, troublesome issue, enacted then discarded like so much baggage, safely filed under ‘Never To Be Repeated’. Until I moved on to the next episode.

No, we didn’t speak of that afternoon, but it was always there, hanging over us. Too big to address, too big to ignore.

When Frankie and I were out shopping and we spied a cute little girl who bore a passing resemblance to Izzy, we’d share a knowing look and a smirk. When we lay on the bed watching Frankie’s more risqué porn, we’d always gravitate towards the videos that most resembled our encounter with Izzy – three sexually deviant ladies, add one adorable little girl, preferably younger than six, sit back; enjoy. Sounds like a fucking cocktail, doesn’t it?

Frankie continued to pay infrequent visits to the dark web, seeking more illicit material for us to watch. To hear her talk about it, you’d think she was a commando infiltrating an enemy base. “Get in, download what you need, then get the hell out,” she’d tell me. “Stick to the places you know, don’t waste time exploring, avoid unnecessary risks.”

It soon became apparent that the good underage porn was few and far between, especially the all-female variant. Most were of abysmal quality, amateurish, or both at once. A lot of the more professional fare was clearly produced solely to turn a profit, and about as erotic as being bludgeoned over the head with a giant dildo. I was alarmed to discover myself becoming quite the connoisseur.

“Click on that one,” I told Frankie one late Friday evening, pointing to the thumbnails on her laptop. The two of us were in bed naked.

“Which?” Frankie asked.

“The, er… it looks like… a woman going down on a little girl?”

“This one?”

“Yeah.” It was another grainy, cheapjack affair, but I knew right away that it was the real deal. “You see the look on her face?”

“The woman or the girl?”

“Both, actually, but I mean the woman. See the way she pulls back every now and then to look at the kid’s pussy? The need in her eyes? That’s pure lust. You can’t fake it.”

“The girl’s into it, too. The way she keeps stroking her mum’s hair and smiling.”

“Yeah. Too many of these videos have kids that’re like lifeless mannequins.”

Frankie made a face. “Eww, don’t say that. It almost makes me feel bad for watching them.”

“Well, we should feel bad, shouldn’t we? We don’t know what kind of life those girls—”

“Stop!”

“What?”

“Don’t start with all that crap. It’s pointless. I just wanna frig myself to this stuff, not fucking analyse it.”

I was a bit taken aback by her outburst. Frankie’s normally so nonchalant about everything, at times disturbingly so. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I told her haughtily. “I’ll just shut up and masturbate, shall I?”

Frankie deflated a little. “Be a nice girl and stick some fingers in me.”

I obliged. “Aww, it’s finished already. Why so short?”

Frankie gave a shrug. “Dunno. I’ll play it again.”

“There has to be better quality stuff out there somewhere,” I mused as I fucked Frankie with my fingers.

She slipped a hand between my legs. “If there is, I doubt it’s on the internet.”

“Why?”

“Because unless you’re doing it for the money, why risk putting kiddy porn where everyone can see it? I’m sure a lot of this stuff just ended up getting leaked. There’s probably better videos out there that get passed around between secret groups and never come close to being on the net.”

“God, we’re idiots,” I said. “We should’ve got our phones out and filmed all that stuff with Judy and Izzy.”

“We were all kind of caught up in the moment, weren’t we?” Frankie pointed out. “But yeah, that would’ve been hot as hell to watch right now.”

We’d filmed ourselves having sex a few times, but trying to stay in the phone’s line of sight was a pain in the arse, and the resulting footage ended up being pretty crappy. We still have a video of a threesome with Judy somewhere, and that turned out a little better because at least there was always someone to hold the phone.

I pulled my fingers from Frankie and licked them clean.

Frankie pouted. “Um, excuse me. I’m not done yet.”

“Are you able to come quietly?” I asked.

She looked at me blankly. “That’s the most bizarre question you’ve ever asked me. I’m not that loud, am I?”

I climbed from the bed, pulling Frankie with me. “Follow me. Just don’t make any noise.”

We padded naked across to Kerry’s room. Not such a big deal, you might think – it was Friday night, and since discovering this new kink, we’d had a few weekend adventures in my daughter’s bedroom while she was away at her dad’s.

Except tonight was a little different. You see, Kerry had decided to stay home with me and Frankie. And right then she was curled up in bed fast asleep.

2

Kerry was a heavy sleeper. I think most kids her age are. They tend to sink into that deep, almost catatonic slumber that only becomes attainable to adults via excessive units of alcohol.

I quietly pushed open her bedroom door, the light from the landing gently illuminating the room. Kerry was belly-down amidst a chaotic nest of quilt and pillows, the duvet kicked away from her body, leaving her mostly uncovered. I put a finger to my lips and ushered Frankie inside.

We tiptoed over to the bed, where I gave Frankie my best I’m going to do something wicked look, then hooked my fingers into the waistband of Kerry’s pyjama bottoms, pulling them down as slowly and carefully as I could.

Kerry stirred briefly, bringing an arm up to slide beneath a pillow. Frankie and I froze like two deer caught in headlights, breathing sighs of relief when Kerry settled down again. I pulled her jammies down even further.

I mean, it wouldn’t exactly have been a catastrophe if Kerry had woken up right then – I could’ve just told her we’d come in to say goodnight, and I doubt she would’ve given it much thought. Okay, she might have briefly wondered why her pyjama bottoms were halfway down, but she’s an eight-year-old girl, not Inspector Sodding Morse. Honestly, she probably wouldn’t have pursued the matter.

So with my daughter’s jammies round her knees and her bare bottom conveniently illuminated by the bar of light from the doorway, I stood next to Frankie and slipped a hand between my legs. Frankie followed my lead, fingers pressed into her sex.

“What do you want to do to her?” I whispered to my girlfriend.

“Huh?”

“Kerry. Tell me what you’d like to do.”

Frankie turned back to Kerry, licking her lips. “I want to touch that lovely bum.”

“What else?”

“I wanna kiss it. I want to spread those cheeks open and stick my tongue in her arsehole and pussy.” Frankie gave me an imploring look. “Can I?”

I shook my head slowly. “We don’t want to wake her up, do we? What I’d really like is to see you come on her arse. Will you do that for me?”

Frankie took another step until she was pressed up against the bed. She thrust her hips out towards Kerry’s bare bottom, then began pumping two fingers inside herself, the other hand working her clit. I could hear how wet she was, but we both knew it was just a prelude.

“Yeah, that’s it, squirt on my little girl,” I purred in Frankie’s ear, knowing my filthy words would bring her off that much quicker. “Think about all the nasty things we did with Izzy, then imagine it’s Kerry. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Fuck, Sarah,” Frankie whimpered. “I like the new you, I really do.”

“Shhh. Don’t you wake my little angel up.”

I stepped back to take in the full depravity of the scene – Frankie hunched over the bed, mauling her cunt while my little girl slept on.

Oh, it was bad. Believe me, I knew that. Ugly and wrong, maybe the worst thing I’d done so far because Kerry was asleep, which made this a blatant violation of trust. But I just couldn’t bring myself to make Frankie stop. I wanted to see what it looked like, my girlfriend squirting her spend over my daughter.

“Come on her, Frankie,” I hissed. “I’m only ever going to let you do this once, so you better make it good.”

Frankie suddenly went steel-rigid, fingers splaying her cunt open while she subjected her clit to a frenzied attack. She gave a low, desperate groan, then sprayed Kerry’s buttocks and part of her lower back with her fluids. She clamped a hand over her mouth, throes of ecstasy racking her hunched form. The last few drops splashed onto Kerry’s bum, Frankie’s arse clenching and unclenching as she rode out her orgasm.

“Oh, you filthy bitch,” I cooed, tracing a finger down the curve of my lover’s spine. “How many mothers would let their girlfriend squirt over their little girl? Aren’t you the lucky one?”

I trailed a finger through the wetness on Kerry’s bottom, then bent down to gently kiss a soft bum cheek before carefully pulling her pyjamas back up.

Kerry opened her eyes and peered at me without any real awareness. “Why’d you wake me, Mummy?” she murmured.

I kissed her on the cheek. “Shhh. Go back to sleep, Peanut.”

3

On Saturday, with Kerry at home for a change, Judy and I decided to take the kids out for a picnic in the forest. There were some lovely enclosures about a half hour drive away, and while they weren’t exactly a secret, few enough people knew about them to ensure relative peace and quiet.

Frankie said she was going to stay at home and catch up on some work.

“Sure you don’t want to come?” I asked her. “There’ll be sausage rolls. And wine.”

“And sex?”

I looked at her blankly. “Huh?”

Kerry was playing outside in the garden. Frankie gestured at her through the kitchen window, then gave me an impish look. “You know… sex.”

Here’s the thing: I thought I could draw very clear lines in the sand. I thought I could be two different people – responsible mother one day, sexual deviant the next, and that somehow one wouldn’t impact the other.

There were no lines, of course. They were a figment of my imagination. It’s just that right then I still needed them.

I rolled my eyes at Frankie, because that’s what you do when you’re convinced you know better than everyone else. Except, in her innocent, child-like way, Frankie was far closer to the truth than I knew. “We’re hardly going to be having sex in a public place, you perv. It’s just a picnic for the kids. Are you coming or not?”

Frankie hooked both hands on her hips and tried to look tough. “Do I look like picnic material to you? I am way too rock ‘n roll for all that twee Famous Five bullshit.”

“Oh. My. God,” I gasped. “You’re a picnic snob!”

“Call it what you want, girlfriend. Frankie don’t do no motherfuckin’ picnic.”

“You’re a picnic snob and you talk about yourself in the third person. I don’t know if I can be your girlfriend anymore.”

Frankie crossed her arms defiantly. “Ain’t doin’ no picnic.”

We went without her. ‘Cause Frankie don’t do no motherfuckin’ picnic.

4

“Slow down, you’ll run out of forest!” I hollered to Kerry and Izzy as they scouted ahead of us.

We’d found ourselves a nice secluded spot to explore and have our picnic. I carried the hamper, while Judy had the obligatory chequered blanket slung over a shoulder. Kerry and Izzy raced down the little paths that snaked through the woods as my sister and I tried our best to keep up.

“We should’ve got them to leave a trail of breadcrumbs,” Judy joked.

“Let’s hope they don’t run into a wicked witch.”

Judy put her arm through mine. “Who needs wicked witches when they have two wicked mothers?”

“Is that what we are? Wicked?”

My sister gave me a sheepish look. “I’m pretty sure engaging in sexual activity with your pre-pubescent children is generally frowned upon.”

“Well, yeah… but it’s fun to be wicked, isn’t it?”

“It won’t be so much fun if it all comes back to bite us on the bum. I’m worried we might be headed for trouble, Sarah.”

I felt my jaw tighten. Now I was beginning to understand how Frankie felt when she had to listen to me tying myself in knots about all the awful things we’d been getting up to. “Well, no one made you touch her, Judy. You can stop any time you like.”

“I’m not sure I can, actually. I like it too much to stop.” Judy lowered her voice, presumably in case any trees were eavesdropping. “I licked Izzy’s pussy again. Read her a bedtime story, then pulled her jammies down and had a quickie. Marco was downstairs listening to Michael Bublé. He likes Michael Bublé.”

I gave her a disgusted look. “What the hell is wrong with him? Michael Bublé’s utter shite. His songs use auto-tune, for Christ’s sake, and I’m not talking about artistic licence here, I mean the bad kind of auto-tune, the I’m-not-quite-hitting-those-notes kind. Frank Sinatra must be rolling in his grave.”

“I know, I know. I keep meaning to talk to him about it. Marco, I mean, not Michael Bublé. It’s not really my place to offer Michael Bublé advice. Are you still messing around with Kerry?”

“We are, but it’s not full-on. There are still lines I’m not sure I want to cross just yet.”

“Such as?”

I scratched my head, suddenly feeling awkward. “I haven’t really touched or licked her. I rubbed my pussy on her face, but I had my panties on.”

Judy gave a snort. “Er, I’m pretty sure that’s full-on, Sarah.”

“I had my knickers on,” I repeated, as if a thin layer of cotton between my pussy and my eight-year-old daughter’s face somehow made it okay. Pathetic, I know.

Judy didn’t let up. “What else have you done with her?”

“Oh, just fed her pussy juice from my fingers a few times. And Frankie squirted on her bum last night when she was asleep. Just small stuff like that.”

An incredulous Judy shook her head at me.

“What?”

“You’re completely in denial, aren’t you?”

“Hardly. I’m just trying to tread carefully. See what we can get away with.”

God, that sounded so bad once it was out of my mouth. And I really wasn’t treading carefully, at all, was I? No, I was stomping around like some sex-crazed giantess, crushing everything in my path. I mean, having sex with Izzy while Judy watched wasn’t exactly ‘small stuff’, was it? Or did I think that somehow it didn’t count because it wasn’t my little girl I was fucking?

“I get so hot when I think about you and Frankie doing stuff to Izzy,” Judy gushed, as if she knew what I was thinking. “Watching that was such a turn-on.”

“We’re going to hell, aren’t we?” I said.

“If it’s a hell where we can make love to little girls for eternity, maybe it’s not such a bad place,” my sister decided with a shrug.

Leaving it at that, we sought out the girls. Kerry and Izzy were standing on a little wooden bridge, throwing sticks into the water below.

“I saw a fish!” Izzy squealed.

Judy leaned against the wooden rail. “I’m sure they appreciate having tree trunks thrown at them.”

“I don’t think we hit any, Aunt Judy,” Kerry assured her.

We explored for an hour or two, managing to get ourselves lost in the process, then found ourselves back at the car. We laid the blanket down in the shade of a huge oak tree, then set about enjoying our picnic.

Kerry and I had made sausage rolls and bacon and brie sandwiches, and Judy had brought some little lemon cakes she claimed to have made herself, although I suspect Mr. Kipling might have had something to say about that. My sister and I sipped low alcohol sparkling wine, while the girls enjoyed some cloudy lemonade.

“Well, this is nice,” I said, swatting an inquisitive bee away.

“Yeah, it is,” Judy agreed. “You enjoying yourselves, girls?”

Izzy and Kerry nodded their approval. Izzy was devouring a sausage roll, and Kerry was trying to imitate me and my sister by daintily sipping her lemonade like it was a fine wine. “We put fennel seeds in the sausage rolls, Aunt Judy,” she informed my sister.

“How decadent!” Judy gasped.

“Where’s the sun gone?” I pondered, noticing some ominous looking clouds gathering overhead. We’d barely tucked into our picnic when the heavens opened up.

“Bloody hell, where did that come from?!” Judy flapped.

“Rain comes from the clouds, Mummy!” Izzy explained.

The four of us scrambled to pack away the food and blankets as fast as we could. By the time we’d thrown it all into the boot of my car and taken refuge inside, we were all soaked through.

“I’m totally drenched!” gasped Kerry from the backseat.

“I’m totally drenched!” squealed Izzy, imitating her older cousin.

Luckily, we’d brought some towels with us, in case the kids wanted to paddle in the streams. I threw them in the back and told Kerry and Izzy to dry themselves off as best they could. Both girls stripped down to their panties and wrapped the towels around themselves.

Judy pointed her phone at them and snapped a photo. “We have two soggy little stowaways in the back!”

Kerry pulled her towel open. “Take another one, Aunt Judy.”

Judy snapped another picture while Izzy copied her cousin and let her towel fall away from her boyish chest. “Take one of me too, Mummy!”

Kerry whispered something to Izzy and the two girls shared a giggle. They gave each other a nod, then pulled their knickers to one side, exposing themselves to us.

“What rude little girls!” I gasped and took another picture.

“How do I do the zoom?” Judy asked me, so I showed her how to ‘do the zoom’. Judy homed in on their pussies to get a couple of close-up shots. She showed me the picture, clearly pleased with herself.

I nodded approvingly. “Send it to Countryfile. They might use it for their calendar.”

“Girls, put a hand between each other’s legs and I’ll take another picture,” Judy said.

“Like this, Izzy,” Kerry told her cousin, and planted a hand on Izzy’s pussy.

Izzy reached across and did the same to Kerry.

“Now smile,” I said.

The girls did their best smiles for the camera. Judy took a few shots, and I snapped a couple of my own.

The sound of a dog barking outside made me and Judy start. I told the girls to quickly cover themselves. Luckily, the car windows were all steamed up, so anyone lurking outside wouldn’t have been able to see much.

I keyed the ignition and put the fan on to clear the glass. There was another car parked a few yards away.

“Let’s go home and get dried off,” Judy said, but there was something significant in the way she said it. It was like looking at the twelve-year-old version of my sister, the tone of her voice, that hungry look she used to give me. And the words weren’t so different from the ones she’d used back then:

Let’s borrow one of Dad’s magazines, Sarah. Let’s go into the bathroom and lock the door. We can do that thing again.

5

Back at my sister’s place, I bundled everyone’s wet clothes into the tumble dryer. Judy let me borrow some lounge pants and a t-shirt, but Kerry persuaded her cousin that the two of them should just hang out in their panties. It soon became obvious why.

“Aunt Judy, will you take some more pictures of us?” my daughter asked as we sat in the lounge.

“You’re such an exhibitionist,” I told her.

Kerry furrowed her brow. “What does that mean?”

“Your mum’s calling you a showoff,” Judy explained.

“Okay, I guess… but will you?”

My sister gave me a shrug. “I don’t see the harm in a few photos. What do you think, Mummy?”

“What if Marco comes back?” I said.

“He plays golf on Saturdays. He’s gone most of the day.”

“In the rain?”

“They have a bar. But we should probably take it upstairs, just in case.”

The girls bounded up the stairs in front of us. We found them in Izzy’s bedroom, sprawled out on her bed. Judy held up her phone. “Strike a pose!”

Kerry put both arms behind her head, then finished off the pose with a sassy little pout. Izzy tried to imitate her cousin, but ended up looking more like a startled goldfish. Judy prowled the foot of the bed, capturing the moment shot by shot.

“Shall we take our knickers off?” an eager Kerry asked as she climbed from the bed, fingers already poised at the waistband.

“Leave them on for the moment,” I told her, distracted by the sound of car tyres on gravel outside.

“What’s up?” Judy asked.

“Is that Marco pulling into your driveway? Shit, I think it is.”

“It’s next door, for heaven’s sake! Will you just relax, Sarah? He’s not going to catch us at it.”

Catch us at it. If we were still within the boundaries of an innocent, albeit risqué, photoshoot with our children, I had a feeling Judy wasn’t planning to keep it that way. Regardless, I tried to put my worries to one side. Mostly because I was feeling horny as fuck.

“Izzy, stand in front of Kerry,” My sister said. Izzy bounced from the bed to follow her instructions. “Now, Kerry, I want you to put your hands over Izzy’s nipples. Yeah, just like that.”

“Cute,” I admitted, and we both snapped off more shots.

I knelt down to get a better angle, fancying myself quite the fashion photographer. “Okay, stay like that, girls. Kerry, I want you to kiss Izzy’s neck.”

Kerry planted a quick peck on her cousin’s nape.

“No, silly – you need to keep your lips there, so we can get it in the picture.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Kerry made another attempt, her lips lingering this time. Izzy giggled as Judy and I took some more pics.

Next, we had the two of them facing one another on all fours upon the bed, lips meeting in an adorable kiss.

Snap.

Then Kerry was sitting on the edge of the bed with Izzy in her lap.

“Pull your knickers up around your waists, girls,” Judy said. “Now spread your legs nice and wide. Ooh, so naughty!”

The thin cotton was moulded around their puffy mounds, two tantalising slits clearly visible.

Snap.

By then, I knew full well where this was going. Judy did, too. There was no stopping it now; no desire to even try. Fashion photographers? No. Child pornographers.

“Kerry?” I heard myself say.

“Yeah?”

“Put your hand between Izzy’s legs. That’s good. Izzy, look up at Kerry and give her a little smile. Perfect. Hold it there…”

Snap snap.

“Slip your fingers into Izzy’s knickers, Kerry,” Judy said. “Just an inch or two.”

Snap snap.

“Now all the way inside. Close your eyes and pretend you’re enjoying it, Izzy.”

“I am enjoying it,” Izzy insisted. “But if Kerry moves her hand around, it would feel nicer.”

“It’s okay to touch Izzy for real, Kerry,” Judy told my daughter. “Make her feel good.”

“I thought we were just doing poses,” Kerry replied with a smirk, then began moving her hand up and down beneath the pink cotton of Izzy’s undies.

Snap snap snap.

Then it was time for the panties to come off.

We had Kerry stand up on the bed while Izzy knelt below her and slowly pulled her cousin’s knickers down.

Two inches. The tease of my eight-year-old’s puffy pubis.

Snap.

Another inch. The beginning of her slit.

Snap snap.

And another. The delicate gossamer petals of her labia.

Snap snap snap.

Then Judy was telling her little girl to kiss Kerry’s mound, and just like that, Izzy’s lips were pressed against her older cousin’s vagina.

Next, we had them reverse positions, telling Kerry to peel down Izzy’s panties with her teeth. It took her a few tries, but she finally managed it. Then we got them to kneel on the bed with their knickers round their knees, cupping each other’s bums while they kissed with tongues, both giggling at the absurdity of it.

Judy and I shared a look. Lust, apprehension, excitement; the merest hint of shame.

“Are we okay?” I asked my sister. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah. I think so,” Judy said. “I’m having fun, anyway. We should take more pics. Dirtier ones.”

“Let’s make a movie,” I suggested, switching from photo to video. Judy did the same.

We filmed the girls as they fondled each other for a while, but Judy clearly wanted to spice things up. “Izzy, get on your hands and knees. No, facing away from us, poppet. That’s it. Kerry, will you kiss Izzy’s bum for us? Oh, that’s so sexy. Keep doing that. Wait; move your head to the side a bit, so we can see what you’re doing. Perfect!”

“Stick your tongue out and lick her bum cheek every now and then,” I chipped in.

Kerry pursed her lips into a bit of a pout. “Can’t I pick some things to do?” she asked us.

“Of course you can, sweetie,” Judy told her. “Show us how rude you can be.”

Kerry’s eyes lit up into mischievous beacons. “Okay! Izzy, you lay back on the carpet and spread your legs open.”

Izzy got down on the carpet and slung her legs apart. Kerry squatted over her face, pussy lips prised open.

“My goodness,” Judy near-whispered. “I think I need to get these knickers off.” My sister shucked off her jeans and panties, a hand quickly finding its way between her thighs. “Izzy, be a good girl and give your cousin’s truffle a nice lick. Squat down just a little lower, Kerry.”

Izzy flicked her tongue out and tasted Kerry’s pussy. Kerry drew in a sudden gasp of breath, a delighted grin illuminating her face. “That feels really nice!”

“I know how to lick truffles ‘cause I licked Frankie’s,” Izzy blurted.

A wry exchange passed between Judy and I. Kerry had no idea about the naughty things we’d been getting up to with her cousin, of course. I think I preferred to keep it that way for now.

“Uh, what?” a bemused Kerry snorted. “No, you didn’t! Just lick me some more, Izzy. Then I’ll lick you, okay?”

My pussy was throbbing like crazy. I followed Judy’s lead and slipped out of my lounge pants and knickers, then went to work on my clit while I filmed the children.

“Will you lick mine now, Kerry?” Izzy asked her older cousin.

Kerry looked to my sister for approval. “Can I, Aunt Judy?”

“How about we have you both lick one another at the same time?” Judy suggested, giving me a sly look.

I smiled back, because I knew exactly what she was thinking. “You want to see them do a sixty-nine?”

“Yeah. Don’t you?”

Instead of answering her, I patted the bed. “Lie on your back here, Peanut.”

Kerry straightened to her feet and fell back onto the bed with a laugh.

I folded to my knees next to Izzy, moving my phone down her body until I was focused on the smooth crease nestled between her thighs. I wanted to put my mouth there, explore her with my tongue, but not with Kerry present. I wasn’t ready to do that with my daughter watching, mindful not to foster any kind of jealousy or resentment. “Come and lie on top of Kerry, cutie,” I told my niece softly, running my fingers through her dark hair. “I’ll show you how.”

After a brief explanation and some minor adjustments, Judy and I watched, utterly captivated, as our daughters licked one another. Judy switched back to photos and took a few shots from different angles. Having done that, she quietly put her phone down on the windowsill, leant back against the wall and jammed two fingers into her cunt, aggressively fucking herself.

I slid a hand across Izzy’s bare back, then leaned in to kiss Kerry on the brow. “Spread her bum cheeks open,” I whispered to my daughter. “Yeah, just like that. Taste her. You’re doing such a good job, Peanut. Mummy’s going to film you for a while now.” I moved to the opposite end of our little girls’ entanglement and kissed Izzy on the cheek. I could smell my daughter’s sex, subtle but intoxicating. “Keep licking, Izzy.”

I stepped back and concentrated on filming the obscene spectacle, moving around the girls to get at it from various angles, frequently zooming in to get close-up shots of little tongues gliding over baby-smooth pussies. My free hand pressed into the hot, moist nest of my sex.

Judy was still fingering herself hard and fast, her face set in a decidedly unmotherly snarl. “Fuck,” she hissed, and, “Lick those sweet pussies,” and, “Good girls,” and, “Oh my God, Sarah,” and, “I’m going to come!”

My sister’s knees buckled, and she slid down the wall into a squat. Her fingers popped free of her cunt, a gush of liquid spraying the carpet beneath her. “Urgh!”

Then Izzy was rolling off Kerry. “I’m bored of this game,” she declared haughtily. “And I need a wee.”

“So do I,” Kerry said.

Judy was still slumped against the wall, her eyes glazed over. I took the girls into the bathroom, told them to climb into the bathtub, and then persuaded them to piss on each other while I filmed them and masturbated.

What can I say? I was a lost cause by then.

Judy wouldn’t look me in the eye when we’d all dressed and made our way downstairs. That was okay. It had always been her way of dealing with things. Refuse to acknowledge it. Pretend it didn’t happen. Until the next time. Because there was always a next time with Judy.

6

Frankie was in the lounge painting her toenails when Kerry and I got back home. “How was your picnic?” she asked me.

I did my best to remain impassive. “It was a bit of a washout, to be honest. So we went back to Judy’s place for the afternoon.”

“Oh, sounds boring.”

“Not exactly,” I told her coyly. “Hey, you’re good at editing videos and stuff, right?”

“I’ve been known to tinker. Why do you ask?”

I handed her my phone. “I’ve got some videos and pictures of Izzy and Kerry playing. I transferred all the stuff Judy took onto my phone as well. Think you could do something with it?”

“I’ll have a go, but I’m not exactly Spielberg. Let me run over the footage while I have a pee.”

Frankie sauntered off to the bathroom, thankfully oblivious to the little smirk I was sporting.

Kerry wandered into the lounge, a glass of cola in one hand. “Hey, can I watch you and Frankie have sex again some time?” she asked casually, as if that were a perfectly normal request for an eight-year-old to make of her mother.

“Maybe,” I told her.

“I could film you this time, couldn’t I?”

“Mmm. Maybe.”

Yes. Another little sex education lesson. Something a bit dirtier this time, something a bit more… visceral. And more naughty games at breakfast, too. Maybe I’d have Kerry smell my pussy without my panties on. Or maybe it would be better to start doing that after school instead, when we had more time to enjoy ourselves. Frankie could join us, too. I wondered how Kerry would feel about watching some porn with us.

Tingling from head to toe, I drew Kerry towards me and wrapped myself round her exquisite young body, basking in the fresh and familiar scent she exuded. “You’re such a good girl” I murmured, trailing my fingers through her soft blonde curls. “I’m glad you’re back with us on weekends. We’re gonna have so much fun.”

“Holy fuuuck!” Frankie hollered from up in the bathroom. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s the matter with Frankie?” Kerry asked, frowning up at the ceiling.

I shrugged. “Must have dropped her phone down the toilet again.”

Soon to come: Chapter Seven!

For a brief description of what takes place in each of the previous chapters, visit this page.

For a list of the characters from the story you are now reading, visit this page. 

For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.

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

 

by Rachael Yukey

No no never turn your back on a stranger
No no never turn your back on a friend
Evil lies lurking leaving you alone and in danger
Waiting in shadows just to steal your soul away
Angel Witch, 1985

“Melissa Brentshaw speaking.”

Nettie opened her mouth, but no words came. It struck her all at once that the woman she’d just phoned up was a blood relative of Anna’s murderer, and her carefully planned introduction whooshed straight out of her head, leaving Nettie with violent tremors in her hands, accompanied by a sudden wave of nausea. She slumped forward, bent over her desk, staring at the blank first page of the notebook she’d bought earlier that day.

“Hello? Who is this?” The tone was strong, confident. The woman behind this voice was clearly accustomed to people listening when she spoke.

Nettie took a deep, steadying breath. Don’t blow this, damn it. “I’m sorry,” she got out. Her voice was surprisingly steady, and she took courage in that. Lifting her head, she pressed forward. “My name is Antoinette, and I’m an investigations consultant. I was wondering if it would be possible for you to meet with me in person within the next week or two. I have some questions regarding—”

“Is this about my brother Jacob?”

Nettie hesitated, caught off-guard. She’d intended to introduce the subject matter with finesse. Then she gave a mental shrug. “It is,” she said. “I was recently involved in the investigation of a kidnapping in—”

“Minnesota,” the woman on the other end finished for her. The voice was utterly composed, devoid of inflection. Nettie knew at once that she’d never be able to get a read on this person over the phone.

“I saw it in the news,” Melissa Brentshaw went on. “That is the case you’re talking about, isn’t it?”

Once more, Nettie found herself at a loss for words. The woman on the other end of the line had her completely off-balance. With an effort, she found her voice. “Ms. Brentshaw, it’s important that I interview you in person, and at the earliest—”

“I can’t imagine why,” Melissa Brentshaw broke in. “If you’ve done your homework, then surely you know my brother is dead. How could he possibly be involved in anything that’s happening now?”

“Yes, I do know that, thank you,” Nettie was getting mad now, and it did her a world of good. “There have, however, been some indications that there might have been one or more accomplices involved in his earlier activities, and we’re thinking they might be responsible for the incident earlier this month.”

“And what do you suppose I’d know about that? I was a senior in high school when he was arrested.”

“Still, he was your brother—which means you might know more than you think.”

“Okay, look.” At this sharper tone of voice, Nettie allowed herself a smile. Melissa Brentshaw sounded genuinely exasperated, marking the first real break in her composure. “Jacob was sixteen years older than me, okay? He was out of the house before I was even old enough to remember him living there. I barely knew him. One of my older sisters might be able to help you more, if you can even get them to talk to you. Probably you can’t.”

Nettie saw her opening and went for it. “They’ll end up subpoenaed sooner or later, then,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “So will you, for that matter. But I might be able to spare you that. If we could spend part of an afternoon together—a few hours at most—just the statement you give me might be enough, since you and Mr. Brentshaw weren’t particularly close.”

There was a long silence from the other end of the line. Finally: “What did you say your name was?”

“Antoinette.”

An impatient sigh. “You have a last name?”

Nettie let out a carefully calculated chuckle. “Sorry. Antoinette LaJean.” LaJean was her middle name, which she was nearly certain had not been included in any of the press surrounding her own abduction case.

“All right, Antoinette LaJean.” That indefinable air of command crackled through the phone speaker like a whip. “You can have your interview. But not right away. I’m boarding a plane this afternoon that’s taking me down to Curacao. That’s an island in the Carribean, where I’m going to spend the next two weeks enjoying the triple S. We can meet after I get back.”

Blindsided, Nettie sucked in her breath. “I’m sorry—triple S?” she asked, mostly buying herself a few seconds to think.

“Surf, sun, and sex.” The voice was utterly deadpan. Nettie had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid spraying nervous, schoolgirl laughter into the phone. For one wild moment she entertained the notion of flying out to the Caribbean to get her interview, then scaled it back to doing it over the phone, before rejecting that notion, too. No, I need to look in this woman’s eyes when I talk to her.

“Can we make an appointment now, Ms. Brentshaw? For when you get back?”

There was a moment’s pause. “Noon on the fourteenth of July,” The tone left no room for negotiation. “That’s a Thursday. Bradford’s Diner in downtown Cedar Rapids. They have private booths there. Your treat. I trust you can make that work?”

“I certainly can. Er, enjoy your vacation, Ms. Brentshaw.”

“I intend to. Goodbye, Ms. LaJean.” The line went dead.

Nettie sagged back in the chair, a hard knot of anger tightening in her belly. Mostly at herself, for not coming up with a better solution. Two whole weeks! She stabbed at her phone. Within minutes she had a conference call established with Bridgett Ramscone and Latisha Miller.

“I blew it,” she muttered, still fuming.

“Blew what?” asked Latisha.

“I booked an interview with Melissa Brentshaw, but she’ll be in the Caribbean for two motherfucking weeks. I can’t meet with her till the fourteenth.”

“I’m sorry, Nettie,” said Bridgett, “but so what? At least you got the meeting.”

“So what?! How long do you think we have until that fucking knob goes after more little—”

“If we’re still assuming there’s a connection with the Brentshaw murders, then at least seven months,” Latisha broke in.

Nettie, just launching into a full-on tirade, was brought up short. “How do you figure?”

“Because that’s the shortest gap between Brentshaw’s past crimes. He always waited for the previous case to go cold before moving on to another victim.”

Nettie shook her head, belatedly realizing that nobody could see. “Maybe, but did he ever have to run before he finished? That might change things a bit.”

“If anything it’d make a perp more cautious,” Bridgett countered. “He’ll wait awhile, make sure the heat is off—or at least on simmer. He came very close to getting caught, so he’ll be more careful for awhile.”

“Listen, Nettie,” said Latisha. “I can already see that your biggest hang-up as an investigator is going to be patience. On most cases, you have to let events play out in their own time. We’re all trying to catch bad guys before they get a chance to act again, but rushing things is the surest way to skip over clues.”

“So I just sit around with my thumb up my ass for two weeks? Seriously?”

“If you were a full-time agent,” said Bridgett, “you’d be working on other cases. But there are things you can do in the meantime. Compile information. Get your notes together. Dot the I’s and cross the T’s. Work out what you’re going to say to Melissa Brentshaw and have it down cold. Where are you meeting her?”

“A downtown cafe in Cedar Rapids.”

“Perfect,” said Latisha. “Not gonna lie; I’d be nervous if she wanted to meet you anywhere private. Still—watch your ass. This grass might have snakes lurking in it.”

“I’ll be careful,” Nettie assured them.

***

Mallory emerged from the bathroom of her father’s old farmhouse, grimacing at her complete inability to start thinking of it as her house. She and Julie had pulled into the farmstead late the previous evening, having spent most of three days in Bronning.

She made her way down the hall and into the kitchen, expecting to find Julie there, but she was nowhere to be seen. Poking her head into the living room, she glanced about—no Julie.

“Babe?” she called out. No reply, and the house was small enough that Julie would have heard it no matter where she might be. Mallory reversed course, ambling through the entryway and onto the front porch. The chill morning breeze tugged on her two-piece pajama set. Felt like rain.

Belatedly, she realized the dimness of the light was due to overcast, not the early hour. She glanced at her watch, then rolled her eyes. It was quarter to nine already. Slugabed Mallory strikes again. Turning her gaze to the sky, she watched the thunder-bumpers rolling in, heard the rumbling in the distance. It would be pissing down rain any time now.

She scanned the yard. The Buick was parked in its usual spot. So where the hell is Julie? She was about to duck back into the house and go for her phone when she spotted light in the dingy window set into the entry door of the machine shed. Raising her eyebrows, she descended the porch steps, picking her way up the dirt trail towards the large metal-sided structure. The soil, liberally interspersed with grass now that nobody was driving farm machinery on it, felt good beneath her bare feet.

As she traversed the hundred yards or so from the house to the shed, a flash of lightning split the sky ahead of her, a grumble of thunder rolling through just moments later. Idly, she wondered how long they were going to be stuck in the shed waiting for the rain to abate. Oh, well.

Maybe we’ll find some way to occupy ourselves, she mused with the hint of a smile. I think that old Star Wars blanket of mine is still in there…

The entry door was set into the wall directly to the left of an enormous garage roll-up that was large enough for a good-sized combine to fit through with the header detached. Mallory pushed the smaller door open, realizing with distaste that she now had to walk barefoot on the gritty, oil-soaked concrete of the garage floor. With a resigned sigh, she stepped inside.

At the other end of the cavernous space, in the back left corner of the shed, was Julie, her head halfway beneath the hood of the old two-cylinder John Deere diesel tractor Mallory’s father had never gotten around to restoring.

At the sound of the closing door, Julie straightened, looked over her shoulder and flashed her world-brightening smile. “Morrning, sweetie,” she called out, beckoning with an enthusiastic come-hither gesture. “Get your buns over here and check it out. This thing is so cool!”

Shaking her head at the notion that anyone might find a greasy old tractor this exciting before at least lunchtime, Mallory took a cautious step forward.

Julie held up a hand. “Whoa, Mal—are you barefoot?”

Pausing in mid-step, Mallory shrugged elaborately. “Didn’t think of it till I’d already walked over here.”

Julie shook her head. “Look to your left,” she said. “I think there’s a pair of old sandals or something.”

Trying and failing to imagine her father in sandals, Mallory looked down at the floor. Sure enough, tossed carelessly into the corner were a pair of worn paisley Crocs. Mallory frowned. Not only would her father have refused to wear such a thing had his life depended on it, they were clearly not his size. The answer was, of course, obvious. Her dad and Agatha Kershaw had become much more chummy than either would have acknowledged in public.

Grinning, Mallory shoved her feet into the things, then made her way across the floor to where Julie was fiddling with something bolted to the engine. Mallory’s smile got bigger as she approached, taking in the view of her lover. Julie managed to make raggedy-ass jeans, a smudged Starbucks tee left over from a briefly-held college job, and a plaid do-rag look sexy as hell.

She was using a line wrench to loosen a metal hose attached to what was most likely the injector pump. Mallory was by no means mechanically inclined, but she’d lived around farm machinery for long enough to have a pretty good idea of what she was looking at. Most of the time.

“Take a look, Mal,” Julie enthused.

“At what, precisely?” Mallory was taking care to stand a few feet to the side, knowing her partner’s tendency to gesticulate when excited. She had no desire to get the dirty old oil caked into Julie’s hands and arms all over her PJs.

“All the important parts are here,” said Julie. “I think. And check this out.” Setting aside the wrench, she put both hands on the large side-mounted flywheel, the protective cover of which she’d removed and leaned against one of the rear tires. Giving the flywheel a heave, she got it to rotate a few inches counter-clockwise. It rocked back when she let go. “Know what that means?”

Mallory folded her arms. “Means the insects have a Ferris wheel?”

“No, dummy!” Julie slapped at her with grubby fingers, but Mallory danced adroitly out of the way. “It means the engine isn’t seized up! It’s tough to turn, but that’s good; means we’re getting compression.”

“Sounds great—or it would if I had a crop to bring in. Julie, what are you trying to accomplish here?”

“I bet I can get it running, Mal! I can’t get the pony engine to turn over, but once I get the gunk out of these fuel lines and some fresh diesel in the tank, the big engine might pull-start.”

Mallory found herself wishing for somewhere she could sit that wouldn’t stain her pajamas. “You’re so adorable. You know I have no idea what a pony engine is.”

Julie rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “It’s a little engine that starts a big engine. The model R was John Deere’s first diesel tractor, and they were still figuring out the best ways to get the things fired up. Instead of an electric starter, there’s a little gasoline engine called a pony engine. That has an electric starter. You fire up the pony engine, let it run for a minute or two, then there’s a clutch that engages the big engine. As soon as the diesel is running, you kill the pony engine.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry I asked.”

Julie didn’t break stride. “Anyway, the pony engine isn’t working—I’m pretty sure the starter is shot. But even without that, I’ll bet we could get my dad’s pickup out here and pull-start this bitch.”

“What for?”

Julie looked nonplussed. “Well—why not? You hung onto this thing Mal, when you sold all the other stuff. Wouldn’t it be cool to see it running?”

Mallory realized she was being bitchy because she was still half-asleep. No coffee in the morning was going to take some getting used to. She smiled at her partner. “It would be cool. Will be. Sorry. I’m not awake yet.”

Julie’s lips twisted into a sideways grin. “Goes without sayin’, pumpkin.” Taking up the wrench again, she returned to the half-loosened fuel line fitting.

Mallory’s brow furrowed. “How do you know so much about this thing, anyway?”

“I came out and took a look at it last week—kinda got interested. Then I started reading up online about two-cylinder Johnny tractors, and the early diesels in particular. I got to thinking while we were up in Bronning that it’d be a fun project to at least get the engine running.”

Mallory chuckled. “You know you’re a crazy lady, right?”

A loud crack of thunder outside was followed at once by what started as a light pattering of rain on the metal roof, but rapidly escalated into a deluge.

“Sounds like we’re stuck here for a bit,” Julie murmured, not looking up from her work. “Might as well sit down, Mal.”

Glancing around in vain for her old blanket, Mallory spread her hands. “On what? Everything is gross out here, and these are new PJs.”

Julie jerked her thumb towards a desk tucked into the opposite corner of the back wall. It squatted next to an empty bookshelf that once held service manuals for the various bits of farm machinery Dan Kalvornek had owned. An office chair was tucked in under the desk. “That chair doesn’t look too grubby,” said Julie.

Mallory wandered over, pulled the chair out, and gave it a once-over. It had clearly seen better days, but there weren’t any obvious grease or oil stains. Mallory’s father had usually washed his hands before coming over to look something up.

Grabbing the chair by the back, Mallory rolled it across the shop to where Julie, now wielding a ratchet, was loosening the mounting bolts for what was probably the injector pump. Mallory plopped her butt into the chair, leaning back and stretching with a yawn.

“Christ, I want coffee.”

Tossing a glance over her shoulder, Julie rolled her eyes. “The doc did say you can have a little bit.”

Mallory shook her head vehemently. “Not gonna go there.”

Julie turned back to her work. “Other than jonesing for caffeine, how’re you feeling?”

“Not bad. Just that the ‘off’ feeling I’ve had since just a few days after I hooked up with Terry seems more pronounced. But maybe that’s all in my head, because I know what it is now. Other than that—” she shrugged. “No morning sickness so far, but it’s a bit early for that, anyway. I still seem to have all my energy.”

“Such as it is.”

“Fuck you.” They both laughed.

Putting her ratchet down, Julie turned around, parking her butt on the tractor’s front tire. She met her partner’s eyes. “How are you with it for real?”

Mallory pursed her lips, gazed up at the ceiling, then looked back to Julie. “Scared. Excited. About a thousand different things all at once. What you’d expect, I guess. I’m okay, hon. What about you?”

Julie cracked a grin. “Now that you know what you want to do, I can tell the world. I’m so fucking excited I could explode. But then, I’m not the one who has to carry and deliver this critter.” Her smile faded. “Wish I knew what we were going to do about the baby daddy situation, though.”

Mallory grimaced. “You and me both. It’d almost be easier if Terry was being a dick about it.”

“I hear that. But he’s not. I like the guy. He’s a lot to take at times, but I do think he’s a good man.”

“Pity we can’t talk him into moving to Colorado,” said Mallory with a grin.

Julie shrugged a single shoulder. “It’d be just as easy for us to move back here.”

Mallory blinked. “I was joking.”

“Don’t tell me it hasn’t crossed your mind.”

Mallory sat back, a little dazed. Stuff that had been swirling around her head for weeks was coming into focus. “I guess it has, even before I found out I was knocked up. But Julie—our lives are in Boulder. Our work is in Boulder.”

Julie was gazing across the shop, her eyes unfocused. “Is it, though? I mostly run my team from home anyway; most of them don’t even live in Boulder. We only do in-person meetings every month or two, so long as everything’s going smoothly. I could carry on without breaking stride. You’d obviously have to switch jobs, but it’s not like you’d have trouble landing a teaching gig pretty much anywhere. And one thing I’ve realized over the last few weeks is that most of our real friends are still right the fuck here.”

“You sound like you actually want to move back.”

Julie looked back to Mallory, her lips pursed. “I honestly don’t know. There are big pros and cons to both. I’m nowhere near ready to say fuck it and jump. But it’s been on my mind a bit, and I’m pretty damn sure it’s been on yours, too.”

“I guess it has.”

“I know. And adding the baby might even tip the scales. Completely aside from solving the Terry problem, raising the kid here means we have a lot of family around.”

Mallory chuckled. “I thought it was Feminism 101 that having a baby shouldn’t change your whole life.”

Seeing the glint in her partner’s eye, Julie laughed with her. “Biggest fallacy of the modern world, if you ask me. Having a baby changes everything, for men and women both. Speaking of which, when do we start spreading the glad tidings?”

“Nettie already knows—”

“Yeah, but I don’t think anyone’s going to hear it from her.”

Mallory shrugged. “If you want to tell your folks, we can do that.”

Julie nodded. “I think we should. What about your side?”

“I think I’ll tell Grandma before I talk to Mom. I need to have a conversation with her anyway—about Mom.”

“I was wondering when you were going to get around to that.”

“Can’t say I’m looking forward to it,” Mallory replied with a sigh. Then she looked at her partner sidelong. “So that’s the real reason you’re out here working on this pile of scrap at the butt-crack of dawn.”

Julie snorted laughter, casting her eyes to the floor. “You’re right. When I have things I need to think through, I like to work with my hands. I guess you know me pretty well.” She looked back up at Mallory, a smile on her lips. “And since when is nine in the morning the butt-crack of dawn? Lazy-ass.”

Mallory peered at her watch. “Closer to nine-thirty now. Did you eat anything before you came out here?”

“Naw, I was waiting for you.”

Mallory shook her head. “Sounds like it’s stopped raining, at least for the moment. I’m gonna go throw some breakfast together. Coming?”

Julie jerked her thumb toward the washbasin. “I’ll be right behind you. Gotta wash the crud off my hands first.”

Mallory rose, then leaned in for a kiss, taking care to avoid touching any part of Julie’s grease-smeared person but the lips. “I love you, Julie.”

“Love you.” Julie made as if to place a greasy hand on her lover’s chest, and Mallory fled, shrieking with laughter.

***

“Absolutely not. If you’re doing this, you’re doing it alone.” The woman’s eyes were stony, her jaw set.

The thin bald man paused in his tracks. He’d been pacing back and forth on the rundown carpet for the past fifteen minutes. “I thought you said I could count on you,” he said, looking down at her reproachfully.

“You can,” she said, “so long as I get my piece of it at the end. But not this soon. In case you missed it, you almost got caught. Try anything right now, half the damn detectives in the country will be trying to track us down.”

“I didn’t get there,” his tone was mournful, and he resumed his frenzied pacing. “I had them. So close, and it didn’t happen, Do you have any idea fucking long it’s been?”

“It’ll be longer if we end up in prison.”

The creature flung himself into a chair. The woman on the couch stifled a sigh of relief. “We’ll get there. We have to give it some time, is all. And next time, we use the van. At least it has tires that aren’t likely to blow any goddamn second.”

“It wasn’t just the tire.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Huh?”

“They were onto us. Dude at the shop told me the cops were on their way. We need to figure out how they got on our trail.”

The woman on the couch nodded slowly. “They’re usually not that smart. We have to plan more careful, for sure. And we need to wait. At least a few months, okay?”

“Fine.” He was trying for an air of belligerence, but it came out sounding like the ranting of a petulant child.

***

“Hey, Vicky! Wait up!”

Victoria Hanson came up short, twisting around to face the person calling her from halfway down the block. The bag of cleaning supplies she’d picked up for her mom at the Dollar General on the edge of town swung from her right hand.

Chrissy Moen quickened her stride to a light jog, coming up alongside Vicky and throwing an arm across her shoulder. “Hey, girl, how’s things?” said the willowy girl with the curly blonde hair.

Vicky returned the embrace, wrapping her free arm around Crissy’s waist. She reflected momentarily on how ravishing her friend was in retro stone-washed bells and a tasseled white blouse. Realizing she was lingering over the scent of Crissy’s perfume, she dropped her arm, hoping she hadn’t been too obvious.

Crissy seemed to hold no such inhibitions. Arm still draped around Vicky’s shoulders, she began walking again, propelling them both forward. “Heading for home?” she wanted to know.

Vicky gave her friend a wry smile, a thin cover for the strong visceral reaction she had to the nearness of Crissy’s body. She hadn’t realized until right this second how desirable her friend was. Deciding two could play at this game, she enfolded Crissy’s waist once more with the arm that wasn’t holding the shopping bag. The two ambled down the street in this fashion, arms around each other.

“Yeah, I’m on a mission for Mom,” she heard her voice say. “The new puppy is peeing everywhere. Thank God we don’t have carpets.”

“Ick,” was Crissy’s only reply.

“You can say that again.”

“Ick,” Crissy repeated, with feeling. Both girls laughed.

“So anyway,” Crissy went on. “Wanna hang tonight? Come for dinner, maybe sleep over?”

Vicky’s eyebrows arched at this out-of-the-blue invitation. Her first inclination was to say yes, but then the painful and humiliating conversation she’d overheard at Crissy’s birthday sleepover flashed through her mind. She wasn’t sure she could stand another night in the company of Sarah Spencer and Patricia Spisak. “Ummm—maybe. Who’s gonna be there?”

Crissy shot her a rueful look. “Not Sarah, if that’s what you’re thinking. I told her she can talk to me again when she figures out how to not be a bitch.”

“Whoa!” Ducking out from under Crissy’s arm, Vicky stopped in mid-step, turning to stare at her friend. “No kidding?”

“No kidding. It’s been coming for awhile. Her being a massive jerk at my birthday party was just the last straw.”

Vicky realized her mouth was hanging open, and closed it with a snap. Crissy and Sarah had been besties since the second grade.

“Anyway,” Crissy went on, “I might invite Patty, but not if you don’t want me to.”

It took Vicky a moment to find her voice. “Why do I get to pick?”

Crissy shrugged, looking faintly embarrassed. “Because I want to hang out with you. You’re one of the coolest people I know. You just do you, and you don’t seem to give a shit if people don’t like it. You just have—I don’t know. A strength, I guess. I don’t know how you do it.”

Crissy was blushing now, but Vicky felt even more embarrassed. She was enormously flattered, but wondered if Crissy would still be praising her strength if she’d seen her weeping over Sarah’s bitchiness at Jamie Nelson’s house. She decided she had to be honest.

“I’m not always that strong. Sometimes I do care, a lot. When Sarah was talking shit—”

“It hurt? I’ll bet it did. But you—you can take the hurt, it seems like. You don’t let it change you.” Crissy took Vicky’s arm, turning her in the direction they’d been headed and starting to move forward again. “Anyway, I know Patty was part of that thing with Sarah, but she came and talked to me about it later, and she felt terrible about it. I mean, she was actually crying. I think she’s too ashamed to come talk to you. You gotta understand…”

Crissy took a deep breath, mulling over her words. “Patty’s not like you. She’s not that strong. She’s really insecure, so she just goes along with whatever so people will like her. It’s like—she wanted to tell Sarah to get fucked, but she couldn’t do it on her own. You know?”

They were only a block away from Vicky’s house now. They could see Vicky’s mother crossing the street with leash in hand, a black chihuahua puppy yipping at her heels.

“Perfect timing!” Crissy proclaimed. “Let’s ask your mom if you can stay over tonight. If you want to, I mean.”

“I want to.” The words were out of Vicky’s mouth before she even realized she was speaking.

“Sweet!” Crissy waved an arm above her head. “Hey, Ms. Mayor!”

Lisa Hanson stopped at the front walk of her home, bending over to lift the puppy from the ground, snuggling it to her breast. The other hand she placed on a hip, standing with feet apart and looking saucy.

“Christina Moen,” she declared in haughty tones as the two girls came near. “Enough of that ‘Ms. Mayor’ crap already. I don’t even get that much respect at council meetings, and besides, I’ve known your mom since kindergarten.”

Lisa Hanson was still an attractive woman in her late thirties. The lines around her eyes and mouth were good lines, those of a face given to much smiling. As she was doing right now..

Crissy was smiling, too. “I guess you won’t be mayor anymore once you’re in the legislature, huh?”

Lisa snorted, idly stroking the puppy’s head. “As if I have a prayer. I’m on the wrong side of the political fence for this district. I wouldn’t bother running at all if my opponent hadn’t been caught—ummm—”

“With his boy parts inside of his wife’s sister?” Vicky finished for her.

Lisa gave a rueful smile. “Yes, that. And honestly—he’s still probably gonna win.”

Crissy cleared her throat. “So, Ms. May—” Lisa threw her a warning glare. “Fine, Lisa. Can Ms. Mayor Junior come to my place for dinner, then spend the night?” Vicky gave her a playful thwack on the shoulder.

Lisa made a face. “Hmmm, now, let me see…”

“That’s a yes,” Vicky said, before her mother could drag this routine out any further.

Lisa was now pulling on her bottom lip. “No boys, drugs, or alcohol, right?” she inquired in a teasing tone.

Crissy waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “You specified boys. Does that mean you’re okay with men?” Vicky tried to hold it in but couldn’t. She exploded into laughter.

Lisa chuckled. “Well, so long as there are no boys.” Now all three were laughing.

Crissy got herself under control, then turned to Vicky. “Show up around four?”

Vicky ran through a fast mental checklist. “Four works.”

Crissy cocked her head. “Should I call Patty…?”

Vicky nodded. “Yeah. That’d be cool.”

“Awesome! See ya at four!” Crissy threw an arm around Vicky and pulled her close, then turned around and strode off before Vicky had a chance to return the hug.

“Well,” said Lisa, “That sounds like fun.”

“Yeah,” said Vicky, suddenly feeling a bit breathless. “Here’s the stuff you asked for, Mom. I have to go practice now if I’m gonna be out all night.” Giving the pup a quick scratch behind the ears, she handed the plastic shopping bag to her mother and made her way up the steps and into the house.

She didn’t feel like practicing right then. Not with the warmth, the smile and the scent of Crissy lingering in her mind. No, she was in a mood to touch herself, to get lost in a sexy fantasy involving her friend.

I probably should, she told herself. A quick one, at least. Otherwise, it’s gonna be hard to relax when I’m at Chrissy’s.

Entering her room, she locked the door, then unfastened her jeans and took them off. She stretched out on the bed, slipping a hand into her panties.

On to Chapter Twenty-One!

The Story Thus Far

Chapter 1: In which Sarah and Frankie peruse some rather risqué entertainment, then get intimately acquainted with a pair of soiled undies. Who says staying at home on weekends is boring?

Chapter 2: In which Kerry comes home, the Panty Fairy pays a visit, Sarah confides in her sister Judy, Kerry catches a whiff of pussy on Mummy’s fingers, and plans are made to let Kerry watch Sarah and Frankie have sex. Goodness me!

Chapter 3: In which Sarah and Kerry’s pussy-smelling game escalates, Sarah has a quick diddle in the school carpark, and Sarah and Frankie put their unorthodox sex education lesson into motion. Oh, and a traumatised teddy bear called Mr. Ruffles.

Chapter 4: In which smelling becomes tasting, and a visit to the bird sanctuary turns into an afternoon of naughty panty-modeling fun with Sarah, Judy and five-year-old Izzy. Bloody hell, now sister and niece are in on the act!

 

by BlueJean

1

I’d gotten this silly idea that every time Kerry returned from visiting her dad, it was a chance for a course correction. No more kiddy porn, no more sniffing panties, no more pussy-smelling games at the breakfast table. And no more eating my five-year-old niece out, either, ‘cause that was just not on. Stupid. Stupid.

No more. Enough. It was fun while it lasted, but now it was time to stop behaving like an idiot and get back to being a normal mother again.

All well and good, except when I woke up Sunday morning I was horny as fuck.

Frankie was no use – she’d gotten back late from her parents the night before and was now snoring away beside me.

I dragged myself out of bed and padded down to the kitchen to make some coffee. My phone was lying on the worktop. I checked it for new messages, found none, then clicked on my photos. Blurry-eyed, I peered at the picture I’d taken the day before, the one of Izzy with her knickers round her knees. That made my pussy throb even more.

Kerry would be back later, and then we’d finally put all this nonsense behind us. But I reasoned that until then, anything I did was fair game, the same way an alcoholic will down the last few bottles of booze in the house before they convince themselves they’re going teetotal.

So I took my phone upstairs to Kerry’s room and stretched out on her bed, ogling Izzy’s picture while I masturbated. Except that wasn’t good enough, was it? No.

“Wanna help me, Mr. Ruffles?” I asked my daughter’s beloved teddy bear, propped up in his usual spot on her pillow. “I mean, it’s not as if you don’t know what to do.”

Kerry had admitted to having a little rub with the soft toy on occasion, and we’d seen it with our own eyes, the night she came to our bedroom to watch Frankie and me get it on.

I gave teddy a sniff. He did smell a little fruity, I had to admit, well due a visit to the washing machine. I pushed my knickers down my legs and away, then introduced Mr. Ruffles to my cunt. I worked him back and forth, the feeling of his fur scrubbing against my clit absolutely sublime.

And all the while I stared at Izzy’s picture, her undies stretched round her knees, remembering how I’d taken that puffy little mound between my lips; how fresh she’d tasted.

I stuffed Mr. Ruffles’ snout between my pussy lips and dragged him up and down, his glassy eyes regarding me somberly; accusingly.

“What?” I demanded. “Don’t fucking judge me, bear. I’m having an early midlife crisis, okay? Just do your job and make me come. Ugh! Come on, you furry little fucker!”

I’m afraid I made a mess on poor Mr. Ruffles. I should’ve popped him into the washing machine, I know. Instead, I put him back on Kerry’s pillow.

2

Kerry came back home later that afternoon, and the rest of our Sunday passed without incident. I thought about showing Frankie the picture of Izzy, but decided against it. I’d have to explain everything leading up to and after that photo, and I knew it would only encourage Frankie to take this madness even further, when I had every intention of knocking it on the head. It would just complicate things. I thought it would be best to delete it altogether, but managed to convince myself it was worth keeping for posterity’s sake.

And thus, I began down the rabbit hole once again.

The real test would be Monday morning at the breakfast table. I’m ashamed to say I failed miserably.

Kerry had come down a little earlier than usual. I’d only just crawled out of bed myself, and was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes when Kerry steered us towards the inevitable.

“Mummy?”

“Hmm?”

“Shall we play the game?”

“No, Kerry. Eat your breakfast.”

“Oh, please!” she beseeched.

“No. We can’t keep doing this in the mornings, it’s not a good way to start the day.”

“But I got up early for it!”

I ignored her; continued to apply lipstick in the little mirror I kept in my trouser pocket. Disorganised mums do their makeup on the move. That’s just the way it is.

“Mummy, look.”

I turned to find Kerry with her chair pushed back from the table, a foot drawn up onto the edge. She’d hiked her green gingham dress up, then pulled her knickers to one side.

“Oh, charming,” I told her, regarding her smooth slit with as much nonchalance as I could muster.

“Let’s play the game a different way this time,” she said. “I’ll let you taste me instead, okay?”

All right. Let’s say, next week we’ll put a stop to all this. Definitely next week.

I pocketed my lipstick, then found myself wandering over to her. “Okay, but just this once, Kerry. We are not making a habit of this.”

That’s exactly what you’re doing, idiot.

Kerry pushed a finger through her slit, drawing it back and forth, then offered it to me with an exceptionally pleased expression, like a cat bringing its owner a mouse.

I rolled my eyes, then leaned down to take a sniff. A subtle hint of pre-pubescent sex found my nose.

“Go on, then – taste it,” Kerry reminded me, so I took her finger into my mouth and sucked it clean.

Kerry giggled in delight, then repeated the whole process, dipping a finger into her pussy; bringing it up to my mouth to sample, just as I’d done with her the week before.

With the faintly salty-sour tang of Kerry’s pussy in my mouth, I could feel my panties clinging to my cunt, hot and moist. This was surely as close to going down on my little girl as I would ever get.

“Okay, Mummy,” Kerry said, all business-like. “Let’s do it the normal way now. Put your hand down your panties.”

Too late, I realised she’d tricked me into getting what she really wanted – a taste of Mummy.

How on earth had I allowed this ridiculous little game to keep escalating? The truth is, I think it tapped into memories of me and my sister, how we’d experimented with each other as kids. No masturbatory fantasy was ever quite as potent to me as the thought of a twelve-year-old Judy squatting over me with her pussy stretched open, fingers dipping into her sex, then into my mouth. Quite the revelation for a burgeoning ten-year-old girl. And now I was acting out that childhood fantasy with my own daughter.

“I’ve got a better idea, bossy boots,” I told her, unbuttoning my trousers and stepping out of them. Time to show the little imp who was calling the shots here. I pulled a chair next to Kerry’s and brought a foot up onto it, bringing my crotch to within inches of her face. “Why don’t you smell Mummy’s panties instead?”

Kerry’s cheeky little smile was usurped by a look of sheer surprise. “While you’re still wearing them?”

I gave her a slow nod, flashing my eyes. “I’ll even brush your hair while you’re doing it.”

Picking up the soft hairbrush from the table, I began running it through Kerry’s blonde curls, drawing her face towards my crotch at the same time. “What a tangled mess,” I told her as I gently rubbed myself against her button nose, just enough to stimulate my clit. “It’s getting a little unruly. We know what that means, don’t we?”

“Mmm.”

“Time for a trip down the hairdresser.”

“Mmm.”

“Mine’s about ready for a cut, too. I’ll book us, uh, both an appointment.”

“Mmm.”

“God, that feels so good. How’re those panties, Peanut? You like how they smell?”

Kerry nodded. “They’re quite wet, too.”

“Good. Let’s finish up here and then we can make a move to school.”

I worked the last few tangles out of Kerry’s hair while I rocked my hips back and forth, quickly bringing myself to a sublime orgasm. “Oh, Kerry. That’s so nice. Mummy’s just going to rub on you a little harder a moment, and then… Oh fuck, that’s fantastic. Good girl.”

As I caught my breath, Kerry screwed up her face and sneezed into my damp knickers.

“Bless you,” I said, patting her on the head.

“Oh, thanks,” she said, and the two of us shared a giggle.

3

The next couple of days seemed to return to some semblance of normality. Mostly that was down to having engineers in the house fitting a new boiler. That meant there was no time for fun at the breakfast table, and Frankie and I had to suffer the indignity of making endless cups of tea for lecherous workmen with roving eyes.

Frankie suggested we leave them to it and venture out for the day, but I was of the opinion that they’d probably be rifling through our panty drawers the moment we were out the front door. Yes, I’m well aware of the irony there, thanks.

Anyway, we got ourselves a swanky new boiler, so it was worth all the hassle in the end.

4

On Thursday morning, having just got back home from the school run, I picked up a text from my sister.

Are you at home today?

Yeah. What’s up? 

   Shall I pop over for coffee? I’ve got Izzy with me. She’s got a dental appointment later.

   Sure, we’re here all day.

An hour later, Judy and Izzy were sitting up to the kitchen table. I made myself and Judy a coffee, and Izzy a mug of weak tea.

Frankie sauntered into the kitchen with her own drink – plastic travel cup, straw, usually filled with something sickly sweet – and offered my sister a sassy look. “Hello, Judith.”

“Hello, Francesca,” Judy replied in mock haughtiness.

Spying Izzy, Frankie chased her around the house, leaving the five-year-old breathless with giggles. “Izzy wizzy woo! I’m going to tickle you ’till you pee yourself!”

“Remember all the naughty games we used to play as kids?” I asked Judy.

Judy smiled awkwardly. “Yeah, of course. We were a right pair of little pervs, weren’t we? What made you think of that?”

“I dunno, I’ve just been thinking a lot about those days. I’m wondering if it has something to do with all the stuff I’ve been getting into lately. Like some subconscious connection with those childhood memories.”

“It’s possible, I suppose.” Judy leaned into me. “I can’t stop thinking about you licking Izzy’s pussy. It got me hot as hell.” She paused to suck on her lower lip. “Is it wrong, what we’re doing?”

“I think so,” I told her. “But it might be the wrongness that makes it so yummy. To me, that’s why fooling around with Kerry is such a turn-on. You know, like how we got excited by the thought of Mum catching us at it when we were kids, the thrill of it.”

Judy narrowed her eyes; gave me a conspiring smile. “Fooling around with Kerry? What’ve you done that I don’t know about?”

Frankie came back into the kitchen with Izzy on her shoulders.

“I might tell you later,” I said teasingly. “I might not.”

“Oh, now you’ve got me feeling horny,” my sister pouted.

“Huh?” Frankie said, her interest piqued.

“We were just talking about our naughty pre-teen years,” I explained.

“Do tell.”

“It’s a long story,” Judy said.

“Come on, spill! I know Sarah tells you all about our dirty secrets. It’s only fair I hear some of yours.”

We all shared a little giggle, and just like that there was a certain sultry tension hanging in the air.

“I have a better idea,” Judy said, sporting a smutty grin.

“Oh?” I said.

“Let’s go into your lounge and watch some porn.”

Frankie and I gave each other a look.

“Um… what about Izzy?” Frankie said.

“What? Me?” Izzy piped at the sound of her name.

“Oh, she won’t mind,” Judy said with a dismissive wave, then sauntered off into the lounge.

“What’s up with her?” Frankie mouthed as she put Izzy down onto the floor.

All I could do was shrug. The three of us still fucked on occasion, though never this early in the day, and always when Izzy was at home with her dad. Of course, Frankie had no idea that I’d already gone down on Izzy, so she must have found Judy’s suggestion even more dubious than I did.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have sent her that video,” Frankie mused, then did that amazing thing where she manages to talk herself in the complete opposite direction from where she started. It’s fascinating to watch. “We’re not actually going to watch porn with Izzy in the room. Are we? That doesn’t sound like the greatest idea, to be honest. Then again, it’s up to Judy, I guess – it’s her kid. As long as she thinks it’s okay, it’s not for us to say no, is it? And Izzy won’t really know what’s going on anyway, I s’pose. So, yeah, if that’s what Judy wants, why the hell not? Let’s do it!”

I waited just long enough to make sure she’d finished, then said, “You know, you don’t have to vocalise every word that pops into your head.”

“Aunty Sarah, can I have a lolly?” Izzy asked.

I always keep lollipops in a jar on the kitchen worktop for when my niece comes round. Kerry likes them, too. Frankie’s quite partial, for that matter, although she gets a slap on the wrist if I catch her with a hand in there.

“Of course you can, poppet,” I said and unwrapped a lolly for her.

We went through to the lounge, where Judy was already curled up on the couch. Frankie hooked her laptop up to the TV while Izzy clambered onto my knee.

“Uh… so porn, then?” Frankie asked hesitantly. I’d never seen her so sheepish about watching porn. It just looked wrong on her, you know? Terribly, terribly wrong.

“Work your magic, baby,” I told her, trying not to laugh.

“So… any requests?”

“Something dirty. And girly,” Judy purred.

“Dirty and girly. Right. I mean, it’s all dirty and girly,” Frankie muttered as she perused the files on her laptop. Finally she settled on one and clicked on the thumbnail.

She’d chosen one of my particular favourites, a sordid tale of secret lesbian lust – leather, lingerie, strapons, enough dirty talk to make a sailor blush, and more arse licking than you can shake a stick at. Good wholesome fun for all the family.

“Ooh, naughty,” Judy cooed as a collage of preview shots flitted across the screen. She absentmindedly massaged her tits through her shirt.

Lounging in the recliner opposite the couch, Frankie was just about to stick a hand down her leggings, but then stopped herself. “Oh. Is this okay?” She flicked a glance at Izzy, who was on my knee enjoying her lolly. “I don’t usually watch porn with small children. Not sure about the rules.”

“Of course it’s okay,” Judy told her. “Izzy doesn’t mind if you rub one out.”

“What are those ladies doing?” an intrigued Izzy asked, pointing at the TV. “I think one of them has fallen over and – and the other two is trying to help her up.”

“Interesting interpretation,” I muttered.

My sister went wide-eyed. “Oh, my God, that’s absolutely filthy! How can they kiss each other after… goodness me, that can’t be hygienic. Turn the volume up a bit, Frankie.“

Frankie and I consumed a lot of porn, but I don’t think Judy got to watch it all that much at home with a husband and a kid around. And certainly not the kinky stuff. Well, there was the illegal video that Frankie had sent her, but that was a one-off. Like Frankie, I was now questioning the wisdom of that particular file share.

My sister pushed her jeans over her hips and began openly playing with herself.

With Izzy nestled in my lap, I couldn’t easily get a hand between my legs, so I brushed my fingers across my niece’s chubby bare thighs instead.

Judy noticed where my hand was and flashed her eyes at me. “Pull her skirt up,” she murmured, low enough that Frankie couldn’t hear.

I shook my head. “Better not. Let’s just watch—”

Judy gave my arm a reassuring stroke with her free hand. “Come on, Sarah. It’s okay.”

I felt a smile teasing the corners of my mouth. Locking eyes with Frankie, I reached for the hem of Izzy’s skirt, slowly drawing it up until an adorable pair of canary yellow panties came into view.

“These are pretty, Izzy,” I told my niece, running my fingers over the soft fabric.

Izzy peered back at me and grinned. “Thanks.”

“Oh my frickin’ days…” Frankie mumbled.

“Touch her,” Judy whispered, her knickers peeled back just enough to gain access to her clit.

I grasped Izzy’s panties and pulled them tight over her mons, allowing two fingers to trace the now visible crack through the material.

Frankie’s mouth was hanging ajar, the porn all but forgotten. Her hand worked studiously inside her leggings as she stared between Izzy’s thighs.

“Slow down, Francesca,” my sister crooned. “We’re just getting started.”

“W-we are?” Frankie groaned.

Judy turned to her little girl. “Izzy, shall we let Aunty Sarah put a hand down your panties?”

“That lady’s licking where poo comes from,” Izzy informed us, fascinated by the porn.

“Yes, we know. Mummy asked you a question, poppet.”

Izzy gave a shrug. “I don’t mind. If Aunty Sarah wants to.”

“Fuck yeah,” murmured Frankie.

“I don’t know if we should be doing this again,” I said to my sister, knowing that I was, in all likelihood, the last bastion of common sense in the room. Frankie was a child in a woman’s body. Judy was impulsive to the point of recklessness. I was supposed to be the smart one, the only one left who was able to assume any kind of responsibility. “What time is Izzy’s dental appointment? You don’t want to be late, do you?”

“Not for another two hours,” Judy said. “We have plenty of time. Put your hand in her knickers, Sarah. For me.”

“Please, sweetheart,” Frankie entreated, eyes imploring. She only ever calls me ‘sweetheart’ when she really wants something. “I want to see you do the bad thing.”

“You’re a couple of bullies,” I said with a disapproving shake of the head, then slipped my fingers under the elastic of Izzy’s panties, hand trailing down until I found her slit. I slipped a finger into the warm groove, sliding it back and forth.

The atmosphere in the room was thick with arousal. Frankie and my sister were playing with themselves while they watched me finger little Izzy. “Ooh, yeah, just like that,” some raven-haired dominatrix hissed on the TV screen. “So fucking nasty.”

And it was, wasn’t it? Nasty and dirty and wrong. And none of us were doing anything to stop it.

“Izzy, give me your lollipop,” Judy said, reaching out a hand.

“I’m licking it,” Izzy protested.

“I know, I’ll give it back in a second.”

Izzy reluctantly parted with the sweet treat. Judy gave it a little lick before a filthy smirk infiltrated her face. She peeled her knickers away from her cunt, then began to slide the lolly up and down her fleshy folds.

“You’re dirty, Mummy!” a giggling Izzy declared.

“I am,” Judy agreed. “You mustn’t ever tell Daddy about this, though. He’d be very upset with Mummy.” She pushed the lolly into her cunt, pumping it back and forth several times. Finally, she offered it to Izzy, popping it into the little girl’s mouth with the same refrain I remember her using when my niece had been transitioning from breast milk to fruit purée: “Open wide!”

Izzy sucked away happily on the pussy-flavoured treat, apparently unconcerned.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Frankie murmured in amazement, like she’d just witnessed something profoundly spiritual. “Can I try, too?”

“Of course,” my sister agreed easily. “Be a good girl and share your lollipop with Aunt Frankie, Izzy.”

Frankie peeled herself from the chair and quickly discarded her leggings and panties. She stood in front of us in just her t-shirt, a hand idly toying with herself. I could see how wet she was.

Izzy reluctantly handed the lolly to Frankie. “Don’t eat it!” she said with a worried look. Frankie was known to steal and gobble up little girls’ lollipops.

“Don’t worry, Izzy Wizzy,” Frankie reassured the little one. “I promise I’ll give it back.” She swung a leg up onto the couch, her pussy a few tantalising inches from Izzy’s face. Her cunt slowly enveloped the lollipop until just the little white stick was visible, caught between her fingers. Frankie thrust her hips out and began fucking herself with it, the lewd act producing juicy wet sounds. I could smell her arousal, along with the cloying sweetness of the lolly. A tiny rivulet of rainbow-coloured juice oozed from her cunt and trickled down.

“Look at that, Izzy,” I murmured, kissing my niece on the cheek. “Frankie’s having so much fun with your lolly.”

When Izzy’s lollipop next saw the light of day, it was coated in a creamy glaze.

“What a mess Aunt Frankie’s made,” Judy cooed. “Pop that lolly in your mouth before it drips over Aunty Sarah’s nice sofa.”

Izzy opened her mouth and let Frankie slip the obscene treat inside.

“Is that tasty?” I murmured to the five-year-old, my hand still inside her knickers.

“Yup, it’s yummy!”

“Let’s take her up to your bedroom,” Judy suggested, her eyes thick with lust.

The three of us regarded one another for a long moment, the implications of what my sister was suggesting hanging heavy in the air.

“Are you up for this?” I asked Frankie in a quiet voice.

Say no, Frankie. Say no and bring us all back from the brink.

Frankie trapped her bottom lip between her teeth. She gave me a slow nod.

5

Izzy bounded up the stairs with a gleeful giggle. The rest of us followed at a more dignified pace. Halfway up, Judy gave Frankie a sudden sharp slap on the arse.

Frankie dashed up the few remaining steps with a yelp. “Ow! That was mean! Sarah, tell your sister off!”

I couldn’t help but laugh.

The four of us filed into the master bedroom, where Izzy hurled herself onto the bed with a squeal.

“You should both get naked,” Judy said to Frankie and me as she sank into the armchair, the same one Kerry had sat in not so long ago while she watched us going at it.

While we stripped out of our clothes, my sister pulled her shirt open and scooped out her breasts, then slipped off her jeans and knickers. “Now undress Izzy,” she told us.

Frankie and I climbed onto the bed to join my niece, kneeling on either side of her. Frankie’s eyes roamed over the little girl with unconcealed hunger.

I pulled Izzy’s pumps off and threw them on the floor, then had her stand up on the bed. “Let’s get the rest of these things off, poppet,” I told her.

Frankie pulled the child’s t-shirt over her head while I unsnapped her skirt, letting it fall around her feet.

Judy was strumming her clit as she watched us, bringing a hand up to knead a breast. “Take her undies off, Frankie,” she demanded.

“This is so hot,” Frankie muttered. “I’m literally creaming myself here.” She drew Izzy’s knickers down her legs.

“One foot out,” I told my niece with gentle persuasion. “Now the other. Good girl.” I brought the still-warm panties to my face and breathed in Izzy’s subtle perfume, then peered across at Judy. “What shall we do now?”

“Whatever you like,” my sister murmured, her eyes glazed with arousal. “I just want to watch.”

I took one of Frankie’s hands and guided it to Izzy’s belly, giving my girlfriend a nod of encouragement.

My fingers found the five-year-old’s smooth, boyish chest, teasing at her tiny, barely-there nipples. We had her lie back on the bed, then stretched out on either side and explored her with our fingers. Izzy giggled and squirmed, glancing from me to Frankie.

Judy was plunging two fingers in and out of her cunt, a thumb brushing against her clit. “Oh… Spread your legs open, Izzy. Nice and wide for Aunty Sarah and Aunt Frankie.”

Izzy slung her legs apart, resting them against our thighs. Frankie pressed her tits against the little girl, a hand trailing over Izzy’s stomach and down to her pubis. I caught my girlfriend by the wrist and brought her fingers to my mouth, sucking on two of them until they were glistening with saliva. “Play with her pussy,” I told her, and she nestled into the child’s puffy mound, gliding through her neat slit.

I took one of Izzy’s hands; tucked it between my legs. “Do you see what Frankie’s doing?” I asked the five-year-old.

“Mmm.”

“Will you do the same to me? Just move your fingers around like Frankie’s doing, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Oh, you filthy bitches,” Judy hissed. “Have her suck your nipple, Frankie.”

Frankie brought a tit to Izzy’s mouth, and the five-year-old instinctively knew what to do, swirling her tongue around the rubbery nipple, then taking it between her lips to suck. Frankie gave a breathless groan. She seized Izzy’s free hand and stuffed it between her legs, grinding it into her cunt.

I knew Frankie was about to go off. Truth be told, I was surprised she’d held out this long. “F-fuck…” she whimpered, pressing Izzy’s balled hand tightly against her mons, a series of tics and tremors infiltrating her body. “Fuck!”

Feeling especially perverse, I turned to flash my eyes at Judy, then pressed Izzy’s discarded knickers into Frankie’s spent cunt, using them to soak up the creamy juices. “Will Izzy be okay wearing these to the dentist?” I asked my sister innocently, letting the sodden undies dangle from a finger.

Judy didn’t answer; just curled her top lip into a lust-driven snarl, a blur of movement between her legs as she whisked herself to a pummelling climax. “Ah… ahhh… ahhhh!”

While Frankie lay in a post-orgasmic stupor, I scooted down to take my niece’s pussy between my lips, flicking my tongue through her warm, moist crease.

Frankie pushed my hair to one side so she could see what I was doing. “That’s so sexy, Sarah. Eat that little pussy.”

I smiled up at her. “Want to share?”

Curling herself into a kneeling position, Frankie bent forward to nurse on Izzy’s tiny clitoris while I prised the child’s labia apart and lashed my tongue into the rosy pink interior. Every now and then, our mouths would meet in a sordid kiss.

Frankie glanced up at my sister. Apparently unsated, Judy had found one of Izzy’s discarded shoes, and was now sliding it up and down her cunt, the tip wet and shiny. “Can I lick her arsehole?” Frankie asked, as if that most intimate of acts needed special permission.

Judy simply nodded.

“Roll over onto your hands and knees, Izzy,” I told my niece, helping her into place. I slid underneath and continued to lick her pussy while Frankie went at her arse from above, holding the child’s soft, pert buttocks open with both hands.

“Frankie’s licking my bottom, Mummy!” Izzy told her mother.

“I can see that,” Judy cooed. “Aunt Frankie only does that to girls she really likes.”

As I paused to share another kiss with Frankie, I felt my thighs being pushed apart, and looked down to find Judy kneeling on the floor, her face between my legs. She dragged her tongue up my cunt in one slow, languid movement, causing a burst of intense pleasure to ripple through me.

“Izzy?” Judy said, and Izzy glanced back at her mum. “Can you see what I’m doing to Aunty Sarah?”

Izzy gave a slow nod. I could see her eyes fluttering open and shut, the telltale signs of pre-pubescent arousal percolating there. “You’re licking Aunty Sarah’s secret garden.”

“That’s right. Aunt Frankie’s going to lie back on the bed now. I want you to do the same thing to her, all right?”

Frankie gave Izzy’s wrinkled pucker one last wet kiss before she moved to the head of the bed and slung her legs wide. She placed a hand on the back of the five-year-old’s head and coaxed her gently towards her glistening cunt. “Taste me, Izzy Wizzy. I’ve always wanted to be licked by a little girl.”

Judy and I both got up on our knees to watch. I pressed my pulsating sex to Izzy’s bare arse and began rubbing myself against her while she licked Frankie.

Judy was fingering herself again. “Say dirty stuff to her, Frankie,” she said. “I want to hear it.”

“When did my sister become such a pervert?” I said, kissing her on the cheek.

Judy flashed me a look. “Me? I was a respectable wife and mother before you corrupted me.”

Frankie was more than willing to comply with my sister’s demands. “Eat my pussy, little girl,” she hissed. “Stick that fucking tongue in there. You like how Aunt Frankie smells? Hmm? What a clever girl. Aunt Frankie’s gonna make such a mess on your pretty face.”

Izzy peered up with inquisitive eyes, her mouth and chin slick with Frankie’s copious juices. “It tastes like my lolly,” she declared.

“Oh, good,” Frankie told her. “Lick it all up, then.”

“Shall I do it more fast or more slow, Frankie? What’s your favourite?”

“I don’t care. Just keep licking. I’ll give you another lollipop if you make me melt.” Cradling Izzy’s face in both hands, Frankie arched her pelvis to meet the five-year-old’s mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” Judy crooned. “Come on my little girl, Frankie.”

“This is so wrong,” I groaned, rubbing myself to a brisk climax on Izzy’s bottom, knowing it was that sense of wrongness driving me over the edge, that heady concoction of shame and lust.

Frankie was building up to a second orgasm, chest rising and falling, the muscles of her belly rippling. She tangled her fingers in Izzy’s hair. “L-lick my clit… Judy, sh-show her how.”

Reaching across, Judy used her thumbs to draw open Frankie’s cunt, exposing the swollen nub of her clitoris. She tapped it with a finger. “Lick here, Izzy. Keep flicking your tongue over it until Aunt Frankie tells you to stop.”

I stretched out next to Frankie and peppered kisses up and down her neck. I could smell her, musky and urgent, a bitch in heat. “Are you going to come on my niece’s face?”

“Yes…”

“With her mummy watching?”

“Y-yes…”

“Dirty slut,” I hissed in her ear.

“I know…”

“Look at the mess you’ve made all over her. She’s only five, for pity’s sake.”

“Gonna. Come.”

“Go on, then. Come on the pretty little girl. Do it!”

Frankie uttered a low, guttural sound, her body pulled taut. She pushed Izzy’s head away. “N-no more… coming…”

Izzy sat up and watched on in fascination as Frankie writhed about on the bed like something possessed. She peered back at me and Judy. “Did I win the lolly?”

I gave her a nod. “Definitely.” Then to an utterly spent Frankie: “That looked intense.”

“You’ve no fucking idea,” Frankie groaned. “Oh, my word…”

Judy scooped up Izzy’s damp knickers and used them to clean her daughter’s messy face. “What a clever girl, making Aunt Frankie feel good like that. You’ve gone and made Mummy all horny again, though.”

I had a wicked idea. Actually, I was having lots of wicked ideas, each more twisted than the last.

“Go sit back in the chair, Judy,” I said.

“We should think about making a move soon,” Judy told me.

“Humour me,” I insisted. “This won’t take long.”

Judy shrugged her shoulders, then padded over to the chair, slumping back into it.

“Now close your eyes,” I told her.

She narrowed them into suspicious lines instead. “What’re you up to?”

“Just close them, trollop!”

Judy closed her eyes with a smirk. “I’ll tell Mum you’re picking on me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

I glanced at Frankie and Izzy, putting a finger to my lips to shush them, then motioned for Frankie to help me. Together we carried Izzy over to Judy, suspending the five-year-old close to her mother’s face, our hands locked beneath her thighs.

“You can look now, Jude,” I said.

My sister’s eyes snapped open. She stared up at her little girl’s pussy, now almost close enough to kiss. “Oh. No, Sarah, I… I don’t think I ought to—”

“Lick her,” Frankie demanded.

“I just – I just like to watch, really,” Judy insisted, her hand creeping back down to her pussy. “I’ll just look, okay?”

“Lick her pussy, Judy,” I said. “You know you want to. We’ve gone this far, you might as well take that last step. It’s silly not to. She tastes amazing, doesn’t she, Frankie?”

“Exquisite. Come on, Judy. It’s just like kissing her goodnight.”

“I don’t mind if you want to lick my naughty bits, Mummy,” Izzy said. “Aunt Frankie and Aunty Sarah did, and it feeled really nice.”

“No one will ever know, Jude,” I cooed. “It’ll be our little secret.”

Judy gazed up longingly at her daughter’s vagina. “Maybe just a little lick,” she conceded. “Just a taste.”

Frankie and I shared a devious grin.

I play that conversation back to myself now and again. I can’t quite bring myself to regret what we made Judy do that day in our bedroom, but it’s hard not to feel at least a little ashamed of the way we manipulated her. Oh, Judy wasn’t an innocent party, by any means – she’d had me lick Izzy that day we’d visited the bird sanctuary, and I don’t think any of us would’ve been up there naked in our bedroom if we hadn’t followed my sister’s lead.

But still, we all have to take responsibility for the things we say and do. That morning, we watched Judy masturbate while she licked her five-year-old daughter’s pussy, and when we were done, we slipped the little girl’s sodden panties back up her legs and put our fingers to our lips. Shhh… Our special secret. Shhhh…

And just like that, we condemned ourselves.

On to Chapter Six!

The Story Thus Far

Chapter One: Mallory Kalvornek and her lover Julie Hanson have returned to Bronning, Minnesota, for the first time in years to catch up with friends and family. Meanwhile, their old friend (and occasional sex partner) paramedic Nettie Hastings fights to save a life, her lover Hannah drops by with an unexpected surprise, Terry Wilder grapples with writer’s block… and two little girls living in a trailer park named Heather and Gina are being carefully observed by a hidden stranger.

Chapter Two: Mallory and Julie get together at Nettie’s home with Nettie and her lover Hannah, Nettie’s friend Terry Wilder, Terry’s teen daughter Halee, and Mallory and Julie’s friend (and occasional sex partner) Cindy. Gossip is exchanged, memories shared, and an unexpected attraction between Mallory and Terry Wilder reveals itself. Meanwhile, the mother of the two trailer park girls Heather and Gina goes out for a night on the town, oblivious to the presence of the man spying on her home.

Chapter Three: At Nettie’s place, Nettie and Hannah leave the others to indulge in a bit of romantic pleasure, while Julie and her old friend Cindy get it on with Terry’s teen daughter Halee. As for Mallory, she has repaired to Terry’s place for one of her occasional bouts of heterosexual action. Appetites are indulged, confidences shared. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina are abducted from their trailer home by a mysterious and very scary man.

Chapter Four: At Nettie’s place, four women and Halee Wilder greet the morning after an evening of lesbian abandon. Later that day, Mallory rejoins Julie, Nettie, Cindy and Hannah for a day of fishing. Halee returns home and spends the day upgrading her internet in preparation for promised to be a fun night of video chat sex with her girlfriend Bethany. Meanwhile, Grace and Heather are in the custody of the mysterious man, who seems to takes delight in terrorizing them.

Chapter Five: After their day of fishing, Nettie, Julie, Cindy, Mallory & Hannah engage in a five-woman sexfest inside a tent… and with the use of Cindy’s phone, their old friend and occasional bedmate Emma attends the orgy virtually. In the midst of their abandon, Nettie has a weird, vague memory flashback that leaves her shaken, but she conceals it from the others. Back home, Halee and her new love interest Bethany (Hannah’s daughter) are having long-distance sex via their laptops. 

Chapter Six: Nettie has a heart-to-heart with Hannah about her personal demons. Later, she gets a call from Agent Bridgett Ramscone, who has an unsettling request: for Nettie to go through the documentation of her own childhood kidnapping — and the murder of her sister — as a possible way to gain insight into the abduction of Heather and Gina (who are still being emotionally abused by their kidnapper, but are also taking steps to escape). Nettie is shaken, but agrees to do what she can. 

Chapter Seven: Many years after the fact, submerged memories of Nettie’s kidnapping began to make themselves known — memories of a possible accomplice to the original crime. She shares her thoughts with Bridgett. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina work on a potential escape from their makeshift prison.

Chapter Eight: Nettie unearths more hints that kidnap victims Heather and Gina were abducted by the same man who kidnapped and brutalized Nettie and her deceased sister over a decade ago — but that man was known to have died in prison.  Gina manages to escape captivity. But Heather can’t fit through the opening they dug, and must remain behind. Nettie gets a possible fix on the girls’ captor who, while out and about, gets a flat tire — then he discovers the spare is flat as well. 

Chapter Nine: The man who kidnapped Gina and Heather must get his flat spare tire fixed, not knowing the police have been alerted to him and are searching the area. Nettie, who is also hunting for the man, manages to find his abandoned car — then, some time later, makes an even more startling discovery: little Gina, alone and weeping by an abandoned road. In the meantime, the kidnapper manages to make his escape from the area by phoning a mysterious woman to pick him up.

Chapter Ten: Mallory meets with her mother, Sharon, for the first time in months, but fails to learn the cause of the recent distance between them. Nettie is still obsessed with Jacob Brentshaw, the man who kidnapped her and murdered her sister Annamarie so many years ago, sensing he is also behind the recent kidnapping as well… but can’t get past the fact that Brentshaw was killed in prison. Her actions saved the lives of Gina and Heather, but she remains determined to keep working the case on her own. For the first time, Nettie tells her lover Hannah about her own kidnapping and Annamarie’s death, events she has refused to discuss with anyone for years.

Chapter Eleven: Terry finds himself at loose ends, questioning his current life path, and decides to open up to than his dear friend and former sex partner Nettie. She and Hannah lend a sympathetic ear, then their conversation turns to kidnappings — the recent one, as well as Nettie’s own horrific abduction over a decade earlier, when her sister was murdered. She is fast coming round to the conclusion that both kidnappings involved an accomplice.

Chapter Twelve: A sleepover is in progress at Terry’s place while he is out. When the girls retire to their rooms, Halee phones her girlfriend Bethany and puts her on speaker to hear her younger sister Naomi and Chelsey going at it through their adjoining walls, and a good time is had by all. Upon returning home, Terry does some work on an idea for a new novel after months of inaction. Mallory is still unsure what to do with the family farm, and Nettie runs some ideas about the recent kidnapping case past Agent Ramscone.

Chapter Thirteen: Four members of the Pussy Posse — Mallory, Julie, Jamie, and Emma — are spending quality time together, along with Julie’s younger sister Vicky. News, gossip, memories, and innuendo are bandied about. Vicky hesitantly speaks of a recent sleepover where she overheard a couple of the girls saying hurtful things about her, an incident that still stings badly. The four women offer her comfort and understanding, which soon becomes something more.

Chapter Fourteen: Mallory, Julie, Jamie, Emma and Julie’s younger sister Vicky are having a barbecue and sleepover. Vicky loves hanging out with the Pussy Posse, but feels a little self-conscious, knowing that the women will very likely be having group sex later that evening. But Julie boldly her sister to join the sapphic festivities. Vicky is hesitant at first, especially at the prospect of coupling with her older sibling, but Julie manages to put her at ease. The four women and one teen adjourn for the master bedroom. Clothes are removed, bare bodies mingle, pleasure is shared.

Chapter Fifteen: Halee and her new girlfriend Bethany (daughter of Nettie’s lover Hannah), spend time roaming the town, getting to know one another better. Later on, they spend time together in a more intimate way. Meanwhile, Mallory and her partner Julie get a piece of surprising, potentially life-changing news.

Chapter Sixteen: Mallory is pregnant, and Terry Wilder is the father. She visits Bronning to give him the news, then they join Julie at Nettie’s place to discuss the situation. Terry chooses to leave the final decision in Mallory’s hands, but makes it clear that he is willing to raise the child as his own if Mal doesn’t want to be a mother.

Chapter Seventeen: Nettie pays a visit to the trailer park to visit Gina and Heather, the two girls she saved from a mysterious kidnapper. Still grappling with distant memories of her own kidnapping, she shows the girls a mugshot of Jacob Brentshaw, who was convicted of abducting her and murdering her twin sister Anna years earlier, but they tell her it isn’t the same man, despite disturbing similarities. Afterward, she gets an angry call from FBI agent Latisha Miller, who already knows about this visit to the girls. Nettie admits to pursuing this all-but-closed case, but refuses to back off. Against her better judgment, Agent Miller is coming around to allowing Nettie to continue her investigation. Meanwhile, Mallory, Julie and Terry visit a doctor to discuss Mal’s unexpected pregnancy.

Chapter Eighteen: Nettie manages to get approval from Agents Ramscone and Miller to proceed with her personal, off-the-record investigation of the kidnapping case, by making both women an offer they can’t refuse — and it isn’t sexual. Afterwards, her lover Hannah drops by for an early visit, and the two of them join Julie, Mallory, Halee and Terry for a pleasant chat where Mal drops the news about her pregnancy to those who don’t yet know about it. The next day, Mallory and Julie hang out with Halee and her new girlfriend Bethany, where the girls makes Julie and Mal an offer they can’t refuse — and this time, it IS sexual.

For a list of the characters from the story you are now reading, visit this page. 

For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.

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

by Rachael Yukey

Stop for a minute?
Take a little bit of time
Take what is given
Don’t let this moment pass you by
Alter Bridge 2026

Terry Wilder was seated on the end cushion of Nettie’s couch, next to his daughter Halee. He yawned elaborately, then stood up. “Think I’m going to head in,” he informed the group, stretching his limbs.

“I suppose you need to go pick up the girls,” said Nettie.

“Actually, no,” he replied. “Naomi’s at home already—with Chelsey Milne, as per usual these days, but those two are perfectly capable of looking after themselves. That aside, and pursuant to our earlier conversation, I might be better off not knowing precisely what they’re getting up to.”

Nettie suddenly became very interested in her feet. Terry plowed forward. “As for my two younger girls—I’ve just now received a text from Stacy Wood informing me that her daughters and mine have barricaded themselves in one of the bedrooms, and are threatening a violent uprising if this evening’s visit is not upgraded to a sleepover. We’ve elected to wave the white flag, so I’m going to drop off pajamas and toothbrushes, then try to get a little writing done before bed.”

“What’s Chelsey’s custody status right now, anyway?” asked Nettie.

“Still with her grandma,” said Terry, “although I don’t imagine the situation can remain as it is for very much longer. Natalie Milne is quite old and infirm, and this wouldn’t work at all if Chelsey was a few years younger. None of Chelsey’s other relatives live nearby, and I know Naomi is concerned that she’ll end up having to move to another state.”

“What’s the deal with this girl’s parents?” Julie inquired. “Or shouldn’t I ask?”

“Her mother and aunt were working for my horrid bitch of a mom,” said Halee, her voice heavy with bitterness. Bethany took her hand.

“Oh,” said Julie, a bit lamely. “I’m sorry, Halee. I didn’t know.”

Halee dismissed it with a wave. “None of your doing.”

“Chelsey’s mother, as it turns out, was a drug mule for local meth distribution for years,” said Terry. “Her aunt, too. It all came to light when their involvement with—to borrow Halee’s invective—my horrid bitch of an ex-wife was exposed. They’re both facing charges on multiple counts of drug trafficking. Although she’s currently out on bail, Chelsey’s mom has been deprived of custody, and is allowed supervised visitation only. I have no idea of the father’s status; my impression is that he’s been out of the picture for quite some time.”

“Poor kid,” said Mallory.

“She’s better adjusted than one would expect, under the circumstances,” said Terry. “She mostly seems to be dealing with it by holding the entire situation at arms length. She takes more meals at our house than hers, as does Dawn’s friend Allison from across the street.” He chuckled. “I suppose I’m just exceptionally good at collecting strays.”

He turned toward the door. “In any event, good night, all. I need to ferry the requested items to Stacy’s house before the girls grow tired of waiting and carry out their threatened mutiny.” Hand on the doorknob, he looked back over his shoulder. “Halee, can I assume you’re staying?”

Halee put an arm around Bethany. “I think I’m good. Night, Dad.”

“Have fun, then,” said Terry. Tossing a wave at the group, he stepped out into the night.

As the door closed behind him, Mallory was smiling. “He really is a good father, isn’t he?”

“He’s the best,” said Halee. “Just don’t tell him I said so. Our house already isn’t large enough to contain that ego of his.”

“So—what’s the plan for the rest of the evening?” Hannah asked the room at large.

“I was thinking early bedtime,” said Halee, pulling Bethany close and kissing her full on the mouth. Bethany returned the kiss with gusto, tongue action obvious to everyone else in the room.

Mallory, who’d been on a hair-trigger ever since Halee broached the idea of a foursome during their return trip from Johnstown, drew an unsteady breath, fully aware of her pussy becoming increasingly wet.

“Mmmm,” she murmured. It came out as almost a purr. “That looks scrumptious.”

Disengaging from the kiss, her hand still on the back of Bethany’s head, Halee looked towards her. “So come and get a taste.” Mallory practically launched herself from the love seat, but hesitated when she saw the raised eyebrows Hannah directed towards her daughter.

Bethany, it seemed, picked up on it, too. “Me and Halee talked about it, Mom,” she said. “We’re gonna try what Julie and Mallory do. We get to have sex with other people, but only when both of us are there.”

Hannah nodded. “So long as you both agree, I think that’s great.”

Mallory settled onto the end cushion recently vacated by Terry, her thigh pressed against Halee’s. The younger girl turned toward her, and Mallory reached up to caress the teen’s cheek.

“Mallory, I have a confession to make,” said Halee, her voice unsteady. “I had a lot of fun with Julie and Cindy when you guys were here before, but I was disappointed that you didn’t stick around.”

Mallory gave a low chuckle. “And I’ll admit, I was kind of torn myself. I’ve been fantasizing about you for a month.”

Halee made the first move, leaning in to brush her barely parted lips from the angle of Mallory’s jaw down to her chin. Mallory shivered deliciously. Now moving more slowly, Halee traced her mouth along the opposite side of Mallory’s jawline, nibbling lightly as she went. Reaching the ear, she extended her tongue, delicately licking the lobe. Mallory drew in a shuddering breath; released it explosively.

“You might wanna watch that,” Julie commented from her place on the love seat. “Mal’s ears are a hot spot. You’re gonna unleash the demon if you’re not careful.”

Halee threw her a speculative look. “Yeah?” She turned her attention back to the ear, this time taking the lower lobe between her teeth, nibbling lightly. Mallory let out a short, sharp moan, threw both arms around the girl, and pulled her close. Halee was working her way up the back of the ear, alternately licking and nibbling. Mallory was aware of her breath coming shallow and irregular, her arousal growing to an all-consuming need.

Out of the corner of her eye she noted Julie across the room on the couch, beckoning Bethany to her with the curve of a finger. No longer able to remain passive, Mallory twisted her head to seek out Halee’s lips. Meeting the supple, desirable teen head-on, she pressed their open mouths together, her tongue flashing to life.

Bethany, who had alternated between making eyes at Julie and watching her girlfriend make out with Mallory, rose at once at the invitation. That’s when she noticed that her mother and Nettie were standing in front of the recliner, arms around each other, locked in a passionate, almost desperate kiss.

She changed course, wrapping both arms around her mother from behind. Hannah started, then smiled. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Bethany planted a soft kiss on Hannah’s cheek, then another on her neck. “I love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, Bethany,” Hannah murmured. She momentarily pressed her lips to Bethany’s, briefly allowing the kiss to linger, then returned her attention to Nettie, their mouths engaging once more. Bethany let go of her mom, turning back toward the love seat. Julie’s lanky frame was casually slouched on the right-hand cushion, eyes flicking back and forth between the rapidly intensifying kiss taking place on the couch, and the one heating up to a nuclear meltdown in the middle of the living room floor. She grinned at Bethany, and Bethany felt a slow smile spreading across her face. She traversed the room in just a few steps, coming to a halt directly in front of Julie, who reached out to take the girl’s hands in hers, then caressed the backs of those hands with her thumbs. “God, you’re even prettier up close,” Julie breathed. “Did I mention that I fucking love your hair?”

Bethany was thrilled by the compliment. Her thick red mane, so like that of her mother, was the thing she liked best about her appearance.

“You—you’re pretty freakin’ hot yourself,” she got out, voice trembling slightly. Deciding not to wait for an invitation, she twisted around, settling sideways onto Julie’s lap, legs splayed out across the unoccupied cushion. Julie looped her arm around Bethany’s shoulders, then ran a thumb across the girl’s bottom lip. Tracing a line down to the base of the chin, she leaned in to capture that lip between hers.

A wave of heat coursed through Bethany’s body, and she felt her pelvis thrust forward of its own accord. Her tongue darted forth, delicately flicking across Julie’s upper lip, thrilling as she felt the woman’s body shiver deliciously.

On the couch, Halee felt as if Mallory was dining on her, and she was loving every second of it. At the moment, the woman’s mouth was raining fire up and down her sensitive neck, a hand holding her jet-black, blue-highlighted hair to the side. Halee was unable to contain her rapturous sighs and moans. Opening her eyes, she saw Mallory’s ear within reach, and took the lobe into her mouth, gently applying pressure with a playful nip.

“Oh, God!” Mallory gasped, throwing her head back. Then she was tumbling Halee backwards onto the vacant cushion behind her, sprawling over the young girl’s body, crushing their mouths together.

When Mallory’s tongue darted between her lips, Halee met the kiss with equal ardor, wrapping her arms around the woman and squeezing tightly, grinding their bodies together. Mallory was responding in kind, creating a delicious friction that lit up Halee’s every nerve ending.

A high-pitched cry drew every eye towards Nettie and Hannah. Nettie was standing behind her lover, her face buried in flaming red hair. She had one hand under Hannah’s powder-blue blouse, the other down the front of the shorter woman’s unbuttoned jeans, fingers working furiously inside.

Hannah was up on tiptoe, eyes wide, mouth working. “Oh–oh God, Antoinette. Ohhh. Oh, oh, uh-huh, oh m-my God—” Her vocalizations grew more strident, less articulate. Then she began to rant even faster. “Holy shit, I’m gonna c-come—oh sweet Jesus I am coming—” Hannah’s breasts shook as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, screaming wordlessly, then subsided, slumping against Nettie so abruptly the taller woman staggered back, nearly colliding with the recliner.

Nettie’s face was sweat-shiny, her breathing labored, but she was sporting a self-satisfied grin. Withdrawing her hand from Hannah’s pants, she proffered her gooey, glistening fingers for all to see before slipping them into her mouth.

As her breathing slowed, Hannah peeled herself away from Nettie, then glanced over her shoulder at the others. “Girls,” she said to the room in general, her voice still a trifle unsteady as she wrapped an arm around Nettie’s waist, “I’m taking this to bed, getting it naked, and putting my mouth on all its tastiest parts. See you in the morning.” Tugging on Nettie’s hand, she made her way into the hall, not even breaking stride as she opened the door to the master bedroom, which slammed behind in their wake.

Halee found herself staring across the room at Bethany. Her girlfriend was still nestled in Julie’s lap, and she noted that Mallory’s eyes had shifted in the same direction. Julie and Bethany were looking right back at them.

After a very significant pause, It was Julie who broke the silence.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” she said, her voice husky and low, “but watching that show turned my cunt into a fucking swamp. Who wants to move this to the bedroom?”

Mallory rolled off of Halee, tugging the teen to her feet. Halee stood willingly enough, but then seized Mallory with both arms, pressing their mouths together once more in a hungry kiss. Grinding their bodies together, Halee inserted a thigh between Mallory’s legs, thrusting it upward. Mallory wrenched her mouth away from Halee’s and clutched the girl’s shoulders, pushing her back a step.

“Honey,” she gasped, “if you keep that up, we’re not gonna make it to the bedroom. I’ll take your sexy little seductress ass right here on the floor.”

“I’m game,” Halee got out, more than a little breathless herself.

Then Julie and Bethany were beside them, holding hands. “Come on, you sex fiends,” said Julie with a chuckle, tugging on Mallory’s sleeve.

The four of them made their way down the hall, Julie in the lead, guiding them through the first door on the right into a room which sported, among other amenities, a king-sized bed.

Mallory wasted no time, yanking the pale yellow sundress over her head while still in motion. Then she whirled to Halee again to claim her in a kiss that quickly struck fire, their lips engaged in a heated frenzy. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Julie and Bethany seated on the edge of the bed, caught up in an equally passionate embrace.

Julie disengaged, turning to look at Mallory and Halee. “So,” she said, “are we mixing and matching, or just going with the flow? Because this is looking like a good old-fashioned partner swap to me.”

Halee broke off the kiss long enough to meet her girlfriend’s eyes. “I’m totally feeling partner swap, but only if it’s what Bethany wants, too.”

Bethany responded with a radiant smile, her eyes glazed with lust. “Let’s freakin’ do this.” Tilting her head to the side, she began raining kisses and love bites on Julie’s neck.

Mallory grasped the edges of Halee’s Ozzy Osbourne tee and began to lift it—then Halee abruptly froze, unexpected panic coursing through her. Without meaning to, she found herself gripping Mallory’s wrists.

“Whoa, girl,” said Mallory. “Everything okay?”

“I—” She stammered, her desire suddenly at war with fear. Even worse, Halee wasn’t even entirely sure what it was she was afraid of. She realized that Bethany and Julie had broken off their kiss and were looking at them from the bed.

“We can stop this if you’re having second thoughts, babe,” Julie assured her, reaching out to touch her wrist.

“No, I know what this is,” said Bethany, rising to her feet. She brushed the hair away from Halee’s eyes. “Is it the scars?”

Halee nodded, unable to speak. She was embarrassed to the point of tears, furious at herself for ruining everything over something so trivial.

“Oh,” said Mallory, in sudden comprehension. “It’s okay, sweetie, the shirt can stay on. Or like Julie said—we can stop here.”

Halee shook her head furiously, her lips trembling. “No, goddamn it. I want to fuck you so bad. And you want to fuck me, don’t you?”

Something about the way she phrased it, or maybe her tone of voice, seemed to unleash something primal in Mallory. She gathered Halee up in her arms again, hands clamped to the girl’s ass, and pulled her close, none too gently. Halee responded in kind, reaching around behind Mallory to shove both hands into her panties, caressing the bare buttocks beneath the sheer fabric.

They kissed for just a few seconds of raw fury, then Halee pulled away. “We’re not spoiling this because I’m being a big old wuss,” she growled.

“You’re not a wuss,” Bethany said, still standing beside her. “You’re the bravest person I know, Halee. Your scars aren’t gross. They’re part of something scary that you survived. You’re here because you defeated those fucking scars.”

Extracting her hands from Mallory’s panties, Halee drew back, took the blonde’s hands and placed them on the hem of the shirt. “Take it off of me,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?”

“I want to feel your mouth on my tits,” Halee murmured. “That’s not gonna happen if my shirt’s on.”

Another of those noises escaped Mallory’s throat, and her eyes had gone misty. And yet she lifted the t-shirt up slowly, carefully, clearly giving Halee every opportunity to change her mind.

But Halee did no such thing. Raising her arms above her head, she allowed Mallory to pull the shirt over and off, then toss it triumphantly into a corner.

“Yes!” Bethany exulted, clasping her fists together and pumping them above her head.

Julie was clapping. “Hell, yeah. And girl, you have nothing to worry about. You’re crazy fucking hot.”

Mallory said nothing. She was tracing Halee’s upper chest with trembling fingertips, skirting around the edges of the budding breasts, eyes glued to the girl’s torso.

Halee’s eyes drifted shut. “Oh, God,” she mumbled as Mal’s fingers grazed her nipple.

“You okay?” Bethany whispered in her ear.

Halee nodded rapidly. “Uh-huh,” she got out. “I’m good. Go get yourself fucked or something.”

Snickering, Bethany turned back to the bed, settling in once more beside Julie. “Okay,” she breathed. “Where were we?” Their mouths met; tongues engaged.

Mallory pivoted Halee about a quarter turn, then tumbled her onto the bed. Halee scrabbled backwards toward the headboard, then lay back, her legs parted. Mallory was right behind, raining kisses across her belly, pausing when she reached the second scar on Halee’s right side. She ran a gentle finger around the puckered wound, now long healed. “Does that hurt at all?” she asked.

“Uh-uh,” Halee breathed.

Mallory extended her tongue, delicately licking the circumference of the scar. Her hand moved up the other side, cupping the slight swell of a breast, teasing the nipple with her palm.

Halee couldn’t have said which was hotter. Every nerve ending was alive, every touch sending sparks of desire cascading through her body.

Then Mallory was kissing a pathway up to her chest, pausing once again at the scar below the left breast, favoring it with the same loving attention she’d given the one below while gently rolling a stiffened nipple between thumb and forefinger. Halee was whimpering, desperate for release.

Mallory shifted her body upward until her mouth grazed Halee’s ear. “You’re a gorgeous creature, Halee. Believe me, you have nothing to be self-conscious about. Now, I believe you said you wanted my mouth on something…?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where do you want me to put my mouth, Halee?”

“M-m-my—”

“Say it!”

“My tits!” Halee wailed.

Mallory dipped down, taking Halee’s erect nipple into her open mouth in a single fluid motion. Her tongue circled the tip of the breast, eliciting another moan from the teen’s throat as she began to lightly tug at Halee’s throbbing nipple with her teeth.

On the other side of the bed, Bethany was pulling Julie’s simple maroon blouse over her head, then scrabbling around behind the tall woman’s back to unclasp her bra.

“Easy there, girl!” said an amused Julie. “No need to rush this. We’ve got hours to have fun.”

“I – I know,” “Bethany panted, peeling Julie’s bra away and throwing it over her shoulder. “But You’re sooo fucking sexy, and I’ve been wanting t-to see you naked ever since we met…”

“Well, in that case…” Julie quickly unbuttoned her jeans, then shimmied out of them, her panties coming along for the ride. Now nude, she lay back and gazed expectantly at a wide-eyed Bethany. “Feast your eyes,” she purred.

Without so much as a pause for breath, Bethany buried her face between Julie’s small but perfectly formed breasts, cupping them in both hands. Then she was kissing her way around them in a figure-eight, finally cutting across to catch a nipple between her teeth. Julie let out a rapturous sigh, cradling the girl’s head to her chest. Shifting her head to the other soft orb, Bethany gave that nipple the same treatment, eliciting a similar response.

Julie worked her hands under Bethany’s black v-neck, clumsily loosening the teen’s training bra. Withdrawing her hands, she placed them gently on either side of the girl’s head, disengaging that sweet mouth from her tits so she could pull Bethany’s shirt over her head. Then Julie lay back on the bed, twisting as she did so that she was stretched out alongside Halee and Mallory. Mallory was lying atop the younger girl, peppering those small but ever-so inviting breasts with quick, darting kisses. Rapturous sighs escaped Halee’s throat.

Julie pulled Bethany down on top of her, their mouths meeting again, tongues engaging in a slow, sexy dance. She reached down to grasp the girl’s dark blue skirt, tugged it up, then caressed Bethany’s ass through her panties. Julie felt tiny shivers course through the teen’s body as her long fingers skated along the crack of that pert little butt. She gave a happy sigh. Much as she loved fucking Mallory, sex with a cute young thing like Bethany really got her motor racing. Honestly, she sort of reminds me of Mal, back when we were just learning how to be lovers.

Mallory, still nibbling, licking, and kissing Halee’s budding breasts, heard a moan that she knew hadn’t been made by her partner, so it must have emanated from Bethany’s lips. She glanced to her right, her arousal heightening a notch at the sight of Julie nibbling the nape of the girl’s neck. Bethany’s head was thrown back, her mouth slack, eyes closed. Julie noticed Mallory looking, and the two lovers shared a quick smile, then turned their attention back to the girls.

Mallory felt Halee’s hands at her waist, trying to slide her panties down, but the girl’s arms weren’t quite long enough to finish the job. Rolling onto her side between Halee and the wall, Mallory panted, “Here, let me,” clumsily shoved her panties down and off, then reached for the front of Halee’s jeans, fumbling with the button in her haste.

Opening her eyes, Halee saw Mallory’s left breast, a mere inch or two from her lips. The sight was much too enticing to resist. She lifted her head from the pillow to wrap her lips around Mallory’s left nipple, swirling her tongue around the swollen bud.

Mallory gasped, then gave Halee a small frown. “You’re not making this any easier, y’know,” she growled, and Halee let out a shaky laugh.

Finally working the button loose, Mallory worked the zipper down, then hooked her fingers under the waistband. Halee obligingly lifted her butt, and Mallory hastily divested her of pants and underwear, carelessly flinging them aside before tracing a finger up the teen’s bared thigh. Halee’s body jerked as that finger brushed her sex, the sweet outer lips pressed together to conceal the treasures within.

“Mmmm… you’re shaving already,” Mallory murmured.

Halee grinned, jerking a thumb at Bethany. “We shaved each other this afternoon. Thought we’d try it. It got us so hot! We really wanted to lick each other to see how it felt with no hair… but, um, we decided to hold off.”

“Just in case,” said Bethany, her eyes twinkling.

“Oh, really?” Julie breathed. “In case of what?”

Bethany giggled. “Three guesses,” she cooed, then captured Julie’s mouth in another passionate kiss.

Mallory traced her finger down Halee’s juicy slit, senses tingling at how wet she was, as well as the upward thrust of the hips that her touch elicited. “You have a gorgeous pussy,” she murmured. Draping herself on top of the girl, she teased Halee’s lower lip, lightly stroking it with her tongue. Halee opened her mouth wide, her own tongue engaging Mallory’s in a heated dance.

In response, Mallory slipped her thigh between Halee’s, shuddering at the wave of pleasure that surged through her body when Halee flexed her knee, firmly pressing her own leg up against Mallory’s needy cunt.

Then Halee took the lead, pushing from the bottom and rolling the two of them to the side with the wall for support, making it easier for Mallory to grind against Halee’s center. Clinging to each other tightly, cheeks pressed together, the two of them began to move in unison.

As Julie continued to share ravenous kisses with Bethany, she worked the girl’s panties down around her thighs, then touched her slick, wet pussy from behind. Tearing her mouth from Julie’s, Bethany buried her face in the hollow of her older lover’s neck. Julie carefully slipped a finger into the girl, who gave a gasp that trailed off into a moan as that probing finger was withdrawn to brush Bethany’s clit. Encouraged by this response, Julie began to masturbate the redheaded girl, whose body jerked at every stroke, her breath growing harsh and deep.

Even with her long arms and fingers, it wasn’t the most comfortable angle of attack, and Julie soon felt her wrist starting to cramp. Withdrawing her hand, she rolled, miscalculating slightly and nearly spilling Bethany onto the floor. Recovering, she scooted the waif-like redhead more securely onto the bed, then hovered over her, reaching down to undo her own pants in the process.

“I want to eat your pussy,” said Julie in a guttural whisper. “Can I do that to you, Bethany?”

“Please,” Bethany gasped, a beatific smile overtaking her face. “I’ve been wanting you to do that for, like, five minutes!”

“In that case…” Julie finished stripping away Bethany’s underwear, then began kissing her way up a thigh.

Next to them, Mallory and Halee were furiously grinding against each other. Mallory’s breath hitched and tore; Halee’s moans were getting louder as powerful sensations ripped through her body, pushing the girl towards what promised to be a real firestorm of a climax. She could feel it building, welcomed it, but the juicy heat of Mallory’s cunt against her leg was making her crave something else as well.

That desire proved too tempting to resist. She placed both hands on Mallory’s shoulders, pushing her up and off.

“What’s wrong—” a startled Mallory began.

“I want t-to taste your pussy,” the teen stammered.

A grin stretched the corners of Mallory’s mouth. “Like me to sit on your face?”

Halee nodded emphatically. “Oh, f-fuck yeah.”

Getting to her knees, Mallory carefully  positioned herself over Halee’s warm, welcoming mouth. “Enjoy,” she murmured.

Even though no one was touching her at that moment, the sight of Mal’s beautiful, smooth-shaven cunt had Halee ready to come on the spot. Mallory had smeared her juices everywhere while humping Halee’s leg, and those rosy, silken labia were slathered with moisture, her clitoral hood just barely protruding.

Wanting to look but impatient to taste, Halee cupped an ass cheek in each hand, then brought Mallory’s sweet pussy to her waiting mouth. She kept her lips closed at first, pushing the lower half of her face against that glistening vulva, rubbing it in a circular motion to coat her mouth and chin with the warm, tart nectar. Mallory inhaled sharply, the breath hissing through her gritted teeth.

Parting her lips, Halee slipped her tongue into Mallory’s juicy hole. Mallory moaned, “Fuuuuuuck.” Halee felt a jolt from her midsection, and once again wondered if she was about to come without being touched. She swirled her tongue around inside Mallory’s delicious entrance, and was rewarded by an ecstatic cry.

Then Mal spoke. “Oh, lord, you’re such a fucking tease. Do you plan to lick my clit, I d-don’t know, sometime this century?”

Needing no further urging, Halee withdrew her tongue from Mallory’s vagina, moving straight to her older lover’s clit, which she attacked with lightning-fast flicks of the tongue. Mallory threw her head back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. “Holy fuck,” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “Girl, you are good at this.”

By then, Halee’s own need had become all but unbearable, so she took one hand from Mallory’s backside, allowing it to snake towards her own liquid center. Slipping a finger between her labial folds, she wasn’t a bit surprised to find herself practically sloshing with juices. She flicked a finger across her clit, gasping into Mal’s cunt as a wave of pleasure washed over her.

Mallory, clearly hurdling towards the peak and moaning every few breaths, must have picked up on what Halee was up to. Reaching behind herself, she blindly slapped at Halee’s wrist. “Oh no you don’t,” she blurted. “No m-making yourself come! That’s—oh, shit—that’s my job.”

Halee was aching to come, but she obediently took her hand away, returning it to Mallory’s hip an instant before the woman exploded in orgasm.

It was something to see. Mal was screaming, hips bucking, mashing her pussy against Halee’s mouth. She intertwined the fingers of both hands into the blue-on-black hair, her slender frame beginning to twitch helplessly. Halee felt warm honey flow from Mallory’s pussy to anoint her face as her lover’s climax reached its peak.

Then with a cry of “Oh, God!” Mallory lurched sideways, tearing her cunt away from Halee’s mouth before collapsing atop the teenager, panting for breath. As she rested, Mallory could feel Halee’s hips undulating beneath hers.

Tired though she was, Mal found her own desire reawakened by Halee’s desperate need for release. She leaned in close to nuzzle the girl’s ear. “You’re about to go off like a grenade, aren’t you?” Unable to speak, Halee nodded vigorously. Wasting no time, Mallory began to kiss her way down the thirteen-year-old’s torso.

Moments earlier, just as Mallory had positioned her dripping cunt over Halee’s mouth, Julie was trailing her tongue up Bethany’s inner thighs, switching from one to the other, delighting in the upward jerk of the girl’s pelvis as she just barely grazed those delectable lips, flicked delicately across the top of the mound, then trailed down the top of the knee on the other side. Reversing course, she licked her way up the inside of the other thigh, abruptly bypassing the slit to make her way to Bethany’s cute belly button, which she teased with a playful flick of the tongue. “Ooooh!” the teen squealed.

Julie then played her tongue downward to within a quarter-inch of that sweet slit, but drew back to pry the girl’s cunt open with thumb and finger, pausing to admire the delicate lace of the inner lips, the way they curved gracefully upward to the swollen nub of the clitoris.

Breathing deeply, Julie took in the intoxicating scent of the girl’s arousal. At last she extended her tongue again, flicking it across the engorged nub. “Oh, God!” Bethany yelped. Grinning, Julie slid one finger into the gooey hole, then eased in a second, taking up a brisk tongue motion around Bethany’s clit as she began to draw her fingers in and out.

Bethany responded in a big way with adorable little gasps and sighs, her feet beating out a tattoo on the comforter, clutching Julie’s head with both hands.

To the left, Julie was dimly aware of Mallory crying out in the throes of orgasm, which kicked her excitement up another notch. Still applying her fingers and tongue to Bethany’s cunt, she scrabbled around with her free hand until it fastened on an unused pillow. This she stuffed between her legs, grinding it against her throbbing pussy.

Meanwhile she was finger-fucking Bethany hard and fast, her tongue working feverishly. The young redhead’s high-pitched squeals were giving way to full-voiced, throaty moans.

Next to them, Mallory was switching back and forth between Halee’s nipples, pleasuring each in turn as she slid a hand down the girl’s belly, over the smoothly shaven mound, then down to the vaginal cleft, teasing a finger inside the juicy folds. Halee lifted her buttocks straight off the bed, a gasp escaping her lips.

“Tell me what you want right now,” Mallory murmured. “You just made me come like a fucking hydrogen explosion, so now you get to pick your treat.”

“Finger-fuck me!” Halee blurted without hesitation. A second finger joined the first, then slid deeper, right up to Mal’s third knuckle, the palm of her hand smacking against Halee’s clit. “Oh, God!” she wailed. “Keep d-doing that. But harder!”

Mallory slammed her fingers home again, and Halee yelped as another wave of pleasure coursed through her. It hurt a bit, but somehow that made it even better. Wanting even more, she began to buck against Mallory’s hand.

Mallory flashed the girl a wicked grin. “Dirty bitch… You want it hard and fast, don’t you? Get fucked till you scream?”

“YES!” Halee howled. “Fuck me. FUCK me!”

Pushing herself into a sitting position, Mallory reached down with her free hand, engaging the nubbin of Halee’s clit in a fast circular motion while plunging both fingers in and out, her hand a blur. A liquid sound accompanied each hard thrust.

It took less than a minute of this before Halee felt the relentless approach of her orgasm. “Oh fuck I’m gonna come!” she screamed.

“Oh Halee, me too!” Bethany wailed, her hand flailing until it fastened on Halee’s. The young lovers interlaced their fingers, turning their heads to look into each other’s eyes as they tilted off the edge of the world. High pitched yips emanated from Bethany’s throat as she bucked hard against Julie’s face. Halee was uttering the soft, breathy vocalizations that always accompanied her climax, gripping Mallory’s fingers with powerful contractions of her cunt.

Once the peak of Halee’s climax had passed, she tucked her chin into her chest, still shivering. She heard Bethany heave a contented sigh, felt the girl give her hand a squeeze.

Both girls lay sweaty and still, faces glazed with sweat. Mallory collapsed between Halee and the wall, wrapping an arm around the sticky, spent teen.

The only one yet to come was Julie, who was frantically rubbing herself off with the pillow in her grip, sweat dripping down her face, every breath hissing through gritted teeth.

A grinning Bethany released Halee’s hand, positioned herself so she was kneeling between Julie’s legs, then firmly took the pillow away. “Allow me!” she said before Julie could protest, reaching down to work two fingers into Julie’s slippery hole. Finding the rough spot at the top of the woman’s vaginal wall, she commenced a fast rubbing action.

“Oh, hell yes,” Julie gasped, throwing her head back. “Oh. Oh, fuck, yeah!” Folding her arms, she buried her face in them, an occasional moan escaping. Her hips moved in time with Bethany’s flexing wrist.

Moments later she came, buttocks pumping furiously, clutching her breasts with both hands. Then she was twisting around, rolling away, dislodging Bethany’s fingers.

Julie’s chest rose and fell as she caught her breath. Then her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled at Bethany. “Get up here, you,” she said, beckoning to the younger girl, who draped her thin, waif-like body over the top of Julie’s lanky frame.

The quartet of lovers lay in silence for several minutes, basking in each other’s presence, letting their beating hearts return to normal.

Finally, Halee lay her hand on Bethany’s arm. “I’d call that a successful test run, wouldn’t you?” she said with a grin.

Bethany snickered. “I think we can totally do this.”

“Well,” said Julie, lightly stroking Bethany’s back with the tips of her fingers, “I’ll have to double-check with my partner over there—who appears to have dozed off on us, by the way—but I’m pretty sure you two have an open invitation to, er, revisit this experiment anytime you want.”

Halee and Bethany both laughed. “I have a feeling we’ll be back for more,” said Bethany.

On to Chapter Twenty!

The Story Thus Far

Chapter 1: In which Sarah and Frankie peruse some rather risqué entertainment, then get intimately acquainted with a pair of soiled undies. Who says staying at home on weekends is boring?

Chapter 2: In which Kerry comes home, the Panty Fairy pays a visit, Sarah confides in her sister Judy, Kerry catches a whiff of pussy on Mummy’s fingers, and plans are made to let Kerry watch Sarah and Frankie have sex. Goodness me!

Chapter 3: In which Sarah and Kerry’s pussy-smelling game escalates, Sarah has a quick diddle in the school carpark, and Sarah and Frankie put their unorthodox sex education lesson into motion. Oh, and a traumatised teddy bear called Mr. Ruffles.

 

by BlueJean

1

The morning after our unconventional sex education lesson began as usual – me and Kerry in the kitchen, Frankie fast asleep in bed. I still couldn’t quite believe we’d let my eight-year-old daughter watch us have sex, but Kerry seemed blasé about the whole affair, with not a mention of the things she’d witnessed the night before, or even a hint of awkwardness. Weird, how kids just accept stuff.

“Looking forward to staying with Daddy again for the weekend?” I asked, and Kerry responded with a nonchalant shrug. “No?”

“It’s a bit boring sometimes. He does a lot of work stuff in his study, so I just watch TV and read. It’s nice when we go out, but we don’t go out that much.”

Yeah, work was always more important to him than family, I was tempted to say, but didn’t want to start down that path. Dan was an arsehole, sure, but he was still Kerry’s father, and I had no intention of turning her against him. I wasn’t that spiteful.

“Well, you don’t have to go stay with your dad,” I said. “If you want a weekend at home with me and Frankie, you can. We’re not trying to get rid of you or anything.”

Don’t get me wrong, Kerry going to stay with her father for the weekend had been all kinds of fun for me and Frankie. In the early days, when we were still into the club scene, we often ended up bringing some adventurous young thing back to the house for a threesome. Frankie still dragged me out now and then, but I was in my early thirties now, and even though I’m still hot as all hell (well, I am, so deal with it), there comes a time when you have to stop thrashing around on the dance floor and accept the fact that you’re not a teenager anymore.

“I don’t mind staying with Dad,” Kerry was saying. “He’s moving away soon, so I want to visit him as much as I can before he goes.”

I kissed the top of her head. “Well, give him a kick up the bum and tell him to take you out places!”

Kerry peered up at me. “Mummy?”

“Yes?”

“Can I – can I smell your fingers again?”

“Uh… I guess so. If you really want to.”

I mean, what are you supposed to say when your eight-year-old daughter asks if she can smell your pussy from your fingers? Actually, you’re supposed to say no. Obviously.

Well, you started this little game. No one to blame but yourself.

I should’ve nipped it in the bud there and then, but against my better judgement, I brought my fingers up to her nose.

Kerry shook her head. “No, you have to put them down your panties first.”

This seemed to be becoming quite the morning ritual for us. Frankie would’ve set her alarm and booked herself a front row seat if she knew what we’d been doing in the kitchen before school.

I put a hand under my skirt and into my knickers. Christ, I was already so wet. Two fingers slipped inside my pussy with ease. I drew them out and offered them to Kerry, watching as she breathed in my morning musk.

“Nice?” I asked, and she bobbed her head up and down.

I realised I was about to cross another line. That’s what lines are for, right?

“Do you… think you might like a taste?” I ventured.

Kerry looked up at me with wide, blinking eyes. “Your fingers?”

“Yep.”

“Um. Okay.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. Last night, when you and Frankie were licking down there, I wondered what it was like.”

“Haven’t you ever had a taste of your own?”

Kerry gave me a little smirk, a hint of colour reaching her cheeks. “Yeah, I’ve licked my fingers after I touch myself, but it’s not strong smelling like you and Frankie. I didn’t know adults tasted themselves, actually. I thought just kids did it.”

“I think most women and girls like the taste of their own pussies. It’s definitely nothing to be ashamed of.” My fingers hovered near Kerry’s lips. “So… you still want to try it?”

Kerry gazed up at me for approval.

“Go ahead,” I told her.

A little tongue snaked its way out of her mouth and tentatively probed along my fingers. I half expected Kerry to screw her face up in disgust, but to my surprise, she took my fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean.

“More?” I asked, and she responded with another quick nod.

I penetrated myself once again, then popped two glistening fingers into my little girl’s mouth.

“Salty,” Kerry said with a giggle.

I smiled down at her. Then, slave to my own perverted impulses, I pulled the front of my skirt up and tucked it into my belt, rested a foot on the edge of Kerry’s chair, then peeled my panties to one side.

Kerry peered between my legs with a look of comical surprise, then up at my face, then back down to my pussy. My cunt was mere inches from her face, wet and almost pulsing with arousal.

No. No, this is not a particularly good idea, is it? We should probably stop now. Let’s just think this through for a minute.

I slipped my fingers back inside myself, coated them in more viscous fluid, then deposited them into Kerry’s half-open mouth.

“Okay?” I asked with the last vestige of motherly concern I still commanded. “Shall I stop now?”

Kerry shook her head, so I dipped into my throbbing cunt once more, this time taking the opportunity to fuck myself for a few brief seconds, treating my daughter to a lewd display. When I was done, I offered her the messy digits.

“Good girl,” I murmured. “Taste Mummy’s pussy.”

Back and forth my fingers went – cunt to mouth, mouth to cunt. I smeared my juices across Kerry’s lips, hissing out dirty words before I could stop them. “Oooh, yeah. You like how that tastes, sweetie? You like how it smells? Look how wet you’ve made Mummy.”

I cradled the back of Kerry’s head and without thinking much about it, began to coax her towards my open cunt.

It was a glance at the clock on the wall that saved me from doing something even more stupid and reckless that morning.

“Oh, crap!” I exclaimed, snapping the crotch of my panties back into place and untucking my skirt. “We’re running late. Quick, put your shoes on.”

Kerry bounced from the chair and ran off to look for her school shoes.

“And brush your teeth again!” I called after her. “We don’t want your teachers wondering why your breath smells of pussy.”

I’ll bet no other parent in the entirety of human history had ever said that to their child before. Go me, I guess.

2

On Saturday, Kerry was away at her dad’s for the weekend, and Frankie went to visit her family for the day.

Frankie’s dad wasn’t particularly accepting of our relationship, and she’d fallen out with him because of it. Her mum was pretty laid back about her daughter being a lesbian, though, and despite the fact that Frankie detested the small country village where she grew up, she made some effort to get back there from time to time. I’d accompanied her on a couple of occasions, but honestly, I found it a little uncomfortable being stuck in the middle of their family rift. I sometimes felt Frankie brandished me like a weapon in front of her father, as if to say, “Yeah, I’m a dyke! You got a problem with that?”

Anyway, with some free time on my hands, I phoned my sister Judy to see if she was up for doing anything, and we decided to take Izzy to visit a bird sanctuary. My five-year-old niece was thrilled by the prospect. She zoomed around like a mad thing, introducing herself to all the birds. Judy and I trailed after her, passing time with the usual small talk.

Judy regaled me with tales of baking cakes for school fêtes and organising raffles, both alien concepts to me. I told her about my ex-husband moving to Dubai (Dubai was more than welcome to him, I was keen to point out), and Frankie’s problems with her family.

I also mentioned Kerry’s issues at school.

“The other kids in her class made fun of her because she has two mums.”

“That must be hard for her. Is she being bullied?” my sister asked.

“I don’t think so. They were just curious about how girls have sex together.”

“Oh, okay. Well, kids can be insensitive sometimes, can’t they? I don’t think they mean to.”

“Yeah. So me and Frankie decided to let Kerry watch us have sex,” I said, trying to keep a straight face. I loved teasing my sister.

“That’s nice,” Judy replied absent-mindedly as she tried to keep tabs on her five-year-old. “Izzy, stop waving your hands around! You’ll scare the crows.”

“They’re ravens, not crows,” I corrected her.

“Oh, are they?” Judy stopped dead in her tracks and gawped at me. “Wait, what did you just say!?”

“I said, they’re ravens. Crows are smaller.”

“No, before that.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. We let Kerry watch us fuck.”

“Bullshit,” my sister declared.

“No, we did. We just wanted to demystify the whole sex thing for her. Show her it’s normal for girls to make love with other girls.”

My sister just stood there, her mouth agape.

Izzy raced over to us and pointed to a majestic looking raven. “That bird just did a massive poo!” she informed us, then sped off again.

“Are you trying to shock me?” Judy asked.

“No,” I laughed. “I’m just telling you what happened, that’s all.”

“You let her watch you have sex? Seriously? Was she okay with it? What did she do?”

“Yeah, she seemed to enjoy it. I mean, we didn’t go at it like we usually do. None of the really kinky stuff.”

“Wow,” Judy said as we continued down the winding path. “I don’t know quite what to say to that. Watching kiddy porn, smelling Kerry’s panties, letting her watch you have sex? You’re really running with this, aren’t you?”

“I’m kind of making it up as I go, to be honest,” I admitted. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having fun.”

“And what does Frankie think about it all?”

“Frankie? She has a laptop full of video clips just like the one she sent you the other day. What do you think?”

“And Kerry was really okay with watching you?”

“What, you think we tied her to the chair while we went at it? She was rubbing her teddy bear on her pussy, Judy. I think it’s safe to say she was comfortable with the situation.”

Judy gave a little shiver. “Bloody hell. You’re making me horny.”

“Everything makes you horny,” I told her.

3

After Izzy had run out of birds to torment, we went shopping. I purchased a pair of smart trousers and a nice tunic shirt, and Judy bought herself a pair of boots.

At some point, we ended up in the kids department of some clothing store to buy stuff for Izzy. In a rather worrying development, I discovered it was now all but impossible to look at little girls’ panties without seeing them as objects of lust. And finding myself surrounded by rack upon rack of cute undies was a bit like taking an alcoholic to the pub, I considered.

Judy must have known what I was thinking. “Do you want some time alone with the panties?” she asked coyly.

I gave her arm a playful swat. “Shut up, I’m not completely deranged. Besides, the clean ones don’t do it for me.”

Judy picked up a couple of pairs of tiny knickers from a nearby rack and brandished them in front of me. They had cartoon animals printed on them. “Hmm. I think these would look good on Izzy,” she said with a smirk. “What do you think, Aunty Sarah?”

Served me right for teasing her back at the bird sanctuary, I guess.

“They’re cute,” I agreed, running my fingers across the soft cotton. One pair had a panda on the crotch, the other a koala bear.

“Do you like them, Izzy?” my sister asked.

Izzy peered up at the undies with a look of abject boredom that only small children dragged round the shops by their parents can muster. “Yeah, I like polar bears,” she declared. Well, they were definitely bears.

“Maybe we should buy them and go back to Aunty Sarah’s, so you can try them on. What do you think?”

Izzy didn’t seem to have an opinion one way or another, but both Judy and I knew it was really a question aimed at me. What game was my sister playing? I had to wonder if Izzy even needed new knickers.

Before I had time to question her motives, Judy was marching up to the checkout.

4

Back at my place, I opened a bottle of rosé while Judy made herself at home on the couch. I tried not to get into the habit of drinking at home during the day, but I figured weekends were fair game.

Izzy was having a rather civilised tea party on the floor with Mr Ruffles and a couple of Kerry’s plastic dinosaurs.

Judy rifled through our bags and pulled out the new undies, snapping the tags off. “Izzy, come and try on your knickers. I’ll bet Aunty Sarah would love to see you in them.”

I scowled at my sister. “What’re you doing?”

Judy looked at me innocently. “Huh? I’m not doing anything. You’ve seen Izzy running around naked loads of times.”

Izzy bounced over to her mum and Judy put an arm around the little girl’s waist. “What pair should we try first?” she asked the five-year-old.

“The polar bear ones,” Izzy decided after some consideration, pointing at the pair with the panda on the front.

“Okay,” my sister said. “Let’s take your old ones off.”

Izzy reached beneath her dress to pull her panties down but my sister intervened. “Lift your dress up and Mummy’ll take your knickers off for you.”

My niece hiked her denim dress up to reveal a pair of white knickers, a stark contrast against her naturally tanned legs. Judy locked eyes with me, thumbs hooked into the waistband of the little girl’s undies. She tugged them down just enough to expose a hint of puffy mound.

“Down they co-ome!” my sister chirped. “Slowly, slowly, slowly down those sweet little leggies!”

Izzy giggled at her mother’s foolishness. I reached for my wine and took a mouthful, a thin smile playing on my lips. I wasn’t certain if Judy was simply teasing or if things were about to escalate.

“Sarah?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you watching?”

I put my wine glass back down on the coffee table. “Yes, I’m watching. Carry on.”

Judy slid the panties down a little further, slowly unveiling the child’s neat slit. My sister was right – I’d seen Izzy capering about in various states of undress before, but now, with all these wicked ideas floating around in my head, seeing my niece this way, knickers halfway down her legs, took on a new, dangerous significance.

And Judy knew damn well what she was doing, didn’t she? Of course she did. Because she had that look, the one that had got us into so much mischief as kids. Older sister. Instigator. Younger sister can do nothing but follow. Oh, I’m not nearly so naïve these days, but what harm was there in slipping back into those old roles? Just to see where Judy was going with this. Just to find out what would happen.

I squeezed my thighs together, the ache in my loins already demanding attention.

“Here come those naugh-ty knick-ers!” Judy intoned, pulling the small panties down to Izzy’s knees. “I wonder if Aunty Sarah would like a picture of you with your undies round your legs.”

“Do you want to, Aunty Sarah?” Izzy asked seriously.

“Uh. Oh, yeah, that’d be lovely,” I told her, reaching for my phone to capture the moment before it was lost forever. Definitely one for the family album.

The panties continued their journey down my niece’s legs until they were ringed around her ankles.

“Lift your feet up, poppet,” Judy said and Izzy stepped out of her knickers. “Give them to Aunty Sarah to look after.”

Izzy scooped up her underpants and handed them to me with an angelic smile.

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

Judy pretended to whisper in her five-year-old’s ear, knowing full well I could hear every word. “Aunty Sarah happens to be quite fond of little girls’ panties. Did you know that, Izzy?”

My niece looked both intrigued and slightly suspicious. “Why?”

“Well, she’s very naughty, you see. She likes to smell them when no one’s looking.” Judy curved an eyebrow at me. “Go on, Aunty Sarah. Give them a little sniff.”

“This is ridiculous,” I snorted, feeling more than a little self-conscious.

“Aww, come on,” Judy pouted. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

My sister was playing a game, that much was clear. The question was, how far would she allow it to go? It would serve her right if I called her bluff.

I bought Izzy’s knickers to my nose to sample their delights. Still warm to the touch, they bore the faint scent of little girl, of young sex pressed into soft cotton, the subtlest of perfumes.

Judy ran her tongue along her lower lip as she watched me smell her five-year-old’s knickers. What the hell were we all doing? It was madness.

Izzy was delighted to see me with my face buried in her underwear. “Aunty Sarah, you’re silly!”

“Well? Are they good?” Judy asked with a smirk.

I offered her a sassy look, then spun the tiny pair of undies round my finger, launching them at my smug-looking sister. “Why don’t you try them for yourself?”

“I’m not the panty pervert in this family,” she said, dropping the knickers onto the couch. She gave me a coy look, then casually stuffed them under a cushion. “Things get lost down the back of sofas all the time, don’t they?” Plucking the new panties from the coffee table, she helped Izzy step in, then slid them up the child’s legs, releasing the elastic with a snap. “Go and show Aunty Sarah,” she said, giving her daughter a soft pat on the bum.

Izzy toddled over to me with a proud smile and lifted her dress.

“Wow, so cool!” I gushed. “Pandas are awesome!”

“It’s a polar bear!” Izzy insisted, letting her dress go, then snatching it back up.

“Izzy, let Aunty Sarah take your dress off. Then she’ll be able to see your new panties better.”

“‘Kay.”

Izzy held her arms aloft to let me pull the dress up over her head, leaving her standing there in nothing but the new knickers and a pair of pink pumps. I paused to admire the five-year-old’s Mediterranean complexion, the almost jet-black hair tumbling down across her narrow shoulders and onto her boyish chest. She was going to break some hearts when she was older.

“Let Aunty Sarah feel how soft they are,” Judy told her little girl.

My niece planted her hands on her hips and thrust her crotch towards me, blissfully unaware of the charged atmosphere in the room.

I reached out to touch the new cotton, fingers teasing the contours of the plump swell beneath.

Before I could take my hand away, Judy caught my wrist and guided me back between the little girl’s legs. “Touch her some more,” she murmured softly.

I gently trailed a finger through Izzy’s slit, the warmth of her pussy radiating out into the surrounding material.

“Does that feel nice?” I asked her and she gave me a small nod, mesmerised by the motions my hand was making between her legs.

“Izzy, why don’t you stand over Aunty Sarah on the sofa?” my sister said. “Give her a nice close-up view.”

I sank back into the couch, and Izzy clambered up, her legs on either side of me. Her crotch was just a few inches from my face. She smelled impossibly sweet.

“I think Mr. Polar Bear would like a little kiss,” my sister cooed from the other end of the couch, a hand disappearing beneath the elastic of her leggings.

I wondered who would call time out first – me or Judy. “Do you think I should, Izzy?” I asked my niece.

“Yah!” Izzy trilled. “Polar bears like kisses!”

I planted my lips on her mons, kissing it through her panties.

“It tickles!” my niece squealed, her hands locked around my shoulders.

“Shall I stop?”

Izzy shook her head from side to side, so I kissed her again, my mouth lingering this time. I parted my lips and enveloped the five-year-old’s vulva, tongue venturing out to enjoy a sneaky taste through the soft cotton.

“I can feel your tongue!” my niece gasped.

I peered across at my sister, hoping I hadn’t gone too far. Judy’s eyes were glazed over, her hand working studiously beneath her leggings. I thought we’d taken the game as far as we dared, and was about to deposit Izzy back onto the floor, when my sister ventured, “I wonder what Aunty Sarah’s tongue would feel like without your panties on, Izzy.”

“Judy…” I murmured, shaking my head.

“Come on, Sarah,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. ”Don’t lose your nerve now. Just try it, okay?”

“Shall I take them off?” Izzy asked innocently, fingers poised at the waistband of her knicks.

“Let Aunty Sarah do it,” my sister replied.

I gazed up at Izzy, then down between her tanned legs, then across at my masturbating sister. I let out a resigned breath, as if to say, “Well, I don’t really want to, but if you insist,” like somehow I had no choice in the matter, that my sister cajoling me into licking her little girl while she watched was a chore that simply couldn’t be put off any longer.

Right. Sure. And while we’re at it, let’s pretend your knickers aren’t soaked through at the thought of tasting your niece. 

Izzy’s new panties made their way back down her legs and over her knees, the little cuts and scrapes there betraying the clumsiness of her years. Finally, they lay nestled around her ankles, and Izzy lifted each foot in turn so I could slip them off.

“Kiss her kitty,” my sister said in a voice thick with lust.

I took a moment to breathe in the scent of my niece’s vagina before moistening my lips, then gently kissing her there. I teased my tongue out and flicked it across her labia, making Izzy jerk back with a breathless giggle.

“Tickles?” I asked, and she bobbed her head up and down. I ran my tongue up and down her slit, applying more pressure this time. “Better?”

“Mmm.”

“Good girl,” my sister murmured, reaching across to stroke Izzy’s bare bottom, the other hand still toiling away between her own legs.

I licked and sucked on Izzy’s pussy, desperate to really go to work on her, to press my tongue into her hole, to coax out her tiny clitoris, maybe even to spin her round, spread those chubby bum cheeks apart and taste her arse.

But I had to show at least a hint of restraint. I didn’t want to scare my niece, or give Judy a reason to come to her senses and put a stop to this. Not that she seemed inclined to do that any time soon, judging by the hunger in her eyes and the sounds of her fingers sloshing around in her pussy.

Izzy rested both hands on the back of my head, tilting her pelvis to meet my mouth. I peered up and found her gazing back at me with a sleepy grin. Was she getting aroused? Could she get aroused? Was it possible for a girl so young, or was it simply the soothing, repetitive motions of my tongue making her dreamy and drowsy?

Then, without even touching myself, I felt my own pleasure ripple through me. Uncoupling from Izzy’s glistening vagina, I groaned out loud, breaking into a series of fits and starts.

“Are you gonna sneeze, Aunty Sarah?” Izzy asked me.

“I – I thought I was,” I told her, my voice hoarse and shaky, “b-but I’m okay now.”

Judy rose from the couch on unsteady legs. She picked Izzy up and deposited her onto the floor with a motherly kiss to the cheek, then unceremoniously pulled me to my feet. “Put your panties and dress back on, Izzy. I’m just going to the toilet with Aunty Sarah, and then we’ll go home and make dinner.”

“Okay,” Izzy said, looking around for her clothes. “Um… I can’t find my old knickers.”

“Just put on a pair of the new ones!” Judy called back, practically dragging me upstairs to the bathroom. She marshalled me inside, pressing me back against the closing door with breathless urgency. She shoved her leggings and knickers down to her ankles, then wrestled me out of my jeans. “I need to fuck you,” she hissed, forcing her cunt against mine. I managed to hoist a foot up onto the toilet seat, making it easier for us to fit snugly together.

As Judy ground frantically against me, heady childhood memories came flooding back. We’d done this so many times as kids, the bathroom being the only space in the house with a door that locked. Judy bending me over the basin, rubbing her pussy on my arse. Me eating her out as she sat on the toilet with her legs spread. The two of us soaping one another up in the shower, learning what felt good, discovering all the ways girls can please other girls.

“Well, someone’s got themselves all worked up,” I teased, grasping my sister’s buttocks. “Can’t imagine why.”

“You started it,” Judy groaned.

“I didn’t start it,” I protested, slipping a finger into her arse as she rubbed herself on me. “It was you that took us to the panty shop. And you made me lick Izzy’s pussy.”

“Well, if you hadn’t told me about letting Kerry watch you and Frankie fuck, my knickers wouldn’t be soaked through all the sodding time thinking about it,” Judy shot back.

“Now, now. Let’s not bicker. What is it Mum used to say when we argued?”

“Play nicely, girls!” we both intoned as one.

“Kiss me,” Judy demanded. “I want to taste my little girl on you while I come.”

“Ooh, nasty!” I cooed, then did as she asked, my tongue slipping easily into her mouth.

Judy spasmed against me, her arse cheeks clenching and unclenching around my finger. How’s this for playing nicely, Mother? I thought.

“Mummy, hurry up!” Izzy hollered on the other side of the door.

“All right, I’m c-coming!” Judy called back, working out the last of her orgasm on my leg.

“You sure are,” I tittered.

5

After Judy and Izzy left for home, I collapsed onto the couch and switched on the TV. I could still smell the aftermath of sex, musky and feminine, lingering in the air like a guilty secret.

Some things are too big to get your head round, I think, so your mind just kind of shuts down. I could’ve mused on how I’d finally crossed the line from merely dabbling with the taboo into a full-on practical demonstration of incestuous paedophilia. Instead, I lined up all my excuses like tin soldiers on a make-believe battlefield.

Izzy had been anything but unwilling. In fact, she’d thrust herself against my mouth while I licked her. I’d been gentle with her, and she’d smiled down at me, content, accepting.

And Judy… well, it was my sister who told me to go down on her little girl, wasn’t it? She’d nudged me forwards like she always used to. Go on, Sarah. Don’t be a chicken. Cluck cluck cluck!

Well, it was done. A moment of madness that would surely never be repeated. We’d explained to Izzy that she mustn’t ever tell a soul, that it was our special secret, and a lollipop had changed hands to sweeten the deal.

Icky? Yeah, I know. I know. 

Frankie would be home soon, but I still had time for another quick diddle. My sister rubbing her cunt against mine had taken me halfway there, and I knew just the thing to finish myself off. I reached between two of the sofa cushions and pulled out my niece’s adorable little panties.

And down I went.

On to Chapter Five!

The Story Thus Far

Chapter One: Mallory Kalvornek and her lover Julie Hanson have returned to Bronning, Minnesota, for the first time in years to catch up with friends and family. Meanwhile, their old friend (and occasional sex partner) paramedic Nettie Hastings fights to save a life, her lover Hannah drops by with an unexpected surprise, Terry Wilder grapples with writer’s block… and two little girls living in a trailer park named Heather and Gina are being carefully observed by a hidden stranger.

Chapter Two: Mallory and Julie get together at Nettie’s home with Nettie and her lover Hannah, Nettie’s friend Terry Wilder, Terry’s teen daughter Halee, and Mallory and Julie’s friend (and occasional sex partner) Cindy. Gossip is exchanged, memories shared, and an unexpected attraction between Mallory and Terry Wilder reveals itself. Meanwhile, the mother of the two trailer park girls Heather and Gina goes out for a night on the town, oblivious to the presence of the man spying on her home.

Chapter Three: At Nettie’s place, Nettie and Hannah leave the others to indulge in a bit of romantic pleasure, while Julie and her old friend Cindy get it on with Terry’s teen daughter Halee. As for Mallory, she has repaired to Terry’s place for one of her occasional bouts of heterosexual action. Appetites are indulged, confidences shared. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina are abducted from their trailer home by a mysterious and very scary man.

Chapter Four: At Nettie’s place, four women and Halee Wilder greet the morning after an evening of lesbian abandon. Later that day, Mallory rejoins Julie, Nettie, Cindy and Hannah for a day of fishing. Halee returns home and spends the day upgrading her internet in preparation for promised to be a fun night of video chat sex with her girlfriend Bethany. Meanwhile, Grace and Heather are in the custody of the mysterious man, who seems to takes delight in terrorizing them.

Chapter Five: After their day of fishing, Nettie, Julie, Cindy, Mallory & Hannah engage in a five-woman sexfest inside a tent… and with the use of Cindy’s phone, their old friend and occasional bedmate Emma attends the orgy virtually. In the midst of their abandon, Nettie has a weird, vague memory flashback that leaves her shaken, but she conceals it from the others. Back home, Halee and her new love interest Bethany (Hannah’s daughter) are having long-distance sex via their laptops. 

Chapter Six: Nettie has a heart-to-heart with Hannah about her personal demons. Later, she gets a call from Agent Bridgett Ramscone, who has an unsettling request: for Nettie to go through the documentation of her own childhood kidnapping — and the murder of her sister — as a possible way to gain insight into the abduction of Heather and Gina (who are still being emotionally abused by their kidnapper, but are also taking steps to escape). Nettie is shaken, but agrees to do what she can. 

Chapter Seven: Many years after the fact, submerged memories of Nettie’s kidnapping began to make themselves known — memories of a possible accomplice to the original crime. She shares her thoughts with Bridgett. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina work on a potential escape from their makeshift prison.

Chapter Eight: Nettie unearths more hints that kidnap victims Heather and Gina were abducted by the same man who kidnapped and brutalized Nettie and her deceased sister over a decade ago — but that man was known to have died in prison.  Gina manages to escape captivity. But Heather can’t fit through the opening they dug, and must remain behind. Nettie gets a possible fix on the girls’ captor who, while out and about, gets a flat tire — then he discovers the spare is flat as well. 

Chapter Nine: The man who kidnapped Gina and Heather must get his flat spare tire fixed, not knowing the police have been alerted to him and are searching the area. Nettie, who is also hunting for the man, manages to find his abandoned car — then, some time later, makes an even more startling discovery: little Gina, alone and weeping by an abandoned road. In the meantime, the kidnapper manages to make his escape from the area by phoning a mysterious woman to pick him up.

Chapter Ten: Mallory meets with her mother, Sharon, for the first time in months, but fails to learn the cause of the recent distance between them. Nettie is still obsessed with Jacob Brentshaw, the man who kidnapped her and murdered her sister Annamarie so many years ago, sensing he is also behind the recent kidnapping as well… but can’t get past the fact that Brentshaw was killed in prison. Her actions saved the lives of Gina and Heather, but she remains determined to keep working the case on her own. For the first time, Nettie tells her lover Hannah about her own kidnapping and Annamarie’s death, events she has refused to discuss with anyone for years.

Chapter Eleven: Terry finds himself at loose ends, questioning his current life path, and decides to open up to than his dear friend and former sex partner Nettie. She and Hannah lend a sympathetic ear, then their conversation turns to kidnappings — the recent one, as well as Nettie’s own horrific abduction over a decade earlier, when her sister was murdered. She is fast coming round to the conclusion that both kidnappings involved an accomplice.

Chapter Twelve: A sleepover is in progress at Terry’s place while he is out. When the girls retire to their rooms, Halee phones her girlfriend Bethany and puts her on speaker to hear her younger sister Naomi and Chelsey going at it through their adjoining walls, and a good time is had by all. Upon returning home, Terry does some work on an idea for a new novel after months of inaction. Mallory is still unsure what to do with the family farm, and Nettie runs some ideas about the recent kidnapping case past Agent Ramscone.

Chapter Thirteen: Four members of the Pussy Posse — Mallory, Julie, Jamie, and Emma — are spending quality time together, along with Julie’s younger sister Vicky. News, gossip, memories, and innuendo are bandied about. Vicky hesitantly speaks of a recent sleepover where she overheard a couple of the girls saying hurtful things about her, an incident that still stings badly. The four women offer her comfort and understanding, which soon becomes something more.

Chapter Fourteen: Mallory, Julie, Jamie, Emma and Julie’s younger sister Vicky are having a barbecue and sleepover. Vicky loves hanging out with the Pussy Posse, but feels a little self-conscious, knowing that the women will very likely be having group sex later that evening. But Julie boldly her sister to join the sapphic festivities. Vicky is hesitant at first, especially at the prospect of coupling with her older sibling, but Julie manages to put her at ease. The four women and one teen adjourn for the master bedroom. Clothes are removed, bare bodies mingle, pleasure is shared.

Chapter Fifteen: Halee and her new girlfriend Bethany (daughter of Nettie’s lover Hannah), spend time roaming the town, getting to know one another better. Later on, they spend time together in a more intimate way. Meanwhile, Mallory and her partner Julie get a piece of surprising, potentially life-changing news.

Chapter Sixteen: Mallory is pregnant, and Terry Wilder is the father. She visits Bronning to give him the news, then they join Julie at Nettie’s place to discuss the situation. Terry chooses to leave the final decision in Mallory’s hands, but makes it clear that he is willing to raise the child as his own if Mal doesn’t want to be a mother.

Chapter Seventeen: Nettie pays a visit to the trailer park to visit Gina and Heather, the two girls she saved from a mysterious kidnapper. Still grappling with distant memories of her own kidnapping, she shows the girls a mugshot of Jacob Brentshaw, who was convicted of abducting her and murdering her twin sister Anna years earlier, but they tell her it isn’t the same man, despite disturbing similarities. Afterward, she gets an angry call from FBI agent Latisha Miller, who already knows about this visit to the girls. Nettie admits to pursuing this all-but-closed case, but refuses to back off. Against her better judgment, Agent Miller is coming around to allowing Nettie to continue her investigation. Meanwhile, Mallory, Julie and Terry visit a doctor to discuss Mal’s unexpected pregnancy.

For a list of the characters from the story you are now reading, visit this page. 

For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.

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

by Rachael Yukey

Breakin’ the chains around me
Nobody else can bind me
Take a good look around me
Now I’m breakin’ the chains.
Dokken, 1983

“I don’t like it,” Bridgett Ramscone was saying. Her face was tiled next to that of Latisha Miller on Nettie’s laptop screen. “More to the point, my bosses would never sanction this. Neither would yours, Tisha, and you know it.”

Nettie shrugged. “So if shit gets real, you disavow me. ‘She did what? I told her to keep her nose out of it’. Plausible deniability on your end. And I’ll go along with it.”

“It isn’t just about that,” Bridgett insisted. “Let’s say you start poking around, and actually stir something up. You’ll become a target, and we have no way to provide protection.”

“I’m willing to take that chance.”

Bridgett’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe I’m not.”

Despite the tension, Nettie had to smile. “It’s sweet that you’re worried about me.”

“I worry about all my agents,” Bridgett retorted, a hard edge to her voice. “I don’t like sending them into dangerous situations under the best of circumstances, and this is hardly that. For God’s sake, Nettie, you’re not trained for this. Have you ever even fired a handgun?”

Nettie’s expression became wry. “I took a yip at a couple of tin cans with one of my dad’s revolvers when I was fourteen.”

Bridgett rolled her eyes. “Bet you missed, too. See what I’m getting at? You’ll be putting yourself in a position where you might have to protect yourself, and you’re neither trained or equipped to do so. Look—I’m sorry, but I can’t get behind this. It’s simply too risky. Tell her, Tisha.”

Agent Miller laced both hands behind her head. “I’m torn, if we’re being honest. I mean, you’re right, this could backfire pretty badly if Nettie is actually onto something, and neither of us wants that on our conscience, even if we could avoid being held officially responsible. On the other hand—”

Unlacing her hands, she placed them on her desk and leaned forward. “In order to pursue this, I’d have to divert attention from much more immediate cases, and I’ll never be able to justify it. Which sucks, because I think it might just be valid. It’s worth a certain amount of risk to prevent this fuckstick from kidnapping and probably killing any more little girls. I honestly don’t know what the best answer is.”

Bridgett rolled her eyes. “You don’t have anybody who could devote a couple of afternoons—”

“No, damn it, I don’t. I’m supervising two current kidnapping cases with actual missing persons at the moment, as well as maintaining the follow-up operation in Virginia. Add to that the fact that two members of my team are on leave right now. The moment the Dulcey girls were located and the perp slipped through our fingers, this case was added to a very long list, and it’s nowhere near the top.”

“Jesus Christ.” Bridgett growled, drumming her fingers on her desk. “I still—no. No. A minimal chance of tracking this guy down is not worth the risk of Nettie being unpersoned. And you know damn well it’s a risk.”

Nettie’s eyes dropped to her desktop as she fought a brief internal battle. Then she looked back to the screen, a new determination in the set of her jaw. “Tell you what…”

Bridgett cocked her head. “What?”

“You let me do this, give me as much guidance and support as you can get leeway for, and—and you win, Bridgett. I put in my notice at Thormleton, and go into training for investigations. Green-light this, and you get me.”

Bridgett rocked back in her chair. “Is this really what you want, or are you that desperate to pursue this?”

Nettie let out a single laugh. “A little of both, actually. I’ve already been thinking it’s something I have to try, at least for a while. It probably would have happened anyway, just maybe not this soon. One thing, though.”

Bridgett cocked her head. “Yes?”

“If I have my pick of investigative agencies—”

“You do, honey,” Miller broke in.

“Then I’m not sure the DEA is right for me. I give you my word that I’ll try it first, though.”

Bridgett sighed. “Look, Nettie—”

“I’m going after him, Bridgett. I’m doing it with or without your blessing. Give me some help.”

Bridgett stared at her hands for a long moment, then looked up at the screen. “What’s your plan?”

“I’m gonna go down to Iowa and visit his youngest sister, Melissa. She lives in Cedar Rapids.”

Miller frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t either,” said Bridgett. “I mean—why her, in particular? I seem to recall she was a whole hell of lot younger then Jacob—”

“Sixteen year age gap,” Nettie broke in.

Bridgett inclined her head. “Right. She’d still have been in high school when he was convicted. She’s the least likely to have been involved.”

“That’s the point,” said Nettie. “She’s way younger than his other siblings, and she’s their exact opposite in every single regard. She has a successful career, and owns a home in a nice suburb. Literally the whole rest of the family is white trash, and most of them have been in legal trouble. I doubt there’s much love lost between her and the folks back home.”

“I still don’t get why you want to talk to her first,” Miller interjected.

“Because,” said Nettie, “the odds of her having been involved in any way are slim going on nil, so there’s a decent chance I can question her without raising any alarms. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that she keeps the rest of the family at arm’s length. But anyway—”

She paused, marshalling her thoughts. “Even if it turns out she’s completely estranged, she grew up with those people, and she can probably give me all kinds of insight into the family dynamic. She’ll know about the skeletons in the closet; anything from who got caught cheating at cards to who knocked up his brother’s wife. Where the tensions are, where the safe spaces are, who’s especially chummy with who. Who hates whose guts. What I’ll be doing with her is fishing to know which direction to go in next. Because right now I don’t have a friggin’ clue.”

There was a brief silence. “Goddamn,” said Bridgett, stroking her chin.

“Yeah, said Latisha. “I totally missed that angle; not gonna lie.”

“I figure it like this,” said Nettie. “If Brentshaw was working alone, or with unrelated accomplices, Mellissa probably won’t have information I can use. But if there were relatives involved, it’s very possible she’s sitting on clues as to who. Maybe even likely.”

“If there even was an accomplice, unrelated is way more likely,” said Latisha, “we’ve covered that.”

“Except you don’t think so, Nettie,” said Bridgett. “Why?”

Nettie gave that a moment’s thought; she wasn’t entirely clear on the point herself. “It’s partly a hunch,” she admitted. “But it’s mostly because even though there are discrepancies, the perp in the Dulcey kidnapping looks way too much like Brentshaw for comfort. I don’t believe for a second it’s a coincidence.”

“Neither do I,” said Latisha, “or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“I honestly don’t know what to think about that,” said Bridgett, “except that the original problem still stands. It’s sketchy enough that there’s no way Tisha would be able to justify devoting official resources to pursuing it. Brentshaw is dead, and he had no close male relatives that would be anywhere near the right age. An investigation of his family would be seen by the upper brass as completely unwarranted.”

“I agree,” said Latisha, “Which makes Nettie just about the only tool we have. But your concerns are also valid, Bridgett. Damned if I know how to play this.”

Bridgett heaved a sigh. “Nettie—your initial plan seems safe enough. I’ll go along with this cockamamie notion, give you what support and guidance I can, with the proviso that you stay in frequent contact with Latisha and myself. Plausible deniability or not, we’re both going out on a limb here, not to mention that I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. Slow and careful, and with constant communication. The three of us agree on every step of the process, or this investigation of yours gets shut down tout suite. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear. So—when should I put in my notice?” said Nettie.

“You really are serious,” said Latisha.

“Bet your ass I am.”

Bridgett pursed her lips. “So long as we’re collaborators in—in whatever the fuck this is, it might be better for you to stay where you’re at for the moment.”

“I second that,” said Latisha. “Conducting an unofficial, unsanctioned investigation is bad enough—but getting popped for something like that when you’re an agent trainee? Believe me, that’s one complication you absolutely do not need.”

Nettie gave a thoughtful nod. “Works for me. I’ll try to contact Melissa Brentshaw tomorrow, arrange a meeting.”

“All right,” said Bridgett. “Nettie—promise me you’ll be careful. If something smells wrong, bail, and get in touch with us immediately.”

“Don’t worry, Mother. I’ll be a good girl.”

Bridgett’s jaw tightened. “I’m serious, Nettie. Because you could have it completely wrong. Just because Melissa Brentshaw’s broken out of the family’s usual holding pattern doesn’t mean she hates their guts. She might be fiercely protective of them, even if they aren’t on speaking terms. Be on your guard—and for the love of god do not let on that you’re one of her brother’s victims.”

“Come on, Bridgett—I’m not a complete idiot,” said Nettie, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, you’re the one who called me ‘Mother’. That’s what moms do best—give unwanted advice.”

“All right, ladies, we’re done here,” Latisha interjected, her tone betraying a hint of impatience. “Nettie, keep us informed, don’t do anything stupid, and watch your ass. I have to get to another meeting.”

“Later, then,” said Nettie. She killed the connection.

***

Nettie closed the door to her dad’s old pool room, laptop tucked under her arm, mind working overtime to plan out what she would say to Melissa Brentshaw when she made the phone call tomorrow.

The voices of Julie, Mallory, and Terry floated in from the living room, punctuated by a burst of laughter. Nettie was relieved to hear it. There were a thousand different ways a situation like the one her guests faced could go sour, but thus far they seemed to be amicably getting to know each other. A little less tense than she’d been a few minutes earlier, she made her way down the hall.

The hallway brought her to the living room, where Julie and Mallory were sitting close together on the love seat, with Terry ensconced in one of the recliners. They all glanced up at her approach. Just as she was crossing into the room, about to speak, the doorbell rang.

Setting her laptop on an end table, Nettie made her way to the entryway. Pulling the door open, she blinked in surprise. Hannah stood on the threshold, hair loose around the shoulders of a powder blue long-sleeved blouse. The jeans she was wearing outlined her hips in a most delightful manner.

Nettie pulled her lover close, leaning down to kiss her. Hannah returned the kiss with considerable ardor.

“From this moment forward,” said Nettie as she guided Hannah into the living room, “you are not to ring my doorbell ever again. We’ve already exchanged keys, so for God’s sake just come in.”

Hannah’s smile turned mischievous. “Just wanted to be sure I wasn’t busting up a sex party. Hi, everyone.” She gave a little wave to the room in general.

“Hannah,” said Terry. “Always a pleasure.”

“Hi!” said Julie. Mallory gave a smile and a wave. Nettie and Hannah made their way to the couch and sat, settling into each other’s arms.

“Not that I’m complaining, but I wasn’t expecting to see you till dinner,” said Nettie.

“That was the plan,” said Hannah, “but we had a canceled surgery, so I decided to duck out early since I knew it was kind of a party here this afternoon. Hope I’m not barging in, but—”

“Away with that,” Julie replied, making a dismissive gesture. “You officially joined the sisterhood on the fishing trip, with full membership privileges. Seriously, we’re glad you came.”

“I dropped Bethany off at your house,” said Hannah, eyes flicking in Terry’s direction. “She was dying to see Halee. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“None whatsoever,” said Terry. “Save for the fact that the estrogen level in my house is dangerously high at the best of times. Much more, and it may become toxic for me to enter.”

Nettie snickered. “It’s nobody’s fault but your own that you only make girls.”

“Well,” said Mallory “that remains to be seen, doesn’t it—?” She ran a hand across her belly.

Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “Ummm—are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yep,” said Mallory, “I got a little more than I bargained for last time I was here.”

“So—” Hannah peered at Mallory, her expression tentative. “Are congratulations appropriate at the moment?”

Mallory glanced down at her hands, then back up, a look of wonder spreading across her face. “Yes,” she replied, sounding a little dazed. Tears spilled onto her cheeks, but her mouth widened into a radiant smile. “Hell, yes! I didn’t—I didn’t even realize it till right this minute, but y-yeah. Con—congratulations for days.”

Julie pulled Mallory close. Hannah got up and crossed the room, standing before them. “Well then, congratulations, Mallory. May I?” She extended her arms. Mallory stood, stepped into her embrace, and squeezed tightly.

Hannah beckoned to Julie with one finger of a hand that was firmly clamped firmly to Mallory’s shoulder blade. “Get up here, you.” Grinning, Julie rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around the two of them.

“Dad; Auntie, you get in here, too,” said Hannah. “One big motherfucker of a hug.”

Terry and Nettie shared an amused glance, then got up and crossed the room.

***

“Holy cow. I am—I’m having tremendous difficulty wrapping my brain around this.” Halee shook her head in a vain attempt to clear it.

She was seated between Bethany and Mallory at a circular table set for seven at Searing Sadie’s, widely acknowledged to be the classiest restaurant in Johnstown. Her eyes were on her father, who sat across the table from her, flanked by Nettie on his right and Julie to the left.

Turning toward Mallory, who was sitting next to her on the right, Halee opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“It’s okay,” the petite blonde assured her. She reached out tentatively to Halee’s hand on the tabletop, touched it lightly with her fingertips, then clasped it firmly when the girl offered no resistance. Halee, who’d been a little disappointed when Mallory had gone off with her dad instead of joining the sapphic group activities a month before, felt a thrill course through her at the touch.

“You can say whatever’s on your mind,” Mallory was saying. “I know this has to be kind of a shock.”

Halee found her voice. “Even more so for you, I imagine.”

Mallory chuckled. “Just a little bit. Getting pregnant was not on my agenda for the summer. But I’ve had a couple of days to get used to the idea.” She squeezed Halee’s hand. “Seriously: I’m carrying your brother or sister, and I’ve already decided to have the baby. It’s going to be important for us to get to know each other. Whatever you’re thinking, go ahead and speak up. We’ll deal with it.”

Halee blew out her breath. Grinning shyly, she said, “Honestly, I was just going to say I’m glad it’s you and not some bimbo like Theresa Fosse.”

Nettie and Hannah both burst out laughing. Terry lowered his head, put his hand over his eyes, and gave a low chuckle. Mallory threw him a bemused look. “Do I even want to know?”

Dropping his hand, Terry met her gaze, his expression wry. “Probably not. Let’s just say that the last time I was at the lady in question’s house, I abandoned ship with my mission incomplete. Most of my romantic history is characterized by two factors: an affinity for a pretty face, and an appalling lack of judgement.”

Nettie smacked his shoulder, backhand. “Thanks, asshole.”

Terry raised his hands in a defensive pose. “I said most, not all. Present company obviously excluded.”

“Too late,” said Mallory, a smirk on her face. “Can’t backpedal on us now. I’m officially taking offense.”

Halee waved her free hand at her father. “Oh my God, Dad. You shouldn’t be allowed to speak, ever. Anyway—” She turned to look at Mallory again. “It’s a shock, is all. I knew you’d hooked up with my father, but you never think something like this is actually going to take place. Until it does, I guess.”

Julie shrugged. “Welcome to life. You never think it’s gonna happen—until it does.”

“Says the chick who has a plan for literally everything,” said Mallory with a shake of her head.

The waitress chose that moment to appear with their drinks. “You folks ready to order?”

“I think we’ll need a few more minutes,” said Julie.

Turning her attention to the menu, Halee took the first sip of her iced tea. Then a thought struck her.

“My only question for the moment,” she said, eyes continuing to rove the selections, “is how the two of you are going to work this out.” She turned her head towards Mallory, who was sampling her lemonade. “You know, for custody. Visitation. That sort of thing. You live in Colorado. It’s a long way from here.”

“Questions of that nature,” said Terry, “are why only you are here this evening, and not your younger sisters. I may or may not have a quiet conversation with Naomi over the next few days—I haven’t had time to think it through. But my preference at the moment is for the younger ones to remain in the dark until we’ve taken the time to explore the options, and have at least tentative answers. You—”

He took a sip of his tea, then shrugged elaborately. “You’re old enough to process the situation with some level of rationality, and to understand that we haven’t made all of our choices yet. Besides, you move enough amongst the adults that I don’t see how I could possibly keep it from you. So I thought you and Bethany could and probably should join us for dinner, and you can at least become better acquainted with Julie and Mallory.”

“Julie I got to know a bit more last month,” said Halee. “You know, after you two left.”

Bethany, who had heard the story of that encounter in considerable detail, put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Julie wore a smirk as well.

Terry raised an eyebrow. “Indeed, I suspect that your knowledge of one another increased exponentially within minutes of our departure.”

Hannah’s mouth fell open. Nettie rubbed her eyes, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Julie was looking from Terry to Halee and back again, uncertainly.

Terry made an impatient gesture. “Can we drop the pretense, please? I knew what was going to take place after Mallory and I left, everyone who was there knew that I knew, and if I’d had any problem with it, Halee would most certainly not have been allowed to remain. My oldest is more mature than most adults I know, and such maturity carries both the ability and the right to make her own choices in matters of consent. So let’s stipulate from this moment forward that I have no interest in who’s doing what to whom or with what body parts, and we can all stop playacting at being furtive.”

Hannah’s face split into a wide grin. “Count on Terry to cut through the bullshit. I love it.”

***

“That’s a really weird looking field,” said Bethany, looking out the driver’s side rear window at a close-cropped expanse of growth, with neat, thick rows of freshly cut hay lying on the ground. “It’s like someone mowed really tall grass and raked it all into rows.”

Mallory, perched in the shotgun seat of the Buick SUV, chuckled. “It’s alfalfa,” she said. “You cut it down with a haybine or a swather, and the machine leaves it in those rows—they’re called windrows, by the way. Then you either chop it into silage, or let it dry down a little and bale it into hay. This guy must be planning to bale, or they’d already be doing the chopping.”

Halee, seated behind Mallory, nodded in Bethany’s direction. “We tried luring those cows close to the fence with some alfalfa last week, remember? I only know what it is because I go to school with a couple of kids who live on farms. You pick that kind of stuff up.”

By then, the alfalfa field had given way to a stand of pines. As the SUV crested a hill, the pines were replaced by an expanse of bright green, dotted here and there with purple flowers. It looked to be almost knee-high.

“And there’s some alfalfa that hasn’t been cut down yet,” said Mallory, gesturing in that general direction. “Getting a little overgrown, too.”

“How can you tell it’s overgrown?” asked Halee.

“Partly just because of the height,” said Mallory, “but also because it’s flowering.”

Bethany was nodding slowly. “So that’s what you feed cows, huh?”

“Yup. This time of year they’ll be doing the second cutting. You get at least two over the course of a summer, three in a good year. More if you’re further south. Ideally you want to cut it before it starts flowering because when it matures to that point, you lose nutrition. Not too big a deal for beef cattle or horses, but every little bit counts for a dairy herd.”

“Did you have cows growing up?” Bethany wanted to know.

Mallory shook her head. “Nope. Our place started off as a dairy farm, but my grandpa switched to cash grain not long before he had his stroke. After that, my dad took over. It all happened before I was even born. I don’t remember ever having animals on the place.”

“You still seem to know a good deal about it, though,” Halee pointed out.

“She has cattle envy,” Julie put in from the driver’s seat.

Mallory swatted her partner playfully on the arm. “When I was little I wanted cows, sure. I had a friend in elementary school who lived on a dairy farm, and I used to love petting the calves. When I got a little older, I wanted a horse in the worst way. Dad sure shut that down in a hurry,” she said with a laugh.

“He bought her a go-cart instead,” said Julie, a touch of laughter in her own voice.

Mallory giggled. “Yep. He said I could ride that all day for way less than it’d cost to feed a horse. But actually, the go-kart turned out to be a lot of fun. Julie’s dad got her one, and we used to race them in the driveway and on Dad’s machinery paths.”

“The big loop that leads to the machine shed was the best,” said Julie. “We always talked about laying out a racetrack in the old pasture, but never got around to it.”

Mallory craned her neck to look at the two girls in the back seat. “To answer your question, there’s a lot of stuff I picked up just because we knew other farm families. But also, me and Julie used to make money doing fieldwork when we were in high school, and over summer break when we were home from college. We worked for Dad during planting and harvest, but there isn’t a lot to do on a grain farm between those times. So we’d work for other farmers.”

“True story,” said Julie. “Both of us have cut, chopped, and baled a shitload of alfalfa hay. Mostly working for this guy named Ron Mesegow.”

“Wild,” said Bethany. “That sounds like the kind of work you’d mostly picture men doing.”

Mallory shrugged. “It’s true—you didn’t see a lot of girls picking up jobs like that. But as long as everything was working right, it wasn’t particularly grungy or heavy work. You just kind of rode back and forth on a tractor. Most of them even had air conditioned cabs.”

“You did have to know how to use tools, and not be afraid to get your hands dirty,” said Julie, “because stuff did go wrong, and lots of times it was something simple that would only take a couple minutes to fix in the field. Like if you were cutting hay and you broke a sickle section—no farmer is going to hire someone who comes running for help every time they bust one of those little fuckers. But it wasn’t a big deal, unless you’re hung up on traditional roles, or think it’s not ladylike to get grease under your fingernails.”

“I suppose your job is a little like that,” said Halee. “The engineering thing. I don’t think a lot of chicks go in for that, do they?”

Julie shook her head. “Fifty-three people started out as engineering majors at U of M St. Paul my freshman year,” she replied. “Seven were female, and only two of us graduated.”

“And now you’re kind of a boss, right?”

Julie chuckled. “Project lead.”

“That’s awesome,” said Bethany.

“You have to find your own path,” said Mallory. “To hell with what people say you can or can’t do, or what’s right for your gender or whatever. You do you—isn’t that what people say these days?”

“That happens sometimes, but I’d rather do her instead,” Bethany said primly, jerking her thumb in Halee’s direction.

Everyone cracked up. After Halee had gotten over her initial shock upon learning of her impending new sibling, dinner had been an enjoyable, relaxed affair. Halee was already feeling a little bummed that Mallory and Julie lived so far afield. She’d been the one to ask whether she and Bethany could ride back to Bronning with them, rather than stacking five deep in a vehicle with Nettie, Hannah, And Terry.

“Well, you’ll get the chance tonight,” said Julie, still chuckling.

Halee sobered. “Can I ask you guys something kind of personal?”

Mallory craned her neck around to peer into the backseat. “Fire away.”

“That night I stayed at Nettie’s house, and you,” she waved her hand at Mallory, “went with Dad and, you know—”

“Got knocked up?” said Mallory with the slightest hint of a smile.

Halee grinned back. “Right, that. Anyway—I was telling Bethany about some of the things we talked about before you took off. You know, how you and Julie kind of, um, have an open thing where you mostly do hookups together, except for special cases. We think it sounds really cool, but were wondering if it, well, ever causes problems.”

There was a long silence from the front seat. It was Julie who finally replied. “It’s always worked out fine for us. No jealousy, no bitterness. But we’ve seen it blow up for people, too. You have to have the right headspace, I think. We’ve always been clear on where we stood with each other, and the other stuff—it’s just sharing pleasure, you know? Neither of us sees sex as some kind of holy sacrament. We’re not terribly philosophical about it, and I don’t think either of us gives it a ton of thought. We’re innocent hedonists.” She chuckled.

“So—” Bethany mused, “it’s kind of about what sex means to you.”

“I think so,” said Mallory. “If you’re the kind of person who sees sex as the ultimate way to achieve meaningful closeness with a soul mate, a polyamorous situation might not be a great idea. I mean—an orgasm does make you feel super close to whoever you’re with. But it’s kind of transitory, too. It’s nothing like the really deep, long-lasting connection I have with Julie. Not even close. We’re talking two entirely different things.”

“So you two are thinking you might want to go down that road?” said Julie.

“We’ve discussed it,” said Halee. “because we both still get hot for other girls. And women.”

As Julie rounded a bend, the outskirts of Bronning came into view. To the left, the sun was just beginning to set over the town. A few hundred yards ahead, Terry’s Honda was signaling a turn in that direction. Julie tapped the brakes, letting the Buick coast down.

“First, you have to work out how you view the experience of physical intimacy ,” said Mallory. “It’s different for everybody.”

“I think I’m kind of like you guys,” said Halee. “An arrangement like yours could work for me.” She looked to her girlfriend; took her hand. “But if you feel otherwise, Bethany—then I’m all yours. Only yours.”

“Aw, thanks,” a smiling Bethany replied, giving Halee’s hand a squeeze.

“That’s actually a really important part of making polyamory work,” said Mallory as Julie took a left turn, accelerating past the scattering of houses that marked the edge of town. “Any agreements you make, stick to them. Julie and I, we always do stuff together, unless we decide otherwise. So if I’m with someone we haven’t talked about in advance—no matter how much I might want to have sex with that person—it doesn’t happen. There has to be trust. Remember that.”

“I’m the same way, I think,” Bethany declared. “Pretty sure of it, actually. What do you say, Halee? We can do things with other people, but only when we’re together?”

Halee leaned forward, smoothing Mallory’s silky blonde hair with gentle fingertips. “I agree completely.  And on that note, ladies—do the two of you have any plans for the evening?”

Mallory twisted in her seat to meet Halee’s gaze, giving the teen a look of astonishment that relaxed into a delighted smile.

On to Chapter Nineteen!

The Story Thus Far

Chapter One: Mallory Kalvornek and her lover Julie Hanson have returned to Bronning, Minnesota, for the first time in years to catch up with friends and family. Meanwhile, their old friend (and occasional sex partner) paramedic Nettie Hastings fights to save a life, her lover Hannah drops by with an unexpected surprise, Terry Wilder grapples with writer’s block… and two little girls living in a trailer park named Heather and Gina are being carefully observed by a hidden stranger.

Chapter Two: Mallory and Julie get together at Nettie’s home with Nettie and her lover Hannah, Nettie’s friend Terry Wilder, Terry’s teen daughter Halee, and Mallory and Julie’s friend (and occasional sex partner) Cindy. Gossip is exchanged, memories shared, and an unexpected attraction between Mallory and Terry Wilder reveals itself. Meanwhile, the mother of the two trailer park girls Heather and Gina goes out for a night on the town, oblivious to the presence of the man spying on her home.

Chapter Three: At Nettie’s place, Nettie and Hannah leave the others to indulge in a bit of romantic pleasure, while Julie and her old friend Cindy get it on with Terry’s teen daughter Halee. As for Mallory, she has repaired to Terry’s place for one of her occasional bouts of heterosexual action. Appetites are indulged, confidences shared. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina are abducted from their trailer home by a mysterious and very scary man.

Chapter Four: At Nettie’s place, four women and Halee Wilder greet the morning after an evening of lesbian abandon. Later that day, Mallory rejoins Julie, Nettie, Cindy and Hannah for a day of fishing. Halee returns home and spends the day upgrading her internet in preparation for promised to be a fun night of video chat sex with her girlfriend Bethany. Meanwhile, Grace and Heather are in the custody of the mysterious man, who seems to takes delight in terrorizing them.

Chapter Five: After their day of fishing, Nettie, Julie, Cindy, Mallory & Hannah engage in a five-woman sexfest inside a tent… and with the use of Cindy’s phone, their old friend and occasional bedmate Emma attends the orgy virtually. In the midst of their abandon, Nettie has a weird, vague memory flashback that leaves her shaken, but she conceals it from the others. Back home, Halee and her new love interest Bethany (Hannah’s daughter) are having long-distance sex via their laptops. 

Chapter Six: Nettie has a heart-to-heart with Hannah about her personal demons. Later, she gets a call from Agent Bridgett Ramscone, who has an unsettling request: for Nettie to go through the documentation of her own childhood kidnapping — and the murder of her sister — as a possible way to gain insight into the abduction of Heather and Gina (who are still being emotionally abused by their kidnapper, but are also taking steps to escape). Nettie is shaken, but agrees to do what she can. 

Chapter Seven: Many years after the fact, submerged memories of Nettie’s kidnapping began to make themselves known — memories of a possible accomplice to the original crime. She shares her thoughts with Bridgett. Meanwhile, Heather and Gina work on a potential escape from their makeshift prison.

Chapter Eight: Nettie unearths more hints that kidnap victims Heather and Gina were abducted by the same man who kidnapped and brutalized Nettie and her deceased sister over a decade ago — but that man was known to have died in prison.  Gina manages to escape captivity. But Heather can’t fit through the opening they dug, and must remain behind. Nettie gets a possible fix on the girls’ captor who, while out and about, gets a flat tire — then he discovers the spare is flat as well. 

Chapter Nine: The man who kidnapped Gina and Heather must get his flat spare tire fixed, not knowing the police have been alerted to him and are searching the area. Nettie, who is also hunting for the man, manages to find his abandoned car — then, some time later, makes an even more startling discovery: little Gina, alone and weeping by an abandoned road. In the meantime, the kidnapper manages to make his escape from the area by phoning a mysterious woman to pick him up.

Chapter Ten: Mallory meets with her mother, Sharon, for the first time in months, but fails to learn the cause of the recent distance between them. Nettie is still obsessed with Jacob Brentshaw, the man who kidnapped her and murdered her sister Annamarie so many years ago, sensing he is also behind the recent kidnapping as well… but can’t get past the fact that Brentshaw was killed in prison. Her actions saved the lives of Gina and Heather, but she remains determined to keep working the case on her own. For the first time, Nettie tells her lover Hannah about her own kidnapping and Annamarie’s death, events she has refused to discuss with anyone for years.

Chapter Eleven: Terry finds himself at loose ends, questioning his current life path, and decides to open up to than his dear friend and former sex partner Nettie. She and Hannah lend a sympathetic ear, then their conversation turns to kidnappings — the recent one, as well as Nettie’s own horrific abduction over a decade earlier, when her sister was murdered. She is fast coming round to the conclusion that both kidnappings involved an accomplice.

Chapter Twelve: A sleepover is in progress at Terry’s place while he is out. When the girls retire to their rooms, Halee phones her girlfriend Bethany and puts her on speaker to hear her younger sister Naomi and Chelsey going at it through their adjoining walls, and a good time is had by all. Upon returning home, Terry does some work on an idea for a new novel after months of inaction. Mallory is still unsure what to do with the family farm, and Nettie runs some ideas about the recent kidnapping case past Agent Ramscone.

Chapter Thirteen: Four members of the Pussy Posse — Mallory, Julie, Jamie, and Emma — are spending quality time together, along with Julie’s younger sister Vicky. News, gossip, memories, and innuendo are bandied about. Vicky hesitantly speaks of a recent sleepover where she overheard a couple of the girls saying hurtful things about her, an incident that still stings badly. The four women offer her comfort and understanding, which soon becomes something more.

Chapter Fourteen: Mallory, Julie, Jamie, Emma and Julie’s younger sister Vicky are having a barbecue and sleepover. Vicky loves hanging out with the Pussy Posse, but feels a little self-conscious, knowing that the women will very likely be having group sex later that evening. But Julie boldly her sister to join the sapphic festivities. Vicky is hesitant at first, especially at the prospect of coupling with her older sibling, but Julie manages to put her at ease. The four women and one teen adjourn for the master bedroom. Clothes are removed, bare bodies mingle, pleasure is shared.

Chapter Fifteen: Halee and her new girlfriend Bethany (daughter of Nettie’s lover Hannah), spend time roaming the town, getting to know one another better. Later on, they spend time together in a more intimate way. Meanwhile, Mallory and her partner Julie get a piece of surprising, potentially life-changing news.

Chapter Sixteen: Mallory is pregnant, and Terry Wilder is the father. She visits Bronning to give him the news, then they join Julie at Nettie’s place to discuss the situation. Terry chooses to leave the final decision in Mallory’s hands, but makes it clear that he is willing to raise the child as his own if Mal doesn’t want to be a mother.

For a list of the characters from the story you are now reading, visit this page. 

For a list of the characters from the previous two stories that you will encounter here as well, visit this page.

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

by Rachael Yukey

One more to count in
Wake up the mountain
All colour’s slowly turning to grey
Our world is darkening
Wake up the mountain
And we will find it once more again
Helloween, 1996

“Nettie! Nettie, WAKE UP!” 

Nettie doesn’t want to wake up. It’s so cold, yet every breath she draws is flame. The last time she coughed, blood came up. There’s a bizarre floating sensation, like she’s on a boat, gently rocking back and forth with the swell of the waves. 

She becomes aware of Anna’s hands on her torn, filthy pajama top, and realizes the rocking motion is her sister trying to shake her into something resembling consciousness.

“Nettie!” Anna hisses in her ear. “A car just pulled up outside. If you’re asleep when he comes in, he’ll hit you till you wake up, just like last time. Nettie, come ON!” 

As the fog shrouding her mind gradually dissipates, Nettie becomes aware of an engine rumbling outside. It cuts off abruptly, followed by the sound of a car door slamming shut. Then another. Then HIS voice filters through the moldy walls, saying something too muffled to catch. 

“We’re running out of time, you know,” a female voice replies. Muffled though it is, this voice is closer, louder, just barely intelligible. 

Creepface speaks again, and although Nettie strains to hear, she still can’t quite make out his words. 

“I know that,” says the woman’s voice. “But we’ve got other problems, too. I didn’t expect Jacob to hang around as long as he has—I think he’s getting curious. We’re gonna have to figure out—”

The voice is now echoing as if from the depths of a well, a well from which Nettie is bizarrely falling up from the bottom, instead of down from the top. In some dim part of her mind, Nettie realizes it isn’t the woman outside who has changed, but her own perception. She’s drifting away again. 

She tries desperately to reverse course, to dive back down into the well, because that’s where Anna is, that’s where sanity lies, where…

“Nettie, please!” Anna screams. “WAKE UP!”

Nettie sat bolt upright, gripping the steering wheel with both hands, knuckles white and trembling from head to toe. Her Kia was idling in the side parking lot of a rundown convenience store about eight miles shy of the Forbes Mobile Home Park. She’d decided to stop for a bathroom break and a quick bite before presenting herself at the Dulcey residence, but had apparently closed her eyes and fallen into a light doze the moment she’d put her car in park. Small wonder; she’d slept badly the night before. A glance at the dashboard clock revealed that she’d been sitting there for a little over fifteen minutes.

“Fuck,” she mumbled.

The dream had been vivid, powerful, and was still sharp and clear in her mind. Was it truly just a dream, or perhaps a flash of suppressed memory elbowing its way to the forefront? She had no way to know.

Then Nettie realized that she did. That bit about Jacob being curious was the tell-tale. Because the monster, the man she and Anna had dubbed Creepface, the one who had gone to prison for their kidnapping and her sister’s murder, was Jacob. Even if this was a memory, it was an inaccurate one, distorted by the haze of fever.

She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the images that lingered in her head. If there was any scrap of truth to be had here, she wanted to find it and pin it down. Anna’s face seemed to loom before hers. Sweet, beautiful, doomed Anna, staring into her eyes, and from there down into her soul. Trust yourself, Nettie, and for this one moment she could fucking hear Anna, her subconscious insisting that this really was the voice of her lost sister. Trust your memories. Let them guide you.

Thoroughly shaken, Nettie opened her eyes, squinting a bit as the sun emerged from behind the clouds to glare through her windshield. She shook herself, trying to lighten her mood by comparing the motion to that of Terry’s big, hairy dog after being forced to endure a bath. The humor fell flat.

Shaking her head at her own idiocy, she killed the engine, popped the door open, and stepped out into the daylight. One thing was for sure: splotches of memory that might not even be memory at all were not going to get her any closer to learning what she needed to know. The mission she was on today just might. But first things first—she really needed to pee.

***

Twenty minutes later, Nettie was pulling in next to April Dulcey’s half-rotted deathtrap of a Honda Accord, its original light blue paint liberally besmirched by splotches of rust. Looks like a giant ate a village full of Smurfs, then took a massive shit in this woman’s driveway. She had to suppress a fit of laughter. Focus, girl. 

Emerging from the car, Nettie took a moment to appraise the yard as she slung a large white satchel over her shoulder. It had been recently mowed; a sloppy job that did not include edging. Two kids’ bikes were tucked up against the porch, and the plastic table, chairs, and tea service were exactly where they’d been when she’d driven by before, only a few meters from the woods. Whoever mowed the lawn had just gone right around the table and chair set.

Squaring her shoulders, she made her way up the walk. She was just shy of the front steps when the door flew open. The woman who stood in the doorway matched Nettie’s mental image of trailer trash to a tee. Her hair was the victim of an awful red dye job that was sufficiently past its prime for one-inch roots to be visible. A pair of ragged jeans two sizes too small cinched her belly in a way that made Nettie think of a rubber band wrapped around a marshmallow. A nondescript white tank showed off three inches of fleshy midriff. Nettie knew from the files that April Dulcey was thirty-one, but the lines on her face suggested early forties.

She peered at Nettie through bloodshot eyes. “Who the fuck are you?”

Coming up short at the bottom of the steps, Nettie put one hand on the rail, holding up her wallet with the other, the DEA consultant card she carried on display. “I’m—”

“Oh, hell no,” the woman snarled. “No more. I don’t want any more of you silly fucks in my house, so you can just—”

“I’m Nettie Hastings,” Nettie cut in, raising her voice. “I’m the one who—”

“Nettie?!” A small face stuffed itself into the narrow space between her mother’s waist and the doorframe. The face looked freshly scrubbed, the light brown hair neat, clean, and loose around the shoulders. This was such a far cry from the bedraggled creature Nettie had plucked from the ruins of County Highway Eight that it took a moment to recognize her.

“Nettie!” Gina Dulcey squealed, squeezing past her mother and hurtling down the porch steps. Nettie caught her on the way down, scooping the child into her arms. Tears stung her eyelids, tears she knew better than to shed.

Then Heather was there, brushing past her mom with a little more grace than her sister had, but then picking up the pace. She was down the steps in a flash, arms around Nettie’s waist.

“Oh,” said April, with total ill grace. “You’re Nettie. I guess you can come in.”

***

Terry unfolded his body from the driver’s seat of his recently purchased Honda Pilot, now parked outside the five-story edifice that was the Pinewood Clinic in Johnstown. Julie was clambering out of the passenger’s side. Terry popped open the rear door, offering Mallory a hand as she slid to the ground.

She took it, but rolled her eyes. “You should probably save that stuff for when I’m too big to see my feet.”

Terry laughed. “This is but the tip of the iceberg, my dear. Should the hallways be crowded, I intend to clear the way by shouting, ‘Lady with a baby!’”

Chuckling, Julie came around the front of the car and elbowed him in the ribs. “Out of the way, baby daddy. I got this.” Terry obligingly moved aside, then trailed along behind as the two women approached the building hand in hand.

***

“Are you two doing okay? Is there anything you need?”

“Maybe a mom who isn’t a bitch,” said Heather with a sardonic twist of her lip. Nettie was seated on the center cushion of the Dulceys’ couch, a girl pressed close to her on either side. Dear old Moms had exchanged token pleasantries, offered Nettie a drink which she’d politely refused, then retreated outside to smoke a cigarette.

Nettie offered the girl a wry smile. “How are your hands?” The first, second, and third fingers of Heather’s right hand were swathed in bandages. The left first and second fingers were similarly bound. The unbandaged digits bore the lingering aftermath of deep abrasions, but appeared to be functional.

“Getting better, but I still need one more operation on my right hand fingers,” Heather replied. “I really messed them up, and you guys still had to finish getting me out.”

“You got Gina out,” Nettie reminded her. “I think that makes you the best big sister ever. Besides, you had no way to know we were coming. What you did was incredibly brave, and exactly the right thing.”

Heather was looking up at her, hands twisting in her lap. “Have they caught him yet, Nettie?”

Nettie sighed. “No. Actually, that’s why I’m here.” Extracting a folded piece of printer paper from the satchel on the floor between her feet, she spread it out on the coffee table, smoothing the crease. It was Jacob Brentshaw’s arrest mugshot.

Heather awkwardly picked it up between the thumb and unbandaged two fingers of her left hand, examining the photo at arms length. Leaning across Nettie’s lap, Gina looked on.

“This was taken fifteen years ago, so he’d look older now,” said Nettie.

“It’s not him,” said Heather with an air of finality.

Nettie opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She hadn’t realized, not until right this second, how sure she’d been that Heather and Gina’s kidnapper was the same twisted fuck who had taken Anna’s life.

Nettie squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. She forced the words out. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s close. Like they’d probably be related. The nose is the same. But some things are different, and it’s not just because he’s younger.”

“The cheeks are wrong,” Gina put in. “If it wasn’t for that, it might fool me.”

“Damn,” Nettie muttered. “You think they look like relatives, though?”

“Oh, for sure,” said Heather. “It’s close enough that it’s giving me the creeps.”

“But they’re definitely different people.”

“Yeah, definitely,” said Heather.

“Uh-huh,” Gina agreed.

Nettie let her head droop forward, staring down at her hands while she forced her recalcitrant brain to accept this new data. “Okay,” she said, “Thanks. At least we know.”

“Who is this, anyway?” Heather inquired, rattling the paper in her hand.

“A horrible, horrible man,” said Nettie. “Best to leave it at that. Anyway, I brought some stuff for the two of you.” Reaching back into her satchel, she came up with a pair of large insulated lunch boxes, one green and the other orange, but otherwise identical.

“One for each of you. Anyone got a color preference?”

“Can I have the orange, Heather?” Gina pleaded. “It’s the same as Nettie’s glasses!”

Heather smiled a sad little smile. “All yours, Gina.”

“They’re both full of snacks,” said Nettie, handing Gina the orange and Heather the green. “All stuff that’s bad for you, so enjoy. Oh—and both boxes have a card with my phone number and email address inside. If you have questions, or think of anything I might need to know, or if you just plain need someone to talk to, you can get in touch with me anytime. Okay?”

“We’d better hide ‘em good,” Gina declared, “or our mom’ll eat all of it.”

Nettie felt a twinge of anger, but did her best to keep what she was thinking from showing on her face. “Maybe you’d better run them to your bedroom before she comes in.”

Heather rolled her eyes. “No worries. She’ll find an excuse to stay outside till you leave. It’s what she did with all the other people who came to talk to us.”

Fighting tears, Nettie wrapped an arm around each girl, pulling them close. “You have my contact info,” she said. “If you girls need anything, you get ahold of me. Okay?”

***

“I’m sorry, but I’m not clear on the dynamic here,” said Doctor Nadine Belgarde, the chubby brunette seated on the examination room stool. By sheer happenstance, Mallory had gotten a cancellation appointment with Terry’s own primary care physician. “Not that I want to pry or anything, but—”

“It’s okay,” said Mallory. “Julie is my domestic partner. I have the occasional heterosexual fling, that she knows about. Terry was one of them.”

“Well for starters, honey, your taste in men really sucks,” Dr. Belgarde said cheerfully, jerking her thumb in Terry’s direction. She and Terry both laughed. Julie and Mallory joined in after a moment’s hesitation.

“Anyway,” the doctor continued, “the results just came back. It’s a sure thing; you’re pregnant.”

Mallory nodded. “I know.”

“Okay, then. Something tells me you’re not a person who needs an exhaustive list of all your options, but do you want me to review them for you?”

“I think I’m good there.”

“Excellent,” said Dr. Belgarde. “Are you planning on carrying to term?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then,” the doctor said with a smile. She had a pleasing smile, one that spoke of a cheerful outlook on life. “Now, you live in Colorado, is that right? When are you planning to return?”

“When classes start at the end of August.”

“You’re a student, then?”

The corners of Mallory’s mouth curled upward. “Professor.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry about that. What do you teach?”

“Music.”

Dr. Belgarde flashed that wonderful smile again. “That is so cool. I played the viola with the U of M Mankato orchestra during my undergrad. I still miss it. Anyway—” she glanced at the notes on her tablet. “Looks to me like you’re in excellent health, so that’s a plus. Would you say you maintain a pretty balanced diet? Fresh fruit, veggies, that sort of thing?”

Mallory smiled back; the woman was infectious. “No problems there.”

“Terrific. I’d recommend you get started on a daily course of prenatal vitamins, but so long as you’re eating well and there are no other problems, the over-the-counter stuff ought to be just fine. I won’t tell you to avoid caffeine completely, but it should be kept to a minimum. Think you can handle no more than two hundred milligrams a day? That would be—”

“I’m just going to cut it out altogether. No big deal.”

“Do we need to have a conversation about alcohol or other intoxicants?”

Mallory shook her head. “Not a drop until I have the baby. It goes without saying, right?”

The doctor’s smile turned sour. “Sweets, I’m a family doc in an economically repressed rural area. Unfortunately it absolutely does not go without saying, and it’s a little depressing how often saying something doesn’t make a difference.”

“No worries,” said Mallory. “I won’t be using. And I don’t smoke, if that’s your next question.”

Nadine’s smile returned to sunny in an eyeblink. “You’re my dream patient. Too bad you don’t live here; you’d be a shining example to everyone else. Speaking of which, if you stick to the itinerary we talked about, you’ll be getting initial prenatal care here in Minnesota. We usually like to do the first ultrasound anywhere from seven to eight weeks after the start of your last menstrual cycle, so that’ll be a few weeks from now. You’re down in the Ottertail County area, correct?”

“Dickson. I grew up there.”

“That’s about three hours southwest of here, isn’t it? How did you meet this guy?” She waved her hand at Terry.

Mallory indicated Julie with her thumb. “Her cousin Nettie Hastings lives in Bronning. She’s friends with Terry.”

The doctor’s smile widened as she turned her attention to Julie. “Oh, I knew you resembled someone I know! I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I did an emergency medicine fellowship, so I sometimes pick up shifts in the ER when they’re shorthanded. I know Nettie. She’s everyone’s favorite paramedic down there.”

She peered more closely at Julie. “Wow, you really do look like her. I think it was the different hair that threw me. Anyway—”

She took another moment to peruse the chart. “You’re not too far from Alomere Health in Alexandria, then. Dr. Sanders down there is a terrific OB. Want me to give you a referral?”

“That’d be great.”

“Okay. It should show up in your MyChart before the day is out. Just one other thing then.”

Dr. Belgarde hesitated, her smile fading. “Here’s where I get told to mind my own business, but I need to ask. This is what we’d definitely call a non-traditional situation. An unplanned pregnancy, and you’re in a same-sex domestic relationship with someone who, obviously, is not the father. Meanwhile, the actual father is sitting right in front of me. My concern is any sort of situation that will lend itself to unusual levels of prenatal stress. It’s not good for the baby. I can give referrals for group counseling, individual therapy, whatever you have to have.”

She threw Terry a wicked grin. “Except I don’t have a cure for the father being a complete tool. I’ve been wanting to have that organ removed ever since your first appointment, Terry, but the surgeons tell me they don’t have a long enough drill.”

Julie and Mallory shared a laugh. Terry raised an eyebrow. “How long have you been waiting to use that line?”

Dr. Belgarde chuckled. “Oh, I’ve been sitting on it for a few months.”

Terry inclined his head, then met her eyes. “Well played,” he said cheerfully, “but the real gold standard is coming up with them on the fly.”

“Oh, I’ll get there.” She turned her attention back to Mallory. “Seriously, though—do you think you might need any sort of mental health services?”

Mallory took Julie’s hand, squeezed. “I think I’m okay.”

The doctor looked to Julie. “I haven’t heard much from you. Your good health, including your mental health, is going to be important for Mallory, and once again—this is a situation that I can’t help but be a little concerned about. I can set things up for you, if it’s needed.”

Julie shook her head. “I’m in a good place with it. If that changes, I promise I’ll get help.”

“I can’t ask for more than that.” The doctor stood. “Mallory, Julie, it was a pleasure meeting you. Even though I’m not your primary, if you need any little thing, you just call my office.”

She cocked her head at Terry, the corners of her mouth curling upward. “As for you—get the hell out of my exam room. You’re stinking up the joint.”

Terry cocked his head. “Why? So you can start crying yourself to sleep while desperately counting the minutes until my next appointment?”

“So I can drink myself to sleep while desperately trying to figure out where I went wrong in life, being stuck in a position where I have to treat douchey people like you.”

Doctor Nadine Belgarde exited the room with a self-satisfied spring in her step, leaving Terry staring after her open-mouthed.

“Well, goddamn,” he murmured, staring at the closed door. Then he broke into a grin. “Well played, madame.”

Julie and Mallory were both laughing. “How fun was that?” said Julie.

***

Nettie’s phone rang as her car descended the long hill that comprised most of Keenan Lake Road, leading her out of the trailer park and back to County Seven. She glanced at the infotainment system on the dash; ‘Unknown Number’ it said. She debated not taking it, then thumbed the accept button on the wheel.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Hastings, this is Latisha Miller with the FBI. I’ll come right out and say it: what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Wait—what?”

There was a moment’s pause. “Okay, honey, we need to talk, and I’d prefer a secure line. Can you drive to Virginia? Not the state, thanks very much.”

Thirty minutes later Nettie was seated at a desk in the ad hoc offices the FBI was maintaining in rented space in downtown Virginia. The contingent had been whittled down to just two agents, one of whom Nettie recognized. Agent Tso was the East Asian gentlemen who had been there a month ago, part of the search for Heather and Gina Dulcey. He’d ushered Nettie into this office with exquisite courtesy, setting her up behind a large computer screen that was already conferenced in to wherever the fuck FBI Special Agent Latisha Miller was at the moment. Location notwithstanding, Miller had a damn fine work space.

On the screen, The FBI agent looked up from whatever it was she’d been doing. “Ms. Hastings. Good to see you again.”

“Likewise. What’s this about?”

“Why did you pay a visit to the Dulcey residence?”

Nettie folded her hands on the desk. “How did you know?”

“We have the place under 24-7 video surveillance. The Dulcey girls are considered to be at risk, because they’d theoretically be capable of identifying the perp. There’s always the chance he or someone close to him will come back and try to neutralize that threat.”

Nettie was mentally kicking herself. Of course the place was being watched. “I wanted to see how the girls were doing. I, um, brought them some presents.”

“Is that all? For real? Because that was a damn short visit for a social call.”

Nettie sighed. “Fine. Since nobody else was going to do it, I wanted to show them Jacob Brentshaw’s mugshot. I figured we needed to rule out the possibility.”

Miller slowly nodded. “I was going to, but my bosses nixed the idea. What did you learn?”

“It wasn’t him. Both girls agreed there were differences aging wouldn’t account for. They also thought it was scary close, like it was probably a relative or something.”

Miller appeared to give that a moment’s thought. “I looked through all the old files after our debriefing, the day the Dulcey girls were rescued. Brentshaw doesn’t have any male relatives that would be even close to the estimated age of the perp.”

“I know that. But an almost identical crime, committed by someone who almost looks like him? You have to admit, it’s a hell of a coincidence.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“So what’s your next move?”

“A number of things, but nothing I’m at liberty to discuss. I’ll go out on a limb and tell you that we’re not following up on the alleged Brentshaw connection. There simply isn’t enough to go on that I can justify it.”

Nettie chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Okay—if you could justify it, what would you do?”

Miller was shaking her head before Nettie was done. “Oh, no you don’t. What I need you to do is butt out, Hastings. I appreciate what you’ve done—tremendously—but I can’t have a civilian putting herself at risk on a high-stakes case like this. Especially on a line of investigation that’s likely to lead nowhere.”

“You really believe there’s not a connection here?”

“I didn’t say that. But resources are limited, and we can only devote so many agents to this now that the immediate crisis has been averted. Hell, we’re maybe two or three days away from being ordered to close down the Virginia office, possibly even discontinue surveillance of the trailer park. That’s just how it is. It’s an open case, but it’s not going to get much priority going forward because it has low odds of leading to an arrest. We can only do so much.”

“Put me in the game,” said Nettie, throwing caution to the wind. “Look, I know there’s something to this, so do you, so let’s go after this fucker before he does it again.”

No response. Agent Miller’s face might have been carved out of granite.

Nettie tried another tack. “Look at it this way: the only way you can stop me from doing this on my own is to arrest me, so you might as well offer some guidance.”

Miller let out a long, slow breath. “What information do you already have, and what do you feel that you lack?”

Nettie felt a surge of triumph at the unexpected victory, but she kept her face still. “I got Bridgett Ramscone to hook me up with current information for Brentshaw’s living relatives, but she made me promise not to contact any of them before she gave it to me. I was particularly interested in female relatives, because I’m pretty damn sure Brentshaw had a female accomplice when I was kidnapped. I—”

“Hold on,” Miller’s eyes narrowed. “Except for a comment made by your sister about ‘bad people’ only minutes before she died, there’s not a single word in any of the Brentshaw files hinting at a second person being involved. You didn’t tell anyone at the time.”

“I wasn’t able to give a statement when I was found,” Nettie countered. “And by the time I was in any shape to talk about it, I’d blocked it out. When Bridgett sent me the case files during the Dulcey search, it brought back a few things that I hadn’t been able to remember before. I never saw a second person, and I don’t think Anna did either, but I remember hearing him talking to someone with a female voice, and I remember Anna talking about hearing the same thing. Several instances of each.”

“And you trust that these memories are genuine?”

Nettie sighed. “I won’t say a hundred percent, but it’s a damn sight higher than fifty. Also—” she hesitated, unsure how much she wanted to say. Miller raised her eyebrows, cocked her head.

“I am less than fifty percent on this one,” said Nettie, “but I seem to remember hearing him talking—recognizing it as his voice—to the female, and her saying something about Jacob staying longer than expected, and getting curious. As in a third party, not someone present at the time.”

“But she was talking to someone whose voice you recognized as that of Jacob Brentshaw.”

“No,” said Nettie, leaning forward in her chair. Now that she was processing the imagery from this morning’s dream aloud, a deadly suspicion was forming. “She was talking to someone whose voice I recognized as that of Creepface. That’s what Anna and I called him. He never gave us a name, not that I remember, anyway. And you know, I didn’t see his fucking mugshots, or any pics of him at all, until just a few weeks ago. I’ve always avoided all the press stories and shit like that. I didn’t see pictures until I was far past the point of being able to accurately remember what he looked like. When I saw his mugs I was like oh yeah, that’s him—but if it’s as close as Gina and Heather just told me it is, I wouldn’t have noticed any discrepancies after so many years.”

Miller gazed at her steadily for several long moments before she spoke. “Ms. Hastings—Nettie—are you seriously suggesting that Jacob Brentshaw wasn’t the one responsible for—”

“I don’t know,” said Nettie. “It doesn’t make sense, does it? He was there, he got arrested, he was convicted. And again—I’m a long way from convinced that’s even a real memory.”

“So what is it you’d like to do?”

“Questioning Brentshaw’s relatives would be one hell of a good start.”

“What would you want to ask them?”

Nettie rocked back in the chair. “I’d have to sit down and think that over. I’m not even sure who I’d start with. I’ve looked over the info we have on them, and most of them seem to be located in various parts of Iowa and Wisconsin. None of them looks less likely to be a suspect than any of the others. Except possibly his sister Melissa. She’s a hell of a lot younger than him, and a systems analyst for a big company in Cedar Rapids.”

“You realize, of course, that if there even was a female accomplice, it’d most likely not be a relative?”

“I get that, but Brentshaw doesn’t appear to have had much of a social life. Very reclusive, lived by himself, no known close associates. From the files I have, I can’t even find a starting point outside of family. If I could question his relatives, that’d maybe be a good first question.”

Latisha Miller smiled. “You really do think like an agent. So what’s stopping you from following this up?”

“Basically, I promised Bridgett I wouldn’t. I told her I’d contact her if the info itself gave me any leads, and it really doesn’t.”

Miller pursed her lips. “We may be able to get around that. I’ll contact you later in the day. Any other lines of investigation come to mind for you?”

Nettie hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I’m still not convinced that the perp in the Dulcey girl’s kidnapping wasn’t Jacob Brentshaw. Yeah, the girls say it wasn’t, but they also say it’s a pretty damn good likeness, and they’re little girls who might not be clear on how much aging can change a face.”

“So—what do you want to do?”

“You mean short of digging him up and running DNA?”

Miller’s face took on the contemplative look of someone actually thinking it over. “For now, yes. Short of that.”

“Prison records, then. I know, he was killed in a high security facility, and that ought to be gold standard, but right now I’d like to see some proof that whoever was shanked in that shower room was in fact Jacob Brentshaw.”

“That’s not as simple as it sounds. Consider what the very request implies. We’d be accusing them of gross incompetence at best. At worst—well—something a lot more sinister.”

“But can you get it?”

“I have the authority to demand the records, but that makes it sound easier than it is. If there is anything hinky, you couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t cherry-pick what they send. There are very few checks and balances in that environment, and there’s a culture of covering each other’s asses. I’d have to send an agent, or more realistically a couple of agents, to make sure we get everything we want. The prison would then issue a formal complaint, and unless the information we came away with contained something damning, my ass would be grass. Sorry, honey. I need a lot more than what we have now to go in with all guns blazing.”

Nettie ran a hand across her face. “That’s basically what Bridgett said, too.”

Latisha offered a wan smile. “Look, you’re thinking in all the right ways. But if you’re as smart as Bridgett thinks you are, then you’re seeing the same thing I’m seeing.”

Nettie spread her hands. “I know. Everything we have is either circumstantial, or based on memories that I don’t even trust, and they’re my memories. And none of the lines of investigation we’re looking at are likely to lead anywhere.”

“But?”

“But I’d still like to talk to some of Brentshaw’s relatives.”

Miller nodded. “It’s the only reasonable angle of attack, for the moment. What’s your schedule like for the rest of the day?”

“I’m going home. My cousin and her partner are visiting, and we’re going out for dinner tonight.”

“Okay,” said Agent Miller. “I’m going to see if I can set up a conference call with Ramscone this afternoon. How long is your drive home?”

“Ninety minutes or so.”

“I’ll make sure it’s after that, then. Can you squeeze it in?”

“Yeah, I’ll make it work. Bridgett is gonna be pissed, though. I didn’t tell her I wouldn’t go talk to Heather and Gina, but she’ll still be mad I did it without talking to her first.”

“You knew that, and you did it anyway because…”

Nettie sighed. “Because she would have said no.”

Miller chuckled. “I figured. Okay, why don’t you be on your way. Is the email we have on file for you correct? Nettie underscore Hastings at Gmail?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m going to send you a link to download a messaging app a little more secure than the stuff you more ordinarily use. It’ll work on a PC or a phone. Get that, and we’ll talk this afternoon.” Without another word, Special Agent Latisha Miller terminated the conference call.

On to Chapter Eighteen!

The Story Thus Far

Ch1: In which Sarah and Frankie peruse some rather risqué entertainment, then get intimately acquainted with a pair of soiled undies. Who says staying at home on weekends is boring?

 

by BlueJean

1

Sunday morning was spent cleaning the house from top to bottom. Bed linen and risqué weekend lingerie were washed, windows opened to let the aroma of sex escape, and incriminating laptops and sex toys hidden where inquisitive little girls wouldn’t find them. It always made me feel like a naughty teenager, frantically cleaning up after a wild party before the unsuspecting parents came back home.

As the afternoon arrived, so did my daughter, bounding up the front steps with her father in tow. My ex-husband used to be called Dan, but since the divorce I’ve taken to calling him The Arsehole. I think it’s a lovely name which suits him down to the ground.

“Mummy!” squealed Kerry as she crashed into me for a big hug.

“Hey, Peanut,” I said, stroking her curly blonde locks. “Did you have a good time?”

Kerry gave an enthusiastic nod. “We went to a really posh restaurant, and Daddy bought me some new clothes.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” I said. It was standard behaviour from my ex – the easiest way for him to interact with something he doesn’t quite understand is to throw money at it and hope it makes approving noises.

“You okay?” I asked, giving him one of those special smiles that somehow manages to convey disapproval more than friendliness.

“Yep,” he grunted noncommittally as he deposited Kerry’s bag on the step and reached down to give her a brief hug. “See you next weekend, sprogget.”

“Bye, Daddy,” my daughter piped, then lugged her bag past me into the house.

Her father raised a hand to me as he strolled back to his car. That was about as chatty as we got these days. I suppose it must be a real blow to the male ego, losing your wife to another woman.

Kerry was in the kitchen with Frankie, rambling away about her weekend. “…and I had this massive pizza with literally everything on it, but I couldn’t eat it all, so the restaurant lady put it in a box and let me take it home. I still managed dessert, though. Then earlier, Daddy took me shopping, so I got some new jeans and two T-shirts. Oh, and we…”

Frankie swept my daughter’s hair out of her eyes while she nibbled on her sourdough toast, nodding and humming in all the right places. “Sounds awesome!” she enthused when Kerry was finally done.

Kerry and Frankie got on spectacularly. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying Frankie is a responsible parent. If someone was foolish enough to entrust her with their children, she’d probably lose them somewhere, or let them starve to death by accident. What I mean is, Frankie’s good with kids because she’s essentially a kid herself.

“Mummy, Daddy’s moving away soon, so I won’t be able to stay with him much.”

This was news to me, which wasn’t surprising given the lack of communication between Kerry’s father and myself. “Oh? Where’s he moving to?”

“Dooby,” my daughter informed me.

“Huh?”

“Um… Dooby?” she repeated, unsure.

“Dooby?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s Dooby?”

“A country.”

Frankie chuckled. “You mean Dubai?”

“Oh, yeah, I meant that.”

“Nice of him to let me know,” I muttered. Not that I gave a shit what The Arsehole did with himself, but considering the impact it would have on our daughter’s life, you’d think it might have at least warranted a phone call. Wanker. “When is he moving out there?”

Kerry eyed Frankie’s toast with considerable interest. “In a month, maybe two months or something. It’s to do with his job.”

“Oh, okay. Are you sad that you won’t be able to stay with him anymore?”

“Yeah, I s’pose. But I’ll still see him sometimes – he says he’ll be back quite a lot. And anyway, I want to see what you and Frankie do when I’m not here.”

Frankie nearly choked on her toast.

“Uh, well, it’ll be nice for us all to spend some weekends together for a change,” I said, giving Frankie a wry look. She popped the rest of her toast into Kerry’s mouth.

Kerry hummed away happily as she polished off the snack, then took out her phone. “Frankie, have you ever seen a dog riding a bike?”

Frankie looked intrigued. “I have not, Peanut-chan, but I’m pretty sure my life will be incomplete until I do.”

While Kerry showed Frankie YouTube videos, I took her travel bag up to the bathroom to empty her dirty clothes into the washing basket.

I soon found myself with two pairs of Kerry’s used knickers in my hand, a white pair with pink hearts, and a baby blue pair with yellow trim. I held them for a moment, a low throb pulsing between my thighs.

Put them in the basket, you stupid cow.

Instead, I closed and locked the bathroom door, then sat down on the toilet.

A voice echoed through my head, like a policeman barking commands through a loudhailer. Step away from the panties! Step. Away. From the panties!

I inspected the crotch of the white pair. There was a little pale stain in there, right where Kerry’s pussy had nestled against the soft fabric.

This is ridiculous. She’s downstairs in the kitchen, for God’s sake.

I clamped Kerry’s panties to my face and breathed in. A light musky scent filled my nostrils, intoxicating me. I uttered the obligatory mantra of all dedicated perverts the world over: “Fuck yeah…”

The blue pair were even more fragrant, and I had to wonder if Kerry had touched herself through them. Had she started masturbating yet? True, she was only eight, but she wouldn’t be the first little girl to discover what her body was capable of. Is that what she did at night in bed? Snaking an exploratory hand down beneath her quilt and into her knickers?

I popped the buttons on my jeans and pushed them down to my ankles, along with my underwear. Still sniffing Kerry’s blue panties, I scrubbed the other pair against my pussy, pushing the soft cotton between my lips.

“You smell so fucking nice, Kerry,” I muttered.

Extending my tongue, I ran the tip across the soiled crotch, the sheer depravity of the act making my cunt throb with an even greater urgency. I was on the verge of coming quick and hard, perched on the loo with my own underwear stretched round my ankles while I did terrible, perverted things to my eight-year-old daughter’s soiled knickers. I was a dirty, sick, depraved lady, but right then I didn’t give a flying fuck.

Just then, the door handle turned. “Mummy, I need a wee!” Kerry shouted from the other side.

“Shit!” I hissed and quickly tugged my jeans up. “Hold on, sweetie.” I deposited her panties into the washing hamper and unlocked the door, acutely aware that the bathroom was now infused with the musky scent of pussy.

Kerry bounded in and pulled her shorts and knickers down in one fluid movement, then parked herself on the still-warm loo seat. I saw her nostrils flare briefly, but I don’t think she gave much thought to the lingering aroma; maybe wasn’t even aware of what it was.

“Why did you lock the door?” she asked. Suffice to say, the three of us never bothered locking the bathroom door unless we had guests.

“Uh, dunno,” I replied, and Kerry seemed to find the answer satisfactory.

I deposited the rest of her clothes into the bin, which happened to be right next to the toilet. That afforded me the opportunity to steal quick glances of Kerry’s smooth slit as she peed.

Jesus, get a grip! I berated myself. If I was getting turned on by my daughter, it was only because I was allowing myself to. It didn’t mean I was attracted to her, I reasoned. Frankie’s kiddy porn had been a massive turn-on simply because it’d been something new and novel, not because I was hot for little girls.

You don’t suddenly turn into a kiddy-fiddler halfway through your life, but still… you need to be smart about this, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.

Kerry pulled her shorts back up and flushed the loo, then insisted on showing me her snazzy new jeans, which seemed to have far more zippers, buckles and buttons than was strictly warranted.

I really needed to come.

2

When evening came around, the three of us observed our usual Sunday ritual of cooking a roast dinner together. Frankie and Kerry chopped up vegetables while I basted the meat and drank wine. I got the better job, I think.

As we haphazardly prepared our meal, laughing and chatting about this and that, it reminded me of what a perfect little family unit we had. Life was good.

Me and Frankie got a tad tipsy as usual, and we even let Kerry have a small glass of watered down white wine. I don’t think she enjoyed the taste much, but she liked to feel included.

We finished our meal, then settled down in the lounge to watch TV for the remainder of the evening. At some point, Kerry took herself to bed, and me and Frankie weren’t far behind. Tomorrow was a school/work day. Granted, we both worked from home – me as a proofreader and Frankie as a blogger – but that still required actually getting out of bed in the morning and doing some work.

“It wasn’t weird with Kerry, was it?” I said as we lay in bed. “It didn’t make things weird – you know, when she came back? There was no… weirdness or anything?”

Frankie was checking emails and blog posts on her laptop. “If you’re asking me if it was weird – and I think you might be – no, of course not. I nearly died when she mentioned being here for our weekend activities, though.”

“Mmm. Well, with her dad moving to Dubai, and Kerry home for the weekends, I get the feeling we won’t be enjoying our kinky escapades for a while.”

Frankie afforded me a disapproving pout. “We can still watch the occasional sneaky video, can’t we?” she pointed out, then added, “And if a certain little girl’s dirty knickers found their way into our bedroom – completely by accident, of course – we could have some naughty fun with them. Or was that just a one-off?”

I was tempted to tell her about the bathroom incident, but I was allowed to have my own secrets, wasn’t I? God knows, Frankie had kept her penchant for kiddy porn hidden from me long enough.

“Oh, you enjoyed my daughter’s panties, did you?” I teased.

“I think we both did. Didn’t we?”

“Hmm… maybe the Panty Fairy left us something.”

“Oooh, there’s a Panty Fairy?!” Frankie squealed, clapping her hands together like a kid who’s just inherited a sweet shop.

“You didn’t know about the Panty Fairy? I hear she leaves dirty panties under your pillow if you’re a good girl.”

“Fuck off!”

“It’s true!”

We both broke into peals of laughter.

“Shhh, we’ll wake Kerry!” I hissed, still laughing. When we’d regained some composure, I raised a wry eyebrow at Frankie. “Well? Aren’t you going to check under your pillow?”

The smile vanished from Frankie’s face for a brief moment. She lifted her pillow a few inches and peered beneath. Sure enough, the Panty Fairy had paid her a visit, which was odd because Frankie was definitely not a good girl. Sandwiched between the two pillows was the little blue pair of panties I’d already had some fun with earlier in the bathroom.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” a delighted Frankie cooed, drawing her prize out.

“Smell them,” I demanded.

“Let’s smell them together.”

“No, just you. I want to play with myself while I watch you.”

Frankie rolled her eyes. “Jesus, I thought I was supposed to be the perverted one.” She pushed Kerry’s panties against her nose and breathed in the aroma.

“Nice?” I asked.

“Even better than the last pair.”

I could’ve told her that already, of course. “You’re a nasty girl, Frankie.” I pushed back the quilt, then slipped my pyjama bottoms down my legs. I didn’t hesitate in treating my pussy to several fingers.

Frankie gripped the panties between her teeth while she got naked.

“Lick them for me, you dirty bitch,” I growled while I fucked myself, so she made a show of slowly sliding her tongue up and down the crotch of the soiled material.

“Is this wrong?” Frankie said as she rubbed the damp knickers over her tits. “Playing kinky games with your daughter’s underwear while she’s asleep in the next room?”

I knew Frankie wasn’t in the slightest bit concerned about the morality of what we were doing. It was just a game to her – the talking, the taunting, the dirty words. If I’d been in any doubt, that little smirk, and the sing-song lilt of her voice, would’ve given her away in an instant.

“Yes, it’s wrong,” I groaned. “That’s what makes it so exciting, isn’t it?”

Frankie brought Kerry’s panties to her face again. “Her pussy smells quite strong. Think she’s masturbating yet?”

“Dunno. She’s only eight. That cam girl of yours wasn’t much older, though.”

An image of Kerry fucking herself with a toothbrush suddenly deposited itself into my perverted brain. This time, I didn’t bother fighting it. As long as it was safely confined to my head, it wasn’t doing any harm, right? And it was an awfully compelling image.

“I think we should rub our pussies together,” Frankie declared.

The two of us sat propped up on our elbows and joined together. Worried Kerry’s underwear hadn’t suffered enough abuse, I decided to stuff them between our legs so we could rub ourselves on the soiled fabric.

“Those knickers are going to be such a mess when we’ve finished with them,” Frankie cooed as we ground against the sodden material.

“Wouldn’t it be hot if she wore them to school tomorrow?” I groaned.

“God, you’re sick,” Frankie hissed. “I’m so lucky you’re my girlfriend.”

I was quick to come, arching my hips up against Frankie’s pussy and the little pair of child’s panties stuffed between us. The soft cotton took the brunt of my orgasm, absorbing the warm fluids that oozed so copiously from me.

A delighted Frankie took the messy knickers and attached them to her face without a hint of inhibition. Spent though I was, I scooted down the bed and ate her out until she came. I’m nothing if not considerate.

3

The next morning I left Frankie fast asleep in bed and went to wake Kerry. While she got herself ready for school, I made her a bowl of cereal and myself a strong coffee. A few minutes later she was sitting up to the kitchen table in her school uniform.

“What’s on the agenda today?” I asked as Kerry spooned sugary wisps of nothing into her mouth.

“We’re learning about the extinction of the dinosaurs,” she replied with her mouth half full. “And we’re doing a painting in art class. We can paint anything we want.”

A little flake of cereal managed to escape the carnage and was currently weighing up its options on her top lip.

“Swallow first, then talk,” I told her as I pulled the offending fragment away.

“Your fingers smell funny,” Kerry informed me matter-of-factly.

Of course they did. My fingers had been inside my pussy last night, inside Frankie’s too, for that matter, and I hadn’t washed them yet. My scent had always been quite strong – Kerry probably inherited that from me.

I should have pulled my fingers away, but instead I let them linger near her nose. “Good funny or bad funny?” I asked her.

What the hell are you doing?

“Kind of… good funny, I guess?” Kerry replied, a hint of colour reaching her cheeks. “It smells like the bathroom when I came in yesterday.”

I think she must have known what it was. Sure, she was only eight, but if she was anything like her mum she was already smelling and tasting herself. I’d always enjoyed the taste of my own pussy, even before I’d become sexually active.

Kerry gazed up at me while I let her smell last night’s arousal on my fingers. I wondered what she would think if she knew her own panties were to blame. I also wondered how I could persuade her to put a hand up her skirt and let Mummy have a little whiff of her fingers.

Frankie broke the spell when she shuffled into the kitchen. “Must. Have. Coffee,” she droned, lurching forward with her arms extended like Frankenstein’s monster.

Kerry giggled at my girlfriend’s foolishness.

“Okay, Peanut, eat up and let’s get you to school,” I said, then headed to the bathroom to wash my hands, brush my teeth and finger myself to a quick orgasm. Not necessarily in that order.

4

After I’d dropped Kerry off at school I decided to call in on my sister Judy, who lived not far from us.

Judy’s two years older than me and my confidante. We have a very close relationship, and I know if I ever have any problems, I can sound off on her and vice versa. She’s married to an Italian antiques dealer named Marco, and they have an adorable five-year-old girl.

When I pulled up in their drive, Marco was just leaving the house, my niece skipping along behind him. Isobel, or ‘Izzy’ as we all called her – was a beautiful little girl who inherited her father’s dark hair and olive skin.

She bounded over to give me a hug. “Hello, Aunty Sarah!”

“Hiya, Izzy! Are you off to school?”

The five-year-old nodded enthusiastically.

“You’ll have to come and visit me and Aunty Frankie and Kerry soon. They’d love to see you,” I told her.

“‘Kay,” she piped, then jumped in the car as her father opened the door for her.

“How you doin’, Sarah?” Marco asked in his soft accent.

Okay, I admit, my sister’s man was quite handsome. She definitely got the better deal as far as husbands were concerned, though I’m reliably informed he’s not even remotely into licking arse. That’s a complete deal-breaker for me.

“I’m good, thanks,” I told him. “Is my sister up yet?”

“She is. Still in her pyjamas,” he informed me with a good-natured eye-roll.

Marco had left the front door ajar for me, so I let myself in and hollered, “Jude?”

“In the lounge,” my sister called back.

I found her curled up on the couch with a cup of coffee. “Well, this is an early visit,” she said. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just dropped Kerry off at school and thought I’d pop in to catch up.”

“Coffee?”

Judy made good coffee. Well, Marco’s expensive coffee machine made good coffee. Another perk of having an Italian husband, I suppose. That’s a nation that takes its morning brew seriously.

“Please,” I said, and followed her into the kitchen where the magic happened.

“How’s Kerry and Frankie?” my sister asked.

“They’re okay.”

“And how’s your sex life?”

“Very nice, thanks. Yours?”

“Rubbish. That’s why I’m asking about yours.”

“Marco can’t be that bad in bed,” I scoffed. My sister did tend to exaggerate a bit.

“No, of course he’s not. And I do love him. It’s just all a bit… generic?”

“I definitely couldn’t accuse Frankie of being generic,” I mused, sipping my coffee.

“I want a kinky lesbian lover, too!” my sister pouted.

“Well, you can’t have mine, so shush!”

That reminded me of why I’d come in the first place. “Actually, I need to talk to you. We kind of got ourselves into some weird stuff.”

“You and Frankie?”

“Yeah.”

“Define weird stuff.”

“Sex stuff.”

She actually rubbed her hands together. “Finally, we get down to the nitty gritty!”

“You won’t judge me, will you?” I asked her seriously.

“I wouldn’t ever,” she assured me, and I knew she was as good as her word.

I took a deep breath. “Okay, so we’re in the lounge watching porn, and Frankie’s licking my arse, and she ends up sitting on my face, and it all gets a bit messy as usual, blah blah blah—”

“Wait!” Judy protested. “You’re skipping the best bits!”

“No. I’m really not. Now shush and let me finish.”

“Sorry, carry on. Actually, let’s go into the lounge. I wanna get comfortable while you tell it.”

We took our coffee into the lounge and settled on Judy’s big leather couch. I picked up where I left off.

“So, Frankie gives me this weird look and says she has something to show me.” I paused to take a slug of coffee, then continued. “And… Okay. So we, we kind of, um… watched a naked little girl play with herself?”

My sister sat there dumbstruck. “Child porn?” she said after a long uncomfortable pause.

“A live cam show,” I said, as if that somehow made it more acceptable. “But I suppose it was kiddy porn, yeah.”

“Do you mind if I put a hand down my knickers?” my sister asked without waiting for a reply.

Now, I know what you’re thinking – my sister frigging herself while I give her all the juicy details about my sex life is not the usual sibling dynamic. Well, the truth is, Judy and I have been fucking each other every now and again since we were kids. She even joins me and Frankie for threesomes on occasion. Of course, Marco knows nothing of that.

“Was it hot?” Judy asked me, her hand moving beneath her pyjama bottoms.

“Was what hot?”

“The child porn, dummy!”

“Oh. Yeah, it really was. I don’t think the girl was even ten. Her legs were practically wrapped around her head at one point. It was absolutely filthy!”

I fixed my gaze on my sister’s knuckles undulating beneath her jammies. I could hear her fingers sloshing around in her pussy, and smell the musky scent of her arousal. My own lust was beginning to stir. It didn’t take much to get me going these days.

“Christ,” Judy crooned. “I wouldn’t mind seeing something like that. Can you get Frankie to show me how to find it.”

“Uh, no, Judy. First, it’s illegal as hell. Second, you get confused working the TV remote. You’ll end up getting caught.”

“Just tell me what happened, then. This is a huge turn-on, by the way.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

I honestly hadn’t been sure how my sister would take what I was telling her. Of course, she’d never shop me to the police, but I worried we’d end up falling out over it. It was a big relief to discover how accepting she was.

“Frankie kept asking the kid to do stuff,” I continued.

“Like what?”

“She got her to masturbate. Then she persuaded her to stick a toothbrush up her arse.”

“Oh my God, Sarah. Listen… will you play with yourself for me? I want to come with you.”

I popped the buttons on my trousers and slipped a hand inside, bringing my right leg up to rest against the back of the couch so I had a better view of Judy fingering herself. I continued on with the story.

“So this young girl’s fucking her bum with the toothbrush, and she’s squealing and giggling away like it’s just about the best thing ever. And with the toothbrush still buried in her arse, she decides to – to put one of those fat marker pens into her pussy. I mean, what the hell. Then she just bounces to her feet all of a sudden and logs off ‘cause her mum’s calling her downstairs for supper. How messed up is that?””

Judy shook her head from side to side in an attempt to project a measure of disapproval, but with her hand down her knickers, it didn’t quite have the intended effect. “Sarah, that’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, fingers pressed firmly into my sex. “Terrible. And if that wasn’t bad enough, Frankie put on another video – an older one where this woman and her daughter were taking turns eating each other out.”

“Appalling…” Judy groaned, her eyes thick with arousal. “How old was the girl?”

“She couldn’t have been much older than Izzy. Five or six? She had her entire hand in the woman’s vagina, Judy. I’ve never seen anything like it. Well, not with kids, at least.”

“Oh, the poor little thing!” Judy gasped, fingers toiling beneath her pyjamas.

“But that’s not the worst part,” I told her. “Actually, it might be the worst part, I’m not sure.”

“What else happened?” my sister demanded. “Hurry up and tell me; I’m g-going to come soon.”

I hesitated, suddenly reluctant to reveal the full extent of my perversion. Then I soldiered on, fully expecting a good telling off from my big sister. “We, um… took a pair of Kerry’s dirty panties and smelled them while we watched the kiddy porn.”

“What?! Fuck!” Judy gasped as she shuddered into orgasm.

The sight of her twitching away beside me was enough to make me come, too. I braced myself against the back of the couch and let it wash over me, then pulled my wet fingers from my knickers to suck clean.

“What on earth were you thinking?” my sister asked once she’d regained the power of speech, giving me a halfhearted shove with her foot.

I gave a derisive snort. “Careful you don’t fall off that high horse, sis. How was the orgasm, by the way?”

“I’m not judging, Sarah. But kiddy porn? Playing with Kerry’s knickers? It’s a slippery slope. You’re not thinking of… doing anything with her, are you? Kerry, I mean.”

“No. I’m not stupid, Judy. But I’m done pretending to be someone I’m not. I had enough of all that with my shitty marriage. I just wanna have a little fun before my hair goes grey and my tits hit the floor.”

Judy took my hand in hers. “I understand, I really do. But don’t get carried away with this, Sarah. Just be careful, okay?”

“I will. Thanks for listening. Well, you mostly just frigged yourself silly, but thanks anyway.”

My sister flashed her eyes at me. “You, me and Frankie should get together for another one of our special ‘sessions’ soon.”

“Been a while, hasn’t it? I’m sure we could arrange something. Frankie keeps mentioning what a tasty bumhole you have.”

Judy wiggled her arse at me. “Well, she would know. Um… can you get Frankie to send me that video? The one with the mum and her daughter?”

“And I’m the pervert? Okay, but do not show it to Marco.”

“As if.”

5

Back at home, I spent a few hours proofreading documents until it was time to pick Kerry up from school. She seemed a little quiet in the car, but I didn’t think anything of it.

When we arrived home, Kerry helped herself to a glass of lemon squash while Frankie asked about her day.

“I painted a picture of you and Mum, but some kids in my class made fun of it,” Kerry told her glumly.

“Why would they do that?” I asked.

“I made one of Frankie’s legs bigger than the other by mistake, and one boy asked if she had to wear one of those big shoes old ladies wear.”

The thought of Frankie clomping about in an orthopaedic shoe had me covering my mouth with a hand to stifle a laugh. Frankie noticed me struggling and looked in the other direction to avoid losing it too.

“That was mean,” I said. “I’ll bet his painting wasn’t anything to shout about.”

“Dunno, but I wish I hadn’t done the picture with you and Frankie holding hands because some of the other kids started asking me about how lesbians do sex.”

Frankie kissed her on the forehead. “Oh, they were probably just curious.”

“They were bloody laughing!”

“Hey, watch your language,” I told her.

“Sorry, but I didn’t know what to say. We did stuff about normal sex in class, but they didn’t say anything about girls doing it with other girls.”

“Girls having sex together is normal too, Kerry,” I explained. “It’s just, if they were teaching you about reproduction and babies, then gay relationships aren’t really part of that.”

“They should teach them about lesbians, though,” Frankie pointed out.

“Yes, they should, but maybe they just haven’t gotten round to that lesson yet,” I reasoned. “Kerry is only eight.”

“How do you do it, though?” Kerry said.

“Do what?” asked Frankie.

“Urgh. Lesbian sex!” my daughter exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

I looked at Frankie. Frankie looked at me.

“I’m not sure you need to know about that just yet,” I told Kerry.

“Well, obviously I do, ’cause they’ll make fun of me again. Charlie Simmons said lesbians have to do it sideways, but that doesn’t even make sense.”

How the hell do you explain the ins and outs of women loving women? I mean, it’s not an exact science.  But it had to be better coming from me and Frankie than Charlie fucking Simmons.

“Okay, Peanut,” I said. “Well, let’s see. Frankie? Want to explain how it all works for Kerry?”

Frankie looked out of her depth. Actually, Frankie looked like she had just drowned. “Um. It’s like boy-girl sex but with less… bits?”

I stared across the table at her for a long moment, waiting to see if she had any more wisdom to impart. She did not. “Brilliant. Thanks,” I said.

“You two are really bad at this,” Kerry groaned.

I ran my fingers through her soft blonde curls. “All right, how about this: me and Frankie will figure out what you need to know, and we’ll all sit down and have a big talk about it one evening this week. Is that okay?”

Kerry sighed dramatically. “O-kaay.”

Frankie attacked her with tickles, and Kerry did her best to maintain a solemn demeanour until she was forced into fits of laughter.

I breathed a sigh of relief. We were off the hook. For the moment, at least.

6

Later that evening, after Kerry had gone to bed, Frankie and I lay in ours trying to figure out how to explain the mechanics of girl/girl sex to my eight-year-old daughter.

“So. The Talk,” Frankie said in a doom-laden voice.

“Yup. The Talk,” I concurred.

“The birds and the bees.”

“Or the birds and the birds.”

“Possibly the bees and the bees.”

“At any rate, I’m pretty sure the boy-girl talk is a lot easier than the girl-girl talk,” I said. “Man sticks penis in woman’s vagina, baby pops out nine months later. Done.”

“Wow,” Frankie said, stroking my cheek. “And they say romance is dead.”

“Okay, here’s what we do: we write a list of all the things ladies of the queer persuasion like to do, and if Kerry wants to ask questions, she can.”

Frankie gave me a bemused look. “So we’re going to give her a list? That’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, this from a woman who manages to reduce lesbian lovemaking to ‘like boy-girl sex but with less bits’.”

Frankie stuck her tongue out at me. “Can’t we just tell her we like to kiss and cuddle like everybody else?” she said. “And maybe rub our pussies together once in a while?”

“I think we owe her more than that. It must be hard for her sometimes. Kids don’t like to feel different from everyone else.”

I always knew my relationship with Frankie would leave Kerry somewhat exposed to bullies and ignorant peers. It was something she would have to learn how to deal with as she got older, and there wasn’t much I could do to protect her from it. That tore at me.

“What if we just showed her some videos?” Frankie suggested with a shrug. “I can download some of the softcore ones for her.”

I gave her a scowl. “We’re not letting Kerry watch porn, Frankie. Jesus… And anyway, putting her in front of a TV and saying, ‘There you go, sweetie. Enjoy!’ is a total copout. It’s like a teacher handing out books and then buggering off down the pub for the rest of the day.”

We sat together in silence, mulling it over.

Frankie looked at me warily. “I might have a radical solution,” she imparted, “but you probably won’t like it.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Why don’t we let her watch us?”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard her correctly. “Excuse me?”

“Let her watch us have sex.”

I glared at her open-mouthed. “Are you mental?”

“I’m serious. I actually think it would feel less awkward just to show her than it would if we tried to explain it like a couple of idiots.”

“Uh, no. We’re not going to fuck in front of my eight-year-old daughter. That’s insane.”

“Why?”

“Why? Would you have wanted to watch your parents have sex when you were eight?”

Frankie thought about that for a moment, then screwed her face up in distaste. “True, watching my mum and dad thrashing around in the bedroom would have been quite horrific. But if Mum had a girlfriend, I’d probably have been into it. Sex between women is nicer, softer.”

“Sorry, are we talking about two completely different lesbians here? Me and you don’t do nice.”

“We’d tone it down a bit for Kerry. Wouldn’t want to scar her for life.”

We both fell into an uncomfortable silence. Were we actually considering this? Well, Frankie clearly was.

I tried my best to be the voice of reason. “This is crazy. We could get into big trouble. What if she told someone?”

“We’d have to make her promise not to,” said Frankie. “She’s old enough to understand the problems it could cause.”

“And what if she doesn’t want to watch us do the dirty?” I pointed out.

“She might not. If she says no, we’ll go back to the drawing board. Listen, Sarah – Kerry knows we love each other. What we do is normal and healthy. It won’t hurt her to see what it’s all about. It might be good for all of us.”

Frankie peered at me expectantly. I was on to her in a second.

“Oh my God, are you getting off on this?” I said, swatting her arm.

“Not really. A bit. I mean, it could be a lot of fun.”

I couldn’t deny that, but that’s not what it was about. It was about educating Kerry, arming her with the knowledge to defend herself against the ignorant and ill-informed.

Oh, who was I kidding? The thought of my eight-year-old daughter watching us have sex was fucking hot. I wanted it to happen as much as Frankie did. Okay, maybe not quite as much as Frankie.

“All right,” I said at last. “I’ll agree to it on two conditions: Firstly, we leave out all the dirty stuff – I don’t think Kerry needs to see us licking each other’s bumholes, and fisting is out of the question. And secondly, she just watches. No touching or making her interact or anything else.”

“Agreed,” Frankie said with a big shit-eating grin on her face.

“I hope this doesn’t backfire on us, Frankie, I really do.”

“It won’t, trust me,” my lover cooed, then kissed me tenderly on the neck. Her hand found one of my breasts and kneaded it gently. “We might as well get some practice in, then.”

We made intense love that night, grinding our pussies together until we both came several times. For myself, imagining that my daughter was watching us fuck added fuel to the fire, and I was sure Frankie was thinking the same thing.

I told myself our plan was just an unorthodox version of sex education. I told myself there was nothing morally untoward about it, that sex was natural and shouldn’t be hidden from children.

But of course, I was fooling myself, or having a fair bash at it, at least. It was really just another step down the rabbit hole. And the further down I went, the harder it would be to come back up.

On to Chapter Three!