Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

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

Several days later, Simon and Elsa host a housewarming party in the grounds of the old manor. Elsa treats Freya to a tour of the recent restoration efforts, and the seeds are sown for a burgeoning friendship. Meanwhile, post mistress Sally Jeffries has a few too many drinks and ends up accidentally setting fire to pompous druid Bernard, then has a few choice words for Simon Derwold, who she remembers from decades before. Georgia, Sadie and Millie make their way home, where they indulge in a night of passion in the lounge, only to be interrupted by Elsa and Freya. Elsa comes to suspect her new neighbours are not all that they seem.

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

1

by BlueJean

The old vicarage stood solitary at the end of an isolated track, a short walk from the village green and the small Anglican church where the vicar had sermonised for almost half a century. He had been a young, fresh-faced layman back then, full of genuine good-natured cheer, a spring in his step. His messages from the pulpit offered simple moral guidance – be kind and tolerant, work hard, love your neighbours.

Those were the years he’d begun volunteering as a helper for both the Brownies and the Cub Scouts. In those days there were no background checks, and people had a tendency to turn a blind eye to anything suspicious involving the clergy. On the rare occasion when the little ones told their parents, flat-out denial had usually been sufficient – the word of a priest could always be trusted over a child’s, after all. If it progressed beyond that, his superiors would give him a slap on the wrist, warn him not to do it again, and then find some way to cover up the truth.

In time, the vicar came to understand two undeniable facts about himself:

The first was that he would never be God’s man, not after the things he’d done. That door would be closed to him forever, and for a true believer – because despite it all, he was – that was a terrible weight to bear.

The second was a colder, harsher truth: There was a special place in hell reserved for the vicar of Derwold.

Over the next few decades he learnt to accept these two fundamental maxims like a man condemned.

He wondered how many children he’d molested over the years. They’d come and gone, leaving him with a deluded sense of untouchability, as if the small, isolated village was somehow trapped in its own bubble, and that what happened in Derwold stayed in Derwold. Like most of the other villagers, he would never truly grasp the strange truth of that.

But the children grew up, moved away, and for the most part, never came back. Derwold was a village few returned to, though why that should be, no one had ever given much consideration.

And yet, one of them had come back. The boy.

He’d been the first the vicar had touched, but surely the boy wouldn’t remember. It was a long time ago, and that was the other thing about Derwold – once you left its confines, the village wanted you to forget.

And if the boy did remember, wouldn’t he have done something about it by now? No. No, the boy had as much to lose as the vicar if he told. More, perhaps.

He’d put an end to his pursuit of children for a number of reasons. The vicar was old now; it wasn’t as easy as it’d once been to entice them back to the vicarage, or convince their parents there was nothing untoward about a man of the cloth borrowing their little ones for the day. And the rise of the internet had ushered in an age of paranoia and hysteria – now every white man of middle-age was a potential kiddy fiddler. It was a great shame. Some beautiful children had frequented his parish in recent years. The Newton girls, for example. Oh, how often his mind wandered to Freya and little Millie…

These days the vicar resigned himself to enjoying the pictures and the videos. The internet was both a blessing and a curse in that respect, he often thought.

It was late one dreary, drizzly evening when the vicar of Derwold, seated in his study at the computer desk with his trousers around his ankles, gave a sudden start to hear the vicarage doorbell chime. Who on earth could be calling at this hour? It wasn’t without precedent – on occasion there had been a sudden death in the family and he had been called on to undertake last rites. And pilgrims passed through the village infrequently, travellers, backpackers, requesting the hospitality of the vicarage. It was an inconvenience, but they simply couldn’t be turned away.

The vicar shut his aging PC down with a sigh, hoisted his trousers up, then struggled to his feet.

Hell must have got fed up with waiting and decided to seize the initiative. It would be the last time the vicar ever opened a door.

***

Victim is a white male. Mid-seventies. Local vicar. Initial cause of death believed to be a sharp instrument across the jugular vein, almost certainly a knife. Metal crucifix, most likely belonging to victim, driven upside down into skull with great force. Eyeballs removed, placed inside ear cavities. Penis removed, placed inside mouth. Disemboweled. Symbol carved into chest – appears to be a pentagram. Has all the hallmarks of a ritual killing. 

Autopsy report by medical practitioner Vivaan Dinesh in the absence of an official coroner

2

There’s always a kernel of truth in every legend, myth or folktale. One need only sift through the detritus of human misunderstanding, misinterpretation, exaggeration, flat-out lies and plain old stupidity to catch a glimpse of it. Sadie had come to realise the truth of these old stories was often stranger than the fiction.

Legend had it that the ancient standing stones dotted around Great Britain were gateways of sorts. Sadie had spent years pondering the meaning of that vague notion until Millie and Freya had told her about the day they’d travelled through the menhir stone near her cottage.

The question was, had they really travelled back hundreds of thousands of years, before Homo Sapiens had even reached these lands, or were they merely seeing through a window in time? Was it possible the menhir had somehow amplified Millie’s genetic memories, allowing her to tap into the Neanderthal ancestral line? It seemed unlikely – though we share a small amount of DNA with our Stone Age cousins, it was surely not enough to access their memories.

But Sadie Laine was nothing if not determined. With the help of her two young apprentices, she set about trying to fathom the mysteries of the menhir stone. She’d purchased safety harnesses and climber’s ropes to attach the three of them to a nearby tree. When Freya asked her if that was really necessary, Sadie told them she got the idea from an old movie called Poltergeist and that it was just a precaution. She also made them wear high-vis vests.

“This is completely mental,” Freya said in a disgusted voice, swatting at the bright yellow material. “What’s the point of these?”

“Health and safety,” Sadie insisted.

“How do fluorescent vests make us healthier or safer? I mean, have people suddenly become so shortsighted we can’t see each other properly any more? Are we all going to start bumping into each other unless we’re lit up like Christmas trees?”

Sadie looked momentarily stumped, but then began nodding vigorously. “Yes, well, I applaud your curious nature, Freya Newton! And I’m sure there are satisfactory answers to all those questions. But the point is, everyone uses high-vis these days. I’ve even seen dogs wearing them. Ethel Weatherford never leaves home without hers, and you’ll be grateful for that extra bit of visibility when she comes hurtling towards you on her mobility scooter, believe me. Poor Tony Framton never really got over being impaled on her handlebars… And besides, the vests came free with the harnesses.”

Freya rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” Georgia had pointed out on numerous occasions that if she kept rolling them like that they’d drop back inside her head one day. “They don’t mean a thing. Elsa says they’re just a symbol of pointless auth… auth… au-thor-itarian-ism.”

Millie gave her sister a sideways glance. Elsa was Freya’s new friend. It was all she ever talked about these days – Elsa this and Elsa that and Elsa the other. Millie just couldn’t be doing with it. Her sister had once idolised Sadie, until Sadie came to live with them and then Freya decided their teacher wasn’t so amazing after all.

Plus, there was something weird about Elsa. When she shook her hand that night a while back, Millie had felt something… something bad, maybe.

“Never mind what Elsa says,” Sadie told Freya, hands on hips. “Elsa doesn’t have two young girls to protect against potential space-time catastrophes. While we’re out in the field getting our hands dirty, working hard to unravel the mysteries of the universe, Elsa is most likely at home in Derwold Manor with her feet up, reading a copy of Country Life and sipping chamomile tea. She’ll never know what witches like us do to keep the world safe.”

“We’re not the Avengers…” Freya mumbled.

“I actually like my high-vis jacket,” Millie told them both, doing her best to be positive and prevent another argument.

“You’d like a cow pat if it glowed in the dark,” Freya replied sullenly.

Millie thought that was particularly mean and uncalled for. “No, I wouldn’t, actually, Freya! You take that back!”

Sadie was clapping her hands to demand their attention. “All right, settle down. Millie, clear your mind and touch the menhir again.”

Millie cleared her mind. She touched the stone for the umpteenth time. Nothing happened.

Sadie propped her chin with her knuckles. “Hmm. What exactly were you doing when you got sucked in last time?”

The two girls looked at each other with a smirk. “Freya was licking my kitty,” Millie admitted.

Freya rattled out a half-surprised, half-appalled laugh. “Omigod, I can’t believe you just told her that!”

“What? It’s not exactly a secret anymore, is it?”

Sadie didn’t seem in the slightest bit fazed. “That’s interesting. Sexual arousal may have triggered the stone. Or perhaps simply a strong emotional response was enough.”

“But Astris was there too,” Millie pointed out. “She probably had something to do with it.”

Freya shook her head. “I remember the dryad saying she didn’t bring us there.”

“Then it’s clear what we must do, apprentices!” Sadie boomed. “We shall recreate the exact conditions of that day.”

How she planned to have the girls go at it suited up like rock climbers, Sadie wasn’t sure, but it was a beautiful day in the secluded barley field, and she was certain they’d find a way to overcome any difficulties.

But the three of them hadn’t noticed Bernard the Druid marching through the barley towards them. Bernard didn’t exactly fit in with their plans.

“Ho!” The druid hollered as he strode towards them, staff in hand. “How goes it, Miss Laine and company?”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Freya hissed. “Tell him to go away, Sadie.”

“Don’t be mean. I can’t stop people going about their business.”

“But he’s such a twat.”

Sadie gave her a disapproving look. “We’ll have less of that if you don’t mind, Freya Newton.”

“Hello, Bernard,” Millie said.

Bernard had swapped his old burnt robe for a new one, a leaf-green affair with elaborate gold trim. It had a cheap look to it that made Millie wonder if he’d brought it from a fancy dress store. Truth be told, Bernard looked a bit silly, but he was quite nice really. He once showed her how to catch a fish by tickling it, and she showed him how to stop a nettle sting hurting by rubbing a doc leaf on it.

“Hail and well met, Millie! What brings you three young warriors out here to the menhir?”

“We’re cataloguing wild flowers,” Sadie replied quickly, sounding just a little too rehearsed.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yes. They grow all around the stone. Yarrow, buttercup, bluebells. Other ones, too. It’s fun, isn’t it, girls? Hands up who likes cataloguing wild flowers.”

Millie and Freya tentatively raised their hands.

Bernard raised his with much more enthusiasm. “Well, bravo!” the druid cried. “I’m all for passing nature’s knowledge on to the next generation.” A brief pause. “May I ask, why the safety harnesses?”

Sadie looked uncannily like a deer caught in headlights. “These? Oh. Er… sinkholes.”

“Sinkholes?”

“Yes. They’ve been known to open up now and then round these parts. Better to be safe than sorry, you know?”

Bernard stared confusedly for a moment, then brought his staff down with a mighty thud – or as mighty as a length of mahogany hitting a patch of grass would allow. “Excellent thinking! Protect your investment, as we used to say in the banking world.” He gestured to the menhir. “Well, don’t mind me. I must pay my daily homage to this ancient beauty. Just pretend I’m not here.” With that, the druid knelt down before the monument and raised his arms into the air. “Macka malai! Shamalee moo! Kranping poppawoppa!”

“What’s he doing?” Freya whispered.

“I don’t know,” Sadie whispered back, both fascinated and appalled. “I don’t think Bernard does, either.”

Bernard began dancing round the menhir, making high pitched whoop whoop whoop noises. Sadie and the girls quietly crept away, hiding their amusement as best they could.

3

While Millie and Sadie headed home, Freya made her way towards Derwold Manor. Elsa had told her she could visit whenever she liked, and sometimes even phoned the eleven-year-old to invite her round. Freya liked spending time with her. Elsa seemed to understand her in a way that her mum and Sadie never could, always managing to say the right things at the right time.

And there was no denying she fancied the Lady of the Manor quite a bit – her red hair and pale creamy skin, her freckles, the stylish outfits she wore. Elsa was older than Georgia by a few years, but she was one of those women who seem to grow more beautiful as time passes.

The gardens of Derwold Manor had mostly gone to rack and ruin since they were abandoned decades before, but the rose garden had inexplicably thrived. Though unruly and overgrown, hidden amongst bushes and long grass, Elsa had made some effort at restoring the mutinous beds, pruning and deadheading the crimson blooms until they resembled something of their former selves.

“They’re blood roses,” she told Freya as they walked through the gardens.

The grounds were alive with activity, teams of gardeners restoring vegetable plots and lawns, unearthing pathways long hidden beneath weeds; reshaping topiary. Elsa would allow no one but herself to touch the roses, though.

“I wonder how they survived,” Freya mused.

Elsa placed a hand around her young friend’s waist, and Freya felt herself shiver at the touch. “It’s said they’re so named because blood sustains them.”

Freya gave a little snort. “How would they get blood?”

“Oh, the occasional animal wandering into the garden would be enough. A deer, perhaps. With a little persuasion it might be drawn towards the roses where those sharp looking thorns await. And then…”

She poked Freya in the ribs, making her squirm and giggle. The two of them laughed together, drawing amused and conspiratorial looks from the nearby gardeners.

Freya found herself gazing up into the older woman’s grey-green eyes. “I’m glad we met each other,” she said in hushed tones.

“As am I,” Elsa told her with a smile. “I never had children myself, but if I ever had a little girl, I’d want her to be just like you.”

Freya felt the warmth reach her cheeks.

Elsa placed a hand on her shoulder. “Shall we retreat indoors? I can show you our latest restoration efforts.”

“Sure.”

Elsa led them through the Great Hall and up the grand staircase. The floors had been stained and polished since Freya had been here last, and pictures had been hung on the walls.

As they ascended the stairs, one particular picture caught Freya’s eye, causing her to double take. It was a huge oil painting depicting a naked woman being mounted by a black horse with steaming breath and fiery red eyes.

Elsa gave a soft chuckle, amused by Freya’s shocked look. “It’s an interesting painting, isn’t it?”

“It’s… I mean, it’s nice, but it’s so rude. Why would anyone do that with a horse?”

“Why shouldn’t she? Passion takes many forms, Freya, some of them quite unconventional. When one frees themselves from the restraints of society, true freedom becomes attainable. Do you understand what I mean by that?”

“Yes, I think so. Is that what you believe?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Freya glanced towards the painting again. “But she could get into trouble. And people would hate her if they found out.”

“It’s a sad fact of life that some must pursue their passions in secrecy. But imagine a world where that was no longer the case. A world where everything was permitted.” Elsa flashed her eyes, her smile full of mischief. “Perhaps even a world where women ruled!”

“So… if you found out someone was doing something really naughty, something that might be against the law, you wouldn’t tell on them?”

Freya realised she was trying to find a way to tell Elsa about all the rude things she’d been getting up to with Millie, Sadie and her mum over the past few months. Given how unconventional her relationships had become recently, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get another perspective, she supposed.

But there was another reason she was aching to tell her new friend: She wanted Elsa to know how sexually experienced she was, that she wasn’t just another immature schoolgirl diddling herself to posters of teen pop idols. It seemed important somehow. Perhaps Elsa could be trusted with her secrets, but she’d have to tread very carefully.

Elsa leaned into her. Freya could smell her expensive perfume. Suddenly fingers were teasing at the skin of her bare midriff. “You might be surprised to discover how open my mind is, Freya. I’m not exactly a saint myself, you know.”

Emboldened, Freya placed her hands atop Elsa’s. “Is it okay to tell you I think you’re really pretty?”

“Yes, it’s okay. The feeling’s mutual, I can assure you.”

Freya’s heart raced inside her chest. In the last year alone she’d somehow managed to entice her teacher, her own mother, and now the Lady of the Manor. She was starting to think she must be irresistible to older women. A fine thing for the self-esteem of any eleven-year-old.

Elsa took her hand. “Simon’s away on business for the day. The workmen aren’t back until Monday, and the gardeners are forbidden from entering the manor with their muddy boots. It seems we have Derwold Manor all to ourselves, Lady Freya. How about you and I go upstairs to have some fun?”

“I’d really like that…” Freya murmured, her pussy tingling with anticipation. “Lady Derwold,” she added with a smile.

She followed Elsa upstairs and through a long central corridor, other strange paintings catching her eye as she went: A group of robed figures standing on what looked like a big Jewish star. A half man, half goat looming over a sleeping woman. A blonde-haired man with shining armour and golden wings languishing upon a throne of dark stone.

At the end of the corridor they reached a door. Elsa opened it, ushering Freya inside. The room was still and womb-like, the wallpaper and fabrics as deeply crimson as the blood roses outside. A huge four-poster bed dominated the space.

Judging by all the female paraphernalia, this was undoubtedly Elsa’s room, but there was nothing that looked definitively male. Freya supposed Simon must have his own room, and wondered why that might be.

“Wow. I love your bedroom,” she told Elsa with breathless enthusiasm.

“I’m glad you approve,” Elsa replied, approaching Freya from behind and slipping an arm around her waist. She bent to kiss the nape of the eleven-year-old’s neck, causing Freya to draw in breath. “Is this all right?”

Freya gazed up at the older woman and gave a nod. “Mmm-hmm. I actually have quite a bit of experience when it comes to sex, believe it or not.”

Elsa snaked a hand between Freya’s thighs, stroking lightly through her leggings. “A girl your age? Surely not! Have the local farmer’s boys been having their way with you in the haystack?”

“Not that kind of sex,” Freya uttered disdainfully. “Girl sex.”

“I’m just teasing,” Elsa chuckled, circling the girl slowly. Finally, she moved towards the bed and sat back on it. “One can tell much about another’s body language if they’re observant. And I’m nothing if not observant, Freya. I know you want me as much as I want you.” She beckoned with a finger. “Come here.”

Freya strode towards her, tossing her hair back as she went, hoping the gesture made her look mature and confident.

Elsa slipped her tweed jacket off, then began to work the buttons of her blouse free. Her cleavage was creamy pale, a scattering of light freckles adorning each breast. “I must warn you, I’m a rather dirty girl in bed. Inhibition is the bane of sexual freedom, I find.”

Freya didn’t exactly know what that meant, but she had her doubts Elsa was any dirtier than Sadie or her mum, being a posh lady and all.

Elsa unhooked her bra and pulled it away, allowing her bare breasts to spill free. She took Freya’s hand and placed it on one of the fleshy globes. Freya kneaded it softly, trapping the stiffening pink nipple between her fingers.

“A little harder, if you don’t mind,” Elsa suggested, placing her hand atop Freya’s. Satisfied with this first test of her young friend’s willingness, she gently nudged Freya away with a stockinged foot. “I simply must see you naked, Freya. Stand there for me and remove your clothes. All except your socks. I like those to stay on.”

While Freya shed her clothing piece by piece, anticipation banishing any inhibitions she might otherwise have had, Elsa pushed her skirt down her legs and kicked it away. When she rolled her stockings down, Freya couldn’t help notice how toned her legs were. This wasn’t some overprivileged woman who sipped chamomile tea with her feet up all day, but someone always on the move, busy with something or other.

When Elsa slipped out of her knickers, Freya’s eyes were quick to track them as they dropped to the floor. Elsa regarded the girl’s curiosity with amusement. “Oh, I see. Would you like them?”

Freya quickly drew her eyes away from the discarded underwear, berating herself for her lack of subtlety. She shrugged nonchalantly.

Hooking her toes into the satiny material, Elsa kicked the panties towards Freya. The eleven-year-old caught them easily.

“You can keep those as a souvenir. Slip them around your neck for now, then spread your sweet little vagina open for me.”

Freya put her head through one of the leg holes of the underwear, the faint musk of Elsa’s sex teasing her senses as the silken material slipped past her face. Wearing the knickers like a kinky necklace, she stepped toward the bed and parted the lips of her pussy.

“Look at that plump rose bulb,” Elsa murmured with rapt approval. “Ready to burst into flower at a moment’s notice. A young girl on the cusp of change. You’ll never be as powerful as you are right now, Freya, my dear. All that raw emotion can be so exquisite.” She brought a leg up onto the bed, then allowed a finger to glide through the folds of her vagina. When she pulled the digit away, a tendril of sticky fluid clung to it. She smeared it upon her red pubic hair, then repeated the process several more times until her thatch glistened with moisture. “Play with yourself,” she demanded.

Freya took another couple of steps towards the bed, eager to wallow in the thick aroma that emanated from the older woman. She buried a finger inside herself, the thumb of her other hand brushing her clit.

“Oh my,” Elsa chuckled, her own fingers whisking up a thin layer of creamy discharge. “I can see you’re certainly no stranger to a quick diddle. Have you ever used your tongue on a girl, I wonder?”

Freya offered a quick nod. “Loads of times.”

Elsa brought the other leg up onto the bed, spreading her knees wide. She pointed a single finger at the fiery gateway between her legs. “Show me.”

Freya didn’t hesitate. Squatting on her heels, she placed a hand on each of Elsa’s inner thighs and pressed an open-mouth kiss into Lady Derwold’s cunt, her tongue probing its folds and creases. She peered up, locking eyes with her new friend. See what I can do, Elsa? See how grown up I am? Aren’t you glad you made friends with me?

“My word,” Elsa crooned, pinching her nipples between thumbs and forefingers. “I’ve done some wicked things in my time, but having it away with such a young girl might just take the biscuit.”

This is just the start. I know how to do lots of other rude things, Freya might have replied, but her mother had always told her never to talk with her mouth full. She scissored two fingers into Elsa’s warm, wet cunt, then clamped her lips around the large clitoris that had slipped free of its fleshy sheath.

Elsa uttered a surprised cry, then rattled out a breathless laugh. “Kinky little thing! You found Aunty Elsa’s sugar plum!“ she cried, twitching and writhing. “You’re going to make me spend all over that pretty mouth if you keep that up!”

Freya pistoned her fingers back and forth and sucked on Elsa’s clit, the woman’s ecstatic shrieks echoing off the old panelled walls of the manor.

Finally, Elsa lay exhausted, a pleasant post-orgasmic thrum radiating through her body.

Freya stood at the foot of the bed with her hands on her bare hips, a pleased little smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “How’d you like that?“ she cooed.

Elsa fought back the impulse to leap off the bed and slap the smug little brat across the face. Clearly, Georgia Newton had not felt it prudent to teach her offspring manners, unlike Elsa’s own mother. Elsa had learned those lessons the hard way – other lessons, too. They’d been hammered into her like nails into flesh. Ultimately, her mother had paid the price for teaching her daughter so thoroughly.

Careful how you sharpen your blade, Mother, lest you cut yourself.

Nevertheless, she would thank her mother if she’d still been alive. Those lessons would serve Elsa well when the revolution began. They had hardened her, stripped away all notions of compassion and empathy.

In the meantime, she would do well to keep Freya Newton on side. The girl had not yet served her purpose. And besides, the little brat really was a fun toy to play with.

Elsa propped herself up on her elbows and forced a smile for the girl. “My goodness, you weren’t fibbing when you said you had some experience in the art of passion. I’m awfully curious to know where you learnt such things.”

Freya looked coyly at her. “Well… I could tell you. I could tell you lots of secret things. Some of them you probably wouldn’t believe. Um, but if I told you, you wouldn’t be able to get me into trouble, would you? Because you did something with me that’s against the law, so…”

The girl had guile, Elsa couldn’t deny her that. “How clever of you. I’d love to know your secrets, I must admit. And I wouldn’t say a word to anyone. But before we get to that, perhaps you’d like to sit on my face so I can taste that sweet little confection of yours.”

Freya climbed up onto the bed and walked to the head where Elsa waited. Standing over the woman, the eleven-year-old prised her pussy open lewdly. “Is this what you want?” she teased.

“Indeed it is. Let me taste it.”

Freya sank to her knees until her pussy was brushing Elsa’s painted lips. She rocked herself back and forth, hands gripping the black wrought iron of the headboard.

Elsa found the girl’s arsehole, probing the pink opening with the tip of her tongue. Freya strummed her own clit while her new friend rimmed her, then Elsa was at her cunt again, mouth pressed into the delicate folds.

The Lady of the Manor licked her lips, drawing the tart taste of Freya’s sex back into her mouth. There was powerful magic there – the essence of a girl on the cusp of womanhood. Menstrual blood was even more potent, and Elsa had dabbled in her fair share of blood magic.

Freya moved her hips in rhythm with Elsa’s tongue, and soon that familiar ache gave way to the sharp release of climax. She expelled a breathless cry, then fell away from Elsa.

Elsa turned onto her side and drew Freya close, the child’s back resting against her breasts. “What a naughty pair we are.”

Freya offered a satisfied hum.

“Now. What was it you were going to tell me, my dear? I’m all ears.”

Freya took a leap of faith. “Well. It all started last summer…” she began.

Elsa brushed her cunt lightly against Freya’s arse as the child told her fantastic tale. Freya left nothing unsaid – Mr. Dalliard and the Dryad, witchcraft and vengeful spirits; standing stones that led through time itself. Then she hesitantly told Elsa about the intimacy she’d come to share with her mother and sister, and her teacher Sadie Laine.

Maybe Elsa wouldn’t believe the magic parts, but at least she’d found someone who would listen. Elsa could be trusted. Elsa would understand. Elsa was her friend.

So Elsa listened. And she did believe. Every word. Because some parts she already knew, and others she’d suspected. Freya merely filled the gaps of her knowledge, provided the missing pieces.

And now she had them trapped. Georgia Newton and her pretty schoolteacher girlfriend Sadie Laine had been doing some rather wicked things with Mrs. Newton’s little girls, things that could get them into a great deal of trouble if the wrong people found out. And if that wasn’t intriguing enough, it turned out that Miss Laine was of the Wicca, and the youngest Newton girl had a mysterious power of her own. That much had been evident the night she’d touched the little one’s hand.

Elsa knew all their secrets now. The board had been set up, the first piece played.

Now the real game would begin.

Soon to come: Chapter Five!

by kinky_sis, assisted by kinkychic

It was a drag being back at the office – boring paperwork to catch up on, mostly routine stuff. On the one hand, I wanted to be back in the field, covering the action. On the other, I didn’t want to be away from my Ric. Not yet, anyway.

I spoke with her on the phone every evening, and I came to realise that the girl was far cleverer than she let on. There was little doubt that she had a bright future, although she didn’t yet know in what area. Her dream was to race cars, she said, but she couldn’t see that happening.

At last, it was Saturday. I’d told Ric to be ready for a day out, but I didn’t tell her where we were going. She didn’t mind – she said she liked surprises.

We hadn’t driven far before she was leaning over and caressing my leg. I didn’t stop her. It felt nice, if somewhat distracting. I still didn’t object when her hand went under my skirt.

But when she began rubbing the front of my knickers, it quickly became difficult to concentrate on driving. “Ric, not here.”

She pouted a bit. “But I haven’t played with my favourite pussy for nearly a week.”

“What do you mean ‘favourite’?” I fired back, pretending to be jealous. “How many pussies have you got?”

She laughed. “Oh, only yours and mine. I like playing with yours more than mine, though.”

Her fingers had just found their way into my knickers and made a beeline straight for my clit. The car swerved when I jumped.

“Pay attention to your driving, Jay,” Ric said with a grin.

Easier said than done. But shit, it felt good to be touched by her again. I’d never been fondled whilst driving, and had to admit it was highly erotic. I also knew it wouldn’t take much to make me come.

A sign came into view: Lay-By ½ Mile Ahead.

Thank fuck for that, I thought, hoping it wasn’t full of lorries.

I screeched to a stop in the thankfully empty lay-by, then reached down to grab the handle that slid the seat back. I raised my arse as Ric pushed my skirt up. I’d just discovered another advantage of having a young, petite girlfriend: she fit easily into the footwell.

Ric’s head dipped between my thighs and I slid my hips forward to meet her, pressing my clit against her mouth.

“Oh, I’ve missed you, Ric,” I moaned. “You’re so good at this. Now use your fingers. Fuck me. I need it so bad.”

I needn’t have bothered asking – she was already working on me. As much as I would have loved to stretch it out, my body had other ideas. The orgasm rushed at me like a whirlwind. I gripped the steering wheel and shuddered with pleasure.

Ric knew I’d come, but continued to use her tongue and suck on my clit. No more, I thought, but didn’t have the willpower to stop her. And then I was coming again.

I heard something that made me jerk and open my eyes. Two young women had stopped by the car. They’d obviously seen what was happening. Although they were both in their early twenties, they were giggling like schoolgirls.

I pressed the window button, lowering it. “Having a good look? What, you want some?”

That deflated them a little. “Sorry, we only wanted to check out your car.” They quickly turned away, walking back to their own vehicle. Ric and I burst out laughing.

“I think we oughta go, don’t you?” I said.

“Aww, don’t I get a turn?” she asked, still laughing.

“Later, Ric. I promise.”

A short while later, Ric saw the signpost: Santa Pod Raceway. “Omigod, is that where we’re going, Jay?!”

“You got it, baby.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy. Santa Pod is Europe’s most famous drag racing strip. There were all kinds of weird and wonderful contraptions on show. Most were lost on me, but Ric was constantly quoting figures from the detailed program she held – engine sizes, bhp’s, terminal speeds, and so on. I simply marvelled at her enthusiasm. I watched her breathing deeply, taking in the smells of burning rubber and the fumes of race fuels. She was totally immersed in the whole scene.

On the way home, I drove at a fraction of the speed of some of the cars we’d watched, even though I was still nudging over the speed limit. “Did you have a good day, babe?” I asked Ric.

“Oh, you better believe it. The absolute best. Thank you, Jay.”

I wanted to take her back to my place for a bit, but time was running against me, so I took her home instead.

Her mother was pleased to see Ric so happy, but held her hands up when Ric began spewing racing jargon. “Enough! I don’t understand a word you’re saying. Why don’t you take Jay up to your room. I know you’ve been waiting to show her.”

I was taken aback. Her mum had not yet allowed me to go upstairs with Ric. I was intrigued.

As soon as Ric shut the door to her bedroom, I reached for her and we came together in a kiss to die for. I reached to push her shorts down but she stopped me.

“I know you want to see my pussy, but that’s not what Mum meant.” Laughing, she took my hand. “Come and see.”

I looked around her room and saw the pictures. All of me. I recognised most, but not all of them. She fired up her laptop and a minute later, selected a folder. “Open it,” she said to me. I saw the title: Hero Behind A Lens.

She must have spent hours searching the internet. There were dozens of pictures – some of me, some taken by me – from places like South America, Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe. Every picture had notes under it, detailing things like when I was a prisoner of the Contras, dodging bullets in the Middle East, wading waist-deep across a river surrounded by African soldiers, and meetings with rebel leaders. It was all there.

I looked at her in confusion. “I’m flattered, Ric. But it looks like a bit of a fixation.”

She grinned. “Oh, I’m fixated all right. But it’s more than that. I’m planning to write your biography. It’s only notes at the moment, but when I’ve finished with those, I’ll have to interview you.”

I thought about it for a minute. Yes, I suppose there was a story there. I’d never considered it before. But my Ric had, and she’d already done a lot of work.

I swivelled the chair to face her. “Come here, you. I need to feel my girl.”

Ric was pulling up her top even as I was unfastening her shorts. She was wearing a pair of the sexy knickers that I had bought and posted to her.

“They’re nice, aren’t they?” she said. “It gave Mum a bit of a shock, especially the pair with a hole in the front. That really had her flustered. I told her they were for easier peeing. She thought that was clever but told me to make sure I held onto my skirt when it was windy.”

“They look gorgeous on you. But I need to take them off now.”

“No you don’t. I want to keep them on. You can still play with me. Make them nice and mucky for me.”

“Um… that’s kind of slutty, isn’t it?”

She looked at me, all wide-eyed innocence. “Not at all. I’m just learning to have fun. You can take them home to wash for me. Or whatever else comes to mind… Now, are you going to stop talking? I’ve been waiting all day for you to touch me.”

She spread her legs as I pressed the crotch of her knickers in between her lips. I could feel her clit, that lovely little bump all ready for me. I watched as she closed her eyes – the ecstatic look on her face, the way her hands went to her breasts. She’d certainly come a long way in such a short time.

A damp patch had formed on her crotch. It was wet; slippery under my fingers. I felt a small tremble from her and began to rub faster. Ric let out an Oh of pleasure, then pinched her nipples hard. Not content to simply keep touching, I dropped to my knees and pressed my face to her knickers, smelling her intense aroma. It was too much – I needed to taste her. I pulled the knickers aside and put my mouth to her, using my fingers to spread her wide open. Using my probing tongue to lick deep, I savoured the taste for a few seconds before going to her clit.

A hard suck caused her to tremble and give out a squeaky, “Yes!” I’d discovered that, unlike myself, Ric didn’t need fingers inside. She came easily if I just concentrated on her clit.

I continued licking, and sensed she was building to a peak. I gave her the treatment – sucks, licks, hard flicks of the tongue. She hunched forwards over my head, teetering on her toes, then grabbed my shoulders as it hit her hard. All I could think was that my wonderful baby was coming. The strange noises she was making told me she was trying desperately not to scream out loud.

Ric slowly sank to the floor, and I gathered her into my arms. She crammed her lips to mine and gave me a wet, hot and sexy kiss. “I love you so much, Jay,” she said when we’d come up for air. “Do I make you happy?”

“Do you really need to ask? I’ve never been happier. You’ve made me feel so alive.”

I helped her dress after she’d changed her knickers. I stuffed the messy ones in my pocket, then we went back downstairs.

Ric’s dad ignored us as usual. Her mum looked suspicious but only asked if I was impressed with all the research her daughter had done. Of course I was. How could I not be?

***

I knew there were places where a girl Ric’s age could drive a car, so I Googled race tracks. Brands Hatch had two courses available, so I arranged a meeting.

While Ric was still upstairs, I told her parents what I had planned. Ric’s mum was aghast. “She’s much too young to drive and on a racing track. It’s dangerous.”

I explained that the cars were dual control and she would always have an experienced instructor with her. Plus they were limited to a certain speed. There was one other thing. I wanted her to do the stage one course on a Saturday, the second course the next day. That would mean us staying overnight.

I didn’t seem to be winning her mum over, but then got a surprise.

“Oh, let her go,” Ric’s dad said. “I’m sure if Jay says it’s safe, then it is. Besides, it’ll do Erica good to get ahead of the game.” Having said his piece, he picked up his newspaper and turned away.

“Well. I suppose she can go,” Ric’s mum said, resigned.

I hadn’t told Ric anything about my plans. I wanted to make sure it was all okay before I said anything. Before I did, though, we visited a friend of mine who happened to be a farmer. He had a beat-up old Ford Fiesta. He said he didn’t care if she hit anything, just mind his expensive farm machinery. It wasn’t long before she was haring about the place, and not doing too badly at it.

Ric got really excited when I told her we were going away for the weekend. Naturally, she wanted to know where, but I told her it was another surprise. She didn’t mind. She said my surprises were always good.

I collected her at 7 AM. She picked up the envelope lying on the passenger seat as she climbed into the car. “Where shall I put this?”

“Open it,” I told her.

She ripped it open and pulled out the vouchers. Her jaw dropped. “They’ve got my name on. Does that mean… Am I going to… Oh, Jay! I can’t believe it!”

When we arrived at Brands, I took Ric to the office and left her to it. She would spend some time attending an introduction and safety briefing before she’d be allowed to get into a driver’s seat.

I took myself off to wander around the paddock area, admiring the few cars that were either being worked on or just polished up. One guy said he’d seen me arrive in my Lotus. “That’s some beast you’ve got there,” he told me. “Have you ever taken it around the track?”

I laughed. “Me? Not a chance. Besides, my work’s dangerous enough without me risking myself out there. I’m only here to watch my—” I hesitated for a moment. Fuck it. Why hide it?  “My girlfriend is having lessons.”

A small group of learners were coming down the steps from the office. Ric waved to me as they were taken towards some Mini Clubmans parked up by the track.

I watched her complete the first few laps erratically, but it soon became clear she was getting better. Twenty-five minutes later and she was travelling at the maximum permitted speed – only sixty miles an hour, but plenty fast for a beginner.

After the track session, they returned to the office, then it was a break for lunch.

When Ric came to find me, she was ecstatic. “I’m really driving, and guess what? It’s so much easier than I thought. It feels a bit slow, though. I swear, my skateboard goes faster than that. I can’t wait for tomorrow – we get to go quicker. If I pass, that is.”

They had one more session on the track before it was all over. Most collected their pass certificates; one or two didn’t. They didn’t give out marks, but each driver got a report. Ric’s was exemplary, with only one criticism: Has a tendency to want to go too fast.

Back at our hotel, we dined in the restaurant. The food was great, even though most of the conversation was about cars.

Ric managed to stop rambling for five minutes. She reached for my hand. “I’m sorry, I’ve done nothing but go on and on, haven’t I?”

I laughed. “It’s your weekend, and I really don’t mind. I want you to enjoy yourself. If you’re happy, then so am I.”

She just stared at me for a bit, then: “How did I get to be so lucky and meet the most wonderful person in the world? Or am I dreaming?”

We finished our meal, and I asked her if she wanted to go to the bar.

“I don’t want a drink, thank you, Jay. I just want to go to bed.”

“Hey, lover, you’ve got a long day tomorrow, so no sex for you tonight.”

She pulled a face, then smiled. “But that doesn’t stop us from enjoying a bit of foreplay does it?”

“Oh, I think it does. You know how one thing leads to another.”

“Crap, I thought I had you for a minute there. Spoilsport.”

Back in our room, she tried everything – undressing in a sultry way to catch my attention, bending over to pick her knickers off the floor with her little arsehole winking at me.

I wasn’t having any of it. “Do I need to tie you to the bed?”

Clearly, that was a mistake. “Ooh, yes please!” She held her hands up in resignation when I gave her a look. “Okay, okay, I get the message.”

***

The next day, Ric sailed through the course. Her average lap speed was sixty-seven miles an hour, which is a creditable lap time for anyone. It meant she was doing well over a hundred on the straights.

Back in the office, I went to see the manager. “Is Ric your sister or your daughter?” he asked.

“No, she’s my friend. Girlfriend, actually.”

To give him his due, he didn’t bat an eyelid. “Well… Uh. Ric is rather good, a natural you might say. She told Mac that she wants to race. There’s quite a way to go before she can do that, but Mac thinks we should give her a chance. But I need to tell you it’s not cheap.”

I glanced at his name tag. “Cost is not a factor, Mr Davidson. If you think it’s worth pursuing, we’ll take your word for it.”

He gave me a telephone number. “Give them a ring. She needs to be racing go-karts first. If that works out, she can progress to the next level.”

On the way back home, Ric rang her mum; told her everything was fine and that she’d passed with flying colours. As it was so late, she asked if it was okay to stay over at my place. We were both surprised when her mother didn’t put up any argument.

***

Back at my flat, I cracked open the Prosecco. “For my clever girl who’s going to be a star one day. I’m so proud of you.” It was nice sitting there holding hands and sipping our drinks, but I noticed a serious look on Ric’s face. “What is it, love?”

“Well, I sorta think we’re established now, in our relationship I mean. I want to ask you more personal things, if it’s okay.”

“You can ask anything you want, you should know that.” But I was intrigued. Where was this going?

“Remember I told you that I looked up lesbian stuff on the internet? Well, they had toys and things. They looked like lots of fun. I wanted to know if you’ve got any, that’s all.”

I laughed. “Funny you should ask – I’ve been thinking about sex toys, wondering if you might be into that kind of thing. Why don’t you go to the bedroom? Bottom drawer, next to the bed. Bring what you find.”

I watched her skip away, still marvelling at how fucking sexy she was. When she came back, she was struggling to hold my collection. The huge smile on her face told me everything. She sat down next to me and began sorting through the toys. She seemed to be going by size. I didn’t say a word; just watched her.

Eventually, she turned to me. “A-may-zing! But I don’t know what some of them are for.” She held up a butt plug that had a tail. “This one for instance.”

“Well, what do you think it might be for?”

She looked puzzled for a second, then laughed. “Oh, okay. You stick it in your… yeah, okay.”

Next, she selected several dildos. “I know what these are for – I’ve seen them online. But why so many sizes? Like this smaller one for instance.”

It was new, still in its box, although I’d already put the batteries in. “I just got that one. It’s a bit smaller because it’s for you to start with. It vibrates when you turn it on.”

“Jay, is it okay if I take my clothes off and try some of them? Maybe you could show me?”

“You don’t need my permission to get naked, baby.”

I never saw her undress so fast.

I was surprised when she went for the butt plug first. “If you’re going to try that, you need some of this.” I passed her a tube of gel.

She read what it said on the side, grinning broadly. “On my arse or the toy?”

“A bit on both. Why don’t you let me?”

She turned around and bent over, her arsehole only inches away. I couldn’t help but lean in to kiss the little star. “Just for good luck, my love,” I said, and she giggled.

My fingers were trembling in anticipation as I smeared a small dollop of lube around her tight hole before easing a little inside.

“It’s cold!” she squealed.

“You want to push it in or do you want me to?” I asked her.

“Oh, I want you to do it,” was the reply.

I pressed the plug against her hole and gave it a few wiggles. “Tell me to stop if it hurts. It probably will a little, but as soon as it pops in you’ll be fine.”

“Go for it, Jay. I want my tail.”

I began to push, but there was too much resistance. “You need to relax a bit, baby, you’re too tense. Don’t let your arse fight it.”

I saw her body loosen up, and slowly her arse stretched open to accommodate the toy. Now it was almost at the widest part.

“Ouch, that hurts a bit. Don’t stop though, I’m okay.”

I eased the plug in a bit more, until suddenly it popped inside. “There you go, it’s in. How does it feel?”

“It feels kinda weird. I want to see. Can you get a mirror?”

I went to fetch the small mirror I kept in the bathroom, then held it for her as she twirled about and bent down to look back between her legs.

“Oh, I like that. It’s fucking sexy,” she told me. Then she was prancing around and wiggling her hips, tail swishing merrily from side to side.

“Okay, that’s a good start, now what?”

She picked up the small vibrator, then handed me a bigger one. “Let’s masturbate for each other.”

I got rid of my clothes as quickly as I could. “Side by side or opposite one another. What would you like?”

“Oh, definitely opposite. I wanna see you do it.”

When we’d each taken a place at either end of the couch, I showed her how to turn the toy on, and how to increase the speed, then suggested she start on the lowest setting and slowly build up.

Easing the tip of my own toy between my pussy lips, I slowly began moving it up and down. I watched as Ric mirrored my actions.

She glanced up at me. “Oh, wow, this feels so good.”

I held myself open, then moved the vibrator to my clit, going round and round in little circles. Ric again followed my every move. I saw her whole body instantly tense, a look of awe on her face. “So good!” She made herself relax before moving the vibrator round her clit.

“Now you might want to turn it up,” I told her.

The pleasure she was feeling was obvious. Her face was an absolute picture, her eyes going wide when she found a special spot. Her whole body began to tremble with the sensations she was experiencing. “J-Jay… I’m gonna come. I… I can’t stop myself.”

I quickly reached for another toy. It slipped easily between her lips and deep into her cunt. I set it to high pulse mode.

“Oh, my fuck!” Ric screeched as she began to shake uncontrollably.

I left the dildo buzzing away inside her and did the same for myself, inserting a bigger toy that throbbed beautifully. I kept my eyes fixed on my angel, fucking herself to a glorious climax. My own orgasm erupted out of nowhere. I lay back in my seat and let the big toy do its work.

When eventually I opened my eyes, Ric was peering back at me. I saw her love for me. I also saw her lust as she licked her new toy clean.

I watched juice running down from her pussy, and dropped to my knees in front of her. She lifted her legs up high for my tongue to lick her from arsehole to pussy. My arms wrapped around her hips and I pulled her against my loving mouth.

“Happy, my love?” I asked her when I’d come up for air.

She gazed down at me with the biggest smile on her face. “Too right I am.”

***

Our world was about to get turned upside down. Ric had only competed in four go-cart events. She came third in the first one, then won three in a row. After the final race, a guy approached as Ric and I were celebrating with a hug.

I almost glared at him. “Hey, some space, buddy, we’re busy here.”

He looked a little taken aback, but managed to compose himself quickly. “I can see that, but you might just want to hear what I have to say.”

I put Ric back down and gave him my full attention. “Yes, I’m sorry. That was a bit rude of me.”

He held out a business card, but the name meant nothing to me. Ric snatched it out of my hand. “Oh, my God. Carlin F3 team. And you want to talk to me? like… no way.”

“We seriously do. I came up here today just to see you race. You’re everything I was told you’d be. If you’d like a test drive in one of our cars, then call that number on Monday.”

Ric’s screech was loud enough to deafen us. “You hear that, Jay?” She turned back to the man, then gestured to me. “This is Jay. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Good to meet you, Jay. I’m Kenny.” He turned back to Ric. “So, do you know much about our cars?”

Ric gave a wry smile. “I might surprise you. How’s this: Your F3 car is a 3.4 litre V6 engine. It produces 380 hp at… er, I think it’s 8000 rpm. Top speed is a little under 200 mph. 0 to 125 mph in 7.8 seconds.” She paused. “How am I doing?”

Kenny looked bewildered. “What are you, some kind of racing encyclopedia? That’s all spot on.”

Feeling a little left out of the conversation, I added, “Ric was only fifteen when she told me all about my Lotus Evora, stuff that even I didn’t know about my own car.”

I could almost see Ric’s brain ticking over. “What?” I asked.

“Oh, just trying to remember a few of the drivers who drove Carlin cars before they moved up to F1. Sebastian Vettel, Daniel Ricciardo, Nico Rosberg, Lando Norris. There must be loads more that I can’t think of just now.”

Kenny was looking from me to Ric admiringly. “An Evora, eh? Impressive machine. And your racing knowledge is astounding, Ric. So ladies, what do you think? I’m assuming you’re interested?”

To her credit, Ric looked to me for approval. I nodded my head, and she turned back to Kenny. “Just try stopping me. But seriously – have I put in enough hours to be driving one of your cars?”

“I wouldn’t be wasting my time here if I didn’t think you have what it takes. You’ll have a whole day to get to know the car, then we’ll want to see you put in some fast times. And don’t take me the wrong way here, but it’d also be good for our image to find a girl who can really drive. I think that might be you. I watched how you rubbed it into those guys today. Reminded me of a young Vettel.”

Ric looked so buoyant, I thought she might simply float away.

***

We had the go-cart loaded onto the trailer and were about to drive off when I saw the track manager making towards us, gesturing for me to wait.

“So, how did your meeting with Kenny go, Ric?” he asked.

“I got a test drive, but how did you know about Kenny?”

“It was me that told him to get his arse up here before someone else did. I’ve seen drivers of your calibre before – naturals. I think you’re going places. Just remember me when you’re on the podium, and give me a call anytime to let me know how it’s all going.”

Ric climbed back down from the 4X4 and went to give him a big hug. “Thank you, Bill. I won’t let you down. You’ll see.”

We said our goodbyes and hit the road. It was a good two-hour drive home. I could see Ric was bubbling with excitement, but I’m sure it was still only just starting to sink in.

“What do you want to do, babe?” I asked. “Head home? Or maybe we should book into a motel for the night, find ourselves a good restaurant and celebrate.”

She turned to me with a smile. “Jay, I said thanks to Bill. But really it was you that got me here. It would never have happened if I hadn’t met you. I want to buy you dinner, and then afterwards… I dunno, maybe you could eat my pussy or something. Whaddya reckon?”

There was a lovely little Italian restaurant close to the motel. The maitre’d eyed up the trophy I’d plonked in the middle of our table. It turned out he was a huge motorsports fan.

“So, you are a big star, no?” he asked me. “Bello trophy!”

“Not me, it’s hers,” I said, pointing to Ric. “She won it today.”

It threw him for a moment. “So young and bellissime, and winning races. Perbacco!” He reached across and refilled Ric’s wine glass. “Old enough to win, then old enough to drink wine, I think. But do not tell me how old, eh?”

I dug out a portrait photo of Ric from my briefcase. She signed it To Giovanni, my next win is for you. Ric xxx. Giovanni was so thrilled, he didn’t want us to pay the bill, but I insisted. I always pay my way.

We killed two bottles of wine and then a few shots of grappa. It was quite obvious that Ric couldn’t walk in a straight line, but I wasn’t that much better.

Back at the motel, we managed to giggle our way through a shower before tumbling into bed. Ric gave me a sloppy kiss. “I love you. Are you going to fuck me now?” Then she fell back into a drunken slumber.

For a while, I just lay there staring at her. Ric had said she was lucky to find me. But I was just as lucky to find her. The depth of my love for this girl had taken me by surprise. I couldn’t begin to imagine not having her in my life. She was living her dream, and I wanted to join her on that journey. Perhaps it was time I stopped putting myself in danger with the job; start thinking about a new life with Ric.

It occurred to me that it was time I spoke to her parents about her moving in with me. They knew the score, and had mostly come to terms with our relationship, just as they now accepted she would be racing cars. I would speak to them tomorrow.

A small smile teased at Ric’s mouth when I kissed her. I whispered a goodnight.

The End

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

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

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

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

By Purple Les

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m game,” The Kid replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The same,” Jud answered.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soon to come: Chapter Five!

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

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

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

by BlueJean

1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roy shuddered at the thought.

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

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

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

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

“Oh, I see.”

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

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

“How mysterious.”

“Isn’t it just?”

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

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

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

Georgia put a hand to her mouth in astonishment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh? No. No way!”

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

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

“Is it?”

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

“Yeah, I suppose.”

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

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you’re the new lord of Derwold.”

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

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

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

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

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

4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, shitting hell,” Roy muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm? What’s that, Millie?”

“You’re on fire!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sally Drodge! As I live and breathe!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yep. Did it work?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you now?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An awkward silence ensued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All right. Thanks for bringing Freya back.”

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

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

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

On to Chapter Four!

by kinky_sis, assisted by kinkychic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jay?”

“Yes?”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I laughed. “You’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On to Part Three!

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

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

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

By Purple Les

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Clark Hansen?” The Kid asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything happen?” The Kid said.

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

“To McCuller’s?” Tequila asked.

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

“How far’s the ride to McCuller’s?”

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

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

“Well, sure,” the young man replied.

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

On to Chapter Four!

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

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

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

by BlueJean

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

Article from the Derwold Gazette

1

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Mrs. Jeffries.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll let Mum know,” Freya replied.

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

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

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

***

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

Article from the Derwold Gazette

2

“What do you see?”

“A tree.”

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

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

“A tree?”

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

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

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

“The trunk?”

“The trunk, yeah.”

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

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

“Any of them, I think.”

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

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

“Millie… wh-what’re you doing?!”

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

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

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

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

“Millie… stop now. It’s too much…”

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

“Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A what?!” Millie said, wide-eyed.

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

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

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

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

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

“Afro…” Millie began.

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

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

“Do you mean the camp stove?”

“Indeed I do!”

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

“Silence! My ingredients, if you please!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Millie. “I feel funny…”

Freya. “Ooooh, floaty…”

Sadie. “Oh dear…”

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

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

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

“Cuddle me,” Millie demanded of her teacher.

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

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

“But you’re already cuddling me.”

“You owe me a kiss, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

Article from the Derwold Gazette

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prey.

“Huh?”

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

Prey.

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

Stand still, prey. Hungry.

“Uh… I’m not food, okay?”

Prey. Food.

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

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

Not prey?

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

Not. Prey.

The big cat moved back a few steps, unsure.

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

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

“Hey, I was only joking!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On to Chapter Three!

 

by kinky_sis, assisted by kinkychic

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

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

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

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

Christ, I’d slept the whole way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

Kids. That’s all I needed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked to be enjoying herself.

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

“Sure.”

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

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

“Erica, but everyone calls me Ric.”

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

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

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

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

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

I pulled myself together enough to keep shooting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her hands came to her breasts and pushed them up.

Hold.

Pressing them together.

Hold.

Cupping them.

Hold.

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

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

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

Christ, girl, at least try to be professional!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her fingers were spreading her lips, prising herself open.

I took some more shots, then lowered the camera.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wow!” she answered.

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

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

“How old are you, Ric?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On to Part Two!

A brief summary of what has transpired thus far: Katherine is a shy. inexperienced teen girl who is starting over at a new school, after being mercilessly harassed by bullies at the last one. It’s her first time in the cafeteria, and the girl assigned to show Katherine around strongly suggests she avoid one table in particular where four very different girls sit. She calls them “lesbian delinquents,” and a “regular bad girls club,” before abandoning Katherine to her own devices. Desperately needing to take a seat before everyone starts to stare, Katherine somehow finds herself approaching the very table she was warned against. She spends her lunch break with these girls and enjoys it, despite feeling a bit uncertain about the whole sex-with-other-girls thing. 

In the days that follow, Katherine finds herself feeling very much at home in the company of Yolanda, Fiona, Claire and Terri, enough to consider them friends. She still feels like a bit of an outsider, not having tried sex with a girl before… or with anyone, truth be told. Still uncertain about her own sexual preferences, but thinking more and more about other girls, she begins to masturbate on a regular basis. She enjoys touching herself. but has yet to achieve orgasm… a problem she finds increasingly frustrating. What to do?

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

by Mystery Mouse

CHAPTER 4 – The Peanut Butter Test

Katherine sat at the small table in the kitchen, staring at the object in her hand. It wasn’t particularly big, just a few inches by a few more inches, nor was it particularly heavy. But the sight of it filled her with an unaccustomed mixture of excitement and dread.

“C’mon, out with it,” said Katherine’s mum, placing two steaming mugs of hot chocolate on the table. “What is it that’s got you so agitated?”

Katherine handed over the card that had just arrived in the post. Her mother looked at the writing on it, cleared her throat, and read the contents out loud. “Let’s see … ‘Miss Yolanda Mason hereby requests the pleasure of your company…’“

She read the rest to herself until she reached the end. “So this is how you kids invite people to sleepovers these days? So much more formal than when I was your age.”

“Yolanda said that, since I’ve never been to one before, she wanted to do something special,” Katherine said. “So I’d never forget.”

“Aw, that’s sweet of her. What a lovely gesture.”

“Well, Yolanda’s like that.”

“Wait. I don’t think this is handmade,” her mother observed, examining the invitation closely. “This looks like it was done in a print shop or something. Now, that’s impressive.”

“Yeah,” Katherine sighed. “She’s a bit like that, too.”

It was true. Yolanda’s parents were successful entrepreneurs in some profession that Katherine had no hope of understanding. So far, their youngest daughter had managed to avoid becoming a stereotypical rich brat, but she was certainly happy to spend money if she felt the need.

Yolanda wasn’t an only child, but there was a significant age gap between her and her sisters, who had long since left home. This meant that when Mr and Mrs Mason were off at one of their many seminars or conferences, Yolanda was left home on her own. She often took advantage of the situation by having the rest of the girls over. Which meant that the four girls had the spacious house to themselves for most of the weekend until Yolanda went to church on Sunday, with no one outside having any clue what was happening inside.

Needless to say, these sleepovers inevitably involved very little in the way of clothes and lots and lots of sexual intimacy.

Or as Terri once called it, “a big, no-holds-barred, lesbian fuck-for-all.” And that’s what Katherine had just been invited to.

When handing Katherine the invitation, Yolanda made a point of mentioning that sex didn’t always happen at her sleepovers. There were other things to do at her house, after all. “Besides,” she insisted, “we have other interests. It isn’t always about sex.”

“Mostly is, though,” Fiona had remarked.

“Fiona!” Yolanda protested. “That isn’t all we do, and well you know it.”

“Well, we have got to take th’ occasional break,” Fiona said. “Can’t spend the whole bloody weekend fuckin’, after all.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Yolanda exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “Look. What about that movie we watched last time?”

Claire spoke up from the other side of the lunch table. “What, you mean that Suicide Squad thing?” She snorted in derision. “That was bloody awful! The only good thing about that whole waste of time was seeing Margot Robbie in those tight little shorts.”

“Meh, she was better in Barbie,” Fiona muttered. “Modern movies are feckin’ rubbish, anyway.”

“She was hot.” Terri spoke up, adding her opinion to the mix. “Hey, if you can get her to come to one of these things, that would be amazin’. Imagine havin’ that body curled up against yours…” She gave a blissful sigh.

“Anyway…” Yolanda cut in. “The point is, it’s more of a sleepover than a sex party. And I’m sure we can all behave if we need to – can’t we, Teresa?” She glared at the short brunette, who simply grinned in response.

Katherine hadn’t been convinced. Now, seated at the kitchen table, she still felt uncertain. She knew what her friends did with each other, but only at a distance. Her friends frequently discussed sex, but they’d never actually done anything like that in her presence. Now that there was a very real possibility that they would, the same thoughts kept going round and round Katherine’s head:

They have sex with each other a lot… especially at sleepovers. They’re almost certainly going to do just that at this one. And when it happens… will I want to be part of it? And what happens if I don’t?

It was so confusing! Katherine really wanted to get her mother’s advice on what to do, her mum always knew just what to say, but there was no way she could let her know just what was so different about her new friends. But maybe she could be clever about it.

Taking a deep breath, Katherine looked up from the tabletop. “Mum, what do you do if … Um, how do you deal with it if somebody you’re friends with really, really, really likes peanut butter … and you’re not sure you do?”

Nice one. Katherine thought, wincing inside. Real smooth. Like an absolute pro. Nothing suspicious about that at all.

“Peanut butter?” Barbara echoed. “Is this a drug thing? Are there going to be drugs at this?”

“No, Mum, no,” Katherine hastened to assure her. “I mean, like, actual peanut butter. What if somebody makes, I don’t know, a bunch of sandwiches and everyone’s eating them. And you’re not sure you want to, but maybe you do. And either way, you don’t want to be the one who isn’t joining in. So … what do you do?”

“Are you sure this isn’t a drug thing? Because this really sounds like a drug thing.”

“No, Mum.”

“Or is it to do with alcohol? Have your friends started drinking yet?”

“It’s not that, Mum,” Katherine said. This wasn’t going the way she’d hoped.

“Boys, then? Are there going to be boys there?”

“Mum! There won’t be any boys!” At least she could be certain of that.

“Well, if you say so …” Barbara paused to think, rubbing her chin. “It’s tricky,” she finally said. You should never let other people make you do what you don’t want to do, that’s obvious. But it’s not always that easy. You want people to respect your decisions, but you don’t want them to think you’re not a team player, either.”

“I guess.” That was pretty much what had been going through Katherine’s mind. She was worried that she’d feel obliged to join in if things got hot and heavy. She honestly didn’t know if she wanted that or not.

“I think,” her mother continued, “the important thing is to stay true to yourself. If you don’t want to eat that peanut butter, then don’t. If your friends think any worse of you because of that, the heck with them. They’re not your real friends and they don’t deserve you.”

That was what she needed to hear. Much as she wanted friends, she couldn’t let that control her actions. She had to do what she wanted to do.  Katherine got up from her seat, moving to where her mother sat. “Thanks, Mum,” she said, giving her a hug from behind.

“Glad to be of service,” Barbara replied, patting her daughter’s arms. “So… definitely no boys at this sleepover, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Katherine murmured, placing a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “Like some help with the dishes?”

***

No matter what happens, Katherine herself, I won’t do anything I don’t want to do.

She was repeating Mum’s advice under her breath as she stood at Yolanda’s door a few days later. She pushed the doorbell and, after a few seconds that felt like hours, the door opened.

“Katherine!” Yolanda cried, smiling hugely. “You made it!”

“Hiya,” Katherine said weakly.

“Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

“No, no. Not really.”

The only trouble Katherine and her mother had on the way to Yolanda’s place was fighting a sense of disbelief. Every property they passed on the estate was large, fancy, and expensive-looking. To the Pearson family, who were careful to count their pennies because they didn’t have many to spare, it was a different world.

“Well, come on in. Everybody’s here.”

Katherine turned to wave goodbye to her mother, then followed her friend indoors, still fighting her nervousness. I can get through this. I can get through this.

“You can put your things there,” Yolanda directed, indicating a small pile in the corner of the hallway.

Katherine obeyed and, as she added her bag and pillow to the collection, was gratified to see that at least one person wasn’t taking this weekend too seriously. Katherine had put a lot of effort and time into choosing a pillowcase no one would make fun of. In the end she’d borrowed a light grey one belonging to her mother. Simple, neutral, and safe.

But sticking out of the pile was a pillow that was anything but simple and neutral. It was fluffy, adorned with cartoon characters, and brightly, almost garishly coloured.

Katherine had to smile. Good old Terri. May she never grow up.

Yolanda opened a pair of doors leading off the hall. “Look who I found,” she announced, beckoning Katherine through.

Upon entering, Katherine found herself in a spacious lounge. On the far side was a large fireplace with an equally large television on the wall above playing a music video. Facing this were three sofas, draped in thick blankets and arranged in a U shape around a low, rectangular coffee table.

Claire was perched on the arm of one of the sofas, idly swinging a leg in time to the music, and on the floor, to either side of the coffee table, sat Terri and Fiona, playing a board game Katherine didn’t recognise. Terri’s back was to the door, so she didn’t see Katherine come in.

“Kat!” Fiona waved enthusiastically and then, when Terri turned to look, quickly rearranged some of the pieces on the board. “How ya doing?”

“Okay, I guess,” Katherine replied. What else was she supposed to say? It had only been a few hours since she had last seen everyone at school.

To Katherine’s relief, her friends hadn’t dressed for the party. She had chosen the most inoffensive top and most unremarkable pair of jeans she owned, and it looked like the girls had just thrown on whatever made them comfortable.

Fiona and Claire were both in jeans as well. Claire’s blonde hair was hidden beneath a baggy hoodie. Terri was wearing some sort of yoga crop-top and pants combo that was close-fitting enough to put unwelcome thoughts into Katherine’s head. She was also barefoot, which was even more distracting. Yolanda, meanwhile, looked smart in a designer skirt and matching blouse. But then, looking smart was what she did. Katherine wasn’t sure Yolanda even knew what casual clothing was.

“Tha kitchen’s th’ other side of th’ hall. Loo’s over there,” Fiona said, pointing vaguely, her attention riveted on the game. “Help yourself if y’need anything.”

“Thank you, Fiona,” Yolanda said, frowning slightly. “I was about to say that. But yes, there’s soft drinks in the kitchen and we’ll have takeout delivered later. In the meantime, just make yourself at home.” A pause. “Um, I’ll be right back.” With that, Yolanda set off for the bathroom.

But I’m not at home! Katherine thought. I mean, I already know how to relax at home. Okay, don’t panic, for God’s sake. Do I sit? Stand? What should I do?

Then Terri’s shocked voice broke into her thoughts. “The hell?! How did you do that? I was beatin’ you by bloody miles!”

“You’ve not got the skills, T,” came Fiona’s calm reply.

“Bugger that. Set ’em up again. Katherine, you’re playin’ as well. Come pick a colour.”

Uttering a silent prayer of thanks to the Fates, Katherine sat down and did her best to join in the game.

As the minutes passed, and evening slowly approached, Katherine did indeed find herself relaxing. Despite her misgivings and concerns, it was just like being with the girls at school. They talked, they laughed, they sang along with the songs on the TV, they all just … hung out. They weren’t really doing anything in particular, just spending time enjoying each other’s company.

As for Katherine, her worries that she wouldn’t know what to do soon vanished. Her friends made sure to include her in whatever they were doing. Not in a pitying way, but in a way that suggested they genuinely liked her.

Katherine’s very first sleepover was proving to be a pleasant experience, thus far unruffled by nudity or lustful behaviour.

But that started to change as the evening drew on and the girls started to get hungry.

Curry was ordered, it was delivered, and the girls eagerly tucked in.

As they ate, Fiona reminisced about one night when Claire intended to answer the door in the nude, just because she had a crush on the delivery driver.

“We hadda fuckin’ rugby-tackle Claire t’stop her. I went t’get th’ food, an’ all the while I could hear her swearin’ through th’ kitchen door. I was practic’ly pissin’ meself laughin’,” She shook her head, recalling it. “Th’ poor wee gel with th’ pizza must have thought I was mental.”

Claire was unrepentant. “Yet another reason you should’ve let me do it. Bet I could’ve got us a discount.”

Fiona gave a snort of laughter. “Yeah, right. I’m sure they have a ‘horny eejit’ price plan.”

“You never know ’til you try. And believe me, she was totally worth the risk. God, you could’ve bounced pennies off that arse of hers.”

It was though a valve had been opened, and all the sex talk Katherine’s friends had been holding back came spilling out.

As they nibbled their starter, they talked about swimming naked in the pool outside and doing each other on the deck chairs.

As they worked through their main, they talked about orgasm races and how Terri was capable of “washing your face,” when you went down on her. “She nearly drowned me once!” Yolanda claimed..

As they feasted on their desserts, they talked about Fiona’s anal experiments in the kitchen and the various household objects they’d put inside each other.

None of it was really aimed at Katherine, though all the girls were making occasional eye contact with her when they spoke. The girls weren’t trying to impress her – at least, she didn’t think they were. They didn’t seem to be implying she should join in, either. These were just things they did when they were together, so it provided fuel for their conversation.

But the subject material was setting her on fire. As much as Katherine tried not to let it affect her, she couldn’t prevent herself from being assailed by images of her friends naked and getting up to the lewd antics they chatted about. And she couldn’t shake a nameless longing to release the erotic tension that throbbed and pulsed beneath her belly.

That feeling got so acute that Katherine actually found herself disappointed when Fiona revealed the movie she’d brought for everyone to watch … and it turned out not to be porn. Katherine didn’t even like adult movies – what little she’d seen of them, at least – but the urgent signals she was getting from down below were messing with her brain. She found herself even wondering if she dared to slip into the toilet across the hall and try to make herself come.

“It’s a fecking classic. Best fillum ya will see all this year. Trust me.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “It’s in black and white, Fi.”

“Aye. So?”

“Don’t you ever watch anything from this century?”

Damn it, Claire, stop arguing, Katherine shouted in the privacy of her head. The sooner the thing starts, the sooner it ends… and the sooner I can try to sort myself out.

Thankfully, as the opening credits faded, and the story began, Katherine was able to focus more and more on the screen; less and less on the distinctly wet patch in her knickers.

The movie was an old one from the glory days of Hollywood, when men always wore suits and women were perpetually glamorous. The plot itself was simple, almost ridiculously so: one woman’s quest to get her first kiss before she hit the ripe old age of thirty. In Katherine’s opinion, it was old-fashioned and more than a little sexist. But she could also see why Fiona liked it. Her Irish friend had made no attempt to hide how much she enjoyed the female form, and every woman in the movie, especially the main character, was soft-lit, flatteringly made-up, and impossibly beautiful.

Fiona and Claire shared the sofa on the left side of the room, Yolanda had the middle sofa to herself, while Katherine and Terri occupied the third. This meant that Terri’s bare midriff was constantly in Katherine’s peripheral vision, though she tried her best to ignore it.

About midway through the story, just as the heroine was having what seemed to Katherine to be a very melodramatic argument over something trivial, Terri got up to get a drink. She returned a few moments later with a glass of orange juice, placed it on a coaster on the table, and sat back down, folding both shapely legs beneath herself, brushing Katherine’s thigh with the toes of one foot.

The contact was marginal at most. Just the smallest fraction of touch. Katherine could barely sense anything through her jeans anyway. But she was still quite aware of Terri’s toes.

And they burned. Like tongues of fire, teasing her skin.

Katherine did her best to focus on the movie, but that delicate touch played hell with her concentration. Now she was desperate for the film to be over. For the whole night to be over. Just so she could go home, hasten to her bedroom, lock the door, tear her clothes off – and maybe, maybe, give herself the release she’d been aching for.

After what seemed like a small eternity, the movie wound to a close. The main character kissed her one true love, the orchestra swelled to a crescendo, and the television proudly declared it to be THE END.

“There’s no bloody credits?”

“I told ya. They put them at th’ beginning in those days!”

“Oh God … is that why that took so long?”

“That wasn’t long. Credits now are so fecking long nobody watches them. This way was so much better.”

Yolanda nibbled on a leftover piece of naan while Fiona and Claire drifted into a friendly argument about the merits of modern moviemaking.

“So what did you think of the movie, Katherine?” Terri asked.

“Um… it was all right,” Katherine replied. In fact, she’d missed a good bit of the plot, caught up as she was in her confused feelings.

“Yeah… Y’know, it got me thinkin’. In fact, it got me thinkin’ about you. Um, ‘scuse me for bein’ a nosy bugger, but you’ve not been kissed before, right?”

Katherine felt her cheeks begin to flush. “I’ve kissed my mother.”

“Nah, nah. I don’t mean that. That’s just normal family stuff; everybody does it. Even my mum used to kiss me, back when we was little.”

Without getting up from the sofa, Terri rearranged herself so she was on hands and knees, her face close to Katherine’s. It might have been her imagination, but to Katherine it seemed as if Terri’s rich chocolate-brown eyes were radiating warmth and affection.

“What I mean is, you never had someone kiss you like a lover,” the girl continued. “You’ve not been kissed for the pleasure of it. Am I right?”

Katherine felt hot and cold at the same time. She couldn’t help but notice how close Terri was. How near that small, lithe, nimble body was.

“No. Never,” she managed to whisper, heart pounding in her chest.

Terri slowly shook her head. “See, that’s a damn shame. You’re beautiful. An’ your lips look so kissable. Not kissin’ you ought to be a crime.” She moved even closer, her body now definitely inside Katherine’s personal space. “So while we was watchin’ the movie,” Terri continued, her voice a low, husky, purr, “since you ain’t experienced a proper kiss, a real one, I was wonderin’ if, um, I could fix that for you…?”

Katherine bit her lip. This was it. The moment she’d been dreading all along. The peanut-butter dilemma. Or did she actually want this more than anything in the world?

“If you’d rather not, that’s fine. I don’t do nothin’ to a girl if she doesn’t want it,” Terri said. “It’s up to you.”

I should say no, Katherine thought. Say no, but thank you. Then make my excuses, ring Mum and go home. Go home, go to bed, and pretend this never happened.

But is that what you want, Katherine? Is that what you really want?

Looking within herself, she made a decision. Really, she’d made the decisions ages ago, she just hadn’t realised it. She drew in a deep breath and uttered just a single word.

“Okay.”

Terri smiled and, without a word, leaned forward. Katherine closed her eyes, tensing slightly. To her great surprise, Terri kissed her forehead instead of her lips.

“See, that’s a soft one, just for starters,” Terri murmured. “People don’t realise you don’t have to just dive in there. Oh, no — keep your eyes closed. I ain’t done yet.”

Next, Terri kissed Katherine’s eyelids. “See, kisses can be gentle, they can be hard … an’ they can go anywhere.”

She kissed Katherine once on each cheek, her lips brushing the tip of Katherine’s nose as she passed from left to right. Katherine couldn’t help but whimper in frustration. After the buildup, the waiting, she was desperate to be kissed on the lips … and Terri was kissing her everywhere but!

“I hear you, babe, I hear you. But you gotta wait. This is one of my favourite bits.”

Katherine’s mind raced as she tried to anticipate what would come next. Then she felt Terri’s mouth on her neck, and couldn’t keep herself from crying out.

The pleasure of it, the sheer, intense pleasure! Terri’s kisses switched from soft to hard to soft again, sometimes kissing, sometimes biting – yet everything she did sent shockwaves of ecstasy racing through Katherine’s body. Her nipples stiffened; her vagina throbbed.

Terri travelled round to the other side of Katherine’s neck, nuzzling her jawline as she went. Katherine’s nose registered the faint orange scent of Terri’s shampoo before her friend renewed the assault.

Katherine moaned in delight, then disappointment as Terri abruptly broke away. Her eyes remained closed. It didn’t occur to her to open them again, so she had no idea what her friend was doing. Then she felt Terri’s mouth touch hers, and surrendered without hesitation.

Terri kissed Katherine, and Katherine melted into her. She was putty in Terri’s hands, unable, unwilling to do anything but submit. Without realising it, she slumped sideways until she was practically lying down on the sofa. Terri was on top, straddling Katherine as she worked her magic.

Katherine’s first kiss quickly became her first French kiss as Terri’s tongue shyly ventured between her lips. She’d always expected it would feel strange, but it didn’t. It seemed completely natural. An extension of something beautiful and pure.

Surely there can be no pleasure greater than this, she told herself. But even as the thought entered her mind, Katherine knew it was far from the truth.

This was evident when Terri touched her inner thigh.

That exploring hand slowly, inexorably, began to travel up Katherine’s leg. Without thinking, almost without being aware of it, she parted her thighs, giving Terri complete access to everything she had.

Her doubts and fears had evaporated, as if they’d always been an illusion. Why was I scared of this? she wondered. It’s exactly what I need.

Fingers trailed across the front of Katherine’s jeans, almost but not quite tickling, until Terri reached her goal … and Katherine groaned into Terri’s mouth when she felt the girl’s hand pressing against her mons. It was through denim and a layer of cotton, but somehow Terri knew just how to touch her.

As their kisses grew in intensity and passion, Katherine shivered as Terri’s attention shifted to her clitoris, fingers working the inflamed nubbin until Katherine broke away, gasping, “Oh… oh my God!”

She mewled with disappointment when Terri abruptly took her hand away to pluck at Katherine’s top. “I think it’s time we took all this kit off,” her friend whispered. “Don’t you?”

Opening her eyes, Katherine gave a mute nod. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Guiding Katherine into a sitting position, Terri took her top and bra off, then she quickly stripped herself bare as Katherine removed her own shoes, socks, jeans and panties. As she finished undressing, Terri’s eyes never left hers … that is, until the small brunette’s focus was drawn a little lower.

“Damn, Katherine. Your tits are amazin’,” Terri said, adding a soft whistle of appreciation.

Katherine didn’t reply. She was too distracted by Terri. She’d seen other girls in the nude before. It was hard not to when they showered every day after Physical Education. But this wasn’t kids getting cleaned up and changed before their next class. This was a gorgeous young athlete who was naked because of Katherine. Who was naked for Katherine. Who was naked because she found Katherine sexy. It was a thrilling notion.

It didn’t hurt that Terri was incredibly lovely. Her body was everything Katherine had imagined. It was taut, petite and absolutely perfect. From her tiny boobs to her flat tummy to – and Katherine couldn’t help but stare – Terri’s vulva. The girl’s labia were as small as the rest of her, peeking out from a smooth-shaven pubis without a trace of stubble. Katherine had never seen anything like it before.

Terri smiled. “You like?”

Katherine nodded.

“Wanna touch me?” Terri cupped her breasts with both hands. The only thing she still wore was a golden locket on a chain around her neck. Her breasts were so small that, even when she pushed them together, the locket still glinted between them.

Katherine nodded again, more emphatically. It was true. After all that fretting and hesitation she’d dealt with while getting to know her new friends, all the uncertainty about whether she could be gay or not, she found herself aching to touch Terri. To kiss her. To do all the things lesbian girls do together.

“Good girl. But you gotta wait. I have more kissin’ to do.”

That was fine with Katherine. Kissing had quickly become one of her favorite pastimes. But as she closed her eyes and waited to feel Terri’s mouth on hers, it soon became apparent that her friend had something different in mind.

A caress of warm breath on her breast was all the warning she got before Terri closed her lips on a painfully erect nipple. Katherine’s ecstatic cry was cut short as Terri reached for her pussy, this time with no jeans or panties in the way.

Katherine’s jaw dropped, and she stared sightlessly at the ceiling as Terri deftly penetrated her with a probing finger. She’s inside me. Oh my God, she’s actually inside me!

Her mind, already spinning like a whirligig, could barely process coherent thoughts. All she could do was meekly allow herself to be ravished. Terri moved from nipple to nipple and back again, never settling on one, never letting Katherine get used to what was happening to her. She licked, sucked and lightly bit, a finger buried deep in Katherine’s pussy and her thumb pressed to Katherine’s clitoris.

A storm was brooding in Katherine’s womanly core, one that seemed to gather mass with each passing second. She felt its growing power; welcomed it.

“And finally,” Terri said, her lips brushing the nipple she’d been sucking, “there’s one last place that needs kissin’. And this one’s my absolute favouritest of all.”

Katherine couldn’t reply. Instead, as if her hands had a mind of their own, she reached up to fondle her breasts, rolling and tugging at the stiffened nipples as Terri slowly kissed a path down her belly.

Dimly sensing what Terri was up to, Katherine bent her legs, giving the girl full access. She realised that Terri’s attention had thus far been on her breasts, not her mound, and a small note of worry sounded in her head. Even now, as the brunette’s lips worked their way inexorably downward, Terri’s eyes were locked on hers. What if, Katherine wondered, what if she thinks I look weird down there? Those bright red pubes of mine… what if Terri takes one look and gets grossed out?

Terri moved into position, oblivious to her friend’s concerns, getting her first real glimpse at what lay between Katherine’s thighs.

“Holy shit!” the girl exclaimed. “Your bush… it’s so red!”

Katherine’s eyes snapped open in horror. She tried to slam her legs shut, but Terri was already stretched out between them.

“It’s beautiful,” Terri continued. “I love it. It’s like your pussy’s on fire!”

She pushed Katherine’s legs apart again with very little effort and, before Katherine could object, before she could even think about objecting, Terri went down on her.

Katherine thought she’d experienced pleasure before. She loved the kissing. The nipple play. The fingering. But all that was nothing compared with the onslaught of pleasure that Terri’s mouth generated between her legs.

Despite her complete lack of sexual experience, Katherine could tell Terri was an expert at giving oral. She lapped at Katherine’s clitoris. She allowed her tongue to delve into every nook and cranny of Katherine’s most intimate areas. She thrust her tongue deep – oh, so deep – into Katherine’s vagina, purring contentedly as she guzzled up every drop of juice.

And the more she licked, the wetter Katherine got.

Katherine’s hands rested unmoving upon her breasts. All her thoughts, all her energy was focused on the petite, raven-haired temptress who was eating her out. Katherine’s mother could have walked in at that moment and not only would Katherine not have noticed, she wouldn’t have cared.

Adding a second finger to the first, Terri began to curve them, adding G-spot stimulation to her assault. Katherine felt a familiar pressure rising inside, only this time it kept building higher and higher until the feelings were almost too much to bear. It’s happening, she told herself. Oh, God, I’m finally going to come.

But somehow Terri sensed it and backed off, clearly unwilling to take Katherine over the top. Terri knew just how to keep her on the edge – preventing Katherine from reaching the peak, but without allowing it to fade from sight.

Katherine couldn’t stand it for another second. She wanted to scream, to rage. Instead, she begged. “Please, Terri.”

“Hmm?” was Terri’s muffled reply, the vibration from her lips making Katherine even more desperate for the bliss of release.

“Please,” she all but sobbed. “Make me – make me finish!”

Terri didn’t reply, but Katherine could feel her grin.

Then Terri shifted into high gear. Her fingers moved faster, plunged deeper, forcing the breath from Katherine’s lungs with every stroke. Hot, thick juices were flowing freely, trickling down the crack of her bum. That’s why there are blankets on the sofas, she realised.

Her train of thought was interrupted when she felt Terri’s free hand slide beneath her bottom. What’s she doing now? Katherine wondered, until she felt a finger slip into the crack of her arse. Then she felt Terri stroking there, teasing her anus – and that’s when her mind stopped working completely.

Katherine shuddered and shook as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her. She couldn’t cry out, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think. All she could do was hold on for dear life. The pleasure was that intense. Actually, it wasn’t even pleasure. It was something more primal than that, something white-hot and powerful that she couldn’t grasp.

Then she was released… but only briefly, because within seconds she was buffeted by a second orgasm. Katherine cried out wordlessly, her body arching up from the sofa as those surges of ecstasy rose to an unimaginable peak.

She wasn’t exactly sure what happened to her after that. Passed out, maybe. Afterward, she found herself stretched out on the sofa, bathed in sweat and panting for air, somewhat dizzy and blissfully happy.

“Fuck me, that looked intense.”

Opening her eyes, Katherine struggled to focus. Gazing down at her, wearing a proud, happy smile, was none other than Terri herself. The girl who’d just given Katherine her very first orgasm. My first lover. She burst into tears.

Terri went from joyous to concerned in a flash. “Whoa! What’s wrong, babe? Are you okay?”

Katherine nodded weakly, doing her best to stem the flow of tears without much success. “It’s just … ” she spoke between sobs, “it’s just … I n-never thought anybody would … ever want to do that t-to me.”

Terri smiled again, her gaze radiating warmth. Making a tutting noise, she reached out to wipe away a few of Katherine’s tears.

“Listen, I’ve wanted to do that to you since the moment we met. You’re stupidly gorgeous.” She noticed Katherine’s lower lip trembling again. “Hey, now. Enough of that. Look. I heard what happened to you at your old school, and yeah, it sounds fuckin’ awful. But you can’t dwell on the past. You gotta move beyond it. Trust me, I know. You’re in a better place now, with better people.”

Terri paused as a thought occurred to her. “In fact,” she added, “I want you to remember somethin’ else. You’re not just one of us now. We’re one of you, too.”

Katherine thought about this one. As her breathing and pulse slowly returned to normal, it felt like her brain was starting to recover as well. She was floating back to Earth. She ran Terri’s last few words through her mind again. “Um… could you repeat that?” she finally said.

“Never mind!” Terri exclaimed, blushing a bit. “It sounded better in my head. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do,” said a smiling Katherine, reaching up to caress Terri’s cheek. She’s right… I am with better people now.

Something about those words… She repeated them to herself. trying to work out what her dazed mind was trying to say. Better people.

Other people.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed as she hurriedly sat up, covering her bare breasts. She cast a hasty glance to her left, dreading what she’d see.

But instead of an audience of three other girls watching her have sex for the first time, Katherine saw a pair of naked bodies, intertwined on the sofa to the left of hers.

It took a moment for her to work out what was where, then she realised it was Claire and Fiona, locked in a passionate sixty-nine. Now that she was able to pay attention, Katherine could hear the occasional moan and the liquid sounds of mouths on pussies as her friends pleasured each other.

She was enthralled by the sight. From where she sat, Katherine had an excellent view of Claire’s slit, as well as the cleft of her anus. Fiona was tracing her friend’s vagina with long, slow swipes of the tongue. Then Fiona raised her head slightly, covering Claire’s sex in an open-mouthed kiss.

The effect on Katherine was positively electric. She shivered, a surge of that familiar heat making itself known again, as if she hadn’t had her first orgasm minutes earlier.

It occurred to her that she didn’t see Yolanda. Where’d she go, then? 

Glancing around, she spied the black girl off to the side, completely nude and seated in a large accent chair. Katherine couldn’t see Yolanda’s hands, but her expression she wore made it obvious what she was doing with them.

Terri touched her shoulder.. “How are you feelin’? Doin’ okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I am. Absolutely. Look, Terri, that was … wow. I mean, thank you so much. That was … God, I don’t know what to say.”

Terri leaned in and kissed her. This kiss was different than before. It was warm, gentle, and affectionate. The kiss of a friend.

“That’s all the thanks I need,” Terri answered when they’d separated. “Listen … y’ready for more?”

Katherine didn’t hesitate. She was sore, she was shaky, but no way was she finished yet. “Definitely,” she replied.

“Y’sure? I know that must’ve taken it out of you. If you’ve had enough, that’s okay. Nobody does what they don’t want around here.”

“Terri, shush,” said Katherine with a smile. “Believe me, I’m ready. So … what’s next?” She shyly touched her friend’s leg. “Would you like me to … to do those things to you?”

“Y’wanna fuck me, then?” Terri said, grinning her trademark grin.

Katherine felt her cheeks grow warm, but she refused to succumb to embarrassment. “Yeah,” she replied. “I – I do.”

“That’s grand,” Terri declared. “I’ll make sure y’get the chance, no fear. But first, I think you oughta show our hostess some love.” She stood, gesturing for Katherine to join her.

Katherine heaved herself off the sofa, her legs a bit wobbly as she stood, and meekly followed Terri to within a few feet of where Yolanda sat. The black teen’s eyes were closed, her legs spread wide – and sure enough, she was pleasuring herself with a small bullet-sized vibrator, unaware she had an audience.

“She’s got the sweetest pussy,” Terri murmured.

“I’ve never done that before. I d-don’t know how,” Katherine whispered, her resolve wavering a little.

“That’s how you learn, babe – by doin.’” Taking Katherine’s hand, she drew closer. “Yolanda.”

Yolanda’s eyes fluttered open. “Terri,” she murmured.

“Katherine?” said Terri, gesturing toward Yolanda as if offering her friend up as a special treat.

Her heart pounding wildly, Katherine slowly knelt, pausing briefly to admire the way Yolanda’s brown skin contrasted so beautifully with the pinkness of her inner womanhood. She reached out with trembling fingers to touch the girl’s slit, marvelling at how juicy it was. So, so beautiful, she thought.

Licking her lips, Katherine took a deep breath, then bent to adorn Yolanda’s sex with a tender kiss.

“Oh, yes,” Yolanda moaned. “Yes.”

As if by magic, Katherine’s nervousness had evaporated. This felt so utterly, completely right. She was confident, she owned the moment, and she was going to make another girl come with her mouth. Parting her lips, Katherine extended her tongue and began to lick.

“Hey, Katherine,” Terri murmured, caressing her arse. “Welcome to the club.”

***

At ten o’clock the next morning, Katherine dumped her bag and pillow in the back of her mother’s car and gingerly slid into the passenger seat.

“Good morning, sunshine!” her mother trilled. “Doesn’t look like you got much sleep. Everything go okay?”

Katherine yawned in reply, then added, “We didn’t get to bed until late. We were busy.”

“But it went well?” her mother persisted.

Katherine turned to wave at her friends, who had come to the front door to see her off.

And they were her friends. More than friends. She was sure of that now. Terri, Yolanda, Fiona, even Claire. They’d accepted her into their group without hesitation, and somewhere along the line, she’d accepted them too.

They were the Bad Girls Club, and she was a proud and happy member.

Katherine laughed to herself. It’s still a silly name, though.

“It was wonderful,” she told her mother, leaning back against the headrest as the car pulled out of Yolanda’s drive and onto the main road.

“Good!” Mum said. “It’s about time, too. You’ve been through so much. And I was really hoping I didn’t have to come down here and open a can of whip-ass.”

Katherine yawned again, then said, “I don’t think that’s what the phrase is, Mum.”

“Doesn’t matter. Anybody messes with my girl, they’ve got trouble. That’s what matters.”

Katherine smiled. “I love you, Mum.”

“I love you too, baby. Always. Oh, and I love your hair. Very stylish!”

Katherine reached up and touched her new braids. “Yeah, that was Yolanda. She said she couldn’t resist.”

“She sounds like somebody who’s used to getting her own way.”

“Oh, yeah,” Katherine agreed with another yawn and closed her eyes.

She thought about all the things that had happened to her since she and her mother had moved to this town. And all the wonderful things that had yet to happen.

She thought about her friends and the pleasures they’d shared over the last few hours. Pleasures she was beginning to think she’d never experience for herself. Now I have, she told herself.

Touching a finger to her lips, Katherine thought about her first kiss. About Terri. And the other girls. Their beautiful bodies. Their sweet mouths. Their various flavours, each one tantalisingly different.

“Hey, Mum?” she said, lazily stretching her limbs.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I think I like peanut butter now.”

And with that, exhausted but happy, she fell asleep.

The End

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

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

by Purple Les

The Tequila Kid followed Sheriff Lucas Clay down the covered boardwalk. The street itself was a sea of mud, and they occasionally had to step down and trudge through it when reaching an intersection. The Kid was glad she’d thought to cover the hole in her boot beforehand.

Along the way, they passed by a saloon. The Kid glanced inside, hoping she’d get the chance to drop in for a moment before the night ended. Just then, a young man loped out, leaned back against the wall and took out a tobacco pouch. Glancing up, his eyes widened a bit at the sight of Sheriff Clay.

“Well, now,” Clay began, coming to a halt in front of the man, “If it ain’t Jud Nelson.”

“Howdy, Sheriff Clay,” Jud said as he began to roll himself a cigarette. “Fine night, ain’t it?”

The Kid studied the man. Jud Nelson was about her height of five-nine. His dark water-stained slouch hat was tilted back on his head, showing a head of thick blonde hair. His eyes were gray, his face tanned a deep brown, and he was dressed in worn ranch work clothes.

As the young man stepped closer to the light, putting the rolled cigarette to his lips, The Kid noticed more details. Jud’s nose was crooked, and his left eyebrow had a scar in the middle. He’s had that nose broke, she thought. Maybe twice. Where’s that scar from… a knife fight? Wonder how the other fella looked afterward. Or maybe he just drank too much one night and fell into something.

The Kid thought Jud’s face looked open and honest, and there was intelligence in his eyes.

Glancing to the left, The Kid noticed a horse that had been tied to the hitching rail – the only one left on the street in this miserable weather.

Sheriff Clay glared at the young man. “No, Nelson, it ain’t a fine night. Or are you too goddamn dumb to see it pissin’ down rain?”

“Sorry, Sheriff. My mistake,” Jud said as he lit his smoke.

Still bristling with ire, the lawman paused to spit on the boardwalk, about an inch from Jud’s boot. “Listen here, Nelson. You been on the loaf for a month now. Most of the others McCuller fired had the good sense to move on. Why the hell are you still here?”

Jud’s eyes were hard, but he still wore a soft smile. “Oh, I’m workin’. Got me a job at the blacksmith’s, lendin’ a hand. Learnt the trade from my pappy, back when I was growin’ up in Arkansaw. Comes in handy when there‘s no ranch work to be had.” With a slight shrug, he added, “Where else would I go? It’s a peaceable town, and I ain’t in a mood to roam.”

The sheriff’s scowl held steady. “Where you layin’ your bedroll, then? Any bum I catch sleepin’ rough in my town, it’ll go mighty hard on him.”

“Stayin’ in a shack behind the blacksmith.”

Sheriff gave Jud a smile sour enough to curdle milk. “Best not be lyin’ to me, son. I’ll be checkin’ that story. Now, where’s your gun hid?”

“Well… since I can’t wear one here in town, I sold it,” Jud said. “Ain’t got no gun to hide, Sheriff Clay.”

“Now you look here, boy,” Clay growled. “Far as I’m concerned, you should’ve got your ass out of town with the rest of McCuller’s crew. He told me what a sorry bunch you were.” Drawing closer, he tapped Jud’s chest. “I got my eye on you, Nelson. Step one goddamn inch out of line, and I’ll squash you like a bug. Understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Jud quietly replied. Turning to The Kid, he tipped the brim of his hat. “Evenin’, ma’am.”

“Evenin’,” The Kid replied, tipping hers in return.

Sheriff Clay stared balefully at Jud Nelson as the young man wandered back into the saloon. Finally he glanced back at The Kid. “Come on, then!” he snapped, then stomped off down the boardwalk.

Following the sheriff, The Kid paused long enough to look back at the lone horse in the street while Clay unlocked his office door. He took up a lamp and lit it as The Kid entered, closing the door behind.

The sheriff took his slicker off and put it on a coat rack, followed by his hat. He wore a white shirt, thin black string tie and a black vest. His hair was a little thin on top, but there was enough to cover his head.

Picking up a piece of wood, Clay opened the squeaking door of the pot bellied stove and threw it inside, watching long enough to make sure it caught. It was already warm inside the office, so The Kid hung her slicker and coat on the rack, but kept her hat on.

Sheriff Clay frowned at her. “You expect me to believe you’re a Texas Ranger?”

The Tequila Kid pulled out her badge and a worn, folded piece of paper she’d never been able to read herself. Clay glared at the badge, then after reading the letter, pushed it back brusquely.

“Looks official enough,” he said. “Shit fire, they must be hard up for help if they’re lettin’ women take the badge. Still, I don’t give a good goddamn if you’re a Ranger or not. No one wears a gun in my town ‘cept me.”

The Kid glared back at him. She stood slouched, thumbs hooked in the belt of her pants.

Lucas Clay gave a low, cold laugh. “You got some sand, girl. But you best take them guns off and hand ‘em to me, or I swear I’ll take them myself, then beat that attitude out of you.”

Still perfectly calm, The Kid said, “Texas Ranger Clark Hansen was here two months ago. He ain’t been heard from since. What happened to him, Sheriff?”

Sheriff Clay gave a derisive snort of laughter. “He didn’t do me the courtesy of introducin’ himself. I heard he rode out to Ben McCuller’s place. Reckon he got what he wanted and moved on.” Leaning back against his desk, the man crossed his heavy arms. “If that’s all you wanted to know, you can saddle up and get movin’ outa town right now.” Straightening, he added, “But if you plan to stay…” Clay took a menacing step toward The Kid. “Then you best hand me those guns.”

Firmly placing her right foot on top of Clay’s left, The Kid shoved the palm of her hand into the man’s face, squashing his nose. He lost his balance and fell back, hitting his head on the front of the desk. As he fell, The Kid deftly removed the sheriff’s pistol from its holster.

Clay sat up, rubbing his head, then gaped in disbelief as The Kid cocked the hammer, aiming the gun at his face. Reddening with rage, he began to struggle to his feet, but The Kid kicked him hard in the chest with the flat of her boot. Knocked off balance, he crashed against the desk.

Now Clay’s eyes were flashing raw hatred. “Now you listen to me, girl,” he said, his words crackling with anger. “Pull a gun on a man, you better be ready to use it.”

When he began to rise again, The Kid kicked him square between the legs. Clay went into a fetal position, his face contorted in agony. This time, he stayed where he was, clutching his groin with both hands, nearly biting through his lower lip. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“I am ready to use this gun,” The Kid said softly and clearly. “The only reason I ain’t yet is ‘cause of the badges we both have. Now it’s your turn to listen, Clay. I got a federal warrant to examine the bank, and all that’s in it. I expect to find fake land deeds there… and then I mean to arrest the banker, a Mr. Tyson Avidite. Then I’ll be takin’ in your friend Ben McCuller.”

The sheriff’s face grew increasingly pale as The Kid continued. “I’d prefer you keep pretendin’ to be the law and help me serve that warrant in the mornin’.” Narrowing her eyes, she added, “But I’d just as soon shoot you in the head right now and leave the gun in your hand. The whole town knows you’re up to your neck in this. They’d figure you lost your nerve; took the coward’s way out.”

Swallowing hard, Clay managed to choke out, “I… I’ll be with you at the bank when it opens.”

The Kid didn’t reply, just removed the bullets from the sheriff’s gun, then threw the pistol across the room. She put on her coat and slicker and, fixing Clay with an icy stare, walked out, closing the door with an emphatic bang.

Clay lay on his side, his mind working furiously. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell do I do now?

* * *

Making her way back toward the saloon, The Kid stopped in front of the lone horse, still shivering in the icy rain.

“Hi, girl,” The Kid said, slowly extending a hand. The horse shied away as far back as the reins would allow.

The Kid slipped a hand into her pocket and produced the green apple Amy had given her. “Well, now,” she said softly, “I was savin’ this for my horse, but you look like you could use it more. Here, girl, I won’t hurt you none. Go on, take it.”

She stood completely still, her hand out. The mare looked suspiciously at the woman, but slowly drew near. Putting her wet matted head under the overhang, she plucked the apple out of The Kid’s hand and devoured it in a few bites.

Finished, the mare looked hopefully at The Kid. This time she was able to gently pet the horse’s nose. “Sorry, girl. That’s all I got.”

God damn it anyhow, The Kid mused, her jaw tightening. What sorry son of a bitch would mistreat a good horse this way?  Heaving a sigh, she entered the saloon.

Carefully closing the door, she glanced around. She saw an empty table in the back and strolled over to it, where she took off her slicker and coat, then draped them over a nearby chair.

The Kid sat down, taking in the surroundings. There was one table where a poker game was taking place. Most of the other tables were occupied by one, two, sometimes three men drinking, waiting their turn with one of the saloon girls.

The piano player wasn’t good, but he was loud, enough to drown out any sounds that might escape the upstairs rooms. The Kid saw one of those doors open and a man emerged, looking sheepish but content.

A moment later a woman came out wearing a fancy emerald-green dress, cut low in the front. She yelled, “Dixie! Cleanup in room four!”

A sleepy-eyed girl in a ragged, threadbare dress trudged up the staircase. She carried a bucket of water, and towels were draped over her free arm.

The woman descended the stairs, passing the girl along the way, and approached one of the tables. Hands on her shapely hips, she said, “Well, boys, who’s next?”

The men at the table looked at each other, then a young ranch hand with a face like a mule slowly got to his feet. “Reckon I am, Star.”

“C’mon then, handsome,” Star drawled, taking his arm and leading him up the stairs. The girl exited the room just before Star and the young man went inside, closing the door.

Once the girl returned to the saloon floor, she set the bucket in a corner and hesitantly came over to The Kid’s table. Studying the girl, The Kid decided she was close to twelve, maybe thirteen, just beginning to blossom. Her straggly blonde hair was dirty. She may have had a little shape to her thin figure but it was hard to tell what was under the dress she wore, which was at least a size too large. Her face was pretty with fine features and big blue eyes, but marred by several bruises – some were older, some more recent. The girl’s ears stuck out from under her stringy hair and she wore small earrings that pretended to be gold.

The girl looked curiously at The Kid, then managed to say in a well-rehearsed voice, “Hi, I’m Dixie. Welcome to the Silver Slipper. Can I get you a drink?” She stopped, confused, then added, “Um, the rest of what I say… well, I ain’t never had a woman come in as a customer, but I guess I better say it anyway cause I’m s’posed to.” With that, Dixie resumed her practiced spiel. “If you want to be with a girl all the way, you buy her a four-dollar bottle of whiskey. If you just want her to tug you off, it’s a two-dollar bottle. She’ll give you a list of prices if there’s anything special you want. If you’re lookin’ to play cards, there’s a cashier over there.” The girl pointed without looking to a cage of sorts, with a man sitting inside. “Buy your chips from him.”

At one of the card tables, Jud Nelson was playing poker. The Kid watched as he made a face, threw his cards down, then picked up his few remaining chips. Getting to his feet, he said, “I’m done for tonight, boys.”

Returning her attention to Dixie, The Kid said, “Bring me tequila and a beer, then ask the feller who just quit the game if he’ll have a drink with me.” Before Dixie could turn away, The Kid asked her, “Who’s the most popular girl here?”

“Star, for sure. Belle’s younger, and Kitty’s prettiest, but the fellers love Star.” Dixie replied.

The Kid put a ten dollar bill in Dixie’s pocket and said, “I’ll have a four dollar bottle of whiskey for Star.” As the girl’s eyes widened in surprise, The Kid winked, adding, “You keep the change, sweetness.”

Dixie was so taken aback that she bumped into a chair on her way over to Jud Nelson. She spoke briefly with the young man, pointing to The Kid before returning to the bar.

Jud came over to The Kid, removing his hat. With a shy smile, he murmured, “Ma’am.”

The Kid smiled back. “Sit down for a minute.”

Dixie came back with a glass of beer and said, “No tequila, but we have mescal.”

“Mescal will be fine. And whatever the gentleman wants.” She handed Dixie a silver dollar.

“Whiskey,” Jud said.

“Star will be with you next, ma’am,” Dixie said, then headed back to the bar.

If Jud was startled to see The Kid requesting Star’s services, he did his best not to let it show. “Much obliged for the drink,” he said. “That card game damn near cleaned me out.”

“Pleasure’s mine,” The Kid replied. “How’d you like to make five dollars?”

This time, Jud didn’t bother to conceal his surprise. The Kid continued. “I’m the Tequila Kid, a special agent for the Texas Rangers. I need some help, if you’re willin’ to give it.”

Jud broke into a grin. “There you go. When I saw you with the sheriff, somethin’ told me you was The Kid. You’re the one who brung down that crazy murderin’ woman Jess Sinclair. Well, I’m right pleased to share a drink with you. Speakin’ of which…” Dixie was approaching, bearing a tray with their drinks, which she set before The Kid and Jud before quietly retreating. They both drank, then Jud said, “How can I be of help, ma‘am?”

The Kid leaned in, speaking quietly. “At some point tonight, Sheriff Clay is gonna go see this here banker Tyson Avidite, or ride on out of town, maybe both. You know where the banker lives?”

Jud nodded. “In a big house on the nice side of town.”

The Kid said, “Keep an eye on that house. When Clay shows up, come back here and let me know. I reckon you’ll also be able to see if he leaves town. Either way, let me know and I’ll give you the five dollars.”

Jud thought for a moment, then said, “Fair ‘nough. What if it’s late and you ain’t here?”

“Then come to the livery. I’m sleepin’ in the hayloft. You best leave now. He’ll probably be on the move before long.”

Pushing his chair back, Jud rose to put on his coat, then his hat, pausing to touch the brim. “Reckon I’ll be seein’ you later, then.” He made his way to the door, then departed into the night.

Dixie returned to The Kid’s table. “Anything else, ma’am?”

“Just a question,” The Kid said. “Who gave you them bruises?”

The blood seemed to drain from the girl’s face. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to speak, then the bartender, a strapping man at least six feet tall with a pockmarked face, yelled out, “DIXIE! Get a move on, you goddamned brat!”

The Kid saw the terrified look on Dixie’s face as the girl hastened back to the bar. She had the answer to her question when the bartender grabbed Dixie’s shoulders and shook her hard, followed by a hard smack to the back of the head.

The Kid maintained a perfectly calm exterior as she sipped her mescal, but inside she was livid with rage. Looks like this town treats its women bad as it does its horses.  Glancing at the bartender, she promised herself, Soon as I’m able, that girl’s leavin’ here with me. I almost hope that barkeep tries to stop me from takin’ her, too.

From behind, The Kid heard a woman’s voice. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Star. You paid ten dollars for me. I ain’t sure what you expect, but I’m game if you are. Come along.”

The Kid gulped down the rest of her mescal, chased it with the beer, then got to her feet. Draping the coat and slicker over her arm, she followed Star upstairs.

On to Chapter Three!