Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

Note from JetBoy: This nine-chapter novel is a sequel of sorts to “Tears of the Sun,” by Purple Les, which introduced her character The Tequila Kid, a young lesbian who works for the Texas Rangers. It’s not absolutely necessary to have read that one first, but doing so will enhance your appreciation of this story. Be warned, however, that there are some spoilers in the new story that give away plot developments of the older one.

***

Thanks to JetBoy.

More than just my editor (to me and so many others), but my sounding board as well. Even, I dare say, a friend. I love that he can suggest that naming a lawman in my story Marshall Tucker might not be a good choice, as it’s already the name of a rock band. Who knew? Well, JetBoy did. We’ve made each other look at, discuss, and learn the oddest things from the history of the West, and I love doing that. The give and take we’ve exchanged over many different points in each chapter makes for a better story, I hope. I know it’s making me a better writer.

by Purple Les

For PoppaBear

The Tequila Kid sat in the saddle, idly rolling a cigarette. Button, her Appaloosa mare, waited patiently, enjoying the shade cast by the row of cottonwood trees where they’d stopped to rest. In the shadows, the horse’s coloring — white, with dark spots — made her difficult to perceive through the dappled sunlight.

The Kid’s eyes were fixed farther down the hill, on the well-traveled road that led to Knuckle Ridge. At the very foot of the hill, another row of cottonwoods stood proudly on the other side of the road. It left a line of shade for a small stretch before the road was fully exposed to the heat of the mid-morning sun.

“Well, girl,” The Kid murmured as she patted the horse’s neck, “I reckon this is as close to a home as I got for now. My Ranger pay should be waitin’ at the bank for me, and we’ll live easy for a spell. You’ll be restin’ up to the livery stable while we’re in Knuckle Ridge. And I’ll be stayin’ with Ann.” The Kid finished with a smile as she flicked a match head alive with her thumbnail, lighting her smoke.

***

Ann was the name that most folks knew her by, but her full moniker was Andromeda Henrietta Purdy. Ann’s parents had been rather advanced in years when they married, and even older when their daughter was born.

Andromeda’s mother had been a nurse, her father an astronomer. They’d come from Philadelphia to the West, seeking clear skies. Knuckle Ridge was where they settled on their way to Wyoming.

Knuckle Ridge got its name from the four fair-sized hills, clumped together so tightly that they resembled the knuckles on a fist. The town was located some seventy or so miles southwest of Austin. The railroad line had a spur that ran from the main track into town. The train came into town once a week, every Friday afternoon at three o’clock, and left every Saturday morning at seven or eight, depending on the amount of livestock or crops that were taken on. The only other transportation in or out was by horseback, or a stagecoach line that came through twice daily.

It was a peaceful town by any standard, clean and prosperous, ideal for Easterners like Franklin and Abigail Purdy, with a hill for Franklin to set up a telescope, so he could study the stars.

The main reason they chose to stay, however, was that Abigail found herself three months pregnant during their journey, and Knuckle Ridge seemed like a fine spot to raise a child.

When the baby arrived, the child was so beautiful that Franklin could think of no better name for her than Andromeda, after the spiral galaxy that was, to him, the loveliest sight in the heavens. Henrietta was for the midwife who had delivered the baby.

Andromeda grew up happy, healthy and bright, a girl who devoured books nearly as fast as she could lay hands on them. Despite her considerable intelligence, she was down to earth in most ways and kind and helpful to her neighbors.

Now twenty-eight, her parents had been dead for seven years. She had known the Tequila Kid for two.

At twenty, Ann had established a library in Knuckle Ridge that she ran. At twenty-four, she took in a ten-year-old orphan boy named Freddie, who was now fourteen. A handsome and pleasant lad, he slept in a spare room at the library, and helped Ann to run it. Freddie also worked for Smitty S. Jones, who owned the town’s newspaper, The Knuckle Ridge Clarion, that came out every two weeks. Between these two enterprises, Freddie had become very literate, a voracious reader like Ann.

Andromeda lived alone in her parents’ house. Her main pastime was hunting out dinosaur bones and fossils. She sold these to museums and universities around the world. The study of dinosaurs was a rapidly growing discipline, and scientists everywhere were clamoring for their remains. Andromeda’s biggest buyer was Edward Drinker Cope, who was consistently pleased by the large variety of fossils, footprints, and bones that Andromeda unearthed and shipped to him.

Andromeda loved roaming the hills and flatlands around Knuckle Ridge, seeking out these ancient relics. That was how she’d met The Tequila Kid.

Ann had been unearthing a large dinosaur skull, whisking the dust from around the piece with a soft-bristled brush when The Kid happened to ride up. Engrossed in her work, she failed to notice the approach of The Kid, who paused to watch, fascinated by the sight of the huge skull.

When The Kid’s horse gently nickered, Andromeda glanced upward. “Oh, hello there! I didn’t hear you ride up,” she said to the stranger, shading her bright hazel eyes from the sun glaring down from behind the rider.

The Kid dismounted from her big bay horse Buttercup, then squatted by the hole, looking down at this auburn-haired woman of medium build and height. The woman’s shape was a pleasure for The Kid to behold, and she felt a familiar stirring between her legs.

“You see,” Andromeda explained, “I’m excavating this dinosaur bone and didn’t hear you approach.”

The Kid responded with, “What’s a dinosaur?”

“Well, it’s a sort of a giant lizard, I suppose you could say. They used to roam the earth in vast quantities.” Frowning slightly, Andromeda studied the skull before her. “This is from the early Permian period, I’m guessing. It’s a very long time ago,” she added, noticing the totally mystified look on the pretty young face looking down at her. Still gazing with interest into those sky blue eyes staring at her, Andromeda continued.  “You see, Texas used to be an ocean. It’s rich in fossilized sea life.”

“Shucks, now,” The Kid answered. “Miss, you might of been out in the sun too long.”

“If you don’t mind coming down here to help me, I could explain it to you better,” Andromeda was surprised to hear herself say.

The Kid slowly nodded. “All right. Just let me fix my horse over by yours, and I’ll be right down.”

While she tied up Buttercup near the other horse attached to a buckboard wagon, The Kid thought, She’s a real nice kind of pretty. Don’t understand what she’s talking about, but I sure do love listening to her. Can’t think of no better way to spend the rest of the day than in a hole with this gal.

Andromeda peered from the top of the hole, her interest growing as she watched this girl, who was dressed like a man and wearing guns.

The Kid walked back over and carefully climbed down into the hole with this equally fascinating woman. While Ann shared her knowledge, she had The Kid help her hoist up the gigantic skull and put it in her wagon.

After that, it seemed completely natural to bring The Kid home with her to clean up and join her for supper.  The Kid was only too happy to accept, and rode Buttercup behind Andromeda’s wagon back into town.

Andromeda had barely paused to draw breath since The Kid rode up on her horse. And though she understood next to nothing that Ann was talking about, The Kid was spellbound by the flood of information that spilled from her lovely looking mouth. Actually, everything about Ann was lovely. She had lengthy auburn hair and large almond-shaped hazel eyes, framed by long dark eyelashes. Her nose was straight and narrow.

The Kid loved Andromeda’s smile, with a slight overbite and a small gap between her two front teeth, a tiny flaw that accented the rest of the young woman‘s features. It made The Kid think of a cute bunny rabbit.

At five feet four, Ann was shorter than The Kid. Her figure was strong, yet soft, ample and feminine, with generous breasts and a shapely ass.

That night, as they finished eating, Ann looked across the candlelit table at the younger woman. “I must say, you are wonderful company… the time has simply flown by. I don’t even believe I got your name, we’ve been talking so much.”

The Kid couldn’t help but smile. So far, just about the only words she’d spoken had been hours ago. The last thing she remembered saying to Andromeda was, ‘Thanks for offerin’ me your hospitality, ma’am. I’ll follow you back to your place on Buttercup, here.’

The Kid extended her hand and said, “I’m the Tequila Kid. My friends just call me Kid.”

Ann took the firm hand in her smaller one and said, “I’m Andromeda Purdy. My friends just call me Ann.” They both smiled and their eyes locked.

The Kid said, “I’m right pleased to meet you, Ann.” Neither woman released the other’s hand.

Still holding Ann’s hand, The Kid said, “I reckon I best find me a place to spend the night. Thanks for learnin’ me so much ‘bout those dinosaurs of yours.”

Ann gripped The Kid’s hand harder at the thought of her new friend leaving. “Why, I can’t let you wander into the night like that! You will spend the night here, most certainly.”

The Kid leaned toward Ann. “I don’t want to put you out none.” Their gaze remained unbroken.

“I have a very large bed,” Ann stated. “We could continue our conversation there.”

“Well, I reckon I’d like that just fine,” The Kid answered, smiling.

Moments later, The Kid followed Ann up the stairs to her bedroom.

“I have a nightgown you could borrow,” Ann suggested as she lit the oil lamp on her dresser.

“To be honest, if you don’t mind, I prefer to sleep with nothin’ on,” The Kid said.

Ann smiled. “I like to sleep nude on nights like this myself.”

“You mean warm nights?” The Kid asked, “Or nights when you got a girl to share your bed with?”

“I am almost ten years older than you, Kid,” Ann said, suddenly feeling shy. “I feel that I might be taking advantage of you here.”

The Kid began to undress. “I been with gals from age fifty-seven to seven. You can take as much advantage of me as you want, Ann.”

They both removed the last of their clothing and looked each other up and down. They moved closer, then gently kissed, pressing their naked bodies together as their hands began to explore.

Ann timidly asked, “You’ve really made love to a seven-year-old girl?”

Gently placing a hand on Ann’s sex, The Kid felt how wet her new partner was. “You like younger women? Around my age… or less, even?”

Ann let out a soft moan, nodding her head.

“Let’s lay down and talk about it,” The Kid suggested.

Talk they did, and much else besides. The Kid had more stories to share about her experiences with other females than Ann did. But Ann’s knowledge of lesbian lovemaking kept The Kid spellbound.

The two women, seemingly so different on the surface, became fast friends. They also became lovers. The Kid soon came to think of Knuckle Ridge as her home base. Though she’d cover the length and breadth of the territory for the Texas Rangers, Knuckle Ridge is where she always returned, at least until she was off again on another assignment. Ann was the reason she always came back.

Ann was happy with where she was and what she did. It didn’t bother her that The Kid was so often away on some mission for the law, as she always did return. Andromeda often felt as though The Kid had just left before she was back again, though the time in between was sometimes weeks or months.

Andromeda was like her late father, so caught up in her work that nearly everything else was just a distraction from her archeology and library. Still, she adored The Kid, and showered the young woman with love and passion whenever she was around.

***

“It’s only about ten miles to town, Button,” The Kid told her horse as she broke apart the butt of her smoked down cigarette. “We’ll have us a nice slow ride in. I’ll get you settled at the livery. Then I’ll get me a bath. I’ll put on some fresh duds and head over to Ann’s.

“You’ll like Ann. She’s sweet on horses. She’s got one that pulls her wagon, called Pegasus. Named after a flying horse, if that don’t beat all.”

The Kid’s thoughts were broken by a fast moving cloud of dust.

“Huh. The stage is sure comin’ in faster than normal,” The Kid mumbled, more to herself than to Button.

As the stagecoach came closer on the road below them, The Kid was alarmed to see that there was no driver. The team of horses pulling the stage was running wild!

Springing into action, she kicked her heels into Button’s haunches and yelled, “Hyah!”

The Kid had Button at full gallop down the hill at an angle, headed for the road. The horse had her neck stretched out in front, her black mane and tail flying out straight behind as she galloped fiercely.

Button hit the road twenty yards behind the speeding stagecoach, the mare’s hooves more off the ground than on as she thundered through the clouds of dust cast up by the horses and stagecoach ahead of her.

The Kid’s heart sank as she realized that in moments, the horses would be running off the road and into a strip of grass that lay mere feet before a steep drop off on the hill. Even if the horses managed to turn aside in time, the stage could go flying over the edge, pulling the horses down with it.

The Kid leaned forward, put a hand to her Appaloosa’s neck and urged, “Go, girl, go!”

Button’s response was to turn her ears back, thrust her nose out even further, and pick up speed. Soon, they began to gain on the stagecoach. When Button pulled even with the stage, The Kid looked over and saw passengers through the windows, holding each other tightly and screaming in terror.

Whipping the reins from side to side on Button’s shoulders, The Kid pulled up even to the team of horses, holding Button steady with the lead horse on the right.

They were all off the road now, hurtling forward through the grass. The stage bounced on the rough turf, threatening to flip over with each jolt. First the wheels on one side were off the ground, then the other. Them folks inside must be gettin’ shook up like dice in a cup, The Kid thought.

She urged Button on, and the Appaloosa gave her heart to the task, stretching her long legs almost straight out ahead. She managed to get just a little ahead of the lead horses, and The Kid kept her there.

With hooves thundering, The Kid could just see the edge of the cliff as she held onto the reins and saddle horn with one hand, easing her feet out of the stirrups. Slowly she got into a crouch, resting her free hand on the back of the saddle, then leapt off into space.

With legs spread and arms extended, her heart in her throat, The Kid just managed to land on the rump of the front lead horse. Frantically pulling herself forward, she fought to secure her position on the horse, snatching at the reins, then gripping them tightly.

She reached over to grab the reins of the other lead horse, nearly losing her balance and falling in the process — but somehow, she managed to hang on.

The Kid jerked hard at the reins as she urged the horse she sat on to slow down. “Whoa now, girl, whoa now.”

The team came to a slow stop and shook their heads with nostrils flaring, pawing the ground near the edge of the drop off. The Kid dismounted, calming the horses by talking softly and patting them. She slowly led the team back up to the road. As the wheels of the stagecoach turned, they sent chunks of turf and small rocks over the edge of the cliff before getting back onto solid ground.

When they reached the road, The Kid clambered up on the stage box and put the brake on. As she did, a groan came from the floor.

The Kid looked down and saw a large man in his twenties, a man she knew. Her face went white as she saw the gaping wound in his chest.

“Hey there, Bob,” The Kid murmured, kneeling by the man’s side. Though her heart was pounding wildly, she kept her voice low and soothing, hoping to keep him calm. “Get into a little scrape, did you?” Glancing around, she saw that Bob was alone. “Where’s Roy at?”

Bob coughed up some blood before saying, “Roy… Roy g-got his head shot off a ways back.”

The Kid winced. Shit. “You rest easy for a minute there, Bob. I won’t go far.”

Jumping down from the box, The Kid took hold of the stage door. The rough ride had caused it to stick, but she braced a boot against the side of the coach and yanked it open, the door pulling from the buckled frame with a splintering sound. The shaken passengers slowly began to emerge, and The Kid helped them down one by one. There was an elegantly-dressed lady, followed by a modestly dressed woman, a man in a fancy suit, and lastly a girl, about eleven or so.

“If you folks is all right, I got to take care of the driver up there. Mister, could you help me get him down?”

The man nodded brusquely. He was around thirty years old and looked like some kind of dandy, though the wild ride he’d just been on had taken a good bit of the starch out of his collar. He was taller than The Kid’s five feet nine inches and seemed to be very fit.

Climbing up to the stage box, the two of them managed to get Bob down to the ground without jostling him too much.

The Kid gave a sharp whistle, and Button came to her. Handing her canteen to the man, she said, “Give him some water. Just a few swallows, mind.” She rummaged in one of her saddle bags, taking out a few clean rags and her herb pouch.

“We need to be on our way,” the well-dressed woman demanded.

Slowly turning, The Kid looked her in the eye and murmured low, so the wounded man wouldn’t hear, “Fact is, we do. But these horses is lathered up and need to catch their breath. Meantime, I need to try to stop this leak in Bob’s chest. He’s apt to die otherwise.”

Everyone looked at the man on the ground, who was bleeding heavily, gasping for air.

“While I do that, why don’t you all take some water from that bag hanging there, and thank whoever you worship that you’re alive to do that much.” Turning back to Bob, The Kid brushed past the lady, giving her a slight nudge out of her way.

“Well now, I seen worse, Bob,” The Kid calmly lied as she hunkered down by the man. Taking hold of the  blood-drenched shirt, she carefully ripped it away.

The well-dressed man turned away with a sickened look on his face as he saw the gaping hole in Bob’s chest.

The Kid sprinkled some herbs on the wound, put a rag over the hole, then wrapped the other rags around Bob’s chest. The bullet hadn’t gone through him, even though it had been fired at close range. The Kid put a different herb in Bob’s mouth and gave him some more water to wash it down.

The Kid and the dandy, the girl and the modestly dressed woman got Bob on to the floor of the stagecoach. The woman knelt on the floor and cradled Bob’s head in her lap, trying to comfort him. Taking a handkerchief from the pocket of her plain gingham dress, she mopped the sweat from the wounded man’s face.

Stepping out of the stage, The Kid said, “We’ll head into Knuckle Ridge now.”

Still standing on the ground the little girl looked sick to her stomach. She looked up at The Kid. “Please, Miss. May I ride up t-top with you? I…” She fell silent, unable to say more.

“Why, sure you can, little missy.” The Kid knew full well that this child shouldn’t be riding with a dying man.

The elegantly-dressed lady swept into the coach without a word. The man in the fancy suit followed, pausing to give The Kid a shaky bow.

The Kid closed the stage door, then lifted the girl up to the box. Reaching for Button’s reins, The Kid tied her horse to the back of the stage, then climbed up to join the girl. She took the brake off, then urged the horses forward, guiding them down the road at a safe but moderate pace.

The Kid glanced at the girl next to her. The child’s face was pale, no doubt in shock from what had happened, but she would have been fair anyway. She had soft blue eyes and dark hair and eyebrows. The girl’s long eyelashes were wet from the tears she’d shed.

She was dressed in what looked like black servant’s clothes with a matching bonnet on her head. Her face was narrow but pretty with high cheekbones and full red lips. A sprinkle of freckles across her small upturned nose offset the girl’s sorrowful expression.

“I’m the Tequila Kid. What’s your handle, pardner?”

The girl looked confused for a moment, then answered, “M-my name’s Gracie.”

Trying not to be rude, she kept stealing glances at The Kid, who was like no one she’d ever met before — a tall woman dressed like a man, packing a pair of six-shooters. Gracie decided that The Kid was pretty, with rusty red hair braided on both sides, bright blue eyes and a pleasant face. She wasn’t sure about the dark blue lines on and around the woman’s chin, though.

The Kid studied this pretty young girl with interest. “Pardon me for sayin’ so, Gracie, but you don’t sound like you’re from these parts.”

“No, Miss, I’m not.”

The Kid remained silent for a moment, then said, “Can you tell me anything ‘bout what happened?”

“Um… two men with their faces all c-covered rode up to the carriage and made it stop. They…” The child struggled with the words. “They shot both men on top… then d-dropped a metal box down from up there. I suppose they took that with them. Then something happened — I don’t know what it was, just that the, the horses, they started to run wild.” The young girl shivered. “I was t-terrified.”

“Mm.” The Kid clenched her jaw, trying to conceal her anger.

“But you saved our lives,” Gracie said. With a strained smile, she added, “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Kid.”

The Kid noticed that the girl’s hands were shaking. Holding the reins with one hand, she gave Gracie’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then took the reins in both hands again.

They rode in silence for a while, until Gracie said, “We’re from Great Britain.”

“England, that is? Why, that’s a pretty far piece you traveled. You all from there, or just you and your ma?”

“I am the maid for Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton.” She stared down at her quivering hands, her voice low. “I have no parents or family. I serve my lady.”

“She the one dressed to the nines, told me to get a move on?”

“Yes, Miss Kid.”

“You know any of them others?”

“The gentleman is Count Cousiourac. He is French, and traveling with my lady. The other woman’s name is Molly, um… Molly Hardy, that’s it. She comes from Oklahoma.”

“What’s it mean, you’re the lady’s maid?”

“I take care of my lady’s needs, Miss. I look after her clothes and belongings. Serve her tea, take care of her baggage, do whatever she needs to have done.”

“Don’t seem like that leaves you much time for bein’ a little girl.”

Gracie frowned. “I am thirteen, not a little girl.”

The Kid took her eyes from the road to study her passenger. “You look more like ten to me.”

Gracie looked at The Kid, then back at the road. With a sigh, she said, “I will be twelve years old in four months.”

They rode on in silence. Soon The Kid saw Knuckle Ridge up ahead, and slowed the stage down as they reached the edge of the town. Bringing the horses to a stop in front of the doctor’s house, The Kid got the attention of some men standing nearby. “Give us a hand?” she called. “Got a man here who’s been shot.”

One of the men ran for the sheriff, while the others carefully unloaded Bob and carried him inside. Doctor Jed Johnson was out delivering a baby, but his wife and nurse Alice was there. She had them put Bob on the operating table and began to study his wound, then carefully cleaned it.

After making the patient as comfortable as she was able, Alice Johnson began to arrange the instruments so that her husband could extract the bullet as soon as he returned. One of the bystanders had gone to fetch him back.

Having done what she could for Bob, The Kid took the passengers and stage to the middle of town, where the coach station was. Sheriff Gus Masters was waiting for it. He helped the passengers out.

Uncertain what to do next, the passengers stood before the five-foot, six-inch Sheriff Masters. Clean-shaven and wearing a black suit and hat, his badge was visible on his shirt, a six-gun riding on his right hip. Aged thirty-eight, he’d been the law in Knuckle Ridge for twenty years. Though not much more than a boy when he first took the badge, Masters had proven himself time and again as a man to be reckoned with.

“Folks,” Sheriff Masters began, his almost black eyes looking each passenger up and down carefully as he spoke, “I’ll need to ask all of you some questions. First, though, I need to see the wounded man. Please settle yourselves in, and I’ll be back to talk to each of you directly.”

Sheriff Masters gave a nod to The Kid, then set out for the doctor’s house.

“The hotel is where?” Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton demanded, looking at no one.

“It’s over yonder,” The Kid said, pointing.

“Let’s go check in, Count Cousiourac,” Lady Jane said, before turning to the girl. “Gracie! Gather our baggage and bring it to the hotel. And don’t dawdle — I’ll need a change of clothes right away.”

“Yes, my lady,” Gracie said with a bow of her head and a small curtsy. The man and woman walked toward the hotel, and a large heavy set gray-haired man came barrelling out of the coach office.

“Kid! What the hell happened?”

“Easy there, Jack. There’s a woman and a girl here.”

“I beg your pardon, ladies,” Jack said, embarrassed, and bowed briefly to them. He then seized The Kid by the arm and walked her a few steps away.

Jack looked back for a moment and then, lowering his voice said, “Now tell me, damn it. What the hell happened?”

The Kid put her hand on Jack’s shoulder. “A holdup, I reckon. The stage was runnin’ wild, but I managed to stop it. Bob’s got a bad chest shot. He’s at the doc’s now with Masters. Bob told me Roy’s dead — got headshot and left behind. Looks like the bandits got away with the strongbox. The child says two men did the deed. I don’t know nothin’ else yet.”

Jack’s always red face went pale for a few moments. “Damnation! This is bad, Kid. Very bad.” Then his face turned even redder than normal.

Jack and The Kid turned as the young girl came up to them. “Begging your pardon, please, Miss Kid,” Gracie said as she bowed, then gave a brief curtsy. “My lady is wanting her luggage.”

“Sure, Gracie. I’ll get it down for you.” The Kid smiled at the girl, then looked at Jack. “Best have Freddie take care of the horses. I reckon you’ll want to see Bob while you can.”

“Thanks Kid. I’ll see you later.”

The Kid led Gracie back to the stagecoach, a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Climbing up on top of the wagon, she untied the baggage, then looked down. “Which bags is yours?”

The woman in the plain gingham dress spoke up. “Thank you kindly for your help, stranger. That carpetbag with the flowers is mine. That trunk belongs to the man. Everything else is the woman’s, I believe.”

Handing down the faded carpetbag, The Kid tipped the brim of her Stetson hat when the woman thanked her again.

The Kid lowered the heavy trunk far as she could, then let it fall to the ground with a thud. Then she dropped down the other half dozen pieces of luggage. As she climbed back down, Freddie came running up.

“Trouble, huh, Kid?” the red-headed orphan asked excitedly.

“Bad trouble, Freddie,” The Kid answered. “Can you take care of the horses? Curry ‘em and give ‘em some grain and water.”

“Sure thing, Kid,” Freddie answered as he began to unhitch the team.

“I’m Molly Hardy,” the woman said, “Thank you once more for everything. I was afraid we’d…” the woman’s voice suddenly choked off, then she regained her composure. “Might you know a good place to stay here?”

The Kid rubbed her tattooed chin for a moment as she looked at Molly. She saw a clean, modestly dressed woman about twenty-five years of age. Under her bonnet was chestnut brown hair. Her figure was average, a little on the lean side and she was maybe five foot five inches with brown eyes. Her face was unremarkable except for a small beauty mark by her lip. Not plain, not pretty, but easy to look at.

“Well, now,” The Kid began, “The Ridge Hotel is very good, but kinda pricey. There’s the Smith House, it’s cheap, but gets pretty loud and rough at times. I reckon if you’re watchin’ your budget and want to be around nice folks, your best bet is Donna Wilson’s boardin’ house, down that away.” She pointed down the street.

“Thank you, Miss… I don’t believe I got your name,” Molly said as she extended her hand.

The Kid took the hand in hers and said, “I’m the Tequila Kid. I reckon I can tell the sheriff that he can find you at the boardin’ house?”

“Yes, you can.”

“Need someone to help you with that bag?”

“No, thank you.” And with those words, Molly Hardy walked away.

The Kid turned to see Gracie trying to gather up all of Lady Wyeth-Boton’s baggage. The Kid picked up most of the suitcases while the girl struggled with the rest, and they walked together to the Ridge Hotel.

Pushing the lobby door open, The Kid held it for Gracie, who just managed to get the bags indoors before she dropped them where she stood, falling down on the largest one, where she lay catching her breath.

Setting down the rest of the suitcases, The Kid walked up to the front desk where a small dark-haired mustached man sat. “Howdy, Ed. There’s a trunk over to the stage office that needs to be fetched over for that Count fella who just signed in.”

“Hello, Kid. I’ve already got a boy haulin’ it over now.”

“All this stuff is for that Lady Jane gal. What room’s she in?”

“She’s in the adjoining suite to the Count’s. I’ll have it all brought up to her.”

The Kid nodded, then turned to Gracie saying, “I’ll be seein’ you,” as she helped the little girl to her feet.

Stepping into the street, The Kid saw the sheriff approaching. They met on the boardwalk and The Kid asked, “Get anything from Bob?”

Masters shook his head glumly. “Nothin’ at all, he’s out cold. The doc is back and workin’ on him. There’s a couple hours of daylight left, how’d you feel about ridin’ out there with me to find Roy?”

“Sure, if you got a fresh horse I could ride.”

As they walked to the livery stable together, The Kid told Sheriff Masters what she could. Button followed along behind, The Kid holding her reins.

The Kid gave the old stable hand Mac instructions to brush and curry her horse, and give her oats and water. Taking her gear off Button, she put it on one of the Sheriff’s horses. With that, the two of them rode out of town together,  Masters holding the reins of a third horse to carry Roy’s body back.

They came to where The Kid had stopped the stage, then rode on another mile and a half until they found Roy’s corpse. The Kid studied the scene carefully, then they wrapped Roy’s remains in canvas and draped him over the horse.

“What d’ye think, Kid?” Masters asked as he studied the tracks left behind.

“Well, lookin’ as hard as I can, I only see there was one outlaw on horseback. But the girl and that Hardy woman said there was two of ‘em.” The Kid walked around, carefully observing the scene, trying to work out what had taken place there. “Listen, Gus, I’m gonna study on this in my head overnight,” she finally told Sheriff Masters, suspecting that she already knew the answer.

It was twilight when Masters and The Kid came riding back into town with Roy’s body. Along the way, they’d found the empty strongbox, but nothing else. The most puzzling thing was how the horse tracks of the outlaw led straight back to town.

They left Roy’s body at the doctor’s to see if he could add anything to what they knew. Doc Johnson told them that Bob was still hanging on, but there was a good chance he wouldn’t make it through the night.

After putting up their horses at the stable, Masters took The Kid to the Broken Horn saloon. They sat at a quiet corner table and ordered shots of whiskey.

“I reckon it’s kind of smart in a way, him ridin’ into town. His tracks got lost here with all the others. But then we know he’s here somewheres. Think we can find him, Gus?”

“Damn if I know, Kid.” Gus Masters answered, then downed his shot, staring at the empty glass. “Lots of strangers in town this week lookin’ for work, what with the cattle drive comin’ up. Reckon I’ll start prowlin’ the bars tonight, then talk to the passengers in the morning. It’s a little late to bother ‘em now. Care to join me?”

“Well, now, I’ll pass on the bars, but I’d like to speak with the passengers too. See you for breakfast?”

“Sure,” Masters answered. They walked out onto the street, then exchanged brief goodbyes.

Feeling too tired for a bath or a meal, The Kid walked to the livery stable to check on Button and pick up her saddlebags, bedroll and rifle. She took a moment to beat as much of the caked-on trail dust off herself with her hat as she could, then set off toward the outskirts of town. Ten minutes later, she came to a small two-story house. Trying as the day had been, her mood lifted at the familiar sight. There was still a light on, and The Kid knocked on the back door.

“Come in, it’s open,” The Kid heard Andromeda Purdy’s silver voice call out.

The Kid walked in and smiled at Ann, who was facing away from her, writing in a ledger at the kitchen table. As usual, the table was cluttered with small bones and rocks, most of them tagged. Without raising her head, Ann held up an index finger and said, “Just a moment, please.”

With a flourish of her pencil, Ann turned around. Seeing The Kid, she jumped from her chair and rushed into her lover’s arms, where they hugged for a long, lovely while.

“Come sit down, Kid. My oh my, I’m so happy you’re back.” They sat on the sofa in the parlor and Ann said, “I heard you were in town. I understand you’ve been very busy today. You know I went to the stable to bring dear Buttercup an apple, as I always do… and they told me you came in on another horse.” She looked questioningly at The Kid.

“I reckon I got a lot to tell you,” The Kid replied, dreading telling Ann the news she had about Buttercup, and all that went with it. Her horse had broken a leg while she’d been pursuing outlaws, and The Kid had been forced to put the animal out of her misery.

The Kid’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she began to sob against Ann’s shoulder. Her Stetson hat slipped off and fell to the floor.

Ann saw that The Kid’s hair was now parted on the side instead of the middle. In the new part Ann saw a nasty looking scar.

As The Kid sobbed Ann looked at the scar, and realized what must have happened to Buttercup. She softly said, “Oh, dear.”

Holding The Kid tightly in her arms, Andromeda began to weep, too.

On to Chapter Two!Knuckle Ridge, Chapter 2

by Karin Halle

Life just isn’t fair, I thought.

Of course, death is even worse.

I arrived home from work a little earlier than usual, calling out to let my fourteen-year-old daughter know I was there. As it was only the two of us, I was trying to spend as much time with her as possible, having cut my work schedule down to only half days.

It was the middle of the afternoon, but Larissa no longer attended school; doing so would have been pointless. For a while, we tried to pretend that everything was normal, but that simply didn’t work, despite everyone’s best efforts.

The cold, hard truth was that my daughter’s diagnosis meant that ‘normal’ was no longer a possibility.

A few months earlier, Larissa had fainted several times at school, and our family doctor referred us to a neurologist. The neurologist had Larissa come in for some scans, which revealed that she had a brain tumor. Then the news got even worse: inoperable, terminal, six or so months at most.

At first, I tried to convince myself that the doctors had got it wrong, all of them. But they hadn’t.

There had been no way to hide it from her friends, who were all anxious to know that she was okay, and were all gutted when they were told that she was anything but. And the school had to be informed as well; the staff needed to know about the health issues of students, especially one who could blackout at any time.

After intense discussion, it was decided that Larissa should be excused from attending school on medical grounds. She didn’t need the stress of studying, which might even worsen her condition. So she turned in her textbooks, cleaned out her locker, and came home for good.

At first, my daughter’s friends made a point of stopping in to see her, but that soon became awkward for everyone. Larissa quickly realised that she had no interest in sharing gossip about which boy was trying to chat up so-and-so, or in hearing the latest stupid utterance from some teacher that had the entire class in stitches. So her friends found it hard to talk to her, and their visits became less frequent. Not wanting to leave Larissa completely isolated, they began to keep in touch through tweets and emails, and Larissa could decide for herself how to respond to those.

After greeting my daughter, I changed out of my office clothes and put on something comfortable, then went to Larissa’s room to ask her about her day – how she was feeling; what she’d been doing. She was, as usual, sitting at her desk, a paperback propped up in front of her.

“How are you, sweetie?”

“I didn’t sleep too well. Actually, I didn’t sleep much at all.”

“Oh, Larissa,” I exclaimed and knelt beside my daughter, wrapping both arms around her. “Were you in pain? Were you worried or anything? Was it…”

“No… nothing like that, Mum,” Larissa interrupted. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

That hardly eased my concern. “Are you sure? You have to tell me. Do you need me to call Dr. Chapman? He said to call him if you deteriorated at all.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “Mum, I haven’t deteriorated. I just had a bad night.”

“You know what you were told: report any change in your condition. You can’t take any chances!”

“It’s nothing to do with my condition. And it wouldn’t make any difference anyway! You know that.”

“No!” I exclaimed. “Don’t talk that way!” My desperation was evident.

“Mum, it’s true! You know nothing will make a difference! Nothing at all!” she replied with a ferocity that caused me to sob.

Larissa was immediately sorry for her sharp response. She knew I was only worried, devastated with frustration that nothing I could do would help my daughter.

The diagnosis was the worst possible. We’d been given the ghastly news that Larissa would not survive through the end of the year. And it was already April. Her birthday had been in March, and there would not be another. Several specialists had been consulted, and all had concurred. There was no cure, not even a treatment.

“Mum, I’m sorry,” she said. “I know how you feel.”

“It’s not how I feel. It’s how you feel. You’re the one who’s sick.” I took a breath and a moment to compose myself. “I don’t know how you can be so calm about this. It’s horrible.”

She gave a sad shrug. “Guess I’m just resigned to it.”

The mood was somber for a few minutes, then we recomposed ourselves and had our usual chat about nothing much.

Then she took a deep breath. “Mum, I’ve been thinking,” she began, her tone surprisingly casual. I made an ‘uh-huh’ sound to encourage her to continue, then she blurted out in a single breath, “I want to have sex before I die!”

“What?”

Perhaps thinking that I hadn’t heard properly, she said, “Mum, I want to know what it’s like to have sex. While I still can.”

Of course, I’d heard her; I most certainly had heard her! I was just having difficulty processing it. My first reply was, “Oh, no, no. You’re way too young to think about things like that. You’re only fourteen!”

“And I’m not going to get to fifteen!”

“Don’t say that! Don’t even think it! They’re making breakthroughs every day,” I pointed out, all the while knowing that the odds weren’t at all in my daughter’s favour.

She already understood that, of course. “Yeah, sure… but there’s practically no chance that any of those breakthroughs will help me, not in the time I have left.”

For a moment I’d forgotten about how this talk had begun; I was far more involved in boosting my little girl’s confidence. “There’s always hope! Never give up hoping… for a miracle, if that’s what it takes.”

“And that’s all there is. Hope for a miracle. Lots of people hope for miracles; most of ‘em don’t get one.” She paused for a moment, then added, “That’s why I want to have sex – in case there’s no miracle.”

Back to that again. And I was still struggling with the whole idea of it. “You’re only fourteen,” I repeated. “That’s under the age of consent. You have to be sixteen! You aren’t old enough!”

Larissa’s voice was filled with despair. “I’m never going to be old enough! And I’ve never even kissed a boy… or a girl! I won’t ever get to finish school, or go to uni, or get a job! I won’t get to fall in love; I won’t get married and have a family… I – I won’t get to do anything.” Her passion must have all been used up, because her next words were spoken in the saddest tone I’ve ever heard her use. “It’s just… I don’t want to die without knowing what it’s like to – to have sex. Real sex.”

I was surprised by Larissa’s offhand suggestion that she was thinking about both girls and boys as potential love partners, but kept that to myself. After all, I’d fooled around with girls a time or two when I was around her age. Instead, I voiced a different objection that came to mind. “Look, sweetheart, sex isn’t just a physical thing; I mean, there’s pleasure in it, but it’s ever so much better when you’re with someone you truly love.”

“Well, that’s no help,” she said, falling into a sulk. “Nobody loves me.”

“That’s not true! I love you,” I said – completely missing the point, but this crazy notion of Larissa’s had me fumbling for whatever I could think of to talk her out of it. “And – and your friends, they love you….”

“Big deal,” she said, frowning. “All I know is, I want to have sex, to see for myself what it’s like. Some of the girls at school have done it. And they said it was great, and I want to have that experience.”

“Some of them are probably lying, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess. But not all of them. And it does feel good, doesn’t it?”

I sighed, knowing I had to be honest. “Yes, dear. It does. Or at least, it should. But the first time can hurt, too. You know, when you – um, you know…”

When I proved incapable of completing the sentence, Larissa did it for me. “When you lose your cherry.”

“Larissa!”

“Okay, okay. When your – when your hymen gets broken, then.”

I felt my face flush. I wasn’t used to discussing these kinds of things with her! “You know, lots of boys aren’t very good at sex to start with. Until they get more experience, I mean. They just want to satisfy themselves, and don’t think about the girl at all. And just who do you want to have sex with, anyway? Someone you know at school? A teacher, or one of the neighbours?”

She pondered it over for a moment, then said, “Well, I’m friends with a couple of girls who are gay… maybe one of them would, um, be with me. There’s a couple of boys who might like to. Or I could ask some girl I know if she’d let me borrow her boyfriend. I – I don’t know, I haven’t thought about that part yet, just that I want to!”

By then, I was getting frustrated. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what to tell you! Am I supposed to help you with this? Advertise in the Help Wanted column? Oh, I can just imagine that: ‘Wanted – nice guy or cute girl to deflower a fourteen-year-old virgin. Forward resume and references, etc, etc.’ Is that what you had in mind? And since when are you attracted to girls, anyhow?”

“I don’t know, I just am! Why are you getting mad at me?”

Good sense told me to calm down, to discuss this rationally with my daughter. But my emotions were running rampant. “I can’t deal with this!” I cried. “I’ve got too much to handle already, coping with your condition. Now you want me to, to pimp for you? Help you get laid? Is that what you fucking want?”

It was at that point that I realised what hateful things I was saying to my little girl. I fell silent, frozen to the spot, and numb with horror.

Larissa’s bottom lip was trembling, and her eyes were filled with tears. One had already started to roll down her cheek.

But it was the look in my daughter’s eyes that cut me to the quick… as if she’d been left alone on a desert island, and was watching the boat slowly sail away.

Bursting into sobs of my own, I fell on my knees before Larissa and hugged her tightly. Between gasps, I tried to undo the damage I’d done.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, sweetheart, so sorry… I didn’t mean that – it’s not how I really feel – I’m just so frustrated, don’t know what to do. My little girl is sick and I can’t make her better… Listen, sweetie – I don’t know how, but I’ll try to think of some way to get you what you want. I love you so much, Larissa…. You’re everything to me.”

“I love you too, Mum,” Larissa echoed. Then she said it again, in a slightly different tone. “I love you, too.”

Gently breaking free from our embrace, she gazed at me. The look in her eyes… it was as if she was peering into my soul.

Then Larissa leaned forward and kissed me. On the mouth. Only for a moment, but she allowed it to linger.

For a few heartbeats, we stared at each other. My heart was racing as I began to understand what my daughter was thinking. What she wanted from her mother.

“Mom?” she murmured shyly, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe… maybe you could help me…?”

“Oh, no! NO!” I exclaimed, but Larissa wasn’t listening.

My mouth wasn’t listening either.

I still can’t figure out how it happened, but suddenly my daughter and I were kissing again, this time for longer, and with greater passion. Maybe she’d never kissed anyone in a romantic way, but her enthusiasm made up for lack of experience. This time her tongue was exploring my mouth, seeking my tongue… and I was helpless to do anything but respond.

I returned my daughter’s kiss. She was sighing into my mouth, wrapping both arms around me.

Larissa told me that she wanted to have sex before she died, but in fact, she wanted it right then! And I wanted it too.

By then, my mind had managed to get into first gear and was telling me just how wrong this was… and as the grownup, I should’ve been the one to put a stop to it. But at that moment, it was harder to refuse my child’s final wish than it was to give in, let her have this experience she so desperately longed for.

Besides, Larissa’s body felt so good in my arms; her kisses tasted divine. And I had gone for much too long without a lover. In fact, I hadn’t been with a girl since my days at university. I was struggling with feelings I’d not had in quite a long time… and very much wanting to feel them again.

I was rationalising my behaviour, trying to justify making love to Larissa. I’m helping out my daughter, my mind was saying, trying to shift into reverse. This makes her happy. Honestly, where’s the harm? Why can’t a mother do this for her child?

All kinds of stuff like that whirled through my head – and all of it serving only as an excuse for my failure to put an end to this nonsense.

This improper, immoral, illegal nonsense.

And my conscience failed me. All my resistance evaporated. Consequences be damned, I was going to make love to my own daughter.

Because she didn’t know how to proceed, I took the initiative. I reached up to carefully place a hand on Larissa’s breast.

“What are you doing, Mum?” Larissa asked, but made no attempt to stop me. In fact, she leaned back slightly, resting against the back of her chair.

“I… I’m just doing what I can to make you feel better. Do you like it when I do this?”

“Yes, Mummy, it’s lovely,” Larissa sighed, closing her eyes and tilting her head back. I noticed the way she addressed me as ‘Mummy’. It had been a long time since she’d spoken that word – I suppose she considered it too childish for a teenager to use. My heart melted, and I grew even more convinced that this was the right thing to do for my poor sick daughter.

I also noticed that Larissa hadn’t looked so content, so relaxed in weeks – not since we got the awful news of her diagnosis.

Rising, I took my daughter’s hand. “Come.” I led the way to her bed, where we lay down together. Looking into Larissa’s eyes, I saw only love, not a trace of concern or fear.

That encouraged me to continue, so I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, then began to caress Larissa’s breasts through the t-shirt she liked to wear around the house. Even covered by a layer of cotton, I felt the nipple respond, growing firm to my touch. With a blissful sigh, Larissa arched her back like a stretching cat, and I lightly pinched the swollen tip of her breast.

All of a sudden, I was no longer satisfied with touching my daughter through her clothes. I wanted to feel her bare skin!

I had to be careful, though — the last thing I wanted was to frighten my poor child. So I said, “If you like, I could probably touch you under your shirt. That is if you want me to.”

It was something of a shock, the realization of what I was asking Larissa to allow me to do. Not in a million years could I have imagined loving my daughter like this, not even a few minutes ago. But I was only giving my girl a little pleasure when she needed it so badly… wasn’t that what a mother should do?

“Okay, Mom,” Larissa whispered.

Reaching down to the hem of her long t-shirt, I slowly drew it up over Larissa’s hips, revealing her baby blue panties along the way, until her belly was exposed. I placed my hand there, marvelling at the softness of her skin. Well aware of the line I was crossing, I allowed that hand to slip beneath the shirt and move upward, until I was touching her bare breast. Larissa was a slender, willowy girl, and only bothered to wear a bra on the rare occasions when she went out.

The mound was warm and supple, and her nipple responded unmistakably when my fingers brushed it. I reached over to give the other breast some attention, with the same satisfying result.

“Is this good, sweetheart?”

The reply was a tiny nod of the head; barely visible, but certain.

I began to caress my daughter’s body in a large circle, my hand making an arc from her chest to her navel. When Larissa shifted herself, trying to move her body up toward the head of the bed, I enlarged the circle my hand was tracing, until it reached the waistband of her panties.

After only a few circuits, Larissa spoke a single word: “Please.” I increased the circle further still, my fingers dipping under the waistband each time around.

She looked up at me. “Would it be okay if I, um, take them off?”

“I’ll do it,” I told her. “Just lift up a bit.”

Larissa raised her hips up from the bed, and I took hold of her panties and slowly worked them down to her ankles. She lowered herself, and I slipped them over her feet and off. They were warm and slightly damp, and I felt a crazy impulse to press her underwear against my face, to savor her scent.

I didn’t, though. Instead, I said, “Why don’t you take your shirt off too? It’s not cold in here.”

“No, it’s not,” Larissa replied with a smile. “In fact, I’m feeling kinda warm.” Sitting up she shucked the t-shirt and lay back down, now completely naked.

Of course I’d seen my daughter in the nude before, even after she’d begun to develop – but those had been innocent glimpses, like when I had to use the toilet while she was in the shower. I’d admired Larissa’s slim body, her breasts small but absolutely flawless. The flat belly could be attributed to her involvement in a range of sports over the years. And the patch of fine, light coloured hair that adorned her pubis was just thick enough to look mature without disguising her youthfulness.

What was different now, though, was the way I was looking at my daughter’s nakedness. It was with an eye to her sexual appeal, her beauty as a woman.

I studied her, taking in her curves, memorising them. As if she knew what I wanted, Larissa sat up straight, letting me see her properly. By then I knew that my feelings weren’t about a mother’s interest in her child’s development. I was feeling a genuine attraction, a sexual attraction, to this girl. My daughter.

“My God, you’re gorgeous. Utterly perfect,” I whispered.

That list of thou-shalt-nots was still unscrolling in my mind, admonishing me not to do this insane thing. We were both females; that’s lesbianism. At fourteen, Larissa was underage; that’s paedophilia. She’s my little girl, that’s incest. Those things are all thought to be immoral, some were actually illegal.

But that doesn’t matter, I realised. I don’t want to stop; I need for this to happen. My daughter is beautiful, she excites me, and I want to make love to her.

“So beautiful,” I heard myself murmur. “So very beautiful.”

Then her voice broke into my reverie. “Now you, Mum. I want to see you.”

Without hesitation I stood, then began removing the clothes I’d put on a few minutes earlier. Really, though, it had been a lifetime ago. I was the same, yet completely different.

Finally stepping out of my panties, I stood naked before my daughter, letting her see me. Larissa said nothing, just looked me up and down from my head to my feet. I wondered if she liked what she saw.

She spoke not a word… just held out her arms to me, and with no thoughts of doing anything else, I lay down beside my daughter and nestled into her embrace. I wish I could put it into words, how good Larissa’s bare body felt against mine after going without the touch of a lover for so long. What was it like for my child, who was experiencing this for the first time?

When her lips brushed my neck, a shiver rippled through me. She began to plant tiny kisses on my throat, along the line of my jaw, then higher. I gave a sob of mixed delight and surprise when the tip of Larissa’s tongue trailed along the edge of my ear. It was an invitation, one I was helpless to resist. Drawing back, I turned to face her, losing my soul in those yearning eyes.

Our kiss was brief and shy. We broke apart, stared at each other for a moment, then came together in a passionate, needful embrace. Our tongues met, then sparred back and forth, and my daughter and I kissed like we were feasting on one another.

I was totally engrossed in Larissa’s soft mouth when suddenly I felt something moving between my thighs. When I drew them apart, her hand made its way to the target. I gasped and she sighed at that first contact, then her fingers gently, tenderly traced a path along the moist crease of my labia.

My hand was doing the exact same thing to Larissa, and I had no need to ask whether she was enjoying it; the ‘Oooh’ sound she made was absolute proof. As my fingers dipped lower, fondling my daughter’s slit through her sparse pubes, my eyes widened in astonishment at the wetness I found there.

I began to run my fingers up and down the opening and, rewarded with more warm honey, began to slide one digit along the cleft separating the lips. This resulted in Larissa spreading her legs, to allow me easier access. As the labia parted, I was able to ease that finger between them, entering her.

“Oh, yes. Oh, yes, Mum. D-don’t stop!” Larissa gasped, as if I had any intention of pulling away. It had been many years since I’d done this to another girl, but I masturbated often. I figured that what worked for me would also do the trick for my teenage daughter.

That thought gave rise to a question. “Do you ever do this to yourself, sweetie?” I asked.

It was hardly the kind of topic Larissa and I usually discussed, so she took a second to reply. “Um, yeah. Yes, I do,” she admitted, somewhat nervously. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Of course not! Why would I be upset? Every woman touches herself sometimes.”

That seemed to surprise Larissa. “Do you?”

“Yes,” I confirmed without hesitation. “Have you given yourself an orgasm, then?”

“I’m not sure, Mum.”

“Then you haven’t… because believe me, you’d know it,” I told my inexperienced little girl.

Larissa began to reply but was unable to, because it was just then that I lightly flicked my thumb against her clitoris.

The effect of all this stimulation on my daughter was predictable and immediate. A finger teasing her cunt, a thumb brushing her clit, our ardent kisses, the arousal she felt, the intimate revelations we had shared – they all added up to what was fast becoming a sensory overload.

I could see it in her eyes, that unfamiliar sensation building up inside her, the way that her legs had begun to shake uncontrollably. I suspected that she was unprepared for what was happening, incapable of processing her feelings on an intellectual level. As I fondled my child, I watched her closely, aching to see that bright shining moment of release.

When her climax hit, I pressed Larissa’s labia between two fingers, timing the pressure with her reactions. At that instant, all I knew was joy, the first real joy I’d experienced in weeks. How many mothers got to witness their daughter’s very first orgasm?

As she reached the height of her ecstasy, I quickly moved to lie between Larissa’s thighs, my face mere inches from her glistening vagina.

I put my mouth to the pink, swollen cunt of my daughter, and began to lick up and down, getting my first taste of her. It was divine, like some new, unfamiliar fruit.

Larissa wanted more from me, though. “Do it, Mummy, g-go into me. Please. I want it, want you to be the one! Please!”

I wriggled into a sort of crouching position, so that I could keep my mouth glued to Larissa’s clit, then put my fingers at the entrance, gently opening her up. I worked to get my daughter as aroused as possible, teetering on the brink of another orgasm.

Her breathing had turned to panting, little moaning sounds were escaping her open mouth, and then she gasped out, “I’m gonna… I’m g-gonna… oh God, MUM!”

Hoping I’d timed it to perfection, I plunged two fingers into her vagina.

Whatever pain she felt from her hymen tearing tipped her over the edge, and Larissa screamed out loud, a massive orgasm shaking her like a rag doll.

As the climax ripped through her body, I pumped my fingers into and out of her pussy in the best imitation I could manage of a man’s cock, all the while nursing at her clit.

Struck by a thought, I raised my face from her pussy so that I could watch her face while she was caught up in rapture. God, she was even more beautiful than ever.

When her orgasm began to subside, I covered her slit with my mouth, sampling, and loving the sweetness of her nectar. In very little time, Larissa had another climax, milder but more prolonged.

Then she lay motionless, but for the rise and fall of her chest. After a moment, her eyes fluttered open. I was a little nervous, wondering how she felt about what I’d just done. Was she having second thoughts?

But she gave me a weak smile, then whispered, “Mum… please kiss me.”

I took her in my arms, and our mouths met. Larissa hummed with a child’s delight as she licked around my parted lips, tasting herself.

***

We lay together all afternoon and into the evening.

For a long time we just kissed and snuggled, and Larissa masturbated me to an orgasm of my own. I discovered that getting finger-fucked by my fourteen-year-old daughter was an enormous turn-on.

Then she crawled between my legs, put her face to my pussy and ate me to a climax, but only because she demanded that I let her do it. I really wanted all the lovemaking to be for her enjoyment, but she did insist that pleasuring me was a big part of the pleasure she got from our little mother-daughter fuckfest.

We fell asleep in each other’s arms, woke up to find that we‘d forgotten to eat dinner, started kissing, got into a sixty-nine (the first time I’d ever experienced that with a female), then showered together. I even slipped a finger into her anus while we were showering, which got us in the mood all over again.

There beneath the flowing water, we somehow managed to arrange ourselves so our pussies could rub together, and fucked on the slippery tiles until we both came. I later found out that lesbians do that all the time, and they call it tribbing. After that, we stumbled back to my bed, crawled beneath the sheets, and passed out.

I woke just as the sun was rising so, in the most maternal way I could, I tongued my daughter until she woke up too.

I had to see the look on her face when she awakened with her cunt being licked. It made me wonder: why can’t every mother and daughter experience something so wonderful, so pleasurable, together? Right then, it made perfect sense. I would never suggest such a thing to other parents, but… oh, dear lord, her face was positively radiant when she became conscious, realised what was happening, and then lay back to enjoy it until she came yet again.

Afterward, we lay together, gently kissing and cuddling – not in a sexual way, just gentle and loving.

Larissa looked at me with a beaming smile and a brightness in her eyes that I’d never expected to see again. “Mum, that was so wonderful. It was exactly what I wanted… needed, even. Thank you, thank you so much for giving me that.”

“It was my pleasure,” I assured her, then realised something and corrected myself. “It was our pleasure.”

“Yes it was, wasn’t it?” she replied. “And I love you for doing that for me.”

She kissed me with passion, but without sexual desire. We had shared physical love, but somehow we knew without saying so that it had been a one-time-only thing. It was now part of our relationship, but only a small part. Our love as mother and daughter had been totally fulfilled.

***

Two days later, I arrived home from work and called a greeting to Larissa while closing the front door. In response, her voice came from the living room, so after dropping my keys and wallet in their allocated space on the kitchen counter, I followed the sound.

I found my daughter with the TV on, her portable in her lap. “How are you, sweetie?” I asked.

“Fair, Mum,” was the reply.

I immediately felt a clutch of fear. “What’s wrong, honey? Are you feeling bad? Did something happen? Are you getting worse?”

“Nothing quite like that,” she told me. “But there is something I need to discuss with you.” She took a deep breath, then said, “Mum… I’ve decided that I don’t want to do this anymore.”

The words carried no inflection that hinted at their meaning. Those days, Larissa spent her time rereading favourite books, watching the DVDs she liked, listening to her CD collection and chatting online with friends. I had no way of guessing which activity she was referring to.

“What don’t you want to do anymore, baby?” I asked.

“This! Any of it. I’m just filling in time doing this stuff, waiting for the end.”

I was stunned by what I was hearing, but Larissa wasn’t done yet.

“I don’t want to just sit here, waiting to get worse. I don’t want to end up in some hospital with tubes sticking out of me, hooked up to machines to keep me alive. That isn’t being alive. I won’t be able to feed myself, so I’ll need to have that done for me. And if my brain function gives out, I’ll be helpless, sitting in my own filth, needing somebody to clean me up.”

All the while I was shaking my head in horror, attempting to protest what Larissa was saying, but she was too determined to let me speak, cutting me off with an abrupt gesture.

“I don’t want you to see me like that… I don’t want anyone to,” she continued. “I want to go on my terms, with whatever dignity I still have. I’ve seen photos of – of what happens to people who have what I’ve got. I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen to me!”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I breathed, fearful that I already knew the answer.

“I’m going to finish this while I still have control. My time, when I choose.”

My head was spinning; I felt like I might collapse on the spot. “No… no, you can’t! I won’t let you!”

She shook her head. “It’s not your decision, Mum.”

Why was she so calm about this? “How… how are you…?” I whispered, already dreading what she might say.

“I’m not going to tell you that. But it has to be quick, so I won’t be able to lose my nerve. And I don’t want to, you know, mess myself up. So one day, when you’re out, l… well, that’s when I’ll do it.”

“Then I won’t go out, damn it. That’ll stop you.”

Larissa smiled sympathetically. “Mum… you can’t always be home. You have to go to work, and to the shops. You’ll have to put petrol in the car. Maybe not right away, but some time. In fact, you don’t even need to be out of the house. I can slip out while you’re asleep, or in the toilet, or having a shower.”

I didn’t quite faint, but I did collapse into the nearest chair, realising that my daughter had laid her plans all too carefully. And she knew, too, that she was entitled to decide her own fate. It was an argument that we had discussed and resolved, back when there was still a possibility that she might have to undergo painful treatment.

But back then, it had been an abstract concept, for ‘when the time comes’. Now, however, it was too close to reality, and oh, so much harder to accept. I shivered as the truth of it struck me: Larissa had decided that her position was hopeless, that life held no more value for her.

Seeing me lost in utter defeat, Larissa’s tone softened. “I’m sorry to hit you with this all of a sudden, Mum. Can we maybe not talk about this anymore, and have a nice evening together?”

It took more strength than I knew I had, but I managed to summon up a weak smile. “I’d like that, sweetie.”

She wrapped her arms around me. “Know what I’d like? I haven’t had a curry in, oh my gosh, ages. Could you nip down to Sanjay’s and get us both takeaways?”

“Okay,” I said. “That does sound nice.”

By that time I had, for all practical purposes, ceased to reason; I was acting purely on autopilot as I went outside to the car, started it and drove off. Unable to cope with a situation that was beyond my control, I simply let events unfold as they would.

Gutless, I know. Cowardly, yes. More than that, I was desperately naive, unable to recognize the trick that my daughter had just played on me.

Larissa had planned comprehensively, leaving nothing to chance. As soon as I drove away, she activated a small reminder prompt that she’d set up on her laptop; it would operate in thirty minutes, and after that every additional half hour. The reminder carried only one item – a location.

Grabbing what she needed from the kitchen, Larissa dropped a single sheet of paper on the counter and hastened out the back door, probably before my car had even turned out of the street.

Some twenty minutes later, I drove the car into the garage and entered the house through the back door.

The sheet of paper caught my attention as I set the bag of food down on the counter. As I picked the paper up, my hand shook and I had to lean on the marble surface to make out my little girl’s message.

I’m sorry, Mum, but I have to do this. I can’t let it beat me. I had it all planned, so when you went out I just had to set things going. I’ll send you a message to tell you where to find me.

I want it to be quick, and certain, with no chance that I’ll screw it up.

You gave birth to me, gave life to me, showed me what real love is, and now you’re giving me the opportunity to find true peace in the end.

I LOVE YOU!

Goodbye, Larissa

The finality of the note snapped me back to reality. Snatching up my phone, I called the emergency number, asking for the police.

An operator answered almost immediately, saying, “Police emergency operator. What is the nature of your emergency?”

I was panicking, practically incoherent. “My little girl! I came home, and there was this, this note. I think she’s going to… to do something…”

The operator, clearly used to dealing with callers who were in panic mode, calmly asked, “Can you tell me your name, ma’am, and your location?”

When I provided the data, the operator continued. “I’ll dispatch a car to your location straight away. Do you know the whereabouts of your daughter right now?”

I had to acknowledge that I didn’t have a clue and continued to answer questions as best I could while the operator kept me on the line and tried, with only very limited success, to calm me.

As the sound of a siren heralded the arrival of the police, I hung up the phone and ran to the front door. Even before they could knock, I flung the door open.

***

The coffin on the bier had a hinged lid to reveal the face of the deceased. Just as Larissa planned, she looked perfectly natural, almost alive.

A group of her school friends filed by to take a final look, all sobbing or showing signs of distress. Each one placed a posy or some memento in with Larissa. I was seated in the first pew, barely aware of any of it. Also present were the two cops, a few of the neighbours, my daughter’s roll class teacher, and the counsellor who had helped Larissa and me to prepare, as much as we were able, for the end.

Everybody offered condolences and sympathy, for which I formally thanked them. But I was responding more or less automatically, as a robot might – I really wasn’t functioning as a person.

The school had suggested to Larissa’s friends that they write out some special memories they had of her; some of them read their tributes out loud at the service, but most were too distressed to do that. But they all gave me what they’d written, all done by hand and bound into a book that I could keep forever.

I had so many recollections of my own… yet there was one that stood out, a very special memory of my precious Larissa that I would never be able to share with anyone – except like this, set down in a story by an anonymous author. That memory was of my daughter’s final wish, of something we shared, something beautiful, something private and personal that was ours alone.

The End

If you’ve enjoyed this story check out the sequel, By Invitation Only.

Author’s Note: I want to thank Jetboy for helping me to tell the story. His editing and suggestions made everything clearer and more complete.

by Shy Mom

“Behave, girls!” I berated my daughters. “I’m about to start this Zoom.”

They giggled under my desk as I logged onto my account. I nudged gently with my right foot to shush them.

“Good morning, Ms. Flambeau,” I said as my screen filled with the image of a woman in her early thirties. She was grasping a little girl, who was squirming in her lap. Mother and child were striking in similarity and beauty, with auburn curls cascading over their shoulders, clear sparkling eyes, and lipstick in a glossy shade that never failed to arouse me on the right mouths: pussy-pink. They were dressed in matching white terry robes.

“Good morning, Ms. Nilsen,” the woman replied. “And please—it’s Genette.” Like me, she appeared to be seated in a study, but hers looked large and luxurious. Behind her, a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf crammed with volumes stood to one side, an accent table with a vase of red roses on the other.

“A pleasure, Genette,” I responded. “I’m Beverly, or Bev.”

Genette was the single mother of my third-grade student Camille, who was nowhere in sight. Camille’s first-grade sister, Bella, whom I recognized from school, was nestled against her mother, not seeming to care that she was on video.

Seeing Genette for the first time, I had an uncanny sensation of looking into Camille’s future, one in which her soft girlish features had blossomed into the womanly curves, teased by her mother’s slightly parted robe.

She spoke. “Thanks for this parent-teacher conference, Bev. I know you must be busy with—Cami mentioned that you had, er, two girls of your own? Well, as you can see, I have my hands full too. In fact, I barely managed to cover us up in time for your call!” She tugged on the front panel of her robe for emphasis, which only had the effect of revealing more of her lush cleavage.

I felt an immediate bond with this woman, and not just as a single mother of two girls. From the get-go, Genette seemed open, unaffected, and easy-going—just my type. I also felt a twinge of desire at her casual exhibitionism.

“No worries!” I assured her, then added, “We’ve gone clothing optional, too.”

In fact, I had on a fitted silk blouse, matching blue g-string, and nothing else. Bras had been the first casualties of sheltering-in-place in our household, then pants and skirts. While I usually donned a top, such as a blouse or t-shirt, I enjoyed the freedom and sexiness of going around the house in skimpy underwear.

For their part, the girls had ditched their nightgowns and panties just before my call, and were wandering around stark naked. All I could do was shoo them out of sight—and after sharing conspiratorial whispers and giggles, they scrambled under my desk. For cover, I’d innocently assumed.

“Is Camille able to join us?” I asked. I preferred to have my students participate in these meetings, if there were no issues requiring a separate conversation with parents, especially those as delightful as this woman’s pretty nine-year-old daughter.

Genette hesitated for a second. “Um … she’s occupied at the moment.”

As I wondered what could be occupying Camille in lockdown, Genette added, “By the way, it’s only fair to warn you: Cami’s told me quite a bit about your family. We have lots in common—more than you might suspect—and I like you very much already.”

“Thanks …” I replied. “That’s very … kind of you.” I was unsure what else to say or, for that matter, how to react. I wondered what Camille could have told her mother about me or my daughters, other than typical family details that rarely interest parents as much as their kids. Was I missing some subtext in the woman’s tone, if not her words? But Genette’s warmth seemed genuine. Probably, she was simply referring to our being single moms of girls close in age.

As for what I knew about Genette, there wasn’t much. Ashley had mentioned that she was a stay-at-home mom who came from a rich family, and that Camille had gushed about how pretty her mother was. I could see why.

“If you don’t mind, Bev …” Genette paused, her breath hitching for some reason, “… could we, um, record this Zoom? I’m sure Cami would love to see it later.”

“Oh, sure.” Her request sounded reasonable enough, so I was happy to comply. However, I got the feeling again that there might be some deeper meaning I was missing.

As I hit RECORD, little fingers lightly crept up my thighs. I shivered.

“Are you cold?” Genette asked, leaning forward.

She must have caught my involuntary movement, but I instinctively glanced down at my chest, surprised to realize that my nipples were visible through the thin blouse. I wondered if she could see them on her end—and if so, what she thought about that.

“Well, you know, I’m not wearing pants,” I replied half-jokingly.

“Really?” Genette responded, seemingly more in interest than jest. “Me neither!”

We shared a good laugh. Of course, I couldn’t see below the screen, which cut off at the woman’s waist, but her revealing robe had made me wonder what lay beneath, and now her remark only stoked my curiosity all the more.

Oh, my … far from being cold, this Zoom was heating me up!

Those busy little fingers—Ashley’s? Olivia’s?—had made their way up to my g-string. They flirted with the edges of the front panel, which scarcely covered my slit. I willed myself to remain composed and, not wanting to give away the mischief below, fixed my eyes on the screen.

“If I may share a secret,” I said, lowering my voice, “Camille is my favorite student. We’re not supposed to have favorites—or at least admit to them—but she’s so bright and adorable, the prettiest girl in my class.”

“Thank you, Bev. That really means a lot.”

Impulse made me add, “And she looks quite a bit like you.”

Genette smiled warmly, which really became her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She then shifted in her seat, sighed softly, and glanced down, blowing a kiss toward the bottom of the screen. Before I could process these curious actions, Genette returned her gaze to me and, through hooded eyes, murmured, “And I’ll wager your girls are just as lovely as you.”

Could she see the blush that I felt? This whole call seemed to be getting out of hand. Was I having a parent-teacher Zoom or a socially-distanced first date?

Three things happened at that moment which interrupted whatever flirtatious thoughts and feelings were welling between us. On Genette’s end, while we had been conversing, Bella had been playing with the opening of her mother’s robe, further exposing the enticing cleavage. The child’s hand suddenly slipped inside—and Genette’s eyes widened in surprise, then delight as the child fondled her breast.

On my end, little fingers began to stroke my pussy through the g-string. About the same time, another set of fingers grazed the undersides of my feet. Oh, God … I loved having my feet played with. And by then, both my daughters were well aware of that.

“Bella, dear,” Genette whispered, eyes going from her daughter’s hand to me, “Mommy’s on video with Cami’s teacher.”

Despite her admonishing words, Genette did not look or sound concerned, nor did it affect the little girl’s enthusiastic breast-play. “But I like doing this, Mommy,” the child declared.

“Oh my …” I murmured, as much from what I saw on screen as from what I was feeling below it.

“Bella’s loved playing with my boobs, ever since I began nursing her,” Genette explained. “I haven’t had the heart to make her stop.”

“That’s perfectly natural!” I exclaimed, more to set myself at ease than Genette, who seemed to be enjoying her predicament. Before thinking, I added, “I’m sure I’d do the same thing—in Bella’s situation, I mean!”

That didn’t come out the way I had intended—or had it?

“Is that so?” Genette asked, giving me a suggestive smile. “Can I hold you to that, Bev?”

Wow. Despite the inappropriate turn this parent-teacher conference had taken, I had to admit it was very much to my liking. I certainly couldn’t muster any objection to the sight of this sexy woman having her breast groped by her first-grade daughter.

And what a breast it was! By then, Bella’s playing had exposed it almost completely, leaving only her little hand to deny me a full view but stoke my imagination. Pale and luscious, Genette’s boob was several inches and cup sizes larger than mine. Moreover, from the evidence of her daughter’s squeezing, it was lusciously resilient.

I found Genette’s flirtation flattering and arousing, but didn’t want to misread what might simply be a charming way of defusing an awkward situation. So I replied, trying to sound playful, “Well, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of Bella’s fun!”

Genette saw right through me. With a smile, she remarked, “I have two boobs, you know.” Holding my gaze, she pulled the panel of her robe aside, revealing her other breast up to—but not including—the nipple. “See?”

There was no mistaking Genette’s meaning now. Or, for that matter, the intentions of my girls down below. The fingers that had been stroking my lips now pressed into the cleft, taking the flimsy g-string with it. Those other fingers kept teasing my feet, forcing me into jagged breaths to keep from moaning out loud.

Genette took my halting breathing for encouragement. With a wink, she flicked her robe aside to expose an erect nipple. It was perfect—in size, larger and longer than mine, like a pacifier; in color, reddish brown like her hair; in presentation, wreathed by an expansive, bumpy areola. If this was how her delectable nipple appeared through the screen, how must it look in person? Or feel in one’s mouth?

I licked my lips without realizing it.

“Why, thank you!” Genette laughed. “Mouthwatering, huh? That’s high praise coming from someone with tits as lovely as yours.”

Glancing down, I saw that my nipples were now practically straining through my silk blouse. I hadn’t realized they’d gotten so visibly aroused. “Oh my. I—”

“No need to explain, honey,” interrupted Genette. “We both have girl parts and know how they work.” Then she licked her own lips, rather deliberately. “It looks like our nipples are functioning very well at the moment.”

“Um, yes,” I stammered. I—I suppose they are!”

There was no hiding the obvious now, and my will to do so had vanished. After sliding into lesbian incest with my daughters, I’d wondered whether other mothers ever got sexually involved with their girls. It felt liberating to see Genette unabashedly enjoying her daughter’s touch.

But, I suddenly recalled, this session was being recorded! “Genette, the video. Shouldn’t I stop it?”

The woman looked up, as if to consider the idea, then replied, “But then … Camille wouldn’t get to watch our parent-teacher conference afterwards, would she?” She squirmed a bit in her seat, her eyes briefly closing.

“I guess …” I replied, wondering once more what was occupying Camille. Why wouldn’t she want to be here for this?

Well, if this woman was willing to let me see—and record—her first-grade daughter feeling her up, then surely she would keep our video entre nous. Besides, I had to admit, I really wanted a copy of this. The thought of watching it later with Ashley and Olivia only added to my arousal, helped along by what my girls were doing under the desk.

Genette whispered something to Bella, and the little girl smiled mischievously. She took hold of her mommy’s nipple, pulled out as far as she could, then released it. She repeated the act, giggling with delight. This was obviously not the first time the child had played this game. After she did it a third time, I needed no further evidence that Genette’s bouncy boob—about 36D, near as I could tell—was all natural.

Inflamed, I decided to join in the fun. I sucked my fingers, then reached down to swirl them around my protruding nipples. The moisture seeped through my silk blouse, making it even more transparent. All the while, I gazed at the livestream of the licentious madonna and child before me.

Following my moves, Genette rolled her free nipple between two fingers.

Though I am very sexual in private, and enjoy exhibiting my body in public, especially to women, I felt surprised at how far I was willing to go with this woman I had just met. Perhaps it was her beauty, or the tantalizing window I’d just been given into her mother-daughter relationship, or the teasing I was getting below. Likely, it was all of the above, plus the sheer lewdness of turning a parent-teacher conference into an erotic encounter. Whatever the reason, I felt an urge to orgasm in full view of this openly sexual woman and her little girl.

“You know,” Genette confided, “Bella has titties, too.”

My God. Was she really going there? And how old was Bella, anyhow? Seven at most. I felt powerfully tempted to encourage Genette to play out her thought, but also wary of seeming too interested in the child. Offering a response that could go either way, I said, “I’ll bet.”

Genette clearly knew which way she wanted to go. Turning to Bella, she asked in a playful, motherly voice, “Want to show your titties to Ms. Nilsen? Your sexy itty bitty girl titties?”

Bella faced me and asked in a completely innocent voice, like she had a favorite toy to show, “Would you like to see them, Ms. Nilsen? Wanna see my itty bitty girl titties?”

The little minx had me. In for a penny, in for a pound, I decided. “I would very much like to see them, Bella.” My response sounded more throaty than I expected.

Bella fixed her gaze on me, lips puckered in an adorable pout. Her mother unhurriedly drew the front of her robe, unveiling the girl’s pale flesh, flawless and flat before rising in gentle slopes of baby fat that were capped at the tips by perfect pink nipples. Bella’s “titties” looked as delectable as any I’d seen. And knowing that they might one day grow to resemble the luscious globes her mother was so openly flaunting … well, it only made the child all the more desirable.

Observing how the sight of her daughter’s nudity riveted me, Genette asked in a husky voice, “Aren’t her nipples adorable? What would you like to see me do with them, Bev?”

I felt like a kid gaping through the window of a candy store at the treats inside. “I … I’d like you to circle them with your fingers … like this …”

Unbuttoning my blouse, I exposed my own nipples, now stiff to the point of aching. I licked two fingers and swirled them around my areolas. Gratified to see mother and daughter gazing at me with matched expressions of desire, I stared back at the half-naked pair, slowly tracing my upper lip with my tongue.

Beneath the desk, little fingers were pushing the panel of my g-string as far as it could go into my vagina, causing the rear string to tighten just above my ass. Meanwhile, a wet little mouth started sucking my toes.

Oh, my stars, that feels wonderful. I closed my eyes to savor how divine it was, being loved this way by my children. When I opened them, Genette’s fingers were circling Bella’s tiny nubs, coating them in saliva.

Bella looked up at her. “I love that, Mommy.” In reply, Genette claimed her daughter’s mouth in a French kiss.

Desperately needing to be fucked, I started thrusting against the hand that was fingering me through the g-string, not caring anymore if Genette or Bella could see my humping motions and realize what they were. Actually, all the better if they did.

Genette and Bella broke their kiss to watch. As my daughter finger-fucked me, I squeezed my boobs and pinched my nipples. Genette’s hand slid down her first-grader’s body, over her tummy and lower. Looking into Bella’s eyes, I registered the exact moment that Mommy touched between her legs.

These erotic sights and sensations were too much for me. The waves of pleasure rose quickly, and I let them carry me away. “Genette!” I cried.

“Bev, wait!” Genette gasped back, thrusting a hand below the screen. “Oh … oh, Cami!” she cried. “God, yes, suck my clit!” She writhed in her chair, just like I was—and now I knew why!

I held on as long as I could, my arousal cresting at the implications of what I saw and heard. Then, just as Genette started shrieking, those massing waves crashed over me.

“Fuck, Bev, FUCK!”

I climaxed right along with this gorgeous mother, screaming her name as she orgasmed to mine.

“Fuck …” I gasped as I recovered. “Was … was Camille down there the whole time?” I nodded toward the bottom of the screen.

Genette grinned wickedly. “Come up, dear,” she cooed, pulling up a naked, flat-chested little beauty with auburn hair that was tangled and matted in sweat.

Camille smiled sheepishly at me, then formed the shape of a heart with her girlish hands. I smiled back and made a larger heart with mine, framing a breast for her.

“And you?” Genette asked, nodding at the bottom of the screen as well.

“Like mother, like mother!” I laughed, and pulled up … Ashley! I should have guessed, given her experience pleasuring me the other morning. Her little sister Olivia popped up right after. Bare as nymphs, the girls clung to me affectionately and waved at the screen.

Camille blew a kiss, and Ashley blew one back. Both their mouths glistened with wetness.

Hmm. Were those two in cahoots? Had they set up this encounter? Ashley was one grade higher, but I’d seen them play together often enough at recess.

Genette grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “When I told you we had lots in common, Bev, my source was this little birdie who heard from that little birdie”—she pointed at Ashley—“about all the wicked things you’ve been doing with your lovely little girls.”

My eyes widened in shock, and I shot a glance at Ashley. Had they been texting? Sexting? “Young lady—” I began.

“Don’t be angry!” Genette interrupted, coming to Ashley’s rescue. “You haven’t done anything we haven’t tried—many times and more.”

For emphasis, Genette reached behind Camille and snaked a hand between the girl’s inner thighs. It emerged to cup the child’s bare vulva, the index finger teasing her little hood. In response, the nine-year-old shivered deliciously, licking her lips with a naughty smile. This was not the sweet innocent Camille that I knew from class!

“Welcome to my world, Bev,” said Genette, giving me a bewitching just-between-us wink.

“How long …” I wondered aloud.

“Since kindergarten … right, Mommy?” answered Camille.

“That’s right, sweetheart” Genette confirmed. “You looked so scrumptious in your little Catholic school-girl uniform, I just had to lick you!”

“Then I licked you, remember?”

I could hardly believe my ears. Despite all that I’d done with my own daughters, I could feel myself blushing.

“How could I forget?” Genette laughed, obviously enjoying the effect their incestuous banter was having on me. “You’re a natural, darling—the best pussy eater ever. As Bev’s now my witness, I’m quite the addict for that hot little mouth of yours …”

“What about me, Mommy?” Bella jumped in.

“You, dear, are the best tit sucker my boobs have had the pleasure to know.”

Both Flambeau girls looked pleased as pie. What a sex coven! I was floored—but also intrigued.

Genette glanced at me, her smile deepening. “Hmmm … looks like Ms. Nilsen might like to have a play date with you girls …”

I blushed more deeply, but couldn’t deny the unbidden thought of having Camille between my legs, and Bella at my breasts, especially after hearing their mother extolling their sexual virtues.

Then I imagined having Ashley and Olivia join them … and the very thought made me light-headed.

“I have a feeling,” Genette reflected, taking in the incestuous family portrait before her, “that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

On to Chapter Six!