Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by BlueJean

Summer is flowing honey.

It’s fields of poppies and nesting swifts. It’s butterflies and wildflower meadows and the sweet buzzing of bees.

Once upon a time, it was noisy sirens and diesel fumes. Overtime in hot office blocks and terrible Monday morning hangovers. Too much alcohol, too much stress, too much unhappiness.

These days I work from home, my time spent tending to the bee hives in our orchard, collecting the sweet honey they produce. We live out in the sticks, in a fairly remote part of the country, away from the hustle and bustle of city life. It’s a good place to be. Not just for me, but my two daughters. I didn’t want to raise them in a city. I wanted them to grow up around nature like I’d done when I was little; to have space to run wild, to breathe clean air, to learn that we’re all just a small part of a bigger whole.

Freya and Millie loved school summer holidays. They kept themselves occupied by running through fields, playing in the woods and paddling in the little stream that snaked its way alongside our thatched cottage. Some days it was a real struggle to get them to come inside to eat or sleep.

They were playing in their treehouse at the bottom of our garden with our Hungarian Vizsla puppy Bee, who was barking up at the girls in frustration when I called them inside to help me make dinner.

Ten-year-old Freya descended first, followed by her little sister, seven-year-old Millie. Bee danced around them happily as they ran back to the house.

I noticed they had their naughty faces on, all smiles and twinkling eyes. They liked to think that their mum didn’t notice these things, but being a beekeeper teaches you to be observant.

“What have you been up to, imps?” I asked them as I cut up some chicken thighs.

Freya glanced at her sister knowingly. “Nothing…”

“Just playing in the treehouse,” Millie said innocently.

“Hmm.” I looked down at Bee, who was sitting on the kitchen floor like a good girl, waiting for a piece of meat she wasn’t going to get. “What were they doing, Bee? Were they being naughty up there?”

The puppy obviously thought I meant, Jump up here and help yourself to this chicken. “No, Bee. Down. Down!” I commanded and she sat back down, tail sweeping the floor enthusiastically, still hoping for a treat.

Millie got down on her haunches and stroked the pup behind the ears. “Good girl, Bee.”

“Freya, can you cut up a cucumber and some tomatoes?” I asked my eldest daughter.

“Okay,” Freya said and went to the fridge.

“What shall I do, Mummy?” Millie asked me.

“You can separate the tortillas and put them on a baking tray.”

“‘Kay.”

When all the ingredients were ready, the three of us had fun making our own fajitas. Millie, as usual, tried to put too much filling into her tortillas and couldn’t roll them up, so I gave her a knife and fork.

Freya chuckled at her sister. “You always do that, Millie.”

“I like them like this,” Millie insisted, trying to pick up a fajita that looked more like a collapsed tent. The filling fell out of the sides and ended up back on her plate, except for a stray piece of chicken which bounced on the kitchen floor and was snatched up by a pleased looking Bee.

“Just use the knife and fork, that’s why I put them there for you,” I told my seven-year-old, and she gave me a big sigh before begrudgingly picking up her cutlery. Half the fun of fajitas was eating them with your hands, after all.

Freya picked up one of her own neatly rolled fajitas and gave Millie a smug grin as she nibbled daintily on it.

“At least I don’t show people my kitty,” Millie muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” I said, nearly choking on my own fajita.

“Shut up, Millie,” Freya told her sister, and gave me an abashed look.

“She showed me loads of times, and some other girls at school too,” Millie said.

“I didn’t.”

“You did! She did, Mummy.”

“So? You showed me yours, too,” Freya shot back.

“Only because you made me, though.”

“Just the first time. Then you wanted to show me after that.”

“No, I didn’t. You want to show me all the time.”

“You do.”

“No, you do! She does, Mummy!”

“Enough, please!” I told them sternly. “Both of you stop talking about your private bits and eat your dinner.”

The girls gave each other dirty looks, then went back to their meals.

So Freya was starting to think about that kind of thing, was she? I suppose I must have been of a similar age when I began to be curious about what was between my legs. It was a natural part of growing up, and I knew enough about nature to keep me from feeling threatened by such revelations. I wasn’t sure Millie needed to know about that just yet, though. It was all just harmless fun, I reasoned.

Later in the week, I was out in the orchard doing my twice weekly inspection of the hives while Bee and the girls played in the poppy field next to our cottage. Every now and then I could see two little heads moving through the tall red flowers.

The colonies were doing okay. No parasites, all queens present and correct. Soon the honey would be ready for the first harvest of the year.

As I secured the hives and closed the gate to the orchard, I noticed the girls hadn’t appeared for a while. I could hear Bee barking, though, so I knew they were still amongst the poppies somewhere. I put my smoker down and removed my protective veil, thinking it would be fun to sneak up and surprise them.

I strolled towards the field and entered a sea of red.

The poppies were almost a metre tall – plenty big enough to hide two little girls, but I knew the puppy would give them away. I homed in on Bee’s yapping, crouching down and sneaking through the flowers until I could hear the soft murmur of voices.

“Rub against me harder.” That was Freya.

“I am,” I heard Millie reply.

I crawled forward on my hands and knees as quietly as I could and saw movement between the poppy stalks. I froze, knowing if I moved any closer, Bee would find me.

“Don’t squeeze my bum so hard!” Millie told her sister.

“I’m trying to pull you in more, that’s all.”

The girls were in a little clearing of squashed poppies. Freya was lying on her back with Millie on top of her, the pair of them rubbing their groins together, shorts and panties pulled round their ankles. Bee sat next to them and let out a frustrated yap every now and then, as if asking them what on earth they were doing.

“Shush, Bee!” Freya whispered to the pup.

Millie tried to push the puppy away half-heartedly. “Go home, Bee!”

I should have turned around and crept away. This was an invasion of their privacy and it didn’t feel right spying on them. But I was also struck by the erotic beauty of the scene before me, and couldn’t quite bring myself to avert my gaze and leave.

Freya cupped her little sister’s buttocks as they rubbed their slits together. “Do you like it?” she asked.

“Mm-hmm,” Millie hummed, her little bum cheeks clenching as she humped her sister.

“Go down a bit,” Freya told her.

“Huh?”

“You keep missing my kitty. Go down a bit, so they’re rubbing together more.”

“‘Kay.” Millie gazed down between her big sister’s legs so she could do some fine tuning.

“That’s better. Now rub against me really hard.”

“Stop saying that, I’m trying to!” Millie whined.

“Shhh!”

The puppy told them off again and poked them with a paw for good measure.

“Go away, Bee!” Freya shooed and the two girls giggled.

I kept as still as I could behind the poppies, careful even not to breathe too loudly. I was enthralled. Even a little… No. Not aroused. These were my little girls, for heaven’s sake. If witnessing this scene of adolescent frolicking was turning me on, I reasoned it was a perfectly natural physical reaction – not a psychological one. I didn’t have much control over several million years of hardwired primal behaviour, after all.

“It feels really nice,” Freya was saying. “It’s making my kitty feel all funny. Rub on me harder.”

“Don’t keep saying it!” Millie hissed.

“Let’s do a kiss,” Freya suggested.

Millie screwed her face up. “Urgh, no way!”

I had to stifle a laugh. Suddenly, Bee looked right at me.

I crawled backwards, but it was too late. The puppy stalked me warily through the poppies, not sure who or what I was. I managed to get up on my feet and tried to sneak away but Bee caught up to me, screwing up her snout in a smile and thrashing her tail around in excitement, having discovered who I was. I held a finger up to my lips to shush her, as if a dog was going to understand that.

“Quick, pull your pants up! I think someone’s coming!” I heard a frantic Freya tell her sister.

I reached the edge of the field with Bee jumping up at me excitedly, then stood up and shouted to my daughters, to make it seem like I’d just arrived. “Girls? Are you in there?”

Two little heads popped up amidst the ocean of flowers.

A flushed looking Freya hollered back, “Yeah, we’re here!”

“We were just playing,” Millie added, looking a bit guilty.

I headed back towards the cottage with Bee nibbling at my ankles. “Come inside and get cleaned up.”

“Aww!” they both whined.

***

Me and my sister like to do rude things together sometimes.

Oh, wait.

I should have said who I was first.

I’m Freya and my little sister is Millie. My mum’s real name is Georgia but obviously we just call her Mum or Mummy.

There.

So lately I started feeling funny between my legs and I found out that it feels really good to touch myself down there. At school, I showed my kitty to a couple of friends under the table and they showed me theirs and then later on at home I asked Millie if she wanted to see it. Millie said no but I showed her anyway. Soon I got her to show me hers and it became like a fun game for us to flash each other when Mum wasn’t around.

When Mum nearly caught us in the poppy field, it was the first time we had rubbed our kitties together like that. It felt really exciting and I didn’t think it would be the last time we did it.

Now I’ll tell you about Mr. Dalliard, who has nothing to do with us rubbing our kitties together but it’s quite interesting anyway.

Mr. Dalliard is a nice old man who lives in a house near ours and comes over sometimes to help Mum with carpentry and painting and odd jobs and stuff. My sister is sure that he’s the oldest man in the world but I think that’s just something he told her as a joke. He is pretty old though.

Oh. He also built our treehouse.

Today he was round our house to help Mum repair and paint some old beehives. Mum insisted they use water based paint as it’s better for the bees and for the environment too but Mr. Dalliard said oil based was better and that’s what he had used his whole life. Mum won.

“She won’t last five minutes, girl,” Mr. Dalliard told Mum as he slapped the paint on with a brush. No idea why but Mr. Dalliard likes to call things ‘she’ and ‘he’. Weird.

“Water based paint’s much better than it used to be,” Mum told him.

“The weather’ll get into her, you mark my words,” Mr. Dalliard grumped.

Millie asked him the same question she asked him every time. “Mr. Dalliard, how old are you?”

“Older’n any person alive, young’un,” Mr. Dalliard told my sister, grinning.

I don’t think he’s ever called us by our actual names. It’s always ‘young’un’ or ‘littlun’ or ‘whippersnapper’ and stuff like that. I keep meaning to Google ‘whippersnapper’.

“Yeah, but how old?” Millie kept on. My sister is almost as stubborn as Mr. Dalliard.

“How old d’ye think I is?”

“I dunno ’cause you never tell me.”

“Guess then.”

“Um… as old as Yoda?”

“Who the ‘ell’s Yoga?”

“Yoda, not Yoga! He’s the leader of the Jedi,” Millie explained.

“Oh, I see. How old’s ‘e then?”

“About… five hundred years old, I think.”

Mr. Dalliard did a loud, coughy noise that was probably a laugh.

“I saw an old Japanese lady on YouTube who was a hundred and twenty and there’s no way you’re that old,” I told him, pleased with myself.

“Don’t gimme that YouTube rubbish!” Mr. Dalliard wheezed, having none of it. “It were prolly someone ‘avin’ a prank.”

“No, it was real,” I insisted.

“Bah, you can keep yer YouTubes and yer Yoghurts. I’s the oldest bloke in the world, and tha’s a fact.”

Millie studied Mr. Dalliard closely for a bit. “He might be,” she finally said to me.

“He’s not,” I said in a quiet voice, a little annoyed.

“I’m sure if Mr. Dalliard wanted you to know how old he was, he’d tell you,” Mum told us.

“Ask the lady in the tree, she’ll tell ya how old I is,” Mr. Dalliard said as he slapped on more paint.

“What lady?” I asked.

“The old Dryad, one that lives in the big ole oak down yonder. Knew me as a young’un, she did.”

Me, my sister and Mum gave each other a funny look. Mr. Dalliard said weird stuff sometimes.

“Okay, Mr. Dalliard,” Mum said. “Would you like another cup of tea?”

I better remember to Google ‘Dryad’ too.

Later on that evening after Mum had sent us to bed, I thought about sharing my secret with my sister but I wasn’t sure if she could be trusted after telling Mum about me flashing my kitty.

“Millie?” I said to her as she read her book in the bed next to mine.

“What?”

“Why did you tell Mum about me showing my kitty?”

“‘Cause you laughed at my fajitas.”

“I didn’t mean to laugh, but we have to keep stuff like that secret, okay?”

Millie looked up from her book. “Okay I’m sorry, I won’t tell Mummy again.”

“D’you promise?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

Millie sighed dramatically. “I promise not to tell Mummy about the rude things.”

Satisfied that she would keep her word, I pulled something out from under my pillow. “Look what I have,” I gasped with a grin

Millie put her book down. “What is it?”

“A pair of Mum’s knickers!”

“Why do you have those?”

“I took them from the washing basket.”

“Yeah, but why?”

I climbed out of bed and tiptoed over to my sister’s bed with the knickers in my hand. I sat down and held them near her face. “Smell them.”

“I don’t want to,” Millie said, pulling away.

“Go on, they smell really nice,” I insisted.

“Like what?”

“Like Mum’s kitty,” I said and took a big sniff.

“Okay, I’ll try them,” my sister decided.

I held the soiled panties under her nose again. Millie took a little sniff, then a bigger one.

“Do you like the smell?” I asked her.

Millie shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Just okay?” I said, disappointed. How could the smell not be as exciting to her as it was to me?

“I don’t mind it, but sneaking Mummy’s dirty knickers into our room is a bit weird.”

“Will you rub your kitty on mine while I smell them?”

Millie giggled. “Okay.”

I went back to lay on my own bed and pulled my knickers and pyjama bottoms down round my ankles. Millie crept over and pulled hers down too. She climbed over me and lowered herself onto my body.

“Make sure they’re touching together,” I told her.

As my sister lay on top of me and rubbed herself against my kitty, I opened my mum’s dirty panties and inspected them. They were just normal cotton knickers, light blue with a yellow trim. There were some stains in there, some yellow ones and some whitish ones.

I held them up to my nose and breathed in. I’m not sure I can describe how they smelled, kind of fruity and dirty, but I really liked it. And with my little sister rubbing her private parts on mine it felt even better.

I pushed the panties into Millie’s face. “Are you sure you don’t like the smell?”

“Stop it, Freya!” my sister said but she was grinning when she said it so I didn’t think she was too bothered.

“I wonder why my panties don’t smell this good,” I mused.

“They would do if you didn’t wash them.”

I gave Mum’s panties another sniff. “I really like doing this.”

“The rubbing thing or smelling Mummy’s knickers?”

“Both, but I meant the rubbing.”

“I like it too.”

My kitty felt really tingly and almost sore and I felt like I was building up to something but I wasn’t sure what and I wasn’t sure how to get there. But it felt nice anyway.

I put Mum’s panties over Millie’s head so she was wearing them like a balaclava.

“Take them off, Freya!” my sister squealed.

“Shhh!” I whispered, laughing.

Millie pulled the knickers off her head and threw them at me. “You’re horrible!” The little smile in the corner of her mouth told me she didn’t really mean it, though.

“I can hear you up there! Go to sleep!” Mum shouted from the bottom of the stairs.

Millie climbed off me, pulled her panties and pyjamas back up and scampered back to her own bed.

I covered myself up with my summer quilt but kept my panties pulled down. I wanted to touch myself down there and smell Mum’s knickers a bit more before I went to sleep.

***

It was mid-morning, and Freya and Millie were playing outside in the stream while I made a quick zoom call to my friend and the girls’ teacher Sadie, or Miss Laine as she was known to my two daughters. If possessing a natural kind of beauty that was the envy of most women wasn’t enough, she was also a pillar of the community, working tirelessly to help her young charges, and organising various events around the village. I should have wanted to slap her repeatedly for being so unbelievably nice, but the universe clearly had other ideas for Sadie Laine and myself when it decided we were going to be best friends.

“Good morning, Miss Laine,” I droned, imitating her pupils’ traditional morning greeting.

Sadie laughed at my foolishness. “Can you see me?” she asked.

We had only recently discovered online meetings. Neither of us were particularly tech savvy, but the novelty hadn’t worn off yet.

I sat down on the couch with a cup of herbal tea, and drew my legs up underneath me. “Yeah, I can see you. You’re looking horrifically beautiful as usual. Some of us have to make an effort to look good, you know.”

Sadie swished her long chestnut hair back in an exaggerated manner. “What a nice compliment! I think…”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I told her, laughing.

“What are you up to?” Sadie asked me.

“Uh, this and that. Herbs to plant, beekeeper study, lots of little maintenance jobs to do around the house. I don’t like to rely on Mr. Dalliard too much, he’s not getting any younger.”

“No, poor old bugger.”

“How ’bout you?”

“I’m still working my way through marking the kids’ mock exams. The vicar wants me to help with the church fête, too.”

“Tell him to get someone else. He’s always asking you for help.”

“I don’t mind. You know I like to keep busy.”

“He takes advantage,” I told her. The vicar was a slimy little fucker in my opinion. And there were long standing rumours he couldn’t keep his willy inside his cassock.

“Oh, don’t be a meanie! He’s not so bad,” Sadie said. “Are the girls behaving?”

I rolled my eyes. “Mostly…”

“What? Are they being naughty?”

“Not naughty really but… well…”

“Do they need Miss Laine to come round and give them a good talking to?” Sadie said, trying to put on a stern looking face.

“Freya has discovered her vagina,” I declared.

Sadie burst out laughing. “Oh, my goodness! How embarrassing!”

I smiled. “Yeah, she’s going through that ‘flash your kitty at anything that moves’ phase, I’m afraid.”

Sadie managed to compose herself, went to speak and then fell apart laughing again. Even her laugh was attractive – soft and infectious.

I had a little giggle with her. “That’s it, get it out of your system. I was hoping for some teacherly advice, but you’re no help at all.”

“I’m sorry, it was just the way you said it!” Sadie chuckled. “To be honest, I’ve caught her and some of the other girls doing it at school too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They didn’t know I was watching, but I could see what they were doing under the table. Kids aren’t very good at hiding things.”

“Didn’t you tell them off?”

“Well, I don’t want to humiliate them in front of the class, so I just tell them to stop messing about and pay attention to their work.”

“Oh, okay. Maybe I need to have a chat with her, she’s got Millie doing it now too.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s pretty normal for kids to be doing that sort of thing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess. I seem to recall doing it myself when I was around Freya’s age.”

Sadie gave me a naughty look. “Didn’t we all? I used to love flashing my pussy to all the other little girls and boys.”

I put a hand to my mouth and let out a scandalised gasp. “Prim and proper Sadie Laine, a pussy flasher? Surely not!”

Sadie creased up again. “I did! I was awful!”

“Well, I certainly hope the vicar doesn’t find out what a little hussy his favourite helper used to be!”

We both fell about laughing like a couple of schoolgirls until Sadie fanned herself with a hand and declared, “Oh dear, I’m getting all flushed!”

“Okay, I’m gonna go before I pee myself,” I told her.

“All right. Let’s meet up sometime. This is fun, but there’s no substitute for good old fashioned get-togethers.”

“I agree.”

“Say hi to the girls!”

“Will do!”

“Bye!”

“Bye-bye!”

We both sat there staring at each other.

“I don’t know how to turn it o-off!” Sadie sang.

“Me nei-ther!” I warbled back.

“I’m just gonna push random buttons until something happens…”

“Me too, then. See you later!”

“Bye! I hope the girls don’t flash their fa—”

Not sure what I had pressed but Sadie was cut off mid sentence and the screen went black. I closed my laptop, chuckling to myself. “Daft cow.”

***

Me, Millie and Bee followed the little stream next to our house down past the wheat fields, eels and little fish darting away to avoid us. We took our sandals off – not Bee, she doesn’t wear sandals – and paddled barefoot through the cool, clear water. Mum had made sure we went out with our sun hats on to keep our heads from getting burned.

Whenever we came to a wider part of the stream, we would stop and play for a bit, splashing each other with water and climbing up the shallow bank to see if there was anything worth investigating. Bee wanted to eat everything in sight and I had to keep pulling things out of her mouth.

Soon we came to a part of the stream that was so wide, it had a little flat shingle island and an old dead log in the middle of it. I think it might have been wide enough to call a river.

“This would be a good place to make camp,” I said to my sister. I was the voice of authority on camping and survival but my sister was good with fish and insects.

“I dunno if we’d fit a tent on here, it’s quite a little island,” Millie said, bending down to inspect the log.

“We’d get a small tent on here easy-peasy.”

“What’s the point of camping in the middle of a river though?” my sister argued.

“Shut up, I know more about camping than you,” I told her.

“You shut up.”

I decided it was time to break camp and get back on our journey. “Let’s keep following the stream.”

“We shouldn’t go much farther,” Millie said. “Mummy said not to go too far away from the house.”

“We’re not that far, Millie. She meant like miles away.”

“A dragonfly!” my sister yelled and pointed to a shimmering turquoise shape hovering near the far bank.

“Oh wow, it’s beautiful!”

“It’s really pretty! Let’s follow it!” Millie said and splashed across the stream towards the flying insect.

“Come on, Bee!” I shouted to the puppy and we ran after my sister.

We climbed up the bank and chased the dragonfly across a field of golden rapeseed, laughing as we ran along with our sandals in our hands, Bee barking at us.

“Ow!” Millie shouted and bent down to rub her foot.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her as I came to a halt.

“I stepped on something sharp. I’m gonna put my sandals back on.”

“Me too,” I said and we both slipped back into our sandals.

The dragonfly had flown off but when I looked across the field I could see a massive tree just on the other side. “Millie, look,” I said, pointing at it.

“It’s huge!”

We ran over to the edge of the field and climbed over a low wooden fence, while Bee scrambled underneath. It was an oak tree, I knew, and it was definitely the biggest one I had ever seen in my life, maybe thirty or forty feet wide, all gnarly, with big roots snaking out. It sat on a big patch of grass where two dirt roads came together.

“I think this is the tree Mr. Dalliard was talking about,” I told my sister.

“Is it?”

“Maybe. I remember Mum taking us to see it too, when we were little.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“She said it was the oldest tree in the country.”

“Mr. Dalliard said a tree lady lived in it,” my sister mused.

“It’s called a Dryad. Like a tree nymph or something.”

Millie cupped her hands together over her mouth and hollered, “Hello tree lady!”

A crow perching on a branch above cawed down at us. Bee told it off but then whimpered, having second thoughts.

As I looked up I could see a shape in the massive tree trunk – almost like a person trapped in there if you looked at it from a certain angle and squinted.

I think my sister saw it too. “Freya, I want to go home,” she told me in a worried voice.

“Me too,” I agreed and we ran along the dirt track, back to the safety of our little cottage.

***

I spent the afternoon planting my herbs, but it was far too hot inside the greenhouse, and honestly, the thought of exerting myself on my other neglected maintenance tasks on such a stifling day kind of drained my spirit. So I sought sanctuary in the cool interior of our cottage to busy myself with a bit of half-hearted housework.

I usually made the girls tidy up their own bedroom, knowing it did them both good to take responsibility for their own things and learn how to clean up after themselves. But seeing as I was running the hoover round upstairs anyway, I thought I might as well vacuum their room.

But as I was hoovering under Freya’s bed, I caught a glimpse of something sticking out from under her pillow. I turned the hoover off and pulled the material out. A pair of my panties? What were they doing here? I brought them to my nose and discovered they were dirty. I could only assume my eldest daughter had fished them out of the washing basket and smuggled them back to her room.

But why would she do that? The obvious answer was that my ten-year-old had developed some kind of panty fetish, which seemed a bit ridiculous. Were little girls even into that kind of kink?

Maybe I was just jumping to conclusions. Perhaps Millie had put them under there as a joke. I’m sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation why Freya had a pair of my dirty knickers hidden under her pillow. Was it even that big a deal in the greater scheme of things?

I was feeling incredibly horny all of a sudden. I’m sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for that, too.

I put my panties back under Freya’s pillow, left the hoover where it was and went to my room. I lay back on my bed, pulled my trousers and panties down to my knees, then snaked a hand between my legs. My other hand slipped inside my t-shirt and found my breasts. I don’t usually wear a bra these days – finding them too restrictive and uncomfortable – so I was free to massage my tits and pinch my nipples without hindrance.

I pushed my fingers through my hot labia, then back up to smear my essence through my bush. God, how I loved the smell of pussy juice on pubic hair. Did Freya enjoy my smell too? I wondered if she lay in her bed at night with my dirty knickers held to her face?

I tried to push that image aside and replace it with other, more acceptable ones. Invariably, it was lesbian imagery that filled my mind – pussy against pussy, breast against breast, the scents and sounds of other females. I’d been married to a man once, but these days, most of my masturbatory fantasies seemed to involve other women.

But the image of my ten-year-old daughter smelling my soiled panties wouldn’t go away, so I let it back in, along with the recent memory of Freya and Millie rubbing their pussies together in the poppy field. I pulled my linen trousers off and spread my legs wide, plunging two fingers inside myself, then scissoring them in and out.

“Oh God, yes,” I moaned and lifted my t-shirt up to smear pussy juice across my nipples. Fuck, that wonderful smell. My fingers found my cunt again and I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensations radiating through my body while a gentle breeze blew across my skin from the open window.

Did Freya finger herself too as she sniffed my panties?

“Fuck…”

Did you hump your pillow while you enjoyed Mummy’s dirty knickers, sweetie?

“Gonna… come.”

Did you rub yourself against your little sister as you breathed in Mummy’s aroma?

“Oh, sweetie… that’s so dirty…”

I erupted into orgasm, eyes tight shut, hands clamped against my cunt as little convulsions racked my body. I hadn’t come this hard in a while. “Christ…” I groaned, surrendering to the ecstasy that washed over me.

“Mummy, we saw the lady in the tree!” Millie squealed as she came bounding into my bedroom with Freya and the puppy.

“Shit!” I hissed, snapping my legs together and frantically trying to cover myself with a pillow. “Lady? In a tree? Er… well, that sounds nice! Who wants ice cream?”

Oh, dear…

On to Chapter Two!