Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by BlueJean

My two daughters stood there in the doorway of my bedroom as I lay spreadeagled on the bed with my knickers stretched around my knees, my t-shirt pulled up.

Millie stared between my legs with her mouth open. Freya looked down at the carpet and fidgeted uncomfortably.

Bee leaped onto the bed and attacked me with licks and nibbles as if she hadn’t seen me for months.

I managed to pull my panties up as the puppy wrapped herself around my neck and nuzzled my ears. “Bee, no! Naughty!” I squealed, trying to detach her. “Take her downstairs, Millie, she’s putting dirty pawprints on my sheets!”

“Why were your pants pulled down?” Millie asked.

“Never mind that! Just take her downstairs, please!” I said.

“Bee! Biscuits! Biscuits!” Millie hollered, clapping her hands, and the excited puppy dove off the bed and followed her downstairs.

Freya sat on the end of my bed as I pulled my t-shirt down and tried to compose myself.

“I’ll have to change the sheets now,” I said breathlessly and climbed off my bed to put my linen trousers back on.

“I know what you were doing,” Freya said in a quiet voice, a little smirk in one corner of her mouth.

“Oh, do you now?” I said, buttoning up my trousers.

She nodded and went a bit red-faced.

I sat on the bed next to her. “And what is it you think I was doing?”

She looked me in the eye defiantly. “Touching yourself.”

“Touching myself?”

“Yeah.”

“And how would you know about that?” I asked her, smiling.

Freya just shrugged.

“It’s okay, you can tell me,” I coaxed her.

“I do it too,” she said and exhaled an embarrassed snigger through her nose.

“Oh, okay,” I said, matter-of-factly. “It’s pretty normal to start being interested in that kind of thing at your age.”

“It makes me feel… tingly.”

“Tingly, huh?”

“Yeah. Does it make you feel tingly too?”

I chuckled. “I guess it does,” I said as I gently stroked her cheek. “Is that why you’ve been showing your private bits lately? Because it makes you feel tingly?”

“I dunno,” Freya said, colour reaching her cheeks again.

“Okay,” I said and got up to slip my shoes on. “Well, that’s normal too, but you need to be careful who’s watching when you do it.”

“‘Kay,” Freya said and made to leave my room.

“Oh, Freya?” I called after her.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a favour?”

“What?”

“When you’ve finished with my knickers, can you put them back in the washing bin, please?”

Freya stood there looking mortified, and I thought she might cry. “I didn’t take them,” she mumbled.

“I don’t mind if you borrow them,” I told her as casually as I could. “Everything you’re doing and feeling is completely normal. You’re not the first kid to borrow their mum’s panties, okay?”

My daughter stared down at her feet, a scowl on her face.

“Okay?” I repeated.

“Yeah, okay,” she replied grumpily.

“It’s just, if you keep taking my knickers I won’t have any left to wear, so pop them back in the laundry when you’re done with them.”

Freya stormed off downstairs like her world was about to end.

***

Mum says that when the bees cap their honeycombs with wax, it’s time to start harvesting the honey.

I wasn’t too keen on helping to collect the honeycombs. I don’t like it when all the bees start flying around too much, but my sister loves helping Mum. She looks really funny in her little beekeeping suit too.

I stood near the orchard gate and watched as Mum lifted the bars of honeycomb out of each hive and handed them to Millie, who put them in a wheelbarrow, gently brushing the bees off, then covering them over with a cloth.

Mum said it was amazing that she didn’t need to use her smoker to calm the bees when Millie was with her. She called my sister her ‘little smoker’ and said that the bees seemed almost friendly when Millie was around them.

Mum didn’t take every single honeycomb, just the ones that had been almost fully capped with wax. The others would be collected in a second and maybe a third harvest.

As my mum continued to carefully pull each bar from the hives, more and more bees swarmed around Millie, settling in clumps on her suit.

Mum stopped what she was doing. “Millie, are you okay?” she asked.

Millie giggled and held her arms out as the bees buzzed around her. “They really like me,” she said.

“They’re not supposed to like you, you’re attacking their home and stealing their honey.”

“It’s okay, Mummy. I told them we built their houses, and now we’re just borrowing a bit of honey in return.”

“That’s a good attitude to have. You’ll make a fine beekeeper,” Mum said, and I felt just a teensy bit jealous.

The next day was my favourite part. Me, my sister, and Mum brought the honeycombs into the kitchen and the three of us used our hands to crush them up, then put them in big buckets on some fine mesh cloth that was stretched over the top so the honey would filter down into the bottom.

Mum told us not to keep licking our hands but we just couldn’t help it and kept popping our sticky fingers into our mouths when she wasn’t looking. It took us quite a while to crush the honeycombs, but it was a lot of fun so we didn’t mind.

“Mummy, I feel sick,” Millie groaned when we had just about finished.

“How much honey did you eat?” Mum asked her.

“Not much.”

“She ate loads,” I said, helpfully.

“You’re not supposed to lick your fingers and then touch the honey. People wouldn’t buy it if they knew.”

“Freya did it too,” Millie said, looking a little pale.

“Yes, I know. Take your gloves off and go and have a lie down for a bit,” Mum told her.

“‘Kay,” my sister groaned, putting her sticky gloves in the sink before shuffling out of the kitchen.

“How many jars of honey will we get from this, Mum?” I asked, crushing the last honeycomb into a bucket.

“About two hundred, I guess,” Mum told me as she put lids on the buckets and put them in the pantry. The honey would take a day or two to filter down completely.

“Will we make much money?”

“Not that much. Not enough to make a living from it anyway, but that’s okay.”

I took my gloves off and hovered around Mum. I wanted to ask her about naughty stuff, but I was a bit embarrassed, not sure if she would tell me off or not. I had been a bit annoyed when she had found out that I had borrowed her knickers, but at least she wasn’t angry about it, which surprised me.

Finally, I plucked up the courage. “Um… I put your knickers back in the washing basket.”

Mum looked a bit embarrassed too. “Oh… thank you.”

“Am I allowed to borrow another pair?”

“Freya!” Mum said, laughing.

“What?! You said you didn’t mind!” She definitely did say that.

“I did, yes, but… you know… you don’t need to…” Mum said, flustered, and then sighed. “Okay. You can borrow another pair if you really want.”

“Thanks,” I said shyly, still feeling embarrassed.

“Is it just the dirty ones you want?” Mum asked me.

I looked down at the kitchen floor and nodded.

Mum stood behind me and rubbed my arms. I liked it when she did that. “Is it the smell you like?” Her voice had gone especially quiet.

I nodded again.

“And you touch yourself down there while you smell them?”

I shrugged. “A bit.”

“A little bit?”

“Yeah.”

“I used to like humping my pillow when I was your age,” Mum half-whispered in my ear.

I looked up at her. “I never tried that.”

“It feels good.”

Mum gently spun me round to face her, putting her hands on my shoulders. “You keep growing up while I’m not looking,” she said, and kissed me on the top of my head.

I smiled, my cheeks still feeling warm.

“I’ll tell you what,” Mum said. She stood back, reached under her summer dress, and pulled her panties off. She held them out to me. “Why don’t you take these? I’ve been wearing them all day, so they should be nice and fragrant.”

I was a bit shocked. I didn’t think mums were supposed to do that sort of thing.

“Um… thanks,” I said as she dropped the still-warm knickers into my hands.

“Don’t you want them? I can put them back on if you prefer,” Mum said, reaching out to take them back.

I snatched them away from her grasp. “No, I want them!”

Mum laughed. “Go take them upstairs, then. And see if your sister’s all right.”

***

What on earth possessed me to do something like that?

The summer heat, perhaps. The hot weather sometimes made me feel randy and a little bit naughty.

But taking off my panties in front of my ten-year-old daughter and giving them to her so she could sniff them? It was unorthodox, to say the least.

Christ, I need to get laid.

Since my husband died of cancer five years ago and the girls and I moved out here to escape the city, there had been no one really, just a couple of one-night stands. I wasn’t ready to commit, didn’t know if I ever would be. And mostly I was okay with that. I was happy with the life I had and didn’t feel the need to go rushing up the aisle again.

But a woman gets lonely sometimes. I just wasn’t sure that directing this sexual frustration towards my little girl was the answer.

***

The next morning, the girls and I took Bee for a nice walk across the fields and through the woods. A low mist hung in the air, which meant it was going to be another hot day. The cooing of wood pigeons and the percussive tapping of woodpeckers echoed through the trees as we strolled along the dirt track that ran through the forest. Bee zoomed around chasing red squirrels, coming back every now and then to make sure we were still there. The three of us were still wearing our pajamas. You can do weird stuff like that when you live in the country.

“Mummy, do wolves live in this forest?” Millie asked me.

“Not anymore, no,” I told her.

“What happened to them?”

“People kept killing them until finally there were none left.”

Millie frowned and looked genuinely upset. “I don’t like people,” she declared.

I gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Neither do I sometimes, but not all people are bad, Pixie.”

“I heard on the internet that they were thinking about letting wolves move back in,” Freya informed us. She was our girl on the ground when it came to all the latest news.

“It’s a nice idea,” I said. “The deer in this country don’t have any natural predators anymore, so reintroducing wolves would keep their numbers down without having to cull them. But honestly, it would never work out.”

“Why not?” Freya asked.

“Because the wolves would attack livestock too, and then people would get angry and try to drive them away or kill them, and we’d be back to square one. Humans don’t change.”

“If they let wolves and bears back into the forest, I’d go and live with them,” Millie said, wearing a faraway look.

“I don’t think I’m ready to let my youngest daughter leave home just yet,” I told her and ruffled her hair.

“Can we visit the big tree?” she asked me.

“The big oak?”

“Yeah, I want to see the tree lady again.”

“I don’t want to,” Freya said, frowning.

“Why not?” Millie asked her sister.

“I don’t like it.”

“It’s just a tree, Freya. You don’t need to be scared of nature,” I told her.

“Freya’s scared of a tree! Freya’s scared of a tree!” chanted Millie as she danced around her sister.

“I’m not scared, you spastic!” Freya shouted and tried to kick her little sister.

“Hey! Don’t call your sister a spastic. And Millie, stop teasing Freya,” I told them. “Let’s go and say hello to that nice old oak, then you’ll see there’s nothing to worry about.”

We called Bee back to us and made our way through the trees to the edge of the forest.

When we emerged from the trees, the sun had established itself in the sky and had burnt away the morning mist. We could see the massive oak off in the distance. We climbed over a stile and used the public footpath that cut through a wheat field. I put Bee on her lead, as I didn’t want her running up to say hello to the combine harvester that was cutting a swathe through the cereal crop on the other side of the field. I put a hand up to the farmer driving the large piece of machinery and he waved back.

It wasn’t long before we had reached the intersection and the ancient oak that guarded it.

“Wow, I’d forgotten how big it was,” I said, looking up at the majestic tree.

“Look Mum, can you see the Dryad?” Freya asked, pointing at an indistinct shape in the massive trunk.

I suppose it was vaguely humanoid if you looked at it from a certain position on the ground. It was a long, lumpy growth, about five feet in length, almost like a root that had decided to grow up the tree instead of down and into the earth.

“How old do you think it is?” Freya asked me.

“At least a thousand years old, by all accounts,” I told her.

I’d heard all kinds of stories about the old oak, some of them more pleasant than others. Apparently, they’d hung a lot of people from this tree during the witch trials, mostly women, but I wasn’t going to tell the girls that. I didn’t want them to be scared of this beautiful old tree, and it wasn’t the oak’s fault that people were so cruel and brutal.

“Millie, what are you doing?” Freya said.

Millie had planted both her hands on the massive tree trunk, her brow was furrowed in deep concentration. She seemed to be trying to listen to something. “How did you know my name?” she said.

“Um… because you’re my sister?” Freya said.

“Millie, are you okay?” I said and put a hand on her shoulder.

That seemed to startle her and she turned round to look at us. “Sorry,” she said and gave me a shy smile.

I could hear a crow cackling at us, up in the canopy of the tree somewhere. Bee whined and hid behind my legs.

“Shall we go and get some breakfast, girls?” I said, and my two pajama-clad imps skipped off in the direction of our cottage.

I looked back at the gnarly old oak. All the things that tree must have seen during its long, long life. I wondered what stories it could tell, if only it could talk.

***

Me and my sister spent the next day helping Mum fill all the jars with honey.

All the old crushed up honeycombs were put into a big container and saved for later when Mum would turn them into beeswax, and then she poured all the honey from the buckets into a bottling tank. I put each jar under the tap on the bottom of the tank and filled them up with honey, and when each one was full and the lid had been put on, Millie put a sticky label on the side that said: NEWTON PURE HONEY.

Newton is our family name, by the way.

Oh, and the honey’s pure because Mum doesn’t pasteurize it. She says it’s better that way.

I really liked watching the honey fill up the jars. It was kind of addictive.

When all the jars were full, we put them in the pantry, ready for selling. Most of them would be sold at the church fête but we always kept a jar or two for ourselves. I liked honey on toast but my sister preferred to drizzle it on her porridge.

We left Mum to put all the crushed honeycombs in big pots to separate the wax from the messy stuff. That wasn’t something we could help with really, so we went upstairs to get changed.

Millie was in our bedroom tickling Bee’s tummy and singing a little song. The song went like this:

There’s a fat little puppy called Bumblebee 
She does little poos and she does little wees
She nibbles everything that she can see
‘Cause that’s what little bumblebees doooo!

She swings off the curtains and the washing line too
She leaves dirty pawprints in the living room
She’ll pinch your socks and your panties too
‘Cause that’s what little bumblebees doooo!

I actually thought it was quite a good song but I couldn’t tell Millie that or she’d sing it to me for the rest of my life.

Bee wriggled around and nibbled Millie’s hand.

“Shall we go and play in the haystack?” I asked my sister.

The haystack was just near our house. It was a big barn where the farmer kept all his bales of hay and we liked to go there and jump around sometimes.

“Okay,” Millie said.

We left Bee with Mum and ran over to the haystack.

The big barn didn’t have any doors, it was just some posts with a roof on top, so it wasn’t dark and scary in there or anything.

Me and my sister pretended we were mountaineers as we climbed up the bales of hay.

“We’re nearly at the top!” I said in a dramatic voice.

“I don’t think I can make it!” shouted Millie, who was just below me. “Both my legs are broken and I’m snowblind!”

Millie did tend to overact a bit, to be honest. I just tried to go with it, though.

“You can do it! Look, can you see the summit?” I said, pointing upwards, trying to encourage her.

“No, ’cause I’m blind,” groaned Millie.

“Oh yeah, sorry… well, keep climbing!”

“I can’t! Go on without me! Tell Mummy I love her!”

“Start climbing, girl! I’m not leaving you behind! Do you hear me?!” I shouted through the howling wind and snow.

“Okay, I’ll try,” Millie said and began pulling herself up the mountainside by her hands.

The blizzard lashed cruelly against our faces as we climbed, stinging our skin and obscuring our vision, even though we had snow goggles on. The summit was no longer visible but I knew it was close. We could still make it. We had to make it!

“My legs are going to fall off!” Millie whined as she dragged herself upwards.

I grabbed hold of her and pulled her up. “There’ll be no legs falling off today, girl! Not on my watch!”

We climbed and climbed and climbed. Higher and higher we went. Several times, the mountain tried to be rid of us, blowing us around like ragdolls and leaving us barely anything to grab hold of.

A polar bear tried to drag Millie off too, which was a bit silly as I was pretty sure polar bears didn’t live up mountains. Anyway, I managed to beat it off with my ice axe.

Finally we made it to the top.

I pitched our tent (which isn’t easy in a snow blizzard, let me tell you) while Millie lay on the ground shivering and moaning. When I had finished, I dragged her inside and made a fire, briefly wondering if having a fire inside a tent was a good idea.

“How are your broken legs?” I asked my sister.

“Not too bad, actually. I think they’re getting better,” she replied, cheerfully.

“Oh. Good.”

“Shall we play a different game?” Millie asked.

“What kind of game?”

Millie sat up and smirked at me. “A rude game.”

It was usually me that started the rude games, but I was glad my sister was taking more of an interest.

“Okay, you show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” I said and pulled my shorts down.

“Let’s take them right off,” Millie said and took her shorts off. I pulled mine off too.

“Ready?” I said as we sat opposite each other.

“Ready,” Millie giggled and we both pulled our panties to one side.

We stared at each other’s kitties for a while and then Millie said, “Did you see Mummy’s kitty when she had her pants pulled down?”

“Yeah.”

“It was all hairy.”

“I know.”

“And there was wet stuff all over it.”

“I know.”

“What was it?”

“It’s sticky stuff that comes out of women’s kitties. I can make some come out of mine but not much.” I told my sister. It was a big sister’s job to teach her little sister about this kind of thing.

“Will you show me?” Millie asked me.

“Okay, but I have to touch myself first to make it come out. Let’s take our panties off.”

We slipped our knickers off and I leaned back against a hay bale, spreading my legs. I stretched open my kitty and began rubbing it with my fingers. Sometimes I would push my whole middle finger in and out of my kitty hole and it would make little squishy noises.

“I’ll give you a close-up of my kitty while you do that,” Millie told me.

She got up and stood over me, spreading her feet apart. Her kitty was only a few inches away from my face and I could smell it. It wasn’t as strong as Mum’s knickers but it was still really sexy.

“Stretch it open so I can see inside,” I told my sister and she pulled her kitty lips apart. It was all pink inside.

I kept pushing my finger in and out of myself until I started to get sticky and wet down there. “Okay, lay down and I’ll show you my wet stuff,” I said.

Millie lay down and I squatted down over her face and pulled my kitty open for her. “Can you see?”

Millie giggled. “Yeah, it looks all sticky.”

I slid two fingers through my wet lips and held them near my sister’s face, rubbing them together.

“It smells,” Millie told me.

“Is it bad?”

“No, I don’t mind it.”

“Have a closer look, then,” I said and lowered myself down even more so that my kitty was only an inch away from my sister’s face.

Millie went crosseyed and I laughed.

“You rub mine and I’ll rub yours,” Millie said.

I liked that idea, so we lay down and put a hand between each other’s legs.

My sister’s kitty was really puffy and smooth and it was fun to slide my finger through her slit. Her fingers felt really good on me too, better than when I did it to myself, I think.

“It’s really wet,” Millie said as she rubbed her whole hand on me.

I pushed her hand out of the way and fingered myself, making my fingers moist and sticky, then smeared it on her kitty. “There. Now yours is wet too,” I told her and we went back to fondling each other.

“Let’s kiss,” Millie said.

“I thought you didn’t want to?” I said to her. She didn’t seem too keen the last time I asked her for a kiss.

“I do now,” she told me.

We put our mouths together and moved our lips around, trying to copy how they did it on the TV. I wasn’t sure if this was how you did kissing but it felt pretty good.

We stayed there like that for a while, just touching each other up and kissing. It was really fun doing naughty stuff with my sister. I think she enjoyed it too.

Finally, we put our panties and shorts back on and climbed down the haystack. I think I had some straw down my knickers because I was a bit itchy.

***

After a day of bottling honey and separating beeswax, I treated myself to a bottle of rosé after the girls had gone to bed.

It was a lovely evening, the sun not yet absent from the sky but low enough that it created a beautiful orange sunset. I had the french doors opened wide and as I sat curled up on my rattan couch, I could hear swifts flying back and forth from their nests under the eaves, and the distant hum of farm machinery across the barley field as the neighboring farmer made the most of what little light was left of the day.

I had just finished my second glass and was making good progress on a third when I received a Zoom notification on my laptop.

It was Sadie.

I clicked on the app and my friend popped up on the screen.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” Sadie replied. “Such a beautiful evening.”

“Isn’t it? I’m sitting here with the doors open, watching the sun go down with a bottle of wine to keep me company. So good.”

“I have a bottle of wine too but it’s nearly gone. I’m a bit tipsy,” Sadie told me with a smile and put a finger in her mouth in a cute pout.

“Me too. Aren’t we a pair of naughty girls?”

“We deserve it.”

“Yes we bloody well do!” I said and we both laughed.

“I need a good fuck,” Sadie said, screwing up her pretty face.

I nearly spat out my mouthful of rosé. “Sadie Laine, wash your mouth out!”

“No I will not, Georgia Newton!” Sadie exclaimed, stretching her arm out and pointing at me. Wow, she really was sloshed.

“I’ve been feeling kind of horny too, actually,” I told her.

“Let’s go and find a couple of beefy farmers with big willies,” Sadie suggested.

“All the beefy farmers with big willies are married, sweetie.”

“How about a scrawny farmer with a little willy then?”

“Eww, no! That doesn’t sound very nice.”

Sadie drained her glass of wine, turned it upside down and shook it, just to be sure it was empty. “Let’s head into the city and go clubbing. We could bring someone back home and have a threesome,” she said.

I laughed. “Oh my God, I’ve never seen you like this. Go and masturbate or something!”

Sadie moved her face closer to the cam and smirked at me. “I will if you will.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Let’s masturbate for each other.”

“Um… no, I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Scared?” Sadie said, taunting me.

“You’ve had more wine than me.”

“Oh excuses, excuses!”

My best friend put her wine glass down and stood up so all I could see were her legs. She unbuttoned her trousers and they fell around her legs with a swish. She stepped out of them and sat back down, raising an eyebrow at me defiantly.

“You’ll regret this in the morning,” I warned her.

“Shush! I’m feeling awfully randy, and you’re going to watch me do naughty things to myself. Is that clear, Georgia Newton?”

“Yes, Miss Laine,” I said and wondered if I should try to stop her. I was less drunk than she was so I probably should have taken responsibility. We don’t always make the right choices though, do we?

Sadie leaned back on her couch and put a hand on her crotch, rubbing herself through her nice lacy red panties. I didn’t know her taste in underwear was so risqué. She really was a dark horse.

“I’ve always had a crush on you, y’know?” my friend said as she touched herself.

I laughed, a little embarrassed. “That’s easy to say when you’re drunk.”

“I have a crush on you when I’m sober too.”

Was she being serious? “Sure.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Sadie asked me.

“Everyone thinks you’re pretty,” I told her.

“But do you?” Sadie persisted and pointed at me with her other hand.

I rolled my eyes at her. “Yes, I think you’re pretty.”

“I’ll show you my pussy if you show me yours.”

I laughed again. “No, I’m not doing that. I’m too shy.”

Sadie stuck her bottom lip out. “You’re no fun.”

Grabbing hold of the crotch of her panties, she grinned at me. “It’s okay, though. I’ll still show you mine,” she said and pulled them to one side.

She was neatly trimmed down there. Not completely shaven, just a little tuft of hair at the apex of her pussy. Her vagina was perfectly formed, her outer labia smooth and silky, her inner labia like delicate rose petals, her clitoral hood like a crowning pearl.

Was there even one single mediocre thing about this woman at all?

She slid her fingers through her folds, back and forth, back and forth, her pussy lips glistening with dewy nectar. “Oh, I’m so horny, Georgia. So, so horny…”

“I can tell,” I told her, enthralled.

She pulled herself open and unsheathed her clit, then licked her sticky fingers. “I taste so nice,” she groaned and spun a finger round and round her inflamed nub.

I sat transfixed, her spinning fingers hypnotising me, her belly rising and falling rhythmically.

“Oh… oh Georgia…” Sadie whimpered and erupted into a fit of little convulsions, her hands held up, palms out, as if she was surrendering to some unseen enemy. “Oh… oh my word… ooooh…!” she groaned.

She opened her eyes, giving me a drowsy smile. “I’m a naughty girl, aren’t I?”

“Yes. Yes you are,” I agreed.

“I’m going to bed now.”

“Goodnight. I hope your hangover’s not too bad in the morning.”

“Bye bye, beautiful Georgia,” Sadie sang and then I was alone.

Well.

That was new. And different. And awfully erotic.

I logged off my laptop and closed the french doors. The sun had disappeared from the sky,  replaced by a cool, clear moon.

I turned the lights out and tiptoed upstairs, stepping over and avoiding that one squeaky step. The girls’ bedroom door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open quietly, the light from the hall gently illuminating the room.

Millie was asleep on her back with her arm around Bee. The puppy opened her eyes, gave me a little tail wag and then went back to sleep, her head resting on my daughter’s chest.

Freya was asleep on her belly, her pajama bottoms and panties pulled down around her legs and a pillow underneath her. She clutched the dirty knickers I had given her against her face like a comfort blanket. It looked like she had been having some fun of her own tonight.

Standing over her, I put a hand down my trousers, staring at my ten-year-old’s bare bum as I fingered myself. The scent of my arousal infused the air around me.

My orgasm came quickly.

I put a hand across my mouth to stifle a moan and let it wash over me, waves of ecstasy radiating through my loins.

I felt an urge to bend down and kiss my little girl’s bottom to say thank you.

I resisted the temptation and went to bed instead.

On to Chapter Three!