Introduction by JetBoy: Some of you will have already read this nifty, sexy little tale when it first ran at Lesbian Lolita, like BlueJean’s previous story, “The Beekeeper’s Daughters.” I loved that one so much that I knew we had to have this one as well.
In this newer version, the plot of “Selkie Days,” remains unchanged, while the text itself is radically different. While in the editing process, Blue Jean did extensive rewrites, often tinkering with a paragraph in dozens of ways until it met with his satisfaction. I made suggestions and he responded, often improving on my humble ideas. It’s a much better story now, and his hard work made it that way. See for yourself, friends.
by BlueJean
I remember coming into the small harbour town of Morcant-On-Sea for the first time – standing there on the top deck of the ferry, a solemn child of eleven years with all the weight of the world on my shoulders.
My mother had put me on a train, gave me a peck on the cheek, then went on her merry way with her new husband. Not a holiday, she was at pains to point out; an extended honeymoon. And there was no place for children on extended honeymoons.
So off I was shipped to my Uncle Derek and Aunt Rita’s house on the coast.
The seaside town was carved into the cliff face, a peninsula of colourfully painted houses all stacked on top of one another – or so it seemed to me. Little cobbled streets snaked between them, down and down to the harbour where my uncle moored his fishing trawler and the market traders sold his catch.
And there he was, my mother’s brother, standing on the jetty with a makeshift sign slung round his neck: UNCLE DEREK!!!
I wasn’t sure the sign was even necessary, given my bearded giant of an uncle was waving his arms around like a lunatic and shouting, “Hailey! Hailey! It’s me, Uncle Derek!” at the top of his voice. I was hardly likely to mistake him for anyone else.
I hoofed my big suitcase off the ferry as my uncle pushed through the throng of tourists and mainland commuters to meet me. He let out a big belly laugh and hoisted me up, luggage and all.
“HAHAHA! Hailey, girl! Look at the size of ye! Give yer old uncle a kiss!” he boomed and scrubbed me with his big bushy beard, causing me to screw my face up and sneeze all over him.
“Hello, Uncle Derek.”
He wiped his face with the back of a hand and beamed at me. “Ah, got me a face full o’ sea spray!” Depositing me back on the jetty, he stuck my suitcase under one of his arms and ushered me through the crowd, hollering, “Comin’ through! Make way for me niece! Comin’ through!”
I’d never felt so embarrassed in all my life.
He threw my case into the boot of his little yellow original Fiat 500, then squeezed himself into the driver seat as I climbed into the passenger side. “It’s been a while, girl. How long, you reckon?” he asked me as we made our way up through streets of rainbow terraces.
“I think it’s three years,” I replied. “You came to our house for Christmas, didn’t you?” I was eight years old and quite fancied the notion that Santa Claus and his wife were coming to stay with us.
“Aye, that’s it. Yer Aunt Rita’s lookin’ forward to seeing ye. Hasn’t stopped talkin’ about it for weeks.”
My mother had never needed much of an excuse to dislike a person, but my uncle’s wife had rubbed her the wrong way from the very start. Aunt Rita was an unapologetically loud and coarse woman. And that was before she’d even had a drink. She’d also embarked on a career path as a mechanic, something my straight-laced mother could never quite get her head round.
Uncle Derek wound his window down and fired off a verbal missile at a traffic warden sticking a ticket on some poor sod’s windscreen. “Get a proper job, ya fuckin’ pencil pusher!”
I just had time to witness the shocked man jump out of his skin and drop his notepad, before I slid down lower in my seat and hid my face behind a hand.
“S’cuse my language,” Uncle Derek hee-hawed with a delighted grin. “So what’s yer new dad like?”
“He’s not my dad,” I replied, making that fact very clear.
“Oh, fair enough. How’s yer mam?”
I rolled my shoulders into a nonchalant shrug, then idly flicked the pirate spring ornament that adorned the dashboard.
“I don’t blame ya for being pissed off. It weren’t right to leave ya behind.”
“She hates me.”
“No, she don’t.”
“She does.”
“Nope. People make bad choices. Yer mam’s no different. Anyways, I’m glad she didn’t take ya along.”
“Why?”
He stuck his big shovel hand out and tickled my ribs. “‘Cause now me and yer aunt get to spoil ye rotten for the next two months!”
I wriggled against his assault and did my best not to laugh. “Stop it! I’m not in the mood!”
“HAHAHA!”
My uncle and aunt lived atop the peninsula overlooking the town and the harbour below. Resident lighthouse keepers had once called the pale stucco cottage home, but these days the lighthouse kept a solitary vigil upon the cliff, fully automated but for the occasional need for maintenance.
As we pulled into the yard, Aunt Rita craned her head from beneath a car bonnet, her face daubed with smudges of dirty oil. She wiped her hands on her dungarees, then strolled over to us, and when I clambered out of the car, I was greeted with a kiss upon my brow.
“Hey, kid.”
My aunt was a petite but shapely woman in her early thirties, thick dark hair scrunched haphazardly into a bun, and deep brown eyes filled with humour and gleeful mischief. Her beauty was unconventional, but undoubtedly it was there. Secretly, I think I had a little crush on her.
“Hi, Aunt Rita.”
“You married yet?” she asked me.
“I’m only eleven,” I told her.
“Eleven?! Get away! You’re at least twenty-five, by the look of you.”
The old cottage was a simple building, but the weight of history clung to its plastered walls and dimly lit spaces. My room was at the apex – a musty converted attic replete with squeaky oak floorboards, beams and sloping ceilings, and a large porthole window overlooking the sea. I loved every inch of it.
“Stick her suitcase down, oaf. Then you may leave us,” Aunt Rita told her husband, waving him away as she sat on the bed next to me.
“Pipe down, fishwife!” my uncle bellowed with good humour, squeezing his bear-like bulk down the spiral staircase that led to my new lodgings. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re both done talkin’ ’bout how handsome I am.”
My aunt draped an arm around my shoulders and leaned into me. “You okay staying with us for a while? You don’t mind?”
“I don’t mind. It’s nice to see you both again.”
Her smile was warm and playful. “Your uncle sails out again tomorrow. He won’t be around much, but you and me can get up to all kinds of trouble. We can head down to the pub and get drunk, slap a few trollops around, maybe bring back a couple o’ fellas. What d’ya reckon?”
“I’m not really old enough for that,” I reminded her.
“Aww! Don’t like good looking fellas?”
I could feel the heat reach my cheeks. “Dunno, really.”
She gave my shoulder a little squeeze. “Prefer girls, then? Or maybe both! I’ll bet you’re starting to think about that kind of thing.”
I tried to sound a bit scandalised at the accusation, but I wasn’t a very good liar. “Uh, no.”
Aunt Rita flashed her eyes. “I’ll get you to spill the beans sooner or later!” Standing up, she headed toward the stairs. “Get yourself unpacked and then come down when you’re ready. I’ll fix us up something to eat.”
As we sat in the kitchen and ate our meal, my uncle spooning extra rations onto my plate, and my aunt sweeping my hair away from my eyes, I remembered feeling… wanted. My mother hadn’t often lavished attention upon me, and recently most of her affection seemed to be reserved for her new man. True, she had fed and clothed me; provided a roof over my head, but looking back now I see it for what it was: a soft neglect – not borne of malice or cruelty, but simply ill consideration from a self-centred parent.
Children don’t always realise they’re missing something until they get a taste of it. As Uncle Derek insisted on heaping more potatoes onto my plate, I tried to tell him I couldn’t manage any more, but burst into tears instead.
“Oh, Hailey!” Aunt Rita cried.
My surprised looking uncle suddenly faltered, serving spoon full of spuds suspended above my plate. “Eh?”
“Now look what you’ve done, you buffoon!” my aunt accused him.
“It – it’s not Uncle Derek’s fault!” I wailed. “I’m just happy to b-be here, okay?”
My uncle bellowed with laughter, new potatoes tumbling down across the table and onto the floor. “Ah, shit!”
Aunt Rita rolled her eyes at her husband’s clumsiness. “We’re happy to have you, kid,” she told me sincerely, and gave me a comforting squeeze.
“It’s like The One Who Got Away came back to us,” Uncle Derek mused as he scooped up the rogue vegetables.
I didn’t know what The One Who Got Away was and didn’t think to ask, but when Aunt Rita smiled and nodded at her husband’s words, I could see the sadness in her eyes.
As I lay in bed that night with my window and curtains open to the sea air, beginning to drift off to sleep, I thought I could hear someone singing, the voice so faint I wondered if I’d imagined it. I stood on the bed and poked my head out the porthole window, straining to hear, but whatever it was, the wind must have carried it in some new direction, or it had simply ceased. Perhaps Aunt Rita had the radio on somewhere in the house.
I climbed back under the sheets, and soon enough, a deep slumber settled over me.
***
The next morning we headed down to the harbour to see Uncle Derek and his crew off. For three days he would be at sea. It was dangerous, tough work, and no guarantee of a profitable catch. But once a fisherman, always a fisherman, they say.
His crew was a motley bunch. Sully, the first mate, was an old man with pale eyes that had seen too much, and a tight-lipped mouth that would speak none of it. Jack was handsome, cocky, and invincible, still young enough that life had yet to teach him its harsh lessons. And finally, Odette, a French woman built like a brick shithouse, who gave the rest of the crew a run for their money.
As they headed out to sea, Aunt Rita and I stood on the jetty and waved them off, and when the trawler had finally vanished across the water, she took me by the hand. “Let me show you around our seaside town.”
We visited the little parade of shops that ran alongside the harbour: The butcher’s, the baker’s, a post office that sold anything the other two shops didn’t. A doctor’s surgery on the corner, and a dental practice next to that. Down on the harbour itself, the local pub: The Mal De Mer. A rough looking place, but friendly enough, my aunt assured me.
And a mysterious bookshop, its gothic styling at odds with the surrounding architecture, as if it had transported itself here from the nineteenth century. I knew I would have to step through that black painted door before my stay was over. It was too intriguing not to.
We found ourselves down on the beach. It surrounded the peninsula like a protective band, dunes of ocean grasses thinning out to shingle and soft white sand, and further still to jetties of rock where seals could often be found basking. Then finally outward to the marbled waters, where whales breached and seabirds patrolled the skies overhead.
After our tour of the harbour town, we hiked our way back up to the cottage. Aunt Rita told me she had to tow a car from downtown to the yard, so I was left to my own devices until she got back.
Feeling inquisitive, I explored the cottage from bottom to top, checking cupboards and drawers for treasure. At eleven years old and with an increasing interest in all things sexual, ‘treasure’ meant naughty things: rude magazines and DVDs, sex toys and skimpy lingerie. I knew the most valuable booty would likely be found upstairs.
I plundered the bathroom first – the cabinet over the basin and the arid, cavernous space of the airing cupboard. Not much of interest.
The wicker lid of the laundry basket sat askew, inviting me to plunder its depths. I rifled through Uncle Derek’s boxers, pushing them aside – these were not the treasure I sought. Deeper I dug, until I found what I was seeking: Aunt Rita’s panties. I fished a pair out and inspected the soiled fabric.
I had sniffed my own knickers on occasion; even spirited a pair or two of my mother’s back to my room. But this thin wad of violet cotton I held in my hands was an entirely new proposition. The notion that they had sat nestled against my aunt’s most private of places was as exquisite as it was illicit. I crushed them to my face and discovered a rich musk better than anything my mother could offer.
I carried them into my aunt and uncle’s bedroom and made a beeline for the wardrobe. A single tatty black suit and two neglected looking dresses hung in the coffin-like space. I struggled to imagine Derek and Rita clad in such formal attire, probably why there were so many empty hangers. Boxes on the top shelf housed photographs and paperwork, but in another box at the bottom, underneath some shoes, I found dildos, three of them of varying sizes, two smooth and one veiny like a real cock. I inspected them carefully, turning each one in my hands and wondering how they would feel pressed against my pussy. I put them back in the box and made a mental note for future use.
Next, I headed over to the tall chest of drawers, not expecting to find much more than clean underwear and socks, which held no interest for me. How wrong I was.
In the bottom drawer, beneath a pile of t-shirts, I found DVDs. I knew people didn’t hide those unless they were porn. Sure enough, the ridiculous titles gave them away. I had hit the motherlode. There was even a conveniently placed TV and DVD player atop the dresser. I was about to load one up when I spotted another loose disc at the bottom. This one was plain, except for a cross that someone had scrawled in marker pen.
X, as we all know, marks the spot.
I switched on the TV and player, then made an offering of the mystery disc, half expecting it to be a chronicle of my aunt and uncle’s wedding day, or a video account of one of Uncle Derek’s fishing trips.
What I found instead was Aunt Rita and another woman I’d never seen before, with a little girl of around five or six. It looked like it’d been filmed in the living room below. Not considering that this might be something even remotely sexual in nature, I was about to turn it off and replace it with one of the porn DVDs.
“Mummy, why’re you making a video?” I heard the little girl ask. She and the other woman were mother and daughter, then.
“Because it’s fun to make videos.”
I was struck by the beauty of this exotic looking woman. Dark flowing hair framed her dusky grey eyes, skin naturally tanned and of an olive complexion. I guessed her age to be mid or late thirties, and found myself wondering if she was Italian.
“Shall we go to the beach and look for seashells?” the girl said.
“Later on, honey. Mummy and Rita want to do sexy things with you first.”
That caught my attention. I quickly took my finger away from the eject button.
Then Aunt Rita was asking the child, “Isla, would you like to see my boobies?” and the girl called Isla was bobbing her head enthusiastically, perhaps not fully aware what she was agreeing to.
I drew a gasp of breath as my aunt hiked up her t-shirt and allowed her perky breasts to spring free.
“What do you think of those?” the woman asked her daughter, gesturing at my aunt’s tits. Little Isla could only stand and stare, seemingly unsure what the correct response to such a question might be.
“You can touch them if you like,” my aunt said, cupping the firm globes in her hands like fleshy offerings.
Isla turned to her mother for guidance.
“It’s okay, you’re allowed to feel them,” the woman told her, leaning across to knead one of Aunt Rita’s tits. “It’s really squidgy. Have a try, poppet.”
Isla reached out a small, pudgy hand and placed it against the swell of a warm breast, eliciting delighted coos and words of encouragement from my aunt. “That feels very nice, Isla. Squeeze them a little harder for me. They won’t break.” She took the little girl’s other hand and guided it to her neglected second breast.
Isla’s mother, meanwhile, was unbuttoning her black blouse, peeling it away from her body, then pulling down a lacy bra to free her own ample bosom.
“Oh, wow,” I muttered, marvelling at the stiff dark nipples on display and the wide ring of areolae that shadowed them.
“Touch me too, sweetie,” the woman said, claiming a little hand to place against her own breast.
“Rita, yours is smaller and harder… but Mummy’s is bigger and softer,” Isla informed my aunt, eyes darting back and forth between the two semi-naked women.
“I know, I’ve touched your mummy’s boobies lots of times,” Aunt Rita admitted, and I wondered if my uncle was aware of that. Somehow, I doubted it.
“Can we have a little touch of yours now?” I heard the lady ask her daughter, and the youngster was nodding and giggling away, while the two women hoisted her little pink t-shirt up and over her head.
My aunt regarded the flat pale chest in front of her with hungry eyes. “Such a sexy little girl.”
“Am I?” the child asked with a grin.
Rita trailed her fingers down the smooth torso, causing Isla to wiggle and twitch at the sensation. “Definitely.”
“Let’s get these off, too,” the lady purred, unpopping the buttons on her little girl’s shorts and sliding them down her legs. Isla stood poised between a valley of cleavage, an adorable pair of Tweetie Pie panties her only armour against whatever was to come next.
I sat on the edge of Aunt Rita’s bed and slipped a hand into my knickers while I watched the glamorous woman lick a finger and use it to moisten her daughter’s tiny nipples.
“Tickles!” Isla squealed.
“Shhh…” her mother hushed and bent to kiss the nape of her neck, while my aunt pushed her tits out to brush her nipples across the child’s chest.
“Enjoying yourself, Rita?” the woman asked.
Rita barely gave the question any consideration. “We should do this more often, you know.”
“Pervert.”
My aunt could hardly deny it, so asked instead, “Can we take her panties off?”
Isla’s mother gasped in mock horror. “Did you hear that, Isla? That naughty Rita wants to pull your knickers down!”
“You’re naughty, Rita!” Isla giggled.
“I am not!”
“You are!”
“I’ll bet she wants to have a look at your private bits,” the woman near-whispered to her daughter, as if the two of them shared a special secret. “Shall we let her?”
The little girl hooked a hand beneath her chin in consideration. “Hmm… I’ll let you, Rita. But you have to come with us after to look for seashells, okay?”
“Okay, then,” Aunt Rita agreed. “I know where all the best seashells are.” She peeled the child’s panties down her legs in a slow, deliberate choreography. When the cartoon undies had reached Isla’s knees, she left them hanging while she pondered, “Fuck… is there anything hotter than a little girl with her knickers halfway down her legs?”
Isla’s mother tutted her impatience. “Rita’s useless, isn’t she? Never finishes what she starts.” She slipped her daughter’s panties all the way off. “Now, come and play with my little girl’s cunt.”
I was shocked to hear her use the ‘C’ word in front of her daughter, not that it was going to keep me from fondling myself. I brought my aunt’s dirty panties up to my nose for good measure.
Aunt Rita licked a finger, then snaked her hand down between Isla’s legs. She took the youngster’s puffy mound into the palm of her hand, a finger gliding through the narrow slit. “Does that feel nice?
The little girl responded with soft, barely audible murmurs, her eyes fixed upon my aunt’s fingers as they brushed to and fro.
The lady caressed the tight globes of her daughter’s bare bottom. “Such a big girl, letting Rita do rude things to you.” Then she was turning the child and picking her up, moving towards the camera as Isla’s arms and legs wrapped instinctively around her mother. “What else can we make Rita do, I wonder?”
As if in slow motion, those little arse cheeks parted, prised ever wider by her mother’s hands, until the taut pink muscle of Isla’s anus peeked out and blinked at me in high definition.
“There’s a tasty little bumhole here for you, Rita. What’re you waiting for?”
Aunt Rita flicked her tongue across the child’s arsehole while her mother held her open, muscle lashing against muscle, wet trails of saliva glazing the puckered confection.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered, not quite believing what I was seeing. I yanked my shorts and panties down to my knees, then crammed a finger into my pussy.
“You like licking little girls’ arseholes, dirty Rita? How many times are you going to play this back and watch yourself molesting my daughter? Hmm?”
Isla gazed down at the proceedings below with interest. “Mummy does that too sometimes, Rita.”
My aunt managed to detach her face from the child’s anus long enough to reply, “Oh, I know all about your wicked mummy.”
“Don’t forget to lick her pussy too,” the lady growled, so my aunt flicked her tongue through Isla’s puffy slit and then back up into the crack of her arse.
Amidst a fog of arousal and no small measure of stunned disbelief, I sat and masturbated as I watched Aunt Rita lap away at the little girl, until the woman finally deposited her daughter back on the floor. “Let’s show Rita what else we’ve been getting up to,” she said and hiked her skirt up round her waist, slipping her panties off, then gently guiding the child’s head between her legs. “Be a clever girl and lick Mummy’s pussy.”
Isla teased at her mother’s cunt with kitten licks, her face small and vulnerable against the moist, fleshy vagina, as if at any moment it might reclaim the little girl and swallow her whole.
“I need some of that,” my aunt drawled, hastily pulling her jeans and panties off, then kicking them away. “Will you lick my pussy too, Isla?”
The child pulled away from her mother and breathed a dramatic sigh. “I can’t lick both, ’cause I only have one tongue.”
“That’s okay, we don’t mind taking turns,” the woman told her. “Give Rita’s a little lick, then you can do mine again.”
Isla buried her face in my aunt’s pubes, and Rita responded by grasping the little girl’s pigtails, grinding pussy against mouth with an urgent thrust. “Fuck…”
“You better keep this video hidden,” the lady warned as she gently stroked her daughter’s back. “We are so going to prison if anyone finds it.”
“St–stop worrying,” Rita groaned. “No one’s gonna find it. Now shut up and let me come in your little girl’s face…”
“Hurry up, then! Mummy needs to come, too.”
My aunt suddenly cried out, Isla’s face pressed tightly against her cunt as pleasure rippled through her body in tics and starts. The child uttered some muffled protest and made a futile attempt at pushing Rita away, until finally my aunt relented and released her with a breathless gasp.
“You’re bad, Rita!” a furious Isla complained. “I couldn’t breathe!”
Aunt Rita placated the child with a stroke of her hair. “Oops, sorry, Isla. You were just so amazing, I got carried away.”
The youngster turned back to her mother with an air of impatience. “Can we go to the beach now?”
“In a bit, honey. We’re almost done. I just need you to make me feel good like you did to Rita, okay?”
Isla sighed dramatically. “Okay… But don’t do what Rita did or I won’t talk to you for the whole day.”
The woman shared a wry look with my aunt. “All right, little madam. Lick Mummy’s pussy, then we can go hunt for seashells.” Unsheathing her clitoris from its hood, she beckoned the child closer with a hooked finger.
Isla seemed to know exactly what to do. She teased the glistening pearl with her tongue, then closed her lips around it to her mother’s obvious delight.
Aunt Rita retrieved the child’s panties and brushed them against her pussy while she watched the lady being eaten out by her little girl. “Fancy making your five-year-old daughter go down on you like that,” she said with a smirk. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Shut up and kiss me,” the woman growled, and pulled my aunt towards her in a lewd exchange of tongues, then abruptly pushed her away to warn with a desperate whimper, “Coming…”
“Do it!” Aunt Rita hissed, her companion already in the throes of ecstasy as she uttered the words. “Come for your little girl!”
My own climax rushed up to consume me, legs kicking out as I clutched my aunt’s dirty knickers to my face, the other hand clamped tightly between my thighs. “Oh! That’s… proper dirty!” I gasped.
“My face is all wet,” little Isla was complaining on screen.
Her mother snatched the sticky cartoon undies from my aunt’s grasp and wiped her daughter’s face with them. “There you go. Let’s put these back on, then we can head down to the beach.” She tugged the messy panties back up the child’s legs and gave her a pat on the bum.
Aunt Rita’s face loomed up close to the camera. She poked her tongue out, and then I was left staring at a blank screen.
What on earth had I just watched?
It seems more shocking now than it did back then. I was only eleven, and children have a tendency to accept whatever’s thrown at them without analysing it too much. I’d discovered online porn a few months before, as most kids my age had. But never had I witnessed something so wonderfully perverse.
I pulled my knickers and shorts back up and ejected the DVD, carefully placing it back into the bottom drawer underneath the other discs, then deposited Aunt Rita’s underwear back into the washing basket.
***
The next morning, my aunt and I headed downtown to do a bit of shopping, stopping off afterwards at a café down on the beachfront, where I was treated to a Danish pastry and a cappuccino.
“You’re quiet today,” Aunt Rita said as we sat outside in the café garden overlooking the sea.
It was almost impossible to look at my aunt without thinking about the video I had witnessed the day before. The illicit images were still bright and indelible in my mind, but I found it hard to reconcile this tomboyish mechanic and fisherman’s wife with the unspeakable things I had seen her do with the little girl and her mother. I almost managed to convince myself that I might have dreamt the whole thing.
“I’m just a bit tired,” I replied, and it wasn’t a lie – I had spent half the night awake with a hand down my knickers.
“Been doing naughty things in bed, have we?” Aunt Rita chuckled, as if she were reading my mind.
Normally, I would have denied it – things like that needed to be hidden from adults at all cost – but now I knew my aunt was unlikely to be surprised at anything I told her. And having discovered she was into sex with kids, and that maybe there was a possibility she might be willing to do it with me too, my little crush on her had quite suddenly developed into full-on infatuation.
So I shrugged and gave her a little smile – testing the waters, so to speak.
Aunt Rita seemed unfazed. “Dirty little stop out.”
“I bet you do it too,” I shot back, becoming a little bolder.
“Cor, not half!” she admitted, nudging me in the ribs. “What else is a wife to do when her husband’s away?”
Molest little girls with your friend? I wanted to say, but didn’t dare.
“How long you been diddlin’ yourself, then?” my aunt said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be asking an eleven-year-old girl.
“A few months, I suppose,” I replied, my cheeks turning a little pink.
“I better be careful not to walk in on you then, hadn’t I?” my aunt told me with a wink, then narrowed her dark eyes. “Or… maybe I will walk in on you.”
Was she flirting with me? Well, two could play at that game.
“You can if you want,” I said, giving her a sassy little side-glance. “It’s your house, you can do what you like, I s’pose.”
After a moment’s silence, my aunt slapped her hand down upon the table and rattled out a dirty laugh. I could see I was going to have to work a lot harder than that to shock her. “Drink up,” she told me. “I have to visit a friend before we go home.”
We found ourselves at the doctor’s surgery, sitting in a small waiting room.
“Does your friend work here?” I asked my aunt.
She gave me a nod. “She’s a doctor. Actually she’s the doctor. The only one in town.”
“You have to make an appointment to see her?”
“Shush, cheeky! She’s a busy girl.”
As an old lady emerged from the doctor’s office, Aunt Rita stood up and made for the door. “Quick, let’s sneak in before her next patient arrives.”
I followed my aunt into the room and closed the door behind me.
“Hailey, this is my friend Madeline. Doctor Madeline to you. Madeline, this is my niece Hailey.”
My heart shot into my throat and I nearly gasped out loud.
Sitting at a desk wearing a white coat, a stethoscope around her neck, was the woman from the video. Madeline, mother to little Isla and child pornographer. And she was looking at me.
“H-hello,” I stuttered, my eyes flitting down to her cleavage before I could stop them.
Doctor Madeline glanced down at my point of interest, then back up at me with a wry expression. “Well, hello, Hailey,” she purred. “Your aunt didn’t tell me she had such a pretty niece.”