Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by BlueJean

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

A brief summary of the previous chapter: Hailey Ellis has returned to Morcant-On-Sea after several years away, only to find the coastal town is a shadow of its former self. Amidst this decline, Hailey navigates her various relationships, but a shocking encounter with her selkie aunt foreshadows a chain of events that will change all their lives forever.

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

1

Sadie Laine was doing her best to keep it together.

It was the last day of term, and eleven-year-old Freya Newton and her classmates were chatting away excitedly about their plans for the summer holidays.

The village of Derwold lay smack bang in the middle of nowhere, which meant the local school was comprised of a single mixed-aged class, the youngest student being six, the oldest eleven. Come the end of term, a few children would inevitably move on to secondary education, leaving their usually upbeat and bubbly teacher inexplicably bereft.

Sadie had told Georgia more than a few times how it broke her heart to see them leave, but there was more to it than that, a separation anxiety hardwired into her DNA. Perhaps it stemmed from the trauma her ancestor Eliza suffered at seeing her mother Isabel hanged. Whether we know it or not, genetic memories shape us all to some extent, but Sadie Laine was of the Wicca, and ancestral memories were at the core of her being.

“Quieten down, everyone,” Sadie hollered over the incessant chatter, and excited voices gave way to soft murmurs. “The summer holidays are upon us, so I’d like you all to think about how you’re going to spend the next few weeks. My advice is to put your phones and tablets away, turn off your TVs, and make good use of your free time. Visit museums, climb trees, swim in rivers, play football, go for long walks, fly kites. Or simply set yourself the goal of learning a new activity.”

“I’m gonna draw some pictures, Miss Laine!” Archie Cornaby bellowed. Archie wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, and he had two front teeth that could’ve easily doubled as a tin opener, but Freya didn’t mind him.

“Good, Archie. That’s time well spent,” Sadie told the lad.

“My mum and dad are taking me to a petting zoo,” Lola Hughes ventured. Lola was only six, and the youngest in the class.

“Can I come?” the girl next to her, Chloe Oxley, asked.

“No.”

“I’m going to Greece for two weeks,” Mia Webb announced, looking exceptionally pleased with herself. No one liked Mia, but it was her fault for being such a bitch, Freya decided. Mia turned and gave the girl behind her a smug look. The girl behind her happened to be Freya’s sister, Millie Newton – witch’s apprentice, friend to animals, occasional fibber. “What’re you gonna do for the holidays, Millie?“ Mia asked, low enough that their teacher couldn’t hear. “Paddle in a dirty pond with your lesbian mum?”

Freya was about to come to her sister’s rescue and tell Mia to shut her mouth, but Millie didn’t seem like she needed much help. The eight-year-old bunched her fists together, brow furrowed into dark, no-nonsense lines. When you’ve almost had your soul sucked out of your body by a demonic tree, the Mia Webbs of the world don’t present much of a problem, Freya supposed.

“No, I’m learning witchcraft if you must know, Mia Pissypants!” Millie said triumphantly.

Sadie slowly shook her head, giving Millie a look that was almost certainly meant to convey that witchcraft was strictly on a need-to-know basis and that Millie should probably stop talking now.

Instead, Millie saved the moment with comic exaggeration. “And when I’m a fully qualified witch, I’m gonna turn you into a smelly old ferret!” With a look of abject concentration, she wiggled her fingers at Mia, as if casting a spell.

“God, you’re so weird,” Mia muttered under her breath.

Sadie cleared her throat and resumed her end of term speech. “Well, however you all choose to spend your time, I look forward to seeing most of you again next term.”

When Sadie’s bottom lip began to tremble, Freya knew what was coming. It happened every year.

“And to those of you who’ll be moving on to newer pastures…” She’s gonna cry. She’s definitely gonna cry, “it’s been a pleasure to get to know you, and I-I wish you all… Oh, goodness! I wish you all the best for the future!”

The last word emerged as a squeak as Sadie flapped her hands up and down and tried to compose herself to a chorus of “Awww…” from the children.

Shuffling forward from the rear of the class, Charlie Spencer made his way to the front and bashfully offered Sadie a bunch of sad-looking tulips. Like Freya, he was eleven, and would be attending a different school after the summer holidays. “Thank you for being my teacher, Miss Laine,” he said, unable to meet her gaze. He held out the bent, dehydrated flowers.

Well, that’s done it…

Sadie burst into tears and embraced the alarmed boy. “Oh, Charlie! Charlie Barley! Charlie Barley rides a Harley! You be a good boy for me, you hear? Go and get married to a nice lady and have lots of babies!”

“I’ve got flowers in my mouth!” Charlie exclaimed as he spat out petals.

Sadie released the poor boy and prised the flattened flowers from his face. “Oh, Charlie, my squidgy little moomin. Good luck out there in the big wide world.”

“Yeah, okay,” Charlie replied, eager to get away.

As the other kids packed their things together and chatted about this and that, Freya waited for Sadie to calm down a bit before going over to see her. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d seen Sadie lose it like that, but it never failed to draw a few odd looks.

When the young schoolteacher had finally composed herself, Freya felt it safe to approach. “Are you coming back—” Before she could finish, Sadie slung both arms around the eleven-year-old and a second round of waterworks ensued.

“Oh, Freya!”

Freya tried to wriggle free of her teacher’s grasp. “Huh? No, d-don’t—”

“I’m going to miss you so much!”

“Sadie, stop it!” Freya hissed under her breath. “You’re embarrassing me!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s just so hard to let you go! I’ve enjoyed teaching you so much. I hope you go on to have a wonderful life, Freya Newton.”

“Um… we live together?” Freya pointed out.

It was true, they did. Well, most of the time. Sadie retreated back to her own little cottage frequently, but usually returned to the Newton household to share food with them and spend the night. It had been a novelty beyond reckoning for Freya and Millie to have their beloved teacher come live with them. Millie still thought it was amazing. Freya was over it.

Sadie wiped her eyes with the back of a hand. “I know, I’m just being silly. But it won’t be the same without you here in the classroom.”

“Well, you’ll still have Millie.”

“It’s true.”

“Are you coming back home with us?”

“I need to sort a few things out here first,” Sadie said. “You and Millie can wait for me or I can see you back at the cottage in a bit.”

“We’ll walk back then,” Freya told her.

The rumours had spread like wildfire, as they always seem to in small communities – how Georgia the beekeeper and Sadie the schoolteacher were a lesbian couple. There’d been side glances and embarrassed exchanges from the adults for them to deal with, but worse still were the looks Freya got from the other children. She knew it was jealousy – they all wanted to be Miss Laine’s favourite – but unlike Millie, she’d felt the need to keep her distance from Sadie at school, finding it hard to endure the scathing looks and awkward silences every time she approached the other girls.

Freya was angry with Sadie and her mum, but couldn’t exactly say why. She knew it wasn’t their fault they’d fallen in love, and of course they weren’t doing anything wrong, but still, it was making things difficult.

2

Millie Newton wondered what she’d done to upset her sister. The two girls had always bickered, but they’d rarely fallen out for long, any harsh words between them quickly forgotten, as is often the way of children. Lately though, Freya didn’t seem to want much to do with her younger sibling. Most times she wasn’t interested in the games they once played – the river explorations, the haystack climbing, swashbuckling pirates on Habbernack Island. Nor the other kinds of games they used to enjoy playing… the naughty ones.

Millie supposed her sister was growing out of those things, but it still made her sad.

As they walked home from school, Millie did her best to engage her sister in conversation. “Shall we go to Habbernack and play on the boat for a bit?” she said.

“Nah, not today,” Freya told her.

“Why not?”

“‘Cause I don’t want to.”

“Are you angry with me?”

Freya gave her sister an impatient sigh. “No, Millie, I’m not angry with you. I just want to go home. I’m not feeling very well.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“But you just said you weren’t feeling very—”

“It doesn’t matter!”

Millie tried to change the subject. “What’re we gonna do for the holidays?”

“Dunno, you can do what you like. Aren’t you busy with,” Freya did air quotes with her fingers, “‘witchcraft lessons’?”

Millie was pretty sure her sister was being sarcastic.

Last year Sadie had revealed herself to be a bonafide witch, subsequently taking on Freya and Millie as apprentices, mostly out of concern for Millie and her emergent arcane abilities, powers that Sadie was beginning to think even she might be out of her depth dealing with.

“Well, you’re Sadie’s apprentice, too,” Millie reminded her sister. “Why don’t you join us much anymore?”

“What’s the point? I can’t do all the things you can,” Freya replied with a shrug. “I’m not stupid – I know Sadie only asked me to be her apprentice because she didn’t want me to feel left out.”

“She didn’t. She asked you because you know a lot about herbs and plants.”

Freya was indeed becoming quite the budding horticulturist. The family greenhouse was her domain, a sanctuary where she could go to seek solace. It was a good place to try and figure out all the stuff that was going on in her head.

“What’s she teaching me, then, how to be a herbalist?“ Freya retorted. “I can learn that on my own. It’s not witchcraft.”

“It is, actually. It’s part of it.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t!”

“It is!”

“Oh, shut up! Go and do your stupid, childish witchcraft lessons with Sadie. Just leave me out of it.”

Usually, Millie liked to have the last word, but there wasn’t much she could say to that.

3

Beekeeping is considerably easier than baking bread. Bees, for the most part, do what they’re supposed to do – they fly around collecting pollen, they turn it into honey, they make little baby bees. You check to see how they’re doing most days, and give them a helping hand if they need it, but on the whole, nature takes its course. Nature’s good at that.

Baking bread was never part of nature’s plan. It’s one of those weird human things. It can go wrong in a multitude of ways, and usually will. Make even the slightest miscalculation in your ingredients, kneading technique, or oven settings, and you’ll end up with a loaf that’s too hard, too soft, too flat, burnt on the outside, raw in the middle, not enough salt, oil, sugar, yeast, flour, or water.

Wasn’t it Aristotle who once said, “Baking bread is a bitch”? Probably not, but Georgia thought it was a profound philosophical statement nonetheless. She was getting better at the whole baking thing, though – the last loaf had actually been edible.

When Freya trudged through the back door, Georgia wondered how it’d gotten so late. The eleven-year-old slipped her shoes off and left them in the enclosed porch, then hung her school rucksack on its hook. The family dog, Bee, came rushing up to meet her with a tail so waggy there was a very real possibility she might take off.

Georgia gave Freya a wave. “Hey, eldest daughter.”

“Hello, mother,” Freya replied with the vocal equivalent of an eye-roll.

“Wanna help me make bread?”

“No, thanks.”

Freya disappeared upstairs with Bee in tow. Georgia had always thought of Bee as Millie’s dog – dogs seem to attach themselves more closely to one person in the family – but lately she’d been sticking to Freya like glue, like she sensed the eleven-year-old was going through a tough time.

Freya didn’t seem to want to be around her family much lately. In some way, Georgia felt like she was losing her daughter, and though that may have seemed a little melodramatic, any mother with children approaching their teen years would know exactly what she meant. There comes a time when your little ones stop being little. Bedtime stories don’t have the same appeal they once did; baking bread with Mummy isn’t quite the adventure it used to be. Kids grow up. And some part of Georgia wanted her girls to stay little forever, even if it was selfish on her part.

She’d always assumed the typical stroppiness that marked adolescence was the province of thirteen or fourteen-year-olds, not girls of eleven. Either Freya was an early developer or there was something eating away at her.

Even the sexual intimacy they shared seemed to hold little interest for Freya these days. Maybe that was the problem. Sadie and Georgia had one rule when it came to sex with the girls: they would let Millie and Freya decide when and if they wanted to join in, always careful never to pressure them into anything.

Of course, Georgia was under no illusions – lesbian sex with one’s daughters wasn’t a normal thing for families to be doing. She’d thought they were all on board with it, but in truth, theirs was a complex situation. Even in an isolated village like Derwold, society’s notion of right and wrong bore a weight that was hard to ignore.

Millie came through the backdoor not long after her sister. At least she had a smile for her mum.

“It’s the summer holidays!” Georgia sang, flour-covered hands in the air. “Woohoo!”

Millie wiggled her hips in a little dance. “Woooo!”

Georgia did a little jig with her. She didn’t care what anyone said – she still had the moves. “No more schoo-ool for six whole wee-eeks!”

“I’m gonna go ex-plor-rin’ in my pa-ja-mas!” Millie sang back.

“Wanna help me make bread?”

“Sure.” Millie made her way over to the sink to wash her hands. “How come you make such a mess when you do baking, Mum?”

“That’s the price of bakery genius, little one.”

Millie hopped up onto a barstool and set about kneading the large batch of dough sitting amidst the culinary warzone that used to be a worktop. Georgia sidled up and put her arms around her daughter to help. It reminded her of that scene from Ghost, with Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze, but with dough instead of pottery clay.

“You and your sister not talking again?”

“She keeps being grumpy with me,” Millie explained. “One minute she’s nice, and then the next she’s horrible.”

“Don’t take it personally, pixie. She’s just going through a phase.”

“Well, I can’t be doing with it, Mummy. I’m far too busy with Wiccan lessons and deciding what I’m going to do for the holidays. There’s just not enough hours in the day!”

Georgia couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, I quite agree!” She planted a kiss on the nape of Millie’s neck.

Millie gave a soft giggle, turning to her mum with a cheeky grin. She dumped the big ball of dough off to one side, then clambered up onto the messy worktop, her legs dangling over the edge.

“You’ll spoil your school uniform,” Georgia warned her half-heartedly.

“That’s okay, I’ll just take it off,” Millie replied with an angelic and wholly innocent expression.

Her white blouse came off first. She held it out to Georgia, who took it from her, folded it up, then placed it on the back of the vacated barstool. Millie’s socks were next. She slung those on the chair herself, then lifted her bum from the worktop to pull her grey plaid skirt down her legs. It was already covered with flour and bits of dough. Georgia took it from her and folded it neatly anyway.

Sitting on the counter in just her knickers, Millie gave Georgia a look that could only be interpreted one way: Come and get me, Mummy.

“I’m not sure it’s hygienic to have naked little girls on my worktop,” Georgia told her.

“I’m not quite naked yet,” Millie pointed out. “You should take my panties off, Mummy.”

It was hard to argue with that. Georgia reached beneath her daughter’s bottom, grasping the waistband of her knickers and slipping them down her legs. She dropped them onto the back of the chair with the rest of the clothes.

Millie brought her feet up onto the worktop, then spread her knees apart. On a whim, Georgia dipped her fingers into the small pile of flour she’d made, sprinkling some of it over Millie’s smooth, flat chest. Millie giggled at that, so she let more of the white stuff fall across her belly and down her legs; finally a dab on her button nose for good measure.

“Don’t forget my kitty,” her daughter said with a naughty grin.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Georgia told her. “We don’t want any flour there.”

“Why not?”

Georgia pushed the chair out of the way, then moved to the edge of the worktop. “Because it’ll spoil the taste…”

Millie helped herself to an egg from the nearby carton. Before Georgia had a chance to react, the little nymph crushed it against her body, rubbing yolk into her nipples and across her belly, clearly pleased with herself. Georgia grabbed another egg and cracked it neatly on the edge of the counter with one hand – the mark of an expert baker, she was keen to point out to whoever would listen – then let its yellowy contents drop down onto her naked daughter’s torso. She rubbed it into Millie’s belly before it had a chance to escape, saving some for her arms and legs.

“What a messy girl,” Georgia marvelled.

Millie dipped her fingers into the sugar bowl and gleefully sprinkled the brown granules over herself. “I’m all cakey!”

“You sure are,” her mother agreed. “Almost ready for the oven. But I should give you a little taste first… just to make sure you’re sweet enough.”

Licking leftover cake mix from the bowl had always been one of Freya and Millie’s favourite vices. Licking messy little girls was one of Georgia’s.

Tilting her head, she took Millie’s baby-smooth pussy into her mouth. The eight-year-old tasted exquisite, a day of school activities in the summer heat leaving her raw and gamey, an earthy vintage that clung to the tongue like a fine wine. Millie grabbed fistfuls of her mother’s dark hair, the tip of her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth.

Georgia peppered soft kisses up and down her daughter’s vulva. When she pushed Millie’s thighs up, Millie knew exactly where her mum was heading next. She pulled her knees back towards her chest, then let out a breathless sigh when Georgia’s warm tongue pressed between her taut buttocks. Millie licked a finger, dipped it into the sugar bowl while Georgia was too occupied to notice, then brought the sweetened digit to her mouth to suck clean.

Georgia licked her little girl’s arsehole a while longer, the bitter spice of it sharp against her tongue. Finally, she returned her attention to Millie’s slit, lips gently tugging at the child’s elastic clitoral hood before letting it spring back into place, then lashing her tongue over the exposed node beneath. She repeated the process over and over again.

Millie twined a finger through her mother’s dark hair. “It makes me so sleepy,” she said with a dreamy smile. “Like when the hairdresser lady does my hair.“

Georgia could only respond with a smile of her own.

When Millie drew her eyes shut and exhaled a long, soft breath, Georgia knew she had coaxed her youngest to climax. Millie’s orgasms were mostly subtle affairs, lacking the urgency of her mother and sister when they came.

Georgia unbuttoned her linen trousers and pushed them down, hastily followed by her knickers. She couldn’t be bothered to remove them completely, so simply left them bunched around one ankle. She pulled Millie towards the edge of the worktop, then slotted her aching pussy against her daughter’s, twisting the girl’s hips round slightly to make the task easier. She began to move against Millie.

She was still grinding away against her little girl, her own needs now front and center, when Sadie came through the backdoor. Georgia briefly considered the folly of not locking doors and drawing drapes when engaging in sexual activities with underage daughters. Occasionally, their friend Roy liked to pop round to share the latest gossip, letting himself in with a cry of, “Yoo-hoo! Only me!” And Mrs. Jeffries from the post office had been known to turn up now and then with free groceries. Thankfully, unexpected visitors to Beekeeper Cottage were few and far between, and Georgia preferred it that way.

“Oh!” a delighted Sadie gushed, dropping her briefcase down onto a stool. “What’s all this, then?”

“W-we’re baking…” Georgia told her breathlessly, hips pivoting back and forth, the wet slap slap slap of flesh upon flesh delightfully lewd and unapologetic.

“We’re baking,” Millie confirmed, her free leg spread wide across the worktop. One hand was in the pile of flour. The other had tipped the sugar bowl over. There was raw egg everywhere. And Georgia was this close to coming.

“I never saw them do it like that on The Great British Bake-off,” Sadie mused, drawing alongside Georgia to stroke her bare bum as it moved back and forth. “Is there room for another?”

“We’re… we’re almost done,” Georgia told her, unwilling to let anything or anyone interfere until she’d done what she set out to do. “J-just… just stand there and watch.”

Sadie thrust a hand beneath her smart tweed skirt to rub the crotch of her panties while she watched her lover fuck her eight-year-old daughter. She liked it when Georgia got down and dirty, the way her eyes went wild, her top lip curling up into that little snarl.

The scent of female arousal cut through the smell of egg and sugar to leave a rich and heady fug. If there’s anything more enticing than the smell of freshly baked bread, Georgia pondered as her climax exploded outwards from the molten core of her sex, it’s the sweet scent of pussy. Another one of Aristotle’s, she suspected.

She came hard against Millie, cunt pressed tightly against her daughter’s while waves of pleasure rolled over her. “Oh, fuck, baby girl… Sexy, messy little cakey girl…”

Sadie leaned in and kissed her lover on the mouth, her fingers tracing the crack of Georgia’s arse.

“Welcome home,” Georgia managed.

4

Freya could hear them doing it downstairs. Her bedroom was right above the kitchen. The sound of their stupid moaning came from the open window below, and she could hear the dull thud thud thud of something hitting the worktop over and over.

She wanted to be annoyed – it was easy to be annoyed at things lately – but her body had other ideas. She could have gone down there and joined them. She did sometimes. But… well, she couldn’t explain it.

Why am I so angry all the time? Why does everything hurt so much? Sometimes it felt like she wanted to make herself sad – like there was a need to cling onto that sorrow and never let it go. It was all so confusing.

Bee gave a sigh of her own from her place at the foot of Freya’s bed.

“I know, right? They’re so annoying.“

She picked up her phone and opened the internet browser, then found one of the porn websites she’d discovered recently. Fibre optic broadband had finally arrived in their remote little village, and Freya was determined to abuse it as often as possible. She clicked on a thumbnail that took her fancy, careful to turn the volume down. Georgia had already caught her watching porn once, and hadn’t been particularly impressed. Freya had pointed out that it hardly mattered when they were all having sex with each other, but it had fallen on deaf ears.

She slipped a hand inside her knickers and quickly found her clit, the moans and gasps of her mother and sister below providing an unexpectedly erotic replacement soundtrack to the video she watched. She thought about squeezing her titties while she strummed her clit – ‘little bee stings’, Sadie liked to call them – but her free hand was occupied with the phone, and besides, they had been too tender to touch recently.

She pushed a finger inside herself, suddenly discovering an unusual amount of wetness down there. When she pulled her hand away she was shocked to find her fingers covered in blood. “Shit…”

The eleven-year-old lifted her skirt to find it’d soaked her knickers through, too.

It was going to happen sooner or later, she supposed. Her first period. Just what she needed.

Great. What a wonderful way to start the summer holidays.

Freya slumped back against her pillow and let the tears come.

Soon to appear: Chapter Two!