Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Shy Mom

After the heated climax to our fashion show, my girls and I needed showers. Fortunately, the cubicle in my master bathroom could easily accommodate the three of us.

We entered the shower together, all of us naked. There was just one small—or rather, not so small—bit of housekeeping I’d neglected that afternoon. My stick-on dildo still protruded from the tile wall at cunt level.

Years ago, my daughters had stumbled upon the sex toys in the nightstand drawer next to my bed. They were too young then to regard them as anything other than wands for waving, swords for poking, or (in Olivia’s case) pacifiers for sucking. I can’t deny that the sight of my youngest with the tip of one of Mommy’s dildoes in her mouth aroused me something fierce, especially when I imagined her tasting my essence on it. I wonder if that was what planted the seed of these complicated feelings for my little ones.

“Is … is that a cock, Mommy?” Olivia asked, her expression a mix of curiosity, fear, and distaste. Ashley simply murmured, “Wow …”

Before I could answer, my ten-year-old reached out to take hold of the cherry red phallus. Its suction cup kept it pinned to the wall.

“It’s huge!” Ashley exclaimed, wrapping all ten fingers around it. In her small hands, it looked even larger than it felt when jammed into my vagina.

Well, here was another teaching opportunity that I could not pass up.

“It’s a dildo,” I said, putting emphasis on the unforeseen Word of the Day.

“Dildo!” Olivia repeated, as her big sister smacked the erect phallus experimentally, causing it to wobble like a diving board.

“It’s a sex toy!” Ashley exclaimed.

“Indeed,” I confirmed, adding, “I used it today, just before dinner.”

“Wow …” Ashley repeated, her eyes wide with imagination.

Naturally, Olivia asked, “How did you use it, Mommy?”

In teaching, showing is often better than telling. “Shall I … demonstrate?”

“Yes!” replied Ashley, as her sister shouted “Yay!” and jumped up and down.

I was just as thrilled, eager to show the girls how I get myself off when I crave being fucked from behind.

“First, darlings, I turn on the shower to get things hot and steamy.”

I have one of those rainforest showerheads that releases water straight down. I selected the highest temperature and let the hot torrent flow run down my body.

“Next, I soap myself all over.” I squirted a thick gob of papaya-scented shower gel into my palm, then smeared it between my hands. I coated my pliant breasts with the creamy lather, taking time to tease my nipples erect, caress my flat tummy, and finally slather my vulva, which was already slick with natural lubrication. The girls watched, entranced.

“Mommy is getting her cunt ready.” I explained. “Getting it wet and hungry so it can swallow every inch of the dildo. You can see for yourself how long and thick it is.”

I paused for questions while continuing to soap myself.

“Is it like … like putting a cock in your cunt, Mommy?” asked Olivia, frowning slightly.

“Not really,” I replied, sensitive to her distaste for the male member. “You see, girls, I’ve come to think of my sex toys as, well, extensions of myself—like my fingers. I use them both to masturbate with, after all.”

That seemed to click for Olivia, who had stroked her pussy to climax mere minutes ago in the living room.

“Only,” I continued, “this toy does two things Mommy’s fingers can’t do quite as well …”

The girls waited, hanging on my words.

“One, it stuffs my vagina so completely—more than anything I’ve ever put in there …”

The girls’ eyes darted back and forth between the dildo and my cunt—trying to picture it, I suspected.

“Two,” I went on, “Mommy sometimes gets the urge to be fucked from behind …”

Ashley’s mouth dropped at this turn of phrase.

“The dildo goes in nice and deep, and it makes Mommy feel very wild … and very dirty.”

By now, the girls were flushed, and not just from the heat of the shower. That gave me an idea. “Why don’t I get you both nice and soapy too?”

They nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

Reaching for the shower gel, I soaped Olivia’s body first, then Ashley’s. The differences that I saw and felt between my girls, just two years apart, were fascinating.

At eight, Olivia still sported a childish figure—slender and flat, though softened by baby fat over her chest and pubis and around her pert bottom. The pouty outer lips of her slit, into which I rubbed a fresh gob of gel, felt more like that of a baby than a woman, but their parting at my touch hinted at her progress toward puberty. “The Princess Pea,” as I had christened her clitoris, seemed large in relation to the little-girl slit.

Of course, Ashley’s advancement toward puberty was more pronounced. Her budding breasts, little more than dumplings, were capped by pink areolas on which lay almost invisible nipples—at least, until they turned pebbly when I teased them with soapy fingers. Her vulva was no longer puffy, and bore faint similarities to mine in shape and feel. Most notably, there was a fine sprinkling of honey-blonde pubes that made Ashley’s cunt look even softer than it felt.

The diversions of soaping my darlings made me even more desperate for release. “Why don’t you stand there, girls, next to me,” I suggested. “That way, you can get a good look at how Mommy fucks herself.”

Ashley stood a foot away, and Olivia peeked out from behind. Recollecting that my ten-year-old was the only family member who had yet to climax, I added, “Olivia, reach around and play with your sister’s pussy while you watch. That’s it, love.”

Finally, I applied lube to the dildo, from a tube of Astroglide that I kept on the soap tray, and got into position. Under the drizzle of hot water, I arched my back, clutched my tits, and backed into the wall, trapping the bulbous tip of the toy between my cheeks, at the opening of my hungry vagina. Practice made perfect. I paused to make sure the girls were watching, then pushed back with a swift thrust of the hips.

My bottom hit the tiles as the dildo plunged into my cunt. My daughters gasped.

“See, girls? All gone. All in.” I wriggled my ass about to punctuate my point. And because it felt so fucking good.

“But does it—does it hurt, Mommy?” asked Olivia.

“No, baby,” I replied, as I withdrew to the very tip of the toy. “My cunt can take it. It loves every inch.”

I looked from one incredulous sister to the other, pondering the fit of their own vaginas. “One day,” I assured them, “Your cunts will be big enough too.”

They gaped as I pressed back against the dildo, letting it fill me again. “For now, your little-girl cunts probably can’t take much more than my finger. Or the tip of my tongue.”

At those words, Olivia rubbed her sister’s pussy more vigorously, while Ashley started toying with her own breast buds. Both kept their eyes fixed on my ass, watching their mother get penetrated.

It was time for a serious fuck. I began to rock back and forth, bouncing off the tiles, feeling the dildo enter my vagina to the hilt each time.

“Fuck … oh, fuck …” I murmured.

I flicked my nipples, sparking little jolts of pleasure that raced straight to my cunt, where a ball of static charge was building.

I moved faster, then faster still. The sound of my wet ass slapping against the tile wall reverberated sharply in the steamy room.

“Momma!” cried Ashley, lost in her own ecstasy as Olivia’s pace picked up as well, the girl’s fingers a blur between her big sister’s legs.

What a lovely sight that was. “That’s it, Ashley … come for Momma… come for—”

“Momma! I’m—ah, fuck!”

Ashley shuddered, her thighs clamping Olivia’s hand between them. Her orgasm triggered my own. My cunt clenched the thick dildo in spasms so intense that my jiggling ass nearly ripped the toy off the wall.

Then my oldest slumped against the wall, gasping for breath, while my youngest did a dance of joy, crying, “I did it, Mommy! I did it! I made Ashley come!”

“You did, darling.” I was flushed with heat and affection. “Mommy’s so proud of you both.”

I still had one more lesson to teach. Releasing the dildo with a sigh, I squatted down and proceeded to lick and suck my juices from its length.

“I know what that is,” Ashley declared. “That’s a blow job!”

I considered the aptness of the term, all the while wondering whether she’d learned it online.

“Very good, Ashley,” I began, keeping her less knowledgeable little sister in mind. “Though it’s not exactly right. A blow job is when you suck a cock.”

“Ugh!” Olivia spat out.

“Yeah, gross,” Ashley agreed.

“But this is different, darlings. I’m tasting myself—like licking my fingers after masturbating.”

This explanation seemed to satisfy them. “You know, girls,” I said, looking meaningfully at the slick dildo, “there’s still plenty left, if you’d like to share…?”

After a moment’s hesitation, my daughters dove in. The hot water continued to rain down on us as we licked my fuck toy clean as a family.

On to Chapter Eight!

2

Error happened.

by Purple Les

The Tequila Kid awoke to the smell of coffee. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa again, after one drink too many. With her eyes still closed, she felt a tender kiss on her lips.

Opening her eyes, The Kid saw the angelic face of Andromeda smiling down at her. Ann’s hair was down and she wore a robe. Bet she’s bare-ass naked under that, The Kid thought.

“Good morning,” Andromeda said, as she knelt next to the sofa running her fingers through The Kid’s hair. “You look so good with your hair loose like that. I could just gobble you up.”

“Mornin’, Ann,” The Kid croaked out. “Well, I sure don’t feel like eatin’ right now. What time a day is it, anyway?”

Andromeda took note of the tequila bottle on the coffee table, now a third empty. “It’s almost eight o’clock. I let you sleep long as I could. Coffee’s all ready. Can I bring you some?”

“Yes, please,” The Kid answered.

A moment later, the clock on the mantle struck eight. The chimes sounded like cannons going off to The Kid. “Oooouugghh,” she groaned, struggling into a sitting position.

A moment later Ann was back with two mugs of strong black coffee. She set a steaming mug down for The Kid and then sat down with hers.

They drank in silence, and when finished, Ann silently returned to the kitchen to get them each a refill. After The Kid had downed half of the second mug, her head seemed to ring somewhat less than before. “Thanks, Ann,” she sighed. “I feel ‘bout halfway human now.”

“You drank a lot last night,” Andromeda said, glancing again at the bottle on the coffee table.

“I reckon I needed to clear my head some.”

“Is it nice and clear now?” Ann asked without much sympathy.

The Kid let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, gettin’ there.”

“What’s that?” Ann asked, pointing to a contraption on the coffee table.

“This? Oh, I took it off a card cheat last night,” The Kid said, taking another swallow of coffee. Setting her mug down, she picked the device up and explained how it worked to Andromeda.

“See, what I done here, Ann, is fix this derringer to it, ‘stead of a playin’ card. Might be handy someday to have a gun up my sleeve.”

“Let me see how it works,” Ann said.

“All right,” The Kid said. Rolling up her sleeve, she carefully attached the device to her arm. “So if I’m in a tight spot, I flex my lower arm muscle and the gun springs right into my hand. Watch.”

Grinning, The Kid flexed her arm. The unloaded derringer slowly moved a half inch forward on The Kid’s upper wrist then fell to the hardwood floor with a dull thud.

The room filled with Andromeda’s laughter as The Kid scratched her head, wondering what could have gone wrong. After her fourth drink last night, it had worked just fine. Andromeda kissed the top of The Kid’s head and said, “More coffee?” The Kid nodded her head yes.

Returning from the kitchen with a refilled mug, Andromeda said, “So you drop the gun on the villain’s foot, and as he’s jumping about in pain, you push him over? Is that how it works, Kid? Perhaps a brick up your sleeve would do better.”

“You got a sassy mouth on ya, girl,” The Kid murmured, but with a sly smile. “Bet I could think of somethin’ else you could be doin’ with it.” She took a slug of coffee, then said, “Got anything on under that robe?”

“Nary a stitch,” Andromeda said innocently as she bent to kiss The Kid’s cheek.

“That a fact?” The Kid asked, her nostrils flaring slightly. There was a growing warmth between her legs that made the throbbing of her head seem like less of a big deal.

“See for yourself,” Andromeda said as she stood up and faced The Kid.

“No. You show me,” The Kid replied, a note of hunger in her voice.

Andromeda opened the robe, shrugged it from her shoulders and then let it slide to the floor. She loved displaying her bare body to The Kid. She watched her lover’s eyes travel up and down, taking it all in.

The Kid reached to place her hands on Ann’s hips. “Now that’s a fine sight. Reckon I’m in a mood for eatin’ breakfast after all.”

Ann pushed the eager teen back further on the sofa. “Oh, I’ll buy you breakfast, Kid,” she said. “You’ll need something more substantial in your stomach than my love honey.”

“Gimme a taste,” The Kid said as she spread her legs apart, revealing a wet spot in the crotch of her worn Levi Strauss jeans.

“Take your clothes off,” Ann said. She took a step back and fondled her own breasts as she watched The Kid stand up and shrug out of her shirt, exposing her toned torso and erect nipples, then unbutton her fly, pushing down her blue jeans and kicking them off. The only thing she still wore was her ring on its chain.

Ann’s mouth watered at the sight. “I see you’ve given up on underclothes these days,” she said, gazing with purest desire for the naked young woman standing before her.

The Kid drew close to Ann, and they looked each other up and down, then fell into a passionate embrace. Their lips met, The Kid forcing her tongue into Ann’s upturned mouth. Reaching down, she groped her lover’s tight, supple ass, giving the right cheek a firm squeeze.

Ann broke away, gasping, “Oh!” as she explored The Kid’s tight body — one hand caressing her ass, fingers delving between the buttocks to tease her anus, the other hand cupping a breast and stiffening nipple. Andromeda dipped down to suck the tip of the other breasts, giving it a gentle bite.

Her eyes closed, The Kid and let out a soft moan. She found Ann’s left ear with her lips and nibbled, sucked and licked it. The Kid then slipped a hand between her lover’s thighs to find the petals of Anne’s sex dripping with wetness.

The women fell slowly to their knees, bodies pressed tightly together — nipples kissing, tongues tangled in a dance of passion as Andromeda and The Kid found their way to the floor.

The room and the world seemed to melt away as the two lovers parted their legs, each slipping a finger into the other’s juicy cunt like they’d done so many times before. They fucked in a frenzy, hands and wrists moving faster and faster, building into something huge.

“Tell me that story, Kid!” Ann begged as the sweaty upper halves of their bodies pressed together.

The Kid was panting for breath, her face pressing against Ann’s shoulder. “Say what?” she gasped.

“You know what! The story, damn you.” Ann demanded as her finger plunged in and out of The Kid’s vagina. “Please, Kid, please,” Ann added as she felt The Kid’s finger moving inside her, hard and fast.

“’Bout that little Sally Ann girl?” The Kid asked, knowing that wasn’t the one.

“Oh!” Ann said, sucking her breath in sharply. “I love that. But no, you know the one I want to hear.” After a half-second’s wait, Andromeda firmly pinched one of The Kid’s erect nipples. “Tell me!”

“You mean — uhhh — the one ‘bout the time I sheltered at this cabin with that Beth gal, and, and her little girl?” The Kid asked as she added a second finger to the one churning about in Andromeda’s dripping cunt. Wiggling both fingers around for a moment, she continued the story. “How they just had but the one bed they shared? And how they had me g-get in with ‘em? And we was all buck naked?” Withdrawing almost completely from Ann’s wet quim, then thrusting back in rough and deep, The Kid asked, “Is that the one you mean?”

Andromeda moaned and fell against The Kid’s firm young body, sobbing in ecstasy, “Yes, that one… oh.”

“Well, now,” The Kid began. Her fingers kept up a steady rhythm deep in Ann’s pussy, while she began to massage Ann’s swollen clit with the palm of her hand.

With the other hand, The Kid reached around and grabbed Ann’s luscious ass, pressing a fingertip against her lover’s tight rosebud, making Ann gasp and quiver, lost in pleasure’s clutch.

“See, I’d got caught in a sudden snowstorm. Lucky for me, I found a little cabin just before I froze to death.”

Having heard the story many times and knowing where The Kid was going with it had Ann near orgasm already. The pleasure coursing through her sometimes made it hard to recall where she was in the story, but The Kid’s voice alone was enough to keep Andromeda’s arousal sharp.

She heard The Kid’s hot whisper in her ear. “Well, didn’t that little girl say, ‘Me and Ma sleep without no clothes on, Kid. We always go naked when we’re in bed’. And then Ma says, ‘That’s right, we do. I’m sure The Kid won’t mind doin’ the same with us. We’ll even undress first’. She said that to me.”

The Kid could tell that Ann was almost ready to spend, so she worked her hand harder, saying, “Wasn’t that a time we had. Seein’ that pretty mom and daughter naked, then them undressin’ me right down to the skin. They took me into bed with ‘em, and then we all started to kiss and touch one another.”

“Keep going!” Ann begged one last time before her climax.

“Lickin’ that little bare slit. Those soft, wet folds of pussy. Her ma saying, ‘Yes, yes, lick my little girl, the way I showed you’.’ That sweet taste of her, like nothin’ I ever knowed…”

The Kid tried to reach the end of the story, but her words were drowned out by Ann. “Ah yes yes yes yes oh dear yes uh huh oh oh ohhhhhh.” This and more came flowing from her mouth, like the stream of nectar that oozed from her love grotto. Ann’s body went tense, and she held on tightly to The Kid as her rapture reached its peak, finally going completely limp.

The Kid helped Ann onto the sofa, then sat on the coffee table with legs spread and said, “Watch me come for you.”

Ann watched with dazed eyes as The Kid masturbated, her fingers a blur as she rubbed her clit. But before she could come, Ann sprang back to life, blurting, “No! Let me do it.” Knocking The Kid’s hand away, Andromeda buried her face between her young lover’s legs.

Ann had immersed herself so deeply in The Kid’s story that she could almost make herself believe she was licking the slit of a little girl. Then The Kid’s hands on the back of Ann’s head brought her back to who she was really pleasuring.

The Kid arched her back, stretched her long legs out and cried, “Yeah, Andromeda. Lick it all up. Lick my pussy,” moaning in ecstasy as she climaxed.

As her rapture began to subside, Ann renewed her efforts, and The Kid soon came again.

Spent, they lay on the floor together holding each other. After awhile, The Kid stirred. “You really want to do the deed with a little girl, huh?”

“I do, Kid,” Andromeda answered with a sigh. “Seems as if I’ve always felt that way. Ever since I knew I liked women, anyhow.”

“And you never did get the chance?”

Andromeda paused before answering, “I almost did once, when I took my tour of Europe. Don’t think I ever told you about that, Kid.”

The Kid listened closely as Ann began her story. “It was in Italy. I speak Italian fluently, though I’d also love to be able to speak French like you, Kid. Anyway, it was in a Tuscan villa I was staying at. There were two sisters there, too. Sixteen and ten years old. The older sister was enamored of me. I was very fond of her, as well.

“It was the custom to take a riposo in the afternoon.” She glanced at The Kid, noting her puzzled expression. “That’s what they call a siesta in Italy, Kid. During that part of the day, the whole town would come to a standstill. Anyhow, one day the ten-year-old came into my room while I was resting and begged me to follow her back to the room she shared with her big sister.

“I wasn’t sure what she wanted, but she asked so sweetly that I agreed. She led me by the hand to their room. Inside, the older sister was lying nude on the bed. She held her arms out to me, saying, ‘Come, be with us… we love you’.

“I was dumbfounded, Kid. Stood there like a fool. Then while I stood there staring, the younger sister stripped naked, then led me by the hand over to the bed.

“I can’t adequately describe their beauty to you, I can only try. Both of them were raven-haired, olive-skinned beauties. Large brown eyes the color of chocolate, and faces like angels. The ancient Greeks and the Renaissance artists must have used them for models somehow, hundreds of years before they were born.

“I compared their bodies. One just beginning to ripen into womanhood. The other, still a child in all ways but one — she was sexually aware. I watched them make love to each other, and then they both made love to me. As I licked the older girl, I knew I wanted very much to make love to the ten-year-old as well. But before I could, our time ran out. We heard the others rising from their naps, and I was afraid of being caught, so I quickly got up and dressed. The girls didn’t seem concerned at all. Like it was some sort of lark to them.

“The next day we continued the tour, and I never saw the sisters again. My one chance to love a little girl, and I missed it. My only regret of the tour. Or of my life.”

The Kid asked, “Would you, if you got another chance?”

“Yes.” Ann whispered. “Oh, yes, I surely would.”

They laid together for a long while, holding each other, enjoying a moment of perfect bliss. Finally, the two lovers mustered up enough energy to get up, then filled the round metal tub in the kitchen with water from the hand pump. The day would be a hot one, and the cool water they’d drawn was quite refreshing.

It was a lovely way to start the day. Bathing together, washing and rinsing each other’s bare bodies, sometimes masturbating one another. On this day they finished their toilet instead, donned fresh clothes, and headed out of Ann’s house into the morning sunshine.

Ann wore a white blouse and black skirt that went just below her ankles, with black boots laced high. The Kid wore black men’s trousers, a black cotton shirt, her green corduroy vest, boots and new Stetson hat. The outfit made her pair of pearl handled colts stand out in their black leather gun belt.

They walked arm in arm on the boardwalk, where Ann said, “My, how fine that new hat looks on you. It makes me want to see you wearing just the hat and nothing else.”

“Maybe later,” The Kid replied with a smile.

Their first stop was the Highland Cafe. The Kid had coffee, two donuts, and scrambled eggs. Andromeda had a poached egg, toast and tea, and paid for breakfast as promised.

Next they went to the bank, where The Kid made her mark on the receipt to collect her Ranger pay — an outlined drawing of a raven.

That task accomplished, Ann and The Kid made their way to the livery stable. A large black man somewhere in his thirties had just finished shoveling out the stalls and was filling the last of them with fresh straw. The horses were out back in the corral.

“Howdy, Nate,” The Kid said with a nod. “I come to pay what I owe you, and then some.”

Nate Lincoln finished forking straw into the last stall and, pausing to hang the pitchfork by its handle from a ten-penny nail that jutted from the wall, said, “Mornin’, Kid, Miss Purdy. Well, then, c’mon into the office, and we’ll get you squared away.” He paused to mop sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.

They followed Nate to a little sleeping room that also served as his office. There was a grizzled old white man stretched out and dozing on an improvised pallet made of hay. As Nate passed the old-timer, he aimed a light kick against the bottom of his worn boot and said, “Git a move on now, Mac, and bring them hosses in outen the sun.”

Mac slowly rose up off the hay on the floor, then reached into the pocket of the coat that hung on his lanky frame. Pulling a pint bottle out, he studied on the last of the amber liquor inside, then slipped it back in his pocket and shambled out back to begin bringing the horses back to their stalls, one by one.

Seating himself at the desk, Nate opened a drawer, taking out his faded blue receipt book. “It’s a dirty shame, what happened to Bob and Roy. They’s both gettin’ buried tomorrow. You and Sheriff Gus any closer to catchin’ the killers?”

The Kid said, “Yep, real close, Nate. I can’t say no more about it for now, though.” The Kid laid a twenty dollar bill on the desk, saying, “I reckon this oughta take care of past, present and a little bit of the future.”

“‘Deed it does, Kid,” Nate replied with a nod. Slipping the bill into the strongbox, he opened the blue book and slowly made out a receipt for The Kid, his brow furrowing as he worked. Laying his pencil to one side, he reached for a rubber stamp and applied it to the paper with a satisfying thump. He handed the receipt to The Kid, now stamped PAID in red ink.

“There you go,” Nate said. “What you paid, that’ll cover what you owed an’ then the next three weeks after, I reckon.” The Kid in turn handed the receipt to Ann, who glanced at it, then slipped it into the pocket of her skirt while Nate noted the payment in his ledger.

Closing the leather-bound book, he rose and glanced through the window. “I see Mac’s got your horses back in. You ridin’ out today? I can get ‘em saddled or harnessed up.”

“No, thank you, Nate,” Ann said, “We just came to visit them. I’ve not seen The Kid’s new horse yet.”

“Oh, you’ll like her,” Nate said with a grin. “That sure is one fine animal you got there, Kid.”

“Thanks, Nate,” The Kid said, a hint of melancholy in her voice.

Leaving the office, The Kid and Ann made their way to Pegasus’ stall. Button’s was next to it.

Button raised her head up and down excitedly as The Kid approached. She hugged the horse’s neck and head, then gestured toward Andromeda.

“That there is Ann,” The Kid said to the mare. “I reckon you and Pegasus introduced yourselves already.”

Pausing to greet her own horse, Andromeda fed Pegasus an apple, then went to the next stall, gazing at the mare in frank admiration. “Nice to meet you, Button,” she cooed. “What a lovely creature you are.” She gently patted Button’s nose, stroked the horse’s muscular neck, then produced a second apple from her pocket, which Button eagerly took from Ann’s hand.

Button nodded, giving a soft whinny to let The Kid know that she approved of this other human.

The Kid said to her horse, “I said you’d like Ann… didn’t I, girl?”

After a short visit with the horses, the two women walked back out into the sunny street after giving a brief farewell to Nate Lincoln.

“Now what, Kid?” Ann asked.

“To the telegraph office, so I can see if I got any replies to a couple wires I sent out yesterday.”

The office was a small shack with a slightly bigger shack attached to the back of it. In the front was a large window with Knuckle Ridge Telegraph Office printed on it. Joshua Hartley, the telegraph operator, lived in the shack behind the office.

Ann and The Kid entered. Inside was a counter, with pencils and paper on it for composing messages. Behind the counter was a desk, next to a table that held several glass tanks with chemicals and metal in them that served as batteries. The telegraph key rested near the edge of the table with a chair, a pad of paper and pencils close by.

Seeing that no one was around, The Kid rang the bell on the counter. She liked the sound it made, and hit it several more times with the palm of her hand.

A husky, smooth-shaven man in his twenties came strolling in from out back. He wore a white shirt with garters on the sleeves, black vest and pants, a tie, starched collar, and a visor on his head. A pair of spectacles rested on his nose. “Hello, ladies,” he said, giving the two women a small bow.

“Howdy, Josh. I come to see if you got any wires for me yet,” The Kid said.

He nodded. “Sure ‘nough. In fact, I got two of ‘em for you… though we still need to collect for the ones you sent yesterday.”

“What do I owe ya?” The Kid asked.

“Two dollars and two bits.”

The Kid counted out three dollars, laid the crumpled bills on the counter and said, “Keep the change.”

“Much obliged.” Moving over to the left side of the office, Josh peered into a small cubicle, reached inside and withdrew two small envelopes. He glanced at these, then handed them to The Kid. “The top one’s your reply from the federal judge in Austin. The second one’s from Ranger Captain Deek Richards in Austin. Thanks, Kid. Nice seeing you, Miss Purdy.” Opening a drawer, Josh slipped the money inside.

Seating themselves in the outside chairs in front of the office, The Kid handed the telegrams to Ann. “Can you read these to me?”

Andromeda opened the envelope of the first one, withdrew the message and unfolded it, pursing her lips as she studied the words. “Request for warrant granted. Stop. Will have on next stage. Stop. Yours, Judge Grissom.” Ann gave The Kid a questioning look. “Guess I oughtn’t to ask who that warrant is for.”

“Nope,” The Kid replied with a shake of the head, but smiling. “Ranger business. Read me the other one?”

Ann made a face. “I swear, you Rangers… not one iota of respect for a woman’s natural curiosity.” Opening the other telegram, she read, “Will have flyers on next stage. Stop. I expect a report from you. Stop. Captain Deek Richards.” She glanced up at The Kid. “More of the same?”

“Maybe… maybe not,” The Kid said with a grin. She plucked the telegrams from Ann’s hands, folded them, then slipped them into her vest. “Let’s go.” Entering the street, they crossed over to the post office.

As they entered, a short gray-haired, bone-thin woman wearing spectacles, aged somewhere between fifty to ninety years looked up and said, “Mornin’, Ann, Kid. I’m sure I know why you’re here.”

The Kid touched the brim of her Stetson. “Howdy there, Edna May. That package from yesterday we talked about… you still got it here?”

“Yes, I still got it here. Should of been on the stage this morning, Kid. The mail is a sacred trust, y’know. But I held it for you, just like I said I would.” She fixed The Kid with a determined look. “You got the legal work to keep that package from going out? If you don’t, it’ll be on the afternoon stage, y’know. The mail is a sacred trust, not to be trifled with. Why, if I didn’t–”

“I got the legal work comin’ on that afternoon stage.” The Kid protested.

“Fair enough, fair enough. I’ll hold the package that long then, Kid. I only did that much as a personal favor to you, mind. If that there warrant isn’t on the afternoon stage, that package goes out and that’s all there is to it, young lady. Don’t think you can stall me any longer than that!” Edna May was getting worked up now.

The Kid handed Edna May the telegram from Judge Grissom. Edna May read it several times, then said, “All right, Kid. I’ll hold it till this afternoon. But only that long. You have the legal paper then, or it goes out. You know why, don’t you?”

The three women all said in unison, “The mail is a sacred trust.”

“That’s right, that’s right,” Edna May sternly added as the other two women grinned at her. “Anything else, ladies?” she asked, unable to conceal her own amusement.

“Got any mail for me?” Ann asked.

Edna May poked through the slots on the wall, then handed four envelopes to Ann. “Here y’are.”

“Thank you, Edna May.” Andromeda said, stuffing the envelopes in her skirt pocket.

As they exited, Edna May called out, “You be here this afternoon with that legal paper, Kid. The mail’s a sacred trust, and I don’t mean to violate it for anyone!”

They walked back to Ann’s house, then pitched in to wash clothes. That accomplished, they hung them up to dry on the line in the yard, then mounted the steps to the back porch, seating themselves side by side on the wooden bench.

While they watched the clothes gently stirring in the warm breeze, The Kid turned to Andromeda. “What’s a seance?”

Giving The Kid a surprised look, Ann said, “It’s when a group of people get together and try to summon the spirits of the deceased. What made you ask that?”

“Mrs. Ruggles invited us both out there Thursday night for one.”

“She’s having a seance? How odd. What would she even know about conducting one?”

“Well, this spiritualist gal is stayin’ with her. I reckon she’d be doin’ the seance work. Mrs. Ruggles says she invited the woman there just for that reason. Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton, that’s her name.”

Ann’s mouth hung open in astonishment.

“What?” The Kid asked.

“I met Lady Jane years ago, when I took my grand tour of Europe. She was near eighty then. I can’t believe that she’d be able to make the trip over here… and why on earth would she bother with a backwater town like Knuckle Ridge?”

Now it was The Kid’s turn to look surprised. “Shucks, Ann. This woman I met ain’t a day over forty. Maybe thirty or thirty-five, I reckon. Is there more than one with that name? Or maybe the one you met has a daughter?”

Ann shook her head, puzzled. “No, Kid. There’s only one Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton, and I never heard tell of her having children. She was a short, squat woman with snow-white hair.”

“Hmm. This one’s about your height, with blonde hair and a nice figure.” A cloud crossed The Kid’s face and she stood up, saying, “I got to send me another telegram, Ann. It’s almost time for the afternoon stage anyway, I reckon.”

The Kid kissed Ann goodbye, then hastened back to the telegraph office.

Josh was busy on the telegraph key, and The Kid was forced to wait until he was finished. Finally, he looked up. “How can I help you now, Kid?”

“I need you to send another wire for me, Josh.”

“Sure, Kid. Who and where to?”

“To Mort Farnum, care of the Pinkerton Detectives, in New York City, New York.”

Josh raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “And what do you want it to say?”

After The Kid relayed her message, Josh counted the words he’d written out and said, “That’ll be six dollars and fifty cents.”

“Six-fifty! Why that’s robbery, that is!” The Kid glared over the counter. “Hell’s bells, I could train me a bird to fly that message out there.”

Josh shrugged. “You got a lot of words here, Kid. It would cost less if you cut some of them out.”

“Damn it… I need every word I give you, Josh.” With a heavy sigh, The Kid laid seven dollars on the counter and said, “Keep the change. Will you let me know the minute you get an answer?”

“Sure will, but it may take a while. New York’s not like sending a wire to Austin, y’know.”

“Fair ‘nough. So long, Josh.”

Exiting the telegraph office, The Kid sat down outside and rolled a smoke, listening to the clickety-clack sound coming from inside as Josh worked the key, sending her message across the miles. She smoked the cigarette down to a stub, then rolled another. As she finished the second one, the stagecoach arrived, and she quickly got up and strolled over to the office where it pulled in.

“Howdy, boys,” The Kid said to the two stage men, one of them old and the other young. “Sure am sorry about what happened to Roy and Bob.”

“Thanks, Kid. And thanks for all you done for Bob,” the older man said.

The younger man nodded his head in agreement, then climbed up on top to unload the baggage while the older man helped the passengers out.

The one who unloaded the luggage climbed down, took the mail bag out of the stage boot and handed it to Jack, who’d just emerged from the office.

The Kid placed a hand on his shoulder. “Mind if I tote this bag over to the post office for you? I’m expectin’ a couple things, and I need to get to ‘em soon.”

“Of course, Kid. I trust you,” Jack answered, passing the heavy canvas sack to her.

“You sure can, Jack. The mail’s a sacred trust, y’know.”

Jack rolled his eyes heavenward. “I see you’ve been passin’ the time with Edna May. I swear, one day she’s gonna turn that post office into a damn church.” Taking out his pocket watch, he peered at it, frowning. “Got to get back to my desk. Still dealin’ with the paperwork from that robbery.” He sighed. “See you later, Kid.”

“Later, Jack.” Hoisting the mailbag onto her shoulder, The Kid set off.

A couple minutes later, The Kid brought the mail into the post office. “Howdy, Edna May. I got the mail here for you, fresh off the stage.”

“That legal paper on it, Kid?”

“Well, that’s why I brought it right over — so you could check it, Edna May.”

“Yes, yes,” Edna May muttered as she thumbed through the keys on her chain. Finding the one she wanted, she unlocked the mail bag, loosened its leather straps and emptied the contents out on a table.

“Hmm. Here’s a package for you, Kid,” Edna May said as she handed The Kid a large bundle wrapped in brown paper and string.

“How ‘bout that legal paper?”

“Patience is a virtue, child,” Edna May muttered as she glanced through the many envelopes, then began to sort them. “Help me look.”

“Well, now…” The Kid started to say — then fell silent, embarrassed.

Edna May looked up, feeling a little embarrassed herself. “Sorry, Kid. I forgot.”

“Ann keeps offerin’ to teach me,” The Kid said, staring at the floor. “Figure it’s prob’ly too late now.”

“You’re never too old to learn, Kid,” Edna May said, then suddenly snatched an envelope from the pile. “Ah! Here it is.” Opening the letter, she carefully read the contents. Nodding, she handed over the letter and the package, then reached underneath the counter to get another, larger package. “All right, Kid. You can take this over to the Sheriff now.” She produced another document. “Just make your mark on this, Kid. It shows that we did this by the book.”

The Kid drew a small raven on the bottom of the paper, then Edna May wrote something next to it. “There, all legal now. Got to do it this way. Know why?”

“The mail’s a sacred trust,” The Kid recited, along with Edna May.

Edna May lightly swatted The Kid’s arm. “All right, child. You got what you wanted, now get out of my hair.  There’s real work to be done here.”

Bending to give Edna May a kiss on the cheek, The Kid hastened away, saying, “Much obliged,” over her shoulder.

“Be off with you!” the older woman cried, but with a smile.

Moments later, The Kid walked into the Sheriff’s office to find Gus Masters at his desk, writing something. Pausing to take a draw from his pipe, he looked up. “Hello, Kid. What’s that you got there?”

“If you can spare me a minute, Gus, I believe I got the murderer for you. Dependin’ on what’s in this here package, anyhow.” Placing both bundles on the desk, she gave him the legal paper.

Gus read the document, then looked up at The Kid. “I got all the time you need. Sit down, and let’s talk.” Stuffing a generous pinch of tobacco into his pipe, he sat back and listened as The Kid began to explain what she believed had happened.

This way to Chapter Four!

1

Error happened.

by Purple Les

The Tequila Kid and Andromeda Purdy talked late into the night. Eventually, the soft light of dawn began to creep through the bedroom window.

The Kid lay naked on her back on the rumpled bedclothes. Lying on her side facing The Kid and also nude, Andromeda peered at the gold ring her lover wore around the neck on a thin gold chain, reading the inscription on the inside of the ring aloud. “‘My Love Always’.”

Andromeda fell silent. The Kid had told her the whole story of her time in Oak Creek, what had happened to Buttercup and all that went with it. The murders carried out by Ramses Kingsley. Her near-death at the hands of the same man. The dying little girl named Arabella, who she’d rescued from the desert wasteland. How The Kid and Arabella had first made love. How the child had been reunited with her Aunt Clementine and cousins Mimi and Susie, who welcomed Arabella into their home… and their bed. The lustful pleasures that The Kid had shared with the entire family.

The story had been frequently interrupted by questions from Andromeda… and by tears, hugs and several bouts of lovemaking.

“I hope you didn’t break this little Arabella’s heart too badly, Kid.” Andromeda said as she fondled the ring between her fingers, observing its gleam in the light of morning.

“I hope not,” The Kid said softly. “Reckon I broke my own heart when I said goodbye to her. Fact is, she left an achin’ inside me that don’t seem to heal.”

Nestling against her lover, Ann cuddled The Kid till they drifted off. The two of them dozed for a few hours in the crisp morning air, soon to be burned off by the relentless sun.

The Kid woke first. As Ann slumbered on, her mind turned to the stagecoach robbery, trying to work out how the job had been done — marshaling the facts of the case, seeking a pattern to it all that made sense.

Just like that, the missing piece fell into place, and The Kid had her answer.

Now anxious to get moving, she leaned over and kissed Ann awake. “Mornin’,” The Kid said softly as she watched Ann hesitantly open her eyes.

Ann rubbed sleep from her sparkling eyes as she yawned out, “Morning, Kid.”

“You rest up, Ann. I gotta get myself cleaned up some and meet Gus Masters for breakfast.” The Kid sat up, stretching her long wiry limbs out in all directions.

“No, don’t,” Ann protested sleepily. “I want you all to myself today.”

The Kid shook her head, “I want that, too. But fact is, I gotta get on this murder. Roy’s dead, and maybe Bob is too, by now. I can’t let that stand. No dirty dog is gonna kill good men that way and get away with it… ‘specially in the town where my sweetheart lives.”

“I’m your sweetheart?” Ann asked in a teasing voice, already knowing the answer.

The Kid rumpled Ann’s hair, then got out of bed.

“I love the sight of you naked,” Ann sighed as she gazed at her nineteen-year-old lover’s lithe body, now on full display. The lean muscular frame. The small pert breasts with taut pink nipples. The firm belly and the sparse patch of rust-red pubes. The narrow hips and the long, muscular legs.

“Oh, no, You’re the one who looks the best with nothin’ on,” The Kid said as she pulled the covers off, baring the body of her lover — almost ten years her senior and amazingly beautiful.

“Please, Kid… I’m positively burning for you. Can’t you make me come just once? A quick one to take the edge off, that’s all I need. Pretty please?” Andromeda cupped the underside of her breasts with both hands and presented them to The Kid, who licked her lips as she watched Ann’s nipples harden.

“Dang it, Ann. I promise I’ll be back in a little while… then we’ll have us all kinds of time to talk about that Sappho gal, the one on the Isle of Lesbo that you keep tellin’ me about.” The Kid was doing her best to be strong and get moving, but too late — she got caught up in the sight of Andromeda spreading her legs wide apart to reveal her juicy treasure.

The Kid sighed heavily, but there was amusement in her eyes. “I thought for sure that I made you come enough times last night.” With a wry smile, she threw up her hands. “Okay, a real fast one.”

As The Kid reached for her, Ann suddenly thought of Roy, the murdered man, and the magic of the moment vanished. She’d known Roy for years. He was rough as a cob, but a reliable fellow whose word was bond. And he’s got a wife and children, Ann remembered. My God, what must they be going through? 

Ann suddenly pulled the sheet back up over herself. “No… you’re right, Kid. I’m being selfish. You have a crime to solve and you best get to it.”

Grinning, The Kid shook her head. “You are the livin’ end, Andromeda Henrietta Purdy. Don’t you have me like a spider on a string, pullin’ me any which way you want, whenever you want.”

Ann gave her lover a stern look. “Go now, Kid, before I pull the string back the other way again.”

The Kid gathered up some of her things, then threw a pillow at Ann as she padded from the bedroom.

Ann called after her, “Hurry, my avenging angel. Come back to me soon!”

She lay back down in the bed, her mind a jumble of thoughts — about the stagecoach holdup, but also about all the women and young girls The Kid had been with in Oak Creek. She began to toy with her clit, remembering The Kid’s story about the first time she’d made love to ten-year-old Arabella.

But her thoughts returned to the shooting of Bob and Roy… and making a face, she withdrew that straying hand from between her thighs. Ann got up and put a robe on, coming down the stairs to find The Kid strapping on her gun belt. She wrapped both arms around the younger woman without a word, and they kissed.

As The Kid started out the door, Ann blurted, “Please stay safe.”

“Don’t you worry none about me,” The Kid answered with a smile as she left.

***

Freshly washed and wearing a clean shirt, The Kid went looking for Sheriff Gus Masters. She found him standing in front of the Highland House, a modest adobe building that boasted Honest Home Cookin on the sign out front.

“Mornin’,” Sheriff Masters nodded his head in greeting.

“Mornin’, Gus.” The Kid replied as they stepped inside.

The morning rush was over, and they sat at a table out of the way of those who were still eating.

“Bob still around?” The Kid asked.

“He made it through the night. Doc says Bob lost a lot of blood, but the way you patched his chest up was enough to keep him going. He ain’t out of the woods yet, though.”

Gus put something on the table, saying, “Look at this. It’s what Jed pulled outta Bob’s chest.”

The Kid picked up the battered .32 slug, looking at it closely before putting it in her vest pocket, as Gus added, “Jed found the same caliber bullet in Roy’s head.”

“What’ll ye have?” said Eiljah, the grizzled old white-haired waiter, dressed in dark pants, stained white shirt and a black vest. He set down two empty cups and saucers, then filled the cups with steaming black coffee.

Remembering that she hadn’t been to the bank yet and only had small change in her pocket, The Kid said, “Uh, I reckon coffee is fine.”

“My treat,” Gus said, grinning at The Kid. He knew she couldn’t have picked up her pay yet, and was probably broke as usual. “Whatever you like.” He turned to the waiter, “I’ll have ham and two eggs over easy, Eli. How ‘bout you, Kid?”

In fact, The Kid had eaten nothing since a small breakfast early the day before, and felt absolutely ravenous now. Looking up at Elijah, she said, “I’ll have me a steak, rare, with a few scrambled eggs on top.”

The waiter was about to turn and shuffle off when The Kid added, “Oh, and some of them fried-up potatoes on the side. You know, with the onions in ‘em. And baked beans with bacon.”

Gus and the waiter stared at The Kid. Finally Eli said, “Reckon that’ll hold ye, then?”

“You can just leave the coffee pot here on the table for us. Oh, and a pan of biscuits with gravy,” The Kid said, and the waiter walked off muttering to himself.

Later, Gus Masters sat cleaning his teeth with a toothpick as he watched The Kid gnaw on her steak bone. She’d gulped down the rest of her food already. Setting the bone down in one of her empty dishes and pouring herself more coffee, she put her feet up on a vacant chair at the table and took a sip.

“Well… I give it a lot of thought, Gus.”

Sheriff Masters knew it was well worth the price of feeding The Kid to hear what she had to say about the crime. She’d never learned to read or write, but her powers of observation were considerable.

“The big question here,” The Kid continued, “is just how many men it was that robbed the coach. ‘Cause we’re gettin’ some differences of opinion here.”

Gus nodded. “I’m mighty anxious to hear what the passengers have got to say on that point.”

“Well, the servant girl told me she saw two riders, but from the tracks I saw, there weren’t but one horse. Thing is, though, there had to be two outlaws, the way it was done,” The Kid said.

Gus Masters gave The Kid a quizzical look, “Well, it’s got to be one or the other, Kid. I reckon it’s maybe time for us to start talkin’ with them out-of-towners, wouldn’t you say?”

The Kid finished her coffee and said, “I reckon so,” setting her empty cup down.

Making their way over to the Ridge Hotel, they found Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton and Count Cousiourac in the hotel’s plush dining room, finishing their breakfast. The woman narrowed her eyes as Gus and The Kid approached, clearly annoyed at the prospect of encountering The Kid again.

Count Cousiourac rose from his seat, and Gus removed his hat. The Kid stood looking at them all, thumbs hooked in her belt. She decided to make the introductions.

“Folks, this here is Sheriff Gus Masters,” The Kid said. Turning to the sheriff, she added, “Gus, this here is Lady Jane Wide-Bottom and Count Cocksucker.”

Lady Jane gave The Kid a look that would freeze the sun. “That’s Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton, and Count Cousiourac,” she hissed.

“Ain’t that what I said?” The Kid put in innocently with the soft angelic smile of a child as she looked into Lady Jane’s angry green eyes. Sheriff Masters was irked by The Kid’s foolishness, but managed to keep his expression neutral.

The Count didn’t seem to notice that anything was out of sorts. He shook hands with the sheriff and murmured, “Please join us, sir. You take coffee, yes?”

Gus pulled up a chair and sat down. “No, but thank you,” he answered.

“Sheriff, I believe you want to ask us questions regarding the terrible events of yesterday.” Looking The Kid up and down, Lady Jane sniffed in disdain. “Does this,” she hesitated for a moment, then finished with, “this person need to be here for that?”

Gazing evenly at Lady Jane, Gus said, “The Tequila Kid’s a special agent for the Texas Rangers. I’ve asked for her assistance on this case.”

Picking up a chair from a neighboring table, The Kid set it near Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton, facing in the wrong direction. The Kid then straddled the seat, leaning forward against the backrest.

“It was most terrible, how the bandits killed that man,” Count Cousiourac said in his thick French accent.

“So were there two outlaws?” Gus asked.

The Count nodded. “Two men, yes.”

“I thought there was just one,” Lady Jane put in.

“Hm. Well, we’re still tryin’ to work that out,” said the sheriff.

The Kid looked back and forth thinking to herself, The Count looks like a dandy, but he seems man enough. Clean-shaven with that black curly hair, he looks like the type to fetch both men or women to him. I guess Lady Ice Queen wears her fancy duds everywhere she goes, even at breakfast. She sure looks nice in ‘em, though. I like the way that dress shows off her cleavage, and she’s got pretty blonde hair and a good figure. She looks young, but judging by her hands, I reckon she’s thirty-five or so. Hard to know what she’d be like in bed, though. I bet her snatch is either wide as a canyon, or tight as a miser with a penny. Hell, I’d take a tumble with her if she weren’t such a cold-ass bitch.

“What did you see, exactly?” Gus asked the Count.

“Ah, Sheriff Masters,” the Count began, “It all happened so quickly. The coach came to a stop. I heard a man order the stage men to throw the box down. There were gunshots, and then the stagecoach took off at great speed.”

Count Cousiourac took a silver cigarette case out of his coat and, flicking it open, offered it to the sheriff, who shook his head. The Count took one out, closed the case, tapped the cigarette against it and lit it with a match that was on the table.

After taking a long draw, he smiled and shook his head, “To be honest, Sheriff Masters, I saw not much of anything. I thought someone said there were two bandits. I do not know for certain.”

Gus nodded, then looked over and said, “And you, Lady Wyeth-Boton?”

Lady Wyeth-Boton looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I must say that I agree with the Count. I can’t say if there were one or two men, I really didn’t see anything either. It all happened so quickly.”

“Any idea how many shots you heard?” The Kid asked.

“Two, I think,” the Count said.

“Yes, two, I believe,” Lady Wyeth-Boton agreed.

Gus thought for a moment, then gave Lady Jane and the Count a slightly awkward smile. “So… pardon me for askin’, but what brings a couple of well-to-do folks such as yourselves to our little town?”

“Perhaps I can answer that, Sheriff Masters,” came a voice from the middle of the dining room, just a few feet from their table.

They saw a short, silver-haired woman in her sixties, who wore an ornate dress done in an older fashion. She looked down her aquiline nose at them as the sheriff, the Count and The Kid all stood.

“Howdy there, Mrs Ruggles,” The Kid said, tipping the brim of her hat.

“Good morning, all,” Mrs Ruggles said, then offered her hand to Count Cousiourac, who bent to lightly press his lips against the woman’s fingers for a moment. She seemed pleased.

“And you must be Lady Jane Wyeth-Boton,” Mrs Ruggles gushed. Lady Jane gave a brief nod in reply, but did not speak.

“Take you a seat, ma’am,” The Kid said, offering her chair to Mrs Ruggles. As the woman seated herself, Masters and the Count sat down as well.

“You see, Sheriff Masters,” Mrs Ruggles began, beaming like a child showing off a new Christmas present, “Lady Wyeth-Boton is a world renowned spiritualist and medium from Great Britain. I found she was visiting our country, and simply had to invite her here.”

“I see,” Gus said, though his expression indicated otherwise.

Mrs Ruggles continued, “Learning that Count Cousiourac was traveling with her was the icing on the cake. Naturally, I extended my invitation to include him. I will personally vouch for them both, Sheriff Masters.” She turned to the two visitors. “Lady Wyeth-Boton, I insist that you and the Count stay with me while you are here.”

“Why, thank you,” Lady Jane said, clearly pleased.

“It will be our honor to lodge with you, Mrs Ruggles,” the Count said with a slight bow.

Gus Masters said, “Well, I reckon I’ll ride out there if I have any more questions.”

“I got a couple more questions right now,” The Kid said.

Mrs Ruggles glared at The Kid. “Must you, Tequila? Can’t it wait?”

“It’ll just take a minute, Mrs Ruggles.”

“Very well, my child, go ahead,” the woman replied, but not without a heavy sigh.

“‘Preciate it, ma’am.” The Kid turned back to Lady Jane and the Count. “So, if I understand this right, you two never saw no robbers then? No one made you get out of the coach? They didn’t take your money or jewels or nothin’?”

Count Cousiourac looked at Lady Wyeth-Boton. Lady Jane spoke up, “Why, yes, I had forgotten. It must have been the shock of it all. They did take all our money, and yes, my jewels. How silly of me. I’ve no idea how we’ll pay our expenses till I can wire our bank in New York.”

“Yes, of course,” Count Cousiourac added, “Now I recall most clearly. One man opened the coach door and robbed us at gunpoint. I think that is why we believed there were two of them.”

“You see his face?”

The Count shook his head. “Just his eyes. He wore a, what is it called — a bandana, yes, over his nose and mouth. Anything else…” He shrugged. “I cannot recall more.”

“Did you hear them two shots before or after you got robbed?” The Kid asked.

“I can’t recall for certain,” Lady Jane replied. The Count just shook his head.

“You needn’t worry about your lack of funds,” Mrs Ruggles said. “I will take care of your bills until your wire arrives from New York.”

“You are too kind,” murmured Lady Jane.

“Mrs Ruggles,” The Kid said, “These folks have a heap of luggage and a servant girl. I’d be right happy to bring all that out to your place if you like.”

“Why, thank you, Tequila,” Mrs Ruggles replied, genuinely pleased. “That will make things much easier.” She turned to her guests. “Count, Lady Wyeth-Boton — after your things are packed, you will ride out with me to my home. The Tequila Kid will bring your baggage and servant with her later.”

With that, Mrs Ruggles stood and made her way to the lobby desk to pay the hotel bill. Lady Jane rose and swept away from the table, pointedly ignoring Sheriff Masters and The Kid. That left the Count, who, as he made to leave, paused to give a slight bow first.

The Kid turned to the Sheriff, “I smell bullshit here, Gus. The stories these folks are tellin’ don’t make no kinda sense.”

As Mrs Ruggles rejoined them, The Kid quickly said, “Ma’am, there’s been a little change of plans. The Count and her Ladyship want to take care of some business here in town. So I’ll bring ‘em both out to you later with the luggage and servant girl.”

“That’s splendid, Tequila. That will give me time to prepare a proper luncheon. Please try to have them at my house by one o’clock. Thank you again, dear girl,” Mrs Ruggles said, patting The Kid’s hand as she left. Moments later, her buggy was heard to depart.

Before long, the Count and Lady Jane came down the stairs. She asked Gus, “Where is Mrs Ruggles?”

Sheriff Masters said, “Mrs Ruggles offers her apologies to you both. Somethin’ urgent came up, and she had to leave. No need to worry, though — The Tequila Kid here will take you and your baggage out to the Ruggles residence.”

“That’s right, folks,” The Kid added. “Soon as I get me a wagon from the livery stable, I’ll have your things loaded up and ready to go. ‘Scuse me now.” She made to leave, then paused to ask The Count, “You carry a gun, mister?”

“Yes,” the Count answered. “I was told I would need one for protection.”

“Could I see it?” the sheriff put in, “If you got it on you, that is.”

Reaching under his coat, the Count withdrew the gun from a shoulder holster and handed it to Sheriff Masters. Gus studied the weapon, a .32 caliber Smith and Wesson single-action short barrel five-shot revolver. He sniffed at the barrel, then handed it back to the Count. The Kid and the sheriff exchanged a brief look.

“Strange,” the Count mused. “I never even thought of it while we were robbed.”

“Just as well,” Gus said, “They wouldn’t of given you a chance to reach for it.”

“I bought one the same for Lady Wyeth-Boton,” the Count replied. “I have shown her to use it, but she keeps it packed away. So what good does it do, this gun?” He shook his head.

Leaving the hotel, The Kid waited nearby for the sheriff to appear. When Gus joined her, he said, “Let’s go see Molly Hardy. I’ll talk to the servant girl later.”

As The Kid and Masters headed for the boarding house, they spied Molly, emerging from the post office, carrying her valise. “Good morning, Sheriff Masters, Miss Kid,” she said.

Sheriff Masters and The Kid both tipped the brims of their hats and said, “Mornin’, Miss Hardy.”

“How is the stagecoach driver?” Molly asked.

“He’s hangin’ on,” Gus Masters told her, then said, “Actually, ma’am, we were lookin’ to have a word with you. Won’t keep you long, we just need to ask a few questions.”

“I’d be happy to help in any way I can,” Molly replied.

The sheriff nodded. “Why don’t we go to my office? It’s just over there.”

Masters’ office was a small one, with just two cells in the back. There was a desk that was really more of a table with a drawer, stacked with paperwork, a wooden swivel chair placed behind it. A small wood-burning stove squatted in one corner, a coffee pot sitting on top. Off to the side stood a few chairs, and another, smaller table with a checkerboard on it. There was a cot against a corner, and a rack of rifles and shotguns over the desk. The room was lit by a few oil lamps fixed to the brick walls and another one on the desk. A map of Texas hung to the left of the cot, and a few wanted posters were tacked to a corkboard on the opposite wall. Along the wall also stood a heavy safe. On top, a doily was spread out with coffee mugs resting upside down on it.

Gus offered a chair at the table to Molly Hardy, who sat down and folded her hands. The Kid and the sheriff seated themselves as well.

“Would you care for some coffee, Miss Hardy?” Gus asked. “It is Miss, right?”

“Yes, Sheriff Masters, it is Miss… and no, thank you to the coffee.”

“Can I ask what brings you to Knuckle Ridge?”

“I’ve come to meet my brother. As it turns out, I fear that I have missed him. So I will be taking the Saturday morning train to Austin. From there, I will head to Denver to meet him.”

“You look like you’re fixin’ to leave now. You always tote your luggage along?” The Kid asked amiably.

“No, of course not. I have very few items of clothing with me, so I was heading for the laundry,” Molly replied with a pleasant smile.

“What can you tell us about yesterday’s robbery, Miss Hardy?” Masters queried, intrigued by the way the two women looked at each other.

“Not very much, I’m afraid. I was trying to play a word game with the little girl to pass some time, but Lady Wyeth-Boton soon put a stop to that. It wasn’t long after that the coach came to a sudden stop. We heard voices.”

Molly pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes, which had suddenly gone moist. “I heard them tell the stagemen, ‘Hand down the box’. I saw one of the stage men on the ground after that for a moment, when he moved past a window. Then I — I heard two shots. Suddenly a masked man opened the stage door, He held a gun, and demanded our money and jewels.

“Thankfully, most of the money I possessed was hidden away on my person. They only got a few dollars from me. The way the man was talking, I fear if they hadn’t been in such a hurry, they would have…” Molly shuddered, then went on, “…they would have searched us most thoroughly, if you get my meaning.”

“I’m afraid I do, Miss Hardy,” Gus said. “You’re sure there was two men, then?”

“Yes, very sure,” Molly answered. “Then another shot was fired, and the stage sped off. It was clear that we were riding out of control, and were sure to be badly hurt or killed.” Raising her pale face, Molly said, “The rest you know, Sheriff Masters. Miss Kid here saved our lives and brought us into town.”

The sheriff gave a thoughtful nod. “Well, I guess that’s about it then, Miss Hardy. You got any questions, Kid?”

“No, I reckon not. What’s your brother’s name, Miss Hardy?”

Pausing a moment, Molly replied, “Jess. Jess Hardy. He’s about your height, Miss Kid, and resembles me.”

“Well, then, I reckon I’d recall a handsome man like that,” The Kid said watching a light pink come to Molly’s cheeks at the compliment. “You seen anyone like that around, Gus?”

“No, I don’t believe so, Kid.” Gus stood up. “Thanks for your help, Miss Hardy. If I can be of any assistance to you while you’re in town, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Molly Hardy rose. “If you’d be so kind as to keep me informed about how the stageman is doing, it would be of some comfort.”

“Yes, of course,” Gus said.

“You don’t carry a gun… do you, Miss Hardy?” The Kid asked.

Molly looked startled, then said, “No. I — I wouldn’t even know how to use one.”

The Kid stood. “It was good of you to look after Bob on the ride to town yesterday, Miss Hardy.”

“Not at all. Any Christian would do the same.”

As Gus opened and held the door, Molly smiled briefly at The Kid and said, “Good morning.”

They watched her walk away, then The Kid sighed. “Reckon I better get a wagon and head those folks out to Mrs Ruggles’ place. I’ll have a talk with the girl, ‘less you want to speak with her yourself, Gus.”

Masters shook his head. “You might get more out of a child than me, Kid. We’ll talk when you get back.”

Exchanging handshakes, Gus and The Kid parted ways. The sheriff returned to his office, and The Kid made a stop at the post office and then the telegraph office before making her way to the livery stable.

***

The ride out to Mrs Ruggles’ place was uneventful. Gracie rode in back with the luggage, while the adults sat on the wagon bench with The Kid. A few times, the Count and Lady Jane spoke in French to each other. The Kid, who spoke the language fluently, having learned it from Big Bertha during her time at the trading post, was amused by the comments they made about her. Naturally, The Kid didn’t let on that she understood. She also noticed that while Lady Wyeth-Boton spoke proper French, the Count’s French was off somehow. It was somewhat like how Cajuns spoke it, but not quite. For that matter, the way he spoke English was unlike any Frenchman that The Kid had ever known. More to this fella than meets the eye, she thought.

Being only two miles from town, The Kid had the wagon, her passengers and cargo at Mrs Ruggles’ large estate by a quarter of one.

Mrs Ruggles greeted her guests with genuine enthusiasm. She escorted the Count and Lady indoors, after giving her servants instructions to unload and take in the baggage. Before she left, the widow paused to tell The Kid, “Tequila, If Madge finds out that you were here and I didn’t send you straight to the kitchen to tell her hello, she’ll leave lumps in the mashed potatoes just to spite me. So you take this child inside and go pay her a visit. She’ll fix you both something special.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” The Kid replied. “But I reckon I still got too much trail dust on me to go walkin’ on your fine rugs. I’ll just mosey round to the back door, if it’s all the same.”

“Suit yourself,” Mrs Ruggles replied. “I’m much obliged to you for fetching my guests here, Tequila.” With a nod, she turned and mounted the steps to her front door, following two of her servants who were struggling with Count Cousiourac’s trunk. “Careful with that!” she snapped.

“Follow me, Gracie,” The Kid said, then led them around to the rear of the mansion to a large oaken door, Rapping on it a couple of times, she entered, leading the little girl into an enormous kitchen.

As they entered, a large black woman with a long steel carving knife in her grasp looked up from a cutting board, a frown of concentration on her face that turned into a wide grin when she spied The Kid.

“Kid!” she cried. Putting her knife down, she hurried over. “My, but it’s good to clap eyes on you again!” Seizing The Kid’s hand between both of hers, she gave it a mighty squeeze. “How long you been in town?”

“I just blew in yesterday,” The Kid replied. “Madge, this is my friend Gracie. She’s here with Mrs Ruggles’ guest, Lady Wyeth-Boton.” She turned to the child. “Gracie, this is Madge Johnson, the best cook I know anywheres.”

“Oh, pshaw,” Madge snorted, waving a dismissive hand, but clearly pleased. “Take you a seat, an’ I’ll fix you both lunch. Sit, sit!”

“No lunch for me, thanks kindly,” The Kid said, as she and Gracie seated themselves at a large walnut table. “I had me a big ol’ breakfast at the Highland House. Didn’t know then that I’d be comin’ here.”

Madge scowled. “Reckon I’ll forgive you this time for eatin’ that slop they serve, but you best come by again real soon, Kid, an’ let me feed you right.”

“I’ll for sure take you up on that, Madge,” The Kid replied. “I wouldn’t say no to somethin’ cold to drink, if you got it.”

Gracie watched as the stout colored woman fixed lunch for her, chatting with The Kid all the while. Mindful of her status as a mere servant, the child was too timid to speak at first. But Madge’s jolly nature soon won her over, and before long, she felt at ease enough to join in the conversation.

Soon, Madge set a plate in front of the child, and The Kid stared as Gracie proceeded to wolf down the contents.

“Sure you won’t eat somethin’, Kid?” Madge asked. “I got some mighty fine ham here — just came outen the smokehouse yesterday.”

“Thanks but no, Madge. I will have more of that there lemonade, though.”

Madge put another fat drumstick on Gracie’s plate, saying, “You eat this up, child, put some meat on your bones. You looks half starved!”

“Thank you so much, ma’am. This is truly delicious,” Gracie said, then shoveled a forkful of fried okra into her mouth.

“My, my — don’t this little thing talk pretty!” Madge said, grinning hugely. “I could listen to her all day long.”

“She’s all the way over from England,” The Kid informed the cook. “The other side of the world.”

“Well, I do declare!” a very impressed Madge replied.

After a thick wedge of apple pie, Gracie accepted The Kid’s invitation to join her on a walk outdoors. They came to a pond, set within a grove of live oak trees.

“What a huge place,” Gracie said admiringly as they sat down on the grass under a weeping willow by the pond. The mansion was barely visible.

“Care to go for a swim, Gracie?” The Kid asked.

“Oh… no, thank you, Miss Kid. My lady would have a fit if she were to find out. Besides, I have no bathing costume with me.”

“Shucks, that won’t stop us none,” The Kid said with a grin. “We’d just swim in the altogether.”

Gracie blushed, saying, “How shocking!” and meaning it.

The Kid guffawed. “Why, Gracie, lots of the young folks in town come out here to swim naked. Mrs Ruggles don’t mind none. I hear tell she watches through a telescope in her room.”

“My lady said that you were a scandalous woman,” Gracie murmured, her cheeks slightly flushed. “I’m starting to think that she was right.” The thought of swimming in the nude with her new friend gave Gracie some very pleasant thoughts, and she wondered if The Kid was serious or joking.

“Yeah? What’s she sayin‘ about me?” The Kid asked. “I won’t be mad or tell on you, cross my heart.”

“Ooooh… I shouldn’t, honestly.”

“Aw, go on.”

Gracie pondered for a moment, then said, “She thinks it’s absolutely obscene, the way you dress like a man. She says those denim trousers you wear leave nothing to the imagination.”

“Well, no one’s makin’ her look,” The Kid said. Taking her hat off, she lay with both hands under her head, chuckling to herself.

Gracie went on, “My lady thinks that…” She paused, suddenly biting her lower lip.

The Kid looked over, “Come on, tell me.” she urged Gracie.

Nervously moistening her lips, the girl finally spoke. “She thinks that you are the type that would enjoy tipping the velvet with another woman.” After a pause, Gracie shyly added, “You are very pretty. I… I would tip the velvet with you anytime, Kid.”

Before The Kid could ask what she meant by that, Gracie hastily changed the subject, “Those marks on your chin… are you some sort of aboriginal?”

The Kid said, “I lived with the Indians for a spell, if that’s what you mean. These tattoos were what they call a rite of passage. I got some on my arms too.”

“May I see them?” Gracie asked.

The Kid sat up and took her green corduroy vest off, then she unbuttoned her shirt. The Kid wore nothing underneath except the ring on its chain. She pushed the shirt off her shoulders and down her arms to her elbows.

“See, Gracie? I got a tattoo ring round each of my upper arms.”

Gracie barely saw the tattoos, enthralled as she was by The Kid’s breasts. The girl was certain that she could see the young woman’s nipples harden in the cool afternoon air.

The Kid pulled her shirt back in place but didn’t button it up. Her eyes never leaving Gracie’s, she laid back down, saying, “Now what’s this here ‘tippin’ the velvet’, you’re speakin’ of? Never heard tell of it myself.”

Out of breath, her face flushed a bright pink, the girl blurted, “I’ll show you!” Quickly kneeling next to where the surprised young woman lay, Gracie bent to claim The Kid’s mouth in a kiss.

The Kid was quick to recover, though. When Gracie’s tongue darted between her parted lips, The Kid sucked it into her mouth — then brought her own tongue into play, matching the young servant girl’s passion. Gracie climbed on top of The Kid as their kiss deepened.

Placing both hands on Gracie’s upper back, The Kid allowed one of them to slide down the girl’s body until it was cupping her bottom through the dress she wore. Gracie sighed blissfully into their kiss, then began to rub herself against The Kid’s body, grinding progressively faster as their tongues flickered in and out of each other’s mouths.

Suddenly Gracie gasped and sat upright, straddling The Kid, her breath coming in quick, hard gasps as she came. She nearly swooned, but managed not to. Once the girl had recovered, she reached down with a sly grin and unfastened The Kid’s shirt, reaching inside to fondle her small firm breasts, lightly pinching the stiff nipples.

The Kid was sorely tempted to put her duty aside just long enough to strip naked and take this young girl right there by the side of the pond, but managed to restrain herself. She’s sure a pretty thing, yes indeed… but this just ain’t the time or place. 

Finally, she spoke. “What else can you tell me about that holdup yesterday, Gracie?”

The girl’s face went deathly pale. Slowly rising to her feet, she turned and looked away. With a sigh, The Kid stood up, buttoned her shirt and tucked it in, then put her vest and hat back on.

They walked slowly back towards the house, The Kid resting a hand on Gracie’s shoulder as they walked. Gracie wrapped a thin arm around The Kid’s waist.

“I’m sorry,” Gracie finally said in a small voice. “I can’t talk about it. Please don’t make me.”

“I won’t,” was all The Kid said in reply. They were silent for the rest of the way back. As they came to the house they instinctively moved apart from each other.

The Kid brought Gracie back to the kitchen, then found the Count, Lady Jane and Mrs Ruggles in the drawing room having brandy. Giving a quick curtsy, Gracie hastened out of the room and up the stairs.

Watching as she disappeared, The Kid told herself. There’s more to this than her just gettin’ shook up by the holdup yesterday. Somethin’ else has that girl terrified.

The Kid was about to take her leave when Mrs Ruggles said, “Oh, Tequila… we will be having a seance here Thursday night. I insist that you and Miss Purdy attend.”

“All right, ma’am. Thank you. Good evenin’, folks,” The Kid said, then departed.

***

Back in town, Sheriff Masters caught up with The Kid as she brought the wagon and horses back to the livery stable.

“Kid, come with me quick over to Doc Johnson’s. He says Bob is come to, and he’ll give us a couple minutes to talk with him.”

Alice Johnson greeted them at the door, then took them back to Jed Johnson’s examining room, where he sat with Bob.

Taking his hat off, Gus said, “Hello, Bob, it’s Gus Masters. The Kid’s here with me. Can you tell us anything about what happened out there?”

The Kid took Bob’s large right hand between hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Even knowing how badly hurt the man had been, The Kid was shocked by how frail Bob was now. He’s barely hangin’ on, she realized.

Drawing closer, Doc Johnson placed the disc of his stethoscope on Bob’s chest, frowning as he listened to Bob’s heart. Turning to Gus and The Kid, he shook his head, mouth set in a grim line.

Bob’s lips began to move. Quickly kneeling next to the bed, Gus bent in to listen, his ear about an inch from the dying man’s mouth. Then Bob exhaled… but didn’t draw another breath.

Doc Johnson listened to Bob’s chest once more, then pulled the sheet up to cover the man’s head. “Damn it all,” he muttered.

Carefully laying Bob’s arm down by his side, The Kid looked up at Gus. “What was it he said?”

Gus wore a befuddled expression. “He said, ‘That woman’. Nothin’ else. ‘That woman.’ Who in hell could he have been talkin’ about?” Sighing heavily, he patted the doctor’s shoulder. “You done the best you could, Jed. Shot up like he was, I’m surprised he made it this long.” Reaching his hat, he said. “My regards to the missus. We’ll see ourselves out.”

Doc Johnson shook the sheriff’s hand, then The Kid’s. “G’night, Gus… Kid. Hope you catch the no-account sons of bitches that did this.” With a nod, he turned back to his work.

As The Kid walked with Gus over to the stage office, she remarked, “Somethin’ I noticed… Bob had a big scrape on his knuckles. I reckon he got a good punch in during the robbery, scraped it on a tooth. Looks like we oughta be lookin’ for a feller with a fat lip, or a couple teeth knocked out.”

At the stage office, after breaking the bad news to Jack and inquiring into the next of kin and funeral arrangements, Gus asked, “What was in that strongbox, Jack?”

Jack grimaced, his already red face turning redder still. “Gold certificates. A half-million dollars worth.”

“God damn,” Sheriff Masters said. “That’s a pretty serious loss.”

“That’s right. We’re responsible for every wretched penny, too. Gus, any help this office can give, you just let me know.”

“Much obliged,” Masters replied.

As they stepped outside Gus said, “I reckon we’d better start looking in the saloons again.” He shook his head. “Seems like a fool’s errand, lookin’ for a man with a messed up mouth… but be damned if I can think of anything else to try.”

The Kid shrugged. “I’ll take the north side of town, Gus. You take the south, and I’ll meet you later at the Broken Horn.”

With that, the Sheriff and the Texas Ranger set off in opposite directions, searching for a man who’d taken a hard punch in the face.

***

It was well into the night when The Kid sauntered into the Broken Horn Saloon. Gus Masters was nursing a beer at the bar, both elbows resting against the hard wooden top and a foot on the brass railing.

The Kid came and stood next to him with her back to the bar, one foot on the railing with her knee sticking out. “I gotta admit, you run a right peaceable town here, Gus. I couldn’t find nary a black eye, broke nose or for sure no busted mouths. I asked around, too. No one at the saloons, or the livery stable saw anyone like that.”

“No one at the stage office saw anyone, neither,” Gus said. “Y’think maybe Bob could have scraped his knuckles some other way?”

“Sure, he could have. As I recollect the scene of the crime, though, I feel pretty sure he got that punch in.”

Gus was gazing into the mirror behind the bar, observing the reflection of a table where five men sat playing poker.

“Y’watchin’ that card game there, Gus?” The Kid asked.

“Sure am, Kid,” Gus answered. “That man in the fancy suit? He’s a cheat.”

“He’s ‘bout to break them hayseeds. too. Sure angers me to see it happen,” The Kid said, her voice soft.

Frowning, Gus said with a sigh, “Reckon I’d best put a stop to it.”

The Kid placed a hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. “How ‘bout you let me do it, Gus? I need to let off a little steam, if you don’t mind none.”

Gus broke into a wide grin. “All right, Kid, go ahead. I’ll enjoy watchin’ you handle that slicker.”

The four farmers at the table, all young men, had been steadily losing money for over an hour to the man in the black suit. He wore a string tie, had a full beard and looked to be somewhere in his thirties. His black hat was pushed back, exposing dark, greasy hair.

The Kid watched for a moment, finally taking a step toward the table. As she drew closer, the farmers threw their cards down in disgust as the bearded man laughed. “Too bad, boys.”

As the gambler extended his left arm to rake in the pot, a flash of metal from the blade of a Bowie knife came down like lightning into the sleeve of his suit — missing the arm, but pinning the man’s coat to the table.

The man looked up, his dark eyes flashing in anger, then widening in surprise to see the face of a young woman with tattoos on her chin who was glaring at him.

“Can’t say that I care none for card cheats,” The Kid said to him, thumbs hooked in her belt. Looking up at the four young farmers, she said, “You boys get your money back from this man… he got it usin’ dishonest means. Next time, don’t gamble with strangers.”

“You calling me a cheat? Why, you dirty half breed she-whelp, I’ll kill you!” the gambler spat out.

The farm boys snatched up their money from the gambler’s winnings, then hastily stepped away — as did everyone else in the vicinity of the card table, leaving a wide berth between the gambler and The Kid. Gus now had his back to the bar, watching and ready. The saloon was dead silent.

“I am callin’ you a cheat. You was crimpin’ the corners of them cards.” The Kid said in a soft voice that everyone heard clearly.

His left arm still pinned to the table, the bearded man quickly drew his gun with the other hand. But by the time the pistol was two-thirds out of its holster, he suddenly froze. The Kid’s gun had come into her right hand faster than the blink of an eye, and now the barrel of her Colt .45 peacemaker was cocked and pointed at the gambler’s face.

“Shucks, now,” The Kid said, “Let’s keep this fair, why don’t we. You keep your gun right there where it is, almost outta the holster.” She put the hammer back down on her gun, spun it backwards on her trigger finger and holstered it in one fluid motion. “Now you got a choice, cheater. Push that gun back in its holster and leave town… or try to get it out the rest of the way and die.”

The bearded man’s forehead was now peppered with beads of sweat. Staring at the young woman, it suddenly struck him that he was face to face with The Tequila Kid.

Moving slowly, he eased his pistol back into the holster, then just as slowly laid his right hand on the table. The Kid pulled her knife free of the table and his sleeve. With the razor sharp edge of the blade, she sliced open his coat sleeve to reveal a gadget that could shoot a card into his hand. It held an ace of spades.

Casually making his way over to the table, Gus said, “You come here by stage or horseback?”

“Stage,” the gambler sullenly said.

“Next one leaves at six in the morning… you best be on it. Now get the hell out, and don’t let me find you playing cards nowhere ‘tween now and then,” Gus Masters said. As he spoke, The Kid detached the device from the gambler’s arm and put it inside her vest.

The gambler got up slowly. “What’s your name, anyhow?” Gus asked.

“Kelsey. Speed Kelsey,” the gambler growled as he started for the door, his ears red with fury. After a few steps, he paused, then abruptly spun around, reaching for his gun.

But by then, The Kid was no longer in the same spot she’d been an instant ago.

When Kelsey stopped on his way to the door, The Kid had tensed, certain that the man was about to make a move. As he began to turn, she took three fast steps toward him and, before Kelsey could draw, seized the man’s right hand and shoved the gun back down into his holster, drawing her own piece with the other hand. Raising it high, she brought the barrel of the gun down hard on the gambler’s skull, just behind his left ear.

Speed Kelsey dropped to the floor, out cold, still gripping the butt of his pistol.

The only sound heard in the bar was the sheriff’s boots as Gus advanced toward the door to examine The Kid’s handiwork. Bending down, he gave an approving nod, then glanced about for Jigs, his deputy, spying him at a nearby table. In a loud voice, Masters said, “Jigs, go fetch Rick, and the two of you take this damn fool over to the jail and lock him up for the night.”

The deputy, a rangy older man, quickly downed his drink and left the bar, looking none too pleased about it. Everyone in the bar began to talk excitedly as they moved back to their chairs.

Gus wore an annoyed expression. “Hell’s bells… guess I’ll have to put him on the stage myself.” Turning to The Kid, he said, “Let me buy you a drink. That was a fine show you put on.”

Before The Kid could reply, Freddie came running into the saloon and up to the sheriff. The lad was pale and out of breath. “Sheriff Masters — there’s a dead man lyin’ out there in the alley. Looks like he’s been shot!” he gasped. In the din of the crowd, no one but Gus and The Kid heard the boy.

Putting a finger to his lips, Gus murmured, “Shhhh, not too loud. Why don’t you take us to him, Freddie?” Thankfully, they made it out of the Broken Horn without much notice.

The Kid and Sheriff Masters followed Freddie down the street and into an alley behind the haberdashery. The Kid flicked a match to life, and there lay a man with a chest wound who was indeed very dead. His mouth was open, the eyes empty.

Gus and The Kid looked at each other as the match went out. The dead man had a split lip and a missing upper front tooth. Striking another match, The Kid saw that the man’s gun was in his holster. She plucked it out, quickly identifying the weapon as a Colt 44.

“Wanna bet he’s carryin’ a .32 slug in his chest?” The Kid asked Gus.

Gus shook his head saying, “Nope, I ain’t taking that bet. Here, help me carry him over to the Doc’s so we know for sure. Looks like it happened a few hours ago.”

“Reckon you’re right, Gus. I didn’t hear no shot, how ‘bout you?”

“No, can’t say as I did… but with that unholy row comin’ from the saloons, it could’ve gone unnoticed.”

The Kid took the dead man’s legs and Gus the top half, then they carried him over to Doc Johnson’s house, Freddie tagging along.

They set the body down on the porch, then Gus knocked on the door, asking Freddie, “Did you see somethin’, son? Or anybody?”

The boy shook his head. “No, Sheriff, I was comin’ from the newspaper office, on my way home to the library. I took a shortcut through the alley and just about tripped over him.”

“Best get you home now, Freddie… long as you’re okay, that is,” The Kid said.

“Oh, there’s nothin’ wrong with me. Got a story for the paper about this fella?” Freddie asked hopefully.

“Not tonight,” Sheriff Masters said, giving the lad’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “You head on, now.”

‘G’night, Sheriff. G’night, Kid,” Freddie said, then set off into the night.

“If that don’t beat all,” Gus said, watching the boy vanish into the darkness. “Most younguns, they’d be scared out of their wits, findin’ a dead man the way he did. That one, he’s pumpin’ me for details for the town paper!”

“Yep, I’d say that boy’s got a real future ahead of him,” The Kid said.

A light came on inside, and Alice Johnson opened the door. She was wearing a heavy plaid robe and her hair was in braids. “Dear me!” she exclaimed in dismay at the sight of the corpse. “Another one? Well, you’d best bring him in.”

“Where’s Jed?” asked Gus as they put the man on the medical room table.

“He’s out to the Fenwick place. Liz Fenwick went into labor tonight. Two weeks early, too.” Her expression was somber as she gazed at the dead man. “Bringing a new life into the world, just as this one departed. Well, God rest his soul, whoever he is.”

“Dang,” The Kid said, “What in tarnation happened here nine months ago that’s got everyone givin’ birth now?”

“Founder’s Day celebration,” Gus answered with a wry smile. “Mrs. Johnson, can you tell Doc to take the bullet out when he gets back and save it for me? I need it for evidence.”

“No need to wait for Jed,” Alice said, “This man isn’t alive to feel it, so I’ll remove it for you right now.”

Assembling a few instruments, then washing her hands, Alice picked up a scalpel and made a neat slice in the man’s chest wound. She poked around in the incision with another instrument, then took a forceps and reached inside, soon emerging with the bullet. “There you are.” She dropped the battered slug into an enamel tray with a clink, then poured a measure of alcohol in with it.

Gazing down into the tray, The Kid plucked the slug out of the alcohol, now tinted with swirls of pink. “Yep, sure ‘nough… it’s a .32, Gus.” The Kid fished around her vest pocket and pulled out the other slug. She held them up together, looking closely, then put them both in her vest.

Sheriff Masters was going through the man’s pockets. He frowned. “Already picked clean. So we don’t even know who this man is.” He reached for his hat. “I reckon Jed is gonna take a look at this body himself before he cuts it loose, but I’ll let the undertaker know it’s here. Much obliged for your help, Mrs. Johnson.”

“You’re welcome.” Alice said, seeing them to the door. “Good night, Gus… Kid.”

As they stepped into the street, Sheriff Masters said, “Looks like there was two holdup men after all… and we just laid hands on one of ‘em.”

“Yep… and his partner gave him a bullet in the chest, ‘stead of his cut of that half million.”

Gus frowned. “I still can’t figure out why the folks on the coach can’t agree on how many men there was, though.” He gave The Kid a penetrating stare. “All right, Kid… I can see that you’ve got some ideas buzzin’ round in your head. Care to share ‘em with me?”

“Not just yet, Gus,” The Kid replied. “There’s a piece of the puzzle that don’t fit yet. Let me sleep on it. See you tomorrow.”

“G’night, then,” said the sheriff, and the two parted, The Kid making her way to Andromeda Purdy’s place.

Letting herself in, The Kid found Ann sound asleep with her head on the kitchen table. She’d clearly been working; there were papers spread about, some under her face. Touching her lover’s shoulder, The Kid whispered, “C’mon, sweetheart… let’s get you to bed.”

She guided the dazed woman into the bedroom, helped Anne undress and tucked her in with a kiss. “I love you, Kid,” Andromeda mumbled, then fell sound asleep.

The Kid walked back downstairs and into the kitchen, then seated herself on the sofa with a bottle of tequila and a glass. She rolled a cigarette and put it in her mouth unlit, then poured a drink, setting it on the coffee table, eyeing it while she pulled off her boots and socks and slipped out of her vest. Lighting her smoke, she sat back, thinking. She had a few definite ideas about what had really happened, and most of them troubled her.

The Kid downed her drink, then a few more as she weighed the bits of evidence she possessed about the stagecoach robbery, trying to make them add up. No matter which way she figured it, she didn’t like the results.

The Kid refilled her glass, then compared the two slugs once more. Finally putting these aside, she took up the device she’d taken off Speed Kelsey, studying how it worked. The Kid took the braids out of her hair and scratched at her scalp for a moment. Her thoughts had scattered like songbirds stalked by a hawk. She rolled and lit up another smoke, poured and drained one more drink, then tried to get up — but found herself too worn out to move.

“Aw, shit,” she muttered. Reaching for a woolen throw that Ann had knitted, The Kid dragged it over her body and stretched out, holding tightly to the sofa trying to stop it from spinning around. She laughed out loud at nothing at all, then drifted off to sleep.

On to Chapter Three!

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by Shy Mom

I miss swimming and spinning, in that order. Our nearby YMCA, where I’ve exercised for years, has been closed, due to the pandemic. While my dear little girls have been keeping my tummy, ass, and cunt tight with a doubling (at least) of daily orgasms, I find myself missing the diverse community one finds at the Y.

If you were to observe my regular visits, you might find it surprising that I feel any connection with people there. An introvert by nature, I keep mostly to myself in public, including in spin classes and at the pool.

To be sure, I come out of that shell for my third-grade girls, who expect and deserve affection and vivacity from their teacher and look on me as a surrogate mother. For their sake, I can also put on a show for their parents—though I certainly never anticipated the kind that Genette enticed me into perform during our extremely lewd Zoom session.

Within the bounds of our Catholic school dress code, I enjoy modeling provocative styles and fashions for my little ladies. There is no rule, for example, against form-fitting blouses and pencil skirts. Nor is there one against thongs, g-strings, or going completely bare below to keep my backside smooth, especially when I lean over a desk to assist a student with her lesson.

At the Y, I could indulge in this seemingly contradictory urge to keep to myself and expose my body. Perhaps my predilection for exhibitionism is rooted in vanity, and I admit to taking pride in my figure after three decades and two daughters. But I believe my motives are simpler and purer.

I abhor selfishness, and keeping something beautiful to oneself, like caging a butterfly, seems a crime against nature. Bringing a smidgen of joy to those who find beauty in my body makes our corner of the world happier for all concerned, if only for a brief while. I don’t think I’m alone in my views, as I’ve shared smiles with other lovely women—and sometimes little girls—with whom I’ve exchanged looks of mutual admiration.

There are three things I enjoyed about spin class, none of which was spinning itself, which is grueling. First, I liked the results. A firm ass and taut legs are features a woman my age can no longer take for granted. Second, I liked the instructor, Carly. True, she inflicted escalating degrees of pain as our sessions progressed, and did so with an inhuman level of good cheer. I couldn’t hold a grudge against her, however, as she put in as much effort as she demanded from us. Moreover, she was stunning. As Carly rode her cycle, her ass flexed in a mesmerizing tempo, and her shapely boobs bounced in time.

She was among the women with whom I exchanged appreciative glances at the Y, which leads to my third reason for enjoying spin class: the opportunity to put myself on display. I always arrived early to take a bicycle in the front row. My favorite bikes were just to the right or left of Carly, where I got a prime view down her sports bra and, from the wall mirror behind her, a fine reflection of her ass. Spinning from the front row also allowed me to show off my own curves and crevices—revealed more than hidden by the skintight workout wear I favored—to those ladies who always seemed to pick spots behind me when they worked out.

Swimming has always been a favored form of exercise for me. The sense of weightlessness and freedom as the cool watercourses past while caressing every inch of my body… it’s a pleasure unmatched by anything else that burns calories and tones muscles—except fucking, of course. What especially enhances the joy of swimming is the opportunity to expose myself.

The Y, of course, was a family establishment, and the dress code for the pool area expressly forbade “thong bikinis.” I happily complied with the letter of the rule, which made no mention of one-piece swimsuits. Accordingly, I bought an attractive one-piece with a thong-cut in every available hue—white, aqua, violet, and my favorite, watermelon. Though a small would have suited, I got mine in extra-small for the curve-hugging, crevice-invading fit.

What makes these swimsuits especially racy is their fabric, which turns sheer when it gets wet. From experience, as I shall relate, I can attest that the thin material does not distinguish between chlorinated water and a juicy cunt.

In all my years at the Y, I never heard a single complaint against my swimwear. Instead, I frequently felt eyes on me as I climbed in and out of the lap pool. I was happy to linger for anyone who wanted a glimpse, especially female patrons. They ranged from seniors getting daily exercise, to mothers keeping in shape, to high schoolers improving lap times. Their interest in me seemed to vary, from intrigue or admiration to envy or lust.

Perhaps my greatest fans were the teenage lifeguards, all of whom were girls. One of them, a lithesome sixteen-year-old named Gwen, had actually been a third-grader in my class. Back then, the blonde still had quite a bit of baby fat, but puberty and swimming had transformed her into someone whom I might have recognized in my own mirror during my high school days. When I did the backstroke past the lifeguard perch, I occasionally caught Gwen hastily crossing her legs. Sometimes I wondered if she might be willing to moonlight as a babysitter.

***

Reminiscing on my displays at the Y inspired me one evening to suggest a fashion show as our family activity. Like most little girls, mine loved dressing up, so they jumped at the proposal. I had plenty of swimwear and lingerie to go around, most of it so skimpy that the size wouldn’t matter.

I’d done this kind of thing before, back in college. Every year, my sorority put on a hugely popular fashion show as a fundraiser for a local women’s shelter, but the ones we held for ourselves, in the sworn privacy of our sorority house, were the most memorable. They were also the wildest.

At those events, we modeled sexy party dresses, daring swimsuits, and racy lingerie. Because we all pitched in to help each other look our best, the shows were a feast for the eyes. Often, girls would pair up to walk down the runway, teasing each other and their audience with kissing, groping, and sometimes more as the alcohol flowed and the catcalling swelled.

As a new pledge, it surprised me at first that my sorority sisters seemed to have dirtier minds and mouths than most men, but I soon became as naughty as they were. I supposed my libido was fanned from living among so many sweet and desirable girls, whom I grew to love as family.

One evening, Alyssa and I were on the runway when we gave our sorority even more to see. Of course, there were no secrets within our tight-knit community, so it was common knowledge that the two of us were an item. The hooting and hollering predictably rose when we strutted down our improvised catwalk, two blondes in scanty bras and g-strings. At the end of the runway, we locked lips in a sizzling kiss and rubbed tits, then flossed each other’s asses with the g-strings. For the coup de grace, we fingered one another and, as cheers erupted, fed one another our honey. On the way out, our bare bottoms got plenty of affectionate slaps, then we practically raced back to our room and fucked like cats in heat.

Now, as I collected an armful of titillating swimwear and lingerie, I was anticipating how far my little girls and I would take our mother-daughter fashion show.

***

Ashley and Olivia sat side by side on the plush velvet sofa in our living room. They wore matching white terry robes—gifts from Genette, the same style Bella had worn during our parent-teacher Zoom. In return, I’d given the Flambeau family three lacy green thongs, imagining how the color would complement their auburn hair. That was when we shed our clothes and came together in a two-family lesbian sex party that lasted for hours. Maybe I’ll share that story with the world one day.

In our adjacent kitchen, which served as the staging area, I got ready for my part of the show. Our plan called for me to model three outfits before turning over the floor to the girls, and to keep our choices a secret, to heighten the anticipation. For my first round, I chose my one-piece swimsuit in white.

Slipping into character, I strutted into the living room like a model, placing one leg in front of the other, hips swaying. My daughters’ eyes lit up as I paraded back and forth. Pausing in front of the girls, I stopped to present my thong-cut backside, then cupped and shook it for them.

OIivia and Ashley squealed in delight. I blew kisses over my shoulder, which they blew back, their puckered lips both girlish and sexy in the hot pink lip gloss I’d selected for them.

Because my daughters didn’t go with me to the Y, they had no idea that my swimsuit turned sheer when damp, and the prospect of exposing myself that way aroused me no end. Extending a finger to each of their luscious mouths, I instructed, “Get them nice and wet for me.”

A tingle ran through me as the girls coated my fingers with their warm saliva. They sighed when I withdrew, stared when I coated my nipples through the swimsuit, and gasped when they saw the effect that had.

“I didn’t know they made those!” exclaimed Ashley.

“I want one!” Olivia announced.

I laughed. “Well, if you’re good—or maybe bad—I’ll let you borrow mine when you’re big enough.” I could imagine a teenage Olivia turning heads in it, especially mine.

Then, like a late-night commercial, I added, “But wait! There’s more…”

The girls watched as I pulled up the high-waisted front panel. It stretched snugly against my vulva, bringing the folds of my moist sex into vivid relief.

I ran a finger up my slit, then wafted it under my daughters’ noses. Olivia opened her mouth expectantly, like a little bird, and Ashley lunged for that finger like she was trying to bite it. I drew my hand back just in time, and licked it myself. The girls made faces and protested, but it was all good fun.

Taking one last sexy stroll through the living , I bowed and exited.

Next, I put on a black “slingkini.” If you’ve never encountered one, it consists of a small patch just big enough to conceal my shaved cunt. From that tiny bit of material, one string runs up my ass crack and over my spine, then divides into two and wraps around my body, leading to a pair of even tinier patches that cover my nipples (but nothing else) before plunging down to hold up the pubic patch from the front. I should add that nearly every move I make causes the immodest patch down below to wriggle a bit into my cleft.

On a dare, I once modeled this swimsuit for my sorority sisters, but had never mustered the courage to flaunt it in public, even with my exhibitionist streak. I was pleased that my body still showed to good advantage in the slingkini, which made me feel sexier than going completely nude.

Taking a breath, I entered the living room. My daughters were spellbound at the sight. I prowled in front of them, feeling as wicked as I looked. Stopping in front of the sofa, I paused to stroke my nipples through the gauze-thin fabric, making them even stiffer than they already were. The girls squealed and applauded in approval.

I turned around and spread my legs. Then, I bent over slowly, sliding my hands down my limbs as I thrust my ass up. I couldn’t see the girls’ faces, but heard their inhaled breaths as the rear string bisected my bottom.

The suddenly familiar position triggered a flashback to my college days: Alyssa behind me, on the floor of my sorority bedroom, her face buried in my upturned ass, devouring my cunt with such hunger that I was sure she’d eat right through me.

Burning with that memory, I bowed and made my second exit.

In the kitchen, I furiously pawed myself to a quick orgasm, then downed a swig of ice water. After recovering my breath, I stripped off the slingkini and reentered the living room for my big finish.

The girls gawked at me quizzically, for I wore nothing but a smile. As they took in my nakedness, however, their looks of confusion turned into stares of longing.

I was pleased that my body produced the desired effect, but I was far from done. I had one more surprise, a lewd little secret to reveal. Standing before my daughters, I raised an eyebrow to get their attention. I had it, of course, one hundred percent.

Lowering myself into a squat, I reached down with one hand to spread my lips wide, exposing the maw of my cunt. My daughters gaped. With the other hand, I reached into my vagina and delicately pulled out a pink string that gradually grew into a thong. The fabric was dripping wet.

I’d never witnessed such wonder on my girls’ faces. It was like Christmas morning, and after all their unwrapping, I conjured one more present out of thin air. Except this present came from my cunt.

“See girls? I did have something to show after all.”

Ashley found her voice first. “How …”

“It was there the whole time. Soaking in my juices.”

“Wow …” Olivia breathed. Her lips were still parted, so I offered her the thong, bringing it closer to my little girl’s face.

My impulse surprised me as much as it did Olivia. Her eyes bulged almost out of their sockets. But she got over that right away, opening her mouth even wider so that I could feed her my soaked undies. When the taste of my pussy hit her, she started sucking greedily at the wet material.

Ashley looked on with longing.

“Olivia, dear,” I said gently. “Share that with your sister?”

My sweet girl nodded, and began to take the thong out of her mouth. I had a different idea, though. Enfolding Ashley and Olivia in my arms, I brought them together for a kiss.

Their lips touched tenderly at first, but soon their kissing became open-mouthed and urgent as they shared my flavor between them. I could not envision a better way of ending my part of the show, unless I joined my children in a three-way kiss. So I did.

After the g-string had been sucked clean, we drifted apart, exchanging lustful glances. I was ravenous for sex, and sensed the same hunger in my girls. But before we gave in to our mutual desire, I reminded them that we still had their half of our fashion show to enjoy. With their thoughts turned, they bounded out of the room excitedly.

I sat naked, waiting for the girls to reappear, the blanket I’d thoughtfully draped over the sofa earlier damp with my anticipation.

After much shuffling and giggling in the kitchen, my daughters bounced back in … still in the same terry cloth robes they had been wearing when they left the room.

It was my turn to look quizzical. But, like my final outfit, theirs proved to be more than meets the eye.

The girls danced in front of me, attempting to sway their hips in a seductive way. However, their inability to move in unison and outbursts of tittering tickled my funny bone more than my cunt. Still, I took delight in their joy, knowing they would appease my lust before very long.

So they did. At a signal from Ashley, the girls slowly lifted their robes, which fell about mid-thigh. As the juncture of their thighs were revealed, I caught glimpses of white little-girl panties—the same kind Olivia wore on the night that lit our incestuous relationship.

No surprise, their panties were visibly wet. My desire to slip those adorable underpants down and taste my little girls now seemed as natural as basking in their sweet scent when we hugged. Once again, I was amazed by how radically our lives had changed in these months of quarantine.

“Mommy loves our panties,” Olivia remarked, more to her sister than me. “It made her wet when she saw mine.”

“Indeed it did,” I admitted.

“Are you wet now, Momma?” asked Ashley.

In answer, I spread my cunt for them to see.

“She is!” Olivia exclaimed.

“You too,” I laughed, glancing from one crotch to the other.

Their act wasn’t over. Turning around, their robes still lifted, the sisters shook their booties, again more in silliness than seduction. Ashley grasped the waistband of Olivia’s panties and tugged them up until they were nestled in her crack like a thong, then presented her rump to a giggling Olivia, who returned the favor. Their exposed cheeks taunted me, cried out to be spanked. Not hard, mind you—just enough to tease.

Going down on her knees, Ashley smooched her little sister’s left buttock, the lipstick she wore leaving a glossy pink kiss mark. When she got to her feet, Olivia once again imitated her big sister, enthusiastically branding Ashley on the right cheek. Then they turned away from me and pushed their hips together—putting their lip prints on their bottoms side by side, as if they were kissing.

The girls spun around and bowed. I clapped and cheered as they skipped out of the room.

A couple of minutes later, the winsome pair paraded back into the room, still in their robes. They got into position in front of me, Ashley directly behind Olivia. At a signal from Ashley, the girls swayed in opposite directions and waved their arms, an imitation of dances we’d seen in Bollywood films. I had to applaud.

Next, Ashley wrapped arms around Olivia from behind, groping her flat chest. I’ve enjoyed being on the giving and receiving end of this particular move, but hadn’t imagined how arousing it would be when performed by little girls.

“Like how that feels, Olivia?” I asked, my voice thick with arousal.

“Yes, Mommy,” she replied, wriggling against her sister.

Then, like parting curtains, Ashley unfurled the front of Olivia’s robe. Above, she was topless, and below, wearing only a micro-bottom in highlighter yellow that barely cupped her pouty lips. My breath caught at the tantalizing sight.

The girls switched places and again went into their dance. At the end, without as much ceremony, Olivia pulled open Ashley’s robe. My ten-year-old wore the matching top of the micro-bikini, the tiny triangles barely covering her preadolescent bumps. But it was what I saw below that riveted me.

Ashley wore nothing but honey-blonde wisps of hair. Barely more than peach fuzz, they garnished her pussy as perfectly as chocolate shavings on a Michelin-starred dessert. I wanted to gobble her up.

Instead, gazing at my daughter’s cunt, I masturbated even harder.

Taking Olivia’s little hands in hers, Ashley covered her sex. She smiled mischievously as I pouted in disappointment.

The girls took their bows, tittering as they ran out.

From the kitchen, Ashley called, “Get out your phone, Mommy!” It was already beside me on the sofa, but I put it between my legs for easier access before resuming my self-stimulation.

Minutes later, the girls flitted in like fairies, holding hands, their willowy bodies draped in translucent negligees. On me, the lingerie barely covered my ass, but on the girls, the fabric floated ethereally above their knees.

I was reminded of one of my favorite paintings, Botticelli’s Primavera, which I once had the pleasure of viewing in Florence. The vision before me improved on Botticelli’s masterpiece in two key respects: my graces were much younger and more beautiful.

Another departure from Botticelli’s painting was Ashley’s iPhone, which she held as my daughters danced into position before me, giving me a view in profile. Olivia stood in front, legs spread, and Ashley sat on her heels close behind, her face nearly touching Olivia’s bottom. She placed the phone on the floor between her little sister’s legs.

Ashley then made a FaceTime call, which I accepted, my heart aflutter. I was greeted with a perfect upskirt view of my eight-year-old’s pussy.

“God,” I murmured, gazing at the smooth slit on the screen, just inches from my own mature cunt.

“Spread your butt, Olivia,” Ashley instructed. Olivia obeyed, prying her cheeks apart. Without further warning, Ashley began to lick her little sister’s rosebud. Olivia gasped in awe at this loving invasion, then began to tremble.

Fuck. The sight of my younger daughter being rimmed by her older sister was more than I could take. I pumped my cunt furiously with two fingers as I thrust a pinky into my asshole and thumbed my clit. Moments later, I came hard—and surprised myself as well as Olivia by gushing all over the front of her negligee.

My view of that pretty pink slit on the screen was now partly obscured by splatters of cunt juice and pee. I picked up the phone and began to lick it clean.

As I did so, it occurred to me that I was also licking my little girl on the screen. Turning the phone for Olivia to see, I tongued the image of her cunt.

“Oh, Mommy!” Olivia cried. Thrusting both hands between her thighs, she started petting her pussy through the negligee, staring at me with lust-glazed eyes. Ashley held her little sister’s buttocks apart, still licking between them.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” Olivia gasped, as an orgasm shook her small frame.

In my wildest, wickedest dreams, I’d never conjured anything close to the lurid scene taking place before me. It was utterly lewd—yet somehow lovely, too. With a finger in each of my holes, I came again, less wet this time but every bit as satisfying.

Spent, Olivia fell into my arms, and Ashley followed. I hugged both girls warmly, our mingled juices and sweat making the embrace a damp one.

What a fashion show! Even as I luxuriated in our closeness, I eagerly anticipated the after-show party to come.

On to Chapter Seven!

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Error happened.

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

***

Thanks to JetBoy.

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

by Purple Les

For PoppaBear

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ann let out a soft moan, nodding her head.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, Miss, I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Miss Kid.”

“You know any of them others?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kid! What the hell happened?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks Kid. I’ll see you later.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you can.”

“Need someone to help you with that bag?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On to Chapter Two!Knuckle Ridge, Chapter 2

by Karin Halle

Life just isn’t fair, I thought.

Of course, death is even worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How are you, sweetie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Larissa!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My mouth wasn’t listening either.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This improper, immoral, illegal nonsense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, Mom,” Larissa whispered.

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

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

“Is this good, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That seemed to surprise Larissa. “Do you?”

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

“I’m not sure, Mum.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

We lay together all afternoon and into the evening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“Fair, Mum,” was the reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I LOVE YOU!

Goodbye, Larissa

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

The End

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

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

1

Error happened.

by Shy Mom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I licked my lips without realizing it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Bev, FUCK!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long …” I wondered aloud.

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

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

“Then I licked you, remember?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On to Chapter Six!

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