Mum and the Daughters of the Moon

Asian

Me, My Mum, My Sister and the Daughters of the Moon

This story depicts incest, witchcraft, profanity, and most shockingly, the use of English language spellings and slang current in Great Britain. So if you think that your sensibilities will be outraged by “colour” or “shagging”, this story probably isn’t for you. All characters are 18 or over. No actual persons or coven is described, so don’t hex me for making stuff up. It’s fiction, (as we say for legal reasons). I will post Part 2 if enough people like this and are sufficiently kind to say so in the comments.

*****

The beginning of it for me was the Thursday evening when I heard from downstairs a chorus of female voices as I was leaving my bedroom.

“You must be fucking joking!” I heard my mother’s raised voice. “If you think -” She was interrupted by others, but there were so many of them that I couldn’t make out the words.

“Quiet!” I heard someone else interject, Morganna perhaps, and everyone went silent as I came down the stairs.

All eyes turned to me as I descended the last stair into our hall, which opened onto the drawing room opposite. A group of approximately ten women, including my mother and sister, all dressed in various shades of black and gray sat in the drawing room around a long table, drinking glasses of Gavi. My mother’s face was flushed and a fug of wine fumes hung in the air.

“I’m off out, Mum”, I said.

“All right, don’t be too late home,” my mother replied, barely looking in my direction. She looked cross.

“I won’t be. G’ night everyone.”

“‘Night, Josh,” one or two of my mother’s guests replied, but most of them just stared at me, giving one another knowing looks in a silence pregnant with conspiracy. There was something unsettling about their stares, which were mostly – there is no other word for it – appraising.

“Well, what’s that bunch of bitches up to now?” I wondered to myself. I was about to find out.

It was the second Thursday in the month of April in what was starting to be a wonderfully warm springtime, and my mother was hosting a regular meeting of her coven, a group of pagan women who dress up in black and call themselves “The Daughters of the Moon.” They also call themselves witches. Andrea who is my older sister, joined them two years back, and now swaggers around the village with too much eye shadow and a silver pentagram brooch, trying hard to look all mysterious, but as I told her once, she actually looks like she needs the lavatory.

The coven leader, the one my mum said was the High Priestess, called herself Morganna, although at our local College she used her real name, which is Liz Smith. She had taught my history class when I was finishing secondary education. College opinion was ninety-nine percent certain that she certainly is a dyke. The other women in the coven were all locals, harmless enough, I guess, made up of all ages from twenties up to their seventies, and were as diverse as a lawyer, a pharmacist and several housewives among them. Andrea was the youngest by a good ten years.

They met at our house only because it is bigger than anyone else’s in their group and as my mother says, the garden isn’t overlooked by neighbours. Our property is remote by English standards, and is surrounded on three sides by mixed broadleaf woods of oak and chestnut. Last year, my mum had had a marble slab erected on a plinth on the lawn, which is used as an altar for their weird nonsense when they dress up in black robes and chant in a circle every full moon. I am always expected to make myself scarce when there is a meeting on. Mum certainly takes it very seriously. She has several shelves of books about witchcraft in our study and is always buying junk like essential oils, candles and brass curio shop tat to practice it with. Mum always used to clam up about what they actually did. She had joined the coven when we had first moved to our village. I did wonder if all this covert activity with the other women might man she is a secret lesbian, but Mum laughed when I half-jokingly asked if the coven was a cover for hot lesbo orgies?

“You’re the man of the house, darling,” she had replied somewhat enigmatically when she’d stopped laughing.

At least she wasn’t trying to get herself another man, or so I thought. She also told fortunes, with Tarot cards and was into Astrology in a big way. I thought it a load of unscientific twaddle, and once asked if she was talking out of Uranus. Mum wasn’t too happy about my “mundane mind” as she called it.

My mum, whose first name is Kate, my sister and I had moved to this small rural village in the County of East Sussex, England, about four years ago after my mum was widowed at a tragically young age of 40. Dad had been an Architect and keeled over from a massive stroke one day in the office. His life insurance and his shares in a London Architect’s practice had left us comfortably provided for and Mum sold our north London town house for almost two million pounds, saying she otele gelen escort wanted a fresh start. She said she had always fancied moving to the countryside. My sister and I moved with her, reluctantly at first as we were city kids and didn’t much fancy life in the countryside, but in fact after a year we had all settled in so well and made so many new friends I wouldn’t now think of living anywhere else. I met my mates in the local pub once or twice a week where we discussed the latest X-Box games, football and women. I was 19 at the time all this kicked off and I had finished school a year earlier. I was working helping fix farm machinery and sell lawn mowers in a local sales and repair shop before starting an engineering course at University in the autumn.

Mum runs an online women’s clothes business, and she says she set it up after father’s death to give herself something to do, and continues to run it because the regular meetings with her suppliers gives her a reason to leave the house. She is a vivacious, attractive brunette, and at 5’10”, she is just three inches shorter than me.

My sis, Andrea is four years older than me at 23, a bit shorter than mum and has a cute pixie face, if you like that sort of thing. She had, after a couple of false starts, just started work at a rehabilitation centre for injured horses and was loving the work and was now thinking of becoming a vetinary surgeon. She is “popular” with boys, but I am almost ashamed to admit, when this story begins, I was still a virgin. I’d simply never met a girl I felt comfortable to talk to and I was an X-Box playing nerd. I wasn’t even sure I was attracted to girls of my own age. My sex life consisted of jacking off to MILF and Mature porn on XHamster. I’d definitely say my sexual preference was for fit-looking brunette women in their thirties and forties. I have read about President Macron of France and his much older wife and I think I understand him completely.

As far as I then knew, neither my mum or sister had then a steady boyfriend. My mum had been single since father died. His death had devastated her and I had done my best to look after her. and be a shoulder to lean on. She had opened up a lot at first in the first dreadful few months, but as she found her feet in the new location, our previous easy familiarity had lessened and there was more distance between us now. This saddened me because I had a “thing” for my mum. It started a couple of years after father’s death. She had been bothered about something that had happened that day and I had hugged her, only to be aroused by a tantalising view down her cleavage and blood rushed to my head – and to my cock. From then on, I had held a secret torch for my mum.

That Thursday evening, I shut the front door behind me, started my red Triumph Street Triple motorcycle and rode off through the mellow evening sunlight to have a few beers down at ‘The King’s Head’ in the village.

Five minutes later and I was at ‘The King’s.’ It’s a Seventeenth Century half-timbered coaching Inn, and the place was as busy as ever. I said “Hi” to Tony the landlord and met Luke and Matt, my two gamer mates in the front bar of the pub. We ordered our beers and sat down. We exchanged our latest news, and I said I’d escaped my mum’s witch meeting.

“Your sister’s one of those witches, too,” isn’t she?” said Matt, suddenly out of nowhere.

“Sure, what of it?”

“I’d love her to use a little magic on me, know what I’m saying?” he grinned. “I love me a sexy witch.”

Luke grunted assent.

“You think my sister’s sexy?” I asked.

“Sure she is!” Luke replied. “She’s got legs up to her tits!”

This made me feel a bit awkward. I felt annoyance spark. I suddenly wasn’t very happy with my two loser mates, discussing my sister’s sexiness.

Fact is, I realised, they were quite right, she is a hottie. But I was damned if I was going to let them leer over her.

“Right, like you’ve got any chance!” I jeered. Best means of defence is attack, right?

“Hey, a guy can dream,” Luke replied.

“”I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. Let’s leave my sister out of it, okay?”

“Sure, Josh. We’ll talk about her panties instead.”

He cackled and necked some beer.

Then Matt butted in again.

“Or your mum, then. She’s hot as hell.”

“My mum?” I said with incredulity.

“Sure, she’s a yummy mummy. A real MILF.”

“Oh”, I said. “So you fancy her too?”

“Of course. Don’t you?” said Matt. “Her tits…”

“They’re the hottest women in the village!” Luke added.

Hey! This is my mum and sis you’re talking about! Yuck!”

“All I’m saying”, Matt continued with a grin, “is I definitely would. I get a real boner, know what I mean? A real magic wand!”

“You’d definitely what?” I said, then realisation struck. “Aw, fuck off! That’s just TMI!”

“Those witches,” said Matt. do they, you know, dance naked in your field?”

Luke butted pendik escort in, “He means, your mum and sister!”

“Do you get to watch?”

I lost it then.

“Just fuck off the pair of you!”

Both of them burst into laughter, and I realised they were deliberately winding me up.

“You bastards. Bloody perverts.”

That set them off even more.

I frowned. It wasn’t that funny.

“No, I don’t watch and they’re all in these long, black robes, anyway,” I said. “Christ, have you seen them? They’re mostly pretty old and ugly, so who’d even want to watch?”

Then I thought about Matt’s mother, the dowdy and dumpy Mrs. Holland, and Luke’s mother who looked like a beached whale: she put the ‘o’ in obese as she waddled around the village. Nobody would be letching over them, that’s for sure. So I felt a bit better about Matt and Luke wanking over my mum and sister, if that’s what they did. I didn’t want to go there.

It was getting late when I left the pub, and I decided to walk home as I’d had too much beer to ride my bike and I was way over the limit. I left my bike in the car park and set out. It was a fine night and I welcomed a brisk walk after sitting in the pub.

A twenty minute walk helped sober me up a bit and I arrived home to see the drawing room lights on.

I let myself in with my key and quietly shut the front door behind me.

I overheard my mum and sister still talking. It seemed the others had all left. They sounded a bit the worse for wear after too much wine. I walked softly to the end of the hall, but where my mother and sister couldn’t see me.

“It’s cool!” I heard my sister say, talking too loud as if my mum is deaf, about something that sounded like “the great right.” She continued “I’ve read about the the great right, but I’d love to see it happen.”

“Yes, but -” my mother tried to argue.

“Morganna’s right, nobody else can do it, you’re the only ones who can bring the right magickal energies,” my sister continued, talking over my mother.

“You want to watch us shagging in front of you all?” My mother asked.

“Hah, I’ll bet he’s got a weeny little cock. You’ll hardly be able to feel it go in.”

“That’s disgusting! How do you know, anyway?”

I was itching to hear more by this point, but right that moment a floorboard creaked loudly under my foot. Shit! Just when it was getting interesting.

“Josh, is that you?” My mother called from the drawing room.

I retraced my steps down the hall quietly and said “Hi!” from the front door. I walked up the hall into the drawing room and made out I was a bit drunker than I was, slurring a bit.

“All OK?” I asked.

“We didn’t hear your motorbike?” my mother asked.

“Nah, too many beers. I walked home. Anyway I need to get my head down. G’night!” I half stumbled to the stairs.

“He’s pissed!” my sis said.

“Not half as much as you, love,” I thought as I headed for my bedroom.

I was thinking hard. Now this was interesting. What was going on? Was my mum actually planning on screwing someone? If so, who was the guy? Did I know him? When was it going to happen? What was the great right, anyway? Right what? As opposed to left? All these questions were crowding my brain.

I decided that Google is my friend and started searching on my laptop..

The results of my research were mind-blowing.

It is called “The Great Rite”, for one thing. It involves a coven’s High Priestess having sex (not always real), with a man supposedly to work powerful, kick-arse magic to sort out a major problem in the coven.

Well, I was sure I knew the reason why the dyke Morganna wasn’t going to have sex with a man, whether actual or symbolic.

But why did it have to be my mum and why would she even think about it? Who else had the “right magickal energies?” Who was the lucky man going to be? Did this mean she had a secret boyfriend? Was she actually going to have sex with some guy in the circle in front of everybody? When was it going to happen?

My mind was racing. There were so many questions. I really didn’t feel comfortable about my mum being with a new boyfriend. I’d absolutely hate anyone moving in with us. While I’d always knew that mum might start dating again at some point in the future, I’d never really thought about it in concrete terms. It looked like the future might have arrived. I’d never counted myself as the jealous type, but I realised with a sudden shock that the thought of some other bloke having sex with, or even touching my mum, made me furious. I’d knock his fucking head off.

I went to bed, but I lay wide awake for what seemed like hours pondering all of these and more. I determined I was going to find out, one way or another.

I spent most of Friday thinking about one question, did my mum have a boyfriend? My boss in the workshop said I was distracted. I assured him I was OK, and just had a lot on my mind. He told me to make sure I rus escort was paying attention when I was in work next day.

As it happened, exactly nothing happened after that for a few weeks. Life continued much as before, except that I was much more conscious of my mum’s presence in the house, what she was wearing, how she was feeling, what she was doing, and what I could do for her. Maybe because I was worried about mum having a new boyfriend, I started to do more than just pull my weight around the house. I went out of my way to make things easier for mum, consciously trying to be the man of the house, and not just taking the garbage out when asked, but doing everything from running errands to sorting out mum’s car servicing at the local garage and sorting out her business’ website problems.

Also, at this time there was an undercurrent of tension between her and Andrea, and I noticed more meetings than usual with coven members, either in groups or in twos and threes. I was definitely feeling excluded from whatever was going on, and shut out from what was clearly bothering mum, but certain that there was “something going on”. I kept my eyes and ears open for signs that mum was dating a new man, but I didn’t get any sign of that at all, so either she didn’t have anyone new in her life, or it was merely that she was very good at hiding it. I kept my suspicions to myself. So all in all, there were strong tensions in the house.

So a few weeks passed and in late May I returned home after a hard day repairing lawn mowers. It was springtime, the grass was growing strongly and everyone locally seemed to have left their annual mower service too late, so I didn’t get home until nearly 8 pm.

When I got home that evening, mum was in the kitchen, preparing a veggie gloop supper for herself and Andrea, as feminist pagans don’t eat meat apparently. She seemed rather distracted, strangely flustered and answered in monosyllables when I asked her how her day had been, but sometimes looking at me sideways out the corner of her eye when she didn’t think I was noticing.

“That’s it, she’s got a boyfriend, she’s wondering how to tell me,” I thought, and was acutely envious of him, whoever it was, as he’d be the one getting to undress and take my mum to bed, and fuck her, and I was also hurt by the fact she hadn’t confided in me. I hated him, whoever he was, already. There was clearly still a lot of tension in the air between mum and Andrea and I decided not to stick around to hear it. I heard them starting to argue again as I left home to head to the pub. (There’s not a lot else to do in Rotherfield of an evening, if I’m honest). I was still wondering if the tension between mum and Andrea was about the Great Rite, but it was no use my hanging around as I wouldn’t find out that way. The house was quiet and dark when I got in late. I made a purchase on Amazon UK and went to bed.

I didn’t see my mum again until Saturday, which was three days later. She had always been out when I got home and I had left early for work, so we were like ships in the night.

On Saturday evening, after I’d come home from work and showered and changed, I helped Mum finish preparing the spaghetti Bolognese she had made for dinner, as I swigged a cold beer that mum gave me from the fridge. She was in a bright, chatty mood in contrast to earlier in the week, hell, the last two months. I took a chance and asked what had been bothering her earlier. She paused before answering with a Sphynx-like bland smile.

“Oh, just some stuff with the coven, I can’t really say.”

“Oh fine. Don’t tell me, then, ” I thought,the worm of suspicion still active in my mind.

She asked me how my day had been. I responded and we were soon chatting away about how our days had gone. I was seeing now the sexy, woman she really is.

Matt and Luke were quite right. Mum really is a hottie. She’s my mum, but she is definitely the most attractive MILF in the village. She is tall, standing about 5 feet 10 in her stockings. (I caught myself wondering if she ever wears them). I top her by about 3 inches. Her glossy dark brown hair fell in waves to her shoulders. He build in Junoesque, shapely, not fat at all, but not exactly thin. She was wearing a tight black A-line skirt that showed off her long, shapely thighs and a white silk blouse, that was unbuttoned to show a fair bit of cleavage. She was rocking the “sexy librarian” look this evening.

I was that evening for the first time really noticing her curves, the way her arse sashayed when she walked across the kitchen, the dull gleam of her black patent leather icepick heels, and her generous bust. Her musky scent cut across the cooking odours. Was she wearing Dior’s ‘Poison’? Her face was lightly made up, with a light red lipstick, her grey eye shadow making her brown eyes appear to be mysterious pools.

She seemed keyed up, I guess, kind of nervous, yet elated about something as she almost danced around the kitchen as we talked. That may seem a bit lame, but it’s true. There was definitely something going on, and I could feel it in the air. Was she excited about the prospect having it away with a new guy at last, albeit in a field surrounded by her coven? She touched me more than usual, as well. Little dabs on the arm and shoulder as she talked.

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