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.
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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 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 in, "He means, your mum and sister!"
