Sidhe Magic

Comments welcomed at the email address in my profile.

This story is intended solely for the entertainment of adults of legal age. All others should not continue to read it.

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I know you want me to get straight to the sex, but that's not what my story is really all about. Well, the sex part is really cool; at least it has been for me. It’s been years since it all started and I know none of my friends has as interesting a sex life as I do. But, that's not my doing. My mom and my sister accidentally set that all in motion. And that's really what this story's all about.

I grew up in a great family. Mama and Dad loved each other a lot and had two kids, my twin sister Sara and I. Dad was a big, strapping Irishman. He was stronger than a bull, but around Mama he was always as gentle as could be.

She wore the pants in the family. Not literally, mind you. Mama never raised her voice and was never mean with Sara or me. But she had Dad wrapped around her little finger. Whatever Mama said went, but since they got along together so well, few outsiders could see it.

It was Mama's magic that did it. Not the magic that every woman has when she wants to have a man do anything. Mama's magic was real and went well beyond that.

In college Sara ran across girls that were into New Age stuff and paganism. On campus there was even one group that called themselves a coven. They played at being witches and dressed all in black or, even more rarely, all in white. Sara and I used to laugh at these girls when we were together and saw them. She and I had grown up with a real witch and knew the difference.

Dad always called Mama his pretty Sidhe witch. He used it as a term of affection and when I was a kid and didn’t know better I thought that's all he meant. Mom came from old Irish blood, what she used to call Dark Irish. Older than the Celts, she said.

Sara took after Mama in looks, but was unique in our family in temperament. Though the three of us were outgoing and extroverted, Sara was shy and reserved with everyone, even family. She loved to read and was one of the most intelligent and independent young women I knew. While I went out for sports and dated often, Sara was a homebody and rarely went out on dates at all. In private, Mama would tell me that Sara was a throwback and would have been comfortable in Ireland a hundred years ago running a small family farm.

But these were newer days and mama’s mother had come to America on the boat. Mama was a registered dietitian and she used her knowledge of herbs and remedies her mother taught her as easily as she used the science that she leaned in school in this country.

It has its advantages, being the son of a Sidhe witch. No one was ever sick in our house. Mama watched over everyone's diet and since the things she fixed for us to eat were always delicious, no one complained.

I grew up as big and strong as Dad. Maybe it was his genes or maybe it was Mom's magic in the meats and sauces, but by my junior year I was bigger and faster than anyone else on the football team. I was a natural as a tight end, able to block with the big boys and still able to go out for passes too. I had what Coach called soft hands, which means I could catch the ball, and was big enough to run over defensive backs once I did.

And the girls thought I had soft hands, too. Mama raised me right and I never took advantage of the girls. With size and gentleness and a certain amount of confidence instilled in me from home, I never lacked for girlfriends.

Mother ran that part of my live as closely as she did every other. She didn't mind me having friends that were girls or even dating often. But, she always encouraged me never to get too serious with any one girl. She wanted me to finish school and have a real chance in life.

"Don't let some cutie set her hooks in you too deeply, dear," she would tell me. "You're a real catch son, and there’ll be quite a few who try. You're true love will come along one day but you've a few years to go until then. For now, enjoy yourself and don't get too tied down."

So as long as I kept my relationships with girls easy-going, I caught no grief at home. Mama knew when I became sexually active at fifteen. Mom knew everything. She even questioned and grilled me on what had happened and how it had made me feel. Mama was like that. She wanted to know it all. She was never critical or made me feel bad, except if she felt I had slighted the girl in some fashion.

"If you're going to enjoy these girls," she would say, "make sure they enjoy you too. The fun of sex, son, is in the giving AND the receiving. Otherwise, you might as well be wanking off in your room."

Mom could be quite blunt about such things, but it wasn't as though it just came out of the blue. She was like that about everything. She had been all my life. So, it wasn't as though we talked about sex all the time. But to Mom and to Dad, sex was as natural a part of life as breathing or picking up my socks. She'd fuss at me if I left my clothes on the floor and she'd fuss if the girl I had petted with on a date didn't have a wonderful time. To Mom, and through her to me, both were a natural part of growing up.

But even Sidhe magic can be overcome in certain situations. Dad was a construction foreman and always left home before the crack of dawn. At the end of my junior year, an eighteen-wheeler went out of control on the highway and my Dad's truck was rolled over and crushed.

His great size and Mom's diet, even the charms she had hanging from the rearview mirror, couldn't save him. Mama told us that by the time the ambulance brought him to the hospital where she worked, even though his body lived on for one more day, his spirit was already gone. There was nothing that even her great love could do to save him.

"Death is as much a part of life as being born, kids," she told us sadly. "Grieving is a part of life too. Your dad would want us to carry on, but I know you'll miss him as much as I will."

Which wasn't really true. Sara and I loved Dad - for sure - and missed him. But, Mama missed him more.

At Dad's funeral I noticed for the first time how small Mama was. She had always seemed to tower over me, even though I was well over six feet. As I hugged her at the gravesite and comforted her, I was shocked to see that she couldn't even put her head on my shoulder.

It was the first time I'd ever seen Mama cry and not be in control. For a while after that, it was like the joy of life that Mama had always been filled with went away for a little while.

That's really why and when things happened as they did.

By pulling together and rallying as a family we got through the spring and then the long summer. Mom was distracted and distant. It was obvious that she was hurting. So Sara and I pitched in even more and for the first time relied less on Mom and more on ourselves.

That summer, the summer Sara and I turned eighteen, was the worst of our lives. By the end of it though, things were starting to get back to normal. Mama had started back to work after some time off. School started back up. I thought Sara and I would both be relieved to get on with life. I know I was.

What turned our whole lives around was a case of angst over a minor flare-up of teenage acne.

When I got home after football practice it was just Sara and I for almost two hours until Mom came home every evening. She was working late a lot those days, trying to help out her patients. My guess is that Mama felt bad about not being able to help Dad in the end and was doing everything she could to help people that were sick or injured at the hospital. Sara and I should have been old enough to take care of ourselves for a little while.

What neither Mama nor I considered at the time was that Sara was her mother's daughter as much as I had been Dad's son. While Mama had never actively set out to train Sara in her ways, the Sidhe magic had been passed down from mother to daughter since before recorded time.

With me, Mama had talked about school and girls. With Sara, she talked plants and medicines and charms and such. I don't pretend to understand it. That's woman's business.

For me, that year in football was all about letting out the tension. When I got mad about what had happened, I was able to let it out on the football field. My senior year, I was the best blocker in the game. When I was able to talk to Mom about it, she said that it was OK as long as I stayed in control. Better to hit a big defensive lineman in pads than someone else, she would say.

So I'd come home exhausted and grab a sandwich and then crash. Obviously I wasn't paying enough attention to Sara. I guess Mama wasn't the only one who had withdrawn a little.

That was when I started having strange dreams when I napped on my bed after football practice.

Like any horny teenager most of my daydreams and night dreams were about girls. I'd lay on my bed and think about whatever girl held my interest at the moment. I'd think about what we’d do on our next date or what we did on our last one. If I felt especially horny, I'd masturbate before taking a nap. Mama had told me that it was healthy to get the tension out of my system that way. It had always worked before and made me rest easier.

But the dreams I started having were different. In the first place, I felt like I was floating and a little loopy. I knew I was tired after the hard practices, especially because I was really throwing myself into it this year, but I had always associated that feeling with one of Mama's concoctions.

And in the second place, the dreams were vivid and whatever girl I was dreaming about acted in ways that I'd never dreamed about before.

The first one I remembered was about a girl named Leslie that was a good friend and an occasional date. Leslie was fun to be around and we had good sex together. When she was between boyfriends and I wasn't busy we'd go out and she loved to be held close while I fingered her to orgasm. After that, if we were in the car she'd give me a great hand job. If her parents weren't home we'd have a nice relaxing screw or two. I always wore condoms of course, just like Mom insisted. It was fun dating Leslie and I made sure she had fun, too.

The dream I remembered about Leslie started out simple enough. We were in the front seat of the car. Leslie was working on my erection just like in real life, pumping it slowly with her soft hand. Then all the sudden I was laying back on my bed and she was working my cock up and down with two inexperienced hands. It took longer than normal because for some reason Leslie did it differently in my dream than she had ever done in reality.

Then, as I got ready to shoot, Leslie held a cold cream jar to the end of my cock as I spurted. She milked my load into the jar with an odd smile of wonder and fascination, as though she had never seen a guy climax before. When I was done, she dipped her finger into the jar, stirred the cum around. Then she pulled her finger out and, after giving it an indecisive sniff, began to smear the stuff on her cheeks and forehead.

After that day, every afternoon when I came home I had a similar dream. No matter which girl I was dreaming about I would find myself lying on my bed and her soft hands would be jacking my hard shaft up and down until I came in a blue cold cream jar. Every day the girl would end up smearing the warm sticky cum on her face as though she were applying make-up.

But that was just the basic theme of the dream. As the days passed, the hands became more and more experienced and fluid. During the first week, the girl would mainly watch on in amusement and fascination, waiting for my orgasm brought on by the soft hands. By the start of the second week, she had proceeded to licking the crown and swirling my sensitive tip with her tongue. She began to play with my testicles, nuzzling them and making a show of inhaling deeply as she tentatively licked them.

At first the dreams were simply quirky and not particularly stimulating. After a few days, I began to enjoy them and they started to influence my regular daydreams about girls. During class, I'd think about one of the girls there and shooting my load as she rubbed my ejaculate all over her face and smiled while telling me how good it felt.

It was so strange that I even tried to speak with Mama about it on the second week, but she seemed too tired and distracted.

On the last Friday before the football season started, things came to a head. Coach had worked us hard that day. He wanted to prepare us for maximum effort on Friday afternoons, our traditional game day. He let us go a little late, telling us to be ready for our first game next week. After showering up, I went home happy and tired.

Mama had left us a stew in the refrigerator and Sara had heated it up for me when I got home. I wolfed it down and drank about a quart of milk. When I was full, I thanked Sara and went upstairs for a nap before my date about three hours later. I was going out with Margaret Lemons.

Maggie, as everyone called her, was one of the cheerleaders and looked like a typical blonde fantasy girl. She had nice firm tits and a great ass. More than anything else, though, Maggie loved to be eaten.

Most of the guys that Maggie went out with only wanted to paw on her great breasts or rub against that beautiful ass all night. Maggie enjoyed dating me because I took my time and did what she wanted to do. That was almost always eating her for longer and longer periods of time. I had a joke with her that I'd whisper into her ear at school. I called her the sweetest Lemon I ever ate.

After she got off, Maggie always took care of me, too. She didn't much care for giving oral sex herself, but she loved missionary and licking her cream off my face as I slid in and out of her wet sex.

Almost as soon as my head hit the pillow I was dreaming about eating Maggie's wonderful tasting pussy. She was moaning and pulling my head in deep just like she always does, cumming over and over with little squeals.

Then, the dream took a sharp turn into what now had become more familiar afternoon territory. Maggie rolled me over and started pumping my naked cock. She leaned forward and with a look of loving lust engulfed the head, taking in about three inches of the shaft with it.

Maggie's hands continued to work on me as well. One was pumping the shaft below her lips, working briskly up and down. The other was gently fondling my balls and thighs. Since the sight of Maggie's blonde head bobbing up and down on my cock so vigorously had never been one I had experienced in real life, the dream was exhilarating.

As I neared my climax, Maggie began laughing and rubbing the shaft of my cock up and down her face and neck. My hips started rising off the bed and Maggie licked gently on the underside of the crown. As my semen erupted in hot jets, Maggie joyously aimed the spray into her face, gladly accepting my creamy load and rubbing it all over using my cock as an applicator.

Even after I was through, Maggie continued to rub her face with my sensitive, tingling penis. She squeezed the shaft and drew the last dewy pearl of semen to the top and rubbed her full lips with it as though applying lipstick. Then, smacking her lips in pleasure, Maggie kissed the crown of my cock lovingly with her spermy lips.

"Just what do you two think you're doing?" I heard Mama say forcefully from the doorway.

Coming out of my dream, my only thought was that Mama had caught Maggie and I making out in my bedroom. Maggie was looking back at Mama, still holding my shrinking cock in her hands. Except her hair wasn't blond. It was black.

"Maggie?" I asked sleepily. Trying to rise, I fell back, too weak to get up.

Then the girl at the end of my bed turned around and looked at me with an expression of shock and fear. Her face was still painted with my sticky cum, but it wasn't Maggie. As my head floated backward in a daze, I saw the face of my sister Sara.

* * * * *

The next couple of minutes passed in a sleepy haze. I couldn't seem to raise my head back up, no matter how hard I tried. All I could hear was people shuffling around in our bedrooms upstairs and Mama telling Sara to wash her face and go directly to her room and not come out.

Then Mama was in my room. She looked down at me as I raised my hand weakly to greet her. I could tell she was mad, but couldn't quite figure why.

Mama shook her head and covered me with a sheet. She leaned forward and smelled my breath. Spreading my eyelid out between her thumb and forefinger, she looked into my eyes. It was hard for me to focus on Mama, even with her so close to my face.

"You smell nice," I heard myself telling her drunkenly.

Despite herself it seemed, she chuckled a little.

"Robert, you've got to wake up now son," she told me, pinching my cheeks and slapping my face gently. "Come on, we've important things to do and I need you to have your wits about. Put your pants on when you can and come down to the kitchen as soon as you’re able."

Heading Mama’s plea, I urged myself up as soon as I could stand. Stumbling to the door, I realized that somehow my blue jeans had made it down to my ankles. Pulling them back up, I rambled to the bathroom and threw cold water on my face.

When I went downstairs, Mama and Sara were on opposite sides of the kitchen table. An oddly familiar blue jar was in between them, as though neither wanted it on their side of the table.

"Where did you get such a notion in your head, young lady?" Mother pleaded sternly with Sara.

"It was in one of your books," Sara exclaimed woefully. "I was looking for something to clear up my face and I found the recipe. And it worked Mama, my skin cleared up after only a couple of days."

"Yes, girl," Mama said shaking her head. "But maybe not from your hand. I noticed you were breaking out and did something about that weeks ago. Oh, if only I had just explained it to you better."

"It's OK now, Mama," Sara said, reaching out toward our mother’s hand. She blushed when she saw me moving toward the table. "Can't we just not make a big thing about this?"

I still wasn't clear about what they were talking about. Mama had come in and woke me up out of a dream. For some reason Sara had been in my room when I had woke. Maybe she had come in with Mama. Perhaps Mama was upset because Sara had seem me half-naked, but I don't think that was the problem. Casual nudity, while not prominent in our home, was mostly just ignored as the natural part of life it was.

"Oh Sara, you're still too inexperienced to be working in areas where you lack a firm grounding. Go fetch the book where you read this recipe and we'll see if the harm that's been done can be reversed. Hurry now, we may not have much time."

Mama sat me at the table and poured me a strong cup of coffee. Since I didn't often drink coffee, the potent brew seemed to clear my head quickly. Then again, knowing Mama, the chances were that there was more than just coffee in the coffee.

"Do you understand what went on here, Robert?" Mama asked while Sara was still upstairs.

"Not really," I said, shaking my head to clear the cobwebs. "I was sleeping and you came and woke me. I still feel tired, but I'm coming around pretty quick. Why are you upset at Sara, Mama?"

"I hope I'm wrong, son, but if I'm not there's real trouble that's been brewed up. It involves you and I'm going to have to ask you both some hard questions, so I need you here and sharp. So buckle up now, Robert. Let's see what Sara's got."

My sister had come downstairs with an old leather bound book in her arms. She handed the tome over to Mama, who carefully laid it on the table before her.

"Aye! That's what I was afraid of, girl!" Mama cried on seeing the cover. "'Remedies for Young Wives.' What were you thinking, Sara?"