Mum and the Daughters of the Moon Ch. 03

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

Part Three

A big thank you to everyone who voted for Part One of my story and even bigger thanks to those kind people who left comments. I can scarcely believe it's been five years since Part 1 was published... Tempus fugit.

If you have not already read Parts One and Two to this story, then I advise you to do so NOW, as this chapter won't make much sense, otherwise.

As ever, all characters are over 18.

This story features sex, nudity, bad language and witchcraft, but even more disconcerting to American readers, the Queen's English, UK slang and spellings. If "colour" puts you off color, this story perhaps isn't for you. In Britain, 'a grass' is a snitch, and the verb is the same word.

**************************************************

Cala Banyalbufar, Mallorca, Mediterranean Sea.

September

My mobile phone ringing woke me up from a lurid dream of flesh.

Yawning, I grabbed it. The face said the time was 6.56am. Outside, the sun was well up.

Fuck.

"Hello?" I don't give my name out when I answered my phone anymore.

I felt mum stir in bed beside me.

I heard a voice I had hoped not to hear again.

"Hello? Josh? It's Sarah. Sarah Armstrong."

"What do you want?"

"Look, can I meet you? I'm at Palma Airport, my plane has just landed."

Fuck, fuck and double fuck. Somehow, she had followed us here.

"Who's that?" Mum asked sleepily.

With one hand over the microphone, I replied, "Her."

"I rather liked her in the end, you know", mum said.

*******************************************************

East Sussex, England, Three Months Previously

Sarah Armstrong, a thirties-something, tall, attractive blonde woman and the greasy man I'd already dubbed "the fat photographer" had just barged their way into our home and stood in the hall. I immediately felt on the defensive.

"Right," I said brightly, with more confidence than I felt, "What's this about?"

Sarah Armstrong answered with a question that chilled me to the quick.

"Did you have sex with your mother in a Satanic ritual here two days ago?"

Luckily, I was saved from answering with an outright lie by mum and Andrea coming down the stairs.

When I say, "mum and Andrea coming down the stairs", I really mean that mum then made her Grand Dame Entrance, with Andrea in the rear, metaphorically as it were, holding Her Majesty's royal dress train. It was mum, but in her High Priestess mode.

Mum regally descended the stairs, then spoke.

"And who", she asked with something bordering contempt, "might you be?"

Sarah Armstrong immediately recognised an adversary with a heavier moral broadside than me, and immediately switched targets.

"I'm a journalist with East Sussex News", she said, ignoring the fat photographer, and I'm investigating an allegation that you, I'm assuming that you're Mrs. T-, had sex with your son in a satanic ritual, in your garden, two days ago,." She got it out and ended with a self-satisfied smile, as if to say, "Take that, harlot!"

"That is untrue", mum said.

"We have proof. I have seen a video."

"Yeah", said the fat photographer, speaking for the first time, "it's dead hot-"

"Shut up, Phil", snapped Sarah Armstrong. The fat photographer immediately shut his cake hole.

"The video's quality is excellent, considering the light conditions", Sarah Armstrong continued. "You and your son", she turned towards me "are plainly identifiable." She and mum made eye contact. It was like watching a battle of wills.

"You can prove your grubby, voyeuristic invasion of privacy, of course?" Mum demanded, with a curl of her lips.

Sarah (as I must call her) flinched.

We can. I can show you the video."

"Go on then", mum demanded.

Sarah fished out her phone, which had a wide screen, and quickly found the video and pressed 'play' and held it up for us to see. We crowded round to watch.

The video really was excellent quality. It had clearly been recorded on a high-quality camera. My suspicion that one of the witches had secretly recorded us on a mobile phone dissipated.

This was clearly a more professional rig.

The video clearly showed the circle of witches in their black dominoes dancing, the sound quality was likewise excellent with the drumming and chanting audible, and then I walked into the frame, naked as the day I was born, clearly blissed out and loving every second, my cock sticking out like the jib of a windjammer ship. I walked around the circle, laid down and then mum shimmied out of her domino, her naked body shining in the red firelight, and she straddled me. It was perfect. I felt myself growing hard again just by watching mum and I fuck on video. I watched to the end, enthralled.

The fat photographer's heavy breathing in my ear 'ole intruded, and I felt dirtied, I obviously wasn't the only one aroused. The thought of him perving over the video made me sick.

As it ended, glanced at Sarah. She was blushing. Her blue eyes were glistening, as we briefly made eye contact.

Hmmm....

She recovered quickly.

"You're surely not going to deny it again, that is you and your son?"

Mum replied, "I do deny that the ritual was in any way at all Satanic."

"Oh." Sarah seemed slightly taken aback, as if she was expecting stiffer resistance.

"And what's it got to do with you, anyway?" Mum pressed on.

Sarah bridled and set her shoulders back. "Incest is illegal, a serious crime. Our readers have the right -"

"To be titillated by trespassing, muck-raking creeps like you?" Mum interrupted; her voice sweetly reasonable. "This isn't news. You're better than this."

Sarah pulled a sour face. She clearly didn't like the implications. She rejoined battle with a lift of her chin.

"That's just your opinion. We can either do this the hard way or the easy way."

"Which are?"

"You can maintain your denials, in which case the video is posted to the East Sussex News Media's website with my news report without any embellishments, but naming you and your son, or you can give me an exclusive interview putting your side of the story, and the video goes out with that".

"Heads you win, tails you lose".

"If you want to put it like that, yes."

"Very well. I do not deny it," said mum proudly, in her most imperious manner, "other than the ritual was not Satanic. We will give you an exclusive interview. In fact -" mum said, her voice dropping the chilliness, softening to a warm, beguiling tone, "Why don't you come to lunch today, say at 1.30, and your man here" gesturing at the fat photographer" can take our photos maybe tomorrow morning, when my daughter and I have the chance to wear something nice and do our hair?"

Sarah considered.

"Very well. I'll come back at 1.15."

"There's nothing you don't eat, is there?" Mum asked, innocently.

Sarah gave what she probably thought was a conspiratorial smile. "No". She actually was very pretty when she smiled.

Hmmm again.

"Am I invited to lunch, too?" asked the fat photographer.

"No!", said Sarah and mum together. This time, they shared a smile.

I showed our visitors out. Sarah looked back at me and said, "See you later", and gave me another smile of a woman who thinks she has won.

As soon as the front door was closed, mum was all urgency.

"Quick", she said, "we haven't much time."

She rattled out her instructions, and we hopped to it.

********************************************************

The doorbell rang at promptly 1.15.

"Show her in, darling", said mum. "Don't worry, this is going to be fine."

Sarah came in, and as instructed, I showed her into the drawing room, where my sister Andrea was sitting. Mum popped her head around the door to say "hello", and that lunch would be served shortly, and greetings were exchanged as if Sarah was simply a friend coming to have lunch, instead of a journalist eager to prize a story out of us and humiliate us publicly.

Sarah had evidently popped home to change, and she was wearing a blue patterned, short, floaty summer dress and matching shoes, and had tied her long blonde hair up off her shoulders, behind her head with a clip. I had to admit, with her long legs on display, she looked fantastic. My MILF-ometer was off the scale.

I offered her a glass of my mother's favourite Gavi, and she accepted. "I got a cab here", she explained, "so I'm not driving". Conversation was at first rather stilted. Fortunately, Mum called us into the dining room a few minutes later. Mum had dressed up to the nines, of course. Sarah and mum eyed each other across the table, like respected adversaries.

Just after we sat down, after a few pleasantries about the weather, "No chilly nights, lately!" (to general mirth), mum asked, "So how is this interview going to work, Sarah?"

Sarah took a mini-recorder from her handbag. "If I can have this on the table, we can talk as we eat". Mum agreed that would be acceptable.

We had a light starter, a small, chilled Italian tricolore, with avocado, tomato and slices buffalo mozzarella, sprinkled with basil, with more bone-dry Gavi.

Sarah asked about our backgrounds. Mum did the talking for us all. She explained her husband's death, our move to the countryside and our settling in. That took until everyone had finished the starter. Sarah's questions were at first considered, as if she had an inner script she was sticking to. Her questions became slightly more fluid during the pause between courses. It could just have been the wine, of course.

The main course was a Tuscan roast chicken, creamy, herby and delicious, with new potatoes and green vegetables. Over the chicken (and a robust Shiraz), mum explained how she and then Andrea had come to be involved in the local coven, and her pagan beliefs, emphasising it had nothing to do with Satanism.

Sarah interjected more freely at times, whilst eating, listening to mum's answers. Over the course of the meal, I thought her questions were becoming quicker, less thought out, diverting from her inner script.

After the main course conversation became a little more free, with Andrea and I interjecting the occasional comment, but mum was still doing most of the talking, in sweet, measured tones that seemed to become increasingly honeyed and measured as the meal progressed.

Sarah accepted pudding, a chocolate cake with chocolate sauce. Heart attack on a plate. Sarah evidently had a healthy appetite and by this time was eating and drinking with gusto. I like a girl who likes to eat. I had noticed already that she was not a stick of a woman but possessed curves in all the right places.

"S-so-" Sarah said, a faint slur evident in her speech for the first time, "how was it that your son became involved the other night?

"We had an urgent problem in the coven to resolve, and we decided to use magick. The High Priestess was moving out of the area, and we decided to invoke the spiritual and physical qualities of the Goddess and her Consort to help us choose a successor."

"And that involved fuck- I mean, having sex in a ritual?" Sarah demanded, eagerly.

This was the first time she had used any profanity, and we all noticed it.

She tried to recover herself again, to speak "proper, like wot the posh people do", but it was evident that something was happening to her. Her forehead had broken out in slight moisture, ("glowing", as mum always put it), and her dessert bowl had been neglected for a few minutes.

"And then, I thought, well, why not? I am his mum, and not many people get to lose their virginity to someone who loves them so much."

Sarah was silent, now, her eyes seemed to grow wider, and she leaned forward, eager to hear more salacious details.

"And do you know, darling", mum said to Sarah, "I soon found out that I was going to be a very lucky girl indeed."

"H-how?"

"I gave him some dancing lessons one night. First the waltz, and then a very close tango, and I soon felt what he had to offer! I measured his girth with my fingers before I went to bed."

Sarah sat still, her breath shallower, her eyes rivetted on mum.

"Josh is quite the hunk, wouldn't you say?"

Sarah was silent, sitting transfixed.

"Well, wouldn't you?" Mum demanded again, with a gesture at me.

Sarah broke her gaze with an effort, and glanced at me.

"I - don't know, um -"

"Admit it! You find Josh attractive, don't you?"

"N-no-" The words came as if forced.

"You can't lie to me, dear. You do, don't you?"

"Yes", Sarah whispered, her breath coming quickly, her eyes darting to me, and back again as she blushed.

"That video turned you on, didn't it?"

"No, it didn't -"

"Don't fib, darling. We're all friends here. It turned you on, watching me and Josh have sex, seeing him stick his cock in me." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Sarah admitted with a sigh.

"You'd love to suck him, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"And have him go down on you?"

"Yes!"

"Wouldn't you love to be fucked silly by a lovely cock like his?"

Sarah turned her head to me as if really to see me for the first time, and for the first time I noticed how her pupils were much larger, her blue irises had almost disappeared into the black of her dilated pupils.

"Yes."

Mum continued, her voice now quite low, monotonous and confiding. "Josh and I fucked all night, he made me come again and again, it was lovely darling, and the next night we were joined by Andrea. When you rang the doorbell this morning, we had just finished a threesome. You wouldn't believe what Andrea can do to a girl's pussy with her tongue. It's so lovely to have a close family. You don't have anyone, do you?"

"No", Sarah admitted, in a whisper.

"Oh, poor dear. You must be very lonely. Wouldn't you love to be taken to bed and fucked to orgasm by your adult son, and licked out by your own adult daughter?"

Sarah had turned pale and her eyes swivelled between Andrea and I, as we stood behind the table and kissed each other deeply. I unzipped Andrea's skirt and slipped my hands into the front of her panties, and fingered her, as Sarah watched as if mesmerised. Andrea moaned lwdly and fingered my stiff cock through my trousers.

Mum's voice continued in a monotone.

"Your pussy's wet, isn't it?"

"Yesssss," Sarah hissed.

"Touch yourself."

Sarah's right hand slowly raised her dress hem and went up towards her core. Her eyes closed as her hand worked under her panties, and she started to stroke herself. Her breath came in gasps.

"You want Josh to fuck you, don't you?"

Sarah nodded, her fingers working in her pussy.

"I didn't catch that, darling. You want Josh to fuck you silly, don't you?"

"Yes!" This time, the words came much louder.

I walked the few steps to Sarah, and took her hand from under her dress, and she stood. I kissed her, and she quickly responded, opening her mouth, tongue straight into mine, and wrapping her arms around me. I broke the kiss and quickly walked her into the drawing room, and laid her on the couch. She lifted her hips as I pushed her dress up and pulled down her lacy white panties, already soaked at the gusset. She was shaved. Her pussy glistened, already dripping with her juices. I knelt, ran my tongue up the inside of her thigh and found her clit, and within seconds she was bucking and thrashing beneath me as I tongued her to a crashing orgasm. I swiftly unbuckled my jeans and took them off with my boxers, and as Sarah clung to me, I thrust my cock into her pussy entrance as she again thrashed beneath me and whimpered in my ear.

"Please, please, Josh, fuck me, don't stop, don't stop, yes, yes, yesss!

She bucked again and came with a screech.

I felt the start of my orgasm as she begged me, "Don't stop! Come inside me, I want it inside me!"

I came inside her with a gasp, my cock spurting my pearly jam into her uterus and womb. It was a short, sharp and glorious fuck.

Sarah came down from her high slowly, and after a short hug and a kiss, I rolled off her and quickly dressed. Andrea and mum had been silent spectators.

"Did you get all that?" I asked.

Andrea nodded, holding up her mobile phone that had recorded everything in the last hour.

"Loud and clear, bro'".

"Never", said mum with a smirk, "threaten a witch in her own home."

"She may accuse me of rape", I frowned.

"Trust me", said mum, "my special herbs just lower inhibitions rather quickly. They don't force you to do anything you don't want to. She was turned on by the video, and you heard her, she's single and probably quite lonely. She fancies you rotten."

Sarah was still lying on the sofa, slowly gathering her wits about her. She sat up and pulled her panties up and tugged her skirt down. She was rather confused and bewildered.

Mum and Andrea quickly helped Sarah stand, and mum gave her a firm hug.

"That looked lovely, darling, you must have cum at least twice. Why don't I call you a cab and make you a cup of tea while you wait to go home? I'd recommend a nice hot bath and an early bed."

Sarah nodded, and I moved in for another hug. She clung limply to me, her body trembling.

"Can I see you again?" she murmured.

"Of course," I lied.

Within a few minutes, the cab arrived, and we helped bundle Sarah into it, with her handbag and recorder. She still seemed quite dazed. My cum must still have been oozing from her pussy.

As soon as the cab had turned at the end of the drive, we got our bags downstairs, we had packed before lunch. We were travelling light.

By 7pm we were in the air, on our way to Mallorca.

**************************************

Cala Banyalbufar, Mallorca, Mediterranean Sea.

September

We stayed in a hotel the first few days, whilst the media at home went mad.

"Mum and Son in Satanic Sex Orgy!" screamed the headlines.

The Daily Post ran a breathless story about depraved naked rituals in the garden and managed to say (with photos) how much our house was worth. Columnists in every newspaper revelled in the details and gushed about the sinister events that may be unfolding across the English countryside.

When it turned out we had already fled the country, the hysteria went up even further.

After a week, we found a semi-furnished villa available for a long-term rental, situated in the mountains overlooking the sea, and we promptly moved in, relaxing in the sunshine, learning Spanish, eating delicious Mediterranean food and all three of us making love in the long warm nights.

At least, Sarah Armstrong's East Sussex News outlet hadn't broken the story, after I emailed them our own video, from Gatwick Airport before I boarded the plane. I didn't receive a reply.

The sneak grassing film guy turned out to be a loser boyfriend of one of the coven members, who simply got nosy and earned a few quid from his video. He had that night slipped through the trees and filmed in the dark and offered the video to other news companies. For a while, the UK media had plenty to feast on, with interviews from coven members, ("I didn't agree with it"), neighbours ("I'm shocked! How terrible! Have you any more details?") and so-called friends, ("He was always a bit odd").

The video did the rounds on social media, and mum and I were notorious for a while as the East Sussex Satanic Mother Fucker Family.

The Press tracked us to Mallorca, but there the trail went cold, and when in September the Government called a General Election and there was some proper news at last, the media all had something serious to write about again. The police apparently said that they would investigate should we return home. So, we are exiles. The house in East Sussex is up for sale. We will probably never be back, if we can persuade the Spanish government to allow us to stay.