Growing up in our house, I got used to seeing pentagrams and various strange designs and symbols. Every bed had it’s own “dreamcatcher” made of specially chosen colored yarns and organic herbs hanging from the ceiling. There were always fragrant spices and gnarled roots in the garden that were brewed or boiled to produce homemade remedies and charms.
The Summer Solstice and Halloween were a festive time of family gatherings and celebrations featuring bubbling concoctions and obscure incantations that lasted until sun-up. Dances and trances abound.
We spoke of Wiccans and Mother Nature with the same ease as Santa Clause and Christmas. Rituals that co-insided with the changing seasons and religious beliefs that had sacred icons and mystic figures were natural to us, but we were advised to keep our beliefs to ourselves.
From an early age I watched people of all types come to our home and show great deference and respect to my mom. Offerings of odd plants and weird tokens were left at the parlor entrance and visitors were often visibly pleased just to be granted access to her. My mother, sometimes laying hands on sick or unfortunate souls was regarded as a blessing. She was quietly referred to as “Priestess” or “Mother Circe” by our extended family.
The practical applications of these experiences were seldom seen, but the supplicants were deliriously happy or relieved afterward. They were devoted to her. To us, the forces of nature could seem to be harnessed or atleast urged to help. Every creature and plant had some utility and we were taught and encouraged to live in harmony with our surroundings. The world and it’s many complexities were to be embraced and held in awe.
We learned from an early age to engage and act in sync with the environment. As children, my older sister and I had all the toys and games that we could want, but rarely were these store-bought items. These games were mostly explorations and puzzles. Dolls were homemade and of natural fibers and exotic woods. Parts of my playtime would always consist of old, leather-bound volumes or adventures explaining our relationship to the natural world. I had pets of all types and was encouraged to emulate animals and study their movements and “speech.” I could mimic anything. Our basement playroom was like an artisan’s workshop. I was tutored by elders and shown how to make any space , my personal place. I could leave my aura in a room and feel peace there, while no mortal would ever notice.
We called ourselves Naturists, and though we did not lounge around the house nude, we were raised to admire the human form in all its shapes, and to not be embarrassed or ashamed of anyone’s appearance. As such, my parents and other senior group members wore gossamer gowns and slinky, sheer wraps that revealed their bodies, when conducting ceremonial rituals, but that was mostly after the young ones were asleep.
When I reached the age of seventeen, my father left home. I discovered then, that his position in the clan called for him to seek out a new “family.” I had reached a level of education and training that is best taught by the “priestess.” For the next Earth Cycle I was to be instructed in the ethereal arts, so that I could lead the next coven.
I practiced the skills involved with herbal medicine, mixing potions, communicating with creatures and casting spells. I learned how the outside world looked askance at these skills. “Witchcraft” has an evil connotation, but this was “white magic.” Cats and birds were known to us as “familiars” and imparted their secrets to those they trusted. They were our partners with the Earth, not some poor sacrificial beings. And spells were cast to heal, and to bring good fortune, we did not stick pins in dolls.
By the summer after my eighteenth birthday, I was to be ready. The time had come for my “Rite of Accession.” We celebrated birthdays and weddings like anyone else, but we observed unmarked or casual rites of passage also. At age ten, I was presented with an odd ring, that I wear to this day. And on my transformative birthday, I was outfitted with a unique, ceremonial robe; much nicer than the cheap, paper one I wore for high school graduation.
When the middle of June arrived; the house filled with relatives and guests to usher-in the longest day of the year, and announce my “arrival” to the family. I was congratulated and bowed to; vials and cruets with smoky or chameleon-like colors were presented, and vows of trust and obedience were pronounced. That evening is when I was first admitted into the “sanctuary.”
Our old Victorian house had a large, thick stone foundation. Most of the old coal-cellar was cordoned-off and locked behind a heavy, studded, Oaken door. For years, members of my extended family would retire to this enclave in the late hours of night on special occasions. The house would grow quiet and still, except for low, eerie chantings and the aroma of incense. I would sometimes catch a glimpse of my folks or other participants leaving the basement bursa escort in the early morning, looking sweaty and disheveled.
Tonight I was escorted into the sanctuary by my grandmother, known reverentially as Queen Brea. She used to scare me when I was younger. She could seem to appear out of thin air or to read your thoughts, she was always silent and unsmiling, though protective of us. And I never saw her legs, I swear she floated on air. She never made a noise when she moved. I circled carefully around her and watched to never disturb her. On this night, when the solid oak door was slid open; the first thing I noticed was a circle of thick, cylindrical, white candles on six-foot tall, iron stakes. Gathered infront of these, was about twenty ghostly figures, all in satiny, white robes. Their faces hidden by deep hoods, with twisted ropes or colorful beads, tied at the waist. I could only guess at their gender by the difference in heights. Behind a high altar at the far end, and totally in shadow, was a lone figure draped in blood-red.
I had been requested to bathe in perfumed oils beforehand and fed some strange fruits and a mulled wine. I dressed in my new, pitch-black robe. It was studded with colorful gems, had a gold-tassled sash and an ornate five-pointed star ablaze on the chest. I was led to an antique-looking, high-backed throne in the middle of the circle. Queen Brea was seated on a velvet stool to my lower left.
The fragrance of steamed herbs filled the room and the flickering light seemed to dim, leaving us in a bright spot of light with anonymous voices singing or humming in a low tone. My head was swimming, my senses were overwhelmed, but I tried to concentrate on my bizarre surroundings. Goblets of a strong mead were passed around and the air became stifling with intoxicating smoke.
Lamentations were offered and the Queen advised me to just sit quietly and observe. I was feeling abit light-headed and extremely nervous, and my eyes and ears started at every odd sound in the darkness. After the lights were mostly extinguished and the attendants were swaying and moaning in a sort of trance; the leader, swathed in crimson, stepped lightly down and strode to a small, woven rug at my feet. Though camouflaged behind layers of red silk, I knew instantly by her curvy physique that it was my mom.
My mother was a young woman though she took-on more responsibility than an ordinary woman of 34 years. Heck, her mom, Queen Brea was not even fifty. She was not Samantha from TV and did not just twitch her cute nose to levitate objects. She had long, crow-black hair worn parted in the middle and down almost to her waist. Full red lips were centered under liquidy, brown eyes, and a sharp, prominent nose. She had a shapely figure which I had seen often, but was now noticing for the first time in a non-maternal way. I had never seen her completely naked, but she often flitted around in sheer gowns or other forms of flimsy dress. Her ponderous breasts were heavy and full, probably a double-D. With every step they bounced and wobbled, and the dark nipples were constantly firm and projected through all the thin materials. She had a rounded, jiggly belly though she was not fat, and solid legs with a tinkling anklet that highlighted her every movement. She shaved her legs and underarms but there was always a trace of lip hair, and her thick, black bush showed, even through the dark, red fabric of her gown.
Soon I too, fell under her “spell” like all the others, I sat loose-limbed, nearly unable to speak or move. I watched enthralled as she sipped deeply from her golden chalice, the fiery liquid brought a glow to her usual pallor. She offered the remainder to me, with a warm, wet kiss on the lips. After I emptied the cup, she smiled seductively with a twinkle from her sparkling, rich brown orbs. She rarely wore any make-up in the house, but this evening her dark brows were waxed, lashes curled and her dusky eyes were backlit in a purplish-blue shade. Her pearly teeth shined bright against her lips, painted to match the scarlet red of her cape and dripping wet. Or was that actual blood, I could swear that she took my tongue in her mouth with that kiss and bit the tip. Or maybe I bit my own cheek, but I was definitely tasting blood, and seeing my mom in a strange, new light.
As I watched her dance rhythmically to a background heartbeat of drumming, the crowd eased-in closer, and my vision narrowed. In a minute all I could see was this raven-haired woman, softly writhing and moaning, within inches of me. Her long tresses swept across her face and her doey eyes rolled back in her head as her voluptuous torso swayed back and forth. I could see her pendulous, tear-drop shaped breasts, swaying freely under the gown. The little bell on her anklet kept a sexy, sultry beat. Her enlarged nipples pointed enticingly in my direction. This was the first time I recall seeing her as such a sensuous soul. Her arms were only exposed to the elbow, but her stubby fingers caressed my chest and bursa escort legs. She sent tremors through my young body as she slid seductively onto my lap and planted long, moist kisses on my flustered cheeks, lips, neck and chest. My body twitched and squirmed with her exhortations, all the while she moaned and mumbled strange enchantments.
I was on fire with a passion I knew to be taboo, but my wide eyes were glued to her sexy, slinky motions. She ran small fingers through mountains of coal-black hair, teasing it into a jumble of black rope. Then she licked her fingertips, sucking each one sloppily into her red-rimmed mouth. Each one disappeared up to the webbing and emerged glistening and enticing. My young cock had sprouted and was now poking through the loose folds of my robe, bulging pink with spidery blue veins, The head was bulbous and blue, swaying like a cobra to the flute. I could no longer think of her as my mom. She was Mother Circe, and I was her captive. And she was enchanting me with her thrilling gyrations. I was spellbound, entirely enraptured.
Her hands glistened as they played down her voluptuous body. The red robe parted at her throat and dreamily widened as I ogled the sweaty, deep cleavage. As the small doughy crest of her belly came into view, I saw her bejeweled navel and the curly triangle of her wiry, ebony pubic hair.
As I gaped at the forbidden region dancing lustily before me, the silky robe slid from her pale, perspiring body. And there revealed to my astonished eyes, and in all their glory, were her bouncy, tan-nippled boobs. She continued to softly dance bare-footed and stark naked right infront of her only son. When her thickly muscled thighs parted or dipped, I saw the forest of moisture-rich curls reaching from her vulva to her ass. And when she bent her knees, I caught my first glimpse of mother’s pouty outer lips. I watched in sublime satisfaction mixed with wary temptation as my mom performed this erotic come-on. My own body was drenched in sweat and my frame felt too tight for the rippling sensation under my skin.
I was so caught-up in this exotic strip-tease, that I failed to readily notice Queenie’s hand now clamped tightly around my throbbing erection. My own grandmother was slowly and steadily stroking my solid, straining cock to it’s fullest dimensions, as I watched enthralled, her daughter undress for me. Her thumb flicked daringly around the soft, fleshy rim of the gigantic, mushroomed head. Her other hand, moistened by her serpentine tongue, briskly rubbed the length of my swollen prick, and deftly tickled my full ball-sac. The silky touch of Brea’s fingers over the exposed, blue veins of my cock, brought my engorged piston to a fevered pitch.
I lost track of the music or of any other of the group’s members. My twisted emotions and volcanic cock were wholly centered on the erotic manipulations of my grandma’s hands and my mom’s tits. Brea’s quick, rough agitations on my cock brought things to a boiling point and my body squirmed in my seat, because I knew it was ready to explode.
Brea’s eyes widened when she noticed the same sensation, and I saw her usually sullen demeanor break into a full-toothed smile. Then she did something even more odd. I saw her nod and wink to my mom, whom I had nearly forgotten was in the room like all the others. The dungeon-like chamber was now in total shadow, and my mother appeared in a reddish glow, kneeling between my legs, naked. With her mother’s hands still gripped tightly around my trembling pole, her lips parted hungrily and she sucked-in the domed head of my cock just as I spilled my seed.
The Priestess swallowed greedily and with obvious, obscene gulps of pleasure. Her black mane spilled loosely across my lap and I could not resist the urge to hold her by the neck as I bathed her throat in cum. A small dribble of my milky fluid oozed down her chin as she finished, and a stringy twine of sperm hung towards her tits. She wiped the excess with her fingers and then delicately applied it to her dark, stout nubs.
Brea was still smoothly rubbing my cock, working to keep it erect. It was shining in the low light, with the sticky remnants of my fluid, and I was surprised to see her painting her own suddenly exposed breasts with the creamy milk of my loins. At whatever age my grandmother was, she looked great naked, in the darkness, with her cum-slickened fingers tweaking her supple breasts. My emotions were jumbled, but now I was beginning to warm to the erotic situation. My head was on a swivel between my mothers mouth and my granny’s hands, and though I was still frazzled by the incestuous affair, my cock was in it’s happy place.
At that moment I was distracted again by the startling image of my devilish mom feeding her plump, moist tits into my wary, confused mouth. But I suckled hungrily on her large, full tits. First one then the next as she tossed her head back in ecstasy. I was enjoying this situation immensely and both women seemed enraptured. My bursa eskort initiation into this religious hierarchy had started with some kind of incestuous orgy in a sex cult, I love it. And my mom wasn’t done.
Circe placed both hands on my shoulders and hovered tentatively over my lap, and while looking deep into my eyes and straddling my shaking legs, she slowly lowered her velvety cunt on to the thick shaft of my phallic pole. I let her firm nipple slip from my teeth as my gaze now zeroed-in on her wooly, dark pubic patch. My erection stood achingly at attention as her inviting, moistened pussy lips opened subtly to accept the introduction of my eager cock. She eased her warm folds snugly around my pulsating pole, and with agonizingly slow movements, settled her tight, molten twat onto my bucking thighs.
I hesitated for a brief moment, (fucking your mother is a big step.) She smiled at me in a seductive, charming, and alluring way. The wet, warm muscles of her impossibly tight vagina, worked an encouraging squeeze on my cock. Her cunt was like a Boa Constrictor, wrapping it’s warm folds around my shaft and inching it further into the hot oven of her pussy. I pushed and heaved my cock as deep and hard as I could. The titillating experience and the taboo nature of the event, gave me the greatest load of my life, and I shot it like an Apollo rocket. I felt her body tremble and shake, then my swollen balls erupted for a second time. I thought I had emptied myself into her mouth just a few moments earlier, but this was a geyser. My pelvis thrust upwards and the sticky cum gushed. Her entire torso shook wildly and her doughy flesh jerked rapidly with the spasms. It was as if something was alive in her. I lost all of my inhibitions. I just wanted to fuck this woman. I squeezed her plump tits in my hands, kneading them roughly and biting the erect nipples. And I pumped a lake-full of cum between her welcoming thighs.
After ten frantic minutes her fleshy frame relaxed and a calmness settled in. My body went limp. The Priestess withdrew herself from my raw, red cock and the juices flooded down her thick legs. She bent down and kissed the tip of my shriveling tool. Brea presented me with another goblet of the warm, fruity elixir, and I felt instantly revived, though quite disoriented. My mother bowed deeply and led the gathered masses in a solemn oath. “All hail our new Master, hail Lord Aragon. I am your Priestess and you are my Lord.” She rose sweetly. She then sent Brea into the deepening shadows and kissed my eyelids and then my lips and the sticky head of my cock. Circe fastened the crimson robe around her sweaty, flushed body and caressed my growing prick.
“It’s time to announce your presence to our world,” Circe proclaimed to me and to the room. “You are Aragon; seventh of your line. Warlock and Master of this coven. It is the moment to initiate the acolytes.” It was only then that I spied the additions and subtractions to the large, smoky sanctuary. Wall sconces were lit, giving a subtle, eerie glow to the room, and on stone benches strategically placed around the walls, naked women lay. I had not noticed any other movement during my ordeal, but now with my eyes accustomed to the dim light, I saw two bodies laying on cloth-covered “altars.”
With my mom leading me by my firm prick, I was escorted to the first proffered woman. The first thing I witnessed was Brea, leaning over the supine form of this first woman, licking and slobbering on her curly-haired genitals. I only saw a pair of long, bare legs, pink pussy lips spread wide with Brea’s lips humming away, and both women diddling their own cunts and moaning obscenely. My grandmother was deliriously poking her pointy tongue in the light blonde bush of this woman and plying two slick fingers inside her own snatch.
The woman’s robe was thrown open and she was up on her elbows watching my grandmother practice her cunnilingus. Brea’s snaky tongue flicked at the hood of her swollen vagina, and one hand was twisting it’s path inside the girl. In the flickering candle light I could see her face, it was a woman I knew from the neighborhood. She had long blonde hair and crystal blue eyes on a round, angelic face. She was probably near thirty years old. And I think she was married with children. But still as I approached her, with my mother’s hand gripping my thick prick, and my grandmother eating her pussy; she said, “I’ve been looking forward to your accession for many years, my Lord. Take me, fill me. I’m yours.”
With her white robe open, I could see the obvious signs of childbirth on her naked frame. Her hips were wide with visible stretch marks and her breasts drooped with age lines. I was worried instantly that her husband or some man would come looking for me. The priestess saw my confused look and reassured me, “She is yours my Lord, she comes on her own to be one with you. You honor her with your ‘gift.'”
She was certainly sexy, toying with her pussy and watching Brea eat her out. The muscles of her trim belly and thighs start to contract with the approach of her orgasm. Brea, one hand rubbing her own wiry pubes, and the other driving in and out of her supplicant’s vagina, was softly wailing. At a sign from the Priestess, she scrambled across the stone floor to the second woman.