I crept to the door way, and looked in. There, lit by single flickering candle on my daughter’s bedside table, I saw both Sarah and Elizabeth. They were both naked. My wife was kissing our daughter, their lips locked together passionately. I must have gasped, but if they heard me, neither reacted. Sarah lay underneath Elizabeth, their breasts were pressed against each other. Their thighs were between each others legs, and as their bodies moved, I saw them rubbing their womanly parts against their legs.
They made such beautiful sweet sounds, small gasps and moans, as they made love. I remember vividly that image. My wife is a comely woman, of average height, with a motherly figure that I must confess still stirs me, especially when she is naked and her large full breasts are on display. Her eyes are emerald green. Elizabeth is ever so much like her mother. Green eyes and dark hair. Her smile so much alike. I knew her breasts were smaller, but now I saw them. She was engaged to marry the butcher’s son, but now as I watched my daughter kiss down to bite and tears and kiss my wife’s nipples, I confess that I felt jealousy.
I was jealous that that young oaf would get to sample such perfect a young body as my Elizabeth. My wife let out the gasps I recognised from our own lovemaking, her hands tangling in Elizabeth’s long dark hair, as my daughter continued kissing downwards, across my wife’s soft skin.
I knew I should condemn them for being hateful sinners. This was witchcraft I knew. This was a devil’s ritual. But what I felt was something different. I was hardened. God forgive me, but I pulled myself from out of night clothes. I watched from the doorway as my daughter began pleasing my wife with her mouth, my Sarah’s hands in Elizabeth’s hair, her back arching off of the bed in such a pleasing way, her breasts topped with hard nipples. And all the time, I stroked myself, sinning as I gave in to the pleasure of that horrific sinful act.
I recognised the noises that my wife was waking. Recognised the incoming cascade of pleasure that she was about to feel. The climax of the act. Elizabeth’s hand was moving back and forth. I could not see from my position, but I knew what was happening. Whilst my daughter’s tongue was busy pressing against the bud above her mother’s most sacred place, her fingers were busy thrusting inside. I was too much to bear of course. Sarah’s hand covered her mouth as she held back the screams of pleasure.
I myself, could feel myself close. I felt like a young man, my manhood strong and firm, the familiar feeling building up within me. When the two of them sat up, body bodies glistening in the candlelight, they embraced and kissed once more in a way that no mother and daughter should ever kiss. My daughter’s beautiful body, a young woman’s body, was now properly visible. Sarah’s hands pushed down between Elizabeth’s legs, and I heard the most sweet gasp of joy at the touch escape my daughter’s lips. Watching my wife from my position in the dark hallway, pleasuring my daughter as they kissed naked on the bed was too much for me.
I felt myself having my own climax, the sinful act coming to a conclusion, as I spilled my seed on the wood of the corridor. Such a feeling I cannot explain. I fled, ashamed, back to my bedroom. My mind was reeling. My wife and daughter were obviously both witches. I had witnessed an act of satanic worship. Carnal lust between mother and daughter. I knew what I should do. I should report them to the magistrates.
But, I am weak. I am only a human. Moreover, I believe that I had been affected by a witch’s spell of some kind. What else could explain how I had enjoyed my voyeurism. I had committed the sin of onanism at the time.
I was wrestling with these feelings, still awake, when what must have been an hour later, my Sarah returned to bed. I felt her naked body press up against me. I felt her hand push down my chest and into my night clothes. No words were shared as her hand found my manhood and began to stroke. God help me, but I felt myself rise.
I mounted my wife, and kissed her hard as I felt her beautiful wetness envelop me. I was a young man again. I had the stamina to do so again, where before it would have been sometimes even a few days before I was prepared for the act a second time. I was not gentle with her. I did not care to be quiet. The bedframe shook and thunder against the wall as I thrust into my wife. She squealed, gasping as I took her. My kiss was hard as well, pushing against her, and biting her lip. I tasted blood in my mouth, but I did not care. My sinful witch of a wife. I loved her. I loved her so much it hurt.
It seemed to take forever, and my body ached from the excursion, my hips thrusting away into her. But I truly did not care. It may not have been heaven I was feeling, but it still felt so right. I pinned her down, holding her wrists against the bed, as my hard member thrust again and again and again into my darling Sarah. Our moans filled the room.
Finally I finished within her. It was not an issue to do so, as my wife’s fertile days were behind her. There would be no second child for us. This was not what our lovemaking was for. This was pure fleshly desire. Lust pure and simple. I had witnessed an act of sinful incest, a ritual by witches, and I was so aroused that I had become, in a way, part of their debauchery.
I do not know how I was able to act as if nothing had happened. We broke our fast together as a family. We spoke about our day’s plans, and I waved my Elizabeth off to continue her courtship with the butcher’s boy. My seed had been cleaned off from the corridor floor during the night, but no-one had mentioned it. I was distracted of course. Not from the guilt of what was happening. Instead by desire. I wanted the night to come. I wanted to observe again.
And I did. I witnessed that night the same act. I watched my wife and our daughter making love. I witnessed my wife in her back, my daughter straddling her face. Her skin glistened in the candle night. Once more I pleasured myself in the watching, and as they finished, so did I upon the floor. I returned to bed and awaited the return of my Sarah. When she did, we made love as well. This was our new routine. Night after night of sinful pleasure.
It could not remain in such an unlikely balance for very long. It was Sunday. We had returned from Church, still dressed in our best clothes. We had all taken the communion together. When we returned home, it was Elizabeth who finally spoke of what we all knew was happening. I had suspected that the door was left open so that I could watch in deliberately. That they had been drawing me in, and they now had me ensnared completely.
“Father,” she said, “tonight, rather than await in the hall, you should join us.” As she spoke she put her hand upon my chest and looked up at me. “I hear you and mother after we have had our turn, and I want you to do that to me.”
I was rendered speechless. My body was already responding however. I looked at my wife, my darling Sarah. She nodded, “Don’t you think its time, Charles? Join us.”
God was very far from my mind when I nodded in agreement.
“Yes. Yes my beautiful two. I shall.” Elizabeth’s smile made my heart skip a beat. She was so happy that I had agreed. She flung herself, wrapped her arms around me, and we kissed. Oh, we kissed. My daughter and I, kissed. My arms held her close, feeling her body against mine. Her firm breasts against my chest. I was fully hard now, and straining beneath my clothes. I felt Sarah’s hands upon me from behind, wrapping her self around me and pressing her self against me. We could not wait. It was day time. The village was still awake. But none of us could care.
We stumbled into my bedroom, and fell upon the bed. Sarah closed the curtains, as my daughter and I began hurriedly pulling our clothes off. Her dress. Her petticoat. Her undergarments. I had seen Elizabeth naked many times now, but this was different. She lay beneath me, the perfection of womanhood there. Her breasts round and exquisite. Her form toned and wondrous. Her delicate hand reached down and stroked my shaft. Her father’s manhood.
“Father, be my first.” She whispered.
I knew what this meant. I was about to take my daughter’s virginity. She was supposed to save herself for marriage. To take another man before her wedding night was a sin. We were so far from that. I knew I was under a spell of course. How could I not be? They were both undeniably witches. At that time, I did not care. I wanted to have carnal relations with my daughter.
That is what I did. I felt my daughter’s wetness as I pushed into her. I felt her part like the sea, as slowly I pushed inside. There was no resistance. Nor was their any pain nor blood from the act. No, instead there was nothing but joy. I looked to the side and saw my wife naked too, a smile of pure pride and elation from watching me make love to our daughter.
I was gentle, with slow, long deliberate motions. I would not be rough like I had been with Sarah. I leaned down and kissed Elizabeth as I thrust into her. It was not fatherly however. No. I kissed her like the lover she now was. Deep, and tender, as was the way I moved inside of her.
Sarah surprised me with her next act. She moved me more upright, and then climbed in front of me, straddling herself over our daughter’s face. It took me a moment to realise what she wanted. She wanted to be pleased as well. Elizabeth was obviously well practiced here, and her tongue lapped out and worked against her mother’s sex. I kissed my darling wife then, the three of us in our unholy union.
We were sensible even in our lust. None of us let out a moan or any sound that could alert the neighbours to the despicable goings on within our bedroom. I picked up the pace, thrusting quicker now inside my daughter. One hand upon my wife’s breast, the other on my daughter’s hip. Sarah’s cheeks were flushed, as she chanted something under her breath as we kissed. Elizabeth’s face and tongue were pressed into her mother as I pressed against her.
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