8 comments/ 9184 views/ 3 favorites Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 01 By: jdnunyer ###################### Author's note Part Seven moves the story to Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read earlier parts of the story, though things may make more sense if you have. This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex and anal. All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age. As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. Either way, I'll try to respond in a timely manner. ######################## It was springtime in Savannah, and the annual music festival was underway. For eighteen consecutive days, musicians from around the world would flock to the pride of the South. Jazz, bluegrass, Americana, folk music, and other traditions would blend seamlessly together. Through most of the fall, and all of what passed for winter in this part of the country, Cahill had looked forward to the festival. For some reason, it always made him miss Boston, a city that grew harder and harder to remember with each passing year. And this year, he'd been looking forward to it even more than usual. The woman he'd been dating, who'd only recently moved to Savannah herself, was a big fan of live music, and the two of them had been talking about the festival since they'd started dating. They'd have had a great time together. If she hadn't dumped him a week before the festival began. She hadn't explained why she was leaving him, but she hadn't needed to. He'd expected it. The longer a woman went without bolting for the exit, the more Cahill would allow himself to hope that this time would be different. But it never was. In the end, everything always turned out the same. Always would. This latest attempt was no different. It almost, almost, came as a relief. If nothing else, it meant that it wasn't out of paranoia or insecurity that he'd thought he'd spotted a few of the warning signs. They'd been a bit more well disguised this time than usual, but they'd been there. At the age of thirty-two, Cahill had never been in a relationship that had lasted more than seven months. And until that record had been set by his latest pathetic failure, it had stood at a mere two months. The trouble always began the first time they spent the night together at his place. For that reason, he never took a woman home until he had to. Once he'd been with the same woman for a while, though, she'd eventually start to think it weird that she'd never seen his place. At that point, he could no longer put it off without things getting awkward. Without sabotaging the relationship through his refusal to do something that would also sabotage it. All his life, Cahill had had troubled dreams. He talked in his sleep, and in the past would even get up and walk around too, though that had stopped years ago. The doctors had all said that he wasn't suffering from narcolepsy or insomnia or anything like that. Just uncommonly vivid dreams. And what could they do for that? Nothing. He hadn't even found better living through chemistry, though he'd tried every sleep aid on the market. For a while, he'd struggled to understand why his problem was such an issue for women. But it wasn't that, truth be told. That was just what he told himself when he wanted to feel that he'd been treated unfairly. No, it wasn't that he had trouble sleeping, and that he accordingly disturbed the sleep of whomever was unfortunate enough to share his bed, though that couldn't have been pleasant. It was what happened while he was asleep. What he said. They'd all insisted that they knew the things he talked about in his sleep weren't real. But he could tell that they didn't mean it. Sooner or later, every woman he'd ever been with began to doubt. To believe that maybe, just maybe, the things he dreamed weren't just dreams. That he was hiding something from them. "This one for sale?" a voice asked, tearing him away from his thoughts. Cahill looked up. A stunningly beautiful woman hovered over him. She had flawless skin, the color of deep mahogany. Her lips were so full and red, they had to be in violation of some local ordinance. Her big brown eyes were gateways to another world. A man who looked into them for too long would lose himself and never find his way back. Her bone structure was exquisite. Her round little nose was cuter than cute. Even without the makeup that expertly magnified her beauty, she'd have taken his breath away. He'd never seen such a specimen. Not in this world, anyway. Not outside his dreams. A quick glance downward revealed that she had an unbelievable figure as well. Her waist was too thin to belong on a woman with breasts, or hips, like that. She was absolutely impossibly proportioned. Thin in all the right places, with generous curves elsewhere. Thighs that he would love to feel wrapped around his head, or his waist. Breasts that simply needed to be squeezed. Yet despite her softer curves, she some serious muscle too. Those legs looked powerful enough to kick through concrete. The worn jeans and loose crop top she wore didn't give too much away, but they didn't need to. Only a blind man would fail to notice her ample charms, or the improbable combination of voluptuous, athletic, and petite features. Yet, as amazing as her face and figure were, and they were amazing, it was the otherworldly vibe coming off her that really got Cahill's attention. She was remarkable to behold, yet the foot traffic in the square flowed around her seamlessly, and no one so much as snuck a backwards glance at her after passing her by. Not one damn guy in the whole place did a double-take. In a sane world, they'd all have been staring blatantly at her. It was like she was invisible to everyone but him. And yet, her powerful presence must have made itself known somehow, because no one was bumping into her either. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was one of the fey. But that was impossible. Sure, those proportions were reminiscent of the women he encountered every night in his dreams. And, yes, the otherworldly creatures he encountered each night seemed to be able to choose not to let the world around them take notice of their passing. But what of it? He wasn't dreaming. And the fey weren't real. The shamrocks dangling from her wrists, the Claddagh ring worn on the hand holding the flute she'd asked him about, and the gentle lilt in her accent all suggested an Irish ancestry. He himself hailed from Ireland, but his ancestors had left the Emerald Isle a long time ago. These days, the Donovans all spoke with Boston accents. From the sound of it, she might have grown up there. There weren't a lot of black women in Ireland, but if she was wrong about her nationality, he'd boil his shoes and dine on their leather. So the notion that she was fey must have been the product of his overactive imagination. He'd picked up on her accent and ran with it. Saw what wasn't there. Nothing more. "Um, excuse me?" she asked, laughing to herself softly. She gave the flute she was holding a little jiggle. "Is it for sale?" "Oh, yeah," Cahill said, rising to his feet. "I mean, yes. It is." "There's no price on it," she said. "Well, no," Cahill replied, scratching the back of his neck. "So...?" the woman said. Her nervous smile gave him an excuse to focus on those lips. Damn, but you just didn't see lips like that every day. Eminently kissable. And he could only imagine what they'd feel like... he cleared his throat and banished the thought. For now. "It's not quite ready," he said. "Then it's not for sale?" Cahill drew a deep breath. There was something different about that flute. He felt it every time he held it in his hands. Probably because he'd used silver. Generally, he worked with wood. Even when he didn't, he rarely worked with precious metals. When working with metal, the particular type wasn't supposed to make much difference. Not compared to the difference between metal of any kind and wood. But, on a whim, he'd decided to try something more extravagant. And the result was unlike any instrument he'd ever crafted. Part of him, the part that freaked all his girlfriends out, thought that it wasn't the silver that was responsible for that though. Rather, it was that he'd succeeded into tapping into something deeper, older, and more powerful. Something from the Faerie world he visited each night. That the flute somehow allowed the world of his dreams and the world of reality to come into contact, to overlap with one another in some small way. Supernatural or not, though, the flute was a masterpiece. As fine an instrument as he'd ever crafted. It just hadn't yet become itself. Something was missing. He wasn't sure what yet, but he felt in his gut that it was incomplete. "Are you here for the festival?" he asked. "What if I am?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. Any other woman would have grown frustrated with him by now. He knew that. Cahill didn't mean to come across as flighty, but sometimes his mind refused to run in straight lines. Or to restrict its attention to rational thoughts. "I can have it done before you leave," he said. "If you'd still be interested." The woman mulled that over. "You'll never find another like it," he said confidently. Sounding more like a salesman than he'd meant to. He didn't care if she bought the flute. If she didn't, someone else would. It was his best piece of work yet. But he already knew that he had to see her again, and that was the easiest way to make sure that would happen. She stared down at the instrument. The look in her eyes told him that she agreed with his assessment, and she hadn't even put it to her lips yet. Those luscious, full, tempting lips. He could just see them parting... no. No. He was getting ahead of himself. Just because he was a thousand times better at getting women into bed than getting them to stay didn't mean it was okay to start thinking those thoughts straight away. He had to stop. Had to find some way to get his overactive libido under control. Maybe if he could do that, his subconscious would stop conjuring up the dreams that ruined every single one of his relationships. "Give it a try," Cahill said. Brown eyes regarded him warily. But after the briefest hesitation, she did as he asked. He couldn't help but note how gracefully she raised the instrument to her lips. At first, it just sounded like someone was playing a flute. Any old flute. But with each note, Cahill became more convinced that it belonged in her hands. That she understood the instrument, and it understood her. If he'd truly imbued it with the ability to channel the music of the other world, this woman knew how to play such music. On some level, Cahill still stood at his vendor's booth in Ellis Square. But that was only what was real. In another sense, a truer sense, the world around fell away. The woman transported him to some nearby land, one that stood adjacent to the one he knew yet differed radically from it at the same time. The very one that he visited each and every night. The one where he'd cheated on every woman he'd ever been with. It was dark, even though it wasn't. Light surrounded them, yet everything was drab and colorless. Everything, that was, except for the flute, which glowed softly. And all around him, men made of shadow danced. The air rang out with the sound of hooves clopping, like they were horses or goats rather than men. Their pace accelerated and they started to chant. Their voices were deep, strong, and vaguely intimidating. Reality came hurtling back and Cahill gasped. Before him, the beautiful woman had lowered the silver flute from her lips. She studied him silently, eyes wide. "You've got to have it," Cahill said. She didn't argue. "That was... beautiful," he continued. "I don't even play," she said, her brown cheeks acquiring a tinge of red. He looked at her skeptically. "Really?" She gave a half shrug. "Well... it's for my brother." "What's your instrument then?" Cahill asked. Thick lashes fluttered at him. "Kind o' you to say so, but I don't play. I'm... just along for the entertainment." Cahill didn't believe that for one second. She might not be in the current lineup of her brother's band, but the woman had real talent. He hadn't heard the flute come alive for anyone else the way it had for her. If her brother or any of his band members had told her that she wasn't good enough, it could only have been out of jealousy. "Here, let me give you my card," he said, withdrawing one from the pathetically full box. The woman accepted his offering. Her eyes scanned the silvery font. "Huh," she said. Cahill looked a question at her. "It's just, well, you don't look like a Donovan," she said. Cahill chuckled. "I don't, do I?" One corner of her mouth turned up. "You have the look of... a Walker." That name rang a bell. Didn't it? Or was it just the way she said it, all dramatic like? As if that meant something really profound. If so, the meaning was lost on him. He laughed. "Most people find my first name more remarkable." Her smile broadened. "I can relate. Mine's Liadan." "Yeah, that's definitely a name you don't hear very often," Cahill said. "It's Gaelic," Liadan explained, as if he'd needed her to do so. He hardly spoke a lick of Gaelic, besides the swear words his uncles had taught him. But he knew enough about the myths of his people to recognize the name. "You've heard it before?" she asked. "The gray lady, who died of grief," he said. "Oh, aye," she said with a hint of disappointment. What else had she expected him to say? Was there another reason to know that name? "This would be the part where you say that I don't look like I'm from the Emerald Isle." "Do I have to?" Cahill asked. "Most do," she said with a laugh. "Would you like to have dinner some time?" Cahill blurted out. She cocked her head to one side. "Not shy, are we?" His eyes drifted down to the hand still holding the flute. Her right hand. The tip of the heart on her ring was facing her fingertips, signifying that she was single. Had it faced the other way, he'd know that she was in a relationship. Worn on her left hand, it would've meant that she was either engaged or married. Liadan noticed him noticing. "You're familiar with the Claddagh?" He nodded. "Course you are," she said. "Okay, Cahill. I'm not usually this capricious, but what the hell. You'd better not be a creep, though." "Terrible kisser, yes. Creep, no," he said. "And you're assuming I'm interested in finding out about that, are ya?" "Well, I would be, if I were you," Cahill said dismissively. She reached across the display stand with her free hand and smacked his upper arm. "So. Tonight then?" he asked. A bemused smirk spread across her lips. "Tonight?" she asked, laughing again. "I'm afraid I can't tonight. How bout tomorrow?" "Hmm, I don't know," Cahill said. "I'll probably have forgotten about you by then. Moved on to some other pretty girl who stopped at my stand and didn't buy anything." "Oh you're a pip," she said. "I'll pay for the flute now, if that makes you happy." Cahill waved the idea way. "No need. I don't doubt that you'll be back." "Well, then I better not have a horrible time tomorrow night." "You won't," he said. She regarded him silently for a time before turning her eyes to the flute. "Expert craftsmanship," she said. It glittered as she turned it over and over in her hands. Then, holding up her hand to cut off the reply he hadn't been about to offer, Liadan added, "I know. You're good with your hands. Quit while you're ahead, eh?" "Didn't say a thing," Cahill replied. Liadan chewed at the swell in the middle of her upper lip. "There's this place I pass on me way over here, looked interesting. Take me there and I just might forgive the attitude." After they confirmed the arrangements and said their goodbyes, Liadan faded away into the crowd. Cahill could almost swear she'd vanished completely. # It was dark. The bright silvery light bathing his room hurt his eyes. That made no sense, Cahill realized. He was having one of his dreams. Even before the ethereal music began, he knew it. The light gathered, condensing, curling itself up into a ball. Suddenly, his room was dark, save for the silver orb hovering just below the foot of his bed. It blinked once, twice, as if to say "Follow me." As it always did. So he did. As he always did. Down the stairs, out through the kitchen, into the backyard. Across the dewy grass to the edge of the woods. Then beyond, leaving the real world behind. He no longer even bothered to look back. He knew that if he did, he'd find that his house was be gone, as was the rest of suburbia. The tame forest at the edge of his yard would no longer be so neat and sparse. Wild undergrowth now strew the floor, and the trees were suddenly older, taller, and wiser than found in Georgia. Proud oaks and tall elms, wispy willows and thin pines, black walnuts and maples and some he didn't recognize, all grew side by side. And not a one could be considered a humble member of its family. On and on the will-o'-the-wisp led him. Deeper and deeper in, to where the spirits dwelled and the rivers glowed and it was never night or day but always in between. Where the creatures of the forest grew bigger and stronger and smarter than their real life cousins, and would speak to those who cared to listen. The forest and its inhabitants were not the only thing that changed at night, though. Here, in the dream world, Cahill was another man. His true self. Though he took care of his body and watched what he ate, he'd never looked this good in the real world. Women were drawn to him, however hard he found it to hold onto them. But here, in this world, he didn't just look good. He was a god. That, or the reflections he saw in the pools and rivers lied. And, come to think of, that was entirely possible. He never knew when he was being lied to here. The fey were reputed to be incapable of lying. The fairy tales all agreed on that point. They might twist the truth, leave things unsaid, and choose their words carefully so that one would believe them to mean precisely what they intended. Never did they outright lie, though. Except in Cahill's dreams. Here, they lied all the time. They told him things he knew couldn't be true each and every night. Such sweet lies they were. But lies all the same. They had to be. Of course, the creatures he met in his dreams weren't true fey. They weren't true anythings, since they weren't even real. So he ought not have considered their deceitfulness to be evidence against the old tales. But there was no other way for him to think of them than as fey, and he couldn't help but expect them to behave accordingly. Especially since, in so many other ways, they often did. But, no, that was silly. Every time he thought he'd convinced himself of the truth, he'd fall back on the easy explanations. The fantastic interpretations of his mental disturbance. It was easier that way. But fey didn't exist. What sense did it make to ask whether the women of his dreams behaved the way fey behaved? He might as well become one of those guys who insisted that vampires don't sparkle. "Don't trust her," the wind whispered to him. "What?" he asked. The silvery light bobbing along ahead of him winked out. "Is she not what she seems?" he asked the voice. "She is," it replied. "That's the problem." Cahill spun around in circles. The voice seemed to be coming from ahead of him at first, then it was behind. It was, of course, a woman's voice. Always a woman's voice. But sometimes it was a contralto, sometimes a soprano, and sometimes in between. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 01 In between. Every damn thing here was in between. The place itself lay at the intersection of day and night, cold and warm, spooky and soothing. Dream and truth. "When will you come home, Cahill?" the voice asked. A woman stepped out of the nearest oak tree. She wore a green dress, trimmed with white ruffles and moist leaves. It barely covered her generous breasts or her shapely thighs. More fabric had gone into the sleeves, which hung nearly to her ankles, than the rest of it. A wreathe of brambles, berries, and leaves encircled her forehead. Straight brown hair fell past her shoulders. Except, if he looked at her in the wrong light, her hair appeared to be as green as her dress. Her full lips seemed even redder than they were, seeing as everything else about her was white or green. Her skin was shockingly pale, but not ghostly. Just beautiful. Fiona. The beautiful dryad wasn't the one who greeted him the most often, but he'd been coming here for so long that every one of the imaginary fey creatures he encountered here felt like they'd been a part of his life forever. Like they were really were a part of his family. Hers was the deep contralto. Most nights, he was met by the soprano, which belonged to a busty nymph with black hair who always wore white. Wherever that one went, flowers sprung up behind her. Her name was Oona. She claimed to be his aunt. Just as this one, Fiona, claimed to be his sister. But Cahill didn't have any sisters. He'd never met anyone named Fiona, let anyone who lived in a damn tree. Cahill had a few aunts, but none of them were named Oona. Nor did any of them have such a special relationship with flowers, even though one was a florist. "I can't," he told Fiona, for the thousandth time. She approached him slowly, treading on bare feet. Always on bare feet. She swore that he would go barefoot too, once he remembered who he was. But that didn't seem likely to Cahill, who constantly tripped over the roots and vines, sticks and stones, brush and weeds. He'd twisted his ankle many a time in this place, though he always awoke without a sprain. Cahill studied her silently. It was a damn good thing that she wasn't his sister, that she couldn't be, because he was intensely attracted to her. Had done things with her, many times, that brothers really shouldn't do with their sisters. And that was the real reason women always left him. He often woke smelling of sex, with another woman's natural perfume clinging to him, and the taste of her on his lips. The women of this world tasted unlike any other, and no two of them tasted quite alike, but there was no mistaking that what clung to him in the early moments of waking was a woman's juices. Even a woman who spent the night by his side, sleeping only intermittently, who knew that he couldn't possibly have snuck out on her, might come to doubt his fidelity. None of his past girlfriends had actually said that they were leaving him for that reason, of course. Undoubtedly, they'd known how crazy it would sound. But Cahill knew the truth. There was always a look of betrayal in their eyes, and of disappointment. His friends complained of women losing interest. Of seeing the disgust in her eyes at the thought of having sex with him again. That never happened to Cahill. When they left, they left because they didn't trust him, not because they didn't want him. Or, rather, because they told themselves that they couldn't trust him, despite the obvious fact that their suspicions couldn't possibly have any basis in reality. Easier to believe that he was having an affair he couldn't have been having than to question their own sanity though. He wasn't even sure he blamed them. He knew what it was like to doubt one's hold on reality. Not a pleasant feeling. "Why?" the dryad who claimed to be his sister asked. His eyes met hers, but it took serious effort. Her voluptuous body demanded attention. Her breasts were every bit as big as Oona's, though it was the latter he always thought of as "busty." They didn't define her figure the way the floral nymph's endowment did, since Fiona had a lower body to match her impressive chest. As amply endowed as both women were, they could not compare to the redheaded druidess who so rarely graced him with her presence. The one who he was to believe was his true mother. Caronwyn. But it wasn't fair to compare any woman, real or imaginary, to her. She was the physical embodiment of beauty in its purest form. Femininity made flesh. By any other standard, though, Fiona had an incredible body. Like all of the fey, she had a waist that was too small for her body, if not too small to exist on some woman. Her hips were broad and she had beautiful bubble butt. It was big, round, shapely, yet soft, the way Cahill thought a woman's bottom should be. All in all, the dramatic curves of the dryad's body made an hourglass look shapeless. And her skin was impossibly smooth. Thighs that thick should have been plagued by cellulite, but there wasn't the least trace of an imperfection anywhere on her body. Cahill had checked. Quite closely. The fey were supposed to be slender and lithe, not impossibly voluptuous. And indeed some of the women here were. But there was no single type that prevailed among the fey. They came in a variety of shapes and sizes. Each and every one looked about as good as a woman of that type could though. None, to his mind, looked as good as Caronwyn. But he still recognized that men with different tastes would be equally impressed by the others. His other aunt, Macha, had some pleasant curves, but her body was firm and hard, athletic and muscular. Aside from her breasts, of course. Those, Cahill would have been comfortable describing as big if he didn't have something of a big boob fetish. If nothing else, they were bigger than made sense for a woman with so little body fat anywhere else. Her legs were long, sleek, and shapely. Not too thick, but still laden with dense, powerful muscle. Many men would find her round ass attractive, but it struck Cahill as a little too small and much, much too hard. She had strong shoulders, sculpted bis and tris, and a perfect six pack. All in all, the blonde sprite didn't appeal much to Cahill, but any guy who liked his women sporty would have considered her nothing short of perfect. His cousin, Teagan, was a slight little pixie. She had a stunningly beautiful face. "Cute" might have been a better term, given her round cheeks, youthful appearance, and sense of innocence, but that simply wasn't strong enough a term for her flawless features. On the other hand, her chest and ass were flat as a board. Diminutive in stature, with a beautiful face and golden hair that flowed all the way to her knees, and the body of a pre-pubescent even though she was a grown woman, Teagan alone had the look of a proper fey woman. Yet all of them reminded him of the creatures he'd read about growing up. Their ears were slightly pointed. Their complexions were as fair as could be found among the living. Their voices were musical and their movements exhibited a preternatural grace. Most tellingly, impossible things routinely occurred in their presence. All of that was equally true of the men, though Cahill paid somewhat less attention to them. You know, for some strange reason. There were fey who claimed to be his brothers and others who he was to believe were his cousins. That his subconscious had created them as well must have meant that his loneliness reflected more than a desire for physical intimacy. Or maybe it really did mean that there was more to his dreams than his doctors thought. He never could quite decide which made more sense to him. "This isn't real," he said, for his benefit as much as hers. "Maybe it is and maybe it isn't," she said, helpfully. "But it's still your home." Cahill shook his head. They didn't seem to think much of what was "real" or not, though they were very concerned with what was "true." Just like fairies in the old tales, they seemed to find differences in meaning that wouldn't occur to a mortal. Cahill hadn't yet figured out why, but he'd at least worked out that, for the fey, those two words were not synonyms. And who was she kidding with that second part? At times, he could almost believe that she and the others were family, but how could she expect him to think of this place as home? There was nothing homey about it. No furniture or furnishings, no beds or bathrooms. Where did they sleep? Do their business? How could they call a forest home? The one doctor he'd been foolish enough to tell about this world, back when he was still a teenager, had very nearly had him committed to a psychiatric hospital. As he probably should have, though even the doctor had agreed that Cahill posed no physical threat to either himself or others. What could be more ridiculous than the notion that he lived in a magical forest with a bunch of pixies and sprites, nymphs and dryads? His mother had believed him, though. Her, and only her. That might have been the problem all along. A few years ago, he'd cut her off completely, having become convinced that she was keeping him from letting go of the dreams. He'd known, even then, that she wasn't responsible for him having them in the first place, but he'd blamed her for his inability to move on. But leaving Boston and the woman who'd raised him hadn't worked. Cahill still feared that it would only make things worse to allow the one person who fanned the flames of his lunacy back into his life, but the pain of pushing away the only person who loved him unconditionally was not easy to live with. "I always knew," she'd told him once. "When we brought you home from the hospital, I knew something was wrong. But I loved you as if you were my own child, and he wasn't going to come back to me, so I kept you. Won't you please forgive me?" Like he was a changeling. The day Cahill drew that connection, his skin had gone cold. He'd nearly asked his mother if that was what she believed him to be, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He knew the answer. The newspaper clipping she kept by her mail pile, where anyone could find it, told him all he needed to know. His father had died in a car accident. As had his mother's real son, whose name was also Cahill. What sense that made, he wasn't entirely sure, but he knew what his mother believed, and yet he couldn't take hearing it from her lips. Every night, women who claimed to love him, to share his blood, told him that he wasn't human. But to hear it from his real mother would have been devastating. "Isn't this enough?" Cahill asked. "Every night. What more do you want from me?" "You belong here," Fiona said. "With your family." He cradled his head in his fingertips. "You said not to trust her," he said, changing the subject. "Liadan?" His supposed sister nodded. "How do you know about her?" "She's one of us," Fiona replied. Of course she was. Granted, Cahill had thought so himself. She had the look, after all. The way her waist flared out into those enchanting hips. The flawless skin, hypnotizing eyes, and plump lips. The inhuman proportions and palpable air of sexuality that she projected around her. The way the crowd ignored her despite her stunning appearance, and, despite ignoring her, nonetheless made room for her, would only have made sense if she'd used a glamour. And for her to use a glamour would only have made sense if she was fey. And then there was the way the flute had come alive in her hands. For a moment there, it had seemed as if she'd pulled this world, the land of his dreams, into the real one. But this was madness. Utter madness. Silver flutes didn't break down the barriers between worlds. Dryads didn't live in trees, flowers didn't sprout up from the footprints of nymphs, and he didn't have any damn sister. He'd imagined the dancing shadows with their cloven hooves. Nothing had happened in the square that day that didn't make sense save for the things that had only happened inside his head. That Fiona knew about the woman he'd met that day didn't mean anything, because Fiona was part of his subconscious. She had access to all his thoughts and memories. Why oh why had he let his mother fill his head with nonsense and fairy tales? And do much worse besides. No. No. He wouldn't think about that. Didn't want to, at any rate. But he'd already started down that path, and now he couldn't reverse course. She'd insisted that it wasn't incest. That he wasn't really her son, so it was okay. But Cahill had known better. He wasn't even attracted to her. He'd only done it because she'd wanted him so badly. Because he'd hoped that it would somehow prove to her, or to him, that he wasn't a changeling, but a real man, of flesh and blood. What surprise then was it that he dreamed of incest every night? After that? But he wouldn't hate her for that. His mother was a good woman. Not a good influence, perhaps, but a good woman. "Lemme guess," Cahill said, "she's our sister." The brothers and cousins that sometimes joined him when his nymphs grew too excited for a single man to please looked like Cahill. Seamus, who was allegedly his older brother, looked so much like Cahill had when Cahill was younger that it was almost creepy. Granted, then as now, Cahill had been bigger than Seamus. He must have had a good forty pounds of muscle on his brother. But besides that and his eyes being blue where his brother's were brown, they couldn't have looked more alike. He'd once asked his brother why he looked like a younger version of Cahill if he was supposed to be the older one. To his dream brother's credit, his answer had almost been compelling. He reminded Cahill that they were immortal, that they didn't age after reaching adulthood, but their appearances were fluid. They looked the way they did in part because of how they really looked, but also partly based on how they expected themselves to look, or what they wanted others to see. So Cahill looked older than Seamus because he'd dwelled in the mortal realm longer, all the while expecting himself to age the way mortals did. Even though this place made Cahill appear stronger and slimmer, and a good deal more handsome, he still wasn't quite himself. And wouldn't be, until he chose to believe. They knew how to make it convincing. He had to give the fey that much. Gallech, their oldest brother, looked quite a bit like Cahill too, only he was shorter, prettier, and more heavily muscled. His brothers, and only his brothers, looked so much like him that anyone who looked upon them would instantly guess that they were related. But even Fiona, Oona, and Caronwyn looked enough like him that if he was willing to accept their existence at all, he'd consider it more than plausible that they were of the same blood. Even Macha's children, Duncan and Teagan, looked something like Cahill, though Macha was a Dreamsmyth. And even though they had blonde hair, while his was coal black, the same as his oldest brother's and his aunt's. But Liadan? "Of course not," Fiona said. "She's a Dreamsmyth." "Right," Cahill said, dripping sarcasm. "Because she's a Dreamsmyth." As if it made any more sense for her to be Macha's child than Caronwyn's or Oona's. Macha, whose skin was not quite as fair as Caronwyn's or Fiona's but was still closer to pure ivory than he ever saw on most any woman in the real world, especially in Georgia. Whose blonde hair and blue eyes bespoke a Northern European ancestry. "She knew who you were," his dream sister continued. "Named you a Walker." Cahill's throat went tight. She had said that. At the time, it hadn't meant much to him. A bell had gone off in the back of his mind, but the true significance of it had been lost to him. Now that he'd returned to the dream world, though, he remembered what it meant. That Walker was the name of the clan of which Caronwyn was the matriarch. The clan to which he allegedly belonged. "Were you there?" Cahill asked. Of course she was, since she lived inside his head, but he still wanted to hear what she would say. To see if he could find a contradiction. "Of course not," Fiona replied. "We're not allowed to return to that world. I've told you that already. But we do have ways of watching." Cahill sighed. Neither of those claims were new. What had he expected, anyway? After fifteen years, there weren't a lot of bases that hadn't been covered. He stepped closer to the woman who'd have him believe that she was his older sister, though she looked no older than twenty-two or twenty-three. Taking her hand in his, and doing his best to ignore the bolts of electricity than ran through him whenever his skin came into contact with hers, he said, "You've got to stop this, Fi. Leave me alone. Let me be with a real woman for a change." "But she's not real," Fiona protested. "That world is no more hers than it is yours." Again he wondered what the word "real" meant to his sister. It seemed as though they used the one to refer to the world in which he dwelt during the day and the other for all things fey. But was it that simple? And what was "true" about this place anyway? Only everything, a voice in the back of his mind insisted. His cock stirred. Being this near to the voluptuous tree nymph always had that effect. Her green eyes were breathtaking, her soft lips unbearably luscious, and her sometimes brown, sometimes green hair held a strange appeal. The sharp contrast between her alabaster complexion and her dark hair, long lashes, and thick eyebrows harkened back to an earlier era, when men did not obsess over women with bleached blonde hair and fake tans. "She's real enough," Cahill managed, though his thoughts were turning to other things. Fiona's hand went to chest. Then it slowly slid down over the mountainous peaks of his abs, heading for his swollen manhood. He almost hadn't even noticed that he was bare-chested. That was how things worked here. One moment, he'd be fully clothed, and the next he'd be topless or even fully naked. It was almost like his sister had the power to banish clothes like a lamp chases away the darkness. She and all the other fey women, for that matter. "Why won't you listen?" she whispered. "You're almost as stubborn as Gallech." His oldest brother was indeed stubborn. But that seemed to Cahill to be as much a virtue as a vice. On those nights when the forest became a nightmare dreamscape, when he had to fight his way through a horde of monsters or slay a dragon so that he could rescue hiss damsel in distress before he was allowed to lie with her, his brothers and cousins often joined him. When they did, none were as reliable as Gallech. He never backed down, whether from a fight or an argument. There were worse insults than to be told he shared that quality. Still, he didn't like being likened to his brother. He couldn't hear his brother's name without his mood souring, in truth. Cahill hardly ever saw Caronwyn, the woman he desired most of all, without his oldest brother showing up. And it wasn't even because Gallech was as obsessed with the red goddess as Cahill was. He was completely taken with Oona. And their aunt was almost as interested in him, from what Cahill could tell. So why couldn't his brother be happy with that, and leave their mother to Cahill? Why couldn't he accept that maybe their mother wanted a guy who was a little less pretty and a lot less little? Oh, Gallech was plenty built. He probably weighed near as much as Cahill, though he was several inches shorter. But he was several inches shorter. And less well endowed. Cahill tried not to be that kind of guy. When he was younger, he'd been really impressed with himself for having a bigger package than any guy he knew. And some of the girls his age had been impressed too. But the older he got, the more he realized that size mattered, but that was no less true of egos than penises. He'd long since let go of the belief that he was more of a man because he had a huge cock. Sometimes, though, Gallech made him remember the time in his life when it had seemed that way. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 01 Which was not to say that Gallech was small. None of their kind were. And while Cahill was also bigger than any of his brothers or cousins, he only felt smug about that when it came to Gallech. If he was being honest with himself, he'd admit that none of that made sense, even if he assumed the people he met in his dreams were real. If Gallech would stop getting in the way of Cahill's efforts with their mother, he'd be no less fond of the little guy than he was Seamus. Wouldn't feel the need to remind himself that he was carrying a bigger slab of meat between his legs. "Our little sister will be joining us soon, I think," Fiona continued. "And she only came of age a few months ago, by the reckoning of that world." Yeah, that world. "But you, you've been of age for fifteen years, Kay," she said, using a nickname that he hated. Granted, he knew that she didn't like it when anyone but Seamus called her Fi, so he'd asked for that. "What's keeping you?" "Tell me about this sister," he said. Fiona's hand finally made it to his crotch. Damn, that felt good. The girl had a magic touch. All the women here did. In the real world, he'd never feel anything like it. Never know a lover like Fiona, let alone Caronwyn. "Her name's Brittany," his sister said. "She's not your type though." Cahill laughed. "Is that all we ever think about?" he asked. He'd probably have been in a better position to tease her about that if he hadn't just been thinking to himself that no mortal woman would ever please him the way his sister and his mother did. If his older sister's hand wasn't caressing his manhood through the fabric of his drawstring pants at that very moment. And if he hadn't already realized how absurd the question was, when his sister went up on tiptoes as if to kiss him only to settle back down to her heels with a wicked grin, he had his answer. The pain of being denied the pleasure of her lips was excruciating. Fiona wasn't his favorite, any more than he was hers, yet that didn't matter. They didn't believe in monogamy here. Sure, the oft-repeated admonition that there weren't supposed to be any strings attached to any of their couplings didn't seem to prevent most of them from forming stronger bonds with some than others. But the clan was very open about sex. Just about everyone enjoyed sharing their bodies with everyone else. Cahill would give his left leg to spend more time with Caronwyn, even if it meant less with Oona and Fiona, but just that moment, with his sister standing so close to him and pressing her hand against the front of his pants, he wanted nothing more than to feel her lips pressed against his. "Okay, okay, I'm not fooling anyone," he confessed. In the real world, Cahill had an active sex drive, but not, he thought, an overactive one. None of his girlfriends had ever complained about it, at least. Though, admittedly, each and every one of them had pointed out that their previous relationships had been less physical. It hadn't sounded like any of them had been complaining about that, but perhaps he couldn't really claim that his sex drive was normal. At any rate, in this world, it was like Cahill could never satisfy his urges, no matter how hard he tried. And try he did. Still he always wanted more, more, more. As did the fey women. His sister included. "About what?" she asked. As soon as the question left her lips, she dug her teeth into her full lower lip in a way that made his imagination run wild. Fuck, she had nice lips. He grabbed his sister and kissed her deeply. The hand pressed against his stiff dick forgot about him, but their bodies still caught fire as their lips locked. Ecstasy rolled over him in waves. The forest sensed their desire, and the vegetation stirred. Vines rose up off the floor and the trees bent towards them. Furry critters inched closer to watch. With his eyes closed, he couldn't see these things. But he knew they were happening. They always did, whenever Fiona got excited. After he released her, Cahill took note of his sister's dilated pupils and flushed cheeks with satisfaction. Sure, every man was a legendary lover in his own dreams. But that didn't stop Cahill from feeling good about the way Fiona swooned. "So," he said. "Why wouldn't this Brittany be my type?" Panting for breath, his sister said, "She's too skinny for you." "Or maybe you just hope I'll think that," he said. Her lips narrowed. Her eyes went from the deep green of the forest to searing bright emerald and for just a moment, her irises gave off light. Cahill ran his hands through her hair, taking note of how it went from brown to green to brown. That drew a sigh from her. "Maybe I do," she said. "Or maybe our aunt does." He frowned. Oona was a very attractive woman. But she wasn't really his type. Not the way his mother was. Not even as much as Fiona. If he couldn't have Caronwyn, he'd have been glad to have his sister's favor. Unfortunately, that spot was already taken, by Seamus. And he'd be lying if he said he found fault in his sister's taste. There was something wrong when your dreams couldn't come true in your dreams. But the druidess just didn't seem that interested in him. It was all meaningless, of course. What he really wanted was a real relationship. With a real woman. One who could make him forget about this place. "If you'd stop listening to the voices in your head and let your heart tell you the truth," his sister continued, "we could all be together. The whole family. Wouldn't that be nice, Kay? Why are you resisting us?" He sighed. That did sound, well, dreamy. And not just because of all the crazy sex. Though there was plenty to be said for that, of course. But as hot as the late night sessions were, what he wanted most of all was to be loved, unconditionally. As he had been once, before he'd pushed his mother away. He wanted a family. If that happened to help him with his physical needs as well, that was great, but he'd settle for a sense of belonging. What if his mother was right? What if he truly was from this world? Could he just let go of the "real" world and came here for good and true? Oh, the curse of false hope. In all the world, there was nothing so cruel. "If you won't leave that world, at least promise me something," Fiona said. "What's that?" he asked. "Don't go on that date with the Puck," his sister replied. "She's bad news." "The Puck?" "Liadan," Fiona said, over-enunciating the woman's name. As if it was obvious that she went by that title. "The Princess of the Sapphire Court. The Lady of Mischief. She's Queen Titania's daughter, for fuck's sake. Whatever she wants with you, it isn't good." Some of that even made sense to him. He knew who Titania was, and not just because of Shakespeare. She ruled over all the fey. He'd never lain eyes on her, so far as he could recall, but everyone knew who she was. "She's real, Fiona," Cahill said, gripping his sister's shoulder tight. "She's one of us, and you know it." Cahill didn't reply. Fiona looked up at him, face impassive. Then she sighed, went up on tiptoes, planted a soft kiss on his cheek, and turned to leave. Cahill couldn't remember the last time he'd visited this place without achieving satisfaction. "Wait," he called after her. "Stay away from her, Kay," Fiona said without so much as turning around. Then she started to climb back into her oak tree. "Please," he said. This time, she did turn to face him. One hand was already deep in the tree trunk. "If this isn't just a dream, why is she the only one I've ever seen in... that world?" Fiona offered him a sad smile. "Because she's a Dreamsmyth. They can come and go as they please. And because she's the Puck. Making mischief is her sole purpose in life." The smile faded. "No doubt she hopes to convince you to remain in that world. She'll pretend to fall in love with you and seduce you and offer you everything you've ever wanted. All to keep you from joining your true family." How dastardly! What sort of woman aimed to give a man everything he wanted?! Cahill didn't say anything about how pleasant Liadan's horrible plan sounded, but he didn't have to. His sister glared at him, utter disappointment plain on her face. Without another word, she turned her back to him and melded back into her tree, leaving no sign that she'd ever been there. Not so much as a footprint in the damp earth or spongy moss. For a time, Cahill wandered the forest, hoping that he might run into one of the other fey women. His aunt never seemed to be far away in this place. He'd even have been glad to see Macha or Teagan. Hell, he'd have been glad to see one of his brothers or his cousins, if only to get another opinion about Liadan. He wasn't sure how much he'd trust any of them besides Seamus. But it would still have been nice to have someone, anyone, to talk to. But no one else appeared. Only the will-o'-the-wisp, ready to lead him back home. With a sigh, Cahill followed the silvery orb back the way he'd came. Gradually, the trees grew smaller and further apart. The ancient forest melted away, turning into the woods at the edge of his yard in suburban Georgia. That was the first night in more than a decade that he slept peacefully through the night. And when he awoke, he felt better than he had in a long time. He'd gotten so used to being tired all the time, he'd all but forgotten what a good night's rest was like. What little he remembered of his conversation with Fiona soon faded away. # "So," Liadan said, tapping the table with her palm for emphasis. "Who'd you talk to?" "Just checked online," he said. "Yelp, UrbanSpoon." "Not the restaurant, silly," she said. "Which, by the way, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear. I chose this place, remember? That's all you needed to know." Cahill laughed. He didn't even know this girl. Nor did she know the restaurant! How could that possibly be all that he needed to know? "I meant about me," she continued. "What makes you think I did?" he asked, feeling genuinely confused. Before she could explain though, the waiter came back with their appetizer. It didn't look all that appetizing to Cahill, but then it hadn't sounded like it would be either. They'd only ordered it because Liadan had insisted that they get the third item from the top before she'd even opened the menu. He'd asked if it mattered what it was, and she'd insisted that it hadn't. Apparently, nothing was more exciting in her eyes than acting on impulse, chasing her every whim wherever it might take her. Cahill wondered if that was just some bad first date strategy or if she really lived her life that way. With the advice some women's magazines gave, it was hard to tell. "Yesterday, you came on kinda strong," she said. "Now you're more reserved. So. Something changed. My guess is that you talked to a friend or a family member or someone who told you that I sound like someone you shouldn't get too excited about. No?" He pondered that as he reached to sample their experiment in spontaneity. When he was younger, Cahill had never hesitated to go after what he wanted. Only when he discovered that some women found this off-putting had he learned how to hold back. Of course, then he learned that some women found the opposite equally unattractive. He'd since gotten used to the idea that different women had different attitudes towards aggression. Some practically fetishized it, seeing it as a sign of confidence. Others did not. What he hadn't ever come across before was a woman who described forwardness as "coming on strong" but then grew disappointed when he reined things in a bit. "Maybe you're making me nervous," he said in a playful tone. Of course he wasn't intimidated by her. Neither was he disinterested, though, as she apparently believed. He was more than a little attracted to her, and he was quite pleased with the knowledge that he could, and would, have her. Tonight, most likely. Of which there wasn't a doubt in his mind. Whether anything more would come of it, he had no idea yet. But the possibility that she might not be interested in him hadn't even crossed his mind. It rarely ever did. Past experience simply hadn't given him much reason to suspect otherwise. "Nope," she said, giving the "p" a soft pop. "Something else, innit?" Cahill shrugged. Suddenly, her bare foot brushed his ankle. He nearly dropped his fork. The light touch of her skin against his sent a jolt of electricity through him. He'd never felt anything like it in the waking world. But he got the same exact feeling every time his dream women touched him. That was the magic touch of the fey. Her foot quickly retreated, but a naughty grin spread across her face. The slight curvature of those full lips promised wondrous things and offered less than no apology. "Most girls would start out small. Maybe lay their hand atop mine," he said. "I'm not most girls," Liadan said. It wasn't the fact that she'd gone off script that surprised him though. It was how good the briefest contact with her had felt. Only what he thought had happened couldn't have happened. He had to have imagined it, just as he'd imagined the way she'd brought the world of Faerie into contact with the mortal world while playing his flute. He wanted his dreams to be real so badly that he was starting to believe that they were. Starting to project them onto people that he met. "So. Who was it?" Liadan asked. He didn't reply. Truthfully, he didn't know the answer. His gut reaction was to insist that he hadn't talked to anyone about her. But the more he thought about it, the more he doubted his intuition. Did conversations with women who only existed inside his mind count? Cahill rarely remembered the details of his interactions with the fey women of his dreams. He had the vague sense that every time he returned to the dream world, his memories of past visits returned with him, and he knew that he visited another world each and every night. Knew about the things he did while there. Simply put, he was aware of the basic facts of his nightly delusions. But nothing more. "Couldn't have been a guy friend. You don't know anything about me that would make them tell you anything other than to `hit that.' Right? No, it had to have been a woman. You close with your mum? Or maybe still attached to an ex?" Bells were starting to ring. He had talked to one of the women in his life. If the women of his imagination counted, anyway. Oona, perhaps? Or maybe Fiona? He spent most nights with the floral nymph, but he had the distinct sense that it was his sister that he'd spoken about Liadan. Which only made sense. Oona never gave him advice about, well, anything. She was only interested in one thing. His sister was interested in that too, of course, but unlike their aunt, she often asked how he was doing. And, when appropriate, gave him advice, particularly about women he was seeing. No, not his sister. The imaginary woman who claimed to be his sister. Damn, but it was easy to fall into the trap of thinking the fey did not just exist inside his head. That the advice they gave came from somewhere other than his own subconscious. "Okay, no sense denying it. This is awkward, but I might as well come clean," Cahill said. "I went right home afterward we spoke yesterday and called all my female friends and ex-girlfriends and high school acquaintances. Anyone with ovaries, basically. I told them everything I knew about you. And boy, did that take long. Sadly, none of them seem to approve of you, so this is probably gonna be the last time we see each other. Hope you don't mind if I skip dessert. Or if we split the bill." Liadan snorted. And, apparently, that was all the response his sarcasm warranted. She focused her attention on their disappointing appetizer, though it only took another mouthful for her too to decide that it wasn't very good. Whether that meant she regretted ordering it was another matter, but she didn't seem interested in eating any more of it. "Okay," she said after putting her fork down, "but you talked to someone" Why was she so convinced of that? "A sister perhaps?" His pint glass paused on its way to his lips. "Bingo," Liadan said excitedly. "So what is it? She have a problem with my skin color?" "Of course not. Why would she?" Cahill asked. "So you did talk to your sister?" Cahill shook a finger at her, as if to say, "Ah, you. You're good." Instead, he said, "She asked if you were Catholic. I told her I didn't know, but you were definitely Irish." "That right?" she asked, reaching for her wine. At times, she sounded as American as he did. Not Bostonian, nor distinctly southern, but American. Midwestern, maybe. Other times, he caught a hint of that telltale lilt. Still other times, she seemed to pick up a thick brogue, or she'd use idiom never heard this side of the pond. Still other times, she sounded foreign, but more British than Irish. Of course, his sister hadn't asked about any of that. He didn't have to remember the conversation well to know that much. If the fey observed any religion at all, it sure wasn't Roman Catholicism. And if they had any connection with Gaelic peoples, it was tenuous. His mother might have asked if he was seeing a good Catholic girl, if he still spoke to her, but the fey didn't care about any of that. And, to her credit, even his mother wouldn't have cared one bit about the color of Liadan's skin. The day Mary Donovan watched her son marry a Prot would be the day they put her in the ground, but she didn't share the attitude too many in that neighborhood had towards race. "I am, am I?" Liadan asked. "Ye sure about that?" "Well, you ain't from Georgia." She laughed. "Would you know the difference between an Irish accent and a Scottish one? What about Welsh?" "Okay, but definitely Celtic," he said. "I suppose that's true enough," she said, grinning to herself. It might be "true" but Cahill wondered if her "real" heritage had anything to do with the British Isles. That seemed like an important distinction, though he couldn't recall why. That was when the waiter came with their entrees. He cleared away the abandoned appetizer before laying their dishes before them. Liadan was pleasantly surprised by her entree, which she'd also chosen at random. For some reason, that seemed significant to Cahill. If Fiona was there, she'd be kicking him under the table and whispering to him "I told you so!" Told him what? That Liadan had a bit of a whimsical streak? That she just might be, to use her own words, a little capricious? Oh, the horror. Yet he thought that Fiona would tell him that he should indeed be wary for precisely that reason. What was it she'd said of Liadan? That she was the Puck? Yes, that was it. The Puck. Shakespeare's Robin Goodfellow. The figure sometimes referred to a puca, Bucca, pwca, pooka, or puca, depending on whether the reference was Old English, Cornish, Welsh, or Irish. Regardless of the spelling and pronunciation, the word referred to trickster figure, whose love of chaos led him to throw peoples lives into disarray for his own amusement. Or, apparently, hers. He should have recognized the title straight away. Only sometimes, his lifelong knowledge of fairy tales and Celtic myths would slip away, suddenly and without reason. "It'll stop doing that when you wake up," his mother had told him once. Not his real mother, but his true mother. The woman who claimed to be his true mother. Caronwyn. While Cahill was still chewing his steak, Liadan put her fork down, grabbed a fistful of bills from her purse, and dropped them on the table. He stared at the money in disbelief. No woman had ever walked out in the middle of a date with him before. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 02 ###################### Author's note Part Seven moves the story to Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read earlier parts of the story, though things may make more sense if you have. This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex and anal. All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age. As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. Either way, I'll try to respond in a timely manner. ######################## The doorbell rang, stopped, then rang again, pulling him from his slumber. Cahill scrambled out of bed. The sound took him by surprise. He hadn't ordered anything online of late. Hardly anyone besides the UPS guy ever rang his doorbell. Or foot on his front step, for that matter. Probably just some evangelists, or girl scouts selling cookies, but his curiosity got the better of him. As he pulled a shirt on and ran his fingers through his hair, he found himself surprised at how awake and energetic he felt. Almost well-rested, even. That was two days running. The strange part was, he'd had one of his dreams last night. As ever, the details were already fleeing rapidly. But he didn't need to recall exactly what had happened in his dream to know that he'd gone off into the woods. Seen the fey. Her especially. Caronwyn. Those were the rarest of nights. He thought he might not even have shared her with Gallech this time. The last time that had happened was years ago, if he wasn't mistaken. Whether he'd shared her with his brother or not, he was sure that he'd spent the night with his mother. The taste of strawberry was still on his lips. All the women of that world had a unique taste. Oona tasted a bit like coffee, of all things. Fiona reminded him of mint and and berry and tea leaves. Little Teagan tasted like vanilla. None of those were bad things, but his mother had the most delicious juice he'd ever tasted. Being reminded of it made him want to crawl back into bed and go right back to sleep, nevermind that he was wide awake. The doorbell rang yet again. "Coming!" he called out. He took one last look at himself in the mirror. The Cahill of this world, the real Cahill, was handsome enough. And relatively fit. But compared to the way he looked in his dreams, he was almost homely. He felt great, but he didn't look it. Not in comparison with what the fey insisted was his true appearance. With a sigh, he headed down the hall. It was a nice to wake up feeling strong and alert though. Muscles all limber and full of energy. Actually, it was more than just that. Cahill felt as though he could leap over buildings, swim to the bottom of the sea, crush diamonds with his fingers, or fly through the air. There was nothing he couldn't do, it seemed. It was like... his mother had fed him some sort of supernatural energy with her every climax. He wasn't sure why that choice of words came to mind so readily, but it did. Of course he'd spent the night fucking his fairy goddess of a mother silly, gaining supernatural energy from her with each orgasm she experienced. And of course that energy enabled him to do th impossible. To grow extra limbs and change shape and more besides. Wasn't that how everyone spent their Tuesday nights? The doorbell started to ring again just as he reached it. "Oh! You're home," Liadan said. Her eyes met his then she blushed and looked down at the styrofoam crate she held. There were two cups of coffee and two muffins in it. "I was just gonna... I mean, g'morning." "It's two in the afternoon," he said. "Was speaking figuratively," she said. After a slight pause, she added, "Figured you're the type to sleep late. What with the whole lack of gainful employment and all." Cahill snickered. "Well?" she asked, raising the crate up, in case it had escaped his attention. "You gonna invite me in or what?" His eyes took note of the coffee and brown paper bag that must have held doughnuts or muffins or something, but they were a bit preoccupied with the rest of what lay before them. Liadan wore jeans so tight she'd probably need a surgeon to remove them, and bustier that ought not have been worn outside the bedroom, even if the ensemble was made a little more decent by the half-vest she wore over the bustier. The latter was worn open, though, exposing her generous cleavage. And it didn't come much below her breasts. As a result, it made her look like she had an even more voluptuous figure than she did. The thick fabric of the vest made her bust seem even larger than it was, while the skintight bustier pulled what was already a small waist in further. Though Cahill doubted that the baggiest sweatshirt could have hid the fact that she had a phenomenal hourglass figure, in that outfit, it was even harder not to notice her inhuman curves. Her eyes lowered to her own body, as she nervously checked to make sure that she was comfortable with what Cahill was seeing. Could she possibly have doubted it? Clearing his throat, Cahill stepped aside and gestured for her to enter. Once she did, he led her out to the back yard. Not because he was ashamed of the state of his house, but because she seemed like an outdoorsy kinda gal. A nature lover. "Nice view," she said once they were seated in their wicker chairs. Her brown eyes looked across his well-maintained yard to the woods beyond. The gateway to his dream world. "I like it," he said, unsure if she was mocking him. Liadan nodded as she sipped her coffee. "Good to have nature nearby." "Yeah," he said. It sounded like innocent small talk, but it didn't feel like it. She had a bemused look on her face. Like she was slipping subtext past him just to see if she could get away with it, and was infinitely amused to find that she could. Their eyes met and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Liadan asked, "Do you want to tell me about them?" "The woods?" Cahill asked, though he knew that wasn't what she'd meant. He just wasn't sure what she did mean. "Your dreams, silly," she said. Cahill picked at his muffin. "What dreams?" "Hmm," she said, as if he'd said something terribly interesting. Cahill chuckled to himself. "You know, when I left the house last night, I figured we'd end up having breakfast together this morning. Just didn't think it'd be like this." His eyes traveled up and down her body, and he felt hers doing the same. She could try to hide it, but she liked what she saw. His drawstring pants were made of thin fabric, and they did little to hide the size of his semi-erect penis. The tank top smelled like it was ready to go in the laundry heap, but it also did a nice job of revealing that he had little better to do with his spare time than make flutes and work out religiously. Despite all the time he spent lifting weights, he didn't have the kind of body here that he did in that other world, but he still looked better than most guys. "Trying to say I'm the kind of girl who jumps into bed with a guy she hardly knows?" Liadan asked, though without any of the indignation that would've been there if she'd truly thought he was accusing her of being overly promiscuous. If this was anything but the game they both knew it was. "Not generally, no," he said. "But, then, I'm not most guys." A coy smile. "I think we've established that already." Perhaps he should have cared that he knew next to nothing about her. That he didn't even know the name of the band her brother played it, how old she was, her last name, where exactly she was from, how long she'd be in town, or anything. But he didn't. Cahill stood up, walked over to her, and took the coffee and muffin from her. He set them down on the table, beside his own abandoned breakfast, then pulled her to her feet. "All that tripe you've heard about buying a lass dinner and flowers and stuff first? Nonsense. All of it," Liadan said. "That why you paid last night?" Cahill replied. "Mmm-hmm. Exactly," she said. The look in her eyes said that she knew that she was supposed to continue with false protests, for propriety's sake, but she just didn't care. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her, and she wasn't about to feel guilty about giving in to her desires. It was on him to make the first move, but he'd find her more than receptive if he did so. So he did so. Cahill pulled her up out of her seat, rested his hand on the small of her back, and pressed her against him as he leaned down to kiss her. She neither resisted nor returned the kiss, initially. Didn't take long for her to open up though. She got more and more into it, and before long, her strong legs were wrapped around his waist and the only thing holding her up was the hand he had resting on her glorious ass. She held his strong neck with one hand, the other gripped his meaty shoulder like it was a foothold on a rock-climbing wall. Their tongues sparred, trading jabs and swirling about one another like fencing blades. They didn't come up for air once as he carried her through the sliding door, across the kitchen, and down the hall to his bedroom. Part of him knew that was odd. Even two young to youngish people, in peak physical shape, couldn't do that. Not while kissing the way they were kissing. Not when every brush of her lips against his made his spine tingle, as he suspected it did hers. Cahill could feel her heart pounding every bit as fast as his was. But he didn't stop to think about it. That would come later. Not much later, but later. Perhaps he also should have noted that they set a record for how quickly and smoothly they stripped each other free of their clothes. That part of the ritual was supposed to involve a certain amount of awkward fumbling. It was almost like their clothes sublimated, only growing solid again once they lay in a heap on the floor. He couldn't believe how good the damn woman looked naked. All his previous lovers seemed shamefully unattractive in comparison. The mortal ones anyway. Her breasts were firm and perky, yet much bigger than made any sense given how fit she was. It took a lot to impress Cahill when it came, but even he had to admit that Liadan's endowment was quite impressive. He could almost believe that they were implants, if he hadn't seen her naked. They were too big for a woman of her build, but they had the right amount of sag, the right feel, and there were no scars to be found on her body. No imperfections of any kind, for that matter. Not a single stretch mark or mole, no nicks or bumps from shaving, or anything of the sort could be found anywhere on her. He'd seen similarly flawless female forms before, but only in his dreams. If her breasts only sort of impressed him, her lower body had him in total awe of her. More muscular than he tended to go for, but that wasn't without its appeal. Her ass was unlike any he'd ever seen. His sister and his mother both had beautiful, big asses, but not like Liadan's. Her posterior was just as outsized, as perfectly heart-shaped, as Fiona's and Caronwyn's, but it was much firmer. It still jiggled just a wee bit when he slapped it, as he did quite often in the hours that followed, but it wasn't nearly as supple as his sister's or his mother's. The fey creatures his subconscious had created were softer of body. Liadan's thighs, like her ass, were thickly muscled. She could probably cut him in half with those beauties, if she so chose. Maybe even have done the same to car. That excited Cahill, even though it made him slightly uncomfortable as well. Those lips of hers were a delight to kiss. And they enabled her to work wonders downtown. Not that her tongue-work was lacking either. Cahill had nearly cried the first time she took him in her mouth. Well, he'd nearly cried when she'd sloooowly enveloped him with her soft pillows, and when her expert tongue set to work soon thereafter. When she'd withdrawn her warm mouth just as he was nearing climax, it had gotten even worse. No tears had flown, but he'd let out a cry of anguish that had made him sound like a child. "Would you like me to finish?" she asked, affecting curiosity so persuasively the could almost think that she didn't know the answer to that question. That she was doing something other than teasing him mercilessly. "Please," Cahill asked, stroking his poor cock. "How badly would you like that?" she asked, lowering herself again. A slow lick of her tongue made him whimper. "Tell me." "I'll do anyth-," he started, before cutting himself short. If he'd finished the sentence, she'd be well within her rights to say that he'd offered her a boon. Assuming she was what he was starting to believe she had to be. And though some part of him continued to insist that a grown man shouldn't believe in fairy tales, he was finding it harder and harder to take that voice seriously. "I'll do the same for you," he said. A crooked smile spread across her beautiful face. "You will anyway." True enough. He was dying to find out what she tasted like. "What else do you have to offer?" she asked. Cahill's heart raced. Excitement slowly gave way to panic. Maybe it was all real. That would be a relief. More than a relief. But it could mean that Fiona was right about Liadan. That she was one of them. A Dreamsmyth. That she was going to use him, and not just to satisfy her sexual urges. Before he could protest, though, she engulfed him once more. And all those thoughts disappeared, along with every other care in the world. Cahill ran his hands through her thick brown hair, delighting in the feel of it. It was so unlike his sister's hair, or his mother's. Their locks seemed almost liquid in comparison. That didn't make Liadan's hair any better or worse than that of the Walker women, but it was different, and he liked it. When he erupted like a volcano, spewing hot cum into her hungry mouth, Cahill felt the world melt away. The orgasms he experienced in his dreams were like that. Each and every one brought with it a sense of euphoria that was unlike anything he experienced in the waking world. Until now. He couldn't do that to himself, nor had any mortal woman ever delivered such pleasure. Liadan smiled at him as she rose up from his still hard cock and crawled up the bed towards him. "If I didn't know any better," she said, "I'd think you enjoyed that." Cahill laughed, stroking her gorgeous hair some more. If the other fey women's manes reminded him of silk, hers reminded him of velvet. That wasn't quite right, but it was close. "No one gets it right the first time," he said. "But you'll learn." She made a face at him and then, before he realized what she was doing, gave his nipple a gentle tweak. He squealed and recoiled, though more from surprise than pain. She hadn't applied enough pressure to really hurt him. He couldn't believe how fast she'd moved though. Where her forearm should have been, his eyes had found only a brown blur. Yet the lightning stroke hadn't detracted anything from the precision or grace of her playful strike. "I've sucked plenty of dicks, I'll have you know," she said, in a tone that was somehow both proud and self-deprecating. Like she wasn't sure whether she wanted him to be impressed or repulsed by that, and equally unsure whether she cared. "Don't doubt that you have," Cahill said. Another pinch. This time, delivered at merely human speed. He laughed and kissed the top of her head as affectionately as he might have Fiona's. That took him by surprise. He hardly knew this woman. The otherworldly vibe she gave off reminded him of his family. Or the symptoms of his delusion that he thought of his family. Whichever they were. But that didn't make her family. She might be fey, if he wasn't crazy after all, but that didn't make it okay to lower his guard. "What's wrong?" she asked. The hand that had started caressing his shoulder and bicep now that it was done attacking him froze. "You went all tense." Rather than lie to her, Cahill sat up and gently pushed her onto her back. Then he went and knelt between her legs. "My turn," he said. That seemed answer enough for her. She raked her nails through his short hair, and gave him the green light by way of a soft smile. She tasted wonderful. Just like the other fey, her juices were salty and sweaty and fragrant, but there was a hint of something sweeter as well. In her case, that something was blueberries. Her outer labia were prominent and dark. Almost purple. The pink inside contrasted delightfully with those beautiful outer folds. Her pubic hair was neatly groomed, but there was a gorgeous little triangle pointing the way to her love canal. Cahill appreciated that. Too many women these days, especially those her age, went completely bald. He didn't much care for feeling as though he was making love to a child rather than a grown woman. Some men might have, but not Cahill. As beautiful as her parts were, the true pleasure of pleasing her was the way she responded. She gave him gentle feedback, sometimes verbally and sometimes not, helping him to discover what worked best for her. They communicated openly with one another, the way lovers should. Cahill was well-practiced at cunnilingus, but in his experience, the same technique could make one woman melt and another squirm, and not in a good way. And it might do nothing at all, one way or the other, for some third woman. Without the woman's input, there was no way of knowing the best way to satisfy her. Fortunately, Liadan was not one of those women who was shy about discussing such things. She let him know what didn't work, and she was generous with her praise when he pushed the right buttons. At least, at first. Later on, she had less to say, but her inability to speak gave him all the confirmation he needed that he was doing something right. After he guided her through not one but two intense orgasms, Cahill lay down beside a very silent Liadan. The only sound in his bedroom was that of her labored breathing. "Nothing clever to say?" he asked. She shook her head. Cahill smiled and kissed the side of her head. Then, despite that gesture, she spoke a few simple words that were unlike any to have come out of the mouth of any other woman he'd just finished servicing. "Me brothers could learn a few things from you. D'you offer lessons?" Her brothers. Cahill tried dismissing all the little signs pointing towards her being one of the fey. That the whole "who needs oxygen anyway" thing was perfectly ordinary, or that plenty of ordinary women had unreal figures and flawless skin and sweet-tasting juices. That there was nothing odd about casually speaking of having her brothers perform oral sex on her. It was getting harder and harder to maintain the illusion though. Time to admit to himself that the fey hadn't lied to him after all. That he wasn't of this world, and neither was Liadan. That they came from a magical world where everyone was unreasonably beautiful, and unnaturally drawn to their family members. A world of glamour and incest, wonder and depravity, and of purest beauty. "And you know what I am," she said. It wasn't a question. She just lay there, hands folded over her toned abs, and regarded him calmly out of the corner of her eyes. Her bountiful bosom no longer rose and fell as she struggled to regain her breath. She was the very essence of calm, made flesh, even though she'd just as good as admitted that she wasn't fucking human. "I've always known," he found himself saying in response. And it was true. Or near enough. It certainly wasn't an outright lie. Because, if it had been, the words wouldn't have left his mouth. He realized that now. Like any of the fey, he could deceive, and he could say things that were patently untrue when the context would clearly indicate that he was being sarcastic, but he could not tell blatant falsehoods with the intend of having them be believed. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 02 He had known what she was. He'd refused to believe it, but the knowledge had been there from the very beginning. How could he not have? "It's probably time to have that conversation then," she said. Even as she did, though, she climbed to her knees and straddled his hips. "Probably," Cahill said, allowing his hands to explore her unnatural body. If he was most people, he'd have insisted on having her answer some questions. There was so much he needed to know, about both her and himself. But he couldn't have resisted her if he tried. And it wouldn't be fair to say that he did. It wasn't really his fault, though. Just who he was. Who they were. Slaves to their whims, powerless before their appetites. # "She really said that?" Liadan asked as she reached across the bed to grab the carton of fried rice from between his legs. Cahill shrugged, ashamed on his sister's behalf. "What's your family got against Dreamsmyths?" "Not sure it's that," he said. "My aunt is a Dreamsmyth, as you well know." "Exactly!" she said, snapping the spoon that had been headed for her mouth towards him as she made her point. Rice and peas and bits of fried egg flew across the bed. Cahill tried frowning, but the way she dropped the spoon as if it were a snake and clapped her hand over her mouth was so cute that he couldn't help but smile. Besides, she only needed to bat an eye for the mess to clean itself up. That was going to take some getting used to. He'd been using glamours himself for a long, long time. In that other world. But only now was he finally waking up to the idea that he could do the same things here. That Faerie wasn't a dream world, or a figment of his imagination, but his birthplace. His true home. There were other names than Faerie for that place. In other parts of the Homelands, they referred to it as either Spring or the Vernal Courts. That had made more sense to Cahill after Liadan explained that other parts of the Homelands were called Summer, Winter, and Autumn. And there were several courts within Faerie, all of which seemed to experience the same weather all year round. He'd only seen the one, but he'd noticed that no matter how snowy it was in Boston or how hot it was in Savannah, it was always pleasant and cool in his dreams. The flowers were always in bloom, and the leaves never changed color. Just as they were never green in the first place in Autumn, and the trees were always bare or covered in snowdrifts in Winter. Or so Liadan claimed. There was something wrong about that. He'd never quite known whether he believed his dreams to be real or not, but he'd never considered that the land he visited each night was but one court in one corner of a large expanse of fantasy worlds. That the Walker clan belonged to Faerie, yes, but only the Emerald Court. Liadan herself hailed from another. The Sapphire Court, where she was not only the Puck but a Princess. Well, the Princess, of Mischief, to be precise. And there inlay the rub. "It's more who you are than who your mother is," he said. He still couldn't believe that Queen Titania was her mother. That meant that she was Macha's sister. Still not a blood relative of his. Macha was only his aunt because, for a time, she'd been wedded to an uncle he'd never met. But it made Liadan seem less of a stranger. Like they were both part of one big extended family. A family of fucking fairies. "The Puck," she said with a sigh, as if it was no less unjust for his family to be concerned about that than the color of her skin. He nodded. "I didn't ask to be, you know," Liadan said. "Me mum tells me what to do and who to be, and that's what I do and who I be. Same as the rest o' the clan. But unlike most of me brothers and sisters, I haven't much time to get used to it yet. Believe it or not, this is all more new to me than it is to you, even though you've yet to wake up." That was what they called it when you left the Dreaming for good, he now knew. Had nothing to do with whether you were lying in bed with your eyes closed. The Dreaming was the Dreaming because it was a world most of them never saw again after waking, and soon forgot after leaving. A world whose only interaction with their own was through their children, after the latter came of age but before they woke up. Children who were placed in the care of mortal families that had recently lost a child of their own. The queen and her clan, of course, were allowed to reenter the Dreaming. To interact with those still sleeping there. To do as they pleased in the Dreaming, whenever they pleased. "How new?" Liadan shrugged. "I was a bit of a late bloomer, yeah? Though not half as bad as you. Was twenty-four when I woke up. I take it you're a wee bit older than that?" "Safe to say," Cahill said. She gave him an impatient look. "Listen, you look damn good. And you know it. Some of us don't like our men too young and pretty anyways. So if you're getting all coy on my account, you can stop." Then, with a more neutral tone, Liadan added, "Besides, if you're really insecure about the way you look, just change it." "A glamour," he said. "Sort of." She speared a chunk of sesame chicken with her fork and popped it in her mouth. After chewing it down, she said, "Lately, we use that term to refer to all the shite we do with our powers. But, of old, it's more narrow of a term, yeah? Illusions and whatnot. Point is, you can change yourself for true. Not just play tricks with people's minds. Be as young and fit and handsome as ye like. Change the color of your hair or your eyes. Give yourself a tattoo. Grow a few inches." With an impish smile, she added, "Or fiddle with your height, while you're at it." Cahill drew a deep breath. He wasn't sure whether he was more disoriented by her patchwork accent or the things she was telling him in the broken way of speaking she had. "Where are you actually from, anyway?" he asked. "For real or for true?" That damned distinction again. "For true," Cahill said. "Faerie." He smacked his forehead. "For real." She shrugged. "If it's me accent you're wonderin' over, it's a long story. Da was a Scouser, Ma a lousy Mick with shite taste in men. Spent most of me childhood in the Pool. But you know how it is. Once you set foot in Faerie, you never belong anywhere else. Your sense o' who you are is always moving about on ye. Sometimes I wonder if I ever talked like this, or if it's just some part of me trying to remind meself of who I was last time I was here." Liadan cleared her throat. "But I can talk just like a damn Yankee if I want to. Bloody horror what you lot have done to the queen's tongue, but I can do it." "Not while calling it the queen's tongue, you can't." Liadan laughed. "Aye, but it's that other queen we care about now, innit? And we're both her subjects." True enough. Strange to hear her speak of her own mother that way, but then it couldn't have been easy having Queen Titania for a mother. "How old are you, anyway?" Cahill asked. "The more interestin' question is how long ago I woke up," she said. "Isn't it the same question?" he asked. "Or near as much as makes no difference?" With a shake of her head, Liadan replied, "Not at all." She snatched the bottle of beer he'd all but forgotten from his hand and took a swig before answering. "Time flows differently here. I've not been in Faerie for a year, and only been the Puck for a few weeks. But by the reckonin' of this world, I've been gone for about twenny years." Twenty years ago. That meant she was several years old than him. Closer to his mother's age, in fact. Mary Donovan's age, that was. Who was not, in fact, his mother. Nevermind all this business about what was real versus what was true. The woman who'd raised him as if he was her own was no more than his legal guardian. His mother was Caronwyn. For real and for true. That made his heart flutter. Caronwyn was not only his mother, but the woman of his dreams. Literally and figuratively. Perhaps now they could be together. Not right away, maybe. For all he knew, she didn't yet feel the same way about him. But she would. Cahill would be damned if he'd give up. He and his mother had to be together. He knew that wasn't how it worked, of course. Had known since before he'd met Liadan that the fey didn't do relationships, not as humans understood them. Not officially, anyway. Yet Fiona and Seamus sure seemed to be an item. Sure, they took other lovers from time to time, but still. Everyone knew the truth of the matter, whether they admitted it or not. Why couldn't he and his mother be the same? Liadan smiled and patted him on the knee. "Here's a tip. You're supposed to ask what I want from you. That's easier than relying on your sister's speculation, innit?" He let out a nervous chuckle before saying, "Right. So, um, what do you want?" "Exactly the opposite of what she thinks I want," Liadan said matter-of-factly. "For you to join your family in Faerie." Cahill studied her. He grabbed his bottle back from her and finished it off. "Why?" "I have my reasons." "And if you tell me what they are," Cahill said, "I might trust you." She didn't reply. "You expect me to join the Sapphire Court instead of Emerald? Is that it?" "Not at all," Liadan replied without hesitation. "There's no place for you there." Partly because Liadan hadn't been finished with it, and partly just because he could, Cahill refilled the bottle. A little energy from his Libido, a little belief in the impossible, and there were twelve ounces of fresh, cold beer where before there'd been only dregs. "What then?" he asked after taking a swig. It tasted just as it should have. A guy could get definitely used to that. Liadan frowned as she took the bottle from him. "It's me brother." That really didn't help. He stared at her blankly. She sighed. "Do you even know who your father is?" "No," Cahill said. Neither his real one nor Mary Donovan's husband, for that matter. But at least he had a name for the man he'd thought to be his father up until just a few hours ago. Kevin Donovan had been career firefighter, like so many of his brothers and cousins. He'd died in a car crash only a day before his widow, Mary Donovan, had Cahill given to her by the matriarch of Clan Walker. Cahill didn't know much about him, but he knew the man's name. That was more than he could say of the one who'd sired him. "His name is Arawn." Cahill knew that name. He wasn't sure why, but he did. Then it came to him. "Arawn Dreamsmyth?" Liadan nodded. His father was the Prince of the Emerald Court. The Piper of Dawn. The Lord of Remembrance. Most of those titles meant nothing to Cahill, but he'd heard them often enough for them to make an impression. And that meant that he was a Dreamsmyth. Well, sort of. Faerie courts were matrilineal, but still. The blood of both clans coursed through his veins. And that meant that he and Liadan were related by blood after all. "I could look like me ma, if I wanted," Liadan said. "If you're wonderin' about that." "I wasn't," Cahill replied truthfully. She studied him carefully through squinted eyes. "Don't even have to be a woman, if I do na want," she added. "I look the way I do because I grew up looking this way, and it's how I see meself in me mind's eye." Cahill smiled. Confusing as his aunt's manner of speech could be, it was also pretty damn cute. He wanted nothing so much as to toss the beer aside, forget his history lesson, and rain kisses on her. He didn't, but it wasn't easy to keep from doing so. "So, wait," he said. "How does this whole changeling thing work exactly? They -- er, I guess I mean we -- choose families who've recently lost a child, right? Drop a little one off, and let them think their kid got better. Yeah?" She nodded. "Do our fey parents, our true parents, choose our names for us?" "Did you know many Cahills in Boston?" "But Mary Donovan's little boy was named Cahill. Her real son. The one who died in the crash, along with his father." "Sure, he was," Liadan said. "After she took you home." That made no sense. Not that any of this did, in a certain respect. But still. Once Cahill suspended his disbelief, accepted that the stories he'd read as a child all contained some grain of truth to them, most of it what he was hearing was easy enough to accept. There was a certain resonance to it. But how could the newspapers have named the Donovan baby Cahill? They'd have run the obits before Caronwyn had brought him to the Dreaming. "Do you want to talk about the names of dead mortal children, or do you want to hear about your father?" Liadan asked. Cahill grabbed his aunt then and gave her a good, long kiss. Not the kind that was likely to restart her engine. Just a little token of his affection. "I think I like you," she said, blushing, after he withdrew. Then she tucked a lock of hair that he'd dislodged back behind her ear. In an altogether more levelheaded voice, she said, "Anyway, your da's a decent enough chap, in a way." In a way? What a ringing endorsement. And that from his sister! "Watches over your ma, though she don't realize it," Liadan continued, making old Arawn sound pretty decent indeed. "As much as he dares, in fact." "What's that mean?" "Her majesty is somewhat less than fond of you Walkers. Of any of the older, larger clans, truth be told, but yours especially." Cahill snuck a another kiss before asking, "And why is that?" Liadan grabbed his hand and held it in hers. "You ask too many questions." He nodded. It wasn't Liadan's fault that his family had been too busy trying to get him to come home to get around to the history lessons. If he'd listened to them when they'd told him the truth about who he was, or to Mary, maybe he'd know all this already. "Point is, your clan is not looked upon all that favorably. My mother ordered two of me brothers to take Walker women to wife, to keep tabs on you lot. And they do. Just not the way her majesty would have of them." So Oona's children were also part Dreamsmyth? "Okay," Cahill said, letting that sink in. "So what's my father got to do with you wanting me to return to Faerie?" The grin Liadan gave him reminded him of her titles. "Come on," he said. "The flute really is for him," she said. "That was no lie." She grabbed his beer and took a swig. "Well, of course it wasn't. You know about fey and lying, yeah?" "Yeah," Cahill said, a bit curtly. And that was all his aunt would tell him about his father. Try as he might, Cahill couldn't get any more out of her on that topic. Which was probably just as well. He'd grown tired of talking anyway. He probably should have been tired, period. But his body was telling him that it had honored its part of the bargain by keeping quiet while they ate and talked, and it was now his turn to reward that cooperation by giving it more of what it craved. They'd had great sex to begin with. But now that he knew that she was his aunt, he enjoyed it even more. The thrill of committing incest, for real and for true, drove him insane with lust. Guilt too, but mostly lust. And it didn't hurt that she continued his lessons by showing him some of the more exotic, and erotic, glamours. They changed shapes, manipulated one another's senses, and defied gravity. She taught him how to control how much ejaculate he produced, how to stimulate a woman's Libido as he did the same for her body, and much else besides. "Will I ever see you again?" he asked at one point, between sessions. "Oh, aye," she said. "Gotta collect that flute, after all." That wasn't quite the answer he was looking for. But he couldn't let himself forget that she was the Lady of Mischief. She hadn't exactly said that he'd never see her after that. Just implied it. And though the fey couldn't tell outright lies, they sure could deceive. "Promise me one thing," she said, echoing Fiona's words. "What's that?" he asked. "Don't tell your family that I had anything to do with you waking up." "Why not?" Liadan pressed a slender finger to his lips. "Just promise me." Cahill hesitated. Promises had power among the fey, at least according to the old tales. It was as impossible to break them as it supposedly was to tell an outright lie. She bent down and her glorious lips hovered over his swollen member, ready to engulf him. "Promise me, Cahill." Fuck. How was he to refuse, with a mouth to his head like that? Even if he wasn't a complete and total sex addict, as he felt more comfortable admitting to himself that he was now that he realized it was in his blood, he'd buckle under that pressure. "I promise," he said, hoping he didn't come to regret it. Her lips didn't make good on their promise. Not at first. A warm tongue flicked against his sensitive tip, but that was it. "When we sleep, as we will soon, pretend nothing's different at first." Another lick, this one slower and more tantalizing. "Then, sometime before you leave, give the impression that something one of them said finally got through to you. After you wake, by light of day, you can leave the Dreaming behind." Finally, her lips slowly wrapped around him. She bobbed up and down a few times, descending no further than his foreskin. Then she stopped abruptly. "Okay?" "Got it," he said, with a groan of protest. "Good," she said, before finished what she'd started. They fooled around for some time after that. But eventually they did indeed drift off to sleep. Cahill tried not to focus on the irony of the fact that he'd lose the first woman to share a bed with him because of his nightly visits to Faerie, rather than in spite of them, even more quickly than he lost most women. Soon enough, he'd be with the only women that mattered, anyway. The woman of Clan Walker. # Oona awaited him deep in the heart of the forest. Cahill was not surprised by that. Had the floral nymph not been the one to greet him, that would have made three nights running. Only one more after that would be required to set a record. His aunt wore white. She almost always wore white, just as his sister favored forest green and his mother reds and browns. That made her skin seem just a little less pale in comparison. Perhaps she thought that was a good thing, but Cahill wouldn't have minded if she were a bit fairer still, truth be told. Like Fiona. Or, especially, his mother. Caronwyn had skin as white as driven snow, and it took his breath away. If her dress made her skin seem a little less fair than it was, it made her black hair seem even darker. And that, Cahill liked very much. Her affinity for wearing white also ensured that no one would overlook her dark red lips. They were always the only source of color to be found on her. And colorful, they were. Soft pinks did not do for this one. Her lips were always the color of bricks. The simple dress hung to her mid-thigh. The way it flowed about her could almost allow it to be called modest, save for the fact that the fabric was so thin as to border on translucent. A makeshift belt of woven flowers, too loose to actually cling to her waist, hung over her hips. As ever, her feet were bare. Fey women always went barefoot. "Hey, you," the busty beauty said as she planted an innocent kiss on his cheek. "Everything alright? I expected you sooner." "Fine," Cahill said. "Just went a little while without sleep." Oona narrowed her chestnut brown eyes at him. But she said no more. His aunt wasn't one for stern warnings and lectures. He had Fiona for that. The floral nymph never wanted to do anything but have fun. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 02 It was hard to believe that she was as old as she had to have been. To look at her, Cahill would have thought that Oona was in her mid twenties. Like all the fey, she was young and beautiful. Very beautiful, if nonetheless overshadowed by the one and only Caronwyn. Maybe not quite as young as some of the others. Teagan didn't look old enough to do the things with him and her brother that she did, though Cahill knew she'd never have set foot outside the Dreaming if she hadn't been. But, while his aunt didn't make him wonder about whether there was a legal age of consent in Faerie, the way she behaved made Cahill think that she was of an age with his little cousin. In contrast, Fiona looked to be about twenty-two or twenty-three, yet she carried herself like a woman of far greater years. Mary Donovan would have said that she had an old soul, if she'd ever had the chance to meet the dryad. That was one of the many reasons he not only loved but admired his sister. Still, Oona's playful demeanor was infectious. The naughty twinkle in her eye, the crooked set to her mouth, promised a most enjoyable visit. "This way," she said, turning on a heel. Flowers sprouted up from the soft earth behind her, as ever. "I've got a little game I think you're going to like." They soon came to a clearing, within which lay the strangest chessboard Cahill had ever seen. It curled up and around in a loopdeloop, like a Hot Wheels racetrack. At the peak, the checkered surface faced straight down. The far end of the board, which once again faced the open sky, did not quite touch the ground. It just hovered a good foot off the grass below. Strange as the chessboard itself was, the pieces were even stranger. Cahill couldn't tell if they were alive or just very lifelike. The flesh on the statuettes seemed to be made of stone, but the hair couldn't have looked more like actual hair. It seemed to stir with the wind. The pawns were little pixies, adolescent girls with short hair and svelte figures. On the white side, their flawless skin was pink, their hair blonde, and their frocks off-white. Team black's pixies had baby blue complexions, midnight blue hair, and wore indigo. The rooks were ogres whose considerably height made the pixies seem even smaller than they were. The brutes were nearly as wide as they were tall too, though their bulk mostly consisted of hard muscle. They had to weigh at least half a ton, if not more. Those serving the white queen had yellow hides and hair like straw, whereas brown mops topped the ruddy brown-skinned brutes on the far side of the board. The knights were centaurs, identical to one another from the waist up but with coats of black or white on the horse parts to mark their allegiance. For bishops, there were four satyrs, horned men with goat legs whose fur matched the coats of their centaur brethren. The white queen had hair that was mostly platinum blonde, though streaks of hot pink, bright green, blood red, dark blue, pastel orange, electric purple, and neon yellow were mixed in. The black queen's dark brown hair had similarly colorful embellishments. The former had alabaster skin and wore a gown of woven gold, while the latter seemed to be carved from basalt and wore silver. Each had fingernails painted in a wide array of colors, from pastel to bold and bright. Even hidden under sumptuous attire, the queens' identical figures were clearly in open defiance of biological possibility. To some degree, that was true of all fey women, but the Queen of Faerie made most of her subjects appear shapeless. Her waist was not much thicker than one of their thighs, and the latter were not particularly full. Despite that, her breasts were large and hips relatively broad. She queen stood a little taller than the pixies, but shorter than any grown woman Cahill had ever met. Yet with those curves, there was no doubting that she was a woman. The king shared a similarly unreal form. He was shorter than most men, but no less imposing for it. His shoulders were insanely broad for his height, if not in absolute terms. His waist was exceptionally narrow. A fey woman with a waist as wide as his was perhaps unthinkable, but plenty of mortal women would have envied its circumference. Both versions of the king had long white hair, too thick and strong have been born of old age. No one who looked upon that beautiful face would doubt the king's youth either. Each wielded a sword nearly as long as the king was tall, with a blade as wide as two of a man's hands. The only difference between the two was the king on the white side wore a red cloak and gold doublet while his black counterpart was garbed in midnight blue and silver, just like his lady. "Patterned after Queen Titania and King Oberon?" Cahill asked his aunt. "Yes, but Oberon's no king," she replied. Her eyes drank in the nearest statue. "He's the Prince of the Ruby Court. The Sword of Dawn and the Lord of Valor." "Is he Titania's son, then, or her husband?" "Both, of course," Oona said. "Well, her lover, anyway. All her sons are. But Oberon's her favorite. Has been since he arrived in Faerie a few years ago." Years. Yet the name Oberon was known to Medieval writers. That made Cahill's head hurt. No doubt there was some explanation, but he'd not get it from Oona. "Our dear queen has ruled over us more or less continuously for as long as Faerie has existed," his aunt explained, in answer to the question he hadn't asked. "She's been overthrown more times than anyone can count, but she always returns to power." "Can no one bring themselves to kill her?" Cahill asked. Beautiful as Titania was, and as unrivaled as her command of glamours must have been, he could well imagine that even her most bitter enemies would hesitate to take her life. "Oh, the deed's been done several times," Oona said casually. "Few find it easy, but many have seen the necessity. That never keeps her away for long though." Of course it didn't. That was Faerie for you. "We didn't come here to admire the chess pieces, though," she said, running her nails down his back gently. It was a wonder she'd humored him as long as she had. "Boys? Are you still here?" his aunt called out, eager to get on with the evening's activities. "Sorry to keep you waiting. He was later than I expected." The air before him stirred. A split second later, a soft pop announced the arrival of two more lovers for his lusty aunt. Cahill gave a slight start at their abrupt arrival. He'd long since come to expect the impossible to occur in this place, but now that he knew this world was more than a dream, things he'd once taken for granted were starting to seem amazing all over again. Even more surprising than the manner in which they'd arrived, though, was the identities of the newcomers. Well, one in particular. Reilly, he'd fully expected to see. Rare enough were the times that Cahill made love to his aunt without one or the other of his cousins joining in. Often, the both of them did. But Seamus? It wasn't the first time Cahill had seen his brother apart from Fiona, of course. Over the course of fifteen years visiting Faerie each and every night, he'd seen a lot. But it wasn't often that his brother participated in one of his aunt's little orgies. When he left their sister's side, it was usually for their mother, not their aunt. "Just looking in on Brittany," his brother explained before he'd quite fully taken form. "She might not be as close to waking up as we thought," Reilly said. "We can talk about that later," Oona replied. By which she no doubt meant that they could bring their observations to her sister, the clan matriarch. Cahill regarded the two young men, both of whom were actually older than he was, despite their appearances. They wore the fey guises he was so used to seeing rather than their true forms. Reilly was wreathed in what some of the old tales called fairy fire, bright green flames that gave off no heat. Aside from that, he looked like an ordinary man, if an uncommonly fit and handsome one. With his exceptionally fair skin, bald head, chin-beard, and extensive tattoos, he'd have been intimidating even if he hadn't been surrounded by fire. But like this, he looked a good deal less like a member of a prison gang and more like the otherworldly being that he was. Seamus' skin was light green in some places and made of tree bark in others. Where hair should have been, there was only a pile of leaves. He didn't quite look like a living tree, but it wasn't hard to imagine that Tolkien's ents were based on fey like Seamus. When Cahill left the Dreaming behind for good, he'd doubtless be expected to adopt some fey form as well. To become an ogre or a gnome, a goblin or a troll, or some other fantastic creature. No one was simply who they were here. They all appeared as beings that belonged on children's books and D\&D manuals. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed that, but having realized that he truly was one of them and that it was time for him to leave the Dreaming behind once and for all, that custom seemed a bit less quaint and charming than it once had. His aunt interrupted his thoughts by grinning lasciviously at him. That grin was no more easily ignored than a slap across the face would have been. "You don't mind, right, sweetie? You like seeing how many guys your aunt can please at once, don't you?" He actually did. Part of him thought that it should have made him uncomfortable, but the sight of his aunt taking a hard cock in every hole she had all at once made him hard enough to cut diamonds. "Don't we all?" Reilly asked. Yet even as he said it, he gave Cahill an envious look. He was as convinced as Caronwyn was that Oona desired no one quite so much as she did Cahill, and he liked that not at all. Because, naturally, the sex was purely recreational among their kind. No strings attached, no romantic bonding, and no reason for jealousy. Cahill wondered if any of them really believed that, or if they only cite it over and over again like a mantra in the hopes that repetition would make it true. "So. Here's the deal," his aunt said, ignoring the staring contest her son was trying to instigate. She went on to explain that they were to play games of chess against one another, competing for the right to be her alpha for the night. Reilly asked what would happen if they each won one game, perhaps hoping another round-robin tournament would be called for in order to break the tie. But Oona wasn't about to wait that long. So she told them that she'd just have to pick one of them at random if a clear winner didn't emerge. Then they all explained the rules to Cahill. Which were, of course, bewildering. The basic movements of the pieces were simple enough, if significantly more involved. The number of exceptions and special rules, however, was staggering. "Got it?" Seamus asked after they were done. "Uh, sure," Cahill said, not at all sure that he did. He asked his aunt a lot of questions while the two of them watched Seamus slowly eke out a win against Reilly. Cahill tried to follow what was happening, but it was too much. And the pieces kept distracting him. Oona would start explaining the wisdom or folly behind the latest move, and he'd lose himself in awe of the fluid and naturalistic motion of the statuettes. His brother had apparently dominated the opening of the game, choosing a subtle approach that put him a strong position to control the board when Reilly failed to respond appropriately. There had been a reversal of fortunes in the middle, but Seamus eventually foiled his cousin's main line of attack, and Reilly apparently had no plan B. Cahill would have been blind to all of that if Oona hadn't been there to explain things to him, though. Sooner or later, he'd have noticed that Seamus was closing on in victory, but he'd have had little understanding of how, when, or why the tide had turned back in his brother's favor. Or that Reilly had ever been dominating the board. In contrast, Seamus put his younger brother in checkmate almost straight away. There were no reversals of fortune, no stymied attacks, and no need for a plan B. The indignity of it left Cahill speechless. His brother had the good grace not to laugh at him the way his cousin did from the sidelines, but his cheeks still burned. "You'll pick it up eventually," his brother said afterwards, with good-natured smile that made their cousin's smug gloating seem that much pettier. "After you wake up. Takes living in Faerie to truly understand the game, I think. Need to develop a sense for fey logic first." "Thanks," Cahill said. For the longest time, he'd felt out of place in the real world. Had thought that his nightly excursions were an expression of his subconscious belief that he wasn't like everyone else. Which he wasn't, of course. But he was becoming more and more aware that he was still very much a creature of that world. He didn't belong there, but it had shaped his identity more than he'd ever bothered to notice. In time, that might change. But it would take more adjustment than he might have hoped. "Your mother says he's a fast learner," Oona told Seamus. That made his heart flutter. Had she really? "Huh," Seamus said. "Fi says he's a bit of a dud." Cahill threw a hard punch at his brother's arm reflexively, without even thinking about the fact that Seamus in his green man form. His fist connected with rough bark. The blow hurt his hand more than it must have his brother, who laughed even as he staggered aback. Cahill's knuckles were scraped raw, and blood welled up in a few places. "Course he is," Reilly said, in response to the comment that had provoked the failed assault. "Just look at him. You can hardly even tell he's one of us." "Your sister wouldn't know talent if she saw it," Oona told Seamus, disregarding her son's comment completely. "Not that anyone can blame her. She hardly ever gets to spend any time with a real man." "Oh, is that so?" Seamus asked, grabbing their aunt about the waist and lifting her from the ground. The busty nymph laughed as she whirled through the air. Seamus let her feet touch down lightly on the soft ground. Flowers sprouted up around her ankles the moment they did. Their aunt's Libido started to pulse, thumping like speakers in a nightclub. The way Oona stared in his brother's eyes brought Cahill's Libido to life as well. "Okay, enough you two," Reilly said, trying to sound more amused than he plainly was. Not that anyone was listening. Technically, there was still supposed to be a third game, between Cahill and Reilly. But no matter who won that contest, there was no question that Seamus was going to be the alpha. And the entire purpose of the tournament was to determine who would receive that honor. Their aunt had thus lost all interest in chess, and was prepared to give herself over to Seamus completely. Cahill almost felt sorry for his cousin. If Oona didn't have the same feelings for her son that he had for her, well, the air of desperation that surrounded him the same way his fairy fire did wasn't helping. Didn't he understand that women preferred confident men? That confidence mattered even more to his mother than most women? If he'd just stop trying so damned hard, maybe he'd be more likely to edge out Gallech and Finnegan, his only true rivals for her affection. Despite the poor boy's protests, Seamus and Oona were quickly getting down to business. For a while, Seamus ignored the other two men. First, he had the busty nymph fellate him and caress his dick with her big breasts. Then he seduced her so masterfully that Cahill grew jealous of his brother's evident talent. After a while, he remembered that there were two other guys there, waiting their turn. That only drove him to taunt them though. Reilly especially. He asked the two of them how they liked watching Oona gag on his cock, or whether they wished they could suck on her tits and taste her juicy pussy. The angrier Reilly got, the more Seamus seemed to enjoy mocking him. Eventually, he instructed Cahill and Reilly stand to either side of the busty beauty, holding their dicks at the ready while they watched Oona give Seamus yet another blowjob. Every now and then, he'd have her to turn to the side suck one of their dicks instead. When she took Cahill in her mouth, Seamus would let her go at it for a while. But she was never permitted to pleasure her son for more than a few moments. It wasn't hard for Cahill to imagine how torturous their cousin must have found that. Had it been him and his mother, he'd have been about ready to strangle Seamus. Heck, he himself was finding his brother's games painfully hard to endure, and Seamus wasn't being nearly as cruel to Cahill. Every time their aunt took him in her mouth, Cahill told himself that there was too little pleasure to be had from such a brief experience for it to be worth getting disappointed when her warm mouth retreated. But he was wrong. Very, very wrong. The little nymph really knew what she was doing, and even a fleeting chance to enjoy her mouthwork was intensely pleasurable. Reilly's suffering had to have been unbearable. Worst of all, Oona seemed to enjoy making her son suffer every bit as much as Seamus did. That had to hurt. After Seamus grew tired of that, he allowed Cahill to join in. Not Reilly though. "There's a good boy," Oona whispered, her eyes rolling back in her head and her body tensing up as Seamus went to work. "Keep forgetting you're not as tame as you seem." Cahill joined his brother in the attempt to tease the floral nymph within an inch of her life. Their aunt soon found herself on the receiving end of the most meticulous, torturous, expert oral seduction any woman had ever experienced. And she loved every second of it, Cahill was sure, no matter how much she squealed and begged and pleaded for them to put her out of her misery. They licked and teased, caressed and pleased, bit, smacked, and squeezed, turning sweet again a moment later. Oona grew more and more excited with every abrupt shift. Her hips squirmed constantly and her ass cheeks danced delightfully. By the time Seamus finally worked his way up to sliding his cock inside her pussy and Cahill offered her his own member to her mouth, she'd gotten off twice. As was bound to happen, Reilly decided he couldn't take anymore. Without asking his cousin if it was okay, he went around behind his mother and motioned for Seamus to let him take over. Seamus grunted, pumped his dick in and out of Oona's snatch a few more times, then pulled out with a weary sigh and made way for the redhead. Which was, of course, Cahill's cue to withdraw from his aunt's mouth and insist that it was his turn to fuck her hot snatch. Reilly started to protest, but when Seamus ordered him to pull out, their cousin did so. The rules were the rules, and Seamus was the alpha. With every inch that disappeared inside his aunt's tight box, Cahill came closer and closer to orgasm. Waves of ecstasy rolled over him. Her warm hole welcomed him , her inner muscles massaging him gently as he proceeded. Once he was all the way in, she really went to work, her muscles contracting and relaxing rapidly while she amplified his sensitivity. He stared down at her ass while he worked. It was quite a bit smaller and flatter than he preferred. It kind of sort of almost jiggled when he slammed into her, but there just wasn't much there. Good thing she made up for it elsewhere. For his part, Reilly was enjoying the best blowjob his mother could give, and her worst put other women to shame. He was soon too far gone to care that his cousins had made him the low man on the totem pole. In Oona's capable hands, or her warm mouth to be more precise, that wasn't such a bad place to be. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 03 ###################### Author's note Part Seven moves the story to Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read earlier parts of the story, though things may make more sense if you have. This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex and anal. All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age. As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. Either way, I'll try to respond in a timely manner. ######################## After he finished saying goodbye to Mary Donovan, Cahill returned to Savannah. The two cities were a thousand miles apart, but his house might as well have been just across the street from her apartment. All he'd had to do was remember her place, call to mind the way it looked and smelled, and the distance had melted away. Getting back to Faerie wasn't much different. It was the first time he made the trip on his own, in broad daylight. Without that floating orb of silvery light to lead him. But there was no longer any need for such. He knew the way. As surely as he'd ever known anything. He didn't take anything with him. No clothes, no cell phone, none of his equipment for making flutes, nothing. He'd have no need of it. Mary could sell his things, keep them, or give them away, as she saw fit. The same went for his house and the money in his savings account. It made no difference to him. As he had so many times before, and as he never would again, Cahill walked into the woods at the edge of his property. Familiar as the start of the journey was, though, he soon found himself entering a world he'd never encountered before. Or experiencing a world he knew well in an entirely different way. He couldn't really be sure which it was. The small, sparse woods behind his house gave way to a thick, sprawling forest, teeming with life. As it should have. But the forest was different. Familiar footpaths were nowhere to be seen. Giant boulders covered in moss appeared where he expected to find none. The rivers and ponds, rope-bridges and clearings, all seemed to have moved around. Cahill found fewer piles of stones and none of the carvings in tree trunks that had once marked paths. Where once the forest showed signs of having been braved, if not tamed, by men, it now looked pristine and unspoiled. Cahill could almost believe that he was the first two-legged beast ever to set foot inside. That wasn't the only difference though. Nor even the biggest. The dank musk filling his nostrils was thicker, more pungent. The greens were deeper, save where they were brighter, giving the forest a less monochromatic look. Eventually, Cahill realized that he was experiencing everything in greater detail. Different though the forest was, so too was the man walking through it. His eyes saw trees a dozen yards away as though they'd stood just beyond arms' length. His skin felt the lightest breeze as keenly as if it were a full gust of wind. The sounds of the forest critters were louder. The call of faraway birds sounded as clear as if they were right overhead. Yet somehow, the flood of sensory information wasn't overwhelming. It felt right. Faerie was welcoming him home. Reaching out to Cahill, sharing itself with him. Joining its senses to his. He wasn't dreaming of Faerie this time. He was reclaiming it, as surely as it was him. Taking it inside, making it a part of him, just as he was becoming a part of the world of his birth again. He thought perhaps he understood better now why this world was known as Spring elsewhere in the Homelands. Whatever else the old tales had gotten right, they'd been sorely mistaken about that. The fey could never be divided into Seelie and Unseelie, Summer and Winter. Midsummer would never come to this land. Everything was green and new, young and vibrant, and would forever be. And that wasn't just true of the Emerald Court. It couldn't have been. Though Cahill had never seen the other parts of Faerie, and had only met one person who hailed therefrom, he knew, just knew, that they were the same. All the lands of Faerie were places of rebirth and revitalization, renewal and rejuvenation. Nothing else would suit the fey. How had he never noticed all this before? Had he ever even set foot inside Faerie proper? After a time, Cahill's thoughts turned to the family that hadn't quite fully introduced him to this world. Why was no one waiting to greet him, as they always had in the past? Just as he was beginning to wonder if it would be okay to disturb the tranquil forest by announcing his presence, a nearby tree opened up. Its bark split with a soft rip and the a low, reverberating moan filled the air as the trunk spread apart. Fiona stepped out and the proud oak pulled itself back together as seamlessly as water rushing in behind an oar. "Well, I'll be," his sister said, smiling from ear to ear. "Here you are, in the flesh." "That's right," Cahill replied. He imagined his sister letting out a high-pitched squeal before running over to him, throwing her arms around him, and hugging him tight. Perhaps showering him with kisses. But that would not be like Fiona at all. Other guys' sisters might have done something like that, but not his graceful lady of the forest. Still, once she closed the distance between them, Cahill gathered his tiny little big sister in his arms and swung her about. Though he knew her to be older than him, she looked as though she were a decade his junior. And though she was incredibly curvaceous, she stood nearly a foot shorter than him and weighed a good hundred pounds less. Stately and serene, wise and mature, no more excitable than a stone, Fiona was no little girl. But, in that moment, she might as well have been, so far as he was concerned. And he didn't care how embarrassing she might find it to be treated as such. Nor did she, it seemed. Her smile had faded to a slight grin, but there was no displeasure on her pretty face, nor in her Libido. Just this one time, he could be forgiven. As Cahill set her back down on the soft dirt, his sister rubbed one of his round biceps and said, "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you here, Kay. To have you back with us, for good and true. Mom's going to go crazy." Then Fiona punched him. Hard. "That's for keeping us waiting so long, you big oaf!" He laughed as he rubbed his arm. The blow had hurt, but mostly because it had taken him by surprise. So much for not being excitable. Small as her fists were, though, and as modest as her upper body strength was, it would have taken a lot more than she had to give for Fiona to really cause him pain. "Sorry bout that," he said. "Yeah, I bet you are," Fiona grumbled as she glared up at him. Despite her tone, the gentle pulsating rhythm inside told the truth. A deep contentment filled his sister. All was right with the world, so far as she was concerned. Cahill was flattered enough by that. He didn't need her to be exuberant. Her thick, glossy hair was in one of its green phases. The feel of her soft body pressed against his made his loins stir. Though he'd just noted her lack of upper body strength, he was keenly aware of the thick muscles in her shapely legs and her outsized ass. Her lower body wasn't as hard as Liadan's, but he liked the combination of thick muscle and soft padding. Her ass was big and perfectly shaped, yet pleasantly soft. His hands, poised at the small of her back, ached to reach down and take hold of it. A hint of what passed for perfume, a mix of flowers and berries, mint and tea leaves, teased his nostrils. Her smell was unconventional, but not at all in a bad way. Earthy and natural, sweet yet subtle, and unmistakeably Fiona. It made him think of burying his head between her soft, milky white thighs. And reminded him of everything he admired about her. Her deep connection with nature, her refusal to be anything other than who she was, even if that would have meant that few men would chase after her the way they did Oona. Their aunt was an incredible woman. Free-spirited, endlessly imaginative, and beautiful. But he was still glad that it was his sister who would welcome him home and not his aunt. Of course, he'd have really preferred to see his mother. But he'd known that Caronwyn wouldn't be the one to greet him. She hardly ever did. In time, the red goddess would be his. But he would have to win her over. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Fiona asked, blushing. She tucked a lock of now brown hair behind a pointed ear. "Like you've never seen me before." "Almost feels like I haven't," he said softly. "Not truly." "Funny you should say that," she replied. Only then did he realize that she wasn't looking up at his face, but somewhere just above him. Large as the difference in height between them was, Fiona had to crane her neck back to look him in the eye anyway. But she had her head tilted back even more than necessary. Cahill reached up with one hand and patted his head gently. Hair. Hair. More hair. And then antlers. A giant rack, such as those found on an elk. Perhaps even larger. Hard as bone, and with deep grooves like the bark of an oak tree. Once he noticed them, he couldn't un-notice them. There was a strange sensation against his scalp, like he was pressing his fists against it. His head didn't feel heavier necessarily, but there was a distinct sense of a weight that shouldn't be there, bearing down on two points near the center of his head. They couldn't possibly have been there all along. He'd have noticed them. If not on its own, then when brushing low-hanging branches with the things. They had to be half again as wide as his shoulders, and he'd to reach to touch the uppermost points of them. But with a mere thought, they changed, turning immaterial. His hand passed right through them. Yet he felt a slight chill as he did. One moment, they were solid, the next, spectral. Still there, but in little more than a symbolic sense. "Fitting that you should be a horned god," Fiona said, smiling wistfully. Her eyes did their best to focus on his, but they kept drifting up to his antlers. "Thought maybe you'd self-identify as a centaur. Mom certainly likes you that way. But this, this is good." Their mother liked him as a centaur? Maybe he should make that his fey form. But no. His sister was right. This fit. Cahill knew a little something of the myth of the horned god, which was a figure that played a significant role in the belief systems of neopaganism. But he'd never paid much mind to that. The neopagans he knew, of which the folk music scene boasted quite a number, professed a deep faith in the things he'd always struggled to disbelieve in. But their beliefs, however reverently espoused, seemed almost mocking. Like they were making it all up as they went along. They seemed just as interested in upsetting Christians as anything else. The horned god had ancient origins, being associated both with Pan and various Catholic depictions of Satan. But in his modern incarnation, he was seen as the male counterpart to the Triple Goddess. He personified nature and sexuality, wilderness and survival. He was perpetually on the hunt, and only sometimes for food. Just like Cahill. Had Faerie imposed the choice on him? Or had he made it subconsciously? It didn't matter. It was who he was, either way. Distracted by the thought of what he'd become, Cahill almost hadn't noticed the change in his sister's Libido. The energy deep within her pulsed more rapidly and insistently now. No longer was it mere contentment or affection that animated her. Her hand drifted down over his broad chest and hard abs, her fingers trailing through tufts of hair that were a bit thicker than he remembered, to settle on the front of his pants. "You really have grown," she said, gripping a cock that had never been small through his leather breaches. "Are you going to rip me apart?" The way she said it, no one would guess that she was describing a violent and painful act. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing rapid, and her considerable chest rising and falling. Full lips turned deep red, and spots of color made their way into her normally alabaster cheeks. Cahill had never seen Fiona so turned on. He wondered if even Seamus had. Some part of him, a residual memory of the Cahill who believed himself mortal, thought that this was strange. That upon seeing her wayward brother return home at last, his sister should have been eager to inform the rest of the family. Or to hear what had finally gotten through to him. Yet the tree nymph had no interest in hearing his tale or sharing the good news with anyone else. All she wanted was to get him inside her. Yet another part of him, one that had lain dormant for far too long, knew that Fiona's behavior was precisely what was to be expected of her. The fey were deeply physical. It was only through pleasuring one another that they gained access to the energy they needed to truly be themselves. One could almost say that without sex, they'd lose their glamour. Cease to be fey. That wasn't quite right, though, because it made it sound deliberate and calculated. It wasn't like that. When the urge struck them, they were all but powerless to resist it. Yes, those urges led them to engage in acts that served a purpose. But they were still little more than slaves to their bodies and their needs. Mortals sometimes spoke as if the same was true for them, but they would never know what it meant to need sex the way he and his kind did. Liadan had helped him remember that, but Cahill had always known that he craved sex the way no mere mortal ever would. He'd tried to tell himself otherwise. Denied what his girlfriends had all intimated. But deep down, he knew. The why of it had been a mystery, but the phenomenon itself had not been. Suddenly, vines burst forth from the ground and swung down from the trees, encircling his wrists and ankles. Cahill was lifted off the ground, his limbs spread wide. Beneath him, a stone altar rose up from the dirt to meet his back and support his weight. He could resist, if he so desired. His sister was strong, and far more practiced than he was, but he himself was not weak. The vines would rip easily enough, and the stone would crack with a single blow, should he put some glamour behind the effort. But Fiona meant him no harm. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was simply using him to live out a fantasy. And he was happy to oblige. As the tree nymph climbed up onto the altar, her green and white dress poured off her like water, melting away and leaving no trace of its existence behind. His sister's unreal body seemed to glow in the faint light of dawn, or dusk, or whatever time it perpetually was here. Her inhuman curves and astonishingly pale skin captivated him. He dared not blink, lest he miss out on the pleasure of beholding her otherworldly beauty for so much as a fraction of an instant. The Fiona he knew enjoyed sex. All the fey women did. But she never let it turn into a contest of dominance. His sister neither liked to be in control nor to be controlled. For her, sex was a mutual act of giving. A delicate dance whose beauty would be marred if either partner fell out of sync with the other. And that had always been one of the things he admired about her. Though Cahill never failed to have fun with Oona, who couldn't have been less like his sister in that respect, his own views were far closer to Fiona's. But just then, an entirely woman was busy ripping his pants to shreds. His sister was staring down at him like he was a wounded animal. A meal to be consumed. And though that probably should have unsettled him, he liked seeing that look in her eyes. "Me first," a voice said. It was a feminine voice, less deep and husky than his sister's. But not as high in pitch as Oona's. A magical voice. The voice of his mother, Caronwyn. Fiona whimpered in protest. Yet even sulking like a child, the dryad was intensely desirable. It was hard for Cahill to let her retreat without protesting himself. The green-brown locks spilling about her heart-shaped face framed her beauty perfectly. The tips of her ears poked gently through those unnaturally colored sheets. Her lips pouted and her heavily-shadowed lids batted up and down, dragging thick lashes through the air as they pleaded with him to tell their mother to be patient. Cahill had never noticed just how pretty his sister was. He'd always thought her pleasant to look upon, but not quite as beautiful as Oona or as blindingly gorgeous as their mother. The latter might have been true, but the former was not. His sister was a true wonder to behold, and not just because of her incredible body. He wanted her to have all to herself, to do with as she pleased. "Move away, child," their mother said. No, he didn't. Seeing his sister through waking eyes gave him a new appreciation of her beauty. If forced to choose between her and Oona, or Liadan or any of the other Dreamsmyth women, he'd have had no difficulty picking his sister. Try as he might to deny it, he envied Seamus, and always would. But no one could ever come between him and his mother. No one. Just then, his red goddess stepped into view. And the moment she did, Cahill's lungs forgot to draw air. He would always have that reaction when first laying eyes on her. Each and every day, for the rest of his life, his heart would stop beating upon his mother's arrival. His mother was so gorgeous that to speak of another woman's beauty was to cheapen the word. No woman had fairer skin, nor such stunning eyes and luscious lips. Though she had to be a few decades older than Fiona, there was no sign of it in her face. Not a hint of crow's feet or laugh lines, not the least sign that the fat in her cheeks had begun to melt away. She could have been of an age with her daughter, perhaps even younger. Her big, brown eyes were as breathtaking as any Cahill had ever seen. She had the thickest lips, colored deep red. So big and so soft, they simply begged to be kissed. The hair falling to her slender shoulders was every bit as beautiful as everything else about her. Against her glowing white skin, those dark red locks seemed even darker than they were, yet more colorful as well. To hear Liadan tell it, no living woman was more beautiful than Queen Titania. Having seen an incredibly lifelike rendering of the woman, Cahill could see why any daughter of Titania's might think so. And indeed, many men, whether born of the queen's womb or not, would be inclined to agree. But not Cahill. Not so long as Caronwyn drew breath. His mother wore a heavy brown robe that almost masked her figure. But even that heavy garment couldn't hide the size of her breasts. It wasn't until she slipped out of it though that Cahill was reminded of how impossibly narrow his mother's waist was. How broad her fertile hips were. His eyes drank in her incredible body, from her huge tits and perfect nipples to her flat stomach, protruding hips, and shapely legs. Then his eyes traveled back up said wonders to her womanhood. The neatly trimmed bush of red-brown hair sitting atop her mons made his dick twitch. As did her prominent, curly labia. Some men liked their women shaved bald. Those same men often preferred slender little labia that curled inward, leaving the woman's pussy looking like a clamshell or a pistachio. Cahill couldn't listen to men express such a preference without thinking that they secretly feared that which they claimed to love. Himself, he liked to see a nice dark tuft of pubic hair, and a full set of labia. His mother's lower pair of lips could not have been any more perfect than the ones defining her face. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 03 It wasn't just nice to look at a woman and see a woman. That was part of it, yes. But not all. Cahill had been with women whose slits were almost invisible, whose labia were tight and modest. Teagan, for example, had the slightest little vulva, and she was as bald as the child she almost seemed to be. Going down on girls like her was a challenge. There was just so little to work with. His mother's prominent sex, on the other hand, rewarded his attentions amply. And nothing could satisfy Cahill more than satisfying his mother. As blatantly as he'd been staring between her legs, he noticed his mother doing the same. Cahill looked down the length of his body. His muscles had grown larger, his hair thicker. He looked wilder. Less like a man and a little more like a beast. The swollen member standing straight up like a ship's mast seemed equally foreign. It dwarfed his usual endowment, which had never been modest. It was a few inches longer than usual, and much thicker. A thicker tangle of black hair curled around the base, though the shaft was smooth, with only a few prominent veins. The helmet was thick and shiny. His penis looked like a cross between a feminist's nightmare and a horny woman's filthiest dream come true. "There some rite of initiation the druidess must perform?" Cahill asked nervously. His mother shook her head. "A privilege owed to the matriarch? Like jus primae noctis?" Again, Caronwyn indicated otherwise. So. She did not have to have him first. She was acting as a woman, with a woman's needs, not as the eldest woman of the clan or the one charged with carrying out rituals. His mother stopped at the end of the stone altar. Dark eyes studied him. He noticed that unlike her sister's chestnut orbs, Caronwyn's irises were nearly black. That almost made him uncomfortable, but it was so striking that he couldn't look away. Those chips of onyx held him in place as surely as the vines Fiona had conjured up did. Most every woman he met made a lasting impression on him. For the few fleeting moments that they were together, he would convince himself that his partner was unlike any other woman, if only in some small way. Among the fey, that rarely took much convincing. Most every woman had at least one feature that set her apart from other women. But it wasn't like that with his mother. Everything about Caronwyn was perfect in Cahill's eyes. She could not have been more beautiful, nor could her body have been any more desirable. From her exquisite complexion and divine facial features to her glorious breasts, slender waist, and dangerously curvaceous lower body, she was utterly without flaw. The purest expression of feminine sexuality. Ever so slowly, she lowered herself, until her mouth hovered an inch or so above the swollen head of his cock. She licked those luscious lips of hers, leaving them even shinier than before. A shudder ran down Cahill's spine. For moment, he wondered why her lipstick never smeared. But then he realized how absurd that was. She didn't wear lipstick, nor makeup of any kind. None of they fey did. Sure, no mortal woman boasted lips that color, nor skin that fair and flawless. And it certainly looked like his mother wore thick eyeliner and heavy eyeshadow. As did all the women of the fey. But no mere cosmetics ever disgraced their skin. If their beauty was enhanced, it was not by pigments and powders, oils and waxes. "You've said your goodbyes?" his mother asked. The warmth of her breath against his poor, neglected cock made him twitch. Pre-cum oozed out his slit. He needed her so badly. Needed those plump lips wrapped around his manhood. That warm, nimble tongue dancing along his shaft, teasing his glans and foreskin. He nodded. "She knows she'll never see you again?" his mother asked, referring of course to the woman he'd long thought to be his mother. "Yes," Cahill said. They'd made love one last time. He hadn't even pictured Caronwyn while they did, thought he'd been tempted to. Mary Donovan was not a beautiful woman, but she'd given him so much, and he'd brought her little but suffering in return. He'd pushed her away, punished her for committing no greater crime than telling him the truth. After all of that, she deserved to be with him one last time, and for him to be with her. Deserved more than that, in fact. And so he'd done his best to give still more. Besides his body, and his house and all his worldly possessions, Cahill left the woman who'd raised him with a little glamour. If she so chose, Mary would remember him and their last time together every night in her sleep. Remember in such vivid detail that her body would respond as though it were happening all over again, too. She wouldn't dream of him if she didn't want to, though. If ever Mary thought it best to move on with her life, she'd be free to do so. Only for as long as she wished to keep him in her heart would the glamour last. Even that was less than he wished he could give her. Were it up to Cahill, he'd promise to go back and visit her, in person, once a twice a year. For her birthday or Christmas or something. Maybe even bring her to Faerie with him, if that was what she wanted. But he could not promise her those things. So he'd given her what he could. And the tears of joy that had streamed down her cheeks told him that it had been enough. That he'd left behind a woman who was happier than she'd ever again hoped to be after that fateful car crash. Apparently, his mother, his true mother, could sense what he'd done. Perhaps some trace of the glamour was left on him. Or maybe Caronwyn just knew him that well, though she'd been absent most of his life. A faint smile spread across her lips and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod of approval. Then she rewarded him for being such a good son. His own tears of joy soon streamed down his face. There were a lot of women out there who knew how to give good head. The fey boasted more than their fair share of them. But none of them could compare to his mother. Not Oona, who could tease a man within an inch of his life. Not Fiona, who thought that anyone who didn't take the time to seduce their lover properly had no right to expect any satisfaction of their own. Not Liadan, who knew both how to tease and to please, to overwhelm a man and to make him savor every little moment. No one. Cahill lost track of the number of times he came in his mother's mouth. One thing he would remember, when she finished, was that she hadn't even reached the end of his foreskin before he'd unleashed his first load. She'd kept the very tip of him inside her mouth and swallowed every last drop before licking him clean and picking right up where she'd left off. Big as he'd become, she couldn't take him all the way inside. But that was just fine by Cahill. The magic she worked on his sensitive head was more than enough to satisfy him. He tried to give her feedback. To tell her how amazing she was, and how much he was enjoying her affections. But he couldn't. It was hard enough just trying to breathe. His ass cheeks were clenched tight almost the entire time. His abs would pull tight, raising his upper body up off the stone slab enough for him to peer down his chest at the wonders unfolding below, then they'd give out and he'd fall back flat on the stone with a sight. Most of the time, he just lay there, hips twitching and head flopping about like a dying fish. The only thing that could have made the experience more enjoyable would have been if his hands were free to run through his mother's hair. Fuck, but Cahill loved that hair. It was so luxurious, so thick and soft, silky and strong, dark yet colorful. Otherwise, Caronwyn shattered his understanding of pleasure, forever redefined ecstasy in his mind. It hit him afterwards, when his mother finally allowed him to recover, that he'd never truly had sex with the women of his family before. They'd merely pantomimed the act of pleasing each other. That alone had been enough to ruin every relationship he'd ever had, but it was nothing like what awaited him now that he'd come home. The realization that he'd spent fifteen years denying himself the pleasures that now awaited him, all because he refused to wake up, almost made him cry. The only consolation was that the fey were immortal. That there was no limit on how much time he could spend with the unnaturally beautiful women of his family now. "Okay there buddy?" Fiona asked, taking his big toe between her fingers and wiggling it. "Haven't gone and passed out on us, have you?" "No," he gasped. "No," he repeated, a bit more steadily. "Just...wow. That was incredible, Mom. Absolutely unbelievable." "Hmm. Good thing I held back," Caronwyn said. "Or maybe we would have lost him." Cahill laughed, as did his sister. But he wasn't at all sure their mother was joking. "Well, I don't know if i can follow that act," Fiona said, grabbing his tree trunk in her little hands. "But I'm going to enjoy trying." Indeed, she couldn't match the red goddess. But if Cahill's mind hadn't just been blown away by Clan Walker's matriarch, it would have been by it's eldest daughter. It didn't take thirty seconds for Fiona to find out that their mother hadn't left him completely dry after all. And it didn't take Cahill thirty seconds to realize just how true it was that he'd never known anything in his dreams but a shadow of the pleasure his family had to offer him. Fiona moved more slowly than his mother. The smiles she gave him from time to time conveyed true affection. She was genuinely enjoying herself, even if it looked like she was wearing herself out trying to accommodate his oversized cock. But the last thing Cahill would have said of his sister's approach was that it was casual. She seduced him carefully and methodically, her tongue dancing to a rhythm he couldn't quite decipher. Her lips weren't as soft and pillowy as their mother's, but they were more than a little wonderful. And she knew what he wanted. Every time he'd start to think that she was drawing things out too much, she'd step things up and make him squeak with delight. Caronwyn was as good as it got when it came to sucking dick. But his sister was no beginner. Finally, after the tree nymph swallowed the last bit of cum his poor little testicles could possibly produce, the women let him up. The vines slipped away and withdrew into the darkness above and the ground below. His gorgeous mother and his pretty sister stood hip to hip, the younger woman's arm wrapped around the older one's waist, while the mother's arm was encircled the daughter's shoulder. The sight of them standing there naked as the day they were born, smiling at him with a mix of affection and amusement, warmed Cahill's heart. The voluptuous nature goddess seemed a smaller, in spite of her generous curves, when standing beside the shapely druidess. Their mother stood a few inches taller than Fiona, and had breasts that made the younger woman's round beauties seem almost modest. Her hips almost convinced him that Fiona's were average-sized, though they certainly weren't. Despite all that, though, Caronwyn was thinner in all the right places too, especially the waist. By a fair margin, for that matter. Still, though Fiona inferior to the red goddess in every way, Cahill remained awed by her. She had all their mother's best features, even if they manifested themselves less gloriously in the younger woman. His sister had proportions that biology forbade any mortal women from possessing, beautiful skin, and a smile that made his stomach flutter. Her dark brown pubes were trimmed neatly, but left no doubt that she was a grown woman. Her pussy lips were not quite as puffy and prominent as their mother's, but neither did she have a modest little slit like their cousin. The two women had similar facial features. Round, high cheekbones, cute little noses, pointy ears, and delicate chins. Their eyebrows were thick and dark, making their skin seem even fairer. Their lashes were long, their lips full, their eyes big and wide, and their hair dark. All of that similarly reinforced their breathtaking complexions. True, one woman had red-brown hair and brows, the other brown-but-maybe-green. And Caronwyn's eyes were much darker than Fiona's, though the latter had irises no man could call light, even if they were green. They reminded him less of emeralds than of olives. Or, more appropriately, the deep forest she called her home. But there was a strong resemblance between the two, all the more noticeable now that they stood side by side. "I don't know what I was thinking," Cahill said. The two women burst out laughing. "At least you came to your senses in the end," Fiona said, climbing up onto the altar beside him. "And before Brittany too." "Yeah," he said. His sister nuzzled his neck and worked his earlobe into her warm mouth. Meanwhile, her hands roamed over his body. It took only an moment for him to know that he wasn't done after all. However much was demanded of him, he would give. And then give some more. Fortunately, though, Caronwyn seemed to sense that he could use a little more time to recover. She stared into her daughter's eyes, ignoring her son completely. And Cahill was only too happy to shimmy out of the way so that the druidess could lay Fiona flat on her back and bury her head between the tree nymph's thighs. He sat on the edge of the altar and watched in fascination as his mother demonstrated that she was no less talented at pleasuring women than she was men. His sister looked almost exactly as he imagined he must have when the red goddess had graced him with her favor. She rolled her head from side to side, sighing and moaning, while her hips jerked sharply upwards, settled back down, then jerked back up again. The only difference was that Fiona's hands were free to run through that glorious red hair, and she took full advantage. When she wasn't playing with her stiff brown nipples, that was. Cahill solved his sister's dilemma for her. He knelt by her side and bent down, taking one full breast in his mouth while cupping the other in his hand. He played with her sensitive nipples, working as slowly and sensually as she herself would. Fiona started moaning louder, and with one hand on the back of each head, she silently implored her brother and her mother not to stop. And they didn't. Not until Fiona burst. Even then, they only paused long enough to switch positions. Cahill didn't take his time quite the way he would have if the two of them were alone. Had they been, he'd have worked his way from her ears to her toes and back again, pausing along the way to make love to her breasts and her hips, her navel and her ribcage, and many other places besides. But even the abbreviated version escalated slowly. He worked around his sister's vulva, munching on her labia with his lips before letting her feel his tongue. He concentrated on her less sensitive parts for a long while before moving inward. Every part of her womanhood, from perineum to clitoral hood, got plenty of attention. In time, though, his sister lost patience. She pushed her spongy G-spot out of her vagina, the way only very practiced women can. And so Cahill began to incorporate her G-spot into his rotation. Increasingly, his attentions focused exclusively there and on her clitoris. Fiona began to moan and writhe more and more rapidly. When the dryad started cumming again, the trees sighed along with her. Their foliage grew thicker and more verdant as the world around them soaked up some of the energy bleeding out of his sister's Libido. She was ordinarily so composed, so reserved, that it took Cahill by surprise to see her thrash her way through an orgasm. Even at her most violent, she didn't go as crazy as Oona always did, but it was still a sight to see. He was about to offer to go down on her again. She'd brought him to climax multiple times. It would only be fair to repay the favor fully. But he could see the impatience in his mother's eyes, and disappointing his red goddess was not something he knew how to do. Fiona slipped off the altar and onto unsteady feet. "That was nice, Kay," she told him. "I'm so happy you've finally come home." "I'm happy to finally be here," he said, bending down to kiss the top of her head. His sister wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. "Come see me sometime soon, hmm?" she said. "I'll make it worth your while." Cahill ran his fingers lightly through her green hair. "Don't doubt you will," he said. She gave him a blank look, as if unsure whether he was mocking her. Cahill sensed something dark and green inside her, directed simultaneously towards him and their mother. He felt a stab of pain at that. Yes, Caronwyn was the center of his universe. But that didn't mean he didn't care for his sister. "Seamus is a lucky guy," Cahill said, as if to remind her that she was the center of someone's universe too. Just not his. His sister pulled back, stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then said, "And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?" From the altar came a snicker of amusement. "Just that our brother couldn't ask for a better-" "Do you think he owns me?" Fiona snapped. "That he's landed a great catch?" "Nooo," Cahill said tentatively. "He's lucky I choose to lie with him as often as I do," she said. "But I can take any lover I want, any time I want. Who knows, maybe I'll get tired of him. Or him of me." A little heat went out of her voice. "It's different with our kind, Kay. You know that." He knew that everyone kept saying so. And that mortals didn't look so favorably on incest. But he wasn't at all sure that he believed what his sister would have him believe. She and Seamus were all but inseparable, and Duncan rarely graced any other woman's bed save Macha's. If Reilly or Finnegan ever had their way, they'd have the same arrangement with Oona. Gallech might too, save that he'd undoubtedly chase after Caronwyn every now and then just to frustrate Cahill. The fey were very open sexually, but every last one of them seemed to have a favorite lover. Fiona and Seamus were not just lovers. They were in love. Anyone with eyes could see that. It didn't matter that no one ever said as much aloud. They never explicitly denied it either. Because they couldn't. "Go easy on the boy, Fiona," their mother said as she slipped up behind her indignant daughter. "He's still learning." Fiona heaved a sigh. "Someone better take over teaching him, then," she said. "He doesn't listen to me." Caronwyn kissed the smaller woman's shoulder, then the back of her head. Slender hands played with silky brown hair. "I'll do my best." A soft, indistinct sound escaped Fiona's throat. "You're in good hands, at least," she said to Cahill breathlessly. Their mother nibbled lightly at Fiona's ear and Cahill thought she might have slid a hand between the girl's round butt cheeks. Might have reminded her daughter just how good those hands were. "I'll learn him up good," Caronwyn said. "He'll be the pride of Clan Walker before you know it." "So I'm not now?" Cahill said with a smirk. Both women smiled at him. "Say goodbye to your sister," his red goddess said with a bemused grin. "You and I have some catching up to do." So Cahill did. And the kiss he and Fiona shared brought them both to climax. # "Were you ever in love?" Cahill asked his mother between sessions. He'd lost all track of time. That was easy enough to do in Faerie, he'd always thought, even before he'd set foot in the Emerald Court proper. Which he hadn't before. Not truly. His mother had explained that much to him during a previous break in the action. But he still got the sense that his mother might have had something to do with it. Especially since they'd been going at it for hours and not once had anyone else come looking for them. Not even Gallech, who seemed to have a foolproof sensor that told him when it was time to go interrupt Cahill's attempts to seduce their mother. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 03 "Oh, come on, baby," his mother cooed. Her soft ass wiggled against his crotch, inviting him to set the question aside and worry about more important things. "You don't want to know the answer to that, do you? Truly?" Cahill hesitated. They'd passed the phase where neither of them could so much as get a few words out, so desperate were they to get back to making love. That didn't mean their desire for another was fading. Not much, at least. But his mother had been willing enough to answer his other questions. To explain to him that his nightly journeys hadn't been to Faerie but a place in between that she'd constructed precisely for the purpose of seducing him away from the Dreaming. That though the fey were forbidden from reentering that world, they weren't strictly bound to Faerie. That they'd found a way to stretch that rule without breaking it, as they did all rules. She'd also been happy enough to tell him why it was important that they take on new forms when they arrived in Faerie. That mortals sometimes found their way here, and if the creatures they encountered in Faerie didn't match their expectations, the childlike wonder they exhibited at first would give way to clear, even critical, thinking. And that would send them on their way before the fey had a chance to have a little fun with them. He was free to dismiss his antlers and shed some of his fur, to allow his body return to its ordinary size and shape, any time he pleased, but it was best not to do so too often, just in case. It wasn't an overwhelming need to get back to it that led her to dodge his question then. Still, he did not relent. "Please," he said. His lips brushed her shoulder lightly. "I don't care what the answer is." Another kiss, lingering this time. "I just want to know." His mother sighed. "When you were new to this world," he said, steering the conversation away from the here and now. Perhaps she was afraid to answer because she feared that he was asking, in a roundabout way, how she felt about him. Perhaps he was, but he'd have been glad just to know that she was capable of the emotion. That he wasn't the only one struggling with the injunction. "Did you have trouble adjusting to the ways of our kind?" Caronwyn rolled over, facing him. She pressed a soft palm to his face. The look on her face would have been suitable for telling him not to be too bummed out about getting dumped, that he'd meet the right girl one day. "Of course I did, honey. We all do." "Yeah?" She nodded. "So," he said. "Who was it? Your father?" His mother shook her head. Of course it wasn't. Most fey never met their fathers. Or if they did, they found that their fathers did not think of them as family. Rare indeed was the daughter who tempted a man of the fey away from his own clan. If ever there was a woman beautiful enough, desirable enough, kind and caring and charming enough, it was Caronwyn. But even so, it didn't shock Cahill to hear that his mother hadn't fallen in love with her father. "My older brother," she said. "Richard. We all called him Dick or Dickie." That he had an uncle came as news to Cahill. "What happened?" He had to have felt the same. What man could possibly resist her? If the tale lacked a happy ending, as it evidently did, that couldn't possibly be the explanation. "He married a woman from another court and moved away." "Do you ever see him anymore?" Cahill asked, his heart racing. What if this Uncle Dick was still around? Would he even want to meet him? Could he handle that, knowing that his mother felt for the man what Cahill wished she'd feel for him? The temptation to compare himself to his uncle, to envy him, would be unbearable. But at the same time, part of him relished the idea of meeting a man worthy of his mother's love, if only so that he could better learn what it took to earn that. "Nooo," she said, voice trailing off. "He...he's...." "Dead?" Cahill asked, sparing her the need to say it. Caronwyn nodded. "Died in another land. Claimed by a feud over some foreign throne." She choked up a bit before continuing. "He left some children behind. Can you believe that? I've several nieces I've never met. They've got children of their own by now, no doubt." How long ago could this have been that she was sure of that? "I can't say I blame him," his mother added. "You should have seen her, Kay. Noreen was so beautiful. I almost fell for her myself." Though their kind were open to most every form of sexuality, he knew his mother's tongue was firmly in cheek as she said that last part. She sometimes made love to her daughter or to her sister, especially when she was sharing them with one of the Walker men, but he didn't think her capable of falling in love with another woman. It was not unheard of for their kind to do so, but it was relatively rare, and Caronwyn had never given him any indication that she was one of the few with that predilection. "She'd been around for centuries, and it showed. Power rolled off her in waves. Yet she had this strange humility to her. Like she didn't want anyone to notice how beautiful she was, or how powerful. Just wanted people to like her for who she was. There wasn't a proud bone in that woman's body." Sounded familiar. "When he left for Autumn, I thought I might die," the red goddess said. Cahill didn't know what to say. He'd thought that he wouldn't mind hearing his mother talk that way about another man, but he'd been a fool to believe that. It was good to know that she was capable of falling in love, or had been at one time, but the sadness in her voice felt like a knife in his belly. And not just because he hated seeing his mother unhappy. "See?" she said with a bitter laugh. "Told ya you didn't want to know." He smoothed beautiful hair away from his mother's face before planting a kiss on her forehead. The situation called for more of a response than that, but he had no more to offer. A faint smile spread across Caronwyn's beautiful lips. "Do you want to know what he was like?" she asked, jokingly. "Of course," Cahill replied. He felt numb. What came next might be difficult to hear. Very, very difficult. But he couldn't help himself. He had to know. "Really?" his mother asked. The trail of kisses began at her forehead but ended with her soft lips. He heard her breath catch just before he reached his final destination. Why did it feel so much like it was mutual whenever they were together? Could it really be nothing more than wishful thinking on his part? "He wasn't that tall," his mother said, voice surprisingly calm now. "Shorter than Gallech even," she added, leaving the "let alone you" that should have come next unsaid. "He had these beautiful gray eyes, a red beard that didn't match his dark brown hair, and a body like...well, he was shorter than Gallech, but he probably weighed a good ten pounds more, and very precious little of that weight came from fat." Cahill tried not to feel too jealous over the way his mother's Libido had swelled for a moment there as she described his uncle's appearance. His oldest brother was incredibly well-built. Gallech weighed less than Cahill, but mostly just because he was a good five inches shorter. Though he had the face of a pretty boy, looking even more like a mythical elf than the rest of their kind, Gallech had a body that any man could envy. Any man except their uncle, apparently. "Sorry, baby," his mother said, her Libido settling back down. "Quite okay," he forced himself to say. He had asked for it, after all. He'd told himself that his mother didn't like her guys too bulky. That Gallech would never appeal to their mother as much as Cahill did because he was built too much like a tank. Though five inches shorter than Cahill, he couldn't have weighed more than ten pounds less. Put differently, he was four inches shorter than Seamus, yet thirty pounds heavier. And all of that was muscle. Too much muscle. Or so Cahill wanted to believe. "Anyway, it's not like it would have been all that different if he'd never left," his mother said. She slid a foot up and down his calf, as if to signal that he shouldn't read too much into any of this. That he should keep in mind that the past was the past, and he was the one in her bed just then for a reason. "He was besotted with our mother." "There's a word you don't hear every day," Cahill said. His mother smiled. "Your grandmother felt the same way about him too. Seeing Dick go was harder on her than me, I think. Harder maybe even than losing the throne and being exiled, though I haven't had the chance to ask her how that turned out." "Say what?" "Haven't I told you that Grandma Aeife was queen for a time?" "No," he said. "Think I'd remember that." "With you, who knows," his mother said, a playful grin on her face. She kissed his chest by way of apology before continuing. "No one else ever kept Titania off the throne as long as Mom did. But all good things, I suppose." "Is she still alive?" "So far as I know. Haven't seen her since before you were born though." He remembered Liadan telling him that Titania disliked his clan more so than even the other bigger clans. That she'd ordered two of her sons to take Walker women to wife so that the Dreamsmyths could keep an eye on the Walkers. Now he understood why. Cahill drew a deep breath. It was a lot to take in at once. "Feeling a little overwhelmed?" his mother asked. He nodded. "Let's finish filling in the family tree some other time then, huh?" Cahill kissed his mother by way of response. Long and deep. Next thing he knew, he was lying flat on his back and she was riding him cowgirl. Just the way he liked it. With her on top, he could look her in the eyes while playing with her breasts or suck on her perfect nipples while fondling her ass. And she could set the pace for herself. That was never a bad thing, but he appreciated that aspect all the more when he was with his mother, since he still hadn't quite figured out what she liked. It was easy to tell with Oona and Fiona, since those two always wanted the same thing. Oona liked it a little rough while Fiona was just the opposite. His mother sometimes seemed to want him to dominate her, while other times seemed to share Fiona's tastes. Which wouldn't have been so bad, except he felt that she expected him to know instinctively which she was in the mood for at any given time. Perhaps if he got better at reading Libidos, someday he'd be able to do so. But until then, he got by on guesswork. That, and letting her set the pace. Just now, for example, she was apparently in one of her wild moods. He hadn't realized it, but his antlers had made a return. And his mother was holding on to them like handles as she rode him furiously. Her hips moved faster than he thought was possible as she impaled herself repeatedly on his monster cock. He was alternately squeezing and slapping her fat ass, biting down gently on her nipples as he did. Not only didn't she mind, but he suspected that she'd have been okay with him biting and slapping harder still. "That's it, that's it," she said. "Don't hold back, baby." She never said that she wanted it harder. But there were only so many ways to interpret her telling him not to hold back. After pumping himself up a bit, and despite some lingering reluctance, he stepped things up. Gave it to her as hard as he dared. "Oh, fuck, yes," his mother panted. "Make Mommy your bitch!" That struck a chord. And not entirely in a bad way. Cahill needed his mother to need him as badly as he did her. If that was what she wanted, that was what she'd get. He grabbed her and rolled her off him. She resisted, but it was just for show, he sensed. The reaction inside her Libido was the very opposite of the one her body offered. Cahill wrestled her down to all fours and climbed into position behind her. "This what you want?" he asked, giving her ass a hard slap with one hand while the other lined his huge cock up to penetrate her tight pussy. "You like this?" She mumbled something like a response. He forced his way inside. Though she was already loosened up, it took some effort. With every inch that disappeared inside her, she let out new and interesting sounds. Hisses followed whimpers, moans gave way to sighs, curses became compliments. Cahill pressed down on the back of her head, pushing her face into the pillow, effectively silencing her. That only turned her on more. It had a similar effect on him. All in all, Cahill preferred sex soft and sensual. But nothing turned him on more than seeing his mother enjoy herself. And she liked this. A lot. Not necessarily more than she liked being seduced painstakingly, he didn't think. If nothing else, though, she was a bigger believer in variety being the spice of life than either Oona or Fiona were. "Give me that pussy," Cahill grunted as he slammed into his mother over and over again, fucking her harder than he'd ever dare fuck her daughter. "I've got to have it." "Mmm, Mommy's little boy takes what he wants," Caronwyn whimpered. Her insides spasmed around him as she drew ever closer to orgasm. "Doesn't he?" "That's fucking right," he said, pumping faster and faster without compromising the depth or force of his strokes in the least. He could feel the energy draining from his Libido, but he dare not let up. She wanted everything he had, and she was going to get it. The sight of his mother's great white ass rippling as her hips rushed back to meet his every thrust, ensuring that they'd meet with even greater impact, hypnotized him. As did the way her slender waist flared out into broad hips and the look of her dark hair plastered to her back. Nothing could be sexier than the sight of his mother surrendering completely to the pleasures of the flesh. And she was doing just that now. She was like a woman possessed. Nothing would stop her from reaching her orgasm. Nothing. All of a sudden, he felt a rush of ecstasy. He wasn't sure if it was entirely supernatural or just that his mother had amplified his penis' sensitivity, but one way or another, Cahill felt more pleasure in that instant than ever before. It was crippling, yet he wouldn't have asked her to stop even if he could gather enough breath to do so. Mother and son reached orgasm together. As her womb gripped him tight, milking him slowly and surely with every little spasm, his balls pumped hot cum inside her. More and more, until it dribbled out of her and down his sac. Still, he kept right on ejaculating. When at last Caronwyn decided that she'd drained him well enough, she collapsed flat on her stomach. Cahill gasped as he slipped out of her warm hole and plopped down beside her on the bed, lungs pumping like bellows. Apparently his antlers had gone spectral again. "How...was that?" she asked, fighting for air herself. He gave her ass a firm smack. That was the only reply he had energy enough to provide. His mother smiled. The aftereffects lingered for a long time. Cahill felt an intense euphoria. He was weightless and light-headed, and he couldn't stop smiling. Neither could his mother, who he assumed was feeling every bit as good as he was. They held each other's hands and stared into each other's eyes, giggling like children. It wasn't just him. It couldn't be. He didn't know why she wanted him to believe that she wasn't as interested in him as Oona was, but it simply couldn't be true. He refused to countenance the idea any further. Yet he also refused to ask her to confirm it. Because part of him still feared the truth. Maybe she didn't care for Gallech more than him, despite his thicker muscles. Maybe he actually was her favorite son. But that didn't necessarily mean that she was in love. And if she wasn't, he couldn't bear to hear it. Their breathing slowly returned to normal, and goofy smiles gave way to clumsy kisses. Clumsy kisses gave way to locked lips and fumbling hands. When his mother reached between his legs and started to guide him back inside her, though, he pulled away. "Something wrong, baby?" she asked. "Not at all," he said. "Quite the opposite." The druidess smiled at him as he set about performing a sacred ritual of his own devising. Though she wanted his dick, he wanted her everything. So Cahill took his sweet time making love to all of her. He used his powers to sensitize moderately erogenous parts of her body, such as her hips and feet and inside her wrists. His mother experienced one climax after another, long before he made his way between her legs. Getting her off by sucking on her wrists had felt strange. In the back of his mind, he'd been picturing countless scenes from bad vampire movies. But he got a huge rush out of knowing that his mother was going to climax, and seeing her eventually do so, while he pressed his mouth to that part of her. The same went for her feet, and then some. Knowing that most people found feet unpleasant gave him an extra thrill. There was something kinky, depraved even, about the way he licked her rounded ankles, sucked her toes, and kissed the smooth parts of the bottoms of her feet the same as he did her tough callouses. The symbolism of it all, even with her flat on her back rather than him groveling before her, drove him crazy. Most of all, he'd derived great pleasure from giving her an orgasm by playing with her hips. Those great symbols of her fertility demanded awe and respect. Making love to them excited him almost as much as doing the same for her breasts did. When he arrived at the source of life, the tunnel through which he'd entered the world, Cahill slowed things down even further. He tortured his mother sweetly, teasing her with his mouth and fingers. His nose enjoyed her smell, his tongue her taste, and his eyes her beauty. Though he was pleasuring her, Cahill intended to enjoy every second of it, even if that meant making her suffer. Even if she begged and pleaded. Which she did. A lot. But her pleas fell on deaf ears. Cahill could not get enough of his mother's beautiful pussy, and he refused to rush things. When she burst into climax earlier than he'd anticipated, he just pretended not to notice and kept right on going. His mother squirmed wildly, trying to escape the onslaught. But he held her in place, knowing that she would be glad that he did. His tongue flicked back and forth against her large clitoris and his fingers applied steady pulsating pressure against her G-spot, testing the limits of her senses. Just as he thought he might push things too far, he eased up. His fingers left the spongy area above her opening and swept her womb gently. His tongue moved slowly, lightly, up and down her labia, avoiding the deep red love button. When he felt her Libido settle down a little, he dialed things back up to ten, even though her body was still sending signals that it was overstimulated. "Oh, oh, fuck, Kay," his mother grunted. Soon enough, though, she lost the ability to form coherent words. Indistinct sounds escaped her throat. "Mmmph, ungh, mmm," she whimpered and moaned as he ran his tongue in circles around her clit. When at last he allowed his mother the release she craved, she opened up as she had never before. He was almost wiped away by the tidal wave of energy she unleashed. # To Cahill, it seemed that no more than a few hours had gone by since he'd first arrived. But every hour in Faerie was nearly a full day in the Dreaming, so it perhaps shouldn't have surprised him to learn that his younger sister had visited the Shadow Faerie four times while his mother threw him a private welcoming party. Shortly after his mother had finally dropped the barrier that separated them from the rest of Faerie, Oona had come to her older sister with an idea to address the problem. To inform Caronwyn that the recent trend of Brittany slipping further and further away from them, after having seemed not long ago to be on the verge of waking up, continued unabated. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 04 ###################### Author's note Part Seven moves the story to Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read earlier parts of the story, though things may make more sense if you have. This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex and anal. All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age. As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. Either way, I'll try to respond in a timely manner. ######################## Later that night, the the father his brothers and sister had never met, and quite likely never would meet, called for him. It was the very first day he'd dwelt in Faerie, and the Prince of the Emerald Court was summoning him. Arawn Dreamsmyth was not quite what Cahill expected. Never again would he think that he and Seamus looked a great deal alike. Not after laying eyes on the man who'd sired them. Their father looked more like Seamus than Seamus did. The two were of a height, had identical builds, and nearly identical faces. The prince had slightly darker skin, darker hair, and green eyes. He also had a few streaks of silver in his coal black hair and a few wrinkles in an otherwise handsome face. But aside from that, Cahill could almost believe he was gazing upon his brother rather than his father. If his father wore his true form, anyway. Arawn's fey guise was more similar to Cahill's than Seamus'. The satyr his father chose to appear as was the precursor to modern myths about the horned god. True, Cahill had a man's legs, and his great rack of antlers dwarfed the modest horns atop his father's head. But there was a similarity there all the same. Cahill wondered if he might have chosen a different visage for himself had he known that. But, then, he hadn't really chosen after all. Not consciously. Perhaps it was precisely because of his father that he'd instinctively adopted those antlers. Something he'd inherited from the man he'd never met until this day. The silver flute Cahill had crafted a lifetime ago, in another world, couldn't have looked more at home in his father's hands. What was a satyr without his pipes after all? It was then that he remembered that Liadan had told him that one of his father's other titles, besides the Prince of the Emerald Court, was the Piper of Dawn. Flute, pipes, what difference did it make? It was the symbolism that mattered. "I understand I have you to thank for this?" his father asked, holding the flute up. Nice to meet you too, Dad. "I hope it pleases his majesty," Cahill said, bowing low. His father snorted in amusement. Cahill glanced up at the stone outcropping that looked down on the wondrous garden of his father's court. The prince gestured for him to rise. "No need for that," his father said. Of course not. Why should he assume that the man who was too good for his children, whose own sister described him as anything but modest, would expect a little subservience? A split-second later, the tranquil pond and exotic flowers of his father's court disappeared. The sound of leaves rustling and birds chirping, the smell of damp soil, fresh pollen, and rich vegetation, and the palpable sense of life teeming all around him, all faded away. Cahill found himself in the Dreaming once more. In Savannah. He knew it at once, for they were at the musical festival. Cahill had never gotten this close to the main stage, but the setting was still quite familiar to him. "I want you to see exactly what you've given me," his father said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "So that you'll understand what I must take from you." It took Cahill a moment to notice what a strange thing to say that was. Or would have been, were they mortals. Similarly, the change in their appearances didn't register as quickly as it should have. His father's chin beard and horns were gone, as were his goat legs. The enormous rack of nearly weightless antlers Cahill sometimes forgot entirely about was gone. They were just two uncommonly handsome mortal men, who looked to be almost of an age with one another. Anyone who knew the nature of their relationship would immediately recognize the absurdity, the impossibility, of his father's appearance. But otherwise, they'd have aroused no suspicion, even if it would be something of a stretch to say that their appearances were unremarkable. Their clothes had even changed to match mortal customs. "Not that you'll remember I've taken it, of course," his father continued. "But that part's not so important." Of course not. Why would it be? Cahill started to protest, but it was already too late. The lead singer of the current act signaled for Arawn to come join them. And so the Piper of Dawn took the stage, silver flute in hand, prepared to literally enchant an unsuspecting crowd. Did the band know his father? Or only think they did because of some glamour he'd cast upon them? Not that it mattered either way, but Cahill found himself wondering how much truth there had been to the story Liadan had told him. There had to have been, else she'd have told an outright lie. No, that wasn't true. She'd never really said that her brother was in a band. He'd simply inferred that. All she'd said was that the flute wasn't for her but for her brother. That, and she'd told him that he "could say" that she was a roadie. Which could mean all sorts of things. Road techs never took center stage. They only played a supporting role. Wasn't that what the Puck did too? Everyone went quiet, including the crowd. With a quick, almost violent stroke, the violinist opened up the next song. The bass and rhythm guitars jumped in almost at the same time, then the drums. A haunting tune quickly took shape. Even before his father added a supernatural dimension to it, the song cast a spell over the crowd. Cahill could feel the changes taking place. Feel their Libidos bottom out. It hadn't even occurred to him before that mortals had Libidos as well. That they contained within them the same energy that he and his kind did. From the very first note, it was clear that something extraordinary was happening. And if anyone in the crowd believed in the supernatural, they'd surely have begun to suspect that such forces were at work by the third note. Some seemed to grow happy, others sad. More than a few experienced both emotions at the same time. Whatever they felt, though, most of them opened up. One by one, thin streamers of energy poured out from their chests, their mouths, their eyes. Shimmering ribbons filled the night sky, all converging on his father. Cahill could only assume that his father was enjoying a feast such as few immortals ever had. Cahill had never seen the energy before. Not with his eyes. He'd felt it within him, sensed it leaving his Libido as he climaxed or entering him as he brought one of the women of his family to cum. But there'd never been anything outward sign of it like this. He had only a moment to remark upon that before he felt old memories stirring. Happy ones and sad, poignant and quirky. Random moments in his life, both meaningful and mundane, flashed across his mind. The first time he and Mary Donovan had made love. Or when he'd sold a flute to an actual musician for the second time. Dull math classes and mediocre movies, tepid cups of coffee and rainy afternoons, all returned to him as vividly as if they'd been the most notable of experiences. For a brief moment, he thought that perhaps the glamour was having a greater effect on him because he was attuned to its power. But as he saw the tears streaming down people's cheeks, watched men and women whisper final farewells to loved ones lost, and heard the sound of wistful laughter, he knew the truth. There was a reason that his father was also known as the Lord of Remembrance. Only when he noticed that the ability to think coherent thoughts had returned to him did Cahill realize that the song had ended. Suddenly, he felt ashamed of himself for not trying to put an end to his father's playing. For allowing him to manipulate the thoughts of so many people. Letting him steal their energy like they but a field of crops, his to harvest, rather than human beings. He'd been powerless to act, but he wasn't sure if that was a reason not to be ashamed or a further indictment on him. In his stead, would Seamus have simply stood there? Would Fiona? Would their mother? And then, just like that, Savannah faded away again. Like a dream. Cahill couldn't even have said whether the crowd applauded the band, or whether they'd booed and hissed. For all he knew, they were still standing there, all but catatonic. His father, appearing in the form of a satyr once more, clapping him on the shoulder. "Now that was something." He held the flute up. "This is a truly wonderful gift, son." Cahill wrenched his shoulder away. "You can't-" "I can," his father cut in. "And I'd remind you that you speak to your prince. Think carefully before you finish that sentence." "What did you do to them?" he asked. His father gave him a skeptical look, as if to say, "You don't really need to ask that, do you?" But after a brief hesitation, he simply said, "Made them remember. And in their remembering, many of them experienced an emotional state so overwhelming as to leave them just as vulnerable as they would be amidst the throes of ecstasy." Okay, he really hadn't needed to ask. "That's-" "Horrible?" his father asked, interrupted him again. "Did you see the elderly widow who cried tears of joy upon seeing her husband's face again, if only in her mind's eye? Or the girl who had a chance to say goodbye to her grandmother, as she'd never had before? Are you, of all people, going to tell me that it's wrong to alter a mortal's memory? To help them call to mind sweet moments they'd prefer to never forget?" Cahill fell silent. How did his father know about that? It didn't matter though. That hadn't been all his father had done. He'd pulled painful memories to the surface as surely as he had pleasant ones. And he'd done it all so that he could steal from them. Cahill had left Mary a gift. He'd taken nothing from her. "Now, to repay the favor," his father said. He tried to resist, but his father was surprisingly strong. Though he was shorter than Cahill and less heavily muscled, he easily wrestled Cahill to the ground. Once he did, he pressed his fingers against his son's temples, into them in fact. Only one thought passed through Cahill's mind before everything went black. It didn't hurt to have his father push his fingers past skin and bone the way it should have. It hardly felt like anything at all. # "That's good, dear," his mother said with all of the enthusiasm of a wet towel. Cahill allowed his two bodies to converge back into one. As his consciousness returned to a single vessel, deprived of half the sensory input it had been receiving just a moment ago, he nearly collapsed. They'd been training for most of the day, every day, for close to a week. He wasn't sure how much harder he could push himself. And yet, he never sensed much of anything but disappointment from his mother. Was he moving so slowly? What more should he have accomplished by now? Brittany never spent any time training and hadn't yet begun to master half the glamours he could perform. Yet if the Matriarch of Clan Walker was as disappointed with her youngest daughter as she was with her youngest son, she did a good job of hiding it. Sure, he still had a very long way to go. Though his mother assured him that he had the potential to be the most powerful among their clan, he still felt like a novice compared to Seamus and Fiona, let alone the red druidess. But in a short period of time, he'd learned a lot. And, no less importantly, he'd gained a great deal of discipline. Things he'd once been able to do only by accident, he could do on command, and nearly effortlessly. "Maybe it's time for a break," Caronwyn said, resting a hand on his bare chest. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought that there was a request in her brown eyes. That she wasn't suggesting that they stop for his benefit, but because she wanted the release his body could offer her, if he'd but submit to her desires. If he thought that was really how she felt, it would make it awfully selfish for him to avail himself of her time and talents this way while refusing to satisfy her sexual needs. But she couldn't really be looking for that. Gallech made sure her needs were well and thoroughly tended to. He often took part in Cahill's lessons, and not because he had a deep and abiding curiosity about glamours. No, Cahill's oldest brother just wanted to make sure that he was close by when their mother finished with him, so that he needn't delay the start of their nightly passions by so much as a moment. Surely, then, she couldn't be feeling undersexed? At least, he hoped she wasn't interested in that. Because the feeling wasn't mutual. His mother was pretty enough. Gorgeous even, if you could look past the red hair. Which Cahill could not. And he supposed her hyper-feminine body was appealing too, though it struck him as a bit too much. Too cartoonish. That she was his mother didn't bother him, even though some part of him remembered the Dreaming well enough to know that he'd been raised to believe that incest was wrong. Virtually all he and his kind ever did was sleep with immediate members of their family. So that really wasn't an issue for him. But she just didn't arouse him. Never had. She was the only woman in the clan he hadn't fucked, and Cahill hoped it stayed that way. "No, let's keep going," he said. His mother let out a sigh and stepped away from him. She gave him the barest of nods then began tossing glamours at him left and right. Waves of fire rolled over him harmlessly. Thorny vines whipped up from the ground, seeking to ensnare him but failing to do so. His vision blacked out for a fraction of a second. He saw things that weren't there. One after another, her glamours failed. But he was finding it harder and harder to keep up. The red druidess was laying it on thick. Giving him everything she had, or near enough as made no difference. And his mother had a lot to give. She was older than her sister, but that wasn't the reason Caronwyn was clan matriarch. The smell of burning hair met his nostrils and Cahill realized that he'd only mostly succeeded in shielding himself from the last fiery attack. Distracted by the unbearable stench, he wasn't ready for her blinding glamour. And, unable to see, he had no hope of dodging the vine that coiled about his leg. Its thorns bit deep into his leg and it yanked, pulling his feet out from beneath him and laying him flat on his back. "On second thought, maybe we're done for today," he said when he could breathe again. Caronwyn glowered at him for a moment then strode off, her brown robes whisking softly. # Something was wrong. Cahill wasn't sure what, exactly, but he knew there was. His mother wasn't disappointed in his progress. As rapidly as he was progressing, and as unconcerned as she was with his sister's lack of interest in studying glamours, that should have been clear to him straight off. No, she might be taking her frustration out on him during their training sessions, but it was something else that had her upset. Nor had she nearly burned him to a crisp because he'd failed to take notice of her subtle sexual advances. That thought had briefly crossed his mind, but it just didn't make any sense. They'd never been physically intimate in the past, so why should she be so infuriated by him ignoring the hints she'd been dropping? If that even had been what she was doing. The only thing he was sure of was that it had something to do with his father. None of his siblings or his cousins had ever met the prince. Nor was there any obvious reason for him to have done so. Did his mother suspect him of betraying Clan Walker? Or perhaps think that he'd become an unwitting pawn of the Dreamsmyths? He wasn't sure, but one way or another, it seemed clear that it hadn't been Cahill she'd been tossing flames at, but her former husband. What was he to do about it though? Though Cahill was growing stronger by the day, and getting better at controlling that strength as well, Caronwyn had just provided him with a keen reminder of how limited his abilities remained. And though he wouldn't be too surprised if Arawn Dreamsmyth was less powerful than Clan Walker's matriarch, given how stunning his mother's command of glamours was, there was little reason to think that he himself was any sort of match for the prince. If his father really was the source of whatever had come between him and his mother, as seemed likely, there wasn't much Cahill could do about it. At least not yet. For the time being, he had focus on gathering some information. Before he did anything else, he had to figure out what his father wanted with him. Or had done to him. Of course, the prince was no more likely to reveal his plans to Cahill than he was to let his son cow him into abandoning them. But there was one Dreamsmyth who might talk to Cahill. His cousin might not know anything, but it couldn't hurt to ask. So he headed east. The Emerald Court was one big forest, and each clan occupied a different pocket of it. The Walkers dwelled in the west, the Dreamsmyths in the east, and the lesser clans claimed the north, south, and various pockets in between the lands of the Walkers and the Dreamsmyths. Cahill took care not to trespass on any of their lands. It was getting to be surprisingly easy to sense the boundaries of the different clans, though there were no markers that would be visible to the naked eye. He sensed them the same way he saw through the illusions his mother threw at him. It didn't take long to get there. Vast as the Emerald Court was, one could walk from end to end in a few minutes, if one knew the way. The trick was in knowing that, in Faerie, the shortest distance between two points was rarely a straight line. He found Teagan dancing atop the surface of a gentle stream. At least, at first, it had seemed as though her delicate little feet weren't touching anything but the water. But as he drew closer, Cahill saw a few stones jutting up out of the river. Anyone but his cousin would have found them to offer insufficient foothold, but his cousin had never lacked for grace. That she currently stood no more than three feet tall didn't hurt either. Nor did her gossamer little wings. They were too small, too insubstantial, for flight. But whenever a foot slipped on the slick surface of the stone, those flimsy little things would flitter furiously. If her frock had been green rather than blue, she'd have looked just like Tinkerbell. A little taller and a little less shapely, perhaps, but there was definitely a strong resemblance. A wave of guilt crashed into Cahill at the thought. True, he'd had carnal knowledge of his cousin before. This wasn't the first time that he'd thought to himself that Teagan was incredibly cute, but that her legs were like toothpicks, her ass flat, and her breasts too small. It didn't seem right to let such thoughts cross his mind while she was in this form though. "Hey there cutie," he called out. The sound of his voice abruptly shattering the silence clearly surprised her. But aside from whirling around a bit faster than the tempo of her dance demanded, she showed no other sign being disrupted. Any other woman might have just narrowly avoided taking a swim, arms windmilling and wings flapping to avoid the fate. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 04 "Kay! What are you doing in this neck of the woods?" she asked. Her voice almost made Oona's sound as deep as Fiona's. Some might have called it squeaky, but Cahill rather considered it cute. "Looking for you," he said. She blushed, reminding Cahill of just how cute she was. However unimpressive her figure might be, no one could deny her that. Hands tucked behind the small of her back and blue eyes demurely focused on her bare feet, his cousin asked, "Me? Really?" The surprise in her voice, which he didn't believe to be feigned, felt like a knife in his gut. Teagan might not have been the type of girl he usually went for, but Cahill still thought that something was wrong with a world in which a girl like her could be surprised at the notion that anyone would be looking for her. If Duncan weren't so self-absorbed, he'd take better care of his sister. See to her needs the way a brother should. "Yes, you," he said. "Silly." Teagan skipped across the stream, landing so lightly on the ground before him that her feet didn't even make any indentations. Nevermind that the dirt was soft enough that he himself would leave deep footprints behind when they left. "And why would that be?" she asked in a singsong voice, leaving a brief pause to separate the last two words. He gently brushed a lock of dirty blonde hair from her face, tucking it behind a pointed ear. "Do I need a reason?" "Not really, no," she said with a shy grin. Another wave of guilt. He couldn't tell her that he'd come to ask her about her father. The girl deserved to think that he'd come looking for her simply because he wanted to see her. Suddenly, he wished that was why he'd come. "So, um, are they not taking very good care of you over there?" Teagan asked, a naughty twinkle in her deep blue eye. He stepped closer, thinking to wraps his arms around her but deciding at the last moment that it would be too weird. If this was to go anywhere, she was going to have to return to her normal height. Even in her true form, his cousin wasn't particularly tall. Fiona, the shortest of the Walker women, had a good inch or so on her. But at the moment, she wasn't even half his height. And that wasn't counting his antlers. "Oh, I've no complaints about them," he said. Which was something of an understatement. His two sisters and their aunt saw to his every need. And then some. "Sometimes change is good though." "Nothing wrong with a little variety," his cousin agreed. Her round cheeks deepened. With that, she grew to her normal height, much to his relief. Her wings remained, as did his antlers, though the latter were spectral at the moment. But that was fine. Cahill had long since gotten used to the idea of having sex while wearing exotic fey forms. So long as his cousin was her usual height, he could work with the rest. She then took his hand in hers and led him upstream. After a few minutes, they came to a clearing. With a wiggle of his cousin's nose, a luxuriously appointed bed appeared. "You are still in the bed phase, right?" Teagan asked. "Guess I am." She gave herself a little nod. Cahill laughed awkwardly. Even after all this time, he still sometimes felt like a complete stranger in Faerie. That there was a bed phase came as a surprise to him. "I thought it'd be weeks before you ever came out this way," his cousin said. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, feeling more and more like a complete asshole. The roughspun frock fell away from his cousin. Like it had been a towel wrapped loosely around her body. Underneath, she was completely naked. Some guys might have marveled at her inner thigh gap. At her tight little ass. But the fact that her butt cheeks barely touched, that there was no line of separation between them and her thighs, was not doing much for Cahill. Still, when she gave him that "Well? Are you coming?" look over her shoulder, and a hint of anxiety and vulnerability flashed across her Libido, he resolved to do everything he could to make her feel like the most desirable woman in the world. If only for a time. He remembered from dreams past that sweet little Teagan liked to be seduced slowly and tenderly. She had none of her mother's taste for rough sex. That, undoubtedly, was why her brother paid so little attention to her. Duncan hid the primal energy that raged within him better than Reilly did, but Cahill had seen a few glimpses of his true nature. But that was one of the things Cahill liked best about his cousin. One of the reasons that he was as attracted to her as he was. In contrast to her brother, Teagan was probably as gentle a creature as Faerie had ever produced. One of, to be sure. Even by the standards of their kind, the little pixie knew how to make the most of the lightest of touches. She savored every kiss, every brush of his fingers. And when it came time for her to return the favor, she visited exquisite pleasures upon him using no more than her fingertips. Even when touching his least sensitive parts. Cahill took his time getting reacquainted with his cousin's lithe form, trying not to let his disappointment with her lack of curves show. The way her body responded to his made his task considerably easier. He found that he playing with her breasts was nearly as much fun as playing with Fiona's or Oona's, if only because of the little pixie's reaction. And, to his delight, she made the same sounds, squirmed and writhed just as vigorously, when he nibbled at her ears or kissed her wrists or brushed his lips over her ribcage. By the time he made it to her pussy, Cahill was truly enjoying himself. Her labia were as slim and shy as everything else about her, but she was sensitive enough to more or less make up for it. Cahill couldn't help wondering what it would be like to pleasure her if her sex organs were more prominent, and it wouldn't have hurt anything for her to let her pubic hair grow in a bit, but knowing that she took such pleasure from every lap of his tongue made him want to keep going and going and going, forever. It didn't hurt that she tasted like vanilla and sugar, and her slender little hips had an outsized charm. The way she ran her fingers lightly through his hair or over his shoulders, little sparks of ecstasy trailing her fingertips as she did, drove him crazy. Only when she got swept away by the intense stimulation he was providing did her grip firm up. Granted, it hadn't taken long for that to happen. It took some effort to avoid overwhelming her. Cahill could see how Duncan, who was not renowned for his patience, might not appreciate that. Perhaps he might not have either, after a while. Cahill too had to let his inner animal out of its cage from time to time, though he was more restrained in the bedroom than he gathered some men to be. But he hadn't been with her since he'd left the Dreaming behind. And he'd not taken her as a lover all that often before waking up either. However quickly he might have come to wish that his cousin's tastes were a little less tame if they were more regular lovers, just then, he found the task of trying to stay within her limits to be a most pleasant challenge. Receiving oral sex from her was even more fun than giving it to her had been, unsurprisingly. Or perhaps that was surprising, after how much he'd enjoyed guiding the little girl through climax after climax. She made him cum not once but twice before she even took him in her mouth. Her soft lips and delicate fingers had, some years ago, awakened him to sensitivities he hadn't known he'd possessed. Since he'd last been with her, he'd almost forgotten how much he enjoyed having his nipples played with. How good it could feel just to have a girl trail her fingers lightly along his forearms and across the back of his hands. To have her kiss up and down his chest and abdomen. Teagan somehow made playing footsie feel almost as good as sex. In the Dreaming, Cahill had all too often met young women who were intent on saving themselves for marriage. Especially after he'd moved to Savannah. Most of them had changed their minds after meeting him, but a few had not. They'd swear to him that he'd be okay with that, once he saw how much fun they could have without intercourse. They'd been thoroughly mistaken, of course, but if any of them had possessed Teagan's talent for foreplay, that would have been a different story. He and his cousin pleasured one another over and over. By the time they got around to intercourse, it felt almost like an afterthought. Which was just as well, since Cahill was even more keenly aware of his cousin's taste for the timid when he was inside her. When she straddled his hips and rode him cowgirl, her hips moved more slowly and shyly than any other woman's would have. Not that she denied herself anything by doing so, of course. With every slow roll of her hips, Teagan seemed to experience a miniature orgasm. Her eyes rolled back in her head constantly, and it was a wonder she didn't split her lip open, so hard did she bite into it. A tempest raged within her Libido from the moment his thick cock spread her tight little box wide, and the sounds she made nearly convinced Cahill that he was the greatest lover alive, though in truth he did little more than lie there and let her use him. If she hadn't sucked him dry several times over before mounting him, he might have been a bit disappointed by it all. As it was, though, he was content to just let her do as she pleased with his body. When they were done, they lay in bed, spooning. Cahill ran his fingers through his cousin's dark blonde hair while showering slight, white shoulder with soft kisses. As if to reward him, he supposed, she wiggled what passed for an ass against his abs. Points for trying, at least. "That was great," Teagan whispered. "I've never met a woman like you," he said. Which was true enough, so far as it went. Hopefully it sounded to her like he was saying that he was in complete agreement with her assessment. "Say, can I ask you something?" he added, hoping that it sounded like the question he had in mind had just come to him. "Of course," his cousin replied without so much as looking at him. "What do you know about my father?" That got her to look back over her shoulder at him. Eyes bluer than the ocean regarded him silently from beneath delicate brows. "I'm sorry," he rushed to say. "That's a weird question." "No," she said. "It's not." Teagan heaved a sigh. "In fact, it's one I figured you'd ask me sooner or later. Guess I just wanted to think it would be later." "I'm sorry," he said again. "Thought that maybe you really did traipse across the forest because you missed me," she said, sounding forlorn. "What makes you so sure that I didn't?" he asked, feeling horrible. Why hadn't he come just for that reason? She deserved for him to have done so. For a moment, he was tempted to simply lie and tell her that he had indeed done so. But something had stopped him. The words would not come out. "Shh," she said, rolling over to face him. A soft palm rested against his cheek. "It's okay. Just tell me that you enjoyed it and I'll let that be good enough." "Very much so." His cousin furrowed her brow. Thins lips formed a line. She looked like she wanted to force him to say exactly what meant, to explicitly tell her that he'd enjoyed having sex with her. But apparently she decided that what he had said would be close enough to an outright lie otherwise that it wasn't worth pushing. Seeing as the words she'd have him speak were in fact true, though, Cahill went ahead and said them. "I had a wonderful time, Teagan. You're an incredibly talented lover." "Really?" she asked, as if there could be any doubt at that point. Cahill kissed the pointy tip of her cute little nose. "Really." "I know I'm a bit tame," Teagan said. "I just think-" He silenced her by pressing a finger over her lips. "You're great." The smile that spread across her pink lips made his heart sing. What was wrong with Duncan that he could neglect such a sweet creature? "I don't know him too well, I'm afraid," she said at last. "He comes by every now and then, but he's always looking for Mom. If she's not available, or if he just doesn't feel like sharing her with Dunk, he'll take me. But we never talk." "Is he rough with you?" Cahill asked. He didn't know what he'd do if she said that he was, but the mere thought of it filled him with rage. Any man who could hurt this delicate little flower deserved to suffer. Horribly. His cousin shook her head. "No, no. He's great. He's...well, I know one guy who puts him to shame. But just the one." Cahill laughed and kissed her forehead. "Like I said, though, it's always just sex. He never tells me anything. Never asks me anything. Not like he cares, anyway." She dropped her voice an octave or two, which still left her sounding decidedly feminine. "`How are you all doing, sweetie-kins? Your brother taking care of you and your mother? You'd tell me if he wasn't, right?"' If Teagan thought that was what Arawn sounded like when he didn't care, she should try having him as a father instead of an uncle. Should try being a Walker. It sounded to Cahill like the prince was trying to keep his distance, but was genuinely concerned for the well-being of his sweet little niece. Still, Cahill got her point. There was no use trying to milk her for information. His father might care more for her than him, seeing as she belonged to his clan whereas Cahill merely had the same blood coursing through is veins, but that didn't mean he'd opened up to her. Divulged big secrets to her. "Daddy's a complete mystery," Teagan said. "To everyone. Even my mother, if I had to guess, though she doesn't seem to think so." "Daddy?" Time slowed. Cahill felt as though he'd been smacked in the face. Did that mean that Macha wasn't the girl's mother? Or that she wasn't actually a Dreamsmyth? No, that couldn't be. She looked like her brother, nevermind that her hair was blonde and her eyes blue while he had a black mane and green irises, or that she was thickly muscled for a woman while Arawn was a bit slimmer than most fey men. There was a commonality to their facial features. Their cheekbones and jaws, the set of their foreheads and the modest widow's peak each of them had in the center of their hairlines. There was no denying it. They were brother and sister. Making Teagan his sister, in addition to his cousin. "Your daddy," she rushed to add, as if that had been what she'd meant all along. The look on her face was impassive. Nothing there betrayed the fact that she'd just slipped up, said something she shouldn't have. But Cahill caught the panic in her Libido. "Ah, gotcha," Cahill said. "That he is." Gradually, Cahill changed the topic, doing his best to avoid arousing his cousin's suspicion. He couldn't let her know that he knew. That he hadn't been fooled in the least by her correction. Unfortunately, though, if she had any talent for reading Libidos herself, she'd know. His mother was trying to teach him how to mask his feelings, but he hadn't yet mastered that, and the shock he'd felt at the revelation had to have been unmistakeable. He pivoted from talk of their father to Savannah, using the brief trip to the music festival as his transition. Then he asked his cousin where she'd grown up. Toronto, it turned out. Or maybe Brisbane or Christchurch. Like so many of the others, she couldn't really remember much from that time in her life. All she seemed to know for sure was that her childhood had been spent in one of the former English colonies, but not in the United States. The small talk ended soon thereafter anyway. Once confident that he'd done all he could to persuade his sister that he remained unaware that she was anything other than his cousin, Cahill soon set to work seducing her again. # The pile of burnt twigs, scorched bark, roasted nuts, and smoked berries that lay before her bespoke the impossible. Except they didn't. Not really. Because, of course, they didn't tell her anything. Whatever insights came to Caronwyn as she stared down at the pile of detritus were all her own. If she'd chosen to read tea leaves, throw bones, gaze at the stars, or spill a bird's entrails, it would have made no difference. None of those paths would lead her anywhere different than an unguided use of her innate talents. It was all done merely for the sake of breathing life into an illusion. As with so much of what they did. Yes, she was a druidess, for true. But only because she'd chosen to present herself as such and because the members of clan chose to accept that. The rituals she performed were entirely arbitrary. They were endowed with meaning only by her belief in them, and the belief of those around her. When all was said and done, it was her power as a woman of the fey that told her what she did not wish to hear. No truths had been coaxed out of the objects by her sacred fires. And thus, she could not tell herself that she'd botched the ritual, that the message conveyed to her was false because the magicks had been tainted. Caronwyn knew these things. But it was so easy to forget them. To believe in the fantasy she'd helped to construct. To set aside her awareness that nothing was what it seemed to be here in Faerie. Neither were they lies, of course, as lies found no home in Faerie. But they were still deceiving. Hers was a world of in-between, where everything existed at the intersection of what was and what could be. Sometimes she wished that she'd lost all her memories of the Dreaming, the way the others had. Perhaps then she'd cease expecting the logic of men to apply to this world. Still, despite all that self-awareness, the druidess scooped up her talismans, shook them in the palms of her hands, and cast them forth once more. Hoping for a different answer, knowing that she'd not find one. Again, they told her the same nonsense. Her son's mind was his own. Yet he was also dancing upon the strings of two puppeteers. The images were quite clear on that latter part. If they told her that Cahill was a card in a game of poker, or a horse running in a race, or some such, she could make sense of the two messages. She'd know that there were two greater powers locked in contest with one another, and that her son's actions would somehow determine the outcome of that contest, but that Cahill was making his decisions for himself. It didn't add up. How could he be acting of his own volition, yet not be? She'd read his Libido carefully every chance she'd gotten. Not once had she detected any sign of foreign influence. He was not under any geis. The only illusions he saw were those she tested him with each day, and he rarely failed to recognize those for what they were within a matter of moments. Her youngest son had great potential, and he was slowly beginning to achieve it. What could the boy's father have done to him that he'd not cast off readily? That she'd not be able to detect? Arawn had done something to her Cahill, though. Of that much, Caronwyn was sure. Her son's behavior had changed after he'd answered the prince's summons. To all appearances, his sudden lack of desire for her was sincere, but she still knew that her former husband had a hand in it. He was unquestionably one of the puppeteers. Who was the other, though? Titania? Oberon? No matter how many times she tried to get her talismans to reveal the identity of the second puppeteer, they refused her. That itself was a sign that whomever it was possessed great power. And the list of great powers was short indeed. But she couldn't see why the Queen of Faerie would need to use Caronwyn's son in a scheme against one of her own sons. Nor did the queen's favored son seem to have much reason to act against his brother. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 04 With a weary sigh, she scooped up the pile of talismans and cast them into the fire beside her. Bright tongues curled up into the air as the flames accepted her gift, then winked out. Slowly, Caronwyn rose to her feet. She had no idea what games the Dreamsmyths played amongst themselves. Nor would she care, if they'd but leave her son out of them. Her mother had warned her to keep an eye on the queen and her brood, but so far as Caronwyn was concerned, the job of the matriarch was to avoid embroiling the clan in any feuds. So what if the queen denied them privileges she allowed other clans? Arawn had never given her cause to mistrust or resent him. Not before now, anyway. How had she fooled herself into believing that he loved her? That neither he nor Kearney would ever let any harm come to her or Oona or any of their children? They were loyal to Clan Dreamsmyth first and foremost, and always would be. She should have listened to her mother. What had once looked liked paranoia was beginning to look like prescience. The woman hadn't wrested power away from Titania on two separate occasions, and lived to tell the tale, by being delusional. If only she were still in Faerie rather than in some faraway corner of the Homelands, living out her exile. Caronwnyn could use her advice. "Something wrong, ma?" Gallech asked. Caronwyn turned around slowly. Her eldest son stood at the edge of the shadows, staring at her intently. He always stared at her intently. Whatever he felt for her, however different it was from Cahill's feelings towards her, there was no denying its intensity. "Nothing that need concern you, my little wolf pup," she replied. Her eyes drank in her son, traveling slowly from head to toe and back again. He was undeniably the prettiest of her boys, but to Caronwyn's mind that was too pretty by half. She liked her men handsome rather than pretty. Yet, strangely, her little elf also had the most ultra-masculine figure of her three sons. Of any man she'd ever met, in fact. He was a few inches shorter than Seamus, who was himself a little shorter than Cahill, yet Gallech's shoulders were broader than those of the middle brother, and not too much narrower than Cahill's. He was built like an armored tank, with thick and wonderfully defined muscles bulging from every which where. He was bulkier than Caronwyn preferred her men, yet his powerful form was not at all unappealing. His coal black hair and bright green eyes demanded attention. His features might be too fine, his jaw too delicate, but Caronwyn couldn't pretend that her son's hard body was the only appealing thing about him. Nor could she say that the inferno raging inside him was without its charm. It made her uneasy, especially since her eldest son was the only one who'd yet mastered the art of masking his Libido. Even more so because he thought she didn't know about that. But no woman could feel the strength of his gaze without her passions stirring at least a little. "Something to do with Cahill then," he said in a neutral tone. His Libido also concealed his bitterness, for all that it mattered. Caronwyn didn't need to hear it in his voice or see it in his energy to know it was there. She tried to suppress the guilt she felt over playing favorites with her sons so blatantly. If she could believe herself when she said that neither Gallech's height nor the size of Cahill's manhood had anything to do with it, perhaps she'd have succeeded. But she could at least say that there was more to it than their differences in stature. Cahill made her feel safe and warm, whereas her nerves were always on edge around her eldest son. "Where is my beloved brother?" he asked, taking a slow step towards the fire. Towards her. The thin cotton pants he wore did little to conceal the hypnotic rippling of his powerful quadriceps. "Don't tell me he's abandoned his training already?" "No, just stopped early tonight," she said. With respect to the first question he'd asked, Caronwyn decided that silence was the best response. He didn't need to know that Cahill had gone east. She wasn't sure that she needed to know that. He had to have a good reason for doing so. Thinking too much about what that reason might be would do her no good. If only the Dreamsmyths hadn't placed a glamour over their lands. A quick glance, a glimpse of her son's whereabouts, and all her concerns might have been put to rest. Or so she chose to believe. "Perhaps you're pushing him too hard," Gallech said. "Expecting too much from him." Caronwyn did not reply. Just watched her son advance ever closer. As he did, the tingling she felt run up and down her spine spread to other parts of her body. Without speaking a word, she sent a messenger to her other son. Wherever Seamus was, he'd see a will-o'-the-wisp appear, a silvery messenger beckoning him to his mother. He'd be free to ignore it, of course. She never made her sons do anything against their will. But if she knew her boy, he'd heed the call. He was ever eager to please. It was Fiona who benefitted from that most, to be sure, but it was nonetheless a general character trait, not something born solely of his affection towards his sister. And so, when Cahill returned to Clan Walker's share of the Emerald Court, he'd find his mother sandwiched between his two brothers. With any luck, that would arouse his jealousy, remind him of how he'd once felt about her. "I expect no more of any of my children than that which I know they can achieve." Gallech was almost upon her. "I'm curious, then, what you think I'm capable of." Far less than Cahill. She hated herself for thinking as much. Her own mother probably never would have thought such a thing to herself. For the longest time, she'd thought Caronwyn too timid, and had assumed that Oona would follow her as matriarch. At least, both sisters had thought that their mother saw them that way. But even if she had, she'd never said as much aloud, nor had she given any indication that she doubted that Caronwyn would achieve great things if she ever did come out of her shell. Ought she not assume that it was the same with Gallech? Perhaps she looking straight into the eyes of Clan Walker's future patriarch. Of the next Prince of the Emerald Court. No. Perhaps it made her a terrible mother, but she truly didn't think so. "Satisfying your mother, for starters," she said, taking one of his strong hands and guiding it to her hip. Her eyes held his and she made her lower lip pout the way he liked so much. "And I mean deep, deep satisfaction." Not as deep as Cahill, of course, but that was a standard against which few men could be compared favorably. Her words were no less true for that. Gallech was not without his charms. And sometimes a girl just wanted to feel wanted. Not even Cahill could always make her feel as intensely desired as her eldest son did. "Not a bad place to start," Gallech said, grabbing her backside with his other hand. He gave her a firm squeeze, sighing contentedly as he did. The way she might have, had his hand belonged to another. Hearing him react that way to the simple pleasure of feeling her made her loins stir though. "Not bad at all." Unable to wait any longer, Caronwyn went up on tiptoes and pressed her lips against her son's. He wasted no time in kissing her back. No one kissed her quite like Gallech. That wasn't entirely a good thing. Overall, she preferred the balanced approach of Cahill, who always seemed to know when to hold back and when not to. But there were times when her eldest's insistence simply made her knees melt. Similarly, though she'd have preferred a little more foreplay, and either of Gallech's younger brothers would have been glad to provide it, Caronwyn found her body responding quite favorably when Gallech guided her down onto the ground and forced his way inside her. He didn't even bother undressing her. Just ripped her thick brown robes open as easily as he would have a bathrobe, pulled his throbbing cock out of his pants, and pushed it into an initially reluctant hole. With each of his thrusts, her womb became more welcoming. Her muscles relaxed and soon began to massage him when he went deep inside then releasing him when he started to withdraw. "That's it, honey," she whispered between nibbles of his elfin ear. God, it felt good to have one of her sons slamming into her like that. "Give it to Mommy. Give it to her good." By the time Seamus arrived, Caronwyn had already cum twice. Scratch marks ran down her son's wing-like back muscles, and bright red indentations in his chest testified to her fondness for his hard pecs and their prominent striations. For his part, Gallech had filled her womb to overflowing with his warm seed, doing much the same for her Libido in the process. "What are you doing here?" Gallech asked his younger brother as he approached them silently. He punctuated his words with sharp thrusts, each one nearly knocking Caronwyn flat on her stomach. Were it not for the firm grip of his strong hands on her shoulders, she might well have. A few more of those powerful strokes, she thought, and she'd find herself slipping off into the land of euphoria again. "Fiona get tired of you?" "Not exactly," Seamus said. "Though she didn't waste much time joining Brit and Finnie after I told her that Mom was summoning me." Gallech stopped cold. Caronwyn let out a groan. "She did, did she?" her eldest son asked. "Don't be mad, tiger," she said, reaching down to frig her clit with her fingers. She was so close. "You know sometimes Mommy needs more than one cock to get her off." "That's what we love about you," he replied after an awkward pause. Then he resumed slamming into her, fast and hard. Faster and harder, even, than before. In no time at all, she reached another orgasm. And sure enough, after she took a quick break to catch her breath and clean herself up, Caronwyn had herself a grand old time with their two hard, young dicks. She let them set the pace at first, using her for their pleasure. But it wasn't long before they became her personal living sex toys. Her inner demon came to the fore and her sons ceased to be complex immortals with thoughts and feelings and strengths and weaknesses. They were just beautiful men with incredible bodies and thick cocks for her to ride. Nonetheless, some part of her remained dimly aware of their individual personalities, if only because those personalities led them to adopt fundamentally different approaches to sex. Gallech was pure, unadulterated need. His hands were everywhere, grabbing and squeezing, groping and pinching. His mouth delivered gentle bites as often as it did sloppy kisses. In contrast, Seamus was the very embodiment of restraint. He was tender and affectionate, his hands caressing her hair and her body while his small kisses delivered outsized pleasure. At one point, Gallech announced that he needed to take a break. That was her fault. She'd milked him too greedily, draining his Libido of energy as surely she had his body of fluids. But while she hadn't done so intentionally, Caronwyn was glad for the opportunity to spend a little time alone with Seamus. That was all too rare an occurrence. Her sweet son swept a lock of hair away from her face and stared into her eyes. He alone, of all her sons, had inherited her brown irises. They weren't bright and colorful like Oona's chestnut orbs, but deep and dark, nearly black, just like hers. "You are so beautiful," he told her. Caronwyn smiled softly. Her fingers traced the contours of his handsome face. He'd come to her as the green man, as he so often did, but it was his true appearance that she was gazing up at now. "So are you, sweetie," she said. They both ignored the derisive laugh from Gallech, who stood watching them with his back to the fire. He'd had his time alone with her. Now it was his brother's turn. With less effort than it would have taken to do the same to either of her other sons, Caronwyn rolled Seamus off her and onto his back. Then she climbed atop him and started to guide him inside her. Only she never got the chance, because he then did the same to her, putting her flat on her back once more. "Not yet," he said. "I need to savor the taste of you for a while first." "Mmm," Caronwyn purred, letting the sound rumble deep in her throat. Her hands slid slowly over his incredible abs. Seamus had an impossibly toned eight-pack, with deep grooves between the solid muscles. He lacked Cahill's perfect proportions, but his muscles were so beautifully sculpted that it was hard to think of his body as much less than perfect. "Well then," she continued. "Do what you must." Seamus was perhaps the only man alive who could rival Cahill in that respect. Like her youngest, the boy had an uncanny ability to make torturously slow seduction feel like pure bliss. He brought pleasure to parts of her body that few women would have considered erogenous zones, unless they'd met her sons. The sweetest of her boys had yet to reach his final destination when Gallech started losing patience. Caronwyn commanded him to wait until Seamus was done, but having the broody youth standing over them kept her son from giving her his best. So then she told her eldest to give them some space too. After he left, Seamus found his groove again, and he slowly, methodically, painstakingly, guided Caronwyn through a most intense orgasm. Only then did she allow Gallech to rejoin them. Slowly, the three of them worked their way up from a position Caronwyn thought of as the tower bridge to full double penetration. She began on all fours, with Seamus in her mouth and Gallech pounding her snatch doggy-style. She ended riding Seamus cowgirl while Gallech knelt behind her and furiously fucking her ass. It was almost more than she could take, having both holes filled at the same time, especially with Gallech going all out on her ass the way he was. But only almost. Caronwyn wasn't always up to having her limits tested like that, but every now and then she got in a mood where nothing else would do. And this was one of those times. Her body cried out for more, more, more, and her sons eagerly provided it. Best of all, that was how Cahill found her. She hadn't noticed his presence at first, lost in ecstasy as she was. But when she chanced to look up, she found her youngest standing at the edge of the clearing, staring slack-jawed at the carnal display unfolding by the fading firelight. Damn, he was handsome. His skin was neither as pale as Seamus' nor as dark as Gallech's. His blue eyes seemed to glow like the stars above. He had the strong, masculine features of one brother, the black hair and bright eyes of the other. And with each passing day, he shed years of maturity, acquiring an ever more youthful appearance. For just a moment, as she studied Cahill's handsome face, Caronwyn almost forgot about the war her two other sons were waging on her body. The overload of ecstasy they were providing. "The hell you waiting for?" Seamus asked. "You think the two of us can handle her insatiable appetites by ourselves?" "Fuck off," Gallech grunted behind her. For her part, Caronwyn wanted to say something, but found she couldn't. It was hard enough just to keep oxygen in her lungs. Thankfully, Cahill listened to Seamus and not Gallech. A few moments later, her third son's beautiful cock was presented to her, and she did her best to fellate it while the other two fucked her silly. Her best wasn't very good, under the circumstances, but the sheer act of taking all three of them inside her at once had been enough to send her over the edge. That was only the start though. In twos and threes, her magnificent sons provided her all that she could ask for. They fucked her like a whore and worshiped her like a goddess. Filled her with cum and covered her in it. Kissed her sweetly and marred her otherwise perfect skin with teeth marks. Cahill got more of her attention than the other two, as was only fitting. He didn't insist upon that, as he should have, but neither did he object when she steered things in that direction. Unsurprisingly, Gallech allowed his frustration to show while Seamus accepted the role of second fiddle so gracefully that it almost hurt her feelings. At times, even her eldest could be sweet and selfless, and Seamus was not entirely without a wild side. But, overall, the younger two were more focused on her needs, while Gallech mostly used her for his own pleasure. Over the course of an hour or so, Caronwyn rediscovered the joy of having all three of her wonderful sons devote all their attention to her. It wasn't the first time she'd been treated to such a delight, but it had been too long since it had last happened. After a while, her body groaned in protest, but her Libido cried out for more. In another respect, though, the whole thing was a miserable failure. Cahill showered her with attention throughout, but he was the first to leave, and he hardly spoke to her before doing so. Just thanked her for a good time, kissed her forehead, and disappeared into the night. Worst of all, as he walked away, Caronwyn had sensed disappointment in his Libido. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 05 ###################### Author's note Part Seven moves the story to Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read earlier parts of the story, though things may make more sense if you have. This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex and anal. All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age. As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. Either way, I'll try to respond in a timely manner. ######################## "What's this?" Cahill asked his mother. "I told you," she replied, "I want to try something different today." That really wasn't an answer. Using a flimsy rope bridge, they'd crossed a deep chasm. Then they'd hiked up a steep incline, passed through a thick fog, and descended into a lush valley on the far side. So far as Cahill knew, they were at the farthest edge of Faerie. The very border of the Emerald Court. And why had they made that long trek? To swim in a lake that was no different from any other body of water found within their lands. At least, so far as Cahill could tell. If there was something unique about the gray water, some reason for them to have come all this way for the day's training sessions, his mother wasn't telling. "Just trust me, okay?" she said. With that, Caronwyn slipped out of her heavy brown robes. Her slender hands didn't touch the rough fabric, of course. It was only her mind that removed the garment. Cahill watched, hypnotized, as it fell to the dewy grass beneath her feet, exposing her fair skin. Wasn't he supposed to think her unattractive? Too curvaceous? As he watched her slowly walk into the water, more and more of her voluptuous form disappearing beneath it's still surface, he slowly regained control of his senses. The momentary fascination with a woman he found far less attractive than any other member of Clan Walker faded. He remembered that he didn't like her red hair. It was only because of what had happened the night before, when he'd come to tell his mother what he'd learned about his father, that he'd momentarily forgotten that she wasn't his type. A pale finger rose up from the water and curled, beckoning him forth. With a sigh, Cahill stripped out of his pants and slid his leather vest off. Then he followed his mother into the water. It was cool, but not quite cold. His skin pebbled and he gasped reflexively a few times, but it didn't take long to get accustomed to it. His mother offered him a wan smile as he approached. The tops of her breasts were visible, pale crescent moons struggling not to be swallowed up by the dark sea around them. Damn if that didn't look good. His mother's huge breasts made even Fiona's and Oona's look modest. Not small, exactly. No one would ever think that of them. But their generous endowments seemed a lot less impressive after laying eyes on Caronwyn. "Not so bad, huh?" she asked, splashing playfully at him. "My little boys weren't crazy about the chill, at first," he said, clearing his throat. It had taken him a moment to realize that she was referring to the water. "But no, not bad." But, then, neither were any of the lakes and streams they could reach without having to risk falling to their deaths. Part of him had expected the water to be something more than just water. To fill him with euphoria. To drain every ache and pain away from his body. To do something other than send his testes fleeing for the warmth of his body. "Where did you go last night?" she asked him. Cahill sputtered. He'd tried telling her already. As soon as he'd shown up for his lessons. She'd cut him off! Why did it feel now as though he was being interrogated? Why was there that hard edge to her voice, like she was frustrated with him for keeping secrets from her? "I went to see Teagan," he said. "Why?" she asked. His mother's tone had changed abruptly again. From playful to demanding to calm and patient. Detached. Free of any emotional investment. "To see if she could tell me anything about my father," he said. "And did she?" He nodded. Caronwyn studied him silently. Fuck, she had nice, full lips. And her big, brown eyes were stunning, especially when contrasted with her whiter-than-white skin. If not for that auburn hair, she'd have been gorgeous. Prettier than her sister. Prettier than Brittany. As pretty as any woman he'd ever met. It was just so hard not to notice that hair. Even her eyebrows had a hint of red in them. He couldn't look at her without seeing that. "She tried to pretend it was only a slip of the tongue, but she called him Daddy." "Probably because he's her father," his mother said. Cahill choked on his shock. She said it so matter-of-factly. Like everyone knew that Arawn and Macha had engaged in inbreeding. "You knew?" he asked without giving it much thought. His mother nodded. Then, as if she hadn't just dropped a bomb on him, she changed the subject. "And that's the only reason you went there?" "Why else?" Cahill asked. "Answer the question," she said, flatly. A hint of emotion crept into her voice. "No other reason," he said. All around him, the water turned bright red. The surface almost seemed to glow. "What the?" "That means you're not telling me something," his mother said. "That you've not spoken any words that are untrue, but you've still lied by omission." "Getting Teagan to tell me whatever she could about Arawn was the only reason I went there," Cahill said. "But it wasn't until after I'd seduced her that she let that slip." His mother nodded. And the lake appeared to be satisfied with his confession as well, for it turned a dull and lifeless gray once more. "This is the Lake of Truth," his mother explained. "I don't get it," Cahill said. "We can't," his mother confirmed. "But some would say that our kind is endlessly inventive when it comes to thinking up ways to deceive while speaking only the truth." Cahill nodded impatiently. He knew all that already. "Every now and then, mortal men and women accidentally wander into Faerie," she said, yet again telling him something he already knew. "Sometimes, it's useful to be able to prove to them that we're not trying to deceive them." With a mischievous grin that reminded him of Liadan, she added, "In those rare cases where we're not." He stared at the water in disbelief. With a cupped palm, he scooped some of it up, as if expecting to find its secrets revealed one he studied it up close. "When we deliberately withhold information in response to a question, the water turns red," his mother told him. "Green when we say something that is strictly true but which we know will be interpreted in such a way as to leave the listener with a false impression. Blue when intentionally dodge a question we know to be important." "So what else do you know about my father that you've never told me?" Cahill asked. A slow smile spread across his mother's lips, and the water turned blue as she did. "That's the idea, yeah," she said. "You're a fast learner." "Well?" "Mostly just that, sweetie," she said. "But there's a lot that goes with it." "Uh huh," he said. Caronwyn sighed. "After my mother overthrew her, Titania allied herself with Lady Winter. The Matriarch of Winter. Ever since the queen retook power, the one and only rule observed throughout the Homelands has been set aside. But only for certain clans." "Such as Dreamsmyth," Cahill said dryly. "Not only them," his mother said. "She wants the practice to be widespread enough to legitimate her family's actions. But she doesn't dare allow it within any clan powerful enough to contest the throne." "Why not?" Cahill asked, already suspecting the answer. "Purebred children are stronger than other immortals," she said. "And they lend some of their strength to their mothers. Simply by being, they empower their clans." The blue had faded from the water. He'd only meant to test out the lake's properties, but in so doing, he'd learned something that he suspected would prove important one day. "Now, my sweet Kay," his mother said, moving closer to him. A palm rose up out of the water and, once he bent over to allow her to reach up high enough, pressed itself against his cheek. "Tell me. What did our prince want with you?" "I-I don't know," he said. The water remained gray. "Oooh," his mother said, as if he'd said something incredibly profound. "What?" Her brown eyes stared into his. The thick black eyeliner framing them, to say nothing of her smoky red and brown eye-shadow, really made her eyes pop. Not that any man could have stared into those beautiful orbs without feeling his loins stir anyway. If only she'd dye her hair. Or will it another color. "He's tampered with your memories," Caronwyn said. "Probably did more than that too, but since you've no memory of it, I'm not finding any trace in your Libido." Cahill could only shrug. Whatever his father had or hadn't done, he had no recollection of it. But apparently that was the point. "Here," his mother said. The hand pressed against his cheek slid up to his forehead. Then his mother's fingers pressed against his temple and sunk into his head as readily as they would have plunged beneath the surface of the water. He gasped as she penetrated his mind. When her hand retreated, memories he'd once been denied rushed in to fill the void. As did feelings he'd been prevented from feeling. All at once, Cahill remembered the many times he'd made love to his mother and that he didn't dislike her red hair in the least. That he thought it incredibly beautiful. So too did he remember what had really happened when he and his father attended Savannah's music festival. The way his father had used the flute to steal energy from the crowd, the power he'd unwittingly helped his father to amass, and how Arawn had used that power to manipulate Cahill's thoughts and feelings. How he'd convinced Cahill that he was less attracted to his mother than any other fey woman when in fact she was the object of his deepest desires, and had done so without leaving a trace of what he'd done for the powerful druidess to detect. And how it had made him laugh. That most of all. He'd mocked Cahill even as he violated his mind and his thoughts. "How can you be so attracted to her anyway?" his father had asked. "She's a beautiful woman. Don't get me wrong. But that body? Don't you feel silly, making love to a woman with breasts the size of your head? Don't you wish her ass was smaller, her hips slimmer?" Cahill hadn't replied. He hadn't been able to. Not once his father had passed his hand over Cahill's mouth, leaving nothing but smooth flesh where his lips should have been. Muffled sounds had escaped from his throat, and they'd undoubtedly conveyed to his father that Cahill didn't agree, but that had only amused the prince further. "Doesn't it make you feel like a little boy?" his father asked. "Like you've just hit puberty? Men are supposed to outgrow their fascination with boobs as they get older." Liadan had told him that his father still cared for his mother. If so, he had a funny way of showing it. Or whatever affection he felt for her wasn't born out of physical attraction. Yet, when Arawn finally stopped laughing, Cahill had thought he'd caught a look of sorrow in his father's eyes. It might only have been wishful thinking on his part, but he'd briefly thought that perhaps his father didn't mean the things he was saying. That he was just playing a role. He'd never outright said that he found Caronwyn unattractive because of her figure, the way he had said that she was beautiful. Maybe he was just...maybe...but it did no good to dwell on that now. "He'll know," his mother said suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie. "What?" Cahill asked. But he wasn't really thinking about what she'd said. With everything his father had taken from him now restored, Cahill suddenly found himself painfully aware of his mother's proximity. Of her infinite beauty and the powerful desire he felt for her. The very last thing he wanted to think about just then was his father. "We can't let him know that you're no longer under the glamours," she said breathily. "He needs to think that you're still uninterested in me." "Right," Cahill said, slipping a hand around his mother and letting it settle against the small of her back. Damn, she had the most amazing body. Curves like that weren't supposed to be possible. "Gotta keep it a secret." "We really do," his mother said, the beginnings of a grin pulling at the corner of her mouth. Even as she said that, she moved closer to him. The warmth in her Libido seemed fit to make the chilly lake water boil. "He's obviously afraid of you. Of us." That almost made Cahill laugh. It was nice to know that his mother believed him worth fearing. But he knew better. The look on his father's face when he'd buried Cahill's thoughts and desires deep within his own mind had not been one of fear, but amusement. He'd done what he had because he could, not because his son posed him any threat. "Seriously," his mother said. Cahill gave her a quick peck on the lips by way of response. "So I shouldn't be kissing you?" Another. And another. "Is that what I'm hearing?" Finally, he kissed her long and deep. Words could not describe the pleasure he felt when their lips met. How had he ever doubted that she was the most perfect woman? That he'd been reluctant, almost bored, while sharing her with his brothers the night before now struck him as thoroughly absurd. "No," his mother said sheepishly after their lips finally parted. She stared slowly backing away from him, heading towards the grassy shore. "We can. When we're alone. He can't see you when you're with me." Cahill raised an eyebrow. Mahogany runes appeared on her midsection, then her chest and thighs and arms. Even her face. Her breathtakingly fair skin was soon covered in tribal markings. "Those who are not of my blood can only lay eyes upon me if I willingly reveal myself to them," his mother said. "And when you're ready to perform the ritual yourself, the same will go for you. But until then, you should assume that our prince is watching your every move, save when you're with me." Cahill whistled softly. "Anyway," his mother said, her tattoos fading away again, "the point is, we can do whatever we like when we're alone. But the rest of the time, you have to behave like you're still under his glamours." With that, she turned her back to him and made her way to shore. "Got it," Cahill said, following after her. Did his father really think her ass too big? Cahill wasn't sure how it could have been more perfect. Watching her cheeks take turns swelling with each step that she took made his head spin. And so what if her hips were wider than any he'd ever seen? Her waist was narrower than anyone's but Teagan's. If it was possible for some men to resist the exaggerated curves of her body, Cahill did not think that proved such men more mature or sophisticated. A cool wind picked up suddenly. As it passed over Cahill's naked body, his skin pebbled. It lasted only a moment though, and when the gust died away, he found himself as dry as if he'd spent minutes vigorously working a towel. His mother gave him a telling grin and he smiled back. He didn't need her help drying off. Since they'd begun training, he'd learned far more impressive glamours. Cleaning himself up and drying himself off with a mere thought took no effort at all. But the little gesture still excited him. It seemed to suggest a certain hunger and impatience. Caronwyn wasn't about to wait for him to dry himself off. That would delay the moment that he took her in his arms by at least a second or two, and she apparently wasn't about to stand for that. Cahill wasted no time gathering his mother up in his arms. Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he lifted her off the ground. The feel of her soft breasts against his chest, of her round ass in his hands, drove him crazy with lust. He could feel his cock growing hard. When their lips met, though, he knew true pleasure. Bolts of ecstasy shot through him. As their kiss went on, Cahill felt all his anxiety and pain, frustration and confusion, simply melt away. Was there some prince out to ruin his life and keep the two of them apart? Had his memories been taken away from him by his very own father? Maybe. But none of that mattered. Not while Caronwyn's lips were pressed to his. "Wow," his mother said when he set her back down on the ground. She drew a deep breath and looked away, letting her fingers do the talking for her. They slid down his torso, running over his abs and in the grooves between them, then found their way between his legs. As she took hold of him, she let her breath out, sighing contentedly. "That was nice," she said at last, turning her brown eyes back to him. "I've missed you," Cahill said. His mother smiled back at him, giving his hard cock a few lazy pumps as she did. "Been right here," she said. "I know," he replied. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-" "-let your father mess with your head?" she asked with a playful smile. "It's okay, sweetie. It's not your fault." He nodded. But he knew that it wasn't true. In his mother's mind, perhaps, the prince hadn't had any particular reason for sending for Cahill. And once he'd done so, Cahill'd had no choice but to comply. Once he'd done that, answered the summons, he'd been as good as helpless, powerful as his father was. Whether Cahill might be able to stand up to his father in time remained to be seen, but he'd had no chance of doing so that day. At that point, he'd not even begun training with his mother. She didn't know about the flute though. It was a good thing they'd gotten out of the water. The lake would give him away. Turn green, alerting his mother to the fact that he was deliberately withholding information and thereby leaving his mother with a false impression. Cahill swept a lock of red hair back from his mother's face. Damn, those auburn locks were gorgeous. It must have taken some real doing on his father's part to convince him otherwise, for Cahill had never seen more beautiful hair. In an ideal world, he'd never have to worry about forgetting how he felt about his mother. About the fact that was was his mother. They could just be together, forever and always. That just wasn't the way the fey did things though. He knew he should tell her. She ought to know. For all Cahill knew, he'd given his father the power to contest his mother's throne. Sooner or later, his mother would find out about the flute. Best she heard it from him. He just couldn't bring himself to admit how foolish he'd been though. He still didn't know all the ways of their people. And he hadn't thought that Liadan's brother was anything but another of the many struggling musicians who descended upon Savannah every spring when he'd agreed to part with it. But when he'd handed it over, he'd known better. Not everything, but enough. Gifts were not given lightly among the fey. If Liadan had presented it to his father as such, she'd expect to get something in return. As he should have demanded for himself before giving his aunt the flute. Steeped in mortal conceptions of kindness and reciprocity, he'd simply thought it an appropriate way to reward the woman who'd helped him finally awaken, even knowing that her brother wasn't in a band. It hadn't dawned on him that he might be setting something terrible in motion by doing so. Or that he could have gotten her to offer him a boon. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 05 "What is it, baby?" she asked, a hint of concern creeping into her voice. "Nothing," he said, staring into her eyes. Had there ever been a more beautiful woman, with a more beautiful pair of big, brown eyes? How could he stand seeing disappointment in those beauties? "Nothing at all," he added, before planting another kiss on her soft lips. Whether she believed him, he couldn't have said. But if only because his mother was so eager to have him all to herself, once again in control of his senses, she didn't say anything. She just threw herself into the kiss, and soon enough his father's silver flute was the farthest thing from Cahill's thoughts. He laid his mother down in the grass and slowly entered her. The soft gasp she let out as he spread her lips wide almost gave him pause. The thought of hurting her, even a little, was unbearable. But the swell of her libido and the smile that quickly spread across her face told him not to worry. As he pushed forward, feeling her warmth envelop him, he too let out a gasp. A few of them, in fact. Her hole was so warm and tight. With every additional inch that he slid inside her tight pussy, Cahill came closer to climax. Jolts of ecstasy ran down his length, spread up through his belly, and radiated throughout his body. "That's it, baby," his mother said, reaching up to press her hand lightly against his hard chest. "Take your time." Despite her words, her inner muscles relaxed and squeezed, relaxed and squeezed, pushing him ever closer to the brink. The pleasures she was visiting upon Cahill were almost unspeakable. "We can do it however you like." He tried to say something back. Anything. But he couldn't. His mouth worked, but the only sounds to escape were half-formed and incoherent. His mother's beautiful brown eyes held his, mesmerizing him. Her soft lips peeled back, exposing impossibly white teeth that sparkled in the midday sun. She was a vision of beauty. Her daughters, who Cahill had thought himself obsessed with these past few days, had been fortunate enough to inherit some of that. Neither of them was anything but lovely. They couldn't hold a candle to their mother though. Caronwyn was everything Cahill wanted from a woman, and more besides. Only after his mother started laughing softly, between the soft kisses she bestowed upon his hairy chest, did he realize that he'd lost control already. For a moment, his mind had been unable to process anything but the wonder of it all. The pure, unadulterated majesty of the moment. Then he'd entered a state of infinite bliss. As the euphoria slowly faded and oxygen returned to his blood stream, he heard his mother's laughter, felt her lips against his body and her soft fingers running down his back. Felt her soft yet strong thighs wrapped tightly around his waist and her insides milking him in vain, hoping that perhaps he had just a little more cum to shoot inside her. If he had, he'd have been more than happy to offer it up to her. But, for the moment, he was completely empty. "Must be some kind of record," his mother remarked. "I'm sorry," he said, with an embarrassed chuckle. Then, kissing her on the forehead, he said, "Just got a little excited I guess." "No need to apologize," she replied with a soft smile. "I take it as a compliment." "Was meant as one," he said. Wry amusement showed on his mother's gorgeous face. "That so?" she asked, giving his bottom a pinch. "You know what Mommy would consider really flattering?" "What's that?" Cahill asked. "If you showed me how much your other parts missed me while your little guy gathers his strength for another round." "That I can do," Cahill said, pulling back to rest on his knees. "But only because I'm going to pretend you didn't just call me little." His mother started to correct him, but chose to swallow her words instead, leaving him to make of that what he would. A hint of mischief twinkled in her eye. "You're bad," he said, rolling her onto her side so he could reach her perfect ass. He gave it a playful smack and delighted in the way the resulting shockwave traveled across a white sea of smooth flesh. That sight alone very nearly coaxed another orgasm out of him. Cahill started with his mother's feet. Though he wasn't one of those guys who was particularly attracted to that anatomical area, there wasn't a part of his mother's body that didn't turn him on. And, so far as feet went, he supposed she had a nice pair. Cahill noted with pleasure that her toenails were dark red, matching her hair. The golden toe-ring she wore on her left foot excited him more than it probably should have, as did the ankle bracelet she wore on the opposite foot, though it was nothing more than a strip of faded leather with a dozen druidic charms dangling from it. He enjoyed sucking on her pretty little toes and licking her ankles. He even enjoyed kissing the bottoms of her feet, from the slightly tough pads of her soles and the balls of her feet to the smooth skin of her pronounced arches. There was something humiliating about it. Like he was debasing himself by kissing the lowest part of his mother's body, even though the mortal association of feet with dirt could only be seen as ludicrous by the fey. At any rate, Cahill wasn't sure whether that unthinking reaction detracted from or amplified the pleasure of making love to his mother's feet. Whatever it said about his status, his integrity, his mother enjoyed it. Thoroughly. And that was all Cahill needed to know. There was nothing he wouldn't do to please his mother. So thoroughly did she enjoy it, in fact, that she reached a gentle climax. Of course, she'd had a little supernatural assistance, as he'd been gently massaging her Libido with his energy as he'd done the same for her feet with his strong hands. But even so. If Cahill needed a reason to put his mouth to his mother's feet, that soft shudder that ran down her body as a modest orgasm swept over her provided it. "Ooooh," his mother moaned throatily. "Off to a good start, sweetie." Cahill smiled and moved up to her legs. As he slowly kissed his way up those shapely stems, his hands went scouting ahead. They explored her smooth skin, helping him get reacquainted with the curves of her body. Her thighs were soft and full, yet her skin was smooth and entirely free of cellulite. No mortal woman had legs like that. In the Dreaming, women who had legs as smooth as his mother's generally lacked curves, and those whose thighs were as full and shapely tended to be riddled with imperfections. Even by the standards of their kind, though, Cahill thought his mother had great legs. Not as great as Liadan's, perhaps, and no better or worse than Fiona's, but still a good deal nicer than most. "You don't have to finish the routine," his mother said at one point, running her fingers lightly through his hair. "If you wanted to skip ahead to the part where you make me melt in your mouth, I'd find a way to forgive you." Then, chewing on her luscious lower lip, she added, "Or you could go straight to the part where you give Mommy that fat cock of yours." "Patience is a virtue," Cahill said with a coy smile. But by the time he got to her amazing ass, he was starting to get impatient himself. Fondling that great treasure got him so hard that his cock hurt. He stared at it in wonder, squeezed it, and gently sank his teeth into it. It was so big, so round, and so soft. Yet its perfect heart shape bespoke thick muscles underneath the generous layer of padding. If asked to describe a more perfect backside, Cahill would have come up short. Those twin mounds of exquisitely pale flesh could not have been more appealing. Eventually, he set to work giving her a rimjob, though he longed to have his throbbing member push against her sphincter instead of his tongue. The smooth skin of her anus was dark pink and ultra-sensitive. So sensitive, in fact, that his mother reacted so strongly to every tender flick of his tongue that he slowly recovered his commitment to teasing her. Her delightful moans and sighs, the way she alternately squirmed uneasily and jerked her hips back and forth, pushing her ass against his face, all made the waiting worthwhile. "Fuck, Kay," his mother panted. "That's...so...mmmm." She couldn't even finish the sentence. Soon, her moans turned to whimpers and she started smacking the grass over and over again, seeking to release some of the tension that was building up within her. "Yes, yes, yes, YES!" she shouted as she came. Still Cahill was not done teasing her. He made his way up her back slowly, trailing his tongue along her spine and massaging her already relaxed muscles. He delighted in every shiver. When he got to her neck and made his way to her delicate ears, his mother started to beg him to end her suffering. She told him how badly she needed to have him inside her again. Her pleas fell on deaf ears. After bringing her right up to the brink of yet another orgasm he pulled back and asked her to roll over. She did, groaning in protest against the torture that was yet to come. Then Cahill knelt at her feet and started all over again. He made love to her hips and wrists, her ribcage and her collarbone, and to the insides of her thighs and her cute little navel. Then came her glorious breasts. His mother enjoyed the attention he lavished on her twins so much that he almost forgot that this wasn't the main event, that his exploration of her body would to culminate in the act of cunnilingus. As much as she enjoyed that part of the ritual, though, he enjoyed it even more. He didn't care if his father found his fascination with big breasts to be infantile. His mother's natural wonders would never cease to hold power over him, and Cahill felt no shame in that. Breasts that big should have been saggy and reminiscent of pancakes, yet hers were round and hefty. Her areola were perfectly sized and her pink nipples begged to be played with. When at long last, Cahill knelt between his mother's legs and feasted on her pussy, she went wild. Strawberry cream filled his mouth almost as soon as he began. She shuddered her way through orgasm after orgasm as his tongue probed her juicy folds and his fingers tap-danced over her G-spot. Ejaculate sprayed from between her legs and energy poured out of her Libido. Still he continued, enjoying her taste and smell nearly as much as the knowledge that he was bringing her intense pleasure. If she'd have let him, Cahill might have kept on like that for hours. But eventually, Caronwyn decided that she could take no more. She wrapped her thighs around her son's head, holding his antlers like handlebars, and threatened to pop him like a grape if he didn't fuck her. Though he'd enjoyed every moment of the slow seduction, it was with little remorse that he complied with her demand. It was almost as if Cahill had needed her to insist upon having him inside her before he could feel as though he'd done his job right. That he'd truly have her permission to stop his oral ministrations and move on to the next stage. To start off, he fucked her from behind, and in both holes. Simultaneously. He himself found the added sensation of having her tight sphincter spasming around a second cock to be almost unbearable. He could only imagine how it felt for her. But there was no greater intimacy than that which came from being doubly connected to his mother like that. Nor any image quite so arousing as seeing his two stiff cocks disappearing inside his mother's tight holes at the same time. "That's it, baby," his mother panted as she slowly rocked her hips back, causing her glorious white orbs to dance for him. "Fuck Mommy good." He stared in awe at her amazing body, trying desperately to burn the imagine into his mind. To commit every sensory detail to memory, so that he might never again forget how wonderful it was to be with his mother. Her big ass rippled, like the surface of a lake disturbed by a strong wind. With every thrust, he sent those twin globes dancing. Beautiful red hair, unlike that of any other Walker, spilled down her slender back. The ropes of muscle flanking her spine stood at attention. "Just...like...that," his mother said. Inside, she gripped him as tight as she could. Which was tight indeed, though her muscles spasmed so wildly that it was an uneven vice grip. Cahill felt his mother's Libido brimming, like a river overflowing its banks during a storm. Although he was enjoying himself greatly, he suddenly decided to take things in a different direction. One he knew his mother would appreciate. Allowing his second dick to fade away, he focused instead on turning himself into a centaur. Though that meant that he only had one cock with which to fuck Caronwyn senseless, it was a monster cock that spread her as wide as she could stand. Standing on four legs, crouched above his mother, Cahill couldn't watch her ass jiggle. Couldn't hold her hips, or reach forward to fondle her heavy swinging breasts. But moment he transformed himself, the druidess went insane with lust. After nearly falling over a few times, his mother decided to change form herself. Soon, Cahill had his forelegs propped up on his mother's equine back and her alabaster shoulders gripped in his hands. He pumped away furiously, delighting in the wild nature of their lovemaking. It didn't take long before he had his mother cumming. Not that he stopped once she did. No, Cahill continued his furious assault as if he hadn't even noticed the way her forelegs were trembling or her womb quivering, and soon enough he joined her in another orgasm. Though it wasn't the first time they'd made love in these forms, every time that they did felt like the first to Cahill. In some ways, an orgasm was an orgasm was an orgasm. But there was something distinct and memorable about climaxing while wearing a centaur's body. Cahill came with such force that Caronwyn shrieked in surprise. He didn't feel like he'd opened a valve and allowed his jizz to flow. He felt as though he'd fired a shotgun into her. "Oh! Oh, oh my!" his mother gasped once she regained enough breath to form actual words. "Baby, you're dousing my walls with your juice. I love it. It makes my womb twitch. Ah, oh ...sooo gooood." And even after she said that, Cahill kept on pumping. More and more sperm shot inside his mother. It was beginning to trickle out of her hole and down her hind legs, but most of his enormous load remained inside her. To judge by the way her walls were still milking his cock, she was enjoying every bit of it too. Perhaps he should have stopped there. Even his temporarily oversized balls had their limits. But he couldn't bring himself to withdraw from his mother's warm womb. "More?" he asked in a whisper. His mother gave a neigh then trotted about a bit, as if testing his balance. He managed to keep mounted on her despite only having two legs available though. After coming to a stop, his mother said, "I'm all yours, baby." Cahill waited a moment while his mother cleaned up the mess they'd made with a flick of her wrist, then went right back to rutting her like an animal. Fast and hard and deep, until the equine portions of their bodies were lathered in foamy sweat and their upper bodies possessed a slick sheen. He elongated his arms so that he could reach far enough to grab her huge breasts, holding them tight while he worked his battering ram back and forth. Only after Caronwyn finally begged for mercy did Cahill dismount and revert to his usual form. His mother followed suit and the two of them took a few moments to catch their breath before he got down on the ground and asked his red goddess to get on top of him. He stared up at the druidess. The runic tattoos he'd never even realized she had before started to glow faintly. Only they didn't. It was like he was seeing two images at once. In one reality, his mother's skin was impossibly smooth, fair, and unblemished. In another, her marble flesh was covered on mahogany markings that emitted soft light. The effect was mesmerizing. Not that he could ever look at his mother and retain control of his cognitive processes. But he found the sight of her even more disorienting than usual now that he'd become aware of the tattoos she hid from the rest of the world. "You are absolutely perfect," he told his mother, though that was such an understatement that it bordered on insult "I don't even know the words to describe your beauty." Her mere existence did a grievous harm to all other women, none of whom could ever hope to compare to her. Never in his life had Cahill seen a face so beautiful, nor a body so powerfully symbolizing femininity and fertility and sex appeal. Nor had he ever found himself devoting all of his attention to pleasing his partner. In the Dreaming, Cahill had never behaved the way he did here. Not even the other women of his family got the same treatment from him. With Caronwyn, he could almost forget about his own needs. He didn't feel compelled to prove that he was confident, to walk a fine line between being arrogant or obnoxious and being seen as overly meek and submissive. He could just be himself and not worry about what she'd think of him. She smiled at him and gripped his antlers for support as she leaned down for a soft kiss. Followed by another, and another. And another. Her lips were big and soft and perfect, and every fleeting kiss made him tingle. There were times, though, when Cahill just had to dominate her. When soft kisses would not do. Not because he needed to prove his manliness, the way he'd felt necessary with the women of the Dreaming. Not because his mother doubted his masculinity. Because there was a hunger inside him, a hunger that turned whenever he was with his divinely beautiful mother. He could deny it for a time, but in the end, it would always get the better of him. Cahill grabbed his mother and pulled her off him, guiding her to the ground and rolling atop her as he did. Wasting no time at all, he guided himself back inside her inviting womb and began to plow away at her missionary style. Remembering his lessons, he summoned a few extra pairs of hands. He massaged his mother's slender feet, fondled her full thighs, cupped her huge breasts, and pinched her nipples, all while holding her running his fingers through her silky hair. Soon, a few extra mouths appeared as well. Cahill kissed his mother all up and down her body, sucking on her toes and her nipples, kissing her hips and thighs, licking her ears and ankles. Meanwhile, his many hands continued to explore her ample charms and his fat dick plunged repeatedly in and out of her hot cunt. "Give it to me, Kay," his mother said. "Don't hold back." Did she think he was? He started thrusting faster and harder. His balls slapped against her soft body so hard that it almost hurt. But he couldn't slow down if he tried. "There...there we go," she said, brown eyes rolling back inside her head. The scent of her filled his nostrils. She was a bitch in heat, though her smell was sweet. A shudder ran down his spine and Cahill found the energy to redouble his efforts, though that didn't seem possible. "Ooooh fuuuuck," Caronwyn moaned. "Yes, yes, yes. Fuck me, baby!" Her hands glided over his chest and sent waves of unbearable pleasure through him. Such a simple gesture, endowed with only a little of her vast energy, but it sent him over the edge. Cahill swore and grunted as he gave his mother's hot pussy a few more thrusts. Then he stopped, resting against her, and surrendered to his climax. Spasms passed over him and his eyelids fluttered. His balls worked furiously to pump his cum into the only womb truly worthy of their gift. As he emptied himself into his mother, Cahill let out a contented sigh. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 05 "Mmm, that just warms Mommy right up," Caronwyn said, holding her hands over her stomach. "I can feel your little babies swimming around inside me." Cahill smiled lazily back at his mother, pretending not to have noticed the words she'd undoubtedly chosen quite carefully. The thought of planting a baby inside his mother terrified him, disgusted him, and excited him all at once. If he was ever to be a father, there was no woman who deserved to bear his children more than Caronwyn. But that only meant that he would never be a father. They couldn't cross that line. His mother had just explained that to him. Not without drawing the queen's wrath, at any rate. For a time, they lay beside one another, staring up at the sky while holding hands. But, of course, it wasn't long before they were at it again. # Weeks passed. In that time, Cahill did his best to act uninterested in his mother wherever anyone might see, even as their training sessions became ever more physical. He made a point of visiting Teagan from time to time for no reason at all, and feigned stronger interest in Oona, Brittany, and Fiona than he actually felt. Which wasn't too difficult, as he was genuinely attracted to each of them. Had he never met his mother, never witnessed true perfection made flesh, he might well have been every bit as fixated on them as he was pretending to be. Especially Fiona. But, with the red goddess always in his thoughts, faking an obsession with the other did take some effort. Particularly with Oona. The floral nymph was an incredibly attractive woman, to be sure. But Cahill's interactions with her were every bit as fleeting, and as strictly physical, as they'd been in the past. He rarely got to be alone with her either. She always had one of her sons with her. Sometimes Gallech too, on those rare occasions when his older brother didn't pounce on their mother the moment Cahill's training session ended. In contrast, he grew ever closer to his sisters. The one he'd known for years started to open up to him more than ever now that he was truly a part of the clan, and the youngest Walker saw him as the only one who understood what it was like to feel like an outsider in Faerie while also being absolutely convinced that you'd finally come home. He genuinely enjoyed the time he spent with the two of them, even if his interest in his sisters was less romantic than he let on. He almost wished he was more attracted to Brittany than he was. They seemed to be forming a real emotion bond, born not out of common interests or similar personalities, but shared experience. Back in what she still sometimes called the real world, Brittany had been the type of girl that he'd probably have been initially drawn to but would have quickly lost interest in. Her favorite activities were shopping and seeing what she could get guys to buy for her. She shared his love of the outdoors, but otherwise perfectly embodied everything he found off-putting about younger women. Now that they were struggling to find their place in Faerie, though, that didn't seem to matter so much. And, petty as it perhaps was, Cahill liked to know that he was needed. That he could be a source of comfort and reassurance for someone else just as Fiona had long been for him. And when Brit shared things with him that she wouldn't even tell her precious Finnie, well, that felt pretty good too. Still, though he loved Brit no less than he did Fiona in his heart, his body refused to see the two sisters as equals. Fiona was the only woman he found almost, almost as attractive as his mother. Even she wasn't in the same league as Caronwyn, of course, but it wasn't so hard to imagine being as infatuated with his older sister as he was pretending to be. There were even times that Cahill envied Seamus. For the most part, he was happy for the two of them, though he made a show of pretending to vie with his brother for Fi's affections. But he couldn't help feeling a tinge of jealousy every now and then. Could keep the charade from sometimes bordering on sincerity. That wasn't anything he ever really felt towards Finnegan. He didn't quite understand what his sister saw in their cousin. The guy struck Cahill as nice enough, but relatively boring. Maybe even a little vain, though he was so quiet that it was hard to tell exactly what he thought about much of anything. At least, around everyone besides Brittany, who swore that he never shut up when he was with her. All the same, while Cahill didn't quite get their connection, he was more amused than bothered by it. The passive-aggressive rivalry between him and his cousin was entirely artificial, unlike the tension that was developing between him and Seamus. Or, at least, it had nothing to do with any desire on Cahill's part to win Brittany away from Finnegan. If Arawn would just stop meddling in their affairs, Cahill would be content to devote all his romantic attention to Caronwyn and settle for a more casual relationship with Brittany. Everything seemed to have settled into a stable, if less than ideal, equilibrium. He didn't hear from his father again, nor hear much about him. For all he knew, the prince was just as fooled by Cahill's act as everyone else was. Then, one night, his eyes were forced open. # When Cahill arrived at the grove Fiona usually occupied, he found his sister there, and Seamus too. Unsurprisingly. His brother was taking their sister from behind, his pale green skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. He wore neither his full-on green man look, with bark covering parts of his body and leaves for hair, nor his true form. Sweat-dampened brown hair clung to his scalp and the only reason his body was as hard as the trunk of a sturdy oak tree was because he was so trim and fit. For her part, Fiona had tied herself up with thick, leafy vines. Every time she jerked her hips or gave a spasmodic kick of her legs, the trees shook. Their great boughs creaked as if mimicking her sighs. Sharing her ecstasy. Part of Cahill was disappointed. He didn't really need another reminder of the fact that no one could satisfy their sister the way Seamus could. But at the same time, the beauty of the sight could not be denied. From the way Fiona, in the throes of ecstasy, marshalled the forest itself to her cause, to way his brother stared at their sister. Even Cahill was a bit intoxicated by the devotion and desire, admiration and affection, lust and longing, that was so evident there. He could only imagine how Fiona felt, looking up into her brother's handsome face and seeing that mix of emotions. And, unlike Cahill, who'd never had, and never intended to have, sex with his brother, Fi could read Seamus' Libido. Not wanting to interrupt them, Cahill watched silently in shadow form until Fiona reached a powerful climax that caused Faerie itself to shudder. Seamus leaned down and kissed their sister first on the forehead then the tip of her nose and then her lips. As his brother slowly withdrew from inside Fiona and stood up, Cahill finally revealed himself. Seamus regarded his younger brother coolly. He didn't say a word, just looked Cahill up and down. Then he let out a snort. A slight grin spread across his lips. "All yours," he told Cahill with the flattest voice possible. "Be good to her," Seamus added before turning his back on his brother. "Wait," Fiona said from the ground. One of her stood up, another remained where she was. "You don't get to decide that," she said, taking her brother's hand in hers. Cahill could only imagine the confusion Seamus felt. Every time he'd signaled to Cahill that Fi was his and that there'd be trouble if the younger man tried getting in the way of that, their sister would take offense and remind the both of them that she belonged to no man. Seamus had gotten the message, it seemed, as this was the second time he'd chosen to immediately excuse himself from their sister's presence the moment Cahill showed up. But apparently that didn't sit too well with Fiona either. Of course it didn't. She was madly in love with the dolt. But poor Seamus must have been driving himself crazy, trying to make sense of their sister's actions. Why wasn't she doing more to discourage Cahill from trying to woo her away from Seamus? Was their younger brother just another lover to her, the way Finnegan was, or the way Brittany and Caronwyn were to him? If Cahill knew the answers to those questions, he'd have gladly told his brother. He wanted to sit Seamus down and explain it all. To tell him that he didn't really need to worry. That Cahill was only trying to keep their father convinced that his son remained under the glamour that had prevented him from seeing Caronwyn's true beauty. But he couldn't. That would defeat the purpose. For all he knew, their father would be listening. As he no doubt was whenever Cahill wasn't with his mother. "I can be with both of you," Fiona added, her voice softening. Seamus nodded. So the lovely dryad led her green-skinned brother away, even as she beckoned the antlered one to join her on the soft bed of moss. And her two brothers forgot all about each other. Cahill approached his sister slowly, staring at her intently. Her soft thighs were parted, granting him an unobstructed view of her beautiful pussy and the tuft of dark, curly hair that sat above it. She wore a coy smile on her face as looked up at him, drinking in his bare-chested form. He sensed her Libido pulse as her eyes ran over his chiseled abs and his broad shoulders, his stony face and his full head of thick, black hair. As she studied him lasciviously, he did the same for her. She was an incredibly sexy woman. Her broad hips, full thighs, narrow waist, and heavy breasts gave her an ultra-feminine, impossibly voluptuous figure that would have seemed absurd had he never met their mother. Fiona had a thicker waist than any other fey woman, but most mortal women would have envied it. Those fortunate few who'd have no cause to would lack the hips and bust that gave his sister an exaggerated hourglass figure. "Got tired of Mom, huh?" his sister said. Cahill almost tripped and fell on top of her. "Relax, killer," she said, sweeping a lock of green hair away from her face. "Didn't mean anything by it." With a lazy smile, she added, "I know how important it is to you that not disappoint her. She thinks you've got a lot of potential." He managed to avoid letting out a sigh of relief, but it was a close thing. Hopefully, if the prince was listening, he'd actually believe that Fiona hadn't had anything other than training in mind when she'd said that. "You don't?" Cahill asked as he knelt before his sister. She planted one hand on a broad shoulder before reaching up with the other to stroke his antlers. Using one of his favorite techniques, which he'd learned from her in the first place, against him, she turned a part of his body that shouldn't have been the least bit sensitive into a powerfully erogenous zone. He trembled, drawing breath sharply, as she ran her fingertips lightly over the bony protrusions. She could get him off that way if she so chose. She'd proven as much a few times in the past. Any of their kind could, if she put her mind to it. But only Fi seemed to find it endlessly amusing to see him cum like that. Or perhaps she found it arousing. Maybe both. "Oh, I'm sure she's right," his sister said. "Mother knows best." She was only teasing him. Trying to make him feel insecure, so that he might be driven to prove her wrong. Which was undoubtedly the same game she was playing with Seamus. But even knowing that that was what she was up to, Cahill still fell for it. "That she does," he said. "I know," Fiona said, a hint of amusement in her voice. The fingertips trailing lightly over his antlers started to deliver even more pleasure. Cahill felt almost crippled by the delightful sensation. "You're the biggest stud Clan Walker has ever seen," she cooed. His sister was staring at him with hunger and amusement, no doubt delighted by the ease with which she was paralyzing him. If he could have, he'd have kissed her smug smile away. But he couldn't. His lips weren't responding. Nor were his hands, or anything else. It was all he could do to keep from falling over. Fiona raised her head up off the ground and leaned in close to his neck. Her breath was warm against his skin. It send a shiver down his spine, and that alone was nearly enough to finish Cahill off. "I know," she whispered almost inaudibly before nipping at his earlobe. "Know...what?" he asked, speaking louder than he should have. Fiona didn't reply. Just kept playing with his antlers and inflicting unbearable amounts of pleasure on his ear with her soft lips and warm tongue. "What are you talking about?" Cahill asked between shudders. One hand finally made its way up to a heavy breast. His sister had stiff nipples, hard as diamonds. They weren't as much fun to play with as his mother's somewhat softer ones, but there was a unique appeal to them all the same. "Who says there's anything to know?" "Course not," she said, giving his poor ear a brief respite. A soft thigh wrapped around his waist, drawing him in closer. Even with his pants on, he could feel the warmth of her sex as he bent down lower. "Nothing at all." Cahill tried to protest further, but all he could do was gasp in both agony and ecstasy. He was powerless before the tree nymph's simple assault. "Seamus sees it too," she said, punctuating each word with a flick of her tongue or a light nibble. "Don't believe his little act. He's no more threatened by you than you are in love with me." Suddenly, she added her teeth to the mix, biting down gently on Cahill's neck. That did it. He made a mess in his pants. Fiona smiled at him as he tried to catch his breath. His antlers lost their unnatural sensitivity and her hand fell away, settling on his other shoulder. "What we don't know is why," she said. Though he was still breathing heavy, she pressed her lips to his in a sloppy kiss. After withdrawing, she added, "Who do you think you're kidding? And what does it matter?" Rather than answering, Cahill kissed his sister. Deeply. Her soft lips yielded before his despite the fact that he was transparently dodging her question. The curiosity and self-satisfaction he'd failed to notice in his sister's Libido were easier to pick out now, but the dominant impression was still lust. She wanted him to know that she knew, and wanted to know what it was all about, but not half so badly as she wanted him inside her. A few moments later, she got at least some of what she wanted. "Mmmmnngh," his sister moaned as he pushed the full length of his enormous dick inside her. It was a groan of protest, but so too was it an expression of deep satisfaction. "You don't play fair," she added, breathlessly. "That makes two of us," Cahill said. For a moment, neither of them moved. He was all the way inside her, buried to the hilt, and there he remained. They stared into each other's eyes, speaking not a word. His sister's green irises seemed to give off light, so intense was her gaze. If that was meant to break his will, to cause him to forget about making love to her and instead choose to confess his secret, it didn't work. Reminded of just how beautiful his sister was, Cahill almost forgot that he was filling her warm pussy with his cock because he wanted to avoid conversation. When his hips started working, pulling his dick back a bit before slamming it back in, it was as much out of genuine lust as it was a determination to distract his sister. "Fuck, yes, Kay," his sister panted. Her strong thighs gripped him tight and she dug her green nails into his shoulders. "Give it to me good, you jerk. You know I love that cock." Harder and harder her fucked her. Fiona's juices were almost gushing out of her, she was so wet. The trees swayed and groaned as they had when Seamus was atop her. "What's that?" Cahill asked. "Harder, you say?" "Yes!" Fi howled. "Yes, yes, fuck YES!" He was already slamming into her just about as hard as he could, despite how quickly he was moving, so he could only escalate his assault in some other way. Two came to mind. First, he added some girth to his dick. Cahill was nearly as wide of one of his sister's fists to begin with, but with a little effort, he grew thicker still. Second, he amplified her sensitivity, making sure that his every thrust filled her with more ecstasy than she could handle. It didn't take long for her to burst. Warm ejaculate sprayed against his lower abs and her limbs flopped about like dead fish for a while before his sister's entire body went limp. He cautiously drained energy from her, taking care not to overdo it. As he did, he felt his brother drawing from Fi's well too. At least, he assumed Seamus had to be the reason that more of Fiona's energy left her than entered him. Cahill kissed his sister softly. She reciprocated as best she could, but there wasn't much life in her. He almost felt guilty about that, but it would be a lie to say it didn't give him any satisfaction at the same time. "No," Fi said as he started to pull out. The hands on his shoulders tightened. "Stay." He hadn't planned on going anywhere, exactly, but he knew what she meant. His cock remained buried inside her warm pussy. Wiping sweat-dampened brown hair aside, his sister said, "For the record, that is undeniably the right way to dodge a question." Cahill smirked. Giving herself a small nod, Fiona continued, "Yup. Anytime I ask you something you don't want to answer, either do the right thing and answer it, or do that. Because that was...yeah. Do that. Even if you do answer. Do that first." "Duly noted," he said, planting a soft kiss on her nose. Fi plucked a leaf of fresh spearmint and popped it in her mouth before offering him one. He nodded and opened wide, letting her place the leaf inside for him. Glancing around, Cahill noticed that the plant from which the mint had come was just one of many new ones that had appeared while they'd made love. Somewhere not far away his brother was tending to their sister's needs as well, but that didn't keep Cahill from taking credit for the dramatic impact of his sister's orgasm on the land. "Now," Fiona said, running her hand through his hair, "tell me what you're up to." Cahill kissed her nose again. Then her forehead. Before he could get a third kiss out, she tightened the grip of her thick thighs around his waist. He felt like a walnut pinched between the metal arms of a nutcracker. "Okay, okay," he said. "Good boy," Fiona replied. "But there's something I need to do first." His sister's eyes narrowed. "No, seriously," he said. She sighed and released him. Her feet came to rest on the soft ground beside them and her legs spread apart. Cahill kissed his sister a few times before standing up. He wasn't sure he could make it work. His mother had been teaching him how, but it was one of the more complicated glamours they'd worked on. But it wouldn't hurt to try. His sister's beautiful face frowned, but she seemed to immediately understand what kind of glamour Cahill was attempting. And of course she did. Their mother was the only one powerful enough to wrap herself in it permanently, to bury the glamour beneath her skin with those beautiful tattoos, but surely his sister had worked with the temporary version before. He felt her join his efforts, easing the task of casting a layer of protection over them. "Kay," she said slowly. A gossamer web surrounded them, bathing them in soft light. It wouldn't only prevent anyone who stood nearby from hearing them, but also block any glamours that might have been used to spy on them from afar. That last part was what made it so tricky, it turned out. Denying the physical senses was easy. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 06 ###################### Author's note This concludes Part Seven. Part Eight and Part Nine will continue the story of Clan Walker. Part Ten will take us to Winter, and begin to tie all the threads together. This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex and anal. All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age. As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. Either way, I'll try to respond in a timely manner. ######################## Chin in his palm, sitting atop a mossy log in a remote corner of Clan Walker's lands, Cahill grappled with some heavy questions. Unfortunately, he wasn't thinking any deep thoughts. Mostly, he just kept asking himself over and over again what he was going to do. Assuming Fiona was right about their mother, what reason could his sister have had for making him work so hard to get an answer out of her? To ensure that he interpreted her words as properly meaningful? If so, it had worked. It wasn't as though he'd have taken it lightly if she'd come right out and said it the first time he'd asked. But the build-up made the situation seem graver still. He had to convince his mother that it wasn't worth it. That she'd be crazy to take on the queen. But how was he to do that? Was he supposed to pretend he wouldn't be interested in getting her pregnant if they were free to do so? How could he expect her to believe that? "There he is," a voice said. Cahill bolted upright. As his father stepped out of the shadows, the cloven hooves of his goat legs crunched dead twigs and dried leaves. "Been looking all over for you." There was a smile on the prince's face, but it didn't touch his green eyes. "Have you been hiding from me? Using glamour?" that look seemed to ask. In satyr form, there was no telling exactly how tall Arawn was. His double-jointed legs had wicked curvature, far more dramatic than found in goats or other four-legged creatures. If he drew himself up to his full height, perhaps he'd tower over Cahill. At present, though, he barely reached his son's nose. Not counting his horns, of course. But Cahill most certainly did not look down on his father. "Been around," he said meekly. Which was true enough. His father smiled, almost good-naturedly. Then clapped his son on the shoulder. Cahill glanced down at the hand. At the thick hair covering it, running along the back and down his knuckles, stopping just short of his father's fingernails. Few men in Faerie had much body hair. Perhaps including the prince. In this form though, he had a thick pelt running from navel to collarbone and down his arms. The hair wasn't as thick or curly as the fur on his legs, but it created a greater sense of continuity between the man parts and goat parts than there might otherwise have been. It made him seem a little more masculine, a little wilder, than the other fey men. "I haven't thanked you properly for this yet," he said, producing the silver flute from nowhere. He held it in his free hand, tapping it against his own shoulder, while still holding his son's with the other hand. "You have no idea how useful it's proving to be." "Glad to hear it," Cahill said, eyeing his handiwork nervously. He never should have given it to Liadan. Not without.... "So you've come to offer me a boon in return, right?" Cahill said. His father's eyes narrowed. "I'm new to Faerie, so if I've misunderstood, please forgive me. But that's how these things work isn't it?" "It was a gift freely given," his father said cautiously. That didn't really mean much. Depending on the circumstances, that could mean that Cahill was entitled to a greater boon than he could have expected to negotiate for if he hadn't given the flute as a gift. But in other cases, it would have meant that he wasn't entitled to any recompense at all. The precise difference between the two situations remained somewhat mysterious to Cahill. But he knew enough to know that this was one of those cases where, by accepting the flute, his father had indebted himself. "I've already granted my sister a major boon," the prince continued. "Perhaps you ought not have used a middleman." That, however, he hadn't considered. How could he have not? What did he think, that Liadan was just going to hand the flute over to Arawn out of the goodness of her heart? She was the Lady of Mischief, not Benevolence. He might be entitled to a boon from her, but not his father. Still, he could work with that. "Hmm, good point," Cahill said. "Yes, next time, I'll do that. Just give my flutes directly to all of your brothers and sisters, without asking anyone else to deliver them for me." The prince's hand fell away from his son's shoulder. Cahill could have threatened to give one to his mother. Or to craft one for himself. But that was tantamount to declaring Clan Walker's intention to challenge the Dreamsmyths. Nothing to be gained by doing that. On the other hand, he could leverage his father's fear of his own family against him, and do so without fear of invoking the queen's wrath. "Suppose I was feeling generous," his father said. "I just might be dissuaded from making any such gifts," Cahill finished for him. Green eyes glowered at him. Cahill could almost hear his father contemplating whether it would be easy to remove all of Cahill's memories of his life in the Dreaming, and the knowledge of how to craft flutes along with it. But, of course, he didn't need to give the others flutes in order to threaten his father's hold on power. And he knew that. Silence reigned for a few intense moments before the prince said, "Perhaps I do owe you a boon." He tapped the flute against his shoulder again. "Mighty fine handiwork, after all." "A major one," Cahill said. His father drew a deep breath. "Naturally." "Thanks, Dad," Cahill said. "You're alright, no matter what your mom says about you." No response came. The Prince of the Emerald Court, Lord of Remembrance, and Piper of Dawn, stared coldly at his youngest son. Cahill hadn't expected his father to laugh at that stupid joke, but that expression still made him wish that he hadn't made it. Without another word, his father gave him a nod and disappeared without a trace. "Well," Cahill said to himself. But he didn't finish the thought, having no idea how to feel about what had just happened. # The part of the woods his mother usually inhabited was empty. Cahill searched all around for her but there was no sign of the red goddess. Eventually, he let his Libido guide him to her. Opening himself up, he called to mind her smile and her smell, her beautiful auburn hair and her impossibly proportioned figure. He found her in the big clearing near the center of Clan Walker's territory, where they held official gatherings on those rare occasions where such were called for. Which they hadn't since the day they'd acted out their retelling of Alice in Wonderland for Brittany. It appeared his aunt had something similar in mind for that morning. When he saw everyone gathered there, Cahill had muttered a string of profanities under his breath. He wasn't in the mood for one of Oona's games, fun as they could be. Family orgies were never a bad time, of course, but he wanted nothing more just at that moment than to be alone with his mother. He wasn't sure yet whether to tell her about his encounter with his father. She didn't know about the flute, and he'd have to tell her about that to tell her about the boon. But either way, he wanted to be with her. Where he belonged. Before he could say a word though, the busty nymph spotted him, waved, and called out, "Hey you! Thought we were going to have to start without you." His mother shot him a sympathetic look over her sister's shoulder. She mouthed "sorry" as Oona rushed over to talk to him. "Caron told us not to look for you," his aunt explained as she approached him, using a nickname his mother disliked even more than he did Kay. He'd called her that once himself, but the frown she'd given him had been enough to ensure that there was never a second time. There was a story there, no doubt, but his mother hadn't yet seen fit to share it with him. "Needed some time alone," he said. "But I'm here now." It didn't surprise Cahill that his mother had known not to disturb him. The connection between the two of them was powerful, and growing more so. She often knew how he was feeling before he himself did. Why should a little physical distance negate that? "Well, there aren't a lot of options left, kiddo," Oona said, glancing around the clearing with a poorly hidden smirk. "Maybe you can be...Toto?" Cahill snorted derisively. But she was right that there weren't many options left. They were going for an Oz theme, as they hadn't for some years. Well, for Cahill, it had been years since the last time they'd last re-imagined that classic American fairy tale. But that would only have been a few months for the other members of Clan Walker, given the differences in how time flowed here in Faerie as compared to the Dreaming. He was still getting used to that. Hard as it was to believe, his mother had recently informed him that she'd only given birth to him less than two years ago. This time, Fiona was to play Dorothy. It had been Oona when last they'd done the whole Oz thing, but his aunt was currently opting for a part they'd previously neglected, casting herself as the Wicked Witch of the West. Much to Cahill's amusement, Gallech and Reilly had accordingly taken on the guises of two figures likely to spend a lot of time with the Wicked Witch -- a winged monkey and a green-skinned winkie guard, respectively. His younger sister would serve as the Tin Man, as her beloved Finnie had the last time. Finnegan was dressed up as Scarecrow and Seamus had claimed the Cowardly Lion. As was only fitting, his mother would again be the Good Witch. With red patent-leather pumps that were thickly encrusted with glittering rubies, white knee-high stockings, a skimpy blue jumper and frilly white blouse, Fi looked a good deal like the iconic character, even if hers was a decidedly more grown-up take. His sister even wore her dark brown hair in pig-tails, just the way Judy Garland had. Of course, that Dorothy hadn't shown quite so much skin. His sister's apple bottom was slightly visible beneath the hem of her dress. Without the white petticoats, her outfit would have granted an almost unobstructed view of that treasure. The bodice of the jumper didn't cover half of his sister's considerable bust, and the blouse only covered up a little more. That left an impressive amount of cleavage on display. Oona's skin was green and her nose was longer than usual. Thick eyebrows had grown thicker, and acquired a wicked arch. Her lips were black as pitch, the same as her eyes. She wore a wide-brimmed black hat with a pointy tip. A black cape stretched from her shoulders down to her ankles. The similarities mostly ended there, though. At least, no version of the witch Cahill had ever seen had worn a fishnet body stocking, leather boots with six inch heels, or a black leather corset. Though Cahill could imagine some creative uses of the infamous broomstick, his aunt hadn't bothered to incorporate it. As the Tin Man, Brittany wore stiletto heels, tight leather pants, a silk corset worn over a long-sleeved shirt, a choker, leather gloves, and a little funnel worn off to one side of her head. All of which, of course, were silver of one shade or another. She carried a woodsman's axe whose shaft was of a piece with its dull blade. Somehow, her getup managed to make her look both more imposing than usual and sexy as hell. If not for the axe and the funnel, it would have been hard to tell who she was supposed to be. But that didn't matter. Cahill would never again think that the Tin Man should be played by a man, even if there was a certain symbolism to seeing his quiet and eerily detached cousin dress up as a character who'd famously been in search of a heart. Her outfit wasn't nearly as skimpy as Fiona's. The only place any skin was visible was from the neck up and the ankle down. But, to his surprise, Cahill found that he rather liked the way the outfit complemented Brittany's body, suggesting more than it revealed. Of course, no one could compare to his mother. Caronwyn wore bright pink heels and white stockings with pink rainbows at the center of their elastic bands. Her full hips seemed even broader with her short but wide bright pink skirt. The soft pink overskirt that lay atop it only added to the effect. Her white corset had soft pink stripes and cups and a bright pink ribbon at the center. Soft pink epaulets covered her shoulders and she wore long pink gloves that reached past her elbows. Bright pink rainbows adorned the wrists. To bring it all together, she carried a star-tipped wand and wore a tall, thin silver crown atop her pile of red-brown curls. Never had a woman looked so good. Never. Of course, even at her worst, his mother put every other woman to shame. If it could even be said that she had a "worst," come to think of it. But the costume fit her so perfectly, in both the literal and metaphorical senses, that Cahill was surprised he didn't explode the instant he laid eyes on her. Her costume wasn't as modest as Brittany's nor as skimpy as Fiona's or Oona's, and he liked that very much. Her getup struck the exact right balance. No man could gaze upon her and doubt that she had an ultra-feminine form, nor without feeling a painful need to see more of that biologically impossible figure. His sisters looked good, to be sure. As did his aunt. But the redhead looked amazing. And then some. She was not only the best-looking to begin with, but hers was the best costume as well. In fairness, even Gallech and Reilly looked a lot better than the characters they were depicting. Cahill didn't spend much time admiring their appearances, the way he did the women of his family, but he had to admit that they'd managed to eke more sex appeal out of the Wicked Witch's henchmen than one might expect. Gallech's skin had turned light blue, and he'd grown a good deal of dark blue body hair, but he didn't actually look like a monkey at all. He still had the same handsome face that bordered on beautiful. The body hair that he'd grown was too sparse, too absent from unwanted places, to be mistaken for fur. It really only made him look more masculine, Cahill had to admit. The same way his father's pelt did when he was in satyr form. The blue vest with red and white trim, matching hat, prehensile tail, and feathery wings all made it quite clear who and what his brother was supposed to be, but it wasn't hard to imagine that a woman with a sufficiently open mind would still find him more than a little appealing. Like his mother, Reilly had gone green. He carried a nasty polearm just like the ones in the film and wore more or less the same uniform. The one difference was the absence of thick plates of steel that should have covered him from neck to waist. Though armor covered his upper arms and all the other details were as they should have been, his torso was unprotected, and he wore his coat open so as to reveal his hard chest and chiseled abs. If Gallech and Reilly rose above the limitations of their costumes, Finnegan and Seamus transformed their characters into veritable sex symbols. Finnegan wore loose brown drawstring pants, a tight blue vest, a burlap sack over his head with a hole cut out for his face, and a broad-brimmed black hat. Straw hung out from the bottom of his pants and encircled his wrists and throat. His face had changed color to match that of the sack, save for his nose, which was brown. While Finnegan didn't have his brother's pecs or biceps, Cahill thought that his cousin looked at least as good in his loose but tiny vest as Gallech did in his tighter one. Of course, it helped that he wasn't blue and that his washboard abs weren't hidden beneath a thick layer of hair. As for Seamus, well, he almost made Cahill wish he swung that way. He'd grown a tail, leonine ears, and a thick golden mane. But aside from that, he'd basically just thrown on a leather loincloth, made his skin golden-brown, and allowed some body hair to grow out. Not nearly as much as their oldest brother though. He hadn't bothered to adopt a feline nose or whiskers, nor to turn his hands and feet into paws. There really wasn't much difference between this Cowardly Lion and ordinary old Seamus. But his brother's best qualities were on full display, from abs any man could envy to long thighs that were powerful but not overdeveloped, and the animal likeness made his typically restrained brother seem wild and dangerous in a way that Cahill could only imagine would drive Fiona and the others crazy. "So," Oona said, tapping a slender finger against her mouth. Even with her skin green and both her her fingernails and lips jet black, he found her incredibly beautiful. Not nearly as beautiful as his mother, of course, but there was no denying that his aunt was gorgeous. "Toto. Think you can make that work? Or are we all going to have to laugh at you?" Part of him wanted to say that he had no time for the silly exercise. That he'd come looking for his mother, and he didn't care what the rest of them did, so long as they let him talk to her. But he'd only end up piquing everyone's interest, guaranteeing that he and his mother would get no privacy, if he said as much. Besides, the news would wait. So. Toto. "I...guess," he said. Oona snickered. "You're too cute, Kay," she said, reaching out to pinch his cheek, the way his mortal aunts often had back in the Dreaming. He took a page from Seamus' book, opting for a very minimal costume. He grew a short, bushy tail and donned a knit hat that depicted the face of a terrier. His goatee grew thicker and took on a lighter tint. His hands and feet turned dark gray, nearing black, but did not turn into paws or grow any hair. Aside from a gray furry loincloth and his hat, he wore no other clothes. His well-muscled body was almost fully exposed. Yet, he knew before the snickers began that he didn't look as good as Seamus. A man could liken himself to a lion and add to his sex appeal. But a terrier? Not a chance. It didn't matter that Cahill had an enviable body, a sharply v-shaped torso, long legs, and a huge dick that his loincloth could barely contain. His biceps and calves might look like baseballs, and his abs might have been almost as perfect as Seamus', but with his cute puppy dog cap and his waggly tail, he was a big joke. "Awwww," Oona tried to say, though she was failing so miserably at stifling her laughter that it didn't quite come out that way. Pressing a hand to his hard abs, she said, "Don't you just look...." Whatever she'd intended to say turned into a mix of snorts and snickers. "Thanks," Cahill said, infusing the word with as much sarcasm as he could. "Oh, you're adorable, sweetie," his aunt said, sounding now almost as though she meant it. She went up on tiptoes and kissed him softly on the lips, helping his shame to recede a little further. "And you know it." The hand that had been pressed against his abs fell a little lower and rubbed his manhood through his skimpy undergarment. "Dorothy better keep her eyes on you. This Wicked Witch isn't all that interested in girls from Kansas, but her little dog? Him, we'd very much like to get our hands on." Cahill kissed his aunt back. Deeply. And gave her ass a firm squeeze before letting go. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 06 She didn't have the backside his older sister or his mother had. Even Brittany's bottom was more to his liking. But she liked it when he paid attention to her modest little cheeks. "Now," his aunt proclaimed after she settled back to her heels, "let's get started!" She turned her back to him, taking in the rest of the clan. Seamus pressed up against Fi from behind, wrapping his lean arms around her waist and nestling his chin in against her neck. Everyone else offered Oona their undivided attention. "Everyone ready?" A few heads nodded. Lacking any objections, his aunt took that for consent enough. She clapped her hands, and they were all transported far away. Of the Wicked Witch and her henchman, there was no sign. The same went for Caronwyn the Good Witch, much to Cahill's disappointment. The rest of them, Dorothy and Toto and her three loyal companions, found themselves on a yellow brick road in the middle of the familiar forests of Faerie. "So," Fiona said, looking to her left and right. "Should we see where this goes?" she asked, flicking her wrist to take in the road before them. "Might as well," Cahill said to his sister. But Seamus was already nibbling at their sister's ear and groping at her full breasts through her clothes. Clearly, he at least had no interest in finding the Emerald City. Or whatever else the road might lead to. And, in his brother's shoes, Cahill would have probably reacted the same way. But the idea of staying where they were and descending into an orgy there and then didn't interest him much. Not when their mother was out there somewhere, waiting for him. Just as he was considering leaving , his little sister grabbed him and pulled him down for a kiss. The jolts of ecstasy Brittany sent flooding through his body made it impossible to tear himself away. Instead, he reached down and cupped her ass in his hands. As he did, he marveled at how large it was. How much softer it was than made any sense, given her athletic build. A girl her size and shape shouldn't have had so much to offer back there. One of these days, the fact that little Brit has such a sweet ass would penetrate his thick skull and he'd ceased being amazed by it. But until then, each and every time Cahill planted his hands on her bubble butt, he would feel a rush of surprise and excitement. "Let's just set that aside," Finnegan said. Cahill glanced up for a second, though his lips never left his sister's. His cousin had stepped up behind Brittany and was gently slipping the silver axe out of her grip. Once it was securely in his hand, he tossed it aside. Then he grabbed Cahill's wrists and tugged upward, presumably hoping to let his own hands explore the wonder of Brittany's ass. Cahill considered resisting, but decided to play nice. His hands slip up to his sister's firm back. They stayed like that for a time, Cahill and Brittany locking lips while Finnegan fondled her backside from behind. His sister came close to being a bit too eager, too aggressive, for Cahill's taste. He preferred to take the lead, as Fiona and Caronwyn always allowed him to. But the girl definitely knew what she was doing, and Cahill had only met two women in his entire life who had lips as nice and full as his kid sister's. Before too long, though, the heat level started rising. Finnegan and Cahill took turns stripping Brittany of various articles of clothing while she kissed one or the other, and she'd occasionally stop long enough to tear something off one of them. Whether by ordinary means or supernatural, parts of their costumes slowly fell away. They didn't take everything off, though. Brittany kept her heels, gloves, choker and, somehow, the funnel atop her head. Finnegan retained most of his getup, having shed nothing but his pants. Only Cahill ended up naked as the day he was born. If his sister had gotten her way, he'd have kept the stupid hat on, but he'd been only too happy to be rid of it. Lying flat on his back, Cahill helped his sister mount him. The girl still had a little trouble getting his huge dick inside her little hole. For his part, Cahill wished it didn't feel like he was ripping her open. Like he was forcing her to endure some great agony. True, the look on her face told him that agony was the furthest thing from what Brittany was feeling just then. So did the moans and sighs, the fluttering of her eyelids and the way her teeth pressed against her lower lip. But even so, he was reluctant to fondle her breasts or cup her ass, or even to caress her pretty little feet. He longed to feel her, to explore the wonders of her body, but he just wasn't sure she could handle any additional stimulation. "Oh...fuck...Kay," she said once she had him all the way inside. A goofy smile spread across her face. "That feels...goooood." Finnegan cleared his throat loudly. Both Cahill and Brittany pretended not to notice. His sister's hands started exploring, undulating over his abs and sliding across the smooth plains of his chest. He took that as his cue to let his own hands go to work. They started with her sharp ankles and worked their way up her long legs towards that inappropriately wonderful ass. Her calves were tight and hard, her thighs slender and lightly curved. "Probably never fantasized about doing the Tin Man before, huh?" Brittany asked as she started to slowly bounce up and down on his thick cock. "How's it feel?" "Wrong," Cahill said. "All the right kinds of wrong." She smiled and leaned down to give him a quick kiss. "Good answer," she said before drawing herself back up. Finnegan had apparently had enough. He ran a hand through his cousin's hair, stopping when he reached the funnel, and pulled her towards his eagerly waiting cock. The girl teased him mercilessly for a while. She'd slowly, gently, close those luscious lips of hers over the very tip of his dick and then slide them quickly off. Then she'd lightly flick her tongue against his glans or lick the pre-cum from his slit. But just as he was starting to whimper, Brittany suddenly engulfed him completely and immediately went to work giving Finnegan a very enthusiastic blowjob. Cahill let his sister set her own pace, which was slow, until she got their cousin off. Then he went to work, using his hips to drive his monster cock up into her. The gilded paving stones beneath him felt cool, but the rest of him was on fire. His sister's Libido was a raging inferno, and he was bathing in its heat. It didn't take long to bring her to climax. After that, Finnegan knelt behind them and slowly worked his dick into Brittany's tight little ass hole. The poor girl truly did seem to be suffering this time, but only at first. Shortly after her cousin buried himself in her bowels, she gradually worked herself up to a frantic pace, using her two men for her own pleasure, and loving every second of it. For his part, Cahill was glad to be used. His hands remained gently cupped over her breasts, but otherwise, he simply lay there and let her do what she would with him. The look of pure ecstasy on his sister's face was a wonder to behold. She was no slave to her passions, but the master of them, and that had Cahill utterly in awe of her. He stared up at her slack-jawed, honored to take part in her quest for satisfaction. "Oh, fuuuuuck," his sister moaned as a powerful orgasm swept over her. Violent spasms wracked her body. Or would have, if she wasn't sandwiched so tightly between Finnegan and Cahill. "Yes, yes, yes," she panted, hips writhing and fingernails doing their best to bite into Cahill's skin. Were it not for her leather gloves, she'd likely have drawn blood. While her energy was still pouring rapidly into both Cahill and Finnegan, Brittany leaned forward and covered her brother's mouth in hers, kissing him hungrily. For a moment, he thought she might suck him dry, pulling all the energy he was taking from her and more out through his mouth. But all she stole was his oxygen. "Damn, that was good," she panted after releasing him. "You're insatiable," Finnegan said. He gave Brittany's ass a smack before pulling out. "We're not jealous, are we?" Brittany asked playfully as she dismounted Cahill. She stood, went up on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around her cousin, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "You'll get your turn to be the focus of my attention, you know." Another kiss. "Just have to wait your turn." On that note, Cahill left the two lovebirds alone. Seamus was on his knees, giving it to Fiona from behind. He looked up from their sister's heavenly ass and gave Cahill a smile. Now that they all knew that Cahill wasn't interested in stealing Fi away, Seamus was apparently done pretending to resent Cahill. It was a strange sight, and not just because of their costumes. All of a sudden, Cahill was keenly aware of what he all too often forgot. He was about to join his brother in a threesome with their sister. That he and his cousin had just finished double-penetrating his other sister. That they were engaged in a family orgy. There was a world in such behavior would be considered monstrous. He'd spent most of his life there. Here, in Faerie, all anyone ever did was have sex with their blood relatives. Not only wasn't there an incest taboo, but it was almost, almost, as if there was a taboo against any other kind of sex. But back in the Dreaming, a world he'd once considered the real world, families did not behave this way. He felt strangely numb. The sudden realization of how depraved their actions were ought to have filled with disgust and shame. Or perhaps he should have felt a thrill at the thought of defying such a powerful norm. Yet he felt neither of those things. As he watched Fiona drive her incredible ass back against Seamus, and as the impact of their bodies slapping together set her great white orbs to dancing, all Cahill felt was arousal. Not because it was wrong for his brother and sister to fornicate with one another and he got off on watching their wicked act. No, simply because Fiona was a damn good-looking woman with an amazing body. If Cahill felt any differently about witnessing their carnal acts than he would have any other couple, it was only in the sense that he loved the two of them, as any man would love his brother and sister, and seeing them please one another brought a smile to his face. He knew that ought to have felt otherwise, but he was incapable of doing so. "I won't...mphh...bite," Fiona told him. Cahill chuckled to himself before going and kneeling before his older sister, presenting his hard cock to her the way one might offer a child a lollipop. And she engulfed him no less eagerly than a toddler might have a piece of candy. Seamus grinned at him again before devoting all his attention to servicing their sister properly. He redoubled his efforts to send her to her happy place and she began to lose her focus, moaning against Cahill more than fellating him. But the vibrations in her throat felt too good for Cahill to be disappointed by that. It soon became clear that something had come over all of them, much the way Dorothy and her friends had all suddenly fallen asleep in the poppy fields. Only it wasn't sleepiness that fell upon them, but a powerful, unrelenting lust. One that knew no loyalties. Once more, Cahill forgot that incest was forbidden in most people's minds. Forgot that there was anything unusual about their leisure activities. All he knew was the he couldn't get enough of his two sexy sisters. Eventually, a voice in the back of his mind told him to forget about the two of them and go find his mother. But that voice was weak and distant. Drowned out by the one that urged him to give everything he had to Fiona, just as he had Brittany a little earlier. After the busty version of Dorothy collapsed in an intense orgasm, she announced that she wanted both of them at once. And so it was that the ruby-slipped beauty was soon sandwiched between the Cowardly Lion and her little dog too. Then Cahill did his best to fulfill his older sister's needs all by himself after Seamus joined Finnegan and Brittany. He slipped back into a supporting role when Finnegan finally peeled himself away from the Tin Woman. After a while, Cahill left his cousin with Fiona and went to help Seamus try, in vain, to satisfy Brittany's endless need for cock. Round and round they went, changing partners and positions frequently but never once stopping for even the briefest break. Time slid past. There was no telling how long he'd been under the influence of the glamour, but his sense slowly returned to him. And once they did, Cahill knew for certain that there had indeed been a glamour involved. His sisters were certainly desirable, but no one besides his mother had ever previously made him feel like it would be better to die than to pause for so much as a second. Whatever had allowed him to regain control of his mental faculties hadn't reached the others, though. Seamus and Brittany were doing the reverse spoon. Finnegan and Fiona were in the cobra position. Both guys were completely naked. The women wore nothing but their shiny heels, silver and ruby. Cahill almost considered diving back in. Free of the glamour he might be, but he was still susceptible to ordinary desire. And the four of them made quite a sight. But it was long past time to find his mother. # Cahill jogged down the yellow brick road, wearing a comfortable pair of jeans and nothing else. Gone were the tail and knit cap. His facial hair was once again neatly trimmed length and his body had returned to its usual coloration. He was done playing Toto. The others could keep up the game if they wanted. That was no skin off his nose. But it was as Cahill that he would make Caronwyn his. As a man, not a cute little puppy dog. "Where you off to in such a hurry?" asked a voice whose pitch left no doubt as to the identity of the speaker. Cahill sighed and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was Oona. She stood atop an abandoned cottage, the way the Wicked Witch had in that scene where she threw a fireball at Scarecrow. Only his aunt wasn't carrying a broom, and the only fire to be seen lay behind his aunt's dark eyes. As she drank in his bare chest and toned abs, her dark irises gleamed and her Libido pulsed. It was not with hatred or malice that she stared so intently at him, but hunger. "Where are your lackies?" he asked. "Serving the Good Witch," she replied. Cahill's stomach churned. That was ridiculous, he knew. If there was any sense in which he and his mother were in a relationship, it certainly wasn't a monogamous one. Even when they weren't acting out one of Oona's little dramas, both he and Caronwyn took other lovers. And they did so quite frequently. After all, their whole clan was highly promiscuous. All the fey were. That was just how things worked differently in Faerie, and indeed throughout all the Homelands. He knew those things. But he was having trouble accepting them. He didn't care how many worlds full of immortals with loose sexual mores there were. His mother belonged to him. She might have the right to take other lovers from time to time, and he'd never try to stop her from exercising that right, but he'd never really be entirely okay with it. He'd always feel a little pang of jealousy upon hearing that she was with another man, let alone two of them. The Wicked Witch floated down off the top of the cottage, her cape billowing up around her. She landed on the grass without impact and immediately started advancing towards Cahill. Her black eyes locked on his, paralyzing him. On some level, Cahill was aware that his aunt was using glamour. Her Libido was glowing. He could even sense it slowly depleting. But those thoughts felt like the remnants of a dream. He was hypnotized by her dark eyes and her swaying hips, her bouncing breasts and her full lips, every bit as much as he was by any supernatural influence. He simply stood there, staring with wide eyes at the scantily-clad witch. "Does that bother you?" his aunt asked. "Would you like to chase them off?" He nodded. Oona laughed. The sound of it was nothing like the cackle for which the Wicked Witch was so well-known. In truth, it was musical and pleasant and maybe even a little sexy. Nonetheless, it sent a shiver down his spine. Perhaps precisely because it wasn't the least bit wicked. Had it been, he'd have had an easier time convincing himself that he had to resist her. That his mother awaited him, and he couldn't get distracted by lesser women. "I'm not trying to keep you from her," his aunt said, stepping onto the yellow brick road. Her heels clacked sharply with each step now. "At least, not for long." She laid a hand on his chest so softly he could almost think that she was afraid of getting burned. "I just want to have a little fun with you before I send you on your way. That's not so terrible, is it?" The long lashes that batted up at him almost made him forget her green skin and elongated nose. Somehow, his aunt managed to be painfully gorgeous and appropriately garish at the same time. He wanted to be repulsed by her, or at least immune to her charm if nothing else. But the warmth of her hand on his skin, the feel of her soft palm gently rubbing back and forth, had his cock hardening. It didn't help that the pure, unadulterated lust in her Libido was so powerfully contagious. Nor that those dark, dark eyes, beautifully framed by long lashes and thick eyeliner, were such a sight to behold. Their lips met, and Cahill instantly achieved climax. "I know I should be happy for her," Oona said as he stumbled back, gasping for air. "That I should say I'm glad my sweet sister has found someone who appreciates her as much as you evidently do." She fumbled at the clasp of her cape for a moment, found purchase, and freed herself of it. The garment fell to the floor with all the urgency of a feather or a dry leaf. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous. No one's ever felt for me what you feel for her. No one. Not even my own sons." That wasn't true. It couldn't have been. Reilly would do anything for her, and Finnegan had been the same way before Brittany had arrived. And though Cahill had never met his uncle Kearney, the little that he knew about him suggested that he was as smitten with Oona as any Dreamsmyth could be with a woman from Clan Walker. Yet, at the same time, Cahill didn't doubt his aunt's words. His cousins were attracted to their mother. Possessive of her, even. But she was only an object to them. A toy they didn't like sharing. Of course they didn't feel for her what he felt for his mother. And how could they, anyway? No man ever had felt for any woman what Cahill felt for Caronwyn. Countless men before him had thought the same thing to themselves, he was sure. And, logically, that meant they'd all been wrong. It was absurd and pretentious and cliche to think his passion for his mother was so unique. But it didn't matter to Cahill that it couldn't possibly be true. Because it just didn't. Perhaps, then, he should have felt bad for his aunt. Pitied her for never knowing a connection as pure and as powerful as the one binding him to his mother. And, perhaps, part of him did. But he was too busy resenting his inability to take his eyes off her, and the sense of betrayal said inability made him feel, to bother. Going up on tiptoes, his aunt kissed him again. This time, Cahill managed not to ejaculate, but it was a close thing. The sad part was that she hadn't infused that last kiss with much supernatural punch. Without really trying, his aunt had nearly gotten him to cum in his pants for a second time. She was just that good, her desire for him that intense. Cahill looked down at his aunt. She wasn't bewitching him. Not anymore. Energy was no longer draining from her Libido like a candle slowly burning down. The desire he felt for her was not the product of undue influence. His thoughts and feelings were his own. Homelands Pt. 07 Ch. 06 There was therefore no one to blame but himself for what came next. His fingers brushed her corset and it shattered like glass. A thousand shards of shadow fell away harmlessly, leaving her in nothing but her boots and the fishnet body stocking. That, he'd rip holes in where necessary, but otherwise, he hoped she'd keep. It looked good on her. Maybe even more so now that her skin was green. They kissed for a third time, and the rush that went through Cahill's body was only slightly less intense than it had been the last time. His hands roamed across her body, delighting in her feminine curves. The color of her skin might have changed, but it was no less soft or pleasant to touch. Her hips could have been fuller, her ass larger, but there was no denying that was put together quite nicely. "Lost your costume, huh?" his aunt asked after they finally came up for air. "You just noticed?" Her fingers slowly traveled over his abs. "Nooo. But I-" He didn't let her finish. By the time their lips parted, he had her on her back and his clothes had ceased to exist. "Yes, yes, give it to me, Kay," Oona panted, wrapping her thighs around him. And he did just that. Though Cahill didn't let his aunt distract him for quite as long as his sisters had, neither did he rush things. After fucking her fast and hard, he slowed things down a lot. Her beautiful pussy got all the attention it deserved from his mouth and fingers, as did her big breasts and her tight little balloon knot. He guided her through several orgasms before letting her feel his thick dick inside her again. And again, and again. # After walking the yellow brick road alone for a good ten minutes, Cahill came across Reilly. His cousin still had his costume on. Or had donned it once again. After getting busy with Caronwyn. He suppressed a shutter at the thought. "Where's your hat?" Reilly asked by way of greeting. Cahill grunted. He looked the redheaded brute up and down. The outfit ought to have made him look intimidating, but he actually looked pretty ridiculous. "Your mother's looking for you," he said. "Funny. Yours too," Reilly said, a wicked grin splitting his green skin. "Actually...no, she's not. Seems to be enjoying herself just fine without you, in fact." It took some effort not to break his cousin's nose. Reilly laughed and clapped Cahill on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm sure she'll tire of Gallech eventually. Or maybe your brother will remember that he's more interested in women who are actually attractive." "Fuck you," Cahill said. He jabbed an elbow into the guy's bare ribs, but not too hard. Just enough to convince him to stop with the taunts without provoking him to make something of it. "If your mother was half as hot, you'd never leave her side." Of course, he hardly ever did, and Cahill was well aware of it. But he didn't believe for a second that his cousin didn't find his aunt Caronwyn attractive. No man with even the slightest interest in women could resist her. "So I see we've dispensed with the notion that you're only interested in your sisters?" Reilly asked, grinning from ear to ear. "I wonder how our prince would react if he knew where you were headed." Time seemed to slow down. Cahill's senses grew sharper. He became keenly aware of the soft breeze stirring the leaves all around them and the warmth of the sun reflected off the golden brick below them. The smell of sweat and sex on his cousin made him nauseous, as did the pompous look on Reilly's green face. "Why would he care?" Cahill asked slowly. "Riiight," Reilly replied with a knowing smile. "Anyway, have fun. My lips are sealed," he added before heading off down the road. Cahill stood there, seething. His cousin hadn't come right out and said it, but he might as well have confessed that Gallech had gone to their father to tell him how much time Cahill was spending with their mother. That had been the real reason for the sudden visit the night before. That Cahill had come away from the exchange owed a major boon didn't change the fact that his brother had betrayed him. Gallech couldn't have known it would go down like that. He didn't know about the flute, after all. Not even their mother did. No, his brother had fully expected the prince to punish Cahill. Or at least to threaten to do so, should Cahill refuse to keep his distance from Caronwyn. The little shit. With violent determination, Cahill resumed his journey. Only this time, he didn't jog, but moved at a full sprint. The ground fell away behind him, brick after brick of gold whizzing past in the blink of an eye. A few minutes later, he caught sight of them. They were on the grass just off to the side of the road. His brother was lying atop their mother, pumping his pathetic little manhood in and out of her gleefully. When he heard the footfalls approaching, Gallech looked up. Brown eyes went wide with panic and he rolled off Caronwyn. He only sat flat on his ass for a moment before clambering to his feet and bolting off in the opposite direction. Somehow, Cahill found a way to pick up his pace. He'd thought he was been running as fast as he could already. But the sight of his brother fleeing from him, thereby providing all the admission of guilt Cahill could require, helped him to discover new limits. "Wait! Kay!" their mother called as Cahill whizzed past her. He hoped that would be the last time he ever ignored her like that. But no part of him so much as considered slowing down. Short as his older brother was, the fucker could move. Cahill was gaining ground on him fast, but even so, it looked like Gallech might get away. As luck would have it, his brother remembered that he was still transformed. That he could fly. Feathery wings began pumping furiously, and Gallech's feet left the ground. Cahill leapt into the air. For a split second, he thought it might be too late. His brother was climbing higher by the second, and he was pretty far ahead of Cahill. But his hands wrapped around his brother's ankles and a sense of triumph swelled within him. And then they hit the ground. The air went out of Cahill's lungs. Everything went black for a moment, and when his vision returned, it was filled with spots. He gasped and coughed, forgetting all about his brother as pain temporarily became the entirety of his existence. Slowly, though, his faculties returned. And, fortunately enough, his brother was a little slower to recover. Cahill climbed atop Gallech's back, kneeling on his wings, and put his older brother in a headlock. "Geh la fug offa me," Gallech managed through gritted teeth. "You went to him," Cahill said. "You petty fuck. Why?" "Fuck you!" Cahill arched his back, bending his brother's neck in an unnatural way as he did. A pained groan escaped Gallech's lips. "WHY?" His brother didn't reply. Just fought to break free of the headlock. He failed, but it was a valiant effort. Tall, Gallech wasn't, but he was strong. Suddenly, the struggle stopped. "Let me up," Gallech said in a voice that was almost calm. Cahill hesitated. The sudden change was disarming. Perhaps he saw the futility of trying to escape. Then again, it could just as easily be a ploy. He'd never known his brother to be particularly cunning, but the guy's head wasn't exactly filled with rocks either. "I won't run," Gallech added. "Course not," Cahill replied. "Why do that when you can fly?" "I mean I won't go anywhere, you dumb fuck." Despite himself, Cahill laughed at that. So headstrong was his brother that he couldn't even bring himself to beg properly. He didn't trust the prick, but he didn't need to keep sitting on him either. With a flick of his wrists, Cahill bound his brother's wrists and ankles in shackles. Thick chains tethered the irons to steel rungs in the road. Certain that Gallech wouldn't be going anywhere in a hurry, Cahill climbed off his brother's back and rose to his feet. With pure hatred in his eyes, Gallech looked up at Cahill. Slowly, he too rose to his feet. He gave his chains a rattle, but the feeble gesture was more symbolic than anything. "What are you going to do with me?" his older brother asked. Cahill sighed. "Just answer my fucking question. Why'd you do it?" "Because fuck you. That's why." "You can't make her love you," Cahill said. "Love?" his brother asked, filling the word with contempt and disgust. "Who said anything about love? Don't tell me that's what you're after? You know that's not how it works here. You're not in the Dreaming anymore, little brother." Cahill didn't reply. "What did he threaten you with, anyway?" Gallech asked, with a hint of something very much like sympathy in his voice. He was probably only asking out of curiosity, but he feigned the rest remarkably well. "Our father?" "Nothing." "Fine. Don't tell me," Gallech replied. "You're fucking pathetic, you know that?" Cahill said. The chains and irons disappeared. "Get out of my sight." His brother stared back at him, looking uncharacteristically meek. Then, without another word, he turned and leapt to the sky. # "I should probably be flattered," his mother said when he returned to her. "But that little display wasn't nearly as endearing as you might have thought it was." Cahill drew a deep breath. Though she wore her full costume once more, he didn't see Caronwyn the Good Witch when he looked at her. The bright pink heels and layered pink skirts weren't registering. Nor were her white stockings or striped corset. The wand and crown, gloves and epaulets, all of it, might as well not have existed. All he saw was a woman lying flat on her back, buck naked, getting reamed by his brother. And absolutely loving it. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, because it felt like he should. She looked him up and down, frowning. "What am I going to do with you, Kay?" He shrugged. "Come here," she said, beckoning him forth with a jerk of her head. When he drew up near her, she hugged him tight, resting her cheek against his chest. "I love you, sweetie." Cahill froze. "Just as I love all my boys," she added. The world fell to pieces. But she couldn't have meant it. She was looking him dead in the eye now, and the look on her face said she was as serious as could be, but her Libido told a very different story. Had been doing so for some time. They weren't supposed to say such things aloud. She wouldn't allow herself to tell him the truth. That was all it was. There was no way she had the very same feelings for him that she did for Gallech. Again, the sight of her full thighs wrapped around his brother's back flashed across his mind's eye. He saw her red nails digging into his brother's blue flesh. Heard her sighing and moaning. Saw her full red lips nibbling at his ears. And it excited him. That wasn't all it did. Mostly, it made him feel nauseous. But little Cahill was stirring at the memory. No question about it. Having her huge, soft breasts pressed against him wasn't the reason either. Nor was the smell of her hair or the buzz in her Libido. It was the thought of Gallech giving it to her good, and the fear that she'd enjoyed it thoroughly. "You want me to say that he forced himself on me? That I don't enjoy it?" she asked. Cahill's powerful muscles tensed for a brief moment. He forced himself to release the tension as quickly as he noticed the involuntary reaction. But he didn't do so quickly enough. Another woman might not have noticed, but his mother's mouth tightened almost imperceptibly in disapproval of his jealousy. "We fuck so much lately, baby. Besides Oona, your brother doesn't fuck anyone else. He wants it all the time. And you know what? I'd be lying if I said I had a problem with that." That time, he didn't react. Not physically, anyway. She'd notice the way his Libido went still as a frozen pond, of course. He couldn't help that. But Cahill was proud of the fact that his body, at least, did not betray him. "Are you going to tell me that I'm the only one you're interested in?" she continued. "That you had such a hard time feigning interest in your sisters?" "I get it," Cahill said. "Do you?" "Yeah, I do," he said. Stroking her beautiful red hair, he added, "Things work differently here. I'm not in the Dreaming anymore." "No, you're not," his mother said. "We're not...you and I don't...," he tried to finish the thought, but to even say that certain things weren't true was to admit that the possibility had occurred to him. His mother nodded. And yet, the air didn't crackle with energy when he stood in Fiona's presence. Oona's Libido didn't pulse in time with his. Brittany didn't look as though she had to remind herself to breathe whenever Cahill was around, nor did she cause his lungs to cease functioning. "Doesn't mean that what we have isn't special," she said, as if reading his thoughts. "Of course not," Cahill said, as if he hadn't thought his mother was saying precisely that. She gave him a knowing smile. Then, taking his hand in hers, she lead him over to the side of the road. The fattest, juiciest, ripest strawberries he'd ever seen grew there. His mother plucked one off a runner. Turning back to him, she slowly raised the fruit to her red, red lips. Brown eyes held regarded him flatly, unblinking, noting his sharp intake of breath. Cahill's body tensed up as his mother's plump lips parted and the strawberry slid past them. Just as he was sure she was going to bite it in half, the fruit retreated. The tip of her tongue appeared and worked tip of the strawberry a few times, the way it did when she licked away his pre-cum. That made Cahill shudder. And when his mother finally did sink her impossibly white teeth into the red fruit, his shudder turned into a spasm. "Here," she said, wedging the other half of the fruit into his mouth. Before he could bite down, she pressed her mouth to his. They finished the strawberry together, their lips coming together in a soft kiss as they did. Never in his life had Cahill tasted anything so sweet. And the fruit was pretty good too. When their lips parted, he gasped for air. His whole body tingled. It took him a moment to remember that he was standing on solid ground rather than floating on thin air. "The other day, he asked me if I plan on having any more children," his mother said casually, as if the conversation hadn't been interrupted by the most magical of kisses. It took Cahill a few moments to remember what they were talking about. Who they were talking about. "He what?" "I know!" his mother said. "Obviously he couldn't have meant that, but still." Gallech wanted...no, his mother was right. That couldn't have been what his brother had meant. Not with her. More likely, he'd known that their mother would tell Cahill about it, and how his younger brother would react to the news. Even so, it made his blood boil. "What did you say?" Cahill asked, trying to sound disinterested. His mother gave him a sly grin. "What do you think I said?" Before he could answer what was apparently a rhetorical question, she added, "Of course not. Soon enough, you all will be making a grandmother out of me. Why would I want any more children of my own?" Why indeed. "Besides," she said, snatching up another strawberry, "it's not like your father has been dying to get back between my legs." Right. His father. The good prince. Who else? Her pearly whites rent the glistening flesh. Then, as before, she offered him the rest. This time, though, she popped it into his mouth without pressing her luscious lips to his. Which probably should have kept him from swooning. Still, a shiver ran down his spine. He'd never realized how tantalizing it could be to watch his mother eat fruit. To have her share her strawberry with him in a literal sense. "I do find other women attractive," Cahill said after he swallowed the remnants of the strawberry. "But not the way I do you." Her lips tightened and she started to protest. Before she could, he pulled her against him. He gave his mother's fat ass a good squeeze, silencing her. "I'm not saying we shouldn't play by the rules." "No?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. "So what are you saying?" "I don't know," Cahill replied. "Hmm," his mother said. One slender finger ran up his sternum. "So you don't think Mommy's breasts are too big?" Cahill snorted derisively. "My red hair doesn't bother you?" "Are you kidding?" he asked. "It's beautiful." Her finger made its way to his face. The light-as-a-feather touch could not have been more titillating. "But you must think my ass is too big? My thighs too full? Right?" "If your sister had a lower body like yours, she might have had a shot at convincing me to join her fan club," Cahill replied. "Probably not, but it wouldn't have hurt her chances." As his mother's one finger raked across his scalp, bolts of ecstasy shot through his body. He wanted nothing more than to rip all of her clothes off and prove to her just how much he cherished every inch of her divine form, but he sensed that she wasn't done yet. "Speaking of fan clubs," his mother said playfully, "no one seems to mind that she's got such a tight little ass or such long, slender legs." "And some men like men," Cahill said. "Nothing wrong with that. But it ain't for me." "What if your mother's pussy lips were a little more modest? You'd like that, wouldn't you? And I know you wouldn't complain if I went bald." The hand on his mother's ass slid down, beneath the hem of her skirts, and slipped past a soft buttock to her womanhood. The tips of his fingers brushed her swollen labia. Now it was her turn to take a deep breath and shudder softly. "Not at all." His hand retreated, pausing to give her soft ass a good squeeze before withdrawing entirely and allowing her skirts to fall back into place. "Women who remind me of little girls don't do a whole lot for me." "I always wanted green eyes," his mother said. She teased the nape of his neck lightly with her fingernail. "Don't you think Fiona's are gorgeous?" "They suit her, since she's a brunette," he said. "What's that got to do with it?" his mother asked. "Brunettes tend to have brown eyes," Cahill replied. "Redheads lighter ones. If she had your eyes, or you hers, it'd be predictable. Boring." He cleared his throat. "I've got to say, though, Fiona gives amazing head." The hand resting on his neck delivered a swift smack. But the smile on his mother's lips told him that she recognized the joke for what it was. Not that what he said wasn't true. But the implication that Fiona's oral skills were any better than their mother's was pure jest. "Perhaps you can give me a few pointers then?" she asked, going to her knees. "Let me know what your sister would do differently?" "Suppose so," he said, running his fingers through her silky hair. With that, his mother made his clothes vanish. When his swollen cock sprang into view, her beautiful brown eyes went wide and she involuntarily licked her luscious lips. Cahill would never tire of seeing that reaction. It was stupid and vain and thoroughly Oedipal, but nothing gave him the same sense of validation as the way his mother's mouth watered at the sight of his swollen manhood. If every other woman alive thought him small, that alone would be more than enough to make up for it. That no woman ever had did nothing to detract from the pleasure of seeing his mother's reaction either. Once she engulfed him, it took her no time at all to make him forget all about his plans to continue teasing her. His mother was a true master of her craft, and Cahill was in a receptive mood. If she'd have let him, he'd have filled her mouth with his warm seed almost straight away. But she seemed intent on proving that she could mimic the abilities of her sister, rather than his. She brought him to the brink, eased off, then pushed him to the edge again. And again. And again. Her tongue did unspeakable things to his member, and she gently caressed his balls with her fingers as she worked. Tears formed in Cahill's eyes, but still his mother didn't let him cum. She waited the longest time before granting him his sweet release. When it finally arrived, he cried out at the top of his lungs. Then his knees buckled, and Cahill fell to the grass in a motionless heap.