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Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 01

By: jdnunyer



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Author's note

Part Eight picks up where Part Seven left off, in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Part Seven.

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.

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Chris almost didn't hear the doorbell over the coffee grinder. Only when he took his thumb off the button, allowing the blades to stop whirring, did he recognize the sound.

It was nearly eleven o'clock. At night.

"I'll get it," he called out.

Karen was in her home office, as usual. Whether she was actually working or simply procrastinating, he had no idea, but he'd hate to interrupt her if her muse was speaking to her. Especially after the voicemail her publisher had left just a few days ago reminding her that the manuscript was due in two weeks.

Actually, he'd hate to interrupt Karen even if her muse had taken the night off. Hell hath no fury like a writer behind on a deadline.

"Thanks, dear," his wife replied perfunctorily.

In that unique unhurried rush that only doorbells can induce, Chris swept across the kitchen and then shuffled across the living room to the front door. After fixing the few hairs that had been displaced by the process and smoothing away some imaginary wrinkles in his shirt, he slowly opened the door.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir," the small man on the other side said.

The man stood a good five or six inches shorter than Chris, and probably weighed fifty or sixty pounds less. The stranger couldn't possibly have posed Chris any threat. But there was something about the guy that made his body tense up all the same.

Of course, that might just have been the fact that he was ringing their doorbell at such a strange hour. The only real possibilities Chris could see were that the man was in need of help or that he was a serial killer who was going to pretend he was.

But that wasn't it.

Chris had seen that pronounced widow's peak before. The thinning hairline and neatly trimmed goatee, more silver than brown, weren't ringing the same bells, but somewhere in the back of his mind, a face very much like this one lurked. It belonged to a different man. A taller man. One who was a little more handsome, with similar if rougher features. But there was a connection. Had to be.

Whoever it was that he was thinking of also had thicker muscles. The man before him was lean and wiry, undeniably fit yet so short and slender that he could probably fit in Karen's clothes. How could he let his back go stiff over such a harmless little guy?

He was being silly. The man on his front step simply had the misfortune of bearing a passing resemblance to someone Chris had all but forgotten.

"I know it's late," the man on his front step said. "But my car broke down-"

"Please, come in," Chris said, suddenly remembering his manners. "Do you need to use the phone? Call a tow-truck?"

"Already tried." The man held up his cell phone as he stepped inside. "No one's answering. Voicemail said they open at six."

"Well, we are a long ways from civilization," Chris replied. That's how most people would think of it, anyway. Himself, he couldn't imagine living in the city. Out here, surrounded by nature, he could breathe. He felt free and at peace. "If there were any hotels within fifty miles, I'd offer to take you to one, but I'm afraid you won't find any better accommodations until you hit Savannah. And that's some ways away yet."

"Don't I know it," the stranger said. "That's actually where I was headed."

Of course it was.

Chris enjoyed the occasional visit to Savannah. The thriving music scene alone more than justified its existence. And taking Karen in for a night on the town always made for a memorable evening. But the city never looked as good as when it was in his rearview mirror.

"Who's this?" his wife said, finally emerging from her office.

She forced a smile, but it was tight. Their guest might not have caught it, but Chris could almost feel her irritation emanating out from her like sound waves from a speaker.

It was hard to imagine her jumping with joy at the arrival of an unexpected guest so late at night under any circumstances, but the clack-clack-clack that had been coming from her keyboard a moment ago suggested that she'd been on a roll. That she even managed to curve her lips upward at all came as something of a surprise.

"Kevin," the man said, offering his hand.

She took it and gave him a polite handshake. "Karen."

Chris watched the two of them. He wasn't sure why, but he felt tense.

Transparently insincere it might be, but he knew his wife being gracious to their guest. Her behavior, unlike his, was always appropriate to the situation. Always.

Was he actually afraid that Kevin, who seemed perfectly polite, would somehow offend her? Or was he simply feeling possessive?

It would certainly have been understandable if he was. Sometimes, he let himself forget what a knockout his wife was. She was wearing baggy sweatpants and one of his band's concert T-shirts over a pair of long-sleeves, sure, but a cardboard box couldn't have hid the fact that she had a killer body. Her luscious lips, flawless complexion, cute little nose and high cheekbones needed no cosmetics. That face stopped hearts as often as it did traffic. Even pulled back and hidden from view by a vicious scrunchie, her glorious red hair took his breath away. And the thick black glasses she wore when typing made her look even better than usual. Sophisticated. Geek, but in the best possible way. Like Tina Fey.

Surely none of that escaped Kevin's notice. He didn't stare at her the way Chris himself surely would have if he were in the man's shoes, but there was no indication that he was blind. And he didn't strike Chris as gay.

"Did I hear you'll be spending the night with us?" she asked Kevin, with only the slightest "Really? Really?" subtext directed toward Chris.

"I don't want to put you out," Kevin replied.

"Nonsense," Chris added quickly, before those cold brown stones could drill into him.

Beautiful as his wife's eyes were, they could take all the heat out of a room when she got in one of her moods. Just as they could set his heart to beating so fast it would give his doctor a heart attack when she got in one of those moods. A more beautiful, more expressive, more magical pair of eyes the world had never seen.

For all that his wife was signaling her dissatisfaction with the arrival of their unwanted guest, turning him away would only earn Chris her disapproval. That this made no sense was of course irrelevant. Karen's evening had been disturbed, and she couldn't very well take it out on Kevin without looking like a bitch, so all of that frustration was going to be directed towards her loving husband. But that didn't mean she'd forgive him for turning them into the type of people who would refuse a helping hand for a stranger in need.

Rock, have you met hard place?

"Did you say you were headed to Savannah?" Karen asked.

Kevin nodded. "For the Saint Patrick's Day parade. I hear it's not to be missed."

"It's not," Chris agreed. "No better place for it."

The smile his wife gave him bordered on lukewarm.

"Some would say Boston," he added, "but what do yankees know anyway?"

Immediately after the words left his mouth, he felt ashamed of himself.

Confused as well.

The accent he hadn't quite noticed in Kevin's speech was hard to place. The man certainly was no native son of Georgia. Could he have been a northerner?

No. That wasn't it. Kevin might or might not have been born on the wrong side of the Mason-Dixon, but Chris was feeling like he'd taken the Lord's name in vain for an entirely different reason. He suddenly knew for an absolute certainty that he had some sort of a connection to Boston. What that connection was, he hadn't the foggiest idea, but that didn't change the fact that there was one.

Kevin smiled faintly at the joke.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, sure. That would be great," their guest said. "Got any whiskey?"

"Woodford Reserve," Chris said. "Or Knob Creek."

Kevin frowned. "I meant whiskey."

"Ah, you're a Scotch man," Chris said. Most yankees were.

A disgusted look passed over Kevin's face. "Nevermind."

"Just bourbon, I'm afraid," Chris said, feeling more insulted by the man's response than he perhaps should have.

Could he be Irish? Certainly not Canadian.

Chris still couldn't quite place the accent, but the kind of person who'd drive down to Savannah for the Saint Patrick's Day parade just might have been the type of person who'd expect Bushmill's or Jameson when they asked for whiskey. He couldn't fault the man for that. In fact, even as he was busy taking offense at the implication that good bourbon wasn't worthy of the name "whiskey," some other part of him felt inclined to agree with Kevin. And not just because he respected a man who felt some loyalty to his roots.

He himself shared those roots. Didn't he?

The thought vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"We've got beer too," he added. "And wine."

"Speaking of which," his wife said. "I think I'll have a red."

So much for the pot of coffee he'd been about to brew. Of course, she wasn't likely to be putting in much time at the keyboard now.

"That'll do," Kevin said. "Thank you."

"Guess that's three," Chris said.

His wife gave him a sweet smile and gently pressed her hand against his shoulder as he turned towards the kitchen. The brief contact sent waves of electricity through him. The tension he'd felt a moment ago faded away, taking some of the venom that had coursed through his wife's veins along with it.

For just a moment, it was almost impossible not to grab his wife and pres his lips to hers. To tear her clothes off and have his way with her right there, while Kevin watched.

"Nice place you've got here," their guest said as Karen led her to the sofas by the fireplace.

"Thank you," she replied.

"What do you and your husband do? If I may ask?"

"Chris is a musician," Karen said. "I'm a novelist."

As he fished through the drawer for a bottle opener, Chris grimaced to himself. His wife wrote children's books, but that wasn't how she described her work. Apparently, anyone who put it that way was effectively telling her that they didn't really respect her. That they thought she got paid to do something anyone could do.

"Really?" Kevin said. "Anything I might have read?"

Thunderclouds gathered.

"Probably not," Karen said, her tone a bit icy. "Do you have children?"

Kevin didn't reply at first. Eventually, he said, "Oh, you write kid's books?"

And there it was.

Were he alone, he'd probably be amused. People always responded that way. Like they couldn't decide whether to think that he and his wife were too immature to get real jobs or to be embarrassed for never having heard of them. As if their career choices could only be considered respectable if he was Justin Bieber and she was J. K. Rowling. It was absurd.

His wife, however, did not find that all-too-predictable reaction especially charming.

"What about you?" Chris called as he walked back into the living room with the open bottle in one hand and three stemmed glasses dangling from between the fingers of the other.

"9-to-5-er, I'm afraid," Kevin said. "Insurance."

"Sales?" Chris asked.

"Claims investigation."

Karen gave a polite smile, but to Chris it seemed nothing short of miraculous that their guest's chest was still intact.

After pouring for each of them and passing the glasses out, Chris joined his wife on the couch opposite their guest. She sat close enough to to him to make his heartbeat accelerate, though not so close as to make poor Kevin uncomfortable with their PDA.

Apparently, he was back to being a member of the same team instead of the man who was responsible for her evening being ruined. That was something, at least.

More than something, in fact. The passive-aggressive vibes she'd been directing towards him were forgiven and forgotten the moment he felt her soft body against his. One whiff of her hair and he was smiling uncontrollably. When she patted his thigh, the heavens opened and choirs of angels sang.

They fought. A lot. About stupid shit and not-so-stupid shit. Mostly finances, but other things as well. Old lovers of hers that she remained friends with, who undoubtedly hoped to get between her legs one more time. The women who threw themselves at him when he was on tour. The fact that he planned to go on tour again after releasing a new album.

But no matter how bad it got, it never took more than the simplest little touch to remind him of how fortunate he was to have found her.

She was the one. It was as simple as that.

Kevin seemed to notice the way tension bled out from both their bodies once they pressed up against each other. He smiled awkwardly and stared into his glass.

"So. How long have you two been together?" he asked.

"Four years on the nineteenth," Chris replied straight away.

Karen looked at him as though she were impressed.

"What? You thought I forgot?"

"Didn't say a thing," she replied.

"Spring wedding?" Kevin asked.

Looking not at his guest but his beautiful wife, Chris said, "It's our favorite time of year. Meant fewer of our guests could make it, but we never wanted a big ceremony anyway."

"Besides, summer's so cliche," Karen said, smiling back at him.

It all sounded so rehearsed. For just a moment, Chris himself doubted their story. All of it. He almost questioned his own name. But the moment passed and he almost laughed at himself for even having the thought.

"What about you, Kevin?" his wife asked, denying him the pleasure of gazing into her big, dark eyes. "Are you married?"

"I was," he said. "But we've been separated for some time."

"Sorry to hear that," Karen said.

He shrugged. "My family thinks it's for the best. They're probably right. Usually are."

Their wine glasses slowly emptied. A second round was poured. The conversation grew more and more casual, and Chris found it harder and harder to shake the sense that Kevin wasn't who he seemed to be. And more and more sure that it wasn't his irritation with the situation that made him think that. With Karen sitting next to him, making eyes at him, the tension had long since left his body anyway. No, he was simply convinced that their guest was not who he claimed to be.

From the moment he'd walked through the door, things had changed. The world had collided with another reality. One in which he had some tie to Boston, possibly was of Irish ancestry, and apparently felt some deep animosity towards a dark-haired man with a widow's peak. One in which he was someone other than who he claimed to be.

Karen sensed it too.

She hadn't said anything, but the way she was looking at Kevin made it clear. If he didn't know better, he could almost think his wife was checking the guy out. But that didn't make sense. He wasn't remotely her type. Too old, for one. Some women went for the whole silver fox thing, but Karen wasn't one of them. Too small, for another. Too fine-featured. No, his wife was staring intently at him because she too felt that this stranger had brought a world of trouble in with him.

That, or maybe she'd had a bit too much wine. But he thought it was more likely the former, crazy as that sounded.

"Anyway, I don't want to keep the two of you up," Kevin said after he finished his second glass wine. "I've been too much of an imposition already."

"Oh, it's nowhere near our bedtime," Chris said.

"Right, I forgot. No cubicles waiting for you in the morning." The smile that accompanied his words was almost mocking, but not quite. "Well, it's just about mine. And I've got to get up early to call that mechanic again."

"Let me fix up the couch for you," Karen said.

And so, just a few minutes later, they were wishing their guest goodnight. "If you need anything, we're right upstairs," his wife said before they left Kevin to himself.

"He seems nice," Chris said once they were in their room.

"Hmmm," Karen said by way of response.

"A bit odd, maybe, but nice," he went on as he slipped into the bathroom and prepared to brush his teeth.

"Yeah," his wife agreed.

"Did you notice...did he look familiar to you?"

"Not really, no," she said. "Well...now that you mention it, I guess he looks a little bit like the guy who used to book your gigs, back before you signed with the record label."

"Yes!" Chris said, though that wasn't it at all.

There was a resemblance there, but they both knew that something more was going on. At least, he thought they both did. Were they not allowed to admit it aloud, for fear that the other one would think them crazy?

Or for fear that they'd think themselves crazy.

Either way, their guest was not of this world. And he'd brought a little something of the other side over with him.

For fuck's sake. It was as if he was the one who made a living writing about faeries and fantasies and faraway worlds.

In his wife's stories, these sorts of things never happened to grown-ups. Only kids.

What was wrong with him? Was he really losing his hold on reality?

He spat out his toothpaste and vacated the bathroom, ceding it to Karen. While he waited for her to finish getting ready for bed, he lay under the covers and wondered where his sanity had gone. Of course their guest wasn't from another world. Just somewhere up north, which wasn't quite the same thing. If he was having trouble with his memory, with his sanity, that was no fault of Kevin's.

"Handsome fellow. For his age," Chris said when she slipped back into the bedroom.

Karen stared at him quietly, eyebrows raised.

"At least, I thought so."

And he had, truth be told. But they both knew that wasn't why he'd said as much.

"I'm sorry," she said, apparently declining his invitation to argue. The wine must have worked its magic. She didn't normally pass up such opportunities. "Didn't mean to stare."

"No, I'm sorry. You weren't staring. It's just...don't think there was something strange about him? Like he was giving of this...vibe? Or something?"

"Go to sleep, dear," she said as she slipped into bed beside him.

Her cute little feet wrapped around his leg, seeking warmth. No matter what time of year it was, her feet were always cold. It was, strangely, one of his favorite things about her, if only because it meant that she always wanted to be close to him, even if they'd gone to bed in the middle of an argument.

"He's okay," she mumbled after closing her eyes. "Kinda scrawny. And old. Bet he looks like a rotten banana and two dried up little raisins down there."

Chris laughed. "You're the best."

"Don't you forget it."

"Lovely image, by the way."

"Go to sleep," she repeated.

He sighed, kissed her on the top of her head, and did his best to comply with her order.

#

His little girl looked so beautiful. So grown up. Her green prom dress was modest enough to earn a father's approval, but even he recognized that it drew attention to all the right places. He shouldn't have noticed such things, but he'd have to have been blind not to.

Fuck, when had his daughter grown such big breasts?


Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 01



"Do you like it?" she asked, giving him a little twirl.

And such a perfect ass?

Was it only because of the makeup she was wearing that her skin seemed so fair? Her lips so red? A more gorgeous woman had never walked the earth.

"Hope your guy hasn't got a family history of heart problems, or we're going to be calling an ambulance the moment he walks through the door," Chris said.

Karen blushed, her porcelain cheeks turning pink.

Some part of him insisted that she wasn't his daughter. That it was entirely acceptable for him to look at her the way he was trying to pretend that he wasn't. To notice that she had a woman's body. She was a woman, after all.

And his lover, at that.

But, no. That didn't make any sense. Of course she was his daughter. Daddy's little princess. She couldn't be anyone else. Couldn't be any more precious.

He'd convinced himself, momentarily, that she was his lover only because he was prone to daydreaming. Because he was a filthy, disgusting, lecherous bastard, who couldn't look at her perfect skin, big brown eyes, beautiful red-brown hair, and insane luscious body without thinking horribly inappropriate thoughts. But no matter how perfect her body was, he had no right to look at her that way.

"Dance with me?" she asked.

"There's no music playing," he said.

Or maybe he didn't. Suddenly there was, anyway. They weren't in the dressing area of the formal wear shop, either. They were home, in their living room.

"Okay," he said.

He shouldn't have. He knew that. It was an innocent enough request, but nothing good lay at the end of that road. Nothing good at all.

When she leaned her head back and stared up into his eyes, he found himself thinking that she didn't look like a teenager at all. The beautiful woman in his arms was young, all right, but she was probably her early twenties. Maybe, maybe, a few years past that. He was old enough to have a daughter picking out dresses for the prom. Even though he wasn't. That made no sense, but there it was.

Still, it was as if he spat in God's eye when she leaned her head against his chest. Sure, it felt good to feel her warm breath against his body, to look down at her beautiful hair and the shape of her backside. But he should not, not, NOT get hard over his daughter.

"I-I'm-forgive me," he said, pulling away.

Karen blushed. "It's okay," she said. "I take it as a compliment." Digging impossibly white teeth into a full lower lip, she added, "I had no idea you were so big."

The look on her face as she said that was equal parts embarrassment and excitement.

Only she hadn't said it all. Nor had he gotten hard for her to feel his erection pressing against her. They hadn't even danced together.

They were still in the store.

Of course they were. His daughter hadn't noticed how well-endowed he was, nor been aroused by that. If she ever had cause to discover that, she'd shriek in embarrassment and run away, as any girl in her shoes would. She wouldn't tell her father that she saw his erection as a damned compliment. That was just the deluded fantasy of a horny old man.

His daughter smiled, clapped her hands together excitedly, and disappeared back into the changing room.

Chris tried to convince himself that it was worth spending that much money on a dress she'd only wear once. It made her happy, after all, and there was no price he wouldn't pay to make his little princess smile.

#

His opponent danced away, deflecting a lazy thrust with his rapier.

"Stop this madness!" the source of their contention cried.

The fair lady was, of course, married. And not to either of the men dueling for her affections. But she loved her husband not, and she'd been stringing the two of them along for ages. If she wouldn't choose one of them herself, then he would make her choice for her.

Both combatants were practiced fencers. Finer swordsmen could not be found in all of Paris, save for the Musketeers of the Guard. But there was no question which of them was more skilled. The other man was older, his goatee more silver than brown, and his hairline receding enough to make his widow's peak seem even more pronounced than it must have in his youth. Practiced as this one was, his best days were behind him.

As soon as he chose to end it, the redheaded beauty would have but one suitor. Even if he let the older man live, as he was inclined to do, the poor fool would be too ashamed to let her see his face again.

"I won't have any blood shed!" the object of their affection declared.

"Then name me as your lover and spare him," he said.

"Ha!" the older man said in response, though he was already beginning to perspire.

He hadn't even begun to press the old man. So far, he was merely toying with him.

The gorgeous redhead seemed about to proclaim her favor for the younger of her suitors, but she stopped short. There was a glimmer of excitement in her brown eyes as she watched them exchange half-hearted blows.

Decency compelled her to object to their contest, but she'd no sooner put a stop to it than she would content herself with her with affections of her lord husband. Their deadly dance flattered her. Maybe she'd finally give herself over to one of them after this.

His heart accelerated, though not because of the barrage his opponent sought to unleash on him. The attacks were easy enough to deflect. No, it was the thought of finding himself between those soft thighs at long last that had his blood flowing.

#

The small hole in the door to his cell opened. Was it morning already? It felt as though he'd only stumbled off the yard an hour or two ago. The fresh bruises on his thighs and along his ribs had barely begun to lose their sting.

"Lady Callista would see you," his guard said.

If he hungered for the whip, he might have asked why. But he knew better.

"On your feet!"

He did as ordered. Like a good slave.

The redheaded noblewoman had taken an interest in him. That much he knew. But what the nature of that interest was, he couldn't have said. There were rumors among the slave pits, that Domina liked to lay with her favorite gladiators. But it was also said that she liked to sell their bodies to her friends. Or have them serve stand around like statues for her friends to admire, if only to prove that her control over them was complete. Similarly, some said that she liked to force them to sodomize each other while she and the other noble women watched, laughing their fool heads off.

Each of those rumors was as plausible as the next. Their bodies were not their own. They existed to amuse and to enrich Lady Callista and her lord husband. He hoped the last one wasn't true though. Anything else, he could live with. But not that.

That was all he hoped. To avoid being violated by another man, or being forced to do the same himself. That blood rushed into his manhood at the prospect of being used by the noblewoman for her personal gratification was a purely biological response. He relished the thought of that no more than he did being made to stand around like a statue. Both would be thoroughly degrading, but preferable to sodomy.

Or so he told himself.

He'd never gotten a good look at her. But the fleeting glimpses he'd caught of her up on the balcony, watching them beat one another senseless with their practice weapons, had been enough to confirm that she was as beautiful as they all said. It was not for want of seeing any other woman in years that the slaves all said her beauty was without rival.

"Now!" the guard barked.

He rose slowly to his feet. The heavy chains binding his ankles and wrists barely slowed him. It was depressing to admit, but he'd grown accustomed to them. No, it was the injuries earned in the pit that sapped him of his grace.

No. That wasn't right. The irons didn't feel weightless because they'd become a part of him. It was because they weren't real. None of this was. He was no more a slave than a father or a Frenchman. He was having lucid dreams again. As he so often did.

As he emerged from his cell, Chris noticed that the guard looked familiar. He was short, fit yet thin, and older. His goatee was silver, and his hairline was receding. It formed a sharp V in the center of his forehead.

The man who slept on his couch back in Georgia. Kevin. The same man who'd dueled with him over his wife in the dream segment just prior to this one.

No sooner was the connection drawn than the man forgotten. As was wont to happen in dreams, the story skipped right over the next few steps in the sequence. One moment, he was being led along at spearpoint by the guy who currently slept on his couch, and the next stood before his wife, who wasn't his wife here, but a Roman noblewoman.

Whether actual Romans had ever dressed like that, he couldn't have said. In all likelihood, her costume was more influenced by recent TV shows he'd watched than anything else, just as he and Kevin had, in his previous dream segment, looked exactly like Kiefer Sutherland and Chris O'Donnell in that movie he'd just as soon pretend he'd never seen. But whatever the historical accuracy of her attire, he approved. Strongly.

It looked like someone had taken a bolt of red silk and wrapped it round and round her body. It fit her quite snugly, except for below the mid-thigh, where it flared out a bit. It covered an absolutely minimal amount of her expansive bosom, leaving ample cleavage on display. Real cleavage. He hated when people said that women who wore dresses with plunging necklines were showing a lot of cleavage even when those women's breasts were so small that they didn't come close to pressing together and forming a line of cleavage.

The gold medallions hanging from her ears and encircling her neck and waist, complemented by the arm band on one bicep and thick bracelet on the opposing wrist, would have looked gaudy in most any other setting. But sitting there on her chaise lounge of crushed velvet, surrounded by marble pillars, bronze trinkets, gold tapestries, and silver mirrors, she'd almost have looked inappropriate without those accessories.

He'd never seen her look anything short of stunning, but he just might have found her a touch more irresistible than usual at that moment. If that was even possible.

The part of him that had bought into the dream, that believed he was a slave forced to risk his life over and over again for her husband's enrichment, resented her. But even that part of him desired her. Not unconditionally, not without shame and guilt, but there was no denying it. She perfectly embodied the very notion of femininity. If the Roman goddess Venus had been real, she'd have come down from the heavens to smite Karen lest she have to suffer the indignity of being the second most desirable woman in all creation.

She looked him up and down, those dark eyes of hers seeming more than ever like chips of onyx. They gave no indication of whether she liked what she saw or not, nor did her plump red lips. Her face was impassive. Beautiful, painfully beautiful, but impassive.

"Domina," he said, bowing his head low. He was not to speak her name, of course. Only refer to her by the honorific.

"Does my husband have such a poor eye for talent?" she asked.

He didn't answer. How could he, without being insolent?

"You've not a mark on you," she continued, eyes traveling over his body once more. "Not so much as a single welt, bruise, or scratch. Are the others so slow and clumsy that they can't land a blow on you? Should I have them all whipped?"

Again, he didn't answer. Just glanced down at his body to see if what she'd said was true. And of course it was, even though he'd been covered in injuries just a few moments ago. Minor injuries, by and large, but sufficient to keep anyone from thinking that he lacked for worthy adversaries. Now, though, they were gone.

That wasn't the only remarkable thing about his body.

If not for his loincloth and sandals, he'd have been completely naked. Yet he wasn't the least bit ashamed or embarrassed by that exposure. Not when he was sporting such mass and definition. In his dream, he had a perfect eight-pack, legs that were long and strong, and a chest you hammer iron against. His skin was bronzed and smooth.

Did he look like that in the waking world? He couldn't even remember. Something told him that he was lean and fit, but not that fit. And definitely not that well developed.

"I asked you a question," she said.

"Sorry, Domina."

She looked from him to the guard. To Kevin. "Has he suffered brain trauma?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Lady Callista."

Beautiful brown eyes regarded him again. "So. Is my husband blind? Or should I have the other slaves whipped?"

His mouth opened, but no words came out. What was he supposed to say to that?

"Forget it," she said with dismissive wave of her hand. "You," she said, turning her attention to Kevin.

"What would you have of me, my lady?" he asked.

"Your body," she said.

Kevin stared silently back at her, but apparently the redheaded beauty only found silence unattractive in some men. Flames of desire danced behind her eyes, warming the room.

He wasn't sure if that was why the guard's uniform disappeared or not. For a moment, it seemed as though his gilded armor melted while the scarlet cape and boiled leather turned to ash. But in the blink of an eye, all evidence that the man had ever been clothed vanished. He found himself wondering if he'd imagined the melting and burning.

Lady Callista's sumptuous attire remained, but Kevin was slowly removing it. His hands moved carefully, meticulously, exposing inch by exquisite inch. By the time the red silk made it halfway up her full thighs, slave and guard alike were breathing heavy.

The mere sight of her was torture. Words could not describe how perfect her skin was, or the shapeliness of her divine body.

"Going to take your time, are you?" she cooed at her very fortunate lover, raking her nails through his thinning hair as she did.

And with that, Kevin tore the rest of her garment to shreds.

His hands moved so quickly, so violently, that it seemed impossible for him not to have hurt her in the process. But he must not have, for all she did was giggle like a little girl. And squirm a bit, in an unconvincing display of mock resistance.

She looked even better naked than he'd have imagined. He didn't get a great look, of course, what with the other man lying atop her, but he saw enough. No woman with such delicate ankles, so a slender waist, and those willowy arms, could have breasts that big. Yet she did. He'd have gladly given his left leg for two minutes alone with her.

And yet he thought that he had been with her before. Many times. That "Lady Callista" was in fact someone he knew quite well. A former lover, perhaps.

Or maybe even a current one?

Yes. That was it. Not just his lover, but his wife.

Upon realizing that, it grew even more painful to watch her offer herself to the other man, who was no more an ancient Roman guard than she was a noblewoman. In his dream, the redheaded goddess did not belong to him. There was no betrayal in their fornication. But he still knew that he was watching his wife squirm and scream for a complete stranger. A man he'd welcomed into his home. Who at that very moment lay asleep on his couch.

And she did squirm and scream for him. He wasn't sure he could remember the last time his wife had enjoyed herself so much. Some of that was for show, of course. Her dark eyes focused on his nearly as often as they did those of the man atop her. She was getting off on the jealousy she found there as much as the hard cock inside her.

But that didn't help any.

#

He looked out the window onto the ocean. Their hotel suite, or "villa" as the brochure called it, occupied its own man-made islet, as did a dozen others forming a dashed line off the coast of the island paradise. Only accessible by boat, the suite afforded them all the privacy they could desire, and disorienting yet intoxicating exoticism to boot. Remote as the place was, it nonetheless came equipped with a flat-screen plasma TV, wireless internet access, and a host of other amenities typically found in luxury hotels.

"This is really amazing," he said to his mother.

"You don't have to be sarcastic," she replied.

"I wasn't," he replied. "Well, only a little."

She rested a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not marrying him for his money."

"No one said you were."

He could practically feel her brown eyes drilling into the back of his head. Rather that confirm his suspicion, he continued staring at the endless expanse of crystal blue water.

The man his mother was marrying, whose name escaped him at the moment, wasn't even around. Nearly a thousand dollars a night for these astonishing accommodations, and he was spending the evening with his groomsmen in a last-minute bachelor party. The way the man threw money around made Chris sick to his stomach. His mother might not have been marrying him for his money, but it sure didn't hurt that he was filthy rich.

Whoever "he" was.

Was he dreaming?

He must have been. On some level, he "knew" that he was barely eighteen years old. But in the real world, he was over thirty. And the woman who had her hand on his shoulder was in her mid-thirties, but looked like she was in her twenties. If he looked as young as his subconscious was telling him he was supposed to be here and now, they might have looked all of seven or eight years apart. Yet she was supposed to be his mother. It made no sense.

Or maybe she was his soon-to-be step-mother?

Yes. That was it.

Nevermind that only a moment ago he'd mistrusted the man she was marrying. Suddenly, that nameless and faceless man was his father, and it was her that he mistrusted. Though it hadn't been true a mere moment ago, he now knew that he'd insinuated that the beautiful and buxom young redhead was marrying whoever she was marrying for his money not because Chris didn't want some strange man to join his tightknit little family, but because he wasn't sure this gold-digger was good enough for his hypothetical father.

That meant it wasn't too weird that the moment she'd laid a hand on his shoulder, he'd gotten a raging boner. His mother, he couldn't lust after. But his not-yet step-mother, who was nearer his age than his father's? That was naughty, but not revolting. Wrong, but only in a late-night, premium cable softcore kind of way.

The back deck, which had been empty a moment ago, was now occupied by three stunningly fit men. Two of them had blurry faces, but to judge by their hair, were in their late thirties or early forties. The third was even older. He had a face, unlike the others. And what a face it was. His features were fine. If not for the silver goatee framing his mouth, leaving no doubt as to his masculinity, he could almost have been called pretty rather than handsome. His skin was surprisingly tight and firm for a man of his age, though there were deep grooves in it testifying to his years of experience. His distinct widow's peak, accentuated by a receding hairline, only seemed to give him more character rather than detract from his appeal. He was short and slender, but the muscles he had were perfectly defined.

Why he alone had a face, Chris didn't know, but for some reason, that seemed perfectly reasonable. This man deserved to stand out from the pack. Chris accepted that fact just as readily as he accepted the knowledge that the three of them were his future step-brothers. Sure, they were older than his mother was supposed to be, but so what?

Maybe they weren't her sons, but the progeny of the elderly billionaire she was about to marry. Maybe he was her son after all. He couldn't decide. Somehow, he was sure that the redheaded goddess standing behind him was no more his mother than those men out on the deck were his brothers, though the impending wedding would make all of them family.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 01



"You could try enjoying yourself, you know," the woman who might have been his mother but was probably his step-mother said. "Wouldn't take much effort, I don't think."

Chris, if that was even his name, sighed. "You're right."

She spun him around, forcing him to look her in the face.

No, she definitely didn't look old enough to be his mother. He didn't know if he looked like a teenager or a man in his early thirties, but either way, she was too young to have given birth to him. If she was day over twenty-four, he was an elephant's ass.

Damn, but she was gorgeous.

She had the cutest little nose, obnoxiously full lips, thick eyebrows, long lashes, eyes both big and dark, and a complexion so fair it took his breath away. Her cheekbones were exquisite and her red-brown hair almost made him whimper. It was dark enough to make her skin seem even fairer than it was, yet intensely colorful at the same time.

If not for the fact that she was engaging him in a staring contest, he'd have checked out her body. But he knew what he'd find if he did. The kind of curves that shouldn't have existed outside of comic books. Breasts the size of her head, a waist so small he could practically encircle it with a single hand, full hips and absurdly shapely legs. Standing several inches taller than her, he had to look down to look her in the face anyway, and that gave him a partial view of her divine figure. Enough to know that her humongous breasts were testing the limits of her bikini top while her red silk sarong clung to her majestic hips. If he dared let himself focus on her body, his bones would turn to jelly.

There was no way that was how she really looked. Real women didn't come built like that. Her proportions were beyond impossible. Here, inside his mind, she could and did look better than any living woman ever would, but only here. Yet he felt sure that she was a real woman, even if her appearance had been augmented by his subconscious. He knew this woman in real life. He wasn't sure who she was to him,, but he knew her.

Karen?

Or Caron maybe?

Whoever she was based on, however he knew the real woman, here at least, she was his mother. Or soon-to-be step-mother. Either way, she was totally off-limits.

Not that she could possibly be interested in him anyway. Even if he wasn't her son or step-son or whatever. She was way, way out of his league.

Out of his father's league too, for that matter. But at least he had insane amounts of money going for him. Every sigh and scream she made for him would be fake, of course, but she would sigh and scream for him. The lucky bastard.

What he wouldn't give to hear her call out his own name.

No. No. That was a terrible thought. In less than twenty-four hours, she'd be a married woman. He'd call her mom, no matter that she was younger than him.

Just then, his future step-brothers came back in off the deck. Their hard, smooth bodies probably should have made him feel self-conscious about his own. Not that he had any reason to, objectively. He was just as fit and lean as any of them, and none were as tall or as young or as well-built as he was. But other men would have felt a bit insecure, being surrounded by such fine exemplars of the male form.

"How's the water?" the bride-to-be asked.

"Beautiful," one faceless man said.

"You should try it," the other said.

"We should all go skinny dipping," the one with a face said.

The redhead regarded him coolly, as if gauging his seriousness. When he didn't rush to claim that he'd only been kidding, she scoffed.

"What? Why not?" the man asked.

"Ken," she said.

Or maybe she'd called him Kev. Chris wasn't sure.

Whatever name she'd used, the message was clear. Which wasn't to say that she was angry, as she should have been at the outrageous request. It was only with mild exasperation, bordering on amusement, that she rebuffed the suggestion. But rebuff she did.

And then, abruptly, all of their outfits changed. So did their surroundings. No longer were they surrounded by the deep blue sea, but instead some distant mountain range. The hotel room hadn't changed, but the view outside the window had. And where they'd once all worn swimsuits, the four men now wore tuxedos and their mother/step-mother wore a beautiful mermaid strapless wedding gown.

"So. What do you think?" she asked.

The only possible answer was yes, and not just because propriety demanded as much. She looked amazing. It was a wonder that the bodice could contain her lovely mounds.

"I think you'd look better without it," the man with the silver goatee said.

"Without what? The veil?"

"Any of it."

"Oh really?" she asked, with a hint of amusement.

Before the words had so much as left her mouth, one of the faceless men stepped up behind her and started unzipping her bodice. She made no attempt to stop him.

It took Chris a moment to realize that this was sort of an instant repeat of what had just happened, only his mother's reaction was quite a bit different this time. He'd heard it said that the definition of insanity was trying the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. An experienced gambler, he understood how silly that claim was. Anyone who expected to get the same result every time they rolled a fair die was a moron. But there was a certain sense to the aphorism all the same. Dreams had their own sort of logic, though. So no one, not even Chris, batted an eye at the fact that Karen was perfectly happy to let her sons and future step-sons undress her, even though it had only been a few seconds ago that she'd been far less receptive to the notion of swimming naked with them.

"Aren't you going to help give me away, sweetie?" she asked him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice protested that sons didn't give their mothers away. Fathers did. And they didn't do it like this. But that voice wasn't speaking very loudly, and he was all too happy to ignore it.

"I've been waiting for you to welcome me into the family," she added as he joined the others in the collective effort to disrobe her.

If it made any sense to suggest that her son should give her away, and it didn't, it made even less sense for her to say that a moment later. But he hardly even noticed. He still wasn't sure if she was supposed to be his mother or his future step-mother.

It didn't really matter, though.

The one thing he knew for sure was that he absolutely had to have her. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and she ached for him nearly as badly as he did for her. If they were forced to deny their urges a moment longer, they might explode. 

That must have been why she was wearing nothing but her thigh-high stockings, heels, garter belt, and long, gauzy veil a moment later. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had no idea how to undress a woman in a wedding gown, requiring his subconscious to skip that step. No. Just impatience born of intense desire.

Chris took a moment to simply stare at his mother. She looked so good it hurt. Her porcelain skin was flawless, her red hair radiant, her body somehow both delightfully petite and yet also extremely curvaceous. No grown woman could possibly have a waist that small, and yet despite how thin she was in all the right places, she had enormous breasts, full thighs, broad hips, and an ass that deserved to be mounted on a wall. Dressed in a few skimpy remnants of her bridal attire, she had an air of both innocence and depravity.

His future step-brothers, who'd parted ways with their tuxes without going through the bother of taking them off, were apparently less inclined to savor the moment. They descended upon her like a pack of wolves. The way she hungrily grabbed at their bodies, particularly their meat-sticks, made it seem like she was the predator.

He felt smug satisfaction as he stroked his hard cock, comparing its size to that of the others. He was a couple of inches longer than any of them, even though none of them were small, and a good deal thicker to boot. If and when the others made some damn room for him, his mother was in for a real treat.

The disgust and guilt he should have felt the moment they started undressing her finally hit him. It came out of nowhere, catching him completely unaware. There they were, four of them, ravaging a woman who was either a mother or soon-to-be a step-mother to each of them. The day before her wedding. Things like this weren't supposed to happen.

That realization only turned him on more though.

His stomach was writing, twisting itself in knots over and over again. He was short of breath. His palms were sweaty and the room was spinning. All true. All things that should have been happening as he witnessed the wanton display of carnality. Yet he couldn't have been more aroused. Pre-cum was leaking out the tip of his hard cock, and he could feel his member throbbing in his hand as the blood coursed through it.

His mother. All in white. Wearing a bridal veil. Had one cock in her mouth, another deep in her cunt, and a third ramming her ass like a jackhammer.

And he was loving every second of it, though no more so than she herself was.

Without warning, the two guys without faces disappeared. No puff of smoke, no soft pop, nothing. They were there, and then they weren't. And it was only for the briefest of moments that he was even aware that they'd ever existed. That his future step-mother had gone airtight. The beautiful redheaded goddess was down on all fours, sucking off her son, and that was precisely as it should have been.

Even if her son was twenty to twenty-five years her senior.

Chris knelt behind her, drew a deep breath, and did his best to come to grips with what was about to happen. He failed, but that didn't stop him from proceeding. Slowly, he pushed his monster cock inside her warm, inviting hole. Her tight lips clung to him and she whimpered around her son's cock every time Chris pushed another inch inside her.

Damn, she felt good.

Better than a woman could feel, really. He was on the brink of orgasm the entire time. Each little push forward brought waves of intense pleasure and unbearable ecstasy. She wasn't just warm, wet, and tight. Her pussy was fucking magical.

It was a struggle to force his eyelids to stop fluttering and remain open long enough for him to watch his dick disappear inside her. To marvel at the perfect shape and size of her milk-white ass and the way those lovely globes danced when he lightly slapped her backside, or how completely mismatched her great big ass and her tiny little waist were.

Time melted away. He saw everything unfold from an outsider's point-of-view, as if he was watching a montage in a bad 80's movie. Like he was taking part, but not.

That made him want to cry.

Chris and his future step-brother make love to their mother from every conceivable position. The other two step-brothers appeared and disappeared, helping to take up some of the slack. Her appetite was utterly insatiable, and even four of them were not enough for her. She swallowed load after load of their cum. Her holes filled to overflowing again and again. They painted her face and chest white to match her veil and stockings.

Still she wanted more, more, more.

"Oh, Kay," she moaned at one point while he was on top of her.

He didn't even notice at the time. He was almost overwhelmed by the ecstasy she was sharing with him. Her body contained wonders no man could fathom. With every spasm of her inner muscles, every soft kiss, brush of her fingertips, or squeeze of her luscious thighs, she shattered his understanding of pleasure and remade it anew.

But after he deposited yet another generous load of jizz inside her and stumbled away, so that his silver-goateed brother might take his place, it came back to him.

Kay.

His name was Chris, though. Wasn't it? Yet hearing her call him Kay felt completely natural. More than just appropriate. Like she'd spoken some deep and eternal truth.

Kay and Caron, not Chris and Karen. Mother and son.

No. She was his wife. And the man on top of her wasn't his brother, or future step-brother, but some stranger who lay asleep downstairs on their couch.

#

He jerked awake.

The room felt empty. Of course it did. His wife was still fast asleep, and there was no one else in the room. Had he expected there to be?

In much the same way that a child checks under the bed and in the closet for monsters he knows cannot be there, Chris did a quick sweep of the room. They were indeed alone. As he knew they must be. The door was closed, as it should have been, and the light bulb was as cold as it would have been if it had been off for hours. There was no indication that anyone had entered the room since the two of them had gone up to bed.

Which made sense. It wasn't their bedroom Kevin had invaded, but their dreams.

Sure, it could have simply been a coincidence that the stranger they'd offered shelter for the night had shown up in dream after dream. A natural response to a new and vaguely unsettling experience. But he knew that it wasn't.

Their guest was some sort of dream-walker.

It sounded crazy. It was crazy. But it was also true. Chris knew it in the same way he knew things about his wife that she'd never told him. The same way he could sometimes tell when her mood changed or she had a sudden emotional reaction to something she read online without so much as looking at her. Could feel it from the other room.

Karen refused to talk about it, but he knew the same was true for her. Women's intuition couldn't begin to explain the things she knew about him. The way she read him like a book. There was something more at work. Something supernatural.

Until Kevin had arrived, he'd thought it a sign that their was a perfect union. That their love was special, the way so many couples believed theirs to be. Now he realized that it was more complicated, and more banal, than that.

They were different. Superhuman. And Kevin was one of them.

He considered waking Karen and telling her about his realization. But she'd only scoff at him and tell him to go back to sleep. So he crept back into bed and tried to do just that.

#

"-up, sleepy-head!"

"Huh? What?" Chris asked. Or meant to ask. All that really came out was an incoherent grumble. "I'm up, I'm up," he mumbled, managing to form actual words this time. Monosyllabic ones, perhaps, but still words.

Someone was shaking him. Someone who smelled really good.

His wife. His beautiful wife.

She gave him a bemused smirk. Damn, but she had the most amazing lips. So big and soft and pillowy. Her upper lip was as thick as her lower one, and she had the nicest philtrum, two proud ridges running up from her lip to her nose.

"It's almost noon," she said.

It took him a moment to process the fact that the sounds coming out from between those natural wonders had meaning. That he was supposed to comprehend said meaning.

"Was up late," he replied.

"We went to bed before eleven."

There was a hint of amusement in her eyes even as she gainsaid him. Her eyes were as amazing as her lips. The whites were whiter than any other woman's, the irises so dark they were nearly black. A veritable forest of thick, proud lashes framed those lovely orbs. If he didn't know any better, he could almost have believed that she was wearing mascara. But of course she wasn't. Nor any makeup at all. Karen was simply that beautiful naturally.

"Didn't sleep well," he said.

"When was the last time you did, old man?"

Finally, he sat up.

His bleary eyes drank in the rest of the vision of pure glamour that hovered over him. She wore a pair of his boxers and a threadbare tank top that was actually, somehow, succeeding at its unenviable task of restraining her oversized watermelons. Her curly red-brown hair was a bit of a mess and she didn't have a bit of makeup on.

He'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

"No, I really di--nevermind."

Her smirk disappeared. Laying a soft hand on his bare shoulder, she asked, "What is it? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. I just...do you remember what you dreamt about?"

"Sorta. Why?"

"Was I in them?"

She snickered. "Always, my dear. Always."

Chris climbed out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom. In a lowly act of protest, he left the door open. But he made a point of lifting the toilet seat up before unleashing. The way she scolded him whenever he forgot to do so, which was a rare occurrence to be sure, reminded him of his mother.

"Our friend make it out okay?" he called out.

She had her back to him, as if that would protect her from the sound of him relieving himself. "Guess so," she replied. "He was gone by the time I got up."

That was weird.

No, actually, it wasn't. Kevin's stated intention was to be up early enough to call the mechanic as soon as he opened. That could easily have been before Karen awoke, even though they had indeed gone to bed earlier than usual, as she'd just pointed out. He'd just convinced himself that everything about the man was strange. Primed himself to see as suspicious that which was decidedly not. What did he expect? That the guy they barely knew and would never see again should wake up them up and say goodbye?

"He was in my dreams last night," Chris said as he flushed and lowered the toilet seat.

"Oh? Maybe I should have slept on the couch?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha," he replied.

His wife slipped into the bathroom and wrapped her willowy arms about his waist while he washed his hands. "TV's still here. So's the silverware. No duffel bags with severed heads, or drugs, or assault rifles, left behind."

"You're on fire this morning," he said. "Should you be wasting all this creative energy on me when you could be perched over your keyboard?"

One hand fell away from his midsection and she pinched his bottom. Lovingly, of course. Truth be told, though the gesture was meant as a playful form of recrimination, it sent a most pleasant shiver down his spine. It almost felt like a spark of something more than electricity, something very close to pure ecstasy, had shot through his body.

As it always did, whenever she touched him. Even in the smallest, most innocent way.

With a sigh, he grabbed his toothbrush and squeezed some toothpaste onto it. From the bottom, of course. Squeezing from the top was another thing that would get his wife to do her best impression of his mother.

As he scrubbed his teeth, he studied the face in the mirror.

In his dreams, he'd been a man in his late thirties as well as a youth just barely past eighteen. Karen had been his daughter at one point and his mother at another, but in both cases she'd looked pretty much exactly the same way she did in real life. Maybe a little younger and a little more perfectly proportioned, but not too different overall. You'd never know it to look at her, but she'd soon hit the big three-oh. He was only a few years older, but unlike his lovely wife, he looked his age. The lines around his blue eyes were getting deep and his skin looked tougher than it once had. His cheekbones had grown more prominent as the fat beneath his skin had melted away. The changes weren't the least bit unflattering. He had the sort of look that led people to say that someone was aging gracefully. He'd soon be described as a "distinguished gentleman" who was "ruggedly handsome." But it still troubled him. The face looking back at him was not the one he thought of as his.

That was a strange thought. But no less true.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was supposed to look like, but the image he had of himself in his mind's eye was younger, more handsome. The face in the mirror was pleasant enough. Maybe even more than pleasant. But he didn't think it was just vanity that made him think he was supposed to look better.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 02



######################

Author's note

Part Eight picks up where Part Seven left off, in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Part Seven.

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.

########################

Chris ran his finger down the fretted fingerboard of the new guitar he was making. He could almost hear the vibrating strings that hadn't yet come into being. This was going to be one hell of a beautiful instrument when he was done. He could just tell. 

"Ty, honey, come back here," he heard his wife suddenly call after their son.

The sense of urgency she couldn't mean for the boy to hear was more than apparent to his father's ears. Hearing that tone in Karen's voice banished all thoughts of music from his mind and caused adrenaline to immediately flood his system.

He looked up from workbench and saw their child stumbling down the driveway as fast as his little legs would carry him, chasing after his big red ball, which was rolling slowly across the street. Next, Chris saw the SUV rapidly approaching. It was big and mean and flying down the road at a frightening pace, soon to pass in front of their house.

Panic swept over him.

The boy was too far away. There was no way he could get there in time. But he couldn't allow himself to think about that. All he could do was run. As fast as he could. As if all the world depended on it, because it basically did.

Things happened too fast for him to process. The ball bounced harmlessly off the road and onto the grassy bank on the other side. Ty stumbled after it, stumpy little arms outstretched. The driver of the massive SUV honked his horn. From the side of the house, he heard their youngest, Niall, crying at the top of his lungs. For a change, Karen made no attempt to quiet the infant, presumably too stunned by the tragedy unfolding before her to take notice of the wailing.

Amidst all that, Chris zipped down the driveway and out into the road, scooped his son up in his arms, and retreated safely back onto his yard.

Superman himself would've envied his alacrity.

Or so it seemed afterwards. His heart raced and his wife finally released the cry of fear that had been frozen in her throat until that point. The SUV whizzed past, screeching to a halt only after it would have been too late. The oxygen his body craved seemed to be in short supply. But just then, in the immediate aftermath of his son's brush with death, he felt sure that mere physics could not possibly account for how fast he'd moved.

The driver hopped down onto the asphalt, leaving the engine running and the door of his SUV open. "Didn't even see him until it was too late," he explained to Chris, apologizing for what hadn't even happened. "The ball came out of nowhere, and then there he was-"

"Forget about it," Chris said, smoothing his son's hair with his free hand.

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Ty asked.

"Nothing," he said, setting the boy back down. "Go get your ball."

The toddler set off at top speed, blissfully unaware that he'd nearly gotten himself killed over the shiny piece of plastic his parents had paid less than ten bucks for.

"Oh my god," Karen said as she joined them. She hugged Ty to her and muffed his hair up before letting him retrieve his toy. "That was close," she told Chris.

"I'm so sorry," the driver said.

"It's really okay," Chris said.

Karen tried her best to smile at him, but the hormones that must have flooded her system apparently still had her under their sway. Little Niall had stopped crying, but he still wished to be somewhere else. Somewhere with fewer anxious grown-ups. He hugged his mother's neck as tight as he could and tried to disappear into her chest.

"Boy's lucky his father's a track star," the driver said.

Chris laughed. "Something like that," he said.

He'd never been a runner. Or any kind of athlete. Music was his one true passion. Playing it, and crafting the instruments that produced it.

Not that it would have mattered if he was. He'd covered two hundred feet or so in just a few seconds. No one could do that, whether they'd been to the Olympics or not. He couldn't begin to explain how it happened.

His wife clearly wasn't any less confused. She was staring at him in disbelief. As though she was unsure whether she was married to a man or a mythical being.

"Hell of a way to start things off," the driver said.

Chris turned back to the man. "What's that?" he asked.

"We just bought that house there," the man said pointing down to the street. The houses were too far apart here for anyone to really be considered a next-door neighbor, but he referred to the home nearest his and Karen's. "Move in Monday."

"You don't say," Chris said, feeling a bit stunned.

The man looked vaguely familiar. Had he seen that face before, or did the man simply remind him of someone he'd once known?

By the look of him, he was in his late forties or early fifties. His goatee had once been brown, but was mostly silver now. The hair atop his head had similarly lost its color, and was in the process of retreating from the field of battle. What might have once been a modest widow's peak had been become a dramatic V now that his hair had begun to recede. He had the kind of body that would lead people to reflexively say that he was in great shape "for his age," but in truth there were few of men of any age who wouldn't envy his fitness. Men like that tended to leave a lasting impression. But if Chris had met him before, he couldn't remember when or where he had done so.

"Kevin," the man said.

Did that name ring a bell? He wasn't even sure.

"Chris," he replied as he shook the outstretched hand. "This is Karen," he said, turning and gesturing towards his wife. "That's Niall there," he added, pointing at the shy infant. "And this here's Ty," he said as his older son rushed back over to them, clutching his recovered toy to his chest and beaming proudly.

"Hi, mister," Ty said, waving as best he could without loosening his grip on the huge ball. He looked up at Chris for an approving nod, proud of his own manners.

"You should probably get your car off the road," Karen said to Kevin, staring at the vehicle the way she might have a python.

Was she still trying to figure out whether he was made of flesh and blood?

If so, that made two of them. If Kevin had noticed that the sound barrier had nearly been broken, he was doing a better job of hiding his reaction than Karen was.

"Heh. Yeah, probably should," Kevin said. He nodded to Karen good-naturedly then walked back over to his tank of an automobile.

"What are you doing?" his wife asked him, her words nearly tumbling atop one another in their rush to get out of her mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"Forget it," she said in a tone that suggested that she herself would do anything but that. That they would talk about it again later, when the children weren't around. "Ty, sweetie, why don't you take your ball in the back yard?"

"Okay, Mommy!" he said before throwing the ball down and chasing after it.

Chris put a hand on Karen's arm. Her beautiful brown eyes regarded him coolly. What exactly he'd done wrong, he had no idea. He'd be happy to apologize for it if he did.

Those impossibly dark irises slipped away from him and followed the SUV as it traveled a few dozen yards down the road. Kevin parked the vehicle in what would soon be his driveway before climbing back out and heading back down towards them at a leisurely pace.

"Does he look familiar to you?" Chris asked.

"He looks a lot like the guy who nearly killed our son that one time," she snapped.

"Hun," he said. "Don't be-"

"Like what, Chris? Protective?" she asked. "What's he driving so fast for anyway? Speed limit's only thirty miles per hour. He had to have been going eighty, eighty-five."

Chris frowned. He doubted the SUV had been going any faster than forty-five miles per hour. But she still had a point. If Kevin had been obeying the speed limit, it might not have been necessary for Chris to perform a miracle, or whatever it was that he did to save their son. He'd have had plenty of time to react all on his own.

On the other hand, Karen herself rarely drove thirty on that road. It was long and straight and flat. There wasn't a red light or a stop sign for miles in either direction.

"You want me to call the cops?"

"That's it, dear," she said. "Make fun of me. That's helpful."

He drew a deep breath. She hadn't stared at him with such venom since the time she'd caught the lead singer of a band he'd played played in for a little while hitting on him after a few too many drinks. Nothing had happened, nor would he have let it even if Karen hadn't been there, but she still brought it up from time to time.

"I'm sorry," he said, running his fingers through her auburn hair.

Her face softened a little. But not much.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I...honestly don't know."

And before he could explain any further, Kevin joined them once again. "I really am sorry," he said. "Shouldn't have been driving so fast."

Karen shot a look at Chris.

"No, you shouldn't have," Chris said in an understanding tone as he turned to face their future neighbor. "Bet you won't next time, though."

Behind him, his wife snorted.

Did she want him to declare a blood feud on the guy before he even moved in? What would a more confrontational tone accomplish anyway? The guy already felt bad.

"I was just coming by to take some measurements," Kevin explained, as if they were interrogating him about what he was doing visiting his house before the big move. "We had this great entertainment center in our last place. I'm not sure we'll have room for it here, but the wife will kill me if I get rid of it unnecessarily."

"Where are you moving from?" Chris asked.

"Savannah," Kevin replied. "We loved it there, but we're planning on having kids soon. Schools are much better here. Crime rate's a lot lower too."

"Funny how you start worrying more about safety after you have kids," Karen said.

"Right?" Kevin said, apparently missing the subtext.

"Is your wife younger?" Karen asked.

Chris shot his wife a reproachful look of his own.

Kevin simply laughed though. "Yeah, quite a bit," he said. "Sometimes, when we're out, people mistake her for my daughter." The look he gave Chris seemed to indicate that he expected the younger man to compliment him on a job well done.

Karen smiled sweetly, but Chris could practically feel the revulsion inside her.

After Ty was born, she'd become a little insecure about her appearance. It got worse with Niall, as he'd known that it would. But ever since she became convinced that he'd have had an affair with Annika if he hadn't left the band, she'd brought neurotic to a whole new level. She was of course still quite capable of being nice and polite to younger women. To their faces. But as soon as they were out of earshot, she'd rip them apart. The viciousness with which she criticized their clothes or their hair and makeup made Chris incredibly sad.

The truth was, she'd only grown more beautiful with each passing year.

He told her as much every chance that he got, but she apparently assumed that he was just saying that because he was her husband. Young men didn't turn their heads when she walked by as often as they used to, she said. The looks she got at the gym were of a different sort these days, and they mostly came from other women who Karen assumed were judging her for thinking she was young enough to still dress the way she did.

But he wasn't alone in thinking so. Every now and then, he got brave enough to read the things people said about his wife online. Anyone who thought a children's book author would never attract the same sort of comments as a Hollywood starlet didn't spend enough time wading through the comments sections of blogs or discussion boards. Or they underestimated the celebrity that came from selling as many books as his wife did. Much of what he found there infuriated him, but he noticed that more than a few of her male fans were of the mind that Karen was "one of those chicks who gets hotter as she gets older, like Marisa Tomei." Chris had almost shown Karen the first time he'd come across that comment, but he figured that she'd just get upset about people thinking that she was as old as Marisa Tomei.

It didn't matter that her husband still thought she was smoking hot, or that she had a legion of fans who professed a willingness to part with various pieces of their anatomy if they could be spend a single night with her. When she looked in the mirror, she found crow's feet, laugh lines, and sunken cheeks. Her breasts sagged more than they used to, even though they were a little smaller now thanks to her newfound obsession with fitness. Her legs looked better than they ever had, and her ass was flat and toned, the way one usually only found in magazines. But that wasn't good enough for her. The stretch marks on her abdomen that Chris thought of as visible signs of her success as a woman struck Karen as ugly and disfiguring. And she never got carded at the liquor store anymore.

Sometimes, he wished it was possible for his wife to read his thoughts for true, the way it sometimes seemed like she could. Maybe then she'd know how beautiful he really thought she was. That he wasn't just humoring her when he told her that he was even more attracted to her now than he had been the day he'd married her. That there wasn't a woman alive who could compare to her in his mind.

But he couldn't. And no matter how hard he tried to convince her of those things, she just kept getting more and more jealous of younger women.

Nothing could have crystalized his wife's dislike of their future neighbor more than discovering that he was married to a woman half his age. Given Kevin's incredible physique and apparent financial success, it seemed a safe bet that his wife was not just young but thin and beautiful as well.

"You'll love Marie," Kevin said.

"Not bloody likely," Chris was tempted to say.

"Everyone does," the man added.

Karen's smiled deepened, but Chris felt the air grow a little colder.

"So. You said this little guy's name is...?"

"Niall," Chris said, rubbing his baby's back. He spelled the name out for his neighbor, knowing that he'd assume it was spelled "Neil."

"That's an unusual spelling," Kevin remarked, as if that might not have occurred to them. Or perhaps fishing for an explanation. When none came, he asked, "How old is he?"

"Eleven months," Karen replied. "Ty is nearly three."

"I hear three is even worse than two," Kevin said.

"That's a terrible way to think about it," his wife replied.

Chris gave his wife a quick look. Then, as if to apologize for questioning her, he brushed her arm softly with his hand before turning back to Kevin. "Takes a lot of energy to keep up with him. But it's hard to even remember why we ever smiled before they were born."

Kevin grinned. "You're lucky to have these two for parents, little man," he told Niall, tapping the baby's back gently with the tip of one finger.

"We should go check on Ty," Karen said.

"It was a pleasure meeting you," Chris told Kevin. "Let us know if you need any help on Monday. My wife's a writer and I'm a musician. We're pretty much always around."

"I'd hate to be a bother," Kevin said. "Besides, we've got movers to handle most of it." Of course they did. "Once we're settled in, maybe we'll have you over for dinner or something. We've both got boring old day jobs, so you won't see us too much during the day, but Marie loves having people over."

"You hear that?" Karen asked as they walked up the driveway. "Marie is a real people person. How lovely! I just know we're going to hit it off."

"I love you," Chris said, putting his hand on the small of her back.

His wife eyed him askance. "Good. I'm glad. I love you too." After a pause, she added, "Any particular reason for saying so?"

He planted a kiss on her cheek. "None at all."

"Well," she said, smiling softly. "Sorry if I wasn't very welcoming. It's just-"

"I know," Chris said. "But let's try to give them a chance, okay?"

"Okay," Karen replied.

#

That Tuesday, their new neighbors paid them a surprise visit.

"I know, the tradition goes the other way," Marie said as she handed Karen a tray of macaroni and cheese that was loaded with chunks of ham. "But Kev told me that he'd invited you over for dinner," she added, flashing her husband a disapproving look, "and I know how hard it must be to get out of the house with little kids around."

Chris could just hear his wife thinking to herself, "Do you really? You know what that's like, Miss So-Young-She-Still-Gets-Carded-at-the-Movie-Theater?" But thankfully, Karen kept her mask in place, smiling faintly and maintaining eye contact.

"So I figured we'd bring dinner to you," Marie finished.

"That's so sweet of you," Karen said, her words sounding a bit insincere to Chris, but apparently not to their guests. If he didn't know her so well, he'd probably have fallen for it too. "You really didn't have to do that." She peeled back one corner of the tin foil and gave the contents of the tray a quick glance. "Ty will love it, though."

Indeed he would. If his mother would let him, the boy would put himself on a strict diet of nothing but chicken fingers and mac and cheese. The ham would take some getting used to, but not much, Chris suspected.

He gave their neighbors a smile of his own as he took the tray from Karen and headed into the kitchen. "Can I get either of you something to drink?" he called over his shoulder.

"Sure," Kevin said. "The missus would like wine. I'll have whiskey, if you have any. Otherwise wine for me as well."

That tickled something in the back of his mind, but he wasn't sure why. "I've got bourbon," he said, though he somehow knew that his neighbor didn't consider that proper whiskey. A Tullamore Dew or the like might suit him, but nothing made from corn.

"Wine it is, then," Kevin said without elaboration.

There was no snark there. If he objected to the implication that the pride of Kentucky counted as whiskey, he didn't let it show. Yet Chris had known that the man would refuse. He couldn't have said how, but he'd known.

"Oh, dear, don't be so fussy," Marie said. "Honestly, I can't take him anywhere," she added, presumably for Karen's benefit.

"Hey mister!" Ty shouted, charging down the hall from his playroom. "Look at my truck. It's just like yours," He held the toy up for their guests to see. Then he noticed that there were two guests. "Oooh, she's pretty," he said to Chris as if no one else could hear. Then he span around, plopped down onto his knees, and raced his truck back to his room with a loud "VROOOM!"

They all laughed awkwardly at the boy's antics.

"Sorry," Chris said. "Just last week, he was still in the girls have cooties phase."

"They DO!" Ty shouted. "Most of 'em."

"Isn't he just adorable," Marie said.

Chris cringed, nearly smacking the bottle of merlot against the marble counter top. He could only imagine the patently insincere smile that must have earned her from Karen. A more modest woman would have said "It's okay," or "Boys will be boys" or something equally dismissive. Maybe even, "Glad I'm exempt. I hear cooties is the worst." But not Marie. She actually took the child's words as a compliment. Because of course it was. What male, however young or old, could look at her and think otherwise? 




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 02



For fuck's sake.

Why did Kevin have to go and marry a prom queen? A week after her prom? Couldn't he at least have had the good grace to put a bag over her head before bringing her over?

"Fortunately for everyone involved," Chris said, leaning his head out of the kitchen, "he gets his charm from his mother."

"And his bad manners from his father," Karen added, joining him in the kitchen. She ran a hand up his back, as if to tell him to let go of the tension in his body. Or perhaps to say that he shouldn't worry too much about her, which made him feel a bit foolish. He wasn't giving her enough credit. So what if Marie was young and pretty? That was no threat to her. "We're still working on the inside voice."

"Probably doesn't help that I let him to sing when I practice the guitar," Chris confessed.

Kevin gave a polite smile.

For her part, Marie was too distracted admiring the refrigerator door to notice. Ty's drawings and the family photos seemed to truly fascinate her.

When she bent over to see the ones below the ice dispenser, the hem of her skimpy little sundress hiked up, revealing a shocking amount of bronzed flesh. Chris just might have caught a glimpse of her panties if he hadn't looked away in time.

Well, almost in time. The frown on his wife's lips did not bode well for him at all.

So much for the idea that Karen didn't feel threatened by her.

Truthfully, Marie did nothing for him. Sure, she was pretty, as his son had noted with such subtlety. But only in a very conventional sort of way. She belonged on MTV, or in advertisements for lingerie. That kind of woman had never excited Chris. So far as he was concerned, she needed to gain a few pounds. That dress would have looked a lot more flattering on her if she had something beneath it besides skin and bone. The orangeish tan was a big turn-off too. Her skin was darker than her hair. His lovely wife had skin like marble, and there were no words for how much that appealed to him. It didn't help that she couldn't have been a day over twenty-two either. True, she didn't really look like she'd just finished high school or would have trouble getting into R-rated movies. But he liked women with a little maturity and experience. Women whose heads were a little less full of idealistic fantasies and a little more grounded in reality.

But that wouldn't spare him Karen's wrath.

Marie was the exact type of woman his wife resented most. Young, thin, pretty, and very much aware of those blessings.

"Here you are," Chris said as he handed the two glasses to their guests.

His hands shook as he poured two more glasses, one for himself and one for Karen. It wasn't like he'd been checking her out. He was just curious about what had caught her attention. Not that his wife would believe him.

Did she have to bend over like that? And would it have killed her to wear a longer dress? Maybe one that reached her mid-fucking-thigh?

"Kevin tells me you write children's books?" Marie said to Karen.

"I'm a novelist, yes," his wife replied a bit icily.

Why, yes, that was her eyeball you just poked. Well done.

"So your home all day?" the blonde continued, oblivious.

"We both work from home, yes," Chris added, putting a little more emphasis on the word "work" than was perhaps strictly necessary.

"Well, let's be honest, dear," Karen said as she pressed her glass against her lips. "It's been a while since you've paid any bills."

He forced an awkward laugh.

That was more or less true. But she conveniently forgot to mention that he'd quit his band because she was jealous of the lead singer, who wasn't all that young or attractive. If not for her and the kids, he'd have joined a new one by now too. Not to mention the fact that he still brought in some money by offering guitar lessons, repairing instruments, and performing the occasional solo gig at bars down in Savannah. Admittedly, that didn't add up to much. Not like releasing albums and touring the nation, playing real venues. And especially not compared to her income, which had grown considerable since her previous book won the Newberry. Still, it was a pretty cheap shot.

Then again, a successful marriage required knowing when to choose one's battles. And it wasn't hard to figure out that her jab had very little to do with the family's finances.

"You're a musician, right?" Marie asked.

Nevermind that Karen had already revealed that he wasn't a particularly successful one. The damn girl hadn't quite yet reached the age where it became possible for women to distinguish between rock stars and underemployed guys in bands. All that mattered was that he could play a guitar. And he had a soul patch.

"That's so cool," she added far too much enthusiasm.

That was so not helping.

"Hmmph," Karen said to her wine.

"And what do you do?" Chris asked, eager to prove to his wife that he wasn't buying what the young woman was selling.

"I'm an administrative assistant," Marie replied a bit sheepishly.

"Oh, you mean a secretary?" Karen asked.

Kevin froze, apparently just noticing the two trains on a collision course. Chris wanted to tell him to get things under control. Pull a level and change tracks. But he said not a word. Two sets of eyes drifted slowly from Karen to Marie, waiting for the inevitable.

For just a moment, Marie looked utterly indignant. But her smile returned almost immediately. Was it possible that she actually thought Karen had made a honest mistake?

"People used to call it that, yes," Marie explained unnecessarily. "That was before my time, but you probably remember it."

Chris nearly dropped his glass.

"So did the two of you meet at work," he asked Kevin, finally realizing how stupid it would be to just stand there and watch the crash without making any attempt to avoid it.

The glance he got from Karen burned hotter than he could bear. But the punishment she'd unleash on him if he let Marie continue pushing her buttons would be even worse.

"We did," Kevin replied slowly. "She, uh, used to work for me."

"Got transferred to his boss after we started dating," Marie said. "Think the jerk was hoping that all of my services would-"

"Well," Kevin said, clearing his throat. "Best not to give HR any reason to worry about a law suit, right? Besides, people talk about what happens behind closed doors."

Karen eyed the two of them silently, face impassive.

Crisis averted, but that line of conversation wasn't heading anywhere they wanted to be either. Was the girl trying to make herself sound like a stereotype?

"What kind of hobbies do you guys have?" he asked his neighbors.

"Oh, we love the outdoors," Marie said, trailing her nails down her husband's back. Then, just as Chris had been about to say that they did as well, she added, "You know, rock-climbing, skydiving, cliff-jumping, white water rafting. You know, pretty much anything that lets us feel the warm sun on our backs."

Kevin laughed, apparently aware of how ridiculous she sounded. Had no one explained to her that one needn't risk life and limb to catch some rays? That there were outdoor activities some might consider relaxing?

"We've been called adrenaline junkies," he said. "And not unjustly."

Marie frowned.

"Sounds...exciting," Karen said.

Chris put an arm around her shoulder. She allowed him to do so, but if he'd hoped the gesture would soothe her even a little, he was sorely mistaken. The tension building up inside her almost made it hard to breathe.

"What about you guys?" Marie asked.

"Afraid we're pretty boring," Chris said. "Having kids will do that to you."

Kevin nodded. "I keep trying to tell her that." Turning to his wife, who very easily could have passed for his daughter, he added, "We might go a while without jumping out of any planes after you get pregnant."

"I know," she said, sounding remarkably like Ty did when Chris told him that the square peg didn't fit in the round hole. "We'll find some other way to stay active." She turned to Karen. "How do you do it?"

His breath caught in his throat. That sounded almost like an olive branch. But it could just easily have been the precursor to something truly offensive. He wasn't sure which.

"I mean, I only hope I look as good as you do when I get to be your age," Marie clarified.

In his mind's eye, Chris saw a mushroom cloud.

"I bathe in the blood of virgins," Karen replied.

Chris and Kevin laughed awkwardly, but Marie didn't seem to get it.

Kids these days. Don't know nothing about history. A well-placed reference to Elizabeth Bathory was completely lost on them, just like references to pop culture from the 1980's.

Things got a little less tense after that, but only because they all retreated behind walls of artificial politeness. Their small talk grew less personal, more vapid, and thoroughly non-threatening. They talked about the weather and property taxes, school districts and real estate agents, directions to stores and the quality of local restaurants.

Dinner might not have been too bad, had they adopted that strategy earlier. But a malignant cloud lingered from earlier, and when Niall woke up crying, it almost came as a relief. To his credit, Kevin took the opportunity to make a graceful exit. Chris and Karen thanked Marie again for the mac and cheese, which had proven to be quite a hit with Ty, and exchanged empty promises to get together again soon.

"Nice to see you again, Karen," their neighbor had said as he set his glass down by the kitchen sink. His hand had brushed her shoulder intimately, if briefly. Like they were old friends rather than new neighbors who weren't exactly hitting it off.

That had Chris balling his hands into fists.

Until he noticed how the touch had changed Karen's demeanor.

Chris had almost expected her to jerk away, or at least give a start. But she hadn't. She'd smiled at Kevin, and the air in room grew a little clearer. If such were anything but impossible, Chris might even have said that he'd sensed a change in her aura. In fact, not only did the hostility fade, but something damn close to desire had replaced it.

Of course, it wasn't possible to read auras. It was only a surge of jealousy that made him think that his wife felt something amorous for their neighbor. The green-eyed monster had apparently decided to move on to someone new.

For a time.

His wife's bitter mood soon returned. And once it did, Chris was too busy being afraid of how she might lash out at him to bother with feeling jealous over the brief moment she might or might not have shared with their neighbor.

After the kids went to sleep, he and Karen polished off a second bottle of wine, washed the dishes, and cleaned up Ty's toys. All without speaking more than a dozen words to one another. Then they silently retreated to the bedroom.

He felt like he was walking on a freshly frozen pond, trying not to make a sound so that he could be sure to hear any cracking of the ice.

"Go ahead," he finally said, after stripping out of shirt.

"With what?" she asked.

He gave her a flat look as he began unbuttoning his shorts.

Karen gave him an expressionless look of her own before turning and heading into the bathroom, leaving him alone with his thoughts. She brushed her teeth fastidiously enough to please any dentist and washed her face just as thoroughly before returning.

"I didn't find her particularly attractive," Chris said, as though he were making casual conversation. That he'd settled on that particular topic was no more than pure coincidence, of course. "Sure, a certain type of guy, with a certain level of insecurity, might think of her as a fine trophy. But, eh. Not for me."

"Lucky for me they didn't have any in your size."

With a sigh, Chris came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. His lips brushed her shoulder lightly. "That's not what I meant. I was just trying to-"

"Accuse me of being horribly insecure and insanely jealous?"

His arms fell away.

"Okay, that was unfair," she said, pulling his arms back. "I am feeling insecure. And jealous. But the way you've been tiptoeing around, like you're afraid I'm going to bite your head off, is what's really got my blood boiling. I'm not proud of the fact that she made me feel old and unattractive, you know. Some people have these things called feelings, and they're not always in control of them. Doesn't make me a monster."

"I'm sorry," he said.

She was right. He suddenly wished he could undo the last half hour.

She didn't say anything for a few moments. "I know she's not your type, okay?" she eventually said, sounding as though she was fighting back tears. "You probably thought her perfect little ass was her worst feature, but I'd kill to have an ass that flat. Even though I'm going to believe you when you interrupt me to say that you think my ass is perfect. These things don't have to make sense."

What was he supposed to say to that? And would it do anything but amuse her if he did go ahead and confirm that he thought her ass was perfect?

He opted for the safe strategy of replying with a soft kiss.

"It doesn't matter," Karen said, sounding a little less choked-up. "No more than the fact that she's flat-chested, or that you don't care for blondes. It's what she represents. The fact that she left here knowing how she made me feel. That she never has to wonder if her husband still finds her attractive."

"Baby, if a younger version of you stepped out of some wormhole tomorrow and threw herself at me, I wouldn't be interested."

"I'd never throw myself at you," she replied with a tone that bordered on playful. "You forgetting how I brushed you off when we first met?"

He smiled, not that she could see it. "Point is, I don't want a young woman. Yes, I did when I was young. But I'm not the same man anymore. And even back then, it was the woman I knew you'd one day be, as much as who you were then, that I fell for."

"Oh, please," she said, elbowing him gently.

By which, of course, she meant "Go on."

"I fell in love with a young woman. An aspiring writer who had this air of hope and optimism about her. A sense of potential. And angst. It was intoxicating. But now I share my bed with a beautiful woman. A best-selling author who no longer has to tell herself that someday she'll make it. A woman who knows what she wants and how to get it. Knows what I want, and how to provide it. A loving mother and devoted wife. It's been an incredible journey, but I can't say I'd want to put things in reverse."

She leaned back against him and tilted her head to the other side, inviting him to kiss her neck. Which he did. Several times.

"Suppose you've turned out okay yourself," she mumbled.

"Even if I'm not so good at paying bills?" he asked. As he did, he gave his wife a little pinch, just above one of her beautiful hips.

She squealed and slapped his hand, but not before she started giggling. "You take care of me in other ways," she added, giving him an instant hard-on.

"You're not damaged goods, if that's what you think," he said, trying not to sound like he thought it would take an idiot to believe such a thing. "Being a mom and being sexy are not mutually exclusive."

"If I hear the world `MILF' come out your mouth, you're going to lose all the brownie points you just racked up," Karen said.

Chris laughed. "Duly noted." He kissed her neck again. "All I'm trying to say is that you haven't lost anything. I find you as physically attractive as I ever did, to say nothing of the woman who lives inside this incredible body. You're more mature, more impressive, and more wonderful than the woman I first fell in love with."

"The whole `aged like a fine wine' thing sounds nice, but that's easy for you to say. You're a guy. Men get hotter as they get older, at least for a while. And fatherhood doesn't take a toll on a man's body."

"Nor motherhood a woman's," Chris replied. "That's exactly what I'm trying to say."

Karen sighed. "That's sweet, dear. I appreciate it. Really, I do. But who're we kidding?"

"You're beautiful, Karen. I don't know what else to say." He placed his hands over her abdomen. Would it help to say that he didn't care about the stretch marks? Or would acknowledging their existence only undermine his point? "Especially when you're pregnant."

"Right," she said. "What's hotter than a big, fat belly?"

"I'm serious," he said. The next few words fell out of his mouth before he could really consider the wisdom of speaking them. "Let's have another child."

The room went silent.

"I mean, if you want to, I do too," he added. "Doesn't mean I'll be disappointed if we don't. No pressure here. I just...I can't tell you how good it feels to see you cradle a little life that we made against your chest. To hear you sing sing our child lullabies. Before you know it, Ty and Niall are going to think it's gross to let you touch them. I don't want that to be the end of this phase."

"Don't say that," she said. And the melancholy that fell over the room made him wish he hadn't. "Niall isn't even out of diapers yet."

True enough. But that didn't really change anything. The day would still come, all too soon, when they'd think their parents lame and do everything they could to avoid being seen showing them any affection.

"If we have another son, someday they can form a band together," he said.

Karen laughed at that.

"Or maybe we'll have a little girl," he continued, his words buzzing with excitement. "I've always wondered what it would be like to have a daughter."

Her breath caught in her throat.

"We'd have to buy all new sets of clothes," he said, as if that was the most important consideration. "It would change things for us, financially. But your sales just keep growing and growing. We can adjust."

"You're serious," was all his wife had to say.

"I am."

She turned around. The most beautiful brown eyes the world ever did see stared up at him. Lips more luscious than they had any right to be parted slowly as she said, "Okay."

It took him a moment to process her response. To stop marveling at her beauty long enough to realize she'd agreed.

"Yeah?" he asked, smiling uncontrollably. "Just like that? Don't you think we should take some time to think about it?"

"What's there to think about it?"

He laughed.

Before he could get another word out, she slid her hands inside the waistband of his boxers. Once she did, he lost all interest in talking. With one smooth motion, she dropped them to the floor. Her soft hand enveloped him an instant later.

Then their lips met and stars collided.

After they ended their kiss, his wife slowly lowered herself down onto her haunches and took him in her mouth. She didn't do that too often anymore, but she certainly hadn't gone rusty. It took her all of three minutes to make his head explode. And those were three of the best minutes of his life.

The intense pleasure he experienced in that all-too-brief period was beyond description. Beyond mortal comprehension. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd survived it. He'd never thought Karen untalented, but he couldn't recall ever getting a blowjob that good. If there was a drug that could reproduce the euphoria his wife brought him, every last man, woman, and child would develop an addiction.

Then he returned the favor. And no less successfully, if the way her body reacted was any indication. For a while, she told him how good it felt. But it didn't take long for her speech to turn entirely profane. And it wasn't long after that that she went entirely speechless. In the end, she was unable to even moan or whimper. All she did was buck her hips, squeeze her thighs against his head, and grip the covers so tight that Chris almost felt bad for the fabric. When her orgasm arrived, it was heralded by a scream loud enough to wake the deaf woman living at the other end of town.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 02



When his wife's body passed into recovery mode, she gave him a look that told him she'd have delivered a standing ovation if she could. Her limbs were still twitching, though, and the smile on her face was languid.

Nonetheless, he gave her an instant encore. Whether that was for her sake or his, though, he couldn't have said. There were few things Chris enjoyed as much as pleasuring his wife.

He'd thought she might fall asleep after that. Her second climax had been every bit as intense as the first, and it had left her speechless. Smiling and happy, but speechless. To say nothing of her heavy eyelids or how long it had taken her to roll onto her side.

But after a while, while they lay spooning, his wife started wiggling her bottom against him playfully. That led to some kissing and petting and the next thing he knew, he had Karen on her back with her legs in the air and his cock sliding in and out of her pussy.

In some ways, it felt like their first time together. He'd never wanted her so badly. Had never felt such a jolt of electricity with each and every touch. Yet, at the same time, their motions were those of experienced lovers. They didn't need to tell each other to speed up or slow down. Didn't have to guess at how things would be received. It was like they knew the combinations to one another's safes. Theirs was an intricate but well-choreographed dance, and not a step fell out of place.

The flames of desire were so intense, they almost consumed their bodies, turning them to ash and cinder. But Chris managed to resist his hunger enough to keep things to a controlled burn. His lovemaking was not tender, but it was still slow and methodical. He held Karen down, her two slender wrists trapped beneath one of his palms. And though the force of his thrusts left no doubt about the depth of his desire for her, he gave her plenty of time to recover between each of them. And when she begged him to go faster, he refused. When she started biting him, hard, she got no more reaction from him than she did with her words. He just kept slamming into her, slowly withdrawing, hesitating a moment or two, and then repeating. Slow and steady, he marched them towards simultaneous climax.

On the one hand, he wanted her to know that he was in control. That he was going to set the pace, and she had no choice but to enjoy the hell out of it. On the other, he found her warm embrace even more wonderful than usual. Almost like she was a completely different woman. One with supernatural powers, including the ability to amplify a man's sensitivity to tactile stimulation. He didn't think he'd have lasted a minute if he sped up even a little.

His plan didn't work though.

Soon enough, it became clear who was really in control. Yes, he guided his wife through a series of orgasms that made her seem like the one who'd surrendered to her lover, and yes he held her all but immobile, but he was the one caught in her thrall.

However lethargic she'd seemed before, she began giving everything she had once he was inside her. And she had a lot to give. Pinned down, but not passive, she pumped her hips and worked her inner muscles. It was like she was following his retreating cock, unwilling bear to part with so much as an inch of it. Her womb squeezed and massaged his manhood in ways that defied reason. Chris would have never thought it possible for a woman to have that level of control over her inner muscles if he'd never met his beautiful wife.

The look in her eyes, the mischievous grin she flashed every time he feared he was going to go over the cliff, made it clear that she wasn't under any delusions about where the power lay either. She didn't say anything. Didn't tease or mock him, as another woman might. But there was no need. They both knew that the partner on her back was the one in the driver's seat. And they were both perfectly okay with that.

So Chris admitted to himself that he had no choice but to enjoy the hell out of it. He stopped trying to resist her and surrendered to the ecstasy threatening to overwhelm him. And once he did, it only took a few more pumps before he blasted her womb with an inhuman load of cum. His body gave out and every bit of energy was redirected to his testicle so that they could serve up all the baby juice his wife demanded. And she demanded a lot.

What took place in their bedroom that night wasn't entirely natural. A new life took form inside Karen's belly, and in some sense that was the most natural thing in the world. But it wasn't human. Of course, neither were its mother and father.

He had no way of knowing that, yet he knew it all the same. Just as he knew that she'd only carry their child within her for three months, and that no one would bat an eye. Not even the doctors. No one ever did. For years, he and Karen had surrounded themselves with the impossible while everyone around them saw what they expected to see.

#

Chris was walking around the city with a shaggy black dog. But he wasn't walking the dog. It was walking him. A black leather collar encircled his throat, and the dog held the silver leash to which it was attached in its mouth.

Even stranger, the city wasn't a city at all. There were paved roads and elevated sidewalks, as there should have been. Streetlights compensated for the failures of dusk and dozens of other pedestrians shared the sidewalks with them. Sure, none of them had faces, but who didn't find cities a bit impersonal? Yet where he should have found apartment buildings and boutiques, coffee shops and bars, he found only trees. Oak and maple, mahogany and yew, ash and willow, all laid out in neat blocks.

Eerie music filled the air. None of the other pedestrians seemed to notice though. So far as Chris could tell, they couldn't hear a thing. Their mouths moved and they gestured to one another with their hands as if they were carrying on conversations, but none of them made a sound. Not so much as a peep.

The instruments changed every so often, yet the tune never changed or grew discordant. In twos and threes, Chris heard drums and mandolins and flutes, harps and fiddles, whistles and pipes and banjos. No voice sang the lyrics, but they came to Chris all the same.

Red was the color of my dear love's hair. Her skin soft, smooth and fair, The prettiest face and sweetest lips, I e'er touch'd with me fingertips.

He knew the song, but something was off about it. A lot, actually.

Now spring has pass'd, the leaves turned brown And the love we had lies in the ground, Three children had we, healthy and strong, But they too've gone, for our love was wrong.

That wasn't right. It wasn't even close to right. But he hadn't misheard the lyrics. Hadn't even heard them. They rang in his head like some eternal truth.

I walk the woods of Faery auld, Mourn and weep as me heart turns cold, Happy I'll ne'er again be, Nor I fear, will she, dear she. This bitter future we should have seen, Naught else awaits them as defy the Faerie queen.

"Gettin' the message, love?" the dog asked.

Yes, the dog.

Naturally, he recognized the voice. He had no idea why, but he had heard that sweet music before. Only, when last he'd heard it, it hadn't come from a dog's maw but a woman's mouth. A woman he'd known long ago, when he'd gone by a different name. 

"What message?" he asked.

"Don't be daft," she replied.

The forest no longer bore even a passing resemblance to a city. Gone were the asphalt and concrete, the artificial light and the faceless strangers. They were alone with the trees. With nature. Where their kind belonged.

"What do you want?" Chris asked. "Who are you, anyway?"

No reply came. The dog looked at him with its head tilted, its eyes wide, and one ear standing straight up. Then it grew tired of him and wandered off to sniff at a bush.

Was he really having a conversation with a dog?

And where had his shirt and shoes gone? Why was he wandering through the woods barefoot like that? And why did it feel so right?

"Oh, I get it," he said. "I must be drea-"

#

He brushed aside a low-hanging branch and emerged into a clearing. Standing near the edge of it, bathed in the silvery light of dusk, was a black horse. A young one. A colt or a filly. It was short and lean, its eyes overlarge, and its coat impossibly lustrous.

As soon as Chris spotted it, the horse looked up. Their eyes locked for a few moments, a silky tail lashed, then the beast turned around and took off at a gallop.

He didn't know why, but he followed after it.

Gradually, he closed the distance. But he knew he shouldn't have been able to. No man could keep up with a horse, even one so young and small. Granted, the horse was not always a horse. Sometimes, it was a dog, or a rabbit, or even a raven. Whatever shape it took, its coat was always blacker than ink and impossible to miss. That shouldn't have helped him any, though. None of those creatures covered ground as slowly as a lumbering man.

The only conclusion to be drawn then was that the creature wasn't running away from him. It was leading him somewhere.

That became clear a while later, when Chris topped a hill. The horse had come to a stop, waiting for him. No sweat lathered its sleek body, despite their little workout.

It jerked its head forward, as if pointing at something.

With one hand held over his abdomen and lungs pumping like bellows, Chris followed its gaze. He found a bunch of sticks and twigs bound together in the shape of a busty woman. For hair, she had a tangle of red vines.

"Karen," he whispered.

The effigy was bound to a stake. Not a moment after Chris noticed that, a ring of fire burst forth. It encircled the woman, cutting him off from her.

The horse stared at him, as if demanding to know what he was going to do about that. Whether he was man enough to rescue his true love from the flames. Nevermind that it wasn't actually her, or that the circle was so broad that it didn't even come close to threatening her. There was a challenge in that gaze, plain and simple.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," the horse said.

Chris rubbed at his eyes.

The horse, which was still very much a horse, stared expectantly at him.

"Are you trying to tell me to stay away from her?" he asked, suddenly remembering the song that had filled his head in the previous dream and the black dog that had accompanied him in it. "Or that she's in danger?" He scratched his head. "I don't get it."

"I should think not."

And then his companion changed shape once again, only this time it didn't become a dog or a rabbit or a raven. Or anything with fur or feathers. Suddenly, before him stood an incredibly sexy dark-skinned woman wearing a black dress.

He'd never seen a woman with a body like that. She had a tiny waist, broad hips, thickly muscled legs and an ass that was truly unbelievable. It was so big, so round, and so obviously firm, that he could feel his eyes telescoping so as to get a better look. There was no way that a woman with a lower body like that could have had anything but the flattest of chests, yet she had large breasts, if not quite as big as he liked. All of which was truly unfair, because her beautiful hair, teardrop face, perfect cheekbones, round nose, and overripe lips would have made her nearly irresistible no matter what kind of figure she had.

"You do remember me, don't ye?" she asked.

Her words didn't register. His mind was too busy processing visual stimuli.

Those obnoxiously full lips formed a grin. "Well, I suppose I can think of worse reasons for ye not to answer me question." She flipped her dark brown hair over a bare shoulder and crossed her arms beneath her big breasts. "Like what ye see, do yah?"

That was one way of putting it.

"This is where you say, `It's nice to see you, Liadan. I'd hoped our paths might cross again.' Should we back up and start again?"

Liadan. That was a name he'd heard before.

"You're...the Puck," he said.

"Aye," she replied. "Though were he still among the livin', Robin would beg to differ."

"Robin...Goodfellow?"

"Naturally," she said with a rising intonation. "Who else would I be meaning?"

Those were just stories, though. There were no magical tricksters from the land of Faery. If he'd ever met a Liadan, she didn't have the power to turn into a horse or a dog or anything else. No more than she did the ability to appear to him in his dreams. The woman with whom he now spoke existed only inside his mind. A figment of his imagination, forged from memories of past acquaintances and a child's love of myths and legends.

Only it didn't feel that way.

"But we're not here to talk about who I am, now are we?" she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"What's your name, love?"

"Chr-" he started to say. But that was a lie.

There was no Chris or Karen. Only Cahill and Caronwyn.

So he told her his true name.

"I still don't get it," he said afterwards. "Do you want me to stay away from her?"

"Suppose'n I did, would ye be doin' so?" she asked, cocking an exquisite eyebrow at him.

"Not a chance," he said.

"Good," she replied.

The fire crackled, reminding him of its presence. It consumed grass and leaves, vines and brush, but it remained safely distant from the vine-haired woman.

"Good?" Cahill asked.

What was with the eerie music then? Why did it seem like she was trying to scare him off? To warn him that their love would end tragically?

Liadan took a few steps towards him. The movement was almost hypnotizing.

She didn't have Caronwyn's curves, but that body was still amazing. He couldn't wrap his head around how she appeared to be nice and soft in all the right places despite having legs that were sculpted from stone. Undeniably feminine as her form was, he didn't know who'd win if he were to challenge her to a leg press competition. And he liked that more than he might have expected, prior to meeting his lovely aunt.

"Only seems like I'm sending mixed messages cause I've no idea what it takes to get through to ye," she said. "Reckon a wee bit o' reverse psychology, questioning o' yer manhood, and beating ye o'er the head with the damned obvious ought to do the trick though."

"You want me to stick by her," Cahill said, a bit uncertainly. `What's in it for you?"

"Maybe nuttin. Amusing meself is all the motivation I need, don't yah know."

Of course.

But that didn't mean she didn't have an agenda. She hadn't actually said that her only motivation was to amuse herself either. Only implied it. That was an important distinction.

"Who's Kevin?" Cahill asked.

Liadan shrugged. "I do nah know anyone by tha' name."

There'd been a look of recognition in her eyes though.

"But you know him by another name," he said.

A slight grin. "P'rhaps."

Cahill placed a hand on the small of Liadan's back. Their skin didn't even touch, but he still felt a jolt of ecstasy. The part of him that almost believed her to be a real woman cried out for him to kiss her.

"Tell me."

"Ask nicely."

"Please."

She gave him a bemused grin. A slender fingertip tapped his bare chest. "If it's answers ye want, you're gonna have to do better than that."

Cahill snapped his fingers and the flames went out. The smoke lingered for a bit, but it cleared up before too long. Vegetation began regrowing instantly.

"Very nice," Liadan said. "But that wasn't quite what I had in mind either."

Abruptly, the forest vanished.

It was replaced by a cold, lifeless room, empty but for a white leather ottoman in the middle of the floor. The walls were white, the carpet silver. At least, the walls had been white. Still were, for that matter, where they were exposed. Which they largely weren't. An instant after the room materialized, dozens of identical picture frames appeared. They covered the walls and even the ceiling.

Actually, the frames weren't identical. Some were wood, some plastic, still others gold or silver. But each and every one of them held the same image. A profile of Caronwyn, in the nude, her hands held over a belly swollen with child.

"A flattering picture, wouldn't you say?" Liadan asked.

"Where did you get that?"

"Really?" the dark-skinned woman asked as she went and sat on the ottoman. "That's the question you want to ask?"

Cahill tried not to notice how good her legs looked when she crossed them. That was not the sort of dress that permitted one to sit that way. So too did he try to ignore how nice her feet looked in the peep-toe heels she hadn't been wearing a moment ago.

"Come," she said, tapping the ottoman. "Sit."

As if there was room for two on that thing.

Cahill drew a deep breath. "You're not going to tell me anything until I please you."

"By George, I think he's got it," she said.

"Does she have to watch?"

"This isn't Hogwarts, Kay," Liadan said. "Those are just pictures." She glanced over her shoulder at a solid wall of Caronwyn.

He did the same.

Damn, she was beautiful. All the more so when she was pregnant too.

"I can go fetch her if you want though," Liadan said. "But she's busy getting acquainted with your daughter. I don't think she'd appreciate the interruption."

The picture frames became television screens, and the static image of his pregnant wife gave way to a video feed of her speaking to a raven-haired girl who sometimes appeared as a toddler, sometimes an adolescent, and sometimes a young woman.

"That's...her dream?"

"Aye," Liadan said. "But you know that her dreams are more than dreams, don't ya?"

Of course he did.

That was ridiculous, sure. But no more so than the conversation he was having. Or the things he'd felt at the moment his wife conceived the daughter of whom she now dreamt. Cahill could almost feel his awareness of the truth ebbing and flowing. Currently, he was on an upswing. If only for the moment, he knew that the dreams Caronwyn had early in her pregnancy were prophetic. That she'd had similar dreams of Niall and Tynan.

"You're ah wonderin' how it works," she said.

"Remind me again which one of us struggles with the obvious," Cahill said.

Liadan smiled. "It's not because she's powerful," she said. "She is, of course. And that helps. But it has more to do with the child than the mother. This only happens with purebred children." She bobbed her head from one side to another, weighing competing arguments. "Well, for most women. I've heard tell of them whose dream-visions aren't restricted in that way. But that's neither here nor there."

Cahill frowned. He'd actually been wondering how Liadan knew what his wife was dreaming, not how his wife was dreaming it. But he was so confused about so many things that it almost didn't matter. Anything she accidentally let slip for free, he'd gladly take.

She must have caught his frown though. "Don't tell me you're still hung up on that."

"On what?"

A lovely brow furrowed at him. The disappointed look did nothing to detract from her beauty. "I have nah invaded yer mind, ye git. Nor hers."

Of course, the only way to be sure he could believe her was to assume that she really was of the fey. In which case, she shouldn't have been inside his head.

"We fey don't dream the way mortals do," she explained. Which might have been helpful, if Cahill thought that he and his wife were fey. "Bloody hell, he's got you good and lost hasn't he? I can feel you fighting it, but you keep slipping." In some world, that made sense. He was sure of it. Too bad it wasn't the world he was in. "Think of it this way. You and I have weird families. In lots of ways. One being that our dreams get broadcast to whole world. Most folks don't know where to find them, but it's there alright, in public domain."




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 03



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Author's note

Part Eight picks up where Part Seven left off, in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Part Seven.

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.

########################

Caronwyn walked into the kitchen, holding up one of Niall's pacifiers. "Look what we forgot," she said so sorrowfully he could almost imagine that she was mocking herself.

She should just go ahead and change out of her jeans and cropped top into a black dress with a veil covering her face. Otherwise, there'd be a teeny little sliver of a chance that the world would fail to recognize that she was in mourning.

He missed their sons too. The thought of having to wait nearly a year to see them again hurt. So did knowing that he'd miss the rest of their childhood. He'd miss Ty's excited screams and inappropriate comments to strangers. He'd miss the infinite happiness infusing little Niall's gurgling laugher. But they had no choice. And they'd see them again.

Soon, he hoped.

With a faint but sympathetic frown, Cahill put a hand on the small of his mother's back and drew her to his chest. "They'll be okay."

"You don't know that," his mother said in the voice of a pouty child. As she did, she smacked him with the pacifier, using all the force necessary to smash through balsa wood.

"But I do," he replied. "And so do you."

They hadn't chosen new families for their sons as carefully as they might have if they'd had all the time in the world, of course, but they had chosen carefully. Niall had replaced the only child of a couple near Nashville, while Ty would grow up just outside of Austin with an older sister and a younger brother that did not share his blood. Their youngest son would be raised by a successful record producer while the woman their firstborn would call "Mom" was the lead singer in a neo-traditional folk band. Cahill would have preferred to teach them about music himself, naturally, but at least they'd be exposed. If they'd inherited the gift his father had passed on to him, they'd have the chance to nourish it. To enter Faerie in possession of a gift valued most heavily by the fey. And that was the least of what their mortal families would give them. The parents would never even know that they weren't raising their own sons. They'd shower them with all the love and affection they would have the children who'd been taken away from them.

The glamours he and Caronwyn had cast over them would see to that.

His mother offered nary a word of protest. Just stared at him as she put the pacifier on the counter in a manner that suggested she thought that the very presence of the toy made her point for her. As if she hadn't already played that card.

Cahill sighed and kissed her forehead.

"What if they're mean?" she asked, as she already had a hundred times before that. "What if they don't love them?"

"They won't be," he said.

His mother's questions were merely rhetorical. Born of a guilty conscience. Cahill had made each of the parents play a bit of music for him, using instruments he'd crafted with his own hands. He'd always felt a deep connection to music, but now that his aunt had restored his memories he was constantly discovering new ways that talent manifested itself. One of those was that anyone who played any of his instruments would inadvertently lay their souls bare to him as surely as they would if he seduced them and drank of their Libidos. Perhaps even more so. He felt as confident as could be that their boys were with good, kind folk. Salt of the earth, as Mary Donovan would have said.

"You've done this before," he said to Caronwyn. "Several times."

She looked up at him with an expression he probably should have found a lot more humbling and a lot less endearing. "Point being?" she asked.

"Doesn't it get easier?"

"Not in the least," she replied. Then, before he could react to that, she added, "Well, maybe a little. But you're still gonna have to deal with a lot of moping. Got that?"

He gave her a small smile.

And tried to pretend that he couldn't hear Niall cooing from the other room, or the little thuds of Ty bouncing around his room while fighting invisible ninja zombies from Mars.

It wasn't going to be easy. His mother was right about that, at least. There might not be any reason to doubt that they were in good hands, but they were still in the wrong hands.

"If we didn't have another one on the way, I'm not sure I could've gone through with it," his mother said, taking a hand off his shoulder and placing it over her abdomen.

They'd have to give her up too, though. Not long after they welcomed her into the world.

Fairy tales might be fit for children, but the world of Faerie was not. His mother could give birth to their daughter there, as she'd had him and Fiona and all of the other children Arawn had given her. But their daughter could not dwell long amongst the fey. By the time she was old enough to form lasting memories, she'd need to be in the Dreaming. Best not to keep her even that long, if they could help it.

Actually, it would be best to place her with a mortal family before the queen ever learned of her existence. The last thing they needed was for Titania to discover that Clan Walker now counted purebred children among its number. They might not be able to hide that from her as it was, but they had to at least try.

All that was for another day, though. For now, he'd let her dream her dreams and believe that the pain she felt wouldn't return almost as soon as it left.

"What's she like?" he asked, not for the first time.

"You'll see," his mother replied.

Previous attempts had gotten a little more than that out of her, but not much. All she'd said so far was that they'd name her Wynne and that their little girl would be closer to one of her brothers than the other. Not that she'd bothered to say which one.

That his yet-to-be-born daughter might form a strong bond with one of her brothers hardly came as much of a revelation. Though Cahill hadn't spent much time among the fey yet, he already knew that it was common for their kind to pair up, despite all the talk of sharing their love equally. What he wanted to know was who she'd fall for, and whether their son would return those feelings. Whether she'd be lighthearted like Oona and Brittany or responsible like Fiona and Caronwyn.

How happy she'd be.

The look on his mother's face, though, made it clear that he'd get no more from her.

She hadn't said that he was to blame for her feeling so down. Doubtless, she'd be happy enough enough to concede that the plan had been as much hers as his. Which it had been. But her Libido told a very simple story. He was the bad guy in this. She knew that it wasn't fair of her to feel as though it was all his fault, and she was trying not to let herself feel the way she did, but she felt it all the same.

"What would it hurt if I got to raise my own children, just this once?" she asked, as though he were the spokesperson for Queen Titania.

"I don't know," Cahill replied.

They both knew that there was no grand conspiracy to keep her away from Niall and Tynan. They weren't returning to Faerie because of a royal decree that they part ways with their children, but because their family needed them. Clan Walker was in trouble.

His mother knew that, of course. But she wasn't in the mood to be reasonable. If he pointed out that she was being unreasonable, though, he'd only make matters worse.

It probably didn't help that the source of the message had been who it had been. His mother was triply suspicious of Liadan. Not only was she the Lady of Mischief, but the queen's own daughter, and a rival for her son's affections to boot.

At least, that was how she saw it. No woman could steal him from his mother. She had to know that. But, that said, Cahill couldn't deny that he felt a powerful attraction to the dark-skinned beauty. Though she might be a Dreamsmyth, and the Puck, she was also his aunt. His blood. And she'd done nothing that led him to harm so far.

In fact, she'd been more than a little helpful.

If not for her, he'd never have awoken from the Dreaming. Nor would his father have owed him a boon. Granted, she'd set him on the right path for her own reasons. There could be no doubt about that. He was but a pawn in the game of chess she played against the rest of Clan Dreamsmyth. But even so. All things considered, Cahill didn't consider Liadan to be half as nefarious as his mother and sister did.

And surely Caronwyn knew that too.

He'd been smart enough to leave out the fact that he'd fucked Liadan silly before getting around to asking her to clarify her cryptic messages, of course, but his mother knew more than enough about his first interaction with her. And his mother must have seen some painful things in his Libido when he'd mentioned his aunt's name. Try as he might, Cahill couldn't keep from feeling a little rush of excitement as her lovely name rolled off his lips.

For that matter, suspect as the harbinger herself was, the words she'd spoken had been so vague that Caronwyn likely would have discounted them even if they'd come from her own mother. Truthfully, they had no idea what trouble Clan Walker was in. And that meant that it was almost, almost, like they weren't really in trouble at all. What significance could his mother attach to a nebulous warning delivered by an untrustworthy source? Why should that get in the way of the pain she felt?

Cahill smiled faintly at his mother before leaning down and kissing the top of her head. The brief contact brought a pleasant tingle to his lips. He lingered a bit, allowing the strawberry smell of her hair to tease his nostrils.

"We'll come back," he said. "After this is all over. We'll be the first Walkers to enter the Dreaming freely, and to raise our children here."

His mother's eyes lit up. "You promise?"

Cahill hesitated.

His father still owed him a boon. Like as not, the Lord of Remembrance had hoped his son would remain lost in the Dreaming forever, forgetting all about the debt he was owed. But with a little help from the man's own sister, Cahill had regained his memories. There'd be no denying him his due now. And what better way to use such an asset?

Yet there was no telling when "this" would be over. Or whether he'd be in any position to make demands from his father, or his father in any position to grant them, when it was.

"It's okay," she said sadly before he could answer. "I understand." Her lips formed the faintest of smiles, a reflection of an echo of a facsimile. "You'll do your best," she added before brushing her fingers lightly through his hair.

A stab of pain pierced his heart. He couldn't bear to see that look on her face, or hear that disappointment in her voice. But the last thing he wanted to do was make a promise he couldn't keep. Not just because breaking a promise to his mother would cause him more than just a stab of pain, but also because he felt sure that promises had power among their kind. It likely wouldn't go well for him if he made her a promise he never fulfilled.

He'd read stories as a child of men and women outwitting the fey, forcing them into a Catch-22. The fey had always died or gone insane. He didn't know how much truth there was to the tales, but he wasn't about to put that particular hypothesis to the test.

"Really," she said, in a voice that was better suited to consoling him than it was asking him to do the same for her, "it's okay."

He nodded.

"Bout time we go see what all the fuss is all about, wouldn't you say?" she asked.

The emotion she injected into her voice as she spoke those words was so very opposite from what he sensed in her Libido that he almost laughed.

"Still one last thing we need to do before we leave," Cahill replied softly.

"I know," his mother replied with feigned resignation. "I just hope he doesn't bring Candy. Or Mandy. Whatever her name is."

She knew full well that Kearney's current toy was named Brandy, but Cahill didn't bother to correct her. It was nice to see her channeling her energy into disapproving of their neighbor's love life rather than their children. Besides, even he found it a bit disconcerting that Kearney had lately been changing wives nearly as often as most men did their socks. Especially since every one of them seemed to believe they'd been with him for years. Of course, Kearney had been under the same impression, but he couldn't quite blame his mother for seeing a sad old man cycling through one pretty little thing after another. That each one was younger and dumber than the last didn't help anything either. She knew who and what the man was now, and that his true identity had been hidden from him the same way theirs had been from them, but one thing his ignorance couldn't explain away was his taste.

Still, he wondered if his mother appreciated that their neighbor might be starting to remember who he was, if only on a subconscious level. That, as a Dreamsmyth, he had greater control over this world than either of them did. It was only natural that the parts of the Dreaming with which he interacted behave according to dream logic. And better men than him had done things in their dreams that they'd disavow upon waking.

Cahill was almost surprised that his mother hadn't proposed leaving the queen's son stranded in the Dreaming. Good thing she hadn't, since Cahill hadn't seen fit to tell her that helping Kearney would honor a boon he owed to Liadan.

"I'll be sure to pass that on," he told her.

"You'll do nothing of the sort!" his mother said, as he'd known she would. She smacked his arm for emphasis, though not hard enough to cause any pain. "If she tags along, we'll just find an excuse to get rid of her. Not like he'll miss her or anything."

She hadn't meant it that way. Couldn't have. Even if she had, mortals who died in the Dreaming didn't die. They just sort of moved on. But after what they'd done to two innocent mortal children just that morning, his mother's words sent a chill down his spine.

"We can run out of wine, for example," his mother said. "Send her out to the store. That'll give us almost an hour. Won't need more than that, will we?"

"That should do it," Cahill said, trying to hide his relief.

A solid minute or two would plenty, if need be. But Kearney would have questions for them, as they would him. How had one of the queen's own sons had come to suffer such a fate? Why Titania had allowed it to happen?

"Or you could just tell him that she's not invited," Caronwyn added.

"Stop," Cahill said, giving her bottom a playful pinch.

"They're not even gonna be together much longer," she continued.

That was true enough. But "Kevin" didn't know that, and he'd be somewhat less inclined to accept their invitation if they bluntly told him that his wife wasn't welcome.

"You keep this up and you might not get any more kisses," Cahill said.

She stared at him flatly.

"Try me," he said.

He was bluffing, of course. The power to resist his mother was one he neither possessed nor ever hoped to. But he hadn't actually said the he'd withhold his lips. Just implied it. His mother slid a hand down between his legs and caressed his rapidly hardening cock through the fabric of his jeans. "I think someone begs to differ."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Cahill said. "Not like you're completely and utterly irresistible or anything."

"Mmm-hmm," she said, accusing him of bullshit in that polite way that mothers have.

If he'd have let her, she'd have gone up on tiptoes and started nibbling his ear. But he was having none of that. Not just yet. Cahill grabbed the phone from the counter, pushed it towards her, and said, "Call and invite the two of them over for dinner. Then we can play."

She studied him quietly for a few moments before saying, "You got yourself a deal."

On some level, he was aware that most women didn't go from a deep state of melancholy to one of forced pleasantness to absolute prurience in such a short time. That a mortal wouldn't be able to take her mind off the children she'd given up just that very morning.

But the fey were different.

Ever since Cahill had restored his mother's memories a few days ago, they'd been indulging in their true natures every chance they got. Granted, with two small children in the house, such chances had been few and far between. But the change had still been noticeable. Even so, she suddenly hungered for him as powerfully as any woman ever had for any man. Almost as if she hadn't felt his touch in months.

The look in her eyes clearly indicated that the world would burn if she didn't get what she wanted soon. And that made his dick twitch in excitement.

Of the many things he loved about his mother, and there were a great many, the way she looked at him like that figured prominently. No amount of loving was ever enough for her, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

While eye-fucking him so hard he nearly creamed in his pants, his mother took the phone from him and dialed their neighbor's number.

Cahill felt more anxious than he ever had with a mortal woman. Yes, they'd been living together as man and wife for years, and they'd made love countless times before that. But that didn't matter. His desire for her only grew stronger with time. He knew precisely what wonders awaited him, and that did nothing at all to soothe him.

"I'm good, thanks," his mother said into the phone as she started unfastening his belt with her free hand. "And you?"

Cahill allowed his hand to drop down from the small of his mother's back to the swell of her perfect ass. The soft cotton of her green dress felt good, but he could only curse its existence as he gave one big buttock a firm squeeze.

A look of sympathy swept across his mother's face as she said, "Sorry to hear that," into the phone. "Is her mother going to be alright?"

The hand on her ass stopped kneading it.

"That's good at least," Caronwyn said a bit later.

With that, Cahill resumed fondling her incredible backside. His mother didn't pick back up where she'd left off with his jeans, but she did give him a naughty grin and mouth, "You're bad." That was permission enough.

He'd missed this body. Every word of praise he'd ever lavished on "Karen" had been sincere. His mother looked damn good even when she did her best to pass as a mortal. But in this, her true form, she was beyond sexy. Her beauty was blinding, her curves exaggerated, and her skin impossibly smooth and fair.

No woman could be more perfect.

Cahill hiked the hem of her dress up, allowing him delight in the touch of her bare skin. He nearly climaxed as his fingers gripped her ass tight and little bolts of ecstasy raced up through his fingers and palms. As he squeezed, she clenched her cheeks together, reminding him of the thick steel undergirding her pillowy mounds.

"Well, we were going to invite the two of you over for dinner," she told their neighbor, allowing her glutes to relax as she did. The abrupt shift from firm back to soft and supple took his breath away. "Nothing you can do for her there. Might as well come over."

"Tell him we've got Tullamore Dew," Cahill said.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 03



He hadn't picked any up, but that didn't matter. With a mere thought, a bottle of the fine Irish whiskey appeared on the counter behind him.

His mother relayed the news to Kearney with a bemused tone. She no more understood the way he and their neighbor obsessed over small differences in whiskies than she did a word that came out of Cahill's mouth when he talked about crafting musical instruments. But she apparently thought it cute and that was just fine with Cahill.

"See you soon, then," his mother said before hanging up.

"We have much time?" Cahill asked, bouncing her beautiful buttocks gently in his palms.

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe not. Maybe I don't care."

"Is that so?" he asked.

The phone returned itself to its charger while his mother's hands resumed their quest to free his manhood from his pants. "Might help jog his memories," she said, though she knew full well that they weren't dealing with a mere veil. The only way to restore Kearney's mind was for one of them to reach inside his head.

A twinge of jealousy shot through Cahill. Did his mother have a crush on their neighbor?

No, that couldn't be. He wasn't remotely her type. Even assuming he didn't have as good a sense of what turned his mother on as he thought he did, if she'd been harboring a secret attraction to their neighbor, he'd have picked up on it. Clearly, she was just trying to get him riled up.

It was working.

"You got to play with one of the queen's brood not long ago," his mother whispered before nibbling at his earlobe with those big, soft lips of hers. A quick flick of her tongue followed, nearly causing him to ejaculate. "Fair is fair, wouldn't you say?" 

She hadn't been forced to watch him fuck Liadan, though. Nor to share.

Still, she had a point. One he wasn't going to acknowledge aloud, but definitely a point.

"It was only a dream," he said.

"You know that's not how it works."

His mother unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down to his knees. The silk boxers he wore were not up to the task of containing his erect cock. Several inches stuck out below the bottom of one leg. The swollen head nearly reached his knee.

"She seduced me," Cahill protested.

"Lucky you," his mother replied as she started stroking him. "Didn't even have to work for it." Her dress turned to smoke, revealing her enormous breasts and tiny waist. "Whereas I'm going to have to put some effort into convincing `Kevin' to join us." 

Right. It would be sooo hard to get the guy to overcome his reluctance. Who would be tempted by an insanely voluptuous woman with a face so beautiful it shamed goddesses, luxuriant red hair, and skin as white as milk? No one, of course.

"But I won't hold that against you," his mother continued.

"Maybe I'm not willing to share," Cahill said. A light warning shot fired across her bow.

"Maybe you've got no say in the matter."

Once upon a time, Cahill had been able to get his way by adopting that tone. Before awakening from the Dreaming, he'd cycled through women nearly as fast as Kearney was now. In those days, speaking in that tone had been a surefire way to crumble a woman's resistance. He'd straddle the border between playful and serious and the girl he was with would rush to keep him on the better side of that boundary.

Of course, those women had all been disposable. The implicit threat to walk away if he didn't get what he wanted had always been sincere. And on some level, those women had likely known that. But it was different with his mother. Everything was.

He briefly considered offering another objection, but thought better of it. Instead, he pressed his lips to hers and enjoyed the sort of kiss that would rupture fainter hearts.

His mother's lips were so full and soft, and she knew just how to use them. And so too did she know how to manipulate his Libido. Neither coming on too strong nor holding back, she offered him nothing short of perfection. His head spun. Before long, he began to doubt whether his feet were still in contact with the tiled kitchen floor. He forgot all about gravity and fey politics and their temporarily abandoned sons. There was room in his mind for naught but Caronwyn's kiss.

By the time their lips parted, he'd emptied his sac.

Well, nowhere near emptied it, in fact. As his mother would soon prove. But the lingering, tender kiss had proven enough to finish the job their teasing had started.

"My, what a mess you've made," his mother said, looking down at the jets of sticky white cum on her thigh and knee. "I should really make you clean it up."

For just a second, she reminded him of Mary Donovan. In a good way. It wasn't too hard, in that moment, to believe that she'd raised him, rather than abandoning him in the Dreaming the way the fey always did. To remember that she wasn't his wife, but the woman who'd brought him into the world.

That only added to his arousal.

In the blink of an eye, all evidence of his excitement was gone. And as soon as his spunk evaporated, his mother lowered herself to her haunches. She stroked his enormous cock a few times, staring up into him with love and lust in her big brown eyes as she did. Then she unceremoniously took him in her mouth.

Cahill gasped for air straight away.

Her luscious lips slid around his thick helmet ever so slowly, taking hours to reach his foreskin. But the very moment they made contact with him, he was in heaven. Cahill shuddered with every fraction of an inch that she advanced. He ran his fingers through her thick, dark hair, marveling at the look and feel of it. Trying not to think about how close she was to overwhelming him with her warm mouth, nimble tongue, and pillowy lips.

It did no good, though.

She was abundantly skilled at her craft, and in no mood to seduce him slowly. The flames of desire raging inside her nearly singed his small hairs, and the wonders she visited upon his manhood were legendary. His spine writhed and his eyelids spasmed. His lower lip quivered and his hands shook. Cahill's entire body was malfunctioning, crippled by the unbearable ecstasy his mother's mouth delivered.

In no time at all, he was cumming again, and his mother was eagerly swallowing his seed. She teased his testicles with her fingertips, as if to coax still more jizz out of him.

His knees went derelict. If not for the support of the counter behind him, he'd have fall down, collapsing into a euphoric heap.

"Was that good, baby?" his mother asked, looking up at him through thick lashes.

"You could say that," he said.

What would be a better way to put it? Divine? No, too trite. Perfect? True, but similarly overused. An act of consummate bliss? That, at least, came close.

"Mmm," she said through a smile as she rose to her feet, her hands traveling slowly up his torso like an advance party. "Thought you might enjoy that."

For a moment, Cahill considered returning the favor. But he was too impatient. His still hard cock needed to be inside her. Besides, he wasn't sure how long he'd have her all to himself. So he spun her around, bent her over, and wasted no time in pushing his manhood past her moist folds and into her love canal.

His mother laughed as he did, summoning a stool for stability the way a jedi might his lightsaber. "A little eager, are we?" she asked.

By way of response, he swept her hair forward, leaned down, and set to work on her neck. He alternated soft kisses with firm bites.

She cooed. "That's it, sweetie. Show mommy how badly you want her."

Cahill reached down and took hold of her huge, swaying tits. He gave them a few good squeezes before loosening his hold enough to let his finger tips find her stiff nipples. Then he began pinching and twisting them, a bit more vigorously than he ordinarily would have.

"Oh, you really are excited, aren't you?" she asked, interrupting the words with a few grunts and whimpers. There wasn't a hint of protest in there, though.

He grunted something incoherent and poured energy into the task of fucking her harder and faster. His hips ceased playing by the rules of the merely mortal, allowing him to smack into her backside a dozen times each second.

It didn't take much of that to silence her. No more words of encouragement escaped from between her lips, nor did she tease him any further about his uncharacteristic aggression. By the sound of it, she was having a hard time keeping air in her lungs.

For good measure, he threw in a few other supernatural flourishes. Unseen hands roamed over her body, caressing lightly here and squeezing firmly there. A spectral mouth worked her clitoris with a combination of soft kisses, light tongue-swirls, and rapid flicks. Her tactile senses grew more acute and then dulled and then sharpened again.

She let out a burst of obscenities before exhausting her breath. A series of grunts and hisses presaged her imminent climax. When it arrived very shortly thereafter, every muscle in her body spasmed. She let out a howl of relief and release that nearly pierced his ear drums. The flood of energy that poured into his Libido made his knees buckle.

All the unseen forces helping him pleasure his mother vanished as he was forced to devote his attention purely to the task of existing. For a few brief moments, he'd lost track of who he was. It took some effort to realize that Cahill and Caronwyn were two separate beings.

"Wow," his mother panted as she pulled herself up from the floor with the help of the stool. "That was...you need to do that more often."

"Oh really?" he asked, feigning indignation.

"Yup," she said, giving him a flat look.

"Well, we'll see what we can do," Cahill said, grabbing her and pulling her in for a kiss.

They were both still a bit short of breath, but their lips were eager enough to dance with one another all the same. As they always were.

"That's okay for me to say, right?" she asked.

"Very okay," he replied.

His mother grinned wickedly.

That was when he sat her down on the stool and lifted her legs up onto his shoulders. Once her lovely stems were in place, he took hold of her narrow waist and entered her again. She placed her hands firmly atop his and locked gazes with him even more firmly. His thrusts were slower, more deliberate, but their lovemaking was no less intense. Inside, her walls pulsed gently against him, massaging his member slowly but surely. When she contracted her inner muscles, she felt like a vice grip. But when she relaxed, it was like he wore a warm, moist glove. One made to fit only him.

They drilled holes into the back of each other's head with their stares. He couldn't get over how gorgeous she was, and had the vague sense that she was feeling much the same. It wasn't fair for a woman to look that good. How was he supposed to keep his wits about him while gazing upon such perfection? Her eyes were so deep and dark, her skin perfect and pure, her lips large and luscious. From her high cheekbones to her cute little nose, her long lashes to her thick brows, she was the very essence of beauty. The sheets of auburn hair framing her beautiful face accentuated her every feature. The delicate points on her slender ears, poking out between those lovely locks, reminded him of her true nature.

Neither of them spoke a word. The only sound was the soft squelching that accompanied his every thrust. That, and the occasional squeak as the stool inched in retreat.

This time, his mother gave as good as she got. Unseen mouths and hands swept over him, biting and squeezing and licking and teasing. He hissed as not-teeth sank slowly into his nipples and then a pair of hands squeezed the twin rocks that formed his ass. Some of the sensations were dimly felt, others overwhelming. The warmth surrounding him was, by turns, soothingly pleasant and unbearably intense.

He did much the same to her, but with dubious success. Withstanding her assault took everything he had. The better part of him wanted to surrender, but he was determined to enjoy it for as long as he could.

Which wasn't very long at all, as it turned out.

"That's it, fill me up, baby," his mother said. Her strong thighs were wrapped around his back now, and he was reminded of an old-fashioned nutcracker. The nails digging into his biceps wouldn't have to press much harder to draw blood. That was nothing compared to the way her inner muscles milked his manhood, though. "I know you've got more to give."

He did. And he gave it, happily.

Eventually, though, he pulled out and stumbled back against the counter, gasping for air as he did. The air seemed to be made of foam, giving way before him only grudgingly. His limbs were heavy and time advanced with all the urgency of a glacier. A month passed as he drew in then released his first breath. The second lasted for weeks.

"Well," Kearney said from the living room. "That was...unexpected."

Cahill tried to reply, but words failed him.

The woman known to their neighbor only as Karen rose to her feet. She swept a lock of sweaty hair back from her face as she turned around. "Hey there, Kevin," she said, as if there was nothing unusual about the scene laid out before him. "Didn't hear you come in."

"Imagine that," the man replied, speaking directly to her tits.

"You're a bit overdressed," she said.

Cahill snorted to himself.

"I am, am I?" he asked.

"A lot, actually," Caronwyn replied.

Kearney looked her up and down. "Are you...where are...?"

The poor guy. He knew something was wrong, but he apparently feared that the impossible could only exist so long as it went unacknowledged. He was Wiley E. Coyote, immune to gravity right up until the moment he looked down to see that yes, he had in fact run straight off the edge of the cliff.

"We'll get to that," the irresistible redhead told him as she slowly closed the distance between them. "First, let's get you out of those clothes."

Kearney offered no protest. No man would have.

So Caronwyn went to work helping him out of his jeans and T-shirt. Cahill was struck by the fact that Kearney was only a couple of inches taller than his mother. If he had more than twenty pounds on her, it wasn't by much. There was something wrong about a woman as voluptuous and divine as his mother seducing a man as unimpressive as his neighbor.

Besides the fact that she didn't belong with any other man, whatever he looked like.

Cahill watched in silent fascination as his mother, who was supposed to be his wife, fellated another man right before his eyes. She gave their neighbor the same treatment she had her son just a little earlier. Kearney's jaw clenched tight and his eyes rolled back inside his head. He held Caronwyn's slender shoulders in his hands, his knuckles turning white.

He tried to tell himself that he wasn't sizing the other man up, cataloguing all the ways in which he was the superior specimen. After all, he wasn't looking at the true Kearney but a mortal disguise. Still, he couldn't help noticing how slim the man was, or how much smaller his endowment was. Though "Kevin" was incredibly fit for his age, the lean muscles covering his body were small and underdeveloped compared to Cahill's, and Cahill wasn't the bulkiest guy around either. His cock, to judge by the brief glimpse Cahill had gotten before his mother engulfed it, was perhaps half his own size.

"She's...fuck...really good," the man croaked out.

"You're telling me," Cahill replied.

The guy might as well have been complimenting her tuna casserole for all the jealousy infusing Cahill's words. He was jealous, even though their kind practice monogamy the way birds practiced swimming, but he wasn't going to let that show.

When it was over, he forced himself to compliment Kearney for lasting as long as he did. Which wasn't long, to be sure, but had been more impressive than Cahill had expected. Perhaps the man had subconsciously drawn on his energy to prolong the experience. But no matter how strong the temptation to sucker punch the older man was, Cahill wouldn't let his mother see how well she was doing in her effort to get under his skin.

"What just happened?" Kearney asked, running a hand through his hair.

"I believe they call it a `blow-job' in some circles," Caronwyn replied. "Or you could say I sucked your dick. Performed fellatio. Gave you head. Slobbed your knob."

Cahill smirked. He was tempted to remark that her skills were so utterly without peer that an entirely new phrase was needed to describe what she did when she pleasured a man. But he kept the thought to himself.

"I get it," Kearney replied. He reached out with one hand, as if to caress the arm of the redheaded goddess, but apparently thought better of it. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Does it look like it?" Caronwyn asked.

"Well, yeah, actually," he said.

"Obviously," Cahill said, speaking for the first time. "But you're more than welcome to join," he added. He came up behind his mother and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Takes more than I've got to satisfy her endless appetites."

"But you do try," his mother said, giving him a light hip check. That simple little gesture gave him inordinate pleasure. When she wasn't in his arms, he felt the way an unused coat hanger would if it was self-aware. "And I appreciate that."

She was just playing along. No need to feel self conscious about whether he was actually capable of satisfying her. None at all. That unpleasant feeling certainly wasn't doubt.

"You're...not serious," Kearney said, sounding like a man who hadn't just gotten his dick sucked by another man's wife. Or a woman he believed to be his neighbor's wife, at any rate. His eyes finally pulled away from Caronwyn's divine figure, meeting Cahill's. "I mean...," he added, without bothering to complete the thought.

"Let's go up to the bedroom," Caronwyn said, taking Kearney by the hand.

"Uh, okay," he said.

Cahill let his arms fall away and tried not to dwell on how empty he felt the moment his mother stepped away from him. How cold his flesh felt without her pressed against him. Instead, he closed his eyes and savored her lingering smell before starting after them.

As they ascended the stairs, Cahill kept his eyes elevated. Somehow, he'd convinced himself that there was nothing wrong with checking out the competition while his mother was hard at work pleasuring him, but now that there was a brief lull in the action, his natural aversion to the sight of a naked man had kicked back in. Once more, he was aware that an eyeful of man-butt was the answer to no problem he'd ever have.

They proceeded in silence. Kearney looked back over his shoulder at Cahill a few times, as if unsure whether he'd find a jealous husband wielding a sharp knife or a baseball bat rather than a friendly neighbor smiling awkwardly back at him. That was the closest thing to communication any of them took part in, though.

When they passed by the nursery, Kearney silently took note of the absence of crib and mobile and plastic toys, but he didn't ask what had happened. Just as he hadn't asked where Chris and Karen were, or whether the younger, sexier couple he'd found in their place might actually be his neighbors. Any other man might have asked such questions. But just as Caronwyn had set aside thoughts of their children, their unknowingly fey friend was a slave to his sex drive.

"Sit there until I'm ready for you," his mother told him after they reached the bedroom, pointing to the chair by the door to their bedroom.

He did as she instructed.

Kearney looked like he was couldn't be sure whether he was about to lie down in a bed or a pit of venomous snakes. But it didn't take long for him to suspend his disbelief. By the time Caronwyn straddled his hips and started taking his modest little cock inside her, he slipped off into a state of pure bliss.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 03



No less awkwardly than before, and with no less rapt attention, Cahill watched his mother fuck Kearney. The bedroom could have caught fire, and he wouldn't have noticed. From his painfully distant position, he could see the entire room. But there was no room in his mind for dressers and closets, mirrors and plasma TVs. He was completely focused on the queen-sized bed and the queen of desire working her magic atop it.

His mother rode her little study enthusiastically, making the sorts of sounds that might lead a casual observer to think she was having the best sex of her life. Cahill knew better, but he could tell by her Libido that she was enjoying herself. Mostly only because of the way she knew she was torturing him, he hoped, but he didn't think she'd be faking an orgasm.

Sure enough, a few minutes later he saw her Libido erupt like a volcano. When her shudders and spasms passed, he noticed a distinct drop in her energy levels. Unwittingly or not, Kearney had feasted heartily off an intense climax.

"Should I stop?" Kearney asked awkwardly.

As if he was even doing anything but lying there. Well, and groping her.

"Mmmm," Caronwyn replied helpfully.

Kearney looked a question at Cahill, who simply shrugged. "She's the boss," he told his neighbor. "But she'll probably let you know when she's had enough."

"Probably?"

"Never reached that point myself," Cahill replied.

At that point, his mother took matters in her own hands. She pulled her knees up to her chest, her feet flat on the bed, so that she was sitting on Kearney rather than kneeling over him. Then she guided his hands around back to her bare ass for a little support and started bouncing up and down. Slowly, at first, but with increasing velocity.

"I could get used to this," Kearney said.

"Don't plan on it," Cahill mumbled under his breath.

The older man glanced at him briefly, but when Cahill didn't clarify himself immediately, he lost interest. His eyes returned to the beautiful redhead above him and the breasts bouncing hypnotically between her arms.

Fortunately for Cahill, the little man didn't last much longer. And even more fortuitously, his mother decided she was tired of Kearney after that. She flopped onto her back and summoned her son to bed. He stopped at her feet, knowing she expected him to attend to parts somewhat northward, and started massaging slowly.

"Please," his mother shortly after he'd moved from one foot to the other.

"Getting impatient already?" he asked, as if he didn't know the answer.

Kearney barely hid a shocked cough. Clearly, he couldn't fathom how a man could refuse her. If he ever bothered to kiss her feet, though, to caress her calves and sink his teeth gently into her big fat ass, he'd understand. His mother's body was a delicacy to be savored.

Caronwyn huffed at her son. Her head fell back against the fluffy pillow. "Can we at least do the abridged version?"

"I think not," Cahill replied.

Not after what she'd just put him through.

Of course, she enjoyed the torture as much as he did. More so, even. It just took a while for her to accept that he wasn't going to give in. That she had no choice but to enjoy the dish he'd served, even if it wasn't the one she'd ordered. By the time he made it to her hips, she'd let go of her resignation. The orgasm she experienced while he sucked on her nipples was modest enough, but the two that followed were not. And the one that came at the end of his tour of her body proved the theatrics she'd showered on Kearney for what they were.

For his part, he thoroughly enjoyed every moment. When it came to oral sex, Cahill wasn't sure whether he preferred giving or receiving. He was tempted to say the former, so long as the woman he was pleasuring was his mother. He simply couldn't get enough of her impossibly voluptuous, unbelievably luscious body.

In truth, he wished he could have spent more time worshipping her. But after her heavy eyelids finally opened again, and remained open without fluttering, Cahill moved on to the next stage. If he didn't, his mother might have attacked him.

"About time," she said lazily as he knelt between her legs and prepared to shove his huge dick into her eager pussy.

"What's that?" he asked running his head up and down her slit. "Did you say you want me to tease you a while longer?"

"Damnit, Kay," she said. "Just fuck me already!"

If Kearney noticed her use of a name he'd never heard, it didn't show. He was too busy wondering what sort of man could resist the warmth of her embrace, even for a few seconds.

Both reactions amused him.

"If you insist," he told his mother, forcing most of his length inside with a single thrust.

She let out a delicious whimper, equal parts suffering and bliss. Inside, her love canal slowly adjusted to his incredible size. Cahill wondered if it bothered her that he hadn't given her the chance to do so before he buried himself to the hilt. 

He rather doubted it.

As her inner muscles slowly relaxed, turning her choke hold into a firm grip, his mother let out a sigh. Her eyes closed and her considerable chest heaved. That was not the look of a woman experiencing anything but utter bliss.

Nothing pleased him more than seeing that look on his mother's face, and knowing he was responsible for it. That their coupling brought him a great deal of pleasure as well was almost beside the point. He'd open a thousand cuts in his skin and roll around in a bed of salt if it would please her half as much as their lovemaking did.

"That's exactly what I needed," she purred.

"Not quite, but we're getting there," he said, earning a wicked smile from the painfully gorgeous redhead lying beneath him.

So, while an exhausted Kearney looked on in disbelief, Cahill fucked his mother even more furiously than he had before. He didn't quite push his body past mortal limits, but he bumped right up against them. The bed groaned in protest as it was forced to absorb the impact of his thrusts. If not for the energy he diverted to the frame and bedspring, they might well have dropped to the floor.

Of course, the need to reinforce the bed didn't slow him down in the least. Nor did it keep him from putting his powers to work in other ways. His mother could handle more than his huge cock, after all. And he was intent on giving her all that should could take. Accordingly, he summoned spectral hands and mouths again. There were limits to what he could do with them, of course, lest he allow Kearney to notice that something wasn't right. Mesmerized though the poor man might be, if Caronwyn's breasts started moving unnaturally or her nipples stretched out of as if being sucked on by a mouth that wasn't there, he just might notice. And start asking questions that were best saved for later. But even so, while Cahill stretched his mother's labia, poked her cervix, and stimulated her G-spot with his massive cock, he caressed her body with unseen hands, sucked on her swollen clitoris with a ghostly mouth, and teased her hard nipples with invisible tongues.

"Fuck, that feels good, baby," she moaned. "You're so big. Filling me up just right."

She'd made a show of pretending to enjoy Kearney's body, but she hadn't once told him that he had a big dick. That he filled her up right. No, those things she only told her son.

Cahill smiled at his mother before returning to kissing the pretty little foot he had propped up on his shoulder.

"That's it," she said, closing her eyes. "Almost there."

Apparently a bit rejuvenated, Kearney started stroking himself while he watched. The motion only registered in the back of Cahill's mind though, focused as he was on giving his mother the fucking she needed.

After several intense minutes, her body began to shake violently. A monster orgasm was setting upon her. By the end of it, she was almost motionless.

"Damn," Kearney said, staring at Cahill in awe.

He laughed awkwardly as he gently slid out of his mother's warm box.

When the beautiful goddess lying between them finally recovered her breath, the smaller man asked if he could cut in.

"No," Caronwyn replied, "but you can join in."

"Good enough," Kearney replied.

So the two of them worked in concert to tend to her many needs, finger-cuffing and double-penetrating again and again and again. For a long time.

#

"Fuuuck," Kearney said. With his fingertips pressed against his head like that, he almost looked as though he was trying to force his memories back inside their box. "That...that ... what the hell did you do?"

"Fixed you," Cahill wanted to say. But he held his tongue.

"You okay?" Caronwyn asked, a hand on the man's shoulder.

It took him a while to respond, but eventually Kearney nodded. The sudden recovery of so many missing memories could be more than a little overwhelming, after all.

He simply hung back, giving his uncle some space. His mother was better at this part anyway. Cahill's only contribution was to pour out some of the Irish and slide it across the coffee table to Kearney.

The wayward Dreamsmyth stopped the glass with the palm of his hand, acknowledged the offering with his eyes, and tipped it back. After taking a measure sip, he lowered the glass and smacked his lips. With a slow sigh, he returned the whiskey to the black marble surface of the coffee table.

For a moment, no one spoke. They just sat there, in the living room, looking at each other as if for the first time. They were all clothed now, if only partially. Of course, by fey standards, their scant attire practically counted as modest. Cahill wore black cotton drawstring pants, leaving his upper body exposed. His mother had wrapped a red silk robe around her perfect form. For his part, Kearney had donned a loose pair of satin boxers.

Cahill was surprised to note that Kearney's true form looked an awful lot like the old one. That wasn't to say he didn't look any better. He did. But Cahill had expected him to bulk up a bit more. Maybe grow a bit taller. The taut ropes of muscle had swollen up a little, and his skin had grown firmer, but he was still a pretty small guy. And though he was considerably more handsome now than he had been as Kevin, he still looked older than most of the fey. Girls who liked silver foxes would find him quite charming, especially if they like their guys nice and compact. But Kearney didn't exactly radiate youth or virility the way most men of Faerie did.

There'd been a time when Cahill had appeared a bit older himself, to be fair. But he'd never had a receding hairline or white facial hair. His skin had never born much resemblance to toughened leather. And once he'd spent some time in Faerie, the years had sloughed away. Now, he looked like he was in his twenties, the same as his brothers did.

"Thank you," Kearney told Cahill, though it wasn't clear whether he was referring to the whiskey or his memories. Perhaps both.

"No problem," he replied.

For a split second, he hoped his uncle would say more. Something that would put him in Cahill's debt. But the thought filled Cahill with guilt.

The poor man had been wronged enough by his own family. And though he might be a Dreamsmyth, Liadan was proof enough that he could use members of his father's own clan against him. Just as Teagan proved that there might be a few good apples in the bunch. He wouldn't take advantage of Kearney's weakness to claim a boon.

Cahill's mother gave him a sad look. Pleading him to get on with it.

Now that the fun had stopped, she was wracked with guilt over the decision to let her carnal desires delay their return to Faerie and thus their return to their children. Of course, with the time differential being what it was, the hours they'd wasted here had only cost them a few minutes there, but that didn't matter. With Niall and Tynan back on her mind, she wasn't thinking all that rationally.

Though he wasn't crazy about being on the wrong end of her impatience, the reason for said impatience only made Cahill love her all the more.

"Nice to have you back, Uncle Kearney," Cahill said.

"Uncle?" the man asked, as if surprised.

It took Cahill a moment to remember that he wasn't supposed to know who his father was, nor that he had sired Macha's children as well.

Sweeping that unimportant detail aside, Kearney said, "You must be Cahill." Then he turned to the beautiful redhead beside him and said, "Nice to see you again, Caronwyn."

She favored him with a terse smile.

Cahill almost expected his uncle to make some obnoxious remark about how he'd forgotten that Caronwyn was so good in bed. But he said nothing of the sort. In fact, he blushed before turning back to the nephew he'd never met.

He might not have had the look of the fey in certain respects, but there was no mistaking that this man shared Arawn's blood. He was smaller, leaner, and older, but Cahill still saw his father when he looked at Kearney.

Though he must have sensed that they were awaiting his testimony, Kearney attended to his whiskey first. He drank slowly and deliberately, like a man who didn't think he'd ever get another chance to do so.

"You hadn't yet been contacted when my brother sent me away," Kearney finally said wistfully. Suddenly, Cahill thought nothing more than an otherworldly calm was responsible for his uncle's dilatory behavior. He began his tale as though he were discussing the day he'd graduated from college rather than the day he'd been banished from Faerie with a broken mind. "I'd ask how long since you left the Dreaming, but I'm not sure I'm ready to hear it," he said with as much emotion as the coffee table over which he leaned.

"Not that long, actually," Cahill said. He failed to mention that he'd have joined his family a long time ago if he hadn't been so stubborn.

"Why'd he do it?" Caronwyn asked, her words clipped.

Kearney nodded to himself, as if that was exactly the question he'd been expecting. Unless he was daft, it undoubtedly was. Still, he apparently wasn't quite ready to answer her. Not until after he took yet another leisurely go at the whiskey.

"Because of you and your sister," he said softly, apparently mindful that his words could easily be mistaken for an accusation. "Or, more accurately, the children we had together."

Cahill coughed.

"He means my sister," Caronwyn said impatiently.

"Right," Kearney added, laughing. "Not your mother and I."

"Good to clear that up," Cahill replied.

He hadn't actually thought that his mother had born the man any children. If she had, this wouldn't be the first time Cahill would learn of it. He didn't think.

"I wanted to tell them who their real fathers were," Kearney explained. "Which is pretty silly, since they apparently found out anyway."

Caronwyn shook her head.

"No?"

"Kay knows," she said. "But the others don't." Her eyes drifted from the small man to Cahill. When she spoke, it was clear that her words were still intended for Kearney, but their was a message for her son in there as well. "He won't tell me how he managed to find out, but I can assure you that it wasn't from me. Oona and I kept our promise."

Cahill chose to ignore the subtext.

"That's all?" he asked his uncle. "Dad tried to get rid of you because you wanted your kids to know you were their father?"

His uncle shrugged. "Suppose it didn't help that I also made some noise about trying to persuade Mom that there'd be no harm in letting Clan Walker breed as they wish."

Cahill's eyes bulged. His mother's mouth hung agape.

"Yeah...," Kearney said, letting the sentence trail off. "Not my brightest idea." He took another sip of whiskey, looking for all the world like hadn't just dropped a huge bomb. "Should have gone to her myself, if anything. Wouldn't have gotten us anywhere, of course, but at least Arawn wouldn't have had any reason to do what he did. Not once the idea had already been put in her head, and dismissed out of hand."

Cahill tried to absorb the fact that his father had robbed his uncle of everything, including his self-awareness, just to keep Queen Titania from even hearing a proposal she'd have immediately denied. He tried, but he wasn't terribly successful.

How stupid was his uncle? And how unstable was his father?

"You really love her, don't you?" Caronwyn asked, a genuine smile on her face.

Kearney blushed again. "He loves you too, you know," he said after a fashion. "Has a funny way of showing it, but he does."

Caronwyn didn't reply.

"Anyway, that's all in the past," he said, convincing no one. "You've got Kay here, and I'm sure Oona's fallen for either Reilly or Finnegan by now." No one rushed to disabuse him of the notion, or to point out that she was just as fond of Gallech and Cahill. "Who knows which members of my family are going to refuse to speak to me, but whatever. That was no less true before I took my little vacation," he said with complete nonchalance.

Still more whiskey journeyed down his gullet while Cahill and his mother absorbed that.

"You sure it wasn't because he considered you a rival?" Cahill eventually asked. "My father's a bit paranoid and obsessed with power, isn't he?"

Kearney raised his glass to his nephew in salute. "That he is. But no. I don't think that was it. I'm the last person he'd worry about. Even Uillym would be a bigger threat. Or Quinn. I've never had any political ambition, and he knows that."

He said it so confidently that Cahill couldn't help but believe him. But he wasn't at all sure that his father believed it.

"I'd ask what you did to get on his bad side, but I guess it's obvious," his uncle said. "Where are the little ones anyway?"

"That happened after, actually," Caronwyn said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind a pointed ear. "We didn't even know. Thought we truly were husband and wife."

"Ha!" Kearney said. "Oh, Arawn's going to love that," he added with a smile. After another sip of whiskey, he said, "His plans always do find a way to backfire on him. I've tried telling him he should leave politics to Macha and Oberon, but he just won't listen."

Macha?

Cahill had never gotten the impression that his aunt was interested in anything but having fun. At times, he'd thought her no more mature than her daughter, which was saying something since Teagan acted as young as she looked, and she looked damn young.

"Anyway, they're in good hands," Cahill's mother continued. "And now that-"

Kearney waved away the rest of her sentence. "So what did you do?" he asked.

"No idea," Cahill said.

Apparently not content to take his nephew's word for it, Kearney turned to Caronwyn. She merely shrugged though, having no more information than her son.

"Why would your mother let him do that to you?" Cahill asked, changing the subject back to his uncle.

Kearney simply laughed.

"What?" Cahill asked.

"My mother lets her princes do just about whatever they want. To whomever they want," he said. "A few years ago, Macha Devoured Robin, who was our mother's favorite lover at the time. If he hadn't been, you can bet your ass my sister would still have her titles. But besides having to cede control of the Emerald Court to Arawn, she wasn't punished in the least. Mom just set about grooming Oberon to be Robin's replacement and that was that."

"That's...interesting," Cahill said.

Caronwyn gave him a curious look, but she didn't ask the question that was obviously on her mind. Which was just as well, since Cahill didn't have an answer for her. Not yet. The wheels were spinning, though.

"So," Kearney said before downing the remainder of his whiskey. "Shall we then?"

Cahill looked a question at his mother. It was a rather abrupt end to an enlightening conversation, but he sensed that his mother was once again eager to return to Faerie. Not that he could blame her. Their family needed them. Kearney might know something that would be of use, but Cahill didn't even know what they'd up against.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 04



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Author's note

Part Eight picks up where Part Seven left off, in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Part Seven.

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.

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They stood in the clearing they always used whenever they had need to assemble the whole clan. His mother had sent out the summons, whispering on the wind and sending her words rustling through the leaves. Only a few moments later, they began to arrive. 

First came Fiona and Seamus. They emerged from the nearest oak tree, holding hands. Cahill struggled with the notion of Seamus, half a tree himself, traveling through trees. But he supposed that so long as his brother was in physical contact with Fiona, nothing else mattered. There wasn't an oak in Faerie that would deny a single request from her.

Brittany and Finnegan weren't far behind. In their fey forms, a swan and a stone-beaked crow, they covered ground a lot quicker than anyone else. Well, except those who didn't cover ground at all, obviously. They transformed back into human form just as they reached the ground. Aside from a cloak of white swan feathers draped about Brit's shoulders, neither of them wore a thing. There was no reason their kind couldn't pull their clothing through along with them when shapeshifting, but the belief that it was impossible to do so was strong enough among mortals that the two of them had taken to pretending they faced such a limitation. The cape was only because swan maidens were alleged to require a skin of a swan to make their transformation.

But it wasn't his sister's nudity that drew his attention.

As soon as Cahill saw the look on her face, he knew it was bad.

Brittany's expression didn't escape his mother's notice either. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight even as she drew herself up to her full height, doing her best to be the image of strength and resolve that the clan needed her to be.

The others did a better job of hiding their despair, but their stony masks sang a somber tune all their own. Under any other circumstances, Seamus and Fiona would have been delighted to see them. Finnegan probably wouldn't have shown any more emotion than he currently was, but he'd be the exception.

"Where's-" Cahill began to whisper to his mother.

She cut him off with a quick, soft "Shh."

"I'm so glad you're back," Fiona said in a voice that fell something short of ebullient. "But unfortunately we have some bad news."

"So I see," their mother replied.

Seamus laid a hand on his sister's shoulder, offering her support she probably didn't need but would certainly still welcome. The first thought to pass through Cahill's mind was that it was good that Fiona hadn't been among those who'd gone missing. He immediately regretted thinking it. No member of the clan was disposable. That any of their number were absent was a tragedy. But even after telling himself that he shouldn't think such things, he was grateful for Fiona's presence, and not just because he'd always felt a little closer to her than anyone other than his mother. He couldn't help thinking that the family would have suffered an even worse fate if not for her.

As she filled Cahill and their mother in on what had happened, though, Fiona attracted certain looks from Finnegan that left Cahill with the distinct impression that their cousin was somewhat less impressed with her leadership abilities. Were it up to him, Cahill suspected, the four remaining members of Clan Walker would have done everything in their power to rescue the ones they'd lost. Even if that meant an assault on the queen herself. That the clan matriarch had returned did nothing to vindicate Fiona's inaction in Finnegan's eyes.

If those truly were his cousin's sentiments, though, he must have been keeping them to himself. Had he been foolish enough to voice them within earshot of Seamus, he'd likely have been run out of the clan's territory. Or worse.

Still, even Cahill was a little surprised that they hadn't done anything but wallow in misery since Oona and the others had disappeared. His aunt had warned him of the danger his family was in a few days ago. The time they'd wasted had brought them a fair deal of guilt. His mother especially. And they hadn't even known what had happened.

Of course, a few days in the Dreaming was only a few hours here in Faerie. He had to remember that. Though he and his mother had lived together for more than five years, less than three months had passed here since they'd left.

The real surprise wasn't that the four of them hadn't done anything yet, but the situation that had arisen in the first place. Why had Oberon told Oona that the queen kept her mother hostage? The failure of Oona, Reilly, and Gallech to return from their attempt to rescue Grandma Aeife sure made the visit from the Lord of Valor look like bait for a trap. But he couldn't have been lying. That meant that there were four Walkers in need of rescuing from the Lady of Shadows, not three. But it also meant that there was something deeper going on than they saw. There was a trap being laid, he suspected, but it wasn't intended for Oona. The queen and her prince were only pressuring the most vulnerable pieces in order to force the Walkers to move their heavy hitters out into the open. Then the hammer would drop.

He hadn't exactly expected a big group hug, but he hadn't been prepared for this. In his mind, he'd pictured a very different conversation. One that was heavy with worry and grief, yes, but also marked by a cautious optimism and perhaps even some somber celebration. He wanted to tell the others about Kearney, and about his children. But there was no room for anything on the agenda just now besides their treacherous Faerie Queen. That, and the tension that lay between them over how to handle said queen.

Cahill studied Finnegan's blank face. What if it had been his mother who had gone missing? How patient would he be with a cousin who refused to act?

Not very.

True, Finnegan wasn't as close to Aunt Oona as he was to his mother. The center of his universe, of late, was Brittany. But even so.

"So," his cold-faced cousin asked after a few moments went by without anyone saying anything, "what are you going to do about it?"

Sympathetic as he was to the position Finnegan was in, no one took that tone with Caronwyn. Not while Cahill was around.

"Whatever we think is best," he said. "And you-"

His mother cut him off with a quiet stare. Then her brown eyes turned to regard her nephew. "First, I'm going to perform a divination. There's no sense going in there blind."

Finnegan gave her the barest of nods.

As soon as he did, Brittany let out a sigh of relief. Then she promptly stared at her feet, lest she be forced to notice the attention she'd drawn to herself.

Cahill wondered where his little sister would stand if her lover and her brothers came to blows. He'd grown close to her in the weeks before their prince had sent him back to the Dreaming, but would that matter? What was a little bonding over the shared experience of being a stranger in one's own homeland compared to true love? And could he doubt that that was precisely what she thought she'd found in Finnie?

"It'll be stronger if we form a circle," Fiona said. All eyes turned to her as she did. "You'll get a more reliable reading," she added, as if their mother might not have understood what she'd meant. "Might as well make use of us, long as you've got us here."

A slight smile formed on the clan matriarch's face.

What Fiona said was true enough, but that wasn't the reason why she'd suggested it. And their mother knew that. She was just trying to defuse the tension. To remind them that they were a team. To make Finnegan feel useful.

"An excellent idea," their mother said.

And so, with only a little awkwardness, they joined hands and formed a circle around their druidess. A jolt of ecstasy shot up Cahill's right arm as Fiona took his hand in hers. Seamus gave him a little nod as he took hold of Cahill's left hand, which Cahill returned.

It felt good to be surrounded by his kin. He became keenly aware that he was more than just a man. That he belonged to a clan of immortal beings, all bound to one another through love and lust and blood and song. Together, they possessed a strength that went beyond that of six fey standing alone. The queen might not tremble before them, but neither could she trifle with them. They were a force to be reckoned with.

What did Clan Dreamsmyth have on them?

Well, numbers, for one thing. Also experience and raw power. But so what? They weren't united the way Clan Walker was. Half their number plotted against the others.

And a few of them seemed like they'd be perfectly happy to forswear their lineage and distance themselves from politics. What support could Queen Titania expect from Kearney? Whose side, if any, was the Puck on? Would Macha bestir herself if it meant risking her life or that of her children? Besides Oberon and perhaps his father, would any other Dreamsmyths truly stand by their queen?

The Walkers were as one. Titania would do well to fear them.

Cahill's mother pulled her hood up, covering her beautiful red hair with coarse brown fabric. For the time being, she ceased to be a goddess of divine beauty and instead became a force of nature. A mysterious and powerful being that creation itself should fear. The power radiating from her was incredible.

Once his mother forged them into a chain, Cahill only felt stronger and safer still. A faint nimbus appeared around Brittany and her Libido began to thrum. Her fair skin looked less like cream than it did a lamp shade. Then Finnegan and Fiona lit up the same way. Cahill and Seamus did so as well. The deep well of energy he felt inside him became a vast ocean. He couldn't possibly exhaust it if he tried. There was so much power at his disposal, he nearly fell to his knees in disbelief.

Five beams of light appeared, joining each of them to the robed figure at the center of their circle. Once they connected to Caronwyn, the ocean grew deeper still. It was almost more than Cahill could comprehend. They were more than the sum of their parts. More than Faerie could accommodate. The ground beneath their feet rolled and undulated like a stormy sea. The air vibrated and the trees sang. Animals cried out in awe and fear, some paying homage while others begged mercy. Dead leaves and dried twigs fell upwards, as though gravity had been reversed for them and them alone. A heavy fog rolled in, obscuring everything but their glowing forms. It was as if the Emerald Court itself was begging them for mercy, asking them to kindly take their business elsewhere.

They watched in silence as the druidess performed her divination. She cast down a fistful of bark and twigs, nuts and berries, then stared silently at them. For a long time.

If there was a message in that heap, it was lost on Cahill. So far as he could tell, there was no pattern there. But his mother clearly saw great and terrible tidings. Ominous portents. Perhaps even transcendental truths. The past, present, and future were laid out before her.

As her silence stretched out, Cahill began to fear that Finnegan might interrupt her. But though his cousin's impression of a boulder grew less and less convincing, his lips remained sealed. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, tightened and loosened his grip and the hands of the women to either side of him and gently swayed back and forth, making not a sound.

Then he froze.

It took Cahill a moment to realize that his mother was staring directly into her nephew's eyes. She rose slowly to her feet, stepped delicately past the dire news strewn out before her, and pressed a hand to Finnegan's cheek.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"No," he said in disbelief.

The druidess didn't respond.

"Tell me she's okay."

Still no response.

Finally, Finnegan let out the breath he'd been holding in. Words failed him, but tears did not. As his dark eyes began to water, he tried to blink away his emotions, but they ran burst forth all the same, blazing trails down his stony cheeks.

Cahill hadn't thought he'd ever see his cousin cry. Yet, at that moment, the only thing that would have been stranger would have been if he didn't. The words hadn't been said aloud, but they all knew what the divination had said.

Oona was dead.

No one knew what to say, but when Finnegan broke the circle and threw his arms around his aunt, it became clear that their presence was no longer needed. The other four of them slowly slipped away, leaving their mother to comfort their cousin as only she could.

#

After they first left the clearing, awkward silence reigned. But it wasn't long before Brittany broke it by asking if they thought their aunt Oona was dead.

"Looks that way," Fiona had said, wrapping an arm around their sister's shoulders.

So Seamus and Cahill and Fiona all tried to cheer their little sister up, as if she'd lost someone dear to her while they had not. Of course, Brittany hadn't been any closer to Oona than the rest of them, but then it wasn't really their aunt she grieved for.

In truth, none of them had been as close to her as they could have been. But the news still hurt. Deeply. It also filled Cahill with a rage such as he'd never known. If his mother would have approved, he'd have launched himself like an arrow directly at the queen's heart.

Instead, he had to try consoling his sister, who was more worried about Finnegan than anything. That, and wait for word from their mother about how to proceed.

"I can't talk about it anymore," the youngest Walker declared after a time, eyes red and cheeks puffy. "Tell me what happened to you and Mom," she said to Cahill.

So he did. Reluctantly, at first, but with increasing enthusiasm. It took some effort to set aside the anger, sadness, and pain brought on by news of their aunt's death. But he'd longed to tell her about his sons. Her, and Fiona. Seamus too, though he didn't expect his brother to react quite the same way.

Which, of course, he didn't.

The girls did, though. They couldn't believe he and their mother had broken the queen's laws, albeit unknowingly. Nor could they get enough details about their nephews. They wanted to know how much they'd weighed and what their first words were, the color of their eyes and when they'd started teething. Cahill almost forgot that Brittany had left the Dreaming just a short while ago, and that she hadn't been of an age where her friends would started having children when she had.

They were all busy talking about his children, almost as if everything were fine, when Finnegan showed up looking like death. Everyone's mood immediately dampened as they were reminded by the news they'd been trying to keep their minds off.

Only the trees spoke, their rustling leaves offering their condolences.

Guilt bore down on Cahill like an avalanche. He'd been so eager to tell his brother and his sisters about Ty and Niall, and so pleased that the news excited them as much as he'd hoped it might, that he'd gotten a bit carried away. He certainly hadn't forgotten about Oona, but he could only imagine how it must look to their cousin to see them laughing and smiling the way they had been.

"Your mother wants to see you," Finnegan said to Seamus, voice devoid of emotion. "We're to, ah, lend her our strength. If you know what I mean."

As if anyone could have doubted his meaning.

Brittany blushed. Cahill could all but hear her protest that Finnegan shouldn't have to so much as think about sex at a time like this, let alone with his aunt. And if he was to distract himself from his grieving with the pleasures of the flesh, he should do so with her.

The blush drew their cousin's attention. "You and Fiona are to do the same for Cahill," Finnegan said, in the same voice he'd use to announce that their mother wanted them to take out the trash. "Apparently the two of them are going to face the queen, so they're going to need to fill all the way up."

Cahill looked an apology at Brittany, giving her a little shrug. "If the matriarch says so, who are we to argue?" his gesture seemed to say. At least, he hoped she took it that way.

Yet his heart started racing. The guilt he'd felt a moment before multiplied. Their mother was instructing them to have sex. He'd only be complying with an order, and for good reason. But he wanted to reconnect with his sisters, and he'd enjoy doing so far more than was appropriate under the circumstances. Did that make him a selfish, insensitive beast? More monster than man? Or was it only to be expected of one of the fey?

Were any of their kind ever not in the mood?

He looked his sisters up and down. Brittany still wore nothing but her swan cape. Her narrow little hips protruded beautifully, begging to be kissed and sucked. Her breasts were modest compared to Fiona's, let alone their mother's, but they were oversized for a girl of her build. And her thick, dark nipples were absolutely perfect. She was incredibly pretty too. Prettier than her sister. For her part, Fiona looked as good in that green dress as she ever had. The billowy sleeves swept the ground below, but her beautiful bubble butt hung out, hardly any of its vast wonder hidden from view. She might not have been quite as pretty as Brittany, her lips being a bit thinner, her nose broader, and her chin a bit squarer, but she was pretty. And that body was nothing short of amazing.

Damn, but he'd missed the two of them.

No one compared to his mother. No one. If he had to choose just one lover, there'd be no question who he'd choose. But they didn't love the way mortals did. Didn't pledge their bodies to one person the way they did their hearts. And though he'd never feel for his sisters what he felt for their mother, he did feel something for them. Something more than mere lust, though lust was certainly a part of it. He truly loved them. Not the way he loved his mother, but not the way mortal men loved their sisters either. He needed them. Needed to hear their laughs and see their smiles. Needed to feel their flesh and kiss their lips.

Especially Fiona.

He didn't want to feel any differently about his older sister than he did the younger one. But he did. She'd been as much a mentor to him as their mother had been. More so, back before he'd left the Dreaming. And though she had neither their mother's beauty nor her body, she did more for him than the overly slim Brittany did. Besides, Brittany reminded him of too many girls he'd known in the mortal world. Girls he'd had plenty of fun with, but who'd never really connected with him on a deeper level. Fiona wasn't quite like anyone he'd met in the Dreaming. Or in Faerie, for that matter.

There was an air of intelligence and maturity surrounding her. Her deep connection with the forest and her sometimes-green-sometimes-brown hair bespoke a certain virility, a link with the natural world and its life-giving forces that other women lacked. Oona had created life with every footstep, but who couldn't coax a few flowers up out of the dirt? His sister almost seemed to be an avatar of Faerie itself. Just thinking about it made his head spin.





Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 04



And then, of course, there was that fat ass of hers, and her porcelain skin. Her broad hips and soft breasts and beautiful deep green eyes. The way she touched him and the way the forest itself responded when he touched her.

Fair or not, the one sister would never rival the other. Not in his mind.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Seamus looking a question at Fiona, as though their brother needed permission to answer their mother's summons. Fiona smiled, ran her fingertips lightly down her brother's arm, then kissed him on his wooden cheek.

"You be good to her," Seamus said to Cahill after staring intently into their sister's eyes a while longer. His hand clung to the small of her back.

Cahill laughed.

"Seriously," Seamus said.

"But not too good?" Cahill asked.

"Oh, don't worry about that," the green man said. He looked as though he was going to say that he wasn't worried about Cahill stealing Fiona away, but if so he thought better of it. He just added, "Give her your best. She deserves nothing less."

"Watch it, you," Fiona said, voice devoid of the warning her words nominally conveyed.

That was interesting.

Last Cahill remembered, the mere implication that Fiona and Seamus were an item made his sister go all prickly. Seamus had been wise enough to stop himself short, but what he had said was clear enough. Yet Fiona seemed more amused than anything.

The look that passed between them made Cahill feel warm and content. A quick stab of jealousy pierced his heart, and then he felt shame for thinking he had any reason to envy them. He and their mother shared a bond every bit as strong, if not stronger, as the one uniting his brother and sister.

Still, they almost made it seem like the world had never known a love as pure as theirs. The way they looked at each other, Cahill was surprised the forest didn't catch flame around them, ignited by the heat of their desire.

Brittany looked expectantly at Finnegan, as if waiting for him to give Cahill the same instructions. Or perhaps even show some jealousy. But he did nothing of the sort. Just stared at Cahill with those cold, dark eyes for a few moments before turning on a heel and leading Seamus back towards the clearing.

"So," Cahill said, scratching the back of his head.

Fiona stared at him blankly. For a few moment's longer, Brittany's eyes remained glued to their cousin's retreating form, but then she too turned to her brother.

"Guess we have to," he finished.

"What an imposition," Fiona said with a slight grin.

"Been a while," was all Brittany had to say. Her voice sounded distant, as though her thoughts were elsewhere. With Finnegan's tight little bare ass, most likely. "Hope you still remember how."

Cahill snickered. He almost explained that it hadn't been a long time since he'd had sex, only since he'd had sex with her. But then he realized that she was just teasing him.

He stared into the girl's overlarge eyes. He preferred darker irises, but there was no denying the beauty of those blue orbs. For that matter, they were a darker shade of blue than one often found. Closer to purple. And her lashes were so long they almost brushed against his skin when she blinked, nevermind that she stood an arms' length away. Those lips were nearly as full as their mother's. She wore them candy pink rather than blood red, but the shade suited her. The way her jet black hair hung in perfect sheets down to her hips was quite stunning. He'd never seen hair that straight. It was almost unnatural.

He wasn't at all sure he remembered it being black either. Hadn't his sister's hair been brown before? Either way, she looked good. And black was a good color for a Walker, if he did say so himself.

"That it has," he said at last.

"You've grown stronger," Fiona said.

"Have I?" he asked.

His older sister nodded, showing no sign that she noticed his change in form. "Maybe not as much as Mom has, but you have."

He didn't feel stronger. But he also hadn't known who or what he was for most of the time he'd been gone. It had been so long since he'd been fully aware of his potential, he'd almost forgotten what it had felt like. For that matter, he wasn't even sure he looked the same. After his aunt had helped him rediscover his identity, he'd remembered how to let go of his mortal disguise. Let the true Cahill out. But did the true Cahill look the same as when he'd left Faerie?

"I thought that only worked for the mother," he said.

Fiona shrugged.

"Now that you mention it," Brittany said, stepping closer. A soft hand pressed against his abdominals, sending waves of pleasure up and down his body. "He does look different."

"Leaner," Fiona said, following her sister's lead.

The addition of a second sister's hand very nearly pushed Cahill over the edge. His hard cock twitched inside his leather breaches.

"Taller," Brittany added.

He could only assume they realized he was in his fey form. That it didn't necessarily mean anything if he was a little taller or leaner as the horned god than he had been before.

Or maybe it did. He wasn't even sure.

"Wonder if he's bigger?" Fiona asked, letting her hand slide down from his sculpted abs as Brittany's hand worked up to his hard chest. His older sister's palm came to rest atop his erect penis. She pushed lightly against it, but didn't close her hand around it. He almost whimpered at her touch. There wasn't much he wouldn't give to have her reach inside his pants and take hold of it. He ached for her touch. "Mmm. Yup. Definitely bigger."

"He wasn't small before," Brittany said.

"Not at all," the elder sister agreed.

"Could be too big."

"Could be," Fiona agreed.

It almost sounded like they meant it. But they couldn't. His mother had never complained about his endowment. A few mortal women had, but that was different. The two lovely creatures pressed up against either side of him were fey. Their appetites were not modest, nor did they shy away from much of anything when it came to sex.

With a hand on either girl's back, Cahill gently pulled his sisters closer. As he did, he silenced the voice in the back of his mind that said he shouldn't have been enjoying himself as much as he was. That his many conquests, all of which had come easily, should have left him in little need of such ego stroking. But he couldn't help himself. The two of them were incredibly attractive. What man wouldn't enjoy hearing two insanely beautiful women talk about him with such hunger in their voices?

Well, sure, there were some men who would find it strange, disgusting even, to hear such from their sisters. In some families, apparently, sisters didn't discuss the size of their brother's cock that way, and most guys thought that was as it should be. But if there'd ever been a time when Cahill could relate to such men, it was long gone. That the same blood coursed through his veins as did Fiona's and Brittany's only made him want them more.

"You'll make do," he assured them.

Fiona let out an amused snort.

"Was he this hairy?" Brittany asked, pretending he hadn't spoken.

Cahill pulled his eyes away from his gorgeous little sister and looked down at his torso. He didn't have nearly as much fur as his father. The definition of his perfectly sculpted abs was still visible, and the hair on his chest didn't reach his nipples or collarbone. Just formed a nice triangle in the center. But of course, most fey men were smooth as marble. Neither Seamus nor Finnegan had a hint of hair on their chests or stomachs.

"Not sure," Fiona replied. "I like it though. Makes him look manlier." With that, the hand that had been resting atop his cock moved up to his chest. Her fingers spread apart then closed back together, tugging gently at his chest hair. "Wilder."

He rather liked the way it looked himself, for the same reason. Though the shag carpet on his father's chest was too much, he thought he had just the right amount. It was a little strange though to hear her talk like that. For someone who was so deeply connected to nature, Fiona had never been a big fan of animalism. She liked it nice and slow. Nothing turned her on more than disciplined, methodical seduction.

Brittany wasn't the polar opposite or anything, but she enjoyed seeing her man's inner beast come out of the cage from time to time. Anyone who didn't know the sisters better would have thought Brittany more likely to be the one infusing the word "wilder" with enough sexual tension to make a virgin's ears bleed.

That was one of the things he'd missed about them, Cahill suddenly realized. Though he knew enough to know how different they were from one another, they remained mysteries to him in many ways. He'd known Fiona for years, but she'd spent most of that time trying to convince him that she wasn't a figment of his imagination. And he'd only just met Brittany. Though they were all brother and sister, they had a lot yet to learn about one another.

"I guess," Brittany replied. Her hand moved on to his hairless bicep. "Nothing wrong with smooth, though."

"You two do know I can hear you, right?" Cahill asked.

Being spoken about as though he were a piece of meat should have bothered him. Maybe even made him feel guilty about having done the same to women for most of his life. But he didn't feel solidarity with women who spoke out against objectification, as he almost had back when he'd still been stuck in the Dreaming. No, the hunger in their eyes and Libidos as they discussed his body in isolation of the man living within it didn't feel degrading or dehumanizing. Rather, it awakened something primal inside him. Drums started beating inside his head and in his blood, thumping out a rhythm that called on him to mate.

"You hear something?" Brittany asked.

For a moment, Cahill almost thought she meant the music inside his head. The steady beating of drums that weren't really there.

Fiona smiled, first at her sister then up at Cahill. Then she closed her eyes and pressed her face against his chest, drawing in breath through her nose. Enjoying the smell of him. "Mmm, Kay," she moaned. "You don't know how much I've missed you."

"Same here," he said, kissing the top of her head. The smell of flowers and berries, mint and tea leaves, brought back fond memories. "Fi."

That earned him a playful pinch but nothing more.

Whether Seamus had finally warmed her up to that nickname or whether she was just cutting him some slack because they hadn't seen each other in so long, he wasn't sure.

Brittany cleared her throat noisily.

"And you too, Brit," he said.

It was tempting to point out that she was the one who'd been pretending he didn't exist, but he wasn't in the mood for word games. He decreased his height by a few inches so he could give his little sister's bottom a good squeeze without having to bend over. And his older sister's too, while he was at it.

Brittany's ass was firmer than Fiona's, but it still had a decent amount of give. The flesh was smooth and cool and soft, the muscle beneath hard even though her cheeks weren't clenched. Though it wasn't as big as he'd have liked, it didn't escape her ass wasn't nearly as small and flat as it should have been, considering her frame.

His older sister's backside, by contrast, was big, round, and soft. Like their mother's. The way a woman's body should be. He almost couldn't believe how perfect it was. There was a good amount of muscle underneath. Her cheeks wouldn't have defied gravity the way they did otherwise. But the hard foundation upon which it had been built wasn't so noticeable.

He could stand there, fondling their very different but equally glorious bodies, forever. Or until the animal inside him started ramming its cage, demanding to be set free. Which it would, sooner or later. But for the time being, he would savor the moment. He banished what little clothes they wore, but otherwise was content to reflect upon how right it felt to have his sister's hands exploring his body while he did the same with theirs.

Cahill turned his head to the side, leaned down, and gave Brit a kiss.

The girl he'd known hadn't been very interested in learning how to use their powers to their fullest extent. She'd been a little too overwhelmed by the very existence of Faerie, simultaneously intoxicated by the escape it offered from everything bad about the Dreaming yet isolated by the sense that she wasn't like the others.

But the one presently squeezed tight against him really knew what she was doing though. On a physical level, she didn't do anything all that different from before. Maybe she was a little calmer, in less of a hurry to get her tongue to spar with his. But what was going on inside his Libido was a whole different story. She didn't lay it on too thick. He almost didn't even notice at first. But after a few moments, it was almost impossible not to notice. She didn't overwhelm him with an intense feeling of ecstasy, the way she sometimes had when she'd first fumbled about with her newfound powers, but she did fill him with euphoria. A warm, pleasant feeling that made him reluctant to let his lips part from hers.

When he finally did come up for air, Cahill felt himself smiling uncontrollably.

"Wow," he said.

His kid sister finally betrayed the nervousness she'd hidden so well up until that point. Her cheeks flushed and she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she looked away.

"Fi's been giving me lessons," she said at last.

"We might make a Walker out of her yet," their older sister said.

And with that, she showed Cahill all the things that Brittany had yet to learn. For a moment, he almost thought he was kissing his mother. No one else managed to so nimbly tread the line between building anticipation and denying satisfaction. When he pushed forward, she pulled back. Except when she didn't. And she knew exactly when to do so and when to yield to him. Her dark red lips weren't as full as Brittany's pink beauties, let alone their mother's, but that didn't matter. Cahill lost himself in the dance, too focused on trying to harmonize his efforts with Fiona's to think about anything else.

Until Brittany took him in her mouth, anyway.

A more talented woman would have made him forget all about Fiona. But though Brittany wasn't there yet, Cahill's attention was very much divided.

Fiona kissed the way she made love, savoring every moment. Making a precious gift out of every moment. The tension slowly escalated. His lips began to tingle and bubbles swam through his head. Blood rushed through his body. He felt his nipples harden and his cock twitch inside Brit's mouth. Even without the assistance of his younger sister, he'd be headed straight for an orgasm. That was the wonder that was Fiona. The sister slowly stripping away every fiber of his being, leaving nothing but his swollen Libido behind, was everything he admired. Strong, smart, quiet yet confident, and selfless.

The one on her knees before him, on the other hand, reminded him of every girl he'd regretted falling for. Of course, he knew that she wasn't Brittany O'Malley anymore. That she'd undoubtedly changed quite a bit while he'd been away. But he still had no reason to feel as connected to her as Fiona. At least, not emotionally. As she applied her physical talents to his poor cock, though, he couldn't help but respond. Her tongue went soft and slowly swirled around his sensitive head. Then it turned hard and flicked back and forth against the very tip of his manhood, sending tingles up his spine. Her warm mouth enveloped him, creating a lovely suction seal. Her soft lips caressed his shaft.

It was more than he could take.

Whether Fiona's kiss or Brittany's blowjob was more responsible, he couldn't have said, but Cahill soon experienced an intense orgasm. The kind that stretched out forever, more akin to an earthquake than fireworks. His body trembled and he might have fallen if not for the hand on the back of Brittany's head or the way Fi quickly moved to steady him. She released his mouth from hers, to both his relief and his disappointment, and Cahill gasped for air, eyes closed and muscles spasming.

And he stayed that way for some time.

When his mental faculties began to return, he thought that Brittany had forgotten that the point of this whole exercise was to prepare him to face Queen Titania. But he quickly realized that his sister wasn't deliberately draining him of so much energy. The only reason she was still gulping down one mouthful after another of his jizz was that he'd let his defenses crumble entirely and had yet to restore them.

He'd had more intense orgasms, but he'd rarely experienced one with so many aftershocks. It was like he'd been in a constant state of climax for minutes on end.

Cahill went to pull his dick out of Brittany's mouth and found that she was reluctant to let it go. One hand held the base of his shaft, near his balls, and the other encircled the middle. Meanwhile, her mouth covered him down to the foreskin. The girl apparently couldn't get enough of him or his jizz. But after he patted the top of her head, she opened her blue eyes, saw the look on his face, and begrudgingly released him.

Of course, he hadn't stopped cumming yet.

A sudden whim struck him, and Cahill used a little energy to color his cum. Instead of decorating his sister's face with milky white ropes, he covered her in prismatic strands. The shiny stuff changed color constantly, reflecting every color of the rainbow back at them.

"Well would you look at that," Fiona said, smiling. "Such an artist you are."

"What?" Brit mumbled without opening the side of her mouth that was plastered shut.

Fiona gave Cahill a flat look, equal parts amusement and reproach, before crouching beside their sister. She scooped a bit of his ejaculate off Brittany's face with a finger, held it off to the side, and proceeded to lick her sister clean. Or, rather, licked a bit of Cahill's spunk off and then dismissed the rest with a glamour. When she settled back on her haunches, Brittany's face was clean and dry, her glamour-makeup as perfect as before.

"Oh," Brittany said when Fiona held the single remaining strand up for her inspection. Then she giggled. "You goof," she told Cahill. Then she unceremoniously leaned forward and licked her sister's finger clean.

Quickly as her mouth had surrounded Fi's finger, though, she took her sweet time dismounting. It looked for all the world as though she was giving her sister's finger a blow-job. That should have struck him as absurd, but instead he found it arousing.

For her part, Fiona seemed a little less impressed. Imagine that. She wasn't turned off though. And when her little sister pushed her onto her back, she let out an amused laugh before guiding the girl down between her legs with a hand on the back of Brittany's head.

"Theeeere you go," Fi said, letting out a contented sigh.

"If only you tasted better," Brittany said. "I might do this more often."

The older girl gave the younger one a playful slap on the back of the head. Brittany giggled before going back to work.

There was something strange about watching his one sister pleasure the other. It was not the first time he'd seen two Walker women together. Not by a long shot. But he'd never quite reflected on how easy it was sympathize with each of them. The larger of the two partners, the one with the deeper voice, could just as easily be a man getting his dick sucked. By the same token, he'd often made Fiona whimper and moan like that. Tasted her sweet juices and slipped his fingers inside her tight snatch. The ability to see himself as either partner made it more exciting, but also strangely confusing.

He'd met guys who claimed not to find girl-on-girl action arousing. Even some who said that MFM threesomes appealed to them more than MFF, though they had no desire to fool around with the other guy. Cahill had nothing against sharing a woman with other men. There was something to be said for a woman whose sexual appetites were so voracious that she sometimes needed more than one guy to satisfy them. But he still preferred having two women all to himself. Or even watching two women as a passive observer.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 04



There were few things in the world more beautiful than the sight of his older sister deep in the throes of ecstasy. All of them involved his mother, of course. Fiona looked so beautiful lying there on her back, cupping one of her breasts in her hand and digging impossibly white teeth into her dark lip. Fuck, she was sexy.

After Brittany guided her through a slow-rolling orgasm, much like the one he'd just experienced, Cahill decided to join in. His little sister wasn't done with Fiona yet, but he couldn't wait any longer. He crouched behind Brittany and licked her beautiful little brown bud while fingering her tight slit. After he got her good and lubricated, her sphincter nice and relaxed, he got up on his knees, grew a second cock, and slowly entered both her holes.

He didn't even get his heads in before she froze up.

"Should I stop?" he asked.

"Fuck no," she said.

Fiona glanced at Brittany then up at Cahill, silently urging them to get past the interruption for the sake of her little lady. She didn't say a word though. Just ran her fingers lightly through the younger girl's dark hair.

"Just go slow," Brit said. "Still not used to two at once. Especially not as big as you."

The way she said it, it sounded more like a backhanded compliment. Perhaps his sister really didn't appreciate size the way other women did.

So Cahill forced his two cocks to shrink a little. Not much, but enough to ease the pressure on his little sister.

"Mmm, that's better," she said when he began pushing again.

"I'll say," Fiona added after Brittany's head lowered between her legs again.

By the time his dicks were halfway buried inside his little sister, she was cumming her brains out. A rush of energy filled his Libido, giving him another reminder of how much Brittany had grown in a few short weeks. What she offered up to him just then, in the space of ninety seconds or so, was more than she'd ever held inside her before. And she wasn't nearly empty by the time she regained control of herself either.

Which was good, because he wasn't nearly done with her.

It took a while, but he eventually felt his crotch press against her.

"Fuck, Kay," Brittany whimpered around a mouthful of her sister's pussy. "You looking to fuck me or disembowel me?"

"Sorry?" he said.

Brittany laughed, as did Fiona. "It's okay. It's nice. Just...damn."

"Are you trying to pump his ego up even more?" Fiona asked with a grin.

"Not trying to pump anything up," Brit replied.

Cahill gave her firm little ass a reproachful slap. It didn't jiggle the way Fiona's would have, but he couldn't help admiring it all the same.

"I kid, I kid," Brittany said. "Mostly."

So he kept things low key, moving so slowly that he didn't even make a sound when his body met with hers. There was no thrusting, just sliding. No slapping of skin against skin, just sweet friction as his two members worked back and forth. And, at least at that pace, his sister found his two oversized cocks to be perfect deliverers of bliss.

After bringing Fiona to another climax, thereby replenishing some of her lost energy, Brittany slipped into an epic orgasm. She cursed at the tops of her lungs before the obscenities gave way to a wordless shriek. Then that too died away and left little more than belabored breathing coming out of the girl's mouth.

For a moment there, Cahill had feared he might lose his manhood. Thankfully, though, he'd come away unscathed. And in possession of a great deal more energy.

Brittany crawled away then flopped on her ass, sitting in the dirt with her legs spread wide apart. Her eyes struggled to remain open. Those cute lips formed the barest of grins.

"Don't expect me to sound that pretty when I scream," Fiona said.

"I love your voice," Cahill said.

Fiona snorted and waved the comment away. "Anyway," she said, eager to move past the point, "if you're up to, I wouldn't mind the double treatment myself."

"Is that so?"

A wicked grin spread across her face and she looked up at him through a fan of thick lashes. Her green eyes sparkled for a moment, emitting a flash of soft light.

"Might be something we can do about that," Cahill said.

Unlike Brittany, Fiona wanted him to fuck her good and hard. At first, she asked him to go nice and slow, the way he had with their younger sister. But after she got comfortable with having two huge dicks inside her, she gradually instructed him to pick up the pace.

Yet, even as Cahill worked himself up to a furious pace, he felt like time had stopped. He stared down into his sister's bright green eyes and the world shattered into a million little shards of nothing. The entirety of existence consisted of the two of them. No one ever looked at him like that.

Wait.

Their mother did. All the time. How could he forget that?

It almost felt like he was with her, though. Fiona looked up at him with such deep, complicated desire. It was more than just lust, though there was plenty of that. Her Libido reached out to join with his. She wanted more than his cock. More than his body. She wanted to be one with him. To share all that he was. And he wanted the same thing.

"I'd make a good mother, wouldn't I?" she asked.

Fuck.

"Seamus has got to see that, right?" Fi added.

"Course he does," Cahill grunted.

"Mmm," she replied.

Lest the conversation cross a line they'd both regret it crossing, Cahill ramped up his sister's sensitivity. It wasn't long after he did so that she exploded.

He'd never known her to be particularly violent in her moments of ecstasy, but Fiona chose that moment to prove that there was a first time for everything. Her nails ripped his back open and she bit her own lip so hard that blood welled up. The way the trees shook, Cahill could almost believe a twister had reached Faerie. Both their wounds were healed by the time her head fell against the soft earth, and the trees settled down as soon as Fiona did, but the surprise lingered long after the pain faded.

"That...was why I missed you," Fiona said sleepily.

By way of response, Cahill softly kissed his sister on the lips.

It wasn't until he stood up that he realized how much power he'd absorbed. Like a man who'd sat too long at the bar. It actually took some effort to keep his feet on the ground.

He felt like he could create worlds. Bring the dead to life. Conjure music that they'd hear in every Faerie court, maybe even the Dreaming. There was nothing he couldn't do.

And his sisters weren't even done with him.

Brittany was rising to unsteady feet, staring intently at him. Fiona was going to need a breather, but she wasn't down for the count yet. Not even close.

Nor was his mother done harvesting her crops. She let him know it too.

The leaves rustled as a light breeze fell upon them. It carried something with it that could not be carried on the wind. Not anywhere else but Faerie, anyway.

Something of a highlights reel flashed before his eyes, filling him in on his mother's activities. He watched as Seamus and Finnegan did their best to keep up with her. Their best wasn't good enough, of course, but it was respectable. At one point, they'd transformed into wolfmen, nightmare beasts that stood half again as tall as either had before, and chased her through the woods before ravaging her like wild animals. His mother had particularly enjoyed that, as she enjoyed anything that involved half-man, half-beast hybrids.

She shared more than visuals with him. Faint impressions of thoughts and feelings slowly took shape inside his mind, and he knew them to be hers.

His mother had started off wanting nothing more than to harvest their energy. Well, and to have a little fun while doing so. But that was it. She'd quickly realized though how powerfully Seamus and Finnegan needed her. Her body, her comfort, and whatever else she had to give. Seamus told her between soft kisses that he'd missed her advice, and so had Fiona. Finnegan nearly betrayed an actual emotion when he observed that his mother might still be with them if she'd been as strong and wise and cautious as her older sister. Their words gradually grew scarcer and scarcer as the boys started to let their bodies speak for them. Her hungry little beasts simply couldn't get enough of her.

And that made her feel good.

Caronwyn felt challenged by the depth of their desire. She pushed herself to her limits trying to accommodate them. To give them all that they were after.

As they moved from one position to another, she found herself savoring the relief her touch gave them as much as she enjoyed their hard bodies and the precious energy they squirted into her with each climax. The cold fear and crushing grief they'd felt receded further and further into the depths of their being, all because of her. What more could a woman ask for than to have that affect on the ones she cared for?

If she felt even a tinge of guilt over how much she was enjoying their affections, his mother chose not to communicate such to Cahill.

He felt a stab of jealousy.

There was a reason for it all, though. They needed to be at their strongest if they were to face the Lady of Shadows. Besides, he was rather enjoying himself as well, wasn't he? He and Fiona had touched each other in a way their kind rarely even acknowledged as possible, their Libidos temporarily fusing together. He'd felt the same with his mother before, of course, but only with her. And not too often at that. What cause did he have then to be jealous of her little romp with Seamus and Finnegan when he'd betrayed her like that? What did it matter that his betrayal was inadvertent? That he was even capable of sharing such an experience with anyone but his mother was unforgivable.

"You are up for more, right, mister fertility god?" Brittany said, reaching up to trail her fingers lightly along his lower antlers.

"Always," Cahill said, wrapping an arm around her tiny little waist.

"You sure?" she asked. "You look a little...elsewhere-ish."

Cahill ignored the question, pressing his lips to his sister's.

At first, he met with resistance. But it didn't take Brittany long to throw herself into the kiss. The next thing he knew, she was sucking his face as vigorously as she ever had. A soft, slender thigh pressed against his waist while one hand held the back of his neck and the other busied itself with his antlers. Gone was the more refined Brittany, replaced by the ravenous young girl who couldn't believe that men as perfect as those of Clan Walker existed. Heat radiated from her, both physically and metaphorically.

He grabbed the leg that still connected her to the ground and lifted it up. Brittany didn't so much as pause. Just tightened her grip, wrapped her legs about his waist a bit more securely, and kept right on kissing him.

A tree stump appeared behind Cahill, coaxed into being by his thoughts. He backed up until he felt the rough bark against his legs and then sat down. Her contempt of oxygen still going strong, Brittany planted her feet flat on the surface of the stump and positioned herself above Cahill's hard cock without once taking her lips from his.

Until she started to lower herself onto his tree stump.

"Ungh," she moaned. "Damn, Kay," she said.

"Not getting any smaller," he told her.

She pressed her forehead against his and smiled. "Guess that's okay."

Apparently it was. Brit slipped off into the land of euphoria before taking half his length inside. By the time she sat in his lap, his monstrosity buried deep inside her, she'd shuddered her way through another orgasm. One that had involved a little female ejaculation.

"Suh-sorry about that," she panted.

"Quite alright," Cahill replied, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Actually, that was kinda hot," he added as he cleaned up his sister's mess.

Brittany blushed.

"It's just that you're all up in my G-spot," she explained.

"Is that how it works?" Cahill asked.

His kid sister punched his chest, the way he imagined she might have growing up had they actually grown up together. "Jerk-butt."

"Jerk-butt?"

She gave him a nod and then promptly set herself off on the path towards another orgasm. At first, she only pulled herself up a little bit before descending slowly back into his lap, shuddering and moaning with every fraction of an inch that slipped back inside her. But she soon worked up to taking full advantage of his size with ever more frantic bunny hops.

"Almost...there," she said.

So, naturally, Cahill chose to pour his consciousness into a second body. With his new form, he came up behind his sister, grabbed her shoulder, and stopped her bouncing. Once she sat still, he took his cock in his free hand and dragged it up and down her ass crack, slowing just a bit as the head passed over her rosebud.

Had his antlers not gone spectral, there wouldn't be room for two Cahills in such close proximity to one another. Long as he'd been away from Faerie, though, certain things were coming back to him with surprisingly little difficulty.

"Again?" his sister said.

He didn't reply.

"I don't know about that, Kay," Brittany whispered breathlessly. But then she promptly added, "Oh, who the fuck am I kidding. Just go slow, alright?"

He did. Until she started begging him to give it to her "like a real man" anyway. Once he picked up the pace, it had only taken a half dozen cycles of alternating thrusts, the dick in her ass pushing forward as the one in her cunt retreated, for her to pop.

That exhausted her well of energy, the poor little thing. But she didn't look the least bit dissatisfied with things. Any woman who saw the smile on Brittany's face as she slowly dismounted from the bottom Cahill would be wracked with envy.

Well, maybe not any woman.

"Got the two of you all to myself now, do I?" Fiona asked, a gentle smile on her face. There was a hint of self-satisfaction in her voice, but not a trace of jealousy.

"Do you want two?" he asked, thinking that it might actually be good to collapse back into a single body. Occupying two at the same time used up a lot of energy, to say nothing of how disorienting it could be.

"Not sure I could handle three," she said. "Though I'd be willing to try."

Cahill snorted.

"Go ahead," his older sister said. "Save yourself some energy."

So he merged his two halves back together.

Without an iota of urgency, they set about seducing one another. That not only pleased Cahill in its own right but also gave him a sense that all was as it should be. He couldn't recall the last time Fiona that had begged him to fuck her harder, let alone drawn blood. Nor could he remember a time when they'd failed to take turns pleasuring one another. Their little romp couldn't end without Fiona sucking his dick or him eating her pussy.

None of the women of their kind gave bad head. But even by the standards of the fey, Fiona was a pro. Tears filled Cahill's eyes as his sister torturously fellated him. She wasn't trying to make him suffer, of course. Not like his aunt, the Lady of Mischief, sometimes did. But she didn't need to. Her technique was indescribably perfect. Slow and methodical.

Amazing as her mouth was, Fi decided to up her game a little. Unseen hands and mouths caressed, massaged, kissed, and licked him in all sorts of places while his sister bobbed back and forth. Cahill wasn't quite used to having his nipples played with like that, but his sister went easy on him and he found he enjoyed it more than he might have expected to.

With each passing moment, the pleasure grew just a little more unbearable. His breathing grew light and rapid and his body started spasming involuntarily.

When he finally erupted, it felt like the world was ending. Cahill forgot all about the tree stump beneath him, the slumbering form of their little sister curled up beneath it. He lost sight of why it was important for him to siphon off as much energy as he could from his sisters. Forgot all about Oona and Titania. Even Fiona herself. For a few sweet moments, there was nothing to his existence but pure bliss.

"What, no rainbows?" his sister asked.

Thoughts cohered. Sensory input reached his addled brain. His problems returned.

"I not good enough?" Fi teased as she studied the rope of cum she'd scooped off her chin. With a shake of her wrist, it went flying, fading into nothing before it hit the ground.

"Too good would be more like it," Cahill said, reaching out to run his fingers through her green hair. "I think I nearly forgot my name."

His sister smiled as she rose to her feet. "You seem to be good at that."

By way of response, he gave her soft ass a playful smack. That earned him a delightful whimper and an even more delightful kiss on the mouth.

It took everything he had to resist pulling Fi into his lap and shoving his cock inside her. He wanted her so bad, and she was so close. So soft. So sexy.

But it was his turn to get down on his knees.

Part of him wanted to dispense with all the buildup and dive straight between her lovely thighs. The glistening folds between Fiona's legs called to him, begging him to taste their juice. But, with some effort, he forced himself to go slow. He made love to her feet the way he never did for anyone but his mother, bringing her to a modest climax. A second tiny orgasm came when he set to work on her hips. Another rewarded his efforts with her ribcage. Her breasts received all the attention they deserved and then some. The climax Fiona experienced while he sucked on her nipples was intense, too. He almost thought she might crack her skull so hard to she slam her head down on the tree stump as she came.

"She's ready for you," Fi said after recovering her breath, teasing her labia lazily as she spoke the words. "Won't you give her a kiss?"

Cahill merely shook his head and gestured for her to turn over.

Fiona groaned in protest but did as he bid. Slowly, he kissed a trail down from her neck to her big, beautiful butt. He eased her cheeks apart, gave her hole a quick touch of his tongue, then started kissing and biting her pale globes.

"Mmm, Kay," his sister moaned. "You're evil."

He allowed himself a quick smile before continuing.

By the time he finally made good on the unspoken promise, Fiona was ready to melt. She whimpered loudly, pulling away and pushing back so quickly that it was almost like she was fucking his face with her ass. Not a minute later, though, she let out a few grunts and slumped forward on the dead tree.

The energy inside Cahill fought to escape. He'd never felt so full. So strong.

But he wasn't done with his sister yet.

"Mmmm," she moaned as he rolled her onto her back. "If I die, tell Seamus I love him."

That gave Cahill pause. It was a joke, of course. Talented as he might be at cunnilingus, the survival rate among those fortunate to enjoy his talents was one hundred percent. Still, the casual way she mentioned being in love with their brother took him by surprise.

"What?" Fi asked, lifting her head up from the wood.

"Nothing," Cahill said. "Just...nothing."

"You did know the two of us were close, right?" she said, reaching down to muss up his hair. He felt a slight tingle every time her hand passed through his spectral antlers. "Didn't mean to send you any mixed sig-"

"Of course I did," he said, cutting her off. Then regretting the snap in his voice, he took her hand from his head, pressed her fingers to his mouth, and kissed her knuckles. "Thought you were going to deny it until the end of time though."

Fiona's smile disappeared. "After what...some things shouldn't be left unsaid. Even immortals don't live forever."

And so there it was. The explanation for the change in her behavior. The true reason they were busy fucking each other's brains out. Oona's death hung in the air like fog.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 05



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Author's note

Part Eight picks up where Part Seven left off, in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven't read Part Seven.

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.

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The bed of grass didn't look comfortable enough. Cahill channeled some energy into the ground, spurring the growth of some additional vegetation. He was tempted to conjure up a proper bed, but he knew that his grandmother would prefer to feel the forest beneath her. The fey lost all interest in mortal furnishings shortly after leaving the Dreaming.

"When she wakes up," his mother said from over his shoulder, "she'll have needs."

"I know," Cahill said.

She wasn't referring to anything as mundane as food and water, though his grandmother would need those things as well. But Caronwyn obviously wasn't crazy about what her son would have to do, though didn't she want him to think she was anything but fully supportive of him doing so. In short, he was walking through a conversational minefield.

"You'll see to them," she added, unnecessarily.

"Of course," he said without so much as looking at her.

He wanted to. Wanted to look her in the eyes and tell her that it was okay. That he understood both how she felt and that she wished she didn't feel that way. But if he did, he'd only prove to her that she'd done a poor job of hiding her emotions. Give her the impression that he thought she was being jealous. Which, of course, she was, though no more so than anyone in her position would be.

On the other hand, his refusal to make eye contact coupled with his monosyllabic responses just might do the trick anyway. He wished he knew what she wanted from him.

A soft touch on his shoulder almost made him reconsider. Almost.

Her Libido appeared to be as still as a frozen pond, though he very much doubted that it was. She hadn't quite taught him everything she knew about illusions and glamour, but she'd taught him enough to know not to trust his senses. To know that he might not be seeing anything more than that which she wanted him to see. And if that was the case, there'd be no sense in offering the comfort she didn't want him to think she needed.

So he kept his focus on the woman lying on the bed of moss beneath him. Aeife Walker, former Queen of Faerie, and the only woman alive feared by the current queen.

How could anyone fear this woman? Or feel anything negative towards her?

She looked like...a grandmother. Not old and wrinkly, of course. This wasn't the Dreaming. No, like all the fey, she was young and beautiful, and would forever be. But if anyone had ever asked Cahill what he thought a grandmother should look like here in Faerie, he'd have described someone very much like her.

Titania was technically also his grandmother, but she fit his mental image of one about as well as his freaking father did. And since Faerie society was matrilineal, she'd not claim him as her grandson either.

The woman lying before him was everything Titania was not. Where the queen was slight, colorful, energetic, and whimsical in the extreme, Aeife embodied a simplistic elegance and a profound serenity. Her mere presence filled him with calm, and he didn't think that was just because of her current state. It was almost as though she'd wrapped herself in a soothing glamour, though he doubted anything so deliberate was involved. Now that he thought about it, there was a similar air about Titania. But it was the polar opposite. No man could stand before the Faerie Queen without feeling agitated.

If Titania was the inspiration for Hollywood's Manic Pixie Dream Girl character type, and she probably was, her onetime replacement was likely the reason people believed in fairy godmothers. His paternal grandmother was the sort of fey who pranced through the woods looking for men she could lure into chasing her, while his maternal one had no doubt often appeared to men in their hour of need.

"What's she like?" Cahill asked his mother.

She didn't reply at first. "You'll enjoy yourself, I should think."

"That's not what I meant," he said, turning to look over his shoulder at her.

Words could not describe how beautiful his red goddess was. Everything about her was perfect, from her porcelain skin to her pouty lips, her brown eyes and her button nose, her lustrous hair and her voluptuous figure. No woman could ever rival her. Not her mother, nor her daughters, nor anyone else. Didn't she realize that?

Apparently not.

She hid it well, but there was pain writ subtly upon that gorgeous face, and he was the cause of it. That cut him to the bone.

Without rising from his knees, he took her hand in his. A trickle of energy passed through his palm into hers. Not much, though. Just enough to soothe her nerves. To tell her that he cared. That he wanted her to be at ease. If that came across as an accusation, so be it. He had to at least try. He couldn't bear knowing that she was suffering, even a little.

A smile spread across her lips. "Sorry, baby," she said. "Pretend I didn't say that."

"Done," he replied.

"To answer your question, she's...everything I hope to one day be."

Cahill almost told his mother that she had no need to look to another woman as a role model. But he thought better of it. She'd not want her son to think that she'd been fishing for compliments any more than she'd want him to know that she was uncomfortable with what was about to happen. Besides, he suspected that she didn't really envy her mother as much as her words implied. No, she was just trying to be gracious.

He nodded, because that was all that needed to be said.

A gentle moan drifted up from the ground.

"Be good to her," she said. Then she laid a hand on his chest, smiled, and departed.

A mix of emotions swept over Cahill. Sadness, he always felt when seeing her go. But he also felt something close to contentment. Caronwyn had left him with a smile, after all, and there was nothing in all the world quite like her smile. With a little twitch of her lips, she could kill pain, melt glaciers, and bring peace to warring nations.

"Caron?" a voice squeaked. "Is that you?"

Cahill turned back around to see his grandmother trying to push herself up off the grass.

"She just left, Grandma," he said helping her to sit up. One hand on her back, he offered her the other. She grabbed it with both of hers, her grip weak.

Green eyes blinked at him. "Gallech? Or Seamus?"

"Third time's the charm," he said with a grin.

"Cahill? You've finally come home?"

"I have," he said.

"Well how about that," she replied, sounding a little more vivacious. "I finally get to meet you, and I'm an absolute mess," she added. "Don't take this wrong way, kiddo, but your timing leaves something to be desired."

It wasn't that she needed to make a good impression on him. There was no concern for herself in those words. Rather, she felt bad for making him suffer the indignity of seeing his grandmother in her present state. Because of course she did. Had he worried about how she might feel? What nonsense. Who would let a little thing like several years of torture get them down? The important thing was that she not disappoint her grandson.

"You're absolutely beautiful," he told her.

And she was.

He could have just as easily been referring to her inner beauty. But he wasn't. It was her outward appearance she was worried about, and her outward appearance he was complimenting. Sure, her raven tresses resembled a bird's nest at the moment, and a bruise she hadn't yet had a chance to heal marred one of her cheeks. None of the glamours fey women wore in lieu of makeup darkened her lips or accentuated her eyes. And though she probably looked lovely in white, the stains on her dress made for an awful sight. But none of that mattered. Cahill was still stunned by his grandmother's beauty.

Cahill could picture exactly what she'd look like at her most glamorous, because he'd seen pieces of it countless times in her progeny. She was, unquestionably, the source of their good looks. That thick black hair had been passed on to Oona and Brittany. Her eyes were the same forest green as Fiona's. The shape of her face was both distinctive and familiar since all the Walker women had delicate chins, cute little button noses, and soft cheekbones. Her full lips had the slightest little cupid's bow to them, like Caronwyn's. Titania and her brood tended to have blonde hair, sharp, pointy features, and very pronounced cupid's bows.

"You're a flatterer, aren't you?" his grandmother said.

Her bruise cleared up and her long hair straightened out, forming perfect dark curtains around her lovely face. Her lips turned dark red and she acquired the smokey eyes that had started driving everyone crazy in the Dreaming. The blood-stains disappeared from her dress, which grew a few sizes too tight and acquired a rather immodest neckline. Then she began to glow, emitting a soft white light. Finally, a pair of diaphanous wings shot through with silver and metallic green sprouted from her back.

Cahill took quick note of his grandmother's epic cleavage before forcing his eyes to climb upward. He didn't think he'd ever seen a pair of breasts that big.

"Tell me you haven't got the music," she added in a tone that suggested she already knew that she wasn't going to like the answer to that question.

Cahill almost laughed. He managed to stop himself from doing so, but he gave no other response either. His fey nature prevented him from offering the only one she sought.

"Oh, dear," his grandmother said. "Musicians are trouble, with or without the gifts of the fey." A wistful smile spread across her face. "Though they do make the best lovers."

He cleared his throat.

"No need to be shy about it," she said, pressing a soft palm to his cheek. "Your great-grandfather had the music. So did two of his five children. It's in our blood."

Strange. He'd assumed he'd gotten it from his father. One of Arawn's titles was the Piper of Dawn, after all. He'd styled himself after the Greek god Pan. Or perhaps Pan was the name by which the Greeks knew his father. Cahill wasn't even sure.

One time, Cahill had tried to piece together a time-line. To make sense of the tales he'd learned growing up. He'd failed miserably. Some of humanity's oldest beliefs about the fey could be traced back to figures who'd dwelled in Faerie for as long as anyone here could remember, but in other cases the obvious inspiration had only arrived on the scene relatively recently. And though much of what he'd been taught as a child had at least a grain of truth to it, some of it was just flat-out wrong.

"The horned god," his grandmother whispered to herself. She had the cutest voice, as high-pitched as Oona's had been. Only it sounded better coming from her. Which was strange, because it also sounded off. A woman as experienced and wise as Aeife should have a deeper voice, like Fiona's. Only little girls and grown women who behaved like little girls spoke with so high a pitch. Or so he'd thought. "We were afraid you might never wake up, you know. How long have you been with us?"

"Not long enough," he said.

Aeife smiled at that. "How'd she finally get through to you?"

The simple answer was that she hadn't. One of Titania's daughters had. But even Caronwyn didn't know that, or much of anything else about his relationship with Liadan. He certainly wasn't about to tell his grandmother.

"Nevermind," Aeife said. "We can talk about that later." She put her hands on the soft ground beside her and pushed. Nothing happened. "Be a sweetie and help me up," she said. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

Cahill laughed as he pulled his grandmother to her feet. Then he handed her a skin of water and a heel of bread.

"Thank you," she said, accepting his offering.

Considering how long she'd been deprived of basic necessities, she showed considerable restraint. He'd expected her to drain the skin in one gulp and then tear into the bread. Instead, she took a few small sips from the skin before ripping a chunk of bread off and taking the tiniest bite out of it.

After she finished chewing, she let the bread and water fade away. Then she held an arm out for him to loop his through and said, "Walk with me."

That hadn't been quite what he'd expected to come next, but Cahill was happy to oblige. He made himself a little shorter then slipped his arm between hers and her body.

"How did your mother defeat her?" Aeife asked as they set down the nearest path.

"She didn't," Cahill replied.

"Ah. You were her champion, then?"

He nodded.

"And the contest involved music?"

"It did," he said sheepishly, though he still wasn't quite sure why his gift was a bad thing. "But I don't think that's why I prevailed. Or, not the only reason. Seems you made something of an impression on Prince Oberon."

"What makes you say that?" she asked with a telling hint of amusement.

The forest grew denser and the canopy overhead allowed less light through. A mortal might have had trouble avoiding roots and stones, but his fey eyes adjusted quickly.

"Oh, nothing," Cahill said. "Just that he let me win."

"Did he now?" his grandmother asked. "Suppose he told you that himself?"

"Well, no," he replied. "But I'm still sure of it."

Aeife nodded as though there was no reason anyone would doubt his conclusion. As though she hadn't expressed a bit of skepticism herself only a few moments earlier.

"Oh, to have seen the look on her face," she mused.

"She...didn't take it well," Cahill said.

"I should think not."

His grandmother passed her hand through a large cobweb hanging before them. It turned to smoke, hanging in the air as they passed, then took form as a web again after they were on the other side. Cahill wondered who else would take care not to disturb any of Faerie's inhabitants, even a spider. Perhaps Fiona.

"I wonder who she'll give the Ruby Court to next. Has Liadan got one yet?"

"Sapphire," he confirmed. "You think she'll take it from him? Isn't he her favorite?"

His grandmother shrugged. "Titania hates me like no woman has ever hated anything."

"But why?" Cahill asked.

"Because I remind her that she's vulnerable."

That hardly sounded like a reason. "Aren't we all?"

"You're cute, you know that?" Aeife said. "You must have broken more hearts than a man can count, dwelling as long as you did in the Dreaming."

He'd rarely been the one to break things off, but she was probably right. He'd never thought of it that way back then. He'd been too busy seeing himself as the injured party. But it wasn't hard to see now, looking back, that they'd all been injured parties.

"Of course we are," his grandmother continued. "But spend enough time ruling over Faerie, your every word instantly obeyed by beings who are themselves still spoken of in awe by mortals, and you might start to forget that."

Didn't seem like something one could forget. Especially if one had been killed multiple times and lived to tell the tales. But she'd know the queen's mind better than him.

"So," he said, taking in the forest with a sweeping gesture, "everything as you remember?"

"More or less," she said. "Your mother's mark is clear, though."

"Meaning?"

She pointed a little ways off the trail, where a three-tailed fox emerged from a bush. It gave them a blank look then slowly padded over to a hole in the ground and proceeded to climb inside, all without any hurry.

"So?" Cahill asked.

The creatures of Faerie were strange. Some wore thick spectacles and plaid vests, others leather breeches or top hats. The birds weren't the only ones that flew, and extra tails were less common than third eyes. Many of them spoke perfect English. Often with British accents. Some sang and danced. Especially the bears. Dancing queens, the lot of them. Was she suggesting it had once been otherwise?

"Did he look friendly to you?" his grandmother asked.

"Oh, they're harmless," he replied.

"That's not what I asked."

True enough, but Cahill had no idea what she was getting at. That the creatures of Faerie quietly hoped for his mother's demise?

"Have you ever spoken to any of them?" Aeife asked.

Cahill shook his head. "Fiona has. She speaks to them all the time, though she rarely talks about it. The others have too, I think. But I haven't yet. They always act like they don't know what I'm saying, then go back to speaking to one another in plain English before I'm even out of earshot. One of these days, though, they'll warm up to me."

That last part came out almost as a question. But his grandmother said nothing to indicate that she doubted they would.

"Have you ever gotten lost?" she asked.

What did that have to do with anything?

"Of course," he said. This was Faerie after all. Even his mother got lost from time to time. No matter how much time one spent here, it was impossible to truly know the forest. But it was just as easy to get unlost. Though the lay of the land was always changing, certain configurations were more common than others. Wait long enough, and the path you thought you knew would appear again. "So?"

"So you'd characterize the forest and its inhabitants as somewhat less than warm and welcoming," she said, as though that said everything.

Cahill shrugged. "Are deserts lush or oceans dry?"

He sensed that he'd made her point for her somehow or other, but exactly what point that was, he hadn't the foggiest. All the old stories described Faerie as mysterious. Dangerous, even. Those it invited in, it often didn't release. At least not until the poor soul had gone mad or aged a hundred years. True, those tales referred to how Faerie treated mortals, not its own kind. But if there was anything about this place that didn't live up expectations, it wasn't the standoffish nature of its inhabitants and mercurial topography. That Faerie was divided into Emerald, Sapphire, and Ruby courts rather than Seelie and Unseelie, perhaps, but not that.

"Would you describe your mother as extroverted?" his grandmother asked. "Or does she maybe...tend to keep things to herself?"

It was like she was speaking to a child. "See that jug there that's lying on its side?" she might as well have said. "Could that have something to do with the spilled milk? Perhaps?"

But she had a point.

"She's always been more in tune with the mystical aspect of our nature," his grandmother continued. "The wild part, the one that links us most strongly to our furry brothers and sisters, has always been something of a mystery to her."

Since when did his mother have any interest in transcending her inner animal? Nothing turned her on more than getting a little wild. Granted, she didn't always transform. Sometimes, it was enough for her sons to do so. But she was hardly ill at ease with animality.

"Oh, it appeals to her," his grandmother said, as if reading his mind. "As it does all of us. But she doesn't understand it. In fact, she's tried her best to transcend it."

Cahill mulled that over.

For the longest time, his mother had kept her distance from him. Only later had he discovered that she'd been denying her urges. That by doing so, she'd hoped to give him a reason to commit more fully to Faerie. To leave the Dreaming behind. Badly as she'd wanted him, she'd known that he wanted her even more, and she'd dangled herself in front of him like a donkey's carrot. Forever just out of reach.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 05



What other fey woman could bring herself to do that? For fifteen years?

"So," Cahill said, "that's why her fey form is different from the rest of ours?"

How had he missed that? They all appeared as otherworldly creatures, though some were more exotic than others. None of their fey forms represented beings that had ever set foot in the mortal world, except his mother's. According to legend, druids communed with beings from other worlds, wielded magicks, performed rituals, and spoke to fey almost as equals. But whatever the truth about their abilities, they were unequivocally of the mortal realm.

"And why our neck of the woods has grown a little more mystical since I left," Aeife said, as though he had any sort of basis for comparison on that point. "Why the creatures of the forest tread a little more softly around us."

"Huh," he said.

It wasn't the most articulate response, but he really had no idea what else to say.

"Nothing wrong with that," his grandmother said. "Just not quite what I'm used to."

"Which is?" he asked. "What was Faerie like when you were in charge?"

He wasn't sure if he was asking about the lands of Clan Walker in her time as matriarch or all of Faerie when she was queen. If that even made a difference.

Aeife smiled. "Unicorns and rainbows."

"Seriously."

She shrugged. "Not so different."

"Guess I'll find out soon enough?"

His grandmother cocked an eyebrow at him. "You think I'm going to take over?" Before he could even answer, she disabused him of that notion. "Your mother is no less fit to lead than I am. And you all know her better." As though it were no more than an afterthought, she then named what he suspected was the most important reason of all. "Besides, nothing would do more to fuel the queen's paranoia."

"You're not going to fade off then, are you?"

"No, no. Not for a good while yet," she replied. "There are, ah, some interesting possibilities I'd like to explore first."

At first he thought she meant him, but then he realized she was referring to Oberon. And though he'd enjoyed the fleeting notion that his grandmother saw him as worth sticking around for, that was for the best. He didn't need or want the complication.

"It'd certainly be poetic," Cahill said, watching out of the corner of his eye for any reaction. "And the anger it would cause Titania is no less than she deserves."

"You're not gonna go writing a song about it now, are you?"

Cahill laughed. "Don't worry. I don't make music. Just the things people make music with." He offered her his hand as they climbed over a fallen tree that lay in their path. "Well, okay. I play a bit. But not well. And only things other people have composed."

"Hmmm," she said.

"What?"

"Been a while since a Walker made anything with his hands. That's nearly as fabled a talent as musicianship," she said ominously.

Cahill suddenly recalled the old tales of men crafting magical items without knowing it. In some versions, they did so for a mysterious patron who later turned out to be fey. These tended to end with a handsome reward, though that wasn't always the case. In others, the specifications would be provided by a fairy, but the finished product would be given as a gift to some noble who would suffer an ignominious fate.

If the silver flute Liadan had given to his father somehow ended up costing Arawn the Emerald Court, that would be perfectly in keeping with such tales. Too bad that seemed like something else the mortals had gotten wrong.

"Next you'll be telling me you've always been lucky," Aeife said. She sounded as though she meant to come across as amused. All Cahill heard in her voice, though, was apprehension.

He didn't reply.

"No," she said. "Don't say it."

"I might have made a fortune gambling before I decided it just didn't feel right," he said, feeling a little numb. "What does it mean?"

And why did his grandmother suddenly seem afraid?

"That you're thrice-blessed," she said. "There's power in threes, Cahill."

She didn't have to tell him that.

"But that's good, right?" he asked. "Blessings are good, right?"

His grandmother didn't respond.

"Let me guess. Those thrice-blessed are often thrice-cursed as well?"

She nodded.

Of course they were. How could it be otherwise? That was just about the most fucking fey thing he'd ever fucking heard.

Why hadn't his mother said anything? Why hadn't Fiona?

Perhaps because they had no idea that he'd ever unwittingly endowed a musical instrument with glamour. He'd tried to keep as much about Liadan a secret as he could. And he'd never told them about the way the cards were a bit too good to him. Back when that had still been a thing, he'd kept it to himself because he'd known how they'd react. How they'd insist it was a sign that he didn't belong in that world, but here in Faerie. Of course, they were right, but he hadn't been ready to hear that then. And by the time he was, he'd all but forgotten about his unearned riches.

"Curses come in all shapes and sizes," Aeife said hesitantly, "but something tells me it's your loved ones who'll suffer."

Like Aunt Oona.

He almost objected by saying they hadn't been that close. But that would not only be massively insensitive, given that the woman hadn't even begun to grieve for her daughter yet, but irrelevant. He had loved her, as he loved all his family. And that was how these things worked. The first loss wasn't so bad. The second would be worse. And the third would leave him thinking he'd be better off dead.

Suddenly, Cahill heard singing. At first, he thought it came from his grandmother, but then he saw her lips were closed.

An 'andsome boy left the Dreaming Then came he did to Auld Faerie The land of oak and ash and thorn, Whose folk are young and merry. There he found his mother true Who'd waited long for tha' day He threw his arms round her waist And this to her did say.

"Please stop," Cahill whispered.

"What's that?" Aeife asked.

"My mother's love is a blessing Such as I've ne'er known Should I e'er displease her For tha' I'll ne'er atone My mother's love is a blessing I love her more'n me heart can bear For none have lips quite so red, Eyes so bright, nor skin so fair

The words came from nowhere. He wasn't even sure they existed outside his head.

But they werena together long Afore good turned bad turned worse Her love was indeed a blessing And for tha' he also bore a curse The fates soon took her from him And cruel they are, told him why `So low we must soon lay, Those we first let fly so high.'

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Right," Cahill said.

He wondered if he'd actually heard it himself. Perhaps it was just a figment of his imagination. Or maybe Liadan was nearby. The last time he'd seen her, she'd sung a similarly sad song. But she'd only been trying to get his attention. To get him to wake back up, and help her brother Kearney do the same.

That had been her goal, hadn't it?

Why did it seem like she was trying to scare him then? Assuming she was responsible for the creepy tune, that was. And if not her, then who? Faerie itself?

"Are you okay, dear?" his grandmother asked.

He was supposed to be looking after her, not the other way around. She might be hiding it well, but she was weak. And hungry. She had to be, after what she'd been through. What sort of grandson would he be if he dumped his problems on her when she needed his strength to help her through her own?

"Fine," he said. "Just though I heard something."

She frowned and did her best to look down her nose at him. Though he had several inches on her even after having adjusted his height earlier, she somehow managed it.

"Don't worry about it, Grandma," he said. "Really."

"Fine. You don't have to tell me," Aeife said. "Now."

Good enough.

"I've not known you five minutes and I've already got a list of things I need to squeeze out of you later," she said. "Don't let it get too long. I'm told I can be very insistent."

"Hmmm, I don't know, sounds kinda fun," Cahill said.

She stretched out a finger, preparing to poke him in the chest. "Don't you get saucy with me," she said. Then, her slender finger tapped his chest, generating impossible force, and he fell flat on his ass.

Just as he was regaining his balance, she sat on her haunches in front of him, arms wrapped around her knees. There was scarcely enough room for her gigantic boobs. He tried not staring at them, but he might as well have decided to turn asexual.

"Now, we both know why your mother left you alone with me," his grandmother said.

"True," he said.

Was this her idea of foreplay? His involved less...getting-knocked-on-his-ass-edness.

His grandmother smiled. Rather prettily. His mother was so gorgeous it sometimes hurt to look at her for too long. His grandmother wasn't that pretty, of course. No woman was. But with that porcelain skin, that jet black hair, those green eyes, and those full lips, he would do her a grave injustice if he said she had a pleasant face.

That said, it was hard to look at her face. Just below her chin lay the most glorious twin peaks he'd ever seen. With her crouched low like that, hugging her legs, the poor things had to fight just to fit between her chest and her knees. Caronwyn's considerable cups seemed modest in comparison. Cahill had never seen breasts that big. Nevermind a handful, they were bigger than his fucking head. Yet her waist and hips were about the same size as Brittany's. If she weighed any more than his mother, it couldn't have been by much. It made no sense. Breasts shouldn't grow that big. Especially not on a woman her size.

Part of him was almost turned off. Thought they were too big, at least for her frame. But another part of him insisted that was nonsense and couldn't wait to see what they'd look like once freed from her dress.

"I'm up here," she said, putting a finger under his chin.

"S-sorry," he said.

"You find them a bit distracting?" she asked. "Most men do."

"Can't imagine why."

"Play nice and I may let you see them," she said. "But you'd better make me cum first."

Cahill chuckled. "Thought the idea was for me to get off. Pry my Libido open."

"We'll get there," his grandmother said, letting the fingertip that had been gently digging into his chin slide up to his lips. As it slid slowly across his flesh, it sent waves of intense pleasure through him, and he nearly ejaculated then and there. "But there's this old idea you really ought to learn. It's called Ladies First."

"I think I've heard of that one."

"Musicians," Aeife said with feigned disgust.

"Well, you know, I haven't had any complaints," he said.

"Have you had a woman who'd know the difference?" she asked.

He had, actually. At least, he was pretty sure that his mother at least could compare him to some men Grandma Aeife would think counted. Liadan probably had too.

But whatever. Cahill decided he'd had enough.

He grabbed the back of his grandmother's head and pulled her in for a kiss. As he pressed his lips to hers, he opened his Libido up wide and allowed his energy to gush out of him.

When he finally released her, his grandmother gasped for air. "Not sure what that was all about, but it was nice," she said between breaths. She gave him a quick kiss, then another, before adding, "You're not trying to get out of this, are you?"

"Not at all," he said. "I just want you to be able to keep up."

"Oh you are trouble," she said, a twinkle in her green eyes. For just a moment, they actually gave off light. "Mind your manners or you won't get any sugar."

He considered that for a moment. She sounded at least a little bit amused by his antics, but he wasn't getting the sense that she found extreme confidence as attractive as some women did. Might not want him to take control either. She might be more like Fiona, who preferred to be seduced methodically and affectionately.

There was one sure way to find out. But he wasn't up for it. His dick needed to be inside her. She could discover how talented he was with his tongue after he found out how good it felt to fuck his grandmother's pussy.

Cahill slipped his hands underneath his grandmother's smooth thighs, gently scooped her up, and placed her down in his lap. She made a few squeaky sounds that turned him on a lot more than they would have if most anyone else had made them.

"You trying to tell me something?" she asked.

By way of response, he took one of her little hands and guided it down between his legs.

"My," she said. "You're a big boy, aren't you?"

While she pressed her hand against the front of his pants, he turned them into smoke. Then guided his length up towards her womanhood. She could step back and take a good look at it later. For now, it had somewhere to be.

"Slow down, Cahill," she said. "Good things come to those who-" her eyes bulged as his fat head pushed past her lips. "Mmm. Wow. You're almost as thick as Richard was."

"Is that a good thing?" he asked.

He remembered the name, though his mother hardly ever mentioned her older brother. Whether his uncle was well-hung was not one of the details she'd shared with Cahill, but there were only so many ways to interpret his grandmother's words. He didn't really need an answer to his question. Just wanted Aeife to swallow her words.

She made a face at him, but then promptly started working her hips. Inch after inch disappeared inside her as her bunny hops dropped her lower and lower.

"Oh, yeah," she moaned as she took more and more of him in. "Mmmm, I think you're bigger than him," she added as she planted her hands firmly on his bare chest.

"You know what guys really like, Grandma? When you compare the size of their dicks to those of past lovers. If you could do that some more, that would be great."

He almost surprised himself by saying that. Basically, she was telling him how big he was, and what guy didn't love hearing that? But as with so many things, it was all in the delivery. Whatever else her words might have meant, they told him that he hadn't made enough of an impression on her to make her forget her late son. To convince her that, for the time being at least, he was the only man in the world.

"If you were...mmph...looking me in the...oh, yeah...eye when you said that...yeahyeahyeah," she replied. There might have been an end to that sentence, but he never heard it. Which, he supposed, meant they were headed in the right direction.

He was indeed starting at her tits again. The way they bounced was absolutely hypnotic. She wasn't even moving that fast yet, and her girls were still constrained by her tight dress. But fuck, they were glorious. She could easily suffocate him with them if she leaned a little further forward. Wouldn't even need to take her dress off to do it, in all likelihood. Did she really expect him not to notice that? Besides, they weren't having a conversation anymore. They were fucking.

"How about you shut up and let grandma focus on riding this big dick, huh?" she said, as if he'd actually spoken or something.

Cahill said not another word.

"Atta boy," she said, bouncing faster and faster.

He let his hands slide down her back, below the hem of her skirt, and then up again. He was disappointed to find that her ass was a bit small. But with how good her pussy felt, and it felt good, it almost didn't matter. He wasn't even sure he could have handled it if she'd been as well put together below the waist as she was above it.

"You have no idea how much I've missed this," his grandmother panted. "Fuck, I had no idea how much I missed this."

Bad thoughts. Bad, bad thoughts. Neither of them wanted to go down that path. Cahill sent some more energy into his grandmother, ramping up her tactile senses. That did the trick. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she started breathing heavier and heavier.

For just a little while there, he got to feel like a real stud. His grandmother made the most delicious sounds on her way to an explosive finale, and the sheer intensity of her climax when it did arrive nearly gave him a concussion. Her Libido had unleashed a tidal wave of energy, despite being nearly empty, and her physical reaction had been no tamer.

Of course, she hadn't gotten laid in years. But he chose not to dwell on that little detail. Easier to be flattered if he didn't.

Unfortunately for Cahill, after his grandmother's first climax, she quit fooling around and got busy showing him who was in charge.

The things she did to him were fairly ordinary. But they didn't feel like it. Every time she so much as ran her fingers through his hair, he kissed death on the mouth. How he survived the rest of it, he wasn't even sure. He lost track of how many times he emptied himself into her womb and then her mouth. But somehow, she always found more for him to give. He also lost track of the number of times she changed his understanding of what pleasure was and how much of it a man could feel.

Eventually, he got her out of that dress and did his best to please her from head to toe, paying extra special attention to her breasts. But not until he'd eaten his fill of humble pie.

#

There was only one way to honor Oona's passing, Caronwyn informed them, and that was with a bit role-playing. That having been the nymph's favorite activity, she'd expect no less of them. The moment she'd said it, Cahill had known she was right. He didn't need to see her own mother give her an approving nod.

But his lingering mortal sense of propriety chafed at the idea. As did Brittany's, to judge by the look on her face. His younger sister had always enjoyed Oona's games, but the announcement drew nary a grin from her.

Wasn't it a little selfish to mark her death with a costumed orgy? Reflecting on how immortality did not grant invulnerability? Sharing their favorite memories of her?

But no. That just wasn't how the fey did things. They didn't mourn. That way lay regret, and regret was ever an unwelcome guest in Faerie.

Besides, he and his sister seemed to be the only ones experiencing any reluctance. Even Seamus and Fiona, who he knew full well had been shaken by their aunt's passing, were completely on board with their matriarch's suggestion. And Cahill knew better than to argue with his mother, nevermind Aeife.

So he soon found himself on the deck of a small schooner, dressed like a pirate captain. His ship sailed along the treetops, its oars cutting the forest canopy like water without leaving any sign of their passing. He wasn't quite sure where their destination was. That was for Reilly, his first mate, to worry about. All Cahill knew was that they'd attempt to deliver some empty barrels to a bunch of old timey mobsters, led by Finnegan, only to get busted by his grandmother and his brothers, who were playing the part of the police.

They weren't acting out any particular literary or cinematic work. The rickety skeleton of a plot his mother had come up with simply served as an excuse to get them into a bunch of different costumes. Not that it made much difference. They'd never followed the storylines too closely when Oona had them reimagine classic tales or modern movies. Still, it felt a little bit like cheating. If they were going to honor Oona in the manner of the fey, shouldn't they at least do things the way she'd always done them?

Or maybe he just didn't like dressing up like a stupid pirate.

When was it decided that nothing was sexier than men with missing teeth, limbs, and eyes, whose hygienic practices made them lucky to die of scurvy?

Fucking Johnny Depp.

Cahill wore leather boots, billowy pants, a leather vest, and a ridiculous hat. He had a silk sash tied around his waist and a freaking bandana around his forehead. A cutlass hung over one hip, a flintlock pistol over the other. Worst of all, his hair hung to his shoulders.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 05



Ridiculous as he looked, there was some consolation in how much worse Reilly looked. His cousin's pants were striped red and black, his boots ultra-shiny. The belt he wore around his waist had a silver buckle half the size of a man's head. His white silk shirt had a neckline that reached halfway down his chest, and the sleeves would have flapped about like the ship's sails if not for his leather wrist cuffs. The red scarf tied around his bald head was so long that its tails hung nearly to his cousin's waist. On top of all that, Reilly had a freaking eye-patch with a skull and crossbones painted on it.

On the other hand, Cahill had to admit that Fiona looked pretty good. Really good, in fact. Granted, there were only so many costumes his sister wouldn't look good in, but even so, she nearly convinced him that pirates could be sexy. Entirely ahistorical ones, anyway.

She wore black leather boots that stopped just below her knees and fishnet stockings that went a little farther up. Her red petticoat dress had an off the shoulder peasant top, long balloon sleeves, an attached black velvet corset with shoulder straps, elaborate lacing, red satin bows, and an attached black rear apron. A black velvet three-cornered hat sat atop her head, its brim trimmed with thick gold braid. Its red satin bow matched it to her dress.

The dress did a decent job of covering everything up, but that didn't matter. It was tight enough, and the corset flattering enough, that she didn't need to have much more than her shoulders on display. When she pressed her little brass telescope to her eye and leaned out over the rail, causing the hem of her dress to climb, he didn't get a glimpse of anything but ruffles and lace. But his pants still felt a few sizes smaller than they had a moment ago.

"Stay at the wheel," he told Reilly before heading for his sister.

His cousin flipped him off, but Cahill paid him no mind.

"Any sign of trouble," he asked Fiona as he took hold of her hips.

"Aye. Appears me ship's about to be boarded," she said, pushing her full bottom back against him. Damn, that felt good. "Tha's always trouble."

"We don't really have to talk like that, do we?"

"Oh," she whimpered. "Can't I get just a little `arrr'?"

He kissed one soft cheek. "No."

"Please?"

"Stop it."

"Aye, aye, cap'n," she said with resignation. "You scallywag. Landlubber."

"You think you're cute, don't you, matey," he said, cupping her ass with one hand.

"You think so too," she said, giving her backside a nice wiggle.

In fairness, he kinda did.

Irritating as the cliches were, he liked seeing Fiona enjoy herself like this. Ordinarily, his sister didn't get into character quite the way some of the others did. That was more Oona's style, or Brittany's, though Fi had never been as much of a spoilsport as Seamus. Yet here she was, acting like she didn't have a care in the world. And though he realized it had to be because of the relief she felt at seeing the ranks of Clan Walker go from four to nine so quickly, he allowed himself to believe that he was partly responsible for it. That his sister felt she could set aside her burdens when she was with him.

"Admit it," she said.

"Maybe a little," he confirmed. "Enough to shiver yer timbers."

That got a little laugh out of her.

But her laugh soon became a throaty moan. Without bothering to take his pants off, he pulled his cannon and pushed it against her port hole. Her wet lips parted slowly and his sister shuddered a few times before he finished burying himself to the hilt.

"That's quite a cutlass ye got," she said. "Hardly fits in me scabbard."

He couldn't think of anything witty to say to that, so he just started fucking her nice and hard. He worked his hips back and forth, slapping against his sister's soft bum over and over again. Her telescope fell into the forest below as she gripped the rails tight.

Her pussy had been relaxed at first, but she was now waging war on him. Her inner muscles squeezed and released, squeezed and released, massaging his manhood expertly. He wasn't going to be able to withstand that for long.

The sound of his skin slapping against hers mingled with bird calls, rustling leaves, and rowing oars. It was a strange, sweet song. The best part, though, was Fi's heavy breathing.

"Cum for me, Kay," his sister panted. "I wanna feel it inside me."

"I...just...might," he said through gritted teeth.

Her scent grew thicker and thicker, tormenting his nostrils. Filling him with a need he couldn't satisfy even though he was inside her. Her Libido raged like an inferno, revealing that her need for him was no less powerful. With any luck, they just might-

And then they did.

As one, they climaxed. Cahill felt her Libido open up even as his own dam sprung a leak. Then his consciousness drifted out from his body, into an ethereal state. He forgot his name and hers. Forgot where they were and when they were and why they were.

For a time, he knew nothing but bliss.

"Wow," Fiona said, some time later.

"Yeah," Cahill agreed.

"I think that pirate-talk did more for you than you let on," Fiona said. "We're going to have to start calling you Captain NoBeard. Or Tripod the Black."

"Tripod?"

She turned around, propping her back up against the rail. One leg slipped between his and she gently bounced his cock on her knee. "This guy here's practically a third leg."

Cahill gave a snort.

That was when Reilly abandoned his post. He strode towards them with determination, ripping his shirt in two without using his hands.

"Hmm. Looks like he'd like a piece of you too."

Fiona punched him in the ribs. "I'm not a freaking steak, Kay."

"Hey, I know that," he replied. "It's the pit bull you've got to worry about."

She rolled her eyes at him.

Without saying a word, Reilly walked right up to them and pulled Fiona away from Cahill. She let out a little yelp but didn't resist as their cousin planted his hands on the top of her ass. Her green eyes flashed a taunting look at Cahill, as if to say, "Maybe I'd rather a pit bull than a pig." Her hands sought purchase on his bare chest as readily as they might have his. When Reilly leaned down, head tilted to the side, she closed her eyes and pursed her lips. Then the bald brute kissed her.

Gently.

Cahill had no idea his cousin was capable of such tenderness. Whatever the queen done to him, it didn't seem too bad. Especially considering what she'd done to Oona and Aeife.

Maybe she was sort of the opposite of horror movie badies who always made short work of the men folk but managed to let the one girl live?

"Well," Fiona said after Reilly's lips finally left hers. "That's new."

She looked him up and down, as if noticing him for the first time. Or finally taking stock of the changes he'd undergone in Titania's grove. Taller, leaner, and stronger than before, his cousin had to feel pretty good about his upgrades. But Cahill suspected Reilly still wasn't quite his sister's type. If huge muscles had been her thing, she'd have been more interested in Gallech and less so in Seamus. Still, he couldn't help noticing the way her Libido reacted. Or the quick flash of light from her irises.

"Hold this," she said to Cahill as she swept her hat off and handed it to him. Her green eyes hadn't left her cousin's blue orbs. Her hands slowly slid down Reilly's chest, over his perfectly sculpted abs, and towards his belt. "I've got to check his rudder for barnacles."

Reilly gave Cahill the smuggest look, but said not a word.

He tried telling himself it wasn't so bad watching his sister give their least favorite cousin head. But himself was having none of it. That Reilly seemed to enjoy the masterful blowjob for what it was irritated Cahill, though in the back of his mind he knew that he'd have been even more upset if his cousin hadn't enjoyed it.

Had he expected the guy to demand that she make more of a mess, forcing herself to gag on his length, the way Oona always had? Or did he think Reilly was going to push his knob against his sister's cheek and then smack the bulge repeatedly with his bare hand? Maybe club her lightly across the face with his member? Would he have wanted to see that?

If anything, the new Reilly looked even meaner than the old one. But looks could be deceiving. He was passive. Calm. Restrained. It was like the queen had taken a feral dog from them and sent back a well-trained one.

"Ungh," Reilly grunted, eyelids fluttering, as his orgasm arrived.

His pectoral jumped as they contracted and his hips jerked. After a few moments, his muscles relaxed and he let out a long sigh, but he didn't appear to be done.

After swallowing what had to have been a huge load of cum, Fiona finally slipped her cousin's cock out of her mouth and slowly rose to her feet. "Forgot how good you taste," she said. "It's been so long since we were together."

Cahill rolled his eyes.

Reilly had nothing to say to that. He just smiled at her, swept a stray lock of brown hair out of her eyes, and then kissed her.

Again, her Libido pulsed. Perhaps not as vigorously, but still. Fi was enjoying the new Reilly a lot more than Cahill would have expected. He hoped that wore off soon.

While the two of them locked lips, Cahill came up behind his sister and started undoing her dress. He soon discovered that the stupid thing didn't have any zippers. Just lots of things that needed untying. For authenticity's sake, he supposed. Of course, he could have glamoured it away, but sometimes it was more fun to use one's hands.

"Here, let me," Fiona said at last.

She pushed Reilly back to give herself some room, turned around to face Cahill, and finished removing the dress. Rather unceremoniously at that.

It wouldn't have killed her to give him a little show, would it?

"Honestly," she said with a bemused grin, "I'll never understand how the simplest things can be so confusing to men."

Bras, he could handle. Rather well, thank you very much. But he didn't have much experience with petticoats or corsets.

"And I'll never understand why women think that a person's IQ is in any way related to what they know about clothes."

That earned him a punch in the arm.

"Careful now," Cahill said, palming the butt of his pistol. "One of us is armed."

"Drop it! On the deck!" a cute voice shouted, almost managing to sound authoritative and commanding. It didn't come from anywhere on the ship, but somewhere above them, which was odd since they were already above the trees. "Do it now!"

The script didn't call for the cops to show up until the pirates made their delivery of their non-existent contraband to the mobsters. Of course, he didn't care about ruining the story, such as it was. But he'd really been looking forward to seeing his mother in her costume.

"Toss it over here!" Aeife snapped.

She was really taking this seriously.

Fiona stuck her hands in the air. With a sigh, Cahill drew both his weapons and slid them across the deck. Then, following his sister's lead, he held his hands up high. Finally, Reilly did the same. Their grandmother might not have actually commanded them to do so, but it seemed like a good idea.

Only then did Aeife leap down onto the deck. She landed with a great smack, rocking the ship the way a damned cannonball might have. One could almost believe she weighed more than a hundred and twenty five pounds, or whatever it was.

As his grandmother rose to her feet, she took Cahill's breath away.

She wore a black elastic catsuit that would need to be a size or two bigger before it could be described as form-fitting, fingerless gloves, and a black baseball cap with "SWAT" written in big white letters on it. A pair of a handcuffs and a fake badge were attached to her utility belt. Her shiny black boots had six inch stiletto heels and way more straps than necessary. The top of her catsuit seemed to be missing a few panels, like the manufacturer had run out of material. Little more than her abs, shoulders, and areola were covered up. Her huge breasts were squeezed so tight by the elastic material that they looked like they might pop.

He'd decided earlier that they were a bit too big for him. Prior to meeting his grandmother, he'd not thought such a thing possible. At least, not unless implants, photoshop, or hentai were involved. Especially not since she was thin and her breasts were as firm and round as could be expected for their size, rather than being flat and droopy. But his grandmother only made him appreciate the perfection that was his mother all the more, especially since she didn't have a lower body to match her chest. Even Fiona's endowment was preferable, not least because hers were proportional to her figure.

All the same, though, Cahill desperately wanted to free those lovely ladies from their restraints. He couldn't look at them and not want to play with them. Their appeal might have been mostly based on novelty, but that was still something.

The strips of black tape on her cheeks were a particularly nice touch. Vaguely intimidating, yet more than a little sexy as well.

On the other hand, her assault rifle was a bit more realistic than necessary. And he wasn't crazy about the way she pointed the muzzle straight at him. He knew it was all just part of the act, but his heart didn't quite seem to believe his brain.

"You alone?" he asked, trying to sound calm.

"One of me is more than enough for the likes of you," she said.

Fiona chuckled at that, earning herself a glower from their grandmother that made her clear her throat and stare at her feet.

"Your associates are being taken down as we speak, if that's what you're wondering," Aeife continued. As if that hadn't been discussed before hand.

He'd only wondered whether either Gallech or Seamus were with her. Whether they were both headed for Caronwyn.

Damn, but he'd have killed to know what his mother looked like in her costume. Part of him was curious about Brittany too, but that curiosity paled in comparison to his need to see Caronwyn's take on a old-time gangster. Not that she'd have looked any worse as a cop or a pirate. Or a fucking crayon. Just thinking about all the costumes he'd like to see her in made his whole body ache. Knowing that Finnegan and both of his brothers would get to be with her was simply unbearable.

Just then, an unseen force knocked him on his ass. Then it sat him up, stripped him of his clothes, and tied his arms to his sides with silk rope.

"You wait here while I interrogate the other two," his grandmother said with a naughty twinkle in her eyes. Her heels clicked on the hardwood deck as she walked over to Reilly. "There's two ways we can do this," she told his cousin. "The fun way, or...the other way."

"Kinda intense, isn't she?" he whispered to Fiona.

"I think I've got a lady-boner," his sister replied.

There was something rather arousing about seeing his grandmother act like this. It reminded him of the way she'd rocked his world just a little earlier. Aeife was not the sort of woman that let men force her to do thing she didn't want to do. Her recent stint as the queen's captive notwithstanding, she was no one's victim, nor their plaything. If anyone was going to do any dominating, it would be her.

Yet, much as he appreciated that, his tastes were a bit different. As her grandson, he respected her strength. It made him think he'd never again see her covered in her own blood. But he must have been a bit old-fashioned, because he didn't really care for feeling helpless. He also had this crazy idea though that the best sex didn't require either partner to feel that way, but if it came to that, he wasn't so submissive himself.

Not that he thought Fiona was about to start idolizing their grandmother. Every now and then, his sister liked to flirt with the idea of being in control. Tie her brothers down with vines and whatnot. But she never really got aggressive. Didn't hurt him or make him beg for mercy. If she was getting excited by their grandmother, it was less on a physical level than an intellectual one. A female empowerment thing.

Probably.

It appeared their grandmother was done playing the hardass anyway, though. She tossed her rifle aside and it turned to feathers in midair, scattering to the wind. She then started fumbling with Reilly's waistband.

"Well, well, well. You're bigger than I remember," she said after freeing him from his stupid striped pants once again.

His musclebound cousin didn't have anything to say to that. Didn't seem he had much to say to anything, of late. The queen had not only taught him to heel, but somehow got him to quit barking too. Imagine that. His body might have come to resemble Gallech's, but his demeanor was more akin to that of Finnegan.

"Fi, honey, why don't you ride this beautiful thing while I go tease your brother?"

"My pleasure, Grandma," his sister replied.

While the two of them got into position, his sister lying flat on her back and Reilly kneeling above her, Aeife came around behind Cahill. She bent down close, her breathe warm on his neck, and asked, "Does that excite you? Or are you feeling left out?" 

"Are those mutually exclusive?" he asked.

His grandmother laughed. Then moaned delightfully before giving his earlobe a little nibble, which was of course enough to make him ejaculate. The damn woman had more supernatural energy in her toenail clippings than he'd ever wielded.

That was the end of his fun, though. From there, she just massaged his shoulders and peppered him with the occasional quick kiss while the two of them watched Reilly make love to Fiona as tenderly as she preferred. Her kisses didn't pack any real punch either.

Cahill couldn't believe what he was seeing. Every time his cousin finished plunging into Fiona, he rolled his hips so that his pelvis would generate some friction against her clitoris. Not once did he put a hand around her throat, talk down to her, or even slam into her as hard as most women not named Fiona would have preferred. He was as gentle and attentive as a man could be, and Fiona took fucking notice. Her whimpers and moans had Cahill squirming with desire. With each passing second, he envied his cousin a little more.

Only after Reilly guided Fiona through two orgasms did Aeife untie him.

"You want her?" his grandmother asked.

"Fuck yes," he said without thinking.

The right answer was probably that he wanted her instead. But he didn't bother to correct himself. Truthfully, he really did want Fiona more so than his grandmother. More than anyone but his mother. Aeife was incredible, and far more talented than any woman he'd ever been with. But his sister was...special. No other way to put it.

If his answer offended his grandmother, though, she didn't show it. Just planted a sweet, grandmotherly kiss on the top of his head, stood up, and summoned Fiona with a finger curl. Then she went to Reilly and took over for her granddaughter.

"So. Looked like you had fun," Cahill said.

"He's so different now," Fiona said with a maudlin smile.

"Yeah," Cahill agreed.

"And she's kind of awesome, isn't she?" Fiona asked, watching in utter fascination sa their grandmother straddled their cousin's hips.

Cahill coaxed a padded stool up out of the deck and gestured for his sister to sit. She did so without ever taking her eyes off Aeife.

That was fine. He'd have her full attention soon enough.

Dropping to his knees, his back to the spectacle Fiona found so enchanting, Cahill spread his sister's legs apart. He loved pleasing her like this. Loved the way she tasted and smelled. Loved her thick hair. Her labia were bald, but the bush growing on her mons was wilder than that of any other woman he'd ever been with. Which only seemed fitting for his nature goddess. He especially loved the way she responded to his every touch. The fey were all more sensitive than mortals, though they were also more able to withstand intense stimulation. Yet even by the standards of their kind, Fiona was sensitive in the best possible way.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 06



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Author's note

This brief installment concludes Part Eight. Part Nine will finish the portion set in Spring. Part Ten will bring us, at last, to Winter.

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.

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After his daily training session with his grandmother, Cahill relieved Uncle Seamus and Aunt Fiona from babysitting duty. They had a little one of their own on the way, so it was good practice for them to watch over Ty and Niall, but he still felt bad about imposing on them as often as he had since they'd returned to the Dreaming.

"Slow day?" he asked his mother when he got to their magick shop.

The place was as good as empty, aside from a few college students sitting by the windows. That lot spent just enough money on tea to cover the cost of the wifi service Walk the Ways provided, but rarely bought much else. Occasionally they'd express some interest in love potions, occult texts, or some of the various talismans and trinkets Cahill and Caronwyn had endowed with minor glamours, but they mostly just wanted a place to sit and work. Or waste time on Facebook and Twitter while pretending to work. Something like that.

When they'd first come up with the idea, Cahill had thought that they'd be filled to the rafters day and night. Queen Titania had woven Faerie more prevalently into the Dreaming, altering the very fabric of the mortal world.

Which, of course, wasn't really the mortal world at all, but a fey construct. A simulacrum. He was still getting used to that idea.

At any rate, the world he'd once thought of as real no longer sat adjacent to Faerie, like two neighboring countries sharing a border, but overlapped with it like the circles in a Venn diagram. The degree of overlap varied from place to place and with the position of sun and the moon, but the existence of the supernatural was no longer a secret. One might have expected that to change things. For the most part, though, it really hadn't.

He wasn't sure if it was just that most people still didn't believe or what. That was hard to believe, given the growing fey presence in certain industries. Maybe humanity had just lost its interest in the mystical. Or maybe it was just a matter of time before interest in the supernatural grew. Like any fashion trend, it wouldn't really take off until the right type of people embraced it, and the wrong people went out of their way to criticize it.

Whatever the reason, most mortals went about their lives more or less as they had before.

His brother's theory was that it all had to do with the fact that one of the first industries the fey had taken over was pornography. People were plenty fascinated with seeing fairies fuck, Seamus mused, but they weren't especially interested in discovering what else the mystical beings had to offer. That struck Cahill as just cynical enough to be plausible.

"You guessed it," Caronwyn replied from behind the counter.

"And how's our little girl?" he asked, leaning over the bassinet to pinch his daughter's big toe through her pink booties. She smiled at him, circling her little feet and hands through the air. "She give you any trouble?"

He didn't really need to ask, of course. She never did. Wynne was a quiet, happy child. She hardly ever cried, and when she did, it hardly took any effort to quiet her.

"Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!" Ty yelled, running past Cahill as fast as he could. He held up his drawing of Fiona, which sort of almost kinda looked like her, and waved it about like a flag. "Lookie what I made!"

The loud noise his son made led some of the college students to slip their headphones off their ears and gaze over at the newcomers. As ever, the unwanted attention from total strangers caused little Niall to throw himself against his father's leg.

"It's okay," he told Niall, tousling his hair.

His son held his hands out in a silent bid to be picked up. Cahill happily obliged.

"Is that your Auntie Fi?" Caronwyn asked.

"Yup! See her green hair? See?" Ty said, smacking the paper repeatedly with his finger.

"Looks just like her," his mother told their son. "You better be careful. Keep that up, you just might trap someone in a piece of paper."

"Nuh-uh!" Ty protested. "Dad, tell Mom she's being silly."

"Quarter moon tonight," Cahill said to her instead.

Ty gave him a dirty look, huffed, turned on a heel, and raced to the back of the store. He claimed one of the armchairs tucked in between the bookcases, and pulled out his handheld game console, forgetting all about the stupid grownups.

"What can I tell you," Caronwyn replied, her eyes on their son.

The overlap between Faerie and the Dreaming grew even thicker when the moon was between phases, just as it did every day at dusk and dawn. Full moons might have meant something to werewolves, if such existed, but his kind thrived on states of inbetweenness.

"One girl came in looking for some help forgetting her ex-boyfriend," his mother continued, "and an older gentleman almost bought one of your fiddles, but other than that, it's been teas and tonics all day."

There were a handful of mortals who were more attuned to the supernatural. Who appreciated other aspects of the fey besides the physical. They tended to show up on days like this more often than at other times during the lunar cycle. But there were only so many of them, and Savannah wasn't Boston or New York.

"How was...your training session?" she asked, reaching over to take Niall from him.

Cahill almost hadn't caught the hesitation. Almost.

"Fine," Cahill said.

Better than fine, actually. His grandmother was pushing him harder than his mother ever had, and it was paying dividends. He grew stronger by the day. And his mother was excited for him, more or less. But he understood that she didn't love how much time he spent with Aeife, even though very little of that time was spent having sex. She probably knew that, but she probably also spent a lot of time pretending that she didn't.

She raised her eyebrows at him in a silent question.

"I think I might be able to untie the knots soon," he said, referring to the mess his aunt had made of his mind. He'd refused to ask his father to do it. One day, he'd be glad his father owed him a boon, even if Arawn was no longer the Prince of the Emerald Court. No sense wasting that just to spare himself hearing a few songs now and then. They were getting easier to tune out, anyway. "At least, your mother thinks so."

"That's good," Caronwyn replied with all the enthusiasm of a dead possum.

"Fiona wants to know if you'll help her pick out colors for the nursery," he said.

Her brown eyes regarded him coolly for a time. He could almost feel her weighing the pros and cons of letting the topic of his grandmother go. Eventually, she asked, "Does that mean she's finally settled on a name?"

Cahill shrugged.

Of late, every time he saw his sister, she asked him whether he liked "Aila" better than "Aileen." She must have finally found a favorite, because the topic hadn't come up.

Brittany, on the other hand, had known that she'd name her and Finnegan's son "Padraig" even before they'd known for sure that they were having a son. His kid sister couldn't be better prepared to become a mommy. It was strange. And sweet. And sexy as all hell.

Not that Fiona wasn't. She was just overthinking everything. He'd never seen anyone change their mind so many times about so many things. Once her baby girl arrived though, her maternal instincts would take over and she'd make a wonderful mom. Cahill was sure of it. His sister had struck him as motherly, in the best possible way, ever since he'd met her.

"I like `Aileen' better," his mother said, not for the first time.

"Me too," Cahill said. And he meant it. But he didn't doubt that he'd share his mother's preference for "Aila" if she felt differently. He never found any fault in any of her decisions, no matter how big or small. "And the one can be used as a nickname for the other."

"Exactly," Caronwyn agreed.

Just then, the bell above the front door dinged, announcing the possibility that they might sell something more than tea and special brownies today after all. They turned as one to greet the customer, but found none.

It was only Kearney, with yet another pretty young th--with Teagan on his arm.

His cousin was always smiling. She was a happy, carefree creature, precisely the sort of fey mortals expected all of them to be. But the soft smile on her face now was different. The low thrum in her Libido confirmed it.

And it wasn't just because she was in love, he realized. She wasn't showing yet, but Cahill had come to recognize the way pregnancy subtly altered a woman's Libido.

All the college kids turned and stared, then started whispering to one another, wondering if they were really seeing the Teagan Dreamsmyth. In the past few months, she'd become as famous as one could be when one only did children's movies.

Like any good starlet, she paid them no mind whatsoever.

"Hey," his uncle said simply.

Teagan let go of Kearney's arm and gave Cahill a hug. She didn't throw herself at him as she might have in the past, but expectant mothers rarely did. It was strange, but not in a bad way, to see the girl walk when she could have jumped or skipped or danced instead.

"Good to see you, Kay," she said.

"And you," he replied, kissing the top of her head.

"Caron," Kearney said to Cahill's mother.

If she replied, she didn't do so verbally. Cahill didn't sense any real change in her Libido though. That was good. His mother held the Dreamsmyths in even lower regard these days than she once had. He wasn't sure how much of that had to do with what the queen had done to Aeife and Oona as opposed to the hatred she'd developed for Liadan after he finally came clean about everything, but it definitely extended to the whole clan. She refused to even admit to herself that her mother was falling in love with Oberon, let alone acknowledge that the former prince was as good to her as a woman's own son would be.

Still, he didn't huge Teagan too tight or too long. A hint of disappointment spread across her face when he pushed her away, but better her than his mother.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Cahill asked his uncle.

Kearney shrugged. "Hollywood can be so tedious. Need to escape every now and then."

Teagan slapped his arm and said, "Dad," with a combination of affection and displeasure.

Dad? He'd never come around to thinking of her as a sister, but he'd thought Arawn was her father. She'd thought as much herself, at one point.

"What he means is, he wants to thank you for helping him," Teagan explained. "If not for you, we'd never have met."

His cousin was probably mistaken about that. He couldn't imagine that his father would keep Kearney in the dark even after their mother dissolved the courts. What would he have to fear from his brother now? But Cahill saw no need to argue the point.

"Yeah, that," Kearney said.

"It was our pleasure," Caronwyn said.

There must've been some truth to it, or the words wouldn't have passed through her lips.

"And what's this little guy's name?" Teagan asked, her cute voice getting cuter still as she fawned over Niall. Almost sickeningly so. "Hi there! Can you say hi?"

Their son looked away, glanced back, then looked away again. Only with his second look at the pretty face smiling so enthusiastically at him did he crack a smile of his own.

"This is Niall," Caronwyn said. "The one in the back, pretending not to stare at you, is Ty. And the little princess is Wynne."

"How do you keep up with three of them?" Kearney asked, earning dirty looks from both Teagan and Caronwyn. Not that he noticed.

"We're planning on having more," Cahill said proudly. He felt his mother's Libido warm a bit as he did. "You'll change your mind after your first one arrives."

"He better," Teagan said, eyeing her father askance.

Kearney held up his hands in submission.

"I love this place," his cousin said, taking in their humble little shop. Her blue eyes moved slowly, taking the time to absorb every detail. "What a great idea."

"Thank you," Caronwyn said warmly.

"It's neat," Kearney allowed. "Anyway, we should really get going."

Teagan shot him a disapproving look.

"You know how your mother gets when we keep her waiting," he explained.

"It was great seeing you again," Teagan told Cahill. "We'll stop by again soon. I promise." She gave her father a meaningful look before offering him her hand.

#

Shortly after Uaid was born, Cahill ended his lessons with his grandmother altogether. They'd become more and more intermittent as it was, his priorities had changed. He simply couldn't ask Fi or Brit to babysit anymore now that they each had two kids of their own, and his mother spent most of the day at their increasingly busy shop. She often took Wynne and Uaid with her, but Ty and Niall needed supervision.

Besides, he'd recently hit a plateau. He couldn't say that Aeife had taught him everything she could, but he'd definitely learned a lot from her. And grown a lot stronger in the process.

He wasn't just needed at home, actually. He wanted to spend as much time with his sons as he could. Ty had calmed down a lot while Niall hadn't gotten the memo about how terrible the twos and threes were supposed to be. They loved the outdoors as much as young fey should, but were perfectly content to sit and color or watch TV when the weather forced them indoors. Sometimes, they even helped him with his instruments. Niall had a surprisingly deft touch for a toddler and Ty loved reminding Cahill that he was better at everything than his brother. And he had a lot more fun cheating at Hide and Seek, disappearing into a pocket of nothingness while poor Ty frantically searched every nook and cranny of their house, than befit a man of his age.

That he'd reached the flat part of the learning curve allowed him to spend the entire day with his kids without feeling guilty, but he'd have made the same decision even if he'd still been growing more powerful by the day. Even if he hadn't long since undone the glamour his aunt had made him forget inflicting upon himself.

He did, however, sometimes miss Faerie. The wonder and mystery of it. The sights and smells. The way everything felt truer. So too did he miss wielding glamour. Bending the world to his will just because he could. The mortal world hardly blinked an eye at the supernatural these days, but he spent all his time with his sons, and they wouldn't be old enough to learn how to use their own talents for many years. It seemed unfair to throw glamour around in front of them. He couldn't resist doing so from time to time, but he still had to restrain himself epically on a daily basis.

So it was that he reacted exactly the wrong way when Liadan showed up at his door.

His mother had forgiven him more readily than he'd feared, but any mention of the the woman, by name or by any of her titles, soured her mood. For that reason alone, Cahill should have shut the door on his aunt's face before she could finish saying hi. To say nothing of the fact that she'd never done anything but manipulate him for her own benefit. That she'd only succeeded in doing so because he'd been fool enough to ignore everything he knew about the Puck hardly made any difference.

He just couldn't help himself. He knew it would lead to trouble, but it would be wrapped in layers of excitement and drama and a reminder of what it was to be fey.

"Is now a bad time?" his aunt asked.

Cahill's eyes traveled up and down her body. She looked even better than he remembered. He'd always thought her beautiful, but that beauty had grown.

And she was with child.

Because of course she was. Everyone was, these days. It was only a matter of time before he started sporting a swollen belly of his own.

Damn, that just wasn't fair. Everything about motherhood drove Cahill insane with lust. Doubly so if it involved his mother, but there wasn't a woman alive he wouldn't find at least somewhat more attractive when pregnant. And he'd found his aunt plenty attractive before.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to tell you its yours," she said.

Cahill snorted. Of course it wasn't. He hadn't coupled with her in a long time.

Too long.

She reached up and knocked on his forehead, making popping sounds with her mouth as she did. "As I feared. Completely hollow."

"Come in," he said at last.

Niall was taking his nap and Ty was playing in the back yard. They were all alone. That was go--no, bad. Bad. It was definitely bad.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" he asked as he led her into the kitchen.

"Have you got any whiskey?" she asked.

He gave her a quizzical look.

"Don't be a git. Ye can see for yerself I've got a wee one on the way," she said, running a hand over her as yet flat abdomen. "I'll take a water, yeah?"

"A brother of mine?" he asked as he grabbed a glass from the cupboard.

"Aye, no fecking thanks to you," she said. "Right selfish to fix that problem on your own after I went to the trouble of spellin' it all out for ye. But as luck would have it, it didna take much convincin' to get me brother to plant his seed in me garden."

"Glad to hear it," Cahill said. He put her drink on the counter and sat on one of the stools, gesturing for her to do the same. "How is dear old Dad? Handling retirement well?"

Liadan snickered. "You'd think he had some chance of holding on to the Emerald Court, the way he mopes about. If anyone should be upset, it's Macha." She took a sip of her water before sitting down. "But he'll get over tha' in time. What's got him right craite is that our ma wants nuttin to do wit him. Hasn't let him touch her in forever. Macha neither, though with her it's more about her addiction to her son than anything."

Cahill rubbed his forehead. He'd forgotten how bewildering her speech patterns were. Bewildering, but also charming. Not that he should let himself think such things.

"Anyway," she said, "you don't wanna hear about your da or our children."

Cahill couldn't help but note the plural. He wondered how many new brothers and sisters he now had and whether his father was helping her raise them. That seemed doubtful.

"So why are you here?" he asked.

Liadan recoiled. "Forgot how charmin' ye can be."

He almost apologized, but stopped himself.

His aunt sighed. "I feel bad about what I done to ya, believe it or not."

"So you came by to give me a useless warning?" he asked. "Like when you said that your mother would try to take my children away from me?"

"I never said that," she replied.

True, she hadn't. But she'd damn sure implied that the queen would not abide him and his mother having purebred children. Only now she was encouraging everyone to have as many children as they pleased. Purebred or no, Walker or no.

"No warnings," she said. "Just a gift."

Which was even worse.

She reached inside her pocket and produced a silver acorn charm.

"And what does this do?" he asked, picking it up.

"Protects you from unwelcome glamours."

"Really?" he asked.

"Aye," she said. That and no more.

He studied it for a few moments. It was beautiful. But he wasn't sure he wanted to accept a gift from her.

"That's very kind of you," he said. "But I can't accept this."




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 06



"I'm not trying to get you to owe me anything," she said, without the least bit of foreign idiom or accent. "Just trying to ease my guilt."

He pondered that for a moment.

"Does that actually mean I won't owe you-" he began.

"Just fucking take it, will you?" she said, sounding hurt.

"Well, you only said-"

"No boon, Kay. No tricks. I'm done with that," Liadan said. "My mother can find herself a new Puck if she still has need of one at this point."

"Meaning?"

"She's given up," Liadan said. "Not the throne, of course, but she might as well have. You don't understand how much it hurt her to lose Oberon."

"Has she tried to get him to come back?" he asked, almost instinctively.

As if he actually cared. He hoped she was miserable, petty as that was. The flowers forming Oona's grave and the blood staining Aeife's dress still came to mind all too quickly.

His aunt snickered. "She's too proud for that. But I think she's hoping he'll see the changes she's made and decide to come back on his own."

"Not working so well, is it?" Cahill asked.

All he had to go on was what his grandmother told him, and she was hardly a disinterested party. But everything he'd heard from Aeife made it sound like Oberon was as deeply in love with her as she was with him. A woman of her age and experience wasn't likely to be fooled too easily. She might blush like a schoolgirl whenever she talked about him, but Cahill felt sure that she was seeing things as clearly as anyone who was in love ever did.

"So that's really it? Titania's reformed?"

"Beings as old as me ma don't change easily," she said. "But I think she gets that it was her hatred of you Walkers that cost her her son."

It was hard to believe. But then, he'd never expected the queen to strip her sons and daughters of their titles, or to let every clan walk the Dreaming as freely as her own kin. And if she was trying to lull them into a false sense of security, allowing them as many purebred children as they wished was a strange way of doing it. His mother and sisters were growing stronger and stronger, empowered by the link with their children. And the children hadn't even come of age yet. In time, Caronwyn's strength would rival her mother's. Why would Titania allow that to happen unless she truly had given up?

Was this how knights of legend felt after slaying their dragons? Did they live in constant fear of the hatchling they'd overlooked, refusing to believe that they'd truly brought peace and happiness to their lands?

After a long time, he nodded and held the acorn up in salute. "Thank you."

She smiled. Then leaned across the counter and kissed him softly. "I should be going," she said after their lips parted.

Cahill nodded. He wanted her to stay, but also didn't. A kiss, his mother would forgive.

"Take care of yourself," she said before vanishing into thin air.

#

Someone was kissing him. Someone very, very good at it. Someone who smelled like strawberries and had lips as soft as down feather pillows.

Cahill's eyes blinked open.

"Hey you," his mother said before giving him one last kiss.

He smiled. "Shouldn't you be at the shop?"

"I got Fi to cover me."

Which meant Seamus would have Kegan and Aileen all to himself, making Fiona jealous. The two of them were too damned perfect like that. Instead of negotiating over who would get stuck with the kids like most couples, they argued over who got to spend more time with them. He and Caronwyn had worked things out pretty well, but Cahill still envied his brother sometimes. For that, and for being the best dad in the world. Cahill sometimes felt like he should surrender the coffee mug Ty had given him for Christmas that one year.

"Morning, handsome," his grandmother called from the foot of the bed. She sat there cross-legged, staring at them with innocent eyes, looking for all the world like a little girl rather than a beautiful woman. "Sleep well?"

A threesome? His birthday wasn't for a few weeks.

Had he done something to earn such a wonderful reward without even realizing it? Ty had finished the year with better grades than they'd feared. Was that it?

"Mom's gonna watch the kids," Caronwyn said. "You and I are bound for Faerie."

"All five of 'em," her mother said.

Oh. So much for that.

If there was a hint of passive-aggressiveness in his grandmother's voice, that was only fair. Neither he nor Caronwyn ever looked after all five of them on their own. Ty, Niall, and Wynne spent most of the day in school, and his mother usually took Regan to the shop with her. But school had just let out, so Aeife would really have her hands full.

"And why is that?" he asked.

"Because I've been feeling really horny lately," she replied with a naughty grin.

"Well," Cahill said.

Her Libido threw off heat like a bed of glowing coals and her brown eyes glowed.

She didn't have to say it aloud for him to know what that meant. His mother didn't just want him to chase her through the woods. She wanted him and Gallech to fight over her. Reilly too, as long as they were at it. The two of them had become something of a package deal ever since Queen Titania broke them.

He couldn't blame her. It had been more than a year since she'd seen her firstborn, by the reckoning of this world. Gallech and Reilly rarely left their grandmother's side, and Aeife rarely left Faerie. As much time as they had to give up just to spend an hour there, neither of them had been back in a while. He'd figured they wouldn't until their kids were older.

And he'd have been lying if he said the idea appealed to him any less than it did to her, if for different reasons. He loved seeing his mother let it all out, which she couldn't do here. He even enjoyed seeing her with other men, though it burned him up inside to watch. Plus it would be good to change shape into something other than a cute wittle doggie for a change. To run with other beasts and fight over a mate. Neither Gallech nor Reilly would offer much competition, of course. The queen had taken the fire out of them, and Aeife hadn't been able to do for them what she'd done for Cahill. But even so.

"How's that sound?" she asked, reaching down to take hold of his cock.

"That look like `no' to you?"

Her smile broadened.

She hadn't called her mother to the Dreaming for that reason, but he sort his threesome after all. A little one, anyway, before his mother got impatient.

"Thanks for that," Cahill told his grandmother as he kissed her goodbye.

"Thank you," she said, tapping his cock and making it vibrate like a tuning fork.

"Don't let the kids argue with you about bedti-" he began, but a very excited Caronwyn pulled him across to Faerie before he could finish.

#

"So. Are you all up for that?" Caronwyn asked the three of them, a twinkle in her eye.

Gallech and Reilly simply nodded. Neither had spoken more than a few words since they'd arrived. The way they carried out an entire conversation with one another through silent glances almost made Cahill think they'd become lovers.

Not that it was any of his business if they had, for that matter. That was between them and maybe Aeife, who he doubted would be heartbroken if they were to announce that they were no longer interested in women. There weren't many gay men among the fey, but there were a few. And many more who were as flexible about their sexuality as fey women tended to be. Some of the clans strongly encouraged pansexuality.

"Are you still here?" Cahill asked as his mother.

She smiled, turned into a red doe, and bounced off into the woods.

Without a word, Gallech and Reilly changed. His brother became a gigantic wolf with shaggy black fur. His shoulders brushed the lowest boughs of the great Faerie trees. For his part, Reilly became a massive boar with tusks as long as swords and coppery fur. The beast stood a foot shorter than his brother's wolf, but probably weighed twice as much. Either one would have inspired great legends if glimpsed by mortals.

He had to admit that he was impressed. He'd not thought either powerful enough to achieve such a dramatic transformation.

That left him with but one option. Drawing on all the strength his grandmother had helped him unlock, Cahill turned into an oillipheist. Where a man once stood, there was now a great blue wyrm with scales hard as diamonds and claws sharper than razors. His horns alone were as long as a man was tall. From snout to tail, he was more than a mile long. At least, that was what he saw in his mind's eye, and he saw nothing to contradict it. The wolf and boar standing to either side of him suddenly looked like kittens.

And they ran from him in much the same way.

Cahill let out a roar that made the trees tremble as he took off after them. He didn't so much fly as swim through the air, undulating like the waves of the sea.

The two of them moved through trees as effortlessly as ghosts would. They hadn't gone spectral, though. The ground shook and they left deep tracks behind them. That was a neat trick. He wondered whether it was Aeife or Titania who'd taught them to do that.

He toyed with them for a while, swooping down and passing overhead before climbing back into the sky. His tail and underbelly skimmed their backs and shoulders a few times, but he didn't so much as swipe his claws at them.

Until they closed in in Caronwyn.

Every time one of them got close to her, they paid for it in blood. Reilly's hide was thick and tough, almost like the armor he'd worn when serving the queen. But Cahill's claws wouldn't have had much trouble with steel either. And poor Gallech was lucky to survive the first swipe, even though he'd intentionally avoided all his internal organs. It took his brother several minutes to repair the bloody ruin Cahill had made of his left haunch.

The bastards were nothing if not persistent though. They chased his mother all through Faerie. Through swamps and up hills, into deep valleys and along the shores of lakes. And they'd nearly caught her a few times. Cahill could have ended it at any time, of course. Either by claiming his prize of dealing them blows from which they'd not soon recover. He didn't though. His mother was enjoying herself too much. And sooner or later, the strain of healing countless injuries would catch up to them.

Sooner became later. Then later became much later. Still they gave chase. Though his mother yet awaited the best part, Cahill began to worry about how long they'd been gone.

On his next approach, Gallech succeeded in crippling their mother. Cahill timed his blow to send the wolf flying almost the very instant that Caronwyn went down. If he was lucky, both his brother and his mother would believe that was an accident.

When his mother shifted back into her true form, she was free of injuries. The same did not hold for his brother. Not at first. But after a minute or so, the blood stopped flowing.

Cahill touched down on the ground and reverted to his true shape. Reilly crested the hill a moment later, saw the hunt was at an end, and changed back from boar to man.

"Well," Caronwyn said. "That was fun."

"Almost stopped you," Cahill told his brother, who grinned back at him.

"So. He's first," their mother said, untying her brown robe.

Cahill made what he hoped came across as a disgruntled sound.

For a while, he and Reilly watched in silence as Gallech furiously pumped his fat cock into Caronwyn's hungry pussy. The sounds their mother made sounded like fingernails on a chalk board to Cahill, though not because she was suffering. Because she wasn't. Her orgasm made the forest itself sigh in relief, the way Fiona's always had.

"Oh, fuck, baby," she moaned afterwards, her nails leaving one last set of red trails on his brother's back. "That was amazing."

Gallech's only response was to kiss her.

"Okay. Now you get to join in," she told Reilly, brown eyes glowing. "You, though," she said to Cahill, "have to wait until they're done."

Naturally. He'd been the least successful at hunting her, seeing as he'd made no attempt to actually catch her. That was fine with him. He'd wanted her all to himself anyway.

The two studs showed remarkable stamina. Cahill realized he'd barely worn them down at all. Granted, he hadn't tried his hardest, but that still surprised him. Had Seamus taken that kind of beating, he'd have been bedridden for hours. And Seamus wasn't weak.

His mother was too crazed with lust to notice, no doubt. They used her mouth, her cunt, and her ass, feeding her all the cum she craved without ever needing a moment to recover. For her part, Caronwyn shuddered her way through modest orgasms, screamed as violent ones overtook her, and ejaculated wildly. Climax by climax, she inched towards satiety.

Just as Cahill had begun to wonder whether the two of them would outlast his mother or not, Gallech tapped out. Reilly kept going for another minute or so, depositing one last load in his aunt's box before pulling out.

"Finish up at home?" he asked his mother.

She gave a faint nod in response. That was good enough for him.

With no more farewell than they'd likely have offered him back, Cahill took his leave of Gallech and Reilly. Holding his mother in his arms like a man carrying his bride across the threshold, he stepped directly from Faerie into the Dreaming.

It was almost dawn. Not as bad as he'd feared. He'd thought they might have left the kids with Aeife for two full days. Not only would that be unfair to her, but the kids as well.

It was going to take some effort to both please his mother and make sure that didn't end up happening after all. He took his mother to a hotel room and wrapped it in glamour. He couldn't roll back time, but he cordon off a little space where its passing would be slower.

"You let your brother catch me, didn't you?" his mother asked after he laid her down on the bed, a knowing smile on her lips.

"Why would I do that?" he asked.

"Because you realized how long we'd been gone but you didn't want to spoil my fun."

"Hmm. Sounds like a good reason."

"Good enough," she said. With a flick of her finger, his clothes vanished. "Since you just bought us some extra time, I think I'll forgive you."

"Noticed that too, huh?"

"I might've gotten a little caught up in the moment," she confessed, rolling onto her side. "But your mother's a smart cookie."

The brown robes she'd worn when they passed into this world became a red silk chemise. Sheer black thigh highs appeared, as did a pair of red heels to go with them.

"I love when you dress up," he said.

"I know," his mother replied.

He climbed into bed beside her. "So am I alone in thinking the queen never really sent Gallech or Reilly back to us? That they might as well be different people altogether?"

"I wouldn't go that far," she said, draping a luscious thigh over his legs.

"But they do seem off?"

"Different," she said.

Cahill frowned as he stroked her thigh. He had to fight, and fight hard, to numb his awareness of her sex appeal to a level that made coherent thoughts possible. She was as perfect as a woman could be and her desire for him was palpable.

"Please don't say better."

"Maybe in some ways," his mother replied.

He tried not to be disappointed with that response. It turned out to be rather easy, since his mother soon climbed atop him and guided his hands around to her glorious ass. With her beautiful eyes staring into his, her Libido humming, and her soft body welcoming his touch, there wasn't much room for disappointment.

Though his once huge cock had become enormous due to all the power he'd gained over the past few years, his mother's lips parted easily, welcoming him back home. She closed her eyes, buried her teeth in her lower lip, and began her slow descent. A soft sigh escaped her lips, which soon becoming a whimper. As inch after inch disappeared inside her, she gave voice to her ecstasy. She paused several times to let a miniature climax play out. By the time he reached her cervix, causing her to stop though a few inches remained, she was sweating profusely and breathing heavy.

"Kay," she panted.

"I love you," he said. It was not, perhaps, the most apt time to say it. But those were the best times. "More and more each day."

His mother smiled. Her hips climbed and fell, generating sweet friction. Inside, she lightly massaged his member. "I love you too, sweetie."

It almost sounded perfunctory. An automatic response. Yet it still gave him chills. He'd never tire of hearing her say that.

The hands on her ass then took hold of her hips and he rolled her onto her back. Her legs got propped up on his shoulders, her butt raised up in the air, and he re-entered her at an angle that ensured his every stroke would stimulate her G-spot.

"Mmmm, mmmmph," his mother whimpered. "Oh, that's sooo good. Don't stop."

And he didn't. Not for a long time.

His first few strokes were lazy. Glaciers moved faster. His pace gradually accelerated, but he took his sweet time working up to maximum speed. By the time he got around to fucking his mother as hard as he could, which was no harder than she needed, she'd already gotten off several times.

After guiding her through a few more orgasms, he reached a climax of his own. Cahill filled his mother's womb to overflowing, pulled out, and shot the rest of his considerable load on her stomach. The lingerie she still wore got ruined, but he didn't think she minded.

"You're so strong," she said. "Mommy's powerless before you."

He bent down and kissed her.

The chemise evaporated and his mother rolled over onto her stomach. Her hips rose up just a bit, causing her cute butt to jut out delightfully. She wanted lazy doggy, and she'd get it soon enough. But first he had to taste her.

Cahill gripped his mother's soft cheeks in his hands and made love to both her beautiful holes. Her sweet strawberry juices made it hard to stop after she'd cum. He'd gladly eat her pussy for days at a time without ever coming up for air. But she wanted something harder inside her just then, and he could only deny her for so long.

He teased her mercilessly, first, though. Ran his cock along her slit, tapped it against her clitoris repeatedly, and slid the tip in only to take it right back out again.

"Please, baby," she begged, "Mommy can only take so much."

One might almost think she hadn't already been thoroughly fucked by not one but three virile young studs. That she hadn't cum several dozen times.

"Sorry," he said as he pulled out once again. "It's just so slippery."

"That's because I'm so wet for you," Caronwyn replied.

In then out, in then out, he tortured her, giving her no more than the head each time. Her Libido became a thunderstorm. Each time he popped out of her warm hole, a bolt of lightning crackled. The air in the hotel room grew charged and his small hairs stood up.

That was when Cahill decided he'd pushed things far enough. The next time his helmet slid inside her, his foreskin followed. Then as much of his shaft as she could take.

Her body shook as a modest orgasm overcame her.

Cahill leaned down, swept her hair away from her neck, and planted a few soft kisses there. "More?" he asked, as if he didn't know the answer.

"MMmmmmm," she moaned. Which was apparently a response.

He kissed her again. "Or maybe we should sleep?"

"NO!" she said. "Not yet."

He smiled to himself and started pumping again.

Her pussy didn't dance for him the way it usually did. She was too far gone into the land of euphoria. But she didn't need to work her muscles. The feel of her warm embrace was nothing short of magical anyway. And watching the storm inside her Libido die, leaving a still pond, gave him a thrill. A moment ago, he had hurting with need like no woman had ever hurt. Now that he was inside her, she was at peace. Perfectly happy.




Homelands Pt. 08 Ch. 06



Cahill pumped back and forth for a good long while, creeping slowly towards orgasm. The fire of passion slowly rekindled within his mother and before long she was giving him her absolute best, physically and otherwise. She walked him right up to the line of sensory overload and then stopped. Enough pleasure to do permanent brain damage to a mere mortal washed over him. And he gave as good as he got.

"Cum for me, Kay," Caronwyn said. "Put another baby inside Mommy."

He didn't so much as slow down. Didn't remind her that they'd agreed that Regan would be their last. What need was there? Certain words didn't get thrown around lightly. Those were among them. She wouldn't have said it if she didn't mean it.

And he didn't need to waste a moment thinking about whether he wanted another child. The answer was yes. Unequivocally, unreservedly, yes.

Soon enough, they shared a climax, and he felt a new life come into being within her.

#

The tension within her built and built. She couldn't breathe. The multiverse shrank smaller and smaller, threatening to collapse in on her. It was the sweetest suffering there could be, for she knew that with each flick of Lady Winter's deft tongue, each twirl of her slender fingers, Titania crept closer, closer, closer to release.

Unseen hands held her down, pinning her wrists to the dirt below, while others traveled the length of her body. No one knew how to touch her like that. How to squeeze and caress with just the right amount of pressure. No one but Daphne could be trusted to take her nipples between their teeth like that.

"Almost...there," she panted.

Then it stopped.

Titania gasped for air. When she realized it wasn't the eye of the hurricane passing over her but an actual end to her pleasure, she huffed in protest.

"Tell me," Daphne said as she stood back up, "when will you begin?"

"Soon," Titania said. "I just need more time."

"I've given you time," Lady Winter said.

How could she be so cruel? Her poor pussy was throbbing, her nipples humming, and her Libido clenched tight, poised to explode. A few more licks, or a couple more taps against her G-spot, and she'd have reached the sort of climax Oberon used to induce.

But she had only to look into those cold blue eyes to know that Red and Black would have to finish their queen off later. At least the Beast had gone to the Dreaming, leaving Titania's two favorite toys free.

That gorgeous face, so perfect in every way, awakened the most powerful desire in Titania, but so too did it fill her with rage. Daphne made Titania feel ugly, and the Queen of Faerie was not renowned for her modesty. She was also made Titania feel stupid, soft, and weak. Too easy on her enemies. Too readily deceived and disobeyed by her own children. Titania idolized the Winter Queen, but she also hated her almost as much as she did the Cow.

One day, Daphne would see her as an equal rather than a pawn.

That, or Titania would carve the woman's breasts off with a rusty blade and feed them to her each and every day until the end of time.

The only color found anywhere on Daphne's person was the blue of her eyes and the red of her lips. Her hair was jet black, and she never changed it. The same went for her nails. She always wore the same black dress, trimmed with raven's feathers and diamonds. How did she make that look work? Why couldn't Titania take her eyes off the damn woman? Why couldn't she stop wanting her, even as she fantasized about torturing her?

"You want strong men," Titania reminded Lady Winter.

The stare this provoked froze the juices between her legs. Her labia and nipples turned to ice and intense pain filled her. A lifetime passed before she thawed out, and still another elapsed before the pain retreated.

"Please, speak to me in that tone of voice again," Daphne said. "I rather enjoy this."

"They're multiplying as we speak," Titania said, slowly sitting up. "A few more months-"

"You don't have months," Lady Winter cut in. "I can't wait any longer."

Titania almost asked why, but she held her tongue.

"In three days' time, you will deliver three suitable males," Daphne said in that deep voice of hers. "Three days thence, we consolidate."

Lady Winter had yet to explain what that meant to Titania, but the Faerie Queen wasn't sure she needed one. Divide and conquer was a strategy for the weak.

"I'll call the Hunt," Titania said.

"I don't care how you do it," Daphne said. "Just make sure your three don't disappoint."