Homelands Pt. 02 Ch. 01

"Yeah, sure, why not. Would be pretty hot to see Mom take both of us at the same time. But maybe we work our way up to it slowly? I think I'd prefer that we take turns at first."

Mom patted the back of my hand. "Sure, baby. Whatever you're comfortable with. I won't pretend I wouldn't appreciate it if we did work our way up to that, but if you change your mind, that's okay too. It's certainly not necessary. Very nice, but not necessary."

Well, she might as well have said it was necessary. There'd been no mistaking the lust in her voice just then.

How could I say no after that?

Why would I want to?

I almost made a mess of my pants then and there at the mere thought that my mother, the same woman who nagged me for playing video games when my homework wasn't done or accidentally throwing something in the trash that belonged in recycle or so much as commenting on the attractiveness of an actress when watching TV, preferred to have both of her holes filled at the same time. Until recently, if you'd told me she only had sex a few times a year, and didn't particularly enjoy it when she did, I'd have believed you.

Or maybe I wouldn't have, but I'd have felt like it was only my overactive hormones and deranged fantasies that had led me to believe otherwise. She'd certainly never given much real indication to the contrary. Mom had played the part of straight-laced housewife perfectly until, well, a little after when she'd apparently started sleeping with Dom.

"No, it's no problem. Not like you've asked me to do anything too weird, like BDSM or anything. I mean, sex is supposed to be about pleasure, not pain, right?"

Mom flashed Dad a look before turning back to me. "That's...right," she said, voice as expressionless as her face. But the pause said it all.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have...I...." Without finishing the sentence, I stuffed a piece of toast in my mouth. It helped wash away the taste of my foot. Some.

Dad rested a hand on one of Mom's smooth thighs. "No one's going to make you do anything you don't want to do, son. But don't be so narrow-minded."

Mom offered me a guilty half-smile. "What your father means, sweetie, is that sometimes it's not just about what feels good physically. Sometimes, for some people, there's something to be said for the rush that comes from having your lover submit to you completely, letting you do things to them that they'd never let anyone else do."

"And," Dad continued, staring at her with adoration and devotion clearer in his eyes than I often saw, "there's also something to be said for the feeling you get when you know that you can trust your lover not to abuse that trust. That you can submit to them, fully, and know that it might bring some unpleasantness, but nothing you can't handle."

By the look on Dad's face, he was actually the dom and she the sub. It had sounded like the other way around. But I wasn't so clueless as to miss what they were doing.

The conversation was no longer for my benefit, but was now a way for them to reassure one another that they understood and appreciated where the other was coming from.

Mom stared back at Dad with the intense desire I'd been starting to think she only felt when incest was in the mix.

While I couldn't fight off the reflexive shudder at the thought that Dad enjoyed hurting Mom, and she enjoyed being hurt by him, there was something deeply reassuring about seeing that my parents were still madly in love with one another. I wasn't sure how sweet I would think it was if I had to watch Dad hurting Mom, but at least for now, while it remained an abstract idea, I could make my peace with it.

We finished up our coffee and toast quickly after that.

#

"So, we're really doing this," I said with a nervous laugh as Mom led me by the hand to their bedroom. My eyes were glued to her ass. The way each generous cheek swelled and tightened as she walked was almost unbearable.

"If you weren't already a man, you're about to become one," Dad said, clapping me on the shoulder. "I still remember the first time I slept with my mother." He stared off into the distance for a moment, smiling. "Tell you one thing. You'll never be the same again."

I'd almost forgotten that just a few days ago, I'd learned that Dad was having an affair with both his sister and his mother. And being reminded of it surprised me all over again, even though it probably shouldn't have, not even the first time. While I'd never seen her as anything but an ordinary old woman, I'd also never seen an insanely voluptuous goddess when I looked at Mom either. Until recently. If the supernatural abilities that altered our appearances ran in the family, then why would we be the first to experiment with incest? For that matter, surely Grandma hadn't been either. Maybe she'd been initiated by her parents, the same as I was about to be. And them by theirs.

I shuddered at the thought. But whether it was with some residual revulsion or arousal, I wasn't quite sure. Both, probably.

After we got to their bedroom, Dad immediately began to slip out of his clothes. Despite myself, I found myself watching. But then, why should I be ashamed if I did? I was about to share his wife with him. And when it came time for the main event, I'd find myself a lot closer to him than I'd ever expected to be. They'd both made it clear that there was no reason to be uncomfortable with that. Behaving as if the very sight of him threatened my sexuality just might make things uncomfortable for all of us though.

Dad was a damn good looking man. He was taller than me, if only by a few inches. And a lot narrower in the waist, though neither of us had any fat to speak of. He might not have had my muscle mass, but he was no less blessed with tone and definition. His face was ruggedly handsome, whereas mine had a boyish charm. His salt-n-pepper Van Dyke gave him a look of maturity but not in a stodgy, professorial way, as a full beard might have.

I wasn't aroused by my father. But I was in awe of him. Even now that my body had been transformed almost as profoundly as Mom's had been, I found myself jealous of him.

Then Mom undressed too, and all thoughts of my father evaporated.

Unlike Dad, she was just undressing on the way to changing into an even more alluring outfit. She slipped on a pair of sheer white thigh-highs attached to a lacy black garter, a black bra with white floral embroidery on the cups, and a pair of black patent-leather pumps. Then she applied some more makeup. Deep red lipstick made her full lips stand out even more, and a combination of mascara, kohl, and eye-shadow further accentuated the beauty of her big brown eyes and her porcelain skin. Finally, she added very light sprays of a gentle perfume to her neck, under her arms, and between her legs.

I stared at that last site. Her labia were prominent and puffy. They were also slick with her juices already. Those beautiful folds were glistening with her arousal. As I'd noticed the other day, she'd trimmed her hair so that her pussy lips were completely exposed, but the tuft of curls carved into a triangle sitting above made sure that I would not forget that I was about to experience a real woman.

"You don't normally leave your clothes on, do you?" Mom asked me,. "Don't you want to show Mommy what she's working with?"

I cleared my throat and hurriedly stripped out of my clothes.

Mom planted one hand on her hip and, with the other, tapped a finger against her lips.

I studied myself in the mirror beside her as she looked me up and down. Women found me reasonably attractive even when I wore my ordinary visage. I'd have liked to be taller and fitter, but the truth was, the main reason I wasn't more experienced with women was because I was too timid, not because they had no interest in me.

Though still not the tallest guy around, I wasn't as short as I ordinarily was. My waist was a few pants sizes smaller, if still not as slender as my father's. I'd gained a ton of hard muscle too. I'd never seen a more well defined eight-pack, nor arms that thick. Not on a real person. Only in magazines.

My body hair wasn't as thick as it normally was either. Less like the pelt of fur that made some of my friends jokingly call me the missing link and more like a modest reminder of my masculinity that nonetheless did little to obscure the thick, ripped muscle beneath.

And the changes that had taken place between my legs were no less dramatic.

Rather than the modest endowment that you'd be complimenting if you described as average in size, a long, thick, smooth and hairless cock jutted out in front of me like a miniature spear. It was almost half again as long as it should have been, and the same was true of its girth. The swollen head looked like a mushroom cap, and was wider than the thickest part of the shaft.

"Oh my," Mom said. "Don't tell me it's that big naturally."

I laughed. "I wish."

Mom whistled. "You've figured out how to do that already?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Dad laughed. "He doesn't even get it." Turning to look at me, stroking a cock that was even bigger than mine, he said, "Most of us look good when we drop our mortal disguises. Over time, the difference tends to get bigger, both because our everyday forms naturally become less attractive as we age but also because the baseline for our other selves tends to improve a little as we get stronger and more experienced. And when in these forms, we can control our bodies. But it takes a lot of effort. I couldn't make myself that big, even for a short while, until years after I discovered my abilities. If I didn't make a point of it, I'd barely be any bigger than in my mortal form."

"But I didn't even do anything," I said.

"Hush," Mom said, walking towards me slowly. "He doesn't need to hear about any of that now. Plenty of time for teaching him how it all works later."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and slid a hand around Mom's impossibly narrow waist as she closed the last few inches between us. She ran her hands over my barrel chest, purring like a damned kitten. Pre-cum leaked out the tip of my diamond-cutter.

Just as I was about to lean in for a kiss, Mom popped down to her haunches, bounced about a bit, and started stroking me furiously. "It's absolutely gorgeous, honey."

Having no idea what to say, I just stared down in disbelief as the woman who'd probably last seen me naked when giving me a bath in the kitchen sink stared hungrily at my hard cock, licked her lips, and slowly took me into her mouth.

Little more than the bulging mushroom cap had passed her lips before I lost control. My balls jumped up and down as they worked their hardest to pump my seed into my mother's mouth. She giggled but didn't take my helmet out. I felt her tongue sliding back and forth over the tip of my cock, lapping up her son's cum. I held her silky hair in one hand and tried to resist the impulse to buck my hips back and forth, to fuck her face. A few painfully short moments later, she stood up, smiling, and kissed me on the cheek before turning on a heel and heading for the bed.

And so ended the first blowjob my mother ever gave me.

I almost cried.

My father was having himself a good old laugh. "Walk softly, carry a big stick, and bust a load in less than a minute? To think, here I was feeling intimidated by my own son."

"Sweetie," Mom said as she crawled towards him from the other side of the bed, positioning herself to do the same for him as she had for me. "That's not nice. He was just really nervous. You watch. He'll show me what's what soon enough." She turned to look at me as she lowered her face towards my father's stiff dick. "Isn't that right, baby?"

I sure hoped so.

Dad held out a long time. Yet I was pretty sure that wasn't because Mom didn't know what she was doing. I'd hardly had the chance to figure that out for myself, but judging by the way Dad's eyes rolled back in his head, his muscles contracted and loosened erratically, and the way he moaned, hissed and sighed like he was experiencing the most intense pleasure of his life, it seemed safe to say Mom was quite skilled. Nonetheless, it took ten whole minutes before Mom started swallowing one mouthful after another.

Dad slipped out of bed, and I noticed that he was sweating. Not profusely, but still. From a fucking blowjob. I could only imagine what that must have been like. What I wouldn't give to be able to enjoy Mom's ministrations that long.

"Get over there and tend to your mother's needs," he said. "Here's a little fatherly advice. Don't offer to go first. And while you should never go down on any girl you don't plan on seeing again, whether she goes down on you or not, if you care about her, always return the favor. And take the time to learn how to do it right."

For a moment, I simply stood there, scratching my head, too confused to respond. I'd have expected Dad, the inventor of the man-points system, to insist that a guy should never have to go down on a woman at all, ever, no matter the circumstances. I'd heard Dom say as much. It seemed to be the way assholes proved how manly they were.

Myself, I never slept with women I never planned to see again, and I took great pleasure in servicing the women I was with. Regardless of whether they went down on me too.

I really wasn't sure what to make of my father's advice. It sounded somewhat obnoxious, but at the same time, was a whole lot more nuanced than anything I'd ever heard from Dom.

At any rate, if it was worthy of further consideration, that was for another day.

Mom lay on her back, legs spread wide, teasing herself with her long, red nails. "Do as your father says, Frank." Then she broke role and giggled like a little girl.

The incongruity of it all was almost overwhelming. She looked like a woman in her twenties. Maybe late twenties or early thirties, if you looked closely enough. At times, she sounded even younger. But, at least some of the time, she talked like my mother. As she had just there. Of course, most of the time, when she told me to do as my father said, she wasn't talking about eating pussy. But by the tone of her voice, right up until that little giggle, you almost wouldn't have known that she was now either.

I didn't need to be turned on any more. Wasn't sure I could handle being much more aroused. But the inability to get a handle on exactly who I was about to pleasure orally had my heart pounding so hard I could feel my ears throbbing.

As I lay on my stomach before her and went to work, the unsettling juxtaposition only grew more intense. Mom moaned softly, writhing her hips, guiding me gently with a hand on the back of my head. As she did, she whispered the kind of comments I'd feared she'd nag me with. But even though I was listening to my mother telling me this, that and the other thing that I was doing wrong, she was doing so in the sexiest, breathiest voice, a voice dripping with desire. Being told "No, not like that, honey," or, "I know I just said right there, but you can't just focus on one spot the whole time," every few seconds wasn't exactly fun, but it was a lot more tolerable knowing how excited my mother was.

So I did my best to take the comments for what they were, and adjusted my approach every time she suggested some course correction. Part of me was tempted to ask her to back off a bit, but, truth be told, she smelled and tasted so good, I didn't want to pull myself away from her beautiful little lady for more than a moment anyway. For the most part, she tasted like other women. But there was just the faintest hint of blackberries and raspberries mixed in with her salty juices. Not overpowering. Not like candy. Just a nice little reminder that she wasn't just any woman, but a being of supernatural beauty.

That made me wonder if I tasted like other guys did, or if maybe there was a little hint of sweetness to my secretions as well. Probably so. Maybe I'd ask Mom.

Later. When I wasn't busy with a mouth full of her delicious pussy.

"Yes, that's it. Don't be shy about it," she said, as I flicked the stiff tip of my tongue back and forth over her clitoris. "Other girls might not be able to take...oh, oh...too much direct stimulation, but...fuck yes...we're different. Just keep going. Oh, but, sweetie, watch your teeth. Nobody wants that."

I started to apologize, but the moment my head pulled back, she pressed me back down.

"Don't apologize. Mommy wants you to keep going. Just don't do it again."

Before long, at her instruction, I introduced my fingers. She guided me through the proper use of them. I'd never considered twirling my hand around while still inside a woman like that before. I'd start with my palm facing down, reaching deep towards the back of her womb, then spin around, fingers curled, letting my knuckles press gently against her labia as I did. Then, curling my fingers back towards me, I'd focus on stimulating her G-spot. It was a move that was easy to overdo, as I learned the hard way. But learn I did. After she corrected me, I just threw in a few twirls here and there.

Thankfully, Mom was just as forthcoming with praise for what I was doing right as she was constructive criticism when that was called for. And after a few minutes, what I was doing right seemed to be, well, everything.

Mom's breathing accelerated, her hips started pumping up and down gently, and her thighs squeezed more tightly against my head. Or they fell flat on the bed when all the tension went out of her body. One way or the other, I was soon receiving plenty of feedback, but not one bit of it was verbal. Mom couldn't seem to form an actual word. She just grunted, moaned and sighed. Then her juices went from watery to thick and phlegmy, the berry taste growing more and more pronounced. Blood rushed to her labia, darkening her pink folds. I guided her through a powerful orgasm that seemed to go on forever.

Finally, she collapsed flat on her back, arms splayed out beside her.

I didn't need her to tap me on the back of the head to know that she needed some time to recover. She did all the same. But I didn't mind that she seemed to assume I couldn't figure it out on my own. I was too busy feeling relieved that I'd managed to make Mom happy. The lazy smile on her face, a smile I'd ordinarily associate with narcotics, made my heart swell. I thought maybe I finally understood why Mom had always said that she looked forward to Christmas every bit as much as we did. Seeing that you could bring such happiness to someone for whom you cared deeply was the best gift anyone could receive.

Dad grunted, told me "Good job," through gritted teeth, and climbed up into bed.

I walked up to the top of the bed, leaned down and kissed Mom on the forehead.

Or, that was my intent. She pulled me down and kissed me deeply, as if the fact that I was coming at her sideways wasn't at all awkward. After a minute or two of that, she let me up and gasped for air.

"That as amazing, baby. You're a fast learner. And thank you for being so open to feedback. That's the mark of a great lover."

"Yeah, yeah, the kid's doing great. We should put a big ol' gold star up on the fridge," Dad said, positioning himself to enter Mom missionary style.

Mom laughed, ran a hand over her husband's face. "Oh, honey, don't be jealous. The love a mother shares with her son is different than with her husband. You don't think I'm under the impression that it's any different with you and your mother, do you?"

"Who's jealous? I'm just impatient. My cock needs to be inside you."

Mom gasped as Dad slid inside her. Then wrapped her fingers around his biceps and hooked her thighs around his back, trying her best to pull him in deeper, even after he was already in as deep as he could get. It was almost a wonder that he managed to pull out before thrusting back in with how hard her thighs seemed to be pressing against his back. But he did. In fact, he jackhammered into her faster than was humanly possible. From his shoulder blades down, he was a blur.