Homelands Pt. 10 Ch. 01

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Author's note

Part Ten begins the portion of the series set in Winter. At this point, it's pretty important for you to have read the first nine parts of the story.

This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy and horror, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex.

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. I'll try to respond promptly.

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"So?" Kristen whispered excitedly as soon as the driver side door closed beside her. "Whaddaya think? He's totally your type, isn't he?"

Yvette shrugged.

"Oh, c'mon!" her roommate exclaimed, smacking her thigh. "Hell, I think he's kinda hot, and I don't usually go for the hairy, bearded ones. I mean, did you see his eyes?"

"Yes, they're blue," Yvette said, sounding to her own ear like Professor Adams, who never quite sounded like he meant it when he told a student that they'd made a good point. "That's not the only thing I care about, you know."

"Course not," came the reply, as though Kristen was perfectly aware of the point. But if she was, it was new to Yvette. Especially since she seemed to feel the need to point out every single pair of blue eyes that crossed their path, no matter how unexceptional the guy might be in all other respects. "Bet he's hiding some killer abs under that hoodie."

Probably. He looked pretty fit.

But that wasn't the point.

True, Zach didn't just have nice eyes. Though the many layers he wore made it a little hard to tell, all indications were that he was lean and muscular but not too bulky. The ropes of muscle she caught a brief glimpse of when he'd rolled up his sleeves and the round butt that filled out the seat of his pants were even a little drool-worthy. Plus, he was just the right height. A few inches taller than her, but not so tall he'd be hard to kiss. And had one of those thick, medium-length beards that drove Yvette loved to run her fingers through. Or nuzzle up against. Maybe even bite, if the guy was open-minded.

But looks weren't everything.

Take the best body in the world, put blue eyes in his head and a nice beard on his face, and that still wouldn't make up for an obnoxious personality. Which, in her experience, was about all one could expect from guys like Zach. From most guys their age, truth be told.

God, back in high school, Yvette had dreamed of college guys. How naive. It had only taken a few weeks at U-Dub for her to see that, if anything, college guys were worse. Especially ones who called their guy friends "dude" or "bro" all the time. She'd only heard Zach do so once so far, but that was enough. Even if he didn't seem to be as bad as his friend Curt. Plus, the very fact that he was friends with a guy like Curt said a lot.

Not that Kristen would have understood any of that. Particularly since she had the hots for Curt, and bad. The poor girl had absolutely no taste.

Okay, fine, Curt was tall, pretty, and incredibly fit. Too tall for Yvette's tastes, and too pretty, but she understood that some girls went for that. And, if one really need the attention of self-declared alphas to feel validated, then his excessive peacocking probably only made him seem like a good candidate for doling out such honors.

Yvette couldn't claim to be immune to that. Confidence turned her on almost as much as the next girl. But she was of the mind that quiet self-assurance said a lot more than loud braggadocio. Besides, there was something really adorable about shy guys too. They were more likely to be sweet. To treat her like more than a pair of tits and a wet hole. If Curt had ever looked at a woman and seen anything else, it would shock Yvette.

Good thing she'd agreed to spend a weekend alone in a cabin with him then.

Well, not alone. There'd be four of them there. And, with any luck, Kristen would likely occupy most of his attention. But Yvette was already wondering just how much damage it would do to her relationship with the girl she'd be sharing a dorm with for the rest of the year if she asked her to turn around and drive back to campus.

They'd only been on I-80 for an hour, after all. No big deal, right?

The truck's engine roared loudly then settled down to a throaty purr. Her friend smiled at her and shifted from park to drive. "Gonna be a fun weekend."

Yvette sighed.

She wondered how long it would take her to get used to everyone, even those with two X chromosomes, driving pickups. How long before she stopped missing Cheyenne and feeling like an outsider. It wasn't like she was a dang city girl or anything. Cheyenne wasn't Chicago. And she'd spent plenty of time outdoors on family vacations. But she still having trouble adjusting to how different life was in the rest of the state.

"But you're right not to get too worked up," her roommate said as she pulled out of the gas station parking lot. "For all we know, he's got a small dick."

"You're terrible," Yvette said, smiling in spite of herself.

She didn't want to be the kind of girl who smiled at such comments. Who really would be disappointed if a guy turned out to be too small. Or too close to average, for that matter. She didn't want to be that kind of girl...but she was.

At times, she felt like some other Yvette lived inside her. One that mostly only came out to play on weekends, but left the real Yvette bound and gagged in a locked icebox somewhere whenever she did. That Yvette liked to party. To get fucked. And wasn't afraid to go to some pretty dark and painful places along the way.

The mere thought filled her with shame. And dampened her panties at the same time.

Her friends from high school all thought her a complete nerd, the kind of girl whose favorite toy was an iPad rather than a vibrator. At U-Dub, everyone seemed to think Yvette was a metal-loving, wrist-cutting, antisocial Goth. Which was, of course, precisely what she wanted them to think. Dressing the way she did, to say nothing of the tattoos and piercings she'd picked up over the summer, ensured that the guys in her math and science classes didn't ask her for help on the homework or tell her that girls were supposed to major in English or Womyn's studies. And she'd not have it any other way. But while there was a lot about her that might surprise her current classmates, overall, their impression of her wasn't as far off the mark as that of just about everyone back in Cheyenne.

As they got back on the highway, Kristen said, "On a different note, if I might offer a piece of advice---you should try to make your voice a little higher. Guys don't like baritones."

Yvette stared at her roommate for a few moments, eyes wide. As a single child who'd mostly kept to herself in high school, keeping a fair bit of distance even from the few girls she'd considered friends, she was still adjusting to complicated rules governing interactions between women their age. Part of her knew that comments such as Kristen's weren't considered rude but constructive. But a different part of her kind of wanted to slit the girl's throat with a box cutter then step back and watch her slowly bleed to death. Or maybe-

Wow. Where had that come from?

Deep breath. Release. "Maybe Zach's not into bubbly blondes. With bleached hair."

Kristen flashed her a venomous look. Then smiled, laughed, and said, "You bitch."

Because self-deprecating humor was always the way to defuse such situations, particularly if targeting one's weight, Yvette then added, "Heck, if I'm lucky, he might even like women who couldn't have made the cheerleading team even if they wanted to because none of the uniforms were big enough to fit her."

Her roommate snorted. "Girl, those big boobs of yours are the only reason guys might talk to you after getting a good look at all your ink and chrome."

"I didn't mean my breasts," Yvette muttered to herself. How had her attempt to put herself down come across as highlighting one of Kristen's shortcomings? The girl might not be particularly well-endowed, but neither did she have reason to fear the scale. Unlike some girls riding in the front of that pickup truck.

What Yvette wouldn't give to see just two red numbers staring up at her. For that first digit to stay nice and dim. Unfortunately, the only way that was ever going to happen was if she switched the units to kilograms.

"I'll have you know," Kristen said, giving her right breast a squeeze through her pea coat, "that these little girls have served me well. Some guys aren't into suffocation."

In Yvette's experience, most actually were. The literal kind, anyway. They'd object at first. Maybe even offer some physical resistance. In porn, the guy was always closing his hand around her throat, and so naturally most young men thought it had to be that way. But Yvette always convinced them in the end that breath play was for everyone.

Of course, Kristen had meant something more metaphorical. She was trying to make Yvette feel ashamed of her breasts. And hadn't exactly failed at that.

The one aspect of her appearance that Yvette most often felt proud of was her chest. But the watermelons she had no choice but to carry around with her at all times could often be quite a burden. Either physically, like anytime she tried to get in the habit of going to the gym again, or because of the unwanted attention they brought.

In high school, Yvette had done her best to avoid girls like Kristen. Somehow, the two had been getting along reasonably well so far. She didn't want to spoil that. Not with all the horror stories she'd heard about roommates who couldn't get along.

"For the record, I dye my hair too," Yvette said.

She didn't. But everyone assumed she did. And she knew Kristen would believe her.

Kristen took her eyes off Curt's pickup, glancing sideways at the jet black sheets framing Yvette's pale face. "I wasn't gonna say it, but I figured. No one's hair is that black."

They shared an awkward smile before the task of keeping an appropriate distance between them and the other vehicle once more occupied Kristen's attention.

Yvette wondered if guys put half as much thought into managing their friendships. Somehow, she doubted it. Seemed like whenever they had problems with one another, all they had to do was hurl a few obscenities, maybe throw a couple of punches if things really got out of control, then share a few laughs over beer and it would all be forgotten.

When the silence grew uncomfortably long, she asked Kristen, "You think they're having a similar conversation?" Lest there be any doubt what she meant, she jerked her chin towards the Ford F-150 a little ways ahead of them on the otherwise empty highway. "Putting themselves down by way of paying each other compliments?"

"Dude. Bro. No way," Kristen said.

Yvette burst out laughing. She hadn't thought the other girl would notice that. Or think it anything worth mocking if she did.

"They probably are talking about your boobs, though. So we've got that in common."

"Probably," Yvette said with a snort.

"Jackasses," Kristen said, lightheartedly.

Yvette's reply was more sincere. "Seriously. Screw 'em."

Did the fact that they'd conjectured about the size of Zach's penis make her reaction a bit hypocritical? Sure. A little. But he could sit in class, taking careful notes, doing his best to keep track of all the notation on the screen, without knowing that all the girls around him were staring at his crotch. The world would never tell him that his most important attribute as a human being was the size of one particular body part. Some guys might have to live with the feelings of inadequacy that came from knowing their partners wished they were built differently, but the world at large would never judge them first and foremost by their anatomy. They could always compensate by making more money, or driving a nicer car, or being a genuinely nice person. Women didn't have that luxury.

"So remind me again, is this cabin going to have electricity?" she asked.

"Think so," her roommate replied. "Why, you planning on spending your time checking out what the geeks are talking about on Twitter?"

"Maybe," she said. "When I agreed not to go after Curt, I made no promises about keeping Zach busy." In other words, she hadn't agreed to much of anything, seeing as Curt did as much for her as bacteria samples did.

"Cuntbag," Kristen said, laughing.

Yvette shrugged. "Just sayin', you want yourself a dedicated and professional wing-woman, you've got the wrong fucking girl."

"Good to know," Kristen said, apparently thinking it a joke.

If Zach turned out to be a jerk, she was in for a rude awakening. Yvette would have no qualms about hiding out in her room, leaving an awkward third wheel around to muck things up for Kristen and Curt.

"Anyway, I wouldn't count on your phone getting reception," Kristen continued, "and there sure as shit won't be wifi. But electricity? Yeah. Think we're good on that front." She smiled broadly. "Don't worry, city girl. We ain't roughing it this weekend."

"We'll see," Yvette replied. "If Zach's lucky, things might get quite rough indeed."

"Oh, really?" her roommate asked with a laugh. "For you or for him?"

She made a point of looking out the window at the snowy plains.

"Probably should have guessed you were into that," the little blonde said.

Because, you know, girls with tattoos and piercings obviously liked pain. Duh.

Yvette knew she'd be a whole lot more justified in taking offense if she didn't have a taste for kink, but still. That was just one of the many things people thought they knew about her just because of her appearance, and she didn't fit all the stereotypes.

"It was a joke," Yvette said. "He'll be lucky if I let him kiss me."

"Ha!" When Yvette didn't react, Kristen then asked, "Wait, really? You a prude?"

Yvette kept her eyes on the plains rolling away beneath the clear blue sky, just now beginning to give way to the foothills of the Rockies. She was not at home in the more remote parts of Wyoming. Not the way her roommate, and so much of the rest of the student body, was. But she definitely recognized their beauty. Something about the majestic purple peaks looming in the distance in particular really spoke to her.

Was it wrong that she wished she wasn't driving out the mountains with a girl she sometimes thought of as a friend and sometimes a total stranger? That she wouldn't have minded at all if there'd be no guys there? Just her, her mom, and her dad?

Yes, the forecast was cloudy with a chance of handcuffs, but that was mostly because it would only take one or two drinks to bring the other Yvette out. Not because the good was all that excited about putting herself into such a situation.

"Nah," Yvette said at last. "May not be as slutty as you, but I know how to have fun."

"So I'm a slut now, am I?" Kristen asked with feigned indignation. "Just because I hooked up our first night in the dorm."

"With two different guys," Yvette said. "And let's not forget all the ones since then."

"Oh, honey, that ship has sailed. Couldn't even tell you half their names."

Yvette giggled.

#

The snow got heavier and heavier. By the time they reached their exit, Yvette was ready to bail and hit the first hotel they crossed. But Kristen was steadfast.

Driving up the mountain was no fun either. They slipped off the road and got stuck in the snow at one point, requiring the boys to come help them. Which they were all too happy to do, as it made them look all manly and helpful and capable of producing babies. Or something. Yvette might even have been impressed, if they didn't make it so obvious that they thought their odds of getting laid went up astronomically as a result. Like she and Kristen owed them sex for being somewhat decent human beings.

She became even more convinced that she'd made a big mistake agreeing to this weekend when they reached the cabin.

It wasn't the cabin itself. In fact, that much made a rather good impression. Part of her had feared a rundown old thing with rotting wood, a sagging roof, and cracked windows. What she found instead was a marvel of modern architecture. It was huge, brightly lit, and perched a few inches up off the snow on a concrete plinth. The freshly cut wood gleamed in the fading sunlight, the cedar planks still a light shade of brown that verged on yellow rather than a darker one more reminiscent of ashes. The steeply sloped roof didn't look prone to caving in, no matter how much snow fell overnight. And the second floor had floor-to-ceiling windows, meaning they'd have a positively stunning view of the valley below.

But that was part of the problem.

When they'd described it to her as a "mountainside" cabin, she hadn't pictured a structure clinging to the rocky mound like Spiderman would a dang skyscraper. Granted, she didn't think the thing would suddenly break free of its foundation and tumble down the mountain or anything, but its position sure was precarious. Yvette wasn't sure if she'd be able to take advantage of the breathtaking view or if she'd need to draw the blinds shut in order to avoid a crippling bout of vertigo.

"You okay?" Kristen asked as she put the truck in park.

"Yeah," Yvette said, though even she didn't think the way she said it sounded convincing.

"You sure?"

"Wouldn't you feel better knowing that if you fell out the window, you'd only have ten feet to go before you hit the snow, instead of, I don't know, fifty thousand?"

The blonde laughed. "We're not actually on a cliff." Which was true. They weren't. Just a frighteningly sharp incline that wasn't quite vertical.

Kristen slapped Yvette's thigh before taking the key out of the ignition. "And there's no way we're more than twelve thousand feet up."

"Oh, well, in that case."

"The time to tell me you're afraid of heights was hours and hours ago. Maybe days."

"I'm not," Yvette said. "I love the mountains, actually. Not much of a skier, but I always wished I was." She covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm freaking out. Probably isn't even the height. I just...you ever feel like something terribly bad is going to happen, and have absolutely no idea why or what?"

"Um...no. Not really."

"Forget it," Yvette said, grabbing her stuff and pushing the passenger door open.

Zach was standing behind Curt's truck, unloading a case of beer. A whole freaking case. For two nights. Did they think this was a frat party? If they expected anything to happen, wouldn't they need to be at least a tiny bit sober?

He looked over his shoulder at her. "Hey. Need help carrying anything?"

Yvette snickered, in a very ladylike fashion. "Thanks, He-Man. But my tiny little girl muscles can handle a backpack and a hand bag. Besides, I wouldn't want you to have to make a second trip for the rest of the brewskis."

For a moment, he actually looked confused as to whether there was a second case in there. She left him staring into what sure seemed to be an empty truck bed, trudging past with soft crunches as her boots plunged through the snow.

"Pretty fucking sweet, huh?" Curt called to her from the kitchen as soon as she walked through the front door.

It actually was.

Everything was light brown or white, not at all like the dark interiors one always saw in movies. There were no mounted deer busts or stuffed bears. The fireplace was white marble, rather than brick or cobblestone. The white leather sofas looked comfortable, the brown rugs soft and warm, and everything was spaced far enough apart to make the place seem larger than it was. There was something to be said for cozy, she supposed, but she wasn't at all sure yet that she was looking to get that intimate with any of these people.