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.