Homelands Pt. 09 Ch. 03

That was somehow flattering, terrifying, and depressing all at once.

"You don't have to say anything," she said.

"I know what reverse psychology is, you know."

Caronwyn smiled. "Good."

"You're probably right," he said at last. "But let's not worry about what would-"

"I'm not worried about it," she cut in. Then her soft lips met his and he almost forget about their conversation entirely. When she wanted them to be, her kisses were mighty potent. "I just want you to know that I know."

For a time, they stared into each other's eyes, not speaking a word.

Eventually, Cahill told her, "I have a confession of my own."

"Okay," she said, managing to sound unconcerned. Her Libido gave her way though.

So Cahill finally came clean about Liadan. He had to get a little creative, since he'd promised her long ago that he wouldn't tell his family that she had anything to do with him waking up. But just as the fey couldn't tell outright lies, they could break the spirit of their promises so long as they didn't violate the letter of them. And after he got rolling, and saw how patiently his mother was listening, it got easier to help her put the pieces together.

"And that was the last time I saw her," he concluded. "The only reason I still think about her now and then is because of that charm. I haven't fantasized about her or anything."

His mother said nothing.

"Mom?"

She kissed him, but her lips brought no warmth or electricity. It was everything her last kiss had not been. Hollow and ritualistic.

"It's not like I'm in love with her," he said.

How could she tell him one minute that she hoped that he'd steal Fiona away from Seamus if anything should ever happened to her, only to react like this to his not-too-complicated past with Liadan the next? Maybe that wasn't it, though. Her reaction, or lack thereof, might have had more to do with the harm he'd nearly done by putting the flute in his father's hands. Or maybe just that he hadn't trusted her enough to say something sooner.

He wished she'd say something.

Her next kiss wasn't as cold. Didn't make his toes curl, but they were making progress. "A Dreamsmyth," she said, as if that said everything.

"They're not all like her."

"I know," his mother said with a sigh. "Teagan is sweet as be. If we were talking about her, I think I'd almost be proud of you. But she's not the Puck."

Neither was Liadan, anymore. So far as he knew. But he kept that to himself.

"The damn woman goes by the title of Lady of Mischief, Cahill."

Again, not anymore. Titania's children had mostly given up their titles after their courts had been dissolved. But he wasn't going to get anywhere by pointing that out.

"And don't tell me you didn't know as soon as you met her," she continued. "We warned you. Fiona warned you. You should have seen the way she fretted. Half of Faerie wilted."

He said nothing.

His mother drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she said at last. Sliding a leg across his belly, she straddled his hips and knelt up over him. "You weren't asking for approval." She guided his hands to her breasts. He charged the tips of his fingers with a little energy, and a few light brushes of her nipples brought them to attention. He felt her Libido swell. Saw a few spots of color appear in her cheeks, her lips darken, and her pupils dilate. "In fact, I'm going to interpret that as your way of telling me that you trust me not to overreact. That you don't want there to be any more secrets between us."

"Exactly," he said.

"I love you, Cahill."

"I love you too, Mom. More than anything."

They didn't speak another word for a long time. She took him inside her and they both gasped for air. Unlike before, they proceeded slowly, savoring every sweet bit of friction. Their hands roamed slowly, lovingly, over one another's bodies. Their eyes, however, did not roam. They held each other's gaze the entire time, hardly even blinking.

"Oh, oh, OH!" his mother called as an orgasm overtook her.

Cahill climaxed at the same time. His eyes rolled back inside his head, their lids fluttering spasmodically, while his neck stiffened and his mouth hung agape.

The moment passed quickly. He didn't experience anything like before. No separation from his corporeal reality, no fused Libidos. But it was still nice.

And there was plenty more where that came from.

#

Cahill gave his mother's ass one last slap, thrust all the way inside her warm vag, and emptied his load. When the rhythmic rise and fall of his testicles ceased, he pulled out and collapsed face first onto the bed beside her.

"Starting to lose steam?" she asked, propping her face up on crossed arms.

"Maybe just a little," he confirmed.

That last orgasm had been modest enough, but the one before had drained him what good. As had the one before that. He didn't think his mother was aiming to empty his Libido, but over the past hour or so, she'd slowly, inexorably brought him closer to that state of affairs than she had in a long time. Her skin was glowing, and none too softly. Her Libido felt like it was about to go supernova. Yet if he'd so much as put a dint in her appetite, alleviated the intensity of her longing by the smallest amount, it didn't show.

"Might be time to head back."

She shook her head, as best she could while lying down anyway. A lovely bare foot crept over and touched his ankle, then began sliding slowly up and down. The pleasure this brought him defied reason. "Nope. I'm not even close to done with you, mister."

And to think, just last night he couldn't get any play from her.

His body pleaded with the coalition government made up of his cock and his heart. "No more," it begged. "Let us rest." But the cries fell on deaf ears.

"I suppose there's no rush," he said, grinning.

The trappings of the forest had gone, but only because he'd semi-consciously put the room back in order. In the only sense that mattered, they were as far away from Savannah now as they had been at the outset. No more than a few minutes had passed there.

A spectral mouth began nibbling at his ear. Unseen fingers caressed his body. His mother usually wasn't too big on those sort of flourishes unless she was on the receiving end. But she'd grown more and more assertive the longer they went at it. It was a side of her he wouldn't mind seeing more often, though just at the moment he had his doubts as to whether he'd survive the current encounter.

"A change of pace might be welcome though?" she asked.

Cahill probably should have had something to say to that, but all he could do was breathe. Absorb the wonders she was visiting without so much as lifting a finger of her own.

"I'm sorry, baby," his mother said after a fashion. The slow seduction stopped. "I didn't realize how much I've taken from you. I just...got a little excited."

"Nothing to apologize for," he said. "It's a beautiful thing."

She smiled before rolling away from him, onto her back. A sheer black cami and matching thong appeared. Pink clouds of smoke appeared at the tips of her feet, billowing up to her mid thigh, then collapsed. They left behind sheer pink stockings and a pair of black stilettos with pink heels that had to be six or seven inches long.

The outfit was okay. Not really his cup of tea, though. Certainly didn't take his breath away and make him whimper like a newborn pup or anything.

"How about you take over for a little while?" his mother said, making it sound less like a genuine inquiry than an announcement of a gift she knew would be well received. "I'll just lay here and do my best to give back some of what I took."

"Works for me," Cahill said.

With the promise of abundant energy waiting just ahead, and no need to kill himself harvesting it, Cahill's body finally decided to respond to do as asked without protest. He almost felt spry as he crawled down to his mother's feet.

"Have I told you how handsome you are?" she asked as he took one of the lovely stems in his hands. "That stubble looks really good on you."

"Thank you," he said, massaging the foot as best he could through the patent leather.

His heart started racing. The anticipation he felt while fondling her shoes was matched only by the brief moments before he removed her underwear. He needed to see her bare feet. Feel them. Kiss them. Suck on her toes and swirl his tongue along sensitized soles. But he'd enjoy all that much more if he built up the anticipation for a while first. Forced himself to leave the heels where they were for a while.

"You've got some grays coming in," his mother observed. "Especially at the temples."

"I know," he said. As she must have known. They wouldn't be there if he didn't want them to be. "I decided it was time to bring them back."

He had as much trouble making up his mind about that as some men did their beards. He'd go a little gray, decide he liked the way it looked, only to change his mind after a while and return to all black. Then a few weeks or months would go by and he'd need to remind himself what he could do with the distinguished look. Wynne had once refused to kiss him goodnight until he made up his mind. She didn't care whether he kept them or got rid of them, she'd said, but all the changing back and forth was getting too confusing.

"I like it," she said. But the next time he darkened them, she'd tell him how good he looked. How youthful. And she'd do so with utmost sincerity. "You look like a man who might have a bunch of beautiful children he dotes on."

Cahill wondered if his mother had as much difficulty sorting through all the different roles she saw him fulfilling as he did with her. When she looked at him, did she see a son? A lover? A fertility god? A friend? The closest thing to a patriarch tolerated by the fey?

"You keep talking and these feet are going to get neglected."

"Mmm. Can't have that," she said, twirling her ankle.

He stuck his tongue out at her, the way Maeve so often did.

Of course, he realized his mother wasn't the one with the foot fetish. The ritual he was about to perform was sacred only to him. That wasn't to say she had any objection to it, or the role she played in it. For the most part, she seemed to find his obsession with her feet endearing, if not exactly flattering the way she did his equally intense obsession with her breasts. But it would be no different if he favored her elbows the same way. Yes, he guided her through some of her most intense orgasms while making love to her feet, but that was only because of the way he manipulated her body and her Libido while he did. He could have done the same to any part of her body, if sufficiently motivated. Sometimes did, too, if not with the same enthusiasm and care.

Tease though she might, it wasn't long before she was moaning throatily, her eyes closed and teeth pushed into her lower lip, her hands bunching up the quilt beneath her and her hips writhing. He hadn't taken either of those beautiful shoes off yet either.

In part because he simply needed to, compelled by an impulse too powerful to resist, and in part because it wasn't acceptable for his mother's feet to receive the same amount of attention and affection as his sister's, Cahill took forever to remove the heels. He licked her ankles and kissed the exposed parts of her feet, supercharging his tongue and lips so powerful bolts of ecstasy would run up his mother's legs and ground out upon reaching her vulva. Each little swirl of the tongue or brush of the lips delivered intense pleasure.

But he wasn't about to make it easy on her. Especially after that smartass comment.

He brought her to the brink, then eased up just before she climaxed. Again. Again. She soon started to plead with him, whimpering and whining. Her desperation grew and grew, but he remained disciplined. Only when he sensed that she might soon become angry, no longer enjoying her sweet suffering, did he allow her the release she craved.

That was the first foot.

He was slightly less torturous with the second, but not much. Only after slipping her shoe off did he dial things down. From there on, her ascent towards the peak of Mount Ecstasy was steady and without setbacks. No longer did he take her down every time he lifted her up. He kept her sensitivity elevated, and put a little something extra behind his ministrations every now and then, but all with an eye towards keeping his mother in a relatively stable state of satisfaction. Her third orgasm was less reminiscent of an explosion, violent and sudden, than popcorn popping, one kernel after another after another. Energy left her Libido in small, frequent bursts. She lay still but for the occasional twitch or spasm, various sounds of contentment passing through her lovely lips.

"Mmm," his mother said, her pretty little toes curling, "that was nice."

Cahill's only answer was to do the same for the other foot. He sucked her toes slowly and sensually, taking them in his mouth and bobbing up and down or tracing circles around her slender digits with his tongue. Meanwhile, his hands held the base of her foot, warming her cool skin and gently pressing against the right places. He kissed down the bottoms of her feet, flicked his tongue rapidly against the arch as he might her clitoris then dragged it slowly and softly down the coarse pads as he might her labia.

Her fourth footgasm was the least intense of all. She hardly even moved. But it left a big, goofy smile on her face, and her Libido thrummed a little louder than usual afterwards.

"This is the part where you pick up the pace, right?" his mother asked, with just a hint of self-mockery. The smile she gave him was languid and her beautiful brown eyes regarded him from under heavy lids. "Because I've been so good and patient?"

"No," he said with a mischievous grin. "It's the part where I seduce each and every part of your body as painstakingly as I did your feet."

"Good," she said. "That's my favorite part."

And so Cahill did more or less that. Not every part, but the journey from her feet to her womanhood was long and meandering. No article of clothing came off quickly. He visited pleasures on her great and small, guiding her through many intense orgasms and many more of the modest variety. Her breasts and hips, symbols of her ability to nourish and create life, received greater devotion than her altar usually did at the end of the ritual.

She had amazing nipples. Big, but not too big. Dark, but still pink. Sensitive, but not overly so. It wouldn't take much to overwhelm her, if he wasn't careful, but if he did everything just right, no supernatural intervention whatsoever was required to bring her to climax. And though he was so used to augmenting his efforts that he wouldn't have minded in the least if she did need a little help, there was something incredibly exciting about the fact that she could cum from nipple play all on her own. That the twin treasures were affixed to such big, beautiful breasts only made tending to them that much better.

No woman had hips as sexy as his mother's. They were wide and wickedly curved, but the waist above them was a fraction of their size. Her bones protruded gently, giving him something to focus his attention on, yet weren't so prominent as to make her look emaciated.

He might have enjoyed eating out her ass almost as much as she enjoyed having him do so. It wasn't just the way she reacted when his tongue swirled in concentric circles around her smooth, dark ring. Nor the smell of her juices, lubricating her nearby slit. It was the pleasure of holding her ass in his hands, the knowledge that he was doing something so widely considered dirty and taboo. The way her legs kicked when she really started to get into it and the powerful cords of muscle in her back tightened just before climax.

Those were his favorite parts, but he took more than a little pleasure in pleasuring his mother in other ways as well. Tonguing out her cute belly button the way he might have a more erogenous orifice. Licking the backs of one knee until the other leg thrashed the bed violently. Sucking her fingertips and kissing her ribcage and nibbling her ears.

Everything about her was perfect. She was sexuality incarnate. Beauty made flesh.

When he did at last arrive at the divine crevice through which he'd entered the world, he made everything all that he'd done before seem hurried and lackadaisical. He didn't so much as flick her shiny clit with the tip of his tongue until after he'd guided her through two orgasms, focusing exclusively on her labia. By the time his fingers entered her and began stimulating her G-spot, she'd cum half a dozen times. One climax had been so intense, he'd almost feared that she would snap her spine. Or incinerate him, leaving naught but a smoldering pile of ashes, so as to achieve a moment of respite from the crippling ecstasy.

A lifetime later, he finally decided that he'd drank his fill. He'd borrowed enough energy from her to destroy all of Faerie, rebuild it in triplicate, and destroy it again. He felt keenly aware of every atom in the room. Every electron. Every quark and lepton.

Was this how she felt all the time? Or did one eventually grow accustomed to holding all that power inside them? Did she take it all for granted?

"So do you think maybe you might finish me off?" she asked. "That was nice and all, but I was kind of hoping to cum at least once or twice."

Cahill flicked what would have been a love handle, if she were built much differently. She flinched, giggled, then pulled him down on top of her.

When their lips met, they fused together once more. Not as a result of their mutual climax, though. Just because. The walls of his Libido dissolved and melded with hers. He ceased to be Cahill and become one part of Cawyn. Or Caronhill.

A dozen different emotions swept over him. Some his, some hers. Except that way of thinking no longer applied. Those feelings were theirs. They were elated. Confused. Amused. Exuberant, grateful, awed, honored, and satisfied. Relieved. Secure. Triumphant.

And madly in love.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, they slowly separated. Became their individual selves once again. Their lips parted, eyes opened, and breathing resumed.

They didn't speak. Just smiled at each other as their hands found each other, fingers softly intertwining. His mother's brown eyes glowed brightly, as he suspected his blue ones were doing, and their skin gave off still more light, if less intensely. Even her beautiful auburn hair was candescent, which he hadn't seen before.

Cahill went to kiss her again, anxiety fluttering inside him as if it might if this was to be their first ever. Might they blend together again? Or would she bring him to climax? Perhaps without even trying? He didn't know, and relished the fact that he didn't.

The kiss was only a kiss. And no less glorious for that.

"I think maybe we should do something about dinner," Caronwyn said at last.

"Probably," he said.

She kissed him again, a small and fleeting thing. Then again, more tenderly. One more, then she slid out from under him. As she sat up, the brown dress she'd had on earlier wrapped itself around her naked body and her red shoes covered her pretty feet.

"We should," Cahill continued, "but that doesn't mean we're going to."

And with that, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back into bed.

She laughed as they wrestled, offering surprising resistance. When he finally lined his cock up with her wet snatch, though, his mother begged him to give her what she needed.