Queen Yavara Ch. 51

Chapter Fifty-One

ELENA

When I awoke, my heart was pounding in my chest so hard that I could feel it in my throat. What had I been dreaming of? Nothing. That timeless void, that empty space in my memory that existed between my fall from the tower, and my rebirth in Jonias's catacombs. A chill crawled through me, though I was sweating bullets. I curled into the bedding, and suppressed a horrible sob.

"Can't sleep?" came a whisper from the darkness. In that moment, I wouldn't have cared if the devil himself were in my room; just so long as I wasn't alone.

"No." I whispered back to Mother.

She illuminated a candle, and went about igniting the nearby oil lamp. "You used to get night terrors when you were younger," she muttered, "I'd have to stay up with you until dawn. They started soon after your father died."

"I don't remember them." I moaned, and tried to shift in the bed. I was still too weak, and any strength in me had been exhausted by my climb up the stairs. I eyed the chamber pot that sat just out of reach, and sighed. "Mom," I whispered, "I need to pee."

She raised her brows, then glanced at my predicament. "I see. And um... how does Lady Jonias go about... keeping your modesty?"

"She just tilts me to the side. I can do the rest."

Mother opened the chamber pot, then moved behind me, took me by the shoulders, and pushed me to my side. I fished into my gown, grabbed my cock, and aimed it. With a push, I felt the sweet release in my loins, and I shuddered with satisfaction. I didn't notice how deathly silent the room had become until after my stream sputtered out. That was when the realization came to me.

"Oh, shit." I groaned, "Sorry, Mom, I shouldn't have—"

"It's fine," she muttered, though her hand was shaking against me, "It's well-past time that I accept the reality of what you've become—of who you are."

"Of who I am." I laughed bitterly, made myself modest, and rolled onto my back to look at her, "You should be pleased; you finally got the son you always wanted."

She scowled, though I could tell by the angle of her brows that I'd hurt her. "I didn't want a son, Elena," she said softly, "I was just afraid of having a daughter. A son would be nothing like me at all, but a daughter..."

"Well, your fears were in vain then."

"No, they weren't." Mother whispered. Her face was shadowed by her silvery blonde hair, but a flicker of orange light across her cheek showed that it was wet with tears. She turned around, and sat gingerly at the foot of my bed. "I thought a lot about what you said to me yesterday," she said softly, her voice shaking, "I walked for miles, just thinking about it. Thinking about what I could've done differently, about the things I should've said, or the things I should never have spoken." She laid her right hand over her left in such a way as their profiles were the same. "I used to look at you, and see me at the same age. It terrified me to see that, for I knew what you must've been going through."

"You knew nothing about me."

"I am your mother, Elena!" She hissed, whipping her head so that I saw the fierceness of her tear-speckled gaze. "You are of my blood and flesh." She raised her pressed hands, "You and I walked the same paths, only twenty years apart. The lonesome childhood, the single-peered life, the unsure years of maturation, and the fear. I remember the fear. I tried to save you from it, but I failed." Her hands moved together as she raised them. "The same path. Perhaps the scenery was different, but the turns were the same. I hid myself in a life of politics. You hid yourself in a life of soldiery. We were loners that hid in large packs, dedicating our lives to a distraction so that we wouldn't have to face the truth!" She broke into a sob, then corralled it with a shuddering breath. "Then, our paths diverged." She separated her hands, "I stayed the course my mother set me upon, and it became who I was." She moved her right hand to the ceiling, and opened it as if letting something go, "But Yavara rescued you from that fate, and you became who you always were." She turned her head away, concealing her face from me. "I'm so glad that you had Yavara to save you, Elena."

"Mom?" I asked cautiously, "What are you talking about?"

She took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "I never married after your father died. I was a woman fresh out of my teens, living in the prime of her youth, and I decided to stay a widow. People thought it was because I'd succumbed to grief, that no other man could ever take his place. In truth, I never took another man, because I no longer had to. His death was my liberation from having to feign the most intimate parts of myself. Like pretending I was interested in making love to a man." She looked slowly up at me, "I'm so glad you had Yavara, Elena, but there was no Yavara to save me."

She bore her shame plainly upon her face when she looked at me, then dropped her head, unable to hold my gaze. I opened my mouth, then closed it, unable to find the words for the moment. It was very easy to see me in her then. The perpetually-downcast face, fearing that someone might see the truth behind the mask if they looked too long; the hunched shoulders, bowed to bear the weight of the hanging head, and the mask that pulled it all downward; the hands folded demurely together, held tight so that they would not gesticulate, and communicate by accident, the truth behind the mask. Mother had always been so controlled, so calculated in every motion and movement. I'd always thought it was who she was; the political schemer, the thoroughbred aristocrat, but it was all a carefully-rehearsed and practiced lie. She was me-or rather, I was her. She is who I would've become had Yavara not forced me to take off the mask. Finally, I found the words that needed to be said.

I extended my hand, and flopped it lifelessly atop hers. "You're twenty years past me on your path, Mom," I whispered, "but you're only a couple steps behind me on mine."

She slowly raised her face, a question in her sapphire eyes.

I beamed to her. "Remember what you told me on the steps: one step at a time. Take it whenever you're ready. I'll be with you every step of the way."

Her bottom lip quivered slightly. Her face turned pale, then flushed at the cheeks. Her eyes strained to stay fixed on me. She gulped, and reached to her neckline. She began unlacing her gown.

My heart leapt into my throat. "Um... Mom?" I asked very, very cautiously, "I didn't... I didn't mean you should take that step... now. I... um... holy shit. I meant I'd be with you as you... you know... found yourself with... other people."

Mother paused, her fingers trembling as they clutched the lacing of her bodice. She looked so confused, so terrified and so lost, and her big blue eyes were flitting frantically, searching for a way out.

"Mom?"

Her panicked eyes fell on me. "I... I didn't mean... I didn't know what you meant... I'm just..."

"It's OK, Mom." I said with a comforting smile, "You're just confused. You're so used to wearing the mask, that you don't know what to do without it on. Sleep on it, and it'll start making sense in the morning." I clumsily patted her hand, and winked, "I know you'd never... you know. Take one deep breath, then take another, and let them both out at once through your nose. It's an old ranger trick. It'll straighten you out."

Mother nodded, then took successive breaths, and let them out through her nose. She closed her eyes as the air slid from her nostrils, and the tension seemed to ebb from her shoulders. When she next opened her eyes, they weren't panicked and unsure, but steady, and peaceful.

"Better?" I asked.

She nodded, her straight silver-blonde hair curtaining her face. "Better." Then she balled her hands into her gown, and tore it down the neckline. Her alabaster breasts jiggled free from the tear, each one pear-shaped and dotted with a small nipple, only the slight strain of age showing upon them. They shadowed her flat belly, the smooth flesh exposed with the lengthening tear until the triangle of her pelvis was exposed, then the blonde fur between her thick white legs. She let the dress slide from her curves, and pool around her buttocks, the cheeks full and plump, bulging exquisitely beneath the convergence of her slender back. She was gorgeous, a classic elven beauty of grace and curves, as voluptuous as I was, but soft and supple where I was hard with muscle. She kept her face downcast and concealed for a moment, then raised it to steadily meet my gaze. This time, I was the one shaking from head to toe.

"MOM?!" I squeaked.

"Every step of the way," she whispered, leaning toward me, her breasts pressing between her arms.

"MOM?!"

Her brow furrowed. "I never was a good mother to you, Elena. You became who you are despite me, not because of me. I was absent in all the important moments, and neglectful when you needed maternal love. I kept my distance, and now I regret it more than anything. I won't push you away any longer. I know I can't be your mother anymore, but... I want to be close to you."

"There are other ways to be close to me!"

She shook her head with a sad smile. "I've heard tales about the others like you; those that live in Alkandra. Horrible tales. You're just like them, but you have to keep it subdued here, behind closed doors so that only rumors can filter out. I've heard the rumors, Elena, and this afternoon, you confessed them with your own lips. Your kind cannot be intimate without being physical." She crawled toward me, her posture demure and unthreatening, almost kitten-like as she made her way to my side, then eased herself back to a kneeling position. "I've thought about this all day, Elena. I tried to reason myself out of it, but I see no other way. Won't you have me?"

I shook my head. "No."

Her lips screwed-up, and I feared she might burst into tears. God, why did she do it?! Why couldn't she have just fucking left well-enough alone?! But of course, it was I who had altered the dynamic of our relationship with my confessional this afternoon, but... I mean, how the fuck was I supposed to know it would lead to my mother trying to fuck me?! Did emotional trauma get her juices flowing or something, because that would be... well, that would be... just... like... me... Shit. The apple didn't fall far from the tree after all.

Mom steadied herself with two shuddering breaths through her nose, then eased away her imminent emotional breakdown with a slow exhale. Once again, her posture relaxed, and she became composed. She extended her hand, grasped the bedsheets, and slid them off my body.

"MOM?!"

She held up one finger as though to scold me for interrupting her, then she swept her eyes over my body. They moved up my legs, then lingered curiously on my crotch. I could practically feel them as they examined me. She tilted her head, trying to make sense of what she was looking at, then she continued her ocular adventure up my belly, breasts, and face. Her expression was cast in a very different light when we next made eye-contact. Her features were relaxed, her mouth slightly parted to yield her anticipatory breaths, her eyes rimmed with desire.

"You are so beautiful, Elena," she whispered, "I always noticed it, but I never truly noticed it until you came back to me in your dark flesh, all grown up and confident in your abilities as a woman. You were still my daughter but... you were different to me. I felt something I was never supposed to feel for you, and I was so ashamed that I buried it very, very deep. But it's out now, my beautiful baby girl. Such a beautiful girl."

She extended her hand to touch me, then curled the fingers back into her palm when I gasped. She assessed me with an uncertain bite to her lip, then eased herself beside me, and cozied until our bodies pressed. The soft warmth of her flesh permeated into me, her breasts pillowed against my ribs, her tummy formed along my side, and her thighs pressed to my hip. Her breath was slow and steady against my cheek, the scent of her wafting into my nostrils. I was too weak to roll away from her, and so all I could do, was lie on my back, and try with all my might to tame my body. I closed my eyes to force my imagination elsewhere, but my go-to boner-killer had always been an image of my naked mother, and now that image was hardly helping. Oh, goddamn my dark-elf mind! Was there nothing sacred to me? Was there not a single innocent emotion that I could keep uncorrupted?! But of course, innocence to a dark-elf was but honey to sweeten debauchery, to drag the depravity to new lows, to heighten the perverse and disgusting ideas that made sex so much greater. My mother wanted me. My prim, proper, uptight mother was a closeted lesbian, and she wanted me, her own daughter, to fuck her. The thought twisted itself gleefully into my psyche, burrowed into my precious memories, and turned them all into dripping mosaics of depravity. And she was right against me, her hot flesh molding to my curves, her breath filling my sinuses, her heart beating into my breast.

"You're getting hard for me." She said softly, her voice gentle and sweet, that of a mother's whisper. It slipped into my ear like velvet, and caressed my mind.

"Don't touch me." I hissed.

"I won't. Not until you ask me to." She smiled against my ear. "I've done my research on your kind, Elena. After I learned of your transformation, I've been gobbling-up every bit of news of the hybrids from Alkandra, trying to find out who my daughter had become. They say you have succubus blood in you. Well, a succubus can't be forced, can she? She's always willing. It doesn't matter the situation, or the person. It could be her own daughter, or her own mother." She kissed my neck so tenderly that it seemed to create a weak spot there. "Let me love you, baby-girl." She moaned so sweetly, undulating softly against me, "I haven't been with another for nearly twenty years. I'm practically a virgin again. Come on, baby-girl; fuck the hole you were born from."

My cock sprang, a spurt of precum frothing from its tip. Mother giggled. "I bet you didn't think I could talk like that." She gnawed on my earlobe, "There's so many things you don't know about me, Elena. Fifteen years of being a widow has led me to some... extensive self-exploration." She pressed herself harder against me, and breathed with a shuddering whisper, "I want to try it all with you." She overlapped her thigh with my hip, and I could feel the heat between her legs burning wetly against me. "I want you to love every inch of me," she moaned, "please, Elena. I know you're scared; I'm scared too. Take this step together with me."

I closed my eyes, let out a slow breath, and whispered, "Do you want me to call you 'Mommy?'"

She inhaled sharply through her nose, her body becoming suddenly tense. "Yes," she whispered back, her breath quaking with arousal, "I would like that very much."

I turned my face to hers. Her eyes were swimming, deep and blue, depthless in their love for me. She used to look at me like that when I was a child, the light of her life, the centerpiece of her future before my adolescence robbed us of our tender intimacy. But there it was: a mother's love, so pure and vast that it consumed me in its comfort and warmth. Yes, there were perverse desires tinging that sapphire gaze, but they were not kinks born from corruption; they were simply hues of the love she already had. It was beautiful and untainted, so unlike the desires I had for her. My twisted mind painted images of vindictive power-sex, of making my mother beg for my forgiveness while I abused her, or perhaps the reverse, for our sex would have to reflect the resentment that pervaded our relationship, right?! But she only saw in me, her daughter. It broke me. I hadn't realized how much I'd needed a mother until I saw that gaze once more, and all the horror and agony of the last two days came crashing down on me. In an instant, I was a little girl again, unable to cope with what had happened, but no longer needing to, for I had my mommy to make it all better. I wept.

She took me into her arms, and rolled me to face her. Our breasts pressed together, our nipples stabbing pleasantly as the pliant fat formed a squishing seal around them. She held my head in her hands, her fingers working delicately through my hair, and she brought me into her mouth. Never had I been kissed in such a way. It was romantic, yes, and dripping with sexuality, but the gentle slither of her tongue upon mine was like the soothing caress of her fingers; tender and maternal. She kissed me like how a mother would, and I kissed her back like a daughter, my lips and tongue asking for comfort and love, and hers responding in kind. She moaned between the seal of our lips, and overlapped her thigh with mine. My cock slipped between her legs, and she gasped suddenly, her eyes flashing open. For a moment, we just stared at each other, stuck in the anticipation of what was about to happen. My cock was nestled between her folds, teasing her entrance with my tip, throbbing in cadence with her slit as she salivated upon my shaft. Her breath was tense, her eyes reflecting my own uncertainty. We could go back from this, and never again speak of this night.

"One step at a time," she whispered into my mouth, "whenever you're ready."

"I can't move; I'm too weak." I whispered back.

She wrinkled her nose in a smirk. "That was such a cheap cop-out, Elena. I'm disappointed in you."

I stuck my tongue out teasingly, and she wrapped her lips around it, and grinned. I winked, and she closed her eyes. She took my tongue into her mouth, and took my cock into her pussy. Our eyes flashed wide open; our breath caught. The realization of what we'd just done shone in our gazes, our irises quivering in their bulging orbs. The sensation was more visceral than I thought possible, and the shock of it fired through my nerves. Heat. Wetness. Tightness. These were the fractured thoughts that shot through my mind before the lucid dawning came to me. I'm inside my mom. Only then did I realize the pleasure of it. And oh... oh god, what pleasure!

Mommy slowly withdrew my tongue from her sucking lips. "Elena," she whimpered, "we're making love."

"Oh, fuck." I gasped, "Oh my god..."

"It's OK," she whispered, her brow furrowing in pleasure, "it's OK, baby-girl. It's not wrong."

"Yes, it is!" I growled, gritting my teeth against the rising pressure in my loins, "That's what makes it so fucking hot!"

Mom wrinkled her nose in a sneer. "My baby-girl's a kinky little lady, isn't she?"

"I'm such a fucking pervert."

"Mmm," she purred, "show me."

I shifted as best I could on the bed, but my body wouldn't cooperate. I groaned frustratedly, "I want to show you what I can do, Mommy, but I'm too weak!"

"Shh..." she burred her lips against mine, "shh, baby-girl. I know you're a stud; you don't have to prove anything to me. Let me show you what Mommy can do." She wrapped her thighs around my waist, and rotated us until she was straddled atop me. Her legs spread slowly, separating more and more, and she sank deeper and deeper. She pulled her hair back with both hands behind her head, and stared down with fascinated eyes as inch after inch of me went into her until I was gone. She took a moment to process the new reality and sensations, her breasts heaving with her heavy breaths, then she looked up at me from the tops of her eyes, and flexed around me. I gasped. Her internal muscles rolled up my length, sucking me deep into her, holding me tighter than any forty-year-old woman should. She stayed upright, her hands laced together behind her head, her elbows flared to push her chest forward. Her soft tummy clenched and relaxed as her hips began to rock.