Homelands Pt 03 Ch 10

"Frank!"

"What, what?" I asked, rubbing the sleep away from my eyes.

It was my mother.

What was she doing here?

Natalie and Brianna were just behind her. Both look terrified. And pained.

I sat up. "What is it?"

"Oh, sweetie," my mother said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She reached out, grabbed my shoulders, and pulled me to her, cradling my face against her chest.

A brief moment of relief passed over me. She wasn't mad at me. It had sounded like she was, but she wasn't.

But as my neurons slowly started firing again, I realized what that meant. Picked up on her tone of voice.

My kids.

It had to be. Why else did they all look like they felt so sorry for me?

"What happened?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"You're not going to like this," my mother said.

You don't say.

Brianna burst into tears and pressed herself against Natalie. My sister held our cousin close and ran her hands through her hair.

Oh fuck. It was even worse than I'd feared.

That's when they told me that both Val and Josh were gone.

We had to assume they'd been Devoured, for they were nowhere to be found. And trying to locate them supernaturally offered no help at all. Mom had even thought to go to the echo of the mortal world to check for them there too. Again, nothing. If they were alive, she'd have felt something.

When I told them about my early morning encounter, and the way the fox had stared at me when licking my blood, they all agreed that there was only one conclusion to be drawn.

He'd used my blood to track down my

blood

. My children. And taken them from me.

When I burst into tears, Brianna asked my mother and sister to leave the two of us alone.

I was glad she did. But then, if my mother had said the same thing, I'd have been glad too. Maybe even if Nat had. At just that moment, sorting out the mess of my love life was

not

a high priority. I wasn't sure who I wanted to be alone with. All I knew was that I

did

want to be alone with one of them. I just couldn't bear having three pairs of eyes staring down at me in pity like that.

We didn't talk. My cousin just held me in her arms while I alternated back and forth between sobbing gently, demanding of no one in particular that they tell me why, and moaning in anguish. She didn't whisper soothing sounds, or tell me it would be okay, or anything. Which was good, because it wouldn't be. But I was glad to have her there, holding me. The pain would have been even worse without that.

Eventually, I couldn't cry anymore. I don't want to say I got control of myself, because I think I went into shock. But the sobbing and wailing and moaning was done, and the way people looked at me suddenly seemed like the silliest thing in the world to be concerned about. So I told Brianna to let the others back in.

As numb as I was, I wasn't entirely cognitively impaired. When my mother said that the thing I'd described sounded like a white fox, and explained what that meant, it more or less sank in. I'd thought of an arctic fox, which was of course just another name for the same animal. But I should have made the connection.

Our killer belonged to one of the great houses of Winter. He was one of Daphne's brood. Whether he was a son, a grandson, a nephew, or what have you, made no difference. He was her creature. Her fault. Her responsibility.

"We have to kill her," I said.

"Frank," Natalie said, laying a hand on my arm.

"No, I'm serious. In a few days, Brianna and I are supposed to have dinner with Iva. She'll know where we can find the bitch. If she doesn't want to tell us, we'll make her."

"You don't mean that," Brianna said.

"Why not?" I snapped.

Much more harshly than I'd meant to.

It wasn't Brianna I was mad at.

She recoiled. Then pursed her lips, and looked away.

"I'm sorry," I said, pulling her in for a hug . "I shouldn't have snapped at you. But I don't see why we shouldn't try to squeeze Iva."

"We don't stand a chance against Daphne," Brianna said.

"She's right, Frank," Natalie said.

"Be sensible, dear," my mother added.

That one burned. The others were being patient. Trying to talk sense into me. Because, well, I

wasn't

being sensible. But did my mother have to say it like that?

"We don't even know that Daphne ordered him to do it," Natalie said. "I think the best thing to do is find this guy, do what you have to with him, and pretend we never knew who he was or where he came from until we know more."

"If you don't trust yourself with him, I can interrogate him for you," Brianna said. Then promptly added, "Of course, I'll let you have him when I'm finished."

Damn, I loved that woman. Thinking about what she'd do to get information out of him gave me goose bumps.

"We'll go to that dinner,see what information we can get from Iva, and figure out our next move after that," she added.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed my mother giving Brianna a cool nod of approval. Which actually angered me. I wanted to tell her it was Bobby's fault as much as Daphne's. But I knew that was just guilt by association. What reason did I have to be mad at Bobby anyway? Things would have fallen apart between me and Mom anyway.

I agreed to Brianna's proposal then asked Mom and Nat to leave again.

#

The next day, I finally decided to go and see my mother. It was long overdue. And I'd been cold towards her the day before. She'd come to comfort me in my hour of grieving. I should have been grateful.

I found a rather unexpected scene unfolding in her living room.

By the oversized fireplace, Uncle Bobby was tied to a chair, a ball-gag in his mouth. On the leather sofa, my mother was locked in the early stages of foreplay with...my father.

"What's

he

doing here?" I asked.

Dad looked up. "Well whaddaya know. Speak of the fucking devil."

I heard my mother sigh exasperatedly. "Hello, Frank."

Walking further into the room, I saw that they still had all their clothes on. Mom was wearing a simple sundress, and underneath it, there was still a pair of panties. For his part, my father wore a T-shirt and a pair of jeans that were, as yet, not even unbuckled.

"My sister sent me to treat with your queen," my father said.

"You mean your daughter."

He shrugged. "Long as I was in town, I figured I'd pay a visit to my wife."

"Isn't he romantic?" I asked my mother.

The two of them exchanged a look, and I felt like we'd been struck by an earthquake.

It was the kind of look they'd have shared when I was a child and asked how my letters got to the North Pole. Like they each thought it was cute that I simply didn't get it, and wanted to make sure the other thought so as well.

There was no mistaking it. There was genuine love in that look. On both sides.

Maybe not the kind of love there had once been. It wasn't like I suddenly expected them to get back together. But there were stronger remnants of something that had once been there than I'd have thought, given all that had happened.

Mom stood up, wiggling her hips as she pulled her dress back down. "Frank, honey, why don't pick your jaw back up and come join us. You did come here to fuck your dear old mother, didn't you?" Then she looked at her brother. "Would you like to see that, Bobby?"

I thought a saw a tear dribble down his cheek. But he nodded assent all the same.

My mother planted a hand on a hip and tapped her finger against her chin. "Actually," she declared, holding the finger straight up now, "I have a better idea."

The rope that had bound my uncle to the wooden chair fell away, as if it had suddenly grown twice as large. The ball gag dropped into his lap.

"Frank, I want you to get in that chair."

My father laughed.

I just stood there, stunned.

"You heard me, young man," she said.

"Do as your mother says," Dad added, grinning ear to ear.

My uncle offered me an apologetic shrug.

I wanted to scream. At all of them. At my mother for letting my father touch her. At my father for abandoning us, and for being such a smug ass. At Bobby for being so polite.

"Now," my mother said, with a stamp of her foot.

I did as I was told.

To say I hated every minute of it would be a lie. I wished I did. But I didn't. It was definitely uncomfortable, in more than one sense, to sit there with those ropes biting into my skin and the ball-gag holding my jaw wide open for so long, all the while watching my uncle make sweet, tender love to my mother and my father using her like a cheap whore.

But it was arousing as well. More than a little, in fact.

If I'd been free to do so, I'd have jerked off furiously. Several times over.

After Bobby passed out, my mother decided to include me.

I nearly cried tears of joy at that.

The fact that she did so in such a limited way, that she didn't untie me or remove the ball-gag, just whipped my dick out and sucked me off while my father fucked her from behind, should have upset me. But the pleasure of being inside her warm mouth after being forced to watch passively for so long left no room in my mind for resentment.

My mother had never been the most talented in that department. But that was just a function of how stiff the competition was. Her skills were far from modest. So it hardly surprised me that, even distracted as she was by the furious pounding she was receiving, she had me melting in her mouth in less than a minute.

Actually, maybe it was at least partly

because

of the furious pounding.

Watching my father piston in and out of her more rapidly than any ordinary mortal could have evoked a complex set of reactions. Jealousy was foremost among them. There was also anger, confusion, disbelief, and shame. The latter was felt vicariously for my mother, who didn't seem to be aware that she ought to be feeling it herself.

But, lurking beneath all of that, there was intense excitement.

I'd tried telling myself that the reason I'd been so aroused before was because of Bobby. He was tender and caring and affectionate. If I had to watch my mother with another man, it felt like I should want to see her with him. Now, though, I was forced to admit how much I liked the raw aggression my father was displaying. How much I liked knowing that my mother liked that.

A few times, my mother rode me reverse cow-girl while my father alternately fucked her face or slid between her huge breasts. But for the most part, I had to settle for her mouth while my father had his way with her other holes.

An hour or so later, my father finally jerked off onto my mother's back for the last time. He'd apparently learned the trick to prolonging one's orgasm, because he absolutely coated her, from her ass to her neck, in glistening white jizz. When he was done, she scooped up a few globs of it, swallowed them, then cleaned herself up.

At that point, my father helped her to her feet, gingerly. Then he kissed her on the cheek, and said, "It really was nice to see you again, Ellen."

"Same here," she said, running her hand up and down his arm.

They kissed each other, long and soft, hugged, then stared into each other's eyes silently for several awkward moments.

Awkward for me, at least.

The fact that they were still in love with one another, on some level, probably should have struck me as endearing. Reassuring, even. It should have given me hope that the divide between House Farrier and House Orwin wasn't so vast after all.

But it mostly just made me feel like I'd been kicked in the gut.

The next thing I knew, my father was gone.

Mom let out a heavy sigh. "There goes a good man."

Was she serious? Couldn't she see the way he'd treated her? And her kids?

"You probably don't think so, do you?" she said, as she approached me.

I didn't respond. Not that I had any way of doing so, really.

"You know what I think is funny?" my mother asked. "That you feel so comfortable judging me for the way I feel about Iva, yet you think there's something wrong with me agreeing to have a little fun, for old times' sake, with the man I was married to for more than twenty five years." She shook her head softly. "Now, I'm sure that in your mind it makes sense to think that he's responsible for the injustices we've endured. I could remind you that Iva is the queen. I might even point out that the injustices we've endured seem to strike you as intolerable whenever you feel like getting mad at House Farrier, but fairly modest whenever someone wants to criticize your precious Iva. I won't even bother though, because you're pretty much immune to logic when your emotions get involved."

That wasn't fair.

Not entirely, anyway. Perhaps she had a point about my father. But she conveniently forgot to mention that one of the reasons I found her attitude towards Iva horrifying was that she'd expressed regret over the decision

not

to kill an innocent child.

Mom's nostrils were flaring and her chest heaving. Her hands were balled into fists.

"Forget it. This is just getting me upset. You came here to apologize, I assume?"

I nodded.

"Well, you know what, Frank?"

She never used my name this often. Except, of course, when she was furious with me.

"I don't give a flying fuck. You can take that apology and shove it up your ass." She stopped for a moment, gathering her breath. "I'm sorry. I know I should hear you out. Should take pity on you, if only for the sake of the children you recently lost. But I really just don't want to hear it. You think I couldn't see in your eyes, feel in your Libido, that you were sitting there thinking that you were better than me? Feeling

sorry

for me? God, that just makes me want to smack you."

I hadn't thought I was better than her. But, yes, I had been feeling ashamed for her.

Didn't a little part of me still love Lily, though? Even though she'd tried to Devour me? Hadn't I told Mel that if and when she Devoured Lord Furcas, she should tell him that Lily sends her regards? Was it so strange that my mother would still have some kind of feelings for my father? She'd been married to him much longer than I'd known Lily, after all.

And what did I know about the business my father was conducting here? How did I know that he hadn't persuaded his mother to refrain from doing far worse than she had?

I needed to admit to myself that, for all I knew, the only Farrier worth hating was Kaitlin. It wasn't right to blame the whole house.

"Do you still think

he

," she pointed at my uncle, snoring softly on the couch, "is the reason you and I are not together?"

No. At this point, that would be Brianna.

"Or, let me guess," she said, straddling my hips. "Do you think it's because of that stupid cousin of yours?" Her huge breasts pressed against my face, blocking my vision. "Do you think I couldn't have stolen you back from her at any moment, if I'd wanted to?"

Well, now.

The moment she said it, I knew it was true.

Suddenly, my mother slipped out of my lap again. She rested one hand atop my head. Her nails dug into my scalp. "You know why I haven't?"

If not for her nails, I might have shook my head no.

"It's

not

because of my brother," she said. "Truth be told, things have been unraveling between us for some time now. He's madly in love with Skye, you see. He thinks I don't know. But a woman always knows."

That didn't surprise me nearly as much as she apparently thought it would. Somewhat, yes. But after what Natalie had said, some weeks ago, it was far from shocking.

"The reason we still haven't gotten back together, Frank, is the way you treat me. It's gotten worse over time. Or seems like it has, now that I've known the love of a man who truly respects me. Because whatever else your uncle may be, such as dreadfully boring, he always has respected me. But anyway, whether you've actually gotten worse or not doesn't matter. I see it more clearly now. The point is, it was always there. From the way you judged me for letting other men be rough with me to the way you assumed I have a thing for black men just because I enjoyed fucking my nephews, who just so happen to have a black father. As if I wouldn't do the same if they weren't multiracial. As if there's anyone in our family who hasn't fucked every single blood relative they have."

The anger started to flush from my system. Tense muscles relaxed. Shoulders slouched.

And tears welled up in my eyes.

She was right. As always.

What a rotten shit I'd been.

The ropes fell away. But the ball-gag remained.

"I don't want your apologies," my mother said. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. But I do want you to fuck me. As hard, or as soft, as you like. I can't stand you sometimes, Frank, but damn if I don't miss your touch." She tapped the ball-gag with a finger tip. "And I've missed your mouth. So I'm going to get rid of this silly thing. But don't take that as a sign that I want to hear whatever you have to say. There's only one thing I want that tongue of yours to do right now. Got it?"

I nodded.

The ball-gag disappeared.

We kissed. Hungrily. Like we hadn't kissed in a very long time.

I wanted to taste her. To properly worship every part of my goddess. But I knew that the part about wanting me to use my tongue for only one thing was figurative. Just at the moment, she wasn't in the mood for oral sex.

For that matter, I guess I wasn't either.

I might have

wanted

to taste her, but I

needed

to be inside her.

Without using my hands or anything, I guided my cock into its rightful home. It took a little effort, but I'd done far more complicated things with my supernatural powers before.

"Oh!" Mom exclaimed. "Neat trick."

As much as I enjoyed having her on top of me though, at just that moment, I needed a position that didn't force me into such a passive role. I'd been passive enough as it was, tied to that damn chair. So I picked my mother up, stumbled over to the nearest wall, and rested one hand against it for support. My mother's thighs wrapped tight around my waist and her arms did the same for my neck.

"That's it, baby, use Mommy however you want me," she whispered.

That wasn't good enough either, I decided. After a few furious pumps, I let her down and instructed her to get on all fours. With eyes wide as saucers and glistening white teeth digging into her full lower lip, she nodded and then quickly did as I'd asked.

I fucked her as hard as I'd ever fucked her. At first, she egged me on, but soon enough, she lost the ability to formulate actual words.

Her great white orbs were soon pink and red. Discernible palm prints marred her perfect ass. She could have undone that with a mere thought, of course. Which would also dismiss whatever stinging she might have felt from the slaps. But she chose not to.

Perhaps it was that as much as her trademark trick of pulling her legs together at the exact right moment, turning her already tight sheath into a perfect vice, that sent me over the edge. I wasn't sure. But one way or another, I found myself filling the very womb that had sheltered me before birth with my own seed.

"Damn, honey," Mom gasped. "That was something."

"Far from done," I panted.

"Mmm. That's what Mommy likes to hear," she said, as she rolled over and sat up.

Those were just about the only words we spoke during our brief intermission.

A mix of anger, jealousy, frustration, humiliation, and desire burned inside me still, only slightly relieved by the furious assault I'd just launched on my mother's pussy. But I managed to gain control of my emotions and switch gears.

My mother's emotions seemed to be a good deal further from the boiling point. She'd been angry with me earlier, yes. And she hadn't forgiven me for any of what we'd fought about. But, at the present moment, she was more amused than anything. It was like this was a game to her. If so, she was definitely winning.