Homelands Pt. 11 Ch. 01

But his hands were so strong, and his lips so warm.

To say nothing of how good he smelled. Or how much she loved the feel of his hard abs, downy fur, and growing erection. Her father was more animal than man. But part of her didn't mind. Wanted nothing more than a feral beast to go crazy on her.

Finally, he pushed her away. But the wild look in his eyes, the blue light radiating from them, told her that he was far from done with her. "How long you think your brother might last?" he asked, letting breath warm with lust waft against her.

"Probably not long, to be honest," she said. "I mean, can anyone? With her?"

He snorted. "Not really."

"I'm sure you can. But he's not you."

A wolfish grin. "No, he isn't." He kissed her again, pawing at her breasts roughly. Her nipples quickly started to hurt, though not in an altogether bad way. "We better not go far then," he said when he finally came up for air.

Soon enough, Yvette was back down on the stairs. And there were tears in her eyes once more. But she wouldn't have had it any other way.

#

Her father stopped mid-thrust.

"What is it?" Yvette asked, trying to pull him in with the legs she'd wrapped around his back. His dick felt so good inside her, and he'd been driving at just the right angle. Even without him staring into her eyes with such intensity, tugging on her hair with just the right amount of pressure, and pressing his other hand over her throat, she'd be headed towards another orgasm. As it was, the imminent climax was likely to be epic. She really needed him to keep going. "Please," she whimpered, before leaning up to bite at his scraggly beard.

"It's her," he said.

Then he slammed into her real hard.

And quickly pulled back and did it again. And again. Several quick thrusts hit Yvette at lightning speed, sending her over the edge.

Her eyes rolled back in her head and her eyelids spasmed. Her mouth hung agape, a frozen scream caught in her throat. Waves of pleasure swept over Yvette, warm followed by bitter cold. All over her body, goose bumps formed. Then faded, then formed again, pebbling her skin. Her nipples hardened to the point that her piercings caused her pain.

For a few moments, she rode the orgasm, feeling as though she might burst into a thousand little crystalline pieces at any moment. It was the best thing she'd ever felt, but almost too much. Just as she was convinced the intensity actually would overwhelm her, shattering her very essence, Yvette's consciousness slipped out of her body.

She forgot all about the varied sensations, physical as they were in nature. Forgot even her name. There was but a floating intelligence, surrounded by endless calm serenity and gentle euphoria. It stared down at the handsome man kneeling atop the busty woman with too many tattoos and piercings, regarding them with a detached curiosity.

They looked perfect together. So alike, yet so different. His body was hard, hers soft. His skin had a little color to it, hers virtually none at all. But both had jet black hair and ice blue eyes. And the way she embraced him as her body convulsed bespoke a need more powerful than most couples would ever experience.

Their lips danced awkwardly, one set rushing forward while the other stood still or even slipped away. But neither gave up. Uncoordinated though their efforts might be, they needed each other. Desperately. That small little connection was of paramount importance to them. If the entity watching them had a mouth, it might have smiled.

Some might find the girl attractive enough, what with those huge breasts, flat stomach, slim legs, and perfect hair. But she simply wasn't in the same league as her guy. Or so the disembodies sentience felt. He was somewhere between extremely handsome and blindingly beautiful, whereas she was merely pretty, with relatively thin lips and small eyes. He had an amazing body whereas hers would only appeal to those who didn't care much for proportionality or symmetry. His waist was remarkably narrow, only a few inches thicker than hers. Yet his shoulders were broader than might have been biologically possible for a man of his height, which was right around average. The dick he was slowly withdrawing from her hungry snatch was huge, but not so freakishly oversized that a woman might worry about being ripped open or poked in the lungs. Just big enough, and thick enough, to make mouths water. To enable him to push deep even if they experimented with more exotic positions. His physique was perfect as well. Lean without being so lean as to leave him looking like a flayed man, raw muscles exposed to the open air. And he had just the right amount of bulk. All the right parts of him bulged, but he could move like a predator rather than a lumbering giant. His back and upper arms were hairless, but his chest, abdomen, legs and forearms were thickly covered with short dark hair. Watching the two of them together, the being-with-no-name both envied and pitied the girl, for though she had the most perfect man atop her at the moment, their union couldn't possibly last.

Sadly, the sentience soon fell back into the girl's body. And remembered that it did indeed belong to her body, however loose the tether had been a moment before. The infinite contentment that had left Yvette free of all pain and worry and intense emotions, both positive negative, slipped through her fingers once more. Physical sensation returned to her, and she became aware of the fading reverberations of her climax.

Of course, even though they were dying out quickly, the aftereffects left her feeling pretty damn good. And she also became aware of her father's masculine scent, which if bottled would allow countless man to dramatically improve their romantic prospects.

But the loss still saddened her.

Her father had sent her to that happy place before, and no doubt would again before too long, but it was always for a brief time. Never long enough. Yvette longed powerfully to escape her body once and for all. To enter the blissful state that had temporarily erased her name and individual identity and remain there for all eternity.

"Let's go," Lance said, wrapping shadows around him from the waist down. The ethereal darkness solidified, becoming leather pants. "I told you, she's not to be kept waiting."

"How do you know?" she asked, too dizzy from her intense climax to think better of it.

Her head was still spinning and lungs pumping like bellows. The lingering aftershocks made her pussy quiver, her stomach churn, and her toes tingle. Dang, Lance was good. He hurt her at times, as Zach never would, but she liked that more than she'd ever admit to her sweet brother. And when he aimed to please? Forget it. He was without equal. Oh, Zach was better with his tongue. In time, Yvette suspected, he could be shaped into a true master of cunnilingus. But she'd never feel the broad range of sensations with her brother that she did with her father. With Lance, Yvette might feel a fire burning inside her even as her neck and breasts froze under his cool breath and icy fingers. Sharp needles would sting her cheek or scalp while purest ecstasy radiated out from her vulva to her ass, thighs, and hips. The pain of his teeth sinking into her neck would be offset by the supreme pleasure he visited upon her down below, or the way he pinched her nipples with exactly the right amount of pressure. Small wonder she couldn't think straight even after he pulled out.

He gave her a displeased look. For a moment she thought he might hit her again. And she wasn't sure if she wanted him to or not. But then he said, "You'll see. After you've spent enough time with her, you'll be able to feel her in your bones. You'll know when she's thinking of you, when she's upset, and when she's enjoying herself."

"Oh." That never would have occurred to Yvette, but the moment he said it, she realized it made perfect sense. How could that not be true of someone like their mother?

Lance ran a hand through his hair and let out a bemused laugh, which didn't seem like him at all. The brief appearance of something like vulnerability made Yvette's heart ache. "I sound like those old folks who swear they can feel a storm coming, don't I?"

Yvette grinned nervously as she magicked her clothes back on. "A little."

"Well, it's pretty much like that," Lance said. "Except it can be a lot more uncomfortable than arthritis, if you ignore her for too long." A wistful smile appeared, lingering for a long moment. "Though, when she's in a good mood...say, if Quincy's tending to her, or if she's kissing one of her tributes...," he shuddered almost exactly the way he had when she'd chilled her tongue and pressed it against his sensitive head.

"You don't really mean kissing," she said, climbing to her feet.

Her father snorted. "No. That's just what she calls it."

Right. Zach had told her about how the people of Winter sometimes paid their queen tribute. He'd been horrified not only at the concept, but the way Lena had expected him to find it arousing. Yvette had shared his reaction too, at the time. But just then she was thinking she'd like to watch and learn how her mother gave kisses.

"Anyway, this isn't one of those times. She's not upset, yet, but we should go."

So they headed back up the long flight of stairs.

Yvette wondered why she hadn't seen Zach come back down, but after seeing him walk on an ice bridge that he'd created just a moment earlier, and the way their parents had transported them from one world to another shortly before that, she'd given up expecting such things to make sense. The palace almost didn't need hallways and staircases at all, she figured. A cluster of towers, all near one another, would serve the same purpose. The inhabitants thereof would find a way to get from one room to another.

The music returned as they ascended, but where it was mournful before it was now upbeat, almost joyous. A whimsical melody that put one in a playful mood.

Whimsical and playful were not things she'd expect Lady Winter to enjoy, but then Yvette had to admit she really didn't know anything about her mother. The woman wrapped herself in symbolism, what might be described as an icy exterior beneath a cloak of darkness, but somewhere beneath all that must surely lurk an actual person. A complex being with virtues and vices, if not equal measure, and yes perhaps contradiction or two.

Or maybe she just liked to fuck with people's perceptions.

When they reached the small chamber at the top of the tower, they found it empty but for the queen and the third brother she'd unexpectedly learned she had in a span of less than twenty-four hours. There was no sign of Zach or Lena. As expected.

Her mother was lying sideways on the bed, wearing the same pitch black dress as before. Only now Yvette could see her black peep toe pumps, which were encrusted with diamonds in front and along the short heels. There was no way Yvette could squeeze into those tiny shoes. She wished she could though, because they were hella sexy. A bit dressy for her tastes, but she wouldn't mind changing that now that she was a princess. Of sorts.

She wished she could rock a dress like that too. Wear her hair that short, barely reaching past her ear on one side and hanging just below her chin on the other.

Most of all, she wished she was worthy of blue lips. The more she thought about it, the more she found them hauntingly beautiful. The boldest red would never grab attention as dramatically. They spoke of strength and a cold disregard for the wellbeing of others, power and relentless desire. A woman with lips like those would take and take and take, the way winter froze every tree and every lake, but the men who fell prey to her would die smiling.

"Make me proud," Lance whispered in Yvette's ear. He then gave her behind a smack before going over to their mother, kissing her on the cheek, and departing. He no more acknowledged Quincy than the latter did him.

"Wine?" the queen asked, raising her chalice.

Yvette shrugged. Then belatedly realize that was no way to respond to a polite offer from a queen. "Yes, please," she said. "Your Majesty is most gracious."

Dark blue lips curved in a faint smile. "Better to err on that side than the other, but such formalism isn't necessary." A second chalice, this one black crystal, appeared. It hung suspended in midair halfway between Yvette and the bed. "You are my blood, after all."

"So what should I call you?"

"Whatever you like," she replied. "The storm cares not what you name it. It brings the same amount of snow either way." A small shrug followed that strange yet fitting response. "I've met those who demand respect. Bestow title after title upon themselves. But I've never found words to be as important as the sentiments behind them, and the only name I've ever claimed for myself is Daphne."

Yvette considered that. Her mother's little speech reminded her of professors who insisted upon being called Dr. This or Dr. That, because they'd worked so hard for their degrees, and how no one took them as seriously as those who didn't really care what you called them, so long as you came to class regularly and turned your work in on time.

But this wasn't college. And queens had every right to make demands. Especially those as powerful and terrifying as her mother.

Still, Yvette liked that she could call her "Daphne" if she wanted.

Blue liquid began flowing, though where from was a mystery. Perhaps an invisible bottle floating about on its own. Yvette watched in fascination, then stepped forward and plucked the vessel into which the strangely colored wine had been poured out of the air.

"Sit," the queen said with an inviting sweep of her hand.

Yvette walked slowly, almost hesitantly, over to her mother and sat on the edge of the bed. She almost spilled her wine in the process. The mattress and boxspring sat right on the floor, without any frame to hold them up off the ice. Besides, Yvette wasn't used to wearing such voluminous skirts. She mostly wore jeans and the occasional peasant skirt. Nothing so elaborate, with many layers to keep track of. Tucking them all under her with one hand while holding her chalice steady might have been a little challenging even if the mattress wasn't so low to the ground.

Particularly after the reaming her father had given her.

The effects had finally faded, the last tremor having shot through her body long before they'd reached the top of the tower. But her muscles were still jelly. If she'd given him more time, Lance might well have left her unable to walk.

And just as incapable of wiping a smile off her face. But that was besides the point.

"Do you like it?" her mother asked, running her fingers lightly through Yvette's hair. The way a mother who didn't rule over a court of terrified immortals might. "I must confess I like mine a bit sweet. Fresh from the Lodge, you're probably used to something a little drier. But I bet you'll come to like it."

No subtext there.

Truthfully, Yvette wasn't used to anything when it came to wine. Nor was she sure what "dry" meant. Or what the heck tannins were, though she knew that you couldn't be a proper wine snob if you didn't throw that word around all the dang time. But the first taste was pleasant enough. It tasted a bit like blueberries. And, yes, it was sweet. More like a white than a red, though it was plenty dark. It wasn't as sweet as juice, of course. The alcohol was pronounced, and a hint of vinegar hit the mouth initially, though it faded quickly.

All in all, the beverage wasn't at all the sort of thing she'd expect her mother to drink. But that too could be seen as symbolic. Yvette was still trying to figure out what exactly to expect of Winter and the woman who ruled over it.

"It's good," Yvette said. Part of her wanted to elaborate, but she had no idea what else she could say that wouldn't make her look like an unsophisticated rube. Like the inexperienced teenage girl that she was. Why couldn't they have waited until she was a bit older to come get her? She so wasn't ready to drink wine with a woman like Daphne.

Daphne. That was strange. But not in a bad way.

"Good," came the reply. "Drink it slow. Takes some getting used to."

Her mother's voice was the very embodiment of sex. It made the breath catch in her throat and sent a shiver down her spine. Her poor, overstimulated vadge started throbbing.

Well, okay, she wasn't overstimulated. From the sound of it, such a thing wasn't even possible for their kind. As she'd started to suspect the previous summer, before discovering that she was anything other than a confused teenage girl.

"Was...did my brother...I don't know what I'm asking."

She sounded so stupid. What was wrong with her?

The blue wine almost washed the taste of humiliation from her mouth. Almost.

Daphne sat up and pressed herself against Yvette's back. Her breasts, so big and soft, felt strange on Yvette's back. She'd never really fooled around with other girls, except when she'd had too much to drink and there were a bunch of guys cheering them on, nor had she ever felt more than a passing curiosity as to what it might be like to do so. But somehow the feel of her mother's body against hers didn't make her too uncomfortable. No more so than having a guy who was too damn hot make physical contact. It was her mother's magnificence, her infinite sex appeal, that had Yvette on edge. Not her gender.

Cold breath fell upon her neck. Yvette felt crystals form on her skin and she couldn't help but gasp for air. Raggedly. Her nipples, already hard, started to ache fiercely. They could almost cut through the fabric of her top. Her mother had actually caused ice to form on her neck, simply by exhaling, but rather than freaking Yvette out, that only turned her on all the more. Besides, she was born of Winter. She had no cause to fear frostbite.

"He has potential," their mother whispered, delivering more frosty air.

Then a surprisingly warm tongue licked at Yvette's neck.

The touch was fleeting, but even that brief instant of pure ecstasy was enough for Yvette. She immediately slipped into a mild orgasm. Nothing like the epic one her father had induced before delivering her to the queen, but there was no mistaking the sensation.

Or the trickle the energy leaving her Libido. That was going to take some getting used to. She used to think of sex purely in physical terms. Well, psychological as well. Or physiological. Whatever. Now she had to keep track of the supernatural implications. Which was exciting, but intimidating as well.

"We need to bring the inner animal closer to the surface," her mother continued, in a voice that mercifully went no higher than four on the seduction scale. "But once he got going, it was clear he knew his way around a woman's body."

"He's...good with his togue...isn't he?" Yvette panted as she raised the crystal to her lips. The chilled wine helped bring her body temperature back down.

Her mother bit her earlobe and she cried out.

The chalice fell from her hand and spilled all over her dress.

A split second later, though, it was as though the wine had never been poured. She couldn't even remember if she'd done that, perhaps reflexively, or if her mother had instead. All she knew for sure was that she wanted to spread her mother out on the bed, rip her dress off, and feast upon her frozen flesh.

Not that she dared do so. Her ego might not be as fragile as her father sometimes made it sound, but Yvette still didn't think it safe to take charge like that. Besides, she'd just asked the woman a question. Who would push a queen flat on her back as she was about to speak? No one who enjoyed having a heartbeat.

"For one of his youth and inexperience?" her mother asked, again speaking almost normally. "Absolutely." The way she pressed her open mouth onto Yvette's shoulder, though, to say nothing of what her tongue did after the seal was formed, defied words.