Author’s note

Part Eight picks up where Part Seven left off, in Spring. It is not necessary for you to have read the first six parts of the story, but this may be hard to follow if you haven’t read Part Seven.

This is primarily an incest story, but it is also sci-fi/fantasy, and supernatural elements are not incidental to the plot. Additionally, many chapters will feature elements of other categories, particularly group sex and anal.

All sexual acts are consensual and involve parties who are at least eighteen years of age.

As ever, if you have questions feel free to email me or leave a comment. Either way, I’ll try to respond in a timely manner.


The bed of grass didn’t look comfortable enough. Cahill channeled some energy into the ground, spurring the growth of some additional vegetation. He was tempted to conjure up a proper bed, but he knew that his grandmother would prefer to feel the forest beneath her. The fey lost all interest in mortal furnishings shortly after leaving the Dreaming.

“When she wakes up,” his mother said from over his shoulder, “she’ll have needs.”

“I know,” Cahill said.

She wasn’t referring to anything as mundane as food and water, though his grandmother would need those things as well. But Caronwyn obviously wasn’t crazy about what her son would have to do, though didn’t she want him to think she was anything but fully supportive of him doing so. In short, he was walking through a conversational minefield.

“You’ll see to them,” she added, unnecessarily.

“Of course,” he said without so much as looking at her.

He wanted to. Wanted to look her in the eyes and tell her that it was okay. That he understood both how she felt and that she wished she didn’t feel that way. But if he did, he’d only prove to her that she’d done a poor job of hiding her emotions. Give her the impression that he thought she was being jealous. Which, of course, she was, though no more so than anyone in her position would be.

On the other hand, his refusal to make eye contact coupled with his monosyllabic responses just might do the trick anyway. He wished he knew what she wanted from him.

A soft touch on his shoulder almost made him reconsider. Almost.

Her Libido appeared to be as still as a frozen pond, though he very much doubted that it was. She hadn’t quite taught him everything she knew about illusions and glamour, but she’d taught him enough to know not to trust his senses. To know that he might not be seeing anything more than that which she wanted him to see. And if that was the case, there’d be no sense in offering the comfort she didn’t want him to think she needed.

So he kept his focus on the woman lying on the bed of moss beneath him. Aeife Walker, former Queen of Faerie, and the only woman alive feared by the current queen.

How could anyone fear this woman? Or feel anything negative towards her?

She looked like…a grandmother. Not old and wrinkly, of course. This wasn’t the Dreaming. No, like all the fey, she was young and beautiful, and would forever be. But if anyone had ever asked Cahill what he thought a grandmother should look like here in Faerie, he’d have described someone very much like her.

Titania was technically also his grandmother, but she fit his mental image of one about as well as his freaking father did. And since Faerie society was matrilineal, she’d not claim him as her grandson either.

The woman lying before him was everything Titania was not. Where the queen was slight, colorful, energetic, and whimsical in the extreme, Aeife embodied a simplistic elegance and a profound serenity. Her mere presence filled him with calm, and he didn’t think that was just because of her current state. It was almost as though she’d wrapped herself in a soothing glamour, though he doubted anything so deliberate was involved. Now that he thought about it, there was a similar air about Titania. But it was the polar opposite. No man could stand before the Faerie Queen without feeling agitated.

If Titania was the inspiration for Hollywood’s Manic Pixie Dream Girl character type, and she probably was, her onetime replacement was likely the reason people believed in fairy godmothers. His paternal grandmother was the sort of fey who pranced through the woods looking for men she could lure into chasing her, while his maternal one had no doubt often appeared to men in their hour of need.

“What’s she like?” Cahill asked his mother.

She didn’t reply at first. “You’ll enjoy yourself, I should think.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, turning to look over his shoulder at her.

Words could not describe how beautiful his red goddess was. Everything about her was perfect, from her porcelain skin to her pouty lips, her brown eyes and her button nose, her lustrous hair and her voluptuous figure. No woman could ever rival her. Not her mother, nor her daughters, nor anyone else. Didn’t she realize that?

Apparently not.

She hid it well, but there was pain writ subtly upon that gorgeous face, and he was the cause of it. That cut him to the bone.

Without rising from his knees, he took her hand in his. A trickle of energy passed through his palm into hers. Not much, though. Just enough to soothe her nerves. To tell her that he cared. That he wanted her to be at ease. If that came across as an accusation, so be it. He had to at least try. He couldn’t bear knowing that she was suffering, even a little.

A smile spread across her lips. “Sorry, baby,” she said. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Done,” he replied.

“To answer your question, she’s…everything I hope to one day be.”

Cahill almost told his mother that she had no need to look to another woman as a role model. But he thought better of it. She’d not want her son to think that she’d been fishing for compliments any more than she’d want him to know that she was uncomfortable with what was about to happen. Besides, he suspected that she didn’t really envy her mother as much as her words implied. No, she was just trying to be gracious.

He nodded, because that was all that needed to be said.

A gentle moan drifted up from the ground.

“Be good to her,” she said. Then she laid a hand on his chest, smiled, and departed.

A mix of emotions swept over Cahill. Sadness, he always felt when seeing her go. But he also felt something close to contentment. Caronwyn had left him with a smile, after all, and there was nothing in all the world quite like her smile. With a little twitch of her lips, she could kill pain, melt glaciers, and bring peace to warring nations.

“Caron?” a voice squeaked. “Is that you?”

Cahill turned back around to see his grandmother trying to push herself up off the grass.

“She just left, Grandma,” he said helping her to sit up. One hand on her back, he offered her the other. She grabbed it with both of hers, her grip weak.

Green eyes blinked at him. “Gallech? Or Seamus?”

“Third time’s the charm,” he said with a grin.

“Cahill? You’ve finally come home?”

“I have,” he said.

“Well how about that,” she replied, sounding a little more vivacious. “I finally get to meet you, and I’m an absolute mess,” she added. “Don’t take this wrong way, kiddo, but your timing leaves something to be desired.”

It wasn’t that she needed to make a good impression on him. There was no concern for herself in those words. Rather, she felt bad for making him suffer the indignity of seeing his grandmother in her present state. Because of course she did. Had he worried about how she might feel? What nonsense. Who would let a little thing like several years of torture get them down? The important thing was that she not disappoint her grandson.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he told her.

And she was.

He could have just as easily been referring to her inner beauty. But he wasn’t. It was her outward appearance she was worried about, and her outward appearance he was complimenting. Sure, her raven tresses resembled a bird’s nest at the moment, and a bruise she hadn’t yet had a chance to heal marred one of her cheeks. None of the glamours fey women wore in lieu of makeup darkened her lips or accentuated her eyes. And though she probably looked lovely in white, the stains on her dress made for an awful sight. But none of that mattered. Cahill was still stunned by his grandmother’s beauty.

Cahill could picture exactly what she’d look like at her most glamorous, because he’d seen pieces of it countless times in her progeny. She was, unquestionably, the source of their good looks. That thick black hair had been passed on to Oona and Brittany. Her eyes were the same forest green as Fiona’s. The shape of her face was both distinctive and familiar since all the Walker women had delicate chins, cute little button noses, and soft cheekbones. Her full lips had the slightest little cupid’s bow to them, like Caronwyn’s. Titania and her brood tended to have blonde hair, sharp, pointy features, and very pronounced cupid’s bows.

“You’re a flatterer, aren’t you?” his grandmother said.

Her bruise cleared up and her long hair straightened out, forming perfect dark curtains around her lovely face. Her lips turned dark red and she acquired the smokey eyes that had started driving everyone crazy in the Dreaming. The blood-stains disappeared from her dress, which grew a few sizes too tight and acquired a rather immodest neckline. Then she began to glow, emitting a soft white light. Finally, a pair of diaphanous wings shot through with silver and metallic green sprouted from her back.

Cahill took quick note of his grandmother’s epic cleavage before forcing his eyes to climb upward. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a pair of breasts that big.

“Tell me you haven’t got the music,” she added in a tone that suggested she already knew that she wasn’t going to like the answer to that question.

Cahill almost laughed. He managed to stop himself from doing so, but he gave no other response either. His fey nature prevented him from offering the only one she sought.

“Oh, dear,” his grandmother said. “Musicians are trouble, with or without the gifts of the fey.” A wistful smile spread across her face. “Though they do make the best lovers.”

He cleared his throat.

“No need to be shy about it,” she said, pressing a soft palm to his cheek. “Your great-grandfather had the music. So did two of his five children. It’s in our blood.”

Strange. He’d assumed he’d gotten it from his father. One of Arawn’s titles was the Piper of Dawn, after all. He’d styled himself after the Greek god Pan. Or perhaps Pan was the name by which the Greeks knew his father. Cahill wasn’t even sure.

One time, Cahill had tried to piece together a time-line. To make sense of the tales he’d learned growing up. He’d failed miserably. Some of humanity’s oldest beliefs about the fey could be traced back to figures who’d dwelled in Faerie for as long as anyone here could remember, but in other cases the obvious inspiration had only arrived on the scene relatively recently. And though much of what he’d been taught as a child had at least a grain of truth to it, some of it was just flat-out wrong.

“The horned god,” his grandmother whispered to herself. She had the cutest voice, as high-pitched as Oona’s had been. Only it sounded better coming from her. Which was strange, because it also sounded off. A woman as experienced and wise as Aeife should have a deeper voice, like Fiona’s. Only little girls and grown women who behaved like little girls spoke with so high a pitch. Or so he’d thought. “We were afraid you might never wake up, you know. How long have you been with us?”

“Not long enough,” he said.

Aeife smiled at that. “How’d she finally get through to you?”

The simple answer was that she hadn’t. One of Titania’s daughters had. But even Caronwyn didn’t know that, or much of anything else about his relationship with Liadan. He certainly wasn’t about to tell his grandmother.

“Nevermind,” Aeife said. “We can talk about that later.” She put her hands on the soft ground beside her and pushed. Nothing happened. “Be a sweetie and help me up,” she said. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Cahill laughed as he pulled his grandmother to her feet. Then he handed her a skin of water and a heel of bread.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting his offering.

Considering how long she’d been deprived of basic necessities, she showed considerable restraint. He’d expected her to drain the skin in one gulp and then tear into the bread. Instead, she took a few small sips from the skin before ripping a chunk of bread off and taking the tiniest bite out of it.

After she finished chewing, she let the bread and water fade away. Then she held an arm out for him to loop his through and said, “Walk with me.”

That hadn’t been quite what he’d expected to come next, but Cahill was happy to oblige. He made himself a little shorter then slipped his arm between hers and her body.

“How did your mother defeat her?” Aeife asked as they set down the nearest path.

“She didn’t,” Cahill replied.

“Ah. You were her champion, then?”

He nodded.

“And the contest involved music?”

“It did,” he said sheepishly, though he still wasn’t quite sure why his gift was a bad thing. “But I don’t think that’s why I prevailed. Or, not the only reason. Seems you made something of an impression on Prince Oberon.”

“What makes you say that?” she asked with a telling hint of amusement.

The forest grew denser and the canopy overhead allowed less light through. A mortal might have had trouble avoiding roots and stones, but his fey eyes adjusted quickly.

“Oh, nothing,” Cahill said. “Just that he let me win.”

“Did he now?” his grandmother asked. “Suppose he told you that himself?”

“Well, no,” he replied. “But I’m still sure of it.”

Aeife nodded as though there was no reason anyone would doubt his conclusion. As though she hadn’t expressed a bit of skepticism herself only a few moments earlier.

“Oh, to have seen the look on her face,” she mused.

“She…didn’t take it well,” Cahill said.

“I should think not.”

His grandmother passed her hand through a large cobweb hanging before them. It turned to smoke, hanging in the air as they passed, then took form as a web again after they were on the other side. Cahill wondered who else would take care not to disturb any of Faerie’s inhabitants, even a spider. Perhaps Fiona.

“I wonder who she’ll give the Ruby Court to next. Has Liadan got one yet?”

“Sapphire,” he confirmed. “You think she’ll take it from him? Isn’t he her favorite?”

His grandmother shrugged. “Titania hates me like no woman has ever hated anything.”

“But why?” Cahill asked.

“Because I remind her that she’s vulnerable.”

That hardly sounded like a reason. “Aren’t we all?”

“You’re cute, you know that?” Aeife said. “You must have broken more hearts than a man can count, dwelling as long as you did in the Dreaming.”

He’d rarely been the one to break things off, but she was probably right. He’d never thought of it that way back then. He’d been too busy seeing himself as the injured party. But it wasn’t hard to see now, looking back, that they’d all been injured parties.

“Of course we are,” his grandmother continued. “But spend enough time ruling over Faerie, your every word instantly obeyed by beings who are themselves still spoken of in awe by mortals, and you might start to forget that.”

Didn’t seem like something one could forget. Especially if one had been killed multiple times and lived to tell the tales. But she’d know the queen’s mind better than him.

“So,” he said, taking in the forest with a sweeping gesture, “everything as you remember?”

“More or less,” she said. “Your mother’s mark is clear, though.”


She pointed a little ways off the trail, where a three-tailed fox emerged from a bush. It gave them a blank look then slowly padded over to a hole in the ground and proceeded to climb inside, all without any hurry.

“So?” Cahill asked.

The creatures of Faerie were strange. Some wore thick spectacles and plaid vests, others leather breeches or top hats. The birds weren’t the only ones that flew, and extra tails were less common than third eyes. Many of them spoke perfect English. Often with British accents. Some sang and danced. Especially the bears. Dancing queens, the lot of them. Was she suggesting it had once been otherwise?

“Did he look friendly to you?” his grandmother asked.

“Oh, they’re harmless,” he replied.

“That’s not what I asked.”

True enough, but Cahill had no idea what she was getting at. That the creatures of Faerie quietly hoped for his mother’s demise?

“Have you ever spoken to any of them?” Aeife asked.

Cahill shook his head. “Fiona has. She speaks to them all the time, though she rarely talks about it. The others have too, I think. But I haven’t yet. They always act like they don’t know what I’m saying, then go back to speaking to one another in plain English before I’m even out of earshot. One of these days, though, they’ll warm up to me.”

That last part came out almost as a question. But his grandmother said nothing to indicate that she doubted they would.

“Have you ever gotten lost?” she asked.

What did that have to do with anything?

“Of course,” he said. This was Faerie after all. Even his mother got lost from time to time. No matter how much time one spent here, it was impossible to truly know the forest. But it was just as easy to get unlost. Though the lay of the land was always changing, certain configurations were more common than others. Wait long enough, and the path you thought you knew would appear again. “So?”

“So you’d characterize the forest and its inhabitants as somewhat less than warm and welcoming,” she said, as though that said everything.

Cahill shrugged. “Are deserts lush or oceans dry?”

He sensed that he’d made her point for her somehow or other, but exactly what point that was, he hadn’t the foggiest. All the old stories described Faerie as mysterious. Dangerous, even. Those it invited in, it often didn’t release. At least not until the poor soul had gone mad or aged a hundred years. True, those tales referred to how Faerie treated mortals, not its own kind. But if there was anything about this place that didn’t live up expectations, it wasn’t the standoffish nature of its inhabitants and mercurial topography. That Faerie was divided into Emerald, Sapphire, and Ruby courts rather than Seelie and Unseelie, perhaps, but not that.

“Would you describe your mother as extroverted?” his grandmother asked. “Or does she maybe…tend to keep things to herself?”

It was like she was speaking to a child. “See that jug there that’s lying on its side?” she might as well have said. “Could that have something to do with the spilled milk? Perhaps?”

But she had a point.

“She’s always been more in tune with the mystical aspect of our nature,” his grandmother continued. “The wild part, the one that links us most strongly to our furry brothers and sisters, has always been something of a mystery to her.”

Since when did his mother have any interest in transcending her inner animal? Nothing turned her on more than getting a little wild. Granted, she didn’t always transform. Sometimes, it was enough for her sons to do so. But she was hardly ill at ease with animality.

“Oh, it appeals to her,” his grandmother said, as if reading his mind. “As it does all of us. But she doesn’t understand it. In fact, she’s tried her best to transcend it.”

Cahill mulled that over.

For the longest time, his mother had kept her distance from him. Only later had he discovered that she’d been denying her urges. That by doing so, she’d hoped to give him a reason to commit more fully to Faerie. To leave the Dreaming behind. Badly as she’d wanted him, she’d known that he wanted her even more, and she’d dangled herself in front of him like a donkey’s carrot. Forever just out of reach.

What other fey woman could bring herself to do that? For fifteen years?

“So,” Cahill said, “that’s why her fey form is different from the rest of ours?”

How had he missed that? They all appeared as otherworldly creatures, though some were more exotic than others. None of their fey forms represented beings that had ever set foot in the mortal world, except his mother’s. According to legend, druids communed with beings from other worlds, wielded magicks, performed rituals, and spoke to fey almost as equals. But whatever the truth about their abilities, they were unequivocally of the mortal realm.

“And why our neck of the woods has grown a little more mystical since I left,” Aeife said, as though he had any sort of basis for comparison on that point. “Why the creatures of the forest tread a little more softly around us.”

“Huh,” he said.

It wasn’t the most articulate response, but he really had no idea what else to say.

“Nothing wrong with that,” his grandmother said. “Just not quite what I’m used to.”

“Which is?” he asked. “What was Faerie like when you were in charge?”

He wasn’t sure if he was asking about the lands of Clan Walker in her time as matriarch or all of Faerie when she was queen. If that even made a difference.

Aeife smiled. “Unicorns and rainbows.”


She shrugged. “Not so different.”

“Guess I’ll find out soon enough?”

His grandmother cocked an eyebrow at him. “You think I’m going to take over?” Before he could even answer, she disabused him of that notion. “Your mother is no less fit to lead than I am. And you all know her better.” As though it were no more than an afterthought, she then named what he suspected was the most important reason of all. “Besides, nothing would do more to fuel the queen’s paranoia.”

“You’re not going to fade off then, are you?”

“No, no. Not for a good while yet,” she replied. “There are, ah, some interesting possibilities I’d like to explore first.”

At first he thought she meant him, but then he realized she was referring to Oberon. And though he’d enjoyed the fleeting notion that his grandmother saw him as worth sticking around for, that was for the best. He didn’t need or want the complication.

“It’d certainly be poetic,” Cahill said, watching out of the corner of his eye for any reaction. “And the anger it would cause Titania is no less than she deserves.”

“You’re not gonna go writing a song about it now, are you?”

Cahill laughed. “Don’t worry. I don’t make music. Just the things people make music with.” He offered her his hand as they climbed over a fallen tree that lay in their path. “Well, okay. I play a bit. But not well. And only things other people have composed.”

“Hmmm,” she said.


“Been a while since a Walker made anything with his hands. That’s nearly as fabled a talent as musicianship,” she said ominously.

Cahill suddenly recalled the old tales of men crafting magical items without knowing it. In some versions, they did so for a mysterious patron who later turned out to be fey. These tended to end with a handsome reward, though that wasn’t always the case. In others, the specifications would be provided by a fairy, but the finished product would be given as a gift to some noble who would suffer an ignominious fate.

If the silver flute Liadan had given to his father somehow ended up costing Arawn the Emerald Court, that would be perfectly in keeping with such tales. Too bad that seemed like something else the mortals had gotten wrong.

“Next you’ll be telling me you’ve always been lucky,” Aeife said. She sounded as though she meant to come across as amused. All Cahill heard in her voice, though, was apprehension.

He didn’t reply.

“No,” she said. “Don’t say it.”

“I might have made a fortune gambling before I decided it just didn’t feel right,” he said, feeling a little numb. “What does it mean?”

And why did his grandmother suddenly seem afraid?

“That you’re thrice-blessed,” she said. “There’s power in threes, Cahill.”

She didn’t have to tell him that.

“But that’s good, right?” he asked. “Blessings are good, right?”

His grandmother didn’t respond.

“Let me guess. Those thrice-blessed are often thrice-cursed as well?”

She nodded.

Of course they were. How could it be otherwise? That was just about the most fucking fey thing he’d ever fucking heard.

Why hadn’t his mother said anything? Why hadn’t Fiona?

Perhaps because they had no idea that he’d ever unwittingly endowed a musical instrument with glamour. He’d tried to keep as much about Liadan a secret as he could. And he’d never told them about the way the cards were a bit too good to him. Back when that had still been a thing, he’d kept it to himself because he’d known how they’d react. How they’d insist it was a sign that he didn’t belong in that world, but here in Faerie. Of course, they were right, but he hadn’t been ready to hear that then. And by the time he was, he’d all but forgotten about his unearned riches.

“Curses come in all shapes and sizes,” Aeife said hesitantly, “but something tells me it’s your loved ones who’ll suffer.”

Like Aunt Oona.

He almost objected by saying they hadn’t been that close. But that would not only be massively insensitive, given that the woman hadn’t even begun to grieve for her daughter yet, but irrelevant. He had loved her, as he loved all his family. And that was how these things worked. The first loss wasn’t so bad. The second would be worse. And the third would leave him thinking he’d be better off dead.

Suddenly, Cahill heard singing. At first, he thought it came from his grandmother, but then he saw her lips were closed.

An ‘andsome boy left the Dreaming Then came he did to Auld Faerie The land of oak and ash and thorn, Whose folk are young and merry. There he found his mother true Who’d waited long for tha’ day He threw his arms round her waist And this to her did say.

“Please stop,” Cahill whispered.

“What’s that?” Aeife asked.

“My mother’s love is a blessing Such as I’ve ne’er known Should I e’er displease her For tha’ I’ll ne’er atone My mother’s love is a blessing I love her more’n me heart can bear For none have lips quite so red, Eyes so bright, nor skin so fair

The words came from nowhere. He wasn’t even sure they existed outside his head.

But they werena together long Afore good turned bad turned worse Her love was indeed a blessing And for tha’ he also bore a curse The fates soon took her from him And cruel they are, told him why `So low we must soon lay, Those we first let fly so high.’

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Right,” Cahill said.

He wondered if he’d actually heard it himself. Perhaps it was just a figment of his imagination. Or maybe Liadan was nearby. The last time he’d seen her, she’d sung a similarly sad song. But she’d only been trying to get his attention. To get him to wake back up, and help her brother Kearney do the same.

That had been her goal, hadn’t it?

Why did it seem like she was trying to scare him then? Assuming she was responsible for the creepy tune, that was. And if not her, then who? Faerie itself?

“Are you okay, dear?” his grandmother asked.

He was supposed to be looking after her, not the other way around. She might be hiding it well, but she was weak. And hungry. She had to be, after what she’d been through. What sort of grandson would he be if he dumped his problems on her when she needed his strength to help her through her own?

“Fine,” he said. “Just though I heard something.”

She frowned and did her best to look down her nose at him. Though he had several inches on her even after having adjusted his height earlier, she somehow managed it.

“Don’t worry about it, Grandma,” he said. “Really.”

“Fine. You don’t have to tell me,” Aeife said. “Now.”

Good enough.

“I’ve not known you five minutes and I’ve already got a list of things I need to squeeze out of you later,” she said. “Don’t let it get too long. I’m told I can be very insistent.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know, sounds kinda fun,” Cahill said.

She stretched out a finger, preparing to poke him in the chest. “Don’t you get saucy with me,” she said. Then, her slender finger tapped his chest, generating impossible force, and he fell flat on his ass.

Just as he was regaining his balance, she sat on her haunches in front of him, arms wrapped around her knees. There was scarcely enough room for her gigantic boobs. He tried not staring at them, but he might as well have decided to turn asexual.

“Now, we both know why your mother left you alone with me,” his grandmother said.

“True,” he said.

Was this her idea of foreplay? His involved less…getting-knocked-on-his-ass-edness.

His grandmother smiled. Rather prettily. His mother was so gorgeous it sometimes hurt to look at her for too long. His grandmother wasn’t that pretty, of course. No woman was. But with that porcelain skin, that jet black hair, those green eyes, and those full lips, he would do her a grave injustice if he said she had a pleasant face.

That said, it was hard to look at her face. Just below her chin lay the most glorious twin peaks he’d ever seen. With her crouched low like that, hugging her legs, the poor things had to fight just to fit between her chest and her knees. Caronwyn’s considerable cups seemed modest in comparison. Cahill had never seen breasts that big. Nevermind a handful, they were bigger than his fucking head. Yet her waist and hips were about the same size as Brittany’s. If she weighed any more than his mother, it couldn’t have been by much. It made no sense. Breasts shouldn’t grow that big. Especially not on a woman her size.

Part of him was almost turned off. Thought they were too big, at least for her frame. But another part of him insisted that was nonsense and couldn’t wait to see what they’d look like once freed from her dress.

“I’m up here,” she said, putting a finger under his chin.

“S-sorry,” he said.

“You find them a bit distracting?” she asked. “Most men do.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“Play nice and I may let you see them,” she said. “But you’d better make me cum first.”

Cahill chuckled. “Thought the idea was for me to get off. Pry my Libido open.”

“We’ll get there,” his grandmother said, letting the fingertip that had been gently digging into his chin slide up to his lips. As it slid slowly across his flesh, it sent waves of intense pleasure through him, and he nearly ejaculated then and there. “But there’s this old idea you really ought to learn. It’s called Ladies First.”

“I think I’ve heard of that one.”

“Musicians,” Aeife said with feigned disgust.

“Well, you know, I haven’t had any complaints,” he said.

“Have you had a woman who’d know the difference?” she asked.

He had, actually. At least, he was pretty sure that his mother at least could compare him to some men Grandma Aeife would think counted. Liadan probably had too.

But whatever. Cahill decided he’d had enough.

He grabbed the back of his grandmother’s head and pulled her in for a kiss. As he pressed his lips to hers, he opened his Libido up wide and allowed his energy to gush out of him.

When he finally released her, his grandmother gasped for air. “Not sure what that was all about, but it was nice,” she said between breaths. She gave him a quick kiss, then another, before adding, “You’re not trying to get out of this, are you?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I just want you to be able to keep up.”

“Oh you are trouble,” she said, a twinkle in her green eyes. For just a moment, they actually gave off light. “Mind your manners or you won’t get any sugar.”

He considered that for a moment. She sounded at least a little bit amused by his antics, but he wasn’t getting the sense that she found extreme confidence as attractive as some women did. Might not want him to take control either. She might be more like Fiona, who preferred to be seduced methodically and affectionately.

There was one sure way to find out. But he wasn’t up for it. His dick needed to be inside her. She could discover how talented he was with his tongue after he found out how good it felt to fuck his grandmother’s pussy.

Cahill slipped his hands underneath his grandmother’s smooth thighs, gently scooped her up, and placed her down in his lap. She made a few squeaky sounds that turned him on a lot more than they would have if most anyone else had made them.

“You trying to tell me something?” she asked.

By way of response, he took one of her little hands and guided it down between his legs.

“My,” she said. “You’re a big boy, aren’t you?”

While she pressed her hand against the front of his pants, he turned them into smoke. Then guided his length up towards her womanhood. She could step back and take a good look at it later. For now, it had somewhere to be.

“Slow down, Cahill,” she said. “Good things come to those who-” her eyes bulged as his fat head pushed past her lips. “Mmm. Wow. You’re almost as thick as Richard was.”

“Is that a good thing?” he asked.

He remembered the name, though his mother hardly ever mentioned her older brother. Whether his uncle was well-hung was not one of the details she’d shared with Cahill, but there were only so many ways to interpret his grandmother’s words. He didn’t really need an answer to his question. Just wanted Aeife to swallow her words.

She made a face at him, but then promptly started working her hips. Inch after inch disappeared inside her as her bunny hops dropped her lower and lower.

“Oh, yeah,” she moaned as she took more and more of him in. “Mmmm, I think you’re bigger than him,” she added as she planted her hands firmly on his bare chest.

“You know what guys really like, Grandma? When you compare the size of their dicks to those of past lovers. If you could do that some more, that would be great.”

He almost surprised himself by saying that. Basically, she was telling him how big he was, and what guy didn’t love hearing that? But as with so many things, it was all in the delivery. Whatever else her words might have meant, they told him that he hadn’t made enough of an impression on her to make her forget her late son. To convince her that, for the time being at least, he was the only man in the world.

“If you were…mmph…looking me in the…oh, yeah…eye when you said that…yeahyeahyeah,” she replied. There might have been an end to that sentence, but he never heard it. Which, he supposed, meant they were headed in the right direction.

He was indeed starting at her tits again. The way they bounced was absolutely hypnotic. She wasn’t even moving that fast yet, and her girls were still constrained by her tight dress. But fuck, they were glorious. She could easily suffocate him with them if she leaned a little further forward. Wouldn’t even need to take her dress off to do it, in all likelihood. Did she really expect him not to notice that? Besides, they weren’t having a conversation anymore. They were fucking.

“How about you shut up and let grandma focus on riding this big dick, huh?” she said, as if he’d actually spoken or something.

Cahill said not another word.

“Atta boy,” she said, bouncing faster and faster.

He let his hands slide down her back, below the hem of her skirt, and then up again. He was disappointed to find that her ass was a bit small. But with how good her pussy felt, and it felt good, it almost didn’t matter. He wasn’t even sure he could have handled it if she’d been as well put together below the waist as she was above it.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” his grandmother panted. “Fuck, I had no idea how much I missed this.”

Bad thoughts. Bad, bad thoughts. Neither of them wanted to go down that path. Cahill sent some more energy into his grandmother, ramping up her tactile senses. That did the trick. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she started breathing heavier and heavier.

For just a little while there, he got to feel like a real stud. His grandmother made the most delicious sounds on her way to an explosive finale, and the sheer intensity of her climax when it did arrive nearly gave him a concussion. Her Libido had unleashed a tidal wave of energy, despite being nearly empty, and her physical reaction had been no tamer.

Of course, she hadn’t gotten laid in years. But he chose not to dwell on that little detail. Easier to be flattered if he didn’t.

Unfortunately for Cahill, after his grandmother’s first climax, she quit fooling around and got busy showing him who was in charge.

The things she did to him were fairly ordinary. But they didn’t feel like it. Every time she so much as ran her fingers through his hair, he kissed death on the mouth. How he survived the rest of it, he wasn’t even sure. He lost track of how many times he emptied himself into her womb and then her mouth. But somehow, she always found more for him to give. He also lost track of the number of times she changed his understanding of what pleasure was and how much of it a man could feel.

Eventually, he got her out of that dress and did his best to please her from head to toe, paying extra special attention to her breasts. But not until he’d eaten his fill of humble pie.


There was only one way to honor Oona’s passing, Caronwyn informed them, and that was with a bit role-playing. That having been the nymph’s favorite activity, she’d expect no less of them. The moment she’d said it, Cahill had known she was right. He didn’t need to see her own mother give her an approving nod.

But his lingering mortal sense of propriety chafed at the idea. As did Brittany’s, to judge by the look on her face. His younger sister had always enjoyed Oona’s games, but the announcement drew nary a grin from her.

Wasn’t it a little selfish to mark her death with a costumed orgy? Reflecting on how immortality did not grant invulnerability? Sharing their favorite memories of her?

But no. That just wasn’t how the fey did things. They didn’t mourn. That way lay regret, and regret was ever an unwelcome guest in Faerie.

Besides, he and his sister seemed to be the only ones experiencing any reluctance. Even Seamus and Fiona, who he knew full well had been shaken by their aunt’s passing, were completely on board with their matriarch’s suggestion. And Cahill knew better than to argue with his mother, nevermind Aeife.

So he soon found himself on the deck of a small schooner, dressed like a pirate captain. His ship sailed along the treetops, its oars cutting the forest canopy like water without leaving any sign of their passing. He wasn’t quite sure where their destination was. That was for Reilly, his first mate, to worry about. All Cahill knew was that they’d attempt to deliver some empty barrels to a bunch of old timey mobsters, led by Finnegan, only to get busted by his grandmother and his brothers, who were playing the part of the police.

They weren’t acting out any particular literary or cinematic work. The rickety skeleton of a plot his mother had come up with simply served as an excuse to get them into a bunch of different costumes. Not that it made much difference. They’d never followed the storylines too closely when Oona had them reimagine classic tales or modern movies. Still, it felt a little bit like cheating. If they were going to honor Oona in the manner of the fey, shouldn’t they at least do things the way she’d always done them?

Or maybe he just didn’t like dressing up like a stupid pirate.

When was it decided that nothing was sexier than men with missing teeth, limbs, and eyes, whose hygienic practices made them lucky to die of scurvy?

Fucking Johnny Depp.

Cahill wore leather boots, billowy pants, a leather vest, and a ridiculous hat. He had a silk sash tied around his waist and a freaking bandana around his forehead. A cutlass hung over one hip, a flintlock pistol over the other. Worst of all, his hair hung to his shoulders.

Ridiculous as he looked, there was some consolation in how much worse Reilly looked. His cousin’s pants were striped red and black, his boots ultra-shiny. The belt he wore around his waist had a silver buckle half the size of a man’s head. His white silk shirt had a neckline that reached halfway down his chest, and the sleeves would have flapped about like the ship’s sails if not for his leather wrist cuffs. The red scarf tied around his bald head was so long that its tails hung nearly to his cousin’s waist. On top of all that, Reilly had a freaking eye-patch with a skull and crossbones painted on it.

On the other hand, Cahill had to admit that Fiona looked pretty good. Really good, in fact. Granted, there were only so many costumes his sister wouldn’t look good in, but even so, she nearly convinced him that pirates could be sexy. Entirely ahistorical ones, anyway.

She wore black leather boots that stopped just below her knees and fishnet stockings that went a little farther up. Her red petticoat dress had an off the shoulder peasant top, long balloon sleeves, an attached black velvet corset with shoulder straps, elaborate lacing, red satin bows, and an attached black rear apron. A black velvet three-cornered hat sat atop her head, its brim trimmed with thick gold braid. Its red satin bow matched it to her dress.

The dress did a decent job of covering everything up, but that didn’t matter. It was tight enough, and the corset flattering enough, that she didn’t need to have much more than her shoulders on display. When she pressed her little brass telescope to her eye and leaned out over the rail, causing the hem of her dress to climb, he didn’t get a glimpse of anything but ruffles and lace. But his pants still felt a few sizes smaller than they had a moment ago.

“Stay at the wheel,” he told Reilly before heading for his sister.

His cousin flipped him off, but Cahill paid him no mind.

“Any sign of trouble,” he asked Fiona as he took hold of her hips.

“Aye. Appears me ship’s about to be boarded,” she said, pushing her full bottom back against him. Damn, that felt good. “Tha’s always trouble.”

“We don’t really have to talk like that, do we?”

“Oh,” she whimpered. “Can’t I get just a little `arrr’?”

He kissed one soft cheek. “No.”


“Stop it.”

“Aye, aye, cap’n,” she said with resignation. “You scallywag. Landlubber.”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you, matey,” he said, cupping her ass with one hand.

“You think so too,” she said, giving her backside a nice wiggle.

In fairness, he kinda did.

Irritating as the cliches were, he liked seeing Fiona enjoy herself like this. Ordinarily, his sister didn’t get into character quite the way some of the others did. That was more Oona’s style, or Brittany’s, though Fi had never been as much of a spoilsport as Seamus. Yet here she was, acting like she didn’t have a care in the world. And though he realized it had to be because of the relief she felt at seeing the ranks of Clan Walker go from four to nine so quickly, he allowed himself to believe that he was partly responsible for it. That his sister felt she could set aside her burdens when she was with him.

“Admit it,” she said.

“Maybe a little,” he confirmed. “Enough to shiver yer timbers.”

That got a little laugh out of her.

But her laugh soon became a throaty moan. Without bothering to take his pants off, he pulled his cannon and pushed it against her port hole. Her wet lips parted slowly and his sister shuddered a few times before he finished burying himself to the hilt.

“That’s quite a cutlass ye got,” she said. “Hardly fits in me scabbard.”

He couldn’t think of anything witty to say to that, so he just started fucking her nice and hard. He worked his hips back and forth, slapping against his sister’s soft bum over and over again. Her telescope fell into the forest below as she gripped the rails tight.

Her pussy had been relaxed at first, but she was now waging war on him. Her inner muscles squeezed and released, squeezed and released, massaging his manhood expertly. He wasn’t going to be able to withstand that for long.

The sound of his skin slapping against hers mingled with bird calls, rustling leaves, and rowing oars. It was a strange, sweet song. The best part, though, was Fi’s heavy breathing.

“Cum for me, Kay,” his sister panted. “I wanna feel it inside me.”

“I…just…might,” he said through gritted teeth.

Her scent grew thicker and thicker, tormenting his nostrils. Filling him with a need he couldn’t satisfy even though he was inside her. Her Libido raged like an inferno, revealing that her need for him was no less powerful. With any luck, they just might-

And then they did.

As one, they climaxed. Cahill felt her Libido open up even as his own dam sprung a leak. Then his consciousness drifted out from his body, into an ethereal state. He forgot his name and hers. Forgot where they were and when they were and why they were.

For a time, he knew nothing but bliss.

“Wow,” Fiona said, some time later.

“Yeah,” Cahill agreed.

“I think that pirate-talk did more for you than you let on,” Fiona said. “We’re going to have to start calling you Captain NoBeard. Or Tripod the Black.”


She turned around, propping her back up against the rail. One leg slipped between his and she gently bounced his cock on her knee. “This guy here’s practically a third leg.”

Cahill gave a snort.

That was when Reilly abandoned his post. He strode towards them with determination, ripping his shirt in two without using his hands.

“Hmm. Looks like he’d like a piece of you too.”

Fiona punched him in the ribs. “I’m not a freaking steak, Kay.”

“Hey, I know that,” he replied. “It’s the pit bull you’ve got to worry about.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

Without saying a word, Reilly walked right up to them and pulled Fiona away from Cahill. She let out a little yelp but didn’t resist as their cousin planted his hands on the top of her ass. Her green eyes flashed a taunting look at Cahill, as if to say, “Maybe I’d rather a pit bull than a pig.” Her hands sought purchase on his bare chest as readily as they might have his. When Reilly leaned down, head tilted to the side, she closed her eyes and pursed her lips. Then the bald brute kissed her.


Cahill had no idea his cousin was capable of such tenderness. Whatever the queen done to him, it didn’t seem too bad. Especially considering what she’d done to Oona and Aeife.

Maybe she was sort of the opposite of horror movie badies who always made short work of the men folk but managed to let the one girl live?

“Well,” Fiona said after Reilly’s lips finally left hers. “That’s new.”

She looked him up and down, as if noticing him for the first time. Or finally taking stock of the changes he’d undergone in Titania’s grove. Taller, leaner, and stronger than before, his cousin had to feel pretty good about his upgrades. But Cahill suspected Reilly still wasn’t quite his sister’s type. If huge muscles had been her thing, she’d have been more interested in Gallech and less so in Seamus. Still, he couldn’t help noticing the way her Libido reacted. Or the quick flash of light from her irises.

“Hold this,” she said to Cahill as she swept her hat off and handed it to him. Her green eyes hadn’t left her cousin’s blue orbs. Her hands slowly slid down Reilly’s chest, over his perfectly sculpted abs, and towards his belt. “I’ve got to check his rudder for barnacles.”

Reilly gave Cahill the smuggest look, but said not a word.

He tried telling himself it wasn’t so bad watching his sister give their least favorite cousin head. But himself was having none of it. That Reilly seemed to enjoy the masterful blowjob for what it was irritated Cahill, though in the back of his mind he knew that he’d have been even more upset if his cousin hadn’t enjoyed it.

Had he expected the guy to demand that she make more of a mess, forcing herself to gag on his length, the way Oona always had? Or did he think Reilly was going to push his knob against his sister’s cheek and then smack the bulge repeatedly with his bare hand? Maybe club her lightly across the face with his member? Would he have wanted to see that?

If anything, the new Reilly looked even meaner than the old one. But looks could be deceiving. He was passive. Calm. Restrained. It was like the queen had taken a feral dog from them and sent back a well-trained one.

“Ungh,” Reilly grunted, eyelids fluttering, as his orgasm arrived.

His pectoral jumped as they contracted and his hips jerked. After a few moments, his muscles relaxed and he let out a long sigh, but he didn’t appear to be done.

After swallowing what had to have been a huge load of cum, Fiona finally slipped her cousin’s cock out of her mouth and slowly rose to her feet. “Forgot how good you taste,” she said. “It’s been so long since we were together.”

Cahill rolled his eyes.

Reilly had nothing to say to that. He just smiled at her, swept a stray lock of brown hair out of her eyes, and then kissed her.

Again, her Libido pulsed. Perhaps not as vigorously, but still. Fi was enjoying the new Reilly a lot more than Cahill would have expected. He hoped that wore off soon.

While the two of them locked lips, Cahill came up behind his sister and started undoing her dress. He soon discovered that the stupid thing didn’t have any zippers. Just lots of things that needed untying. For authenticity’s sake, he supposed. Of course, he could have glamoured it away, but sometimes it was more fun to use one’s hands.

“Here, let me,” Fiona said at last.

She pushed Reilly back to give herself some room, turned around to face Cahill, and finished removing the dress. Rather unceremoniously at that.

It wouldn’t have killed her to give him a little show, would it?

“Honestly,” she said with a bemused grin, “I’ll never understand how the simplest things can be so confusing to men.”

Bras, he could handle. Rather well, thank you very much. But he didn’t have much experience with petticoats or corsets.

“And I’ll never understand why women think that a person’s IQ is in any way related to what they know about clothes.”

That earned him a punch in the arm.

“Careful now,” Cahill said, palming the butt of his pistol. “One of us is armed.”

“Drop it! On the deck!” a cute voice shouted, almost managing to sound authoritative and commanding. It didn’t come from anywhere on the ship, but somewhere above them, which was odd since they were already above the trees. “Do it now!”

The script didn’t call for the cops to show up until the pirates made their delivery of their non-existent contraband to the mobsters. Of course, he didn’t care about ruining the story, such as it was. But he’d really been looking forward to seeing his mother in her costume.

“Toss it over here!” Aeife snapped.

She was really taking this seriously.

Fiona stuck her hands in the air. With a sigh, Cahill drew both his weapons and slid them across the deck. Then, following his sister’s lead, he held his hands up high. Finally, Reilly did the same. Their grandmother might not have actually commanded them to do so, but it seemed like a good idea.

Only then did Aeife leap down onto the deck. She landed with a great smack, rocking the ship the way a damned cannonball might have. One could almost believe she weighed more than a hundred and twenty five pounds, or whatever it was.

As his grandmother rose to her feet, she took Cahill’s breath away.

She wore a black elastic catsuit that would need to be a size or two bigger before it could be described as form-fitting, fingerless gloves, and a black baseball cap with “SWAT” written in big white letters on it. A pair of a handcuffs and a fake badge were attached to her utility belt. Her shiny black boots had six inch stiletto heels and way more straps than necessary. The top of her catsuit seemed to be missing a few panels, like the manufacturer had run out of material. Little more than her abs, shoulders, and areola were covered up. Her huge breasts were squeezed so tight by the elastic material that they looked like they might pop.

He’d decided earlier that they were a bit too big for him. Prior to meeting his grandmother, he’d not thought such a thing possible. At least, not unless implants, photoshop, or hentai were involved. Especially not since she was thin and her breasts were as firm and round as could be expected for their size, rather than being flat and droopy. But his grandmother only made him appreciate the perfection that was his mother all the more, especially since she didn’t have a lower body to match her chest. Even Fiona’s endowment was preferable, not least because hers were proportional to her figure.

All the same, though, Cahill desperately wanted to free those lovely ladies from their restraints. He couldn’t look at them and not want to play with them. Their appeal might have been mostly based on novelty, but that was still something.

The strips of black tape on her cheeks were a particularly nice touch. Vaguely intimidating, yet more than a little sexy as well.

On the other hand, her assault rifle was a bit more realistic than necessary. And he wasn’t crazy about the way she pointed the muzzle straight at him. He knew it was all just part of the act, but his heart didn’t quite seem to believe his brain.

“You alone?” he asked, trying to sound calm.

“One of me is more than enough for the likes of you,” she said.

Fiona chuckled at that, earning herself a glower from their grandmother that made her clear her throat and stare at her feet.

“Your associates are being taken down as we speak, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Aeife continued. As if that hadn’t been discussed before hand.

He’d only wondered whether either Gallech or Seamus were with her. Whether they were both headed for Caronwyn.

Damn, but he’d have killed to know what his mother looked like in her costume. Part of him was curious about Brittany too, but that curiosity paled in comparison to his need to see Caronwyn’s take on a old-time gangster. Not that she’d have looked any worse as a cop or a pirate. Or a fucking crayon. Just thinking about all the costumes he’d like to see her in made his whole body ache. Knowing that Finnegan and both of his brothers would get to be with her was simply unbearable.

Just then, an unseen force knocked him on his ass. Then it sat him up, stripped him of his clothes, and tied his arms to his sides with silk rope.

“You wait here while I interrogate the other two,” his grandmother said with a naughty twinkle in her eyes. Her heels clicked on the hardwood deck as she walked over to Reilly. “There’s two ways we can do this,” she told his cousin. “The fun way, or…the other way.”

“Kinda intense, isn’t she?” he whispered to Fiona.

“I think I’ve got a lady-boner,” his sister replied.

There was something rather arousing about seeing his grandmother act like this. It reminded him of the way she’d rocked his world just a little earlier. Aeife was not the sort of woman that let men force her to do thing she didn’t want to do. Her recent stint as the queen’s captive notwithstanding, she was no one’s victim, nor their plaything. If anyone was going to do any dominating, it would be her.

Yet, much as he appreciated that, his tastes were a bit different. As her grandson, he respected her strength. It made him think he’d never again see her covered in her own blood. But he must have been a bit old-fashioned, because he didn’t really care for feeling helpless. He also had this crazy idea though that the best sex didn’t require either partner to feel that way, but if it came to that, he wasn’t so submissive himself.

Not that he thought Fiona was about to start idolizing their grandmother. Every now and then, his sister liked to flirt with the idea of being in control. Tie her brothers down with vines and whatnot. But she never really got aggressive. Didn’t hurt him or make him beg for mercy. If she was getting excited by their grandmother, it was less on a physical level than an intellectual one. A female empowerment thing.


It appeared their grandmother was done playing the hardass anyway, though. She tossed her rifle aside and it turned to feathers in midair, scattering to the wind. She then started fumbling with Reilly’s waistband.

“Well, well, well. You’re bigger than I remember,” she said after freeing him from his stupid striped pants once again.

His musclebound cousin didn’t have anything to say to that. Didn’t seem he had much to say to anything, of late. The queen had not only taught him to heel, but somehow got him to quit barking too. Imagine that. His body might have come to resemble Gallech’s, but his demeanor was more akin to that of Finnegan.

“Fi, honey, why don’t you ride this beautiful thing while I go tease your brother?”

“My pleasure, Grandma,” his sister replied.

While the two of them got into position, his sister lying flat on her back and Reilly kneeling above her, Aeife came around behind Cahill. She bent down close, her breathe warm on his neck, and asked, “Does that excite you? Or are you feeling left out?”

“Are those mutually exclusive?” he asked.

His grandmother laughed. Then moaned delightfully before giving his earlobe a little nibble, which was of course enough to make him ejaculate. The damn woman had more supernatural energy in her toenail clippings than he’d ever wielded.

That was the end of his fun, though. From there, she just massaged his shoulders and peppered him with the occasional quick kiss while the two of them watched Reilly make love to Fiona as tenderly as she preferred. Her kisses didn’t pack any real punch either.

Cahill couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Every time his cousin finished plunging into Fiona, he rolled his hips so that his pelvis would generate some friction against her clitoris. Not once did he put a hand around her throat, talk down to her, or even slam into her as hard as most women not named Fiona would have preferred. He was as gentle and attentive as a man could be, and Fiona took fucking notice. Her whimpers and moans had Cahill squirming with desire. With each passing second, he envied his cousin a little more.

Only after Reilly guided Fiona through two orgasms did Aeife untie him.

“You want her?” his grandmother asked.

“Fuck yes,” he said without thinking.

The right answer was probably that he wanted her instead. But he didn’t bother to correct himself. Truthfully, he really did want Fiona more so than his grandmother. More than anyone but his mother. Aeife was incredible, and far more talented than any woman he’d ever been with. But his sister was…special. No other way to put it.

If his answer offended his grandmother, though, she didn’t show it. Just planted a sweet, grandmotherly kiss on the top of his head, stood up, and summoned Fiona with a finger curl. Then she went to Reilly and took over for her granddaughter.

“So. Looked like you had fun,” Cahill said.

“He’s so different now,” Fiona said with a maudlin smile.

“Yeah,” Cahill agreed.

“And she’s kind of awesome, isn’t she?” Fiona asked, watching in utter fascination sa their grandmother straddled their cousin’s hips.

Cahill coaxed a padded stool up out of the deck and gestured for his sister to sit. She did so without ever taking her eyes off Aeife.

That was fine. He’d have her full attention soon enough.

Dropping to his knees, his back to the spectacle Fiona found so enchanting, Cahill spread his sister’s legs apart. He loved pleasing her like this. Loved the way she tasted and smelled. Loved her thick hair. Her labia were bald, but the bush growing on her mons was wilder than that of any other woman he’d ever been with. Which only seemed fitting for his nature goddess. He especially loved the way she responded to his every touch. The fey were all more sensitive than mortals, though they were also more able to withstand intense stimulation. Yet even by the standards of their kind, Fiona was sensitive in the best possible way.

“Mmmm, that’s the stuff,” his sister moaned as he started gently teasing her outer labia. He felt his bandana tighten as Fiona pulled on it. “You. Are. Amazing.”

So much for Aeife and Reilly.

He threw a quick jab at her stiff clitoris before resuming his torturously slow seduction of her pussy lips. A sharp gasp came in response, followed by a sigh.

Then for the longest time, Cahill avoided Fi’s clitoris entirely. Even after his fingers slipped inside her tight hole and searched out her G-spot, his tongue refused to dance with her little lady. He could sense her frustration with him too, though she did her best to hide it. It wasn’t in the movement of her hips or the sounds she made, but the size of the waves crashing against the walls of her Libido, and the frequency with which they broke. A tempest was building within her.

Still he waited.

When he finally did start attacking her base, she went crazy. For Fiona, anyway. Her version of crazy didn’t involve much cursing or thrashing, but he knew what effect he was having on her. And it wasn’t but five seconds later that she started cumming. Her juices flowed freely, thickening with her orgasm, and he was all too happy to lap them up. Meanwhile, energy poured into his Libido, giving him a rush.

“Mom’s a lucky woman,” she said after she recovered her breath.

That was a strange comment. Yet it wasn’t.

Did any of them ever quite figure out how relationships worked here in Faerie? Had their grandmother loved her father or one of her brothers? Or perhaps her son, the uncle Richard he so seldom heard about? How had she handled that?

“And Seamus is a lucky man,” he replied.

She smiled at that. And then slipped down from the stool, gestured for him to take her place, and got to her knees before him.

Their grandmother was still going at it. Furiously. There might not be much of Reilly left when she was finished with him, by the looks of it. But after making a quick note of that, Cahill shut the two of them out of his mind.

Much as he’d made her suffer, his sister took extra special care of him. Fi built things up even more slowly than usual, using light flicks of her tongue and soft kisses. She made him wait forever before she so much as wrapped her lips around the tip of his cock. Which she did ever so slowly when the time finally came. For the longest time, her soft hands gripped the base of his cock but didn’t really move. It was a long time before she worked her way up to furiously pumping his shaft. Meanwhile, his most sensitive parts received more and more attention. After a fashion, his sister introduced a few supernatural embellishments. His body grew incredibly sensitive, then his senses abruptly dulled. Spectral hands roamed all over him, sending warm waves radiating out through his body.

Cahill felt his sister’s hand inside his Libido, like a lid on a boiling pot of water. His ecstasy grew more and more intense, making his eyes water and muscles spasm, but still his orgasm eluded him. Because she denied him it.

“Fi,” he moaned. “This is…oh, fuck…you’re too much.”

Apparently, the idea that he might actually have wanted her to ease up didn’t so much as cross her mind, because she did not relent for so much as a moment.

His lungs were pumping like bellows and his heart beating faster than a mortal man’s could. Though he hadn’t so much as lifted a finger, he was drenched in sweat.

Only when Aeife came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder did Fi show mercy. And when she did, Cahill erupted like a volcano. His legs jerked and his torso flopped about. Unholy sounds escaped his lips, and a torrent of cum shot out of his dick.

His sister probably would have been glad to swallow all of it. She always was. But after a few mouthfuls, she pulled him out and let Aeife take over.

His grandmother’s tongue did terrible things to his glans. Terrible, wonderful, unbearable things. He wasn’t sure if his orgasm kept going or if she pushed him into a new one, but he fed his grandmother even more cum than he had Fiona. Unlike her granddaughter, though, the onetime queen had no trouble swallowing every bit of his jizz.

“We’ll play later,” Aefie told his sister after she rose to her feet. Running her fingers through Fi’s hair, she added, “Just us girls.” Fiona nodded and Cahill sensed his sister’s Libido hum. “But it’s about time we delivered the cargo, hmm?”

Cahill almost understood what she meant. The world was spinning though, and his brain didn’t seem concerned about anything but the euphoria he was experiencing.

“See if you can’t get us back on course, will you sweetie?” his grandmother added.

“You got it, Grams,” Fiona said before kissing the older woman on the lips.

Cahill watched in fascination as his sister retreated. Damn, she had one hell of an ass. A guy could hypnotize himself, watching her walk away.

“Miss me?” his grandmother asked.

All that remained of her outfit was the hat, gloves, and boots. His hands sought out her huge breasts. They felt cool and soft and heavy and wonderful. Her areola were a bit oversized, as were the breasts themselves. Darker than he liked too. But there was no denying the absolute majesty of her mammaries. A few sizes smaller would have been good, but too big was definitely better than too small.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll go easy on you this time.”

And she did. Sort of.

She used more glamours than she had earlier. Than any woman he’d ever been with ever had. But she was relatively gentle.

His grandmother made love to his entire body. She brought him to climax by licking his nipples, nibbling his ears, and massaging his muscles. Two, then three, then four of her surrounded him, caressing and kissing him while making love to herself for his pleasure.

Or perhaps hers. Whatever.

At one point, he noticed that he felt weightless even though the high from his most recent orgasm had largely faded. When he glanced down, he found that they were suspended in midair, the pirate ship and the forests of Faerie far below them.

“Okay, your turn,” his grandmother said at that point, lying on her back. Atop nothing. She spread her legs for him and held her pretty lips apart with two slim fingers. “Show me what your sister was raving about earlier.”

Had she heard that? It had seemed like she was lost in the throes of ecstasy.

“Please?” Aeife added.

Who was he to refuse?

Cahill crawled between his grandmother’s legs, unsure of how he gained enough purchase to move. He settled on his stomach before her, admiring her vulva. She had a neatly trimmed triangle of black hair sitting above her slit. Her labia were modest, if not as shy as Teagan’s. She smelled sweet and clean and delicious.

“She says hi,” his grandmother said.

Cahill smiled. Then he gave her a kiss on the lips. Then another. Then he started licking, using only the very tip of his tongue to lightly probe the outermost edge of her labia.

“Oh, it’s going to be like that, is it?” Aeife asked.

A spectral mouth appeared above one of her breasts. It kissed all around her areola, delaying its journey to her nipple. As he worked, he conjured up other mouths, one at a time. By the time her clitoris received its first tongue-flick, he was sucking on both breasts, kissing both hips, and swirling his tongue lightly around both ankles.

“Mmmm, that’s more like it,” she sighed.

Still more mouths appeared. He nibbled at her ears and sucked on her toes and fingers. He kissed her inner thighs and the backs of her knees. He pressed mouths over her wrists and sucked gently. A tongue worked her sensitized navel as though it were a rather different orifice. Yet another teased her browneye.

“I knew you had potential,” his grandmother panted.

She soon began breathing as heavily as a mortal in the midst of a strenuous workout. Her head rolled from side to side, but she made no attempt to escape. He knew she could have, of course, and quite easily at that. But she apparently didn’t want to. However much her body protested, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with the intense pleasure.

Her distinctive taste was more pronounced than that of other fey women. She tasted like kiwis. Going down on her was almost like eating candy, but he rather liked it.

“Kay…oh, fuck…don’t stop,” she said.

He really hadn’t planned to.

“Oh, fuck,” she repeated. The word sounded inordinately harsh coming from that cute, high-pitched voice. It was like listening to a toddler swear. “Fuck, fuck, FUCK. That’s-”

He never found out what it was, because at that very moment, his grandmother went supernova. Her floodgates opened and more energy than Cahill could have imagined poured into him. Not that he came close to emptying her.

Cahill felt like his flesh might melt, sloughing away like wax, and his bones turn to ash. His sad little physical vessel wasn’t up to the task of containing that much power. He held the sun inside him. If he could but contain it, a solar system would come to revolve around him. But first he had to survive the next few fractions a second, and that seemed unlikely.

But then he did. Again and again. A whole minute went past, and still he drew breath.

“Bit off more than we can chew, huh?” his grandmother asked, rolling him onto his back and climbing atop him. “Here,” she said, bending down to kiss him.

Some of her energy passed back into her and the pressure within him receded. She left him with a hefty prize, to be sure, but not one he couldn’t handle.

“How do you even contain it all?” he asked.

“You’ll get there,” she said before kissing him again. “Just give it time.” Another kiss.

How could lips be so soft? So addictive?

“You just need to spend more time in Faerie. And a little training wouldn’t hurt.”

“My mother was training me.”

“She has other things to worry about. Best you let me take over.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. Not only did it sound like betraying his mother, but he could imagine how intense any lessons with her would be. But she was right about his mother having other things to worry about. Such as the child she’d soon give birth to.

“But let’s now worry about that now. You know what Grandma would really like?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Two Cahills. You can do that, can’t you?”

He nodded and split himself in two. With all the energy she’d given him, he probably could have worn three bodies if he’d wanted to.

The two of him slowly penetrated her vagina and her ass. He took a long time burying both dicks all the way inside her. Perhaps longer than necessary. But he didn’t want to go too fast, for her, or for him. She rewarded every little advance with unimaginable pleasure, and that simply had to be savored.

His many hands roamed all over her soft body while the twin pistons built up a steady pace. Her hips were too narrow, her legs too slim. She barely had an ass to speak of. But as beautiful as her smile was, and as huge as her breasts were, she was still incredibly attractive.

Gradually, Cahill worked his two bodies up to a real vigorous pace. And when his grandmother decided even that wasn’t enough, she put her hips to work, slamming into one or the other of his poles with her every movement. Her nails dug into his chest and her teeth into her lower lip. It almost looked like she was in over her head, but Cahill knew better than to believe such a thing was even possible. So he summoned a few spectral mouths to suck on her clitoris and bite on her nipples while his twin cocks assaulted her pussy and ass.

That pushed her over the edge.

And she pulled him along with her. Cahill felt as though his soul was being sucked right out of him, so intense was the pull at his Libido.

Then everything went black.


When he came to, he was lying in the dirt, and it was his mother standing above him rather than his grandmother. She was wearing a fedora. Why was she wearing a fedora?

Oh, right. The costumes.

Man, did she look good in hers. Her full length gray on black pinstripe coat, worn open, was trimmed with red lapels and cuffs. Beneath it, she wore red panties and a pinstripe halter top that left her swollen abdomen exposed. Her red leather heels had black straps and gray buckles. There were no stockings on her legs, to his surprise. But as good as she looked in thigh highs, he couldn’t object to seeing that much exposed flesh. Her coat made her legs seem even longer and slimmer.

There were men out there who didn’t find pregnant women attractive. He’d been one of them, in his youth. Or so he thought. That seemed so long ago now. Little more than a dream. Looking at his mother, he found it hard to believe that anyone could fail to be aroused by that lovely bulge. By the sight of a mother-to-be in all her glory.

His eyes traveled a little further up, to his mother’s face. The most beautiful face in all of existence. The shade of her lips was brighter than usual. Perhaps closer to candy apple red than deep red, matching her outfit perfectly. Her hair looked a bit closer to brown when contrasted with a red that bright, but those curls were pure perfection no matter their hue.

It shouldn’t be possible for a woman to be as gorgeous as his mother. How were men to survive in a world where such beauty was possible without going blind or mad or both?

“You okay, baby?” she asked.

“How could I not be?” he said.

Looking up into those dark eyes, so beautifully accentuated by her glamour-makeup, he was suddenly better than okay. The soft hand she had pressed to his chest helped too. It filled him with a pleasant warmth. The sort that told him no harm could come to him while he was with her. That all his needs would be seen to.

“Cheese-EEE,” Brittany said from somewhere just behind their mother. “Let’s just pretend no one else heard that, okay?”

Someone probably should have explained to her that keeping her mouth shut would have gone some ways towards building the illusion that no one else had heard Cahill’s words. But then he noticed Reilly hovering beside her, in full pirate costume once more, and he realized that she was playing to an audience.

He probably should have been glad that there was only one other guy around, instead of three. But he was starting to get a bit tired of Reilly, new and improved though he might be. Particularly the way his sisters reacted to said improvements.

They did know his skin was still every bit as fair as theirs, right? That his head was bald and his beard red? And not a beautiful dark red-brown like Caronwyn’s, but bright and coppery. And since when were they turned on by tattoos? They made him look so mortal.

Whatever. Brittany could get as worked up as she wanted over the guy. It was no skin off his nose. He had his mother by his side now. That was all that mattered.

Even if his sister did look good in her outfit.

She wore a pink suit with silver pinstripes, a silver necktie, a silver fedora with a pink feather sticking out, and silver suede pumps. Though her suit jacket was closed, the buttons sat so low that her chest still hung out in the open. All she wore under the jacket, besides the necktie, was a pink push-up bra that did a nice job of making her breasts seem bigger than they were. Tight as her pants were, though, it was her killer legs that drew the eye.

Well, that and the oversized Tommy gun she held, stock propped against her hip and muzzle pointed in the air. The thing must have weighed twenty-five pounds or more. Had his sister possessed no more strength than a mere mortal, she’d have no more use for that thing than Cahill would a fifty pound gun.

“Where’s everyone else?” Cahill asked as he sat up.

“On the ship,” his mother replied.

“Us girls get bored of playing with the same toys over and over again,” Brittany said, reaching back to plant a palm over Reilly’s crotch.

“I bet,” Cahill said, climbing to his feet.

He noticed that his own costume, which his grandmother had glamoured away so abruptly earlier, had reappeared. He might not have minded, had he been tasked with playing a police officer or a 30′s era mobster. Fucking pirates.

His mother silently pressed up against him, resting her head against his chest. He planted a kiss on her forehead before wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“So. We don’t have to wait anymore?” Brit asked.

“Have a time,” their mother replied.

She herself was in no rush to get down to it. But that was just fine with Cahill. Simply having her close to him was enough to put a smile on his face.

Poor Brittany, though. She had only just tossed her gun aside and started working on Reilly’s belt when they were all so rudely interrupted.

From behind nearly every tree, an image of Titania appeared, each wearing the same outfit but sporting different colors in her hair and on her lips and nails. At least, Cahill hoped they were only images. Mere illusions, created through glamour. He did not like the idea of the queen being able to wear several dozen bodies at once.

Without a thought, the four of them slipped into their fey forms. Fairy fire wreathed his cousin, who wore nothing but a pair of jeans. Hooded brown robes concealed his mother’s body. Brittany stood naked, save for her feathered cloak. Cahill rid himself of everything but his pants, which turned into leather breeches. As he grew a few inches in height, his body hair thickened, and a massive rack of antlers sprouted from his head.

He expected the queen to make a comment about their game of dress-up. But she didn’t. She didn’t even seem to see them. Each of her many visages stared straight ahead, at precisely nothing. Hopefully, that was a sign that she wasn’t truly there, but projecting her image out to every corner of her lands from somewhere far away.

“Hear me, children of Faerie,” she said in a musical voice.

It sounded as though several Titanias spoke at once. Except only one of them actually spoke. The others hummed or sang, giving her words a rich and beautiful backdrop.

Cahill hated to admit it, but the queen was a creature of pure beauty. Everything about her was lovely. It took an act of pure will to resist the temptation to fall to his knees before her, even though she’d not have noticed if he did.

There were powerful glamours at work. And unless he was mistaken, she’d cast them over all of Faerie. He couldn’t even think about what that said about how powerful she was.

“Our first song has come to an end. It is time to sing a different tune.”

And as she said this, a song rang out. At least, inside Cahill’s head it did. Not for the first time, he found it hard to tell whether anyone else heard what he did.

“What did I have,” said the Faerie Queen “What did I have,” this proud young woman did say “I had three noble courts, each one a jewel But they brought me no riches, only acrimony My strong sons, my darlin’ lasses, fight o’er me jewels They fight and they lie, and tha’s me grief,” said she.

Cahill looked down at his mother, who was as still as a statue. Her eyes did not blink, her hair did not stir, and he saw no sign of breathing. He checked her Libido and found a frozen pond. It wasn’t cold, exactly, but it was utterly still and lifeless.

It was the same with the others. And the forest around them as well. Nary a leaf on a tree stirred. It was as though time had stopped for everyone but him.

“A long time now,” said the Faerie Queen “A long time now,” this proud young woman did say “There’s been plottin’ and schemin’ o’er the courts Me children warrin’ with one ‘nother, an’ with me The wailing cries, they shake the very trees My three noble courts bring only misery,” said she.

He knew the song, he realized. In the Dreaming, it was known as Four Green Fields, and was seen as a parable about the status of Northern Ireland. But it wasn’t Cathleen ni Houlihan singing about Ulster inside his head.

September 2018
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