Chapter 7

The dragonhunter’s council vibrated with a kind of tense energy unlike anything Beowulf St. George had ever seen in his life. The murmurs between the various hunters sometimes spiked into hissing and snarled comments – he could see anger on the faces of Samson and Gideon, who were both sitting beside one another. Theodora, one of the very, very, very few female dragon hunters (being a female dragon hunter was considered ... rather risky, all things considered) was reading her iPhone and frowning intently.

Beowulf cleared his throat. “The meeting shall begin,” he said.

“This meeting is a farce,” Samson said, immediately. He sprang to his feet and slammed his palms down on the table. “We’re calling meetings, discussing, debating, doing everything except for our god given duty of slaying dragons.” He tossed down a copy of the daily paper onto the table, where it skidded to a stop. “And now, Jeremy Bayer has shown his true colors!”

The newspaper in the middle of the table had the headlines: WAR IN UKRAINE! THOUSANDS DEAD! WORLD AT THE BRINK OF NUCLEAR ARMAGEDDON!

“My god, he’s in league with Putin!?” One of the dragonhunters exclaimed.

“ ... not ... that story, here,” Samson said, then pointed at a small article tucked in the corner that read: Proud Boy Rally Disrupted by Mysterious Antifa Protester.

Beowulf St. George reached out and took up the newspaper, flipping past the three stories about cancel culture run amok that were folded between the Ukrainian War story, before finally coming to the second half of the article, reading aloud: “The mysterious antifa protester was dressed entirely in silver and carried a baseball bat...” He frowned, then flipped around and saw the photograph was clearly of a masked Skye Silver, her arms flexing as she showed off to the camera.

“How the hell did she get a photo taken of her?” Theodora asked. “The Working should make that impossible.”

“The camera was held by one of her human minions,” Samson said. “This is the worst possible nightmare scenario – dragons working with humans, to allow their preposterous abilities to actually cause lasting damage to the world.”

There was a long silence.

Then Gideon leaned in. “I mean, is it really the nightmare scenario?” he asked. “Like, the Proud Boys are assholes.”

Murmurs of agreement came from around the table. Samson frowned, impressively. “First they came for the Proud Boys-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Beowulf said, holding up his hand. “That poem is about the people that fascists like the Proud Boys want to exterminate. We’re not going there. I mean, we may be an ancient order of dragonhunters who hate fun and want to kill innocent, adorable dragons, but we’re not monsters.”

Jeremy, who had been listening to Penny describe this whole event, frowned. “He didn’t really say that, did he?”

Jeremy and his five dragon girlfriends were in his bedroom, with Penny Copper laying on her back on the bed, her head leaning over the edge, looking at him upside down. “Well, I’m paraphrasing,” she said.

“That was still a very insane thing you did,” Cinder said.

“It wasn’t that crazy. We Coppers are actually quite sneaky, unlike some people here,” Penny said, putting her hand on her chest primly. “Anywho, the dragonhuners debated back and forth blah blah blah, yadda yadda, anywho, Samson split off from the main group and is going to attack the mansion tonight.”

“ ... you kinda buried the lede there, Penny!” Jeremy said.

“Nah! The newspaper did, though,” Penny said.

Gwendolyn Bayer had noticed, faintly, that her life had gotten kind of weird lately. It was a string of improbable events that, if she had been anyone else, she might have brushed off as her god given right as the first and only main character of the universe. Younger people did tend to think of themselves in those ways. But while Gwen was fairly young for a mother of three, being about 36 and change, she had still lived a whole hell of a lot of life in those three decades and change. She had seen her husband leave her. She had had to raise a pair of twins and a deeply empathetic young boy who tried to hide the damage the world did to him. She had started a business, and had to keep that very business secret from her children and the rest of the world.

It had been, in a word ... alot.

So, despite ancient Lemurian magic older than every extant civilization on Earth working overtime to make her not notice the effects of five dragons on her life ... she still thought it was just a tiny bit weird that she had gone from being barely making ends meet with a house she half owned and half rented to living in the mansion of her daughters’ boyfriend’s parents, with millions of dollars and her own personal maid.

She had noticed how it was faintly odd that said maid was perpetually dressed up like a catgirl.

And was the same age as her son.

And went by the name Morgan.

And had the surname Clarke.

Just like her daughters’ boyfriend. Now, the fact that her full name was Morgan C. Clarke and not Morgan B. Clarke did seem to be pretty definitive evidence that she was someone else and yet, despite that, suspicion persisted.

And then there was the fact that Jeremy – who she loved dearly and knew was an absolute sweetheart – had gone from having no girls and no friends to having five friends who were all girls and, quite possibly, girlfriends.

Gwendolyn had started her investigations subtly at first. Checking her bank account to try and find where the money had come from. Jeremy said it was from a contest, but she had googled the name of the contest and found ... nothing. She had gone from there to quietly questioning her maid – subtly, at first. Morgan had dodged.

Gwen considered the answers as she sat at her working desk in her bedroom, her finger brushing along her chin, her lips pursed. She looked at the blank workpage she had open and considered her last conversation with Morgan C. Clarke.

So, Morgan ... C ... Clarke, any relation to Morgan B. Clarke? He used to be quite important to my daughters.

Nah.

She frowned, remember the flat expression on Morgan’s face – like answering questions about the other Morgan was a personal insult to her.

No relation at all? So, you’re not related to the Clarkes?

Not even a tiny bit. I am glad they’re in another state, doing humanitarian shit. Uh, want some tea, Miss Bayer?

Gwen shook her head. “She’s hiding something,” she said, then stood, closing her screen down with a swish of her hand. She checked to make sure she looked presentable, then stepped out into the corridor to find two of Jeremy’s friends stringing wires along the corridor which appeared to be attached to M18A1 Claymore directional antipersonnel mines. The mines were tucked up against the walls and angled outwards, so that anyone who tripped the wires walking up the stairs would be turned into a fine spray of hamburger meat.

“What the hell are you two doing!?” Gwen asked.

Cinder Red and Rayne Blue spun around to face Gwen, still holding two mines between them.

“Halloween decorations!” Cinder said.

“Land mines. I mean, decorations,” Rayne said.

Gwen opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again – and finally, she settled on: “Well, those better be decorations.”

“They are, don’t worry. No damage at all,” Cinder said, grinning as she slammed down another landmine – the spikes crunching into the floor with an audible cracking noise. She tugged out another string from the mine and Gwen turned and headed down the corridor in the other direction. She walked past a room that had Morgan and Penny at work – Penny was hammering boards up over the window with Morgan, humming cheerfully. Gwen frowned, then stepped into the room.

“Excuse me,” she said, quietly. “But this is a mansion – what are you doing ruining the walls?”

“There’s a ... hurricane coming,” Penny said, quickly, turning to face her as Morgan kept hammering nails home. The board of wood glowed faintly, as if someone had painted it with luminescent paint, creating a bizarre, complicated ... runic symbol on it. “A big ... windy ... stormy ... storm storm of a stormy hurricane.”

“We live in California,” Morgan hissed.

“Earthquake! Big earthquake on the horizon!” Penny said, throwing her arms wide.

Gwen scowled. “Okay, that’s it, where is Jeremy?”

“Oh, he should be with his sisters,” Penny said, nodding. “They need to be ... polled on their opinions. Since we’re going to be having a party, since he doesn’t want to get them over a barrel when it comes to guests.” She grinned, slightly, her eyes glittering eagerly. Morgan was blushing harder and harder with every word. “Fortunately, those two are just absolute pushovers, eager to show their bellies at the slightest push. Jeremy should be able to rail right through any objections.” She licked her lips, slowly.

“ ... what?” Gwen asked, her cheeks flushing, a confused lurch in her belly making her heart beat a bit faster.

Morgan started hammering up another board, while Penny licked her hammer’s head with a slow, lewd motion, her tongue flicking up to press to her upper lip. She purred. “Yeah, I think Jeremy should be pretty ... deep in dickscussions with those two right about now...”

Gwen stepped backwards, then closed the door, shaking her head.

“I have to talk to Jeremy about his friends,” she whispered to herself.

She started down the corridor towards Jeremy’s bedroom.

The corridor itself was dark – the lights off, the area shadowed. The door there was open a thin crack, with a pale golden light shining around it – the light of the lamp in the room. So Jeremy wasn’t asleep. Gwen stepped closer, and some instinct made her move slow and quietly – her ears perked up. Past the distant sound of hammering and clattering, she could hear the much closer sound of faint moaning and the smacking of lips. Gwen’s cheeks heated as she wondered which of Jeremy’s five girls he was making out with.

She stepped to the door, then opened it with her finger, using it to gently widen the crack, allowing her to stand in the darkness beyond the corridor. There, she peered inside and saw that ... it wasn’t Jeremy kissing a girl.

It was Jennifer kissing a girl.

Except that the other girl was Jessica.

Her twin daughters. Her lovely girls. Her innocent girls. Their lips were locked, lewdly, together, their tongues pressing together, their pettie breasts grinding against one another, nipples slipping up and down against their breasts as they caressed one another – moaning around the contact. Their mouths broke apart, a shimmering line of saliva caught in the lamplight – and Gwen’s eyes swept along their bodies, to see that Jen at the very least had gotten herself a new tattoo, a cursive word tattooed above her buttocks.

Brother’s Keepsake.

With an arrow aimed down at her...

Her...

Her ass was resting on her son’s face. His tongue was clearly delving into his own sister’s cunt. And from the way Jen threw her head back and arched her spine, Gwen’s dear son was ... quite skilled. Her breath caught and she put her hand over her chest, her eyes widening as she opened her mouth, then closed it again. This couldn’t be happening. Her ... her three ... her three children were all – she shook her head, then noticed that Jes was rising and falling gently...

And Jeremy’s cock was buried inside of her cunt.

Gwen felt her own traitor body begin to react. Her nipples growing achingly hard. Her sex ... beginning to dampen. Jen purred, softly as Jess drew back onto the balls of her ankles, allowing her to bounce herself faster and more eagerly on Jeremy’s dick. “Mmm, sis, how is brother’s cock?”

“Ah, it’s so good, he’s so fucking thick,” Jes moaned. “Ah. Don’t suffocate him.”

“I can suffocate him a little. As a treat.” Jen purred, tightening her thighs. Jeremy’s hands were grabbing onto her ass – scrabbling a bit. Jen closed her eyes and groaned, her body trembling as she clearly came – soaking Jeremy’s face with her pussy juices. She lifted her hips up and grinned down at Jeremy, who was panting, looking dazed.

“W-we ... can’t be doing this ... again!” Jeremy groaned – despite his words, he was thrusting up into Jes now, thrusting his dick into her as deep as it could go. Gwen swore she could see a faint bulge where his dick was inside of her daughter – her son’s cock. Her mind realized that ... that he was as big ... no, slightly bigger than her biggest dildo. Her cuntlips ached to feel that kind of pleasant stretch and she realized that her hand was cupping her own breast. She tugged her hand away from herself as she was red hot – and as she did so, Jes and Jen both giggled.

“Shh, big brother,” Jes purred. “Be quiet and let your sister ride your dick.”

Jen giggled. “Stop bullying him, Jes!” She slid behind her sister, her body perfectly identical – I wonder if they have identical tattoos, Gwen thought – as she cupped her twin’s breasts, gently rolling her nipples. “Our dear Jeremy just doesn’t know when or how to say no!”

“I said no, you sat on my face,” Jeremy said, laughing.

“And yet, you ... ah ... ate her out. Curious is it not?” Jes crooned – then squeaked as Jeremy sat up. Watching her son move, Gwen realized that she had ... missed the point when he had become incredibly...

Buff?

It was easy to miss under his shirt and baggy jeans, because he was buff in a lean, sleek, whip-fast kind of way. He hadn’t bulked up, but he had an eight pack now and corded biceps that looked as if they were strong enough to pin just about anyone down. He was so fast too – before she had even blinked, he had reversed the situation, pinning Jes down onto her back, her thighs spread, her ankles up around her head as he slammed into her – his dick sliding every single inch it could out of her before slamming back in, his balls clapping against her ass as she stopped teasing and started to moan. “Ah! Jeremy! Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck your sister’s little cunny, fuck me, fuck me harder than my boyfriend! Ah! Yes! Fuck! Oh god, yes! You’re better than Morgan ever was!”

Gwen’s head swam.

Not only was her daughter fucking her son ... her daughter was cheating on her boyfriend.

She had ... had ... fantasies before. Not about incest, no. But instead, about thinking about how viciously pleasurable it’d have felt to have a strapping, gorgeous man of any persuasion – lithe and twinkish, big and bearish, anything – take her when she had still been chained in the miserable excuse of a marriage she had had with the Absolute Bastard that had called himself her husband. To just ... grab her by her throat, throw her onto the bed, smack her thigh with his dick, then make it clear, she was going to get...

Fhuuuuuuuu-cked.

Not just laid.

Not just screwed.

She was going to get absolutely fucking destroyed by a dick so big that it beggared the imagination and it was going to be all while the Absolute Bastard remained completely clueless until she showed him her swelling belly and crooned about how it definitely, one hundred percent, was not his.

It was an intoxicating fantasy. Horrible, an awful betrayal of trust (even if it was trust given to the Absolute Bastard) but ... goddamn if that didn’t just make it even hotter.

And now she was watching her own son, her eighteen year old son, the boy she had nursed, the boy she had cuddled as he had grown up, the boy she had been proud to see become a young man ... absolutely destroying some pussy. Jessica was screaming in bliss, her hands reaching above her to brace against her sister’s thighs, her body quivering so much that even her tiny tits were jiggling obviously – and she was screaming because Jeremy was fhuuucking her. With an H and three Us.

Jeremy grunted.

His entire body tensed, as if he was clenching his every muscle. His balls tightened and Gwen’s breath caught as she saw the thick, white flood of incestuous cum that seemed to burst from her daughter’s cunt – spilling down her ass, soaking into the bed. Her throat worked and she stepped backwards...

And the only reason why she didn’t scream was because the hand that clapped over her mouth was quite strong. She squirmed and then froze as she heard Morgan’s voice in her ear. “Don’t panic. Come on. Come on.”

Gwen was panting in confusion as the maid pushed her into one of the unused rooms, closing the door and flicking the light on – the two of them standing in the quiet pocket of privacy in a house that seemed to be going completely insane. Outside, Gwen could see that Skye was digging holes in the lawn and Nova looked as if she was sharpening stakes to put in it. Gwen shook her head, then turned from the window to Morgan.

“So,” Morgan said. “ ... wanna talk about it?”

“Talk?” Gwen asked.

“Yeah,” Morgan said.

“T-Talk about the fact that my son is fucking his sisters? My daughters?” Gwen asked. “You want to ... talk about that? Like ... like it’s some ... normal relationship?”

Morgan nodded. “Yeah,” she said.

Her fake cat-ears were twitching up slightly. Looking...

Remarkably real.

The Lemurian magic that made everything seem quite normal took a jarring hit inside of Gwen’s mind. She blinked slowly, then opened her mouth, then slowly, sagged down and sat on a small stool in the room, her knees shaking. Morgan’s tail was twitching too.

“Yeah,” Gwen said. “Yeah, I wanna talk about it.”

“So, like...” Morgan sat on the bed, shrugging. “Firstly, I think it’d make the most sense if we, like, clear the air.” She made a tiny circle with her finger, then mimed waving, as if blowing away a cloud.

“Yeah,” Gwen said.

“It was really fucking hot, wasn’t it?” Morgan asked.

“God yes!” Gwen found herself exclaiming, her cheeks heating. “Like, it’s wrong, but it’s ... it’s hot!”

Morgan nodded. “Yeah. Not sure if it’s hot because it’s Jere, or if it’s hot because it’s Jes and Jen, or if it’s hot because it’s Jes, Jen and Jere. Or if it’s hot because they’re all siblings. Or if it’s all of that.” She chuckled. “I think it’s all of that. I mean, it’d be hot if they weren’t related. But, like...” She shivered. “D-Damn.”

“Yeah,” Gwen said. “Bu-But ... he wasn’t wearing a Condom! He didn’t pull out!”

“It’s fine,” Morgan said, smirking slightly.

“Fine!?” Gwen exclaimed. “How can it be fine!?”

Morgan bit her lower lip. “Fuck it. If Jeremy gets mad, he gets mad. But I don’t think he will, cause he ... would want you to know.” She slapped her palms on her knees, ruffling her skirt slightly. “It’ll be fine because of magic, Gwen. Because Cinder, Skye, Rayne and Nova? They’re all magic.”

“But magic...” Gwen started, before trailing off, her eyes widening as Morgan stood, bent forward, then thrust her hips up – her skirts sliding back and revealing her cute little thong and the point where her tail connected smoothly to her skin. There was no strap. No leather. No fakery. It was just ... a literal, actual, factual cat tail. Right there. Wriggling impossibly. Morgan stood, her skirts flipping back down and grinned her toothy grin.

“Is impossible?”

“Uh...”

“I was Morgan B. Clarke, before Jeremy’s dragon girlfriends caught me and turned me into this. Then your son fucked my brains out,” Morgan said, casually.

Gwen’s cheeks heated. She had a billion questions – but the one that popped out was...

“Was he good?”

Morgan snorted, loudly. “Jeeze, Miss Bayer, he was so good my knees are still weak and it happened last week.” She grinned. “He dicked me this morning too.” She leaned forward, and her voice becoming a soft moan. “Ah, yes, Jere, fuck me, fuck me hard...” She laughed at Gwen’s expression – which Gwen hoped was mild offense and irritation and not the sharp explosion of arousal she actually felt.

“W-What do I do?”

Morgan blinked, then drew back, cocking her head as she examined Gwen. She shrugged. “I dunno! Ethics and morals are complicated enough even without dragon fuckery going on. But, like...” She clicked her teeth, then shrugged. “If you hurt Jere’s feelings, I’ll rip your throat out. So, you know, keep that in mind.” She patted Gwen’s shoulders, then sauntered past her and out the door – leaving Gwendolyn Bayer more unsure than ever.

“ ... well, that’s fucking helpful,” she muttered under her breath.

Jeremy panted and tried to sit up while having two twins cuddling against his sides. He managed to get his shoulder blades off the bed despite the caressing hands of Jen and Jes, and was just about to get his arms free too when the door to his room bust open and Cinder Red sprang into the room, then dropped herself down onto his belly. Either she used some kind of dragon magic to cushion the impact, or she was a lot lighter than she looked, or Jeremy was getting preposterously strong on his pretty steady diet of dragon girlcum.

Either way, Cinder’s weight forced him back down as she pressed her nose against his nose, her voice a quiet croon.