Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.
This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
****
Homecoming Hypnotism
Chapter One
Mark Eldridge flight landed more gently than most, so gently, in fact, that he was barely aware that the wheels had touched down, startling back to reality as the other passengers about him on the plane, dressed formally and smartly with suits and layered dresses, prepared to disembark. There was no sense in hastening to get ready, however, as there were still end of flight checks to be taken care of, and he settled himself a little deeper into his seat, which was not the most comfortable, pressing the tips of his fingers together.
No one noticed him, the man with neatly trimmed facial hair (he did need a shave, however, though it had been hard to find a personal barber out on his travels) and blonde hair that was neatly swept to the side, not a single hair out of place. Everything was just as it should be and his blue eyes shone with inner contemplation, smart slacks hanging just so over his legs, although the price was evident in the smooth tailoring. No one needed to look close to see that not a stitch was out of place, his class surely above the rest of those on the flight, although he made not a single complaint about his travelling companions. Things overseas were far more tenuous than a single bout of air travel and the country of his home birth felt the effects of the war, twenty years or so back now, so keenly that it would be ingrained in the days of a generation before fading to history.
This much he knew but that had not stopped life from moving on, human beings slowly managing something of a return to normal life and being, the air raids stopped and businesses booming. Not much pleasant was said about the ones who had started the world war to begin with but there were still the after effects too to take care of and artefacts to be reclaimed, which was just why he had been studying and, of course, working in the field of archaeology in his time away. The effects were widespread and he was determined to do his part in the best way he could, even if Mark was only, at that point in time, at the youthful age of twenty-six.
And unmarried. His mother, Sarah Eldridge, had never failed to forget to remind him of that in her many letters to him, although not all of them had arrived in the right order. Maybe things would have been different if she and his grandmother, Victoria Eldridge, complete with her piercing, imperious stare, had not hassled him so, moved into the forefront of his mind on a daily basis, but it was far, far too late to consider anything of another course of action now that he had set off on his chosen road. A glorious road too it was destined to be, so much so that he could not help but allow his lips to curve up on just the one side in the faintest of smirks, cocky to the last and understanding the gravity of what he had been planning for, in all actuality, several months. A hasty plan, indeed, was not a plan that he would have wanted to undertake at all with the family name in such prominence and at such personal stake.
For he had something on his mind that was soon to come to pass, something very detailed and intricate that had come to light during his time studying and working in India. A culture rich with history and teachings, he most certainly had not been at any kind of loss for fresh material to learn, although not even a man as deviant as he had expected to come across what he did. And that was about to change the course of his entire life from then on out.
He could have used his newfound powers for good but, well...just where would the fun have been in that?
Off the plane in Ohio, a whirl of smartly dressed airport officials, all getting the people of the passenger flight where they needed to go. For some, it must have been their first time flying but, even at his age, Mark was an old hand when it came to the flights that had reinstated after the war. There was no sense in holding back from life, after all, and in doing his bit he also wanted to learn and do as much as he could, immersing himself in the culture and heritage of India, the teachings in meditation.
Ah, and just who could have possibly known that the teachings would contain such pleasure at the end of them? He waited for his bags, smiling at no one, a towering, imposing figure of a muscular man who had kept up with his fitness regime even overseas. Everyone parted around him like the Red Sea from the Bible itself and he allowed them to, patient and biding his time until the chauffeur came to pick him up, the sleek, black vehicle conveying status and power in a way that machines had an innate ability to do.
And, the whole way home into the countryside where the family mansion lay, he plotted. There was nothing that would stop him, not even the grime and sweat and tiredness of travel, nothing that would stop him from putting his plans into motion the very moment he returned home. There was much work to do and he had to keep going, making the bare minimum of polite conversation with the chauffeur whose name he did not catch and whose person he would never see again. The price paid was none of his concern, the family coffers overloaded in the figurative sense -- for money was not stored like that anymore, but it was still nice, in its own way, to think about all of their riches overflowing, the liberty it provided them. Yet it was liberty itself that, strangely, he sought to strip from the first two lovely ladies in his life.
His hand tightened into his fist, knuckles turning white under tension. The chauffer's eyes met his in the rear view mirror and slid away again a moment later. Mark wondered if he caught something in his eyes. Maybe, maybe not. Either way, it would not come to matter very shortly indeed.
Nothing about the estate seemed to have changed in his time away, the display of comfort and riches as extravagant as ever with the groomed hedges and sweeping land lining the driveway. Every tree resided exactly in the place designated to it, trimmed by the gardeners and landscapers, and the fountain bubbled away perfectly before the steps leading up to the grand front doors, every last inch of the mansion oozing a sense of loud elegance. They were there to make a statement, as it was, and not even Mark could have imagined his family toning it down in the slightest when everything that they could have ever have wanted was taken care of for them at a moment's notice, a snap of one's fingers and a passing on, of course, of the ever-present coin and payment.
He would take payment of a different kind from his family, however, having been under their care and almost their service too for so many years. Maybe they did owe him something, the son pushed so far and so hard in life, but maybe that was just his own sense of entitlement coming through -- not that it was something that would ever be examined and deciphered by the curiosity of another soul. No one would know what he did with them as he pushed open the door, his mother, Sarah, standing smiling at the bottom of the staircase with her gloved hands clasped together before her breasts.
"Mark! Oh, my son!"
She rushed for him politely, not breaking stride from a walk even as her pleasure in seeing him once again shone in her blue eyes. He'd gotten his eyes from her but the curls in her richly blonde hair were put there by time with the curlers, the little rolls of spiky beauty making her locks, ultimately, soft and wavy, so much so that something in him ached even then to run his fingers through them. She was dressed in a long, demure summer dress that came all the way down to her ankles, legs still clad in pantyhose and everything about her as prim and as proper as it had always been. The only hint of something a little rebellious about her was the smear of red lipstick adorning her lips, shaping them to a more appealing line: a little trick that he was sure that she had picked up over the course of her time working as a secretary. Of course, she had not needed to work but even a woman had to find something to occupy herself and her drive had been just the thing that had landed her a husband -- to begin with anyway. It was good that she still had something to keep her mind busy.
However, as he watched her approach him as if in slow motion, it was not her attire or her smile, fixed in place, that caught him the most, but just how her breast moved lightly as she walked, not quite constrained as much as they should have been by her brassiere. She was a forty-four, double-D, cup and preferred demure underwear, even when it came to lingerie. He knew she was a forty-four, double-D, cup because he'd looked in her lingerie drawer before. Maybe even then that had been the beginning of the end that was, really, only another sort of beginning.
Shoulder blades pushed back sternly, he looked down at her, his mother a good head and shoulders shorter than him, not returning the hug.
"Mother."
The word came out softly and lowly and something in his tone made her take a step back, eyeing him uncertainly even as she obviously looked him up and down, fussing with his jacket and tugging it a little straighter across his chest, even though it had, honestly, been perfectly passable before.
"You must get these creases out," she said, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, a shake of her head coming across as more disapproving than ever. "Did you not have anyone to manage your laundry while you were over there? Oh, you must tell me everything. But one moment -- I shall have Helga fetch us refreshments!"
But Mark did not move as she turned, looking for the bell with which she could call her personal maid (if she did not hear it, there would surely be hell to pay), waiting with a small smile for the moment that had called him on for so many months. After all that, it was time, and his mother would finally see the man he had become out from under her wing.
"Mark? Mark, are you coming? Do come along now."
"Everything's going to change now, mother. You don't know that now but you soon will."
She paused, confusion crossing her face. It was hard to see just how a woman like her could be confused when her life, as it was, was already so easy and simple. Really, it was only outside affairs that complicated it but she hesitated with her torso half-turned from him, lips parted and her brow, ever so slightly, furrowed. It was not an appealing image, although he did appreciate getting to see the rise of her breasts through the front of her dress, pulled tauter than perhaps she would have liked to see for herself in the dressing room mirror if she'd taken a moment longer to observe her calculated appearance that morning. His eyes dropped and she shifted uncomfortably beneath her son's gaze, completely and utterly unaware that he would be getting far more than an eyeful all to himself soon enough.
