Chapter 20

Sometimes, when I think about, it seems to me that entire world has turned topsy-turvy since Lady Fate gave me her blessing. That or I’d travelled so far beyond the looking glass that I couldn’t tell up from down anymore. I was dead certain to become either as eccentric as Scotia, as perverted as Denise, or as dysfunctionally fucked up as Blackwing. Likely all three at once.

I just wasn’t certain, now that I’d had a moment to consider things, that I wanted my naked penis anywhere near a woman who habitually ripped the arms off of street thugs and beat them to death with their own bloody limbs.

Within the heroine circles (whispered) I heard the rumor that Wings became what she is today because some muggers murdered her parents right before her eyes, when she even younger than Millie. The odds now suggested ... hell, shrieked, that next, with her parent’s blood flowing into the street, she had then been gang-raped, kidnapped, gang-raped some more and then left for dead in a trash heap a few days later. That would put bats in anyone’s belfry.

Sex had been permanently corrupted for her into high-octane nightmare fuel, and she was probably genuinely astounded at the rest of us for our absurd notion that sex was not only fun and pleasurable ... but really fun and very, very pleasurable!

Laura bounced over to her old friend and warmly hugged her and Wings returned the sentiment, but wouldn’t let her trusted friend remove her mask and cowl, to bare her face before us.

“Let me do that,” I said, “I think she’ll let me do it.” And after a longer hug, and an even longer minute of my just calmly holding both her gloved hands, she let me, with visible reluctance, pull them off. I unsnapped the winged cape next, from the armored neck joint of her leather costume armor, and then the gloves came next.

I knew, rather than sensed, that this was as bare, stripped before us, as she could tolerate being for now, so just smiled, hugged her tight again and then held her hand for a moment before I slowly leaned in to kiss her. I gave her the chance to dodge it, but her nerved steeled itself and she let me first kiss her cheek and then her lips, gently. I then beckoned for the others to come over and all do the same. Everyone kissed everyone, and after a while, maybe five minutes or so, Wings was actually closing her eyes and enjoying it.

Surprisingly, or not, Wings had never kissed another woman before. Or a man, like me, before either. Since the terrible night that she had given her life up to revenge, love and especially sex had been put behind her. Alone of the innumerable heroines of the city, she hadn’t taken out her frustrations with a lesbian gal-pal. She took out her stress on the scum of the streets instead. Perhaps, this was a decent opportunity to explain and demonstrate that a good sexual workout is less hard on the knuckles, and other folks jaws, not to mention torn-off limbs.

“Pull up a chair and watch,”I suggested, after giving her one last slightly warmer kiss, “or you can sit closer, on the bed with us and peek as near to the fun as you want to. You don’t have to do anything other than look, unless you want to ... and when, where, and only as much as you want to.”

“Wings,” Laura added, after a wetter, hotter kiss than mine, “we all trust you with our lives and love you like the sister you are. I, we, want to show you that we love you even beyond that. When, if perhaps, you choose to allow us to. As kind and as gentle as you need us to be.” The girls gave each other a few more wet kisses and started to bounce back to the bed.

I gestured to offer Wings a chair, but she sat down near the foot of the bed instead to watch. I gave her hand a last squeeze and forced my way in over squirming bare female flesh to the center of the bed and allowed myself to be inundated with lovers.

Scotia worked an elbow or two and managed to get between my legs to get the lionesses share of my cock, gulping it down as far as she could take it, but was forced to surrender it when Laura snuck her hips down over it from above, mounting me in a reverse cowgirl. That still left Miracle with my balls and most of Canary’s wet snatch to lick out and that kept her busy for quite a long time.

Denise wiggled her cute buggerable ass so that she could plant her clit over my mouth and lean forward enough to grab and mash Laura’s flawless perfect breasts. Bending forward a bit more, they could even kiss now and their tongues were wagging so fast that they risked catching fire.

With a nice cunt at my mouth, I was kept quite distracted for a long while too. I couldn’t see much, with Firefly’s dripping snatch in my face, but this also gave me a really close-up look at my anal slut’s new semi-permanent butt-plug made out of living metal. Scotia had proudly stated that she had precisely measured my prick’s circumference (while at its thickest) and measured the fabricated base at her sphincter to be just 1/16^th of an inch narrower. Her ass would now fit my cock as perfectly as Laura’s vagina ... and also now forever remain exclusively mine to enjoy.

Sometime later, right about the moment I faintly heard someone knocking at the door announcing breakfast, a new, unfamiliar tongue had joined Scotia’s.

Not Wilma’s or Millie’s, I was certain. Not Grimm’s either, or Lightning Lass ... probably. That skinny speedster had breasts even smaller than Millie’s and she sucked cock like she was starving for the nutrition! Mighty Maid? Not a chance! She was almost peerless in a stand-up brawl, but the dim bitch wouldn’t know what to do with a cock if it was staring at her between the eyes. She also had weird alien ideas about sexual privacy and couldn’t wrap her thick head at all around the vulgar notion that we considered it a spectator sport that rewarded audience participation.

It was Wings. She was naked now and trading tongues with Scotia. She even had the courage to place a hand upon Laura’s perfect tits, to better admire them. Understandable; they were utterly irresistible, to any sex.

When Denise flopped off of my face, to crawl forward enough to reach Wings, I was able to get a pretty look at our now naked crusader of the night, and largely approved of everything I saw.

She was nearly as muscular as Grimm, but more lithe, and much more gymnastic. Her breasts were slightly larger than Miracle’s, but not by even so much as a cup size. She was older too, Wilma’s age or even a tad more ... but like my favorite submissive doctor, she sure didn’t look it. Her dark black hair was cut into shoulder length bangs, sort of cute but very functional. I was sure that I’d seen her real, natural face before in the newspapers, certainly in the Gazette. Someone important ... ultra-rich maybe. Yep, odds were she was crazy insane level rich, like billionaire rich. That kind of dough ought to have bought the woman an entire university of psychologists, but she had just us, her friends instead!

Her apparent age? Thirty, probably ... thirty-five at tops in bright street lighting perhaps, but not a day over that. The super-heroine business seemed to very conducive for lasting youth and vitality! None of these gals ever spent much time at a salon or spa! I think Wilma or someone had mentioned once that Doc Wilder had concocted a rather potent vitamin mix for most of the more senior heroines that seemed to turn back the clock. Pat Wilder, by every account, ought to be about sixty and some change, but like Wings and Wilma, she appeared to be half of that.

If they were all going to try to fuck me to death, then I’d soon need a bottle of that stuff too! Suddenly the peculiar thought of having both Canary and her mother, together naked in bed, came to me and I didn’t know whether to get excited or terrified!

“Cum inside of Laura,” Wings whispered, again licking my balls “I want to feel it, here in your balls and up inside of her cunt when you shoot!” Well ... just where had our recluse learned how to talk dirty? Clearly she had been listening to the other girls talking nasty in bed and taking extensive notes. Yeah, that was Wings alright, bringing a steno pad to an orgy!

“Sure ... I’m close,” I agreed, “but only if you’ll give me a real name to call you with, other than Wings. I think we’re all a little too far past acting all formal together.”

“It’s Bryce ... Bryce Payne.”

So that’s why I recognized her face! Yeah, one of those Payne’s. Supposedly, she kept a billion or two just lying around for walking about money. When her parents were murdered she inherited what must have been the largest industrial fortune on record. The Carnage’s and Rockefeller’s? Skint pikers, compared to the Paynes’. Wings wasn’t joking about finding charity and corporate financial support for the rebuilding of the Westside. She could probably write those bank checks all by herself out of petty cash.

It was real, I now suddenly realized, as I enjoyed what was likely the happiest moment of my entire life until now! It was all really going to happen – the Westside was going to be rebuilt, bigger and better than ever before! And, the skirt that was going to make sure that it all happened was licking up my shooting cum as it flowed from out of Laura’s cunt and down my cock. All of it ... every single fucking sticky drop of it, licking it all up and then swallowing it, as Miracle held her and stroked and kiss her hair.

I think she was embarrassed to kiss the eagerly waiting girls, to share the last bits of my cum with their tongues, but the flurry of frantic kissing soon soothed those particular shy reservations.

“I want to eat you now ... please.” Laura begged, kissing her old friend and teacher Bryce. Wings, put up some token resistance, but her legs like the Red Sea parted and Canary’s tongue soon found itself at a place where no one had ever been willingly allowed before. Wings was furry, a wild mass of black pubic hair, but underneath she was just as pink as the other gals ... and her clit was far, far more neglected.

For the next hour or two the girls took turns eating out and being eaten by Wings, and our new reluctant lover enjoyed most eating out Scotia’s cunt until no miracle could induce her to cum even once more. Wings remained unfucked, except by tongues, but no one was complaining. She’d taken a huge, trusting step this morning and no one (except for perhaps Denise) wanted to push it. Slow and gently, that barbed wire would eventually come down.

We were terribly late for breakfast, but it was more than worth it!

Wings soon fell fast asleep in our bed and no one disturbed her. She was so relaxed that she slept through the entire day peacefully, probably the first time ever, to anyone’s knowledge. No nightmares ... just blissful sleep for perhaps the first time in many long years. We hoped that this was just a start.

It took just one group meal together downstairs in the undersized Arcade kitchen to find the first big flaw with our proposed idyllic living arrangement, namely that it was impossible to enjoy even five minutes alone to ourselves without an interruption and we had fuck-all privacy. It seemed that every mugg in the organization found some excuse to come back there and politely but insistently bother me about some minutia of Westside business that only I could resolve for them. It probably didn’t help that the view of a half-dozen or so heroines clad only in skimpy silk bathrobes (Connor must have bought them in bulk as they filled an entire closet of the master bedroom) was quite spectacular.

Breakfast dragged into lunch time and if anything, the interruptions only became more constant. As I was the new boss for the entire Westside, there were entirely too many important decisions that quickly needed to be made, now that I was up and about again. Pilsner and Wings had been giving the interim orders, in my name, while I was incapacitated, and now it seemed that every single damned one of the boys was now asking for some sort of confirmation of their assigned duties.

They got it, but it made ponder just how much authority I’d be able to delegate out to my under-bosses before any of them decided to get overly creatively or a bit too independent. The odds were, at least for now, that I’d have virtually none of that sort of trouble, so I delegated away. It would also provide me a rather practical aptitude test for seeing which of my more senior underlings could make the right sort of petty decisions without having to run back to papa, hat in hand, for constant guidance and hand-holding.

The two senior retired mobsters, Meaker and Fabian, paid our kitchen a visit around mid-afternoon and we exhaustively compared notes for the next hour. We agreed that I was the boss over the whole Westside now and that our lord and masters, ruling over the Five Boroughs, were satisfied with current status quo, including most of my more radical changes with past business practices around here. My organization, as long as my gals (now dressed back in costume) had any say about things, was out of the violent crimes occupation entirely, but that we had no moral qualms against so-called victimless crimes and vice. Especially gambling and prostitution, but now better organized and protected, and with less neighborhood competition and a more streamlined organization, should prove to be at least as profitable in the future ... once the Westside was rebuilt and likely far more prosperous than before.

Meaker had been the big boss for most of the island’s rackets, back in the days of ‘Smiley’ O’Neil, before his retirement, ruling over his empire with an iron fist and scores of busy button-men enforcing his will. The new status-quo seemed to both fascinate and terrify him, that me, a hero, and a horde of concerned super-heroines, could together take over and now control ... peacefully, the entire Westside (or what was left of it). In the prior annals of organized crime, nothing remotely like this had ever occurred before – and much more startlingly, seemingly likely now to be entirely successful!

Reluctantly, the old gangster agreed to help us out for a while, just a year or two at most, he insisted, and I appointed him official to be my #2, our top underboss. Fabian also agreed to remain as our emissary from top bosses, The Five, to hopefully resolve any diplomatic or political problems with them, or other major Empire Island outfits, before anything got out of hand.

Already, he had informed us, the three major independent mafia families that had earlier supported Fire Drake and Jonny were already in dire straits, having lost a big majority of their soldiers during the battle for the Westside. Other outfits, including the two major Italian families that had remained loyal to The Five, were moving in on them fast and hard, reaping the harvest. Odds were, that in another two weeks, all of the remaining larger independent outfits would be firmly now under the thumb of the Concordance. This was another terrifying first, having all of the various ethnic mobs now united under a single, firm leadership.

Late in the afternoon, I decided that my ass had been seated for far too long already, and I arose from the long kitchen table with the immediate intent of hot-footing it outside, to get a look at all of the damage to the Westside with my own eyes, instead of hearing about the mess from everyone else. There was just one slight problem, namely that my one surviving suit had been so bloodstained and filthy that Wilma had had it burned in a furnace, along with her medical waste. Since everything else that I owned, except for my hat and coat, had been blown-up and then nuked in the house explosion, I thought that only left me with Connor’s robes to wear. The rest of the old bosses clothes wouldn’t fit.

My gals, though, had anticipated this particular problem, and with a chorus of smirks and giggles I was directed to a hither-to unnoticed master walk-in closet, in which at least two dozen brand new suits awaited me. Fancy brand new suits ... and crazy expensive suits too! Mostly Brooks Brothers and a half-dozen other custom tailored spruce jobs in exactly my size, unmarred by any other human eyes or hands except for the gals and the tailor’s.

“Wings and I decided that you were going to need some better duds, “Laura admitted with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, “so we got your measurements last week and got them custom ordered with a rush. This is just the first batch, the ones that they’d finished by yesterday.

“Wow, I didn’t figure on anything nearly this flossy!” I muttered, while I let my fingers run across the array of fine garments that were strictly cut for the carriage trade. I let Laura pick out an off-green number that was cut with a lot of snap, but the Green Canary wanted to be seen out today with her arm around her man looking like a swell.

Already, I knew better than to argue with her!

We had at least another hour of decent light and we took advantage of it, but we walked down 9^th Avenue like a slow freight, taking it all in. I had Canary at my side, walking hand-in-hand, and a couple of plug toughies a bit behind me playing bodyguard. I wouldn’t have minded having Mick around as my #1 guard-monkey, but he was Chancer’s full-time torpedo now, keeping our public face protected.

Pilsner had definitely been busy, as I had been told, signing up every bird, mugg, and pug he could lay eyes on as employees of Allakazam Salvage and sending the lugs all out with fresh green in their pockets to start clearing out the wreckage. Already, as several underbosses of the outfit had told me, that my new company was already the largest single job provider in the entire Westside. Dump trucks and salvage dumpsters were being loaded up on nearly every block, apparently with the aid of a small army of our lovely heroine pets and their numerous minor-powered friends. Not every super-heroine had the talents to do the work of a dozen or more lugs with shovels, but quite a few had some serious sandhogging talents and could dig and clear out piles of brickwork faster than a steam shovel. Yeah, Pils had snagged a few of them too, along with bulldozers and crews to man them, for both night and day shifts until the clear-out was done.

“It’s amazing what one can accomplish in a hurry,” my green leather-clad husky giggled, “with bundles of cash from the strong rooms of two dead crime bosses. You sure could, and it was very gratifying to see all of Connor and Jonny’s accumulated fortunes being used to actually help the Westside for a change. Not to mention the mounds of incoming city, state, federal and private donations and grants, all of which could keep this crew working for generations, if not longer. I hoped that Pilsner at least had the sense to pay our new company at least a tiny percentage, for profit for our collective entrepreneurial labors.

We found Pilsner at the former site of the Murder Mansion, coordinating with Doc Wilder and Scotia, the gals who seemed to be in charge over this massive basement crater. The queen bitch herself, Professor Rachael was there too, supervising with a heavy hand a collection of lab rats from their island research facility. The exterior cleanup for a least a block around the site seemed to have been already completed and the old brickwork of the ruined area tenements had been cleared down to street level and beyond, everything stripped down to bare dirt, ready to rebuild anew.

All around us, as the ruined and scorched structures, foundations, streets and pavements had been cleared away, tent cities seemed to be sprouting up as fast at the last trash dumpsters and trucks could be hauled away. It wasn’t like Park Avenue around here yet, but the survivors at least now had dry roofs over their heads and mobile meal kitchens, also funded courtesy of the now deceased gang lords, were springing up too.

There were plenty of gawkers and sightseers about, but we had an ample supply of our outfit hoods lurking about around the perimeter to keep the site of my old house clear so that the smart articles in the clean white lab coats could have their fun in relative peace. The crater was about the size of the old armored basement, the full dimensions of the city block it had covered, but not much other than bare slabs of scorched concrete flooring and a few walls seemed to remain.