Chapter 6: New York, New York 2

“Who the fuck’s पर्वतपातः (Mountain Falling)? Brandon asked. “And how the fuck do I know that sound Gigi made meant Mountain Falling?”

“That was your name,” Day explained. “You were my second husband around thirty-three hundred years ago,”

“Huh?” Brandon disbelievingly questioned.

“Let me introduce ourselves and explain,” Day said tremulously. “I’m दिनं प्रभात इति (Day Dawning), and this is my daughter प्रातः सूर्य (Morning Sun). We are members of the Jangil clan of the Jarawa people, who originated in ancestral India. Your ancestors were of the Negrito Clan from the same approximate area. Your, many times removed, grandfather was clan chief, and I became his second wife when his first wife died of the pox. His name was पर्वतपातः (Mountain Falling). Morning has shifted you to look like him.

“You’re not sisters?” Brandon asked.

“No,” Day denied. “Mother and daughter.”

“And you’re thirty-three hundred years old?”

“Older,” Day admitted.

“I’d call bullshit,” Brandon confessed. “But I hear my voice, and I know it’s changed.” He suddenly stood and moved in front of the full-length mirrored doors on the suites’ closets. “Fuck me,” Brandon muttered awedly. “I’m fucking massive!”

“Grab your cock,” Day giggled.

“Jaysus!” Brandon exclaimed. “This thing has to be at least ten inches long!”

Brandon’s cock had been satisfying six inches. Now, it was a soul-destroying ten inches.

“It fits, too,” Day teased. She was unaware that she’d inherited the Providian gene that allowed her cervix to accept lengthy cocks into it. A typical human woman’s cervix was a one-way tube from her uterus to her vagina. Nothing larger than a man’s sperm could inwardly travel through it, despite what porn writers and makers would have you believe.

“Want to help me try it?” Brandon asked.

“Oh, Gawds, yes!” Day exclaimed.

“Tonight,” Morning insisted. “We need to meet with Madam Sweet soon.” She turned to her mother. “We need to change into something that fits a little better and is more respectful to Madame Sweet.”

Brandon unashamedly followed the two women into their bedroom as they selected matching white lingerie, stockings, and suspenders and sighed regretfully as their voluptuous asses disappeared inside, admittedly clinging, black midi skirts. Opaque blouses that only partially obscured immense breasts supported by half-cup push-up bras followed. Light jackets obscured even that delicious sight next.

Brandon, his recently improved cock straining against his too-tight pants, had a sudden delightful thought. “You mean that you can change yourselves into anyone you want?”

“Morning can,” Day explained. “I don’t have that power.”

He turned to Morning, who raised an eyebrow and said, “Yes, I can. Why? Did you have someone specific in mind?”

“I always fantasised about fucking Angelina Jolie,” he stated. “But she seems to have retired and disappeared, though the papers are keeping quiet about it for some reason.”

“I could make you look like Angelina Jolie,” Morning mused. “Complete with huge tits and sweet little pussy.”

“Oh, fuck!” Brandon exclaimed, imaging lezzing out as a woman with the Knowles sisters look-alikes. “That’d be ‘fuck hot’!”

“We could do that,” Morning continued, reading Brandon’s fantasy. She took his temples between her hands and, sending the images into his mind, added, “But when Mum and I fuck you, we’ll look like this.” She sent the memories of Day and her being Merv and Dave and fucking the muscular Y manager into submission.

“Oh, fuck no!” Brandon shouted. “Ain’t no cocks going in this man!”

“Homophobic much?” Day teased. “Homosexuals deserve love, too, you know!”

“Hey, I have no problems with the pooh pushers. They can do them, and they don’t do me. That’s final!” Morning and Day maintained stoic faces until Brandon nervously added, “Right?”

Laughing fit to burst, Morning and Day let Brandon off the hook and admitted they’d never do anything to someone who was unwilling to enjoy it.

Patting his face, Morning said, “Right. We have just enough time to get you a suit that fits and get over to Madame Sweets.”

“Why do I need a new suit?” Brandon asked.

“Cos this one sure as hell don’t fit,” Day laughed.

“Oh, right,” Brandon agreed. “Good thinking.”

The trio asked the concierge to order them a limo, and less than fifteen minutes later, they entered Saks Fifth Avenue, New York. They asked for the tailor, and he took Brandon’s measurements before saying it would be two days before everything was ready. He helped Brandon choose an off-the-rack suit that would serve until the tailored ones were made. The women cheerfully added several shirts to be tailored to go with the suits and selected numerous socks, jocks, ties and belts to complete his wardrobe. Morning and Day also booked a fitting for themselves for the following day, knowing they had few outfits that suited their new, more voluptuous bodies.

Madame Sweet invited them to sit before her expansive desk shortly after they arrived for their midday appointment. She examined the two young women before studying their IDs. “These are legit?” She queried.

“Of course not,” Morning answered. “But George says they’ll pass all but the most intense scrutiny.”

“How do I know his introduction and recommendation letter aren’t also fake?”

“You called him immediately and checked when you received it.” Morning said evenly. “You’re no fool and would ensure we were legit well before you agreed to interview us for your business.”

“Why have you changed names and moved to New York?”

“We were in some extreme trouble and being chased by a group you really do not want chasing you,” Morning explained. “George was good enough to take us in and provide us shelter and new IDs. In return, we became his call-girls. The highest paid and most successful he’s ever had,”

“So he tells me,” Madame Sweet admitted. She steepled her fingers and considered. “George’s girls don’t do any in-house work,” she finally said. “I have a brothel on Park Avenue. Are you prepared to do some shifts there?”

“Sorry we’ve wasted your time,” Morning said coldly as she and her mother stood. “I’m an escort, not a prostitute. Brothel attendees do not pay the kind of money for my services that I expect to receive.”

“And if I say you do choose to work there because that’s all I’m offering?” Madame Sweet said challengingly. Three muscular, tough-looking guys walked into the room and stood threateningly.

“Did George not say how well a similar tactic worked for him?” Morning smilingly said, creating a gap between herself and her mother.

“Yes, but George’s boys aren’t of the same calibre as mine.”

“Here we go again,” Brandon muttered as he moved out of the way. He knew better than to get between his lovers and their potential assailants.

“Not much of a bodyguard,” Madame Sweet said dismissively, deciding to ignore the tall, muscular black man.

“Oh, they don’t need me,” Brandon chuckled, retaking his seat. Then he shook his head. “You’re about to piss off the best asset you could have ever had. The girls made George thirty-five thousand dollars in their first month, and their earnings only rose from there. But, hey, I’m sure George won’t care that you tried to turn his two best girls into common whores.”

Madame Sweet held her finger up, and the three thugs stepped back. “I also have an exclusive escort agency. I will allow you to trial there for one month. If you cover your expenses by then, I’ll put you on full-time duties.”

“Or, we could tell you to go fuck yourself,” Morning said sweetly. “With George’s help, I’m sure Brandon, my sister, and I can set up a competing service that will ruin yours in months.”

“Don’t talk to Madam Sweet like that,” the biggest of her bouncers growled, reaching for Morning aggressively.

He went straight over Morning’s shoulder and smashed into Madame Sweet’s desk so hard it broke. The other two reached for guns, only to find their heads snapping back without even seeing Day’s roundhouse kick. They both crumpled to the floor, jaws broken from the kick.

“See?” Brandon said amusedly, leaning back and stretching. “They don’t need me.”

“Motherfucker!” Day swore. “I tore my $200 skirt kicking those assholes.”

Madame Sweet, who had leapt back just in time to stop being crushed along with her desk, stared at the two women disbelievingly. George had warned her, but she simply could not imagine the two beautiful, lushly proportioned black women who had so casually walked into her office were as deadly as George had said or as attractive as they were. Her misconception had caused her mistakenly to believe she could force the women into the lesser-paying but more profitable for her, brothel trade.

She thought that their self-esteem would crumble as most brothel workers’ self-esteem did, and she could addict them to crack or heroine to bolster it. Having them addicted would burn them out and reduce them to streetwalkers in months. Still, it significantly increased her profits because the price of a crack pipe would be her only overhead above what it typically cost to run her brothel.

Madame Sweet was a genuinely evil person. Unfortunately, she was also in the same cabal as George, and he couldn’t refuse to send his girls to her first, lest he attract the cabal’s wrath. The same rules prevented George from warning his two friends.

“Stay, Fido,” Day commanded, kicking the man who’d smashed into Madame Sweet’s desk in the back of his head when he groaned and tried to rise.

“What will you do now?” Madame Sweet asked nervously, her bladder giving way and urine flowing down her thighs when Day growled and kicked her bodyguard.

Morning took out her latest burner phone and called George. “May I kill her?” she asked when George answered.

“Bella?” George needlessly asked. He knew her voice intimately and, therefore, who she asked about. “What did Madame Sweet do?”

“Tried to turn us into brothel whores.”

“That dumb, arrogant bitch,” George exasperatedly spat. “I’m sorry, Bella, but there are rules I must follow to operate without police interference. Referring you to my equal in another district is one of them. Please believe me, I wanted to warn you.”

“I don’t blame you, Daddy George,” Morning said reassuringly. “I’m only asking if I can kill her without getting you in too much trouble.”

George sighed. As much as he’d love to say yes, killing the cabal’s escort services representative in New York would bring their displeasure down upon everyone involved, including him, because he’d put them together. “You can’t kill her, Bella,” George denied. “You don’t need the cabal after you, as well as the pursuers you already have.”