Chapter 8: New York, New York 3

“Morning!” Day yelled, lightly slapping her daughter’s face.

“What?” Morning grumbled, slowly becoming aware of her surroundings. “I was meditating with Light again.”

“You didn’t respond no matter how hard I shook you or yelled,” Day stated, relieved her daughter was finally responding.

“Get used to it,” Morning stated drily. “I need to integrate all of my memories into my persona because it’s the only way to become strong enough to defeat the slavers.” Morning’s attention shifted to her nether regions. She was hot and aching with need. Remembering three-thousand-year-old orgasms was not the same as having them now. “May I use Brandon?” Morning asked.

“Of course, you can, silly,” Day answered.

“He used to be your husband, Mum,” Morning pointed out. “I would never do that to you without your permission.”

“Yes,” Day dismissed. “But he’s not Mountain. He’s merely a man who resembles my late husband. And he has been our lover for the last two years. I wouldn’t deny either of you if you desire each other.”

Morning took her mother’s hand and walked into Brandon’s bedroom. The sheets were soaked with sweat, cum, and pussy juice. Brandon’s lengthy cock lay across his abdomen, covered with semen, saliva and female secretions. Morning licked her lips appreciatively before realising Brandon’s new cock was even bigger than her late husband’s. Her pussy clenched, anticipating receiving that monster inside it.

Kneeling beside the bed, Morning took Brandon’s thick shaft in her potent hands and guided its head into her mouth. Enjoying the taste of her mother’s and Brandon’s mixed secretions, Morning slowly worked life into Brandon’s deflated penis. Swirling her tongue around the bulging glans and sucking gently, Morning worked Brandon’s swelling member with her hands until it rose to its full glory. Then, she swung her muscular leg over Brandon’s hip and lowered her needy pussy onto his cock and accepted it deep inside her cunt.

“Gawd!” Brandon mock protested as his eyes opened. “You two will be my death!”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Morning demanded, her body relishing having a cock sheathed in her cervical canal again—a pleasure denied ordinary human women. She placed her hands on Brandon’s chest and pushed, raising her hips until only the tip of Brandon’s stupendous cock remained inside her. Then, relaxing, Morning dropped onto Brandon’s pelvis forcefully. Brandon’s ten-inch schlong roared up her tight passage, ripped through her cervical tube and bottomed out inside her with its tip peering into her womb.

“Gawd!” Morning moaned as she repeated her movements. “Squeeze my tits!”

Brandon’s meaty hands gripped her C-cup breasts and crushed her conical nipples, squeezing them painfully. Morning moaned as the delightful pain sent orgasmic waves searing through her body until they centred on her aching clit. Morning’s head unawarely tossed back and forth as she rode Brandon’s cock towards her crest. Her peak was fast approaching, and Morning knew the leap from it would be cataclysmic.

Brandon held on, staving off his orgasm for all he was worth and denying himself the release he so desperately needed to ensure Morning got there before him. Brandon was secretly in love with Gigi but loved Bella, too. It was just that if he was forced to choose between the two gorgeous sisters. Mother and daughter, he remembered. He’d pick the mother every time. The sheer naughtiness of simultaneously fucking sisters was piquant, even if they didn’t get it on together as he fantasised they would. Brandon wanted to show them he could be man enough for them both.

Morning’s orgasm hit like lightning striking a tinder-dry tree. Fire raged through her nether regions as Brandon’s resistance failed beneath her. With a protesting, “Noooo,” his enormous cock pumped his ejaculate directly into Morning’s womb. This long-remembered, delicious feeling spat Morning off the cliff of her climax. But instead of squealing her orgasm to the skies, her entire body locked into a rictus. Unable to even breathe, Morning jittered and juddered as her climax’s lightning struck her over and over again until, eventually, her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed onto Brandon.

“Wow!” Day awedly exclaimed. “Brandon, you’ve been holding back on me. I demand you do me like that immediately!” Her demand fell on deaf ears, though. Brandon had also cum and then passed out. Shrugging, Day used her fingers to quench her desire before joining the others in sleep.

George ringing them woke Brandon and the sisters up. Brandon, who was the most awake, staggered to the lounge and grabbed Morning’s phone. “Wait up, George,” Brandon mumbled. “I’ll get Bella.” He stumbled back to the bedroom and handed his lover the phone.

“Rough night?” George jovially asked when Morning slurred, “Hello”.

“Up yours, Daddy George,” Morning muttered.

George laughed before saying, “Meet me at Madame Sweet’s at noon.” He hung up before Morning could answer.

Beyoncé (Morning, Bella) shuffled to the shower in a daze as she delighted in her pussy’s ache. Brandon’s improved cock had stretched her vulva severely, and it had been centuries since a cock long enough to reach her cervical canal had entered her. She wondered if she shouldn’t shift big daddy George and hope he developed something similar. Beyoncé knew George was above average at more than six inches, but he didn’t reach her cervix, let alone penetrate it. It was only vague speculation, though, because she’d never do that to George against his will.

Solange (Gigi, Day) and Brandon joined her in the shower, and although they washed each other, the soft brushes and wipes were caresses of love and not desire. Desire would return; they all knew that, but now was the time to prepare. George coming to New York might not mean anything, but it could signal trouble for the two women, and they needed to be ready.

The girls dressed similarly to the day before. Sexy enough to be noticed immediately but reserved enough to be respectable in public. Brandon wore the same suit but changed from a pristine white to a dark blue shirt. That reminded Beyoncé that she needed photos and a name for his new ID documents. She used Google Translate to see what his look-alike’s name changed to. Spanish made Mountain Falling read Montaña Cayendo. She tried that in several perturbations before deciding Cain Montana fitted best. Smiling, Beyoncé texted the images and name to George without consulting Brandon.

At precisely noon, Beyoncé, Solange, and Cain presented themselves at Madame Sweet’s offices. Of course, Tex and Biff, the other two bouncers who, along with Brandon, got whooped by Morning and Day, didn’t recognise them.

“Settle, guys,” Cain said when the bodyguards began staunching up. “Otherwise, Bella and Gigi will kick your asses again, only this time they’ll be wearing skirts and not leathers.”

“Brandon?” Tex, the smarter of the two bodyguards, disbelievingly asked. “Bella, Gigi? How the fuck?”

“Do we even want to know?” George asked, entering through another door.

“Probably best you don’t,” Beyoncé admitted before squealing and running to kiss and hug the powerfully built older man.

“Daddy approves of your girl’s new look,” George said grinningly. “I guess I know why you needed three new sets of documents now.” He turned to Brandon. “Cain,” he acknowledged before briefly hugging the man-mountain Brandon had become.

“Cain? Brandon asked.

George guffawed, realising that Beyoncé hadn’t informed Brandon of his impending name change. “Bella didn’t tell you?” He chuckled, reaching into the desk drawer and bringing out a folder containing a birth certificate, driver’s licence, social security card, passport, and everything else a modern person needed for identification and handing it to him.

Brandon shook his head. “News to me,” he confessed.

George handed the women a folder each. They held the same documents as Brandon’s folder did. “Which one used to be Bella?” George asked.

“That would be me,” Beyoncé said.

George hugged her before hugging Solange. “I’ve missed you two,” he admitted. “I lost two of twenty full-time girls, yet my earnings have dropped forty per cent.”

“Aww, big Daddy,” Morning teased. “You missed us fucking you half to death more than the money.”

“Whilst that may be true,” George said, blushing graciously. “I need to complete our business before I turn my thoughts to pleasure.” George sat behind the desk. He’d ordered a replacement when he first arrived and had Tex and Biff drag the wrecked one out for a rubbish service to pick up. Steepling his fingers and hoping the girls would be amenable, he stared at Beyoncé and Solange until they looked at each other and sat before the desk. “The cabal has asked me to take over their New York operation until they can find a suitable replacement.”

Beyoncé and Solange knew better than to ask what had become of Madame Sweet. However, they also knew any punishment she received was deserved and well past due.

George waited until he was sure the girls wouldn’t ask, then continued, “I’d like you to work for me again, though I understand if you’re reluctant.” He turned to look at Brandon, “Cain, I’d like you to continue as the girls’ bodyguard, but I’ll put you back on the payroll.”

“Yes!” Cain asserted. “You know I never wanted to leave your service but felt compelled to protect the girls.”

George’s eyes twinkled over his steepled fingers. “Have you told Gigi, sorry, Solange, you love her yet?”

The Bonhomme sisters’ eyes turned to Cain speculatively, although Solange’s face also blushed.

“Never mind that,” Cain muttered as he blushed, too. Being pitch black meant the blush showed as a slight darkening of his already midnight-black skin, but it was apparent to an observant onlooker. “What about Antoinette and Eloise?” Cain asked. “If you’re in danger and here, who will protect those two?”

“You mean us two?” Antoinette smirked as she strolled through the door, arm-in-arm with Eloise. “Leadership decided New York needed a clean slate, so all of Madame Bitch-face’s, oops, I mean Sweet’s, former crew are gone. We’re the replacements.”

“What about Boston, big daddy George?” Beyoncé asked, already knowing the answer.

“Well,” George said deprecatingly. “I may have overstated the temporariness of my move to New York. Leadership decided if they couldn’t remove the threat to Boston permanently, then it was better if the threatened weren’t there to be threatened. There’s no one left in Boston who knows what happened to those who ran Aces over Queens. Everyone knows it was probably a mob operation, so they’ll assume I did something to piss them off, and the mob eliminated us all permanently. Leadership will drop that precise hint to a few of our newspaper stooges, and it will become fact despite being a total fallacy.”