Chapter 3: New York, Aug 28 2004

You couldn't mistake them for anything but what they were, rich French women deigning to allow the United States the pleasure of their company for a short while. And as they slowly walked towards me, every molecule in my body screamed 'danger', a warning I knew I couldn't heed.

"Ah, Amelie, le voila," my sister intoned to her daughter, pointing at me.

"Marie, Cat, what a pleasure," I said, rushing to meet them. There were no family hugs from these two, just a cheerless waving at my cheeks by two pairs of cold lips.

"J'aime pas Cat, oncle Pierre," complained my niece, the first words out of her mouth after four years of absence.

"I'm sorry honey," I replied laughing, not willing to allow either of the two any edge, "But you're in America now, English only please."

"I... DON'T... LIKE... THE... NAME... CAT... UNCLE," Amelie ordered, scowling in heavily accented English.

"Well, sweetie, Amelie then," I responded, my sarcasm perhaps outside the grasp of her perception, "Welcome to the greatest country in the world, the United States of America — your new home!"

"Ah oui, home of the beeg Mac, George Bush and the whooper," my sneering niece answered.

'Jesus, ' I thought, silently appraising the beautiful, young woman in front of me, 'I wonder how long it will take me before I have that haughty smirk wiped off her face.' And Amelie was beautiful, even more attractive than her Mother, who had been a stunner in her own right when she had been a teen.

Model tall, Amelie's 5'9" body had filled out over the last four years and round, high breasts proudly stood above a miniscule waist and flaring, full hips. She was wearing designer jeans, jeans cut so low her pubic bones were half exposed and dark, rich pubic hair would have been luxuriously escaping if she hadn't shaved and waxed. I could see her slit clearly defined by the tightness of the material at her groin and wondered fleetingly if she was wearing any underwear at all.

She certainly wasn't on top, as I could see her jutting nipples and her dark alluring circles through the thin, beige cashmere sweater she wore, and each step or motion produced a wonderful cascade of movement under the near transparent wool.

"You've become a beautiful woman," I said, grasping Amelie's two hands in mine holding her in front of me. "Almost as pretty as your Mother," I added, hoping against hope I could compliment these vain women enough to quiet their harping.

"Stop being an idiot Pierre," Marie responded, "Let's get our bags and get out of here."

As we walked to the car, with me carrying the luggage as the girls chatted happily in French, I wondered if I'd have a chance in the two days my dear sister was staying to remind her once again just what a real man would and could do. And I couldn't stop myself from giving her still firm butt a quick slap as she bent over to follow her daughter into the car, a stinging blow that really didn't hurt, but just reminded Marie of what was ahead.

I kept up a running commentary as we drove, trying to point out all the highlights of New York to my young niece sitting in the back seat. As I talked I let my hand slide towards my sister sitting next to me, finally slipping my fingers into the high slit cut into her stylish white midi skirt.

"No, not now," she groaned, struggling to move away from me as my hand lightly touched her silk covered mound.

"No what Mama?" asked Amelie asked from the back seat, completely shielded from the caresses I was applying to her Mother.

"Rien Cherie, It's nothing," Marie answered as my hand slipped under the soft material and a finger lightly trailed along the damp channel before penetrating her lightly. She was soaking as we pulled up to my house, panting silently as my finger pumped into her.

"Pig," she hissed pleadingly at me as Amelie jumped from the car, "I hate you! Don't touch me again, don't! Not this time, Amelie might see," she tried to order, as her pulsing pussy betrayed her.

"Viens Mama [C'mon Mom]," Amelie yelled as she moved up the walk towards the front door.

"I've missed you Marie," I whispered as Sis moved to get out of the car. "Maybe tonight," I added grinning, forcing her reluctant hand momentarily onto my now straining shaft before releasing her.

"No! I can't, I won't," she promised, but wasn't able to hide the lust, the servile hunger in her eyes.

When I finally arrived in the foyer of my two-hundred year old attached brownstone, laden still with the girls luggage, I found my niece staring wide eyed into the formal living room/dining room area.

"Mais, c'est tres belle, oh, I mean, its beautiful Uncle Peter," Amelie gushed, obviously impressed with the grandeur and beautiful furnishings of the rooms.

"Come on ma belle, I'll show you your new room, its upstairs." And after leading her into her new room and watching her eyes open in wonder, a young girls delight shining clearly on her face, added, "I hope you like it honey."

"Its perfect Uncle Peter, I love it," she said as she turned and gave me a real hug, and just for a second she let her moist lips linger atop mine, letting me momentarily sample her tongue before pulling away.

"Why don't you unpack honey while I take your Mom up to her room."

"I could sleep here," Marie quickly offered. "I don't want you put out too much," my normally selfish sister added.

"Don't even think about it Marie. Finally I get the chance to entertain you and repay you for all the times you've welcomed me at your home."

Even Amelie looked up suspiciously at this comment, knowing full well that I had never been welcomed warmly into her Mothers home. "But Peter," Marie started to protest as I led her out and up to the third floor.