Angel

Mardi Gras Mumbo II

Synopsis: A continuation of Mardi Gras Mambo. What happens when the ever dramatic Erik Stevens-Udaku pisses off his witchy mother in law? Chaos.

Erik and his 9 beautiful wives danced and sang as they made their way down Bourbon Street. They had been dragged into a second line led by and a few Zulu Indians who were still in costume.

"I don't know what you been told

I love dem project hoes

She got dukey braids, big ol thighs..."

Erik laughed in joy at the lyrics to the song as they made their way. He was dancing like he was a native of the city. His impeccable as he moved his feet effortlessly with a large blunt in his hands. He had been taught well.

Angel & Josephine joined in on the footwork, of course. They were true natives of the city & had been glowing since they'd arrived back home a week and a half prior. There wasn't a single person on the street that wasn't high, drunk, or both. New Orleans wasn't a party city for nothing. Somewhere along the way, the group stopped in front of a two story bar that had a group of people throwing beads to the crowd below. "Heeeeey, I wanna go up there and throw beads tooooo!" Shy slurred, grabbing Bast & Ryley's hands, dragging them inside. The group followed them inside. The bar in question was actually one of Angel's favorites, Tropical Isle. She never left New Orleans before getting herself a frozen hand grenade.

"Son, you want this bottle of henny, we ain't tryna drink this shit." A random man asked Erik as the group, minus Shy, Bast, & Ry, all waited for drinks at the bar. "Fuck yeah, nigga. The fuck?!" Erik said as he placed his blunt in his mouth to grab his favorite brand of liquor. He handed his blunt to the nearest wife, Josephine, opened the bottle and immediately chugged the entire thing. He finished it off with a loud burp. If he wasn't gone before, he certainly was now.

The random man then quickly made his way outside, transforming back into his original form once he was a safe distance away. It was Poosy's mother, Angela. "Did he take it?" Eartha, Josephine's grandmother asked. "Of course that fool did." Angela said with an evil grin.

Back at the bar, the group was having the time of their lives. They had taken over the balcony as the bounce remix to played loudly in the air. Ry, Shy & Bast were flashing the crowd, Poosy & Aly'sha were throwing beads (though Poosy threw the thong she was wearing to a cute guy), Kimora & Angel were tag teaming Erik (who's eyes were barley open, a blunt hanging slightly in his mouth), twerking on him to the beat of the music, Charlie & Homie were sharing a bottle of ciroq while making out. The crowd below had their phones out, shooting America's most famous family as they partied in the Crescent City.

The group would spend the rest of their Fat Tuesday on Bourbon. After taking a brief break from partying to eat at The Ruby Slippers Cafe, the group headed to the Cat's Meow for karaoke and ended the night at Angel's old stomping ground, the Krazy Corner.

By the time they all made it to their Royal Street mansion in the French Quarter, they were all pretty exhausted. All except for Erik, who's high and drunkenness had long since worn off. This is where the story gets a little...... strange.

It had been 30 minutes since they had all made it inside. Erik had to carry each wife inside himself. The women were far too drunk to even talk, let alone walk. He placed each of them in their respective beds before finally making it to the master's room. Erik stripped of his clothes and had gotten in bed when it happened. His dick that hadn't been hard since the events on the float had suddenly sprung to life. It was painfully hard, his tip hot & swollen, his entire body sweating in heat, his heart palpitating. Because of his wives drunkenness, he had not a single person to pound into. As a result, he had no choice but to get himself off.