Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 03

First sensation was the smell- like raw sewage with a hint of hydrogen sulfide, and a cheeky little garnish of boiled cabbage. And it was hot, hotter even than the city centre at noon. No salutes this time. Glaring soldiers waved the vehicle on, one after another all the way down the ramp into an underground parking lot.

Bragg was invited at gunpoint to dismount. Handing over his phone and ID, he followed a machine gun toting trooper to a metal detector, and once he'd passed through, was treated to a pat-down, as rough and ready as any he'd ever endured. When Ali tried to follow, he was stopped in his tracks by a hand in the middle of the chest. "No!" the trooper said with the emphatic shake of his head. Bragg looked at Ali over his shoulder.

"Go," Ali said, "you are safe. I will be waiting for you."

The lift bumped to a stop. A soldier gestured Bragg out with the wave of a barrel, into the hands of another escort, police this time, or prison guards, all tooled up with batons and tasers, hand cuffs and pepper spray. No firearms. Why bother, Bragg thought, this deep inside the labyrinth. As they quick-marched their guest down a long, brightly-lit corridor, Bragg caught snippets of noise, hoots and hollers, as if the prison somehow doubled as a zoo. The prison guard in front of him gestured at Bragg to stop, then leant on a door and gave a soft knock. The room's occupant, his identity proudly proclaimed by a big, brass plate engraved in unintelligible script, grunted a reply and the guard opened up.

A tall, handsome man with a big white smile stood up at his desk and walked around. "Welcome, Bragg Roger." he beamed, right hand over his heart. "I am Brigadier Talfi Khamim, Commandant of this facility. Though I suspect this is something you already know."

"Sir." Bragg said offering his hand as the door shut behind him, "It is an honour to meet you. My sources speak very highly of you."

They shook. "Indeed?" Khamim said. "I would very much like to know whom they might be."

"Business associates, members of government, that sort of thing. I understand you move in very high circles."

Hand on Bragg's shoulder, Khamim guided him towards the desk and gestured at a chair. "I am but a servant of His Majesty. One of many, striving towards the same glorious goal... the safety and prosperity of our great country."

"A true patriot. Yes, they told me."

Khamim dipped his head. "I am humbled by their generosity." he said. "But please, you must be thirsty. Let me get you some tea." Looking up, the officer barked an order and the door opened an inch or two. "Tea!" he snapped. The recipient dipped his head and promptly withdrew.

"So, Mister Roger, welcome, welcome. Few are so... resolute... as to undertake this journey. Through the prohibited zone. To my place of work. You understand this term? Prohibited?"

"My mistake, Brigadier. I assumed it meant, 'prohibited without a very good reason'."

"An honest mistake, of course. So, tell me, how may I be of service?"

Bragg recognised the brigadier's charade for what it was, the effusive hospitality of an individual who held all the cards. "My sincere apologies for turning up unannounced." he said, feigning deference. Deference, to the commanding officer of a festering military prison, in the desert wilderness of a tin-pot, geopolitical backwater. The sort of petty official he used to eat for breakfast in court. "I did try to find your number, to no avail."

Khamim waved Bragg's apology away. "Oh no, no, no," he said, "not unannounced. We've been watching since you turned off the E-eighteen." He picked up an ornate wooden box and flipped it open. "Cigarette?"

Bragg raised his hand. "Thank you, no. I'm trying to give up."

"Giving up is easy," the officer beamed, "I've done it many times." Bragg dutifully laughed as Khamim lit up and blew a plume of smoke at the nicotine-stained ceiling. "I learned that joke during my time in the west."

"Very good," Bragg nodded, "Excellent. 'It's easy, I've done it many times'. I'm going to use that."

"So, Mister Roger, what brings you here?"

"I am a lawyer." Bragg said levelly. Khamim didn't bat an eyelid. "International and corporate. I own a jet, and you have one of my pilots."

Khamim turned to the flatscreen display, perched on the side of his desk, rousing it with a tap on the keyboard. "You are sure of this?" he asked, frowning.

"Beyond reasonable doubt."

"May I know his name?"

"It's a she." Bragg replied. "Her name is Blake. Alana Sarah Blake."

Khamim slumped back, staring at the ceiling. "Mmm... no. We have no one here by that name."

"Really? Could you check?"

"Forgive me, Mister Roger. But if we had a pilot here, a westerner, who was also a female... I would remember." The door opened a crack and Khamim looked past Bragg. "Here's the tea." he said brightly, then growled instructions at the bearer, who duly entered and placed the tray on a bureau, before pouring 2 small glasses and handing one to Bragg. As Bragg watched the tea leaves swirl and gradually settle, it suddenly struck him. Here he was, separated from the rest of the world by empty desert, 50-kays deep in a bombing range, patrolled by fully armed attack helicopters. When he raised his glass his hand was trembling.

Taking a sip, Bragg set his glass carefully down and licked his lips. "I just can't imagine how busy you must be, overseeing this entire facility. It would be no surprise, now and then, if some inmate or other escaped your attention."

"Then I would be failing in my duty to His Majesty." Khamim coolly replied. "Do not forget, the guests of this facility are His Majesty's property."

"Well, look..." Bragg said, battling on, "she may have given you the wrong details. We Westerners are a funny lot, easily confused. Would it be possible... may I at least visit the... accommodation... to look for her?"

Even as Bragg spoke, Khamim was shaking his head. "That is impossible. This prison is full of the degenerate and debauched, the female wing in particular. Whores and drug addicts, thieves and murderers. I could not in all conscience expose you to so much corruption."

"But I'm a lawyer," Bragg insisted, "I deal with the scum of the Earth every day. If I could just go and take a little look."

"No," Khamim shook his head, "I cannot permit that."

"Well what about the CCTV?" Bragg pressed, moving another piece forward on the board. Khamim knew Ally was there. Bragg knew Ally was there. And Khamim knew Bragg knew he knew she was there. "If I give you the date of her arrival? An approximate time?"

Eyes turning hard, Khamim parked his elbows on the desk. "I am telling you, Mister Roger. She is not here."

Bragg ran a hand through his hair. "Please, Brigadier. Sometimes Alana looks like a boy. God dammit, sometimes she acts like one. Can you check with your staff? Perhaps someone has made a mistake."

"My staff is diligent and very well trained." Khamim said, narrowing his eyes. "They do not make mistakes."

"Can we just check? The CCTV? Perhaps if I made an official request."

Khamim drew himself forward on the desk. "Mister Roger. I have done my best to be hospitable, but you are trying my patience. You have arrived here, uninvited, with no official clearance, after driving at night through a prohibited zone. Now you sit here in my office, arguing over the existence of a prisoner I told you we don't have. You know," he snapped his fingers, "one word from me, and you and your driver would find yourselves in the political wing, with the spies and the traitors, awaiting trial in a year or two for a capital offence."

Bragg raised his hands. "Brigadier, please, I meant no harm. I have a duty to this girl's father to ensure her safe return." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick white envelope.

"What is that?"

"An offering." Bragg said, sliding the envelope across the desk. "For all the inconvenience. For all the trouble we've caused."

Khamim picked it up, frowning, then opened the flap and pulled out a wad of crisp notes. Hundred US-dollar bills. One hundred of them.

"I beg you," Bragg pleaded, "Brigadier. I believe you when you say she's not here. But if you could only help me discover where she is."

Khamim curled his lip. "You think you can bribe me?"

"Absolutely not! You are a man of the utmost integrity, I can tell. This is for your country. Whatever she might have done, whomever she might have offended, please, take this as a gesture of our contrition."

Khamim shook the notes back into the envelope, then pulled open a drawer and tossed it in. "And if I find your pilot?"

"There is another envelope, just like that, ready and waiting."

Khamim sat back, sipping his tea, staring at Bragg until the silence ran into overtime. The gesture was so cliché, Bragg fought the urge to roll his eyes. Turning to his computer, the brigadier commenced tapping away and a bare moment later, a printer on its stand in the corner shook into life. Rising, Khamim slipped a single sheet of paper from the rack, flattened on the desk, scribbled a signature on the bottom then fossicked around in the clutter for a stamp. "Here," he said. "Take this to General Musharraf, at the Justice Ministry in town. I will contact him. Rest assured, Mister Roger. Your pilot will be soon be found, and my comrade the General will vouchsafe her return. Now, please, I am extremely busy, you must go."

Bragg nodded his thanks and stood up to leave.

"And Mister Roger." Khamim said. Hand on the door knob, Bragg looked around. "I warn you, my friend. Don't ever come back."

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Watson gently surfaced to the sensation of something tickling his gut. Fingertips, light as a fly, drawing tiny circles, heading slowly south from his navel. According to the tension in his nether regions, the old man realised his cock had started without him and he was already sporting a respectable erection. Stirring, he dropped his chin to his sternum and opened one eye.

Just as he thought. The image of a dark-haired, olive-skinned goddess hove into view. Maya. She was on her tummy between his splayed legs, chin on her fist, free hand trickling towards an inevitable destination. She looked at him, silken hair hanging over one eye, and wrapped a small, cool hand around his shaft. "I swear to god you're getting bigger." she said in a husky voice.

"Well you're not helping." Watson grated, his abdominals bunching as he propped himself on his elbows.

Maya arched her eyebrows. "Au contraire. I think I'm doing an awesome job."

The appendage was going through its usual transformation. The old man could tell the damned thing's throttle setting at any given time from the definition of the vasculature. According to his calculations, it was presently at around one hundred and ten percent. High-tensile steel, armour piercing grade. Maya dipped her head, snaking her tongue from the fluid-beading tip, all the way down his shaft to the base, then sucked his balls, one at a time, into her hot, wet mouth. "This may seem like an odd question Maggie," Watson grated, "but, what are you doing?"

Maya held his gaze, gently tonguing his sac, before slithering back up his shaft and suckering her luscious lips around his big flared knob.

"I see..." Watson intoned, falling back, surrendering to the sensation of Maya's mouth descending his shaft until his knob fetched up at the back of her gullet. After bobbing up and down a couple of minutes, she pulled back, cheeks caving in with the suction, before breaking off with an audible 'pop'.

"We haven't had sex for the past five days." she said, standing his cock up and tonguing the underside. "All you've done is just mope around."

"Well do you blame me?"

"Take last night. You had three of us in bed and you still didn't take the hint."

"Oh, right. You were on one end of O.J., Hayley was on the other, while Tan was on her back with Hayley's fist inside her. Admit it, Maggie, I didn't stand a chance."

"We were only doing that because you wouldn't play."

"Look... Sorry Sweetheart, I've got a lot on my mind."

"Haven't we all?" Maya sighed. "But Damon, listen to me. You have to keep your strength up."

"With sex?"

"No." Maya shook her head, then bobbed up on his penis for another couple of minutes, working it in spite of his reluctance. "With rampant sex. No, check that. Rampant dirty sex."

"But Sweetheart... Beck and Ally."

"This is what they would want, Damon. Trust me. In fact, no. This is what they'd expect."

"Seriously?"

Maya flicked her hair back. She'd been letting it grow for the past year or more and it now reached down to the swell of her bottom. Hand wrapped around his penis, barely managing the girth, she got up on her knees, then shuffled forward and straddled his thighs. "See my face?" she asked and Watson nodded. Yes, he could, and it was one of the most gorgeous he'd ever come across, or all over for that matter, and that was saying something. With those big brown eyes and wide, expressive mouth, arched eyebrows and sweet little nose, she could have graced the cover of any fashion magazine.

Watson nodded. "Uh huh."

"Well... this is my serious face."

"But... the girls."

"Exactly," Maya nodded. "They'd want you to be at your best, wouldn't they?"

"You sure?"

"Look," she said, giving him the eye, "I'd kill for those girls, and you know it. I'd even die for them if push came to shove. But the last thing we need is for you to chuck in the towel." She doubled over, head down, spreading her pussy lips with one hand, the other guiding the stiff, purple-veined weapon towards the entrance to her body. "Oooo, look!" she cried, as a long, silvery ribbon of crystal-clear slime spiralled out of her vagina, wrapping around the head of the old man's stiff cock.

Watching her body fluid drizzle down his shaft, Watson squeezed her thigh. "Looks like someone's hot to trot."

Maya nodded. "You better believe it. So you won't be disappointing me, will you?"

"So now it's blackmail."

Maya doubled over, eyeing the target, her hair hanging down in a glossy dark veil. "Yes, it is." she said, as her breath began to quicken. "Oh fuck I love this bit." She tensed her pelvic floor, and her dripping wet pink-ware bulged over the head of Watson's stiff cock. Bearing down, she tightened her belly, sucking him in. "Those first few seconds of penetration. Fuck it's unreal."

"You are not fucking kidding." Watson grated, as his shaft slid into Maya's tight, slippery grip, until all but a couple of inches was buried inside her. "Jesus Christ, Maya Bragg, that feels incredible."

"Now you're getting it."

Maya paused for a moment to catch her breath, then braced her hands on his chest, and fell forward until her hair was draped over his torso. The old man inhaled her scent, like something out of a candy store, as she wriggled and gyrated, trying to take him to the hilt. She sat upright again, tossing her hair back, and sat, chin up, eyes closed, mouth hanging open. It was like looking at the sun. The sight seared an after-image into his brain that he would see for the rest of his days. The vision of a stark naked, stunning young woman, in a state of sexual abandon, astride his hips, a thick, veiny pole disappearing into the middle of her hand-span thigh gap.

Watson's eyes travelled to a pair of bouncing little breasts. As her skin turned to gooseflesh, Maya's areolas contracted and her nipples gathered themselves up until they were standing proudly erect. Her ribs rose and fell as she slid up and down his shaft, taking more of his length with every bounce. Her tight, wet pussy was soon smacking and squelching, once or twice uttering a wet little fart as the last of the air was forced from her confines. the old man looked at her smooth, denuded mound, at her taut pussy lips bulging around his meat, the delicate, pink inner petals clinging to his skin. The old man could feel her insides churn as her intimate tissues adjusted, stretching and elongating to accommodate the massive intrusion. All the way in, as deep as it could go, until Watson bottomed out near the small of her back.

Hands flat on his chest, fingers digging into his skin, Maya commenced rocking backwards and forwards, raking the old man's shaft with a tight ring of muscle. She looked at him, eyes intense, holding Watson's gaze as he lay his hands flat on her jouncing little breasts. "You know," he huffed, "I think I'm feeling better already."

"Uh huh," Maya nodded, "told you so."

Watson tried to pull back, just to view her from a distance, a little pocket-goddess, small enough to pick up and use as a hand job. Her strength, her flexibility... for an instant he was back by the pool, Maya in her jungle bikini, she on one side, Beck on the other trying to drag him bodily into the water. A few years and a couple of healthy kilos had done nothing to diminish the image- a Lilliputian warrior girl in the prime of her life.

In spite of everything, the weight of the situation on his shoulders, his vow to never indulge himself until the girls had returned, 5 minutes in and he was feeling that old familiar sensation. The weight, the gravity, the all-consuming tension gripping his balls, the mass of a nascent climax gathering momentum. He patted her leg. "Maya? Honey?"

"Can't talk!" Maya panted, "Cumming!"

And she did, pelvis thrusting to and fro in a blur, hips gyrating, the friction dropping to nil while her grip intensified, as if she were trying to physically milk the semen from the old man's balls. And feeling her cum, the flood of her hot body fluids drenching his groin, Watson came too. Hands gripping her waist, feet flat on the bed, the old man hammered into her, driving his cock into her body as far as it would go.

Teeth clenched, growling, he hosed 3 or 4 mighty jets of hot sperm into the girl, deep inside her intimate tissues. Muscles trembling, he held her aloft for a moment as she ground her pussy against him, panting and sighing. When the energy finally went out of her, the old man slowly lowered his butt onto the bed and pulled her down. After suckling noisily on her tits for a while, he took her face and they kissed a deep, panting kiss.

"Never... underestimate..." Maya huffed when she came up for air, "the restorative power.... of sex."

"That's my line." Watson panted. "That's... a breach of copyright you... know. You'll have to... pay."

Lying flat on his chest, Maya reached back and fondled his drenched, slippery balls. "How much?"

"How about another one of those? When I can see straight."

"You should feel your balls." Maya said, tracing her stretched pussy lips around the circumference of the old man's cock, "They're totally sopping."

"Your fault." Watson rasped. "It was like somebody turned a tap on."

Maya crossed her arms over his chest and rested her chin on them. "Do you think you can make me pregnant one day?"

"No." Watson shook his head then pinched the end of her nose. "We've already had this discussion, remember?"

"Naww... just a little."

"Being a little bit pregnant is like being a little bit dead. There's no such thing."

"But why not?" Maya sulked.

Watson's head fell back. "My knees are grey, my eyes are bent, my sperm is old and withered."

"Pshaww..." Maya scoffed, "no it's not. The bloody stuff is weapons grade. You should feel it. When you squirt your semen straight into my uterus."

"Doesn't matter. The answer is no."

Maya's eyebrows gave a flicker. "What if I forgot my patch?"

Watson ran his hands down her spine then squeezed her resilient ass. "Then we wouldn't be friends no more."

"Naww... you old meanie."

The old man heaved a sigh. He was still almost up to the hilt in the young girl's insides, his erection showing no sign of abating. "Think about it. You're barely twenty-one. In your second year of med school. You want to be a doctor, don't you?"