Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 06

"Boogeymen?"

"The boss-cock's clerics. You're risking your neck, Sook, or I'm risking it for you. And for what? I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't leave you behind."

"Naww..." Sook pouted, "you wouldn't leave your favourite little ladyboy behind? Would you?"

"Would you stop that?" Watson groused, as Sook pushed him down, then carved off a slice of gold-flecked Stilton. "What are you doing?"

"This stuff costs a bomb." she said, handing it over. "Can't waste it."

Watson slipped the morsel into his mouth and sat, chewing pensively. No grog, check, just busted that one. No dairy, check, here, have some cheese. Sook seemed intent on violating every last clause of the protocol, which could only mean... In spite of everything, there was a stirring deep down in his 2 thousand-dollar boxers. "What if they out me?" he said.

"Who?"

"The soul-police."

Sook turned up her nose. "You actually believe in that?"

"Of course not. But what if this is a test? If it's a trap? I'll be in a world of hurt, Sook. Both of us will."

"Bah!" Sook scoffed, refilling his flute. "The king wants that stuff in his veins, simple as that. He ain't gonna wait. He wants to be young again, who doesn't?"

Watson helped himself to another slice of forbidden substance. "They won't have to dig too deep to work out I'm an imposter." he said gloomily.

"For god's sake," Sook said impatiently, "Damon, just chill. I'm telling you. It's too late for that, there's not going to be any digging. Think about it. If some sneaky imposter has somehow slipped into the country, then that means someone has royally fucked up. Some passport-stamping minion, some petty immigration official. And if you do get rolled, an entire department is going to jail. Trust me. If those paper-pushers get so much as a whiff, they're gonna bury it so deep you'll need a mining company to reach it. And the palace won't check. They're too busy throwing orgies and holding public executions. Know what I think? It would be harder now to prove you're NOT Gideon Munt, than convince everyone you are. So here, drink up. Have some cheese. Phase two is all going perfectly to plan."

Standing, Sook brushed herself off and padded across the handwoven silk carpet, then disappeared through the door into her sleeping quarters. Watson watched her go, stricken with desire for the feisty little Korean, with her short, pixie haircut and breezy insouciance. It just didn't seem right, to entertain such carnal thoughts, given the traumas she'd survived. Scared, weary, and far, far from home, the old man felt somehow beneath her, and not in the fun way either, the up-thrusting, breast-fondling, pelvis grinding way. He felt instead as if he weren't good enough, hadn't suffered enough to be worthy.

And she WAS his boss after all, he grudgingly had to admit- she was looking after him when he should be looking after her. She'd shouldered the load, playing her part with impeccable verity, neither bowing and scraping nor insolent and bellicose. Just calm and dignified, quintessentially Zen. Nothing fazed her. And after crossing the Yalu that winter's night, watching one parent, then the other, and her baby brother taken away, nothing, apparently, ever could. Watson took a gulp of Champagne and swilled it around his mouth. Well, he thought, his dependence stopped right here.

A voice said, "Master?" and Watson looked up. Snot and Champagne shot out his nose, as his eyes beheld the vision of a tiny, slender female standing naked in the doorway. Sook raised her arms, exposing her perfect underarms, and raked back her short black hair. "Care to ablute?"

When Watson went to set his flute down, he missed the trolley altogether and let it fall to the floor. "Sook?" he piped in a strangled voice, Champagne dripping from chin.

Sook crooked her finger." Only three hours to go, Your Lordship." She said with a wink, "We better get busy."

The old man stood, then paused to rearrange the contents of his underwear. Nothing he had imagined came within parsecs the reality now revealed. The young woman's body was stunning, with perfect bone-structure under flawless ivory skin. It was almost like looking at Rebekah's Oriental twin, her Asian doppleganger. Sook's physique, like Rebekah's, still bore the indelible marks of childhood deprivation. Slender, bony, slightly bowed legs. Scant pubic hair over a three-finger thigh gap. And the same underdeveloped breasts, legacy of her body's daily battle for sustenance- brain first, organs next, and after them muscle and bone. Those systems dedicated to creating the next generation, and those for sustaining it, had to go begging. "Well?" she asked sweetly.

"I... I... I..." Watson stammered.

"What's the matter?" Sook beamed. "Cat got your tongue? Well, you better get it back real quick cos' you're gonna be needing it."

Watson looked around. "Sook, Sweetheart? You sure about this?"

Sook looked pointedly at Watson's lower torso. "Well it certainly looks like you are. What do you say? A little workout first, then we purify?"

"W... w... workout?"

"Sure." Sook said, thumbing over her shoulder, "There's a gym in here, though it sort of looks like a bed."

She turned and walked away in the direction of the bathroom, giving the old man a breathtaking view of her slim, supple back. And that taut bubble-butt, each cheek a single handful. Chin on his sternum, he looked down to find a raging hard-on tenting the front of his pants, 2 thousand dollar's-worth of overpriced fabric about to be rent by an alien chest-burster. In spite of everything, in spite of flying halfway round the world via a whistle-stop in London, impersonating a billionaire psychopath, in spite of the jet lag, the anxiety, and sheer old age, here he was, brandishing an iron bar erection. Halfway to the bathroom, Sook stopped and looked over her shoulder. "The gym's waiting, my Lord."

"Sook?" Watson said. He wanted to tell her he just wasn't good enough, to sully her perfection with his withered old frame. On second thoughts, though, he actually wanted to say, 'Let's eat, drink, and fuck like rattlesnakes, for tomorrow we may die.'

"Look," Sook rolled her eyes, "I'm just following orders. Tan said I have to look after you. Right? And that silly little man said we had to be clean. So come on. Come on in and get looked after. And after that let's shower."

The old man gathered his wits. "Were there any other commandments?" he asked, "In those protocols? We might as well break them too."

Sook tilted her head. "Who said anything about breaking protocols? I'm a guy..." she breathed, draping an arm over the old man's shoulder, "right?"

Watson nodded. "Right."

"Right." Sook affirmed. "And you're a guy... right?"

Watson's voice broke when he tried to reply. "Ri... ahem... right."

Kneeling at his feet, Sook tugged Watson's shoes off one by one, then his socks. She stood, her head barely reaching his chin, and unbuttoned his shirt. "Umm... Sook." Watson quavered, "I was gonna sort of save it, till after the mission."

She cocked her head, looking at him, at the same time deftly unbuckling his belt. "Is that what you wanna do?"

The old man nodded, slowly and emphatically. "No."

"No? Well good, neither do I. Carpe diem as they say in the classics."

Dropping to a squat, Sook dis-masted his pants and boxers in one fell swipe and his cock leapt out, almost batting her in the eye. She straightened again and pointed, blinking. "Goodness!"

"That's funny," Watson mused, "it doesn't usually do that. Unless there's a gorgeous, naked young woman around."

"Must be the Champagne." Sook said, wrapping a hand around his cock, not quite making the girth. "And you know what? The girls were right. This thing's a weapon."

Watson's cheeks pinked. "I've always thought of it as more of an instrument, but thanks."

Sook raised her arms and Watson lifted her off the floor, cupping her ass as she wrapped her arms and legs around him. They kissed a deep, tongue-duelling kiss, then Sook reached down, feeling for the top of his shaft. She ploughed her dripping slit with his big flared knob, then parked it in her entrance and bore down. Watson spread her ass cheeks, gaping her pussy, humping and thrusting trying to force his way through her candy-pink portal. He was just about to voice his concerns when Sook wriggled her butt, then rose a few inches and dropped down with all her weight.

The old man's big, flared cock-head suddenly punched through her outer constriction, and he stood for a moment, catching his breath. Sook's skin turned to gooseflesh, her nipples proudly erect, hard enough to scratch glass. She hung off his neck, head back, eyes closed, biting her lip, while Watson nuzzled her ear. "Okay there, Sweetheart?"

Sook nodded. "Goodness. I haven't felt anything this big since Roger."

"I was sort of wondering if you'd imbibed." Watson said in a low voice.

"With my adopted dad? Well it's good enough for Woody Allen."

Sook wiggled her hips, and Watson savoured the sensation of sinking into her hot, tight, slippery insides, the ridges and convolutions rippling over his nerve-endings. With barely half his length inside her, he fetched up hard against a rubbery dead-end. Carrying her to the floor to ceiling mirror, Watson stood, side on to their reflection, and while they watched, commenced hoisting Sook's smooth little body up and down. Slowly at first, until her dimensions adjusted, gaining another inch or more till he was two thirds to the hilt.

With the old man supporting her weight, Sook commenced bouncing up and down, pausing every now and then to grind her hips while Watson sucked her tits. Reaching back, she fondled his pendulous balls, squeezing gently, as the drizzling fluids of her arousal drenched his sac. "Those..." she huffed... "have seen some loving."

"Not so much for the first fifty years," Watson grated, "but better late than never."

"Well... they're making up... for lost..." Sook winkled her hand between their sweating bellies and commenced strumming her clit, "...bloody... time!"

Teeth clenched, slowly gyrating her hips, bearing down on Watson's cock with all the force her featherweight frame could muster, Sook growled and shuddered through a belly-busting orgasm. Arms and legs wrapped around him, her little bubble-butt cupped in the old man's hands, she peaked, then slowly chugged to a gasping halt. For a while she just hung there, ribs rising and falling, insides clenching Watson's cock like a tight little fist. "Holy shit," she huffed, forehead resting on his shoulder, "We better issue a tsunami alert."

Watson tensed to lift her off his cock. "Do you want me to-"

"NO! You're not going anywhere, Mister. Umm... I mean... Master? Would you care to retired to the bedroom?"

"The gym?"

Sook nodded, "The workout bench, exactly. You know. It was worth coming here just for that."

Watson carried Sook through the door into his bedroom. "You know, too much more of that and I'm gonna lose it."

"What? Your load? That's exactly what I intend. If I'm not full up by the time we're done, one of us has failed."

Watson lay her down, still firmly entrapped by Sook's insanely tight grip. "Not worried about the king's boogeymen outing you? With your little knickers full of fun-juice?"

Sook shook her head. "No. Are you?"

Watson shook his head in turn. "Holy men? Proselytizing frauds who put the 'fake' into fakir. They're charlatans, career Svengalis, I'll bet a million bucks of your dad's money on it."

Sook slapped his ass, then pulled him down for a deep, panting kiss. "You don't think it's ikky, do you? Roger and me?"

"What ever for?"

"Well... he's my adopted dad."

"And Beck's my adopted daughter. You know that, don't you?"

Sook nodded.

"And you also know that Beck and I... you know..."

"Fuck like rattlesnakes? Of course. She told me."

"There you go then." Stiff-arming himself up, Watson looked down at the tiny little body flat on her back underneath him, legs spread. He savoured the sight of her quivering little tits, her soft belly heaving up and down. He pulled out, until the flared base of his knob fetched up behind a ring of muscle. "There you go then." he rasped, "We're even." He eased into her again, until he bumped into her cervix and she gasped. Locking her ankles over the small of his back, Sook gripped his ass, pulling her into him.

"Less talk, more action. Let me have it, My Lord. As hard... and fast... and deep as you can go."

*************************************************************************************************************

Watson sat back in the rear of the armoured limo, briefcase in his lap, watching Ab Aldafra's night-time cityscape scroll past the tinted, bulletproof window. Beside him, looking very manly in a waistcoat and jacket, black suit pants, a borrowed white shirt and a black tie, Sook peered sightlessly at a her armour-glass live-stream, as they tore down the road to lights and sirens. Bound for the palace in their own personal motorcade, albeit a small one, 2 hulking black SUVs, one in front, one to the rear, full of expatriate security, muscle-bound head-kickers in ill-fitting suits, with wrap-around shades and curly-chord earpieces. Their too-short sleeves gave the impression of tamed gorillas, an image in no way dimmed by their big bruised knuckles.

Approaching a set of lights, barely slowing, the convoy barged its way through the night-time traffic, mounted the footpath to bypass some local busy texting, squeezed through a gap between two trucks, tiptoed through the next red light, then picked up pace again, charging balls-to-the-wall down the 8-lane blacktop. Past walled villas surrounded by date palms, high-rise apartments with ground floor convenience stores, garishly lit and open for business in spite of the hour. Barricaded embassies, dusty squares, the odd stadium or 2 and a hospital. Bright and vibrant in the middle of the desert night, Ab Aldafra's sidewalks thronged with locals, in bright white dishdashas and heavy black niqabs. Sook fell into his lap as they swerved to miss a bus. "You've been working those pecs." the old man said, helping her upright.

Sook flattened her hands on her tightly bound little tits. "Does it show?"

"Didn't you see those knuckle-draggers giving you the eye? I reckon they're jealous."

Sook stuck her jaw out and gave him a nod. "Just wait till they give me that patdown."

Watson heaved a grunt of laughter, the movie of their recent preparations playing in his mind. Sook, and her firmly bandaged thorax, sporty breasts squashed into beefy pectoral pads. And the rolled-up sock down the front of her knickers- not quite the mango she at first selected, but a decent handful nevertheless. He shook his head. "Remind me, Aki? How did I get myself into this?"

"Through the rear passenger door, Master. Same as me."

The convoy slowed and idled through a checkpoint, then weaved through serried ranks of concrete blast protectors, put out for the car-bombers. Through another checkpoint, then through a massive sliding gate in a towering concrete wall, into the grounds of the Sea Palace proper, present residence of His Majesty the King. Watson heaved a deep, trembling sigh. "Into the valley of death rode the six hundred."

Far more interested in what was happening outside, Sook dipped her head, trying to see under some intervening greenery. "Ooo, look!" she pointed, "a helicopter."

Watson looked past her at a floodlit helipad, a couple of hundred meters away. "King's little runabout, no doubt."

"Hang on," Sook said, pointing at a second machine, "there's another one." The second machine was painted dull, matte-grey, as opposed the first aircraft's vivid red, green and gold livery. "Imagine that, your own chopper."

"Work of the devil." Watson sniffed. "Just ask Ally. Never trust a machine whose wings go faster than the fuselage."

"Until you wanna go heli-skiing." Sook retorted. "Here. The king's not using 'em. Wanna take one for a lap?"

Watson proffered the briefcase without answering. "Here," he said, "handing over. You better earn your keep."

The convoy idled under a brightly-lit portico and came to a stop. Doors flew open on the SUVs and the minders piled out, 2 moving swiftly to the limo doors, the others forming a cordon. Watson's door magically opened and he slid across the seat, stepping out onto the elaborately tiled floor. A fish out of water on an alien shore, he looked at the hanging gold and crystal chandeliers, the potted plants, the grand colonnade of red-granite pillars like something out of ancient Egypt.

Heads swivelling, hands tucked in the front of their suit jackets, the security detail whisked the old man and his young accomplice across the mosaic-tiled plaza to the gilded marble entrance of the palace.

Dark-skinned doormen dressed in silks and pantaloons, opened the doors, bowing deeply, as Watson and Sook were shepherded into the brightly-lit concourse. Even at this late hour the atrium was a hive of activity- immaculately-uniformed domestics darting hither and yon, not quite running, but it was close.

"If you could just wait here, Your Excellency." the lead door-kicker said, pointing at the polished floor. Head down, the old man planted his feet on the exact spot, then looked up again at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Excellency!" the man beamed, as the security detail peeled off, heading off on the next assignment- more lights, more sirens, more self-important VVIPs, a never-ending cavalcade. It took a few seconds before Watson recognised Mister Ghazal, senior something something to someone someone. Once again, he went to extend his hand, compelled by decades of conditioning and basic good manners. And once again he caught himself, diverting at the last second to straighten his tie, summoning a look of cool disdain.

"Welcome!" Ghazal said expansively, "Welcome. On behalf of his Magnificence, King Abdulaziz bin Salman Al Shabazz, welcome to the Sea Palace."

Sook stared straight ahead, disengaged, while Watson gave barely a nod to the obsequious greeting.

"You brought the gift?" Ghazal inveigled, staring pointedly at the briefcase in Sook's hands.

The old man looked at Ghazal down his nose. "Of course."

"Exx-cellent! Exxxxx-cellent!" Ghazal rubbed his hands, then checked his big gold watch. "His Majesty is running a little late I'm afraid. Not just a country to run, but many other affairs on the world stage. Please, Your Lordship. I beg your indulgence."

Watson looked at his own borrowed timepiece, one of Bragg's. Millions of dollars-worth, a big, flashy affair, but for the old man, less an overpriced status symbol than a temporal shackle. "As his Majesty pleases."

"Very good. Very good." Ghazal looked around, patently nervous, then tugged his collar. "But first things first, your Excellency, if I may? The protocols. You took your ablutions, yes?"

"I do not require the prompting of a protocol to maintain my cleanliness." Watson bridled. "Yes, I did, as I would have done so anyway."

"Forgive me, Excellency," Ghazal pleaded, raising his hands, "I am merely doing my job." If the puffed-up foreigner didn't like that question, he was going to love the next... had he sampled the VVIP Special Selection in the meantime? "In the furtherance of which, I must ask..."

Deserting the question midway, Ghazal performed a deep bow, then backed away a couple of steps before beating a hasty retreat. Sook and Watson exchanged a quick, puzzled glance as the slap of sandals on patterned tiles rose up from behind. Watson looked over his shoulder in time to see 3 pantomime characters swoop down, dressed in flowing silk robes and white silk turbans. Three bearded holy men, 1 tall and gaunt, the other big and fat, the third one short and dumpy. Baleful eyes peered out from under bushy black brows. Pulling up short, they commenced circling the hapless Westerners like hungry sharks. "You!" the tall one said, walking prayer beads between fingers and thumb, "Do you speak god's language?"