Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 07

"You don't have to if you don't want to." Cassandra said gently, following the script. 'At all costs, do not make your VVIP feel inadequate'. "I mean, if you're not able to or something. That's okay."

Watson shook free of his rumination and looked at her, glaring. "If I'm not what?"

"Sorry... sorry... What I mean is, if you're otherwise... preoccupied. I mean, I know you must be busy."

When Watson looked down, Cassandra followed the direction of his gaze and sucked a sharp breath. For there, under the fabric of his pantaloons, some cheeky Bedouin was busy pitching a tent. Nothing trivial either, more circus tent than mere desert shelter. "Oh..." Cassandra said, "...My Lord."

Well, Watson thought, there was nothing else for it- he was simply going to have to take one for the team. He was a multi, multi-billionaire after all, and an offering like Cassandra was simply a snack. Entrée, hors d'oeuvres, a cold beer for a thirsty tradie. Caddy's words echoed in his mind- the super-rich can have anything, anything- and to make a song and dance now would be to undermine the charade. Tough gig, he knew, but someone had to do it. Reaching down, he gripped the hem of his coarse linen blouse and hoisted it off overhead, revealing an old yet fit physique, lean, ropy and honed by the elements.

Taking her cue, Cassandra shrugged her shoulders and the loose chiffon fell in a heap around her ankles. Breathing hard, so aroused her spine was almost vibrating, she stood, looking at him, totally naked, her skin so smooth it might have been porcelain. Scalp, brows and lashes aside, she'd been totally denuded, by a team of beauticians using the most expensive techniques. The old man's eyes settled on the girl's splendid breasts, perfect B-cups, not huge by any means but just the right size for her frame, her nipples as hard as glass just about pointing at the ceiling.

Watson carried on down her torso, over her abdomen with its sweet little bellybutton and just a hint of a six-pack. Over the canted blades of her hips, to the smooth swell of her mons, the plump outer labia filling her thigh gap. Her legs were lean and ever so slightly bowed, from a childhood of horse-riding on the Pampas. Slim ankles, slender feet, pedicured nails painted scarlet.

"My Lord?" Cassandra said, gesturing with her eyes at the old man's eruption. "Should you undress?"

"I think that's what we're here for." Watson replied, hooking his thumbs under the waistband.

The girl looked on, wide-eyed, as the old man shimmied the pants over his hips, and his rock-hard erection sprang into the light of day. Twitching and swaying, ready for action, it was already beading with fluid. Cassandra put a hand to her mouth, genuinely shocked. "Oh my Lord. Lord Gideon."

When he first met Rebekah, the old man's weapon was of fairly normal proportions, just about average, entirely good enough for a staple diet of hand-made pleasure. Now, several years and countless bouts of rampant sex with horny young females later, the thing had transformed into something of a monster. In relative terms at any rate. Not quite porn-stud material, but between the size of the organ and the skill of the player, impressive nonetheless. "Umm..." Cassandra said, all pretence temporarily sidelined, "would you mind if I touch you?"

Watson stepped up to her in reply, his meat wagging happily from side to side. A small, cool hand wrapped around him, barely managing his girth, while the other cupped his balls, startling them into retreat as his scrotum contracted. Tongue out

helping her concentrate, she stroked Watson's penis up and down from head-to-hilt, savouring the sensation of her first proper cock. Long, hot, ribbed and veined, hard as cow horn and thick as her wrist. "Umm..." Cassandra said again, fingertips lightly rasping the flared base of his knob, "how would you like me?"

"Hard, fast and often." Watson replied.

Cassandra arched her eyebrows. "Suits me."

Bending at the waist, Watson sucked the young girl's nipple into his mouth, teasing and licking the sensitive tissue, raking the textured flesh with his teeth. Cassandra's head fell back. Eyes closed, she draped her arms around his neck, hips swivelling with a mind of their own. Nothing in the briefing said she wasn't allowed to enjoy herself... nothing... and as her pussy engorged she widened her stance.

Absorbed as he was, part of Watson noted the change in her posture, and he slid a hand over her flat belly, between her silken thighs. Cupping her pussy, he gently massaged the pillowy outer lips, finger resting over her hot, sopping furrow. The words, 'May I?' formed on the tip of his tongue, then he reminded himself, 'You are a billionaire. You do NOT ask permission. What you want, you take, and you can do as you please with this little beauty.'

Cassandra shivered and goosebumps sprang up on her skin, as Watson's finger sank into her slit, then curled up into her hole, pushing past the outer resistance into her tight, slippery core. "Oh, My Lord." She quavered, bearing down, taking Watson's finger up to the knuckle. Her pussy gave a little burp as it contracted, clenching around the probing intrusion. Coming off her nipple, Watson raised his head and fused his lips to Cassandra's waiting mouth. They kissed, huffing and panting, as Watson's skilled finger sought out the young girl's G-spot, finger sliding in and out, rasping the tiny patch of supersensitive cells. Even with his prints erased the friction quickly had her twitching and jerking, and she settled her weight on his palm, moaning into his mouth as he sucked on her face.

She broke away. "If you don't stop." she shivered, then buried her face in his shoulder.

How many times, Watson thought, had he heard that little disclaimer? He doubled down, fingering the girl for all he was worth, his free hand squeezing her firm round butt. Her legs were trembling and she began to pant and grunt, and he knew from a wealth of experience that she was close. Closer than he thought. A high-pitched squeal struggled out of her throat, and her legs gave way as a flood of warm fluid filled the old man's hand. Cassandra thew her arms around his neck, then bounced off the floor and wrapped her legs around his waist. Still deeply impaled, huffing and panting, she rode the old man's finger all the way to orgasm city.

As abruptly as it started, the massive orgasm ground to a halt and Cassandra wrenched his finger out, still humping and jerking in the sparkling aftermath. "Jesus Christ!" she squeaked, "Dios mio! That was amazing! That was just fuckin' amazing."

Watson walked to the bed with the girl in his arms, and gently lay her down on her back. Her legs flopped open in that universal gesture, the one that said, 'Fuck me.' "Oh dios mio," she puffed, head tossing from side-to-side, "and I was the one who was meant to pleasure you."

Watson knelt on the bed between her spread legs. "Well don't say you didn't."

Cassandra had been briefed, warned was a better word, that she was there to provide satisfaction, not seek it. The elite, after all, were all about taking their due, yet here he was, one of the richest men on Earth, seemingly pleased he'd just fingered her to orgasm. Legs wide open, pussy drooling fluid, she propped herself up on her elbows. "Seriously?"

"What?"

"That was good for you too? Do you really mean it?"

Watson sighed in faux exasperation. "Cassandra, please. Do not question me. I say what I mean and mean what I say and I do not waste my time with empty blandishments."

"Sorry, My Lord, sorry. I meant no disrespect."

"But in answer to your question. It was good for me too."

Watson dipped his head, sucking on her nipples again, one hand idly jacking his erection. Cassandra fell back, enjoying the indulgence- what girl didn't like her titties being sucked- tensing at the same time for the inevitable debut. That fingering was nice, but any minute now, this rangy old man was going to jam his big, stiff cock in her inexperienced vagina, for his own entertainment, not hers. This, they'd been told, was why they were being paid the big bucks.

Watson looked up. "Can I ask you something?"

Cassandra nodded. "Sure. Go ahead."

"Are you a virgin?"

Cassandra swallowed. Tell the truth or give him the answer he wanted? Because, in fact, she'd once sampled a boyfriend's dick, just the tip, and just for as long as it took him to unload. So, unless another girl's fingers or the handle of her trusty old hairbrush counted, the answer was 'yes'. 'Sort of'. "Well," she hedged, "I've never had penis inside me." At least not all the way.

"Good answer. Does that apply to the other girls? Just out of interest?"

"The other Travelling Wives? Of course. That's pretty much the first thing they ask. And they check. During our physical. During selection."

"What sort of check?" Watson pressed, wondering how Beck might have fared.

Cassandra shrugged. "Like, a visual check. An examination. By a doctor." A vision-impaired doctor, the young girl thought, judging by the scrubbers in this year's draft. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm a multi, multi billionaire. I do not stir another man's porridge."

"I promise you, My Lord. I am as pure as any of the girls."

His own girl included, Watson thought. If Beck had, indeed, been sent to the Bird House, if she'd made it to the island herself, then she would have been through the very same process. How she'd pulled it off- impersonating a virgin, after Watson, Bragg, the double dildo O.J., vibrators, tongues, and countless girlfriends' fingers- would one day make for some scintillating storytelling.

Bracing for impact, penetration at any rate, Cassandra lay back with her eyes closed, feeling the old man's kisses trailing south over her belly. Hands supporting her thighs, Watson kissed his way down her spread legs, all the way to one knee, then up to her groin and over without so much as breathing on her vagina, then down to the other. Cassandra's abdominals bunched as she held herself in tension, unable to believe her incredible luck. He was about to eat her out, she was sure of it, the first time anyone had done so and another breathtaking departure from what she'd been told. VVIPs did NOT give pleasure, they only took it. So what the fuck?

What genius invented cunnilingus, Watson idly wondered, eyeballing the plump pink delicacy in front of him. Someone had to be first, back in the day. Some cave-dwelling, mammoth-wrangling, bearskin-clad Neanderthal? Was he visionary? Inquisitive? Was he hungry? Bored? Or did he do it as a dare? Or did some tribes-girl come running after being stung on her poor little vagina, crying in pain and looking for succour? Whatever the case, he thought, inhaling the scent of the young girl's arousal- candy, musk and a hint of wet puppy- the pioneer of this process deserved a Nobel Prize. For services to humanity.

Lips puckered, Watson sucked Cassandra's clit hood into his mouth. Back arched, she dug her heels into the mattress and hoisted her ass off the bed, fingers clawing at his close-cropped hair.

Or maybe it was a chick, Watson's musings wandered on, while his tongue slithered down the slippery vestibule and wormed its way into her hole. In fact, come to think of it, that made a lot more sense- while the men were out hassling sabre tooth tigers, the bored, horny tribes-girls had to look after themselves. Having witnessed the pussy-licking expertise of the many young women in his life, and the sheer, simultaneous pleasure the practice ignited, the old man had to concede. Girls, most likely, were the inventors of the art, god bless each and every one of them.

For the taste, maybe. Sugar and spice and all things nice. Sweet, salty with a dash of umami and a slight metallic tang. He thought of asking the girl for a second opinion, but Cassandra was already well away, panting through clenched teeth, eyes closed, nose wrinkled, hips bucking and jerking. She tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Finger!" barely heeding the crime of issuing orders to a ruthless billionaire. Pulling back a little, Watson did as asked. Palm-up, middle finger extend, he teased apart her delicate pink lips then forced his way in, all the way up to the knuckle, before dipping his head and suckering onto her slit.

Cassandra's knees shot up, clamping his head between her thighs, as Watson's expert tongue fluttered the bead of her clit. A burp of fluid announced her climax was open for business. Her body convulsed, as the combination of a tongue-lashing and the fingertip rubbing her G-spot, sent her crashing over the edge of Orgasm Falls. Grunting and squealing loud enough to rouse the local dead, she finally uttered a long trembling sigh, then patted the old man on top of the head. "Stop!" she gasped, tapping out. "Please, your Lordship."

Watson raised his head, face wet from ear-to-ear, his short grey beard spangled with saliva and girl cum. Cassandra's legs flopped to the sides, and she lay back heavy breathing as if she'd just come in from a run, one arm over her face shielding her eyes. Wiping each cheek in turn on her velvety thighs, Watson pushed up and studied his handiwork. Cassandra's little pink slit, still slightly agape, was still clenching and relaxing, a drizzle of body fluids, his and hers, filling her butt crack. "Oh my god..." she puffed, "oh My Lord. You are... that was amazing."

"Of course it was." Watson glared. "And enough of the Oh Lord, already. Just call me... err... Gideon."

Cassandra propped herself up on her elbows, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. "Oh, My Lord. I couldn't do that."

"I'm not asking." Watson said, then paused to suck her nipples. "I'm telling you."

"B... but the protocol."

"Look, fuck the protocol, pardon my Esperanto. This can be our little secret."

Cassandra held her arms out. "This is nothing like I thought it would be."

"How did you think it would be?" Watson asked, gently laying his weight on her.

"A chore, I guess. After all, I came here to look after you. To work for the king."

Watson brushed the hair from her brow. "You're doing just fine, Cassandra."

"Can you call me Cassie?"

"I'll call you anything I like." Watson scowled, then winked. "Cassie."

At first alarmed, then confused, Cassandra kneaded the old man's butt. "Your skin's so smooth." the cooed, eyes closed to focus on the feeling. And to shut out the image of a grey-haired old man peering down at her, old enough to be her dad. Old enough to be her grandfather.

"You orgasmed out yet?" Watson asked, the tip of his three-quarter erection nudging her slit.

"You mean, you want to...?"

Watson hefted a shoulder. "If that's okay with you."

It didn't have to be okay. But it was, anyway. Like a sleazy, old, war-mongering American politician once observed, power was a great aphrodisiac. In any event, any Travelling Wife who didn't go back with elite semen dripping out of her pussy wasn't worth her salt. Cassandra looked at him, nodding. "I'd love to. I mean it."

Pleasantries poised on his tongue, Watson summoned his alter-ego, Woodrow-Munt, and jammed his cock head into her entrance, popping through the ring of taut muscle into her tract. Eyes squeezed shut, she bit her lip, but when he tried to withdraw, she dug her claws into his ass and pulled him back down.

Hot, wet, slippery, but above all tight, her body yielded bit-by-bit to the massive intrusion. Watson tuned into the sensation of his sensitive knob rippling over her inner convolutions until, with barely two thirds of his length buried inside her, he hit a dead-end. Cassandra pulled her legs up, wrapping them around his waist, rotating her hips so he was driving straight down into her. All her pretence flew out the door, up into the sky with her other preconceptions. All the cash, all the gifts, all the notoriety. The boost to her career, an elite referee. The bragging rights, the networking, all the contracts and deals. None of it impinged. The whole wide world collapsed around that indescribable sensation emanating from the pit of her belly. The sense of being massively impaled, and the old man's slow, measured thrusts muscling her innards aside.

Watson flexed his back, slow and steady, being careful not to break her, savouring every millimetre of penetration. Arms around his neck, Cassandra curled up into him, head buried in his shoulder. The girl was breathing in sharp, shallow gasps, almost hyperventilating, her tight little pussy farting now and then as his bulk displaced the last gasps of air. Elbows on the bed, taking much of his weight, he picked up the pace, until he was pounding almost straight down into her.

He could fly to the moon and back, surf Saturn's rings, share a beer with the Buddha or spend a weekend in Nirvana, but nothing, no other experience, could ever come close to this, the pure, primal thrill of jamming a stiff, throbbing penis into the gripping, slippery embrace of hard-bodied young girl and fucking her into blissful oblivion. A beautiful young girl at that, a teenager, ostensibly virgin. Balls flopping, sweat flying, he cranked his meat into her, almost up to the hilt, holding back that precise amount, fucking her hard enough to make her squeal, not hard enough to hurt her. A gnat's whisker from pain, yet forceful enough to make stars in her eyes. When he eased up to ask if she'd like to change positions, Cassandra thumped his ass. "NO!" she huffed. "Don't stop! Don't..."

It was happening again. The sweet little thing was powering up to climax. Channelling every spare ounce of concentration into his pounding cock, Watson took up the chase, harmonising energy fields, willing an orgasm. Then all at once Cassandra began to jerk and gyrate. The sight of her face, the feel of her body, the smell, the sound, the whole kit and caboodle, was enough to ignite Watson's own climax and, pounding as hard as he dared into her, the old man let go. Propped up on outstretched arms, hips thrusting, he uttered a long, trembling groan as the first blast of semen erupted from his plumbing, completely filling the girl's contracting insides. The next few squirts shot straight into her uterus, the rest blasting out past the sucking restriction of her tightly-stretched lips.

Feeling him cum, Cassandra gave herself to her orgasm, snarling and shuddering, her vagina gripping the old man's prick like a tight little fist. Deeply embedded, Watson ground his hips into her, loosing off a last few, sputtering shots, as Cassandra fell limp beneath him, totally spent.

She lay for a while, eyes closed, heavy breathing, head tossing slowly from side to side. She was muttering to herself in Spanish. Head hung low, Watson looked down through the gap between their bodies, over her quivering breasts, past her heaving belly, onwards over the arch of her smooth mound. When he raised his hips, the better to see his thick, cunt- and semen-slicked shaft disappearing into the girl's trembling body, Cassandra dug her fingers into his ass cheeks. "No, My Lor... G... Gideon." she panted, pulling him down. "Not yet."

Nothing if not a gentleman, Watson plumped a pillow and settled down, listening to the young woman breathe, feeling her pussy twitch and convulse around his deeply buried appendage. The room smelt of sex. Not just sex, but the peculiar and unmistakable perfume of a healthy young female in her sexual prime. A flower in bloom, fruit on the very cusp of ripening. As he often did, Watson offered up a prayer to the Universe, that he could be so blessed, that evolution should offer up something so perfect.

Her breathing slowed. Pushing up, Watson found Cassandra had drifted off into a shallow sleep, post-orgasmic quiescence as Oliver Sacks put it, the golden glow. He raised his hips, inching his still stiff prick from Cassandra's clenching embrace, and as he popped out with a rush of cum she opened her eyes. He rolled off. Propped up on her elbows, Cassandra watched the slow, white lava flow for a moment, then swiped a finger through her slit and studied the results. "Well..." she said, drawing out a long, vibrating string of proteinaceous slime between finger and thumb, "I don't know what to say."