Aurora - Way of the Goddess Pt. 07

This is a work of fiction. All characters depicted are 18 years and over

*

Watson fell face-down onto the bed, then rolled over and hooked off his shoes. It had just gone midnight. Beck was only a few doors away, but tomorrow was another big day, especially since it was already today, and she'd probably earned herself a night off. Cleaning his teeth while he took a quick shower, he was still towelling himself dry when there was a tiny little tap on the door.

'Rat... tat tat tat... tat tat.' Their secret knock.

Towel around his waist, Watson opened the door a crack and Beck squeezed through like a cat on a date with the fridge. Throwing her keycard on the desk, she reefed her oversized T-shirt off and flung herself naked on the bed. Legs spread, she draped a long, skinny arm over her eyes. "Oh woe is me," she cried, "poisoned by a wicked witch. Oh where, oh where can I find some handsome prince to fuck me out of my slumber?"

Watson jumped up and down on the spot till the towel fell away. "Fresh out of princes I'm afraid. Would a wrinkly old peasant do?"

Kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed, he kissed his way upwards from her ankles, parking his torso on the mattress as his mouth came in range of her pink-slitted mound. Her skin was the colour of gold in the glow of the table lamp, her soft belly heaving with pleasure and excitement. "I've been waiting for this all night." she shivered, elevating her hips as a stiff, prehensile tongue began working her groove and Watson said something through a mouthful of pussy that could have been, 'so have I'.

"Dommy?" Beck asked at length. "Do you like Macca?"

Watson squirrelled his tongue into Beck's entrance and she gasped. He nodded. "Uh huh."

"I think she likes you too." Beck replied breathlessly, her pelvis rocking and rolling in response to the old man's attention.

Watson withdrew his tongue and raised his head. "No. She doesn't."

"Uh huh," Beck nodded earnestly, "she does."

"No. She doesn't."

"No, really. She does."

"Well that's tough luck, isn't it?"

"Why?"

"She's been sentenced to marriage."

"So what? Tanya's married. That didn't stop you."

"Vicky's not Tan. End of story."

Beck put a hand on Watson's head and pushed him back down. "Settle petal, I'm just saying." After a few more minutes of Watson's sucking and slurping, she piped up again. "Know what she said?" Watson shook his head with his tongue buried inside her. "She said..."

Worming the tip under the hood of her clit, he gave the hard little bead a good tongue-lashing. Beck grabbed his head in both hands, back straining. "She said... I was lucky... to have someone... who loves me so... so... so... Oh... Dommy. Finger me!"

Pulling back far enough to admire the sight, Watson teased Beck's plump outer lips apart and winkled his finger into her hole. "Oh yeah..." Beck huffed, eyes closed, the ring of pink muscle gripping the intrusion, "do that..."

"So what did Vicky say?"

"She said... I was lucky... to have someone who... who loves me... so much and I... and I..."

There was a knock at the door that made them both jump. Beck propped herself up on her elbows while Watson slid onto the floor and peered over his shoulder. Pulling the old man's finger out, she sat and tapped him on the arm. Frowning, she mouthed, "Who's that?"

Watson's first thought was it was hotel security. The hotel was lousy with CCTV. They would have seen Beck leave her room and enter his. 'Paranoid bullshit' he thought in the very next breath, though his heart was pounding.

"Damon?" a voice called in hoarse whisper. "Are you awake?"

Beck's jaw dropped. "Macca?"

"No." Watson shook his head as he rose to whisper in her ear. "It's flippin' Ally!" This was obviously the little jet pilot's MO. Abandon him at the lift feeling bereft, then turn up unannounced and knock his socks off.

"Damon?" the voice quavered as little knuckles rapped on the door.

"How do you know?" Beck demanded in a harsh whisper.

"I just do." Watson insisted then looked over his shoulder at the door. "Just a minute!" he called, looking desperately around the room for an escape hatch. "You'll have to hide!"

"Are you gonna fuck Ally?"

"Not if she sees you. Quick!"

"Where?" Beck asked then jerked her head in the bathroom's direction. "In there?"

"No, she might need a pee." Watson ripped the slatted door of the wardrobe open and planted his hand in the middle of Beck's bare back. "In here!"

Beck fended him off and rounded on him, glaring. "I am not spending all night in there!"

"Hello Damon?" Another few knocks.

"Hang on," Watson sang, "just getting decent." Looking at Beck he clasped his hands. "Moosh pleeeease! We'll go straight back to her room!"

"Well there'd better be some left for me." Beck whispered angrily as the old man threw her shirt and keycard in after her and shut the door on the room's generous closet. Running around in a panic, Watson finally gathered his wits enough to pull on his boardshorts and T-shirt, taking care to cover the inch or two of stiff dick poking up through the waistband. Giving his scalp a vigorous rub, he swallowed his pounding heart and stepped to the door.

When he turned the handle the door burst open with weight of the body behind it. Clad in a short, dark green silk slip, clutching a bottle in one hand and two Champagne flutes in the other, the visitor stumbled a little, trying to get her balance after the dramatic entrance. Given the dance of her pointy little breasts under the silk, and the way the fabric clung to her contours, there were no prizes for guessing she was naked underneath. Watson stared at her, open mouthed.

"I hope it's not too late?" she slurred, looking at her bare arm. "It's just... I'm not sleepy yet and was wondering if we could talk."

Closing the door behind him, Watson followed her in, stealing a peek at the slatted wooden wardrobe, almost convinced he could hear heavy breathing inside. "No, not at all. It's holidays, after all."

Weaving across the room to the writing desk, she carefully set the bottle down. Closing one eye to focus, she placed the flutes unsteadily beside it, along with her key, then stood back to admire her handiwork. She had tried to bundle her hair up but given her inebriation results were mixed- part dishevelled, part carefree. Nervously licking her lips, she nodded at the bottle. "Nightcap?"

"Why not?" Watson nodded. "Just a splash. So, what can I do for you, Sweetheart?"

The young woman handed him the bottle to do the honours. While there were two comfortable armchairs, one round ottoman and a writing chair to choose from, she turned around and sat heavily on the end of Watson's bed. Her slip rode up and it took every ounce of won't-power to avoid sneaking a peek under the hem. Popping the cork, Watson poured two glasses with a shaking hand. A similarly drunk girlfriend had once revealed a jealously guarded female top-secret: If a girl came into your room and sat on your bed, you were in.

Discretion being the better part, Watson handed her a drink, then dragged the writing chair away from the desk and manoeuvred it into position facing her. Raising his glass, he touched it to hers. "Cheers."

"Cheers to you, Damon." she said then downed her drink in a single breath. Heaving a gassy belch, she swallowed hard against a surge of reverse peristalsis.

"Refill?"

She waved him off, swallowing hard to keep the first glass down.

"Something troubling you, Macca? Or did you just want a little chinwag?"

"Yep!" she nodded blearily, "Nope. What I mean is... well... You wanna know the absolute truth?"

"It's always a good starting point."

"I don't know what's troubling me. A few times today I thought I was going crazy."

"How so?"

"I don't know. It's just... it's just..." she threw her arm up in drunken frustration then held out her glass. "Can I have another one?"

"You might want to take it easy, Sweetheart."

"You see! Nobody ever calls me that. Except Tanya. And sometimes Alana. But not even my own parents and definitely never men! May I ask? What do you mean when you say that?"

"Mean? I don't mean anything. It's just a name you call someone."

"Someone you like?"

"Someone you think is sweet and beautiful and has a good heart."

"Do you think I'm sweet?"

"As sun-warmed honey."

"And what about... what about... I mean... Do you really think I'm beautiful?"

Watson nodded. "Of course I do. In fact I think you're gorgeous."

A big fat tear spilled onto Vicky's cheek. "No one's ever called me that." she announced in a tiny voice. "Ever."

"Bullshit! What about your boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"I thought you were engaged?"

"He's my fiancé, not my boyfriend."

It was a little late in the evening for pedantry so the wordsmith let it slide. "Your fiancé, then. He must tell you all the time, surely?"

Vicky shook her head. "Nope."

"What's the matter? Is he blind?"

Vicky shrugged, looking miserable. "He's... how can I say..." she looked at her hands, clutching the Champagne flute in her lap, "very reserved."

"Well what does he call you?"

"Umm.. Victoria?"

"And that's it?"

Vicky nodded, sniffing, then took a sip.

"Well what about everyone else?"

"Well Pastor once called me a harlot." she said almost inaudibly.

Watson took a slug of his Champagne, trying surreptitiously to reorganise the contents of his boardshorts. The initial boost to his blood pressure at first sight of Vicky was beginning to ebb, as it became apparent he was dealing with a troubled and vulnerable young woman. "How big is this Pastor guy?" he growled. "Want me to give him a punch him in the head?"

"Pastor Neil is a wise and Godly man." she said un-persuasively. "He raised me up after I fell by the wayside."

"And called you a harlot? He still gets a punch in the head."

Eyes downcast, Vicky swiped her nose with the back of her hand. "But he's right. I am a harlot! Cos' hard as I try to keep my mind pure, these disgusting blinky thoughts keep popping into my head."

"What thoughts?"

"I can't tell you. It's too humiliating."

"Oh come on. Macca. We're all friends here."

The young woman shook her head, sniffling.

"Well, what are they to do with? These disgusting thoughts?"

Without looking up, Vicky extended a finger and wrote in the air, a three letter word ending in 'X'.

"You've been thinking about sex?"

Vicky nodded miserably. "About four times today."

Watson palmed his forehead. "Are you serious? I didn't think about sex about four times today." He frowned at the ceiling in thought for a second. "Or was it three? Who cares? Where's the harm?"

"Some of those thoughts didn't involve my fiancé," Vicky admitted, her voice almost a whisper, "though that would be bad enough. I'm supposed to be saving the temple of my body for him, and even the thought of straying is a sin. I know all this but I still can't stop myself thinking about... thinking about..."

Watson's heart skipped a beat. 'Me,' he pleaded silently, 'please say me'. "They're just thoughts, Macca." he shrugged. "For you to enjoy in the privacy of your own mind."

"That's just the problem. I do enjoy them, a lot. And I shouldn't. It's lust Damon, the deadliest of all carnal sins."

"Bah! They're just the horny thoughts of a normal, healthy young woman. Your problem is you've been reading the wrong books."

Vicky waved the accusation away. "S'not true." she slurred. "There's only the one that counts. And apart from my textbooks it's the only one I'll ever need."

Watson opened his mouth to contradict but, in his minds eye, saw a premature end to the communion if he did. "Look," he said gently, "there's nothing wrong with a juicy little fantasy now and then."

Vicky's shoulders slumped. "Unless it's rooted in sin." Heaving a breath, she leaned forward to rise. "I'm sorry, Damon, I shouldn't have troubled you."

Watson saw straight down the front of her green silk slip and for a moment was struck dumb. She had perfect, cupcake breasts the colour and texture of cream, firm and round and tipped with stiff, candy-pink nipples. And now the whole, stunning package was getting set to walk right out the door. He stood as she did and placed his hands on her shoulders. "You're not troubling me, Vicky, I can assure you."

Time froze for half a dozen heartbeats. Eyes closed, face uplifted, she melted into him. Those big, beautiful lips tasted every bit as good as they looked, but she kept her mouth shut as she puffed and panted her way through their first feverish kiss. Watson's hands wandered the topography of her back, the sharp wings of her shoulder blades, the ridges of muscle bordering her spine. When he grabbed a handful of her firm, round bottom her legs almost gave way. "Oh, God" she whimpered into his mouth

"Are you okay?"

"No one's ever... ever..."

"Ever what?"

"Touched me like that. I've never even been kissed. Not on the mouth."

"Never?"

Vicky broke off and pushed him away. "Never!" Looking around the room, teetering on the brink of the precipice, she turned on him. "Damon... I want to look at you."

"Well peek a boo."

"No!" Vicky said flatly, "I want to LOOK at you. All of you!"

"Okay." Watson raised his arms and began a slow revolution.

"I mean n... n... naked!"

Watson's pirouette clanged to a stop. "Naked?"

"I mean it. I've never even seen a man's body before and soon I'm going to marry one."

"You've never seen a guy naked?"

"Well the odd one or two on Nat Geo," she replied guiltily, "mainly in Africa, but they always blurred the sinful bits out. And anyway, Aaron doesn't like me watching that stuff so I just turned it off."

"Aaron? He's your boyf... your fiancé?"

"That's right."

"And you've never seen him starkers?"

"Certainly not." Vicky frowned. "We're not married yet."

"You've never watched a porno?"

Vicky puffed herself up with three parts indignation to four parts alcohol. "How dare you! I would never sully my soul with that sort of filth. Look. It's simple, I have to get married soon and I have no idea what to expect. You can keep your eyes closed if you like, but please, Damon, just let me look at you."

There was a little 'Khaa-tieww!', like a mouse sneezing, and Vicky froze. "What was that?" she whispered, looking around with wide eyes.

Watson put his hands on her hips to distract her. "Just someone out in the hall."

"But it sounded like it came from in here."

Watson sniffed. "Well, it wasn't me. Was it you? Did you just sneeze?"

Checking once more for lurking witnesses, Vicky licked her lips. "Damon. Listen. I'm about to get married. And when I do, I'm gonna have to perform certain... well... duties. And I have absolutely no clue what's in store." She gripped the hem of Watson's T-shirt. "Please, Damon. I just want to look at you, that's all. Come on. May I?"

Watson raised his arms in reply and she reefed the shirt off over his head. Staring at him, slack-jawed, she went to put her hand on his chest then snatched it away. "Oh my God..." she breathed, "you're beautiful."

"Oh, Macca. That's just Champers talking. I'm fif-"

"Damon," she held up her hand, "just don't! Okay?" Looking him up and down she put her hands on his shoulders. "Can I see..." she asked hesitantly, "like... all of you?"

Watson struggled for the correct response. There was half an erection skulking in his shorts and he wasn't quite sure how to proceed. Defuse the nascent hardon and risk underwhelming the girl, or crank it up to full-noise and scare the bejesus out of her? Vicky solved the dilemma by seizing hold of his waistband. She blinked her green eyes. "Pretty please?"

Drawing a breath, Watson hefted a shoulder and said, "Oh..." but before the following 'kay' made it out of his mouth, Vicky tore the shorts down over his thighs all the way to his ankles. She jumped back, averting her eyes from the bobbing appendage. "Sorry, Damon. Sorry..."

"Vicky! Stop stressing for god's sake."

"Of course, sorry... are you okay?"

Watson kicked the shorts away. From seafaring writer to prize exhibit in one quick dismasting. "Didn't hurt a bit."

Vicky slowly circled him, hyperventilating, sneaking a quick glance now and then below his belt line. "Oh my goodness..." she panted, "... you're just... magnificent!"

Watson opened his mouth to fob off the compliment then realised it wasn't a compliment. If this was her first experience then she simply didn't know any better. Nor was there anything to be gained by mocking the poor girl. Completing her orbit, she stood in front of him, her green eyes wide. She swallowed. "May I...?"

Watson took her hand and placed it flat on his chest. "Do what you like, Vicky. It's all free."

Vicky's knees were threatening to give way. "I can feel your heartbeat."

"Always a good sign."

Standing close enough to be almost touching torsos, she put her arms around him. After a token exploration of his shoulders and back, her hands went where they really wanted to go, sliding over the swell of his buttocks. "My god," she whispered, "your skin is so smooth. I never expected... I mean... I imagined your skin would be, like, all rough and hairy."

"You must have mistaken me for a hog."

"Sorry, Damon, sorry."

"Joke! Let me let you into a little secret, Macca. When two people do this, it's meant to be fun."

There was one piece of territory she'd been assiduously avoiding, barely even glancing at it on her walk-around. Watson took her hand to make the introduction as someone in the 'hall' sneezed again. Wide-eyed, not looking down, Vicky wrapped her fingers around him. "It..." she whispered, "he... that feels amazing."

"You're not kidding."

"Would you like to touch me?"

"I'd love to." Watson said, then slid his own hand down her back to the hem of her slip. "What about you? Would you like another kiss?"

"Ohh yes!" Vicky nodded, breathlessly. "Yes I would."

"Okay. This time open your mouth a little."

"Open my mouth?"

"So we can touch tongues."

"Eww!" Vicky looked at him like she'd just swallowed a mouthful of sick. "Like... our actual tongues?"

"Trust me, Macca. You'll love it."

She did as she was told and after fifteen or twenty seconds they were fiercely duelling mouth organs. Her legs were shaking and she was hyperventilating fit to pass-out, as Watson's erection blossomed in the young woman's hand until she was hefting what felt like a baseball bat. "Oh God..." she panted, "Oh God... he's gone all hard."

"Mmm, yeahh... it does that."

"Damon?"

"Hmm?"

"Touch my b... breasts?"

It was hard to know if it was a request or a demand, but Watson complied anyway, gently pinching her nipples and cupping her silk-clad breasts in the palms of his hands. He was itching to send one hand on an errand over her belly down to her crotch, almost certain of what he would find- a tight, yielding cauldron of boiling arousal. One step at a time. Waiting until Vicky had taken her fill of palpating his junk, he put his hands on her shoulders and eased her away. "You may have noticed something."

Vicky looked around in panicked confusion. "What?"

"There are two of us in this room, and only one of us is naked."

"Oh... would you like me to..." she jerked her head.

"Yes. Very much so."

"I'm not all that... you know... well endowed."

"No problem," Watson gave her a pat. "Let me be the judge of that."

Taking a step back, Vicky crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her slip. Steeling herself she peeled it off over her head. First revealed was her mound, lightly thatched with dark brown hair, neatly trimmed for her one-piece. That thigh gap he had first seen gracing Caddy's bikini was now occupied by the bulge of her plump pussy lips, with a little round clitoral hood at the top and her thinner, inner lips sandwiched between. She had wide hips and a flat stomach, both of which he'd previously admired, and the cutest, sweetest, bounciest pair of upstart breasts he'd seen in the past fifteen minutes.