Aurora - Wings of the Goddess Pt. 01

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

*****

THE PRODIGAL

Another passing storm dumped its load all over the penned yacht, tugging restively at her moorings in the buffeting gusts. This endless parade of thunderheads reminded the old man of belligerent drunks, wandering the streets after lockout, banging on doors. It had been raining like this for weeks, with back-to-back cyclones ravaging the coast, and even with the luxury of a small, portable air conditioner, the atmosphere down below resembled a sauna. Endless rain, tropical storms, almost no sailing... welcome to the monsoon.

They had just returned from the daily run that over the weeks had become ritual- two lonely figures jogging through the downpour, as cars swished past casting bow waves. Instant local legends- the two loony runners, the old man and the beautiful young blonde, pounding the pavement in the rain. Strength training Watson called it. Total insanity according to others.

He heard a voice. In a tiny gulf of silence between squalls, he could hear Beck talking or singing in her cabin next door. Before he could make out which- talking or singing- another downpour arrived, hammering the deck overhead like a muffled drum. Pushing upright, Watson flexed his fingers and bowed his head over the laptop. A few short pages and the chapter would be done, another deadline, another payday.

"No worries," Beck said, stepping naked through the door, Tanya's mobile at her ear, "I'll pass it on."

Watson looked up, fingers poised on the keyboard, and all thoughts of the plot were blown away. The running had only enhanced the beauty of Beck's lean legs, adding bulk to her thighs and curves to her calves. She had just showered after their daily slog and her tangled hair, still damp, was draped over her shoulders like a golden mane. Light years away, deep in conversation, she absent-mindedly fondled a tiny conical breast. Her tan had faded a little in the perpetual gloom, but she was still the very epitome of feminine beauty, from her wild blonde hair and sky blue eyes, to her cupcake breasts and smooth plump mound. Watson looked at his lap. Something was stirring in his novelty boxers, threatening to erupt like an alien chest-burster. And after he'd promised himself. No more nooky until the script was complete.

Beck cut the call after a prolonged exchange and looked at him. "Guess who that was?" she asked, unable to mask her excitement.

Watson shrugged, shuffling aside as she sat down beside him. "The prime minister?"

"Nope."

"The Dalai Lama?"

"Wrong again."

"Ming Mang Mong the king of Saigon?"

"You're getting colder."

"How about you just tell me?"

"Tanny."

"Oh." Watson said, a little miffed. He was not worth talking to apparently.

"She said she was sorry she couldn't say hello because they're over in the Mangroves or something, and she was using a bat-phone and had to be quick."

"Mangroves?"

Beck shrugged and her little cool hand slipped under the leg of his boxers. "Something like that. Some sort of islands or something somewhere near India."

Watson racked his brains. "The Maldives?"

Beck snapped her fingers. "That's it!"

"She's in the Maldives?"

"That's what she said. And I could hear some Martians talking in the background."

Watson pulled back to give her the eye. "Have you been into my purple haze?"

"No. But I'd like to."

"What's she doing there?"

Beck hefted a shoulder. "Mmm nnn nno. But guess what? She wants us to go and stay at the apartment. In town. For the next couple of days."

Watson shifted uneasily. It was just like the highly intuitive Tanya to second-guess their discomfort and offer a respite, but for all the invitation's appeal he had a reputation to maintain. He was a hard-bitten yachtie and a friend of the elements, be they cool and breezy or hot and suffocating. On the other hand, being banged up by bad weather in something resembling a laundry hamper, in the corner of a football team's locker-room, had led to a hefty dose of cabin-fever. In spite of himself, the thought of living it up in a spacious apartment was enough to make him swoon. "Why does she want us to do that?" he asked as Beck's little fist began gently squeezing his cock.

"No idea." Beck shrugged, far more interested in the contents of her old man's shorts. "But she said 'pretty please'."

Watson dislodged Beck's hand and she stuck her bottom lip out. "How about you?" he asked, "Fancy a couple of days in town? We can give this poor old aircon a bit of a breather."

Beck's first thought involved the big double bed in the apartment where they'd spent a few days before their expedition to Sydney. Her second thought was of the big flatscreen TV, where they could watch Tanya and Caddy's porn videos in all their glory. She looked at him, bright-eyed with excitement. "Can we?"

"Uh huh." Watson nodded. "What do you reckon? We could stretch out on a big double bed. Whack on some of Caddy's home movies."

"Stop reading my mind!" Beck punched his thigh. "Hey! Maybe we could order a pizza?"

"And I can take some weed. No one'll smell it if we smoke it outside, not in this weather. How about it, Moosh? Let's have a party."

Beck rubbed her hands together. "Do you think Tanny'll pay like last time? Maybe we could have a bottle of French Champagne."

"A bottle? Let's get a case."

Beck was almost beside herself. "I can have a bath!"

"We can both have a bath!"

"While we drink the Champagne!"

Beck backed away in the direction of her cabin. "I'll go pack."

Watson slid out from behind the saloon table and stood, the front of his boxers imitating a tent. "Sling all your washing in as well." he called. "In fact just empty your drawers and bring everything. Everything's mouldy. We can give it all a wash and run it through the dryer."

"This is going to be so awesome!" Beck cried, madly rummaging through her Spartan wardrobe. Watson stood at the door of the forward cabin, trying to organise his thoughts. The offer was like a gift from the blue... at least the gloomy grey... an opportunity to kick back and relax, a welcome respite from months of living in a tropical steambath. Bloody Tanya. She'd done it again.

* * *

The first thing they did was have a little housewarming, limbering up with a session of oral and a couple of nice orgasms for Beck, before throwing on a clip for the main event. The movie, chosen at random, featured Tanya and Caddy with their old friend O.J. The on-screen session of furious double-dildoing included some old male spectators, who showed their appreciation by ejaculating all over the McHale sisters' sweating backs.

It wasn't long before the movie took a back seat to the real thing- reverse cowgirl so Beck could watch the action while her pussy frothed and squelched in Watson's lap. Sex led inevitably to a nice post-orgasmic nap and now, refreshed and revitalised, Watson set off on a foraging trip to the nearby shopping centre.

Beck was in the bath when the old man returned. He'd picked up the bare essentials- bread and butter, Vegemite, milk and cereal, sour cream, cracker biscuits, salmon pate and a big jar of Caviar. Last but not least, a half-dozen carton of French Champagne, straight from the cool room and ready to go.

It was dark outside and raining like a waterfall, the neon-lit streets resembling Venetian canals. A chilled bottle of Veuve Cliquot sat at the ready while Watson dished up some crackers and popped the lid off the Caviar. As he was spooning dollops of sour cream onto the biscuits, there was a sudden knock at the door, soft, almost furtive, just a couple of raps. He froze, spoon hovering over a waiting cracker, then slowly turned.

Beck called out from the bathroom. "Did someone just knock, Dommy?"

Watson's pulse quickened. He was never in the mood for unexpected visitors, not even at the best of times, but here, in a strange town, in a high-rise apartment boasting medium security, in this case it was especially unnerving.

"Dommy?"

"Shoosh, Moosh!" Watson whispered hoarsely.

There it was again, 'tap tap tap'. He had hoped the sound had come from next door but this time there was no mistaking it. Putting the spoon silently down, he padded barefoot to the door and peered through the spyhole.

Out of sight, the interloper went, 'Tap, t-tap tap, tap tap.'

They just weren't taking the hint, Watson thought, hoping that they'd just bugger off. But the gatecrasher seemed determined. Darting back to the bedroom Watson stuck his head through the bathroom door, finger to his lips. Nodding, Beck slid as low in the bath as she could and Watson withdrew, pulling the door closed behind him. Wiping the sweat from his palms on the seat of his shorts, he hurried through the open-plan kitchen as the caller knocked once again, a little more stridently.

Watson opened the door just wide enough to peek through. There, on the landing, stood a tall dishevelled male, in a dark, rain-slick waterproof jacket and sodden baseball cap. With several days' growth on his jaw and unkempt, rain-damp hair, he cut the figure of an archetypal down-and-outer. He just stood there, staring at the startled old man with slightly mad eyes.

'Druggie' Watson thought, either casing the joint for later or looking for handouts. How he'd managed to slip past reception was anyone's guess, but someone was going to hear about this. "Can I help you, mate?" Watson growled, with no intention of doing any such thing.

The stranger whipped off his baseball cap and slicked back his hair. "Damo?"

Watson jumped as if stung. "Roger?" he cried, eyes wide in unadulterated surprise. "Well fuck me!"

Bragg's face lit up with a big, white grin and he held out his hand. "Would a handshake do?"

Watson took the proffered hand and dumbly shook. "Roger?"

"Hope I'm not intruding."

"Jesus Christ. What? Roger? No. Fuck. Come on in!"

Bragg heaved a battered old backpack off the landing and slung it over his shoulder, as Watson pulled the door open and ushered him through.

"Well I'll be!" Watson exclaimed with a shake of the head, "I should have known. Tanya and her bloody surprises." Closing the door behind him, he stepped around Bragg and yelled at the bathroom. "Rebekah! Make yourself decent. Come and see what the cat just dragged in."

"For a while there I didn't think you were gonna answer the door." Bragg said with a crooked smile, "Hope you weren't busy."

"Well I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, to be honest. Stormy night, a knock on the door. That's how most of your murder mysteries begin."

There was a moment's silence then a little blonde head appeared as Beck peeked around the corner. She was just as perplexed as her old man at first and stood, just looking, until Bragg treated her to one of his great big smiles. "Hello Rebekah, with a 'k' and an 'a' and an 'h'."

Beck stepped out of the apartment's main bedroom, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her eyes wide, her jaw hanging open. "Roger?"

Watson could feel the intensity as Bragg stood, knees knocking, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Beck bounded across the room- Watson could swear she only took two steps- and flew into Bragg's waiting arms. Her towel fell away in the excitement and she mashed her naked body into him, devouring his mouth as he held her, one arm under her bare bottom taking her weight. They kissed and hugged and they hugged and they kissed with the sheer exhilaration of the reunion. Suddenly superfluous Watson sidled away and set about opening the Champagne, even more appropriate now than before.

Bragg put Beck back down and she stood back, stark naked, raising her arms to rake back her hair. Bragg stood staring at her without any pretence of decorum, his eyes devouring her, brimming with tears. "Jesus H Christ!" he said thickly, "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? If only you knew how much I've thought of you."

Watson nudged his arm and parked a Champagne flute in Bragg's trembling hand. "Go and put something on, Moosh," he admonished, "before you give poor old Rodge a brain haemorrhage."

Beck stuck her bottom lip out. "Maybe he can get undressed and we'll both have one."

"There'll be plenty of time for that later. Rodge? Am I right?"

Bragg looked like he was getting set to pass out. "Mate," he grated with a tremor in his voice, "I swear, one hundred percent, I didn't come with any expectations. Just setting eyes on her is awesome enough, but if we could..."

Bragg's declaration was left hanging and Beck arched her eyebrows. "If we could what? Roger?"

"Come on, Moosh, stop teasing the poor guy. And for god's sake put something on, so Rodge can have fun unwrapping you later."

Beck sauntered into the bedroom, hips swaying, bottom jiggling, while Watson took Bragg by the elbow and towed him into the living room. Moments later Beck re-emerged clad in a sheer cotton sundress and not a stitch more. Stepping up to Bragg, rising on tiptoes, she helped him out of his hooded black jacket. "Won't be needing this for a while." she smiled, pushing him down onto the sofa.

Settling onto the cushions beside Bragg, Beck drew her knees up and snuggled into him. By the time Watson returned from the kitchen with two more Champagnes, Beck and Bragg were swapping spit again, and Beck had placed Bragg's hand emphatically under her dress. "Here, Beck." Watson said, nudging her arm with a glass. Breaking off, she took her drink while Bragg wiped his mouth, catching his breath. Watson held his glass aloft and waited while the others did likewise. "A toast!" he proclaimed. "To the Prodigal Son!"

They clinked glasses and Bragg drained his Champagne without so much as drawing a breath. Sitting back in his tatty Yale University T-shirt and stylishly ragged no-name jeans, he raised his glass while the old man gave him a refill.

Watson gestured at Bragg with his chin. "You're looking very... err... unlawyerish."

Beck jammed Bragg's hand back under her dress and Watson caught a whiff of highly aroused pussy. "I'm incognito I guess you might say." Bragg smiled lamely.

"On the run?" Watson guffawed as the vision of Tanya brandishing a rolling-pin sprang to mind.

"I am as a matter of fact." Bragg smiled, relishing the big reveal. "I'm in a spot of bother with the triads."

"Triads?" Watson blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Triads." Bragg replied with a frown. "Chinese crime syndicates. Surely you've heard of them?"

"Of course I've heard of them. But you?"

"What's a crime syndicate?" Beck asked.

"Something you really, really want to steer clear of." Bragg replied.

"It's sort of like the government." Watson said darkly, "Except you don't vote for them. Or the Catholic Church, just not as pervasive. Anyway, Rodge. What the hell are you up to? Messing around with those bastards?"

"Ah, well, you see. These days I'm really into elephants."

"Right. And I'm really into crossword puzzles."

"Okay. Let me put it like this. How do Chinese like their elephants? Boiled, fried or..."

Watson sat frowning in thought for a moment then the penny dropped. "Poached!"

"Keee-rect. Few people realise, but the rise of the Chinese middle class is the biggest environmental catastrophe in human history. They're cashed up, avaricious, status hungry and driven, with not the merest whiff of environmental awareness. And there's millions of them. Hundreds of millions. And if there's one status symbol they all crave it's-"

"Ivory."

"Right. Cue the triads. Working through shonky businesses propped up by billionaires. It's nothing short of a war, Damon, and we're losing. The planet will be lucky to survive, let alone the elephant."

"I don't get it." Beck piped up. "The Chinese? They're killing all the elephants?"

"Uh huh. Elephants, tigers, monkeys, sun bears. Rhinos, snow leopards, turtles, poor bloody pangolins. Anything that walks, crawls, swims or flies. Anything that moves they can make money out of. And don't forget sharks. Millions of the poor bloody things, finned alive for fucking shark fin soup."

"Not sharks!" Beck cried.

"Especially sharks."

"Well can't the police do something? Or the army?"

"If only." Bragg said wanly as his finger sank into her sopping furrow, fingertip quivering over the tiny tight entrance to her hole.

"Well why don't they?"

"There's just too much corruption, Sweetheart. And too much money and too much poverty. When some dirt-poor farmer can make as much for a day's poaching as he can for a year's hard labour. In the middle of a drought with a war going on. What's he to do, with four wives and twenty kids to support? And they're all in on it, the cops, the military, government officials, all lining their pockets, all fighting each other for the small change from some billionaire's ashtray. You know the whole thing reeks like week-old road kill."

"I do like their food though." Watson mused, trying to hose down Bragg's rising zeal.

Bragg blinked. "Sorry what?"

"Chinese food." Watson said.

Bragg sat blinking, as if the old man had just sprouted wings. "Umm... yes. Most delicious."

"Rodge..." the old man said, then took a sip of Champagne, "you're not a cop, you're not some sort of a secret agent. You're a multi, multi-millionaire corporate lawyer and part-time diesel cook. You shouldn't be getting mixed up in this shit."

"I was actually on track to be a billionaire." Bragg replied levelly. "Didn't give a shit what it took, I just wanted to be part of the club. Looking back, I was a monster."

"Well you were different, granted. But a monster...?"

"You do know we're in the middle of a mass extinction, don't you? Well guess what? I helped create it."

"Oh Rodge."

"No, it's true. Aiding and abetting. It could never have happened without people like me."

"Jesus Christ... someone... get this man a soap box."

"I'm serious, Damon. When I look back on some of the things I've done."

Vicky's voice leapt into the old man's mind... 'do you know he once bankrupted an orphanage?'

"Then everything changed," Bragg said, all misty eyed, "one day on a boat, on a reef, on my fortieth birthday."

"I thought so!" Watson rolled his eyes. "Here come all the baseless accusations."

"No, really. If it hadn't been for you this never would have happened. You, Beck and that bloody Champagne bottle."

"What Champagne bottle?" Beck asked, frowning.

"The one that fell overboard. Remember? On my birthday."

"Oh, that bottle."

"Yes, that bottle. If it hadn't been for your old man, I would have just-"

"On the subject of Champagne. Another refill?"

Bragg drained his glass and offered it for recharging.

"Tell me more about these triads, Rodge." the old man went on. "Are you in danger?"

"Shit yeah!" Bragg beamed. "There's a price on my head would you believe? A couple of mil."

"Moosh!" Watson gestured at Beck with his chin. "Toss me your phone. Anyone know the country code for China?"

"I felt hurt at first," Bragg said gloomily, "I figured I should be worth at least five. But what to do."

"There's no pleasing some people. But look, Rodge, do these assholes know where you are? I mean, should we be expecting more uninvited company?"

"Pfft!" Bragg blew a raspberry, "As if I'd do that. Listen. I'm a fifty year-old American. A homosexual Jew, living in Hong Kong."

"You've kept that quiet."

"Seriously, according to my metadata, I'm a textiles tycoon with half a dozen different aliases. After that a Swedish feminist. Kev's created a labyrinth they'll never unravel."

"Kev?"

"Our IT guy. The one who unlocked that phone."

"He's involved?"

"Just for fun."

"Does Tan know?"

"She's got the gist of it." Bragg said a tad absent-mindedly. He had a hot pocket-goddess all but sitting in his lap and with a downward glance he could see one of her bite-sized breasts. The entrance to her vagina gripped his fingertip like a ravenous octopus and the swelling in his boxers was about to reach critical mass.