Aurora - Wings of the Goddess Pt. 01

"There must be a better way." Watson frowned. "If you were a billionaire. You could have bought Africa, Rodge, and set it up as a wildlife park."

Bragg looked at him. "It's already been bought. By the all wrong people."

Watson tried hard not to look as Beck's hand inched towards Bragg's lap. "You don't miss the high life?"

"What do you call this?" Bragg said and held out his glass for a refill. "And what's the matter with a little charity work? Like craniofacial in Nepal. Just giving something back. To the Universe. In return for-"

"-the awesome experience of simply existing... Yes... You know this may sound odd but I swear I've heard that before."

"Cos' you said it."

Beck had fallen uncharacteristically silent. She was measuring every breath, trying to mask her arousal, her hand resting over the baseball bat in the front of Bragg's jeans. As faithful as she was to her old man, Beck had loved every minute of her time with Bragg and was now longing for a replay. The same went for Bragg. Understandably. Obviously. That being the case, Watson thought, it was the least he could do to smooth the way. "Beck, Sweetheart. Do me a favour?"

Beck raised her blue eyes and they met his. "What?"

"Bolt into the bedroom and fetch Bart."

Beck's eyes lit up. Dragging Bragg's hand away, she reared forward onto her feet then waddled into the bedroom, a little bow-legged from all the heavy petting. Watson, meanwhile, fetched a second bottle of chilled French Champagne and popped the cork. Beck returned with a small metal box that had once contained a deck of novelty cards and tossed it into Watson's waiting hands. Flopping onto the couch she took up where she'd left off, caressing Bragg's bulge while his hand slipped under her dress.

Watson upended the open tin and decanted a jumble of knick-knacks, from memory sticks and a pencil sharpener to a card of Cialis. Pressing the centre, he sprang the tin's false bottom and retrieved a five-joint baggy of his very best weed.

Bragg's face lit up. "You're shitting me!"

"Dammit!" Watson palmed his forehead, "You're a lawyer, I keep forgetting. Move along, now! There's nothing to see!"

"This night's just gone from awesome to unbelievable!" Bragg breathed, watching the old man deftly assemble a four-paper joint.

"Beck?" Watson gestured with his eyes at the apartment's sliding glass doors. Beyond them was a fifth story balcony, overlooking the river, which at that moment was being pummeled by a transiting downpour. "Open up the doors would you, Sweetheart."

"Should we go outside?" Bragg blinked.

"And drown?" Watson shook his head, "No. If we crank the fans up high and sit near the door the smell should go out. Did last time."

Beck bounded to her feet and threw the doors open while Bragg tried to stand, having to rearrange the contents of his jeans before he could straighten. Hurrying to and fro, Beck arranged three cushioned wooden chairs by the door, side by side, facing outwards, just beyond the clutches of the storm. Collecting the glasses and the bottle of Champagne, she stood them on a large wooden cutting board and set it down on a low leather ottoman.

Watson, meanwhile, put the finishing touches to a high-yield joint, not quite the fatted calf, but it would do. Solemnly handing the finished device over, he struck a wax-coated waterproof match and lit it up.

Bragg inhaled to the soles of his feet and Watson commenced an absent-minded countdown. According to his calculations, the shockwave should hit Bragg's brain in around thirty seconds, and reach his groin about a minute after that. Pushing his knees apart, Beck stood between Bragg's legs and sealed her mouth to his, filling her lungs as he breathed out, then followed up with a deep, swirling kiss. As she broke off and straightened, Watson saw Bragg's eyes glaze over and knew the chemicals had just hit their target.

For a while there was silence. Comfortable, reverent quiescence, a blissful space in which the joint was consumed, ably washed down with French Champagne to the music of the rain. Beck had her regulation two hits, plus another token suck of the roach, but by the end of it the three were amply stupefied.

Sitting cross-legged between Bragg and her old man, one knee resting on each of their thighs, Beck gathered her hair up and knitted her fingers on the top of her head, chin down, eyes closed. The old man turned his head... nice and slowly so it wouldn't fall off... to look at her, this tiny teen runaway in her undeveloped body, his partner in crime and love of his life. Through the altered state of reality he briefly found himself looking at a little porcelain Guanyin, bodhisattva most beloved, embodiment of true love and compassion.

Bragg's hand settled on Beck's knee then made its way slowly under the hem of her dress. A tiny stab of jealousy pricked the old man's awareness, and was instantly smacked down. A vision of Maya leapt to mind, on her back in her school dress, groaning in ecstasy, while Watson fucked her brains out on the table. That gift was only made possible thanks to the little blonde's forbearance, and now it was his turn. Leaning forward, he picked up his glass only to find it empty. "It's gone all quiet." he giggled.

Bragg looked at Watson with a big stoner grin. "Stuff me, Damo. What was in that Champagne?"

"Umm..." Beck cocked her head and squinted at Bragg. "I think it's actually the dope, Rodge."

"No shit Sherlock." Watson grunted with laughter. "Nothing gets past you."

Beck tensed her abdominals as a finger dipped into her the tiniest bit. "Seriously." Bragg said, "You have no idea how awesome this is. After what I've seen. After everything I've been through. To be here. With you. Drinking Veuve and smoking weed. The great sage and his sidekick angel. It's just... just..."

Watson cupped a hand to Beck's ear. "Don't look now but I think Roger's stoned."

"I am so!" Bragg said. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. Meeting you guys. Best thing that ever happened in my life."

"Better than Tan?"

Bragg took the gibe in good heart. "The equal best thing that's ever happened. And make sure you tell her I said so."

"Moosh?" Watson stroked Beck's leg. "Be a good girl and fetch another bottle of Veuve?"

Beck looked at him, speechless. Her pussy lips had closed around Bragg's probing finger and he was up to the first knuckle inside her.

Watson picked up the hint of reluctance. "On second thoughts I need a pee. Stay right here, I'll be back."

When Watson returned after the make-believe pit stop, Beck and Bragg were sucking face again and Beck was massaging his lap. In spite of his best intentions, Bragg had surrendered the last shreds of restraint and was up to the knuckle in her cunt, revelling in the grip of Beck's slippery insides. They broke off at the sound of a popping cork and Bragg grudgingly withdrew. Both breathless and looking a little bit rattled, they raised their glasses for a refill. "Last one for you, Moosh." Watson announced.

"Aww... not fair."

"You'll be no good to anyone if you pass out. Remember that day on the boat?"

Beck shook her head.

"My point exactly."

After doling out the champers, the old man fetched his Bart Simpson tin and assembled another medium-yield joint. Before he could light up, Bragg raised a hand. "None for me, Damo, thanks all the same. I'm about to get airborne as it is."

"What? Oh, no. This is for later."

Bragg shook his head. "Later?"

Watson shot Beck a glance. She'd already picked up on the vibe and was gazing at him in frank supplication. If only. "You got somewhere to stay, Rodge?" the old man asked.

"No..." Bragg shook his head, one omission short of a lie. He'd already booked a room but hadn't checked in.

"Moosh... do you remember if we turned off the gas?"

Beck looked over her shoulder at the open-plan kitchen. "It's electric."

"I mean on the boat."

Beck blinked in dope-addled confusion. The stove on Aurora was metho-fuelled, not gas. "Pardon?"

"I think I left the gas on. Rodge? Would you mind babysitting the brat for a while? I better duck back, make sure I turned off the gas."

Bragg stared at him, slack-jawed. "On my own?"

"If that's okay." Watson looked at Beck. "Now be a good girl for Mister Bragg while I'm away."

Beck nodded slowly, emphatically. "No."

Watson stuck his head out the door. "Jesus, look at that. It's absolutely pissing down! You know, in spite of my very best efforts I might not get back. You cool with that, Rodge, if I get stranded?"

"Cooler than liquid nitrogen." Bragg nodded.

"Cooler than absolute zero." Beck confirmed.

"So what do you say? I'll grab a cab and head back to the marina, and you tell Beck a bedtime story. There's a good fish and chip shop down on the pier. What's say we meet there for lunch?"

Bragg stood, wrestling with his cock, and pinned it under his belt line. Beck stood beside him, hands clasped under her chin as if in prayer. "This is why I tell everyone you're my life coach." Bragg said reverently.

"Cos' I unload my kid on you?"

"Because you are a great man. A wise man. And a selfless and compassionate, generous man."

"God dammit," Watson shook his head, "look who's got the waffles. I should have warned you, Rodge... the dope."

Beck followed her old man into the bedroom, the very concept of which had just taken on a brand new significance. She stood, trembling, while he packed his sparse gear, making sure to bury the precious tin and its contents, including a memory stick choc-ablock of Caddy's home movies, safely under his clothes. When he straightened, Beck seized his hands. "Thank you, Dommy," she gushed, kissing them, "thank you, thank you!"

"Oh, it's no biggy, Moosh." he tousled her hair, "After all the times you let me fuck Maya."

"But I fucked her too. It is a biggy, Dommy. Roger's right, you're the best."

Watson rolled his eyes, feigning derision but secretly flattered. "Maybe you can put it in writing. Then the next time you get the shits with me..." He bent at the waist and they kissed. Almost as an afterthought, he slipped his hand under her dress and she widened her stance so he could cup her sodden vagina. Her lips parted at the slightest pressure and his middle finger sank into her. "Someone's hot to trot." he chuckled, withdrawing to swipe a glistening stripe down her nose. "That's something else I should have warned him about. That dope. Its effect on sex."

"He'll find out soon enough." Beck said under her breath.

"You might want to call down to reception. Borrow some jumper-leads."

"Oh he won't be needing jumper leads, I can assure you."

Watson kissed her again and straightened, a burgeoning erection jostling for room in his shorts. There was beer in the fridge back on Aurora and he had a chip full of the McHale sisters' finest home movies. Fifteen minutes to get back in a cab, five minutes to roll and smoke a top-up, two minutes to sort through the files for something appropriate... in half an hour he could be rubbing one out.

Bragg was where they'd left him, standing by the sliding doors, Champagne flute in one hand, the other in his pocket massaging a hardon. Looking at him standing there in his tastefully shabby clothes, with the three days growth on his jaw and a headful of exuberant hair, all misty eyed and quivering, it was hard to imagine the dumb, puffed up, pompous, self-important, multi-multi-millionaire from whence he'd sprung. "Mate..." Bragg said with a shake of the head, "I almost wish I could give you a hug."

"How about you just shout me lunch? Tomorrow. Beck, Sweetheart, try and find some time for the washing."

"Yes Dad."

"And Rodge, if Missy here doesn't behave, you have my permission to spank her."

Trailing her old man to the door, Beck looked at Bragg over her shoulder and poked out her tongue. She rose on tiptoes as Watson bent at the waist to kiss her goodnight. "Poor old Rodge has had a hard time." he said quietly, "Look after him."

"I will."

Shouldering the door open, Watson stepped out onto the landing and strolled into the night. 'Life!', he thought with a wry chuckle. 'Just like a box of chocolates. Sweet one minute, delicious the next.'

Beck shut the door and turned around. For a while they just stood there, staring at each other, not quite sure what to do. Each had woven so many lavish fantasies around the other that it was difficult now in the face of reality to know where to start. Or how for that matter. Beck padded barefoot across the apartment and pulled up in front of him, and in a sudden flash of inspiration, reached for the hem of her light summer dress. Arching her back, she pulled it up over her head, slowly revealing the treasures beneath. Tossing it aside, she hooked her hair behind an ear and stood in front of him, naked.

Bragg uttered a single, unintentional sob of unfettered gratitude. "Oh, Becky... I've seen so many terrible things."

"Not including me I hope." Beck said dryly, not wanting a bar of anything angsty. The only deep and meaningful she intended was of the strictly penetrative kind and if Bragg wanted otherwise then he was all on his own.

Bragg shook himself out of his reverie. "No, you're right. That was inappropriate. It's just that... I've thought about you so much in these past few months, those eyes, that mouth, that stunning little body... It's all a bit overwhelming to be perfectly honest."

"How about some tele, then?" Beck suggested.

Bragg shook his head like he had just been slapped. "T... tele?"

"Sure. Look. We've even got Foxtel. Maybe we can find a good movie."

"Are you... I mean... is that what you want to do?"

"Of course bloody not!" Beck glared. Whipping open his belt, she yanked his zipper down and dismasted his jeans. His boxers came with them and his cock leapt free, every bit as big and hard and handsome as she remembered. She grabbed it like a retile fancier seizing a favourite snake. "Aww... who's a boo'ful boy then?" she cooed, rubbing the weeping knob all over her face, "Who's a boo'ful boy? Yes, you are aren't you? And look, there's a tear in your poor little eye."

Bragg gasped as Beck engulfed him in her warm wet mouth. "Becky," he rasped, "Rebekah! I haven't showered."

Beck said something through a mouthful of cock then pulled back and looked up. "That's next." she breathed, cupping his balls. "I just wanted to say hello." After sucking and slurping for a few more minutes she stood up and swept her hair back. "You look funny."

"I do?"

"Uh huh. With your jeans around your ankles and still wearing that shirt." She tugged his bouncing erection, "And look, old Mister Mister's sticking out at me. Naughty boy..." she tapped his cock, "don't you know it's rude to point?"

"Yeah? Well I might look funny but you just look fff... flippin' fantastic!"

"I do?" Beck chimed, raising her arms to do a slow pirouette. "Really?"

Bragg's eyes almost did themselves an injury trying to take it all in, all her curves and her contours, her bits and bumps and nooks and crevices. "Oh... my... god!" he breathed, desperate to touch her, to kiss and cuddle her, to ravage her tight little body.

"Let's get you out of those unsightly clothes!" Beck said in a businesslike tone. Bragg lifted each foot in turn as she divested him of the lower garments, then raised his arms as she peeled off his T-shirt . She could barely reach, even on tiptoes, and pressed her hard little body against Bragg's in her struggles. Bragg picked her up under her armpits as she threw the offending clothing aside and wrapped her legs around his waist.

For a while they teetered around the apartment, Bragg gorging on her sweet mouth, one arm supporting her featherweight frame, the other wandering her silken topography. Breaking off she leant back, offering him a cupcake breast. He sucked the little delicacy whole into his mouth, Beck's rock-hard nipple tickling the back of his throat. Reaching down, she wrapped a cool hand around his straining erection and slapped it against her butt. "About that shower?"

He put her down and Beck led the way, bundling her hair, then ran the shower and reached under the stream. Bragg stood behind her, one hand cupping a breast, the other between her legs, a finger gently probing her hole. Pulling free, she steered him into the shower and stood him under the water. "Damon said I had to look after you," she said in a motherly tone, "so just stand still and let me do all the work."

For the next few minutes Beck lavished Bragg's body with loving little hands, champing at the bit for the main event but trying not to rush. As she rinsed the shampoo from Bragg's hair, he placed his hands flat on her tits and said, "My turn."

Beck shook her head. "I'm already clean."

Bragg stuck out his bottom lip. "Aww..."

Beck smacked Bragg on the behind. "Don't worry Honey, I'm about to get dirty. Real dirty. You can wash me later if you want to."

Bragg's cock jumped and his ball sac tightened. "I couldn't think of anything else I'd rather do."

"Really?" Beck sniffed. "I could."

After towelling him dry and treating his hair to a vigorous rub, Beck propelled him backwards out of the bathroom straight onto the bed. He fell back with a grunt, shimmying into the middle as Beck followed, kneeling between his legs and jacking his cock before lowering her head. Her hair, still damp, tumbled into his lap as she took him in her mouth, her skilful tongue teasing his nerve-endings. Eyes closed, Bragg rubbed a thick blond skein between finger and thumb, as a riot of images rampaged past his mind's eye. Dead African elephants, dead African game wardens. Dead leopards and lions bristling with the arrows of cashed-up white hunters. A warehouse full of elephant tusks, Chinese fixers with briefcases full of cash. As awesome as it was, even Beck's spirited sucking couldn't drive out the nightmare and his ardour was teetering on a knife-edge. Raising his head he squeezed her arm. "Beck, Sweetheart. Could you lie on top of me?"

Beck looked up, her lips glistening with spit. "Top to tail?"

"If you don't mind." If anything could stave off the evil it was a mouthful of sweet teenage pussy. Beck dutifully shuffled around and slung a leg over Bragg's chest then settled, lowering her pouting slit onto Bragg's waiting mouth. They uttered a mutual groan and Beck lay for a while, belly flat on his chest, head back, eyes closed, as Bragg's tongue wormed its way into her. She tensed her muscles, giving him a squeeze. "Oh my god, Rodge," she breathed, "that's beautiful."

A pussy-muffled voice said something that could have been, 'You're not kidding!' as Beck lowered her head and took up where she'd left off, sucking and jacking while Bragg all but gulped down her juice. Within a few short minutes she was having trouble concentrating and raised her head, tangled hair dangling over one eye. "Geez, Rodge, it's almost like you've done this before."

Bragg mumbled an incoherent reply and kept right on eating.

"Oh Rodge." Beck sighed, hanging her head, "What are you doing? This was supposed to be your treat."

Disengaging just long enough to declare, "This is my treat." Bragg dived back in. After another few minutes of skilful tongue-play he had cranked Beck up to the point of liftoff and she was starting to pant. Slipping a hand under her belly, Beck parted her spit-slick pussylips and presented her clit. Bragg fluttered his tongue over the hard little bud and Beck's hips jerked in reply, as she stiff-armed herself up to grind her pussy into Bragg's slurping mouth. "Oh Rodge!" she cried, shuddering through her second climax of the night, "Oh Darling!" Her pussy uttered a little wet burp, flooding Bragg's mouth with her sweet body fluid. He gulped it down, groaning, as Beck collapsed onto him, gasping.