Aurora - Wings of the Goddess Pt. 01

"Mind if I pick up the pace a bit?" Bragg huffed, puffing like a long distance runner finding his stride.

Beck dug her heels in, spurring him on. "I... thought... you'd never ask."

Hooking his arms under Beck's knees, Bragg pinned them to her chest, rotating her pelvis until he was driving straight down into her. Beck winced as he battered her cervix and was about to beg for mercy when he suddenly punched through. She grit her teeth but held him fast when he tried to withdraw. "Faster!" she slapped his butt, "Harder! Heavier!"

Bragg wondered if something in his brain was about to snap. The sensation was so overwhelming, so indescribably beautiful he briefly considered turning religious. Beck wrestled her legs free and wrapped them around his waist, crossing her ankles over the small of his back. He was popping into her cervix with every thrust, the nerve-endings in his knob sending high-voltage jolts of ecstasy to his brain. How long had they been at it? Ten minutes? Fifteen? It didn't matter, just like she'd said. Now there was an orgasm tickling the soles of his feet, slowly gathering strength and momentum. "Beck?"

"Is it working?"

"You fuckin' bet. Got another one in you?"

"Nuh." Beck shook her head. "You go for it."

"Want to help yourself along? I can hold off."

Beck thought about it briefly, then forced a hand between their sweat-dripping bodies and commenced plying her clit. "Don't stop, Rodge. Don't slow down."

The wet slapping of their bodies merely added to the cacophony of rushing water and rattling diesel. Beck brought her knees up, teetering on the crumbling edge of another orgasm, then felt the well familiar sensation of wetting herself. Head down, eyes shut tight, Bragg poured every last atom of concentration into the sensations swamping his brain- the clenching grip of Beck's insides, the squelching suck of her cunt, the ring of tight muscle raking his shaft. The frictionless slick of her body fluids, the bouncing of his balls, the heat, the sweat, the hammering engine, his low grunting, Beck's high-pitched squeals. "Holy FUCK!" he shouted as his cock suddenly erupted, blasting semen deep into the little blonde's belly. "Becky! Holy FUCK!"

After a score of furious thrusts, Bragg shuddered to a gasping halt as a final few contractions saw off the last of his sperm. Beck wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him down, holding him in, as he ground his hips against hers. "God dammit!" he breathed, "I think my nuts just exploded."

"Uh huh," Beck nodded, "into my pussy." She forced her hand between their two quivering bodies and traced the union between her bulging pussylips and Bragg's thick shaft. Finding his ball sac she gave it a squeeze. "That's it, Rodge, they're empty."

"Did you cum?"

Beck nodded. "Couldn't you tell?"

There was a frenzy of thumping overhead, as if someone were tap-dancing in cockpit. Bragg raised his head and looked up. "Ooops, looks like we've upset the neighbours."

"Ignore him, Rodge," Beck said tersely, "he's just fucking with us."

"You sure?"

Beck nodded, eyes squeezed shut, treating herself to a long, luxurious yawn. The banging and thumping gradually diminished and she drifted off, to the comforting sound of the engine and the well familiar sensation of being under way.

She came-to with a start as Bragg raised his butt and popped the knob of his semi-flaccid cock out of her grasp. Carefully rolling off, he stood, staggering slightly with the movement of the floor underfoot, then gingerly pulled his shorts on over the bulge of a still partially pressurised cock. Standing, her rosy pink pussy still dribbling sperm, Beck squeezed past her lover and scaled the companionway. Following her bouncing round butt up the steps, Bragg heard her cheer.

"Woo-hoo, Dommy! Way to go!"

When Bragg emerged hot on her heels, Beck was bent at the waist, hands on her knees, peering at the deck at her feet. For a moment Bragg's eyes were riveted to the sight of her cum-dripping pussy, but eventually tore his gaze away to see a big, gleaming fish gasping its last. The colours were so vivid they were almost unreal, metallic red scales and dark vertical bands, proud, translucent fins tipped in pink. It was stunning.

"See this?" Watson grinned, "This is what you miss when you go goofing off."

"Going off, maybe," Beck countered, "but definitely not goofing. We gonna keep him?"

Watson nodded. "I'll fillet him out. If we can score a few coco-doodles on Bees, we'll dish him up for dinner tomorrow."

Bragg leant over the specimen, fully forty centimetres long from tip to tail. "What is it?"

Beck elbowed him. "A fish, silly."

"Red Emperor." Watson replied. "Don't usually catch them by day." He toed the fish. "See? That's what you get for breaking the rules."

"Really?" Bragg arched his eyebrows. "That's me fucked then."

Beck mounted the cockpit side and peered into the distance, shading her eyes. Watson glimpsed a long string of semen dangling out of her slit, and a passing stab of jealousy gave way to wry amusement. Not that he was complaining, but her appetite for the stuff was apparently insatiable. "How far to Bees?" she asked.

Watson glanced at the plotter. "Another ten miles or so."

Bragg followed her gaze. The sea was like molten green glass, heaving with an oily swell, painted with the upside-down reflection of towering clouds. At their backs, the coast of the mainland was a smoky grey smudge, the western sky heaped with fledgling thunderstorms, puffing themselves up for the evening's performance. Watson had furled the headsail in their absence and tucked the main away into its blue canvass cocoon, in the absence of wind the sails were just drag. "Pity there's no wind." Bragg sighed.

"It's that time of the year." Watson shrugged, setting the cockpit table up for the piscine dissection. Tossing a tethered stainless steel pail overboard, he hauled in a bucketful of fizzy-fresh seawater and set it on the floor, then rinsed his filleting knives before washing down the fish. He worked quickly and methodically, while the other two watched, Beck perched up on the cockpit moulding, Bragg looking on from a side seat. This was a skill Watson had learned on-the-job, like most of those associated with his second life. Many a fish had been sacrificed perfecting the art, but by the time he finished, the skeleton had been scalpeled just about clean.

Beck was on the move before he opened his mouth. Picking up the remains, she ducked under the RIB on its davits and dropped down the steps into the transom, before committing the scraps to the deep for recycling. Washing his hands, Watson stood, arching his back, then carried the two fat fillets downstairs. Hauling in a fresh bucket, Beck sluiced the deck, removing the last of the evidence, while Bragg pulled down his shades and smeared his eyes. "Know what?" he said reverently, "When I grow up. I wanna be just like you guys."

Beck shot him a glance. "Make up your mind, Rodge. Do you want to grow up or do you want to be like us?"

* * *

Saint Bees was a scrubby little island sticking up out of the sea, a few hours' sail north east of the marina. Motoring up to the southern shore they found a small, protected bay and dropped anchor. It was preternaturally silent with the diesel shut down, and for a moment nothing was said. Suddenly launching herself off a side seat, Beck set-to, lowering the RIB into the water, the little outboard already mounted and ready to go. Bragg looked over the side. "Know what? I might just swim in."

"Hang on a sec," Watson replied, "I'll grab the camera."

Beck piped up. "Righteo, I'll radio the rescue chopper."

Bragg looked at them, slightly bamboozled. "Rescue chopper?"

"For when you get stung."

"Stung?" Bragg looked around, "Stung by what?"

Watson gave his head a sad shake. "Oh, Rodge, you are such a babe in the woods. Doctor Becky?"

"Chironex fleckeri," Beck announced levelly, "the box jellyfish. Also known as a sea wasp. The single most venomous creature on the whole planet... it can kill an adult human in two minutes flat. Fully grown it has around sixty tentacles up to three meters long, covered in tiny little stinging cells, called cnidocytes. It's really neat. Each of the cells has a microscopic harpoon, coiled up inside it, and when the cell everts the harpoon shoots out. The sting is so painful it just stops your heart. The monsoon blows them in. You have to wear a stinger suit if you go in the water, but even then you can take a hit on your hands or your face."

"Awesome dissertation." Watson clapped, glowing with pride. "Thank you, Doctor."

Bragg looked from one to the other, plainly sceptical. "Are you guys fucking with me?"

Beck eyed him levelly in return. "Why don't you just jump in and find out?"

"You're not." Bragg said, sagging back onto his seat. "Christ. You must think I'm an absolute real numpty." Beck and Watson both nodded. "How can you know so much while I know so little?"

"We can read." Beck shot back.

"Well so can I."

"Yeah, but it's all about what you read."

"Anyway don't worry," Watson said, "I know absolutely nothing about law. Apart from the bit the ex used to ruin me."

"Fine," Bragg said, waving the old man's disclaimer away, "but what about real stuff? If I'd been here on my own, I would have just jumped in and probably died."

"It's hardly like there's swarms of the things." Watson shrugged, climbing down from his know-it-all pedestal, "You'd have to be pretty unlucky."

"But just the once." Bragg said miserably.

Beck hooked him into a playful headlock. "And you're not out here on your own, silly. You have us."

"And good bloody luck."

"Wanna go exploring, Moosh?" Watson asked.

"Saint Bees? Why not?"

"Got your hiking gear?"

"Most of it's in the wash. Give us a sec, I'll have to improvise."

Beck reemerged from her foraging trip clad in a T-shirt and boardies, with a sunhat on her head and sandals on her feet. She handed the old man their basic walkabout kit- a small canvass satchel containing a waterbottle and binoculars, as well as a rudimentary first aid kit and a well-read bird book. Next she presented Bragg with a sun- and salt water-bleached bush hat, and when he opened his mouth to decline she raised her hand. Bragg nodded. Right. The law.

It was going on for high tide when the RIB nosed onto the beach, overburdened with two burly men and the diminutive female. Beck was first out, running up the beach with the anchor line and pick. Returning, she threw off her floatation vest and waited while Watson rattled the coconut grapple out of a white plastic drum. "We gonna climb the island?" she asked.

"First things first, Moosh. Let's pull down some coco-doodles and I'll run them back to the boat. Rodge. You might want to tag along and see how it's done. Coconut foraging, one-oh-one."

It took half an hour to snag the requisite number of big green coconuts. Beck's T-shirt was saturated by then so she peeled it off, going topless much to Bragg's unbridled delight. Draping her shirt over a gnarled old driftwood branch to dry out, she guzzled a bellyful of water from a beaten-up Styrofoam jug while Watson loaded the booty then shrugged on a vest. "Don't go away." he called, pushing the RIB into the surf before piling on board.

They watched, hands on hips, as he yanked the outboard into life, then powered away, up on the plane, heading for the anchored yacht. Moving under the shade of a palm tree, Beck turned on Bragg and pushed out her chest. "Suck my tits?"

Bragg rolled his eyes at the very suggestion then bent and vacuumed Beck's right breast whole into his mouth, rasping her nipple with the back of his tongue. Beck's head fell back and she closed her eyes, groaning, as Bragg slipped a hand down the front of her shorts and curled his finger into her. Jamming her hand down the front of Bragg's boardies, Beck took hold of a respectable erection. Bragg swapped breasts, alternating between strumming Beck's clit and burying his finger up to the knuckle. Beck commenced jacking him, her knees trembling as her hips began to jerk. "Holy fuck!" she declared to no one in particular, "Now that feels nice!"

"Wish we could fuck." Bragg said thickly, and Beck pulled his head back down.

"Tell your story sucking, partner."

A few minutes in and she was having second thoughts. "Rodge, Honey. You might want to stop."

Bragg froze. "You want me to stop?"

"Maybe you better."

"Why?"

"Because I might have to ravish you."

"Is there a down side?"

"Yes. It's a public place and we don't know who's watching."

Bragg reluctantly withdrew and Beck staggered around, mopping the sweat from her brow. The good vibes were still reverberating through her body and after a few minutes of half-hearted chastity, she slipped a hand down the front of her boardies and checked the state of play. Wet as a fish. Slippery as an eel. "Oh dang it, Rodge. Here, bite my nipples."

Bragg almost tripped over himself in his haste to comply. He commenced nipping and sucking the little pink bullets before taking her breast back into his mouth, while Beck stood, shoulders back, chest out. He changed sides and Beck grabbed his wrist, sliding his hand over her flat, heaving belly and his fingers took up where they'd left off. "That's it." Beck panted, urging him on as he fingered her to orgasm, "Rodge, I'm gonna cum."

Legs quivering, she slung her arms around him, hanging off his neck as her hips bucked and twisted. Beck's pussy burped and watery ejaculate ran down her legs, all the way to her knees, as Bragg slipped two fingers in to finish her off. "Stop! Stop..." Beck huffed and Bragg withdrew, cock straining at attention, impossibly hard even after their earlier exertions.

"How long do you reckon we've got?" Bragg asked, looking quickly around for the nearest soft ground.

Doubled over, hands on knees, Beck peered up at him through a tangle of blonde hair. "What for?"

"A fuck?"

Beck straightened, raking her hair back, then picked up Bragg's hand and sniffed his fingers. Sweet. "About two minutes flat." she replied, gesturing in the direction of the anchored yacht. There, a few hundred meters away, Watson was cranking up the RIB after unloading the cargo.

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

"Later, Pet. There's plenty of time."

"But you just had a nice juicy cum."

"Orgasms..." Beck blew a raspberry, "Overrated."

Beck was waiting at the water's edge when Watson arrived, gunning the RIB over the last few meters, driving it up on the sand. He tossed her the pick then sat on the edge and slung his legs overboard. He nodded at the dark stain blossoming in the crotch of her boardshorts. "Wet your pants?"

"That naughty man you left me with." Beck thumbed over her shoulder, "He did it."

"You guys!" Watson tutted, "Turn my back for a minute."

Beck shrugged. "What else could we do?"

"I don't know. Look for koalas?"

"Koalas?" Beck said and blew a raspberry. "How about unicorns?"

"No really." Watson said. "There are koalas. Here, on the island."

Beck shook her head. "Nuh uh."

"Yuh huh!"

"Well how did they get here?"

"They swam here. How do you think?"

Beck was having none of it. "I bet there's not."

"I bet there is."

Beck pushed her tits out. "How much?"

"You decide." Watson shrugged, "You're the one making the bet."

Beck looked around for inspiration. "A racehorse and a nice long fuck."

"How does that work?" Watson frowned. "You win either way."

"Nuh uh." Beck shook her head. "If you win, I go on top and do all the work. If I win, you go on top and do all the fucking."

Bragg leant into Watson and muttered in his ear. "As your legal adviser I suggest you accept."

"Okay then," Watson nodded and they shook. Walking away with Bragg the old man cupped a hand to his mouth. "I just read an article." he whispered, "'The koalas of Saint Bees'. You see? Only ever bet on a sure thing."

"Oi!" Beck called, "What are you whispering about?"

"None of your bloody business, Miss Nosy Parker. Grab your shirt and let's go for a walk."

Pulling on her still damp T-shirt, Beck tied her hair back in a haphazard ponytail. Picking up a walking track heading more or less straight uphill, she set off in the direction of the island's invisible peak. Bragg did his best to keep up but after five minutes' climb was head down, chest heaving, planting one foot resolutely in front of the other.

Watson took a more conservative approach, stopping regularly to take in the view. Few yachties ventured out this way in the monsoon, deterred by the heat and humidity, and Aurora's loved-ones had the observable universe all to themselves- the whole wide world for no greater price than a running sweat.

He was almost at the top, two hundred meters in the rear, when a sudden, distant shout galvanised his senses. It was Beck's excited voice, not her frightened voice, but he put his head down anyway and pushed hard up the hillside.

When he joined them, Beck and Bragg were standing under a stately eucalypt, both looking up. Without even setting eyes on the prize he knew he'd just scored nice juicy fuck- all expenses-paid with optional joint- which would require nothing more of him than he maintain an erection. Sure enough, he raised his eyes and came face to face with a very cute but vacant-looking marsupial.

"I don't believe it!" Beck squealed, jumping on the spot and clapping. "A koala! Look at him, isn't he just sooo flippin' cute?"

"Looks bombed out of his brain." Bragg muttered, thinking out loud.

"His is." Watson nodded. "The little bastard's high on eucalyptus. Didn't you know? Koalas are notorious druggies."

Bragg's face lit up with a grin and he offered the creature a hearty thumbs-up. "Way to go, little furry brother. If you ever need a lawyer let me know."

"Do you reckon we could pat him?" Beck asked, already eyeballing an ascent route.

"Not these ones." Watson said gravely. "The colony's been isolated so long they've

mutated. You see this here is a Patagonian Flesh Eating Koala, Phascolarctos carnivosa. Extremely dangerous." he tutted. "Deadly."

"Sure, Dommy." Beck said dismissively. "Naww... look at his sweet little nose."

"No, I'm serious. I mean, just look at the size of those claws. You don't see those on your average herbivore, do you? See? They're more like talons. What happens, right, is they drop down out of the trees onto their prey and sink those claws into them. Once they've manoeuvred onto their backs..." he leant into her and whispered, "they bite them on the neck and sever their spinal chords."

"With that little mouth?" Beck scoffed, "You must think I'm an idiot."

"No." Watson said darkly with a slow shake of his head. "Not with their mouth. They have a telescopic tongue, like a dagger. When they latch onto the victim's neck, the dagger shoots out and severs the animal's spine. Foom! Paralysed before they hit the ground. Then all the neighbouring koalas turn up, attracted by the screams. And then they eat them. A-liiiive!"

Beck rolled her shoulders restively. The little grey furball with the round tufted ears was the very essence of cuddly harmlessness. Still, she'd been through enough to know just how deceptive looks could be. "Okay," she said, throwing down one last gauntlet, "so what's their prey?"

Watson looked around uneasily, then tugged at the neck of his T-shirt. "Well," he said quietly as the silence simmered around them, "I'll give you a hint. The island's uninhabited, isn't it?"

"So?"

"So... there's your answer."

"What do you mean?"

"There's nobody here. Everyone's been eaten."

Beck looked at her old man from the corner of her eye. "God you're full of shit."

"Have it your way." Watson shrugged. Waiting a few seconds until Beck was fully engrossed in the addled marsupial, he barged her shoulder, bellowing "LOOKOUTHE'SCOMINGFORYOU!"