Aurora - Wings of the Goddess Pt. 04

"Well can I?" Beck urged, "Before it all runs out?"

Vicky fell back, head spinning at the thought of the blonde's gorgeous mouth touching her most intimate place. On the brink of declining she heard a voice say, "Sure. Be my guest."

Watson flopped onto his back. "That poor bloody girl." he groaned as Beck manoeuvred between Vicky's thighs, head down, tail in the air. There wasn't time for niceties, like kissing all the way up Vicky's spread legs, because the glistening lava flow of semen was beginning to ebb. Vicky arched her back, clutching the sheets, at the feel of Beck's face, impossibly smooth, against her sensitive thighs, and her tongue, deliciously stiff, probing her entrance.

Slurping up as much as she could, Beck opened wide and suckered onto Vicky's mound, then wormed her squirming tongue into Vicky's tight hole. Vicky closed her eyes, concentrating. The sweet little blonde felt utterly different to the old man, with his fat tongue and rasping stubble, but the effect was the same and within the space of a few minutes her hips were starting to hump. She raked her fingers through Beck's bountiful hair, clenching it by the fistful, as Becky moved her attention to Vicky's clit.

Kneeling behind her, Watson ploughed Beck's pink furrow a few times and jammed his dripping prick hard into her. Beck froze, torn between competing sensations, a mouth-watering woman all over her face at one end, a dirty great flesh and blood battering ram inching into her at the other. Oblivious to Beck's dilemma, Vicky brought her knees up, clamping Beck's head in a shivering vice. "Oh god," she huffed, "oh Becky, oh god. That's amazing. That's just amazing."

She was close enough to cumming that when Beck slipped a finger into her, zeroing straight in on the G-spot, Vicky detonated, shoulders off the bed, belly straining, bucking and humping, grinding her cunt into Beck's wet face. Watson bottomed out near the small of Beck's back, then held himself at full penetration while Beck's insides convulsed in a powerful cumquake. The whole thing went off like a thermonuclear device, a fission-fusion affair that left its components gasping. Sliding forward, Beck dis-impaled herself, and slithered up the length of Vicky's body, to lie on top of her, mouth-to-mouth and breast-to-breast, heart-to- thumping heart and pussy to pussy.

Vicky came-to briefly then drifted off, arms around Beck's neck, ankles crossed over the little blonde's back. Letting them rest, Watson retreated to the swim platform and tried to squeeze some pee out through six and a bit inches of strangulated plumbing. Meeting with only mild success, he climbed back downstairs where, throwing moderation to the sharks, he rattled out another bottle of Veuve and set it in the freezer to chill. Teasing the makings from the battered tin of Sunday Afternoon, he rolled another slim joint, a mellow nightcap that would set them all up for a nice soft landing. Dozing with her head on Vicky's shoulder, Beck roused herself at the smell of the smoke and squinted at the old man. "Another one?"

"You don't have to have any." Watson blithely replied.

Beck dismounted and Vicky regained consciousness. "Gosh." she huffed, propping herself on her elbows, "I think I just popped something."

Beck offered her hand and the old man hauled her upright. "Was that a good pop or a bad pop?"

"If I'm still alive in the morning I'll let you know."

"Don't worry, Pet," Beck said and patted Vicky's thigh, "it was a good one. Trust me. I felt it too."

"Beck?" Vicky quavered. "Does... does... does this mean I'm a lesbian?"

"Pfft!" Beck blew a raspberry, "In your dreams." Plucking the joint from Watson's fingers, she sucked in a chestful then gestured with her eyes at Vicky.

Vicky thought about it a moment and was about to pass when she did a sudden double-take. "Oh, why not?" she said, getting up on her knees. "Let's face it, it's been one of those days."

Beck duly inflated Vicky's lungs and sat back. "What on Earth makes you think you're a lesbian, Macca? You like Dommy's cock, don't you?"

Vicky nodded vigorously, then exhaled, coughing. "Yeah, yeah, I love it, honest. It's just that... how can I put this... that orgasm you just gave me..."

The old man affected an expression of profound injury. "Hang on a minute. You're not suggesting, are you? Are you saying her's was better?"

Vicky raised a hand, thumb and forefinger almost touching.

"Tee hee..." Beck punched Watson's arm. "Mine was better than your-orrs!"

"Look," Vicky said, grasping at straws while Watson took a drag of the smoke, "I'll just have to try a few more to make certain."

"Best out of ten?" Beck asked brightly. "Each? What do you say?"

"You'd get better results with a much bigger sample." Vicky said earnestly.

Beck snorted with laughter and Watson palmed his forehead. "Jesus, Moosh, look what you've started."

Not started, Vicky thought, just unleashed. She looked around through slitted eyes, smacking her lips. "Know what? I'd kill for a glass of Champagne."

"Miles ahead of you. Beck? Some tunes?"

Beck slung herself off the bed and padded over to the nav table. Vicky watched her go, almost stricken by the young girl's beauty, her long, bony legs and supple, muscular back, the taut, tanned perfection of her little round bottom. As Beck leant over the old man's battered laptop, Vicky found herself staring at the rise and fall of her ribs, at the tight jiggle of her miniscule tits. And suddenly, without warning, she realised.

She was in love.

Beck hooked her hair behind a little pink ear. "Odesza?"

"Perfect-a-mundo!" Watson nodded. "Vicky? Care for a little lungful?"

Coming-to with a start, Vicky dragged her eyes away from the little blonde vision of loveliness. "Sorry? What? Oh... You know, don't take this the wrong way, but I might wait for Beck."

"Jesus," Watson cursed, "first the orgasms, now the smoke. At this rate I'm gonna be unemployed."

"Until it comes to squirting that yummy baby gravy in our hungry tummies." Beck mugged, jumping on the bed beside Vicky, "Eh, Macca?"

"Umm..." Vicky hedged, "while we're on the subject. Next time you two... umm... do it... would it be okay if I watch?"

"You mean next time we fuck?" Beck asked brightly.

"Rebekah!" Watson scolded.

She looked at him. "What?"

"Please... a little decorum. 'Next time we fuck'... how about, 'the next time we make tender, beautiful love'? Or, 'the next time we have a communion of souls'?"

No, Vicky thought, they were definitely fucking when she'd walked in on them. "Well would it?"

Beck looked at Watson and winked. "What do you reckon, old boy? Just for Macca? It's probably the least we can do." She took a huge drag of the joint then leant into Vicky to empty her lungs. While they were at it, Watson opened the freezer and tested the Champagne, a little on the warm side, but cool enough for a starter while the rest of the bottle was chilling. He popped the cork and a rush of bubbles spurted out. "Ooo, look..." Beck cried, "even the Champagne's cumming."

Watson gulped down as much as he could then looked at the bottle. "Poor thing," he told it, "I know how you feel." Quickly filling three glasses, he put it back in the freezer to calm down.

The first waves of the booster-shot were already washing over Vicky's reality, and she looked around through narrowed-eyes, trying to make sense of it all. "Well blow me-" she exclaimed quietly.

Beck's hand shot up. "Me first!"

"-I've just gone and lost my virginity." Vicky breathed, "For the second time. With a member of the same family." Watson frowned and Vicky quickly threw in a disclaimer. "And no, I don't mean family in the icky way. I mean of the same... spirituality."

Beck fell on her, pinning her to the bed. "Hey, Macca? How'd you like to make it a hat-trick?"

Vicky shook her head, looking confused. "Pardon?"

"How'd you like to lose your virginity a third time?"

"How?" Vicky frowned.

"Well, if Dommy pumps some of his... spirituality... into me, and some of that said spirituality leaks out. Would you like a taste?"

"Out of your... umm..."

"Pussy. Yes. No pressure. Just to see what it's like." Beck nudged her. "Just to tick the box, eh?"

"Jesus Christ." Watson rolled his eyes, "Rebekah!"

Vicky's insides were swarming with butterflies, big black ones with bright blue wings and big yellow eyespots. Even lying on top of her, Beck could feel Vicky's heart hammering under her breast. "You have no idea how much I would like that."

"Really?" Beck arched her eyebrows, "How much?"

Vicky grabbed two handfuls of Beck's resilient butt. "A lot!"

"There you go, old boy." Beck said, looking over her shoulder. "Garcon! Another gallon of your finest if you please."

Watson looked down at his flaccid cock, glistening with the residue of rapidly drying mucous. "You've got a hope." he chuckled dourly. "We can fuck like wildcats if you can make it hard, but you're not getting more than a hiccup out of this little guy."

"No problem." Beck waved airily. "There's plenty of time. We won't be needing another turn-back, will we Macca?"

Toying with Beck's hair, Vicky shook her head.

"There you go then." Beck said, pushing upright and taking her glass. "You get busy refilling those wrinkly old balls, Mister, while me and Macca scoff Champagne and make fun of you."

* * *

Beck's head hit the pillow and she was gone. Vicky followed not long after and they lay, front to back, Vicky cradling Beck, spooning. Watson picked up the bottle and held it up to the light. Just enough for a couple more glasses. As worn out as he was, he shrugged on a hoodie and stole upstairs, then sat, naked from the waist down, with his feet up in the cockpit, sipping Champagne. This was one of his favourite pastimes- watching the stars, listening to slap and gurgle of water against the hull, the crunch of surf on a distant beach. Downing the last mouthful, he stole back downstairs, pulled the lightweight coverlet from Beck's bed and threw it over the two sleeping angels. Climbing on board beside them, he pulled it over himself and closed his eyes. Riding at anchor in the long, languid swell, Aurora bore her loved-ones gently to dreamland.

* * *

Watson was roused in the wee small hours by a knee bumping the small of his back. He could hear puffing and panting, and the quiet squelch of fingers deep in pussies. Not stirring, lest he be dragged kicking and screaming into the festivities, he listened to Vicky cum, growling in her throat in an effort to keep it quiet. Rolling over, lying flat on his belly to keep his stiffening cock out of harm's way, he listened to Beck climax, holding her breath as the tremors ran their course, before letting out a long, low moan. For a while there was silence, just the sound of wet, smacking kissing, and he drifted peacefully back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

PENUMBRA

So much for solitude.

Half a dozen yachts were anchored around Heart's Reef, sails furled, not going anywhere. Aurora hove-to out in the 'burbs, where Watson dropped anchor near a trio of bommies, well clear of neighbours and pesky noise complaints. While Watson shut down, Beck, still naked, scurried to and fro, setting the snubber and tidying the sheets, then dressed the halyards and lowered the RIB.

By day three Vicky had taken to the standard Aurora rig of not so much as a stitch, but there was always the threat of an unannounced visit, so she and Beck ducked below to make themselves decent- Beck by climbing into skimpy bikini bottoms and a sleeveless green T-shirt, Vicky resorting to her painstakingly-mended silk slip.

They were in Beck's cabin an improbably long time, leaving Watson to wonder, yet again, at his girl's perspicacity. She had correctly predicted Vicky's taste for the sweeter sex before Vicky even realised it herself, and was now leading her down the path to full inculcation. While Vicky was yet to sip from the enchanted chalice the old man was confident it wouldn't be long. The Beck effect, he thought. He should have warned her.

The crew had their hearts set on an early dinner, worn out, no doubt, from being roused pre-dawn by the sound of the engine, as Watson motored off the anchorage and set sail. Either that or they were tired from too much fucking, and hung over on French Champagne. While the old man suspected ulterior motives might be lurking, he was content nonetheless to play along anyway and commenced assembling the ingredients of a green fish curry.

Pulling two big white fillets from the freezer in the galley, Watson set them aside to thaw, then replaced the fish with bottle of wine. Leaning over the freezer, contemplating an early beer, his ears pricked up at the sound of a distant outboard. His heart sank. Visitors. Sure enough, as much as he willed it away, the tender drew nearer and nearer, until the motor throttled back to a sedate idle. Watson winced as the nose of a rubber inflatable thumped Aurora's stern, and a creaky old voice called, "Anybody home?"

Many were drawn to sailing by the unrivalled solitude, while for others it was all about socialising, hanging out with like-minded adventurers. A paid-up member of the antisocial contingent, Watson grudgingly mounted the companionway and looked over the stern, where he saw the crowns of two weather-beaten floppy hats. Polite enough not to venture onboard without first being invited, the visitors sat back, waiting.

Pretend it was a ghost-ship, Watson wondered. In quarantine with a deadly disease? In the end, he scaled the companionway and stepped into the cockpit. "I thought I heard someone." he smiled, trying to sound surprised. "Come on up."

An elderly couple, deeply tanned and weather-beaten, their skin like parchment from years of sailing the tropics, manoeuvred their RIB into position, then hopped onto the stern with surprising agility. The man boarded first, grey and grizzled, bow-legged and wiry, then turned to take a blue foam cooler from the woman's outstretched hands.

"Fresh scones." the old-timer announced, proffering the cooler. "The missus just made them. I said to her, 'why are you making so many of the damned things, you could just about feed a plurry army?' But you know wives, they never listen. Just lucky you folks turned up to help us out."

Watson took the gift feeling both put-upon and humbled. Preferring his own company- and that of two sexually voracious young females- was no excuse for meanness of spirit.

"Norm Sutcliffe," the visitor said and held out a gnarly old hand, "Serenity. And this is Jo."

The scent of the freshly baked rolls made his mouth water. "Damon Watson," Watson replied and they shook. "Brink of Insanity."

"Brink of..." the old couple looked at each other, frowning. "But we thought..."

"What? Oh, sorry, just kidding. This is Aurora."

"Oh I get it." the woman smiled in the shadow of her broad-brimmed sunhat. She had surprisingly good teeth for someone her age, and a slightly mischievous aura. Every thing she wore seemed sun-bleached to within an inch of its pigment, from the faded floral hat, to the long-sleeved denim shirt and faded, baggy blue cargo shorts that came down to her knees. Joining her husband in the cockpit, she offered her hand.

As they stood, sizing each other up, Watson felt immediate affinity. The elderly man turned on the spot. "Nice boat. Jeanneau?"

"That's right." Watson affirmed. "Forty-four footer with a one-foot extension."

Sutcliffe ran a tanned, knobby hand over the leather-bound port wheel. "I do like the dual helm." he said a little wistfully. "If I had my time over again."

"The grass is always greener, isn't it?" his wife sighed. She looked at Watson. "Let's just hope you don't have any pretty young things on board. Or he might start thinking..."

Watson gulped. He was just wondering if it might be better to keep his crew concealed when a voice behind him called, "Hello." and Beck emerged in her short, sheer T-shirt and tiny bikini.

Just when he thought the visitors couldn't look any more startled, Vicky followed her up in her flimsy green slip. "Goodness," the woman said and put a hand to her mouth, "you must be hosting Miss World."

"Miss Behaving more like it." Watson said darkly.

"I'm Rebekah." Beck announced, offering her hand.

"With a 'k' and an 'a' and an 'h'?" the woman smiled, "Am I right?"

"See?"Beck said, "It's so obvious. Why do so many people get it wrong?"

"Same reason so many people think my name's Joanne." the woman teased.

Beck looked at her, brow furrowed. "Joan?"

"No." The woman shook her head. "Think again. Think Canada."

"Josephine?"

"Famous song bird."

Beck and Vicky exchanged glances, thoroughly non-plussed. The woman was about to put them out of their misery, when Vicky cocked her head and said, "Joni?"

"Well done!" Jo smiled then nudged her husband. "Careful, Darling. You're dribbling."

Sutcliffe reflexively swiped his mouth then nodded at Vicky and swapped a handshake. Likewise with Beck. Sensing movement, Watson looked over the water to the north, only to see another RIB approaching at high speed. Maritime Neighbourhood Watch, he thought. Bang went the tranquillity.

"Vicky and Beck, eh?" the old man was saying. He looked at his wife. "They don't make galley-slaves like they used to."

"Well don't go getting any ideas." his wife warned under her breath.

Watson lifted the lid off the cooler and the aroma of freshly baked scones flooded the cockpit. "Wow!" Beck said, peering in. "What are these?"

"Just some scones I whipped up." Jo replied.

Beck had never laid eyes on such delicacies. "Can I try one?"

The old woman shrugged. "Well they're not for decoration."

Before Watson could stop her, Beck reached into the cooler and whipped out a scone. She bit into it, then spent a moment masticating, a look of intense concentration on her face. "Oh my god!" she rolled her eyes, "Macca? Try one of these."

Vicky helped herself, then nodded, "Yummy."

"Dommy! You gotta try one. Oh my god, they're totally awesome!"

"Umm..." Jo said, reaching into the cooler, "there's some cream and strawberry jam if you like."

Watson steered Beck in the direction of the hatch. "Go and make some tea, for god's sake."

"I'm serious." Beck persisted, "I've never tasted anything so delicious."

"You've never had scones before?" Jo asked, a little mystified.

"We're more your melting moment type." Watson replied "Tea? Norm? Jo?"

"That would be lovely." Sutcliffe replied, finding his voice. "Mum?"

"Oh, why not?" his wife said. "As long as we're not intruding."

The second inbound tender sloshed to a stop just off the stern. "Howdy Prof." its male occupant hailed, "Thought we'd pop over to welcome the new arrivals, but I see you've beaten us to it."

"Thought we better throw out the welcome mat."

Watson looked down at the tall dark, handsome yachtie standing with obvious ease in the wallowing dinghy. Behind him, at the controls of the outboard, sat an equally handsome woman in a loose, long-sleeved white shirt, tied at the navel, and a red batik sarong knotted at the hip. Neither wore buoyancy vests and Watson heaved a sigh of relief that Beck was downstairs. "Steve Barrett," the man in the RIB introduced himself, "Duality. This is Libby."

The woman sitting at the throttle of the puttering outboard waved. "Hi."

"Howdy. Damon Watson. You can probably read the boat's name. I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome."

"It's what us yachties do." Barrett shrugged. "Anyway, thought I'd just swing by to offer you an invite."

"Invite?"

"We're throwing an eclipse party."

"There's an eclipse?"

"Tonight. Didn't check your almanac?"

"Hmm..." Watson mused, "I'm usually on top of that sort of thing. It's been a hectic few days."