Aurora - Wings of the Goddess Pt. 05

Several panting minutes and a gallon of sweat later, Watson chugged to a puffing halt and slowly pulled out. Vicky raised her butt, making ready for him, and he popped through into her hole before taking up where he'd left off, gathering speed in a state of back-flexing, butt-clenching, cock-hammering, pussy-pounding, no-holds-barred sexual-overdrive. Drizzling down her furrow, Vicky's body fluid dripped onto Beck, the two bodies slapping the discharge into a lather. Watson could feel Vicky's insides convulsing. She was close.

"Damon!" Vicky gasped, "Damon, stop."

Watson threw out the anchors and knelt, chest heaving, as if he'd just crossed the line on a marathon.

"Damon? Have you... can you... you and Beck... just one more time?"

"Moosh?"

"Give it to me, Dommy." Beck said, grabbing hold of Vicky's butt. They ground their mounds one against the other for a moment, then Beck hauled her up to make room for cock. "Macca?" she said breathlessly, "There's a fourth way."

"What?"

"To lose your virginity. After this."

"How?"

"I'll tell you later." Beck said and her body stiffened as Watson drove into her up to the hilt. "It's called tribbing. Remind me."

"Okay." Vicky panted, with no idea what Beck was on about. She could feel Beck's body jerk with every thrust of the old man's cock, and all she could hear was squeaking and grunting as their bodies collided. When Beck pulled her down, groaning, and her hips began to jerk, Vicky knew Beck was cumming. So did Watson, as Beck's insides turned as hot as lava and as slippery as virgin ice. Sliding his arms under the little blonde's knees he heaved her legs up, lying flat on Vicky's back as the Beck tossed and writhed, driving herself onto his cock.

Before her orgasm had run its course, Beck braced her hands on his thighs and brought him to a precipitous stop. "Vicky!" she huffed, pushing Watson away so his cunt-slick cock, still hard as iron, slid out of her. Reaching between Vicky's legs, Beck took the old man's erection and ploughed Vicky's slit by feel, wrapping her arms around the young woman's neck as Watson set off, thrusting as hard and fast as he could into Vicky's hot hole. This was a time for action, not finesse, and it was all about the cumming, not the going.

And she didn't disappoint, quickly lapsing into a frenzied climax that was as much a fit as an orgasm. Growling and squealing, gyrating her hips, she fought to ingest as much of the iron-bar penis as she humanly could. Her energy sizzled away in sparkling starbursts and whirlwinds as the climax finally ran the last of its course. Beck's hands, meanwhile, roamed Vicky's sweat-beaded back, while she listened to her pant, felt her twitch.

"Oh god..." Vicky whimpered. "Oh god..."

Still sweating in torrents, Watson looked down at the sight of his cock, buried to the hilt in Vicky's stretched pussy. Hands braced on her ass, he slowly pulled back, withdrawing his prick, inch by inch, until all that was left was the knob. With a jerk of his hips he was out. Throwing a leg over, he collapsed on the bed on his back in a nerve-tingling, Champagne fuelled, dope-addled post-orgasmic heap.

"You guys..." Vicky huffed, face buried in Beck's shoulder.

"Wassup?" Beck asked, stroking Vicky's back.

"I think I might have died and gone to heaven."

"Isn't that where all the boring people go?" Watson puffed.

"No," Vicky shook her head, "that's church." She looked up through the tangle of hair hanging over her eyes. "I'm talking about literal heaven. Paradise. Where all the good people go. People like you. Like us."

Head on Beck's heart-thumping breast, Vicky closed her eyes and drifted off into a star-spangled trance. A year ago she was carrying the entire weight of Original Sin on her shoulders, with her own shit piled on top in a great steaming heap. Those days she lived in a state of perpetual fear- fear of sin, fear of damnation, fear of her perverse and filthy desires. Fear of the parasitic old pastor and his sycophantic acolytes, fear of the congregation, fear of those sanctimonious women with their cold, disparaging eyes. And fear- deep and physical- of her dour and brooding husband-to-be.

And fear of god above and beyond everything else. Because she knew the more she feared him the happier he would be, her terror sweet as ambrosia. Now here she was, on a yacht on a reef, stoned off her tits and drunk on Champagne, in a state of post-orgasmic collapse, having just had group sex with a horny old man and a gorgeous young girl. Suddenly out of nowhere she asked, "We're good people, aren't we?"

"Awesome." Beck's muffled voice replied.

"Some of the best I know." the old man concurred.

Vicky raised her head, then stuck out her bottom lip and blew the hair from her eyes. "Seriously?"

Two voices chorussed, "Seriously."

Vicky lay her head on Beck's shoulder. "I'll never forget this, you know."

Beck yawned. "Pity we didn't film it. You could have watched it when you're an old lady."

"Now that..." Vicky said, "would have been awesome."

Watson yawned in sympathy, "I'll rat out the GoPro for next time."

"You're on!" Vicky nodded. "Becky?"

"Uh huh?"

Vicky pulled back and gave Beck the eye. "You said to remind you. There's a fourth way?"

"Tomorrow." Beck said and gave her a pat.

Watson climbed wearily to his feet as the others repositioned, front to back, Vicky cradling Beck, arms wrapped around her. Killing the lights, he scaled the companionway and emerged into the night, then dropped down to the swim platform to pee. The moon had reached its zenith and was heading on down, while the sun, still hours away, was rushing skywards behind it. Aurora rolled lazily beneath his feet on the placid swell, her mast-top anchor light drawing zig-zags in the sky. Far away to the north the party cats were still lit up, and a scattering of smaller lights were adrift on the sea. As he watched, a meteor streaked across the sky, all too brief yet nonetheless dazzling, a bit like life. He stood there naked for a while, sweat-sheened skin turning to gooseflesh in the cool night air. He struggled hard to grasp the enormity of it all. The world was beautiful. Surreal.

How far this journey had brought him. Divorced at fifty, after decades imprisoned in a dead, sexless marriage, renounced by his two grown-up sons, he'd simply assumed his life was pretty much over. Tipping the last of his meagre wealth into a forty-five foot hole in the sea, he sailed off into his existential sunset, on a one-way voyage to quiet extinction. Now here he was, five years later, rejuvenated through the awesome power of sex, having fucked a parade of stunning young females he could have scarcely imagined. Beck, Tanya, Caddy, the teen virgin Maya, and now Vicky, a virgin herself for all intents and purposes. From famine to feast with all the trimmings and much more to come.

Eyes raised, he cast a belated wish in the direction of the shooting star, following up with his heart-felt gratitude.

"My cup runneth over."

* * *

Watson woke abruptly as Beck led Vicky upstairs to take a pre-dawn pee off the swim platform. A few moments later they were back, stark naked and shivering, and dived under the doona clutching each other. Just as he was drifting off, he heard the sound of smacking lips and felt a stealthy repositioning, as Vicky rolled flat on her back and Beck climbed on board.

Edging away, he slipped off the bed and stole forward to his cabin, gathering some clothes before sneaking back aft. A bout of MMA looked to be taking place under the covers as he tiptoed past, and the sound of sloppy kissing filled the saloon. The old man shook his head with a grunt of laughter. Once upon a time, in a hotel room far, far away, he'd scoffed at the little blonde's oversexed fantasy of girl-on-girl with the straight-laced PA. Yet here they were, Beck and Vicky, sucking face and fingering each other to orgasm, in utter contempt of his dismissive predictions. The Beck Effect. He should have had faith.

Teeth chattering in dew-damp cockpit, Watson climbed into his track-pants, then pulled on a hoodie against the predawn chill. The sky to the east was swelling with light while the moon was still shining brightly in the western quarter. Time to make a getaway.

It was an odds-on bet that Vicky's story had spread like a dose of the flu and he wasn't in the mood for awkward denials... 'It's alright folks, it was just a little joke, the girls are actually nuns and I'm a eunuch...' Nahh... And that woman was poison in any event. Even if he could discount Vicky's story as a joking invention, their erstwhile host would have planted the seed. So just what were the three of them doing out there? Two young females and a doddering old fossil? What were they up to?

Hauling in the RIB, he shackled it to the davits and cranked it aboard. Then making his way forward, he unhitched the snubber and stood on the remote to winch up the anchor. No need for an engine. A light breeze had sprung up overnight so they could depart under sail without waking the neighbours. Unfurling the headsail he cleated it off, then winched the mainsail aloft out of its blue canvass sling. The sails luffed as the bow came around then bellied full of wind. Aurora set off, ploughing her way northwest, sneaking away behind enemy lines.

Most of the vessels in the flotilla were in darkness, save for their anchor lights. Only the cat, Duality, remained fully lit. Down in the starboard stateroom, Libby was busy fucking Kurt to another eye-popping, ball-clenching, cum-squirting climax. The neighbouring cat had cut away just after the party and was parked well beyond audible range, so they could have at it, no holds barred, just what she liked.

Not for the first time, Libby wondered how she could have so much as contemplated ditching Kurt for that disease-ridden old man. Because her tall, powerful guest, with the curly grey hair and ruddy, rugged features was a sexual athlete of Olympic ability. They'd been fucking most of the night, first as a foursome- with Kurt, her husband and bowl-haircut guy each taking their turn, then a little more intimately, once her husband and the manservant had been banished upstairs.

There, in the saloon, Barrett and the man with no name were slumped side by side on the settee, frantically masturbating to a porn DVD. As Barrett's wife went off... again... Kurt's offsider came, ejaculating a thick rope of semen straight up into the air. Wide-eyed, furiously jacking, Barrett watched the eruption slump over his neighbour's fat, hairy gut, then drizzle like a little white lava flow down over his balls. Barrett had come close, several times, to asking if he could suck the visitor off, and would have jumped at the chance had the guy shown the slightest desire. The visitor, meanwhile, had been sorely tempted to suggest the very same thing, but didn't want to risk any unpleasantness should his generous offer be misconstrued. He wasn't gay, not by a long shot. He just loved to suck cock. Especially Kurt's.

The sight of his guest ejaculating and the sound of his wife in the throes of passion downstairs was enough to push Barrett over the edge, and he strained through a powerful orgasm, filling his fist with hot, sticky slime that seeped through his fingers and ran down his shaft. His guest watched, almost smacking his chops, as Barrett jerked and grunted to a heavy-breathing standstill, then raised his hand to exchange a wet-knuckled fist-bump.

At the same time downstairs, Libby rolled her lover onto his back, going with him, his enormous, stiff dick still buried up to the nuts inside her. She could feel him twitching in the aftermath and still leaking sperm. They'd run out of condoms after the third or fourth round, but she had a sixth sense when it came to these sort of things and simply knew he was clean. With such a magnificent weapon how could he not be?

And he, in return for her unbridled trust, had just given his mistress a keepsake. It was only little but she could take it wherever she went, and it would last her the rest of her life.

Herpes.

PRECIPICE

The crew of the yacht that puttered into the marina, a few hundred miles to the north, was very different to the one that had puttered out of port ten days before. They had been at sea almost the entire time, save for two nights on a small, sandy island, where they swam and ran around naked, stretching their legs. For Beck and the old man this was what they loved to do most, sail the tropical seas with no other living souls in sight for days at a time.

For Vicky, though, it was nothing short of a rebirth... a revelation... as well as a stark reminder of how close she'd come to being dragged forever into a fundamentalist abyss. There went she, but for a chance meeting of her boss and his wife with an odd couple on a far-flung reef. It was a miracle, nothing less.

But supplies were low and they were all out of French Champagne. And they had a rendezvous to make. The voyage was over.

Just as gloomy at the prospect of seeing her off as she was at the prospect of leaving, Watson did his best to look on the bright side. At least he'd get his boat back. The females had all but hijacked Aurora, rendering him redundant to such an extent he was able to finish two full scripts, some of his best work ever and weeks before deadline. That's not to suggest that they left him alone, because they didn't, sometimes ganging up on him, sometimes taking him one at a time, in between their own sustained bouts of energetic sex. When they weren't fucking they were sailing, and vice versa. Either that or they were swimming, anchored up on some reef, in the water all day, the mermaid and her apprentice.

The sight of the girls fucking- fingering, tribbing, licking pussy, vibing or double-dildoing- soon rated barely a second glance. And he'd expended so much semen in the service of his crew he was worried his bones might be eroding, as his balls struggled to manufacture more and more sperm. Not a drop of it was wasted though- pumped deep into clenching vaginas or shot down throats, tossed into hair or sprayed on tits, slurped, suckled and gulped, lovingly, thoroughly, noisily, from frothing pussies, or used as lubricant for bouts of strenuous scissoring.

Sometimes, in the midst of it all, Watson found himself thinking about The Plan, in the course of which Beck would move in with Vicky. How the hell would she ever get any work done? Vicky's lust for the diminutive teen seemed unquenchable, though it wasn't all just about sex to be fair. Beck was busy much of the time schooling Vicky in the maritime arts, from trimming sails and plotting a course, to tacking, jibing, setting anchor. And as he watched his girl the old man was struck, not for the first time, by the tiny teen's native ability. He had only to show her once, or tell her for that matter, and she never forgot.

She had come to him a blank canvas, all but illiterate, and his very first mission was to teach her to read and write. By his own estimation it should have taken a couple of years, but within six months of that first impromptu lesson she was reading and writing and doing basic arithmetic. And navigating his yacht... or hers, depending on who you asked. And now she was wading through aerodynamics- not quickly, or easily, but wading nonetheless, at a level that left the old man floundering. Voracious mind, insatiable curiosity. One day when he had the means, he would have her IQ assessed. The result, he was convinced, would be daunting.

And Vicky had transformed as well, from the brave yet faintly timorous born-again born-again, into fun, funny, fearless adventurer, with taste for pussy and hunger for life. All those unused orgasms Ally Cat had once lamented- Vicky seemed determined to reclaim every last one.

She had found her laugh into the bargain- a cackling, infectious affair that came from the heart. And a sense of humour, razor sharp and quick as a whip, underscored by a talent for mimicry. A far cry from the blighted soul of her not too distant past, who believed that any hint of levity was a sign of a flawed and sinful soul.

A reception committee was on the dock, waiting, when they motored in. When Beck laid eyes on the Braggs she almost fell overboard, jumping up and down in frantic excitement. "Roger!" she squealed, "Tannyyyyy!"

Tanya waved. "Ahoy there me scurvy shipmates."

"Scurvy?" Watson scowled, looking himself over. "That's a bit harsh. Mangy, perhaps, even lice-ridden. But scurvy?"

Vicky had dressed-up for the occasion. T-shirt- no bra- and salt-starched cargo shorts with a rip in the seat revealing tanned bare skin. "Well, well, well," she breathed, trembling with excitement, "you finally tracked me down. Have I got some stories for you!"

Bragg's hair had grown-out into a big, unruly mop, greying at the temples, and his jaw was stubbled with several days' growth. Eyes invisible behind expensive wraparound shades, he held out his arms and smiled a big smile. "Macca," he cried, "all is forgiven. Please come home!"

"For Christ's sake, Macca," Tanya rolled her eyes, "would you please come back and put this cry-baby out of my misery."

"Naww..." Vicky tilted her head, "did you miss me?"

"Have you ever tried to get him to pick up the mail? What a performance!"

"What about me?" Beck cried, "did you miss me?"

Whipping his shades off, Bragg smeared his eyes. "Oh, let me count the ways."

"Me?" Watson held out his hands. "Anyone?"

Tanya wrinkled her nose and shot him one of those smiles he so adored. "What's up, old boy? You're looking a tad... err..."

Ravaged? Exhausted? Fucked?

"...gaunt."

It was true. The sexual marathon over the past week or more had stripped three or four kilos off his already spare frame. "Ohhhh..." he shook his head with a long, low groan as Tanya and Bragg stood grinning, "if only you knew."

Tanya arched her eyebrows. "Well, I'm dying to find out."

Bragg caught the rope and tied-off the bow as Watson brought the yacht alongside, the hull bumping and squeaking against the fat white fenders. Beck was onshore first, bounding into Tanya's arms for a hug and a kiss, before scaling Bragg's torso to swap spit. Vicky followed, squeezing a grunt out of Tanya with a breast-mashing bearhug, before kissing her boss chastely on the cheek. Then Watson. He kissed Tanya lightly before enfolding each other into a tight, loving embrace, keeping it low key in front of Roger's PA. When Watson reached for Bragg's hand, Bragg pulled him in for a man-hug instead, thumping the old man soundly on the back.

"Teacher." Bragg said.

"Outstanding to see you, Rodge. Where have you been all this time? Slaying dragons?"

"Dragons?" Bragg glared, "They're protected don't you know? But crooked developers and bent politicians..." he smiled brightly, "open season."

Tanya had heard nothing further to Beck's last phone message, saying the cat had come back and all was okay. Slinging an arm around Beck's shoulders she gave her a squeeze. "How'd you go, Beck? Did you manage to sort poor old Macca out?"

Beck and Vicky exchanged a knowing glance which Tanya deftly intercepted. Taking a step back, she looked the erstwhile goody two-shoes up and down in barefaced dismay. "No Way!"

"No way what?" Bragg asked, raking his hair back. "What have I missed?"

Vicky shrugged, her cheeks turning a brighter shade of pink under the sunburn. "Do what you do well as you always say Tan. Just taking a leaf out of your book."

"Oh really? Which particular chapter?"

"The... umm... juicy one."

Tanya shook her head in mild disbelief. "You and me need to have a nice long chat, Vicky MacDonald. I want it blow-by-blow, and I mean that literally."

"Can I join in?" Beck asked brightly. "We could make it a threesome."