Aurora - Wings of the Goddess Pt. 06

"I hope."

"For fuck's sake don't worry. We'll look after her. In the air and on the ground."

"Well that's a consolation I guess. At least I'll know she's well taken care of. Don't fuck with the sisterhood, right?"

"You better fuckin' believe it. And while we're on the subject, I have a bone to pick."

"A bone to pick?" Watson blinked, taken aback. "With me?"

"Too fuckin' right!"

"What have I done?"

"It's Macca."

"Macca?" Watson stiffened. "Is she okay?"

"She came up here for a holiday, didn't she?"

"Ally? For god's sake what's happened to-"

"Didn't she?"

"Well of course she did." Watson said curtly.

"And she was pretty much normal before she left?"

"Normal?"

"As in Macca-normal. Macca two point-zero normal at any rate. And then she came up here."

"For fuck's sake Ally, spit it out. Is she okay?"

"Okay. Listen. After she came back from her little... jaunt... we had to go to New Zealand. I mean for work. And guess what? The randy little slut took me hostage, kept me locked in her room for two fuckin' days. Every time I tried to get out she dragged me back in. 'Aww... come on Ally, just one little kiss'."

"What's the matter with a kiss?"

"It's what we did in between!" Ally railed. "I could hardly walk by the end of it. I swear we did the whole Karma Sutra... girls' edition. I tell you, Damon Watson, you've created a monster."

"Poor Ally. Must have been terrible."

"Oi oi oi!" Ally glared, "I never said that. But fuckin' Macca. She's fuckin' insatiable. I mean what did you do to her?"

"Well you called it. Remember? Back in Canberra? When you said that stuff about all her unused orgasms? Well you were spot on. She got thousands stored up and she wants to cash 'em all in, every last one. And she's not gonna stop till the backlog's been cleared."

"I'll fuckin' say." Ally breathed with a shake of her head. "And I thought I was a loose unit."

The old man snapped his fingers and levelled a finger at her. "Which reminds me. We had a deal remember?"

"Deal? What deal?"

"You said If it all went south you'd come up and haunt me. And I said, well, if it didn't go south-"

"Yeah yeah."

"And it didn't go south, did it? It went north, all the way to Santa's workshop if you know what I mean. And you said-"

"Alright!"

"-what were your exact words? 'You never know your luck in the big city'. We shook on it remember?"

"Nye nyin yin yin ye remember..." Ally mocked. "I know, I know."

"And?"

"I'm a woman of my word, Damon."

"Does that mean I can look forward to-"

"Yes!" Ally said, cutting him off, "Yes... as I said, I'm a woman of my word."

"Really?" Watson rubbed his hands. "What can we do?"

"Anything you fuckin'-well like. Except anal. Being reamed up the cloaca's not funny and it's not fun. Unless you wanna be mummy of course, in which case I can bring the strap-on."

"That's cool." Watson raised his hands, "No thanks."

He was only joking of course, and if she reneged when it came to the crunch then he wouldn't hold it against her. It was more about the moral victory than anything. Ally looked at him, obviously nervous, and he could sense something brewing. "I'm just mucking around, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean judging by that look on your face. It was just a bit of fun you know, but really, if you don't want to..."

"What?" Ally shook her head to clear her thoughts. "No! No. A deal's a deal, I mean it, though I'm not gonna pay your medical expenses. No. There's something else." Licking her lips, she looked around. She could recognise the setting from Vicky's lurid account, the galley, the nav station, the saloon's settee that turned into a great big bed. "It's Beck."

"What about her?"

"Macca told me some stories. About Beck and her."

"Ah..." Watson said as it all became clear.

"Apparently they had some adventures."

"Heaps," Watson teased, "fishing and bushwalking, fighting off killer koalas. Snorkelling and diving, sail-"

"Not those!" Ally railed, "Although when you say diving... Look, I'm talking about their other adventures."

"Oh... the eclipse party? Getting thrown off the cat?"

"Come on Mister, you're not that dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Their adventures of the romantic kind?"

"That's what I'm talking about exactly."

"Well what about them?"

"Are you really that thick? Think about it. I'm getting ready to run away with your girl."

"And?"

"Well... put it this way. When Macca took me hostage, I didn't put up much of a fight."

"Resigned to your fate?"

"Damon. For thirty seconds, please, just stop mucking around. Listen to me. All men are fucktards, no offence, although I must admit they do have their uses. Now me, I do love a bit of pork now and then, as long as it keeps its fuckin' mouth shut. But if I can't have pork... well... I'd just as soon have pie. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"Pie?" Watson asked, a twinkle in his eye. "What sort of pie?"

"What sort?" Ally fumed. "You know what sort. Sugar-and-spice sort of pie. Peaches and cream sort of pie. Girl pie."

"So why are you telling me?"

"Jesus fuck, do I have to spell it out? Look! Your girl likes girls. Right? And I like girls. Right? Now when beck begins her conversion, the two of us are gonna be banged up together all over the fuckin' place- cockpits, simulators, five star hotels. Are you with me, Damo? Are you picking up what I'm putting down?"

"Cuppa?" Watson asked, filling the preheat and igniting it with an orange cigarette lighter. The sweet smell of burning methylated spirits permeated the saloon while he gathered his wits under cover of the diversion.

"Well are you?"

"Tea?"

"Yes! C-U-N-Tea! My favourite. There! Do I make myself clear?"

"English Breakfast or Green?"

"Don't make me come over there, Captain Watson. We're hammering out the rules of engagement here. This is important."

"So. You're wondering if I'd condone you and Beck having sex? Is that what you mean?"

"Condone." Ally sniffed. "That's such a dick of a word."

"Well what word would you use?"

"I don't know... Allow? No. Be cool with... no that's not the word. Mind? Tolerate? No. Accept... Okay, fuck it. Would you? 'Condone' it?"

"Why not?" Watson shrugged, "It's just sex after all. And it's all up to Beck at the end of the day."

"Well fuckin' duhh... of course it is. But she's your girl Damon, and If you say no, then she's out of bounds I swear."

"Well if there's one thing you know how to do..."

"Fuck it, Damon, I'm serious."

"Just think if I did." Watson grunted with laughter. "Can you imagine the whining?"

"Okay, so you're obviously not gonna say."

Watson took two mugs from the fenced wooden rack over the stove and set them on the sink. "Ally." he said, then heaved a sigh, "Beck's her own girl. Am I gonna miss her? Like someone's torn my heart out. Will I worry about what she's getting up to while she's out of my sight? Every minute. But of all the things that do worry me, sex is the least of them."

"But it does worry you?"

Watson looked at her and she could see the pain in his eyes. "Want to know the truth?" he asked and Ally nodded. "What worries me most? That some dashing young man might sweep Beck off her feet and I'll never set eyes on her again. I mean come on Ally. I'm only human."

Ally exhaled through puffed cheeks. "Okay. But what if some dashing young chick did the same?"

Watson shrugged. "Same bleeding difference."

"Bleeding being the operative word." Ally said under her breath. "But what if that dashing young woman also promised to bring her back?"

Watson dropped a teabag into a mug. "Then there's nothing to discuss."

"You know what," Ally replied, sliding out from behind saloon table, "you're right, there isn't. I apologise for even bringing it up." She slapped herself lightly on the cheek. "Bad Alana! Very insensitive! There's a whole lot more at stake than a little rumpy-pumpy."

Watson hefted a shoulder. "It'll all work out."

Ally nodded, slightly deflated. "It always seems to."

"And if you want to brighten your day with a little slap and tickle, who am I to play Grinch?"

"I love how you make it all sound so innocent."

"Well isn't it?"

"Innocent?" Ally raised her eyes, "Yes, I guess it is. If it's done in good faith." She put her hand on his arm. "Speaking of which."

"Which?"

"Good faith. I've got a room at the Pullman for the next couple of nights. Ten minutes walk from here. What do you say?"

The kettle began to whistle. Watson picked it up, then filled the two mugs with a shaking hand. Strange. The idea of getting into a young woman's pants for the very first time was usually cause for arousal, yet, funnily enough, right now there was not the merest flicker. "Sugar?"

"You calling me or asking me?"

"Either. Both. Milk?"

"One of each, thanks. Well? How about it?" she winked. "Tonight? You and me?"

Watson turned to face her. "Ally? Would you be offended if I asked for a rain check?"

Ally clapped her hands then slapped her thighs. Rising up on tiptoes she jabbed a finger in his face. "Right answer!"

Watson looked at her. "Pardon?"

"If you'd said 'yes' that would mean I'd totally misjudged you."

"And then what? You would have reneged?"

"I never renege." Ally said flatly.

"So you still would have... you know?"

"Yep", she nodded, "I would have given you the two-minute special. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am, now get the fuck out of my sight!"

"Two minutes? Wow. You must think I'm a stayer."

"Well we're gonna find out, aren't we? Because when the dust settles you are gonna get your reward."

The old man handed her a mug of tea and she put it right down. "Are your hands clean, Damon?"

Watson looked at his hands, thinking the pint-sized pilot a tad OCD. Running the tap, he squeezed some liquid soap onto them, then gave them a quick wash. "They are now." he announced, padding them dry on a towel.

Ally took his right hand, then turned it over and studied his nails. "Nice hands," she intoned, "for a boy." She looked at him. "How would you like a sneak preview?"

Before he could answer, Ally sucked her belly in and slid his hand down the front of her shorts. Watson's fingers passed straight under the waistband of her low-cut briefs, and over a closely-cropped thatch of silken pubic hair. Eyes wide, he held his breath, as his fingers cupped her furred, squishy mound, his middle finger hovering over a wet slippery slit. His cock began to stiffen, and he had the sense of holding a hot little mouse in his hand. It was licking his finger.

Ally put her arms round his neck and breathed in his ear. "Put it in if you like."

Watson took her up on the offer, curling his middle finger into her, burying it up to the knuckle in her yielding insides. Ally tensed her muscles, squeezing his finger like a wet, slippery fist, then just as quickly relaxed. "Being good gets you stuff." she whispered, then gripped his wrist and slowly extracted him. The old man withdrew, battling with the urge to sniff his finger. "Go ahead." Ally breathed. "You know you want to."

Watson swiped his finger under his nose, inhaling the scent of Ally's insides, then put it in his mouth and sucked it clean. Her pussy was just like any other he had tasted, yet utterly unique- musky, tart and totally scrumptious. Ally grabbed a handful of the swelling in his shorts. "There you go." she said, giving it a shake, "What do you think?"

"Honestly? Ally? You're everything I imagined you'd be."

"Namely?"

Watson put his face in hers. "A foul-mouthed, bad-tempered-"

"Damon!"

"-horny little honey badger-"

"That's better."

"I mean it Ally. You're a babe, a stunner, a total little goddess. I mean ever since that night in-"

Ally raised a hand, shutting him down. "Okay, okay, no need to labour the point Reg."

"I'm serious. And that preview just then was totally mind blowing, thank you."

"Well you just wait for the main event." she said, patting his shoulder.

"The mind boggles."

"And that's not all." Ally said, staring pointedly at his crotch.

"Yeah sorry about that. I guess it just can't wait."

"Well it'll be worth it, I promise, I'll make fuckin' sure of that." When Ally picked up her mug and took a sip, Watson saw her hand was trembling. "Now," she said, "let's talk business."

* * *

Where a weaker man might have said his goodbyes at the front door, or the top of the companionway in his case, Watson insisted on taking the harder path, of seeing Beck off from the airport, with the prospect of standing there, watching her fly away. The little blonde was like a cat on hot bricks when Ally turned up to collect her, excited and frightened, reluctant and eager, thrilled and heartbroken and torn and conflicted in every possible way. Watson helped hump her travelling gear up the ramp- a backpack and duffle bag, laptop and handbag, and her cuddly-toy Great White Shark. She had made a point of leaving her most beloved possessions behind, her bikini, her journal, her beautiful backless party dress, as a declaration of her intention to one day return.

It began as a very quiet ride, with each submersed in their own inscrutable thoughts. Until they swung past the hotel to pick up Ally's temporary copilot, who had failed to make the rendezvous at the appointed time. As they turned into the drive heading up to the luxury hotel, an entirely new energy infiltrated the space. The energy of Ally. On the warpath.

He was waiting on the steps when they pulled up, absent-mindedly scrolling through an iPhone, and didn't look up until the Ally blipped the horn. She shut down and dismounted as Watson climbed out and slid open the eight-seater's back door.

"What part of seven o'fucking clock didn't you understand, Dick?" Ally growled, tapping her watch at the bottom of the stairs as her copilot sauntered down, overnight bag over one shoulder, a bulging green helmet bag clutched in his hand.

"It's Rick. Not Dick."

"It's almost eight. Not seven."

"Chill, baby." the man waved breezily, "This is corporate, not RPT."

"Do not," Ally snarled, "ever tell me to chill. And if you ever call me baby again, I'll make fucking sure you can never go halves in one. Got me?"

"Fuck me," he snorted, "someone got out the wrong side of bed. I'm sorry, Alana, I didn't mean to upset you."

Watson appeared beside Ally, and gave her sidekick a quick once-over. Older than Ally, mid forties he guessed, he cut the figure of the archetypal aviator- tall, straight, clean cut, with skin-deep good looks and an air of effortless confidence. Assiduously playing the part, he came complete with the requisite accessories, aviator sunglasses and a gold-badged peaked cap, white shirt with epaulettes, and dark blue shoulder boards with three gold stripes. Over the left breast of his short-sleeved white shirt he wore a pair of golden wings, and a blue name badge over the right that said, 'Rick Skilling'. Sensing Watson's scrutiny, he put down the helmet bag and held out his hand, palm down, thumb flexed, like some waist-level Nazi salute. "Rick Skilling," he said with a superficial smile. "Squadron Leader."

Watson recognised the gesture for what it was, a literal attempt at seizing the proverbial upper hand, and substituted a bunch of limp fingertips for his usual firm handshake. "Damon." he replied, refusing to play. "Moth-eaten layabout."

"Did you get that flight plan in?" Ally asked brusquely, watching her copilot load his gear.

Straightening, the man looked her up and down in borderline disdain. "Yes I did." he replied, as in, 'what do you think?'

"Give me a look."

"Don't you trust me?" Skilling smiled wryly. Ally didn't smile back and he hesitated, sizing her up for a possible challenge. Last night, after a couple of beers, he offered to have sex with her, but she'd turned him down with a mouthful of stinging invective. This meant she was now beneath his contempt, but he had three bars and she had four and this was his first gig in corporate. "It's in my nav bag." he said, hoping that would suffice.

"Well get it out of your nav bag!" Ally said peevishly, then turned and installed herself in the hire-car's front passenger seat. "Damon. You drive. I've got work to do."

While Watson climbed into the driver's seat, Skilling ferreted a tablet from his helmet bag and handed it over. Whipping his cap off to saddle-up in the rear, he suddenly clapped eyes on the gorgeous young blonde. "Well, hello there!" he said, setting his charmometer to 'stun', "you must be the neophyte?"

Beck looked around then pointed at herself. "Me? No. I'm a Libran."

The pilot opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking slightly confused. Taking his seat, he slid the rear door shut, then twisted in his seat as the van set off. "So. You wanna be a pilot, huh?" he asked Beck.

"That's the plan."

"Well why don't you just join the Air Force instead? That way you can do it for free. Never know. You might wind up flying Hornets just like I did."

"You haven't put your seat belt on." Beck said.

Skilling fumbled for his belt, slightly winded, and buckled up. "Awesome machine, the old Hornet," he soldiered on, though hardly anyone was listening and Beck didn't have a clue what he was on about anyway.

"That's a fighter, isn't it?" Watson asked over his shoulder, fully aware of what the Hornet was.

"Last of the dogfighters." Skilling nodded. "A real man's aeroplane."

"So how could I wind up flying one?" Beck asked matter-of-factly. "I'm a girl."

"Yeah, but no..." Skilling stammered, losing ground. "What I meant is, she's a real stick and rudder aeroplane. Awesome for ACM."

"What's ACM?" Beck asked, as an image flashed through her mind, of a porn starlet sucking a great big cock freshly withdrawn from her co-workers butt.

"Air Combat Manoeuvres. Dogfighting. The sport of kings."

"Played by knuckle-draggers." Ally muttered, head down, studying the flight plan.

"Dogfighting?" Beck cried in disbelief. "With real dogs?"

"Heh, heh..." Skilling laughed nervously. She couldn't be that stupid, surely. "I... ahh..."

Ally twisted in her seat, face pinched, lips compressed, and exhaled loudly through her nose. "Did you already submit this?"

Skilling looked at her. "Like I just told you."

"You fuckin' genius! You just planned us through the middle of fuckin' restricted airspace."

"What do you mean?"

"Here!" Ally said, turning the tablet and tapping the display. "What does this fuckin' red shading mean?"

The pilot took the tablet and studied it, frowning. He'd flown through this airspace hundreds of times and had never once been denied clearance. Of course that had been in a military jet, not a Gulfstream. "Yeah, nahh, I know," he waffled, turning red, "but it's the shortest way down and I thought they might give us a clearance."

"Really? Everybody else in the world has to fly round, but for some fuckin' reason they'll just let us straight through. How come? Are you fucking the Air Trafficker?"

A beading of sweat glittered on his brow. "Never know, it might not be active."

"It's always active, Dick, and you fuckin' know it."

"Well if they won't let us through we'll just have to go around."

"They won't fuckin' let us through, so we will go around. Why didn't you just plan for that in the first place? Like I asked you? You fucktard. Still, at least you've put your name down as pilot in command. A complete fuckin' lie, but at least it keeps my fuckin' name out of this."

Skilling narrowed his eyes, the gesture all but lost behind his RayBans. "Well maybe you should have done it yourself."

"Thanks for the tip." Ally curled her lip. "Next time I will."

Skilling crossed his arms and stuck out his jaw. Fucking civvy scum, telling him how to fly. Not bad enough that he was understudy to this amateur, but now he was being publicly berated. Him, a squadron leader, a fighter pilot no less, being harangued by a chick, a female, a mere bloody woman. Probably a lesbian he seethed, staring out the window, still stinging from last night's rejection. She had to be. Short, angry, with a chip on both shoulders, foul-mouthed, dismissive and no tits to speak of. His cock was far too good for her anyway.