Every woman has her price for performing bizarre sex acts. They all deny it of course, because they aren't rich. They can't imagine volumes of money larger than the cost of their house, beyond that its all hazy abstraction.
I have sexual kinks that cost an awful lot of money, which makes it very difficult for my fixer, Jackson, to find women with enough imagination to appreciate how well they will be remunerated. Usually I end up flying half way round the world, to Thailand or somewhere like that. This time was different though. My most bizarre fuck yet, and Jackson had found me an English girl.
Not that I mind flying across the world. I have a fleet of planes and a passion for flying. I've had this passion since before my accident, when I was just a van driver's mate. My dream was to be a pilot, even though I hadn't even the taxi fare to the airport, let alone money for flying lessons. Then one day our van was hit by a tanker, killing the drivers of both vehicles and spilling burning petrol across the M1. I got away with just losing my leg and spending six weeks in a coma. The compensation money reflected the wealth of the tanker owners, which I invested in starting up my own business; private imports, if you know what I mean. That was forty years ago and now I have the money for my own personal fleet of aircraft, but my retinas never recovered from the crash, so I need other people to pilot me.
As usual, I was meeting the girl at a hotel. Jackson was there already. 'She's all ready for you,' he told me breathlessly, his short legs struggling to keep up with me, despite my artificial leg, 'and the doctor's waiting in the adjacent suite with his nurse.'
'And she's aware of what's expected of her?' I asked, ignoring the concierge who, like all of his kind, was a loser who could do nothing else with his life.
'She's scared at what you're about to do to her, but she's too excited about the money to cause any problems. She's going to save Ethiopia with it, or somewhere like that.'
'All I need to know is that everything is as it should be.' I said sharply. Sometimes Jackson forgot himself. Not that I minded, his failure to remain detached was his only weakness. When he was with me Jackson was almost always the picture of the attentive servant. He never complained about the long hours I made him spend away from his family. Never complained about the stress I put him under. I had rung him at 3am this morning to bring this little rendezvous forward, meaning that he had to leave immediately for the hotel. Which he did willingly, of course. I don't fool myself though, I know that his wife must have had plenty to say about it. What woman wouldn't? But I pay him well for his sacrifices and his wife and child(ren?) get their cut of that.
My introduction to the world outside the missionary position had started back when the stump of my leg had still been bloody. I had needed cheering up and decided to spend a portion of the impending compensation on something other than solicitor's fees. I didn't have Jackson to run around for me back then, but I still managed to pick up a tasty piece of ass that was trying to break into modelling, full of hope and dieting pills (I was green then and talked to them). This model asked me if I wanted to cum on her face, for extra money of course. My thirst to put some kinks in my sex-life was born under that cheap neon while watching my spunk splash onto that fresh young face, her doe eyes blinking rapidly as the salty liquid ran across her eyeballs and into the tear ducts, sniffing it up into her lungs. In particular, the realisation that I was being taken deep within her, becoming part of her.
Jackson showed me up to the suite, where the latest girl was knelt with her head bowed, as if she was before an altar. She couldn't have been more than 19 or 20, with skin that you only get by eating healthily every day of your life.
As Jackson left us alone, she raised her head, her eyes defying me to judge her. I wondered if those eyes would be so haughty with my cum splashed across them.
The doctor's work was in the centre of her body, the skin on either side showing two red square patches where the surgical dressing had been recently removed. A vertical cut in her stomach, allowed to heal slightly to form a hymen.
She smelt clean, coal-tar soap and finishing college. I wasted no time, getting her to pull out my flaccid cock and suck me. Back when I was flinging spunk into women's eyes on a regular basis, I would have been hard before I'd even entered the hotel. But it took more than the thought of sex these days to get my hydraulics working. More even than the sight of a submissive girl kneeling in front me. She hesitated before pushing my fat wrinkled cock past her young lips, hiding behind her eyelids and the morphine as she did so, pretending ecstasy.
