THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY.
Space tourism is beginning. But have the rocket scientists and venture capitalists really thought about the sort of deals they can offer?
The Cessna business jet climbing out over the white and pink beaches of the small Caribbean island looked perfectly normal. All the changes were in the passenger section: seats removed, the floor padded and the interior divided into three cells by flexible plastic sheeting. Each cell had its own separate air supply and ventilation system, for the very good reason that sexual ardor was effectively quenched by the sight and smell of vomit. If anybody threw up during the flight then at least the stench and stomach contents would be contained within the cell in which they had emerged.
The nine passengers were standing up as the Cessna took off, three to a cell, each group of passengers strapped to a grid of plastic bars in one of the cells. As soon as the 'fasten belts' sign was turned off, the passengers released their straps. Each of the groups consisted of two males and one young female, but whoever might be airsick, it certainly wouldn't be any of the girls: all three were qualified military jet pilots and each of them also held a degree in aeronautical engineering. They also had two other common traits: they were all highly fuckable and each of the flight suits they were now peeling off their shapely bodies displayed the insignia of Vestal Virgins Space Lines, a bow and arrow armed Cupid with his wings replaced by a rocket pack.
"Come in, Ms Dodwell, come in. Delighted to meet you."
Lisa sat down in the very expensive chair in front of Sir Robert Brompton's desk. He looked more like an aging poet than what he really was, a major league investor in communications, media, and the airline industry. The logo on his desk said it all: 'Vestal Virgin Investments'. That and the dominating viewpoint of London's square mile financial district as seen from his executive office eyrie. Brompton had the means, the power and the ambition to make her dream come true.
Sir Robert glanced at the screen of the computer on his desk: "OK, let's make sure I've got it right. Lisa Dodwell, Australian citizen, over six hundred hours flying F/A-18's for the Royal Australian Air Force, and a graduate in aeronautics from the University of New South Wales. So what brings you here, Lisa? You seem to be doing very well for yourself without my help."
"I want to be an astronaut."
The Englishman smiled and shrugged his shoulders ruefully: "I can't get you into space, Lisa. Well, not for long anyway. Orbital flight is still strictly government business. All that private enterprise can offer right now are sub orbital flights, with some very heavy duty strings attached."
"I'm never going to get into NASA," Lisa said. "I'm a bloody good pilot but I'm the wrong nationality. So I'll settle for going as high as I can."
Sir Richard leaned forward with his forearms resting on his massive desk: "Seventy five miles up is the best I can offer, plus an excellent salary and a very big bonus for every successful flight. No contract either, any time you feel this isn't for you, you can leave with no problems from us. But I have a duty to explain everything that's involved to you very clearly, so you can't say we mislead you. Are you prepared to keep confidential everything I'm now about to tell you?"
"OK, your word is good enough for me. So, yes, we do have an experimental rocket plane which has now flown successfully. At the moment it's called the X-plane and we're moving ahead to build half a dozen of the same class. You understand that it's nothing like the space shuttle: the shuttle has to be big enough to accelerate twenty tons to an orbital speed of 17,000 miles per hour, which means huge engines and massive amounts of fuel. The X-plane only lifts the pilot and two passengers, and it's almost motionless in relation to the earth when it gets to the top of its trajectory because all the fuel is used in the climb. So the X-plane looks a lot like a conventional airplane since it uses a normal runway for take offs and landings. The only power plant is a throttable rocket engine using kerosene and hydrogen peroxide as fuel. Obviously, because of its flight path, the X-plane doesn't need any tiling to protect it from re-entry heat. It simply falls back into the atmosphere using reaction controls to keep it stable, then turns around as soon as its wings start to grip the air and glides back to the airfield it took off from. Any questions so far, Lisa?"
"How long will each flight last?"
"Under two hours, with 6.7 minutes of zero g at the top of the trajectory. With luck we should be able to do a turn around fast enough to get an average of at least two flights out of each X-plane every day. I'm setting up a company called Vestal Virgin Space Lines which is going to build a base for sub orbital launches on a island called Barbuda in the Leeward Islands, over in the Caribbean. It's undeveloped place, almost deserted, with just a couple of resort hotels, and as long as we don't disturb the bird sanctuary on the other side of the island, everything will suit us fine. There's no reason why we should bother our feathered friends. Take off speed will only be a 150 mph and you won't be putting the pedal to the metal until you pass through 40,000 feet. Nobody on the island will hear a thing, especially when you glide back in."
"It sounds ideal."
"Oh, it's going to be good, Lisa, very good. And you stand an excellent chance of getting into the project as one of my pilots. Especially since I'm only hiring female pilots -- heterosexual female pilots. I know you're qualified to be a pilot, Lisa, I know you're a girl, and I know that you're an attractive girl. So will you please tell me what your sexual orientation is? Do you like men?"
Lisa grinned: "Yes, I like men. Some of my best friends are men."
Sir Robert smiled back: "I think this is going to work out very well, Lisa."
Underneath her flight suit Lisa was wearing a medium support open cupped bra. She'd been warned that unsupported breasts were a nuisance aboard the Cessna during microgravity maneuvering: in zero g the nipples were moving targets for the men's mouths, and at the bottom of the parabolas the 2g gravity pullouts made decent sized tits look like squashed road kill. She was also wearing a suspender belt, garters, stockings and crotchless silk panties. The ensemble was partly to act as a visible stimulant to her potential passengers, but mainly as a way of providing useful handholds on her body for the guys to keep her in position as a floating fuck.
Having bazooms either in free fall or weighing twice as heavy as normal was one disadvantage of being a girl on these conditioning flights. Another disadvantage for Lisa was in having to provide oral and anal sex to Matvey Alexander Vasilchikov, a Russian mafia boss with more hair on his body than the average bear and body odor to die from. Thank God her primary passenger was more appealing. Scott Kaiser was a futures trader from Chicago, of medium height, a good looking blue eyed blonde, a keen rower and tennis player, and the owner of a set of teeth so white they must have been regularly steam cleaned. Lisa was perfectly happy to help Scott out of his flight suit and then get down on her knees on the padded floor to start licking his cock into shape for the first half minute of microgravity sex. Doing the same thing for Boris was strictly a matter of keeping her mind firmly on the need to have two passengers ready for flight status before she could get her first launch.
Bloody typical, really, just the sort of thing a girl would expect to have to do to break through the stratospheric ceiling. Lisa wondered how male astronauts would have dealt with having to earn flight status by bending over for a garlic smelling Russian gangster: "That's one giant leap for mankind, one big pain in the butt for a man."
No, it would never have happened that way, not for a man called Armstrong.
"Right, Lisa, let me explain my business plan. I don't get involved in anything unless I'm sure I can make money out of it. So let's see what I can offer my potential customers and what it's going to cost them. If I do the straight space tourist thing, they have to pay a hundred thousand US bucks for a seat on an X-plane flight and in return they get some great views of planet earth. Call me cynical, but I don't see that as a crowd puller. If you want to succeed in the tourism industry the only way to do it is to offer an experience so unique that your customer's friends and acquaintances are jealous about it. And one experience that most guys have wondered about at one time or another is what it would be like to have sex in a zero g environment."
Sir Robert leaned back, still smiling, rubbing the tip of his finger against his lips: "Has it ever happened yet? I don't know. If it has, nobody has ever admitted to it. Not that it matters, because Vestal Virgin Space Lines is going to boast about it: fly with Vestal Virgin and get your rocks off on a rocket, that's going to be our sales pitch."
Lisa coughed and patted the base of her throat as she regained her breath: "You're going to fly couples up on the flights?"
"I doubt it -- not often anyway. If a guy wants to fly his girl up with him, fine, but at a hundred grand for her seat it'd be an expensive screw. On the other hand he can pay just for his own seat and let Vestal Virgin supply the woman. That's why I'm only recruiting female pilots."
The Australian pilot gaped at him: "Two men -- in less than seven minutes!"
"Well, as Scottie used to say on Star Trek, I canna alter the laws of physics for you, Lisa. That's the way it is. One of your passengers will be your priority passenger: that means he's paid a big premium to have his choice of what he wants to do with you. The other passenger will just have to fit in wherever he can. It's going to be a matter of training and co-ordination."
"You spend a few days with your guys on the ground; set yourselves up as a menage a trois. You know, three in the bed. Find out what works between you. Then we'll provide some inflight zero g maneuver time to help you get your act together. Who goes where, who holds what, that sort of thing. But when it comes to the launch the onus is on the passengers to perform. As long as our girl does her best for them, that's all we guarantee. If one or neither of the guys can't do the deed in time, that's not our problem: no refund, no second chance. And we'll know exactly what happened because it'll all be taped from a dozen different cameras inside the cabin The pictures will be a great revenue earner. We'll just black out everybody's faces and put them on the net. Of course, if you let us show your face, Lisa, you'll get an extra large slice of he royalties. Anyway, are we wasting each other's time or not? You're an Aussie, so I expect a straight answer."
Lisa gave him a demure smile: "To fly into near space I'd fuck the brains out of every man in this building and his dog as well. Is that straight enough?"
Sir Richard laughed and held out his hand over the top of the desk: "Welcome aboard, Lisa. God bless you and all those who fly in you . . ."
The Cessna pitched up to 45 degrees to begin the first parabola. Lisa got off her knees, took out a tube of jelly from a compartment on the cell wall and laid a long squirt of the substance across both men's fingers. They applied it to her vigorously, vagina and anus, as she held onto two of the overhead hand straps and gasped with excitement at being prepared for the docking maneuvers. Then the American stood closer to her and put his fingers around her gaiters. At the same time Matvey seized her suspender belt from behind, holding her so tightly she thought she was going to get cut in half
"Ten seconds to microgravity." The pilot's announcement was loud and clear through the speaker.
"Relax, Matvey, hold me looser so I can get into position."
His grip eased off and she opened and closed her own fingers as she checked her hold again on the straps. The way they'd agreed to do it was that she was going to be the anchor while her passengers coupled with her, Scott first, then Matvey. She wondered if they'd be able to get it together as a team, first time up. Then she wondered if maybe that thought needed rephrasing.
The engine noise died to a whisper, the floor leveled as the Cessna began to arc through the sky. Then her feet began floating free, her legs were spread out as Scott hauled himself up between them. She dropped one hand briefly to guide him into her, he rose up like a striking shark, and an instant later she was full of him. She cried out, Scott laughed, then began using her garter straps to ride her from below as if he was a cowboy in a upside down rodeo, slam dunking his body up and down effortlessly every time she got the full length of his cock.
"Yeeeeeh how!" Her primary passenger sounded like a cowboy too, like a cowboy really enjoying his ride. Now Matvey had got himself inside her as well, trying to match Scott's movements, but it was too late for that.
"I'm coming, honey!"
He couldn't be, he was, God, what an experience, what a great result, one passenger getting his ticket stamped inside the first thirty seconds! Thank God for premature ejaculation! Lisa writhed in delight as she felt him spurt inside her.
"Coming out of microgravity."
She released her hold on the overhead straps as the tangle of bodies went down like the Titanic. Matvey broke loose but Lisa stayed on top of Scott, on top of his still hard cock. The 2g pullout pressed Scott back onto the padded floor and rammed Lisa down on top of his erection as if another girl her own weight was standing on her back. The man underneath her grunted as she screamed out in delight at the best climax in her life. Somebody in the cockpit was cheering and applauding, somebody who was obviously watching the action on the safety monitor.
"Congratulations, Lisa. Climbing up now for next microgravity maneuver."
As gravity came back to normal the Russian pulled her up on her feet by tugging on one of her bra straps.
"My turn next, Lisa!"
"Sure, Matvey, sure. There'll no Virgins on my flights, not if I can help it."