The Delivery Man

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A story of money and power.
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The only question now was what to do with the money. The mortgage had been paid off, the cars updated and trust funds set up for the children. There was still more. Much more. The Bahamas had been great, and they had both looked good in their new clothes, but now what? 'Money doesn't matter to me,' I had always told people, and myself. It wasn't until you had some, or a lot, that you realised what power it could bring.

Of course I had known that my father had been a wealthy man, but I had had no idea quite how wealthy. During the twenty years that I had not seen or spoken to him he must have swum against the tide and vastly increased his wealth during the crisis that had afflicted most of the world. He had been an impressive man. Not very likeable, but impressive.

Gazing at the photo of him on the cover of a business magazine someone had sent me, I marvelled at how physically alike we were. The strong jaw and compact build. The dark eyes. It was all there. Of course we would have been similar in character too if I hadn't consciously tried to mould myself in opposition to him. Even so I had seen flashes of his nature in my own. It pained me to accept it, but I had inherited more than just his wealth.

My libido too, had come from my dear father but, unlike him, I had done my best to keep it under control. It hadn't been easy by any stretch of the imagination but I had managed it. More or less.

A vigorous masturbation regime had been the mainstay of my effort not to destroy my family, through womanizing, as he had done. There had also been the occasional prostitute, but the fear and the guilt had overshadowed the pleasure. It wasn't that I had any moral objection to prostitution, as long as the girls were independent and not coerced, it was more a fear of catching something or getting caught and blowing apart the domestic bliss that I had worked so hard to achieve.

Now, it seemed, even those eventualities could be avoided. The expression 'the world is your oyster' suddenly took on new meaning for me. While venting my sexual frustration on an internet forum someone had given me the email address of a man who identified himself only as the Delivery Man. It sounded weird, but what was the harm in checking it out. The Delivery Man catered to wealthy clients who needed to have their sexual needs met, in a discreet way.

The first message I received after contacting the 'DM' contained a link to a secure website where we could correspond via a secure messaging service. The security of the system was of the highest level; it used the so-called 'dark web', so it was not indexed by any search engine, and our messages were encrypted. Financial transactions too, were secure and discreet.

The DM sent a document outlining a method of payment and a cover story to hide the large sum of money I would be expected to pay. It consisted of a false tax demand and advice on how to break the news to my wife that a large amount of money would have to be paid.

The DM explained that the two most important aspects of this 'event' would be safety and discretion. As far as safety was concerned he offered what he called a 'multi-level risk reduction strategy'. A doctor, retained by me, would test all the women, or men, involved for every known venereal disease; he would then wait three months and test them again.

During those three months the 'partners', as he liked to call them, would agree not to have any sexual relations with anyone, and would be told that they would be investigated by a private detective. If the detective even suspected that they had slept anyone other than a regular partner during those three months, the deal was off. If they were caught doing pornography or any kind of sex work they were banned from working with the DM for life.

All correspondence and a signed contract with the detective agency would be made available to me. The DM stated that although no sexual activity was risk free,they had never had an 'incident'.

As for my sexual health the DM sent me a list of lawyers and doctors around the country, I was to pick one of each, get tested and take a clean bill of health along to the lawyer who would confirm my identity and sign an affidavit and send it off to the DM, keeping my identity private.

Once it had been confirmed that I was clean, the DM sent a message which contained links to several psychometric tests, he explained that this would help him to deliver the best possible experience, should I choose to engage his services.

"This seems excessive. Can't I just tell you what I want?" I said. "Why would you go to these lengths just for a long weekend of sexual indulgence?" He answered with a strange question.

"Did you earn your money through work or did you inherit it?" He asked. "My guess is the second."

"How could you possibly know that?" I began to worry that he had found out who he was.

"Most of my clients are self-made men and they understand that everything I do is done to the very best of my ability. That is how it is for self-made men, they are not driven by money, which is just a score card for them. They are driven by an almost uncontrollable work-ethic. I am the same. I am incapable of doing anything half-assed," he said. "My compulsion is to give my clients the best possible experience, an experience they have never even dreamed of. Naturally I have also make money out of it, but that is not what drives me," he had said, and I believed him.

"The clients who question my motives and methods are usually the kids of rich people or have made the money through some creative activity which doesn't necessarily require the kind of drive that making millions for yourself normally does," he said.

It dawned on me that the very rich live in a different world. A world where every service you use is delivered by the best of the best.

The email contained links to four different tests; one was a fairly standard 'Big Five' personality test, another was designed to assess my sexuality on a Kinsey-type 'fully heterosexual' to 'fully homosexual scale' and the third consisted of a series of pairs of photos of people. I had to click on the person I found most attractive. The fourth consisted of three rows of female silhouettes, each with a different hip-to-waist ratio and varying in body fat from super-skinny to obese. Again, I had to choose the ones I found most attractive.

These types of tests were nothing new to me, I had done similar tests on the web for fun, the difference was I didn't get to see the results; those would go directly to the DM. He explained that he also wanted me to write down any long-standing fantasies I might have, he would incorporate all of this into a psychological profile which he would then use to design my ultimate sexual experience.

There were some rules: "No children, no animals, no non-consent and no permanent injury. If that is what you are expecting I would suggest you go elsewhere," he said. Good news. I was glad I didn't have to bring those up myself.

The anticipation began to build. I couldn't wait to find out what I had in store for me. I found myself checking the messaging system every couple of hours, hoping for a new message from the DM. It took a couple of days before the icon showed a new message.

I had been expecting to be told what the weekend would consist of; I was disappointed. When I protested the DM explained that there was one significant drawback to being as wealthy as I now was. Lack of surprise. He said that for men like me it was easy to become jaded, knowing that I could have anything I want, whenever I wanted it.

"Doesn't sound too bad to me!" I responded.

"You say that now but, trust me, it is a real issue. It is best not to know exactly what to expect; it heightens the anticipation and the enjoyment of the event," he said.

"What if I hate what you have planned?" I asked.

"It hasn't happened yet," he replied.

"We need to deal with your cover story; I presume your wife might have questions if you suddenly spring on her that you want to go away alone for three days?" She definitely would.

"Do you ever have to attend conferences? Or do you have a hobby that takes you away from home on occasion?" He asked.

"No conferences, I am a carpenter...not much call for that," I responded.

"Too much information! I don't want to know what you do or where you live. It is best for you that way," I felt chastised.

"Ok, sorry. I do like to go deep-sea fishing every now and again, but that is usually with a buddy or buddies," I imagined asking Phil to cover for me. He would never be able to keep his mouth shut.

"Did you go to high school or college with your wife?" He asked. "If not tell her you have been contacted by an old friend on Facebook, or something, and you want to meet up for a fishing expedition," he said. "You will find she is much more amenable to that sort of thing now that you are rich," the slight against my wife's integrity grated with me a little, but on reflection he was probably right. She wasn't a gold-digger by any means, I hadn't been rich for most of our marriage, but we had been getting along more easily since the money had come. I supposed it was only natural.

"I will hire a model and he will meet with you to have photos taken with the fish the two of you have 'caught'," I was aghast at the level of detail this guy would go to. "Don't post the pics on Facebook, your real buddies will ask who the hell he is."

The plan was starting to take shape. Janice hadn't flinched at the tax bill or the fishing trip. She really was being a model wife. The DM said I should book all my own flights, to maintain full discretion.

I had never been to Africa before and I was taken aback by the beauty and laid-back charm of Mozambique. I had always pictured it as a war-torn hellhole, and it certainly bore some scars, but there was an atmosphere of optimism and pride about the place and it certainly was beautiful. The journey from the airport to the boat had taken a long while, but it was new and exciting so the hours passed in a flash.

The Bazaruto archipelago was gorgeous. I almost regretted that I wasn't on a real fishing trip. There as always next time. A boat was waiting for me in a small tourist town, ready to transfer me to the island. On the way some sort of ray jumped out of the water in front of our boat, it made the sound of a wet towel hitting the water when it landed. No dolphins, unfortunately, but the boat captain told me there were dugongs along the coast.

The house was on a private island. The DM had explained that the only people permanently on the island, other than me, would be the 'partners', two of whom were trained chefs. They would cater to my every need. A cleaning team would arrive and sweep through in an hour each day. The partners had been prepped as to what to expect and each had been given a dossier containing my profile and my likes and dislikes, not only with regards to sex but also to food and drink.

The partners would arrive in a couple of hours, I was free to check out the facilities and settle in.

The heat of the African day made walking through the stone-floored, thatched mansion a sensual delight, in bare feet. The porter had taken my luggage up to the room on the top floor, which consisted of an enormous room complete with a gigantic four-poster bed and an open terrace with a sea view. The porter unpacked for me as I surveyed the luxury that was mine for the next three days. He handed me a touch-screen remote control device and showed me how to start an electronic guide to the house and amenities.

The whole top floor had only one access door, which was controlled via the device. I could see who was at the door and decide whether or not to let them in. The guide started with the bathroom, a masterpiece of retro-colonial opulence, with a huge ball-and-claw bathtub, a modern hot tub and a high-tech shower big enough for four, at least.

Another controlled-access door led from the bathroom, I opened the door to reveal a fully equipped fantasy room. There may well be a piece of BDSM equipment or a sex toy that wasn't represented, but if there is I have never seen nor heard of it.

There was a leather massage table, a St Andrew's cross on the wall, whips, chains, cuffs, clamps and dildoes galore. My cock thickened as I imagined a girl spread-eagled on the cross; mine to take at my leisure.

A glass cabinet contained all manner of gels and oils and next to that was a fully-stocked bar, complete with beer and wine chillers. A fancy stainless steel fridge contained caviar, soft-drinks, expensive water and, in the freezer, three bottles of the very best Russian vodka.

A third access door led to a darkened control room fitted with an opulent black-leather chair with various controls built into one arm. The click of a button brought a wall-sized screen to life. I could control thirty high-definition cameras around the house and I practiced using them by zooming in on the porter, who was leaving in the launch that had brought us here. The other cameras were trained on several bedrooms, three bathrooms, a sauna, a swimming pool, a games room, the fantasy room and several strategic points throughout the house. A small bird by the pool alerted me to the fact that the cameras were all fitted with microphones. The sound quality was exquisite.

The device beeped in my hand and I looked to see a message from the DM. He said that he hoped I liked the house and the facilities on offer. I was to use them in any way I wish. He said the 'partners' would arrive in a couple of hours and also asked that I give them forty five minutes warning, via the microphone, before coming down to the ground floor. This would give them time to prepare for my arrival and it would trigger a shut-down of all video and audio recording equipment, which would stay off until I was ready to turn it back on. This would prevent any inhibition I might feel. It really was coming down to the wire. This was actually going to happen.

Sipping a super-dry Japanese beer, I surveyed my fantasy world. So this is what power felt like. Money, planning, hardware and human beings, all here at my disposal, all focused on satisfying my sexual desires. As I finished the beer a sensual female voice sounded around me, announcing that a boat was approaching. I found the screen for the jetty and zoomed in just as the launch landed and tied up.

The feeling of power turned to one of dizzying excitement as the adrenaline, and all manner of endorphins, coursed through my blood. Three women disembarked first, giggling and chatting excitedly, 'oohing' and 'aahing' at the idyllic love-nest. They were perfect female specimens, with rounded, soft features and curvy bodies. Two of them had flawless dark creamy skin and the third was alabaster white with flame-red hair. All wore skimpy shorts and vests or t-shirts, the redhead had no bra on and for a moment I lingered on her full tits swaying under her vest as she walked.

Behind them came a stately brunette, with an elegant build. Her face was not as feminine as the others and her hair was neatly bobbed. There was a slightly severe look about her, but she was one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. Then came a surprise. Two men. One black and tall, built like Greek god, and the second a Southern European looking guy, with longish hair and a dancer's build. I wondered what they hell they were doing here.

The scene was almost cheesy as these incredibly beautiful people strolled up the lawn towards the house. All seemed to be in their early to mid-twenties, except for the beautiful brunette, who looked to be in her mid-thirties. I reveled in the total power I had over the image and these people. Soon I would taste of them all, well the women anyway. They were mine to plunder.

Deciding to sit back and enjoy my own private reality show for a while I cracked another beer and fetched some crackers and caviar. All of them were laughing and horsing around, bickering good-naturedly over who would get which room, all except the brunette, she surveyed the house like some kind of event manager. The men were cooler too, but joined in a little. The big black guy lifted one of the girls onto his shoulder and carried her towards the pool, as if to throw her in. I zoomed in on her perfect ass as he carried her off, focusing tightly on the spot I was going to penetrate, with fingers, with my tongue, with my cock.

The group roamed around the place, screeching with delight at a fridge full of crystal champagne. The Latin-looking guy searched for a corkscrew and the bottle soon popped, spilling white foam down the neck. One of the girls sensuously licked it off to everyone's laughter.

Champagne poured, I listened to them speculate about me, wondering where, how old, how hot I was. "Sshhh!" Hissed the brunette. "Remember the instructions!" Her voice was a delicious mix of honey and huskiness. It commanded authority and the others stopped giggling and chatting for a second, but only a second.

Remembering what the DM said about anticipation I decided not to watch as they changed to swim. Instead I luxuriated in the shower and tried to decide what I was going to do. Would it be better to go downstairs, or let one or all upstairs? What the hell was I going to do with the two studs? I decided in the end that I would give them a couple of hours alone, observe what they did and then make an entrance.

Freshly showered I went into the control room and turned on the video kit. They were all in, or around the pool, all except the brunette, who was sitting on a chair to the side wearing a short, black dress. The sight that greeted me at the pool was enough to delight any man's heart.

One of the darker, curvy girls was lying face down beside the pool, in nothing but a g-string. Her full ass was perfectly heart-shaped and golden brown. Focusing the camera on her legs, which were slightly parted, I zoomed in and up towards her ass.

The definition was incredible, I could see the edge of her asshole just to the side of her swimsuit; I zoomed in some more and imagined plunging my finger into that sweet, puckered little hole as she sucked on my cock. Her huge breasts bulged out to the side and I was glad to see they were untanned, the creamy skin contrasting with the golden brown of the rest of her body.

The redhead got out of the pool, her wet hair as glossy as an otter. She was more gorgeous than I had first thought, with full, rosy lips and a rounded, gentle face. She walked over to the curvy girl and asked her if she needed some sunscreen. I learned the curvy girl's name: Eva.

"I don't tan" the redhead said as she began to rub cream across Eva's back.

"I love your skin Annie, it is beautiful and delicate," Eva mumbled. I memorised the names as I watched. What would I do with Eva and Annie? My mind jumped from one scenario to another as the rubbing and massaging continued. Annie was squatting so I zoomed in on her pussy, the sweetest camel's toe formed as the material of her swimsuit strained against her wet pussy.

"Do you like girls Annie?" The Latin man shouted as he caught a ball thrown by the black man.

"I like everything, Juan" Annie giggled. "I guess that's why I'm here." She began to rub cream onto Eva's legs, moving sensually up from her calves onto her golden thighs. Eva moaned and her legs parted a little more. The rest of the group fell quiet; everybody knew some action was going to begin. The beer helped the dryness that had formed in my mouth. The two men pulled themselves out onto the edge of the pool to watch.

Annie's hands were delicate and as alabaster white as the rest of her. Zooming in I saw her nails were unpainted but beautifully manicured. Her hands moved in unison up the inside of Eva's thighs, her fingers brushing against Eva's pussy. Eva visible melted under Annie's sensuous attentions. The men watched eagerly and smiled at one another. With a sweep up the outside of her thighs Annie grasped the top of the g-string and pulled it down, Eva pushed her ass up slightly to allow it to come off.