The Disaster of my Dreams

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[No celebrities were harmed in the writing of this composition. This account, of course, is purely harmless fiction; none of these people did or would do any of these actions.]


What’s the old, tired, expression: “Well, it was a tough job, but SOMEONE had to do it!” My name is Peter (“Pete”) and among other things, I fly planes for a living. Several years ago, I had been hired to run this chartered Otter flying boat. We were carting VIP celebrities to this hush hush party to be held on one of Sir Richard Branson’s, OBE private island retreats. It was to be a fete celebrating both the anniversary of a certain sports magazines 1st bikini issue AND the date that a certain men’s magazine with monthly playmates went public. This hush hush party would have a who’s who celebrity guest list. Every female that ever graced the pages of those rags, or stage and screen, would be there. When I was handed MY passenger list, I was floored.

My passengers would include Jessica Simpson (“Dukes of Hazard”-movie), Cory Everson (Ms.Olympia, i.e. perfect body), Christina Applegate (“Married with Children”), Bo Derek (“Tarzan”, “10”), Cheryl Tiegs (model, 1st SI bikini model), Donna Michelle, the former Playmate of the year, Sarah Jessica Parker (“Honeymoon in Vegas”), Pamela Anderson (“wedding album” ahem…), Anna Kournikova (incredible babe who also played at tennis), and Barbie Benton (former Hugh Hefner companion, playmate, who got better looking at 40, if possible).

The plane was a Bombardier Otter. This particular example had seen better days. It was a particularly tired plane. The charter company that I worked for spared no expense in sparing expense. The plane was little changed from prior usage in Canada prospecting for oil, dropping wildcatters over virgin land, laying claims. We needed a big plane like this because ten women brought an enormous load of cargo (luggage).

There’s a reason that people have gotten all sorts of perceptions, rightly or wrongly, about the waters of the Caribbean. Weather can change from hour to hour, with thunderstorms brewing up from nowhere. It was standard practice that we would descend over the islands and proceed at low altitude to our final destination. The route kept us over ‘the beaten path’ where we could set down safely and be rescued in an hour, at most.

A problem was that severe weather had just popped up in the middle of that route. I wanted to divert around the weather, as an Otter in turbulence would be a mighty scary ride for this load of passengers. I tried to contact Nassau air traffic control with no luck. The radio in this plane looked old enough to still pick up Charley McCarthy or Burns and Allen. When the handset came off in my hand, the wire to it hanging loose, I figured we had “a failure to communicate”. We were airborne, however, and not encountering other problems. That is, we had no problems until KAPOW!!

A flock of large aquatic birds suddenly appeared before us. While I thought about violent evasive maneuvers, with concerns about what that would do to our ‘guests’, our engines were inundated with birdmeat, still on the feather. Two birds hit one engine, knocking it out, while the other engine was hit enough to develop an instant overheating problem. We had to land, fast, as in right now. I found this cay, an island about four miles square. We had enough engine power to land and beach this old flying disaster. Our guests were never told what was going on (the charter company didn’t fuss over 2nd pilots or stewardesses) so all this came as a surprise.

I opened the door on the side and told them that we were ‘home’, at least temporarily. They could undo their belts and come out. You never saw more quiet, contrite, and inquisitive people than my ten glorious guests. As they plopped down on the beach, I dragged their megaton luggage forward and then to the edge of the door. One guest actually brought a ‘steamer trunk’ that weighed more than I could carry.

To my relief, help arrived in the form of Anna Kournikova and Cory Everson. Figures it would be the two Euro women. That immense trunk was like an overnight bag to the awesome Cory, while Anna was strong too and took three bags at a time. Within an hour, we were totally offloaded from the plane.

Looking at the women and the island, I thought back to Tattoo (the dwarf) and Ricardo Montalban on, wait for it, ‘Fantasy Island’ (“da plane boss, da plane!”) Then another thought crossed my twenty cent mind: these women would certainly make my list of best babes to be abandoned with on a tropical island. Too bad I was already married or this would be really exciting.

We were lucky that the plane not only carried the ladies’ luggage but also some tents, tables, party supplies, and other things for that party. All of these things would be put to good use.

Sarah (Jessica Parker) said in wonderful Manhattanese: illegal bahis “How many people vote to make this a woman’s island, run by popular vote until rescued?”

The vote was ten to one, strangely enough.

The women quickly set up a senior council (Sarah, Cheryl, Cory, Barbie) who would decide most things without a general vote. We had five tents, so each woman would have a roommate, and that ‘man’ could sleep in that old, creepy, plane, the one that dumped them here.

Well, that was that and we separated by the sexes. I was only engaged by them when they thought there was a plane or ship nearby; I had to identify it and determine if signal fires would help. The only other time I was enlisted was when my separate fishing efforts bettered theirs. I had hung some mosquito netting out as a fish trap and it was pretty effective.

When I brought them my excess catch, they always looked at me with a jaundiced eye, like I expected something in return. The women were expecting me to beg for sex, maybe even attack them, as the days tolled. Some of them even got mad that I was the soul of control, but I was married and confident I would soon be back with my dear wife.

Men, in women’s eyes, have no self-control and are by nature hopeless horny creatures. There was no way that I (a man) could ‘outlast’ these women. Well, each day I would turn my gold band 90 degrees, reiterating my wedding vows.

About two weeks into our stay on the island, I was invited to their camp one evening. Pam Anderson, speaking for the ensemble of incredible women, asked me why I hadn’t attacked anyone yet.

I said: “I wouldn’t do that…most men aren’t like that. Besides, I am happily married. I know that sounds corny in this day and age, but I really am.”

A few things about me I didn’t tell you. What was obvious to the women was that I was very handsome, but I was only 5 foot 6, like Tom Cruise. Unlike him, I was not a gym member and I was not robust by any means. The women saw that the instant they met me. The debate they had over nightly campfires was how ‘big’ I was. The prevailing opinion was, given my stature, only about 3 inches.

All of a sudden, I was under siege. Cory Everson, a spectacular physique displayed over a six foot tall frame, easily grabbed me and controlled me.

Cheryl Tiegs came up to me, re-assured me with a stroke of my cheek, and then violently tore down my cargo pants. The women all applauded.

As some of the women claimed that they had ‘won’ (as in bets about my size), Jessica Simpson came up and lightly touched my thing. It jumped. She then kneeled and gave it several yanks. It lunged, lurched, sprang up, sprang forward, and then slapped rigid against my stomach, an astonishing ten inch tool on an otherwise handsome, but wimpy, short man. All of the women who had celebrated their winning bets now sheepishly conceded.

As I turned, holding my 10 inches of steel hard pride in my hands, I felt a powerful hand on my shoulder. I should have realized that the women might have gotten a tad ‘lonesome’ at this point. As they all were used to having men available 24/7 to do their bidding, they must have looked upon me as a succulent lollipop.

Cory put BOTH of my wrists into the clutches of her single left hand. She had me observe her right arm. The sleeve of her skintight sweat shirt literally ripped as this huge, gorgeous 19 inch bicep arose like a volcano. She said: “I don’t want to hurt you, but you can see that I am clearly stronger than you, MUCH stronger. If you want to be ‘good’, you can lie down in the sand, right now, maybe right here.”

Wordlessly, I gave in. I twisted my ring one turn and asked my wife to forgive me.

First up ‘on deck’ was Anna Kournikova. I thought she was super hot the first time I saw her dabbling at tennis. She was amazingly fit and athletic; her legs were enough to guarantee her extensive TV coverage whenever she hit the tennis court, regardless of how well she was faring.

She removed her skirt and sat on top of me, allowing my modest ten inch cock to insert itself to the deepest part of her fertile depths. In spite of my wedding vows, I was sorely tempted to seed this young woman, and seed her hard! I restrained myself not because I was chaste but because I would have to keep ‘my wood’ for all in this bevy of beauties.

Sarah Jessica Parker was next. Some people could do without her ‘New York looks’, but I was also from up there and did like her. She kept a gym workout plan second only to Cory (whose workouts exceeded any woman, or man for that matter). In “Honeymoon in Vegas”, there was one scene where she had to dress up to cheat on her husband, at his request, to pay off a bet. That damn dress was painted on her, it was so tight. Her figure was spectacular, her fitness evident. Even her arms were fit, her biceps bulging not like Cory but far more impressive than mine.

When she got on board me, taking advantage of my illegal bahis siteleri relative weakness, we both closed our eyes. She was in such great shape that I was tempted to let her have it (in the womb that is). Instead, I thought of Rosie O’Donnell and again managed to avoid cumming.

Pamela Anderson was next in line (the line was determined by how close the guess about my private parts was correct). Seeing her naked was mind-blowing. She was not only the sexiest but also almost the fittest, including Cory. She was certain she could win the NEW bet (as to who would make me pop my cork) and proceeded to use every part of her incredible body to do it. I was forced to stroke and caress her perfect breasts, perfect legs, perfect thighs, even her demure perfect feet. The ironic thing was: she at one time was also beautiful (not just sexy). She had massive plastic surgery, changing her plain gorgeous looks to the Jayne Mansfield-clone that she became. As a result, she didn’t pop my cork.

Next up was Donna Michelle. She was the playmate of the year back in the mid-1960’s. Any man that saw her foldout would remember her, set off against a field of red velvet, wearing a white leotard that they progressively removed from her. Suggestively, she drank a glass of milk. (gee, I don’t get the connection) Frankly, this was the 1st lady of my dreams; she definitely was one that I was pining for.

I almost lost it when she told me that her famous playmate foldout was shot when she was not even 20! Here I thought she was 25 or 30. My God. Feeling those famous, perfect, jugs, I had never handled mammaries so perfect, so large, so, well, motherly. It took an enormous amount of self-control to see those generous boobs and not want to ‘top off her tank’. But, I held out. There was one more lovely lady to entertain, after all, and she was a former playmate also…

That incredible brunette beauty, Barbie Benton was next. She was so damned hot, her smooth firm thighs enveloping me, her feet made famous by her foldout still beautiful. Her face was as young and perfect as when she first appeared in that magazine, when she was but 20 years of age. After 14 minutes of intense action, she made a muffled sound of ecstasy and fell over kissing me. She whispered that I shouldn’t be concerned about it.

I asked: “Concerned about what?”

Barbie Benton: “Concerned about our bet, you know, who could get you to go off inside of us. I didn’t want you to be burdened by that, or the fact that I am already a mom. I know you are worried about breaking your wedding vows and I respect that. Did you ever see my foldout years ago?”

I said: “I was only a teen, but yes. That soft skin, that little bum of yours, those beautiful feet up in the air.”

BB: “Which gave you the impression…?”

I said: “It was like a man could walk up to you sunning yourself, put his manhood on those inviting soft feet, and get off that way while watching you sun bathe your glorious body.” The tricky bitch! I grabbed her now much firmer from workouts bum, clutched it tightly, almost desperately, and came deep inside of her. Her almost heavenly womb was now coated white, dripping my potent seed in every pubic inch.

Talk about being made a fool. As I opened my eyes after getting off big time, I saw the cool and collected Barbie Benton on top of me, beaming that she had succeeded in winning the bet (which involved no chores for one month.) She fell over, triumphant but exhausted, and lay beside me on the sand.

Gasping for air, I said: “You know, we both are married. I just shot a potent load of seed as deep inside of you as any man could. I don’t mean to pry, but what IS the situation, concerning birth control?”

BBenton: [laughing] “Well, you will know when I know, in about six weeks.” Talk about a non-committal answer!

The next night was the same thing, slow torture. Having to entertain five women in one night is difficult for the studliest man. Here I was, under-nourished (as we all were) and having a full day of chores to do. Add to that my guilt about my marital vows, but I still had to be the carnival ride for five of the most beautiful, and insatiable, women in the world.

The night after the one I described above had me entertaining Jessica Simpson, Cory Everson, Bo Derek, Cheryl Tiegs, and Christina Applegate. As I knew the score and didn’t have to be held or cast down, we all started doing it in the more tasteful setting of a tent. Given the manhandling that Cory had given me, it was a pleasure to get on top of her and give her a taste of my mind. God, she was so damn fit, so hard; it was a very odd feeling as a man to make it with a woman who was clearly physically superior to me (she was taller, much stronger, and even much faster as a former track star).

Cheryl Tiegs had turned me on since her first spread on the sports magazine’s initial bikini issue. For one time and one time only, she was wearing an incredibly canlı bahis siteleri revealing fishnet bikini bottom that showed a very ample bush. For a conventional sports rag, it was very risqué. Neither that suit nor anything close to it was ever published again. She confided in me that the famous picture was a composite; that the ‘bush’ in question was not hers. She said it was obvious, when you think about it, given her hair color. What was amazing about Ms. Tiegs like Joan Collins and Sophia Loren, was she actually got more beautiful as she aged.

As for Bo Derek, she told me she missed her horses and other things.

I asked her if it were true that Ted Turner was offered a date with her by Jane Fonda but he failed to respond. Bo smiled weakly and made no comment. I had been too inquisitive and on that night, she just brushed my cheek and left quietly.

Christina Applegate was even more withdrawn than Bo. She had always objected to the portrayal of Kelly Bundy (her character on TV’s “Married with Children”) as a slut. As a result she was reticent to act LIKE a slut on this island. I was just dying to ask her that famous question: she was invited to the famous playmate mansion. Supposedly she was the vision of cuteness and light, wearing pajamas. It was never told whether she availed herself of the male companions present or retained her ‘good girl’ image and went to sleep after joking with the other girls there. And no, she didn’t tell me, but I got the feeling that she was a ‘goody two shoes’ throughout that whole affair—darn it.

Given that, I guess I should not have felt rejected. In the event, it was sufficient for her, and me (even more so) that a simple hug and kiss would do. Just having her lay her head on my shoulder occasionally was nice. If I could be a pillar of security, of hope, then I helped her cope…as she helped me. Boy, if only the others were like this.

Well, every night it was the same thing. Round-robin advantage taking of poor little me. Always, two women were on the sideline. Cory Everson, the powerful ‘sergeant of arms’ would either hold me or reiterate the incredible strength that resided in her Ms. Olympia physique as a tacit threat. Cory eventually did not have to do it, but she kind of liked being the ‘beach bully’ once in a while. I would always meekly comply, awaiting the assault from that night’s line-up of babes. The last one in line would always identify herself so that I could relieve her and I with a copious spend deep inside of her.

One thing should have resonated with me. Women don’t normally travel carrying huge back-up supplies of anything. So, even if the women on ‘the pill’ had brought what remained of their monthly circle of pills, they wouldn’t have been prepared for weeks. So, as we did it bareback nightly, I was propelling my seed with more and more enthusiasm into more and more fertile wombs.

Talk about heaven. By the fourth month of our imposed imprisonment on this little pocket dictatorship, five of the fantastically sexy females started getting swollen bellies. The fact was that as a complete nobody, a scratch pilot whose best employment was fighting fires and spraying cotton fields, I had the honor and opportunity to service these nine beauties (Christina being the lone holdout). Our island dictatorship had begun as a democracy. The ruling party of women even had the force of arms (Cory) over me. Ah yes, but I had the lone monument to manhood on the island. So, after a few months, I had seized power. I already had five of these, the most beautiful women on earth, in the family way. I was dizzy with power. What could possibly stop my reign, my kingdom to rival the one of Ramses, the great pharaoh who had fathered perhaps 900.

Well, fortunately fate stepped in. Although we could scratch by with hand nets and bare hands for our immediate needs, a baby boom might have put an extreme strain on our economy. So, perhaps it was good that a US Coast Guard plane just happened to spot our signal fire one night. Oh, to be sure, we had been seen before. It was assumed that we were a developed island, one of the “Sandals” chain, so no one was about to come and ‘save us’. That plane might have ignored us also, but thankfully someone (ok, it was me) had spelled out “SOS” with boulders out on two of the beach fronts. The modern turboprop C130 search plane dropped us some supplies, including the all important flares and beacon so we could be found. GPS be praised!

A US Coast Guard cutter appeared within two days. Much the worse for wear, our collection of sun-baked, slightly underweight, but all in fantastic shape, beauties boarded the ship. The crew could not miss the five women who sported lovely swollen bellies, all courtesy of yours truly. Barbie Benton, Jessica Simpson, Cheryl Tiegs, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Anna Kournikova would ‘be in touch with me’, I assumed.

Two months later, our true story was still under wraps (you may note that you never heard about this.) Some of the women convinced their male companions to accept that baby of mine; others would put it up for adoption, while two others chose the much quicker method for dealing with such situations, now legal in all 50 states.

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