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Subject: {ASSM} RP: "FLY VIRGIN!" (M/M/F: science speculation) By David Shaw
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Date: Fri, 28 Dec 2007 07:10:05 -0500
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"FLY VIRGIN!"
(M/M/F: science speculation)

By

David Shaw
shaw.alphamale@gmail.com

www.alphamalestories.com


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 experiences they'll be
able to offer?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The executive business jet climbing out over the white 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?"

"Yes."

"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 always 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."

"Training?

"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 in
an executive jet 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. 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 small passenger jet 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."

"OK, Lisa."

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.

"Microgravity commencing."

The engine noise died to a whisper, the floor leveled as the jet 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."

THE END

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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