The Best of Paris WatermanChapter 6 Judy and Nancy Warren s Women
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Bjorn was born in the ghetto of Minneapolis. In this case, the ghetto was the Norwegian community of Bergenville surrounded by Lutheran churches, blue-eyed blond haired girls, and bars serving aquavit, or "akvavit" as Norwegians like to call it.
Bjorn was a clever kid eventually growing into a dangerously handsome man. He always had his way with girls and a woman was never far from his elbow. He became wealthy as well.
No one in Bergenville really knew how he had acquired so much wealth at such a young age. He was twenty-eight.
One story had him shacking up with Kirsten Olsen, the widow of the late Mr. Christian Olsen. Mrs. Olsen and her husband, Christian, were thirty years apart in age. She was twenty when they married. Unfortunately, he had a heart attack on their wedding bed.
Kirsten was his second wife. His first wife had divorced Christian for adultery with Kirsten. Of course, it was a huge scandal in town. Mr. Olsen had left his new wife a large sum of money when he died, although he wasn't aware of her affair with Bjorn.
Mrs. Olsen and Bjorn had been screwing each other for at least a year before she married her older husband. She always said she needed a younger man to satisfy her sexual lust, but an older man to satisfy her material needs. It was a lust without compromise. Kirsten pursued sex like school kids craving candy. It was an insatiable desire.
It could have been that Bjorn had embezzled a portion of Mrs. Olsen's wealth, or she just gave it to him. Rumors surrounded the whole affair before he left for New York City. Kristen stayed in Bergenville looking after other love interests and there were several.
Soon after arriving in the Big Apple, Bjorn found a job on Wall Street where he became hugely successful. Two years later, Bjorn opened up his own shop, a hedge fund. It seemed that success followed him around like the rats following the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Within five years, Bjorn was nearly a billionaire.
Leaving his hedge fund behind, Bjorn began traveling. His wealth and his fame always preceded him. Women were always available, ready and willing.
These were not celebrity stalkers but beautiful well dressed sophisticated women. Such a woman was with him the night he showed up at Casino Monte-Carlo in Monaco. Her name was Charlene. She wore an tight fitting powder-blue gown with a tasteful pearl necklace. Her blond hair was swept back and tied in bun. Charlene was every man's image of elegance.
Bjorn wore a black tux, white ruffled shirt, and a black bowtie. There wasn't a hair out of place. The game he preferred was baccarat in a private room for high rollers. A minimum bet was a thousand euros.
There were only four players, three men and one woman. Bjorn was among the men. The woman was in her forties, rich, and fashionably dressed. Charlene was by his side as an observer and eye candy. Their Champagne glasses were never far from empty.
Chips came and went for hours. At midnight, Bjorn whispered something in Charlene's ear. She left and the game went on.
An hour later, Bjorn cashed in his chips and went to his penthouse. Charlene was waiting on the bed wearing little or what many would call nothing at all. She wore a pure gold metal chain bikini with pasties covering her nipples and a crotchless thong. Matched with a perfectly sumptuous body, Charlene was enticingly erotic.
Bjorn smiled at what he saw. She asked, "Do you like it?"
He only nodded and removed his jacket.
She was there to seduce. He was there to reap the rewards of his wealth.
Charlene didn't wait for him to take off his tie or even remove his pants. She was on her knees, had him unzipped, and down her throat in seconds. The Champagne had dulled his senses, but not enough to be responsive as she administered to his circumcised erection. He wasn't going to cum for awhile, but she was patient and had a talented mouth. Bjorn finally rewarded her for her talents by creaming her lovely face with the force of a power washer. She was covered from forehead to chin with jizz dripping from her cheeks and nose. Charlene looked up with a loving smile as if she was thanking him, but said nothing.
He fell asleep quickly still wearing his tux. In the morning, Bjorn rang downstairs to have his suit dry cleaned and order breakfast. The tux was wrinkled and stained from the night's activities and hung on the night stand waiting for the bellhop to arrive. Charlene still wore the gold crotchless thong. but not the pasties allowing for Bjorn to use her nipples as morning appetizers, Bjorn spent the early morning with his lips on her tits and his fingers in her pussy. She closed her thighs like a vice around his hand forcing him to probe deeper inside.
They were both nearly naked when the bellhop rapped on the door. "It's open," Bjorn hollered.
Looking at no one in particular, the young Asian boy said, "Sir, I'm here to pick up your suit."
"Yes, it's on the night stand. By the way, what is your name?"
"Jason, sir."
"Well, Jason, do you think this lady is pretty?"
"Very pretty, sir."
"Would you like to spend some time with her, Jason?"
"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."
"Would you like to fuck her?"
"It wouldn't be right, sir. They're waiting for your clothes at the cleaners."
"If it is okay with her and okay with me, shouldn't it be okay with you?"
"Yes sir. My job comes first." He picked up the dirty clothes and left quietly closing the door.
Bjorn had a perverted streak in him and loved to see others squirm as with Jason. So when breakfast arrived, Bjorn began again.
"By the way, what is your name?"
"Miguel, sir."
"Well, Miguel, do you think this lady is pretty?"
"Very pretty, sir."
"Would you like to spend some time with her, Miguel?"
"I'm not sure, sir. What do you mean?"
"Would you like to fuck her?"
"Of course. She is beautiful."
"Come over here and let's see what you can do."
Miguel rolled the breakfast cart to the side and walked up to the bed. Bjorn sat on the couch to watch. Charlene unzipped the bellhop and pulled down his trousers. He was hung like gorilla.
There wasn't time for foreplay. Miguel was on the clock and couldn't be missing for very long. He stepped out of his pants and climbed on top of her.
He pushed her legs apart and plunged into her. The first thing she had said all night long was when Miguel began stroking her like a jack hammer. "Oh my god. O my god."
Bjorn had just enough time to snap a few pictures with his mobile phone when she screamed and he grunted, both finishing with the energy of trampoline acrobats.
Bjorn could only speculate when it was the last time Miguel had sex, but the cum pouring out of Charlene's nicely trimmed cunt suggested it had been a very long time.
Before Miguel left, Bjorn handed him a healthy tip, tapped him on the shoulder and said, "Miguel, this is between the three of us. Understand?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you. Enjoy your breakfast, sir."
After they had eaten, Bjorn turned Charlene on her stomach and pulled her to the side of the bed. From behind, he slipped in for sloppy seconds. They were indeed sloppy. As Bjorn plunged into her, his dick thick with Miguel's cum. His cock was like a plunger forcing out the leftovers from her pussy with an erotic squishy sound. His balls slapped at her ass until he detonated his own healthy blast. Afterward, she showered and dressed. Parting company, Bjorn handed her a generous thank you envelope, and gave her a friendly peck on the cheek. Leaving the casino hotel, she spotted Miguel and gave him a salacious smile and a wink. It was obvious that they knew each other from before.
Charlene was never seen with Bjorn again. He used her in a way that satisfied both of them. She was on the arm of the rich and famous and both were sexually gratified. She also came away from the affair with some pocket change, lots of it. For Bjorn, it was another girl, just a one night stand with gorgeous woman.
In the afternoon of the next day, Bjorn was off to his villa in Bora Bora. It was a long overnight flight in his private jet to Havana to refuel and meet Juanita. She would join him on another long flight to Bora Bora in a day or two.
Juanita was a ravishing beauty and only nineteen years old. Bjorn had met her at a beauty contest in Miami. This would be her first trip to Bora Bora.
Bjorn had connections in Havana. They dined at a private restaurant where Raúl and his closest comrades ate. Cigar smoke permeated the room. Rum was the drink of choice. Strippers pole danced on a raised platform in his honor. The dinner was spicy hot and plentiful. This seemed to be a tradition each time Bjorn landed in Havana.
They left for Bora Bora just after noon. Before they were half way across the Pacific, she had already milked him dry. Juanita was especially qualified at giving head. In fact, it was that skill that earned her runner up in the Latin America Beauty Pageant.
Bjorn came to the island for a vacation. It was a home away from home, a paradise, where he could relax, read and be by the ocean without daily disturbances.
They spent their first day lounging on Bjorn's private beach. Clothing was optional which meant they sunned themselves in the nude. Bjorn needed Juanita to slather sunscreen on his pale Scandinavian skin. She was protected by her silky brown complexion. They made a nice contrast with each other. She was particularly attentive to his privates. Neither wanted them to get sunburned.
The locals were happy to have them on the island. Bjorn hired the native people as domestics, gardeners, maids, cooks, and servers. He paid generously so finding good help was easy. They also loved Juanita with her chocolate skin, like theirs, and her engaging smile.
Before meeting Juanita, he welcomed several of the prettiest young island girls to his home. They were not his girlfriends, lovers, or paramours. They were his concubines and sex slaves. Bjorn was into bondage and used the girls for his own gratification, not theirs. The women were willing and never talked about their experiences for fear of Bjorn never returning. Even if rumors circulated, they were hushed and never spoken in public. After all, he was their cash cow.
Juanita was different. She was his exotic queen. She was his lover and occasional slave.
It was a hot steamy night in Bora Bora and that wasn't just the weather. Juanita knew things to please a man that only a Latin lover could offer. Bjorn was enamored by Juanita's large dark areolae and attached clamps with a solid silver chain on her erect nipples. He spread her legs so that he could fasten a diamond studded clit clip that gently pressured her love button. Soon it would swell and become engorged the size of a grape.
In a little glass jar, Juanita held a special ointment, a family heirloom. It was created by her grandmother and used on her grandfather. Later, her mother used it on her father. The lotion was both magical and effective. Juanita was one of fifteen kids in the family. Now she was about to use it on Bjorn.
The ointment had the viscosity of Vaseline, but it had a kick unlike Vaseline. The ingredients were a family secret with two very exceptional characteristics. The first, Bjorn felt immediately when Juanita slathered it over his penis and balls. It felt warm at first, then had a slightly stinging sensation. It was a little uncomfortable but not painful. The sting slowly increased, then the real heat hit him all at once. It was like eating a hot salsa where you don't notice the chili peppers until later. The second characteristic was that the lotion was an aphrodisiac. The response time was slow but steady. By the time he became accustomed to the burning sensations, Bjorn's lust was obvious by the looks of his stiff pole twitching like a divining rod in search of her feminine treasures.
A man filled with overwhelming desire can't wait long. He gently slipped into her precious love tunnel, then hammered into her giving Juanita wave after wave of orgasms. He finished with a tsunami flood of cum filling her hot cunt to overflowing. Both were out of breath until it was time to do it again. And they did it again and again that night. She fucked him as if it was breeding season, and she was in season. They both were soaked with perspiration as they fell asleep.
After a few more days of the same kind of rest and relaxation, Bjorn headed to Las Vegas. First he dropped Juanita off in Havana, staying a few days to purchase gifts for her and her family.
His fame had again preceded Bjorn when he arrived in Vegas. When he sat at the roulette table, Bjorn was surrounded by beautiful women. His blond hair in contrast to his black tux was something you only see in fashion magazines. He was the epitome of the most interesting man. Bjorn was much more than that. He also was the wealthiest and handsomest of men.
When he became bored with the games, he took two of the most exotic looking women to his penthouse. They knew the drill. They stripped and laid on the oversize bed pleasuring each other for most of the first hour. Mouths nipping at each other's tits, lips sucking clits, tongues eating out juicy cunts, fingers exploring pussies, Bjorn worked himself up to a solid hard-on watching the show from a nearby chair.
As if it was choreographed, the lady with the coconut sized boobs knelt by his side and worked open his pants quickly taking him down her throat. The second girl with much larger tits waited for awhile, then joined them and gave Bjorn a tit fuck.
He didn't last long splattering her with prodigious amounts of cum. The coconut lady, who Bjorn later learned was a former Miss Argentina, licked her clean.
The night's activities continued well into the next morning. Again, Bjorn ordered breakfast in bed for himself and his two roommates and enticed the bellhop into fucking one of the girls. The bellhop chose the most attractive girl, Miss Argentina. They were a pleasure to watch. She demonstrated the kind of talent that would help any woman win the Miss Universe contest. She was agile and supple, a contortionist who could fuck in positions not listed in Kama Sutra.
The next night, Bjorn, as often was the case, had a good night at the tables. He walked away with stacks of thousand dollar chips. After cashing them in, Bjorn slept alone for the first time in two weeks. He needed his sleep and would rise early the next morning.
He was headed to Norway. It was a business trip. One of Bjorn's companies produced advanced technology gear to Statoil, the National oil company of Norway. He was there to smooth over nerves about trade embargos and recent tariff issues. The company's president knew that Bjorn was on a first name basis with the President, so Bjorn had inside information.
Bjorn's first stop was in Stavanger, Statoil's headquarters. The transatlantic flight gave him an opportunity to catch up on current government policies. He was well prepared to face his customer's concerns.
The Norwegians wined and dined him which was the usual course of action before getting down to negotiations. Bjorn's sense of humor, calm approach and confidential information eased the Norwegian's worries. They doubled their orders.
Two days in Stavanger were enough. The following day he boarded a private yacht heading north to his hometown's namesake, Bergen. His captain, Captain Larsen, took the yacht on the scenic route showing Bjorn the fjords and waterfalls that make Norway a visitor's paradise.
The ship's crew included a chef and a chambermaid. The chambermaid interested him although she seemed young. Her name was Emily, and she said she was eighteen. Bjorn thought she looked more like sixteen although Emily already had a woman's body. She was friendly but knew little English. Bjorn only knew a few words of Norwegian that he had learned from his grandparents in Bergenville.
His grandfather had said the family came from somewhere near Bergen. That turned out not to be the case after Bjorn had done some investigating. With his family name as his only clue, he was told the family most likely came from the little coastal town of Tromsø. This meant a much further voyage north.
He could have taken a two and a half hour flight to Tromsø, but Bjorn was beginning to feel at home in the country of his ancestors deciding to have Captain Larsen take him on a couple days sea voyage along the coast.
The first day out, the weather was nasty and the chambermaid did all she could to make him comfortable. It seemed to Bjorn that she was making more visits to his cabin than necessary. Each time, she stayed a little longer. It might have been his imagination when she knocked on the cabin door with breakfast the next morning, but she appeared towant to seduce him. Emily wore a more alluring uniform that showed plenty of cleavage and the skirt was well above the knees. Laying the tray down on the table, she leaned over allowing Bjorn to appreciate her fully mature breasts. When she bent down to pick up a fallen napkin, he caught a glimpse of her spectacular ass and a pussy hiding between her two cheeks. She wore no panties.
There was no doubt she wanted him. Although he was twenty years her senior, he was ready to fuck her at the first opportunity.
The first opportunity was in the afternoon when it was pouring rain outside, and he was stuck in his cabin. Although the cabin was opulent, Bjorn began second guessing his impulsive decision to sail north. That all changed when Emily entered the room like a warm summer breeze with a tray of two beers, a bottle of akvavit and two shot glasses. She filled the glasses and began singing a little song in Norwegian. That was followed by "skål" or bottoms up, and they both emptied their glasses. Akvavit isn't the sipping kind of liquor in Norway.
Next, Emily picked up the beer and seductively slid the neck of the bottle between her lips as if preparing to give it a blow job. It was abundantly clear to Bjorn that she was about to become more than his chambermaid.
After a second shot of akvavit, she smiled at him, a meaningful smile. He smiled back and took her hand leading Emily to the bed. She showed no resistance. He kissed her with a deep tongue kiss. She returned it. Their tongues caught fire radiating the heat of lust and intense desire.
She pulled back when Bjorn removed her blouse revealing her perfectly voluptuous breasts. Emily acted as if a man had never seen her tits before, and she felt the need to protect them. Emily was shy about her body, yet passionate about her emotions toward Bjorn.
He could feel both her passion and her nerves. Knowing she needed some time, he poured another shot of akvavit as they sat together at the edge of the bed. After another "skål," he took down his pants and purposely took off his briefs so she could see his robust gentiles. She looked away. He took her head and pulled it in front of his already hard cock. Emily knew the meaning of it, and took him in her mouth like she had done with the beer bottle.
She wasn't an expert but it felt good. He hadn't had sex for five days and had accumulated quite a reservoir during that time. He needed to move forward with this lovely chambermaid. It meant taking off her skirt that she allowed reluctantly. Once she was nude, Emily made sure Bjorn was totally naked as well.
They laid on the bed feeling each other's warm bodies, kissing and probing. Bjorn loved her nipples. His attention to them seemed to energize her. She liked feeling his hardness on her stomach and gently stroked it. Emily cupped and played with his balls like they were a toy. Bjorn massaged her clit as if he was polishing a family jewel.
She began panting when he used his tongue on her pussy lips, then let it slip just inside the opening. She squirmed as if being tickled. Letting his fingers probe further was another matter. When he penetrated her cunt with a finger, he realized why she seemed so tense. She was a virgin and he had never fucked a virgin before.
He whispered in her ear, "Virgin?"
Almost inaudibly she said, "Ja."
For the first time in his life, Bjorn didn't know what to do. He embraced her with hugs and kisses, then had an idea. Using the neck of the empty beer bottle, he spread her virgin pussy lips and gently inserted it inside the opening. She was quietly anxious. He pushed it in slowly at first watching her response, then all at once pressed it in hard and fast past the obstruction. She shrieked a short high pitched scream. Tears tumbled down her cheeks, but he left the bottleneck where it was inside her until she could compose herself. It took a few minutes before she regained her equilibrium, and began to breathe normally again.
Bjorn removed the blood stained bottle and hugged her again. They kissed as lovers do and his heart began to melt. His depth of emotion for her nearly overwhelmed him. He had "popped her cherry," as the expression goes, and hoped she wasn't traumatized by what he had done.
Bjorn took a towel and cleaned the small amount of blood between her legs and helped her on with her clothes. She didn't returned that day.
That was not the case the following day. It was sunny and Bjorn was out on deck absorbing the sun. Emily smiled at him when serving him breakfast topside. He gave her a wink and she said, "Okay," pointing downward toward her feet. It wasn't her feet that she wanted him to know were okay.
Was this an invitation for later? he wondered. It was, only they had to wait until after dinner.
Now Emily had no reservations about stripping in front of Bjorn. The day before she had a blond bush; this day she had nothing. She was shaved clean. Emily stood seductively before him waiting for him to take her in his arms. He took his time about removing his clothes but when they were both naked, he threw her on the bed and sucked on her luscious nipples and pearly clit.
She was ripe and Bjorn was there to pick the fruit. He could sense her eagerness and pressed his fingers in her now unobstructed love canal. She wiggled and pushed her hips to meet his penetration. Emily was wet and impatient to feel his cock inside her. She didn't need to wait long.
He spread her gorgeously slim long legs far apart so that he could get extra penetration into her wantonly tight hole. He mounted her with an ache in balls that were ready to explode. The knob of his penis was just at her entrance when she heaved her hips forcing him inside her. He imagined fucking her slowly and gently at first. The opposite happened. It was fast and hard. She wanted every inch of him driving his cock deep into her cervix.
Bjorn was amazed at how energetic she became with each stroke, wanting more and more. He responded with the enthusiasm of an Olympic athlete. There was no lull in their love making as he relentlessly pounded into her. At last he dove his cock to the hilt and filled her with a cunt full of cum. Her whole body quivered. Her cries of passion were accented by tears of joy falling like rain onto her breasts. Emily had discovered paradise with a man buried between her thighs.
Of course, that didn't end it even when they reached Tromsø. They would go into town together. She would help him with the language and show him the sites. They visited some of the tourist sights like a stavkirke. He even tried lutefisk. He didn't enjoy it. Bjorn only was addicted to the taste of Emily's young pussy which he savored as frequently as possible. They slept together in his cabin and always fell asleep after having a sexual nightcap.
There was no sign of his ancestors in Tromsø even with Emily's help. He kissed her goodbye on the ship and flew back to Oslo before returning to the United States. Seven weeks later, he got word from the captain she was pregnant. There was little he could do but contact Captain Larsen with his concerns for Emily. Larsen emailed a message back saying not to worry. He wrote that single mothers are not unusual in Norway and the Norwegian way of life had her covered. Mothers and her children are covered by government assistance. She was well taken care of.
Postscript
Twenty years later at the age of fifty-eight, Bjorn took his wife and two daughters on a "Land of the Midnight Sun Cruise." They took the scenic train ride from Oslo to Bergen where they would later board their ship. While in Bergen, they hired, Eric, a tour guide who spoke excellent English. During lunch, Bjorn's wife said, "You know dear, I can't get this out of my mind. Eric looks so much like you when you were younger. It's almost as if he was your twin."
"Really?" Bjorn replied. "Well, I guess all Norwegians look alike."
They both had a good laugh about that, then she said, "Your grandpa said the family came from here. Maybe he is a relative. Go talk to him and find out something about his family."
"Don't you think that would be rude?"
She didn't think so and encouraged Bjorn to speak with him.
While waiting for the funicular taking them high above Bergen, Bjorn asked, "How old are you Eric?"
"I'm twenty, twenty-one next month."
"This might be impertinent, but could I ask what your mother's name is?"
"Her name was Emily. I didn't know her. She died when I was born?"
"So you grew up with your dad?"
"No. I never knew my dad. I grew up in an orphanage."
"That must have been tough," Bjorn offered.
"Not really. I didn't know anything else. Anyway, they took good care of me, and I got an education."
It took a few minutes for the exchange with Eric to sink in but when it hit him, it was like a ton of bricks. He was filled with guilt and remorse that never left him during his lifetime. Before leaving to board the ship, Bjorn took Eric's business card for future reference.
At home, Bjorn wrote Eric into his will making sure Eric would live comfortably for the rest of his life.
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