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.