Chapter 52: Thoughts On The Future. Porn Queens

Mark

In the morning, I rode in the helicopter from the Worthington Industries HQ building to one of our commercial electronics plants a hundred miles west of the city. Because of the interest Elsa and Cindy had in flying, I paid more attention to what was happening a few feet in front of me in the cockpit. The mass of gages, levers, buttons, radios, display screens, and what not in front of the two pilots fascinated me.

I studied each instrument until I felt reasonably certain I knew its function. I thought it a bit funny; I had basically bought an airport and a small fleet of planes, plus staff, but knew little about the industry or equipment. That wasn’t why I wanted those things. I wanted to create a safe and clean environment for my flying wives. One of my aerospace divisions made and sold all sorts of avionics and aircraft instrumentation. I resolved to fill in the gaps in my education.

I recalled a scene from one of the Fifty Shades of Grey books when Christian Grey flew Anastasia Steele to a night out in his jet helicopter. That activity had a nice feel to it, and somehow fit the image I had of myself when I let my ego engage. I wondered how long it would take me to learn to fly like my pilots. John had over 24,000 hours of flying experience in every type of aircraft except the Space Shuttle, and even then he’d flown the simulator in Houston.

Elsa and Cindy had spent four months of intensive training and had just gotten their private pilots certificates. Now they were working on their advanced ratings to make them better and safer pilots. I speculated that it would take me three or four years since I wouldn’t spend as much time in any one week as they had at the process.

I flicked back to the idea of 50 Shades. I needed a role model – a non-fictional one; Christian Grey couldn’t do it for me. In that way, I had maxed out in my career. I’d built and amassed an empire worth billions by the prudent buying and selling of companies, divisions, and departments, and making deals. I was a mergers and acquisitions expert. I also had the knack to see a great idea and know how to move it to market and turn it from a good idea into a great product or service. There were a dozen values that had been the basis for the company culture I built too: uncompromising quality, unique design where possible, customer satisfaction in every segment we were in, and high tech-high touch.

I paused. I was a role model for others. I was quoted and chased by reporters and editors of every business-related magazine on the planet. No one had ever asked me who I looked up to or revered. I’d have to think about that.

I’d been on a couple of panels with some other moguls: Warren Buffett, Richard Branson, Bill Gates, Chuck Schwab, and even Steven Spielberg. I admired all of them, and felt the same respect in return. One thing in common that I needed to pay more attention to that they did was philanthropy. I pulled a pad out of my pocket and made some notes to myself. I’d had several epiphanies on this short trip. I should think longer term about myself than I had been. Where was I going in life and what did I want to accomplish beyond the next deal. What kind of a legacy did I want to leave?

I chuckled as I reflected on the other magazines that hosted articles written about me. Most of the women’s magazines wrote about me because I was supposedly the richest bachelor on the planet, bar none. They presented supposed facts about me that were outright lies and fabrications founded on someone’s fantasy. Many wrote about my dating preferences, habits, and kinks – one article had been entitled ‘50 Things Mark Worthington Likes To Do In Bed.’ Pure bull shit.

Only a couple of magazines came close to getting a point or two right about me. Eleganté, a popular woman’s mag, mentioned that I lived with multiple women. They decided that two was the right number, and erroneously assigned them names of Abby and Whitney. The ‘facts’ cited in the article got increasingly wrong from that point on building a completely fallacious picture of me, my life, and those around me, and not even coming close to how active a sex life I actually did lead or the number of partners that I shared it with. Further, they described me as a tyrant who was always angry with my colleagues and mates; not true by a country mile. Thinking about that made me rue the spanking I gave Cindy and Elsa.

As I was walking from the helipad to the building at our electronics plant, I got a text. I read a message from Melanie: ‘We want you to know we’re adhering to your dress code. ;-))’ A photo followed showing three women standing next to each other from the neck down and the knees up; each of them held their skirts hiked up showing that their pussies were indeed unclad in undies. I deduced that the sexy midsections belonged to Melanie, Sheila, and Izzy. The background for the photograph was my office reception area. I wondered who had taken the photograph.

I got back to the office about five o’clock, aided by the ability of the helicopter to land on the roof of the HQ building. As usual, Melanie greeted me at the helipad with her well-organized précis of what I needed to know, who I needed to call, and what I needed to do next. She excelled in her job. Even though she put it online, I still found holding the paper copy meaningful.

In response to my question about whom the photographer had been, she informed me that Andy had been enlisted, only his ‘fee’ had been to briefly taste each of the pussies involved. I liked the way my senior executive and number two man exacted his quid pro quo.

That evening at the condo, Greg, Sean, and Elsa again presented to the five of us our latest revision of the plans for the house in Dillonville. The place was shaking out to be about eighteen thousand square feet of space under roof, with several out buildings for special purposes, including a security post with live-in housing near the gate and live-in accommodations for staff in a slightly detached carriage house.

Lucas was again present, and talked at length about how he and his staff would like to see the security of the property established and maintained. The order of the day after sensor fences included a couple of hundred security cameras both inside and outside the house, safe rooms, alarm systems, and several hidden weapons caches throughout the house and outbuildings. His wish list had been integrated into the final design of the house.

We talked about the design of the house, sizes of rooms, allocation of space, and even design of various showers and bath enclosures for several hours as we munched on pizza we’d had delivered. In the end, we’d made no changes to the footprint of the house, and only minor changes to the layout.

Greg redlined the paper plans we’d been pouring over, and made an announcement, “Unless there are some unforeseen problems once we dig on the site, we could break ground on this next week, providing we can get our contractor’s attention. We have a go-ahead on the construction permits.”

I looked over at him, pulled my wallet out, and put a one hundred dollar bill on the table in front of Greg to get his attention. His eyes got large and he looked at me puzzled with my intent. I said, “This is only a sample. Get his attention. I’d like to move into the house on July first next year.”

Greg’s eye’s got larger. He stammered, “That’s ... that’s only just over seven months from now! For a project this size, that’s almost impossible.”

I smiled, “I guess you’d better get moving them. Remember that quote, ‘The difficult we do immediately, and the impossible might take a little longer.’ July first, and I’ll pay a premium to do that. Overtime is authorized; round the clock work onsite is fine with me; just eliminate all the idle time and I’m sure you can do it. Work the crews in parallel. If that date is met, I’ll pay five percent bonus to every worker, and add over twenty-five percent to the onsite supervisor.”

Greg nodded stiffly, and went off in a corner of our living room and started to make phone calls on his cellphone. I hoped the contractors he used were ready to drop everything for this project. I was willing to pay a healthy premium for a fast build. We’d only talked round number for costs, right then about eighteen million weighted heavily towards labor versus materials.

Elsa

Cindy and I had separate instrument flight lessons with Wes and Scott the next afternoon and evening for five hours each, unusually long sessions because we needed an instrument cross country flight. We took off under the hood, and then flew under real IFR up to Bloomington, Illinois, then to Nashville, and then back to Air Ranch, which had a non-precision GPS approach we could use because the weather wasn’t that bad. We were in and out of clouds at our altitude the entire way. I found the real IFR exhilarating.

Scott and I flew the same route, but I went first in the faster Cessna 210, and Cindy followed behind in the slower Cessna 172 with Wes, with a ten-minute lag on our takeoffs. Together with the practice time we had already logged, we passed the minimum number of hours required for both the Commercial Rating and the Instrument Rating during the flights.

During my flight, Scott nailed me with some questions about the upcoming party and some information for and about his girlfriend.

“Elsa, my girlfriend is very excited about coming to the party, and she has no problem signing a non-disclosure agreement regarding the party, attendees, Mark’s lifestyle, or anything else she learns. She just wants to be there for sex and everything included.”

I responded, “I liked her when we met. That’s great. Any remaining problems? She hinted at something but wouldn’t say what it was until she talked to you.”

“Well, that’s what she wanted me to talk to you about. Errr, this is kind of awkward, so I’ll just spit it out since given the nature of the party I assume you and your friends are rather open minded about such things.”

“Such things?”

“Vanessa wasn’t going to tell you, but then she thought better of it. On and off, she can’t make up her mind; I told her we had to tell you. You may have her checked out ahead of time anyway for security and all. You see she does adult films – pornography.”

I shrugged as I kept up my instrument scan. I had my altitude and heading nailed in the smooth air. I was within fifty feet of my intended course line despite a mean but steady crosswind at our altitude. I said, “How interesting. What’s the worry?”

“Vanessa or Van as she prefers is worried that her work in that profession might splash over onto Mark in some way; you know headlines that blare, ‘Billionaire Parties with Porn Queen, ‘ or something like that.”

“Hmmmmm. I hadn’t thought about that. Let me ask Mark, but I’m guessing he’ll not be worried. It’s not like she’ll say anything, or that our party will be made public. I guess we should be prepared for the unpredictable, but ... let’s see what he says. On the other hand, I have a million questions for her about doing films like that; it all sounds like fun.”

Scott said, “The other thing, well, Anna really liked you and so do I. We were wondering whether you’d like to join us some time in a threesome?”