WARNING:

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains descriptions of explicit sex.  If you are not an adult, or reading sex stories upset you, or you are offended by subjects of a sexual nature - do not read any further!  Stop Reading This Now!!

This story is for entertainment only.  It contains adult oriented material. This is a work of fiction.  The acts and characters contained within are figments of my imagination and have no basis in fact.  I do not practice, advocate, condone or encourage acts portrayed here.  The characters in the story are entirely fictional.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without the written permission of the author.  This story may be freely distributed with this notice attached.

If you enjoyed this story, please let me know at harveymarcus9@hotmail.com

Copyright © 1999, HarveyMarcus.  All Rights Reserved.

NIGHTY-WARE 

Part 10 (mF)

Prologue

It all started when mom had hosted a Nighty-Ware party for some friends and neighbors in my house.  Instead of plastic storage containers, lingerie of all kinds was sampled and purchased.  My first sexual experiences came as a result of delivering these purchases to our neighbors.  Since then, I've had more experiences, heightening and strengthening my attention and desire for sex.  Now my parents are out of town, and I'm making the most of each opportunity while they're away.

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From that day on, my aunt looked at me in a completely different manner.  I wanted no part of it.  I especially wanted no piece of her.  I had been intimate with older women, but they were neighbors, not relatives.   Well, yes, there was my folks' niece Laura, but I considered that more like therapy (for her) than sex.  Besides, my aunt wasn't just old, she was OLD!  

The good news was that I could get away with anything now, and my aunt wouldn't object.  I had something (the blowjob she gave me) to hold over her head, so I was in control, and that felt terrific.  I even considered walking around the house naked, but was afraid she would consider it an invitation for sex.  My aunt was waiting for the right circumstances -- I knew it just as well as my right hand knew Mr. Stiff.

Just in the nick of time my parents came to my rescue.  My folks liked their "get away" spot so well they decided to extend their visit, and called and invited me to fly out and join them.  A warm sun and a sandy beach plus the obligatory women in bikinis was an offer not to be refused.  They told me they'd make the reservations and meet me at the airport on their side.  

I packed lightly, just shorts, swim trunks, t-shirts, and jeans.  I also packed the black lingerie outfit that my mom had received as her gift from the Nighty-Ware party.  Laura had left the black lingerie at our house as a memento of our encounter, or maybe she just left it on the floor out of embarassment.  In either case, I thought some young beach nymph might enjoy it, and I might get the chance to enjoy her.  It had been tucked away in my drawer immediately after we had sex, and so I washed it out by hand in the bathroom sink and hung it up to dry on the towel rod.  My aunt noticed it, gave me a knowing smile, but said nothing.  Perhaps she pictured herself wearing it.  Fat chance.

My aunt drove me to the airport, parked the car, and escorted me to the departure gate.  When she kissed me goodbye, she hugged my back with one arm and gave my butt a squeeze with her other hand.  She whispered to me that she was looking forward to seeing me when I returned.  I dreaded the thought of fending off her sexual advances at the same instant I imagined the expanse of almost naked bodies I would soon be among.

I had an aisle seat on the left side of the plane.  A tall, statuesque woman sat across the aisle.  She removed her suit jacket, folded it precisely, and placed it carefully in the overhead bin.  I noticed both her well-endowed chest and the expanse of nylon-covered legs as she reached up.  She sported a business-like blouse and a relatively short skirt that she kept strugglng with.  When she'd move in the seat or cross her legs, the skirt would move high up on her thighs.  Every time she changed position, I'd notice with my peripheral vision, and take another long look.  Her legs were the shapeliest I had ever seen, strong and muscular but soft and smooth (I imagined) and I sat fantasizing about how they'd feel wrapped around my waist.  Around her right ankle, she sported an unusual tattoo -- a coiled snake.  I wondered what it meant, but lacked the boldness to ask.  She never looked across the aisle, even when it was obvious to everyone else that I was staring.  

The flight attendant for our section was a perky cute blond, with breasts that bounced as she strutted up and down the aisle.  She was very friendly with the passengers, and made small talk about their travels with many of them, including me.  I attributed the attention I got to being relatively young and traveling alone.

The flight was uneventful enough, except that the imagined images of mostly uncovered women, and the ample tits and large expanse of leg and thigh within touching distance had me painfully hard.  It wouldn't have taken anyone much effort to see that I was excited.  After the meal service and clean-up, during which my tray mostly hid my circumstances, I retreated to the bathroom at the rear of the plane.  There was a short line, so I stood in the aisle waiting my turn.  The perky flight attendant was answering pages from passengers, moving back and forth from the rear galley.  Each time she came by, I'd turn away from her, and she'd scoot past right behind me.  Most times, I could feel her butt rub against mine, and I chalked it up to close quarters.  It certainly didn't help my condition.  It was almost my turn, and Miss Perky was returning from yet another service call.  This time, to avoid exposing my condition to a young woman in an aisle seat, I turned into the aisle.  The flight attendant started to move past as usual, this time rubbing unintentionally (I thought) against my tented trousers.  She had to pause while another passenger opened the door to the bathroom, and so her butt and my erection had extended contact.  My hips were trying to push forward, but I successfully restrained myself.

Finally, a bathroom was vacant.  I went in, unzipped my pants, pulled down my underware, turned towards the toilet and started to stroke my penis.  It was already plenty hard, so I closed my eyes to create a quick fantasy and find relief.  Suddenly the door slid open and the perky flight attendant pushed her way in and relocked the door.  I could barely turn around, and wasn't sure I wanted to.  Perhaps this was a mistake, and she didn't know I was in here.  When she reached around from behind and stroked my hard-on, I knew it was no mistake.  I struggled as I turned to face her, and she sat me down on the toilet seat.  She pulled up her skirt, pulled her panties to one side, and sat down on my lap.  There was little room for her to spread her legs and so she wormed my rigid shaft between her thighs, guiding from the front with her fingers.  She told me in between grunts that she didn't have much time, and that her fellow attendants could only cover for her absence for a little while, as she rode up and down quickly.  I announced that I was about to go over the edge.  She stood up and directed me to stand on the toilet seat.  I bumped my head and had to crouch.  At face height, she sucked my ejaculation from the head of my penis just as it was about to shoot.  Then she left as suddenly as she had entered.  I stepped down, straightened myself up, threw some cold water on my face, and returned to my seat.

The plane landed, and everyone stood up to gather their belongings.  The statuesque, leggy woman stood in front of me, waiting for the door to open so we could all exit.  She bent down to retrieve her briefcase from under the seat in front of hers, and I stood my ground.  That caused her to back into me, making contact with my groin.  My penis twitched and expanded with the contact, and I thought it was accidental until she actually pushed back and wiggled against my hardness.  Just before she walked out of the plane, she turned and handed me a business card with her home phone number scribbled on the back.  "Call me," was all she said, and then departed.

Continued in NIGHTY-WARE Part 11

An Original HM Tale

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