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 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 (C) 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.

   ______________________________

   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

   ###