____________________________ | | /)| KRISTEN'S BOOKSHELF |(\ / )| DIRECTORIES |( \ __( (|____________________________|) )__ ((( \ \ > /_) ( \ < / / ))) (\\\ \ \_/ / \ \_/ / ///) \ / \ / \ _/ \_ / / / \ \ o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of o o stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the o o world. Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no o o particular order other than offering them to you in alpha- o o betical directories. o o I don't believe in categorizing things. "I don't want to o o be typed therefore I don't type things myself." I think it's o o a lot more fun to browse around and find 'little' surprises o o that you might not have even thought of looking for. o o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult en- o o tertainment and should not be read by minors. o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o Archive name: Stew01.txt Authors name: Unknown Story Title: "The Scandalous Stewardess" Chapter 1 The Bahamian island of Eleuthera is a saber-shaped spit of glistening white coral sand in the crystalline waters of the Caribbean Sea. One can get there by boat or by plane. It was on such a shuttle flight from Nassau that Davie Knight sat and breathlessly looked out of the narrow window on December 20th. The sixteen year old kept knotting a silk scarf between her hands, a gesture which could not escape the watchful notice of the striking older blonde woman who sat next to her. The twin-engine plane was small and claustrophobic. There was nothing but a sparkling expanse of transparent blue sea below them. Perhaps she's frightened, the woman was thinking to herself as she surveyed the luscious fresh-faced teen, whose long, glossy sable brown hair hung past her pert up-thrust young breasts that were demurely hidden behind a navy blue cardigan sweater. An emblem sewn to tile sweater pocket identified the girl as a student at one of the chic New York City parochial schools for rich girls. The young girl's large hazel eyes had an apprehensive look, and from time to time, she would bite her full, sensuous lower lip. Color flushed the girl's smooth cheeks, though she wore no makeup. Nor did she need any. Hers were the vital and strikingly delineated features of the natural beauty. By contrast, the older blonde woman next to her had artfully used the best cosmetics to embellish her sophisticated good looks. Subtle blue eye shadow and contrasting deep blue liner, plus a generous application of rich black mascara added depth and intensity to her bright blue eyes. Blusher and bronzes augmented an unexplainable sun tan in the middle of winter, a sun tan which was apparent on the woman's smooth thighs and arms when she removed her lightweight jacket. A clinging beige knit mini-dress did little to hide her ample braless breasts, whose firm nipples showed pointedly under the fabric. The blonde studied the preoccupied teenager for a long moment, looking intently at her face, and then up and down the length of her body, almost the way a man would. Her eyes narrowed, and she involuntarily flicked her tongue out to lick her coral lips salaciously. Then the moment passed, and her expression became one of friendly concern as she gently tugged at the teenager's sleeve and said, "Excuse me." She waited until the startled girl turned to her. She's nervous as hell, the blonde thought. With a warm and reassuring smile, the woman asked, "I didn't mean to startle you, but I was wondering if I could answer any questions or just be of help. I've flown this hop so many times." Davie's eyes widened. She seemed reassured. "You have?" she asked breathlessly. "Oh yes. I'm a stewie. But this time I'm deadheading. This is my vacation. Are you on a school holiday . . . all by yourself?" she probed. "Well, sort of. My father is meeting me though I'll be staying with him " The blonde concealed her momentary disappointment. "Oh, how nice. Does he have a house on Eleuthera?" Actually, it's a resort. French Leave." The blonde brightened visibly. "What a coincidence! That's where I'll be staying, too! So Peter Knight is your father!" "You know Daddy?" the girl asked with surprise. "Not personally, of course. But this is my third visit to French Leave. I absolutely love it. There's no place quite like it, don't you think? And your father is in a class by himself, too. He has to be one of the most attractive men in the world. Matter of fact, you look a lot like him. You certainly have his eyes, and his coloring, and the same kind of mouth . . . full and well-shaped." (She had almost said "sensual" but thought better of it. Down girl, she had reminded herself. Not yet. Not yet.) Davie blushed, "Everyone says that Daddy and I look alike. It makes my mother furious. You'd never know I was her daughter at all!" Davie giggled mischievously. She was obviously delighted by the affront to her mother which the blonde quickly picked up on. She pressed her inquiry. "It's a good thing your mother isn't here right now, isn't it?" the blonde said with a between-us-girls look on her face. She punctuated it with a broad, sparkling smite, which put Davie further at ease. "Wow! You can say that again!" Davie agreed, answering the smile with eyes heavenward in an expression of relief. "It's a good thing she isn't here for a lot of reasons!" "But will she be meeting you, with your father?" the blonde inquired casually. "Good grief, no! She's back in New York, in her precious little world of tea parties, shopping sprees and charity balls. Yeeehhhck!" Davie said emphatically. "My parents have been divorced for three years." "I'm sorry to hear that, uh . . . "Davie." "What a beautiful name. It suits you perfectly," the blonde cooed. "I'm Trish Byers, Davie." "Happy to meet you, Miss Byers. Everybody calls me Davie. Everyone except my mother . . . "Oh please--please call me Trish. You make me feel a hundred and fifty years old when you say Miss Byers!" "I'm sorry . . . Trish I didn't mean that at all. You're beautiful. It's just that at school they make us call everyone over twenty Miss or Mister. Force of habit, you know," Davie answered shyly. "Well that's one habit you can break right now--at least while you're on vacation. We'll be in Paradise in about twenty minutes. Then it's off with the school clothes and into the bikini for you! You do have a bikini, don't you?" "Yes! Mummy sent me off with some square one-piece suit I wouldn't be caught dead in. That's typical of her. But the first thing I did when I got off the plane at Nassau was run to the neatest shop and buy myself a skimpy little hot pink number that's just a lot of strings crocheted together. Mummy would have a stroke if she knew!" Davie giggled girlishly again. Trish grinned back in a conspiratorial way. "Good for you, honey it sounds as though 'mummy' is a little straight laced." Davie threw back her hands and brought them down on her thighs emphatically. "Ohhh! You wouldn't believe it! She is the most super uptight, most hypocritical person in the whole world! She makes my life so miserable." "But she is letting you come all the way to Eleuthera by yourself for Christmas. That doesn't seem like something an uptight mother would do," Trish ventured. "Because she had to. The judge made her do it. She would never have let me see my father otherwise. She didn't want me to see him ever again!" said Davie, and a look of distress crossed her lovely face. "How long has it been, honey?" "Three years! I was thirteen when Daddy left. I cried for a whole month. Mummy hated me for that, and it made her hate him more. She thought I'd forget about him and that he'd forget about me. But it didn't work that way. At least, I haven't forgotten him. Trish reached over and placed a warm hand on the teen's knee and patted it consolingly. Now she knew the reason for the scarf knotting and the fidgeting at the window. It wasn't the plane ride, it was Daddy Davie she was worried about. Three years is a long time to be separated from anyone. "It's going to be fine, just fine, Davie. After a few hours, it'll seem like your dad never went away. You're going to love French Leave. Everything is so beautiful, and everyone is so relaxed. You won't want to go back." "Do you really think so, Trish? I mean, about Dad and me? I know I won't want to go back I never want to go back to that . . . that bitch!" Trish raised a carefully plucked eyebrow. "That's a pretty strong word, Davie, Is it ready that bad?" "I hate her," Davie said levelly. "She's made me go to that horrible school all these years--that ghetto for nice girls from good families, quote unquote. It's a prison. And she won't let me go out with boys or have parties at home. Yet she has parties! I'm not supposed to know what goes on. We have this huge place, a condominium. Lots of rooms. My 'quarters' are off at one end, but I've seen a lot! I know what goes on. Mummy and her arty little fag decorator friends and swishy hairdressers. It makes me want to puke." "I can't imagine any woman letting a man like your father go ..." offered Trish, hoping for more juicy details from the innocent girl. "That's just it--he's a real man. Mummy doesn't want a real man around. She has to wear the pants in the family." "And your father obviously wants a real woman, doesn't he?" "Sure. That's why he couldn't take it any more. I think Mummy was emasculating him, not treating him like a man; not giving him the love and affection and . . . well, you know what I mean," Davie added shyly. "Sex?" "Exactly. They had separate bedrooms. That went on for almost a year. My father started coming home later and later from the office. He and my mother rarely even talked to each other. Yet she insisted that he had to go to all the stupid charity balls and parties, put on a front for their friends. One day he came home and packed all his things and left a long letter for me and a two word note for my mother. She never got over that blow to her pride. Even though she got everything--the apartment the beach house on Long island, the car--and custody of me she has kept punishing him in every way she could. But she's punished me, too, by not letting me see him for three years. She's done everything she could to turn me against him, and it's only made me love him more and resent her." "That really wasn't very smart of her, or fair at all, trying to turn you against your father. But she's obviously very bitter," Trish offered sympathetically. "Really. But so am I. And I'm scared, too. I mean, what if Daddy doesn't want to be bothered with me? I know he's very busy and I might be in the way and . . ." "Nonsense! Your father loves you very much, I know. This is probably the best thing that's happened to him in three years, Davie," Trish said in her most sincere, maternal manner as she once more placed her haled on the lovely girl's and squeezed it reassuringly. But inwardly she was thinking about the lucky women Peter Knight must have screwed to ecstasy with his beautiful cock. She envied the women who had felt his fiery hot cum in their pussies; the women who had felt his beautiful wet mouth and tongue in their cunts, licking and sucking them to the heights of cunnilingual rapture. She felt her own cuntal juices begin to ooze into her panties, and her clitoris throbbed with excitement. But she forced herself to maintain a masque of sympathetic and conciliatory interest. She wanted to be damned sure she didn't blow her game before she got a chance to blow Peter Knight's hard cock! Then there was his sweet, virginal and oh-so-appealing daughter. Trish had plans for her, too. Big, juicy plans! "Everything is going to work out just fine, Davie I know it will." "Do you really think so, Trish? Do you?" the girl asked anxiously. "I know so. There's not a thing to worry about. You and your daddy will get along just great. And I'll be there. You and I can do fun things together when your dad's working. And there'll be someone else who might be fun for you . . ." "Someone else? Who?" the teenager asked, her clear hazel eyes growing wider. "My kid brother, Randy. He's 19. He's meeting me at the airport. He works for the Pan Am radar installation on the island. He's lots of fun. "Does Randy know my father?" "A little. It's a small island, you know. And there aren't that many whites. So everybody sort of knows everybody else. Randy lives at the base on the other end of the island, with a bunch of other guys. I'm based in Nassau, but I come to Eleuthera every chance I get." "That's why you've got such a great tan, I guess. I'm so white and yucky looking, I'll have to hide out for a couple of days until I get toasted!" The pilot's gravely voice interrupted on the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching the landing field. Please be sure your seat belts are securely fastened and extinguish all smoking material until you are outside the field gates. We hope you enjoy your stay in Eleuthera. Thanks for being aboard." Davie peered out the plane window. Her hands gripped the arm rests. Trish Byers patted tile pretty brunette's arm gently. "Don't worry, honey. Everything's going to work out fine just fine!" * * * Among the dozen or so spectators who watched the small aircraft touch down on the strip was a man who stood out by virtue of his proud, straight bearing, his aura of confidence and his devastating good looks. Peter Knight was a man who would be noticed anywhere. His body was firm and muscular, without an ounce of excess fat. His white slacks were impeccably tailored and the navy blue polo shirt he wore accentuated his broad chest and ample biceps. He was a youthful forty, a man with the features of Paul Newman, except that his eyes were hazel and his dark brown wavy hair was only slightly streaked with strands of gray. He was deeply tanned, and had acquired little laugh lines around his deep-set eyes. He smiled readily, showing strong and even white teeth. How different was his expression now from the one Davie remembered when she had seen him last three long years ago. In those days, Peter Knight was a successful commodity broker with a seat on the New York Stock Exchange. He was harried and depressed usually, the sunny side of his nature occluded by a bad marriage and what he called the "New York rat race'--both of which he wanted out of. He had always dreamed of opening his own resort, but Davie's mother wouldn't hear of it. She wanted the prestige, the financial security, the social life that went with being a successful broker's wife, though she had plenty of family money of her own and didn't have to rely upon his income for the lavish and pointless lifestyle that ensnared them. It took guts to make the break, but Peter Knight felt that, except for Davie, leaving New York was the best think he had ever done. The resort was an immediate success. He always had tile Midas touch for financial ventures. But he was apprehensive about his little girl. What would she be like now? Would he be able to handle her? Had three years of her mother's poison gotten to her after all? Her letters were warm and loving. Still, he had to acknowledge that they really didn't know each other very well. They were both living with fantasies and memories of the past. She was sixteen now; a teenager. Christ, he didn't know a damned thing about teenagers . . . especially a sixteen year old girl! Twelve passengers descended the metal stairs from the twin-engine plane. Peter Knight's heartbeat quickened as he spotted the shy and stunning young girl who walked in the company of a flashy blonde he recognized as a previous guest at the resort. She was a stewardess, a hot number who had made overtures to him in the past. But he was very cautious about getting involved with his paying clients. It was too risky for a lot of reasons. He went to the girls, a big appealing grin on his face. His manner was smooth and straightforward but his palms were damp. "Davie! How are you, sweetheart?" he said as he rushed to embrace his daughter. Her sunny, angular little girl's body had been transformed into the soft, round curves of a young woman. He could feel the warmth of her firm globular breasts against his chest as he hugged her. Her glossy, sable hair was fragrant with a clean herb scent, like wild grasses in a field. It was longer than before, framing her beautiful young face whose clear, hazel eyes shone moistly from tears of emotion. "Oh Daddy, Daddy! I thought I'd never see you again!" Davie cried. She was almost sobbing now. Peter Knight held his daughter closely for another long moment, a moment which was fraught with unvoiced emotion. Then he was conscious of the smiling blonde who was observing them from just a few feet away. She had the same faintly predatory look that had raised a red flag in his mind when he had seen her before. But he had to admit that she was a good-looking broad all right, with the best pair of legs he had ever seen. And boobs that jutted out like ripe melons aching to be plucked. She must have fucked a thousand guys, he thought to himself. I'll bet she's one hellulva piece of ass. He extended his hand to Trish, "I'm Peter Knight. I think we've met at French Leave." Davie interjected excitedly. "Oh excuse me, Trish, Daddy, this is my friend, Trish Byers. She's stayed with you before. She's a stewardess with Pan Am." He overlooked the innocent faux pas. "Yes, I recognize Miss Byers as one of our guests. Nice to see you again, Miss Byers." "Daddy don't call her Miss Byers. That makes her feel old. She wants to be called Trish." The blonde grinned with embarrassment, but she gave him a practiced provocative look. "Can we give you a ride, Trish?" Peter Knight offered. "Thank you, but I'm being met by my brother." She looked around then and a glint of recognition crossed her face as she caught sight of a shaggy haired youth who was leaning casually against a red MG convertible. Trish waved at the boy, who made no move to approach. When Knight turned around, he recognized the boy as a frequent visitor to the resort bar. He thought it strange that the youth did not come forward. As though divining his thoughts, Trish quickly added, "Randy's very shy. But you'll meet him. Well, Davie, I'll see you later, OK?" "Right, Trish. And thanks for everything." The blonde winked at the school girl. "There's nothing to thank me for. That's what friends are all about." * * * Once they were settled in the sleek silver Porsche and heading down the road toward French Leave, Peter Knight and his daughter began to relax in each other's company a bit. There is something permissive and seductive about a Caribbean Island, particularly one like Eleuthera, where the brilliant semi-tropical sun and the absence of pressure invite one to shed cares, clothing and convention. This was Peter Knight's home ground now, and he assumed the role of confident host and tour guide--though the principal charm of Eleuthera is the absence of commerce and people such commerce attracts. Indeed, French Leave is the only tourist attraction. There isn't much to "see" except the coral-studded sea and several miles of pristine, white coral sand dotted with lush tropical vegetation. Davie couldn't get over the contrast between Eleuthera, where the temperature was 78 degrees and they passed only a few Bahamian natives along the road and an occasional car, and New York City, where the temperature had been a bone-chilling 27, and the thousands of faces that passed her were all uniformly gray and cheerless. She pulled off her sweater and slithered down in the black leather seat of her father's sports car, letting the warm island breeze blow her shining dark hair away from her face. She closed her eyes and let the hot sun beat on her smooth fair skin, feeling as though the weight of the world had been lifted from her young shoulders. Peter Knight stole a glance at his little girl, noting again how much of a woman she had become in three years. Her full ripe breasts strained against her prim white blouse. She had kicked off her shoes and socks and her bare legs were smooth and slender beneath her pleated shirt. He had to remind himself that Davie was no longer a child and he couldn't treat her as one now. He also had to remind himself that she was his daughter. "Did you have a nice chat with Trish Byers?" he suddenly asked. Davie opened her eyes and looked at her father, "Oh yes, Daddy. She's so understanding. Really a nice woman. And so pretty, too. She's a dish!" "Yes, Miss Byers is quite attractive. But I'm sure she knows that." "She thinks you're quite something yourself." "Ohhh?" Knight reacted with surprise, though he knew that the stewardess seemed to have the hots for him. But he felt she probably had the hots for most men; she seemed like the kind of woman who couldn't get enough cock. That's what he didn't like about her. He liked a woman who was more selective, who was harder to get. There was no challenge with a dame like Trish Byers--except to keep your pants up! Still, she could probably give a guy the fuck of his life. She was one hot cunt all right. As for her "brother," Peter didn't like tile cut of the kid's jib. He doubted that tile mop-haired youth really was her brother, though he might he. He didn't want his tender daughter mixed up with either of them, though he didn't know how to tell Davie that without arousing suspicion in her mind. Besides, the kid had had enough controls from her bitch mother. He wasn't about to start putting clamps on her the minute she arrived. He would see to it that every moment would be beautiful and memorable for Davie. He knew now that he wanted her with him always. He desperately hoped that she would want that too. * * * About a mile behind, a red MG was cruising along the two-lane road with its two blonde passengers. Randy Ferris sat behind the wheel of the sports car, his faded skin-tight jeans showing a huge bulge in the crotch where his rock-hard cock was straining to be free of its denim prison. It had grown to gargantuan proportions under the skillful and incessant manipulations of the blonde stewardess beside him. His brown hand was under her beige miniskirt and he was massaging the wet slit of her pussy with his middle finger. "Geezus, baby, you're hot as a pistol. You must not have been gettin' it more than six times a day lately," he wisecracked. "I've had a run of bummers, honey. Besides, you know how I feel about your prick, lover. There's just nobody who can do me like my li'l ol' baby brother." "Yeah. But you keep tryin', don'tcha? I saw how you came on to Knight--and his kid. You'd like a taste of that stuff, wouldn't you?" Randy said, looking at her with a cocksure smirk on his lean, handsome face. "You don't miss a trick, do you sweetie? That's why I feel so good with you. No games. No pretense. Just good, clean dirty sex--lots of sucking and fucking, the way I like it," Trish answered, rubbing her voluptuous breast against the youth's muscled arm. "So what about the Knight kid? Have you gotten into her pussy yet?" Randy teased. "Don't be silly. It's only a twenty minute flight!" the stewardess teased back. "Baby, I wouldn't put anything past you--even on a twelve passenger plane in broad daylight!" "She's going to take a little longer. She's been shut up in a convent school with a lot of dried up nuns and a faggot-balling mother who's out to make damned sure she doesn't get her precious little cherry popped. No wonder her old man took off. Who could live with a bitch like that? I'll bet he's one helluva swordsman." "That hasn't done you much good so far, baby " Randy jibed. "You might have to stand in line for that dude." "You wouldn't want to lay money on that, would you, Covey?" Trish purred, giving him a devilish look. Randy searched her face. Her lips were curled in a confident smirk. "G'wan," he said, "you don't think you're going to nag Knight and his sweet-assed daughter too!" "That's exactly what I intend to do," Trish responded emphatically, squeezing the lips of her pussy tighter around her brother's finger. He was her half-brother, actually, the product of a marriage between her mother and step-father. She and Randy had been balling for three years, and he was a straight-A student in the sex education courses she gave him. They had a unique relationship. They both loved each other very much, and yet there was no jealousy between them. She urged Randy to get as much pussy as he could, knowing of course that she would always be first with him. And she delighted in recounting every detail of her encounters in bed with other men--and women. Trish was 29 (though she looked a couple of years younger) and she really had no intention of getting married. It would, unless she got a very exceptional man, put an end to her affair with her kid brother, as well as various other men and women of her acquaintance. She would never sacrifice that for a home and a meal ticket. "Not only am I going to nail that dynamic duo, but being the generous and loving sister that I am, I'm going to see that you get a crack at that virginal little pussy as well. Would you like that, my love? Would you like to be first to split her hot little cunt with your big hard prick?" "Are you kidding? Christ, would l! But you're out of your mind, Trish. Knight would have my balls on a spit if he ever found out. My balls--and yours, too!" "Trust me, precious. Trust your sis. Have I ever let you down?" The youth shook his head. "I won't this time, either. Randy, I promise you I won't. Now finish me off, honey. Finger me off. I'm almost ready to cum!" And Trish scooted down further in the bucket seat, spread her smooth, sun-tanned legs further apart, opening the wet crack of her slippery cunt wider to her brother's skillful manipulations and closed her eyes, while he fingered her to a thrilling orgasm in the topless MG on the road to French Leave.