At the end of the day, it is quite clear that the stunning Middleton sisters, Kate and Pippa, take after their Mother, Carole. All three have that lustrous dark hair, high cheekbones, and long legs. If anyone thought that the girls had led exciting and flirtatious lives before they had married though, they had nothing on their Mother when she had been a free and easy twenty-one-year-old fuck bunny.
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Carole Elizabeth Goldsmith was born on 31 January 1955 in Perivale, London, the daughter of Ronald and Dorothy Goldsmith. She is the older sister of IT recruitment multi-millionaire Gary Goldsmith. She initially left school aged sixteen, but soon returned and achieved four A Levels. Goldsmith originally planned on being a teacher, but her parents were unable to put her through college. She subsequently worked as a shop assistant for John Lewis before being hired as a secretary for British Airways. She then transferred to the ground crew, and by 1976, was working as a flight attendant. For the next four years, the tall and attractive brunette sowed her wild oats as she traveled the globe.
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July 1976.
Carole rolled over in bed as Steven began to stir next to her. Having celebrated her new position with British Airways the previous evening, the willowy brunette was oblivious to the fact that Kevin was sporting his early morning boner. They had enjoyed an on-again, off-again relationship for the last six months, and now, she was about to embark on an exciting venture in the air.
Her lean frame stirred as she stretched out and blinked in the early light of dawn. Steven came up behind her and rested his burgeoning erection in the sublime crevice between her tight buns. He moved her hair from the nape of her neck and nuzzled her ear. Fully aware of the fact that Carole would embrace her new lifestyle with open arms, and open legs, he had accepted the idea of her inevitably being with other men. The actual idea of her cheating on him made him fairly jealous, but he had come to terms with it. With her good looks and figure, she would probably be fighting men off with a big stick. Carole turned over to face him just as he settled on top of her. She lifted her left leg up and put it around his hip as he reached between them and guided his cock into her moist pussy.
"What has you so worked up this morning?" She asked him as she began sliding him in and out of her.
"You just looked so beautiful I couldn't help it." He told her.
Carole let out a contented sigh as Steven pushed on in. He let his weight sink down as he buried himself inside her. Seven inches of hard cock thrust up into her in slow and assured strokes. In the space of a minute, Steven began to fuck her faster, grinding in and out with steady pumps. They kissed hard as her right leg came up and she locked her ankles behind Steven's lower back. They got into their stride, shagging passionately with their increasing ardour. Carole's fingers dug into his cheeks as she pushed up into him. The twenty-one-year-old was fucking him back, and enjoying it thoroughly.
"Agh. Oh!"
Steven came, and as he gushed inside the leggy brunette, she followed suit and she arched her back into his wall of a chest. His cock stayed hard inside her. One of Steven's attributes Carole would miss. He kept moving those hips of his and working that cock into her juiced-up muff. She lay beneath him, holding his flexed biceps until he eventually slipped out. She hit the bathroom and showered. On a hanger on the back of the door, was her new uniform. Thrilled to bits, Carole got dressed for her first flight. The British Airways tailored style uniform was dark blue, consisting of a red-lined jacket and a skirt. The white blouse was worn with silk scarves, a dark blue leather shoulder bag, and a matching belt, all bearing the new British Airways logo. A lightweight PVC overcoat complimented the look, and the small-brimmed hats added more than a touch of class and British style. She was the very model of the airline.
"I'm Carole," she smiled in the mirror. "Come fly me!"
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"Is he onboard? Is he as good-looking as they say he is? Does he really have a dick as big as a horse?"
Carole turned to her colleague Joanne as they prepared the welcome drinks cart.
"Check, check, and check. He is here. He is gorgeous. And he does indeed have a dick that you would normally see between the legs of this year's winner of the Derby. I found that out in Japan."
"I think I just wet myself."
While World Champion racing driver Jackie Stewart famously abstained from sex a week before a motor race, James Hunt would often have sex minutes before climbing into the cockpit. He had a gigantic appetite for sex, and physically, he was unequaled. When he was in Japan, his playground of choice was the Tokyo Hilton, where every morning British Airways stewardesses were dropped off at reception for a 24-hour stopover. Hunt unfailingly met them as they checked in and invited them to his suite for a party. They always said yes. As Stirling Moss, who used to carouse with Hunt in Monte Carlo before he was married, said: 'If you looked like James Hunt, what would you have done?' Joanne continued as they worked in the galley.
"The return flight from Japan had been block-booked by Formula 1 boss Bernie Ecclestone's travel company, and we had a riotous twelve-hour party that drained the plane of alcohol."
The girls were aboard one of the twice-weekly flights from New York City to London Heathrow. The aircraft was one of the new Boeing 747 type, or the Jumbo as it became affectionately known. The cabin layout was for 27 First Class passengers and 335 in Economy. First Class passengers had the use of the Monarch Lounge on the upper deck, accessed by a spiral staircase, containing a luxurious hide-out for sixteen passengers, who could enjoy the services of a bartender and relax on settees and couches.
"Is he in the Monarch?"
"Yes, he is. And he's as frisky as a dog on heat. Check him out, why don't you?"
Carole rubbed her thighs together and giggled. She took a tray of refreshments and took the stairs. She saw Hunt straight away, seated in a lounge chair dressed in a double-knit leisure suit in small checks. Their eyes met and his boyish smile made her legs turn to jelly. He was gorgeous! With medium-length blonde hair, blue eyes, a slim build, and Nordic features. He had that look of a boy you would be quite happy to bring home to meet your parents, rather than the 'lock up your daughters'
image. Being extra clever, Carole had overloaded her drinks tray, and just as the plane hit turbulence, the contents of three glasses ended up on Hunt's lap.
"I am dreadfully sorry. I'm so clumsy."
Carole attempted to wipe the front of his pants as an ever-widening stain highlighted his groin.
"It's quite alright, my dear." He read her breast tag as she fondled his telltale package. "Carole, is it? Accidents can happen. Where's the nearest loo?"
Carole pointed over her shoulder with her left hand as she kept her right firmly in the famous racing driver's lap.
"If you could just leave my John Thomas alone for a second, I'll just go and clean up."
Horrified at what she had done, the willowy brunette covered her gaping mouth with both hands.
"So sorry, Mister Hunt. I DO apologise."
"Please, call me James."
As he made for the lavatory, Carole mopped up the mess she had made. Stupid, stupid, stupid! What a twit! And in front of Mister Hottie himself. Just as she was done she saw that the toilet help light was flashing. Eager to atone for her actions she knocked on the door.
"Is there anybody in distress?"
The door opened and a hand grabbed her elbow and dragged her inside the cramped space. James Hunt smiled at her and spread his hands. He was naked from the waist down and sported a raging hard-on. His balls hung down like a pendulum you would find on an old grandfather clock.
"Fancy joining the 'Mile High Club?'" he asked with his face-splitting grin.
