Author's Note – Please read "The Beginning..." and "The Dream Continues" series. They may you understand this tale.
We Go Flying
Olga was in the bathroom while we were talking about the seaplane, and how it had taxied to our jetty.
When I arranged the hire of the 'plane I had not been thinking that our pilot might be a woman.
The thought excited me.
My glorious black haired Friend's description of the landing, and her vision of the pilot hopping out onto the jetty. The announcement, "I'm Olga. I am at your service for the rest of your weekend." made my thoughts run wild!
Olga had arrived wearing black leathers.
She might as well have been nude as she walked out of the bathroom.
She wore a single coloured body skin of the type often worn by rowers, and racing cyclists. It had half length arms, and legs, with a deep scooped neck. It was difficult to see how she could have put it on, as there did not appear to be any zips.
It was a glorious shade of green. It set off her mane of blond hair off wonderfully.
It was also clear that she wore nothing else, and that she was completely shaved. I could not help staring. The skin clung to every contour of her body. Her mons was prominent. I stared, and I thought that could see the outline of her sex lips. Her largish nipples, large for the size of her tits, were the dominant feature of the end of small breasts. It was obvious that they were pierced.
The material stretched, like the skin that it was, over the shape of a horizontal bar through each erect teat. It was almost as though she had stroked her nipples to hardness before moulding the stretch fabric to fit tightly over them.
She asked if we minded that she had taken her leathers off, and said that she would like to plan our weekend of adventures.
She then asked if we were happy that she only wore the skin. She explained that this was how she dressed for flying in hot weather, and that she never wore underwear. She donned leathers, over the skin, again for affect, when she was actually flying.
She was completely aware that she looked particularly seductive.
My wonderful Friend confirmed her views by taking her hand, and leading her to the desk. Olga had deposited her black flight bag there as she came into the room.
I thought back to her descriptions of her visit to my French shop, when she purchased the basque, and another of her cut away bras. I remembered that the assistant had locked the shop, so that they both could go fitting. I was wondering how long they played.
I began to think of our first experiments with double penetration. I remembered how I fucked her arse, as a huge cucumber filled her cunt, like a second cock, as we made love on her kitchen floor. I was still dressed in my business suit from the Conference. My idle thoughts were giving me an erection, so I excused myself, picked up some casual clothes, and vanished into the bathroom. Just as I closed the door, I turned to suggest that we asked for coffee, and a light lunch. Apparently the girls had already done this. Food arrived while I was shut away.
I have always admitted to being a voyeur.
I am almost completely obsessed with down blouse situations, believing that girls, who allow men to look, invariably do it deliberately. I love the sight of erect nipples against tight jerseys, and clothing.
My voyeurism does not extend to looking up skirts. Female panties do not interest me! Women without panties do.
I tell you this as Olga's flying leathers were casually tossed over the edge of our bath. The temptation was too much; I felt them. I was in my voyeur mode. They were made from the most exquisite glove leather, and obviously moulded to her body like her skin, or a pair of fine gloves. I wondered why she wore the green skin.
I could not wait to see her in the leathers.
I emerge, less my erection, which I managed to subdue. I wore shorts, and a T-shirt. The two girls were deep in conversation at my desk. We ate, sitting around, with maps spread all over the desk.
We began to plan what to do on the two whole days while I was not at the conference.
Olga's bag contained flight maps of the whole near area. Maps are another fetish with me, so I was instantly engrossed. I completely forgot about the chaos that I had likely left for my professor at the Conference.
We quickly found that the desk was not big enough. The maps were spread out over the whole bed area, in the correct order. Then we could see where we would be allowed to fly, and where we were restricted by major civilian airports. There appeared to be no military restrictions in any area to which we might go, and little other traffic corridors, or restrictions.
A series of islands fanned out from our hotel. We already knew that we could just see the first few, and could see their lights on the water at night. Here they were on the maps.
Olga had an extraordinary knowledge of them all. Many were uninhabited, and she slyly mentioned that she had a holiday home on one of these. She owned the island. Then she casually mentioned that she also owned the seaplane, which she kept at another Island closer to the City, and to our hotel. Her home was there.
Olga was becoming more and more intriguing!
We pressed her about her holiday home. I was beginning to think that it was all planned, and manipulated by her.
It was about two hours flying time away.
It appeared that the only problem would be that there was only one huge room, with two double beds in curtained alcoves off, a bathroom, a second cloakroom, with a shower, and a well fitted kitchen.
She was worried that we might mind sharing.
She said that she loved our suite as it reminded her of the house.
The "Great Room", as she called it, had a hot tub, dining area, and a huge raised sitting, lounge area, high enough to allow people lying on the floor to see out over the water. It to had been built with full length, and width, windows that could be rolled right back. She said that she had an added advantage over our suite. The house stood alone. There was nothing alongside, like the next suite at our hotel. Therefore there was space for the windows to pull right past the end wall. They simply disappeared.
There were other similarities, the deck outside was larger, but it was directly above the sea, as at the Hotel. Olga described how the major difference was that the seaplane jetty was to one side, so the view was uninterrupted.
We were totally smitten, and did not need to discuss anything. My darling Friend asked if we might spend the next two days, and nights there. Olga had been expecting this, and instantly agreed, moving immediately to what provisions we might need.
It was soon apparent that the hotel was used to Olga, and her ways. We 'phoned reception. They had cold packs full of meats, other foods. They had goodies, plus hampers of all else that we might need. These were set up so that guests could go to islands for twenty four hour living. We ordered enough for three, for two full days, and nights.
Olga admitted, with a grin, that she had talked to the hotel immediately the 'plane was booked. She was told quite a lot about us, and had liked what she was told. We were flattered.
The final problem was drink. She had also talked to the sommelier. She heard about my friend's visit, while I slept, and her distinctive requirements. The descriptions of my Friend's feline movements, and how she had charmed her helpers, had Olga fascinated? She had decided to save time by taking the liberty to order two mixed cases, of what we might all like. Amazingly it was on a sale and return basis.
My darling Friend, and I, were shaken when all the goodies arrived so quickly. They might have been stacked in the corridor outside our room.
I went out to watch the loading, and to really look at what I had hired. Everything was put into the cargo area behind the cabin.
The seaplane had five seats. There was a single one for the pilot at the controls, with the possibility of dual control in a trice. There two rows of two very comfortable looking seats behind.
Olga, and my friend, disappeared to the bathroom together.
Hummmmmmm, I thought!
I was wondering what might happen next. There was a great deal of laughter, and giggling, before they emerged.
Olga was dressed in her leathers, and, as likely as not, in nothing else.
My Friend was wearing Olga's one piece green Lycra skin. She was quite a deal shorter, and more rounded than our pilot, but stretch materials allow amazing things to happen. Again it was obvious that she wore nothing else.
Where it was possible to see Olga's Mons Venus, there was the distinct, cushion like, bulge of her glorious jet black pubic bush.
The Lycra coped magically with her more substantial breasts. The material obviously suited her. I felt that they had both played the odd game, while out of my sight. Her wonderful long, milk giving, teats were more dominant, and very visible. They were as hard as Olga had been.
I was glad that I had felt the quality, and the texture, of the glove leather. It fitted like the Lycra skin. But then leather, and especially of glove quality, is the perfect, natural, multiple stretch material. I positioned myself in the right light, and saw showed Olga's erect nipples, and bars, perfectly moulded to the form of the thin leather.
It had me wondering why she wore the green, unless this was also all intentional?
We might find out in the evening.
The hotel had already said that they would close our suite when we left. It was our's for the whole time we would be away.
