The Dream Continues

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.

Olga invited us to be seated either side of her. It was rather like being in an F1 McLaren sport's car. There the driver is in the middle, and passengers to either side. We were the same.

I wondered how she would cast off. She donned her helmet, tucking all her glorious gold locks in beneath the leather, swung the intercom plug over her shoulder, and daintily unhitched us from our moorings. She pushed us sideways with her foot, and, for a moment I thought that we might be cast adrift alone. She had obviously done this many times before. A dainty leap actually moved us further from the jetty. She swung herself into the cabin.

I have always thought that my Friend had feline characteristics. Now I was with two women with them. Olga was like a Siamese cat, long, sinuous, and continuous in her movements.

The seaplane turned silently as we drifted away from the jetty. She was totally calm. She plugged in, and called up the local air traffic control. Her flight plan was well rehearsed, and the controller knew her. We had clearance in seconds. I was very impressed.

The weather report for the next seventy two hours came over the loud speakers. It was idyllic.

We were off.

We drifted further out from the jetties as she adjusted, and checked everything. Part of this routine was to unbutton about half the upper buttons on her leathers. She stopped with buttons way below her breasts. A mirror in the middle of the windscreen was adjusted so that we could see much of her, and she us.

I began to voyeur, and even strapped in, both girls realised it! All through the flight I would glance at the mirror. It usually happened when Olga moved to adjust a control, or take a sip of water from a drinking bottle. Every time I had a fleeting glimpse of the rise of a breast. Sometimes I was sure that I saw the peak of a nipple.

She knew, and always our eyes just met, hers with a twinkle, as I looked away embarrassed. It was a game for us both.

My Friend also knew. She behaved very sexily, moulding the Lycra skin closer, and closer, to her body. I looked once, and felt that my cock would have pressed right into her cunt. Her knees were wide apart, and her feet together. It would have been an interesting "French Letter", stretching Lycra deep into her.

We were many yards out, when, at last, the propellers began to turn. First one, then the second engine caught. All was well, so we began to taxi out to the area designated by buoys for seaplane takeoff.

We had hardly made a sound until the engines fired. The second we did heads began to appear on balconies, and people came out onto jetties. They waved, and we waved back.

Neither my beloved friend, nor I, had been in a seaplane before. Takeoff was a thrilling experience, quite unlike that of a normal 'plane. We appeared to gather speed forever, before we began to break free of the suction of the water. I was thinking back through my knowledge of sea flying.

Seaplanes were often used for early commercial long distance flights because there were no runways, but they needed a great deal of clear water.

Then I began to dream, to think of the wonderful Schneider Trophy Races of the first third of the twentieth century. I closed my eyes as we left the water, and could feel the thunderous roar, the throb from the short, stubby, exhausts on the un-silenced V12 engine that powered the Supermarine S6B.

I was sitting in it; I was flying. I was Flight Lieutenant J N Boothman, of the Royal Air Force. I was hurtling low over the Solent, in the UK. It was 1931, and I was travelling at the then astonishing speed of more than 340 mph. I was only two hundred and fifty feet above the water, in the tiny narrow cockpit of one of the most beautiful aircraft ever made. I was winning the Schneider Trophy for the third, and last time.

I was winning outright.

My legacy became the Spitfire, probably the most beautiful warplane ever built.

My engine was the 1,900 horsepower Rolls Royce "R" type. It was developed into the "Merlin", and it powered the vast majority of the great allied aircraft of the 1940's. This included the wonderful P51 Mustang. It is an engine is still used in Pylon Racing in the USA.

I was in my dreams.

I was with the girl of my dreams, and with an enigma called Olga. I knew that we would have fun.

We were airborne. Water still cascaded off the floats, as Olga turned to salute our Hotel. Had she been flying a Spitfire she would have done a victory roll. As it was we wriggled our hips, and dipped our wings, before heading out over the water.

Suddenly, some ten minutes later, we began to bank again. She pointed to a house on a near island. It was hers. It was substantial, and had a jetty, a slipway into the water, and obviously a hanger easily capable of holding our plane.

We were impressed. Our enigma was a woman of some substance.

A little over an hour and a half later we were circling over a small island set in the middle of crystal clear water. It was impossible to detect any buildings, until we passed over the trees for the last time, and turned to make our landing approach. There was the building that she had described, facing south with a jetty to one side.

I was sure that Flight Lieutenant Boothman would have been proud of the landing.

I am no expert, but it was beautiful.

Olga turned, she grinned, her leather top sprang open for a split second, showing the complete inviting curve of her breast, and a pert hard nipple. She made no attempt to cover up, simply turning further to my Friend to say, "Welcome to my dreams." The leather pulled right back, the whole of her breast was there for me to ogle.

It was a long and glorious voyeur.

We taxied to the jetty, gently nudging the fenders as I was told that she had at our hotel. She opened the door, and sprang out to secure both ends of the float.

I helped my green skinned Friend out. She had ensured that her long nipples were still erect. She looked very beautiful.

I stepped onto dry land myself.

The cabin, the house, was just as Olga had described. All the main windows faced south, sunlight shone directly into the interior. It was mid afternoon, and still very warm. The sun stayed up late at these latitudes, long into the evenings. Daylight went on forever, so we would not need artificial light until very late, if at all.

Olga opened the house, and immediately pushed all windows to the landing jetty end. That was spectacular.

Suddenly she said, "I will race you both into the water, last man in is a sissy!" For a fleeting moment I thought that she would dive in still wearing her fine leather gear, but she began a lightning peel of the suit. It took her seconds. She had already lost her helmet, and suddenly she was stark naked.

I did not have a chance to ogle, to voyeur.

She ran the length of the jetty, and arched, in a beautiful dive, into the water. She vanished.

Moments later my jet black haired Friend was out of the green skin. It went downwards, and now I knew how it fitted. She wriggled, stepped gracefully out of the skin, and was totally nude. She followed her down the jetty, to execute a graceful dive. She also vanished.

Olga surfaced many yards further out, and began the languid crawl of an experienced long distance swimmer.

She was going farther, and farther out, when I decide that I had to follow.

The water was surprisingly cold, but then it was a hot day, and we were warm from flying. I began to chase after the two girl's heads bobbing up as they swum on. Both were very competitive. They were fine swimmers, and both were stark naked.

I had to catch up. I had to see.

I did. I reached them some two hundred yards out. Both girls were treading water where it was so crystal clear that you could see the bottom, but had no idea how deep it was.

I could also see their beautiful naked bodies, magically lit as the bright late afternoon sun shone through. It cast fleeting patterns all over their bodies. Olga was completely without body hair, was thin and athletic; my Friend was sporting her wonderful bush to match her black hair.

I dived, and swam very deep. I was nowhere near the bottom, and running out of air, as Olga passed me, still going down. She was so close that she actually touched my side.

I was sure it was deliberately playful.

I looked up to see the full, black bush between the legs of my Friend treading water on the surface. I aimed directly between her legs. She screamed with surprise as I buried my fingers straight into her cunt. I held them there a while. We kissed, and I probably filling her warm hole with cold water.

Olga had reached the bottom; she surfaced, with a breathless burst, and a gasp of air. She was holding stones to prove that she had reached her destination. We were all very close, and I expect that she had seen my hand playing in a cunt.

She gave the stones to my friend, and took a momentary, but very accurate, swipe at my penis with the hand that remained underwater. She giggled and winked.

My Friend had not dived, and she had time to recover. Suddenly she said, "Last back cooks dinner."

They set out for the jetty. I though that it would be easy to beat them. Great swimmers make it look so simple. Olga gave me a hard time, with her long, languid crawl. She was breathing bilaterally so could see to pace us both. She paced herself, reaching the jetty just before me.

It was the old voyeur in me giving up. I had to watch her pull her streaming naked body out of the water, and onto the deck. She did, she did not use the steps.

She moved in one long, continuous, graceful movement. Her upper body rose out of the water, that blond hair fanned out wet down her back. Both hands went flat onto the wood of the deck. She kicked one more time. Her glorious bottom appeared streaming water, and she turned to sit facing me legs slightly, and deliberately apart. Water poured off her erect nipples. It was a very sensuous sight.

My darling Friend would cook dinner. We pulled ourselves naked from the water, and Olga said, "Let's stay like this. We will dry off quickly in the warm air, and it saves on towels."

We agreed, and began to unpack the food, clothing, and wine from the seaplane.