By the time Mike Harris boarded his Continental Airlines flight out of Houston bound for New York he was shagged. The cheery "welcome aboard" issued with a smile by the cabin staff at the door of the aircraft was about as insincere as the offer he had turned down at the business meeting he had just attended.

To make matters worse the fruitless meeting had stretched late into the afternoon and he had had to hurry to make his flight. Then the surly attendant at the check-in desk had tried to downgrade him to coach. Mike stood his ground; he'd paid full fare for a guaranteed reservation in business-first.

"Look darlin' just get your head down into the computer and downgrade your Uncle Harry or whoever you gave my seat away to, and give my business-first boarding pass. Or we can get your supervisor over here!" Mike had finally had enough.

The frazzled attendant clicked and clattered away on her keyboard, blowing and grumbling, but she had finally printed a ticket for business-first with Mike Harris' name printed on it.

"Enjoy your flight," she'd given him the most insincere smile he had ever seen.

"Thank you sweetheart'; that wasn't so hard now was it," he smiled back.

"You're welcome," she smiled back at him.

Mike grabbed his carry-on baggage and hurried away from the check-in desk.

"Fucking Yanks; they always have to have the last word!" he hissed as he headed for the Elite lounge hoping to scoff a couple of gin and tonics before he had to board his flight.

On board the aircraft Mike got to his aisle seat and managed to stuff his carry-on baggage into the overhead locker and get himself seated before the coach passengers started to board. He checked out the hosties and sighed to himself: 'what the fuck was going on with stewardesses these days.'

One of the flight attendants had to be sixty-five if she was a day! Not that he minded older women; in fact Mike had a penchant for older sophisticated woman, and let's be honest; Mike was no spring chicken himself. But Christ! This woman's hair looked like she'd been dragged through a hedge backwards and she was wearing hardly any makeup. The horrible, shapeless, black pantsuit with the gold piping she wore was appalling as were her badly scuffed, wedge-heeled shoes. She looked drab and sexless.

Her partner, although considerably younger and pretty, in a self-indulgent sort of way, looked no better. She opted for the skirt and blouse version of the uniform but it too was shapeless and bland. She wore those atrocious navy-blue opaque tights which made her legs look like scorched tree trunks.

Mike was a leg man — always had been - always would be; but he was getting no leg action on this flight.

The frumpy older stewardess approached him and offered him water or orange juice and had rolled her eyes when he'd asked for champagne, she had clomped off to the service area to get him his drink. She had tried to give him an insipid smile, but Mike knew he'd pissed her off but he didn't care a fuck.

Hosties today (of course you couldn't call them that; you couldn't even call the stewardesses — they were 'Flight Attendants' or 'Cabin Staff') seemed to want to get you strapped in, throw you a pack of peanuts and maybe later a meal, and then have done with you. Shut up and watch the in-flight entertainment and leave them alone to gossip at the front of the cabin. Woes betide if you push the call button. "You want what!!!!"

Mike knew that the flight attendants referred to the passengers as 'sheep'.

The aisle began to crowd with economy-class passengers waiting to get further down the aisle to their seats. There were the usual suspects who made the experience of flying today so much fun:

Fat, loud, Americans: men and women dressed in Bermuda shorts, T-shirts, and sports shoes, with their gaggle of undisciplined spoiled brats who seemed to think that everyone on the plane needed to know they were going to visit Aunt Sally on Long Island.

A gang of British 'Lager Louts' wearing European football club jumpers, already pissed, broadcasting intelligent quips such as "Whooaaay!" "Go the Red Devils!" and "Any chance we get a kebab on this flight?" They would undoubtably get stinking drunk and get louder; they were on their way to New York and Mike hoped there were a couple of muggers there waiting to kick their arses.

A Family of Indian's pushed their way down the aisle gibbering and bickering. They appeared to be carrying enough cabin baggage to feed the starving of Calcutta.

"Christ," Mike muttered to himself and flicked open the in-flight magazine to see what third-rate movies they were running on this leg. Mike had a day layover in New York and then he would make a connecting flight to London. He was glad to be heading home.

Eventually the crowd thinned out enough so that the hostie could get to him and she plonked the tumbler of insipid bubbly on his tray table and spun on her heels to depart. Mike kicked his pillow under the seat in front of him and called out.

"Stewardess? Stewardess?"

She spun around and Mike could see the fiery look in her eyes.

"Yes sir! And by the way we are Flight Attendants; not Stewardesses," she spat.

"May I have a pillow; mine seems to have disappeared?" he smiled up at her, tipping his drink and taking a sip.

She reached into the overhead locker and dropped a pillow into Mike's lap and slammed the overhead locker closed.

"Anything else sir?" she asked.

"No thank you," Mike grinned.

Just before she got out of earshot Mike muttered:

"Flight Attendant! You're a flying waitress!"

The hostie gave him a ferocious glare and moved to the front of the cabin. Mike watched her large arse wriggle in the shapeless black trousers as she stomped down the aisle in her awful scuffed shoes. The screens dropped down and Larry Kellner's bald smiling face began to drone on about his airline's customer service and Mike Harris sipped his drink and allowed his mind to wander back to a better time in the annals of air travel. A time when flying was a pleasure, a time when hosties were young, pretty and attentive; a time when passengers comfort and satisfaction came first; a time when hosties wore stockings...

...

In 1974 BOAC introduced a new service flying their brand-new 747s non-stop from Heathrow to Singapore. Michele Bouvier had been assigned to the leg since its inception but this was to be her last flight with BOAC. At thirty she was considered too old to be an airline hostess and would either have to resign or take a job in customer service. BOAC retired their hostesses when they either married or became 'too old'. These were the days when political correctness and women's lib were yet to rear their heads.

Michele Bouvier had always wanted to be an airline hostess; the job was glamorous and exciting. After a few years the excitement wore off but the glamour remained. She was proud of her job and she took it seriously; she had never transgressed BOAC's code of conduct. But now they were tossing her aside so she decided that this last trip she was going to enjoy herself.

As the senior stewardess on the flight she would be looking after the first-class section on the upper deck of the 747; there were only three passengers flying in the upper deck cabin on this flight so she would look after it on her own. She was hoping to take it easy and even sneak in a couple of drinks. Fuck the code of conduct! BOAC was throwing her away after years of devoted service. Besides the company was about to merge BEA and become British Airways so who knew if she would even have a job?

Michele was feeling a little sad as well as angry so she had drunk a couple of drinks before she showed up for the flight. That was the good thing about gin and tonics; people couldn't smell the drinks on your breath.

Michele stood at the top of the spiral stairway waiting for her passengers. She wore the latest version of the BOAC airline hostess uniform. She wore a form-fitting navy-blue A-line skirt; the hem of which rested six inches above her knees. The company would insist that their hostesses wear mini-skirts if they could get away with it but decorum prevailed. Michele quite liked the new uniform and she had good legs and didn't mind showing them off.

She was wearing a matching fitted jacket with rounded collar and a hidden zip at the front, very derigour in seventies, the BOAC emblem on her upper sleeve and the single gold wing pinned to her left breast, designated her as flight cabin staff. She wore the jacket over a white cotton blouse under which she wore a white satin bra. She had a pair of matching panties for the bra; but she had decided on function over form and wore a pair of large white nylon full-cut knickers. The full-cut knickers were more comfortable than bikini panties and they didn't ride up during the long tedious flight. She wore her knickers over a white lace suspender belt.

A lot of the other hosties had started wearing the wedge-heeled shoes that were now approved for wear by the company but here Michele had put fashion over form and insisted on still wearing her black, patent-leather, high-heeled court shoes; she also refused to wear tights. Most of the girls now wore tights, or pantyhose as the American's call them, but Michele actually found stockings to be more practical.

She could use the toilet without pulling down her tights, if she laddered one stocking she could still use the other because she always wore the same brand, her crotch didn't get as sweaty as did the girls who wore tights, and she had to admit; wearing stockings made her feel more feminine.

BOAC had dictated that hostesses working in the economy cabin were to wear dark hosiery to complement their navy-blue uniform and the hostesses in first class were to wear flesh toned hosiery. She found some of the decisions made by the management quite silly and frustrating at times but she had to admit that the flesh-toned stockings looked better with the dark uniform.

Michele wore Aristoc fifteen-denier tan stockings with an almost indiscernible back-seam, reinforced toes, beige shadow-welts and chocolate-brown top-welts that were almost as sheer as the hose. They were expensive but relatively long lasting. The back-seam and welts were purely for decoration but Michele loved the style, look and fit of the stockings. She knew that the other hosties laughed at her behind her back for being so old fashioned but Michele never forgot that an airline hostess must always look her best!

This went for makeup as well. Michele wore foundation, face-powder and rouged cheeks. Her bright hazel eyes were enhanced by green-blue eyeshadow, black eyeliner and lashings of black mascara. Her lips were painted with bright-red lipstick and her fingernails were painted with matching nailpolish as were her toenails. Her brunette hair was cut in a carefully coiffured bob; the nape resting on her collar. Perched on top of her head was the hat with BOAC badge on it; she liked the uniform but hated the silly hat and couldn't wait to take it off.

Of course Michele accessorised herself tastefully: stylish gold earrings with matching bracelets and watch, and a gold necklace around her neck. She wore a gold ring set with a large ruby on her wedding-ring finger even though she wasn't engaged and she wore an assortment of other rings on her other fingers. She also wore lashings of Channel No 5.

Mike Harris was welcomed aboard the gleaming new 747 by a delightfully pretty young hostess who directed him towards the staircase that led to the upper deck first class section. Mike was excited; he was a young lawyer in a distinguished law firm and this was his first overseas assignment. He clambered up the staircase and when he looked up he was rewarded with the sight of a lovely pair of shapely legs clad in sheer hose disappearing under a rather short navy-blue skirt.

If he wasn't mistaken he could just make out a shadow-welt near the top of the hosiery and a discrete back-seam that suggested that those shapely legs were in fact encased in stockings rather than tights. As he climbed further up the staircase he saw that the hostie had a nice full firm arse snugly sheathed in her dark uniform skirt. When he arrived at the upper level of the aircraft he was greeted with a beaming smile by the mature attractive hostess.

Michele smiled at the young man as he came up the stairs and entered the first class cabin; she was keenly aware that he had been eying her legs on the way up and normally this would cause her to have a little disdain for the passenger but this young man seemed very nice and he was very handsome.

"Welcome aboard," she smiled.

"Thank you very much," Mike smiled back and headed towards his seat at the rear of the small cabin.

He was not aware of the protocol of letting the hostess look at his boarding pass and then guide him to his seat and he moved up the aisle just as Michele attempted to take his boarding pass from him and this caused the two of them to bump into each other in the cramped aisle.

Mike felt Michele's ample bosom push against his chest and his crotch pushed against hers and he breathed in her beautiful scent and looked into her heavily made-up hazel eyes and his heart skipped and his penis pulsed. This older woman was not pretty in the true sense of the word but she was exotically sexy; she had nice curves and she felt absolutely wonderful as their bodies briefly pressed together.

"Oh excuse me," Michele blushed and extricated herself from the situation.

Her breath smelled of peppermints and a hint of gin and he could smell her makeup and perfume. Mike's cock began to thicken. Michele turned away from the embarrassing situation and began to fluff the pillow on Mike's seat in an attempt to look busy. Mike was also embarrassed and he reached up to put his briefcase into the overhead locker just as Michele bent down to put the pillow on Mike's seat.

As a consequence Michele's ample behind pushed back against Mike's groin and his semi-hard cock nestled in the crease of her buttocks. Mike felt the warmth and suppleness of Michele buttocks as he pressed against her pretending to struggle with his briefcase so that he could prolong the sensation of his hardening cock rubbing the crevice of her soft round bum. Michele blushed and was then quite shocked when she felt the man behind her push his erection into the crevice of her buttocks. Her skirt was very tight and she could feel the bulge of the man's penis through the fabric of his trousers and her skirt.

Being an airline hostess Michele was well used to men being forward, trying look up her skirt or even trying to cop a feel and she was about to spin around berate this young upstart when all of sudden she felt a little tingle of sexual excitement ripple through her body. My God she was even getting a little moist!

It was Michele's last flight with BOAC and she was determined to enjoy it and be a little naughty during the flight but she hadn't expected to be doing anything this naughty. She briefly pushed her bum back against Mike and wriggled her hips; feeling Mike's cock harden inside his trousers.

She spun around suddenly and was face to face with Mike Harris again; his face was flushed and she was a little blushed.

"Excuse me sir?" she whimpered and extricated herself from between him and his seat.

As she extricated herself she lightly brushed the front of Mike's trousers letting her long fingernails scrape over the bulge of his cock. She smiled to herself as she tottered back down the aisle to the stairwell feeling the heat of Mike's eyes on her arse and legs.

Mike was quite shocked by the mature hostie's actions but he was well pleased. 'This might turn out to be a very interesting flight, ' he thought to himself.

Michele composed herself; the next passenger was coming up the stairwell and it was Lady Jane Morecroft, a regular on this flight, and real pain in the arse. Michele hoped that Lady Morecroft would drink herself to sleep, as she was known to do on occasion, so that she wouldn't nag Michele the whole flight. Lady Morecroft was a large lady, not unattractive, but very severe. She plonked her large behind into a seat at the front of the cabin and her skirt rode up her legs showing the dark bands of her control top tights. She tugged at her skirt and gave Michele a stern look when she saw her smiling at Lady Morecroft's breach of decorum.

"Make yourself useful and get me a gin and tonic!" she snapped.

"After we take off your ladyship; you can have a glass of champagne though?" Michele smiled sweetly at Lady Morecroft to disguise her distaste for the stuck-up old bag.

Lady Morecroft just huffed and nodded and busied herself with her seatbelt.

The last of her three passengers came up the stairs and entered the cabin. He was an older distinguished gentleman who buckled himself into a seat across the aisle for Lady Morecroft and promptly fell asleep. Michele went to the servery and took off her hat and jacket then she bought Lady Morecroft her champagne, and checking to make sure the other man was fast asleep, she made her way down the four rows to the back of the cabin where Mike was sitting in the window seat. She offered him a glass of champagne leaning over the aisle seat so that her blouse opened up and gave Mike a nice view of her large breasts snugly stuffed into her white satin bra.

"Thanks," Mike smiled back at her.

After takeoff Michele bought Lady Morecroft her dinner with which she had ordered a large glass of red wine. The passenger across the aisle from Lady Morecroft had put on a black eye-mask and did not want to be disturbed. Michele headed to the back row to serve Mike Harris. Mike had moved into the aisle seat; so that he could lay out some paperwork on the vacant window seat tray table.

Michele lowered Mike's tray table and the closeness of her body and the smell of her perfume began to arouse him again. He was glad that she couldn't see the bulge in his trousers. As Michele tended to him Mike's hand inadvertently touched her leg. Michele felt Mike's hand glance across her leg and she froze. Mike loved the feel of Michele's warm leg through her silky sheer nylons and this time he deliberately slipped his fingers along Michele's leg and felt the small wrinkles in her nylons at the back of her knee.

Michele ignored the man's advances and carried on serving him dinner; then Mike became brazen and stroked his fingers up and down her thigh; her nylons hissing in quiet cabin. Michele shuddered as a bolt of sexual stimulation ran through her body.

"That's a little too naughty sir, please stop sir" she said reproachfully.

Mike pulled his hand away and blushed and Michele served him his dinner in silence. Later when she had cleaned away the dinner trays Michele turned off the cabin lights and, ensuring Lady Morecroft had a fresh gin and tonic and checking to see that the other passenger was fast asleep, she made her way to the back of the cabin.

Mike had moved back to the window seat and was busy working through some notes for his business meeting the next day by the light of the little reading-light and was quite surprised when Michele slid into the seat beside him.

"I'm not supposed to do this under any circumstances you know?" she smiled.

"What's that?" Mike asked giving Michele his best smile.

"Sit with a passenger; but this is my last flight and you seem like a friendly lad and I need to get off my feet," Michele smiled back at him.

She reclined the seat and leaned forward and pulled off one of her high-heels and began to massage her toes. Mike inhaled the musky aroma of Michele's foot mingled with her perfume and he stared at her pretty painted toenails glistening through the reinforced toe of her stocking. Michele looked Mike in the face and smiled.

"Fresh out the packet twenty minutes before the flight and I think I've laddered the sodding things already."

"Would you mind checking along the back to see if they're laddered?" she knelt on the seat and spun around so that her back was to him.

This was an opportunity that Mike couldn't resist. He wasn't sure if this hostie was coming on to him or not but any chance to play with a woman's stockinged legs was not to be passed up. Mike had developed his nylon fetish when he was a young boy.

He had burst into his mother's bedroom late one night crying because he had just woken from a bad dream.

His mother had just returned from the theatre and was undressing for bed and she was dressed only in a black basque corset, sheer tan stockings and shiny black high-heels. Mike flew at his mother who was standing next to the dressing table taking off her earrings and clung to her legs sobbing.

"There, there honey, let mommy take off her jewellery and I'll be right with you," she had said reassuringly and had let Mike cling to her legs.

Mike inhaled his mother's exotic perfume and rubbed his face against her leg for a few minutes while she removed the rest of her jewellery; he found the feel of the sheer nylon very comforting and sensual. His mother lifted him up and lay with him on the bed and he snuggled up to her and she cuddled him and smothered him with kisses and cooed in his ears to comfort him. His pyjama pants were the old style with an open fly and his little penis had flopped out of the opening and rested against his mother's silken thighs and as she hugged and rocked him his little penis had hardened as it rubbed against her sensuous nylon stockings.

His mother felt her young son's penis hardening against her legs and she gently extricated him from her embrace. She smiled to herself: 'like father like son, ' she thought. Mike's dad liked to shag her while she wearing stockings and high-heels and had cost her a small fortune in hosiery over the years because he often laddered her stockings during their very vigorous sexual encounters. She looked down and saw that her son had left a little silvery trail of pre-seminal fluid on her stocking and she rubbed at it while she spoke to him.

"Mike; you are growing up now and I don't think you can hug mommy like this anymore. You have to knock and wait before you come into my bedroom understand?" she smiled sweetly at her son; not wanting him to become embarrassed or start him crying again.

Mike nodded and got off the bed and turned towards the door trying to hide the little bulge at the front of his pyjama pants.

"Ok mommy," he said and silently padded out the door back to his own bedroom.

His mother smiled again and sighed; 'her little boy was growing up so quickly, ' she thought but then Mike's dad came out of the ensuite bathroom and fell on top of her; fumbling his cock out of his underpants intent on giving his wife a good shagging.

"You looked so good lying there in that corset, stockings and high-heels; you're just begging to be fucked," he grunted in her ear.

"Christ! Here goes anther pair of my best sheers," she giggled, as her husband's erect penis stabbed at her stocking tops as he tried to force his himself inside his attractive wife.

She lifted her legs up high so that her husband could enter her and she rubbed her stocking-clad along his flank the way she knew he liked her too. She didn't see her son's eye peeking through the crack in the door.

Later in the week she became suspicious when she started to find semen stains in her stockings. She knew her husband was not averse to wanking in her stockings occasionally but he liked to fuck her in her stockings more than he liked to masturbate in them and she never turned him down when he wanted to shag her so who was leaving spunk stains in her hosiery?