John hadn’t used the chalet in Chamonix for over a year. Usually he left it with an agency and it was rented during the ski season. John received infrequent cheques from Agence Group de Chamonix to remind him of the chalet’s existence. The arrival of the cheques would often trigger memories from his childhood. John’s mind would wander as he gazed at the light blue paper of the now Euro denominated cheques. John would recall waking early to take the first run, skiing virgin untracked snow, following his father and brother as they barreled down in a race to the bottom as he meandered enjoying the view.
This last eighteen months had been tough and the financial battering John had taken was merciless. Since he was already in London John decided at the last minute to jump on the Eurostar and head to the chalet for a break. John emailed Philippe at the agency to have the place cleaned up and the fridge stocked. He asked Philippe to pull some of the better bottles of wine as well. John then headed down the A20 for Folkstone to jump on the Eurostar to Calais.
Since John was heading to the mountains he took the cranberry colored Range Rover Sport and left the Aston in the London car park. Even first class on the Eurostar sucked and John napped and read a bit of The Green House while sipping on decidedly mediocre coffee. John had grabbed Llosa’s early novel at the last minute deciding it was time for a re-read. John thought a little time spent with Bonifacia would do him good. His back-up novel, Norwegian Wood, was also stuffed into his carry-on just in case he decided to extend his stay.
John had been fortunate to get the en piste chalet in the settlement of his father’s estate. John’s father had died quite young and very suddenly from an aggressive form of bone cancer. John’s older brother William (they all called him Bill), a failed writer, had been besotted with Mrs. # 4 at the time, a third runner up in the Miss Mexico pageant. Bill’s future ex was part of a very wealthy South American fortune and Bill was living in Mexico City at the time. This young Latina vixen had kept his brother Bill completely distracted from their father’s death. Bill had only stopped over for one day in their dad’s final months of life taking his dad for a drive in his beloved convertible. The oldest son had been much favored by the father. The father whom Bill ignored in his final days had kept every single published piece of Bill’s work reverentially stored in his bedroom drawer. Yes, John was more than a little jealous. John’s sister Mary had been in the middle of her first divorce from a Russian Oligarch and was also distracted as the cancer progressed. As their father wasted away Mary had been in the process of deciding how to spend the tens of millions of pounds she was to receive from her divorce settlement. Mary’s main distraction during that period of time had been partying with toy boys who “modeled” for a profession.
It had been left to John to spend the last ninety-three days nursing their father, getting his pills ready and watching his body desert him day by day. Those had been the hardest and yet perhaps the most rewarding days of John’s life. Finally he had been able to hold his father, touch his skin and hear the words he had hungered for his entire life. As death came nearer and ever nearer his father dropped all interest in the material world, the world of business and finance, of his beloved “deals” and let his shield down. While talking on the phone with one of his childhood friends, surely for the last time--John listening in the other room-- was astounded to hear his father, always so stoic and remote, cry for the first time in his life.
As a consequence of his sibling’s ineptitude and self-absorption it had been left to John to divvy up the money, the art and the real estate. In the final analysis John decided it was only he who truly cherished the Chamonix chalet—so he kept it for himself and gave his siblings each a Gauguin etching in compensation. John’s grandfather, Benjamin, had originally purchased the chalet from a Swiss financier in 1930. The financier had taken a wrong turn on a deal necessitating the sale of the family silver so to speak. His grandfather’s great friend Emile Schuffenecker, the French/Swiss arms financier and art dealer had brought the chalet to Benjamin’s attention. Emile encouraged Benjamin to buy the chalet, as he owned the larger chalet next to it.
The Schuffenecker and Langham families had subsequently raised their young children side by side on the slopes of Mont Blanc during winter vacations. John’s father who was lovingly referred to as “Little Ben” or “Ben Junior” (these nicknames which he had abhorred being the singular reason John had not also been named “Benjamin”) had skied with Emile’s son Philippe Schuffenecker and they had gone on to continue the joint tradition of conducting mutual investments and business deals between Paris, Geneva, London and Hong Kong (where the Langham family had a large trading company).
John himself had spent time each winter of his youth skiing with the Schuffenecker children of his generation, Philippe’s children. John had spent the most time with Emile Jr. who was Philippe’s youngest son, but still eight years in age senior to John. Emile Jr. was the “favorite” grandson and in turn had inherited his chalet when Emile senior, his grandfather, had passed away from throat cancer. The copious volumes of wine, hard living, multiple mistresses and nine huge Cuban cigars a day had finally taken their toll on old Emile.
As time had passed John and Emile Jr. had lost touch with each other as their careers and demands of family and work took their toll. John knew Emile Jr. had married the lovely actress Brigitte Moreau, the niece of the actress Jeanne Moreau. John was also aware they had a daughter whom he had met once at the chalet about ten years ago when she was about eight-years old. As the Eurostar pulled into Calais he was trying to recall the daughter’s name. His mind seemed to be grinding unproductively when suddenly the name “Camille” burst like fireworks? Yes, her name was Camille he suddenly remembered. Why he had suddenly thought of her at that moment he couldn’t fathom.
John left Calais at a good clip with the three-litre 260-horse power engine humming along nicely. The Calais-Paris portion was rather boring. It was the Paris to Geneva and then finally the Geneva to Chamonix sections that John relished driving, especially in the Range Rover Sport. It would have been even more fun in the summer in the Aston, but winter conditions made the Range Rover a much more prudent choice. You never knew when a storm would bear down on you at the higher elevations bringing snow and ice conditions and the four wheel drive was always there if you needed it. The speed cameras on the Paris toll road were a major irritant and would make the journey longer and more stressful than it needed to be.
Finally after the long sections on the A6 and the A40 John hit the Tunnel du Mont Blanc and he knew he was close and his body started to relax. On the roundabout he took the exit for Allee Recteur Payot, went right onto Rue Joseph Vallot and then turned right onto Rue de l’Hotel de ville. With more twists and turns, the evening turning very dark now in the mountains, John pulled onto Chemin de Belachar and pulled up the slope into his chalet driveway.
The chalet, at the very end of the road, was perched on the side of Mont Blanc, on the edge of an actual ski run so you could ski-in and ski-out and its front overlooked the chalets built on the slope below it. An impressive log and stone structure the chalet was perfectly positioned with a spacious pinewood deck that looked out over the bottom of the mountain and the village of Chamonix spread out in the valley below. The imposing Mont Blanc towered above as a huge dark triangle at night, with only a few of the lift lights and maintenance lights twinkling like little stars up and down the ski runs. Nestled a little to the left of John’s chalet and behind it, sharing the same driveway, was the even larger and more impressive Schuffenecker chalet, which seemed to have a few lights on making John wonder if they had friends using it.
In the almost tangible blackness of the mountain night (no ambient city light pollution here) John could only just make out the peaked roof and the rough log structure of his chalet. John grabbed his bags and trudged tiredly up the slate stone steps to the front door. The door and stone steps were straddled on each side by a huge log support pillar grounded on a stone and concrete supporting pedestal. The glass pane in the front door was covered in a thick crust of frost crystals and the pattern etched in the glass was obscured by the caked snow and ice. John rubbed at the frost and ice with his bare hand enjoying the freezing sensation on his bare skin. He was starting to feel alive and revived already.
Tired from the long drive and dealing with all the speed cameras (a cat and mouse game that exacted a price on your nerves) John headed almost straight to bed. The only thing he really needed to do was charge the battery for his D700 so he could shoot some pictures tomorrow. John wanted to do a little a little photography as well as skiing. John found shooting with his camera therapeutic. John thought he would use the few days before Angie arrived to see if he could get any good shots with his new 1.4 lens. Angie would be arriving from Hong Kong in a few days and John knew that finally, after months, he’d get well and truly laid. Angie was a true connoisseur of sex, or in American parlance, variously referred to as either a “party animal” or a “slut”.
Those of you who follow John’s journeys around the world and were with him in Bali when he met Isabella Bloom, the young botanist, will know Angie as the vivacious UBS analyst from Hong Kong. Angie, until a few weeks ago, had been engaged to an incredibly wealthy Italian industrialist and “off the market” in the parlance of eager to mate females. Angie’s engagement had broken up as a result of her fiancé Carlo walking in on young Angie in the bedroom of Carlo’s Milan mansion and finding Angie’s head between the silken thighs of the fetching young housekeeper Carlotta. Moreover at the precise moment that Carlo barged into the room, the sixteen-year-old housekeeper had been in the throes of a huge body wracking orgasm a consequence of the ministrations from Angie’s more than talented tongue and fingers playing a perfect concerto of pleasure on her clitoris.
It apparently wasn’t the fact that Angie was bi or lesbian that infuriated her fiancé Carlo so much. In fact Carlo had found that revelation to be quite stimulating and exciting. A bi-wife with a young lover offered fertile ground for fantasies and more than a few prospects for exciting diversions in a marriage. Rather it was the fact that Carlo had been bedding the very same housekeeper for months and had never been able to get her to orgasm even once that made him furious. Carlo’s rather puffed-up Italian sense of manhood had been forever punctured and he felt deflated in Angie’s eyes. Carlo had cut off the engagement immediately and the family lawyers had stepped in to “clean things up”.
As a consequence of the “clean-up” which followed Angie was allowed to keep the three-carat internally flawless platinum set Cartier engagement ring, the Ferrari California and the wonderful beach front villa in Croatia on the Adriatic Sea. The villa came with a beyond stylish vintage hand made Riva launch. This package was predicated on Angie remaining silent. Since Angie had no interest in publicizing her break-up on the Internet or anywhere else the settlement was quickly concluded and Angie was once again a free woman.
For John this turn of events couldn’t have been better as he missed Angie and really needed a good romp in bed to lift his spirits. John drifted off into dreamland with visions of Angie’s blond ponytail flying in the air, her trim and athletic five-foot-six body bouncing up and down on his hard eight-inch cock, her hips thrusting, her legs a-straddle his hips, her perfectly manicured pink nails raking his chest, her firm 34 B breasts with erect nipples standing firm. John stroked his hard cock under the sheets and contemplated masturbating but then everything was black and he was snoring. The long drive had taken its toll and John fell into a deep sleep.
The cacophony sounds of raucous mountain birds finding their morning breakfast mingled with people’s voices awakened John from his warm slumbers. John’s still heavy eyelids lifted reluctantly and he cast a glance over at the bedside clock. Shit it was already ten in the morning. For John who was used to waking at five in the morning to do his three-mile run, this was like half the day was gone. John could make out laughter and both male and female voices that seemed to be quite close to his chalet. John got up and splashed water on his face to wake up, brushed his teeth and then pulled on some sweat pants and a t-shirt. He hadn’t turned up the heat yet so John pulled out a charcoal colored Hermes cashmere sweater and slipped it over his head to ward off the chills. Making a pot of rich organic coffee John could still hear the sound of lively voices at the front of the chalet. Curious John decided to investigate the source of the voices.
Looking out his front window John could make out four people near his front steps. A young blond in a cream colored jacket, hair in pigtails, was taking pictures of a striking brunette in a black goose down jacket with a hood with fake fur trim. The brunette was paired with two young guys who had their arms around her. The blond was giving directions and telling the three how to pose as they took positions against his slate stone entrance. The blond seemed to seamlessly interchange between French, Italian and German as she admonished the three models for failing to follow her instructions. This blond creature immediately captivated John, although the sexy brunette was certainly hard to ignore as well.
John decided to poke his head out the door and find out what was going on. When his door opened the four turned and looked shocked by his sudden appearance. John greeted them in French and the blond broke into a wide and welcoming smile.
She replied in fluent English with no trace of an accent of either French or Italian. John looked at this beautiful young blond apparition who had appeared from nowhere. He was completely befuddled at how in hell she knew his name. She looked back at him, her eyes dancing mischievously as she realized he had no idea who she was.
“You don’t remember me do you? Camille Schuffenecker. I’m Emile’s daughter.”
John’s face relaxed and he suddenly realized THIS was “little” Camille. Holy cow, that’s right he thought to himself, she must be eighteen or nineteen by now.
“Oh my god! You’re all grown up!”
Camille giggled and her animated face became even more beautiful if that was possible.
“Yes John, that’s what happens to little girls. Thank heavens right? We grow up….”
Camille’s voice, tinged with a teasingly sexy sarcasm, trailed off, as Camille couldn’t help descending into even more giggles. Her other three friends said they were starting to freeze and were heading back to the chalet. John and Camille fell into an easy banter as he asked her questions about her family and how her life was going. Noticing Camille’s camera John’s interest was piqued.
“You’re obviously quite serious about photography?”
Camille held up her camera so John could examine it more closely.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well a Classic Leica M6”
John paused as he moved closer to Camille and examined the camera more closely.
“And a 1.4 50mm Summicron lens. Nice! What film do you like to shoot with? Not too many people even shoot with film anymore.”
“Well John you seem to know a bit about photography yourself.”
Camille’s body leaned in closer to John’s and her jacket brushed up against his cashmere sweater as they examined the camera together. John knew it was wrong, but his mind quickly wandered in dangerous directions and he started to imagine Camille’s naked body, her firm young breasts and her tight ass. My god, he admonished himself, she’s so young and she’s your friend’s daughter. John did his best to push the wayward thoughts out of his mind.
“Well my favorite is to shoot with is Ilford.”
The two of them fell into a comfortable conversation as if they had known each other for years. John finally asked Camille if her mom and dad were also up at Chamonix and perhaps they could all have dinner together at Les Vieilles Luges or at La Casa Valerio if they preferred Italian. Camille’s face went into a faux pout and she looked at him like he was an alien arrived from outer space.
“John you are obviously more than a little provincial.”
John’s face betrayed his confusion and Camille again descended into a giggling fit that John couldn’t help finding so sexy and attractive. Camille composed herself and explained. Wealthy Swiss/French couples such as her parents simply stayed together for appearances sake, but each, once a suitable number of offspring were born, took lovers. They certainly did NOT, Camille explained, spend cozy family “get-aways” in French ski chalets with their troublesome teenage children.
Camille noted that John still did not look fully convinced so she expanded on her explanation and offered that her father was banging his gorgeous young assistant, a brilliant Swedish girl educated at Ecole Polytechnique. The two of them were somewhere in the Middle East right now financing large-scale weapons sales to tyrants and re-cycling Impressionist art to decorate the armed enclaves of these very same tyrannical individuals. Camille offered that John surely must know this very same despot as he had recently been seen on CNN holding hands with Sarkozy. Had he seen him Camille inquired? Camille cheekily added that Tony Blair’s grinning face had been in the background. The reason Blair was showing so much teeth she added was because of the VERY large bank transfer he had received for acting as an the “bag man” intermediary on the arms deal. It was clear from the tone of Camille’s voice that she viewed her father’s philandering (both sexual and financial) with complete disdain.
Camille couldn’t repress further giggles at seeing the rather shocked look on John’s face before once more continuing. Her mother Brigitte, Camille explained, was in London “finding herself”. This process of self-exploration seemed, Camille intimated, to primarily consist of bedding young out of work West End actors a good twenty years her mother’s junior. The tone of the conversation intimated that mother and daughter may, in fact, have shared one or two of these young morsels, but it was not explicitly laid out. John was too dazzled by Camille’s vivacious banter and overt sexual playfulness to really comprehend every word through his daze. No matter how much he tried, John could not repress his wicked thoughts, which caused his mind to continually speculate on Camille’s curves, the smoothness of her skin, the lush silkiness of her hair and the firm form of Camille’s tight young body. This young woman was clearly no innocent abroad and John’s mind was dizzy from imagining what her exact sexual proclivities might be.
Given Camille’s sexually tinged forwardness and joking, John decided to probe a bit on her personal life. John’s cock was now so hard it was bothering him, as he had never met a young woman quite as “open book” as young Camille seemed to be. Camille’s joking banter about sex combined with her gorgeous face, her shining hair, her vivacious eyes and her tight body had aroused him more than any woman he could recall for quite some time. John asked Camille if one of the young gentlemen who had been modeling for her camera was her boyfriend. Camille looked at John aghast and wagged her finger at him in playful admonishment.
“Boyfriend?” She chuckled looking at John with mirth filled eyes.
“John you’re much younger than my dad, but still you’re very out of touch. I’ve had sex with them both, but no they’re not really my ‘boyfriend’. We don’t talk like that these days John. They’ve both had sex with the other girl Anastasia as well. We just hang out and have fun together.”
Camille looked at John her eyes playful and mischievous.
“John, you’ve heard haven’t you? News bulletin John-- women’s liberation happened years ago! You know we can vote, right John? We “date” John; we don’t attach ourselves surgically to an individual man. Anastasia and I are young, very smart, very rich and rather pretty so it will only be a very special man who can keep our attention for any length of time. Usually we need to move on rather quickly. Most boys are simply too dull to keep us interested for long.”
Camille laughed at John’s clear discomfort at her “I am woman hear me roar” declaration and she apologized for poking fun at him. John’s head was reeling and what Camille had said had made him feel more than a little bit “old”. Clearly he was out of touch with the dating rituals of wealthy young European girls. As Camille headed off back to her chalet John implored her to not remain a “stranger” and to knock on his door at anytime if she needed anything.
John had no expectation that he’d really ever see Camille again during his visit, but he couldn’t help fantasizing. More than anything John just wanted to see what her body looked like under all that winter clothing. John’s ridiculous fantasies started to revolve around a knock on his chalet door and young Camille standing before him in a tiny short robe asking to borrow a cup of sugar. In John’s mind this scene would devolve rather quickly into his seamless seduction of the naïve young lady as he introduced her mouth, her pussy and her bum to his extremely hard and excited eight-inch cock. Yes, I know, men are so juvenile.
John didn’t see Camille for two days and he had lost hope of spending any more time with her. After all Camille was on holiday with three sexy young friends and they were no doubt skiing, having wild sex at night and doing those things eighteen-year-olds do when their hormones are at their peak. What interest could she have in an older guy like him?
The second day John decided to go skiing and took the lift to Helbronner at 3466 meters and beat the shit out of his body for six hours flying down the Glacier du Geant. John’s body was tired and aching as he skied onto his deck at the end of the ski day. Undoing his bindings, standing the skis up in the snow and ridding himself of the boots and clothing John retreated for a coffee and a hot bath to sooth his sore muscles and aching bones.
Later relaxing with a glass of ’89 Lynch Bages by his fireplace and looking out his window at the peak, Dome du Gouter, towering above his chalet, John heard a soft knock at the door. Opening the door he was shocked. Standing in his doorway was sexy young Camille wearing a short black mini-skirt over black tights, Ugg boots, a light red parka unzipped displaying a tight body-hugging black top that showed off the most amazing young breasts, firm, high and pert. Camille’s hair was golden and brushed out in large rolling waves that shone in the ambient light from his porch light. John was speechless and surprised, but curious about why Camille was there.
Camille looking young and confident made direct eye contact with John and said she was taking John up on his offer. Was he free for dinner by any chance she enquired? Since Angie was arriving the next day John had planned to get to bed early, but serendipity had intervened and his plans were about to change. John hesitated only a second before his words almost stumbled over each other as he rushed to answer in the affirmative. John mentally admonished himself for acting like a teenager, but then he realized that most men his age would stumble over their words in the presence of a young woman as beautiful as Camille.
Camille giggled at John’s rather hasty reply and admonished him to “hurry up” and get ready as she was “starving”. The way to a girl’s heart she saucily added was through a very expensive dinner. John grinned and rushed to get his coat and the keys. Camille said she felt like Italian so they headed to Casa Valerio on Rue de Lyret. Famous for its southern Italian cuisine they enjoyed a wonderful dinner of Rabbit Polenta, fish soup and the desserts were to die for. Out of the over 10,000-bottle wine cellar John selected a wonderful 98 Masetto, a pure Merlot with a silky depth and long-lived finish to rival Petrus.
During dinner John quizzed Camille as to exactly why she had shown up at his door. Camille had a two-part answer. She explained that Anastasia (her brunette friend) had always wanted to have sex with two guys at the same time so Camille had decided to leave her alone this evening to bring her fantasy to life. John’s head began to swim as he imagined, with more than a little jealousy, that stunningly beautiful brunette in bed with those two young fellows having wild sex. Camille continued.
“Anyways those two boys Ils m’ennuient tellement.”
She said segueing into French without even realizing it, but John understood her point—she thought the two young men were rather boring.
“I mean neither one is any good in bed. They simply have no patience or imagination, no creativity. Anastasia can have them. Really they both bore me to tears.”
John was thoroughly enjoying his evening out. Who would believe this incredibly intelligent and vivacious young girl was only eighteen or nineteen? How had she shown up at his door?
“And the second part of your answer?” John probed.
Camille explained that she had always heard stories about him from her father and mother and that he was the reason she had decided to go to law school. And then she continued with the bombshell.
“Since I turned sixteen I’ve always had this teenage girl imaginary crush on you and your globe trotting life. I just thought it would be so cool to have dinner together and you can tell me if your life is really as exciting as I’ve always imagined.”
John chuckled and his face flushed with a little pink at the off-hand compliment implied in Camille’s statement. Camille looked at him more seriously.
“My mother would always say you are one of those men who have roots and yet have wings. I always thought that was such an amazing concept: roots and wings.”
Camille’s slate blue eyes were alive with energy and a curiosity John had rarely ever experienced, an infectious zest for life that soon had him feeling more alive than he had in a very long time. Yes, her beauty dazzled him as well and he found his eyes looking at her silky hair, her flawless skin, her firm breasts, but it was her mind that was holding him entranced. Camille was one of those very rare women who seemed able to wrap him around her finger and to toy with him in a teasingly sexual way that was both embarrassingly juvenile and yet also a huge turn-on. Camille continued chatting provocatively.
“So now here we are John, having dinner all alone and you’re even more handsome and interesting than I had imagined in my fantasies.”
John felt the heat in his cheeks and he knew he was blushing even hotter than before. This young girl, did she feel she had nothing to hide? Did she think she could say anything to him, to play with him like a toy? Camille giggled and reached out to touch John’s hand and she patted it reassuringly.
“John, you’re blushing. You know sixteen-year-old girls need their fantasies just like sixteen-year-old boys. You had your posters and your dad’s magazines didn’t you?”
Camille looked at him with a playfully quizzical look before continuing.
“Well for a young girl your “dad’s friend”, especially when he is handsome and intelligent, is a convenient fantasy so you can learn how to orgasm, no?”
Camille’s face was covered in a playful grin. She knew exactly how uncomfortable she was making him with her sexy banter.
“I mean a vibrator is fine John, but it’s silicone. We need to imagine a real man, to picture him in our mind and you seemed to work wonderfully for me.”
She smiled triumphantly.
“C’est normal John, is it not?”
John certainly did not think there was anything normal about this incredible young lady or the playful discourse that came out of her mouth. Camille then looked John in the eyes and said something in Italian that he did not understand, but which he thought sounded very profound. As he looked into Camille’s eyes John detected a hunger, an appetite, a “lust” almost. John felt Camille was looking at him like he would be her second meal for the evening. John asked Camille to translate what she had said in Italian. She giggled.
“Don’t get me started on translation John. Traduire c’est mentic. ‘Translating is lying,’ John. Let’s just say I want you to take me back to your chalet.”
John’s cock was literally throbbing at this point as his heart pumped at twice its normal rate in his state of aroused excitement. John’s eight inches had hardened in his pants as this young vixen taunted him with her perfect body, playing with him with her confident eyes, confusing him with her provocative playful banter. John felt almost caught in a slow motion replay as he watched numbly the way Camille flicked her golden hair, her perfectly manicured pink nails dancing in the air as her slender hands gesticulated to illustrate her words, her perfect firm breasts rising and falling with her breathing, her perfectly aligned white teeth smiling, her pink glossy lips smiling? Just the thought of her lips and how badly he wanted to kiss them, to suck the lower lip into his mouth and suck on it, to have his tongue inside her mouth teasing hers drove him to a level of desperate desire he was embarrassed to even admit. How could a girl this young have this effect on him? She was only starting university?
Prompted by Camille’s request to return to the chalet John quickly paid the bill. As they left the restaurant John was surprised when Camille linked her arm into his and hugged herself into his body as if they had been a couple for ages. John rushed and bundled her into the freezing Rover. It was a very short drive back without enough time for the Rover heater to even heat up the interior and they quickly pulled into the driveway.
As they stepped out of the Rover huge light flakes of snow had begun to fall and Camille giddily giggled and stuck out her tongue to grab them. She stuck out her arms and began to spin.
“Don’t you love this John? Look at how big they are. Try to grab a snowflake with your tongue. C’mon try!”
John couldn’t repress his smile and feeling just a tiny bit foolish he did as Camille said and stuck out his tongue.
“C’mon spin around. Don’t be so stuffy!”
John looked at this vision of beauty spinning and laughing in the moonlight and he was caught up in her infectious love of life. John found himself spinning around and trying to collect snowflakes with his tongue. John caught three or four huge flakes and the cold burst of crystal cold pure mountain water on his tongue was a perfect sensation of feeling alive.
As they continued spinning Camille went faster and faster and lost control. Camille quickly spun into John’s body and he grabbed her as she laughed uncontrollably. Camille’s feet slipped out from under her on the slippery ice and snow and John held her in his arms to keep her from falling down. How light her body felt surprised John as he enjoyed the sensation of holding her in his arms. Camille tilted her head back and looking directly into his eyes she regained her footing and stood up. Her eyes still locked on his and without any warning Camille wrapped her arms around John’s neck, pulled his head forward and her warm mouth found his.
Without hesitation Camille’s tongue probed and pushed John’s mouth open and found his tongue. Their tongues entwined as if in a tribal fertility dance ritual and Camille’s fingers ran through his hair. Gripping a handful of John’s hair Camille pulled harder driving their mouths together with a heat and a desire that shocked him. His cock was now pulsing and throbbing in his pants as Camille pushed her firm young body against his. The kiss seemed endless and when they finally pulled apart they were both breathing heavily. Camille’s eyes were glazed with the look of a horny young girl in need of a night of wild sex. Even after the passionate kiss John felt he was on uncertain ground. The age difference? He hardly knew her? But how he wanted her……
Pushing his self-doubt to the side John suggested Camille join him inside for a nightcap while simultaneous coaxing her forward with his arm around her waist. Camille laughed and said that Anastasia could be in any number of positions with those two young men and it was best to leave her alone giving John a teasing wink.
“Besides you’re NOT getting rid of me after a kiss like that.”
Camille giggled between her heavy breathing, took John by the hand and pulled him into his chalet as if she were the one in charge. John, trying to pull himself together, went over to his fireplace and quickly got down on his knees to start a log fire. Within moments Camille was kneeling at John’s side, so close he could smell her perfume and little pieces of her hair were flying up and tickling his cheek. Camille’s seductive scent was quickly mingled with her soft seductive voice.
“Don’t you just love a real log fire? There is nothing more romantic than a log fire don’t you think?”
John quickly agreed as they crumpled up newspaper and placed small bits of kindling wood and then placed the larger French oak log pieces on top. Striking the long cigar matches John touched the edge of the newsprint and blue and white flames began to lick up at the wood. John was even more confused now. Camille had seemed very blasé about sex and now here she was talking about romance? ?
John soon had the room heating up and he asked Camille if she wanted some wine. She said she’d love a sauterne.
“Something sweet to share with a sweet man.”
Camille’s look was almost a challenge and again John sensed an undercurrent of youthful sexual desire. Was he wrong? She’s less than half my age he thought? She’s beyond perfect? Why did she kiss me? Is she a cock tease? She’s my friend’s daughter; I simply must be imagining things? John tried to banish his lustful feelings and he tried harder than ever to ignore the hard rod pushing up against the front of his slacks. John went to his wine cabinet and selected a 1989 Suduiraut that he knew had mellowed to perfection, notwithstanding its robust youth. Kept at fourteen degrees the Suduiraut was like cold liquid honey, silky sugar with hints of caramel and they both curled up on the large leather sofa to continue chatting as they sipped at the nectar, the heat radiating from the log fire warming their bodies.
As the conversation seemed to be flagging and John thought for certain his fantasy of something—anything— happening tonight was about to die, Camille turned everything in a new direction. Camille looked John in the eyes and reached out for his hand with her own eyes speaking volumes. How exactly it all happened after that is foggy. How he got to the bedroom, how his pants came off, how she reached back and slowly pulled down the zipper on her mini-skirt and let it fall to the floor, how she arched her back and pulled her top off in one graceful movement revealing the most perfect set of breasts he had ever seen supported by fine black lace? It happened as if in a trance.
Camille’s long delicate hands were working on John’s thick Italian shirt buttons and she was pulling softly but urgently at his shirt. Camille’s perfect pink nails teased his chest, tickled his hair, grazed his nipples, her mouth was suddenly on his again and light moans were coming from both of them as their mutual need increased. John’s shirt fell open and Camille pushed John back onto the bed, his eyes wide in shock at her sudden push.
Climbing between John’s legs Camille locked her eyes on his as her hand teased its way up his inner thigh and she began rubbing the pulsing bulge over the top of his cotton briefs. Pulling the briefs over the hard rod Camille lowered her head and her soft pink lips slowly enveloped John’s engorged purple cockhead. The sensation was so incredible John was forced to lay his head back on the bed and close his eyes as he was overcome by a pleasure so intense he needed to grab the quilt to control his response.
It was two or three seconds before John realized that the loud sounds being made were groans coming from deep down his throat. How could Camille only be nineteen and yet know how to suck cock like this? John grabbed a handful of Camille’s golden hair as he struggled to control himself. Camille’s sucking was so divine John’s fingers curled rigid, as the pleasure reached a level of intensity close to pain. John desperately wanted to stop her, to delay what was happening, but it was too intense. It had been ages since John had been swept up in anything as erotic and deeply satisfying as this moment and he lacked the self-control to push her away.
John knew that as a man he should flip Camille over, pull her legs wide with his strong arms and take control. He should be between her legs flicking her clit with his tongue and teasing her cunt with his fingers, rolling and pinching her nipples and making her cum several times before driving his hardness into her and bringing her to a final shuddering climax. He should, yes he should, but instead he lay back and let Camille suck and lick and teasingly play with his balls with the faintest touch of her fingers until, without warning it happened.
“UUuuggaaahhhhh Oohh AAaahhh……..OH CAMILLE…..SHIT….I’M…..I’M…..OH GOD…..OH FUCK….Camille I’m…..cccoooommmmiiiinnnnnngggggg!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
John’s balls constricted and sensing what was about to happen Camille sucked harder while wrapping her lips tightly around John’s thick cock taking it deep down her throat. Then pulling back quickly she simultaneously moved her fingers with teasing touches behind his balls, rapid movements that were so delicate and fast John had never felt anything like it in his life. John’s cum shot out in a giant warm load into Camille’s waiting mouth. Unable to take it all some of the creamy goo dribbled out at the corners of her lips. Camille pulled her mouth back so that she could swallow his load and she used her tongue to lick up the dribbling strands trying to escape at the corners of her mouth. What Camille couldn’t capture she wiped away from her chin with the tail of John’s soft cotton shirt. Lifting her head up from his cock Camille’s face beamed. John looked across his body into Camille’s beautiful face. She was wearing a triumphant grin like she had just won the lottery.
John grabbed Camille by the shoulders and pulled her up across his prone body, their mouths meeting in a hungry kiss of new lovers lost in the intense senses of exploring each other’s body. John’s hands found her black lace bra and he pulled at the front latch releasing it. His hands found her firm young breasts and his fingers rolled her left nipple firmly. A soft moan was his reward. John smiled and let his mouth replace his fingers. He sucked and flicked at Camille’s rubbery nipple with his tongue and then lightly nibbled it with his teeth. He felt Camille arch her back and push her breast into his mouth. John bit harder and her nipple instinctively hardened into a firm nib and her moans became louder.
John’s other hand moved between Camille’s soft warm thighs and as he alternated his nibbling and tongue flicking of her nipples he added light stroking to the lace panties covering her young pussy. As John rubbed with his hand lightly over the black lace he could already feel the moisture and heat radiating from her pussy. John rubbed harder and now he could feel the viscous liquid of an aroused young woman getting the panties wet. John desperately needed to smell and taste what he was touching. John moved his hungry lips down Camille’s flat stomach, planting light kisses as he went, his fingers still playing with her breast and her panties. John kissed Camille’s belly button and probed it playfully with his tongue causing her to giggle and shift her hips.
John brought his hands from her breast and her pussy and grabbed Camille’s hips firmly. He hooked a finger on each side of her black lace panties and pulled them down past her knees to her ankles while bringing his mouth forward. He could feel Camille working her feet against each other to push the panties off. Before John’s mouth even touched Camille’s pussy he could smell her, the peachy rich musk smell of perfect youth. A second later his tongue was on her plump engorged pussy lips and he was stroking the outside of her pussy with his slick, probing and playful tongue. Camille was arching her body, pushing her hips up into him, her feminine need wanting his tongue to go deeper, to stroke harder. Camille’s hands grabbed John’s head, her nails digging into his scalp as she pushed his mouth against her vagina demanding more friction.
Wild female sounds were coming from Camille’s mouth as her arousal became greater and greater. John flicked with his tongue, sucked on her clit, flicked inside her contracting pussy with his finger and teasingly played with her inner thighs. John would reach up and roll Camille’s nipples with fingers coated in a combination of her pussy juices and his saliva, pinching and rolling her hard little buttons until her moans got louder. All of Camille’s sounds, her female smell, the taste of her love juices, the feel of her slender young body gyrating in arousal, it all served to get John hard again. He could feel his hardness pushing into the bed.
John could feel Camille’s stomach muscles tense and her nails dig into his scalp with added urgency. He knew the moment was close. John immediately slowed his tongue and lessened the pressure moving Camille back from the edge. John felt her Camille’s hands pulling his head forward, urging him not to slow, not to stop. He heard her making desperate sounds, disappointed groans, urging him not to stop. She wanted it badly— so, so badly!
John chuckled inside. He stopped his tongue completely, teasing Camille the way she had teased him all night. He thought of how she had flicked her hair, how she had touched his arm, how she had teased him with her words and he wanted her to feel the same agonizing need that he had burned with all night. Slowly John started again, feeling his way forward, feeling her body respond, feeling her stomach muscles tense, feeling her shivers and shudders and building Camille slowly and deliberately towards the peak of arousal. Higher and higher his fingers, his tongue, his kisses, his bites, his teasing touches; ever higher they transported Camille towards a release she had never had before, a new level of intensity. How many times did John take her to the edge and deny her? Camille lost count and her sexual frustration was close to anger when finally John sensed the moment.
John had built Camille up, had taken her to the very edge of release so many times and, just when Camille expected him to slow down and pull back just like all the prior times—he DIDN’T! Instead John’s tongue lightened just slightly, but went faster and faster flicking just on the very top of her now highly aroused clitoris. His hands instead of leaving her nipple, pinched it even harder, resulting in a bolt of pure pleasure going straight to her pussy setting it aflame. His finger inside her pussy stopped going slowly in and out and instead flicked side-to-side with incredible speed. As Camille felt herself catapulting over the edge John suddenly moved his finger inside her pussy up and behind where her clitoris was and he rubbed circles. HOLY FUCK! Camille had never felt anything like this sensation with any of her young lovers and her pussy exploded in flames, her brain exploded in pleasure and her whole body arched off the bed in a huge rigid arc as she screamed out his name.
Camille screamed out John’s name as her nails drew blood in his scalp, digging into his skin, her fingers locked like rigid claws.
“OH FUCK, OH FUCK…..OH GOD, DON’T STOP JOHN!! DON’T STOP!!”
John flicked faster and faster with his tongue as wave after wave of pleasure washed over Camille’s writhing young body. John had a hard time keeping his mouth latched onto her pussy as she gyrated her hips, her pussy hungry for friction. John wrapped an arm around Camille’s waist to stabilize her hips and pushed down with his face. He slowed his tongue strokes and slowed his finger movements as he let Camille gently drift into a fading orgasmic afterglow. Her body twitched and shuddered a few times and Camille tried to push his head away as the intense sensation overload became almost too great.
Lifting his head and looking up from her pussy, his face covered in her juices, John could see Camille’s perfect breasts rising and falling with her heavy breathing as she panted and gulped for air to replenish her drained body sated by the massive release. Crawling up towards Camille’s face John’s engorged cock pushed out in a hard arc of need. John felt Camille’s legs splay open wide invitingly and her head rolled lazily to the side as she reached up to put her arms around his neck, pulling him down onto her body. As their bodies met he could feel the heat of her body warming his and his hips fell between Camille’s soft silken thighs. John’s cockhead was now pushing against the wet slickness of Camille’s hot throbbing pussy lips.
Camille reached down and grabbed John’s hips pulling him towards her, urging him to enter and take her. John was reluctant, but only for a second. Whatever impulse he may have had towards gallantry was fleeting. Camille reached between their sweaty bodies and found his hard cock with her left hand. Camille held his hardness and rubbed John’s thick engorged cockhead against her slit, getting it wet and lubricated and teasing her clit with it. Camille put her lips close to John’s ear and in soft words interspersed with warm moist breathing she whispered to him. There was no pretense of coy affectation or false modesty. She was a young woman in need.
“John, that orgasm was huge. Give me another one. Go inside me just like my fantasy when I was sixteen. But this time, instead of a vibrator it will be your hard cock.”
To be continued…….
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