Heather had come out to Colorado on her own. It had been the normal bullshit from Charlie - last minute work, had to take care of it, she should go ahead, he’d join her there. Heather was pissed. They’d had this vacation scheduled for six months, the first time since their honeymoon that had been alone together for more than a long weekend. She’d known that Charlie expected her to wait for him, regardless of what he’d said.

“Alright, I’ll meet you out there,” she’d said cooly.

A feeling came over her then. She couldn’t quite explain it. She’d been to Negril in Jamaica once. She’d gone with some friends for spring break, and they’d gone diving off the cliffs at Rick’s Cafe. The feeling that came over her was like..

“Like diving from a cliff into the warm blue Caribbean,” she smiled to herself. The fear of doing something the mind tells the body not to, the thrill of weightlessness, of plunging into the unknown, a feeling of freedom and anticipation at what lay ahead.

The feeling had come over her again as the plane lifted off from LaGuardia and again as it touched down in Denver, and yet again as she was waiting to check into her hotel. Weightlessness and anticipation.

It was mid-March and the resort was bustling with well-heeled visitors from all over the world. In the lobby of the hotel, a small family-owned inn at the foot of the mountain, she heard at least four foreign languages being spoken.

She’d gone skiing alone the first day and met up with some locals. Once they figured out she could actually ski, they took her to some of their favorite stashes. It was then, sitting on the chair laughing with a bunch of smiling, easy-going twenty somethings that she realized she was going to have an affair. The feeling, now familiar, intensified. Sitting on the chair, she became excited and the feeling of weightlessness.

That afternoon, Heather had every intension of doing precisely what she’d told her skiing companions she would be doing. They’d wanted her to come out with them for aprés ski, but between the skiing and the travel, not to mention the altitude, she was dead tired. She was going to buy a bottle of wine, go back to the inn, have a bath and go to bed.

Walking through the village, she remembered the wave of excitement that had come over her on the chairlift. She smiled to herself: What she wanted was not going to be satisfied by some twenty-something kid. She went into an Italian deli and bought some Vacherin, some Jarlsberg and some bread. Walking outside, she saw the liquor store opposite and went in.

“We have a lot more wine downstairs,” the man said to her with accent that bespoke colonial origins. Heather looked up. The man had a warm smile and a cool self-assuredness about him.

“Oh, good,” Heather gulped. “I was hoping there was more.”

“Much more.” The man smiled. “Come along downstairs. I’ll show you around.”

Heather noticed his physique now - athletic, stout, the musculature of his chest outlined clearly by his close-fitting sweater.

He went down the narrow staircase and entered the cellar, Heather following him, noticing his ass well-framed in selvage denim.

“Wow, this is impressive,” Heather said.

“Thanks.” He smiled, his cool blue eyes holding her. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Something red, I think. I’ve been enjoying a lot of Spanish wines lately. Oh, the Emilio Moro. That’s a terrific Ribera for the price. And your price is much better than the other store’s.”

“Glad to hear it. Have you had this?” he asked, showing her a bottle of “Nita.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Luscious. Grenache from Priorat aged in cement. Great body, lovely fruit, fabulous depth.”

“I’m getting excited,” she said. He smiled.

“I’m Kevin, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Heather,” she offered hers. He took it gently and she felt how powerful they were and warm. “South African?”

“Zimbabwean. You?”

“I’m from Pennsylvania, but I live in New York.”

Kevin smiled again.

“What?” Heather asked.

“Sorry, just something I read. Are you here on your own?”

“My husband was supposed to come but stayed in Manhattan. Business.” She didn’t want to discuss him, not with Kevin, not with anyone really. She was flying solo.

“Too bad for him!” Kevin quipped.

“It’s alright,” she smiled, hoping to dismiss the subject. “I’m a much better skier than he. I had a blast today.”

“That’s great.”

“What was it?” she asked again.

“What?”

“That made you laugh?”

He smiled coyly again. “Perhaps I’ll tell you about it some time.”

“How about tonight?” Heather asked, surprising herself that she’d taken the plunge at such a narrow opening.

He smiled again. “That would be lovely. I get off at 8:00.”

Kevin arrived at Heather’s hotel at around 8:30. She let him in and they kissed each other on the cheek. She was warm, fresh from the bath she’d promised herself, the terry of the plush hotel robe still damp.

“Hello,” he said warmly.

“Hi,” she smiled.

He was carrying a bag with a couple of bottles in it. “Do you have a fridge?”

“Right over there.”

“How do you like the ‘Nita’?” he asked, noticing the open bottle on the table.

“Luscious. As promised. Will you tell me now?”

“What?”

“What made you laugh at the store when I told you I lived in Manhattan?”

Kevin smiled and looked briefly at his feet. She loved the way he did that - so coy and charming, his shirt tails showing under his sweater looking down at his folded jeans. “Something I read this morning.” “What was it?”

“It said ‘I love New York girls. You are all such beautiful sluts - unabashed, direct, unwilling to take no for an answer and willing try anything once. I’ve often wondered how the sex trade survives in that city. I suppose it must be the out of town visitors.’”

They laughed together. Kevin turned to put one of the bottles he had brought in the fridge.

“Apt, I suppose,” Heather said. His back turned to her, Heather bit her lip in anticipation, wondering if she should take the plunge. He was peeling the foil off a bottle.

“I hope you don’t mind…” he said.

There was a little “pop.” Heather dropped her robe and stood naked at the edge of the bed. Kevin poured two glasses of champagne.

“...but I took the liberty of bringing something I thought would go well...” He turned with the two glasses in his hand and moved toward her. He seemed totally unsurprised and unfazed by Heather standing naked before him and finished his sentence, “…with you.”

He stood next to her and handed her a glass.

“I had to guess at how you might taste.” He took a sip of champagne and kissed her, the scruff of his five o’clock shadow rough against her freshly bathed skin, his lips firm on hers.

She opened her mouth and his tongue slipped inside without hesitation, the flavor of the wine mixing with saliva. She felt his hand, hot and masculine on her thighs, pushing them apart. She parted them and he slipped a finger deep inside her wet slit. She moaned - it was what she had been longing for. He pulled his finger out again and, his steely blue eyes locked on her, he ran his tongue along his finger, tasting her. He took a sip of the champagne.

“A perfect pairing,” he smiled, holding his finger, bathed in her scent, up to her. “Would you like to try?”

She nodded hesitantly and then took his finger inside her mouth. Her mouth moved back up his finger and then she took a sip of wine.

“Pleasant, yes?” he asked. She nodded slowly. She had to agree that it was. She smiled.

“Shall we see how it goes with my cock?”

She smiled, more brightly, her deep blue eyes glittering from behind her jet black bangs. She pulled his sweater over his head and then moved down his body with her lips, unbuttoning his Oxford as she did so, taking in the full power of his masculinity as she undressed him, tasting the salt on the skin she uncovered. She reached the faded heavy denim of his pants, and looking up at him, she unbuttoned the pants, releasing his manhood. Still looking at him, she took his plump cock slowly into her mouth, noting the powerful musk that filled her nostrils. Just as slowly, her mouth retreated up the length of his cock and she took a sip of her wine.

“I think that will do quite nicely,” she smiled up at him. “Let’s see if you agree.”

She took his slowly in her mouth again and then pulled it out again, taking a small sip of champagne. She moved up his body and kissed him, the champagne and the taste of his cock mingling with their saliva.

She broke off the kiss and smiled at him. “But what about your balls?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but moved back down his body. She took a sip of champagne and, gripping his cock and looking up at him, she licked the heady underside of his sack, taking one of his balls in her mouth. She swallowed and smiled as it popped out.

He looked down at her. “My turn,” and she dutifully took a sip of champagne, took the other ball in her mouth and then traveled up his body to share the flavor with him. He held her tightly and kicked himself free of his pants. She was stroking his now fully erect cock, thrilled with the expectation that he would shove her on the bed and fuck her now. She was shuddering with anticipation, his cock so hard and thick in her hand.

“That’s fine, but I think I like my pairing better,” he said. He did shove her on the bed, but rather than feeling his hardness entering her, she felt a drizzle of liquid, the cold champagne a shock as it foamed over her warm pussy. She giggled and then felt the stubble on his face between her thighs and then his hot tongue lapping up the champagne mixed with her juices. As his tongue probed her depths, she thought she would come, but he stopped moved up her body and, looking up at her between her ample breasts and her rock hard nipples

“Yes, you taste delicious with champagne,” he said softly. She laughed as felt the cold drizzle of champagne on her nipples. He smiled and sucked them dry.

Smiling at her, he poured more wine on her pussy, spreading it around her lips and clit and pushing it deep inside her. He then licked her furiously, spreading her apart and lapping up the mixture of juices from deep within her. She was close to orgasm when he moved up her body again. He held her tightly and kissed her deeply. The taste was intoxicating.

Taking his cock in his hand then, he shoved it into her, his cock spreading her open with its girth and plunging deeply into her pining cunt. She gasped at his entry. He did not let up but pushed deeply into her with a powerful stroke, pulled out and then pushed into her again, fucking her forcefully, deeply, rhythmically. Holding her thighs with his powerful forearms, she was utterly prone to him, his thing to play with and she surrendered entirely to his deep thrusts.

There it was again - that feeling of letting go, of jumping off the cliff into the unknown, weightlessness. But it was more that than now: She was under his control, entirely at the mercy of his passion. She surrendered and felt the longed-for orgasm, the tightening around his cock, the rhythmic thrusting up to meet his thrusts and then... but there was no release, only more thrusting. He did not change pace or rhythm, but kept fucking her deeply: a powerful thrust in, a slow withdrawal and then another powerful thrust in. She maneuvered to try to achieve the longed-for release, trying to hold him deep inside but he still withdrew. She tried to speed up her own meeting of his thrusts but he held steady. She tried to get on top so she could control the pace, but he held her more firmly, fucking her steadily, intentionally, systematically. She did not know how long he held her on the edge of ecstasy and she wondered how loudly she had cried out, moaning with sweet torment, begging for release. Finally, he penetrated her deeply and held his cock there allowing the groundswell to move through her and shake her to her very inner foundation, to her inner core.

Heather floated in that space for what felt a long way, the ebb of her orgasm passing over her almost as powerful as its crest.

“Are you ready for your final pairing?” he asked softly as he kissed her.

“Uh huh,” she breathed dreamily. Still in ecstasy, she could hardly reply.

He flipped over, carrying her with him. It was as if the entire world had been flipped upside down. His hands held tightly to her waist and he thrust quickly up into her, his cock gliding in and out of her sopping hole with alarming rapidity. Her ebbing orgasm collided with the new tide rising inside her. She was jostled between the two waves and was caught up on the rising breaker, surfing the speeding wave as Kevin’s thrusts pushed it faster. He thrust upward and she began to come again.

"How is this possible? " she screamed to herself.

He pulled out. She cried out in protest but she was still coming. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before - the contractions of her body without resistance to meet them - she was weightless. She was still coming as he pushed her head down. Seeking relief, something solid, she eagerly took his hard, glistening cock into her mouth. Her body was still quivering with her climax as she tasted him, the taste of his body mixed with juices from deep within her. She stroked him quickly, urgently, wanting his orgasm to join with her own. It did - the massive, powerful jet of hot cum shooting into her mouth. He pulled her head up, his cock ejaculating all over her face and breasts. She took a sip of wine so the flavor of it mixed with the flavor of their cum.

He pulled her up and kissed her firmly, their tongues mixing the flavors of champagne and cum. He pulled away and smiled at her.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I think,” she smiled, “that is the most incredible thing I’ve ever tasted.”