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Up Le Revard

Jane is sent away to a retreat in the Alps.
Jane struggled up the stairs with her two heavy suitcases. She had been banished by the hospital council to their clinic in south France, and now it was mandatory that she spend a week in a little village up Le Revard, the second tallest mountain in the region. Her best friend had tried to placate the hot headed surgeon by saying, “Think about it as a romantic getaway to the Alps! You can pick up hot French guys, and have hot steamy sex all the way up in a little cabin, and no strings attached!” Estelle would have killed for an opportunity to have emotionless sex with complete strangers, but Jane considered the impending experience as absolute torture. On her way up here she realized that the WIFI was non-existent, and her destination was up two flights of stairs to the furthest lodge overlooking the village. Gritting her teeth and using her anger as fuel, she managed to make her way up the last few stairs.

It looked like a typical wooden lodge made of varnished tree trunks. Giant slabs of slate made a sort of mosaic on the steps, and also framed the base of the two huge wooden trunks used as pillars which hung the sign ‘Bienvenus à Tous!’ in large black letters. There was no one around though, and Jane got the impression that the place was abandoned.

“I don’t want to be here!” Jane cried out in frustration. It was hard to enjoy the situation, given the circumstances, and even though the cold wind nipped her face, it was fury that made her cheeks pink.

Her heart jumped to her throat as a young man emerged from behind the pillar to her right. He had been sitting on the square base apparently, and had shimmied around the pillar when he heard her voice.

“Why not? It is a beautiful place.”

The wind ruffled his short dark hair, and somehow his smile put her in a slightly better mood. He was cute, but she was still angry.

“It’s nothing. Forget it. Are you staying here too? I was expecting there to be someone down there to help with my bags. What kind of place is this?”

He casually hopped down from his perch and extended a hand. The corner of his eyes crinkled, and he smiled wider.

“Do not worry, I will help you. You can call me Michael.”

Jane shook his hand sheepishly. With every word, Michael’s accented voice made her tremble, and little by little he chipped away at her anger.

“Jane Rogers. I’m staying here for a week.”

She gasped as Michael easily picked up her two suitcases and headed up the front stairs. She darted forward to open the door for him, protesting all the while.


The tiny lobby was empty. There was no one behind the welcome desk, and the entire building seemed silent. Jane buried her head in her hands, and took deep breaths. Michael gently set her bags down and moved toward the desk. He looked at her with a grin on his face while she took her moment to compose herself, amazed that anyone could frustrate themselves so easily. He reached over the counter for a register book, ticked off her name with a pen, and took a set of keys out his pocket. He gently brushed his fingertips against the small of her back to catch her attention. Even through her thick padded jacket, Jane felt a touch that sent shivers down her spine. Jerking her head up, she saw Michael gently dangling a key in front her face.

“I signed you in, so you don’t have to worry. I know the guys who work here, and they will not mind. I’ll help bring your things to your room. But please,” his eyes seemed to twinkle, “try to relax.”

Jane’s lips tried to form words that didn’t want to leave her throat, then gave up. She sighed and gave him a small nod and an even smaller smile.

“Where’s the room then?” She asked incredulously.

He winked and jerked his head. She followed him down a corridor, and on his signal used her key to open a large door, which, despite its size, swing forward easily at her touch. The room was beautiful. It was as if the room was decorated with autumn in mind: soft pastel colours swept the thick quilt (with its pattern of orange maple leaves) and wall hangings, and seemed to blend in nicely with the varnished trunks of the surrounding walls. As Jane stepped in slowly behind Michael, she could see that all the light came from a huge floor length window to her left, which gave an astounding view of the village that swept the valley below. At the moment the sun shone over a thick mist that separated the valley village from the Alps opposite, and, looming far away over them all, was snow capped Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in the Alps. This view, and the warmth of the room washing over her, calmed her down.

She turned around. Michael was gone. Shaking her head in disbelief and wondering how long she was standing at the window, she shut the door and unpacked a few of her things. On a table opposite the door, she saw a square panel painted with golden leaves. On it were two metal buttons, labelled ‘cuisine’ and ‘accueil’, and next to a square black speaker, was the button ‘parlez-vous’. She knew enough French to know that the buttons would allow her to speak with someone at the kitchen or the help desk from her room, once she pressed the third button and spoke into the black circular receiver.

She left her room and headed back outside. Michael was outside, breathing in the cold mountain air and stretching.

“Are you always this carefree?”

He didn’t turn around, but answered, “I like to enjoy life. It is too beautiful to spend being unhappy.”

He lifted himself up to his perch against a pillar and looked down into Jane’s eyes.

“What is wrong, Jane? Why are you upset?”

Jane bit her lip and frowned. She looked off into the distance at cold Mount Blanc, feeling the wind cut into her face. Talking about these things never helped, but… she felt like he had a better chance feeling better about everything if she spoke to him. She inhaled.

I think there’s nothing wrong. I was a surgeon in New York, I was the best in the field. But the board decided that my lifestyle was… dangerous.”

“What do you mean?”

She smiled ruefully, “I have no social life. I spent all my time in the clinic, did one surgery after another, got by on a couple hours of sleep.”

“How old are you Jane?”

Wind demons were tugging on Jane’s long brown hair, sending it flying all over. She leaned against the other pillar’s base and stuck her hands in her jacket pockets.

“I’m the youngest in the practice actually: 28. The committee thought that since I spent all my time at the hospital and have no social life, I’ll eventually get a break down and kill myself. It’s what happened to another resident there. Brilliant guy, but he got consumed by the job.”

She looked up at Michael to see his face.

His eyes were closed. He took a deep breath in, exhaled, and opened his eyes with a smile.

“And about your family? Why aren’t they here with you? ” He asked.

“I have no family.”

“What about lovers?"

In spite of herself, Jane bit her bottom lip and smiled.

“I don’t have any.”

She looked up at him again. Again his eyes were closed, he was taking slow, deep breaths.

“Why’d you do that so much?”

He opened his eyes, looked her in the eyes and smiled again.

“It is my way of giving simple thanks for little things.”

Before she could say anything else, Michael jumped down from his perch. The sun had slowly gone down behind the mountain, casting large shadows over the valley.

“I have to help some friends. It is OK that I leave you here, no? It is a little late. You should go get ready for dinner! I hear the chef is really good.”

With a wave and without further ado, Michael headed down the stairway to the village. 


Jane made her way quickly from the dining room. She had received a crackling message from the kitchens informing her that dinner was ready while she was getting dressed. The dining area was beautiful enough, with amazing crystal chandeliers bouncing golden light over white-clad tables. But there were no other diners present. Her heart had beat heavily in her throat as a blonde waitress came from doors at the far end of the room, and requested her order. All Jane could stomach was a simple vegetable soup. The fear of spending a night in the empty cold lodge seemed like something out of The Shining. When she finished her meal, she fled back to her room, taking care to lock the door behind her.

It had started to snow heavily outside while she changed into her pyjamas. It wasn’t logical to leave the lodge now, and the situation couldn' possibly get worse. 

There was a loud bang somewhere, and the lights went out. Jane screamed, hysteria building up inside her as the thick blackness encircled her. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest, and tears burned her eyes as she scrambled towards the area where she thought the table was. Feeling all round, she pressed buttons on the console, but got no response.

“No, please!” She called into the receiver anyway, “I hate the dark, put it back on! Please!”

She heard movement behind her, and cried out again, sinking to the floor. Panic clutched her, and put images of monsters in her head. She could imagine that the patients who didn’t make it under her care were coming to get her, intestines wrapped around their necks, brains leaking out through eyes.

Someone was pounding on the door and calling out. Jane trembled, sobbing, her arms wrapped around herself.

The lock clicked and the door swing open. Michael stood there, wearing a white shirt (whose sleeves where rolled up) and an apron around his waist. He held a lantern in one hand, and a bag of candles in another. Jane was paralyzed, sobbing uncontrollably, fingers digging into her arms.

“No! They’re coming! The door! Don’t let them get me!”

Michael quickly locked the door behind him, and tossed the bag of candles on the bed. He bent down and scooped Jane up from the floor with one arm, and slowly brought her over to the bed. He made shushing sounds, and put the lantern on the bedside table. In ten seconds, Michael had lit five candles and placed them around the room, and was back at Jane’s side, supporting her back with one arm and wiping her tears with another.

“Take a deep breath, cherie. I am here for you. Nothing shall touch you in my house.”

Tears had stopped falling down her cheeks, and now Michael rocked her gently.

“Did you like my soup dear? I was worried when Jasmine said you only wanted soup. Now even I am worried about you.”

He stopped rocking her and gently eased her face from its burrowed place in the crook of his arm. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and her lips glistening. She looked so beautiful and vulnerable that he felt like he just had to take a chance. Gently he dipped his head down to hers and kissed her bottom lip. He heard her take a shuddering breath and felt her grip his shirt tighter. She whimpered and her tongue darted out to lick a pathway between his lips. They locked lips now, tongues venturing out to play hide-and-seek. He broke away from her lips to trail kisses down her chin and throat. His fingers untied his apron behind his back while hers scrambled at the buttons on his shirt. He shrugged it off and gently blazed a trail from her waist to her hips. She had on the cutest pink lace bra, through which he could see her hard nipples. She had on matching lace panties, and perhaps it was a trick of the light, but he could imagine seeing a moist patch. She obviously was changing for the night when the transformer blew. He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath; inhaling her wonderful smell. 

Jane unclasped her bra behind her and allowed gravity to make her breasts fall free. Michael lost no time in licking at her tight nipples, gently nipping them between his teeth. He kicked his shoes off, and removed his socks with his toes, and gently took his place between Jane’s thighs. He eased her underwear down her legs, and deeply inhaled her sweet scent again. The sound of her whimper made his cock strain unbearably against his pants, but felt the need to pleasure his lover first. First he sent his tongue deep within her, causing her hips to buck against his face. Wrapping his arms around her highs, he spread her juice along her slit, paying special attention to her clit. Each soft cry, each whimper, gasp, groan and moan sent warm waves down to his cock, and he intended to keep them coming. He sucked and lapped at her warm clit, and gently slid one finger into her moist depths. First he fingered her slowly, timing each lick of her clit with a thrust of his finger.

The moment Jane removed her arm from over her face and looked down, Michael had looked up. The sight of this gorgeous young French man who was licking her clit wildly, whispering to her in French, and framed sexily between her thighs brought her orgasm on unexpectedly. She cried out his name, while pulse after pulse of orgasm rocked her. He withdrew his finger and licked her creamy slit with each involuntary thrust of her hips. When her shuddering stopped, he slowly kissed his way up to her neck and swilled his tongue over her sensitive skin. While he nibbled on her neck and sucked it deeply in, he pulled his pants off and let his iron cock dangle down.

Jane cried out softly while Michael worked on leaving a love mark on her, and wrapped her legs around his now naked waist. Her fingers pulled on his hair and she cried out as he bit in another area, and thrust himself inside her at the same time. The pain was replaced with a strange pleasure, and with every thrust she moaned in appreciation. He grunted in response and flicked out his tongue at her ear lobe, which in turn caused her to tighten around him. She felt like heaven around his hot shaft, and he couldn’t control himself anymore. He pulled away from her arms, sat up on his knees, and thrust himself faster into her. His gorgeous face was a swirl of emotion; his eyes penetrated deep into her soul while his teeth bit into his lower lip. He took in the sight of her beautiful body bathed in sweat, breasts jiggling with each movement. His thumb started to circle Jane’s throbbing clit, making her jerk forward and grab onto the wrought iron headboard.

She climaxed again, riding out her orgasm on his rod and arching her back. At the tightening of her pussy Michael felt himself heat up even more, and felt the lava flow of his cum pump into his brunette beauty. Breathing heavily, he fell gently next to her. Gathering her to him, he brushed her hair off her face and kissed her forehead. His thumb caressed the tiny love bites on her neck, and her own fingers were making tiny circles on his chest. Jane licked at a trickle of sweat that coursed down Michael’s neck and felt his cock stir against her leg.

“If you wanna go again you gotta give me a few minutes.” She giggled

“You are too irresistible, amour.

You’re the chef here? You’re the chef that you heard is really good? Self praise is no praise you know”

He laughed.

“Of course! I’m the best in the region. You can even check my reviews. However you might have heard of me under the name Monty Normavik.”

“Wait…Monty Normavik… why does that sound…Oh my god!” Jane scrambled out of his arms and sat up.

“You own this place!”

“I own this place.” He smiled.

“I’m…so sorry for how I acted before…”

“Do not worry,” he pulled her back down to his chest, “I took it as a part of your charm.”

"Why is there no one around but me?"

Michael chuckled. "The resort is actually closed. I couldn't turn you away when you arrived."

The young resort owner gently kissed Jane, raking his tongue against the roof of her mouth to make her shiver. His cock was slowly hardening against her leg.

“Is this all just revenge for what I said back then?” She murmured between kisses.

“No, of course not. I am merely enjoying a feast. And I shall soon want seconds.” 

He trailed his tongue down the valley of her breasts, licking at rivulets of sweat on his way, and whispered to her:

"Restes-toi ici avec moi, cherie? Will you not stay with me for the holiday?"

As Michael's mouth enveloped Jane's hot clit, she moaned her answer.


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © Copyright © 2011 Deziri. All rights reserved by author, unless specifically authorized in writing. Redistribution of material under any other name is strictly unauthorized.

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