i was in the italian alps in the off-season: neither the ski lifts nor the alpine pool was open. the best thing i could say for courmayeur at the moment was that the chalet-hotel rooms were relatively cheap, and i had gotten away from my clingy boyfriend in rome. if he made me sit through another rustic picnic at a friend's villa, i thought i would puke. i had arrived on a bus from milano, that they were calling a "pullman" for whatever quaint anachronistic reason. exhausted, i settled into my bed. scratchy red wool blanket, plain blonde wood headboard, like in a nunnery. at first, i found it creepy that i was the only guest in the entire building, but after an airplane-size bottle of cognac, and a self-made orgasm, i was getting kind of into it. it was peaceful, after all. i drifted off to sleep.
i don't know for how long i'd been sleeping before i was awakened by some kind of ruckus. it sounded like a herd of bulls was stomping through the lobby. i wondered how just the geriatric proprietress in her tyrolean boiled wool cardigan was going to handle such a crowd single-handedly, what with all her staff gone for probably another two weeks. poor lady.
i tossed and turned, trying not to let these new tourists, whoever they were, disturb my r&r.
i suppose i fell back asleep while the loud group was registering and moving in. the next thing i knew, i was startled awake by an incomprehensible sensation-- a leather gloved hand stroking my cheek. i gasped and struggled to adjust my vision to the pitch-black room. i don't remember much of those first few seconds, but i assume i shouted. "sshh," a soft male voice shushed me. "we're with the moto-touring club. sorry! i thought this room was unoccupied." i liked the way he spoke such fractured italian. i liked it so much that i didn't bother to tell him that he could try english if he wanted to.
"what do you want from me?" i asked with a pinch of nervousness mixed into my pleasure at the leather on my face and the foreign skin smell in my pine antiseptic room.
he didn't answer, or rather the only answer i got was the sound of a zipper running in which direction i knew not. the gloved hand ran down my neck and tweaked my nipple. his other hand reached between my thighs, and a thick leather finger slid in. i can't say why, but i didn't protest. i was too wet. i reached out to the torso connecting these hands, and found just more leather. i couldn't see anything, but i could hear his ragged breath as i pulled at a zipper tag of some sort and two hundred or so pounds of human meat fell like hot throbbing dominos on top of me. i felt stubble, a swatch of skin, and more leather. his tongue caressed the surface of my eyelid and eyeball, and then poked into my mouth. it tasted of suagry coffee. perhaps he'd been drinking that before to stay awake on the autostrada, or maybe the old crone had plied him with espresso at check-in. freed from god knows how many layers of protective gear, his cock was hot, damp, and hard as chrome. i straddled his lap, letting him jolt into me with just a touch of guilt about no-condom, but mostly just gut-wrenching pleasure. he came on the blanket, then slipped out quietly to rejoin his friends, as i slipped into a deep coma-like sleep. by mid-morning, when i ambled downstairs for my complementary croissant & capuccino, the racing group had already checked out.
-Look! he`s selling Bart Simpson acid! She squealed.
Paul told her to shut up. I fingered a small lump of rock hard hash that I had in my pocket. We had bought it from some junkie-tourist-dealer who insisted he sold good drugs.
-I zell chgood dragz, he said.
Hell you do I thought to myself watching his lump figure unbalance before me. Paul paid up.
When we smoked it later on in some empty little street we where joined by a native hippie with long thick dreads. He didn`t speak a word, just sat down beside Linni and sucked the joint hard and long. He looked at us and giggled and smiled an acid induced smile. I felt like pissing because beer was so cheap here in Prague. I pissed on a nearby stairwell. When I came back the stranger had left and Paul and Linni was making out obscenely under a streetlight. Afterwards I could see Paul`s hard-on lifting the light fabric of his cotton trousers. We went to a bar, drank more beer. Things got a bit heated between Morten and Signe, which led to me being ignored. I went to the bar where I stood for a while downing a large number of cheap tequila shots. Then Paul came up to me and told me what a dumb, jealous bitch Linni was. I smiled a fake agreeing smile, padded his back, and went to the bathroom where I vomited.
I lay on my side and saw her undress. Her silhouetted tits against the curtained window lit from the outside. I touched my pounding erection. Paul sucked them violently, and the vulgar slurping sounds were way too audible. Then he commenced to do her doggystyle on the bed right there beside me, probably thinking I was asleep, but not really caring. I turned my eyes to the ceiling, then as it started to spin I closed them.
I woke up feeling sick, lifted my body from the mattress and stumbled to the bathroom to vomit. Sunlight was seeping in through a crack in the curtains as I reentered the room. I was naked, trying in vain to hide my erection by forcing it down with one hand. They looked at me from their bed and giggled. I dived onto my mattress, too nauseas to feel embarrassed.
Paul was in the shower. Linni stood before me only wearing a thong. I noticed she had a cheesy tattoo of a snake up the inside of her thigh, crawling towards her pussy. I was still beneath my covers. She was drying her hair ferociously with a towel and her tits were bouncing around as a result. I stared shamelessly at this enticing little dance, imagining how sweet they would taste. She turned away from me bending over to pick up some garments. Her nice round ass was within reaching distance from where I lay. My cock was about to erupt. I couldn`t help it, I wanted her so bad. I threw the sheets back and just lay there waiting for her to notice and maybe take pity on me or something. But before she had had any opportunity to notice my pose, she lost her balance, took a step back and landed ass first in my lap. I kind of expected her to bounce off immediately, squealing. But she stayed seated for a few seconds just stearing out into the room. Slowly her hips started moving, really carefully at first. Then she sped up and in a short while she was giving me a lap dance. I couldn`t believe it. I just lay there, my body petrified, shivering from arousal. My sweaty palms resting on her thighs. Eventually shooting my cum so hard it hit me on the nose. Linni laughed while she fingered her self to a climax. She climbed off afterwards and got dressed as if nothing had happened. I rubbed my face in the pillow to get the cum off. Then as Paul came out of the bathroom and started caressing Linni, I closed my eyes, and drifted off into sleep.
Backpackers lay scattered out across the old square, shabbily clad in filthy, oversized garments, with only their vampirically pale faces bared to the midday sun. Passing around bottles of absinth. (Who the fuck drinks absinth in a town square at two o`clock in the afternoon? Answer: Scandinavian backpackers.)
i was in the italian alps in the off-season: neither the ski lifts nor the alpine pool was open. the best thing i could say for courmayeur at the moment was that the chalet-hotel rooms were relatively cheap, and i had gotten away from my clingy boyfriend in rome. if he made me sit through another rustic picnic at a friend's villa, i thought i would puke. i had arrived on a bus from milano, that they were calling a "pullman" for whatever quaint anachronistic reason. exhausted, i settled into my bed. scratchy red wool blanket, plain blonde wood headboard, like in a nunnery. at first, i found it creepy that i was the only guest in the entire building, but after an airplane-size bottle of cognac, and a self-made orgasm, i was getting kind of into it. it was peaceful, after all. i drifted off to sleep.
i don't know for how long i'd been sleeping before i was awakened by some kind of ruckus. it sounded like a herd of bulls was stomping through the lobby. i wondered how just the geriatric proprietress in her tyrolean boiled wool cardigan was going to handle such a crowd single-handedly, what with all her staff gone for probably another two weeks. poor lady.
i tossed and turned, trying not to let these new tourists, whoever they were, disturb my r&r.
i suppose i fell back asleep while the loud group was registering and moving in. the next thing i knew, i was startled awake by an incomprehensible sensation-- a leather gloved hand stroking my cheek. i gasped and struggled to adjust my vision to the pitch-black room. i don't remember much of those first few seconds, but i assume i shouted. "sshh," a soft male voice shushed me. "we're with the moto-touring club. sorry! i thought this room was unoccupied." i liked the way he spoke such fractured italian. i liked it so much that i didn't bother to tell him that he could try english if he wanted to.
"what do you want from me?" i asked with a pinch of nervousness mixed into my pleasure at the leather on my face and the foreign skin smell in my pine antiseptic room.
he didn't answer, or rather the only answer i got was the sound of a zipper running in which direction i knew not. the gloved hand ran down my neck and tweaked my nipple. his other hand reached between my thighs, and a thick leather finger slid in. i can't say why, but i didn't protest. i was too wet. i reached out to the torso connecting these hands, and found just more leather. i couldn't see anything, but i could hear his ragged breath as i pulled at a zipper tag of some sort and two hundred or so pounds of human meat fell like hot throbbing dominos on top of me. i felt stubble, a swatch of skin, and more leather. his tongue caressed the surface of my eyelid and eyeball, and then poked into my mouth. it tasted of suagry coffee. perhaps he'd been drinking that before to stay awake on the autostrada, or maybe the old crone had plied him with espresso at check-in. freed from god knows how many layers of protective gear, his cock was hot, damp, and hard as chrome. i straddled his lap, letting him jolt into me with just a touch of guilt about no-condom, but mostly just gut-wrenching pleasure. he came on the blanket, then slipped out quietly to rejoin his friends, as i slipped into a deep coma-like sleep. by mid-morning, when i ambled downstairs for my complementary croissant & capuccino, the racing group had already checked out.
Posted by: Stacey | 2005.10.19 at 08:36 PM
-Look! he`s selling Bart Simpson acid! She squealed.
Paul told her to shut up. I fingered a small lump of rock hard hash that I had in my pocket. We had bought it from some junkie-tourist-dealer who insisted he sold good drugs.
-I zell chgood dragz, he said.
Hell you do I thought to myself watching his lump figure unbalance before me. Paul paid up.
When we smoked it later on in some empty little street we where joined by a native hippie with long thick dreads. He didn`t speak a word, just sat down beside Linni and sucked the joint hard and long. He looked at us and giggled and smiled an acid induced smile. I felt like pissing because beer was so cheap here in Prague. I pissed on a nearby stairwell. When I came back the stranger had left and Paul and Linni was making out obscenely under a streetlight. Afterwards I could see Paul`s hard-on lifting the light fabric of his cotton trousers. We went to a bar, drank more beer. Things got a bit heated between Morten and Signe, which led to me being ignored. I went to the bar where I stood for a while downing a large number of cheap tequila shots. Then Paul came up to me and told me what a dumb, jealous bitch Linni was. I smiled a fake agreeing smile, padded his back, and went to the bathroom where I vomited.
I lay on my side and saw her undress. Her silhouetted tits against the curtained window lit from the outside. I touched my pounding erection. Paul sucked them violently, and the vulgar slurping sounds were way too audible. Then he commenced to do her doggystyle on the bed right there beside me, probably thinking I was asleep, but not really caring. I turned my eyes to the ceiling, then as it started to spin I closed them.
I woke up feeling sick, lifted my body from the mattress and stumbled to the bathroom to vomit. Sunlight was seeping in through a crack in the curtains as I reentered the room. I was naked, trying in vain to hide my erection by forcing it down with one hand. They looked at me from their bed and giggled. I dived onto my mattress, too nauseas to feel embarrassed.
Paul was in the shower. Linni stood before me only wearing a thong. I noticed she had a cheesy tattoo of a snake up the inside of her thigh, crawling towards her pussy. I was still beneath my covers. She was drying her hair ferociously with a towel and her tits were bouncing around as a result. I stared shamelessly at this enticing little dance, imagining how sweet they would taste. She turned away from me bending over to pick up some garments. Her nice round ass was within reaching distance from where I lay. My cock was about to erupt. I couldn`t help it, I wanted her so bad. I threw the sheets back and just lay there waiting for her to notice and maybe take pity on me or something. But before she had had any opportunity to notice my pose, she lost her balance, took a step back and landed ass first in my lap. I kind of expected her to bounce off immediately, squealing. But she stayed seated for a few seconds just stearing out into the room. Slowly her hips started moving, really carefully at first. Then she sped up and in a short while she was giving me a lap dance. I couldn`t believe it. I just lay there, my body petrified, shivering from arousal. My sweaty palms resting on her thighs. Eventually shooting my cum so hard it hit me on the nose. Linni laughed while she fingered her self to a climax. She climbed off afterwards and got dressed as if nothing had happened. I rubbed my face in the pillow to get the cum off. Then as Paul came out of the bathroom and started caressing Linni, I closed my eyes, and drifted off into sleep.
Backpackers lay scattered out across the old square, shabbily clad in filthy, oversized garments, with only their vampirically pale faces bared to the midday sun. Passing around bottles of absinth. (Who the fuck drinks absinth in a town square at two o`clock in the afternoon? Answer: Scandinavian backpackers.)
Posted by: stian | 2006.11.28 at 03:02 PM