An American Houseguest

Sitting at the dinner table, eating my foie gras and sipping my glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pâpe, I feel like a man who'd won a million dollars with a stolen lottery ticket.

Directly opposite me is Isabelle, the gorgeous 20-something ballerina and the object of my utmost affection. Next to her is Peter, her brother, my erstwhile best friend, who's invited me on this weeklong visit to his family's vacation home.

Next to him is Veronique, their mother, the 40-something former supermodel who's been trying to jump my bones since I got here.

And, standing against the wall, in a super-sexy maid's outfit, is Justine, the young daughter of the cook and butler who's already given me the most sensuous "massage complète" of my life.

And finally, next to me, is the old man himself who doesn't seem to like me much.

I don't know who

not

to look at. So, I'm just concentrating on the foie gras.

"We should leave no later than 8:00 if we want to be at the party by nine," says Veronique.

The party she's referring to is the costume ball at the estate belonging to the owner of a major watch company. The son in that family has been chasing Isabelle for more than a year. He's filthy rich and I hate the guy with a passion.

I have yet to meet him.

"Jake and I are going as twins," says Peter sardonically. "He's going to wear my spare tux. We'll be like the Bobbsey twins."

"More like the Menendez twins," says Isabelle with a sly grin. "Très dangereux."

I steal a glance at Isabelle and she smiles at me. I feel her foot glance my leg.

"I don't particularly care what you wear as long as you don't embarrass me," Veronique says archly.

"Mother!" says Peter with mock horror. "When have I ever embarrassed you?"

He shoots grin at me. Meanwhile, I feel Isabelle's foot caressing my calf.

"You mean, 'when was the last time you embarrassed me'," answers Veronique. "You can be incorrigible at these affairs, Pierre."

I look at Isabelle and she's looking at her plate. Her foot is working its way up my leg. She seems to be holding back a smile.

"Nonsense, Mother," says Peter. "I'm always on my very best behavior. Especially at the summer fête."

"Well, your best behavior is not always the pinnacle of social acceptability, shall we say," says Veronique dismissively.

Peter raises his eyebrows and looks at me. All I can concentrate on is Isabelle's foot which is now sliding between my thighs. My heart is starting to pound; my cock to harden.

"Mother, you're too conscious of social mores. That's because you were born in the 70's. Now, had you been born in the 60's, you'd be smashing up the furniture and marching in the streets. Down with the establishment!"

Veronique lets out a laugh and shakes her head. At the same time, Isabelle is slumping slightly in her chair, so her foot can slide further between my legs.

"Honestly," says Veronique. "You have no idea. I was quite the gypsy in my youth. I had visited all the major continents by the time I was 16. I was a citizen of the world."

I spread my legs and slump slightly in my chair. Isabelle's foot reaches my bulge. She starts to softly stroke me with her foot. My cock is hard and she's rubbing the ball of her foot right on the head.

"Yes, Mother," says Peter. "We've heard the tales of your days as a wanton youth. Full of drug-filled orgies, I'm sure."

Isabelle laughs and then quickly covers her mouth with her hand. My heart is pounding. I want to take my cock out of my pants right then and there and make love to her beautiful foot.

"Oh Peter, be quiet," says Veronique, perfunctorily, standing up. "Come Isabelle, we'd better get ready or we'll be late."

Peter stands too and wipes his smirk with his napkin.

"Come on Jake," he says. "We've got to find you a monkey suit."

Upstairs in Peter's room, standing in front of the full-length mirror, I take in the image of Peter and me putting the finishing touches on our costumes.

I'm wearing his spare tuxedo. An Armani, no less. Only Peter would have a $1000 Armani as his

second

tuxedo. It actually fits me okay, a bit snug but passable. On my face is an ornate mask with sequins and a peacock feather that Peter picked up at an antique store in Mürren. A rose in my lapel completes the ensemble.

Peter is dressed identically: black tux, ornate mask, and white rose in his lapel. He appraises us both before announcing his verdict.

"Not bad for a last-minute salvage job," he said matter-of-factly. "And the irony is we'll probably be better dressed than most of the idiots there."

As Peter heads downstairs to wait for Veronique and Isabelle, I duck in my room for a quick pit stop. From the bathroom, I can hear someone enter the bedroom.

"Peter?" I ask.

I stick my head out of the bathroom and see Justine the maid straightening the pillows on the bed. Her back is to me and she's bent over, hiking up her little skirt, so I get a perfect view -- high heels, two long, luscious legs with black stockings, leading up to the hint of a perfect round ass in lacy panties under a ruffled skirt. I feel my cock stir and she turns to me, startled.

"Oh, Monsieur Jake," she says in that alluring French accent. "Je ne savais pas que vous êtes ici. J'étais seulment preparer votre chambre."

"That's okay... Ça ne fait rien," I reply.

"Monsieur Jake allez attender le bal ce soir, n'est-ce pas? Vous êtes très beau. Très beau."

She gives me a coquettish look as only a young French girl can. She looks up through her long eyelashes with her knees pressed together. God, what a minx this creature is. I feel my cock lengthening just watching her. She goes back to fluffing the pillows, but arching her back and sticking out her butt even more this time. This is torture.

"Voulez-vous quelque chose quand vous retournerez? " She's smoothing the coverlet on the bed, coming closer to where I'm standing. "Quelque chose pour vous aider dormir?"

She wants to know if I'll want anything from her when I get home from the party. To help me sleep. Her hand slides from the bed to my leg, up my body, to my chest. "Ou peut-être quelque chose enerveé. Peut-être....moi?

Suddenly, she's face to face with me and she raises herself on her tiptoes, tilts her head and takes my lower lip between her own. She kisses me for moment, her full fleshy lips sucking on my lower lip, pulling it. Her big brown eyes look into mine. My cock is pressing against my pants.

"Que est-ce que vous voulez?" she says, asking me what I'd like in the sexiest voice imaginable. She takes my hand and raises it to her mouth. She slowly wraps her lips around my index finger. She slides it in and out.

It feels like she's saying: "These lips would give you the greatest blow job of your life."

"Vous voulez ma bouche?"

I feel my cock throbbing in my pants. I'm hard as a rock.

"Ou, peut-être vous voulez plus. " She takes my finger and glides it over her firm breast, down her body and between her legs. She slides it right under her panties and over her warm, wet pussy. She's shaven. She's wet. And she's tight. My cock feels like it'll burst through my trousers.

"Vous pouvez avoir tous. Comme vous voulez. Je veux vous donner. Vous comprenez?"

She's telling me I can have her. Tonight. Whatever I want. I feel like ripping off her clothes right now. Just then I hear Peter's voice yelling from outside.

"Jake, hurry up! The train's leaving!"

I can't think of the words to say to Justine. So, I just take my finger and raise it to my mouth and suck off her juices. She smiles at me. I turn for the door.

"Je serait ici. Dans votre lit. J'attendrai."

She says she'll be waiting for me when I get back. In my bed. Probably naked. Or wearing that sexy black underwear I saw her in before. I bound down the staircase, as fast as my erection will allow me.

In the foyer I find Isabelle and Veronique in full costume, looking incredible. Isabelle is in a very short flapper dress and it shows off her lovely legs. She turns to face me and I see it's low cut too and her breasts are pushed up. The effect is nothing short of breathtaking.

Veronique, meanwhile, has taken a more historical route. She's dressed in a flowing array of silk scarves that barely cover her breasts and leave her back completely bare. She's not wearing a bra I notice, and I wouldn't be surprised if she had no panties as well.

She looks like the Queen of Sheba, I think to myself. I'm hoping I don't turn out to be John the Baptist.

Riding on the lake transport to the mainland, the cool night air buffeting us, my mind is reeling. The woman I feel like I'm falling in love with, and with whom I made love earlier in the day in an almost fantasy setting, is accompanying me to a costume ball at the estate of my rival.

Her mother, an incredibly sexy woman in her own right, has the hots for me and has told me in no uncertain terms she wants me to fuck her brains out. Tonight. Or else.

Meanwhile, the maid, whom I'm in lust with, has told me in French (so I think I got it right) that I can have her anyway I want her and that she'll be waiting for me in my bed. Also tonight.

So the woman I want I can't have, and the two women who want me, I can't have unless I want to ruin my relationship with the woman I want. Sitting in the boat as it crossed the lake, I feel like I can't think straight.

A close-to-full moon is rising above the trees and casting the lake in a beautiful blue light. I can see Veronique sitting upright just in front of me. She's sitting with perfect posture, the curve of her bare back clearly visible in the light. The night air is cool and there's a light breeze off the water. It's blowing the tendrils of her hair and she turns to face the direction of the wind.

She turns her body towards me and I can clearly see the cool breeze is causing her nipples to grow hard. And, with the moon as full as it is, I can clearly see the outline of her breasts through the sheer silken scarves. She's arching her back slightly and her breasts are pushing up and out. She looks just like one of her fashion shots that are sitting on her mantle in her room.

I stare at her as the boat slowly chugs across the expanse of water. Her face bathed in moonlight, her graceful body posed to catch the light, her nipples seem bigger now, more prominent.

She turns slightly towards me, pulling her shoulders back. Through the thin fabric of the scarf her hardening nipples looked sweet and beckoning. God, they look so hot. I feel my cock growing thick and hard.

I think back to this afternoon. Telling Veronique my story and watching her in the reflection of the window. She didn't know I could see her perfectly. Laying on the bed, touching herself. Opening her robe to expose her incredible breasts. And her nipples. Perfect. The way her breasts heaved while she finger-fucked herself.

God, that was hot.

My words, my writing, was making her so turned on she had to get herself off right there. She couldn't help it. My story, my words alone, made her come. Right there in front of me. And her nipples. They got so big. Like right now. Look how big they are. They're like ripe, juicy grapes. Just like when I watched her cum.

Suddenly I look up at Veronique and she's looking right at me.

She's been watching me. Watching me, watching her. She looks down at my crotch and smiles. Shit, my hard-on is clearly visible in the moonlight. Staring at Veronique's breasts and thinking about this afternoon has made my cock long and hard and you can clearly see the entire outline in these too-tight pants. I look to see if anyone else has noticed but Isabelle and Peter are chatting quietly, oblivious.

I look back at Veronique and she's looking at me seductively. She's pressing her chest out and arching her back. Displaying her breasts for me. I mean, she's posing for me. Like a model. Her arms are back and her back is arched. Her breasts are pressing forward and her nipples are pushing up.

Fuck, she sees she's given me a huge hard-on and she's enjoying it.

Look, she's playing with her hair now. Twirling it in her fingers. She's....my God.....is she rubbing her nipple with her finger? Yes, she's facing away from the others so they won't notice and she's rubbing her nipple with her finger just for me. She's rolling that big, luscious nipple slowly under her finger. It's like she's telling me "I want you to do this to me. I want you to take it in your mouth and suck it. Bite it."

I bet she's wet too. Really wet like this afternoon. Dripping. She wants me so bad. She wants me to tie her up and then suck her nipples and fuck her. Hard. And fast. Over and over. Pounding her. Making her come. Again and again. Having my way with her. Fucking her silly. Maybe I'd come on her. Yeah, maybe I'd spray my cum all over her tied up body. She'd probably like that.

Shit. What am I doing? I can't do this. What the hell would Isabelle do if she knew I was thinking this way about her mother?

God, my cock is so hard right now. My pants are so tight you can see every inch, even the outline of the swollen head. She can see it. Hell, she's staring at it right now. She can see how big and hard she's made me. If I lean back a little, and stick my hips out, and face the moonlight like this, no one but her can see it. So, she gets a good view of how big she's made me. So fucking big. So fucking hard. Watching her. Thinking about fucking her.

Does she know how big and hard she's made me? Really? Can she see that I'm totally erect? To make sure, I reach down with my hand and slowly slide it from the base, along the shaft, all the way to the head which laying against my hip. That's how big you've made me, I signal to her. That's how big my cock has gotten looking at you. Veronique's mouth falls open.

She obviously appreciates a hard cock.

Veronique reaches down to the veils encircling her hips. She slides her hand under one of them, and reaches between her legs. I see her react to the feeling of her index finger slipping into the wet folds of her pussy. She slowly pulls it out and I can see it glistening in the moonlight.

It's soaking wet. This is how wet you've made me, she seems to say. This is how turned on you make me.

If only I were naked right now, my cock would be standing straight out, straight out at her. Close enough for her to take it in her mouth. To rub the head against those big, hard nipples. To ram it into that dripping wet pussy.

Mercifully, the boat soon reaches the far bank and we disembark. A Mercedes and driver are waiting to take us to the party. It's the same driver as the one who picked us up from the airport. I hold the jacket of my tux to hide the bulge in my pants.

After a brief discussion, it's decided I'll sit in the back seat between Isabelle and Veronique with Peter riding up front with the driver. Sitting in the plush leather seat, I'm surrounded by long, bare legs on either side of me.

Isabelle's flapper dress is hiked up and her legs are exquisite. On the other side, Veronique's breasts are fully visible under the sheer silk. Fortunately, I have the presence of mind to hold my jacket on my lap so my raging hard on isn't visible in the car.

As the doors close and we speed off on the darken Alpine road, the three of us are suddenly cast in darkness. I'm grateful not to have the vision of these two gorgeous creatures to contend with. I decide to concentrate on getting my hard on to subside, but it's still rock hard. I decide to think of something unappealing, but all I can think about is the two of them next to me.

I feel their bare legs, Isabelle on my left and Veronique on my right, pressing against my thighs. They are pressing against me, aren't they? I mean, this is a big car and they have lots of room. They want to be touching me. Both of them. Thank God this jacket is on my lap because the feeling of them pressing against me, wanting to touch me, is a total turn on.

I don't even bother to pull away from them. What the hell. In fact, I spread my legs and press my hard, muscular thighs right back against them. Both of them. Why the fuck not? I'm done for anyway. I've got a huge fucking hard-on in my pants and a mother and daughter and either side of me. My goose is gonna be cooked before this night is through.

As the car winds its way along the dark, curvy road, I eventually feel a hand on my thigh. It's Veronique, of course. She's surreptitiously slid her hand under my tuxedo jacket and is feeling the muscles in my thigh. Her fingers are slowly, imperceptibly from the outside, working their way up my inner thigh. My cock feels like it's going to rip through my pants.

I feel her looking at me, watching me, but I don't dare look at her, I merely stare straight ahead. I feel her breath in my ear; she's mocking me, silently. My cock is aching now. I feel her fingers reach my crotch and cup my balls. It takes every bit of self-control not to react, not to moan out loud. And then I feel her fingers slowly, tauntingly, slide along the base of my hard cock, along the shaft, to the swollen, throbbing head. She's taking my measure and now she knows exactly how big she's made me.

Now that she's found my cockhead, she turns slightly to give it her full attention, to access it completely. She's lightly rubbing the head now, feeling every centimeter, finding every ridge and crevice. I start to tremble and reach my hand down to steady myself. Instead, it lands on Isabelle's leg. Immediately, I feel her hand on mine and I hear her voice.

"Jake, are you alright?" Isabelle asks.

"Y-y-yes I'm fine," I reply, more breathily than I would have liked. "Just a sudden stiffness."

She holds my hand in both of hers and interlaces her fingers with mine. Veronique is rubbing the head of my cock, and maybe fingering herself for all I know. Isabelle, on the other hand, is reassuring me as if to say "I know this party is hard for you. I want you to know I'm thinking of you."

Yin and yang. The lustful mother copping a feel and the thoughtful daughter seeking intimacy. The mother who would be sucking my cock right now if she could and the daughter who'd...well, she'd probably want do the same but it'd be different. It'd mean more.

And so, we ride together, the two European women of wildly different generations and me, the young American, his head reeling, wondering how he got himself into this predicament.

As we pull up the long, sweeping drive of the Coullisen estate, I'm struck by the grandeur before me. Peter's family's villa is a mere cottage compared to this place. An expansive lawn leads to a grand entranceway where we're met by two uniformed guards. Dozens of guests are milling about, all in costumes of various sorts.

I put on my jacket and the four of us move through the entranceway into an interior courtyard. There, the sound of classical music wafts through the cloister like setting. A couple dressed in 18th century formal attire stroll by and I feel like I'm in a surreal dream. We make our way into the ballroom where the bulk of the party goers have gathered.

Inside, the sound of electronica is pulsating and some of the partygoers are dancing. A man's voice calls out to us.

"Isabelle!"

A blond man, in his early thirties, dressed impeccably in a cream-colored suit, approaches.

"Salut, Charles," says Isabelle, without much joy in her voice. "Comment ça va? Je te presente ma Mère Veronique De Roth..."

Veronique interrupts her and kisses him twice on the cheeks.

"Bonsoir, Charles."

"Bonsoir, Veronique. Je suis heureux que tu viens. "

Isabelle looks surprised that Veronique and Charles know each other. Not only that, I noticed he addressed her in the familiar "te toi". Not typical when talking to an older woman of stature.

"Et mon frère Pierre. Tu lui connais aussi, je crois."

Charles turns to Peter and shakes hands. He has an air of superiority that I immediately don't like. But then I'm a bit biased.