Note: My stories are all true, and characters are based on real people. Minor details I changed to help obscure identities. Obviously I can't completely remember exact events and dialog verbatim, but nothing deviates far from the truth. Anything that is purely fiction will be noted.
I was the last to arrive, and walked in breathing a bit heavy both a touch out of shape and not used to the thinner air at altitude. Dropping my bag and leaning my skis against the wall with everyone else's, I hear Jeremy's unmistakable bellow coming from the deck. The heavy sliding door is cracked, and has some crazy complicated touchscreen lock/handle on it. I'll later find out this house is an IoT nightmare, hell I think even the showerhead was on wifi. I slid the door open and poked my head out to announce my arrival.
"I didn't know this place had a hot tub," I remark, taking a few steps onto the deck. Jeremy and Paul, with respective wives Anne and Jessica, are all out there getting a soak in, telling jokes and talking shit.
"It was in the pictures," Paul says, referring to the VRBO listing. I hadn't bothered to click through them all. I trusted their judgment, and was just happy to get a week off work and some time on a real mountain. Living in Chicago, my options are quite limited at home. Nothing ruins those glorified bunny hills like your first trip to rockies. We had been making a yearly trek as a group for a few years now, but this one was minus one girlfriend (mine) and plus one sister (Paul's). This year was our first time venturing out of Colorado, having exhausted the typical destinations for out of towners. Paul had taken charge, did a lot of research and decided we should see what the Teton range has to offer.
I'd heard a little about Paul's sister Hannah before, but had never met her and didn't know what she looked like. I didn't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't the woman I saw reading her book while stretched out on the couch in the dimly lit room. Her younger brother is a largish guy, standing nearly 6ft, fairly husky, and generally a little brutish. Hannah by contrast is quite petite, l'd estimate low 5ft2 at most, with narrow, lithe shoulders, but still the slightest bit of chub. She doesn't have the prettiest face, but is cute in that "marching band girl" way, some faint scarring from acne made more apparent by her pale skin. Her hair is dark brown and long, and she has amazing, disarming light blue eyes.
What she really had going for her, however, was on her chest. Beneath one of those conservative sweaters that still doesn't leave much to the imagination (think Donna's mom on That 70s Show) were a pair of unmistakably sizable melons.
Okay, forgive me, Hannah is a hell of lot more than just a set of cans. But I'm young, single, overly horny and undersexed. So I'm gonna notice. Over the next couple days, being the 5th and 6th wheels as we jokingly referred our disposition to the two married couples, we got to know each other decently well. She was pleasingly open about herself, especially after a few glasses of wine, which helped me out of my shell more than I normally would have crawled. Incredibly smart, she was working on her second PhD researching something having to do with high altitude rainforests in Central America. I never did get her age, but I'd ballpark it in the low 30s to my 26 years at the time. She was recently divorced, and left a single mother of her young son Casey. She showed me a picture, I feigned interest.
I was also recently single, not divorced, but it was a 4 year long relationship. We just wanted different things for our lives. I had been recently promoted from junior software engineer to a mid level role, and after my ex saw the salary that came with it she decided to quit her sales role instead to write children's books. I like ambitious women, and if this makes me an asshole so be it, but I wasn't interested in what would inevitably become me bankrolling our potential future together. We parted amicably enough after a few tough conversations, though it did take a toll on me and if I'm honest I was still a bit hurt, feeling misled and somewhat used. I talked around my emotions, but clearly Hannah could tell, this woman could cut straight through me, calling bullshit but with an underlying sense of sincerity and care.
A few nights into the trip, the married couples decided to have a double date night. Well weren't not invited, but I think we both could use a break from our 5/6th wheel status and opted to hang back. There was a fridge full of leftover enchiladas and a decent stock of beer and tequila from our previous night's traditional Mexican feast, where everyone makes their signature dish. She made the enchiladas, I made guacamole which got tossed since we ended up too inebriated to remember to preserve it properly.
After we ate, we looked through the games in the house and ended up playing a few rounds of Bananagrams, which we had bastardized somehow into a drinking game that only vaguely resembled intended play. "Hot tub?" I asked, standing up a little too quickly, again not used to consumption at altitude.
"I don't have a suit," Hannah answered. Well we were even - neither of us brought a suit - we knew nothing of the jacuzzi ahead of time.
"Me either. I'm just gonna wear shorts," and I head to the room, moments later emerging wearing only a pair of old mesh gym shorts. I liked this pair particularly as the thick mushroom of my dick printed the thin mesh. I toss a bath towel from the hall closet over my shoulder, grab my beer and head out to the deck. There is a very light snowfall as I sink into the warm, swirling water. I notice Jeremy left the floating bluetooth speaker on the ledge near the controls, and decide to get up and grab my phone before getting too settled in.
"Done already?" Hannah asks as I walk briskly to retrieve my phone from the charger on the counter. She does not glance below my waist.
"Nope, just getting some music," I respond, also thinking ahead and cracking a fresh beer out of the fridge so I don't have to repeat the trip after polishing off my current one. In some lame attempt to goad her into joining me, probably sounding desperate, "more quiet out there than I'm used to, especially by myself."
I slink back into the warm water. The difference in temperature is really a nice dichotomy, maybe those Finns are onto something here. Finally finding and connecting to the seemingly randomly named speaker, not looking for my usual soundtrack of hardcore punk, I browse and choose a playlist from Spotify's premade "Chill" filter, which is all instrumental songs which land somewhere between elevator music, whale sounds, and lofi hip hop beats to relax/study to.
I settle in, rest my head back, and stare up at the stars. So many fucking stars, I've never seen this view with all the light pollution back home. Hearing the distinct sound only a heavy sliding glass door can make, I sort of swivel my body over as Hannah moves through the doorway, carrying her drink in only her underwear.
"Maybe leave it cracked," I call out. "Don't want to have it lock us out," explaining my logic, not sure exactly how all of these wifi connected locks and refrigerators and lights work under the hood. Hell, this hot tub is probably online even, writing timestamped water temperature and other usage data to some AWS database for someone to profit on.
"There are worse people to be locked out with," Hannah replies. I'm not sure if she's referring to me or her, probably her. She sounds a little more tipsy than previous nights.
Her bra is nothing short of industrious, with large, thickly padded cups constraining large milky white breasts. Outline of a nipple looks out of the question, and even wet I doubt they will offer any more of a show. The tops of her breasts jiggling sexily as she scurries over, I offer to hold her drink while she climbs in. She then swings a leg up and over the side, and of course I glance down between her legs, her innermost thighs showing a hint of stubble. Her crotch pushes the front of her thong out some. There's definitely some meat down there, with a faint hint of cameltoe. Steadying herself with her hands, she quickly swings the other leg up and around and sinks into the water. Her short stature leaves only the very top of her cleavage visible.
I return her drink, noticing the snowfall has picked up slightly but remaining rather light. The conversation flows easily and openly, as we discuss work, future plans, and, inevitably, our failed relationships.
"My husband and I had a hot tub when we lived in Costa Rica," she trails off, reminiscing. I notice a slight wriggle which shakes to tops of her breasts in her large bra. "Ohhh..." I hear her moan softly, wondering is she doing what I think she's doing? I shot her a look, her face clearly flushed, a different look in her partially closed eyes. I can't place it perfectly but it certainly wasn't the chlorine. There's a light but sudden splash as she hunches forward a little bit, she must be doing what I think she's doing...
"Sorry, I..." she looks up at me, face still flushed but now looking quite shy, "This jet is tickling me."
Right. Tickling. Whatever you want to call it, blood is starting to flow away from my brain. You know where to. "I'm gonna grab another beer, want anything?" We don't need any more alcohol but I need an excuse to calm my swelling dick.
"AH," she starts, surprising both of us. Sheepish expression. She knows that sound. I know that sound. Composing herself, "Another margarita." I stand up, some shaft and the large mushroom head of my cock outline clearly visible as the wet gym shorts cling to me. Now she is not shy with her gaze, but not leering either. Dripping on the deck, I wrap my towel around my waist to not completely drench the tile kitchen floor while I replenish our drinks. Approaching the hot tub on my way back, Hannah's eyes are shut and a look of concentration is on her face.
"One margarita," I say, reaching out to hand her the drink. She leans forward a little to take it. This must have put just the right pressure from her "ticklish" jet in just the right spot. Her hand does not reach her drink.
"Oh god," she moans softly.
"Oh god," a little louder.
"Mmmmmmmm," followed by some short breaths.
"....fuck!"
Heavy, short breaths.
Holy shit. My friend's older divorced sister is cumming in front of me.
"Ohhhhh..." she trails off much quieter, then mutters a quick "Sorry," sounding almost a bit angry with herself. She definitely takes notice of the outline of my now rock hard as I re-enter the tub.
"Don't be," I reply as she finally grabs her drink. Silence. Tension.
"I thought I could, you know, before you got back," she meekly explains, dropping any pretense of being "ticklish".
"Don't worry about it," I say, and feeling drunk and a tad brazen, grabbing my shaft through my shorts underneath the water, my eyes motioning downward making my reference more obvious than I probably needed to.
"Thank you," she somewhat purrs in response. Looking not quite at me but sort of past me, reminiscing, "My husband and I used to, you know, together in our hot tub."
"Fuck?" I inquire. I chuckle to try and soften the tone. She looks down cutely and smiles.
"Not really, no."
"Ok..."
"I would find, you know, a jet, one that felt...."
"Ticklish?" I ask, smirking at her.
She smirks back. "Yeah, ticklish."
"And he would, do his thing," she furthers, hand making a jerking motion. "And we would time it together."
"Time what?" I smirk again, well aware but wanting her to say it.
"Cum," she states plainly. "It's sort of my thing I guess. I like to watch."
