Coming Full Circle 1

The weather had turned bad by the time we started up the mountain. Trish and I had been planning this week for almost a year, and nothing was going to stop us, not snow, not sleet and not a pandemic.

We were going to fall in love again.

The rental jeep easily climbed the hill toward the chalet. Trish read off the mailbox numbers as we went up

"144, 146, 148..."

I kept my eyes on the road, trying not to look out across the mountain with its little cabins dotted along the road and the ski slopes beyond.

"Almost there," she said. "It's up here on the right."

We were here to get away from things, my job at the paper, her job at the law firm, the lockdown. We'd been assured that everything would be taken care of, from fumigating the cabin, wiping down everything to making sure all the guests were taken care of individually.

Meals would be delivered. Bars in the chalets would be stocked according to our tastes. Skiing right out the back of our cabin would take us down an easy slope to the lifts. A perfect day would end with us skiing downhill, back to our chalet.

All that could wait. We were pulling into the drive, and our hostess was waiting on the porch. Her name was Wendy, a college student from Colorado State who was there to help us with anything we needed.

She was wearing ski pants and boots, her bib overalls over a gray and white wool sweater with white ski gloves, goggles up on her blonde, snow-flecked hair, and a mask, which she pulled down to reveal a gorgeous face, smiling with full red lips, blue eyes and a perky little nose.

"My God," Trish said. "She's beautiful."

I stepped out of the jeep and walked a few steps toward our hostess. She opened the front door and sort of stepped aside to assure social distance. I fist-bumped her as I held out my hand to help Trish up the steps.

"We're the Gordons," I said. "Bill and Trish up from Salt Lake. Thanks for being here Wendy."

Trish smiled and cocked her head. She was smitten.

"It's so lovely here," she said, staring into the young woman's deep blue eyes. "You are so lovely."

Wendy seemed to blush as I winked at my wife and walked back to the jeep to get the bags.

"Is there anything I can do?" Wendy called to me as I walked to the jeep. She glanced at Trish. "This is my first day."

Trish held her arm out toward the front door.

"Show me around," she said, slipping out of her ski jacket and kicking the snow off her boots.

As I set the bags on the porch, I peered into the front of the lodge, watching Wendy unbuckling her overalls and sliding out of them. She was wearing tight jeans underneath, and when she took off her wool sweater, I almost gasped.

She wore a tight, low-cut top, no bra, and her nipples were hard from the cold outside. She bent over to stoke the fire in the huge fireplace, and I looked at Trish, who was looking at Wendy's ass and, I swear, licking her lips.

I chuckled as I went back to unload the skis and poles from the top of the jeep. There were more suitcases, too. Trish had packed for a month.

When I returned, the two of them were sitting at a counter, spaced apart and drinking red wine.

"I don't really think I'm supposed to be drinking with the guests," Wendy said, sounding like a little girl.

"Don't you worry about a thing," Trish said. "Your secrets are safe with us. Let's just have fun this week. Consider yourself part of the family."

They motioned as if they were clinking glasses as I walked in kicking snow and making a racket. It was mid-afternoon, and we'd talked about making a short ski run before the sun went down.

I checked the refrigerator to find it fully stocked with everything we ordered - steaks and vegetables, fruits and breakfast food, milk and three bottles of Bailey's Irish Cream.

I pulled out one of the bottles.

"Where's the coffee pot, Wendy?" I asked.

"I have no idea, Mr. Gordon," she said, aghast as both Trish and I laughed.

"I'll find it," I said, scurrying about in the cupboard and pantry. "And call me Bill."

"Ok, Bill," she said hesitantly, glancing at Trish sheepishly.

"My God," Trish said. "You're as cute as a button."

She was 21, roughly half our age. She was tall and slender, with what appeared to be perfect tits, about 35c if I had to guess. Without a bra, it was hard to tell. She also had a cute little butt, athletic but not masculine. She looked like a lifeguard more than a ski instructor, which is what we arranged for.

Within minutes, we let her know that she had no job this week other than teaching Trish how to ski in powder, something she'd never done before. We would take care of the rest.

Not one of us knew what that would entail, this being Wendy's first day on the job and our first time at the ski resort.

It wasn't like most resorts, especially with a pandemic raging. Yes, there was a big lodge at the bottom of the mountain, but other than a repair shop and a kitchen inside, little else was being used. The instructors and the safety skiers, the hosts, the managers and the owners and the hired help, all stayed in separate rooms in the lodge. No guests were allowed in, no fireplace, no bar or restaurant or ski school.

Everything was done on the slope and in the chalets.

As we made small talk and drank while walking around in our socks and checking out the place, Wendy suddenly realized she hadn't checked in with her bosses. She grabbed her phone from her bibs thrown over a chair and shrieked. She had four messages, all from the lodge.

"My first day, and I'm already in trouble," she said, genuinely shaken as she read the texts and furiously texted back. Then her phone rang again.

"Yes sir," she said. "Yes sir. I know. No sir."

Her shoulders slumped and a tear formed in her eye as she turned away from us, walking into another room. We could hear the fear in her voice, more than once pleading with the boss on the other end, until Trish couldn't take it any longer.

She walked into the room and held out her hand.

"Let me talk to him," she said.

Wendy's eyes were wide open as she handed her phone to a woman she'd known for less than an hour.

"Hello?" my wife said. I knew that tone. "This is Trish Gordon, and I don't know what's going on here, but you have no reason to talk to Wendy like she's done something wrong. She's been nothing but gracious since we walked in. If there's something to be explained, tell me. She's doing a wonderful job, exactly what we're paying for, and we'd appreciate it if you would remember what the agreement was, again, that we've paid for. She works for us this week. Period. You got it?"

She winked and handed the phone back to Wendy, who carefully held it to her ear and said "Hello?" her voice cracking. "Hello?"

No one was there. Problem solved. Wendy was ours for the next seven days.

Trish's anger dissipated quickly as she looked out the big sliding door that led outside to a deck and then, no more than 20 yards away, the ski slope. Snow was falling at a prodigious rate.

"Let's go skiing," she said, not waiting for an answer.

We scurried about, putting our ski bibs on, slipping into boots and clomping outside, grabbing skis and poles and meeting Wendy out back, who stood looking like a winter princess, her skis already on, her poles, which we later realized she didn't need, slung over her shoulder. She was a natural.

Trish struggled a little to get situated, eventually snow-plowing in waist-deep powder to the edge of the slope where Wendy waited, smiling and patient. As I scooted past them onto the steep slope, I looked back just in time to see Trish all but disappear in a snow bank, Wendy diving in to help her as they both laughed like teenagers, holding each other tight and managing to get to their feet without falling again, laughing uncontrollably.

"Darling," Trish said, snow covering her toboggan and face, goggles and all. "You go on. This is going to take me a while. Wendy is my guide. We'll just slow you down. Let's meet back here before sundown."

I blew them a kiss, turned my skis downhill and took off, my last image of them holding each other at the waist, smiling, their faces inches apart. They didn't know I was alive.

I skied alone for three hours, going from one slope to the next, exploring trails and even some outback skiing through the woods before finally making my way to the bottom, taking the main lift back to the top for my descent back down to the chalet.

I was exhausted, exhilarated and thirsty. I needed a drink, a fire, a hot meal and 20 hours of sleep.

As it turned out, I'm not sure I got 20 hours sleep that entire week.

When I made my re-entry, purposely coming in hot so I could show off, arriving in an avalanche of snow from my skis, a veritable whiteout, going from schussing wide open to a full-on inside-edge stop and a "nose bonk" that bumped me theatrically into the air at the bottom step of the deck.

And then silence.

There was no one to greet me, no one to applaud or to admire my skills. I unbuckled by skis, stomped onto the deck and looked around. There were Trish and Wendy's skis against the cabin, their boots laying haphazardly along with poles and gloves and goggles scattered around the sliding door.

I walked in quietly, looking around the big room with the fireplace roaring. No sign of anyone.

And then a giggle from the loft above. I backed up toward the fire so I could get a better angle, and all I saw was a blonde head, hair everywhere, a coquettish smile and then a hand reaching up around her neck and pulling her down. She disappeared from view as quickly as she appeared. All I heard was giggling.

I made a drink, collapsed into a huge cushioned chair, propped my sock feet up and fell asleep.

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It was pitch dark outside when I woke up, the fire down to dying embers. It was cold, and there was no sound. I got my bearings, taking an old kerosene lantern off the mantle and lighting it before creeping up the steps into the loft where a massive extra-king bed sat, clothes scattered everywhere.

There was heavy breathing coming from somewhere in the covers, which were piled high on the bed, one dainty foot hanging off the edge, a perfect little foot with red toenails. I stared at the scene before noticing the panties on the floor. Two pairs.

I shook my head smiling, and crept back downstairs.

It was another two hours before they stirred upstairs, the fire having finally heated the place again. I was in a pair of boxers, an old sweatshirt and thick wool socks when I heard little bare feet coming down the stairs.

Trish peered into the kitchen, where I was cleaning up from the steak and baked potato I'd made myself.

"Honey?" she asked timidly.

"In here, babe," I said, turning to look at my wife. She was wearing a negligee, nothing underneath. She was barefoot and shivering. Behind her was an impossibly beautiful young woman, wearing one of my button-down Eddie Bauer shirts, only two buttons buttoned, and nothing else, no panties, no bra, no socks. Her hair, like that of my wife's, looked as if it had just come from a wind tunnel.

"Hello girls," I said. "Walking toward my wife and taking her into my arms. "I winked at Wendy as I kissed Trish on her tousled hair. How was skiing?"

They both laughed.

"We didn't make it," Trish said, holding out her arms for Wendy to join us. We stood there in the chalet, the fire crackling, the three of us in a group hug, my wife's tits rubbing against one side of my chest, the tits of a 21-year-old goddess pressing against the other side.

I kissed Trish on the forehead and then I did the same to Wendy, who seemed to shudder.

"It's freezing in here," Trish said, adjusting Wendy's shirt, which was basically open, one of her tits exposed, her nipple the size of my thumb. "Wendy, is this place heated?"

"I have no idea," she said.

I shook my head, walked to the thermostat on the wall and turned on the auxiliary heat for the first time.

"You're going to be burning up in no time," I said as they both scampered back up the steps, their bare asses shining in the firelight, my cock finally thawed out and twitching at the show. "Are you guys hungry?"

There was no answer, so I pulled out some bacon and eggs, put on some coffee and began to make them a late-night breakfast. They would come back downstairs about 45 minutes later, chattering like birds.

I turned around as they walked into the great room, dressed like ski bunnies, big, thick wool sweaters, ski lounge bottoms, wool socks and their hair pulled back into pony tails. They looked beautiful. No, they looked delicious. I was still in boxers, and I'm sure they noticed the bulge from my cock now acknowledging my sexy lodge mates.

"Wendy's staying here tonight," Trish said, matter-of-factly. She'd apparently had another conversation with Wendy's boss. "She'll be staying here all week."

I chuckled and finished their evening breakfast as they settled into the big leather couch covered in Swiss Army blankets. I brought it to them in two trays, plates of scrambled eggs and bacon, toast and strawberry jelly, coffee and orange juice. They both looked at the trays and then the bulge from my boxers.

"Mmmmmmm," Trish said.

"I mean, hell yes," Wendy said.

They took the trays laughing and watching my cock bounce as I walked away.

"What else do you need?" I asked as I walked toward a bottle of vodka and God knows what else.

"Oh, we'll think of something," Trish said. "Hang loose."

I laughed, poured an extra strong vodka tonic, and walked up the stairs.

"No seriously," Trish said. "Drop those drawers."

I didn't hesitate, stepping out of them and leaving them where they fell, then walking up the stairs in nothing but socks and a sweatshirt, my seven-inch cock on full display for my wife and her new lover, a perfect stranger before we woke up that morning.

I looked around the bedroom of the loft, took off my sweatshirt then walked into a bathroom expecting to take a shower. There wasn't one.

I walked back out and down the stairs, buck naked.

"Wendy, our precious hostess," I said. Her eyes were wide open, her eyebrows arched and her mouth gaping.

"Yes?" she asked, peering over the blanket.

"Where would the shower be?"

"I have no idea," she said.

I showered in hot water that filled the downstairs bathroom in steam. When I stepped out, I dried, wrapped the towel around my waist and walked out with nothing else on.

I was 41 years old, a former athlete, still in decent shape, muscles softened with time, a little hair on my chest, my nipples hard and my cock still tenting the towel. When I walked into the little hallway and to the opening of the great room, I saw the two of them embraced, covered in one of the blankets, their sweaters tossed onto the floor. I stood there watching them without their realizing I was there until poor Wendy opened her eyes and saw me, squealing and trying to hide her head under the blanket as Trish turned and saw me standing there.

"Hey there, big boy," she said.

I smiled and leaned over, taking their trays and plates and glasses and mugs, walking back toward the kitchen sink as they giggled and whispered. They were still in deep conversation when I walked back in.

It was midnight, maybe later. I made another vodka tonic and walked toward the big easy chair.

"No way," Trish said, pulling back the blanket and scooting over, away from Wendy, making room for one person to squeeze between them on the big cushioned couch. "Come sit with us. You can lose the towel."

I didn't argue. I looked at them one at a time. They both had the same look on their faces, a wry smile, their eyes twinkling in the firelight, not looking at my eyes at all, but straight at the bulge under the towel. I let them stare for a second or two longer then dropped it in the floor.

They both squealed as I made my way toward them, settling in between two sexy women dressed only in cotton lounge bottoms, their perfect tits framing me as I put my arm around each of them, pulling them to me and kissing my wife on the lips then turning to a 21-year-old ski instructor and kissing her next, our tongues diving into each other's mouth, our young hostess closing her eyes and melting, one hand sliding behind me, the other gracefully on my thigh.

Trish took the opportunity to slide one hand over my engorged cock, throbbing and twitching as as she stroked me while I French-kissed a woman half my age. For the next hour, we pawed and probed, both of them taking turns playing with my cock, sucking it, licking it, one stroking it while the other played with my balls until this 41-year-old man couldn't take it any longer.

"Girls," I said, "I have to cum."

They cooed and purred, blowing on my mushroom head, watching it jerk and quiver, precum oozing all down the shaft, which they licked and swallowed and kissed each other while my balls tightened and my eruption couldn't be edged any longer.

I groaned as they both pulled back in awe, no longer playing, just watching as my cock tip exploded in ropes of white semen, blasting off like a rocket trail, long strands that shot into the air then made a re-entry, landing on their faces and heads, splattering their naked tits, dripping from their chins, one of Trish's eyes closed shut with warm cum, both of them laughing like hyena's, wild noises as my hips bucked and the last streams of cum oozed out, Wendy taking it upon herself to lean down and suck the last sperm from my twitching cock, squeezing my balls and moaning as Trish stroked her hair.

Then they both rose and began to lick each other clean, swallowing strands dripping from their faces, licking their tits like cats, crawling all over me like wild reptiles, grinding and groaning, cleaning every drop of cum they'd just extracted from my exhausted dick.

Then they kissed. They raised themselves to their knees on either side of me and kissed like teenaged girls, while I rubbed their naked backs, sliding my hands down to their asses, slowly pulling down their bottoms, exposing them as they kissed harder, my fingers probing them, sliding down their ass cracks as they wiggled and made animal sounds.

For the first time, I felt like I was in the way. Without any resistance, I slid down the couch from under them then stood above them, first sliding Wendy's bottoms off, exposing her perfect 21-year-old ass, then doing the same to Trish, my 41-year-old sudden sex addict. She collapsed on her back, opening her legs as Wendy went down on her, expertly, as if they done it before, which they apparently had earlier in the evening.

I took the opportunity to get behind Wendy and began to lick her, sliding my tongue into her crack, soaking her hole as she squirmed, begging for it without saying a word, her face muzzled in my wife's soaked cunt. I slid my tongue into Wendy's asshole. She reached back with one hand and pulled a cheek apart.

She wanted it.

I tongue-fucked her until my wife came twice, squirting into Wendy's face and all over the couch as I furiously finger-fucked her, watching it all from above, Trish and I staring into each other's eyes in wonderment, lost in an act we could've only dreamed of a day earlier.

We would play off and on all night, Trish and Wendy playing when I dozed off, Wendy and I playing when Trish dozed off then my wife and I playing with our 21-year-old sex toy snoring under us.

It was a glorious night, one that no one will ever forget. It was the beginning of a glorious week that built in anticipation and imagination each day, Trish and Wendy rarely going outside for anything more than air, as I skied all day and made love all night with my playmates.

Our last day in the chalet together would be astonishing.

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