This is intended as a sequel to an earlier story – "Indulgence." More enjoyment may be had if you read that first.
I had been seeing Steve for about three months. For 'seeing', read 'fucking'. Of course. He was okay, but certainly not Mr Right. He was becoming serious and I was becoming, if not exactly bored, certainly not ready for serious. I would have to dump him.
Things had not gone as expected since my spectacular one nighter with the lovely Malcolm, my plans to re-enter single life as a sexual predator had not achieved fruition. I had picked up, or been picked up by, many apparently suitable men who had not made the grade, either in bed or socially. As has been said many times; 'You have to kiss a lot of frogs etc.' My fantasy of taking on two men at a time was, as yet, unfulfilled. I mean, just how do you go about it? Place an advert on the web:
"Horny female seeks two studs for repetitive fucking."???
Sex with one stranger is not without risk, with two...
Nor had I satisfied my curiosity to fuck with another woman. Sally had stopped trying to seduce me, she was a colleague and mixing business with pleasure was not a good idea anyway. And talking of ideas, my notion of lesbianism was apparently not accurate, it is probably the male vision of girl-on-girl; two stunners in lingerie going at it for the benefit of the viewer(s). I had been approached by females, but the type who could pass as dockers or Russian hammer-throwers, guys without dicks. Sally seemed to be an exception, a good looking feminine female who was a 'butch' les. She could probably have fixed me up, but to reveal my secret desires to a colleague would be almost as bad an idea as fucking one.
So I had been lazy and stayed with good old Steve. He was not bad in bed, he gave me orgasms, but not of the force ten kind. He also seemed incapable of the kind of intimacy that develops between couples of long standing, a sort of telepathy.
No. He had to go.
I only saw him at weekends, With my half of the proceeds from the sale of my previous marital home, I had bought a city-centre flat, close to my work, the shops and the night-life. Steve stayed with me there on alternate weekends, on the other weekend I stayed with him at his cottage in the country. Well, in the outermost suburbs. It was a good arrangement, but it lacked the fire that I craved. The bell rang. It was him, over for the weekend. This time I would find the right moment to end it, to 'Tell him on a Sunday.'
Steve took the wind out of my sails straight away;
"How would you like to go skiing?" he bubbled, full of excitement.
He had won a week's skiing holiday for two in Switzerland, travel, all expenses paid, except for drinks. The catch was that it had to be taken almost immediately. I had never been skiing. Could I take the time off work? And what about my plans to finish with Steve? I took the unprecedented step of 'phoning my boss at home. We got on well, I worked hard, often long hours, beyond the call and all that. Yes, she thought that I deserved it, she would square it with the masters. Steve's demise would have to be postponed, I was going skiing.
That weekend was one of the best I had spent with Steve, we spent Saturday buying ski-wear and most of the rest in bed, Steve was invigorated by his win, we fucked almost non-stop. It turned out that he was a good skier, having been several times before. We might not be able to ski together though, I was a complete rookie and would need tuition, he would probably be able to ski 'properly' as he put it. That was no problem, I did not want to cramp his style on the piste, and it would give us a break from each other.
Day one 'on the slopes' comprised of being fixed up with skis and boots in the morning, then Steve took the cable car to the high slopes while I had my first lesson. The novices were a group of ten, eight of which were young English women, an extended hen-party The ninth was a very attractive man about my age, Michael, also English. I was number ten. Our instructor would not have been out of place in an S.S. uniform, it was very obvious that 'old people' like Michael and myself were considered beyond help, I suspect that without us, the eight nubile 'hens' would have been easy prey for him. We were just in the way. It did not help that I was absolutely hopeless on skis, most of the first lesson was spent just learning how to stand up. I was glad when it was over.
Michael and his wife, Gina, were staying at the same hotel as Steve and myself, so we met up later for dinner. Gina was gorgeous. Petite, short blonde hair and very bubbly. She was a competent skier. She and Steve had met on the slopes earlier and had skied together. It was very clear to me that Steve was smitten. In return, as soon as I saw Michael without the thick shapeless ski clothing, I went a bit weak at the knees and moist at the crutch. It was lust at first sight. They turned out to be sparkling company, charming and funny as well as looking like Greek gods. Steve and I drank far too much, but it did not prevent us from unleashing our pent up desires on each other when we got to bed, Steve was almost certainly imagining that it was Gina he was fucking, and although it was Steve in my cunt, it was Michael in my head.
The next morning there was a message at reception; today's lesson would be in the morning, bad weather was expected later in the day. Advanced skiers were advised to be off the slopes by early afternoon at the latest. Sure enough, the morning sunshine was soon replaced by an overcast sky. We still managed our lesson though. I could stand up by now, I could even ski, or rather slide downhill in a straight line. But I could not turn and I could only stop by falling over. Our instructor was not impressed, I was a danger to others. Annoyed, I sent them all ahead, snowploughing their way down the nursery slope. I followed by sliding diagonally across the slope and running into the soft snow at the edge. At least it was soft to fall on. It reminded me of a sailing boat tacking, but with a crash at the end of each tack.
When I at last reached the bottom, the instructor was absent. He had been informed on his radio that there had been an accident higher up and was on his way to help. We watched the helicopter fly in and out again, just as the first flurries of snow arrived, then made our way back to the hotel. My mobile 'phone rang, making me jump, it had been silent for two days. Steve was in hospital, he had been involved in the accident. I began to inform Michael, but was interrupted by his 'phone. Gina was also involved.
We shared a taxi to the hospital, which was a fair distance away in the nearest town. Not an easy journey as wet snow was falling hard by now. The injuries to our respective partners were serious but not critical, fractured bones in the lower leg, Steve's left, Gina's right. By the time we got to the hospital, they had been put in plaster - no more skiing. They would both be kept in overnight for observation. They had actually crashed into each other! Not the coming together that Steve probably imagined. What about us, Michael and myself? There was no chance of returning to the hotel, there was a raging snowstorm outside. The hotel had 'next of kin' accommodation. Basically bunk beds in a room that resembled a prison cell. We would of course, have to pay. Might be worth it I thought, I've never done it in a bunk bed, and if Michael was agreeable...
Any thoughts of consoling each other in this way were soon dispelled, the bunk-rooms contained eight bunks. All would be occupied because of the weather. Besides, Michael had shown no interest in me sexually, he spent most of the night at Gina's bedside anyway. The best ones are always married. I spent an uncomfortable night in a bunk. Alone.
The storm blew itself out overnight and the very efficient Swiss authorities soon had the roads ploughed and gritted, although snow continued to fall. The invalids were discharged and the bill presented. It would be covered by insurance of course, but we had to pay upfront. Copies of the X-rays and the doctor's report would be available the next day, if someone would care to collect them. Because of the plaster casts, two taxis were needed to get back to the hotel. Our adventure had turned into a nightmare.
The weather did not improve enough to make skiing possible until the afternoon of day five, so the intervening period was spent around the hotel, playing cards and scrabble and over-imbibing. Steve and I soon worked out how to fuck with a broken leg, with me on top, easy really. We spent a lot of time doing that too. On the afternoon of day five, just as the sun began to peep out, the hospital 'phoned; the X-rays had not been collected, we had forgotten. Only one of us needed to go, but it was a break from confinement in the hotel, so Michael and I shared the long taxi ride back into town. On the way back, Michael put his hand on my thigh as we chatted. Was it a friendly touch? Or a sexy one? His hand was mid-thigh, halfway between knee and nookie, it could have been either. It got my juices flowing though, I fancied him like mad, was I mis-reading the contact? He did not take his hand away, nor did he move it higher. In any event, the thigh in question was covered in several layers of winter clothing. It felt nice though, I left the hand where it was for the rest of the journey.
There was another message waiting, from the instructor; there would be a lesson morning and afternoon to make up for the days lost. I was off the idea anyway, but Michael would be there... That night I rode Steve's cock until I came, all the time imagining that it was Michael's. Except of course, that Michael's would be bigger and harder, and would deliver copious amounts of cum on demand and repeatedly.
I made slight improvement during the morning lesson, in that I was crashing more gently, but during the afternoon I decided that I had had enough of being yelled at to;
"Bend the kernees," and "Snowploog."
At the end of the lesson, the Oberleutnant, avoiding my glance, congratulated his class on their improvement, tomorrow we would take the cable car to the upper slopes and spend the whole day skiing properly. Fat chance.
Michael persuaded me otherwise. He had been very attentive that day, having gained confidence in his own ability to ski, he went out of his way to assist me. Besides, it would be a change of scenery and I could decide at the top and come back on the cable car if I chose to. I made the effort, the view from the top was worth it. It was extremely cold though, helped by a brisk easterly wind. I did look at the run, a blue one apparently, the gentlest. But to me it looked like a death-run, like standing on top of a skyscraper made from ice. Michael too, was dubious. We opted against, leaving the Oberleutnant to his harem. Whether he scored any or all of them I have no idea and even less interest. Michael and I opted instead for the luxury of the mountain-top restaurant. Hot chocolate laced with schnapps seems to boost bravery and after several, I decided that rather than returning on the cable-car, I would after all, attempt the death-run. But at my own pace, tacking all the way.
