An American Houseguest Ch 03

The next day I woke up mid-morning with a smile on my face. The events of the previous night felt like a movie I'd once seen but not quite believed. Did I really feel the hand of Veronique, a middle-aged but still beautiful supermodel, grabbing my crotch? Was I really rewarded with a kiss for an improvised short story by Isabelle, a gorgeous young heiress? Did a hot young woman named Justine who knew nothing of English but everything of pleasing men really give me a full body massage complete with happy ending? Did I die and somehow get into heaven on a technicality?

I decide to take advantage of my surroundings and go for a morning swim in the lake. I jump into my suit and exited the French doors that lead to the terrace and walk down to the dock. Swimming has been my exercise of choice ever since I was in college and swam for the water polo team. Now that I live in New York, I manage to swim three or four times a week at the Athletic Club. It keeps me lean and my body in shape. Even more, it keeps me sane.

The lake is glassy in the mid-morning light, the craggy mountains reflected in the deep blue water. It's so tranquil the only sign of life are a pair of ducks that fly overhead. I'm grateful for the solitude; my bathing suit is standard issue water polo fare: an ultra skimpy Speedo. For a moment, I take in the majestic beauty of the Alps and high mountain lake, and then dive in.

The water is cool, but not cold. As it envelopes me I feel the cobwebs from my long trip and sleep evaporate. I slowly stroke and kick and make my way towards the center of the lake. The water feels velvety, much softer than the pool at the club. I've always enjoyed swimming in lakes. The organic material in the water makes the experience a sensual one.

After a good long swim I make my way back towards the house. I pass an anchored swimming platform and reach the shore. Once on land, I find a spot in the morning sun and start to drip dry. I didn't bring a towel from the room nor do I need it really, the air is warm and comfortable.

Standing on the shore with the water beading on my skin, feeling the sun caress me, my mind starts to wander. God this is nice. I wonder if Isabelle swims here. She sure looks like she keeps in shape. What a body she has! She probably hangs out on that raft, lying in the sun, tanning herself, getting away from her Mom, Veronique. Maybe she and I can take a swim later and lay out on the raft together? I wonder if she goes topless, like many European women do. I bet she has the most beautiful breasts. Firm, high-sitting, 19-year-old breasts on a gorgeous, long-legged, green-eyed siren of a woman. The water would be just cool enough to make her breasts pert and her nipples stand out. God I'd love to see that. That ballerina's body with perfect round breasts...

Oh my God. I'm standing here by the lakeshore, soaking in the sun, and fantasizing about my best friend's sister. Worse, I've practically given myself a hard on doing it. My cock is long and thick and straining against the fabric of my Speedo. Thank God I'm alone or this would be humiliating. I better get back to my room on the double.

I look around a bit sheepishly and then jog up the steps toward the house. I cross the lawn and hop the short stone balustrade to the terrace that leads to my room. Suddenly, I hear someone calling me. Shit.

"Jake!"

It's a woman's voice. I see Veronique sitting at a table on the terrace drinking coffee. She's wearing sunglasses and a stylish hat.

"Jake, come here a moment" she calls again.

Damn, I can't pretend I haven't heard her. I walk to wear she's seated.

"Have you been swimming?"

"Yeah" I answer "I swim a lot at home."

"I can tell. Very impressive" she says, as she checks me out from behind her sunglasses. Her head is tilted to my face but I can tell her eyes are trained much lower.

"Is Peter around?" I ask.

"Peter and his father made the trip into Grindelwald early this morning to look at some property. They should be back in the afternoon." I realize that my chest and arms are all pumped up from my swim and my cock is still pressing against my tiny swimsuit. No wonder she's staring at me.

"Isabelle tells me you entertained her with some of your creative writing last night."

"Oh, it was nothing. Just a little something to pass the time."

"Hardly. We don't get such talented writers here very often. I'm sure it was quite special."

I can't tell where she's going with this. Does she disapprove of this or what? I decide to play it safe.

"I just made up a story to make her feel good. Just a form of entertainment."

"Well, Isabelle, was quite taken by it" she says, her eyes still fixed on me. Damn it, I wish my cock would just relax. The head is pressed against the fabric and the outline of my cock is clearly visible. She runs her finger along the rim of her coffee cup.

"And what about me? What do I need to do to be rewarded with such an entertainment?"

"You want me to tell you a story? Like I did with Isabelle?"

"I think as the lady of the house I deserve that. Don't you think I should receive the same courtesy as my daughter?"

"Of course" I stammer, "I'd be happy to..."

"After all, I enjoy the arts as much as the next person. Why shouldn't I be treated to a taste of your talent?"

I'm feeling a bit flushed now. I'm standing right in front of her, practically naked, and she's putting me on the spot. Damn, I wish my cock would relax already. The more she stares at it, the more it's pressing against my suit.

"No, you should...I mean...of course I will..."

"Good" she says, "then it's settled." She looks at me over her sunglasses. "Do you want to tell me a story now. In my room?"

Oh boy. I try to think fast.

"Well, actually I...I...I need some time to prepare. I thought I'd go for a hike this morning. You know, see some of the countryside. I could come up with some ideas and then later..."

"Fine. Later then. You can come to my room and I can experience the impressive writer at work."

"OK. Sure." I turn as if to go. I've got to get this hardening cock out of sight.

"Jake" she calls. I turn back.

"Yes?"

"Come here." I take a couple steps next to her chair. She's looking straight at my bulge. The outline of my lengthening cock is clearly visible under my suit.

"Turn around."

I slowly turn my back to her. Is she checking out my butt now? My Speedo is so tiny, the top of my ass crack is clearly visible. She reaches up and with her long fingernail takes the label that's sticking up on the edge of my suit, and folds it under the fabric. Then she takes her hand and pats my ass, giving it an appraising squeeze.

"Very impressive indeed."

No acceptable reply even enters my brain and I turn to walk away. I feel her eyes on my ass.

"And Jake?" Oh, God. What now.

"Yes?"

"I don't want any children's stories about sea captains. I want....more adult fare."

"Adult fare. Got it." I say, perfunctorily, and I leave.

Jesus, my heart is pounding. I thought my cock was going to press a hole right in my suit. I step into my room and immediately pull down my Speedo. My cock springs out, liberated. Instinctively, I take my hand and give it a stroke. "What a fucking sexpot" I mutter to myself.

I step in the bathroom and run the shower. I look myself in the mirror and just before it steams up I think I get a glimpse of an excited 10-year-old kid in the body of a 25-year-old unpublished writer cum water polo player cum interloper. What am I getting myself into?

I step in the shower and let the hot water flow over my face and body. Holy shit, I thought she was going to tell me to drop my pants and service her right there. I take my soapy hand and run it up the length of my cock. What that woman would do with a big, long cock like this one I cannot imagine. Actually, I can. She'd probably give the greatest blow job EVER. The kind that only a French woman could do. Where she just loves your cock to death with every part of her mouth and face. So sexy. So hot. Taking you in her gorgeous mouth, rubbing your hardness against her cheeks and hair. Licking you, pleasing you. Wanting you to get so fucking hard you can't stand it. And then taking you deep in her throat. Swallowing your big, hard cock and sliding it in and out of her throat. Fucking that gorgeous face with your rock hard cock. Ohhhh.

I'm stroking myself now, pulling the skin back on my now throbbing cock. Just then, the door to the bathroom opens and a figure enters. Veronique? Did she follow me into my room to have her way with me?

"Monsieur Jake?" It's Justine, the maid. She's holding a pile of folded white towels.

"Je prends plus de serviettes pour vous." I hope she can't see me through the steamy glass walls of the shower. "Ze towel? I bring for you."

"Oh, merci, Justine" I answer. "Just...mettez sur la commode."

She puts the towels down and stands facing me. I hold my hard on close to my body so it's not so obvious.

"S'il vous plait, voudriez-vous une massage encore ce soir? Comme la nuit passé?"

All I caught was the word massage, and that's exactly what I need at this moment.

"Oui, je voudrais une massage. Ici? Maintenant?"

She smiles and looks down, coquettishly.

"Maintenant? Non, monsieur, je ne peux pas parce que je travaille. Non, non, il n'est pas possible. Je suis désolée."

I realize she's saying she couldn't possible jump into the shower with the American houseguest in the middle of the morning while she's working. Of course.

"When do you get off work? Um, a quelle heure quittez-vous ce soir?"

"A dix heures."

"Bon, a dix heures. Viens a cette heure." She gives me a smile that makes my dick ache. She turns and goes.

My head is starting to spin now. I've scheduled a rendezvous with the maid at 10pm, the lady of the house wants me to "entertain" her at some point, and I haven't even had breakfast yet. I decide it's best to just escape the house for a bit while I gather my senses.

I dry off and dress and head downstairs. In the kitchen, Mme Fleury is rolling out dough on a large wooden table in the center of the room. I ask her in my broken French for some food for a "pique-nique" and she obliges me, filling my knapsack with a baguette, some charcuterie, a wedge of cheese an apple, and a bottle of water. I help myself to a cup of coffee and a pain au chocolate and head for the back door. I'm on the steps to the boat dock when I run into Isabelle.

"You seem like a man on a mission" she says with a smile. She's wearing form-fitting riding pants. They make her form look amazing.

"I thought I'd take a hike, maybe go around the lake."

"There's a great trail if you head around the right side of the lake. Just take the footbridge and go left, you can't miss it. "

"Thanks. That sounds perfect. Have you been riding?"

"Not yet" she answers. "I'm just getting ready to go. Interested?"

"In riding? Maybe another time. I'm sort of anxious to stretch my legs. You know, after the flight and all."

"I totally get it. Well, have a wonderful hike." She smiles and continues on. I turn and head up towards the footbridge to find the trail.

Isabelle seems so normal. So down to earth. It's hard to believe she's Veronique's daughter. Veronique is so...intense. Isabelle seems to have a good head on her shoulders. I can see why Peter cares so much for her. She's sweet, smart, beautiful. She'll probably end up marrying some gazillionaire and spend her time donating their money to philanthropy. AIDS in Africa or microloans in Micronesia. She's the kind of woman who ends up with an impossibly handsome guy with limitless wealth but with a social conscience. They'll start a foundation together and get named co-humanitarians of the year. You'll read them in the People Magazines of the world. Yeah, she's totally out of my league.

I find the bridge, such as it is. It's a little pedestrian walkway over the water which leads to the lake shore. I cross it and find a trail along the lake's edge going off to the left, just as Isabelle described. I follow the trail through riparian forests and marshy glens as it snakes along the lakeshore. It's exquisitely beautiful. I'm able to lose myself in my thoughts as I follow the meandering trail. There's nary a soul nor animal to interrupt my contemplation. I'm utterly alone.

What am I going to do with these women? Well, Justine, that's easy. I'll try to communicate with her with her three words of English and my four words of French. Through a combination of charades and hand signals I'll be able to get through to her exactly what I want. What do I want, exactly? Well, let's see. What's French for "a striptease followed by a blowjob." No, Justine won't be a problem. It's Veronique I'm worried about.

Ever since I arrived she's been all over me. Here she is, sharing a house, okay a villa, with her husband and she's putting the moves on her son's friend from the moment he arrived. She's probably incredibly frustrated sexually. Didn't Peter say she and her husband slept in separate bedrooms to keep the peace? She probably hasn't had sex in quite a while and then, voila, I arrive. An available younger man. Right in the same house. How convenient.

The last thing I want to do is jeopardize my friendship with Peter by getting in some kind of contretemps with his mother. But what's worse? Sleeping with her and risk finding out about it or not sleeping with her and having her create a scene because I rejected her. I honestly don't know how to get out of this without blowing it in some way, shape or form.

The trail climbs to a rocky promontory overlooking the lake. I can see the island and the house off in the distance. I've already covered a lot of ground. I find a rock in the sun where I can sit and eat. I rip open the bread and layer in the meat and cheese and devour it hungrily. I've got quite an appetite from all the physical exertion of the past couple of days.

I continue my hike, further and further along the lake. This lake is a lot bigger than I thought it was. I realize I've walked for a good three hours and I still haven't reached the far side. I guess my plan of circumnavigating the entire lake is out of the question. I'm trying to decide whether to give up and start heading back the way I came or what.

Just then, I hear the sound of horse's hooves from behind me. I turn and see Isabelle on her Arabian loping towards me. She has a big smile on her face.

"Finally. I thought I'd never find you. You've covered a lot of ground."

"Hi. Yeah, I was just trying to figure out whether I could make it around the lake."

"I wouldn't if I were you. The trail gets pretty dodgy on the other side of the lake. You wouldn't make it back until three in the morning at least."

"Sounds kind of fun, actually. I'm always up for an adventure. See you then..." I make as if to leave.

"Jake, no, I'm serious. It's quite far and I'd be worried..." She stops herself. "Oh, you're just having fun with me, aren't you?"

I smile at her, mischeviously. She starts to have some fun herself.

"Oh, fine, go ahead and go on your grand adventure. We'll sell your possessions on consignment and notify your next of kin."

"Well, I wouldn't want to upset the next of kin" I say, hesitating, "as much as I do love an adventure."

She smiles, going along.

"Very thoughtful of you, to be concerned about your next of kin."

"Actually, I was struck by how concerned YOU were about my well-being. Isabelle, I had no idea..." She blushes but quickly covers.

"Just trying to avoid bad publicity. You know, 'American tourist's remains found half eaten by mountain goats."

"Ooh. Mountain goats. No, that wouldn't be good. Scandalous really."

"We mustn't have scandal. Papa wouldn't approve."

"No, I could see that. Well, I guess I'll just have to head back the way I came. Another opportunity for adventure thwarted."

We're walking together now, back down the trail from where we came. I'm walking next to her and she's on her horse.

"I could give you a ride. Maybe that would help quench your thirst for adventure."

I look up at her. She's riding bareback with nothing but a halter.

"I don't think your horse would appreciate that, would he? Besides, where would I sit?"

"Next to me, silly. Don't tell me you've never ridden double bareback before?"

"My horse riding experience is sadly limited, I'm afraid."

"Well, then you must. It's a first. It's...an adventure."

I laugh.

"OK, you win. But, how do I...come aboard."

"Oh dear, you are a neophyte, aren't you. OK, I'll make it easy. Come stand over here."

She points to a spot off the trail that is uphill from her and the horse. I climb up and I'm standing on the incline at a level close to hers. "Now, I'll just position him close to you. Like this. There. Now, just swing your leg over his back and sit behind me."

Now, the truth be told, I've only ridden a horse a few times. And I've never ridden "tandem" before. I'm a little unsure how this is supposed to work.

"Do I just jump on? Are you sure he's going to like it?"

"He'll be fine. Just swing your leg over and hop on."

I cross myself theatrically eliciting a giggle from Isabelle. I bend my knees and spring onto the horse's backside. He gives a little start but she holds him steady with the reins.

"Great" she says "now hold on!"

She gives the horse a kick and he springs forward and starts trotting down the trail. I'm bouncing around like a tin can in the back of a pickup truck. She brings the horse to a halt and I gather myself.

"Jake, do you mind if I give you some pointers?"

"Mind? I'd be eternally grateful. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"OK. First, you're riding too far back. You need to move next to me. Second, you need to hold on with your legs and to me."

I scoot closer to her, maybe a foot behind her.

"No, come right next to me. It's the only way."

I scoot closer. Maybe an inch separates us. "Jake, right next to me. Touching."

She's sitting straight backed, her graceful torso leading to a thin waist and a beautiful round ass. Her tight riding pants show every bit of her curves. I need to sit right next to that? Twist my arm.

I slowly scoot closer until my crotch is pressed against her rounded butt, my chest against her back, and my face just next to her full mane of long, curly hair. Her scent is intoxicating. "Now put your thighs so they're against my legs. That's it. We squeeze the horse with our thighs. When he moves, we move. As one."

She gives the horse a tap with her heels and he starts walking slowly. Sure enough, our bodies start moving together to the rhythm of the horse's pace.

"Where exactly do I hold on?" I ask.

"Wherever you want" she says slyly, "but usually one holds onto the hips."

"Right" I reply and put my hands on her hips.

The rhythm of the horse's gait makes our bodies undulate, rocking our hips in a steady, hypnotic motion. I look down and see my bare legs pressed against hers. The muscles in my thighs are visible as I grip the horse. My groin is right up against her ass and I'm moving we're moving as if we're dancing together. I have the sensation that I'm holding onto her hips and slowly, steadily thrusting into her from behind. I feel my cock stiffen in my pants.

"Now, isn't that better?" she asks.

"Much. Thanks for the tips."

"Now, let's try a trot, shall we?"

She gives the horse another kick and he starts trotting on the trail. Instinctively, I squeeze my grip on her waist. I'm bouncing on the horse, and not very gracefully. She laughs and slows the horse to a walk.

"Trotting's hard. It's impossible to do it comfortably unless you post. Do you know what posting is?"

"Nope. Not a clue."

"Here. I'll show you."

She kicks the horse and gets him to trot. As I hold onto her waist, I see her raise her ass up and lower it, in rhythm with the horse. As she comes down, her ass rubs against my crotch. Up and then down. Each time, I see, and feel, her perfect ass rubbing against my hardening cock.