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Farther Up the Mountain
The lift rides were exhilarating. She stuck to the gondola-serviced runs, so there were companions on the ascent. She sat quietly amidst the chatter and laughing of small groups of students and families, answering the occasional nervous questions of a new skier going farther up the mountain for the first time. All thrilled to the brilliant scenery, a big hill with plenty of snow, and a sun that poured down relentless radiance through the frigid air.
Yet it was high, high up, off to the northwest side, with the gigantic basin of Telluride Mountain and a black diamond slope at her feet, that she put on power. Pausing before tipping her skis over, she whispered her favorite ski mantra, like telling a cosmic joke to the mountain.
“At Cal Tech, gravity is just a theory to us. Here, it’s the only reality.”
Then, she shot down the mountain.
Thank goodness for plenty of hot water. He gloried in it. The condo was only fairly luxe, but they did not make you skimp on heat and water. He lingered in the shower, turning the bathroom and vicinity into a steam zone. Eventually, though, when he sensed the first slacking of temperature, he surrendered to the finite and turned off the shower.
He walked out into the landing overlooking the big room, its ceiling vaulted, of course, coming to a point above his head. Everything was brilliantly lit. His left-brain reminded him it was fourteen degrees outside, but the outrageous sun filling the room below – and his overheated skin – tested his belief in it. He dried off.
The door of the condo burst open. She came flying in.
“Oh man oh man oh man, shut the damn door!”
She laughed and teased by complying not at all. She started throwing off layers of ski clothing instead, backlit by the blinding white rectangle behind her.
“Aw, come on, for God’s sake, it’s twenty below out there.”
Smiling broadly, she turned and slowly – infuriatingly slowly – closed it.
“Man,” he moaned, “if we were going to be outside in winter, Mother Nature should have given us fur.”
“I have some fur,” she said, with a wise edge. She continued shedding clothes. He came stomping down the stairs to get to her level, fairly confident the awful door would remain shut.
“You have red cheeks.”
“It’s spectacular out there.”
“I’m surprised you came back so soon.”
“Mission.”
“I suppose you have to go to the bathroom.”
“Nope.”
“Breakfast?”
“Nope.” She was down to long underwear over not long underwear. Plus thick white socks.
“Oh, I get it, this is to get me out there at this bizarre hour. You’ve come to kidnap me. Well, sorry, negatory.”
She said nothing, only shook loose the hair which had spent the first few hours since dawn tucked under a ski cap. It was wavy and lustrous, deep brown with amber highlights. She strode toward him, laughing determination in her eyes.
“Hot cocoa?” he tried.
Eight feet away, her thermal underwear top went flying.
“Iy yi yi yi yi,” he cried.
She crashed into him like a downhill girl who can’t stop. He fell back onto the couch, drowning in a gigantic kiss. The cold surrounding her teased his skin flushed from the hot-Niagara shower, and the syrup inside her mouth flowed warm.
He rolled her around, got the last of her underwear off, and rubbed everything he had against everything she had. She kissed voraciously.
Oh man, to have a great frisky girl in your arms is best.
Quickly she climbed on top, tossing hair behind her shoulders. Her breasts thrust forward. Her most intimate part pressed his lower abdomen. She suddenly stopped squirming, froze rigid, staring into space. He held his breath.
With a violent jolt, her body rode down his, her breasts trailing over his torso, until in one smooth motion she brought her mouth right to the tip of the erect organ and sank down it, engulfing the shaft totally completely deep hot wet.
“Ay-yiiii, yi, yi.”
Breasts rocking against his thighs, hair in a cascade over his torso, the sensation of his organ sucked into her vortex continued for long minutes. He groaned and cried and yelped. She let him rock, not enough to escape domination. She soaked the head with inside juices of her mouth, sliding him in it, pressing and sucking.
“Outrageous,” he crowed to the vaulted rafters. She continued earning this appraisal for minutes, but at the first sign of him serious bucking, rose up. Her hand took the jutting thing and guided it to her nethers, slithering down on him with a shake of her hips. Lubrication flowed aplenty.
“Oh no oh girl oh yes.”
“I crashed down a mountain for this.”
She had learned new sideways hip motions, apparently. Moguls. She swished and swayed with expert skill, the sliding grip tight and loose at the same time in the wet.
Then, happily fed up, he grabbed her around the waist, spun her onto the couch, pushed her legs apart and slammed his cock between the lips of her sex.
“Oh my God, some dude on me.” She squealed and groaned with exaggerated helplessness. “He’s got me.”
She had provoked him so. She had outraged his quiet morning. She had a mouth that knew too much.
“Ride this to the top,” he said.
With his feet wedged against a table leg and knees on the edge of the couch, he had leverage. Her ripeness and freedoms had overwhelmingly incited – he pounded her hard, as was only fitting.
Her hand went between her legs to stroke the delicious flesh there, liquidated by the thrump of cock. She could not stop laughing and groaning, a happy gurgle of female lust.
She threw salacious words in. He liked the dirty talk edging on his lust. Once, between mighty penetrations, she said “I love you.” He almost fell off the couch with hilarity.
His weight drove hips deep, splitting and filling her time after time. Pinned and penetrated, she called him a big prick.
“How big?”
“Deeper, you big prick. Slam me.”
They went up together. It was quick and young and hot. The open gap between her legs flooded, her hand pulled the little button relentlessly into frenzy, and his cock lost all composure on its slick mission. They grunted and moaned all the way over. At the end she emitted a long giddy squeal of outrage – so she could bear the power of it all, he knew.
They laughed at each other on the way down. She lowered her legs and he tipped her onto her side, then lay adjacent, his hair tangled in hers.
“That was a good ride,” she said.
“Your mouth made him really mad.”
“Good.”
The descending pieces of their explosion drifted down around them for several minutes more. He kissed her bad bad mouth.
Suddenly, she bolted up and began retrieving her clothes. Like running a movie backwards, her outfit began to reassemble from inside out. He laughed.
“I can’t believe it.”
She looked down at him.
“It’s almost ten-thirty. I missed two rides for this.”
“Missed?” he said, grunting, happily insulted. “What ever happened to cuddling and smooching afterwards?”
She stared at him with a salacious smile. “If you come out on the mountain, I know a place at the top where we can sneak behind a couple trees and French kiss for five minutes before a run.”
“That made me hard again.”
“The mountain’s bigger,” she said, and sailed out the door.
© John Kirnan 2003-2025
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