Chamonix Chalet Fun

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Solo Male

John hadn’t used the chalet in Chamonix for over a year. Usually he left it with an agency and it was rented during the ski season. John received infrequent cheques from Agence Group de Chamonix to remind him of the chalet’s existence. The arrival of the cheques would often trigger memories from his childhood. John’s mind would wander as he gazed at the light blue paper of the now Euro denominated cheques. John would recall waking early to take the first run, skiing virgin untracked snow, following his father and brother as they barreled down in a race to the bottom as he meandered enjoying the view. This last eighteen months had been tough and the financial battering John had taken was merciless. Since he was already in London John decided at the last minute to jump on the Eurostar and head to the chalet for a break. John emailed Philippe at the agency to have the place cleaned up and the fridge stocked. He asked Philippe to pull some of the better bottles of wine as well. John then headed down the A20 for Folkstone to jump on the Eurostar to Calais. Since John was heading to the mountains he took the cranberry colored Range Rover Sport and left the Aston in the London car park. Even first class on the Eurostar sucked and John napped and read a bit of The Green House while sipping on decidedly mediocre coffee. John had grabbed Llosa’s early novel at the last minute deciding it was time for a re-read. John thought a little time spent with Bonifacia would do him good. His back-up novel, Norwegian Wood, was also stuffed into his carry-on just in case he decided to extend his stay. John had been fortunate to get the en piste chalet in the settlement of his father’s estate. John’s father had died quite young and very suddenly from an aggressive form of bone cancer. John’s older brother William (they all called him Bill), a failed writer, had been besotted with Mrs. # 4 at the time, a third runner up in the Miss Mexico pageant. Bill’s future ex was part of a very wealthy South American fortune and Bill was living in Mexico City at the time. This young Latina vixen had kept his brother Bill completely distracted from their father’s death. Bill had only stopped over for one day in their dad’s final months of life taking his dad for a drive in his beloved convertible. The oldest son had been much favored by the father. The father whom Bill ignored in his final days had kept every single published piece of Bill’s work reverentially stored in his bedroom drawer. Yes, John was more than a little jealous. John’s sister Mary had been in the middle of her first divorce from a Russian Oligarch and was also distracted as the cancer progressed. As their father wasted away Mary had been in the process of deciding how to spend the tens of millions of pounds she was to receive from her divorce settlement. Mary’s main distraction during that period of time had been partying with toy boys who “modeled” for a profession. It had been left to John to spend the last ninety-three days nursing their father, getting his pills ready and watching his body desert him day by day. Those had been the hardest and yet perhaps the most rewarding days of John’s life. Finally he had been able to hold his father, touch his skin and hear the words he had hungered for his entire life. As death came nearer and ever nearer his father dropped all interest in the material world, the world of business and finance, of his beloved “deals” and let his shield down. While talking on the phone with one of his childhood friends, surely for the last time–John listening in the other room– was astounded to hear his father, always so stoic and remote, cry for the first time in his life. As a consequence of his sibling’s ineptitude and self-absorption it had been left to John to divvy up the money, the art and the real estate. In the final analysis John decided it was only he who truly cherished the Chamonix chalet—so he kept it for himself and gave his siblings each a Gauguin etching in compensation. John’s grandfather, Benjamin, had originally purchased the chalet from a Swiss financier in 1930. The financier had taken almanbahis a wrong turn on a deal necessitating the sale of the family silver so to speak. His grandfather’s great friend Emile Schuffenecker, the French/Swiss arms financier and art dealer had brought the chalet to Benjamin’s attention. Emile encouraged Benjamin to buy the chalet, as he owned the larger chalet next to it. The Schuffenecker and Langham families had subsequently raised their young children side by side on the slopes of Mont Blanc during winter vacations. John’s father who was lovingly referred to as “Little Ben” or “Ben Junior” (these nicknames which he had abhorred being the singular reason John had not also been named “Benjamin”) had skied with Emile’s son Philippe Schuffenecker and they had gone on to continue the joint tradition of conducting mutual investments and business deals between Paris, Geneva, London and Hong Kong (where the Langham family had a large trading company). John himself had spent time each winter of his youth skiing with the Schuffenecker children of his generation, Philippe’s children. John had spent the most time with Emile Jr. who was Philippe’s youngest son, but still eight years in age senior to John. Emile Jr. was the “favorite” grandson and in turn had inherited his chalet when Emile senior, his grandfather, had passed away from throat cancer. The copious volumes of wine, hard living, multiple mistresses and nine huge Cuban cigars a day had finally taken their toll on old Emile. As time had passed John and Emile Jr. had lost touch with each other as their careers and demands of family and work took their toll. John knew Emile Jr. had married the lovely actress Brigitte Moreau, the niece of the actress Jeanne Moreau. John was also aware they had a daughter whom he had met once at the chalet about ten years ago when she was about eight-years old. As the Eurostar pulled into Calais he was trying to recall the daughter’s name. His mind seemed to be grinding unproductively when suddenly the name “Camille” burst like fireworks? Yes, her name was Camille he suddenly remembered. Why he had suddenly thought of her at that moment he couldn’t fathom. John left Calais at a good clip with the three-litre 260-horse power engine humming along nicely. The Calais-Paris portion was rather boring. It was the Paris to Geneva and then finally the Geneva to Chamonix sections that John relished driving, especially in the Range Rover Sport. It would have been even more fun in the summer in the Aston, but winter conditions made the Range Rover a much more prudent choice. You never knew when a storm would bear down on you at the higher elevations bringing snow and ice conditions and the four wheel drive was always there if you needed it. The speed cameras on the Paris toll road were a major irritant and would make the journey longer and more stressful than it needed to be. Finally after the long sections on the A6 and the A40 John hit the Tunnel du Mont Blanc and he knew he was close and his body started to relax. On the roundabout he took the exit for Allee Recteur Payot, went right onto Rue Joseph Vallot and then turned right onto Rue de l’Hotel de ville. With more twists and turns, the evening turning very dark now in the mountains, John pulled onto Chemin de Belachar and pulled up the slope into his chalet driveway. The chalet, at the very end of the road, was perched on the side of Mont Blanc, on the edge of an actual ski run so you could ski-in and ski-out and its front overlooked the chalets built on the slope below it. An impressive log and stone structure the chalet was perfectly positioned with a spacious pinewood deck that looked out over the bottom of the mountain and the village of Chamonix spread out in the valley below. The imposing Mont Blanc towered above as a huge dark triangle at night, with only a few of the lift lights and maintenance lights twinkling like little stars up and down the ski runs. Nestled a little to the left of John’s chalet and behind it, sharing the same driveway, was the even larger and more impressive Schuffenecker chalet, which seemed almanbahis yeni giriş to have a few lights on making John wonder if they had friends using it. In the almost tangible blackness of the mountain night (no ambient city light pollution here) John could only just make out the peaked roof and the rough log structure of his chalet. John grabbed his bags and trudged tiredly up the slate stone steps to the front door. The door and stone steps were straddled on each side by a huge log support pillar grounded on a stone and concrete supporting pedestal. The glass pane in the front door was covered in a thick crust of frost crystals and the pattern etched in the glass was obscured by the caked snow and ice. John rubbed at the frost and ice with his bare hand enjoying the freezing sensation on his bare skin. He was starting to feel alive and revived already. Tired from the long drive and dealing with all the speed cameras (a cat and mouse game that exacted a price on your nerves) John headed almost straight to bed. The only thing he really needed to do was charge the battery for his D700 so he could shoot some pictures tomorrow. John wanted to do a little a little photography as well as skiing. John found shooting with his camera therapeutic. John thought he would use the few days before Angie arrived to see if he could get any good shots with his new 1.4 lens. Angie would be arriving from Hong Kong in a few days and John knew that finally, after months, he’d get well and truly laid. Angie was a true connoisseur of sex, or in American parlance, variously referred to as either a “party animal” or a “slut”. Those of you who follow John’s journeys around the world and were with him in Bali when he met Isabella Bloom, the young botanist, will know Angie as the vivacious UBS analyst from Hong Kong. Angie, until a few weeks ago, had been engaged to an incredibly wealthy Italian industrialist and “off the market” in the parlance of eager to mate females. Angie’s engagement had broken up as a result of her fiancé Carlo walking in on young Angie in the bedroom of Carlo’s Milan mansion and finding Angie’s head between the silken thighs of the fetching young housekeeper Carlotta. Moreover at the precise moment that Carlo barged into the room, the sixteen-year-old housekeeper had been in the throes of a huge body wracking orgasm a consequence of the ministrations from Angie’s more than talented tongue and fingers playing a perfect concerto of pleasure on her clitoris. It apparently wasn’t the fact that Angie was bi or lesbian that infuriated her fiancé Carlo so much. In fact Carlo had found that revelation to be quite stimulating and exciting. A bi-wife with a young lover offered fertile ground for fantasies and more than a few prospects for exciting diversions in a marriage. Rather it was the fact that Carlo had been bedding the very same housekeeper for months and had never been able to get her to orgasm even once that made him furious. Carlo’s rather puffed-up Italian sense of manhood had been forever punctured and he felt deflated in Angie’s eyes. Carlo had cut off the engagement immediately and the family lawyers had stepped in to “clean things up”. As a consequence of the “clean-up” which followed Angie was allowed to keep the three-carat internally flawless platinum set Cartier engagement ring, the Ferrari California and the wonderful beach front villa in Croatia on the Adriatic Sea. The villa came with a beyond stylish vintage hand made Riva launch. This package was predicated on Angie remaining silent. Since Angie had no interest in publicizing her break-up on the Internet or anywhere else the settlement was quickly concluded and Angie was once again a free woman. For John this turn of events couldn’t have been better as he missed Angie and really needed a good romp in bed to lift his spirits. John drifted off into dreamland with visions of Angie’s blond ponytail flying in the air, her trim and athletic five-foot-six body bouncing up and down on his hard eight-inch cock, her hips thrusting, her legs a-straddle his hips, her perfectly manicured pink almanbahis giriş nails raking his chest, her firm 34 B breasts with erect nipples standing firm. John stroked his hard cock under the sheets and contemplated masturbating but then everything was black and he was snoring. The long drive had taken its toll and John fell into a deep sleep. The cacophony sounds of raucous mountain birds finding their morning breakfast mingled with people’s voices awakened John from his warm slumbers. John’s still heavy eyelids lifted reluctantly and he cast a glance over at the bedside clock. Shit it was already ten in the morning. For John who was used to waking at five in the morning to do his three-mile run, this was like half the day was gone. John could make out laughter and both male and female voices that seemed to be quite close to his chalet. John got up and splashed water on his face to wake up, brushed his teeth and then pulled on some sweat pants and a t-shirt. He hadn’t turned up the heat yet so John pulled out a charcoal colored Hermes cashmere sweater and slipped it over his head to ward off the chills. Making a pot of rich organic coffee John could still hear the sound of lively voices at the front of the chalet. Curious John decided to investigate the source of the voices. Looking out his front window John could make out four people near his front steps. A young blond in a cream colored jacket, hair in pigtails, was taking pictures of a striking brunette in a black goose down jacket with a hood with fake fur trim. The brunette was paired with two young guys who had their arms around her. The blond was giving directions and telling the three how to pose as they took positions against his slate stone entrance. The blond seemed to seamlessly interchange between French, Italian and German as she admonished the three models for failing to follow her instructions. This blond creature immediately captivated John, although the sexy brunette was certainly hard to ignore as well. John decided to poke his head out the door and find out what was going on. When his door opened the four turned and looked shocked by his sudden appearance. John greeted them in French and the blond broke into a wide and welcoming smile. “Hi John!” She replied in fluent English with no trace of an accent of either French or Italian. John looked at this beautiful young blond apparition who had appeared from nowhere. He was completely befuddled at how in hell she knew his name. She looked back at him, her eyes dancing mischievously as she realized he had no idea who she was. “You don’t remember me do you? Camille Schuffenecker. I’m Emile’s daughter.” John’s face relaxed and he suddenly realized THIS was “little” Camille. Holy cow, that’s right he thought to himself, she must be eighteen or nineteen by now. “Oh my god! You’re all grown up!” Camille giggled and her animated face became even more beautiful if that was possible. “Yes John, that’s what happens to little girls. Thank heavens right? We grow up….” Camille’s voice, tinged with a teasingly sexy sarcasm, trailed off, as Camille couldn’t help descending into even more giggles. Her other three friends said they were starting to freeze and were heading back to the chalet. John and Camille fell into an easy banter as he asked her questions about her family and how her life was going. Noticing Camille’s camera John’s interest was piqued. “You’re obviously quite serious about photography?” Camille held up her camera so John could examine it more closely. “Why do you say that?” “Well a Classic Leica M6” John paused as he moved closer to Camille and examined the camera more closely. “And a 1.4 50mm Summicron lens. Nice! What film do you like to shoot with? Not too many people even shoot with film anymore.” “Well John you seem to know a bit about photography yourself.” Camille’s body leaned in closer to John’s and her jacket brushed up against his cashmere sweater as they examined the camera together. John knew it was wrong, but his mind quickly wandered in dangerous directions and he started to imagine Camille’s naked body, her firm young breasts and her tight ass. My god, he admonished himself, she’s so young and she’s your friend’s daughter. John did his best to push the wayward thoughts out of his mind. “Well my favorite is to shoot with is Ilford.” The two of them fell into a…

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

kartal escort film izle seks hikayeleri izmir partner escort kartal escort mersin escort ankara escort kayseri escort antep escort malatya escort bayan kayseri escort bayan eryaman escort bayan pendik escort bayan tuzla escort bayan kartal escort bayan kurtköy escort bayan ankara escort gaziantep escort tuzla escort izmir escort escort izmir izmir escort ataköy escort esenyurt escort avcılar escort ankara escort escort izmir izmir escort izmir escort almanbahis almanbahis almanbahis yeni giriş almanbahis yeni giriş almanbahis almanbahis yeni giriş isveçbahis isveçbahis giriş isveçbahis isveçbahis giriş isveçbahis giriş bahis siteleri bahis siteleri bahis siteleri bahis siteleri bahis siteleri canlı bahis