In the cozy mazot in Crans, Valais, snow blanketing the peaks outside. Inherited after my parents’ fatal crash in Italy. I’m Séraphin, EPFL Master’s student, unwinding after black runs. Lausanne’s LUC volleyball keeps me fit, but nothing beats carving fresh powder.
Back home, Viviane’s cooking wafts savory. I devour it, starved. Dessert hits: she’s invited my uncle Jérôme – FC Sion footballer, just two years older – and his mates Balou and Bastien for New Year’s. Jérôme self-invited. Fine, family. Hope he skips footie talk.
The Awakening
Saint-Sylvestre looms. Valais nights wild, cops lenient on booze. Viviane rewards me pre-party – hot, mysterious fuck. Grateful for guests?
They arrive loaded: Humagne bottles, Bagne dried meat, cheese wheel. Raclette vibes. Laughter flows, jokes edgy. Then, five of us hit the five-star hotel ball.
Dances spin. All take turns with Viviane. I probe Jérôme: ‘Where’s Liliane?’ His MBA realtor fiancée, my age. ‘Break. Don’t wanna talk.’ Fair.
Waltzing Viviane: ‘Jérôme split from Liliane?’ She doesn’t know why. Slow dance next – her tight in his arms. He’s a player. But family, right? She laughs hard at his whispers. Femme qui rit…
Champagne flows. Rocks heat us. Midnight cheers, kisses everywhere. Turn – catch Jérôme mini-tonguing her. She breaks it quick. Mirrors everywhere. Fire simmers.
One AM, beat. ‘Heading home.’ Viviane whines: ‘Party’s starting!’ ‘Stay, but quiet.’ Jérôme: ‘We’ll bring croissants.’
Mazot bed claims me. Wake sharp – shadows stumble in. Tipsy trio: Jérôme, Balou, Bastien. ‘Shh, don’t wake Séraphin.’ Jérôme grabs spare bed. ‘You two, couch. No trouble.’
Viviane: ‘Changing, then my man’s bed.’ Jérôme grins: ‘I’ll brush teeth.’ ‘Good idea.’ They vanish to bathroom. Shower roars. Heart pounds. What the fuck?
Giggles: ‘No, can’t strip!’ ‘Innocent. Lights off then.’ Silence, water. ‘Don’t touch!’ ‘Just soaping your back.’ Quiet. ‘Tits ain’t back, nor pussy!’ ‘Miss Liliane. So horny.’ ‘Stop groping!’ ‘Soft tits.’ ‘Out!’
The Forbidden Ecstasy
Whispers: ‘Not sleepy?’ ‘Nah.’ ‘My bed then. Talk. Promise sage.’ They slip in. Close. Breath hitches.
‘Liliane dumping?’ ‘Dunno. Séraphin good?’ ‘Too sweet.’ Arm shift. ‘No chest grope!’ Froissements. ‘Promised sage!’ ‘Relax…’ Breaths quicken. I freeze. Rage surges. Cock stiffens. Betrayed. Hard. Dilemma: bust ’em or watch?
‘Tits gorgeous. Kiss?’ ‘Softly.’ Silence, rustles. Agitation builds. Statufied, I throb.
‘No pussy!’ ‘He sleeps. Feel my need.’ ‘God, huge.’ ‘Bigger than his?’ ‘Fuck yes!’
Clenched. No move. Cock aches. Perverted thrill grips.
‘No, not cunt!’ Then… nothing. Sheets thrash. Springs creak. Sighs build. Faster. ‘Fuck me deep!’ she howls, cumming. ‘Take it, slut!’ Gallop peaks. Collapse.
I doze. Wake to: ‘Suck my dick. Lube up, I’ll heat that ass.’ ‘No backdoor!’ ‘Virgin? You’ll beg.’ Gags, slurps. Muffled yelps. ‘Push like shitting.’ ‘Ow! Slow!’ ‘Ride it.’ ‘Hurts less… fuck my ass hard!’
Double cucked. Her no-go zone, his. Under my nose. Dialogues sear. Rage-excite mix. Cum leaks.
Morning light. They sleep tangled. I feign sleep. Croissants arrive. Act normal. Viviane kisses me: ‘Great night.’ Jérôme winks.
Secret burns sweet. Transgression’s high. Rage faded, thrill lingers. Watched her wrecked. My cock rules now. Forbidden forever mine. Crans nights etched raw.