Pulled into the scrappy Valnontey campsite just before the Gran Paradiso National Park. Late September sun dips behind peaks. Unroll my custom tent—carbon frame, phase-change mats for heat storage, bubble wrap floor. Sweat from hauling gear up the slope at 1750m. French guy, mid-40s, solo. Check-in at the chalet bar: Franca, sharp Italian with tired eyes, kid on hip. ‘Pick any spot,’ she mutters in broken French. No keycard, just nod. Young saplings shade my pitch. Rigole dug, solar panel up, self-inflating mat hisses full. Aperitif at the bar. Thunder rumbles later.
Danes arrive: tall blonde with free-swinging tits under sweater, petite Thai brunette in glasses. Struggle with their tent. Help ’em out—English works. Quick bises. Rain hits hard. Their light flickers, car doors slam—they bail to Fiat. Mine holds: insulation traps day’s warmth, tent cozy despite downpour on nylon roof. Torrent roars outside.
The Stopover
Morning fog lifts. Help dry their gear on my hood. Franca chats by the brick stove—hot as hell. Her story spills: failed shop in Turin, cheating ex. Posters I made years ago soften her. Perfume hits, cleavage in draped white top. Hand on thigh under ‘friendship bowl’ flames. Grappa burns. She drags me to fix a shutter—dark corner, tongue deep, sweet booze. Hands under blouse: no bra, hard nips. Skirt up, thong aside—table edge, she bucks wild, pussy flooding. Cars flash headlights, spotlight her slim ass as I pound. Fingers on clit, she spasms. Flip her, doggy—rage growls, tits pinched. Lift and impale, cum jets deep. ‘Come back tomorrow?’
Blonde tails me to bridge at dawn. Cold bites. She grinds back, deep kiss—morning breath be damned. Cafe banquette: hand under pullover, heavy tits warm, nips stiff. Back to tent: strips, sucks cock sloppy—last night’s cum no issue. Rides hard, udders flapping, self-sucks. Thai bursts in, strips—bushy black triangle, juicy. Fingers ass, they kiss. Me doggy Thai: tight, hairy grip. Blonde rims, guides to anus—slick, practiced. Pounds away, she fists pussy, milks me through wall. Cum floods her hole.
The Transit
Franca calls me hers. Closes camp. Dinner in bar: checkered dress hints garters. Spaghetti, potence-grilled meat flames. Upstairs room: explore curves, pert tits, firm ass. Slow fucks, tender. Last night savage—anal screams, all holes.
Final goodbye: her house in Aosta suburbs. Tense missionary. Roadside pull-off: coat open, nude. Hood bangs, standing lift, car seat kneel—raw, dripping farewell fucks. Engines hum by. ‘Au revoir, my love.’ Tunnel ahead, balls light, road calls.