Rain lashes the windows of the mountain refuge. Wind howls outside, winter storm trapping everyone inside. I’m Audrey, 42, in transit. Dropped the kids at grandparents, solo hike before my dawn flight from the nearby airport. Backpack heavy, boots muddy, I swipe the key card at reception. Room 12, top floor, shared bunks since it’s packed with stranded hikers.
Elevator dings. Him: tall, rugged, late 30s, soaked jacket. Eyes meet. No words. “Shared room?” he asks, voice gravelly. I nod. Anonymity hits hard. No one knows me here. I leave tomorrow. Bar downstairs buzzes with rugby cheers, Six Nations on TV. I sip punch, chat hikes. He joins, Bernard. Casual talk: refuges, wild nights. Tension builds. His gaze lingers on my curves under wet fleece. Heart races. Anything goes tonight.
The Stopover
Back to room. Swipe card, beep. Dim light, two bunk beds facing. View of snowy peaks, pistes buried under storm. I unzip backpack, change into PJs. He strips to boxers, climbs top bunk opposite. Lights out. Noises echo: snores from hall, wind rattling panes.
Sleep hits hard after 7-hour trek, 1100m climb. Dreams twist: black lake, chasing shadows, breath short. Jolt awake. Pitch black. What’s that? Rhythmic scrape nearby. Hand reaches across, hits flesh. Not empty. He’s standing between bunks, naked, stroking his cock. Hard as rock. No words needed. Urgency grips me.
Grab it. Thick, veiny. Pump slow, then fast. Balls tight like stones. Pull him close. Lips brush glans, salty pre-cum. Suck deep, jaw aches. Saliva drips down shaft. He grows huge, throat-fucking me. Gags, tears. Duvet unzips. Fingers pinch nipples, cold air hardens them. Goosebumps everywhere.
The Transit
Can’t stop. Stand, drop bottoms. Bend over bunk, ass up. He grips hips, slams in. Raw, deep. Gasp loud. “Shh,” he growls. Walls thin, corridor snores. Fucks hard, balls slap wet pussy. Clit throbs. Hand over mouth, muffles moans. Feet ice on wood floor, cunt lava hot. Pace brutal, hits cervix.
Orgasm crashes. Legs buckle, collapse on bunk. He pulls out, jerks furiously. Hot ropes splatter tits, face. Sticky mess. Wipe with PJs. Door creaks. Footsteps. He leaps to bunk. Torch red glow. Heart pounds. Swipe card noise? No, hall light seeps. Clean up frantic. He whispers, “Goodnight.” Snoring starts.
Morning light. Storm cleared. Check-out at 6 AM. He gone already. Bed empty. Cum stains dry on sheets. Shiver—not fear, thrill. Swipe key card return. Receptionist smirks. Airport shuttle waits. Taxi down twisty road, pistes gleaming. Phone buzzes: flight on time. That cock, bigger than hubby’s. Anonymous peak. Grin fades as reality hits. One-night high, gone.