I’m crashing at my grandma’s in Valais, Switzerland. Student life from Neuchâtel, loving the quiet mountains. No friends here, just bikes, swims, books. Virgin territory, hormones raging. This summer, three weeks of chill. But today, obligatory visit to her friends’ mountain village chalet. Butterflies in my gut as we drive the winding roads at 11 sharp. Swiss precision. Dressed up: crisp shirt, light linen pants. Views stun—rivers, peaks, green valleys.
We pull up at 11:40. Cute chalet-villa hybrid, garden hugging the slope. Elderly couple greets us warm. Grandma’s old pals. Then the parents, mid-50s. And the girls: Justine and Christel. Fuck, they’re hot. Christel, tall, blonde, athletic in gray sweats and white tee. Shy smile, hazel eyes. Justine, shorter, freckled redhead, mischievous grin, tiny white short-shorts, turquoise tank no bra. Nipples tease through fabric. Heart races.
The Stopover
Awkward intros. Parents shove us together. Christel leads the house tour. Salon, kitchen, WC—Justine jokes about panties in the hamper. I blush hard. Upstairs, face in Justine’s ass on narrow stairs. She backs up, butts me playfully. Laughter mixes with my instant hard-on. Christel’s room: sober, poster of ripped Latino hunk. Justine teases it’s her lover. My linen pants betray every twitch.
Justine’s chaos: drawings of nude women—her sis posing. Talented, detailed pussies, tits, asses. I gawk. She offers to sell, or draw me nude. Tension builds. Lunch on terrace, epic valley view. Steal peeks at Justine’s braless tits translucent in sun. Lips wet from water. Fantasies spin.
The Transit
Sneak back for the sketchbook. Flip pages: Christel naked, every curve, winking pose. Caught red-handed. ‘You’re beautiful,’ I blurt. She blushes, grabs shades, acts normal.
Dessert: her chocolate mousse. Hands that baked it now haunt me.
Game room under eaves. Wii tennis. Asses bounce in my face. Justine’s cameltoe hints no panties. Hard as rock.