The Big Easy

Jamal crouches and helps you put on your skis with his big, steady hands. You admire his broad shoulders and he pauses when he is done to regard the clearly defined camel toe of your radioactive pink crotch. He runs a hand appreciatively up your leg and gently rubs your sex. “Hmmmm. You look like you’re wanting some of my special lessons…” When he stands, he’s close, towering over you, his gloved fingers brushing your waist as he checks your stance. “We’ll make sure it’s just the two of us in the gondola… So the snow plow,” he says. “You make a pizza wedge to go slow. Tips together, tails out. Knees bent, ass down like your taking a number two. I’ll guide from behind. We are just skiing down to the Big Easy Gondola.”

He puts his own skis on and then his skis slide between yours from behind, his body crowding close, hands settling on your hips through the pink fabric. You can fell his cock rub against your ass.

“Like a train,” he murmurs. “I push your caboose. You follow my lead.”

He starts the slow glide down the flat groomer with his hands firm and controlling on your hips, steering the V of your skis, his chest brushing your back with every small correction. You imagine him bending you forward right here in the snow, peeling the suit down just enough, that thick black cock splitting you open from behind while he keeps the same grip, guiding you down the mountain one deep thrust at a time.

Your pussy clenches so hard you nearly lose your balance. Slick floods the suit. Nipples poke sharper against the fabric. Shame makes it worse and much much better.

You’re stuck like this for forty-eight hours, maybe longer.

And Jamal’s hands are already sliding lower, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts “to steady your posture.”

The run stretches ahead, empty, sunny, powder glittering. And your body, small, girly, weak and dripping can’t wait for the next turn.