The application of sun screen lotion

Jamal helps you remove your skis, passes you his poles and gallantly carries your ski’s down the empty ski school line to a the loading platform of a rickety old gondola. He pauses to wait for you to catch up then puts the two pairs of ski’s into the nearest gondolas ski rack. He realises he has to lift you up into the gondola because you are so slow. The real you would never need this much help, but you are not the real you at the moment. He lifts you close and your cleavage frames his face. You feel the warmth of his skin on yours, a little tongue lick of your breast makes your nipples harden noticeably.

The gondola doors shut with a mechanical clack, sealing the two of you inside the small, swaying cabin. It’s not a detachable and it creaks gently, promising to be a long cosy lift ride. Sunlight pours through the scratched plexiglass windows, turning the interior warm and bright despite the chill outside. The mountain falls away below, a vista of glittering powder and tall pine trees. No one else is with you in the cabin made for six. It’s just you and Jamal.

Jamal turns to face you fully. At six-three he seems to fill most of the cabin. You feel tiny, trapped in the best way. Your helmet is still on, pigtails peeking out, goggles pushed up on your forehead. The zipper Jo tugged down earlier still exposes a deep valley of cleavage, skin already flushed from the cold air and the constant, throbbing heat between your legs.

“Alright, princess,” he says, voice low and amused, “sunscreen first. Can’t have that pretty skin burning.” He removes his gloves and reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small tube. “Lean forward.”

You obey without thinking, leaning in. The motion makes your breasts bounce and strain against the tight fabric. Your nipples are already stiff peaks tenting the pink material obscenely. Jamal notices. Of course he does.

He unzips your top so your breasts spill out and you laugh and blush nervously as he admires your rack for a moment the. purposefully squeezes a generous dollop of sun screen lotion into his large palm, rubs his hands together, then starts at your neck and shoulders. Big, firm circles. You feel the heat of his palm, kneading into muscle you didn’t even know was tense. He works down your front, your large breasts filling his hands in a most satisfying way.

“Jo mentioned a libido pill,” he murmurs, stepping closer so his thighs bracket yours. The cabin sways gently and you grab the bar behind you for balance, which arches your back and pushes your chest toward him. “Said you’re… extra horny today. Is that true?” He plays with your nipple.

Your mouth is dry. You nod, cheeks burning under the flush. “Y-yes. It’s… I’m definitely horny.”

He chuckles, deep in his chest. “I can tell.” His hands slide lower, cupping the undersides of your breasts, thumbs sweeping slow arcs. “You know when I first saw your cleavage I wanted to tit fuck you... do you want that?”

You do. He squirts more lotion directly onto your chest, cold at first, then warming fast as he massages it in. Long strokes down the slope of each breast, fingers dipping just under, tracing the curve where skin meets skin. Your breath hitches every time his thumbs graze the edge of an areola. The seam at your crotch is soaked now, pressing relentlessly against your swollen clit with every tiny shift of the gondola. You whimper a small, involuntary noise.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice rougher. One hand stays on your chest while the other trails down your side, over the flare of your hip, then cups your ass to pull you flush against him. You feel his thick, hard cock through layers.