January and June in Vail Ch. 02

A banker-daddy takes on a "son"

This story is entirely fictional. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. No AI was used in the production of this story. ©2024, All rights reserved. Brunosden

(In chapter 01, Kelly, an investment banker, begins ski lessons with Carlos. Kelly is a divorced middle-aged man, bi-curious, but a little confused about how to proceed. He thinks maybe he can experiment with Carlos, whom he assumes is an escort as well as an instructor—until Carlos denies that status. Carlos on the other hand is looking for a Daddy.)

We woke early, and, after hitting the head and brushing hair and teeth, climbed into a 69 under the duvet, me on top. Never in my life would I have guessed that I would wake up with a guy and immediately move to sex. iI was time to take care of our morning wood. Nothing could have been more natural. He nearly deep-throated me—clearly he was experienced. Then he released a bit and began a full suck. While I could only swallow about half of his shaft, but my tongue and lips were very active while one hand stroked the base and the index finger of the other penetrated deeply inside. I found his prostate—just as he found mine, and together we pushed hard as we shot simultaneously into each other's mouths. Carlos flipped around and we joined our spunk in a breakfast cocktail and embraced. After our breakfast of champions, I made us some eggs and sausages—the pork kind. We dressed and headed out for another day on the slopes.

As we left the chalet for the jitney to the slopes, Carlos pointed to a spot about two hundred feet up the slope. "That's the beginning of a T-bar lift devoted to these chalets. This is a ski-in-ski-out chalet. By tomorrow, we'll be able to use that lift and, at the end of the day, we'll come down this side of the mountain and right to the chalet." I looked at the narrow trail, bordered with evergreens and filled with moguls. It looked steep. Would I be able to do that by tomorrow? Then I thought that with Carlos anything was possible. I was a completely new and confident man.

It was a very good day. Clear and sunny. Not too cold. But, that meant the slopes were more crowded and the lift lines were longer. "This afternoon we're going to use the gondola—we're going to the peak for a long run." We did manage four runs, two of which were long intermediate slopes. "You're going to do a diamond slope tomorrow. You are definitely ready." I was glowing. And I didn't even feel really sore. At the end of the day, I was about to propose a drink at the hotel at the foot of the mountain, but Carlos beat me to it. "There's a jitney. Let's catch it. I'm looking forward to a nice hot shower—with you."

It was dusk again when we reached home—with about two hours before our reservation. This time we both stripped down to underwear in the drying room and arranged everything to be ready in the morning. "We're going to use my shower. It's really special." So I led the way to my room.

It was very large and clearly intended for more than one person. Two of the shower walls were made of stone. One was semi-open to the bath with a door that could be closed to create a steam room. The other was to an outside, totally private courtyard covered in snow. There were several nozzles and a rain shower head—obviously designed for après-ski foreplay—or maybe even a "Fuckin' in the Rain." We peeled off our underwear and stepped in. My eyes widened again as I had my first full view of the naked erect Carlos. I think I could cum just gazing at him. It shouldn't be lawful for anyone to look that innocent and be that good.

We carefully and slowly washed each other. Then each of us in turn bent into the wall and pushed our asses out, inviting a thorough cleaning and prostate stimulation. Both of us were hard and long almost immediately. And both of us were ready to play. He knelt down and took me in his mouth, deep-throating me again while fondling my balls. I face fucked him for a few minutes as my hands luxuriated in his thick curls. My kind of shower, but I wanted the bed. I tapped his shoulder and he backed off. We dried each other and headed for the bed which had been made up in our absence.

" How do you want to take me, Kelly?"

I was a little surprised. I assumed he was usually going to top. But why had I assumed that? I'm the alpha in this relationship. I need to start acting the part. "I have a little confession to make. Yesterday was my first time with a man other than a few mutual jerks in college. My wife and I had pretty good sex at least at the beginning. And I was faithful. Since the divorce, I've had only a few female partners. I'm not a player. I've always wrapped. I didn't want any risk of pregnancy that might trap me. And I know I'm clean. So I want to do it bareback. I want to feel what the sweet young ass feels like, Carlos. If I'm pitching, I'd like to feel the target."

"I always wrap, Kelly. And my partners. Always. And I test every two or three months anyway. I know I'm clean—and you're the first I've been with since leaving school before Christmas. My Christmas week job was a family, then a week with four older women, then a week of ski patrol—the price I pay for being able to instruct. I have to admit before that I was pretty active. I rarely have any trouble finding a guy willing to bend over for me. But, money has been tight so I haven't been hitting the bars. I'm rarely the receiver. But, we've known each other only two days. How can I be sure that you're telling me the truth? You sure look like a player to me."

"I wouldn't lie to you. But, I understand. Would this face lie?" I turned and faced him exuding sincerity—and dominance. "I'll wrap if you insist. But, I'd rather not. Why are you so ready to let me take you? You could probably seduce me into bottoming for you if you tried. I'm living a dream here."

"When you hired me, I assumed you and Pat might be a couple. I was planning a dry week. Thought a threesome was a remote possibility. I was really surprised and real pleased when I discovered you would be alone. That we were going to be alone together. I hoped you might be open to some fun. I sure was. I really like older men."

"I knew the second we met that I was going to be under you before the week was over. You project that mature confidence that young guys like me crave. And with that body and that dick! You're a natural top, Daddy. Even on the slopes the guy who started as newbie has within two days become a man of confidence on the mountain. There's nothing about you that suggests anything but self-confidence and success. I've had a Daddy complex ever since mine died when I was seven. I like to be taken by older men. It's my obsession. With young guys, it's a contest—and I usually win and top. With older guys, I'm happy to sub. And you are some man, Kelly. Oh, fuck. Go ahead. I believe you. Go bareback. I want to feel that cock in my chute. But, I want it hard and rough, Daddy."

I couldn't believe my luck. Was I dreaming? This beautiful boy was begging me to fuck him. And he was going to let me do it bare. I motioned him to the bed. He climbed on, shoulders down, legs vee'd, ass raised in invitation. It was a stunning and unexpected display of submission from a guy I had pegged as macho-personified. I had assumed the massage table fuck was a fluke—or maybe marketing by a pro. He really wants me. I guess I really am a stud!

I stepped up behind and began to massage the Nordic Spring Oil into his muscled bubble butt. It was just a little soft on the surface, but rock hard below. Deep hip dimples caused the gluteus muscles to bunch into hand-sized holders. I easily gripped them, began the slow massage and pulled them apart as my tongue reached out to wash his rim, curled and plunged in. He gasped in pleasure. But, he was tight and I could go no further. So I coated my fingers and began to open him. He was squirming in pleasure. Then my mouth was back. For once, I was pleased that my facial hair was soft. I wasn't irritating. I was soothing. And our heat was vaporizing the Nordic Oil so the blended aroma of the oil and his musk was inebriating. He tasted and smelled so good—young, virile, clean and on the edge.

"I'm ready, Daddy. Put that fucker in." So I moved closer and my engorged bulb slipped past the ring as the hood drew back. I froze to await his go-ahead. But he was having none of this. He wanted it fast and rough. He backed into me violently—almost throwing me from his back. But fortunately, my hands were under, fisting his dick and balls. I held on. I obviously had a power bottom—although my inexperience didn't realize it at first. And then I realized I had already bottomed. I could feel the second ring and my balls bounced heavily on his. I think maybe my silky pubes were tickling. He began to laugh and then he pushed back even harder—turning the tickle into a thrust as he landed in my lap. My cockhead slipped past the second ring as he did so. He gasped and then I felt the moisture he was releasing inside. Never before I had felt so powerful and so in control. Taking the cue, I pushed him back on his knees and started the pistoning that would caress and tease his prostate and open him deeply. His moaning was becoming a symphony of pleasure as he begged me to fuck him deeper and harder.

"I'm cuming, Daddy. I'm cuming. May I? Are cuming with me?"

I was also ready. Was he asking my permission to cum? Nobody could keep me from this date with destiny. I started to contract my ab muscles. Then I plunged, bottomed again, felt his muscles milking me and blew out my spunk, filling his cavity with my seeds. "Boy, I give you permission. Cum with Daddy." He collapsed on the bed with the force of my thrust, and I followed, plugging my stuff deep inside. I could feel his energetic spasms. And soon his spunk was dripping from my fists. So I withdrew them from his dickhead and brought them to my lips. I really loved the taste of his young virile spunk. And I really liked being buried alive, bare and hard in his tight young chute. My cock twitched a few times, like an aftershock, and he pushed out a few more drops. I realized that I was still rock hard when he pushed his ass back into me in response. I reached around, spread my legs and trapped him beneath me, plugging my man juice deep in his gut.

I began to wonder, no dream. How can I keep this boy for myself? He's out of my league. But, he's the one who has been demanding that I take him. He seems to want me to dom, or at least to take charge. There must be more to this story. Maybe we'll talk over dinner. But I wasn't going to spoil this. If he wanted a top, an alpha, a Daddy, even a dom, I was definitely going to make sure I filled the role. I was going to have at least a week of total pleasure.

Finally, I withdrew and went to get warm moist towels to clean us up. "We can shower again later. I want to smell our testosterone through dinner, boy." ("Boy?" Where did that come from? Perhaps the same place his "Daddy" came from? A mystery that must be unwound.) Afterwards, I climbed back in and pulled up the duvet. I was again the big spoon. And he seemed content to nestle silently into me until it was time to dress and go. In just two days I had gone from cautious bi-curious to a power top for one of the handsomest young guys that I had ever seen. Who could have guessed that was who I am?

That night I had booked the nice restaurant at Ye Olde Alpine Hotel. They had valet parking. So we drove over. We were a little early and went to the dark and comfy "Rod and Gun" bar where stuffed game and fish were the main décor. I ordered a Grey Goose martini straight up with lemon, and to my surprise, Carlos asked for the same. The bartender asked for my "son's" ID. It had been a long time since my date (Date? Really?) had been carded! The bartender studied the license carefully, apparently not really convinced it wasn't counterfeit. But, he served us nevertheless. We sipped and smiled, content in the quiet masculine room. I don't think anyone noticed that his left hand was planted firmly on my inner thigh, playing tag with my semi. In a few minutes, a waiter appeared to take our drinks to our table—a dimly lit dark wooden booth along the side. It was quiet and private—but clearly as we walked to the table, the waiter was already flirting with "my son." Unexpectedly, Carlos motioned for me to sit with him on the same side of the table.

Over dinner, I asked many questions about his life until now. He started by telling me that his Dad was killed in an auto accident when he was 7. They were living in Minneapolis at the time. His mother had always hated the cold and moved them to Costa Rica almost immediately. She was educated and easily found work teaching in the American International School in San Jose. Finally an uncle convinced his mother that he needed some US schooling—to maintain his claim to American citizenship if nothing else. So he was moved to an all boys boarding prep school in Montana from which he graduated. He had learned to ski at the nearby Big Sky Resort where the school had "student privileges." He was bilingual obviously. He's hardly seen his mother since he left Costa Rica—ten years ago. Holidays were spent with the uncle (his father's brother) in St. Paul. The uncle was strict, old school and not very demonstrative with his affections. Carlos was obviously a young man starved for love—and trying to find it with sex and seduction.

Carlos told me he knew he was gay soon after puberty, but the atmosphere at the Montana prep school would never have permitted such conduct. He would have been asked to leave. And his uncle would have sent him back to his mother. He was not tolerant of "deviants." So he pretty much had suffered in silence, spending as much time as possible on the slopes—and dreaming about his male teachers—who conveniently shared lockers and showers with the students. He stayed carefully away from the spoiled homophobic offspring of the rich and famous. But his natural beauty made that hard. They teased him nevertheless as the "Latin pretty boy"—a label totally incongruous with his body.

Then it was CU—Boulder at first. He had always been interested in biology, biochemistry and anatomy—but prep for medical school didn't seem to be reasonable. He didn't have the resources or the time—and maybe not the brains. His mother had not supported him for years, and the uncle had used up his father's life insurance to pay for the prep school. He applied to CU, specifying life sciences and physiology as his areas of interest. From that he drifted into his current major. He was mostly on scholarship, but that didn't cover most living expenses. When he graduated in about a year, he'd need to do an "internship" for about a year, but then he would be a fully licensed physical-therapist. He was on the CU ski team, but was just a "typical" skier—so many of the CU team members had Olympic dreams, private coaches, and financial backing.

"I'm really happy with my life. I love skiing and I love teaching people to ski. I'm going to be a very good therapist. I've had some sex at CU—but almost always with older guys—TA's, a prof or two (not one of mine), and guys that I picked up cruising. I know what I look like. It's not hard to pick up a Daddy by flattering the shit out of him and showing off my basket. I guess a therapist would have a field day with me—lost father young, gay, often picked on by bigger boys who assume that I'm gay, into older guys, but not doms. I do sell myself from time to time. I guess I'm not really a good person. I deserve to be disciplined a little."

"Is that what I am to you? A Daddy-pickup to be flattered into offering you food and a room for a week, and probably a big tip in exchange for some sex? I'm okay with that, Carlos. I would explain a lot."

"You always sell yourself short, Kelly. You are a good-looking, successful man. You're in shape with a trophy dick. You're fun to be with and talk to. And so far, I haven't found any hang-ups or typical dom SM shit. Let me tell you. Many of my hooks have turned out bad. Older guys typically want to dominate young studs—especially if they're paying. I've been hurt more than once—and not just emotionally."

I laughed so hard that I spit my wine into a napkin. "Me, an SM Dom?" Then I pulled a fake serious pose, "How did you guess that I'm taking you to the dungeon right after you finish dessert? It's time for Daddy to discipline his naughty boy."

"See what I mean? You're a neat guy, Kelly. I wouldn't mind a little dom now and then. I've really never been disciplined in my life. Let's leave it at that. Just enjoy our time together." With those words, he reached under the tablecloth and squeezed my dick which was still nearly hard. "Is this the wood you're planning to use to beat me?" He leered and batted his long eyelashes. God, he was cute—and beautiful.

"I wish I could. But, I'm old enough to be your Dad. Just being with you seems improper. Fucking you seems illegal."

"Don't I know it? I love it. And I'm really beginning to like you too. And I assure you what we are doing is neither improper nor illegal."

The next three days were the most intensely sensual of my life. We got into the welcome swing of blowing each other as we woke after I had cuddled him into me throughout the night, tucking my dick between his thighs and often fisting his dick. My skiing improved dramatically—such that we were now using the ski-in-ski-out advantages of the chalet which involved an expert run. So we were getting six or more runs in each day.

We would ski into the chalet at dusk and immediately shower together. We'd dress in terry robes and relax in front of a fire. I would pull him into my lap and stroke his shaft and fondle his balls. My other hand would run through his moist soft curls. I felt the wonder of having a warm loving body molding into mine. It caused me to feel very protective. Very fatherly. Often he'd reach up to run his hands through the soft hair on my furry pecs. His lips would suckle my nipples, and as they moved to my lips, they would be replaced by strong fingers. Electricity would shoot through me as he teased them into hardness that lit up my body with expectation. Next he would flip and I would begin to open him with thickly lubed fingers as his lips suckled on my penis. His golden curls would fall over his eyes and ears, like a cute little puppy in my lap. When we were warm and hot, we'd take our beers to bed where I would make slow love to my golden boy, usually missionary.

We had moved from quick, starved, violent fucks (on my part) to slow languorous love making. I had never enjoyed entering another human being so much. He was responsive, and I in turn learned his pleasure points. He wanted a hard full penetration and bottom. Then I could withdraw and repeatedly pound his prostate until he begged for release. That was my signal to go deep and release his legs that would wrap around me pulling our chests together. I would strain to fill him deep and full. He'd whimper in ecstasy. I would fire from the bottom of my gut. And he'd respond by coating our chests with his fragrant boy-cum. Each day it was a little different, but a few things persisted. He always wanted pain at the entrance. He always asked permission to cum. The sex was always smoking hot. And I had more lusty desire than I had ever had in my life. I was a fucking teen again!

The food was good—a different quality place every night. The conversation was wonderful. And the companionship was more than I ever could have hoped for. I was falling hard for this guy. Our physical connections were morphing into genuine affection. I wanted to help. To make him feel for me. And to enjoy being with me. Perhaps for the first time in years, I was beginning to think about someone else's happiness. I didn't need to consider my own. I was on top of the world.