Stunned, I pushed open the travel agency’s glass door across from our old building. My green suitcase dragged behind, two wheels scraping. The agent, sleek in a tailored suit, eyed my disheveled state. ‘Dream destination by train?’ I gasped. He smiled. ‘Snowflake Express. Private luxury train to Gstaad Alps. VIP only. Penthouse chalet awaits. Last cabin available, Christmas Eve special.’ Card swiped. Done.
The station platform gleamed under crystal chandeliers. Porters whisked my valise into the ebony-lacquered carriage. I stepped aboard. Velvet curtains parted to my suite: walls of polished mahogany, king bed draped in Egyptian cotton, panoramic windows framing snowy peaks at dusk. A bottle of Dom Pérignon chilled in silver. Leather armchairs sighed under me, butter-soft against my thighs. Crisp air scented with pine and oud.
The Privilege
He appeared at the door. Viktor. Russian oligarch, whispers said. Tall, silver temples, bespoke cashmere over a frame honed by private jets and yachts. ‘Rebecca? Sharing this run. Coincidence?’ His voice gravel-velvet. Eyes locked mine, hungry. Champagne poured. Bubbles burst on my tongue, sharp and golden. We clinked. ‘To new beginnings,’ he murmured. Fingers brushed mine. Electric. The train lurched forward, Alps swallowing us in twilight hush.
Seduction unfolded slow, deliberate. His hand on my knee, tracing silk stockings. I leaned in, breath hot on his neck. ‘I’ve craved this freedom.’ Lips met. Bourbon on his tongue, deep and demanding. Unzipped my dress. Cool air pebbled my skin. He worshipped: nipples hardened under his mouth, teeth grazing. Fingers delved, finding me slick. ‘Wet already,’ he growled. I gasped, arching.
The Excess
Pushed to the bed. His cock sprang free, thick, veined, pulsing. I gripped it, velvet steel. Sucked deep, throat stretching. He groaned, hips bucking. ‘Fuck, yes.’ Flipped me. Ass high. Entered raw, brutal thrust splitting me. Pain-pleasure bloom. Fucked hard, relentless. Train rocked in rhythm, chassis creaking like my moans. Sweat-slick skin slapped. ‘Harder,’ I begged. He obliged, fingers bruising hips, cock hammering my core. Orgasms ripped: mine shuddering, walls clenching him. He pulled out, hot cum painting my back.
Collapsed in tangled sheets. Champagne refilled. He traced my spine. ‘Exquisite.’ Dawn broke over iced peaks. Butler knocked discreetly: caviar, truffles. We ate naked, legs entwined. Penthouse chalet transfer seamless: chopper from private siding. Glass walls overlooked powder fields. Jacuzzi steamed. Secrets sealed in NDAs and elite codes. No traces. Back to Paris tomorrow, renewed. Pierre’s relief? My gift. This? Pure privilege.
