Our private wilderness reserve sprawled wild and untouched, a billionaire’s hidden gem far from prying eyes. Valérie and I, heiresses to fortunes built on discretion, had helicoptered in for this exclusive escape. Silk-lined glamping tent perched on the cliffside clearing, panoramic views like a penthouse over the ravine. Cashmere throws draped the interior, crystal flutes held vintage champagne chilled to perfection. We hiked light, shedding designer gear for fitted T-shirts, slips hugging toned bodies—mine blonde waves mid-length, hers boyish crop exposing sculpted shoulders.
From the promontory, we spotted him first. Eric, alone, backpacker type, city boy craving solitude post-breakup. He sat opposite, unaware. We held hands, lips brushing in lazy kisses. Heat built. Later, that crystal lake—our private jewel. We stripped discreetly, T-shirt blue on rock, plunging nude into cool depths. Tongues danced. Then, movement opposite. Him. Emerging naked, back turned. Broad shoulders, firm ass. Intrigued, we waded out, slipped into slips and shirts, stalked silent along the shore.
The Privilege
Hid behind boulders. He sprawled on flat rock, starfished under sun. Cock softened from water, swelling lazy into thick sausage. Breeze teased. Hand drifted down. Gripped. Pumped furious. Shaft hardened, glistening pre-cum. Balls tightened. He arched, ass lifting, spurting ropes of thick cum arcing high, splattering torso. Epic load. We stifled gasps, slipped away unseen.
Storm brewed. Thunder growled. We lounged in tent, sipping champagne, leather-bound journals open, when hail lashed. His tent shredded, vanished into abyss. He bolted in, drenched, collapsing prone. We toweled him rough—silky Turkish linens warming chilled skin. Short soaked. ‘Strip,’ we urged. He balked. Four hands rubbed insistent. Flipped him. Shock—Valérie’s athletic frame, buzzed hair. Lesbians. His eyes widened. Cock twitched visibly.
Irritated skin? Cream from our kit—scented with oud and amber, elite spa grade. Massaged deep, oil slick. Dialogue turned wicked.
‘You see that guy at the lake?’ I teased.
‘Yeah, skinny dipping.’
‘Jerked like a beast. Huge cock, massive cumshot.’
The Excess
He paled. Denied seeing. We pressed. ‘Same build as you. Legs. Hair. Cock size unforgettable.’
Panic. ‘Check?’ Grins wicked. Pounced.
He fought. Grabbed shirts. Mine ripped, breasts spilling free—heavy, nipples hard. Hers too, firm mounds bouncing. Shorts yanked. Slips tugged. Naked frenzy. Bodies tangled, sweat-slick. His cock betrayed, rigid pole slapping thighs, bellies. Ours swung, crushed on his chest, face. Pinned him knees-folded, feet under ass. Cock thrust obscene, skyward, drooling.
‘That the one?’ ‘Make it spurt to confirm.’
Struggled futile. Valérie squatted forehead, threatening lower. My hair swirled his glans—tease torment. Hands invaded. Mine cradled hot balls, kneading. Hers gripped shaft, squeezing rhythmic. Slow glides, alternating. Pre-cum flooded. He bucked. Fought climax. We slowed, tickled frenulum. Valérie slid ass down—slip skewed, pussy lips grazed nose, musky heat.
Broke him. Cock convulsed. Arched violent. Cum jetted thick ropes, painting faces, hair. Endless pulses. He shuddered, shamed, collapsed.
We eased off. Champagne refilled. Storm raged outside glass walls—our fortress. He slept deep, spent. Secrets sealed in luxury hush. Dawn whispered new games.
