Swiss Exchange - Sex Stories

Swiss Exchange

Luca turned his flashlight on in the cavern under Riffleberg Mountain to check one more time on whether he could discern what research was being done here. He knew it wasn't nuclear. He hadn't turned the overhead lights on in case they were connected to some sort of alarm system. Failing to gain any clues again, he switched the light off and stole out of the interior cave and into the one before this toward the surface of the mountain, the one backing onto the Hotel Riffleberg, a small ski resort hotel facing the Matterhorn. This cave was used as the hotel's wine cellar, hiding the larger cavern behind it that housed something far more illicit than wine.

As he reactivated the alarm in the door, having learned the codes from the Iranian researcher he'd let lay him, the door to the back of the hotel opened and the hotel manager, Akhtar Fariba, appeared.

"There you are, Luca. You were supposed to come to my apartment. What are you doing in the wine cellar?"

"The cook needs some French sherry for something he's preparing for tonight. I said I'd fetch it for him. Here the sherry shelf is right here. Ah, here's a bottle of Pommer-Xeres. That should do."

"I didn't realize you had the code for the door to the wine cellar." Fariba was looking at the other door--the one to the cavern behind, but he wasn't seeing anything amiss there. It was only a matter of time, however, before he'd find out that Luca had gotten the code from one of his researchers, Luca knew. The ...

... promised exchange needed to be accomplished soon or this whole thing would be blown. Luca resorted to the only distraction he knew had been working with Fariba for weeks now.

"The cook gave me the code to the door. Sorry I got waylaid by the cook's request. I can't wait to go up to your bed." He came in close to the hotel manager and rubbed his hand on Fariba's crotch. Fifteen minutes later, they were on the bed in the manager's bedroom, with its window framing the Matterhorn to the west, and the tall, thin, lightly muscled late-forties Iranian was on his back. The small, Swiss, darkly handsome Luca Meier was straddling the hotel manager's pelvis, leaning back, and palming the older man's knees, and riding the man's cock, crying out, "Ja, ja, scheiß auf mich. Du bist so ein Hengst!--Yes, yes, screw me. You're such a stud!"

Holding the slim young man's waist between his hands and both lifting and slamming down Luca's ass on his cock and using the leverage of the heels to thrust up into the young man's passage, Fariba, lost in the moment, answered, "Take it. Take it. Take my cock!" in Farsi, losing, Luca hoped, all remembrance he'd caught his reception desk supervisor and boytoy in the caves behind the hotel.

Meanwhile, down the valley, in the town of Zermatt, the young man traveling with a Canadian passport and claiming to be a New Zealander, Jeff Reynolds, was standing, naked, at the balcony door looking up the slopes to the Matterhorn. His eyes were trying to pick out the ...