A Steamy Escape in the Alps: My Boss Takes Control
The crisp Alpine air bit at my skin as we arrived at the luxurious ski resort chalet for the annual conference in Europe. The chalet was a vision of opulence—four sprawling bedrooms, each with plush bedding and panoramic views of snow-dusted peaks. Four of us were staying there: me, my insatiable boss (yes, that boss from my previous escapades), and two colleagues who were blissfully unaware of the filthy spark between us. Each of us claimed a bedroom, and I couldn’t help but feel a thrill knowing he was just down the hall, his presence a constant tease.
On the first day of the conference, I dressed to provoke. My outfit was a deliberate weapon: a short black satin skirt that clung to my hips, a red satin top that shimmered against my curves, sheer black tights that made my legs look endless, and heels that clicked with every step, announcing my presence. I caught his eyes on me all morning, dark and hungry, lingering on the way the satin hugged my tits and arse. By the time the afternoon sessions wrapped, the tension between us was electric, a live wire ready to snap.
The other two colleagues headed back to the chalet early to change for dinner, leaving me and my boss to wrap up some “work.” We walked back together, the crunch of snow under our feet the only sound breaking the charged silence. The moment we stepped into the chalet’s warm, wood-paneled foyer, he pounced. His hands were on me before the door even clicked shut, grabbing my arse through the slick satin of my skirt, squeezing hard enough to make me gasp. “You little tease,” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Parading around in this slutty outfit all day, begging for it.”
I moaned as he spun me around, his fingers digging into my hips. He pushed me forward, bending me over the polished oak dining table in the center of the room. The cold surface pressed against my cheek as he yanked my skirt up, the satin bunching around my waist. His hands roamed, groping my tits through the red satin top, pinching my nipples until they hardened under his touch. “Fuck, you’re soaked already,” he muttered, his fingers brushing over the damp crotch of my sheer tights.
With one swift motion, he tugged my tights down to my thighs, the fabric stretching and tearing slightly under his urgency. My bare arse was exposed to the cool air for only a moment before I felt the head of his cock, already rock-hard, pressing against my dripping pussy. No foreplay, no teasing—just raw, primal need. He thrust into me hard and fast, his thick cock stretching me wide, filling me completely. I cried out, my hands gripping the edge of the table as he pounded into me, each thrust slamming my hips against the wood. The sound of his balls slapping against my skin and my own desperate moans filled the room.
“Take it, you filthy slut,” , his hands gripping my arse cheeks, spreading them as he fucked me deeper. His pace was relentless, his cock driving into me with a ferocity that made my legs tremble. I could feel every inch of him, the way he throbbed inside me, the way my pussy clenched around him, greedy for more. It didn’t take long—his breathing grew ragged, and with a guttural groan, he buried himself deep, unloading a hot, thick stream of cum into my pussy. I shuddered, my own climax ripping through me as his warmth flooded me, dripping down my thighs as he pulled out.
He stepped back, catching his breath, while I stayed bent over the table, my tights still tangled around my legs, his cum leaking out of me. “Get cleaned up,” he said with a smirk, smacking my arse one last time. “We’ve got dinner to attend.”
I stumbled to my room, my pussy still pulsing, his cum slick between my legs. I changed into a tight black dress that barely skimmed my thighs, the fabric clinging to every curve. I didn’t bother with panties—why would I? The thought of sitting through dinner with his cum still inside me, my pussy cream-pied and aching, made me feel deliciously depraved. At the restaurant, I caught his eye across the table, the secret of our filthy rendezvous burning between us. Every shift in my seat reminded me of his load, a dirty little reminder of how thoroughly he’d claimed me.
Later that night, after the others had retired to their rooms, I lay in my plush bed, the moonlight streaming through the window. I was half-asleep, still buzzing from the day, when I heard my door creak open. My boss slipped inside, his silhouette dark and commanding. Without a word, he climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers off me. I was naked under the sheets, my body already tingling with anticipation. “You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?” he whispered, his voice rough with desire.
He spread my legs wide, his fingers finding my still-wet pussy, slick with his earlier cum. “Such a dirty little whore,” he murmured, sliding two fingers inside me, pumping slowly as I whimpered. Then he replaced his fingers with his cock, hard again and ready to ruin me. He fucked me slower this time, but no less intense, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one pushing his cum deeper into me. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, my nails digging into his back as I begged for more. “Fuck me harder,” I asked him He obliged, slamming into me until the headboard rattled, his cock hitting that perfect spot that made me see stars.
When he came again, it was with a low growl, his cock pulsing as he filled me with another hot load. I came with him, my pussy clenching around him, milking every drop. He collapsed beside me, both of us panting, the room heavy with the scent of sex. He didn’t stay long—just long enough to whisper, “You’re mine this whole trip,” before slipping back to his room. I lay there, my body spent, my pussy dripping with his cum, already craving the next time he’d take me. This conference was going to be one hell of a ride.
The second day of the conference dawned crisp and bright, the Alpine sun glinting off the snow outside our chalet. My body still hummed from the previous day’s encounters with my boss, his cum-soaked claim on me lingering in every step. I wanted to push him further, to see how far he’d go in this game of ours. So, I chose my outfit with care: a tight, navy-blue satin dress that hugged my curves like a second skin, the hemline scandalously short, barely covering my arse. Underneath, I wore sheer black stockings with a suspender belt, no panties, and a push-up bra that made my tits spill over the low neckline. My heels were sky-high, black, and glossy, clicking with every step to remind him I was his walking temptation.
At the conference venue, I could feel his eyes on me during the morning sessions, his gaze burning through the satin as I crossed and uncrossed my legs, giving him fleeting glimpses of my bare pussy beneath the dress. By the time the lunch break rolled around, the tension was unbearable. He cornered me near a quiet hallway, his hand brushing my lower back as he leaned in and whispered, “Follow me, you little slut.” My pulse raced as he led me to a store cupboard tucked away behind the main conference rooms—a cramped space filled with stacks of chairs and spare tablecloths, perfect for what we both craved.
The door barely clicked shut before he was on me, his hands rough and urgent. He grabbed my tits through the satin, squeezing them hard, his thumbs circling my nipples until they strained against the fabric. “You’re fucking begging for it, aren’t you?” he growled, spinning me around and pushing me against a stack of chairs. The metal dug into my hips as he hiked my dress up, exposing my bare arse and the tops of my stockings. His fingers grazed my pussy, finding it already slick with want. “No panties? You dirty fucking whore,” he said.
He didn’t waste time. I heard his zipper, and then his cock was at my entrance, thick and hard. He thrust into me in one brutal stroke, filling my pussy completely. I bit my lip to muffle a moan as he fucked me fast and relentless, the chairs rattling beneath me with every thrust. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me back onto his cock, each slam driving deeper, hitting that sweet spot that made my legs shake. “Take it, you filthy slut,” he grunted, his fingers digging into my flesh. The cupboard smelled of dust and sex, the air thick with our heavy breathing and the wet slap of his balls against my skin. It was quick and dirty—he came hard, flooding my pussy with his hot cum, and I clenched around him, my own orgasm ripping through me as his load dripped down my thighs.
He pulled out, leaving me panting against the chairs, my dress still bunched around my waist. “Fix yourself up,” he said with a smirk, zipping up and slipping out of the cupboard like nothing had happened. I smoothed my dress down, my pussy throbbing and slick with his cum, and re-joined the conference, the secret of our filthy tryst making every professional smile I gave feel like a lie.
That night, back at the chalet, the other two colleagues were out for drinks, leaving the place to us. I was in my room, still in my navy dress, when he slipped in without knocking. The look in his eyes was predatory, like he’d been starving for me all day. “On your knees,” he ordered, and I obeyed instantly, sinking to the floor, my heels digging into my arse. He unzipped his trousers, his cock already hard, and grabbed my hair, guiding my mouth to him. I sucked him eagerly, my lips stretching around his thick shaft, tongue swirling over the tip as he groaned above me. “Fuck, you’re such a good little cocksucker,” he muttered, thrusting into my mouth, making me gag as he hit the back of my throat.
He didn’t let me finish him that way. Pulling me up, he threw me onto the bed, flipping me onto my stomach. He yanked my dress up again,, exposing my arse and pussy. “Look at this creamy cunt, still leaking from earlier,” he said, sliding his fingers through my folds, spreading his cum and my wetness. Then he was inside me again, his cock slamming into my pussy, fucking me with slow, deep thrusts that made me whimper into the pillows. He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back as he pounded harder, his other hand smacking my arse until it stung. “You love being my slut, don’t you?” he growled, and I moaned a desperate “Yes!” as my pussy clenched around him.
He fucked me until I was a trembling mess, my second orgasm crashing over me as he came again, pumping another load of cum deep inside me. I collapsed, my body spent, his cum pooling between my thighs as he pulled out. He leaned down, kissing the back of my neck, and whispered, “This isn’t over, you know.” Then he was gone, leaving me sprawled on the bed, in my dress and stockings , my pussy deliciously sore.
The final day of the conference was a whirlwind, knowing we’d be catching an early flight home the next morning. My body was still buzzing from the past two days of being my boss’s personal fucktoy, and I wanted to make this last day count. I chose my outfit to drive him wild: a tight, emerald-green satin jumpsuit that hugged every curve, the deep V-neck plunging to show off my cleavage, paired with sheer, glossy tights and black stilettos. The jumpsuit was so thin it was practically obscene, the satin clinging to my arse and outlining my bare pussy underneath—no panties, as always, to keep him on edge. Every step made the fabric slide against my skin, a constant reminder of how ready I was for him.
The morning sessions dragged, but I caught his gaze raking over me, his jaw tight with barely restrained hunger. By mid-afternoon, the conference was winding down, and we slipped back to the chalet while our colleagues were distracted with networking. The moment we were inside, he didn’t even let me get past the living room. “You’re such a fucking tease,” he growled, grabbing me by the waist and shoving me against the plush velvet sofa. His hands were everywhere, groping my tits through the satin, squeezing my arse until I whimpered. He yanked the jumpsuit’s zipper down, exposing my breasts, and sucked a nipple into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make me gasp.
He didn’t bother undressing me fully—just pulled the jumpsuit down to my thighs, the tights stretched taut around my legs. “Bend over,” he ordered, and I obeyed, gripping the armrest as he positioned me, arse up, pussy exposed. He knelt behind me, his tongue diving into my wet slit without warning, licking and sucking my clit until I was trembling, my moans echoing in the empty chalet. “So fucking wet for me,” he muttered, standing and freeing his cock. He thrust into me hard, his thick length stretching my pussy, fucking me with a raw urgency that made my knees buckle. The sofa creaked as he pounded into me, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me back to meet every brutal thrust. “Take it, you dirty little slut,” he grunted, and I did, my pussy clenching around him as I came, my juices mixing with his cum as he unloaded deep inside me, his cock pulsing with every spurt.
He pulled out, leaving me sprawled on the sofa, my jumpsuit tangled, my tights slick with my arousal and his cum. “Get cleaned up,” he said zipping up and heading to his room like it was just another day. I fixed myself up, the satin clinging to my sweaty skin, his cum still dripping into my pantyhose as I re-joined the conference for the final speeches, every movement a filthy reminder of our secret.
That night, back at the chalet, our colleagues were fast asleep in their rooms, exhausted from the conference and unaware of the depravity unfolding next door. I was in my room, in just a short satin nightie nothing else, when my boss slipped in, his eyes dark with intent. “Quiet now,” he whispered, climbing onto my bed. “We don’t want them hearing what a slut you are.” He pushed me onto my back, spreading my legs wide, and slid his fingers into my pussy, still swollen and slick from earlier. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, but he wasn’t taking chances. His large hand clamped over my mouth, gagging me as he positioned his cock at my entrance.
He fucked me slow and deep, his thick shaft sliding in and out, every thrust deliberate, making my body shake with need. His hand muffled my whimpers, his fingers pressing against my lips as he leaned down, whispering, “You love this, don’t you? My cock owning your slutty little cunt.” I nodded, my eyes rolling back as he picked up the pace, his hips slamming against mine, the bed creaking softly beneath us. The risk of being caught only made it hotter, my pussy clenching around him as I came, my muffled cries trapped under his hand. He groaned low, his cock throbbing as he filled me with another hot load of cum, his body shuddering above me.
He stayed inside me for a moment, his hand still over my mouth, before pulling out and slipping back to his room without a word. I lay there, my pussy soaked, his cum leaking out of me, my body spent but still craving more. As I drifted toward sleep, my mind wandered to what I’d tell my husband when I got home.
He’s my hotwife’s biggest cheerleader, always eager to hear about my escapades with other men, fucking me harder when I spill the dirty details. But this time, I hadn’t told him my boss—the man he knows I’ve fucked before—would be at the conference. I could imagine his cock twitching as I described every moment: the sofa, the cupboard, the gagged fucking in the dead of night. But as I lay there, my pussy still pulsing with my boss’s cum, I decided to keep this one to myself. The secret felt too delicious, too wicked to share, even with him. I’d go home, kiss him softly, let him fuck me like always, and never let on that I’d spent three days as my boss’s personal whore, my body marked by another man’s cum. The thought of carrying this filthy secret made me wet all over again, a private thrill I’d savour alone, until I wanted to wind him up so he fucked me hard and punished me.
