Chapter 5
Somehow Teresa managed to stumble through the darkened living room of the suite and out into the hall without making any noise. Going down the well-lit hallway, down the elevator, was something else for it required a composure she did not feel. By the time she reached the front door, she knew that she would have to get away from the hotel before she could think rationally about the horrible scene she had just witnessed between her husband and that blonde-haired Alpine guide.
The cool night air felt good against her skin, and seemed to lessen the confusion and the shock of seeing her own husband performing vile, lewd-and yes, perverted-acts with Heidi Perrin. A gentle wind blew across her face, and she wandered out across the lawn to the street and then she just kept walking, forcing her mind to go blank. But it was no use; the sight of her own husband thrashing and bucking in his climax as he spurted his cum-juices deep into that blonde Alpine guide's throat seemed indelibly engraved on her tortured brain; the sound of his animal-like groaning assaulted her ears continually.
There were times as she walked through the dark streets of Zermatt when she wondered whether her life was still worth living, when she decided it wasn't, and when she vowed to throw herself into the freezing waters of the river that rushed down from the mountain glaciers through the town. Yet the last vestige of her inner strength restrained her. She had been hurt and humiliated, God knows, she had already borne more than any one woman should have to bear in a lifetime. Yet the final humiliation of death at her own hand, the ignominy of suicide, would have been the final disgrace. No, she would live.
But how? Where? She couldn't go back to Geneva!
Teresa looked around her, suddenly aware of how long she had been walking and where she was. She was in the small meadow she and Buzz had discovered one frosty winter night, where they had come to toboggan or just to sit and look up at the towering Matterhorn. She had found out many years ago that if she wanted to see the Matterhorn, really see it, feel its awesome presence, that this meadow was the place, for here it seemed closer, more gigantic, more alive. She felt its power again tonight, as she stood under the star-studded sky and looked up at the white moonlit mountain. The sight nearly took her breath away, for she had forgotten just how beautiful it was, especially now in the moonlight.
A shiver ran up her spine as she looked at the mountain, as though chilled at the remembrance of how many men had been lost attempting to climb it, and what the desire to climb it had done to others, including herself and her marriage.
What was she going to do?
She sat down heavily on the meadow grass, forcing herself to face some sort of reality. Well, first things first, she decided. And the first thing to do was to get some place to stay. So far, so good, she told herself, with a little tinge of pride at her inscrutable logic. Second thing? To decide who she could trust to help her out of the mess Buzz and Heidi had thrown her into. She would decide that later. Right now she would get herself a room somewhere, but where? The closest hotel was the Matterhorn Blick, and though it wasn't the best place in town, it would probably be able to put her up for the night.
She picked her way across the meadow carefully and back onto the street that would take her to the hotel. She had to pass the graveyard in order to get there, and she felt a shiver of apprehension as she passed the silent graves, some lit by candles, others dark and empty, grim reminders of the danger of challenging the Matterhorn, of trying to conquer the unconquerable.
As Teresa approached the Hotel Matterhorn Blick, she saw that their sign was still lit, and that under it was the twinkling red neon sign which read "Vacancy." She breathed a sigh of relief. What if the place had been full?
She must look a sight, she told herself, clothes crumpled, probably grass-stained, too. And she had no luggage! She had left it in the hotel suite at the Zermatterhof. What if she were refused a room, what if the desk clerk became suspicious, seeing her like this, and called the police? What would she do then?
She was on the verge of tears again-she couldn't go on, she just couldn't-oh, dear God! Why hadn't she thrown herself in the river as she'd wanted to?-and then she remembered that in hotels in Europe you could just pay in advance, as long as you had your passport, luggage didn't matter. That way, no one questioned you, and when she glanced again at the run-down hotel she'd chosen, she was sure it would be all right. If only ... She checked her wallet. Yes, it would be all right. She had plenty of money to pay for a room, and money to buy a couple of drinks, too, or even a bottle of whisky to take to her room. Certainly they would have a bottle of whisky here; they had a disco downstairs that had the reputation for being wild.
She swallowed and walked up the stairs to the hotel.
It was shabbier than it seemed from the outside, with walls painted a dirty yellow color, the floors muddy from the climbers' boots, the curtains hanging dirtily from their rods. But there was no other place for Teresa to go, especially at this hour, and anyway, she thought, I don't look so hot myself. She threw her shoulders back and smoothed her dress, and padded across the floor. In any case, she told herself, beginning to giggle, it was too late to do anything about how she looked now. Better brazen the whole thing out.
At the desk, she cleared her throat to attract the attention of the young man slumped behind it. He gave a start and looked up, blinking at her behind heavy lids, like a daytime owl, then shoved a registration form at her. Teresa thought for a moment before signing it, then wrote her name in large clear handwriting. She felt a little giddy when he said "I hope you'll like your room, Mrs. Cherry," confident enough to say "I wonder if I might get a drink around here. Oh, I know your bar is closed...." she looked around, and saw, as she suspected, that it was, "but perhaps I could get a bottle."
"Sure can, Mrs. Cherry," the concierge said. She reached in her pocket, took out her wallet, withdrew a fifty franc note. "That should cover the night," she said. She felt the nervous tension rising within her again, knew that she would soon break down once more in hysterical giggles, knew that she had to-had to-get away-get upstairs, calm herself with quantities of cognac if, hopefully, that was what the hotel would provide. The concierge disappeared; when he came back he had a bottle of cognac-thank God, Teresa breathed-in his hands. He handed it to her, as she gave him the money. He started to look for change, but Teresa wiggled her head magnanimously at him, said just as magnanimously, "Keep the change," and picked up the bottle in one hand and headed for the elevator. "I can find my way," she called back. "Don't worry about me."
"Oh, that's okay, Mrs. Cherry," the concierge called after her. "You just get a good rest. And thanks," he said, waving the bill in his hands, "thanks very much!"
Teresa found the room without too much trouble, opened the door, and went in. It was pretty plain, she told herself. But it was clean. She put the bottle down and went into the bathroom. That was pretty simple, too, and connected to the next room. Still, there were fresh towels, a cake of soap, and when she turned on the water faucet, plenty of hot water, and the concierge had assured her that the other room was empty.
She passed a washcloth over her face, and then stripped to the skin and crawled between the sheets.
The bottle of cognac stood on the night table beside the bed. Teresa reached for it, twisted the top off, and poured a couple of fingers-Hell, she thought, that's a whole hand-into the glass she'd brought from the bathroom. She drank it quickly-it felt so good, so warm, so loving going down, poured herself another, then began to sip at it more slowly.
She leaned back against the pillow, not bothering to turn off the bedside light. The whisky made her perspire-if must be at least a hundred in here, she thought-and so she pulled the top sheet back and lay on the bed, reviewing everything that had happened in the past few hours.
She saw the whole sordid scene again-was it the hundredth time she had watched it in her mind?-that lewd, lascivious fucking of the young Swiss girl with Buzz sprawled on top of her, sucking her insanely-or even worse, Buzz's huge cock plunging deep into Heidi's widely ovaled mouth as she sucked him!
Teresa gulped down the rest of the drink and poured herself another. Her head began to swim, which didn't seem strange, since it had been making a habit of doing that, but this time, Teresa felt a queer sensation in her body, too, a warm blissful tingle that spread, feather-like, throughout her, descended on little cat feet to her pussy below. As she saw again, in her mind's eye, and with unabated horror, the whole obscene picture she had witnessed such a short time before, as she saw her own husband, her own dear, devoted Buzz, ease his massive prick into the hungry widely ovaled mouth of the beautiful alpine guide, a twitch of excitement rippled through her own body. She felt drops of slippery juice oozing from her own softly pulsating cunt, filtering through the gold silk of her pussy hairs to trickle down between her thighs. A warm throbbing ache sent small waves of pleasure darting through her blood. They made the tiny bud of her clit tingle, and Teresa, without realizing it, touched it, tentatively at first, and then began to stroke it deliberately as though trying to attain the pleasure she had seen Heidi and her husband Buzz trying so obscenely to obtain.
"Well," the concierge said to himself as the blonde American girl disappeared into the elevator, "this hotel has some real weirdos-but boy, this one sure takes the cake." He scratched his head again, muttering "We've had some real strange tourists here, but this Fraulein heads the list." He rubbed his jaw, wondering where she'd come from at this time of night when there were no trains, what she was doing here. Good-looking cunt, was the next thought that crossed his mind, and then it occurred to him that she had been well-dressed-except, of course, that her clothes were as mussed as if she'd been sleeping in them. "Probably has," he told himself. But where? She looked like she had just gotten off the train, but the last one was hours ago.
The thought began to gnaw at him, like an aching tooth, an exposed nerve. God damn, it wasn't any of his business, was it?. He looked at the register that Teresa had signed. "Mrs. T. Cherry," he read. Now what the hell kind of name was that? It was even strange for an English name. Something pretty strange was going on here. Maybe he ought to go up and investigate a little, find out what was going on. Wasn't that what he was here for? Not just to hold down the desk, take care of formalities, but to make sure that nothing happened in the hotel, either. Jesus, he'd better go up right away! No mistake about that!
On tiptoe, he climbed the stairs, crept down the hall to the room next to Teresa's. All of the rooms in the hotel shared a bathroom with another room and he knew just how he could see into Mrs. Cherry's room. The transom above the door of the bathroom. If he stood on the edge of the toilet, he would be able to see into her room almost as well as if he were in it himself.
As the lewd images of Buzz's obscene sucking of Heidi's cunt flashed through her mind, Teresa went on, almost mindlessly at first, stroking the small, tingling bud of her tiny pink clit. Suddenly, in a moment of anguish and guilt, it came over her what-just what-she was doing. Hot scalding tears sprang to her eyes, and she moaned, "Oh dear God! What's the matter with me? I'm just as wicked as they are!" She muffled her sobs in the pillow, blubbering, "I'm evil and vile and filthy. Oh dear God, I'm even worse than they are." Yet she was no more able to stop herself than she had been able to walk away from the bedroom where the depraved act had taken place. "I'm evil and vile," she told herself again, but the dull, tantalizing ache of her pussy maddened her, and she went on and on, stroking and teasing her tiny, sensuously pulsing clit into a steel-like hardness. Electrifying bolts of pleasure seemed to shoot through her at her own magic touch, and she felt herself quivering like a bowstring letting loose-its arrow.
Watching through the transom, the concierge dropped his slack jaw wide in amazement. Jesus! He'd been right. Something sure was going on here. His eyes took in the magnificence of the woman's nakedly reclining body, spread out across the bed. Those tits of hers were sure something, he told himself, milk-white mounds, big and soft and bouncing now against her chest. And that lusciously curved ass of hers, too! Boy, it would be great to get his hands into the soft, pink flesh, knead those tender asscheeks and squeeze them and cup them in his own huge hands. He'd like to run his fingers up and down her hot little cunt, too, maybe even play with her asshole!
His limp cock seemed to come to life at the obscene thought, to jerk into a hard, twitching rod inside his pants. Jeez, he thought, running his tongue over his thick, slobbering lips, she's getting me all excited.
On the bed, Teresa moaned quietly as her fingers moved of their own accord against the tiny throbbing tip of her clit. Her blood raced now, pulsed with a pleasure new to her. And, her mind added, irresistible, and her other hand roamed across the nakedly sensitive flesh of her thighs, up, up, up, tracing the genUe, curving landscape of her belly, to reach the sensuously throbbing moons of her tits, to come to rest at last on one taut, blood-red nipple. Totally lost, enfolded in a cloak of pure sensual delight, she let her legs go slack, and they parted slightly so that the man peering through the transom saw, with lewd pleasure, the thin golden triangle of blonde fleece between them, the milk-white, sensuous skin of her inner thighs. Christ, he thought, drawing in his breath with a low, lewd whistling sound, this bitch is something. Better than he'd ever seen before, at least in this broken-down hotel!
Something startled him-was someone coming? And he jumped down quickly, glancing anxiously over his shouder toward the other room. But there was no one there, and he climbed carefully back on the toilet and once again peered through the transom.
Teresa started too, at the sharp, sudden sound. Oh, my God! Was someone there? Was someone watching her fingering herself-wicked, vile, vicious Teresa Cherry? The words flashed through her tortured brain yet she knew, somehow, that she didn't care. Let them watch! She was lost, thoroughly lost, as evil as any or all the others, and since that was so, nothing more mattered than extracting every ounce of pleasure from her tense, aching body.
Her legs splayed farther apart, so that now the pink, fleshy lips of her openly throbbing cunt were clearly visible to the salaciously watching concierge, the narrow, hair-lined slit laid out before him like some sensuous, sexually blossoming flower. Then Teresa parted the pink, wetly glistening edges there, and an exploratory finger wormed slowly into her throbbing cunt hole, as her pleasure mounted to an almost unbearable ecstasy. She slipped another finger into the hotly burning cavern, then a third, and the moist, tender flesh up between her legs closed greedily around them, sucking and swallowing them eagerly up inside, while at the transom window, the concierge froze with vicarious pleasure at the depraved exhibition presented to him through the glass.
A shudder of ecstasy racked Teresa's lust-excited body, and then she felt a sudden gush of warm, wet liquid flooding from deep inside the narrow sheath of her cunt, seeping forth over her lewdly impaling fingers. She groaned heavily, and grinding her ass around crazily on the mattress, moved her open pussy lips back and forth on them, back and forth, in and out, deeper and deeper. With a sudden, depraved impulse, she tore her hand from the button-hard nipple of her tit, plunged a finger into her mouth to lick and lubricate it briefly, then trailed it down her sides. She reached around under her ass to the narrow valley between the two whitely trembling cheeks and found at last the tiny puckered hole of her anus. With a little grunt of lewd abandon, she inserted her finger into her tightly resisting asshole, withdrew it at the pain, tried again, this time burrowing in slowly until the small rubbery ring surrounding it seemed to pop open, sucking her finger hungrily up into its spongy depths.
Almost mad now with the excitement of her vile abuse of her own body, Teresa rocked back and forth between her deeply imbedded fingers as she stimulated the sensitive flesh of her pussy and asshole with the twinly driving probes of her hands.
"Oh, God!" she thought, as her lust-drenched body quivered beneath the double assault. "I can't stand it any longer. I can't! I'm going to explode!" Her wail of shock and wonder split the air. "Aaaaaagh I'm making myself cum! Oh, my God! I'm making myself cum!"
She strained her dually finger-fucked-holes hard down against her rhythmically screwing fingers and then everything seemed to snap and her back arched in a quick, lewdly grinding convulsion and the exquisite joy of fulfillment crackled through her, sending sparks showering like fireworks wildly racing through her blood. They hovered there for a long instant, burning with a pleasure so intense it was almost pain, and then slowly, lingeringly, the flame subsided.
Teresa lay back, drained of all strength as her passion ebbed, and a deep contentment settled over her. Later, as she came back to reality, a shudder of horror shook her slender body, and sharp, heart-rending sobs convulsed her. "Oh, God!" she moaned. "What have I done, What ... what?" She shook her head and rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand, brushing away a scalding tear. And why, she asked herself. And why?
The concierge could have answered her question. He had never seen such a wild response in a woman who was finger-fucking herself. She was like a starving man at his first meal. He just wished he could figure out some way to feed the appetite that this frau had. Maybe he could think of some way before she checked out. He would have to work on that, he decided as he climbed down off the john and headed back to the first floor and the concierge's desk. He was going to have to work on that really hard, really hard.