Chapter 6
Hiker's name was Jeff MacClaine. He looked just as handsome, just as studly close-up as he had through the glory hole in the toilet.
His smile told Daryl that he remembered the cock-sucking from the basement restroom as much as Daryl did.
"May we sit down?" Kenneth Teller asked. Kenneth wasn't bad-looking, either. Obviously older than Jeff, he had the trim physique and handsome aura of someone who had the funds available to have his body beaten and molded into shape by Swedish masseurs. Further evidence of money was indicated in the fact that both Kenneth and Jeff's clothes were expensive.
Daryl didn't bother asking how the two had made it back into the dining room after the doors had been closed and locked. Money opened doors. It always had, and it probably always would.
"Sure, sit down," Daryl said, taking another healthy bite from his roast beef sandwich. "Can I offer you something to eat?"
"I've eaten," Kenneth said, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down. "Jeff has, too. Although not in the dining room -- or so he's gone into great detail to inform me." He thought he'd made a private joke.
Jeff, who had taken another chair, let his grin, slip wider over his attractively white teeth.
Daryl had sudden visions of this suddenly becoming a scene made messy by an irate lover who had just heard how his other half had exchanged blow-jobs with Daryl in a basement can.
The vision was short-lived. Kenneth, even if he had known, had other things on his mind besides what Jeff did during his free time. As long as the young stud, continued to get it up whenever Kenneth demanded, there would be no problem. So far, Jeff's huge cock hadn't disappointed him.
"We want to go skiing, Mr. Mason," Kenneth said. "In case you're wondering why we've gone to the bother of searching you out that is."
"I seem to remember you mentioning earlier that you were interested in skiing," Daryl said, taking a large swallow of his milk. "You'll pardon me if I not only failed to believe it then but don't believe it now, either."
"Actually, we did come up to hike the Ridgeway. Faultline," Kenneth said, "but, Mother Nature seems to have forced us to improvisation."
"The wind is gusting pretty badly out there Mr. Teller," Daryl said, wondering why he even had to bother putting something so obvious into words. "Even if the fog lifted to let us see more than a couple of feet in front of our faces, my helicopter would get blown over the moment it was released from its mooring cables."
"I was out this morning," Kenneth informed, apparently undaunted. "I noticed occasional drops in the wind. Granted, they were sporadic, but..."
"What you're asking is really quite impossible, Mr. Teller!" Daryl said, hoping his tone of voice relayed the finality of that statement.
Apparently not.
"I figure there should be little problem when the copter is off the ground," Kenneth continued. He was obviously a man used to getting his way.
Daryl gave the man a closer look, deciding Kenneth Teller was older than he had appeared at first glance. Possibly, he was in his late forties, at least twice Jeff's age.
"The Carlyle Run is basically a straight line," Kenneth went on. "It's famous for being one of the straightest and longest runs in the country, isn't it? It should take little maneuvering to get the copter up to the top, even in the fog."
"The wind... is gusting!" Daryl said, carefully enunciating each word.
"The snow is falling. The fog has brought visibility down to a virtual zero."
"I'll be willing to pay for your services," Kenneth said. "That, of course, must certainly have gone without saying."
Daryl was getting perturbed.
Jeff seemed amused. He was apparently well used to! Kenneth's perseverance.
"How much do you think it would be worth to waste your life, your friend's life, and my life, not to mention risking a very expensive piece of machinery?" Daryl asked, trying for high sarcasm.
All Kenneth Teller did was shrug.
"If it's one thing I have plenty of, it's money," he said. "So, why don't you quote what you think would be a suitable figure?"
"I have no intentions of risking my life so you can go skiing down some Goddamn mountainside in a blizzard!" Daryl said. "If I could safely get the copter off the ground, I would certainly be out looking for those poor suckers caught out in that storm without a lodge to keep warm in."
Kenneth quoted a monetary figure that made Daryl lower his milk glass without bothering to take a scheduled swallow.
"As I said," Kenneth said, "money is something there is no shortage of in my family."
"He might even throw in a blow-job as a bonus," Jeff added, which brought him a surprised and obviously chastising glance from his lover.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Ken, relax!" Jeff said, laughing. He had a decidedly pleasant laugh that excited at a sexily low timbre. "Daryl here knows the score."
"I wasn't aware the two of you were even acquainted prior to this moment," Kenneth said. His curiosity was showing.
"We met earlier today," Jeff said. "While you were having your lunch, as a matter of fact."
"Is Mr. Mason the stud with the big cock from the downstairs can?" Kenneth queried, turning his glance back to Daryl with renewed interest.
Daryl was more than a little embarrassed. He could have hoped what he and Jeff had done in the can wouldn't have become an open subject of conversation between the younger man and his...
But Daryl really didn't know they were lovers. Karen had said they were. Maybe they were father and son. They certainly had the same coloring: blond hair, blue eyes. Except they didn't have the same last name.
"If that's the case, I would be more than willing to throw in a blow-job as a bonus," Kenneth said finally. "Even with the risk I would be running of having to come up to Jeff's performance for fear of any later comparisons of my ride over your fat cock. Jeff is quite the expert at blowing cock, wouldn't you agree?"
If Daryl had been looking for any sarcasm from Kenneth Teller, he wasn't getting any. The man sounded nothing at all like a jealous lover.
Still, for reason, Daryl seemed to find the present line of conversation more than a bit disconcerting.
"Your offer is certainly generous," Daryl said.
"But..." Jeff added.
Daryl wondered just what Jeff was thinking about Kenneth's madman scheme to fly up the mountain. Surely, the attractive young man knew his friend was proposing an action that was potentially dangerous for all three of them.
"I enjoy living," Daryl finished.
"We all enjoy living, Mr. Mason," Kenneth said. "But what fun is the living if we always play it safe?"
Daryl kept recalling the dollar figure Kenneth Teller had quoted. He just couldn't, believe the man was serious.
"What about you?" Daryl asked, turning his attention to Jeff. "What do you have to say about all of this?"
"I, like your helicopter, am merely a commodity," Jeff said, putting his relationship to Kenneth in black-and-white terms. "Offered suitable compensation, I can be persuaded to do most anything. Even fly up a mountain and come skiing down in a snowstorm."
"If anything happened to either one of you on the way, down, even if I did get you up there, it could mean curtains," Daryl reminded, wondering why he was bothering. He had the funny feeling he could talk until he was blue in the face and never change Kenneth's determination to go.
"We're both excellent skiers," Kenneth said. "Jeff was even on the U.S. Olympic team."
Jeff MacClaine. Daryl tried to place the name. He couldn't. But the American ski team was usually never in the forefront of international competition. Which didn't mean Jeff wasn't a competent skier.
"If it'll make you feel better, we'll pay in advance and sign whatever kind of release forms that will be necessary to clear you of any responsibility for our game-playing."
Daryl couldn't believe he was actually considering doing what Kenneth was asking. Unlike Jeff, he had never considered himself for sale. Possibly because, until now, no one had ever come up with a big enough offer.
"You've suddenly become tempted," Kenneth said perceptively.
"When the wind stops, it never does so for very long at a time," Daryl said. "Certainly, it doesn't stop long enough for all of us to get out, load up, start up, and take off."
"Then, we must load up beforehand," Kenneth said. "We can even sit around in the helicopter waiting for the opportune moment to arrive, can't we? I certainly can't think of much of anything else to do around here at the present. Can you? I mean, how many trips a day can any of us make to the can to get our cocks sucked off? Right?"
"You'll have to pay for someone to stand around waiting to release the mooring cables when I give the signal," Daryl said, wondering if he were becoming as much a hustler as Jeff was. Although given the right price, he could think of very, few people who wouldn't have at least been tempted.
An hour later, actually airborne, Daryl was seriously beginning to think he had made one very big mistake.
The wind, which had obliged by fading away to nothing for takeoff, came back with a vengeance that almost ripped the control stick from Daryl's experienced grip. The helicopter, as a result, veered sharply toward the right and headed downward. The only thing which told Daryl he was heading suddenly for the ground (he certainly couldn't see it) was the swinging needle on the altimeter.
Not that Kenneth seemed to care. He actually looked as if he were thriving on this latest danger. But all he had to do was sit there. Daryl had to keep the damned copter in the air.
Daryl couldn't tell how Jeff was making it. Jeff was in the rear seat. And Daryl had other things to do than to see if Jeff was turning green. Although he somehow doubted Jeff would be any more fazed by all of this danger than Kenneth was. Jeff, after all, had been paid highly for his bravery. Considering what had been laid on Daryl for this piece of derring-do, Daryl had no doubt but that Jeff's money belt was presently bulging. It was only to be hoped the two lived to enjoy their windfalls.
Then, amazingly, the wind calmed again. The fog even thinned. The snow, of course, continued to fall just as hard as ever. Still, Daryl wasn't feeling quite as scared shitless as he had been a few seconds before. Although the overdose of adrenaline certainly had his heart beating like sixty.
"That was a bit hairy there for a few seconds, wasn't it?" Kenneth said, sounding really not at all that concerned. "I'm glad to see we've turned ourselves over to a more than competent pilot."
And Daryl had just concluded he had put himself in the hands of a couple of certified lunatics.
"Now, about your bonus," Kenneth said.
"I beg your pardon?" Daryl replied, momentarily jerking his attention in Kenneth's direction. He knew what Kenneth had just said. He knew what it had implied. He just couldn't believe any of it.
"You surely haven't forgotten the promised bonus we talked about, have you?" Kenneth asked.
"Are you fucking crazy?" Daryl asked. Good God, they were flying through blizzard conditions that could at any moment turn on them and splatter them all over the mountain. And Kenneth Teller was talking about giving Daryl a blow-job!
"You think I'm crazy for wanting to wrap my lips around that cock of yours?" Kenneth asked with genuine amusement. "If that makes me crazy, I imagine you've run into plenty of crazy men in your lifetime. Right?"
"This is hardly the time to talk about sex. It's certainly not the time to do it."
"Why?" Kenneth wanted to know, putting his left hand on Daryl's leg, running it up the inside of his thigh toward the young man's bulged crotch.
"Ken, you are liable to get us all killed yet," Jeff said from the back, giving Daryl his first real indication that Jeff possibly wasn't as calm and cool as he had been pretending.
"I think our pilot here is experienced enough to handle himself in most any situation," Kenneth answered.
His hand wandered all of the way to Daryl's crotch and found what it was looking for. His fingers kneaded the swollen ridge.
"Is that cock going hard?" Kenneth asked, flashing Daryl a smile that might have passed for amazement. "And a big cock it is, too, isn't it? Jeff said it was a monster. He was really quite impressed with this prick of yours. You did know that, didn't you, Mr. Mason?"
"If you want to risk my having my attention riveted to what's happening at my groin at a crucial moment when a gust of wind takes hold of us like a ping-pong ball in a wind tunnel, you just, keep up what you're doing, Mr. Teller."
Daryl really expected Jeff to say something more. But apparently Jeff had figured he had said quite enough already.
Kenneth showed no indication of turning loose of the plaything he had found bulging Daryl's pants.
"Jeff, you know, got all excited when he told me about how the two of you traded off sucking cock in that restroom," Kenneth said, his fingers obviously expert in teasing cock to erection. "He got so horny, I got so horny, he ended up throwing me over the bed and fucking the shit out of me. I must see that you and Jeffrey get turned loose together more often. It really does so improve upon his sex. Which, I might add, needed very little improving upon in the first place."
Daryl was very tempted to tell Kenneth Teller to fuck off, except the man's hand did feel good massaging Daryl's cock to hardness. And the weather -- at least for the moment -- seemed far less turbulent than Daryl had expected it to be. However, as regarded the weather, Daryl reminded himself the worst thing he could do was to become lulled into a false sense of complacency. A man who didn't pay close attention could quickly turn up being a dead man.
"Come on, Teller," Daryl pleaded. "Why don't we just concentrate on getting you up the mountain? There'll be plenty of time for us to have a little of this kind of fun and games after we get back to the lodge."
"Only one problem there," Kenneth said. His hand had shifted its position, but only as far as necessary to take hold of the tab that operated the zipper of Daryl's pants. "What if none of us make it back to the lodge? My God, what an opportunity lost!"
Leaning in Daryl's direction, he put his hand to the base of the zipper to aid him in getting the fly open with his other hand.
Daryl rationalized letting it all happen by telling himself he was liable to cause even more danger by trying to fight off Kenneth's advances. Besides, there was no denying the fact that there was a certain excitement about the prospect of having sex here and now -- under these unique and adverse circumstances. Daryl wasn't sure just how to define that excitement, but he did suspect it had more to it than just the fact Kenneth Teller knew how to fondle another man's cock to erection.
"I once climbed the Matterhorn with a friend of mine," Kenneth said. Having gotten Daryl's fly open, his fingers had found the opening of the young man's underwear crotch and was working in to make contact with bare flesh. "I sucked his cock off one night while we were hanging in slings over a three-thousand foot chasm. He said afterwards it was the best climax he had never had, even with the pitons popping out of the cliff around us."
Jeff made no comment. And Daryl had himself wondering if that friend of Kenneth's had been this one.
"There's something really sexy about danger," Kenneth said. His fingers found Daryl's cock and wrapped it in preparation for pulling it out of concealment. "I've heard it said that's why so much raping occurs during wars. Men got so hot and horny surviving the dangers on the battlefields, they're simply sent into a virtual frenzy at the first sight of cunt. Not that cunt, mind you, is the only thing that gets fucked -- in war or otherwise."
"I hope you're not planning to have me rape you up here," Daryl said, grimacing slightly as the hardness of his cock prevented Kenneth from easily getting it out in the open. "I somehow doubt even I would risk fucking in this pea soup."
"You're not going to have to do anything but sit there," Kenneth said. "Aside from flying this thing, I mean. I'll take care of everything else."
Daryl's stiff cock finally yielded to Kenneth's touch, popping out through the slash the open zipper had made in the crotch of Daryl's pants.
"Oh, my, yes!" Kenneth exclaimed in appreciation of what he could now see in its full splendor. "But I should have known it would be something special. Jeff, you know, has impeccable taste."
Jeff had no comment for that, either. If Daryl hadn't known better, he would have thought he and Kenneth were alone in the copter. The weather added to the sensation of isolation. The fog and the snow closed them in a snug cocoon of lust.
"Why don't we take a look at your balls while we're at it?" Kenneth suggested. His hand scooped inward along the base of Daryl's stiff cock, eventually able to heist Daryl's hairy scrotum out over the lip of the open fly. "And big balls they are, too, aren't they? 'Monster Balls' is what Jeff called them. Monster Balls filled with gallons... and gallons... and gallons... of creamy... good... cum, isn't that right, Jeff?"
"Coming from someone who has a pair of nuts as big as Jeff's are, I'll have to consider that one of the best compliments I've ever had," Daryl said once again telling himself that just because he was continuing to have an easy go at piloting the copter, that could change at any moment.
"Oh, but it is a compliment," Kenneth assured, "and a very well-deserved one at that."
He shifted on the seat, adjusting his shoulder harness and seat belt so he had adequate space to work in. He positioned his face over Daryl's crotch and over the prick jutting from Daryl's pants.
"You just pilot, pilot," Kenneth instructed, taking hold of Daryl's cock.
Daryl focused all of his concentration on flying the copter. He was flying almost entirely on instruments. Although the flight plan wasn't all that complicated in that the Carlyle Run ended at the lodge and progressed up the mountain in a wide line that ended on a broad shelf, actually topping one of the small mountains below the larger Bear Creek Mountain. As long as he paid attention, there was little chance of ramming the mountain on his own. The main danger, of course, continued to be the weather, which -- at least for the moment -- was being cooperative.
Kenneth stuck out his tongue. He lapped Daryl's cock-head as if he were a kid licking his favorite lollipop. He was excited, by the feel of the cock trembling first against his tongue and then against his pursed lips.
He tasted more of Daryl's gushing preseminal juices as his hand milked the pilot's cock in a gentle stroking, his tongue simultaneously lapping the resulting ooze. The liquid was slightly oily, slightly salty, hinting of the thicker stuff at that moment trapped inside those enormous balls tumbled over the lower edge of Daryl's open zipper.
Kenneth was good at eating cock, and he knew he was going to use his best efforts over this fat prick. He was turned on by the circumstances, by the danger, by Jeff silently watching from the back, by the way the helicopter trembled slightly all around him.
He delivered a slow and easy suck that dropped his mouth down over the pulpy cock-head.
Daryl shifted his ass on the seat, undeniably enjoying whatever it was that was happening to him. It wasn't just that he was getting his cock sucked. He had had his cock sucked plenty of times before, and he had never felt... quite... this... way. He suspected, as Kenneth well knew, there was simply a cornucopia of eroticism to be milked from any situation that combined pleasure with danger.
His cock gave a responding jerk as he thought how Jeff was just behind him... silent... and watching the same cock he had loved now being sucked deeper... and deeper... and deeper... into Kenneth Teller's slowly widening mouth.
Kenneth's tongue curled to offer a slideway on which Daryl's cock could glide in deeply.
Tastebuds became covered with the richness of leaked preseminal juices.
"Ahhhhhbhh!" Daryl groaned in appreciation, hardly conscious he was even making sounds.
He wanted to look down. He wanted to see Kenneth's handsome face... swallowing... swallowing... swallowing. At the same time, he was reminding himself he had to keep, his eyes on the instruments.
Yet, there was no denying Daryl liked the feel of this mouth sucking his cock.
Jesus, did he enjoy it!
But he had always enjoyed getting his cock sucked. He had always enjoyed getting his butt fucked... and sucking... and fucking. That was why he was gay. Because it was so fun being gay. Because it felt so Goddamned good being gay.
Daryl's scrotum was contracting. It was growing thicker, hefting both of his balls upward. His nuts had already lifted to the point where they were no longer resting against the seat.
Kenneth, meanwhile, was enjoying the smells down around Daryl's groin. They were slightly sweaty smells, but Kenneth was turned on by their definitely masculine quality. He greedily breathed them in, savoring that male perfume that was a more powerful stimulus to his senses than any snapped capsule of amyl nitrite had ever been.
He had reached the bottom of the cock and was thoroughly enjoying the moment. Even as he left his lips burrowed in the light-brown hair haloing the base of Daryl's swollen cock, he knew he would go farther than this. Oh, not farther down, since there was no more cock he could swallow than those inches he already had. But there was more to a blow-job than just swallowing, even if swallowing had been no mean feat, considering the size and the length of Daryl's erect cock.
Kenneth began the drag of his pursed lips back up along the neck of Daryl's erection, realizing he really didn't have much time. It wasn't as if they were all walking up the mountain. They were in a helicopter, even if it did seem as if they were suspended within one of those small crystal globes that whirled snow whenever disturbed.
Jeff watched from the back, wondering how in the hell he had ever gotten mixed up with two men who were obviously out of their minds. Jesus, God... but he never thought for a moment that Daryl Mason would agree to the madness of taking them up the mountain, let alone let Kenneth suck on his cock once they were airborne.
On a second thought, Jeff did know why he was involved with Kenneth. It was simply a matter of money and good sex -- in that order. If Kenneth's sex was sometimes a bit kinky, it was almost always exciting. Even as dangerous as this blowing of Daryl's cock was, there was no way it wasn't erotically sexy -- in its own special, scary kind of way.
Jeff had a hard-on. It wasn't in his pants, either. Hadn't been there for quite sometime, as a matter of fact. He had unzipped his ski pants and had pulled it out even before Daryl's cock was jutting to freedom. He had started to beat on it even before Kenneth's mouth had sunk to the base of Daryl's stiff prick. Jeff, after all, had seen no reason why Kenneth and Daryl should have all of the fun. Besides, for all he knew, this might be the last time he would be able to jack-off. Any second now, they could all be splattered all over the Goddamned mountain.
Kenneth's head was bouncing up and down... up and down... up and down...
Daryl continued to resist all urges to look down and watch the rhythmic bobbing of Kenneth's face of his prick. As tempted as he was, he had to remember where he was... who he was... what he was doing.
He was piloting a helicopter in a fucking freak blizzard, for Christ's sake!
Kenneth's cross-eyed viewing of the cock slipping in and out of his mouth made, the stiff meatiness of the cock seem even larger than it actually was. It appeared so large, in fact, it always seemed something of a miracle each time Kenneth was able to make the trip all of the way down to the musky smelling base.
Each bounce, too, took Kenneth's hungry mouth all of the way up to Daryl's fat cock-head after visiting his swollen balls. Kenneth's jaws ached, but it was a pleasurable ache.
"Eat it... eat it," Daryl mumbled, suddenly beyond the point where he wanted Kenneth to stop what he was doing.
Jeff, beating his cock and hearing Daryl's request, knew Daryl was well on his way to blasting his nuts. When Daryl did get around to blasting his wad, it seemed highly unlikely he would be up to paying much attention to anything else. At that moment of faded reality, there could come out of nowhere a sudden gust of wind to...
Jeff beat his stiff prick faster. He wanted his rocks off before Daryl blasted. Because Daryl's blasting was liable to be the last thing any of them was around to remember.
The pleasure was building for Daryl. Pleasure piling upon pleasure. His muscles were going taut. He was beginning to sweat. His eyes were dilating.
He fought for control.
He couldn't believe he had let it come this far. It was too late, though, to turn back. Jesus... was... it... too... late!
"That's the way, stud!" Daryl grunted. "Up. All of the way up. Down. All of the way down. Ah, yes... that's the way. Jesus... that... is... the... way."
There was wind, snow, and fog out there. The snow and the fog could be penetrated by using instruments which read the relationship of land to helicopter. The wind was benign at the moment, offering very little danger. Maybe the storm was even ending. God, knew it was past time. There shouldn't have been a storm like this to begin with. Not at this time of year.
If the storm outside was ending (and there was still no certainty of that) then there was another storm building inside of Daryl. A storm that was hot where the storm outside was cold.
Heat: that was what Daryl was feeling in his guts. Heat that had soaked his body with sweat beneath his pants, his shirt, his coat. Heat that had beaded perspiration on his forehead to such an extent that the liquid was drooling into his eyes... stinging.
It wouldn't be long now before Kenneth had a mouthful of Daryl's cum. Jeff could tell and beat his cock faster... faster... faster. It wasn't going to be long for Jeff, either. Not long at all.
"Jesus... Jesus... Jesus," Daryl moaned, feeling the pleasurable ache in his guts proceed to knot his insides even tighter. His scrotum was yanked to the base of his cock. His balls, thick with sperm, were pulled almost into his belly.
Kenneth, keeping his sucking in high gear, fumbled hurriedly with the zipper of his ski pants. His experienced mouth, detecting the pulsations of Daryl's cock, told him Daryl was ready to let go. Kenneth didn't want to miss the moment or the opportunity to get his own rocks off.
Jesus, yes, his cock was ready! It was hard. It was straining. It was oozing preseminal juices. It was primed.
He found its stiff meatiness inside of his pants. He tugged it out with little formality. He quickly began beating it, not even bothering to pull his balls out.
"Jesus, fucking God... take it!" Daryl grunted frantically.
He lifted his ass up off the seat, assuring that his cock was shoved as far as it could possibly go into Kenneth's skillfully sucking face.
"Jesus... Jesus... Jesus!" he bellowed.
His cock began squirting so much sperm even Kenneth was hard-pressed to swallow all of the profuse load being blasted into his face.
Much of the white stuff backed up around Daryl's plugging cock, threatening to drool from the corners of Kenneth's mouth like foam from the jowls of a rabid dog.
Jeff's cock had erupted seconds before Daryl's cock had let go. Although Jeff had managed an orgasm so less verbal that it had passed entirely unnoticed.
His hand was webbed with the cum his whipping fingers had managed to catch and smear.
The back of the seat in front of him was splattered with evidence of those first forceful wads of cream which had excited the pulsing mouth of his beaten cock. He would leave the mess as a memento of the occasion. If Daryl decided to clean it up, then that was surely little effort for what he was being paid for this little mission the mountain.
That was, of course, if they made it up the mountain. There was, after all, no guarantee they would. They weren't there yet. Nor could Jeff believe -- his own blackout over by the time Daryl's orgasm had begun -- Daryl was able to be too much aware of anything at that moment of climax except the fireworks going off inside his brain.
"Suck it... suck it... suck it!" Daryl grunted, his voice low and guttural. "Jesus... Jesus... suck it!"
"Mmmmmmuuunngg!" Kenneth moaned over the exploding cock inside his throat. As he did so, some of Daryl's cum leaked free, beading within the light-brown pubic hair bushed about the thick base of Daryl's spewing erection.
Kenneth groaned yet again, his fingers clamping like vises against the neck of his trembling hard-on.
"Chriiieeessssst!" Kenneth squealed, the sound coming out after first being gargled through Daryl's soupy cum.
Kenneth's stiff prick erupted, sending out parabolas of spunk that were followed by, less forceful ejaculation.
"Aaaaggghhhh... aaaggghhhh... aggghhhhh!" Kenneth grunted as his handhold on his erupting prick clamped and then unclamped... squeezed and then relaxed.
Daryl shook his head to clear it, shocked into realizing where he was.
He was in a helicopter, in a blizzard. That knowledge hit him with a force that left him even more breathless than had his orgasm.
His eyes nervously, glanced at the instrument panel. He was relieved to see that everything registered correctly.
It required a conscious effort on his part to ease some of the pressure his hand had been exerting in its hold of the control stick. His knuckles had actually blanched white.
Jeff handed Kenneth a handkerchief with which the latter proceeded to wipe up the mess his jettisoned sperm had made on his fingers. He milked his cock and wiped up that resulting slime, too. When finished, he dropped the wadded ball of cum-soaked material on the floor: one more cleanup Daryl would be required to do for the payment received.
His cock and hand clean, Kenneth stuffed his cock back into his ski pants and zipped up.
He went back to Daryl's cock, using his tongue for wiping up whatever little mess that remained from the fairly good job he had done prior to his pulling away a few minutes before. Once that was taken care of, he stuffed Daryl's cock back through the open fly and closed the breach with the zipper.
They were all finished. They were all still alive. Their heads now cleared, after the passion, they could even appreciate their good fortune in having survived what possibly could have been lustful catastrophe.
"Land!" Kenneth said. It wasn't a command but an observation. He pointed.
The fog had partially cleared, at least in one broad swath across the top of a level area covered in white snow.
Daryl couldn't believe that particular stroke of good luck. He banked the helicopter and began to set her down.
More fog seemed to dissolve, disappearing in the flurry of blown snow that was sent flying by the rotors as the copter sat down.
"Well, Mr. Teller, you have made it up the mountain," Daryl said. He pointed toward a valley that was still filled with fog. "The lodge is that way, at the end of the white."
"And none of us is really any the worse for wear, are we?" Kenneth observed. "And at least two of us are far richer than we were before the ordeal, aren't we?"
Daryl found himself once again wondering how much Jeff had been paid to accompany them up the mountain.
"Well, Mr. Teller, thanks for the lift," Kenneth said. He shook Daryl's hand and then put on gloves.
Jeff, in the back, was already prepared, to vacate. Frankly, he figured the quicker he got out the better. A gust of wind could still blow the helicopter over, or tip it so its blades could become lethal weapons. He had once seen a motion picture where such an accident literally sliced a man in half.
Kenneth seemed to have similar thoughts. Anyway, he didn't prolong farewells. He opened the door and got out, quickly unfastening his and Jeff's skis while Jeff followed at his heels.
"See you at the lodge for hot toddies," Jeff said to Daryl just before stepping out into one small pocket of calm within a storm that was obviously still boiling in full force on several fronts not all that far away.
Daryl waited until they were both gone, skied to disappearance into the fog downhill, before he lifted the helicopter off the ground.
He banked for a return to the lodge and then changed his mind at the very last minute. He felt suddenly obligated, considering the apparent lull in the storm at this altitude, to take the relatively short hop to the Ski Patrol cabin on Bear Creek Mountain. Even if he couldn't land because of a return of adverse wind and weather conditions, he might still see smoke or other signs of life. It would relieve a good many minds to just know that someone had managed to get as far as the shelter, pretty much assuring their survival.
A fog-filled landscape dropped sharply, away beneath the veering copter. In the distance, through flitting curtains of gray-white clouds, Daryl caught glimpses of the snow-covered slopes of the bigger and more rugged Bear Creek Mountain.