Going Too Far Read online

  ‘I could hardly have organised a blizzard,’ he said, amused. ‘Of course I came to get the files, but I really was hoping to spend Christmas with you first. However, this opportunity was too good to miss.’

  He started detaching the tent lining. ‘I think you’d better get outside.’ His voice was almost apologetic. ‘I’m afraid I may need the tent again.’

  ‘I’m having trouble moving,’ I hissed.

  His eyes moved down to my ankles as though he’d forgotten. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. If it hadn’t been for the snow I was going to enjoy you this morning. Still, you know how it is, Bliss, strike while the iron’s hot and all that.’

  Bending to my feet he picked at the knots in the leather and set my feet free. I aimed a kick at his head but he caught my foot in his hand. I wish I’d made better preparations for the trip, etc., though let’s face it; even if I’d tried harder to get fit kickboxing wouldn’t have been high on the list of techniques.

  He was laughing at my efforts at self-defence.

  ‘I’m not sure exactly what’s so funny,’ I said as haughtily as I could. Let’s not forget here, I’ve got my arms crossed like a corpse and I’m wearing a leather belt up my bum. ‘You’re taking the tent down around me and leaving us to die in the snow with no shelter or clothes or food, is that right? And you’re laughing?’

  He sobered up. ‘I’m not leaving you to die, Bliss. That was just a threat to get them going. Of course I wouldn’t harm you. Or them, either. Come on, I’ll get your clothes for you.’

  Leading me by the straps around my arm he pulled me through the tent flap. Red and Robbie were tied back to back to each other and they were sitting in the doorway of their own tent. Carlos left me shivering at the door too and went inside the tent, coming out with my clothes. He put my trousers on for me and untied first one hand then another as he put my arms in my sweater and fleece, and then put socks and trainers on my feet. It was surreal; I was being dressed gently, like a child, by someone who had threatened to leave me for dead.

  ‘The only thing I’m taking is your boots.’ He was talking to all of us. ‘You can try walking down if you like, but the snow’s already deep and with only sandals and trainers I’m afraid you might not make it. My advice is to get back in the tent and keep warm till the ranger comes back. He’ll come to the tent to tell you to leave because of the snow, so he won’t miss you.’

  Three pairs of boots were also stuffed into his rucksack. No wonder he’d been pleased to get rid of two cartons of wine and some food. He knew he’d be needing the space.

  ‘Thanks for last night, guys,’ he said airily as he shouldered his sack. ‘And, Bliss, thanks for everything. You were pretty hot.’

  We watched him walk through the campsite to the path. It was lucky we were under the trees; I could see the snow was much worse out in the open, falling thickly and horizontally across the mountainside opposite.

  I looked at the boys. ‘Not the best position to find ourselves in, eh?’

  Robbie shrugged, a little smile at the corner of his mouth. ‘Oh well. Shit happens.’

  ‘You’re very calm,’ I observed acidly. ‘Did you train at the feet of Houdini? Or have you suddenly discovered the appeal of submitting to bondage?’

  His smile grew into a grin and then a laugh. ‘There is a funny side, but I won’t tell you until we’re free. Now I’ve got pretty strong teeth and that leather round your wrist isn’t that well knotted. Come over here and let me get my teeth into you.’

  Two hours later we were romping down the mountainside in high spirits. Or rather, we were tottering down the path with our inadequate footwear covered with plastic bags for insulation and socks for grip on the smooth snow. At least I had trainers; Red and Robbie’s Tevas weren’t ideal snowshoes, but our improvisation meant that at least our feet were dry.

  I had started off extremely pissed off, despite Robbie managing to undo my ties with his teeth, leaving me able to untie the guys. He finally admitted that Carlos hadn’t left their investigation with as many holes in it as he’d thought.

  For one thing, the papers had already been copied and faxed to Red and Robbie’s group in Australia, who had begun the process of trying to get media coverage of the plan to spoil Chiloe and the corruption it involved. Plus Carlos didn’t even know about the tapes they’d made, which were already in the mail.

  ‘But he’s got your films,’ I objected.

  ‘Yes. Well – I don’t really know how to tell you this.’

  ‘What?’ I asked crossly. ‘I saw them. Three rolls of film.’

  ‘Yep. Three rolls of what I expect is Bliss in Peru, Bliss in Bolivia and Bliss in San Pedro.’

  The guys had been worried that Carlos might somehow get their spare gear out of store while we were away, which was why Robbie had the papers with him. Then at the last minute he had a brainwave and instead of taking his films he swapped them for three of mine.

  ‘Sorry. Your holiday pics are going to be a bit disappointing.’

  ‘Oh well. I did think they might launch me on a new career as a photographer, but perhaps that wasn’t meant to be.’

  So as I said, we were in reasonably high spirits, although I kept remembering with trepidation the steep, exposed section of the path that was some way ahead. Let’s face it, I had already slid down one snowy mountainside on this trip, and that was wearing crampons and carrying an ice axe. Added to that I was starting to get pretty cold. The time we had sat immobile trying to free each other had meant the cold had seeped right into my bones. Thermal underwear hadn’t been such a laughable idea as I’d thought. Still I kept my fears to myself, suspecting also that Red and Robbie weren’t as carefree as they pretended to be.

  The snow didn’t seem to be easing up at all. We estimated it would take another two or three hours to get down to the refuge in the valley, hampered as we were by our footwear and the heavy going. Just as we consoled ourselves that the ranger might just return to his hut at the campsite after raising the alarm for the presumed-missing me, we saw a man walking swiftly up the path towards us.

  ‘It’s him!’ I cried excitedly. ‘He is going back! Thank God for that!’

  We started waving at the advancing figure, who just carried on towards us at a brisk pace. As he reached us we saw that it wasn’t the ranger at all, just a walker with a pack on his back.

  ‘Hey! We’ve had our boots stolen! Can you help us?’

  He stopped in his tracks and walked slowly towards us. ‘Had your boots stolen? By whom?’

  Amazingly he was English, a fit-looking middle-aged man with an alert expression and a public school drawl. Which may not actually have been a great advantage, because with inbred British scepticism he was eyeing us as though we were loonies. Maybe I forgot to mention that as I hadn’t brought a woolly hat Red had given me his, and instead wrapped a spare T-shirt round his head under his hood, and Robbie hadn’t had spare socks so had fastened underpants around his feet with the black leather ties. I guess it was also hard to believe that someone would be able to steal the boots from three strapping people like us, let alone why, and to be frank I felt quite embarrassed as Robbie explained that we were the victim of a multinational company’s attempt to take over half an island.

  As luck would have it when we explained about the ranger’s wild goose chase he knew we weren’t having him on. Earlier he had met a couple who had been at our campsite. On their way down to the valley they had been passed by the ranger, who had told them that an Englishwoman had gone missing.

  ‘Look, we need boots and warmer clothes. I’m getting really cold. I know you’ve just walked up here, but you could get down much quicker than us; please ask the rangers to bring some warmer clothes,’ I pleaded.

  He nodded and then, having decided to help, organised the whole operation. Oh, the advantage of an English public school education.

  ‘Right-oh. I’ll leave my rucksack here while I raise the alarm; I’ll move faster without it. Help yourselves to my spare clothe
s and any food you like. There’s no point you walking any further without proper footwear, and walking downhill you’ll only lose heat. Your best bet is to get over in that clump of trees and make yourselves a hot drink. You can use my stove and coffee.’

  ‘Good idea, mate,’ said Robbie. ‘We’ve got our own gear. I reckon you’re right: it’ll warm us up. The speed you were walking at with your pack was pretty impressive, so I guess you’ll be back before we know it.’

  The Englishman smiled faintly. ‘Hopefully. I’ll enjoy the challenge. Wrap up and get some hot coffee down you and I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  Red and Robbie set up the stove while I pulled a sweater out of the Englishman’s rucksack. It was a bit scratchy and overdue for a wash but what the hell. Taking off my fleece I was about to don it over my own sweater when two hands sneaked round and cupped themselves around my breasts.

  ‘I bet Carlos didn’t realise how sexy you’d look without a bra under that lambswool,’ said Robbie in my ear. ‘Let me keep you warm for a bit first.’

  He unzipped his jacket and pulled me back on to his chest. It was the first time he had taken the initiative to touch me and despite our predicament I was instantly aroused. I was still chilled though and removed his hands and put on the Englishman’s sweater, then pulled Robbie’s hands back around me and pushed them up between the scratchy wool of the borrowed jumper and the contrasting softness of my own. The softness felt good on my tits and the odour of the stranger’s sweater, a mingling of slight greasiness, damp wool and male sweat, stirred me for some reason. Red was looking up from the stove and watching the outline of Robbie’s hands mashing my breasts, his fingers gently rubbing my hardening nipples.

  I raised my arms in invitation. ‘I’d be warmer if I had one of you on each side.’

  Red undid his jacket too and put his arms around me. The fact that Robbie’s busy hands were now pressed against his friend’s chest excited me even more, and when Red put his hands round my arse and started kneading my buttocks I knew they were almost touching Robbie’s cock. I could feel both of them hardening against me, Robbie pressed against the leather band we hadn’t bothered to move from my arse and Red against my mons.

  ‘If it weren’t for the snow I’d like to fuck both of you,’ I said softly. ‘But in the circumstances I guess we’ll have to wait.’

  Robbie moved one hand down and sneaked it inside my trousers, still massaging my tits with the other.

  ‘At least I can give you some pleasure. It might warm you up even more.’

  He probed delicately until he found out how wet I had suddenly become and then moved his thumb to my clit. As he rubbed me gently and teasingly, as if we had all the time in the world, I knew his hand was rubbing against Red’s cock. With Red’s hands moving against his own I imagined the two guys rubbing each other off and my excitement increased. My mind saw Red and Robbie realising that their hands were exciting each other and after giving me my satisfaction masturbating each other, still with me in between them, coming simultaneously. I moved my hands, one forwards and one back, so that I could pull them closer towards me and so towards each other, circling their buttocks hard as Robbie’s finger rubbed more roughly at my clit and Red’s played on the leather string.

  The thought of two men together has often piqued my curiosity, and I’ve always envied the decadence of dark rooms where anonymous mouths and hands offered pure satisfaction in a steamy atmosphere of random desire. Possibly it was even more perverse to imagine two friends, both overwhelmingly masculine, making out but the three of us had grown so close in our shared lust it seemed almost logical that Red and Robbie would want to satisfy each other as much as I wanted to satisfy both of them.

  I remembered Kip telling me a story about two men who started off being forced to fuck each other but became absorbed with their mutual satisfaction. I imagined Red and Robbie in their place. The fantasy triggered the amber light in my sex muscles and I bucked against Robbie’s hand and Red’s cock, waiting to get to green. As I tensed on the edge of coming my rigid hands clawed round their arses and I pulled them both close to me. Picturing them going down on each other I went over the edge, riding the waves of my orgasm with shouts and gasps, muffled by the blanket of snow.

  We stayed wrapped together as I recovered, my legs weak. Our silence seemed pregnant with possibilities until Red loosened his grip on my arse, kissing me on the nose as he did so.

  ‘That should have warmed you up a bit. After some coffee you’ll be fine.’ His voice was affectionate but contained a slightly strained note, or maybe my fancy put it there. Realistically I knew that even if they might feel some desire for each other, nothing would come of it. Having stupidly gone to bed with a male flatmate once and having the whole friendship end in tears I knew well enough that it would be a disaster. Regretfully I filed my fantasy in the same drawer as the ones involving whips, rape, etc., to be called upon another day in imagination only.

  Red made the coffee and we sat round the stove and tucked into the Christmas cake. We discussed the possibility of breaking the park rules and making a proper fire, but as help was on its way and we’d warmed up with sex and cake and coffee it didn’t seem worth it. Hopefully we’d be rescued in less time that it would take to get a fire going.

  Once I felt warmer I considered asking if the guys wanted their share of attention. They’d both been as solid as the tree trunk I was now leaning on while I had been the filling in their sandwich, but I reckoned they had probably calmed down by now. Not that I would have been unwilling to pass the time waiting for the return of our good Samaritan with a couple of blow jobs or hand jobs. Indeed, the exercise might well have produced a few more calories but, if they wanted, they knew they only had to ask.

  We each drank two cups of coffee and after we’d rinsed the mugs in a stream and packed up the stove I beckoned both guys to me for a hug. As my fantasy had subsided as well as their hard-ons we just cuddled like old friends. I doubted that I would ever be part of such a close threesome again.

  Suddenly we were hailed from down the path.

  ‘Good, you’re OK. I was afraid you were drowsy with cold huddled up there,’ said the Englishman, who seemed to be alone. ‘Thought maybe I’d underestimated how cold you were, in which case I shouldn’t have told you to sit down.’

  ‘No, it’s OK, mate, we were just snuggling together for warmth,’ explained Robbie insouciantly. ‘We had some coffee as you suggested and thought it was the best way to keep warm.’

  Our rescuer had acquired another rucksack from which he drew clean socks and three pairs of boots.

  ‘Might not fit, of course, but better than nothing, and the socks will help. Got some spare sweaters as well.’

  ‘Are you alone?’ I asked incredulously. It was hard to believe that he’d alerted someone to our plight and got the boots and sweaters but they’d just let him get on with it.

  He snorted. ‘No, but I couldn’t walk at their pace. Decided I might as well get up here, give you these and get on, if I can have my pullover back. The other chaps have got some food and hot water bottles, though by the time they get here I don’t suppose you’ll get much heat out of them.’

  I suppressed a laugh as I returned the sweater and put on yet another man’s woolly. Odd the things you suddenly find yourself doing twice in one day that you’ve never done in your life before. Idly I wondered if I might get stuck into a pattern of only feeling aroused while wearing a sweaty jumper. In reality it would probably be an easier peccadillo to maintain than either bondage or exhibitionism, the other new tastes I’d picked up on my travels.

  The Englishman waved away our thanks, saying he wanted to get on. Red’s reiteration of the warden’s warnings to leave the campsite met with a tolerant smile; he was obviously hardy enough to look after himself. With no slackening of his swift pace despite his descent and re-ascent of the mountainside, he shook our hands and set off.

  ‘I bet he’ll go right up to the viewpoint and back to
the valley today,’ said Robbie with admiration.

  ‘But what for?’ I asked curiously. ‘He won’t see anything.’

  ‘Because it’s there,’ said the guys almost simultaneously. Well, I guess it’s just a boy thing.

  As we toasted each other and our hosts and fellow guests with wine that evening the events of the day seemed surreal. To go from being tied up halfway up a mountain in a blizzard to eating a Christmas Eve dinner in a warm and cosy guesthouse was too great a contrast to be believable. I half wondered if I had dreamed the events of the day, or conversely if the celebratory meal was a hallucination brought on by hypothermia.

  The rearguard of the rescue party arrived just as Robbie and I had laced on the boots; Red’s feet were too large for the biggest pair. The two men were from the hut in the valley and decidedly pleased to see us. I guessed they suspected the Englishman was a complete fruitcake leading them on a wild goose chase, especially as he had run on ahead with their boots and sweaters. They did indeed have hot water bottles, which were still warm enough to be a delight to hold and, even better, a bag of empanadas, South America’s version of a Cornish pasty. I let Red and Robbie do the explanations, as their Spanish was so much better than mine.

  We followed the men down to the valley, ironically moving below the snow line, to find two park wardens waiting for us at the hut, one of whom was the one from the campsite. Robbie followed up my announcement of myself as the woman who’d been reported missing with something more cogent in Spanish. They sniggered at our story – well, God knows it was unbelievable stuff – but clearly they had no choice but to accept that we had definitely had our boots stolen and could not stay in the park. After a rapid-fire conversation that I don’t think even Robbie could understand they gave us a lift to the park gates, where we caught the last bus out before Christmas.

  The landlady was surprised to see us back in town only the day after we’d left. Robbie answered her briefly, smiling. Obviously the true story sounded too far-fetched; he had merely said that the snow had been very heavy and we realised we were ill-equipped. We were in luck. She had a room for us, and invited us to join her family and the other guests for Christmas Eve dinner.