Proper Charlotte free porn video

I kept sneaking glances at her as she sat at her little table, scowling at the menu. I couldn’t help it—she was stunning. She was also darker than anyone I had ever seen in my life.

When I checked in, Mrs. James said there was only one other guest. That wasn’t a surprise for a country inn in October, almost an hour from the nearest town. I only picked the place because it was near the gypsum plant I had to inspect that week.

“And what would you like for dinner, dear?” Mrs. James hovered over me. “I do my own cooking, so if there’s something in particular you want, I might be able to manage.”

I ordered something quick. Sometimes at home, I’d cook myself something interesting, but I was too hungry to be fussy.

When Mrs. James asked the woman, it became a long back-and-forth about the food and choice of wines. The woman had a thick French accent and Mrs. James struggled to understand. I could understand it a little better—in high school one of my genius plans to impress girls was to learn Spanish and French. I quit both after one semester.

When our meals arrived, I caught the woman’s eye and raised my beer in greeting. She looked at me blankly and focused on her food.

She had to be a couple years older than me. Her face was feminine and regal, her frizzy hair cropped close. Her eyes were dark and oval-shaped, unlike any I had ever seen.

More captivating, though, was how dark she was. I’d travelled all over North America for my job and thought I’d seen every variety of person. Not so. This woman was as dark as a moonless night.

In contrast, I was terribly pale—light blond hair, pasty white skin, and light-colored eyes. My great-grandparents came from Scandinavia somewhere, so I was told. Even my eyelashes were light. I hated it.

When she finished eating, the woman stood and left without a glance.

The food was excellent, so I took my time and chatted with Mrs. James.

“You really run this place by yourself?” I asked.

“Only this time of year, dear. My sons come help in the summer. All the tourists, you see. But now in the fall I only get one or two people a week. I can handle that myself just fine.”

“And this was your home?”

“We converted it to an inn when my sons left home. It does well in the summer. Now dear, I know our rooms are a little small, but there’s our sunroom addition in back and downstairs is the gym and sauna. Use them any time.”

When I finished, I thanked her and helped carry dishes to the kitchen. As I walked up the narrow staircase back to my room, I ran head-to-stomach into the woman coming down.

“Ooof! Regardez où vous allez!”

“Sorry!” I said. “I didn’t see you.”

She gave a chiding look and slipped past me down the stairs.

In my room, I set up my laptop to prepare for the week. I did pre-sales site surveys for industrial machinery. There would be interviews, measurements, and blueprints to study. The first day was always the worst.

Thoughts of the woman distracted me. Was she visiting from France? Why was she alone?

It had taken hours of driving the West Virginia roads to get to the inn. I was stiff and full of restless energy. I decided to check out the basement gym.

The gym was cool and smelled of carpet glue. There were a good set of machines and free weights. A large bathroom at the end of the room had a shower stall plus towels and guest robes. It was all I needed.

After an hour's work out I felt better, so I went to find the sauna. I’d read how they were popular in places like Sweden. With my Nordic heritage, I figured I should try one.

Stripping to my shorts, I grabbed a guest towel and found the sauna’s wooden door down the back hallway.

Blistering wood-smelling air blasted me when I heaved open the door. A single dim bulb lit bare pine walls and benches.

Only after I closed the door did I realize I wasn’t alone. The dark woman sat on a towel on the far side of the room. She was naked, her dark skin gleaming.

She sat leaning forward, palms on the bench at her sides, full breasts jutting proudly between her arms. The whites of her eyes flashed as she peered at me in the gloom.

“Crap! Excuse me. I thought I was alone down here.”

I turned to flee, but in that French accent she said, “It is okay. There is room.”

“No, no,” I said, “I’ll come back when you’re done.”

“Ridiculous. It is for all.”

When I turned she looked back with a blank expression, not seeming to mind her nakedness.

I sat on the opposite side. The woman gave a curt nod, and then drooped her head, ignoring me.

The room was shockingly hot. I concentrated on getting used to it and fought to keep my eyes off the woman.

That was impossible. As I adjusted to the gloom, I could make her out more clearly. Her breasts were full and capped by midnight-black areolas. Her legs were smooth and toned and her entire body shone with perspiration.

She must have felt me looking. She lifted her head and observed me. I looked away quickly like a guilty child.

“It is not sanitary,” she said.

I met her eyes, confused. “Uh, pardon me?”

She indicated my shorts. “Clothes in the sauna. It is unhealthy. Les bactéries pousseront.”

“Bacteria?” I said.

“Oui. Enleve-les. Take them off.”

I remember reading that in Sweden everyone used saunas naked. Men and women together. Something about nudity not being a big deal there, but I had also read it wasn’t so in places like France. In fact, I didn’t think saunas were a French thing at all. I explained my confusion to the woman.

“Je ne suis pas de la France,” she said in beautiful, rolling French. “Mais de la suisse. I am Swiss. Comprennez? There we sauna correctly.”

Well, okay. I couldn’t let this very correct Swiss lady think I was breeding bacteria in my shorts. After a hesitation, I stood and slid them to the floor. She appraised my crotch quizzically, then nodded in curt satisfaction and again focused on the floor. I sat on my towel and tried to ignore her too, concentrating on the penetrating heat.

After ten minutes, she stood. I had a brief view of her hourglass figure, firm jutting breasts and incredible round ass. She was stunning. She wrapped herself in her towel and left without a word.

Ten minutes later, I had enough of the heat. I returned to the gym, a towel around my waist.

The woman sat in a corner chair, wearing a white robe and reading a novel. She didn’t look up.

I showered in the bathroom. The cool water felt wonderful after baking like a potato.

Donning a robe, I walked out to the gym where the woman still sat. I decided to introduce myself.

I extended a hand. “Hi. I’m Travis.”

She regarded me, then shook my hand primly and said, “Charlotte.”

“Nice to meet you, Charlotte. Staying here long?”

“Until Friday.”

“Me too.”

“Okay,” she said and turned her attention back to her book.

I had planned to return for another session in the sauna, but after Charlotte’s frosty reception, I went up to my room.

~~~~

That night, I tossed trying to get used to the too soft mattress. It curved like a salad bowl, a big central depression formed, I guessed, by years of couples fucking. I could only think of Charlotte. What a puzzle: from Switzerland but French? I thought they spoke German. And black? To me, Switzerland was one of the whitest countries imaginable.

Images of her lush, dark body blazed in my mind. Her regal face, her eyes, her breasts, that shapely ass, that smooth gleaming skin.

I had many questions. Too bad she was so damn unfriendly.

~~~~

At breakfast, Charlotte again sat alone at her table dressed in a tailored suit jacket and skirt.

Mrs. James set my breakfast before me and asked, “Are you two working together at the plant?”

I looked over at Charlotte. “You’re working at the gypsum plant too?”

“Oui. I review their finances this week.”

“Oh? You’re an auditor?”

“C’est ca. My client may buy them.”

“Oh, right. I heard something about that. You might have a hard time though... apparently the workers aren’t happy being bought by foreigners.”

She went back to her breakfast but said, “And you?”

“They’re buying machinery from my company. I’m planning out the location to make it sure it has all the requirements before they complete the purchase.”

“Ah.”

It was a twenty-minute drive to the plant. No other car was in the parking lot when I had checked in, so I asked, “How are you getting there?”

“They come for me.”

“Oh? How about you drive with me? I’m going there every day this week.”

“They are already coming.”

“Phone them. Tell them you have a ride. I think they’ll be grateful not to waste time playing chauffeur every day.”

Charlotte looked at me with suspicion, but pulled out her phone and called.

“I must be there at nine hours,” she said after hanging up.

“Great, so do I. Meet me at my car outside when you’re ready, okay?”

As we drove, Charlotte looked out at the trees and kept to herself. Though a series of short, clipped conversations, I learned she was from Zurich and an auditor of mergers and acquisitions for her firm.

I said, “I thought they spoke German in Switzerland.”

“Yes, and of course I do. But my family speaks French. There are many French speakers in Switzerland also.”

“And your family is from Switzerland?”

She sighed. “I was born there. My parents migrate from Cameroon.”

“That’s, uh, Africa...”

Charlotte cast me a scornful look. “To the south of Nigeria.”

“A long way from Switzerland,” I said.

“And you? Where are you from?”

I told her, and explained how I had traveled across most of the U.S. and Canada for my company.

“But I’ve never been to Europe,” I said. “I want to go. Switzerland looks beautiful.”

“Yes, beautiful.” She said nothing else until we arrived at the plant.

A portly, impatient-looking man was waiting at the gatehouse.

“I’m Mr. Warner, plant manager. And you two are only here because I allow it, okay?”

I mumbled some pleasantry. Charlotte frowned.

“The owners say you’re here all this week. Waste of time if you ask me. I could have given them all the information they need. But you’re here now. And while you’re here, neither of you will disrupt production, got it? We have orders to meet, and we will meet them, understand?”

“Of course, Mr. Warner,” I said.

“That includes getting killed. I don’t expect pansy desk jockeys like you to understand, but we process gypsum here. It’s dangerous. Conveyors that’ll rip your arm off, kilns, rolling mills, yard traffic. So you two will stay with your escorts at all times. You will not wander. You will not touch anything. You will go only where I allow when I allow it. Got it?”

Mr. Warner harangued us about safety for ten minutes and then spent another twenty trying to impress us with his importance and knowledge. It relieved me when our escorts arrived. Charlotte followed hers to the main office while my escort led me to the site where they planned to install our equipment.

I started by talking to the site supervisors and electrician, took measurements, scouted the HVAC, electrical, and water feeds, and collecting drawings.

Mr. Warner dropped by often, making unnecessary comments or incorrect assessments and always using a nasty, superior tone. The planned location was ideal, but Warner kept insisting on another spot. When I tried to reason with him, he cut me off and belittled me. I tried to be professional, but by the end of the day he had worn out my patience.

At 5:00pm, Charlotte got in my car without a word. She sat with her arms crossed as we drove back to the inn.

“Did Warner bother you?” I asked and explained my experience with him during the day.

“Yes. He interrupts. And is... very rude.”

After that, Charlotte was silent all the way back to the inn.

~~~~

When we arrived, Charlotte walked up to her room, and I called my boss to report my progress. I also explained the situation with Mr. Warner.

“Yeah, I heard he’s a bit of a prick,” he said. “Just humor him and don’t piss him off. He has the owner’s ear. He could get them to cancel the deal.”

Charlotte re-appeared at dinnertime and sat at her table. I offered to join her, but she shook her head.

She scanned the menu with disdain and had another long discussion about alternatives and preparation.

“Sorry, dear,” said Mrs. James. “I only keep so much on hand this time of year, but I can cook most anything. I have to go into town tomorrow for groceries, so tell me what you like and I’ll see what I can find.”

After dinner, I went down to the gym to work out and again to the sauna. It was empty, but I still stripped naked and sat on my towel, soaking up the intense heat. I was starting to like it.

The door opened and Charlotte stepped in, breathtaking in her naked glory. She nodded at me, sat on the opposite side and ignored me.

As we sweated in the sweltering room, I studied my knees, the floor, the thermometer by the door, anything to avoid staring at her. But my eyes kept drifting to Charlotte’s shining body, her breasts and her legs.

“Why do you stare?”

“Uh, pardon?” I said.

“You stare at me when you think I don’t see. It is not polite.”

“Oh. Yes, sorry about that. It’s rude of me. I’m trying not to.”

“Are you racist?”

“What? No! I mean, I don’t think so.”

“So why?”

Before my brain could stop my mouth, I blurted, “Because you’re so beautiful.”

I could feel myself blush. Smooth move, I thought.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Beautiful.”

I had already made an ass of myself, so I figured what the hell—might as well double down.

“Well, yeah. You’re gorgeous. And so dark. It’s... I dunno... fascinating.”

“Dark is fascinating?”

“Sure. People aren’t anywhere near as dark around here. You’re unique. New. To me, anyway.”

Charlotte pursed her lips and considered.

With a curt nod, she said, “Then you should look. So it is not new. Then you will not need to stare.”

She walked over to stand before me. I looked up to her gleaming breasts hovering above me. Lower I saw a trimmed patch of fuzz between her toned thighs and the hint of dark pussy lips. I could smell her scent, hear her breathing and, despite the intense heat of the room, feel warmth radiating from her luscious body.

Charlotte gazed down as I examined her from head to toe, and then she turned to present her back. Her ass was a round and shapely. I longed to reach out and stroke it.

After a few moments, she turned back toward me. She said, “There. Bon? Oh!” She gasped.

To my horror, I realized I had a throbbing erection.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry!” I flipped the towel over my crotch.

Charlotte pursed her lips and shook her head as if disappointed by the antics of a small child.

That is exactly how I felt.

~~~~

At breakfast, Charlotte barely acknowledged me. On the drive to the plant, she again stared out the window. I couldn’t tell if she was angry about my reaction in the sauna, or if she was being her usual cold self.

Mr. Warner interfered with my work at intervals all day, being a domineering ass and insisting I plan out placing the equipment in his preferred location.

After work, Charlotte was angry when she got in the car.

“Warner was rude again?” I asked.

“Rude. Yes. He is sexist as well.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He calls me ‘bookkeeper.’ I have a master’s degree in Banking and Finance from University Zurich. I am not a bookkeeper. And he calls me ‘girl.’ I am a woman, not a girl.”

I said, “Uh, exactly how did he call you ‘girl’?”

“’Come here, girl.’ ‘Do you get it, girl?’ Like that.”

I sighed. “I think that was racist, not sexist.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think he meant ‘girl’ like people used to call black people ‘boy’. It’s a term from when there was slavery and segregation.”

Charlotte considered. Then she said, “Yes, I think you are right. Sexist and racist. Le cochon.”

“Huh?”

“Pig,” she spat.

I recalled my high school French and said, “Oui. Il est trés un cochon.”

“Ah? Tu parle français?” She looked at me hopefully.

“Oh, barely enough to ask where the bathroom is and to order more beer.”

“Ah. Je vois.” She nodded with resignation and was silent.

~~~~

At the inn, Mrs. James greeted us with a bruised forehead and her arm in a sling.

“Are you all right?” I asked. “What happened?”

“Just a little tumble dear. While I was getting groceries. It’s only bruises and a strained arm. The doctor said I’ll be fine.”

“That’s terrible. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No dear. But I’m afraid I can’t cook tonight. Maybe for the rest of the week. But don’t worry. There’s a lovely restaurant in town. You can eat there.”

“But it is forty-five minutes each direction,” said Charlotte. “Inacceptable.”

I said, “Mrs. James, did you get all your groceries?”

“Oh yes. They’re in my van.”

“Then why don’t we cook? You show us where everything is. I’ll bring in the groceries.”

“No, dear. You’re guests. I can’t make you cook.”

“Oh, I want to. I cook for myself at home. And what else is there to do here at night?”

In horrendous French, I said to Charlotte, “Est-ce acceptable pour vous?”

She protested that we were not licensed food service workers.

“Who’s gonna know? Does everything have to be proper with you?”

“Yes, certainly.”

She only agreed to help cook when Mrs. James assured her we were following local regulations if we were supervised.

It was a small kitchen. Charlotte and I struggled to find bowls, knives, and ingredients while Mrs. James sat on a stool directing us.

I decided to make biscuits. I was shaking flour from a bag into a bowl, eyeballing the quantity when I looked over at Charlotte. She had measuring cups, ingredients and utensils arrayed before her like a surgeon preparing for a heart transplant. I watched her measure out ingredients with the precision of a chemist, double-checking the recipe at each step.

As we worked, we bumped into each other and she dropped a mixing bowl. “Quel imbécile,” she muttered.

When a baking pan slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor, she exclaimed “Allez! Idiot,” her eyes flashing with annoyance.

“Quel désastre!” she yelled when I tipped over the milk and it spread across the counter.

Later, I turned not knowing she was behind me. We both dropped what we were holding and Charlotte stamped her foot. “Imbécile. T’es con comme un balai.”

I had no idea what that meant, but it was enough.

“Nasty bitch! Pull that bug out of your ass, will ya?”

She looked confused, then gave me a sideways scowl. I scowled back, scrunching my nose and sneering theatrically. She jerked her head back and studied me with uncertainty. But after that she stopped calling me names.

We took an hour to finish. The kitchen was a disaster but dinner was prepared, and we weren’t bumping into each other as much.

The three of us ate in the kitchen. Mrs. James told us about her family and her years running the inn. She had endless stories of stupid things guests had done. I laughed at them, but Charlotte only nodded in acknowledgment.

However, Charlotte contributed to the conversation, telling us how it was her first time traveling outside of Europe and how unfamiliar it was.

“Everything is far,” she said. “At home, in one hour the train can cross three countries. Here I will not get to even the next village. And the food!”

“You don’t like the food, dear?” asked Mrs. James.

“Your food is very good. But other places? It has no taste. And they give too much. I see why everyone here is so fat.”

“So, you came all the way from Europe just to audit this plant?” I asked.

“I have been away since two months. My client is interested in many businesses. This is the sixth I audit.”

After we ate, Charlotte and I started cleaning up the mess we had made.

“Foutu bordel,” she muttered. “I will clean the counters. You broom the floor.”

I chuckled.

“What?”

“You say ‘sweep the floor’”

“Thank you. You can sweep the floor... idiot.” But she grinned when she said it.

We helped Mrs. James with other tasks around the inn, then I changed into my workout gear and went down to the gym. It felt good to exercise after such a frustrating day. An hour on the treadmill and lifting weights, and I was ready for the sauna.

Charlotte was already inside, naked and breath taking. I sat on the opposite bench, ready for her to ignore me again.

After a while of soaking in the heat, she said, “It was good of you.”

“What was?”

“To help her. If we ate in the village she would lose money from us on the meals.”

“Oh. I didn’t think of that. I was thinking more of helping her out in general. And how you didn’t want to drive into town.”

She nodded. “What does it mean ‘pull a bug out of your ass’?”

I laughed and explained the phrase.

“And if the person keeps being a pain, you can offer to get a pair of pliers to help.”

She seemed to understand. “It is very graphic,” she said and was silent after that.

We lounged on opposite sides of the dim room with the hot wood smell, absorbing the blistering air. I struggled not to look at her, but again I failed, glancing to admire her beauty then looking away before she caught me.

Later in my room, I read up on Switzerland—the culture, the food and the Swiss reputation of being unfriendly.

For fun, I searched “Swiss bitch” half-expecting Charlotte to be the first hit but there were only peculiar German-language videos. But when I entered her full name, the results were intimidating: she was a partner at her firm, lectured at the university, and had published a book on money laundering. I had barely graduated high school and was lucky to have a job.

I drifted to sleep with visions of Charlotte’s face and lush body. She was so beautiful but so infuriating. I wanted to yell at her, tell her to stop being so cold. But more than anything, I wanted to run my hands all over her, explore her and, of course, fuck her.

What would that be like? Would she be the uptight Swiss auditor, distant and dissatisfied no matter how I tried to please her? Would she be domineering and demanding, thinking only of herself? Or would she be sensuous and passionate, like the French are supposed to be?

Of course, there was no chance I would ever find out. I was uneducated, unsophisticated and as sickly white as a garden grub.

~~~~

On Wednesday, Warner was annoying and disruptive as usual. I put up with it, but by lunchtime I was close to telling him off, equipment sale be damned.

The plant sat beside a narrow river. One worker said there was a path beside it, so I grabbed a sandwich from the cafeteria and walked outside the gate to walk and blow off steam.

The path was barely a goat trail, but it was rejuvenating to pick my way along to the sound of the river in the clean autumn air with the smell of the nearby forest. I loved being in the woods whenever I could.

Ten minutes along the path I encountered Charlotte in her dress suit, teetering along heading back to the plant.

“Are you following me?” she asked.

“Huh? No. You’re the last person I expected to find out here, Charlotte. I came out to unwind. Warner is being a real dick today.”

She nodded. “Yes. To me as well. They told me of this path at the office. I came to see while it is lunch. I needed to be outside.”

I grinned at her.

“What?” she said.

“Well,” I said, “for one, you look mighty odd out here in your power suit. And two, I’m glad you like nature too.”

“Certainly. Switzerland is all nature. Cities are small. La campagne, the countryside, is beautiful. As you said. My family, my friends walk... uh, hike and ski often.”

I gestured to the Alleghenies in the distance. “You should take some time and hike the mountains here.”

She turned. “Those hills?”

“Hills? They’re, like, 4,000 feet in places.”

“The Matterhorn is 4,478 meters. That is... 14,692 of your feet.”

I had no doubt the elevation she cited and her rapid calculations were precisely correct. “Okay, okay,” I said, holding up my hands. “You got us beat. They’re still pretty.”

Charlotte looked again. “Yes. They are pretty... little hills.” She turned, clearly suppressing a smile. Then she became all business again. “Excuse me, I must return.”

She tried to pass me on the narrow path and I had to grab her waist to stop us tumbling down the riverbank. When our eyes met, I froze and just stood holding her, captivated by her face and lovely, unusual eyes.

“Are you staring again?” she asked with a tight little grin.

“Uh, sorry, Charlotte.”

She gave me a knowing look and gently turned us so was on the side of the path leading back to the path. She removed my hands from her waist. I watched her carefully pick her way back towards the plant.

~~~~

After work, Charlotte was fuming when she got in the car. It took some probing before she told me what had happened.

“The staff obstruct my audit. You are correct... they do not want the plant to be sold to my client.”

“I think if you let the owners know...”

“I did. Warner has been telling them lies about me. That I am not a competent auditor. That I do not know English. Then when I was leaving, he called me ‘uppity bitch’ and I need to learn my place. Said he knows exactly what ‘darkies’ like me need. He grabbed my ass.”

She was furious, and on the verge of tears. “No one at home would be so unprofessional. People in this country are horrible.”

“Whoa. It’s a big place, you know. It’s just Warner. He’s like you said. A pig.”

“No. Everyone here is rude. Everyone is racist. I will be happy to be home.”

I let her cool down for a few minutes as I drove, but curiosity got the better of me.

“Do you... ever have trouble in Switzerland? Because you’re black?”

She sighed. “Yes. Sometimes with older people. But it is not the same.”

“Oh?”

“It is only when someone thinks I am a migrant. Swiss do not like outsiders. When people learn I am from Zurich, my appearance does not matter and I am like anyone. Here it is all because of my appearance.”

I wasn’t going to argue. I could only guess how she felt, away from home for so long with everything so unfamiliar, dealing with pigs like Warner. The most exotic place I’d ever been was Toronto, and that was culture shock enough.

At the inn, I made another call to my boss.

He said, “I get it. But if we raise a stink, we could lose the sale. It’s worth a million and a half.”

“It’s not just that he’s a racist, sexist pig,” I said. “I think he’s trying to obstruct me, too. Our equipment will lower their production costs, make the plant more attractive to buyers. I think that’s why Warner’s been getting in the way and insisting on this other location. Putting it there would cost twice as much to put in and make it half as efficient. It would help scuttle sale of the plant. I bet the owners would like to know what he’s doing.”

My boss sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll make some calls.”

Next, I found Mrs. James and showed her a recipe I had found online.

She read the ingredients. “Yes... I have everything. The veal is frozen though. Hope that’s all right.”

When Charlotte entered the kitchen to help cook, I said, “Come back in an hour. I’m cooking tonight.”

She eyed me with profound skepticism.

“Go on. Mrs. James will make sure I don’t burn the place down.”

An hour later, I set plates of food in front of Mrs. James and Charlotte.

Charlotte gasped. “Rösti! And... Züri-Gschnätzlets?”

I smiled. “I’m glad it’s recognizable. It sure isn’t pronounceable. You know, I expected Swiss food to be more of a challenge... not just hash browns and veal in a sauce.”

“Yes, our food is very simple.” She took a bite and nodded in satisfaction.

“Ah. Bien. Très bien. Thank you. Thank you both. I have missed this.”

Dinner that night was more relaxed. Charlotte didn’t scowl or call me an idiot. She may even have come close to smiling.

Later she helped clean up the kitchen. As I was emptying the dishwasher, Charlotte looked me up and down. “Remets le couvert?” she chuckled.

I didn’t understand, but was glad she was in a better mood.

Later as we sweated naked in the sauna, she didn’t ignore me. She asked more about where I was from, what food I liked and whether I had seen the Grand Canyon.

“I visited with my parents when I was little. But I was too young to appreciate it.”

“I wish to see it and other famous places in North America if I come back.”

“You didn’t do any sight-seeing while you were here?”

“There was no time.”

~~~~

The next day at the plant, another supervisor greeting us at the gate. Mr. Warner was gone without explanation. What a relief—I got much more work done.

On the drive back at the end of the day, Charlotte looked over at me and said, “Merci, Travis.”

“For what?”

“I talk to the plant owners again about Warner. They said I exaggerate what we said and did. That it was cultural misunderstandings, language barriers. That they trust him. Then your company complains also. You said the same things and that he harass you, obstruct you too. That is why he is gone.”

~~~~

That night Charlotte asked if we could cook a favorite meal of mine, so I picked chili con carne. As we prepared the food, Charlotte and I worked together smoothly, never once banging into each other. She was strangely upbeat, even friendly. Everyone enjoyed the food, even Charlotte.

In the sauna later, Charlotte was chatty again, asking me about famous places around North America I had seen and telling me of her travels in Europe and growing up in Switzerland. I tried to follow it all, but with her accent and her lapsing into French, German and Italian, I was soon lost. Still, I loved seeing her so happy and so open.

Throughout, she was glancing at me, studying me. I felt self-conscious and realized how she must have felt when I stared at her. I leaned back for a while to let her look, pretending not to notice and trying not to be self-conscious how I looked.

Charlotte then did something new: she leaned back as well, spreading her arms out along the upper bench and tilting her head towards the ceiling. The pose drove her marvelous breasts forward. She stretched her legs out in front of her.

It was my chance to admire every inch of her gleaming body: her breasts with their pitch-black areolas, her narrow waist that spread to womanly hips, her flat tummy, and the enticing peek of her intimate center.

Charlotte must have known I couldn’t resist, but she stayed exposed that way for many wonderful minutes. I was glad she felt comfortable enough with me to be so relaxed. Or did she want me to look? Whatever the reason, I was thankful, and I tried to memorize the vision before me.

There was no way to avoid getting hard, but I was ready and covered up with my towel. When Charlotte sat up, she glanced at my covered crotch. She had a knowing, self-satisfied smirk.

When I left to rinse off, I was standing naked adjusting the shower when I noticed Charlotte behind me in her robe.

“Is it still fascinating?” she said.

“What is?”

“Moi. Mon apparence.”

“Your appearance? The way you look? Oh. Yes. Sorry. I’ve been trying not to stare.”

“You are bad at it. I see you. You are like a boy looking at Christmas toys. So I let you look again. But I think it is still not enough for you.”

She paused and then said, “Today we were good cooking together. Tomorrow, I will show you how to cook Älplermagronen. It is simple also. But there is something else I have been missing.”

Charlotte hung her robe on a peg. Naked, she pushed me into the shower stall and stepped inside. She handed me the soap and said, “Wash.”

When I started soaping my chest, she said with exasperation, “Lave-moi, idiot,” and pulled my hands to her breasts.

Shocked, I soaped her full boobs, feeling their firmness, lifting them, my eyes glued.

Charlotte shut her eyes and took a breath as I massaged her. When she opened her eyes, she stared at my pale hands contrasting against her dark skin.

“Nous sommes si différents.”

“Different?” I said. “Sure. You’re from Switzerland, I’m from here.”

She cocked her head and laughed. “Ouah! Plus chiant que toi, tu ne pourras pas en trouver. Je suis africaine. Tu es... blanc. Très blanc.”

Charlotte pushed me against the wall of the shower and looked me up and down.

“You are very pretty,” she said.

“Uh, for guys it’s better to say ‘handsome’. But I’m not handsome. I’m pale as a corpse.”

Charlotte petted my cheek and stroked an eyebrow with her thumb, studying my face.

“No,” she said. “You are fascinating also. And so pink!” She poked me playfully with a finger and for the first time, Charlotte smiled—really smiled with her eyes crinkling. I stared in wonder.

She pressed her soapy breasts against me and grasped my rock-hard dick.

“I have never been with a white man.” Her eyes searched mine.

“But Switzerland... everyone is white.”

“In Zurich it is a scandal for une näggr to date a white person. People who are African... we stay together.”

“Oh, no. Näggr? Is that what they call black people?”

“It is not the same as the word here. Not as bad.”

Charlotte put her arms around me. I slid my hands over her round bum and hugged her back. It felt so good to hold her.

“Prends moi,” she whispered with her silky accent.

I didn’t understand. When I didn’t react, Charlotte rubbed my erection against her slit. Louder, she said, “Défonces-moi. Maintenant!”

I didn’t need to know the words to understand what she was asking. I could hardly believe it.

I pushed and slid across her pussy lips, across her clit then down past her opening, spreading her, feeling the slickness of her arousal. Charlotte gave a little gasp, her eyes alive with hunger.

I felt the hunger too. Hooking my arms under her legs, I lifted her against the wall of the shower stall and spreading her open. Between her thighs, her dark pussy parted to display delicate pink within.

Charlotte guided me and I pushed, sliding in easily. If her body was warm outside, she was twice as warm inside. And slick. And snug. We both groaned as I sunk into her.

Her eyes closed, then after a moment of savoring the feeling, she took a breath and looked at me with unrestrained lust.

I pulled out and pushed back in, pressing her against the shower wall. Charlotte’s eyes lost focus, half closed, and her mouth fell open.

“Huuuh...” she breathed. “Oh oui, continues...”

Everything about her was different and unfamiliar: her skin, her scent, the feel of her body, her eyes, the texture of her hair, and the sounds and words she made as we fucked. It was almost like experiencing a girl for the first time again.

I wanted to drown in her, possess her, and drive away her unhappiness and loneliness.

Each time I pushed into Charlotte, seeking to please her, seeking to quell my hunger for her, I felt her reactions and watched her. She was so lovely and so different from what I was used to. Yet, at that moment there was no language barrier, no cultural or racial differences. Our bodies knew the language of desire and need. We were man and woman, fucking, mating, yearning for each other.

I couldn’t believe this beautiful, accomplished woman was letting me fuck her. More than letting me... she was eager, willing, and seemed to be as hungry for me as I was for her.

When I pulled back and looked between us, Charlotte looked down too. The sight of my pale dick disappearing inside her was the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

My world was reduced to Charlotte and the joy of being inside her I took her forcefully, barely able to control my hunger for her, driving her against the shower wall. I only regained sanity when I came, flooding her delicious body as she panted and clung to me.

Charlotte had a knowing, motherly smile as I lowered her legs. She stroked my head as we embraced and kissed, recovering.

I turned off the shower and pulled her out. I found a towel and dried every curve of her delicious body, and then she dried me.

“Tu t’en sors?” she asked, grinning.

I didn’t recall that phrase from high school. “Je ne sais pas,” I breathed, shaking my head.

She stood naked, appraising my pale body for a moment and then handed me a robe and said, “Come.”

We gathered our clothes and pulled on bathrobes. Charlotte guided me upstairs to her room.

Her bed was as bowl-shaped as mine, and it pressed us together when we lay down. Charlotte was silent for a long while, only wanting me to hold her. I stroked her head, fascinated by the texture of her hair and the elegance of her face.

She entwined her fingers in mine and held up our hands, studying the contrast of my pale fingers with hers.

“Is it a scandal if you are seen with me?” she asked.

“We’d maybe get some looks in small towns. That’s all. In a city, people would only be looking at how beautiful you are.”

Her smile lit up the world.

I parted her robe, exposing her to my gaze. I ran my fingers across her skin, studying how it blended through shades on different parts of her body. I hefted one breast then the other, stroked her flat tummy and stroked the tight curls of her pubic hair and then down to her pussy lips. They were even darker than the rest of her. I slipped fingers down through her folds, bringing a soft moan from her.

Charlotte was watching me with a wistful smile.

She said, “c'est maintenant à mon tour,” pushed me onto my back and inspected me everywhere, especially my erect dick. She stroked it and moved it around, focusing intensely.

When it leaked pre-cum, she gave me a mischievous look and scooted down to engulf the head in her warm mouth. She sucked and stroked me languidly until I was breathing hard and then slid back up beside me, grinning.

She leaned across me and lifted one breast to guide her midnight-dark nipple into my mouth.

Charlotte gave a happy sigh and held my head close to her as I sucked gently.

“Là comme ça ... Oh, oui!”

I licked and sucked as I massaged her other breast, then after a time, switched. When I reached between her legs, she was sopping. I wanted to taste her there, but Charlotte had other plans.

She sat up and pushed off her robe, guiding me to do the same. She positioned me on my back, she swung a leg over me and guided my dick to her opening. With a sharp breath, she impaled herself. She kept me deep inside her for a moment then lifted to watch my white dick emerge, shiny with her wetness, the pink of her center clinging to the shaft. She looked at me with wonder and smiled before sinking back down to straddle me.

Having come not long ago, I could enjoy the sight of her lush body and the sensations as she slowly rode me. She was wet, but her pussy clung with a delicious resistance as she lifted and then seated herself again and again.

She kept it slow, sometimes riding me with her eyes closed and head back, arms braced behind her on my thighs, and sometimes bent forward, arms on my chest, looking between us as she worked my dick in and out of her.

Soon Charlotte was sliding and grinding against me, gasping and moaning, one hand working her clit as she rode me, her boobs swaying and bouncing, sweat making her skin shine once more.

I tried to hold back, but Charlotte was relentless as she ground herself against me then lifting to slam back down. I came moments before she held herself still with eyes closed. Strong pulsing contractions gripped me inside as her orgasm hit. She looked lost in bliss, head lolling to one side.

When Charlotte collapsed onto me I rolled us to the side and held her while we caught our breath. Charlotte opened her eyes and beamed at me with another big grin.

“I think I want to marry you,” I said, stroking her cheek.

“Ta gueule! We are only having fun.”

“Yeah, I know. But this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. With anyone.”

“Oui. Moi aussi.” She looked at me, suddenly serious. “I... thank you, Travis. I feel not as lonely now. You are the first person here to be kind to me.”

“You weren’t very kind to me, you know.”

She shook her head. “It is right to be formal with strangers. It is not unfriendly. It is being proper.”

“Not here. People are a lot more friendly. Mostly.”

“Ah, I know this ‘friendly.’ They act friendly to strangers, but it is false. When you are too friendly in return, they are guarded. Suspicious. We are more honest. Strangers are treated with respect and distance. Friends are treated as friends.”

“So are we friends now, Charlotte?”

She pecked my lips. “We are becoming so.”

That night I discovered how playful Charlotte was in bed—smiling and teasing, exploring. It was a side of her I never expected. Together we laughed and played like children, until lust overtook us and we mated again. Much later, we drifted to sleep as I held her from behind, still buried deep inside her.

~~~~

I woke to sunlight. Charlotte was already getting dressed. She smiled and walked over to kiss me.

“We will be late. You must get ready.” She went back to the mirror.

I sat up. Last night seemed unreal. I was still surprised by it all.

“It’s Friday. It’s our last day at the plant,” I said.

“Yes. Then I go home.”

“Oh, right. I’m... happy for you. You’ve been away a long time.”

“Yes. This was my longest trip away from home.”

On the drive to the plant, Charlotte was chatty for the first time. She talked about her favorite restaurants in Zurich, wanting to see her family again, how she missed walking along the lake, and hiking in The Alps.

My work was another productive, Mr. Warner-free morning. I finished my final tasks before lunch, so I bought sandwiches from the plant cafeteria and then sought Charlotte at the main office.

“Let’s go on a picnic. Along the river.”

She only agreed when I assured her we would be back on time.

We teetered along the path until we found a spot to sit and eat. The sun was out, taking the chill from the air and causing a mist to lift from the trees across the river.

“It is scenic, Travis. A little like places at home.” Then she looked at me. “I have been thinking about you and last night.”

“Me too. I wish we had more time together.”

Charlotte kissed my cheek and turned to look at the river. She surprised me when she said, “I want to make love again as soon as we return to the inn.”

I stood and pulled her to her feet. She looked at me, uncertain. “We are going back?”

Grinning, I said, “not yet. I just don’t want to wait until tonight.” I pulled her off the trail into the brush.

She gasped. “Non! We cannot. This is improper. We will be late. Someone will see.”

I turned her around and kissed the back of her neck. I slid a hand under her jacket to massage a firm boob. “No one’s here. We can be quick.”

I guided her hands to the trunk of a tree and lifted her skirt. Charlotte looked over her shoulder, shocked, but held onto the tree as I lowered her panties. Her shapely, dark bum came into view, delicious in the dappled light streaming through the trees.

I freed myself from my pants and rubbed up and down her dark pussy. She was already moist. I wedged the head of my cock into her opening and worked back and forth gently until she was wet enough to ease into her.

Charlotte lowered her head when I finally bottomed out. She pushed back and wriggled to seat me even deeper. After a moment, she looked back.

“We are being very bad,” she said.

I pulled out then sank back into her, causing her to gasp.

“We should stop,” I said. I pulled out and plunged in again, a little harder.

“Yes,” she breathed, turning her face back to the tree.

“Tell me when.” I gripped her hips and started to take her with regular strokes.

Charlotte said nothing else. She clung to the tree and let me fuck her, pushing back and arching her back to drive me deep. I enjoyed her clasping pussy and the sounds of her quiet panting and moaning.

It was an incredible sight: the proper Swiss businesswoman, hanging onto a tree while my pale dick sank into her inviting body. When Charlotte looked back again, her mysterious dark eyes half-lidded, I lost control and thrust harder. She braced herself against my assault until, too soon, I was emptying myself into her. Charlotte reached back with one hand to hold me tight against her rear as I filled her.

We cleaned up and held hands as we hurried along the path to the plant.

“Stop smiling,” she said. “We should not have done that. It was inappropriate.”

“Don’t have to be proper all the time. Wasn’t it fun?”

Charlotte looked at me with exasperation.

We reached the gate just as lunch-hour ended.

~~~~

On the drive to the inn, Charlotte frowned at me.

“What?” I said.

“Your sperm was leaking from me all afternoon.”

I grinned and she swatted me. “It is not funny. It distracted from my work. I kept thinking of us together. I wanted to find you and... leave early.”

“Did you get everything finished?”

“Of course.”

“Then no harm done. You should learn to relax a little. Get messy. Have a little fun.”

Charlotte was silent for a while and then said, “In Switzerland we have 20 days leave each year. I have eight I must take.”

I glanced at her. “Really? I have five.”

After a pause, she said, “I have only been working. I would like to see the famous places here. If I stay, will you take your days with me?”

I reached over and grasped her hand. “I’d like that, Charlotte. Fair warning, though—I might be improper sometimes.”

“On vacation I can be improper too. You may not like it.” She grinned mischievously. “Now, tomorrow can we drive to the Grand Canyon?”

She thought I was joking when I told her how long that would take.

Author’s note:

My apologies for any errors in the French and cultural inaccuracies. Corrections welcome.