Night Terror

Author: Sch

“Come on, people, stand away from the door please,” the tour guide yelled to the happy, milling people. His eye invariably fell to the cleavage of the nearby blonde in the scant bathing suit. It was a unique costume for gliding, very original and attractive. It had most of the males in the cable car groaning in agony and lust.

The harsh overhead lights dimmed momentarily, breaking the tour guide’s amazed stare. He tore his eyes away from the blonde’s ample cleavage and looked out the window at the approaching platform. He hoped that nobody noticed the bulge of his cock, hard and thrusting against the material of his pants.

“How do we know the gliders are safe?” the blonde asked, intentionally returning his attention to her. The tour guide swallowed twice before he could answer. As his eyes went to the blonde, he used a steal will to keep his eyes from going to her chest. Her companion, an equally blonde and flawless male, smiled at the tour guide’s dilemma. He liked seeing the reactions to Anne’s amazing figure. It made her seem more… attractive, more desirable.

“Wa… we test them before we leave. Each one has been tested. You will see that I will pick a glider at random, I use no special machine. I would not jump off a 3 thousand foot cliff without a tested glider.”
“Wonderful. Are there any rules against having sex on the way down,” she asked in her innocent, little- girl voice.

“Oh God,” the tour guide groaned, turning away so he could push his cock down into his pants without being observed. The car bumped into the platform, coming to a sudden stop. The tour guide fell through the doors as they opened. He waited for the crowd to exit before he grabbed one end of a foam box. His assistant grabbed the other end and they carried the heavy box out onto the landing. The group watched curiously as the tour guide repositioned the box and threw open the lid. Inside were a jumble of archaic looking torches and a jumble of web-belts, each containing a 6″x12″ pack on the rear.

He handed the first torch and belt to the blonde, before she had the opportunity to bend and retrieve one herself. Her thin blouse strained to contain her breasts, bending could bring forth and explosion of female flesh. The tour guide couldn’t stand such a sight He was already horny as hell and there was no prospect of having his hard cock taken care of in the middle of the night, on top of a mountain.

“Oh look,” a cute black-haired woman said, pointing down the slope toward Aspen far below. “Why are the lights shimmering?”
“The air currents,” the tour guide said, handing her a torch and belt. Her hand sagged under the weight of the belt.

“How can something so heavy, be lighter than air?” she asked, looking at her companion.
“It’s the electronics,” her companion said in disdain. He was obviously a CEO type, slightly balding and looking for a thrill. Gliding was the next step up from bungie jumping.
“Technically, it’s not lighter than air,” the tour guide said, thrusting belts and torches into the hands around him. “It’s slightly heavier. That’s why it’s called a glider. You still fall, but at a dramatically slower rate.”

“I feel like the statue of liberty,” a young gay man said, posing dramatically with a torch in his hand.
“On guard,” his companion said, striking a fencing pose. They pretended to fence, clanging their torches together, to the complete horror of the tour guide. He hurried forward and slapped down their torches.

“Please, those are very special devices and they cost a fortune. Treat them with respect.”
“I’m an olympic athlete,” the second gay man said, holding his torch aloft and pretending to run in place. The tour guide whined in frustration. Sometimes he wished he could bitch-slap a few of the assholes in these groups. On the other hand, he thought as he watched the black haired woman reach down to adjust her socks. The bulge of her perfect ass, and rounded pubes in her black form-fitting tights was bordering on illegal. He could think of many things he would like to slap on her, but not with his hand.

“Why do we have these?” A portly man in a black windbreaker asked, bouncing the torch in his hand.
“We are called Liberty Gliding Tours, so it’s made to look like a replica of the statue of liberty torch,” the tour guide explained. “But it is much, much more than a simple light source. True, it’s made to provide the most pleasant light, very conducive to night gliding, but it is also a recording device, to record your Aspen vacation, and a GPS tracking device in case any of you try to escape with our valuable equipment or, God forbid, in case one of you goes down. There is also a tracking device in the belt.”

“I’m going down,” the buxom blonde said, pretending to whisper. She elicited several giggles from the men around her.
“Now, everyone turn on your gliders and step forward, two at a time,” he said, clapping his hands. There was actually a steep slope below them, not a cliff. If the belt failed, they may be cut and bruised, but not killed.
“Nobody leaps until I say so,” he said in a serious voice.

“How do we control them?” the black haired girl asked nervously. She stepped so close that her hair brushed his nose. It smelled like watermelons. He had a perfect view of her rounded breasts, as she bent forward to play with the pack resting against her cute ass. The guide had to resist the urge to touch them. She looked up into his startled face.

“I was just getting to that. Do all of you see that little disk on your belt, the one on your left side in a pouch?”
“This one?” the black haired girl asked, lifting a half dollar sized disk on a wire.
“That’s it. The controls are as simple as they can get. Hold that disk in the palm of your right hand. Hold it over your shoulder a little… yes, perfect,” he said, looking around the group with their hands held in the air.

“First squeeze the disk to set it to the position most comfortable for you, then move your hand, and the disk inside, left or right, to go left or right, up or down to go up or down. It’s that simple. With practice you can do tricks such as rolls, somersaults, or spins.”
“Waycool,” the blonde said, doing a little dance with the torch and disk held in the air.
“You two first,” he indicated the blonde and her partner. He was getting tired of her teasing, and her partner’s smug smiles. Step up to the platform,” he said, turning them slightly to make sure each had a red light showing on their packs.

“Ok, raise your disk hands, squeeze, and step off.”
“Oh God,” the blonde said and stepped off. Her long, nearly naked body glistened in the torch light as it gently glided off the platform, dropping slightly at first, then gently gliding down the hill. Their movements were jerky, at first, until they grew used to the controls. They heard a piercing streak, then laughter. Looking down the hill the tour guide saw the torch rolling over and over as the two blondes did somersaults in the air.

“That’s so dangerous,” the tour guide said under his breath.
“Doing somersaults is dangerous?” the black haired girl asked, stepping up to the edge of the platform.
“No, doing them so close to the ground is dangerous. If you people get the urge for aerobatics, do them with more altitude. You have hours to descend, if you like, you don’t have to skim the slopes like they are.”

The black haired girl and her partner stepped off. Next were two boys in their late teens. They gave each other an evil smile as they turned off their torches and leaped into the darkness. The tour guide new they planned on terrorizing the other gliders. Good, it would add to the excitement.
“Next,” he waved the gay men forward.
“Have you ever glided alone and naked,” the first gay man asked the tour guide in an intimate manner.

“Naked, yes, alone, certainly not,” he said, giving them a little push. They laughed and jeered as they disappeared into the darkness. Their torches cast a glow over the slope as they descended. Each torch made a pleasant island of light, in a vast sea of darkness.
“My God, that’s so beautiful,” a red haired woman said. She was last, and alone. It was funny, he couldn’t remember her arriving with the rest. Of course he had not been giving his group his full attention.

The tour guide had his own belt for this very reason, in case there was an extra unpaired tourist. Everyone on the tour was required to fly in pairs.
“I know, it’s magnificent. I love this job,” the tour guide said gently.
“It’s very romantic,” the girl said.
“It is,” the tour guide agreed while strapping on his belt and checking the red light on the pack, before he spun the belt around into the proper position. He checked hers, then looked at her expectantly.

“Why don’t they simply double over and hang by their belts,” she asked nervously.
“A power field, similar to an invisible board, will spring up at your back the minute you step off. It adheres to your body while the belt is activated, until your body makes contact with the ground. You’re nervous, aren’t you?” he asked shyly. She nodded with a quick smile.
“Your belt is on. Simply raise your hand and step off… when you are ready. Look, there goes my assistant in the cable car, now you have to jump, there’s no other way down.”
“Now or never,” she said, leaping into the darkness. The tour guide stepped off with his hand raised. He dropped it slightly, speeding up to join his partner as she rushed down the hill.
“What if I lower my hand too much and plow into the ground?” she asked as the wind whipped her hair into her face.

“It can’t, there is a fail safe mechanism built into the belt. You could descend entirely under the control of the belt. It won’t allow you to touch the ground until you reach the beacon at base camp. Slow down,” he yelled into the rushing air.

“Lift your hand,” he said patiently. She did and slowed almost immediately. With a sigh of relief the tour guide slowed as well. The wind had been cold. Now that they traveled slowly, the warm night air warmed him again quickly. He turned his torch down and shined it on the passing ground. Trees and bushes drifted by in dim light of the torch. It reminded him of how the bottom of a shallow lake looked, while drifting by in a boat.

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