Swiss Misses

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Oca 24, 2023 // By:analsex // No Comment

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Swiss Misses

On a random Saturday afternoon, at the beginning of summer 2012, Dion — who we last met in the story The Sandbelt Hotel — asked if I fancied a beer in the beachside suburb of St. Kilda in Melbourne. I did not require much convincing as the weather was great, and the beach always brings out the scantily clad beautiful people.

We agreed to meet at the Elephant his gaze was fixed firmly on the street.

“Excuse me,” Asked the plain girl suddenly, “Do you live in Melbourne?”

“Yes, we do,” I replied.

Dion languidly turned his head at the interruption.

“Do you know a good place to dance tonight?”

“What sort of music do you like?” I asked, “They have a band here tonight.”

“Bands are playing at the POW and the Espy as well,” Dion chimed in.

“It’s a ticketed event at the Prince of Wales tonight,” I clarified.

“Do you dance?” Asked plain Jane.

Dion and I exchanged glances before replying that it depended on how much alcohol we had.

“I dance like a Thunderbird,” I said.

“What is zis?” Asked the braided girl.

“One of those puppets on a string,” I replied with a goofy demonstration, “A marionette.”

Both girls laughed when I did an impression of a Thunderbird.

“I want to see zis dance,” laughed the braided girl.

“Maybe later,” I smiled.

From that encouraging start, Dion and I engaged in conversation with these two European friends. Both were in Australia on two-year backpacker visa. They met in Western Australia and worked their way across the country before finishing up in Melbourne. Their visas had between three and four months remaining, and they planned on running out the clock in this city.

“Where are you staying?” I asked.

“Nomads,” Said the plain girl referring to a nearby backpackers’ hostel.

“How is it?”

“We stayed in better places,” Laughed the braided girl.

“We share a room,” The plain Jane chimed in, “So no-one steals our…stuff.”

“You have things stolen before?” Asked Dion.

“Not many things, but yes.”

“I’m Jason, and this is Dion,” I said, making the eventual introductions.

“I’m Melanie,” Responded the braided girl, “And this is Pia.”

“Where you from?” Asked Dion.


That is a country that I would not have guessed, but it helped explain the use of specific German phrases that I picked up from my clandestine eavesdropping.

“Have you enjoyed Australia?” Asked Dion.

“It is a beautiful country,” They replied in unison.

“What work have you been doing?”

“Fruit picking. Waiting on tables. Pouring beers. Au pair.” Typical backpacking jobs.

“And showing my boobs,” laughed Melanie.

“What do you mean?” I asked in disbelief.

“In the mining towns,” She clarified, “I serve beers with no clothes on.”

“Ah,” Remote mining towns regularly employed willing backpackers to work the bars virtually naked, which enabled them to rake in a significant amount of tax-free money, via tips, for putting on skimpy shows. I could not imagine the plain Pia stripping or serving beers with her top off.

“What work are you doing in Melbourne?” I asked.

“We work hard since we arrived in Australia!” they both replied in unison.

“We not work here,” Replied Pia, “We enjoy the summer before returning home.”

“Fair enough,” Said Dion, “Sounds like you earned it.”

At that moment, Pia swung around and pulled out a high-end Canon camera.

“It is sunset soon, ja?” She asked.

“In about 30 minutes, I reckon,” I said, looking behind me at the sun westering towards the horizon.

“I want to take photos of the sunset,” Pia said, finishing her drink.

“You like to come with us?”

“Sure,” Dion replied after exchanging an affirmative glance at me.

We finished our drinks and squeezed our way through the thronging crowd on the pavement by the pub and made our way down Fitzroy Street towards the beach.

“Can we drink on the beach?” Asked Melanie.

“Not legally,” I said, “But we can if we’re discrete.”

“Can we get some drinks?”

“Sure,” I replied, “There’s a bottle shop over there.”

Melanie and I made a house call while Dion and Pia crossed the road, hopped over the sea wall and headed toward the shoreline.

“What do you fancy?” I asked as Melanie browsed the fridges stacked with a cornucopia of booze choices.

“I like cider,” She replied, “Do you like it?”

“Sure,” It was not my first choice, but if it is wet, then I will drink it.

Melanie picked a six-pack of White Rabbit pear-flavoured cider and proceeded to the counter. The six-pack cost twenty istanbul travesti bucks, and I contributed half of the cost.

Presently, we joined Pia and Dion on the beach. The former had her shoes off, dipped her toes in the water and took photos while Dion laughed and joked. He was quite the charmer when he wanted to be and was dazzling Pia with his Sri Lankan good looks.

Melanie and I sat on the sea wall and shared the first bottle of cider, discrete enough not to be noticed by the crowds walking by. Plain clothed police regularly patrol the St. Kilda beach because of the relatively high level of persistent petty crime.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Melanie sighed, before handing me the bottle.

“Yeah, it’s our patch of paradise,” I replied, swallowing the acidic pear juice and wincing.

“We will miss Australia.”

“I’m sure Australia will miss you,” I said with the maximum level of cheese.

“It will miss my boobs,” Melanie laughed.

“Switzerland will appreciate their return,” I joked.

“Too cold to get them out and no mining towns.”

“Did you enjoy that work?”

“Yes,” Melanie replied, taking a swig of cider, “I make lots of money.”

“Lots of sex?”

Melanie burst out laughing at me, but she did not blush. She shot me a knowing glance confirming to me that her itches over the past two years in Australia had been scratched. We chatted for some time about each other before Dion and Pia eventually joined us.

As the sun set across Port Philip Bay and bathed the calm water in beams of orange light, Pia took several shots before passing the camera to Dion to photograph her against the orange ball fading from the sky.

“That’s amazing!” Sighed Melanie, finishing off the bottle.

As the long shadows of darkness descended on the land, Melanie handed ciders to Dion and Pia as we cracked another bottle.

“Cheers,” The men toasted.

“Prost,” Replied the girls.

The rattle and bells of the trams trundling by combined with the aroma of food, heralded the onset of the evening’s entertainment across the St. Kilda precinct.

Melanie suddenly pinched my leg. I look at her, and she directed my gaze over her shoulder. Dion and Pia were locked in an embrace and kissing gently.

“Didn’t take long,” I observed.

“Perhaps we should do zis?” Melanie replied with a cheeky grin.

“I’d like that.”

Without further ado, Melanie and I started kissing. It took no time at all to establish a sensual rhythm as our lips floated across each other and the tips of our tongues danced. I was in no rush and let Melanie direct the action, but I was certainly growing in strength down below.

“Let’s go dancing!” Announced Pia after some time engaged in feverish kissing with Dion.

“Ja!” Replied Melanie gleefully.

I looked at my watch, which showed the time to be a little after 9 PM, meaning that the local bands were about to start.

“Espy or the Elephant?” I asked Dion.

“Start with one and go to the other.”

For the next three hours, the four of us drank, danced and kissed the evening away. Eventually, the alcohol and physical exertion took their toll, and I was keen not to miss the last tram home. Dion and I knew that we were not getting laid tonight until we went on further dates, but as we departed, the four of us exchanged phone numbers.


The four of us caught up for drinks and kisses the next day at the same pub in St. Kilda. We agreed to meet for dinner the following Friday at the Red Spice Road restaurant in the CBD.

“What do you want to do now?” I asked after we settled our bill.

“Dancing?” Asked Melanie.

“There’s an Irish band playing at the Railway Hotel in Malvern,” I suggested.

The Railway Hotel was one minute from my house. Dion lived several stops further down the line, so my suggestion was entirely self-serving, but if the girls wanted to leave us high and dry, they could catch a tram outside the pub that would take them right back to St. Kilda.

“Irish music?” Asked Pia, “I love it.”

Twenty minutes later, the four of us exited a train at Caulfied Station and made the short walk to the Railway Hotel. We could hear the notes of the folky jigs well before we crossed the threshold of the pub. The place was packed, with like-minded revellers with similar tastes in music. Guinness was on special, and I purchased a round of the Dublin stout. The two Swiss misses drank enthusiastically, oblivious to the strength of the dark ale.

After four Guinness’, I was feeling the effects, and so was everyone else. The girls’ toilet breaks increased in frequency and duration as the night wore on, istanbul travestileri but they loved dancing to the Irish band.

“Thank you!” Announced the ginger-haired lead singer when the last song of the set came to an end to a rousing reception, “We’re taking a break but will be back soon. Stick around!”

We were sweaty from people’s closeness and the time on the dance floor, so we decided to cool off in the beer garden among likeminded revellers — and smokers.

“How are you feeling?” I asked Melanie, who hugged me.

“I have a great time tonight,” She replied, kissing me.

Dion and Pia were expressing similar sentiments behind us.

“You live close?”

“One minute from here!”

“Really?” Melanie asked, disbelieving my statement.

I walked her to the fence and pointed to my townhouse.


“You planned this?” Asked my braided Swiss guest.

“Not really,” I said, turning around and pointing towards a tram that was trundling towards St. Kilda, “That tram will take you home.”

“I want to go to your home.”

“What about those two?” I asked, nodding towards Dion and Pia.

“She go with him.”

“You planned this?”


“Whenever you’re ready,” I said, smiling.

Following some further frenzied dancing, Melanie and I said our goodbyes to Dion and Pia, who jumped into a taxi and sped off down the highway.

We walked the short distance to my townhouse. Seconds later, Melanie and I were standing in my kitchen chugging bottles of beer.

“You had a good time?” I asked.

“Wunderbar,” Melanie smiled, before draining her beer bottle, “I love dis country.”

I chuckled internally at Melanie’s pidgin English and how she and Pia always spoke in the present tense. I found out later that neither had learned the language proficiently at school in Switzerland but had sought to understand it in several Anglo countries. She told me that there was a distinct difference in language styles and slang between the Australian city and the bush. Melanie found the latter a challenge to master but more enjoyable to use in everyday conversation.

“We go to bed now, ja?”


We ascended the stairs and I introduced Melanie to my bedroom.

“Wow,” She exclaimed, “Our dorm at the backpackers in not zis big.”

“Must be cramped there,” I replied.

“Small room, for sure.”

Unboxing, or unwrapping, Melanie was an unusual experience. For one, she had far more graffiti than I expected, but the ink did not appear to be connected to a theme. Rather, her tattooing consisted of a random collection of shapes, illustrations and chemical chains. The second anomaly was the feel of her skin, which while supple, had an unusual, but sensual, coarseness to it that I have never experienced before or after.

Melanie’s breasts were magnificent, C-cup, firm, solid and with small erect nipples that were sensitive to my touch. Her body was lithe and shapely even if she rounded out at maybe 1.6 metres in height. She was a cute little package, who was ready for action.

Being European and having binged watched much of the golden age of porn, I figured Melanie would be up for some backdoor action. However, every time I went anywhere near her most sensitive hole, I was firmly but politely ”discouraged”. In any case, the sex that night and subsequently was mind-blowing if a little pedestrian for my more perverted tastes.


Several weeks later, the four of us arranged to visit the town of Portsea on the Mornington Peninsula for the day. The town boasted a pub whose beer garden rested on Port Phillip Bay’s gentle shores, while down the road were raging beaches of Bass Strait. We intended to show the Swiss misses around Australia’s state of Victoria for their remaining time in our country.

The weekend we chose was not the best, weather-wise. The day was overcast with a stiff southerly breeze but temperate. For me, there was a zero probability that I would be dipping my toes in the water. The Southern Ocean never really warms up in summer and can be incredibly violent, but the environment is second-to-none.

The four of us met up at my place, packed the car with the usual beach gear and set off. Before reaching Portsea, we made several stops along the way, including the pretty town of Sorrento, to let the girls explore and photograph.

It was lunchtime when we reached our destination, the Portsea Hotel. This pub had a particular Tudor look about it and oozed country charm, making it insanely popular with locals and visitors alike. Today was one of those days, but I phoned ahead and secured a table.

Following a tasty lunch travesti istanbul made up of tasting platters, shared dishes and local wine, we went for a walk along the bayside beach. The sun forced its light and heat through the light cloud cover, which transformed the environment. Out came the cameras for more photos, but, damn, for a good reason. This part of the world is stunning on a good day.

The girls walked ahead of us with their feet in the gently lapping water and babbling away in their ‘altered’ German. Every so often, they would turn their heads towards us, smile and laugh.

“What do you think they are talking about?” Dion asked.

“Us, for sure,” I replied, “How’s it going with Pia?”

“Yeah, good,” Dion said, “She’s a lot of fun.”

“What about in the bedroom?”

“Depends on her mood,” He said, “From vanilla to wild.”

“Melanie’s strictly vanilla but has an appetite and gives great head.”

“So, she hasn’t given up her arse?”

“Won’t let me anywhere near it,” I confirmed.

“Pia does,” Dion laughed at my disappointed countenance when learning this information before adding, “Only after several drinks, though.”

In my consideration, Pia was ordinary to look at and to converse with. Melanie was the better choice, and we had much in common out of the bedroom. The only disappointment was that Melanie was not particularly adventurous between the sheets. The sex was enjoyable, yes, but it was pretty safe. Aside from an aversion to anal, Melanie did not take a facial let alone swallowing my seed. I did not even bring up golden showers because I knew the answer to any request I would have made.

“Perhaps she’s taking it slowly,” Dion offered, “Pia says Melanie is wild in the bedroom.”

“Huh,” I said, thinking, “Melanie has not said anything about Pia’s sexual prowess.”

“I get the hint that men aren’t the only gender these two are interested in.”

Really!” I said, surprised and interested, “The two of them?”

“Reading between the lines,” Dion laughed, “Pia’s dropped hints.”

“Likelihood of a show for us?”

“Don’t know, but that’d be good, wouldn’t it?”

“I’ll say,” I replied, acknowledging the passage of time since I last saw some in-the-flesh lesbian action.

“Maybe some group action?” Suggested Dion with a lascivious chuckle.

“That would be wild,” I agreed, thinking about the possibilities.

“I’ve planted the seeds,” Dion cryptically said with a sly smile.

Dion, whose smoky Sri Lankan looks melted every woman who crossed his path, enjoyed dirty and extreme sex as much as I did, but he was better at getting it than I was. If anyone was going to convince these Swiss misses to engage in a group action, even partner swapping, it was Dion.

“What have you said?” I asked as we walked on the sand a little behind the girls.

“One night, Pia asked me about my wildest sexual adventures,” Dion replied.

“That would have been a long conversation,” I snorted.

“Without labouring the point, Pia expressed interest in experiencing a few of those ‘adventures’ before returning home.”

“I trust you’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

Dion nodded, and there the conversation fizzled out. We joined the girls and made our way back to the pub.

After several more drinks, the girls, acting quite tipsy, wanted to go to the beach. The weather on the ocean side of the peninsula differed significantly from the bayside. While remaining warmish, more cloud cover hung overhead, and a stiff breeze whipped up the waves to a fearsome height. There were plenty of beachgoers, but only those brave enough to ride the waves were in the water.

Dion and I carried the beach gear while the girls brought the drinks. They found the breeze a little uncomfortable and suggested planting the rugs in the sand behind the dunes. Capital idea since the dunes provided an effective shield from the wind. We quickly found a suitable dip that was deep enough to offer the privacy and comfort we desired.

After laying the beach rugs on the sand, the girls open the drinks and for a time we chatted, mostly in English. However, there were several examples of the Swiss misses branching off in their native dialect, and it was clear that they were talking about us. There was little doubt in our minds that the afternoon at the beach was about to become spicy.

The action kicked off with a joke that caused much mirth. Melanie and Pia slapped our thighs simultaneously and left them there. Melanie’s hand on my left thigh and Pia’s on my right thigh. Dion had a hand on each of his thighs.

Then the girls began stroking our thighs in between drinks, subtly at first, but they quickly became overt. Behind dark glasses, Dion shot me a knowing glance. I placed my hands inside Melanie’s and Pia’s thighs as close to the snatches as I dared in between drinks. The heat emanating from between their legs was intense.

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