Katie in Costa Rica - Unveiled

The camp was on a bluff above an isolated beach, and right now, he said, a drone operated by a young local named Jose was hovering over it, taking video. It would come to the window of Katie's room, as if was going to enter through the white curtains billowing in the breeze, but would of course stay outside.

He asked Katie to get back in the bed with the sheet over her. As she did, he opened the door wider and in came a young Australian surfer he introduced as Trevor; he lived in the fishing village to the south, and worked occasionally for the camp. Trevor wore just a pair of boardshorts and had a camera around his neck. Behind him was Ramon, who had driven us from the airport, carrying video equipment.

Katie blinked. She was not expecting this - so many men, right in her bedroom. But they were all gentlemen, and Ramon even shyly averted his eyes from her as he gave the video camera to the owner.

"OK, now," the owner said. "Pretend like you're waking up, slowly, luxuriously. Stretch your arms perhaps." He grinned. "Look happy. Like this is the best place on Earth."

He pushed the button on the video camera as she did as he asked, rolling from her belly to her side. One leg snaked out of the covers, which slid partway down her back. She smiled at the video camera and slowly turned on her back and stretched her arms out, tossing her hair off her face.

She was naked under the sheet.

Later she told me that she felt a little strange, a little detached, knowing the three men, virtually strangers, were in the room with her. But then she realized it felt luxurious, a little daring. Heat began to grow, low in her belly.

A faint whirring could be heard. Ramon went to the window overlooking the ocean, and pushed the gauzy curtains open a little. He nodded to the owner and resumed his position: The drone had made its approach.

"OK Katie," the owner said. "Do you mind getting out of bed and walking to the window, as if you were going to look out at the ocean? Leave the sheet on, of course."

She nodded, and gathered the sheet around her, just above her breasts. She slid out of bed, slowly, and stretched again. She walked to the window and pushed aside the curtain.

"OK now could you just take it all in - the view, the breeze?" the owner asked.

Then he made a suggestion. Could she let the sheet slide off her to the floor? It would make a nice ending to this scene, and they would stop filming, of course, as she let go.

"We won't actually show, you know, anything," he said.

Katie nodded, as if in a spell.

"When?" she said.

The owner paused, speaking slowly. "How about ... now."

And she did, feeling the sheet slip off her back and over her breasts. It paused as it reached her bottom, stuck for a second, then slid below.

Instinctively, she grabbed it before it hit the floor and pulled it back over her hips.

"My camera's off," the owner said. "That was great, Katie."

But had she heard Trevor's camera click, click, clicking as the sheet made its descent? She couldn't be sure, and found that she wasn't even sure if she really cared.

Standing at the window, her back to the three men, she looked at the Pacific below. It was really beautiful, she thought, far more rugged than flat Florida.

She felt the heat in her lower belly building as the wind teased the thin curtain over her bare breasts, brushing back and forth against her stiffening nipples. She looked down and realized what was happening. I really should stop his, she thought. But she made no move to do so, not as the gauzy curtain caressed her. It felt so good.

Finally she pulled the sheet up over her, noting her reluctance to do so. At that moment she realized that the drone was still hovering there, perhaps 10 yards away, purring quietly outside the window.

It stayed that way for three or four seconds more, then slowly lifted up and disappeared over the rooftop.

******

"I told you!" Sam cheered, pounding his beer can on the dining table on the veranda. "Best trip ever!"

It was. The surf had been perfect all day at the reef where Luis had taken us. We'd eaten at the truck, surfed all afternoon and stayed out until almost sunset before making it back the surf camp, stopping on the way for more beer.

But it wasn't just the surf he was talking about.

Ramon and Trevor, the Australian, had set up a projection screen under the veranda to show a rough-cut of the video of that day. All seven us surfers pushed close to the screen, and the other guests - four middle-aged Canadian fishermen in floppy hats and UV-protecting clothes with lots of pockets and vents - hung back, just a little.

We'd hooted as the the film began, as the drone came in close over the resort, flying over the beach below and slowing to give a nice view of the layout of the place, then coming in close to pause just outside Katie's window.

We quieted, though, at the sight of her under the sheet, her tanned arms and legs, her sun-bleached, wild hair. Then she got up from the bed and walked to the window. The owner had been true to his word: The video cut off as the sheet slid slowly down her back.

Someone at the table groaned in frustration.

Then, the beach below the resort: Katie in a bikini I'd never seen before, given her by the owner's wife, who'd designed a few things she planned to put on sale at the surf camp.

This was a Costa Rican flag bikini, with red, white and blue stripes across the triangle tops. There wasn't room for stripes below though: The bottom was just a strip of red fabric, an inch wide, that went across Katie's hips and dipped in a sharp V into the cleavage of her bottom, where it disappeared.

On screen, she picked up her surfboard and walked toward the water.

"I messed around a little with slow-motion here," the owner said.

"Good choice," Sam said.

Then we saw Katie paddling out, catching waves. The perspective shifted to that of the drone, which hovered over her, over her gleaming back and bottom, before pulling back, showing the whole panorama of cliffs and waves and an offshore island.

Then Katie coming out of the water, pushing back her hair, and walking - in slow motion again - across the beach and up the steep steps back to the camp. The camera lingered behind her on the steps, catching the sway of her bare bottom, the glimpse of red that cupped her pussy, before cutting away.

More groans.

Then Katie at the outdoor shower, in that bikini, the water flowing over her every inch of her, all 110 pounds, the water coursing over her small breasts, down her back, over her lower-back dimples and - Jesus - over her ballet-toned bottom.

Still in slow-motion.

I could hardly believe this was my shy wife. But then she turned to the camera, and there was that smile I know so well - until she made a face, stuck her tongue out and flicked water toward the lens.

It was all beautifully shot, and it did its job as a sales pitch. I could easily picture cubicle-dwelling men and women across the globe pushing the "BOOK TRIP" button on their computer screens as this tropical dream played.

Then it cut to us surfing that morning. Luis, the surf guide, had taken video of us as well, in those wonderful four-foot waves. Any other day, watching ourselves, we would have lingered over every wave, asked for rewinds, for freeze-frames.

Not now. We were restless. Eager to get back to Katie.

And there she was, in the yoga studio, stretching toward the sun in a simple pink tank top - it had the camp name in small letters across the front - and tight baby blue yoga shorts cut halfway up her bottom.

And when she eased into an upward dog pose, sure enough, the camera zoomed in so you could read the surf camp's name, a logo printed right across the back of the waist band, almost obscured by the swell of her buttocks below.

Then more surfing. More waiting for Katie.

Now she was in a baby blue one-piece swimsuit, strolling through the grounds. It wasn't a bikini, but that was just fine.

It dipped low across the top, showing the swell of her small breasts. On the sides, it was cut so that a generous amount of the outsides of her breasts could be seen - a usually forbidden sight, and the sexier for it.

It was low and bare across her back, and the legs were high - cut up past her hips and curving in back to rest above each of her butt cheeks, leaving just a narrow strip of baby blue that quickly disappeared between her cheeks. Her entire bottom poked out, unencumbered by the suit.

On the video, she paused to put a flower in her hair, then walked to the pool, dipped her toe in it, and slowly slid into the water. She swam to the walk-up bar and sat on a concrete ledge under it. There was some sort of a drink with an umbrella in it waiting for her on the bar. She picked it up, took a sip, and turned back around.

The water had plastered her suit to her body and turned the baby blue material almost see-through. She smiled as the camera zoomed in on her face, then down over her chest.

There, in tiny black letters on the thin wet fabric, was the name of the surf camp. But that's not what drew our attention.

On screen Katie took a big sip from her drink and held it out to the camera, giving her big girl-next-door smile.

There were a lot of people there under the veranda: Seven of us surfers, the four Canadians, the camp owner, Trevor the Australian, Ramon the handyman.

And Katie.

Yet the only sounds you could hear was the breeze through the thick plants, the low crack of waves on the beach below. I was keenly aware of my erection inside my boardshorts, so intense it was almost painful.

Cut to more surfing footage, and then the screen went dark. That broke the spell, a little.

We cheered. "Best video ever!" Sam exclaimed.

"Mighty fine work," said one of the middle-aged Canadians. "Is it too late to start surfing?"

"Thanks guys," said the owner. "Glad you liked it. I've already emailed all of you a copy. The connection's slow here, but you should get it soon. But I'm going to do a little more work on it, maybe add a couple more scenes, add some music, and get it online, probably tomorrow. Katie, what do you think?"

She had stood up during the video, come around behind me and rested her hands on my shoulders. I looked up. She was biting her lip.

Katie was still wearing the baby blue one-piece from the video. From my perspective, I could see the sides of her breasts, and could have read, if I had cared to, the name of the surf camp stretched across the suit, framed by her protruding nipples..

She nodded. "I think ... that sounds great."

*****

After that video, I'd been eager to be alone with Katie, but the other guys were in no hurry to end the night. They brought her more umbrella drinks and coaxed her to the dance floor as old soul music played.

She was having a blast. This was the music she'd grown up with, and she moved naturally with it, in contrast to the gawky maneuvers of the men around her. She made no exaggerated sexy moves, no stripper moves; instead she danced with pure joy, just as she had done as a teenager back home, singing into a hairbrush microphone.

I couldn't stop looking at her. Her hair was in a high, bouncing ponytail. She wore her wedge sandals with straps that encircled her calves. And of course that baby blue one-piece: for all that it covered, what it left uncovered became even sexier.

The top had a habit of sliding down her breasts. I could have sworn it was only her the top of her nipples that kept it from falling right off, bringing the material to a halt. The first few times, she pulled the top back up. Finally she gave up. No one complained.

I took her hand for a slow dance when "My Girl" began playing, but Sam soon cut in, followed by Jason and Bryan.

It became a game, through that song and the ones that followed, both fast and slow: 30 seconds, then one of the guys - six of them, all shirtless, in boardshorts - would cut in and take her hand, wrap an arm around her waist, fingers resting on the bare skin that her one-piece exposed at the top of her buttocks.

During one song, she had to move Sam's hand as he slid it from her lower back down over one protruding cheek. "Sorry!" he said. "Didn't know what I was doing."

It was an odd feeling watching the guys dance with Katie, especially on slower songs, when they pulled her close to their bare chests, her thin swimsuit top mashed against them, their hands just above her naked bottom. They are big, and she is small and slim, and sometimes they even put their hands dangerously close to the exposed sides of her breasts, and lifted her completely off the ground, where she soared, like the ballet dancer she is.

The middle-aged twerking Canadian fisherman from the night before even got in the act, his cargo shorts-covered butt making comical circles as it moved.

This time Katie didn't follow his example. She just stopped, put one hand on her hip and playfully shook a finger at him. "No, no, no," she said.

I had to smile - she was clearly enjoying herself, caught up in the spell of the music, the movement. Back home, she could sometimes get stressed by the demands of daily life. That seemed far away now.

Around midnight, things finally began to wind down after the owner came over to tell us that a trip was planned to a waterfall bright and early; winds wouldn't be good for surfing, so an alternative was needed.

The guys began drifting off to their rooms, giving Katie hugs as they left. The Canadians leaned in too, one arm around her bare back, the other gripping yet another beer. They had no intentions of calling it a night yet.

*******

"OK, that was even MORE male energy out there," Katie said with a laugh when we finally made it up the stairs and back to our room. "I have to ask. I mean, are all you guys, like, horny all the time? I mean, just dancing - I could feel their, you know ...

I teased her. "Their you-know?"

She blushed. "It has hard not to notice them," she said.

"Well, we are a long from home, and you are the only girl here," I said, "and you are pretty damn beautiful. I mean - little ol' Katie - just look at you now. Two days in bikinis and not much to them ..."

My phone pinged, followed by Katie's. I looked: The video had finally made it to us.

I opened my copy and Katie sat in my lap as we watched it again - the bed sheet, the Costa Rica bikini, the yoga clothes, the baby blue one-piece she had on now.

My growing cock was obvious beneath my shorts, but as the video ended, Katie stood up and went to that open window where she had stood in her bedsheet. The curtain was billowing in the night air, and you could still faintly hear the Motown playing, occasionally drowned out by the Canadians laughing outside below the window.

She began swaying her bottom to the music, then turned to face me. She ran her hands up over her breasts, then down her hips. The breeze blew the curtain against her, wrapping itself around her body.

l stood up but she held up a hand.

"Stay," Katie said. "Watch. Just watch."

She gripped part of the thin curtain in her left hand, which she brought to her belly and then between her legs. She began stroking her pussy through the curtain and the baby blue suit.

"Tell me," she said. "Tell me."

I sat on the edge of the bed. I had a hard time talking, but I knew what she was asking for.

"You know how hot you looked in that video, right? How fucking sexy you are," I said. "And you know that every guy here is looking at the video right now. Replaying it. Freeze-framing it. Right now. Looking at you. At Katie. Every single one of the guys, and the owner, and Trevor, and Ramon, and Luis ..."

Katie moaned, moving her hand faster.

"Every one?" she asked.

"All of them," I said. "Looking at you, Right now."

Her voice quivered and her hand, still clutching the curtain, moved faster against her. "The Canadians?"

"They're right outside. You can hear them. They'll see it soon."

She shivered, cried out, her legs buckling.

"I wanted them to see," she said, breathing heavily. "I wanted ... I let them see. I let them see ..."

I was touching myself now. "Who? See what?"

"In the pool. The cameras. In the one-piece. The owner. Trevor. Ramon. The guy with the drone. They were all there."

"See what?" I asked again.

"This suit," she said, gasping for breath. "You could see almost everything anyway. I told them to turn off their cameras. I think they did, and when they did, I ... I ..."

She reached her free hand up to the low neckline of the one-piece's top. She pulled it down and toward the center and her left breast spring free, its nipple swollen, gigantic, pushing through the billowing curtain. She pulled at the other side and her right breast followed.

"I let them see," she gasped, her breasts bouncing free. Her swimsuit straps slid down her arms.

She pushed them off completely, and the suit fell to her lower belly, hung up on her hips. She looked down at herself, at the gauzy white curtain that covered her. She moved her legs apart and the suit fell to her knees. Her right hand caressed her breasts, brushed over her nipples.

"I let them see. Looked just like that .."

As the boisterous voices of the middle-aged Canadians rose up and through the window, Katie began to come, clutching her breasts with one hand, her other hand moving even more quickly across her pussy. It lasted a long time, and just as she ended, I came too.

Ten minutes later I was ready again, and we made love, slowly, luxuriously this time. No words needed.

******

The next morning, with the memories of yesterday fresh in my waking up mind - Katie in that video, Katie admitting she had exposed herself, Katie dancing in that outrageously sexy one-piece, innocence and wantonness mixed together - I woke up with a giant hard-on. I reached for her, but she wasn't there.

I heard movement in the bathroom, then saw her come out the door, wrapped in a towel. It was still dark outside, but I could see she'd brushed her hair out and pulled it back into a high ponytail - one of my favorite looks. I told her so.

"I know, silly," she said. "And I also thought you'd like what I'm wearing. I bought it just for you a few weeks ago, and you were lucky you put in your backpack for me."

"The towel?"

"No silly. This."

She dropped the towel, then turned slowly a few times as she came closer to me. She had on a silver metallic bikini.

The top was tiny and slid on strings; the bottom of each side was only about one inch of fabric, which widened slightly over the nipple before narrowing again. It tied in the back and around her neck. The bottom dipped in front, perilously low, and in the back was just a narrow V of puckered material that basically left her entire round butt exposed. It tied on the sides in big loops.

I could barely speak.

She was swaying her hips for me. "I bought this just for special alone-times like this. NO one else can see it. But you can."

She swayed some more. "I like how it makes my piercing look," she said, fingering her belly button. "But I think it needs a little more."

She turned away - I about came as she did - and went back into the bathroom, coming out with a long silver necklace she'd worn on the flight down. She unwound it and arranged it low across her bare hips.

Katie saw my state. "Looks like someone needs a little love," she said. She climbed on the end of the bed and crawled toward me, like a tiger. "Grrrr," she growled.

Reaching me, she sat up over me. With a flourish, she pulled at the ties at the side of her bikini bottom, hoisted it into the air. "Ta-da!"

She slid slickly on to me.

"Wow," was all I could say.

She whispered into my ear. "I was just thinking - the dancing, the video, the pool. You. Me. Last night."