Katie in Costa Rica - Unveiled

I pushed deeper into her, just as a loud car horn sounded. You could hear the truck running, right outside the room.

"Come on," voices said. "Waterfall's a-waiting. Let's go."

"No," I whispered to Katie. I'd forgotten about the waterfall trip. "Stay ..."

More honking, more warnings. I held her hips, but she pulled herself off me. We both groaned. "We'll just have to wait," she said, giving the head of my cock a quick kiss. "It'll be a nice wait."

She started heading to the chest of the drawers in the corner to get something other than the silver bikini to wear.

Someone leaned on the car horn. "We're leaving!" they yelled. Tired squealed, once, then twice, sending laughter through the windows.

I was at the door, relunctantly, pulling my boardshorts over my erection. Katie looked down at her the bikini bottom in her hand and at the thin silver chain around her hips. Another car horn.

"Oh, what the heck," she said. She tied the bottoms loosely at her sides, grabbed her sandals and went out the door I was already opening.

The sun was not yet up, but you could see faint color spreading over the hills. Another bikini day in Costa Rica.

******

It was a bumpy trip to the waterfall, our two trucks bouncing on dirt roads as went higher into the coastal hills. Finally we pulled over at an unmarked pullout. The engine turned off and we piled out. It was finally light outside. The air was already thick with humidity and the jungle leaves dripped with water.

Katie was last out of the back seat, turning sideways to put on her wedge sandals, winding the laces around her calves.

Then she slid out, eased herself down to the ground, ponytail bouncing.

Katie, the girl next door, once so shy, was now fully aware of the effect she had on men.

She stretched her arms above her, arched her back. "I am so ready for this," she said.

All seven of us from Florida gaped. Trevor, the Australian, gaped, and Ramon and Jose gaped along with him. Even the handsome surf-camp owner, usually so rich-guy smooth, had a stunned look on his face.

In the morning light, you could see the thin chain on her hips, high up on one hip, angling lower on the other. You could see the jewel in her bellybutton, then the vast expanse of skin stretching below that to the curved, unimaginably low front of her bikini.

"That way then," the owner managed to say, pointing toward a thin path that wound upward into the jungle.

Katie took off - she'd spent her childhood hiking in the mountains near her house, so she was ready.

Her bottom and bouncing ponytail disappeared around the first turn. We hustled to keep up, pushing and shoving and laughing. The view kept us going: the small puckered triangle of silver that formed the back of her bikini, the thin flash of silver between her buttocks as her slim legs took each long stride.

Motivation.

You could hear the waterfall before you saw it. Katie got their first - standing, hands on hips, looking up at a wide waterfall, about 50 feet high, that crashed to a rock ledge before flowing into the big pool in front of us.

We were huffing when we reached it. Katie had already untied her sandals and was heading up the last section of narrow trail to the ledge.

We hustled after her, and watched her edge her way across wet rocks and disappear behind the waterfall. We followed. There was about 15 feet of space between the mountain wall and the thundering water. Most of it was taken up by a pool of water about thigh-high. It was cool and misty, and water drops quickly collected on our skin.

I heard a loud, echoing hoot of joy. It was Katie.

"Is this the greatest thing you've ever seen?" she screamed. She hugged me, and in her excitement hugged each of our six friends, one at a time.

She waded into the water, close to the falling water. I had never seen her so beautiful or so sexy. The spray had left her drenched, and her nipples poked through the silver top, which was so small it left both her cleavage and the sides of her breasts exposed. The silver chain around the curve of her hips and the jewel in her bellybutton drew your attention to her suit's abbreviated bottom. And that smile - it was big, genuine, able to light a fire, right there in that damp room.

She had intended that bikini to be seen by no one other than me, but by this point it seemed like the most natural, glorious thing in the world.

Jason, my best friend back in Florida, leaned toward my ear. "Dude, I don't believe in a God, but I'm starting to reconsider. This could not have been created by accident."

Katie turned around to marvel at the silver waterfall. Now you could see her two deep dimples at the top of her butt, glistening with the water that had collected in them.

Jason laughed. "Man, now He's just showing off."

*****

Katie squealed with laughter as she splashed in the bigger pool at the bottom of the waterfall. We'd settled into an unnamed game that seemed to consist of us chasing Katie through the water as she tried to escape.

She was out-manned though and was soon caught, again and again, arms wrapping around her front to pull her against them. She told me later how she felt so powerful at the touch of the men's hard-ons through their suits as they pulled her bottom against them, their hands lingering on her curves.

And each time the victor lifted her above the water, holding up his squirming, giggling, silver-bikinied, 5-foot-3 prize, before tossing her into the water.

And the chase was on once more.

Until Sam, the wiseguy, put an end to that. Emboldened after catching her for the eighth or ninth time, he let her drop from his hands while yanking on the bikini knot that held her top on.

Katie didn't notice, at first. No one but Sam did. She sprang out of the water, giggling, right into my arms. I felt her nipples, stiff against me, and reached down her back - nothing.

She wriggled to escape. I held her tight. "Uh, Katie, your top ..."

She finally realized what had happened and dropped into the water, only her head showing.

"Sam!"

"Accident," he said, weakly. "Sorry. Now where did it go?"

We all looked, with varying degrees of effort. The silver top was gone.

To my surprise, Katie smiled. "Well, I guess that stupid game is over then," she said, sticking her tongue out at us.

"Are you sure?" several voices said.

"I am so sure," she replied, turning and diving to swim away from us - a flash of silver, a bare bottom, then gone.

At that moment, the owner of the surf camp, along with Trevor the Australian and Ramon and Jose, came to the edge of the pool. They'd been behind us on the way up, lugging coolers with lunch and drinks. They'd gone down for a second trip, apparently for their camera gear, and had just returned.

I couldn't help but think what she'd told me about them at the swimming pool. To think that other men, who we didn't know three days ago, had seen my wife's breasts - I never would have imagined.

Katie's head popped up at the far end of the pool. She saw the cameras and swam toward them.

"Sorry guys," she said. "I guess they call this a wardrobe malfunction."

She stood up in knee-deep water, her hands covering her breasts, and gave an exaggerated pout. They all laughed, big belly laughs.

"You know, that's a pretty great picture right there anyway," the owner said. "Don't you think, guys?"

We cheered, and some chanted her name: "Katie. Katie."

"I'll show you," the owner said. "May I?"

Katie nodded, and after he snapped a few photos of her standing there, hands over her breats, he turned the camera screen around so she could see. The sun's glare was high though, and she almost used one hand to shield her eyes before she remembered her situation. The owner shaded the screen for her instead.

"The waterfall looks great," Katie admitted, then looked down at herself. "And this way I'm even covering up more than usual."

She looked at me. I nodded.

"Where do you want me?" she asked the photographer. "What do you want me to do?"

******

He positioned her in front of the waterfall, on a flat rock that barely cleared the water. She had to drop her hands as she climbed up, but she was facing away from us and all we saw was her bare back, that silver chain glistening above her almost-bare bottom.

The owner had a video camera now, standing waist-deep in the water next to Trevor, who had the still camera. Jose and Ramon were on the bank, Jose at the controls of a drone that hovered overhead.

The seven of us surfers gathered in the water nearby.

The first few photos, Katie posed standing up, hands over her breasts, back to us. She was a little awkward at first, then seemed to relax into the pose. The camera clicked away from below her.

Then she lay on her belly, hands at her side, her breasts pushed against the rock. Her hair fell over one eye as looked down at the water, then up at the camera.

"Now could you turn around and walk to the waterfall?" the owner asked, his eye to the video camera.

She did as he asked, dropping her hands as she swayed away from us, taking a few steps on the rock closer to the falling water. She was just about naked, just a silver thong and that chain around her hips. I adjusted my boardshorts under the water and noticed several of my friends doing the same thing.

"Into the water!" Sam called. Others joined in the cry, and Katie, facing away from us, took a few steps until she was under the full force of the waterfall.

We could hear her cry out. "Feels great!"

Then Brant, shy Brant of all people, called out to Katie. "Can you turn around please?"

"Pretty please," several called.

And Katie did, leaving her hands at her side, still immersed in the waterfall, a vague figure in the water. Then she took one step, and another step, and emerged from the water. Her hands were at her sides, her small breasts pointed upward, as if led by the nipples that stretched toward the sky. We cheered.

I tried to catch her eyes, but they seemed focused on the middle distance. And this time she wasn't asking for my approval anyway.

One hand toyed with the chain around her hip, while the other wandered to the loop she'd tied at the side of her bikini bottom. Her hands left her hips and moved up to her breasts: I thought she was going to cover them again, but instead her fingers traced the outline of her wet, jutting nipples, around and around, before dropping down and moving slowly over her breasts.

By now, she was looking straight down at us, the surfers, seemingly heedless of the cameras trained on her, the drone overhead.

Without breaking her look, Katie's hands dropped down to the silver knots at her hips.

"If you guys say a word back home, I'll kill you," she said, giving a sharp yank at her right hip.

The bikini bottom hung up there for a few agonizing seconds, then slipped partway down her leg. She pulled on the other knot. That side slipped right off, and the whole tiny thing fell to her feet.

She kicked the bottoms toward me. They fell a few feet short in the water, so I reached out to grab them before someone else could. There were some more cheers.

Katie stood there for a few seconds, as if uncertain what to do. Then she made a decision.

"Cameras - off," she said. "All of them. And hey - the drone too."

The cameras were turned off. The drone dropped to the shoreline. Katie stood above us, then knelt on the rock before all of us, her legs spread. From our angle in the water we could see her bare pussy, lips opening slightly, and her breasts thrust out, her swollen nipples impossibly large.

She wasn't completely naked though; the silver chain still hung around her hips. For now.

She spoke. Her voice was low, husky. "I swear I will kill you guys ..."

Not breaking her eyes from us, she undid the clasp and took the chain off her left hip, sliding it between her legs. It lodged between her lips as she moved it back and forth in her wetness. It disappeared as she plunged two fingers inside her. Her right hand went to her breasts, pulling at her nipples until they stood out even more.

The entire time she looked straight into our eyes. She didn't seem interested in the bulges beneath our shorts. Just our eyes.

We made not a sound as her cries rose above the sound of the waterfall. In less than a minute, she came, hard. But she kept her fingers moving, two or three minutes more, and soon another orgasm overtook her, her breasts bouncing and swaying.

Katie's eyes rolled up into her head. We could see thick white liquid oozing from her glistening pussy. She collapsed on the rock.

I waded over to her, climbed up, covering her nakedness. I put her bikini bottom between her legs and tied it at the sides.

She smiled up at me. "Are you OK?" I asked.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "I'm more than OK." She leaned her lips close to my ears. "That," she said, "was fun."

With that, she slipped again into the water and started stroking for the far end of the pool. The guys just stood there, gob-smacked, watching her go.

Katie stopped and looked back over shoulder. "What are y'all waiting for?" she said. "Game on!"

******

We stayed at the Costa Rica waterfall for a few more hours that morning, playing more catch-a-Katie, who, outnumbered seven-to-one, was rather easily caught. She was topless now, her bikini top gone who-knows-where, which gave an even more charged edge to the game.

Katie told me later she had two more orgasms during the game as she struggled playfully to get out of our grasps, feeling her nipples rubbing against us, feeling the strength in the arms that held her.

She eventually called it off and climbed out of the pool, lying on a flat rock in the sun to dry off. She was on her belly, resting her head on her arms, and soon dozed off after all that excitement.

That gave us a chance to ogle her long slender legs, her round bottom split by the puckered silver material, her smooth arms, the untanned white skin at the sides of her breasts.

I thought again of that unspoken contract between women and men - they show, we look, and gave silent thanks to whoever had drawn it up.

Katie woke as Jose and Ramon unpacked lunch from the cooler. She looked over at us, a little uncertain what to do next. "Here, Katie," the surf camp owner said, handing her a clean red bandana.

She turned as she sat up, folded the bandana into a V and tied it in the front, between her breasts, before moving the knot to her back. She got up and joined us. The bandana covered her, barely. Her face was flushed from the sun. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, streaks of straw-blonde mixing with dirty-blonde below. She looked like a hippie goddess.

Thank god, I thought, for her last-minute decision to come with us. Best trip ever, clearly.

******

The surf had gotten better, right below the camp, by the time we bounced down the mountain to the beach. The rough winds of that morning had swung around, cleaning up the waves. We quickly gathered our boards and made our way down the steep steps to the sand below.

Katie told me she was staying at the camp: Too much sun already and, she admitted, she was feeling pretty luxurious after the events at the waterfall. That, certainly, had been a new experience.

She made her way to a hammock and closed her eyes. But that didn't last long.

The same wind that ruined the surf that morning had kept the four middle-aged Canadian fishermen ashore, and they were restless and already several beers into their day.

They spotted Katie and crept up to her hammock. Two grabbed her arms and two grabbed her ankles and they hoisted her out, carrying her to the pool table where they'd been playing.

They laid her down on the table, laughing. She was giggling too, laughing at the sight of these hapless men still wearing various khaki combinations of cargo shots, multi-pocketed shirts and floppy hats.

"Damn Katie," said one of them. "I have to say it. You really brighten up our trip." The others jumped in with similar assurances.

"Happy to do it," she said, sitting up on the edge of the table. Katie had never really known the effect she had on men, and even now she probably didn't truly recognize how these men, 20, 25 year older then her, were feasting on her slim, curvy, unblemished body.

There was an awkward silence, then she spoke up: "Game, anyone?"

Katie was good at most things, and she was good at pool. Growing up in long northern winters had made for plenty of time for that. This was a first though: She'd never played pool outdoors, and she'd certainly never played it wearing just a tiny silver bikini bottom and a bandana.

She became engrossed in her game, confidently sinking ball after ball. The Canadians meanwhile were engrossed by the sight of her as she bent over the table, sometimes stretching one leg out to make the shot. The silver strip between her cheeks came into clear view and the bottom of the bandana fell away as she leaned over, giving them a glimpse of the untanned bottoms of her breasts.

The middle-aged men felt like teenagers again. And they got a little bolder, a little more flirtatious as the game went on. A couple leaned in over her to give her "help" on some of the more difficult shots, leaning in against her bare bottom and putting their arms around her to guide the shot.

She didn't need the help: She won three games in a row, then joined them on a big couch under the veranda. Three of the men had gone into their rooms and come back out with small paper bags.

"Here Katie," one of them said. "We stopped at an artists' collective on the way home yesterday and bought some things for our wives, but I really think we want to give them to you instead."

She protested, but they insisted. One Canadian opened his bag and pulled out a silver anklet, beautifully made. "It'll go with the chain on your waist," he said. She offered him her foot, and he latched it around her ankle.

The second opened his bag. He had a silver three-pronged piece of jewelry, meant to go around the upper arm. At the top of each prong was the stylized head of a dolphin. She held out her arm, and he slid it from her wrist up her arm.

She liked the coolness of the metal against her flushed skin. The silver jewelry did look good, she thought, against the silver bikini bottom, her waist chain and her bellybutton piercing. The thought popped into her head: I am looking pretty hot. It was not a thought she was used to having.

"Um, and I have something too," said one of the Canadians. It was the one who had tried, and failed miserably, to twerk on the dance floor. He flushed, opening his bag. "I thought you might like this."

This was a choker necklace, an inch-wide strip of soft leather, dyed pink, with a large heart-shaped clasp in the middle. "May I?" he said.

Katie nodded and stood up. She lifted her arms to hold her hair up as he put the choker around her neck, the heart-shaped clasp closing in the front.

"Wow," was all he could say.

Katie looked at the fourth Canadian. "And what did you get?" she asked.

He smiled and pulled a big bottle of Costa Rica rum from under a pillow. "Just this," he said.

******

Several frosty drinks later, the Canadians decided they needed photos to mark this red-letter day. First they took some selfies with their phones, the four of them, with Katie in the middle. Then they decided they needed something better.

They put a phone on a table and set a timer. Three plopped onto the couch. The other picked up Katie, sat down, and stretched her over their knees. "No fishing," he said, "but look what we caught."

They took several photos that way, and Katie became aware of the rough fabric of their shorts on her bare skin. They rested their hands on their catch, lightly at first, then becoming a little more exploratory.