Katie in Costa Rica - Unveiled

One stroked her hair, pulling it off her neck to better see the pink leather choker. Another slid his hand down her side to her just above her hip, resting it lightly under her silver chain. Another had a hand just below the curve of her hip, and the fourth slowly stroked her lower leg.

The camera clicked a few more times and then went quiet. The Canadians didn't stop their movements though: Here was a young goddess right under their hands, after all.

Katie told me all about this later in bed, getting the story out between orgasms.

She told me how it felt so luxurious lying there, almost naked, and how the light touch of their rough hands seemed to reverberate through her body.

"I hope you don't mind," she said, telling what happened next, how the Canadians told her how beautiful she was and how one hand moved higher up her leg, another moved down her belly, another moved up toward the bottom of the bandana while another moved down her shoulders to the swell of her breasts above the material.

She'd had several orgasms already that day, and now, she decided, she wanted more. It was almost, she said, as if she had no choice. She thought about excusing herself, going to our room, but - she laughed when she told me - it felt so good being smothered in middle-aged khaki.

Besides, she thought, after this trip I'll never see them again.

She heard someone say: "OK, so who's going to take off this stupid bandana?" Then she realized it was she who had said it.

And sure enough, a hand slowly pulled at the knot and the bandana fell to the floor. She heard the men's breath draw in at the sight of her small, perfect breasts - two small triangles of white standing out against her tan, and her stiff nipples, straining for the sky, somehow growing even larger.

Rough hands moved across her young skin, honing in on her nipples. She felt them cup her breasts, slide back and forth. It was delicious, and she realized she was already very, very wet.

Her eyes were closed as she soaked in the sensation, their hands moving over her for three or four long minutes. No one said a word. To speak would break the spell.

With her eyes still closed, she shook her head, and her hair fanned out, partially covering one breast. She put her hand on her lower belly, where it met a rough male hand. She grabbed it and slid it under her bikini bottom along with hers.

Together they moved up and back against the slickness.

"My chain," she moaned. "Untie my chain."

Someone did, and she took it with her other hand and, for the second time that day, slid the cool silver between her hot lips. She felt the hands upon her, so many hands. Minutes passed, and her breathing grew labored. She bucked and moaned as the orgasm hit her, and as it stretched out to a glorious minute or more.

Finally her hands fell away and her head fell to the side. She realized it now rested on a huge khaki-covered Canadian cock.

OK, this, she thought, is getting a little too real. She turned her head away and just lay there across their legs. She knew they were still looking at her, at the choker, the arm bracelet, the unclasped waist chain, the anklet. That's all she wore, other than a tiny silver bikini bottom that now rested at mid-thigh.

She looked down at herself. She was completely uncovered, and her nipples still thrust defiantly upward.

The moment, though, seemed to be broken after her powerful orgasm. The Canadians, as if in awe, had pulled their hands back to safe positions.

Someone cleared his throat. Another attempted to pull her bikini bottom back up. Another reached for the bandana and put it across her.

They slowly stood up, lifting Katie with them. She clasped the untied bandana to her breasts. Her legs were shaky.

I should be embarrassed, she thought. And she was, a little. But she was struck by the looks on their faces, a mix of adoration and disbelief. Four grown men with fancy jobs and houses and companies they ran, and they were helpless before 26-year-old Katie, all 5-foot-3, 110 pounds of her.

"Guys. Listen to me. Nothing - nothing about this to anybody," she said. "It might not happen again, but if you talk it certainly will never happen again. Deal?"

They nodded, vigorously.

"See you at dinner then," she said. "And dress up a bit. Get out of those ridiculous costumes. I'll wear your nice gifts - and who knows what else."

She smiled. "And see that you bring that rum, OK?"

Katie turned and walked, a little unsteadily, to her room. They stared after her swaying bottom until she disappeared from sight. None of them said a word.

*****

Just halfway up the stairs leading to our room, though, Katie turned around and walked back to ground level. She knew the Canadians would not have moved, and sure enough, they all stood where she had left them.

She crooked a finger at them. "Come," was all she said.

And all four scurried to her side and dutifully followed her up the stairs, transfixed by her swaying bottom.

In our room, still clutching the bandana to her chest, she started giving orders. "You," she said to one of them. "Turn on the shower. Hot."

She turned to the others. "You three. That drawer there. I'll need something to wear for dinner. Find it for me."

She went into the bathroom, which was already filling with steam, and took off the chain she'd had around her hips.

"Take off my presents too," she said to the Canadian there. He knelt down and unhooked her anklet, laying it on the counter. He slid the jewelry off her upper arm and put it next to the anklet. Then he lifted Katie's hair so he could take off the pink leather choker.

"Good," she said. "Join the others. Find me something nice."

The water felt delicious on her skin, pulsating on a body that had been on fire, she thought to herself, since dawn. Never had she had a day like this, taken these bold moves, acted this way in front of others.

She worried a little. Not about the Canadians: Though far older and richer than her, they were now puppy dogs, and she'd never see them again.

But our friends from home? Would they respect her when this vacation was over? She certainly didn't plan to act like this at home, but here ... something about the air, about being the one woman at the center of so much male energy, being so exposed, so desired - she decided she didn't care what anyone thought.

And they would stay quiet, she would make sure of that. Perhaps, she thought, she could bribe them by promises of more episodes like this ...

Such thoughts made her run her hand down to below her belly, where a fire still burned. But she resisted, thinking: Let's see what the Canadians have come up with. She turned off the shower, wrapped a big towel around her and went out to see.

They were standing by our bed awkwardly, with a proposed outfit laid out neatly on the cover. Katie grinned. She could have figured the bottom: It was the red bikini bottom that she'd been given for her video, an inch-wide strip of material that came to a V deep in the cleavage of her buttocks.

Fair enough, she thought.

Right above it, they'd left the pink tank top, which she'd also worn in the video shot by the surf camp owner while she did some yoga poses.

That'll do, she thought.

"All of you. Turn around," she said, and they did. She dropped the towel to the floor and put one leg, then another, through the bikini bottom, shimmying it up her legs and over her cheeks. She adjusted it over her legs, and looked in the mirror: In the front, it came very, very low, and in the back it was almost invisible. She nodded: Killer.

She was topless still, and saw just how a thin triangle of untanned skin stood out on each breast in comparison to the golden tan she had aquired in Costa Rica. Her nipples, dark and swollen, were exceedingly obvious.

She walked back to the bed, where the well-behaved Canadians had their backs turned, picked up the tank top and slid it over her head. It had spaghetti straps, a little loose on her shoulders, and the surf camp's log between her breasts. The pink material was lightweight, subtly ribbed, and came to the bottom of her hips.

She looked back in the mirror. The top showed the swell of her breasts, which was fine, but those nipples: There was nothing she could do about those.

"OK boys," she said. "You can turn around."

They did, and she chuckled at the looks of adoration their faces. "You did fine, guys," she said. "Good choices. Now my jewelry. Your gifts."

They pushed past each other to the bathroom and fumbled while putting on her ankle bracelet, the three-headed piece of jewelry on her arm, the pink leather choker.

She stepped back and struck a model's pose, walking away from them, then back, as if on a runway.

"What do you think?"

They blurted out compliments, barely able to talk.

"So I'm ready for dinner," she said. "But you? Off with awful khakis. Please make yourselves presentable." Katie smiled. "Seriously guys. I know you've got it in you. See you at dinner."

With that, she stretched out on our bed, on her belly. She was all curves, all flesh. "Bye now," she said. "And leave the door open. The breeze feels delicious."

She heard their footsteps, clomping down the stairs. And as they faded, she ran her right hand down toward the fire in her. Just a little, she thought. Oh more, she thought.

Still on her belly, she took a pillow and put it under her, raising her hips. She turned her face to see the open door and the window with the thin curtain blowing in the wind.

Katie parted her legs, spreading them wide on either side of the pillow. And she put her hand under her body, reaching for the fire, now hotter than ever. She found it, hot and wet at the same time.

****

That's how I found her when I came back from surfing, walking past our open window and seeing her hair fanned across the sheets, the rise of her practically bare bottom over the pillow. She was sleeping. I gently eased the door shut, leaving the window open, and slid my boardshorts off, sliding into bed next to her.

Katie moaned as I ran a hand down her leg and pushed my body closer to her. I was already hard, and the length of my penis rested against the thin strip of red bikini on her bottom. Still half-sleeping, she nestled into me and pushed the bikini aside by an inch.

And quickly I was inside her, easing my full length into her. She was very wet already, and smelled like pure sex. I stayed still, and let her ease herself up and down on me. Soon I grabbed her hips as we spooned and pulled her in more.

She came then, no more than a minute in, a long, soft orgasm. I kept moving and she came again as I did, biting the sheet to stifle her moans.

"Wow," was all I could say.

Katie kissed me, and whispered what had happened with the Canadians. She was still moving on my cock, which had quickly grown hard again at the story. It took a delicious long while to get the whole story out: She had to pause as she came twice more, her voice gasping, but eventually told me everything.

"I hope you don't mind," she said once more.

"No," I told her. "I don't mind."

Katie eased herself off me and stood by the bed, her red thong still pushed to one side. Then she crawled on her knees toward me and took me in her mouth, her green eyes staring up into my face. Her breasts fell out of her tank top, and with that I quickly came. She didn't pull away, but took every bit of me inside her mouth.

When I could move again, when I could think, I got up and got a towel for her, for her mouth and for her pussy. She pulled the bikini bottom back into place. "Who's your goddess?" she said.

"You," I answered. "You're my goddess."

"And goddesses get what they want, don't they?" she said. I nodded, helplessly. And she explained what she wanted, the rest of our trip.

I had to agree. She's my goddess, after all.

*******

We got up when we heard talking and music coming from downstairs. Katie put on her sandals and I put my boardshorts back. As we walked downstairs I finally had a chance to get a good look at Katie's dinner outfit. I told her I especially liked the pink choker the Canadian had given her.

She agreed, and leaned on her tiptoes to kiss me. As she did, she slid a hair-band off her wrist and reached up to give her hair a couple twists, piling it on top of her hand and holding it in place with the band.

"Now you can see it better," she said.

I agreed. What I didn't tell her was that you could also better see her shoulders, her cleavage, the rise of her nipples through her tank top. Maybe she already knew that.

We were the last ones down. Our surfer friends, the Canadians, Trevor the Australian, Ramon and the camp owner were already there, gathered around a laptop. They pushed pause and stood to great us, greedily taking in the sight of Katie.

On the laptop was a picture of an empty wave. "Let's see it," Katie said. The owner pushed play again and the wave reeled across the screen. Then another wave, with someone - I can't remember who - riding on it.

Then Katie, at the waterfall, in just that tiny silver bikini bottom and her chain. She stood in knee-deep water, hands covering her breasts, smiling, before swimming to the rock by the waterfall and climbing up on it.

There was nothing but silence as we watched what happened then, as she went into the waterfall and then came out, topless, before pulling at the side strings of her bikini bottom, letting it drop. She kicked it to me, in the water, and stood there, gloriously wet and naked. She reached for her silver chain ...

The playback stopped then, and you could hear the wind blowing through the palms above the camp, the gentle crashing of the waves below. The Canadians were in shock; this part of the trip they did not know.

"Um," said the owner. "I, uh, was meaning to cut that last part out ..."

Katie laughed. "You'd better," she said.

She snapped her fingers and did a little wiggle, causing her breasts to move most fetchingly in her tank top. "I need a drink. Something frosty," she said.

At that, four or five guys, including a couple of Canadians, raced to the bar. Before long, she had the drink in her hand and turned to stroll to the edge of the pool, where there was a perfect view of the sun settling into the ocean.

We noticed then a most remarkable sight. From behind, her pink tank top reached just a third of the way down her bottom. Coupled with the tiny red bikini, which disappeared into her cheeks above that, the effect was as if she was wearing nothing below.

I took her in: the wedge sandals, laced up, served to angle her bottom out even more than the normal roundness did. Then the anklet, her bare bottom, her hips, her bare shoulders, her surfer-girl hair piled up on her head, the breeze rustling the strands that fell below.

We all walked to the pool to join her, the seven of us surfers, the four Canadians. The others - the owner, Trevor, Ramon and young Jose - hung back.

Katie turned and smiled. Then her smile grew wider as she teased the Canadians, who had swapped those awful fishing clothes for shorts and brightly patterned shirts. "Looking good fellas," she said. "Glad to see you can follow orders."

They just smiled, stupefied, as their middle-aged dreams - a slim young woman in a thin pink tank top - smiled back at them.

******

After dinner, the Motown music played again as we talked of waves surfed and fish caught, I saw Katie in deep conversation with the owner. Eventually she nodded, and he nodded back.

He stood up. "Gentleman," he said with a wry smile. "Now for the nakedly commercial part of the evening. You now have the chance to purchase, for your lovely wives and girlfriends, some wonderful clothing designed by my lovely wife, all of it bearing, of course, the name of our camp. We consider them fine, fine marketing tools."

As he spoke, Ramon carried out several boxes and put them on the table.

"Katie," the owner said, "has offered to model them for us so you might have an idea how wonderful these designs will look on an actual person. And she suggested that young Trevor here film some of the outfits - for the website."

Trevor, leaning against a post holding up the covered veranda, took one hand off his camera and gave a little wave.

The owner continued. "And as an incentive, Katie has offered - actually insisted - that she will wear, for the rest of the evening, the biggest seller, the most popular item. Sound good?"

There was much hooting and banging on the table. It indeed sounded good.

"Great," he said, moving to the first box. "Though I must note that, as my wife is Brazilian, the designs are rather, well, Brazilian."

He handed an item to Katie. It was somewhere between pink and magenta in color, but that's all we could tell of it as she went into the nearest room to change.

Perhaps two minutes later Katie came out, tugging at the bottom of a very short, very tight dress. It molded to her every curve, hugging her bottom and her hips. The dress was strapless and sleeveless, and it clung snugly to her small breasts, outlining them beautiful. The camp name was a small logo stretched between her breasts.

Was she wearing anything under it? I couldn't tell. I certainly didn't see any signs of anything.

Trevor moved closer with the camera as Katie gave us a little curtsy. "Well at least I have something to wear on the plane home other than bikinis," she said.

Some of the guys whistled. And of course it was Sam who spoke up first. "Sign me up," he said, racing forward to sign a clipboard held by Ramon. "I'm buying."

I was right behind him, barely beating the rush. After I signed, I took Katie's hand as she swayed to the music. The Four Tops - her favorite. We danced, and as I twirled her, the hem of her dress rose to show several inches of her bottom - and stayed there, clinging to her.

And the top of the dress? It started to slide down, a slide arrested only at the last second by Katie's hand. That was enough for anyone still undecided. By the end of the song, everyone had agreed to buy a dress like that to take home.

"I think we have a winner," the owner said. "But perhaps we can sell some of the others too."

He handed Katie her next outfit and she disappeared into the room. We settled in with anticipation, our shorts fitting us a little tighter than usual, I'd wager. At least mine did.

It took a little longer or her to come out. She was wearing a swimsuit in a rich royal blue color, though it took me a while to figure it all out.

In the front, a thin strap came over each shoulder, the straps widening just slightly as they crossed her breasts, just enough to cover each nipple. The straps, narrow again, met in a V well below her bellybutton, and from there the blue material widened to cover her pussy. Barely.

If you looked carefully - and we did - you could see the surf-camp name in tiny letters down there.

"A slingkini!" Sam cried. "Jesus I love slingkinis."

Katie had seemed a little uncomfortable as she walked toward us, but now she smiled at Sam's words. "That's what you call this?" she asked, holding her hands out and spinning slowly to show us the back - what little there was of it.

It was basically a blue string that rose from her cheeks to make another, larger V on her back as the strings traveled to meet the ones in the front. It all tied together in loose knot at the back of her neck.

Nobody moved except for Katie, who did another spin before giving an exaggerated runway walk away from us, then back toward Trevor and his camera. She stuck her tongue out as she sashayed past.

She stopped a few feet away in front of us, turned around, widened her stance and leaned over to put her hands on her knees.

She looked over her shoulder at the Canadian who'd tried some hapless twerking the nights before. "Hey there, Mr. Twerk," she said, moving her bottom in a few slow circles, every rotation revealing the thin strip of material between her legs.