Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition Page 10

  Stormy fought to remain still, every second magnifying her ardor. She envisioned her dream lover: the one ever intent on their mutual satiety—attentive, sensual, exciting—the one who somehow knew her every unspoken desire. "Please, come to me," she whispered in prayer. "Take me."

  "Estoy aquí," whispered a familiar voice very close to her ear.

  Stormy's entire body shuddered involuntarily. Fingertips brushed her lips, which parted of their own will—yielding. There was no possible way she could resist.

  "Sí," the voice urged. "Entrégate."

  Released from her self-imposed restraints by the imperative, Stormy turned onto her side and melted into Mia's silky kiss. It was simultaneously fresh and familiar, novel and known—a mesmerizing dichotomy. Unlike the playful romp with Shelly and Bruce, this was the fulfillment of a deep yearning that had possessed Stormy for the past several years: to know and be known with a depth of understanding that only another woman could possibly reach.

  Mia untied her sarong and let it fall to the ground as she stretched out alongside Stormy on the table. The ambrosial contact—skin to skin—made Stormy's head spin. They fit together like a soft puzzle, bodies entwined. For just a few moments, they savored the sanctity of the stillness. It was the calm before their storm, when their passions coalesced into a force with the awesome potential to obliterate everything in its path.

  With ritualistic care, Mia rose and stood alongside the table, nudging Stormy onto her back. Taking Stormy's hands in her own, she raised them above Stormy's head and bound them there with nothing more than a kiss upon each wrist. The winds picked up speed, rustling the fronds, as Mia's hands journeyed down Stormy's supine body. She knew precisely when to linger, when to move on, and when to return—prolonging the pleasure, postponing the release.

  Mia spread Stormy's legs, similarly securing them at opposite edges of the table by a kiss to each knee. As she knelt on the table between Stormy's legs, Mia retrieved a stone from the basket. They had cooled only slightly. Spreading Stormy's lips, Mia placed the hot, oily stone against her clit, eliciting a throaty groan. She slowly inserted two fingers into Stormy and used her thumb to hold the stone in place, freeing her other hand for Stormy's breasts.

  Stormy floated somewhere inside herself—lost in the fiercely pleasurable experience. She danced on the edge of rapture; her desire sweeping away ridiculous barriers. Mia quickened her pace, predicting that the power of Stormy's passion would soon overcome her invisible bonds.

  The combination of winds and rain extinguished the tiki torches just as Stormy broke free. She leapt off the table, sweeping the basket of stones to the ground. Taking Mia by the shoulders, Stormy pushed her, gently but firmly, onto her back. She mounted the table, her knees on either side of Mia's head, and immediately lowered her mouth to Mia's sex.

  Her first taste of any woman, other than herself, swept away the last tendrils of doubt. To make love to another woman was truly to love one's self. She marveled at the purity of the act; the divinity. Stormy devoured Mia, at first greedily and then with more finesse. Mia lifted her head in an attempt to reciprocate, but Stormy held herself just out of reach. Mia's hands instead delivered the attention her tongue could not, rimming Stormy's anus and flicking her clit. Neither woman noticed the torrential rain.

  Stormy was sexually reborn—free of the ties that bound her to just one gender. Relevance rested solely in the connection, on whatever level—from casual to committed. Infidelity was now only possible when failing to be true to her own self, and it ceased to be a strictly sexual concept.

  Mia thrashed beneath Stormy's cherry tongue. On her elbows, Stormy reached beneath to hang onto Mia's ass lest she be thrown from the altar of their passion. Sensing Mia's imminent orgasm, Stormy lowered her sex to Mia's face, meeting her hungry mouth and hot tongue. Within seconds, both shuddered as powerful waves of ecstasy coursed through them; their shouts sucked away by the gale-force winds.

  They lay together, as they had at the beginning, entwined in reverent stillness. The rain ceased, and the winds calmed. Stormy must have dozed, because when she next became away of her surroundings, Mia was gone. She picked up the scattered stones, returning them to their basket, pausing to inhale the cinnamon that she would forever associate with this night.

  Stormy put her swimsuit back on, retrieved her clothes from the locker, and went in search of her group, noticing for the first time the havoc wreaked by the storm. Chair legs poked from the shrubbery. One of the little sheds had lost a thatched roof. Debris littered the path. A small triage, set up near the bar, treated the minor injuries of a handful of patrons and staff.

  The others huddled near the entrance: wet, of course, but apparently unscathed. They piled into the van and, without speaking, returned to their hotel. Their first full day in Costa Rica had been quite an eventful one, and they each wondered what the remaining days would bring.

  * * * *

  After a leisurely breakfast on Wednesday morning, Stormy's group departed La Fortuna for Monteverde. Typically a five hour trip in a 4x4, their guides warned them that delays were likely due to the especially heavy rain of the previous night.

  They enjoyed the breathtaking views around Lago Arenal and, as they'd made no fixed plans for the day, stopped frequently to sight-see, take photographs, or simply stretch their legs. Rob and Max relaxed considerably amongst their group, and Stormy discovered that they had a plethora of humorous tales to tell. They'd been touring Central America for most of the summer, doing an independent study project on eco-tourism. The rainy season brought their latent feelings for one another to the fore, and they still struggled to come to terms with what was shaping up to be a long-term relationship.

  After they lunched near Tilarán, the van continued onto the bumpiest roads any of them had ever experienced. They could do naught but laugh as they jostled and jiggled about. Since Mia remained in La Fortuna, Stormy now had the entire middle bench to herself, but napping was completely out of the question. She found it truly amazing that the van did not come apart at the seams.

  They arrived at Monteverde in the late afternoon and immediately sought a restaurant for drinks and dinner. The rain had not yet made an appearance, and all wanted to have an early dinner before it did—perhaps to ensure they each had enough energy for the inevitable escapades.

  Stormy doubted she could handle another encounter as intense as the one just shared with Mia. Thoughts of it swirled through her mind almost constantly: an instant replay of exquisite memories that would undoubtedly have a lasting impact on her life. While welcoming the shift in her paradigms, she still felt the pangs of uncertainty that typically accompanied such a profound change. She felt the need to talk to Mia—at length—but the language barrier presented a challenge to the expression of such complex emotions. Plus, Mia didn't seem like much of a talker. She spoke through action and was, in her own way, a very effective communicator.

  Their driver recommended a new place called Moon Shiva, which proved to be rustic, cozy, and comfortable. Each enjoyed the eclectic décor and the unusual fare, tasting one another's varied selections. They were examining the dessert menu when the rain began. As one, the five of them shouted, "Check, por favor!" and then burst into laughter.

  This drew the attention of a man seated alone at the bar. He studied the group and then summoned the waitress—who gave him a puzzled look and then disappeared to fill his unusual order.

  As the group divvied up the tab, the waitress delivered a drink. Stormy started to protest, "I didn't order..." when the waitress tipped her head toward the bar. There, looking rather pleased with himself, was Starbucks Charlie! He had shed the suit in favor of more casual attire: worn jeans and a t-shirt.

  Charlie raised his drink in a toast, prompting Stormy to return the gesture. She cautiously sipped, not knowing what to expect of the clear liquid. Vodka? Gin? Neither. It was just water! Intrigued, she made her way over to the bar.

  "How nice to see you again! Thanks for the ra
ther—well—'surprising' drink," Stormy said. "Your ass looks great in those jeans."

  It took a few seconds for Stormy to realize that the she'd actually spoken that last sentence. She opened her mouth to apologize and added, "Would you like to go somewhere and fuck?"

  Stormy's eyes grew wide and her hand flew to her mouth. Charlie, however, did not seem the least bit surprised by her unbridled candor.

  "So naughty!" he teased, as he planted a light kiss on her blushing cheek.

  "What's in this drink?" Stormy demanded, bouncing in rapid succession between anger and embarrassment and desire and incredulity.

  "Just water," Charlie responded with a grin. "Rain water."

  The ramifications of drinking the Costa Rican rain were not lost on Stormy.

  "And what, precisely, were you hoping to accomplish by giving me this?" Stormy asked indignantly. "You had to know by now that the rain itself would have me more than willing to fuck you without any extra inducements."

  "True. I want more from you than that—although that will, I'm certain, be absolutely delightful. But first," Charlie explained, "I want to talk."

  Stormy laughed, "Talk! Talk? You've gotta be kidding! When it rains here, talking is the last thing on anyone's mind."

  "I told you I was here on business...and I am. But when I experienced the effects of the rain, I realized that I had an opportunity to fulfill a long-standing fantasy.

  "You see," Charlie continued, "I've always wanted to know what women are really thinking about sex—before, during, and after. Would you..."

  Stormy interrupted, "So, if I cooperate—if I tell you—will you fuck me? Or, am I leaving right now to find a less demanding partner?"

  "Are you saying everything that pops into your head?"

  "If it has to do with sex, yes. I can't keep from blurting it out."

  "Do you mind if I record our conversation?" Charlie asked.

  "Not into romance, are you? Um, okay. You've got five minutes—and then, if your hands aren't on my skin, I'm gone."

  "Deal. Thanks," Charlie said. "I know it's hard. For me, too."

  "Nowhere near as hard as it's gonna be," Stormy assured him, arching a brow.

  With that, they left the restaurant and hurried to Charlie's rented Jeep, parked at far edge of the gravel lot. The rest of Stormy's group had apparently already split, for the van was gone. She couldn't fault them for bolting, under the circumstances. She'd have to catch up to them later. Charlie quickly unlocked the SUV and they climbed into the back seat.

  Stormy realized that she still held the rain water cocktail, and after taking another drink, she placed the tall glass in one of the cup holders on the console between the front bucket seats. Charlie dug out his digital recorder and turned it on, holding it somewhat like a microphone as he opened his mouth to ask an interviewer's question.

  "Oh, put that damned thing down," Stormy insisted, taking it from his hand and hanging it by its strap from the little garment hook over the window. "Those little doo-dads can pick up voices from across rooms. I want your hands free."

  She smiled at the expression on Charlie's face as he realized he was not, and probably never had been, in total control of the situation. The only way he could get what he wanted—Stormy's uncensored thoughts—was to do exactly what she wanted.

  "Now, sit here—in the middle," she instructed, scooting out of the way. As soon as Charlie complied, Stormy straddled him.

  "First question?" she inquired, ever so seductively, as she removed her shirt.

  Charlie, a bit distracted by the sumptuous lace-contained flesh that now hovered mere inches from his face, stammered a bit before responding. "What is your favorite position for sex?"

  "We're in it," replied Stormy without hesitation. "Next?"

  "Do you like giving..." Charlie paused appreciatively as Stormy removed her bra, "...head?"

  "Absolutely."

  Tearing his gaze from her chest, he continued, "Do you swallow?"

  "Usually," Stormy replied as she guided Charlie's hands to her breasts. "Do you like my breasts?"

  "I'm asking the questions here," Charlie protested, rather weakly. "Do you like it? Swallowing?"

  "It's not my favorite part. I could certainly live without it, but it's not repulsive, either. By far, the best part about doing it is how much the guy enjoys it. Squeeze."

  Squeezing as ordered, Charlie switched gears, "Have you ever had sex with a woman?"

  "Oh, yeah," Stormy purred, although Charlie couldn't tell if her tone was due to his squeezing or her recollections or, perhaps, a combination of the two.

  "I mean before coming to Costa Rica," Charlie elaborated.

  "Not one-on-one, no."

  "In a group, then?"

  "A threesome," Stormy clarified. "Lick. Right here. Yeah, just like that."

  Charlie paused to ask, "How was it?"

  "Mmm. It was hot. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. In fact," Stormy giggled, "I just did—yesterday morning. Don't stop."

  "What gets you off the fastest?" Charlie fired.

  "A vibrator," Stormy shot back. "Oh, you mean with a partner? Well, a vibrator then, too."

  "Smart ass," Charlie grinned. "So you masturbate?"

  "Of course. Don't you?"

  "Do you let your partner watch?" he asked, plaintively.

  "Oh, that'd get you off—wouldn't it?" Stormy slipped off his lap just long enough to remove her shorts. "You wanna watch? How's this?"

  Charlie groaned and struggled to maintain some semblance of concentration as both of Stormy's hands traveled down her body. "Tell me what you're thinking right now," he said in a hoarse whisper.

  "I'm thinking that you're just about dying to get out of those jeans because they're getting mighty constricting. Hold my ass."

  "True," Charlie had to admit, as he again complied with her directive. The visual evidence would have clearly countered any attempt to deny it.

  "I'm also thinking that when I do this," Stormy said as she dipped her index finger between her folds and applied her personal lip gloss to Charlie's lips, "that you're gonna make a really interesting—"

  "Uhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm."

  "—sound. And I was right."

  Charlie struggled to regain his composure and asked, "Do you like anal?"

  "Nope. Not the least bit interested in the penetration part. Just doesn't appeal to me. I even tried it alone with a vibe, just to make sure I wasn't missing out on something spectacular. Rimming can be enjoyable, though. Another taste?"

  "Uh huh," Charlie responded as Stormy took her fingers from their depths and popped them into his mouth. She followed them with a kiss, tasting herself on his mouth, his tongue.

  "I know what you're going to ask, and yes—I love how I taste."

  "So do I," Charlie admitted.

  "How you taste? Or how I taste? Have you tasted yourself?"

  Charlie clarified, "How you taste. And I'm asking the questions, remember?"

  "You're being evasive—but I'll let it slide if you—oh, uh huh—keep doing that!" Stormy moaned as Charlie bit one nipple and then the other.

  Conversation stopped for a few minutes while Charlie lost himself between Stormy's ample breasts. Their words were replaced with guttural noises and the slippery sounds of Stormy's hands moving between her legs with increasing speed.

  Charlie wrenched himself away and rasped, "What do you think about while masturbating?"

  "Depends."

  "On?"

  As she tugged at the waistband of his pants, she explained, "Whether I'm alone or with someone. If I'm with someone, I'm thinking about how what I'm doing is getting them off. Like now. You are so on the edge."

  "True, and so are you," Charlie observed, taking her hands and drying her fingers on his t-shirt so that she could get a better grip on his zipper. "And alone? A celebrity, perhaps?"

  "Oh, fuck! Nice cock!" Stormy exclaimed as Charlie raised his hips to allow her to slide his jeans and boxers over his ass and down to his
ankles. "No, celebrities are too...too distant. Alone, I usually think about someone I know—personally—getting off on my tongue."

  "Interesting," Charlie said with a gasp as she toyed with his balls. "This person—male or female?"

  "Depends."

  "On?" Charlie again asked, seating Stormy back on his lap so that her pussy rested against his cock.

  "On my mood. On the connection. Damn, that feels nice. What about you?"

  "You don't think about being on the receiving end of such attention?"

  "Of course I do, and you're evading me again!" Stormy teased. "But most of my fantasies deal with giving pleasure, or at least they start out that way. Just the thought of someone fantasizing about me will get my motor running—if it's someone I find desirable, that is."

  "Well, I've been fantasizing about you since meeting you on the plane," Charlie confessed, returning his attention to her breasts.

  "Mmm," was Stormy's only reply as she moved her hips in slow circles, painting Charlie's erection with her juices. She lifted herself slightly from Charlie's lap, and he took her cue. As he held himself for optimal entry, she slowly lowered herself onto his waiting cock.

  "I wanted to take you—right then and there—and fuck you hard until you screamed my name."

  "Oh, damn," Stormy moaned, pumping in response to Charlie's thrusts. "Well, you can make up for not following through on that thought by fucking me now."

  "Do you always talk dirty?"

  "I always think dirty. It doesn't always make it to my lips. Now, shut up and fuck me!"

  "Yes, ma'am!" Charlie filled his hands and his mouth with her breasts. Stormy hung on to the seat back on either side of Charlie's head and rode him like there was no tomorrow, each descent dragging her clit across his lower abs. The friction was incredible, and the penetration couldn't have gotten any deeper.

  Rapidly approaching the brink, Stormy leaned back. She grasped the headrests on each of the front seats and stared up at the rain pounding on the moon-roof as her orgasm blossomed. From a tiny bud, it grew into a flowering vine that rapidly spread across nerve endings, quaking as the winds of passion drove it—further, faster—until her body was suffused with it. Teetering. One last gasp and then—sublime release.