Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition Page 11

  Charlie was just a few seconds behind her. As his cock pulsed, her cunt contracted in response—a delicious internal give and take. By the time the waves had ebbed, so had the rain, and they disengaged.

  "So, what else have you got on here?" Stormy asked, taking the recorder down and turning it off. "How many other talkative tourists have you seduced?"

  "Just three, plus you," Charlie replied. "One per rainfall. I've got enough raw material to write a very intriguing series, which I intend to start the moment I get home—if not sooner."

  "When are you leaving?" Stormy asked, hoping to spend a bit more time with Charlie when it was not raining. She longed to get to know this charismatic, enigmatic man.

  "As soon as I drop you off at your hotel. My flight leaves first thing in the morning, so I'm spending the night in San Jose."

  "Oh, that's too bad. We're doing the rainforest canopy tour tomorrow—the zip lines. You could've joined us."

  "Did that yesterday," Charlie explained. "Wouldn't mind doing it again—it's a blast—but I've gotta get back. There's an odd feeling around this project, and I need to get a handle on it. It's bigger than it seems, that's for sure."

  "Funny you should say that, 'cause my assignment was kinda weird, too."

  Charlie was very interested in the details surrounding her assignment, and Stormy saw no reason to hold anything back. She talked as he drove. When she finished, Charlie shared his story.

  "I publish a travel guide, and we're in the process of updating our volume on Costa Rica. The government insisted—and I mean they were adamant—that we come now, during the rainy season. My team is scattered throughout the country, but I took Monteverde for myself 'cause I love it here.

  "It's obvious to me now that they want to capitalize on the effects of the rain." Charlie surmised, "We—and undoubtedly others—are a means to that end."

  "Wonder if any of the other ad agencies in the States actually sent someone here?" Stormy mused aloud as they pulled into the parking lot of the Sunset Inn.

  "Doubtful. They're all tightwads. You're not here on company funds, are you?" Seeing Stormy's expression, he continued, "I didn't think so." They exchanged contact information and agreed to let one another know how it all played out. With a farewell kiss, Charlie was on his way.

  * * * *

  Thursday morning dawned crisp and clear, almost nippy, in Monteverde. Stormy stepped onto the veranda of the bed and breakfast and greeted the others. They apologized for not waiting for her the previous evening, but assumed she passed the time with the man in the restaurant. Over breakfast, she learned that the others rode out the rain in the van while a mudslide was being cleared from the dirt and gravel roadway—giving their tour guides a real show. Apparently, the local population did not experience the effects of the rain with nearly the same intensity as the tourists—which put yet another powerful spin on Stormy's memories of Mia.

  By this time tomorrow morning, they would be on their way back to San Jose. The time passed so quickly, Stormy wondered what the next twenty-four hours would bring. It was certain to rain at least once more. Where, she wondered, would she be—and with whom—when next the rain fell? The anticipation already stirred her libido.

  The group set out for Selvatura—literally forest (selva) tour—Park right after breakfast. A short, perhaps twenty minute, ride covered some seriously rutted dirt roads. Once there, they discovered that the Park featured three main attractions: the treetop walkways, the canopy tour, and a butterfly garden. While they planned to explore all three, their main reason for coming remained the canopy tour—commonly known as the "zip lines."

  Stormy spent a considerable amount of time during her research on Costa Rica reading about the canopy tours, which she found very intriguing. They were the commercialization of a means of transportation used by the indigenous population to traverse the rugged terrain—sort of a cheap, one-person bridge. Disturbing as little of the rainforest as possible, platforms were constructed in the tree tops and steel cables stretched between them. Using harnesses and pulleys, tourists zipped along the cables through the jungle canopy, getting an amazing view and a thrilling ride at the same time. While it sounded dangerous, the professionally-guided canopy tours in Costa Rica boasted a pristine safety record: no fatalities or permanently incapacitating injuries. Such would be bad for business, after all.

  Immediately upon arrival at the Park, while the sun still shone, they signed up for the next canopy tour. The staff explained that a light rain would not be allowed to interfere with the tour, but they would delay for a downpour—even if they were in the middle of the jungle at the time. Being stranded on a small platform about four hundred feet above the jungle floor in the pouring rain really wasn't something anyone wanted to experience. Stormy chuckled as a vision filled her mind: a cluster of writhing, naked bodies crammed on a tree top platform, getting off while struggling to keep from falling off.

  After registering, one of the staff led them to a small gear room and outfitted each with heavy leather gloves, a helmet, and a harness that wrapped around the waist and each leg. From the harness, an umbilical strap terminated in a heavy clamp and pulley that Stormy assumed would be attached to the taut cables suspended between the trees.

  The place was practically deserted, which—once again—Stormy vowed to rectify with the ad campaign taking shape in her mind. With such a small group—just the five of them and two guides—the tour would take only a couple hours. At peak, groups typically consisted of at least thirty guests and six guides, and they ran back-to-back tours from dawn 'til dusk.

  They set out on foot along an easy trail that gradually began to climb. This particular route featured fourteen cables and lasted approximately three hours. In short order, they arrived at a small clearing where the guides demonstrated how to safely traverse the cables, including how to brake by pulling down on the cable behind the pulley. It certainly seemed simple enough, but Stormy's heart pounded in her chest. She'd never done anything remotely as daring and, while it looked great online, the reality was much more intimidating.

  Stairs circled around a tree trunk to the first platform. One of the guides—Tomás, an adorable young man with the cutest dimples—went first, followed by Rob, Shelly, Max, and then Bruce. They made it look so very effortless. Only Stormy and the remaining guide, Pietro, remained on the platform. He was the more experienced of the two, which she found somewhat reassuring.

  "Um...I'm not sure about this," Stormy began.

  "You will be fine," Pietro interrupted. "I'll make sure of it." His surprisingly deep voice comforted her and, although his English was heavily accented, she understood it without difficulty. Stormy caught herself wondering what those exact sentences would feel like whispered against the sensitive skin just beneath her ear.

  To assuage Stormy's fear, Pietro made a show of checking and re-checking her harness, which gave Stormy the opportunity to openly admire his broad shoulders. His hands slid slowly all the way around the inside of each leg strap, ostensibly assuring that they were not too tight or too loose, while Stormy hung on to those shoulders for balance. For a few moments, she completely forgot her apprehension.

  Pietro's radio crackled, startling them both, as Tomás called to ask what was taking them so long. "Coming now," he responded curtly, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

  As instructed, Stormy placed both gloved hands on the cable and jumped. Pietro supported her with a knee to the backside as he deftly secured the pulley and clamp at the end of her umbilical strap to the cable. Stormy now dangled precariously, her butt cradled in the harness. She was kept from sailing over the treetops by only Pietro's gloved hand on the pulley.

  Brushing his thick, wavy hair from his eyes, Pietro cautioned, "Remember: Braking hand on the cable behind the pulley at all times. Other hand here, on the center strap. If you go too fast, brake with both hands. Knees up. Ready?"

  Her gulp apparently mistaken for a nod, Pietro pulled her back slightly and launched
her along the cable with a firm push and a whoop of, "¡Pura vida!" Before she had time to scream, Stormy was flying. The air whistled in her ears and her eyes were glued to the terminus—initially distant but approaching rapidly. Too rapidly! The others watched and cheered her. The guide held both hands up, palms outward, in the signal to brake harder. Harder? Stormy had not been braking at all! She'd been too distracted, at first by the terror and then by the exhilaration of the ride.

  Pulling down hard on the cable, Stormy slowed just enough that she didn't bowl everyone off the platform. Although instructed to use both hands for braking if necessary, she just couldn't bring herself to loosen her other hand's white-knuckled grip on the umbilical strap. She landed in a grinning Tomás' arms.

  Stormy was so relieved to feel the platform beneath her feet that she planted a big kiss on his cheek before letting go. Embarrassed, Tomás hurriedly connected himself to the next cable and sailed off just as Pietro slid in behind her. With a conspiratorial wink, he set about getting the others started on the second cable. As soon as Tomás radioed to give the go ahead, Max was on his way and the others soon followed.

  Stormy could feel the unmistakable effects of the pervasive cloud forest humidity. It permeated her entire being, dissolving the inhibitory boundaries of society and culture and revealing the pure sensuality of the spirit. Its effects were subtler than the rainfall, yet every bit as powerful.

  From the look in Pietro's eyes, Stormy could tell it affected him on some level as well—or perhaps he was just a lusty young tico with the hots for an older American woman. Regardless, Stormy intended to enjoy the attention. On some chemical level, she thought, the rain must cause the release of pheromones, which were known to enhance one's feelings of attractiveness. Stormy had never felt as intensely alluring as she did in this magical climate.

  "Alone at last," Pietro said, half jokingly. "Are you still afraid?"

  Stormy shrugged, "Yeah, but not as much." She hated it when women feigned fear or fragility in order to get closer to a man, and she got the impression that Pietro did as well. With his rakish good looks, Stormy knew he got more than his fill of coy damsels in distress.

  Her fear diminished somewhat, but it still occupied her thoughts. Pietro bent forward and kissed her, surprisingly tenderly. "For courage," he said.

  "It'll take more than that," Stormy teased as he attached her rig to the cable.

  "Next time," Pietro promised. "We must to keep moving or Tomás will get anxious. ¡Pura vida!"

  And Stormy again flew. This time, she remembered to brake steadily and to take in the magnificent view. It was part roller coaster, part sky dive, and part pantheistic ecstasy. She made a much smoother landing and was still standing near the edge of the platform mentally congratulating herself when she felt Pietro's hands on her hips, gently moving her out of his way.

  "Nice job," he said into her ear, causing Stormy to shiver. Once the others took off, Pietro wrapped her in his arms and delivered a kiss that made Stormy swoon. His lips were soft and full; his tongue, agile. "Better?"

  "Much," she responded when she'd recovered enough to speak. "Is this part of your standard service?"

  Pietro threw his head back and laughed, "Occasionally, yes, but not as often as you might think."

  Things proceeded much the same way for the next ten cables. While Pietro and Stormy never made the others wait more than a few extra seconds, their flirtatious ritual progressed from platform to platform. Stormy's apprehension eased considerably, replaced by awe at the majesty of nature. Plus, the tantalizing distraction provided by Pietro kept her from having time to dwell on any lingering fears.

  Stormy felt the first raindrops as she traveled the next-to-last line. They almost beat the rain! Tomás recommended that they double up on the last cable, and all agreed. As soon as he was on his way, Pietro clamped Shelly and Bruce together on the cable. Bruce had both hands back for braking, and Shelly held on to her umbilicus with one hand and Bruce's with the other. Her legs wrapped around his waist as she faced backwards. They looked quite cozy, and Stormy looked forward to wrapping her legs around Pietro in the same fashion.

  Rob and Max looked equally cozy as they sailed away. The rain picked up, and Pietro wasted no time getting Stormy ready. He then hoisted himself into place. She wrapped her legs around him, getting as close as possible. "One last time," he said with a tinge of regret, "¡Pura vida!"

  Pietro and Stormy were not even completely unhitched before Tomás began descending the stairs from the platform, leading the others in pairs. The rain fell steadily although the trees provided some shelter.

  "He's in a big hurry," Stormy noted as she removed her harness and helmet, shaking out her long, dark hair.

  "Tomás? Rob and Max make him nervous—or something."

  "They don't bite," Stormy chuckled, "unless you want them to."

  "That's just it. I think he wants them to."

  "Hmm. Well, I could use a bite myself."

  As they reached solid ground, Pietro and Stormy stayed back while the others continued along the path toward the Park office. Very little of the rain actually fell directly to the forest floor. The dense canopy deflected most of it, and it was not immediately evident that precipitation was even falling unless one came upon a rift in the umbrella created by a fallen tree.

  Without speaking, Pietro backed Stormy against a tree and playfully bit her bottom lip. Her hands slid easily down the back of his shorts and grabbed his smooth, rock-hard ass. Stormy's mouth watered. If all of Pietro was as yummy as what she now had in her hands, she was in for a real treat.

  Stormy nearly drooled as she removed his sweatshirt to discover well-sculpted pecs and abs. Not that muscle-bound body builder stuff; just lean and defined and absolutely scrumptious. She found Pietro's chest as smooth and as hairless as his ass, and she hungrily explored his flawless caramel skin. She felt like a kid in a candy store, not sure what to taste next. However, the past three hours of teasing and flirting left Stormy in no mood for mere appetizers. She wanted her main course. Now.

  There were times, and this was one of them, when Stormy focused entirely on the giving. When this happened, she wanted nothing more than to thoroughly satisfy her partner. Oddly enough, it often made her feel selfish—as though she denied her lover the opportunity to please her—although it was never her intent to engender an obligation to reciprocate. She preferred that a lover simply accept her gift in the spirit with which it was delivered.

  Switching places with Pietro, she put his back to the tree and pulled on the drawstring of his shorts, further loosening it. Stormy's fingers trembled with anticipation as she began to unwrap her entree. She knelt, wanting to breathe the musky air that had enveloped him before it escaped into the jungle.

  That first deep breath, that inhalation of intimate scents, intoxicated Stormy. It filled her nostrils as her tongue reached, of its own accord, for the single glistening drop at the very end of Pietro's rigid cock. Delicately, with something approaching reverence, Stormy traced the corona with the very tip of her tongue and then took just the glans into her mouth. Only then did she finish pushing his shorts down to his ankles, allowing her hands to slowly climb back up the inside of Pietro's legs.

  When her hands reached his balls, Stormy began to lightly suck—still just the glans—as her fingertips slowly circled and massaged. In response, Pietro filled his hands with her hair and rested his head against the trunk of the tree. He stood silent and still, but his face betrayed the intensity of his arousal.

  In very little time, Stormy felt Pietro's balls begin to tighten. Although he'd yet to move or make a sound, she immediately changed her rhythm to keep him from coming too quickly. Selfishly wanting him to last as long as possible, she shifted her focus.

  The skin of Pietro's groin tasted slightly salty with sweet metallic undertones, and Stormy peppered the area with feathery kisses. It was her favorite place on a man's body—and a woman's—on the border between here and there. Between the
real and the imagined, where fantasy flirted with passion's promise.

  She could have happily spent hours lapping at the edges of Pietro's lust, but before long, Stormy felt his hands gently guiding her head back toward the epicenter of his desire. With a barely audible sigh, she turned her attention to his balls—licking and sucking as her hands toyed with his shaft, carefully avoiding the glans for the time being.

  The lightness of her touch made Pietro twitch, precisely as Stormy intended. She wanted him arching his back in search of more—harder, faster. She wanted him pulling her hair and groaning under her tongue as want became indistinguishable from raw need.

  The sight. The smell. The touch. The taste. All Stormy lacked was the sound, and before she'd let Pietro reach his bliss, she was determined to have that sound. Until then, she planned to repeatedly bring him right to the edge and then back off. She felt absolutely no hurry. No, she wanted to savor this man.

  Abruptly, Stormy took Pietro's cock into her mouth—all of it at once. Her tongue teased the dorsal shaft as her throat rhythmically massaged the tip. She'd worked hard to master that little trick in order to give greater pleasure to her lover—and open mouthed swallow, of sorts. Her lips squeezed the base of his shaft, and her hands worked his balls. Just for a few seconds. It was enough, though—enough of a taste of what could be—that Pietro began to thrust his hips. But still, no sound.

  Stormy resumed her gentler ministrations, stroking and licking, until she sensed it again time to shake things up. This time she took only his glans into her mouth, allowing Pietro to fuck just her lips as her tongue danced on his head. A little longer this time, and a little faster—and she was rewarded with a definite gasp when she withdrew.

  One more time, Stormy figured, ought to do it. She laved the area beneath Pietro's balls as her hands again lightly stroked, occasionally squeezing. The act of licking, of tasting, a lover's skin was the ultimate for Stormy—the pinnacle of intimacy. After a little more attention to his balls, she needed to again feel Pietro's fullness in her mouth. She held his cock with both hands and slowly—licking her lips and moaning softly—lowered her mouth.