Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition (16 page)

"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.

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.