Coming Together: Special Hurricane Relief Edition (17 page)

"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.

"Ahh,"
Pietro groaned, finally, before Stormy's mouth even made contact.
"
¡
Sí,
sí, sí
!
"

As she
shared her own sounds of delight, Stormy again surrounded the length
of Pietro's cock with her mouth. If possible, he tasted even better
while making some noise. It provided the extra spice which made a
good meal great. For the sustenance of passion, Stormy mused, skin
could not be beat.

Knowing that
this time she'd allow him to come, Stormy held nothing back. All the
primary ingredients combined—lips, tongue, throat, hands—into
a harmonious symphony of sensation. Pietro pumped into her mouth,
well beyond that want/need threshold; his song now almost continuous.
He traveled on his own inexorable trajectory, falling into surrender.

As there was
now no stopping—or even slowing—his approach, Stormy just
held on tight as he landed with a monumental splash in the sublime
waters of release. Her tongue felt the pulses that just barely
preceded hot waves crashing against the back of her throat. As they
ebbed, Stormy returned to where she started—gently licking and
sucking Pietro's glans—causing tremors to surge through his
body until he could take no more and pushed her away.

* * * *

Stormy
reconnected with the others just as they entered the restaurant for
lunch. The rain stopped while they ate, and they spent the remainder
of the afternoon thoroughly exploring the Park's other attractions
before taking in a late dinner and returning to the B&B.;

Even though
exhausted from all the days' physical activities, Stormy took a long
shower and forced herself to pack. By the time she finished, it was
again raining. Her room, sandwiched between those of her traveling
companions, echoed with the sounds of both couples responding to the
downpour. Through the open window, the cool night air caressed her
bare legs, and the drumming of the rainfall stirred her imagination.
Sleep was, for the time being at least, completely out of the
question.

Surrendering
to the music of the night, Stormy allowed herself to relive the wet,
wild, and wonderful encounters of the past three days. Her hands
retraced the paths so recently traveled by others, kindling the fires
of memory. She could feel the cool moss from the bank of the pool at
the base of
la catarata
against her
bare back. The smell of cinnamon mingled with the sweet sweat of an
epiphany. The taste of caramel skin filled her mouth as her eyes
beheld a ballet of raindrops on the tinted glass of a moon roof.

Their hands
danced over her entire body. Five pair. Fifty fingers. Missing
nothing as they left searing trails of torment in their wake. Stormy
tumbled into a roaring collage of recollection that could only be
extinguished by allowing it to burn—furious and fast.

She filled
herself with her own fingers, beckoning, as her thumb sought the seed
of her manumission. In a kaleidoscope of kisses, their lips took
over. Tongues of fire licked at her breasts, in turn tough then
tender as they led Stormy steadily toward her zenith.

Impaled,
times three. Taken in every way while her nipples were bitten by
those who knew precisely when pleasure became pain, and when pain
became pleasure.

In the
orgiastic inferno, Costa Rica called to her, over and over:
¡Entrégate!
Give
yourself to me.

"I am
yours," Stormy whispered into the night as she burst into flame.

* * * *

She woke at
dawn feeling very refreshed and eager to get started on the journey
home. Each spent the quiet and uneventful trip back to San Jose lost
in thought and memory. Stormy hated to say goodbye, but they swapped
e-mail addresses and promised to share their pictures. Thanks to the
Internet, no one was ever far away anymore. Her flight departed on
schedule, and by late afternoon, she arrived back in Pittsburgh. With
a pang, she wondered if the rains fell at that moment in Costa Rica.

After
collecting her mail and her cat, Stormy returned home. Her world
appeared in more vivid color, as if a veil had been lifted.
Everything seemed just a little bit brighter, a little bit clearer, a
little less grey.

Apparently
the power had gone out during her absence, because the digital clock
flashed and the "record greeting" light on her answering
machine blinked for attention. Stormy wondered if she'd lost any
messages. After listening to four recorded sales pitches, Della's
voice came on.

"Honey,
I hope you had...um, fun. Call me when you get in. Things are nuts
here." Stormy had no way of knowing when the message was
recorded, because the time was screwed up. She paused only long
enough to grab a beer before returning the call. As she sat down at
her computer, Della answered.

"I just
got home. What's up?"

"Please
hold," Della chimed, and Stormy assumed there was someone at
Della's desk preventing her from speaking freely.

"Okay.
I'm back. Sorry.
What's-his-face
was standing right here."

Della
continued, "They drew lots this week. You know, for the order of
presentations? You're first."

"Oh, no
fair!" Stormy shouted. "But—no problem. I'm gonna
knock their socks off anyway. Just wait."