Nude in St. Barths

"It's such a pleasure to share a drink with such a lovely women," said Guillaume.

"It's a pleasure to drink with such a handsome chief of police," I said.

I moved his hand over onto my leg. He got the message, and started rubbing my leg, moving up to my inner thigh. I looked over and joined into Eric and Peter's conversation. His hand moved slowly up my thigh to my pussy. He found my clit, and massaged it between his fingers. I spread my legs wider, and he slid a finger into me. He stroked me slowly, just enough to turn me on. Then he pulled his finger out.

I turned to face him.

"Thank you," I said.

More people came in the bar. They were all shocked, but none of them freaked out. Eric was placing drink orders onto a tray when I got an idea. I stood up and told Eric I'd be happy to be his waitress. Eric said I could keep any tips I made. So I picked up the tray and walked over to the table.

"My name is Kathi," I said, "and I'll be your waitress this evening. Please let me know if you need anything else."

I liked being the waitress, because it gave me an excuse to walk around the bar, showing off my body. It's one thing to be the naked girl at the bar — it's another to make sure everyone gets a good view. I even showed off my asshole. I dropped some money on the floor, and bent over from the waist to pick it up. I could feel the night air on my anus. To make my point clear, I reached around with my hands and spread my butt cheeks as wide as they would go. For that, I got applause.

Peter was having a good time talking with Eric and Guillaume, but I didn't want him to feel left out. So I walked over to him, put my tray down and kissed him. A real kiss, with lots of tongue. And I ground my hips into his. Then it was back to work.

I made some friends, and learned where on the island to shop and eat. Then one of the tables asked for a picture with me, and I happily obliged. The only condition was that they had to email a copy to both me and the bar. I knew I would probably never do this again in my life, and I wanted something to remember this trip by.

Then all the tables asked for photos, and the cell phones came out. There are photos of me with guys, with couples, even a table full of girls. My favorite photo was with four guys. They picked me up and were holding me horizontally. I noticed they took care to expose my breasts and pussy.

People were leaving, so it was time for me to stop playing waitress. There were eight people left in the bar, including Eric. Guillaume had left, but not before giving Peter his card. I now had police protection. (And yes, there's a very cute photo of me with the chief of the St. Barths police.)

I gave Eric the tray and he handed me my tip jar. I counted out nearly 300 euros in tips — about $400 at the time. Not bad for three hours work. And Peter and I drank for free. Eric asked us to stay for a nightcap, and we agreed. He reached under the bar and pulled out a bottle of armagnac, a type of French brandy.

"This is my private bottle," said Eric. "I hope you enjoy."

It was terrific — very smooth and a little peppery. Not too sweet.

"Thank you for gracing my bar," he said. "It was wonderful to look at your body all night."

We toasted.


"Will you be back?" he asked.

"Sure," I said, "in a day or two."

"Just let me know," said Eric. "I'll put a sign out — Naked Girl Waitressing Tonight."

"That's a deal," I said.

"And now you go home and fuck him?" he asked.

I nodded.

"He is a lucky man," he said.

"Yes, he is," said Peter.

Eric poured us another round and we said our good-byes.

"I feel like this is a stupid question, but do you want your dress?" Peter asked.

I put my hands on hips and feigned indignation.

"Don't you know I'm Naked Girl?"

We walked off, holding hands. It was chilly now, but I wasn't going to put on any clothes. We got in the car and drove off.

"By my math," said Peter, "you were naked for about twenty-one hours today. Maybe twenty-two. That's pretty good."

"I think that's right," I said.

"Do you have any idea how many people saw you naked?" he asked.

I thought.

"Maybe a hundred at Grande Saline," I said. "Maybe more, but that doesn't really count. That's a nude beach."

"You weren't just on a nude beach," he said, "you were fingering yourself, giving a hand job, and letting another girl finger yourself on a nude beach. That counts."

He had a point.

"And, all told, maybe a hundred at the bar," I said.

"Call it two hundred minimum," he said. "That's a good day for a stripper."

"That's true," I said.

"And strippers won't let you take nude photographs of them," he said.

"I bet some do, but I don't know," I said.

I liked this — being naked and talking about me being naked. I asked Peter for my phone.

"Who are you calling?" he asked. 


"Nobody," I said. "I want to see the photos."

They downloaded slowly over the island's crappy wireless system. That only gave me more time to inspect each one. I would remember every detail of when the photo had been taken — whether the customers were shy or brash, whether they copped a feel of my ass or my tits, the other customers looking on. And then I remembered that Eric had a copy of all of these photos, too.

"Drive faster," I said. "I need to fuck you."

The next morning, we woke up and fucked again. I asked Peter if he could drive me into town. After he said yes, I asked if this could be a nude day, for the both of us.

"You being nude is one thing," he said. "They will arrest my naked ass."

"We'll have to be careful," I said. "But we can do this."

Reluctantly, he agreed. We showered and had breakfast. I grabbed my flip-flops and my new wrap. Technically, it was clothing. But it was very sheer, and if I wore it in New York, I would absolutely be arrested. So it didn't count.

I walked into the living room to find Peter waiting by the door. He was naked, save for his flip-flops and a hat. He was very fair, but he'd gotten a good base tan down by now. I knew he didn't want to burn, which I respected, but he looked ridiculous. The flaccid cock didn't help.

This, I realized, is a fundamental difference between being naked as a man and begin naked as a woman. Women look good with their clothes off. Period. Guys only look good when they have erections. It doesn't need to be a super-hard erection, but it couldn't be a turtle-withdrawing-into-its-shell kind of cock.

I dropped to my knees in front of him.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Can't have you be seen like this," I said. "Need a little blood in that thing."

I blew him until he was half-hard, and stopped.

"There," I said, "that looks better."

We walked to the car and drove to a section of the island called Public. It was a commercial area, but I'd learned that there was a terrific wine store there named La Cave du Port Franc. Once we arrived, I took the wrap out of my bag and put it around me.

"Can you see my nipples?" I asked. "Can you see my pussy? Am I nude?"

"Close enough for jazz," he said.

He kissed me.

I grabbed my bag and walked in to the store and looked around for the champagne section. There were two middle-aged men behind the counter, and one of them came out to help me. I turned to face him, so could see my body underneath the wrap.

"I'm looking for a good champagne, maybe 100 — 150 euros," I said.

"We have some excellent wines in that range. The 2004 Dom Perignon, the Krug — it's not vintage but it's excellent, the 2000 Winston Churchill —that's a little out of your price range but it's incredible," he said.

It was cute how he trying to check me out, but still discuss wine.


"And would a lady be entitled to a discount for dressing like this?" I asked.

This gave him an excuse to check me out. I turned slowly so he could see me from every angle. 


"Um," he stammered.

"How about now?" I said.

I undid the knot, and the wrap dropped to the floor. I saw his eyes go from tits to my pussy and back to my tits. Then I turned around and bent over, to show him my asshole.

"150 euros," he said "That's a 20 euro discount."

"We'll need glasses — good ones," I said. "But you can take pictures of me."

"I have Spiegelau," he said. "They're nearly as good as the Reidel."

"I have no idea what that means, but I'll take them," I said, putting my wrap in my bag. "Where do you want me?"

He took me by the hand into the back of the store, and the other man joined us. We opened a door and walked into a cave. This was why the store was in a commercial area. There was a mountain here, and the store had blasted its own cave into it. It was chilly in here, and my nipples got hard. He led me over to a palate stacked with wooden champagne cases. There was a moveable stairway there, and he asked me to climb up. Two-by-fours were spread out on top of the cases. I left my bag on the stairway, but grabbed my cell phone.

I stepped off gingerly and made my way to the middle. He started to take photos of me. I put the phone down, and struck a few poses. Then I sat down on the edge, and spread my legs and pussy lips. He liked that a lot. So did the other guy. I grabbed my phone and took a photo of the guys taking photos of me. I sent it to Peter.

I stepped off the champagne cases and onto the stairway. When I got to the bottom, the gentlemen offered my their hands, and we walked back into the main room. I wrapped the wrap around me again and grabbed the bag with the champagnes and the glasses.

"Thank you for letting me get naked for you," I said. "I appreciate the discount, and hope you enjoy the photos. I would appreciate if you sent me copies of them"

I wrote down my email address, walked out of the store and got back in the car. Peter was looking at his iPhone, and I saw he'd gotten my email.

"I'm assuming you were naked when they were taking pictures of you," he said.

"Nude all day," I said, leaning over to kiss him and rub his cock. "Just like you."

From there it was off to a place called Primantilles, back in St. Jean. They were kind of a high-end grocery store, and were supposed to have great meat. I walked in with my wrap and went over to the meat counter. I found the entrecôte, which I was told was equivalent to a rib-eye. I got some vegetables, too, and crème fraîche and salmon roe.

There were another couple of guys working here, and I felt their eyes all over me. When I went to pay, I pulled the same stunt, asking for a discount and then dropping my wrap. A hundred euro tab dropped to sixty. For the photos, they took me to the back and led me into the meat cooler, where they aged their meat. I posed around the racks of hanging meat, rubbing my tits and pussy all over them. I asked them to take a photo with my phone, which I sent to Peter.

By the time I'd gotten back to the car, Peter had received the email.

"Are you fucking a dead cow?" he asked.

"A little grinding — that's all," I said.

Off to the bakery. This was my best bet for Peter's public nudity. It was run by a couple of young women, and I hoped there wouldn't be any guys there. Girls don't mind seeing other girls nude, but guys don't like to see nude guys. If I was going to put Peter on display, I needed an all-female crowd.

I made out with Peter to get his cock hard. And then I went in.

I was almost in luck. The owners were there, but there were two elderly gentleman, sipping expressos in the corner. I walked over to the counter and put my arm across my tits. I din't want to appear naked in front of the owners. Not yet.

"May I help you?" asked one of the owners.

They were cute, maybe thirty, with strong hands and beautiful skin. I chose a tart and they started to ring me up. 


"I'd like to ask a favor, if I could," I said. "My boyfriend and I lost a bet, and we need to get naked in a bakery. Would you mind if he came in here — he's good-looking — and you took a photo of us?"

The owner looked over at the old men, and then back at me.

"You're naked underneath your wrap?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Get him in here," she said, "we'll help you out."

I called Peter, then handed my phone to the owner.

Peter walked in the door, his head held high. He saw the two women behind the counter and relaxed. This was going to work.

I dropped my wrap. Peter and I put our arms around each other, and they took our photo. The woman offered me my phone, but I asked her to take a couple of more pix.

Then I dropped to my knees and put his cock in my mouth. The woman were shocked, but they thought it was part of the bet. I looked at them and nodded. They took the photos, and I stood up.

"Thank you so much," I said. "I'm glad that's over with."

"It's not a problem," said the owner. "He has a nice penis. You are lucky."

"Yes, I am," I said.

I put the wrap around me, but Peter stopped me.

"We've come this far ..." he said.

So we strolled out of the bakery, caring our bags, over to the car, completely naked. Of course, there were people in the parking lot, but this was more silly than anything. Peter opened the door for me, and I got in. He walked around to his door, and slid into the driver's seat.

"Happy now?" he asked.

"Very," I said, "and the day's not done."

We went back to the villa and had lunch. Then we laid out in the sun by the pool. Only a few people walked down to our end of the beach, which bothered me. I stood up and grabbed Peter's hand.

"Come on," I said, "let's go for a dip in the ocean."

He was reluctant, but it's amazing how persuasive a nude girl can be. We opened the gate by the pool, and walked down the path straight into the bay. I threw my arms around him and kissed him. We bobbed together in the water, my legs wrapped around him.

"Is this crazy, what I'm doing?" I asked him.

"It's your body, and no one's getting hurt," he said. "If you want to expose yourself, then do it. You don't make fun of me for enjoying being fucked in the ass."

"Good point," I said, and I kissed him.

And then we walked back inside and I fucked him the ass. It was that simple. OK, he ate me out 'til I came. But fucking him in the ass was easy.

We stayed in bed until we got hungry. Then we got up and made our nude dinner, and relaxed on the couch in the living room. We found a re-run of Ghostbuster II and just snuggled. Halfway through, I started to fall asleep.

"Let's go to bed," I said. "We did it. We were nude for a day. We deserve a rest."

We slept like angels. I woke up the next day with his arm around me.

Peter had planned for us to take a trip around the island on jet skis, but I needed to get in contact with Eric first. I wanted to be his nude waitress again, for a couple of reasons. The obvious one was to get naked, but the other one was to make money. I'd paid for a very nice steak dinner for Peter, but he'd paid for villa. I wanted to make some money for him, and I wanted to use my naked body to do it.

I emailed Eric before breakfast and he called me when I was in the shower. I toweled off quickly and answered the phone. It only felt appropriate to be nude when I spoke to him. He wanted me at Le Select by 8:00 and he said he would put a sign up outside, advertising my nakedness.

Peter and I drove out to Grand Fond. I had put on the bikini for the drive, but I was OK with that. I had proven whatever I needed to prove to myself. I still wanted to be naked, but I didn't need to be naked. I could wear clothes now — if a string bikini counted as clothes.

We found the jet ski spot and met our guide for the morning. The ride around the island would take about a little more than an hour, and we'd stop halfway through for a snack. The guide gave us some rudimentary instructions, and we were ready to go. I took off my top and then my bottom, placing them in a compartment inside the jet ski. There weren't many people on the beach, but I was nude again.

The guide was looking at me.

"Do you mind?" I asked.

"Not at all," he said.

His eyes washed over me. I felt that sensation again, of being watched.

I got on the jet ski and we were off.

The jet ski was a blast — I'd never done it before. I liked the speed, the salt water splashing in my face, the crashing through waves. But what I really loved was the vibration. The engine was right between my thighs. Every time I hit the throttle, a wave of pleasure flowed through my body. It wasn't enough to get me off, but it was close.

The guide took us around the island, slowing down from time to time to share some local history with us. This was fine by me, because it meant we could speed off again and I could put the throttle all the way up. I tried to cum, but the vibrations were in the wrong spot. I just couldn't get my groin in the right position.

We pulled into an inlet for a break and a snack. I rode the jet ski gently into the beach until it stopped. I got up to survey the situation. We were on a small beach, maybe thirty yards wide and about twenty yards deep. Behind me, the ocean spread out, uninterrupted save for a few sailboats. We got out our towels and sat down. The guide handed us a salad of mango, papaya and strawberries.

"I have a favor to ask," I said. "The ride over here made me very horny. May I masturbate? I don't think it will take long."

The guide's eyes opened wide.

"No problem," he said. "No problem at all."

I looked over at Peter and he was smiling. He was used to this kind of behavior from me now, so he started in on his salad.

I leaned back on my towel and spread my legs. I grabbed my left breast with my left hand and masturbated with my right. I slid two fingers inside me, and clawed the fingers upwards towards my G-spot. I stroked away at myself, watching the guide and Peter watch me. That turned me on — having an audience.

I stroked harder and made myself cum. Finally relaxed, I pulled my fingers out of my pussy and offered them to the guide. He licked them.

"Like mango," he said.

I didn't believe him, but accepted the compliment anyways. We got back on the jet skis, and completed our tour of the island.

The beach was fairly crowded when we got back, which I hadn't anticipated. We drove up onto the beach, and I got off the jet ski. I was being watched now, I could feel it — you don't see a nude girl jet skiing everyday. But I calmly reached into the storage compartment and pulled out my bikini bottom. I unfolded it and, facing everyone, tied it below my hips.

We thanked the guide and walked back towards the car. I had my arm around Peter, and I could feel the salt water beginning to dry on his skin. When we got to the car, I kissed him.

I asked Peter to take the long way home, through Gustavia. I wanted to see if Eric had put up his sign. We drove slowly past Le Select and there it was.

"Ce Soir Seulement — Kathi, Serveuse Américaine Nue."

Tonight Only — Kathi, Nude American Waitress. It wasn't Nude Girl — it was better.

I asked Peter to park so I could take a picture. I want to remember this, I thought. Then we walked in to say hello to Eric.

He had done some decorating since we'd been there a few days ago. The nude photo of me was still on the bulletin board. But Eric had taken about twenty other nude pictures of me and taped them up to the wall. It was the Nude Kathi Bar.

I looked around, but saw few familiar faces. This was the lunch crowd, the day crowd and they were all new to me. They looked at the photos on the wall, then at me, then back at the photos.

I walked over to some of them.

"Yes, I am the girl in the photos," I said. "My name is Kathi, and I will be waitressing tonight. In the nude. Please come by and see me."

We chatted with Eric briefly, confirming the time for this evening, and left. Walking outside, I spied the Le Select Souvenir Shop. I jumped in to buy a t-shirt, a large.