Nude in St. Barths

"You're buying clothes now?" asked Peter.

"Just a t-shirt," I said.

Then we headed back to the villa. I took off my bikini in the car because, well, why not? I made Peter take his shorts off, too, so I'd have something to play with. We got back to the villa, ate lunch and took a nap.

This exhibitionism was tiring! And I had a big night ahead of me.

We lounged around the pool the rest of the afternoon. When it came time for an early dinner, Peter and I went to a restaurant in Point Milou called Le Ti. I had my sundress back on, and I even managed to button most of the buttons. I ordered shrimp and Peter had tuna. And my tits didn't accidentally fall out of my dress, not even once. I was positively lady-like.

After dinner, we headed straight to Le Select. I changed out of my sundress and into the t-shirt in the car. This would be my new uniform, at least until I took it off. We found a parking spot and got out of the car. We walked to the bar, and I peeked in.

It wasn't full, but there were a lot more people there now. Fifty? Sixty? There were a lot of men, but there was a fair sprinkling of women as well.

I took a deep breath and walked into the bar and over to Eric.

"You're early," he said.

"I think I could use a drink," I said.

Eric pulled out his bottle of armagnac and poured three small glasses. I took a sip and looked around the room. I saw some faces from earlier today, and I saw some faces from earlier in the week. I even recognized some of the girls. But there was a buzz in the room and it was, bluntly, about me. I was the girl on the sign, I was the girl in the photos, I was the girl they had come to see take off her clothes.

I looked up at Peter.

"Are you OK?" he asked. "You know you don't have to do this."

I took another sip of the brandy.

"I think you're wrong, Peter," I said. "I think I do have to do this."

He leaned over and kissed me.

"Ready?" asked Eric.

I nodded and finished my drink.

"Kill the music for a sec, Eric?" I asked.

I stepped to the middle of the floor.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I yelled. "My name is Kathi, and tonight I will be your nude ... American ... waitress. You are free to take pictures, and you are free to touch me. I ask for two things — no insertion, and please tip well. Aside from that, I am at your pleasure."

I reached down to grab the bottom of the t-shirt and, in one motion, ripped it up and over my head. The crowd applauded, and I took a bow.

This was fun.

I tossed the t-shirt to Eric.

"I'll want that back later," I said.

And I walked over to a table and asked them if I could get them another round.

I was more brazen this time. I sat in people's laps, and I put their hands on my tits. I even asked them to spank my ass. Some of the guys got grabby, but they understood when I told them to calm down. Even some of the girls got into it, flashing their tits at the boys. But I was the only one who was completely naked, the only one getting groped.

The bar filled up quickly, and I was rushing to keep up. But I knew the customers were here to see me. So if they wanted to squeeze my breasts or touch my ass, I let them. This was my job, and I wanted to do it well.

And I always had time for photos. This meant people were having a good time. They wanted to remember this experience. And I knew that, years from now and thousands of miles away, people would still be staring at my naked body.


That turned me on.

I was serving drinks out on the terrace when I saw Guillaume. He ordered red wine, and when I came back, I asked for a favor.

"Finger me," I said, sitting on his knee.

He was alone at a table in the back. But there were probably eighty people out on the terrace now, and all of them could see me.

"Finger me," I said. "Please. I need to get off."

He licked two fingers and put them inside of me. He started to stroke me, but I decided to ride his fingers like a cock. I bounced up and down on his fingers, trying to be as quiet as I could be.

I put my arms around his neck.

"Put another finger in," I said. "I need to feel full."

Guillaume slid another finger into me. That worked. I rode him hard, stifling my moans. When I came, I fell into him. I caught my breath and stood up. I held onto Guillaume's hand, so his fingers were still inside of me. Only when I had turned to face the customers did I allow him to take them out.

Many of the customers saw this. I know, because when I took their drink orders, they asked me if I just got finger-fucked. I told them I had.

"But you said no insertion," they said.

"He's the chief of police," I said. "I had to let him finger-fuck me."

I didn't tell them that I asked him to.

"I'll make it up to you as best I can," I said. "Let's take some photos."

The guys — it was a table of guys, five of them — stood up. I put an arm around the necks of the two tallest.

"Lift me up, please," I said. "Now grab my legs."

I spread my legs as far as I could, and leaned back into their chests.

"Don't drop me," I said.

I pulled my arms down and placed my hands on my pussy. I spread my lips with my left hand, and started masturbating with my right.

"Is this OK? If I jerk off for you? If I get myself off?" I asked.

I didn't hear their answer, but I saw the camera flash. It flashed some more, and they switched places. They all wanted to be in a shot of me masturbating. My head rolled back and I came.

They put me down on the ground, but I felt shaky. One guy gave me his chair so I could catch my breath. But I couldn't dawdle — I had drinks to serve. I got to my feet and stumbled towards the bar.

A girl intercepted me, a tall redhead.

"I don't know who you are or why you're doing this," she said, "but this is the sexiest thing I've seen in my life."

I kissed her.

"My name is Kathi," I said, "and I'm a nude American waitress. This is what I do, and I do it because I want to do it."

I kissed her, slipping my tongue into her mouth. She embraced me, and I felt her hands squeeze my bare ass.

I got my wits about me, and started serving drinks again. I had to work fast to catch up, but the crowd was kind to me. They saw how hard I was trying to please them.

I paid special attention to the redhead. She had been kind to me when I was weak. And she was hot — that helped. But she was a customer, and I needed to make myself available to her as well.

When I was caught up, I stopped by her table. She was sitting with a group of girls.

"Would you care for a photo?" I asked. "I don't mind. I only ask that you email me a copy."

"I don't want a photo," she said. "I want to you to eat me out. Would you do that?"

"I'd like to do that," I answered. "I'd like to eat your pussy."

She dropped her shorts and hopped up onto the table. I spread her legs and put my mouth on her.

Kathi, the Nude American Waitress, was a lesbian, or maybe bisexual now. But Kathi, the Nude American Waitress had never eaten out a girl in front of a crowd of people. But I couldn't say no. I didn't want to.

Her hips were rocking back and forth, so I knew I was doing it right. I could see the flash of cell phones out of the corner of my eye, so I knew the crowd was getting into it. I slipped three fingers into her — I have small hands — and that was it. She came on my face, and I slurped up as much of her pussy juice as I could.

I kissed her.

"Thank you for letting my pleasure you," I said.

"Kathi!' she said, pulling up her shorts. "You made me cum. Thank you!"

I got back to serving drinks, but the crowd was growing rambunctious. A couple of guys straight out asked if they could fuck me, but I declined. But then some of the girls said they wanted to see me get me fucked, and I knew what I had to do.

I went inside and got Peter. I pulled him out to the terrace.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I said. "Several of you have asked to see me get fucked. I've already been finger -fucked once tonight, and I've also masturbated. I've even eaten out another woman, all for your pleasure. But I understand you want to see a cock in me, and I want that, too."

"This is my boyfriend, Peter, and I love the way he fucks me," I said. "Peter, will you fuck me now?"

I didn't wait for an answer. I yanked down his shorts and threw myself at his cock. I reached above my head and tried to unbutton his shirt. He took my hands and placed them behind my back. I saw his shirt fall to the ground behind him.

He was hard now, so I stood up. I asked a table of customers if they would pick up their beers. Then I laid down on the table. I spread my legs and he entered me. I put my arms out to the side, and my hands were held by two girls. I felt hands on my breasts — two guys.

I clamped down on Peter's cock. I wanted to squeeze the cum out of him. He pounded away at me as cameras flashed around us. I looked around at the crowd, the crowd that was watching us fuck. The crowd that was watching me get fucked.

I raised my head to look at Peter.

"When you cum, cum on my face," I said. "I think they'd like that."

Then the redhead appeared and put her fingers on my clit.

"You cum, too," she said. "We want to see you cum again."

I felt my back arch, and I spasmed. I'd cum again. Then I felt Peter pull out of me, and I scrambled off the table and onto my knees.

I couldn't even open my eyes. But I felt the shots of sperm on my eyes, my nose, my mouth. Instinctively, I found Peter's cock with my mouth and cleaned it. Cameras flashed.

Peter helped me to my feet, but I felt wobbly. Peter put his arm around me and led me to the bar. I sat down in a chair, and he handed me a bar towel so I could get cleaned up.

"You were incredible," said Eric, "but you're done. Relax now."

He handed me my t-shirt. I looked at Peter.

"That's more than enough," he said. "You're done."

I'd been waitressing for about four hours now. During that time, I'd been groped by pretty much everyone in the bar. I'd been finger-fucked once, masturbated once and been fucked by Peter as well. I was drained.

I put on the shirt and drew my knees up into it.

"But the sign," I said, "the Nude American Waitress ...."

"You were terrific," said Eric. "You made everyone happy."

"They're not done," I said. "They want more."

And I was right.

The crowd didn't get ugly, but they'd been promised a nude girl, and now she was curled up on a bar stool. I could hear a table outside — guys and girls — chanting "where's our girl, where's our girl."

And that's when the redhead stood up.

"My name is Morgan," she said, "and I want to be your Nude American Waitress. If you will allow, I will get naked and serve you tonight. Do I have your permission?"

If the crowd didn't roar, it came close. I saw Morgan pull off her top, remove her bra and step out of her shorts. She was nude now, just as I had been.

She filled me in for the last hour, until the final customer left. She didn't get fucked, but she was a good sport about being groped and letting people take photographs of her. She did a great job.

She gathered her clothes and sat down next to me. Eric put our tips jars on the counter and poured us a round of armagnacs. I was so tired that Peter had to count my tips. I did, however, notice that Morgan didn't get dressed to count hers.

I liked this girl.

Peter and I said good-bye to Eric while Morgan got dressed. We walked to the door of the bar when Peter stopped.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" he asked.

I sighed, and pulled off my t-shirt. I was nude again.

We waved at Eric and Morgan and walked to our car. We got in, and I leaned against Peter for warmth and support. We were home five minutes later.

Peter carried me from the car to the bed. I was exhausted, and could barely move. He brought me a glass of water and I kissed him goodnight. I felt him climb into bed and wrap his arm around me. I felt warm and safe. I fell asleep.

I woke up late the next morning to the smell of coffee. I stumbled out of bed and joined Peter in the kitchen.

"Did last night happen?" I asked. "Did this week happen?"

Peter handed me a cup of coffee. Black, no sugar.

"Check your phone," he said.

There were 256 email alerts.

I scrolled through the emails. They were all from Eric, who had forwarded the emails which had been sent to him. They were all of me, the photographic record of what I'd done the night before.

"Do you feel bad?" asked Peter.

"Not bad," I said. "Maybe shocked. Or confused."

"Why?" he asked.

"I don't think this is who I am. Or maybe I am the person in these photos, and I've never realized it before."

"Could you be both?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"We're on vacation, on a tiny island in the Caribbean. Normal people would drink too much. Or gamble. Or maybe head out to a nude beach. But we're not normal."

"We have kinks, or a dark side — whatever," he continued. "So when we cut loose, it's more extreme. In New York, you're Kathi — punk rock girl, domme, Brooklynite. In St. Barth, you're someone different, more sexual, more aggressive. But you're still nice, you're still kind — you're just letting go, in a place where it's safe to do so."

I drank my coffee.

"So I am Nude Girl?" I asked.

"Yes, when you want to be," he said. "And no, when you don't."


"What do you want me to be?"

"I don't want you to be anything." he said. "I like all of you. I'll take what you can give me."

It was starting to make sense.

We had breakfast, packed and headed off to the airport. We checked our luggage and waited for our plane back to St. Maarten. When they called our flight number, Peter and I held hands and walked out of the waiting room and onto the tarmac.

I stopped.

Peter looked at me. He knew what I had to do. He held my bag, and I unbuttoned my sundress one last time. I was nude again, on the tarmac of a small Caribbean airport. I walked over to the plane in full sight of everyone. I climbed the stairs up to the door. Then I turned around and saluted the island. It had been good to me.

I got in the plane and took a seat up front. The pilot did a double-take, and took a picture of me with his phone.

Peter sat across the aisle from me.

"I'm ready for my dress now," I said.

"No more Nude Girl?" he asked.

"No more Nude Girl for now," I said. "Maybe later. Maybe. But it's time for me to be Kathi again."