It is now the final night of our holiday. People have recommended the beach club, a short drive away. We are told it is somewhat more dressy than other places, but still basically informal. Susan has brought four wraps with her. Two are quite basic, and when back in Sydney, she wears these at the beach, over her costumes. The others are of better material, of elegant design, and she can make them quite dressy. She spends more time tonight on her hair, make-up and jewelry. Then she puts on her wrap. It winds tightly about one and a half times around her body, and one corner is then firmly inserted into the wrap, above her breast, to secure it. She wears no bra. The wrap just touches the floor at the other end.

She is not comfortable with the fact that the outline of her panties disturbs the otherwise smooth veneer of the wrap over her thighs and bottom. I suggest she tries the wrap without the panties. Perfect! However, isn't this a little too risque? The worry seems to be that her nakedness might be visible through the not fully opaque material of the wrap, rather than a concern for the security of the wrap itself. So we examine the effects under certain lighting conditions, and conclude that no nudity is actually visible through the material, but that an onlooker may well wonder if underwear is being worn. Good enough!

So, off to the club. The dining room is accessed by stairs leading down from a hall, a short way from the entrance. The menu is enticing, the food itself quite brilliant, and we share a bottle of cold wine. We need to walk to a buffet to select the vegetables or salad to accompany the meal served to us. Susan is stunning, and I notice many an admiring pair of eyes coming to the same conclusion. We need to return to the buffet to select dessert. I know that many minds are asking the same question. "Is there anything on under that wrap?"

It is now time for us to leave. On the stairs, Susan leads. I follow, a stair or two behind. I am fixated on the shape of that gorgeous bottom as it sways, one stair after the other. She is just at the point where the staircase reaches a small landing, as it turns on itself, leading further up. I notice a corner of the wrap is trailing a little along each stair. Almost instinctively on my next step, I tread heavily on this piece of wayward material, just as Susan steps up and around to the next set of steps. I don't believe I planned the move, or even considered it, before doing it.

Susan turns, her face momentarily displaying apprehension, before turning briefly to anger, and then to defiance. She turns back to continue up the stairs, her progress having suffered only the slightest of interruptions. No doubt she could hold the wrap tightly around her as she proceeds, but she willfully chooses to let it fall slowly to the steps. I cannot leave it there. So I stoop to retrieve it as she continues up, kicking off one sandal after the other. I pick these up too.

She has reached the top of the stairs, and I can tell by the noise that her appearance has attracted a wide audience. She turns towards the entrance, and I now notice that she must have spent some time that afternoon plucking more hair from her pussy area. She is as bare as a baby. Her face is flushed. She winks as she passes, and I have a step or two to go. She has just passed probably the most populous part of the club.

What must I look like? I hold the discarded wrap and sandals, as I turn at the top of the stairs and follow Susan to the front door. The noise is deafening. Cheers, laughter, whistles and shouts of encouragement to Susan as she slowly and methodically walks away from them. They have had a full frontal view, and are now feasting on the back view, shapely and carefree. Her attendant obediently follows her with her clothes, obviously more embarrassed than she.

Susan arrives at the revolving glass doors that separate the front foyer from the main part of the club. Three young men are entering on one side, one after the other. Without hesitation, she passes them as they enter. They seem not to believe their eyes. They chatter excitedly to each other as they pass me. I don't think they notice me. As Susan crosses the short vestibule to the front door, she passes a club employee who is serving a couple who are purchasing some liquor to take home. The female employee gasps, covering her mouth with her hand, and the couple turn to see what has caught her interest.

"What is she doing?" I am not sure this question is directed at me, but I answer anyway.

"Her dress fell off."

Susan is now outside the entrance, at the top of some eight or so steps that lead down to the club's driveway. She is bathed in a bright light that contrasts with the evening darkness that has now descended. The club's courtesy bus patiently awaits any more clients that might need its service to return home. Its occupants have a close, spectacular view of Susan as she waits for me to join her, and as we both descend the steps, passing in front of the bus to walk to our car, parked further along in the external carpark. Susan takes my arm, but makes no effort to retrieve her wrap.

A few steps in front of the bus we are suddenly in the headlights of a car about to pass us to park further along the way. Their windows are down, and the male occupants are feasting themselves on Susan's alabaster naked body, whose whiteness is accentuated by the car's headlights. They crawl beside us, voicing invitations, some obscene, to Susan as she turns to smile at them, and allow them full visual access to her nakedness.

We have reached my car. Susan whispers to me to take my time opening the car, and I pretend to fumble the keys and to have difficulty finding the keyhole. As I am doing this, she is now facing them and having a short conversation - one she might have with strangers when fully dressed. The door is opened, Susan gets in, and I go around to the driver's side.

"You lucky bastard!" I am told.

I sit behind the wheel, and turn to Susan. Her face is flushed. She is shaking a little. "That is the hottest thing I've ever done," she gasps.

Her fingers are now deep inside her saturated pussy. Before long she collapses into an intense orgasm.

"Thank you," are the only words I hear, as I start the car, and drive home.