My husband handed me a little slip of paper almost as soon as we took our coats off and sat down. The paper just said "bra", which was easy enough, but we hadn't even ordered yet. There wasn't really anyone seated near us. I could slip my bra off pretty easily, but I didn't want the waitress to show up at the wrong time.

So I stood up, and took my bag with me. The bathrooms were on the other side of the restaurant. He had waved a twenty at the waitress while we were being seated, and asked for some quiet. She had taken us to a table in the corner of the building, far from most of the other diners, but far from the restroom as well.

Of course, it’s not like it was a mile hike. It was just across the restaurant. A fairly large restaurant, but weaving through the tables to the far corner only took a minute or two. At least there was no line. Perks of having dinner at four o'clock on a Tuesday. I went into the restroom. It was nice. Clean. Same weird Egyptian art-deco as the rest of the place. I went into a stall, just for a moment, and slipped my bra out from under my shirt. Easy.

I walked back through the restaurant with my bra in my bag. It was dim. Nobody knew or cared, except maybe me. It was just a bra. The waitress showed up almost as I sat down. I couldn’t help but stare a moment, realizing that she wasn’t wearing any bra herself. Probably got her better tips.

I ordered a seafood platter. It cost more than we usually spent on a whole night out, but he did say I could order anything. I thought about ordering off the wine list for a change, but I just asked for orange tea. He ordered pasta and coffee, and a couple of appetizers like he always did.

With the waitress gone, I relaxed a little. We talked about my new video game and the online card game he was programming. Our drinks came, so I brewed my tea and he fixed his coffee.

While I was waiting for my tea to be ready, he slid another slip of paper across the table to me. I knew it would say "panties" before I looked at it. What else would it say? Our drinks were already here, and our food would be a while, so I fished up the side of my ankle-length skirt until I could see my underwear, hooked them with a thumb and slid them down. Dropped them to the floor.

Almost to the floor. Getting them over my boots was going to be less graceful than I intended. Especially with the waitress standing right by me with our appetizers. I must have startled, because she apologized for surprising me. She leaned down awkwardly, setting our plates on the table while holding a full tray of drinks with the other hand. I glanced up at her, or more exactly at the bump of her nipple and the name tag “Katrina!” that was right in my face.

She asked if we needed anything else, but I couldn't really think about anything except the underwear stretched around my ankles. My husband waited. Watching me. Two seconds. Five seconds. Then he said we were fine, and that the food looked wonderful. Hero or villain, I couldn't decide. As soon as she left, I stomped the panties off of one boot and lifted them to my hand with the other. Untangled them from the heel, and then tucked them in my bag.

I tasted the squid. It was excellent. I tried a stuffed mushroom. Cheesy. Spicy. Kind of soggy. Hubby and me got to talking again, but it was different. I walked around without a bra often enough at home. I did not normally walk around or sit around in a skirt with no underwear. I could feel the air between my legs and I really couldn't forget about it. So we talked, but I was distracted.

Feeling the lack of underwear also made me really notice the lack of bra under my shirt. I looked down to see the outline of hard nipples against the cloth. That would be really obvious to anyone that looked, but there wasn't anybody else here. Except that the waitress would be by eventually. Women went in public without bras all the time. It was fine.

I'd put too much sugar in my tea.

Funny though, I noticed that he too was distracted by my nipples. He would set down his coffee and pick it up again without drinking anything. He kept looking at my chest, a smile twitching on his lips. I finished the calamari while I watched him watch me.

The food came. There were no chesty points on display for “Katrina!”, which I counted as a personal triumph. The seafood platter she set in front of me was daunting. She held it in both hands and I got a view straight down her shirt when she set it in front of me. I wondered briefly if my husband had tipped her for more than just a quiet seat, but the food was far more interesting at the moment. I'd be taking home more than half of it, certainly. A few bites confirmed it was delicious. Worth every penny.

A few bites were all I got before he handed me another slip. This one, I couldn't imagine what it would say. I hadn't even been sure if he would give me another one. I knew he wanted to, and the idea that inspired the whole ridiculous game was to strip in public, but obviously I couldn't actually do that. Somebody would call the police.

I turned over the paper. It read "Skirt. You can lay your jacket over your knees." I savored a shrimp while I contemplated the text. Sweet of him to explain that he didn't expect me to just sit in the clear with no pants on.

I got my coat out from under my bag and spread it out on my lap, over my knees. It was a big coat, and really it would cover more than the skirt did. On one side. Not entirely effective. I glared at the husband, but it didn't even phase him. He just watched me with a look of curiosity while he slurped up a noodle. He thought maybe I wouldn't really do it.

I moved my bag to the aisle side so I could sit by the wall. Better. The skirt came off much easier than the panties had.

My backside and vagina touched down on the cold seat. A flaw in my brilliant idea to change where I was sitting. I just sat for a moment holding the skirt in my lap, on top of the jacket. Then I shuddered at the thought of the waitress popping up again and seeing that. I stuffed the skirt hastily into my bag and zipped it closed. My plate sat by itself at the other end of the table while I zoned out again for maybe a full minute, trying in vain to adjust. I shivered, not even from the cold of the seat – that warmed fairly quickly – but just from the thought that I was wearing nothing from the waist down, in a restaurant.

Not reasonable at all. It was good that nobody was seated anywhere near us. Or maybe it was a trap, since I wouldn't have done it at all otherwise. If they seated somebody near us now, I'd lose my mind. I forced myself to look around. Hubby chewed his noodles slowly, his eyebrows seemed to be stuck as high as they would go. He really hadn't thought I'd go through with it.

I slid my plate over in front of me. Ate a scallop. It really was good. Ate a shrimp. It was fantastic. Felt my ass against the seat and a slight movement of air across my thigh, exposed to the wall. Ate another scallop. I looked around again, suddenly paranoid. There was nobody. I had to blink like I was trying to wake up. The salmon was lovely.

At some point, while I shot back and forth between frozen and hedonistic, my husband had slid his own self and plate away from the aisle too. We would have looked awfully suspicious, sitting at opposite corners like prizefighters, wouldn’t we? I did my best to direct my attention at the food, instead of the seat I could feel with so much skin. Or direct it at him, instead of the air that sometimes drafted all the way up to stir my pubic hairs.

Then something else touched the back of my boot. The urge to jump out of my seat hit my desire to stay planted right where I was and turned into a full body shudder. I looked up from my food at my husband. He was still chattering about the “Myrtle” character from his card game and slurping noodles as though the toe of his silky dress-sock wasn’t caressing the back of my knee.

His foot slid slowly around to my inner thigh, making its way further under my jacket. I tried to just breathe and enjoy my seafood. Fried shrimp. Lovely lime salsa with those. But even as slowly as he moved, I didn’t eat more than a few bites before he’d gone as far as he could. Brushing his toes through my bush.

By the time the waitress came back to refill his coffee and bring me new water for my tea, I was a complete mess. Not only did I have pokies making themselves known right through my shirt, but I was also in the process of making the seat rather slippery beneath me.

The woman could have just asked for my cup, but instead she leaned all the way across the table to pour our drinks. Her breasts were a thread short of spilling out onto my shrimp and I couldn’t take my eyes off them. My husband, he never took his eyes off me. Or his toes. His smile made me think of sharks.

Standing back up, the waitress hovered for a moment, asking again if we needed anything. I certainly wasn't going to try to answer her, so I just stared at my food and waited for her to leave. My husband made a show of looking around the table for a few extra torturous seconds. Finally, he nodded at her, said that we were fine, and that we'd need some boxes for the food.

He tickled my pubes with his toes the whole time.

She came back almost immediately with some containers and boxed up our food herself for what felt like an eternity. Since she was gathering the food, I fiddled stiffly with my tea, trying to look very normal. Trying to distract myself from the very active foot wandering between my legs. Trying not to stare at Katrina!’s tits or down her cleavage as she reached across the table, surely angling for a giant tip.

Tea was not an effective distraction, though, from the discovery that my husband could, in fact, extend his toes a little further. I froze completely while he got his sock wet, wiggling those toes in my slit. Feet had never been my thing, but I couldn’t help thinking they were really nice, soft socks.

I opened my eyes to see if the waitress was done boxing the food, and instead found her almost nose to nose with me, looking right in my eyes. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew exactly what was happening under the table.

She repeated herself. Did I want the sauce? I looked over at the cup of tartar sauce in her hand. I said no. She stood back up, the table cleared of food.

Either the opening twenty dollar tip bought some silence as well as privacy, or the lights really just were that dim. She took the bill and a credit card with her when she went. She'd be back in a moment, but then we could go.

My husband found my clit with his toe, forcing a small noise out of me. I just shivered uncontrollably for a moment, but then he took his foot away. He slipped me another little piece of paper.

I really thought about just not turning it over.

It said "Shirt. You can wear just your coat." That would actually be better, at least for the short walk out the door to the car, except the coat was very much in use right now, and needed to stay exactly where it was! Trying to turn it around and put it on at this point would be a disaster. He probably figured I'd just stand up for a moment with no pants. Or uncover myself in the chair while I put the coat on and tried to arrange it. But there was no way I was going to do either one of those things.

The waitress came back while I was still stalling. She left the card and the receipt. My husband tucked them away. I really was going to have to stand up at some point. I was about five seconds away from calling the whole thing finished so he'd stop sipping his coffee, just watching me squirm, and start helping. Instead, I thought of my skirt.

It's not like it had disappeared completely. I pulled it out of my bag. It slipped on as easily as it had come off. I scooted to the end of the seat, taking a moment to wipe up the surprisingly small damp spot where I had been sitting. I stood up, put my coat on, sat back down, took a big drink of cold, sweet tea, and slipped the skirt back off. If he thought that was against the rules, he could stick it.

He didn't think that at all. When I glared up at him as I stuffed the skirt back in the bag, he was standing next to the table with our bag of food, grinning and doing a little golf clap. Then he picked the paper up off the table and handed it to me again. Shirt. I wondered for a moment if the waitress had seen the paper. It didn't matter. I'd never see her again.

I headed for the bathroom. My coat was long enough to reach my knees, so it covered everything well enough, but trying to walk quickly made it incredibly drafty. Doubly so because of how wet things were down there. The wind alone was making my stomach flip-flop. So much air and so many people around made my legs stop wanting to work exactly right.

I stumbled. Just a little. I did not fall, but I could have, and that whole scene played out in slow motion in my head. I froze for a moment. A few people looked over at me as I regained my balance. They saw nothing interesting and went back to their conversations, but I had an image playing on a loop in my head: myself face down and butt up on the floor, like a bad anime. The humidity went up inside my coat. I walked the rest of the way to the restrooms very carefully.

I took off my shirt in a stall. I had to take off my coat first, and hang it on the wall, which left me standing entirely naked for a moment. It was a bathroom, and I was alone, in a stall, with the door locked, but wearing nothing but boots in a public restroom isn't really normal. I put the coat back on. I'd left my bag at the table, so I stuffed the shirt in the coat pocket and headed out into the restaurant one more time.

It was surprising just how much difference the lack of a shirt could make. So much more air moved through the jacket. And there was so much more space. And inside that space, I was so much more naked. My nipples were hard again. Not that they could show through the thick material, but they did rub. Touch, touch as I walked. And there was one drop of wet making its way down my inner thigh now. I made my legs walk anyway.

Slowly. A slip now would be the end of me. Slowly past tables full of people who had no idea what was passing by.

At least I didn't have far to go. My husband was already waiting near the front doors with my bag and the food. People were coming in for dinner now, and the doors moved a lot of air when they opened. It was a very crowded place to be with no clothes and legs that didn't want to walk straight.

He held my bag open for a moment. I pulled the shirt out of my pocket and tossed it in. He grinned and held the door open for me.

The sun inched its way towards the horizon as we made our way through the parking lot to the car. At least it was a warm day. He stayed right by me, a hand on my arm, steering me towards our car and away from traffic. I was looking mostly at my feet, and I had to hold the coat down and lock my knees every time a passing car sent a breeze swirling my way, up the coat, across my whole body.

We got to the car. He set our bags in the back seat. I sat down, got my seat-belt on. I had made it through. Now it was just the drive home and an absolute riot in the bedroom. The wet spot on the back of my coat, where I was sitting, was going to be huge.

As he drove slowly through the parking lot, my husband silently handed me another slip of paper. It said "boots & socks".

As I took off my boots and tossed them in the back seat, I thought about how obvious my situation might be to any neighbors who saw me escaping toward the house wearing a long coat but no shoes. Would they think anything of it? Would it matter if they did?

It turned out that was the least of my worries. We were getting on the freeway when I was done, going a direction that definitely was not toward home. All my clothes were in a bag behind his seat, I realized, and wherever we were going, he wasn't going to let me have them back yet.

I wondered if he had another little slip of paper. It seemed like a certainty. Wherever we were going, it was somewhere he thought he could get me naked.

I wiggled my bare toes, trying to think of what sort of place that might be. I could think of some things we might do after dark, but there were still a few hours left in the day. And, lack of clothing aside, there aren’t so many places you can go barefoot. We were headed towards the coast, so a nude beach came to mind, but that just didn’t seem his style.

After what I’d done in the restaurant, just going to a nude beach seemed anti-climactic. Anything I could think of seemed anti-climactic.

Which meant that all those things were probably wrong.

I looked myself over to make sure I wasn’t flashing any of the cars passing by. Between the seat-belt and the stretching I’d done to get my boots off, my coat was bunched up behind me and twisted around a bit. I wasn’t putting on a show for anyone out the window, but I didn’t really want to distract the driver either. As much fun as that would be.

I tried to pull the coat back together, but that didn’t work nearly as well sitting down as it did standing up. I shimmied the edge of the coat back underneath myself, but in this position, the edge only went to mid-thigh. And that was only in the back. If I actually wanted to cover myself, I had to hold the bottom edge closed with both hands. I did do that for a few miles, but after a while I just let it go.

I could resign myself to a little bit of pussy and bush peeking out of the jacket. My husband wasn’t that stupid. He’d keep his eyes on the road.

And he did, mostly. I turned on the radio and turned up the air conditioner. I leaned back my chair a little and tried to relax. The air played across my skin. I ran my hands over my thighs and combed my fingers through my bush. Touched myself, just a little, to feel the wetness there. My husband chuckled at that, delighted to see I was actually enjoying myself. The restaurant had been more like a dare. As nervous and sweaty as I’d been in the restaurant, this was much nicer.

A massive horn sounding just beside us informed me that the rig driver there was also appreciative. They had an entirely different point of view than anyone else on the road, so apparently I had been putting a show on for somebody after all.

I froze, but only for a moment. Somebody had seen. I couldn’t bear to look up and see them looking back at me, but I couldn’t bear to close my legs and cover up either. After a moment, my husband reached over to slip one finger inside me. He let out a low whistle, and I opened one eye to see him wiping his hand on his pants before putting it back on the wheel.

I closed my eyes again and slid one hand down between my legs, curled two fingers into my cunt. The AC might have kept things nice on the outside, but inside I was a swimming pool. A lake. Those two fingers came out soaked and dripping.

They went back in, and after another double blast of the truck’s horn, I really was putting on a show. I don’t really know how long I fingered myself, but my husband paced the truck for what must have been ten miles at least. Another horn blast encouraged me to spread my legs out wide and rub my clit while my hips bucked at nothing, but then we were angling away and turning down an off-ramp.

I sat up and pulled my coat as closed as it could go. I felt a little like I was waking up from a dream. As if I’d popped back into the real world where you don’t masturbate to entertain strangers on the freeway. The car smelled so strongly of sex, though, I didn’t think for a moment that I’d imagined it.

I looked around. We really were near the beach, but my husband was turning away from it, not towards it. He took a half dozen little turns, past businesses and through a small residential area, other cars becoming more and more scarce. I’d only gotten a glimpse, but despite several minutes of driving, we still had to be very near the ocean.

One more turn and I could see it, but far below us, and almost immediately he stopped the car. We were parked at a little turnout at the top of a hill. Only a few feet of pavement and a guardrail, two horizontal bars attached to a line of concrete posts, separated our car from a steep drop.

At first, I thought maybe he was lost, but he got out of the car and came around to my side. He opened my door and ushered me out onto the cracked pavement. Walked me right up to the guardrail.

It was a lovely view. The sun sat on the horizon like a ball on a table. There was an open-air restaurant or bar almost directly below us, maybe a hundred feet, and past that was the boardwalk, the beach, and the ocean. Where we were standing, the few cars that passed wouldn’t be able to see us. They’d have to park and walk around our car before they’d even know we were here.

But below us? Below us, there were an awful lot of people. I could feel my husband right behind me, looking out over my shoulder. I felt him slip a little piece of paper into my hand.

There was really only one thing it could say. I looked, just in case there was some surprise, but I was already unbuttoning my coat.

There was nobody looking up at us. Not when they could look out at the ocean as it turned to gold. I slipped out of my coat and handed it over with the paper. My skin, all my skin, seemed to tingle in the open air, like the sunset itself was touching me with fiery fingers. I just stood, naked and shoeless, looking out at the waves like everyone else, shielding my eyes from the light.

Hubby stepped away. I heard the car doors open, close, and then he was behind me again, running his fingers up and down my sides. He had tossed my coat in the back seat. I wasn’t going to get it back.

I stood there, arms wide, picturing the ride home wearing nothing at all. It would be dark, so we could get away with it, but there was no doubt I’d be seen. He traced his fingers across my face, down my neck, and across my breasts. I could smell the ocean, and feel the breeze across my skin and between my legs.

I heard a click by my ear. My husband’s key fob. And I heard the car doors lock. It seemed completely unnecessary, but the tiny sound made me shiver anyway. Then, as he put one hand in my hair and the other between my legs, I understood what the gesture meant. Being seen was the whole point. I wasn’t getting back in the car until I’d been seen by the people below. If I wanted him to stop, if I wanted my clothes back, I’d have to call off the whole thing.

The rail wouldn’t hide anything. The bars were only a couple of inches wide and the lower one was just above my knees. At least I could lean on it to keep from falling over.

He tangled his fingers in my hair, holding tight to the back of my head. The fingers of his other hand teased my slit as he pushed me down and forward, stomach tight against the rough metal rail. He bent me over until my tits dangled over the empty air. It was too high for me to just tumble over, so I wasn’t really afraid of falling, but I couldn’t take my eyes off all the people below.

He set his feet between mine and forced them apart until I was totally dependent on the rail and his grip on my hair. I tried to believe that nobody below was going to notice us up here. This was completely different from the truck driver. There were a hundred different people down there, and I was looking right down at them. I was looking down at each of these people, searching for upturned faces, while my husband plunged his fingers into my dripping cunt.

I did see one. Two. A couple looking right up at us. They just watched, sipped their drinks. Actually waved at me. I found another face, and I could make out a grin there. She raised her hand in a huge “thumbs-up” gesture. There were a few others that looked up and then away again.

My husband pressed hard against my clit, sending a wave through me that would have brought me down if I wasn’t pressed so tight against the railing. Everything he was doing, I knew he wanted me to scream. If I actually made the sound my body wanted to, then everyone down there would hear it. Everyone.

I tried to hold it in. I knew he wasn’t going to let me.

His hand disappeared from between my legs for just a moment before I felt it smack across my perfectly positioned ass. I let out one involuntary yell, but that was all it took. His fingers slammed back into my cunt as half the faces below and a few out on the boardwalk turned our direction. Most of them didn’t turn back. The sun would be gone soon, but for the moment it lit me up like a floodlight.

After that sound, there was no reason to hold back. I howled my pleasure at the ocean and before long almost every face had turned up at us. I tensed as my husband’s hand disappeared again for a moment, but it was soon replaced by his cock. He had waited until he was sure I had everyone’s attention.

I held that attention for a few minutes more while they watched me get railed.

We had only been out of the car for maybe ten minutes. There were a couple of camera phones pointed up at us when he finally pulled out, hiked up his pants, and unlocked the car.

More than dazed, I stumbled away from the edge and the people. He opened the door for me and I climbed into my seat.

A minute later we were driving away, and I couldn’t stop giggling. I leaned my seat back as far as it could go. It was near dark, but not quite.

For a while, I wasn’t paying attention to anything at all, really. I was just picturing what we’d done, and all those tiny faces, and giggling until I couldn’t breathe. I was sure fucking like that was probably illegal in more ways than one, but I also knew my husband wouldn’t stand for even the slightest possibility of getting caught. Finding that spot. Planning that whole thing. It must have taken him months.

And I thought we were just going to get risky at a restaurant.

The sky was dark and I had finally stopped laughing at our insanity, so I took the chance and brought my seat up a bit. I could be mistaken, in the dark, but once again this was not the way home. My skin tingled like Spiderman sensing danger.

I looked around. My husband had a shit-eating grin on his face. That could be for the same reason I’d been laughing myself to death, but he tended to grin about things before they happened, not after.

I sat up fully, caring not at all if some passing headlights illuminated my own. The dark of the ocean on my left meant we were headed up the coast. This wasn’t simply “not the way home”, this was heading entirely the opposite direction.

It did hit me for a moment that I was just blithely sitting in the passenger seat of the car wearing absolutely nothing. Anybody that passed us could probably see that. After the events of the day, it just didn’t matter that much. Not nearly as much as driving the wrong way into the night.

A car in the oncoming lane lit up the cab for several seconds, probably getting a real good look at me, so I waved absently at them. The passing light shone brightly on a piece of paper poking out of the glove box right in front of me. I gave my husband a sideways glare. That grin was still there. He had to be joking. What was I going to take off? My skin?

The car honked twice just after it passed us. I snatched the paper and turned it over. It just said “inside”. Inside what? Inside the glove box.

I pressed the release and the panel popped open, revealing a small poof of lavender cloth among the papers and emergency pistachios. Pulling out the cloth, I shook it out into a knee-length translucent slip. It was gorgeous.

It was light as air. Soft like silk, but it floated more than it fell. That and the lace edging said it had to be expensive.

A nice present – very nice – but it didn’t tell me anything about where we were going. Still, I put my arms through the straps and dropped the whole of it over my head. It settled slowly. I lifted myself up a bit to pull it all the way down. A fine piece of elastic under a bit of lace popped down past my nipples and pulled close under my breasts, framing them neatly. It really didn’t cover a thing.

In fact, all it really did was give my nudity a lavender glow and my nipples an occasional caress. He’d chosen well if he was trying to make me feel more naked than naked.

At this point, it would take hours to get home. Wherever we were going, we were staying the night. I was starting to look forward to bed. Any bed. Some playtime before wouldn’t go amiss, but sleep would be welcome.

I continued getting honks and hollers for the next hour, even wearing the slip. Most of those were oncoming cars, but one car with one guy in it drove next to us for a while before it passed us. I still didn’t want to look right at him, but my husband narrated while I looked anywhere else and played with my tits.

The moon and stars were bright in the sky when my husband finally took an off-ramp toward what seemed like the middle of nowhere. Another fifteen minutes of badly lit back roads brought us to a sprawling house. Just short of what I’d call a mansion, though it only had two stories. So many of those windows had lights on, the place seemed awfully busy for the middle of nowhere and the middle of the night. The sign hanging out front by the road said “Myrtle and Rose’s Bed and Breakfast”.

We parked behind the sign next to a couple of other cars. My husband got out and went around the car, rummaged in the back seat for a moment, opened the trunk. Had he secretly packed bags for a weekend getaway? The idea of him sneaking around, stealing my things was perfect. I wouldn’t put it past him. In fact, knowing him, I might have a whole new wardrobe to go with this slip. I certainly hadn’t looked in the trunk.

But he closed the trunk and headed toward the house. Without saying a word. He just took a few steps walking backward so I could see that his stupid grin was back. He was carrying what looked like a very small overnight bag.

I unbuckled and twisted around to grab my own bag out of the back seat. It was too light. I rummaged through it. There was a small baggie of extra toiletries and a whole box of condoms that I hadn’t put in there, but all the clothes I’d taken off today were gone. My coat wasn’t actually in the back seat either. He’d put them all in the trunk.

I got out of the car. It was cold outside and my nipples made themselves known against the sheer fabric. Immediately – he must have been waiting – the doors locked behind me. Villain. Definitely a villain. There was nothing at all to do except follow him into the building wearing this less-than-nothing lavender slip.

Walking up the drive was slow, in the dark. There was the sound of my bare feet on concrete and gravel. There were vague people noises from inside the house. The air went right through the sheer fabric like it wasn’t there and touched between my legs like an ice cube.

In the door and out of the cold I went, heart beating double time, trying to keep me warm. I tried to cover myself with my bag. Maybe I could slip in and hide behind my husband.

No. Out of the cold and into the common room of the house where two women sat by a small reception desk near the door. Husband nowhere. They looked me over. Slowly. Appreciatively. Smiling not unlike my husband. The warmth inside the house hit me everywhere at once. I resisted the urge to touch myself under the bag.

One adjoining room was a dining area with a bar, where several people sat chatting and drinking. In another direction was a small library with a big television and two more people on the couch. The little floor plan on the wall indicated a dozen private rooms, a pool, a spa and several other little points of interest.

It was a nice place. A jumble of floral and renaissance art covered a lot of the wall space. I just wasn’t sure what I was doing there wearing nothing but a see-through slip. My nipples weren’t cold anymore, but they were still almost painfully hard.

One of the women – her badge said “Rose” – stood up, took my bag, and walked away assuring me that she’d see it to my room. The other told me we had already been checked in and went back to her book. I could hear my husband’s voice near the bar, so I headed through that door, still not sure what sort of place I was in.

The receptionist ladies – owners? – hadn’t complained about what I was or wasn’t wearing so I assumed it must be alright. Still, I couldn’t help but cover myself with my hands as I went in. The hand between my legs absently gathered up the hem of the slip so I could touch fingers to slit. Wet.

I knew my husband was at the bar, talking with someone. Thanking them. Telling them the spot near the beach was perfect. But before turning to find him, my eyes caught on someone else.

The waitress. The woman from the restaurant today. Wearing what might loosely be called a maid’s uniform, but most of it was sheer enough or short enough to show off as much of her as my lavender nothing did of me. A name tag hanging from one nipple ring said: “Katrina”.

Dizzily, I looked around again. The people on the couch weren’t watching television. They were fucking. The receptionist was fingering herself while she read her book. Half the art framed on the walls was floral and homey, but the other half was at least mildly pornographic. One of the conversationalists right by me was showing the others a video on his phone, and pointing at me.

I could hear quiet howls of ecstasy from the phone, but everyone had stopped talking. My fingers, intended to cover me, were inside me without any conscious thought.

Was that the couple that waved at me? The car that just passed us half an hour ago could have been heading here. I might have walked right past it outside. How many other people here would I recognize if I looked?

The waitress was heading my direction.

She winked and handed me a little piece of paper.

Absently, I took it with dripping fingers.

She touched my hand, and a huge, hungry smile spread across her face. Her fingers went up to her mouth.

I looked down at the juice-soaked paper.

It said “slip”, and now everyone really was looking at me.