I turn myself over so that I am leaning against you, my back against your hard chest. I feel your legs wrap themselves around my hips. ‘This is the ...ost relaxing position’, I think to myself, not that I want to relax much, but from here you can watch me play with my clit, and I can guide you (not that I have ever needed to!). As I reach down and put my hand into the water, you pull it back up. Grabbing my other hand you pull them over my head and grab both with one hand, pulling them behind. We then made our way back to my husband. We chatted a few minutes before Steven said goodbye to us and left. My hubby and I didn't stay to much longer either and we soon were in the car on our way back to the hotel. Once back in the hotel and in the elevator to take us up to our floor my husband grabbed my ass and pulled me to him. We started kissing passionately as his hands moved to the front of my dress. He lifted my dress and his hands found their way to between my legs and he felt my wet. You began to unbutton the on the top but stopped and undid the one in the middle. There was a collective groan from the audience, and then someone shouted, “Do the top, do the top.” The onlookers picked up the chant, and then you did something that told me you were really getting into it. You leaned on one side on the pole, brought up your other hand, and began wagging it in no-no direction as if to scold the audience. You pouted a bit to ‘show’ displeasure, then reached below to undo another. With her eyes closed, she could almost remember a time when she was free to do what she wished, without the tyrannical husband that was the bane of her existence. The warm breeze in her hair as she hiked through the woods or rode her steed through the mountains, God, how she missed that. Turning from the windows, her gossamer gown swirling around her legs, she walked towards her ladies, sinking down into a chair and picking up her embroidery. She use to hate embroidery, nothing more distasteful.
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