Why do I not have a bag? Adella asked.
Because I have everything you need in mine. You have your passport and your boarding pass. That's all you need.
I huffed, but was secretly pleased. Jeremiah had promised/threatened to take me on a last minute vacation for years but I never thought he'd do it. Yet, here I was, sitting in first class, flying to somewhere on the Yucatan Coast. I sipped a glass of champagne and peppered him with questions until he threatened to turn me over his lap and spank me right there on the plane. He said this LOUDLY and several other people all encouraged him. Even the flight attendant laughed. I clamped my mouth shut and said never another word.
The plane landed at a private field where we were ushered into a waiting limousine. I was offered another glass of champagne which I happily accepted. When we pulled up to the resort, Jeremiah looked and me and said, "I need to strip out of your clothes now."
I gapped. Spun my head to see the name of the resort. Desnuda and I also noticed several other people completely nude in varying degrees of humiliation. I looked back at J who had crossed his arms. Quickly, I shimmied out of the dress and gave it to him. He shoved it into his bag and handed me a pair of beautiful glass slippers.
THAT, my dear, is all you will be wearing for the next week. This is a clothing optional lifestyle friendly resort, so don't be too ashamed. Nonetheless, clothing, aside from those shoes, is not an option for you.
 I gulped, finally understanding what was happening. Everyone on the private jet had been coming to this same place. Sure enough, as J was checking us in, I saw one woman bent over an over stuffed chair and belt spanked. She then, eyes red and puffy, stood, stripped, and watched as her dominant shoved her clothing into a trash can.
I looked up at Jeremiah and grinned. This would be an incredible journey.
The resort would put a five star hotel to shame. Everything was exquisite. Even the walkways which were trod primarily by naked feet were swept twice a day and blanketed in flower petals. Because of the "no butt juice on furniture" rule, those of us who were either by choice or by rule nude, wore a headscarf or waist scarf of some type so that it could be used as a barrier between our bottoms and the delightfully expensive furniture. Sometimes, J simply insisted that I either kneel or sit on the ground, floor, or sand depending upon our location.
As with many resorts, there were games. Each morning, it was "Whose hand Is It?" The "bottom" would bend over on the low fence surrounding one of the pools. Then, the "Hand" would have one opportunity to wallop the bottom in order to leave a distinctive hand print. Naturally, it was encouraged that couples mingle. A judge was chosen - sometimes several - and then had to match the handprint with the bottom. The winning Hand was awarded a specially tooled leather paddle which, hopefully, could be shared with said bottom.
This morning, my "hand" was correctly chosen. The force of the blow immediately elicited tears, a squeak, and a gush of wetness. The lady - yes lady Hand - ordered another bottle of champagne for me as a reward.
Jeremiah was thrilled, not only with the bottle, but also with my humiliation at the hand of another woman. He came to me, still bent over the rail, and said, "Worship."
