A Wet Summer Day

Candy and Stacy linger poolside, eyeing each other’s skimpy triangles like they’ve just been dared. The fabric strains against Candy’s heavy tits, a darker patch blooming where the cotton meets her skin. Stacy’s top has already ridden up on one side, the bare swell of her breast catching the sun. They trade a quick glance, then fingers follow the glance—Candy’s first, sliding beneath Stacy’s waistband, knuckles brushing wet curls. A low sound slips from Stacy’s throat. They drift together, mouths meeting, tongues flicking as wet nylon slides down tan thighs. Candy cups Stacy’s full breast, thumb circling the stiff peak, while Stacy’s hand finds its mirror between Candy’s legs. The summer heat makes everything slicker, hotter. Alyssia Kent watches from the lounge chair, sunglasses halfway down her nose. She’s been pretending to read. Candy catches her eye and smiles, lazy, wicked. Stacy crooks a finger. Alyssia stands, bikini straps slipping off her shoulders before she’s even crossed the tiles. She joins them without a word, sinking to her knees between them. Candy’s mouth finds Alyssia’s, slower now, while Stacy’s fingers slip lower, parting folds already glistening. Three pairs of hands, three mouths, moving in rhythm under the midday sun. Breasts press together, nipples brushing nipples, the wet sound of fingers working filling the quiet air. They lose track of whose moan belongs to whom.