Wicked swimwear

Britney steps onto the sand in a bikini so small it barely earns the name. Tiny triangles cling to the tips of her nipples, and a thin strip slips between the smooth lips of her bare cunt. With every slow stride the fabric shifts, promising to fall away if she moves too quickly. She pauses at the water’s edge, the sun hot on her skin, then walks on. A few heads turn. She knows the view she leaves behind: the tight swell of her ass framed by nothing but string, the way her nipples press against that minimal cloth. She drops onto a lounger, legs parting just enough for the air to kiss her exposed slit. One hand drifts down, fingertips brushing the slick heat she’s kept hidden. She glances around once, then slides a finger between her folds and starts to work herself in lazy circles, the world around her lost to the rhythm of her own pleasure.