Sandy shanty

She stretches out in the shanty like she owns the tide. Sun-bleached hair fans across the rough plank, and her hands already know the route. One palm cups the swell of her ass, lifting, parting; the other slides lower, fingers slick as they part soft folds. She moves slow, savoring the wet sound her pussy makes with each stroke. The planks creak. Her thighs tense, relax, tense again. Blonde strands cling to her damp cheek while her hips roll in a lazy rhythm, riding her own touch until the edge catches and drags her under.