Take me to the water

These girls treat the yacht like their own floating bedroom on the weekends. They clear the deck, strip to striped bikinis that barely hide their breasts and slips, and let the waves do the rest. Salt and sun on bare skin. They watch each other without speaking. Nipples push hard against wet cloth. The fabric wedges between shaved lips, already dark with seawater. One girl drops her top first, then the second follows, nothing left but the thinnest strings riding high on tanned hips. They take turns. Knees spread on the warm fiberglass, fingers slipping past the final layer of fabric. They tease and rub until two pussies glisten differently from the sea—slick, clear strands that stick to fingertips. Tongues replace fingers, soft, deliberate, long strokes between swollen folds. They taste each other openly, moans rising above the motor, hips rolling into waiting mouths, the boat cutting white water while they come on each other’s tongues.