The Secret Garden of tatsumaki he tai

Poolside at golden hour, “tatsumaki he tai” features a barely-there bikini that’s gone within minutes. Oiled skin glistens as she straddles a lounge chair, grinding against the padded edge. In “tatsumaki he tai” her hands roam—squeezing breasts, tugging the crotch of her bottoms aside to reveal shaved, dripping heat. She fingers herself with abandon, water lapping at the pool’s edge matching her rhythm. A remote-controlled egg buzzes inside her; someone unseen controls the intensity. “tatsumaki he tai” ends with her sprawled, thighs clamped around her hand, screaming through a sunset orgasm that leaves her trembling in aftershocks. (197 words)