Four Days Waiting for His Hand on My Wet Bikini

She knows exactly what she's doing to you. Standing in that tiny pool, sunlight dancing across her wet bikini, her curvy figure glistening. Her large breasts heave with each breath, straining against the white fabric. She adjusts her hair, looks down into the water, her dark locks cascading down her back.

Her body shifts slightly as a man's hairy forearm enters the frame, a thin red bracelet circling his wrist. His hand gently touches her right thigh near the waterline, then moves upward to rest against her pubic mound through the wet fabric of her bikini bottom. The water ripples around their contact point, distorting the lower half of her body. Her hands occasionally touch her own stomach or hips but do not engage with his hand. Your pulse quickens as you imagine yourself in his place, your hand tracing those curves.

You ache to feel her warmth, to see her react to your touch. How long will you last once you start stroking? The anticipation builds as his hand remains still, pressed against her groin area. The only movement is the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the pool and the slight shifts in her posture. Her gaze remains neutral or downward, no facial expressions beyond that. Your breath catches in your throat as you wonder what happens next. Will she moan under his touch? Will she reach out to guide his hand? The tease is almost too much to bear.