Sally Tries to Stay Calm

Walking away from Mike red-faced, Sally tentatively started to make her way up the beach. She hadn't the slightest idea of where she'd come up with the money on such short notice, and while bottomless no less, but faced with no other options, she soldiered on. As she walked away from Mike and the car, the beginnings of a plan began to come together in her head, as she observed the other women strutting up and down the beach, or else laying on their fronts or backs, skimpy little bikini bottoms or bathing suits swallowed by their hungry, voluptuous cheeks. It occurred to Sally that more than a few of these girls weren't wearing much on their bottoms at all, indeed some of their outfits were so skimpy down below that an unobservant person might miss the presence of the thin strips of fabric entirely.

What if...what if the opposite was also true? What if she could fool the entire beach into thinking she was wearing bottoms just by...acting like she was? The thought brought an extra bit of colour to her cheeks, and she was thankful for the wind whipping her hair over face, concealing just how red she was from a distance. Her hands trembled as they pressed against the short stubble of her shaved crotch, she couldn't really do this, could she? Just pretend she wasn't one misplaced palm away from baring all? What about from behind? Sally looked over her shoulder at that thought, where her perky, rounded cheeks glinted in the afternoon sun. She experimented briefly with putting her other hand over her backside, but quickly concluded she had a bit too much backside for her hand to cover, and the awkwardness of the gesture would more than likely give her predicament away anyway.

Sally took a deep breath, rearranging both hands just below her stomach, her fingertips just barely reaching the top of her slightly pink slit. In practical terms, it didn't cover much of anything, but the key was in the gesture itself — it was naturalistic, casual — the kind of gesture that implied a level of ease and comfort in the person performing it. Given how dire the situation was, Sally was willing to gamble everything on this clever little bit of social engineering, given the alternative, and tried walking along with her hands in the practiced position, held lightly but tightly above her unguarded pussy. She could feel her cheeks bouncing a little behind her with each step, and prayed they wouldn't be noticed and examined too closely. Meanwhile up front, her hands remained in place and she tried to keep an expression of placid calm on her face, her eyes scanning about the beach before her, a playful little smile manifesting on her lips whenever she made eye contact with anyone. The key was selling it, she kept reminding herself, really selling it. She needed to play the part of the unconcerned, adequately clothed beach babe so well that no one would think twice about what she was (or rather wasn't) wearing.

She was about thirty feet away from Mike, trying to spot opportunities to get a bit of extra cash when an old man stepped into her path. Sally gave the usual smile she'd flashed at everyone else up until now, and tried to step aside. The old man responded by stepping in the same direction, continuing to block her path. Sally frowned, and stepped back the other way, but again the old man followed her. "Um...excuse me, s-sorry...can I just get past?"

"Oh, oh yes...of course, silly me..." The old man's eyes were fixed intently on her chest, and then they started to travel downwards. Sally tried to keep her cool, but she could see he was getting close to spotting something was amiss. She shifted uncomfortably on the spot, reflexively moving her hands a little lower to cover herself, and as the old man's eyes travelled down below her navel, she saw a kind of dumbfounded recognition appear in his eyes. The spell had been broken, she realised with mounting horror — he could see her!

He licked his lips, then looked back up at her face. "Y-you...cor..." Was all he could manage, as something began stirring in his trousers. Sally gasped and tried to shove past him, heedless to his age and likely infirmity, but his hands flew out as she approached...and grabbed a firm handful of her tits. Sally gasped again, slapping at his wrists until he let go, and stumbling backwards to the point that she tripped over her own feet. Sally went down, landing square on her pillowy buttocks, her legs spreading wide in the fall. She let out a loud, "Ouch!" and checked her bikini top to see everything was still in place. That was when she realised what had happened, eyes wide at the sight of her own legs pried apart by gravity's cruel embrace. Her eyes flew down to her pussy, which was now presenting itself invitingly for the old man, who was practically salivating at the sight. "Uh, I, I...uh," she stuttered, even as she drank in the image of her privates fully exposed, the pink lips of her ever-so-slightly puffy vulva undeniable in the (not-so) cold light of day, and with not a scrap of clothing to cover any of it. Sally scrambled up, shoving a hand down between her thighs as she got back up to her feet, the old man's eyes still locked into place on the spot she'd been sitting on a millisecond previously. Sally ran past him, hands cupping her vulva as she went.

It was only after getting several dozen feet away that she registered heavy, continuous impacts on her chest, and a loud slapping sound that seemed to be following her. She looked down again to try and see what the problem was...and was greeted by nothing more than her own breasts, uncovered and glistening in the heat of that sunny day, her nipples pointing straight ahead like twin points of a compass, and as pink and puffy as her assets downstairs had been. She let out a little noise as it dawned on her that she was now completely naked.