OsaOladapo

Osa's sheer, yellow micro bikini clung to her dark brown skin like liquid sunlight, the fabric so thin it might as well have been painted on. The top—two fragile triangles—struggled to contain the pert swell of her small breasts, her black nipples peeking shamelessly through the gauzy material. Below, the bottom was little more than a thought, the flimsy triangle doing nothing to disguise the neat split of her labia, the string bisecting her so intimately it might as well have been a second tongue. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly on the wooden patio surrounding an above ground pool, turning the turquoise water into a shimmering mirage. She lounged in a long pool chair, to her right are two more.