Just last weekend, we went to my aunt’s beachside villa for a rare family gathering, and it was as lively as you’d expect. The villa’s right across the road from the beach, so we were all eager to throw on our swimsuits and hit the water.
I asked my cousin (my aunt’s son) where I could change since my room was packed with people. He pointed me to the small bathroom in the basement. I pushed the door open without thinking, and a sharp scream stopped me in my tracks. There, standing before me, was my older cousin’s daughter, topless, with her swimsuit bottoms only halfway up. The bathroom was so tiny that her chest—probably a C-cup at least, round and perky—was right in front of me. Her waist was trim, no trace of extra fat, a perfect example of youthful vitality.
She quickly turned away, but I’d already taken in the full view. I muttered an apology and shut the door. When she came out, I was still waiting outside, and she didn’t seem upset with me. As she stood there in her bikini, the fabric hugging her chest, my mind couldn’t help but flash back to what I’d seen—those soft, pink nipples vivid in my memory.
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