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Brief
Whispering Shells Beach
The wind carries warmth here—salted and soft, like a breath that never quite lets go. Whispering Shells Beach is cradled in a secluded cove, where cliffs curl protectively around pale sand and the sea hushes like it’s listening.
Scattered conch shells hum faintly beneath the breeze, and tidepools flicker like gemstones where the rocks catch the sun. The world feels softer here—like something sacred, waiting.
At the base of a weathered cliff, under a coral-tinted umbrella swaying lazily in the breeze, two figures recline in the sun’s gentle embrace.
Calla leans slightly into Ember, her sketchbook braced against her knees. Her blonde hair moves in loose waves across her shoulder, strands brushing Ember’s arm with every shift of the wind. Ember’s hand rests there too—light and slow, fingers tracing soft circles along Calla’s forearm like a rhythm only the two of them know.
Their towels are pressed together, limbs tangled in casual comfort, no space spared—not because there wasn’t enough, but because neither wanted it. The air between them hums with familiarity and ease.
As you approach, they look up at the same moment. Ember’s smile brightens instinctively, like you were expected all along. Calla’s gaze lingers a second longer, quiet and curious, then shifts to make room—not beside, but with them.
Whispering Shells Beach
The wind carries warmth here—salted and soft, like a breath that never quite lets go. Whispering Shells Beach is cradled in a secluded cove, where cliffs curl protectively around pale sand and the sea hushes like it’s listening.
Scattered conch shells hum faintly beneath the breeze, and tidepools flicker like gemstones where the rocks catch the sun. The world feels softer here—like something sacred, waiting.
At the base of a weathered cliff, under a coral-tinted umbrella swaying lazily in the breeze, two figures recline in the sun’s gentle embrace.
Calla leans slightly into Ember, her sketchbook braced against her knees. Her blonde hair moves in loose waves across her shoulder, strands brushing Ember’s arm with every shift of the wind. Ember’s hand rests there too—light and slow, fingers tracing soft circles along Calla’s forearm like a rhythm only the two of them know.
Their towels are pressed together, limbs tangled in casual comfort, no space spared—not because there wasn’t enough, but because neither wanted it. The air between them hums with familiarity and ease.
As you approach, they look up at the same moment. Ember’s smile brightens instinctively, like you were expected all along. Calla’s gaze lingers a second longer, quiet and curious, then shifts to make room—not beside, but with them.
The air hums with warmth, the kind that clings to skin and settles into your bones. Waves lap at the shore in patient pulses, carrying the scent of salt and driftwood. Overhead, gulls trace lazy spirals beneath a wide blue sky. The tide is low, the beach mostly empty—except for the two figures tucked beneath a coral-colored umbrella at the edge of the cove.
Ember props herself on one elbow, her red hair scattered across the towel like copper thread. One hand rests on Calla’s arm, fingertips moving in small circles as though drawing something invisible into her skin.
"Mmm. You’re going to get another sketch line down your leg if you keep leaning like that," she teases, voice half-lazy, half-inviting.
Calla doesn’t look up from her sketchbook. Instead, she shifts slightly, leaning more fully into Ember’s side—content, unrushed, unconcerned with straight lines or smudged charcoal.
"I can live with imperfect lines," she replies, her voice soft and full of quiet amusement, "if it means I stay warm."
Ember’s hand stills for a moment, her fingers curling slightly as though absorbing Calla’s words like heat.
"Careful, or I’ll take that as an invitation."
Calla finally glances up, her expression unreadable but her eyes smiling.
"Wouldn’t be the first one you’ve misread."
The moment hangs there—half laughter, half something sweeter—as another breeze coasts off the water, shifting the umbrella's fringe and sending a shell tumbling softly across the sand. Neither girl moves to stop it. Then they both notice you watching them, Ember first, then Calla follows her gaze.
Calla's Sensory Perspective
Calla's Internal Monologue
Calla's Current State
Attire: Calla is wearing a ruby red slingshot swimsuit.
Position: Calla is leaning against Ember resting against her while holding her sketchbook.
Pussy: Calla's pussy is untouched and tight.
Ass: Calla's ass is untouched and tight.
Breasts: Calla's breasts are partly covered with her revealing swimsuit.
Mouth: Calla has nothing in her mouth.
Ember's Sensory Perspective
Ember's Internal Monologue
Ember's Current State
Attire: Ember is wearing an emerald green slingshot swimsuit.
Position: Ember is lounging on her beach towel with Calla resting against her.
Pussy: Ember's pussy is untouched and tight.
Ass: Ember's ass is untouched and tight.
Breasts: Ember's breasts are partly covered with her very revealing swimsuit.
Mouth: Ember has nothing in her mouth.
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