I tug open the washing machine door, shoving my towel and coverup inside. Without hesitation, I slip out of my swimsuit too. It’s still a bit damp, so I have to peel it off me. As I do, a little sand falls onto my toes. “Oh, gross,” I whine, letting my bottoms drop down around my ankles with a soft plop. Then I undo the hook at the back of my top and shrug it off, wincing as the move stretches my sunburned shoulders. I glance down and break out in a fit of giggles. I’ve got tiny pieces of beachy seashells sticking to my tits. Sand up my ass crack, crusty shells on my boobs. How does Ariel make
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