She unties the string on her yellow bikini bottoms and lets them slide down her thighs, stepping out of the fabric completely as she turns around. Her pubic hair is the first thing she notices in the mirror -- how dark it is against her pale skin, how much of it there is. She hasn't shaved in three weeks. She runs her palms over her mound, feeling the coarse texture. Her middle fingers dip between her folds, finding her clit swollen already. She strokes it gently, watching her face in the mirror -- the way her eyes unfocus, her mouth parts. Her fingers move faster. She spreads her legs wider and lifts one foot up onto the bed, opening herself to her own touch. Her bush tickles her thighs as she shifts. She looks at it now -- how the curls are darker and thicker at the top, how her pink lips are visible through the hair. She dips two fingers into her pussy, feeling how wet she is. Her other hand goes to her breast, pinching her nipple hard enough to make her gasp. She pulls her fingers out of herself and moves them up to her clit, rubbing in firm circles. She feels the tension building -- a buzz in her toes, a flush creeping up her chest. Her breaths are slow and deep, her eyelids heavy. She doesn't rush. She strokes herself until she is panting, until her legs are shaking, until she is so close she can feel it humming in her bones. Then she slows down, pulls back, makes herself wait. She does this four more times -- bringing herself right to the edge, then backing off, giving herself time to recover. The fifth time she lets go -- her back arches off the bed, her toes curl, her fingers dig into her thigh. She comes with her eyes closed, mouth open, breath catching in her throat. Afterward she lies there, one leg still lifted, finger still inside herself, feeling the aftershocks. Her heart is pounding, her skin is flushed, her mind is a haze. She pulls her fingers out slowly, then brings them to her lips, tasting herself.