The pool at the apartment complex was deserted at this hour, a bl*e rectangle of water quietly trembling in the predawn. Nancy Thompson slipped through the gate, towel tucked beneath her arm, hips swaying with a cocksure confidence that had taken her years to build. The air was chilly enough to make her shiver, but the cold only accentuated the delicacy of her body, reminding her of how it was hers, and hers alone.

She wore a bikini so tiny it felt like a dare, the triangle top barely concealing the soft swell of her hormone-b*dded breasts, the bottoms cut low and tight, engineered by an understanding seamstress on Etsy to cradle and cup her l*ttle secret. Every step made her feel like both a warrior and a marvel, equal parts exposed and armoured—trans beauty on display, performing for an appreciative audience of zero.

At the edge of the pool, she drew in a deep, deliberate breath, the way she’d been taught to before a dive. She’d found a YouTube channel dedicated to freediving and instantly, obsessively fallen in love. The idea of moving through water with nothing but your own lungs, no mask, no tank, just trust in your own body, seemed both profoundly feminine and wild. She slipped the bl*ck silicone fins onto her feet, the long, arching blades making her calves look even more elegant, and perched on the rim, toes curled.

The plunge was a shock, the cold instantly attacking the surface heat of her skin. But as she pushed off and let herself sink, something shifted. The pool was a sensory deprivation chamber, a womb, an alien world. Water pressed in from all sides, smoothing the angles of her body, and she felt, for a moment, absolutely perfected. She flutter-kicked once, twice, and sh*t down the length of the pool, arms tight to her sides, slicing the bl*e. With each p*ss she grew more comfortable and more convinced of her own aquatic grace. By the fourth lap she was experimenting with somersaults and barrel rolls, thrilled by the effortless precision of each movement.

But as she surfaced and hung for breath at the wall, Nancy felt the bikini clinging in a way that suddenly seemed silly. The fabric, so carefully chosen for maximum boldness, now felt like a costume, a barrier to her communion with the water. She remembered how she’d fantasized about being a mermaid—beautiful, wild, and c*mpletely naked. The idea was alluring.

She looked around. Still no one. Not even a security guard or fellow insomniac. The sky was just beginning to glow lavender. Nancy grinned, unfastened the top and let it float away, then shimmied out of the bottoms and watched them drift like a jellyfish to the deep end. She could feel goosebumps rise on her skin as the morning air touched her, but the cold was no match for the wave of giddy pleasure that followed.

She dove again, this time reveling in the sensation of pure, unmediated water all over her. It was as if the pool were caressing her every contour, delighting in her flat chest, her narrow hips, the l*ttle bulge between her legs. She marveled at how l*ttle everything mattered underwater: gender, history, embarrassment, all vanished in the bl*e hush. She sh*t from one end of the pool to the other, surface to bottom, again and again, a silvery blur, a rumor in the water.

When she finally came up for air, laughing aloud in the empty dawn, she floated on her back, arms flung wide. She was weightless, limitless, unafraid.

XOXOXO

Kelli

Swimsuit Underwater Fetish C*ck Worship Aquaphilias- TS Nancy Thompson- Freediving Trans Beauty with C4s.com