Grace’s Game

It is a dark stiff padded envelope and addressed to him. Internal post. Eyes Only. The neatly squared letters are in Whitley's hand. Unfussy, neat. Neat as her belly button, and theĀ  triangle of untrimmed hair below it. He'd called it 'the prettiest of all the muffs' and she'd clipped him round the ear for … Continue reading Grace’s Game


They had a lace panel at the front, demure broderie anglaise, but it was the only demure thing about them. A black coat of paint on her fabulous arse, they were short shorts with a satin waistband and virtually no leg at all. Paired with a snug black and white striped top, and with her … Continue reading Shorts