Room 2D

From Blushes Supplement 23 Heads swivelled as the pretty brunette sauntered casually along the hot sand, kicking the grains lightly with her bare toes as she chuckled to her girlfriend. They had obviously just arrived in Lanzarote, as the tans were still pale in comparison to some of the nut-brown bodies on display. British, Henry judged, and saucy with it. Not only were both girls topless, but the brunette’s bikini briefs were cut daringly high at front and back, the two portions joined by a tenuous cord resting on her hips. This left her naked down both sides from ankle to shoulder, the swivelling heads gyrating by virtue of the enticingly large expanse of brazenly bouncing bare buttock on display. Bryony was proud of her bottom, and knew that it drew appreciative looks when attired so sparingly. She was proud of her breasts, too, and not ashamed to reveal those twin firm globes to the sun for a short time each day. Her moth...

Photo-story from Janus 160 Harriet Grace, Head Prefect at St Catherine’s School for girls. The epitome of all the virtues: beautiful, full of grace, bright and studious, Oxbridge-bound. Flowing blonde hair and sky-blue eyes. A face and figure most girls would die for. Perfect personality, wonderful singing voice, virtuoso violinist, superb athlete — holder of the school record in long jump and hurdles. A halo would not look odd on that flaxen head. Goodness glows from her. Even her name is perfect. Harriet Grace. Girls in younger years have crushes on her. The hearts of male teachers thump when they glimpse her going through her paces in the gym or bounding in skin-tight shorts down the runway to soar into the air on shapely legs, hair tossing like wheat in a breeze. Harriet Grace. Could any of her admirers and acolytes have imagined that she could ever be Harriet in disGrace? The story is painful to relate — yet strangely thrilli...

From Blushes 34 Her peers at school had always told Charlotte how brilliant she was at ‘art’ — and the quality of her life drawings had inevitably extracted praise from her teachers, even when she was younger. Now she’d taken the plunge and, instead of opting for university, she had decided to attend a particularly good art college on the south coast near Brighton. Despite the tough competition for entry, Charlotte — or Charlie as she was known to most of her friends — sailed through and was immediately put under the wing of the most talented teacher at the college, John Mitchley. A man with numerous exhibitions to his credit, John drove his students hard, and liked to stretch their talents to the limit in his search for excellence. Occasionally; he had a small number of students to his lovely home on the hills above and outside Brighton, where they would paint, draw, and simply talk about their interest in art. For Charlotte,...