“Ah, bollocks,” said Janet, coming into the kitchen with her phone in her hand.

“Who was it this time?” I asked, taking another sip of my rooibos tea.

“Work. Natasha’s screwed something up again, and they want me to come in and sort it out.”

“Do you have to go?”

“I don’t have to, but if I don’t, the whole place will be in complete meltdown by the time I get back next week.”

I smiled. “I wish my work missed me as much when I’m on leave. Look, if it’d be easier if you go, don’t worry about me. I can look after myself easily enough for one day. I’ll go for a swim, and I want to do the arty-crafty shops in Kalk Bay; you know you get bored with that sort of thing. Anyway, if you don’t go, you’ll be on your phone and fretting about it all day. Just get over there and knock a few heads together. I’ll cook us a nice dinner for when you get back.”

“You’re an angel. I wish all my guests were as easy to please as you. Take the spare keys when you go out, and don’t forget to close the gates. I’ll pick up some more wine on my way back.”

“Isn’t there some in the fridge?”

“Only four bottles. That won’t last us long. Oh, and if you fancy a bite while you’re out, someone told me ‘Grace and Flavour’ is very good. It’s on Harbour Road, apparently you can’t miss it. Have fun,” and with a wave, she was gone.

Now that she’d left, I decided I was quite looking forward to a relaxing day with my own company, and a swim would definitely be a good start. I put on my bikini and slipped my loose beach dress on over it. I’d much rather have swum naked, but Janet had warned me that the beach at Kalk Bay would be busy, and I didn’t want to cause a scene. As it was, the water was deliciously warm, and I enjoyed my swim very much. After towelling myself dry, I put my dress back on. I hadn’t bothered to bring any undies with me, knowing it would be much nicer without. From behind, where my dress was cut very low, it would be clear I was braless, but from the front I knew I looked perfectly decent, and as long as I kept my legs together when I sat down the lack of knickers wouldn’t matter either.

I walked up from the beach and around to the attractive harbour, where I spent an enjoyable half an hour watching the fishermen working busily on their little boats. Then I walked up into the town itself, which was filled with a lively mix of bars, cafes, gift shops, galleries, craft shops and boutiques; like I imagine London’s Camden Market must have been before it became hideously tacky and commercialised.

A couple of hours of browsing passed quickly, and I was just passing the end of Harbour Road when I remembered Janet’s recommendation. I couldn’t exactly recall the name of the place she’d mentioned, but hoped my memory would be jogged when I saw it. Luckily, I only had to walk a short way down the street when I saw it on the opposite side: “Grace and Flavour” in swirly lettering above the door. The window was tastefully decorated with arty-crafty African items, but there was a menu in the window and I could see tables and chairs inside. This was obviously the place.

The door pinged as I walked in, and a very pretty black girl smiled at me from behind the counter. The menu was simple, but everything seemed to be freshly prepared, so I ordered a coffee and a sandwich. The girl, who I estimated was in her mid-twenties, made them both herself, quickly and efficiently, and brought them to the table.

“I hope you enjoy it, Miss,” she said.

Both the coffee and the sandwich were very good. When I’d finished, I picked up my cup and plate and took them back to the counter. The girl took them with a smile.

“I love the English,” she said. “No locals would ever do that; bring the cups back; not even the younger ones. But you’re all so polite.”

I was slightly at a loss as to how to respond; it was a telling observation, though I didn’t feel up to a discussion on the niceties of black/white attitudes in modern South Africa. So I just smiled back and changed the subject, in my polite middle-class English way.

“It’s a lovely shop,” I said. “Did you make any of these yourself?”

“Some of the wood carvings and bead-work are mine,” she said, “and most of the rest is by local people I know. They make it, and I sell it. I don’t make much out of it, but it makes a difference to them. And people are starting to hear about me, so business isn’t bad really.”

After that, I felt I could hardly walk out without buying something, so I began to browse around, hoping to find a couple of items that were expensive enough to make me feel I was contributing something, without leaving me broke.

I found a folder of photographs and flicked through them, recognising some of the prints from framed versions on the shop walls. There were some attractive local landscapes and architectural studies, which I thought would make good souvenirs and brighten up the walls of my flat at home. Then my attention was caught by some monochrome pictures of a nude female body. They struck me as being rather good; not particularly original compositions, but well-lit and artistic.

None showed the whole body, or even the face, but focussed on detailed close-up studies of portions of the anatomy, with a special interest in the curves of arms and legs, and the way shadows were formed by light from different angles. I particularly liked one that showed the smooth undulating curve formed by the upper body, waist and thigh. In some of them, the model’s skin had clearly been coated in a little film of oil, which reflected the light in a very sensual way. None of them strayed into indelicate areas, but there was an intimacy about some of the compositions that made me think of them as pictures for the bedroom rather than the lounge.

In any case, I liked them very much, and selected three that I thought I could easily live with: the curving one; another of the neck and shoulder; and one with the navel, that was decorated with a delicate jewelled piercing.

The girl took them with a smile. “These are by a local photographer,” she said. “She took some of the pictures of the bay too, but these prints seem to be popular.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said. “They’re lovely, really sensuous.”

Then suddenly I stopped. The girl was standing behind the counter wrapping the first of the prints, the one with the jewelled navel, and it was as if I was looking in a mirror; the jewel precisely matched the one in her own belly-button, revealed by her tied-up shirt.

“Oh goodness, these are you, aren’t they?” I blurted out.

She looked puzzled for a second, then realised how I’d guessed.

“You’re the first person to work it out, Miss,” she giggled, “Apart from the people who know anyway.”

“They’re beautiful,” I said. I held up the picture of the neck and shoulder, and placed it next to the real thing. She smiled and arched her own neck, matching the photograph exactly.

“I spent so long with her fussing over me, I can remember most of the poses,” she admitted.

“Your skin is gorgeous,” I said. “She’s caught the way it reflects the light really well.”

I picked up the third one. I was thinking of course that she must have been naked when the photographer took it, and my lips became dry as I imagined what she would look like without any clothes on.

She looked nervous and her eyes flicked around, as if checking no-one else was in the shop.

“I have some more, Miss,” she admitted, “in the back room. I don’t put them on display. They’re a bit more … you know: not dirty or anything, but I don’t like having them in the shop for just anyone to see.” She looked into my eyes. “But you can if you like.”

I didn’t need asking twice. “I’d like that,” I said seriously. “Very much.”

She went over to the door, slid the bolt, and turned the sign to “Closed”.

“It’s nearly lunchtime anyway,” she said. “This way.”

I followed her through a rustling bead curtain into the back of the shop. The room combined the functions of storeroom and lounge, with lots of boxes piled around the walls, but there was a comfy sofa and a table in the middle.

“Sit here, Miss,” she said, indicating the sofa.

“Thanks, but please, you must stop calling me “Miss”. My name’s Annie.” I put out my hand, and she took it in hers with a smile.

“I’m Grace; yes, I’m afraid the shop really is named after me. It was my Pa’s idea, and I suppose it is quite clever. But you need to sit down.”

I did as she asked, while she went to a large chest of drawers and opened one. She took out a large folio and handed it to me.

“Tell me what you think,” she said. “Sometimes I don’t like them, but when I pretend they’re not me, I think they’re nice.”

I held the folio on my lap and opened it. The very first picture was a close-up of a bare breast, the perfect hemisphere topped with a hard nipple. The clarity was remarkable; each individual dimple on the areola stood out clearly, and you could have counted every tiny goose-bump on the curve of the breast.

I looked at Grace. “Wow,” I said, “This is lovely.”

She smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

I couldn’t help it, but I found myself undressing Grace in my mind, imagining her without her top, seeing this breast for real. I thought I’d better stop this train of thought, and quickly turned to the next picture. This didn’t exactly help, as it showed the whole torso, including both breasts standing out perkily from the chest.

“You’ve got a lovely figure,” I said. To my embarrassment, I felt myself blushing, wondering if my compliments were appropriate. But Grace seemed pleased.

“I like the next one,” she said. She leant over and turned the page. I found myself looking at the cheeks of her bare bottom, side-lit to highlight the smooth curves. Unlike some of the black girls I’d observed around the town, proudly parading their bulging “booty” in tight leggings, her arse was small and firm, and certainly not in need of lycra to stop it sagging.

“Sometimes I think it’s too small,” she said, “but she said it was perfect.”

“She’s right, it is,” I reassured her. “You need to look after that bum.”

The next two pictures also showed her bottom, from different angles. It really was lovely.

I suppose I should have been expecting it, but my heart gave a little lurch when I saw the next picture. It was a straight-at-the-camera close-up of a vulva: Grace’s vulva. It was perfectly smooth and hairless, with the labia just a neat vertical line topped with a plump pubic mound. Once again, some oil had been applied so it glistened in the light.

“Oh fuck,” I whispered without thinking, then apologised. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to swear, but this is so gorgeous.”

She was standing nervously with her clenched hand to her mouth. “Look at the next one,” she murmured. I turned the page, and saw a hand had been added to the composition, laid against the smooth skin, one finger pulling at one of the labia, revealing a little patch of glistening inner flesh.

Suddenly, we’d gone from anatomic, if sensuous, studies of the human body to something much more intimate.

“Wow,” I said, lost for words for a change. “Are you okay showing me these?”

“Oh yes,” Grace stuttered. “I liked you as soon as you came into the shop, and then you were so nice. When you chose those pictures, and then recognised me, I really wanted to show them to you. And these ones too.”

She pulled another folio from the chest and put it down in front of me.

My heart was beating even faster as I opened the folio. As I’d expected, the first picture was even more explicit. It followed on from the previous one, but this time the pussy lips were pulled even further apart, and two of the slim fingers were pushed right into the vagina. Perhaps too eagerly, I turned the page and saw that the fingers had been withdrawn slightly, revealing that they were slick with the internal juices from inside.

I had a question I just had to ask. “This photographer, just how well do you know her?”

“She’s my girlfriend, her name’s Kara. We took some to sell, the ones in the shop, but these are for us. And special people.”

“I’m flattered. But you do realise these are turning me on?” I said bluntly.

“I… I thought they might. I was turned on when we were taking them.” She gave a shy smile, as if unused to talking about her sexuality.

“I can tell,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I think I need to do something about it.”

Looking at Grace as I did so, I slowly pulled my skirt up to the very top of my thighs and spread my legs. This had the effect of allowing my skirt to rise up a final inch or two, and exposing my own shaved pussy to her gaze. I hoped I hadn’t misread the signs, but by showing me her most intimate pictures, I judged that Grace had made a pretty clear statement of her desires. Now it was up to me to either step back, or reciprocate. And I knew which of the two I wanted.

I put my right hand between my legs and began gently to stroke the little bud of my clitoris as I turned the page again. The next picture was not such a close-up, but showed Grace’s firm thighs spread wide. She was holding something in her hand: a large dildo, carved from a pale brown piece of wood, polished to a fine sheen. It was beautiful, a real work of art; but also a practical sex toy, as the next pictures showed. I looked as the images showed the dildo slowly sliding into Grace’s vagina, then pulling out, coated in her juices.

I slipped my fingers into my own pussy. It was like immersing them in a bowl of warm water, I was so wet. I felt a small rivulet run out and dribble onto the sofa.

“I’m sorry, Grace, I’m getting your sofa wet,” I breathed in apology, “But that’s so hot. That thing is beautiful. Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes; would you like to see it?”

“Of course, yes.”

She went over to another drawer and took out something wrapped in a piece of soft cloth. She carefully unfolded the material, and I saw the dildo nestling inside. Grace held it out to me, and I picked it up and cradled it reverently. I loved the way it felt in my hand; it was quite heavy for its size, but smooth and sensuously curved; shaped a little like a flat, elongated letter “S”, swelling in the middle before tapering slightly to a bulbous tip.

I looked at Grace. She had pulled up the front of her dress and was rubbing herself through a pair of lacy black knickers. She was clearly as aroused as I was, and we were now well past the point of no return. It was time to stop looking and start playing.

“This is gorgeous,” I said. “Won’t you show me how you use it, like in the pictures?”

Grace nodded. She began to undress, carefully unbuttoning her blouse to reveal a plain black bra underneath, secured with a small clip at the front. She undid this, letting her small dark breasts drop out with a little bounce. They looked just as perfect as they had in the photographs, the dark nipples hard as pebbles. Then she unbuttoned her skirt and dropped it to the floor, leaving her in just her knickers.

“Won’t you take your dress off too?” she asked softly.

I quickly pulled my dress off over my head, while she slipped her knickers down. We were both naked now, and Grace sat on the sofa facing me, one leg on the floor and one folded beneath her, letting me see her bare pudenda and tight slit.

“Kara made me have it waxed before we took the photographs,” she said. “She said it would look better smooth and hairless. It felt odd at first, being so exposed, but now I like it.”

“So do I,” I said, truthfully. I reached out and stroked her bare leg, my hand looking very pale against her dark skin.

She picked up the dildo and stroked it against her vulva, a sharp little gasp escaping from her throat as the tip pressed against the tight bud of her clitoris. Then she slid the shaft up and down her slit, and I saw a thin deposit of moisture coat the tip.

Slowly, she eased it between her pussy lips, and I watched as it disappeared slowly up her vagina, the labia spreading to accommodate the thick central shaft. Then she slowly withdrew it, and I could see the shaft glistening with her juices, just as in the photographs.

“I love the way it feels inside me,” she whispered. “When I push it right in, the tip presses against my special spot, and I feel as if I’m in heaven.”

“Oh Grace, I want you so much,” I murmured. “But your girlfriend, Kara...is she going to be okay with it? I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

Grace smiled. “Don’t worry, she’ll love it. She’ll be so turned on when I tell her. We both do it. Not with just anybody, but when it happens, it happens. I wish you could meet her, but she’s in Zim, on a photoshoot.”

“I’m glad. Glad she won’t mind, I mean. Now put it back in. I want to watch you.”

As she slipped the wet dildo back into her hole, I nestled down next to her and rested my cheek on her warm firm thigh, so I could observe at close hand as she masturbated. I could see every detail of the soft folds of her labia sliding easily along the shaft of the dildo, lubricated by the juices which were starting to bubble and froth as it moved in and out. I could smell the fresh tang of sexual arousal, and hear the gentle slurping of her liquids. A slight sheen of perspiration appeared on her black thighs.

At the top of her vulva, the little bud of her clitoris was just peeping out from its protective fold of skin. I began to kiss up her thigh, across the sensitive area leading to her plump mound. She let out a little whimper as my tongue flicked across her clit, and a shiver ran through her whole body. I put my mouth right over her button and sucked gently at it, letting my tongue tease the little bud.

“Oh Annie, that’s it, just there, don’t stop, please don’t,” she gasped, starting to push the dildo in and out more vigorously, right next to my cheek. Slurp, slurp, slurp went her juices, and flick, flick, flick went my tongue.

I could tell from the noises she was making that she was getting close to her orgasm. She began to jerk her pelvis upwards to meet every thrust of the dildo, each jerk accompanied by a short guttural rasp in her throat. I kept up my licking at her clit, though her vigorous movements meant it was quite hard to keep my tongue in the right place.

As she reached her climax, she pushed the dildo up against her g-spot, and let out an orgasmic wail, kicking her legs in the air and shaking as if she’d been given a massive electric shock. I stopped licking as she let go of the dildo and gripped the sofa as she slowly got her breathing under control again. I pulled out the dildo with a slurp and put my tongue in where it had been, pushing my face right into her vulva and licking up as much of her juices as I could.

As I pulled away, I could feel my face was smeared all over with her pussy juices. I reached out and pulled her sweaty, glistening body against mine. She put her arms around me and kissed me hard on the lips, her little tongue pushing between my teeth and licking the inside of my mouth as vigorously as I’d licked her pussy.

I pulled away and looked into her sparkling eyes as she grinned at me.

“Damn it, Grace, you’re hot,” I said.

She giggled, the little cones of her bare breasts jiggling delightfully. “Now I want to give you pleasure,” she said, and began to lick my face like a friendly kitten.

“You taste nice,” she said.

“I think that’s your own pussy juices you’re tasting,” I giggled. “Grace’s flavour, not mine.”

“I want to taste you too,” she said.

She licked down my neck, nibbling at the soft skin of my nape. I felt her fingers stroking my skin as she slid lower, so her face was next to my pale bare breasts. She put her mouth over my right nipple and began to suck on it, her tongue flicking back and forth across the pink tip and around the dimples on my areola.

“You taste salty,” she said. “Fresh from the sea.”

I was quite sorry when she abandoned my nipples, but as she began to kiss down my tummy, I began to wriggle with delight at where she was going next. Her lips moved over the smooth plump mound of my pubis, then at last reached my slit, already tingling with anticipation. I spread my legs apart, welcoming her to my most intimate place.

She teased me with her tongue, licking around the sensitive skin, then gently sucking at the soft folds of my labia with her lips. Then her tongue slipped between them and into my vagina, licking and tickling inside.

I looked down and could see her dark head bobbing between my thighs. She raised her head and smiled at me. I could see my juices glistening on her face.

“You taste sweet, Annie,” she said. “Like a special fruity drink. But I only have a little tongue. I think I can go deeper with this.”

She picked up the carved dildo and rubbed it against my pubic mound, teasing me.

“Fuck me with it, Grace, put it in my cunt,” I gasped.

“Oh Annie, you are so filthy,” giggled Grace. “What would my friends at chapel say if they could hear you?”

“What would they say if they could see you?” I countered. “Having sex with an English girl you only just met?”

“They’d say you were the devil in human form, dragging me to hell,” admitted Grace. “But I don’t care. I want to go to hell if it means I can fuck whoever I want, girls and boys.”

With that, she pushed the dildo straight into my pussy. I was so wet it slipped right in, with a deliciously sensuous slurp. She was right; it felt lovely. It seemed to have been designed precisely to rub against the g-spot, and I wriggled with pleasure as Grace expertly moved it around inside me, stimulating my nerve ends delightfully. I pushed back against her, wanting to take it deeper, as I squeezed and pinched at my tits.

Soon I could feel myself getting tingly all over. Knowing the signs, I reached down and found the hard button of my clitoris. I began to strum at it, in time to Grace’s work with the dildo.

“Oh, fuck yes,” I muttered, as I felt my orgasm start to build. Then Grace gave the dildo an extra thrust and twist, so it pressed right into my special soft spot, and I came uncontrollably, letting out an undulating wail of pleasure as my whole body fizzed with delight. I’d not exactly been starved of orgasms over the past week, but this one was especially intense. As I gasped for breath and my body stopped shaking, I felt the dildo being withdrawn from my vagina. Grace held it up, so I could see how sticky it was with my juices, before putting it in her mouth and licking it clean.

I wriggled with pleasure. “Oh, Grace, that was lovely,” I purred.

She squirmed up next to me and I hugged her again while we kissed. Our naked bodies were both slick and sticky with sweat. I was still feeling horny, and began to play with one of her nipples, hoping to get her aroused too, but she sighed and pushed me away.

“Oh, Miss English Annie, you are so naughty,” she smiled. “I wish we could play some more, but I have to open the shop again. People might worry if they see I’m closed for too long. We have to look out for each other here.”

She sat up and began to put her shirt back on, without her bra this time. She re-tied the loose flaps and did up the buttons again. Then she had second thoughts and undid the top two, exposing quite a lot of her unsupported breasts. She then pulled on her skirt, leaving off her knickers as well.

“Now I’m going to feel sexy all afternoon,” she said. “If no-one comes in, I can play with myself under the counter. And maybe even if there is someone there, if they’re as pretty as you.”

I put my dress back on too, and gave her a last lingering kiss, stroking her bare leg.

“I’m so glad I came in,” I said. “My friend told me to come here. I’ll have to thank her.”

“Your friend is very kind, to send me both a customer and a lover,” giggled Grace. “Tell her to come in and ask to see my photographs. Then I can thank her personally.”

I took one of Grace’s business cards from the box by the till. I had a feeling Janet would be popping in quite soon.