Shelley Roberts slides back onto a deep green chesterfield in an empty nightclub, still dressed in the tiny black bodycon with cream lace trim she wore out dancing, her long platinum blonde hair fanning down past her shoulders. Sheer nude pantyhose shimmer along her shapely thighs, her feet slipped into strappy glittering stilettos that catch the overhead lights, and one hand rests lazily against her temple as she lets out a soft, tired smile for the camera. The tiger print carpet glows beneath her, the club sleeping around her, and the little dress is already riding higher than it did at the door.

Shelley shrugs the dress away and stretches out across the buttoned leather in a cream lace bra and matching briefs, the nude hose still hugging every curve from hip to toe. She props her shapely legs high in the air and runs a playful hand down the silky stretch of nylon, her toned stomach catching the warm glow, her glossy smile growing wickeder as she settles back topless with pantyhose smoothed over the peachy swell of her bottom. There is something utterly warm and captivating about this quiet corner of the club, about a luminous blonde with golden skin and a mischievous grin savouring the last secret hour of her night.