Sam Tye stands barefoot on the lawn in a soft turquoise sundress, a wide woven tan belt cinched around her slender waist, nude stockings whispering up her long willowy legs into a pair of warm caramel heels. The English garden behind her is green and private, conifers rising like a hedge of her own little sanctuary, and the summer light pours across her luminous skin and honey-blonde hair with a lazy, sun-warmed glow. She leans a hip against the outdoor sofa, one hand resting on the belt buckle, a lopsided grin tugging at her mouth as though she has already decided that clothes are, as she put it, very much optional today.

Settling back on the cushions Sam hikes the dress up her thighs, easing it past the pale shimmer of her stocking tops and revealing a small white thong that sits low on her narrow hips. The neckline slides down next, freeing her pert, rounded bust, and soon she is kneeling on the sofa in only sheer white hosiery and the delicate little bra and briefs, cupping herself with a teasing tilt of her head. Stretched long on the cushions she lets the light wander across her toned stomach and peachy curves, every lazy line of her body radiating that garden-warm contentment she promised from the very first pose.