I turned around, and found myself, rarely for someone of my small height, even in my two inch heels, looking straight into the eyes of Natasha.

Natasha was petite, she was blonde, and she was smiling and offering me her hand to shake. “Hi, I’m Natasha,” she said, her eyes fixed on me all the time.

“I’m Rupa. Pleased to meet you,” I replied, taking her delicate hand in my own and trying to appear confident as I shook it.

“Oooh, I love your English accent,” Natasha said with a smile. I had heard that plenty of times tonight already and I wondered if Americans were taught to say that at school.

“I love your, er,” I said as I looked her up and down, desperate to pay a compliment in return. “I love your tattoos.” Natasha had a magnificent set of multi-coloured tattoos: on her arms, on her shoulders, on the tops of her feet and her ankles, spiralling up her leg and thigh and across her stomach. Oh yes, now I remember the important part of describing Natasha, and why I was surprised, or even shocked, at meeting her. I’m able to describe Natasha’s tattoos in such detail because Natasha was entirely naked.

“Why, thank you,” she said, looking down at herself. I joined her in staring at the young naked body in front of me and wondered whether I was dreaming. “I’ve been collecting them for years. I started with a few small ones like this.” She twisted around and pointed to an owl tattooed on her shoulder before turning back quickly as I tried to tear my eyes away from the way her tiny breasts wobbled as she spun around. “And this was next,” she said as she twisted her leg outwards and pointed to a small butterfly at the top of her inner thigh, although all I could think of was that I was staring directly at her immaculately shaved vagina. “That one was for an old boyfriend, who wanted something that only he would see.” She shrugged and her breasts wobbled again. “I guess everyone gets to see it now.”

Read the rest of Dressed In Tattoos, and 11 other ENF stories, in Naked Women in Shorts

Her shoulders shrugged beneath the thick coat. “Why not,” she said, “This café has a good selection.”

She looked around the room with her strange manner again. She was like a bird, watchful for predators perhaps, and her eyes seemed to rest on each other customer for a fraction of a second before dismissing them as a threat.

I turned around in my stool to look for a waiter and put my hand in the air to attract his attention. I had lost some of my English reserve during my time as a journalist, but, as was to become apparent, not as much as I thought.

I must have been looking away from Mia for no more than two or three seconds but by the time I turned back the fur coat was gone and I was suddenly in the presence of Mia the performance artist. Or, more precisely, Mia the naked performance artist.

I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was, so I said nothing. I was incapable of saying anything as she sat there, seemingly oblivious to her nudity, not even paying attention to how I reacted.

I had seen plenty of photos and videos during my research for this interview but, in the flesh, it was obvious what a truly beautiful woman Mia was. Her skin was a delightful soft cream colour and appeared flawless, although I was trying hard not to stare. There was barely an inch of fat on her and, as she sat with her legs crossed, I wondered if I was just imagining the whole thing.

I looked around the café. It was obvious from some other reactions that I wasn’t dreaming, but although there were glances in her direction, and comments between groups at tables, it wasn’t quite the seismic reaction that I would have expected.

The waiter arrived and I watched his eyes lock onto Mia’s breasts for a second before he gained enough self-control to address her face.

Read the rest of Interview With An Artist, and 11 other ENF stories, in Naked Women in Shorts

Then she stood, hooked her fingers into her waistband, and quickly pulled her underwear down her thighs, over her stockings, stepped out of the small piece of fabric and dropped it to one side. She sat firmly in her chair with her legs crossed but her hands on the armrest. She stared at me defiantly, but I knew it was largely a defensive response.

“And were you right?” I asked her, “About this being a nine?”

Melissa nodded but said nothing.

“And on the scale of one to ten… is ten an orgasm?” She nodded again. “And have you ever had an orgasm without being touched before.” She nodded again. I paused. “Is this common for you.” She thought for a second, and then nodded again. I noted it down and her breathing became more rapid.

“Now do you mind,” I asked her, “If I take your pulse?”

She shook her head: of all the things I’ve asked of her so far, this was quite a small request. I stood up and walked over to her and put my fingers on her delicate wrist and started to count on my watch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her breasts rising and falling with each breath. After thirty seconds I had a good enough estimate and wrote it down.

“Ninety six,” I told Melissa.

“Is that high?”

I shrugged. “You’d usually be maybe sixty-something, or seventy if you’re not relaxed.” I smiled. “But there are extenuating circumstances, and ninety six is nothing to be worried about.”

She smiled weakly again, but I could see her mind is elsewhere.

“Now, I’m going to ask you a few more questions,” I told her, “And I’d like you to respond on a scale of one to five this time, okay?” Melissa nodded. “Okay. Again, this is about how much extra arousal you might feel.”

Her chest kept rising and falling and her pupils didn’t appear to be focussing on me.

“So, first. If someone came into the room.”

“Five,” she said instantly.

“If I unlocked the door.”

“Still five.”

“If I told you there was a camera filming us now?”

“Five,” and her eyes darted around the room.

“Don’t worry, there isn’t one,” I reassured her. Her eyes closed in relief for a second.

“And if I photographed you now?” I continued.

“Four,” she said. At least the scale has some variation: not everything was a “five”.

“If I threw your clothes out of the window?”

“Five.” Another instant response, which she then corrected. “No, six.” I smiled to myself: I might have to adjust the scale of her responses later.

Read the rest of A Study in Exhibitionism, and 11 other ENF stories, in Just ENF

I’d honestly never felt so self-conscious, sat there, suddenly nude. Lisa sat back beside me in her PVC dress and boots.

“What…” I began, “What am I going to be wearing?”

Lisa looked thoughtful for a second. “Do you know Tina?” she asked me. I nodded, although I only barely knew the girl she was talking about.

“She has something for you to put on,” she told me.

“And where’s Tina?”

“She’s on her way. Or at least she said she’d get her early.”

I looked wistfully at my clothes crumpled on the chair: I’d have preferred to have gotten undressed after my outfit had arrived, not before. Then I glanced up at the table across the room, laid out with drinks and empty glasses. I noticed what looked like a pair of handcuffs on the far corner and then averted my eyes in embarrassment. I don’t know why.

Read the rest of A Very Grown Up Party, and 11 other ENF stories, in Just ENF

Lucia suddenly tensed and Helena realised she had gone too far too quickly. Pareia gently blew onto the bare skin of the slender redhead and Lucia was carried back under the spell. Her head fell back and she rubbed her neck with her delicate fingers. If it weren’t for their magic, Helena thought, every head in the bar would be watching Lucia now.

“One thing at a time,” Pareia said gently, both to Helena and to Lucia. She ran her finger along Lucia’s slender collarbone and was rewarded by a wriggle of the shoulders.

Then the finger slid down Lucia’s chest, over the soft flesh of her breast, and then stroked the thick red lace that covered her nipples. Lucia trembled in her seat.

“No more hiding,” Pareia whispered to Lucia.

“No more hiding,” Lucia replied out loud, and she put her hands behind her back and unfastened her bra. With a smooth, rapid motion she shrugged it off of her shoulders and dropped it onto her jeans.

“She has a beautiful figure,” Helena said, and Pareia nodded in agreement.

“This is like a dream,” Lucia said quietly to herself, and Helena felt herself overwhelmed by the images of fantasies and dreams that Lucia had kept to herself for all these years.

“You’re almost free,” Pareia whispered to her.

“Almost,” Lucia agreed, and she slid her hands into her underwear and pushed downwards. She needed only a small lift in her seat as she pushed her last item of clothing down her thighs and then let it drop down her legs and onto the floor.

She wriggled contentedly in her seat: who would have thought that the night would end with her sitting naked in the bar? She was glad she had ordered that extra drink now and she emptied her glass.

Read the rest of Pareia and Helena, and 11 other ENF stories, in Just ENF