ENF

ENF (embarassed nude female) stories, pictures or anything else

Just Me And My Car

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“Catch me if you can,” I said with a smile and a wave of my hand, and then I pressed my foot onto the accelerator pedal and the sports car leapt forwards. I watched in my mirror as his SUV struggled away from the lights and disappeared into the distance. I’d hardly gotten a mile from my house and already this drive was turning up some surprises.

Out on the open road, the engine felt more alive than ever. Possibly because of the cooler air, it just felt like all eight cylinders jumped into life the instant I put my foot on the accelerator, and each time the ripple of power ran through the car body I felt a tingle through mine and my nipples stood erect.

Driving through the forest I came up behind a truck that was moving slowly around the snaking curves. I knew there was a straight section two miles up ahead so I took my time and, checking all was clear ahead, I put my foot to the floor and moved across to pass it. The automatic gearbox dropped two gears and I was pressed into the seat by the acceleration. I didn’t mind the driver getting enough of a glimpse of me to wonder if he’d really been passed by a naked woman in a sports car, but I didn’t want him to get a good look at me so I kept accelerating.

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

Naked And Against The Clock

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“A photo of you, naked, chained to a lamppost.” Those were the message’s exact words.

Angela’s self-restraint dares had become more adventurous as my week-long work trip ran on. It was agony being away from her for so long, but sheer ecstasy following her instructions each day.

I checked that the camera tripod on the balcony edge hadn’t moved in the night. It was still pointing down at the town square, the zoom lens focused on an old cast iron lamppost.

I slipped my feet into my stilettos and pulled a thin sundress over my head. I’d planned this whole thing very carefully and had hardly slept through excitement.

I glanced at the clock at the end of the square: it was 5:40am, and the sun was slowly rising above the buildings, beginning to shine brightly on my chosen spot. The town was deserted at this time of the morning; the first bus didn’t arrive until 6am, and it was never early. I had twenty minutes.I picked up my handcuffs and the longer ankle chains and ran to the door as fast as my thin heels would allow. My shoes rang loud on the concrete stairs and it seemed to take an age to reach the front door of the apartment block. I stepped outside and looked up at the clock again: 5:42am. I had eighteen minutes.

Read the rest of The Lamppost Dare for free. Just enter your e-mail address and I’ll send you a password.

Feel The Music On Your Skin

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She began to play the sonata again. This time, as well as the cold brass of the pedals, Jessica was sensitive to the rough fabric of the piano stool across the backs of her thighs as her legs moved. But rather than jump at each touch, she was starting to seek out the feeling and revel in it. She would anticipate each tap of the damper pedal and let the feeling course through her.

“Good! Good! Or better, at least,” Miss Ashdown said, reining in her praise lest Jessica thought the work was done for the day. “I can see your legs and feet really working here and, more importantly, I can really feel them working through the music. Can you feel it?”

Jessica nodded. It was like there was something different about the air itself.

Read the rest of The Pianist, and 11 other ENF stories, in Naked Women in Shorts

As Long As I Have My Coat

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Oh dear, Susan giggled. Well, it was just a bit of fun, wasn’t it? If she kept her coat buttoned, who would know what she had on beneath it? Or know that it was nothing except her bra? And knickers of course, she reminded herself. And besides, her cleavage did look good, and the coat would show just enough neck to hint at it.

She took another look in the mirror, as she stood there in her faded bra and knickers. It was decision time. Before she could change her mind she stuffed the old blouse and sweater into the bin in the corner of the changing room and took her coat off the rack. Okay, now just be careful, she said to herself as she buttoned the coat from top to bottom and tied the belt around her waist.

She looked in the mirror again. There were a few inches of calf visible below the hem of the coat, but this was still “nice” Susan looking back at her. What leg you could see looked good, but you couldn’t see the curve of the calf line, or the smoothness of the skin as it ran up to the knee. She bent down and undid a button, and then another. If she pushed her right leg forward the coat split to a couple of inches above the knee, but no more. It certainly showed no more than the skirt would do.

Read the rest of the story in Changing Rooms