When I first met Natasha I believe I experienced the same emotion that everyone does when first meeting her in the comfort of her own home; that emotion being surprise, or possibly shock, depending on one’s disposition.

The party seemed to be going the way that parties often run for me, that of being introduced to new people, not really knowing what to say, and then being rescued by someone (or maybe whoever I was talking to was the one being rescued) and then I’d be introduced to a new unsuspecting victim of inanity. This was no different, although as it was my first visit to the States I was being introduced and rescued even more thoroughly than usual as everyone wanted to meet “the English girl”, and then quickly realised that said meeting wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

But, as I said, this party was following a similar line to many, and I was running out of conversation with the quite charming and far too confident young American man I was talking to as, in the nick of time, I was tapped on the shoulder by my host for the week, Theresa, and a shout in my ear.

“Rupes! How ya doin’ there Rupes!” It wasn’t a question. “You must meet Natasha. You two just have to meet!” I rolled my eyes slightly as soon Natasha would discover, as many had already discovered that evening, that I was not the person anyone “had to meet”.

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.

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

Jessica imagined herself, standing on the stage, barely covered by her underwear, running her hands over her hips and stoking the fire of her passion. She suddenly felt incredibly sexual.

“You act as if you’re alone; this is the most private moment as you ready yourself to give everything to your playing,” Miss Ashdown’s soft voice continued. “You want nothing to come between you and your music.”

As she said this, and as Jessica exhaled, Miss Ashdown’s fingers, flat on top of Jessica’s, slipped into the white knickers. Jessica felt the fabric sliding over her hips as their interlocked hands pushed them down onto the floor. Jessica’s breath shuddered again but somehow she resisted the impulse to try to cover herself. She concentrated on the image of the concert hall, of standing naked on the stage as if no-one was there.

“You imagine his strong hands, running up and down your naked body,” the teacher continued, their hands continuing to move together, “His eyes devour your image as he remains fixed in his seat, desperately trying to control his breathing lest he be discovered watching you while you arouse yourself, naked on the stage.”

Miss Ashdown paused. Jessica’s hands were now moving by themselves and Miss Ashdown was merely following their movements with hers.

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

“Good idea,” Nhu shrugged, and then stood, taking her champagne glass with her. She went and sat at one end of their sofa. Georgia followed her and sat at the other. They looked back at the dining area, for the first time seeing the full length of Lisa’s beautiful, naked body with little white socks on each foot. They smiled at each other: this was going to do wonders for their sex life tonight too.

Lisa felt suddenly nervous at the idea of leaving the cover of the table, but from where the two girls sat she wasn’t covered anyway. She stood and picked up her glass. Georgia and Nhu tried not to stare as she walked towards them, but they were unable to control themselves.

Lisa stood in front of them with her champagne glass in her hand, suddenly feeling very nervous again. She didn’t want to sit on the foot stool opposite the couch, and she didn’t want to remain standing on display, although there was some pleasure to be had in seeing the lust in their eyes.

“Here,” Georgia said, shuffling up a couple of inches and patting the spot on the sofa between her and Nhu.

Lisa didn’t see how she could back out of the offer, so she stepped over and twisted herself around to back onto the sofa. She put her champagne glass on the floor and slid back into the seat.

Automatically, she put her feet up on the padded footstool opposite. Georgia and Nhu smiled at each other as they looked down at her slim, shapely legs and the short socks that she still wore on each foot.

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