Help Me To Write More


The popularity of my website and the nice things people say about my stories has made me very happy over the past couple of years. But now I need to ask for something in return.

You see, writing ENF stories is a lot of fun, but I make my money from writing much less interesting things. I’d really like to spend more time writing the type of stories that you like to read, but when work comes along that pays the bills… Well, you can guess that I have to prioritise. But I’m hoping that you can help to change the balance, just a little.

Sometimes real work just gets in the way

An offer from me to you

I don’t know if you’ve bought any of my books. If you have: thank you! If you haven’t, then the links are down the left hand side of the page. But whether you have or haven’t, I’d like to make you an offer.

That offer is: I’ll write even more stories, just for you, if I can persuade you to pledge as little as $2 each month on Patreon.

An offer nearly as good as this one. Nearly.

What is Patreon?

Patreon is a way for lovely people like you to support writers like me, just like the patrons of old supported artists. But thankfully, you don’t need to be rich to do it nowadays, and you can show your support for just a tiny amount each month.

Patreon is very easy to use, and you can pledge anonymously too. Apart from the warm glowing feeling you’ll get from supporting a struggling artist, for less than the price of a coffee each month you’ll be getting more of what you like as well. That’s because the more I manage to raise through pledges, the more time I can spend writing stories.

My best stories, for less than the price of a coffee

So many stories, so little time

I’m very excited about the stories I have in the pipeline. I’ve finished drafts of a dozen stories for a collection with the working title “Just ENF”. I’m also over halfway through an ENF novel about an Asian student who has two friends who, shall we say, find her nude body rather fascinating.

I’ll eventually complete these two books by myself, but with your help I can get them done even faster. Plus, you might not even have to buy them from Amazon, as if you pledge $5 dollars each month I’ll send you copies of these, and everything else I write, as soon as they’re finished.

My future ideal: the Kara Bryn section of a public library

Thank you

I hope you’ll take the next step on this journey with me. Please take a look at my Patreon page and do get in touch if you have any questions or suggestions.



Betting On The Match



There’s a new story in the Exclusive Content section. It’s called “Betting On The Match“. It’s inspired by all the football I’ve been made to watch recently!

Then the Italian midfield broke through. A twisting run split the German defence and a reverse pass was slotted through and cleanly converted. The bar went wild with people jumping, including me, until I realised that I should really not be letting this short dress bounce up and down when I’m wearing nothing underneath.

Angelika looked sick, despite the fact that Germany were still winning by three goals to two.

“Ten more minutes for another goal,” I teased, “And, erm, aren’t you forgetting something?” I stared at her dress with a raised eyebrow.

You’ll need your password to read the story, and if you don’t have one you can get one by filling out the form on the same page.

Read “Betting On The Match” here.

The Librarian


Naked Librarian

“Maybe if she didn’t dress like she was fifty!” Cassie recognised Michael’s voice from the corridor. She paused outside.

“Oh, don’t be so hard on her.” It was Adam, the library administrator. “She’s always nice to everyone, and she’s good at her job.” Cassie felt a warm glow inside: she had a very soft spot for Adam, a very soft spot indeed. Not that he’d ever guessed it.

“All I’m saying is, it would be nice to have some eye candy around the place!” Michael spoke again. “And Cassie’s not that. She’s always in that jumper and skirt, and probably wearing fifty layers underneath it. She’s locked up tighter than a nun’s chastity belt.”

Cassie looked down at herself, at her long jumper and long skirt with tights and blouse underneath. But just because she chose to dress like that, couldn’t they see past it? But she didn’t want them to suspect that she had overheard their conversation so she turned and walked away quietly.

You can read the rest of this story in my Exclusive Content section. To get access, just enter your e-mail address below and I’ll send you the password.

Read the rest of the story

The Lamppost Dare (An ENF Story)


Naked Woman Tied To A Lamppost

“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.

The stilettos echoed from every façade as I bounded across the cobbles. Speed was more important than stealth at the moment, but with my senses on overdrive every step rang like a hammer blow to an anvil.

I reached the lamppost and stood with my back to it to check my position. I looked up at my balcony; I could see my camera lens looking back at me. I took another anxious look up at the clock: 5:43am. I still had plenty of time. My body was coursing with anticipation.

I put the handcuffs on the low wall behind the lamppost and bent down to clamp a chain around my left ankle. I gasped as it closed, electrified by even this small restriction on my freedom. The ankle bracelets didn’t even need a key to release them, but the thrill was intense all the same.

You can read the rest of this story in my Exclusive Content section. To get access, just enter your e-mail address below and I’ll send you the password.

Read the rest of the story