Helena And Pareia – An ENF Story Teaser

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Pareia walked into the crowded nightclub. She paused at the threshold as her eyes adjusted to the light. A few heads turned, thinking they saw a beautiful, petite woman stride through the doorway but, when they looked, they saw nothing.

They saw nothing because Pareia, as all nymphs were able to do, had chosen not to be seen. She wasn’t actually invisible; it’s just that she wouldn’t allow anyone to see her. She became nothing more than a glimpse out of the corner of a mortal eye.

She looked around the room, knowing exactly who she was looking. She didn’t know her target by name, or by description, but she would know her when she saw her. She had felt her presence even before she walked in.

She started to circle the room, weaving between the dancing couples and groups of men and women talking. All moved out of her way instinctively, without knowing why they moved. Pareia felt goose bumps rise on her arms and she knew she was close. Then, as a group moved aside, Pareia saw her target standing there, alone, at a table at the edge of a room, nervously clutching a wine glass.

The young woman that Pareia studied, like the others before her had done, turned her eyes towards Pareia, and the nymph allowed herself to be seen for a moment as she gave her a mischievous smile. The girl turned her head away in embarrassment, her eyes locked firmly on an unoccupied spot across the room. She was determinedly trying not to look back at Pareia’s dark eyes lest her look be misinterpreted as an invitation.

She need not have bothered as Pareia returned to semi-invisibility and studied the girl from across the room. She was small and slim, as small and slim as Pareia, with beautiful golden hair which, as everything about her was, was styled in a way to deflect attention. Her clothes were smart and neat: she was dressed in a loose skirt that finished just below the knee and a cotton blouse, but she looked more like she was ready to teach a school lesson than dance away an evening in a nightclub. The only hint of sexuality that she dared project was from the delicate, strappy heels on her feet. Pareia looked down at her own feet and her own delicate, strappy heels, and smiled to herself: the feet of a nymph were too beautiful to hide from the world.

Pareia walked slowly towards her target, her spine tingling with anticipation. She had done this only a handful of times before in her long life and each time was as thrilling as the last. If anything, each time was more thrilling than the last, as she knew exactly what was going to happen. Well, maybe not quite exactly, but that was part of the thrill.

Pareia circled the young woman, who remained oblivious to her attentions, and eyed her up and down. She could sense the turmoil inside her: this one was going to be fun. The girl in the plain outfit was trying so hard to hide her nature that bringing it out was going to be all the more rewarding.

Stopping beside her, Pareia touched the girl’s forearm lightly with her fingers. The young woman looked around with a start, wondering how she hadn’t noticed someone encroaching into her precious personal space. Her eyes went wide as she recognised the woman that she had exchanged a glance with across the room.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Pareia said with a hint of a southern European accent, “My foot slipped.” Pareia’s fingers remained resting on Helena’s arm, feeling the tension growing within the young girl, but Pareia now knew everything she needed to know.

The woman in front of her was called Helena. She was here tonight with a friend, Jennifer, but the friend was currently enjoying the attentions of a young Greek man somewhere else in the nightclub. Helena, as always, had been left alone, standing almost invisible at the edge of the nightclub, wishing that she was not here at all.

In fact, Pareia knew more about Helena than Helena knew herself. She could feel the nymph within her, the spirit that Helena had spent her whole life denying. It may have come through her mother, or her grandmother, but it was there nonetheless. It was the reason that Helena was standing alone at the edge of the room when she could so easily be the centre of attention. She was trying so hard to supress the nymph, although she didn’t know it, that she was almost as invisible to the others in the room as Pareia could make herself.

It was this nymph spirit that Pareia had come to release. She could feel the tension within Helena; she could feel how long it had been since Helena had had any kind of sexual encounter, and the stronger the desires within the young woman grew, the more she struggled to supress them.

Helena’s eyes remained locked on Pareia’s. She felt as if she were being hypnotised by those dark pupils. Hypnotism was close to the truth and Pareia’s power gradually took hold of her.

Pareia took her hand away from Helena’s arm and returned to her unnoticeable state. Helena’s eyes drifted to focus on the middle distance in the nightclub, almost forgetting the momentary encounter. Pareia had made her forget it. But, now that they had touched, Pareia could hear every thought running through Helena’s head.

“Why am I here,” Helena was wondering, “Why am I standing here alone? How come no-one talks to me? But then, if someone talked to me, wouldn’t that be terrible too?” She both craved attention and shied from it.

And unbeknownst to Helena, she had entered the same state as Pareia: no longer was she barely visible to those around her, now no-one could see her if they tried. Or rather, no-one would be conscious of her presence, which was the same end result.

Pareia smiled; this was just the start.

“How long has it been, Helena?” Pareia asked her. She knew she would not be heard, but was merely planting the seed of the question within the girl’s mind.

“A long time,” was the whispered reply.

Pareia could feel the truth of it. So ashamed was Helena of her urges that she had even come to view masturbation as an act to be avoided. She indulged herself only when she could hold off no longer and it had been weeks since she had felt the release of orgasm.

As the thought crossed Helena’s mind, Pareia felt the energy rise within the girl. She watched Helena’s chest rise and fall as her breathing quickened.

“Tonight,” Pareia whispered, “It must be tonight.”

Helena felt the voice within her head but heard it as her own. Her hand almost reached down between her legs in response to the tingling sensation there. “Fuck it,” she thought, “As soon as I get back to the hotel. If no-one here wants me, then see to myself.” Even in her own mind her language skirted around the subject.

Helena’s cheeks flushed at the thought of touching herself again, and her mind felt ashamed of the impulse. Her face felt as if it was burning up and her heart pounded within her chest. She looked around the room, expecting faces to be staring at her as her arousal grew, but no-one was paying her so much as a second look.

“If only they knew,” Pareia said softly beside her and then, gently, she blew at Helena’s earlobe. She saw a tremble in response.

Without knowing she was doing it, Helena’s hands ran up and down her hips, feeling their firmness and the gentle curve into her narrow waist. When the mood overcame her it could come quickly, but it had never felt this fast before. She suddenly felt as if she was going to explode.

“Can you feel the heat?” Pareia spoke again, a smile on her face. Helena was being carried along by every suggestion.

“Yes…” was the shuddered breath of a reply. Pareia again blew, but this time onto Helena’s neck. The girl shuddered as she exhaled and Pareia saw that her eyes were almost closed. Without thinking, Helena’s hands reached up and unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse. She flapped at the loose fabric to wash air over her chest. Pareia walked around to her front and blew on her bare skin. A long sigh escaped from Helena’s lips.

“The heat… the insufferable heat…” Pareia said quietly.

“But the crowd… “Helena’s consciousness replied. Pareia saw that she needed a gentle push.

“No-one is watching,” Helena thought her mind said in reply.

“No-one ever pays any attention anyway,” Helena said to herself with a sneer. The inhibition dropped as she continued to unbutton her blouse, flapping the fabric for air as she did so. Pareia smiled to herself. “But let’s see them ignore this,” Helena said to herself and pushed the blouse off of her shoulders onto the floor.

Her skin was soft and smooth, framed by a white lace bra, and Pareia blew across her delicate neck and shoulders, cooling the rising passion of the young girl as a reward for her boldness. Revelling in the feeling, Helena stretched her arms high above her head, her eyes closed. The realisation that she was standing in a crowded nightclub in her bra crept back into her mind and her eyes opened suddenly.

Read the rest of the story, and much more, in Naked Women in Shorts, available now for the Kindle.

Dressed in Tattoos

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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 the story, and much more, in Naked Women in Shorts, available now for the Kindle.

Milo Moiré’s Naked Tram Ride

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Another video from the amazing Milo Moiré, this time with the clothing she “should” be wearing written on her body. She looks amazing, and the way that so many people try hard to ignore her is even more amazing. Although personally, I can’t thinking how cold she must be!

From her own description:

THE SCRIPT SYSTEM – Dusseldorf, Germany (2013)
„Daily life is characterized by “human automats ”. Can we break the stereotyped action?“

Always the same way to work, day after day…it is early in the morning…FAR TOO EARLY for performance art! Always the same way to work, day after day…it is early in the morning…FAR TOO EARLY for performance art! The semi-automatized operating according to an internalised script…enter, pass through, punch the ticket, sit down… Disturbed by a completely naked woman, right in the middle of it, dressed in words… What will happen? Astonishingly… NOT THAT MUCH!

The own radical nakedness turns in this process into a protective shield against the stereotype and paradoxically makes the artist invisible. If one allows stunning defencelessness, a protective, almost private space arises – even on the tram.

Alessia Takes Me Out

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Alessia Takes Me Out

Alessia Takes Me Out I’ve posted to Literotica. It’s about a female couple with a healthy dominant/submissive relationship where, one night, private ownership is demonstrated very publicly.

Alessia was fully dressed in knee-length boots, stockings, a short, black leather skirt and a tight long-sleeved top, also in black. Her hair was short and dyed jet black and her eyes a deep blue. The contrast of her head-to-toe dark outfit and my bare, white skin was stark, and incredibly erotic. She stopped in front of me and we were each lost in the other’s eyes for a second.

You can read the whole of Alessia Takes Me Out on Literotica.