Jessica sat back on the piano stool and started playing. She genuinely could feel the freedom as her shoulders swayed with the movement of the piece. She felt as if the piano were leading her through the music rather than the other way around, and she was so lost in playing that she forgot that she was sitting in her underwear.

Miss Ashdown let Jessica play all the way through the sonata, and finally Jessica stopped with her fingers resting gently on the keys, her eyes closed, savouring the moment.

“You see what you can do?” she heard Miss Ashdown whisper. Jessica nodded and smiled.

“Now,” Miss Ashdown continued, “We know you can play with more freedom, but you need to play with more passion. I know it’s in you; it must be at your age. Come. I’ll show you something.”

Miss Ashdown took Jessica’s hand and she allowed herself to be led across the room.

“Look at this,” Miss Ashdown said, pointing at a framed black and white photo on the wall. It showed a young woman in a loose but low-cut evening dress with a plunging neckline and a long slit up one side. She was sitting at a piano and playing in front of what must have been hundreds of people inside a concert hall.

“That was me,” Miss Ashdown told her, “when I was only a few years older than you are now.”

Jessica looked at Miss Ashdown. She was used to thinking of her teacher as, well, a teacher. She might have said that she was attractive, if she was asked, but she had never even thought of it before. She looked back at the photo; she could see the passion on the young woman’s face, in the way her body was arched over the piano keys and by the graceful line of her calf as her foot just touched a pedal. It was an incredibly beautiful image, but also somehow an intensely sexual one.

“I was making love to the keys that night,” Miss Ashdown said, momentarily lost in memory, “And there wasn’t a man in the house that didn’t wish he was the one to escort me home to see where my energy would find an outlet next. And maybe a few women there did too.” Jessica looked up at Miss Ashdown who gave her a mischievous wink.

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

The funny thing was, the more I flirted, and the more I gave her what I thought she wanted, the more shy and embarrassed she became. And the more shy and embarrassed she got, the cuter she got and the easier it was to flirt. It was a vicious, delicious cycle.

I moved my hand away from the back of the sofa and gently stroked her gorgeous red hair. It made her even more uncomfortable, and I smiled half in amusement and half in pleasure. I’d never tried seducing a woman before and it was a whole lot of fun, but boy did it take a lot longer than seducing a guy.

I found myself, as if by accident, leaning much closer to her, and then the mixture of fear and expectation in her eyes drew me into the next logical step and I kept leaning, closing my eyes at the last moment as my lips touched hers.

She didn’t really do much in terms of returning the kiss, but her lips were lovely and soft against mine. That was two women in one day I’d kissed now. It truly was a voyage of discovery.

I pulled my head away a couple of inches and she leant back a little and giggled.

“Oh my god,” she said, “I thought you were straight?”

I shrugged: I am, I thought, or I thought I was.

Her face began to glow. “I’m all embarrassed now,” she said.

“How come?”

“Everyone’s watching us, I’m sure,” she said, “They’ve never seen me with anyone before… and you’re naked. It’s pretty hot.”

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

“Now, to cut to the chase,” I continued, feeling that momentum was on my side, “You’re here because you… you enjoy the sensation of being naked. In front of people.”

She tilted her head as if she was thinking about the answer. I wasn’t sure why: it was the only reason she was here in the first place. But I knew that hearing your most personal secret put into words for the first time was not an easy thing to process.

“Well, I…” Melissa started. I nodded to urge her to continue. “Well, I guess, yes.”

She took a deep breath, as if somehow the admission was a major step forward. Personally, I felt no judgement towards her, neither good nor bad; I’d been studying this and similar subjects for long enough that they had become quite commonplace to me.

“As I said,” I began reassuringly, “There are no judgements being made here. We’re studying people with particular… preferences, that may not be what society views as normal, but you’d be surprised at just how many people share the same…” I was momentarily lost for words. “How many people have desires that are not what others would categories as the everyday.”

Melissa smiled and sat back in her seat. It was as if she’d heard someone way “don’t worry, you’re not alone” for the first time. I thought it worth pressing the point.

“Anyway, whatever people think is normal… it applies to almost nobody.” I managed to deliver the line as an aside and Melissa relaxed again. I was glad I’d said it, and that it was the truth was even better.

“But you’ve never let your preferences take hold of you, to such an extent that you’ve gotten into trouble?”

Melissa shook her head.

“No run-ins with the police? Not even embarrassing situations with friends?”

She shook her head again, but blushed at the same time. I wondered if she were perhaps hiding something, but maybe something that wasn’t all that important: a minor incident in the past that she’d rather not relive, perhaps.

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

“Just a sec,” Lisa said, and she picked up my bundle of clothes and left the room with them. That answered the question of putting them back on without even asking it, I guess.

I heard her go upstairs and then a minute later she reappeared with a rectangular cardboard box.

“Here,” she said, “I’ve got these for you.”

She handed me the box. It looked like a shoebox, and I hoped it had more than shoes inside.

I opened the box: it did only have shoes inside. Gorgeous, strappy stilettos; light cream colour with sparkling insets.

“These are for me?” I asked looking at them.

“Just to borrow,” Lisa said as she made us both a gin and tonic, “Do you like them?”

“They’re gorgeous!” I said. And so much more glamourous than anything I owned.

“Here you go,” Lisa said, handing me my gin and tonic. I took a sip and waited for the alcohol to have some effect: hopefully it would help me to get over the discomfort of sitting around naked.

Lisa put her drink on the table beside her and took one of the shoes out of the box.

“Here,” she said, kneeling in front of me. She lifted my ankle with her hand and slipped the shoe onto my foot. I giggled at the tickling sensation as she fastened the thin leather buckle.

“And the other one,” she said, “I didn’t realise you were so ticklish.” Her eyes sparkled and she grabbed my foot with her hand and I almost spilt my gin and tonic as I wriggled in a fit of giggles.

She pushed the other shoe onto my foot and fastened the buckle carefully and then stood in front of me.

“Gorgeous,” she said, looking down at me. I couldn’t help but smile, but I felt even more naked now I had the stilettos on.

“Can you stand in them?”

I pushed myself up off of the sofa and Lisa held my wrists while I stood, still trying to avoid spilling my drink. She released my wrists and took a step back looking me up and down. I was a half an inch taller than her now.

“You were made for them,” she said with a grin. I took another nervous sip from my glass; it was helping to quell my nerves a little, but I wished Tina would hurry up with some clothes.

I looked at the table again: there were a lot of glasses, and a lot of drinks. Lisa had mentioned something about expecting twenty or thirty people that evening but we were in no danger of running short of alcohol.

My eyes returned to the handcuffs again and Lisa followed my gaze.

“What are they for?” I couldn’t help but ask, feeling emboldened by the first flush of inebriation.

“We just play around with them,” Lisa said, “Let me show you.”

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

“Well,” she said, and Tina handed her a shiny, silver chain, around three or four feet long, “When I said ‘something to wear’, you may have misinterpreted me.” Her hands returned to my neck with the chain and I felt her fumbling. Then we she lowered her hands, the chain was still between her fingers, but I realised that the other end was attached to me. More specifically: it was attached to the collar around my neck. The long chain hung between us and Lisa stepped back, taking up some of the slack. I was still staring at her, my mouth open.

“So, anyway,” she said, watching my reaction carefully, “Something to wear…” She tailed off, waving the chain back and forth, her fingers holding a thin leather loop at the other end. I felt its movement translated through a gentle tugging of my neck from one side to the other.

‘Something to wear’ was not the same as ‘an outfit’. She had never said ‘an outfit’. I felt suddenly angry at her that she had misled me, but I couldn’t really pinpoint where.

“But…” I started to say. But I can’t stand around like this.

Lisa stepped towards me and cut me off, speaking quietly and softly. “Most people are already here,” she said, “So…” She stepped back again: so there was no need for me to embarrassed, she didn’t need to say, because everyone had already seen me like this.

That wasn’t the point, but I couldn’t think straight.

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

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

I knew that meant she had something planned for us. Exactly how far was she going to make us walk around naked? I turned around, and then anger turned into shock.

“Mia…” I said, “You’re… you’re dressed?” The blood drained from my face.

I stared at her and she looked down at herself. She was wearing dark leather boots, a long, tight skirt down to her ankles and a long-sleeved roll-neck sweater. She had a camera around her neck. She looked beautiful and sophisticated as she opened the large golf umbrella and held it over us.

“Yes,” she said in her matter-of-fact way, “You made me think, about seeing how it felt on your side. I wondered what it would be like.”

“But… that’s… that’s not what I meant!” I protested, “I didn’t mean ‘see what it’s like hanging out with a naked woman’!”

Mia shrugged. “Come,” she said, “this rain is perfect.”

She started to walk away but I stopped still with my hands on my hips.

“Uh-uh,” I said, shaking my head. “Let me in. I want to get my coat.”

“My coat, you mean,” she said with no trace of humour.

I sighed in frustration. “Mia, you know what I mean.” Surely she’d show some sympathy?

She shrugged again. “You may wait here, if you like. Or you know the way to your hotel.” She turned and began to walk away again.

I looked around: it was better to be with Mia than to wait here naked for her to return. I knew that compromise was not something that Mia understood. No wonder she was single. I scuttled after her.

The umbrella covered our heads but I could feel the rain splashing against my ankles. We walked in silence and I resigned myself to following Mia around until she had decided that my ordeal had lasted long enough. Except that, for her, this wasn’t an ordeal: it was an experiment, and an experience to be savoured.

“I envy you,” she said, “It’s wonderful to be nude in the rain.”

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