Keeping Abreast Of The Competition


Polina Malinovskaya by Julian Vector

“But that’s not the whole story, is it?” I prompted Cassandra. “There’s one more piece to the puzzle of how you’ve managed to pull in customers from miles around?”

Cassandra smiled again. We had pre-planned how the conversation would flow, but Cassandra was great at improvising the words.

“Indeed, Tricia. We’d had this idea of serving in the nude but, until the appeal comes through, we can’t do that. But we don’t want anyone coming to a café called ‘Naked Women in Shorts’ and being disappointed, so we work dressed like this.”

On cue Cassandra grabs the bottom of her t-shirt and pulls it swiftly and smoothly over her head. She’s not wearing a bra underneath and I stare for a second at her perfect, small breasts. Her long hair falls over her bare shoulders and it occurs to me that if the café business ever fails she could easily turn to modelling. She’s almost impossibly thin and the denim shorts cover so little she’s as close to being naked as she can be, and still be legal. I’m suddenly insanely jealous of the combination of brains, beauty and youth.

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

Just Me And My Car


“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


“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.

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Feel The Music On Your Skin


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