Lucia suddenly tensed and Helena realised she had gone too far too quickly. Pareia gently blew onto the bare skin of the slender redhead and Lucia was carried back under the spell. Her head fell back and she rubbed her neck with her delicate fingers. If it weren’t for their magic, Helena thought, every head in the bar would be watching Lucia now.

“One thing at a time,” Pareia said gently, both to Helena and to Lucia. She ran her finger along Lucia’s slender collarbone and was rewarded by a wriggle of the shoulders.

Then the finger slid down Lucia’s chest, over the soft flesh of her breast, and then stroked the thick red lace that covered her nipples. Lucia trembled in her seat.

“No more hiding,” Pareia whispered to Lucia.

“No more hiding,” Lucia replied out loud, and she put her hands behind her back and unfastened her bra. With a smooth, rapid motion she shrugged it off of her shoulders and dropped it onto her jeans.

“She has a beautiful figure,” Helena said, and Pareia nodded in agreement.

“This is like a dream,” Lucia said quietly to herself, and Helena felt herself overwhelmed by the images of fantasies and dreams that Lucia had kept to herself for all these years.

“You’re almost free,” Pareia whispered to her.

“Almost,” Lucia agreed, and she slid her hands into her underwear and pushed downwards. She needed only a small lift in her seat as she pushed her last item of clothing down her thighs and then let it drop down her legs and onto the floor.

She wriggled contentedly in her seat: who would have thought that the night would end with her sitting naked in the bar? She was glad she had ordered that extra drink now and she emptied her glass.

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Miss Ashdown finished unzipping Jessica’s skirt and, sliding her hands between the fabric and Jessica’s hips, she pushed downwards and Jessica saw the skirt fall to the floor and pool around her feet. Miss Ashdown knelt down and put a hand around first one ankle and then the other to lift it to move the skirt out of the way. She tossed it to one side with Jessica’s shoes and socks.

The teacher stood up and put her hands around Jessica’s waist again to manoeuvre her to the piano stool. Jessica felt somewhat odd, standing with her bare legs and feet, but Miss Ashdown continued as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

She moved to the opposite side of the piano stool. “Okay, first your right leg.” Jessica swung her foot up onto the stool. “It needs to be straight,” Miss Ashdown said, and again Jessica nearly jumped as she felt hands around her foot as her teacher pulled her heel deeper onto the stool.

“Now, as I did, from standing, hands on your thigh.” Jessica put her hands on her bare thigh. “And then slide downwards slowly.” Jessica did as she was instructed, and was surprised at being able to reach her ankles, albeit not her feet as Miss Ashdown had done.

“That’s good! Considering,” Miss Ashdown said, still holding Jessica’s foot in both hands.

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

Then she stood, hooked her fingers into her waistband, and quickly pulled her underwear down her thighs, over her stockings, stepped out of the small piece of fabric and dropped it to one side. She sat firmly in her chair with her legs crossed but her hands on the armrest. She stared at me defiantly, but I knew it was largely a defensive response.

“And were you right?” I asked her, “About this being a nine?”

Melissa nodded but said nothing.

“And on the scale of one to ten… is ten an orgasm?” She nodded again. “And have you ever had an orgasm without being touched before.” She nodded again. I paused. “Is this common for you.” She thought for a second, and then nodded again. I noted it down and her breathing became more rapid.

“Now do you mind,” I asked her, “If I take your pulse?”

She shook her head: of all the things I’ve asked of her so far, this was quite a small request. I stood up and walked over to her and put my fingers on her delicate wrist and started to count on my watch. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her breasts rising and falling with each breath. After thirty seconds I had a good enough estimate and wrote it down.

“Ninety six,” I told Melissa.

“Is that high?”

I shrugged. “You’d usually be maybe sixty-something, or seventy if you’re not relaxed.” I smiled. “But there are extenuating circumstances, and ninety six is nothing to be worried about.”

She smiled weakly again, but I could see her mind is elsewhere.

“Now, I’m going to ask you a few more questions,” I told her, “And I’d like you to respond on a scale of one to five this time, okay?” Melissa nodded. “Okay. Again, this is about how much extra arousal you might feel.”

Her chest kept rising and falling and her pupils didn’t appear to be focusing on me.

“So, first. If someone came into the room.”

“Five,” she said instantly.

“If I unlocked the door.”

“Still five.”

“If I told you there was a camera filming us now?”

“Five,” and her eyes darted around the room.

“Don’t worry, there isn’t one,” I reassured her. Her eyes closed in relief for a second.

“And if I photographed you now?” I continued.

“Four,” she said. At least the scale has some variation: not everything was a “five”.

“If I threw your clothes out of the window?”

“Five.” Another instant response, which she then corrected. “No, six.” I smiled to myself: I might have to adjust the scale of her responses later.

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