Is Sex Getting Boring?

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“Take me, for example,” she said, “How do you think I can judge what is good to publish?” She smiled at me, not expecting an answer. “Do you think I do it by locking myself in my office and having boring sex?”

I blushed at the idea. I wasn’t used to talking so frankly, which, frankly, didn’t bode well for my writing.

Elisa leaned forwards and looked me in the eyes. “Do I look like I have boring sex?”

My mouth opened to make a noise but nothing came out, but she certainly didn’t look like a woman who had boring sex. Her semi-open blouse, delicate jewellery and a figure-hugging skirt with a split high up a stockinged thigh told me that her sex was anything but boring. I suddenly felt very plain and dowdy in my buttoned cotton dress with its flowery pattern.

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

Coming Out Of My Shell

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“Stand up.” I did as I was told. She began to unfasten my belt and then looked down at my feet. I’d kicked my trainers off when I’d come into her house, out of habit, although I guess it wasn’t necessary since Lisa was wearing her boots indoors.

“Socks?” she said, “Really?” I laughed. It wasn’t so strange to be wearing socks!

She rolled up my trouser leg an inch and pulled at my sock, tugging it off my raised foot, and then performed the same routine with the other leg.

I remained standing and she unzipped my jeans and hooked her fingers into the waistband and pulled down. I had the second surprise in as many minutes as I realised she was taking my knickers with them.

“I…” I began to protest.

“Sssh,” she said, “We need to start from the ground up.”

I nodded as she rolled my jeans down my legs. I sat my bare buttocks on her sofa and lifted both my legs as she tugged at my underwear and jeans, pulling them off my feet and dropping them onto the back of a chair.

I’d honestly never felt so self-conscious, sat there, suddenly nude. Lisa sat back beside me in her PVC dress and boots.

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

Driving Solo

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So, yesterday morning, I decided to go for a drive, just as I had done on many other days. I threw my clothes onto the bed, slipped into my luscious black stilettos, put on my sunglasses and walked out to the car. I had plenty of gas to get me out and back, and as the sun was dipping the air was cooling to a perfect temperature.

I was used to cruising naked through the neighbourhood by now; it had become much less of a thrill. Yet, as it had a few times before, as the last set of lights turned to red and I was forced to slow and stop I felt the butterflies rise in my stomach at the idea that maybe someone would walk past and happen to glance into the car. No-one ever did as there was nowhere worth walking to, but the thought was excitement enough.

This time, though, there was something that hadn’t happened before and I heard and felt a large SUV pull up in the lane alongside me. At least I was on the inside and hidden behind the door, but I felt myself sink low in my seat, hoping that the driver’s high position wouldn’t let them see down into the car. I kept my left arm straight on the steering wheel, doing everything I could to block any possible line of sight to my bare breasts.

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

I Finally Made It

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“Don’t be too hard on her,” Martha said, joining the conversation, “She said she liked you… and it seemed like a fun way to stop you getting your clothes back…” She looked down at me, obviously pleased at the way she’d managed to keep me nude for the entire day.

“And my clothes?” I said. Now I was naked at a party full of strangers and I’d really rather not be.

“They’re around somewhere,” Martha replied with a wink.

“Here,” Sue said from beside me and handed me a bottle of beer, “Glad to see you made it. How was the journey?”

“Don’t you start!” I warned her, provoking a giggle from both Sue and Tan.

“It must be quite cold out there,” Tan said, and without even asking she reached a palm out and pressed it against my still-hard nipple.

“Hey!” I said, although her touch was pleasantly soft and warm.

Kathy seemed to think it was okay to do the same on the other breast.

“Oooh, yes,” she said, “Do let me know if you need warming up.”

The redhead girl looked at the pair enviously. I’d almost forgotten that the whole plan had just been to throw the two of us together, and now we were in a crowd she actually looked disappointed again, especially now there were two girls with their hands on my body.

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

Hanging At Home

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“How come,” I continued, “How come you’re naked?” I didn’t want to offend her by making it sound like it was a bad thing. “I mean, the tattoos are really great, and you look great…” She smiled kindly, but was still going to let me keep digging myself into this hole. “You lost a bet or something?… Or you turned into the Hulk and your clothes didn’t fit and then you turned back?…” I tailed off and Natasha laughed.

“Oh, no,” she said, “I live here. With Georgia.” She tipped her head in the direction of our party host who I’d been introduced to, and then summarily bored witless earlier.

“Oh,” I said, and was about to add “I see…” but then realised that it didn’t explain anything at all.

“No,” Natasha said, “I just… prefer it this way. I used to hang about in the house naked when I was by myself, and then Georgia would come home and find me like it and at first she thought it was weird, and then she got used to it, and then I’d completely forget about it and answer the door to some friends without putting anything on first, and then they’d get used to it too, and now I’m pretty much naked all the time, unless there are a lot of strangers around.”

“Oh,” I said, as if I understood, but obviously I didn’t really understand at all. Natasha smiled again.

Read the rest of Dressed In Tattoos, and 11 other ENF stories, in Naked Women in Shorts

Comfortably Nude

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shorthair-babes:

Ekaterina

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 Dressed In Tattoos, and 11 other ENF stories, in Naked Women in Shorts

Growing Up

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bodydiscourse:

Photo: Maiku Bokeh
Model: Glass Olive

2015

“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