Stories

Love That Cannot Be

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©Dmitry Borisov

The Reverend Mother awoke early as usual. She had come to a decision in the night: Sister Sarah had seemed thoroughly submissive the previous day and, although she wanted to break her spirit, she didn’t want to destroy her entirely. As a reward for her good behaviour, she would end her punishment a day early.

She took Sarah’s habit from the locked cupboard and marched towards her room. If she arrived before the alarm went then Sarah could re-join her Sisters in wearing the habit from now on, assuming she continued to behave herself.

She lifted the latch to Sarah’s room and pushed the door open, and then dropped the item of clothing to the floor when she saw the two young nuns, still sleeping, one naked and one in a nightdress, their limbs intertwined on the narrow bed.

Read the rest of the story in The Rules of the Convent

Trying Not To Stare

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“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

Posing The Question

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When Mia opened her eyes I returned to my questioning. “Artists have often worked with nudes,” I said, “So, why don’t you hire a model rather than doing all this yourself?”

She seemed to welcome the question. “Partly, honestly, it’s money. How much is it going to cost to hire a model for days on end, with no idea of whether anything of worth will come out of it? And then, once I started, I realised the insight I had I couldn’t gain any other way. I had to experience the art as well as creating it.”

“And your compositions,” I continued, “There are other artists that work with nude individuals and groups. But in your pieces, there’s only ever one nude: you.”

It seemed another topic Mia was prepared for. “We are doing very different things and, in my work, I think the juxtaposition is much sharper if there is only a single nude. I think many nudes can be very visually appealing, but a single nude poses more questions; it forces the viewer to interact with the representation of an individual.”

Hearing a noise, I looked around. An elderly man was barely twenty feet away from us along the path. I started to reach for the raincoat, and then realised the futility of it. He smiled as he came alongside us, waved his hand and said something in Spanish. Mia replied with a grin and tilted her head towards me. His eyes followed her direction and we exchanged a smile. I looked at her, wanting to know what had happened.

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

Bare Skin And Cold Steel

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She put her hands on my hips to raise herself up again. I jumped at the sensation of her warm hands on my bare skin. It was such a contrast to the still cold steel around my ankles and wrists.

“Now,” she said, “How does that feel.”

Her eyes were sparkling and I felt as if she had admitted me into some kind of inner circle. I wasn’t used to being so… accepted and it made me feel warm inside, but my skin was tingling at the realisation that I was nude and helpless, for the moment at least.

“Even… odder,” I said, “I feel… I feel so naked.”

Lisa smiled as if that was exactly what she wanted.

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” she said, “You are naked.”

We both laughed and I took another nervous sip from my glass.

“Here,” she said, and with one hand firmly on the small of my back and another more gently touching my stomach she pushed me gently backwards and I let myself sink down onto the sofa.

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

The Essence Of Sexuality

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Romee Strijd

Miss Ashdown watched as Jessica caressed the keys and the piano sang in response. She envied her for her passion and, perhaps a little, for her physique too as she moved up and down the scales. She noticed how Jessica moved her position on the stool to stimulate her body yet further, how she would lean into the piano as if she wanted to climb on top of it, and she could feel the essence of the young woman’s sexuality in every passage she played.

Finally, Jessica was finished and, again, she sat with her eyes closed and her fingers and her toes resting lightly on the keys and pedals. Miss Ashdown broke the spell with a gentle touch of Jessica’s forearm.

“That was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen,” she told her student.

Jessica opened her eyes and smiled dreamily. Oh, how she wished there really was her mystery man in the audience, ready to make love to and to bring her own performance to a crescendo.

Miss Ashdown smiled back at the girl and waited for her to recover. She watched her young, bare breasts rise and fall, with just the hint of a shudder from deep within. Finally Jessica spoke.

“Miss Ashdown?”

“Yes, Jessica?”

“Does this mean…” she said, looking down at her naked body, “Does this mean I have to take lessons like this from now on?”

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

Stockings And Devotion

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She walked to the chapel and knelt in place for afternoon prayer. As she bent at the knees she paid special attention to keep her habit covering the backs of her heels lest the fabric of her sheer nylon stockings became exposed. Still, the prayer session passed without incident and, if anything, Sarah felt that consciousness of her predicament only enhanced her concentration. If it was possible to pray harder than usual, then she did so: for herself, for Sister Theresa and her error of judgement, and for the Reverend Mother, to ask for forgiveness for the way she had punished Theresa.

Following prayer Sarah set herself about her newly assigned role. She found the watering cans and diligently watered each of the flower beds and all of the pots. She saw Theresa walking around the courtyard, but, after what she had witnessed from her that morning, she felt too ashamed on Theresa’s behalf to approach her and ask about her full set of duties. Watering would be enough for today, and tomorrow she would find out what else her new job might entail. The plants weren’t going to die overnight.

As Sarah sat and ate dinner with the other nuns she felt a growing sense of confidence inside of her. Firstly, she now had a place in the convent, a purpose, even if it was the simplest of tasks. But secondly, she had a secret that none of them knew: that beneath her habit was a sexy, young woman in black lingerie and stockings; a woman who would be the object of desire of any man alive. The article had told her so. She smiled to herself.

Read the rest of the story in The Rules of the Convent

Who Knew?

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Oh dear, Susan thought to herself, bad Susan. No Susan. And then she started chuckling. Because if no-one could see them… why wear them at all?

“Are you having fun in there? Dare I ask?…” Marian’s voice came from outside.

“Just buttoning up!” Susan lied, standing still naked. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she picked up her old knickers and bra and shoved them into the flip-top bin in the corner of the changing room. She looked herself in the eye in the mirror. “You’re really doing this,” she whispered, and picked up the coat, put her arms in the sleeves, and carefully buttoned up all but the top two and the bottom two buttons. With the belt tied it was secure, and she looked down at her old shoes. Not long for you now, she thought as she slipped them on, wishing she could take Marian’s stilettoes instead.

Susan examined herself briefly in the mirror. Nothing appeared different from the way she had looked when she came in. She could just as well be wearing underwear, a low-cut top and a short skirt… She could be, but she wasn’t.

Read the rest of the story in Changing Rooms

Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of Her

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But the main thing I noticed was Mia: by her presence she commanded the space. She was wearing… well, you can probably guess what she was, or rather wasn’t, wearing. I recognised the red heels from the other day and, besides those and her thick black hair, her bare, creamy skin seemed to cast a light on the room. On her hands and forearms were a pair of long, silk gloves, but that was the only part of her skin that was covered.

She had a large, gold-sprayed handbag hooked on the crook of her elbow, an oversized watch on one wrist and a bracelet on the other, and a large braided necklace around her neck with a single stone which hung between her breasts. Long earrings almost reached her shoulders and, to crown it off was, well, a crown, or rather a tiara that sparkled in the intense lighting.

I smiled; the image of her was seductive, sensual, erotic and also comical all at the same time. If she had been wearing a long, flowing evening gown it would have been easy to dismiss her as the new-money wife of a rich footballer. Yet, by being naked beneath all of the accessories, she was offering commentary on money instead of trying to represent it.

I looked at some of the other guests; there were more than a few who were wearing at least one item resembling something that Mia was sneering at: a brash watch, a tasteless necklace, or a “look at me” handbag. Admittedly, no-one else was wearing a tiara.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, and I wasn’t the only one. “Amazing, isn’t she?” a voice said from beside me.

I turned around and saw a late middle-aged man in an expensive suit with a neatly trimmed beard and grey hair.

“All those things that many people aspire to and yet, if you removed them, Mia would become more beautiful as each item disappeared.”

He had a point: her nakedness served to highlight just how drab those expensive items were by comparison.

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

Having Fun In There?

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Oh dear, Susan thought to herself, bad Susan. No Susan. And then she started chuckling. Because if no-one could see them… why wear them at all?

“Are you having fun in there? Dare I ask?…” Marian’s voice came from outside.

“Just buttoning up!” Susan lied, standing still naked. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she picked up her old knickers and bra and shoved them into the flip-top bin in the corner of the changing room. She looked herself in the eye in the mirror. “You’re really doing this,” she whispered, and picked up the coat, put her arms in the sleeves, and carefully buttoned up all but the top two and the bottom two buttons. With the belt tied it was secure, and she looked down at her old shoes. Not long for you now, she thought as she slipped them on, wishing she could take Marian’s stilettoes instead.

Susan examined herself briefly in the mirror. Nothing appeared different from the way she had looked when she came in. She could just as well be wearing underwear, a low-cut top and a short skirt… She could be, but she wasn’t.

Read the rest of the story in Changing Rooms

Just Assume I’ve Stripped

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“I’ve got enough footage from out there,” he said, “So I guess we can get started.” I nodded. I saw him glance at my cleavage; I realised, in all the time we’d worked together, that this was probably the first time he’d seen me in anything other than a blouse. Strangely, I felt flattered that, even with Cassandra’s and Sue’s breasts only a few feet away, I could still provide a small distraction, even covered as I was.

“Let’s do the intro first,” I said, and Jim propped his camera up onto his shoulder. The red light came on to show he was recording. I grabbed the microphone he held out for me and stood still with the café counter behind me with the girls working away.

“Here we are inside ‘Naked Women in Shorts’ to see how the business runs. As you can see, Cassandra and Sue are busy behind me, and I’m in my uniform ready to lend a hand.”

At this point, Jim should be filming me from the chest upwards. Hopefully, with my shoulders bare, the viewers will be assuming that I’ve stripped off as well. I paused for a second.

Jim gave a thumbs up: it was the sign that he’d pulled back to get my bikini top in the frame.

“Well, you didn’t think I’d be willing to bare all on my salary, did you?” I said as I shrugged. Jim smiled and the red light went off as he stopped recording.

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