New Beginnings
I’m excited to announce my next collections of Embarrassed Naked Female (ENF) stories, That’s ENF. Though not complete I’d like to share with you one of the stories, Homeward Bound. This story began as frustration with unrealistic exhibitionism tales and quickly turned into an obsession with making one feel truly plausible. I researched military deployments, studied satellite maps of suburban streets at night, calculated risk windows between 11pm and 5am, planned escape routes, tested handcuff mechanics, and even named every leg of Anne’s journey (Hell’s Corner remains my favourite). The long, meticulous planning phase became genuinely consuming — every realistic detail made into fantasy.
What started as “let’s write a believable streaking story” grew into something deeper: a slow-burn exploration of repression, post-deployment reintegration, and the intoxicating thrill of deliberate surrender. I poured extra revisions into the final tense encounter, internal conflict, and that charged penultimate moment. I’m proud of the result — sensory, psychological, and unapologetically spicy. Dive in and let me know what you think.
Special thanks goes to Mr Grey Man for the AI art of Anne.
Raw, realistic Embarrassed Naked Female (ENF) stories where ordinary women face intense public humiliation through nudity, risk and exquisite vulnerability.
Homeward Bound
The ratchet on the handcuffs clicked as Anne nervously flicked the single strand through the double. She didn’t want to lie. She had been raised to be honest, but she didn’t dare share what was really on her mind. She wished that the conversation had never started. The cargo plane that droned around them should have drowned out the conversation, but her fellow Military Police officers had proved that shouting would get the job done. Inevitably they would ask her the question, and then Anne would have to lie.
It was innocuous enough. “What is the first thing you will do when you get home?” Not literally. Not breathe or step off the plane. No, they wanted to know what everyone would prioritise in their first days of freedom when they got back. Most answers were unsurprisingly hedonistic. Get drunk, fuck, sleep for a week, eat junk food, etc. A few brave or naïve characters volunteered admirable endeavours such as holding their newborn child or visiting a relative’s grave. Their responses were met with silence, not out of respect, but with disappointment for bringing down the mood.
When it came to Anne’s turn to speak, she could have told the truth. Like all of them, she had just spent the last six months on deployment to the Middle East. Six months of army discipline, rations and sand. Six months of heavy boots, baggy uniforms and sports bras. Six months of living in a man’s world and no sex. She was cautioned, warned, threatened even with harsh discipline if she fraternised with her male comrades. Not that she initially wanted to. She had told herself that she could be strong. That it was just six months. She would focus on her job of enforcing military discipline. But it hadn’t lasted. Men who had looked less than appealing in week one were tens by the three-month mark.
Her desire grew, but her opportunities were limited. The female sleeping quarters were segregated from the men for just that reason. She might have been able to organise an amorous liaison if the base had not been on alert the entire time. Patrols and passwords, and restricted access areas meant she was confined to her bunk, workspace, and the mess hall. Her only entertainment was her books, or specifically, her eBook reader. When she finished War and Peace and The Lord of the Rings, she was ready for something lighter. Not finding anything humorous to take her interest, Anne stumbled upon erotica. Her first few downloads left her disappointed. All bulls and billionaires, neither of whom she was likely to meet or bed in her current situation. Further, the thought of penetration left her longing and frustrated. She needed a sub-genre to satisfy her current predicament. Eventually she found it: exhibitionism.
Nudity, the last thing Anne was likely to experience in that country surrounded by mullahs and military. Heavy boots, shapeless camouflage, hijabs and harassment – that had been her life since she left home. She had, of course, seen skin. Her own, when she’d bathed, and prisoners when they needed to be processed and checked for weapons. But soon enough the uniforms returned, as did the other costumes of war. Helmets and flak jackets. Goggles and guns. The regular alerts kept her boots close and her rifle closer. She wondered if it would ever be possible to feel safe at home without them. When she closed her eyes, she remembered bikinis and beaches. Had they only been a dream?
The first exhibitionist story Anne read seemed ludicrous. Some woman returning to the office after the lockdown who had forgotten to get dressed; pitiful. As if anyone would lounge around in nothing for months at a time. Even though she lived alone, Anne still put on clothes each morning. Skin sweated and stained, not to mention the residual that sometimes lingered after the daily call of nature. No, people wore clothes, Anne knew. They only took them off for specific reasons. Bathing, sex, and changing into other clothes. Or if compelled for an examination or by force. But both of these were rare, to say the least. Yet there was something in that story that entered Anne’s imagination and would not leave. Not the impossible situation of being forced to work nude or be fired. Or the causal acceptance of the character’s nudity by her employer. The whole thing reeked of contrivance and stupidity.
She knew that much fiction relied on a willing suspension of disbelief by the reader, but honestly. Couldn’t they come up with something believable? That then became Anne’s waking obsession. Like a problem to solve, she was determined to come up with a plausible reason for a woman to be naked in public. She consumed all the stories she could from the genre. Yet no matter what she read, the two reasons she could distil were that these women were brainless or bullied. Yet the idea would not go away until she hit upon the answer. They wanted to be seen. But to do it for real. Surely that was impossible.
Anne could not let go of the thought. Her analytical mind needed to crack the fictional code. Could it be done? Walk around naked in public without consequence? Legally, no. Even if you were naked in your own house, if you could be seen from the street, it was a crime. So outside and nude was an open and shut case. Putting that showstopper to the side, Anne pondered the issues. If it were a crime, then surely the question wasn’t if you were naked, but when. Like speeding or parking in a loading zone, unless there was a witness, once the crime had finished, it was like it never happened. Walking naked in the middle of the day through a busy shopping district would be detected but in a quiet rural area in the depth of night may not.
Anne pondered the probabilities. Ruling out any time between 7am to say 10pm, most people’s waking hours, detection after would, in theory, decline. By how much, she couldn’t say. However, the further away from those two times seemed like a reasonable assumption, say 2am. Yet, from her years of night operations in the military, Anne knew that some would stay up later than 10pm and be up earlier than 7am. Late night revellers, early workers, or some trying to do exercise before the heat of the day sets in. She narrowed her parameters to 11pm to 5am. Six hours in the middle of the night when someone might be naked in public and go unseen.
Time was one factor; the other was location. If she were to go undetected, Anne knew she had to lower the odds in her favour. At night, a highway or the city might have less traffic or pedestrians, but even at those late hours, there was likely to be someone who came along. Not to mention the growing number of high-definition, internet linked cameras with facial recognition that seem to adorn most commercial buildings and increasing suburban houses these days. A streak in the city, even at witching hour, was out of the question. Yet Anne could not let the idea rest. If she could pick the right time and place, it could be done.
And so, when Anne finally spoke and told her comrades what the first thing she planned to do when she got home, she lied. She told them she would sleep for a month, or some such nonsense. But in her mind, she knew exactly what she would do the first night back. After months of following rules and enforcing them, she needed to cut loose. She intended to break some rules. To commit a crime. A crime where no one got hurt or robbed and nobody knew. The perfect crime. Anne was going streaking.
In hindsight, Anne would admit that she decided to go out into the night naked a week earlier. Her exhibitionist fiction fascination and her obsession with problem solving put her on the path before she would have admitted it. She told herself that she was trying to prove the viability of safe streaking, but in the end, she knew she was really planning it.
That was difficult enough from the other side of the world, but modern technology gave her a head start. Her military training taught her to reconnoitre the ground before a mission, but she was not likely to get time off in the middle of a war. Even a small one. But modern satellite mapping had its uses. Not only could it be used to find one’s way in a strange city or bomb your enemies, Anne found it was priceless for planning her late-night streak. With an aerial view of the locale around her house, she quickly spotted several likely routes while dismissing others. She gave legs of her route names to describe them in sufficient detail but not enough to give them away if anyone should read her notes. Back Alley, Sunken Path, The Promenade and Hell’s Corner were marked on her mental map, each leg becoming agonisingly arousing reminders as the days to her return home counted down.
As luck would have it, the group of MPs was told that the day they had arrived home was their annual national holiday. She had lost count of the dates, days, and weekends, but knew that it was now summer. That was brought home the instant she stepped off the plane into the dry furnace of her hometown. It was a heatwave; she was told, hopefully she had air conditioning. The temperature didn’t bother her that much. She had preparations to do, and as soon as she was home, she began them in earnest. After dropping her bags, she looked about for summer clothes she could wear to the supermarket to fill her pantry and fridge. The t-shirt and shorts she donned felt dangerously suggestive and thin compared to the battle fatigues she’d been wearing for months. The light shoes she found seemed fragile and flimsy next to the heavy boots that she had tossed in her garage in the hope of never seeing them again. Shopping done, Anne might have been expected to relax, but she was too excited to sit still for a moment. Pulling on a broad-brimmed hat and sunglasses, she went out into the afternoon heat to reconnoitre her route.
She knew better than to streak from her front door, so she planned to begin her mission several streets away. If she encountered anyone late at night, she could use the excuse that she was too hot to sleep and was just out for a walk. Not explain to her next-door neighbours why she was naked. The place she started was in a wide depression bounded by the arc of a road and houses. Bisecting it was a concrete path that led away from the road and between two rows of fenced backyards. In the daylight, it looked far from ideal. Blasted by the summer sun, what grass it had was untended and singed to the point of death. But Anne could see the potential. Enough trees and bushes survived to create shadows at night, and nearby walls and fences would serve as shields from any prying eyes.
With her base of operations secured, Anne set off to walk her route. She noted any gaps in her cover, security cameras, and sensor lights. The cameras and sensors seemed to be aimed back at their owners’ dwellings, as one might expect. The gaps in her cover appeared to be reasonable and easily traversed in a second or two. In fact, she was growing in confidence that she would be effectively invisible for the entirety of her journey. Short of yelling at the top of her lungs to wake the neighbourhood or bumping into a fellow streaker, Anne was sure the entire trip would pass by without incident. But that was a problem. If she were to be at no risk, what was the point? She might as well stay at home. In her weeks of planning, she recognised she might overdo it. She did not want to be caught, but she had to have some chance of being seen. She knew she had to at least increase her illusion of danger.
Anne chose her route with that in mind. She decided there were three options. The first was to drive to a place far enough away, then strip and walk home. The problem was that she would have to leave her car and keys and then head back later and collect them. She wanted some risk, but not enough that she might lose her property. The second was a circuit that ended where she began. She would always encounter new obstacles along her path. But once dealt with, she could discount them. A route that she had to double back upon once she reached halfway. She would have to retrace some places she had just passed and worry that she would walk back into danger that she had just left behind.
When she reached the halfway point, she paused. The Park was as far away from her start point as anywhere on her route. From here she would have to go back the way she came. If all went well, she would be on her way home before 2am and safely tucked up in bed shortly thereafter. Yet she wanted the trip home to be fraught with as much danger as the journey out. She planned to make the return more fun than the beginning. Looking around, she found what she wanted. Crouching, she moved a fallen branch and placed the brown paper bag she had brought with her underneath some leaves. She placed the branch back and stood, noting the subtle landmarks that would guide her back here in the darkness. If she had made it this far, and she had given herself to chicken out at any point, that small treasure she had just hidden would make this a night to remember.
By the time Anne returned home, she needed a shower. Twenty-four hours of travel and her afternoon walking around in the sweltering heat meant she was becoming more than a little ripe. Standing before the bathroom mirror, she considered her reflection. Her pixie cut red hair desperately needed a touch up. She’d let it slide for the time she was deployed but she preferred her hair more smouldering embers than her natural reddy-brown. She couldn’t walk around in public with no clothes and brown hair. She laughed, what would people think? Removing her shirt, she found an old towel and draped it across her shoulders and dyed her hair back to her preferred shade. That done, she stripped off her remaining clothes and looked in the mirror. She was paler than she remembered. Six months of covering up had taken its toll. She hadn’t looked at her body from this angle for that entire time; large bathroom mirrors were non-existent in the desert. Her heavy breasts and thin frame were still pleasing to the eye, but there was room for improvement. Pulling out a razor and a can of cream, she set about restoring her femininity.
Half an hour later, her hair red and her skin smooth, Anne lay in the bath watching her polished toenails dry. She first thought red, but in a moment of wicked humour painted them nude. She thought that in the coming days, whenever she glanced down, they’d privately remind her of the events of the coming evening. Then another idea popped into her head. Climbing out of her bath, she wrapped a large towel around her and padded toward her bedroom. Switching on her closet light, she made her way to her shoes and looked for the perfect pair. She was more than happy with her legs, but she knew that a pair of heels gave her the pegs of a dancer. How much more decadent could this evening get? Naked, smooth, and statuesque. An elegant erotic figure ghosting her neighbours in the depth of night. But she decided against it. Six months in boots and her feet had spread; any attempt to squeeze her feet inside met with resistance and pain. It’d be a week of training to get them back in, and the last thing she wanted to remind her of this night were blisters.
For the rest of the day, Anne tried to relax. She washed her clothes and cleaned her house while she continuously glanced at the clock, wishing it was time. At 8pm she sighed and cooked a meal. 1am was another five hours away. She put on a movie, hoping to distract herself for a few more hours. Looking at the empty seat next to her, she wondered if a man would have been enough distraction to keep her sane during her remaining wait. Probably, but he might distract her too much. She was glad this time that she had no one to come home to. Six months away would have tested any relationship. Was that why she was planning this? Was she that lonely and unloved? Likely, but that was a thought for tomorrow. She glanced up at the clock. 10:45pm. That was late enough. By the time she arrived at the start, it would 11pm. It was work tomorrow, so everyone would be in bed. Wearing a t-shirt and shorts, she found her faithful pair of slip-ons and her bag, and a key. Closing the door behind her, she paused. The street was empty, and before she could change her mind, she set off down the street.
As expected, it took Anne little time to reach her destination. She wore no watch, but knew it had been ten minutes at most. There was more traffic than she expected, but no pedestrians, who were her primary concern. Crossing the road, she descended into the depression. Surrounded by light, the area was like some dimly lit bowl with dark, impenetrable shadows here and there. Exactly as she had expected. Slipping behind a bush, she paused.
“You can do this,” she encouraged. Pausing again, she scanned for any movement on the path and street. Seeing none, she slipped off her shoes before she lost her nerve. The ground was hard and loose leaves and twigs pricked her soles. Pausing again, she pulled at her shorts’ waistband until they fell by gravity. Pooling around her ankles, she stood still, ready to reach down and raise them if she saw a figure. Her oversized t-shirt covered down to her thighs, so she was legally dressed. She could be like this in the middle of the day and not get arrested. She closed her eyes and pulled the top over her head. Without hesitating, she bundled her clothes and shoes into the bag along with a key. She stowed it at the base of a tree and stood. Anne was now naked.
As if scripted, a car raced out of the darkness and drove swiftly from Anne’s right to her left. Her hands instinctively shot up and cupped what they could of her breasts. A tingle of fear tinged with pleasure radiated from her chest to her core. The car had been faster than expected, and almost silent until it was very close. Aware that she was shielding nothing, she let her hands sag to her sides. You are here to be naked; she told herself. Do it properly or go home.
Anne stepped off the grass onto the concrete path, and the change hit her like a slap. The first footfall was a shock—hard, unyielding. After six months of heavy combat boots cushioning every step, the bare soles of her feet met the pavement with raw, immediate intimacy. No giving, no forgiveness. Each pebble, each tiny crack pressed upward into her skin. Her toes flexed instinctively, spreading for balance, and she felt every ridge of the concrete texture drag across her arches, the balls of her feet, the tender heels that had been bound in socks and leather for half a year.
Anne took three cautious steps. The grit bit. Her gait changed—shorter, more deliberate, hips swaying just a little more to absorb the impact. Each footfall sent a small jolt up her legs, reminding her how much of her own weight she had been insulated before. Now there was nothing between her and the world. Nothing at all.
Then the breeze found her. The warm night air moved over her skin like a slow, deliberate lover’s hand. It slipped across her shoulders, down her spine, over the flare of her hips. The air kissed the undersides of her breasts where the sports bra had pressed them flat and confined for so long. Her nipples, finally free, tightened instantly—dark, aching points that lifted toward the breeze as though begging for more.
And her breasts. They moved. Really moved.
Without the brutal compression of a bra, every step set them swaying—full, heavy, pendulous in a way she had almost forgotten they could be. Their weight pulled at her chest with each stride, a soft, rhythmic bounce that tugged at her skin, sending tiny shocks of sensation straight to her core. She felt them shift and settle; the undersides brushing her ribcage; the curves grazing her upper arms. It was awkward, almost embarrassing at first—too much motion, too much presence—but the awkwardness melted quickly into something else. Arousal. Deep, liquid heat pooling low in her belly with every sway, every brush of warm air against newly liberated flesh.
She reached the first wide gap in the hedge line—a twenty-metre stretch where the path opened onto a lit sidewalk and passing car headlights. Instinct took over. She dropped into a crouch, thighs parting slightly as she balanced on the balls of her feet. The concrete bit harder now—rough against her soles, pressing up into the tender arches. Her breasts hung forward, swaying with the motion, nipples brushing the tops of her thighs. The position forced her knees wider; air rushed between her legs, kissing the slick heat already gathering. She pressed one palm flat to the ground for balance, the other hovered uselessly near her sex—wanting to cover, wanting to touch, doing neither. She scanned the gap: no pedestrians, one distant car, headlights still far enough away. Safe. For now.
She rose slowly. Another twenty metres and the second gap appeared—wider this time, a cul-de-sac bathed in sodium light. Down she went again, hunkered low, thighs trembling from the strain and the growing ache between them. The concrete was warmer here, sun-baked earlier in the day, radiating up into her soles and the cleft of her ass. Her breasts rested heavily against the tops of her thighs, nipples dragging across skin with every small shift of breath. She could feel the wetness now—sliding into the crease of her behind, cooling in the breeze. Her clit throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Clear. No cars. No voices. She stood.
The third gap was the worst—a long, exposed curve where the path ran beside a low wall and a row of parked cars. Headlights could sweep over her at any second. She crouched deeper this time, almost squatting, hands braced on the ground between her feet. Her breasts dangled forward, swaying gently with each panting breath, nipples so hard they ached. The position opened her completely—air moving freely over her swollen sex, teasing the slick folds, making her clench involuntarily. A droplet of her own arousal slid down one inner thigh, then another. She felt it reach her knees. She stared at the gap. Still clear.
Anne rose for the last time and stepped forward into the dark stretch ahead, every nerve alight, every inch of her skin singing, knowing that she was utterly, gloriously bare, and there was still more than half the circuit to go.
At the end of the alley, Anne stopped. Before her, the path led down a slope to an underpass that ran underneath the dual carriageway road that ran east to west 50m in front of her. A high berm topped with trees obscured the road, blocking the sound. There was a gap in the berm above the tunnel, giving drivers a line of sight up to her position. Her first instinct was to step back into the cover of the fence line, but she could see that people in the cars moving past had but a moment to look her way, if they did at all. She knew she could stand there in full view of the road and would not be seen, probably. Approaching cars ripped the air, giving her warning and a sign of their speed and intentions. But she was not safe. The space stretched out before her in the shape of an inverted triangle dotted with sparsely leaved trees. On her left, another lit cul-de-sac bounded the area and a pathway running left to right crossed the top of the T. Her route took her to the left along the edge of the berm to safety but she had to cross the space first. She tentatively leaned as far as she could to peer into the cul-de-sac for signs of danger. She was fully in the open by the time she had satisfied herself that she was alone and, seeing how far she had exposed herself, Anne cupped her breasts and hustled toward safety. With nowhere to hide, Anne wove her way forward, stepping over seed pods and fallen branches and bark to avoid impaling her feet. She rounded the corner of a fence and stopped on a darkened path just metres from the road. A car swept past, obscured by the berm. Alone, she reluctantly released her breasts, letting them fall. The welts where she’d squeezed them faded as she watched. She hadn’t just held them for support. She’d done it because it had felt good.
“Not yet,” she said to herself.
Walking westward behind the berm, fence line to her left, Anne was safe from view. She felt secure from behind also, having just come from that direction. There was more traffic coming and going than she had expected at this time of night. She could have turned back, but she figured every minute was one closer to having the streets to herself. But her biggest challenge lay just ahead of her. The place she had the maximum chance of being seen. The place she dreaded. The place she didn’t dare miss. The place she had named Hell’s Corner.
When Anne had given names to places on her route, Hell’s Corner practically named itself. The junction of two dual carriageways, Hell was the last thing a naked person would want to have to negotiate. Bathed in light, it rose in the middle to aid in drainage. Vehicles approaching her on the far side were obscured by the rise, especially when she crouched low, as she did now. Squatting on the path, on the edge of a shadow, Anne’s pale frame teased full exposure from the front and her right. The berm was her antagonist now, shielding her just but diffusing sound, making it hard for her to judge the distance of the traffic approaching her. The first vehicle to appear was, of all things, a police car. She smirked at the chances but did not panic. At least she knew where the only squad car this side of town was, and it was driving away from her.
The next five minutes were an agonising exercise that tested her patience. Between approaching and departing cars, Anne could not stand, or she would be seen. She waited for silence, but each time she got it, a vehicle was stopped at the intersection. A mistimed move would have her silhouetted by headlights the moment she stood. Anne shifted her weight from one foot to the other, thighs splayed for balance on the uneven path. Her right hand slid down her belly to cup the aching heat between her legs, fingers pressing lightly against her slick folds. The contact sent a sharp, electric jolt through her core; her clit throbbed under the pressure, already swollen and slippery from the long, terrifying walk, and before she could pull away, her fingertips moved in slow, unconscious circles. The distant growl of an engine kept her frozen in place, eyes locked on the rise where headlights might crest at any second, yet the steady, rhythmic stroking continued on its own.
As her pleasure mounted, Anne watched as a car appeared on her right and traced an arc through the slip lane and left across her path. She could have stayed there and finished herself off. Taking her fall, then trudging back to her clothes and home, and none would have been the wiser. But she felt compelled to go on. Clenching her hand into a fist, she denied her release.
“Wait,” Anne said to herself.
The car’s taillights trailing off to the south hypnotised her, and standing, she moved out into the open. Exposed in every direction, Anne stumbled forward, her sex begging for relief. Twenty paces and she reached the stair and plunged down below the road.
At the bottom of the stairs, Anne looked right. A tunnel that bore under the road was her immediate threat. Down here, she had nowhere to hide. She knew beforehand that when she plunged down, everywhere she turned, she was exposed from some angle: two tunnels; the roads above and a place she dubbed The Sunken Path. Moving away from the stairs, she came out onto a path that arched around a concrete and stone retaining wall. Another car raced overhead, pinning her to the spot as she froze in the open. Eyes fixed on the road, the car sped on. Anne smiled. If they had just turned their heads. Padding forward, her body slick with sweat, she entered the second tunnel leading west. The inverted trapezium space was common in local engineering. Ten metres long, paved with concrete and walled with pebbles cemented into place, the tunnel was a favourite place for errant teenagers to hide from public view, experimenting with cigarettes and other adult vices.
Anne climbed halfway up one wall, turned, and lay back against the rough surface, pebbles digging into her shoulders and behind. The uneven stone pressed into her spine, yet the discomfort only sharpened the ache that had been building since her first step. One hand rose to her left breast, fingers sinking deep into the soft, heavy flesh, kneading and lifting it. Her thumb dragged across the stiff nipple, bobbling it, sending sparks straight down to her core. Her other hand slid lower, palm gliding over the smooth, bald mound that felt impossibly exposed even here in the half-dark, then dipped between her parted thighs to cup the slick heat waiting there. Two fingers parted her swollen folds and found her clit already throbbing, slippery and demanding. She wanted it now. Wanted to be seen. She ached for an audience. Look at me, she thought. See my shame. She circled her clit with slow, deliberate strokes, then faster, the wet sounds of her own arousal echoing faintly off the concrete. Her hips rocked up to meet her hand, breath catching in short, desperate gasps, the pebbles biting harder into her skin with every thrust. She regretted not wearing the heels now. She wanted to appear even more out of place. Shoes and skin, pleasing herself in public. She imagined an audience of onlookers, phones on record, filming her disgrace for their later enjoyment. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in her belly, a white-hot wire pulled to the breaking point—she pinched her nipple hard, thighs trembling, a low moan rising in her throat as the edge rushed toward her, so close she could almost tip over it with one more stroke—then, with a ragged curse, she forced her hand away, clenching both fists at her sides while her denial pulsed and clenched on nothing.
Peeling her skin off the wall, Anne shook as made her way back down to the path. That had been close, she thought. This wasn’t the place. This was just an entrée to the main course later. Padding out of the tunnel, she turned south and followed the path as it rose. She didn’t check for traffic. Even in daylight it had been difficult to spot the path here, the branches of nearby trees obscuring the path from all but those on it. Houses closed in now. No fences, but windows that were almost close enough to touch. But, darkened, Anne was confident that the occupants were elsewhere or asleep. She was almost there. Just one more challenge and then she’d be halfway. Soon she could take her reward.
But just as Anne let her mind wander, she saw them. Two figures, a man and a woman, for sure. Moving on the road just at the top of the hill. She ducked behind a bush at the side of the path, completely inadequate to shield her if they came walking by. They would be on her in moments, and she didn’t run for fear of being seen. And then, nothing. She waited for them to come. Waited twice as long as it should have taken. She listened for voices and footsteps. Not a sound. She hadn’t been mistaken; she had certainly seen two people. Where had they gone?
That was more worrying than waiting for her discovery. Not knowing where these people were. Should she blunder into them now, she would have no excuse and nowhere to run. She had to do something, so Anne crept forward, scanning nervously for any signs of life. Nothing. She moved on. The road was empty except for parked cars and dozens of garbage bins. Seeing that the cars were empty, she solved the mystery. The couple had been putting out their bins for the morning collection, then they had gone back inside their home. Then a second penny dropped. Bins were emptied on Monday. Tonight was Sunday. The official public holiday was on a Sunday. Tomorrow would be taken off instead. That is why there were so many cars out and about. No one was working tomorrow.
Anne scanned the road ahead. She’d dubbed this leg, The Promenade, for obvious reasons. The well-lit street descended at a gentle slope to the south. On her left it fell away to a group of small, brown brick town houses that shared a common carpark. On her right, large houses sat high up the slope and commanded a view far out to the east. During her daytime walk, she had seen no cameras pointed her way, and she was too far from them to set off any motion sensors. More’s the pity, she smirked, for by now she was hoping to get caught. Not seriously, just an urge to increase her risk arousal from what had, on the whole, been a less than eventful streak. Deciding she had nothing to lose, Anne stood and strolled down the footpath. If only someone were watching now from a veranda on those houses high above. A handsome man or two, silently seeing her passage, her promenade, along their street. What would they make of this naked, buxom, red-head? Would they report her or applaud? On a whim, she gave her imaginary audience a show. She took both breasts in her hands and squeezed. Aching and engorged, she could barely fit her hands around them as she kneaded her nipples between her knuckles. Dropping them, she broke into a jog. Leaping, she grasped the pole of a street sign in her right hand and spun around. The warm night air cooled her sweaty skin and, tightening, she tingled all over. Laughing out loud, she released the pole and in a few long strides, turned off the path into the darkness and the safety of the Park.
When she had settled on her route, Anne had circled this place as the halfway point. She could cut a direct path back to her clothes if she turned right or, continuing with her plan, she could turn left and retrace her steps. She figured how safe she felt now would determine which way she would go. The Park was little more than a wide, vacant space between houses that led back to the main road. Tree lined and poorly lit, it was a good place to pause and assess her options. In the end, it was no decision at all. Despite her unfulfilled fantasy that she might be seen, Anne had enjoyed her streak so far. If she were going to plod home uneventfully, she might as well tempt fate and go back the way she had come. Looking about she saw the signs she had left on the ground some hours earlier. Crouching, she searched through the fallen leaves and retrieved her package. She opened the small brown paper bag and, pulling out her set of handcuffs, crumpled it and let it fall to the ground. With a press of her finger, the cuff’s single strand spun through the double with a reassuring click. She had two keys. One was with her clothes while the other was at her home. If she lost either, she had a backup. Holding up her left wrist, Anne clicked the cuffs on until they were comfortable and secure. Without her keys, she could not remove them. With a last glance about, Anne drew both her wrists behind her back and, reaching with her left, clicked the second cuff around her right. She tested it. Again she was satisfied that it was comfortable yet secure. She was now handcuffed, arms behind her back, naked in public.
Other than restraint, Anne knew that the most visible effect would be on her breasts. Arms and shoulders held back, her chest thrust out further. Should she be seen, she could no longer cover herself up top or down low. She was extra nude. She would have to make it back to her clothes like this, her hands bound and useless. The second effect was not immediately obvious. Without her hands to cover her genitals, Anne figured she would have to proceed at a snail’s pace. Each fleeting shadow or passing car would cause her to pause. She couldn’t very well stand still amid danger, so she thought she would naturally try to lower her profile and squat. For someone as fit as she, that was not the issue. But with her hands bound behind her, she knew from experience with prisoners that she would have to spread her legs wide to maintain her balance. Or fall flat on her bare behind, legs flailing uselessly in the air. The effect was the same: her bald bits would be on show for all the world to see. It was silly; she knew. But she had already walked a mile naked, so she wasn’t kidding herself about the real reason why. She was getting off on it.
Her chest thrust out as she drew a deep breath and walked toward the road. She paused in shadow at the edge of the park, surveying both sides for pedestrians. She had taken two steps when she stopped and squatted low as a car hurtled around Hell’s Corner toward her. Gee, those things were quiet, she thought. Nothing like the proudly loud cars of her childhood. Legs apart, Anne rose, teetering unbalanced until she was upright. Tick off one more correct assumption. Checking that the coast was clear, Anne hastened across the road, breasts bouncing as if they had a mind of their own.
When she reached the other side, Anne slowed. The verge dropped down an embankment to the Sunken Path. Lined with some species of conifers, the slope was soft yet slippery. Her hands bound, Anne picked her way down to the path, twisting as she stepped. When she felt solid concrete underfoot, she stopped. To her left, she could see Hell’s Corner and the tunnel she had entered some minutes earlier. Her right led into a forest of trees and her alternate route back to safety. She had memorised her mental map, but something about this path felt off. She had walked here during the day, so she knew she was in exactly the right place, but it was different now to how she had imagined it. The heat under the canopy was stifling, but that was not what confused her. It was quiet. Too quiet. There was no ambient sound of air-conditioning. Odd that everyone would be so energy conscious in this one place during a heat wave. Odder still that it was dark. The lights on the road were still on, but here it felt sinister, like a forest from some bleak novel. The lights in the houses were off, too. That could be explained by the hour, but so were the lamps on the path. The system must have overloaded in the heat and tripped a breaker. The whole side of the road was dark, while the other was still lit. Had it just happened or had it been like that when she had passed earlier? Irrelevant, she decided, and probably to her benefit.
Turning left, Anne walked to the edge of the treeline, her cuffs clinking behind her. She surveyed the route before her. 100 metres of concrete path, sunken but not deep. Each step would take her closer to the tunnels and relative safety, while each moment she took left her fully exposed. Cars flying around Hell’s would catch her in their beams for certain if she got her timing wrong. When she was sure she could hear no danger, she took one step, then froze. It was only small, but it was unmistakable. A light was swaying on the path ahead, and it was coming her way.
Her initial thought was that she had been spotted, and the police were coming to arrest her. So much for her perfect plan. But, taking a moment to reconsider, Anne noted the weakness of the beam and the unlikelihood that the police would appear at the exact moment and place she had doubled back on her initial route. No, this was a local resident returning home from one pub on the other side of the tunnels. He was using his phone to find his way in the dark. Bound and naked, she’d have had no prospect of escaping law enforcement. Crisis averted, Anne spun on her heels away from the man. She’d planned for this. She would go via her backup route home and live to streak another day. But she had not taken one step when she was blinded by a strobing light. Cuffed, she could not shield her eyes, and she turned toward the embankment and stumbled as the ground rose before her. In a moment she was falling, full frontal onto a bed of dried pine needles, a thousand gentle pins pricking her shame. She tried to recover, getting to her knees, before she stumbled again, falling again, rolling down the slope and coming to a rest against the hard, bare cement.
“Are you alright?” The bearded man’s voice cracked with shock as he scrambled down the embankment, boots sliding on pine needles. His phone light swept over her and froze.
Anne twisted violently on the concrete, wrists locked behind her, breasts swaying heavily with the panicked motion. No. This isn’t real. This can’t be happening. I planned every second.
“Jesus fucking Christ…” The younger man’s boots stopped dead. A car door slammed. Orange hazard lights strobed across her naked body in harsh pulses. “She’s — she’s completely naked.”
The bearded one crouched fast, voice tight with concern. “Miss? Talk to us. Are you hurt? Did someone attack you?” His light trembled as it traced the steel circling her wrists. “Who did this to you?”
Get away from me. This was my night. My perfect, private night. You ruined it. You weren’t supposed to be here.
The younger man circled her slowly, breathing hard. “She’s not bleeding. No bruises. But… look at her. She’s shaved clean.”
Confusion bled into their voices.
“Maybe she escaped from somewhere,” the bearded one muttered, glancing up the dark path. “Some sick fuck kidnapped her, cuffed her, and dumped her. We need to call the cops right now.”
“Yeah… but she’s not crying.” The younger man’s voice dropped, uneasy.
Anne’s heart hammered against her ribs. Please. I’ll go home right now. I’ll never do this again. I’ll burn my e-reader. Just pretend you never saw me. Please. The bearded man leaned closer, voice low and uncertain.
“Lady… did you do this to yourself?”
It’s over. They see everything. By morning the whole neighbourhood will know. My life is finished.
The younger man exhaled shakily. “We should report this. Public nudity, whatever the fuck this is. She could be dangerous.”
“Or she’s into it,” the bearded one said slowly, the words hanging heavy between them. Realisation settled like something dangerous. “She cuffed herself. She wanted to be out here.”
Anne lifted her flushed face. The orange lights flickered across their stunned expressions. Yes. This is what I wanted. All those months planning, all those nights touching myself. I wanted to be caught like this. Naked. Bound. Seen.
Her voice came out low, trembling with shame and need.
“Look at me.”
Both men went completely still.
Anne arched harder, thrusting her breasts forward, the cuffs forcing her into an obscene presentation. “Look at me,” she whispered again, voice cracking. “I did this. I wanted this.”
The younger man’s hand rose slowly, phone shaking as he aimed the camera. The red recording light blinked on.
“Photograph me,” Anne breathed, eyes locked on the lens. “Film me. Film anything you want.”
The bearded man’s jaw tightened, breath ragged. “You’re serious? You actually want us filming this?”
Anne nodded, thighs trembling, arousal sliding down her skin in the pulsing orange light. “Film me. Film us.”
God help me, I need this.
The bearded man stared at her for one long, charged second, then looked at his mate.
“Fuck it,” he muttered. “We’re not calling anyone.”
The bearded man crouched so that his face was level with hers. His eyes were dark, curious, not cruel. “You want this, don’t you?”
Anne’s breath hitched. Did she? It had been forever since anyone had touched her. Was tonight just about breaking the rules, or was it something more? She gave the smallest nod.
That was all they needed.
The bearded man stood and hit record. The red light blinked on. “Your turn first, mate,” he told the younger one, voice low.
Anne’s stomach flipped—half terror, half liquid heat. She was still hesitating, still telling herself she could say stop, when the younger man stepped in front of her and unzipped. His cock sprang free, already thick and flushed. He didn’t speak; he simply rested the heavy head against her lips.
The taste was salt and skin and the faint bitterness of a long workday. She took him in slowly, awkwardly, hands useless behind her. The younger man groaned, fingers threading gently into her hair, guiding her on. The bearded man circled them slowly, phone recording the action.
She grew bolder. Her tongue swirled; she hollowed her cheeks; she took him deeper until her nose brushed the coarse hair at his base, bobbing back and forth. She felt him grow. A low, needy sound escaped her—half moan, half surrender.
“Fuck, she’s good,” the younger man panted. He pulled free with a wet pop, stroking himself once, twice, then stepped back. “Your turn.”
“Help me,” Beard said. Arms on either side of her, they picked her up like she weighed nothing. The bearded man bent her forward over the warm bonnet of the utility truck. Metal pressed against her breasts, nipples scraping hot steel. Her cuffed wrists forced her shoulders back, arching her spine, pushing her ass up and out. She felt obscenely open—every inch of her exposed to the night and the two strangers and the blinking orange lights.
The younger man’s phone recorded from the side as the bearded one lined up behind her. His shaft nudged her slick entrance, thick and blunt. He paused, giving her one last second to refuse.
This is it, Anne thought, heart slamming against her ribs. Two strangers. No safe word. No escape. Shame burned through her, fierce and humiliating… and it only made her wetter. Her hips twitched involuntarily, pushing back against that insistent pressure, her body betraying her. Anne pushed back against him, her clit grinding against the bonnet.
“Do it,” she whispered, voice shaking.
He sank in with one long, smooth stroke.
The stretch stole her breath. She was so wet he slid to the hilt without resistance; balls snug against her clit. A broken cry left her throat. He didn’t rush; deep, deliberate thrusts made her breasts drag back and forth across the bonnet, sending jolts of pleasure to her core. Each time he bottomed out, she felt the slap of his hips against her ass, the wet sound of her own arousal echoing off the concrete walls of the sunken path.
Her hesitation was gone. She was pushing back to meet every thrust, moaning openly, thighs trembling, sex on fire. The younger man kept the phone steady, zooming in on her face, on her breasts, on the way her pussy gripped the cock sliding in and out of her. She gaped in unsatisfied ecstasy, her pussy pulsing for more.
When the bearded man finally pulled out, he was breathing hard. “Your turn,” he told the younger one, voice hoarse.
They flipped positions without ever letting her straighten up. The younger man took her again, this time harder, faster, chasing his own release while the bearded one filmed. She ground her clit into the bonnet. The younger man growled and buried himself deep, hips stuttering as he spilled inside her.
He stayed there a long moment; the camera catching his slow withdrawal. Anne felt thick cum welled at her entrance, then slid in a lazy ribbon down her inner thigh. Another drip followed, then another, tracing hot paths toward her knee. Aching for release, Anne’s heart thundered so hard she could hear it in her ears.
The bearded man returned. He pressed against her ass—slicking himself with her own wetness and the younger man’s cum, pressing in inch by inch while she whimpered and trembled. The stretch was tighter, darker, impossibly intimate. He fucked her slowly at first, letting her adjust, then deeper, until she was rocking back onto him, chasing this new pleasure. He came, buried to the hilt, deep inside her ass. His fast withdrawal shook Anne to her core. The last act needed to tip her over the edge. She came, a primal moan, an emotional orgasm, months in the making.
Anne’s legs shook, her sphincter puckering with pleasure. Cum dripped, slow and obscene, running from her ass into pussy and down her thighs in warm trails. Her chest heaved, breasts marked from the bonnet, nipples still tight and aching. In a pool of sweat and dirt, she slid to her knees, face resting on the vehicle’s grill. She was hauled to her feet by grimy sex slick hands.
“On your way,” the bearded man ordered. “We’ll see you again, or this video gets posted.”
Stumbling forward past the lights, Anne shuffled into the darkness. Following the path, she headed south and started walking home.
She barely registered her journey back. It was hazy at best. Just occasional memories of passing cars and blood pulsing in her ears. She forgot her clothes and came straight home. At her door she plonked her bare behind on the ground and slipped her wrists around her ankles. Unlocking her door, she went inside and uncuffed her wrists with her spare key. Standing under a cold shower, her body ached. Wrist red, skin grazed and anus aching, she watched as the water heated and the sweat and grime rinsed her clean and spiralled down the drain. As dirt trickled down her feet, she noticed the nude polish on her nails. A thought popped into her head.
“Heels,” she thought. “Next time I will wear my heels.”.
If you enjoyed that story, you can find my other ENF stories at your favourite retailer below.
Other Authors of Interest this Week
She called it healing. He called it architecture. Mara Vael lost the man she loved. And then she lost her mind a little. That’s the only explanation for why she let him in.
Aaron’s genial and respectable veneer hides darker proclivities. So when he’s tapped to join a secretive company that motivates its staff via sordid incentives, his interest is piqued. But his wild interview process is just the tip of the iceberg. This is one company that has a scandalous approach to team-building!
Shop for Paperbacks
Leave a Reply