I’m walking on sunshine
– Katrina and the Waves
and don’t it feel good!
The following weekend, Christian again travelled up to visit Alison in Sydney. They were lying in bed Saturday morning, enjoying each other’s warmth, when he told her he loved her smile. She said that since she had met him, she often daydreamed about him and that people were asking her why she was always walking around in a daze with a smirk on her face. Alison blamed Christian.
She also blamed him for putting crazy ideas into her head. She said that she was perpetually thinking about him and sex and, as he was not always on hand to satisfy her, she had been getting up to increasingly naughty things.
Christian, of course, suddenly became interested and urged her to tell him more. Alison then giggled and sheepishly told him that while she had been daydreaming, she had actually caught herself, on at least two occasions, almost masturbating in front of her flatmates.
“I didn’t finish,” she said. “I stopped. Hand still in my pants, listening for the door. I was so close I could feel it in my teeth, and I stayed like that until I heard the shower go on. But that was nothing compared to what happened last weekend.”
After almost getting caught with her hand in her pants twice, Alison supposed that she should have learnt her lesson. And if a younger Alison could have witnessed her current behaviour, she would have been horrified. But they say that the third time is a charm, and Alison now found she had an itch that needed scratching.
Maybe it was that Christian’s endless compliments had boosted her confidence, or perhaps he put her previous lovers to shame. But fingering herself to orgasm alone in her bedroom on a Saturday night just wasn’t the same highlight of her week that it used to be. And the thrill of almost being caught twice now had awakened something in her. She needed her solo sex to be dangerous.
“I don’t want to be caught,” she said, then frowned at her own lie. “I want to almost be caught. I want to be one second from someone seeing what you do to me when you’re not even here. So, last Saturday afternoon, as I readied myself for a shift at work, I took along one of your letters to help pass the time.”
Alison had been working in the shop on Saturdays for months now and was familiar with the ebbs and flows of its daily traffic. Usually, the last hour was quiet, but Darling Harbour management required that the shop stay open till 6pm. So, from about 5pm, she usually had the place all to herself and her imagination.
By the time she was about to leave for work that day, Alison was feeling extra naughty. As it was now springtime in Sydney, the days were very pleasant, so she went to her wardrobe looking for something appropriate to wear for the occasion. She hadn’t had the time or money to have an extensive girly wardrobe yet, but she had a cute, light, short summer dress that she had previously worn to other outdoor events. It was perfect for what Alison had planned that day.
She stripped off and slipped it on. No bra. No pants. The cotton kissed her and clung where she was already warm. She turned in the mirror, and the hem lifted high enough to show the curve of her backside, then fell. She put nothing on underneath it. The cool, light fabric aroused her, and she could see that her nipples were already showing off to the world.
“Not yet,” she thought to herself and grabbed her short navy cardigan to cover up. She buttoned it only at the waist. Above that, the dress did all the work, and her nipples were already writing their own advertisement for it. Alison didn’t own any heels, so she matched the dress with her white tennis shoes and thought that she looked quite chic.
On the way out the door, Alison bumped into Camilla in the living room. Camilla said hello and complimented Alison on her look. Alison’s unusual appearance took Camilla by surprise, but she gave credit where credit was due. It was only when Camilla gave Alison a closer look over that she realised Alison couldn’t possibly be wearing a bra. This wasn’t the Alison Camilla knew. Camilla’s tone changed from surprise to curiosity. Camilla’s eyes dropped, then came back up. Alison felt the look land on her chest and, traitorously, harden her further. She did not cross her arms.
“You’re not wearing anything under that,” Camilla said. It was not quite a question.
“No,” Alison said, and smiled as if they were discussing the weather.
“Have fun… at work,” Camilla said slyly.
“Oh, I will!” If only she knew how much, Alison thought.
Camilla had hoped Alison might give something away. But to her surprise, Alison thanked her and gave no hint of embarrassment. If she were going to work dressed that way, Camilla wondered what was going on. She’d never seen Alison dressed like that for anything. A strange transition had overtaken her.
Alison left a gobsmacked Camilla in her dust and skipped out of the apartment. She felt Camilla’s gaze follow her to the door, and the knowledge of it slid straight down between her legs. By the time she reached the stairwell, she was wet enough to notice the walk.
As she walked to the bus, she could feel the breeze all over her body, and Alison suddenly had a pang of regret. A gust took the hem and held it against her thighs for a second too long. Alison caught it. Under her hand the cotton was already damp. She smoothed it down and kept walking, pulse stupidly high for a Saturday afternoon. Only a thin, short layer of cotton protected her from being totally exposed to the entire world to see. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her cleavage and smoothed her dress down to increase its sudden inappropriateness. Alison looked nervously around, expecting an audience of gawkers to be staring at her shame. But, unsurprisingly, no one was really paying her much heed. The few people who were on the street seemed to mind their own business.
When Alison boarded the bus, paradoxically, she felt less self-conscious and exposed. The rush of air climbed her bare legs and found her. No cotton in the way. Just the shock of it on wet skin. She parted her stance a fraction more and let the next stop do it again. Despite their proximity, everyone on board seemed to be lost in their own little worlds, and she realised she could pull this off.
Alison stood, lest her dress ride up as she sat down, but every time the door opened, she could feel a rush of wind blowing up her legs and tickling her into brief arousal. The first few times she protected herself, half expecting her dress to fly up over her head; or just her waist. But when that failed to happen, Alison welcomed each stop in the expectation of another pleasant little tingle. As the door opened, she would close her eyes, take a small step to part her legs and hear the rush of wind before she felt it. Her senses working together to heighten the sensation. After the fifth time, Alison began mentally counting down the remaining stops to her destination, silently cursing each one as it passed.
With only three stops to go, Alison suddenly sensed eyes upon her. Without turning her head, she could see that another girl was now staring at her. Not gawking in disapproval, just taking her in. When the girl saw Alison notice her looking, she glanced away. She kept looking at the girl, and the girl gradually turned back to face her.
Alison did not close the cardigan. She let the girl see the shape of her through the dress, then took that small step and felt the wind pour up between her thighs while their eyes held. The girl’s mouth parted. Alison did too. She was so wet now that she was afraid to sit. Afraid the dress would give her away against the seat. Standing was safer. Standing was also the show.
Another stop, and even though she knew she was being watched, Alison took a small step to part her thighs. With her legs open, Alison looked back at the girl and, half smiling, unbuttoned her cardigan and let it fall away from her breasts. Immediately, Alison felt herself harden and poke through the thin cotton.
Second- to -last stop, and Alison closed her eyes again. An extra special rush this time, knowing that she was being watched, studied, and that she was putting on a show.
Last stop, and Alison closed her eyes one last time, felt the tingle, turned to look her admirer in the eye. She held the girl’s look until the doors opened, then turned and stepped down, hem lifting in the wash of air. She did not check whether the girl was still watching. She knew she was. She smiled and then stepped off.
A lolly shop in a tourist trap doesn’t attract too many hot guys, but Alison certainly got her fair share of staring teenage boys that afternoon. The first few felt a little awkward, but by the third hour, she welcomed their attention. They had their eyes on her cleavage mostly, but occasionally she could see the cogs spinning in their little minds—Alison was only a handful of years older-minds. The smarter of them must have worked out that she was braless. She leant over and gave those boys a show and a smile, something that they could dream about later. She leaned on the counter to reach a jar and felt the dress gape. One of them went red to the ears. Alison stayed there a second longer than the jar required, nipples tight against cotton, and straightened only when she was ready. Between customers, she pressed her thighs together and felt the slickness. The letter was still in her bag. She had two hours to wait, and the waiting was half the point.
As the clock approached five, Alison made sure that she had done everything she could to prepare the shop for closing an hour later. With the stock resupplied and the cleaning done, she quickly checked for anything she’d missed and went behind the counter. She reached into her handbag and pulled out the letter. She’d made a random selection of her top ten in the hope of some spontaneity.
Luckily for her, she produced a favourite. Christian’s alternate history of the last night at Penrith. In his re-imagination, he didn’t have to work behind the bar, and they had had the chance to talk earlier. Alison hiked the dress to her waist. Cool air, then her own hand. She was swollen already, slippery enough that her fingers slid with no effort at all. She braced one elbow on the counter, letter in the other hand, and started to read.
We are both on the same wavelength by then, but can’t openly fraternise. With the time ticking down to your departure, you tell me to meet you in the med bay in ten minutes and knock.
Alison looked around; the coast was clear.
You go to the med bay and quickly undress. You shiver in anticipation and the cold of a Penrith winter night.
One last look; nothing. Alison squeezed her left breast.
I knock; you close your eyes and draw a quick breath.
‘Who is it?’
‘Lt. Holland.’
‘Close your eyes, then come in.’
Alison’s hand was under her dress.
I open the door to the darkened room.
‘Keep them closed and step forward.’
Another quick look; no one.
As I close my eyes and enter, you move behind me and close the door.
Her finger found her clitoris.
You blindfold me with a bandage.
Circling, the crescendo building.
I sense you moving around in front of me, your body heat radiating toward me.
With one finger in, Alison sighed. Another look; no one.
‘I’m glad you came.’ You take my hand in yours.
‘Maybe I will.’ You put my hands on your bare hips. I smile.
‘Perhaps. If you like what you feel, you will soon enough.’
Another finger in; Alison gasped.
Blindly, I explore your exposed flesh.
Speed increasing. The pleasure was intense. She opened one eye; nothing.
My hands are everywhere; you quiver with excitement. You grab my hands, cursing silently at what you know you must now do, and push them away.
‘I’m going now. If you want more, you know what you have to do. You have the room to yourself for the next few minutes.’ You collect your clothes and open the door, but do not leave. I pull down my trousers and drop to my knees.
She pushed one finger in and had to bite her lip to stay quiet. The shop bell did not ring. She added a second and curled them, eyes flicking to the door, then back to his words.
‘Oh, just one more thing,’ you say, suddenly revealing your presence. ‘Nice cock.’
Alison’s knees softened. She rubbed her clit in tight circles, faster, the wet sound small and shocking in the empty shop. Her dress was bunched at her waist. Anyone walking in would see everything: her hands, her bare hips, the mess on her fingers.
Footsteps passed the front window. Alison froze, fingers buried, heart slamming, and did not pull her hand away. The footsteps went on. She laughed once, breathless and furious with herself, and came like that, standing up, dress pulled high, Christian’s letter crumpling in her fist. She had to grip the counter to stay upright. For a long moment the only sound was her own breathing and the tick of the clock toward six.
Other Stories of Interest this Week
Anne told herself it would be the perfect crime. Nobody hurt. Nobody who knew. She was only right about the first part.
Homeward Bound is contemporary ENF erotica: embarrassed nude female, public night streak, self-bondage, clothed strangers, the planning mind versus the body that wanted to be seen. Military discipline on one side of the page. A suburban underpass on the other.
Elven warrior Warren Dietrich has served his homeland well. For centuries, his family line has safeguarded the continent from every sort of threat, from bloodthirsty monsters to would-be conquerors. In this newfound era of peace, the warrior just might be able to settle into the quiet life on the coast he’s always wanted. This all changes, however, when an old friend comes calling. The Guild of Sciences has a mysterious proposal to offer: Warren is to lead an expedition into the uncharted territories of their world.
This steamy, first in the series, read features the sexiest quarterback in the league and a massage therapist who definitely knows how to work those muscles.
Tyler Beckett is no stranger to pressure as the Texas Tornados’ quarterback. He’s used to the man’s world that the team has surrounded him with, but when his coach changes plays and sends him a little surprise to work with him and on him, it’s a whole other level of pressure. Suddenly, his back is not the only body part he wants rubbed down.
Fifteen-year-old Jewel McCormick has spent her life staying quiet, staying small, and staying out of trouble. Luke Peters doesn’t belong in her world. He’s loud, magnetic, and already chasing a future beyond Kansas City with his band and big dreams.
But he sees her. And once he does, he doesn’t let go.
For years, Joel played the part of the respectable man—older, devoted to his community church, and trapped in a marriage that has long been dead in everything but name. He’s supposed to offer guidance, wisdom, and a steady hand.
Then a much younger woman confides in him about the thoughts she can’t control.
Melody is ashamed of her indiscretion, of watching content she knew was sinful. It awakened desires within her that she can’t seem to let go of, and is terrified that something is deeply wrong with her.
This sizzling collection of contemporary ENF tales, weaves a provocative tapestry of erotic misadventures, where ordinary women find themselves unexpectedly exposed in the most public of places. These stories explore the raw vulnerability and surprising arousal of being caught bare. Each tale pulses with tension, humour, and steamy self-discovery.
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