Stop This Nudism Nonsense!

Life at Whitney, Vanessa, and Serene’s place ran smooth as silk until Nicole turned full-on nudist. It began small—stepping out of the shower bare, skipping pants on quiet mornings. Soon Nicole quit wearing anything at all. Guests stopped coming. Arguments replaced movie nights. Finally Whitney and Vanessa sent Serene down the hall to lay down the law. She walked back in naked, eyes bright, preaching freedom. Vanessa dragged her straight back, swearing she’d end it, but returned just as bare. Now only Whitney stands dressed, backed against the wall while the three circle closer, whispering how silk feels against bare skin, how cool air kisses nipples, how wet fingers slide when nothing blocks the way. Fingers tug at Whitney’s collar. Her breath shortens. She shoves Vanessa’s wrist, but Nicole’s hand slips between her thighs, coaxing rather than forcing. One breast freed, then the other; Whitney’s pulse hammers. She tries to step sideways, meets Serene’s warm mouth on her neck. The argument dies on her tongue. Vanessa peels off her skirt while Serene and Nicole lift the hem of her shirt, baring her inch by inch until she stands stripped and flushed, nipples tight from nerves, cunt slick from the slow surrender. In the sudden quiet, four naked bodies press together, thighs parting, hands roaming, the last shred of order left crumpled on the floor.