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The pervert was incredibly audacious. 

My current wife is a high school teacher. She's rather plump and fair-skinned, with a baby face. Before we got married a few years ago, her school was far from her home, so she rented an apartment near the school.

At that time, I was working in another city and would come back to see her every weekend. One night, my girlfriend suddenly called, saying that there seemed to be a pervert living upstairs. I quickly asked what happened, and she said that a few days ago, when she went to work, she found a pair of stockings hanging on her doorknob. She was puzzled, picked them up, and found her hands covered in a sticky liquid. She immediately understood what it was and felt nauseous, so she threw the stockings away.

At the time, I didn't think much of it and just told them to be careful and find another place to live if necessary. Later, I went back to see my girlfriend over the weekend. After we had sex, we went out to buy fruit that evening and noticed the stockings hanging by the door again, still wet with semen – clearly freshly done. A thought suddenly struck me: this guy must live in this building, one of those old six-story apartments. Maybe he's been secretly watching my wife every time she goes out. I was a little worried, but also a little excited. I wondered if he'd feel a surge of excitement if my wife wore those stockings he'd hung there.

My wife is quite tall, with long legs and a big butt – a typical northern woman's frame. She looks quite alluring in short skirts and stockings. That night, after we finished having sex, I half-jokingly said that it was a waste not to take the stockings someone gave us, but she refused, saying she absolutely wouldn't accept them.

For a while afterward, I kept persuading my wife. She was getting frustrated with my nagging and even called me a pervert. After much urging, she finally agreed to wear it. I was thrilled and told her to dress sexily. She asked if I wasn't worried about her safety. I said it was fine, it was broad daylight, what was there to be afraid of? Just lock the door at night. She didn't say anything after that.

That day, I kept texting her asking if she was wearing it and what she was wearing, but she didn't reply. I couldn't concentrate on work all day. When I got home, I called my wife. She answered and sounded unhappy, saying I was crazy. I apologized and asked if she was wearing it. She said she was, that she washed it thoroughly last night, and that she was wearing a midi skirt. That night, I masturbated intensely, imagining that pervert secretly following my wife to work, looking at the stockings I'd masturbated on her legs, watching her swaying hips and beautiful legs.

Later, I stopped forcing my wife. Not long after, I went back to my hometown to marry her, quit my job in another city, and we had our own house and car, so we no longer had to live away from home.

Looking back now, if my wife had been more open-minded, and I had put in a little more effort, maybe something even more exciting would have happened, but it all depended on how bold that lecherous man was.

[The End]

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