The neighbor wearing a sheer dress

My neighbor, dressed in a thin gauze dress,
was sweltering in July, which was quite unbearable. Fortunately, I closed a big deal yesterday. Because of this deal, I couldn't accompany my wife and sister-in-law on their trip to Xinjiang three days ago. They'd been gone for three days, and I just spoke to them on the phone; they'd just returned from Kanas Lake and would be gone for a few more days. I told them to enjoy themselves.
I sat alone on the sofa, drinking beer, watching a TV drama on which a group of directors and screenwriters were chatting and laughing around a hot pot. I wanted to go out, but it was too hot, and after celebrating the deal until the early hours of the morning, I was too lazy to move, so I just killed time.
I checked the time; it was past ten. I took a shower, put on shorts, and waited for my hair to dry so I could go to bed early. Just as I was about to finish my cigarette and go to sleep, the doorbell rang. I wondered who could be coming so late, and why they hadn't called. Maybe it was some drunk guy bothering me. Reluctantly, I got up and opened the door without asking who it was. But what I saw stunned both me and the person outside.
A woman in a sheer nightgown stood at the door. Seeing her flushed face, I remembered helping her pick up some fruit that had spilled from the plastic bags on the stairs once; she was my neighbor across the hall.
Because it's an apartment building, neighbors rarely interact. My contact with her was limited to that one time I helped her. We arrived at the same time and went our separate ways. Our conversation consisted of her politely thanking me, to which I replied, "You're welcome. " After that, we'd just nod and smile at each other on the stairs as a greeting.
Seeing her attire now truly surprised me, and seeing her dressed so lightly made us both feel a little awkward. She said very urgently, "Excuse me, could I use your phone?" while anxiously looking up the stairs, worried someone might be coming up.
My mind raced, and as I answered, I wondered what might have happened to her—maybe she'd locked herself out. After I invited her in, she quickly came in, and the strong scent of shampoo and shower gel told me she had just showered.
I closed the door and told her the location of the phone. As she walked towards the phone, she would pass the floor lamp I had left on. I had turned off the main light in the living room because I was getting ready for bed. At that moment, the light illuminated two long, slender legs under her sheer skirt, which was quite a visual shock to me. A surge of heat rose in my lower abdomen, and without thinking, I turned the main light back on.
The living room suddenly became bright, which startled her. She said urgently, "Can you turn off the light?" I explained guiltily, "I was afraid you couldn't see clearly," and turned off the light. But in that short time, I had already seen her naked body under her sheer skirt.
Now I was certain that she had taken a shower before leaving, and the reason couldn't be to see someone off, because no woman would dress like that to see someone off. Dressing like that meant that's how she dressed at home. So she must have gone out to take out the trash. The garbage chute in this building is half a floor down, that must be it.
She frantically pressed the buttons, and I prayed in my heart that no one would answer, so I wouldn't be alone tonight. The thought made my blood boil, and my shorts couldn't hide my erection. My eyes were glued to the flickering screen, all my senses focused on her.
A few minutes passed as she anxiously muttered to herself, and then she hung up in disappointment. I asked, "What's wrong? Did you lock yourself in?" She shifted into the shadows and said, "I went out to throw out the trash, and the door closed. I've done that before, without closing the door."
I'd had similar experiences, so I said confidently, "You turned on the range hood." She was surprised, realizing why she was locked out. "Ah, that's it! What do I do?"
"Who did you call?" I asked with concern. "My parents have a key, but no one answers the door. Where could they be so late?" She was anxious and helpless, her expression becoming very dejected. "Don't worry, call again later. Sit down for a bit," I comforted her.
She hesitated for a moment and said, "Could I borrow a coat?" I pretended to be clueless and asked, "Are you cold?" I went to the door, grabbed my coat, and handed it to her. She seemed more at ease after putting it on, and sat down on the sofa. Suddenly, she said, "Could I borrow a set of clothes? I need to get my keys."
I chuckled inwardly. Her anxiety had severely impaired her judgment, and she blurted out, "Your parents aren't home, how will you get them?" She sighed dejectedly.
I started to plan, deciding to try and tell her I'd help her climb over from the balcony. I knew it was impossible, but I wanted to see her reaction. If she only thought of herself and not my safety, I'd give up, because it would cause trouble. If she worried and tried to stop me, it would show her kindness, and even if it worked, there wouldn't be any problems.
Sure enough, I voiced my idea. We went to the balcony, and she immediately gave up, saying, "How can we get over here? No, it's too dangerous." I said, "I'll try," and climbed onto the windowsill. She grabbed me nervously, saying, "No, it's too dangerous, come down!" I went back inside the balcony and said, "Then what should we do? If you can't sleep here, I'll make do in the living room."
She looked at me warily, seeing sincerity in my eyes, and said helplessly, "I'll make another call," as she went to make the call. I followed her back to the living room, where she sat back down on the sofa, disappointed. I poured her a glass of water.
We started chatting. She told me her husband was away on a business trip. Because he was a sales manager, he traveled frequently, and she had no choice but to do so to make ends meet. She then mentioned me, and I told her my wife was on vacation. As we became more familiar, I jokingly said, "Looks like we're destined to be together. My wife is on vacation, and your husband is on a business trip. Heaven has arranged for us two lonely people to be alone together."
She shyly acknowledged, "Don't overthink it, it was an accident. But then again, I don't know what happened today. I usually go to bed early, but I couldn't sleep tonight, so I tidied up the room. I didn't expect this to happen. I'm really sorry to bother you so late." "
It's nothing, it's just fate. When I opened the door, I thought one of my best friends was drunk, but it turned out to be a beautiful woman, and..." I paused, considering her reaction. If she was angry, I'd have no chance; if she wasn't angry, my chances were much better.
Sure enough, she asked, "And what?" A slightly lewd smile appeared on my face. Not wanting to miss this golden opportunity, I said, "Don't be angry." She nodded, and I continued, "And you were dressed so sexily, it made me lose control." Hearing this, she naturally looked down at herself, pulled down the front of her shirt draped over her shoulders, and suddenly became embarrassed, saying, "Don't say it, it's so embarrassing." Her face turned red, but she looked at me with her eyes.
"Don't pull it down, why cover up such a pretty nightgown, especially your body underneath? Let me see some more, okay?" I started to arouse her desire, and she immediately said nervously, "What did you see? You can't!" I didn't say anything, just looked at her with eyes full of desire.
She understood what I meant from my eyes, and stood up demurely, saying, "I'm leaving." I stood up and stopped her, saying, "How can you go out dressed like this?" "I'll call again, they might be back," she said nervously, turning around. I grabbed her arms, and she backed away, trying to break free.
I didn't hold her tightly. She slumped into the sofa, and I moved closer, leaning down to look at her. My hands gripped the armrests, preventing her from escaping. She looked up at me, her eyes showing tension, a fleeting hint of resistance. She said, "What are you doing? Don't do this."
I didn't speak, just looked at her with eyes full of love and desire, inching closer to her. She watched me approach, her eyes fixed on me, her mind racing—reject—reject—reject. Her eyes told me nothing; her slender fingers, covered by her clothes, appeared even whiter.
When my head was close enough to feel my breath, she turned her head away, releasing her grip on her clothes. She pushed against my shoulders, stopping me from getting closer, saying, "Please don't do this. I'm not a promiscuous woman. Please don't."
She pushed against my hands weakly and limply. Women can be so interesting sometimes. Even after giving up resistance, they still make such confessions, wanting a man to acknowledge that she's not doing it for lust. They take their modesty when clothed to the extreme, but become completely uninhibited once naked.
I didn't continue because she let go of her clothes, revealing her breasts. I looked down closely at the two protrusions under her nightgown and her chest heaving with tense, rapid breathing. Sensing my cessation, she turned to look at me. Seeing my gaze, she let out a soft moan and returned her hands to her chest. I seized the opportunity to kiss her, simultaneously embracing her.
After being kissed on the lips, she immediately turned her head, bending her arms and pressing them against my shoulders again, urgently saying, "No, don't do this, I'm going to scream." I whispered in her ear, "Go ahead and scream. What will people think if you come to my house dressed like this? Even if you accuse me of rape, I'll accept it, because I love you." After saying that, I didn't give her a chance, pulling one hand out and grabbing her full breast.
She writhed, but not violently, her mouth still avoiding my kiss. I pressed my middle finger against the protrusion in the center of her breast, pushing it into her breast and kneading it slowly, gradually increasing the speed. As I rapidly trembled my hand, she let out a sound of utter surrender from her throat: "No!" Her hands went from pushing to gripping my shoulders tightly. Then, because she was huddled in the sofa and struggling to breathe, she had no choice but to tilt her head back and open her throat, letting me force my mouth on it.
I released her breast, reaching my hand under her skirt to caress her smooth buttocks. My other hand slipped under the strap of her skirt and grasped her full, soft breast. My other hand moved to the front, running up her smooth inner thigh. She tensed up and squeezed tightly, saying anxiously, "No, please."
I ignored her weak, half-hearted requests, my fingers persistently landing on her pubic hair-covered mons pubis. I parted the soft flesh of her inner thighs with my middle finger, rubbing her burning labia against the outside of her thin, cicada-wing-like panties. She couldn't help but let out an unbearable moan, her hands weakly grabbing my wrist to stop my movements.
Patiently, through the thin fabric, I searched for the clitoris at the top of the cleft, the clitoris that could subdue her. She knew my intentions, and tried to pull my hand away with increased force. An internal struggle raged within her; lust was urging her to give up and enjoy the new thrill this affair brought, while reason and morality demanded resistance, forbidding her from committing a transgression.
The surging tide of passion within her told her to give up resisting. Dressed like this, coming to a house with only one man so late at night—even if she accused him of rape, how many people would believe her? Give up resisting, experience a passion she'd never felt before. Besides, her sex life with her husband had become mundane after the initial passion of their marriage. His work made sex feel like a routine, and she had to suppress her desires. Giving up would bring satisfaction, and this one time wouldn't affect her family.
As passion gradually took over, her resistance weakened. I could sense her psychological shift, and I quickened my teasing movements. To completely pull her from reason into the sea of desire, I intensified my teasing of her already hardened nipples. The pain stimulated her subconscious desire to be conquered. She weakly said, "Gently, it hurts." I relaxed and used gentle caresses. My fingers had already parted her modesty, easily finding her swollen clitoris in the slippery, moist fluid flowing from her vulva.
My rapid, teasing fingers made her weak all over. I knew it was time, so I picked her up in one swift motion. The sudden weightlessness made her tense, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around my neck. I carried her tightly to the bedroom.
I placed her on the bed and, without giving her time to react, removed her skirt and panties. Then I stopped and looked at her with loving eyes, my hand on her full, soft breasts, making no move. Surprised and confused, she opened her eyes, which had been tightly closed in shyness. When she saw my gaze, she panicked and ashamed, quickly turning her head away and closing her eyes again.
I whispered in her ear, full of affection and seduction, "Open your eyes and look at me." She shook her head. I grasped the tip of her breast with my fingers, slowly increasing the pressure. She felt my persistence and said, "No," but still opened her eyes and looked at me. As I slowly approached her tense, panting lips, she suddenly wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her lips to mine, her tongue licking her lips, searching for mine. I met her tongue, and we intertwined.
I knew she had completely given up resisting, so I began to caress her beautiful skin intensely. I reached between her legs, and she wisely parted them. I inserted my fingers into her wet and slippery vulva, pressed my thumb against her clitoris, and while digging into her hot vulva, I vigorously rubbed her clitoris. She couldn't help but let out joyful moans in her throat.
I slowly moved away from her body and between her legs. She knew I was looking at her already aroused and parted labia, and she covered her genitals with her hands in shame. I pulled her hands away, and she couldn't help but say, "Don't look." I used my hands to gently separate her pubic hair, which was wet and sticky with her bodily fluids, and gently parted her two small labia. She looked up at me in confusion and said, "What are you doing?"
I smiled mischievously and kissed her. She exclaimed in surprise, "Oh!" I knew she had never had this experience before, and her words after the exclamation confirmed my judgment. She said, "No, it's dirty." I looked up and said, "How could it be? This is a sign that I like you." After saying that, I took her clitoris into my mouth and licked it with my hot tongue. She trembled all over from the stimulation and kept making various uncontrollable moans.
Soon her body stiffened, her hands gripping my head, her hips responding to my licking, emitting suppressed cries of pleasure from her primal instincts. I knew she had climaxed. To make her remember it, I gently bit her clitoris, prolonging her orgasm. "Ah, I'm going to die, ah!"
After she calmed down a bit, I climbed on top of her, holding her head in my hands, and asked, "Was it good?" She no longer avoided my gaze, looking at me with an incredulous yet infatuated look, nodding, then turning her head away in shame, her hands pressing her smooth breasts against our chests.
I reached out and guided my already erect penis, sliding it between her labia, softly saying, "Can I go in? Are you willing to give yourself to me?" She turned her head, looking at me with eyes full of spring tide and love, nodding and gently lifting her hips, giving me a welcoming signal.
As I entered her, she lost all restraint. She wrapped her arms around me, moaning softly, showering my face with kisses, her legs entwined around mine, responding instinctively to my thrusts.
Twenty minutes later, after a climax of exhaustion, she clung to me, refusing to let me off, tears streaming down her face. Reason returned to her, and I gently wiped away her tears, asking softly, "Was it good?" She softly murmured, "Mmm." We
remained like that for a long time before she pushed me away, got up, and went to the bathroom. Watching her beautiful back, the swaying of her hips as she walked, my groin throbbed again. I didn't follow. I lit a cigarette, watching the bathroom doorway, waiting for her to emerge from the shower.
She hadn't come out for a long time, so I got up a little worried and went into the bathroom. I saw her sitting on the edge of the bathtub, her hands clutching her full breasts as I entered, one hand covering her crotch, looking at me with tear-reddened eyes, a look of grievance and sorrow. I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy as I went over and hugged her, saying, "Don't do this, be careful not to catch a cold." I took a towel and wrapped it around her shoulders, then helped her out of the tub.
After we got into bed, she didn't say anything. When I hugged her, she obediently snuggled into my arms.
After a long while, she gently pushed me away and said, "How can I face my husband after this?" I hugged her tighter. "You'll still be a good wife when you go back tomorrow. This is a blessing from our past lives. You don't need to blame yourself. Any man would be moved by a woman as outstanding as you." Women are always happy to accept praise.
The next day, she left wearing my shirt and jeans. I looked forward to our meeting when she returned the clothes.

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The neighbor wearing a sheer dress

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