Chapter 1 — Secret Temptation (A Married Woman's Confession) - Part 1 (1)
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.
I miss her scent. Last summer, during the sweltering heat, I prayed every morning—pleaded, really—that no work would come in, that the day would pass without a single call.
Damn it. First thing in the morning, the phone rings. A soft, pleading voice:"The bathroom ceiling keeps coming down. Can you come fix it?"
Ding-dong—
"Who is it?"
"I'm from the management office."
"Oh, sorry. Just a second."
Damn it. Five minutes pass before the door finally opens.
Huh—my breath catches. My body reacts instantly, betraying me, surging to life completely against my will.
She's wrapped in a towel, her hair still wet. She must've just showered. A thin dress hastily thrown on, the outline of her nipples clearly visible beneath the damp fabric.
"I'm so sorry. Did I keep you waiting? I didn't know you'd be coming right away."
"No, not at all. I'll just take a look at the bathroom."
"Okay. It's right here. The ceiling keeps dropping."
Her voice is sweet, almost playful, and she flashes a small smile before heading toward the kitchen. I need a chair to reach the ceiling.
I follow, about to ask if I can borrow the dining table chair, but she's already busy at the counter, blending tomatoes. Her back is to me.
Ah. I can see her ass. No panties. The curve of her bare skin beneath the dress—fuck. There it goes again. My cock stiffens, straining.
"Oh? Have some juice. It's so hot today, right?"
She turns, holding out a glass. Her nipples are even more visible now, hard and pressing against the thin cloth.
"Ah, thank you. Your place is really nice."
"Hehe. I just play around like this when I'm bored at home."
She's always alone, it seems. And those nipples—so exposed, so tempting.
Afraid she'll notice the bulge in my pants, I grab the chair and hurry into the bathroom.
I climb up, fix the ceiling, and as I'm about to step down—there it is. Her laundry basket. Her panties, tossed in, waiting to be washed.
The hair dryer roars to life—whiiing—as she dries her hair. And without thinking, my hand reaches in. I pull out her panties.
My mind screams no, but my body doesn't listen. I bring them to my face and inhale—deeply.
Her scent. Musky, warm, intoxicating. I nearly collapse. I want to run to her, pin her down, and bury my cock inside her pussy right now. My head spins with lust.
The hair dryer stops. I jerk back, startled, and shove the panties into my pocket.
"Fixed it. Anything else bothering you?"
"Thanks so much. Oh—actually, the light in the master bedroom sometimes doesn't turn on."
"Really? Let me check it quickly."
Her long, damp hair clings to her neck, the tips brushing against her nipples. The dress is getting wetter, clinging tighter. Her nipples stand out, dark and hard.
One more second and I'll grab her. I'll crush her against the wall.
"Just needs a new starter bulb. I'll bring one and replace it next time."
"Thank you. I appreciate it."
"Goodbye."
"Bye. Thanks again. Hehe."
That night, I jerk off thinking of her—her sweet voice, the wet dress clinging to her body, the bare ass I saw, and the panties in my hand, soaked with her arousal.
I inhale the scent again and come hard.
A few days later, I buy a starter bulb—no real reason, just an excuse. I need to see her again.
I stand at her door.
"Who is it?"
"Management office."
"Oh, sorry. Just a second."
Her voice is flustered. Five minutes pass. No answer. I imagine her—naked, under the shower again.
My cock swells. The door opens.
"Oh! I'm so sorry. Did I keep you waiting?"
"No, not at all."
But she's dry. Her hair isn't wet. She didn't shower.
She leads me to the bedroom. And then—there it is. That smell. The same one from her panties days ago. Stronger now. It hits my nose like a drug. Without realizing, I step closer, following her, drawn by the scent.
"Here. Please fix it," she says, turning around.
Hah—
Her foot steps on mine. My lips brush her forehead.
She gasps, hands flying to my chest, pushing me back. Fuck—electric.
"Oh! I'm so sorry. I stepped on your foot. Are you okay?"
"No, it's fine. Haha."
She hurries to the kitchen. But the air where she stood—thick with her musk. I can't breathe without tasting her.
I climb onto the bed to replace the bulb. Under the pillow—something peeks out. A string.
I pull it.
Her panties. And with them—a fake cock, slick with wetness.
Her arousal coats it. The smell—her pussy, her sweat, her need—floods my senses.
She wasn't showering. She was using this—fucking herself with it?
My cock throbs, rock-hard, painful. I can't think. I hear her voice.
"There's juice on the table. Please have some."
The bathroom door closes. Click.
I'm losing my mind.
I force myself to calm down. And then—without hesitation—I slip her panties into my pocket again.
She comes out. Fresh. Clean. I smell soap—she washed her pussy.
I drink the tomato juice she offers, my hands trembling.
"If anything else is wrong, call me directly on my phone."
I leave my number. Walk out.
After that, I start jerking off every night with her stolen panties. I imagine her moaning, riding my cock, whispering my name.
Two weeks pass. I can't stop thinking about her. I want to hold her. Touch her. Take her.
One day, no work. I leave early, head back to my room. I'm about to shower when my phone rings.
Damn it. I was looking forward to rest.
I answer. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Hi, um… this is Unit XXX, Building XX…"
Hah— My breath stops. Her voice. Panicked.
"Yeah?"
"I'm so sorry… I went grocery shopping and left my keys inside. Could you… come over?"
"Yeah. I'll be right there."
I throw on clothes and run.
She's waiting at the door.
"I'm so sorry. I only took the front door key with me. My husband's away on a business trip…"
"It's okay. Just wait."
I unlock the door.
"Thank you. If you're not busy… would you like to come in for a drink?"
"Ah… sure. Thank you."