Bluewater

The invitations kept coming, each one a polite but inescapable summons from Chen that Alex could never refuse.

Tonight was no different.

Wei wore a simple deep burgundy satin slip dress—thin straps, glossy fabric with no intricate lace, only a soft, slightly sheer material that clung gently to every curve like liquid poured over skin.

Chen had drunk more than usual tonight—glass after glass of red wine, his laughter growing louder, his gestures broader and more careless.

By the time the dessert plates were cleared, he had slumped into his favorite armchair, remote loosely gripped in one hand, eyelids already heavy.

Within minutes, the familiar deep snoring began, rhythmic and unwavering, a metronome counting down the end of his vigilance.

Wei glanced at the clock on the wall, then at Alex.

The living room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier, as though the walls themselves were pressing inward, listening.

“Shall we step out to the balcony?” she asked, her voice soft and almost casual, as if suggesting something entirely innocent.

“The city lights are beautiful tonight. And it’s quieter out there.”

Alex nodded, his throat tight, pulse already thrumming in his ears.

They slipped through the wide sliding glass doors, leaving Chen’s steady snores behind like a distant, irrelevant tide.

The night air was cool and crisp, carrying the low electric hum of Shanghai far below—faint car horns, muffled bass from rooftop clubs, the endless restless heartbeat of the metropolis.

The skyline stretched out before them like an ocean of scattered diamonds.

Wei leaned forward against the polished railing, the deep burgundy satin catching the faint breeze.

The glossy fabric shimmered under the spill of city glow, sliding over her body like dark wine.

The thin straps rested delicately on her smooth shoulders; the deep V-neckline plunged daringly low, hinting at the soft, bare skin beneath—no bra, nothing to interrupt the satin’s intimate embrace.

The material molded perfectly to the full, heavy swell of her breasts, her nipples faintly visible as subtle peaks pressing against the cool silk, tightening slowly in the night air.

The dress skimmed mid-thigh, the hem brushing teasingly against her bare legs with every breath, every subtle shift of weight.

Nothing else adorned her—no jewelry, no lace, no complications. Just pure, liquid satin turning her silhouette into something fluid, almost dangerous.

She never wore anything restrictive when Alex was invited.

The choice was deliberate. A quiet, unmistakable declaration.

She knew he noticed the way the satin shifted over the curve of her hips, the way it caught and released with each inhale.

He knew she knew.

They stood in silence for a long moment, close enough that he could feel the radiant heat rising from her body, could catch the faint, intoxicating trace of jasmine blooming from her hair and the warm hollow of her neck—an invitation meant only for him.

Then she spoke, voice low, nearly swallowed by the wind.

“You know… sometimes I wonder…”

She turned her head slightly, dark eyes reflecting the city lights like liquid obsidian.

“…if I’m getting old.”

Alex’s heart stumbled.

“You’re not old,” he said, the words coming too fast, rougher than he intended. “You’re… breathtaking.”

She smiled—a small, wistful curve of her lips that carried both sadness and knowing.

“But am I still… desirable?”

The question floated between them, light as silk, heavy as forbidden fruit.

He swallowed hard, his gaze involuntarily tracing the line of her throat, the shadowed valley between her breasts.

“More than you know,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “More than I should allow myself to think.”

She turned fully toward him now, the breeze catching the satin and lifting it gently on one side.

Cool air kissed her exposed skin; her nipple tightened further, a small, dark peak pressing insistently against the thin fabric nearby.

She let the wind toy with the dress, let the satin flutter open and closed, offering fleeting, deliberate glimpses of skin he had no right to see.

Their eyes locked, the space between them charged and humming.

“Have you ever wondered…” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the distant traffic, “…what it would feel like if I weren’t Chen’s wife?”

The words struck like a spark on dry tinder.

Alex’s breath caught sharply. His gaze dropped again—uncontrollably—to the exposed curve of her breast, then snapped back to her face, heat flooding his cheeks and chest.

“I think about it every single time I see you,” he confessed, voice hoarse, almost broken with honesty. “Every damn time I’m in the same room as you.”

She took one small, deliberate step closer.

Close enough now that the breeze pressed the satin flush against her body, outlining every lush contour—the generous swell of her breasts, the narrow dip of her waist, the rounded flare of her hips.

Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, could smell the jasmine mingling with something deeper, more primal: the subtle, unmistakable scent of her growing arousal.

“I think about it too,” she murmured, eyes dark and unwavering, burning with quiet fire. “Far more than I should.”

A stronger gust swept across the balcony, sharper and more insistent than before.

It caught the loose hem of her satin slip dress and whipped it upward in a sudden, fluid motion—lifting the glossy burgundy fabric high along one thigh, past the curve where leg met hip.

For a breathless instant, the dress flared and clung askew, baring the smooth, rounded half of her left buttock to the cool night air.

The satin pulled taut against the opposite side, outlining the firm swell of her hip and the shadowed cleft between, while the exposed skin—flawless in the city glow—caught faint glimmers of distant neon like silk under moonlight.

But now the wind’s mischief had shifted lower, offering him this new, forbidden glimpse: the elegant line of her lower back tapering into the lush, bare curve of her ass—bare, because beneath the dress there was nothing. No panties. No barrier. Just her.

She didn’t move to pull the fabric down. She didn’t cover herself.

She simply stood there, letting him drink in the sight, letting the charged silence stretch between them like a wire pulled to its breaking point.

She let the breeze hold the satin there for a lingering second, let the cool air kiss her newly exposed skin, let him see exactly how little separated them tonight.

Only when the gust eased did the dress settle again—slowly, reluctantly—sliding back over her hip with a soft whisper against her thighs.

But the image remained burned into the space between them: the perfect half-moon of her bare ass, the subtle flex of muscle beneath satin, the unmistakable proof that she had dressed—or undressed—for this moment.

The distant snoring from inside continued, oblivious.

Out here, on the edge of the glittering abyss, the world felt suspended—waiting only for one of them to move.

Wei’s eyes lingered on his for a final, charged moment after the gust settled, the satin whispering back over her skin.

Then, slowly, she turned away from him, facing the glittering expanse of Shanghai once more.

Her hands rested lightly on the railing, fingers loosening as if surrendering to the view, but her posture—spine subtly arched, hips shifted back the slightest degree—was an unspoken invitation.

Alex could no longer stay still.

He took one quiet step forward, then another, closing the careful distance she had left between them. His chest brushed the warm satin of her upper back first—a tentative contact that sent a shiver through him.

Wei didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, her body softened, yielding, as though she had been waiting for exactly this.

He moved closer still, until the front of his shirt pressed fully against the slick fabric covering her shoulder blades.

The heat of her seeped through the thin layer, immediate and intoxicating.

Lower, the soft, rounded curve of her ass met the growing hardness in his trousers—barely there at first, a ghost of contact that made his breath catch.

Wei responded without turning, without a single word—only the unspoken language of her body.

She let her weight ease back into him, slow and deliberate, welcoming the solid heat of his chest against her shoulder blades.

Then, with exquisite patience, she began to move her hips in a small, searching circle—barely more than a breath of motion—until the plush curve of her ass found the exact rigid shape straining beneath the fabric of his trousers.

The instant she located him, she stilled, letting the soft swell settle against the full length of his cock.

Satin glided over the taut cotton of his zipper, aligning perfectly: the warm cleft of her ass cradling him from base to swollen tip, only the thinnest layers of burgundy silk and his clothing separating skin from skin.

She held there, savouring the moment—feeling not just the hard, thick outline of him, but the vital, insistent pulse throbbing beneath the surface.

Each steady beat of his heart travelled through the rigid shaft, a slow, heavy thrum that pressed rhythmically against her bare cheeks through the glossy fabric.

Thump… thump… thump… like a secret drum only she could hear and feel, proof of how fiercely he wanted her.

God, I can feel your heartbeat in your cock.

She thought, a helpless shiver rippling through her.

Every time it jumps, it’s because of me. Because you’ve wanted this as long as I have.

A faint shiver ran through her at the sensation; the intimate, living proof of his arousal nestled so perfectly between her.

Only then did she begin to move.

First, side to side: whisper-soft sways that dragged the satin-covered cleft of her ass along his trapped erection in languid horizontal strokes.

Left—slow, deliberate glide—right—slow glide—each pass so gentle it could have been the wind, yet precise enough that she felt every ridge, every subtle vein shift against her softness as his pulse quickened under the friction.

Yes… feel that? That’s me touching you without touching you.

Her mind whispered, wicked and tender at once.

I’ve imagined this so many nights, lying beside him while he slept, wondering how heavy you’d feel against me.

Alex’s breath fractured behind her.

Satisfied with his reaction, she shifted the rhythm—moving to the gentlest up-and-down motion.

She rose almost imperceptibly onto the balls of her feet, letting the slick fabric slide upward along his length, releasing him for a teasing heartbeat—then sank slowly back down, enveloping him once more in warm, satin-sheathed pressure.

Up—slow, aching release—down—deep, cradling welcome. With every descent she pressed a fraction closer, feeling that strong, steady pulse grow faster, harder, beating directly against the sensitive skin hidden beneath the dress.

The throb intensified with each subtle grind—urgent, insistent—until it felt as though his heartbeat had migrated to the thick shaft now perfectly trapped between her cheeks.

She could time her movements to it: a gentle squeeze on the upstroke when the pulse surged strongest, a slow downward slide when it throbbed in anticipation of the next.

Her own breathing had turned shallow, warm puffs misting into the cool night air.

A fine tremor quivered through her thighs; slick heat gathered and spread, the faint, heady scent of her arousal rising to mingle with jasmine on the breeze.

Still she said nothing.

She simply continued the slow, hypnotic dance—left to right, up and down—teasing, cradling, tormenting his pulsing cock with the lightest, most deliberate pressure her body could offer, letting every throb echo through her until the air around them crackled with the promise of everything still, deliciously, withheld.

I wish you could feel how wet I am already

She thought, heat flooding her core as another pulse surged against her.

Wish you could slide inside and know exactly how much I’ve need.

The rhythm between them had become its own silent language—slow, deliberate, unbearable.

Wei’s movements grew heavier, each downward sink a fraction deeper, her muscles tightening in subtle, rhythmic pulses around the hard length trapped between satin and skin.

God… he’s so close to breaking.

She thought, feeling the frantic jump of his pulse against her bare cheeks.

I can feel every throb, every desperate beat… it’s all for me. All because of me.

Alex’s hands finally settled on her narrow waist, fingers splaying wide over the liquid satin, gripping just firmly enough to pull her back harder against him.

The position angled her hips perfectly, letting his prominent bulge—straining visibly against the taut black fabric of his trousers—thrust upward into the plush cleft of her ass, sinking deep between her bare cheeks through the ultra-thin glossy layer.

It mimicked the raw, primal rhythm of taking her from behind, each subtle rock of his hips driving the thick, throbbing ridge deeper into her satin-sheathed warmth.

Oh God… he’s thrusting like he’s already fucking me.

Wei thought, a fresh flood of heat surging through her core, her pussy clenching emptily with fire-hot need, so slick and swollen that she felt the wetness seep down her inner thighs.

I can feel every inch of that bulge splitting me open… so thick, so ready… if he just ripped the satin aside right now…

He felt it too—the first hot bead of pre-cum leaking from his tip, soaking through his boxers.

Their breathing synchronized, ragged and hushed, the city lights below blurring into a distant haze as the world narrowed to the obscene, grinding friction between them.

If he just pulled me back harder… if he slipped inside right now… I’d let him. I’d come undone in seconds.

She felt the throb inside him quicken—urgent, almost frantic—matching the liquid heat flooding her core.

Just a little more…

She thought, thighs quivering,

and I’ll come right here, just like this… with Chen sleeping ten meters away. The thought alone is enough to push me over.

Then, from inside the apartment, a low, thick cough cut through the night.

Chen.

Both of them froze as if struck by lightning.

No… no, not now…

Another cough, followed by the creak of the armchair and the unmistakable sound of sluggish footsteps on hardwood. Wei’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Please go back to sleep… please…

In one fluid, panicked motion she stepped forward, letting the ultra-short hem flutter back down over her hips—barely covering anything, but enough.

Alex retreated half a step, hands dropping to his sides, pulse still hammering visibly at his throat.

The sliding door opened.

Chen stood there, bleary-eyed, hair disheveled, voice gravelly with sleep and wine.

“Thought I heard… something. Everything all right?”

Wei turned, forcing a soft, composed smile even as her legs trembled beneath her and slick heat still pulsed between her thighs.

“Just getting some air. The wine went to your head earlier—you fell asleep so fast.”

Don’t look at my face too long… don’t notice how flushed I am, how I can barely stand…

Chen rubbed his eyes, glanced at Alex with vague suspicion that dissolved almost immediately into fatigue.

“Yeah… sorry. Long day tomorrow.” He yawned, waved a lazy hand. “Don’t stay out too late.”

The door slid shut again. Heavy footsteps retreated.

The snoring resumed within minutes—deeper this time, drugged by exhaustion.

But the spell was shattered.

A heavy, aching silence settled between them.

We were so close… I was right there…

Wei turned slowly to face Alex. Their eyes met in the dim city glow—his dark and burning, hers filled with raw, unspoken regret.

Neither moved for a long moment, the air between them still thick with jasmine and the lingering heat of their bodies.

Alex was the first to break the silence, his voice low and rough.

“I… I should go.”

Wei nodded, throat tight.

Don’t. Stay. Finish what we started.

But the words stayed locked behind her lips.

She walked him back inside, the ultra-short hem of her dress brushing her thighs with every step, a constant reminder of how exposed she still felt.

They moved through the quiet apartment without speaking, past the armchair where Chen slept oblivious.

At the private lift that led directly to the lobby, Alex pressed the call button.

The soft ding echoed too loudly in the hush.

The doors slid open.

He stepped inside, then paused, turning back to her one last time.

Wei stood just outside the threshold, hands clasped in front of her, eyes fixed on his.

How am I supposed to let you leave now? How am I supposed to sleep tonight knowing exactly how you feel against me?

Alex’s gaze lingered on her swollen lips, her flushed cheeks, the way the satin clung to her still-trembling body.

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod—understanding everything she couldn’t say.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said quietly.

The doors began to close.

Wei lifted one hand in a tiny, helpless wave, fingers barely moving.

The lift doors met with a gentle thud, sealing him away.

She stood alone in the hallway for a long minute, staring at the polished metal, the hollow ache in her chest throbbing harder than ever.

I’ve never needed anyone this much.

Back upstairs, Chen’s snores filled the apartment like a steady, oblivious tide—deep, rhythmic, impossibly distant from the fire still raging inside her.

Wei slipped into the master bedroom’s walk-in wardrobe and closed the door softly behind her, sealing herself in the dim, private space.

The air was cooler here, but it did nothing to quench the heat radiating from her skin.

The burgundy satin dress clung damply to her body, the glossy fabric darkened in places where her arousal had soaked through.

She turned her back to the closed door and leaned against it for support, one hand already trailing down her trembling stomach.

I’m still burning...

Slowly, deliberately, she slid the thin spaghetti straps off her shoulders.

The dress sighed down her body like liquid, pooling at her feet in a dark, shimmering puddle.

She stepped out of it, naked now except for the faint sheen of sweat and slickness coating her inner thighs.

Her hands began to wander with urgent need.

She cupped her heavy breasts, thumbs brushing over the aching peaks, pinching them harder than she usually would—imagining Alex’s mouth there, hot and rough, teeth grazing until she cried out.

A soft moan escaped her lips, quickly bitten back.

You would have devoured me… until I begged you to stop, then kept going.

One hand slid lower, over the quiver of her abdomen, until her fingers slipped between her legs. She was drenched—swollen, throbbing, impossibly sensitive.

The first firm touch made her hips jerk forward; she spread her feet wider, sinking into the sensation.

Still so full of you… I can still feel your cock wedged deep between my cheeks, throbbing against me, leaking that hot wetness… God, I felt you leak for me.

She closed her eyes and surrendered completely to the memory.

Every second on the balcony replayed in vivid detail: his strong hands gripping her waist and yanking her back, the thick, rigid bulge driving relentlessly into her cleft through the thin satin, the way he had rocked forward like he was already buried inside her—slow, possessive, claiming every inch.

She remembered the exact pressure, the way the fabric had stretched and molded around him.

Her right hand moved first, fingers sliding down over her slick folds with deliberate slowness.

She pushed two fingers deep inside herself, the sudden stretch drawing a soft, shuddering gasp from her lips.

She curled them immediately, stroking that sensitive spot inside with the same hypnotic rhythm she had used on the balcony, slow and teasing at first, then deeper, more insistent.

The slick sounds of her arousal filled the quiet wardrobe—lewd, intoxicating.

You were right there… so close to splitting me open… I wanted you to tear the dress away and take me raw.

Only then did her left hand join, fingers finding her swollen clit and beginning to circle it lightly, matching the pace of her thrusting right hand.

The dual sensation made her hips roll forward involuntarily, thighs trembling as she imagined his thickness forcing her wider, filling her completely.

I wanted to feel you bare, burning hot, sliding through all this wetness you caused… pounding me until I couldn’t stand.

I felt you throb so hard… you were seconds from coming for me. Tomorrow you’ll come inside me… deep, hot, over and over until it’s dripping out of me…

The thought shattered her.

The climax slammed into her without warning—fierce, blinding.

Her back arched against the door, thighs clamping tight around her hand, inner walls pulsing greedily around her fingers in long, milking waves.

A choked, silent cry tore from her throat as pleasure ripped through her, harder and longer than any she could remember, leaving her shaking and breathless.

When it finally ebbed, she slid down the door until she was sitting on the cool floor, knees drawn up, chest heaving, aftershocks still fluttering deep inside.

I’ve never come this hard alone… and it still wasn’t enough. I need the real thing.

With trembling fingers, she reached for her phone on the nearby shelf.

The message formed itself in her mind before she even typed:

Tomorrow night, I'll put sleeping pills in Chen's red wine.

Come.

This time, we won't stop...

She pressed send.

This time, nothing will interrupt us. This time, you’ll be inside me until neither of us can move.

Then she sat there in the dim light, naked and trembling, waiting for the three dots that would seal their fate.

Wei stared at the screen, her breath shallow, the aftershocks still fluttering low in her belly. The message sat there, sent. No take-back. No hesitation.

The apartment was silent except for Chen’s steady, distant snores and the faint hum of the city far below.

Minutes passed. One. Two. Five.

She began to wonder if he was already asleep—if the message had landed in the dark, unread.

Then the three dots appeared.

They danced… stopped… danced again.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Finally, the reply came.

Three words. Nothing more.

I’ll be there.

Wei’s eyes closed. A slow, trembling exhale escaped her lips.

She set the phone face-down on the carpet beside her, as if it might burn her if she held it any longer.

Tomorrow,

She thought, curling onto her side on the cool floor, naked skin prickling in the quiet dark.

Tomorrow he’ll walk through that door, and I won’t let him leave until we’re both too spent to move.

She didn’t get up. Didn’t cover herself. Just lay there, thighs pressed together, feeling the slow throb between them begin to build again at the mere thought of him.

The wait would be agony.

But it would be worth it.

This time, nothing, and no one, would stop them.

To be continued…