My Neighbor Caught Me Sniffing Her Clothes and Took Control

The shared bathroom on the landing smelled of damp and cheap soap. In those old buildings in Valencia, where each floor has a little communal room at the end of the hallway, people leave things lying around without thinking about who might see them later. I’d never paid attention to that. Until that night.

I’d gone down alone to wash my hands. I’d just changed a blown lightbulb in my apartment and my fingers were smeared with gray dust. I wasn’t looking for anything. I opened the cabinet under the sink to take out a bar of soap and then I saw it: a black lace thong, carelessly tossed over the edge of the laundry basket.

It wasn’t the first item of hers I’d seen. Nadia lived in 2C. Early twenties, always wearing headphones, tight clothes, and with the kind of stride down the hall that looked like a challenge to the entire building. We only ever exchanged a curt nod. To her, I was just another piece of furniture on the landing.

But this time the fabric was damp. Very damp. Wrinkled, with a dark, glossy stain in the center that left no doubt about what it was or when she’d taken it off.

I stood frozen, my heart pounding in my throat.

I looked toward the half-open door. No one. The landing was silent, only the distant hum of a fridge and the ticking of a pipe as it cooled.

Just a second. I’ll smell it for one second and put it back.

I picked it up with two fingers, as if it were hot. The lace was soft, still warm in the middle. I brought the fabric to my face and breathed in slowly.

Sweet and salty at the same time, with a warm undertone that went straight to my head and sank into my groin. I got hard almost instantly, an erection that tightened my jeans all at once. I closed my eyes and inhaled again, deeper, no longer thinking about the door or how ridiculous this was or anything at all.

I didn’t hear the footsteps.

—Do you like how I smell, neighbor?

Her voice was calm, almost amused. I jumped so violently the thong fell from my hands and landed on my sneakers. Nadia was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. She was wearing nothing but a long gray T-shirt that barely covered her hips and white socks up to mid-calf. Nothing else.

I tried to speak. What came out was a rough stammer that meant nothing.

—Relax —she said, coming in and kicking the door shut behind her—. I’m not going to scream. But I want you to explain why you’re sniffing my used panties.

I swallowed. I was so hard it hurt against the seam of my pants. My face was burning.

—I… I don’t know… sorry… it was an impulse, I didn’t mean to…

—An impulse —she repeated, savoring the word. She came toward me unhurriedly, picked the thong up from the floor, and held it at the level of my face, swinging it from one finger—. And do you always follow your impulses like this, hidden away in a bathroom that isn’t yours?

I didn’t know what to say. I looked down. That gesture, I understood later, was what decided everything.

—Look at me when I’m talking to you —she said, and there was something new in her tone, lower, firmer—. Did you get hard smelling me?

I nodded, red all the way to my ears.

—Say it. Use words.

—Yes —I muttered—. I got hard.

She smiled sideways. A slow, satisfied smile, the kind someone gives when they’ve just found a toy they weren’t expecting.

—Take off your pants.

—What?

—Your pants. And your underwear. Don’t make me repeat myself.

I hesitated for a full two seconds. I thought about leaving, about apologizing, about pretending none of this was happening. But my body decided for me. I unbuttoned my jeans and let them fall, then my briefs. My cock sprang out rigid, the head shining.

Nadia looked me up and down with the calm of someone appraising a purchase.

—Kneel.

I dropped onto the cold tiles. The chill shot up my shins and brought back a little lucidity, but it was already too late to want anything else. She took a step and stood in front of me, so close that her smell —the real one, not the fabric’s— hit me straight on.

—Do you know what’s the most pathetic thing? —she said, looking down at me—. You’ve been crossing paths with me in the lobby for months and not once did you have the balls to say anything to me. And look at you now.

—Sorry —I repeated, because it was the only thing I knew how to say.

—I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to obey. That’s different. —She lifted the hem of her T-shirt just enough for me to see she wasn’t wearing anything underneath—. Smell it. Up close this time. And slowly.

I leaned in. The smell was much stronger there, raw, without the barrier of the lace. I breathed deeply and a shiver ran all the way down my back. She watched me, attentive to every reaction, as if taking notes.

—Good —she said softly—. Now the tongue.

I stuck my tongue out almost without deciding to. The first contact was electric, salty and hot. I ran it slowly from bottom to top, taking in her taste, and she let out a short breath and grabbed my hair with one hand. Not to guide me tenderly. To command.

—Deeper. I want to feel it inside me.

I obeyed. I sank my tongue in as far as I could while she rocked against my mouth, setting the rhythm, not letting me get ahead of her for a second. Every time I tried to press harder, she tugged my hair to stop me.

—Slowly. You’re in no hurry. You never are, understand? I set the pace.

I nodded with my mouth pressed against her. Something inside me had come loose, a tension I’d lived with for years without knowing I had it. Obeying was easy. Obeying was a relief.

—The clit now. With your lips. Gently first.

I took it carefully and she shuddered, digging her nails into my scalp.

—Like that… now a little harder… no, don’t speed up… I told you not to speed up.

I obeyed her to the millimeter, correcting myself every time her hand tightened or loosened in my hair. I learned her language in minutes: a tug meant more, a push meant stop, silence meant keep doing exactly that. I felt her thighs tightening around my head, her breathing becoming short and broken.

—Don’t stop —she said, and for the first time there was a crack in her control, her voice rougher—. Right… right there…

When she came, it was fast and silent, biting her lip so she wouldn’t make a sound on that landing with its thin walls. She trembled all over, ground herself against my face a couple more times, then pulled me back by the hair.

I stayed on my knees, face wet and cock dripping, throbbing without anyone having touched it yet.

—Now it’s your turn —she said, catching her breath and her smile at the same time—. But only when I say so. That’s clear, right?

—Yes —I gasped.

—Yes, what?

I hesitated. She waited, patient, enjoying my confusion.

—Yes… it’s clear.

—Better.

She crouched in front of me, so close we were almost touching. She picked up the used thong from the sink edge and, before I could react, stuffed it into my mouth.

—Suck it. I want you to taste it while I decide what to do with you.

I moaned with the fabric in my mouth. The taste filled me, mixed with hers that was still on my lips. Nadia wrapped her hand around my cock, squeezed hard, and began stroking me with deliberate, almost cruel slowness. Every time my hips tried to push upward, she stopped dead.

—No. You don’t call the shots here. I decide when you come, and right now I don’t feel like it.

I nodded, eyes glassy, mouth full, hips trembling from the effort of staying still. She brought me right to the edge and left me there, suspended, yanking her hand away just when I thought I was about to explode. Once. Twice. Three times. Each stop tore a muffled groan out of me against the lace.

—See? —she murmured, her mouth against my ear—. This is what happens when you behave like a kid sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. You learn to wait.

By then I wasn’t myself anymore. I was only what she wanted me to be.

—Ask me —she whispered at last, picking up the pace a little—. But do it properly.

I tried to speak and only a choked sound came out.

—Spit it out and ask me like you mean it.

I spat out the thong, and it fell onto my thigh.

—Please… let me come… please, Nadia.

She tilted her head, pretending to think about it.

—Again. And tell me why you deserve it.

—Please… I obeyed… I did everything you asked… let me, please.

She smiled. That smile I was already beginning to know.

—Good boy.

She squeezed harder and worked her hand faster, focusing right on the tip, where the sensitivity hurt most. I tensed all over, my breath cut off, and I came with a violence that nearly doubled me forward. Thick, hot jets splattered across her hand, the floor, the edge of her T-shirt. She didn’t stop until I started shaking from sheer sensitivity, milking me down to the last convulsion.

When it was over, she wiped her hand calmly on my T-shirt, which was still lying on the floor beside my knees.

—Every time you cross paths with me on the landing —she said, standing up— you’re going to remember this. How I put you on your knees with two words.

I nodded, still breathless.

—And if you behave —she added, with her hand already on the doorknob— maybe one day I’ll let you smell something fresher. But I decide that. I always decide that.

She opened the door. The cold air from the hallway rushed in all at once.

—Clean up the floor before you leave. I don’t want the porter giving me grief.

She left barefoot, without looking back, the thong still dangling from one finger. Her white socks made no sound on the stairs.

I stayed kneeling on the tiles, gasping, with her taste still in my mouth and my heart pounding in my ears. It took me a long while to stand up, to get dressed, to clean the floor with paper towels like she’d ordered.

I went back up to my apartment with weak legs. That night I didn’t sleep. I kept replaying every order, every tug on my hair, every calculated pause with which she had held me in her hand.

The next morning I ran into her in the lobby. Headphones on, tight clothes, that way she had of walking. She didn’t say anything. She just looked at me a second longer than usual and barely curved her lips before going on her way.

It was enough. I knew I’d never be able to pass through that shared bathroom without getting hard again. And that, deep down, I was already waiting for the next time she decided it was time.