I didn’t realize my sheer nightgown was so see-through…

The laundry room incident; what happens when a reluctant exhibitionist is equal parts naked, embarrassed, and turned on.

Mar 16, 2026

I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.

I wasn’t trying to flash anyone. I wasn’t trying to be slutty.

It’s just…happened.

It was late in the evening and I had just had a long bath and slipped on my favourite nightgown. It was one of those vintage silky things…ivory, floaty, with little lace cap sleeves and a slit up the side. It’s kind of slutty, but also super comfortable, and I didn’t even bother putting on panties. It’s not like I was expecting company. In fact, my entire plan for the evening was eating takeout and playing videogames.

Then I remembered the laundry.

Fucking laundry. Why is life so boring?

I live in an apartment block with one shared laundry room in the basement. Normally I wait until the morning, but I was down to my last clean bra, and the bag was already at the door from earlier. I figured the place would be empty at that time of night so fuck it, why not? I grabbed the basket, slipped on some sliders, and headed downstairs, the washing in one hand, the glass of wine in the other. I padded down the concrete stairwell, yawning, pushing the door open with my hip.

That’s when I saw him.

The new guy from the floor above me. Mid-twenties, big noise-cancelling headphones resting around his neck. He looked up from his phone as I entered and his face turned quickly from polite acknowledgement to fear.

I looked down.

Fuck.

In the harsh overhead lights of the laundry room, the gown was almost completely transparent. Not just a bit thin; fucking see-through. My nipples, my stomach, the line of my pussy on full display. Even my thighs looked obscene, the lace trim flirting with my lips, barely covering them.

“Shit,” I muttered, hugging the basket higher up. “Sorry. I didn’t know anyone was down here.”

He blinked, looking away as he’d been caught, clearing his throat and laughing politely. “Oh, uh, no worries! It’s a communal area, right?”

He was trying not to look. Really trying. But his eyes kept flicking down before darting back to a spot somewhere above my head. Nervous guys kinda make me fucking horny, so I knew I had to get out of there quickly. Before I did something stupid and slutty…

“I’ll come back later–”

“No!” His voice cracked a bit. “It’s fine. I mean. I’ve only got a few minutes left.”

I looked at his machine and it was true; the display was counting down the last seven minutes of the cycle.

Seven minutes.

That’s all I had to last.

“Okay. Thanks.”

I tried to be normal, but my body was already moving, basket against my stomach as I passed him, my legs bare, my thighs rubbing together, the lace trim barely covering my ass. I could feel him looking, and without any invitation or control on my part, my nipples hardened with excitement, making them even more pronounced and obvious through the fabric.

Fuck. it was happening already.

“I’m really sorry,” I said, bending a little to place my basket on the floor. The slit rode up, revealing more of my ass. Naked. Round. Completely on display. If his head were any lower, he would have seen my pussy, too. “I thought this place would be empty at this time.”

He coughed. “Yeah. Me too, I guess.”

“Me too,” I said, as if I wasn’t obviously and completely naked, my tits stretching against the fabric and my freshly moisturized slit visible inches from him. “I’m Sarah, by the way.”

“Tom,” he said. His voice was soft. “You’re…from downstairs?”

“Yeah. 3B. Been here a few years.”

He nodded. Then added, “I’ve seen you around. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” I smiled.

We stood in silence for a second. The hum of the machines, the distant tick of pipes. Without warning, I pictured myself pushing him down and lifting my nightgown, straddling his face and using his tongue to make myself cum.

Jesus, I thought. Where did that come from?

I knelt by the basket and began to sort through my clothes, my head now the same height as the bulge in his sweatpants. I tried not to look at it. Tried not to think about what it would be like to get fucked on a washing machine like they do in movies.

I sorted my clothes. Shorts, skirts, tights, my little collection of low-cut tank tops. Then came the underwear, thin and small and slutty. One of the pairs was still slick with cum from using my vibrator earlier, and I put it on top of the pile, hoping he would look, fighting an internal war within myself, the forces of hornyness vs the forces of decency, my whole body starting to hum with the pleasure of male attention.

And to top it all off, I was getting wet.

Fuck.

Why am I like this? I asked myself as I allowed my movements to dislodge one of the straps of the nightgown and fall from my shoulder, pushing my tits together as I worked, knowing he had a perfect view of me, hoping he was wondering what it would feel like to fuck me. Or my tits. This is so embarrassing.

I looked him in the eyes, my body even more visible than when I walked in, this poor unsuspecting guy now confronted by a huge soft ass, titties that were spilling over the fabric, and a smooth moisturized pussy that was dripping.

I took a deep breath and reached out my hand.

“Could you pass me the detergent?”