Debbie Likes to Read

Laundry Room

by P. Ness Maximus

Snap, click, whish, and the cap rolls off the beer bottle to land on the carpet in front of the TV. Monday night football, why not?

My apartment is lit only by the flickering commercials and the small green lights of the stereo still playing the new used CD for the tenth time. A very sexy re-mix to torture myself with; as if it could bring some enchanting experience that my impoverished social life has failed to provide.

Torture and comfort, reminding me of encounters past, kisses kissed and souls entwined, inevitably to be replaced eventually by a new love interest. Not tonight, though.

I sigh, resigned to domestic behavior and scan my small room with half interest at the teething piles of responsibility, mostly vertical files of bills, dishes, and laundry.

‘The diagnosis is Severe Bachelorism, I declare, and the prognosis is...fuck it!’ I turn off the stereo and replace the mood with CNN highlights for a semblance of companionship as I tackle the laundry first. It’s late so I guess no one else in the complex is doing laundry. I figure I might even get the energy up to get a few groceries since no one will be in my way at the convenience store either.

The CNN blah-crisis-blah-blah fades as I shut my door and the only sound is the shuffle of my sandals on the hallway carpet, then the ding of the elevator, then the memory of my new music until I am completely absorbed in a sound that isn't there, in a place with no sound at all. I don't remember leaving the elevator or walking down the lengthy bland hallway to the laundry room. I don’t remember entering it or even preparing my first load.

My attention begins with the first dryer cycle as I prepare to load wet clothes. In the dryer I behold a piece of garment left from some other tenant. I pick it up and inspect a white lace...panties? I smile.
‘Nice trophy.’

Completely unscrutinized I can't resist. The smell of fresh panties smells like anything else just washed, still I search for the scent of some unknown woman lurking in the lace. Fabric softener smells like perfume to my imagination and detergent becomes sweet sweat and a tinge of cum.

‘I wonder if you can fuck like you smell?’ I ask myself, not realizing I said it out loud, but it echoed in the room. Oh well, I'm alone. I smell it again.
‘Yes, I can...’ whispers out from behind me, a woman's voice soft and lacey like the panties still crumpled to my face. Man I got some fucking imagination!

And I turn slowly equally afraid of looking into the face of a secret witness as of finding there a beauty to answer to as of realizing I am, in fact, a bit crazy. Very crazy.

She was there, though, breathtaking, but simple, no make-up with only an oversize t-shirt and slippers. Dark hair pinned up, big smiling eyes and full lips, quivering. Afraid? I thought, or perhaps embarrassed for me.
‘I, uh...really?’ I smile back, lowering the panties to present to her.

‘Are these yours?’ I ask boldly.
I want to fuck you so bad, I think in my head, forgetting to be embarrassed.

She glances at them, looks past them to my crotch nearly bulging out of my jeans, then steps closer, her mouth definitely quivering, almost electric. She touches my hand without saying a word as she recovers the panties, then, surprisingly, places them over her nose and mouth, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath in imitation of my laundry ritual.

‘Mmmmmm.... she breathes out, yes, yes, sweet cum from sweet fucking, yes, I can still smell it here,’ she says calmly, almost dreamlike. The laundry room lights seem to fade to candle-light as I step a bit closer.

‘Must have been really good to make you so understanding,’ I venture. Her eyes open wide, childlike, pouring into mine like wine from a fine vintage, and I get the impression she wants exactly what I want and we are both tremendously enjoying this passage into what will soon happen.

Am I really here? Is this for real, I go to pinch myself, my own mouth stuck with words unable to form. She is a very clever girl and swiftly brings her hand behind me and pinches my ass through my pulsing jeans.

‘Don't worry, it's just a dream, you sick puppy,’ she whispers, almost right in my ear, so close I can smell the gum in her mouth and the shampoo in her hair and the unmistakable aroma of desire flowing from her skin. Pheromones, I think they call them, is that right?

As I ponder to myself her lips are locked on mine and she is pulling up her t-shirt, revealing abso-fucking-lutely fucking nothing underneath.

Her nipples are small but erect like my cock, the laundry is clicking and buzzing from the blood pounding in my body and she is slowly nibbling on my ears while sliding the clean white panties up her smooth legs to her freshly shaven pussy.

She directs one of my hands, sweating, to her thighs and like a director guides my middle finger across her moist clit. Her breath is on my neck and I move my fingers to probe inside her, but she withdraws away from me quickly so I think I'm about to snap out back to an empty room.

She's still there, but giggling, and deftly plants herself on top of the dryer, legs spread open, her hand moving across her crotch, teasing herself.
‘Fuck me here, panty-man!’ she demands sweetly, leaning back. ‘Unbelievable’, I think aloud and she is pulling the lace to the side and spreading her pussy open while her eyes are fixed on mine and my hard cock somehow at the same time.

I unzip my jeans as I lean forward and blow a soft breath onto her clit, causing her to whine impatiently and coo like a dove as I bring my tongue to the top of her clit, just the top, where the edge of her fingers allow me to be. Her feet help my jeans to the floor as I stand back up revealing a hard cock moving rhythmically back and forth with the pounding of fresh blood from my chest.

I tease her pussy with my cock when all of a sudden her legs wrap tight around me forcing my entire cock into her. Her lips fasten securely onto my face and her arms grab my ass tight so that I can barely move at all. I don't need to. On that dryer her ass is moving swiftly forward and backward and I get fucked for twenty minutes doing almost nothing at all… like some appliance.

I don't care. She fucks slow sometimes, sometimes fast with grunts and hard little bites of her lips and tongue all over my neck, chest and arms.

Fucking me in rhythm like a laundry cycle, first rinsing with kisses then spinning wildly, her body whipping around on top of the machine so that her face is pressed into the laundry controls and her ass is pumping at me, her tits shaking forward and backward on top of the machine. I stand there all the while, adding an occasional thrust to accelerate her ecstasy.

She's almost fucking the dryer as much as my cock, I think, towards the end of her pleasure cycle. When she's done, she giggles and faces me again, waves of delight spreading over her face, and pops sprightly off the machine, dripping with clean cum.

‘Final rinse!’ she announces, squatting between me and the dryer, then she grabs my dick and runs her tongue generously up, down, around, and then completely around my bursting cock. I give her the whole load as her eyes look into mine, my hands pressing her head against me as her ass presses against the dryer. She stands up, mouth full, smiling a very naughty smile, then slowly undresses the panties.

She spits my cum into the panties already stained with her sweat and cum, and says,
‘Clean, clean. All clean, panty-man.’
She hands me back my trophy, me laughing, presses it hard into my hands, then walks away. Out the door, saying nothing.

‘Hey, where are you...?’
I start to take off after her, get her name, anything. As I round the corner I bump into a stranger coming in, an older woman, shockingly unlike the panty girl who just hosed her panty man, and she lets out a bleep, startled.

‘Excuse me!’ she says, friendly, and then, looking down at my trophy, ‘Hey, I came back for those! Isn't that mine you got there?’ her tone started to change.
‘Umm, well… I began to reply, are they?’
I got uncomfortable, my eyes surveyed the hallway looking for my dryer-whore. My sweet sexy dryer whore...

‘I guess these are yours.’
I plant the panties into the hands of ...whoever, and walk swiftly down the hall.
‘Nice and clean!’ I announce over my the distance I barely hear, 'What the hell?'...

Return to Deb 2 To Read