Speaker 1: It's Monday, September eighth, and time for your daily fuck.
Speaker 1: The laundromat smells a bleaching ozone, a sterile scent that
Speaker 1: feels at odds with the grime in the corners. It's
Speaker 1: almost two in the morning. The only sounds are the
Speaker 1: low hum of the fluorescent mites and the heavy rhythmic thump, thump,
Speaker 1: dump of my sheets tumbling in an industrial sized tryer.
Speaker 1: I'm the only one here. Almost across the room, under
Speaker 1: the flickering lights, a man sits slouched in one of
Speaker 1: the hard plastic chairs. He's rugged, with a thick beard
Speaker 1: and arms covered in that tapestry with intricate faded tattoos.
Speaker 1: He hasn't moved in an hour, just turns the page
Speaker 1: of a warm paperback book every few minutes. But I
Speaker 1: feel his eyes on me every time I get up.
Speaker 1: I feel his gaze on my body when I look over.
Speaker 1: He's always back to his book, but the air's thick
Speaker 1: with the attention he's pretending not to pay. The dryer
Speaker 1: buzz is a harsh sound that signals the end of
Speaker 1: the cycle. The thumping stops, and the silence that falls
Speaker 1: feels heavy with opportunity. This is it. I could fold
Speaker 1: my laundry and leave, or I look down at my
Speaker 1: own thin floral sundress. It's probably clean enough, but an
Speaker 1: idea sharp and wicked, sparks in my mind. For the
Speaker 1: last hour, every move I've made has been for him.
Speaker 1: I decide this next one will be two. I stand
Speaker 1: up and make a show of stretching my arms, reaching
Speaker 1: for the ceiling, my back arched. I feel his gaze
Speaker 1: like a physical touch. Then I'd hook my thumbs into
Speaker 1: the straps of my sundress and in one smooth motion,
Speaker 1: pull it over my head. I stand there for a
Speaker 1: moment in the harsh light, wearing nothing but a simple
Speaker 1: black brath and matching panties. I don't look at him,
Speaker 1: but I can feel the weight of his stare, the
Speaker 1: sudden stillness from his corner of the room. I walk
Speaker 1: to an empty washing machine. The cool andoleum flora shocked
Speaker 1: my bare feet. I tossed my dress inside, had splash
Speaker 1: a detergent, and then turn to the controls. I glance
Speaker 1: over my shoulder. He puts his book down. His full
Speaker 1: attention is on me now, his expression unreadable but intense.
Speaker 1: I stop a few feet away, leaning against the machine
Speaker 1: next to his chair. Excuse me, I can never figure
Speaker 1: these things out. Which do you think is better A
Speaker 1: gentle tumble or something a little bit more agitated. His
Speaker 1: eyes travel from my face, down my body, and back
Speaker 1: up again. A slow, knowing smirk is his only answer.
Speaker 1: Because I take a step closer. I have a feeling
Speaker 1: I might be the dirtiest thing in this laundromat tonight,
Speaker 1: and I don't think a regular wash is going to
Speaker 1: give me clean That's what a take. He stands up, slowly,
Speaker 1: unfolding to his full height. He's taller than I thought.
Speaker 1: He doesn't say a word, just closes the distance between us.
Speaker 1: He stops right in front of me, his heat and
Speaker 1: his scent, soap and something musky, entirely male enveloping me.
Speaker 1: He reaches out, not to grab me, but to gently
Speaker 1: trace the outline of the swallow tattoo on my shoulder
Speaker 1: with a calloused finger. The touch is electric. Then his
Speaker 1: hand slides to the back of my neck and he
Speaker 1: pulls me into a kiss. It's rough, hungry, tasting of coffee,
Speaker 1: and pure dominance. It's everything I hoped it would be.
Speaker 1: He breaks the kiss and spins me around, pushing my
Speaker 1: hands flat against the top of a washing machine that
Speaker 1: has just entered its spin cycle. The deep, powerful vibration
Speaker 1: buzzes through the metal and straight into my palms. Bend over.
Speaker 1: It's the first words he's spoken. I don't hesitate. I
Speaker 1: bend forward, resting my forms on the vibrating machine. The
Speaker 1: position pushes my ass up into the air. He yanks
Speaker 1: my pennies down my legs and they fall to the
Speaker 1: grimy floor. I feel a cool air on my exposed,
Speaker 1: wet skin, and then I feel him. He's huge, the
Speaker 1: head of his cart pressing against me, parting my slick folds.
Speaker 1: He doesn't wait, he just shoves himself inside me. A
Speaker 1: sharp gasp escapes my lips. He feels me completely, a
Speaker 1: single dominant thrust that steals my breath. The vibration from
Speaker 1: the washing machine radiates through my body, meeting in my
Speaker 1: pelvis whereas cock is pounding into me. It's an electrifying
Speaker 1: symphony of sensation. He grips my hips, his fingers digging
Speaker 1: into my skin, using him as handles to slam himself
Speaker 1: into me, over and over. The rhythmic thump, thump, thump
Speaker 1: of his body against mine joins the chorus of the laundromat.
Speaker 1: My own hand snakes down between my legs, my finger's
Speaker 1: easily finding my clit, and a slick mess he's made
Speaker 1: of me. The vibrations from the machine, the friction of
Speaker 1: his deep thrusts in, the frantic circling of my own
Speaker 1: fingers are creating a perfect storm inside me. I'm close,
Speaker 1: so close, the raw, gritty reality of always the most
Speaker 1: powerful aphrodisiac I've ever known. I press my face against
Speaker 1: my arm, the muffled at scream building in my throat.
Speaker 1: My orgasm hits me like a freight train, a violent
Speaker 1: shuddering wave that makes the vibrations from the machine feel
Speaker 1: like a gentle tremor. My whole body clenches around him
Speaker 1: as I come, my inner muscle spasming uncontrollably. My comax
Speaker 1: pushes him over his own edge with a final roar,
Speaker 1: This lost in the noise of the dryers. He empties
Speaker 1: himself deep inside me, his hot colm a shocking, welcome flood.
Speaker 1: He pulls out his breathing, harsh I lean against the machine.
Speaker 1: My legs tremble him too much to stand. He doesn't
Speaker 1: say a word. He just zips up his fly gives
Speaker 1: me a single dark look, grabs a bass at a
Speaker 1: folded baundry, and walks out of the laundromat, the bell
Speaker 1: over the door chiming his exit. I'm left alone in
Speaker 1: the buzzing silence, leaning against a now still machine, a
Speaker 1: complete and glorious mess. My laundry is clean, but I've
Speaker 1: never felt so absolutely, wonderfully dirty in my life