Belly full of sugary-goodness, I showered while he did the dishes.
Then, we packed up every stitch of his clothing that had even a remote chance of being dirty, and loaded up his car.
We stopped at a convenience store, and he picked up some detergent and bought a couple of dryer balls.
“These are massive,” I noted.
“Yeah…I feel suddenly…inadequate.”
“Oh, Sweetie, you could never compare to these,” I said, gesturing to the nippled plastic balls, that looked more like children’s bath toys than anything sexual.
He rolled his eyes and drove on.
I unlocked the door to my apartment, and stepped aside so he could enter.
“Oh, Fucking Christ,” he said.
“You…” he turned around. “You fucking…” he pulled his hair and spun around the main room, taking in the stacked dishes and glasses and tea-cups.
“Hey,” I said. “You’ve got like…probably ten loads of laundry, here, buddy.”
“Yeah, but,” he looked around panicked, “this could take me all day!”
“How long do you think laundry takes?”
“I don’t know, sometimes I just throw clothes away and get new ones,” he said distractedly.
My eyes almost bulged out of my head.
You have NO room to talk, Swan. How many times have you bought new dishes in the past six months?
STFU, no one asked you.
He went into my kitchen, and was opening cabinets.
“Do you even have room for all these?”
“Um…I don’t know?”
“Fuck,” he said, pulling at his hair with both hands.
“Hey…do you even have room for all your clothes once they’re washed?” I looked at the three massive garbage bags setting against the couch.
“No,” he said looking away and resting his hands on his hips.
“Well, maybe we should figure out all that shit, before we waste any time.”
“Yeah,” he said.
We spent the next hour sorting clothes and dishes: he his, I mine.
Then he said he would do a sink full of dishes and then we’d do some laundry. “And by we, I mean, you, Swan. Naked.”
I bit my lip.
He washed and rinsed, and I put in the dish-drain.
He told me about a job he had washing dishes, and how the activity became a Zen-exercise in staying present.
The bulge in his pants suggested he was failing at that today.
When the dish drain was full, he turned to me and said, “Your turn.”
I put the clothes in, while he watched me like a teenager in a strip club. Then I carefully spun the dial to normal wash, and did a little dance while I removed my clothes. Eyebrows and other…things rose as more skin was revealed.
“You know, I think you’d like it more, if you participated,” I said as I pulled my bra off.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, pulling a chair over to the front of the washer and taking a seat.
“I want YOU naked, touching yourself, and talking to me…talking…um, dirty…to me.”
“Well, I think that could be arranged,” he said, pulling his own shirt off and tossing it aside.
“OK,” I said, and hopped up on the washer.
I was still in my panties, feeling a bit weird about rubbing my naked pussy on the cold metal.
“Why are you still clothed, Swan?” he asked, as he pulled his boxers down, and sat back in the chair, hand moving to his already hard dick.
“I…um,” I faltered, suddenly embarrassed. I wasn’t sure why, but…
He seemed to get it. He got up and put his arms around me, “Hey, hey,” he cooed, “It’s OK. Talk to me.”
“I’ve never done this in front of anyone, before,” I admitted.
“Masturbated on a washer?” He pulled away and looked at my face.
“Yeah—No…masturbated, in any way.”
“Oh…you mean…wait, don’t tell me you’ve never done it alone…or, uh…just never along with, or just watched or…?”
“I’ve never touched myself when I was with someone, unless we were fucking.”
“Well, I think you’ll like it,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Or, at least, I hope you will. I’m pretty sure I’m going to like it a lot,” he said.
“Here, why don’t you sit on this.” He grabbed a clean towel off the shelf above me, partially unfolding it, and then put his thumbs in the waistband of my panties. He looked at me to make sure I was on board.
I lifted my hips in silent permission.
He slid them down, and slid his hands back up, pulling my knees apart roughly and teasing around my slit with his thumbs.
“Is this how you get your clothes clean, Swan?” he asked, nipping at my earlobe.
“Mm-hm.” I nodded.
“Well, I’m gonna go sit over here,” he said, pointing to the lonely chair standing three feet away, “and I’m gonna supervise your technique.”
He stepped away, hand at his dick, and sat down, legs spread, and leaned back so his balls hung over the edge of the chair.
I leaned forward on the washer. My favorite cycle had just begun.
“Show me,” he said. “I want to see how a dirty girl gets off on a washer.”
I spread my legs, and gripped the corner of the dryer with the toes of one foot, while the other foot pressed into the opposite side of the washer. One hand steadied myself at the front, while the other did the same at the back.
I moved along with the machine.
“You are such a dirty slut, Swan. Grinding your pussy on top of the washer, instead of washing your dishes! Tell me what a dirty slut you are!”
Fuck! Was he? Oh, fucking…I almost came…I took a deep breath and looked right into his hypnotic eyes, “I’m a dirty fucking whore!”
“Tell me what you’ve been doing, instead of womanly chores!” he growled.
Fuck. He was totally baiting me.
I growled back and responded, “I’ve been getting myself off! Unnngf…I’ve been, fucking…shit!” I reached down and started to touch myself with my fingers.
“Stop that, you naughty little girl! Get your hands out of that pussy this instant!”
I looked up at him. He was pumping his cock furiously. He was totally getting off on this.
Fuck, so was I.
Should I be ashamed?
I slowly removed my hand and put it back on the washer.
“Good girl. Now pull your feet up on the edge of that washer and show me your filthy cunt.”
My legs were shaking as I complied. I was a dripping mess. Here I thought I was going to show him something…he had totally turned it around on me.
Of course, like I said, my pussy loves shiny new toys, so she was jumping for joy…er…salivating?
I presented myself to him.
“Fucking beautiful,” he said earnestly.
“Now,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Touch yourself. And tell me what you’re doing. I want to close my eyes and enjoy the sounds you’re making.”
“I’m rubbing my clit,” I said, tentatively.
“How? Tell me how,” he commanded, his breath hitching.
“Up and down, getting…um…the…uh, wetness, from…”
“Yes?” he said. “Are you getting your fingers wet from your pussy?”
“Yes,” I sighed, as I got even wetter, and rubbed harder.
“And…” he said.
“And…now I’m grinding on the towel and rubbing back and forth—sideways…oh,” I groaned. “It feels so good! I want to come!”
“Mmmm, yes, that’s good, love…do it, make yourself feel good,” he said, opening his eyes and watching me.
“I can feel the washer under me…it’s…it’s too good! And I’m touching myself…fuck I wish it was you!” I cried.
“Would you like me to fuck you?” he asked.
“Fuck! Yes!” I said, rubbing harder.
“Will you let me touch you first?” He asked, getting up from the chair in anticipation of an affirmative response. He was jacking off as he walked toward me.
“Yes, gods damn it!”
“Are you close?” he asked.
I looked at him in anger. Fuck, he wanted me to come on my own, first?
Well, duh, Swan, that’s what he asked for.
Furrowing my brow, I nodded and worked my pussy two-handed, which was difficult on the washer.
He steadied me with one hand, the rest of him achingly close to me, but refusing to touch anywhere but my shoulder.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he said.
I opened my eyes, and let go.
“Ahhhhhh!” I said, relief consuming the tension in my body like a flame.
I slumped against his chest heaving, my arms limp at my sides.
“Are you OK?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said breathlessly.
“Would you do me a kinky favor?”
“Will you put your fingers in your mouth?” he asked as his hands slid up my legs again.
I grinned and sucked on my fingers, making a show of it.
He growled and pulled my hips flush with the edge, pulling my fingers from my mouth, “You’re such a greedy little bitch, eh?”
“Fuck, yes!” I said.
“Are you ready for me?” he asked.
“Please!” I said.
“Lean back,” he said, all business, helping me steady myself with my hands behind me.
Then his mouth was on me again. My second orgasm came much quicker, assisted by long nimble fingers.
He pulled a condom out of nowhere, and then speared me with his cock, grunting loudly, and pulling me from the washer, carrying me to my bed.
“What the fuck?” he asked, spying my sheets in disarray.
“I’m not good a making my bed,” I admitted.
We flopped on the messy sheets, still connected, and we fucked like bunnies, missionaries and canines.
We lay facing each other, after.
“Well, you quickly got your stamina back,” I noted.
“Yeah, well, it was still hard.”
We fucked and did laundry and dishes well into the night. Around 3 a.m. I opened my laptop and emailed my boss, telling her I wouldn’t be into work onTuesday or Wednesday, either.
We took his clothes to his apartment, christening his freshly washed sheets, and then loaded up on “proper” groceries, as Edward called them, before heading back to my place.