As I’ve mentioned before, I live in an apartment building. Life in the city can be a heck of a lot more interesting than living in the burbs. Take for instance the simple, routine, monotonous, and banal act of doing the laundry. In the burbs, every home has its own private washer and dryer. But in my building – fortunately – we have a series of washers and driers (coin operated, of course) in the basement. There are also two basement apartments adjacent to the laundry facilities. Now, none of this is very special until you take a nympho like Lo and add her to the mix.
The other night I was throwing all the dirty laundry in the basket to take it down to the nether-realm for the weekly spin-cycle. (Having Lo stay over and tossing her dirty panties and bras in my hamper gives me some incentive to be prompt about this otherwise uninteresting task.) Well, Lo insisted on going with me. “It’s late, Daddy,” she said, “and I worry about you down there in that dark room all by yourself.” I didn’t put up any objection and so the two of us went down to the basement together.
As I was separating the whites from the rest, she sat in her little miniskirt on top of one of the front-load driers that was rumbling and tumbling. As she sat there enjoying the thrill ride, she allowed the hem of her skirt to inch its way up her thighs until she was revealing her “commando-style” puss peeking out from underneath. She stroked herself a couple of times and said, “Don’t you want me, Daddy?”
Before I could say a word, she hopped down from her perch and got on her knees and said, “Come on, Daddy, let me have a lick!”
“Lo, we’re not in the privacy of our own home here!”
“Just a lick!”
“Lo – laundry!”
That was no frightful command for her. It only arouses her more when I raise my voice in that paternalistic tone. She undid my belt and dropped my pants around my ankles as she began to satisfy the craving in the back of her throat. For my part, I have to admit that I wasn’t totally impervious to the cunning use of her mouth. Before I knew what I was doing, I had lifted her up, turned her around, slammed her down on the top of the dryer, pulled up her skirt over her ass, and was feverishly trying to impale her from behind. She lifted, willingly, effortlessly, on her toes in order to accommodate my height. Finding just the perfect angle, I rammed it home – gliding it in like a skewer into a ripe, juicy peach.
I thrust deeply, lifting her up off her feet as her arms spread eagle on the top of the dryer, clutching at the edges to hold on. Soon she and the dryer were rocking together and making an awful racket down there. Before long she was piercing the silence with purrs and screeches of pleasure and, when I knew I had hit my mark, I let her down gently and removed myself from her tempting treat between her legs. She couldn’t stand and she slowly slid down the side of the dryer, eyeing my shaft as I placed it back in my pants and adjusted my crotch.
Later, as we were lying in bed, she said to me, “We weren’t caught down there in the laundry room, but the threat of it is what got me off.”