Dirty Laundry

Author's Note: This is a mainstream rewrite of my incest story, Position of Trust.

***

If I had a girlfriend like Gemma, I would never treat her the way Paul does. I love him, he's my best mate. But he hasn't got the slightest clue who she really is. If he keeps this up, she's going to move out. And it's more than our waterfront apartment in Port Melbourne that I would lose.

I'm desperately in love with her.

"So what am I supposed to do?" Gemma whined in response to Paul's announcement that he was going to the football that night.

"Hang out with the Masterchef." He gestured towards me in the kitchen behind her. "He's not going anywhere."

"Whatever, Paul." She was furious about being abandoned on another Saturday night. "Just go. Watch your football," she sighed, then turned back to me to continue her cooking lesson.

I spent sixteen hours a day slaving in a hectic commercial kitchen. But with the first day I've had off in over a month, I was more than happy to spend the time with Gemma, teaching her how to cook. I didn't notice Paul leave as I continued showing her how to encrust a piece of swordfish with lemon myrtle.

But Gemma did. She sighed loudly, her big green eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness.

"Dry your eyes, Princess," I smiled with a click of my fingers, bringing her back to the task at hand.

She wrinkled her nose at me, and brushed a dark, errant curl behind her ear. Then she smiled brightly. If nothing else, Gemma was very easy to instruct. She threw herself back into expertly prepping the salad. Although she made a frightful mess, covering herself and the kitchen in assorted foodstuffs.

Once we were ready, we barbequed the swordfish out on the balcony, enjoying the unseasonably warm winter sun. It was one of those perfect moments, eating a delicious meal with a beautiful woman, overlooking the bay. I actually forgot for a while that she wasn't mine.

"How did I do, Chef?" Gemma beamed when we finished our meal. "You think I could get a job at the Park Hyatt with you?"

"Maybe waiting tables," I teased. I barked a laugh as I was struck in the side of the head with a balled up napkin. Picking up our empty plates, I stood up. "You did really good, Gem. Although you made a shitload of a mess."

"Hey," she protested, collecting our wine glasses and following me inside. "I'm an artist, not a cleaner."

I rolled my eyes and gave her a friendly smack on the ass, eliciting a squealing giggle. She was covered from head to toe in the ingredients of our lunch, so I sent her off to get changed while I got started on the bomb site she had created.

A few minutes later, I turned to see Gemma had pulled up a stool and was watching me clean down the kitchen. Her head was tilted slightly, with the ringlets of her chocolate brown hair bouncing off her shoulder. I snorted a laugh at her new t-shirt. It was the yellow one with the words, 'Cheer up emo kids.'

"You like it?" she smiled, sitting up and pushing out her chest. She had gorgeous, small breasts, which often meant she would go without a bra, allowing tantalising glimpses of the outline of her nipples.

My voice caught slightly, but I managed to croak out a response, before putting much more attention than was required into the coffee machine. "Do you want one?"

"No, thanks." She tapped the book that lay face down on the bench. "I'm just going to read for a bit outside."

"Oh, okay. What are you reading?"

Gemma didn't answer. Instead, she just grinned at me, sliding the book off the bench and holding it close across her stomach as she skipped out onto the balcony.

"Okay then," I smiled to myself, amused by Gemma's teasing.

With Paul gone and Gemma distracted on the balcony, it was the perfect time to participate in my dirty, little routine. I put half a load of my washing in the machine, then feigning some concern about the environment and wanting to make the most of the cycle, I called out to Gemma to ask if she had any lights she needed cleaned.

"Sure, Will. Thanks," she called back. "Just grab whatever you can find in our basket. Oh, and what's on the floor."

Victory! Permission to get my hands on her dirty underwear. I savoured the anticipation of the prize that awaited me in Paul and Gemma's dirty clothes basket. When I had waited as long as I dared, I went into their bedroom.

I scooped up Gemma's scattered clothes from the carpet, where she had stepped out of them the night before. Flicking the lid off the hamper in the corner, I fished out the lights and dropped in the bundle of darks I had retrieved, then stretched for the plain white t-shirt just out of reach. Then I saw them, a pair of tiny pale blue panties on the floor up against her bedside table.

Sitting on their bed, I bent down to pick them up. The softness of the satin instantly tingled my fingertips. I held them out in front of me, studying the cute little bow on the front of the waistband, and the frilly, lace embellishments down either side of the gusset. The '10' on the tag offered a seductive little thrill.

I exhaled slowly to try and calm my heartbeat. Then, turning them inside out, I held the crotch to my nose and mouth, and breathed in her scent. The hint of perfume combined with the earthy aroma of her sex brought me an indescribable relief.

I'm such a pervert, I silently confessed to myself, before deeply inhaling again.

I balled up her panties in my pocket and took the bundle of lights to the laundry cupboard in the hall. Loading one garment at a time into the machine, I sniffed at each pair as I went, but none of the intoxicating delicates were quite as fresh as the pale blues I already had.

I got the cycle started, then fishing out her panties again, I took another long, comforting sniff. When I opened my eyes, I noticed Gemma out on the balcony.

She wasn't in my direct line of sight, but I could see her clearly reflected in the glass of the large print of Coolidge's dogs playing poker that hung in the hall.

Illuminated by the early afternoon sun, she was sitting at the outdoor table, reading with her bare feet up on the chair beside her. From my vantage point, I could see the front of the novel. I chuckled to myself as I recognised the colours and shapes of the cover, albeit inverted in the reflection. She was reading Fifty Shades of Grey.

With my forbidden secret safely back in my pocket, I watched her. She was engrossed in her book, turning the pages every minute or so with considerable urgency. I noticed her lick her lips and swallow, her lips shiny and coming to rest slightly parted. A pinkish hue too, began to spread across her cheeks and neck.

I focussed on the deepening rise and fall of her chest as she read, and I flushed with warmth as I caught sight of her perky nipples hardening beneath that yellow t-shirt. I began to grow hard myself, my cock straining against my tracksuit pants.

Gemma pulled her sunglasses down her nose, then looked over the top of the rims into the apartment. I stepped out of view behind the cupboard door, and counted to ten before moving back into position to spy her reflection. Obviously not seeing me, I watched her push her glasses back up and sink back into her chair.

She rubbed her bottom lip with the tip of her index finger as she resumed reading, then began slowly tracing a path over her chin and down her throat. When her finger found her nipple, mine once again found the pale blue satin. I breathed her in as she circled the proud point atop her breast, then pinched the engorged nub with a twist through her t-shirt. The sensation caused her to bite her bottom lip.

As Gemma repeated the process with her other breast, I released my aching cock from my pants and began to stroke. The slimy pre-cum already at the tip provided half the lubrication I needed. I licked my palm for the rest and began pumping my fist up and down my shaft.

Watching her tease her nipples while smelling her earthy musk, I was lost.

Her finger continued its journey down her stomach, no doubt an imaginary substitute for the riding crop I guessed she was reading about at that very moment. I held my breath as her fingers approached the hem of her t-shirt. My own hand was frozen in a tight grip around the head of my cock.

Time stood still as Gemma, excruciatingly slowly, lifted her hand from her waist to turn the page. She turned her head to check again that I wasn't watching her from inside, and satisfied I wasn't, she licked her lips once more before returning her right hand to its task.

"Oh my God," I actually heard myself gasp in response to Gemma's fingers burrowing beneath the waistband of her yoga pants.

The fabric bulged across the back of her hand between her legs as she masturbated in the relative privacy of our balcony. I resumed my own strokes, keeping in time with the tiny, twitching motions inside Gemma's pants. But I was quickly losing control.

Taking one last, splendid whiff of her underwear, I wrapped the precious garment around my cock. The silky smooth sensation of Gemma's panties sliding up and down the full length of my hardness was too much.

I erupted in spurt after groaning spurt of thick cum into those lovely pale blue panties. I actually had to brace myself against the vibrating washing machine to keep from buckling at the knees. Squeezing the swollen, sensitive head of my cock, I milked every last drop of semen into them.

Folding my cum into her underwear, I lifted the lid of the washing machine and threw them in with the rest of the load. I took a minute to slow my breathing as I put myself away and looked at the reflection of Gemma on the balcony.

Her hand was a lot farther down the front of her pants, and the way the sunlight caught the stretched fabric, I could tell she was fingering herself. Gemma threw her head back, biting her bottom lip. The delicious squirm of her whole body told me she was close.

It was then that the idea struck me. I smiled wickedly at the thought.

I strode out into the living area and threw open the sliding door to the balcony. I was two steps outside before Gemma noticed me, her soft moan of pleasure twisting into a shocked gasp.

Drifting around the table, I kept my eyes locked on the dark lenses of her sunglasses and delighted in the crimson flush of Gemma's cheeks. She subtly slipped her hand from her yoga pants, masking the move by laying the book on her lap. It was all I could do to keep a straight face.

I lifted Gemma's feet from the chair and sat, placing them back down across my lap. Ratcheting up the tension by remaining silent, I revelled in the effort she was making to control her heavy breathing. I couldn't help but smirk. The sunlight caught the sheen on her fingers, glinting slightly as she dried her slender digits discretely on the outside of her thigh.

"Good book?" I teased, knowing I had denied her the release she was so close to achieving.

Gemma wet her lips before breathing an incredibly tortured, "Uh-huh."

"Hmmm," I smiled. I was far too pleased with myself.

We chatted a while on the balcony, enjoying the cool, salty breeze from the bay, and listening to the sounds of machinery loading the Spirit of Tasmania, carried by the wind. I caressed her shins through her black yoga pants, gently kneading the firm flesh of her calves. Her embarrassment eventually faded, but I noticed when I started rubbing her feet, she blushed again. I petted her knee to let me up, and she lifted her feet. As I went inside, I caught Gemma's reflection in the sliding door. She was watching me walk away over the rim of her sunglasses, her brow furrowed in a bemused frown.

For the rest of the afternoon, I took great delight in making sure Gemma never had an opportunity to finish what she started. Every few minutes or so, I would reappear, offering her a drink, striking up a conversation, or just lingering by the balcony doors. I even interrupted her retreat to her bedroom to return her fresh laundry.

We watched the orange sunset over the bay, and the Spirit of Tasmania slip the dock to begin its overnight journey down south to the Apple Isle. The ferry's horn blasted in the distance, and we discussed our plans for the evening.

"I just want to snuggle up and watch some nice, girlie movies," she hummed. "Are you in?"

"Yeah," I smiled. "That sounds perfect."

It was nothing fancy for dinner, just reheated leftovers. While we ate on our laps in front of the television, Paul called Gemma before the next game started. It was his trademark guilt call. And she was her usual, passive aggressive martyr in response. But eventually, Gemma assured Paul she would be all right, letting him go off to his game with impunity so she could enjoy her movie night. When she hung up, she snuggled up to me on the couch.

We started the first movie, Sweet Home Alabama, and I became very conscious of Gemma's body pressed up against mine, and the soft, vanilla scent of her hair. She held my left hand between hers on my lap, and my right arm was around her shoulders, gently stroking her upper arm.

As the sweeter scenes of the movie played, I felt Gemma snuggle in tighter. I squeezed her reassuringly and kissed the top of her head, which was now resting on my chest. It wasn't specifically me she wanted, I knew. It was the comfort of feeling close to someone, anyone.

Her soft breast squashed against my side, and her firm thigh rubbed against mine. I lost track of the movie, instead basking in every tactile sensation. Gemma crossed her legs towards me, rubbing my shin slowly with her instep. And the hand sandwich on my lap crept almost imperceptibly closer to my aching hardness.

A thousand thoughts flooded my brain as I sat there with my flatmate's girlfriend squirming against me. The romance of the movie only added to the tension of my thundering heartbeat. I could hear Gemma's breathing against my chest, shallow and uneven. As time went on, it only got worse.

Gradually those thousand thoughts diminished to just one: fuck her!

Gritting my teeth, my own ragged breath signalled my desire. I was going to do it. I had to. I couldn't take her rubbing herself against me anymore. She was teasing me. She had to be.

She wanted me to make a move. She wanted to get back at Paul for abandoning her.

Fuck her! NOW!

I leapt off the couch and grabbed Gemma by the hips. Her beautiful green eyes were saucers as she gasped with surprise. I pulled her down onto the floor. Clawing my fingertips into the waistband of her yoga pants and panties, I pulled both down roughly over the soft flare of her curves and down her long, shapely legs.

Gemma's mouth hung open, frozen in shock. I snatched her panties from the puddle of clothes on the floor, and balling them in my fist, I shoved them in her mouth as a makeshift gag. Then I manhandled the hem of her t-shirt up her body, causing her perky, little breasts to bounce free. I gasped myself, getting a perfect view of her fresh globes in the dim light of the television. She barely resisted as I yanked her shirt up over her face, and up the length of her arms.

With her yellow top at her wrists, now held above her head, I twisted her t-shirt around and around to bind her hands together. Then straining to lift the front corner of the couch, I forced the twisted cotton behind the stubby timber leg to hold her in place.

Stretched out on the floor underneath me, completely naked, tied up and gagged by her own panties, Gemma was the sexiest thing I had ever seen.

I crawled over the top of her, making sure not to touch her. She trembled, her modest breasts jiggling slightly beneath the erect nipples that betrayed her excitement. I stared into her eyes, until eventually, she dipped her gaze submissively.

"You little tease," I whispered, touching the end of her nose with my index finger. Then running it over her chin and down her throat, I continued, "I'm going to fucking use you."

Gemma shuddered, snorting heavily through her nose. I ran my finger between her breasts, then slowly circled each nipple, careful not to touch either engorged nub. Making my way down her impossibly taut belly, I looped her navel, then continued south. The short curls of dark pubic hair, shaped into a cute muff over her mound, nearly made me come as I ran my finger back and forth.

"Open your legs, Gemma," I very slowly breathed.

Her whole body squirmed as she released the tension that was holding her thighs tightly together. My body flushed with warmth as her legs carefully parted. Gemma's familiar scent filled my nostrils, and the glow from the television illuminated the slick sheen of moisture which had spread halfway down her inner thighs.

"You little slut," I chuckled as I spiralled my finger across the soft, slippery flesh of her leg, inching closer and closer to her sex.

I shoved my track pants down over my ass, my cock springing free as I shuffled between Gemma's legs. Guiding the helmet head of my cock to her opening, I drove myself deep inside her, in one, forceful thrust.

Sheathed in her sopping wet heat, the moan caught in the back of my throat. I began to fuck her with long, slow deliberate strokes, digging my cock into her as deeply as I could. I kissed and licked the side of her face, sucking on her ear and whispering obscenities. As I ground myself into her, I grabbed a handful of her curly, chocolate mane, pulling her head back and exposing her neck. I licked and sucked at Gemma's silky smooth skin, almost devouring her.

I pounded Gemma's pussy for all I was worth, pumping into her with lusty abandon. The noise of her snatch slurping with every thrust rose above the deafening sound of slapping flesh and heavy breathing.

My climax built, warming my entire body with a growing tingle. I knew I was close, and held on as long as I could, wanting to savour every last moment. But no longer able to control myself, I buried my cock to the hilt in her sopping cunt and came inside her, flooding her womb with my seed.

I lay spent on top of her, inside her, paralysed by the sensitivity of my orgasm. Gemma's chest heaved beneath me as she too fought to regain her breath. After a few minutes, I sat back onto my heels, allowing my softening cock to slip from her used pussy. My cum was already starting to ooze out, trickling down the crack of her ass onto the carpet.

Her face was turned to the side, resting on her arm. I leaned over her, turning her chin to face me. Gemma kept her eyes cast down. She still had her panties stuffed in her mouth. I tugged on the delicate lace, but she bit down, not letting me remove the gag.

"Mmm," I grinned. "You still want more?"

Her emerald eyes met mine by way of reply, blazing with intensity. I flushed again, not able to believe my luck.

"Do you want to come?" I taunted.

Keeping our eyes locked, Gemma nodded. I wound her hair into another ponytail and wrenched her head back, sucking and biting at her neck.

"You filthy little slut," I growled as I nuzzled my way between her collar bones. "You'll come when I say you can come. Do you understand?"

I felt Gemma's head nod obediently against the side of my face as I kissed my way down between her breasts, following the same path my finger had taken earlier. But this time, my mission was different.

I sucked her erect nipple into my mouth, biting down and flicking the sensitive nub over and over with the tip of my tongue as I kneaded the jelly-soft flesh of her breast with my hand. Gemma twitched beneath me, fighting to hold back the groans and whimpers that escaped through her panties. I pinched her other nipple and rolled it firmly between my thumb and forefinger, twisting it hard every now and then to elicit another muffled yelp.

Sucking and nipping my way across the smooth skin of her stomach, I splayed her thighs wide apart and dived head first into her creamy slit. The pungent earthiness of my own cum mixed with Gemma's arousal was intoxicating. I plunged my tongue deep inside her dripping folds and lapped up everything she had to give.