Laundry Day

The sounds of laughter and shouting drift in the open windows and doors. The kids are outside, running with the neighborhood. But, you never know when they'll come tearing through the house. Frank's in the den, watching football. And, he tells me there's a must-see basketball game on tonight. Cool, I like basketball. The problem is that I am horny!

Last night was so good that I can't stop thinking about it. I love to do that, replay the past evening in my head, savoring the pleasure. But, like today, that often sends me off in search of my vibrator. Who needs movie star fantasies, when my own husband can do this to me?

Of course, that's when I'm alone. Today it is Grand Central Station around here. Where on earth can a girl get some privacy? And, what about the noise? That vibrator of mine sounds like a chainsaw starting up! Where, where? It has to be some place no one will be surprised to see me if they turn up unexpectedly. I've got it; downstairs in the laundry room. With the washer and dryer going, my sounds will be drowned out. And, heaven knows there is always plenty of laundry to do. So, I tuck my toy into the clothes hamper and head for the basement. As I pass the den, I see that Frank is dozing. Even better, I think.

Once I get the laundry rolling, I take time to contemplate my position. I wonder how soon I will be interrupted. I face so that I'll be more likely to see anyone that comes downstairs, and more likely hear if I should be called from upstairs. I lean back against the dryer and begin again to recall last night's loving. I imagine Frank's hands stroking and petting me, juicing me up for his cock. I think back on our hot kisses. And I picture his hard dick and remember how nice it was to suck and lick it before being fucked.

Soon, I am getting wet all over again. I stroke and press, working my clit back and forth with the tip of the vibrator. No prelude. I just want an orgasm. But, I must be having trouble relaxing, worried I'll be found out. I back off and try again. Stroke and press, stroke and press, this time more firmly, and with the shaft, not just the tip end. I am so close at times, then it slips away. In desperation, I grab a couple of clothes pins and clamp them to my nipples, pretending it is Frank pinching them, knowing that makes me even hotter.

In my frustration, I turn and lean over the washer, feeling the rhythm of the spin cycle. The vibrations of the washer reverberate through me. Thoughts of children, a napping husband and the need for stealth are forgotten. I am close again, but I just can't get there. Feeling desperate, I know I should give it up and go back upstairs. But, I can't.

Once again I become lost in the rhythm of the machine and the churning water sounds. By now I am fucking myself with the toy. Deep, deep, deep. Not my usual style. But, I am frantic now. Fuck and stroke. Rhythmically press, press. Fuck and stroke. I am consumed by last night's fire all over again. If I could just…

Suddenly, someone comes from behind and grasps my hair, forcing me to remain bent over the washer. It's Frank, I am sure. But, he won't let me see him. I feel his naked cock against me, rubbing up and down the cleft of my buttocks, while I continue to fuck myself with abandon. Now Frank presses me harder against the washer as he teases my ass and yanks the clothespins from my breasts, clamping down on my nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. I moan and utter something unintelligible. I'm getting there. As my body quivers and I rock against him, he grabs a thigh and lifts my leg, seeking that hole he is here for. Still squeezing my tits, he plunges into my wet cunt, thrusting in and out, while I press the vibrator against my clit. Oh please…Yes… there it is… Frank's lips, tongue, hot breath in my ear are all it takes. We explode into the heat at the same time, collapsing against the washer. We are both drenched in sweat, smelling of our love juices. Remaining very still, we catch our breath. Then Frank turns me toward him and gives me a tender, wet kiss.

The sound of a slamming screen door lifts us out of our reverie. Children's voices in the kitchen. Back to reality. As we head upstairs, we try to make sure we are presentable, no tell tale to give us away. We still haven't spoken to each other. We grin at each other as we enter the fray of family life. Then, my husband turns to me and says, "You know honey, if that was any indication, I'd love to get more involved with helping you around the house." I'll remember that.