The Laundromat
"Honey, something’s wrong with the dryer..."
Lynda waved a mahogany-frost manicured hand between her hubby's gaze and the TV.
"Honey, something's wrong with the Yankees...3 hits in the last 2 games." He didn't even look up.
"Well its nearly ten o'clock and my underwear's soaking wet and I have a dark load still to wash!" Her voice had gone from singsong to opera diva. "Never mind, I'll go to the Washeria and finish it." She was calm again, resigned. "Just pretty please call someone in the morning..."
"OK. Better put some clothes on."
Lynda rolled her eyes. "Why bother? Who would notice a fat old woman with a laundry basket." She tossed a trashy romance novel into the basket, picked up her bag and swirled out the door to the garage. He glanced up to see her short denim skirt tug at her upper thigh and her camisole top fluttering well above her waist leaving at least 3 inches of tummy-flab exposed. A delicate golden anklet was all there was between her flip-flop sandals and her upper thigh.
"Dayum," was all he said.
Lynda put her load in the dryer at the laundromat, started the darks and sat down to read. Three or four other customers, mostly women were finishing up, and Lynda smiled and waved as each one left. One, though, was a late-20s tall skinny guy, who was obviously not used to dealing with washing machines. She helped him sort through lights and darks and explained how to set the knobs. He was very conscious that the person helping him was very feminine and barely half dressed. She would have turned bright red had she known the effect she was having.
She sat back down to read, then noticed her pedicure was chipped, badly. She slipped out of her flip flops and took a bottle of Coral Blush from her bag and redid her toes. They were just dry when her dryer stopped. She began folding each item as she removed it, bikini and thong underwear, lace and plain hipsters, a pair or 2 of granny panties. One pair of lacy high cut French Vanilla undies was tangled up and she held them up to see why. And saw him staring. She gasped, audibly.
He looked away, then looked back, with a sad guilty face. "I'm sorry, couldn't help... just the thought of you wearing that, so pretty.." He trailed off, embarrassed to be caught.
Lynda felt his vulnerability, she could not be mad, he was so awkward. "It's ok, really," She said, and walked over to him and gently hugged him.
He couldn't get out any words, just embraced her. She turned to keep her balance and that's when she felt him, erect in his cargo shorts and now pressing against her bare midriff. It was her turn to gasp. He mumbled something and started to back off, but she held him.
"Dear, its my fault, don't feel badly and don't go." He leaned against her, not believing and almost came in his pants. She caressed his neck and ran her hands down his sides to his waist. He was looking at her, eyes wide, mouth half open.
Lynda pulled a chair around so she could sit down in front of him, sweetly said, "May I?" She didn't wait for an answer, just undid the button and her nails scratched his legs as she pulled down his shorts. There was nothing under them and he sprang free and bobbed up and down in front of her face. Her hands slid back up his legs, over his knees, and between and up his thighs to surround and clutch his bag. He groaned, leaned against the washer behind him, and put his hands on her pale bare shoulders. Then she had him in both hands rolling and kneading it. She moaned softly, and her lips made a tattoo of red lipstick just behind the ridge.
She felt him quicken as she delicately nursed on his tip and guided him with both hands. He stretched and groaned. She slipped one hand down his length to his base and cuddled around it. Her other hand picked up stroking him as she slid him from her mouth, just in time. His first spurt went in her hair. He grunted as the second wave shot from his manhood and splattered on her cleavage just above the camisole. Then he was thrashing and his honey just went every which-a-way. On her skirt, arm, her camisole, and finally as he subsided, it oozed over her hands. His breathing gradually eased. And Lynda realized she was soaking wet, down there, and not from his honey.
"Oh my!" She looked around, "We better get you dressed." She smiled at him, he was still speechless. She wiped his honey off on her thighs and skirt, which was nearly up to her waist. Then she pulled up and buttoned his pants. Kissed him through his shorts, leaving a smudge of lipstick on the zipper cover.
He was about to ask if he could take her home for the night when she screamed, well half screamed. A man, probably in his mid-40s was standing 6 feet away, openly masturbating. He had not said a word and they had been so preoccupied they had not seen him come in. She sat there, deer-in-headlights eyes, her skirt up so far that her moist sheer bikini showed clearly. Her new friend had an urge to be a hero that he stifled. He was too mellow from the massive cum he had just had. And he was mesmerized by the large dark skinned man deliberately manipulating what had to be 10 inches long.
His voice was gentle but somehow demanding, "Am sorry to frighten you, but I have watched a lot of sex movies, even extreme porn in my life. None of it can touch what I just saw and heard. Lady, you are one gorgeous and sexy woman, absolutely elegant. I'm willing to pay you, cash, a lot, for you to do even half of what you just did to him.”
Lynda nearly fainted. And could not remember being so wet in a very long time. She looked up at her new friend, whose mouth was open, dumbly.
"Darling," she said softly, "please keep an eye on the door, and jump up and down if anyone else darkens it. Pretty please." And to the stranger, "I'm Lynda, so nice to meet you." She beckoned him with her index finger and he walked, still fondling himself all the while, over to her.
She looked up at him, and then at his manhood. "Dear, it's kind of my fault that you are, so... anyway, I will pretend I never heard a word about money."
She took him in both hands and began to fondle him, running her nails along the length, scratching at his base. He leaned back, enjoying, sizing her up. Then she began stroking him intently, teasing, testing his endurance. And she realized she wanted it somewhere else. Her left hand wandered down his leg to hers. Lynda parted her legs and began touching in her garden, then rubbing circles over her responding pearl. She was suddenly very dizzy with feelings welling up. Her excitement, lust, was taking him to the brink, his sap was rising.
Her right hand pulled on him, it was almost automatic now, and she whimpered as she felt herself wavering. Then she was momentarily still, her back arched and legs spread even more. She held a death grip on his manhood, which had began weeping. Then she tensed, and the waves came, Her soprano cries went from his ears to his groin and he grunted and a glob of cream drooled out and fell on her skirt. Then it shot, splattering on her shoulder and her arm and camisole right over a breast.
Her friend-become lookout rubbed himself through his pants. He groaned and tried to cum again, but fell back. The others didn't even notice.
Lynda wiped the last of the man's cream on her tummy. "Body lotion." She smiled. He put himself back together and reached for his wallet. She shook her head, but needlessly, as he handed her, not money, but a business card.
"I'd ask for your number, but somehow I know you can't give it out, he said."
Lynda nodded. As she reached for the card, a glob of his cum dripped from her wedding rings. She was still swirling dizzy from the climax she had given herself. And then, in a flash he was gone out the door.
Her new friend helped her finish her washing and they chatted. And found out they had a common friend. She told him to contact her on social media and they could keep in touch.
"Are you going to call him?" He asked, referring to the dark skinned intruder. Lynda got a wistful look on her face. Then looked down at her drying but still cream stained outfit. "Maybe," she said it slowly, pensively.
He touched her pale moist upper thigh, his hand molding to her curve, then moved it slightly, to the hem of her skirt. Her legs were parted but not wide and his hand stopped, when he felt both legs touching him. His groin stirred. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She was too tired and too light headed to resist.
He leaned over and kissed her softly, lovingly on the mouth as he released himself from his pants. His tongue was probing her mouth when his engorged penis found her. Her skirt wadded easily at her waist as he slid home.
Lynda cuddled his head as he pumped and plunged with rekindled desperate need, and she squeezed him from inside.
"Fuck me, honey OMG yes!" she gasped into his ear. It had the desired effect. He groaned and collapsed against her, convulsing and spurting, He was so intense that Lynda trembled and little shockwaves rippled through her, then she gasped into his neck and clawed his shoulders as another climax washed through her.
She laid back in the chair, spread legged, dazed and drenched as he untangled himself and pulled up his pants. He had to help her sit up, then she wobbled to her feet.
He helped her take the baskets to her car, and as they put them in the trunk, he hooked a finger over one of her white sheer thongs and shoved it into his pocket.
After she got into the car, he leaned in, kissed her softly good bye, and touched her sticky camisole where her nipple pressed against it. She could feel his honey seeping out of her and down through her crack and on to the back of her skirt.
She drove home slowly, watching other drivers, men, wondering if anyone could see how shameless she looked. Wondering if anyone would make a pass at her, ask her to pull over. She would have.
The house was quiet when Lynda arrived home. She squirmed out of her wet and messy clothes and threw on a flimsy summer nighty and climbed into bed. He was snoring lightly, off in a place where the Yankees got lots of hits.
She lay spread-legged on her back, still leaking a little, and began rubbing herself remembering details of her chance meeting with 2 very nice very different men from two different races. And she eventually surrendered herself to both, again, before drifting off into a foggy afterglow.
There is a Part 2...
Lynda waved a mahogany-frost manicured hand between her hubby's gaze and the TV.
"Honey, something's wrong with the Yankees...3 hits in the last 2 games." He didn't even look up.
"Well its nearly ten o'clock and my underwear's soaking wet and I have a dark load still to wash!" Her voice had gone from singsong to opera diva. "Never mind, I'll go to the Washeria and finish it." She was calm again, resigned. "Just pretty please call someone in the morning..."
"OK. Better put some clothes on."
Lynda rolled her eyes. "Why bother? Who would notice a fat old woman with a laundry basket." She tossed a trashy romance novel into the basket, picked up her bag and swirled out the door to the garage. He glanced up to see her short denim skirt tug at her upper thigh and her camisole top fluttering well above her waist leaving at least 3 inches of tummy-flab exposed. A delicate golden anklet was all there was between her flip-flop sandals and her upper thigh.
"Dayum," was all he said.
Lynda put her load in the dryer at the laundromat, started the darks and sat down to read. Three or four other customers, mostly women were finishing up, and Lynda smiled and waved as each one left. One, though, was a late-20s tall skinny guy, who was obviously not used to dealing with washing machines. She helped him sort through lights and darks and explained how to set the knobs. He was very conscious that the person helping him was very feminine and barely half dressed. She would have turned bright red had she known the effect she was having.
She sat back down to read, then noticed her pedicure was chipped, badly. She slipped out of her flip flops and took a bottle of Coral Blush from her bag and redid her toes. They were just dry when her dryer stopped. She began folding each item as she removed it, bikini and thong underwear, lace and plain hipsters, a pair or 2 of granny panties. One pair of lacy high cut French Vanilla undies was tangled up and she held them up to see why. And saw him staring. She gasped, audibly.
He looked away, then looked back, with a sad guilty face. "I'm sorry, couldn't help... just the thought of you wearing that, so pretty.." He trailed off, embarrassed to be caught.
Lynda felt his vulnerability, she could not be mad, he was so awkward. "It's ok, really," She said, and walked over to him and gently hugged him.
He couldn't get out any words, just embraced her. She turned to keep her balance and that's when she felt him, erect in his cargo shorts and now pressing against her bare midriff. It was her turn to gasp. He mumbled something and started to back off, but she held him.
"Dear, its my fault, don't feel badly and don't go." He leaned against her, not believing and almost came in his pants. She caressed his neck and ran her hands down his sides to his waist. He was looking at her, eyes wide, mouth half open.
Lynda pulled a chair around so she could sit down in front of him, sweetly said, "May I?" She didn't wait for an answer, just undid the button and her nails scratched his legs as she pulled down his shorts. There was nothing under them and he sprang free and bobbed up and down in front of her face. Her hands slid back up his legs, over his knees, and between and up his thighs to surround and clutch his bag. He groaned, leaned against the washer behind him, and put his hands on her pale bare shoulders. Then she had him in both hands rolling and kneading it. She moaned softly, and her lips made a tattoo of red lipstick just behind the ridge.
She felt him quicken as she delicately nursed on his tip and guided him with both hands. He stretched and groaned. She slipped one hand down his length to his base and cuddled around it. Her other hand picked up stroking him as she slid him from her mouth, just in time. His first spurt went in her hair. He grunted as the second wave shot from his manhood and splattered on her cleavage just above the camisole. Then he was thrashing and his honey just went every which-a-way. On her skirt, arm, her camisole, and finally as he subsided, it oozed over her hands. His breathing gradually eased. And Lynda realized she was soaking wet, down there, and not from his honey.
"Oh my!" She looked around, "We better get you dressed." She smiled at him, he was still speechless. She wiped his honey off on her thighs and skirt, which was nearly up to her waist. Then she pulled up and buttoned his pants. Kissed him through his shorts, leaving a smudge of lipstick on the zipper cover.
He was about to ask if he could take her home for the night when she screamed, well half screamed. A man, probably in his mid-40s was standing 6 feet away, openly masturbating. He had not said a word and they had been so preoccupied they had not seen him come in. She sat there, deer-in-headlights eyes, her skirt up so far that her moist sheer bikini showed clearly. Her new friend had an urge to be a hero that he stifled. He was too mellow from the massive cum he had just had. And he was mesmerized by the large dark skinned man deliberately manipulating what had to be 10 inches long.
His voice was gentle but somehow demanding, "Am sorry to frighten you, but I have watched a lot of sex movies, even extreme porn in my life. None of it can touch what I just saw and heard. Lady, you are one gorgeous and sexy woman, absolutely elegant. I'm willing to pay you, cash, a lot, for you to do even half of what you just did to him.”
Lynda nearly fainted. And could not remember being so wet in a very long time. She looked up at her new friend, whose mouth was open, dumbly.
"Darling," she said softly, "please keep an eye on the door, and jump up and down if anyone else darkens it. Pretty please." And to the stranger, "I'm Lynda, so nice to meet you." She beckoned him with her index finger and he walked, still fondling himself all the while, over to her.
She looked up at him, and then at his manhood. "Dear, it's kind of my fault that you are, so... anyway, I will pretend I never heard a word about money."
She took him in both hands and began to fondle him, running her nails along the length, scratching at his base. He leaned back, enjoying, sizing her up. Then she began stroking him intently, teasing, testing his endurance. And she realized she wanted it somewhere else. Her left hand wandered down his leg to hers. Lynda parted her legs and began touching in her garden, then rubbing circles over her responding pearl. She was suddenly very dizzy with feelings welling up. Her excitement, lust, was taking him to the brink, his sap was rising.
Her right hand pulled on him, it was almost automatic now, and she whimpered as she felt herself wavering. Then she was momentarily still, her back arched and legs spread even more. She held a death grip on his manhood, which had began weeping. Then she tensed, and the waves came, Her soprano cries went from his ears to his groin and he grunted and a glob of cream drooled out and fell on her skirt. Then it shot, splattering on her shoulder and her arm and camisole right over a breast.
Her friend-become lookout rubbed himself through his pants. He groaned and tried to cum again, but fell back. The others didn't even notice.
Lynda wiped the last of the man's cream on her tummy. "Body lotion." She smiled. He put himself back together and reached for his wallet. She shook her head, but needlessly, as he handed her, not money, but a business card.
"I'd ask for your number, but somehow I know you can't give it out, he said."
Lynda nodded. As she reached for the card, a glob of his cum dripped from her wedding rings. She was still swirling dizzy from the climax she had given herself. And then, in a flash he was gone out the door.
Her new friend helped her finish her washing and they chatted. And found out they had a common friend. She told him to contact her on social media and they could keep in touch.
"Are you going to call him?" He asked, referring to the dark skinned intruder. Lynda got a wistful look on her face. Then looked down at her drying but still cream stained outfit. "Maybe," she said it slowly, pensively.
He touched her pale moist upper thigh, his hand molding to her curve, then moved it slightly, to the hem of her skirt. Her legs were parted but not wide and his hand stopped, when he felt both legs touching him. His groin stirred. She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. She was too tired and too light headed to resist.
He leaned over and kissed her softly, lovingly on the mouth as he released himself from his pants. His tongue was probing her mouth when his engorged penis found her. Her skirt wadded easily at her waist as he slid home.
Lynda cuddled his head as he pumped and plunged with rekindled desperate need, and she squeezed him from inside.
"Fuck me, honey OMG yes!" she gasped into his ear. It had the desired effect. He groaned and collapsed against her, convulsing and spurting, He was so intense that Lynda trembled and little shockwaves rippled through her, then she gasped into his neck and clawed his shoulders as another climax washed through her.
She laid back in the chair, spread legged, dazed and drenched as he untangled himself and pulled up his pants. He had to help her sit up, then she wobbled to her feet.
He helped her take the baskets to her car, and as they put them in the trunk, he hooked a finger over one of her white sheer thongs and shoved it into his pocket.
After she got into the car, he leaned in, kissed her softly good bye, and touched her sticky camisole where her nipple pressed against it. She could feel his honey seeping out of her and down through her crack and on to the back of her skirt.
She drove home slowly, watching other drivers, men, wondering if anyone could see how shameless she looked. Wondering if anyone would make a pass at her, ask her to pull over. She would have.
The house was quiet when Lynda arrived home. She squirmed out of her wet and messy clothes and threw on a flimsy summer nighty and climbed into bed. He was snoring lightly, off in a place where the Yankees got lots of hits.
She lay spread-legged on her back, still leaking a little, and began rubbing herself remembering details of her chance meeting with 2 very nice very different men from two different races. And she eventually surrendered herself to both, again, before drifting off into a foggy afterglow.
There is a Part 2...
4 años atrás
