The Laundry Room, © 1999 by Lisa Riddle
All rights reserved - copy/duplication prohibited


The laundry room in the dorm basement was dank, musty, and empty as he pushed through the door, using his shoulder to gain entrance. His hands were occupied with the bag of clothes, soap, and book he carried. He hadnít planned to wash clothes but upon discovering virtually everything he owned was dirty, he knew the painful time had come. Laundry was his least favorite chore but, being a student too far from home, he had learned quickly the necessity of the task.

Dumping the contents of the bag into three washers, he added a generous amount of detergent and shoved some quarters into the appropriate slots. With a bang, the lids slammed down, followed by his hand shoving the levers in place to start the machines. As an afterthought, he checked the settings, changing them all to "cold". That done, he sat on the folding table; no chairs. Pulling out his psychology text, he settled down to do some much needed studying. He didnít count on anyone else being around since it was a holiday weekend and most students had gone home to celebrate.

"Lucky stiffs," he thought to himself as he tried to focus his mind on Addler, Piaget, Freud, and Erikson.

A draft floated over him as the door opened. He looked up to find a young woman enter the laundry room. He gave her a quick nod and bent his head once again over his book. But he wasnít reading, rather he was surreptitiously watching the female who had invaded his solitude. Her dusky skin spoke of some foreign decent, possibly Middle Eastern or Indian. She stood about 5í4", some 6 inches shorter than his own 5í10", and willowy. She wore a silk tank top and, judging from the dark shadows pressing against the creamy material, nothing underneath. A multicolored skirt graced her hips, falling to caress her calves with every step.

Still using his peripheral vision, he watched as she sorted through her basket, alternately placing items in two different washers or on top of the folding table next to his knee. Being that they were so close, he could not help but notice that the clothing on the table were all silky, lacy, and definitely feminine. The realization that this was her most personal clothing, her underwear, shot through his brain and straight to his groin. With a muffled groan, he scooted farther back onto the table and strategically placed his psychology text over the growing rise in his sweatpants.

His rapid movement caught her attention as she emptied the basket and reached for the silken clothing. She flashed him a brief smile and quickly threw the pile into another washer. He watched her graceful movements as she added soap to the washers and started putting coins into the money slots. First one machine, then the second; his eyes seemed magnetically drawn to the unfettered sway of her breasts as she put her weight into sliding the levers to start the machines. The image was still in his mind as a soft voice slid over him. Shaking his head, he looked up to find her pretty, smiling brown eyes on him as if waiting for an answer to a very important question.

"Do you have any quarters?" her accented voice repeated.

Looking around the table, he pointed to a jar filled with coins of all types.

"Help yourself," he croaked, then cleared his throat, "there should be some in my jar."

With another smile, she walked to the jar, which was located about four inches from his ankle, and delicately picked through the change. Finding a quarter, she murmured a thank you before placing it into the third machine. When she turned towards him again, he quickly looked down at the book on his lap and tried not to think about the bulge beneath.

"Are you a Psychology major?" she asked, pointing at the book.

"No, Computer Science," he responded, noticing again the shadows under her tank top as she leaned over the table for a better view of the text on his lap.

"I am a studying Psychology," her soft voice floated over him.

"What year?" he asked.

"I am a graduate student," she replied, "and you?"

"I am a sophomore," he stated, trying not to react to her spicy scent as she pulled herself onto the table beside him. "I really donít understand all of the Psychology stuff."

"Perhaps I can help," she offered.

Reflexively, he pressed the book down to prevent it from rising with the tent forming in his pants. He hadn't bothered with any underwear this morning because there had been none clean. Now he cursed the disembodied voice of his mother as it reminded him about the importance of wearing clean underwear Ė just in case. At least if heíd worn some, the activity in his pants would have been somewhat, albeit painfully, confined.

She leaned over the book to check what aspect of Psychology he was studying and her long brown hair felt like silk as it brushed his arm. He sucked in a breath.

"Ahh, the theorists," she murmured, then looked up at him. "They are easy," she continued, "all you need to do is remember what aspect of life they focused on." "for instance, Piaget on thought processes, Erickson on social development, and," she halted to take a deep breath, "Freud on psycho-sexual development."

He could see the darkening of her eyes as she said the words "psycho-sexual" and his body predictably reacted to the innuendo. Breathing a little faster, he could only watch as she took the book from his lap and, belatedly realizing what was now exposed, he quickly moved to cover the evidence of her effect on him.

Her hand on his thigh halted any movement on his part. Looking into her liquid brown eyes, he saw something there that could only be verified by a quick, impulsive glance at her breasts. The dark shadows were now punctuated by the pointed ended of her erects nipples pressing against the silk. Even before this could fully register, he felt her hand move along his thigh towards the large bulge he had previously sought to cover. A moan escaped him as the hand covered it for him and squeezed gently.

Every muscle in his body tensed as she shifted and, continuing to softly massage his groin, she placed her lips to the skin just under his left ear. Using her lips, tongue, and teeth, she worked her way from his ear, across his jaw, to his lips. With the contact of the their lips, his control snapped. He buried his left hand into her hair to hold her lips to his as he opened his mouth and met her tongue with his while his right hand molded itself to her breast. The feel of her hard nipples under the silken fabric brought a moan from deep in his chest, which she seemingly swallowed with her next breath.

They continued to paw and kiss each other for many long minutes until he tore his mouth from hers, drawing in a deep breath before pulling her body up so her breasts were even with his face. Without prelude, he fastened his swollen lips onto one of her nipples, sucking it hard into his mouth. Her cry echoed throughout the laundry room. His hands wrapped around her back, one holding her in place for his foraging mouth, the other cupping her bottom, kneading it in time with his suckling. Her hands abandoned their massage and grabbed his head, the fingers anchoring into his hair, holding him to her breasts.

Wanting more, his hands drew her skirt up to her waist before he shifted his body, and hers, to lay her flat on the folding table. He looked down upon her, taking in her heavy breathing and the pointed tips of her breasts pressing against the wet, silky material of her top; a wolfish grin crossed his face. He knew what he wanted now and wasted little time in seeking it. Before she could respond, he pushed her skirt farther up her body and bent over her. Using his hands to gain access, he watched as her thighs parted, her womanís flesh revealed.

Moisture glistened off the dusky labial lips and dark hair. Cupping her bottom with his hands, he raised her hips even as he lowered his face to the delicate flesh. Her musky smell assailed his senses just seconds before his tongue took its first probing taste.

"Sweet milk and honey," was his only thought as his tongue plunged deep into her. Her whimpers and moans of delight drove him to delve even deeper, pressing his face closer to her flesh until his nose was able to rub against her little bud. The upward surge of her hips, along with the scream bouncing off the walls, was all the incentive he needed to move his tongue from the mouth of her womanhood to the pleasure button above it.

Placing an arm over her belly to hold her still, he treated that small, erect bud to everything his lips, tongue, and teeth could contrive. Her cries, moans, and whimpers reverberated around the laundry room, drowning out even the sounds of the agitating machines. Still he continued worrying the hard, little button until, with one great gasp of breath, she uttered a scream so long and loud that he thought for sure everyone in the dormitory could hear it. Only then did he release her, sitting up so he could watch her as he used his fingers to massage, pinch, and play bringing her to several smaller yet equally intense orgasms. The last he elicited by plunging one, then two fingers, into her slippery, wet body with his thumb continuing to its play on her oversensitive bud.

When at last, she was just a panting, shaking mass of flesh lying on the table, all that could be heard was her breathing. It was then that he realized that all of the washers had stopped. One look at the woman on the table told him that she was in no shape to move, much less finish her laundry. Grabbing his jar of coins, he opened the washers and began throwing the wet clothing into various dryers, regardless of their color or material, tossed a softener sheet into each machine, and shoved quarters into the appropriate slots. Soon the hum of the dryers filled the room and he walked back to the folding table where she still laid. Only now she was completely nude, her breasts standing out from the rest of her body, her legs spread wide and hanging over the edge of the table. Taking the hint, he whipped his T-shirt over his head, pushed his sweat pants to his knees and pressed his manhood into her flesh.

He slid easily and deeply into her hot, wet flesh, so easily that he had to hold himself there for a long moment to gain enough control so as not to immediately empty his aching body into hers. Shaking with the effort, he pulled her up into a half-sitting position, placing her arms to brace herself, he bent to suckle once again at her breasts. Sucking on the erect nipples, he began to take her in long, deep strokes. Looking up, he could see her head fall back and heard the whimpers of pleasure he was eliciting from her. Encouraged, he worked her breasts even harder as his strokes became shorter, more shallow. Her legs wrapped around his hips as the rhythm increased. Just when he felt he could hold out any longer, he pushed her back onto the table and raised her legs over his shoulders, then continued plunging in and out of her.

Her whimpers turned to moans and the sounds nearly snapped his self-control. He felt a need to see her come one more time before letting loose of himself so he pressed a thumb to her little bud. Her reaction was instantaneous as she cried out in ecstasy and her walls clamped down on his hard, pulsing flesh. Gritting his teeth, he held on until her climax passed. Pulling her still quivering body from the table, he pushed her into a kneeling position in front of him and held her mouth to the tip of his manhood. Her lips opened and he slid past them, into the dark warmth of her mouth. Her small hand wrapped around his hardness and with one caress, he poured his juice into her throat. He watched as she drank from his flesh, her lips sucked out every drop and swallowed it.

He had to lean against the table in relief and exhaustion as lethargy swept over him. He stroked her hair as she continued to lick and suck on his manhood, her hands now cradling his balls. Soon, much to his disbelief, he could feel his body stirring once again. Looking down at her, he could see a mischievous smile in her eyes as he grew under her ministrations. A loud groan reached his ears and it took him a second to realize it came from him.

Still her mouth worked on him, drawing many more moans and groans, until he felt his control slipping and began to slowly moved himself in and out of her mouth. Suddenly she stood and pushed him back onto the table. Climbing onto the table, she straddled him with her thighs and sank down on him. The heat of her flesh encompassed him, her breast pressed against his chest seemed to burn into his skin. She pressed her lips to his and kissed him deeply as she started riding him very slowly.

When the kiss ended, she pushed him back onto the table and her rhythmic thrusts quickened. Using her own hands, she played with her nipples, pinching and rolling them in her fingers, before moving one hand to her womanís mound and massaging her pleasure bud. He could only watch as she gave herself all the help she needed to bring her own climax. He knew the exact moment it hit her. Not just because of the now familiar clamping of her womanís muscles or her cry of ecstasy, but also in the way her head fell back and her breasts shook from the short, heavy breaths she took. Not wanting to be distracted from her moment, he held back his own pending orgasm.

As she slid down from the heights of her climax, she looked at him. For the first time since the sexual odyssey began, she spoke.

"I want you to take me in anyway you want," she said as she rose from him.

Not wanting to miss this opportunity, he knew immediately what he wanted to do. Wasting no time, he hopped off of the table and bent her face down over the edge. With his hands holding her breasts, he plunged into her, taking long, deep strokes. This joining was almost violent compared to the previous ones. In this one, she sobbed out her pleasure as he drove into her again and again, the rhythm quick and sure. His hands mauled her breasts, squeezing the nipples and twisting them between his fingers.

He grunted with the effort it took to hold back his climax as he waited for hers. It would be soon, he knew, having already seen all of the signs. With only a few more strokes, she screamed her orgasm and collapsed onto the table. Now was the time for him to really take what he wanted. Pulling out of her briefly, he pressed into her once last time. The explosion of his climax rocked him hard into her. The feel of his juices mixing with hers around his flesh brought on even more as he emptied himself into her.

They stayed like that, her on the table, holding him inside her, for a long time. Finally he took a step back, dislodging himself from her warmth. He turned her limp body over and placed a firm kiss to her lips. She smiled lazily up at him and let him help her sit up. Together they dressed and gathered their now dry clothes, hopelessly mixed together. Shoving them into her basket and his laundry bag, she took his hand and led him out of the laundry room.

Copyright 1999 by Lisa Riddle tavie@pathway.net.  All rights reserved.

About the Author:   Lisa is single, female, and in her mid-thirties. She has worked in the child welfare field for 12 yrs and most people feel that qualifies her to be certifiably nuts. But she isn't really crazy, just ask anyone at the nuthouse. Lisa grew up small town proud in western Pennsylvania (Steeler Country!) and is the youngest of 8 children but she never really considered herself "the baby". How could anyone be considered the "baby" when their oldest sister pops one out 2 months after they are born? Lisa loves children but doesn't have any of her own because she truly believes children need two parents, regardless of their gender or actual relationship, as long as the child knows s/he can go to these people in times of crisis. If you know a child who needs a parent, be one for them... all it takes is a little time and a lot of love.