Sometimes

Sometimes... On one of those typical, boring days where hours go by and all you're doing is housework. And then you turn around and wonder where the day went. And vacuumed carpet just doesn't seem to justify the monotony of that day.... Well sometimes, on days like that...Just to remind myself that I exist as more than a vacant cleaning machine. And I guess to brighten the day too ... I carry the washing out to the laundry. Put each piece in to fill the load. Turn the socks in the right way so the toes get clean too, empty the tissues from all the pockets, separate the whites from the colors. I pour in the detergent, switch the settings to heavy wash and close the lid, stand beside it and listen to it fill. Then, when it begins to hum to life, I hoist myself up onto the lid, denting it in just a little from my weight, but not enough for anyone but me to notice the evidence.

The door to the laundry hangs open and I can hear my neighbor pottering around in his backyard, occasionally singing along to his radio. And thinking of his presence I sit there and feel the vibration spreading through my thighs, making my breasts jiggle lightly, the movement waking me up from my daze. I wonder what he would think if he knew I was just over the fence, inside the laundry window sitting on my washing machine. Letting it go to work on me. Pressing my thighs together to carry the pulsing movement to my outer lips. Wriggling into position, so that I can feel it in my clit too.

I think of myself perched there, my hair tied out of the way with a scarf, well-loved, over-sized Guns and Roses T-shirt. A frilled cotton apron tied round my waist. I'm like some confused 50s housewife throwback. I blow a stray piece of hair out of my face and slip my hands beneath the apron towards my cunt. It's wet, turned on by stealing this secret moment amongst my housework. It always amuses me how I can play at domesticity but I still come out dirty.

With this in mind, my fingers slowly stroke my clit, flicking the piercing in the hood and spreading my wet up from my hole and around the inner lips. My clit hardens and my cunt muscles start a rhythmic clenching, aided by the vibration I can feel in my pussy lips. With the tips of two fingers I rub up and down, pushing against the side of the clit rather than it's too-sensitive head.

The neighbor's hammering breaks my concentration and my thoughts switch back to him. What if he found me like that? Lost in my dirty thoughts, legs swinging open, panties pushed aside. He would smell my wetness and take it as an invitation. His hands, worn and dirty from working in the yard would be grabbing at my sides until he found the waist of my panties and ripped them quickly down my legs, leaving them to hang off one ankle. I draw one foot up onto the edge of the washing machine as I imagine him roughly spreading my knees. He would tear at my T-shirt, untucking it from my apron and whipping it over my head. With a handful of breast, I think of how he would leave the apron and scarf on me, mocking my attempt at wholesome. Calling me a twisted little slut. My fingers dig into the flesh of my breast, then pinch the nipple, hard. My hips thrust towards the edge of the machine, imagining him pumping into me. With each thrust I grind against the vibrating lid from my pussy to my ass. My hand is working faster.

My upper body eventually gets lost to the sensation as the spin cycle begins and I go slack, leaning to the side and pressing my cheek against the cold glass. I don't really notice though, not now, because it's that time when the machine starts shaking like it's about to launch into orbit. When I'm not sitting on it, this is the part of the cycle when the old machine rattles out of its position against the wall by a few inches. It roars and whirs, like its insides are about to explode.

This is the best part. The vibration thunders through me, the leg that is supporting me becoming weak. It's now, with my mind on my neighbor's frenzied fucking, and the noise of the machine building and building, ..that my cunt contracts and I come, jerking backward, drawing my knees back together, rubbing my clit right up to my orgasm's end, when it becomes too much and my hand falls aside.

The spin cycle ends with a jolt and the motion starts to die. My body adds its own last shudders to the movement.

Then, when there is silence, I climb down and adjust myself. I open the lid and pile the clean clothes - your clean clothes - into the basket. carry them to the line and peg them up. Whistling as I hang up your Y fronts, with a certain glow on my face.

But I only do this sometimes...just sometimes.