The Utility Room

Chapter One

"Crap!" she mutters, slamming the washer lid shut in anger. "This is all I need today. Another problem." She stands in silence, mind racing, wondering what to do next. Baskets of laundry, begging to be clean, line the floor. Reaching for the phonebook she rifles through page after page till she reaches REPAIRMEN and rapidly slides her finger down the pages till a small advertisement catches her eye.

MIKE’S MACHINE REPAIR
Fast Same-Day Service
WASHERS, DRYERS
HEATING, AIR CONDITONING
PLUMBING
GENERAL HANDYMAN
Call 630-555-1212

Quickly glancing at the clock, she punches the numbers on the phone. "Damn, it's 4:45pm. I know they will never be able to get here today!" she mumbles to herself. Pressing the phone to her ear, she hears the soft purr of the phone and a man picks up.

"Mike's Machine Repair, Mike speaking," she hears him say.

"Oh great, you're still open! I have a huge problem here," she says in a panicked voice.

"How can I help? What's wrong?" he replies.

"It's my washer. It's half full of water and clothes and it won't spin. I don't know what to do! Can I make an appointment for tomorrow?" she asks.

"How about right now? I was just closing up and I could come over on my way home, if that's okay," he answers.

"OK! That's fantastic! Here's the address....."

Minutes later, she hears a car pull into the driveway. She paces by the door. The chime of the doorbell startles her and she laughs softly to herself, "Like I didn't know it was going to ring!"

Pulling the door open, she glances up into a pair of vivid blue eyes outlined in dark lashes. They hypnotize her with their intenseness. She stands there, hands at her sides. Everything surrounding those eyes is a blur, like Vaseline on a lens.

"You called for repairs?" he asks, bringing her back to reality. "Oh, yes, come on in. The washer is in here." She turns and he follows her to the laundry room. She opens the washer and points to the soggy mess inside. "See?" Spinning and pushing in the dial, she demonstrates the ailing washer's total apathy.

"Let me take a look. Can we get these clothes out of here so I can try to find the problem," he asks.

"Uh-huh," she replies. "I'll just put them in the sink." She leans over the washer nervously, and grabs a handful of wet clothes. As she turns, dripping water everywhere, he tries to move out of the way, not knowing whether to go left or right. An outside observer would have thought they were performing some mating ritual. Fake to the left. Fake to the right. Collide. Wet clothes pressed between them. Laughing, she apologizes and in the process, drops wet laundry on his feet. In embarrassment she drops to her knees attempting to both pick up the laundry and wipe off his shoes and the legs of his jeans with a towel from the yet unwashed heap.

"It's ok. I'll live," he says, and she glances up as he speaks and realizes her face is inches from his fly. She can't help but stare. The slightly faded area outlining his assets is glaringly apparent. Their eyes meet and she instantly realizes he had an unobstructed view of her breasts as she frantically gathered up the mess on the floor. His face is flushed. He doesn't speak. His hands grasp her upper arms. The heat from his skin penetrates the fabric of her shirt. Slowly, she stands up. Only inches separate their bodies. She breathes even faster with the knowledge that his eyes are on her lips.

His Adam's apple bobs up and down. She hears him swallow then take a deep breath. Simultaneously, they come together. His lips are warm and soft yet possessive on her mouth. He pulls her tight against him and she responds with lip and tongue and inhaled breath. Her hands go loose and the wet clothes fall with a liquid splat to the floor at her side. Hesitantly, she slides her hands up the sides of his arms. "So hard," she thinks, taking in the sensuality of fabric and muscle and heat. Her fingers glide into his dark, curly hair and pull him closer. Hard. Warm. Gentle. Teasing. Pulling back, then, again, the tongue probes. Swirls. Asks. She answers in kind. Yes, it says. More.

*

Chapter 2

His hands move to her back, wandering up and down as if starved for the feel of her. His lips slide down over chin, throat, shoulder, nibbling, tasting, devouring. Still curled in his hair, her fingers press his head lower till skin ends and cloth begins. He pauses for a moment and glances into her eyes questioningly. She trails the tip of her index finger down his cheek and across his lower lip, slowly, following it with her eyes. Still unsure, he moves his hands possessively down her back to her hips, one cheek in each hand, and draws her hard against him in one final question. "Is this what you want?" he asks with his eyes.

Dropping her arms, she takes a step backward, her eyes locked with his. His shoulders sag with disappointment. Then her fingers grasp the hem of her shirt and in one quick movement, she pulls it up over her head and lets it fall. The sudden exposure to both the chill of the laundry room and the heat of his stare quickly hardens her nipples. The look of utter bewilderment on his face makes her want him even more and she reaches her hand out and grasps one of his. Her touch instantly breaks the spell and he pulls her to him, one hand goes to the back of her neck and draws her in for a hot, hungry kiss while the other cups a breast. As the kiss intensifies, his thumb glides slowly across the aching nipple. A low moan escapes her throat. His head dips to the hardened nipple and his tongue flickers across it briefly, waiting for her reaction.

"Oh, yes," she whispers. His lips draw the nipple into his mouth and he sucks hard, mouth wide. He turns her suddenly and presses her back against the washing machine. One hand on each breast, his caresses deepen, nipples pinched hard between thumb and forefinger, teasing, twisting, pressing. She breathes fast now, panting like an excited animal, then gasps as his thumbs hook the waist of her shorts and in one quick move, they lie puddled on the ground.

A hand slides between her thighs, feeling the heat building there, feeling the hot, wetness of her lust. Gliding his fingers back and forth across the smoothness of her panties, he teases, excites, enjoys the satisfaction of his effect on her. She stands motionless, eyes closed, head thrown back, fingers gripping the washer's edge.

*

Chapter 3

A moan escapes her lips as her pelvis pushes against his fingers. Watching her face, he presses harder till he feels the tiny little center of her passion. It's hardness surprises and excites him. He hears her inhale through her open mouth. Unable to resist, he pushes the wet crotch of her panties aside and brushes his middle finger across her clit. Slippery with her desire, his fingers slide over, around, across it. She presses her lower lip between her teeth, groaning softly with each pass of his fingertips.

Quickly, his hands move to her waist and she is lifted to the washer's lid. Grabbing the flimsy panties with both hands, he effortlessly rips them from her body. Using his forearms he spreads her thighs wide. His thumbs spread the wet folds of her pussy. With one last electric look into her eyes, he lowers his mouth and his lips touch her, taste her, caress her. He inhales her scent. The scent of heat. Passion. Lust. Probing deeper, he pushes his tongue into the wet cavern, then out again. In. Out. Teasing. Toying. Her legs involuntarily rise to his shoulders and she envelops him in her heat, soundlessly demanding more. She caresses her breasts roughly, twisting the nipples between thumb and forefinger.

His head rises to watch her face as he slides one thumb very slowly into her. He feels the muscles of her vagina envelope it, pulling it even deeper. Slowly he withdraws it till only its tip is inside. Her hips rise toward it, capturing it in her velvety grasp again, and again. Faster now, in deep, then out, then in, pressing against the elusive G-spot, making her mad with desire. One of her hands appears then, fingers encircle her clit, stroking it in rhythm with the piston-like movement of his thumb. He watches, with awe, as their fingers, together, play her body like a harp. Plucking, pulling, pressing. He feels her body tensing, her back arching, her muscles tightening around his finger. Wetting his fingers in her juices, he pushes three fingers into her pussy. Fucking it hard. Matching her thrust for thrust. Harder. Her fingers now a blur on her clit. A long, low growl escapes from deep within her throat as her body spasms with the violence of her orgasm. She doubles over with it, clamping down on both his hand and hers, shuddering, clinging, gasping, twitching.

Moments pass in silence. Hearts beating like two frightened rabbits they breathe. In and out. Slower now. Deeper. He raises his head and gazes at the woman lying peacefully, eyes closed, draped across the washer's lid.

He reaches up, slowly, with one hand, and re-inserts the power cord into the outlet.