"Honey, somethings wrong with the dryer..."
Dianne waved a pale blue-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-soprano-victim. "Never mind, I'll go to the Super Sudsy and finish it." She was calm again, resigned. "Just pretty please call someone in the morning..."
"OK. Better put some clothes on."
Dianne 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.
Dianne put her load in the dryer at Super Sudsy, started the darks and sat down to read. Three or four other customers, mostly women were finishing up, and Dianne 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.
Dianne 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.
Dianne 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 cami, and finally as he subsided, it oozed over her hands. His breathing gradually eased. And Dianne 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 mid40s 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 unabashadly 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. Dianne 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.
