Washday Blues.
Kat's hair, lush as it was, couldn't hide her breasts as they shuddered like jello. It wasn't just her bosom, but that was the first part of her that Matt's gaze took in. Predictable really.
Her belly quivered too, the deep well of her navel passed briefly under his scrutiny as he followed her body down to the patch of thatch between her spread thighs. He couldn't make out individual hairs: The washing machine she sat on had just stepped up a gear and the vibrations made her crotch a blur of burnt orange.
Kat wailed as the speed increased, inadvertently hiding her crotch as she pressed her palms onto the corner of the white enamelled machine to steady herself. The enormous energy of the heavy, spinning drum of the machine seemed to connect directly to her pelvis.
Matt watched, hand on bulging jeans as Kat, clearly in the midst of a tremendous orgasm, clung to the machine far longer than the 8 seconds a bronco rider had to manage. He could smell her too: Over the smell of soap powder there was a distinct aroma of musk that was only helping his burgeoning hard-on.
It just went on and on. Every time he thought her climax was over, another seemed to grab her by the clit and shake her 'til she screamed. By her fourth, Matt had acquired a handful of dick, which he was pumping hard while imagining licking the sweat off her thighs. There was certainly plenty of work there for him. Kat was shiny with perspiration and Matt could smell what else she was wet with even more strongly now.
As the clutch disengaged and the machine slowed, letting Kat finally relax, she opened her eyes and screamed.
Matt had been so close too. The shrill shriek, nothing like the guttural cries of her pleasure, brought him back to reality instantly. He let go of his dick like it was suddenly electrified but the rigid thing still stood out from his Levi's, proud and long and with just a hint of moisture making it gleam.
Kat's arm flung protectively across her bosom, her legs practically slammed shut on her other hand as she tried to cover herself and still she screamed at him to get out.
Stunned, Matt backed into the kitchen, struggling to tuck his too rigid penis away. He sputtered apologetic noises until he reached the back door then broke into a run, back to his pickup.
In the driver's seat, he sat, gasping for breath, mind racing. On one hand, it had been an incredible floorshow and he'd be jacking off to it for months. On the other hand, if she called the cops...
There was a knock on the window. Startled, Matt banged his head on the roof of the pickup. It was Kat, wrapped in a bright red housecoat. She said something he couldn't hear through the glass so he cranked the window a few inches.
"I said, you'd better come back inside." Kat turned and walked away, up the path. Matt couldn't fail to notice that she seemed more than a bit shaky on her legs. He got out of the truck and followed. His jeans still felt too full and the sight of that big round ass swaying a few feet ahead wasn't helping. He was a connoisseur of big booty with a collection of rapper videos on his computer because those big-assed girls in hot pants, practically sitting on the camera and shaking it would have him blowing his wad as fast as any porn flick. Kat had him hard again before he reached the kitchen.
Kat was washing her hands when he reached the kitchen door. He hesitated.
"Sit down, Matt."
"I just popped by to fix that faucet... We arranged it last week...on the phone..."
"Coffee?"
"Yes please." Coffee? Two minutes ago she was screaming at him and two minutes before that, she was ... just screaming. Matt was now more confused than panicky. He didn't feel much better about that though.
"How long were you watching me?" She asked without turning round. Cups clinked on the counter.
"A few minutes."
"So you liked the show?"
"Hell yeah!"
"But you didn't cum."
