Dixie Girl - Laundry Day
Author's Note: this is an older story originally published elsewhere. It has been modified in accordance with site policy. No characters appearing in this work are under the age of eighteen. Note that this is a raceplay-focused story, featuring a character who trades in neo-Confederate imagery; that may not be something everyone is looking for in their smut so just providing a heads-up in advance.
The little laundromat was deep in the depths of the student ghetto, about a block from Sorority Row. A narrow and deep brick building, it featured a double row of washing machines down the center and dryers along both walls, making two aisles.
A tall lanky black boy stalked down first one deserted aisle then the other. As he passed each still dryer in turn his face slowly darkened with fury. Every dryer was full, silent, and unattended. Every last one was piled from top to bottom with waiting female clothing. Little skirts, blouses, bras, and panties peeked out at him through the window of each and every machine... and yet not a single nubile body was in sight to open and claim any of them. As he reached the end of the second row, the bag holding his own soaking wet laundry hanging heavy from his shoulder, Python stopped, turned and swore viciously.
There was not a single empty machine in the entire building. Every last one of them was filled up to the brim with skimpy frilly clothing, and not a single one of their pretty owners was in sight.
It was his own fault for trying to do his laundry in the middle of Sorority Row on a Friday night, of course. But that didn't make his long, muscular arms tremble with any less rage.
"Fuck this pussy-ass shit," he said, at last.
Deliberately walking up to the machine with the skimpiest panties and the largest-cupped bras of all peeking out at him through its window, he jerked the door open. Yanking over a wheeled laundry cart, he started hauling out fistfuls of silken underthings and tiny shorts down into the waiting bin. Then, halfway through emptying out the machine, Python suddenly stiffened and froze. Hidden amid a pile of shorts and bras, something had caught his eye. He pulled a pair of pastel-colored running shorts aside to expose a tiny yet distinctive skirt. It looked like a pleated cheerleader skirt... save that it didn't match any of the cheerleader teams in the area. And Python should know, as he had a nearly complete collection of them on his bedroom wall.
This skirt, as he held it up, had a pattern of two red pleats followed by a blue one, the blue pleat bearing white stars. The space between red and blue was white. As he let it dangle from his night-dark fingers, it stirred some preternatural memory in him.
Then, looking back down, he spotted something else. He let the skirt drop. His hand dove back down, into the space between underneath a huge-cupped satin bra and a frilly lace chemise.
His dark hand rose back up... with a tiny scoop-front panty dangling from his extended finger. Printed upon it, as it dangled daintily before his dark face, in soft pastels, was the Confederate Flag. Slowly, Python's eyes widened.
"Well, all be damned," he said. And, closing his hand, ran his fingers over the soft surface of the infamously-decorated panty, with relish.
Holding her empty laundry bag lightly in her fist, Clarabelle Weiss hummed a cheerful tune as she approached the laundromat. As she got close she turned around and bumped the door open with her taut yet well-rounded ass. The door jangled loudly as her wiggling, short-denim-skirt-clad ass pushed through. Having cleared the way, Clarabelle bounced through. Whirling around a pillar at the end of the row of machines, she turned to face her waiting dryer. Then, mouth dropping open in shock, she skidded to a halt.
The door to her machine was open, and it was empty. Her clothes and underthings lay heaped carelessly upon a cart, before it. A scuzzy-looking black boy stood over the pile and, though his back was to her, she seemed to have caught him in the very midst of pawing through her delicate under-things.
"Hey! You! Creep!" Clarabelle snapped. Her superheroine sidekick instincts kicked in in moments. For though she appeared to be just a normal girl, Clarabelle came from a long line of superheroes, including her stalwart mentor, and big sister, the mighty Rebel Belle. Even though she was out of costume, wearing only a tiny jean skirt and pastel yellow spaghetti-strap top, the eighteen-year-old blonde spread her long muscular legs wide, put her hands upon her hips, and thrust out her considerable rack, as she lifted her chin boldly. "Those are mine!" she declared. "Get your hands off them you low-class pervert!"
Not saying anything, Python slowly turned and faced her. He had a huge grin on his lips... and her famous Dixie Girl panties dangling from his fingertips. Clarabelle gasped. Her eyes darted briefly to the cart again, and spotted at last her trademark skirt and her Confederate Flag shell vest laid out atop the rest of the laundry. The only thing missing was the glowing Shard of Virtue that, when inserted into the center of the vest, would have given her her powers. Clarabelle habitually kept it in her purse when in civilian identity - but said purse was currently sitting back in her dorm room.
"H-hey!" she whimpered, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Those are mine!"
"Finders keepers, bitch," Python purred. He wiggled his finger back and forth, making her little panty sway tauntingly before her lovely, horrified gaze.
"You... you can't do that!" Clarabelle gasped, staring in horror at her own underwear. "It's illegal!"
Lifting his free hand, Python pointed up at the wall, where a large sign had been posted. 'Do Not Leave Machines Unattended!' it read in huge letters, and below that in smaller letters, 'Uncollected Loads Are Forfeit.'
Dixie Girl gaped upwards, her jaw dropping in horror. It was hardly federal case law. But it was still enough to deflate her sense of righteous-indignation, to be replaced by a creeping, guilty dread. Gulping, she turned her eyes back to him and squirmed. Without her jewel, she knew, her chances of defeating such a tall and muscular boy were far from certain. And, she realized with a sickened gulp, she had in any case already blurted out enough to more than confirm her precious secret identity. Even if she beat him up, he would still know who she was.
"Please," Dixie Girl whispered. Bowing her head, she folded her hands nervously behind her short-skirt-clad hips. Forced to be penitent before the leering black pervert, a helpless squirm wiggled through her voluptuous body, making her massive rack shake deliciously for him through her tight, tiny top. "Please, give me back my panties."
"Sure, bitch," he said. "I'll trade 'em to you... if you give me a blowjob first."
Clarabelle's gorgeous blue eyes went wide as saucers. "You... you can't be serious!!!" she said, shocked.
Python shrugged, and pulled a fancy smartphone out of his pocket. It was stolen, not that she knew that. "Your call bitch," he said, as he started to dial. "Maybe you can blow the press instead, after I call them and..."
"NO!" Clarabelle moaned. She surged forward slightly, reaching out a plaintive hand to dissuade him. "Please! Don't!"
Stopping on the last number, Python glanced up at her. His finger hovered over it, waiting.
"Oh, Goddess!" Dixie Girl cried. Lurching backwards, she put both hands upon the top of a running machine and gasped in horror. Her body squirmed nervously back against the rumbling surface, her cute little sneaker-clad feet rubbing and fidgeting beneath her tiny skirt. Her breath came deep and fast, making her ample rack bob beautifully before the waiting, leering, and appreciative thug. Her gorgeous head, gasping, turned first one way then the other and verified with wide blue eyes that they were alone. Then she turned back and looked up into his eyes. Her tongue licked her luscious pink lips, and then her tiny white teeth bit them.
"Oh... okay..." she whispered softly at last. "I... I'll suck your cock." Trembling lightly, one hand leapt up to brush a bit of her golden hair nervously back behind her ear, as a slight blush exploded across her pretty cheeks. "Let's... let's just go to someplace with a public bathroom and..."
"No," Python said. "Right here. Right now!" Without another word, he jerked open his athletic pants and let a massive dick plop out.
Clarabelle's jaw dropped and her eyes went wide as dinner plates as she watched over a foot of thick, hard, jet-black cock tumble out of the boy's pants to bob, fully erect, in the air directly before her body. "Oh... oh my God!" she cried, eyes quivering in awe. "Your penis is... is... HUGE!"
"That it is," he said. "Now kneel before it, white bitch."
But, her jaw hanging wide open and quivering, for a moment Dixie Girl could do nothing but stand there and gaze at his huge dick in shock. Getting wider and wider, her eyes slowly traced down its immense length from the base to the tip, both pretty blue orbs completely filled with his veiny black beast. Her breath quickened steadily, making her ample breasts jiggle with ever increasing energy before his commanding scepter.
"What the fuck did I say?" Python said. He took a threatening step forward. "Kneel, you super slut!"
"Okay, o...okay!" Dixie Girl gasped, her voice breathless and her eyes still glued to his big black penis. "I'm sorry!" Her back pressed tight to the rumbling machine behind her, Dixie Girl sank swiftly to her knees before him. Her gaping face tilted upwards as she sank lower and lower, eyes glued to his long cock, until soon it was looming like a massive veiny spaceship above her.
"That's it," Python purred. Lowering her pastel Confederate panties, he slowly dragged them back and forth along the length of his gigantic jet-black penis. Dixie Girl gasped and mewled, biting her lip, as she squirmed in humiliation - but her moist blue eyes proved unable to look away from the sight. "Suck this dick and you get them back," he told her. Putting one hand upon the machine behind her he slowly pushed his hips forward until his penis loomed directly over her. Her face tilted back until she was looking directly up at it. Her eyes crossed and gazed directly at his tip. "Okay," she said, softly. Then she lifted her gorgeous head, spread her lips wide and, gazing down at it in awe, kissed the very tip of his cock.
