80. Laundry
Some things get more complicated when you live with someone.
Grocery shopping, that gets tougher. Less expensive on a per person basis, but
more complicated because suddenly you’ve got two sets of taste buds and
nutritional/diet needs to deal with.
Laundry, on the other hand, got a lot easier.
Well, sort of.
For Tim it got a bit more complicated. Having lived on his
own for quite a while he had a pretty streamlined system for dealing with
laundry. Namely, his washer and dryer were in the bathroom, behind his shower,
so every night he’d strip off, dump the clothing into the washer, brush his
teeth, put his pjs on, and head to bed.
When it got full, he’d add soap, turn it on, and fall asleep
to the swishing sound.
Next morning, toss it in the dryer before hopping in the
shower.
And that night, he’d toss in sheets and towels, and iron
while watching TV or talking to his mom or sister on the phone.
Add in the occasional dry cleaning run for his jackets and
suits when he wore one, and that was his laundry system.
| Link |
So it wasn’t long into the two of them living together that
a new system of laundry labor division came into being.
Yes, he could learn how to handle her laundry. No it
wouldn’t have taken much effort. However, it was a lot easier to just play to
their individual strengths. Namely, he memorized which bits of his clothing
went into which hampers (not too hard, he doesn’t own any delicates and hardly
any whites), she handles the actual washing, sorting, and putting away, and he
irons.
He’s very good at it. Since he wears something that requires
ironing every day he’s at work, he gets a lot more practice at it than she
does. So adding her skirts and the occasional blouse to his ironing pile isn’t
a challenge. And since his non-ironed clothing fits into one of four categories
(socks, boxers, pants, t-shirt), sorting it out isn’t much additional work for
her.
Sure, he did this every six or so days when he was on his
own, and they do it closer to every four now, but it still works out to a bit
less work.
And he’s got mad skills when it comes to ironing pleats now.
So, it was two weeks later, while he was ironing, and she
was putting the dry cleaning away that she noticed the Marilyn dress and
remembered something. “I never did get to hear what happened Halloween night 2006, after you got home from work.”
He looks up from shirt he’s ironing. “Huh?”
She turns so he can see the white dress in the plastic bag,
and he realizes where her mind must have
gone.
“I still can’t believe you did that on purpose.”
“You spent four days telling me about how hot and blonde
your Ice Queen was.”
“So you decided to out hot and blonde her?”
He snorts a little and shakes his head, pressing the cuff on
his shirt.
“Don’t snort at me, you loved that.”
“Yeah, I did, but talk about frustrated!”
“That was the point. I hope it was a lot like hearing about
how hot, and blonde, and did I mention fifteen years younger, and cheerleader your
date was. You going to tell me you weren’t doing that on purpose?” She sits on
the bed and starts to fold t-shirts.
“Maybe a little. You’re cute when you’re jealous.”
“And sometimes sexy.”
 |
| Smooch |
“Well, it worked.”
“Good.” He flashes her a satisfied smile.
“They really were mostly friends.”
He’s not looking very convinced by that. “I’ve got female
friends. You wanna guess how often I send them Valentine’s Day flowers let
alone sleep over at their homes?”
 |
| Fifty million flowers from guys who aren't me. |
“You think we were friends?”
“Not exactly.”
He nods.
“A lot of them really were friends.”
“Sure.” He’s not buying that at all. If they were friends,
they were the same sort of friend he was. “Guys don’t send flowers to women
they don’t want to sleep with.”
“Straight guys don’t send flowers to women they don’t want
to sleep with.”
Okay, that’s probably a distinction worth paying attention
to. So he shrugs a little. “True.”
“And a lot of my guy friends are gay.”
“Okay.”
“Did it really bother you?” She asks, finishing folding up
all of his t-shirts, putting them in his drawer.
“Yeah!” He goes and hangs up the shirt he was ironing, and
grabs a new one.
She shrugs a little. “I’m not exactly sorry, because I kind
of really like how it feels that things like that bothered you, but... it
wasn’t kind either, and I am sorry for that.”
He flashes her a perplexed look. “Um… thanks… I think.”
“It just feels really good. All those years, you wanted me.”
“Yeah, I did. Of course, I did.” He thinks about it for a
moment. “And yeah, it always felt good when you were jealous of one of my
girlfriends. ‘Course would have felt better if you had just dragged me back
into your office and made out with me.”
 |
| One lick at a time. |
He thinks about that and nods. “Yeah, it would have been. As
much fun as it might have been,” because he can think of at least half a dozen
times where they very easily could have tumbled into bed over the years, and a few
dozen more where he was giving her that ice cream look, and would have very
happily eaten her one lick at a time, “I couldn’t have stood to be your
friend-with-benefits.”
“I knew that.” She sits on the bed and starts matching up
socks. “So, Halloween 2006. We got to do what I was thinking about that night.
What did you do when you got home?”
“You want to do this now?”
“You want to watch Dr. Who and come back to this later?”
They often watch TV while handling the laundry.
He checks the clock. And the pile of things to be ironed.
And if they want to get to bed in time to actually get some solid sleep in…
“Dr. Who will still be there tomorrow.”
She grins at him.
“If I burn myself, it’s your fault.”
“Come on, I know you’re a better multi-tasker than that.”
“Never tried talking dirty and ironing before.”
She laughs. “You know, about ten years ago I got a birthday
card, and it was a picture of this really hot, mostly-naked guy ironing. The
outside said, ‘You know what’s wrong with this picture?’”
Tim raises an eyebrow.
“The inside said, ‘Nothing.’” And she smiles at him
brightly.
“So you’re saying sex and domestic chores together is
something of a turn on?”
She laughs. “It’s certainly not a turn off.”
Chuckling a little, looking wryly amused, he pulls off his
shirt, tossing it in the colors hamper, along with his socks, slowly pulls his
belt from his pants, carefully draping it over the crossbar on the ironing
board, and then, holding her gaze, popped the button on his jeans. Then he gave
her a long, steady,
gonna-make-you-come-so-hard-the-neighbors-complain-about-the-noise look, and
said, “You like this, right?”
She grins. “Yeah, I really do.” She got up from the bed,
stepped around the ironing board, and gave him a long kiss. “Yes.”
“Ironing might become my favorite chore.”
She stepped back, traced her finger from his lip, down his
throat and chest, settling it just above the zipper on his jeans. Her thumb
pressed into the fabric just to the left of the zipper, gently stroking him, as
she pulled it up to meet her index finger and tug the zipper down.
“Perfect,” she said, eyes tracing over him. “Love you like
this.” Then she turned, walked back to the bed, and returned to sorting the
socks.
He laughed a little, took a deep breath, grabbed the iron,
turned it back on, (it turns off if you don’t move it for a few minutes) and
waited for it to heat up.
“So, Halloween 2006. Do you remember the last thing you did
that I saw?”
 |
| Asking nicely. |
“Yeah. Remember what you did?”
She grins.
“I’ll take that as a yes. So, I get home, and all I can see
is the way you got the treat from me. Everyone else you asked nicely and waited
for them to give it to her. But me, noooo… You step right next to me, lean over
me, and reach across my body to the drawer I keep my snacks in, rummage around
it, for, what was that, ten minutes? Before raiding my cookie stash. You
weren’t wearing a bra, and with the way you were leaning, your breasts were
hanging soft and loose right in front of my eyes, and your nipples weren’t
exactly hard, but that dress is pretty much translucent, so I could see the
shadow of them against the white fabric, and then your ass is about a foot away,
and once again, translucent dress, so I can see the white outline of your
panties, and you’re leaning over me, which meant I could smell you as well as
see you, and your legs in those shoes… Look, I love the boots you usually wear,
but they call them fuck me heels for a reason. You have no idea how much
control it took not to grab you right there and fuck you on my desk in front of
everyone. And honestly, I don’t think any of the guys would have blamed me if I
had done it.”
She stares at him in disbelief. “I’m getting trick-or-treats
for the five-year-old-girl standing two feet away and you were thinking that?”
“Baby, by the time you were reaching into that drawer, your
body was three inches away from my lap. The bullpen could have been on fire,
and I wouldn’t have noticed, let alone a little girl a few feet away. No, the
main thing I was doing was praying to every and any deity or greater power that
you’d pull back without brushing against me, otherwise you would have felt
exactly how hard I was.”
“How hard were you?”
“Could have pole vaulted with it.”
“Impressive.”
“So were you in that outfit, leaning across me.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. So I get home and the one thing I know
isn’t going to happen is me falling asleep nice and easy. I was way, way too keyed
up and horny for that. Between you and the case, no way in hell I’ll just go to
bed and snooze.
“And I also know that I don’t want to just rub one out fast.
I want this to take a while, way too many good images in my head for a quick
jerk off.”
She smiles at that, stands up, puts the socks away, and then
returns to the bed and the pile of undies.
If asked, Tim would admit this is his favorite part of
watching her sort and fold laundry. Her fingers slipping over little cotton
bikini cut panties, let alone wisps of silk and lace, and yeah, he enjoys that.
And she’s playing it up. Very carefully tucking her panties into tidy little
squares, laying those squares on each matching bra. Teddies smoothed out and
folded into quarters.
“Tim?”
“Huh?”
“Do you like that shirt?”
“Damn it.” He jerks the iron back. Okay, good, shirt isn’t
burned. It’s just really well pressed in one spot. “So much for my
multi-tasking skills.”
“Well, how about you get back to distracting me from what
I’m doing?”
“I like watching what you’re doing.”
“And something equally hot to listen to to go with it would
be nice.”
He grins and shifts the shirt a little. “So, I’m home. And
at that point I didn’t know exactly where I wanted the fantasy to go, so
instead of picking out anything in specific, beside the lube, I just put my
toybox on the bed next to me, figuring I’d grab stuff as I went.
“I got naked, settled back on bed, and started touching
myself.”
“How?”
He shoots her his I
can’t believe you just asked that look. “I was rubbing my knee. How do you
think?”
“Left hand, right hand, both, start off with the lube, add
it later?” She holds her fingers in a loose circle and jerks it a few times.
“Like that?”
“Why would I use my right hand?”
“I don’t know. Not everyone uses their dominant hand for
everything.”
“Left hand, no lube, yet, as for how…” He spends a minute
thinking about how to describe that. Then he looks in the closet. He’s got a
shirt for tomorrow. “Would you rather just see it?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
“Oh yeah!” She scoops up the folded undies and rushes to her
drawer, putting them away fast. He turns off the iron, and then takes the top
sheet on the bed, and flaps it, sending unfolded laundry flying to the floor.
“Eager?”
“Not interested in waiting to get this done.”
She’s kneeling on the bed, and he’s standing next to the
opposite side of it.
He’s never actually given her a show before. Sure she’s seen
him stroke himself on occasion, if he’s going down on her, rubbing himself,
hand wet from her, really adds to it. But he’s never done it like this. Not for
her to get off on watching.
He traces his fingers lightly over his hip, just above the
waistband of his jeans, then slipped it under his boxers, and pulled gently,
really enjoying the way her eyes were glued to what he was doing.
“Feel like getting me some supplies?”
“What do you want?”
“Are we still doing Halloween 2006?”
“Yeah.”
“Lube, cock ring, and put some red lipstick on.”
“Red lipstick? I thought I was watching.”
He grins. “This might be interactive.”
She smiles at him, and heads to her dresser. She opens the
top drawer and searches through her lipsticks for the right one. A minute later
she has it, and is smoothing it over her lips. He’s watching her face in the
mirror as she finishes and kisses her lips together.
 |
| Blow Job Red. |
“Every guy?”
Tim nods. “Every straight guy. They should call that color
Blow Job Red, because that’s exactly what we all think when you wear it.”
She laughs.
“I’m not kidding, at all.”
“I know you aren’t. There’s only one reason a woman wears red
lipstick, and it’s to make people look at her lips. It’s still funny,” she said
as she opened the lid to their toybox. It lives on his dresser, and at a casual
glance just looks like a nice, wooden box, maybe the sort of thing you might
keep ties, belts, or handkerchiefs in, if you happened to have a whole lot of
them. “Leather or silicon?”
“Silicon, no bullet.” They have three cock rings but the one
he wants is the plainest of the bunch. Just a snug ring of silicon, no frills
on that one. Beyond keeping him really hard, he doesn’t need it to do anything
else.
“Anything else?”
He thinks about that for a moment. Sheets are clean, and
it’d be nice if they stayed that way a little longer. “Towel?”
She grins and returns from the bathroom a moment later, lays
the things he’s requested on the bed in front of him, and settles into a
comfortable position, leaning, back against the foot of the bed, waiting for
him.
“Want me to get naked?”
She’s got on one of his button downs and a pair of panties.
“Not yet.”
“Sooo…”
“So, it’s Halloween 2006, and you’ve been teasing me
mercilessly all night. And I’m finally home and can do this.” He shucks off his
pants and boxers, leaving them on the floor next to the bed, and sits at the
head of the bed, pillows piled behind his back, legs spread wide in front of
him, cock half-hard, hands on his thighs.
His thumbs are making wide circles along the inside of his
thighs. And no, this isn’t precisely what he did when he got home that night,
he’s trying to make this interesting for her as well, and just jumping on the
bed and beating off might be a little more direct than she’d like.
She arches an eyebrow at him. “You did that?”
Or maybe she knows him pretty well by now. His hand snaked
up his thigh and wrapped around his dick, gently pulling.
“That I believe. What were you thinking about.”
“Your lips. So red, and so pretty, and so wrapped around
me.”
She licks them. Pink tongue slipping over them, soft and
wet.
“That, too. And there was a really vivid image of your lip print
on my dick. Perfect red ring just below the head.”
“Like this?” And she leaned forward, pushing his hand down,
carefully wrapping her mouth around him, leaving a red lip print just below the
head, then pulling them softly up and over, finishing with a few licks to the
tip.
He didn’t realize he held his breath while she did it until
it slipped back out when she sat back on her feet.
“Yeah, just like that.” He begins to stroke again, looking
at the perfect ring of Blow Job Red, seeing it smear a little on the down
stroke.
Tim almost never thinks about what his dick looks like. Not
to say he doesn’t love to watch himself fuck Abby, or her sucking him, or, hell,
watch anything she might want to do with his dick. If she’s playing with it, he
wants to see her do it. Watching is always a very good thing. But when that
happens he’s watching her on him. Him by himself, not particularly interesting
to him, at least visually.
But she’s watching his hand, his cock, like this is the
sexiest thing she’s ever seen, and suddenly he’s watching himself as well.
He’s seen more than enough porn to know his dick’s not
setting any records. But he also knows, that like the fact that he’s a bit
taller and broader than average, he’s also a bit longer and wider than average.
And by average he means in the mathematical sense, and by a bit he means that
if anyone were to ever call him Python as a nickname, it’d be because of his
coding skills and not what lives in his pants.
It’s straight, no curve in any direction, and the tip tends
more towards pink than purple, flushing red the closer he gets to coming.
He slips his hand down, fairly slow, mostly moving the skin over the shaft, which is usually how this works before lube is part
of the equation.
“You like watching this?”
Abby licks her lips again, leans forward, her arms together,
pushing her breasts up and forward, and undoes the top three buttons of the shirt,
enticing him with a glimpse of cleavage.
“Oh yes, I like watching this. All sorts of good squirminess
from watching this.”
“Good.” He settled back a little further and closed his
eyes, focusing on the fantasy, because if he doesn’t, he’ll get too wrapped up
in her in front of him, and just beat off to that. “In the fantasy it’s your
real hair. You’re on your knees in front of me, and I’m back against the desk
in your office, holding onto the edge with one hand, the other stroking your
hair and face as you pull back and just lick. Lots of wet visible tongue and
your red, red lips slowly slipping up and down the tip, just a little suction.”
He’s holding himself with his left hand, and gently tracing
the tip of his right index finger over the tip. He felt her move, and then her
breath against his glans, and finally her tongue slipping against him licking
his dick and his finger.
“Oh.” He bites his lip and takes a deep breath. “This is
going to go a lot faster than it did in real life if you keep helping me.”
“I want to help. You look too good not to taste.”
“Okay. In the fantasy, you teased me for a while, soft and
wet and just focusing on the tip. Keeping me really hard and squirming, but not
letting me get close to coming. Getting me really wet, and then blowing me dry.
Or squeezing firm, pushing all the blood into the tip, and then bobbing your
lips over it really fast, and pulling back and stopping, just letting me rest
on the tip of your tongue, and very gently scraping your teeth over the tip.”
She followed the things he was saying, while he kept up a
slow steady stroke over the shaft.
He opens his eyes to watch, and of course her hair is black,
and it’s not curly, but her lips are still red, and it feels brilliant. “Fuck,
that’s so good, baby.”
She pulls back and smiles at him. “What next?”
“Lube.”
She hands him the bottle, and he pours a little in his palm,
smoothing it over his whole penis. He sighs as he does that. Dry is good, slick
is better.
“And this would be the part where I stopped teasing you?”
“Yeah. Mouth and hand and all the way up and all the way
down and—“ He’s stroking steadily, a faster pace, hand tighter.
“Slow down, let me see what you’re doing.”
He exhales long and slow, and narrates the action.
“Moderately tight fist. Keeping my fingers snug enough so I can feel each one
as I slip through. I roll my thumb over the tip as it passes through.”
“That is so hot.”
“Good.” He speeds the pace of his hand, hips rocking into
the stroke. “As you suck, you hand gets wet and slick.” His right hand, the one
he poured the lube into, gets into the action, rolling his balls a little,
pulling them gently, and then slipping behind them, pressing against his
perineum. “So you switch to just mouth and use your hand on the rest of me.” He
shifts position so he’s half kneeling, butt resting against his feet, knees
wide apart.
“I’m watching you suck me. Holding me deep in your mouth,
hot, wet suction,” he grabs the cock ring and slips it over himself, sighing a
little as he gets it set.
“How does it feel?”
“Huh?”
“I know it makes it more difficult to get off, and I know it
keeps you hard, but how does it feel when you’re wearing it?”
“Really full, really big. The closer you are to coming the
bigger and harder it gets, so it feels like being on edge. The skin can’t move
over the shaft, so you get more sensation out of the friction. Balls can’t
creep up, so you can enjoy it longer.”
“Okay. Why put it on now?”
“Because in the fantasy your fingers are about to get into
the action, and I want this part to last a while.”
“And what are my fingers doing?”
“Slipping around, pressing into my perineum, and one of them
is very gently easing into me.” His left hand goes back to a long, slow stroke,
all the way up and down, as his right slips further back between his legs,
starting to slip in. He lets out a slow breath and speeds his hand a little,
distracting himself, better lube means this a lot more comfortable than it used
to be, but it’s still not his favorite thing.
He feels her move again and hears the sound of rustling
clothing. He opens his eyes and sees her stripping out of her clothing, facing
him, matching the speed of his hands to her own fingers moving over her flesh.
She looks at him and smiles. “Way too hot, can’t not touch myself.”
He closes his eyes again, hearing the sound of her fingers
slipping against her flesh. “This is not helping me relax, at all.”
“Poor baby.” He feels her fingers on his lips, smells her on
them, tastes them, and fuck it, this isn’t masturbation any more. He opens his
eyes, sucks her fingers into his mouth, and pushes her onto her back.
“Tim!” She’s a bit surprised by that.
“Screw the fantasy!” he said a second before dipping into a
long, hot kiss, and grinding himself against her stomach.
They kept at that, writhing against each other for a good
minute before he pulled back. “Up, on your hands and knees.” His hands stroked
over her shoulders and back, cupping her ass, as he kissed down her spine. “Just like that. Most perfect ass, ever.”
He knelt behind her, thrusting in hard and fast. “Oh God!
Fuck! Abby!”
The good thing about the cock ring is that it does provide a
certain level of artificially enforced control. Yes, he can climax wearing the
ring, but it’s a lot more difficult than usual. But feeling like you’re on
edge, even if you aren’t, means that he’s got a lot less control of the rest of
his body. Primary, his fine motor control is shot.
He’s kissing her shoulders and neck, hands stroking her
breasts. “Touch yourself, baby. Want to feel you get off.”
She does, he can feel her fingers brush his balls when he
trusts forward, and her body growing even tighter on him, and it feels so
amazing, hot, wet, tight, and slick on over-sensitized skin, and his body
wants to come, and the ring drags that sensation out. She’s rippling on him,
twitching and moaning and that’s even better, a whole level of better, and he
forces himself to stop, let her ride it out, relax for a minute.
He pulls out, going to take the ring off, and slip back in
and come so hard he sees stars.
She turns to face him. “Stop.”
“Stop? What are you thinking?”
“It takes a lot of extra stimulation for you to get off
wearing that, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m feeling awfully relaxed right now. Kneel down, butt on
your feet.”
His eyes went wide, fairly sure where this is going.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Hold it together long enough for me to get settled,
and then you can go full out.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. We’ve done this often enough you know you
aren’t going to hurt me.”
He swallowed hard, and sat back, determined to stay very,
very still. She got the lube, added more of it to him, and a lot more to her,
and then back to his chest, very slowly eased down.
His hands curled into fists, and his feet into whatever the
equivalent of a fist is. So hot, so tight, and so, so, so slow. He’s focusing
on her back, tracing the tattoos with his eyes, making himself not move, not
thrust, not bury himself again and again into her. And since she didn’t stretch
ahead of time this takes three quarters of forever and it’s the longest,
slowest, tightest, hottest, best-feeling forever of his life.
He knows he’s talking, hot, dirty, sexy words, probably
cursing, too, feels too good not to let it out, but he’s got no idea what he’s
saying. The feeling of it, the flex of her back as she eases down, the curve of
her hips and ass, but mostly the way it feels, is keeping his mind busy.
She settled against him, just still for a good long minute,
breathing quietly. Then she leaned forward, arms stretched out in front of her,
head resting on the right one, ass high, and said, “Fuck me.”
It was like an explosion in his brain. Any part of him that
wasn’t entirely devoted to thrusting and pleasure just vanished at those words.
The whole world shrunk down to the feeling of her body tight and slick and
sliding along his.
And when his orgasm started, he felt it whole body, through
his arms and legs and chest and heart, pouring, pulsing through balls and cock
and if fucking fantastic means anything, it means this feeling rushing through
him.
They’re on their sides, him still deep in her, when he comes
back to himself. He snuggles in closer, sighing happily, kissing her neck,
enjoying her next to him.
They drift like that for a little while, just enjoying the
endorphins and breathing together. Finally Abby said, “Can you reach the
towel?”
He feels around a little and hands it to her. She slips off
of him, and he hisses a little at that. Cock ring means he’s very sensitive
post-climax. He takes it off carefully, trying to not touch himself too much.
Eventually they’re both cleaned up and in bed, both sleepy.
He’s wrapped around her, and it’s probably the endorphins, but maybe it’s just
her, and her being near, but he loves her so much right now. It feels too big
to hold onto, too big to keep in just one body, one heart.
He usually sleeps spooned behind her, with his arm around
her waist, hand curled loosely around her breast, but he slides it over a
little, feeling her heartbeat, and the soft rise and fall of her chest under
his hand.
And he feels how precious this life is, how fragile, and how
much he wants, needs, cherishes it. And there aren’t words, nothing existing
solely of breath of man is big enough for this, deep enough for it, so he
doesn’t try to speak it.
He kisses her neck, and her shoulder, pressing his face to
her back, smelling her skin and hair, and holds her tightly, trying to get the
feeling across with touch, not sure if that’s even possible, but it’s--
“I love you, too, Tim.”
He kisses her one more time, wishing he was a great artist,
so he could make something as beautiful as this is, and give it to her.
Next
Next
No comments:
Post a Comment