Hey, is that the washing machine?

I’m startled by a loud bang or thump from elsewhere in the apartment. Tiffini gasps at my abrupt movement. I look at her in surprise, and she says breathily, “It’s the washing machine. It’s on an extra-long cycle—it’s been running since before you got here.” She raises her voice a little over the basso rumble of the machine in the background and adds apologetically, “It vibrates pretty good. It’s going to be a little loud for a while . . . sorry, Mr. Lane.”

Tiffini blinks in surprise at my delighted grin. I pull my throbbing boner out of her cunt, making her moan at the sudden emptiness, then stand up and pull her to her feet. “Come with me,” I tell her. I follow my ear to the laundry room. I can feel the vibrations in the floor. I draw Tiffini up to it and command her to bend over it. She tries, but her legs are too short. I don’t intend to let that stop me. I think for a moment, then grab one of her thighs in both hands and lift it onto the washing machine. She squeals when I lift her, but doesn’t resist. I lay her leg along the front edge of the washer, which pulls her swollen clit into contact with the machine; she mewls loudly and starts rubbing herself against it.

Tiffini’s so into humping the washer, it takes her by surprise when I thrust hard into her from behind. She shrieks and arches her back, hands scrabbling frantically at the washing machine. One of her big, deliciously squeezable melons is easily accessible, so I seize it. I massage her titflesh and pinch her nipple. I pull back until only my little purple helmet is penetrating her sex, then thrust hard again. She shrieks again and gasps, “Fuck me, Mr. Lane! Fuck me hard! Fuck your hungry little cockslut!”

I give her what she wants. I try to be careful not to bruise her, but I pump her as hard and fast as I can. Feeling the washer vibrating both our bodies as I pound her tight, demanding cunt is deliriously good. It isn’t long before Tiffini screams and her orgasm ripples and roils through her pussy walls. I dig my fingernails into my self-control and hang on—barely—fucking her right through her climax without cumming myself. She looks back at me wide-eyed as she comes down off her orgasm to find me still plowing her field. “Still—going?” she gasps, and then her eyes roll back in her head. She screams again as she creams all over my big rod.

I squeeze Tiffini’s fat, creamy-pale boob and roll the nipple in my fingers. I pick up speed, fucking her hard into the washer; a distant corner of my brain decides she probably will have a few bruises, but I’m too caught up in the moment to stop. She urges me on in gasps and broken sentences, begging me to make her cum even harder this time. She pleads with me to cum with her, and I know she can’t take much more. My thick, hard cock reams her pussy, the world’s largest vibrator buzzes her button, and my strong hand gropes and massages her tit; she writhes and moans and mewls and squeaks in front of me like a madwoman.

I lean forward as I fuck Tiffini into the machine and whisper in her ear, “You’ve been an exemplary student, Miss Daniels, so I’m going to reward you. I’m going to fill you so full of my cum, you’ll feel it sloshing around in you for days.”

Tiffini gasps, “Yes! Cum in my pussy, Mr. Lane—fill my little pussy with your hot load! I’m so close—cum in me—I’m—cumming!” She screams like an eagle and writhes like a flame as her orgasm takes over her body. I bury my cock to the balls in her spasming, pulsating cunt one last time and give in to ecstasy myself. Tiffini’s scream goes to 11 as she feels my spunk rocketing into her tight, needy pussy. I reach under her body with my free hand to grab her other tit and squeeze them both as I hold myself deep in her tight, wet heat. We both cum for what seems like an eternity.