Laundry room? Check.

“You know,” Heather says, “I should probably get up. You need something more for dinner than pussy, after all.” She flashes me a sly grin.

“No need to trouble yourself,” I tell her. “We can just order pizza or something.”

“No, I want to make you dinner,” she insists. “I like to cook, especially to feed my man. I love to bake, too; I enjoyed making all that stuff for the party. It’s very satisfying to me, feeding people. It’s a way of taking care of them that everyone appreciates and that makes the day better.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say, feeling surprised and more than a little sheepish.

Heather strokes my hair and smiles tenderly. “Don’t feel bad, love—I didn’t either, until I went off to Metternich. When I realized how much I missed you, it became my way of dealing with anxiety. A couple of the girls in the dorm got me into it—we had a little kitchen support group.” She rolls away from me and gets up. “I should really put something on, if only because of the windows,” she muses. She opens a drawer in her dresser and pulls out a long T-shirt; when she puts it on, it comes down to her thighs. “That works,” she says, flashing me a grin. “It reminds, me, though—I need to run a load of whites.”

The Innis-Jones house has the laundry room on the second floor where the family bedrooms are, so I hear Heather start the washer. As usual, she starts the water going, then adds the soap, then adds oxy, and then puts the clothes in. (No, I can’t see her doing this now, but I’ve seen her do it more than once before, and I can tell by the sounds that she’s doing things in her standard order.) I hear the clattering and banging, and then nothing but the sound of the washing machine. It’s an older machine that vibrates a fair bit—I’m a little surprised Heather’s folks haven’t replaced it by now.

When I hear no movement for several minutes, I slip out of bed and pad out into the hallway. I look into the laundry room to see Heather leaning over the washing machine, apparently lost in thought. This is too good an opportunity to pass up. I walk up behind her quietly, grab one of her legs and lay it along the front edge of the top of the washer. She squeaks in surprise, then gasps when her swollen pearl comes into contact with the machine. She moans and starts grinding on it. While she’s ecstatically humping the washer, I flip up the hem of her shirt and drive my shaft to the balls in her hot body with one convulsive thrust.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!” Heather yowls at my abrupt invasion, her spine pulling taut, her head coming up and back, her hands scrabbling frantically at the metal top. One of her big, deliciously squeezable melons is easily accessible, so I seize it, kneading it in my hand and pinching its dusky-rose tip. I pull back until only my little purple helmet is inside her, then slam my rod home again, earning myself a shriek. I fuck her steadily, keeping myself under control so I don’t bruise her against the unyielding appliance. “So—fucking—intense,” she moans. “I love your big mommy-maker—so good in my hot, wet pussy—and the world’s biggest vibrator—fuck that’s so fucking good on my clit . . . Fuck that pussy, lover—fuck that tight little pussy—rock my world, baby . . . rock my fucking world . . .”

Feeling the washer vibrating both our bodies as I pound Heather’s sweet honeypot is deliriously good; I know I won’t last long, and I doubt she will either. “Can’t even—do the fucking—laundry,” she breathes. “Can’t bend over without—mmmmmmm, yeah, squeeze my tit, squeeze it just like that—ooooh, I love your big fucking cock—without getting fucked—so fucking good—so fucking good . . .”

“I’m serious, love,” I tell her huskily, “every room in the house.”

“That’s—so—hot—” Heather moans brokenly, “so—fucking—” With that, her nerves overload and she screams loudly enough to drown out the washer as her climax lights up her body like a lightning bolt. Her cunt gives my prick a hard squeeze and I follow suit, ramming it home one last time and blowing hard in her molten depths. I lean forward and embrace her as best I can as we cum and cum and cum together, the shaking of our bodies amplified by the washing machine.