Laundrette Liaison

The laundrette at 11 PM—last resort when your machine breaks. Just me, the whir of dryers, and Rosie.

She was waiting for her wash, scrolling her phone, looking bored out of her mind. Curvy, pretty, wearing leggings and an oversized hoodie.

"Yours broken too?"

"Flooded. Third time this month." She put down her phone. "You?"

"Same. Landlord's a nightmare."

"Aren't they all." She looked around the empty laundrette. "God, this is depressing. Saturday night and I'm watching my pants spin."

"Could be worse."

"How?"

"Could be alone."

She smiled—actually smiled. "True. I'm Rosie."

"Ryan."

"Well, Ryan. We've got forty minutes until the cycle ends. Fancy making them less boring?"

The back room had a broken dryer and not much else. She locked the door anyway.

"Can't believe I'm doing this," she said, pulling off her hoodie. "But I'm lonely, you're fit, and I've had a shit week."

"Let me make it better."

She was curvy underneath—thick thighs, full tits barely contained by a sports bra. When I pulled it off, everything bounced free.

"Like them?"

"They're perfect."

I pushed her against the broken dryer, dropped to my knees. Her leggings came down, revealing damp knickers.

"Been turned on since you walked in," she admitted.

I pulled them aside, buried my tongue in her. She came fast, shaking, hand over her mouth.

"Inside me—on the dryer—want to feel the vibrations—"

I lifted her onto the broken machine, pushed in. Even broken, it hummed slightly—adding something to the sensation.

"Fuck—yes—harder—"

We fucked on that dryer, her moans echoing off the tiles. She came twice more, each time louder.

"Close—inside—"

I came deep, holding her against me.

The washer beeped in the other room.

"Shit. Clothes are done." She was dressing fast. "But that was worth a rewash."

"Same time next week?"

"I'll break my machine again."

Started meeting there every Saturday. Best laundry nights of my life.