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The guys in the dorm were starting to complain about my piles of dirty laundry everywhere. If guys complain, you know it’s pretty bad. I had to admit it had gotten out of hand but the thought of doing laundry had me a bit perplexed. I didn’t want anyone to know that I’d never done my own laundry before. How many college freshmen really know how to do their own laundry, anyway? I was almost out of clothes, so it was getting to a critical point. I asked some of the guys where the closest Laundromat was. They got this stupid grin on their faces and told me it was on Main Street across from the movie theater.
I gathered up my clothes, shoved them in some big, black garbage bags and loaded them up in the car. “First step went pretty smooth”, I thought to myself. As I walked into the Laundromat I felt like everyone stopped and looked at me, like I had “Laundry Virgin” written across my forehead. I was probably just paranoid. How exciting could doing laundry be? Little did I know my view on laundry was about to change.
I stuffed my bags of clothes in a couple of machines, poured in 3 or 4 scoops of soap, poured in some bleach, put my money in, set it on “hot” (I heard “hot” gets things cleaner) and I was ready to go. Hell, this wasn’t so bad. I turned to throw some garbage in the nearby trashcan and I almost knocked this woman over.
“I’m sorry, maam, I didn’t see you there.” This woman was smokin’ hot. She had beautiful bronze legs for days and tits as round as ripe cantaloupes that made my mouth water. She looked like she worked out because her body was tight and firm. Her hair was so black that it looked like midnight as it draped across her strong but delicate back. Her sparkling blue eyes nestled between double rows of long dark lashes saw my every desire.
“What’s your name young man?” she asked.
Girls never really paid much attention to me so I looked around thinking she had to be asking someone else. Seeing no one else around, I shyly told her, “Beau.”
“Well Beau, it seems we have a bit of a problem,” she said, with agitation in her voice. “I get the feeling that this is your first time doing your own laundry. Is this illegal bahis correct?” she questioned.
“Yes, did I do something wrong?” I stammered.
“Let’s put it this way Beau. My name is Lauren and I’m the owner of this place. I get young men in here all the time whose mommies never taught them how to do laundry. So, they come in here and pack my washers full and expect miracles. If I were to allow these young men to continue to do this, my washers would wear out in a month. Therefore, I feel that it is my duty to teach them proper laundering skills.”
Lauren reached over and straightened my collar, ran her hand down my chest, looked into my eyes and said, “Besides, a handsome young stud like you wants to look and smell good for the ladies, don’t you?”
I knew I was in trouble when that one touch sent my cock into forward motion.
“Come with me for some personal lessons in laundry etiquette,” she beckoned.
As I followed behind her I couldn’t help but notice her hot, little, heart shaped ass. Oh what I’d like to do to that, I dreamed.
She took me to a back room with several baskets of clothes. She began instructing me on the proper way to separate laundry. She made me put the baskets of clothes in piles of light and dark, cotton and permanent press.
“We have one more basket and I think you’ve got that part down. Some items in this basket need special care. They’ll go in a pile for the gentle cycle,” she instructed.
Suddenly I began pulling out lacy panties, g-strings, bras, sexy nighties. I reached in the basket for more stuff and I ran into something hard. I couldn’t believe that I was holding a hot-pink dildo in my hands.
“Sorry,” she apologized, “that wasn’t supposed to be in there.”
She knew I was totally embarrassed. She stepped right up next to me, ran her long, beautiful fingers from my shoulders, down my arms and whispered, “Take your shirt off.”
“Pardon me?” I gulped.
“Take your shirt off and show me which pile it goes in,” she commanded.
My prick was so hard now that it hurt from the confines it was in.
“Now your pants,” she insisted. She ran her fingers illegal bahis siteleri through the sparse hair on my chest and then over my rock hard dick and down my thighs.
“It’s very important to understand the dynamics of each garment selection cycle,” she began to instruct again.
She walked behind me, rubbed her hands over my ass and grabbed the waistband of my underwear. She sauntered back around to face me as she pulled my underwear down to my ankles. My cock was so relieved to spring free of the bondage it was in. She backed me up until I had no place to go but to sit in a chair. She got down on her knees, spread my legs, ran her hands up the inside of my sensitive thighs and grabbed my shaft.
“The “gentle cycle” is for delicate material that could easily be damaged. The machine agitates slowly and deliberately, like this,” she enacted. She ran her long, luscious tongue from my balls all the way up the underside of my cock and then circled its bulbous head.
“Not too much force, not too much pressure. Just slow and steady,” she continued with a smile on her face. She made long licks up my shaft and then around. She took the head into her warm mouth, sucking it very softly. It was so hard not to thrust my whole stick down her steamy throat, but I knew that she was in control here.
“The next cycle, the “permanent press cycle,” is for your professional clothes like slacks, dress shirts, etc. The agitation is a bit more forceful, like this.” She took my rigid stick in her mouth and swallowed me whole, while she jiggled my nut sack in her hands. Her sucking was driving me crazy. She sucked just enough to keep me hard and on the edge, but not enough to cum. Whenever she thought I might be close, she squeezed my balls, squeezing back my impending explosion.
“Are you with me so far?” she questioned.
“Oh yes!” I breathlessly responded.
“The last setting is for your durable stuff, “Washables,” like tee-shirts, jeans, socks, underwear and the like. This, of course, is the most vigorous cycle of all,” she said as she smeared, with her thumb, the precum from my dick all around its now, deep red head. She canlı bahis siteleri put her pouty lips over my aching cock and wrapped both hands around it. I knew I had died and gone to heaven when she took my entire thick, nine inches down her velvety throat. As her head came up, so did her gripped fingers.
She twisted and turned her head and hands as she quickly bobbed up and down on my rod of steel. Just as I was about to spill my load, she abruptly stopped. I strained to open my eyes and catch my breath to see what the problem was.
“Oh, what’s the matter Beau? Did you want to shoot your final rinse in my mouth?” she teased.
“You must first pass your final exam. I will demonstrate each cycle on your pretty-boy shaft, and you need to shout out what cycle it is. Any questions?” she asked.
I shook my head from side to side, wishing she’d let me unload.
She carefully sucked my prick, but was not too gentle about it. This had to be the middle cycle. Oh god, what was that called. Suddenly it came to me.
“Permanent Press,” I echoed.
“That’s the correct answer, but I want you to shout it out. I want to know how excited you are about laundry,” she insisted.
She licked up and down my shaft, then around the head. I knew immediately what this was.
She immediately started pumping my cock with her mouth. She was going to town on him. I felt my load coming to the surface. I shot my hot jizm down her sultry throat as she milked me dry.
I shouted at the top of my lungs, “Washable Cycle!”
She got up and pressed her lips to my mouth. She entwined her tongue with mine, giving me a taste of my own sex juice.
“Next time, I’ll teach you how to fold, hang up and iron,” she said as she walked out the door with a smug look on her face.
I kept waiting to wake up. I was sure this had to be a dream. Things like this don’t really happen, especially to guys like me. I got dressed, still in a daze. She blew more than my cock, that’s for sure.
As I was heading back to where my washers were, some guy slapped me on the back and said, “Dude, we all heard. You passed your final exam!”
I looked around and realized that everyone was staring at me. I was thoroughly embarrassed and could feel my face get hotter and redder as I realized that everyone there knew my laundry instructors teaching techniques.
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