I hated doing the laundry. Sorting the towels, folding the sheets — it all seemed so tedious. So I always left that job until the end of my shift.
Working as a stewardess on a luxury yacht wasn’t the best job I’d ever had, but it definitely had its perks. Traveling the world being number one. Meeting amazing people came in at a close second. Some charter guests could be real jerk offs, but others were just like you and me — aside from the fact that they had thousands of dollars to drop on sleeping on a fancy boat for a few nights. But the captains were usually cool, the deckhands were often muscular meat heads that were fun to look at, and days off frequently meant beach parties and bar hopping. Plus, cash tips meant fast, easy money.
This night was like a typical Thursday on the ship. It was approaching midnight. The rest of the crew was asleep, except for the chef who was cleaning up the galley and wiping down the countertops. I pushed aside my thick curly hair and slipped my earbuds into place. Kelly Clarkson wailed in my ear as I folded towels in unison with her high notes and the beat. I loved losing myself in music. It helped transport me to another place.
I unbuttoned the top of my blouse. I’d been wearing that damn uniform all day and my skin needed to breathe. Undoing the top two buttons allowed the cool, fresh air to flood down my chest, surrounding my breasts and tickling my torso. It felt amazing. I unzipped the side of my tight navy skirt. It too felt constricting after hours of wear. I slipped off my sneakers and really began to unwind. This was my time.
As I rocked my hips to the music and used the nearby lint roller as a microphone, I felt alive. The only place where I could really find privacy was in the laundry room. How sad was that? But the crew deck was tiny. I shared a small room and bunk with another stewardess and when we weren’t working, we were sleeping. There was really no place to escape.
Just as Kelly belted out the chorus of “Stronger,” I got the sense that I wasn’t alone. I slipped one earbud out and looked over my shoulder. It was Manny, one of the deckhands. He had no shirt on, just loose, cotton shorts. My eyes scanned his body. His pecs were firm and tan. My gaze was drawn to his chiseled abdomen. A soft, thin line of hair trailed from his belly button down past the waistband of his shorts.
We’d never really spoken before. Manny was from Portugal and knew very little English. But we’d shared enough “come fuck me” looks for me to know why he was here.
Before I could move from my position in front of the washing machine, Manny’s hands were on my waist, as he thrust himself toward me. I let out a small giggle. He was more aggressive than I’d anticipated. I didn’t resist as he undid the remaining three buttons of my shirt, opening it wide and exposing my white bra and perky tits. I loved my tits. Full, round C’s — more than a mouthful, but perfect for a strong man’s hands.
Manny reached out and cupped my breasts as if he’d never touched a woman before. His eyes were large and filled with curiosity and desire. His touch was gentle at first but became increasingly more aggressive. I decided to help him out and quickly undid my bra, allowing it and my shirt to fall to the laundry room floor.
Manny dove his face into my mounds, placing his head between them, squeezing my breasts together and gently pinching each nipple. I nestled my face into the top of his head. His thick black hair smelled fresh from the shower. I ran my hands through it, tugging slightly on the roots while Manny circled each nipple with the tip of his tongue. He looked up at me with his hungry, deep brown eyes. I bit my lip and returned his attention to my tits.
With the side of my skirt unzipped it was easy for me to open my legs. I spread them wide, straddling Manny’s leg. He followed my body language and rammed his knee into my waiting crotch. I used his leg as my personal pleasure perch. He held up my body weight with his strong, muscular thigh as I rubbed my clit hard against its surface. With each pass of my pussy over his flesh, I grew wetter. His mouth never left my tits. The simultaneous sensation of his saliva on my nipples and his leg pushing against my pussy was intoxicating. The vibration of the washer against my ass only intensified things. And then, it gave me an idea.
I placed my hands behind me on the washer and slid myself onto the top. The movement of the machine made my tits bounce. My skirt was up around my waist. I leaned back and signaled for Manny to remove my panties. He pulled them off with ease. I sat, spreadeagled on the washing machine, playing with my lips and clit. I was plenty wet and ready for Manny. He hesitated for just a moment before taking down his shorts. He wore no underwear. His dick was dark, like the rest of his body, with a full tuft of black pubic hair. He was fully erect, the tip of his penis reaching up toward his belly button.
I grabbed onto his wrists and pulled him closer, encouraging him to penetrate me. He only made me wait for a few more seconds before he pushed the head into my waiting cunt. He started slow but once the tip made contact with my thick cream, Manny entered me fully. He shaft felt amazing as it slid past the inner walls of my vagina. I hadn’t been fucked in months.
I steadied myself on the washer. Manny grabbed onto my knees, which were spread wide, and matched the rhythm of the washer, pushing and pulling with steady strokes. Something about the vibration beneath my ass and Manny’s cock deep inside me, plus our lack of communication, made the experience all the more forbidden. I couldn’t tell if he was concentrating on not cumming or pleasuring me, but he was accomplishing both. My hands grabbed at his shoulders as he switched between pounding me with hard, slow thrusts and fucking me fast and eager like a teenage boy. My head was at the perfect height to press against the shelf behind me that held the detergent. This freed up my hands. I used one to play with my nipple and the other to tend to my clit. But Manny quickly replaced my finger with his own. He pressed his thumb hard against my nub, pushing the tiny pink button. Now that Manny was busy pleasuring my lower regions, I used both hands to squeeze and tug at my nipples.
I saw Manny’s expression change. He was close. I pushed against his body as best I could, driving his cock an inch deeper.
“Fuck me.”
It was the only words either of us had spoken the entire time. The sound of my voice broke the air and sent Manny into a tizzy. He rubbed my clit feverishly and increased the speed of his thrusts. I couldn’t hold off. My knees pressed hard against Manny’s body as my muscles contracted and my body released a rush of hot, thick cream. Manny couldn’t stop himself either and released his own hot load into my pussy. My vagina pulsed and twitched around his shaft. I could tell he wanted to cry out so I pressed my thumb firmly between his teeth, allowing him to bite down hard on my flesh. As he neared the end of his orgasm, Manny slowed his motions, until his body became still. He looked up at me and without saying a word, Manny pulled his penis from my pleasure hole and knelt before me.
His eyes remained locked on mine as he slowly ran his tongue up and down my slit, drinking in the mixture of cum that was seeping out from between my open legs. I watched his throat contract as he swallowed my sweet nectar mixed with his own. I threw my head back onto the shelf and let out a muffled laugh, completely relaxed by the feeling of Manny’s tongue on my pussy lips.
Laundry night just got a whole lot more fun.
