A Washing Machine Affair

My husband had been away on a business trip these past few days, so I had gathered up the pile of dirty laundry at home to wash.

Bent over, I loaded a stack of clothes into the drum. Suddenly, a forceful push against my hips sent my entire upper body tumbling into the washer, trapping me with only the twin curves of my hips visible outside.

I had been wearing only a loose nightgown at home, my white underwear faintly visible beneath.

Who could this be? My mind raced through countless possibilities, but I couldn't be sure.

A sense of unease crept in. I never expected the person behind me to be so bold—his rough hands gripping my slender waist, roaming over my body from top to bottom, stirring sensations in my long-neglected form until every touch felt intensely sensitive.

I struggled desperately, trying to shake off those large hands, but to my shock, the person behind pressed himself tightly against me! His lower body was now firmly aligned with my most private area.

"Let me out now!"

I braced my hands against the washer, my exposed bottom twisting helplessly, but I couldn't free myself.

I could feel the hardening shape pressed against me through the fabric, rubbing persistently against that sensitive spot until my whole body tingled. A fire seemed to ignite low in my belly, and a damp warmth began to gather below.

Sensing the danger, I pushed back with all my strength, trying to retreat from the machine. But instead, I ended up pressing right against him. That massive part of him had somehow freed itself from his pants and now pressed insistently against my panties, poised and ready. My backward movement seemed to catch him off guard, and he thrust forward instinctively.

"Mmm… don't…"

The sensation nearly overwhelmed me, my legs trembling involuntarily. I tried desperately to squirm deeper into the washer, to escape his body. But with every inch I retreated, he pressed forward, until I had nowhere left to go.

"What are you doing… Ah, please stop…" I pleaded in fright, yet my voice betrayed me, growing increasingly sweet and breathy.

Encouraged by my reaction, he held me firmly in place, lifting my lower body almost completely off the ground.

"Why are you wearing so little at home, Scarlett? Let me give you a hand."

What?! The man behind me was actually my father-in-law!

My ears burned with shame, my entire body flushed and restless with heat.

A memory surfaced—when I had first married into the family, I'd seen my father-in-law in shorts, unable to conceal his considerable size… And I'd often noticed my stockings in the bathroom would mysteriously end up soiled.

Could it have been him? Had he taken them?

The man behind me was in his fifties, yet his raw strength rivaled that of a man twenty years younger, stirring in me a pleasure I'd never known before.

The fire of desire threatened to consume my reason. Clinging to my crumbling resolve, I begged him tearfully to stop, fighting against the maddening itch coursing through my body.

"No, no, please put me down… Ah!" I pleaded frantically, but as he thrust again, I couldn't suppress a moan—a sound that filled me with shame.

My father-in-law relaxed his hips, allowing my feet to finally touch the floor.

Just as I began to breathe a sigh of relief, his arms tightened around me again. Instantly, that torturous itching returned as his hands roamed freely over my body, both teasing and tormenting me.

Then, in one swift move, he lifted my nightgown.

"Scarlett, how did your panties get so wet? Let me help you take them off."