Dirty Laundry Novels & Stories

Elena was silent, staring at Ray's clothes which were not dirty, and the smell was still the same, smelling of Woody. "They are poor, homeless... But they are clean... They also know how to keep clean... .they don't want to stink," Ray said casually. "But since they don't have the money to buy soap or go to the laundromat, they end up washing their clothes with water ... It could also be used clothes so they look ugly and dull. . .Even if they have long, messy hair or don't wear make-up at all, they are clean." "I don't know ... I never thought of people like them," said Elena.

Julian finished inside Ava as the sun began to rise. By 8 a.m. we were up again, fucking in the shower one last time before we had to start cleaning. We scrubbed the house frantically — changing sheets, wiping surfaces, airing out rooms — but the scent of sex lingered faintly no matter what we did. Ava helped, but her touches never stopped. A quick finger in the laundry room. A blowjob for Oliver while I loaded the washer. By early afternoon the house looked almost normal. But we were all still buzzing, bodies marked, eyes full of shared secrets.

Especially if it's a business like ours. He gathers his whips, chains, vibrators, and knives from the bed and various areas of the floor. He takes out a rag from his bag and starts cleaning them. Oh wait, these are not the only things that need to be cleaned. He wipes his hands on one of the vintage sofa covers then takes his large-screened cellphone from one of his bag's pockets. Rube dials a number as he views his latest scarlet-soiled Picasso-like masterpiece on, under, and beside the bed.

I should do some work at home, even if I’m poor I can’t be dirty, my sheets need to be cleaned, I sweat too much last night, I hate nightmares, they ruin my night, day, and the next morning I’m always feeling all weird and off. I went first to my bedroom and stripped the bed, I didn’t own a washing machine, but the building offers a shared laundry facility one of the good parts of this building, I also got my clothes, I don’t mind mixing everything, it’s much cheaper than doing multiple washes, although not preferable. I took everything down, placed them all together and started washing, I only do washing once every week, I don’t have enough clothes to go for more than one week, so I always

Damien said quietly, not wanting to wake Anysia. Ignoring my racing heart and Damien's obvious presence in the room, I pointed to the laundry basket stationed nearby, which was overflowing with clothes. "I've got work," I whispered, sorting the load carefully, picking up each item one by one, and folding them neatly. I stepped into the well-lit laundry room which had two washers and dryers, all gleaming silver in the light, hoping I wouldn't ruin Anysia's expensive and delicate clothes. Carefully, I separated the whites, the colors, and the delicates, making sure to incorporate a special kind of detergent that was meant for such luxurious fabrics.

Couldn't clean the body anymore. I guess he's too tired today.

(mi love) Jonny asks me from where he sits on my couch. “Oh, I need to get my laundry cleaned so I was getting it all together”, I explained. “How do you plan on getting that to the laundromat?”, he asks me curiously. “Drag it in the hamper like I always do”, I confessed to him. He looks at me shocked, “Amory, I can drop you off”. “That's not necessary", I argue. “It's dirty laundry, you don’t need to be handling it”!

“Your home? After what you did today? You don’t deserve to breathe the same air as us. Dira’s face is all over the internet because of you!” “I didn’t do anything!” My voice cracked with desperation. Tension coiled in my chest, tight enough to snap. “It was staged! Someone is blackmailing—” “Save the lies,” the tall guy cut me off, shoving past me to grab a framed photo of me and Clyde from the shelf. He smashed it against the wall. Glass shattered. “We saw the livestream. You were dragging her, making her beg. Pathetic.” Another intruder—a stocky boy in a varsity jacket—knocked over a chair, then yanked open drawers, scattering papers and Clyde’s school notes across the floor. “This is what