Dirty Laundry Novels & Stories

the clumsy woman asked tentatively, her hands clasped together to keep herself from shaking with nervousness. “I’m afraid not,” I murmured, much to her grief. “The fabric was stained by my blood, and not only is that near impossible to get out of white fabric, this kind of fabric needs to be professionally washed. I’m afraid that whatever we try just won’t be enough.” A heavy sigh left my lips, a mingle of frustration and despair. Jean’s disappointed face flashed in my mind, an omen of what was to come when she came back to check on my progress.

Shrapnel from the bomb he'd dropped on our life. I couldn't leave it like that. I marched to the bed, grabbing the duvet cover in both hands. I pulled with vicious force, tearing it off, pillows tumbling over. I gathered the silk duvet cover, the sheets, the pillowcases, everything that had their mark on it into a polluted pile on the floor. It was like dealing with radioactive waste. My breathing was in short, sharp bursts, my eyes blurring not with tears this time, but with the force of my disgust. "Cleaning up?"

I pressed it once, just to make it real, and then I turned the water on hot. I stood under it until the heat stopped feeling like punishment and started feeling like something my body remembered how to take. I washed my hair twice. I washed my hands longer than they needed. I let the water run down my back and tried not to think about a needle in a neck, or gold stacked farther than the light, or Dallas’s mouth in a parked car under trees. When I finally shut it off, the room was full of steam and my skin was clean for the first time in days that had not been days so much as one long night with different skies.

My legs shook, my knees threatening to buckle under the overwhelming sensation of being filled in both holes at once by this ruthless man. That’s it,” he growled viciously against my ear, his grip on my hair keeping my head pulled back so every moan and gasp was loud and exposed. “Everyone outside this restroom should hear exactly what a dirty little slut you are for me. Scream louder, princess. Let them know who’s ruining both your tight holes.”

Tony gave an affirmative before he shut the bathroom door. With a wide smile, Dillon got to work and stripped the sheets off the bed. The quilt and pillow cases seemed totally fine, so he left them. The less things to be laundered, the better. Laundry sucked. Once the sheets were piled in the washer, he walked over to the corner. He picked up and gently laid his jacket on the edge of the bed to hang up in the front closet. The rest of the dirty clothes he simply crumpled up into a big ball and tossed them football-style in front of the washer. Why did Tony care about a dirty clothes pile on the floor in the corner but not in front of the washer? When will Tony make sense and get a hamper? Di

Day 19. "All Jenna wants is dick. You should have seen how she was all over Chad that night," Kizzy hissed, pouting in front of the tall mirror as she toyed with the belt holes leather pants she was trying on. "It was just disgusting to see her hoe around like that." Amanda looked up from her phone which was currently glued to her ears, it had been that way since we entered this store. From the quiet laughter and gentle flushes on her cheeks, we didn't need a soothsayer to inform us who she was on the phone with.

She looked down at the scarf stained with coffee and took it off to walk into the bathroom to clean it. As soon as I entered, I caught sight of a red mark on the button area of a men's shirt in the dirty laundry basket. Leanna's hopeful heart instantly plummeted into despair. I was washing up and taking a shower in the bathroom earlier, so I didn't notice this. Now that I see it, it seems particularly glaring. She stepped forward, picked up the shirt, and looked at the red dye printed on it. It was obvious that it was made from lipstick. Leanna tightly gripped the shirt, her fingertips turning pale.

His skin glowed with a bronze hue, a striking contrast to the shadowy corners of the room, and despite the chaos that had unfolded, he looked almost ethereal. I turned away, feeling an urgent rush as I tore off the blood-stained scrubs. The fabric clung to me, a grim reminder of what had transpired. As I poured laundry soap into the washer, I could hear my mother’s voice echoing in my mind, her insistence on using cold water and stain remover ringing true. “No trace of this moment should linger,” she would say.

Why did they have to cause more problems for me and how in the hell am I going to clean this large Shaggy rug? By the time I had cleaned all the water away, I had carried the rug outside just at the back of the maids’ region. I had asked Miss Dorota for the washer but she refused saying it was my fault that I had dirtied the rug, of course, she gave a few insults but as usual, I ignored them. The fabric was so hard to clean that I scraped my hands a few times leaving my skin a little bruised and red. My hands were burning, making a few tears leave my eyes and just then, I began thinking about my life.

That is, until I went to his room to gather the dirty clothes from the night before. Even in dark colors, the bloodstains were glaringly obvious. The soft, smooth fabric felt incredibly luxurious, which made me nervous about cleaning it. “If this were a regular t-shirt, I’d just toss it out and be done,” I sighed, feeling the weight of the task ahead. I carried everything down the corridors to the laundry room, where two maids seemed to be just killing time. They were talking loudly, laughing, and making comments until I felt them approach. I tried to ignore them. I already had enough problems—I didn’t want to be treated like the scum among the house staff. That would only make my life there