I lean against the door frame, watching as she methodically separates the jumble of dirty clothes in my hamper. Piece by piece, she smoothes and sorts; turns things inside out, rebuttons shirts, pairs up socks.

I fold my arms and smile softly as she leans down for another handful.

"I know you're there," she murmurs without looking up. "I can hear you breathing."

"It's your imagination."

"So if I turn around I won't see you standing..." she turns and her eyes widen in surprise "...there, completely naked."

"Better than your imagination, huh?" I smile broadly, and amble over, "Tell me it is."

"I'm not going to stroke your ego, Josh," she mutters, returning to her sorting. "And before you say it, because I know how your dirty little mind works, I'm not going to stroke other things of yours. At least, not until I'm done."

"Something to look forward to then. Whatcha doing?"

"What, Joshua, do you think I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're going through my pockets looking for loose change."

"Twenty three dollars and seventeen cents so far," she says triumphantly, pointing to a pile of notes and coins neatly stacked on the counter.

"Hey, I'm rich!"

"You mean I'm rich," she corrects sternly. "If you think you're getting that money, you have another thing coming."

"You really need to stop stealing things from me."

"I've only ever taken what's rightfully mine. Besides, do you want to make an issue about twenty bucks when I'm standing here doing your laundry without being asked?"

"Okay but why are you doing my laundry? I'll get around to it eventually and anything that's urgent I just send it to the place. They have it washed, dried and ironed within an hour. We could do that with all this stuff and then spend all day in bed which, I recall you telling me last night, was what you preferred doing on Sunday mornings."

"Well yes, I did say that but I came in here to wash my panties because, not anticipating you were going to exhaust me to the point I fell asleep and had to stay the whole night, I didn't bring another pair and your dirty clothes were strewn all over the floor. They were mocking me," she grumbles, fishing a handful of pennies and a crumpled scrap of paper from a pair of jeans. "Is this important?"

I lean over to read the note, taking the opportunity to press my completely naked body against her clothed back. "Give it," I demand, snaking my arms around her waist to pull it from her hand; after examination of what appears to be a phone message from three months ago, I shrug noncommittally and throw it on the floor.

"I'm not picking that up," she tuts. "I'll go as far as washing your clothes but I refuse to pick up your trash.

"Fair enough," I concede, "if you tell my why my dirty laundry mocks you."

"It just does."

"Because you're female?"

Hey!" she thrusts her hips backwards. "Stop being sexist."

"I wasn't!" I exclaim, bouncing my own hips forward in retaliation, something that pleases my cock enormously. It bobs around a little, ready for action. My head likes the idea my cock is proposing and I scoot forward, pushing myself more firmly against Donna.

"Oh so you weren't saying that because I'm a woman I can't walk past a pile of dirty clothes without feeling some sort of gender driven urge to clean them?" She turns her head to glare at me and I take this particular opportunity to capture her mouth with mine; gently, I trace her lips with my tongue, briefly slipping inside for a quick taste before I break away to answer her question.

"No, I'm saying you're a control freak who has to have everything perfectly in order." I snuggle my hips even closer and let my hands slide across the flat surface of her stomach.

"Well," she huffs, turning away to resume sorting, "that's okay then."

I wander my fingers higher, rubbing them across her smooth, flat skin. "You're wearing my shirt."

"I am."

"You're wearing my shirt and it's not buttoned up."

"Well done."

I realize something else as my hands drift upwards to brush the base of her breasts. "Also, you're wearing my shirt and nothing underneath!"

"Well that college education certainly came in handy, didn't it."

I ignore her attempt to insult me and lightly scratch my nails across her torso. "I wore that shirt last night; it's dirty."

"Yes but while I wash my clothes I have to wear something, and I may as well wear something that I'm going to wash when my clothes are done."

"These would be the clothes you were wearing last night?"

"Yes."

I look over her shoulder into the machine. "Well that makes no sense because I can't see anything of yours in there."

"Josh, I was wearing silk last night. You don't just throw silk into a washing machine with socks and jeans and t-shirts. Silk has to be professionally cleaned."

"Unlike my jeans which you seem to be throwing around with no thought."

"Well yes, we all know how delicate a fabric denim is," she scoffs.

"You're mean," I complain. "Mean girl."

"That's all you can say? God, Josh, all that lovemaking certainly has sapped your ability to construct a commensurate response to, as you say, my meanness."

"Nooo, I'm actually just wondering why you're wearing my shirt when you could just be naked."

"Naked like you?"

"Well it certainly would help to expedite matters."

"Matters being?"

I wriggle my hips against hers to illustrate the matters at hand. "Sunday morning sex in bed."

She ignores me and leans forward to grab at a sock before it falls down the back of the machine. "I really don't know why you let everything pile up for a week, Josh. It's so much easier doing a load every other day."

"I'm too busy with more important things, Donna. Like, say, the running of the country."

"And it would fall apart without you, I'm sure," she mocks, and throws another t-shirt into pile.

"You're not allowed to be mean, Donna!" I demand. "It's not nice."

"Then don't mock me for wanting to do your laundry. Really, it's only because I don't want people whispering to each other that Donna Moss' boyfriend can't even keep himself clean."

"Boyfriend?"

Her hands falter for half a second, then immediately begin sorting again. "Well, whatever we're calling each other."

I drop another tiny kiss on the side of her neck and sigh happily. "I like being your boyfriend; makes me feel young."

"Instead of old, grey, and balding?"

"I'm not grey!" I sulk. "And not bald."

"I said balding," Donna corrects. "But I think it's sexy so stop acting all affronted about it."

"Sexy, yes of course. But exactly how sexy?"

"Reign in your ego there, pumpkin," she grins. "You know how I feel about you."

"You certainly showed me last night." My cock twitches with the memory and I snuggle a little closer to her. "How 'bout I show you some stuff now?"

"Later. Laundry."

"Aww, come on," I urge. "It's not that important."

"I don't want people pointing and laughing and saying there goes Donna Moss and her smelly boyfriend."

"We're not in elementary school, Donna. And you're not doing my laundry because you're afraid of other people's opinions."

"No."

"Then?"

Donna pauses again, and then twists her neck slightly to look me in the eye. "Because I love you and want to do nice things for you. Is that reason good enough?"

I grin. "Are we living in the fifties, Donna? Are you going to be my little housewife dressed up in a poodle skirt and a coiffure with the ability to defy movement even in a wind tunnel? Will you also make me dinner every night and bring my slippers and call me 'Sir'?"

"No."

"Because I don't have a problem with that; in fact, it might be nice to have a woman waiting on me hand and foot."

"Shut up," she mutters. "You really want to know?"

"I asked, didn't I?"

"The clothes were mocking me as a woman and that's all I want to hear on the matter."

"I knew it!" I crow. "In that case, you can do my laundry all the time. And make me dinner and bring my slippers because that should totally fulfil you as a woman."

"So much in your dreams, Lyman. But maybe I'll make you dinner occasionally - very rarely I suspect - and only when you're very good to me."

I smile, pleased that I've avoided what could have been the first real fight of our very new and very fragile relationship. "I promise to be good because I am completely undeserving of you and any gift you might deign to bestow upon me." Do I know how to suck up, or what?

A smile flashes across her face and she kisses me full on the mouth, hard and demanding, yet altogether too brief and definitely leaving me wanting more when she pulls way and turns back to her task. "So what you're saying is I should look for someone else then. Someone deserving of my love and attention?"

"No!" I yelp. "No, not at all." I tighten my grip around her waist, lest she wriggle free and make a run for it.

"Good, because you're stuck with me, Josh. You wanted me so you got me and now you're going to have to put up with me."

"Let me assure you that I do not have a problem with that. And I do not have a problem with you washing my clothes, nor do I have a problem with you wearing my clothes." I rub both thumbs over her ribs, bumping softly across each bone. "I also can't help but notice that you're wearing my boxers."

"Ah, can't get anything past you can I?"

"Are these the ones I was wearing last night?"

"Yes." She reaches down into the hamper to retrieve another pile of clothes.

"Uh..." I pause for a few seconds, my train of thought distracted as the movement presses her backside more firmly against my hips. My cock is very much enjoying this new position. "Why?"

"Josh, I haven't had a shower yet. If I wore your clean clothes while still dirty, I would just have to wash them. Surely you, with your boundless intelligence, would know this."

"Oh, that makes sense."

"Glad you agree. Now, I love you, but you need to stop annoying me so I can finish the chores like the good little housewife from the fifties that you so obviously desire."

She rifles through the mound of clothes, and the very little ability I have to read her mind tells me if I plan on getting lucky this morning, I should try my very hardest to make it up to her.

And, I think, as I splay my hands over her ribs, the knuckles of my thumbs resting very lightly against the underneath of her breasts, I plan on getting very lucky indeed.

Resting my chin on her shoulder, I ask, "Did you sleep well?"

"I did," she nods. "Did you?"

"Well, since we spent most of the night doing many very exhausting things - things that I've never imagined no matter how hard I've tried... yes, I slept wonderfully."

Donna reaches up to the cabinet for a bottle of laundry detergent. "You've never imagined having sex with me?"

"Well..." The motion of her arms extending above her head stretches out her torso, tightening her skin under my hands. I slide them a little higher and, when she brings her arms down, her breasts bounce heavily into my waiting palms. "Maybe sometimes..."

"Josh?"

"Mmm?" I hum against the side of her neck, and press an open mouthed kiss behind her ear. She stiffens for a fraction of a second and then relaxes but I kiss her again, this time nipping gently at the lobe of her ear.

"Okay, you can't distract me like that, Josh."

"Why not? This is good distraction. Fun distraction. This is the kind of distraction that I advocate wholeheartedly." To emphasize my point, I curl my fingers more tightly around her breasts and let my thumbs flick at her nipples.

They harden almost immediately and, once again, her entire body tenses up. I wiggle my body forward very slightly, effectively trapping her against the washing machine.

"Quit it," she hisses, but the hiss is low and breathy so I ignore the words and concentrate on the tone of voice.

"Mmm, nope." I tap my thumbs on her nipples and when she twitches, I push against her again, my growing arousal nudging the small of her back.

"Why, Mr. Lyman," Donna breathes in a voice that hardens my cock even more, "is that an amendment in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

"Okay, that was bad." I snort with laughter and, after a second, she joins in.

"I know," she admits with a grin. "But seriously, Josh, you can't sidetrack me with your hands." I kiss her throat again. "Or your mouth."

"I seem to be doing a pretty good job so far," I counter. "And anyway, it's not like you didn't want me to touch you. Standing there in my boxers and dress shirt which you didn't even bother to button up."

"Excuse me?" Her voice changes from breathy femme fatale to one laced with warning. "Tell me you're not the kind of man who believes that a woman is asking for sex if she wears something revealing. Think very carefully about your answer, Josh."

"Noooo. No. Not at all," I says quickly, shaking my head. I give her another little kiss - on her cheek this time - one more of an apology than of an attempt to have my way with her. Very stealthily I start skimming my right hand back down over her stomach, leaving my left hand on her breast, softly rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger.

"Good."

"I only meant that it's hard for me to see you standing there dressed in my underwear and my unbuttoned dress shirt. The shirt that I was wearing last night before we had sex in that particular, very dirty way which means, therefore, I will never be able to wear again without remembering exactly what we did."

"And this is a bad thing?" While she measures out the laundry detergent into a cup and pours it on top of the clothes, I slip my right hand into the top of the boxers.

"Yes! Next time I'm wearing it at some very important event or something, I'm going to be thinking about last night, and in fact right now, and I'll be completely unable to function at all until I drag you into some random janitor's closet for a quickie."

"Excuse me, Senator, I just need to do my girlfriend in the closet before I can continue schmoozing with you," Donna deadpans. "Won't be but minute. Here, have a crab puff while you wait."

"If you don't have a problem with me saying that, then I don't have a problem."

"Idiot," she snickers. "It's a good thing I know you don't mean it otherwise you'd never see me naked again. And don't think I don't realize exactly what you're doing down there."

"I'm doing nothing and I'm not seeing you naked now," I point out as I push my hand right down inside the boxers. "Although that oversight can be rectified in seconds. I know you can feel how much I want you, Donna. You in my shirt..." I push her closer against the front of the machine, letting her know exactly how ready I am.

"So you're aroused because of this shirt?"

I slide my hand down further until my fingers are hovering just above her clit. "Yes."

"I see." Donna hmms thoughtfully. I use the time her silence has offered to very softly press my forefinger down.

"Oh!"

I smile in triumph. She's hot and already very wet which allows my finger to slide around easily. I slip another finger in to join the first and her body stiffens and then sags against me as I play with her.

"What were you saying?" I whisper in her ear.

"Um... something."

"Come to bed," I cajole, moving my fingers a little quicker. "God, you have no idea how sexy you look in my shirt."

"You really only want me because of the shirt?" she manages to ask in between gasps of air.

"The shirt, the boxers, everything." Her little moans of pleasure are quickly sending me towards the edge and I figure that I won't be able to control myself for much longer. "Donna, you're killing me here."

"I'm confused about this shirt fetish you seem to have," Donna begins. "If we can only ever have sex while one of us is wearing this particular shirt then how do you know we'll be able to have sex without the shirt?"

"We just will," I grumble, trying hard to keep the whine out of my voice because she's absolutely refusing to give in to the fact that my erection is poking her rather urgently in the back. And despite that fact that my fingers haven't stopped playing with her clit and I know she's on the verge of orgasm.

"Yes, but until we break the never ending cycle of the sex shirt how will we know?

I groan into her neck. "The sex shirt?"

"Well, come on, Josh. We have to be logical about this. We've only had sex a few times but now you're telling me you can't have sex unless this particular shirt is involved?"

"You are seriously insane, Donna. I never said that."

"Fine," she splutters, her hands digging into the sides of the washing machine as I increase the pressure of my fingers. "Stop touching me, Josh. If you only want me because of this shirt..."

"Donnnnnnnna!"

"Take your hand out of your... my boxers and let me finish the laundry."

"Donna, let me just give you another assurance right here and now. I want you. You. You look amazing in my shirt and I know you look amazing out of it. The shirt may be turning me on-"

"Yes, I can feel that," she interrupts.

"DONNA!" I'm starting to lose patience because all the blood is has vanished from the intelligent, logical parts of my brain and is fast heading southward, ready for action.

"You don't have to yell, and what did I say about the hand in the boxers thing?"

"Donna, the shirt is turning me on only because you're inside it. So shut up about the sex shirt because that's the stupidest thing you've ever said, and please, please come back to bed with me."

"Apart from the fact that you've just called me stupid, I said I needed to finish the laundry. Do you really want to go to work with pink shirts because I accidentally put a red sock in the wrong load?"

"I don't own any red socks."

"Black socks then, Josh. Which will make your shirts go grey.

"I do not have a problem with grey shirts if it means I can have sex with you right now."

I stop my my left hand from playing with her breast and bring it up to the collar of the shirt. "And really, I was the stupid one because I just could have done this." I remove my other hand from the boxers - at which she makes a small noise of disappointment - and with a quick yank, I step back, pulling the shirt off her and dropping it to the floor.

I trap her against the machine before she has time to escape and slide my hand back into the boxers to resume stroking her clit. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?" I start kissing along her shoulder, starting at the edge, moving along her skin to the nape of her neck.

"Not as hard as you seem to be," she teases. "But I still have laundry."

"Give me thirty seconds and you'll forget all about the laundry," I offer, sliding my hand up and down so my palm covers her clit and my fingers slip in and out of her body. "See, Donna, you say no but your body says yes. And no, don't start going on about a woman's right to change her mind. They have every right but you don't because you're not going to."

Donna smiles, and drops her head backwards onto my shoulder. "I'm not?"

"Nope."

"How do you know?"

"Because you can't resist me. I'm sexy. Plus, you love having sex with me."

"I love having sex with you so I'm going to have sex with you?"

"That's how it works," I say with confidence. "And so we're going to have sex now."

Donna reaches forward to close the lid of the washing machine then jabs at a few buttons, which beep cheerfully as the noise of water rushing into the machine fills the laundry room. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Sure, why not."

"Excellent!" I caress her breast with my free hand, matching the motion between her legs then slide my hand up and let my fingers settle on her clit again. "You know, I love this idea."

"Which idea?"

I roll her clit between two fingers and she gasps. "This position. It's kind of hot. You washing my clothes, me trying to stop you... me succeeding in stopping you. We should try this again some time. " I give her another little pinch and the gasps change to low, sexy grunts. "Plus, the acoustics in here are amazing."

"Idiot," she mumbles. "Only you would get turned on by dirty laundry."

"Turned on by you, and you alone, Donna." I stroke my thumb over her clit, while my fingers slip back inside her body. She sighs heavily and I move my fingers faster, alternating between rubbing and thrusting until she stiffens in my arms and her orgasm shudders through her. I keep playing with her clit until her body relaxes and her moans dissolve into breathy sighs.

"Mmm," she groans softly. "Thanks. Took you long enough."

"What?"

"Josh, you could've just put your hand in there five seconds after you walked in here. You could've just pulled me away from the pile of clothes and done many, many things to me yet you insisted on arguing and debating and generally being all childish."

"What?" I repeat, pulling my hand out of the boxers and stepping back again. I can't think straight anymore, especially since my cock is trying very hard to jab me in the eye. "You mean..."

Donna shrugs and swivels around to face me. Her eyes flick down and then up, and she grins. "Guess you weren't lying about being happy to see me."

"You're messing with me, why?"

"Because you were mean to me about doing your laundry." She folds her arms and stares at me.

I blink. "What?"

"You heard me!"

"I wasn't mean," I whine again. "I was appreciative. Very, very appreciative. I gave you an orgasm!"

"For doing your laundry!" She shrugs, "You're just digging yourself into your little hole faster and faster, Josh."

"Help me then," I plead. "I don't know what to say to make it better. I don't know what I did to make it bad in the first place!"

She stares at me for a few more seconds, and then her face relaxes into a smile. "You're so easy to mess with, Josh."

I gape at her. "Why, why, whhhhy would you do this to me?"

"Because I can," Donna shrugs again. "And because I can make it up to you in ways that you've only imagined, although considering earlier you said you'd never imagined us having sex before we did..." she gives me another grin, accompanied by an eyebrow waggle.

"You can't mess with me anymore, Donna. We're in a relationship now. No messing."

"Yeah, that isn't going to happen any time soon," she teases. "Come on, Josh. You were saying something about bed?"

"I'm not going to make it to the bedroom, Donna."

"So don't," she grins and I stare at her for half a second, and then rush forward and wrap my arms around her waist. She starts laughing as I kiss her frantically; over her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, forehead and finally back down to her mouth. She grabs my face with her hands as I slide my tongue into her mouth.

My fingers hook into the waistband of the boxers and without breaking the kiss, I shove them down; she wriggles her hips and they fall to the floor. I grab her thigh to bring her leg up but the boxers are tangled around her ankles and I growl with frustration as she pushes me away.

"Patience, Josh," Donna smiles again, and kicks them into a corner of the laundry room. "Come on, then."

I fall upon her once more, digging my fingers into her thigh, pulling it up to wrap her leg around my waist. I push her back so she's leaning against the washing machine; her nails, after scratching long trails over my back, are now digging into my shoulders as she curls her other leg around my waist.

She leans back, steadying herself on the edge of the machine, and I lean into her, helping to support her weight; when she's properly balanced, I let go of her thigh and grab my erection, sliding it quickly inside.

"Ahhh," I sigh with satisfaction as my cock is surrounded by Donna's hot, wet flesh. "See, this is all I wanted."

Donna grins. "You only wanted to be inside me? Not anything else, say, like an orgasm?" Her fingers slide up the nape of my neck and tug gently at my hair.

"Oh God, yes I want that too but this, right now, is perfect." I grin back and settle my hands under her thighs to support her weight. "You, me, and a washing machine."

"You better not have a washing machine fetish, Josh," she gasps as I thrust once into her. "I think you might have some issues with inanimate objects that I'm not aware of."

"I have to ask you something, Donna."

"Yes?"

I thrust again - just once, because when I get started, I know I won't be able to stop. "Every time we have sex are you going to completely piss me off by talking non stop about absolutely ridiculous things?"

"Josh, I do that anyway; you think I'm going to stop during sex?" She rolls her eyes at me. "And for all your desperation to actually have all the sex, you just seem to be standing there and not exactly doing anything further about it."

I take the hint.

The washing machine switches to the rinse cycle as I begin to move. In and out; slowly at first and then faster as her nails dig into my scalp and her moans echo through the tiled room. I bury my face in her neck, breathing in the mingled scents of sweat and perfume.

I continue thrusting with long smooth strokes; her muscles clench and release in unison, and through the building orgasmic haze currently clouding my mind I'm vaguely aware that it's really only been a few weeks since we first had sex and yet she already knows exactly how to squeeze me in the perfect way. Little rippling motions that caress my cock as her hips rock back and forth.

I ignore the fact that I wasted years before being with her, because she's here right now and her nails are scraping across my back so I close my eyes and move just a little faster because I'm right on the verge of coming and I want to revel in the feeling.

I love this point, right there, ready; the unbearable pressure building, my brain melting into a heady combination of lust and excitement... two, maybe three more strokes and I'm-

"Josh!" Donna gasps. "Wait."

"No."

"Slow down, trust me on this." She slides one hand out of my hair and down between our bodies to grab the base of my erection on the down stroke.

"What are you doing?" I screech as her fingers dig into my cock, effectively stopping all movement.

"Trust me," she insists.

I nearly cry in frustration. "No, no, I'm almost-"

"And you will be again." She hushes me with a hard kiss, thrusting her tongue into my mouth as her fingers press into the sides of my cock.

She breaks away and drops her head onto my shoulder; wrapping her free hand around my back, she settles her thighs more comfortably around my hips.

"Don't move," she whispers. "Just wait a few minutes."

"You're kidding me, right?" I roar with undisguised irritation. "You want me to wait? You can't ask me to wait. I DON'T WANT TO WAIT!"

"Josh, any minute now the spin cycle is going to start," she murmurs, and bites softly at my neck. "And then you can go for your life." Her fingers squeeze again at my cock; surprisingly, and very disappointingly, my impending orgasm starts to subside and no matter what she says, I'm not sure I'm going to like this particular trick.

I twist my head away from her teeth and glare at her. "Why the spin cycle?"

"Trust me," she says with a tiny secretive smile on her face. "Besides, isn't an orgasm so much better when you've waited longer for it?"

"Says the woman who already had one," I splutter.

"And who plans to have another but to do so would prefer to wait for the washing machine's help."

I snort at her. "Now who has a fetish?"

"Shut up."

"I don't understand how a washing machine can help you have an orgasm, Donna." I'm starting to think a little clearer. The orgasm I was so close to having has vanished, much to my dismay, even though my erection is still rock hard.

"Have you ever had sex on a washing machine before, Josh?"

"Nope."

She shrugs. "Well I have, so you're going to have to bow to my superior knowledge and experience."

I stare at her as her words - the ones about having sex on a washing machine, something I've never done before which means she's had sex with someone else, which I totally refuse to believe because I totally know she saved herself for me - start to sink in. Underneath us, the machine begins to drain away the water. "Uh..."

"Don't worry," she grins, "he wasn't as good as you."

"I don't want to know."

"Okiedokie."

"Who was it?" I demand.

"I thought you said-"

"Forget what I said," I interrupt her. "Tell me who it was so I can go beat him up."

Donna starts laughing. "Josh, you fight like a girl."

"I do not!" I yelp. "Anyway, if I do, it's only because I'm a lover and not a fighter."

"And you're going to have your chance to prove it now," she smiles, releasing my cock and bring her hand back up to join the other around my back.

"Really?" I ask hopefully. "Because if you stop me from coming again, I'm going to have to hit you."

The washing machine falls silent for a few seconds then clicks over into the spin cycle. Donna gives me a wide, toothy grin. "Really." She clamps her thighs more firmly around my hips which I take as a sign to mount a rescue mission for my missing orgasm.

I thrust into her experimentally. The motion of the machine is repetitive; a side to side sway as the clothes are spun around. I carefully time my strokes with each oscillation, falling into a natural rhythm of in and out.

Almost immediately, I feel my orgasm growing again.

The washing machine is at an awkward height and I try to lift her up more so I don't lose all feeling in my arms. Problem is, I don't want to stop moving, but with her legs locked so tightly around my waist, I can't do anything more than bounce her around a bit.

Donna's steadily tensing and relaxing around my cock and her moans vibrate through my neck as I lean forward; my hands, underneath her thighs, lift up so I can sink deeper into her. As I thrust, she raises her hips slightly, undulating upwards on each stroke.

The spin cycle kicks into overdrive and the machine shakes violently beneath us. I can feel the pulsations all through my body and, most importantly, right through my erection. Each time I thrust into Donna, she grunts as the base of my cock vibrates against her clit.

The centrifugal motion of the washing machine's spin cycle adds to the dizziness in my skull and my last thought as my orgasm envelops me is that we're going to be doing this in here again. Very soon.

I come quickly and forcefully, spilling into her with a bellow of contentment, never breaking my rhythm, my whole body shaking against Donna and the machine.

"Don't stop," Donna cries out. "Not yet, Josh." She slips her hand between her legs and starts to rub at her clit; even though her nails are scraping over my cock, I keep thrusting until she brings herself to orgasm.

"Ohhh," she sighs, and her body shudders in my arms; I try to keep her balanced on the edge of the machine but she's too heavy, or more likely I'm too weak because of my orgasm, and we're both covered in slippery sweat and other bodily fluids.

I lose my grip on her and lose my balance; my legs give way and we slide down the front of the machine onto the floor. I try to avoid being crushed but she's lying across me and I'm unable to move because of the awkward position and the fact my cock is still buried inside her. "Uh, Donna?"

"Yes?" she wheezes, trying to catch her breath.

"This isn't working for me."

"We need a washing machine that isn't so tall then," she giggles into my neck. "Or you need to stand on a chair when we have sex against it next time."

"That was good."

"I'm very good. You should know this by now." Donna strokes my hair and smiles, before rolling off and giving me a chance to get some much desired oxygen. I crook my arm in invitation and she snuggles up beside me on the cold tiles.

"Donna."

"Yes?" She rests a hand on my chest, her fingers drawing tiny patterns over my ribs.

I stroke her shoulder and stare up at the ceiling, trying to hide a very pleased grin. "I like washing machine sex."

"Me too."

"In fact, I like it so much that I think we need to do it again." I pause, and then add for emphasis, "We need to do it a lot. Soon. Yes."

"I love it when you ramble on, Josh." Donna smiles again and slides her hand down my stomach towards my cock; her fingers curl around the shaft, thumb brushing gently on the tip. I shiver involuntarily and her smile widens. "I also love it that you're ready to go almost immediately. Here I was thinking old men had problems in that department."

"As you can see - feel - I have no problem at all."

"I assume you don't have a problem with the floor, then?"

I shift around so my legs are no longer jammed against the machine and slide my free hand under my head so I can watch as she plays with my cock. "I do not have a problem with the floor. The floor is fine. Absolutely fine."