I skip class the rest of the day and even sleep through dinner. My mortification keeps me buried beneath my covers until the middle of the night when I can no longer sleep. Eric isn’t in the room, probably with his girlfriend whose name I still haven’t bothered to remember. I never found any panties, so she must have been joking.
Pulling out my phone, I try searching for something hot to watch and maybe get myself to sleep again after a good wank. From my previous search history, most of the suggestions are for college girls and teachers. As much as I like that, I want to take my mind off such things more.
I find a lesbian scene between two step sisters, which turns into them catching their maid sniffing their panties in the laundry room. I’m rock hard in seconds, stroking along to their licking and fingering. I finally forget what happened before – that is, until the blanket shifts and caresses my nipple.
Dread replaces my lust, and I lose interest in the porn. I close it and lie back on my pillow. After a few moments, I realize I’d never grabbed something to cum into. I look at the laundry basket by my bed and see the dried cum on my t-shirt from cleaning the window earlier. I guess if I can’t sleep, I might as well do my laundry.
Throwing on some gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt, I shuffle down the hall in my sandals and take the elevator down to the basement. As I draw closer to the laundry room, I can hear the washing and drying machines humming, some thumping with wads of clothes or wet shoes tumbling inside.
Before I turn through the doorway, I hear a gasp. I’m not surprised someone else is awake at four in the morning. It’s a university. There are no normal sleep schedules. It’s pure chance one other person is up doing laundry at this exact moment. Most people let it run and go to bed, picking up the fresh clothes in the morning.
I am surprised when I hear another gasp and a moan. You have got to be fucking kidding me. I peek through and see your back is to the door, a rookie mistake, and your head is thrown back, face to the ceiling. Your golden hair falls down your back to your waist where it meets a red plaid skirt spread over the washing machine you’re straddling.
I clear my throat, but the noise from the machine drowns me out. Then I realize your white blouse is open and hanging loosely off your shoulders. My brain takes a moment to register what I’m seeing. Your elbows are back behind you while your hands clutch your chest. Of fucking course. I realize you’re riding the vibrations of the machine and decide you could do for a lesson in awareness.
With my cock pitching a tent in my sweatpants, I focus on quietly throwing my laundry in the machine directly behind you and set it to run. I escape in silence without your noticing and hide in the lounge across the hall. Sadly, I didn’t think to bring my phone, but I have to stay and see what you do when you realize someone set laundry while you were playing with yourself. There wasn’t another machine running other than your ride when I arrived, so there’s no way you won’t notice.
Sitting against the wall behind a couch, I watch around the armrest as time ticks down. I can still hear snippets of your fun over the droning of the laundry, but despite my interest and unfinished business with my situation, I start to drift off to sleep.
Your machine buzzes loudly, waking me from dreamless sleep, and for a moment only the humming of my laundry load remains. I can only imagine your face right now, seriously considering peeking into the room again.
After a few minutes, the dryer starts, and, seeing your shadow appear in the doorway, I hide as best I can while still watching. You slowly inch your head into the hallway, you’re cascading like a curtain of sunshine, your face as crimson as sunset. You don’t spot me, check both ways down the hall, and scurry to the elevator, staring at the floor.
Once I hear the elevator doors close behind you, I creep to them and check that you really left. The elevator already arrived at whatever floor you were headed to, so I can’t tell between which elevator you used or which floor is correct.
Hurrying back to the laundry room, I grab the sharpie and paper left there for notes about service and scribble something quickly. I tape it to the dryer your clothes are in and check the hallway. My machine finishes and I switch it over as if in a race. I check the hall again and dash to my hiding spot.
Your dryer finishes with a ding, and now I wait in anticipation. I can’t wait for you to return. I just hope you don’t spot me this time. I have to see what you do after you read my nickname for you: Risky Girl.
I wait and wait, but you don’t seem to be coming back. My dryer dings, but I don’t dare grab my clothes in case you come back while I’m in there. I keep waiting until I hear female voices laughing down the hall.
I shake my head and realize it’s already morning. I fell asleep. Dammit. I check the clock as I stretch and see it’s well into morning, actually. I stand to retrieve my laundry and feel something brush against my chest. I try to smooth my shirt as I yawn and find a lump beneath my sweatshirt. Sticking a hand up, I feel a wad of wet cloth and pull it out just as the gaggle of girls steps into the open space of the lounge.
My face burns as I turn away quickly to hide a wet, black lace thong. The girls step into the laundry room and I tuck my cock into my waistband. I’m surprised not only by the present I assume you left behind for me, but also that I didn’t cum in my sleep after everything.
I shuffle to gather my laundry, notice my note to you is gone from the room, and pin my morning wood to my belly with my laundry basket. I won’t need porn now. That thong was dried while I slept. It wasn’t soaking with water either. Fuck me, I need to meet you.
