Dirty Laundry

Dirty Laundry
Two Irish lads have opportunistic sex with lonely Poppy, left to manage her parent’s isolated roadhouse and accommodation business…..

When you are young and your whole life moves; it moves. When you’re older your life can seem stuck and static. Poppy was stagnant and knew it. This was a shame at eighteen; at that age life should be dynamic and a buzz of action and new experiences.

As a primary school aged youngster the adventure was all there. Moving to a home with the strange name of Rendell Creek Junction. The water part of the name sounded great. Poppy always liked swimming. The creek however was nearly always permanently dry. Rendell Creek was two thousand clicks from the sea. A desert stopover point for fuel, food and rest. It was a roadhouse business with a rundown basic minimum two and half star accommodation rating. A ‘welcome’ strategic break in any person’s journey where the main north south highway met the only sealed route east. To the west a less used harsh dusty corrugated four wheel drive adventure desert track.

Poppy was ‘okay’ through the passing years while her older sister was still at home. Her three years away studying at University and a boyfriend to boot meant the sisters had drifted apart. Her parents had only two days ago taken the long drive south for Melanie’s graduation and their first break in years.

Poppy was okay running the small business alone. Besides there was Dave: retired but a general maintenance and fix anything man. He was always just hanging about and lived in a trailer on the roadhouse site. That was till yesterday when he had headed off to help a mate fix a bloody leaking roof. A leak being the last thing you wanted as a rare low wet trough came through the desert making Rendell Creek look like a creek for the first time in years.

So Poppy was alone. Alone with herself. Alone in this unexpected bloody muggy, out of place sub tropical rain. No one stopped at the shop or for accommodation, it was so frickin wet. It dripped incessantly hard on the galvanised roof. Drumming and pelting down; non-fucking stop. The water tanks were full for once and soon overflowing. Poppy had the cabin washing to do. It would have to be done in the camp site laundry. The only place with dryers. It was eight o’clock in the evening before Poppy got the washing in the dryers. She would collect it later. It was time for her dinner.

Poppy heard the microwave beep and knew her meal was ready. Here was a ‘solo frozen diner cheater’ in action, when the tinkle of the late reception bell went off repeatedly.

‘Shit late arrivals in the bloody rain. Had to be tourists, the roads would be closed in all directions if it kept pissing down like this for a couple more days’ thought Poppy, who realised her pasta and veg dish would get cold:
“Oh well…let’s see the grey nomads”, she said out loud, to herself.

The two guys drenched to the skin outside the locked reception door looked like limp pricks. Poppy let them in to a drier space where they both pooled puddles on the thinning lino.

“Christ I though this bloody outback was hot desert” said one.

Poppy detected the clear Irish accent. He had a cute chiselled jawline, she thought. He was taller than his mate.

“It is normally” said Poppy; then added, “Do you want a caravan or a cabin?” it was a business after all she had been left to run.

“Christ; we can’t afford that Miss. We have our tent and gear on the back of our bikes” said the shorter one, who had three days of rough facial hair growth.

“Are you going to set the tent up in this downpour? It could rain for hours or days you know?”

“No choice” said the taller, “So its fifteen dollars for a tent site.”

The rates were on a board behind Poppy’s head.

“There you are” he said placing a tenner and fiver in Poppy’s extended hand.

Poppy didn’t hesitate: “No look; take a cabin for fifteen, OK; there’s no one else on site. It’s fine.”

“Cor, thanks Miss” said the one with the emerging beard.

“Look bring your bikes around the back of this building and I’ll let you garage them”, added the young lass.

Once the bikes were in a dry place the guys headed off. Poppy went back to her cold dinner and the heavy incessant rain on the roof. So loud you nearly couldn’t think. Let alone sleep. She hadn’t even got the dudes names in the register, she realised too late.

“Did you check the sweet butt on that ‘Colleen’ Shamus” said Patrick, the taller, to his mate as he stripped off his wet jeans.

“Mate “said Paddy, scratching his stubble, “I didn’t get past her hooters, that’s a stacked rack man”, as he removed his sodden shirt and t-shirt.

“Anything else to go in the washer? Let’s make this load worthwhile; not many two dollar washes around mate.”

“Yeah, here’s my jocks, that’s it.”

So two male cheapskate travellers sat naked washing everything they had while reading old magazines. All of their kit getting the full wash cycle while the rain kept tumbling down incessantly outside.

Poppy was in her skimpy pj’s when she remembered the bloody washing: ’Crap; the dryer.’

She grabbed an umbrella and put on her thongs and headed over to the laundry next to the ablutions block. It was slippery and puddly. Poppy was in a hurry and went the ‘big slide’ straight onto her arse and was instantly soaked through to the skin. The full drench from head to toe and covered in slimy tacky red earth; ‘shit…shit…shit’ was all she thought. The umbrella was busted. Prongs poking in all the wrong directions.

Shamus and Paddy were now teamed up in the laundry. Patrick tossed the washing to Shamus, who was standing farther away at the only available dryer. The other three were full of dry sheets, they looked like the cabin linen. Best not to remove it, they thought.

Both guys were in their birthday suits focussed on wet clothes for the dryer.

Poppy came through the laundry door only intent on getting her wet tacky pj’s off quickly and drying herself with one of the sheets she was collecting. The lass was quickly naked, full frontal, full dark bush.

Both guys became aware of the reception girl, starkly stripped and holding dirty dripping mud red pj’s.

Poppy became aware of the guys, full frontal and well hung dudes.

All eyes in the laundry were below the waist for a decent lingering look.

“Fuck” said Poppy, caught out.

“Certainly “said Shamus, his quick mind twisting her meaning of that versatile word: fuck.

“Here?” said Paddy.

“Fuck it. Yes” said Poppy.

Shamus didn’t give a rats about his wet washing. He grabbed crisp sheets out of the closest dryer and sort of spread a lumpy pile of them on the floor. He kept one for the girl; who introduced herself quickly, as did the guys with their first names; but basically body heat and triple friction dried our Poppy much quicker. She didn’t bother with the sheet. Her hands were both full anyway. She had prime Irish meat massaged up very quickly. No handshake introductions here. It was hello cocks.

Paddy was rapidly occupied with her awesome melons rubbing his face right between them and then getting deliriously happy with a temporary nipple fixation.

Shamus was exploring her cute rear end and its adjacent butt hole. One finger nestled nicely in her warm tight arse. The bitch was murmuring. She liked it rapid and prodding in her bum.

Patrick’s face headed south and his tongue caressed Poppy’s cute crimpled cunt lips after parting her fur garden.

Poppy literally popped like the pop in her name. The Irishman’s seemingly clairvoyant tongue speedily struck her erect engorged exposed clit. The delight rapidly roller coasted through her bliss filled body making her heart race, her breathe extend deeply in, then fully exhale out and finally it swayed through her mind in fucking implosive and explosive self happiness as trilly spiky warbly quivers of intense pleasure building. She was ready for an indecent shagging.

Before she could control what she wanted, though beyond cock now, Poppy didn’t actually think or plan; cock sounded right; cock in her now; that was the agenda: cock. Shamus had the country girl half bent over with his pecker ready to probe her exposed willing cavities.

Patrick’s dick head was in her mouth and Christ she was good. She sucked deep and teeth free. Her tongue working a special treat every now and then as a delightful pleasurable surprise to his pink engorged glans.

Shamus took in her equally glistening pink wide revelation resting on its fur carpet between her legs. In its eye opening natural beauty her coochie promised immediate pleasure. In touch it delivered ego delight two ways. In the promised delivery of immediate and continual delight of shared pecker penetration and pussy embracing; it took them both to a promised land; the refuge of the soul, the haven of self really discovered and the guarantee of our human capacity. Or put crassly; they were jointly fucking themselves senseless.

The gradation of the pleasure momentum for Poppy built two ways. Shit she was doubled cocked. No cock for six months then it was multiplied just like that in a goddamn instance in their families fucking laundry. Her head and pussy in a complete rhythm of body fulfilment. She felt the tenseness in the cock in her mouth. Paddy’s cum exploded in her gob and dribbled out. Her mouth spluttering full but it tasted great. She felt great.

Paddy got out: “Orrgh; fuck”. It was a wad release to remember.

Shamus had more control and creamed her over her butt cheeks. She felt the warmth seeping and soaking around and between her legs. Shamus had that blank satisfied male look. The basic: ‘fuck that was good.’

The big wet outside was drumming away on the roof as they cleaned up. A dryer was tumbling away with the guys gear.

Poppy and the Irish pair were now folding sheets except for the one demurely wrapped around her body and the folded ones tucked around the guy’s loins. There was a lot of dirty laundry still and the small talk descended into smutty jokes and sexual innuendo.

Poppy thought ‘what the hell’ and checked out Shamus cock as his sheet unravelled easily in her hands. His virile meat hardened quicker than a lightning bolt and Poppy was on her knees enjoying his fleshy taste and sucking over his ridge.
Her butt was suddenly raised up and her sheet was off and Paddy was burrowing into her arsehole with two fingers the filthy bastard. Poppy worked Shamus’ cock with speed and energy. She was excited. She was an anal virgin but Paddy fixed that very quickly.

It was a long wet night. The steady heavy rain not helping anyone to sleep. Well three young people weren’t intent on sleep as they fucked the night away in Poppy’s parents queen sized bed. The last thing on Poppy’s mind as the sheets were repeatedly cum stained was more dirty laundry.

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir