Laundry & legs

The washing machine sat forgotten. She had called the repairman over to fix it, but the moment he saw her legs he forgot everything else. He dropped his tools and told her straight out—he couldn’t stop staring at how long and smooth they looked. He wanted to taste them. Wanted her toes in his mouth. She could have told him no. Instead she stepped closer, let him drop to his knees right there on the laundry-room floor. He lifted one foot, pressed his lips to her arch, and sighed like he’d been waiting for this all day. She rested her heel on his shoulder and flexed her toes, watching the way his tongue followed every line. He took each toe in turn, sucking slow, like he meant to savor the moment instead of rushing through it. Her skirt rode higher with every shift of her hips. He kept praising the shape of her calves, the soft skin behind her knee, the strength in her thighs. She let him have it all—let him lick and kiss until his breath came ragged and his hands trembled. When he finally pressed his mouth higher, she tilted her head back, fingers gripping the edge of the dryer, and simply enjoyed the attention.