Laundry can wait

The machines hum in a steady rhythm, and Wibeke’s pulse picks up with every turn of the drum. Heat flares between her legs, sudden and sharp. She can’t ignore it. The laundry will still be there when she’s done, but her body won’t wait. Her hand slips straight to the slim plug she always keeps close; she knows exactly when the urge will hit and she’s learned not to fight it. She bends over the washing machine, jeans shoved down just far enough, and works the cool tip against her tightest ring. One breath, then a slow, steady push. Her asshole yields, then grips the toy like it was made for it. A second later she’s fucking herself with short, measured strokes, thighs trembling, cunt slick and untouched. The brunette’s reflection wavers in the dryer door—eyes half-closed, mouth open, riding each thrust until the low, filthy sounds she makes nearly drown out the machines themselves.