Wicked Washday

Monday morning raining, she’s not complaining
Washing day a day of work and play
Load in has a coffee awaits the cycles spin
Now she’ll begin wonders vaguely is it a sin?
Sixteen hundred revs a minute now to begin it
Presses herself on the special corner feels the thrill
Thinks this is naughty but hasn’t the will
To tear herself away this is her time to play

Pleasure floods her loins as she and machine enjoin
In working up a lather to the height of pleasure
Day of work and sultry leisure
As it reaches its peak she sighs rotates her thighs
Emits sensuous joyful cries
Then it’s over her jeans crotch soaking wet
She feels satisfied and yet
She needs more so to the man she adores

Slipping out of her clothes she goes where she knows
He’ll be lying in soft repose
Then upon the bed beside him feeling him needing him
Her own Arab man fair of face slender waist
Olive skin buttocks tight he lies upon her skin so white
His long lithe body, his hard flat chest
Brushing lightly on her yearning breast
She takes his penis strides him guides him
Lusting thrusting it begins

She climbs to the height of her delight until
She feels at last that final electric thrill
Her orgasms roll on and on as her juices flow
It’s her secret no one must know
Her Arab man figment of imagination
Sweet self relief of masturbation
Switching off the vibrator she’s enjoyed her play
Note to self:
Change batteries before next washing day


(Oh come on girls you know you’ve all done it!) ;-)