Madison's Mission

Madison loved to masturbate. Via a combination of YouTube, porn and conversations at school she’d learned to get herself off with the shower head, with her fingers in bed, with certain vegetables and her favourite, when no one was around, the washing machine. She’d strip naked and sit on the big shaking box fingering and stroking herself until she felt the climax building, then she’d stand on tiptoe pressing her vulva against the hard corner of the vibrating beast. She’d fantasise that she was being taken roughly from behind by her volleyball coach and she’d let the rhythmic rattling top loader take her all the way home.

    Today she was looking forward to being used in the utility room. She took the dark laundry from the basket, loaded it in with the little capsule of detergent and set the controls. Once it was working she stripped, boarded the love bus and spread her legs. She squeezed a nipple as she began to enjoy the shaking through her buttocks, through her cunt.

    A finger stroked her labia open and she was already wet. She slid moisture to her clit as the machine made its own weird music and pulsed its rhythms through her body. Her sounds were urgent little cries of pleasure and knowing the house was empty allowed her any volume she pleased.

    She pressed down onto the little towel she’d placed and scrunched it so the different pitches of the washer’s symphony piped directly to her clitoris. She moaned and hummed her physical joy as the machine changed gear and her tits jiggled a little more. Full of water now the drum spun faster and she responded with a tiny scream. The motor whining, the drum beating its allegro rhythm, the flesh of her thighs being made to quiver all in time to the mechanical melody.

    “Aahh.” She felt the start of the climax, the foothills and it took an act of pure willpower to dismount her thrashing throne and reposition. The foothills faded but as she stood and stretched upward pressing her mound hard against the corner of the wobbling Whirlpool she was transported. She let out a loud cry and grabbed the machine forcing the hard corner an inch into her cunt. Bliss.

    She stood greedily fucking the box and just let it happen, the machine was doing sex to her and it was wonderful. Full speed now and it sounded like it would shake itself to pieces, every imperfection in construction adding its own clank or clunk or squeak to the cacophony, her nipples like bullets, her clit engorged and her vagina aching for penetration. The coach appeared by magic and she reached behind and thrust two fingers into her quim to represent his throbbing cock

    “Fuck me,” she shouted and in moments she smashed into her rattling, clattering climax. Her eyes were screwed shut tight but her mouth was stretched open as she gulped breath. Both hands grabbed at the machine as she pressed forward, wave after wave of orgasmic pleasure layering one on the other until it was too much and she pulled away with a jerk.

    She stood naked and quivering bent half over, her hands between her legs and her knees clamped together. The orgasm pulsing out waves of intense sensation. Slowly, it faded and she breathed. The machine slowed to an eventual halt and the spin cycle was finished. The clothes were clean, but the girl was still dirty.