DOING THE LAUNDRY: STEAMY SUPERCHARGED EDITION

Hello, Function-y Bunch! Hopefully this will be the last time I write to you from Shitbox Care Home PLC, as I am due to move on Wednesday! But before I get to you with the positive things that have been going on I felt I needed to address the latest post from my friend Strict Julie on her blog, titled Doing the Laundry.

I was enthralled reading it. It's a lot darker than most of what Julie writes, and her husband David treats her pretty appallingly throughout, although Julie is clearly responding to it physically and not using her safewords. She's more than capable of sticking up for herself if she thinks a line has been crossed. The scene involves a hand spanking followed by oral and vaginal pentration. Julie is teased constantly for her high libido and for acting like a horny freshman away from home for the first time rather than a career woman in her forties.

At the end it's revealed that the scene had been established beforehand, and that David was playing a part. It's something of a bait-and-switch, but it's a relief to have it verified that David was chasing the game of a scene rather than being monstrous for no reason

Here's my issue with the post, though:

Nobody does any fucking laundry!!!!!

What the Hell? There's talk of laundry that needs doing; in fact a pair of trousers get stained and David specifically mentions they will need to pre-treated before cleaning, but then this tantalising plotline is abruptly dropped! Chekhov would not approve!

The only other mention of laundry comes at the very end of the story, when, after being spanked and fucked or whatever Julie ends with "I have laundry to do."

I don't know if she thinks that by mentioning laundry twice she reaches some threshold for minimum viable product, or if she is just trolling her readers, but I think she's better than this and that she should write with integrity rather than using sexy clickbait titles to drive up her readership. How is this a post about "Doing the Laundry?" Imagine if Waiting For Godot ended with Vladimir and Estragon deciding "We have Godot to wait for!" Ludicrous.

I wrote to Julie in private saying I thought she was above using cheap tricks and gimmicks to drive up her page count, and rather than showing remorse she went through a butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth act, pretending she didn't know what I was talking about, and that she wasn't trying to drive up page views. I'll let you, the reader, be the judge, but I think we all know how sexy laundry is and launderers are.

Coincidentally, I happen to have experience working as a launderer! As such, I decided to write a continuation of Julie's story using some of my expertise to help her out. Like all stories involving dry-cleaning equipment, it ended up being pretty erotically charged!

I present to you... 

Doing the Laundry - Part II - The Professional

Julie collected up her panties, her bra, her heels, and his pants, and left silently as her husband watched his show intently. "I have laundry to do," she thought.

 She examined the stain she'd left on her husband's trousers and reconsidered. Her husband was right, it would need pre-treating, but she had not received any formal training in how to do so, and did not have access to the same chemicals that a professional cleaner would. She re-entered the den where David was watching TV.

 "I know you've told me to do the laundry, but I am concerned that if I try and tackle the stain and am unsuccessful then an expert won't be able to remedy the situation," she said. "It may be slightly more costly and impractical to take your pants to a professional, but it will be cheaper in the long run if we go longer without buying new pants. Plus, my lingerie set is made of a number of different materials, so I am wary to clean it myself."

 "Very sensible," David agreed. " I love how well you care for our things. A guild certified expert would certainly get the best results, and will give us a chance to support a local business. I love you."

-

Ray Handsome stood behind the customer service desk of his dry cleaning shop, having spent a rewarding hour doing the necessary maintenance of his Rennzacci Progress Xtreme 55 Club. The tanks were balanced, the still scraped clean, and the button trap empty. He was making sure he had enough trouser guards in stock when a pretty young woman entered the store, wearing a Toronto Maple Leafs hockey sweater, tight fitting denim jeans, and a blue denim jacket.

Ray smiled a her warmly, excellent customer service being second nature to a professional dry cleaner such as Handsome. Cleaning was not his first career; he had started off as an Army Doctor before working his way up from Marine to Navy Seal to Gurkha. He'd served nine tours in Iraq, twelve in Afghanistan, four more in Fallujah, and two years doing Black Ops in South America. He turned his back on that life in disgust when Sleepy Joe Biden stole the election; trading in his sack of purple hearts for a gym bag stuffed with Canadian FunBucks and heading North for a better life. He had moved into the first place he saw for sale after crossing the border, which happened to be the penthouse apartment of a skyscraper in downtown Toronto.

He had picked Dry Cleaning as a second career because he wanted a job with responsibility and the chance to improve people's lives. He found a cleaner looking to take him on and, after a gruelling two week training process at the hands of a Master Dry Cleaner, including Saturday mornings, he knew the basics to keep a shop running smoothly. The rest he'd have to figure out as he went along, though luckily he had the phone number for one of the guys who installed the machine, who could tell him what to do if there were any error messages or whatever.

 "Good morning, madam!" he addressed the customer. "How can I help you?"

 "I have a pair of pants and a lingerie set that need cleaning as soon as possible, please" she said.

 "I can have them cleaned within the hour, though I will have to charge you five FunBucks extra for express cleaning. If I could take some details, starting with your name, Ms...?"

"Delmar. Julie Delmar." She gave him her address and phone number, and he printed off a ticket.

"Here we go! That'll be done within the hour. Are there any stains I should be aware of?" asked Handsome.

"Ooh, yes, thanks for reminding me. The gusset of my panties is totally soaked in my pussy juices, and the thigh of one of the trouser legs is coated with the same stuff, from where I was straddling my husband's leg," she told him. She would normally be embarrassed to reveal such intimate details to a man she had just met, but Ray had the same approachable, easy-to-talk-to manner of all men in his industry.  When she thought of it, he had probably the sexiest job there was, learning the secrets of strangers in their time of need and covering up the evidence of an sinful misdeeds. They were a lot like priests, she supposed, only more relatable, and rugged as they worked with their hands, and with better skin thanks to being around steam all the time. Plus they were totally on the table, sexually speaking.

"That shouldn't be a problem," said Handsome, taking this revelation completely in stride. She wasn't the first to make such a statement, nor would she be the last. Truth be told, it made a change from the three most common stains he had to deal with: gravy stains from poutine, baby seal blood from clubbers, and cheese curd stains from poutine. "Here's your ticket, thanks for choosing Ray's for your dry cleaning needs."

Julie went to take the ticket, then realised, horrified, that she had nowhere in which to put it, as neither her jacket nor jeans had functional pockets! "Um, does it matter if I come back without the ticket?" she asked.

"No, that won't be a problem," said Ray, " as long as you have valid ID to prove who you are."

Julie gave this some thought. "I don't have any ID, and I don't want to go home for it! My husband has already spanked me once today for being a dirty whore; I don't want to get punished again for being irresponsible, and so I can't risk losing this ticket! May I stay here and watch you work?" she asked.

"Certainly you may! We can't risk further annoying your husband. It sounds like you keep him busy!" Ray said, donning a white coat.

"I certainly do!" said Julie. "He's already had to fuck me in the pussy and the mouth today, when all he wanted to do was watch mildly subversive Star Trek TNG fan fiction."

 "Wow, you are having a busy day!" he said. "I'm just going to pre-treat these clothes and then I'll put them in the cleaner." 

He took the trousers to the pre-treatment station, placing the stained fabric facing upward, feeding the leg over a mechanical arm that had a built in vaccuum. He applied Blutol to the stain, turned on the vacuum, then used a pressurised jet of water to pass the solvent through the fabric of the trousers. He stopped the water but left the vacuum on until the pants were dry. "We don't dry clean wet garments!" he explained. "That's asking for trouble."

Julie was in awe of this captivating man and the control he had over the machine; effortlessly making it do his bidding so that the stain vanished under her lingering gaze. "Is that hot or cold water you're using there?" she asked.

Ray chuckled; this curious outsider reminded him of when he too was ignorant of the industry's many secrets, a couple of years before. "Always use cold water when dealing with organic stains, or you risk chemically altering any natural enzymes and making the stain impossible to remove. Imagine you're baking - if you take a raw egg you can mix it with water and it blends together in a new solution, right? Like when you're making cake batter?"

"Yes, that's right," said Julie , fascinated.

"Well, imagine trying to stir a boiled egg into a pint of water! It simply wouldn't work. It's the same principle here." As he spoke he finished pre-treating the dirty panties.

"Wow!" said Julie, impressed by how clearly and confidently he had educated her. She bet he would make an amazing father.

He took the garments to the front of the machine, released the electronic lock, and turned the handle to break the air tight seal. He tossed the trousers in the machine, but placed the lingerie in individual net bags.

"Why did you bag up my unmentionables?" Julie asked, blushing slightly.

Ray closed the door and activated the lock as he answered. "As they are more delicate it's safer to bag them. The perchloroethylene I'll b be using to clean your things is 1.7 times heavier than water, and I don't like taking chances. Plus the hooks from your bras or garters could get stuck in the holes of the drum, and that's a headache I could do without."

Julie gazed at him in admiration. "The standard program takes about forty eight minutes to run, but that assumes you have a full load of 21 to 23 kg. As your load weighed 2 kg - I always round up for my records - I can take manual control of her and have your load ready in about sixteen minutes. That's how you sort out the men from the boys in this job!"

As Julie watched the rugged man force the machine to do his bidding, checking different windows and guages, guiding the solvent from one part of a machine into another, she thought how much more interesting this hunky worker doing his regular job was than watching Seth MacFarlane pretend to be a spaceship captain. In fact, she thought, being a dry cleaning technician was very much like being in command of a space cruiser, man and machine working in perfect symbiotic harmony, other regular citizens placing their faith in the hands of these heroes. "Any woman would be lucky to have this renaissance man attend to her with his calloused but nimble hands the same way he paid attention to his machine and to the wants of his many customers," she mused.

When he was satisfied the garments would be free of solvent he opened the door to the machine and steamed the trousers in a special cabinet before ironing them. The ironing board was attached to a vacuum and a blower, meaning Handsome could iron creases far sharper than one could create at home with a standard domestic ironing board. Julie was beginning to think there was nothing especially standard or domestic as far as this stallion of a man was concerned. She imagined that it was her flesh he was caressing, rather than the smooth fabric of her husband's stain-free trousers.

He deftly hung the trousers on a plastic hanger, using a trouser guard to ensure they wouldn't slide off the hanger whilst being transported. He pulled a protective sheath down around them, using the heat of a wire element to cut the plastic covering at just the right length. He then pressed and bagged up Julie's underthings, and placed them alongside the trousers on the service counter.

"Here you go, Ms Delmar," said Ray. "All done and dusted in under forty minutes! How will you be paying today?"

"Oh no!" thought Julie. She hadn't thought about payment, and once again was let down by her lack of pockets! What on Earth could she do to pay back this man for the amazing work he'd done?

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, "I have no currency with which to pay you! I swear it was an accident! Is there something else I can do to repay you for your exemplary work?"

Handsome frowned. "Well, I should probably turn you over to the Mounties," he said. "The only other form of payment I take is sexual gratification, and I know you're married, so-"

"Oh, my husband doesn't mind me occasionally engaging in weird sexual misadventures with hotel staff or old co-workers or my sister! Let me borrow your phone and see what he says."

Ray handed her the phone and she called David. "Hi, it's Julie!" she said.

"Julie? What is it? This is the third time you've interrupted my TV show today! What is the meaning of this?"

"Well," she said, " I wanted your permission to fuck the only other person I've seen in the hour it's been since I last saw you. You see, I'm at the dry cleaners, and my jacket doesn't have a pocket, so-"

"Do whatever you have to do!" said David, exasperatedly. "I'm watching my spaceships!"

"Okay, I love you!" said Julie, not realising David had immediately hung up on her. "He says yes!" she told Ray.

"Oh, that's awesome!" he said. "Only do you mind me doing you up the ass, because I seem to remember you saying you've had your husband's cock in your mouth and your gash sometime within the last two hours, and I don't want his sloppy seconds."

"No problemo!" said Julie, cheerfully lowering her jeans and her panties, exposing her sore red bottom. She placed her elbows on the service counter and said "I am well accustomed to taking it that way, and I'm so horny right now I don't mind you raw-dogging me, hard, rough, and dry if you have to!"

"Don't worry," said Handsome," I have a sachet of lube in my wallet." He greased up Julie's beckoning chocolate starfish, enjoying the heat still radiating from the vicious spanking her husband had given her. He thrust himself into her, and worked himself in and out, Julie responding eagerly both vocally and through the motion of her hips as she swayed to meet him, forcing him deeper and deeper into her, until he shot a hot load of baby batter inside her, As he continued to come he pulled himself out of her, his pearl jam leaving a trail along her back passage like wet SuperCrease being applied to the inner crease of a trouser leg. Julie, for her part, was shuddering and weak at the knees, using the counter for support as she came like a thrupenny banger.

Once he was finished he put away his softening  member and withdrew to the other side of the service desk. "If you bring those panties in I can clean them free of charge," said Ray.

 "Oh, don't worry about that, these are just some cotton granny panties I bought from Honest Ed's," she laughed, making herself presentable.

"The discount store?" Ray asked. "I thought they closed in 2016?"

"Ha ha ha," Julie laughed coquettishly. "Well, goodbye!"

As she left the store she felt his spunk and lube dribble out of her ass, mixing with the juices from her pussy. "That's the trouble with laundry," she thought. "It was never long before more needed doing!"

The End

It's probably worth noting that since I started writing this nonsense Julie wrote to me again, still confused, saying she doesn't think laundry is "Click-baity." Guess we'll see!

Eat peace, motherfuckers! ✌