Beesotted’s smutty-minded Condorman was inspired to pen some filth to mark Fulham’s wonderful season after a recent trip to the launderette.
I recently split up from my long-term boyfriend and moved to a new area to start my life afresh. I was looking for a job, when I noticed that my local laundrette had a vacancy. I popped in to speak to the owner who offered me the job on the spot – he seemed more interested in looking down my top than anything else – but I was delighted to be earning a wage so soon after moving.
It wasn’t long before I was trusted with the keys to the shop and asked to lock up a couple of evenings a week. One night I was just about to close when a dark haired bloke came into the shop with a bag full of washing. I told him that I was about to lock the door – “that sounds like fun” he said to me with a twinkle in his eye.
To be honest I’d spent the afternoon having Zverotic thoughts and was absolutely gagging for a good Boateng, so I led him to the small kitchen we had at the back of the shop.
It wasn’t long before we were both naked and I’d dropped to my knees, giving his Bouamesca Banga a warm Kacaniklic
He soon turned me around and Bent me over the kitchen counter, thrusting his Sidwell inside me. “Hughes the daddy” he growled into my ear as I turned and Taraabt my legs around him as his Amorebieta started to Riise.
We fell to the floor and began to Riether together, reaching a crescendo of passion until he Parkered his Rodalegga all over my Dembele.
He still pops in to the launderette every Monday night. My boss told me I could close early last week, but I replied with a smile that I was going to stay open as someone was coming in with a full load.