STUFFED

Washed-Up

Courtney is on high alert the entire time she's in the laundry room.

The old take out she ate ended up making a reappearance moments after she shoved it all inside of herself. Desperately wanting to avoid the stench that would soon fill the apartment, Courtney goes down to the laundry room in her building to take care of her soiled clothing.

Not wanting to be perceived by other human beings, she shoves everything into the washing machine, throws some coins at it, and attempts to make a quick escape.

She makes it back to her apartment, setting the timer on her phone for an hour.

Once the timer is almost done, Courtney makes her way back downstairs. Of course the elevator had to be out of service. She's not looking forward to climbing this set of stairs two more times.

She walks through the door and her thoughts are interrupted by a man, hunched over one of the washing machines, holding a purple thong in his grasp. She takes a closer look at the embroidered flower on the front and recognizes it as her own.

"What the fuck!?"

The words escape her mouth before she has fully processed the events unfolding in front of her.

The man takes a step back from the washing machine and rises up to his full height. Eventhough he towers over top of her, Courtney stands her ground. He turns to face her and doesn't break eye contact. She looks down at his hand, her bright purple thong looped over his index finger.

He follows her gaze and then holds the underwear out in front him. 

There's no response from Courtney, she just stands there in disbelief.

He tosses the purple fabric which lands on the ground at her feet. What the actual fuck? There's no way this is actually happening right now. 

It's as if her lack of reaction dissatisfies him because he turns back around to face the washing machine and continues unloading all of her stuff onto the floor. 

Courtney finally regains her ability to move and walks over to where he's standing. She erratically starts picking up clothes from the floor and shoving them back into the machine. He grabs bigger fistfulls of things to chuck onto the floor until Courtney can no longer keep up. The bending up and down is making her breathless; she stares at the mound of clothing on the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Courtney says again, exasperated. She grabs a hold of his arm, as if that's going to do anything, and his muscles tense under her grip. One of her hands barely makes it around his bicep. He turns to face her.

"There aren't any machines open and your laundry was done. You can't just leave it in there when there are other people who need to use the machines.''

His audacity astounds her.

Courtney looks down at the timer counting down on her phone and holds it up to his face. She had four more minutes left in her cycle.

"Nice, almost time to take your birth control."

His response infuriates her even more.

"No, asshole, the timer is for the washing machine." As she loses the last bit of air at the end of her sentence, her motivation disappears with it. All of a sudden, this battle doesn't feel worth fighting anymore. Most of the clothes on the ground aren't going to fit her for much longer anyway and this stranger isn't worth her energy; so she drops her hand from his arm, and steps over the sopping heap, leaving the room without another word.

To make herself feel better she orders in a few pizzas and throws some garlic bread into the oven. For the next couple hours Courtney sits in front of the tv, eating mindlessly, trying to calm down from today's altercation. 

As the carbs begin to expand her stomach, Courtney starts to lean further and further back until she's lying all the way back on the couch. Instead of fighting the drowsiness she invites it in.

_____________________________

One of the most attractive women he's ever seen just walked into the laundry room and he completely lost it.

He never used to be this way but, admittedly, he's been in his asshole era lately; and when he walked into the laundry room to find all of the machines in use, he just walked over to the closest one and started ripping clothes out.

When he was caught in the act, instead of backing down like he knows he should've, he doubled down.

When she grabbed his arm, butterflies rose in his stomach. 

Now he looks at the mess left over from the chaos he inspired and wonders what to do. She already thinks he's an asshole so there's no point of trying to convince her otherwise. He finishes what he started and loads his clothing into the now empty machine before closing the door and starting it. Setting a timer on your phone actually sounds like a good idea so he does the same.

He goes to leave the room and then hesitates at the door.

He scans the perimeter to make sure no one's watching. Then he crosses the floor again and stops at the pile of sopping wet clothing on the ground; leaning down, he plucks an item from the assortment, shoves it in his pocket shamefully, and heads back to his apartment.

When he reaches the door he's already sweating from the anticipation of getting caught on his way up. He keeps both hands in his pockets to ensure nothing falls out. Then, he slinks into his apartment, closing the door softly behind him.

He makes his way over to the bed and lies down on his back. 

Sliding the thong out of his pocket he wraps it around his finger just like it was when he was standing in front of her. Slowly, his eyes close and he transports himself back to that moment, but instead of replaying the argument, he chooses a frame to analyze. Now he has time to notice how plump she really was; how rosey her cheeks were (from climbing the stairs no doubt because the elevator has been broken for several days) poor girl, probably the most exercise she's gotten in a while.

He imagines the thong he's holding being tightly sandwiched between those thighs; gathering an amalgamation of fluids and scents unable to escape the trapped cotton. He brings the fabric up to his nose only to be met by the smell of laundry detergent. He almost wishes he stopped her laundry cycle earlier, maybe her lingering scent would've still been identifiable.

He unbuttons his slacks and slides the thong from around his finger to his dick, rubbing himself up and down with the fabric that isn't his. Knowing how perverted and faux pas his actions are just turns him on even more. What if she ends up going back to retrieve her clothes? Will she notice something's missing? Will she immediately figure it out? He was the last person she saw in the room with her clothes... The reasons to avoid encountering this woman continue to stack up but these thoughts don't hold priority in his brain for very long.

He can't help but wonder what those plushy hips would feel like in his grasp. Or what kind of groans she lets out when she's eaten too much. Or what her body would look like if he bent her over... anything.

"Ughh"

His tip is getting sensitive.

What he wouldn't do to push food into that precious mouth and kiss every inch of that over indulged body.

When he comes, he lets out sounds he's never heard himself make before but instant contrite seeps in because he knows he can't see her again; not after the way he acted.