Laundry Day

-You get one day to prove yourself, she said. One day to show me that you can handle my workload. If you can't cut it, you're gone. No second chances. Got it?
-Yes.
-What?!!
Craaaack! She slapped me hard across the face.
-Yes, ma'am.
If you fuck that up again, you'll be gone before you get started. And with an ass kickin' as a bonus.
-Yes, ma'am.
-Smell me, right here.
She pointed to her upper rear thigh, between the top of her stocking and her panties. The cream-colored flesh of Hell itself. I sniffed the rich, luxuriant scent of her skin. The perfumed bouquet of her flesh, enhanced with slight traces from her ass and cunt mixed in; one is in want of no other experience beyond this.
-That’s enough, she said. Back off, Mullet.
I dropped back, in awe of her delectable body.
-I have one basket of laundry here, practically nothing. There are a mix of darks and lights, however. Do you think you can summon the brainpower to do one lousy load of laundry, wash everything with its proper colors, dry, fold and return it to me without fucking up?
-Yes, ma’am.
-Yeah, well I doubt it, but let’s see what you’ve got. While the wash is going you can start on the kitchen. Spotless, top to bottom, and the oven needs to be cleaned. Now get to work, Mullet.

She sat in the living room, watching TV and smoking cigarettes while I worked, flashing her crossed legs at me every time my duties took me into her presence. Every so often she would order me to kneel down before her and worship them. Make me smell them, make me study them, contemplate them like a monk. Face my fear of them, express my reverence for them, call them my owners, call them the universe, call them god. She crossed them. Re-crossed them. Back and forth. Over and over. Cracks, fissures, chasms breaking within. Far down in some unknown, critical realm. A collapse coming somewhere. Harbingers of Death. The deepest fear comes as she expands the moment. Jiggling her legs and juggling my soul with masterful skill, flawless technique. Ordering me away in the nick of time.
-Alright, pig, back to work. Only so much time for mullet torture.

Clothes in the dryer, on my knees in the kitchen, clouds of cigarette smoke from the living room. You have to be in here to know what I’m feeling, because it’s EVERYTHING. It’s love, it’s fear, it’s anticipation, it’s anxiety, it’s joy and delight, it’s privilege, luckiest man alive, king of the unfortunates. What’s missing? Only the trite, the commonplace, the ordinary, the boredom, the ennui…the stale, meaningless plodding that passes for 'life' anong the common herd. Utterly absent here.

-You haven’t gotten those corners and baseboards yet? What the hell’s taking you so long.
She stands over me now and my heart pounds, tympani-like. I feel it will burst. If only…
-Look at me, she says.
Supreme, celestial. The magnificence of her upskirt reaches me with the force of a tornado.
-Move up closer, mullet. Sniff between my legs. And no touching!
So careful! Obedience here is key. One tiny mistake could ruin everything. I move in. Closer. I’m right there! Her ass and cunt within a couple of inches, wrapped so delicately, delightfully in her thin white panties. Ogod, it hurts. The indescribable flesh of her bare thighs flank me on each side, the sinful grip of her stockings around them completing a vision of utter delirium. The commingling scents come now in furious assault; her warm, wet cunt, her pungent, gorgeous ass, breathing their heat down upon me, and the powerhouse floral fragrances of her skin and stockings slice through my spirit like sling blades. Everything disintegrates into darkness.