I Pulled Down My Top and Stroked His Cock in the Laundromat

The humid air of the laundromat clings to their skin as she slips into the corner booth, laundry basket in hand. His eyes flick up from his phone, a slow smile spreading as he watches her pull down the straps of her sundress, letting the fabric pool around her waist. Her fingers deftly unbutton his jeans, freeing him with practiced ease. The steady hum of dryers masks the slippery sounds as she strokes him slowly, her breath quickening with each pass of her palm. Behind the frosted glass of the suds-filled window, they stay hidden in plain sight. When the last dryer buzzes to life, he comes with a quiet groan, and she tucks him away with a satisfied smirk before pulling her dress back into place.