Chuck Tingle
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Getting Dirty With My Sentient Lesbian Washing Machine
🕑 Added 2025-05-01 13:33:09 +0000 UTC
Tiff has a big weekend ahead of her, and the only thing standing in her way of some incredible outfits is a giant pile of dirty laundry. Unfortunately, when Tiff goes to take care of this chore, her washing mashing explodes, forcing her to buy a new one.
Once at the store, Tiff realizes that a six-hundred-percent washing machine tariff has completely destroyed any hope of finding one of these important household appliances… until she notices Heather in the corner. Unlike the other machines, Heather is sentient, and it’s going to take a lot more than just monetary transactions to get her home.
Fortunately, Heather sees something special in Tiff… something carnal.
This erotic tale is 4,000 words of sizzling human on sentient washing machine action and living lesbian appliance love.
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GETTING DIRTY WITH MY SENTIENT LESBIAN WASHING MACHINE
By Chuck Tingle
I’m generally pretty good at taking care of things around the house, self-regulating in a way that many of my friends can’t seem to handle for themselves. When it’s trash day, I take out the trash. When things are getting a little grimy, I mop. I probably even clean the cats’ liter box even more than I have to, and my bed is always immaculately made. Most of this happens well before I hop into my morning shower.
The one thing that I always forget, however, is laundry. Despite my diligence when it comes to every other chore, I tend to let the laundry stack up until, unfortunately, I find myself with very little to wear.
Realizing that there isn’t much left in my dresser, I glance over at the laundry bin to find that it’s overflowing with clothing, a mess of colorful fabrics spilling out across the floor.
“Well, fuck,” I proclaim, letting out a long sigh.
If the coming weekend was filled with rest and relaxation, I could probably make this work, but unfortunately my timing couldn’t be worse. My next few days are packed with all kinds of socializing, and it looks like I might be presenting myself in a baggy t-shirt that I usually sleep in and a pair of sweat pants.
Unless, of course, I actually take care of business.
I now recognize that there’s no other way out of this mess but through, and I finally get to work. I make my way around the room, picking up all the scattered clothing I can find and then pushing them down into the basket. There’s just barely enough room for this to work, but I somehow manage, and soon enough I’m carrying the whole thing through my house, groaning at the incredible weight held within my arms.
Arriving at the laundry room is a relief. I quickly throw the first load into my washing machine, then pour in a touch of soap and start it up. There’s an odd shudder as the thing kicks into gear, but it’s not enough to get me too concerned. This machine always gets the job done.
I leave, shutting the door of my laundry room and then strolling over to my kitchen. A bowl of corn flakes is swiftly prepared and I collapse into a chair in my breakfast nook, gazing out across the neighborhood as it slowly churns to life. Morning sprinklers are going off. A few people are out walking, one of whom catches my gaze and then waves a neighborly wave. A dog barks in the distance.
I take a huge bike of my cereal, then another. “Gonna be a good weekend,” I say to myself between cornflake chomps.
As I sit her in a state of meditative peace, the sun warm against my face, my gaze slowly drifts over to the laundry room door. It’s here that my gloriously peaceful state is broken but the abrupt shock of seeing bubbles pour out from under the door.
“Oh fuck!” I cry, erupting to my feet and hurrying over. I throw open the door as more bubbles surge out around my feet. The laundry room is covered in suds, a cascade of soapy white foam gushing out from every side of my rattling, lurching washing machine.
I hurry over, struggling to flip the off switch and then leaping back when a crackling spark of electricity erupts near my fingertips. The machine lurches again, slamming against the tile floor as a side panel falls off and a detached hose whips through the air.
I retract, then try again, this time somehow managing to trigger the switch but horrified to find that my big win does absolutely nothing. More sparks erupt in a plume of brilliant white as I switch gears, reaching around the side of the machine and yanking its plug from the wall.
Finally, relief. The washing machine plunges into silence, letting out its final breath in a puff of smoke. I stand here for a moment, struggling to fully comprehend the situation that I’ve just found myself in.
A long, defeated sigh falls out of me. I drop down, pulling my wet clothes from the machine. Unfortunately, it appears the actual washing part of this process had barely started, very little freshness to be found despite the suds.
If I want any clothes to wear this weekend, it looks like I’ll need a new washing machine.
I take a moment to clean up the laundry room, which is surprisingly easier than I expected. The bubbles pop quickly, gradually evaporating as I disconnect the rest of the washing machine and somehow manage to haul it into the back yard.
“Excuse me,” I start, gesturing towards the first employee that I see as I walk through the door of Borson Appliances. “Where’s the washing machine section?”
“Right this way,” the man says, leading me through the store.
We don’t travel far, stopping abruptly in an empty corner of the warehouse. “Where is it?” I ask.
“This is the laundry section,” the employee replies. “All laundry appliances are basically impossible to get your hands on these days. Eight hundred percent tariffs, so the ones we had were super experience and we’re not getting any more stock for a while.”
“What doe you mean by a while?” I reply.
“A few years,” the employee says with a shrug. “They’ll have to build washing machine factories in America first, and there’s a lot of red tape for that.”
I shake my head in amazement, reeling from my misfortune. “What the fuck,” I sigh. “So you’ve got...” I suddenly trail off, noticing a single washing machine in the corner. “What about that one?”
“She’s a living object,” the employee replies. “So you can’t really buy her, but you can talk to her.”
“Oh!” I chirp, surprised by this strange turn my shopping trip has taken. I’ve never had a sentient appliance before, and the whole concept is a bit daunting, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
The employee strolls away and leaves me to it. I center myself, hoping to make a good impression, then cautiously approach the sentient washing machine. “Hey, I’m Tiff,” I offer, introducing myself.
The machine just rests there, silent and still. I furrow my brow slightly, stepping a little closer to investigate.
As far as I can tell, this is just another washing machine, and it suddenly dawns on me that the employee might’ve been confused, or is possibly even pulling a cruel prank on me.
“Are you alive?” I ask, feeling awkward and stupid as the words leave my mouth.
There’s no response.
“Okay then,” I chuckle.
“Boo!” the washing machine suddenly erupts, causing a startled yelp to escape my lips as I reel back.
I clutch my chest as the machine begins to laugh, and suddenly I’m laughing too as the tension between us falls away.
“I’m so sorry,” the washing machine says, switching into apology mode. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I assure her.
“I’m Heather,” the sentient appliance reveals. “It’s nice to meet you.” Now that I can actually make out the smiling face on this living appliance,
I’m suddenly struck by just how attractive she is. There’s something unmistakably playful about her face, a brightness to her eyes that I can’t entirely quantify but immediately puts me at ease.
“Do you want to come home with me?” I ask.
Heather’s eyes widen a bit and my heart skips a beat, the reality of what I just said hanging awkwardly in the air between us. We pause like this for much longer than I’m prepared for.
“I mean... oh my god,” I fumble. “I’m so sorry.”
Heather doesn’t look entirely put off, but I can tell this statement of mine has put a damper on the moment. “You really cut right to the chase, huh?”
“I really am sorry,” I profess.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Heather assures me, struggling to right the ship. “I usually try to get to know people before I go home with them and become their laundry machine. Joining a household is a big step.”
The faintest sensation of relief pulses through my body, thankful that her interpretation of my bumbling words doesn’t run any deeper than this. Of course, she might be downplaying the awkwardness of my implication to save face, which I also appreciate.
“Yeah, my bad,” I reply. “You wanna... grab lunch?”
“I can’t really leave the store,” she explains.
I consider this a moment.
“I’ve got you,” I say. With that, I turn and head up to the front register.
Despite being an appliance and electronics store, there’s a hearty supply of various candies and snacks up here. I grab one of everything and make my purchase, then scoop them all into a bag and carry them back across the store.
“It’s not much, but...” I announce, pulling out a bag of nacho cheese flavored chips.
“Hell yeah!” Heather cries, catching the bag as I toss it to her. I pull out a box of licorice and take my place on the floor, then spread out the rest of the treats between us.
The two of us quickly fall into conversation, our words coming out with an unexpected ease. The longer we hang and chat with one another, the more comfortable we become. All the while, my attraction to this sentient washing machine is growing more palpable.
It’s during this time that I make a note to myself, a mental declaration: if things works out, I’m going to keep this as professional as I possibly can. She’s a washing machine, I’m a human, and our transactions are all business.
When we finally finish our snacks, the edge of Heather’s lip curls up into a faint smirk. “So,” she chuckles. “You got any clothes that need a wash?”
Back at the house, Heather immediately makes herself at home. I show her around and make sure the laundry room is to her liking, then offer her a cool glass of chocolate milk.
“Thank you,” the living washing machine says, taking a sip. “You’re a very good host.”
Again, my attraction surges, but I hold back on letting these thoughts grow into something more.
“Alright, let’s get started!” Heather proclaims excitedly.
The sentient washing machine settles into the space that once held my previous laundry unit. She fits perfectly.
Heather opens her circular front hatch.
My half-washed clothes are piled up on the floor next to this new appliance, and I immediately get to work hoisting them inside. Once the whole mess has been stuffed within Heather’s body I carefully shut the door and then pour a small portion of stark blue detergent into a small opening on my left.
I press the start button, and Heather begins to hiss and rumble. “Alrighty!” I announce, standing up straight. “I guess that’s it.”
“I guess so,” Heather replies.
I move to leave, then stop awkwardly. When your laundry machine is a
mindless object, you’re not forced to consider the fact the it’s in here doing all the work while you’re out enjoying your day. It suddenly dawns on me that it’s a little rude to simply leave Heather like this.
“Do you want me to stay and hang out?” I ask, turning back to her.
The machine shrugs. “I mean... if you want.”
It seems like the right call. I was going to go read my book in the living room, but I suppose that’s something I can do anywhere.
“I’ll be right back,” I announce.
I hurry over to the nearby shelf and grab my book, then return to Heather.
“I’m just gonna read this in here with you,” I explain.
The machine smiles. “Sounds great.”
It’s only now that I realize just how small my laundry room actually is. As much as I’d love to spend some time in here, there’s absolutely nowhere to sit. Even if I was to bring in a chair, the space would be so cramped that I’d probably get in the way of Heather’s hard work.
The washing machine notices me looking around awkwardly.
“You wanna just... sit on me?” she asks.
“Oh,” I blurt, not entirely sure how to respond. “Would that be okay? I
mean... I don’t want to intrude.” “It’s totally fine.”
“Okay,” I say, accepting her offer.
I approach the sentient machine as casually as I possibly can, turning around and then hopping up onto her. The second that my ass hits the metallic surface of her vibrating body and can feel a zing of pleasure erupt through me, coursing the length of my spine like an electric shock.
“You okay?” Heather asks.
“Uh... yep,” I reply. “All good up here. Totally fine.”
I lean back against the wall, opening my book and starting to read. My eyes begin to drift across the words, picking up where I left off but having trouble getting much farther. By the time I’ve reached the end of the first sentence, I am already distracted by the potent sensations that are now flowing through my body.
I readjust a bit, struggling to find a new position that doesn’t create the same, specific kind of vibration. I can feel my face flushing red as I squirm, eventually settling once again.
“What are you reading?” Heather asks.
“Nothing,” I snap, answering a little too quickly.
“You’re reading... nothing?”
“I mean... it’s something. It’s just...” I trail off. This new position isn’t quite as relaxing as I expected, suddenly forcing me to leap down off of the washing machine. “Never mind.”
“Never mind?”
“I’ll just stand and read for a bit,” I tell her. “I really like to stand up and read sometimes.”
The sentient washing machine eyes me for a moment. There’s a long pause. “Are you sure you weren’t just getting off up there?”
My breath catches slightly. I open my mouth to immediately deny her query, but before the words have a chance to tumble out I freeze. As much as I want to keep things professional, I also hate to lie about something that, at this point, seems kinda obvious.
Heather isn’t stupid.
“I’m sorry,” I finally sigh, my posture immediately relaxing as I give into the truth. “Yeah, I was. I didn’t mean to. I’m really trying to keep things professional between us, you know? I don’t want to make you-”
“Don’t worry about it,” Heather interrupts.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t worry about it,” she repeats, sauntering towards me. “I want you to ride me.”
When the sentient washing machine reaches me she hesitates slightly, allowing the tension between us one last second to build up and then finally letting it erupt in a blaze of carnal glory. Our lips meet in a passionate kiss, both of us immediately losing ourselves in the moment.
My hands get to work exploring the beautiful cubic form of my living object lover, Heather exploring me in turn. Her attention starts at my shoulders and then works its way down, her hands exploring the topography of my body for a moment and then taking things even further as she begins to strip away my clothing.
I let out a primal shudder as my skin is exposed to the cool afternoon air. It’s not long before I’m standing completely naked before her, my clothing held in the sentient washing machine’s arms.
She pulls back a moment, then opens her hatch and tosses my clothing inside. “Let’s make sure these get cleaned, too,” she coos playfully.
We reconnect in another round of kisses. This time it’s my turn to work her over with my hands, slowly making my way down across the living object’s body. Lower and lower I drift, teasing her with the prospect of something more until it suddenly dawns on me that I’m not entirely sure where I’m headed.
“I’m sorry,” I fumble. “This is kind of awkward but... where’s your pussy?”
Heather immediately starts to laugh. “Oh!” she chuckles, “I was wondering where you were headed! It’s up here on the left side, right next to where you put the fabric softener and the detergent.”
I hadn’t noticed the first time, but upon closer inspection I can see now that within this small panel is the living washing machine’s vagina, her most sensitive area already wet with anticipation.
I swiftly alter course, moving upward across her body instead of down. My fingers drift closer to her pussy, building tension once again until I finally have mercy and slip one finger across her waiting slit.
“Oh fuck,” Heather blurts, closing her eyes and throwing her head back when our skin makes contact.
I begin to slowly rub her, our bodies pressed together as they fall into a steady rhythm. The rocking of her swirling wash cycle begins to move with the gentle pulse of my finger, starting slowly at first and then gaining speed. Pleasure moves back and forth between us in an escalating feedback loop. Coherent words melt away as erotic whimpers begin to fall from the sentient washing machine’s lips, her body trembling and quaking against my touch.
Fortunately, she doesn’t need to say anything at all. I sense exactly what she needs from me, pushing into her with more and more force until I realize that my finger isn’t quite up to the job. Instead, I pull back my hand and dive in with my mouth, lapping away at Heather’s wet pussy.
The washing machine rocks hard as my tongue hits her clit, completely losing herself in the moment. “God damn it! That feels so fucking good! You’re gonna make me fucking cum!”
Heather sways harder and harder, slamming against the tile floor with growing enthusiasm as I push her over the edge. I can feel her muscles tighten up and then release in unison, waves of pleasure rippling across her frame. Heather’s door flies open and suds come bursting out across the floor.
I don’t let this distract me, carrying her through the entirety of her orgasm. The door slams shut as Heather settles down, returning to her initial wash. “Don’t worry about that,” I assure her.
“I wasn’t,” she retorts with a smirk. “What I am worried about is you.” We kiss again, her ravenous nature immediately letting me know that this orgasm hasn’t slowed her down in the slightest If anything, she’s more excited than ever. Heather works her way across my nude body, first touching my shoulders and collarbone, then my breasts. She plays with my nipples a bit, teasing me as she lingers here and then dropping a little lower.
I open my legs slightly as she slips her hand between them, a soft coo escaping my lips. I shut my eyes and allow my body to fall into sync with her movements, grinding my hips against her as the pleasure at the pit of my stomach builds.
“Why don’t you hop on top and go for a ride?” my sentient washing machine whispers.
I do as I’m told, turning around and climbing up onto the steadily vibrating cube. I settle in, leaning back and pushing myself against the humming surface of my living object lover. The sensation is immediate, a jolt of sensation erupting through me.
That pleasure within my depths slowly begins to spill out across my body, making its way down my arms and legs and filling me up. I can feel my heart beating faster and my breathing quicken with the first hints of impending orgasm.
“That feels so good, that feels so good,” I mumble under my breath, my face flushing red as I ride the washing machine even harder. With every passing round my voice grows a little louder, until eventually I’m yelling out at the top of my lungs and filling the laundry room with my erotic cries. “That feels so good! That feels so fucking good!”
Heather has moved onto her spin cycle now, and this steady churn pushes me even closer to the edge of orgasm. Now that the feelings have spilled across my body and consumed me completely, there’s nowhere for them to go but out, this bloom of emotions and sensations pressing against my inner psychic walls as the tension builds and builds.
“I’m gonna cum!” I finally shriek, throwing my head back and letting the words erupt from within me.
My body bucks hard, lurching forward as I tremble and quake with orgasmic pleasure. The growing sensations break free from their mortal trappings, hitting me with so much force that it sweeps me away into some other plane of existence. I am completely lost in the moment, feeling as though I’m hovering above my own heaving form.
The orgasm lasts for a long while, until finally I come crashing back down into myself.
I tumble off of the machine, stumbling a bit and then collapsing onto the laundry room floor in utter exhaustion. It takes a moment to collect myself, struggling to catch my breath after such a mighty bodily event.
“That was fucking incredible,” I gush, a solid review.
“Glad you had fun,” Heather replies with a smile. “I did, too.”
The spin begins to slow, gradually coming to a complete stop. A soft, digital
chime rings out, signifying that it’s time for me to remove my clothes.
“You gonna get that?” the sentient washing machine finally asks.
I stand up and open her front hatch, reaching inside and carefully taking out the fabric pieces one by one, then pacing them into the nearby dryer. There’s something deeply intimate about this process, Heather’s insides completely exposed to my wandering hands.
We carry out this process in silence, both of us saying more with the quiet care we take than any words ever could. Once I’m finished, I start the dryer, then I lean against Heather and open my arms, holding her tight.
“Why did you decide to come home with me?” I ask.
Heather thinks about this for a moment. “Because you put in the effort,” she replies, then laughs. “I know that sounds like a low bar, but it’s really important. People see a household appliance and just expect her to work for them, you know?”
I nod.
“I’m happy to do my job, and I’ll wash the hell out of some clothes, but a little gratitude goes a long way,” she continues.
“It’s sad that you’re not appreciated.”
“It’s fine,” she replies. “It’s human. We get used to the little things that we have. Just sitting down and considering what a microwave is actually doing to your food is utterly mind blowing, but you’re not in shock every time that little thing cooks up a burrito. You’re not crying with joy when your car drives you to work, but that thing in an utter marvel of engineering.”
“And I’m not feeling a sense of complete awe over my washing machine’s incredible cleaning skills,” I admit.
Heather laughs. “Hey, you said it, not me.”
I let out a long sigh, considering this point. In this moment, I do everything I can to appreciate Heather, to exist in the present with this wonderful sentient washing machine by my side.
“Alright, you want to get the next load going?” Heather finally asks. “That laundry basket is still half full, and I’m happy to get to work.”
She’s right, there’s still plenty of laundry to do, but I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
I stand up. “That dryer is fast, and when it’s done, I say we get dressed and get out of here.”
“Out of here?” Heather questions.
I nod. “You said you’ve been eating in that store for how long? Fuck that. I’m gonna take you out on a proper date, something better than just eating snacks from the rack near the cash register.”
The sentient laundry machine’s expression melts when I say this, overwhelmed with gratitude. She looks like she’s about to cry, but somehow manages to hold it together. “Thank you,” Heather finally says. “That sounds really nice.”
It suddenly occurs to me that I’m woefully uneducated on the food habits of sentient washing machines.
“So... what do you like to eat?” I ask, not entirely sure how to phrase the question. “Like... other than chips and candy.”
“You mean what is the standard diet of a washing machine?” she clarifies.
I nod.
“Single socks,” she informs me.
My mind immediately starts racing, terrified that I’ve made a promise I can’t keep. What the hell kind of restaurant is going to be cooking up socks? Heather’s expression suddenly cracks, the living appliance erupting with laughter. “I’m fucking with you!” she cries out. “We don’t eat fucking socks. Let’s go out for a burger.”
Now I’m laughing, too, appreciating the moment and excited for the night ahead.
Comments
Leaf
Sitting on washing machines never quite did anything for me, and know I know why: they just didn't have Heather's touch.
Maya Malice
Can't wait to sit down with this one, thanks Chuck!
