Laundry Day
Copyright© 2026 by MicaMeesha
Chapter 2
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 2 - It is laundry day, and I tackle my son's room, eurgh! His hormones are certainly in full flow; his bed is so crusty...
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Incest Son Anal Sex Oral Sex
Jill lives next door; she is married to Jim. Over a coffee, we had agreed that we would go to Meadowhall, a shopping mall near to Sheffield. We wanted some new outfits as it would soon be spring, and the summer clothes would be gone from the shops. It was now or never. Jill was driving; I was navigating.
Meadowhall isn’t that difficult to find; it is bigger than some villages and is signposted from the motorway, but Jill liked to be directed. I wondered if she was like that in her private life; was she perhaps a sub? Was it because she was a nurse and she needed an antidote at home?
We parked up, and Jill photographed the car park level and stand details. Satisfied that we would, probably, be able to find the car, we headed off to the shops. We both liked one particular cream dress; that meant neither of us could have it. Similar was absolutely okay; identical, God, no, never, not even if we were twins.
We were actually similar in build. We both wore the same-sized clothes, and so we could easily borrow each other’s apparel. We would, however, never buy the same items. We both, for example, owned a gabardine raincoat, but hers was a Zara brand, and mine was Yves Saint Laurent. They looked very similar but weren’t. I was aware that she had paid full price for hers, while I purchased mine from Vinted for just ten pounds. Smug looks were not required.
We had both found something in the Flannels shop that we liked: cream, mid-length dresses, but one had a sweetheart neckline, and the other plunged. I had selected the plunge line. We headed off to the fitting rooms to try them on. The family room was free, so we headed in there; we could share. It helped with doing up awkward zips, for example.
I undid my dress and slipped it off and hung it on one of the hooks. As I turned around to step into the new dress, Jill gasped.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
“Yes, well, but you haven’t got any knickers on.”
“No, I don’t usually wear them.”
“Well, so I see, but you have no hair either; I can see everything.”
“God, I started shaving in my teens and then waxed in my twenties, and now I use a laser depilator. There are not many hair follicles left. I don’t think it could grow back if I wanted it to.”
“But why? Why no hair?”
“Why, loads of reasons. I feel fresher, partners prefer it during sex, and it makes post-sex cleanup so much easier. On hot days, it is so much better to feel a draught around there than clammy knickers.
“Good God. I have never even thought about it. Does Paul shave too?”
“God yes, the thought of putting my mouth around a hairy dick and balls just turns me right off. Oh, and the thought of going down on a hairy fanny is a turnoff too.”
“What, are you a lesbian?”
I wondered what rock she had been living under. For two years we had lived next to each other, and only now was I finding out that she was a shrinking violet. Odd for a nurse.
“No, Jill, I am not, but I do enjoy sex with all kinds of people. Under the right circumstances, of course. A girl going down on you can be so much better than a man; after all, she has the equipment and knows how it needs to be handled.”
“Wow. Okay.”
We got back to the matter in hand and tried the dresses on. Neither dress looked right, especially not for the price they were asking. We redressed in our clothes and handed the trial clothes to the assistant as we left the dressing area.
“Come on,” Jill said, let’s grab a coffee and a cake.”
“Good idea,” I said as we were next to Costa. Jill went to find a table, and I went to order.
Back at the table, I put the coffee and cakes, actually croissants, on the table and sat.
“I watched you walking,” Jill said. “You would never know.”
“Never know what, Jill.”
“That you aren’t wearing underwear.”
“Well, why would you need to know? It is just a piece of usually invisible clothing. Anyway, as you saw, I am wearing a bra.”
“Yes, I saw. I don’t know; I had never thought about it, and then when I saw you in the changing room, I just thought it must be obvious. But it isn’t.”
“No, I don’t expect most people would notice, and if they did get a flash of my fanny, so what? It’s just a fanny.”
“No, not just a fanny; it is absolutely beautiful. I had no idea.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that; I didn’t really expect my neighbour to think I had a beautiful fanny. It is simply my fanny; it is what it is. I took a sip of my coffee.
“It’s just a fanny, Jill, that’s all. You’ve got one just the same.”
“I don’t know, but mine is completely covered in hair.”
We spent the rest of the day wandering around shops, trying on clothes, buying a few, and sending many more back. When we were in the changing rooms, I couldn’t help but notice Jill seemed fascinated by my crotch; she could hardly keep her eyes off it. Oh well.
We drove home, getting home just as the schools were emptying, so the roads were full of parents picking their offspring up. Finally, we got home. I knew I had dinner to prepare for when Paul came home; I guessed Jill would have the same for Jim.
“Right, thanks for driving, Jill,” I said as I gathered up my shopping.
“See you later,” Jill replied, the standard Yorkshire way to end any get-together.
I put my shopping in the bedroom; I would parade it for Paul later. I took the chicken out of the fridge and started the laborious process of spatchcocking it. I had bought a pair of secateurs a few years ago, specifically for spatchcocking. They lived in the utensil drawer. To be honest, they did need sharpening; they were a little blunt.
I peeled some potatoes and put them on to boil; we would have mash, and I filled a jug with frozen peas. They would go in the microwave at the last minute. Next, I made a roux ready to thicken the gravy, mostly with the juices from the chicken and a little gravy browning. I disliked using gravy granules; I found them just too salty.
When Paul came home, he went up to wash and change. I served tea. Paul was amused when I told him how Jill had been taken aback by my no knickers and shaven fanny.
“Shame, Jim is missing out then, I guess,” he said.
I laughed; perhaps he was, but perhaps he knew no different, even though he recently saw my naked fanny.
In the morning, I was emptying the dishwasher. Paul was at work, and I was on my own. I had one item of clothing that I wanted to take back; Paul really hadn’t liked it. When I looked again in the mirror, I saw why. No, it wasn’t me. My doorbell rang.
“Only me,” Jill said as I opened the door.
“Come in,” I said, quickly shutting the cold wintry air out.
“I need some help,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I want to shave my fanny, you know, like yours, only I am afraid I might cut myself or something. I can’t really see down there.”
“Oh.”
“So, I was wondering. Would you do it for me?”
“What, shave your fanny?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Okay, this isn’t what I expected to do this morning, but yes, I’m on board. Do you want a coffee first?”
“Yes. Actually, no, can we shave first and then have the coffee? If I leave it, I might talk myself out of it.”
I laughed. “Of course we can. Go upstairs and take your clothes off, then go in the master bathroom and sit on the loo. I will be up in a minute.”
“Sit on the loo? Er, okay.”
“That is for the first cut of hair; we can flush it away, then you sit on the bath edge, and I shave away the short hairs. Then you rub moisturiser in, and it’s done. A quick top-up with the razor every two days and you are sorted.”
Jill went upstairs. I dropped the latch on the front door. I didn’t want any surprise visitors, such as my father-in-law, simply popping in. Jill was already in the bathroom when I got upstairs. I slipped my clothes off; part of the process required me to be in the bath with the shower going. Certainly, it was no place for clothes, except perhaps a bikini, and if she was going to be naked, wearing clothes seemed churlish to me.
“Oh, you’re nude,” Jill said as I wandered into the bathroom.
“Yes, and you will see why soon. Right, are you ready?” I was brandishing Paul’s beard trimmer. It was perfect for getting rid of the long hairs. It would leave a stubble that we could easily shave off with a normal razor. Paul’s normal razor, to be honest.
I knelt in front of Jill and began to cut all the long, straggly pubic hairs. Jill had her legs as wide apart as space allowed, and I was able to get all her hairs down to just a stubble. Her fanny was looking mighty fine. Her inner lips did protrude a little, but you would never have known that when it was all covered in hair.
“Right,” I said, “sit on the edge of the bath with your feet in the tub.”
I got in the bath and took the showerhead off its fitting, laying it on the bath bottom. I turned the water on and checked that it wasn’t too hot. I sprayed Jill’s fanny and then got the shaving gel. I squirted some onto my hand and began to spread it. Jill remained quiet, but I noticed she was becoming a little red in the face as I spread the gel. I could guess why, bless her.
Paul’s normal razor is one of those wet razors that has a vibrating head. Rather pleasant, as I had found out. It offered the benefit of doing a much closer shave. I began at the top of her mons, working down towards her crease.
“Goodness,” Jill gasped, “it vibrates.”
“Yes, it gives a closer shave.”
“Bloody hell, Mica.” She sat, her lips pursed.
I moved lower down, and now I was shaving either side of her crease. Jill was gripping the washbasin next to her, and as I carefully went over her crease, she let out a muffled cry. Yes, I pretty much did the same when I shaved myself down there.
I picked up the shower and rinsed the suds away. On a soft shower setting, the water had the effect of tickling and stimulating. As I directed the water over her, I gently eased her petals apart to ensure that I had rinsed everything thoroughly.
“Oh, fuck, Mica, for God’s sake.” Jill gasped.
“What?” I said.
“Finger me, for God’s sake, finger me.”
Oh. I put the showerhead down, and I ran my finger from just below her nubbin, down her crease to her entrance. I inserted two fingers into her opening, pushing them deep into her fanny.
“Oh fuck, yes,” Jill gasped.