Take a Load Off
by DonaldBelle
Copyright© 2025 by DonaldBelle
Erotica Sex Story: Lisa is rudely stirred from her sleep by the delivery of her new washing machine. Unable to carry it inside her house all by herself, she asks two friends if they can help her take the load. A one-and-done dirty story in under 5k :)
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Consensual Fiction Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Squirting Foot Fetish Small Breasts .
It seemed closer this time.
To begin with, it had been muffled, but this time it was definitely closer. What of it? What was it, anyway? It probably wasn’t important.
Then, a third time. Her eyes shot open. Someone was banging the door. She winced. There was a dull ache inside her head.
Rolling to face her bedside table, which was covered with broken cigarettes and Rizla papers, Lisa picked up her phone; an iPhone 6 with a cracked screen. It was nearly midday.
She sprang out of bed. Despite being hungover her movement was sharp and cat-like. Her soft toes met the softer carpet.
She had slept in her black yoga pants, so needed only to scoop a worn top from the cluttered floor in order to cover herself. She always slept topless. There was something about the weight of the bedding on her bare breasts that she liked.
She peeled an off-white shirt over her head and shook her blonde hair loose, which fell in careless knots and curls around her face. The top had been cut - as with most of her wardrobe - to expose her midriff. You could say it was her style.
Barefoot, she walked to the door. Again, with the banging.
“Jesus...” She muttered under her breath.
She turned the key in the old wooden door and wrenched it open with a creak.
In her front garden stood a thick-set man in an orange hi-vis vest. His hands were dirty. His face was masked with a five o’clock shadow.
“Finally!” He said. He had a thick Scouse accent.
Lisa said nothing. She shielded her eyes from the sun.
“Did I wake you, love?” The man asked her.
Lisa blinked.
“There’s a delivery here for you, y’know?” He continued without waiting for a response. “It’s a washing machine, judging by the weight of it. Picture on’t box makes it look like a tumble dryer. But it’s too heavy to be a tumble dryer, y’know?”
“Right.” She managed.
“Anyways, it’s just up top ‘o steps, yeah?” He mentioned in an off-hand way. “I just need you to sign this for me, love.”
He brandished a faded yellow slip at her, along with a chewed pencil.
“Wait - where is it?” She asked.
“Up’ top of steps, love.” The man said again. “We’re not insured to carry it all the way down here you see. Kerbside delivery only, love.”
Lisa lived on a hill; which was both a pro and a con of living in the English countryside. There was a considerable amount of steps down to the back of her house and also up to the front of it.
She made a movement as if to look for the package, but the steps led behind the house and she couldn’t see it.
“How am I supposed to get a washing machine down these steps on my own?” She pressed, gobsmacked.
“Respectfully my love, it’s not my problem.” The man replied sharply. “You would have had a text, telling you that us were coming. You should have made sure there were someone on hand to help you shift it.”
She was still clutching the cracked iPhone in her hand. She pressed a small button on the side of the device and the screen lit up, revealing a large number of notifications. The little text message envelope was one of them.
“Shit.” She sighed.
She signed his yellow slip. He peeled it in half and gave her the faded copy.
“Ta’ra now!” Beamed the delivery man, hopping up the steps like some bright poisonous toad.
The sun caught her eyes again, so she retreated into the house.
She fumbled her toes into a pair of beaten Dr. Martens, reaching for a packet of cigarettes off the hallway side table as she did.
The boots were so comfortable. Her feet found the indents her soles had made in the soft leather, and settled there.
Outside, she lit a cigarette. She walked around the house and looked up at the flight of steps.
The washing machine sat at the top, encased in cardboard, with polystyrene buffers.
“For fuck sake.”
Lisa climbed the steps slowly, smoking as she went.
At the top, the sun caught the back of her neck and filled her with a warm sensation, so she stood there for a while, leaning against the washing machine, smoking her cigarette.
It was then she saw them. Down the street a little way, two men were loading a bass guitar and a cabinet speaker into the boot of a people carrier.
She knew them, by sight, if not by name. They were a little older than her, maybe by five years or so.
She threw the cigarette to the floor and started towards them.
Soon they became aware she was approaching, and they stopped whatever conversation they were having. There was an awkward silence as she continued towards them. One of the men pulled the boot shut with a clunk.
“Hi.” Lisa said plainly.
“Hello!” Replied the shorter of the two men.
He was shorter in a relative sense only. Both of them were quite tall.
“I don’t like to ask, but maybe you could help me with something?” She inquired.
When neither of the men said anything in reply, Lisa turned on the spot and pointed at the washing machine at the end of the road.
“I’ve just had that delivered, and the courier wouldn’t carry it down the garden steps.” She said. “I can’t lift it by myself. I was wondering if you could carry it down for me, I’d be super grateful.”
The taller of the two men, who tried - very badly - not to steal glances at her bare, flat stomach, or at her nipples that poked through the fabric of her top, replied:
“It’s Lisa, right?”
“It is.” She said.
She was used to guys staring at her tits. Or her stomach. A very small part of her liked it. Another - much larger - part of her was terrified by the animal that lay beneath the surface of literally every man. Teenagers. Dads. Guys old enough to be in nursing homes. It didn’t matter.
This one could look all he wanted though, as long as he helped move the washing machine, she thought.
“Yeah, of course we’ll help carry that down.” The other man said. “We’ll have it done in no time.”
The taller man locked the car and the three of them walked together towards the washing machine.
“I’m Mark, by the way.” The taller man said. “And this is Andrew.”
“You know what, didn’t you use to date one of my friends?” Lisa interrupted, asking Andrew. “Like, ten years ago or something?”
Andrew smiled.
“Megan.” He said. “I was wondering if it was you. I thought you looked familiar.”
The trio all nodded.
“How is Meg?” Andrew asked.
“Oh, I don’t see much of her now.” Lisa explained. “Not since she had her baby.”
Andrew smiled again.
“Well, I’m glad she’s happy.”
The small talk ended when the trio reached the consignment. Mark wasted no time.
“If you grab that end of it.” He said to Andrew. “I’ll take the weight of it.”
“Tidy.” Said Andrew.
Quickly enough, the pair had the washing machine off the ground and carried it step by step down towards the house.
Mark was walking backwards so their was pace was fairly slow. Lisa followed, soundlessly. She was tempted to have another cigarette, but resisted.
When they reached the house, she skipped ahead and held the front door open for them. They shuffled into the hallway awkwardly, arms heavy with the load of the machine.
Lisa kicked off her boots, and wiggled her toes.
Andrew watched her, but said nothing.
“Which way is the kitchen?” Asked Mark.
“Or utility. It might be going in a utility room.” Said Andrew.
“No, it’s OK, just leave it here in the hallway, honestly.” Lisa explained. “My dad will be visiting after the weekend, he can sort it out from here. You’ve done enough already.”
Mark shifted the weight of the unit from one hand to the other.
“Well, the hardest bit is picking it up and putting it down.” He said. “It’s really no bother to take it through to where it needs to be.”
She led them along the hallway to the kitchen. The room was cozy, but messy and lived in. Just off the kitchen, there was a utility annex.
“Just chuck it in by there.” She pointed into the annex.
The washing machine met the tiled floor with a soft thud.
“All done.” Said Andrew.
“Thanks so much guys, I owe you one!” Lisa beamed. She wondered if she could go back to bed now.
“Don’t mention it.” Mark waved a hand.
Lisa had a lightbulb moment.
“Hey, do you guys like beer? My dad drinks all that craft stuff, I’ve got a ton of that in the fridge left over from Christmas? He left it here so I can’t imagine he wants it.”
“Oh?” Exclaimed Andrew, leaning on the pine kitchen table. “Well I wouldn’t say no.”
Mark laughed.
“You’re more than welcome to take a bunch of them with you.” She said.
Lisa took several purposeful strides to the corner of the room, in which sat a large, noisy fridge. She opened the door and bent over to reach the beers off the bottom shelf.
Both men soundlessly gawped at her pert bum, the shape of which left nothing to the imagination through the yoga pants. They glanced at each other, shared a smile, and returned their gaze to her tight little bottom.
Of course, when she spun around from the fridge with four blue cans in her hands, both men had found other less interesting points of the room on which to fix their gaze upon.
Lisa plonked the tiny cans down on the table.
“There you go.” She said. “It’s the least I can do.”
Mark picked one up. It was ice cold, with condensation forming on the outside, just like in the adverts.
He threw it to Andrew, who caught it, and then he picked up another one, cracked it open, and took several large gulps.
“That’s hitting the spot, I’m not going to lie.” He said.
Andrew cracked open his can and took a sip.
Lisa hadn’t expected them to drink the beer, she had offered them the cans to take away with them.
“You not having one?” Mark asked her.
She looked to the cans on the table, to the two tall, dark strangers in her kitchen, and then back at the cans. The remnants of a hangover tugged at the corners of her eyes.
Fuck it, she thought. A hair of the dog that bit you, and all that.
She picked up the nearest can and cracked it. Foam ejaculated all over her hand, running down her fingers as she gripped the metal.
“Shit.”
Andrew raised an eyebrow, watching the white foam running over her tiny fingers.
She put the can down, shook the worst of it off, and wiped the rest on her butchered t-shirt.
“I’m a classy girl, what can I say?” She smiled.
The men laughed.
Mark’s eyes wandered from the creased t-shirt once more to the exposed, tight, pale stomach she had on display.
“Anyway.” He said, shaking his head. “To the washing machine!”
He raised his can in a toast. Lisa and Andrew followed suit. They all took a swig.
“May it bring you many loads of clean clothes.” Andrew said.
“That’s the idea.” She said, wondering if she came across too sarcastic, but the guys didn’t seem to notice.
They stood chatting for a while. It turned out the guys both played in a band, and were on their way to a gig a couple of hours away. She had caught them loading up the car for the trip, but as they had been leaving a bit too early they were both very happy to stand chatting and drinking beers with her.
Lisa was, honestly, happy for the company.
“Aren’t the rest of the band going to be wondering where you are?” She asked.
Mark shrugged.
“They’ll be at the bar, I’m sure.”
As they talked, mainly about other mutual acquaintances that they shared, Lisa noticed that Andrew kept staring at her feet.
She had tiny little size 4s, Andrew had decided, from his glances. A pale milky white, with cracked but still acceptable sky blue polish on the nails.
Lisa lifted a foot off the floor and looked at the bottom of it.
“Have I got something on my foot?” She asked.
“No, why?” Mark asked.
“It’s just...”
She paused.
“You kept looking at them, is all.” She said, looking at Andrew.
The man went red in the face. Mark chuckled to himself.
“Andrew is really, really into feet.” He explained.
Andrew’s jaw hit the floor. He looked at his friend in desperation. Why was he telling her this?
“He’s a registered masseuse, you see.” Mark lied. “The band doesn’t exactly make us any money. We all have day jobs.”
Andrew’s eyes bulged comically.
“Really?” Lisa asked.
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