All in a Lather

“Wash,

and

wax.”

His voice broached no argument, so she picked up the bucket full of soapy water and the hard sponge and walked over to his car.

She wasn’t quite sure how it had come to this.

One moment she was quite happily reading under the shadiest tree in the large walled garden – the next she was interrupted by the throbbing growl of his 1969 E-type Jag coming up the driveway.

He had the top down and the sun has softened his dark hair and glinted off the frames of his sunglasses. Despite the heat, he had looked cool in his plain black polo shirt and jeans of the darkest blue as he stopped on the gravel just yards from where her sun-lounger was set.

Her book had fallen from her hands into her lap as she watched him unfold from the low sports car and ease the door shut.

He took long moments to stare at her and she felt self-conscious when she realised how she must look to him; reclined on a blue and white patterned sarong and wearing a matching bikini top which barely contained her breasts.

As she folded her arms defensively he raised just one eyebrow and gave her a half smile before deliberately letting his gaze meander over her slightly rounded belly to the edge of her cut-offs.

The denim was bleached nearly white and the frayed edges tickled against the inside of her thighs a lot higher than was probably decent.

Her blush intensified and she could not look at him a second longer, releasing one tight arm to move the book more carefully over her groin, as if the paperback pages could bring some armour from his piercing gaze.

He said nothing, and it was only the fall of his feet across the gravel drive that told her he had gone.

A bite of disappointment gnawed at her.

He could at least have said hello! Or sat on the grass beside me and let his fingers …

she let her mind wander into the thought of just what he could do to her on the grass and didn’t hear his return until he cleared his throat.

In front of him he had placed a bucket of steaming, soapy water. A sponge lay squashed and hard beside a soft chammis and a battered tin of wax, and behind him, near the edge of the driveway, the garden hose snaked across the grass like a dark green asp.

And he expected her to wash his car? She had laughed at him at first as he stood before her silently – not asking, just expecting. His eyes hardened at her laughter and his face tightened until the shadows under his cheekbones deepened.

That stopped her laughing, but still he couldn’t really be serious could he?

“Wash,

and

wax.”

And so she stood, as gracefully as she could from the lounger, placing her book aside while she wiggled her toes into her sandals and stood.

He was a head taller than her, and then some, and tilting her neck back to see his face she caught a glimpse of the vivid blue sky above and just knew her back was going to burn as she did what he said.

Then again, the way he was looking at her was causing enough of a burn inside that she didn’t suppose her skin had much to complain about.

She walked to the car and was aware of him standing behind her as she crouched down, knees together in the most ladylike way she could in those blasted shorts, to wet the sponge; the water so hot it made her fingers numb before a burst of pain came shattering back to them.

Her breath caught in her mouth as she felt the heat of the black hood sizzle with the first drips of water.

It was almost too hot to rest her other palm against the metal, but she felt desperately in need of support, and wasn’t about to show him any sign of weakness.

If he wanted his car cleaned, then she would do a damned good job and then go back to her book. He’d only get it dirty again the next time he bombed down the driveway.

She reached further up the hood with smooth circular strokes riding up the central undulation of the low, long front of the car. She turned back to the bucket to get more hot water, and dared not look at him in case the sight of him watching her work for him made her do something embarrassing.

The sponge was leaving thick strokes of foam across the car and she could feel it tickle her bare belly as she reached down towards the bumper. She concentrated on the tiny rainbows in the bubbles and the feel of heat radiating up from the car.

She didn’t realise how close behind her he was until she felt the tug of the string across her back and the heavy fall as her freed breasts found gravity and swung down along the slippery heated metal.

She gasped at the touch of burning steel against her nipples, which had been hard for him from the moment he had stepped out of the car.

The foam clung to her reddened nubs as she spun around to him in shock, the bikini top hanging limply from the string around her neck, offering scant cover to the tops of her breasts, and leaving the heavy rounds swinging free.

He licked his lip as he watched a tiny piece of white foam drip down one smooth orb to hang for a tantalising moment on the tip of her nipple before releasing its gentle grasp and falling.

He reached towards her other nipple and flicked off a cluster of bubbles, the edge of his fingernail hard and sharp on the sensitive flesh.

His hand moved slightly to tug at the bikini cloth, making the tie bite tightly like a rope at the back of her neck until she dropped her head in a deep bow to release the pressure, and it slid roughly across her nape and ruffled her hair as it pulled free.

It took her a moment to raise her eyes to him again; aware that almost nothing stood between him and the body he feasted on.

The corner of his mouth was raised in a sneer as he surveyed his work and she felt the flush creep down her neck as her nipples became even harder and her breasts began to ache for him to touch her properly.

He read her mind: “The car, remember,” he chastised in the voice he saved for idiots and fools who riled his temper. She turned back to her work, not realising her fingers had compulsively squeezed the sponge dry.

Another sponge of water brought even more soapy bubbles to the still scorching metal, the water acting as a conductor to the suns rays as if it was oil on bronze.

She ran her forearm across her forehead and shivered as drops of water fell from the sponge onto her naked breasts. For a moment she considered squeezing the water out and onto her, surely he wouldn’t begrudge her a little relief from her labours.

But he probably would object and quite forcefully … her fingers squeezed and she gasped as more water poured down on her breasts, tilting her head up to the blue sky and wishing he was in front of her, rather than behind, to see her washing herself clean.

Her head snapped back with a crack as he forced her forward.

His shirt pressed against her back as he forced her down across the hood; the metal stinging her belly his force squashing her breasts painfully flat, the front of her thighs pressed tight against the curve of the body work until he had her pinned, faced down beneath him on the E-type’s hood.

She wasn’t sure what burnt more, the metal under

her aching breasts, the heat of his chest so tight against her naked back, or the unmistakable ridge under his jeans that he ground against the small of her back.

The sponge fell from her fingers as his hands tightened on her wrists and her cheek burned where it kissed the thin black paint. She tried to wriggle, but all that succeeded in doing was to increase the sweet pain radiating from her nipples and the wet ache between her thighs.

“I said wash and wax the car,” he rasped into her ear shoving her down even flatter onto the wet metal until she swore she had dried the surface with her body heat alone.

For what seemed long minutes he held her there, slowly rocking his pelvis so that she was in no mistake how aroused he was. Desperately she wanted to roll over and let him rub that cock into her mound, but she could barely breath, let alone consider moving, unless he said so.

When he rose it was with a slow press-up on his arms, his palms still locked around her wrists until he could stand, making sure his groin was the last part of his anatomy to touch her.

With the weight of him gone, she breathed a little more deeply but lay prone still, feeling that perhaps she should await his instructions before daring to stand.

He didn’t bother with words; she heard the gentle gasp of the hose nozzle turning and felt a spray of icy water across her icy back.

“Hey,” she screamed, twisting away from him, but he kept his aim steady and she only succeeded in turning the sharp spray onto her already tortured breasts.

The sensation of such cold after such intense heat almost made her come on the spot and she ground her thighs together trying desperately not to let him see her so vulnerable to him.

He held the pipe away, the water that had so enflamed her falling harmlessly on the grass as he nodded his head at her to make her stand a little straighter.

She did as he wanted, smoothing down the cut-offs which had become scrunched between her bum cheeks and pulled tightly against her swollen clit.

She was glad the water was dripping down her chest and staining her pale denim dark, because even without his hose, she was certain the material would be dark as a statement of her own arousal for him.

His eyes took a leisurely traverse down her naked chest, and once again she wanted to cover herself, but bit back the urge; hoping the bruised and steamed redness would entice him to soothe her ache with his tongue.

His eyes continued down, a slight smile lighting his face as he took in the darkening patches on her shorts, hovering for a moment, before continuing to her thighs, which were still welding together to keep her ecstasy from spilling out too soon.

“Damp?” he asked, almost conversationally and the change in tone surprised her enough to blurt out “No.”

She realised her mistake instantly, she should have thought before she spoke, but he did strange things to her that overwhelmed every rational thought she’d ever had.

His grin widened, wolf-like, as he turned the hose back on her, twisting the nozzle so the spray became a single hard rod of water which he aimed right between her thighs, soaking the denim further and pushing it into her sex with a force that left her barely able to stand.

She grabbed back for the edge of the car and sunk against it as he slowly advanced, the pressure of the water increasing and bringing a maelstrom of sensation that felt like it was boring through her curls, and outer lips, straight to the heart of her clitoris.

He kept coming, and she was on the verge of doing so herself, as the hose came to rest against the sodden denim, the pressured water having no where to go but straight at her, before gushing down her thighs.

She leaned on the car a little harder and opened her legs wider, hoping the water would find a way through the cloth and touch her properly, quench the ache, and let her come properly; no mind that she was in a garden and spread crudely against the side of a car. All she wanted was for the tiny extra push so her sexual high would crack and cocoon her in a rain of pleasure.

A twist of his fingers brought the water to a sudden halt, and he threw the now dead hose to the side, staring hungrily at her panting body, knowing full well that she had been so close to orgasm that he could see the tiny beads of sweat slicking her fringe to her forehead.

She opened her mouth but could say nothing, her tongue licking lips coated still with the fine mist of water from the hose.

He reached a hand roughly forwards and squeezed the soaking material at her crotch. All she could do was thrust into his palm, new hope that he would allow her to come or that she could at least force the heavy ridge of stitching between her lips and against the swollen velvet of her sex.

Dragging his fingers up, he tugged down the zip awkwardly, the water holding up her freedom so that she groaned in frustration.

He succeeded and shoved a blunt finger in, twisting under the lace of her panties to feel that she was more wet and slick that a hose could ever be blamed for.

Pulling his hand away from her and examined the shine the sun cast onto his juice coated finger from all sides as if checking off some strange quality control, and then he slowly lowered it into his mouth, his lips caressing his digit like a lover, his tongue reaching for a last taste as he removed it.

“Not bad,” he said approvingly like a cordon bleu master tasting a roux and she wanted to beg him to lap at her sauce in a way that would send her well over the boil.

Instead, her reached again to her shorts, and undid the top button before grasping the sides and pulling the heavy wet cotton down her thighs like a rasp, leaving them tangled around her ankles like heavy bounds.

Her lace panties he simply ripped aside, the cotton biting painfully into her flesh before the blessed release and she stood before him naked, still slumped against the car and certain she could no more stand in her condition as she could stroll down the main stree without her clothes.

He smiled, a smile she couldn’t quite read. Hopes and fears twisted through her hand over hand and she was not sure which had the greater hold on her.

The smile disappeared in an instant, as if the sun had been hidden by a cloud and he grasped her shoulders and twisted her round, forcing her heavily face down on the hood again, her balance all but lost as the denim twisted tighter around her ankles.

He held her down with one hand as he freed himself. With little courtesy he pushed her thighs apart enough to allow his hand to seek its target. He scooped some of her juice out of her with cupped fingers and she shuddered at the drag over the wall of her vagina.

He slicked the end of his cock with her liquor and then thrust forward, his fingers guiding his cock into her cunt with the precision of a greased cartridge into a shotgun barrel.

She bit down; clenching her teeth, desperate not to call out his name as his body weighed her down once more.

He paused for a moment and then began to ease back, his chest still stuck to her back, only his hips leaving contact with her rump, his knees edging hers apart further so he could enter her deeper.

Harder and harder his thrusts came, sliding her tender body across the metal increasing the agitation on her skin, in her bones, and right into her blood. His face was so close to her ear that she could feel his panting breath tickle her lobe.

He pulled her hips away from the rounded metal so he could drive in deeper. A sharp pain bit as her stuck skin pulled from the drying bodywork before it was chased away by the relief of cool breeze between her legs.

He made use of the gap to shove a hand around her belly and dug into her open lips, reaching for her clitoris and rubbing tightly until she was near to screaming in orgasm.

With a twist of his fingers he finally gave her release, she screamed his name and clawed against the metal beneath her, shoving her butt hard against him as he shuddered against her with a shout as he climaxed, filling her with a swirling helix of pleasure that kept her shaking like a leaf in a storm until she lay prone on the car. Only her heaving lungs gave her wasted body movement.

With a groan of exhausted lust he rose from her back, tracing a finger down her sweat soaked spine.

She heard him zipping himself up and without a word he strolled back towards the house. It was only at the door that he turned back to her and shouted with a smile: “And don’t forget the wax…”