Car wash Stories

It was a clear, sunny Saturday morning at Sparkle Bay Car Wash. The sounds of cars passing by blended with the rhythmic splish-splash of water hitting metal. Greg leaned against the front of the yellow Camaro, arms crossed, watching Cathy. His petite wife stood on her toes, scrubbing a stubborn water spot on the roof above the passenger door. The tank top she wore—thin, white, and already damp from the spray of the hose—h...

The sweat clung to my thighs like syrup. My car’s A/C barely cut through the heavy air, and I wasn’t wearing panties. Not because I planned this—but because the heat made clothes unbearable. No bra either, just a loose tank top clinging to my skin, nipples already stiff. I hadn’t gotten off that morning. I edged myself in the shower, touched just enough to ache, then stopped. Waiting. Hoping the day would give me a better...