Your attendant recognises my unblemished voluptuous curves and quirks an eyebrow. It’s my fifth time this week but, like a moth to a flame, I cannot resist—I need your touch.
As soon as the barrier’s breached, I am wet. For six stationary minutes you teach me the meaning of passion. You shower me with limitless liquid love and whisper kisses across my quivering body.
I groan in pleasure at the sensuous texture of your silken brushstrokes mapping every trembling inch of me. My engine purrs and I exit, sated.
Tomorrow, I’ll be driven again to worship ‘The Car Wash King.’