Car Wash Crush | NEON LIT

The hand car wash in the industrial estate was cheap, quick, and didn't ask questions about where the scratches came from.

I pulled in on a Tuesday afternoon, expecting the usual—bloke with a pressure washer, minimal effort, tenner for the basic clean.

What I got was different.

She was working the sponge like her life depended on it—thick thighs in tiny shorts, vest top soaked through and clinging to everything, dark hair pulled back in a wet ponytail.

"Full valet?" she asked, walking over.

"Just the basic."

"Basic's boring." She leaned on my window, giving me an eyeful of wet vest and everything underneath. "Full valet includes interior. Much more thorough."

"How thorough?"

"Very." She smiled—slow, knowing. "I'm very good at getting into tight spaces."

"I'll take the full valet."

"Thought you might."

The car wash was a series of bays separated by plastic curtains. She directed me to the one at the end—more private, she said. Better for detailed work.

She started on the outside, and I watched through the windscreen. The way she moved was hypnotic—bending, stretching, water running down her arms, her legs, soaking through fabric that was already barely there.

Then she opened the back door.

"Interior time," she said. "You might want to be back here for this bit."

I climbed out, joined her at the back seat. She was already leaning in, scrubbing the upholstery with suspicious concentration.

"You do this for all your customers?" I asked.

"Only the fit ones." She looked over her shoulder, water dripping from her hair. "Close the door. Sound carries."

I closed the door. She turned, pulled me closer by my belt.

"Name's Jayda," she said. "Just so you know what to shout."

"Confident."

"Skilled." She dropped to her knees on the wet floor, working at my jeans. "Watch and learn."

Her mouth was heaven—hot against the cold of my damp clothes, tongue skilled and eager. Water was still dripping from her hair onto my legs, and somehow that made it hotter.

"Fuck—Jayda—"

"Told you." She stood, backed into the car, pulling me after her. "Now your turn. Show me you're worth the premium."

She lay back on the just-cleaned seats, pulling up her soaked vest to reveal no bra—just full, wet tits with hard nipples.

"Well?" She spread her legs. "Get cleaning."

I buried my face between her wet thighs, and she tasted like want and water and something sweet. She moaned, hands in my hair.

"Fuck—yes—right there—"

I worked her until she was shaking, then climbed up, positioned myself.

"Do it—inside—now—"

I pushed in, and we both groaned. The car rocked, soapy water still dripping down the windows.

"Harder—make it worth the money—"

I gave her everything, and she came screaming, her whole body arching off the seats. I followed seconds later.

We cleaned up—properly cleaned, with actual car wash supplies—and she walked me back to the payment window like nothing had happened.

"That's thirty for the full valet," she said. "Cash or card?"

"Cash." I handed over three tenners. "Worth every penny."

"I know." She slipped me a business card. "I do mobile valeting too. More... comprehensive services."

"Comprehensive?"

"Very." She winked. "Text me. I'll bring the bucket."

I drove home in the cleanest car I'd ever owned.

Best thirty quid I ever spent.