Clean first, pump second

Chloe looked at the squeegee hanging in its bucket, then at the gas pump. Her mind raced through the logistics, trying to calculate which humiliation would be easier to endure first.

The windshield meant movement, activity. She could focus on the task, keep her hands busy. The pump meant standing still, exposed, holding a nozzle for several minutes while the tank slowly filled.

"Windshield first," she announced, grabbing the squeegee with false confidence. "Get the hard part out of the way."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, that knowing smirk playing at his lips. "The hard part? Interesting choice of words."

She ignored him, sloshing the squeegee in the soapy water. The cold air bit at her naked skin, raising goosebumps across her pale flesh, but she refused to shiver. Instead, she stepped up to the hood, water dripping from the sponge onto the concrete.

"Enjoying the view?" she called back, trying to sound casual even as her voice wavered slightly.

"Not yet," Ethan said from inside the car, his voice muffled by the glass. "But I have a feeling I'm about to."

Chloe took a deep breath, feeling the cold air fill her lungs, and began to scrub.

The first few swipes were functional. Clinical, even. Chloe stretched across the hood, dragging the squeegee in long, efficient strokes. The soapy water left streaks that caught the fluorescent light, and she told herself she was just doing a job. Just a task. Nothing more.

But then she caught Ethan's eyes through the glass.

He was leaning back in the driver's seat, one arm draped over the steering wheel, watching her with an intensity that made her skin prickle. His gaze traveled slowly—from her face, down the curve of her spine, lingering on the swell of her ass as she bent forward.

A flush crept up her neck. Not from cold. From heat.

If he wants a show...

She adjusted her stance, planting her feet wider apart. The next stroke was slower, more deliberate. She arched her back just a little, letting her breasts hang lower, nipples grazing the cool metal of the hood. The sensation sent a jolt straight between her legs.

"How's that?" she called out, her voice breathier than she intended. "Getting all the bugs?"

Ethan didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was rough. "Keep going. There's a spot. Right there in the center."

She stretched further, rising onto her toes to reach the middle of the windshield. The position pulled her thighs taut, spread her legs even wider. She felt the cool night air kiss the wetness between her legs and knew—knew—he could see it.

The squeegee made another pass. Then another. She was breathing harder now, each stroke accompanied by a soft gasp. It wasn't the exertion. It was the exposure. The knowledge that she was naked, outside, performing for him while the empty highway stretched out behind her.

She glanced back over her shoulder, catching his eye. "You know," she said, biting her lip, "I think I'm getting into this. The fresh air. The... freedom."

"Is that what you're calling it?" Ethan asked, his eyes dropping pointedly to the glistening evidence trailing down her inner thigh.

Chloe flushed deeper, the crimson spreading from her chest to her cheeks. But she didn't stop. She leaned further over the hood, letting her stomach press flat against the cold metal, her ass rising high in the air. She swayed her hips—just a little—as she scrubbed the final corner.

"There," she announced, tossing the squeegee back into the bucket with a wet slap. She stood up, her chest heaving, her skin flushed and slick with a thin sheen of sweat despite the cold. "Windshield's done. Sparkling."

She turned to face the pump, her confidence riding high on the wave of arousal coursing through her. She grabbed the nozzle, inserted it into the tank, and squeezed the handle. The gas began to flow with a steady mechanical hum.

She was facing forward now, toward the empty stretch of highway and the dark pumps ahead. She shifted her weight onto one hip, striking a pose—casual, unbothered, like she did this every day.

"See?" she said over her shoulder, her voice almost giddy. "Not even embarrassed. I could stand here all night."

And that's when the headlights appeared.

Two beams, cutting through the darkness, turning onto the station's access road. A car. Heading straight for the pumps.

Chloe's breath caught in her throat. The car was maybe fifty yards away. Forty. Thirty.

It was pulling into the pump directly in front of theirs.

She had five seconds. Maybe less.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. The nozzle was still in the tank, gas still flowing. She couldn't just drop it. Could she? Her free hand twitched, hovering uselessly in the air, unsure whether to cover her breasts or her pussy—or neither.

The car's headlights swept across her naked body, illuminating every pale curve, every flushed inch of skin.

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh—