His eyes are heavy lidded now, and full of promise.
I'm suddenly desperate to know what the promise is.
“Well? Shall I clean that spot?”
I nod.
He makes a slight grunting sound, then brings the napkin down to my lap, where he taps it very lightly on the stain.
The drip of milkshake is exactly on the peak of my mound. Every time he touches my sundress, he is also pressing very slightly.
A gentle tap, tap, tap, blotting at the stain.
Pulses of pleasure go through my entire body and are scrambling my brain. I’m doing my best not to squirm, not to press myself upwards into his hand, but it’s virtually impossible.
In fact it is impossible. I lift my hips to try and get my clit closer to his hand.
“Good girl,” he growls, then, “doesn’t look like that stain is coming out, I’ll have to try something else.”
Asa throws the napkin down and licks his pointer and middle fingers. He stretches out his massive hand and hovers it above my dress.
Then looks at me.
I nod again.
His fingers start to stroke the pale yellow cotton.
“I’m sure I’ll be able to get the stain out like this.”
He strokes up and down, his finger barely grazing my mound. It is the most exquisite pleasure I have ever felt in my life. I feel myself bubbling up.
Oh jeepers, soon he’ll feel my wetness through the cotton.
“This stain seems to be getting bigger,” he murmurs. “Maybe I need to pat it dry?”
The next second he begins to pat the mound between my legs with soft little slaps. He waits a few seconds and slaps again a little harder, and a little harder.
I gasp out loud, then the gasp turns into a whimper.
“Nope, that's not working,” he says. “Maybe I can get out the stain with my mouth?”
I just moan. His fingers have stopped rubbing and I can’t stand it.
“What do you think, Harmony? Shall I clean you up with my tongue?”
Before I answer he cranks a handle, reclining the back of the seat. Now, with his face hovering just inches above my aching clit, Asa asks again. “Well? Ask me to clean you up…”
“I-I-I,” I can’t say it.
“If you want me to clean you up, you are going to have to ask,” he says. “You seem to be a very dirty girl who needs a good cleaning. So are you asking me to clean you?”
“Please,” I finally whispered.
“Please what?”
“Please clean me up.”
“And why?”
