Feeling the Pressure

I am the cleaner in our relationship…no argument from Amy on this one. We have settled into a few roles over the years that are fully shared while others are clearly hers or mine. For example, in the kitchen cleaning up is fully shared, but she specializes in salads and sweets while my best work is Mediterranean food. Outdoors? She is as close to being a master gardener as you could be without formal training. I simply clean things and keep things looking orderly, according to her vision.

Lately, she has mentioned more than once that the patio could and the porch could use some attention. Why not use our friend’s electric pressure washer? 

So I learned from our friend how to use the machine without killing plants or electrocuting myself or Amy and brought it home.  Over the last weekend, I went to work as a novice pressure washer. Amy was busy in the house, and since it is a messy wet job, we agreed it was better for me to do it alone.

My uniform of choice was loose fitting gym shorts, moisture wicking tights, and sports bra underneath a cotton tank top. I went through all the steps carefully to hook up the power and garden hose to the washer and attach the wand, which connected to the machine by a long, thin hose that played out from a spool on the top.  

Settling into a pattern of clearing years of dirt and algae from the concrete surface of our patio, my mind shifted gears from wondering if this might be too hard for me to being amazed out how well this was working. From yucky green and gray funk to bright white concrete in a couple of passes with the wand. Then it happened.

I stepped over the thin hose, which was flexible, but stiff, without thinking too much about where it was. I kept maneuvering the wand, which inadvertently pressed the hose upward between my legs, brushing ever so lightly against the crotch of my shorts. A brief, unmistakable sensation of pleasure pulsed directly to my brain.

Hmmm, I thought. That hose is vibrating with about the same intensity as one of my toys…my Hitachi wand to be specific.

I kept to my tedious task, which left plenty of time for more thoughts to enter my mind. The day started without a horny thought at all, but this one tiny jolt of pleasure changed all of that in an instant. If I let that hose stay between my legs… hmmm, yes.  And then if I could wedge it in place with my inner thighs like this…. Ohh.  

This was getting interesting.

This wand really was just like my personal sex toy, only in a big, powerful pressure washer form. Even better, I was outside surreptitiously attempting to pleasure myself without direct touching. 

Trying to focus on my cleaning suddenly became secondary to a need welling up from inside. Was I getting wet? Yes, from the spray of the washer and my own juices mingling in my tights, which were beginning to feel quite warm.

I discovered in waving the wand back in forth across the surface of the concrete that by using certain patterns that I could make the hose move, crossing back and forth across the crotch of my shorts, vibrations alternating in intensity over and around my labia and my clit through the thin tights. I felt like humping the hose, but tried to maintain some semblance of actually working, not solely masturbating outdoors.

Now if I waved the wand in and out along with the back and forth…OH! Shudders and chills.

But I focused through it all. I believe that anyone watching, except possibly Amy, would look and say, “Wow! She really knows how to use that pressure washer.” 

I was so close, the vibrations felt so wonderful along with the experimentation with different patterns, moving the wand in long and short figure eights, pressing and releasing with the muscles of my thighs. It was all delicious, but somehow not quite enough.  At  some point, I couldn’t take it anymore, turned the washer off and cleaned myself up enough to go inside. 

Amy laughed when she saw how sweaty and disgusting I was. I just replied with a sarcastic laugh of my own and moved quickly toward our bathroom. No time for conversation…there was only one thing on my mind.

The bathroom door swung closed behind me about the same time that I was standing in front of my vanity, had my shorts and tights pulled down and washed my hands. The moment I was done my fingertips dipped into my warm wetness and it surprised me how close I still felt. I pushed two fingers in and started fucking myself furiously, not worried in the least about Amy hearing me. I moaned and gasped as I came within minutes, standing, looking at myself in the mirror, catching my breath and gasping again as I pulled my fingers out.

The door opened behind me and I could see Amy in the mirror, leaning against the door frame with her eyes fixed on mine in the mirror with a cute adoring expression on her face.  All that she said was, “Fascinating.”

I’m smiling at her in the mirror without turning around, shorts still pulled down and my naked butt right there in front of Amy and replied, “Who knew that cleaning up outside could feel so good?” 

“What do you mean?”

I pulled up my tights and my shorts then turned to face her. “It’s hard to explain. Guess you’ll have to read the story.”