Headlights
by Pan
“Come on, Dad!” Sasha begged, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’ll be fun! Just like when I was a little girl.”
Trevor refrained from reminding his teenage daughter that to him, she was still a little girl. After all, she’d only turned sixteen a few months ago.
He knew he spoiled her, but he just couldn’t help it. She was his little angel, and so for her birthday he’d splashed out, buying her the kind of car that he wished he’d had at her age.
“Fine,” he reluctantly laughed. “But don’t think we’re going to make a habit of this!”
“Of course not, Daddy,” Sasha cooed.
“I’m your old man, not your servant.”
“You’re not that old,” Sasha said in a husky whisper, and Trevor shot her an odd look. She didn’t seem to notice, and soon he was following her to the garage, where she’d gotten everything ready.
“How much did I pay you to wash my car?”
“Five dollars for the outside, another five for the inside.”
“Well, fair’s fair,” Trevor said with a grin, but before he could explain that he was kidding, Sasha pulled five dollars out of her pocket and earnestly pressed it into his hand.
“I was…”
He sighed. It wasn’t worth it.
“Come on, darling. Let’s wash.”
As Trevor dipped the sponge into the bucket of soapy water that Sasha had prepared, she lowered the spaghetti straps of her pale blue top. Without hesitation, he reached out and began sponging his daughter’s huge headlights.
“Oh, daddy…”
“Come on Sash,” he said with a laugh. “I’m the one doing all the work here.”
“Well,” she replied breathily, “you are the one being paid…”
“Ha ha ha.”
Sasha didn’t take long to join in, reaching up and using her hands to dry off her soapy headlights. The father and daughter continued to work together like this for several minutes, Trevor soaping and Sasha helping clean the suds off.
Trevor turned around from dipping his sponge back in the bucket to find that Sasha had removed her denim cutoffs, and was standing in front of him in nothing but a pair of bikini bottoms.
“The trunk,” she said in a soft moan, “has, uh…spiders.”
“Spiders?”
“Yeah,” Sasha repeated with an nod. “Spiders.”
“Sasha, I’m worried you’re not taking good enough care of this car…”
“I swear I am,” she said eagerly. “I take such good care of it, Daddy.”
“Hmm,” Trevor said, a note of skepticism in his voice.
“They’re not so bad—all you need to do is scare them off.”
“And how does one do that?”
“It’s easy. You just give the trunk a thump.”
“Oh?”
“You can do it with your hand. Please, Daddy, use your hand…”
Sasha turned around to ensure that her father had easy access, and—leaning over the workbench in the garage—tensed up with anticipation as Trevor raised his hand.
WHACK.
“OH!”
His daughter yelped, as though she hadn’t been expecting him to smack the trunk so hard, but after a quick glance at her beet-red face, she wordlessly indicated that she was fine—just worried that he hadn’t managed to remove all the spiders.
He raised his hand again.
WHACK.
Sasha shook her head once more.
WHACK.
Sasha whimpered as her father dutifully smacked her trunk as hard as he could, but still he couldn’t seem to remove all the spiders.
WHACK. WHACK. WHACK.
“YES!” she cried out, and Trevor sat back, a smile on his face. It was good to know that he could still protect his daughter when needed.
For the next few minutes, the duo worked in total silence. Sasha took the sponge off him and began soaping the rest of the car’s body, and so he used his bare hands to work the soap off.
After five minutes, Trevor couldn’t help but notice that his daughter was slacking off again—she was laying back, her legs spread, trembling silently and letting her father do all the work. With a grin, he remembered the punishment for laziness when she was a little girl.
Without a word, he picked up the bucket of cold water and dumped it onto Sasha’s head.
“Daddy!” she shouted, and he doubled over with laughter.
“Come on,” he said, “we’re all done anyway.”
“No we’re not,” she pouted. “What about the inside?”
“That’ll be another five dollars,” Trevor quipped, and again refrained from saying anything when Sasha reached into her discarded denim shorts and pulled out a five dollar note.
“Well?” she said, leaning back and looking up at him nervously.
“What do you want me to do?” he said with a sigh, and Sasha’s eyes lit up.
“I think we should, um…vacuum.”
“I’ll get the Hoover.”
“No,” Sasha said with a provocative smirk. “Let me…”
Trevor waited patiently as Sasha unzipped his pants, and pulled the vacuum cleaner out. It dangled lifelessly in her hands, and he reminded her that she needed to turn it on.
“Oh, I will,” she said softly. “I will.”
It didn’t take Sasha long to turn the vacuum cleaner on—despite the fact that vacuuming had been one of her chores since she was young, Trevor was surprised by how nervously she moved her mouth to it. As her long tongue moved up and down the hose, it soon hardened in her hand, and Trevor was ready to clean out the inside of the car.
Sasha carefully undid her bikini bottoms, and again positioned herself across her father’s workbench. He moved behind her, moved the hose to the entrance to the car, and couldn’t help but admire the sight in front of him. The car looked so good when it was glistening and clean, and for the first time he saw how carefully his daughter obviously took care of it. Its sleek lines, its huge headlights, its generous trunk.
He slowly inserted the hose into the car, and began cleaning. Slowly at first, but then faster as his daughter moaned with what he could only assume was impatience.
“After—this…” she panted, “we’ll—have—to—OH! …clean out the trunk, as well.”
“Of course, darling,” Trevor said with a smile. He felt oddly close to her, in that moment; maybe washing the car together was something they’d have to do more often.