For Christmas Ash gave me a sweatshirt. It was soft and gray and I loved it. I wore it day in, day out for almost a month. Then one day almost at the end of January, I said, “Ash, honey, I think my new sweatshirt might need to be washed.”

“Did you spill something on it?”

“No. I just think it’s time. Do you think I should wash it cold?”

Ash said, “Read the label.”

I read the label. “It says wash warm tumble dry.”

“There you go.”

“So I should be able to wash it warm?”

Ash nodded.

I washed it warm.

It shrank.

Not a lot, but more than a little and it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as it had been.

Ash said, “I’m sorry, honey. These things happen. Once I washed a sweater warm and even though the label said it was okay, afterward it wouldn’t fit a monkey.”

“I wish you would have warned me,” I said.

“I tried to,” Ash said.

“Huh?”

“You just wouldn’t listen.”

“Ash!”

“What?”

“You told me it would be all right.”

Ash shrugged. “Maybe it would fit me.”

“Sure. Try it on. Might as well have someone get some use out of it.”

Ash tried it on. She modeled for me. It fit Ash’s lissome, petite body to perfection. Then again, maybe it was a little long.

“Take off your pants.”

“Why?”

“I just want to see something.”

Ash took off her pants.

“Now your panties.”

“Paul...”

“I just want to see.”

Ash took off her panties.

She twirled around. “Satisfied?”

I grinned. The back almost but not quite covered her butt. The front almost but not quite covered her pubis. It looked great on her. She looked great in it. “It looks good,” I said.

“But my bottom might get cold.”

“True,” I concurred. “I have an idea.”

I took off my shoes and socks, my pants and underpants, and lay on the floor.

“Yes?” said Ash.

“I’m so hot for you.”

Ash smiled. Her happy and appraising eyes moved from my groin to my face and back to my groin. “I can see that.”

She eased herself over my erection. “Mmmm,” she said as if she were sinking into a tub of almost but not quite too hot bathwater. “Mmmm, that feels good.”

I reached up under my old sweatshirt. I held Ash’s modest, pear-shaped breasts in my hands. I pressed my thumbs against her no longer quite so modest nipples. “Sometimes the settings need adjusting,” I said.

“Adjust some more,” Ash groaned. She began to rock her hips.

“That’s it,” I said. “Wash my cock with your cunt.” I took Ash’s almost fully aroused nipples between my thumbs and forefingers and pinched. “That’s it,” I said. “Wash harder. Wash my cock until it’s all clean.”