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She was dressed like him, in shorts and t-shirt, no socks just plain white pumps. Hair in a ponytail, sponge in one hand, bucket by her side, hose laid out behind her. Unlike him, her body was firm everywhere, her t-shirt, wet in places clung to her waist, accentuating her hour glass figure. Her legs so long and slender lifted her ass perfectly into view as she stretched over the hood to administer the soapy water to its paintwork. As she reached, her breasts squeezed against the surface, forcing the overflow to form an unmistakable silhouette at the sides of her wet clingy top. He remembered being between those thighs, he was jealous of the car, he wanted to be the one she was stroking. He could feel those breasts against his chest once more, such were his memories that came flooding back. He picked up the hose and silently closed in on his prey. She squealed as the cold water engulfed her body, she stood tall, rigid, arms aloft, as if held up in a bank robbery. As the jet of. Along each side of the stone-paved road flashes of lightning revealed in silhouette a vast monument-strewed city of the dead fixed against a purple drapery of clouds. Turning off the road they made their way through a series of narrow muddy passageways among the tombs. The farther they went the more dilapidated and ancient the tombs became. Stucco had sloughed off many revealing crude brick underneath. Once pristine marble now showed cracks or had fallen away under the crumbling grip of vines. Some had roofs that had caved in centuries before. Others had become rubble, the names of the deceased as long vanished as was their days of glory. ‘Here it is,’ Bagus said, stopping before a ramshackle brick structure. Gaius peered in the doorway, his lamp revealing what was left of a rectangular room. To his left a stairway led down to an underground chamber and was sheltered from the rain by an overhang of what remained of cross vaulting. Where the roof was open to the sky rain beat down on.
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