Lust Meter System: Conquering Beauties

They came out of the main entrance and around the side of the house where the morning was fully established, the sun above the treeline now, the grounds holding the light the way grounds did after a clear night, everything slightly sharp and clean at the edges.

Elena had changed after breakfast into a sundress, pale yellow, the fabric light and thin enough that the morning sun went through it when she walked into the light directly.

It neckline was low, sitting across the top of her chest in a way that showed the full upper skin of her boobs, it was shaking through the fabric with each step, the dress fitted through the waist and then flowing out to just above her knee.

When she walked the hem moved and the fabric pressed against the curve of her ass from behind and released again with each stride.

She had left her hair down and it sat loose around her shoulders in the morning air.

Liam walked toward the cars slowly.

Elena walked beside him with her hands in the pockets of the sundress, looking at the cars with the mild ownership of someone who had stopped seeing them because they had been there too long.

Liam was not looking at them with any kind of mild ownership.

He stopped in front of the first one.

A long silver saloon, wide and low, the bodywork catching the morning sun in a single clean line along the flank. He looked at the badge on the bonnet and then walked around the front of it slowly.

"How long have you had this one," he said.

Elena looked at it. "Four years," she said. "Maybe five. I used it more when I was doing a lot of city driving. Now I find it too long for certain roads."

He crouched down slightly and looked at the front grille. Then he stood and kept moving.

The dark red one next.

Small and low-slung, the color a deep burgundy that looked different depending on the angle, almost brown in the shadow of the tree beside it and unmistakably red when the sun reached it directly.

He looked at the lines of it, the way the roof curved into the back, the proportions that were specific to a particular kind of thinking about what a car should do.

"This one’s different from the others," he said.

"That one was an impulse," Elena said, coming to stand beside him, looking at it. The sundress moved slightly in the morning breeze, pressing against her hip on one side. "I was in Geneva for a meeting and I walked past a dealership and it was in the window and I went in to ask about it and came out having bought it." She paused. "I drove it for about six months and then decided it wasn’t practical enough for regular use."

"What’s it like to drive," he said.

"Fast," she said. "And loud in a way I found exciting for about a week and then started finding irritating." She looked at it. "It handles well though. Very well."

He nodded and kept moving.

He went through the others methodically, not rushing, stopping at each one long enough to look at it properly.

A white one which was large and geometric and more recent than the others.

A dark green SUV with a quietly aggressive face that had clearly been parked and forgotten and a older silver coupe that sat at the end of the row with the dignified patience of something that knew what it was.

Then he stopped.

At the far end of the row, partially in the shade of the boundary trees, was a car that was different from everything around it in the specific way that certain things were different when they had been designed by someone who understood what they were doing and had not tried to do too many things at once.

A BMW M4. Dark blue, the paint deep and clean, not the bright blue of something trying to get attention but the specific navy that arrived quietly and stayed.

The lines of it were taut without being aggressive, the proportions exactly right in the way that only happened when nobody had interfered with the original thinking. Two doors. Wide haunches.

It was the kind of car that looked fast standing still.

Liam stopped in front of it and looked at it for a long moment without saying anything.

’Ten year old me would lose his entire mind right now,’ he thought.

He walked around the front of it, running his eyes along the bonnet, across the roof line, down to the rear.

He crouched at the back and looked at the exhaust and then stood and looked at the wheels, dark alloys, the right size, not overdone.

He looked at the color.

"When I was ten," he said, not looking away from the car, "I had a poster on my wall. A blue BMW M4. This exact blue." He paused. "My mum kept asking me why I was staring at the wall and I had to explain to her that I was looking at the poster and not the wall."

Elena stood behind him, watching him look at it.

The fabric of the sundress pressed against the curve of her ass as she shifted her weight slightly, the pale yellow catching the morning light.

"How long have you had this one," he said.

She came to stand beside him, looking at the car. "About two years," she said. "I bought it because I wanted something that drove differently from the others. Something more connected." She looked at it with the reassessing expression of someone looking at something through another person’s eyes. "I drove it for a few months and then found I preferred the Phantom for most things and it ended up here."

"You drove this," he said.

"Yes," she said.

He looked at her.

"And you just left it out here," he said.

"I wasn’t using it," she said.

He looked back at the car.

He reached out and put his hand on the bonnet, his palm resting on the paintwork, feeling the cool of the metal through his palm. He moved his hand along the edge of it slowly.

"You know cars," she said, watching his hands.

"A little," he said. "When I was young I liked them. Before I knew what any of them actually cost I spent a lot of time knowing everything about them." He straightened up. "Then I understood what they cost and that information became less useful."

She looked at him.

He looked at the car.

She looked at the car too, standing beside him in the morning light with her hands in the pockets of the sundress, the fabric sitting close across her chest and her waist from the position she was standing in.

"You should have it," she said.

He turned and looked at her.

She was looking at the car, not at him, her expression completely settled, the expression of someone who had made a decision and was announcing it rather than proposing it.

"Elena," he said.

"I’m not using it," she said. "It’s sitting here. It has been sitting here for over a year." She looked at him then. "You looked at it differently from the way you looked at the others. I noticed."

He looked at the car. Then at her. Then at the car again.

"You can’t just give someone a car," he said.

"I just did," she said.

He stood there.

"It’s a BMW M4," he said.

"I know what it is," she said. "I bought it."

’She’s not joking,’ he thought, reading her face. ’She is standing here in a sundress at nine in the morning giving me a car like it’s a lighter she found in her bag.’

He looked at her with the expression of someone trying to find the part of this that was a joke and not finding it.

She reached into the pocket of her sundress and produced a key fob and held it out toward him. Dark, the BMW roundel on the front of it, sitting in her palm.

He looked at it.

Then he took it.

He looked at the fob in his hand and then at the car and then at the fob again. He pressed the unlock button and the indicators flashed once, the quiet double-blink of something that had been waiting to be woken up.

He opened the driver’s door.

He got in.

The interior was dark leather, the seats holding the specific quality of something that had been made properly, the dashboard clean and purposeful, the steering wheel thick in the right way, the gear shift exactly where it should be.

He put his hands on the wheel and looked through the windshield at the forecourt and the trees and the morning light across the grounds.

He sat there for a moment.

Elena came around and got in the passenger seat and pulled the door closed and sat with her hands in her lap, looking forward through the windshield at the same view.

The sundress settled around her as she sat, the fabric sitting close across her chest from the position, the pale yellow bright in the morning light coming through the windshield.

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

"This is the exact color," he said. "The exact one from the poster."

"Really" she said. "I didn’t know that when I bought it. I just liked the color."

He looked at the steering wheel. Then at his hands on it. Then he looked at her.

"Thank you," he said. He said it simply, without any performance around it, just meaning it completely.

She looked at him. "You’re welcome," she said.

He looked back at the windshield.

Outside the morning was doing what mornings did and the grounds were wide and quiet and the trees along the boundary wall were moving very slightly in a breeze that hadn’t reached the car yet.

He put the key in and turned the engine on.

The sound of it filled the interior, low and settled, the specific note of something that had been tuned properly and knew it.

He sat in it and listened to the engine for a moment.

’It sounds exactly like the poster said it would,’ he thought. ’Which doesn’t make sense because posters don’t make sounds but somehow I always knew.’

Then he looked at Elena.

"After you show me the rest of the compound," he said, "I’m taking this out."

She looked at him with the composed expression that lived just in front of a smile. "I assumed as much," she said.

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