The Best HandJob in the North #Erotica

I work in one of those car wash places, the type where they do it all by hand. It has a huge yellow sign that proclaims in loud, red lettering that this is THE BEST HANDJOB IN THE NORTH. I hate it. I get wet and my white T-shirt clings to my ample bosom. I swear the lads splash me on purpose most times. I get so very cold ‑ I work in Manchester, not the flipping Bahamas ‑ and I’m paid a pittance, but what else is there for someone uninterested in study and with only a minimum number of qualifications?

One good thing about it is I get decent tips, especially on those days when I am soaked to the skin and my top clings to all my curves. If I bat my eyelashes and smile seductively I am always guaranteed a substantial bonus for my troubles. I think the guys are jealous of me; that’s probably why they don’t talk to me much.

‘Bloody freezing,’ I groan one dark, dank November morning, ‘I’m going to have to give this up and get a real job soon.’

No one answers me as I’m the only person in at 8 a.m. on a Monday but I’ve got to keep myself amused somehow. I sit on a plastic garden chair. It was white once, I’m sure, but these days it’s more a Mancunian morning grey. I pull my hat down over my ears and settle in. No one wants their cars washed on a Monday morning but the boss hates to think he might miss even one tiny bit of trade. His middle name is Ebeneezer ‑ or at least it should be.

So I’m rather surprised when a big, sleek, black car pulls in a few moments later. Ironically I’m not very good at identifying cars but this one has “money” written all over it. So does the guy who winds down the window. He is wearing a charcoal suit, the shirt beneath it bright white, the same colour as his teeth. His black hair sweeps over his forehead in a curve that indicates it has more to do with good grooming and time stood in front of a mirror than genes.

‘So, is the sign true, then?’ he asks with an arched brow and a wicked smirk.

‘Very true.’ I flash him a smirk of my own, knowing that a little sexual innuendo won’t harm my chances of a good tip.

‘Then show me.’

‘Certainly, sir. Would you like the regular or the deluxe treatment?’

‘I want the best handjob in the north, love, and I want it from you.’

‘Oh, you can’t afford me,’ I quip, his intense stare burning into my skin and starting a fever inside me.

‘What do you charge?’

‘For the best?’

‘Yes, the best. Your fingers clenched around my dick.’

I meet his gaze. My cheeks burn like embers but I’m not going to let him win so easily.

‘I told you, you can’t afford it.’

‘How much?’ he insists. I pluck a ridiculous figure from the air.

‘A grand.’

‘OK,’ he replies, not one hair on his well-coiffured head ruffled.

‘Up front and in cash,’ I add.

‘Sure.’ He looks away for the first time and withdraws crisp £50 notes from his wallet. I’ve never seen a £50 note before, let alone multiples of them.

‘There, one thousand.’

‘Right, well, erm, yes.’

‘Count it by all means,’ he says.

I don’t know how to respond. I mean, I know how I should respond. This guy is offering to buy my sexual services. I should be ringing 999 and summoning the police to take away the disgusting pervert. But I have more money in my hand than I’d ever held before. It would pay for so much, and what would I have to do for it? Next to nothing.

‘I must clean your car first.’ I strip off my navy blue fleece.

‘Sure,’ he replies, ‘I might as well get my money’s worth.’

I’m not sure why I tell him that, but I think I can gather my thoughts and my courage while I wash. I do it all on automatic pilot. I start at the back and move round to the front wiping suds on with my big, yellow sponge. At the hood I lean over more to emphasise my boobs and my arse and I’m rewarded by seeing him paying great attention to both areas.

Washing off the suds is the worst bit. The cold water from the hose is like ice so late in the year. I do splash myself a little more than is strictly necessary, though. The iciness perks up my nipples so nicely and I don’t think the cocky stranger will mind. I’m struck by just how much of a slut I am being. I’m going to wank off some man and I don’t even know his name.

‘I think it’s squeaky clean now, love, and my dick is aching. Jump in.’ He gestures with his head to the seat beside him. I nod and slowly drop my cloth. I walk round slowly and open the door.

‘Ah, no, no, no. I can’t have you getting in here with that wet T-shirt on, you’ll ruin my seats. Take it off.’

‘What?’ I snap.

His stern look makes me realise he is paying a lot of money for my services and, as the boss says, the customer is always right.

I reluctantly hook my fingers under my top and pull it off. I drop it to the ground then dive into the car, slamming the door behind me.

‘That’s better,’ he smiles, ‘much better. Now get to it.’

He stretches back against the black leather seat and pushes his crotch up lewdly. I can see the outline of his erection quite clearly and I lick my lips nervously. Honestly, I’m very excited. My nipples are not just responding to the cold and if I slipped my hand beneath the stretchy waistband of my jogging bottoms and down between my thighs I would coat my fingers liberally with my juices.

I’m not allowed to do that, though. It’s what’s in his pants that I need to concentrate on. I take a deep breath and reach out towards him.

‘That’s it,’ he whispers as he watches my delicate fingers fiddle with his button-down pants. I can feel the quality in the material as each button slips through with a crisp clunk. I’m slightly shocked when I press my fingers into the opening and find hot, hard man not soft cotton underwear. I wonder if he’s planned this in advance. I’m not sure if that excites or scares me but the cock that unfurls as I ease it from under the expensive trousers definitely excites me.

I stroke my fingers up and down it for a moment, trailing around the bulbous tip and around the thick shaft, tickling down into the sparse, dark hair that covers his large, warm balls. I’m rewarded by a catch in his breathing and an extended expiration of air that tickles across my cheek as I lean close to him. I position my hand around his shaft, noting how it fits so nicely there.

I glance towards him and his steely gaze. He’s watching my every move intently. I suppose I would too if I’d paid someone an obscene amount of money to wank me off. I’ve become so engrossed with his cock that I’ve forgotten I’m sitting in a car, in my place of work, with my top off and the boss and boys due to arrive at ‑ well, any moment. I look around nervously but everything is still quiet so I decide to get back to the task in hand.

I squeeze my fingers around his stiff erection and move my hand up and then down in one slow stroke. I keep doing this over and over building speed and pressure until I hear the word “Yes!” hiss from between his lips, just beside my ear. His breath caressing me is like a kiss; it feels so intimate being this close to a man I don’t even know.

Something strikes me then. I want to please him. I want to give him the best damn handjob of his life and I want him to remember me and this moment for the rest of his existence. I know I will remember it, the day I whored myself for cash. Society dictates I should burn with humiliation at that fact and I do, but I think I like it. I like the idea that some man is willing to pay for my services. I enjoy being in control, being the focus of his lust.

I reach my left hand over and slip it down to his balls. I’m leaning against his body now and he’s slipped his arm around my shoulder. It feels incredibly intimate and I love the weight of his arm around me, the warmth of it and the strength in it. His fingers stroke down the flesh just below my shoulder to the rhythm of my wanking.

‘That’s it, love,’ he gasps, his hips lifting and forcing his erection through my hand. I know he’s not far from coming. ‘Fuck, yes, that’s it.’

I cup his balls as I continue to stroke his shaft which throbs beneath my fingers. The pulse is like a pump and moments later I watch as white, thick cum arcs into the air and cascades down over my fingers. I continue to stroke, gently and firmly, as he grunts out his orgasm. The scent will be forever etched in my memory. Woody leather, cheap soap suds, and potent, masculine ejaculate that reminds me of burnt-down bonfires.

I continue to lean against him for a moment, his shuddering breaths rocking his ribcage beside me. I slowly release his cock and lift my fingers to my lips. I engage eye contact and lick each digit clean. He tastes of the sea and fresh linen, like when I grip my pillowcase between my teeth to stop myself from screaming as I come.

‘Thanks, love,’ he says as I lick my lips. He pulls away from me and I sit back in my seat. ‘Worth every penny.’

I smile and look around; no one has arrived yet but I can see a familiar car on the main road.

‘Shit, the boss is here.’ I open the door and pick up my T-shirt then clamber out to put it on.

‘Hey ‑’ he pulls my attention back to him before I slam the passenger door shut ‘‑ take this.’

He offers me a small rectangle of paper.

‘And ring me. I’d be interested in purchasing more of your services.’

‘I’m not a whore,’ I gasp but I take the card as he insistently pushes it towards me.

‘Oh, you are now, love, and a very good one at that.’

I slam the passenger door shut and, seconds later, his engine fires up and the car pulls away with a low purr that vibrates in my cunt. I just zip up my fleece after stuffing my ill-gotten gains into my bra before my boss walks across the forecourt to me.

‘See, I told you it was worth opening so early, you’ve had a job already.’

And he’s more correct than he can ever imagine.

I don’t think I engage my brain once for the rest of the day. I’m too busy thinking about my pussy. I need relief and I can’t get it, not at work. Even the toilet has paper-thin walls and the boss times your potty breaks. I know I wouldn’t take long to come but I want to enjoy the experience so I save it all up until I got home.

I run up the stairs to my tiny flat, slam the door shut behind me, strip off my fleece, and throw it to the ground. I kick off my trainers and thick socks then slip down my trousers and knickers. I walk over towards my bedroom and pull off my still damp T-shirt but I keep on my bra, the crispy notes warm and crinkly against my skin, a reminder of the lewd act I committed earlier in the day.

My bed is still as crinkled as when I left it, no time or inclination to make it before work. I dive on to the bed, springs creaking as I pull the duvet over my chilled skin. My fingers are cold and red and I attempt to warm them by stroking down my throat to my breasts, feeling their meaty warmth beneath the crinkly surface of all those notes, the payment for my sexual services.

I revel in being paid for my skills as my hands slip lower and between my thighs, the tips slowly thawing as I plunge them between my sticky lips. I’m hot and damp down there, my clit is prominent, and the zings of pleasure explode through my body from the very first stroke of my excited nub.

I remember his cock, the paradoxical power of soft and hard as it slipped through my fingers and that scent, the smell of a seedy sex scene in public. I come hard, legs clamping around my hand, body curling, arousal screaming from me and probably scaring the neighbour. I’m a slut. One hot slut. So Hot I was paid for my services. I don’t feel ashamed, I feel proud of myself, my skills and my curves, the curves so many people have poked fun at over the years. My abundant body is worth paying for.

I pull the money out from my bra, smooth down each note and add it up as I go. As I pull out another wodge his card falls out on the bed. One side is printed immaculately but on the back is scrawled a mobile number. I check the card; it reveals to me his name.

Richard. Well, it makes sense. He is a bit of a dick.

I put my money away and stare at the card. I know I should throw it away, take the money, and run. One paid-for handjob doesn’t make me a sex worker and the influx of cash will pay for some new clothes, maybe a weekend trip to the seaside or a really wild night out with my mates. But I think about how much money I could make if I fucked him. I think about how it would feel to ride his cock, the satisfaction of his dirty money in my pocket and the pleasure of sex, sex with him.

I text him in the end, too scared to ring.

It was the greatest handjob, right? What do you want to try out next? Alison from the car wash x

The reply pings back within seconds.

I want to fuck you. How much for that?

I think for a moment.

Ten grand.

I wait impatiently until my phone chimes again.

Five grand and the best orgasm of your life.

My heart flutters, my breath catches in my throat and I feel light-headed.

Five up front but if you don’t make me come I get the other five afterwards.

I’m amazed when he agrees. He tells me to meet him at a certain place, a place lovers know and go to when they want privacy but the thrill of the possibility of being caught. A country lane that ends in a field and nothing more. I berate myself as I climb into my reliable old rust bucket and head for the hills. I should not be doing this; it’s against every piece of safety advice I’ve ever received, but I don’t turn back.

He’s there when I arrive. I’d recognise his car anywhere. I pull up next to him and switch off my engine,  unclick my safety belt and take a deep breath. He’s there, to the left of me. . He dips his head in greeting and smirks. Or maybe that is his usual look, the casual grin that is so wicked and so promising at the same time. Stepping out of the car I smooth my skirt down my legs. I’d dressed up carefully to show off my feminine assets. I wanted to show him exactly what I’ve got. My hair is down, and the brown curls bob on my shoulders as I walk carefully over to the passenger door of his car through the persistent drizzle of a northern winter’s night.

‘Hello again, love,’ he says as I sit down on the seat beside him. The cold leather sticks to the back of my knees. ‘You scrub up well.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ I reply with a snarl, my stomach joining in, but with a growl of arousal not reprisal.

‘So I want to fuck you this time. I want to feel your cunt around my dick. Here’s your money.’

He passes me a brown envelope. It seems so incredibly seedy. My heartbeat quickens.

‘But you have to make me come or I get another five grand, right?’

‘Sure,’ he replies, ‘but I am going to make you come, love, I’m going to make you scream.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ I reply. ‘Shall we take our business to the back seat?’

I hope my voice shows no hint of my nerves as he replies in the affirmative and exits his side of the car. I get out and he calls me over to his side. I walk over to him, noting his height, the width of his shoulders, the casual elegance of his jeans, and the warm black jacket on top, labelled no doubt but so expensive the label is small and fine and probably in gold lettering. He opens the back door and stands leaning against it, his hip cocked.

‘Hitch up that skirt as you get in,’ he says, ‘I don’t want it in my way.’

I obey his order and it reveals my lack of underwear.

‘Oh, what a slut you are.’ He growls as I sit down on the edge of the back seat. He follows me in, his frame filling the door frame and his hands pushing me back forcefully. He doesn’t bother to close the door behind him ‑ no one else is around on such a cold and damp night ‑ but I do believe he wouldn’t care if we were seen. His lips hit mine with such force my head snaps back and I bump it on the far side door. He just kisses me. Hard and insistent, his tongue pressing forward, moving against my own, showing that he is in charge. I kiss back with passion. I cannot help myself: this man who smells so clean and rich, this man who I barely know, this man who pays me for sex is irresistible.

His kisses dip down to my neck; he bites and I hiss, my fingers digging into his arms in shock. He continues down, licking, kissing, and biting and setting my whole body alight. I know I shouldn’t want him to arouse me ‑ if he doesn’t, I get double the money ‑ but I can’t help but respond to his dominant kisses and his commanding caresses.

He pulls my breasts from their confines, pulls them up and out and sucks on each nipple with gusto.

‘I’ve wanted to taste your tits for so long,’ he says between mouthfuls, ‘and they’re so fucking tasty.’

I can’t help myself. I mewl and purr with pleasure as he mauls my breasts. I love rough sex and my breasts feel best when they spill out around squeezing fingers. A cold wind tickles my thigh and reminds me of where I am, in public being fucked by a near stranger. I tilt my hips, I can’t help it; I’m hot and desperate for him, my cunt aches to be filled. I rub against the lump in his trousers and moan.

Without speaking, one hand drops to his pants. I hear the zip and a second later I feel his head rubbing between my slick lips.

‘You hot bitch,’ he hisses, ‘already soaking fucking wet. You’re such a slut, a fucking beautiful slut.’

He slams his cock into me, one leg on the floor of the car, the other on the seat. He pulls on my hips, angling me so he can thrust in all the deeper. My head keeps hitting the doorframe but I don’t care; his cock is inside me, he’s fucking me, and he’s paid for the pleasure. I’m so horny I want to reach down and frig myself to orgasm but I can’t, he’s got to make me come and I’m not going to make it easy for him.

‘Fuck, I can’t last much longer,’ he gasps, my heart sinking slightly, ‘You’re too fucking hot to handle.’

‘Told you I was the best,’ I reply, linking my arms around his neck and running my fingers through his hair.

‘You didn’t lie.’ He growls and bites down on my neck, hard. I howl out in pain and pleasure and he pumps his come into me. I’m close, so close, right on the edge but no orgasm yet. I’ve won.

‘You owe me another five grand.’ It’s my time to smirk, even if my cunt is throbbing with need.

‘Oh, I’ve not finished with you yet.’ He slips out of me and pushes me up into the corner so I’m sitting up, my legs still spread. ‘I want to return the favour from this morning.’

His hand sweeps down my body and slips into my cunt. His fingers thrust in and out, mixing our juices inside me, releasing the scent of sex to mingle on the air with damp grass and warm leather.

‘Do you like that, slut?’ he whispers against my ear, his body pressed into me.

‘Yes,’ I reply as his thumb seeks out my clit.

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, sir.’ My pussy contracts with pleasure.

‘That’s better. You’re mine, whore. I’ve paid for you, you’ll show me due respect.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The orgasm is building inside me, bubbling and boiling, eager to break free.

‘You’re my whore, you’re my delicious slut and I’m going to make you come all over my fucking fingers. You’re going to drown them in your juices as you imagine my cock in your mouth, in your cunt, in your arse. You’re going to cream as you think of what a dirty thing you’re doing. Fucking me, a stranger for cash.’

I am going to come; my chest is flushed, my breaths are ragged, and my eyes are tightly closed.

‘Look at me slut.’ I do and I am lost in his lustful stare. ‘Now come for me.’

I don’t know if he just reads my body signs right or if his command makes me come but I explode then, juices gushing over his fingers and down my thighs. I grasp on to him and scream into his shoulder, my body shuddering, sweat beading on my brow.

I slip back, panting ,as he extricates his fingers and licks them one by one.

‘As arousing as this is,’ he says between licks, ‘I believe it may work out cheaper if I ask you out on a date and we do this the proper way.’

‘I wouldn’t count on it,’ I reply. ‘I could really go for a big steak right about now.’

I laugh and he joins in, the laughter lines showing around his eyes, softening his look for the first time since I met him.

‘Right, steaks it is, only the best for my slut. The best slut in the north.’