So it’s time for a new Blisse release! My story The Best Handjob in the North features in this new xcite collection!
Here’s me with a paperback copy of the book.
And a quick little taster from my story, The Best Handjob in the North for you to enjoy. Do you know I got the inspiration for this story from a hand car wash in Manchester which actually has ‘The Best Handjob in the North’ emblazoned on a huge sign in front of it? Well now you know. I’d seen it several times and knew I’d have to use it in a story!
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 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 Ebenezer 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.
‘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.
Check out the anthology which is available in ebook and print from Xcite books!
And don’t forget that the Secret Smut Scavenger hunt is now on!