East Ham Ecstasy
"Jamaican-British nail technician Simone's salon offers pampering for tired hands—but for handsome banker Richard, she offers a full-service treatment behind closed doors."
Richard's sister had insisted. "Go to Simone's. She'll sort you out for mum's party."
He didn't expect the salon to be so... intimate. Didn't expect Simone to be so... everything.
She was thick perfection in a pink smock, curves spilling, dark skin glowing, nails immaculate.
"First manicure? Don't worry, baby. I'll be gentle."
Her hands on his were electric. Soaking, filing, massaging—every touch lingering longer than necessary.
"Yuh hands soft for a man," she observed. "Desk job?"
"Banking."
"Mm. I can always tell." Her eyes met his. "Stay after. I do a special treatment for tension."
"I don't have—"
"Yuh have tension, trust mi. I can see it."
The salon emptied. The blinds closed. Simone locked the door.
"Lie on the massage table."
"You have a massage table?"
"I have everything, baby."
She did. And she used all of it.
That thick body straddled him, her hands working his shoulders, his chest, lower.
"Simone—"
"Shh. Let mi work."
Her work was extraordinary. Her smock came off. Beneath it, even more extraordinary.
"Still tense?" she asked.
"Getting less so."
"Good. Let mi finish the treatment."
She finished him thoroughly. Multiple treatments, different positions, a full service that left him boneless.
"Come back next week," she murmured after. "Regular appointments are best."
"For my nails?"
She laughed, that thick body shaking against his. "For everything."
Richard's nails have never looked better.
Neither has his life.
Every Thursday, closed door, full treatment.
East Ham's sweetest secret.
The banker who found bliss in a nail salon.