The Festive Handbag Read online

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  The Festive Handbag

  ISBN # 978-1-906811-51-8

  ©Copyright Victoria Blisse 2008

  Cover Art by Ann e Cain ©Copyright December 2008

  Edited by Michele Paulin

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2008 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road

  , Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

  THE FESTIVE HANDBAG

  Victoria Blisse

  Dedication

  I’d like to thank Bill Fullerton for his years of patient proof reading and his wise advice. Thank you so much, Bill, this one is for you.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Dior: Christian Dior Couture, S.A.

  James Bond: Character/Books by Ian Fleming

  Chapter One

  It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t perfect but it was needed. My girlfriend, Taylor snored demurely beside me, and I tried hard to conjure her image as I wanked. I could not do it. I was so unused to sexual advances from her that I found it hard to picture her in that way.

  I had a fantasy girl who sprung immediately to mind, small, curvy and dripping sex. I had no problem imagining her riding me. Commanding me to pleasure her. I imagined I was bound to the bed frame, only capable of lifting my hips to thrust myself deeper into her.

  “Come on,” she demanded. “Satisfy me.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” I replied to the dream girl whilst my cock throbbed and ached in reality. I was so close to coming, but Taylor’s elbow in my ribs completely threw me off my pace.

  “Stop it,” she whined. “You’re disturbing my beauty sleep.”

  “Sorry,” I snapped back. “You’re disturbing my masturbation.”

  “I do believe my beauty sleep brings in more money than your masturbation.”

  “Does it?” I retorted bitterly. “You could have fooled me.”

  “It’s an investment,” she replied. “Wanking isn’t.”

  “No, it’s a release, and since you won’t help…”

  “Oh, don’t start that again. I told you, we’ll have a much better sex life when I’m famous.”

  “Yes dear,” I said and threw my legs over the side of the bed.

  “I knew you’d see sense.” She yawned and pulled the duvet tightly around her. “Don’t make too much noise. I’m still sleeping.”

  “Yes dear.” I sighed even deeper, picked out some clothes and headed downstairs to make my breakfast. It was going to be a hectic kind of day—made even worse by the fact my car had broken down and I was going to have to use public transport, a bus, in fact. What a Merry Bloody Christmas Eve, eh?

  * * * *

  I took a deep breath and prepared myself to be plunged into debt for Taylor. I persuaded myself she was worth it and walked into the posh shop.

  “Ah, good morning, Mr Randall. I’m glad to see you made it in time.”

  “Yes, Michelle. Thank you.”

  “I’ll just pop into the back and get the bag for you, Sir. Hold on one moment.”

  Michelle was tall and thin and her black hair was cut starkly. The fringe just skimmed the top of her eyeballs, which Taylor assured me was the latest thing. All I knew is it cost me a fortune in weekly hair trims for her to keep Taylor’s from blinding her.

  Michelle turned sideways and virtually disappeared. She had no hips, no breasts, and I felt not an ounce of arousal over her.

  Taylor would have loved her though, I was sure. She constantly banged on about being too curvy to be a real, top model. It was catalogues and pet food products that wanted her subtle curves, and boy were they subtle, very subtle. You really needed to look closely to find them. Apparently high fashion needed stick figures to hang its faddy clothes and expensive accessories from. I told her all the time that she was already gorgeous, but she just sighed and shook her head. She wouldn’t be happy until she could see bones poking out through her flesh. I didn’t really know what I was doing with her.

  I looked briefly around the beige interior of the shop. It smelled of leather and expensive candles, and my testosterone banged around inside me, dying to get out.

  “Here it is.” Michelle walked back to the sales desk and presented me with something that looked like my Gran had knitted it out of a mixture of twigs and her infamous beetroot soup.

  “Wonderful,” I exclaimed. A carefully pasted-on smile stretched my lips and I proffered my new platinum card her way.

  “Thank you, Sir.” She plugged it into a little black device attached to the till and got me to type in my pin number. It went through, and I was amazed by how painless the process was. I was suddenly two grand in debt, and I didn’t feel even the smallest twinge of regret, not at that moment anyway.

  Michelle fiddled and faffed with brightly coloured tissue paper then placed the wrapped monstrosity into a large bag that proudly displayed the shop’s logo on either side.

  “Someone will be happy tomorrow.” She smiled and passed the bag to me. “Merry Christmas, Mr Randall.”

  “Merry Christmas,” I replied, quite aware that my two grand would give her a very Merry Christmas indeed.

  My hormones rejoiced as I opened the door and left that girly place behind. I felt the need to seek out a pub, a pint and a big bloody steak. I felt a lot more manly after I found it and able to face the nightmare of the return journey with my fancy bag in tow.

  * * * *

  The bus home was really packed. I felt like a sardine in a tin. I put my bag in the crowded luggage rack so I could hold onto something, but I didn’t take my eyes off it. I imagined thieves all around me. I might have been overly paranoid, but I had never blown two grand on a Christmas present before.

  The bus sat in traffic, moved forward a few inches then stopped for five minutes before it moved again. The rhythmic stopping and starting lulled me into a dream-like state, and I began to wonder about things.

  I’m not sure how I ended up with a model as a girlfriend. It started at a party, and I swear she snogged me on a dare. I’m not butt ugly, but I do rest towards the dorkier end of the handsome scale. I was somewhat overawed by all this gorgeous blonde attention and bought her drinks, ordered her a taxi and insisted on not sleeping with her that night because I respected her too much.

  Apparently that tactic worked. She rang me the very next day. After I bought her lunch at an intimate—by intimate I mean expensive—little restaurant, she came home with me where we left all respect outside the bedroom door.

  For a superbly hot looking woman, she wasn’t that good in bed
. At the time, I was too busy thinking about my model-banging bragging rights with the boys to notice. But she’d been with me for four months, and we’d had sex only a handful of times. She said she didn’t have a high sex drive, and that modelling wore her out, and I said I respected that. She’d been living with me for the month before Christmas, and I had thought that moving her in might get me a bit more action, but no. Often she would sleep in a separate room to get away from my sexual advances.

  She was great at kissing and promising, and my ego liked having a live-in model girlfriend. I really was that shallow, apparently. I’d always had a soft spot for expensive play things. I had my own testosterone-driven sports car and an expensive house with too many rooms. Taylor was just another item on that list.

  A harsh elbow in my side awakened me. Through a haze of déjà vu I hissed and held back a barrage of swear words then looked out of the window.

  “Shit,” I yelled, eliciting a tut from the white-haired lady beside me who’s elbow had awoken me from my daydream. ”Stop the bus.” I squeezed past the other passengers and tried not to step on anyone’s toes.

  “Gotta wait ‘til the next stop now, mate.” The driver sighed, “I’m not allowed to let you off anywhere else, you see.”

  “But we’re at the lights, please?” It’s difficult for a heterosexual man to beg in a convincing way when the other person is several stone heavier and several degrees hairier than he. But whatever I did, it worked. The doors flapped open, and I was free.

  “Shit,” I exclaimed again as I reached my driveway. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  I’d left the damn bag on the bus. How in hell’s name had I managed that? I scampered to the phone in the hallway and pulled the yellow pages from inside the cupboard beneath it.

  “Bus, bus, bus,” I chanted. ”Ah ha, bus.”

  I prodded my finger at the page and left it pressed against the number as I dialled.

  “Hi, yes. I just got off the number thirty seven bus about ten minutes ago, and I’ve left something on it.”

  The sweet feminine voice at the other end patiently asked me exactly what I’d left.

  “A beige paper carrier bag containing a tissue wrapped handbag. It’s a Christmas gift.”

  “Is there anything written on the bag, sir?” The voice was calm and pretty. It was a good voice for customer service. It instantly put me more at ease.

  “It says Bags of London on it.”

  “The driver has it,” she replied. “He rang in just a moment ago. He’s heading into the depot now if you want to come and pick it up.”

  “Erm, it’ll take me fifteen minutes or so to get there,” I explained.

  “The thirty-seven isn’t due in ‘til half past anyway, so you won’t arrive far behind it. And I’m here until five. I can keep it for you. I’m Kelly, by the way.”

  “Thanks Kelly. I should be there soon. Thank you so much for your help.”

  “You’re welcome,” she chirped, and I put down the phone and searched for a taxi number. I ordered a cab and was told it’d arrive in five minutes. As I put the phone book back a note fluttered off the hall table.

  You’ve taken my phone with you, so I’ve got yours. Love Taylor.

  I delved into my coat pocket and sure enough, I pulled out a small pink phone. There was a message notification, and I clicked through to read it. I know that was a bit naughty, but what if it was an important message? Taylor would have wanted to know.

  I miss you. Can you come over?

  I may have been somewhat paranoid, but that message worried me, especially as it was from a guy named David. I really couldn’t remember her mentioning anyone of that name before. So I did something even naughtier, just to put my mind at rest, I looked in her message history. There was only one, and it was from David.

  I’m so hard for you right now. I need you. I want to fuck you. Has pencil dick gone to work today?

  I felt numb. I couldn’t believe Taylor could do that. She barely had enough sex drive for me. Then I realised why. She was using it all on Dickhead Dave. She’d been using me.

  I ran upstairs and along the landing. I was going to throw all her clothes out of the bedroom window along with her shoes and shitty lotions and potions. I was going to get her out of my life for good.

  I flung the bedroom door open wide and was greeted by a sickeningly erotic tableau.

  “Oh, fuck, yes,” Taylor hissed.

  “Yeah, you love my cock, don’t you?” a deep voice growled. “You love being fucked in his bed. You’re so naughty.”

  And all my bravado melted away. I wish I hadn’t seen what I had seen, and I sure as hell didn’t want to confront the owner of that voice. I threw her mobile to the floor, and it crashed against the bare floorboards loudly.

  “Who’s that?” Taylor called out.

  “Patrick,” I grunted, already partway down the stairs. “I want you packed and gone by the time I return.”

  “I can explain,” Taylor’s tiny voice squeaked from the bedroom.

  “No, you can’t. Fuck off out of my house. I never want to see you again.”

  I didn’t wait for a response. I was too angry to listen. I knew she’d be gone by the time I returned. She knew I meant business I was sure.

  The black cab pulled in just as I left the house. It beeped its horn, and I ran over and slammed the door as I got in.

  “Bus depot, Sir?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I replied as I shook my head in an attempt to make my mind work. Taylor was fucking another man, fucking another man in my bed even. I was shocked, yes, but sadly not surprised. I knew all along something wasn’t right. I should have worked out that she had just been using me.

  I couldn’t decide what I was going to do with her handbag. I fancied setting fire to it, but in reality I couldn’t afford to see two grand go up in smoke. So, sensibility won through, and I decided to return the beetroot monstrosity on Boxing Day so I could get my money back and destroy that horrid credit card.

  So I prepared myself to enjoy another Christmas day on my own. I liked Bond movies, and I could cook turkey so I wasn’t too worried.

  I’d done Christmas on my own for three years previously with mum having passed away. It was nothing new. I would survive Christmas on my own. I was determined to make the most of it.

  “We’re here, mate. That’ll be fourteen quid.”

  I pulled a twenty out of my wallet. “Keep the change.”

  “Cheers, mate. Merry Christmas.”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled. “Same to you.”

  The bus depot was a strange place with all those buses lined up with their engines off. You almost felt like tippy-toeing so you didn’t wake them up.

  “Are you Mr Randall?” A soft voice came from behind me, and I turned round.

  “Yes, I am. You must be Kelly.”

  “That’s right, Sir, I am.”

  “Call me Patrick,” I smiled. She was so pretty. Her red hair bounced around her shoulders and framed her pale face and large, green eyes.

  “Okay, Patrick.” She blushed and cleared her throat. “I’m afraid there’s been a slight delay. The thirty-seven hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “Oh, right,” I replied and skimmed my eyes up and down her frame. She had so many delicious curves, I just wanted to dive right in.

  “But he should be here soon,“ she continued. “So, if you’d like to come and wait in the office for a bit…”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “I’m terribly sorry for this inconvenience, Sir—I mean Patrick,” she flustered. “You must be wanting to get back home as quickly as possible.”

  “Not really.” I shrugged and followed her to the cabin in one corner of this echoing vehicular bedroom. “I just found my girlfriend in my bed with another man.” I didn’t know why I’d revealed this nugget of personal information. In fact, I’m known for keeping my business to myself, but it just seemed like the right thing to say.

  “Oh shit. That’s awful.” She rested a
hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled. “I’m coping.”

  “On Christmas fucking Eve, too. Oh, excuse my language.”

  I laughed. She was so cute. “It’s okay, really.”

  “It’s just my boyfriend dumped me back on Valentine’s Day, so I know just how crappy it is to be ditched on a holiday.”

  “Now that does suck,” I replied. “What a bastard.”

  “Yep, that’s the conclusion I came to, as well.”

  She led me through a heavy blue door and indicated for me to sit down on one of the orange plastic chairs. I took a seat, and she sat beside me.

  “It’s been totally hectic, today.” She smiled. “But it’s quieting down now, and it’s nearly the end of my shift.”

  “When do you finish?”

  “At five o’clock. So just an hour to go.”

  “Is it that time already?” I looked up at the plain white clock opposite me. I’d lost a whole day of my life because of that handbag. It was cursed.

  “Time flies when you’re having…oh, sorry.” She blushed.

  “Don’t worry. It was a bit painful at first, but now, I’ve forgotten the pain. It’s like I’ve ripped off a plaster.”

  “How long had you and your girlfriend been together?”

  “Just a few months. It seems she was using me to get a roof over her head and her every whim catered for, well, every non-sexual whim anyway,” I added bitterly. “She has David to take care of those for her.”

  “Ouch.” She winced, and her cute face scrunched up in sympathy. ”Mine ran off with a blonde half my age.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?” I raised my eyebrows, and she batted me with her hand again. My skin burned pleasantly under her touch.