Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With a Delivery Man (3 page)

Taking Jenny’s shirt from her shoulders,
freeing her luscious breasts from their delicate cream bra, he sighed, and
suddenly Jenny realized that he had been looking forward to this as much as she
had. Up until now, she had convinced herself that he didn’t think about her
over the course of the week. It was like a mantra of self-preservation in her
head that she repeated over and over:
I
must remember I’m just convenient to him. We simply use each other for sex.

Roughly pulling at each other’s clothes,
they were soon totally naked. Stepping away, Jenny gazed hungrily at him.
He is just so yummy, so sexy, so…
This
was the first time she’d seen him completely nude. Previously, in their haste,
trousers and boxers had remained around ankles, shoes and socks had been simply
ignored. It was a minute frozen in time, as she examined him and he examined
her; their appreciation was obviously mutual.

Drawing on a condom, John lowered Jenny
back against the carpet, lying above her so his hard dick nudged at her skin,
tantalizingly close to her clit, sending mini shocks of expectant electricity
through her body.

‘Do you want to know?’

There was no need to ask what he was
referring to. ‘Yes.’

Tilting his head to one side, John peered
questioningly into Jenny’s eyes, as if to double check, assessing if she could
handle his revelation. With his weight pressing down on her, her tits squashed
flat against his torso, she was a captive audience.

Waiting impatiently for him to speak, it
suddenly occurred to Jenny that her courier was a lot stronger than she was and
could probably do just about anything he wanted to her, and she’d have very
little choice but to comply.
Be hones,
woman
–
you’d probably let him do
anything to you anyway
.

The anticipation of what he might say made
Jenny’s body stiffen. At last she was going to hear what it was he wanted to do
with her.

‘Ever since I first saw you, when you began
to get films, before all this started, I’ve wanted to…’ John paused, skidding
his dick into the soaking wet pussy before him.

Jenny let out a strangled whine, as much
from the sensation of being so wonderfully full as from the irritation of
having to wait to hear about his dream. An accompanying moan almost
simultaneously escaped from John, as she gripped her pelvic muscles around his
cock, holding and releasing him over and over again until she couldn’t wait any
longer. ‘You’ve always wanted to
what
?’

John grinned wickedly, but said no more as
he grabbed Jenny’s waist with one hand, thrusting faster, and snaked his other
hand down between her legs to massage her nub. Now it was Jenny’s turn to lose
her focus. Her film courier could have told her anything at all, and she would
have been totally oblivious to what he said, as vivid red and orange bubbles of
colour
burst
inside her head.

Shaking with the astonishing intensity of
her orgasm, Jenny held onto him tight, digging her fingers into the ink-scarred
arms.

She felt the shudder of John’s body as he
threw his head back and came inside her. Wiping tangled hair from Jenny’s eyes,
John eased himself away from her glowing body. At last he spoke. ‘I’ve got this
picture in my head. I simply can’t shift it.’

‘A picture of…?’

‘Of you, and me, and…’ He paused again, as
if trying to decide if he should go on.

Jenny’s pulse-rate hit epidemic
proportions.
What the hell could be so
outlandish that he’s struggling to tell me? Does he think I’ll run a mile or
throw him out the house or something?
‘And…?’ It was increasingly difficult
to keep the frustration from her voice.

He took an audibly deep breath. ‘Of you,
and me, and another woman.’

It took all her effort not to laugh. All
that hesitation for such a standard bloke’s fantasy. But rather than mock,
Jenny began to visualize the scene he was suggesting.
Is this something he wants us to fantasize about together? Or something
he actually wants us to do for real?
As she studied her new lover closely,
a buzz of excitement rose within her.
Is
he serious?

‘Well?’ For the first time since she’d met
him, John had a trace of uncertainty in his tone, and his normally confident
eyes dipped and failed to meet hers.

So,
he
is
serious.
Moving closer to his naked body, placing both her palms flat on
his chest, Jenny whispered into his ear, ‘You find her and I’ll do it.’

Never would Jenny forget the stunned look
on John’s face as he spluttered, ‘What? Really?’

‘Sure.’ A knot of exhilaration gathered in
her chest, and Jenny trailed her fingers lower, lightly twisting the hairs on
his chest together in small clumps. ‘Anyway, it wouldn’t exactly be my first
time with a woman.’

‘It wouldn’t?!’

‘No, honey. It wouldn’t.’

Later, sitting
alone in an ultra-deep bubble bath, Jenny tipped her head back, luxuriating in
the feel of the water soaking through her hair and lapping around her
shoulders. She couldn’t stop visualizing John’s rapt face as she told him that
she’d had girlfriends, and that she’d always wanted a best-of-both-worlds
threesome.

Stunned by this previously hidden element
to Jenny’s character, John hadn’t rushed off as normal. He’d stayed, his cock
stiffening quickly into a second hard-on, cavalierly declaring that the next
deliveries would simply have to arrive late.

As the soapy water relaxed her muscles,
Jenny recalled how,
buoyed up
by the confidence her revelation had caused, she had taken charge,
pushing the driver to the floor, licking his dick as if it was an ice cream,
while her palms manipulated his balls, eating at John until he was unable to
keep his backside immobile, his hands all over her like a rash.

Jenny dipped a hand below the water level,
searching out her sensitive labia.
It
seems we have more common ground than I thought. Roll on, next Tuesday…
Sinking
further into the bubbles, Jenny began to hump against her hand, her brain
infused with entwining, horny images of her past and present.

Tuesday

Frustration

Since John had upped
his status from casual acquaintance to Tuesday afternoon lover, Jenny noticed a
pattern emerge in her thoughts and
behavior
. For the forty-eight-hour stretch following their fast-paced sex,
she was on cloud nine. On the third day, she was merely deliriously happy, but
mildly cross with herself for being feeble enough to let her whole mood
center
around whether
she’d seen, or would see, her courier or not. When Saturday night arrived, she
was still happy, but doubts would subtly start to creep in. By the time Sunday
came around, she had herself convinced that the whole situation was a work of
fiction created by her overactive, sex-starved imagination; so much so that by
Monday, she was sure it would never happen again, and that her tattooed
companion would have found someone else to screw over the weekend. When Tuesday
morning finally came round, Jenny was a confused but excited mix of
anticipation, arousal, and unease; and then the cycle began again.

It was the fourth Tuesday since her courier
had begun to make more personal deliveries, and Jenny waited restlessly perched
on the edge of her leather chair. The accounts that demanded her workday
intelligence sat neglected on the desk as she mulled over the fantasy that John
had revealed during his last visit.

He
thinks about shagging me and another woman – oh boy – we share a
fantasy. I doubt we’ll ever do it, but if we did… what would she be like? Does
he like the same sort of women I do? Surely we must have some tastes in common…
tall or short, blonde or brunette… slim or curvaceous…?

 
John’s rhythmic knock on the front door interrupted her
thoughts. Hurrying to open it, she stepped back to let him in. His face was set
into a frown of unsettling determination.

Waiting just long enough for the door to
close behind him, he grabbed Jenny’s arm and dragged her into the lounge. He
propelled her, head first, into the very corner of the room, slamming her
against the cool cream wall.

Quickly, John’s hands came around her. One
headed to Jenny’s crotch, clawing at the denim of her jeans, the other reached
beneath her top, on a collision course with her right breast, nipping it
callously between two fingertips.

An instant and overwhelming dart of
orgasmic bliss raced through Jenny.
Shit,
I’m gonna come, he hasn’t done anything yet, this is unbelievable…

John, ignoring how his companion had sagged
against the wall in a rush of pleasure, tugged at her shirt. Jenny attempted to
turn to allow him easier access, but the flat of his palm was pressed securely
against her back, pinning her neatly in place. Her left cheek felt the chill of
the paintwork, and the rest of her quivered at his unpredicted domination, a
thrill made all the more powerful by the tense hush of the otherwise tranquil
room.

Releasing Jenny’s breasts, John grasped at
her globes with one hand, attacking the button fly of her trousers with the
other. They were at Jenny’s feet before she’d even registered her belt was
undone. Her brain whirled, and she found it impossible to keep pace with what
was happening.
I ought to be
reciprocating, I want to feel his dick, stroke his fit body…

Every attempt she made to move was
thwarted, and soon Jenny abandoned trying to touch her lover. Closing her eyes
against the stark glare of the cream paint, she let the sensations he was
engendering take over.

Her legs shook as her knickers were
removed, and thick fingers played at her sodden channel. That was when John
broke the silence.

‘You are one dirty bitch, aren’t you?’

‘Oh yes, I…’

John’s enraged London drawl cut off Jenny’s
sentence in a flurry of harassed aggravation. ‘All damn week you’ve been in my
head. You and me on the floor. You and me on your armchair; you juicing my
cock, with your grubby little finger workin’ up my arse.’ He paused, inhaling
deeply as his hand smacked Jenny’s trapped behind. ‘I bet you even liked that,
didn’t you? I bet you liked that slap. Didn’t you?’ His words were dripping in
lust.

Jenny replied with a breathless, ‘Yes.’

‘I knew it.’ John yanked her from the wall
and, sitting on the edge of the armchair, hoisted her over his lap, spanking
Jenny’s neat rounded backside hard and fast.

All she could feel was the delicious burn
of his palms and the dig of his dick as it strained against her from beneath
his trousers. The sound of the slaps raining against her butt drowned out
coherent thought. Shutting her eyes again, Jenny became lost in the build up of
pain, relishing every strike.

At last John spoke again, managing to pick
up from where he’d left off: ‘…and then…then you tell me that you are into
women. Have you any idea? Do you know what it’s been like this week with that
thought in my head? My god, girl, I thought I’d wanked a lot over you
before…but now…’

John hit Jenny’s burning buttocks one last
time and then deposited her on the floor, rolling her onto her back. He just
stood there, stock still, his chest rising up and down. They stared directly at
each other, barely even blinking. Then, John stripped off his t-shirt, and
Jenny gulped at the sight of his hairy chest, which she could have sworn looked
even more incredible than it had the last time she’d seen it. Losing his
remaining clothes in one coordinated move, John fell on top of her, his cock
stabbing at her hip, his mouth on hers with a barrage of kisses.

As her breasts rubbed against his chest,
Jenny mentally caught up with the fact that she could now give as good as she
got. Her fingers drew against the flesh of his back, scratching and stroking
him in time to the pace of their impassioned kissing.

John sat up on his haunches, holding his
wood so that it pointed directly at Jenny’s tits.
 
He began to work himself off with one hand, while his other
searched over her mound, patting and pinching at the soaking folds for all he
was worth.

Jenny had no idea what she was
thinking—everything was a blur. Her body rippled and jolted as he erupted
and dashed against her skin, and her second climax in less than ten minutes
triggered heady shivers across her exhausted flesh.

John crumpled to the floor beside her, and
they didn’t move for several moments. Lying there, his sticky seed dribbling
gently down the sides of her chest, they watched each other regain their
composure.

A minute later, the spell was broken by the
mundane task of wiping off and re-dressing.

Thousands of questions burst into Jenny’s
head, and she was just steeling herself to finally ask John the ones she most
desperately wanted answers to –
Are
you single? What women are you into? Where do you live? What do you do when
you’re not working?
– when her delivery driver beat her to it.

Perching on the edge of the armchair he’d
so recently used for Jenny’s chastisement, he asked, ‘Who the hell are you,
woman? There’s so much I want to know.’ Running a hand through his spiked up
hair, he rose to leave. ‘Next time. Next time we’ll talk.’