Sexy Series Erotica
Kay Jaybee Explores the Ultimate Delivery Man Fantasy
Read "Going against Type", Parts 1-4 here.
“Where the hell is he?”
It was already two o’clock. Over the past few months, even before we started our routine of weekly shagging, John was always with me at roughly 1 o’clock every Tuesday afternoon. Sometimes, my DVDs were delivered five minutes early, sometimes he brought them ten minutes late.
But he was never this late. Never a whole hour behind schedule.
Perhaps he’s on holiday, or perhaps he’s ill? Has he got sick kids that he needs to look after? Has the van broken down somewhere remote? What if the van’s been in a crash, what if...?
A myriad of crisis, large and small, roamed through my head, and I had no way of knowing what the reality might be. I didn’t even have his mobile number -- assuming he owned a mobile. A sense of helplessness crept over me, and I started pacing around the house without really realizing what I was doing.
Peering out of the kitchen window, silently longing to see John’s small, bright blue van turn into the road, I gave myself a shake.
This is ridiculous, you’re not some love struck teenager, pull yourself together. He’s probably been held up for some logically dull reason. You pay his company to deliver your films, so they WILL be delivered. Stop being pathetic, and go and do some work, woman!
Forcing myself to be sensible, I sat down at my computer desk and stared at the wild arrangement of spreadsheets that confronted me. I might as well have been trying to read Mandarin for all the sense I could make of them. It was hopeless. My concentration was shot to bits. Consumed with lust, all I could think of was that John was not with me, that his strong hands were not sliding across my flesh, that his mouth wasn’t against my own, and that the arousal the expectation of the afternoon had promised, was left hanging.
Damn, he promised we’d have time to share information about each other today. Will I ever get to know more about my mysterious, hot delivery man?
Trying, and failing, to ignore the growing dampness between my legs, I glanced again at the clock that flashed repeatedly at the bottom right-hand corner of my computer screen. It was a quarter past two now. I took a deep, calming breath, wiped my slightly sweaty hands down the legs of my jeans, and decided to be practical.
So, John’s not coming, or if he is coming, he’ll be running so late that he’ll be in a tearing rush and won’t have time to come in. Therefore, if I want to get anything done this afternoon, I’ll have to take some personal action.
Even as I thought about going it alone, my breasts, desperate for the attention they’d been anticipating for the last hour, pushed out against my black satin bra. Leaning back in my leather swivel chair, I closed my eyes and, imagining that they belonged to John, ran my fingers across my thin, maroon shirt. Undoing the buttons one at a time, I couldn’t help but grin as I pictured John’s thick fingers fumbling over the tiny fastenings until he got so frustrated, he simply yanked the whole garment over my head.
Throwing my blouse to the floor, I stroked my palms over my tits, teasing my nipples through the soft material of my bra. Exhaling slowly, I let go of some of the tension that had built up in the seemingly endless wait for my courier. Just as I allowed a single digit to stray around the waistband of my trousers, the insistent ringing of the front doorbell interrupted my erotic musings. I dashed to the door.
John hastened inside, grumbling about roadwork and customers who lost their rented DVDs. His face, streaked with desire, showed amused approval at my disheveled state.
“Nice bra baby! You couldn’t wait for me, then?” he asked. Popping my tits free, he attacked them with his mouth.
I sighed into John’s shoulder as teeth and stubble grazed my chest, sending electric shocks through every inch of my nervous system.
“Are you sure you want to? I don’t even have time to take my top off, honey, I’m so behind.” The question was undoubtedly genuine, but even as he spoke, John’s fingers traveled firmly over my hard teats, sending quivers of need down my spine.
“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I murmured into his ear, “unless you aren’t up for it, of course.”
In response, John fished a condom from his pocket, and with a wicked grin, yanked his trousers and boxers down a few inches. “I’ve been pumping blood down there for the last two hours thinking of you, babe, of course I’m fuckin’ up for it!”
Without bothering to ask permission, John tugged my denims and knickers off. Positioning me so I was crouched over the edge of the sofa, my knees spread apart on the floor, he impaled his cock into my soaking pussy. Grasping my hips in his calloused hands, my lover drove into me with such force, the sofa shifted across the living room floor.
I surrendered to his momentum, relishing the solid weight of John’s muscular frame as it rammed against my arse. I whimpered an incoherent, “That’s so good,” as he thrust harder, his hand slipping over my slick clit, massaging my wetness in time to his movements.
“Talk dirty to me baby,” he said into my ear, his voice hoarse.
I didn’t hesitate, instinctively knowing what he wanted to hear. “You really are a bad boy, making me all wet. I’ve been thinking of how well you fuck all afternoon. I’ve also been thinking of a girl I knew...” John expelled a long, low groan, boosting my confidence, as I continued, “…she used to spend hours just sucking my tits, but you suck tits better, much better. Hell, I’ve never been as horny in my life as I get thinking about us together, my vibrator batteries have worn right down since our last shag….”
John grunted urgently into my ear, “Babe, I’m coming.” He increased the pressure of his fingers over my clit, and suddenly I was climaxing as well, my body shuddering against his sweetly sweaty bulk.
Only seconds after he pulled away from me, John’s trousers were back in place, and he was apologizing again. “Hell, girl, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
I nodded wordlessly, my breath not yet returned enough for me to be able to answer him coherently.
“We’ll do the finding out about each other thing next week, okay?”
I smiled, nodding again.
Then, after giving me a brief, but fiercely deep kiss, John was gone.
I inhaled. The house smelt of sex. Delicious.
Originally published August 2009
