Sexy Series Erotica
Going against Type, Part 6, by Kay Jaybee
Read "Going against Type, Parts 1 - 5" here.
“Can you meet me in the town car park at twelve tomorrow? I’ll have the big library van (blue, with company logo on the side) parked in the back row of spaces. We need to talk. J”
The note had been scribbled in fading black ink on the back of a leaflet advertising the DVD delivery service John worked for. My pulse zipped as I read. The words “we need to talk” struck a quiet terror in my heart. They had been the death toll of so many relationships in the past.
But then, this isn’t a relationship. It isn’t an anything. It’s just lust.
Cursing the fact that I’d been out when John called, my brain began to seethe with ‘”what ifs”.
Had he decided he wanted out? Had he been taken off deliveries? Did he want a chance to learn more about me, and didn’t think we’d concentrate at my house?...I assume I’m supposed to meet him by the van?
The butterflies in my stomach swam alarmingly, and a light perspiration dotted the back of my neck and palms as I spotted the large box-van. Its bright metallic paintwork shone in the midday sunshine, and the unmistakable bold script of “A to Z Home Film Delivery Library” was certainly designed so as not to be missed.
I hadn’t slept much the night before. Tossing and turning against my pillow, fantasy-laden dreams teasing and tormenting me. John and me on the living room floor, his face between my legs, my flesh quivering with orgasm overload. This image had morphed into one of Jo, a girl I’d once known; a girl I intended to tell John all about. Her body lying against me, her tongue lapping at my breasts, her hands trailing over my stomach…John in a nearby armchair, his cock in his firm grip, wanking off, watching me come beneath the ministrations of a beautiful woman.
By the time I finally awoke my throat was dry, and my body felt as if I’d spent the night with a vibrator and half a dozen dirty books.
Taking a deep breath, I headed towards the van, abnormally conscious of the clatter my heeled boots were making against the tarmac as I weaved between the tightly packed cars.
A broad grin lit John’s rugged features when he saw me approach. “I thought you’d be late.”
“Why?”
“You’re a woman, aren’t you?”
I peered at him over the top of my sunglasses. “I’m me, and I’m always on time for everything.”
The amused twitch at the corner of his smile told me he accepted this information, but didn’t necessarily believe it.
“So?” I felt suddenly awkward as I climbed into the van and sat next to him, this deliveryman with tattoos up his arms and short, spiked hair. “I got your note.”
John’s deep brown eyes pierced my own, as if he knew what I was thinking. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not the sort of guy you’d normally be seen with, am I?”
For a split second, I thought about lying to him, telling him not to be so stupid, but the truth screamed at me. Before my deliveryman, the least-educated person I’d ever fucked had a top class degree, and anyone I’d ever dated was at least a doctor of some obscure subject or other.
That doesn’t mean anything, though. I only ever meet over-educated idiots like myself.
“To be honest, no, you’re not. But then, I don’t suppose I’m the sort of person you’re seen out with much, either.”
This time, John laughed out loud. “This is true.” He placed his palm over my knee and, despite the presence of my ankle length skirt, the electricity that had been flowing between us all but singed me.
“Why did you want to see me today?”
“I wanted the chance to get to know you outside of sex. To ask you about you. To see if you exist on a Friday as well as a Tuesday. Is that okay?”
I’d expected him to take me off to the local coffee shop to talk. I’d expected him to kiss me. He did neither. Instead, John instructed me to do up my seatbelt, and before I knew what was happening, the van was reversing, and we were heading out of town.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere private.”
The perspiration that had dried on my palms gathered again as we sat in expectant silence. Five minutes later, John was driving into a deserted yard behind a derelict warehouse. I felt a frisson of fear creep up my spine.
Anything could happen here. Anything.
Again, John seemed to be reading my mind. “Don’t panic, I’m not an axe murderer or anything.”
Tilting my head to one side, I stared at him with blatant curiosity. “Who are you, then?”
“I could ask you the same question,” he said as he pulled the van to a stop. He jumped down from his side before coming around to open my door. “I know you’re an accountant. I know you work from home, and I know you have rubbish taste in films. That’s it – apart from knowing your tits are beautiful, your skin tastes fantastic, and that right now I have the hard on from hell knocking at my trousers, desperate to get to you.”
Unable to stop myself, I glanced down at his combats. An undeniable bulge told me he wasn’t exaggerating. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to go into town to chat. “If it helps,” I said, watching John carefully as I perched on a broken down rubble wall, “I couldn’t be more turned on if I tried.”
For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead my driver sat just out of reach and said, “Twenty questions, then. I ask you ten questions. You ask me ten questions. They can be about literally anything – anything. Yes?"
I inclined my head in agreement.
Satisfied he had my full attention, John continued, “We’ll take it in turns. Do you want to start?”
“No, you start.”
“Right.” Smacking his palms down decisively onto his knees, my lover began, “How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
I fired back the same question, “You?”
“Thirty-sex. Are you married or with anyone at the moment?”
“No. Are you?”
John looked down for a second, as if contemplating his answer. “I’m just single. When did you last have a woman?”
“When I was 21. When you say you’re just single...?”
“I’m waiting for a divorce to be finalized.” The speed of our exchange increased as John’s eyes flamed with undisguised erotic interest concerning my past. “What was she like?”
I was torn between wanting to answer John, and needing more information about his marriage. Increasingly conscious of the throb between my legs, however, I told him what he wanted to hear. “Her name was Jo, she was my height, and had red hair, which she kept in short plaits. When we stood together naked, our nipples brushed together.”
Turning my head away, trying to stay focused, avoiding the enticingly hungry expression on John’s face, I asked, “Have we been having an affair, then?”
“No, the divorce has been on its way for six months now.” He licked his lips. “Do you think we’d be more comfortable in the back of the van?”
“Yes.” Knowing I’d lost the struggle against my overwhelming desire to fuck this man at least ten minutes ago, I followed John’s lead, and asked a more pertinent question, “Your gaze keeps falling to my chest; would you like to see it?”
“You bet.” John’s eyes remained firmly attached to the small section of my cleavage that peaked from my black shirt as he pulled me up into the back of the van, slamming the door after us. “Will you show me your tits now?”
“Yes.” The pace of our back and forth quickened as we crouched down on the rough floor. I hastily undid my shirt. “Which do you prefer, receiving a BJ or licking pussy?”
“Tough choice, but if forced to decide, it would be receiving a BJ – but it’s a close-run thing.” John reached out for my breasts, finding them easily, despite the shadowy darkness of the box-van. “Do you have a preference in that area?”
“As you say, that’s a tricky one – but I guess I also like to receive best.” Words began to tumble from me in an urgent rush of pent-up desire. “Shall we 69 it, keeping us both happy?”
John obviously appreciated the increase in pace, his voice betraying his need, his hands everywhere at once. “Eventually. Can I squeeze your nipples?”
“Yes. Can I stick my finger up your arse while I lick your cock?”
“Definitely. Can I do whatever I like to you?”
“Absolutely. Will you spank me?”
“Yes. Are you wet?”
“Very.” I gestured to the walls of the library van, lined with shelves of DVDs. “Are they going to fall on us if we knock into them?”
“Probably. Will you mind banging your legs against them?”
“Not at all.”
As the remainder of my clothes were taken from my body, I didn’t even pause to consider that we were in a public, if rarely used, place and could be discovered.
John, who had obviously prepared for this adjournment to the back of his van, placed a blindfold over my eyes, murmuring, “You did say I could do anything.”
I had no chance to either consider this unexpected development or reply, for his cock was already in my mouth, and firm fingers were tweaking the tips of my nipples. I lapped at the delicious specks of pre-come that had gathered at his tip, before deep throating him with long, drawn-out thrusts, my index finger slipping up into his anus as promised. Engrossed in my gorgeous task, I was taken by surprise when, with a self-sacrificing groan, John pulled away and quickly snapped my wrists behind my back, fastening them with some sort of tie. My heartbeat trebled in pace. This was new territory.
“Tell me about her, you dirty little bitch!”
Tension hunched my shoulders as flutters of lust shot through my stomach. I couldn’t believe how turned on both my confinement and his crude words were making me. There was no need to ask who “her” was.
“Jo was beautiful. I told you. We fucked loads when I was a student.”
John grabbed my ponytail and forced my head back as far as it would go. I could imagine him staring at my blindfolded face. “I want details!”
I spoke faster, spurting out my words as a hand came between my legs, flicking a hard, sharp fingernail against my vulnerable clit. “We would 69. Jo’s tongue felt incredible against me, and her taste was out of this world, like peaches...I...”
My description was cut short as he yanked my head back so hard I fell onto my back, my captive arms crushed beneath me. I was vaguely aware of a few DVD boxes falling onto me, as John shuffled around on his knees, dropping my head.
“Like this, you mean?” An urgent, probing tongue began exploring between my legs. I spasmed instantly, but John ignored my climax, and continued to lick. I thought I’d go insane with sensation overload, as deaf to my cries, John continued to feast on me. On and on he went until, suddenly, his tongue was replaced with a smacking palm that fell right against my cunt.
I might have yelled. I’m not sure. Nothing seemed real. My head spun and my body jacked with an intensity that was concentrated on the force behind his slaps and the screaming absence of his mouth. Aware of nothing but John, I allowed him to roll my quivering body over so that I was laid across his lap. He’d said he’d spank me, and now he did just that, relentlessly.
“I have more questions for you.” John’s voice cut off my squeals, and his smacks, which had echoed in the enclosed space, became softer and quieter, but nonetheless, kept on coming.
Without the breath to reply, I made a sort of desperate panting sound, my previous orgasm forgotten in my need to feel the height of climax again.
“How big were her tits?’”
Moistening my lips as much as I could, I muttered, “Same as mine.”
“Did she do blokes as well?”
“No.”
The long, low moan that followed my answer made me wish I could see John’s face. I was sure it would be a perfect picture of lust as his life-long fantasies ran through his head.
His hands stopped the punishment. I was pushed off his lap, and my wrists released. “Let’s see if we 69 better than you and Jo, shall we?”
It was a question that needed no reply. With a sharp tug, my blindfold was removed, and my first sight was of a gloriously hard dick returning to my mouth. His face met my clit, nipping, licking, and biting until red and orange blotches of color swirled before my eyes, and I came again in, what John told me later, was a definite howl of ecstasy.
It had taken twenty minutes to put all the DVD boxes back onto their shelves after he’d finished fucking me. Even as I helped John clear up the cascade of films our flailing limbs had consigned to the floor, I felt a future bruise grow against my backside, and the bloom of that heavy kind of stiffness which reminds you of a fantastic shag for days to come.
We had chatted properly as we worked, and at last I found out many of the things I’d wanted to know.
That evening, as I settled back against my bedcover, my hand delved into my knickers drawer in search of my vibrator. Closing my eyes, I trailed the neon dildo between my outstretched legs, my mind infused with all I’d learned, and all I intended to do next...
His name is John David Cooper. He is 36 years old, and was born and bred in London. He has no education. He almost has a divorce, but no children. He has a teenage criminal record which he refuses to talk about. He has always been some sort of driver. He has had two affairs in the past. I should run a mile... I probably will...soon, but first there’s something I need to do...quite a few times...Time I took charge, I think...
Originally published September 2009
Read "Going against Type, Parts 1 - 5" here.