OC Press Erotic Ebook Selection
Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures with a Delivery Man
A sample from the erotic novel by Kay Jaybee
Tuesday - It Begins
What the hell am I doing? I’m a good girl; I just don’t do things like this.
A tiny fraction of Jenny’s conscience screamed at her. The remainder of her brain sent her hands on a thorough exploration of the densely haired chest that had unexpectedly appeared from beneath her companion’s polo-shirt. The fact that Jenny had never liked men with hairy chests seemed irrelevant.
Standing in front of her, diving a hand under Jenny’s top, John squeezed her left nipple hard, wonderfully hard, making her squeal with pain-tingling gratification. Removing her shirt at top speed, John freed her breasts from their confinement.
Moving as if on auto-pilot, Jenny’s fingers visited his trousers’ waistband, but in her haste she couldn’t get his belt undone. Rescuing her from her embarrassment with a smile, John mumbled something about it always being difficult to open and undid it himself. Jenny barely heard him as a neat pair of gray boxers appeared, swiftly followed by—Oh My God—the most beautiful dick she had seen in years, perhaps ever.
As she knelt before him, the voice in Jenny’s head continued its rant, reminding her that she hated giving blowjobs. Since her first experience as a college student, she had neither liked the taste of cock, nor the sensation of being gagged. Now however, working on instincts she never knew she had, Jenny took John deep within her throat. She felt his fingers drag urgently through her knotty, brown hair, raking her scalp as she greedily worked him around her mouth.
“Hell girl, have you any idea how often I’ve dreamt of you doing this?” John confessed. “Night after night I wank about you, about you holding me in your throat like this.”
Jenny was consumed with a perverse pride as she listened to John’s words—making her wonder if she should admit to the stolen moments she’d spent alone with a silver vibrator and her own filthy imaginings. Imaginings contrary to her normal fantasies; fantasies that often featured him.
His penis felt fantastic in her mouth, but the restless ache in Jenny’s pussy was becoming unbearable, and she pulled away, panting. The instant she let go of his shaft, John tugged her back to her feet and grasped her butt, kneading it in a way that would give her bruises for days to come, while kissing her as if his life depended on it.
Conveniently forgetting that she didn’t like the feel of stubble against her skin, Jenny relished the burn of his unshaven face grazing her, scraping her cheeks as their lips and teeth clashed together.
Her head buzzed, and her nipples were tickled by his chest hairs, and Jenny began to feel as if she were overdosing on desire. She badly wanted to slow everything down but, at the same time, she needed to go faster. She wasn’t far from climax, and the mere idea of their illicit situation was enough to send Jenny to the very edge of orgasm.
Recognizing how close she was, John shoved his customer’s knickers unceremoniously to her ankles. “I want to see you on your hands and knees,” he ordered.
Sinking against the carpet as instructed, Jenny’s breathing snagged as she heard the sharp rip of a condom packet being opened. Seconds later, Jenny found her courier’s thick cock sliding into her from behind. She was about to tell him how fantastically full she felt when John wiped all coherent thought from Jenny’s head by jamming his thumb up her arse.
Nuzzling his mouth against Jenny’s neck, John thrust against her, holding her hips as they frantically moved together. Trembling, Jenny’s knees began to buckle, and her elbows quaked. Seeing she was about to collapse to the floor, John eased out of her body, and flipped her onto her back, before plunging his dick inside her again. She clung onto his tattooed arms (ignoring her lifelong aversion to body art), relishing in the glorious warmth of her orgasm, as he shot his spunk into her naked body.
As soon as their breathing levels returned to normal, John knelt close to Jenny, teasing out the springy curls of her hair as he spoke, “I’m sorry Jen. I don’t like just walking out on you, but I have to go. I’m behind with my rounds.” Jenny watched her courier dress with lightning speed, leaving in a flurry of promises and assurances that he’d return the following week.
The living room seemed so large, so empty once John’s bulky frame had gone. Stunned and disheveled, Jenny stared at the space around her as delayed shock kicked in. How the hell had that happened?
It had been years since Jenny had had sex. Twelve years, in fact; if you discounted one brief and unsatisfactory encounter that occurred three years ago. That was four thousand, three hundred, and eighty days of a self-imposed embargo after one-too-many broken hearts. She had survived by surrounding herself with friends, reading hundreds of erotica books, and giving in to countless masturbation sessions. But now, out of nowhere, right in the middle of her lounge, , when she should have been sitting at her little desk checking other peoples’ accounts, she’d been thoroughly and expertly fucked.
Standing perfectly motionless, and very aware of her pulse pounding against her chest in the eerie quiet, Jenny tried to figure out what on earth had just happened. How their usual coffee break, with each of them sitting on either side of her dining table, had developed into a semi-naked romp on the sofa.
John had been in her home for only thirty minutes, and twenty of those had been spent discussing the DVDs that he’d come to deliver, just as he did every Tuesday. Then, he’d said something about how much he enjoyed their weekly chats, how hers was the only home where he was received as a friend, and how he always felt strange leaving her without so much as a hug.
Thinking back, trying to make sense of it all, Jenny thought that perhaps she’d laughed nervously when he’d said that, and told him she’d liked their “putting the world to rights” time as well.
That was when he’d actually hugged her for real, and she’d looked up into his wide, dark brown eyes and, in all of her thirty-three years, she had never felt a twist of lust like the one she felt then. It had burnt into her like some sort of erotic radiation.
How did I not see that coming? How bloody naive have I become? Jenny wondered. Shit, I don’t even know if he’s single…It’s been so long since I had a quick fuck. Too long…Hell, now I want another one, and soon. Damn.
Running upstairs to her bedroom, Jenny stripped off her hastily donned clothes and stared critically into the full-length mirror. Do I look different? No, my arms are still a touch too flabby, my backside a little too big, and my skin too pale.
She felt different though. A bit like the girl she used to be, when she’d been a student. When she’d been braver.
As Jenny carried on staring at her reflection, she allowed her hands to trace the outline of her body, a body that was already infused with the heady aftershocks of being totally seen to. Flashbacks of her past assailed her. Things she’d consigned to the back of her mind and nailed up into a little box, never to be opened again—parts of her life that she had long since given up on.
Losing all concept of time as she stood there, naked, still able to feel the mark of his fingers on her flesh, Jenny shook her head, trying to dismiss the memories that her body’s unscheduled reawakening had brought to the surface. She wondered just how many customers John had seduced with those dangerous eyes. How many other sets of fingertips had tripped lightly over the Japanese-styled characters tattooed on his muscular arms?
“Let’s face it,” she spoke sternly to her reflection, “that was just a one-off. Next week he’ll just want a quick coffee as usual.” Doing her best to pull herself together, Jenny unhooked her wrap from the back of her bedroom door. Heading to the shower, her wits were a tattered mass of contradictions—the elation she felt from the astounding sex was at odds with the very clear proclamation that was niggling at the back of her head. Jenny honey, he just isn’t your type. He isn’t even close!
Tuesday - Again…
Will he still speak to me, now that he’s had what he wanted? Did I only imagine it to be so good? Maybe he didn’t enjoy it at all. Was my body a disappointment to him? He did leave fairly quickly afterwards. Will he even turn up again? He could easily have swapped rounds with another driver…
Jenny’s mind had been going around in ever decreasing circles for a whole week, and she had begun to think that Tuesday was never going to arrive—that somehow, the goddess of dubious enterprises would move the week from Monday to Wednesday, bypassing Tuesday altogether, leaving her with a head full of neuroses she thought she’d long since left behind. Cross at how insecure and uncertain her one act of indiscretion had made her, Jenny impatiently watched the hands of her desk clock crawl toward one. She wasn’t sure if she should be excited, embarrassed, or simply dismissive about the imminent arrival of her film delivery man. If he doesn’t mention last week, then neither will I.
In spite of the months of coffee chats they’d had, they had never discussed anything personal; just films (art house for her, action adventure for him), TV (dramas and documentaries for her, reality shows for him), work (too much of it for both of them), and general chit-chat about traffic, the weather, and money (or lack thereof). He was undeniably a friend, she had always thought of him that way, but not a friend beyond the moment of their meetings. Not a friend to hang out with on a Friday night. John was her companionable courier; a fantasy screw. Novelty wank fodder. Yet, after last week, when John had delivered so much more than a handful of DVD boxes, Jenny found that she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The fact they even got on, now that Jenny took the time to stop and think about it, was against the odds. They were from opposite sides of life, and if she was honest, Jenny knew that if she hadn’t had those regular delivery times to get to know him, judging on appearances alone, hot or not, John would be the sort of person that she’d avoid.
Over the past few days Jenny had obsessed over the facts:
1. I’m vastly over-educated; John has no education at all.
2. I always read the book before the film; John doesn’t read unless someone puts a gun to his head.
3. I’m your average, nothing-special thirty-something with a past she can’t handle; John is a ruggedly handsome thirty-something, and well out of my league.
4. I hate tattoos and hairy chests; John has tattoos and a hairy chest…
That was the point at which Jenny consistently became derailed from rational thought… But what a chest! Whenever she remembered the sweep of his downy torso against her fingertips, an unregulated frisson of desire ricocheted down her spine and sent prickles across her neck, drowning out her analysis and common sense.
She hadn’t felt this off-kilter since Jo. Jenny pressed her eyes shut. Should I tell John about Jo? She shook her head. This was ridiculous. She had no means of contacting John, no idea if he was single, and no way of knowing whether their short-lived encounter was a one-off, or the start of something erotically interesting.
Restless, Jenny left her desk and headed to the bathroom to look in the mirror. Do those blue eyes really belong to a woman hoping to get fucked senseless by a man she hardly knows? Persuading her unruly brown curls into a semblance of order, she inhaled a long, slow breath of air. It frightened her just how badly she wished for a repeat performance. If John hadn’t decided to pass his round onto someone else, he’d arrive soon.
Jenny considered the new underwear she’d bought over the weekend. Am I making a fool of myself for thinking he’ll even see it?
Nerves thudded in her chest, butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she was all too aware that her pussy was treacherously damp as at last, full of apprehension, Jenny witnessed a blue box-van draw up outside her small home. She answered the loud double knock at the front door.
Before she even had time to speak, John was inside, his hand towing Jenny into her living room. He didn’t say anything, but then, he didn’t need to. One glance at his face, and she knew that the doubts she’d let build up over the past seven days were irrelevant—a complete waste of the energy she could have been saving for more interesting pursuits.
The uncooperative scruples at the back of Jenny’s head asked, Shouldn’t you be protesting at his assumption that you’d be up for it? She ignored them. Anyway, John’s chocolate eyes exuded pure sex, and his rough fingers were already searching for her nipples under her thin, white shirt. It took a few seconds for Jenny’s brain to catch up with events, but as a fervent mouth came to meet hers, his stubble scratching her face, Jenny finally registered the reality of it all. Returning John’s savage kisses with the fury she felt at his making her confront her demons, she clawed her hands up inside his faded blue polo shirt and revisited the wonderful texture of his chest.
As if it were a supreme effort to break contact, John pulled his lips away from Jenny so he could focus on undoing the fastenings of her blouse. Taking advantage of the lull in kisses, Jenny wrenched his shirt upwards—if hers was going to be taken off, then so was his. John grinned at her, and with mutual understanding, they each removed their own tops.
She wished she had a camera. Something to record the expression on her courier’s face. The audible gasp he made as his eyes roamed with hungry appreciation over her new, red silk bra was a sound she would never ever forget. “Christ girl, you look…bloody hell.” He skirted a digit lingeringly down the line of her cleavage, “Let me see if you have anything else interesting under there.” Returning to his previous haste, John made short work of stripping off her trousers before stepping back to admire her matching scarlet knickers, uttering a gravelly, “Oh hell yes.”
Jenny’s confidence swelled under his gaze, a gaze that was filled with sexual intent. She had no desire to delay that intent any longer. Seizing his hands, she pushed them against her breasts; John’s eyes twinkled as he popped them from their satin holster. Caressing the tender flesh with firm fingers, his mouth came to her tits, nipping and biting at them with eager lips. Closing her eyes, Jenny savored every touch as John worked across her chest with dedicated reverence, igniting each millimeter of her being.
Very much aware of the growing stickiness between her legs, Jenny smoothed a palm over John’s crotch, satisfied to find a solid dick desperate to be sprung from its fabric prison. Scrabbling at his belt, Jenny managed to open it with only a short struggle this time, before John helped her by tugging both his combats and boxers to his ankles, allowing her to enjoy the sight of his handsomely rigid cock. Falling to her knees, she worshipped him with her tongue, her mouth, and her lips, grateful to be able to investigate the shaft properly, after so brief a meeting with it last week.
“You are such a dirty girl,” John murmured from above her, “so fuckin’ wanton. If you could see how you look…oh hell, Jen.”
Rather than repulsing her, his crude words turned Jenny on even more as she fervently milked his length. She couldn’t have stopped, not for anything. An abrupt grip at her shoulders and a yanking of her tangled hair told her how close John was to coming. Jenny kept going. After a lifetime of refusing to go all the way with a blowjob, she needed to carry on. Needed to finish what she had started the previous Tuesday. Jenny was surprised by how badly she wanted his cream to explode in her mouth. Then it did just that, spurting with a sweet, salty thickness that cloyed luxuriously to her throat as Jenny swallowed greedily. Fuck, it tastes good!
When every drop had been spent, Jenny moved away, licking the stray spots of cum from the corners of her mouth. John crouched so that his face was level with hers, and staring into her wide, sapphire eyes, he whispered, “Thank you.” It was such a simple thing to say, but the hushed way in which he said it told Jenny everything she needed to know.
John eased her gently onto her back and dragged her damp knickers to her ankles. With the application of an expert finger he rubbed her clit with deftly repetitive strokes until she came in a flourish of moans and sighs, squirming against her old, beige carpet.
He stood then, hurriedly putting his clothes back on as Jenny raised herself, slightly dazed, into a sitting position.
“I have to go,” John smiled, his eyes reassuring her that he’d enjoyed himself as much as she had.
“I know,” Jenny smiled back to tell him that it was okay, that she understood he couldn’t stay, “don’t forget the DVDs you’ve got to take back.” She gestured to a pile of films stuffed between the clutter of folders and paperwork on the sideboard.
Slipping his jacket over his shoulders, John bent down and kissed Jenny’s forehead, “Can I come back and see you like this next week?”
She nodded, trying to keep the delight from showing too obviously on her face.
“Good,” her delivery man rose to his feet, “I have a fantasy I’d like to share with you. Would that be alright?”
Intrigued, Jenny inclined her head, immediately wondering what it might be.
He leaned forward, his warm breath making her pussy twitch all over again, “And I want to hear all about yours, I’m sure a dirty girl like you has plenty of secret desires tucked away in that pretty head.”
Without waiting for a reply, he left, leaving Jenny to gather her scattered clothing.
Why the hell had I been so worried?
She turned on the shower and stepped in. As the water thundered into her hair, washing the traces of sex from her flushed flesh, Jenny realized she still knew virtually nothing about John. But then, she hadn’t said anything to him about her life either. Somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. Well, not as much as wondering what his fantasy could involve…
I wonder if, when next Tuesday comes around again, I’ll actually have the guts to tell him about my idea of sexual heaven.
Tuesday - Fantasy
Perhaps he’s going to tell me he’s into sucking toes or painting his fingernails or something? Maybe he likes bondage? Could he want to tie me up? Perhaps he wants me to tie him up, and strap those strong arms behind his back so he’s helpless… mmm…Does he have visions of hitting my backside with something? A whip, a cane, a paddle? Maybe he wants to shag me while I wear a blindfold? Maybe he’s into rubber, or he might want to have me up the arse, or…
Jenny’s obsession with trying to work out John’s fantasy had taken up her entire week. It didn’t matter where she was or what she was doing, from the queue in the supermarket, to the pub with her mates, to working at her desk, her concentration hadn’t been so much disturbed as shattered by the idea of what John might be about to share with her. In her mind, her theories as to his sexual aspirations got marginally more extreme with each passing day. The idea of him binding me, shafting my arse, peeing on me…oh hell…
The only time she wasn’t trying to guess his kinky desires Jenny was wondering if she should share hers with him. She had no doubt he wanted her to. But should I? She knew it was the ideal opportunity to confess how unusual this situation was for her, and how closeted she had forced herself to become—and why. However, she didn’t want to scare him off. Maybe I’ll just wait and see what he says first.
Fiddling her hair between her fingers, Jenny glanced at the clock. She had less than half an hour. Habitually brushing down her low-cut, black shirt, removing some stray hairs that had escaped from her russet tresses, Jenny sucked her tummy in beneath her faded jeans. Having managed to resist the temptation to buy yet more new lingerie, she had made sure she was wearing one of her best sets. For a brief second she considered putting on a little make-up, but as she’d never worn it when John was around before, she decided it might be seen as overkill. After all, this wasn’t a date. It wasn’t really anything. It was just sex.
Retreating to the kitchen, Jenny drank a glass of water to relieve her fast-drying throat. Glancing at the pile of DVDs on the counter Jenny wondered if she should confess to John that she hadn’t watched them, and that she probably wouldn’t watch the ones he’d be delivering today. In fact, Jenny hadn’t seen any of the movies John had brought her for ages, but as she didn’t want him to stop visiting, she hadn’t canceled her subscription. I don’t think I’ll tell him. After all, he has his secrets, why shouldn’t I have mine? Anyway, his ego would inflate way too much!
At the sound of a van being parked in the driveway, Jenny flung open the front door, her heart thumping against her ribcage, her palms dotting with perspiration. Striding quickly from his vehicle toward his customer, John stepped into the narrow hallway; the expression on his face spoke volumes, reassuring Jenny that this, whatever it was, wasn’t over yet.
Before either of them had spoken a word they were rolling on the living room floor, speed being of the essence. Mouths glued together, their hands, legs, and tongues were a tangled mess, everywhere at once. Jenny’s psyche swam with a heady mixture of sensations, fueled by the never ending surprise at how much lust she felt toward her visitor, and how much desire he seemed to feel toward her in return...
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Copyright December 2011, Kay Jaybee. Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.