Being in quarantine has closed the restaurant and bars... you're so tired of home cooked meals so you decide to order in pizza before settling into the couch with a bottle of wine, and a movie, quietly complaining to yourself that you'll be alone again.
The doorbell rings and there I am, delivering your pizza. You tell me how weird it feels not to tip with the no cash handling rules, but you assure me that you included it in your payment over the phone and to make sure my boss gives it to me.
I take the opportunity to look you up and down... you're hair is tussled in a messy bun with strands curling down around your ear... one is caught up in the corner of your mouth and as you slowly pull it out I feel my cock pulsate while I watch your lips.
I laugh and tell you how people have been pretty creative with tipping. I tell you how I got a bottle of wine and a phone number from the last house.
You pause, keeping the door ajar with tour foot to take the pizza from me. You look at me and say 'Just a number?'
I look straight at you checking what you meant. Oh, I can see in your eyes exactly what you fucking meant. You want some too do you baby? Hmmmmm.
I laugh and tell you how I could only take her number because I still had one more delivery to do, but as soon as I hand over this pizza I'm off the clock.
You're eyes light up and you tilt your head and smile, realising that you're my last delivery, and that last pizza just got delivered.
