The Delivery 11

Lynnette was in the ladies room, touching up her eye makeup when the fire alarm buzzed and the PA ordered the building cleared. She finished the job in the employee parking lot. She used a friend's truck, which had big mirrors, and big everything else for that matter. The air was muggy summer-thick and she felt her makeup and hairspray melting into a sticky paste. The truck's owner, a fit and personable middle-aged guy from the technical department, didn't seem to notice the heat as he kept Lynnette entertained with bantering that just skirted being naughty.

There was more in his eyes and their closeness than just banter, she thought. Men did not usually pay her that much attention. She felt his eyes on her legs when he looked down, and she saw the flirty sparkle in them when he looked her in the eye. And she was pretty sure his manhood was pressing against his pants. She felt a little weak in the knees, and elsewhere.

The PA barked again, this time all clear, but day-shift take the rest of the day while everything is reset. "Well, Princess, I'd offer to take you home, but it would be to my house..." his voice trailed off.

She touched a shiny mahogany-colored fingernail to his arm. "You are too too tempting, dear. I would have to be home by five."

Driving home slowly, she imagined him in the car with her. At a traffic light she adjusted the seat and then pulled up her skirt. One hand steered, one hand made gentle waves. She would be home early. What if she arrived and found her hubby seducing some hussy in her kitchen. Lynnette was ever so glad to pull into the garage and see that she was home first with maybe two hours alone. She went to the mailbox in the front yard, then hurried back inside to cool off. And a naughty plan began to form in her over active mind.

She kicked off her shoes just inside the door, then unbuttoned and dropped her blouse in the hallway and left a stocking at the foot of the stairs. She tied the other stocking to the handrail. Her skirt landed on the steps half way up. At the top of the stairs, she paused, then slipped off her black lace boyshorts panties and placed them on the bannister-knob. Her bra, also black lace landed on the floor near the bedroom.

Lynnette piled up the bedcovers and got comfortable on her back, bent her knees and let her legs fall open. She began idly touching, wondering if she should let hubby "catch" her or if she should send him a pic and beg him to hurry home. She held her toy against her mound and turned it on low. Then she turned it up. Her fantasy was not hubby. She imagined a tall, muscular black man entering the house, following the trail of clothes, until her finds her, already wet and yearning.

She didn't hear the delivery-man knock on the door, but in her haste to get inside and start stripping she had neglected to lock it. It pushed easily open. He looked around when there was no one there, then stepped in. "Anyone home?"

Upstairs, in her room, with the toy humming between her fleshy white legs, she heard nothing. Her mind was far away, her hands were being tied. The delivery-man was starting to turn back to the door when he noticed her pumps on the floor, and the then the blouse. Curious, he walked into the room and there on the stairway were the stockings. Then he saw the skirt! His brain racing, he put the box on a chair and started quietly up the stairs. And stopped dead and his ears perked up. Humming and whimpering? He felt his groin tighten. Then he saw the panties.

Trembling, and erect in his pants, he crept down the hall. The sounds were clear now, but he was still shocked to find her door open and a mature overweight lady spread legged with her knees bent, on the bed. Both hands covered her garden, her motions ebbed and flowed. She was making breathy sounds that reached right through his pants and lodged in his spinning mind. Later he would not recall taking his cock out. He watched her drifting toward the edge, getting louder, rubbing her pearl more deeply. The vibrator had been set aside.

She gasped and her legs tightened. Her eyes were closed tightly, in her mind the black man had blindfolded her and was having his way with her. The delivery-man was now masturbating openly, and he could tell that she was going to have orgasm. He had watched a lot of porn, but nothing like this. And he had forgotten he was in someone's home, and his truck was in the street, motor running.

He did recall seeing her panties. And he slinked back to the stairs and grabbed them. He leaned on the doorframe and wrapped the lacy fabric around his cock and, as men say, jerked himself madly. Lynnette was lost in her daydreams and her wetness, in her mind tied up by a black stranger, who was taking her over a rainbow. Then she cried out, her waves came, her body tensing again and again. His knees almost failed him and he caught the grunt in his throat. His cum shot then flooded, then drooled into the lace undergarment.

His eyes closed and opened! Oh (expletives deleted) he thought. "My truck!" "Her husband?" It was nearly 5:00pm. He stuffed himself back into his pants and tiptoed away. Still undulating and enjoying her after-waves, Lynnette was oblivious.

He wiped his gooey hands on the cum-soaked panties and put them back where he found them. Then he scooped up her bra and stuck it down his shirt. Back in the living room, he grabbed the box and headed for the door.

Looking back to the stairs, and then out the window, he saw an SUV slowing as it passed his truck. He froze when it turned into the driveway, and heard the whir of the home's garage door. Swearing silently and shaking like a palm in a hurricane he watched until the door started closing. He slipped out the front door with the box in hand and ran for his truck. The truck motored slowly away as Lynnette's contractor husband opened the kitchen door.

"I'm home! What's for dinner?"

Lynnette stretched and pulled a sheet half over her bare breasts. She wondered, would he come upstairs, or just get a beer, drop into his recliner and turn on the news?

"Me," she sang out in a soprano lilt that would have aroused a jellyfish, even. She was still spread-legged and moist, halfway there again, rubbing, drifting and waiting.