There was a moment, a split second in the sweaty sex in which Shay realized that she'd gotten what she'd asked for, just not how she'd expected. It was like shaking an apple tree, only for oranges to fall; though perhaps banana would be the better example of fruit. She'd assumed that when the hacker promised he'd send her a "big dick to fuck and suck", he was referring to one of the rubber variety, as they'd been referencing sex toys. But the couriered cock was fleshy and throbbing, sliding effortlessly between her oiled palms as she knelt before its owner.
How did I get here? Shay mused inwardly, enjoying the hard girth in her hand. This morning I awoke to practice online yoga, and by the afternoon I'm getting fucked by a DHL delivery man per the requests of an anonymous hacker-cum- sugar daddy?
After the hacker watched Shay pleasure herself upon a popsicle, she'd succumbed to a siesta in the afternoon heat, and rose to the rapping upon her apartment door. "Coming," she grunted, untangling herself from the sheets and stepping over her juice-stained yoga mat to retrieve her most airy article of clothing, a purple silk dressing gown, crumpled upon the floor. While tying the sash, she peeked through the peephole of her studio's front door. Still hazy from her nap, she stared in confusion at the yellow uniform and red logo of the delivery service. "I didn't order anything..." Shay began, smoothing her sweat-sodden, sun-kissed hair into a barely tamed bun. Then she recalled the hacker declaring, or rather typing, that he'd send her more olive oil, as she'd finished the last bottle during her yoga session. Her sex tightened at the recollection and, with the hopeful musing that the package contained clamps, her nipples stiffened.
Turning the tattered knob, she opened the paint-chipped door to reveal a black bearded man whose bulging biceps held a cardboard box. "I've got delivery for Shay McCallister," he grunted, not bothering to hide his dark gaze as it surveyed her curvaceous frame, cinched with the robe's rope.
"Yeah," she affirmed, blushing while wondering if the box contained her requested sex toy. As she hovered over the box to sign the courier's receipt, her gown parted, revealing a sliver of cleavage.
"Hot," the man, Dirk, according to his stitched nametag, whispered.
"What?" asked Shay, addressing his brazen remark with an incredulous expression.
"Hot," Dirk repeated boldly, meeting her gaze. "It's a scorcher today."
"Oh, yeah," she agreed, taking the parcel. As a waitress, she was used to the innuendo from lonely old men, and less subtle compliments from mid-life crisis divorcees looking for fresh tail, as Dirk likely was, judging by his slightly receding hairline and further advancing laugh lines. She was about to shut the door, eager to tear into the box and play with her new toys when the same piercing alarm, sent by the hacking voyeur to interrupt her earlier yoga session, began shrieking from her laptop.
"God damn!" she saw the Dirk mouth as he dropped the electronic tablet to plug his ears.
Shit, Shay swore to herself as she sped to the desk, wincing at the wail while opening the computer's lid. As the machine fired to life, the alarm subsided, dropping by decibels as the ancient operating system awakened. In the blare, she heard neither the apartment door close behind her, nor the footsteps, and was thus shocked to feel a hand grab her ass.
"I can't wait to tear into this," Dirk growled, barely audible through the echoing din, though Shay felt his hot breath on her ear. With his other arm he pulled her frame towards his, her backside greeting a hard rod pulsing through his pants.
"What are you doing?" cried Shay, lurching against his grip, her torso toppling upon the desk. The robe rode up, revealing the creamy skin on her thighs that Dirk painted red with a hard slap. She yelped, not expecting the blow.
A heavy weight crushed her back, beard hairs tickling her neck as Dirk whispered, "I've got special delivery instructions. He said you'd try to resist. That it's part of your fantasy. That I should only stop if you drop the safe word."
"Safe word?" Shay questioned, her cheek pressed against the desk.
"Shut up," Dirk snapped, removing his compression to slap her exposed ass.
Stifling her yelp this time, Shay pulled herself upright as Dirk stripped his polo shirt, revealing a broad, hairy chest and built arms. "Stop! I don't know what you're talking about!" cried Shay, holding up her hands in protest, terrified in her defenselessness at the burly delivery man. But Dirk only smirked, his large frame approaching her coiled posture. Dominating her wrists with one hand, he pressed her into the wall, using his other hand to part her pussy lips.
"Your cunt says otherwise," he grunted, slipping a finger into her. Shay tried to recoil further, but was already flush against the wall. Besides, she felt herself widening over Dirk's intrusion, eagerly clenching his thick digit. Abandoning his position, much to her dismay, Dirk retrieved the parcel he'd delivered and tore open the cardboard.
What the hell is happening? Shay mused, the words trapped in her constricted throat as she regained rationale. Her frantic eyes scanned the small studio, taking in Dirk's massive frame blocking the only exit. As he unbuckled his trousers, she saw the laptop's built in camera blink to life; a knowing wink. "That son a bitch," she mumbled, cursing the puppet master, tucked away in his Siberian bunker or Nigerian command center. Despite the heat, Shay shivered as Dirk extracted from the box a liter of extra virgin olive oil, and from his boxers a throbbing erection, a thick stem bulging beneath a mushroom cap.
