Delivery

All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old

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Thursday, November 12, 1992

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At ten o'clock, while La Rose Washington was knocking on Dr. William Carter's door at the University Counseling Center in Los Angeles, Mariana Flores de Guerrero was walking with her daughter Luz from the parkade to the mall at The Citadel in the City of Commerce. At the same time, in Palm Springs, Eduardo Guerrero angrily slammed the telephone receiver to its base in his office at La Familia Authentic Mexican Restaurant and cursed, "¡Malditas perras! ¿Con quién creen que están jodiendo?" Outside, in the alley, Raúl Diego parked his S-1600 refrigerated truck and set its emergency brake.

Moments later, Gwen, the senior morning waitress, tapped on Eduardo's door and informed him, "The meat truck just pulled up."

Eduardo looked up from his desk and replied, "¿Ah sí? Bien. Un momento, gracias." Though still pissed at women, in general, but Mari, Luz and Alice in particular - whom each, in one way or another had seemed to have deserted him - he had to admit that Gwen was reliable. "And, for a gringo, she speaks Spanish pretty good," he thought. "Plus, she has a cute little ass. Maybe I could get up in that," he mused as he stood to go meet Raúl and Fernando Diego.

When Eduardo stepped into the kitchen, he was much surprised to see his father-in-law, Juvenal Diego Flores, standing at a counter conversing with the day cook, Manuel. Neither Raúl, nor Fernando, were in view. Walking across the tiles with his hand outstretched, he exclaimed, "Suegro! ¿Cómo estás? ¿Ha sido qué? Veinte años te has ido?"

"Yes, twenty years last month," confirmed Juvenal. "I am well, thank you. Are Mari and Luz here? I need to speak with them in person, which is why I have returned." His perfect poker face gave his son-in-law no reason to be wary.

"Oh, Juvenal," Eduardo sighed. "I don't even know what to say... Mari and I had an argument a few days ago. She's gone somewhere to cool off. I don't know where she is. As for Luz? She has not been at work for two days. I think she is sick, or something. I was just going to go to her apartment and see what is wrong. Is there any way I can help you, instead?"

"Well, that is bad luck, then," Juvenal replied evenly. "But, perhaps you will be able to answer some questions that I had for them. Let's go out for a drink this afternoon. Raúl can handle the last few deliveries alone, then return to pick me up later." He smiled and suggested, "How about four o'clock at The Cactus Chophouse? Is it still there? They used to have a pretty nice Happy Hour with specials on blue agave tequila."

Glad for the excuse to quit brooding over Alice and Luz, if only for an hour or so, Eduardo grinned, "Bueno, pero no nos emborrachemos. Necesito volver para el turno de la cena."

"Of course," agreed Juvenal. "It goes without saying the restaurant needs you to supervise the dinner. Don't worry!" Then, seeing Raúl exit the walk-in freezer, he squeezed Eduardo's shoulder and excused himself to help finish the unload.

"Yeah, the Chophouse still has the best drinks in the desert," answered Eduardo to his father-in-law's disappearing back. "I'll meet you there at four." Then he went into the main dining area to ensure that things were getting going for the expected upcoming lunch crowd.

The University's Great Clock had just delivered its second bong, declaring the hour to all within earshot, when Dexter Harris rapped his knuckles on Carter's office door. Anticipating his scheduled visitor, Carter pushed the 'play' button on his built-in bookcase stereo, turned around and called out, "Come in." As the tall lanky second-string basketball player entered, the iconic hi-hat and synthesizer ninety-second introduction to Isaac Hayes' 'Shaft's Theme' began.

Harris immediately flashed an ear-to-ear grin and commented, "That's some ol' school funk you got goin' there, Doctor C." Popping his fingers, he added, "It ain't Doctor Dre, or Kris Kross, but it's cool." Unasked, he sauntered to Monstro and flopped loose into the chair with his long right leg hooked over the arm. His suspended foot tapped the air in time with Willie Hall's cymbals.

Carter chuckled and adjusted the sound to a lower level as Isaac Hays' voice said, "Damn Right!" Walking behind his desk, he twisted the blinds three-quarters-closed then continued to the credenza where he sat straddling its straight chair with his arms casually folded across its back's top rail. Calmly mirroring the student's insouciant mien, he said, "What, you don't think a sixty-six-year-old white college professor can dig R&B, or hip-hop, or funkadelic? I'm surprised by that."

Dexter was taken aback by the counselor's mild confrontation. He lowered his eyes and said quietly, "Naw, Doc, that wasn't it. I mean, I guess it was, maybe, a little bit that, but I didn't mean nothin' by it."

Satisfied the twenty-two year old had adjusted his attitude, Carter laughed and lied, "Actually, I thought that was going to be Montovani's Golden Hits. So, maybe you weren't far wrong, after all." Standing up again, he returned to the bookcase and shut off the CD player. Over his shoulder, he further fibbed, "Also, I had forgotten our appointment." Turning about-face he went to his desk and sat as he continued, "But, I'm glad you didn't. I met with La Rose Washington this morning and we had a very productive session. I'm hopeful I can help you two to get back to where you were, or maybe even onto more solid ground."

Dexter asked, "Yeah? Wha'd'she say? She gonna help me with my homework again?"

Carter pursed his lips and shook his head. "Now, Mr. Harris, I'm sure you know I couldn't, and wouldn't, break any confidences. I'm certainly not going to report to Ms. Washington about our sessions, either." Deliberately modeling respect while he established his authority, he went on, "What's about her is about her and what's about you is about you. I'm like a coach. The idea is to help each of you come to to your relationship with improved understandings. Right?"

Dexter was not sure he got all that the psychologist was saying, but he got enough to nod his head and mumble, "Yeah, well, okay... 'COACH'. That makes sense, I guess. So, how do I improve my game?"

Glad to have broken through the cocky brittle surface, Carter gently probed for a soft spot to exploit. "Alright, then, Dexter," he began. "Let me ask you this: Do you think basketball is just a game where a bunch of guys dribble and shoot? Or, is it more complicated than that?"

"Oh, it's way more than jes' a game," Harris answered quickly. "Gotta know where everybody is all the time. Passin', movin' without the ball, defense... It ain't only raw physicality. I mean, shoot! Michael Jordan, Dennis Rodman, Charles Barkley... ALL them got talent, but they are smart, too. Always got their heads in the game, that's for sure!" As he spoke, he spun in the chair and hunched forward, with his hands folded between his knees, like he was on the bench waiting for his number to be called.

Suddenly inspired, Carter saw something else. He imagined this big black kid bent over La Rose, like a quarterback under center, but with his hands firmly grasping her naked pendant tits and his dick buried to the hilt in her broad ass. In the same frame, he was standing before her, holding her fuzzy 'fro in his tight fists, while she gobbled his cock. The fantasy excited him to no end.

"That's very insightful, Dexter," Carter complimented. "And it's clear that you have talent, too, or else you would not have gotten a scholarship in the first place." Smiling ingratiatingly as he adopted a paternal tone, he fired his first salvo at Harris' defensive bulwark. "I'd like to take a deep dive and see if we can see, and fix, what's stopping you from making the first team and getting good grades, to boot! How would you like me to hypnotize you and explore your subconscious mind for barriers to success?"

"Well, I dunno, Doc," Dexter replied, hesitantly. "Never been hypnotized before. I always thought that was bunch of, you know, bull... oney." It seemed curious to him that he felt obliged to edit his rough language with Carter, but he sensed some dynamic which required him to deliver more respect. For no reason he could fathom, he accorded the counselor unchecked supremacy as he heard himself say, "But, like you say: you the Coach. So, do what you gotta do. I'm down with whatever."

"Thank you, Dexter. Willingness to try something new is a major first step," Carter said. Sardonically, he thought, "And your last free choice." Clapping his hands softly, then rubbing them together, he stood and moved the straight chair nearer to Monstro as he directed, "Now, just sit back in that big chair and relax. We'll start with a deep breathing exercise and go from there."

Quicker even than La Rose, Harris succumbed to Carter's spellweaving skills and was soon under his unbreakable control. Lost, naked and vulnerable in a world darker than his own midnight-black skin, he clung desperately to his only lifeline: The magic mellifluous baritone voice which came to him from everywhere and nowhere, all at the same time. He understood its power; yearned for its instructions; dedicated himself to its service.

Leaving Dexter blanked out in Monstro's arms, Carter walked to his desk and pressed the intercom call button on his telephone. When his secretary, Ruth Cohen, picked up, he asked, "Do I have a three o'clock?"

"Nope," answered Cohen. "You DID have, but she cancelled. In fact, it's Grant's Tomb around here." She laughed, "You know how these mid-week holidays throw things off!"

"Yes, I do," agreed Carter. Then, transforming the busty brunette thirty-five-year-old from spinster to sex slave, he spoke her personal keyword, "Praline." After a micro-second pause, he continued, "Forward the phone to voicemail, Ruth, then go to the ladies' restroom. Keep on your nylons and garters, but remove your panties and bring them to me in my office."

"Right away, Bill," Ruth replied.

Glad to hear her master's voice once again, Ruth had no particular expectation, but was sure she would have fun. While she grabbed her purse from her lower desk drawer and set off to do as he bid, Carter hung up his phone and cued Dexter for his debut performance as a pet. Minutes later, entering the office without knocking, Ruth was surprised to see a strapping young black man in a rust-and-gold nylon track suit standing beside Monstro.

"Ruth, this is Dexter. Dexter, meet Ruth," Carter said as he advanced toward his secretary. Gently guiding her by her shoulders, he moved her past his desk as he went on, "Show Dexter the panties you just took off." He grinned from behind her as she held out the semi-sheer satin ivory hipsters she had selected to wear that morning. Dexter said nothing, but his eyes, moving from the underwear to Ruth's three-inch black patent leather pumps to her her Black Cherry Revlon lips, could not hide his thoughts.

Ruth was similarly impressed. Harris' loose-fitting warm-ups were insufficient to camouflage his raw-boned athletic physique. Still holding her bunched briefs, she rubbed them over his hard chest and breathed, "Nice to meet you, Dexter." Her extended fingers lingered at the zipper tab to his jacket.

"Well, don't just stand there gawking, Big Guy," Carter playfully admonished his brand-new slave. "Say 'Hello' to the nice lady and take her gift."

Ruth cut in, "It's alright, Bill. It's sweet that he's shy." Raising her panties in her right hand, she brushed their scented satin gusset across Dexter's curly chin beard, over his thin lips and onto his short trimmed mustache.

While he inhaled the warmth, Harris mumbled through his new muffler, "I ain't shy at all, ma'am. Jes' didn' know you would be so friendly right off the bat." Wrapping Ruth in his long strong arms, he pulled her tight to his broad chest. Her points pushed through four different cloth layers and burned like embers against his own hard pebbles. She gasped as he squeezed the air from her lungs and crushed her tits on his torso.

Making his point more clear, Dexter pushed his right hand up under Cohen's knee-length pencil skirt and half-slip. As his bird found her nest, he growled in her ear, "You already opened my nose, Mama, now open your legs for me." Poking his thumb and pinkie nails into her soft inner thighs, he encouraged her to obey him while he wiggled his first knuckle through her cunt's hole. His breath was hot on her neck as he confessed, "We got somethin' in common: I'm free-ballin' it today. Go on an' feel for yourself. There ain't nothin' but me under these pants!"

Ruth did not need Dexter's permission to act. Her own bio-system demanded it. Sliding her hands over the slick nylon between his armpits and his hipbones, she ducked under the jacket and dove below the pants' elasticized waist. While she explored his growing tumescence with her left hand, she firmly massaged her right palm across his rock-hard ass cheeks.

Meanwhile, Carter decided to deliver additional assistance. Stepping up behind his secretary, he raised her skirts high above her waist and tucked them into her wide black patent leather belt. Then he wormed his hands between his two thralls' compressed chests and undid the pearl buttons on her baby-blue raw silk blouse. Separating the plackets around her flattened forty-inch D-cup breasts, he unhooked her bra's center clasp and seized her bare quaking tits.

"Oh, Billy," Ruth moaned, as his pinching fingers turned on her taps. "This is the nicest present! And it's not even my birthday, or anything!"

"Yeah, Coach," Dexter huskily agreed. "Don't know how you knew, but I been wantin' to get into this ever since I first saw her back in September!"

Carter chuckled, "Well, turn her around and take her, Big Guy!" Stepping backward, he perched his butt on his desk's edge and opened his trousers. As he pulled his erect bone and hairy balls through his boxers' fly, he watched Harris spin Cohen about-face. Then, waving his turgid seven-and-a-half-incher at her like a kitty-tease, Carter instructed, "Ruth, bend over Baby. Wipe that Black Cherry gloss off on my dick."

More than happy to oblige, Ruth touched her toes. With her back flat and her feet apart, she pulled Carter's cock to her lips with her left hand and pushed its lollipop top past her smiling teeth. He braced her shoulder points briefly, then slid his palms under her open blouse collar to cradle her neck. She sunk her face lower on his shaft and cuddled his nuts with her cupped right hand.

Meanwhile, with his track pants pooled around his white Nike Air Jordans, Dexter closed behind Cohen's behind and laid his fat friend on her leveled bottom shelf. Carter did a double-take when he saw the monstrous meat touch down. Extending along her ass crack to her mid-back, it looked like a three-cell Maglite. Its shaft was coal-black, but surprisingly, the tapered torpedo head was pale pink and dappled with brown liver spots.

Ruth wiggled her hindquarters as Dexter lightly slapped her milk-white flesh with his licorice log. It seemed as large and heavy to her as a two-by-four. She had never been fucked by such a large prick and could hardly wait. Squeezing Carter's thick tool, she increased her suction on it as her juices broke free to trickle stickily down her thighs.

Carter groaned, pulled Ruth's head closer to his groin and shut his eyes. Her enveloping wet warmth flooded upward through his gut to his chest as he kneaded her bobbing scalp. Now bouncing his mottled mushroom on her pale dimpled butt, Dexter slotted his free right hand between Ruth's legs and exclaimed, "Damn! You do get wet in a hurry, don' you!" Rearing his hips back, he adjusted his angle and introduced his piebald button to her mature wrinkle-lipped pussy.

Cohen sighed around her master's cock and straightened her knees. Her cantilevered cunt jammed backward and closed on Dexter's first two inches. He grinned, hitched forward a quarter-inch, then stood motionless and held her hips steady as her contracting collar tightened around his joint. Less stoic, his dick hardened impossibly and bucked against her resistance.

Ruth mewled unintelligibly, craned her neck and took Carter's full length into her salivating cavern. At the same time, she tantrically tugged Dexter's dick encouragingly. He slipped his hands up her sides and under her belly. Parting her flapping bra cups, he supported, then squeezed, her hanging bumpers.

Rhythmically, Carter lurched his ass and hauled on Ruth's hair while Dexter delivered ever-deepening driving thrusts. Fucking her hard from both ends, first one pole tested her tonsils, then the other cracked her cervix. The men's deliberate coordinated see-saw slowly, excruciatingly, elevated her libido to previously unknown intensity. Grunting and gagging, she shivered from nose to toes.

Weeping with pleasure under the pounding pressure, Ruth wondered when her ecstasy would surpass her capacity. She simultaneously hoped it would happen both soon and never. Meanwhile, her two tormentors, notwithstanding their own building tensions, stroked steadily. She writhed in their hands as they ground against her.

Cohen's passion brought on Carter's climax before her own. When his first hot jism jets blasted her larynx, she choked, but recovered. The second jolt, like fission in a nuclear reactor caused her to blow apart. She came tumultuously as gob upon gob pasted her throat.

Ruth's convulsive cunt collapsed on Dexter. He reactively crushed her left tit in his hand, as if he were palming a basketball before a slam dunk. Releasing her right breast, he sharply spanked her flexing fanny and crowed, as he ejaculated at his deepest penetration, "Don' let go, Mama! Here I come!"

First to come, Carter was also first to go. His cock softened on Ruth's tongue. As he pushed her shoulders away from him, it fell flaccid from her mouth. Semen-infused spit drooled from its slit onto her ruined lipstick.

Harris, however, was nowhere near finished. With his rock-hard ramrod still spurting factory-direct baby-juice, he pulled her back from Carter, pivoted and parked her, nose-down, in Monstro's deep cushion. Re-targeting his missile, he pushed back into her wide-open cunt for a second round. Mercilessly, he drove the lane and pulled down her backboard.

Ruth wailed as Dexter's emptying balls smashed against her. Coming again, as hard, if not harder, she chewed the armchair's upholstery and pounded her fists into the seat back. He groaned aloud as he sensed his volume diminish to a drizzle in her relaxing channel. With a quiet chuckle and the certain knowledge he had reserves to tap, he slowly withdrew while he gently massaged her quads and cooed, "A good start needs a strong finish, Mama. You think I'm gone but you wrong... I'm right here."

As if forgetting that Carter was in the room, Harris abruptly smacked Ruth's ass again, and asked, rhetorically, "You all set for my backdoor Ally-Oop, Mama?" Then, pulling her cheeks wide from each other, he anointed her distorted anus with her own drippings and squeezed his spotted pink bulb past its puckered rim. No longer gentle, he seized her thighs with an iron grip and yanked her backward toward the chair edge as his lunging hips stuffed his staff halfway into her rectum.

Neither Carter's prick, nor her own acrylic dildo, were strangers to Ruth's rear port, but Dexter's piledriver was substantially fatter and longer than anything she had experienced. Her clit itched fiercely, while he seemed to be scratching her belly button from the inside. Swaying her back, she thrust up her bottom and took in another three inches. Her chest pounded, her nipples ached, and the madness in her pussy continued unabated.

Thrilled by the secretary's experienced response, Dexter retreated half his length, then advanced full force and buried his bone all the way in her tight ass. Stirring his captured cock while he scrubbed her porcelain globes with his kinked pubes, he crimped his steely fingers into her hunched trapeziuses and twisted her roughly by the shoulders. She yelped as the chair's wool abraded her nose and chin. Hunkering his chest flat to her back with his bent elbows akimbo, he rowed her bowed frame like a dinghy on whitecaps.