Delivery Man

I do deliveries. It's an easy job and there is always work. Doesn't matter how things are going in the general economy, someone will always want something delivered somewhere, and I was willing to assist.

I'm not saying all deliveries are easy. Some are a challenge. Others are a blasted nuisance. Delivering an aggressive pit-bull proved to be both a challenge and a nuisance but that's another story. I've found the invention of digital cameras to be a boon. Sometimes you're asked to just leave the package at the front door or back door or whatever. With a camera I can take a quick photo to show that delivery was made and any missing item is the problem of the recipient.

No such troubles occur when you have to have the package signed for. With a signature on your little pad you're covered. The owner accepted and signed and can't say they haven't. (Not that that stops the occasional crook from trying.) The down-side to getting signatures is you have to have someone home to collect and then wait until they sign. I always ring up an hour in advance to let them know I'm on the way, but some people just don't get the hint.

Take yesterday, for example. I had this package and needed a signature. I phoned through and told the man who answered that I was on the way. He said no worries, someone would be home. I arrive and knock and no-one answers. I knock again, muttering under my breath. I was about to knock again, really loudly, when the main door opened.

This particular house had a heavy wire security door. You've probably seen them about. They do double duty, serving as a fly screen and as a one-way security screen. It's something to do with the way the wire is shaped, the holes in the wire smaller on the house side as opposed to the visitor side. It means that the owner can see through the wire door while the visitor can just see a vague movement behind the door.

"Yes?" came the enquiry.

"I have a delivery," I said.

Seeing I was expected, had a parcel, wore a uniform, and owned a great big delivery truck parked in easy sight of the door, you'd think that the woman would have guessed that.

"Oh, yes. My husband told me that a delivery was coming. Ah, could you just leave it there? I'll bring it in later."

In was quite happy to that. Who wants to stand there carrying a parcel that got heavier by the moment? I put the package down to the side of the door.

"There you go," I said. "If you can just sign here?"

I whipped out my little computer pad, stylus at the ready.

"Ah, my husband's not here right now."

What enthralling news and who cared? I just needed a signature. It didn't have to be his. I'd let the cat sign if it could use the stylus, just as long as someone signed.

"I don't require your husband's signature," I politely explained. "Yours will do just as well. It's just that the instructions for this delivery insist on a signature."

"Um, what happens if I don't sign?"

"I return the parcel with the notation that delivery was refused. The parcel will be returned to the sender."

"You can't do that. We've already paid for it."

"And as soon as you've signed for it to accept delivery it's all yours."

"Can you come back later for the signature?"

Of course I can. I am at your beck and call. I don't need to make five hundred other deliveries. I can just circle the block until you're ready to sign.

"Not really, ma'am," I said, surprised at how dutiful politeness won through. "I have a number of other deliveries and won't be back this was until tomorrow at the earliest."

A possible problem registered. Maybe she couldn't write.

"Ah, if you happen to be illiterate all you need to do is make a mark on the pad," I said helpfully. "That will be accepted as your signature."

"I'm not illiterate," she snapped. "I know how to right."

"Then will you please sign? It's not binding you to a contract. It's just accepting receipt of your package. Just open the door a few inches and I'll pass in the pad and you can sign and pass it back."

What was with this woman? Was she worried about me barging in?

"Oh, all right!" she snapped. "I'll sign your silly pad."

She unlocked the door and pushed it open, hand out for the pad. I damn near dropped it. She was starkers. Totally and gloriously naked, blushing fiercely, but seeming smugly pleased by my reaction.

She was in her early twenties, blonde, and stacked with a firm high bosom that totally defied the tug of gravity.

Why she hadn't just asked me to wait a moment while she went and slipped on a dress is beyond me. I passed her the pad, my eyes all over her. I wasn't deliberately staring at her, but I was certainly enjoying the view.

"Um, ah, if you'll just sign in the box at the bottom of the pad?" I managed to say.

She took the pad and signed it. There was still a tinge of red on her cheeks but her smirk was a lot bigger. She was starting to enjoy showing herself, pleased by my reaction and evident nervousness. That nervousness was fast disappearing. It wasn't as though I hadn't seen a naked woman before.

"Thank you," I said as I took the pad back and tucked it into its holder. "And I really should apologise to you."

"No need," she said airily. "You were just doing your job."

"True, but I wasn't apologising for that. I was apologising for this."

I calmly reached for her and ran my hand across her breasts, feeling them against my palm, feeling her nipples scrape against my palm, one after the other. They were, I noticed, standing erect. Her flashing was exciting her.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, trying to sound shocked but only sounding excited.

"I see you're a natural blonde," I said softly. "Is that fur as soft as it looks?"

She had a small strip of pale curls leading down to her slit. My curiosity got the better of me and I tested the softness of those curls. I've known some girls who had quite coarse hair on their mons, but not this woman. Soft and silky little curls, obviously treated with a good shampoo and conditioner.

At this stage the woman should have been stepping smartly back and closing the door on me, instead of which she just stood there while I caressed her mons. She was spluttering slightly. Something about I had no right to touch her. Quite true, but she wasn't doing anything to stop me.

My hands lifted and closed over her breasts, holding one in each hand while I rubbed her nipples. She stood there with her mouth slightly open, breathing slightly harder, her face flushed, and it wasn't from embarrassment.

"You have beautiful skin," I told her. "It's like warm silk, begging for someone to caress it."

Her blush got a little brighter and my hands caressed her skin, all the way from her breasts to her mons.

"Curves just made for a man's hand," I said, speaking very softly, knowing she was straining to hear what I said.

My hand just naturally followed her curves, down and under, sliding between her legs, cupping and gentle squeezing her mound.

"Just the right size for me to hold," I murmured. "Hot and damp and responsive, begging to be touched."

I continued touching, gently rubbing back and forth, feeling her heat and dampness increase. I could almost feel her lips puffing up and spreading, and I certainly felt it when her inner lips peeped out and kissed my hand.

I pressed lightly against her and she took a slow step backwards into the house with me moving with her, feeling the wire door close behind me. I didn't try to move deeper into the house. I just turned her slightly so she was backing up against the wall, leaning against it, looking at me with a slightly stunned expression.

I let my hands drop away and created a little bit of distance between us, but only a little. I let her see me running my eyes over her, appreciating her.

"You are made for a man," I told her, still speaking softly.

Watching her, I slid my zip down, seeing her eyes drop at the sound. She swallowed but didn't say anything, just waited. I slipped my hand into my open fly and, ah, adjusted my equipment, without withdrawing it. When my hand came out empty she gave a little start, obviously expecting me to whip out an erection.

I took her hand and placed it against my groin, letting her feel the hard length of me.

"Take it out," I whispered, releasing her hand.

She blushed again, shaking her head, but she didn't withdraw her hand. I waited and, after a moment she slipped her hand inside my trousers and closed it over my cock. At first she just felt me, hand wandering up and down the length of me, and I got the impression she was measuring me. That was OK. I figured I had enough there to stand up to scrutiny, and if she didn't think so it would be her loss.

It seemed I passed muster because she finally eased my erection out of my trousers. Once it was out and on display she snatched her hand away.

"You shouldn't be showing me that," she told me, totally ignoring the fact that she'd hauled it out into the light. "What do you intend doing?"

"Me? Nothing," I protested. "You're a customer. I wouldn't dare make any unseemly advances."

She looked a little startled at that.

"What? You're not going to try and, ah, . . ." her voice trailed off.

"Do something like this?" I asked, moving closer, easing my erection between her legs so it brushed against her slit. "I assure you I wouldn't dream of it. It's not considered the right way to treat customers."

She was standing there with her mouth a little open, her tongue darting back and forth to wet her lips.

"If I did something like that it could lead to something like this."

A hand slid between her legs and eased her lips apart, my cock rearing up and pressing against her. Hands lifted to her breasts again.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I wouldn't do anything like that."

We stayed like that for a few moments, my cock pressing firmly against her slit, just inside her enough to let her know it was there. Finally I pressed a little harder, feeling myself slipping a little deeper.

She gasped, shaking her head.

"Ah, your, um, your cock. It's pressing into me."

"Sorry. I didn't mean it to. It just slipped a little."

It promptly slipped a little more. She was hot and wet and her passage was both tight and slippery. I could feel it clinging to me. I pressed harder, going deeper, a continuous pressure taking me fully inside her.

"Um, you're, ah, you're having sex with me. You shouldn't be doing that."

"No, I'm not," I promptly said.

"What? I can feel you?" She sounded quite indignant.

"No, you can't. I'd never molest a customer. Ah, you've just got a very vivid imagination."

She certainly did have. Why, her imagination was now telling her that my cock had started the ritual dance, pulling back and driving home again, and driving home quite strongly. She was making encouraging little sounds, one leg coming up to wrap around my waist, taking me deeper with each thrust.

My hands were on her breasts, worshipping them, while I drove hard into her. I was banging home so hard that it seemed a real possibility that the plaster wall would give way. Not that the thought made me slow down at all. Her body was made for the use to which I was putting it and she was responding beautifully, clinging to me, practically wrapped around me, her face buried in my neck biting me. I was going to have a few bruises there by the next day.

My excitement levels were increasing with every thrust and the way she was reacting, so were hers. When she stopped chewing on my neck and started making small mewing sounds I figured it was time to make my move. I drove in harder than ever, lifting her up, then I was crashing into her, my climax leaving me helpless to do anything but spend myself in her. Not that she was in any position to object. Her own climax flooded over her. She was clinging so tightly and convulsively that I'll swear that she managed to leave nail prints in my shoulders right through my uniform.

She was leaning back against the wall breathing heavily. I was also breathing quite heavily as I tidied up my clothes.

"Mind you," I said, "a vivid imagination is a wonderful thing. It's surprising the things you can do when you daydream."

I opened the wire door, picked up the parcel and put it down inside the house.

"Less temptation to thieves," I told her. "It's amazing what some people will do when temptation crosses their path."

"Really? A man succumbing to temptation. It's a good thing you can rise above that sort of thing."

"That's me," I agreed. "Incorruptible."