Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With a Delivery Man
Read Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With a Delivery Man Online
Authors: Kay Jaybee
NOT HER TYPE
Erotic Adventures with a Delivery Man
Kay Jaybee
Not
Her Type: Erotic Adventures with a Delivery Man
Copyright © 2011 by Kay Jaybee
First published by OC Press, a division of
JordanSade LLC
Second Electronic Printing, April 2013, by 1001
Nights Press
Cover design by Hilary Stojak and CoverDomme
All rights reserved. No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system,
or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright
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The scanning, uploading, and distribution of
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This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Adult Content Warning
This story contains sexually explicit acts
involving consenting adults. It is not intended for minors under the age of
eighteen.
Table of Contents
Tuesday
: Christmas Eve - Concluding
Tuesday
It
Begins
What the hell am I doing? I’m a good girl; I just don’t do things
like this.
A tiny fraction of Jenny’s conscience
screamed at her. The remainder of her brain sent her hands on a thorough
exploration of the densely haired chest that had unexpectedly appeared from
beneath her companion’s polo shirt. The fact that Jenny had never liked men
with hairy chests seemed irrelevant.
Standing in front of her, diving a hand under
Jenny’s top, John squeezed her left nipple hard, wonderfully hard, making her
squeal with pain-tingling gratification. Removing her shirt at top speed, John
freed her breasts from their confinement.
Moving as if on auto-pilot, Jenny’s fingers
visited the waistband of his trousers, but in her haste she couldn’t get his
belt undone. Rescuing her from her embarrassment with a smile, John mumbled
something about it always being difficult to open and undid it himself. Jenny
barely heard him as a neat pair of charcoal
grey
boxers appeared, swiftly followed by—
Oh My God
—the most beautiful dick
she had seen in years – perhaps ever.
As she knelt before him, the voice in
Jenny’s head continued its rant, reminding her that she hated giving blowjobs.
Since her first experience as a college student, she had liked neither the
taste of cock nor the sensation of being gagged. Now, however, working on
instincts she’d never known she had, Jenny took John deep into her throat. She
felt his fingers drag urgently through her knotty brown hair, raking her scalp
as she greedily worked him around her mouth.
‘Hell, girl, have you any idea how often
I’ve dreamt of you doing this?’ John confessed. ‘Night after night I wank about
you, about you holding me in your throat like this.’
Jenny was consumed with a perverse pride as
she listened to John’s words, wondering if she should admit to the stolen
moments she’d spent alone with a silver vibrator and her own filthy fantasies
– fantasies contrary to her normal imaginings, fantasies that often
featured him.
His penis felt fantastic in her mouth, but
the restless ache in Jenny’s pussy was becoming unbearable, and she pulled
away, panting. The instant she let go of his shaft, John tugged her back to her
feet and grasped her butt, kneading it in a way that would give her bruises for
days to come, while kissing her as if his life depended on it.
Conveniently forgetting that she didn’t
like the feel of stubble against her skin, Jenny relished the burn of his
unshaven face grazing her, scraping her cheeks as their lips and teeth clashed
together.
Her head buzzed, her nipples were tickled
by his chest hairs, and Jenny began to feel as if she were overdosing on
desire. She badly wanted to slow everything down, but at the same time, she
needed to go faster. She wasn’t far from climax, and the mere
idea
of their illicit situation was
enough to send Jenny to the very edge of orgasm.
Recognizing how close she was, John shoved
his customer’s knickers unceremoniously to her ankles. ‘I want to see you on
your hands and knees,’ he ordered.
Sinking against the carpet as instructed,
Jenny’s breathing snagged as she heard the sharp rip of a condom packet being
opened. Seconds later, Jenny found her courier’s thick cock sliding into her
from behind. She was about to tell him how fantastically full she felt when
John wiped all coherent thought from Jenny’s head by jamming his thumb up her
arse.
Nuzzling his mouth against Jenny’s neck,
John thrust against her, holding her hips as they frantically moved together.
Trembling, Jenny’s knees began to buckle and her elbows quaked. Seeing she was
about to collapse to the floor, John eased out of her body and flipped her onto
her back before plunging his dick inside her again. She clung onto his tattooed
arms (ignoring her lifelong aversion to body art), relishing the glorious
warmth of her orgasm as he shot his spunk into her naked body.
As their breathing levels returned to
normal, John knelt close to Jenny, teasing out the springy curls of her hair as
he spoke. ‘I’m sorry Jen. I don’t like just walking out on you, but I have to
go. I’m behind with my rounds.’
Jenny watched her courier dress with
lightning speed, leaving in a flurry of promises and assurances that he’d
return the following week.
The living room
seemed so large, so empty, once John’s bulky frame had gone. Stunned and
disheveled
, Jenny
stared at the space around her as delayed shock kicked in.
How the hell had that happened?
It had been
years since Jenny had had sex: twelve years, in fact, if you discounted one
brief and unsatisfactory encounter three years ago. That was four thousand,
three hundred and eighty days of a self-imposed embargo after one-too-many
broken hearts. She had survived by surrounding herself with friends, reading
hundreds of erotica books, and giving in to countless masturbation sessions.
But now, out of nowhere, right in the middle of her lounge, when she should
have been sitting at her little desk checking other peoples’ accounts, she’d
been thoroughly and expertly fucked.
Standing perfectly motionless, very aware
of her pulse pounding against her chest in the eerie quiet, Jenny tried to
figure out what on earth had just happened. How their usual coffee break, with
each of them sitting on either side of her dining table, had developed into a
semi-naked romp on the sofa.
John had been in her home for only thirty
minutes, and twenty of those had been spent discussing the DVDs that he’d come
to deliver, just as he did every Tuesday. Then, he’d said something about how
much he enjoyed their weekly chats, how hers was the only home where he was
received as a friend, and how he always felt strange leaving her without so
much as a hug.
Thinking back, trying to make sense of it
all, Jenny thought that perhaps she’d laughed nervously when he said that, and
told him she liked their ‘putting the world to rights’ time as well.
That was when he’d actually hugged her for
real, and she’d looked up into his wide, dark brown eyes; and in all of her
thirty-three years, she had never felt a twist of lust like the one she felt
then. It had burnt into her like some sort of erotic radiation.
How
did I not see that coming? How bloody naive have I become?
Jenny wondered
. Shit, I don’t
even know if he’s single… It’s been so long since I had a quick fuck. Too long…
Hell, now I want another one, and soon. Damn.
Running upstairs to her bedroom, Jenny
stripped off her hastily donned clothes and stared critically into the
full-length mirror.
Do I look different?
No, my arms are still a touch too flabby, my backside a little too big, and my
skin too pale.
She felt different, though. A bit like the
girl she used to be, when she’d been a student. When she’d been braver.
As Jenny stared at her reflection, she
allowed her hands to trace the outline of her body, a body already infused with
the heady aftershocks of being totally seen to. Flashbacks of her past assailed
her. Things she’d consigned to the back of her mind and nailed up into a little
box, never to be opened again – parts of her life that she’d long since
given up on.
Losing all concept of time as she stood
there, naked, still able to feel the mark of his fingers on her flesh, Jenny
shook her head, trying to dismiss the memories that her body’s unscheduled
reawakening had brought to the surface. She wondered just how many customers
John had seduced with those dangerous eyes. How many other sets of fingertips
had tripped lightly over the Japanese-styled characters tattooed on his
muscular arms?
‘Let’s face it,’ she spoke sternly to her
reflection, ‘that was just a one-off. Next week he’ll just want a quick coffee
as usual.’ Doing her best to pull herself together, Jenny unhooked her wrap
from the back of her bedroom door. Heading to the shower, her wits were a
tattered mass of contradictions: the elation she felt from the astounding sex
was at odds with the very clear proclamation that was niggling at the back of
her head.
Jenny, honey, he just isn’t
your type. He isn’t even close!
Tuesday
Again…
Will he still speak to me, now that he’s had what he wanted? Did I
only imagine it to be so good? Maybe he didn’t enjoy it at all. Was my body a
disappointment to him? He did leave fairly quickly afterwards. Will he even
turn up again? He could easily have swapped rounds with another driver…
