Home Delivery – An Erotic Story
The Friday night drinks party at work was over. I’d been standing around for hours and my new three-inch heels were killing me. I just wanted to go home, treat myself to a nightcap and something to eat, before pulling on one of the old T-shirts my ex had left behind when he had taken off with his lab assistant three months ago.
I opened my front door and clicked on the lamp in the living room as I walked through to the bedroom leaving a trail behind me – my dress, bra and panties. I tossed my shoes across the softly lit room, sinking my feet into the carpet.
Did I mention that his lab assistant was a guy?
Probably not. I was still recovering from the shock and preferred not to mention it – not even to myself.
What was clear to me, though, was that Greg was not coming back.
Ironically, he was one of the most macho-looking men you could want to meet. Apparently, that meant nothing; gay men, as I’d discovered on Google, were often fabulously good looking and sexually sophisticated. I must have missed something in the six months we had been married and in the two months of our whirlwind romance beforehand.
He’d come home late and more than a little drunk. It took a while but eventually he blurted it out;
“Stella, there’s no easy way to tell you. In some ways I’m as stunned as I know you’re going to be, but I’m gay. I’d kind of known, but I’d thought it a passing thing which is why I never brought it up.”
“What? Gay? No!”
He stood there in our living room, flushed and ill-at-ease.
“Stella, as much as I love you as a person, there’s someone else in my life and I know he’s the one for me. This isn’t what I had in mind, but it has to be.”
“Who is it? Do I know him?” I rasped, my mouth dry. We’d barely settled into married life together. Now this!
I had felt as if the anchor in my future life had been yanked up and I was free-floating in a sea of despair, anxiety and loss. Hadn’t I been enough for him? But I now knew that he was what he was, and it really had nothing to do with me… but a shred of doubt still floated around in my mind.
Before my hunk of a husband had gone off with Dennis, pretty Dennis, who I had never in a million years considered a competitor, Friday night was ‘fuck night’.
Now I was alone and hungry. Since Greg had gone, I’d let the refrigerator run low.
I pulled out my cell, dialed the local Greek restaurant and ordered more take-out than I could possibly eat on my own, but then I was still struggling to adjust to the ‘on my own’ bit.
As promised, 15 minutes later, the home delivery guy rang the bell. I’d dug out one of Greg”s T-shirts, tied a sarong round my waist to cover up the fact that I wasn’t wearing panties and went to the door to collect my souvlaki-with-the-lot, dips and hot Greek bread.
I opened the door and the delivery guy stopped me in my tracks.
He was tall, rangy, and young – probably a college student topping up his income by delivering take-out. When I say young, I mean young; maybe 18 or 19. I’m 34 so by his standards probably in the same category as his mother.
He grinned, “Evening ma’am. Your order.”
And then he just stood there, our eyes locked. You could have started a car with the sexual energy whipping between us. I could see he was summing me up, his gorgeous blue eyes under strong brows, playing with the possibility that his night might be taking a turn for the better.
I felt my womb drop. He had sun-streaked light brown hair, wavy and worn long to his shoulders. He was one of those young men who have yet to fill out but who are pumped with testosterone. He was also polite. He was waiting for me to decide, for me to choose what to do next. I could have said a simple, “Thanks,” taken the parcel and shut the door.
Instead, I reached out and grasped his shirt, pulling him inside.
“Lady, are you sure about this?”
I threw caution to the wind. It was ‘Friday fuck’ night after all.
I lifted his loose top and gasped. “I didn’t know before, but now I’m sure.”
A smile flickered across his handsome sculpted lips. He had dimples that creased his cheeks making him even more attractive.
It was his cock! I could clearly see that he was big, very big, very long and very hard. It was out of proportion to his still youthful body but there was no doubting its hunger and its potency. It was engorged for me. It must have been a lightning response to the desire he saw in my eyes.
I sank onto the huge leather sofa in our living room; the one where I had fucked Greg when he was still Greg-my-guy and not Greg-Dennis’-guy.
“What’s your name?”
Was I crazy telling him? But he already knew where I lived. I was already in too deep.
“Pretty name for a pretty lady.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“No thanks Ma’am, I’m on duty. No booze allowed.”
“Is fucking customers allowed…?”
“Depends on what?”
His smile lit up his handsome face. I thought, “When he grows up this guy is going to be devastating; right now, he is a glorious kid on the edge of becoming himself.”
I could feel the wet between my legs, my clit hardening as I untied the sarong so he could see I was ready for him. He dropped onto the sofa beside me, his eyes travelling down my legs (pretty damn good, if I might say, for a woman my age, toned, tanned and long) and then up, lingering over the soft curls hiding my pussy. His eyes hardened. I guessed he was no virgin – some young chick would have opened her legs for him well before tonight.
He had picked up my scent, my want, and his own.
“I’d have to be quick… “
“Quick suits me.”
He ran his hands up under the T-shirt, feeling for my breasts. My nipples, unusually big I know, had his full attention. He yanked off my T-shirt. Now I was naked. I lifted my breasts and offered them to that hungry mouth. He latched on hard, pulling and sucking, rolling his tongue over my tingling nipples. My body responded and I felt myself melt. He muttered under his breath, “Unbelievable!”
“Matt, I want to see you… take off your jeans.”
He was wearing nothing underneath and that cock – at least nine inches of it – shot up hard and ready, precum running in a slow rivulet down his rigid shaft.
I pushed up his shirt and ran my hands over his smooth, hairless chest, his ribs etched, his abs bare of excess flesh. His balls were pulled tight against the base of that magnificent cock.
“Ma’am, are you sure you can take me? I don’t want to hurt you…”
Now I was straddling him. “I don’t know but we’ll soon find out… Here let me help you.”
I lifted myself up so he could see as I parted my inner lips, slick with wet, my clit peeking out in readiness. Then I levered that long, long delicious cock to the right angle, shoving the bullet-head into my cunt. I’m tight at the best of times and he was going to be a challenge, but one worth taking. Fortunately, I was also very wet and desperate to take him in – as much as I possibly could.
His breath was coming in harsh bursts, his nostrils flared. I perched up on my haunches and slowly, ever so slowly lowered myself onto him. He was hurting me, but he was also thrilling me. I was as greedy for him as he was hungry for me.
I leaned forward to kiss him, opening my lips and pressing my tongue into his mouth. He wrapped an arm round my neck and pulled me hard towards him, thrusting his tongue into my mouth in response, sucking and tasting me. He tasted of apples, cinnamon and sex.
He began to buck upwards as we fucked. He was slick with my wet which made it easier for him to find his way. I took his hand and placed it over my clit, rubbing it back and forth hard to set up friction with that delicious point of pleasure.
He raised his eyebrows as if to ask, “Is this what you want?” I gasped, “Be rougher…”
My whole body was burning for him. He dropped his head back on the sofa, shutting his eyes and moving with me.
I could hear myself urging him on, “Yes, yes, yes. Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”
And then that moment came when I could no longer hold myself back. My climax was deep, hot, each pulse radiating through my body. I cried out in ecstasy.
He was arched up now, driving his cock into me. I felt him buck hard as he came, groaning.
For a minute we stayed joined together, our heartbeats beginning to return to normal. I pushed him away gently.
“Ma’am, that was awesome. The best fuck ever!”
He really was such a kid!
He got up, pulling on his jeans, uncertain what to do next. I wrapped my sarong around me and kissed him softly on the lips before showing him to the door.
I’d found the perfect cure for the Greg thing.
“Matt, I’ll order souvlaki next Friday. Can you make sure you pick it up?”
He looked down at me with that stunning smile.
“Sure thing ma’am!”
Frances Alba is a non-fiction writer, publisher and businesswoman with an irrepressible alter ego that led her into writing erotic fiction. Her work is the result of a life of exploration, adventure, and curiosity about human behaviour, intense relationships and the dilemmas sexually liberated women face today.
In addition to short stories, she is currently writing a full-length novel for publication in 2022.
Frances’ second husband is also a writer. They travelled all over the world, before finally settling in Australia.