The Delivery -
In which a parcel is signed for, and the postie helps with handling.
I knocked on the security door with one hand while I held the box with the other.
The main door was open, and through the mesh came the persistent throb of bass driven music.
Just a moment!
was called down the stairs.
From what I could see of inside it was a fairly tidy little two-storey unit, modern TV, thick carpets and so on.
There was some bumping and clattering from upstairs, so I stood and waited patiently – the run of deliveries today wasn't so heavy, and I was looking forward to an early finish to the day. The music continued to bend the air forcefully, though not disagreeably, and I found myself getting into the groove.
She came downstairs in a flurry, through the security screen I glimpsed she was all legs. She rattled at the handle,
Oh sorry, it's locked.
She wore a silky black dressing-gown which barely made it further than her arse, and when she turned & bent to pick up the keys off the side table I saw, even through the moiré of the mesh; the firm lower part of her butt in sharp contrast to the lacy hem of the shiny black material.
The screen opened and I was struck dumb. She stood a full foot shorter than me, her slight build was by no means skinny, and her hourglass figure had an athletic quality about it. She looked tanned and beachy; her short tawny hair had that tousled look that was the result of either careful styling in front of a mirror or an energetic shagging. I reckoned her to be in her mid-twenties. Her fine hands gripped the silk gown at bust and belly to stop it simply falling open. It really was too small, even on her diminutive frame, and was pulled tight across her breasts.
As I pulled my stare back up to her face she slightly jutted her chin out towards me with an accusing smirk. Not the type of accusation which says 'How dare you ogle me, postie', more the kind of 'Go on then, watcha gonna do about it?' look.
I dropped my gaze again and watched as her nipples rose hard against the sheer fabric.
That box for me then?
She asked after about a million years.
Uh, yeah. I mean; um, signature item for
I checked the label
Susan?
Her face brightened and beamed a smile at me as she bobbed energetically in front of me.
Oh wow! I'm so excited. I've got three parcels coming, and I don't know which one it could be!
The anticipation must be excruciating.
I replied drily. It was, after all, just another box from my van-load of boxes.
She shot me a funny look which was impossible to read, and fearing I had hurt this beautiful little hottie's feelings, stumbled verbally on with;
I mean, uh, in just a few moments, it'll be in your hands, and the mystery will be revealed!
Then finished with a kind of Ta-DAA gesture.
Her humoured stare penetrated me to my core as she stood there, smiling from her eyes, not saying anything. I decided to push it, because two can play the flirting game, missy:
But once you're inside, clutching your precious box of mystery, will you savour this moment, this feeling of ecstatic apprehension, and leave the box on a table while you delay the inevitable by, say, getting a drink of water, or a beer, as this exquisite feeling wells up inside you like an...
her breathing quickened ...
or perhaps you'll slam this door shut and tear into this box like a hungry beast,
her mouth parted slightly and she bit lightly on her lower lip,
...your lust for it's contents making you careless until you are sated...
her eyes glazed a little and she leaned slightly towards me, as if lead by her bust before she caught and composed herself.
She blushed slightly, and it highlighted very faintly a light spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose.
You're funny,
She said cheekily,
and you're gooooood at that!
And with a waggle of her finger and an arched brow the dressing gown slips open a little, revealing a sliver of smooth bare skin down to her navel.
MY turn to blush now.
With the box under my arm I proffered the scanner.
