Providing Service

I was temporarily out of work due to a downturn in the housing industry so I was making do with odd jobs. As I had a van I was able to pick up some work delivering groceries for some of the smaller supermarkets. Not for the big boys, they were organised to a T and the big wigs nominated who got the contracts, but some of the smaller ones were happy to have a reliable driver.

I was on my last delivery of the day and I pulled up at this nice place out in the suburbs. The delivery had a note attached saying to knock on the back door and yell out groceries, so this was what I did. A voice yelled out to bring them into the kitchen so again, this is what I did.

I dumped the box of groceries at the end of the kitchen table, being fortunate in actually hitting the table and not the floor as I wasn’t really watching what I was doing. What I was watching was a very shapely tush rolling around in some sort of tights. Very tight tights, not hiding a damn thing.

The young lady inside these tights was doing something to a white mass on the table. I guess she was kneading some dough or something like that. My culinary skills are what you might call haphazard.

She flicked a glance my way, nodding her thanks. Brunette with hazel eyes and a very nice smile.

“Your tips on the dresser,” she told me, nodding towards a cupboard which I supposed was the dresser. I thanked her and pocketed it, my eyes still keeping track of that gyrating bottom as she went on with her kneading.

I sighed. I just couldn’t help what I was going to do next.

“Excuse me if I’m a little out of line but you have a very nice tush,” I told her, my hand running over it with what she probably thought was distressing over-familiarity.

There was no reaction. Nothing. Nada. A total ignoring of my hand having caressed her bottom in what some would call a crude and licentious manner. Did I now beat a humble retreat, totally rejected by this young lovely?

Not me. If I was stupid enough to do it once I figured I was stupid enough to do it again.

“A very nice tush,” I affirmed, my hand moving over it in a caress. Still with no reaction so I just naturally went on caressing and touching. After a while my hand slipped between her legs, doing some extra exploring. Those tights were so tight I might just as well have been touching her bare flesh. I could feel the outline of her pudenda and I lightly scraped my nails along them.

I don’t care who you are but if you’re taking liberties with a woman’s body and she’s not objecting then you go right on doing it. She did give a small gasp when I took hold of her tights and tugged them down but that was all the notice she seemed to take. With them gone my exploring got a bit more ambitious.

I poked and probed, lightly massaged and gently scratched, massaged a bit more roughly and let my fingers intrude inside her. I got another small gasp when I trespassed too close to her clitoris but that was all. I finally went down on one knee behind her, my tongue coming into play.

Now, as well as softly scratching her lips and feeling them react, my tongue slipped inside her, tasting and teasing and seeing what I could do around her clitoris that would make her break her silence.

Nothing, it appeared, although she did say what sounded like ‘nngh’ at one stage. It seemed that I only had one choice.

I stood up again, my cock swinging free, lining it up with her passage. Her lips were all puffy and pouting, waiting for me. I eased into position and then started slowly pressing home. She didn’t resist but neither did she help, just stood there letting me slide deep inside her.

Then I was balls deep inside her, ready to start my run, my hands going up inside her top to cover her breasts. That’s when she finally had the nerve to say something.

“You do realise that I haven’t agreed to this?” she said.

“Excuse me?” I felt as though I’d just been slapped with a wet fish.

“I’m married,” she told me. “There’s just no way I’d agree to doing something like this. I just thought you should know.”

And just perhaps it was something that I might like to have known long before her tights came down. Still, too late now.

“Well, I have to admit that I failed to ask for permission so I can quite understand how you failed to give it. We’ll just mark it down to a miscommunication. As it is I think it would be inconsiderate of me not to finish what I started. Sorry and all that.”

I started moving, pulling back for a nice firm return, finding her quite willing to push to meet me. It seemed that not having given permission was not going to stop her from making the best of a bad situation. It also occurred to me that under the circumstances nothing less than my very best would make it up to her.

I took things slowly, doing my best to build up her arousal. I’d have said that she was responding with enthusiasm but no doubt she was only being polite, not wanting me to be too hard on myself. Over the next few minutes I managed to raise her to a state where it wouldn’t take much more effort to bring her to a climax. Then I settled down to holding her at that level.

Those moments just before you climax can be quite exhilarating and it was only fair that I let her experience this in full. By carefully adjusting the way I handled her I kept her right on that edge, almost humming with eagerness.

It just goes to show that where women are concerned no matter what you do, you get it wrong. I’m quite sure a slam, bam, thank you, ma’am, would have been wrong. Apparently extending her pleasure was also wrong.

After a few minutes hovering on that ecstatic edge she started to whimper a little. Then she was screaming at me.

“What the fuck are you playing at, you bastard? Finish it, damn you.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, not wanting to disappoint her. “I can keep this going for a while yet if you prefer.”

“If you do, you die,” she said succinctly, certainly getting her point across.

I cut loose and after a few strokes she seemed to climax, and in a big way. Relieved I withdrew, watching as she hitched her tights up and turned to glare at me.

“Terribly sorry I read your signals the wrong way,” I assured her. “Won’t happen again. Might I say that personally, you were marvellous and I don’t regret what I did to you in any manner, shape or form?”

(You can apologise for an error you might have made but never apologise for having sex. If you do they’ll never forgive you.)

She made a humph sort of noise, flapping her hand at me in a dismissive manner. I took my cue and exited, stage left. (Or in this case, through the back door.)

As I departed I considered the future. If I had to deliver here again it was obvious that I’d have to be careful to explain to her that I was going to strip her naked and fuck her hard, thus giving her a chance to refuse. My problem was going to be what to do if she did refuse? Accept it or assume that she was just playing hard to get and fuck her anyway? These little dilemmas are what keeps life in the service industry interesting.