The latin delivery boys

Yeah, I know, I know. It’s the most cliché fucking story in the world, the whole “fucking the delivery guys” trope. But let me tell you, living it in person is a fucking religious experience. I’ve had my share of cocks, but never a Latino one, and now I can honestly say that the pounding those two boys gave me on my new dining table is easily in the top three fucks of my entire life. Maybe the top. Sorry, Lucas, love, but its true.

I’d been on at Lucas for fucking months to change that bloody awful dining table. It wasn’t vintage, it was just old and wobbly and I was sick of it. I finally took matters into my own hands, found a gorgeous solid oak one online, and clicked buy. The wait was fucking agonizing—two whole months. I was practically dripping with anticipation by the time the delivery van finally pulled up.

When the doorbell rang, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I opened the door and there they were. Sweet fucking Jesus. Two of them. Latinos. Their skin was this deep, toasted brown, glistening with sweat from carrying my packages. They couldn’t have been a day over twenty-three. They were both wearing these tight grey uniforms that showed off every fucking muscle. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, and arses you just want to sink your teeth into.

The taller one smiled, all white teeth and dark eyes. “Delivery for Follert?”

My knickers were soaked instantly. “That’s me,” I said, trying to sound normal and not like a desperate housewife about to combust. “Bring it right in, boys.”

They manoeuvred the huge flat-pack box into the dining room, their biceps straining. I couldn’t stop staring. I offered them water, which they accepted, and I made a point of bending right the fuck over to get glasses from the bottom cupboard, my dress riding up. I saw the shorter one, whose name was Mateo according to his tag, nudge the other one, Carlos, and nod in my direction. They knew the score.

After they drank, Carlos gestured to the box. “You want us to assemble for you?”

I pretended to think about it. “Oh, would you? My husband is useless with this sort of thing.” Which is a lie, Lucas is handy as fuck, but they didn’t need to know that.

They got to work, and I just sat on a stool and watched. The way their bodies moved, the flex of their backs as they bent over, the sheer fucking youth radiating off them. It was driving me insane. I uncrossed my legs, letting my dress fall open a bit, and I saw Mateo’s eyes flicker up from the instructions to my thighs. He licked his lips.

That was all the invitation I needed.

I walked over and knelt beside him, pretending to look at the instructions. “Are you sure that piece goes there?” I asked, letting my hand rest on his thigh. It was rock solid.

He stopped breathing. His dark eyes met mine, and the hunger in them was raw. He just nodded.

Carlos was watching us, a slow smile spreading on his face. He wasn’t shy. “I think she needs a… closer look,” he said to Mateo.

That was it. The game was on. I turned my head to Carlos and said, “I think I do.”

I didn’t wait. I reached out and palmed Carlos’s crotch through his trousers. He was already fucking hard and huge. He groaned and his head fell back. Mateo didn’t need anymore convincing; he grabbed the hem of my dress and yanked it up over my hips. He wasn’t gentle, and I loved it. He groaned when he saw I wasn’t wearing any knickers.

“Fuck, man, look at her,” he hissed to Carlos.

In seconds, they were on me. Carlos pulled his cock out—thick, uncut, and beautifully veined—and shoved it into my mouth. I gagged happily, sucking him deep while Mateo buried his face between my legs, his tongue lapping at me like a man possessed. The sounds were filthy, just grunts and slurps and my own muffled moans around Carlos’s dick.

They fucked me right there on the half-built table. Mateo went first, pinning my wrists above my head and driving into me with these deep, rough strokes that made me scream. He was a fucking animal, grunting in Spanish in my ear. I came almost immediately, my nails digging into his back. As soon as he was done, Carlos flipped me over onto my hands and knees on the tabletop, not even bothering to wipe Mateo’s cum off me. He just pushed my legs wider and plunged inside. His pace was different, slower but harder, each thrust knocking the breath out of me. He reached around and played with my clit, and I came again, so hard I saw stars, screaming into the polished wood.

They both came inside me, one after the other, filling me up. We collapsed in a sweaty, panting heap on the floor beside the table, the three of us a tangled mess of limbs.

They finished assembling the table in a comfortable silence, both with stupid, satisfied grins on their faces. I was a blissed-out puddle. They left with a cheeky wink, and I was left with a beautifully assembled table and a delicious, aching emptiness between my legs. Lucas will be home soon. I can’t wait to tell him all about it. I might even let him fuck me on it first.