I fucked the delivery girl

There I am, sitting on my couch, the ceiling fan spinning around, the smell of sex still hanging in the air. My beer is already warm, but I can’t be bothered to get up and grab another one. Martina left about an hour ago, her legs shaking, asking me to call her an Uber because she couldn’t even ride her bike. And here I am, grinning like an idiot, remembering how this whole thing started because of a simple fucking hamburger.

It was around nine at night. I’d gotten home from work completely wrecked and didn’t feel like cooking anything. I hopped on the app, the usual one, ordered a burger with fries and a Coke. About thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. I open up, and there she was.

It wasn’t the first time she’d delivered to me. I’d seen her a couple times before. A girl around 25, black hair tied up in a bun, glasses, wearing a baggy uniform that hid everything. But that night, something was different. Her bike made a weird noise as she pulled away. I didn’t think much of it.

I ate the burger, crushed the fries, drank my Coke. About twenty minutes pass. I step outside to toss the trash bag into the dumpster on the corner. And there she is. She’s still standing there, next to her bike, helmet in hand, staring at her phone with a pissed-off look on her face.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She looks up. She has these incredible blue eyes. I hadn’t noticed them before. “No. My battery died. I’m waiting for my boyfriend, but the guy’s useless.”

I laughed. “You wanna come inside and wait? I’ve got beer, water, whatever you want. It’s hot as hell out here.”

She looks at me, hesitates for a second. “Yeah… alright, but if my boyfriend shows up, let me know?”

“Of course.”

She comes inside. Sits on the couch, right next to me. Takes off her reflective jacket. That’s when I noticed. Underneath, she was wearing a thin white t-shirt, the kind that showed every curve of her tits. No bra. Or if she was wearing one, it was so thin you couldn’t even tell. I stared a second too long. She caught me and laughed.

“You stare a lot, don’t you?” she said.

“Sorry,” I said, and headed to the fridge. Grabbed her a beer. We sat there talking about nothing. About food, about how shitty the app pays, about how useless her boyfriend was for not showing up yet.

Then, she stretched to grab the TV remote. Her shirt rode up a little, and I caught a glimpse of her stomach, smooth, tan skin. My dick started getting hard. I tried to hide it with a pillow.

“This chair’s uncomfortable,” she said, and scooted closer. Now her leg was touching mine. She didn’t move it. Just left it there, pressed against me.

“You okay waiting?” I asked, my voice a little raspy.

“Whatever. If he comes, he comes. You’re cooler than him anyway.” She looked right at me. “And hotter.”

That’s when I realized it wasn’t an accident. She wasn’t here just because of her bike.

I leaned in and kissed her. Soft at first, then harder. Her mouth tasted like beer and mint. She put her hand on my thigh and slid it up, right to my crotch. I was rock hard.

“Ooh, what do we have here?” she said with a wicked smile.

“Something you’re gonna like,” I told her.

I unbuttoned my pants and pulled it out. She looked at it, licked her lips. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

She got on her knees on the floor, between my legs. Grabbed my cock with both hands and sucked on the tip. I moaned. She took the whole head into her mouth, sucking hard, looking up at me with those blue eyes. She had an incredible mouth. Hot, wet. She sucked me like she’d been doing it for years. Slow, deep, stopping sometimes to lick my balls, to gently bite the shaft.

“Stop, stop,” I said, because I was about to come. “Let’s go to the bed.”

We stood up. She pulled off her shirt. And there they were. Her tits, round, tan, with hard little nipples. I grabbed them with both hands and sucked them. She moaned, pulling my hair.

I carried her to the bedroom and laid her down on the bed. Took off the rest of my clothes. She slid off her jeans and her thong. She had a trimmed pussy, just a little triangle on top, perfect. She was already wet, glistening in the streetlight coming through the window.

I got on top of her, spread her legs, and slid inside. She gasped. She was tight, hot, like a fist. I started moving, slow at first, then harder. She grabbed my back, dug her nails into me.

“Harder, harder,” she begged.

I gave it to her. The bed creaked, the headboard banged against the wall. We didn’t give a shit about anything. I grabbed her hair, turned her on her side, and fucked her from behind. She moaned like crazy.

“Like that, like that, don’t stop.”

I came inside her. No condom. She felt it because she clenched tighter, moaning loud. I kept moving until there was nothing left. I collapsed next to her, both of us sweaty, gasping for air.

A minute later, her phone rings. It’s her boyfriend. “He’s here,” she says, and sits up. Gets dressed fast. I just stare at her, not believing any of this happened.

“See you around,” she says, and kisses me on the mouth. “Try the fries with mayo. They’re good.”

And she left. I stayed there in bed, my cock still throbbing, the sheets soaked. I just laughed to myself. The delivery girl. I’d fucked the delivery girl.

And here I am now, sitting on my couch, the ceiling fan spinning, the smell of sex still hanging in the air. My beer is already warm. But I already ordered another one. Through the app. Just to see if she shows up again.