by
Aime

I guess it would only be fair that I introduce myself before I let you in on what I *really* do for a living. My name is Edwina Johnson.. Eddie, to my friends.. and I'm in the delivery business.

What kind of delivery business you ask? Well, I'm an independent contractor for various international shipping companies. My job is simple: I provide the equipment and manpower.. and the company allows me to bid on particular regions and I'm paid for the deliveries that I make..

What's the name of some of the companies I provide service and manpower? Well, I won't discuss all of them.. I'll instead concentrate on one company in particular and my route. Many of you are probably familiar with this company. In recent months, they've bought up a few smaller entities and now they are getting ready to take on the likes of UPS and Federal Express.

In a nutshell, I do deliveries for National Parcel & Post Service. You know us! We're the folks dressed in green and black, delivering your mail, your parcels, your large boxes and various shipments day or night.. rain, sleet, sunshine or snow. I'm sure a few of you have seen me driving by in my white extended van, with the "flying letter and spinning globe" logo on my truck.

My story is not a complicated one.. everything about me is real simple. Simply put, I love the ladies.. the more ladies I get, the more I love it. I guess I should backtrack, I don't really have "ladies".. I just have "lady friends." Trust me, there is a difference.

My days are spent ferrying packages from door to door, following whatever route map the company provides to all drivers. My main job is to keep my customers happy, keep the packages coming on time.. and making sure that what they want, they get.

The heaviest times of the month for me are usually the 1st, the 15th and the end of the month. During those particular days, I have a regular series of deliveries that *must* be made.. people that count on me.. and I try never to let them down.

In truth, I really have about eight customers that really count on me.. eight FEMALE customers, to be precise.

Perhaps, I should give you a better description of what I do, where I go.. and who I see...and how its affected me.

**1st of the Month**

Judy Leonards

Judy Leonards is a sales-rep for Here and Now Lingerie and Sensual Products. Judy's company is like the Am-Way of underwear, fragrant candles, and massage oils.

The first time I met Judy, I pulled three boxes into her house on my hand truck. It was about 1 p.m. in the afternoon and Judy, a mousy white woman, was wearing a housecoat with rollers in her hair. I thought, with a little work--make-up, a hairstyle, and some nice clothes--she wouldn't be half bad.

She checked over the boxes, while her husband--a towering 6'5 and 280 lbs. walked around the house, making jokes about her business. She seemed to take it all in stride. Actually, she ignored him.

She signed for her packages and I left.

Two months and two deliveries later, Judy finally spoke to me. It was our usual time.. but her husband wasn't home. I was making small talk.. ya know.. good customer service "bullshit."

"So, what do you do exactly?"

Judy looked at me, "Well, I sell lingerie and sensual products. Really what I do is host lingerie parties and then invite women to purchase whatever they like."

"Hmmm.. kinda like a Tupperware party for sexy people?"

"Something like that.. Would you like to see some of the products I sell??"

I shrugged. I had about an hour to kill.. so what the hell.

She quickly ran upstairs.. I heard plenty of rustling.. and then she came back, wearing a robe. I smiled at her.. she smiled back.

"Maybe, you'd like to sit down?"

I reclined on an oversized ottoman in the living room, looking forward to viewing a few of her products.

She paraded in front of me, robe still closed.. and then suddenly opened the flaps and shucked the damn thing off. I almost fell off the ottoman.

Mousy little Judy had a body from H*E*L*L. I couldn't get over the fact that she had curves. Tits.. an ass.. hips, for goodness sakes.

She was wearing a blood red bustier, with lacy red stockings. Thankfully, she was wearing a pair of panties.. lacy red panties.. or God only knows what I would do. She walked towards me and then turned around.

Correction.

She was wearing a pair of lacy red THONGS.

"What do you think?"

"Uhh.. it's red."

"And?"

"It's lacy."

"Would you buy something like this?"

"I dunno.. I'd think real hard about buying it."

She grabbed my right hand, "Feel the quality of the fabric. It's real lace."

I really wanted to grab HER hand and put it between my legs.. Ya know, feel the quality of the moisture.. it's real cum. But I just allowed her to guide my hand over the bustier.

Nonchalantly, she said: "Ya know, I get deliveries once a month.. always on the first. I wouldn't mind modeling for you.. getting your opinion. What do you think?"

I nodded, barely able to say a word.

"Problem is.. my husband is usually home in the afternoons. It would be much better if you deliver my boxes in the morning.. like sometime after 9 a.m., but just before noon."

Again, I nodded. My mouth was dry as sawdust.

"And just to make a fair deal, I'm willing to pay you."

I sat up. Extra money was *always* welcomed...even though the company strongly discouraged tipping. But hey, if someone wanted to give me money, who was I to turn down their greenbacks?

She smiled at me.

"Oh yeh.. I'm willing to make it worth your while."

And before I could respond, she had sunk to her knees...unzipped my shorts and began pulling them down. Thankfully, I was out of clean under drawers that particular day, so there really wasn't much more disrobing required.

In reality, all I could do was sit on the ottoman.. with my legs spread. Judy pushed her mouth between my thighs and lapped me like her life depended on it. The whole time she's buried deep in the Bush Master, she was moaning. You'd swear it was liquid heroin that she was slurping up. I held her head.. and let her tongue my sopping pussy and hard clit till I came.. But still she licked.

A few minutes later, she pulled back.. licking her chops.. looking like the cat that ate the canary.

She smiled at me, "Hmmmm.. nothing like good old fashioned girl cum. I haven't had anything that sweet since UPS stopped delivering my boxes."

I pulled up my shorts.. zipped the Bush Master outta sight. Judy looked like she was ready to go deep sea diving again.. and I still had other packages to deliver.

"I don't know what to say, Mz. Leonards. Aren't you married?"

"Call me Judy. Yes, I am married. But I still like fucking women."

"Oh.. okay." I was still confused.

"And I like a particular type of woman."

"Oh yeh?"

"Uh huh. Uniforms have always turned me on."

"Oh yeh? Like cop uniforms?"

"Oh no. Much too "obvious" for my taste. I prefer delivery uniforms. I like strong women, dressed in work clothes.. out there.. pushing and pulling boxes off their trucks.. getting them into my house.. and getting me to sign whatever they want."

I could see Judy getting worked up again.

"Well, I guess I'm grateful for the uniform. But where are we supposed to go with this??"

Judy smiled lasciviously at me.. "Well, you come here.. deliver my boxes.. let me model for you.. and let me eat you out."

"That's it??"

"Uh huh.. that's all I require."

And so, on the first of every month.. promptly at 9 a.m., I delivered Judy's boxes. She modeled the newest, latest.. I got worked up and she ate me out. Even though her delivery is off the beating path for me, it was still the best "start" to my morning...aside from breakfast.

Nee'chelle Jenkins

Nee'chelle is a secretary for a small real estate office. I usually see Nee'chelle around noon, the first of every month. When I started my route, Nee'chelle was the first drop-off that I had scheduled. I remember bouncing into her office, carrying a small brown parcel.

Behind a large desk, right inside the front door was this four foot, eleven inch sassy sista. Nee'chelle was in a word "soulful." The first thing I saw was long, colorful nails.. in fact, she was busy filing her "claws" when I walked into the office. The second thing I noticed was the sista's body, a shapely "number" tightly encased in a black unitard and covered with a long white shirt. She had coppered colored tresses that flowed down her back.. and large earrings on the cutest ears I've ever seen.

I walked up to the sista, handed her the package.. and then handed her the shipping manifest. I pointed to a section on the list.

"Sign here, please."

Sista took her time reading the manifest, checking the parcel, before taking my pen and signing. She smiled at me.

"You're new.. What's your name?"

I grinned at her, "Eddie."

She raised carefully plucked and drawn eyebrows, "Eddie, huh? You work out, Eddie?"

She was staring at my biceps. I pulled up one strong arm, flexed for the little sista, and said: "I do my part in the gym."

She was eyeballing me hard, then suddenly a few of the Realtors came into the front door.. a lot of noise, plenty of documents dropped on Nee'chelle's desk. I tried to leave, but she stopped me with one well filed claw.

As the office emptied, she looked at me again, "Ya know.. the best time to make deliveries is at noon. The office'll be quiet then. Just me.. answering phones. Nobody else."

I looked at the sista, wondering what she was driving at.. she had a very intent look on her face, like there was something she wanted me to understand about the importance of making deliveries at noon.

I guess I wore a look of total incomprehension on my face.. cos the sista licked one claw.. and ran it between the valley in her breasts and then allowed me to watch it disappear between her thighs. She gave me a hot look of desire as I stared at her sexual "one-woman" simulation. I grinned at her, "Noon, huh? Oh yeh. I'll be here at noon."

Now, every first of the month.. after visiting Judy *and* getting the Bush Master cleaned up, I got just enough time to make it over to Nee'chelle. I can barely get into the door, before she's locking up and pulling me into one of the Realtor's office. One thing about Nee'chelle. Sista is LOUD. I'll just start smacking on that ass before a sista is hollering and hooting...half the time it sounds like a full fledged Rodeo.

It doesn't take much to get a sista hot.. and get a sista off. As soon as we hit one of those offices.. or even the conference room (her favorite).. sista is already purring: "Do it, daddy." A coupla taps on the ass.. hard enough to sting.. but not hard enough to leave bruises, always does the trick. Truth be told, when I spank that ass I feel like Ali Baba.. cos' her legs instantly open.

I push her down over whatever desk is in the room and eat her out from behind. She likes clinging to something underneath her when she comes. Her pussy is always warm and creamy.. and half the time it makes me feel like I'm going down on a Dairy Queen Ice Cream machine. I just bury my tongue--to the hilt--and fuck her. Some sistas prefer a tongue lashing.. Nee'chelle likes a tongue fucking. She only needs about two orgasms.. and then she'll let me go.

Problem is... she likes to drag out the loving...holding off on the "cum."

In truth, I worry about Nee'chelle being found out by one of the Realtors, but she seems to care less.. as long as she gets hers. OFTEN.

Juanita Hernandez

The first time I met Juanita Hernandez, she was pulling a garbage can out into the front of her family's business, Mi Tierra. Mi Tierra is a small shop that sells curios and bric a brac from Mexico.. Stuff like ceramic pots and vases, hammocks, papier mache dolls, rugs and panchos can be found in the family's store.

Juanita was struggling to get the oversized can upright, in front of a rather badly designed sidewalk when I pulled up. Truth be told, I probably would have walked by her if she didn't look like Salma Hayek from the front, the back and the side. I jumped out of the truck and easing her to the side, pulled the can down onto the street and then hauled it right in front of the sidewalk.

I turned to smile at her.. but had to catch my breath. She was absolutely stunning. Her skin was the color of warm sepia and her face was framed by long dark brown curly hair, which flowed down her back. Her eyes could probably be considered the best feature of her face. They were a dazzlingly green, encased in long curling lashes.

Juanita smiled at me, "I guess you're our new delivery person."

I grinned, "Yep. And I'm happy to be here."

"Good. Do you need any help?"

"Naw, I got this covered."

So I pushed and pulled all of the Hernandez' boxes off my truck--10 to be exact--and breathlessly hauled them into the store. The store was empty, except for Juanita and she checked all off the boxes before signing my manifest.

She smiled at me then, "Are you hungry?"

I shrugged. It was about 2:30 p.m. and I had had a light meal in the truck.. ya know, peanut butter and jelly. But I wouldn't turn down another meal.. especially a free one.

Juanita led me into the back of the store.. on a small one burner stove, she had a small steamer. She opened up the steamer and pulled out five, cornskin covered tamales.

"Do you eat pork?"

"Oh yeh."

"Good."

She placed the tamales on a plate and handed them to me.

"Would you like some salsa?"

"Naw.. you got any ketchup??"

She looked at me like I had two heads.

"Ketchup? On tamales?" She shook her head. "My god."

She pulled three packets of ketchup out and handed it to me.

She watched me as I hurriedly fed my face. I didn't want to seem too comfortable. Customers can be the nicest, but they are not always ready to start accepting the "help" into the family fold.

Juanita was different. She placed a warm hand on my arm.

"Slow down. Tamales are meant to be enjoyed.. not inhaled."

"Sorry."

The whole time that I was eating, I felt Juanita watching me.

"So, do you know the woman who had the route before you?"

"No, not really."

"That's too bad. I really liked her. She believed in taking care of her customers."

"Well, you have nothing to worry about. I believe in taking care of my customers, too."

Juanita smiled slyly at me, "Taking care of your customers.. or taking *good* care of your customers?"

I swallowed a bite of tamale quickly. After my recent "experiences," I had begun wondering about the so-called "customer service" that the last "driver" provided to a myriad of female customers on my route.

Juanita came around, pushing my chair back. She looked hard at me, before settling herself onto my lap. I was still literally holding the fork, as I felt her rub herself across my lap.

""Good customer care" can be a rewarding experience for both us," she whispered. I was beginning to understand that..

I looked at her, "So what did the last driver do for you?"

"Well, let's just say.. she brought certain tools to work with her."

I smiled. Tools, huh.

I had plenty of those at home.. in different shapes and sizes. Unfortunately, home was a good hour away.. and god knows how much would have changed by the time I got back.. In the meantime, as Juanita was my last delivery, I could enjoy a little of her "sweet".. but be prepared for the next time.

. **15th of the Month**

While I had a *number* of deliveries throughout the month, the heaviest falling on the first and the last of the month.. the 15th presented it's own challenges.

Believe or not, I only had TWO regular deliveries during the middle of the month.. the first to a hairdressing salon, the other to a massage parlor. Personally, because of the "workouts" I generally tend to have, I liked the fact that I had *JUST* a lil sumfin sumfin to look forward to in the middle of the month.. but that's not to say that I didn't "work" during those two visits. I just didn't work as MUCH.

Carla Webb

Carla Webb is a thirty-something sista who owns a hair dressing salon called D-vah! The first time I met her, I thought to myself: Lawd, have mercy.. that's a lot of woman. The song: "Baby, got back" was running through my mind as I unloaded her boxes. Baby had back you could have laid a shelf on..

In truth, Carla is THICK. Sistah is a good size 20, with 38 double dynamites on her chest. I mean, titties you could get lost in...and an ass?!?!?! Well, all I can say is that it's the *kind* of ass ya wanna smack.. ya know.. to help ease it on out..

After stacking her boxes neatly inside her salon, she looked me over...GOOD! And she did NOT look happy at all.

"What happened to the last driver?"

I shrugged, "I dunno. I just know that this region was available.. and I put a bid on it."

She curled her lips, not at all pleased with my response: "She was real good. You think you can keep up with her?"

I smiled, "I'm trying."

"Hmph.."

And so it went.. Every 15th of the month, I dutifully delivered Carla's packages only to hear about the last delivery driver..

Finally one day, I had run out of patience.

"What's wrong with me? Why ain't I good enough?"

Carla looked at me, a hard smile barely cracking her face, "She knew how to make her customers feel special.. how to make them feel good."

"And?"

"I said good.. she made 'em feel real good."

I was already hip to the last driver, so I straight out asked Carla..

"Did she fuck you, too?"

Carla looked shocked. I had her!

"Don't act dumb.. I *know* about this route." I gave Carla a hard look. She stared back in defiance.

"Yeh, she fucked me. And one thing about her.. she wasn't all about them skinny hoes you seemed to like sticking it to.. she liked taking care of us more endowed ladies."

Deep down inside, I was taken aback that she knew about the "skinny hoes." But still and all, I was intrigued by this fine, curvaceous sista..

"And you don't think I can??"

Carla stepped back, a look of surprise on her face.

"Well, can I get some?"

"Oh, no, Mz. Carla.. I'm the one that should be asking if I can get some?"

She turned coquettish, "You can.. and you don't have to worry, 'cos I got seconds for you, too."

Hell, I think sista had thirds and fourths.

I eased over to sista, wrapped my arms around her.. enjoying her softness. Damn, she felt good. It made me think of something my uncle told me a long time ago.. about why he preferred dating the thicker sistas. He told me straight and plain: Meat is for men.. and bonz are for dogs.

Oh yeh!

Sista owns a two story building. The first floor is dominated by the salon.. while the second floor houses her office and stockroom. She also has a small kitchenette upstairs, as well.

The first time I got to *know* sista was a Monday. The rules for D-vah! are simple. Hairdressing, nails, and eyebrows are done Tuesday through Saturday. Sunday is the Lord's Day.. and Monday belongs to Carla.

Well, that day we *blessed* her salon.. and *then* made our way upstairs to the office. By the time I had crawled back out to my van to get the "tool box," my heart was beating out of my chest. An hour later, I had collapsed on top of a very satiated Carla.. who was busy stroking my back.

"Lord, woman.. you sure know how to bury a dick deep in a woman."

All I could do was mumble in response.

Carla likes to be eaten, likes to eat.. likes to be fucked.. likes to come several different ways...and loves to let the world know when she's about to come.

Plenty of "Jeeziz, help me.." "Lawd, have mercy.." "My God" and so on..

A sista gets real religi-fied just before her moment of truth. Feels like church half the time.

Loving Carla.. while it's close to a full work-out, makes me happy that I'm a member of the "congregation."

Praise the Lord.

Andrea "Kee" Williams

Andrea, is a twenty-something athletic masseuse that owns Andrea's Body Shop, a full service massage parlor, specializing in Swedish, Deep Tissue and Reiki.

Andrea is 5'8 and 125 lbs. of lean muscle under taut brown skin. Her features, a prominent nose with flaring nostrils, too full lips and slanted eyes, are the product of her mixed ancestry--Black and Korean. She tends to wear track pants, tank tops and cross trainers. In fact, I've never seen her in anything except sports gear.

I met Andrea five months after I had begun working my route. I had three small boxes for her, which I carried into her store, precariously balancing my clipboard on top. I placed the boxes on a nearby counter and looked around for someone to sign. I found her sitting, in lotus position, quietly meditating. I debated whether or not I should pull her away from reaching enlightenment to sign my manifest, but I figured it would be rude if I interrupted her intense "peacefulness." As I turned to go, I heard her say: "Wait for me. I'll be with you in one minute."

I turned back and watched her rise to her feet in one fluid movement. I smiled, "Plenty of practice, I see."

"Uhmmmm."

I handed her the manifest, which she quickly signed. She stood, one hand on her hip, her face tilted at an angle.

"How long have you had this route?"

"Hmmmm.. about five or six months."

She smiled, "I used to have my packages delivered by National Parcel and Post, but when I heard that the driver before you was quitting, I switched to UPS."

I flashed her a flirtatious beam, "Now why did you go and do something crazy like that?"

She fixed me with an impenetrable stare, "Didn't know if I'd be receiving the same quality of service."

"Oh, I promise you'll get as good.. if not better."

"Do you believe in the adage "The customer comes first."

"Oh, do I ever?? Lady, that's my motto!"

She gave me a hot smile and then turned and walked towards the door. I watched in surprise as she locked it and placed a "Close" sign in the window.

Hmmm, I thought, it's kinda of early for lunch. She walked back towards me, determination in her step.. and I knew that she wasn't exactly closing the store for lunch.

What can I tell you. Andrea loves stretching her body to the ultimate limits. She loves being pulled in all different directions, her arms spread wide, her legs wrapped around torsos and necks. Andrea also enjoys testing the strength of her massage tables.

Thankfully, she only prefers being 69-ed on the tables.

So, some 45 minutes after she closed the store, we were laying on one of the tables. Andrea's cunt was in my face.. and I was lapping it for all I was worth. Meanwhile, her head was buried in the Bush Master, working my lil button over when I started to feel my moment of truth. My toes curled under and I began to moan, bucking my hips against her mouth.

Suddenly, she pulled her face away from my drenched cunt and turned to look at me.

She gave me a stern look, "Remember your motto. The customer ALWAYS comes first."

I could not believe she slowed the rocket ride, the double loop, the 9-1-1..so she could repeat some inanity I fed her at the front door. But she was serious as a heart attack.

I nodded in response and felt her warm, wet tongue continue to work its magic on my button. Again, I felt the moment of truth descend upon me. In an instant, I began counting backwards, reciting the months of the year, days of the week, different streets on my route. Thankfully, it worked 'cos a few minutes later, Andrea shot--warp-drive--into orgasm. She didn't move her mouth, though she throbbed all over my face. She kept licking and mercifully allowed me to come seconds later.

She lithely climbed off of me and went to wash up in a nearby bathroom. I laid on the massage table, wiped out. She came back, a few minutes later, wrapped in a terry cloth robe.

"You look like you need a massage."

And so it went..

Every 15th of the month, I scheduled Andrea as my last stop. We'd often wrestle for a few minutes then retire to one of the massage tables for "lunch" and she'd massage me, using whatever new technique she had discovered or wanted to try on her customers.

In my mind, good sex followed by a great massage was the ultimate treat to myself.

**End of the Month**

RenEe Stevens

RenEe Stevens, a well-known lawyer, is a solo practitioner, with an office on Lakeside Blvd. She used to work for a large firm many years ago, but decided that she had as much brains and balls as the big boys and therefore entitled to *all* the glory and a larger chunk of money.

A year after leaving the firm, she hit the jackpot.. a case involving a massive chemical accident that left one man dead, another injured. She represented the widow of the dead man and the family of the injured man, getting a sizable award for the families and three million dollars in the bank for herself. While RenEe generally associated with other firms, she had very few employees at her office, assisting in the day to day functions of preparing pleadings, responses and discovery.

Three months after I got the route, I received a medium-sized package to deliver to Renee's office. Being the curious soul that I was, I checked the sender's name and address and found that it was a local company that sold legal supplies. I was a little surprised that they would overnight it to the office, as someone could easily have delivered it in person. But then, who was I to complain about more business??

I got to the office sometime after 8 a.m. I rang the doorbell, surprised to find it closed. A small figure, half dressed in a business suit walked quickly to the door and opened it to let me in. I looked down at the woman--no more than 5'3, surprised by her rumpled and stained professional attire. She looked like she had slept in them.

She quickly signed my manifest, "You the new delivery person?"

I nodded, and handed her the package.

"You're not exactly what I was expecting."

I frowned at her. What the hell was this messy little woman talking about.

"Carla told me *all* about you."

And trust me, I did notice the emphasis on "all."

I clenched my teeth. Damn Carla! My lil "D-vah" had been blabbing! I was hoping that she would be a little bit more discreet about our trysts, but I was fast learning that discretion wasn't exactly a requirement for any of the women on my route.

RenEe looked up at me, "I guess you'll have to do."

"Do for what?"

"Well, do for whatever you do.. ya know, what you do for Carla."

I stared incredulously at this tiny, rumpled woman. I knew she wasn't in the right frame of mind if she thought I was going to fuck her.

"I deliver packages for Carla. And that's what I'm doing for you. In fact, that's all I'm doing for you."

With that, I turned on my heel and walked out.

The next time I hooked up with the very religious Carla, I was sure to express my displeasure with her "diarrhea of the mouth." She had the decency to look sheepish.. but began to tell me a little about RenEe.

While she considered the woman to be incredibly brilliant, RenEe had the warmth of a mugger.. and "finesse?" Well, that was a trait she was definitely lacking, but according to Carla, while she was rather business-like in her approach to "relations," she was quite a dynamo in bed.

Two months and two deliveries later, I began to notice RenEe. She was still as business-like as ever, but I began warming to the idea of a sexy siren beneath the Donna Karan and Oleg Cassini suits. In fact, I began to fantasize about the type of underwear she might wear.

In turn, she took notice of the way that I looked at her.. the way that I stripped her bare with my eyes. There was a hint of softening, but it wasn't much.

The third time that I went to her office, she motioned me towards one of the filing rooms in the back. As I placed the box on the floor, I felt her full weight on my back. I prayed that my knees would not give out. The last thing I needed--in my line of business--was a busted knee. I straightened up with her clinging to my back.. and asked in my coldest voice: "What do you think you're doing?"

She leaned over, still on my back and said: "Taking charge."

I pulled the woman off my back, turning around to face her. "Do you always have to be in charge?"

"No. But it's not like you're planning to do anything."

"Oh?" I leaned in and grabbed her quickly, pulled her hard against my body. I felt her gasp in response.

I pulled her glasses off and she squinted up at me. "I can't see without my glasses."

"Trust me. You are NOT going to need those things."

I bent down and kissed her softly, tenderly. I heard her moan, her hands snaking around my neck to hold my head down. She didn't have to work too hard. I was enjoying it, enjoying her. I felt her kick the door to the file room close and that made me a little apprehensive.

I pulled away, "What about your staff?"

She smiled, still squinting at me, "I knew you were coming. So I gave them the day off."

"Good," I thought.

I dropped to the ground, pulling her with me.

RenEe surprised me that day. I don't know what I was expecting, but it was hardly the gentleness that she used when making love with me. Later, we laid on her clothes and my uniform and talked about our respective lives.

For the next three months, we met as usual--on the last day of each month--and made love in various rooms throughout her office, though Renee always made sure she had a sleeping bag and blankets stashed away for our trysts.

One day, laying with her, feeling contented and well loved, she asked if I might consider us meeting at her home. I looked at her in surprise. It was the last thing I'd ever expect to hear--especially from a customer, but it was an idea I did not have a problem warming to--quickly.

Tammy

Tammy is part-owner of a "ladies" club called "GirlWorld." Straight-up, it's a lesbian club with buck nekkid "Luke" dancers. Tammy's business partner, Ricki, is considered the club's "hook." Her good looks and smooth manner bring the ladies and Tammy makes sure that the bills get paid and the club's operation runs smoothly.

Tammy's deliveries consist of items mainly for the restrooms: dental dams, small packets of perfume, and other sundry items. In reality, there was no need for monthly deliveries to the club. Tammy or Ricki could easily have fetched most of their bathroom "goodies" from the manufacturers, but I suspected that both women were well acquainted with previous drivers on my route and were looking forward to continuing those beneficial arrangements.

It didn't take long for Tammy and I to get "tangled" up. In reality, I preferred her to the more "obvious" Ricki who walked around the club, acting like hot shit in a champagne glass.

Two months after I began delivering to the club, Tammy asked me into her office. She gestured towards a lone chair in the middle of the room.

"Make yourself at home."

I sat down, a little apprehensive. I wondered if I had done something wrong.

She must have noticed my slight frown of concern because she smiled at me, lightly stroking my arm. "Oh, its not that kind of meeting."

I exhaled audibly.

She grinned at my look of relief, before her face took on a more serious look. "I need something from you.. something that I hope you won't mind doing from time to time."

I shrugged.

"You know we have dancers here at the club.. and generally, myself or Ricki have handled most of the initial interviews. While I don't consider myself the best judge of what sells in an exotic dancer, Ricki has-hmmmmm-how do I put this delicately-an affinity for the interviewing process. I'd like to stop that. We've already had a few incidences involving dancers trashing the place, or trashing Ricki's car when things get.. hmmm.. hairy."

I gave a tentative smile. I didn't know what the heck this woman was talking about. But it seemed important enough. I relaxed further into the chair.. Perhaps, it would mean a few more dollars for me each month.

"I'd like for you to conduct the interviews, Eddie."

I started with a shock, "What?"

Tammy laughed, "Well, you wouldn't be actually conducting them.. but you'd be a part of the process. Interested?"

"Does it pay anything?

Tammy stared at me, "I'd make sure that you were well compensated."

Now, that didn't actually give me a dollars and cents answer, but I figured that we could hash it out as time went on.

"Are you ready?"

"You have an interview to do now?"

"Uh huh."

I shrugged, "Okay."

Tammy picked up a walkie talkie on her desk, "Send Luscious in, would you please."

Luscious?!?!?! I wondered what I'd gotten myself into..

A tall, statuesque sista, wearing nothing but a thong sauntered into the room. I sat straight up. Lord, what HAD I gotten myself into..

Tammy smiled at the woman, walking over to a hidden console to turn on soft, sensual music. "Luscious, this customer has requested a lap dance. Proceed to fulfill her every fantasy."

I stared, mouth agape at Tammy.

Luscious walked over to me. "Spread your legs," she said.

I quickly spread my thighs. Luscious stepped between my legs, bent slightly and pressed her chest against my face. I felt the woman's extended nipples against my cheek. She dragged her breasts across my face, until one hardened nubbin was at my lips. I gave a snakelike lick to the tip.. before smiling at the woman. She pressed the other breast to my lips and I did the same.

Luscious slitheringly made her way down my body, I could feel her drag those firm breasts down past my face, past my chest and stomach.. until her chest was firmly planted between my legs. I could feel her pressing those full, brown globes into me. She reached up and lightly stoked my face with her fingernails, dragging them down.. moving into the valley between my breasts.. before moving down and settling on my crotch.

She pulled herself up and sinking her firm, round ass onto my crotch, rocking back and forth gently. All I could do was groan in response. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Tammy smiling appreciatively.

I grabbed Luscious' hips as she ground her solid rump into my crotch. I could feel myself getting hotter and wetter with each bump and grind and I knew if she remained-as she was-torturing me, I'd come right there in the chair.

Luscious wasn't a bit coy as she continued her erotic dance on my lap. She grabbed both my hands and brought them to her breasts, pushing my hands over those erect nubbins, cupping my hands around the fleshy areas. She released my hands to grab my thighs and press herself deeper into me.

Suddenly, I heard loud clapping and Luscious nimbly climbed off my lap. I was left sitting there, with my hands still in the air where Luscious breasts USED to be..

I numbly watched as Tammy warmly welcomed Luscious to the GirlWorld family, handing her a W-4 form to fill out. Luscious turned on her heel, preparing to leave the room, but she doubled back and gave me a deep kiss, standing back to grin at me before she finally left.

Tammy smiled at me, "Need a towel?"

I gave her a wan smile in return, "Not exactly."

"Need a hand?"

Unable to lift myself up out of the chair, I nodded, "Yes, I guess I do."

Tammy reached over, grabbed my zipper and started to pull it down.

I jumped up, "What are you doing??"

"Giving you a hand."

Well, not one to let any rich opportunity to pass me by, I stood there and allowed Tammy to disrobe me-from the waist down-and give me the "hand" I so richly deserved.

And so it went.

The ladies got a captive audience.

I got free lap dances.

And Tammy remained-long after-to help a sista out.

Mrs. Whitaker

The fifth or sixth month into starting my route, I went to the main warehouse to collect my deliveries for that particular day. I remember hauling each of the packages off the conveyor belt and placing each carefully on a pad near my van. The very last package I grabbed was a small box. No more than 13" x 10" x 7". But as I reached to lift it off the conveyor belt, I almost went careening to the floor. It was heavy as hell. I heard laughter as the other delivery employees stood about, watching me pick myself off the floor.

One of them smiled at me. His name was Larry. "Lemme guess. It's from 'Downright Dirt Cheap.'"

I looked at the return label. He was absolutely right.

"How did you know?"

He grinned, "'Cos they're the only small packages I know that give folks a hernia."

I shook my head, "What's in 'em?"

"Oh nothing special. Just ammo. So you be careful dropping those packages to the floor."

I stared at the little shop of future horrors I had dropped on the ground. I bent my knees, braced myself and hauled the box up and placed it carefully in my van.

My route map set the 'Downright Dirt Cheap' package as the last delivery for the day. It was just as well. I'd need to conserve all my energy just to haul that "mug" out of my van.

So, there I was.. rolling along with the box of ammo in the back of my van, when I happened upon my destination. I pulled up to a wrought iron fence, and stared--numbly--at a beautiful Tudor style house--a good distance away.

Damn, I wonder how much cabbage it took to buy a place like this. I opened a box near the gate, found a phone and was quickly connected with the main house. A warm female voice answered: "Hello?"

I responded, stuttering, "National Parcel Post, ma'am."

"Hmmmm.. good. Right on time. Keep the phone up until the gate opens and then make your way up to the main house."

So duly instructed, I waited till the gate opened and then drove the truck a considerable distance from the road to the main house.

I drove through what I assumed to be a mini-golf course, no more than nine holes. I was more impressed than I expected to be. As I maneuvered closer to the house, I noticed an older woman standing at the entrance. I also noticed the shotgun she held at her shoulder. I hesitated, unsure of whether or not I wished to alight from the van, with a potential customer holding a lethal weapon at the ready. After a few deep breaths, I exited the van and made my way round to the back to remove the "heavy as hell containing only ammo" package. I heaved it towards the woman standing at the entrance.

"Mrs. Whitaker," I gasped.

She smiled contentedly at me, "Uhhhmmmm hmmmmmm."

"National Parcel and Post, ma'am. A delivery for you from Dirt Cheap."

"Of course. Follow me."

She lead me along a curving walkway, which meandered further and further from the house and closer to an open field, with a smaller structure nearby.

"You can drop it now."

I allowed the box to slip from my hands, and fall heavily to the ground.

Mrs. Whitaker pulled out a small pocket knife, sliced open the box top.. and pulled out a box of ammo. She opened that and carefully placed two cartridges in the chambers.

She stood at a makeshift table, put on a pair of protective eyewear and headgear, handing me a pair as well. She reached underneath the table, fiddling with an unseen device and then stood back.

She cocked the gun and fired a shot at a flying clay target. An instant hit! Showering debris fell quickly to earth and an amused expression crossed her face at her success. She continued in this vein for some 45 minutes, firing shots at flying clay targets from various different angles across the open field.

When she finished, she opened the gun, removed the spent shells from the chamber, closed it and placed it on the table. She turned and began walking towards the smaller nearby structure. She gestured for me to follow.

Like a lamb, I complied.

She reached back for me, pushing her hand through the crook of my arm.

"You will be staying for lunch, won't you? Nothing like a good meal to follow an excellent day of target shooting. Don't you agree?"

"I guess," I mumbled.

We entered the smaller structure and found a small buffet of cold eats on a table just inside the entrance.

For an hour, I sat silently eating cold cuts and cheese with Mrs. Whitaker, who stared contentedly out of a window.

Finally, I stood up. "Thanks for the food, Mrs. Whitaker. I guess I'll be on my way."

The smile on Mrs. Whitaker's face vanished, only to be replaced by wistful expression.

"I'm sorry that you have to rush off. I was hoping that there was more that we could do today."

"More like what?"

"Well, do you like motorcycles?"

Do I like motorcycles??? Does Janet have boobs? Does Prince wear high heels? Hell yeh.

It was "hog" heaven in Mrs. Whitaker's garage. I had never seen more gleaming Harley metal in my life. It was like I had won the lottery, like I had hit the jackpot. I lovingly caressed each bike, before sitting reverently on each. If I had died then, I would have been a contented, happy woman.

I smiled blissfully at Mrs. Whitaker.

"Thank you."

"What for.."

"Fulfilling a fantasy of mine.."

"Hmmmmm.. fantasy fulfilling, eh?

I recognized the look that came into Mrs. Whitaker's eyes. I was NO dummy. I had been on the route long enough to know what certain women wanted AND expected. Personally, I wasn't all that put out by the idea of "relations" with Mrs. Whitaker. While old enough to be my mother, she was a fine looking woman..and truth be told, I could feel my lil bead spring into life at the thought of a little extra curricular activity.

In truth, I expected my afternoons with Mrs. Whitaker to be slow and gentle, easy-going..like she seemed to be.. But nothing prepared me for the full on frontal assault when we actually got down to the "do." Not only was Mrs. Whitaker horny as hell.. she was strong to boot. And she had no problems issuing commands in bed.

I got used to hearing: "Lap it like you love it" or "I'll always be your pussy bitch" (my favorite!!) or "One more if you want to ride"

..that type of thing!

Truth be told, I think Mrs. Whitaker was the final nail in the coffin..She plumb wore me out!

End of the Road--I Think

One day-almost a year after I started at NPP-- I ended the day by heading to a local bar in town-a "family" bar, really. I sat there sipping a rum and coke, when a woman walked up to the bar, sat heavily down on a stool and ordered a screwdriver. She had a young face, but it was surrounded by a shock of white hair. She glanced over at me, and a tired smiled crossed her face.

"You work for National Parcel & Post?"

I nodded, "Uh, yep." I was still wearing my uniform.

"What's your region?"

"I work the Lakeside area, from Jones Road to West 8th...and from Hwy 245 to Lakeside Blvd."

The woman looked me over with a critical eye, "You work out?"

Strange question, but I answered it anyway, "Yeh."

"Eat well??"

"Yeh."

"Get a lot of sleep?"

"Yeh." I was starting to get annoyed.

"Vitamins? Do you take vitamins?"

"Yeh! Why you asking me all these questions??"

The woman sighed, "Ya know, I used to work for National Parcel and Post. In fact, I used to handle your region."

My eyes popped open, "You're the old driver..the one that all my customers talk about??"

"Uh huh. That's me."

The woman took a sip of her drink, settled into her chair.. a faraway look in her eyes.

"Ya know, when I started as a driver for the company, I thought that N.P.P. stood for New Pussy Please. Every other day brought a new and special customer, a new piece of ass. I was delivering packages and good times. After a year, the "good loving" that seemed so much fun was starting to be a chore. God help me if I was late.. or if I couldn't make it. Then I'd hear shit like: "You prefer them skinny hoes".. or "the customer always comes first".. or "I guess someone else is modeling for you." Sometime it wasn't about the ass..I just needed a break. Ya know, time for MYSELF. Rest, damn it. Try explaining THAT to those buncha piranhas."

The woman took a long drink from her glass. I sat there, feeling well educated.

Soon after, another woman joined us.. She shakily asked for a double martini and sat down heavily, next to my new friend. Her and the woman shook hands and then she gestured to me.

"This here's the new driver for the Lakeside area."

The woman's eyes opened wide and she shook her head at me. She raised her glass in a toast of sorts and said: "Good luck to ya, sista."

My new friend turned and whispered to me, "She used to work for U.P.S.. same area. She quit soon after you started."

I stared at the two women, shocked by their haggard appearance. In truth if I looked in the mirror, I was headed in the same direction.

I was more tired than usual. I could barely sleep or eat

And damn it, I wasn't enjoying sex like I used to.

I remember a friend of mine who worked in a bakery explaining why she had an aversion to baked goods. "Girl, in the first month, all you wanna do is scarf down a donut, a slice of bread, a piece of cake. But after a while, too much, too often begins to turn you off. You start to get sick at the thought of pastries, cinnamon buns, all of it."

I thought long and hard about the women on my route.

In reality, I could stand not to see ANY of 'em for a damn long time.

Actually, that wasn't true.. I could stand to see one of 'em.

Mebbe on a regular basis.

Hell, mebbe on a COMMITTED regular basis.

I pulled Renee's card out of my wallet...looked at it real hard.

Hmmmm...

I stood up, shook both women's hands.

"Sistas, it's been real. I got some work to do."

I wondered how long it was going to take me to draft a letter of resignation.

THE END

Copyright © 2001. Used by permission of author. All Rights Reserved.