Message-ID: <17908eli$9812090449@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Kwikee Subject: {ASSM} Drop Off (F-) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19981209025925.7055.qmail@www08.netaddress.usa.net> Drop Off By Kwikee (speedoe@usa.net) Adult fiction - To be read by adults of legal age depending on locale. The depictions are graphic and are intended for a mature audience. Please act responsibly. _____________________ The letter carrier screeched the Jeep into the driveway and shut the engine off in accordance with official energy conservation regulations. Springing out, S. Martin crunched briskly through the dead leaves as their tiny brown shards clung to crisply ironed trousers. This was a violation of carrier unspoken directive number one: Never ever leave the vehicle unless absolutely necessary. It was chilly. Gaylee Bond's package that her box wouldn't hold was clutched in Martin's left hand. Out of consideration to the customer the remainder of Ms. Bond's mail was carried to her door as well. 23 Hickory Road, Three Lakes Community. It was a community all right - a collection of parked trailers euphemistically termed "modular homes." The deliverer rang the doorbell. Gaylee was dressing for work. She had already showered and fixed her hair. Standing before her dresser mirror she began to button up her white blouse; she ignored the scattered array of bottles, scrunchies, barrettes and other accessories. Her black jeans, purchased too small to comfortably hold her hefty thighs and jutting cheeks, lay on the unmade twin bed. The stupid but mandatory MetroFood apron was slung over one of the folding chairs in the kitchen/dinette. Idly she thought how tasty a diet busting crème horn would be right now. Her pastry reverie was interrupted by the doorbell. Shit. She knew whoever that was would be there forever if she finished buttoning then squirmed her way into the jeans while lying flat on the bed. She didn't have a robe. "Damn!" she whispered as she pulled on her jacket and jogged barefoot to the door. She would try to hide her freshly shaved and lotioned legs behind the door if she had to open up. The biting breeze freshened as Martin waited the obligatory few seconds before leaving the parcel on the slapdash wooden porch and placing the rest of the mail in the box on the way out. Right after having a trim on already short black hair your neck really felt the iciness. The thin blue jacket wasn't cutting it either. The wind did a more than adequate job of cutting. Time's up. The letter carrier bent over to lean the package against the rusting door. Gaylee never opened the door before peeking out to see who it was. She pulled back at the spot on the curtain stained from numerous repetitions of this habit; she saw the mail truck out front but it took a second before she spied the tight little ass of the doubled over carrier. Great! This must be the lasting lipstick she had ordered after watching an infomercial. Just as the box was neatly placed in the door frame the door snapped open with a pop. Naturally the box fell inside. It landed next to a tiny foot with pink polished toenails. "Thank you sir," Gaylee said. She forgot to stay behind the door. S. Martin retrieved the red white and blue box and caught an eyeful of legs before facing and glaring at the customer. "Sorry," Gaylee pleaded as she nervously ran her hand through her thick blonde hair, "I thought you were a guy." "Nope. Not in this life. I don't think anybody'll ever make that mistake with you Ms." Shea Martin glanced at the address on the parcel. "Bond. That is who you are, right?" Gaylee's jacket had opened as she brushed at her hair and her deep cleavage was exposed. "That's me. I said I was sorry; you don't have to get a 'tude about it." She clasped her jacket shut to avoid the icy wind and icier stare. "I mean, you can't help the uniform and you've got short hair and I only saw your back. Give me a break." "'Tude? You call that an apology? Fine. Take your mail, Ma'am, and I'm outta here." "OK," Gaylee read the gold name tag, "S. Martin, at least I said 'thank you.'" The blonde took the mail and her jacket gaped wider. The chill had hardened her nipples and they showed prominently through her bra. "Have a nice day," Shea said caustically as she turned for the steps. "Would it make you feel better if I told you I was disappointed?" "What?" Martin looked back at the customer. "I thought you were a guy with a nice ass." Gaylee shut the door and tossed the mail on the card/dinner table. Touchy bitch. Now she had to get ready to deal with the parade of assholes at the pastry counter. She knew she was going to sneak some pastry today. She threw the jacket next to the apron and started for the bedroom. A rap at the door. Her hand instinctively reached for the curtain then stopped. She knew who it was. She knew that someone was hungry too. Gaylee knew she had asked for trouble, for attention, for the desire she had aroused. She backed away from the door and toward her bed. "Come in." The handle turned and the door swung open. A brush of cold air washed around her. Gaylee backed into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Bits of dead leaves sprinkled the path from the door to the bed as Martin approached. "I shouldn't have..." "Didn't you think I was a man?" "Yeah but..." "Keep thinking." Her lips were cold from exposure to the wind; Gaylee shut her eyes and let her warm mouth envelop the thin lips of her deliverer. Her hands were cold too, but they warmed as they caressed Gaylee's breasts and freed them from her bra. The nipples were still erect - now from a combination of cold hands and increasing passion. "What's your name?" Gaylee whispered as the letter carrier undid the blouse and unfastened the bra, leaving Gaylee in panties only. "Shea...shhh" Gaylee began to unzip Shea's jacket. "Not today," Shea said softly, "not enough time. Relax." Another kiss. Gaylee became aroused at the feel of the uniform, Shea's tongue deep in her mouth as the trousers chafed her soft white thighs. Shea slid her fingers into Gaylee's panties and used the wetness to lubricate the motion. Shea knew exactly where to touch. The nearly nude blonde held her slender lover close as they burrowed deeper into the ruffled bed linens. The light scent of perfume and bath oil form the sheets mingled with the musky aromas of the outdoors and the excitement. Gaylee ran her pink nailed toes across the polished patent leather of Shea's shoes. Both came up for air. Shea breathed evenly as she kept massaging Gaylee's big hard clit. Gaylee gasped open-mouthed. She reached up and clenched her pillow. Shea thought that the big girl could tear the downy cushion in half about now. Her pinkish red areolas stretched into ellipses, and her pliant tits spilled to the sides of her torso. Martin stopped fingering long enough to pull off Gaylee's tight black panties; she guessed Gaylee would sport a black bra too if it wouldn't have shown through the white blouse. The customer's pussy was blonde and pink and irresistible. Unfortuately Shea had to rush this delicious moment more than she would have liked. Directly she went at lips and clit with her active tongue. Gaylee began a staccato set of "oh"s that rose steadily in volume and pitch. Shea's wind burned cheeks were soothed by the cool touch of Gaylee's opened thighs. Using both the flat of her tongue as well as the tip S. Martin licked and lapped the moist pink. She sucked at the juiciness of Gaylee's golden muff. Stealing a glance over glistening curls, tensing tummy and quivering breasts Shea watched Gaylee's straining biceps and flaring nostrils. She was reaching climax. Shea suppressed her own longings for the trailer girl's pouty lips and expertly flicked her tongue right... there. Sealed and delivered. Shea worried about the other residents hearing the cries from the "modular home," but she was too late to stop the wails now. Gaylee curled into her writhing ecstasy, and after a few moments she reached out for the letter carrier. S. Martin had to hurry back to the truck. "I have to go," she apologized. Shea would clean up when she got to the Jeep. "Come back," Gaylee entreated. "I have to," Martin replied with a little grin, "This is my new route." The cool breeze felt good now as she hurried to the truck then sped out of the driveway to the few remaining stops. Gaylee was sneaking a bite of crème horn by the ovens when someone rang the counter bell. "Shit," she said as she wiped her mouth. The tissue had lipstick on it too. The damned infomercial had lied. So much for celebrity endorsed cosmetics. Two cops were waiting to be served. They already had cups of coffee; would it be doughnuts? The burly one did indeed pick out a couple of doughnuts. The other cop ("O'Byrne" read the silver name tag) made a closer inspection of the selections. This officer's uniform was impeccable - even the handcuffs were polished. Her dark green eyes turned to Gaylee. "A crème puff, please." End of "Drop Off" By Kwikee (speedoe@usa.net) ____________________________________________________________________ Get free e-mail and a permanent address at http://www.netaddress.com/?N=1 -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----