The Neighbor Asked for Delivery Something That Wasn’t on the Menu

Aunt Charo was stirring the coffee in the kitchen while, from the back bedroom, she could hear her niece’s moans and her husband’s heavy breathing. She had spent years pretending she heard nothing, even though the walls of that apartment never forgave a single sound.

—Like that, uncle, don’t stop —Lorena, the blonde, panted, her face buried in the pillow.

Andrés had her on all fours on the bed, holding her by the ponytail with one hand and smacking her ass with the other. The bed banged against the wall with every thrust, and her body swayed back and forth as if it weighed nothing.

—Empty yourself inside me —she asked, turning her face to look him in the eye—. I want to feel it.

Andrés clenched his teeth, gave her one last slap, and came with spasms, buried to the hilt. When he was done, Lorena turned around and cleaned him slowly, unhurriedly, enjoying what for anyone else would have been a punishment and for her was a reward. That was her nature, and she wasn’t ashamed of it.

—Here, go on —Charo said, appearing in the doorway with a tired smile—. I know full well how filthy you are.

Lorena laughed without letting go of her uncle. The three of them knew each other too well to hide anything from one another.

—Leave the man alone; he’s got a neighbors’ meeting —the aunt added, and went back to the kitchen.

***

Half an hour later, Lorena stepped out of the elevator and had to ask permission to cross the entryway, where a handful of neighbors were beginning to set out chairs for the damn meeting. She cursed inwardly whoever had chosen that afternoon to get together. They had ruined her plans, and she went out into the street still hot, not really knowing where to go.

Her steps carried her, almost without thinking, to the pizza place on the corner. She stood there looking at the window display.

Outside, a kid with the air of a cocky guy was waiting, perched on his delivery scooter. Inside, another, even better-looking one was waiting behind the counter for a customer to walk in. In the kitchen, though she couldn’t see them, she knew there was the fat cook and his helper. And every now and then the owner would appear, an older Italian who more than once had looked at her with the eyes of a dirty old man while she played along.

—What’s up, gorgeous? Hungry? —asked the one on the scooter.

—Later —she replied in a good-girl voice—. Though I could go for some pizza.

—We’ve got meat on the counter —he shot back, and they both burst out laughing.

—Well, look at that, that wouldn’t be bad —Lorena said, lowering her voice—. I’m so fucking horny it’s not even funny.

—When I’m done I’ll shower and come by wherever you say.

—No showers —she cut in—. I’ll call you at the last minute, you’ll take the order and all of you come up. Just as you are, sweaty from work. I’ve got very special tastes, so let me know if you’re really into filthy stuff. If not, I’ll call someone else.

The kid understood perfectly, squeezed the bulge in his pants, and promised he’d bring plenty of meat. Before leaving, Lorena stepped closer, slipped her hand over the fabric, and her tongue down his throat. Then she went off for a walk to kill time.

***

Inside the pizzeria, the fat cook, Quique, was wiping his hands on his tank top.

—Last one out today. I’m fucking fed up —he grumbled.

—What if that blonde girl Kevin says calls? —asked Iván, the helper.

—Those women don’t exist. He’ll have gotten the kid worked up and then she’ll blow him off —Quique replied.

He was about to head into the shower in the tiny locker room when the phone rang. Rubén, the handsome waiter whom everyone suspected was involved with the owner, picked it up. He had the reflex to put it on speaker, and Lorena’s voice filled the whole place, shameless and brazen, making it clear what she wanted and how many she wanted it from.

Just then someone turned the key from outside: the owner, Don Aldo, who came in asking for “that little brat.” When he learned she was on the phone, he smiled crookedly and took over himself.

—Relax, beautiful. Special order for you. We’ll pass you on to take down the address now.

—Don Aldo? What a surprise —the blonde purred when she recognized the old man’s voice.

***

Lorena was waiting for them with the heat cranked up. She wanted them to arrive sweating, stinking, none of them having washed. She wore only a loose white T-shirt that let her breasts sway with every step. She was tying her hair back into a ponytail when the intercom buzzed.

—Your order —said Kevin, the one on the scooter.

She opened the door without answering. The wait for them to come up felt endless. Don Aldo, Quique, and Rubén took the elevator; Kevin and Iván flew up the stairs and were the first to arrive. Each was carrying a family-size pizza box. She greeted them with a French kiss each and dragged them to the center of the living room, leaving the door ajar for the others.

The two young men were attacked before they could set the boxes down. Lorena grabbed them by the waist and devoured both their mouths at once, alternating, until a string of saliva hung from all three mouths. Outside, the elevator was heard and the commotion of the other three coming in: first the old man, then the fat one, and Rubén closing the door.

Don Aldo stood there enjoying the scene. The sofa was against one wall, the table against the opposite one, and in the middle an old mattress that had already survived more than one night like that. Standing up, Lorena with her T-shirt rolled up and her breasts out: one sucked deep by Kevin, the other kneaded by Iván. Her nipples were hard as stones, her eyes closed, and her mouth half open.

—Dicks out —the old man ordered as he began to take off his shirt.

Rubén hurried over to help him undress, but Don Aldo, hot as a kid, barely let him: he found his tongue and held him against his body. Quique was the only one who took it slow. By then Lorena was completely naked and the guys had their pants around their ankles, showing two good bulges that she was rubbing over their underwear.

—Look, blonde —the cook said, opening the steaming boxes—. Carbonara for us. And this margherita, for you.

—Margherita? Just cheese and tomato? —she protested, amused.

—Relax, we’ll do the filling ourselves —Quique shot back, and they all burst out laughing.

—You bastards. You know damn well what I’m into —Lorena answered.

***

She already had five different cocks in front of her face. Iván’s and Kevin’s were long and slim, almost identical, distinguishable only by the darker tone of the second boy’s skin. Rubén’s, just as long but thicker, was the one the old man was swallowing whole while sitting on the edge of the sofa. Quique’s, shorter but broad as a tumbler glass, was veined all over. And Don Aldo’s, small, made up for in other ways what it lacked in size.

The only thing all of them had in common was the smell. Sweaty after a whole day of work, with not a single shower in between, exactly as she had asked.

Lorena sat next to the old man, snatched Rubén’s cock away, spat on it, and swallowed it in one go. Then she made out with Don Aldo and gave it back to him so he could keep sucking. She beckoned the boys over and they planted themselves in front of her, jerking their cocks over her face while she moved from one to another. Tears rolled down her cheeks, not from sadness, but from the effort of swallowing so often, and a river of drool ran down her chin to soak her breasts.

—A little beer, you slut —Quique said with his mouth full of pizza, and went to the fridge for a handful of bottles, which he set down clinking on the table.

Don Aldo had the waiter trapped by the ass, his face pressed to the young man’s belly and his mouth full of his flesh. Beside him, Lorena alternated gagging and drooling without letting go of a single cock. The fat one moved the boys aside.

—Let me have a taste of the blonde.

He stood in front of her, who left the sofa and began licking his chest, his nipples, and from there moved down to his sweat-soaked armpits while she groped his ass and dug her nails in. The cook’s thick cock swayed hard, dripping a thick strand.

***

When Quique grabbed her head with both hands and started fucking her mouth, the change in thickness took its toll right away. Between the man’s roughness and the depth, the gagging came. The boys, not stopping their handjobs so as not to lose their hardness, splattered the margherita pizza waiting on the table with saliva.

—Goddd, that’s so good, bastard —she shouted between thrusts, not moving away for a second.

The cook lifted Lorena by tugging her ponytail. Iván lay back on the mattress, cock pointing at the ceiling, and she let herself drop onto him, taking it all in one go as she sat down. Kevin crouched to fuck her from behind, but Quique stopped him from the sofa.

—The two of you go in front. I’m keeping the ass.

The two young men filled her at the same time while the fat one got ready. Lorena moaned with her head thrown back, held up between the two bodies, until Quique pushed them aside to take their place. He lay down on the mattress and she straddled him, opening up little by little to fit that thick cock into her from behind. When he reached the bottom, he started a brutal pounding: it was impossible to tell whether he was putting in more effort, feet braced against the mattress, or she was letting herself fall with all her weight.

—Come and bathe me in it, you pig —the fat man panted.

And she, rubbing her clit with a frantic hand, finished with a long scream, soaking the cook’s chest while he emptied himself inside her amid curses. Beside them, Rubén was pounding Don Aldo, who moaned on his knees on the sofa, until several spurts came out and wrung a growl of pure pleasure from the old man.

***

When everyone was exhausted, the final fireworks began. Iván and Kevin, standing up, jerked off over Lorena’s pizza, drenching it with two nearly transparent streams that crossed the entire dough because they were so young. Rubén filled one of the empty bottles, and she drank it in one gulp before letting out a loud burp and laughing.

Don Aldo, still hard, let her do what she wanted while she slipped her fingers in his ass and licked his small cock, alternating with kisses for the old man. He ended up convulsing, spilling himself in four short, thick spurts of a murky yellow that stuck to the glans.

—That’s how I like it —murmured Lorena, licking her lips, out of control.

The cook was the first to get dressed.

—I’m leaving you dessert, slut —he said, and held out a glass bowl that she accepted with shining eyes, as if he were handing her a trophy.

One by one the cocks slipped away and the clothes were gathered up. Lorena didn’t wait for them to close the door. She lunged at her soaked pizza and ate it with her hands, between gagging and pleasure, until the box was spotless. Then she took care of the bowl.

With her feet in a puddle, her breasts sticky, her whole body a mess and her hair wet, she heard a knock at the door. It wasn’t unusual; many afternoons some neighbor would ring the wrong apartment. She usually stayed still, silent, waiting for the visitor to get bored and leave.

But this time it was different.

—Open up, Lorena. It’s me. It’s Mom…