The Flower Delivery Guy Stayed a Little Too Long

Lorena was forty-five years old and had been married for twenty-one to a man who had stopped looking at her long before he stopped touching her. Their anniversary fell that same week, and Andrés hadn’t even mentioned it at breakfast. She did remember. She remembered it in her body, in that part of her that was still lit up even though no one bothered looking for her anymore.

The years hadn’t dimmed her; they had made her denser. She had large, natural breasts, a waist still defined over hips that moved on their own, and a round ass that filled out any dress and made people turn their heads in the street. That afternoon, sick of waiting for a gesture that would never come, she ordered flowers online. She would send them to herself, just to pretend for a while that someone was celebrating her.

The doorbell rang at seven, with the sun still high and the July air heavy. Lorena had put on a short white cotton dress, thin, with nothing underneath. The heat justifies everything, she told herself, though she knew she was lying. She opened the door and forgot about the anniversary, the husband, and the flowers.

The delivery guy was barely a kid. Twenty-one at most, tall, dark-skinned, shining with sweat under his tight uniform. He had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, arms marked from hauling boxes all day, and a shy smile that didn’t fit his body at all. The bouquet of red roses looked small in his hands.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Delivery for Lorena Vargas,” he said with a soft Colombian accent, drawing out the words, his voice polite and a little nervous.

She ran her eyes over him from head to toe without bothering to hide it, and felt an immediate tug between her legs.

“What a handsome delivery guy they sent me today. Come in, go on, don’t just stand there carrying that around.”

The boy glanced toward the street, hesitating, as if he expected someone to see him.

“I don’t know... I’m on shift. I just have to deliver it and get your signature.”

“Call me Lorena. And come in for a moment, I’ll give you your tip and a glass of cold water. You’re drenched, poor thing. I don’t bite... unless you ask me to.”

He swallowed. His eyes flicked to her neckline for a second and then back down to the floor, his dark cheeks flushed. He came in slowly, closed the door, and stood in the living room, gripping the strap of his backpack as if it were the only solid thing in the room.

Lorena signed the delivery slip, set the bouquet on the table, and went to the kitchen. She came back with two tall glasses of iced water with lemon, sat very close to him on the sofa, and crossed her legs so the dress rode up and exposed her thigh. The boy sat on the edge, rigid, knees together, eyes fixed on the glass.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Joel.”

“Do you have a girlfriend, Joel?”

“Yes. Eight months,” he answered softly, without lifting his face.

Lorena smiled slowly. She put her hand on his knee and began to slide it up his thigh.

“She’s lucky. But tell me something... does your girlfriend kiss you like this?”

She leaned in and kissed his neck, breathing in the salt of his skin after a whole day on the motorbike. Joel tensed completely, a short gasp escaping his throat, and he pulled his body back.

“Lorena... no... I have a girlfriend, I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or don’t want to?” she whispered against his skin, and kissed him again, slower this time.

The boy closed his eyes, breathing fast, fists clenched on his thighs.

“It’s not right... my girlfriend...”

She opened the first button of his shirt and stroked his firm dark chest.

“And this? Does your girlfriend let you open your shirt like that, without saying anything?”

Joel shook his head, but he didn’t push her away. His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling.

“No... she’s more shy.”

Lorena kept going down, button by button, until she reached the belt.

“And does she let you do this? Let me pull your pants down without asking?”

She pulled down his pants and underwear in one smooth tug. His cock sprang free, thick and long, the skin dark and the head glossy. Joel moaned when the cool air hit him, his hips thrusting forward on their own, but he immediately tried to cover himself with his hands.

“Lorena, please... I have a girlfriend... this isn’t...”

She gently moved his hands aside without allowing any argument, wrapped her hand around his cock, and began to stroke him slowly.

“Does your girlfriend suck you like this, looking you in the eye?”

She knelt between his legs. Her flat tongue traced the full length, her lips closing over the head in wet circles, her mouth taking him deep and coming back up in a steady rhythm. Joel threw his head back against the sofa and let out a long moan, gripping the leather so hard his knuckles went white. He was still trying to resist, murmuring through clenched teeth.

“No... I shouldn’t... my girlfriend... fuck...”

But his body betrayed him: his hips pushed into her mouth and his cock throbbed harder with every suck.

Lorena moved down to his balls, full and heavy, and sucked them one by one with noisy slurps. The boy trembled all over, his legs parting by instinct, a “oh, God” slipping out of him even as he kept repeating that she should stop, that he couldn’t do this to her.

Then she lifted his legs and rested them on her shoulders, leaving him completely exposed.

“Has your girlfriend ever eaten your ass?”

“No... never... she says it’s dirty. Please, Lorena...” His voice shook, but his eyes didn’t look away, full of desire and guilt in equal measure.

“Well, I have. Want to know what it feels like?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t close his legs either. Lorena kissed around it, her flat tongue tracing the sensitive skin, and Joel panted hard, his body jerking as if a current had gone through him. Then she pressed the tip to the opening and licked in slow circles, soaking him with saliva. The boy let out a deep moan, his hips lifting on their own, his mouth half open in a “fuck... no... yes...” that no longer knew one thing from the other.

She worked her tongue inside little by little, going in and out, while one hand stroked his cock with long, firm strokes and the other massaged his balls. Joel shook nonstop, moaning without pause.

“Does your girlfriend do this to you? Does she put her tongue inside you while she jerks you off?”

“No... never... please, don’t stop,” he begged at last, his voice broken, his hips thrusting toward her mouth, all resistance shattered.

Lorena drew it out for several more minutes, enjoying every reaction: how the “no” turned into “yes,” how he pushed harder, how his cock throbbed without anyone touching it. Only when she saw him on the edge did she stop, looked at him with blazing eyes, and spoke very close to his mouth.

“Let’s go to the bedroom. I want to see if you can do these things too.”

***

She led him by the hand to the master bedroom. Big bed, white sheets, the afternoon light slipping in through the curtains and, on the nightstand, a photo of Andrés smiling on some trip she no longer even remembered. She pulled off the dress in one single motion and stood naked in front of the boy: her breasts swaying freely, dark hard nipples, shaved wet pussy, round ass asking for trouble.

She lay on top of him the other way around, her sex over his mouth, Joel’s face right beneath her cheeks.

“Does your girlfriend let you lick her like this? Taste me.”

The boy started out shyly, his tongue going in and out, exploring the folds, sucking the clit with more confidence as she moaned over his cock. Every lick drew a deeper sound from Lorena, and his hands on her thighs trembled with pure excitement.

She leaned farther and spread her ass cheeks with her hands.

“And this? Does she let you put your tongue in her ass?”

Joel obeyed: timid kisses first, then his tongue tracing the rim. Lorena pushed back, moaning.

“Harder. Put it in... yes, like that. Does your girlfriend let you do this?”

The boy surrendered completely. His tongue went in and out in rhythm and his fingers searched for the exact spot inside her. Lorena came hard, her whole body shaking, shouting a name that wasn’t her husband’s while her breasts bounced against his stomach.

Without letting him catch his breath, she turned around, looked at him with her face still shining, and asked:

“Does your girlfriend let you fuck her ass?”

“No... she’s never even let me try,” he admitted, his voice rough, his eyes glassy.

“Well, I do. I want you to do it to me. Slowly at first, and then however you want.”

She took the lubricant from the nightstand and spread it well, over herself and over the boy’s long, thick cock. She got on all fours, her ass up high, cheeks parted with her hands, looking straight at Andrés’s photo.

“Come on. Go in slowly. I want to feel every inch.”

Joel positioned himself behind her, the head of his cock pressing at the entrance. Lorena took a deep breath and pushed back. The tip slipped in with a small pop, hot and tight. The boy gasped at the tightness, eyes squeezed shut.

“More. Put it all in, little by little,” she ordered, pushing back.

Centimeter by centimeter, all the way in. Joel froze for a moment, breathing hard, feeling how she clenched around him like a hot glove. Then he started to move, slow and deep, with long thrusts that made her moan uncontrollably.

“Does your girlfriend let you fuck her like this? Deep and slow?”

“No... never,” he panted, his hips growing more confident by the second.

“Well, I do. Now faster... grab my hips... fuck me hard, Joel.”

The boy obeyed, thrusting with increasing force, his hands planted into her hips, sweat dripping from his chest onto her back. They changed positions several times so it wouldn’t end. Lorena rode him, controlling the depth herself, bouncing with her breasts loose and her hands braced on the boy’s torso. Then sideways, him hugging her from behind, one hand between her legs while he took her deep and steady. And again on all fours, the slaps on her ass echoing through the room.

It lasted much longer than either of them expected: moans filling the house, their bodies colliding wetly, the air heavy with sweat and desire. Lorena came apart several times, clenching around him, shouting that borrowed name over and over.

“Come inside, Joel. Fill me while I think about my husband.”

The boy couldn’t hold on any longer. He drove in deep a few more times, let out a low groan, and emptied into her in hot spurts, his whole body trembling, until the semen began to overflow and slide down her thighs.

They collapsed onto the bed, breathless, their bodies stuck together with sweat. Lorena felt that heat inside her and a deliciously forbidden sensation that no one had given her in ages.

She turned, kissed him slowly on the lips, and stroked his still-racing cheek.

“Your girlfriend has no idea what she’s missing, kid.”

Joel dressed in silence, picked up his backpack, and suddenly became the shy boy from the doorbell again. At the door he stopped for a second, as if he wanted to say something and couldn’t find the words. Lorena slipped the tip into his shirt pocket, gave him one last kiss at the corner of his mouth, and let him go.

She closed the door, leaned back against the wood, and looked at the bouquet of roses still untouched on the table. For the first time in years, she didn’t feel forgotten. She felt celebrated. And above all, she felt very far from being over.