The Handjob with the Deliveryman Who Came Back to My Door

That Saturday I woke up alone at home, with that strange silence a house has when the other person has gone away for the whole weekend. I had no plans, wasn't expecting anyone, and wasn't planning on getting dressed anytime soon. I got up with my cock hard, one of those heavy erections that already set the tone for the day before your feet have even properly hit the floor.

I went straight to the living room, dragging my laptop and a bottle of water along with me, like someone preparing a private ceremony. I connected the computer to the television, lowered the blinds halfway, and dropped onto the sofa completely naked. I searched for trans porn, which had always turned me on like crazy, and within a few minutes I was already slowly stroking my cock, enjoying the warmth of my hand and the freedom of not having to hide from anyone.

I like to draw out my wanks. Not to cum quickly, but to let the arousal rise and fall, watch, change videos, squeeze harder, slow down, start again. I had already been at it for quite a while, with the tip glistening, my balls tight, and my breathing getting heavier and heavier, when the intercom rang.

I stayed still for a few seconds, my hand still wrapped around my cock.

“Who is it?” I asked, without taking my eyes off the screen.

“I have a package for the lady of the house.”

My partner hadn't mentioned anything to me, but it didn't matter. Some order of hers, nothing more. The sensible thing would have been to at least put on a pair of shorts, get my erection down, and answer the door like a normal person. Instead, I leaned out the window overlooking the inner courtyard to see who was coming up.

He was a man in his late thirties, dark-haired, with a short beard, broad shoulders beneath his uniform, and a way of walking that caught my attention instantly. He wasn't some magazine model, and that was precisely what turned me on even more: he looked like a real man, a body that had been used, a close, palpable heat. I was already insanely horny, my hand back on my cock, and suddenly an absurd, filthy idea crossed my mind that made me even harder.

Open the door naked.

When the intercom rang again so I could let him into the building, I did it without hesitation. My heart was already racing. I stood behind my front door completely naked, my cock stiff and pointing upward, and while I listened to the elevator coming up, I slowly jerked myself off, more from nerves than pleasure. Every second seemed like an even crazier idea, but that was exactly why I couldn't back out.

I heard the elevator doors open. I looked through the peephole. I saw him come out with the package tucked under one arm, walk over, and press the bell. Then I took a deep breath and opened the door.

His face was a perfect mixture of shock and repressed desire. First he looked me in the eyes, then his gaze dropped helplessly and he froze, staring at my hard cock.

“Fuck...” he blurted.

I don't even know where I found the nerve to say what came next.

“If you want, come in and watch me cum.”

The man took a small step backward, as if the landing had suddenly become too narrow.

“No... no, sorry. Here, take the package.”

He handed it to me with nervous hands and pressed the elevator button almost immediately. All at once, I felt the embarrassment rising up the back of my neck.

“I'm really sorry. I lost my head,” I told him.

He didn't answer. He stepped into the elevator, avoided looking at me, and disappeared when the doors closed.

I shut the front door and leaned against it, still naked, still hard, but now with a mixture of lust and ridiculousness that left my mouth dry. I went into the kitchen to drink some water and silently curse myself. You're a fucking mess. Who does something like that?

I went back to the living room convinced that what had happened would remain a humiliating anecdote. Two perfect bodies were still fucking on the screen, but I couldn't concentrate anymore. My mind was on the landing, on the deliveryman's face, on that “fuck” that had sounded far too sincere.

Then the doorbell rang.

My stomach went cold and, at the same time, my cock got even harder. I went to look through the peephole. It was him.

I opened the door.

This time he didn't look away from my naked body. In fact, he allowed himself to look me over from head to toe before speaking.

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, of course.”

He came in quickly. I closed the door, and for a moment we both stood still in the entryway, breathing heavily, as if we'd already done something serious just by being there.

“Sorry about before,” I said.

He shook his head.

“I didn't come back for your apology. You caught me completely off guard. But when I went down in the elevator, I couldn't stop thinking about your cock. And that maybe, if I didn't come back, I'd regret it all day.”

I felt a hot jolt in my stomach.

“Let's go to the living room,” I said.

We went in. The trans porn was still playing on the television, moans filling the room. The deliveryman looked at the screen, then at me, and smiled with a mixture of nerves and relief.

“So that's what you're into.”

“Yes. Very much.”

“It turns me on too,” he admitted. “I never say it out loud.”

His confession eased the strange tension a little and turned it into something else: complicity. He was still dressed in his uniform, with his van waiting downstairs and one fewer package on his route, but he was already there in my living room, swallowing hard while I remained naked in front of him.

“I don't have much time,” he said. “But I didn't come up here to talk.”

“Then why did you come up?”

His gaze went back to my cock.

“To see it up close. To touch it, if you'll let me. And to cum with you.”

He said it so directly that a shiver ran through me. There was no need to pretend to be delicate. We were both there for the same reason.

“Let me see yours first.”

He undid his pants without taking his eyes off me. He lowered the zipper, pushed down his uniform and then his underwear. He pulled out an already-hard cock, a little shorter than mine, thick at the base, its tense, shiny head glistening. He gripped it with one hand and began jerking it in short strokes, still timidly.

“Fuck,” I murmured. “You came back really horny.”

“You have no idea how horny. I was already squeezing it against my pants in the elevator.”

I moved closer and held my cock level with his. Seeing them side by side turned me on even more. Two adult men in the middle of some ordinary living room on some ordinary Saturday, jerking off like animals out of sheer lust. There was no romance, no beating around the bush. Just desire, urgency, and that delicious filthiness of doing it with a stranger.

“Touch me,” I told him.

He hesitated for a second.

“Seriously?”

“Of course.”

He let go of his cock and closed his hand around mine. His touch was clumsier than I'd expected, but that very clumsiness turned me on. It wasn't a rehearsed gesture; it was the hand of a man who had wanted to do this for a long time and hadn't dared. He stroked me from top to bottom, softly at first, then with more confidence, feeling the thickness, the heat, the full hardness.

“This is the first time I've touched another one,” he confessed. “Another cock, I mean.”

“Well, you're not doing badly for your first time.”

“I'm scared shitless and horny at the same time.”

“Impossible to beat that combination.”

I took hold of his cock. He gave a little start when he felt my hand wrap around his shaft. I started slowly, setting the rhythm, stroking the head with my thumb before moving down to the base and coming back up. His breath caught.

“Holy shit...” he said, his voice breaking. “Fuck, I really didn't expect that.”

“Do you like it?”

“Very much.”

I looked him in the eyes while I kept jerking him off. I wanted to see exactly how far his desire went in his face. He didn't look away. I liked that even more.

“If you want to cum really quickly, keep using your hand,” I told him. “But if you want this to be worth it, do something else.”

He swallowed.

“Like what?”

I brought my cock toward his mouth. I didn't force him. I simply held it there, a few inches from his lips, inviting him.

“Like sucking it.”

He remained motionless for two seconds, breathing over the head. Then he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, giving the tip a clumsy but very wet lick. My knees nearly buckled. He ran his tongue around the head again and then took the tip into his mouth, sucking with restrained hunger, as if he'd been imagining it for years.

“That's it,” I moaned. “Fuck, don't stop.”

He knelt in front of me with his pants around mid-thigh and really started sucking me off. There was no shyness in his movements anymore, or at least he was using it to his advantage. He held my cock with one hand while his mouth moved up and down, coating it with more and more saliva. He had no expert technique, but he had enthusiasm, and that was obvious in the eager way he swallowed my head, in the little moans that escaped him with my cock between his lips.

I stroked his hair, then grabbed the back of his neck, not to dominate him but to set the pace. He let himself be guided without resistance, his eyes half closed. When I squeezed a little and pushed my cock farther in, his throat tightened and he made a hoarse sound that drove me crazy.

“Shit, you suck so well for your first time.”

He pulled his mouth away just enough to speak, panting.

“I've been imagining this for years. I just never thought I'd do it during a delivery.”

I answered by gently pulling him upward. I wanted to kiss him. We looked at each other from only a few inches away, both breathing fast, and then I kissed him, with saliva, with the taste of my cock still on his lips. He kissed me back with an urgency that left no doubt. I slipped my tongue into his mouth while taking hold of his cock again.

“Show me how you like it,” I told him.

At last he pulled his pants all the way down to mid-thigh and began masturbating in front of me while I did the same with mine. We kissed now and then, pulling apart to watch our hands move, to see our bodies tense. The television continued in the background, but we could barely hear it anymore.

“I want to try something,” he murmured.

He sat on the edge of the sofa and gestured for me to come closer. He put my cock back in his mouth and, at the same time, started jerking himself off. Seeing him like that, sucking me while wanking his own cock with his hand, seemed brutal to me. I looked down and saw his hand moving quickly up and down, already wet with pre-cum, while my cock slid in and out of his mouth with more and more saliva.

I put two fingers beneath his chin and he lifted his face. His mouth was glistening.

“I want to suck you too.”

He pulled away, surprised and aroused at the same time. I knelt in front of him and first licked the head slowly, noticing how he shuddered. He let out an open moan, no longer holding himself back. I ran my tongue along the shaft, sucked the tip, and then took it into my mouth in one quick movement, drawing a loud, almost disbelieving “fuck” from him.

He grabbed my shoulder to keep his balance. I sucked him with a firm, wet rhythm, swallowing as much as I could and using my hand at the base to complete each downward stroke. He tasted of hot skin and nerves. I felt his cock grow even harder inside my mouth.

“I can't believe this is happening to me,” he said between gasps.

I pulled my mouth away just enough to answer:

“Then believe it and enjoy it.”

I sucked his balls for a moment, returned to the head, and lingered there, licking it slowly until I made him writhe. When I looked up, I saw him with his head thrown back, one hand gripping the sofa and the other squeezing his own thigh so he wouldn't come too soon.

I came back up and sat beside him. Both of us were breathing raggedly. We masturbated facing each other for a few seconds, looking at one another without speaking. The scene was obscene and simple, exactly as it should have been.

“I want us to cum together,” he said.

“We can do something better than each of us doing it alone.”

I took his hand and placed it on my cock. I closed my own hand around his. We started jerking each other off in sync. The sensation was different from doing it yourself: someone else's rhythm, the imperfect pressure, the focus on the other person's body. All of it brought me immediately to a much higher level of arousal.

“Harder,” he asked.

I obeyed. I pumped his cock firmly, twisting my wrist slightly on the upward stroke. He did the same to me and I had to grit my teeth. The living room filled with the wet sound of hands working, our quickening breaths, and fragments of increasingly filthy words.

“That's it... yes... fuck, just like that.”

“Don't stop.”

“What a fucking cock you have.”

“And you're burning up, you bastard.”

I leaned in to kiss him again without stopping my hand. Our foreheads bumped for a moment. I bit his lower lip and felt his whole body tense.

“Are you close?”

“Very,” he said. “If you keep doing that, I'll come right now.”

“Hold on a little longer.”

I let go of his cock and stood up. He looked at me in confusion until he understood what I wanted when I moved closer and brought the head of my cock back level with his mouth.

“Suck me while I jerk you off. We'll come like that.”

He opened his mouth without arguing. I put my cock in and resumed the rhythm with my hand. Now he was moaning for real, his mouth occupied, saliva running down his chin, his cock throbbing in my hand. Every time I sped up a little, he swallowed me deeper. Every time he squeezed me with his lips, I answered by tightening my hand around his shaft.

“Mmm... fuck...” he managed to say, pulling away for a second to breathe. “I'm going to come.”

“Then come.”

He put me back in his mouth and I sped up. I felt his thighs stiffen, his abdomen contract, his cock twitching in my hand. A second later he came. His cum spurted out in hot, thick pulses, staining his hand and part of his stomach. His whole body shuddered while he kept sucking me, disordered and unable to control anything.

Watching him come like that finished me off. I pulled out of his mouth in time, gripped my cock tightly, and jerked myself hard three times. I came immediately, with a rough moan, shooting my cum onto the floor and part of the edge of the sofa. It was a long, tense orgasm, the kind that leaves your legs empty. He looked up at me from below, still panting, and the sight made me release a little more.

We stayed still for a few seconds, breathing as if we'd run up several flights of stairs. The television was still on, absurd now, completely irrelevant beside what had just happened in my own living room.

He was the first to laugh, softly, incredulously.

“Not even in my filthiest fantasies.”

“Mine didn't usually include express delivery either,” I replied.

I brought him some paper towels from the side table and we started cleaning ourselves. He did it with clumsy movements, still trembling a little from the release. Seeing him like that, freshly come, with his uniform disheveled and his face flushed, still made me want to keep going. But his phone vibrated, and reality came rushing back.

He looked at the screen and swore under his breath.

“I have to go now. Otherwise they'll call me.”

I nodded. It was a shame, but there was also something arousing about the fact that everything had been so hurried, so stolen from the day. He pulled up his underwear, adjusted his pants, and finished straightening his clothes. I remained naked, watching him with an animal satisfaction I made no attempt to hide.

“Do you regret it?” I asked.

He held my gaze while putting away his phone.

“Not one bit. I regretted it more when I was leaving without coming back.”

“Then let's not leave it as a one-time thing.”

He thought for a moment. Then he smiled, less nervous now.

“Do you have an app? Something discreet.”

I told him which one I used to talk without arousing suspicion at home. He took out his phone, we added each other right there, and checked that the contact appeared. Seeing his name on my screen after having had his cock in my mouth and in my hand sent a second wave of lust through me.

Before leaving, he came over to me once more, his composure half restored. I thought he'd shake my hand or offer an awkward goodbye. Instead, he kissed me. A short, firm kiss, not romantic at all and very clear in its intention.

“Next time,” he said, “I won't be in such a hurry.”

“Next time,” I replied, “I won't open the door to you on the landing. I'll let you in from the start.”

He laughed, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway with his professional demeanor only half put back together. I waited until I heard the elevator before closing the door. Then I went back to the living room and saw the splattered floor, the stained sofa, and the porn still playing on the big screen as if nothing had happened.

I dropped into a seat, exhausted and satisfied, and looked at the mess with a stupid grin. I'd started the morning wanting a long wank alone, and ended it sharing an orgasm with a man I hadn't known an hour earlier. Sometimes a fantasy doesn't give you any warning; it just rings the bell, rides up in the elevator, and, if you're bold enough to open the door naked, ends up coming back to your door.