What Happened in the Stockroom with the Delivery Boy
Carla was thirty-one, and the routine weighed on her like a wet coat. Every morning she dropped her son off at school, walked back, and lifted the shutter of her little clothing shop. It was the only thing she had left after the divorce, and the child support the boy’s father paid wasn’t enough to cover even half the bills.
The business devoured her time. Open, sweep, serve customers, straighten the stockroom, close. She had no hours left to go out, no desire, and no one to go out with. Since she’d separated, her sex life was practically a memory: a glass of wine on Fridays, a video on the bedroom TV, and her own fingers buried in her cunt until she made herself come in silence so as not to wake the kid. Nothing else. And though she told herself she was fine like that, there were mornings when her body demanded a real cock, something hot to open her up and fill her.
That Friday she woke without her usual rush. The boy didn’t have classes, and his father was coming by to pick him up for the weekend. Carla packed him a small backpack, hugged him at the door, and when her ex’s car pulled away at exactly ten, she was left alone with the shop and with a silence that suddenly felt far too big.
She put on music, attended to the first customers, and let the morning roll by. But between one sale and the next, an old conversation with her friends came back to her. One of them, laughing, had once told her the solution was simple: seduce some customer who walked in looking good and take him into the stockroom. A quick fuck, no names, no strings. A good pounding against the boxes and on to the next thing.
The memory warmed the back of her neck. Three years, she thought. Three years without anyone fucking me properly. I’ve got every right in the world to get laid.
Before she could change her mind, she locked the glass door and hung up a sign that read «back in ten minutes.» She went to the back, rummaged through the newly arrived boxes, and pulled out a sparkly lace top and a tight pair of pants. “I’ll just take it out of the profits,” she told herself, biting back a smile.
She took off her blouse and bra and put on the top, which left her stomach bare and made her hard nipples stand out against the lace. She swapped the skirt for the pants, which molded to her legs and pushed up her ass until it split in two. She looked at herself in the stained stockroom mirror, fixed her hair, and went back to the counter with her heart beating a little faster and her cunt already throbbing between her legs. She took down the sign, opened up, and waited.
***
The hours passed and luck didn’t favor her. Older ladies came in, couples, the occasional teenage girl looking for something cheap. The few men who showed up were accompanied. By midafternoon, somewhat disappointed, she gathered her things, pulled down the shutter, stopped by the supermarket, and bought a few things and a bottle of wine.
At home she ate whatever, then went upstairs to her room with the bottle and a glass. She turned on the TV, connected her phone, and took advantage of the solitude to give herself a little attention. She poured a drink, found the right video—a blonde on her knees sucking two cocks at the same time—and stripped completely before lying back on the sheets.
She drank slowly, glass after glass, while two fingers sank into her cunt as she imagined the woman on the screen was herself, that it was her mouth open, receiving that thick cum on her tongue. With her other hand she squeezed her tits, tugged her nipples until it hurt. She shoved in three fingers, then four, and with her thumb she battered her clit in time with the thrusts in the video. It was a long, good night. She came three times, the last one with her hand soaked up to the wrist and a muffled cry pressed into the pillow. She was left exhausted, with the empty glass on the floor and a warm sensation that wouldn’t quite go away. She wiped herself with her own blouse and fell asleep naked, uncovered, with the smell of cunt still on her fingers.
***
The alarm went off on time. She got up with a mild headache, cheap-wine hangover, and stepped into the shower. Before turning on the water, she noticed her body was still lit up: hard nipples, skin more sensitive than usual, pussy lips swollen from all the touching. She slid a hand between her legs and was wet again, as if the night before had never ended. She turned the water on almost cold on purpose, as if she wanted to put out something that wouldn’t go out.
She got out, put on black panties that barely covered the slit of her cunt, tight blue pants, a dark bra, and a pink blouse with thin straps and a more daring neckline than she usually allowed herself, where the swell of her tits showed whenever she bent over. She ate breakfast quickly and went to the shop with that restlessness still lodged between her legs.
At eleven Doña Lucía arrived, the older woman who cooked for the stallholders in the arcade and sold them delivery meals. Carla placed her order for the day and the woman left. The shop was empty again, and the fantasy returned, insistent: for someone, anyone, to walk in with a good cock in his pants so she could fuck him right there, against the counter, tits out and cunt spread wide open. Without realizing it, she caught herself rubbing over her clothes, discreetly squeezing a breast whenever the doorbell didn’t ring. At one point she went into the bathroom, lowered her pants, shoved two fingers inside herself fast, biting her lip to keep from moaning, and came back out with her wet thong stuck to her cunt.
Close to one, she saw a familiar figure through the glass. It was Adrián, Doña Lucía’s eldest son, a boy of about twenty who helped his mother with deliveries. Shy, quiet, one of those who keeps his eyes on the ground. Carla smiled to herself. In her head she was already putting something together, though she supposed the boy had little or no experience. Better, she thought. I’ll teach him. I’ll make him try things his girlfriend never did.
A little later the bell rang and Adrián came in with the food bag.
“Hi, Carla, I brought today’s order,” he said, and his eyes went straight to her neckline.
“Thanks, leave it here,” she replied, pointing at the desk and bending on purpose so her tits were visible over the edge of her blouse.
Carla noticed perfectly how the boy’s gaze kept drifting back to her chest, and how he discreetly adjusted the front of his pants. He was getting hard right there in front of her, and that, instead of making her uncomfortable, shot her temperature up at once. She decided she wasn’t going to miss the chance again.
“Right, my mother stops by on Monday to collect,” he said, already backing toward the door.
“All right,” Carla answered. And then, with her pulse racing and a knot of anxiety in her throat, she added, “Hey, Adrián, can you help me carry down a few boxes? They’re heavy and I can’t do it alone.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“They’re in the stockroom. Tomorrow I’m restocking and I need to see what I’m missing.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
Carla locked the door, hung up the «closed» sign, and led him to the little room in back. She fetched a small stool and Adrián climbed up to lower the boxes she pointed out, one by one, until they were stacked on the floor. She stayed behind him, watching his ass, imagining what he had tucked between his legs.
When he finished, the boy turned his back to brush the dust off his clothes. Carla took a deep breath. She knew exactly what she was about to do and still her hands trembled a little. She inhaled again, stepped forward, and wrapped him around the waist with her right arm while her left hand went straight, no detours, to the bulge in his pants, already plainly outlined.
“And this… what’s this?” he asked, his voice breaking with nerves.
“Shhh,” she whispered against his nape. “Shut up and let me do it.”
She squeezed over the fabric and felt his cock pounding under her hand, hardening even more. Without letting him go, she unfastened his pants, lowered the zipper, and with one yank dragged his jeans and boxers down to his ankles. The boy’s cock sprang free, thicker than Carla had imagined, the head shiny and a drop of liquid already beading at the tip. A sigh escaped her against the boy’s shoulder. It had been three years since she’d had one this close.
Adrián stood still, holding his breath, while she ran the pad of her index finger along the entire length, from base to tip, measuring him, getting to know him. She collected that thick drop with her thumb and brought it to her mouth without taking her eyes off him over his shoulder.
“Delicious,” she murmured.
Carla closed her hand around the cock and started stroking him slowly, her palm tight, sliding up to cover the glans and down until her knuckles sank between his balls. The boy shuddered against her with every movement. She rested her chin on his shoulder to watch what she was doing, how the skin slid over the head and came back down, how she was leaving that shiny cock coated with her own spit.
“Relax,” she murmured. “Just let yourself go. I’ve got this.”
Adrián swallowed. Then he admitted, almost without meaning to, that his ex-girlfriend had sucked him off a couple of times but badly, in a hurry, and that no one had ever touched him like this with a hand. Carla smiled. With her free hand she grabbed his balls from underneath, weighed them, squeezed them gently, and kept working him with the other at the same pace. She licked his neck, bit his earlobe, spoke softly to him.
“You like the way I’m touching it? Tell me.”
“Yeah… yeah, I like it…”
“Hard, huh? You’re nice and hard for me.”
She tightened her fist a little more and sped up. Her hand made a wet, obscene sound against the boy’s cock, shuck, shuck, shuck, filling the little room. He held out as long as he could, which wasn’t long. A few seconds later he let out a rough groan and came with a shiver that raised goose bumps all over his skin, bracing one hand against the wall so he wouldn’t lose his balance. Carla felt him thicken in her hand an instant before the first jet, and she didn’t move away: she let the cum spatter over her fingers, over her wrist, over the floor of the stockroom. There were four or five thick, hot spurts, one after the other. She didn’t stop all at once: she loosened as she went down, tightened as she came back up, milking him to the end, wringing out the last drop until he was empty and panting.
She brought her semen-smeared hand to her mouth and licked the cum from her thumb calmly, looking him in the eyes.
“Delicious,” she repeated. “Very delicious.”
Adrián thought that was the end of it. He made the move to bend down and get his pants, but she caught his wrist.
“Not yet,” she said. “You’ve only just started.”
She turned him to face her. The boy’s cock was still hard, red, shining with his own cum. Carla knelt slowly in front of him on the cold tiles of the stockroom and looked up at him, lips parted.
“Look at me well. Never forget this.”
She grabbed his cock at the base and took it into her mouth in one motion, all the way down, until she felt the head bumping against her throat. Adrián groaned so loudly the echo bounced off the walls. She started sucking him with three years of pent-up hunger, moving her head up and down, smearing her lips with her own saliva, pulling off to lick him from the balls to the tip, to suck the glans with hollowed cheeks, and then swallowing him whole again. She held his balls in one hand and with the other squeezed his ass cheek, pulling him against her face.
“Put it in me,” she begged between sucks. “Move yourself. Fuck my mouth.”
The boy, clumsy, dazed, began to move his hips against Carla’s face. She opened wide, stuck out her tongue, and let him. His cock went in and out dripping, arching her cheeks, reaching her throat and making her gag, and that only made her hotter. Every time he shoved deep, a guttural noise escaped her, and her hand went on its own inside her pants, rubbing her cunt over the soaked thong.
“Carla… I’m gonna come again,” he panted.
She took him out of her mouth just in time, grabbed him with both hands, and jerked him fast, aiming herself, mouth open and tongue out. The second orgasm hit him harder than the first: the jets splattered her lips, her chin, her neck, one landed inside her mouth and another on her pink blouse. Carla didn’t close her eyes for a second. When he finished, she licked up what had landed on her lips, smiled, and wiped the rest with two fingers, which she then sucked one by one.
“So good,” she said. “You’ve got loads, huh?”
She stood up, her knees still red from the tile, pulled her pants down to her knees, and leaned back against the stockroom counter. Her thong had shifted to one side and her pussy was visible, pink, swollen, soaked.
“Your turn now,” she said. “Put your mouth here. Don’t be scared.”
Adrián, with his legs still weak, dropped to his knees in front of her. Carla spread her pussy lips with two fingers, guiding him.
“Stick out your tongue. Put it in. Then lick me right here, this little button.”
The boy started awkwardly, lapping everywhere, and she took his head and guided him with her hips, grinding herself against his face.
“There, like that… like that… don’t stop…”
The boy’s tongue went into her cunt, licked her clit, traced her lips. Carla threw her head back and began to moan without restraint. Three years. Three years without another mouth touching her. She grabbed his hair and pressed his face to her pussy, smothering him a little, and he kept sucking, learning fast. She squeezed her tits over the blouse, pinched her nipples through the fabric, and felt the wave rising from her feet. When she came, she came hard, with her legs trembling and a warm spurt splashing against the boy’s chin. She kept his head pressed to her cunt until her spasms stopped, until the tickling became too much and she pushed him back.
Adrián got to his feet with his face soaked, shiny, not quite understanding what had just happened. And his cock, again, was beginning to rise.
Carla saw it and gave a short laugh.
“You’re a machine, kid.”
She turned around, placed her hands on the counter, and stuck her ass out. She pulled her pants and thong down to her ankles and arched her back.
“Come on. Put it in. Now. I can’t take it anymore.”
The boy came over, took the cock in his hand, pressed it against her soaked slit, and pushed. It went in all at once, all the way, and they both moaned at the same time. Carla felt that hard cock parting her open from the inside after three years of emptiness, reaching places no finger ever reached. She pressed herself against him, moving her ass back to take him deeper.
“Fuck me,” she begged. “Hard. Like it’s the last time.”
Adrián gripped her hips with both hands and began to thrust. At first offbeat, clumsy, but he found the rhythm quickly enough. The counter creaked, the boxes shook, and the sound of skin slapping skin filled the stockroom. Carla held on to the edge, knuckles white, moaning louder and louder, not caring whether anyone heard from the street.
“Like that… like that… harder… all the way in…”
The boy leaned over her, shoved his hands under her blouse and grabbed her tits, squeezing them while he kept fucking her. He bit her nape, her shoulder, and sped up. Carla slid one hand down and found her clit between her legs, rubbing it in time with the thrusts.
“I’m coming… I’m coming again…” she panted.
She came with her cunt clamping down around the boy’s cock, her thighs trembling and a long moan scraping her throat. Adrián couldn’t hold back either: he gave three, four more savage thrusts, then drove himself all the way in and stayed there, trembling, emptying into her. Carla felt him pulse against her walls, one, two, three, four hot spurts, and closed her eyes, savoring it.
They stayed like that a long while, locked together, breathing. Then he slipped out slowly and she felt the cum start to run down her thigh. She didn’t care. She laughed softly against the counter.
“Holy fuck,” she said. “I needed this so bad.”
She turned around, pants still around her ankles, and kissed him. It was a clumsy kiss at first, from someone who hadn’t expected it, and then a deeper one, with tongue, still tasting his cum in her own mouth.
“That was good, right?” Carla said, brushing a sweaty lock off his forehead.
“Yeah,” he answered, breathless.
She bent down, pulled up her thong and pants, and helped him straighten his underwear and pants, lifting them carefully, almost like she was tucking him in. Then she took his hand and guided it to one of her breasts, over the stained pink blouse.
“I wanted to ask if you’d swing by tomorrow,” she said.
“But you don’t open on Sundays.”
“I’m going to paint the place. I need someone to help me.”
“Ah… okay.”
“And we’ll see how we square things up,” she added, guiding his fingers over the fabric so he squeezed her tit. “Bring your energy, because tomorrow I want to try your ass too.”
“Okay,” Adrián murmured, and color rose to his face.
“Then I’ll be waiting here at nine. Get going before your mother comes looking for you, I’ve still got to open.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Adrián left the stockroom with his legs still weak and his shirt stuck to his back. Carla took down the sign, lifted the shutter, and went back to the counter as if nothing had happened, with her cunt still dripping inside her pants. But inside, for the first time in a long while, she felt that the next morning was worth looking forward to. And that Sunday, whatever happened, wasn’t going to be about painting walls.
