Something For Your Trouble

Juan rolls up with a delivery, minding his own business. India answers in a silky robe over killer lingerie, looks him up and down like she already knows how he'll taste, and tells him the box is too heavy for her dainty hands—he needs to bring it inside. He fights it, stays polite, but her stare is dripping heat and he caves, stepping through the door. She keeps going. As he's setting the box down, she points farther—bedroom. Just a few more steps. He tries to keep his head, but her voice curls around his brain and he follows like a mutt on a leash, box held like it'll protect him. Massage table's waiting on the floor. She says it's her thing, claims his back must ache after humping packages all day. Why not let her rub him down? Juan drops whatever resistance he had left, smirks, and decides, fuck it—he's earned this. They peel off clothes. Oil gets poured thick. India moves in, greedy, hungry, and wraps her hand around his cock before he can catch his breath. She takes him deep in that tight pussy and doesn't let go until she's got every inch. Juan stops playing delivery boy and just starts delivering, pounding her until they're both slick, loud, and spent. Safe bet he'll be showing up at her door again—next shift, the one after, probably every damn day after that.