Movingman

I run a small moving business. I have three trucks and I'm not doing too badly. I'm willing to move anything, anywhere, but my main sources of income are house removals and department store deliveries. I have several department stores who have me down as their deliveryman of choice, mainly because I give them a slightly larger cut of the pie than my competitors. My philosophy was that if I take a slightly smaller slice of the pie I'd get a lot more slices that would more than make up the difference.

The department stores are my favourite customers as they collect the delivery fee up front, saving me having to chase deadbeat customers. My next main source, moving house, does quite well, with me getting word of mouth referrals from satisfied customers.

One reason I get house moving customers is because I'm quite happy to do a one-man truck, providing the customer is prepared to supply the extra muscle for loading and unloading. With people on a tight budget this is a very attractive proposition.

I was doing one of those jobs on this particular day. They were a young couple, moving into a rented house. She was around twenty, by my guess, with him being about five years older. Fran, the wife, was very attractive. Dark hair, brown eyes, very nice figure, and a friendly personality. Also willing to work in setting up her new home.

Jeff, the husband, was almost film star handsome. Athletic and outgoing, an ex-sports star, good in school teams but not good enough to make it as a pro. At least, that was my assessment. I also suspected that the main reason he wasn't good enough to make it as a pro was because he was a useless, lazy, prick.

Now as I explained earlier, to get the cheaper rate the customer had to provide the extra muscle required, and in this case that meant Jeff. He did as little as possible, moaning and carrying on the entire time. As soon as the last of the big items was moved into the house he was out of there.

"There's only a few boxes left and Fran can help you move those," he said. "She knows where she wants everything. I'm going to get out of her way and let her set things up the way she wants."

With that he shot through, heading to the nearest bar would be my guess. Fran and I got to work shifting the boxes that were still to be moved. Fortunately the truck had a hoist and I had a decent trolley, making the unloading a lot easier. I just stacked all the boxes on the hoist and lowered it. Then it was trolley time.

It didn't take long to distribute the boxes around the house. Each box was clearly marked and Fran just indicated which room each box was to go to. Mind you, Jeff should have been the one moving the boxes, not me. I should have been in my truck heading home, but I wasn't going to leave Fran trying to shift the boxes. She could do herself an injury.

Finished I collected my money, ready to depart. I always count the money before I sign a receipt. It's amazing how often people miscount what they've given you. Going back to claim you've been short-changed is a loser's game, especially if they have a receipt.

"Fran," I said politely, "you're twenty short. I haven't added any extra for Jeff shooting through before the job was done, but I do expect to be paid the full amount agreed upon."

"You must have miscounted," Fran said indignantly. "I budgeted very carefully and I counted out your money and checked it before I put it in the envelope."

"See for yourself," I said, placing the money on the table.

Fran simply spread the notes across the table and then said a rude word.

"There was a twenty in amongst those notes when I put it away earlier," she growled. "It appears to have walked."

"Excuse me," she said, speaking calmly, but I could hear the anger in her voice. "I'll just get my purse."

Hazarding a guess I'd say that Jeff borrowed the twenty for his little trip down to the bar. What an asshole.

She returned with her purse and I could tell from the look on her face and the way she was burrowing into the purse that she was going to have a hard time getting the twenty together.

"I can return another time for the money," I suggested, but she shook her head, looking indignant.

"That's not fair to you," she snapped. "You did the work and more and you deserve what we agreed on. I'll just raid the loose change jar and I should have enough in that to make up the difference."

She looked around at the various packed boxes, apparently trying to remember which one held the loose change jar.

"Tell you what, Fran. I assume that Jeff must have borrowed the money and forgotten to return it?"

The sulphurous look she gave me indicated that she thought so to.

"In that case I see no reason why you should have to go broke to pay for his error. I'll make a deal with you if you're interested."

"Depends on the deal," she said, sounding suspicious.

"It's simple enough. You strip completely and let me see what I suspect is a very nice body. It'll serve Jeff right that someone else is looking at what he probably considers his private property. You can even tell him that you had to do it to stop me reloading the truck. It'll probably get right up his nose."

"You wouldn't really reload the truck would you?" she asked, sounding appalled.

"Are you kidding? I'd be stuck here for hours if I tried to do something so asinine. I already offered to come back another time to collect."

"That wouldn't help. I probably wouldn't have it when you came back. Um, if I did get undressed, you wouldn't try anything, would you?"

"Try and get physical, you mean? No, I wouldn't do that to you. I'll stay right here by this door."

She was looking at me, nibbling on her lip, plainly considering the idea.

"Jeff would be furious if he knew," she whispered.

"Is that an argument for or against?" I asked.

She giggled, seeming to lighten up. At the same time she started undoing the waist of her jeans.

Once the waist of her jeans was loose she dragged her top loose and pulled it off. Her very generous breasts were very nicely presented in a lacy half-cup bra. She kicked her shoes off and started wriggling, her jeans slowly edging down over her hips. It was fascinating to watch how her breasts shook from side to side in rhythm with the movement of her hips as she eased her way out of the jeans.

Her jeans went by the wayside and she was standing there in panties and bra. Before she had a chance to change her mind I was speaking.

"For god's sake, Fran, tell me you don't normally wear things like that."

The thing I was talking about was the most godawful pair of granny pants that it had ever been my misfortune to see.

Blushing with embarrassment she couldn't get them off fast enough, not caring what she was revealing as long as those pants were no longer on display.

"I packed all my good stuff," she muttered. "Those were all I could find."

"Well I suggest you take steps to lose them again," I told her. "They're an insult to your femininity."

With her pants gone it was a small matter to reach behind herself to undo her bra. It slipped down her arms and she dropped it on top of her other clothes.

I found myself admiring a very fine pair of breasts. She certainly didn't need that bra for support. She also had enough there not to need padding in any manner, shape, or form.

I twirled a finger, suggesting that I wanted her to turn around and she did so, moving slowly and blushing the entire while, until she was facing me again.

"You will notice that while I am busy appreciating your wonderful figure, I haven't moved from my spot, as promised."

She nodded.

"Would you mind moving a little closer to me so I get a better view?"

"How much closer?" she asked, sounding just a little nervous.

I placed my cupped hands about a foot in front of me at the approximate height of her breasts.

"About this close?" I suggested.

"You said you weren't going to get physical," she reminded me.

"And neither I am," I pointed out, "but I didn't say that you couldn't get physical or that I wouldn't respond if you did. Are you coming closer?"

"That wasn't part of the agreement."

"True. You've fulfilled the agreement to perfection and I suppose you can get dressed if you want to."

She looked a little relieved, a little more relaxed, so I continued.

"But don't you want to come that little bit closer? Just to see what it will be like to press your breasts against my hands? What harm will it do?"

It was lip chewing time again. She was tempted but nervous.

"If I do come closer you'll back off if I tell you to?"

"Certainly. A gentleman to the core. That's me."

"Something to the core, but I wouldn't say gentleman," she muttered, not realising that I had excellent hearing.

She started moving closer. Once she was within reach she started to tense up, waiting for me to grab, but I manfully refrained. I was mildly amused to see her nipples were tightening up, standing out from her breasts. A little bit closer and her nipples were brushing against the palms of my hands, moving about as her breasts swayed from side to side.

She gave a little gasp and moved closer, pressing her breasts firmly into the palms of my hands. My hands closed, starting to massage her breasts.

She was looking down, watching my hands caress her bare breasts, seeming fascinated by it. She took me by surprise when her gaze switched to my face. She promptly took a step backwards, breaking contact.

"You're laughing at me," she accused.

"No I'm not," I quickly denied. "Ah, yes, I am," I said, admitting it. "There's just something about the situation that amuses me. I'm not trying to insult you. I think you're marvellous."

This time I reached out, my hands cupping her breasts again. From there they drifted down her sides and around, settling on her bottom and drawing her closer to me. She swallowed nervously, not sure what to do.

"Fran, you are very lovely. Unless you tell me to stop I'm going to lay you down on the carpet and make love to you."

"You said . . ." Her voice trailed away.

"Changing circumstances can cause a change of mind," I pointed out.

"What changed circumstances?" she demanded.

"I didn't know just how lovely you were," I said, watching her blush again. "Are you going to make me stop?"

Even as I was talking I was pressing her down onto the carpet. She was blushing like fury but not resisting in any way. I settled onto the carpet next to her, my hands busy getting acquainted while she moved a little restlessly under my touch, apparently not sure whether to press against my wandering hands or to pull away from them.

When I unzipped her hand drifted quite naturally over to me, closing over my erection. She wasn't looking at it but she was certainly using the Braille method to examine her prize. While she was doing that I was easing her legs further apart and lowering my trousers so they wouldn't get in the way.

I shifted position so I was between her thighs, my erection now menacing her vagina, only stopped from attacking by her hand clasped firmly around it.

"If you're going to stop me then this is your last chance," I said softly. "If you're not then by all means steer me into position."

That brought her back from where she'd just been feeling and reacting to the realisation that decision time was now upon her. She was breathing hard and her gaze finally turned to regard the prize that she'd captured. She took a deep breath, a slight blush back on her cheeks, and moved me delicately into place. I gave a slight push and her lips closed around me and I started sinking steadily into her.

I actually drove in quite firmly for that first thrust, not wanting her to change her mind at the last moment. Once I was in place I could slow down and love her gently. Naturally, as with all careful plans, it collapsed before I even got going.

"I trust you're not going to go easy on me," she said with a silky suggestiveness in her voice. "I'm not made of glass and I'm not going to break so I expect you to do demonstrate just how hard you can be."

I gave her a savage smile and started, pulling back and driving in hard. The smile on her face was every bit as savage as the one I tried to give, with Fran pressing urgently up to me, her legs lifting and clamping down around me, her hands clutching tightly to my shoulders. For my part my hands were on her breasts, fondling them in a rough and enjoyable manner.

What followed was almost like making war, not love. I was hard and demanding, trying my best to dominate her, my cock a staff of discipline. For her part she had no intention of being dominated, giving as good as she got, demonstrating an enthusiasm that was almost frightening. (Only almost -- It was certainly erotic and stimulating.)

From the look on her face she was glorying in what was happening, silently laughing at my efforts, which only urged me to greater efforts, an outcome that she undoubtedly wanted.

It was patently obvious to me that I was getting to her. The flush on her face, the way she was breathing, even the way she was moving under me, all of these were shouting now, finish this. She didn't have to verbalise it. I stepped up the pace, moving into my end run, hitting faster, harder, heading for burnout if I didn't finish soon.

She screamed, her legs kicking free from the tenacious grip she'd had on my waist. She was shaking with the force of her climax, and I was doing a bit of shaking myself as I ejaculated deep inside her.

I tidied up my clothes afterwards while she stood there, watching me, an enigmatic look on her face.

"I'll let you see yourself out," she said. "I'm not quite dressed for it. It's been interesting meeting you."

I nodded. That was a sentiment that I could agree with. I left her to finish her unpacking. I suspected she'd have to do it all as Jeff would probably stay away until the work was done. What an asshole.