Package Delivery

Her voice faded as she searched my face and I guess I gave away the fact I would not force her to do something she so violently objected to. Her face relaxed somewhat and she looked back down at her hands.

"How about oral?" I asked. She frowned slightly, looking at her hands.

"Sometimes," she said quietly. "But not very often."

"But you don't like it, do you?" I asked. She nodded.

I was quiet, then, thinking about what to do. She broke the silence.

"You don't have to go through with this," she offered hesitantly. "You have seen me naked, and touched me. I won't tell a soul, not even my husband. I know you're a good man and don't want to hurt me, and I don't want to hurt you."

"How do you know I'm a good man?" I asked abruptly.

"Well, you seem to be. . ." she began and then bit her lower lip slightly as she fell into silence.

"What is my name?" I asked her quietly. She looked at me, startled, and then searched her memory. She did not know, probably had never heard it. She shook her head sadly and looked away, out the window.

"I have delivered packages to you and your husband for almost four years now and you don't even know my name. How can you know what kind of man I am?"

She hung her head, then, and shrugged helplessly.

"Okay, then, I am going to make you an offer," I said and saw her head lift, hope coming into her eyes. "Don't get excited, I'm not letting you off the hook completely. I have dreamed of this moment for too long." The eyes lowered again.

"You give me a hand job right now so I am not so horny, and I will wait until another time when your husband is not home to fuck you," I said, almost holding my breath as I watched her downturned face.

She looked up at me, her face and eyes filled with sadness as she considered my offer. I guess she saw that I was not going to give any more than that. She nodded, sadly, and her breasts heaved slightly as a deep sigh escaped from her lungs.

I stood up and took my pants and shorts off, my hard-on flopping against my stomach as I did so. I sat down again, much closer this time and she looked at me questioningly.

"Any time," I said.

"Could you get me a towel from the bathroom, please, so I do not stain the couch?" I nodded and rose. "I would also like one to sit on if that is okay," she added. I came back from the bathroom with two hand towels. She put one underneath her and then the second on her knees. She then reached over with her tied hands and began moving them up and down my shaft, squeezing gently.

It only took a couple of minutes and I exploded, causing her to sit back quickly and, then, just as quickly, mop up the semen that had shot across her carpet. When she was done cleaning up, she just sat quietly, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

I stood and put my clothes on, watching her all the while. Then I pulled a yellow card from my pocket that had our call-in number on it.

"You have 30 days," I said. "I'm sure your husband will be busy sometime during the next month. Call in that you have a package to pick up and I will come by to collect on the rest of the bargain." She nodded, never looking up.

I cut the ties on her wrists and then let myself out the front door. As I drove away that day I was not sure what I was feeling, but it was not very good. The woman had class, and I had treated her like dirt. I had seen and touched her – and enjoyed it – but not nearly as much as I thought I would. Nevertheless I still got hard every time I thought about returning to the Shillington home to collect on my end of the bargain.

Four weeks went by, then five, and I knew she could not make herself call. At the school board meeting that month I learned that three members of the board, including Ray, would be going to the state capital for a three-day seminar (Thursday thru Saturday) on the following week. I checked the calendar and saw that her monthly cycle would not interfere, and began to make my plans.

I called in sick that Friday and drove leisurely to the Shillington home, arriving about one in the afternoon. I parked behind the house so no one would see my car and knocked lightly on the kitchen door.

She opened the door slowly, looking me briefly in the eye, her own filled to the brim with sadness.

"I've come to collect on our deal," I said, watching her reaction. She winced slightly and there was a quiver in her voice as she spoke.

"Come in, Jeff," she said and turned to walk back into the house. She had made the effort to learn my name! How interesting.

"Is there any way we can just be friends and avoid this," she asked softly, hopefully.

"No," I said. "I have waited too long for this. The time for friendship is over; I want sex."

She nodded, her shoulders slumping some as she stood there.

"Is there anything I can get you, tea or something?"

"No, just that wonderful body."

"It doesn't feel too wonderful right now," she said, smiling wanly.

"I think you are in love with your husband and I don't expect any response from you other than obedience," I said. "If you go along with the program this will be over in an hour or so and I will never make another demand from you." She nodded.

"Where is your bedroom," I asked, and saw her stiffen and then give me a disconcerted look.

"Can we use the spare bedroom?" she asked, and I understood. She didn't want to be violated on the bed where she made love to her husband.

"It doesn't matter to me," I said, and she led the way down the hallway to a small bedroom across from the bathroom.

When we entered the bedroom she turned and looked at me questioningly and I quickly went to work. I lifted her blouse up over her head and reached around behind her to unfasten her bra. I kissed her cleavage as the bra fell away, moving to first one and then the other nipple, circling them with my tongue and sucking on them. She stood still as I worked several minutes on her breasts with my mouth, her eyes closed and her arms straight down by her side. I saw that her fists were clenched; she was evidently not enjoying this whatsoever.

I unsnapped her shorts and let them drop around her ankles and then knelt to pull her panties down, following them slowly with my mouth until I was full on her pussy, softly probing her outer lips with my tongue.

When she was totally nude I sat her on the bed and took off my clothes. She gave me just one look, pleading with her eyes to stop, but I ignored her. She was sitting on the foot of the bed, her knees together, her breasts heaving slightly with her labored breathing. I pushed her onto her back and raised each leg, placing her feet flat on the bed. I then spread her legs and she lay there without moving . . . totally open to me.

I crawled up between her legs and worked on her breasts a little more before I really started to get turned on. Then I lowered to her vaginal area and began kissing, licking and sucking ever square inch of her private parts. I finally stopped at the clitoris and sucked it vigorously. She tried not to respond but could not help but flinch every time I put pressure on it.

I'm not going to fool myself, I thought. She is not enjoying what I am doing, but just jerking back with revulsion at every touch.

I finally could stand it no more and rose to enter her, pausing briefly at the entrance and then sliding into her, pushing all the way to the base of the shaft. My saliva provided plenty of lubrication at the outer edge but, surprisingly, it seemed as if she was equally wet inside as well. Just my imagination, I thought, as I began to slowly move in and out of her, watching her breasts rise and fall with each thrust.

I grew more excited and raised her legs to my shoulders, doubling her over so that every thrust caused my pelvic bone to ram against her sensitive little clit. With each contact she involuntarily jerked, giving her breasts a sort of counteraction. Soon I was moving faster and faster, pounding her pussy with my manhood and her breasts were sweeping up and down on her chest like breakers on a seashore, first coming in and then going out, and every once in a while shooting almost straight out as the thrusts grew more intense.

I finally came, burying my shaft as deep into her as I could, releasing my semen into the most beautiful woman I had ever known. This time I was not mistaken: she was milking me with her kegel muscles and squeezing me with her thighs. I quickly slid the heel of my hand down over her clit, rubbing it gently but firmly with a circular motion. She responded immediately, pushing against my palm and squeezing me between her legs rhythmically in time with my hand movements. In less than a minute she gasped quietly and shuddered to her own orgasm, squeezing me once or twice before relaxing back onto the bed.

I couldn't believe what I had just seen. It was what I wanted more than ever, but never thought I would get. She had yielded to the moment and allowed her body to derive some degree of sexual pleasure. I was glad I had not hurt her or insisted on alternative measures. I was sated. I was ecstatic!

I let her wipe up and then laid her again on the bed. She lay with her eyes closed, her head turned away from me.

"Do you have any idea how awesomely beautiful you are?" I asked, stroking her body with the backs of my fingers.

"You said that the last time," she said quietly. "And I thought about it. I think that I must just match your concept of beauty. I haven't really been told that before. . . except maybe by my husband when we were dating."

"That is because your beauty intimidates most men I would imagine."

She just shrugged.

"How long have you been married?"

"Nineteen years in a couple of months."

"Do you love him?" She did not respond as quickly, and my heart skipped a beat.

"He's my husband."

"But do you love him?"

"I certainly did once, and I would never do anything to hurt him, or to damage my marriage," she said with conviction. "But I don't know how much I really love him," she added softly. "Things have changed so much since we first met."

"Are you going to report me?" I asked, knowing she would already have done so if she were so inclined.

"Are you going to stick to your part of the bargain?" she countered with her own question.

"Yes."

"Then I am not going to say anything to anyone," she said thoughtfully. "This is best left alone."

"Very well," I said, leaning over to one last time kiss between her legs, up her body to her breasts and then, softly, on the mouth. She lay still and accepted my oral adoration, but she was no longer rigid, and I thought I detected a slight sigh as I moved from her lips.

I let myself out and drove home, satisfied somewhat that I had finally accomplished my goal, but wondering how much more I might have achieved if I had taken the time to get to know the woman. I would probably never know.

**************************************

Fall was approaching and I went to a campaign fundraiser sponsored by Ray Shillington and two other school board members who were running with him as a team. I mingled with the crowd, talking with friends and acquaintances and purposefully avoiding even so much as a glance at Barbara Shillington.

Halfway through the evening, as I was talking with a couple of other people about the weather I felt a light touch on my forearm. Turning I found Barbara standing by my side, the tips of the fingers of her left hand resting lightly on my bare arm. A thrill of electricity surged through me and she must have felt it or saw it, because she smiled slightly.

Reaching behind her she pulled her husband to her side.

"Honey, this is Jeff Barber, our package delivery person," she said, smiling warmly at me.

The man looked me over carefully before speaking.

"So you're the guy that waves at me all the time?" he asked.

"I wave at everyone," I said, watching him as closely as he watched me.

"A couple of the guys said they thought you might make a good school board member," he said, continuing to watch for any response. "You're there at most meetings anyway, and they seem to think you have a good head on your shoulders and a way with people."

I accepted the compliment with a shrug and determined that he never suspected anything at all about my rape of his wife. She was giving no clue, either, watching me with warm, friendly eyes that held no hint of anger or accusation.

"I guess I'm not a very political person," I said, finally, and the man shrugged, smiled at his wife and moved on to someone else who might be more to his liking.

I realized that her fingers were still resting gently on my arm and I looked down at them, trying to memorize their warmth. This was the first time she had voluntarily touched me, and I would not forget it. She smiled then, squeezing my arm gently.

"Have a good time at the party," she said lightly. "I am glad you came."

I knew she was not coming on to me, but was just letting me know that she had put my indiscretions aside. I felt humbled, like a little boy who has been caught sneaking a peek at his mother in the bathtub. I watched for her then the rest of the night, catching her glance and shy smile several times. Was it my imagination, or was she watching me as well? 'Grow up, boy,' I said to myself. 'The woman is married and intends to stay that way.'

I walked the floor quite a bit when I got home, upset at myself for giving in so totally to my weakness – and hurting this wonderful woman in the process.

A week or so later I had a package for them. It did not need a signature so I just leaned it against the door and knocked, walking quickly back to my truck. I did not want her to have to face me the way she had last summer.

"Hey," she called out as I was nearing the truck. I turned to look at her, feeling shame wash over me like a river.

"Wait just a minute," she said and went back into the house. She returned with a small Styrofoam dish filled with cookies.

"They're fresh-baked," she said, smiling at me as if we had been close friends forever. "I hope you like oatmeal."

I nodded, afraid to speak and reached out to take the cookies. I started to thank her, but was unable, knowing my voice would break as tears filled my eyes. I felt so unworthy of this woman's kindness.

She saw my dilemma and a slow flow of sadness crossed her face. She stepped to me, kissing me lightly on the cheek.

"What's done is done, Jeff," she said gently, looking into my eyes with an expression as clear and innocent as the first time I met her. Why shouldn't she be innocent? She had done absolutely nothing wrong?

I nodded, still unable to speak and just reached out for her hand. She gave it to me and I squeezed it gently. She squeezed back, just as gently, smiling at me sadly. Then I climbed into the truck and left.

I watched for her every time I passed the place that fall and waved if I saw her. She would always wave back.

Ray and his buddies lost their school board seats in the election that fall. They were just too progressive for the tight-knit little community we lived in.

Less than a month later I had a call-in from the Shillington house and was thrilled with anticipation that I would get to see her again.

When I arrived, however, I was devastated to see a large moving van sitting in front of their house with men moving furniture from the house to the van. I pulled into the driveway and asked for the Shillingtons.

A man who appeared to be the supervisor of the group said they had already left and would not be back.

"I think they left something for you on the back porch, though," he said.

I went around back and found a small package with a simple address: Jeff Barber, Package Delivery Person.

I didn't open the package right away, but waited until my lunch hour, which I spend most days at a roadside park high atop one of the Ozark Mountains that surround the town.

I tore the box open and found a Tupperware container of homemade oatmeal cookies, and a sealed envelope with my name written on it in feminine handwriting. I tore it open, dreading what I was about to read.

"Dear Jeff," it said, and I just sat and read those first two words over and over, cursing myself for the impetuous indiscretion that kept me from really getting to know her . . . and maybe win her affection. Finally I moved on.

"Ray has decided that we just don't fit in this part of the country, so we are moving back to New York. I am sorry to be saying bye this way, but I did not know how to explain my need to talk to you personally, and Ray was in a real hurry once he made up his mind.

"There are many things I want to say to you, and maybe I will be able to write them down some day – or even make a trip back to say them to your face.

"I hope you have understood by my actions these last months that I forgive you entirely for anything you ever did to bring me discomfort . . and surely you must know by now that not everything did.

"There are two things I want you to know for sure. One, I know you to be an absolute gentleman and will never consider you to be anything else. Even on that day, you looked at me with wonder in your eyes as if beholding an angel – and I knew I was far from being worthy of that title. Thank you for being so gentle with me when you could have been harsh. Thank you for thinking of me even when you thought you were being totally selfish.

"The second thing I would like you to know is that you are the only friend I have here that I hate to say 'Good-bye' to. I will value our few good times together for the rest of my life and would not hesitate to call on you for help if I ever need it.

"I have chosen to be a loyal wife to my husband, and would never choose to dishonor him in any way. I am sure we will grow old and die together, just like a lot of other couples. If I were not married to him, though, I want you to know there is not another man alive that I would want to be with but you.

"I am your friend, Jeff. I will never forget you.

"Love, Barb."

I put the letter aside and took the cookies to a picnic bench to eat. As I looked out over our rugged mountains, I thought of the lovely, gentle woman who I had only known briefly. A sense of peace settled over me. That is why I came here for lunch -- to draw from the peace which these mountains exude. The peace I felt today did not come from them, however, but from a woman driving back to New York with her husband.

I read the letter again, carefully, and knew that the only way I would ever see her again was if she were to ask for help. If she did, I knew that I would turn the world upside down to please her.

I returned to my pornography and sexy stories. I would never again masturbate to the thought of violating the woman who somehow had become my very dear friend.