The Jackpot

Max is completely stuffed to the brim, helplessly full. I lean back and admire my work, using his underwear to mop up the lube. Afterwards I pull them up Max's long legs along with his shorts, hiding how much of a fucktoy I've turned him into.

It's easy to prop him back up to where he was earlier. I close his mouth, put the remaining lube away, and wash my hands. When everything is ready I twist my right earlobe and feel my stomach turn.

Instantly Max's expression changes into one of overwhelmed shock. His eyes widen and his legs clap together and his hips buck against empty air. He falls against the wall, mouth opening and closing, no noise escaping until finally an unhappy and tortured whine leaks out into the hallway. I watch him brace drunkenly against the wall and slowly slide to the floor, shirt riding up. Every sensation—being crammed full of toys and slick—has reached him at once.

"Are you okay?" I ask, ever the concerned delivery driver, but I'm grinning behind my mask. My favorite part. Always. I take secret satisfaction knowing that from the way Max is sitting on the floor the toys have only been pushed more securely inside.

It takes a full minute for Max to respond. His face is scarlet, mouth still hanging open, breathing ragged. He waves me away since of course he's too embarrassed to divulge the issue. How do you bring up the idea that one moment you were fine and then the next you are fucked open, used and abused till you can't comprehend anything else. You can't. Not to a total stranger, which is all Max knows me to be. To Max I've been standing right here the whole time.

I set his bag of food down by the door and pocket the ten dollar bill.

"Thanks for the tip."

Max doesn't respond, just continues to wave me out desperately. I step back into the rain, closing the door firmly behind me and heading to my car. That was easily one of my best fucks. It's not everyday you run into such a perfect slut who also happens to live alone and owns expensive toys. Hours were spent in the blink of an eye and even if he thinks I might have had something to do with it, what's he gonna do? I've done this too long to get caught.

I can't help but hope that he orders out again sometime, cause I wouldn't be opposed to sloppy seconds. As I twist my key in the ignition I wonder if he's still sitting there on the floor, trying to come to grips with how he went from such a cute, neat guy to a ruined and ravaged set of holes.

Whatever. I've got other orders to deliver so I brush thoughts of Max out of my mind for now. Maybe later, when I have more time.