Thirty Minutes or Less or I'm Free

30 Minutes Or Less Or I'm Free

The moment those hot, heavy boxes hit my hand the timer's been started. Thirty minutes. I've got thirty minutes to navigate this crazy town or I can kiss my tip and probably part of my paycheck goodbye. Most normal pizza joints wouldn't take a chunk out like that, but this isn't your typical pizza place. For one thing, I've been given a company-issue scooter. It's not so bad given that the little monster's engine is small enough to classify it as no better than a moped, so I can skirt around traffic with the insouciance of a bicyclist. The work attire, man, that's something else.

Thank god it's summer time, or I'd be freezing my tits off. And speaking off, the twins are nearly falling out of the lime green tube top that clings to my ribs and breasts while leaving my stomach and lower back bare. The little red track shorts with a white five emblazoned on my right ass cheek is a promotion for the pizzeria I work for - Fiver's Pizza. The only bit of underwear I'm allowed is a black thong that sticks out unapologetically when I drive the scooter, and forget about a bra. Lime green tennis shoes and my black hair, pulled into two bushy pig tails, rounds out the look. All in all I look like a slut, but that's the whole point of this gig. According to my boss, the waitresses at Hooters can show off their racks all day and keep the place in business, so why not this? Plus, every dip and bump in the road jiggles the best advertisements that Fiver's has to offer.

So off I go into town, my scooter loaded up with two boxes of pizza and my skin prickling in the whoosh of warm evening air. I dip and zip through traffic, my little scooter managing about 25 mph on the high end, maybe 30 if I go downhill. My destination is a college dorm downtown, and I get there with maybe fifteen minutes to spare. Thing is, now I have to get a hold of the... I check the receipt for a name, and it says John Doe. Great, well, it might be a guy. Guy, girl, doesn't really matter to me. If they want to pay me a tip for a little something extra I'm not one to be too fussy about it. My bills don't care, I'll tell you that.

The little trunk compartment at the back of my scooter holds my phone and a helmet that I should wear, but it just doesn't work with the pigtails. Let the DOT find me and lecture me. Leaning against the scooter, I dial in John Doe's number and listen to it ring, keeping it on speaker phone just in case the twat is drunk and decides to blast an air horn into the receiver. Stupider things have happened to me in this job. After the third ring, John picks up.

"Hello?"

"Hey. I'm the driver from Fiver's. I've got your pizzas down here."

"Oh, right! Sure, I'll be right down."

The phone clicks, and I shrug and stash my phone, leaving the keys in the ignition just in case the guy's a nut case. Again, stupid stuff happens in this job. Not three minutes later the guy is out the front door, and I can tell the moment he spots me. I've got a great body and I know it, and now he knows it, given how wide his eyes are as he looks me up and down.

When he finally gets over to me, he's rubbing the back of his scalp nervously. "Wow, you guys weren't kidding about... ya know."

I raise an eyebrow and purse my full, red, slutty lips while batting my eyelashes. "That's extra, buddy. And I'm not about to go in there for it." My eyes flick to his dorm building, where I can already smell the acrid smell of pot and spilled beer wafting out the windows. Thirsty Thursday, I guess.

He flushes a little, but nods. "Right. Um, my car's over there. And here." John stuffs a pretty hefty amount of cash into my hand. Feeling like a crime boss, I flip through the stack of bills, counting it out. One hundred bucks. That's a shitload of money for a pizza, and an embarrassingly low amount for what he's going to get. Still, who's to argue in this economy, so I nod and hand him the pizzas. The cash goes in a lock box in the scooter's back compartment, the engine switch is clicked to off, and I pull out a small backpack into which I stuff my wallet, keys, and phone. There are a few other things in there too, of course. It's not like I'm going to ride this guy bareback.

Soon enough we're in his car, which he's had the foresight to park in a shadowy corner of the mostly empty lot. Once he's in the driver's seat, I start groping at his crotch, feeling him tense and shiver with nerves. Oh, he's hard almost immediately, but I can tell he's never paid for sex before. It's sweet, really, like he's afraid of me. I suppose I do bite, after all. A series of gentle nips and kisses are left on his sweating, shivering neck as I pull the button free and unzip his fly, slipping my hand inside to start stroking him off.

"Shit, oh my god this feels good" he groans.

"Does it, baby?" I purr against his skin, suckling on his earlobe. "Do you like it when I jerk you off?"

He whimpers and nods, his hips squirming as he grips the sides of his seat. By now his dick is rock hard and jutting out beyond the bottom edge of his tee-shirt, so I spit in my hand and start wetly stroking him, feeling the skin of my palm slickly slide over his velvety flesh. The kid's circumcised, so it's not hard to find that sweet spot beneath his head and rub it in circles with the pad of my thumb. That has him breathing hard and dribbling pre. Poor John's going to explode if I keep doing it this way, so I pull my hand away and lick my fingers clean like a cat, smirking at him.

"H...hey, what gives?" he asks breathlessly, his brow knitting down into a frown.

"I like you baby. I want this to last. Tell me what else you like." Man, my voice sounds sultry inside a car. I'm always impressed by that.

John calms himself and thinks, then reaches out and cups the back of my head. It makes me smirk how his desire to get sucked is so telegraphed, but I indulge him and look just a touch surprised, like little old innocent me is impressed by how naughty he is. Seriously, the little bo-peep act really gets some guys off, I can't even tell you. His hand rests on the back of my head even as I take his cock into my mouth and start bobbing slowly. The salty, hot flesh of his rod rubs over my tongue and the roof of my mouth, and I hollow my cheeks to create a bit of suction while my tongue rubs at him in slow strokes.

The guy grits his teeth, and I can feel his hand grip hard at one of my pigtails. More precum leaks out onto my tongue and I swallow it down, pushing myself down slowly lower and lower until the soft curves of his crown push beyond the back rise of my tongue. With a big intake of air through my nose, I push down that last little way and start deep throating him, swallowing as his head like it's food and I'm starving. That makes the kid cry out in surprise, and as my hand slips into his pants to caress his sack and massage it, I can feel how tight it is up against his pelvis. He's close.

This time, though, John's the one to cut it short and deny himself. I'm pulled up and away quickly, with strings of pre-laced saliva connecting my full lips to his dick. I'm sure little smudges of red are now all over the base of his rod, but in the darkness of his car I can't see them. "God you're so good. I really want to fuck you. I can fuck you, right?" he asks desperately, still cupping my cheeks.

"You're wearing a rubber" I say sternly, and he nods.

"Sure, anything. Just let me in you!"

Fair enough. I reach into my backpack and pull out a little foil square, rip it open, and check in the light streaming in through the windshield to make sure I'm putting it on him right-side up. Then I roll down the latex over his shaft, making sure it's snugly on, and then wriggle out of my shorts. Luckily the things are stretchy, so it's no problem tugging them off over my shoes. John waits apprehensively in the driver's seat, and thankfully he thinks to ratchet the seat back as far as he can and tilt the backrest almost horizontal as I climb onto him.

My left hand rests on his right shoulder, while my right hand guides the wrapped head of his shaft to my hairless, wet pussy lips. I tease him, rubbing him against my clit and getting the condom wet enough to slide in without a problem. My hips grind against his rod, hotdogging him to drive him crazy and get me ready to take him, and I know he's just about ready to yell at me when I finally, finally let him in.

The fit is tight. It's always tight. I'm just lucky I guess. John tenses and chokes off a hot groan as I roll my hips slowly, easing him up into my body. "Yeah baby, oh god you're big" I breathe, squeezing my eyes shut and biting my lip as he fills me. And, in truth, John's got some game. He's above average, and he feels good, stretching me out deliciously. Within a few moments I'm riding him, making the car gently bounce on its tires as I pin him to the seat with my hands on his shoulders. His own hands grip my hips and beg me to go faster, but this is my show. He's paid for this, after all.

A few times I lift up off him and let him slide out, grinning down at him as he begs me to keep going. Of course I do, and I let him hold my hips still for a while each time as he rams his dick up into me. The condom must be helping him to pace himself, because at one point we move, and suddenly I'm on my hands and knees on the tilted-back driver's seat with John behind me, taking me doggy style. The claps of his bare hips, naked now that his jeans are around his knees, against my bare ass sounds loud in the car, and I moan like a whore (I mean, I guess I am one) as I slide a hand beneath the weight of my own body and rub hard at my clit.

"Yeah, baby! Harder! Don't stop! I'm almost there!" I gasp, mostly telling the truth but egging him on to stroke his ego. The kid obliges and rams the shit out of me, and that roughness tips me over the edge. I like it rough, which I suppose is why this line of work suits me. My cunt quivers and grips at his dick for dear life as I finish, my cry so loud that I'm glad the windows are all rolled up.

And that's what does it for him. John grabs my hips and crams them against his own, and I can feel his cock pulse inside the tight grip of my vicelike pussy. That boy's filling his rubber impressively, shivering with each expulsion of cum. His hot, heavy breathing washes over my shoulders, and he pulls out with a groan, pinching the condom to the base of his cock so he doesn't lose it.

Swallowing past a raw throat, I croak "You got a napkin or something, stud?"

"Uh... oh, yeah." He hands me a few fresh sheets from a stash in his glove compartment, and I get the feeling that he comes out here to beat his meat pretty often. Especially given how there's a little garbage bag behind the passenger's seat filled with wadded up, used napkins. I wipe down my own cum from my crotch and thighs, toss the napkin, and tug my shorts back up. John gets his rubber off, knots it, tosses it, then wipes himself off before tucking himself back into his pants and zipping up again.

He escorts me chivalrously back to my scooter, his pizzas in his arms, and while he tries making small talk I just chuckle, stuffing my backpack into to the back compartment and switching off the engine lock. Interrupting him in mid-sentence, I ask plainly "John, do you want to be my fuck buddy?"

The poor guy almost drops his pizzas, flushes, then nods with a lopsided smile.

With a smile, I kiss his cheek and waggle my cell. "Good. I've got your number, stud. I'll text you when I'm off work sometime, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." For a moment he looks guilty, then swallows and says "Um, my name's not John Doe."

I laugh, genuinely amused at that one. "Well no shit, John Doe. I'm Rachel."

That lopsided smile comes back, and he says "I'm Patrick."

With my ass back in the saddle of my scooter, I push the keys into the ignition and start the engine, grinning at him. "See you 'round, Patrick." I leave him waving at me in a daze, standing at the back door to his dorm with two cooling pizzas in his other arm. Truth be told, I think I seriously made that kid's night.

I'll definitely be texting him later. Maybe he'll be ready for round two after my shift tonight, and he might even have some slices left over. A girl can hope.