Delivery From MollybyArcher2050©
Two days had passed since John had jerked off in front of his older, sexy mail carrier. Like any sexually frustrated 18 year-old, he had been obsessing about the event, and the woman, ever since. But he had just missed her the day after it happened, and now John was anxiously waiting for Molly to show up walking across his lawn.
John--enjoying a week alone after his parents and sisters left for a trip--had been carelessly masturbating in the front room of his house to a porn mag when Molly the mail carrier had walked by, saw him, and stayed until he finished. It was a brutally-hot turn on for John, a shy nobody in high school who'd never had so much as a girlfriend. He was able to display his generous endowment without the fear of having to actually perform with it, and all to Molly's enjoyment.
Molly had left without a word or a signal that something even remotely that fascinating would ever happen again, but John couldn't see how she could just pretend everything was normal. He certainly couldn't. Still, at this point John wasn't concerned so much with what Molly might do on her next route, but whether she would do anything interesting at all. Besides that, time was precious. John had the house to himself while his family was away for a week. But they would return in four days, and then John wouldn't have the place to himself when Molly came with the mail. He needed this urgently. Whatever "this" would turn out to be.
John had a body perfectly designed to avoid being noticed. He was neither tall not short, a little on the thin side, and not ugly but not particularly handsome. Just a normal guy. Too normal. He led a boring life, and depended on porn to get him through the long nights.
Molly, on the other hand, was a knockout. She wouldn't be offered any Victoria's Secret modeling jobs, but John doubted a man could look at her and not wonder how great she would look naked, and how fun she would be in bed. John guessed her to be 35, 40, and she carried the extra wear and pounds typically associated with that age. But she wore the weight exceptionally well, having used it to develop a terrific form with slender and muscular legs, a full but not too full ass, and a chest that always seemed to stretch her uniform to its limits. She had blonde hair framed around dark sunglasses, of which John had never seen her without.
He had also rarely seen her without shorts on, even on cold days like today, which is why his heart sank when he saw a figure in a postal uniform across the street wearing pants, a puffy winter coat, and even a cap. It was hard to see details at this distance, especially as the figure walked through a shadow, but they definitely didn't have long hair. It actually looked like man.
John turned red at the thought that Molly had called out sick or maybe even changed her whole route because of him. Sure, it could have been her day off, but was he lucky enough for such a coincidence? Whatever the reason, it was definitely not her across the street. If she was afraid, revolted, or offended by him, John worried about whether the replacement knew why Molly was avoiding the route. Would all his neighborhood's succeeding mail carriers suspiciously eye his house for years to come? Would the government send him a letter accusing him of sexual harassment or public indecency?
He was frozen in fear, just waiting for the new carrier to walk by and hopefully give some indication about what was going on. He didn't expect to exchange words with them, but maybe something would give it away—like if the carrier's eyes lingered on the front window where John had cum, thinking "so THAT'S the spot".
It was a long four or five minutes before the carrier's footsteps could be heard on the pavement outside the front door, where the mailbox was. John had decided to hide here, up against the door, because there would be no way for someone to look in the front windows and see him there. Plus, he would know precisely when it was okay to come from hiding.
He heard the mailbox open, but to his alarm, he then heard the screen door open! The doorbell rang, seemingly as loud and ominous as any lone church bell in a quiet town. He didn't move or even breathe. There was some shuffling on the other side of the door. He could actually feel someone as they moved or leaned or brushed up against the other side of it, and then came three hard, sharp knocks just two feet above his head.
John tried to think rationally. If the cops were after him for what he'd done—and what, really, had he done? It was an accident, and she didn't have to stay and watch—they wouldn't send the mailman. They'd send other cops. Still, it could be a friend of Molly's, a coworker who she'd shared her story with and now wanted to put John in his place, wherever that was. He decided that no matter how long or hard this person knocked, he wasn't opening the door or moving from that spot.
"I know you're home," came the whispered voice. It was the soft, melodious voice of a woman. It was Molly's voice, John knew, though he couldn't remember if he'd ever heard her talk before, or figure out why he was so one hundred percent sure it was her.
He stood up, opened the door, still nervous as hell, but figuring Molly meant little to no harm. It was still hard facing her, what with the nature of their sudden relationship, but he was so relieved it wasn't her coworker delivering a threat.
"Hi," he spoke so softly there was no way she could've heard him, but she returned the greeting as if she had.
"Hey, how are you doing today?"
John eyed her carefully, trying to pick up from her expression anything she might have been leaving. She looked different, but that was because of the cold, which John had barely had time to notice. There was actually light flakes of snow falling, which accounted for Molly wearing pants instead of shorts, and the puffy winter postal jacket, which did well to conceal her chest. The hat she wore didn't do much for the cold, so he found it odd she wore it, since she never had before, but it did explain the assumed disappearance of her hair, which was tucked up beneath.
She was still beautiful, though, and still wore those dark sunglasses. Her lips were especially bright today, coated with a deep red, glossy lipstick. He remembered them when they kissed the glass where he'd cum the other day, and felt his dick twitch.
"I'm okay," John responded, hoping his lingering eyes weren't too obvious.
She held up a plain box with an address label but no return address or other identifying marks. It was roughly one foot square, and from the way Molly held it, not particularly heavy. The cardboard looked old, as if the box had been mailed a few times before. His name was listed as the recipient, though he wasn't expecting anything. Maybe his parents had sent him something.
"This wouldn't fit in the mailbox," Molly explained, smiling big. "It doesn't say 'fragile', but it's pretty lightweight, and I didn't want to leave it out in this cold if it was something delicate."
"Oh. Ok." John felt like such an idiot, but it was all he could stammer. At least she wasn't trying to talk to him about the other day, tell him it was something only adults should do, and that he should seek counseling...
He reached out to take the box, but she held it firmly in her hands.
"Um, actually," she said in that sweet, friendly voice, "could you just take a look at the address and make sure it's really yours?"
It was such an odd request that John didn't even comprehend it at first, but—
--But then Molly shifted, turned to him, and her puffy coat fell open. It wasn't zipped up, and beneath it her shirt wasn't buttoned. In fact, she wasn't even wearing a shirt, from what John could tell. All he could see was flesh squeezed together into a massive crease of firm, milky cleavage. There were no visible nipples, and she could have been wearing a skimpy bra that was just covered by the coat and box, so he couldn't really see much, yet he could see everything.
She held the box right underneath her exposure, forcing his eyes right to if he were to actually give a damn about the address label.
John dared to look at her, trying to see past the dark sunglasses for some further hint of her intent, but after a half-second of trying, his eyes fell back to Molly's chest. Three seconds must have gone by. And then six. John realized this wasn't a mistake on Molly's part. But he still couldn't figure out what to do. He didn't want to just stare like a moron, but every time he looked to her face and saw only her smile and her sunglasses, there was really nothing left to do but look back down at her cleavage. Obviously she wanted him to do that, but what else did she want? He didn't have a clue.
Ten seconds passed. Maybe fifteen, or thirty. Who the hell knows. John was about to force himself to say something, anything, when Molly lowered the box, shifting it and her coat, then brought the box back up again. Now her coat was completely open, and her large, naked breasts were in full view, being literally presented to him as they rested on the top of the box.
She was tan in most places, but tan lines were clearly visible, and it almost made her breasts even more magnificent, as though the whiter, special areas normally concealed by a bikini were now highlighted for his viewing. The nipples were fat and very erect, poking out nearly two full inches from their large areola. Despite their size and the age of the woman sporting them, the breasts hadn't succumbed greatly to gravity. They were still firm and round and spectacular, even if they did hang lower than the girls' in Johns class. The gentle sag also meant they were probably real, which gave John yet another thing to be excited about in what was surely a life-changing moment.
His mouth watered and he licked his lips unconsciously, but John still didn't move, except for his cock which was rapidly growing in his pants.
"I saw you the other day," Molly explained, her voice cracking and giving away the first sign of her own nervousness. "So I thought today it could be, you know. Tit for..."
She saw his pants shift as his hardening dick slipped to the side. She laughed excitedly.
Fortunately for John, Molly's laugh was friendly and comfortable, and he didn't at all feel like she was laughing at him, or even in spite of him, which would have killed any chance he had of getting bolder. In fact, he laughed with her, though with much more nervousness.
But then their laughter subsided, and silence reigned.
"You can do it again," Molly said, her voice serious now, still friendly, but serious. Almost wanting.
John knew what she meant, couldn't believe it, but wasn't going to pass this opportunity up. He looked over her shoulder, out into the street. No neighbors in sight or cars driving near. That could always change. The door was well surrounded by trees at the sides, but a passerby could see them from the front.
John stepped aside, to let Molly come in. He was shaking, and noticed for the first time that so was she. But she didn't move in.
"I can't come in," she said. "It's better if people think we're just chatting, you know. If they see me come in or go out..."
"Yeah," John said, unsure of what to do next.
She saw his hesitation. "Come on. You did it in front of the window last time. Now just do it in front of me."
Point made, John thought.
He unzipped his pants and pulled his erection through, really feeling the cold he was letting in with the open door for the first time. Any other situation and the chill would have killed his hard-on, but this was something else. He was actually throbbing for her, and again stared at her wonderful naked breasts. He had never seen real live tits before. Plenty of porn, but nothing real. And the real breasts before him now were all he'd ever hoped they'd be. He was aching to stuff his face between them, suck and lick them, smother himself in Molly's ample flesh.
He began pumping himself. He considered taking things slow, making this last, but this particular situation wasn't exactly built to last. Molly could only stand there for so long before someone noticed or before she became too far behind in her route. He would have to make this quick, which was actually beneficial, because John knew he wasn't going to last long.
The cum inside of him boiled and bubbled, hanging heavy in his swinging balls. The lust between his legs touched off flames to every part of body, spreading fast down his thighs and up to his chest all at once. He was short of breath, and his heart was racing. His dick felt so hard and so hot as he stroked himself, faster and faster, gripping himself tighter, urging the orgasm out.
Molly, meanwhile, was still fully impressed by the size of John's penis. She had noticed how big he was the other day, but when she recalled it later, she thought she must have been exaggerating it in her mind because of the moment. But here it was again, thick and long and just way too big for guy John's size, but it was real, it was beautiful, and it made her very, very wet. She licked her lips, wanting to wrap her lips around the rigid flesh and just make love to it aggressively. God, how she wanted to taste it. Even holding it, feeling its heat, squeezing and jerking it as John was doing would have been a priceless gift.
But Molly stayed put. She held the box tightly to her, still presenting her chest above it and maintaining control of herself. Maybe they would explore further some other time, if she wasn't fired or arrested.
John had taken a rare moment to look up from Molly's tits to her face and saw the expression she had while watching his hand blur over his erection. She looked just as excited and overwhelmed as he felt looking at her naked breasts. In fact, she looked even more desperate and fixated, because while he was getting to take care of his urges, all she was doing was standing there. He considered making a move, saying or doing something to clue her in that he was ready for more, but then he saw her lick her lips. It wasn't a long, sensuous movement of the tongue as if she knew what she was doing, but rather like she had done it in spite of herself, unconsciously, driven by the naughty things spinning in her head. Naughty things no doubt involving him and his big cock.
John started it lose it right then, and Molly stiffened as she took notice.
Molly hadn't exactly thought this part out. She expected him to cum; that was the whole point, but in her mind they weren't so close, or so involved. She wasn't so turned on and wasn't prepared for John to be so far gone in his own need and desire. After all this, she couldn't just let him cum into his hand, but with her uniform on and much of her route left ahead of her, she couldn't afford to let flying gobs of sperm to get anywhere near her.
John moaned, his body tightened, and he gritted his teeth as his eyes held strong to Molly's erect nipples just a foot and a half away. It was going to happen.
More out of instinct than on purpose, Molly dropped the box and grabbed John by the shoulders. She pulled him to her, bending down and smothering his cock with her tits, burying it in her cleavage just as his cum started to shoot. John cried out, some of it from surprise but mostly in pure, exquisite pleasure as his gooey, milky seed splashed between Molly's tits and then squished back out as she pressed herself around him. Cum literally sprayed out the top of her cleavage from the combined force of his major ejaculation and the tight grip her chest had on him. His hand no longer needed, John fucked the cum-soaked breasts as he emptied even more cum into them.
Even with his dick being so big, it still became lost in Molly's heavy breasts. His large, rubbery cock head would make an appearance on the upstrokes as it peeked above her tits, still oozing hot jizz. John's thick sperm was running down Molly's chest and literally dripping from all over her there, but she had managed enough control to keep all of it away from her uniform coat. Soon, John had stopped cumming, but he still thrust himself between her sopping, slippery tits, making very loud squishing noises.
Molly noticed for the first time that John had placed his hands on her own, helping her to hold her tits together. Something about that little detail, perhaps because it made her feel a little less the dominatrix and more the submissive in this whole ordeal, unexpectedly triggered something from deep inside of her. Suddenly she was stiff and moaning and gasping for breath, reacting to a perfectly timed orgasm. It wasn't the most powerful of climaxes—not even for this week—but an unanticipated gift for sure. She let John continue to fuck her chest, even as he began to soften, while she let the rolling flames lick and curl through her.
When it was over, she doubted John even knew what he'd done to her.
He seemed to know what to do now that it was over, though. He stepped away, leaving her at the door for only a moment before returning with a big bath towel. He knew she needed to get back to work, and that she couldn't very well do that if she was half glazed with teenage sperm. John didn't even offer Molly the towel. He put it against her himself, softly but swiftly rubbing her breasts clean. The towel was warm, and one of the softest she had ever felt. The sensation that Molly experienced as the towel spread and soaked in the thick cum gave her goose-bumps, and she went through another micro-orgasm just as he finished.
"Do you want a shirt?" he asked, pulling her out of her bliss.
"It's cold outside..."
"Oh," Molly said, finding her more calm and composed self again. She straightened up, closed her coat around her, covering up her breasts and their still erect nipples. "I have a shirt. It's in the truck. I just took it off for this block." She winked at him, though she realized immediately afterward that he probably didn't notice, given her dark sunglasses that still concealed her eyes.
John sighed heavily. "That was..."
She watched him trying to find the right way to finish the sentence, then saw him give up and just give her a warm, goofy smile. The smile of a young man who'd just experienced sex for the first time. Well, almost sex, anyway.
Molly was going to leave it at that, as she was a little taken aback by how involved she'd become. She had expected to just show her tits and let the kid do his thing. An act of charity, at most. But seeing the way she effected John and how greatly he'd responded caught her off guard. And now she was probably more horny than he'd been at the beginning of all this. She wasn't going to lead John on, make him think this could be expected to happen again, but she was too excited herself to just cut it off like she'd planned.
"Can we, um...can I see you sometime?" he asked.
Molly was terrified and thrilled all at once. He was asking her out. A guy literally half her age. Her mind raced to come up with some ambiguous response.
"Yeah," she finally said, giving him that friendly smile. "You'll see me on my route."
With that, Molly turned around and went back to work, her legs shaking. She was very satisfied with that response. It was, indeed, ambiguous. Not just to John, though, because Molly herself didn't know what it meant, either.
A short while after Molly had gone and John's brain had had enough time to find it's way out of massive shock, John sat down at the kitchen table and opened the box Molly had delivered to him. There was a bunch of packing peanuts, but otherwise it was empty.
But on the bottom, scratched out and slightly torn and half covered with a couple layers of packing tape, was Molly's full name and mailing address.
FOR MORE STORIES featuring John and Molly, check out Picture Window.