Double Dare(153)

So I slipped on a pair of red peep-toe pumps, real fuck-me shoes if you saw them, patent leather and sky high. Pursing my lips, I stared at the mountains of boxes before me again, half-heartedly sifting through a pile of boring work clothes, stained jeans and flannels, and an armful of raggedy lingerie. I didn’t want to wear it, truth be told. A lot of the clothes were uninspiring, all of it musty-smelling from being packed away, most of it worse for the wear, grimy and wrinkled.

But oh wait, there was something that would be perfect. I peered into a monster sized box, plunging my arm into the darkness and managed to snag a hip-length faux fur jacket in black. Yep, no wrinkles on this and the fur was really soft, even a little oily, just like the real thing. There’s no way I’d ever buy real fur even if I could afford it, but I’d come upon this gem at a consignment shop and forked over the two hundred dollars because it was sassy and hugged my curves just so.

I modeled it in the floor length mirror propped against the wall. Oh yeah, you could see my little cunt poking out just below the hem, my smooth shaved lips already glistening with desire, my meaty thighs thick and strong. And with the red peep-toes, all I needed now was a slick of red lipstick and I was ready to go. Pulling out a tube of Revlon’s Vampiress, I outlined my lips, pressing them together to saturate the color, then slowly licked them for a glossy, glistening effect. Perfect. I was a seductress waiting for my man, a vixen in heat.

But as I turned this way and that in the mirror, waves of doubt began welling up inside. What was I doing? Was I, Laurie Holmes, a regular office worker, really doing this? Was I really sexing it up, wearing nothing but a fur coat and high heels to seduce my delivery man? Suddenly I felt unsure of myself, really insecure. Maybe my curves were too much, maybe I was coming on too strong, too eager, and it would drive Tucker away, turn him off in disgust

But then I steadied myself. Down girl, I calmed myself, that’s not it. It’s the divorce that’s doing this to you, making your emotions rush around, making you play games in your head. Get a grip, you’ll be fine.

Besides, it was too late for second thoughts because a knock rang out suddenly.

“Ms. Holmes,” came the deep voice. “Delivery.”

And taking a deep breath, steadying my nerves, I made my way to the door, pressing my eye against the peephole. Oh god, he was here and my heart began racing immediately. Tall, broad, imposing, Tucker had his cap pulled low but that did nothing to disguise his strong jaw and mobile mouth. And oh god, where that mouth had been yesterday made me shiver and tremble all over again, my cunt moistening immediately, gushing with sweet juices. Suddenly my doubts were forgotten, my body on high just from a glimpse of the man through the fisheye peephole.

So I unlocked the door, peering out from behind the wooden frame and shot him a sweet smile.

“Hi big guy,” I said shyly. “Thanks so much. Do you have my package?”

His eyebrows raised at my contorted position, only my head and neck visible, craning like a goose.

“Sure,” he growled, gesturing to the box on the floor. But he held an electronic tracker as well. “But you’ll have to sign for it.”

This was like a re-play of yesterday. Except this time I was prepared. Glancing quickly around the landing to make sure no one was there, no sounds of approaching footsteps or distant voices, I made my move.

Sashaying out from behind the door, I posed provocatively before opening the coat, my boobies bare, my cunt wet, clad only in my high heels.

“Hey big boy,” I purred. “Just wait a minute while I get a pen. You wanna help me look for one?”

And the big man was stock still for a moment, his eyes ravenous, eating me up. Of course there was no need for a pen at all, nothing so mundane. Technology was advanced that all I had to do was take the electronic stylo and sign away, the magnetic field would pick up my scrawl. So it was a lame excuse at best, straight out of a corny porn flick, but it worked. Tucker was looking at me like a starving man come upon a feast in the desert, his eyes trailing my every curve, his dick punching out with assurance. And all my previous insecurities, my “oh gods” and “what ifs” flew out of my head like mist dissipating in the bright sunshine. This was a man who wanted me, who saw nothing but perfection judging from the way his eyes were on fire, the way his big body went rock hard. And in two long strides, Tucker was in my apartment, door slamming shut behind him, package forgotten on the ground as he dropped to his knees in front of me.

“Fuck, you little slut,” he breathed hotly, the warm air gusting against my cunt. “Fuck, you’re one horny little girl, aren’t you?”