It was one of those blistering summer afternoons where the air itself feels thick and lazy. I’d just finished a tall glass of chilled rosé, the alcohol humming pleasantly in my veins, when I decided the deck was calling my name. I let my silk robe slide off my shoulders, draped it over a chair, and walked outside completely naked. No towel, no bikini, no tan lines allowed. The sun hit my skin like warm hands, and I sighed with pure contentment.

I adjusted the lounger flat, stretched out on my back, and let my knees fall open just enough to feel the breeze tease between my thighs. The wine and heat did their work fast; within minutes I was drifting in that delicious half-sleep where everything feels sensual.

“Ma’am?”

The voice snapped me awake. I blinked against the sun and saw him — the delivery driver — standing at the gate in his brown uniform shorts and polo, clipboard in hand, eyes doing their heroic best to stay on my face. I was sprawled wide open, pussy on full display, nipples tight from the sudden adrenaline.

Instead of shrieking or covering up, something wicked sparked inside me. I stood slowly, letting him take in every inch, and walked toward him barefoot across the warm wood deck.

“Package for you, ma’am,” he managed, voice only cracking a little.

He was tall — easily 6'3" — with strong forearms, dark hair cropped short, and hazel eyes that kept flicking down despite his obvious effort to be polite.

We chatted. Introduced ourselves and began light, teasing banter about the heat, the sun, the “package” he was delivering. Every time he smiled, a dimple flashed. When he handed me the box, my nervous fingers fumbled it. We both bent at the same moment; his hand grazed the underside of my left breast, fingers brushing my nipple for a split second.

Fire shot straight to my clit. I sucked in a breath. He froze, apologized, cheeks flushing. I just smiled, took the box, and watched that fine ass walk away while my pulse pounded between my legs.

Back on the lounger I ripped the package open. Inside: the Womanizer Pro I’d ordered after my girlfriend swore it had made her see stars. Perfect timing. I was already soaked.

It came fully charged and I switched it on, first low setting, just a gentle kiss of suction on my clit. Within thirty seconds I had it cranked to high, legs shaking, hips lifting off the cushion. I pinched my nipples hard, replaying the feel of his hand on my breast, imagining those hazel eyes watching me right now.

The orgasm hit like a freight train. I cried out — loud, shameless — and came so hard it splashed through the slats and splattered on the deck. My whole body convulsed for what felt like minutes.

When the tremors finally slowed, I opened my eyes.

He was still there. Leaning against the gate, one hand gripping the top rail, the other adjusting himself in his shorts.

I stood on wobbly legs, cum glistening down my inner thighs, and crooked a finger. “Forgot something, Jim?”

He cleared his throat. “Signature. Definitely need one this time.”

I opened the gate wide. “Then you’d better come in.”

The second the latch clicked, the professional mask dropped. He stared openly at the wetness trailing down my legs. I stepped close enough that my nipples brushed the company logo on his chest.

“How long were you watching?” I whispered.

“Long enough to know I’m never giving this route to anyone else.”

I licked my lips. “Did you like the show?”

“Fuck, Nadine… I almost came in my shorts.”

That was all I needed. I dropped to my knees right there on the warm deck, yanked his zipper down, and freed the thickest, hardest cock I’d seen in years. A bead of precum already pearled at the tip. I looked up, locked eyes with him, and dragged my tongue slowly from balls to crown.

He groaned my name like a prayer.

I took him deep, hollowing my cheeks, letting him feel the back of my throat. His hands tangled in my hair — not forcing, just anchoring — while I worked him with long, wet strokes. The salty taste of him, the weight on my tongue, the way his thighs trembled — I was drunk on it.

“God, Nadine… I’m close.”

I pulled off just long enough to say, “Come in my mouth, baby. Every drop.”

Two more strokes and he erupted — thick, hot pulses that filled my mouth faster than I could swallow. I kept sucking gently until he shuddered and begged me to stop.

When I finally let him go, a thin string of cum connected my bottom lip to his cock. I broke it with a finger, licked it clean, and grinned.

He hauled me up, kissed me hard — tasting himself on my tongue — then rested his forehead against mine, breathing hard.

“Water?” I teased.

He laughed. “Among other things.”

That afternoon set the pattern. Jim started saving my house for last. Some days I’d greet him in a thin camisole, nipples poking through. Others I’d answer the door in nothing but heels, pretending I’d “just stepped out of the shower.” Each time the bulge in his shorts got more obvious.

One scorching Friday I pushed it further. I waited until I heard the truck, then walked out naked, carrying an iced coffee like it was the most normal thing in the world. I signed for the package with his pen between my teeth while slowly stroking him through the fabric.

He lasted three deliveries after that before he broke.

The moment I opened the door he stepped inside, kicked it shut, and pinned me against the wall. Packages scattered across the floor as he sucked bruises into my neck and slid two fingers deep inside me.

“Been jerking off to you every night,” he growled against my throat.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass. “Then stop jerking off and start fucking me.

”He carried me to the sofa, dropped me on my back, and buried his face between my legs. His tongue was relentless — long, flat licks, then fast flicks over my clit, then sucking until I screamed. I came twice before he flipped me over, yanked my hips up, and drove into me in one hard thrust.

We fucked like animals — couch, floor, kitchen island. By the time he bent me over the deck railing at sunset, I’d lost count of my orgasms. He pulled out at the last second and painted thick ropes of cum across my ass and lower back while the neighbors’ sprinklers hissed in the distance.

These days Jim “delivers” several times a week, even when there’s no actual package. We’ve christened every surface of the house — and half the backyard. We’ve filmed a few short videos on my phone: me riding him on the lounger, him eating me out while I cum soaking his uniform shirt, me on my knees swallowing him while he records POV.

They’re my favorite bedtime viewing now. And every time he watches them on his route between stops, he texts me a single package emoji.

I always reply the same way: Door’s unlocked. Come claim your tip.