Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With a Delivery Man by Kay Jaybee

she visualized the look on his face when she would eventually describe
how she felt right at this moment.
    By the time Jenny saw the department store
ahead of her, it was already almost two o’clock, and she increased her pace.
Perspiring both from the speed at which she’d walked and by the prospect of
what she was about to do, Jenny stepped into the shop’s lift and ascended to
the top floor, praying that the cloakrooms would be empty.
    John’s gruff London accent played in her
head: All these people walking past you
doing their Christmas shopping, and not one of them knows you’re going
commando. One blast of wind and the whole town will be able to see that pussy.
    Marching across the shop floor, picking her
way around the tinsel and Christmas tree displays, terrified she might bump
into someone she knew, Jenny headed straight for the Ladies’ room.
    Her heart sank. Four of the eight toilets
were in use, and two women were at the sinks. Jenny went into the very end
cubicle and bolted the door behind her, grateful that the stalls had floor to
ceiling doors and walls, with no gaps at the bottom. At least she’d have a
little more privacy than she’d previously imagined.
    Leaning back against the stark white door, Jenny
let her bag fall to the floor and took her phone from her pocket, her hands
shaking. She imagined what John would be saying if he was there. Let me see that arse, Jen, let me make sure
you haven’t cheated and worn knickers.
    Lifting up the back of her skirt, Jenny
clicked her phone into camera mode and, thankful for the harsh strip-lighting
and the pale walls, which would ensure she had enough light for the photos to
come out, she stuck her butt out backwards and took a load of snaps.
    Horny from the risqué act of what she was
doing for John, a seep of liquid dribbled down Jenny’s legs as she examined the
photos. Choosing the best shot, she fired it off to her lover.
    Jenny drew out the bunny vibe from her bag,
totally forgetting about the prospect of being overheard as she pictured John
receiving the photo. She had lost count of the number of nights she’d wished
John could have watched her masturbate; well, now he was going to watch –
sort of. Suddenly, she decided she wasn’t going to do exactly as he’d asked.
There wouldn’t be any more photos.
    She was going to video her solo session,
and send him that instead.
    An unbearable heat was rising in her
breasts. Jenny dragged her t-shirt over her head and dumped it onto the floor,
before stripping her bra off and tossing that aside as well. With closed eyes,
she stretched her legs wide. Plucking at her hardening nipples, Jenny quickly
made her pussy desperate for attention.
    She cursed the fact that she didn’t have
enough hands, and squatted down in the confined space, resting the base of her
vibrator on the floor. Thankful for all the yoga classes she’d taken, she
lowered herself onto the solid latex. Clamping her lips shut to stifle the moan
of satisfaction that was already building within her, Jenny balanced herself as
best she could, and clicked the phone onto video record. The dizzying bunny
feature posted nerve-jangling hits against her clit as Jenny began to propel
her legs up and down, moving her free hand to her chest.
    The image of John was so strong within her
that Jenny was sure if she reached out, she would have been able to feel his
flesh ripple beneath her fingers. Licking two of her fingertips, she bought
them back to her breasts, intensifying the reactions deep within her as damp
flesh rubbed damp flesh. Coming with a yell that was muffled by the sound of
whirring hand dryers, Jenny sagged to the floor.
    Several lungfuls of air later, flexing and
un-tensing her legs, Jenny sat her curvy arse against the ceramic toilet seat,
and eased the plastic rod from her vagina.
    Deciding against watching the video
herself, and hoping that John would prefer her chosen medium rather than still
photos, she pressed the send button,