C2 Special Delivery

Mike Hicks

There was a space right in front of the building just big enough for my car—a small miracle in that neighborhood—and I dutifully thanked the parking gods as I inched my way into the tight space. I double-checked the address before I shut off the engine, then pulled out my cell and punched in his number. He picked up on the first ring. “Yeah?”

“Joe, it’s me—Mike. I’m here. I found it OK.”

“Great,” he said, “You wearing the uniform?”

“Yup, I’ve got everything. You ready for me?”

“Oh, I’m ready, buddy,” he said. “Horny and ready to play.” I like it when they’re eager. “Come on up. It’s the fourth floor, apartment six.” There was the click of him hanging up. I put on the brown cap, grabbed the carton, and climbed the steps to the entrance. He buzzed me in as soon as I pressed his bell.

It was the first time I’d met him, let alone role-played with him, but I’d gotten the idea from our online chat that he’d be good at it. You can sort of tell. I started getting a boner in the elevator.

The door slid open to a dim hallway on the fourth floor. I found his door about halfway down on the left. A sound like running water came from inside. I knocked, waited thirty seconds, then pounded it hard a couple more times. The water stopped. There was some shuffling followed by the creak of footsteps coming toward the door. An impatient voice came from behind it: “Yeah?”

“Delivery.” I said. “United Package Systems.”

A moment passed before he spoke again. “What kind of package?” I’m not expecting anything.”

“The package is sealed, sir.” I should have said “concealed.”

“Just leave it by the door,” he said—as though he had no intention of letting me in. He was good. Little touches like that make it feel real. And hot. This was gonna be fun.

“But I’ll need a signature, sir.”

There was another pause. “OK, just a minute. I gotta put something on.” There was the sound of further shuffling before the door swung open to reveal one of those vast, stylish loft apartments that are called studios but that are bigger than a two-bedroom house. It gave the impression of being well constructed.

So did its occupant: He stood there, a vision of pissed-off masculinity, soaking wet, ringlets of black hair clinging to his neck, naked except for the towel he held closed at the hip. There was an accent of hair on each slab of pectoral, flattened against his skin by the water. Drops ran down the hard flesh of his stomach and disappeared beneath the towel. A trail of drips led from a door at the far end of the space across the hardwood to a puddle at his feet. He hadn’t mentioned his big feet—a turn-on for me—but then he hadn’t mentioned how much he’d bulked up his arms and chest since that pic on the Web site was taken either.

He cleared his throat. I quickly transferred my gaze from the indented navel up to the deep brown eyes. “Um, is that the package?” he said.

“Yes … sorry. Here you go, sir.” I handed him the cardboard cube. He took it with his free hand and examined the return address with a puzzled expression. I handed him the clipboard and pen. “Please sign by the X.”

He reached for it with his other hand and the towel fell to the floor. “Sorry,” he said, doing a good job of feigning embarrassment. His thick, soft dick swung left as he put the package down to pick up the towel. It looked bigger than on the Web, surprisingly bigger even flaccid. His pubes were wet and dripping. There was a trace of soapy lather on the fat head, and some suds ran from the dark meat of his ball bag down his inner thigh. I like good hygiene down there. He threw the white terrycloth back around his waist, this time securing it tightly in order to take pen and clipboard in hand. He signed and handed it back to me. “OK,” he said, “thanks, buddy. Have a good night.” He reached for the knob as though he really was going to shut the door on me. I took it as my cue to creatively invite myself in.

“Excuse me, Mister …” I looked at his signature and suppressed a snicker “… Mister Dickwell. I’ve been making deliveries all day, and I’m thirsty as hell. I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a glass of water.”

He frowned and scrutinized me for a second before responding. “Yeah, I guess so. Come on in.”

I followed him across the space to the kitchen area. He opened the fridge and rooted around. There was a subtle patch of hair in the small of his back. The towel hung low enough on his ass that I could see the beginning of his crack. “I’m out of bottled water. How about a beer instead?”

“That’d be fine.” I said. “I’d like that even better. He grabbed two bottles, twisted off the caps, and handed one to me. He sat down on a barstool at the counter and motioned for me to do the same before he wrapped his lips around the amber glass. We each took an initial chug.

“Thanks a lot,” I said. “That really hits the spot.” I spread my legs to display the erection strapped to my leg by the tight brown pants.

His eyes traveled down to the bulge, then back up to my face. Slowly a smile dawned on his face, and very slowly it turned into a knowing leer. He let the bottom of the sweating bottle touch his right nipple as he brought it to his lips for another sip. It nudged the left one on its way back down, and he let it rest there, teasing the hardening nub while we talked. “How long you been working for UPS?” he asked.

“Couple years.” I took another sip and rested the butt of my own bottle on the head of the erection in my pants. It left a wet spot that made it look like my cock head was leaking. Which it was.

His smirk widened into a smile. He made no effort to hide the boner growing under his towel. He brought his beer down to rest on the tip of it, then flexed his erect cock to move the bottle up and down. “How are the benefits?”

“Oh,” I said, “better some days than others—if you know what I mean.” I undid the first couple buttons of my shirt. “Getting hot in here. Mind if I take this off?” I untucked it and had it open before he had a chance to answer. It slipped off my shoulders to the floor. I mouthed a silent, coy oops.

“Nah”—he was leering now—“can’t say I mind at all. As long as you don’t mind this.” He stood and let the towel fall. He crossed his arms on his chest, leaned back, and looked down at his erection.

I gulped. It actually looked a hell of a lot bigger in person than on the computer screen. The head looked hard enough to burst. He wagged it back and forth a couple times and then looked up at me from under dark eyebrows. “Got any time before your next delivery, UPS guy?”

“Mike,” I reminded him. I nodded and unbuckled my belt.

“Get comfortable then, Mike.”

I was naked in five seconds. He gave me the all-over eye and seemed pleased. He pulled me toward him and put his hand on the back of my head, drawing my face to his. His tongue entered me in one violent plunge. Our pricks rubbed together and slid around in the drip while I got lost in his aggressive kiss.

I could’ve tongue-wrestled with him a long time, but I remembered he’d said he wanted me to be dominant, so I figured I’d go with the agreed-on plan. I put a hand on each of his plump deltoids to push him to his knees—but he resisted, driving his tongue deeper into my mouth. I pushed harder.

“No!” he growled. He took my shoulders and pushed me down. I resisted for a moment before I gave in and knelt. He was changing the script and the spontaneity of it was getting me hot. I was ready to go with it.

With his erection wagging at my eye level, he took his bottle and poured a few drops on the head. “Go ahead,” he sneered, “have some beer.” I wrapped my lips around the knob and sucked. The taste of beer and sweat combined with something unsurprisingly thick and salty. I popped the head in and out of my mouth in time with his groans. He took me by the hair and pulled me off it for a minute. I looked up at him. “Open wide,” he said. He laid the head on my tongue and let it rest there as he poured more beer into his pubic hair. Some of it ran down his shaft and into my mouth, most of the rest went down his legs to the floor or down my chin onto my chest. I kept up my slurping until the bottle was empty.

When I’d swallowed the last drops, he grabbed the back of my head and shoved in as much of the thick shaft as I could take. I did my best. He rocked in and out of my throat a good five minutes. I was ready to let him go longer. But he stopped me and pulled me up standing.

“Come on,” he said, nodding in the direction of the platform bed in the corner. I followed him to it and flopped down on my back. “Nice dick,” he said.

“Thanks.”

“Now turn over.”

“Wha …”

“Turn over. On your hands and knees.”

I hesitated. This part of the script change was less interesting to me. He didn’t wait for me to comply but grabbed me by the waist and flipped me over himself, then lay down on top of me. His hard prick rested in my crack. His weight on me felt good, but I had to tell him: “Mr. Dickwell … I’m not really a bottom …”

He put his mouth next to my ear. His breath was hot. “You’re about to become one—Mike, is it?” He rose and pulled my butt up in the air. “Nice,” he said.

“But, really, I haven’t had anyone up there in long time … I—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle. Mostly.” He ran the tips of his fingers in circular patterns over the cheeks of my butt, moving them closer and closer to the crack, then slowly spreading it open. I heard him spit, and then felt the warm saliva run down the valley. His finger brushed my pucker and lingered, then entered me exquisitely slowly.

I relaxed into it, surprised that I wanted him to go in further. He finger-fucked me a bit, then lingered on my tight muscle ring, teasing it and playing with it, chuckling when he saw it twitch. “Clench it and relax it for me,” he directed. I tried. I tightened it, then let the muscle release as best I could. Then I felt two fingers enter me. My moan resembled a whimper, but I let him continue. He leaned to my ear and whispered, “Ready for something bigger?” I’m still trying to figure out what made me say yes.

He flipped me back over on my back and stuck a pillow under my ass. His cock was wrapped in a condom he must’ve applied while he was fingering me. He touched my ball sac with the rubbered tip.

“Use plenty of lube, OK?” I said.

He grabbed a bottle from the nightstand and handed it to me. “You put on as much as you want.” I squirted a handful onto my palm and stroked it onto the latex-sheathed bone. It surged at my touch. He closed his eyes and shuddered. “You better let me stick this in, UPS guy—before we waste a condom.”

I grabbed my haunches and spread myself open. He positioned the tip against my pucker. I gave it a couple butt-kisses and then felt the pressure of him trying to go in.

“Just relax, buddy, try to push it out.” I tried. He pressed. The head popped in. He started rocking before he got all the way into me, then went deeper with each stroke till he was plunging it in all the way, and pulling almost all the way out on the outstroke. With each thrust of his hips he let out a loud grunt.

My near-virginal hole couldn’t take too much of that pounding, but fortunately, he was already close. He made one last brutal thrust. I let out a grunt of discomfort and he pulled out. The jism began squirting the second he ripped off the condom, and kept flowing in rhythmic spurts for thirty seconds. His sperm was steamy hot on my belly and chest. He shook the prick a few times till he was sure he’d given me every drop. I reached to stroke my own dick, but he took over for me, locking his eyes on mine and keeping me captive with them as he pulled on my shaft until I got close to that sweet place of no return. He brought his other hand to my left nipple and pinched.

The spasming started somewhere deep in my guts, then an odd and welcome clench of pleasure moved from that indistinct spot inside down to my drawn-up nut sac, intensifying till it moved up to the head of my dick. The sensation shot up the front of my body, even after the hot fountain of juice began shooting, and exited me in a low, involuntary shout. It wound down like a siren spending itself till the only sound left was my breathing and his. He decreased the pressure on my nipple but held on to my cock for a long while after I finished, even after it got soft. I reached for his. It was still erect.

He chuckled. “It stays hard for a while after I cum,” he said. Some guys are just made that way, I guess. My thumb and forefinger couldn’t reach all the way around it. I gave it a couple strokes. He grinned and let go of me, then got up to get the towel from where he’d dropped it, and came back to wipe our mingled semen off my belly. “Thanks,” I said.

“No problem. Mama always taught me to clean up my mess.” He finished the job and tossed the towel back on the floor, then lay down next to me on the bed. He kissed me, gently this time, just lips touching, tender with the tongue. I could have stayed with that kiss a long time, but reality hit me to keep from doing something I might regret. It was, after all, just an Internet hookup. Fun, but not a good idea to take it too seriously.

I got up and found the elements of my uniform. He played with the head of his boner while he watched me dress. I grabbed the box and clipboard and paused before heading for the door to get a last look at him. “You know,” I said, “you should really get some new pictures.”

“What do you mean?” He propped himself up on an elbow.

“New pictures—for your Web ad. You look a lot different now. Hotter, frankly.”

He looked genuinely confused. “Web ad? I don’t have …”

We looked at each other for a few seconds of puzzled silence. “You’re not roleplayslut69?”

“Um, no, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Isn’t this 307 Fernandez, apartment six?”

“Well, it’s 307 all right, but …” He slapped himself on the forehead and rolled his eyes, then grabbed the cum-soaked towel from the floor and wrapped it back around his waist. He went to the door and cracked it, then checked to make sure no one was in the hallway before opening it all the way. “Shit,” he said. He touched the metal number six on the door. It was loose. He rotated it with his finger. It became a nine. “That top nail came out last week. I really did mean to fix it …”

“So, this isn’t …?”

He shook his head. “Nope.” Another pause, then: “So, I’m guessing you don’t really work for UPS …”

I shook mine. “And your last name really is Dickwell?”

He nodded. There was a moment of stunned silence before we fell against each other laughing, and a good several minutes before we stopped. When we’d both recovered, we hugged, and he lay back down on the bed. I put on my cap to go.

“Well, thanks for the delivery, in any case.” he said.

“Yeah, and thanks for, um, opening me up to new experiences.”

“No problem. If you care to make this a regular stop on your route, I might open you up a bit more.” He winked.

“I’d like that. I’d better get going now, though. Where is apartment nine anyway? He must be wondering what happened to me.”

“Other end of the hall, but don’t you think he’s probably given up on you by this point?” He locked his hands behind his head, exposing the dark patches of hair in his pits. The scent made it to my nostrils in an instant, making an electrical connection to my nuts. He was, incredibly, still hard. He wiggled it and grinned. “Why don’tcha make his delivery some other time?”

I thought about it for a second, then shrugged and started to unbutton my shirt again.