“Well, you’re a big ol’ boy, aren’t ya, hon?” Mrs. Carr’s blond curls bounce lightly as her misty blue eyes peer upwards from behind the door chain. Plump red cheeks shift as she flashes a pearl smile. “Brought me some goodies?”
“Uhhh,” I offer. I’m not great at talking to people, in general, or with friends even. It's why I signed up for Grocer-E-Run. Most times, all I gotta do is drop off a few bags, blast the AC, keep the gas receipts, and head home. But on the notes for this delivery, the app told me to ring the bell. A few seconds pass before I remember she asked me a question. “Uh-huh...”
The silence feels heavy. Her eyebrows slowly rise over a narrowing glare, and I know I’m supposed to say something else. She adjusts, resting a hand on wide hips, while her full lips press together, becoming thinner with each passing moment. What did I do… then I remember my Momma’s voice telling me to be polite.
“Yes, Ma’am,” I let out with the breath I’d been holding.
The growing fury vanishes, replaced by a church ladies cackle.
“That’s better, sweetie. Now go ahead, grab them bags, and toss ‘em on the table,” She unlatches the fragile golden chain and pushes the door open. “Get outta the sun for a bit.”
The hallway is kinda narrow, and she stands smack dab in the way. Mrs. Carr's a short little thing. Hardly comes up to my chest but round. Like, not in a bad way. Definitely not in a bad way. She's wearing a yellow sun dress like you’d see in a catalog with little dots all over it, and I can’t help but notice how the fabric paints her curves. Also...
Her ass is massive. Epic. I can tell, even though she ain't turned ‘round, ‘cause the fabric strains near her thighs and hips, not to mention the outline peeking out from behind. I’m trying to be a gentleman, truly, but it’s hard. Girls don’t realize when you’re tall, you gotta look down to talk, and ya see everything. Like only for a second, usually before I catch myself. But I see the black outline of her bra, the shimmer of sweat on her cleavage, and it leaves an impression. Or whatever you wanna call the pressure coming to life between my leg, testing the strength of my boxers.
“Aint got all day, child,” a flash of her earlier no-nonsense power crosses her face. “Let’s go.”
She doesn’t move, so I turn to my side so I can scoot on by. Momma told me it’s rude to turn your back on a lady, but my problem keeps getting bigger. I try to move fast. She ain't got, but four bags, and I can handle that easy. But it’s a crowded spot with hooks holding a bunch of coats, pictures of smiling kids on the walls threatening to fall, and a rumpled welcome mat trying to trip me up. But before I’m fully past, she goes to close the door, pushing that ass into my crotch. Those two cheeks flex against my fully hard cock as the lock bolts and the chain slid in place. I can’t breathe and stand paralyzed. I don't know how long we stand there. Two seconds? A lifetime?
But then, slowly but firmly, she presses back, knocking me into the coats. Mrs. Carr follows so our bodies don't lose contact. Momma never told me what to do in these situations.
“Big boy, for sure,” she pushes harder, and I drop the bags; the groceries spill out, joining the mess at my feet. I instinctively grip her above the waist, but I do nothing to stop her from circling my cock except squeeze a little.
“Gotta be with hands like that.” She reaches, grabs my fingers, brings them to her breast, and presses my palm so hard I’m worried it’ll hurt. Maybe it does, but the harsh grunting Mrs. Carr lets out hits me like a spike. My dick feels like it could rip through my drawers, pants, and that dress before tearing into her pussy. I thrust forward, pushing her into the little end table in this tiny damn hall. She knocks over family photos so she can hold onto something solid, and her back arcs as she tries to position that juicy ass for easy access. With one hand, I clutch the polka dots and pull up, letting the fabric rest on the curve of her spine. My other hand unbuckles, pulls down, and lets my dick taste air.
