The box felt heavy in my hands, a solid, anonymous cardboard promise. Another delivery for 2B. Ever since I'd moved in, Mr. Callahan from next door had become my accidental doorman, my misdirected parcels a flimsy excuse for the few words we'd exchanged in the hallway. He was older, probably in his late forties, with a receding hairline that did nothing to subtract from the sheer, solid presence of him. I'd watch him sometimes, from behind my peephole, listening to the firm click of his door.
My name is Mia, and my internal monologue is a filthy, screaming contrast to my quiet exterior. Where I offer a soft "thank you" and a quick, shy smile, my mind is picturing his thick, work-roughened hands on my body, those strong fingers pulling at the thin fabric of my shorts. I live alone with these thoughts, in a small apartment that seems to amplify the weight of my own heavy tits and the thick curve of my thighs.
Tonight, the kitchen sink decided to add its own pathetic dripping to the symphony of my isolation. I'd just gotten out of the shower, the humid air clinging to my skin. I'd thrown on a tiny black crop top and a pair of soft, grey shorts, the kind that ride up between my plump ass cheeks with every step. I wasn't wearing a bra. The damp, cool cotton of the top felt abrasive and perfect against my sensitive, hard nipples. Fuck, each movement sent a small, electric jolt through me.
The knock at the door was firm, predictable. I opened it just a crack, the chain still on.
"Evening, Mia," Mr. Callahan said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated right through the wood of the door. He held up a small box. "Another one for you."
"Th-thank you," I stammered, unlatching the chain. As I reached for it, I caught his eyes. They weren't on my face. They were locked on the front of my crop top, on the way the thin material did nothing to hide the hard points of my nipples or the heavy, full sway of my tits as I moved.
I took the box, my face flushing. "The sink's leaking," I blurted out, the words just falling out of me.
A slow smile spread across his face. "Is it now? Let me take a look. I'm handy."
He didn't wait for an answer, just stepped inside, his large frame suddenly filling my small space. The air shifted, charged with a heat that had nothing to do with the weather. He went straight to the sink, getting on his knees to look underneath. I stood there, useless, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
"I think I see the issue," he grunted. "Need a wrench. You got a toolbox?"
"Under the sink," I whispered.
As I bent over to open the cabinet door, I felt the air stir behind me. I knew what he was seeing: the way my shorts strained across the full expanse of my ass, the way it must have jiggled with the motion. I fumbled for the toolbox, my hands clumsy.
"Here, let me," he said, his voice suddenly right behind me. His body heat radiated against my back. He didn't reach for the toolbox. His hands, smelling of soap and man, settled on my hips. Fuck. I froze, a choked gasp catching in my throat. "You're shaking, Mia."
He turned me around slowly, pinning me between his body and the counter. His eyes were dark, hungry. One of his hands left my hip and came up, his thumb brushing over the thin cotton covering my nipple. I arched into his touch, a silent, desperate yes.
"These are fucking magnificent," he breathed, his voice rough. His other hand slid from my hip to the full curve of my ass, squeezing, making the soft flesh yield under his grip. "So fucking heavy. I've thought about these tits since the first time I saw you."
He leaned down, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that was nothing like my shy fantasies. It was demanding, deep, a claiming. I melted into it, my arms winding around his neck. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down my neck. "My rule," I panted, the words a desperate plea. "No kissing my face."
A dark, thrilled laugh rumbled in his chest. "Whatever you say, princess. I'll worship every other fucking inch of you."
In one swift motion, he lifted me onto the cold countertop. The shock of the cool surface against my bare thighs made me gasp. He stood between my spread legs, his hands pushing my crop top up and over my head, tossing it aside. My tits spilled free, heavy and full, my nipples so hard they ached. "Jesus Christ," he groaned, his hands coming up to cradle their weight. "Look at these perfect fucking tits." He squeezed them, his thumbs rubbing rough circles over my nipples, sending shocks of pleasure straight to my soaked cunt.
He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, his tongue lashing the sensitive peak. I cried out, my head falling back. His free hand slid up my inner thigh, pushing my shorts aside. His fingers found my pussy through the damp cotton, pressing against my swollen lips. "So wet for me already," he muttered against my breast. "I'm gonna taste every drop."
He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my shorts and panties and pulled them down my thick thighs in one motion. The cool air hit my bare skin, and I watched, my breath coming in ragged pants, as he looked his fill.
He gently pushed my knees further apart, his eyes glued to my cunt. "Fuck, sweetie. Look at that. A perfect, meaty fucking pussy." He ran a single, thick finger through my soaked folds, spreading me open. My inner lips, swollen and dark pink, glistened, dangling invitingly. "So fucking wet. I'm going to drown in this cunt."
He dropped to his knees on my kitchen floor and buried his face between my legs.
The first swipe of his tongue was a lightning bolt. It was broad and hot and fucking hungry. He licked a long, slow strip from my dripping entrance all the way up to my throbbing clit, flattening his tongue against my entire swollen vulva. My back arched off the counter, a broken cry tearing from my throat. His hands gripped my ass, pulling me harder against his mouth, his stubble scratching the soft skin of my inner thighs.
He ate me like a starved man. His tongue fucked into my hole, plunging deep before retreating to circle my clit. He sucked on my inner lips, pulling them into his mouth one at a time, tasting me, worshiping me like I'd demanded. The sounds were obscene: wet, sucking noises, his low groans, my high-pitched whimpers. My own juices were slick all over his chin. I looked down, my vision blurry, and saw his bald head between my trembling thighs, his face completely covered by my plump, wet pussy.
"Yes, right there, fucking lick my clit, yes!" I begged, my hands tangling in what was left of his hair. I was grinding myself against his face, my hips moving of their own volition. The pleasure built, a terrifying, incredible pressure in my core. He focused all his attention on my clit, sucking it, flicking it with the very tip of his tongue.
The orgasm ripped through me without warning. I screamed, my body seizing up, my thighs clamping around his head as wave after wave of pure, fucking ecstasy rolled through me. He didn't stop, drawing out every last shuddering spasm until I was a trembling, oversensitive mess, pushing weakly at his shoulders.
He finally pulled back, his face gleaming with my release. He stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a look of raw, male satisfaction on his face. My pussy pulsed, empty and aching.
"I have to go," he said, his voice husky. He leaned in, kissed my trembling stomach. "But I'll be back. I'm not nearly done worshiping this perfect fucking body." He gave my thigh a final, possessive squeeze and walked out, leaving my front door slightly ajar.
I slid off the counter, my legs barely holding me. I was dripping down my thighs, my cunt still throbbing. I stumbled to the door and locked it, leaning my forehead against the cool wood. My entire body was humming. I could still smell him, taste my own need on my lips. I slid a hand between my legs, my fingers easily finding my swollen, sensitive clit again. Fuck. He'd unlocked something wild in me. And he was coming back for more.