Not Her Type: Erotic Adventures With a Delivery Man by Kay Jaybee Read Free Book Online Page A

fingers, she smiled.
‘Did I ever tell you that I love belts?’ Without waiting for a response, Jenny
freed his length and made a fist around his cock. She pumped him twice –
as she’d pre-planned in the solo-quiet of the previous evening – before
abruptly letting go of him and walking away.
    John’s face was a vision of pure confusion
as, with hands on her hips, Jenny calmly said, ‘Get on your knees, delivery
man.’ He only hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping free of his
pants and dropping to the floor.
    Moving forward, without a word Jenny
gestured for John to remove his t-shirt. Walking around him in a slow circle,
she examined him from every angle. John had had things his own way for weeks.
It was her turn now. The old Jenny had certainly been willingly submissive
– someone who relished being led rather than leading – but that didn’t
mean she didn’t have the occasional urge to turn the tables and make her
partner beg for mercy. She just hoped she hadn’t lost her touch.
    Taking a black scarf from a collection of
supplies she’d hidden beneath the sofa, Jenny deftly tied his arms behind his
back. Unable to hide her pleasure as she continued to study him, Jenny
whispered, ‘There is truly nothing as fantastic to behold as a fuck-me handsome
man without power.’
    Kneeling before John, she saw that his
wide, dark brown eyes were watching her intently. Kissing each of his eyelids,
Jenny collected a blindfold from its hiding place and, with a suggestive raise
of her eyebrows and a teasing waggle of her fingers, plunged him into darkness.
As John opened his mouth to speak, his favourite customer placed a fingertip across his
lips. ‘No talking. Yes?’
    John nodded obediently.
    Viewing her enslaved lover, Jenny stroked
his chest, enjoying the light spring of his hair as it tickled her palms. She
knew she was going to make John late for the remainder of his rounds, but she
didn’t care, and was going to make sure that he didn’t either.
    Reveling in her unprecedented freedom, Jenny let her skirt fall to the
floor, her memory teeming with images of their previous animal coupling in the
back of his lorry. Her knees and backside still bore the marks of their frantic
encounter.
    Discarding her shirt and freeing her
breasts, she made sure the cotton material caressed John’s tattoos, cleverly
letting him know that she was undressing. Jenny placed her hands on John’s
shoulders, pushing him so that he was face down on the soft carpet, his hands
bound behind him, his arse in the air.
    Beginning at his feet, Jenny began a
thorough survey of John’s whole body by stroking a silk handkerchief over his
ankles, making him writhe under its tickling touch. Moving it stealthily up the
back of his legs, she could taste the sharp tang of tension that infused the
room.
    He squirmed under her touch. Jenny could
tell he was trying to anticipate her next move while struggling not to speak,
and she smiled to herself as she dragged the gentle weapon of torture up behind
his knees.
    By the time Jenny approached the rounded
cheeks of his magnificent arse, John’s breathing was ragged, and his tethered
hands were clenched together with the effort of not pleading with her to speed
up.
    Completely absorbed in her task,
alternating between both light and firm pressure, Jenny smoothed every inch of
his back, his bum, and his sides with the handkerchief, making him flinch and
whine until, as she reached his neck, he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. ‘Oh
hell, girl, I…’
    Cutting through John’s sentence, Jenny
said, ‘As I said earlier, I am very fond of belts. I particularly like the
marks they leave behind when they bite the flesh. That sort of blotched, fuzzy,
pink patchwork pattern.’
    Winding the leather strap around her wrist
before she took aim, Jenny let a gentle smack land against John’s butt. His
sigh encouraged her, and she began to increase the power behind her strikes.
Quickly building up a