House-Sitter, Not A Spitter
As a regular Joe in his Twenties trying to make it out in Los Angeles, I needed to take on an extra gig. Maybe "needed" is the wrong word. It wasn't like I either had to deliver food or set up camp on the side of the street. It was more like, "Wow, I'm tired of having no money after paying all the bills." Also, I am not a woman who can just fire up her laptop and sell nudes of my bleached/shaved asshole online for a $5 monthly subscription fee.
So around three months ago, I signed up for a delivery service. Skip the Dishes, to be more of a shill.
The process was rather easy. They even sent me a nice little bag and card a few days later. I was told doing food delivery in LA is difficult with only one person, because you're always looking for parking. I tested it out, and yeah, during the rush times? Fucking sucks. Would not recommend. Most days you find yourself getting the urge to just speed to Home Depot for some rope and a weak stool.
But, if you take the night shift? It's really not so bad. Would recommend.
You may not make as much, but what the fuck, you don't care about this shit.
Point is, I've been delivering food at night, and for the most part it's been uneventful. I mean, you’d think I would’ve seen some black people shoot each other at this point, but nah. Life couldn’t be that wonderful.
I had been dropping most items off at the door, so I barely had to interact with anyone, which was cool with me, because most people are pieces of shit to begin with. Lately though, people have been more willing to accept the food, so I've had some strange interactions.
A few weeks back, this NPC Baldcel (50s, shirtless) answered the door, "Where's the jerky?" he asked almost instantly, as if he knew there wasn't going to be jerky. "It didn't say anything about jerky, I'm sorry," I replied.
"Fuck, man. Every time I order some fucking jerky from this place it never fucking comes," he said, banging his fist on the door.
"I'm sorry. I can check to make sure it's not on..." I scrolled through my phone, looking at the order. No jerky, "Yeah, there's no jerky listed."
"What are you saying?"
"I-I-I uh," I stammered.
"I ordered a fucking jerky."
"Do you want me to go back?"
"And then have my fries get cold?
"I'm sorry. You can request a refund on the app."
"I know," he said and then slammed the door shut.
He was probably the scariest customer I've had. Not the weirdest, though.
I had one person answer the door on a leash. His "owner" was behind him.
I had to literally place the food on this dude's back as he crawled around on his knees. He barked at me before I left. I can only hope the bark was a "Thank you" and not a "Please help me."
Anyway, it's been fun for the most part, and I've been making decent money. But last weekend, the delivery gig went from "Fun" to "Best experience of my life."
It was around 10:15 at night on Friday. I had been driving since 8:00 PM.
I was doing pretty well. Nothing spectacular, but decent. I got this ping for a small order from this little pizza place around Ventura. I think it was breadsticks and these cinnamon roll things. I decided to accept it because I was right by the restaurant, and I wanted to see how stoned this person who ordered it was.
So I picked the order and drove to the destination, which was about 15 minutes away. I expected to arrive to some apartment complex, but it was actually a fairly nice house near Mullholland, Laurel Canyon area. You know, the type of house that would cost like $300,000 in a normal city, but in Los Angeles it probably goes for close to a million. Big stacks.
I parked the car, grabbed the carbalicious snacks and walked to the front door. I rang the doorbell and pressed my ear close up to the door to make sure the doorbell worked. By the way, I've wasted many minutes of my life waiting on a broken doorbell. Before I could pull my head away from the door, it opened, and standing behind it was...not a stoner bro. It was a beautiful woman. She looked a lot like Ana de Armas, except probably a few years younger. She wore a tank-top and those comfy looking yoga pants that aren't actually yoga pants. I could see her camel-toe.
When the door had opened, I stumbled trying to gain my balance from the ill-timed lean.
"Sorry," I mumbled to her like a humbled moron. She laughed and smiled at me. Then I smiled at her, because like, how the fuck do you not smile while looking at something so beautiful. After a few seconds of silence, and staring at her pussy wedgie, I reached my hand out like a maitre d' at Spago to give her the bag of food.
"You know, your photo on the app doesn't disappoint," she said, grabbing the food.
"It shows your photo, on the app, and most of the time the drivers don't look anything like their photo. Or even worse, they do."
"That's funny you say that."
"Why?" she asked.
"That photo is like a decade old. I took it with my first iPhone," I joked.
"Yes," I said with a laugh, "I'm just playing."
"You're funny too, hm. Total package." she bit her lip.
"Well, I'm broke, so there's that." I said with confidence.
"No worries, my parents are loaded," she replied in kind.
"Are they home?" I asked, and then realized how creepy that sounded, "Wait, what, don't answer that." I added.
She laughed again, "It's fine. They're on a trip. I'm house-sitting. I'm in college close by, so it's not a big deal. Better than the apartment I share with my friend and her boyfriend, who wasn't supposed to be part of the deal, by the way," she paused, "I'm rambling. You probably have more deliveries. I'm sorry."
"I do have an ice cream order in the car, and it's definitely melted by now."
"Oh no," she grimaced.
"It's fine. Who gives a shit?"
"Well, uh, if you're not like tired or anything after you're done; do you think that maybe you'd want to come back around here? Have a drink or something? I'll save you a breadstick!" She smiled.
"Really?" I said, trying not to spring a roll in my pants.
"Yes, I'll really save you a breadstick," she responded with a straight face.
"Okay," I laughed. "I'll drop off this melted fucking ice cream and swing back," I smiled, "I don't know why I said swing. I never say swing," I added before running down the sidewalk toward my car. "I'll be back!"
When I left, I proceeded to break numerous moving violations and traffic codes; I delivered that melted ice cream with the biggest grin on my face. Thankfully it was a "drop-off at door" order, so I didn't get yelled at for handing them cold chocolate soup with sprinkles, which basically looked like a clown shat nasty diarrhea in a bowl.
After dropping off the order, I went “offline/Out of Service” and drove right back to Helena's house. I think that's the first time I've mentioned her name. It's Helena. Now you know...
I parked behind her car in the driveway, blocking the sidewalk, because who gives a fuck at this point with all the other violations that night.
Once inside, Helena gave me a short tour of the house and then led me to the living room; a single breadstick was waiting for me on the coffee table. Admittedly, I wasn't really hungry for a breadstick; I nibbled on it to be polite. Helena picked at her cinnamon rolls.
"So, is this something you do often?" I asked her, as we sat a few inches away from each other on the couch.
"Like, did you invite the Domino’s guy in last night? Sparkletts driver tomorrow?"
"No," she laughed. "You're the first. We'll see how this goes."
We talked for a few more minutes before she got us some drinks.
The conversation was nice.
The connection was like something you'd see in a rom-com that was about to turn full Red Shoe Diaries (Showcase).
I had a friend who always said “Everyone gets one night.” One night of Hollywood movie love, and I think this was my night.
We just connected in a way I've never felt before; I had a stiffy the size of that breadstick (just as hard and stale), snaking its way down my thigh. It wasn't until an hour in that we shared our first kiss, and I'm honestly not even sure who initiated it, but I remember everything after. Her mouth tasted like Christmas.
We stopped eating our food; we skipped the dishes and got down to it.
I pulled her in close to me on the couch so I could place my hands on her waist. She bit down on my bottom lip and then patched the wound with a soft swipe of her tongue. My hands slowly slid up her sides until they reached her face. I slid my hand around to the back of her head and pulled her hair back slightly, so that her face lifted up a bit. From there, my lips traveled down to her neck. I sucked on it and kissed every inch before working my way down to the top of her chest. I could see her nipples hardening under her tank top.
My hands dropped back to her waist and lifted her tank top over her head. I pulled back, but only to take in her beautiful body, "Fuck," I said softly. She placed one hand on the back of my head and grabbed my hair, using her grip to pull me from one breast to the other. I was biting, sucking and licking.
Colonel Sanders had nothing on my formula that night.
There was enough of my saliva covering her tits to make it look like she had just gotten out of the shower.
At this point, they [her facken, tits] were sloppy and dripping of desperation, begging to be played with.
"mmm, yes" she moaned. I grabbed her tits roughly, gave them each one more rough suck, and then pushed her down on the couch like a deadbeat boyfriend.
She nearly yelped with pleasure. I flipped her over like steak on hot grill, so that she was face down; I started massaging her ass like a Swedish landlord through her yoga pants. They were basically see-through. Her ass was full and soft.
I slid my hand between the back of her legs and rubbed her gently. She let out another soft moan and started grinding against my hand and the couch, which made her ass look even more incredible; her camel-toe was hot, tangled and moist.
I couldn't take it anymore at that point, so I pulled her pants down roughly and started to plant soft kisses on her ass. My fingers touched her wet pussy for the first time, "Fuuuck," she moaned, "Eat me, please," she begged.
I had never been with such a vocal woman before, this was better than any experience at the DMV.
I bit her ass and then pulled her up just a little to get a better angle of her pussy. I went right in. I smashed my fucking face against her pussy and dragged my tongue across her lips. My mouth was coated with her juices; I probably looked like a German boy who'd just smashed his face into his morning strudel. She reached around, grabbing the back of my head and pushed me deeper,
"Oh, fuck, fuck," she yelled out.
After a minute or two of this rhythm, I went up to her clit and flicked it with my tongue. She nearly jumped off the couch like a welfare goon when the check comes in the mail.
"God, please," she moaned, out of breath. I continued to flick it repeatedly until I switched it up slightly by wrapping my lips around her clit and sucking gently. "Yes, don't stop," she moaned as she pressed her ass against my face.
"I'm gonna cum, please don't stop, please, please..." she faded out to a whisper until she let out one loud moan and buried her face into the couch cushion,
"Oh my fuck," she moaned softly as I took pressure off her clit and cleaned up the juices dripping out of her sweet pussy with my tongue.
She took a few seconds to collect herself and then stood up from the couch, only to position herself on her knees in front of me. "I bet you have a nice cock," she said with a smile. She rubbed the outline of my donger in my pants, "Can I suck it?" she pouted.
I nodded so fast, and unzipped my pants. She pulled them down the rest of the way, along with my boxer briefs, and smiled in delight as my cock sprung free like a coiled prisoner, ready for yard time.
"Fuck, it's so meaty!" she exclaimed.
"Meaty?" I laughed, as I could feel the breath from her open mouth hitting my cock.
"Yes, it's a good thing. Like I genuinely want to suck on it," she nearly moaned before inching her face forward. She stuck out her tongue and gave my cock a long lick. "Oh yes," I moaned, leaning back into the couch. She dragged her tongue against the shaft a few more times before wrapping her full lips around the head. She sucked gently.
"Fuck that feels so good," I whispered, looking down at her. She looked so fucking hot with my cock in her mouth. She popped the head out of her mouth, pouted her lips, and then dragged them down the length of my shaft, dropping copious amounts of saliva along the way.
I placed my hands on the back of her head and grabbed her hair to keep it out of her face. "Thank you," she smiled up at me before taking my entire length inside her mouth. The energy and courtesy between us was refreshing to say the least, almost unimaginable.
"Fuuuuuuck," I moaned. "You look so hot," I added as she gagged a bit on my cock. When she came back up for air, there was even more of her saliva covering my cock. I'm a sucker for a messy/passionate blowjob and she appeared to be a professional. She brought her hand up to my cock and stroked it slowly as her mouth paid some attention to my balls. She sucked on them and licked them roughly before kissing her way back up my length.
At this point, she was basically making out with the base of my dick as she stroked the top of it. The sensation was absolutely incredible. I was getting pretty squirmy on the couch, so I think she knew I was getting close to turning her mouth into a spank bank depository.
"Where do you want to cum?" she asked me, still stroking my cock. Instead of answering her, I simply asked her if she was still hungry and needed some protein to go along with that big breadstick. "mmm" she moaned, as she sucked on my balls. Not long after, I released a massive load into her mouth. "Fuck" I moaned as her hand squeezed out the last few drops as if my package were a Capri Sun. She swallowed, graciously.
By the time I made it home, I had to take care of myself in the shower again. We're supposed to meet up again soon when I am on my shift, and hopefully I can put it in her this time. She seems like the chick that would be on BC and take nutting seriously. I'd like to blow out that pussy, so much. I love my job now.
She seems to be good a taking care of other people’s property.
Yours truly horny,
Mr. Dish skipper