A Delivery Driver's Monday Morning Call
# Monday Morning, Different Kind of Delivery ## The Knock The house was finally quiet. A rare, almost sacred silence that only existed on Monday mornings between the hours of eight and three. The kids were at school, their chaotic energy
Chapter 1
The house was finally quiet. A rare, almost sacred silence that only existed on Monday mornings between the hours of eight and three. The kids were at school, their chaotic energy a fading echo, and Russell was at work, his thermos of coffee and a peck on the cheek a distant memory. Brooke stood in the kitchen, the worn denim of her cut-off jean shorts hugging the generous curve of her hips. Her t-shirt was old and soft, stretched taut over the heavy weight of her chest, a faded band logo she’d forgotten she even owned.
A sharp knock on the front door startled her. She padded over, her bare feet quiet on the hardwood, and pulled it open.
And there he was.
Cameron. The Amazon guy. He was tall, towering over her five-foot-two frame, a lazy smile playing on his lips. His long black dreads were pulled back with a band, a few stray strands framing a young, handsome face. His brown skin gleamed in the morning light, and the muscles in his arms shifted as he held out a box. "Morning, ma'am. Got a delivery for you." He winked, his gaze lingering on the exposed skin of her thighs before flicking up to her face.
"Morning, ma'am. You have a gorgeous smile." His voice was a low, playful rumble.
Brooke felt a hot flush work its way up her neck. She was forty. A mom of three. She opened her mouth to thank him, but the words felt clumsy. "Oh, uh, thanks," she stammered, tucking a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear. The t-shirt suddenly felt too thin, too revealing. "Just… just set it down there." She gestured vaguely into the entryway.
He stepped inside, much closer than necessary. The door clicked shut behind him. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her brain buzzed with a chaotic static of *what are you doing* and *he's twenty years old*. This was wrong on every level. But the way he looked at her... it wasn't the way Russell looked at her, like she was a piece of familiar furniture. Cameron looked at her like she was a secret he was dying to uncover.
"I'm Cameron, by the way," he said, his deep voice a low vibration in the quiet house. He was still holding the box, his thumb tracing a slow, hypnotic circle on the cardboard. The playful glint in his dark eyes made it clear he wasn't in a hurry to leave.
The air thickened in the hallway. She could smell him—a clean, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of sweat from the summer heat. Her own body felt like a traitor, a low, traitorous tingle of anticipation beginning to bloom deep in her belly. He was a test she was about to fail. She could feel the shyness, that familiar urge to duck her head and flee, but her feet were rooted to the floor.
"You're not like the other delivery guys," she blurted out, her voice barely a whisper. She meant it as a deflection, but it came out sounding like an invitation. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her t-shirt as the silence stretched, heavy with unspoken possibility.
"I like to make a personal connection," he murmured, taking another deliberate half-step forward. The heat from his body reached out and touched her. He moved with a slow, patient confidence, his eyes never leaving hers. "Seems a shame to just drop and run. Especially with a view like this." His gaze flicked down to her lips for a fraction of a second, and her breath hitched.
Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her nipples hardening embarrassingly against the fabric of her shirt. Every instinct screamed at her to tell him to leave. But the lonely silence of the house, the memory of Russell's distracted kiss, and the sheer, magnetic pull of this young man's attention—it all swirled together, overwhelming her. She was no longer the forty-year-old mom in the kitchen. She was just a woman, and he was a man, and the tension was a live wire between them.
Her mind raced with a chaotic jumble of morality. What about Russell? What about her children? But a louder, more selfish part of her, a part buried under years of school runs and laundry, was drowning it out. It screamed at her to feel something real. And the way he looked at her, like she was a prize, it was the most real thing she'd felt in years.
"I… I should probably…" she started, but her voice trailed off. She didn't know what she should do. Her eyes pleaded with him.
Cameron's smile widened, a slow, confident thing. He stepped in closer, reaching one large hand up to gently push a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. His fingers were warm, the touch brief but electric. He was so close she could count the individual lashes framing his dark, expressive eyes. His free hand came up to rest on her hip, his thumb stroking a maddeningly slow circle over the torn fabric of her shorts. The touch burned through the denim.
"You should do what you want, Brooke. Just this once," he whispered, his voice now a deep, conspiratorial murmur against her ear. His warm breath tickled her skin, sending shivers cascading down her spine. "What does she want?"
It was the question, not the touch, that broke her. She didn't have an answer. She'd spent so long being a mother and a wife, she had no idea what she wanted. She was a ghost in her own life. He wasn't asking her to be a mom or a wife. He was just asking for her.
This was insane. He was half her age. She was cheating on Russell with a man who carried boxes for a living. The thought should have filled her with shame. Instead, it felt like freedom. A furious, breathless, terrifying freedom. Her own hand, as if moving on its own, came up to rest on his chest. She felt the hard plane of muscle beneath his shirt, the steady thump of his heart. He was real. This was happening.
"Show me what 'this once' looks like," she finally whispered back, the nervous tremor in her voice now laced with a shaky, thrilling resolution.
Chapter 2
Cameron’s playful smile widened into something wolfish. “Then we’re not standing in the hallway.”
Without another word, he took her hand—his large palm swallowing hers—and drew her gently down the corridor. The fingers of his other hand traced lazy, feather-light circles on the inside of her palm, and a shiver rippled from that small point of contact straight down to her core. The house was dead silent except for the soft thud of their footsteps on the hardwood and the frantic beat of her own heart.
“You sure the kids won’t be back for a while?” he murmured, glancing back at her with a mischievous glint.
“Hours,” Brooke breathed. “Russell won’t be home till dinner.”
At the bedroom door, he turned, boxed her against the frame, and kissed her—not a peck, but a slow, claiming press of lips that stole the air from her lungs. His tongue teased the seam of her mouth and her own met it, shy and shaky.
“Good,” he whispered against her lips. “I want to take my time with you.”
Inside, sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, striping the unmade bed. Cameron’s hands found the hem of her old t-shirt. “Lift your arms, beautiful. Let me see what you’ve been hiding.”
She obeyed, and the shirt slipped over her head, her heavy breasts spilling free. His eyes darkened. “Damn. You’re even better than I imagined.”
Brooke’s cheeks flamed. “You imagined this?”
“Every time I dropped a package.” He cupped the weight of one breast, thumb skating over the stiff nipple until she gasped. “I wanted to know what you’d sound like when I touch you.”
She moaned—a broken, needy sound—as his other hand unbuttoned her jean shorts and shoved them down over her hips, taking her plain cotton panties with them. He knelt, guiding one of her legs free, and pressed a kiss just above her shaved mound, his hot breath making her tremble.
“Cameron…” she whimpered, her fingers threading into his dreads.
“Tell me you want this.” He looked up at her, his playful smile replaced by raw intent.
“I want it. Please.”
Without hurry, he rose and walked her backward until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. He eased her down and then settled beside her, his hand sliding between her thighs. His thick fingers parted her slick folds, and a low groan vibrated in his chest. “So wet already.”
He stroked her clit in lazy, expert circles—the same rhythm he’d used on her palm—and her hips bucked helplessly. She reached for him, fingers fumbling with the button of his pants until she freed his cock. It was heavy and hot in her hand, the dark skin velvet-soft over steel. She stroked him, matching his tempo, and a drop of pre-cum glistened at the tip.
“Not yet,” he said, voice strained, though he didn’t pull away. Instead, he rolled her onto her back and settled between her thighs, the broad head of his cock nudging against her entrance but not pressing in. His mouth took hers again, and they lingered there, suspended on the knife-edge of more.
Chapter 3
Cameron eased inside her with a low groan that vibrated through Brooke’s entire body. The stretch was exquisite—a slow, burning fullness that made her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. Her nervous thoughts scattered like startled birds as pleasure bloomed hot and liquid in her belly.
“God, look at you,” he murmured against her ear, voice thick with want. “Taking every inch of me like you were made for it.”
She couldn’t form words—only a broken moan as he began moving in deep, unhurried thrusts that pushed her higher up the mattress with each stroke. His mouth traced down her throat while he rolled his hips in a rhythm that felt older than both of them.
“Feel how tight you’re gripping my dick?” He pulled back just enough to watch where their bodies joined, dark skin against pale thighs. “Your pussy doesn’t want to let me go.”
Brooke’s legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as he drove deeper on the next thrust. The friction dragged a whimper from somewhere low in her chest—this wasn’t rushed morning sex before the kids woke up; this was being consumed slowly by someone who had nowhere else to be.
“You like hearing how good you feel wrapped around me?” His playful smile returned even as sweat began glistening on his brow from the controlled pace he maintained.
“Yes,” she managed breathlessly when he shifted angle slightly and sparked behind her eyes.
“That’s what I thought.” Cameron pressed their foreheads together briefly before pulling out almost completely—then sliding home again so slowly she could catalog every ridge along him pressing against sensitive walls inside her raw unused depths barely touched by Russell anymore these days between scheduled obligations.
She reached up tentatively brushing fingertips along those long black dreads framing his face while he kept moving inside deliberately never rushing letting tension build like pressure before summer storms across Oklahoma plains outside bedroom window silent morning light catching dust motes suspended mid-air above rumpled sheets beneath them both now breathing harder together sharing warmth flesh meeting flesh sounds filling quiet house empty except two bodies discovering each other across decades separating birthdates yet collapsing distances between strangers finding intimacy unexpectedly Monday deliveries becoming something irreversible inside Brooke changing shape contours previously mapped territories now rewritten under younger hands exploring older landscapes reverently almost worshipfully between murmured observations about just how fucking tight she really stayed after three kids amazing really just amazing squeezing him so perfectly right now right here inside—
Her hips lifted meeting his next slow downward stroke halfway taking him impossibly deeper than before causing sharp inhale from both simultaneously breaking rhythm momentarily before resuming steady cadence building toward something neither planned reaching yet neither willing escape either anymore trapped willingly together beautifully suspended mid-morning mid-thrust mid-transformation never quite completing circling endlessly around peak without cresting over edge quite yet remaining perched deliciously unbearably wonderfully unfinished between them both until Cameron finally broke silence again—
“Turn over,” he instructed softly withdrawing despite protest tightening muscles reflexively chasing retreating warmth leaving emptiness cold absence suddenly sharply felt where fullness lived seconds prior only seconds yet already missed desperately by nerve endings still firing residual echoes fading too quickly into memory already craving continuation repetition return please... “I want to see that beautiful big ass while I fuck you slow from behind.”
Chapter 4
Cameron settled between her thighs again, the thick head of his cock nudging against her soaked entrance. He pushed inside with a groan that seemed to rumble up from deep in his chest, and Brooke's back arched off the mattress.
"Fuck, you feel that?" he whispered against her ear, his hips rolling forward inch by deliberate inch. "Your tight little pussy is gripping every vein on my dick. Can you feel them, Brooke? Every single one?"
She could. God, she could. The slow drag of him filled her completely, and she felt each ridge and contour as he buried himself to the hilt. "Yes," she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders.
"Look at these big beautiful tits," he murmured, his hands cupping the heavy weight of her breasts, thumbs circling her stiff nipples. "I've been staring at them through your t-shirts for weeks. Dreaming about getting my hands on them while I fuck you nice and slow."
He withdrew almost completely, then pressed back in at the same maddening pace. Brooke whimpered, her legs wrapping higher around his waist.
"Tell me how it feels," he said, his dark eyes fixed on hers. "Tell me what's different about this."
"It feels... oh god, Cameron... it feels so good," she stammered, her hips lifting to meet his next stroke. "I've never... I've never been with a black man before. Your dick is so thick. I can feel every inch of you stretching me open."
"Yeah?" His playful smile returned, but his voice stayed low and rough. "You like having this big black dick inside your married pussy, don't you? Like feeling what you've been missing?"
"Yes," she breathed, the confession spilling out before shame could catch it. "Yes, I love it. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
"I'm not going anywhere," he promised, keeping that same torturously slow rhythm, letting her feel every vein, every pulse, every thick inch of him. "I'm going to take my time with you, Brooke. Make sure you remember exactly what this feels like."
He pressed a kiss to her throat, then pulled back to watch her face as he rolled his hips again, deeper this time, and she moaned loud enough to echo through the empty house.
Chapter 5
Cameron pulled out of her with a wet, obscene sound that made Brooke whimper at the sudden emptiness. His cock glistened with her arousal, thick and dark and painfully hard as it rested against his belly.
"Turn over," he started, but Brooke pressed a shaky hand against his chest.
"Wait." Her voice came out breathless, almost unrecognizable to her own ears. "You said... you said you wanted to take your time with me."
"I meant it." His playful smile softened into something more patient.
Brooke swallowed hard, her blue eyes meeting his dark ones. "Then you can fuck me as long as you want. If I'm doing this—cheating on Russell—it better be worth it." The words tumbled out before shame could catch them. "I want to ride you. I want to feel your big black dick inside me while I'm on top."
Cameron's grin widened, wolfish and approving. "There she is. The real Brooke." He rolled onto his back, his long dreads fanning across her pillow, and gripped his cock at the base, holding it upright. "Then come take what you want, beautiful. Climb on."
She straddled his hips, her thick thighs trembling as she positioned herself. His free hand found her hip, thumb stroking her soft belly. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
Brooke reached down, wrapping her fingers around his shaft—she couldn't close them completely—and guided the broad head to her slick entrance. She sank down slowly, inch by thick inch, and the stretch made her gasp.
"Look at you," Cameron groaned, both hands now gripping her hips. "Taking all of me like you were made for this dick. How's it feel?"
"So fucking full," she breathed, rolling her hips experimentally. "I can feel you in my stomach, Cameron."
"Yeah? Ride it then. Show me how bad you wanted this."
Chapter 6
Brooke leaned forward, her heavy breasts pressing against his chest, her breath hot against his ear. "I've never been fucked like this," she whispered, the words trembling with disbelief at her own boldness. "Never. Russell just... he just climbs on and finishes. You make me feel like I'm actually worth something."
Cameron's hands slid up her back, gripping her shoulders. "You are worth something. You're worth taking time for. Now sit back up and show me those pretty tits bounce."
She obeyed, straightening her spine and planting her hands on his chest. Then she started riding him faster, her hips rolling and slamming down in a frantic rhythm. Her massive tits bounced wildly, the movement obscene and hypnotic, her nipples hard pink peaks. The wet slap of her ass meeting his thighs filled the bedroom.
"Look at you," Cameron groaned, his eyes fixed on her swaying chest. "Riding this big black dick like you were born for it. Tell me whose pussy this is."
"Yours," Brooke gasped, her thighs burning as she worked herself on his thick shaft. "It's yours, Cameron. Oh god, I can feel you so deep."
"That's right. Fuck me harder, Brooke. Let those neighbors hear what a real man does to you." He gripped her thick hips, helping guide her pace, his own breathing growing ragged. "Those big fucking tits are gonna make me lose my mind."
Brooke threw her head back, blonde hair wild, the sweat glistening between her bouncing breasts. The pressure was building low in her belly, a coiling tension she hadn't felt in years. "Don't stop," she begged. "Please don't stop watching me."
"I ain't looking away. Keep going. I want to feel you squeeze this dick when you're right on the edge." His thumb found her clit, pressing hard circles against the swollen nub.
She cried out, her rhythm faltering as the dual sensations threatened to overwhelm her. "Cameron... I'm gonna..."
He grinned up at her, dark eyes full of wicked promise. "Not yet. Slow down. I told you I was taking my time."
Chapter 7
"Please, Cameron," Brooke whimpered, her hips still grinding in desperate little circles despite his command to slow down. "I need to cum so bad. I'll do anything. I'll let you fuck me however you want after, I swear. Just let me cum all over this big fucking dick while it's buried inside me."
Cameron's dark eyes glittered with satisfaction. "Anything?"
"Anything," she panted, her massive tits heaving. "Just please let me cum. I can't hold it anymore."
"Then do it," he growled, grabbing her thick hips and slamming her down hard onto his shaft. "Soak this dick, Brooke. Let me feel that married pussy cum all over me."
That was all she needed. Brooke screamed, her back arching as the orgasm ripped through her. Her pussy clamped down on his thick cock in pulsing, rhythmic squeezes, hot wetness flooding around him. She ground down, taking him as deep as possible, her whole body shaking.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," she chanted, her nails digging into his chest as wave after wave crashed through her.
Cameron watched her fall apart, his hands gripping her fleshy hips. "That's it. Good girl."
When the spasms finally subsided, Brooke collapsed forward, her sweaty forehead pressing against his. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Then, with surprising urgency, she pushed herself up.
"Now fuck me from behind," she demanded, her voice still trembling. "I told you I'd let you. So do it. Bend me over and fuck me like you mean it."
Chapter 8
Before Brooke could draw another breath, Cameron's strong hands seized her hips and flipped her onto her stomach. She gasped, scrambling onto her knees, her massive tits pressing into the mattress as she arched her back, offering herself up.
"Look at this fucking ass," Cameron groaned, running both palms over the generous curves. "So goddamn perfect. You got no idea what you do to me, Brooke."
She whimpered as he grabbed her fleshy cheeks, spreading her wide, exposing her dripping pussy to the cool bedroom air. "Please, Cameron. I need you inside me again."
He positioned himself behind her, the thick head of his cock nudging against her soaked entrance. "You want this big dick in your married pussy?"
"Yes, fuck, yes!"
He pushed forward, burying himself in one slow, deliberate stroke. Brooke cried out, her fingers twisting in the sheets as he filled her completely from this new angle. And then she felt it—the heavy, rhythmic slap of his balls against her clit as he began to move, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through her swollen flesh.
"Hear that?" Cameron whispered, leaning over her, his voice rough with desire. "That wet sound your pussy makes for me? So fucking greedy."
"It's yours," she panted, pushing back to meet his strokes. "All yours."
He picked up speed, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangling in her blonde hair. "Such a beautiful woman. Those curves, these tits—your husband's a fool for not worshipping you every goddamn night."
Tears pricked Brooke's eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming feeling of being seen, wanted, devoured. "Don't stop. Please don't ever stop."
Cameron drove deeper, harder, his balls slapping wetly against her with every thrust. "I'm gonna fuck you until you can't remember his name. You're mine right now, Brooke. My good girl."
She moaned, lost in the sensation, the dirty praise echoing in her ears as he took her apart piece by piece. The tension coiled tighter in her belly, but she knew he wouldn't let her fall just yet.
Chapter 9
Cameron's fingers dug into her hips with bruising force, each pounding stroke slamming deeper, the wet slap of their bodies filling the quiet room. He leaned over her, his voice a low, feral growl right against her ear.
"Take this big black dick, you cheating slut."
The words sent a perverse thrill straight through her. Brooke shuddered, pushing her ass back to meet every brutal thrust, her cheek pressed into the mattress, her voice breaking into a desperate whine. "Am I being a good little whore for that black dick, Cameron?"
He laughed, a dark, approving rumble that vibrated down her spine. "The best little whore. Look at you, married and face-down, stuffed full of a stranger's cock. You're a goddamn natural." He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, and she cried out, her pussy clenching greedily. "You're a made-for-it, perfect little cheating cumslut."
"So good," she gasped, "so fucking good—I never want it to stop." The confession tumbled out, filthy and honest. Her nails clawed at the sheets. He wasn't just fucking her anymore; he was claiming her, each stroke branding her from the inside out.
"Say it again," he demanded, his hand sliding up her spine to tangle in her hair. He gave a light pull, forcing her head back. "Tell me whose pussy this is."
"Yours, Cameron," she sobbed, not from pain but from the overwhelming weight of desire. "Every inch is yours. That big black dick owns me."
He rewarded her by driving faster, his balls slapping a frantic rhythm against her clit. The pressure built, coiling hot and tight in her belly. She was right there, teetering on the razor's edge, a single thrust away from shattering. But he didn't let up, didn't slow down. He just fucked her through the ache, letting the pleasure mount until she thought she might go insane.
"That's it," he praised, his voice strained with his own restraint. "Feel how deep I am. Feel how much you need this. You're gonna remember this Monday morning for the rest of your life."
Chapter 10
Cameron's grip on her hips tightened, his rhythm deep and merciless, each stroke a promise Brooke felt in her throat. He leaned down, the heat of his chest pressing against her sweat-slicked back, and his lips brushed the shell of her ear.
"You hear that sound?" he growled, a wet, filthy squelch filling the room with every plunge. "That's your married pussy swallowing my big black dick. And from now on, every Monday morning when your husband leaves and your kids are gone—this is what's waiting for you."
Brooke whimpered, her fingers twisting in the sheets. "Every Monday?"
"Every single one," he promised, his voice a dark caress. "I'm gonna knock on this door, and you're gonna answer it already wet for me. You'll be my little cheating slut before the coffee's even cold." He pulled almost all the way out, savoring her desperate backward push. "Say you want that."
"I want it," she gasped, the words tumbling out without thought. "God, Cameron—I want to be your Monday morning whore."
"That's my girl." He slammed back in, deep enough to make her see stars. "Next week I'm gonna bend you over the kitchen table first thing. The week after that? You're gonna ride this dick on your husband's favorite chair while you tell me how much better I fill you up."
His hand slid around to cup her heavy breast, thumbing the hard nipple as he fucked into her with deliberate, claiming strokes. "By summer, you won't remember his name when I'm inside you."
Brooke moaned, pushing back to meet him. "Promise me," she begged. "Promise you'll keep coming back."
"Baby," he chuckled darkly against her neck, "I'm gonna rearrange your insides every week until this pussy is custom-molded to my cock alone."