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From: Kwikee <speedoe@usa.net>
Subject: {ASSM} Drop Off (F-)
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Drop Off

By

Kwikee (speedoe@usa.net)

Adult fiction - To be read by adults of legal age depending on locale. The
depictions are graphic and are intended for a mature audience. Please act
responsibly.
_____________________

	
	The letter carrier screeched the Jeep into the driveway and shut the engine
off in accordance with official energy conservation regulations. Springing
out, S. Martin crunched briskly through the dead leaves as their tiny brown
shards clung to crisply ironed trousers. This was a violation of carrier
unspoken directive number one: Never ever leave the vehicle unless absolutely
necessary. It was chilly. Gaylee Bond's package that her box wouldn't hold was
clutched in Martin's left hand.
	Out of consideration to the customer the remainder of Ms. Bond's mail was
carried to her door as well. 23 Hickory Road, Three Lakes Community. It was a
community all right - a collection of parked trailers euphemistically termed
"modular homes." The deliverer rang the doorbell.

	Gaylee was dressing for work. She had already showered and fixed her hair.
Standing before her dresser mirror she began to button up her white blouse;
she ignored the scattered array of bottles, scrunchies, barrettes and other
accessories. Her black jeans, purchased too small to comfortably hold her
hefty thighs and jutting cheeks, lay on the unmade twin bed. The stupid but
mandatory MetroFood apron was slung over one of the folding chairs in the
kitchen/dinette.
	Idly she thought how tasty a diet busting crème horn would be right now. Her
pastry reverie was interrupted by the doorbell. Shit. She knew whoever that
was would be there forever if she finished buttoning then squirmed her way
into the jeans while lying flat on the bed. She didn't have a robe. "Damn!"
she whispered as she pulled on her jacket and jogged barefoot to the door. She
would try to hide her freshly shaved and lotioned legs behind the door if she
had to open up.

	The biting breeze freshened as Martin waited the obligatory few seconds
before leaving the parcel on the slapdash wooden porch and placing the rest of
the mail in the box on the way out. Right after having a trim on already short
black hair your neck really felt the iciness. The thin blue jacket wasn't
cutting it either. The wind did a more than adequate job of cutting.
	Time's up.
	The letter carrier bent over to lean the package against the rusting door.

	Gaylee never opened the door before peeking out to see who it was. She pulled
back at the spot on the curtain stained from numerous repetitions of this
habit; she saw the mail truck out front but it took a second before she spied
the tight little ass of the doubled over carrier. Great! This must be the
lasting lipstick she had ordered after watching an infomercial.

	Just as the box was neatly placed in the door frame the door snapped open
with a pop. Naturally the box fell inside. It landed next to a tiny foot with
pink polished toenails.
	"Thank you sir," Gaylee said. She forgot to stay behind the door.
	S. Martin retrieved the red white and blue box and caught an eyeful of legs
before facing and glaring at the customer.
	"Sorry," Gaylee pleaded as she nervously ran her hand through her thick
blonde hair, "I thought you were a guy."
	"Nope. Not in this life. I don't think anybody'll ever make that mistake with
you Ms." Shea Martin glanced at the address on the parcel. "Bond. That is who
you are, right?" Gaylee's jacket had opened as she brushed at her hair and her
deep cleavage was exposed.
	"That's me. I said I was sorry; you don't have to get a 'tude about it." She
clasped her jacket shut to avoid the icy wind and icier stare. "I mean, you
can't help the uniform and you've got short hair and I only saw your back.
Give me a break."
	"'Tude? You call that an apology? Fine. Take your mail, Ma'am, and I'm outta
here."
	"OK," Gaylee read the gold name tag, "S. Martin, at least I said 'thank
you.'" The blonde took the mail and her jacket gaped wider. The chill had
hardened her nipples and they showed prominently through her bra.
	"Have a nice day," Shea said caustically as she turned for the steps.
	"Would it make you feel better if I told you I was disappointed?"
	"What?" Martin looked back at the customer.
	"I thought you were a guy with a nice ass." Gaylee shut the door and tossed
the mail on the card/dinner table. Touchy bitch. Now she had to get ready to
deal with the parade of assholes at the pastry counter. She knew she was going
to sneak some pastry today. She threw the jacket next to the apron and started
for the bedroom.
	A rap at the door.
	Her hand instinctively reached for the curtain then stopped. She knew who it
was. She knew that someone was hungry too. Gaylee knew she had asked for
trouble, for attention, for the desire she had aroused.
	She backed away from the door and toward her bed.
	"Come in."
	The handle turned and the door swung open. A brush of cold air washed around
her. Gaylee backed into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Bits of dead leaves
sprinkled the path from the door to the bed as Martin approached.
	"I shouldn't have..."
	"Didn't you think I was a man?"
	"Yeah but..."
	"Keep thinking."
	Her lips were cold from exposure to the wind; Gaylee shut her eyes and let
her warm mouth envelop the thin lips of her deliverer. Her hands were cold
too, but they warmed as they caressed Gaylee's breasts and freed them from her
bra. The nipples were still erect - now from a combination of cold hands and
increasing passion.
	"What's your name?" Gaylee whispered as the letter carrier undid the blouse
and unfastened the bra, leaving Gaylee in panties only.
	"Shea...shhh" Gaylee began to unzip Shea's jacket.
	"Not today," Shea said softly, "not enough time. Relax."
	Another kiss. Gaylee became aroused at the feel of the uniform, Shea's tongue
deep in her mouth as the trousers chafed her soft white thighs. Shea slid her
fingers into Gaylee's panties and used the wetness to lubricate the motion.
Shea knew exactly where to touch.
	The nearly nude blonde held her slender lover close as they burrowed deeper
into the ruffled bed linens. The light scent of perfume and bath oil form the
sheets mingled with the musky aromas of the outdoors and the excitement.
Gaylee ran her pink nailed toes across the polished patent leather of Shea's
shoes.
	Both came up for air. Shea breathed evenly as she kept massaging Gaylee's big
hard clit. Gaylee gasped open-mouthed. She reached up and clenched her pillow.
Shea thought that the big girl could tear the downy cushion in half about now.
Her pinkish red areolas stretched into ellipses, and her pliant tits spilled
to the sides of her torso.
	Martin stopped fingering long enough to pull off Gaylee's tight black
panties; she guessed Gaylee would sport a black bra too if it wouldn't have
shown through the white blouse. The customer's pussy was blonde and pink and
irresistible. Unfortuately Shea had to rush this delicious moment more than
she would have liked. Directly she went at lips and clit with her active
tongue.
	Gaylee began a staccato set of "oh"s that rose steadily in volume and pitch.
Shea's wind burned cheeks were soothed by the cool touch of Gaylee's opened
thighs. Using both the flat of her tongue as well as the tip S. Martin licked
and lapped the moist pink. She sucked at the juiciness of Gaylee's golden
muff.
	Stealing a glance over glistening curls, tensing tummy and quivering breasts
Shea watched Gaylee's straining biceps and flaring nostrils. She was reaching
climax. Shea suppressed her own longings for the trailer girl's pouty lips and
expertly flicked her tongue right... there. Sealed and delivered.
	Shea worried about the other residents hearing the cries from the "modular
home," but she was too late to stop the wails now. Gaylee curled into her
writhing ecstasy, and after a few moments she reached out for the letter
carrier.

	S. Martin had to hurry back to the truck.
	"I have to go," she apologized. Shea would clean up when she got to the Jeep.
	"Come back," Gaylee entreated.
	"I have to," Martin replied with a little grin, "This is my new route."

	The cool breeze felt good now as she hurried to the truck then sped out of
the driveway to the few remaining stops.

	Gaylee was sneaking a bite of crème horn by the ovens when someone rang the
counter bell. "Shit," she said as she wiped her mouth. The tissue had lipstick
on it too. The damned infomercial had lied. So much for celebrity endorsed
cosmetics.
	Two cops were waiting to be served. They already had cups of coffee; would it
be doughnuts? The burly one did indeed pick out a couple of doughnuts. The
other cop ("O'Byrne" read the silver name tag) made a closer inspection of the
selections. This officer's uniform was impeccable - even the handcuffs were
polished.
	Her dark green eyes turned to Gaylee.
	"A crème puff, please."

End of "Drop Off"
By Kwikee (speedoe@usa.net)           	  


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