Quick Wank Adult Sex Story

Postal Quickie


So much for summer. It was warm but tipping down and I was stuck indoors. What else was there to do but trawl for porn?

But the doorbell rang. It was the postman, or rather the postwoman - always the postwoman on Thursdays. Her hood was up but her waterproof unzipped. Her shirt was wet and it clung to her. I smiled and raised an appreciative eyebrow. She handed me the small parcel and I caught her glancing down at me. I was hanging engorged in anticipation of a porn-fest. She gave a little smile.

"I'm pleased to see you," I said without thinking.

She half laughed but didn't reply. I handed the signature book back to her.

"It's a bit wet today," I said imaginatively.

"It is," she said. "Wet and warm."

And then there was one of those moments, moments that usually pass only to be regretted. But not this one.

I'm not sure quite what possessed me, but I said, "Would you like to come in and take your clothes off?"

And she smiled broadly and said, "Yes".

I stood aside and she stepped in. I closed the door.

"Take them off," I said. "All of them."

She put her handful of mail on the floor, shed her waterproof, shoes, shirt, shorts, bra, and knickers just like that, all the time with a big grin on her face.

"Lie on the floor," I said.

She did, I kneeled down between her knees and put my mouth to her, my first touch of her the tip of my tongue on her clit. I licked her musty, cyclist's sex.

"I'm horny," she said.

She came in about a minute flat and I squeezed her nipples just about as hard as I could as she came making her yelp with pain and pleasure. Then I pulled down my draw-waist trousers and wanked over her tits - which took all of 30 seconds.

"Get dressed," I said.

Still smiling very naughtily she got up. I passed her things to her and she dressed quickly, the spunk blending into her wet shirt. "Ooh, shirt feels cold," she said.

She picked up her mail, our lips touched momentarily, I groped her arse and said, "Next Thursday I'll fuck you."

"OK," she said. And she left.

What a long week that was.

Next Thursday she turned up looking slightly sheepish, and I wasn't at all sure if anything would happen. I raised an inquisitive eyebrow and said, "Do you want to, um?"

She was unbuttoning her shirt before I'd got to the "um". She knew what she wanted. She had her kit off before you could say "quicker by post". "From behind," she said, kneeling on the hall carpet.

I slipped the condom on and I was in her and holding her dangling tits while she played with herself and she was there in no time at all.

"Wow, you're a quick cummer," I said.

"Spunk up my back," she said.

I pulled out, whipped the condom off and spunked all over her back.

"I've been on the edge all morning," she said. "Wearing out my saddle."

She stood up and put her bra and top on. I put a finger up her arse. She grabbed my cock and gave it a hard yank.

"Ah," I went.

"Next week I'll give you a blow job," she said. She finished dressing and was gone. She can't have been in the house more than five minutes.

The next Thursday she was unbuttoning her shirt as she walked up the path - the front door can't be seen from the road - and by the time she was at the door her shirt was open, her tits on display. She knelt on the welcome mat, fished my cock out and started to suck me.

"Next Thursday," she said between mouthfuls, "I want to kneel down on the doormat like this and for you to piss all over me. OK?"

Well, it didn't take long for me to get to Spunksville Arizona.

Next Thursday I pissed all over her face and her shirt. She just said "thank you" and left. She was wet, but if you didn't know you might think she was just sweating.

I had no idea what to expect the next week - perhaps that game was over. But when she turned up the next week she handed me a bit of paper and said, "Can you meet me there at 3o'clcok?"

I had a quick glance at the note. It had directions to somewhere.

"Yes, of course," I said.

She kissed her hand then pressed her hand to my lips. The effect was electric.

I cycled to the meeting place - a gateway leading into a wood - wearing just short shorts and beach shoes and with nothing but a packet of condoms.

She was a little late but nodded appreciatively seeing what little I was wearing.

"Take them off," she said.

We undressed there, by the roadside. She smelled sweaty and musty and overwhelmingly gorgeous. We moved our bikes a few yards away from the road, left our clothes there - almost hoping they would be stolen - and walked naked into the wood.

"You're dirty," I said.

"Will you make me dirtier?" she replied. Just off the path, she leaned, arms outstretched, against a tree, spread her feet apart and thrust her arse out.

I had a condom on and was in there in a flash.

"Slowly," she said. "Very slow."

"What's your name?" I said.

She laughed. "Dawn," she said, "Mr Michael Johnson-Smith". And she half turned and shook my hand. Of course she knew my name.

Well, I kept it in there hardly moving while she alternately played with herself and just leaned on the tree soaking it up.

We heard voices and along the path came a couple. I froze, but Dawn went "ooh, ooh, aah". The couple peered through the trees, caught sight of us, were amused, waved a friendly wave and walked on.

"What time does your wife get home?" Dawn asked.

"About six," I said.

Dawn's arms were getting tired, so we sat on the leafy ground facing each other. She shuffled forwards and impaled herself on me.

"Do you know what got me going?" she said.

"What?"

"Those white trousers - or are they pyjama bottoms? - you wear. Your dick hangs down plain as day and I have to fight the urge to reach out and grab it."

"Do you know what got me going? Your tits, the fact you always have a naughty smile on your face - and your arse as you walk back down the path. I have to fight the urge to rush out and grope you."

"Grope me now," she said. "Put a finger up my arse. Imagine I'm walking down your path and you rush up behind me, shove your hand down the back of my shorts and stick it up there."

And so we sat there, face to face chatting away, doubly plugged in. Just a get to know you chat rather than energetic bonking.

"Are you married or anything?" I asked.

"I am. Hubby is manager at the sorting office."

"Ah, that's how you got the job."

"Hey, big dick, I'm a fucking good postie. Don't you think? Now get on top of me and give me a good shagging."

I rolled her onto her back and gave her a good seeing to. But after a while she seemed a little distracted and was looking at something over my shoulder. I looked around to see the couple who'd walked by earlier. They were standing a few yards away. He had his hand down her knickers and she had his dick out and was wanking him.

"Are we OK here?" the bloke said.

"Of course," Dawn said. "Come and join in if you want."

But they were content to watch and wank each other. And fuck themselves silly when they got home no doubt.

Dawn wanted me to spunk on her face, and with it still dripping down onto her tits we went back to our bikes and clothes, our audience having long gone.

Our bikes were there but our clothes had gone. What had seemed like an exciting idea now didn't seem quite so amusing. After considering whether we could fashion something out of leaves - no - or find something wearable lying around in the wood - no - we decided the best option was to try and hitch a lift with someone who didn't mind naked hitchhikers.

Nervously, we went back to the road. And there, on the gatepost, were our clothes. And a note saying "thank you, that was very exciting." Very funny. Bastards.

Dawn insisted I wear her knickers under my shorts, telling me to wash them and be wearing them - and only them - next Thursday.

The following Thursday as Dawn approached I opened the front door proudly displaying my semi just about contained in her knickers. Too late did I realise that Dawn hadn't dyed her blonde hair black - it wasn't Dawn. I beat a hasty retreat.

The next week I asked the new postess what had happened to Dawn. "They've moved to Basingstoke," she informed me in a rather hostile tone, showing not the slightest interest in my trousers.

Basingstoke. Hmm. Exciting as Dawn was, that would be too high a price to pay.

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