Beep Beep


The Letter Carrier takes the route keys out of her pocket and swings them while she waits for the light to change, rocking to her heels. “Buh-buh-buh bored,” she mutters to herself to the tune of Beethoven’s Ninth, “Buh-buh-buh bored. Buh-buh-buh-bored-buh-buh-buh-bored…” Peripherally aware of the white cube van that comes to a stop as the light changes, she steps from the curb and into the street.

“BEEP BEEP,” goes the van, and she jumps and spins in surprise. Before she looks over, she’s already guessed that it’s Kareem, but she glances up through the windshield anyway. She likes looking at his face, even when he’s laughing at her, and she laughs along as she carries on as gracefully as she can.

“Did I scare you?” he calls to her.

She glances back as she reaches to opposite curb, “No way,” she says. “It takes a lot more than that to scare me.”

“I’ll have to keep trying,” he replies with a laugh.

She can’t think of a sufficiently welcoming response before the light changes and he drives off, so the Letter Carrier just stands there grinning like a dummy until she remembers abruptly that she is at work and still has work to do. She takes the mail she needs from the relay box and goes on with her next carry, delivering a few letters to a few businesses on her way toward Main Street.

Kareem is a CUS driver, a contract employee that drops relay bags and delivers parcels. It’s obviously an acronym, The Corporation loves its acronyms, but she doesn’t know what it stands for. As far as she’s concerned, Kareem is a CUSS driver because every time he walks by, she’s like, ‘Daaaaaaamn’. If she wasn’t way too old to be having crushes, that’s how she would have to describe it; he’s a charming guy, handsome, smooth Arabic-accented voice, and that butt… He’s the only person that she doesn’t mind when he walks too slow in front of her.

When some random passerby going up the hill, he greets her merrily and she realizes that she’s still smiling. Thinking about Kareem has that effect on her. She says ‘hi’ back with a friendly nod; he doesn’t know what she’s thinking about, after all. She keeps smiling and her strides get longer, hiking up the biggest hill on her walk. She’s smiling more as she imagines Kareem complimenting her legs; he does that sometimes. He touches her sometimes, on the shoulder when she’s squeezing past his bag cart, friendly Friday fist-bumps, he even deigned to caress her ankle once, when she was standing on the dock. Well, he brushed against it while reaching for a parcel, but it isn’t hard to extrapolate that into a caress, and in her imagination, he doesn’t stop there. She has wondered a million times what she might do if their little flirtations went further, and while she does, she walks with a big smile.


When she spins in surprise this time, the heel of her right shoe catches the edge of the curb where it meets the slightly lower sidewalk. Her hand goes up, involuntarily releasing the loose flyers that catch a gust of wind and almost all are blown right off the side, into the backyard of the housing project below; delivered enough, she decides. The rest of her goes down, twisting into the cement guardrail that pushes her hat off, sticking on her hair, and she falls to land on her hands and knees.

The white cube van screeches to a halt ahead of her, the four-ways on and Kareem running back to her side, apologizing. She’s already back on her feet, hat back on her head, waving away his concern, but then he reaches her, puts an arm around her. She had no idea swooning was a real, literal thing until just that second, and he scoops her into his arms before she has a chance to fall again.

“Are you okay?” he asks her softly.

“You… you picked me up,” she says.

“I thought you were going to faint,” he says as he carries her toward the van. “I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry.”

“Picked me up? I guess I’ll allow it.”

“No, no, the horn.” He chances a grin at her and she smiles back woozily. That smile. “I guess I scared you, though.”

“No, no,” she shakes her head. “In fact, I just fell down so that you would have to come back here and pick me up, so really, you played right into my hands.” This Letter Carrier sometimes says stupid things when she’s nervous. “I mean, obviously it looks like I’m literally in your hands, but in a figurative sense, I have you right where I want you.”

He shifts her in his arms so he can open the van’s rear door and push a large box back to make a space to set her down. He crouches before her, looking into her face with concern, “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”

“Nah, man, I’m just awkward…”

He laughs, and she laughs along; it seems better than crying. He moves his hand up slowly, slower when she side-eyes it, and touches her forehead. “You have a scrape here. And down here.” His hand falls to her knee, his thumb on the inside, fingers cupping it gently as though to push her legs apart.

Her face is burning, her body shaking with tension. çankaya escort “How would I get a scrape down there?” she asks before chancing a glance down and seeing the red flare between his brown fingers and thumb. The stupidity continues. “Oh, my knee. I mean, obviously my knee got scraped when I fell. That’s exactly what both of us were talking about the whole time.”

Kareem glances up at her, then back to her injury, his hand moving down beneath her knee, and gently straightens her leg. “Does that hurt?”

She shakes her head. “That feels amazing.” She becomes flustered again as his golden-brown eyes fix on hers. “I mean, scrape… Ow.”

He chuckles, his grip shifting to the top and squeezing slightly as he stands. “Are you going to call Jeff?”

She shakes her head at the mention of the supervisor, hopping off the gate. “I’m fine, see? Totally normal.”

“Well,” he says, smirking, “Normal for you.”

She shrugs, “That’s as normal as I get. Don’t worry about the honking; I won’t tell Jeff about it.”

He favors her with another of those smiles, but her strong legs defy his charms this time. She hitches up her satchel and keeps on up the hill. Fortunately, her walk is mostly downhill from there; she meant it when she said it didn’t hurt, but the movement and sweat soon has her knees stinging. She sits in a mailroom, her next relay, and pulls her first aid kit out of her satchel. She hums to herself as she selects an alcohol swab and a bandage large enough to cover the deeper, slightly oozing scrape on her left knee. Hissing at the swab and then focusing on placing the bandage, she glances up as she registers the movement of light and shadow across her.

An imposing silhouette looms in the mailroom’s doorway and she does one of those jerking-in-shock sort of spasm things. Oh, that’s never happened to you? Congratulations on being less clumsy than our poor Letter Carrier. She slides off the bench, taking the full relay bag with her to the floor when she inadvisably uses it to steady herself. She recognizes the disbelieving laugh immediately.

“Okay,” she says, shrieking embarrassed laughter, too. “Okay, okay. You scared me that time. A little.”

Kareem’s still laughing as he takes her hand and her arm, lifting her back to the bench, then sitting next to her. He checks the status of her knee. “I didn’t mean to scare you that time.”

“Well, I guess you must be naturally scary, then! What are you even doing here? You’re not even my bag driver.”

“I just felt bad about before, I don’t want you to worry about getting me into trouble or anything. If you’re hurt…”

“It’s super not a big deal,” she assures him. “I fall down all the time. I probably would have fallen there even if you didn’t honk at me, so don’t worry about it.”

His smile is softer, softer than she’s seen it, the humorous edge gone. His hand is just as soft as it comes to rest on her thigh. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?” he asks.

It would no doubt surprise many of her friends and co-workers that this Letter Carrier has a go to head-only answer for when someone asks things like ‘Do you need anything?’ ‘Can I get you anything?’ or ‘Is there any way I can make this up to you?’ Nervous as she is beneath his gaze, an exciting sort of nervous that ramps the stupidity up to eleven, she says, “Diiiiiiiick?”

“Dick?” he repeats.

“Mm,” she says. She likes the way he says it.

“You are suggesting that to make amends for scaring you, you would like… dick,” he says. She really likes how he says dick. “My dick?”

She clears her throat nervously. “That was the thought, but now that you mention it, it’s kind of presumptuous on my part, like blackmail almost. I certainly don’t want to make it seem like you need to buy my silence with, you know…” He looks baffled, so she says it again, “Dick.”

“Your face is very red right now.”

“I bet,” she says, her voice kind of squeaky.

He puts his hand on her shoulder blade and chills skate up her back. “Are you suggesting that having sex with you would be an appropriate thing to do to make up for the honking?”

“No, I just said I wasn’t suggesting that,” she says, feeling her face get redder still. “Because it would be…”

He kisses her and her nerves keep her from responding until he’s drawing back uncertainly. She stands and walks to the open door, to push it shut. It can’t be locked from inside, but she leans against it as she turns back. This leaves only a tiny crack of light from where the bolt holds it out of the frame, and that spilling in from the apartment building’s lobby from the little windows in the mailboxes.

He stands, too, approaching her slowly. “It would be like… robbing a bank, and when I get caught the police hand me all the money I left behind.”

She bites her lip, glad it’s dark because her face is on fire. On second thought, she begins to worry it could be glowing. “So you want to…?”

He gives keçiören escort her that smile, and she’s glad that she has the heavy metal door to prop her up as he leans toward her. He touches her face as his mouth comes against hers again, gently, and this time she has the wherewithal to part her lips, tilting her head up to meet him more fully. Another step forward, and his body is pressed to hers. His hand slips back, beneath her thick braid, cupping her neck. His other is at her waist, his thumb resting inside the belt of her satchel. She opens the large buckle, then the other smaller buckles, so she can push the thick padded straps off her shoulders and let the satchel fall to the floor.

His hands move down, around her, the movement of his lips and his tongue becoming more passionate as he lifts her legs around him. She grips his broad shoulders excitedly, trying to keep kissing, but the feeling of being in his arms makes her grin and he draws back a moment.

He smiles back, “What?” He has this way he says it, throwing his chin crookedly upward, that makes her smile wider.

“You’re really strong,” she says.

“You think?” he replies modestly, but he flexes his arms, clearly pleased. One doesn’t spend hours at the gym without the hope of gaining appreciation. He kisses her again, pressing her against the door and she likes the feeling of being squeezed by his bulk. She likes the feeling of his hair between her fingers and his scruffy cheek beneath her thumb. She really likes the musky scent of him halfway through his workday mingling with faintly sweet cologne and a hint of tobacco smoke. Every time he stimulates another sense it dawns on her again that this is really happening, and she smiles.

His hand ventures into her high-visibility shirt, smiling back at her. “What?” he asks again.

“Nothing,” she replies, reaching down for her belt. She ducks through her uniform shirt, losing her hat with it, and lets them fall. To keep it fair, and because she has imagined it a thousand times, she pulls his shirt off, too.

“What?” he asks softly as she looks at his bare chest, taking in every detail.

“What, nothing,” she says. “What?”

“You look very happy.”

“You’re very hot,” she explains.

He chuckles and kisses her softly, “You too,” he says. His left hand finds her right breast, tracing her hardening nipple through her sports bra, his right hand stays beneath her butt.

She pulls her belt off, letting it fly toward the wall, and her route keys drop with a clunk. Her button is open, and her zipper is down. His hands go in around the back, gripping her butt tighter and sliding the navy-blue fabric down, but they reach an impasse, her legs reluctant to unwrap themselves from his torso for the moment required to remove her shorts. He lifts her, carries her to the bench, only two steps away, and lowers her carefully onto it, negotiating with her legs by offering a deeper kiss and a sensual massage of her sensitive breasts.

Finally, she straightens one leg so he can pull it up ahead of him and slide her shorts at least half free, knocking one shoe off in the process. He grins as he leans down to her, kisses her jaw, and puts his arms around her again. Pressed together crotch to lips, she can feel his manhood bulging eagerly with his jeans, throbbing against her belly. She reaches for it, and he looks at her with a smile that robs her of breath a moment. She can’t believe she’s so close to that smile.

A shifting in the light beyond the boxes should have warned them, but they aren’t paying attention to anything but each other. The Letter Carrier jolts to awareness when one of the mailboxes opens, fortunately too pinned to go rolling off the bench.

“Hello?” calls a frail voice through a box in the second row. “Are you there, dear?”

“Yeah,” she calls back, and Kareem’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, perhaps alarm. “Hi, Mrs. Smith. I have your package, just give me a second, okay?”

“Oh, thank you, dear,” Mrs. Smith says.

The Letter Carrier motions with her head that Kareem should get off her, and he isn’t fast enough so she hisses, “Get off a second?” as she shoves his shoulders.

He rolls to the side to let her up and she sits for the relay bag, snagging the tag first out of force of habit, but her satchel clip isn’t an easy reach so she discards it and pulls the drawstring hurriedly. Kareem leans against her, his lips at her neck, watching her work.

“How’s the weather today?” Mrs. Smith asks.

“It’s nice,” the Letter Carrier says, pulling a bundle from the burlap sack. The wrong one, naturally. She glances at Kareem as his hands slip around her waist but continues her desperate search.

“Oh? I heard it was quite cold today.”

“Uh…” she shakes her head at another wrong bundle, casting it aside. “It’s about ten degrees, I think. I like it like that.” She gasps, her eyes rolling, when Kareem cups her breasts. “It’s just about perfect.”

“Raining?” etimesgut escort Mrs. Smith asks.

“Uuuhhhhh,” the Letter Carrier forces herself to make the moan sound thoughtful. “A little overcast,” she says. “I feel like there’s definitely moisture on the way.”

Kareem’s hot breath on her ear is even more exciting than finally finding the correct bundle, but doing that is a huge thrill. She pulls Mrs. Smith’s packet from its rubber band prison and breaks from Kareem’s sexy hands to reach the satchel and her scanner.

His hands find her again immediately as he follows her to his knees, running softly along her calves. She drops her expensive PDT on the ground. “Oops, this never happens,” she murmurs as she fumbles the retrieval, shivering ecstatically. His hands move to her thighs, and she doesn’t want to think about where his face must be as she scans and shakily pulls herself up to slide the small packet though the slot.

“Thanks so much, dear,” Mrs. Smith smiles through the tube as she empties it. “Have a wonderful day.”

“It’s going great so far,” the Letter Carrier assures her, smiling back as Kareem’s hands reach her ass. “You, too.”

The little door closes, and she turns to the man, who immediately takes her into his arms. He takes her plait in one big fist and gently tugs. Her head goes back and his hungry mouth on her neck is a revelation. “Your dedication is so fucking sexy,” he says.

“I can really deliver a package,” she agrees, breath coming harder, body getting hotter. “Can you?”

His shudder makes her shudder. “I knew,” he says, his low voice having a similar effect to the THC infused double-double she enjoys after work. “I only imagined, but I knew that you would make a pun.”

His admission intoxicates her further. “You imagined this?”

“Often,” he says. “I’ve wanted to deliver this package to you for a long time.”

She laughs as she opens his pants and reaches eagerly in. “Me too,” she says. “Mm, this package is nice and hard.”

“There’s a rock in there,” he says.

She laughs and he smiles, and her chest fills with heat again. That smile. “You know, don’t you?” she gasps, kissing him. “Your smile is a deadly weapon. It’s like being stabbed with desire.”

He laughs, kisses her, and smiles again. She’s melting, and she gently removes the much desired dick from his boxers. It brushes the moist fabric of her panties, pressing gently. “I smile because I am happy that I made you laugh,” he says. “You are so beautiful when you laugh.”

She blushes, laughing nervously, but is already so hot that it cools her down just a bit. She notes the shadows in the lobby, then the mailroom door secured only by the empty satchel leaning against it. She turns from him, leading by her braid in his hand to where she stands to hold the door and his other hand goes immediately into her panties, pulling them down.

His fingers slide easily between her moist lips; he spreads them as he steps close. His cock slides along her, then in.

The Letter Carrier remains quiet as the full length of him enters her and their pelvises nestle snugly. She hears the throbbing of her heart and the front door of the apartment building opening just beyond the unsecured latch. She bites her lip as his strong hands come around her body, moving over her belly and breasts as his dick throbs inside. Footsteps move away beyond the door, and Kareem begins to move his hips.

Her pulls her braid toward the door and kisses her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. “How’s that?”

“Mm, this package is just what I wanted, and delivered so skillfully,” she assures him softly, glancing down at his smirk. “It feels great when you slide it into my slot. I thought for a second it would be too tight, but it fits perfectly.”

He moans, thrusting harder, and she pushes her hips back to meet him. His hand slips down her body, pausing a moment to caress her butt, then resting his fingertips at her hips, he guides her harder against him to meet his thrusts. He reaches for her clit next, and she throws her head back to his shoulder. “You’re gushing wet,” he says. He mocks her gently, as he sometimes does, “‘I think there is moisture on the way.’ It’s fucking pouring out.” His words are a strike of lightning in the storm and she bucks as the electricity surges through her body.

She laughs breathily as he lifts her leg and guides her face toward his. He kisses her as he turns her so he can push her hard against the door, lifting her by their sex. She bounces on him, gripping his shoulders, and puts her mouth to his ear, bites it. “I’ve watched you, wanting you,” she admits, and his motions increase within her.

“Me too,” he agrees.

She tries not to scream when he bites her neck softly, and the energy of holding it in spreads out through her body, making every part of her shake. Her flesh trembles around him in excitement, rapture. She cries out, “Ah, Kareem! Yes!” when she comes on his dick, and he makes a strangled groaning noise into her cheek as he tenses within her and floods her with his warmth. Panting a moment, they enjoy the solidarity between them, the unity of their bodies and sensations, and she feels incredible shame in these thoughts; CUS drivers aren’t even in The Union. He lets the last of his lust pump into her, and then he slips away, leaving hot liquid behind.

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