A girl, her new toy, the lucky delivery boy.
Laurel De Vries was house-sitting a stunning rural property with perfect vista views of Ben Lomond, Northern Tasmania, as a favour for her parents' friends.
She was getting over a cheating prick, so she felt time alone would be okay.
She quickly loved how the stark massif changed colours depending on the time of day. She knew enough geology to understand that slate, feldspar, and quartz were split and shafted by granite and rimmed by dolerite.
Light, not magic, made the Plateau, adjoining Tor and Bluff, a pinkish treat, but it took the fun out of it a tad, like knowing you were going to get shagged as you made your way to a guy's place.
The unforeseen in sex made it so much more memorable.
But not the unexpected like catching a tart in your former bastard boyfriend's, Damien's bed.
Laurel, five foot two with her blonde ponytail and clear blue eyes, had the entire run of the rural double-storey house in the delightful Fingal Valley by the South Esk River.
But there was a certain pussy forlornness, a despairing hopelessness in fact, when a lass at a tender nineteen forgets to pack her vibrator.
The situation wasn't helped by the absence of anything useful in the couple's house after a thorough search of their walk-in robes and bedside drawers.
A vanilla sex bedroom; just lube and plain condoms, pretty dull. There was a decent, verdant, veggie garden, but she wasn't that adventurous or desperate yet.
Thank God for the internet; no, not porn; it didn't turn our strawberry blonde on.
No, she preferred online shopping and express delivery, even to reasonably out-of-the-way places.
And even more, she was impressed by the cunning bastards designing even better toys for fem-orgasms, seemingly by the day.
Laurel was intrigued by a new vibrator that claimed it didn't need fingers to work or stay in place.
She imagined it; the fun she could have multiplied in her dirty mind as she completed the purchase details after reading some very satisfied testimonials.
The model she ordered was girly pink because a vibrator needs that feminine look she felt.
It was called Eva, and our blonde felt just like modern-day Eve.
She was waiting for temptation but by express door-to-door delivery in a couple of days.
The cute petite device was designed to sit over her clit-hands free- by a miracle of technology. It was flexi designed to stay snug and do its business.
Oh, Joy.
Well, forty-eight hours passed in adequate finger frigging, and the shower jet head and, well, a trip to the garden; revealed a nicely shaped cucumber that had been once so innocent on a garden vine, but a girl's pink bits crave the more; especially if they have been treated and pampered previously with quality toys and big dicks.
Yeah, Damien had had a very useful big fat pecker.
Ms De Vries heard what could only be a motorcycle on the long gravel drive. She looked out the window.
She wasn't expecting company.
The cyclist had a logo vest — Express Couriers.
Then, because he was too express, he slid in the gravel and came a cropper.
Laurel rushed to the front door to assist.
Thinking: Oh, shit, I hope he's okay. Be okay.
Well, his pants were ripped at the knee, and there was obvious gravel grazing, but the prick was smiling—really smiling— a huge, dirty, leering grin.
The package he was delivering had split open after being jolted from his pouch. He enjoyed the contents as he stuffed them poorly back in their torn, bubble-wrapped envelope.
Laurel went several shades deeper pink than the toy she had ordered.
The courier left his straightened bike and hobbled forward with his package, in some discomfort but still frickin grinning: "Your package, I assume; Ms De Vries; your signature, please."
Then he added:" Oh crap" as the package disgorged its contents on the veranda boards.
Nothing for it now: our blonde invited the prick to sit on the double wicker cushioned porch swing while she offered to look at his knee.
The guy sat down with the contents of the package, a cute pink with the afternoon sunlight glinting on it, gawking up at him.
His name tag identification indicated Richard.
"I'll need to get your pants down," she said and didn't wait for his reply.
Richard grinned even more as he wasn't wearing underwear.
"Oh," went Laurel, but still had a damn good look at a quickly aroused cock
Well, it was real.
The delivery guy wasn't that old—maybe thirty—and he was going to quickly see the most meaningful pink things in the world: not her flushed cheeks or that cute toy in action.
No: Laurel's womanly private pink package, access by invitation only.
The complete package, in fact.
Any male's favourite package of goodies.
Laurel knew what to do with a growing pecker.
Suck it off.
Suck it up.
Suck it good.
Her head was down where it was doing Richie the 'most good.'
Any pain in his knee was lost in the true throbbing goodness of a young, attractive woman slurping and licking where it was purely satisfying. She went ball deep so easily. Geez, she took cock naturally.
Laurel was also using the natural movement of the porch swing to really rock backwards and forwards off his entire cock. He was delighted. She was ecstatic, re-finding her pleasure and need for hard-on man meat.
The strawberry blonde lass needed more, though; a damn good lick out for herself.
She was on the wicker swing with the delivery guy, guiding his hand through her dress buttons to her boobs and his other hand under her dress to her already wet knickers.
Richard understood the directive. Arouse the girl to her limits, then test her limits.
His fingers loved the hardness of her nipples and the softness and flesh weight of her boobs.
His other fingers met the slut slit wetness under her panties, a mound and folds of; smooth, shaved, sleek skin and plenty of room for his sliding fingers in a moist, excited private world.
He had to lick her out. He needed to see her wet perfection.
Laurel's dress was up, her knickers pulled down, and she was off the wicker swing. He was now using its movement to explore her girly secrets.
She was gorgeous down there. No wonder her private treat needed a toy or a cock. Her pussy was glistening pink; carnation petal pink and flappy crinkled open, insisting on attention, made for attention: beyond waiting for attention.
He shoved his own pink, wet tongue straight into her lovely gash.
Laurel was moaning softly.
"Ooh, ooh, ooh."
Cooing was probably closest to the sound.
Richard was licking fast and furious, using the momentum of the wicker swing to drive into her pussy deeper as she swung closer, and then, as it eased away, he licked around her stunning pink flaps and over her clitty cowl.
Yes, Laurel was ready for a toy, a man's unpacked flesh toy.
The lasses' legs were up.
Richard was planted on the porch.
The impetus of the wickers rock, backwards and forwards, was caught in their joining. His cock thrust in deep as the wicker swing picked up momentum, grinding her pussy into his pubic bone.
Then as it swung away; his cock slid out; glistening with girl juice from her crimson pussy; resting on her coochie's edge: pussy and cock equally quivering at the cusp of unwanted separation: the point where she needed it deep again, to excite her clit. The grinding inward cock impetus melded with the lingering pecker sliding out: over and over.
Boy, did she orgasm fast. There was too much motion. There was too much lucky frictional swinging pressure.
"Ahh, ahh! Oh yes! Ahh, Ahh!"
However, Richard wasn't there yet, and he had one hell of a dirty thought and eased the blonde over.
Her arse swung backwards and forwards on the suspended wicker.
His tongue caught her arsehole as it moved towards him. Then her arse was out of range.
The hits: a teasing treat.
She adored it.
Knowing the pleasure would hit and be taken away.
She savoured her arse crack, getting a tongue pampering.
"Uugh, yes, uugh, yes," each time his tongue basted her rills.
Richard had more arse tricks in mind.
A beautiful, tight pink crack deserves the complete treatment.
His finger crooked into her butthole for maximum girly pleasure. Her arsehole enjoyed the digit probe as the wicker pushed towards it; then, the tugging pressure on her rim was delicious: as it slid near to escaping.
As he grabbed her ponytail, Laurel knew what was going to happen, and she was very happy.
She felt a stiff dick prodding around her cute tight indentation. It felt wonderful. It quickly felt great as he spat generously in her hole and gave her his first fat inch.
"Raah, ooff! Oh, Christ! Raah, ooff! Holy Hell! Ugh, yes, ugh, yes."
My, did she feel the pressure. Her tight arse not giving but giving space.
Richard felt the squeeze. The divine tightness ringing his cock. No space but just the space required. Too tight to move his pecker.
There was nothing for it but the arse jab.
Jab her deep and find that hidden space.
My did the petite lass gasp and squeal: but it was the pleasure at her tightness finding the deeper cock space. Her arse accommodating dick deep but so tight at her puckered opening.
"Orrgh, Sweet Jesus! Orrgh, Orrgh!"
Richie felt the new internal space and the intense constriction at her indent. He jabbed in even deeper.
Oh, fuck he groaned as she took the entire length of his cock inside her butt.
He yanked her ponytail wildly in manly satisfaction.
Then the wicker swing came into its own, as it swung faster; taking his cock ball deep into her now ploughed, buggered back crack and the sensational somehow emerging of his cock: slinking out; surrounded by her unyielding tightness: as the wicker swung away.
Her arse was the complete cock package.
The best deserves the best.
Laurel's wonderful tight butt was creamed deep and full.
Richie caught in the intensity of butt constriction, ball-bursting constriction and one hell of a jizz release in her arsehole's true depths.
By the way, later, Laurel put some antiseptic powder on his knee and ran his pants quickly through the house's sewing machine.
They shared a cool gingerbeer and a few laughs over the toy until the bike and rider disappeared down the driveway.
That night, she tried her new vibrator: oh, it was good: very, very good at what it was cunningly designed for; but it wasn't the complete package like a guy.
There was only one thing for it.
The cunning, diminutive Ms De Vries went online again and ordered a butt plug.
A huge frickin butt plug, and she earnestly hoped Richard would get to deliver it.
Oh well; if not, the available guy could open the package for her right there in front of her.
He'd get the idea and the invitation very quickly.
Laurel was a girl on mission cock-butt package and clicked the option: Twenty-four hour guaranteed speed delivery.