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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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The Pizza Girl
by Lord Malinov (dccain69@hotmail.com)
***
A what-if story about a girl who serves pizza and a
patron. (MF)
***
"Hey there," the pizza girl said, "David?"
The question mark is part of the flirtatious game we
play, this lovely pizza girl and I. For about six
months, at least once a week, I drop by to pick up a
pizza for the family.
Usually she gives me a big pepperoni pizza, although
every so often, I manage to sneak a supreme. The kids
aren't entirely ready for the full blown pizza
experience, but on well chosen occasions, they'll bear
the excesses of flavor for my sake.
The pizza girl knows my name. I can hear it in her
voice when I call to make my order, see it in the
bright smile she gives as I enter the tiny shop. The
pizza girl knows my name but pretends she doesn't. On
the other hand, I don't know her name. I'm too shy to
ask. When I imagine talking to her, I call her
"beautiful."
"Hey, beautiful," I imagine myself saying, "how's the
pizza business?"
"It sucks," she'd reply with an infectious grin.
Sometimes I imagine the conversation will be easy.
I picked up five pizzas on Halloween, feeding a party
of kids before they assaulted the streets on their
annual candy begging mission. I arrived a bit early.
The pizza girl wore low slung jeans and her pizza t-
shirt tied up to expose her smooth midriff. I licked my
lips as she checked the pizza progress, turning her
back as I feasted my eyes on the delicious vision of
her behind.
"It sucks working on Halloween," she said, after
telling me I'd have to wait another ten minutes. "I'd
rather go out and get fucked up."
My mind reeled with responses to that opening, so many
witty rejoinders assaulting me that I found myself
unable to speak. That's my usual technique - smile and
imagine all the things I might say. It's not an
effective style, generally, although my apparently
handsome visage tends to carry the amused silence
better than we might expect.
"I love your costume," I imagined myself saying. The
pizza girl blushed.
In most instances, the pizza business is too busy for
me to manage more than a few words with her before
another customer calls. I don't worry, for our demand
for pizza is incessant. I will soon return for another
brief tete-a-tete.
"You seem tense," she'd say. I love to imagine it will
be easy.
"Was that your wife who called?" she asked, last time I
picked up a pizza.
"Sure was." I'm not one to deny the obvious.
"She doesn't like picking up the pizzas?"
"I guess she doesn't," I replied, once more at a loss
for anything witty to say.
"Or maybe you just like coming up here?"
"Yes, I do." I am a self-proclaimed master of dialogue,
yet profoundly unable to actually say anything clever
on the spot.
"Have a nice evening," she says.
"You seem tense," I might reply.
"I am so tense," she replies.
"You need a massage," I observe, confident of the fact
that, in fact, everyone always needs a massage.
"Oh, I do," she replies, her dark eyes aflame.
"I have a table and very strong hands."
"Do you?"
"Give me an hour and I'll relieve some of that
tension." My voice had dropped to a smouldering
whisper. I am so seductive in my fantasies.
The pizza girl has very long black hair, down past her
shoulder blades, silky straight and flirtatiously
alive. I imagine brushing my hand through her hair,
drifting down along the smooth curves of her satin
latte skin. Perhaps twenty in age, giving or taking a
few years, the pizza girl sounds coarse and abrupt with
the rest of the Spanish-speaking pizza crew, but
energetic and delicately warm with me. I know she
thinks about me. I can hear it in the way her voice
changes for me.
"That'll be eight sixty-five." As I hand her the ten,
I'm watching her breasts move gently beneath the pizza
t-shirt she always wears. Full, voluminous boobs jiggle
slightly with the energy of her excitement. I blindly
imagine the dark nipples beneath the cloth, catch vague
hints of the hardness that develops under my gaze.
"I love your titties," I imagine myself saying,
suddenly crude for the sake of acceleration.
"Come back at ten," she might say with a laugh. "I'll
introduce you." My cock stirs, anxious to participate
in the proposed soiree. Don't worry, big fella, we
won't forget you.
As she takes the change from the cash register, her
hand stretches forth. My hand reaches toward her and
she lays the bills and silver into my palm, gracefully
touching my hand with hers, lingering in the connection
for as long as pizza decorum will permit. Our eyes
meet. Her nipples harden perceptibly. I want to speak.
"Thank you," is all I can bring myself to say.
The pizza guys always seem to be watching, curious,
amused or jealous. Since I don't speak their language,
I have no clue. The pizza girl doesn't do anything
overt to express her feelings for me, so I assume she
doesn't want them to know anything. Maybe she does. I
can only imagine.
"Don't tell me you weren't coming on to him, slut pizza
girl."
"So what if I was. Mind your own business."
Suppose we meet for a cup of coffee, a dish of ice
cream, a bottle of beer. She wanted to get "fucked up,"
so perhaps the beer is what she'd prefer. We might
share a twig, put the daze in our lust-enflamed eyes. I
brush the hair back from her face, caressing in a
moment the soft flesh of her browned cheek.
She kisses me. I enfold a breast in my left hand,
squeezing the heavy flesh and teasing her thick nipple.
She takes my rigid cock in hand, slips the stiffness
between her sultry lips. I kneel behind her, hands
grasping her young round ass, riding our hunger home.
"Do you want some Parmesan or peppers?" she asked.
"Sure."
Fumbling with the pizza box, she graces me with
garnishments. I smile wantonly, wishing I could dare to
ask her name.
"Have a nice evening," she said. I could feel her wish
to be part of that imagined time.
"I will," I replied. "You, too, beautiful."
~~~
The Pizza Girl
A Fantasy in Slices
by Lord Malinov
(dccain69@hotmail.com)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 49