Wednesday, June 11, 2008

More Mayo!

Meanwhile, back at the Deli.....

Sandwich Girl Delivers
Part 2 (Click here for Part 1)
by KM

That was Tuesday. Now it was Friday. Back in the grind. Dollar bills and quarters for tips. Madame Bombshell hadn’t called again, but I was sure she would. I hoped she would.

Long after the lunch rush died down, I was wiping the yogurt machine when Max handed me a phone order. Little goosebumps stood up on my arms when he said, “They requested delivery by Sandwich Girl. Ooh la-la, S.G. – a request for service.” Max wiggled his creepy, bushy black eyebrows at me. “National Bank Tower. Tenth floor.”

I couldn’t help but giggle when I read the order. “Two large Italian meatball heroes. Extra sauce. Side of mac salad. Extra pickles.”

A hot meatball sub with extra sauce and mac salad? What a gut bomb!

Anticipating Madame Bombshell, I removed my apron, then scoffed inwardly at myself, my thoughts all jumbled. “Look at you! Fool! Juvenile pink skirt. Ridiculous plaid camp shirt. Dork! Lusting after what? Why? Who the fuck knows. Hurry up. Customers are waiting!”

The voices in my head spoke loudly and often. They are so annoying -- so fucking brassy and bossy – so unlike me! They rattled on as I hauled the saucy balls to the bank tower.

Madame Bombshell was waiting in the first floor lobby, wearing a sleek silver suit and matching heels. Her platinum hair was done up in a silky French twist. Delicate silver earrings sparkled in the bright glassy light of the lobby.

“Good afternoon Sandwich Girl.” Her full pink lips seemed to move more slowly than her words.

“Shall I continue on to the tenth floor?”

“Actually, I’d like you to bring it to a different department,” she said turning quickly towards the elevator. “This is a special order for an important person. We just have one quick stop to make first.”

At the fifth floor, I followed Madame Bombshell down a hall to a small office. She took the boxed lunches from my hands and placed her well-manicured hands firmly on my shoulders.“How would you like to deliver what my clients are really hungry for Sandwich Girl? How would you like to make the kind of money a woman like you deserves? Yes? Yes? I’d like to make you an offer.”

I knocked on the opaque glass door of the penthouse tower office with all the confidence I could muster, my hands slightly trembling under the deli box and trying not to wobble in the white platform thigh-high vinyl boots Madame Bombshell instructed me to wear, along with pink and white vinyl lace-up panties and a white vinyl trench. In those boots, my legs just wouldn’t stop! I felt powerful, and yet still nervous when a voice behind the door said, “Enter.”

“Your delivery sir.”

He waved to a counter. My boots took me there and I set the saucy balls down.

The man behind the enormous polished wood desk was a 30-something executive in a linen suit, celadon tie and Armani shades. He looked forged out of titanium, all tight and solid, his face smoothly shaven and shining with just the right amount of sun glow. “What can you possibly do for Titan?” the voices asked me. “Fuck you,” I silently growled back.

“There aren’t many girls taller than me,” he said, rising from his desk. “You’re fucking gorgeous Sandwich Girl. I’ve heard all about you. Come closer.”

My confidence rising, I swayed my hips a bit when I walked towards him. He was obviously some kind of big shot – with this penthouse suite that looked more like a condo than an office – and a brilliant view of the city.

Titan moved in and took a fistful of my hair in his hand. He pulled my head back slightly and kissed my throat. Then he slowly undid the knot of my trench, the vinyl making the most delicious sexual noises when he pulled on it.

Titan removed his shades and gently pulled open the trench. His cock pressed against my leg. The voices went silent and my confidence soared. I am Sandwich Girl!

I pulled away and turned my back to him, slowly lowering the trench down my shoulders, to my arms.

“What do you want Titan?” I asked in a low voice, still facing away from him. “What would you like Sandwich Girl to deliver to you today?”

“Oh sweet baby!”

“Tell me what you want Titan, because I’m all about service.”

“I want to taste you Sandwich Girl.”

I dropped the trench and turned, sunlight beaming across my breasts, my nipples blasting laser hot heat directly at Titan’s cock.

“Sit down Titan.”

I walked up brazenly and pushed Titan into his leather chair. I roughly undid his belt and flung it across the room. I popped his button and tore down the zipper, releasing his platinum cock and sinking onto it like it was my last meal. Oh God, he tasted good, this horny big-wig motherfucker. I sucked on that loaded cock for all I was worth and you know, the thought that made my pussy go all wet and gooey was thinking about spending Titan’s cash on bottled beer instead of canned. Fuck that made me hot! Oh yeah, baby! A big ass bottle of beer!

Titan held me by the hair and writhed atop the leather, but I wouldn’t allow him to cum. Not yet. I pulled away just as I felt his balls curl their naughty little toes, leaving him sitting there, his lips formed in a hot and nasty “O.” I hopped onto the edge of his desk and pulled one breast into my mouth, staring hard at him while I ran my tongue around my nipple. I wrapped my long legs around the back of his chair and pulled him towards me, rubbing myself, sucking on my tits, my legs spread wide as I pulled him closer and closer.

My legs still gripping the chair back, I ripped the break-away vinyl crotch loose and lowered myself onto his platinum sandwich pick and brought his smooth face between my breasts.

“God, Sandwich Girl, you fuck like nobody else. You are so hot!”

“This is all about you Titan. All about you. You like that? You like my hot hole? You like my big gorgeous tits in your face? Goes with the view, don’t you think?”

I chair-boinked Titan furiously, passionately, but was careful not to wrinkle his linen. He ran his hands up and down my legs and across my tight ass and finger fucked me from behind, finally exploding, nearly sending the two of us and his fancy big-shot chair blasting across the room.

“Damn, that was good!” Titan roared. “Sandwich Girl delivers. Fucking yes!”

“Happy to be of service Titan,” I smiled, crawling across the floor, showing off my ass one more time while I hunted down the vinyl crotch.

I patted it back onto the Velcro and slipped into the trench, enjoying that sexy rubbery sound while I tied myself back in place.

“Well done Sandwich Girl.”

Madame Bombshell stood in the doorway. She handed me a wad of cash and grabbed my ass.
“We’ll be calling you again.”

“There’s a little happy hour gathering going on down the hall. Care to join us?”

“Why not? I’ll just freshen up quickly if you could show me the restroom."

I washed and fluffed, then followed Madame Bombshell’s instructions to the conference room where a full-on party was raging. These people knew how to do it up right.

The suits and skirts were dancing and drinking. Men, and women, women and women, men, women and women were grooving, groping and kissing. A huge buffet was laid out next to a well-stocked bar.

No way! Unfuckingbelievable! When I looked across the room, I saw Madame Bombshell splayed out on a couch, Mad Max on her lap and feeding her a piece of cheese. Freaking weird! The voices were still silent so I bravely walked up. “Hi Max.”

“Hey, hey Sandwich Girl!” Max said, in a cheery tone I didn’t know he even had. “I knew you’d had potential the moment I hired you. Welcome to the party baby! Welcome to the party!”

My boots walked me over to the bar where I asked the hunky bartender for a bottle of beer. I sighed with pleasure as he poured it slowly into a tall, frosty glass. It was the best fucking beer I ever had….and it wouldn’t be my last.

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