Brief encounters: 3> End of the round!
written by:
Chris-t6290

Story outline: After a slight altercation with a dog, towards the end of her Saturday postal round, Helen Rose found herself having to explain to a disgruntled Mr Griffith, why his signed for package was damaged.

I neither own a dog, nor do I like dogs, however, being a postwoman, it's sometimes hard to avoid them. By now, and having been doing my round for over a year, most had become accustomed to my calling whenever I had a package that was too big to fit in the recipient's letterbox, or it needed to be signed for.

As I said, most had. There was, however, a small yapping dog towards the end of my round; small it may be, but let me tell you, it was quite noisy and snarled menacingly.

What with it being sunny and warm at this time of the year, I opted to wear a skirt while the men and most of the women I worked with, wore shorts. I'm quite old fashioned like that in my ways, preferring the term postwoman instead of the PC post person.

A few days ago, I had an incident with fido and a Mr Griffith; he not being the dog's owner, who was Lucy.

About once a week, usually a Saturday, I would have a package for him, one that needed to be signed for. Judging by its size, it had to be a CD or a DVD. There were no markings on the package, save for his address. (Here in the UK, it's not customary to put a return address on a letter or package.)

I knew that he lived alone in his downstairs flat, from what one of his neighbour's had told me, which only fuelled my suspicions about the contents being a porn DVD - I may be old-fashioned in some ways, but, being a divorcee and single, I'm in no way a prude when it comes to sex. All the same, here in the UK, it's illegal to send pornographic videos and DVD's through the post, if that's what it actually was.

In addition to his package, I had a letter for Lucy and a couple of other addresses towards the end of Fellows Road. Cautiously I opened the gate and made my way quietly along the path to Lucy's front door. Having popped the envelope through her letterbox, I subsequently let the flap go. In doing so, it made a noise when it sprung back.

From the open window, which Lucy must have left open because of the heat, sprang her noisy mutt, who then jumped around and up at me.

"Down, good, boy, girl." I sought to pacify it while trying to shoo away fido with my hands. Just then, and no doubt having heard the commotion, Lucy opened the door and called the mutt to her.

"Sorry," she apologised, before showing concern that I was alright. I was; however, while I had flapped my hands around, fido had bitten into the corner of Griffith's latest package. ‘Oh no,' I said to myself, having realised he had to sign for it and would certainly notice the wet bite mark.

‘Oh well,' I reasoned, as I made my way back along the path, and then out of the gate. It could have been worse; it could have been one of my fingers her dog bit.

"Your usual package, Mr Griffith," I exclaimed, holding it by the chewed corner.

"If you'll just sign for it," I said, and then handed him the palm recorder to scribble his signature on the lens.

"There you go," I told him, adding what I hoped was a distracting smile as I took back the palm recorder and handed Griffith his package.

"Thank you, Helen," he rejoined, and with a pleasant smile.

‘So far, so good,' I thought, with a degree of relief. Only to be stopped in my tracks by his stern voice.

"What's the meaning of this," exclaimed Mark.

"I've a good mind to report you to the sorting office manager."

"I'm sorry, Mr Griffith. It wasn't my fault. Lucy's dog, it got out, it jumped up, I didn't realise," I somewhat babbled.

"Slow down, slow down," he appealed for me to talk calmly.

Having managed to compose myself, Mark, giving me a chance to explain myself more soberly, invited me into his flat.

"Okay, so the damage, superficial that it is, wasn't your fault. All the same, Helen, that's no reason to be deceitful about it," Mark cautioned me, from the armchair opposite.

"I will, however, need to make sure that the DVD I ordered isn't damaged," he informed me. ‘Oh well, it looks as if I was wrong about it,' I reasoned to myself.

Having unpacked the DVD, which was in a plastic shell shaped case, so no noticeable damage that I could see, Mark, Mr Griffith, went to his DVD machine and put the disc in the tray before turning on the TV.

The film wasn't one that started immediately, and picking up both remotes from the coffee table, he sat on the sofa, but at the opposite end to me, which was further back from the TV.

"Okay, let's see what we've got, shall we," he intoned, and then pressed the play button (the word ‘PLAY' appearing in the top right corner of the TV screen for a few seconds).

It was, as I suspected, porn. Pretty amateurish, too, I noticed, from the lack of any plot; although who needs a plot to have sex, anyway.

"Does this sort of thing make you feel uncomfortable, Helen," Mark enquired.

"No, why, should it," I rejoined. It was, however, quite arousing the more I viewed it.

"Are we going to have to watch all of it," I said. "Only I have my round to finish," I again lied.

"Why are you being deceitful, Helen," Mark intoned, knowing full well that his was one of the last addresses in the road and that I wasn't carrying any more post when I called.

"I've a good mind to report you," he informed me, and quite adamantly with it.

Pausing it at a highly erotic point, the woman in the clip being penetrated by three long big black cocks, Mark edged closer to me and then played on my known frailty.

"I take it you don't have a boyfriend of sorts. I guess it must be hard, especially with your early starts during the week, to have a steady relationship, Helen. It's okay that I call you, Helen," Mark angled.

"So, in all that time, since your divorce and all, you've been depriving yourself of what God intended. To fuck!" There, he said it, and yes, Mark was right.

"Whoa, what's God got to do with this," I quickly exclaimed.

"Come on, Helen, you went to school like me. God gave you, me, us, men and women..." And for the next minute or so, Mark reasoned me to his way of understanding - ‘Sexual pleasure'.

By now, he was sat beside me; his hands devoid of the remotes while the DVD was still on pause.

To be truthful, I had come to consider dates to be a waste of time. If they're supposedly a substitute for foreplay I much prefer the real thing, especially where my pussy is concerned. And at that precise moment, sat next to Mr Griffith, it was in need of some attention.

I decided to play hard to get; to tease Mark a little. I felt confidently sure that we would both benefit from it in the end.

"You know it's illegal to send this sort of material through the post," I challenged him.

"So. I'm the one receiving it," he rebuked. "Besides which, Helen, you've been duplicitous on two occasions, so why should anyone believe you if I were to send the film back having watched it." And with that, Mark pressed the play button and then placed his hand on my right thigh, directly below the hem of my skirt.

Moments later, the one in the girl's mouth pushed back her head with his hand on her brow; enough that she released his cock, which then sprayed her face with copious amounts of jism. In all my years of having sex, that's the main thing I've shied away from. Okay, so, when a woman climaxes, her fluids, little that they are by comparison, especially in my case, permeate onto the man's tongue and lips. However, all that cum a man produces, and now seeing it...!

"Can we watch something else," I appealed. Although my mind was aroused, my pussy was almost like a dust bowl I noticed.

"I take it interracial isn't to your liking, then, Helen," Mark rejoined, and then pressed stop on the remote.

Rather than get up and change the disc, he cradled the remote in his left hand, thereby depriving me of his attention, and then brought up a menu on the recorders hard-drive. ‘You'll like this,' he indicated, and then activated the playback of the thumbnail he'd selected for us to watch.

The film (160 minutes long, Mark later informed me) opened in a nightclub. Girls, mostly, were swaying where they stood to a steady bass beat; some of them either holding or drinking from a plastic beaker. Those men that were there, mostly model types, were dotted around the dance floor.

After the brief opening moments, it suddenly - Mark having moved it on a chapter or more - changed to show girls sucking the men's cocks.

"That's not a real nightclub," I exclaimed, only for the camera to move to two girls who were making up for the lack of men.

As if that wasn't an isolated occurrence, the focus then moved to a trio of girls. The one stood up had her blouse undone - no bra - while a girl to her left teased her exposed nipple and the one knelt the other side tantalised her clit with a long curled tongue.

"I wouldn't have thought so," intoned Mark, his voice breaking my concentration on the spectacle before me. "Not in stuffy Britain, at any rate. It's staged in a nightclub setting. That's about all I know," he concluded, while his hands still cradled the remote.

"I take it you like girl, girl," he shortly intoned.

"What makes you think that!" I rejoined.

Unlike the women in the film, I only do men; however, I sensed that Mark was leading up to a point.

"Foreplay's foreplay," he began. "Man-woman, girl-girl. However, Helen, girls tend to do it better...to each other," Mark was quick to add.

"So what," I said, not wanting to dwell on the films inferred aspect of my sexuality; my being straight or bi, which I most certainly was not. All the same, my black lace thong had become noticeably moist these last few minutes.

"So, dearest Helen, what school doesn't teach us we learn from watching films like this."

"You mean porn!" I exclaimed.

"You say it like it's vulgar. It's just men and women, girls having sex. So...!"

"So. So what," I rejoined, unable to grasp Mark's innuendo.

Granted, posting letters through someone's front door isn't the most taxing job there is, ask anyone who delivers leaflets, which, and as ‘junk mail', I occasionally find myself doing, however, I finished top of my class at high school. Even so, I was at a loss as to Mark's point, if that there was one. Less talk, actual action, my body demanded, then it clicked.

"Okay, if not porn, then what," I intoned, my head unmoved from the screen, which displayed couples actually having sex; fucking. "Don't say making love," I quickly added.

"Sexual love; erotic, if you like, as opposed to platonic love." And with that, Mark returned his welcome hand to my thigh, only this time he ventured it underneath my skirt.

"I take it you're not short of women," I intoned, as his hand stroked its way down to my knee and then all the way back up again.

"I do alright. Nightclubs, mostly, which is why you shouldn't be depriving yourself of the same; sexual love," Mark iterated, and with a mellow, calm and convincing tone to his voice.

"You want to fuck, let's fuck," I said. "But," I began, "my pussy gets licked first," I insisted, as I stood up. "Oh, and since you're that well educated, what with the films you've watched, you better make me cum. Twice, at least," I told him, before moving my hands to undo my skirt.

"Let me," Mark proffered, as he motioned his hands to mine.

Pushing away my hands rather than letting me withdraw them, Griffith turned me so that I was now facing him. He then repositioned the waistband of my skirt so that the button and zip were centrally positioned; following the line of my naval down.

"Tell me again what you want, Helen," Mark teased, as he undid the button and then grasped the hasp of the zip in readiness.

Now facing him, I felt frail rather than sheepish. "I want you to lick me," I presently said, and with that, the zipper slid down.

"You want me to lick your cunt. That is what you want, what you said."

The vulgarity of that word aside, it cut to my very core, yet in an arousing way.

"Yes!"

"Yes, what" encouraged Mark, as he held the position of my skirt; undone, but the waistband no way apart.

"My cunt...I want you to lick...my cunt," I rejoined, almost with a whisper. Only then did Mark lower my skirt, revealing, as he did, my black thong along with its noticeable moistness.

"Thank you," I somewhat lauded, as I stepped out of my skirt; Mark having pooled it around my ankles.

"Let me see your tits, now, Helen," he intoned encouragingly. And without a moments hesitation, I removed my postwoman's blouse and then unclipped my black lacy bra.

At first, I folded my arms underneath my 38C breasts - tits. Only for Mark to urge me not to cover their beauty; stunning, I believe he said at the time.

"Where would you like me?" I said, wanting to move things along to getting my pussy, my cunt, licked and hopefully fucked by Griffith.

"Here, the sofa," he rejoined. ‘Although a bed would be a more comfortable alternative,' I considered.

"Stand facing the back for me," Mark said. "Now, put your left knee up on the cushion," he directed me. An image I'd seen in the film when a girl was stood in front of a stage.

Having also had me place my hands on top of the backrest, I noticed that I was quite open to his intentions in this position. ‘Just get on with it, for fuck's sake,' my body screamed demandingly, for Mark's attention.

Quick as a flash, he was squatted behind me and with the strap of my thong drawn to one side.

"No teasing, Mark, lick my cunt for me, use your fingers...What!" I exclaimed, having he stopped.

"Women. You're so demanding," he teased, and then spat some saliva on my mound.

‘That's different,' I thought, although my cunt was noticeably doused.

‘Fuck! He's not,' my mind raced, as I felt his fingers trail the spittle, not to my sex, but instead to my anus.

"What are you doing, Mark," I lowly crooned, only to feel his tongue tantalise my labia and then generously suck each one with his lips.

"Oh fuck, my ass, your fingers are in my as," I moaned, with the sheer pleasure of having my cunt licked while Mark diddled my tight anus with two of his fingertips.

Another thing I wasn't ofee with was ass sex. Although I was receiving some unknown pleasure from what Mark was doing in that respect, a cock, his cock, would be thicker than his two fingers. Shit! Fuck! Make that three fingers, and yes, his other hand was right now drawing back the hood of my clit while his tongue, which he'd slithered between the folds of my pussy, was fucking me to an exhilarating climax.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh—my—fucking—God. Fuck! Yes, make me cum, make me fucking cum," I cried my release. As I did, I flashed my hand to Mark's head and urged him closer, grinding Griffith, almost, into my pulsating cunt, which I subsequently bucked back at him.

"Fuck—me!" I exclaimed after, my hand, all the same, marshalling him to continue licking out my pussy and that of my warm wet cunt juices.

"Not bad, not fucking bad at all," I commended Mark, having eased off with my hand gesture.

"Wanna try a forth in my ass," I intimated, as I peered back over my shoulder at him. "My clit could do with some attention, also; from your tongue this time," I told him.

"Okay, just let me...turn around." Mark indicating that I release his hair, if only for the moment.

"You're not shaved, I noticed."

"As you remarked earlier, I don't date, see men, so what's the point. Why, do you prefer a nubile looking snatch?" I rejoined.

"To tell you the truth, Helen, it doesn't worry me."

"Good. Now, get your tongue back on mine," I enjoined, and soon he was once more silent, save for the murmurs as he dined on my cunt and clit.

"That's it, lover, suck it, suck it good. More, fuck me harder with your fingers. My ass too," I impelled, in response to Griffith only reaming my sodden pussy with them.

"I dare say you'd like to stick your hard cock up my ass as well. Oh fuck, more, do me more, Mark, I'm almost there, I'm almost, yes, more, like that, fucking yes, Jesus fuck, there." My final word resonating as I came, and for the second time.

Again, Mark lapped up my juices, much like that of a dog, only he didn't, unlike a mongrel that is, have either a snarl or sharp yapping teeth.

From where he was, Mark slithered up the sofa until his head was level with my heaving tits. ‘May I,' he said. And without any objection from me, he, instead of what I'd expected, raised those fingers that had tantalised my pussy and clit so adroitly, to my lips.

Without hesitation, I opened my mouth and then covered Mark's fingers; my lips sliding down and up them as I now wanted to do to his warm hard cock.

"You're quite the slut, Helen," exclaimed Mark, a remark that prompted me to stop.

"It's okay, I meant it as a compliment. Just like ‘cunt' can be taken two ways," he assuaged me.

"What would you like this slut to do next?" I played up to him, before licking around each fingertip.

"Just remain where you are and enjoy," Mark said; whereupon, he moved his mouth to my left breast and kissed its warm vibrant flesh.

"You might want to play with yourself," Griffith suggested. "It's okay, you're in appreciative company," he intoned, before directing his attention to my right tit. This time he licked around the areola and then teased and sucked my hardened nipple.

Admittedly, I was apprehensive at first. Yes, for my own gratification, I masturbate. This, however, was in front of someone; not that Mark had eyes for anything other than pleasuring my breasts at that moment.

"I'm waiting," he crooned, having once more stopped.

Lazily, I moved my right hand to my more than moist lace pattern thong. Rather than slip my fingers inside, I drew the material to one side where it remained. My cunt lips were both full and wet, I noticed, as I stroked them and Mark used his guarded teeth to saw my left nipple with a side to side motion of his head.

"Fuck, yes, Mark," I shrilled, as the sensations of what we were doing, my fingers now stroking my clit with some urgency, quickly brought about yet another exhilarating climax.

Mark was far from finished with his pleasured foreplay, and at the moment of what happened next, a thought went through my mind: ‘the postman may only ring twice, but Mark had this postwoman cumming several times,' and with more to come I didn't doubt.

Having moved further up the sofa so that our faces were level, I half expected Griffith to kiss me; he didn't. Instead, Mark had me raise myself so that I was off his body. That gave him the room he needed to gather up the material of my thong, thereby drawing it into one narrow strip of material, from front to back of the waistband.

‘Now what,' my mind raced. And without warning, as if any was necessary, Mark pulled the lace material against and into the cleft of my pussy and began a sawing action with it. The rough like texture of the lace was pleasurably thrilling as it slid back and forth along the groove of my sex while also doing wonders for my clit.

"Fuck, yes, Mark, more. You're gonna make me cum," I cried out, and moments later I was pushing down on him as he continued and my orgasm flooded me.

"My cock could do with some attention, now," he said afterwards.

How could I object after all that I'd just enjoyed. Moments later I was knelt submissively on the floor while Griffith, stood in front of me, swung his hips and his cock back and forth at me, all the while holding my bunched up hair as he motioned my head back and forth; just as the black men had done to the white girl.

"You like my cock, don't you, slut."

"Hurgh," I murmured a response, and to his change in demeanour as I sucked it up.

Momentarily taking his dick from my mouth - there was more of the same to follow - he enjoined me to lick the residue of my saliva from his erection; some of which, dripped from my lip and chin and then landed on my tits.

"That's it, slut, suck my cock, take it, take it all," intoned Mark, only to, and moments later, pull my head back by my hair and then stroke his cock; enough that he fired his hot sticky cum over my face - his hand grasping my hair tight, enough that I couldn't much move while maintaining the position of the target for his sticky emissions.

"I suppose a fuck's out of the question," I exclaimed, as I used my fingers to wipe his mess from my eyelids.

"You got that right," he smiled sardonically down at me.

Just then, I had a good mind to report him to my manager. Only to realise that I was the one in the wrong while Mark at least pleasured my body many times over and more than I'd expected.

"Maybe next week, when you'll have the next DVD we can watch," he said, and with a knowing grin as he saw me out. ‘You know what, reader, I may just take him up on that,' I reasoned to myself, as I tottered down the path and then dreamily, almost, made my way home.