Special Delivery
Beta'd by LolaAnn
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all related characters are copyright The CW Network/ Eric Kripke as Series Creator and Executive Producer. No infringement intended.
By Saran Grumble (Sera Gamble)
**WARNING* Story causes extreme loss of liquid- Reader be advised*
He had admired her and her wispy, long dark curls from afar. His heart could hardly contain the joy, for tonight he would surely deliver her a pizza. He approached her front door, trembling from the excitement radiating from his love thermometer. He reached out tentatively and pressed the doorbell. The sultry vixen stood in the doorway, lounging against the front side of the door. He had often dreamed of buttering her whisker biscuit with his creamy batter.
He took in a deep breath and spoke the tagline that came with every delivery, "Hot, fast, and in less than thirty minutes! Stuffed sausage pizza! Hot, plump, and delicious!"
A come hither look radiated from her orbs, "You put extra sausage on my pie?"
He had pitched a tent and yearned to add his log to her fire until she begged for s'more, "Yes, Yes, it is a special delivery."
"Oh Pizza man, I could just eat you up."
She stood back from the door, and allowed the pizza man entrance into her love shack. He stood apprehensively in the hallway, as she appraised him with a hungry stare. She closed the door, removing the box from his trembling hands. 'I'm Meg and you are Cass, welcome Cass…I understand this is your first delivery."
He stuttered in reply, "Yes, I was sent by the Winchesters…they feel it is time for me to eat pie and would like me to have the deluxe package."
She wasted no time as she pushed him into the bedroom and immediately ripped his sanguine monster of mating from to his torn khakis. She continued to inhale his throbbing python of love like a tennis ball through a garden hose. She inhaled his salami log like a hobo on a bottle of fortified wine. The moans and groans she heard echoing through the bedroom assured her that she was doing a fine job engulfing his giant meat lollipop. She continued to inhale until his sex sauce slid down her throat like slimy alien invaders, gliding down her highly sexualized esophagus to her creamy stomach.
Remembering the instruction from his visual training seminar on the adventures of the pizza man, he pulled Meg to his heavenly body. Her feet curled around his neck, so it looked like he was wearing her as a lobster bib. Then he eased forward and sailed his skin boat to tuna town. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, she was having a hard time describing what it did to her salami garage. Suddenly, their romantic mood was interrupted by a sharp sound. Then another. And then another. Air was caught in her vagina, and with every thrust came another queef. She was both amused and embarrassed at the same time. Then she felt him break from his rhythm and began thrusting seemingly haphazardly, all the while the queefing continued. She looked at him and saw him smiling broadly, and it didn't take long for her to understand why.
"Perhaps you should be punished baby sitter, shall I scold you with my hands or custard launcher?"
"Yes…Yes…Yes…pizza man, punish me…I have been naughty…
"I shall place my custard launcher into your whisker biscuit."
"'uh huh just do it, Pizza man…"
He rubbed his purple-headed yogurt slinger along her gully-hole, teasing her with it. Not to be outdone, she reached back and began to buff her clitoris. Another orgasm wracked her body as he entered her, and it took all her effort to remain on her knees. Her orgasm continued as he assaulted her pink velvet sausage wallet. As the last of her multiple orgasms ebbed, he pulled out again and nudged his meat thermometer at her anus.
To assure him she wanted it, she reached back for his groin ferret and began to pull it towards her waiting hole. She steered him toward her chocolate highway and delicately eased it in... Her fingers once again found her hair pie, and she was in hog heaven. As she felt another climax building, she began bucking her hips like a wild bronco. Another orgasm overcame her, and her body shuddered from her buttery muffin to her calves. Her orgasm began to fade as his began to build, and despite being dog tired, she was happy as a pig in slop.
He pulled out his custard launcher right before he came. However, his orgasm was so powerful that it overshot her, hitting the floor on the opposite side of the bed.
Jumping up with a pumping fist and exuberant victory cry, he got out the measuring tape to measure the distance. "80 inches," he remarked proudly.
He got back into bed beside her and cradled her in his arms. And with that, she drifted off to sleep, sated…and anxious to park his meat yacht her in hair harbor again soon.
'Fin'