One Large Pizza With an Extra Topping of Cunnilingus


“What are you doing for Valentine’s day?” the text read. My mother likes to think if she texts instead of calling me about Valentine’s day, it won’t “sting” as much. Like I was going to tell her the truth. I text back saying I’m going to a new age self-love singles party, I know that’ll make her beam with delight.

But the truth is I’m spending Valentine’s day the same way I’ve always celebrated the stupid holiday. I’m going to put on Never Been Kissed, a Drew Barrymore classic, order a large pepperoni pizza, devour it, and then slip on my Spanx tomorrow to suppress my self-inflicted shame. It works every year, and I could not be happier with the results. 

I thought maybe this year I should walk to the pizza shop and pick up my order, but change tradition? I don’t think so. I’ll wait patiently for the delivery man, who I know on a first-name basis. He’s a forty-year-old divorced guy named Fred. Every Valentine’s day he delivers me my pizza and asks no questions. I like that. 

After ordering my pizza, I wait patiently for Fred to ring my buzzer and knock on my door. While I wait, I think to myself, we can stick to tradition and add in some wholesome masturbation, right? It can only make the night better. Minutes later, I feel my pussy tingling - a feeling I haven’t had in a while. 

I slowly slip my hand down my pajama pants, sensually rubbing my pussy lips back and forth, imagining myself being pushed up against my living room wall by a man taking full control of me. My face becomes hot; my fingers slip inside of me; my apartment buzzer goes off, and my hands twitch with surprise.

Oh shit, I say to myself. I quickly put my pajama pants on but pause for a moment in a weak attempt to become unaroused. Just a minute, I yell towards the door. Take a couple of deep breaths; it won’t look like you were just touching yourself. Fred probably hasn’t had sex in a while, he won’t be able to tell. 

I open the front door, greeting Fred. “Hi Free--. Oh,” I giggle nervously, “you’re not Fred. What happened to him?” I ask out of politeness, but I couldn’t care less. This new pizza delivery guy was the definition of hot, and who I was going to finish masturbating to once he leaves. This guy should be in a magazine, what is he doing delivering pizza, I think to myself. 

His piercing blue eyes look straight into mine as he smiles charmingly. “Yeah,” his voice deep and raspy, “Fred ended up getting married a month ago and decided to buy a farm and move to Utah.” Wow, that was completely unexpected from Fred, but I need to stay focused. 

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“So, you’re the new pizza delivery guy?” I look at him like he’s a piece of meat. He’s tall, with a chiseled jaw, and you can see under the sweater, his body is firm. I like someone who looks firm. 

“That’s right, it’s my side job. I’m a stereotypical working actor.” 

Bingo. “I could tell, you have the face for it.” Did you just flirt with him? Oh my god, you desperate woman. 

He laughs softly while his cheeks become flushed, “so, uh, this pizza for you and your boyfriend?” I pause awkwardly, unsure whether or not to admit my singleness while also trying to figure out if he wants to fuck me. 

“Actually, it’s just me. It’s kind of this single tradition I have.” I look at him shyly, waiting to be judged. “Have you ever thought about switching up your tradition?” I try not to look surprised by his answer. 

I think he wants me. I knew this was my now-or-never moment; I had to be bold. “Well, only if it includes you fucking me.” No. You. Just.  Didn’t.  

His expression changes completely. His smile becomes devious, his eyes screaming ‘sex.’ It’s the face of a man who knows how to please a woman. Am I ready for it? I guess I’ll know the answer after. He drops the pizza in front of my door, stepping over it and entering my apartment. 

Grabbing my face, his lips press sensually against mine, and I feel my panties becoming instantly wet. His arms reach under my thighs, lifting me up into the air. I wrap my legs around his waist, he carries me to the kitchen table, gently laying me on top of it. 

He slowly slips off my pajama pants and panties, throwing them onto the floor. Taking my legs, he spreads them and stares at my throbbing wet pussy. 

“Holy fuck, you have a beautiful pussy,” he says as his fingers slide in. He releases a moan the moment his fingers feel how wet I am. But in a second, he turns into a beast, lifting my legs in the air and licking me from my asshole to my clit, wasting no time. 

I feel a rush through my body, his mouth diving into my pussy, drinking up my juices. His tongue against my clit, he slides two fingers into my pussy, forcefully finger fucking me at the same time. 

Am I going to cum? I hold onto the sides of the table, moaning louder and louder, and he eats and fingers me harder and harder. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” I scream intensely. 

A flood of juices escapes my pussy, “you’re squirting,” he says hungrily as he becomes hornier from the sight of it. He keeps fingering me, drinking my juices until I’m completely empty. I can hear the liquid dripping off of the kitchen table, pooling onto the floor. Both of us are panting heavily, collecting our thoughts on what just happened. 

“What’s your name?” I ask, laughing. 

“It’s Erik,” he says, catching his breath. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

I laugh softly as I get up from the table, staring at the giant bulge in his pants. “Oh, we’re not done yet.”  I turn him around, sitting him on a chair, “now it’s your turn.”

Erik surrenders himself as I slip his pants down to his ankles, exposing his giant hard cock. I spit on his cock and climb on top of him, slowly entering it into my relaxed asshole. He lets out a moan. I grab his hair, pulling his head back, and whisper into his ear, “Happy Valentine’s day.”

WRITTEN BY

Natasha Ivanovic

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