Copyright © 2006 Faith Bicknell-Brown
All rights reserved, Freya's Bower.
By reading this excerpt, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are younger than 18 years old, you must exit this site at once.
As Murray delivered mail to each house on Zephyr Street, he repeatedly glanced at the porch of the little stucco house a few yards away. A temptress lived there. Nearly every day at half past noon, a young woman named Violet met him at the door for the mail.
He looked askance at the porch as he deposited the mail next door. When Murray saw her open the front door, waiting for him, he grinned. He made sure he had all the correct post and walked nonchalantly along the sidewalk to Violet's house.
The sun warmed his back as he strolled up to her front door, but it was nothing in comparison to the warmth of her smile. He shuffled through the letters and junk mail in his hands, handing her several envelopes.
"Afternoon, Violet." He appreciated her slim figure in a short, clingy summer dress.
Her smile widened. "No book for me today, Murray?"
"Nope, maybe it'll arrive tomorrow." His gaze locked with her deep brown eyes. The mane of jet-black hair that framed her face made her eyes look twice as dark.
"Have you had lunch yet?"
Murray paused, shaking his closely cropped head. "Why?"
Violet opened the door wider. "I thought maybe you'd like to have lunch with me."
Stunned, Murray regarded her open-mouthed. "Sure."
"Come on in."
The spicy aroma of chili permeated the house. The common furnishings and gold carpet needed replaced, but the home seemed neat and clean. Murray hefted his mail pouch over one shoulder and followed Violet's shapely ass through the house to the kitchen. His groin grew uncomfortable, an urgent heat building inside him.
Violet opened the refrigerator. "Iced tea?"
"Sounds good." Murray glanced around the small, cluttered kitchen. His gaze again strayed to her derriere as she bent to retrieve the pitcher. The red dress' hem inched dangerously high and he got a glimpse of shiny white panties, the soft mound of her cunt noticeable beneath the fabric.
Murray adjusted his mail sack to cover his groin. The pressure of his stiff cock against his zipper grew unbearable. Studying her slim, deeply tanned legs, Murray wondered if her ass was as brown as the rest of her or if she had bikini lines.
"Ice?" Violet reached for two glasses in a cabinet, her dress again rising dangerously.
"Please," he croaked.
He couldn't detect a bra line through the sheer material of her dress. Her black hair looked stark against the deep red material. When she turned and placed the glasses on the table, Violet smiled at him. Murray's gaze settled on her breasts as he attempted to judge the size of her boobs beneath the loose material.
"There's plenty of chili." Violet poured tea. "My dad was supposed to come home for lunch today, but he called to say he was going out to lunch with a lady co-worker."
He watched her move around the kitchen as she got out bowls and spoons. Her long mane of black hair hung over one shoulder, the sunshine through the window revealing bluish highlights. Would Violet be a dynamo in bed, or would she be sweet and eager to please? He wondered if she'd have a tight, hot pussy, and how long it would take her to reach an orgasm.
Murray shook his head, feeling guilty about his lustful thoughts. Ted, the new guy at the post office, constantly talked about his beautiful daughter, and looking at Violet made Murray aware of their age difference. Murray's own two daughters were in their early twenties. Ted constantly prattled to him about all the suitors chasing his daughter, but she was more concerned about her college education than she was about dating. After Murray's divorce three years ago, he hadn't thought much about dating either. Since meeting Violet, all Murray could think about was what it would be like to fuck her until she begged for mercy.