Stacey parked on the street just outside the duplex and cut the engine. In the fresh silence, she could better hear her own tired sigh as she looked at the insulated bag buckled into the passenger seat. Her last delivery, until she went back to the shop to get more. The cycle of a delivery girl.

She made herself presentable: she straightened her red baseball cap with the Pizza Spress logo; she adjusted her matching button top and short black skirt. And she pulled her one accessory higher up her arm.

It was so simple, for what it meant. Just an armband, coloured the same green as traffic lights, and with a single word in black. ‘Cucumber’, in her case. Maybe it was too simple. Through all her other deliveries that night, nobody had yet recognised what it meant. Or at least, they hadn’t acted on it. If they knew and didn’t want to, didn’t want her...

Stacey shook off that thought. She unbuckled herself and the pizzas, surprised at how light they were as she carried them to the duplex door. She knocked her usual ‘shave and a haircut’ pattern while calling out, “Pizza Spress, your order’s here!”

The door opened, revealing a cosy living room. The show on the TV was paused, and there were only two people inside. A skinny, red-haired woman waited on the couch, while a massively tall man with black hair and chocolatey eyes met Stacey at the door, cash in hand. And those rich brown eyes went straight to her armband with a look of shocked recognition.

Stacey’s heart leapt into her throat. It would have done that anyway, faced with someone so tall, so broad, so strong. Damn, he hit her buttons. But more than that, he knew what she was wearing, knew what it meant. Would he want to act on it?

She was so close, yet so far. She saw the ring glittering on his finger, matched by one the woman wore. No way would he grab Stacey while his wife was right there and watching, right?

The wife glanced over, her grey eyes shrewd behind her glasses. She was first to break the silence. “Oh, silly us, we forgot the tip.” She rose from the couch and touched her husband’s shoulder while she turned towards the hallway. “I’ll go get some more. Come in out of the cold, dear.”

Stacey blinked, looking at the cash in the husband’s hand. That was more than enough for the pizzas. Had they already counted a tip and forgotten? She didn’t want to cheat them. “No, it’s fine, real–”

“We won’t take no for an answer,” the wife insisted. “I’ll be right back. Keep her company, love?” With that, she disappeared down the hall.

The front door closed, leaving her alone with the husband towering over her. She set the pizzas on the table, then fidgeted with her freed hands. She had no idea what to say, but the awkward silence weighed on her–

The husband grabbed her breast.

Stacey stiffened – in more ways than one. Her body froze up except for her accelerating breathing. And under her clothes, her nipples grew tight with daring and thrill, just one symptom of the flush blooming in her skin. That hand was so big, so strong, it could almost completely envelop even her healthy D-cup breast.

“Wh-What are you doing?” she stammered, breathless. Her back found the door, catching her between a rock and a hard place.

“Tits like these...” He kept his voice low, almost a whisper. “How do you expect anyone to keep their hands off them?” He reached for the other, squeezing her through the layers of her blouse and bra.

Stacey’s breath caught in her throat. A handsome stranger, so boldly taking what he wanted from her. He didn’t even ask first. Her eyelids fluttered, fantasies playing out behind her eyes – fantasies which came so close to reality now. “We shouldn’t be d-doing this.” However badly she wanted to, she knew it was still true. That was part of what made it so hot, made it so much fun. “Stop it.”

And to her great disappointment, he did. He stopped mid-squeeze, a look of confusion on his face. Then he started to withdraw, to pull his hands off, while humiliated blush rose on his face. He opened his mouth to apologise.

The sound of a clearing throat came from the hallway. His wife, standing with one eyebrow raised and a smirk on her face. “She said ‘stop’, darling. Not ‘cucumber’.”

He blinked, and his eyes flicked to her armband, reading her safeword from it. Understanding dawned. Her pleas were just play-acting, all part of the game that they all wanted to play. The green light she wore on her arm took precedence over any claims of reluctance.

That understanding made him bolder. In a surge of passion, he tore her shirt open. She gasped with visceral shock, feeling herself stripped so forcefully and suddenly, even if she had dressed for it; that shirt had pop-buttons, designed to be ripped just like that. All night, she’d been daydreaming of someone taking the invitation and finding her low-cut, lacy bra underneath.

“No!” she called, more from reflex than any actual meaning. She raised her hands to ‘defend’ herself, to push against the husband’s greater, more powerful mass. It was mostly an excuse to feel the shifting of muscle on his chest.

And feel how he just bullied through her attempts and stepped in closer, disregarding her resistance. His eyes magnetised to her cleavage, and she saw how arousal stirred, swelling his jeans. He cupped her chest again, his fingertips sliding across her cleavage with an almost reverent touch. He didn’t hurry, didn’t grab and honk. He acted like he had all the time in the world, having a captive object like her. “I haven’t seen tits like these in years.”

“You haven’t seen them yet.” His wife stepped close behind him, settling her svelte body against his back. “My dear husband has such a love of breasts.” She reached around him, and while his hands just worked at Stacey’s breasts, she worked on the clasp at her bra’s front. “Yes, he loves mine, small as they are. But there’s nothing like finding a woman who’s good and ... sizeable.” With a flick of her fingers, she got the bra open, leaving it to hang from her shoulders.

Topless. She was effectively topless in front of a stranger and his wife. Gooey heat filled Stacey’s mind, even as she shook her head. “No, no, no...” But she kept her voice soft. She didn’t want anyone else to actually hear and call the police.

The husband pressed forward, his hips driving against hers, giving her the threat and the promise of that hard dick. “Go ahead,” he hissed. “The neighbours are away for weeks.” He grabbed for her breasts again, his fingers sinking deeply into her tender flesh. “Nobody will hear you. Scream all you want, nobody’s coming to save you.”

In other words, she could scream all she wanted, and nobody would interrupt their fun. “No!“ Stacey shrieked, falling into her role. She scratched at the husband, trying to push him away with renewed vigour. “No, no, please don’t do this! J-Just let me go, and we’ll pretend nothing—”

The wife slapped her. Just hard enough to stun her, to leave her reeling. During that moment of disorientation, she got hold of Stacey’s wrists and pushed them up, pinning them to the door behind her. “No. We’re not going to stop until we’re done with you. It’s been far too long since my dear husband felt up tits like yours, and he hasn’t had his fill of them ... or of your tight, teenaged cunt.”