My Ex Girlfriend Was My Delivery Driver… Gave Her More Than Just The Tip!

I was chilling in my shitty apartment after class, still in the same hoodie from morning lecture. The place smelled like leftover Chinese and unwashed laundry. DoorDash pinged—food finally here. I buzzed the delivery person up without thinking twice.
Door opens. There she is. Emily. My ex from freshman year. Blonde hair tied back in a messy ponytail, wearing that red polo and black pants uniform that’s way too tight around her thick thighs and round ass. She’s 19 now, still looks like the 18-year-old cheerleader type who dumped me over “needing space” right before finals.
Her eyes go wide. “Michael? Holy shit.”
I freeze for a second. “Emily? You’re… delivering now?”
She laughs, awkward, shifting the pizza box. “Yeah, college is expensive. Tips help. Didn’t know this was your building.”
I step aside. “Come in. Don’t want the food getting cold.”
She hesitates, then walks in. The door clicks shut. She’s scanning the messy living room—empty beer cans, my Xbox controller on the couch, TV still paused on some dumb Netflix show.
“Place looks… lived in,” she says, smirking.
“Same old me.” I take the box, set it on the counter. Our fingers brush. That old spark hits. She doesn’t pull away fast.
We stand there. Kitchen light buzzing overhead. Smell of pepperoni mixing with her vanilla body spray.
“So,” she says, leaning against the counter. “You still mad I ghosted?”
“Nah. Was a while ago.” My eyes drop to her cleavage peeking from the polo. “You look good.”
She bites her lip. “You too. Still got that same hungry look.”
Tension snaps. I step closer. She doesn’t back up. Instead, she reaches up, fingers in my hair, pulls me in.
We kiss hard. Messy. Tongues right away. Her hands yank my hoodie up. Mine grab her ass through those pants—fuck, still so thick and soft. PAWG for real.
“Been thinking about this,” she mutters against my mouth.
“Me too.” I spin her around, bend her over the counter. Pizza box almost falls. She giggles.
“Careful, don’t want sauce everywhere.”
I yank her pants down. No thong—just plain black panties already damp. I pull them aside. Her pussy’s shaved, pink, glistening.
“Goddamn,” I groan.
She looks back over her shoulder. “You gonna stare or fuck me?”
I drop my sweats. Cock springs out, hard as hell. She reaches back, strokes it a couple times.
“Missed this cock,” she whispers.
I push in slow at first. She’s tight. Really tight. She gasps, grips the counter.
“Fuck… slow,” she says.
I go deeper. Her ass jiggles with each thrust. Kitchen echoes with wet slaps and her little moans.
“Harder,” she pants after a minute.
I grab her hips, pound faster. Her ponytail bounces. Sweat beads on her neck. Smells like sex and garlic already.
She pushes back, meeting every thrust. “Yes… right there… fuck my pussy, Michael.”
I reach around, rub her clit. She’s soaking. Dripping down her thighs.
“Gonna cum already?” I tease.
“Shut up and keep fucking me.”
I flip her around. Lift her onto the counter. Legs spread wide. She pulls me in, wraps around me. We kiss sloppy while I slam in deep.
Her nails dig into my back. “Don’t stop… gonna cum…”
She shakes, pussy clenching hard. I feel her gush a little. Hot and messy.
My turn. I pull out, breathing heavy.
“On your knees,” I say.
She slides off, drops down right there on the kitchen floor. Tile’s cold, I bet. Doesn’t care.
She looks up, mouth open. Tongue out a little. Classic porn look but real—hair messy, mascara smudged already.
I stroke fast. She leans in, sucks the tip, then pulls back.
“Come on my face,” she begs. “Give me that huge load.”
I groan. First rope hits her cheek. Thick white. Second across her nose. She closes her eyes, smiles. More on her lips, chin. Some drips onto her polo.
She licks what she can reach. “Fuck… so much.”
I milk the last drops onto her tongue. She swallows, then wipes her face with the back of her hand, laughing.
“Jesus. That was a lot.”
We both catch our breath. Cum dripping down her neck. Shirt stained.
She stands, pulls pants up. “Gotta get back to deliveries. Manager’s gonna kill me.”
I hand her a twenty. “Big tip.”
She smirks, pockets it. “Next time order again. Maybe I’ll bring dessert.”
She kisses me quick—tastes like salt and me—then heads out.
Door shuts. I hear her footsteps fade down the hall.
I look at the pizza box. Still warm. Grab a slice.
Oven timer beeps in the background—forgot I had fries in there.
Back to normal life. Except now my ex knows where I live… and how hard I still cum for her.