The Cashless Tip

The rain has finally stopped, leaving the city pavement slick and shiny under the streetlights. Your last drop is a small apartment building, the address matching the scribbled note on the takeout bag. You climb the stairs, the smell of hot food mixing with the scent of damp concrete. You knock. The door swings open almost instantly.

She’s standing there, hair dark and dripping onto her bare shoulders. A white towel, impossibly small, is tucked just under her breasts. Water droplets cling to her collarbones and slide down her throat. Her eyes, wide and a little startled, drop to the bag in your hand, then fly back to your face.

“Oh my god, the food. I totally forgot,” she says, a laugh bubbling up that’s equal parts embarrassment and something else. She shifts her weight, and the towel edges dangerously lower.

“I was on a deadline, just lost track of everything,” she explains, her voice a little husky. She bites her lip. “And I… I don’t have any cash. I feel so stupid.” Her gaze holds yours, not looking away. There’s a flush spreading from her chest up her neck. “I have an idea, though. For a tip.”

She steps back, holding the door wider. The movement makes the towel slip another inch. “Come in for a second? It’s the least I can do.” Her apartment is warm, cluttered with books and a laptop glowing on a desk. She takes the food bag from you, her fingers brushing yours. “My name’s Leonie.”

Leonie places the bag on the counter and turns to you, leaning back against it. The towel is doing most of the work now. “So, my idea,” she says, her playful smile returning. “I can’t pay you with money. But I’m a pretty good writer.

I could… write you something. A story.” Her eyes dip down your body, then back up. “Or I could just show you what happens in the story.”

You take a step closer. She doesn’t move, just watches you, her breath coming a little faster. “What kind of story?” you ask.

“The kind where the delivery guy gets a much better tip,” she murmurs. Her hands come up, not to hold the towel, but to slowly pull at the knot securing it at her chest. “The kind where the girl is very, very grateful.”

The towel falls open and pools at her feet. She’s completely bare, skin still dewy from the shower. Her breasts are full, her nipples already hard. She doesn’t cover herself, just stands there letting you look. “See?” she whispers. “I’m a really good tipper.” You reach out, your hand cupping her jaw, your thumb tracing her lower lip. She opens her mouth, taking the pad of your thumb in, her tongue warm and wet.

You guide her back until she’s pressed against the cool counter. Your other hand slides down her throat, over her collarbone, and palms her breast. She moans around your thumb. “Please,” she says when you pull it free, her voice thick. “I need your cock. I’ve been thinking about it all day, pretending to write but really just thinking about a stranger’s cock filling me up.”

You unbuckle your belt, the sound loud in the quiet room. Her eyes are locked on your hands. When you free your cock, already hard, she lets out a soft, wanting sigh. “Yes,” she breathes. She turns around, bending over the counter, presenting herself to you. Her pussy is glistening, already wet. “Please, I need it. Don’t make me wait.”

You push into her in one smooth, deep stroke. She cries out, a sharp, happy sound, and her hands scramble against the laminate. “Fuck, yes, just like that,” she gasps. You set a hard, fast pace, your hands gripping her hips. Every thrust makes her tits sway and draws another ragged moan from her lips. “You feel so good, so much better than I imagined!”

Her begging turns to a broken chant. “Cum in me, please, I need it, I need to feel you fill me up.” The tension coils tight in your gut and snaps. You drive deep and spill into her with a groan, pumping your release inside her trembling body. She sobs with pleasure, her own climax shaking through her as she feels your warmth spread.

For a long minute, the only sounds are your mingled breaths and the distant city hum. You gently pull out. Leonie stays bent over the counter for a second before slowly standing, a slick trail of your cum already starting to slide down her thigh. She turns, a blissful, utterly shameless smile on her face. She looks down at the mess on her skin, then back up at you. “Best tip you ever got?” she asks, her voice playful and sated.