Sex Stories: Mr. LarsBar's Nut Factory

"New morning, new day."

The best way to psyche yourself up after a night of total weirdness. He didn't tell anyone about it. He sincerely doubted they would believe he saw Vicki Vale in lingerie, a black woman who may or may not be the daughter of Lucius Fox blast BWC porn, and a big-titty demigod chick who called for dick.

Who would believe that?

So the next morning, the pizza delivery guy was back at it. A job was a job, after all. After the chaos of the previous night—naked women, loud moans, and a whole lot of awkwardness—he was ready for some peace. He glanced down at the first order of the day: Helena Bertinelli.

It was a normal black townhouse, nothing special. Gotham was known for its dark architecture and gargoyles and stuff. So on the outside, while it looked dark and creepy, for Gotham standards it was quite normal.

He knocked on the townhouse door. The door opened, and there stood the customer. Helena Bertinelli, he presumed—fortunately not in some scandalous outfit, not with any wild background noise. No, she was fully dressed, looking sharp in a sleek black top and jeans. Tanned skin, dark hair that went past her shoulder, and a confident, almost predatory look in her eyes.

"Hey there," Helena greeted, already smooth with a playful edge. She gave him a once-over, eyes lingering just a little too long. "You must be my knight in shining... pizza."

The pizza guy blinked, not expecting this kind of greeting. "Uh, y-yeah. That's me."

Helena smiled, a smile that was just a little too knowing. An arm against the doorframe, her eyes still fixed on him, she said, "So, what's a cute guy like you doing delivering pizzas this early in the morning?"

The pizza guy felt his cheeks heat up instantly. "Uh... j-just working," he stammered, suddenly forgetting how to form coherent sentences. He could feel the sweat on the back of his neck as she continued to look him up and down, her gaze clearly meant to fluster him.

"Well," Helena said, her voice dropping a little lower, "you're doing a great job. Maybe I should order pizza more often."

He swallowed hard, nodding like a complete idiot. "Y-yeah, maybe."

Maybe. Yes, he said maybe. In retrospect, pretty stupid.

Helena smirked, clearly enjoying his discomfort. She took the pizza from his hands, brushing her fingers against his as she did so, her touch light but deliberate. "Thanks for bringing this to me. You're a lifesaver."

"Uh, n-no problem," he muttered, trying desperately not to trip over his own feet as he backed away. "Enjoy your pizza."

Just as he was about to make his escape, she winked at him. "Oh, I will. You be careful out there, cutie."

He stammered some sort of response—something that was probably meant to be a "thanks" but came out as more of a garbled noise—and practically bolted down the stairs to his car. It wasn't until he was touching the car handle, heart pounding, that he realized something.

'Wait a minute... she didn't pay me!'

He whipped himself to the door. The door was already open with Helena leaning on the door with the money. She mouthed, "Forgot something?"

Dejected, he went over and lifted a hand for the money. Helena cockily put it into his hand and closed the door. Why did she do all this?

For fun.

The delivery man sighed and walked to his car again. Of course, like some type of curse, it wasn't going to end here. He was juggling his thoughts, wondering how Helena had managed to slip that past him, when his foot caught on a crack in the sidewalk.

"Oh shi—!"

Before he could even react, he went flying forward, the pizza bag slipping from his grip as he fell... right into something warm, soft, and undeniably comforting.

For a moment, he didn't even realize where he had landed. His face pressed against what felt like the softest pillow in the world—scratch that, better than any pillow. He blinked a few times, then froze as he realized exactly where he was: face first in the most heavenly bosom a man could ever dream of. It was like time stood still.

Momentum was still a thing so he nearly fell. Nearly because he stopped himself. How? By raising a hand and latching onto her boobs. He didn't meant to. He really, really didn't, but human instincts superseded dignity.

'So soft.'

His fingers didn't want to think it. They didn't want to feel the bra on his thumb and the boobs on his other four fingers. He didn't but he did.

Slowly, he pulled himself back, his heart racing. He finally looked up—straight into the serene, patient face of a tall, statuesque woman. She wore glasses, had dark, cascading hair, and a white-collar shirt that did wonders for her figure. The shirt hugged her curves just right, especially around the chest—seriously, who was this goddess?

"I-I-I am so, so sorry!" he stammered, his face burning with embarrassment. His hand had not just been on her chest but they squeezed too! Falling was one thing but coping a feel? That was worse! And he didn't mean to do it, he was just trying to balance himself!

The woman, however, seemed completely unfazed. In fact, she smiled—a warm, patient smile that put him at ease, despite his face being a shade of red he didn't know was humanly possible.

"It's alright," she said in a calm, soothing voice. "Accidents happen."

Her voice was like silk. The pizza guy blinked a few times, still processing the fact that he had literally faceplanted into this woman's... well, assets. The kind of assets that could rival even Power Girl's legendary bosom.

She adjusted her glasses, looking him up and down. "Ah, you deliver pizzas!"

He nodded dumbly, still trying to gather his thoughts. "Yeah... yeah, I am. I didn't mean to—"

"Of course," she interrupted kindly, waving off his apology as if it were nothing. "Just be careful next time. Your job is more important than you think."

The pizza guy blinked, surprised at her words. He opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it again. Why would she say that? He delivered pizzas for a living; it wasn't like he was saving the world or anything. Still, there was something... oddly comforting about how she said it. Like she genuinely believed it.

She glanced down at the pizza bag he had dropped and smiled. "Your bag is empty but I do smell something from your car." The car had the pizza sign above it but...she could smell it? That was a bit impressive. "It's delicious. I bet someone is absolutely craving it."

"Haha, yeah, ah, probably." Pause. "Y-yeah, I should... uh, get going." He bent down and grabbed the empty bag, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the situation. "I'm really sorry about... uh..."

She chuckled softly. "No harm done."

With that, she gave him a parting nod and started to walk away, her heels clicking softly on the pavement. The pizza guy just stood there for a second, watching her go. He wasn't sure what had just happened, but all he could think about was how... perfect she seemed. Like, who was she? Some random librarian with a body like that? How did that happen?

He finally shook himself out of his daze and placed an arm on his black car. He didn't want to look back and stare at her ass. That felt too perverted. So he stood there and stayed there. He couldn't help but think about the moment over and over again. His face in her chest. Her soft voice. Her patience. Her... well, everything.

"Is she an actress maybe?"

If she was an actress, why walk in the middle of Gotham? Gotham was not for the weak. A full grown man that worked out seven times a week shouldn't be too confident in their chances of surviving a walk alone.

He had no idea, of course, that the woman he had just crashed into was none other than Wonder Woman. The Wonder Woman. Diana Prince herself, who was visiting her close friend and ally Bruce Wayne.

He was completely oblivious to the fact that he had just experienced something most straight men could only dream of.

"Man," he said as he got back into his car, sighing. Already, he was replaying the moment in his mind. The soft bounce of her chest as he landed into it, the way she didn't even seem upset... and her words.

"Yeah, today is going to be like last night, isn't it?"

***

The pizza guy let out a tired sigh as he read the next address on his list. A penthouse—of course. Probably a rich client who wouldn't tip. He trudged into the elevator, calculating many more deliveries he had to get through and how much time each would take.

See, he had a couple boxes in a car in two more customers. Two more and then he had to go back and do it all over again. Eh, it wasn't bad. He wasn't whining. As long as he got a good tip, he was A-okay.

Shiva was the name on the order. Whoever she was, she lived on the top floor of this luxurious high-rise.

When he reached the top, he stepped forward and found himself in a huge glass-encased penthouse.

"Uh...hello?"

It was a huge penthouse but...there were broken dummies everywhere. Sofa were flipped over. It was like a gang war had been fought here.

That was when he heard a grunt and witnessed a lithe figure flip onto the space five feet from him. The lithe figure was a woman.

A nude woman.

One arm down on the floor, the second arm pointed back, and her ass jutting out towards him. A class superhero landing except pointed away from.

In that moment, the pizza guy viewed it as the better angle. Who cares about the front when you get to see such an amazing booty. Heart-shaped and toned, it jiggled ever so slightly from the landing.

Oh, and her pink pussy was there for him to see to. Yep. The pizza gut was blessed, alright.

Who was this? To describe her was tough. It was a woman he could only describe as a vision of deadly elegance. She was completely nude, her body lean and athletic, every muscle finely sculpted, but with a natural grace that made her look less like a bodybuilder and more like a volleyball player. You ever seen their asses? They were toned and voluptuous. And this woman, well, she was the perfect example of a hot volleyball bod.

She stood up straight. In her ear was a earpiece with a mic. The woman was nude save for that ear piece. Her skin was smooth, slightly glistening with sweat from what he assumed had been a brutal training session. Long black hair cascaded down her back, framing her butt.

An awesome butt mirroring a peace. He stared. He didn't have a reason to look away, after all.

The woman in question hadn't even turn to look at him. The ass and side boobs were all he saw. And she must have heard him come in. No way she didn't.

"I am Shiva. I am your guard, not your servant. Do your own errands."

She was talking to someone on the ear piece. The contrast between her serene demeanor and the state of her penthouse was jarring. There were broken dummies and demolished punching bags scattered around the room, evidence of her intense training. Pieces of torn canvas and sand littered the floor, and the air smelled faintly of leather and sweat.

Suddenly, she was walking backwards, although still focused on the conversation.

'Oh, she's coming closer.'

Three steps, four steps...

Okay, now he could really appreciate this woman. She turned ever so slightly and the side-boob view suddenly showed the whole thing.

The pizza guy gulped, still processing the heart-shaped ass and nice big tits. A little smaller than Vicki Vale's but still within the D-cup range. And also, he saw her face.

'Another naked Asian woman? Seriously? What is going on?'

Before he could even stutter a word, her back still to him, Lady Shiva did a backward kick with her leg. Her foot struck the underside of the pizza box and senr it from his hands. It soared over and landed on her left hand as if she'd done this a hundred times before. She didn't break stride in her conversation, not even bothering to acknowledge his presence.

"Yes. No. No. As if. David will not care."

He stood there, slack-jawed, trying to piece together what just happened. She didn't even look at him.

Still without turning to face him, Lady Shiva momentarily halted her conversation by pressing a button on the earpiece. She raised a hand, as if signaling to dismiss him. "The receptionist will handle the payment," she said.

Lady Shiva walked forward, hips subtly swaying with each step.

The pizza guy saw the broken dummies, the confidence, and decided retreating was the best option. She might have been nude but this was not porn. She wasn't going to fuck him if he grabbed her arm and pulled her into a kiss.

Yes, backing away into the elevator and getting his hard earned money was for the best.

'Sweet ass though.'

The elevator door closed and he eyed that ass till it was gone. The pizza man sighed. "Are all Asian chicks naked in their homes?" he muttered to himself. "Some new trend or something?"

***

The pizza guy took a deep breath as he approached the next address, hoping—praying—that this delivery would be normal. No weird encounters, no awkward situations. Just a straightforward drop-off, cash exchange, and maybe a good tip. That's all he wanted.

He was at a rundown house at the corner of a street. On the way, he saw plants and vines. Suddenly, he thought of Poison Ivy and on the off chance that it was here, decided to avoid and step over all the plants.

He checked the name again: Bella Garten. At least the name sounded normal enough. 

"Probably not Ivy, right?"

Hop, hop, hop.

Well, better safe than sorry. 

He pressed the doorbell, and the door opened after a moment. Awaiting was a woman in a sharp, striking pink suit. A beautiful black woman with a calm, almost regal demeanor and hair in a top-knot. She glanced at him, eyes disinterested, a rose in one hand and a phone in the other.

"Please. Call me Gardener in front of company," Bella, or at least that was who he assumed she was, said to the person on the phone. "I have other business to attend to now. Bye."

Beep.

She ended the call. That was a good sign, right? She put it away and looked at him.

"Your pizza," he said, holding the box out with one hand, the other holding a debit card machine. 

Bella Garten took her time inspecting him, not the pizza. For a moment, he wondered if she was going to comment on how he was still catching his breath from the hops to avoid the plants. She didn't immediately say anything, simply stepping forward to accept the pizza, and he couldn't help but admire how effortlessly cool she seemed. Her whole vibe screamed confidence.

'She's like a boss from a movie,' he thought, mentally kicking himself for how out of place he felt in his greasy delivery uniform. He couldn't help but admire her, but more than that, he hoped this delivery would go as smoothly as possible.

She reached into her jacket and handed him a tip—more generous than most, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than normal. Just as he was about to thank her and leave, she grabbed his wrist.

"You avoided my loves."

The pizza guy froze, blinking. Loves? Loves...

"You mean the plants?"

See, it wasn't just Poison Ivy. There was a small, tiny sect of women that were super duper protective over plants. You know the term cat lady? Well, now there was plant lady. And, if his senses were correct, this black lady was one of those plant ladies. Hopefully she didn't have the same poison ivy shit that Poison Ivy had.

Bella Garten nodded, visibly pleased. "So you did avoid them."

"I, ah, I have plants at home. I'm pretty conscious of it, haha."

That really seemed to impress her. "That's good. Very good." She slowly released his wrist. She was surprisingly strong. "Good and handsome."

"H-huh?"

"Mmm-hmm. I bet you get that a lot, don't you?"

He chuckled nervously, shifting on his feet. "Not really... mostly just deliver pizzas."

Bella raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Pity," she replied coolly, handing him more money and this time with a bit more flair, her fingers brushing against his hand longer than necessary. "If I were you, I'd be making better use of those looks."

"Yeah... uh, thanks."

She smiled, but it wasn't the kind of warm, friendly smile he was used to. It was the kind that made him feel like he was being sized up, maybe even toyed with. The kind that said she knew exactly what she was doing, and it was working.

"Tell you what, why don't you give me your number?" Bella Garten said as if it were an order. "Might come in handy someday."

Somehow, his brain short-circuited, and before he knew it, he was scrawling his number down on a piece of paper, handing it to her with shaking hands.

"Great," Bella Garten said with a satisfied smile, slipping the paper into her jacket pocket. "I'll be in touch."

And just like that, the door closed in his face.

He walked down the small staircase, once again avoiding the vines and grass. 

Between the weird encounters, flirtatious women, and... this, he was starting to think he was either the luckiest or the unluckiest pizza delivery guy in Gotham.

Somehow, he was thinking it was the first one.

***

The pizza guy stood outside the door of yet another Gotham townhouse, holding a large pepperoni pizza and silently hoping for a normal, uneventful delivery. It was the evening now. After the weird encounters he'd been having over the past day, he was starting to question his entire career choice.

He stared at the door, took a deep breath, and thought to himself, 'Please, for the love of all things cheesy and doughy, let this be a normal door.' 

The house was nice, really nice. Four rooms, two bathrooms, that type. Definitely somewhere above his pay grade. The customer was named Tatsu. A Japanese woman in all likelihood.

He knocked, the sound echoing a little too loudly in the otherwise silent neighborhood. The door swung open, and there she was. A five-foot-two Japanese woman, maybe in her late or mid twenties, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Her boobs weren't big but she had pretty nice hips. Maybe a mother.

'Okay, not totally naked. Progress.'

"Uh, pizza delivery?" he said, holding up the box like it was a shield against whatever bizarre scene he was about to stumble into.

The Japanese woman, who looked calm and utterly unbothered by her lack of clothing—just like the others—glanced at the pizza, then at him. "Yes," she said, her voice flat. She stepped back slightly to let him hand over the pizza.

This one was different, though. Tatsu (his assumption anyway) wasn't flirting, wasn't overly chatty. In fact, she didn't seem to give a damn about much at all, and he appreciated that. For once, things were going normally. Pizza confirmed, handed over, and payment received.

But then, as he was about to hand back her change, the towel slipped.

The pizza guy blinked. There she stood, completely naked, staring at him without a hint of embarrassment. Just like that, all the quiet normalcy of the moment vanished into thin air. He didn't even have time to process it fully. His brain short-circuited for a second, going from thank you for the tip to why am I cursed with naked Asian women?

There was a beat of silence. He wasn't sure if he should laugh, run, or—given the nature of his last 24 hours—just accept this as the new normal in his life.

Instinctively, he compared this Japanese woman to the very first Asian woman he saw: Tatsu's tits were smaller than the first Asian chick's and she was three or four inches shorter too. Even Tatsu's hair was a bit more cropped.

Ah, but her pussy looked tighter.

Tatsu Yamashiro, also known as Katana—not that he knew this—looked down at herself, at her pussy, the same way the pizza guy was.

Then back up at him, completely unfazed. "Do you want a tip?" she asked, deadpan.

He swallowed hard, eyes darting away from the pussy as he tried really hard not to look down. 'Man, she's hot...!'

"I-I'm okay, really. You already, ah, I already have enough tips," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

She gave a small nod, as if what had just happened was the most routine thing in the world. "Okay." Then, with a calmness that only added to the surreal vibe, she turned and casually shut the door.

The pizza guy just stood there for a moment, blinking at the now-closed door. He let out a long, slow breath and started walking back to his car.

"Has to be a trend."