Gotham's Pizza Guy - Chapter 1

Summary: Mini-series for Gotham's Reigner starring that one pizza delivery guy that saw Cassandra naked. Let us walk through the nights of this fortunate pizza delivery man! Expect lots of nudity, voyeurism, and exploration of Gotham City's finest.

Author's Note: Something fun I came up with on the spot. Hope everyone enjoys XD  

**********

In all her years of training and crime fighting, Cassandra had never felt this sore. Legs feeling like half-broken sticks, stomach aching and empty, throat parched, and eyes red from the lack of sleep. Her lover Aaron was doing marginally better. He was naturally gifted but he wasn't a Kryptonian. His stamina had its limits and he couldn't replenish it at the touch of the sunlight.

Head against the headboard of his bed with Cassandra laying on his chest, it was a nice moment he didn't want ripped apart. Neither of them felt like getting up to make something, so they instead ordered something from Luigi's Pizza. They were known for their authentic Napoli slices, which Aaron and Cassandra had both attested to the last time they had fucked. It revitalized them better than an energy drink.

The soles of her foot unintentionally rubbed his shaft. The pair shared a sigh. The emotion released was not of relief but of delight and possibilities. The day seemed bright and they were so cozy and comfortable.

Cassandra's stomach grumbled. Aaron snorted with laughter.

Twenty minutes later, there was somebody at the door. Aaron groaned and started to get up but Cassandra pushed him down, insinuating that she would do it.

"Wallet is in my jacket," Aaron yawned out. Cassandra sent him a thumbs-up and retrieved it from the jacket on the rack. The sultry air of the apartment prompted her to stretch an arm up. As she opened the door the pizza delivery man was in for one hell of a sight.

If there was one thing Cassandra sorely lacked at the most crucial moments, it was common sense. Sure, she wasn't an idiot but there was the rare occasion where everyday etiquette would slip past her mind. She yawned and didn't make much of a face as she handed the innocent pizza delivery man the money, all the while she was stark naked. B-cup breasts, pretty little cunt, signs of muscle and scars. The pizza guy was dumbfounded, his movements withdrawn, taking his time in taking out the three boxes. He wondered why the fuck this Chinese chick was standing there in the nude, aloof and sleepy.

"Err, here's your change."

The coins fell into the palm of her hand one-by-one. Cassandra yawned again. "Mm."

Then she shut the door.

The poor pizza man was left bewildered and dazed.

...

...

...

He saw pussy.

He saw tits.

He saw a hot, naked Asian woman. Short hair, scars, B-cup tits, the works.

Just...wow.

The pizza delivery guy got back into his car and took a deep breath. "What the hell just happened?" His mind raced, replaying the image of the stark naked woman casually handing him cash like it was the most normal thing in the world. He could still feel the coins in his palm, cold and metallic, as if grounding him to reality. 'Chinese chick, naked. Pussy out, tits out. What the fuck?'

She didn't fuck him and she did pay him so...was it an accident? She did look tired...

He imagined her cunt again. He recalled her scars and the light amount of toned muscles too...

"A young soldier? FBI agent maybe? Tired from a mission or something?"

He had no clue except that suddenly, his world felt like a porno.

He rubbed his face and glanced at the next delivery on his list. "Alright, come on. Just keep it together." He glanced at the order details. “Extra-large, double tomatoes, triple onions, quadruple mushrooms, hold the cheese... what the hell? Who orders this stuff?” Shaking his head, he drove off to the next address, hoping that this one would be, at the very least, a little more normal.

When he pulled up to the towering apartment complex, he grabbed the pizza and made his way to the door. He knocked, still somewhat in a haze from earlier, and when the door creaked open, he saw boobs.

Yep, huge knockers. Seriously, he felt like he got knocked out too. Soft nipples that were in the open air, in direct eye view.

He was three inches away.

He did not take a step back. He looked up.

Standing before him was an absolute goddess. No exaggeration. The woman who answered was huge—easily 6’4” with long, fiery orange hair cascading down her back and, to his shock (and little disappointment), she was wearing nothing but a pair of skimpy panties. No bra, no top, those huge orange DD or G-cups or whatever size they were sat in eye view.

Eye-fucking-view!

Her skin had an otherworldly orange glow, like she had just walked out of a tanning salon and decided to crank it up to alien levels.

His eyes involuntarily traveled down. Her breasts were—he struggled to find words—massive. Her nipples were soft and unexcited. She was casual about this. Uncaring.

He was not. He could barely focus. The pizza almost slipped from his grasp as he handed it to her.

"Hello!" she greeted warmly, her voice melodic and soft. Her eyes, which were glowing green, looked down at him with a sweet smile. “Thank you for delivering this. I have been very much looking forward to it!”

The pizza guy swallowed hard, struggling to maintain eye contact. “Uh—uh—no problem. It’s just, um—uh... the pizza. Right here.”

He was so focused on not making a fool of himself that he almost forgot about the tip. As if reading his mind, she reached in between her breasts...

“Oh! How much do you require for a tip?"

...and pulled out money. The pizza guy didn't know what to look at; her jiggling boobs or the money.

"This is the first time I have done this Earth custom without Dick. Would ten Earth dollars suffice?”

Without Dick?

Earth customs?

What the fuck?

He blinked, his mind blank. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Ten’s... that’s good.” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, and he cursed himself internally.

'God, pull it together, man.'

Before she could hand him the tip, a voice called from inside the apartment. “Kory! You coming?”

Kory turned her head towards the voice, then back to him with an apologetic smile. “I must go! Thank you again for the pizza!” She handed him a crisp ten-dollar bill, her fingertips brushing his hand gently, and with that, she closed the door behind her.

The last thing he saw was her thicc ass cheeks jiggling.

The delivery guy stood there, frozen in place. His brain was scrambled. 'Was that—did she just say Earth dollars? Dick? I'm so confused, what is she...I don't...'

He turned, bewildered yet again, as he shuffled back to his car.

Two deliveries, two completely surreal experiences. Two pair of tits, one small and the other massive. It was like he went from one end of the porn spectrum to the other.

Pulling away, he couldn’t help but sigh and laugh in disbelief. 'What the hell kind of night is this?'

***

The pizza delivery guy shook his head as he pulled up to the next address, still trying to wrap his mind around the absurdity of the night so far. First, a naked chick with B-cup breasts handing him pizza money like it was nothing. Then, a 6'4" orange-skinned goddess in nothing but panties, casually tipping him while her glowing green eyes pierced right through him.

He took a deep breath and muttered, "Alright, just one more. Keep it professional. It’s Gotham, weird stuff happens."

He parked the car and walked up to the door, reading the name on the order: Vicki Vale. He knew the name. The Vicki Vale. A famous journalist. Wasn’t she connected to Bruce Wayne at some point? He shrugged it off, thinking it was a coincidence.

He knocked on the door and waited. After a moment, the door swung open, and there she was—Vicki Vale, in the flesh. And not just in the flesh… in a pink lace bra and matching panties. She looked flustered, phone pressed to her ear, barely acknowledging him at first. The delivery guy’s eyes widened for the third time that night.

'What...is...happening...?'

Vicki was talking rapidly into her phone. “Yes, yes, I’ll have the report ready by morning. No, I don’t need you to check it, I can handle it myself. I know what I’m doing.”

She turned towards him, still distracted. “Just leave the pizza on the counter,” she said, waving him in without really looking at him.

The delivery guy hesitated for a second, then stepped inside, pizza box in hand. He couldn’t help but notice how absurdly attractive she was. Her body was toned, her curves accentuated by the pink lingerie. She was clearly too focused on the phone call to care that she was half-dressed, let alone that there was a random pizza guy standing in her apartment.

“Yeah, I’ll call you back, I have someone at the door,” Vicki finally said, ending the call with a sigh. She turned to him, her eyes meeting his, and for a brief moment, the room felt like it froze.

“Uh... pizza?” he stammered, holding up the box like a peace offering.

Vicki blinked, realizing she’d left the poor guy standing there. “Oh! Right. Sorry, I’m a little... distracted.” She walked over, her long legs crossing the room in an almost hypnotic way. “How much do I owe you?”

“Uh, twenty dollars,” he replied, trying hard to keep his eyes on her face and not on the rest of her... situation.

She handed him a bill and, without missing a beat, brushed her hair back from her face. “Busy night, huh?”

“You have no idea,” he said, chuckling nervously.

Vicki looked him up and down, clearly noticing how flustered he was. “You okay there?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said quickly, “It’s just, uh, been a weird night, that’s all.”

She smiled, amused. “Gotham will do that to you.”

He nodded, deciding it was best to just nod and go with the flow at this point. As she set the pizza on the counter, she suddenly seemed to remember something. “Right, you need a tip, don’t you?”

The delivery guy waved it off. “No, no, that’s okay, you don’t have to—”

Vicki interrupted him, walking back towards him. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course you’re getting a tip. What do I look like? Some cheap reporter?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that, especially considering the current state of her undress, so he just shook his head. “No, ma’am. Definitely not.”

Vicki smirked and pulled out a few bills from her purse. “Here. For the trouble.”

As she handed him the money, her phone buzzed again, and she sighed. “Duty calls.” She glanced back at him, this time with a more knowing look. “Take care of yourself out there. Gotham’s crazy, but somehow it never gets boring, does it?”

He nodded, his mind still reeling from the bizarre string of encounters. “Yeah... definitely.”

With that, Vicki turned back to her phone, picking up the call as the delivery guy made his exit, once again bewildered by what the hell just happened. 'Three orders in a row. What are the odds?'

As he walked back to his car, he shook his head with a small laugh. “Man, I’ve gotta start writing this stuff down.”

***

After the night he’d been having, he wasn’t sure what to expect anymore. First a naked Asian chick, then a literal alien goddess, followed by a distracted journalist in lingerie. Gotham was out of its mind tonight. He glanced at the order: Tamara Fox. A family name he recognized. That any Gothamite worth their salt would know of.

But...was it really the case?

"Fox? Like Lucius Fox, the richest guy in town?" He shook his head. "Nah, can't be."

He shoved the receipt into his pocket and grabbed the pizza from the store.

The pizza delivery guy pulled up to the next address. Hopefully this would be a normal, uneventful delivery. He’d seen more half-naked women tonight than he had in his entire life, and his nerves were starting to wear thin. The name on the receipt read Tamara Fox. He wound up at an expensive apartment building. Like richest of the rich type people. His pizza store was well-renowned and many of the delivery men had access cards to let them into places like this without issue.

The elevator door opened up to the sixth floor. He darted to the requested door, wanting to be as early as possible. He stopped himself from knocking. Through the door, he could hear... something.

Moaning. Loud, very obvious moaning.

Moaning that mentioned white cock.

“Please let that be an echo be from the door behind me,” he muttered under his breath, though deep down, he already knew what it was.

He knocked on the door and waited. The moans from inside the apartment were unmistakable now. It was impossible to hear in the hall but through the door? Yep, it was clear as day. He felt his cheeks flush.

'Seriously, why me....?'

Momentarily forgetting the feminine name, he thought the customer would be some porn addict.

The door swung open, and there she was—Tamara Fox, a dark-skinned woman in casual blue PJs, except for the headphones clamped tightly over her ears. Her brown eyes lit up as she saw him standing there, pizza in hand.

“Ah, hey!” Tamara said cheerfully, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “Thank you."

She reached out to take the box, and he could only blink in stunned silence.

'Does she... does she not know?'

It was obvious what was happening. The porn noises? Tamara thought they were coming from her headphones, not knowing they were in fact booming through her apartment. “How much do I owe you?” Tamara Fox asked.

The delivery guy stammered, struggling to find the words. “Uh... twenty bucks.”

Tamara already had the bills in her pocket. She brought too many. When handing it over, Tamara noticed his slightly dazed expression. “You okay there? You seem a little... out of it.”

He bit his lip, debating whether or not to tell her that the entire building could hear the very explicit noises blasting from her apartment.

"Unhhh~! I love it~! I love your coccckkk~!"

"Oh yeah, baby!? Is it better than any other!?"

"So much better and deeper, babyyyy! You rock my pussy!"

"Don't underestimate a white boy!"

The porn lines. Yeah, so more than explicit.

But something in him—probably sheer fear or maybe the fact that this night had already been way too weird—stopped him. “Uh, yeah. All good.”

Tamara flashed him a smile. “Cool, cool. Thanks for the pizza!” She gave him a friendly wave and shut the door behind her.

That was that, right?

"Err..."

Yet standing there, the moaning continued, muffled slightly by the closed door, but still loud enough to be very, very noticeable.

The delivery guy stood there for a second, hand hovering over the doorknob, debating whether to knock again. But then he just shook his head and turned away, walking back down the hallway. “Not my problem,” he muttered. He was getting in his car, already hearing the moans fade into the distance as he drove off, when he let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Man, I gotta get a new job.”