MOVING HOUSE
It all started with a dumb-ass prank.
My son had broken up with his long-time partner, her having being playing away behind his back. When he off-loaded their apartment, he bunked down at mine for a few weeks while he got sorted. I could understand his pain, the same thing having happened to his mother and I four years earlier. I now lived on my own in a quite spacious top floor studio, but with only one bedroom, he had to sleep on the lounge in the front room.
Coincidentally, my lease was coming up for renewal, so we had a long talk and decided it would be good for us both to move into a 2 beddy and split the bills. In another 12 months, we could see how we stood, and then move forward as required.
Sounds like a plan, yes? Except for my son’s dumb-ass prank.
My agent arranged an ‘open-house viewing’ of my place for prospective new tenants. Fair enough.
He asked if we could make ourselves scarce for the two hour appointment. Most of my ornaments and photo-frames were packed away anyway, so we collected up all our valuables and ‘light-finger’ magnets into a big cardboard box and stowed them in the trunk of my car, then rode my son’s SUV down the local mall. Just as we were parking up, my son slaps his forehead and announces he’s forgotten his cell.
“You jump out, Pops, grab yourself a bite and I’ll see you in fifteen in the food court.”
So off he burns, and we meet up again 25 minutes later, him with a big smirk on his face.
“What’s with the big grin, you ass?”
“Oh, nothin’ Pops ….. There’s cars pulling up everywhere outside when I left. It was funny.”
“Don’t surprise me.. Popular spot being so close to the mall and all.”
“Yeah, really, really popular,” he splutters down his nose, trying to suppress his laughter.
“Ass,” I says, “You’re an ass.”
..…
We wanders around the mall for a long while, my son seeming to drag his heels.
Then my cell rings…..
“All done, Mr. T. I’m just locking up. You can come back now.”
“Agent,” I silently mouth at my son as I’m taking the call.
“By the way, Mr. T… have you been running a business from here?”
“Scuse me? Business. What business?”
“You know …. A business.”
“Sorry. Dunno what you’re talking about.”
“Well, just so you know, Mr T., in this county it’s illegal to run any form of business from a rental without permission from the agent, but seeing as you’re leaving, I’ll let this one slide.”
“Oh, OK,” I answers, shrugging my shoulders, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
…..
Returning to my place, my son is snorting a chuckle down his nose at almost every lamp-post.
“Ass”
….
When I walks into my bedroom, my jaw drops to the floor as the scales fall away from my eyes.
Dangling from my bed head-board are two sets of hand-cuffs. A chrome shiny set on one side, and pink furry-fluffy ones on the other. On top of my bedside cabinet, there’s an assortment of bottles of oils and jells, along with a scattering of unopened condom packets and rubber gloves. On the floor there’s a couple of canes and wooden spoons, along with a bin, half full of scrunched up tissues.
But most damning of all, there’s a whiteboard leaning up against the wall with my cell number at the top and a long list of random female names down one side. Along-side each name there are various notations
A only, no A, both, rough, gentle, long tease, no marks, long as poss…… the list went on.
I turn to my son, who’s now standing right behind me in fits of laughter and I says,
“Spoons? Wooden spoons? What the hell were you thinking?”
………..
I took it for the dumb-ass prank that it was. It seemed pretty cool, thinking I could probably tell this story a hundred times before I died. But a couple of days later my cell rang….
…..
I was already running late for my regular golf stint with my best mate, Pete, over at the links about 40 minutes drive away. I knew the traffic would be building with morning school-run Mom’s taxis, so I was in no mood to be stuffed around, so when the female voice on the other end stuttered and faltered and dithered with a “Errm, I was just calling, I mean, needed to speak. I hope it’s not a bad time, but it, I was wondering, if you don’t mind …..”
Just around then my frustration boiled over and against my normal nature, I pretty much barked,
“Well, spit it out woman….”
“Oh, yes, sorry sir,” my harsh snap appearing to sweep away her hesitation. You could almost hear her shuffle to sit herself upright in her seat. “My name is Charmaine, and I’m calling from Pollomina-Watts Real Estate ……”
Now she had my full attention. These were the realtors of my son and I’s new place where I’d signed the lease and paid a substantial bond and deposit. I would be handing back the keys to the old place in two days, and couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong.
“Yes, how can I help?” I queried. It was I who had suddenly become contrite.
“As you know, well obviously, you passed all our reference and police checks, but I had neglected to call your former leasing agent.”
“Yes?” I scooped, in a drawn out acknowledgement of her actions. I had no idea where this would be going.
“Well, he told me you appeared to have been running some sort of business from the premises.”
“Oh, no, no no, he’s got it all wrong …..” I began my apologetic explanation about it only being a prank.
“Because it’s not classed as a business if you don’t charge a fee,” she butted in, almost as a blurted-out gush.
I could see this as an easy get-out, and I was conscious of now running late for my golf-date.
“No, I don’t charge anything. It’s all entirely free.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” the relief in her voice almost palpable. “You see, I can’t afford much, with my husband keeping a close eye on my spending and all.”
“Woah, woah woah” I chattered about seven times in the space of a second.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she responded to my halt, “If you’re not taking on any more bookings….”
“No, it’s not that ….”
This was getting all too much and sliding way out of hand. I needed time to think.
“Look, the truth is, you’re making me late for an appointment and I need to get moving, the traffic’s getting busier by the minute. You’re gonna have to call me back after lunch. Can you do that?”
“Oh,” she sounded surprised, “You sometimes do …..?”
“After lunch.” I cut her off, then in a flash of dastardly inspiration, for my last words before I pressed ‘end call,’ I took a deep breath and growled down the line, “From now on you start calling me ‘master.’”
…………..
Not surprisingly, my golf score was rubbish. Fifteen over par.
“What the hell’s gotten into you?” quizzed my long-time friend and golf buddy as we sat in the 19th hole nursing our cold beers. “I know I usually win, but jeez, man, you usually give me a run for my money. Wha’sup?”
“A very unusual dilemma has reared its head, Pete, and I think you’re just the right man to give me some fatherly advice.”
…
At 48, Pete is actually one year younger than me, but has had a full and chequered love live, having been divorced twice and currently having two women on the go. And having spent hundreds of drunken hours sharing our shit down the pub, I don’t think there were any secrets between us…. I’d no problem with spilling my guts….
….
“Wow, that’s pretty rad, man,” said Pete after a long blow through puffed-out cheeks. “Even that’s a new one on me. I’m not sure what to suggest.”
“Do you think I should go for it though? Would you?”
“Well assuming this Charmaine chick isn’t really, really smart and trying to pull a fast one, then sure, reel her in. At least you’ll get one free shot with no repercussions. If you can’t remember seeing her at the agency and don’t know what she’s like, then hey, if she’s married, she’ll be too scared to kick up a fuss if she turns out to be a dud and you tell her to fuck off. And let’s face it, Dez, your sex life hasn’t exactly been front-page news this last couple of years.”
“Suppose,” I conceded.
“Yeah, go on, go for it, bro. And hey, if she’s not your type, you can always give her my number and let me have a crack.”
“Easy, tiger,” I said, snorting a laugh down my nose. “One step at a time, eh? One step at a time.”
……….
“Hello, yeah, hi. It’s Charmaine here. I’m just calling back like you said.”
“Yeah, and you’re late,” I barked. “I said two o’clock on the dot.”
“No, you didn’t, I ….”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“No, I, it’s … she started to jibber.
“I’ve already told you once, it’s ‘master’ from now on. So let’s try again shall we? Are you calling me a liar?” I growled with a smirk on my face. C’mon bitch, dig your own grave.
“No, master.”
I then heard her heavy inhale of breath down the line. I’ve barely said ten words and she was terrified. Maybe not of me, but of potentially handing her fate to a complete stranger. A stranger who has handcuffs dangling from his bed-head. And by virtue of Pete’s crash course in his great women wisdom, her panting revealed she was already juicing up.
Oh boy, was this going to be fun.
…………..
I established when she’d have a couple of hours free time to come over to mine, and ordered her to be here on the dot. She already knew the address. In fact, with her being on the rental staff, I reasoned there was an even chance she could’ve been inside here before.
I’d come clean with my son. For lots of reasons really, not least of which being the fact he had the handcuffs, lube and condoms stashed away in his bed-room. I can’t imagine why he hadn’t thrown them away.
Just kidding…
Anyway, my son thought I was nuts, but being as it was his prank which had kick-started this whole fiasco in the first place, decided there was no harm in being supportive, although there was no need for his ‘last hurrah’ comments.
…………
At the allotted time two afternoons later, there is a faint knock at my door….
………….
I was quite taken aback when I opened up to see her for the first time, and as we looked at each other straight eye to eye. I’d certainly never seen the woman before in my life, because I sure as shit would’ve remembered.
She was about five foot two with short brown hair and looked to be in her mid-forties, with big chubby, high-boned, waxy-skin cheeks under sparkly blue eyes. Although her smile was weak, almost apologetic and embarrassed, her lips were full and red. Her neck was very broad and she had a loose, almost dangly turkey double chin. Her shoulders were broad like that of a manual laborer, and the arms protruding from her loose flowing kaftan seemed short, being flabby and bloated with fat. Her breasts where quite large but looked very droopy, like two big plastic bags full of water. Her light blue vertical-striped kaftan did it’s best to camouflage the big blob of a woman it concealed, with an abdomen which could well have contained overdue triplets. Two chunky, thick elephantine legs stretching down to a pair of fat chubby ankles completed the scene. She must’ve easy been north of two fifty pounds.
….
“Charmaine, I presume.”
She gave a single nod ‘yes’ of her head, causing her flabby double-chin to wobble like jelly and then squash out at the sides as her gaze fell down to the floor.
“Well, Charmaine, there is no need to speak, not even one word. You don’t even have to say the word ‘master’. But there’s only me here in this apartment, and if you walk in through this door and close it behind you, I’m gonna spend the next hour and a half fucking your brains out.”
With that, I turned on my heel away from the wide open door and went and sat on my recliner in the lounge room.
I waited with baited breath. If I heard the door close and then her footsteps clumping up the hallway I decided I’d better pop both the vitalagras I had ready and waiting in my pocket.
Although I was surprised by her size, I wasn’t surprised this married woman wasn’t getting her needs met by her husband. He was probably screwing the ass off a nubile nymph somewhere, a pixy a quarter the size of his wife. Maybe some randy young tart from his workplace, perhaps, a slim bint nothing like what he now had at home. But I cursed him under my breath for being the cause of this big dollop of lard landing on my doorstep. And with both vitalagras now poised in my hand, it was a dollop on the verge of getting an afternoon of right royal fucking.
………
I heard the Yale’s loud snap as its auto-lock clicked the door fully closed. I held my breath so I could hear any sounds, and exhaled with a mixture of emotions when I heard her shuffling her feet on the embossed ‘welcome home’ foot wipe in the hall-way.… I swallowed both the vitalagras.
“In here,” I yelled, giving her purpose and direction, and looked back over my shoulder as I felt her presence fill the lounge doorway.
“Come on in, don’t be shy. I won’t bite, well not on your first visit,” I taunted as I waved my hand indicating she should fully enter the room and stand in front of my relaxed, seated position.
“Now then,” I took control as she stood nervously twitching and fidgeting a mere six feet in front of my bent knees. “Look at me and listen up …. in here, you are no longer Charmaine, yes? You left that prim and proper lady at the threshold. You will now be referred to as ‘slut’. You will be my slut twenty three, but just a simple ‘slut’ will suffice from now on, got that?”
She gave a single nod yes of her head, accompanied by a gulp, as her gaze sank down to the floor.
“Look at me,” I barked, causing her head to re-lift and her eyes to lock back onto mine. “That non-answer has just earned you a small but painful punishment. You know what you should’ve said, don’t you?”
“Yes, master,” It was a mumble, but perfectly audible.
“What was that?” my press making her visibly squirm.
“Yes, master,” her voice now more steady and sure.
“I still didn’t hear it.” I menaced with a growl in my voice. I wanted an acknowledged capitulation.
“Yes, master,” she said, firm and committed, but then she took me totally by surprise.
“I just can’t do this,” a quaver in her voice, “I really shouldn’t have come …. I can’t,” as she takes a step towards the door, obviously about to flee.
I must admit, I panicked. That was completely out of left-field, and I wasn’t sure what I should do. I had visions of me standing in the dock being sworn in as the charge of abduction and attempted rape were read out to the jury. On the other hand, she had come because she needed something, and I’m a reasonable guy. Certainly not the heartless dom-master she probably thinks I am. I took the line of least resistance.
I shot to my feet and took two strides to front her and flung my arms around as much of her arms and shoulders as I could encircle, drawing her to my chest and giving a soothing, “Hey, hey, hey,” as simultaneously she broke down in sobbing wet tears.
“I understand,” I soothed. There was no way I was going to let her walk out in a disillusioned and distressed state. It would be my word against hers in court.
“Come on, now,” I oozed. “come and sit. If you aren’t comfortable with this I’m not going to force you, not if it’s not what you really want. That isn’t the way this thing works.”
I guided her back to my big old soft recliner, and watched as she slowly eased herself down and perched unsteadily on its soft, squishy edge.
“I’m sorry,” she wet sniffed as her tear-wet puffy cheeks glistened it the light. “I didn’t, can’t ……”
“S’ok.” I reassured. As least she wasn’t going to run out on me. “Take a moment. You’re upset.”
“No, I … it’s just that when Mal told me what he thought you did ….”
She saw me quizzically furrow my brow as I pitched my head to one side.
“Sorry, when Mal, Malcomb from Red Roof said you were some kind of male …. Well, he wasn’t sure what you were, it sounded like something I might need. I had to come and see ….”
“And what do you need?” I asked with genuine interest and concern. She didn’t know it, but this was all new territory to me.
“Oh, I don’t know. Something different, some excitement maybe. You’ve certainly given me that,” she said with a single snort wet laugh down her runny wet nose.
“Here, let me get you a tissue.”
…..
The short interlude whilst I went and grabbed a box of tissues from my bedroom gave her enough time to wriggle back into a more normal and comfortable position in my recliner. I held out the box and she swooshed out several little white squares.
“So, what do you want to do now?” I asked. “Technically you’ve booked me for the afternoon…… a free booking,” I added with haste.
“Oh, I don’t care if you charge any others or not. It’s just that I haven’t got any spare money.”
Several cruelly cutting and heartless responds sprang immediately to mind, but I thought I’d best keep my sarcastic mouth shut.
“Well, we have the afternoon,” I repeated my observation as I pulled up a spare chair and sat opposite this blob queen who had made herself at home in my very own recliner, “So, tell me a bit about yourself.”
I honestly didn’t want to hear it, because I pretty much guessed what was coming, and I’d only entertained her presence because of the chance of a mindless, guilt-free, long fuck, which apparently seemed now wiped off the menu. But I was relieved she was very unlikely to go to the authorities accusing me of being some sort of predatory sexual monster.
I sat for several long minutes and listened. Her rambling life story was about as predictable as snowstorms in winter. At a couple of points I couldn’t suppress an involuntary deep yawn. Then I realised I was growing an erection. Not just any old stalker. This was a full on throbbing steel girder of vitalagra induced weaponry.
Holy crap …. I’d forgotten about that.
……
I shifted uncomfortably on my uncomfortable wooden chair. I leaned forward almost like I had a cramp in my stomach, and with my legs squashed together I pressed my entwined finger grasp at the closed gap of my thighs near my knees.
“Are you OK?” she asked with concern, “You look, well, in pain.”
In pain? My boner was threatening to explode.
“It’s just that…..” I hesitated. It was me who was embarrassed now. I spilled the truth.
“When I entertain, if I were to put it like that, I take an enhancer, you know, a pill, to maximize my performance and keep me on the go for, well, hours if needs be. Solely for the benefit of my entertainees, you understand? I like to think I send away satisfied clients.”
“And you took one when I arrived?”
“When I knew you’d come in and closed the door behind you, yes.”
“And you’re erm….” as she nods her head at my bent over posture, “you’re enhanced now?”
“Like a flagpole.” I blurted my confession. It seemed pointless to try keep hiding the uncomfortable truth.
“Oh …” was her shocked and intrigued reaction to this unforeseen revelation. “And you took this enhancer ‘after’ you’d met me?” the significance of the ‘after’ now slowly sinking in.
“Well, obviously,” I said with a dash of annoyance at her slow uptake of the situation.
“So you intended to…..”
“Very much so …..”
“Well, I suppose we shouldn’t let your enhancer go to waste ……….”
……..
The end…. of part one ? You tell me.
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