Earning Her Keep (closed)

Closed for DunyainWolf

My fist rapped against the oak door. I knew from considerable experience just the right speed and frequency of impact produced the best noise to effort ratio. I paused for a moment to listen. "Miss Carlisle?" I called. "Miss Carlisle, it's Jacob Trask, your landlord."

I paused again to listen. Very distantly, I heard a muffled voice from inside. Having spent a fair bit of my working life listening through doors, I was reasonably confident that I'd heard something like "Just a minute." Since that seemed to bode well for the opening of the door, I ceased my knocking.

I shuffled through the file folder in my hand. Miss Carlisle had been fairly young for her lease, but being the daughter of Randall Carlisle. He was a regular contender for the top 25 wealthiest Americans, so that kind of bank account backing you opens considerable doors.

Unfortunately, that backing appeared to have dried up in recent months. Miss Carlisle's monthly rent payments had started to dwindle in size a few months ago. She was now nearly a full two months behind and her last check had been denied for insufficient funds. I'd let her coast given her family name, but various written reminders had not corrected the situation. More direct interaction was required.

I couldn't be certain, but my guess was that Daddy had cut her off. I wasn't much of a fan of the society pages, but even I heard about the quite public falling-out the two had at some charity event a few months ago. The row had been quite embarrassing for him in the press. It seemed likely that was why her rent check was for half the required amount.

I had no clue what Miss Carlisle was doing to make ends meet. She was an undeniably beautiful creature. For a time in her early teens, she'd even done some fashion work. Unfortunately, that had apparently disappeared as she matured; the fashion world favors skinny and lean, whereas bountiful curves like Miss Carlisle's are typically the province of pornographic magazines. I'd be a liar if I denied sneaking glances at her bouncing bosom whenever she strode through the lobby.

Regardless of her undeniable sex appeal and the value of her family name, her rent was still going unpaid. I was here to set up restitution or begin the eviction process. Something had to be done.

"He's such a dork", Kate Carlisle chuckled into her laptop, as she sat on her white bed chatting with a friend. "Honestly, I've gotten him wrapped around my little finger."

Her friend Sasha winced a little. "Don't you ever feel bad about...leading the guy on? I mean, you have a great body. It's not nice to mess with men's hearts." She laughed too, knowing full well that she was the pot calling the kettle black.

Kate leaned back unconsciously, her arms behind her, which brought her breasts forward beneath the dark shirt she wore. She had a curvaceous body, with the sort of hips-and-breasts profile that most women would kill for. Only twenty-five, she also had her own apartment - though seldom enough paid for - and was on the verge of completing her Master's degree in anthropology. Her short red hair curled for a moment around her feline-green eyes, and she blinked, smiling back coyly. "Of course not. Feel bad? What does that even mean?"

Sasha paused for a moment, trying to be serious for a moment. "Well, okay. But don't you worry about...the legal side of things?"

Kate paused in turn for a moment. "What do you mean? I told you, he's a total wimp. What's he going to do, jump a lawyer on me? I'm a Carlisle."

"Yeah, and these aren't the medieval days. A family name is pretty and all, Kate, but it doesn't pay the bills unless your parents actually, you know, pay the bills." Sasha laughed, her face showing a little sense of envy, and something darker. She was often annoyed at Kate for not appreciating what she had, and for being self-indulgent enough to allow the falling-out with her father to hurt other people.

A knocking came at the door. "Whatever." Kate rolled her eyes. "You worry too much. Life's too short for that kind of neuroticism. I better get that...later, Sash."

Stretching like a cat, Kate got off the bed, flipping shut the laptop, which went into sleep mode with a quiet purr of its own. She pulled on a couple of socks, and checked that she was sufficiently clothed to answer the door. A black chemise, and a pair of slim dark jeans. Actually, Kate thought, looking at a full-length mirror, she looked pretty darn fashionable for hanging around in the apartment. There was a lecture later, so that was at least worth looking good for.

Shrugging, she sauntered over to the door at her own leisure. Peeking through the peephole, she saw it was her annoying landlord. Back to bitch about the rent again, she suspected. Sighing, she opened it, unfastening the chain but standing in the doorway without letting the landlord inside.

She glanced at him with a little smile, almost - but not concretely - flirtatiously. A silly little man. Kate knew how to handle him. "Hey Jakey," she said casually, leaning against the doorframe with one arm on the frame and other gripping the door itself. "Slow day in the land-lording business?" She was always rather dismissive about Jakob, principally because she saw running a business as faintly beneath anyone 'of worth'. Kate could not help but let a little of her contempt drip through.

Kate made a strange facial expression at the manager's mention of legal authorities. It was something like a smirk, but contained within itself the kernel of admission that she would have to concede something. In this case, it was the doorway, and entrance to the apartment. She released the door, made a noise best described as a sigh, and paced back into the rooms without a further word, heading over to her kitchen unit. Her ass moved appetizingly as she walked, a smooth sashay. Her silence was either a coolness or an admission of guilt; or perhaps both. Guilt did not mean much to her.

Without turning to watch him enter, she went to the coffee machine. "Have a cup?" she finally asked, pouring herself some from the steaming glass vessel. "I don't have any milk, or - uh - sugar." Her sudden absorption in the coffee and this kind of false 'playing host' seemed like a distraction, and not a bad one at that. Re-framing the situation. Jake was a guest. Guests were not allowed to be rude or forceful. Game-playing, as was so much her wont.

When she glanced at him again, it was over her shoulder, without turning. A flick of that red hair as her face looked at him as though testing the water. The coffee had a mild odor like chestnuts mingled in it.

From here, Kate had the look of something tempting and wicked about her. The light came through the window and scattered over her neck and face, leading to dappled patches of light and shadow over the surface of her. Her clothes, tight as they were, and tempting, seemed like an extension of her skin, so closely were they molded to her figure. That face, that played a thousand games in the air that hung between them, smirked a little once again.

Kate sat in an armchair after the landlord left, drinking her coffee with a distant look in her eyes. The steam rose in front of her face, which wore an equally distant expression upon it. She was thinking. It was clear enough what the landlord had meant, the little subtleties of his language were not exactly lost on her. Her assets. Her resources.

What to do? She was cornered. The first thought was to escape, to flee. From life's little downturns, she was an escape artist of sorts, a good runner. that was part of her background: wealth made escape easy. Lubricated her avoidance.

But this time escape was impossible. She had no money for a new down deposit or first month rent. Where else could she go?

Friends? She had none close enough to crash with?
Family? Those bridges were burned.

Then a thought occurred to her. A trap for this weasel of a landlord. Oh perfect...yes, this was very good.

******††******

At the appointed time, Kate found herself at the bald landlord's little office of iniquity. She had not changed clothes and was looking as confident and stunning as usual, the classic cool girl, eyes like flame seen through ice, skin like snow under a clear sky. A small squirt of perfume, odor of grass, faintly, and lime.

Beneath her blouse, near her waistline, a pocket contained her cell phone set to record audio. Trying to trap Kate was like snaring a lynx. It wasn't going to end without blood. She would record his demands when they became explicit. And counter blackmail him into letting her rent situation slide for now.

Entering the office, she tried to hide her confidence with a false look of shyness. "Um, we need to talk. I know I'm behind on rent. What can we do to figure things out? I'll have the money soon. You mentioned assets. I wasn't sure what you meant. You mean like a pawn shop... Hold on to some valuables?"

"I just need to know exactly what the deal is. Mr. Trask." Oops. A small tell. She never used his surname. But she had rushed that in to implicate him, so a listener would know who the male voice was.

Note to co-author: It's lovely to work with a talented writer like yourself. Ah, to see the correct use of semicolons; it soothes my savage heart.

Kate listened very carefully to each word that Mr. Trask said. Exquisitely carefully. As though each word might make or break her; which, as it happened, was more or less the case. Was there anything in what he said that was criminal? Well, simply put, no. It was all rather seedy, of course, but that was not grounds for arrest. For her counter-blackmail plan to carry any weight, he had to be recorded saying something that implied he was blackmailing her about the rent. And so far, this was all along the lines of a rather pervy, but basically legal, transaction.

Photos? Kate had not expected photos to come into it. Photos were, simply put...bad. If this man had photos of her, even just in her underwear and not naked, that put the power massively on his side of the fence. Never mind the rent. Shady photographs were classic blackmail material of their own.

Still.
Maybe.

Maybe this was not so bad. She thought some more. Actually, this was good. This fit her plan precisely. Kate just had to think ahead. Think ahead to the next meeting. Suppose a week later, the landlord called her back. And this time, she refused to go along with his sexually-charged designs. What would he do? Probably try to push her into submission, using the photos. He would get nastier, and that would be recorded on the microphone. Then it would be her chance to turn the tables on him.

So for now, she just had to play along.

This passed through her mind in several moments, as she stood glowering at the landlord. Looks were deceiving, and Kate was not half the bimbo her attractiveness might have conveyed.

Without a further word, she began. She stood. She tugged the buttons loose from her shirt, slowly revealing the dark tank-top she wore beneath. Folding the shirt, she put it on the desk between them delicately. Inhaling slowly, she paused for a few moments. Her breasts bobbed in the close-clad tanktop, so tight that their precise shape was almost exactly outlined by the fabric. She folded her arms over her chest.

She couldn't resist a small shot. Leaning over the desk, she whispered to the man, "you aren't going to get away with this", her pouty lips forming each word deliberately, but (hopefully) too quietly for the recorder. The faint acidity of lime rolled from her chest, hung between them like the tension of a finely-drawn wire.

Leaning back again, she sighed and looked away from him, delaying the inevitable like a child with a band-aid that needed to come off. Finally, she turned 180 degrees away, so her back was to him, and began to pull off the tank-top. It ruffled her hair as it came off, but it fell back into place again a moment later, the dark red curls framing the back of her head attractively. Beneath, her bra was black, but aside from the strap it was out of the landlord's sight.

After pulling off each boot, she unzipped and stepped out of the tight jeans, revealing a matching pair of black panties beneath. These were much more appetizingly revealed from the man's position, as her two buttocks were readily exposed by this underwear. Her ass was beautifully round, the skin stretched smooth and bare, with a dark strip of fabric doing little more than visually separating the buttocks, emphasizing their nudity, framing them as if for a picture. She folded her jeans and put them in her own chair.

Her back turned again, she shivered slightly, folding her arms more tightly around her chest, still refusing to turn. Kate found herself staring at the deadbolt, as though willing it to fly open and open her cage. Of course, she was not in any state to flee, half-naked as she was in her expensive, sexy lingerie. "Take your damn pictures," she muttered almost inaudibly, trying to imagine that she was speaking to someone on the other side of the door.

"...move the chair..."

Too slow, too slow, Kate reacted to these significant words. She was so focused on staring blankly at the door in front of her, that she failed to register for a fatal moment. A second later, she snapped into realization. My jeans are on that chair, with the f--king phone! "It's okay, I'll - " she began, turning to face him.

And he was already holding the phone in his hand. Her voice trailed away. From where she stood, she could see the numbers rolling up. "Son of a bitch," she muttered. This could be really bad. Perhaps he would just consider her too dangerous, and quit on the whole thing in one fell swoop. Damn, damn, damn. This was bad in several ways at once. Deleting this recording meant that there was no context for any future recordings she might attempt. But worse, it probably meant the end of the game on that whole line of approach. After all, fool a man once, shame on you; rarely did one ever reach the second part of that little expression.

For a moment, she forgot that she was practically nude. She stepped over to him, eyes warily watching his own eyes for any tell about how this might proceed. "Despite this behavior, I'm willing to continue if you agree to turn off the device and delete the recording." She heard every word, measured each carefully. Closer still, until she was practically inches away. Kate felt her own breathing, was suddenly conscious of how her breasts rose and fell beneath his gaze with every inhalation.

She took the phone from him if he let her, and stopped the recording. She went into the parent folder, and deleted the recording - the only file that was apparently in it. A moment of weakness followed. She did not know what to do, and was still so panicked that the next words were scarcely considered. "Should I...put the phone away, or..." It was a sign of her shaking confidence in how this scene was unfolding. Of course, given the supposed context of what was going on, she had every right to hold on to her phone. But it was some unconscious recognition that he was now holding on to all the cards, that made her suddenly feel she needed his...permission?...to take was obviously hers.

Suddenly, a faint blush crept into her cheeks. Kate was pretty when she blushed, the pink hardly rivaling the dark red curls around her ears. She almost seemed more healthy when embarrassed, as though the rouged skin naturalized her, made her more alive and vibrant. It was just that she was suddenly very conscious of her lingerie.

For all people said, a bra and panties just wasn't the same as a bikini. One was made for public consumption, and the other...for very private consumption indeed. Her entire midriff exposed. Her breasts hardly even concealed by a bra that was practically a demi-cup. The little ribbon on her black panties.

A little ribbon. As though her body was a present being laid into her landlord's hands.

Kate Carlisle froze, like a deer in the headlights, as the man spoke. Every word seemed to proceed in slow motion, his lips moving over the words as though he enjoyed every syllable, decadently. For her part, she remained silent. Stunned by the failure of her goal, she was realizing just how dire her predicament was. He was not even talking about reversing, or paying off the debt.

Nor did she want to ask. It was about delaying the crashing power that the eviction would have on her life. And if she asked, then she was literally being a whore in his service. At least by 'delaying the eviction', it felt somehow like a trade. Oh, what was the difference? She was gazing at his crotch now. She could see his phallus shifting in his pants. It looked like it would be...considerable, from here.

You'll get down on your knees in gratitude for my generosity and use your mouth to express

Just how appreciative she was. How appreciative she was to be standing in her underwear in front of her seedy landlord, considering the relative merits of sucking his cock, and being thrown out of her apartment. Appreciative, indeed. She could see his dick actually growing even as he leaned there. She felt a shiver run up her spine.

"Okay," she said slowly, the words sounding reluctant. "Okay, I'll - I'm sorry about the recording. I had to try. I'll - just give me a minute." She began unbuckling her bra.

Before long, it dangled in her hand. She stepped towards Mr. Trask, extending it towards him slightly. "Where should I - ?" Her breasts were stunning, and practically in his face. Generously sized, with creamy skin that ran smoothly into her chest; her nipples pronounced and a little large. A strange peculiarity of hers: the left stiffened easily, even just now with the coolish air, while the right was more reluctant. A slight asymmetry, as if to assert that she wasn't quite perfect.

However he answered, she slipped her panties off next, achingly slowly (little did she know how much sexier it was this way, like a tease), rolling them slightly with her thumbs and then tugging them down. A flash of pubic hair. A half-second of her bare pussy.

Then she was turning away again, leaving the panties just behind her, moving over to the door. To escape - bare naked? Hardly.

She leaned against the door, braced her head against one out-stretched arm, and pretended to cry. Maybe she could coax a little pity from the man. Perhaps she would seem un-sexy while sobbing. Standing completely naked save for a pair of long black socks, her bare ass to the man slowly taking over her life, she tried one last tactic. The pity card. Many men of middle years would feel towards a girl her age, something like fatherly compassion. It was desperate, but she wanted to try.

...no, no she wasn't. A mere thought. A flight of wishful thinking.

No more tricks. If he caught her again, he'd just give up on her. She could not blow this chance, not when he had already caught her trying to mess with him, trying to undermine his plans.

No, now she was descending. Slowly. The slowest fall of her life, dropping to her knees before him. "Is there a...a cushion or something," she asked. She couldn't meet his eyes any more. And from this position, this position of clear and inarguable submission, on her knees with her face lined up with his covered manhood, she felt her heart sink. There was no returning to the surface from here. It was just going to be...all the way down, however far he chose to plunge her. An open question, whether he would let her up for air.

Her hands traced the shape of his penis through his pants, not quite rubbing, more like getting a feel for what was before her. Slowly, she tugged down the zipper, fumbled with one hand for his cock, found it and brought it out until it sprang up under her very nose. Kate looked at it again. God, this was all wrong. She was an important person. Her family was wealthy. This was ridiculous. This couldn't be happening. She could smell his penis, almost taste it already.

Kate's friends sometimes made fun of her. They said she had DSL: Dick-Sucking Lips. Teasing was often exaggerated, but in this case at least, it was not so. Full, rounded, pouty lips. There was a trace of pink lipstick on her - an attempt to make a good impression, that was about to slightly backfire. They parted slightly, and engulfed his glans.

And then she began.

Her lips having enveloped his cock, Kate worked away at him dutifully. Blowjobs were...not her thing. If anything, they were just to get a guy fully hard before the real meal deal. Rather, she liked the idea of her man servicing her. She had had a few boyfriends in the past, and certainly enjoyed it when their face was buried between her thighs. But being more of a 'girl on top' kind of individual, her current predicament was...less than ideal. And the fat cock currently plunged in her mouth was plump and heavy, somehow 'full' in a way that made her feel that she was sucking at it rather than sucking it per se.

She kept her approach simple. The idea that her landlord was enjoying this, and probably enjoying her degradation, was not exactly an idea she found favorable. As she started, she let her teeth graze over him briefly, less as a tease as a genuine wish to spoil his mood - moot as that objective likely was, with a fetching redhead bobbing on his thick cock. Trying to put herself out of the situation, her eyes closed softly, and she continued to pump him into her mouth without looking. Easier if she just mentally escaped.

Those large, soft lips smoothly rubbed over every inch of his hardness - well, almost every inch. There was a marker that Kate never crossed, which was taking a man into her throat. For now, she sucked diligently, but in a way that suggested it was work rather than any kind of pleasure. If her small tongue scraped over the underside of his penis, that sensitive ridge, it was coincidence. If she left a trail of warm saliva over him like a decoration of her affection, it was not to be mis-construed. If her lipstick rubbed off gradually over his length, as if advertising the degree of her service to him, it left a lump in her stomach.

Then he spoke her name. Her eyes opened, at first staring ahead at the man's stomach, then flashing up to his face. She almost said "what?", but her mouth was entirely obstructed. The glans had not left her mouth at any point so far, and breathing was hard enough, let alone speaking. Then the little black box registered as a camera. "No," Kate moaned, and pulled away. A little string of her spit still connected her with her tormentor, until it broke and dripped onto one rising tit, a spatter of pre-cum and her mouth's own juices.

She knelt at his feet, the slave at the boots of her conqueror, and looked at him with a hurt look in her eyes, that turned slowly to panic. His hand was shaking the photograph, and he suddenly turned it so that Kate could have a look. "Hey," she began, "you can't...", but could think of nothing to suitably finish the sentence. She was gazing at the picture. Her own face, with a vast mouthful of hard cock, lips stretched to their utmost to fit him inside, wisps of his pubic hair standing out almost to her nose. Her eyes, in the shot, were looking up in what was actually confusion - but looked like wide-eyed adoration or submission. A kind of look that promised more, and better, and more terrible photographs to follow. A kind of look that every man wanted to see on a cute woman's face: please.

Pausing, Kate's green eyes flicked over his face. His cock bobbed slightly from the recent release, and he told her to finish what she had started. Lost for anything else to do, she resumed. Her tongue lapped his length from the bottom to the top, almost starting at his balls until she flicked over his glans. It might have seemed loving, like something a lover would do for her amour, but it was just delaying, delaying the inevitable return to polishing his smooth dick. Her mouth grazed him, lips not quite parting over his shaft, almost teasing. But really just hesitant.

Suddenly, she was rising. Kate stood, about as tall as her landlord given his slouch and her incomplete rise, face to face with him. Her hands were clutching his shoulders, and her naked upper body pressed against him. His cock, momentarily almost forgotten, quivered slightly against her thigh as she pressed into him. "Please," she started saying. Her cool had evaporated. "Please, look, you can't have the photo. That isn't fair. I...I didn't think you would be...taking a picture of this, too. That's too much."

A look came into her eyes, as though she was just beginning to say the extreme position she could continue to fall into. "With that photo, it's too much. You could ask me to do..." The word hovered in the air between them, unspoken:

"anything."

She pressed against him closer, letting her lips part near his ear. She kissed the skin by his ear, letting her body shift almost imperceptibly, stepping into him. His cock jutted between them, pressing into her belly almost insistently, leaving a slight mark on her stomach. One hand eased into his chin, almost by his neck, as if adoringly. "C'mon. A big, powerful man like you doesn't need something to hold over little old me. I'm already blowing your nice, big cock. Isn't that enough for you, hmm?"

Her other hand was delicately, slowly, pushing into his suit, parting the way to what she really wanted. She let her other hand suddenly fall, grasping his cock firmly, but without force, lightly stroking him. Something to take his attention away from the other's hands little journey inwards. While her tongue slithered against his ear...

Miss Carlisle, as the landlord continued to insistently call her, found herself flipped onto the desk so quickly that she was - frankly - a little stunned. Bent over backwards, she found herself looking up at Mr. Trask so that he seemed to be like some monster above her, looking down with his gloaming eyes, ruling over her as a petty god. A god who reigned over only her, and with an iron fist. His bulk, which she now had to realize was not 'only fat', was more than capable of holding her fixed in place. Just where he wanted her - splayed out decoratively over his desk.

She struggled as he spoke, but there was nothing Kate could do to substantially change their relative positions. He had the weight, and the angle, and she was bent back - it was against gravity to rise. Folding arms over her breasts, she tried to squirm around left and right, almost to just test her flexibility from here, and accomplished nothing more than seeming to writhe below him like a concubine. She had one of those bodies that always looks best moving, that would be splendid dancing topless, or performing a strip-tease, the wide hips, the large bosom, the flat stomach - that ideal of feminine form that seems to reach its zenith as it moves, rhythmically, sensuously.

Her face was now nothing but defeated. "Please," she murmured a few times as the landlord demonstrated his magic trick, and told her what he wanted. The word, as in some mantra exercise practiced by a monk, was rapidly losing its meaning with repetition. She kept saying it, almost on auto-pilot. "Please."

As she looked down her body, she could see his swaying cock, rocking like a boa constrictor down by her waist. Oh god he's going to fuck me, oh god he's going to fuck me, repeated like a broken radio through Kate's head as she looked at it. Just for a second, the alien thought intruded - I wonder what he would feel like inside... Before it was shouted out by the more common character of her self - contempt, and dismay at seeing that contempt upset by losing.

The crude words fell down upon her like a rain of fire. So another level of degradation was to be hers. When he talked of fucking her without a condom, she murmured several more times: "please, please, not..." the words robbed of their meaning by repetition, and her repeated attempts to trick her tormentor. She closed her eyes. Her face fell to one side. One hand fumbled, found him. Gripped him slightly, drew that fat mass towards her chest.

He fit surprisingly smoothly. Lubricated by her own spit, his cock slid evenly between her tits, as though sliding home into a loose but soft pussy, softly streaking between her weight boobs - large even on her back. Once he was 'inside' the valley of her breasts, she pressed them together. "Oh God," she was murmuring now, "oh God this is...", not able to find the words.

Novel?

She crushed her breasts together whenever his cock threatened to bob away, trying to keep him contained. Her face was slowly reddening, unable to hold back the blush response any longer. The sound was beginning to get to her: her own breasts slapping slightly as they were pushed around him repeatedly. She didn't really know what she was doing. This was a wholly new experience. She tried to buck slightly on the desk, scraping herself back and forth with the amount of flexibility he permitted her, and found that her hips rocked up and against him.

No, not her hips. Her pussy. She felt herself grinding against his legs, and stopped, unable to contain the embarrassment of it. Unknown to her, she left a slight mark of her un-confessed wetness against the grain of his trousers, a whiff of her own uncomfortable arousal like a fingerprint against his clothes. Now Kate tried to freeze her body, and just slide her tits themselves up and down his shaft. This began to work better. Up and down. It was a good thing she had put so much moisture on his cock, as it lubricated the process slightly. At one point, she spat into her hand, returning it to his cock to moisten it a little further, before beginning again. Her face now red, almost scarlet, pressed down with one cheek against the cooling wood. "Oh Gooooood," she was moaning slightly, humiliated beyond words but still pointlessly flickering through them.

Wanting it to end, so maybe he would let her go, Kate reached a hand down. The other arm tried to 'scoop' her breasts together around him as far as possible. The hand wriggled down, and held his balls delicately, circling a finger around to grip him like a bag of marbles, and very gently squeezed, other fingers molding into his testes like a kind of amorphous massage, still a little wet from her mouth the moisture skimmed over the flesh of his balls.

Kate felt the moisture between her legs suddenly, like a flash of realization. "Oh God," she said again to nobody in particular, feeling a bead of what she hoped was sweat tickle between her legs, warm, coaxing.

Suddenly, she remembered. She looked up at him. "No more pictures," she whimpered into his face that was seemingly passive and impossibly godlike.

A picture of - whatever this scene was - would probably destroy her.

"Disgusting. You're a...a disgusting animal." Kate shuddered beneath her landlord, closing her eyes against the flash. "You...you bastard. I said...I said not to take any more pictures, you asshole." She stayed splayed on his desk for a moment as he drew away, as though simply too physically stunned by what had just happened to react any further. "Urgh, it's all over me. You fucking pig." She sat up slowly, breasts falling into a more luscious slope as gravity released its hold on her. Kate looked down, saw the cum dribble from her chin, slide between her breasts. She was covered in it. Decorated by it. Marked: property of.

Fumbling for Kleenex, to wipe herself down, she managed to get the thicker portions of his sperm from her face and chest, though sticky patches were left over on her skin. And stronger than her perfume was that sharp odor of cum, making her feel as cheap as any little whore. How little better she was than a whore, now she thought of it. Essentially, she had just blown her landlord for money, or at least a release from financial obligation.

Temporarily.

Thinking of how he had spoken of fucking her without a condom, Kate dressed on auto-pilot, unable to think straight. She clipped her bra back on, tugged on her panties. She muttered "fucker" under her breath. Snatched the photo when it was offered, put it away into a pocket of her jeans and then drew these on as well. "Fucker...fucker..." She could not meet his eyes, unable to bear to look at the man who had...tamed her.

Upstairs she showered for a half-hour, until her skin was smooth again, and no trace of him remained.

--------------

A few days later, Kate was lying on her bed once again. Sasha was talking about some boy she had met at a club, and the physical affections exchanged between them, a keen look in her eyes. "Say, who are you seeing at the moment?" she asked Kate, her eyes full of good humor. "Not still that Tim guy, right? He's such a pushover, even for you. I know you like your boys to kneel and bark, but still..."

"No," said Kate, looking away anxiously. She kept thinking that she heard someone knocking at the door. Trask's knock was so characteristic, so crisp and precise. One night she had actually dreamed of the knock. Nothing else. Just the door, and the hand presumably on the other side. Then the wood had begun to splinter, and she woke up before she found out what was going to happen.

Sasha's face became more serious. "You okay, babe? You need a night on the town? Not more rent blues, is it? I thought you had that handled."

"I...I have to go, Sash. T-T-Y-L and all that." Kate closed her laptop, and began to pace her room. The photograph. It was all she could think about. She had put it in her underwear drawer. Occasionally, she drew it out to look at it. Her face, her neck, her chest all on display, part of his cock still partially erect jutting just below her face. It just reminded her of the other one, still in his possession.

The fucker...the fucker...

Probably showed it off to his friends. Probably jacked off to it, remembering what he had done to her. Probably was coming up the stairs now, was about to knock any second. Probably would just turn her out of the apartment anyway, the bastard, go back on the deal.

Kate avoided the apartment as much as possible. Went out to campus for no reason at all, coming home late, hungry. Trying to avoid a daytime visit from Trask. One night she had stayed out, stayed with Sasha in a pull-out bed, but she was not able to come up with a suitable excuse the next night. Her cell-phone rang. Tim. Speak of the wimp, and he shall appear.

"Hey, Katie. How's it going?"

"Tim. Have I ever gone by 'Katie', to your recollection?"

"Haha, I guess not, no. Sorry. Look, I just called because I popped by. Wanted to know if you wanted to go for a drink."

Pause.

"Kate?"

"Um, yeah, yeah. That'd be great, actually. A few drinks." Shaky laughter. "I'll buzz you in. Stay down there in the lobby; I'll join you right away." She wanted him to stay there so as to avoid any chance of him getting the idea of hanging around the apartment first. A meeting between Tim and Trask seemed like the perfect storm to Kate. God only knew what Trask would say.

She pulled on a change of clothes, and prepared to meet him downstairs. She slipped the incriminating photo, folded several times, into the most concealed slot in her purse. She could not bear the thought of leaving it. Somehow she imagined Trask coming into her apartment, rooting around until he found it - having had a change of heart - adding it to his collection again.

Trask's office. 3pm.

Tim had been - easy to handle. Kate had barely spoken to him, let him ramble on about his own life, about how much he fancied her. His gallery. How exciting. The only thing that had surprised her, was that he had some kind of focus on female nudes.

Which was both surprising because he seemed like such a pushover. Scratch that. Was such a pushover. It therefore seemed strange to think of him making use of female sexuality, rather than just being terrified of it. And it was a shock, because it reminded her of her own photos. Nude photos. The picture...

That she now held in her hand. Standing in Trask's office. Having just entered the office, she stood. Her hand flicked the photo slightly, back and forth in her hand. Her face, decorated by his cum, spattered and degraded - the final product of their last, brutally sexual encounter. She was standing there, seemingly idle, mind whirling for something to say to break the cycle.

For now, stalling, trying to turn this into a pleasantry, she said softly, "hello, Mr. Trask. It has been a while. Can't say that I've missed you." She swallowed, her throat dry. She had intended to be pleasant to him, trying to mollify him with simple manners, acting as though nothing was amiss, as though they were just two acquaintances catching up. Perhaps if she just kept acting that way, it would become true. A lie told often enough.

She felt frozen. She could not approach his desk, as she intended, to give him back the photo. It froze in her hand, felt like a sliver of ice. Sent shivers up her. To think of the possible things he might ask of her. To think of how little choice she would have, in complying. To think of the range of possible depravities that existed in her mind - and more importantly, in his.

As usual, the new perversions that Trask was capable of, stunned Kate momentarily. "Excuse me?" she began, before trailing off, seeing the landlord settle himself comfortably into his cushions. Evidently he was serious. Somehow his casual manner about this, paired with his Cheshire's grin, had made her feel that he was joking.

That look of his, made all the butterflies in her stomach burst to life, rising, circling wildly in the darkness of her chest.

"You want me to...perform for you?" she murmured, less of a question than an absorption, trying to process it in her own words. She moved towards him as one might approach a tiger, each step slow, agonizingly slow. Finally she was at the desk, and she moved so that she would be facing him. And simply stood, breathing, swallowing. Her breasts shifted slowly under the silk, and under other circumstances would have been intimidating in their perfection, their fullness. But of course, the landlord had already done things to them, or rather had Kate do things to him using them, that would be scandalous in a brothel. So perhaps she was beautiful - that was hardly deniable - but the power of her beauty was gone. Or rather, the power was subjected. Broken in.

Her hands were at her hips, and she looked as though she was considering saying something, but thinking better of it. Her fingers splayed out over the waist of her dress, and pressed inwards - into herself - until they followed the curve of her thighs and she was pressing against her womanhood beneath. They glided on until they were cupped over herself through the fabric, folded over each other. And she did this a few times, as though warming up before daring anything further.

"You are a terrible person," she murmured, though for a second it was not at all clear that she was speaking to Trask. It was muttered anywhere but at him - to the wall, to her shoulder, to herself. And one of her hands crept to the clasp that held the high-waisted dress in place, and unfastened it. It was tightly fit, and she had to pull a few times, jaggedly, until it was ebbing down her thighs and crumpling to the floor. Her black panties, beneath, were needlessly lacy. Through them, there was a whisper of her inner flesh, but nothing more.

She began to stroke herself through the panties, focusing at first on her inner thighs, before the circles drew closer to the core of her. A long index finger pressed a curling length into herself, pressing the fabric visibly into her folds, and her body trembled. Kate was quick to respond to sexual touch; her fingers were old friends, and even this perverse scene was not delaying her inevitable arousal. In fact, to her own self-disgust, she found it was egging her on, somehow accelerating the descent into the storm of her sexuality.

The curling finger, suggestively phallic, curled and pressed in, then withdrew enough to make slower circles against the filmy texture of her underwear.



Her face already turned from her tormentor, Kate closed her eyes, unwilling to face her humiliation directly. She could feel a wetness beneath her finger, and gradually - while her right hand maintained its circles - the left hand began to dip inside, beneath the sheer fabric...

Kate's mind drifted. Trask's silence only aided this, made it foggily easy to drift into unclear thinking. Fantasizing, even.

She imagined herself standing before a tiger. She was in a room of purple velvet and gold columns. Around her, there was faint music coasting through the air, and the smell of old flowers. A sort of dusky perfume. The tiger was making a low, steady growl, though somehow it did not seem like it was going to attack. It was both aggressive, and yet patient. Kate felt intensely that when she climaxed, it would fall upon her and devour her, rip her to pieces with its terrible claws and teeth. And yet - and yet her desire was mounting, not failing at the thought. Impossibly, warmth was building in her.

Inside her panties, which were slightly damp with her own juices, her fingers worked herself skillfully. One finger dipped and dipped, gaining gradual depths as it found her passage suitably moist and her desire for a more aggressive push increased. Gradually, her thumb was settling on her clitoris, working it in small circles that were never rushed, never hurried. Together, their movement was only faintly masked by the underwear, which now served little purpose except to annoy Trask by obscuring his view to some extent. They worked like a small engine of intricate design, shifting and sliding like the firing of pistons, gliding into her own lubrication, working a heat that rose through her lower body...a quiet noise of satisfaction murmured feverishly from the corner of her mouth. Her face flushed gradually, along with her upper chest.

The tiger brushed against her knees, pacing now before her. Each time its rough fur pressed her bare legs, she felt her thighs shake slightly. Its sheer force. Its terrible power. Its rumble rolled into her, and the vibrations matched the ones now growing low in her abdomen, the rolling thunder of a building orgasm. It looked up at her with grave intelligence, eyes dark and unreadable in the chamber's shadows. There was only a glimmer, like the momentary flash of a bulb, catching and pinning her to her near-nakedness.

"God, it - " she said, meaninglessly speaking anything. "God..." She began to push in slow thrust, as though fucking her own hand in sudden, un-coordinated pulses, without the actual rhythm of lovemaking. Her legs splayed slightly out in incremental jerks, as she began to ride the wave of the experience, two fingers pushing together into her pussy like a hungry tongue. Before the disgusting landlord, she orgasmed shamefully, a noise that gradually became apparent as soft sobbing emerging as she slowly calmed. Her fingers stayed near her waist, though they emerged, visibly reddened and damp, lazily floating at her thigh. The other hand was gripping the desk violently, so hard it was a ghostly white, though now it gradually loosened.

She could not face him. It was easier to face the tiger. Its wise eyes regarded her hungrily, though still it delayed, toying with its prey, refusing yet to pounce. Her eyes remained closed, and her soft lips moved slowly, quietly sobbing. She often cried a little when she climaxed, though rarely was it for this reason - rarely was it out of abashed humiliation. "You...you got what you want," she finally said, biting her lip slightly between words to control her voice's trembling. Eyes squeezed shut like a child unwilling to face a punishment. "You...you just want to hurt me, because you h-hate me. Isn't this enough? Haven't you won, already?"