The Tenant Part Two Jeff s Story
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The Tenant (Part One Of Twelve - Laura's Story) free porn video
I live in a room, kitchenette and shower room above a garage. It's a nice room, and a nice garage. Until recently I rented the room from a nice old couple, Mr and Mrs Gellatly. I was a good tenant, paid the rent on time, no wild parties, and they kept themselves to themselves. Perfect. I did feel that something was missing though. It was over a year since my last relationship. I kept myself in shape, walked everywhere, gym twice a week, watched what I ate, all that jazz. I was only 27 but sometimes felt as if my life was kind of over, without ever really getting started. I liked guys, and was attracted to them, and wasn't short of interest, but once I got talking to them found them a bit dull. Boring. No spark. That's what I needed, I decided, a spark.
Then Jeff moved in. The For Sale sign went up on a Thursday, and the house was sold within the week. Mrs Gellatly came over to let me know that they'd be moving out in six weeks, and could the new owner, a very nice man, come over to my room to have a look? It was to be his after all. My initial fear - I was going to be thrown out - was allayed when Mrs G told me that I was safe for the next six months at least, they'd insisted on it. There were tears in our eyes as we hugged - mine partly from relief, and gratitude - and I agreed to be in the next day, when the new landlord would come round.
I was reading when there was a knock at the door. Jeff. Medium height, medium age (30?), medium dress (light blue jeans, nice t-shirt), medium build. Medium everything. Nothing to make my heart sing. We had coffee, sat and talked. He had money from some insurance type of job, on his own after a three year relationship. Liked wine, food, blah blah. One thing he said interested me though. He planned to turn the garage into a mini-gym. 'I'd be happy for you to use it too. No extra rent.' Said with a smile. Maybe he wouldn't be such a bad landlord. Dull but nice was the assessment.
I was surprised about how emotional I was when the Gellatlys left. I would miss them, and it seemed they would miss me. Tears dried, I watched the new furniture moving in. Quite stylish, if a bit Ikea. Then the garage door was opened and the gym equipment was moved in. I nipped down for a look. Three weight machines, a treadmill and two different types of cross trainers. I approved. And over by the main door of the garage, a couple of low couches, one a chaise longue, an old, polished wooden table and what looked like a wardrobe. The gym also did duty as a furniture store, which brought down the tone a little.
I waited until the next day, then took over some cupcakes. Twee? Undoubtedly, but a gesture that I would have liked someone making for me. They were, in point of fact, the only things I baked, because they were so easy. Jeff looked pleased though. Men are always impressed by bakery products, I've found. They like simple pleasures.
'You like the gym machines then? I noticed you having a look.'
I coloured slightly, which annoyed me. I don't like other people seeing when I get embarrassed. 'Looks great, the kind of machines that I use myself. You work out often?'
'Most days. Sometimes I like to work out quite late, but I'll keep the noise to a minimum. If it bothers you, just tell me and we'll work out a time we're both happy with.' Considerate too. He was going to be the perfect landlord. 'Feel free to use it any time, day or night.'
'Thanks, I will.' We parted all smiles and niceness. Jeff was shaping up to be a younger version of the Gellatlys.
The next day was a Friday, but I was working from home. My desk at the window looks out to the driveway, and I saw Jeff getting into his car - something small and white - and leaving for work. I'd been waiting for this. I closed the laptop and took off my gown. I had dressed in my gym gear that morning, with just this in mind.
Half an hour into my workout I had built up a light sweat and felt good. I took a break and a bottle of fresh orange juice to the chaise. It was a little hard for my taste, but comfortable enough. I was facing the wardrobe. Why was it there? What was in it? I got to my feet again, tried the door, but it was locked. I looked around for a key. Nothing. None of my business, clearly, but I jiggled the handle a bit anyway, and tried to prise the door open just enough to see in. Which is what I was doing when I heard the door open. Jeff, in his smart suit, holding out his car keys. 'The key's here.'
I blushed again, dammit, a deeper red than last time. 'No, really, it's your business, not mine. God, you must think I'm such a nosy cow.' I was facing him now, and became very aware of my gym kit - lycra knee-length leggings and a cropped sports top that left nothing at all to the imagination. He was taking it all in, and seemed to be enjoying it.
'It's ok, no secrets. We're practically living on top of each other after all.' With that he moved past me - I felt the touch of his sleeve, which nearly made me jump, but bravely I controlled myself. He unlocked to cupboard swung both doors open, stood aside. I was dumbstruck. Inside, neatly arrayed, hung every conceivable kind of spanking implement. Thin canes hung from a row of hooks. Lethal looking belts, some split at the end, wooden and leather paddles, even a leather slipper that must have been at least a size 12. And hanging on the inside of each door was a pair of black, multi-stranded leather whips. I realised I was holding my breath. Jeff was looking at me, waiting for a reaction. Hey, I'm a modern kind of a girl. I had even tried - and enjoyed - some spanking games with one of my exes. Just a hand, though, and pretty mild stuff. Nothing like this. He hadn't wanted to reciprocate, and I didn't want to be the passive one all the time, so we didn't pursue it.
From nowhere an image of my backside as red as my face opened up in my mind. I stammered something about having work to do and fled for the safety of my room. As I went up the stairs I heard Jeff closing the cabinet. I stood under the hot spray of the shower, sluicing off the sweat I'd worked up. Jeff clearly had to be reappraised. My mind's eye travelled over the inside of his cabinet. I found myself wondering what each of these would feel like against my skin. The whips, with their strands of leather; what the pain would be like. The sensation. That leather slipper meeting my backside. A cane, slicing through the air. Without realising it, my hand was at my vagina. My finger was pushing past the lips, touching, probing... my knees went weak as I came with a whimper.
At my desk again, I held a cup of coffee in both hands. Jeff was standing at his car, looking towards the garage/gym/dungeon. I'm here, I thought. Look up. Make contact. He didn't. As his car turned into the road and sped away I lowered the mug of coffee to my desk, rose and padded downstairs. The gym looked the same, but it wasn't. The possibilities of the low couch, the chaise longue, the wooden table had changed. I placed my hand flat against the wardrobe door. It gave slightly. Surely he'd locked it? I tried the handle and both doors swung open. I looked round guiltily, went to the side door, looked out. The driveway was still empty.
I unhooked one of the whips, ran the leather strips through my fingers. I put it back, took down one of the canes. The noise it made when I whipped it through the air sent a frisson through me. I reached for the leather slipper, felt the heft of it, placed the cool length against my bottom. It covered both cheeks. I stood utterly still for at least a minute, eyes closed, imagining.
I took down a leather belt, its end split, curled it round my hand. I swung it down on the raised end of the chaise. The crack was loud in the stillness. I felt a tingle, deep inside. The rounded cushion was about as high as the top of my leg. I draped the belt over it, then leant over it myself, savouring the feel of the firm cushion against my pelvis. I found if I stood on tiptoe I could lean over and grasp the seat cushion. I could picture the inviting prospect of my lycra clad backside positioned provocatively over the end of the chaise. Then I heard the leather belt beside me moving. I froze as I sensed, then heard the swish of the leather, then gasped as an explosion of pain broke over both cheeks. I was on my feet in a flash, hands to my burning cheeks. I looked round wildly. Nobody. The belt was where I had laid it. The heat left my backside immediately, but my insides tingled, with a deep warmth. I had another, deeply personal need, which I had to attend to, right away. I hurried upstairs.
I worked late, making up for the time I had spent downstairs, and was still sitting at my desk when Jeff's car pulled into the driveway. He looked up when he got out, gave me a quick wave and a smile. I waved back but didn't smile, a little unsure after the day's revelations. I stood and stretched, my back stiff after sitting so long. Time for something to eat. I was watching the kettle boil for some pasta when the image of the belt lying across the end of the chaise appeared in my mind. Had I put it back? I replayed the scene in the gym. No. Shit. As quickly, and stealthily as I could, I made my way down the stairs, pushed open the door. I nearly groaned out loud when I saw Jeff at the chaise, the belt in his hands. I must have made some noise, because he turned round to face me. 'I think we should have a talk, you and me. Want to come over to the house?' I nodded, struck dumb, and like a guilty schoolgirl went through the door in front of him, into his house.
He held the belt in his hand as he gestured to the couch. For an instant I considered draping myself over the arm, but instead sat down demurely. Jeff placed the belt on the coffee table. 'I need something to drink. How about you? Red or white?'
'Oh, ah, red please. Wine. red wine. That would be lovely.' Shut up for fuck's sake, he'll think you're mental.
He smiled, took a stopper from a half-empty bottle of red and poured two good sized glasses. He sat at the other end of the couch, raised his glass. 'Cheers.' I raised my own glass in a silent toast, not trusting myself to speak. The wine was soft, velvety, and worked its magic. I felt some of the tension ebb away.
'I think we have something to talk about,' he said, eyes flicking towards the thick leather belt lying half-coiled on the table. 'Don't you?'
Later, after the second bottle of good, really good wine was empty, we had talked about everything. Jeff seemed to be totally open, so I had repaid the compliment. He knew about my half-hearted experiments with spanking and I knew about his far greater experience. He knew how interested I was in exploring that side of my sexuality. We were relaxed, laughing at each other's foibles and even at my attempted jokes. Then he yawned and stretched. 'I'm sorry, Lauren, but I'm totally beat. I need to get some sleep, it's been a busy week. But tomorrow's Saturday. Maybe see you around?'
I can't pretend I was disappointed. I stepped into the gym on my way back to the flat, wandered over to the cupboard. I heard the door open behind me. Jeff was holding the belt. 'Forgot to bring this back. I'm a bit OCD about putting things away. In fact, we haven't really talked about that, have we? Let's deal with it now.' Suddenly he wasn't the affable, easy-going Jeff any more. In two strides he had me by the arm, led me to the chaise. Before I knew it I was leaning forward over the raised cushion. 'Further over,' growled Jeff. 'Grab the cushion.' Then I was on the tips of my toes, my ass in the air. I had on an old pair of jeans, faded and worn. Tight round my hips and backside. Not much protection. I swallowed hard.
'You know what this is for,' said Jeff. 'In future you will make sure you put back anything you use. Or this is what happens.'
Without any further warning, the length of leather cracked across my tight jeans. I gasped, unable to cry out, drew in a breath as another blow cracked across both globes. It hurt more than anything I could imagine. I cried out when the strip of leather burned across both cheeks a third time. On the fourth stroke, my ass on fire, a slow, sweet warmth started to spread from the inside. It mixed wonderfully with the pain. The all consuming pain. The room, everything else, disappeared. The belt cracked across the tight denim, six, seven times with a Crack! that ehoed round the room. By the seventh stroke my legs were dancing in the air and I was crying out like a banshee. Again, a Crack! and it seared a line of heat and pain across my backside. Inside, something was building, fast. But something was wrong. Jeff had stopped. I moaned. 'No, don't stop. Please.' I felt hands at the waistband, felt my jeans sliding down over my burning cheeks. I wasn't wearing anything underneath.
I heard Jeff's intake of breath. 'So beautiful', although whether he meant my ass or his handiwork I didn't know. My jeans were tugged over my feet. I felt totally exposed, at his mercy. The belt swung again, a full, hard Crack! against bare skin. I lhad never experience anything like it, and let out a howl, back arched, head back, eyes prickling with tears. Then I was rocked by another full stroke, harder than the first, seared across both globes. My bottom was on fire and I was close, so close to orgasm. Still gripping the cushion of the chaise, I was panting as I felt my legs being gently opened, and I became aware of Jeff's bare legs between them. His erection was rock hard, and felt huge. It eased past my lips, slid in to the hilt, and I gasped again as he made contact with my burning, smarting backside. After just three long, slow, confident strokes I felt my orgasm erupt. My vagina muscles gripped him hard, and I felt his cock thicken and twist as he called out in his own orgasm.
The next day, I discovered another pleasure from my new experience. My backside was deliciously sore. That morning I had dressed in a short, flared skirt and sheer cotton panties, unusually daring for me. So as I sat at my desk, on my hard chair, the contact with the hard, unforgiving wood was enhanced. I squirmed with pleasure when I sat down and almost came again at the motion. I felt more alive, more sexual than I had for years.
I saw Jeff in the driveway in his Saturday gear, neat jeans and a dark blue polo shirt. I would have to take that man in hand. But now, as I heard the door to the gym open, I rose and headed towards the stairs. First thing this morning I had taken one of the canes from the cabinet. I had laid it on the old table, and something told me I had forgotten to put it back. I almost ran down the stairs.
Wynona
- 16.12.2021
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