Rent Control
- 3 years ago
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Perhaps it was just me, but every time I managed to steal a glance at the sofa, it seemed not as white anymore. Of course, it was still white; pristine and clean, but in my mind it seemed to me that it had changed a shade, going from a true white to an off-white. It had been sullied. I could no longer look at it the same way. I hadn’t even managed to sit on it since, choosing instead the old faded floral armchair. It was so out of place in the apartment, but it had belonged to my grandmother, so I had insisted on keeping it.
Stephen hadn’t made it over the next night, for what he had claimed would be the rest of his late payment. Fearing he had stood me up or was doing it as some sort of power play, I’d been avoiding him like the plague out of anger. Some days I’d even taken a long way and used the back stairs to get in and out of the building, so there was no chance of having to face him in the elevator or down the hall where his own apartment was.
I told myself it was better that way; that I didn’t really like him anyway, so what did it matter that he hadn’t kept a promise? He could be an asshole, and this was just more proof of it. I was obviously of little matter to him, and he’d just continue to watch me squirm and have money issues, for his own sick satisfaction. Deep down though, I couldn’t deny that it had stung.
I was out on the balcony, watering my potted plants when I heard the door slam, followed by Erika calling out my name. “I’m out here,” I yelled back, as I was bent over my Sweet William plant.
“Hey,” she said. She then asked with a bit of a smirk, “Have you taken up smoking again?”
I sighed. “No, I haven’t, not really anyway.” I took one last drag of the stupid thing and stubbed it out. “It’s just, I am so stressed right now, E.”
Offering no help at all, Erika sat herself down on one of my outdoor lounge chairs and flicked through the magazine she’d bought with her.
“Is Dean working again today?” I asked, trying to make conversation as I watered my plants and gave them some attention.
Erika clucked her tongue. “Yes, he is. He’s doing even more over time, something about a new opening in another department that he wants to go for, so he’s angling for a promotion.”
“Well, that’s great news. Good for Dean,” I replied.
Again, Erika made a noise, making her annoyance at her husband clear. “Being married to someone who is great news is hard work, Laney. He’s married to his job. What about me? What about my department opening? Does our marriage mean nothing to him?”
“Oh, Erika, foul-mouthed,” I replied. I moved some pots around, so they all had an equal chance at the sun and shade, and then said, “Honestly, Erika, the way you treat that man sometimes, he’s a saint for putting up with you. Dean adores you, you know that.”
“Do I?” she asked, turning her frustration on me. My sister had been in my presence for less than five minutes, and already I had the craving for another cigarette, to make the stress go away. Looking down at the ground, it was too late to salvage my smoke; it was stubbed out and discarded, much like how I was currently feeling.
I couldn’t go down that path again of picking up the smokes and getting addicted, so I went inside and got some coffee ready instead, to hopefully ease the cravings and make me feel better. Erika followed me in, once more parking herself on my furniture and not saying much.
Flicking through her gossip rag magazine, Erika asked, “Do you want to go to the mall with me and get your nails done?”
“No thanks,” I replied.
“It’ll be good for you, it will help you relax, you’ll feel a lot better,” Erika said, trying to convince me.
“No thank you,” I said, trying to make myself clearer.
Erika rolled her eyes at me and then settled back into the couch where Stephen and I had fucked. “Why don’t you take a friend?” I asked. “What’s Lindsay up to these days? Or Rochelle?”
“Lindsay got her nose done last week, so she’s too scared to go out, and I don’t hang around with Rochelle much. Ever since her grandmother died last month, she’s been such a downer.”
That was so typical Erika, only concerned about herself and how she felt. Never mind that her friend was in need after losing someone, Erika’s only concern was when Rochelle would feel ‘better’ again so they could hang out.
The sound of my cell phone ringing while I was getting the coffee broke the temporary silence that was in between my sister and I. Checking the screen, Stephen’s name flashed across it. I ignored it and continued on with my quest for something to satisfy my craving for a cigarette. I felt jittery and shaky, the only thing my mind could focus on was smoking and the sweet, sweet release of lighting up. I felt hungry all of a sudden too, which was not uncommon for me when I was off the smokes.
If I was going to give up, this time for good, no quick secret cigs or the occasional stress smoke, I needed better food in the house to temporarily curb the cravings. I’d have to push my diet to the wayside until I was through the worst of it. I’d been in a bit of denial, telling myself that my smoking didn’t count, as they were Winston Lights, but I wasn’t a fool. I needed to quit. Snack foods would be the only way to get me through it, otherwise, I’d be like a bear with a sore head. I’d been bad over the last few days, almost going through a pack.
Richard never knew I smoked. I’d kept it secret for the duration of our relationship. I’d gotten so good at hiding the smokes and having quick, sneaky cigs that even to this day, I still had a thing about smoking in the presence of other people and trying to hide it. I made sure I lit up either outside, so the smell wouldn’t get into the apartment, or I’d do it near a steady airflow. Smoking out the small bathroom window in an old dressing gown I no longer wore, so the smell wouldn’t get back into my clothes, was a habit I had mastered.
Of course, when we first met the day I turned eighteen, I had lied straight to my future husband’s face and told him it was my first time smoking, that I was only trying it because my friends had egged me on. Peer pressure, and all that bull. He believed me, and for the first four months of our relationship, I had given up and was smoke-free.
That had all changed after he proposed. Erika had come back to my parents' house with the dresses for the big day, which was only a few weeks away at that stage. We did a quick change and tried on the dresses, and my stupid wedding gown didn’t fit. It was perfect in every way, except for the fact that I was too big for it. I had a dilemma on my hands, and I didn’t know if I could send it back to Donna to get altered in time.
I made the executive decision to take up the smokes again that afternoon. It had worked, I fitted into my dress on the day, but it meant I had to smoke in secret, as well as try and quit in secret. Richard had no idea what was going on, he just thought I was being a mood. He’d also been unkind about my initial weight gain at the time.
The sound of my landline phone ringing interrupted my thoughts, as I sat down at the table and drank my coffee.
“Answer the phone,” Erika said in a nagging tone. “It’s really annoying.”
I rolled my eyes and ignored the phone, enjoying my coffee too much and starting to feel better. As was apparently her thing that morning, Erika made a noise of frustration and stood up, going over to pick the phone up. “No, don’t,” I told her. “Let it ring, the machine can get it.”
A few seconds later, the machine clicked and Stephen’s voice filled the room.”Hi, Elaine, I’m just calling in regards to what we spoke about the other night. Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it, something unavoidable came up. If you’re going to be home tonight I’ll swing by. Okay, bye.”
When the sound of the dial tone beeped, indicating that his message was over, I felt terrible. He had sounded so sincere and genuine, and I was left feeling like a bitch. I questioned my stance on avoiding him and my dislike of the man.
“Who was that?” Erika asked, all of a sudden alert, like a young hound who had picked up a scent. She was now kneeling on the couch, looking at me expectantly.
“Mind your business, Erika please.”
Erika stuck her tongue out at me and then settled back into reading her magazine. “So,” I heard her say. “Finally over Richard, are you? Have you found some loser to crack on to?” She was trying to tease and taunt me and get a reaction, but I was not playing her stupid little game.
“Let it be,” I said. She really was doing her best to add to my stress levels.
Erika smiled in the way I had learned early on in my life to hate. When she had a shit-eating grin on her face, it was going to be a long ride of antagonizing and being wound up. “Just be careful,” she said, licking a fingertip and flicking over a page of her magazine in a way that radiated attitude. I felt attacked even from that small gesture.
I knew by now not to fall for a statement like that, as she was being anything but considerate or concerned for me. “You’ll get yourself a reputation,” she said in a taunting, sing-songy way.
“Are you kidding me?” I flared up. “That is so rich coming from you, the girl who after junior year in high school was said to have had more fucks than feeds!”
“Who said that?” Erika asked, almost yelling in a high pitched voice. My game had at least worked, as she was no longer concerned about the man on the phone calling me.
“Everyone said that.”
“Oh yeah,” she said awkwardly, searching her brain for something to use against me. It was like we were teenagers again having a loud, catty bickering match, except this time our mother wasn’t here to quieten us both down and yell ‘time out,’ at us. “You only got picked for the cheer squad because your tits grew huge the summer you turned seventeen, the other girls didn’t even like you that much.”
“Oh Erika,” I said.
I was over this petty little fight of ours, however, Erika was not, she just had to get one final stab of the knife in. “Bernadette Smith and Monica Winton slept with your boyfriend that year too.”
“You’re a little b,” I told her. I was so over her shit.
------------------------------------
I hated myself for getting ready for Stephen’s visit. I, of course, made myself look nice and done up, but not too done up, I couldn’t for one second let him know that this was on purpose. I needed him to believe that I wasn’t invested in this or looking forward to it. I may have shaved in the shower, done my hair and makeup and made myself smell nice, but I made sure I looked as if I were casual as if this was all leftover from my day time errands.
In terms of his last visit my appearance had been a happy accident, I needed it to be like that again. So when I heard the knock on the door just as I had slid my day dress over my body, I quickly reminded myself that it was action stations and that I had initiated this so I could knock my bills down.
And yet, when I opened the door and saw him standing there, smiling nervously and looking flustered, a bunch of beautiful irises in hand, I felt my resistance fading. My hard heart softened a touch as I motioned him in and accepted the bouquet of flowers.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Stephen said to me. I had found an old china vase in the back of one of the cupboards, and I was now filling it with water and arranging the beautiful blue and purple blooms. I didn’t answer him at first, I didn’t know whether I should deny it or admit to it. “Elaine?” he asked me tilting his head, making sure I was paying attention.
“So what if I have?” I asked. I hated that I sounded so defensive.
“I am sorry about the other night, but what happened, I couldn’t avoid it.” The smug look returned to his face when he said to me, “I had no idea you liked me so much and put such store in my visits.”
“It’s a business transaction, nothing more,” I said in a steely voice.
“I’m hurt that you’d say that, Elaine,” Stephen said. He walked over to the bench where I was standing and covered my hand with his, the intoxicating yet subtle aroma of the flowers filling the air. From that single touch, I felt pulses of electricity burst through me. “Think of this as more an arrangement between friends. Quid pro quo.”
He cupped my face in his hands, leaned down and kissed me. I sensed a yearning and longing between us, and I kissed him back harder, my tongue finding his. I felt his hands in my hair, pulling at the pins and clips, the light clink and ping of them falling to the floorboards molding itself to the sounds of frenzied sighs, moans, and heavy breathing.
Breaking the kiss, Stephen gently fingered and twirled a wild, curly ringlet. “Can I stay here tonight?” he asked in a whispering.
Despite myself, a full, wide smile spread across my face. “Yes,” I whispered in return. I pulled him back in for a kiss, our tongues easily finding each other.
In the dark, calm and quiet of my bedroom, the pale moonlight softly illuminating the bed, I let Stephen slowly undress me, his hands running over my body, sending shivers down my spine. His hands were large, strong and slightly calloused, yet his touch was gentle and delicate. Softly he ran his fingers down my body; tracing the curves and contours of my form. I sighed and mewed with pleasure.
Turning around, I kissed him and gently pushed him to the bed. His jeans were the first thing to come off, both of us laughing in the dark as I struggled to unbuckle his belt and pull his pants off his long legs. I was horny and eager, impatient to feel him inside me and feel his body against mine.
“Come here,” I heard him say. With roaming fingers and grazing nipples, I crawled up the length of his body, going in for a kiss and finding sexual solace in his blue eyes, alight with the flame of passion. “Bring that sweet ass of yours here,” he said. I turned myself around and felt the swift sting of a hand meeting my left ass cheek. Placing his hands on either side of my thighs, Stephen bought me down so my pussy was in close to his face, and he went to town.
His tongue was magic and masterful, finding all the nooks and unexplored crannies, touching and tonguing me in places I’d forgotten I had. “You’ve shaved,” I heard him observe, his voice slightly muffled. I could feel his breath against my pussy every time his lips touched and his mouth formed words.
“Yeah,” I said, sighing. I was finding it hard to steady myself, my thighs were shaking; the muscles rippling and spasming as I came closer to orgasm. The tip of his tongue was tapping at my clitoris and flicking it back and forth. I was a wet mess, crying out my need for release, my body ready to explode with orgasm.
Stephen was like stone; his cock raging and hard, solid as a rock. I licked my lips as I stared at it, watching it bob and flex slightly with his body movements. My fingers clenched and pulled on my nipples as I remembered what it had felt like to suck on it. I remembered the way his balls had felt had in my mouth, and the way I’d rimmed and tongued his ass. “Fuck,” I shouted.
In the cool and quiet of my bedroom, a finger found my opening, urgently probing and poking me, while a tongue lashed at my clit. My senses felt alive as I yelled out to Stephen that I was going to cum; blood rushed to my ears and momentarily stopped me from hearing things. My mouth shouted out dirty words and slutty slurs, but I wasn’t aware it was me saying those things, it sounded far away. I had lost all control of my body as I came on Stephen’s face.
From in between my thighs I felt a slow release of warm liquid, a gentle gushing from within. My eyes widened in shock and horror, fearing the worst. I was all of a sudden snapped out of my dream-like orgasmic world and bought swiftly back down to reality.
There was a slight ringing in my ears as I jumped up quickly and stood away from the bed and away from Stephen. I was mortified and utterly humiliated as I heard myself apologize over and over again. “Oh my God, I am so sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Elaine,” Stephen said.
“That’s never happened before, I am so sorry.” In that moment, the shame I felt was worse than the shame and embarrassment of finding out my husband had run off with some school PTA mom. I’d never lost control like that before. I couldn’t believe I’d let go like that.
“Elaine,” Stephen said. He was sitting up on the bed now, staring right at me. He didn’t look angry or embarrassed at all, in fact, he was still fully erect. “Elaine, it’s not what you think.”
I gave Stephen a questioning look, my embarrassment ebbing slightly, confusing creeping up on me. “What?” I asked.
“It’s not what you think. It's odorless and flavorless liquid, it’s not... well, you know.”
‘Oh my God,’ I thought with relief. ‘It’s not that, I didn’t wet myself.’
“That’s never happened before?” Stephen asked. “You’ve ah, you’ve never done that?”
I thought about this for a moment. “I guess I haven’t,” I said.
“Come here,” Stephen smiled. He extended his arms out and wrapped me in them when I approached, kissing me passionately. I could taste myself on his mouth and tongue; he was right, it had no odor and for the most part, it had no real flavor, except for a slight musky sweetness, much like pussy.
His hard cock rubbed against me, pressing into my thighs. Almost as if our minds were in sync, he said, “Now, the small matter of the rest of my payment.”
I swallowed hard and stared into his eyes. “Do you want to?” he asked, sensing my hesitation.
I looked down, and then back up at him. I wanted this, I knew I did, and not just because it was a form of payment, but because some lusty thought at the back of my head was egging me on, telling me to do it, telling me to let him fuck my ass. “Yes,” I whispered.
He smiled wolfishly. “Got condoms and lubricant?” he asked. Wordlessly, I pointed to the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. I shuffled myself across and watched as Stephen stretched his lean, muscular form across the bed and rummaged around in the top drawer of the nightstand. If he came across my vibrator, he never mentioned it, but after a minute or so of hunting, he triumphantly produced a small bottle of lube and a condom.
I got on all fours and lowered my head and back, my ass sticking up high in the air, my cheeks spreading slightly naturally. From behind me, I heard the sound of the cap flicking open on the bottle of lube. A greasy finger prodded and probed at my backdoor, spreading cold gel around my ass, getting me used to the sensation of having something back there. I let out a moan of appreciation, electric pulses and aftershocks of my orgasm only minutes before still flowing through my veins.
“Ready?” he asked running his cock up and down the crack of my ass cheeks.
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
I tried to relax myself as best as I could, trying to loosen my limbs and breathe in and out gently. The tip of his cock slowly pushed at my asshole, gently entering and penetrating me. I felt myself give way and stretch back there; a somewhat painful, somewhat pleasurable feeling. It by any means was not unpleasant, and I was enjoying the sensations and feelings of having a cock up my ass.
With a triumphant sounding grunt, Stephen declared that he was fully inside me. “You’ve got a tight little asshole, babe.”
“Just go slow,” I told him, breathing in and out deeply, trying to acquaint myself to the feeling of having my asshole used and fucked.
It didn’t take much time for Stephen’s long and gentle strokes to increase in pace and depth, and it took even less time for me to get into it and beg for him to fuck me harder.
I enjoyed the feeling of the cold night air from the slightly open window on my skin, as the hour drew later. It contrasted nicely to the warmth I was feeling in my ass and pussy. My nipples were taut and hard, my tits swinging from the force of Stephen’s thrusting behind me. He didn’t let up with his drawling of ‘oh yeah’s and ‘fucking hell,’ and I found it sexy and arousing as fuck.
“Fuck my ass,” I yelled.
“You want it hard you dirty little bitch?”
A switch flicked inside me as I considered what he’d just said. I’d never been called any names before during sex, vowing to myself that I’d hate it, questioning why anyone would like it or want it, but now in the moment, I understood. I wanted to be a sexy and dirty bitch, I wanted to be a dirty slut.
“Fuck me,” I begged. “Fuck my ass.”
Stephen let out his smug laugh, which I usually hated, but this time I enjoyed it. “You trying to make me cum, naughty bitch?” he asked. He punctuated his question with a slap to my ass, his palm cracking loudly against my skin. I moaned loudly and repeated my mantra. I felt a hand crawl up my body and grab a fistful of hair, pulling it roughly. “Say it,” he said. “Beg for my cum.”
“Cum,” I said, pausing to moan. “Cum for me.”
“Yeah? You want my cum?”
“Oh yeah, cum in my ass. Fuck me.”
A stinging slap landed on my ass cheek the moment that Stephen groaned and growled loudly. I felt his body jerk and twitch behind me, his cock pulsing in my ass.
Eventually, his moans slowed down and his cock slowly softened. Gently he pulled it from within me, gathered me in his arms and lay me down next to him, both of us snuggling into the pillows. He pulled me in tight to him, an arm protectively over me his limp and spent cock resting against my ass. I smiled to myself in the dark, as for the first time in a long, long time I felt true sexual satisfaction and fulfillment.
I woke up to the soft snores of Stephen’s sleeping form beside me. Looking at the art deco wall clock, with its large bold numbers and long gold hands, I saw that it was after six. A beautiful rosy dawn crowned the morning sky as I gently turned over and faced Stephen. I slowly swiped the pad of my thumb back and forth over his stubbly cheek, waiting for him to wake up. My timed alarm clock gently flicked to the local classical radio station as the low tones of pièces froides softly danced into the room.
“Morning,” he said sleepily.
“Morning,” I replied.
The soft sighs of someone who was half asleep, half awake filled the early morning bedroom, until he finally, slowly opened his eyes. He moved my hand from his cheek and kissed it.
“You like classical music?” he asked.
“I do, yeah.”
“There’s a thing on Friday night at the theatre. I was given tickets a while ago. Do you want to go with me?”
I considered this for a moment. “I don’t know,” I finally said. “I usually work late Friday nights.” This was, in fact true. Friday was my day for working a bit of overtime, but I was also wary of the arrangement we had and the fact that he was my landlord. “Well,” he said, pulling himself from the warmth of my bed and collecting his clothes. “I’ll be going and I’ll be ready and in the lobby by six, so if you want to come, you can. I’ll swing by at some point and get the rest of my late payment fee,” he winked.
I sat up and stared at him. “How much do I owe you?”
He shrugged. “As much as I feel you’ve been very late with rent payments,” He came over and gave me a quick peck on the lips. “It’s a formal thing at the theatre, you know how opera and symphony folks are.”
From the comfort and warmth of my bed, I heard the gentle creak of the front door opening and shutting.
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