0 comments/ 8204 views/ 5 favorites Post Dated By: 4eyes_Scarred I wake up to the sounds of the late-trash truck, birds outside our basement window, dogs barking from their yards at the trash truck, and the boisterous chatter of old black women on their way to church. I mean really, who the hell goes to church this early in the morning?? Oh yeah, and my ol' man is bawling through our apartment for me. "Well, this is going to be one of those freakin' days," I thought to myself. I can hear my father, annoyingly, bellow through our two bedroom apartment that he gets at a quarter of the price for being the landlord slash Superintendent. I'm not a complicated person; just your average eighteen year old. I like rock and have a guitar w/ an amplifier that you might be able to hear just outside my room if I turn it all the way up, turn off every light in the house along with every appliance, and open my window. There are posters in my room on one wall of my favorite superheroes from when I was kid, or when I was younger, or however you want to view it. But most of my walls are now covered with hot sultry blonde and red-headed women in either leather bikinis with chaps & calf length boots, or baby-oiled from head to toe on their knees in bikinis in all kinds of positions. And yeah, even the ceiling is wall papered with their bishop-flogging delectable visages. Sue me. I'm eighteen with no girlfriend. I gotta get to sleep somehow. Anyway, my old man is bellowing for me like we live in the Taj Mahal or something, and I roll out of bed and answer him with a petulant, "What!!" I throw my lanky legs over the side of the mattress and onto the floor. Did I happen to mention that I'm not the athletic type? Who'd thought? At 5'11" and a solid one hundred and thirty-six pounds I'm not tall enough for basketball and "good ol' gumption" is not going to get me on the third string of the football team, much less near some cheerleaders, so why bother? "Get your butt out here!! I got something I need you to do today!" He rumbles. My dad, is not all bad; just when he's awake. He's balding, two-hundred and forty-six pounds and stands 6'2". I guess I have my mom's height. I definitely have her black Grecian hair and blue eye color. Don't ask where she is because I don't know. Remember when I said my dad wasn't all bad? Well, that went for when he was 'young and stupid' too, as he likes to put it when he talks about my mom. You see she was a prostitute, new to the country but not so new to life. She knew how to make money and what it took to do so. So while my ol' man was showering after a particularly gratuitous romp in the hay, he told my mom to get her payment out of his wallet. She did and she also got a good look at his Newark driver's license. Lucky me. Nine months later my old man is doing a lady from his tenement when he gets a knock at the door. He answers to find his newborn son in a fruit box lined with blankets. I'm just glad he didn't name me DuPont. Anywho, I get dressed and come out of my room in a black Disturbed t-shirt and my best well worn jeans. I see my old man shuffling from the kitchen to the den's front door. His travel bag is packed and he has his good western shirt, jeans, and lizard steel tipped boots on. I say lizard because they sure as shite ain't alligator. I see all this and roll my eyes swearing quietly, "Ah, Christ..." His has that goofy smile on his face because he knows I know what's coming next. Still all smiles he says, "I'm taking off for the weekend. So you know you'll have to make the rounds for rent." He's grinning from ear to ear and I edge ever closer to that line when sons and fathers are going to bump heads and lock horns out of sheer stubbornness. I nod in a yeah-yeah kind of way, while he goes over what's to be expected. Then he hands me the List. I stop in my mental tracks of pushing him off the roof of this building. It's hanging there from his index finger and thumb. He's still smiling. I do the only thing there is to do, I take it hesitantly like I'm expecting him to snatch it back and yell, "Naw, just fukkin' with ya!" But he doesn't. He turns away and gathers his bag, putting it over his shoulder and opens the door. He puts on his cowboy hat and says to me over his shoulder. "I think it's about time. I'm getting along in years and some of the tenets in this place have entirely too much energy," he shakes his head wistfully, and continues. "That's a young man's game. I'm going to play one at a time from now on. 'Till the playin's done." He says the last like he watching something heading off over the horizon knowing its better that It goes, but he's going to miss It all the same. I see the regret on his face, it's only there a second or two, but I catch it. He then smiles at me telling his plans for the weekend include Ms. Gonzales. She's pretty hot for a lady approaching her late forties, two grown kids and one teen-aged daughter. I remember her daughters and their brother; they were all pretty good to me. Her first girl was old enough that I was cute when she saw me, and the brother was just old enough to be a pseudo older brother from hell. The youngest girl now is maybe a freshman, I think, but she's smart and goes to a school uptown. Ms. G comes to collect dad and she is something to look at if you're into cougars. She has a bit of waist all around but not so much it makes her butt and hips look any less grope-able in her One-Size Too Small jeans. They leave the building, going up the stair to the street and stroll out of sight. I stand in the doorway for a minute, quietly close the door, and then move to sit at the bar separating the kitchen from the den and read the List. In case it hasn't come to you, the List is a list of all the tenets that can't pay their rent on time. Most of them need a three day extension or a ten day extension. It is a list of four or five tenets, all female, all willing, and all know what they might have to do to get the extension they want. And I'm sure you have figured out by now that I've never collected from anyone on the List. I wasn't old enough and dad told me in no uncertain terms he was not, "'...going to let any of them worthless mooching whores have an opportunity to call CPS on him for pimping out his boy, just so they can stay in their apartment another month for free in the time it took the owner of the building to find a new landlord.'" End quote. But I turned eighteen a few weeks ago and I guess dad thought this would be as good a gift as any. I have to say, I'm not complaining. I check the clock. Crap!! I have thirty minutes before I have to start making rounds. I go shower, brush my teeth and put on deodorant. Collecting rent is never sunshine and roses. The ones on the List are the very last stops on my patrol of the building. I tuck it into my wallet and go by the regular Rent list sent by the city. People know when the rent is due and they still insist on bullsh*ttin' the Super. They'll pull all kinds of crap too. Some will try not to speak English; Hmmph, nice try. Ever hear of Rosettastone? Dad gave me his copy the second I hit middle school. Then they'll try to rush out of the apartment past you like they have somewhere to be. Dad taught me how to get past that one too. Wait for an opening, don't listen to all their quick talking B.S. and then when they've locked the door, just reach up and lock the Super's Lock. It's 4inch deadbolt. The city came up with it to protect the tenet from thieving Supers and to protect the Supers from swindling tenets. What we have to do as Supers is let them know, while they are within the sound of our voice, that the door will be locked until they have paid. Many try that, 'I'll have the check when I come back' ploy. You just nod and say, 'Ok. I'll unlock it when you put that in my hand.' Most forget what they have to do and want to be let in to get the check. And if they don't come out, the cops get called and eviction is immediate. No muss, no fuss. The lock also keeps whoever might be left inside locked in, so they have to use the fire escape. That never goes over well with granny when she wants her lotto tickets. Those are just some of the problems that go on every month. It's not all bad. Most pay and are pleasant. Some pay and are not pleasant. And then when all is said and done, its back to the apartment for a quick shower, more deodorant and body spray. Then you take out the List. By the time the List is to be done, its five o'clock. The first stop is, Ahh! Our cook. Mrs. Burkenborschov. She's the reason dad and I eat as well as we do. The woman must know 210 ways to cook potatoes. And most of them are not bad. She's a portly lady about 5'6" never wears any sort of pants. Whenever I see her she's in some kind of flower print ankle length dress for the season. Hot, cold, wet or summery, you name it; it's some kind of dress. She's closing in on her mid sixties and her hair is in a graying brown ponytail over her shoulder. I feel kinda weird she's on the list but, her name is right there in black & white. She greets me with a smile after I've knocked, and I read the sidenote dad has left. "Stroke her ponytail if you're going to eat there. If not just be pleasant and clasp your hands in front of you and wait for the dish." I let her know why I've shown up. "Hey, Ms. B," Did I mention her name is harder to say than think of? "I'm here for the rent." She stares for only a second then brightens as if I'm an unexpected surprise. I can't say I like it, because the expression she has is not put-on. She is genuinely glad to hear I'm the collector this month. The only other time I've seen genuine elation like this was on one of dad's girlfriend's when he gave her tickets to some art gallery in New York. She, unexpectedly, pulls me into her apartment by the arm. I was going to wait outside the door for my food. Usually she makes more than she can eat, and her cooking is so good she never has a problem dishing a plate if some hungry single drunk comes by at 2 am. Dad and I will get plates maybe twice a week. But when rent's due, the plate is hot and made just for us for the three or ten day period. We go down the short hallway and turn right into the kitchen area. She, thankfully, lets me go. I had no plans on sticking around. Ms. B is nice enough, but I'm just not ready to eat here. And I'm eternally grateful there is a guy sitting at her dinning room table, eating a meal and watching some middle European comedy on television. He doesn't even look my way, but instead is laughing his ass off at the show. I'd say guy's a biker except he's wearing hightops instead of boots. Besides that, he has a bandanna with a skull logo wrapped around his head, his beard is scraggly and touches his chest, the typical tatts are in place on his hairy arms, and the jeans are worn; complete with a chain going from belt loop to back pocket wallet. He's leaning back from a mostly empty plate and his pants are undone. I just might have interrupted something. The burly guy notices me at a glance then smirks looking at me over his shoulder. "Where eez Been?" He asked. It takes me a second to realize he's speaking to me because I was looking at the television. There was a scantily clad tall blonde woman in a red teddy and matching furry slip-on heels trotting across the set to a laugh track. I blinked, startled by his Count Dracula accent and realization I had his attention. He said my Dad's name. Though I barely recognized it past the accent. "Oh!! He's spending the weekend with Ms. Gonzales. I-I'm g-getting the," I clear my throat and give Ms. B a quick unsure glance, "rent." The man's laugh matches his size and he speaks through a chortle, "Ah! You join!! Yes?" He offers gesturing to another chair at the table. "Come! Been and I 'eet' together all the time!!" He laughs and nods at Ms. B. who's back is turned as she is covering my meal with foil. All I can think of at that point is, "Woah." Ms. B brings me my plate on a heat proof holder. She speaks some kind of Middle European Slavic to the not-biker. He's not happy with what she says but looks thoughtful and nods once casually. His attention goes back to the television. It take the glass deep-dish and stand there awkwardly waiting for her to show me out. She doesn't. Ms. B stands there looking up at me, Oh god, with a tiny delightful smirk. I've seen that look on women in shoe stores downtown. They have it when they pick up the 'Oh my god I have to try these' perfect pair of heels. "Ho boy," I think, as my own blush crashes in like a tide. I quickly glance at the not-biker and nod, "Well, I uh...won't keep you...from your um...company." My stammering doesn't deter her. I think she thinks it's cute. She steps closer, "Are you sure?" She asked, looking up and through her eyelashes in a slow blink as she strokes my upper arm. "I can remove him." Her accent coupled with that look is so husky she could have easily added the words, "...Mr. Bond." and I'm sure I could not have felt any less flattered or propositioned. To make matters worse my dick actually stirs like a cat from a nap who has heard something of interest. I physically shake myself and chuckle nervously, sliding away from that touch. I can't believe I was on the verge of nodding. Politely I say, "No,no. That's not necessary. I uh, have to be...hungry-I mean going!! I have to be going...out the door." I say, finally able to move my feet. "Really. This," I hold up the meal. "smells excellent...tasty." "Oh it is. It may be a bit salty. I love...saltiness." Her gaze sliding over me; particularly stopping at my crotch and back to my face. I can't take another one of those sexy eyelash gazes. Is she getting prettier with every look?!? My pulse is thumping. I gotta get outta here! By now, my dick, thanks to my nervousness and youth, is trying to peek over my belt, "Uh bro! I think this is for me!" It states haphazardly. I tell him to shut up because we are leaving. This is my 'first up to bat' and don't care that I'm choking, figuratively. I'm not ready 'those' kind of relations from someone who could be my 'Gram-Gram.' Besides I don't think any Senior citizen I know has an apparent, judging from the size of her nipples through her blouse and apron, aversion to conventional bras. Really, her boobs are way too big (and squeezable) to be without. I chuckle again making my way backward toward the door. Is she stalking me!?! Ms.B is smiling and listening while I bumble out excuses and appreciation for the meal. We're finally at the door. I reach behind myself and nearly cry at the relief of it being unlocked. She leans on the door. Age on her short frame has made her boobs swell past C cups well into double D's. The real kind that look as if they are 40% of her body mass. The door rest in her cleavage and she gives me one more look and sly smile before closing the door. The look says, "Next time. For certain." My dick whines remorsefully, "DooUuude." I'm glad I didn't stroke Mrs. Burkenborschov's ponytail because I don't think I can handle her peculiarity just yet. Yes, this sweet old portly lady (that I didn't know was a Siberian Snow Cougar) has a..."fondness." I nearly died laughing when dad told me and I still couldn't believe it. Though I'm not laughing now. You just don't know by looking at some people. You'd think that would be an edict to live by, living here for as long as I have, but underage Me has only done the rent thing twice before this. And now I guess Legal Me is on Ms. Burkenborschov's radar. Mrs. B has a compulsion, if you eat at her place, to give the man she's serving dinner to...oral sex...while he eats! That's right! You get the best Borscht made in the western hemisphere while getting the best Brains in the building. Head-Dome for home-made doughnuts, and Deepthroat for deep-dish Greenbean Cassarole. The kicker is that Mrs. B. wears dentures, top & bottoms. If it wasn't for the other four tenets, I might have rustled up the nerve. I go back to our apartment with the dish and enough to eat for the next three days and have dinner. Thankfully my stomach out ranks my dick. And though the margin is infinitesimal, it is enough. I eat my dinner before I head to the next tenant on the list. Six o'clock. I take my time eating and then use the stairs to get to my next collection. The June sun is still high in the sky, and next on the list is Ms. Black. She's a late sexy twenty something that is staying in the better apartments on the top two floors. I can't imagine why she would have trouble paying on time. She's also single and is a corporate headhunter that thought the apartment was "quaint", despite it was three times as big as any two apartments downstairs. This performance, however, wouldn't require any decoration advice on my part. I just had to act my part. You see, Ms. Black tells people what to do all day, every day, and she gets tired of being the one always calling the shots. She's in total control of herself, twelve assistant headhunters, and their four hundred employees for twelve hours of the day, four days a week. Today is Friday, she only worked six hours. My job, dad's side note says: "is to treat her like absolute street trash...that's been used by a homeless person." All I have to do is get a good headstart off the blocks, and we all get what we want. The trouble is-she intimidates the hell out of me. She's the type whose fiery red hair has a flawless sheen, cosmetics flawless, body...you guessed it, flawless. Her skin, while freckless, is salon tanned giving it a ruddy pink tint. Her tits are B-cup boarding on C-cups, and in their glorious roundness jiggle delectably with each subtle movement. (For some reason tight bras are not part of the woman's wardrobe.) The perfection of her long smooth legs is matched by equally clear grass green eyes that produce a glare that could make a clown cry. In short, we exist in two entirely different worlds. My heartbeat ramps up to just below a Kentucky Red's pace on the last lap of the Derby. I take a breath, and steel my face into my best annoyed expression and knock calmly. Once I knock and can hear her coming to the door at slow leisurely pace. Even through the door her heels sound expensive. I have to remind myself that she's on the top floor, alone and away from the other tenets. And this will be part of her getting an extension. Gawd, how dad does this, I'll never know. She opens the door and I'm startled for a split second. She has her stilettos on for sure, but... that is all. She's in a very sheer transparent robe. There is nothing between her and me but space, nylon pink and furred cuffs and hem. I look into her beautiful face...and the bitch has the nerve to look down at me like it was so not worth the walk to the door! "You smell like one of those street vendors in Little Russia." She sneers in a voice that would be sublime for phone sex if it were not for the icy contempt. It's all I need to get into role. I ask her, deadpan, for the rent. Her eyes go wide for a second with palpable uncertainty. For some reason I can't describe, that reaction pisses me off more. And I think it's because I know she has the rent! I push the issue by taking that one step that puts me in the apartment. Now I'm breaking the law for sure. My boldness and her uncertainty makes her take an unconscious step back. It dawns on me, while her eyes dart from sided to side as if she's searching for words... "This is someone not used to making excuses." I realize as confidence floods me, it steadily flees her as quickly as doves would an open cage. Wow, she should hang out downstairs more; some of those people can't breathe unless they tell at least one lie in the day. I demand the rent again in two words and end the phrase with her name in clipped fashion. The indication is clear that her day will not go well if she makes me wait a moment longer. Her mouth works but nothing comes out. Post Dated I reach up, (Did I forget mention she's 6'2 in heels?) and pull a fist full of that salon-soft luxurious rose colored hair at the back of her head to my level while kicking the door closed with my heel. Her screech bounces off the cushion sound proof-door that doesn't slam as it shuts. I turn her face up in my grip and yell, "Tha! Rent!!" My spit speckling her eyebrows. She yowls again tries to hold my arm. Her heels, as she fights for balance, sound like a startled horse being held by its reigns on hardball. I shake off her arm, "Don't touch me, you worthless sack of shit!!" She yowls again and says something almost unintelligible about her checkbook. "Where!!??" I demand. She points. I shake her like a pissed momma dog, she screeches and cries. "Over there!! Way over there, you conniving snake!!??" [shake, screech, cry & beg] "You trying to make me walk!!?? You think I'm your servant!??" She screeches No and cries. She's nearly bent at the waist because I'm lowering my fist to waist level. She has both her hands on my fists. She's fighting for balance not escape. "Is that it!?! You do think I'm here to serve. Don't you!?" I smack her tits, catching her divine side-boob soundly. She screams and dances to avoid. Several more quick sharp pops to each orb. She begs for me to stop then apologizes pathetically. Finally I relent and say, "C'mon bitch!!" From her trying to dance out of the way of my strikes and my grip in her hair, she doesn't have time to adjust her robe. Her perfect orbs have pushed themselves loose and one is out, exposed and pinking with finger imprints. I drag her, by the hair still, across the apartment to a desk that looks like it cost more rent than two thirds of the spaces in the building. Stumbling in heels is never easy and she goes into the desk at waist level, hard. I flinch mentally, and hope I haven't crossed a line. I forget just as quickly as I see her luscious bottom jiggle with the impact. I stalk forward and press her cheek to the desk, "Well bitch!! Get to writing for fucksake!!" I yell at the top of my voice. (Wow! She smells great! And her hair is soooooo soft!) Her perfectly manicured hands scramble blindly for the pen to put to the soft leather-bound check binder. She takes too long and I let her know so, "Too slow bitch!!" I toss the back of her robe above her shoulders and the light material drifts down to lay over her neck and shoulders. Then I begin to pop that sweet sweet high-priced gym-toned ass with very little restraint. I aim for each cheek then switch to vertical strikes to make contact with her pussy lips and butthole. She dances and screeches like a six year old getting the spanking of lifetime. But that is not all. I'm smacking that perfumed bum and realize my fingers are becoming slick with wetness. I give her a break and tell her inches from her masquera-ed eyelashes that she has seconds to make that check out. She's trembling, sniffing, and swallowing. The fore-mentioned masquera and eye-liner are as posh as the rest of the things she owns; neither smears when wet. Though her eye-shadow has turned smokey with her exertions. During her brief break, she sputters and sniffs wildly while begging me for more time as shaky fingers scrawl across embroidered paper. I answer that request by jamming a finger up her wrinkled pink Brazilian waxed butthole. "The check bitch!!" She cries out at the intrusion and I swear I feel her trembling. I plow in another finger and begin to slowly test the elasticity of that warm ruddy orifice. Her reward for my impatience is a quick hard tug in and up of my fingers. I can see over her shoulder some the check it is barely legible because she trembling bodily. Just to make a point I stick my ring and pinky fingers in her snatch and jiggle them all like I'm trying to shake up a hot can of beer. She screeches, dances in place, convulses, then convulses again. Her knees give out and she slowly collapses on the desk trembling bodily; so much so the heel of one of her shoes is tapping out a Morse code rhythm. I don't notice any of that because I'm watching the cloudy fluid fountaining out of her cooch like someone ripped a water balloon under pressure. Some of it trails down my forearm and drips off my elbow. Incredible. I let her go and she sinks to the floor with a contented sigh. She turns around half way down and is sitting on her thigh. She has her checkbook and finally signs (she is still trembling but looks like she trying to hold back a laugh) the check, and rips it off smiling at me with those smokey emerald eyes; somehow she must have smeared her lipstick on the desk's surface, and while her eyeliner didn't run, her sweating has somehow cause the make up to blot. She looks like the Joker's sidekick without the white foundation make-up. We don't say anything else to one another. She just nods toward the door. I make a quick exit. The check is post dated for next Friday. I look at my watch. Seven thirty. I'm glad my next pick-up has me going back downstairs. I stop off back to the apartment and wash my hands. I spritz on more smell-good (popping a breath mint) and head to the next tenet. I won't go into details on this one just give you some of the highlights. This one I didn't like because they were coming out of the apartment. And it involved a bit of risk. Like I said they were coming out of the apartment, a young married couple, the Schtopples. Its original pronunciation is something western European. But if you think it's hard to say now, just try hearing it said in their native language. Neither could have been older than twenty-three but they came here on college visas and were able to make the transition to stay. I liked Vanya. She's another redhead though her color did not come from a salon. She was closer to a natural carrot-top color. The young Slavic lacked a head turning bosom, but more than made up for those A cups with what god gifted her below the waist. You see she also had hips and an ass that would make the Pope do a double take. Girls in eastern Europe must have their own version of fast food chicken because a lot of them come in 'Economy' size. Vanya is at least 5' 10". And her butt matches her stature. I nicknamed her White Serena. Her means of income is working as a nurse at a nearby hospital. Her husband, an unshaven Bruce Willis type of guy about my height, I don't particularly care for. He works as a mechanic on the lower southeast side in a shop run by Goombas. So he tended to take on a lot of their characteristics with a Russian accent. Eck. Anyway they were leaving their apartment and they saw me coming. Now most times people begin their excuses or the common 'its that time of month again and I'm just realizing it upon seeing you' expressions. You take it with a grain of salt. But not Vanya and her husband. They greeted me loudly. The guy did that cheek-cheek kiss thing that I always try to fend off but can't because he has both my shoulders. It's extra creepy when your face is left wet. And Vanya always hugs me like I'm a brother. The Schtopples embraces are friendly enough, considering this is about the only time I ever see the two of them together. I usually hear this from my Dad. Otherwise the couple's work schedules rarely match. They live on the first floor; the second apartment on the right coming in the front door to the building. This was one of the few times as a young adult I've hugged Vanya. A little while back, in another 'little too friendly embrace', I felt on her butt just enough to mistake the contact as harmless. Back then we were not quite eye-to-eye. I was the shorter. I remember she smiled and looked at me profoundly. What I remember about the look was that she wasn't angry with my taking liberty with polite boundaries. That much I knew for certain. I was fifteen then. Now, we were alone in the hallway because her husband had gone back in to get the check. As soon as he was gone, Vanya slid into a squat and faster than I could say her name she had my dickhead between her warm wet lips. "Holy fuck!!" I thought, as my upper back hit the wall of the staircase behind me. She didn't waste time. I was freaking out between the long gliding feel of her lips sucking on my shaft and hypnotizing tongue slides over the head of my dick. I palmed her head to help her with the distance. That was unnecessary. Vanya had no discernible gag reflex! There we were, in an open hallway with the entrance to the building not twenty-five feet from us! Anyone could come in! But I couldn't get past how good it felt!! She was a golden tongued pro!! Every time Rationality tried to get a word in, she'd deepthroat it back. In no time a soft palm was massaging my sack, her thumb, ring and middle fingers jacking me in perfect synergy with her suction. I literally exploded from the inside out! Being with Ms. Black hadn't helped any. I couldn't recall how fast it took me to get hard. But when I busted that nut a minute and a half from the time her husband had that door closed, I was toast. I came so hard, I literally heard her gulp it down. She couldn't spit it out, the floor was clean. And she couldn't mess up her top by drooling so...she had to get it all! I collapsed or rather crashed back into the wall of the staircase behind me a second time. My legs had contracted straight when I climaxed. Vanya must've put me away because I could not have done it myself. I was still blathering, eyes unfocused and crossed as her husband came out and stuffed the check in my pocket after not getting a response from me. I couldn't move my arms or speak. I only had this stupid grin on my face and was propped up against the wall because my knees had locked inward; otherwise I'd been on my butt. I heard Mr. Schtopple ask about me in their native language as they walked away. And I remember Vanya answering as her voice stopped mid sentence by a deep belch. They both laughed and exited the building. The check was post dated for the following Monday. It took nearly ten minutes for me to collect myself. I'd never had a blowjob so good. In fact, I don't think any of the girls on my wall who have me as their sex-god in my mind, ever gave me a blowjob that good. Hmmm. Dad wasn't kidding around. That Bj would have put him out for the rest of the night. As it stands, I was surprisingly ready for more now that Vanya had gotten my motor going. I wondered if I could alter their payment to Russian Roulette Anal instead Russian Roulette Blowjobs...? And I will have to find a safer place, because we would have both gone to jail if anyone had come through that front door on the way to their apartment. This was a family building, there were kids in it. Explain that sight to little Kimmy as you and she come home from grocery shopping. It was near eight in the evening now and the sun was setting. I had my last stop to make on the other side of the staircase. I went over; my strength mostly returned to me by the time I'm at the door. The note taped there had the name of the guy on my list. It said Mr. Ted. On the inside it gave a specific time I was supposed to enter. I didn't like that. You can't enter unless someone gives you permission personally or they invite you in, i.e. in residence. I looked at my watch. I was on time. I went into the apartment and announced who I was and why I was there. There was no answer. I did hear someone humming to themselves. It sounded like a woman. I looked at the note again and it had a gold star beside the name and in the star it said "wife." Woah!! My first Milf! She was the arrangement for the extension! A ten day extension meant there was nothing 'off-limits' or 'out-of-bounds.' Ten days were usually "Anal Understood" in negotiating. And I was so going to take the license to do so. Oh man, was I ready. I wanted to rut something. I don't know what Vanya did to me but I was ready and willing! Almost to the point I was thinking about going to visit Ms. Black again. But I couldn't. I had her check. 'No going back after money has exchanged hands.' One of the First rules. Never break a First rule. So I wondered through the dark apartment looking for her. The sun was setting and giving the room a bit of a twilight gloom. I would only be able to see for maybe another half hour or so before we would need a light. I found her in the bed room. I wondered if Mr. Ted was somewhere in the apartment with a cam-corder or a fake gun. He'd come out with either of those, pointing and insisting I continue railing his Missus. And I would too! I'm that horny right now. I'm not sure whether to be mad at Vanya or thank her. It's the last room on the right. She's facing away from me sitting on the other side of the bed. The vanity mirror is at an angle that doesn't give me away. She's in a skin tight white cotton top that has figure eight designs going from the shoulders to the wrists. As thin and as smooth as it is, somehow its a turtleneck. It folds and looks soft under her chin and her hair could be a deep chestnut brown. A dainty gold locket rest on top of her chest. She's wearing a very short deep red miniskirt. I barely catch seeing the tops of her black stockings where the garter clips hold before she stands up. She's tilting her head clipping in her other hoop earring. I rush her from behind, taking her by the shoulders. She starts with a gasp. And I quickly and quietly tell her who I am. And that the front door is closed and we probably don't have a lot of time before her husband comes home. My Rager is pressed to her firm bottom, searing what seems like a hole in our clothing. She nods once, understanding and relaxing visibly. She'd brought her hands up when I startled her and in her fist were red lace silk panties. I smiled and I knew it was devious. I can't help it. The past couple of hours have taken their toll and have left an imprint. It continues to get gloomier in the room. I take Mrs. Ted, folding one arm around her toned waist, turn her toward the bed, and shove her over it roughly. There is to be no resistance and she offers none; just sounds of shock at the abrupt movements. She props herself up on straight arms. Her hair frames her face as I gently kick her inner ankles apart. The heels slide on the carpet easily enough. I'm so hard I could be used for a spring board for elves. This has become obvious to her as she has fished me out of my jeans and is now applying lube. she's reached for when I turned her toward the bed. I push the velvet skirt up to her waist. The garter bands stretch over her hips. She's an older chick, probably in her late forties. Not a lot of padding in back, but enough for what I have in mind. She's Brazilian waxed just like Ms. Black. I don't waist anytime. As I step out of my jeans (Oh yeah! No awkward stumbling this time!) I play my purple headed monster to her wrinkled hole and plunge into her with a sure stroke! It's everything I need at that moment. Damn, if this old lady doesn't have a tight bottom! I plow her slowly then pick up the pace. She grunts and moans, already reaching under to play with her clit. It's not two minutes before she has to go to her knees on the bed. I put a foot up on the bed for better leverage and clamp both hands on her narrow hips pulling her back into me as I rage fuck the shit out this old Milf. I'm bound and determined to give her a memory she won't forget. Muscles clench, hips begin to slap together loudly in a machine gun pace and then I feel it. "What the hell is that?!" I wonder mentally. I look and she's really going at it on her clit, but when she's not, I feel something soft bump into my nutsack when I ram into her. I do her, feeling my own orgasm coming on. Her panting is getting more insistent with my own. She goes to messing with her clit again and I'm not bumping into anything soft anymore. I can't think about it now!! I'm gonna nut in a minute or two and I know it's going to be a big one!! I climb up on the bed and do the old broad froggy-style, hoping she can take it. Her jewelry, multiple bracelets, clicks and clacks loudly sounding almost like maracas in our frantic pace. I can't take it anymore and the bastard in me wants to mess up her clothes and make-up. I flip her over just before I am to cum my brains out. She lets me. I throw my head back and plow the shit out of her. Her knees are wide and as I look down, I see her cock?!? HO. LEE. FUCK. KING. SHIT!! She...He...It...has a bald naked cock between its legs!! Flock me! I push up her tight shirt to see implant b-cup boobs!! Omg!! I can't stop!! I can't stop!! We're panting like racing dogs, the bed's headboard is knocking the wall, and It's/her hole is warm, tight, and squeezing me! It's too late!! I grab those near-real tits in order to cancel out the banana-horn between us! I hump and hump then pull out! Before I can jack myself to release she/it does it for me and its hands are surprisingly soft! I can't help it! I shoot and it goes over her/its head! I'm clutching its ankles as if they are the only things keeping me on Earth. I buck and nut, she strokes, I buck and nut, she strokes and I nut again. This goes on for thirty seconds and ejaculate geysers from me several times over. She/It nuts too, on its own tits and neck. I can't escape. I'm just as drained as when Mika got me. It/she had gathered itself before I could gain my wits (something I'm going to have to work on if epic cum sessions are going to be part of my near-future) and it sits up soaked in our baby-gravy and begins to clean me off with its mouth. That, to add to my many surprises today, feels nice. I can't get mad because I don't have the strength. Instead, I sway heavily and take the check It gives me. She/It doesn't say a word. She/it just smiles and waves bye-bye; my ropes of jizz making It...her look like a freshly made coffee pastry. I shuffle away, confused, wobbly, and delightfully sated physically. It was full dark by the time I trudged back into the apartment. I can't remember my shower. I do remember there was a bit of crying, some hysterical laughter, and a whole lot of anger at my Dad. Did he know about that last one?? Had he ever participated in something like that? Had he been doing stuff like this for years!?! I don't mind admitting that I was bit intimidated at the thought of doing this next month. I wasn't sure how I was going to top the act with Ms. Black. I wasn't sure if I could ever look at Ms. B. and turn her back into the old woman I'd known since I was nine. Yes, I was definitely going to fuck the shit outta Mika. And the tranny...? Gawd, where did that leave me on the freak scale? He wasn't going to do me in the butt! I knew that for certain. So where does that leave us for next month? Pop made it clear he would not be making the rounds anymore; that's for sure. I either had to get in my books so I could go away to school OR up my intake of vitamin E. One thing's for sure, when the rent's due, it's due.