Housesitter Year 02

(Special thanks to SexperimentalSu for her editing assistance)

AFTERNOON

"This must be a fancy building, there are coat hooks in the elevator."

Amy chuckled at her naive thought. She had only been to Manhattan once before and knew enough to know she knew nothing about it. So far, Gramercy Park seemed like a great area to live if, she thought, she'd ever want to live here. This "warm patch" in January was still freezing for her and she already missed the Nevada heat.

She looked at her carry-on, next time she'd pack long instead of thong underwear. Hopefully Tracy would let her borrow a thick coat. Amy was looking forward to seeing her friend and having a quick night out before Tracy's flight in the morning. Amy had agreed to watch her friend's place for a week, figuring it would be a fun way to see the city with no hotel charges.

House sit. Too bad it didn't pay, Amy was making a career of this. She thought back to the night with Chad, now more than a year ago.

It wasn't that he didn't try to contact her , he had, they had even been out a few times. And in a few times. The brief encounters had been fun but neither of them revealed much of their feelings. Neither had tried hard enough to see where it could go. And Chad was too shy, too busy, too everything.

Their tryst had died with a whimper.

But she shook these thoughts from her mind as the elevator arrived at Tracy's penthouse. The girl lived well.

Amy had met Tracy or "Spacey Tracy" a few years ago in a pottery class back home. Amy admired Tracy's free spirit, her professed wanderlust as well as her sexually liberated nature.

Exiting the elevator car, Amy stepped to the apartment's front door and rang a worn bell. A beat later, a slobbish but good-looking guy answered. 30's, unshaven, lean but broad shouldered.

"Yeah?"

Amy suddenly felt very foolish, "Sorry, I must have the wrong address. Do you know which of these places are Tracy's?"

The guy gawked at her blankly before calling inside, "Tracy, it's for you."

Amy blinked. Did this guy live here? Had Spacey Tracy not told him Amy would be staying too?

Tracy came out of the bedroom, all gorgeous svelte blonde of her. A little bit hippie, little bit New York trust fund in a sheer white dress. Her four-inch heels CLOPPED over to Amy, bear hugged her, powerful for such a trim package.

"I see you've met Warren, my roommate."

Within moments Tracy was showing Amy around the apartment, a large place by Manhattan standards. There were pieces of priceless artwork mixed with Tracy's own "Art." The girl had dabbled in everything from watercolors to sculpture. Very little of it good.

A roman-style collum ran from floor to ceiling in the middle of the living room. "Too thick for pole dancing," Tracy joked as they passed it.

Tracy had the master bedroom and Warren seemed to live on a futon in the living room, as well as in the guest bedroom and also had set up a kind of camp in the 2nd bathroom. "They can't be fucking," Amy thought, "Because her bedroom is spotless."

Tracy led Amy to her attached bathroom. "So it's a long flight, you probably want a shower."

Amy looked at the ornate bathroom, all marble and stone. The shower was huge with multiple heads, including one at waist level. Amy remarked that sounded good and Tracy handed her a towel and excused herself. Amy peeled off her clothes, the scent of air travel on them.

The water refreshed her. A few moments under the jets and Amy felt any stress slipping away. Her mind wandered, settling on an image of Tracy and Warren in this same shower. Soap and water on their rock-hard bodies.

Amy was tempted to touch herself under the steaming jets. The desire surprised her, though she still found herself moving closer to the waist-high nozzle. She began to imagine Tracy's body pressed up against the glass, Warren holding her firm as he took her from behind.

In the real world, Amy began to maneuver the nozzle and then herself so the pressure would fall just on her...

"How's the water?" Tracy was standing in the room. She held two martinis, watching Amy under the stream.

Amy jumped, instinctively covering herself before realizing the futility of it. She let her arms drop.

"Just, great."

Tracy motioned the second Martini was for her and placed it on the marble sink. The woman had the barest smile and sat on the edge of the shower. Her eyes roamed over the naked girl.

"Wow Amy, I forgot how amazing your body is! I can't wait to lend you something for the clubs tonight!"

---

The next hour involved drinks and more drinks as Amy tried on Tracy's itty-bitty outfits in the bedroom. When Tracy wanted a useless opinion, she would pull Warren out one of his assorted lairs for feedback. Later, in hushed tones, Tracy revealed that Warren was a good but struggling writer who she just liked having him around.

And no, they hadn't had sex. The guy had never even made a move on her.

When both of them had finally settled on ultra-short skirts and had dressed (more like undressed, Amy mused) it took just one more drink for Tracy to gush she thought Warren was hot. But he was also a slob and it was driving her crazy.

Amy knew that when Spacey Tracy used a word like crazy, she meant it.

NIGHT

A nonstop blur of a night. Amy followed Tracy from bar to bar, club to club, a dizzying array of sights and sounds. Tracy seemed to know almost everyone and they all wanted to do her a favor, buy her a drink, give her whatever she wanted.

In true voyeur fashion, Amy observed from afar as much as Tracy would let her. They rubbed shoulders with bouncers and bums, beautiful people and handsome cab drivers.

Somehow, someway they found themselves in a Japanese convenience store. (Japanese Target Tracy had called it) Amy hadn't questioned how they had left the last club or what semi-black market item Tracy was originally looking for when she froze, called to Amy.

"Shit! Look at this!"

It was an electronic dog collar with a remote attached to it. Probably not legal, the store's owner explained that it sent a jolt through the neck of any badly behaving dog.

Tracy looked shocked, as strange as she could sometimes act, she had a big soft spot for animals. In moments she told the owner she'd take it.

Amy questioned, "Tracy, you don't have a dog. And if you did, this would be a cruel way to..."

Tracy cut her off. Explained she wanted to get rid of the torture device. When Amy began to explain that Tracy was actually rewarding the owner and manufacturer by purchasing it, perhaps even leading to more being built down the line, Tracy shushed her.

The owner shot Amy a glare as he rang up the collar.

A beat later both women were back in the hustle of the city, the collar in Tracy's bag. Tracy took Amy's arm and led her toward a dive bar, its lit-up red sign simply beckoned COCKTAILS...

LATE NIGHT

Their heads swimming, Amy followed Tracy back to the apartment. They rode the elevator in a kind of giggling silence. Stumbled out of it and to the front door of the apartment. Tracy struggled to find her keys, moving aside the dog collar in her bag.

A moment later Amy followed her inside. The place was dark, save for the blue glow of the television.

Tracy found the light switch, flicked it on and gasped. The place was a disaster. Clothes scattered everywhere, empty beer cans, some kind of failed egg experiment in the kitchen.

And in the middle of it all, Warren snored on the couch. The television on mute, the man had fallen asleep while watching a porno. On the screen a nude, whisper-thin woman was roped to a bench while a female bodybuilder flogged her.

Amy looked at Tracy and saw her friend's lips were pursed. Tracy had the kind of face that could look cute in a pout, but this was drunk-fueled anger.

Amy hated conflict, wanted to say something, anything to defuse the situation but Tracy seemed to swallow her anger. Walked quietly over to the sleeping Warren.

"Oh, good," thought Amy, "she's calming down." But Tracy removed that dog collar from her purse...

With a CLICK it was instantly around Warren's neck. She gripped the device's remote.

Amy stepped forward but, before she could say anything, a JOLT of electricity surged through the collar! Warren leapt to his feet, comically disoriented and angry. "What the...?" But he never got to finish as Tracy pressed the remote button AGAIN.

Warren screamed, reached for his neck, discovering the collar. "Tracy, what the fuck's this?!"

Tracy stayed an arms reach from Warren. "This is for bad dogs." She JOLTED him again.

Amy could only watch as Warren tried to rip off the collar but found it belted tight. Next, he made a lunge for the remote but Tracy gave the single button a good long press this time, shocking the once-powerful man to his knees.

Warren finally stopped fighting, staying on his knees, his arms in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, shit, okay! What the Hell do you want?!"

Tracy held the remote higher, the sight of it making Warren cringe. Quietly she purred, "I want you to be a good dog."

Amy stayed where she was. At first she had been intent on stopping this but now something else stirred in her. Voyeuristic curiosity and pleasure, a rare feeling but not totally unfamiliar. Amy remained on the sidelines as Warren began to submit.

"Okay right, I made a mess... I'll be better about cleaning up. Just, put that down, okay?"

But Tracy didn't accept the half-hearted apology. Unmoved, she ZAPPED him again. Warren crumpled, a kind of high pitched whimper escaping his strained lips, then he was silent.

"Dogs don't speak, got it?" As the guy nodded she added, "And they... don't wear clothes."

Confused, Warren looked up at Tracy with big, sad eyes. Then over to Amy, wondering if she might intervene.

Amy's heart was racing, she could probably stop this but had to admit she was loving every second. Both Warren and Tracy were looking at her now. Amy met the victim's gaze and... shook her head.

This emboldened Tracy even more. "Strip," she ordered, "my dog wears only his collar."

Terrified of her power over him, Warren was allowed to stand. Reluctantly he pulled off his mustard-stained shirt. Then removed his sweatpants. Now in only a pair of white boxer-briefs he seemed to waiver, as if hoping he'd been humbled enough.

Amy moved a few steps closer. She had a perfect view of the man's toned and muscled body. In spite of his lifestyle he had definitely been putting his time in at the gym. Broad shoulders complimented a flat stomach with the hint of a six-pack. The shock torture had helped form a thin layer of sweat that glistened on his torso. Under the boxers, the imprint of his cock revealed he was semi-hard.

Tracy grinned, "Don't you dare stop. Strip all the way."

Reluctantly Warren eased down his last bit of clothing and stepped free of the boxer-briefs. Amy could see the man's bare cock grow in front of her, in moments it was totally hard. Warren looked down at his manhood, as surprised as both women.

"Good Dog," Tracy grinned wider. "You're quite buff in the buff. Now here's the deal, if you do exactly as I say I'll take that collar off. However, if you disobey me or try to escape what's coming to you, there will be punishment."

At this, Tracy briefly flicked the switch and a jolt coursed through Warren. Amy and Tracy were treated to an unobstructed view of every muscle on his stark-naked body tensing and flexing.

Amy took it all in. She felt soaked, wanted to touch herself, knowing she could instantly cum right then and there. Her long dormant voyeur-instincts taking over, she spoke dizzily, "Maybe we should leash this dog up."

Tracy murmured with excitement and ordered Warren over to the living room's collum. His bare back was put against it and Amy scrounged up the man's own sweatpants and used them to tie his hands behind.

Amy made the knots tight, and for a moment she was reminded of Chad. She paused and Tracy asked if everything was okay back there.

Amy nodded, pulling the last knot tight. "It will be."

Tracy was too distracted and Warren was too frightened to ask more. Warren began to squirm, begging that he'd learned his lesson. Tracy looked at Amy, feeling a bond with her now. Their buck naked victim between them, Tracy asked, "What do you think Amy, has he had enough?"

Amy was almost content to stay a Peeping Tom. Almost. Instead she rubbed a hand down the man's toned chest, reaching the tip of his hard shaft. She let her hand stay there and began to massage his cock. Amy's other hand fumbled for her phone. She turned on its camera and began to film Warren.

As he protested, Tracy stepped forward and put her hands under Amy's tiny skirt. She found Amy's thong, pulled it off and down to the floor. As a quizzical Amy stepped out of the thong Tracy explained, "We need to muzzle him."

The damp thong was placed in Warren's mouth, muffling any objections. His eyes wide as both women firmly took his cock in their hands.

LATE, LATE NIGHT

When Amy would later remember the rest of that night, the term "Roman orgy" would come to mind, and there was no doubt who the slave was. Warren was soon milked by both women at once and he came hard, his load shooting all over their hands. Still they left him bound.

More wine flowed and the night passed quickly. Tracy began to shed her own clothes, her body a school boy's dream.

When Tracy had stripped to just a pair of boy shorts, she rubbed against Warren on the pillar. Again he stiffened and Tracy asked Amy to help her off with her last bit of clothing. Amy pulled the boy shorts off her friend and watched as Tracy used her mouth to place a condom on Warren.

Tracy lowered herself onto Warren, riding him against the pillar. Amy filmed it with her phone until the battery went dead. Then she watched until she could take it no longer, backing a step behind the pillar and masturbating in full view of Tracy. Moments from orgasm, eyes shut, Amy felt Tracy's hand join hers. All three of them came together, the rush knocking Amy to her knees.

DAWN

Amy woke alone on the couch with a blanket over her. She discovered she was wearing Warren's boxer-briefs and nothing else. Couldn't remember just when that had happened, perhaps Tracy's idea of a joke. Trying to ignore the hangover, Amy struggled to her feet and found her thong neatly folded on the coffee table.

She was pretty sure Warren was learning.

Amy quickly dressed and poked her head in Tracy's bedroom. Tracy and Warren were lying together, both naked save for the collar, still around his neck.

But Warren has his arms around Tracy. Were they a couple now? Amy knew little more than when she'd arrived here. But one thing was certain, Amy needed to get back to Nevada. Back to Chad. Spacey Tracy seemed like she'd get along just fine without her right now.

In a few moments Amy was packed (having never really unpacked.) She moved through the dim apartment and quietly opened and slipped through the door. It closed with a dull thunk.

In the tiny hallway, Amy pressed the button for the elevator. It arrived, empty. Just as she stepped inside, she heard the apartment door open and saw Warren, hurriedly tieing a small throw rug around his lean waist.

"Stop, wait!"

Amy shook her head but Warren squeezed inside the car just as the old door shut and the car descended.

Warren jiggered the penthouse button and cursed, "Aw, Hell! I'm going to have to go all the way to the bottom now!"

Amy asked what he wanted. "Isn't it obvious?" He tugged on the collar, pulling on that little hook.

Amy reminded Warren that Tracy probably wouldn't like this, she had warned him about punishment for trying to escape. The guy talked over her, "Shit, just get this off me, will you?"

The car was almost at the lobby. Amy looked at the collar, nodded. "Sure, I'll get that off, you. Back up to the wall."

It had been a long night of obeying orders for Warren and he did as she instructed. He was a good deal taller than Amy but still she coaxed him to stand on his tip toes as she reached high and felt the hook at the top of his collar.

Warren felt silly, standing there in just the throw and collar in the middle of the elevator. The floors counted down, five, four, the lobby coming up.

"Got it", Amy said and Warren could hear a click. He reached to pull off the collar... but it hadn't loosened.

Still on the tips of his bare feet, Warren struggled and pulled on the choke but it was still locked tight. With growing horror he realized Amy had locked him to the elevator coat hook! He tried to unhook himself but the hook was at his upper back, an awkward place to reach.

He swore, pleaded, begged, "You said you'd take this off me!"

Amy nodded as the doors opened. "True." She reached forward to his waist, wrapped a hand around the throw rug - and yanked it off.

Warren pleaded, his now-familiarly naked body twisting and turning like a contortionist. The elevator door opened and Amy began to exit.

As if on cue, a voice cried out to hold the elevator. Amy turned to see an early morning Yoga class was returning, a half dozen female building residents, hot and worked up.

Amy held the door long enough to let the first of the group inside and then moved briskly for the front door. High-pitched screams of discovery followed her out into the waking city.

In the cold morning air Amy felt a sense of freedom and purpose. She was on her way home, heading to see Chad. They had unfinished business. And she wasn't content to simply watch from the sidelines any longer.

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