You know those rogue landlord ads you see on social media? '40yo man in one bedroom apartment seeks 18yo woman to share with. No doors policy!' you know that kind of crap? Well basically, last week, I accepted one.
Ok, that's a bit of a misnomer. I'm not an '18yo woman', I'm a bloke, and I'm 25. And the rogue-landlord, if we can call her that, is actually a woman of around the same age: a very dirty, depraved woman who wishes for a man to dominate her, fulltime and in a very specific way. Essentially this is not as creepy as it might first have seemed... I think: well, its certainly got to be a more popular amongst its target audience than the one described earlier - I don't think I was the only, or first, to reply.
I'd like to tell you about it.
The interview, which is essentially what it was, was a strange combination of formal and friendly. We shook hands, and introduced ourselves, talked a bit about our different backgrounds, that sort of thing, and then she went onto speculate about what she wanted - the advert had said, rather ambiguously, 'specialist, kink-based domination', so I obviously needed to know more.
'I am looking for,' she began, in the most formal way, as though her desires were perfectly commonplace, 'a man who will dominate me in the most brutal and grimmest of fashions. That is to say, someone who will fuck me aggressively in every hole, cum, spit and piss on and in every part of my body, call me names, hurt me, humiliate me, make me cry, gag and drool, use toys on me, control my own bodily functions, and my orgasms, what I wear, or say, or eat, or drink, or can and can't do, etcetera, you get the idea...'
The tone of the conversation didn't seem to change, despite the change in subject matter. Were someone who didn't speak English to have been watching they would have had no idea that anything sexual had been brought up.
So I accepted, and once again we shook hands on the agreement, which I thought was wild given what we were going to shortly be doing.
'Ground rules:' she said - and these were surprisingly limited I thought, 'no interfering with either of our jobs;' - we both have normal 9-to-5 jobs, a requirement stipulated in the advert - 'no other people - everything must happen within this flat, which will have no guests, ever!; and finally no phone cameras - I have an old-fashioned offline video camera that I shall gift you upon signing of the contract.'
'Is all of this within the contract?'
'I have drawn up a tenancy agreement, just for the flat and bills, and a separate private S&M contract - two copies of each - the later of which will remain secret unless otherwise needed, which I doubt will be the case.'
'And a safe word?'
'Don't break any of the rules and I won't need one.'
'I'd feel safer if -'
'Oh no, it was all going so well -'
'Ok, ok, I'm sorry - no safe word. That's all good with me.'
We signed our contracts, finished our coffees, and then she came to help me move my stuff into the flat.
I should explain: it was indeed a one-bedroom flat (like all those on Instagram), though she explained to me that there was no expectation of me to share that bed with her if I didn't choose to. It was, essentially, now my flat, and my effective ownership of the flat extended to my ownership of her, and thus my choosing where she slept.
Amazing isn't it! Unbelievable really: you wouldn't believe it possible 😉.
Once we were back at the flat, with all of my things in boxes, we walked into the almost empty bedroom and started to unpack.
'But where's all your stuff?'
'In the drawers in the living room, sir, though I don't have much.'
I had forgotten that now that we were in the flat, with contracts signed, the situation had started, despite all my possessions still in boxes on the floor. I now owned this woman, her entire body, in every way, though specifically sexually, despite not having seen it yet, in the flesh, despite not having kissed her, or indeed touched her in any way, innocent or sexual. It was a strange feeling.
The 'sir' was a nice touch, though on balance I thought it was a bit too school-like and would probably change it to 'master' later. I myself was going to have to draw up a list of ground rules, a far more extensive one than hers. A job for the morning however.
I walked over to the drawers that she pointed at, and opened the first one: shirts, neatly folded, a two pairs of trousers. The second had underwear, of various types, and the third had the camera and a few cables.
'No personal effects?'
She shook her head.
'We'll have to make some together, in remembrance of our new... arrangement.'
'I would like that, sir. Are my clothes ok there, or do you want me to move them? They are now really your clothes; I only wear them.'
'Yes, that's true, they are good there for now.'
I walked over to her and for the first time placed my skin on her skin, the fingers on my right hand gently pressed against the side of her face. She stared at me as I did so. The arrangement, I felt, had been concretely made at that moment.
I decided not to kiss her, though I could tell she wanted me to, but instead to be practical and finish the move: more fun and exploring could be had later. My fingers disappeared from her face quickly, and I ordered her to undress to her bra and panties, fold her clothes and leave them on the sofa.
'I will be in the bedroom, assessing the space,' I added.
'Yes, sir.'
I walked into the bedroom and started to move some boxes around, had a look in the various spaces, a tried to act masterly, though of course I was desperate to see what kind of body I had just taken control over. I realised that this was going to be a challenge, my new role, more than I might have thought. I had been given a chalice, and though I would not call it poisoned it might have seemed deceptively simpler than it was. Eventually I gave into my urge, and instead of waiting for her to come and join me I went back into the living room, with the guise of asking a question about the size of bed, only to see my new slave, with bra and no panties, walking over to the drawers in the corners, and opening the middle drawer.
'Oi!,' I shouted, making her jump and turn around, 'what the fuck do you think you're doing?'
'I was getting panties, sir, like to asked.'
'I said strip to your panties.'
'I wasn't wearing them, sir, I'm sorry.'
'And you thought that the solution was to lie about it.'
'No, sir - I mean, yes, sir, I suppose, so. I'm really sorry.'
'What a start, hey?'
'Yes, sir, I'm sorry, sir, I'll never lie again.'
I beckoned her over, and then slapped her harshly across the face, twice, for which she thanked me.
'I cannot believe that the second and third times that I touched you, ever, have to be disciplinary.'
'No, sir, sorry, sir.'
'And that the first time I see your body for me to angry, and not happy at the sight... well, it makes me very sad.'
She was starting to look genuinely hurt. I was being rough, not physically, aside from the odd slap, but emotionally, which I hoped she was secretly enjoying. This is what she wanted, right? I couldn't ask her; I couldn't break character, but I hoped I was doing well, and I was certainly becoming aroused myself.
'You have spoilt this moment, that could have been lovely, with your sluttish deceit.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Beg me for forgiveness.'
She dropped to her knees, and with her hands clasped began to beg me, telling me that she would accept any punishment, no matter how brutal, and that she would never, ever lie again. It was, to put it mildly, a pretty strong start to the arrangement, given we were only a few minutes in.
She kissed my feet, or rather my shoes, and spoke very quickly, repeating a lot of what she said, with further and further superlatives.
I informed her of what I considered to be a reasonable punishment, for her to remain silent for the rest of the day, ungagged, so long as she obeyed. 'One peep and you will be gagged, and the punishment extended to tomorrow. Is that understood?'
She nodded, and then stood up, prompted by my pulling her hair.
'So you weren't wearing panties all day?'
She shook her head.
'What a fucking whore.'
She nodded.
I placed her finger onto her pussy, which was, as I thought it might be, totally bald - from the touch of it, waxed. She instinctively opened her legs a little bit, and without breaking eye contact with her, I began to stroke at her clit, thinking up what to do next. And then I felt a need.
'Turn around and kneel down,' I said, taking my hand away from her pussy, and unbuckling my belt.
I aimed at the back of her head, soaking her gorgeous curly blonde hair with my piss. It dripped onto her shoulders, and down her back, darkening the blue of her bra strap. It started to pool on the hardwood floors, and I started to imagine pressing her face into it, making her lick it up like a dog - not today though, I thought, got to save stuff for later.
Once I was finished I put myself away, took my card from my wallet and thrust it in front of her eyes - 'clean this mess up, and then order up some pizza. I'm going to unpack.'
And with that I walked off into the bedroom, closing the door behind me, enjoying the power of the moment. This was indeed a good day, I thought as I started to hang up my shirts. The bedroom was virtually empty, but prepared for a guest. With hangers in the closet, bedding on the bed, and a pair of male slippers next to the bedside table, with its wooden lamp and offwhite lampshade. Clearly she had desired for someone like me to live here, and actually, now that I thought about it, the whole flat was like a stereotypical male flat, a professional bachelor pad, with just that one nondescript chest of drawers full of blouses and panties.
Naturally I would need sex toys, which I could buy online and would arrive tomorrow. Her clothes were largely non-provocative - her work gear, mostly - and so of course I would need to buy some weekend gear to humiliate her with. The camera would probably stay in the chest tonight, but I might give it a spin in the morning. All of these thoughts went through my head, as I slowly moved into the room, starting to add personal things, books, my ipad, etc.. It was really coming to shape. I mean - you know men, we're easily pleased, and we don't decorate, not really. The bed had bedposts, on all four corners, which might have been a coincidence or it might have been planned, but it was certainly useful. The closet was walk in, and spacious, and would definitely fit a small cage in it. I hadn't checked out the bathroom yet - though I would be using her as much as I could.
I think the unpacking took about half an hour. When I opened the door I found her kneeling by the sofa, everything seemed clean, and she'd removed her piss-dirty bra, not replacing it, presumably thinking that to be preferable given the earlier incident.
