Once upon a time, there was a girl named Stacey, who lived in a small apartment near the downtown diner where she worked as a waitress. Stacey was a blonde Midwestern beauty with big blue eyes, a cute button nose, and full red lips. She possessed a wholesome charm that immediately made her a hit with the gentlemen. But neither a winsome smile nor a bubbly personality made her quite enough money to cover the rent.
"These all-natural double dees, on the other hand, do bring in plenty of tips," interjected Stacey.
For some baffling reason, our heroine could hear the narrator! She sat up in bed on her maroon covers, confidently thrusting forth two magnificent breasts of the declared cup size. She wore a white tank-top that barely covered them, displaying the faint outlines of her nipples.
"It's the same reason I let the occasional slap on the ass go by," she continued. "It pays for this."
Stacey proudly held up a crisp check for SIX-HUNDRED SEVENTY-FIVE and 0/100 DOLLARS, made out to the apartment management in neat cursive handwriting. But little did our heroine know, regardless of any flip eyerolling she might be casting the narrator's way, that if she could not honor the check, she would find herself at the mercy of a lusty landlord: desperate circumstances from which she could only free herself by—
"Getting banged," cut in Stacey impatiently. "You're all reading this, hoping my check bounces and this somehow turns into a porno where I end up 'making the rent' by getting banged every which way. Wait, is that the title? Seriously?"
And so, one late morning, after a particularly exhausting night shift at the diner, Stacey woke up to the sound of loud, angry knocking at the door. Who might it be?
"Yeah, um, still awake. Remember, I was talking a second ago?" said Stacey, mildly annoyed, as she hopped off the bed. "Obviously, that's Frank. You know, the apartment manager? Or the 'lusty landlord,' for you imaginative types?"
Our heroine's firm, shapely buttocks, covered by nothing but a lacy, emerald-green thong, swayed enticingly as she went out to the living room to answer the door.
"Emerald? What am I, a leprechaun?" she snorted. "These are jade. But thank you; I work out a lot. God, wait a minute, I'm coming!"
She opened the door. It was indeed Frank the manager, as Stacey through blind coincidence managed to guess. Frank was a tall, handsome man: early thirties, dark hair, muscular build. He had, however, an unfortunate mustache that granted him the aura of a sex predator, and repulsed Stacey to no end. A lecherous grin spread across his face, amplifying his creepiness.
"Hey Frank," greeted Stacey with a fake smile.
"Hello Stacey," replied Frank, hungrily ogling the pretty blonde tenant before settling, puzzled, on her purportedly jade-green thong. "Why are you in your underwear?"
"I don't know, Frank," sighed Stacey. "I didn't write this ridiculous story. Now, is there something I can help you with, or are you just here to check my Brazilian wax?"
"You know why I'm here," said Frank, giving her bikini line a double take. "Your rent's past due again. If you don't settle up, I'm gonna have to start eviction proceedings."
Our heroine gazed open-mouthed at Frank for a few awkward moments.
"Frank," she said with affected calm, "I paid the last three months on time, though I don't know why I bother; I've been telling you forever about that leaky faucet. Anyway, here's next month," she said, waving the dubious check in Frank's face. "And besides, you guys both know it's not even the first today, right?"
"Who were you talking to in there?" asked Frank, confused, as he took the check.
"Never mind," sighed Stacey. "The point is, I'm not short on rent money this month. I'm not in 'desperate circumstances,' and my check isn't gonna bounce, so if you came here to act out some absurd wet dream about bagging a big-breasted blonde, I'm afraid you're gonna be disappointed. So if you could just take that check and be on your way, it would be much appreciated."
Our heroine stood there, hands on hips, awaiting the manager's answer. After a few seconds of silence, he broke unexpectedly into laughter.
"Wow, I always knew there was sexual tension between us, but I had no idea it was so intense on your end!" he exclaimed, punctuating his point with a satisfied grunt. "Don't worry about this check, baby," inserting the paper lengthwise into Stacey's ample cleavage. "You don't have to be ashamed about your bank account. Lucky for you, there are other ways for a young lady with a banging bod to make up the difference."
"Wait, what?" asked Stacey plucking the check from her heaving chest. "No, no, no. I said this check would cover the rent. And... 'heaving?' Really?"
Stacey slowly backed into the apartment as Frank triumphantly made his way through the door. As it was quickly turning out, being a sarcastic know-it-all mattered little when one was the subject of a steamy sex story—someone whom everyone was very keen to see put through her paces.
"Oh, fuck you," retorted Stacey as Frank eagerly wrapped his hands around her bare waist. "This plot makes no sense. I got paid last night. Why wouldn't I have enough money to—"
Frank hushed Stacey with a finger to her lips. Stacey was finally beginning to understand that things were getting sexy whether she liked it or not. She was finally beginning to imagine what lewd male fantasies she would now be subject to; what lascivious acts she would soon be reduced to performing; in what positions she would willingly be—
"Yes, I get it!" snapped Stacey, slapping the useless check on the kitchen counter. "I'm gonna get railed six ways from Sunday. I'm gonna get banged out all over this apartment. I'm gonna do all the nasty shit that pervy creep tells me to do, and I'm gonna moan like a slut while I'm doing it—exactly like I said I wasn't, because apparently I'm in some really poorly written smut."
Our heroine breathed sharply, having vented—accurately—about how her morning was about to turn out. Frank looked on in bafflement for a moment, then shrugged in agreement with her description of events and started to unbuckle his belt. Stacey threw up her hands in exasperation.
"Fuck it," she said, lifting her tank top to reveal big, perfect tits tipped with cute, round nipples. "It's your lucky day, Frank. God, that mustache... Looks like I have to swallow my words."
"Oh, believe me babe, you're gonna be swallowing a lot more than words in a minute," replied Frank predictably, admiring her impressive bust as he dropped his trousers.
Stacey rolled her eyes and managed an openly fake laugh at the easy retort. She dropped to a kneeling position as Frank approached her, striped boxers visibly tenting up from his growing arousal at the sight of her massive, jutting breasts. She reluctantly pulled his underwear down—and barely dodged the massive cock springing out before her face.
"Suck my dick, bitch," commanded Frank.
Stacey groaned in disgust, but nevertheless wrapped her lips around his cock. Frank moaned in pleasure as he enjoyed her expert fellatio: the exquisite suction of her luscious lips as she bobbed up and down on him; little flits of her delicate tongue over the throbbing head; and slow, decadent licking along the underside of his rock-hard shaft. It was clearly not her first time doing this sort of thing.
The rear view of this scene showcased our heroine's flawless ass squatting rhythmically into that tight thong (allegedly jade-green, but doubtful, given its owner's batting average on other matters). In any case, it was hardly the picture of a woman who, just minutes before, ridiculed the notion that she was a whore.
Stacey's right hand shot up in reply, middle finger extended in contempt—by necessity a nonverbal response, given the massive cock occupying her mouth. Stacey's new daddy, however, took the gesture as a request, as our heroine herself put it, to "get railed six ways from Sunday."
"Daddy? Really?" protested Stacey, finally pausing from her curiously enthusiastic blowjob to object to a wholly fitting description of her new relationship with her apartment manager.
"That's right, I'm your daddy now," confirmed Frank. "Now be a good little slut and crawl over to that couch. I'm gonna give you that nice pussy pounding you've been begging for."
"No, I... wait, I didn't mean," stammered our heroine, attempting vainly to debate the need for a nice pussy pounding, but readers may rest assured: her daddy would not hear of it.
"I know you're all wet for this cock. Come on baby, get on your hands and knees," he demanded. "I want to see you wag that pretty ass of yours as you crawl."
Stacey sighed in frustration, but she obeyed. She spun around and got on all fours, presenting her perfect buttocks to Frank, who gave her a firm spank to send her on her way. As our heroine slinked over to the sofa, her daddy followed, stroking his cock as he ogled her lovely rear end. Suddenly, Frank grabbed Stacey by her lustrous hair and tossed her face-first onto the sofa.
"Shake that fine ass for me," he ordered.
Of course, Stacey had not planned on shaking her fine ass for Frank because she had been too busy gabbing about immaterial plot holes. But like every other erotic act in the story, it was going to happen, with or without any dirty looks cast at the narrator. So shook her ass she did—so well she'd put dancers in a rap video to shame.
"You know what's gonna happen now?" teased Frank, unbuttoning his shirt to a hairy chest.
"What?" asked Stacey as she twerked, pretending not to know the consequences of putting on twerk shows in front of furiously masturbating gentlemen.
Frank silently raised an eyebrow as Stacey looked back at him: although our heroine had thus far conducted herself just as a "good little slut" should, she had for some reason not addressed the apartment manager by his new appropriate title. She rolled her eyes and sighed sharply.
