Real Estate Games

Return to

Sundress Street

Overjoyed that the pink, furry cuff was no longer attached to my ankle, I went home for a shower, band aide, and change of clothes. Knowing Mark's fondness for eating other's people's food, I was looking through my listings, trying to remember which one had a well-stocked kitchen for our next showing, when I got a call from the owner of the house on Sundress Street.

"I'd like to make a counteroffer," she told me after going through the usual pleasantries.

"Are you sure? That might not be a wise move in this depressed market."

"What can it hurt? The worst the buyer can do is turn it down and make me sell ten thousand below asking. Isn't that how the game is played?"

"I'd normally agree with you. But this particular buyer doesn't always play by the rules."

"Well let's give it a try. And I'd like to meet the buyer."

"I don't recommend that at all."

"That's what all realtors say. But you can trust me. I won't do anything stupid. This isn't the first time I've sold a house."

My next call was to Mark Seiman.

"You got to be shitting me," he said. "Ten thou below asking for that house is a gift."

"She says she wants to play the game."

He chuckled. "Okay. Set it up. Let's see how badly she wants to sell."

Nancy, the owner, was eager to make the deal. "Give me an hour to clean up a bit and I'll meet you both here."

"Okay. But at the end of the day, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Warn me of what."

"I don't know. We'll both find out in an hour."

1103 Sundress was where Mark made me steal a dress and panties. I considered bringing them back but thought better of it. Especially since the dress was still covered in fruit stains and the midnight marauder had absconded with the panties.

Mark grumbled about missing lunch but was only a couple of minutes late arriving at the house. Nancy met us at the door wearing a flared skirt and fitted blouse. She talked continuously for five minutes, showing no promise that she would stop any time soon.

"We're on a bit of a tight schedule," I finally said when she paused to breath.

"Of course. I understand completely. Thank you for coming over on such short notice," Nancy said. "I'm sure we're all eager to settle on a price and move on."

"No," Mark replied.

Nancy and I waited. Mark remained silent.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," Nancy said when it was apparent Mark wasn't going to elaborate further.

"I already made you an offer. You turned it down. So no, I am not eager to settle. But I am looking forward to moving on... to a buyer who understands the current market."

He stood and turned his attention towards me. "What's the next property on the list?"

"I, uh. I can show you something over on Palm Avenue. It's just a couple of blocks down."

"Let's go. We're just wasting time here." He walked towards the door.

"Wait," Nancy said. "I didn't mean to offend you. Your original offer is fine. I'll sign the papers right now."

"Too late. I made an offer. You countered. I refused. The deal is off." He opened the front door. "You coming Miss Moorehead?"

"But I was just playing the game," Nancy whined. "Nobody accepts the first offer."

"Do you enjoy playing games?" he asked.

"I don't necessarily enjoy it. It's just part of life."

"Finally, something we can agree on. But I contend that the game of life can be extremely enjoyable. Would you care to try again?"

"On the offer?"

"And the game."

"I guess so. What do I have to do?"

"It's actually very simple --"

I've heard that line before. This girl's in a heap of trouble.

"-- I'll buy your house for my original offer with one additional contingency. Besides the already stated requirements to not divulge the sale until the end of the month and to keep our negotiations confidential, I want you to also remain motionless and silent for thirty minutes."

"That's it? The original offer and I can't move or talk for half an hour?"

"No matter what happens around you."

"Agreed. When do I have to do the quiet, still thing?"

"Right now. Miss Moorehead, would you mind accompanying us to the kitchen? And bring a copy of the original offer."

I dug the requested document out of my briefcase and followed the others into the kitchen. Mark had already moved all but one chair away from the breakfast nook table.

"You sit here Miss Moorehead." He motioned to the remaining chair. "And I want you to stand at the opposite end with your elbows firmly planted on the table," he said to Nancy.

She looked confused but did as he said.

Mark took the printed offer from me and placed it on the table directly in front of Nancy. "This is to remind you of what's at stake. If your elbows leave the table or you say a single word, this document is null and void. There will be no second chance. Do you understand?"

She nodded her head in agreement.

"And you, Miss Moorehead, will be the referee. If the seller raises either elbow even an inch above this wooden surface or makes any noise that resembles something in the English language, you are to call a foul and the game will be over. Do you understand your duties?"

"All too well," I answered.

"Excellent. I'll set a timer for thirty minutes and the game will begin."

He used the built-in microwave as the official scoreboard clock. Nancy's back was to it, but I could clearly see the time remaining from my vantage point.

"Thirty minutes starting now," Mark said as he pushed the start button.

Mark rummaged through the kitchen drawers as Nancy stared at me with an amused look on her face.

I tried not to gasp when Mark approached her from behind, stripped to his boxer shorts with a sharp knife in his hand. I put a finger to my lips in warning, but she still flinched when he first touched her. She momentarily relaxed as he used both hands to massage her shoulders but when the hands dropped down to her back, around her sides, and then to her breasts, her eyes glowed with the first hint that she might be in for more than she expected.

One by one, skilled fingers undid blouse buttons until her C cups were fully exposed. She nearly came off the table when her peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the knife. But I rested a hand on hers and she settled back onto her elbows, watching the sharp implement slice through a blouse sleeve all the way to the collar. The blouse simply fell away from her back after he repeated the procedure on the opposite side. She couldn't see the knife cut through first one bra strap and then the other. But the results were obvious when the brassier joined the blouse on the table.

Nancy had nice boobs. Slightly smaller than mine, full without swelling, with optimally sized and shaped nipples. The soft globes fit perfectly in Mark's hands. The nips extended between his fingers and hardened as he manipulated the flesh above. He played titty tag for a few moments, gave them one last squeeze and then a playful slap before abandoning them for other pursuits... like her skirt, which he lifted above her waist in jest before pulling the zipper down and finishing with the knife.

My vantage point didn't give me a direct view of Nancy's ass. But if her flat belly and shapely thighs were any indication; it was assuredly toned and well rounded. Mark apparently agreed with my assessment. Her thong quickly suffered the same fate as the rest of her clothes and ended up on the table, next to the knife.

Mark retreated back to the kitchen. Nancy looked down at the shredded clothes piled in front of her and then at me. She mouthed the words 'how much longer'. I glanced at the timer and held up two fingers on one hand and five on the other. I purposely let my eyes follow Mark when he returned with a bottle of cooking oil, letting Nancy know that round two of the game was about to begin.

He took his time, spreading the oil on Nancy's back, upper arms, boobs and belly. He knelt when covering her calves and thighs, taking time to kiss and lick as he went. Her ass received special attention as did her shaved pubis.

Nancy's expression went from smug superiority, when her clothes were still intact, to fear, as the knife did its dirty work, and then to disgust, as her body was coated in oil. But her elbows remained on the table and her mouth clenched closed. She couldn't see Mark, so her accusing stare remained on me, as if I was implicit in her shame.

We both knew what was next. His boxers dropped to the floor. Her hips initially hid his manhood from my sight but not for long. I leaned forward, peering through a valley of hanging cleavage, to get my first glimpse as it poked between her legs. She couldn't see it, but the concern returned to her expression when I gasped, realizing just how big of a man Mark was. The helmeted head slowly slid past her vaginal lips, brushed against her clit, and just kept coming. When his short hairs finally flattened against her ass, his lower eye was staring directly at her navel.

At that point, Nancy had to know Mark's cock was on the larger side of normal, but she hadn't seen it yet. Good thing. Because if she had -- if she laid eyes on the fence post Mark somehow concealed in his trousers -- she would have run from the room, screaming at the top of her well-formed lungs.

Oh my God. Was that thing really in me last night?

I asked myself.

With her feet on the floor, her elbows on the table and her ass in the air, Nancy could only feel the stiff snake that slid between her legs. I can merely imagine how it felt. His hands massaging her magnificent breasts while her clit got the same treatment from his cock. Each stroke of his hips plowed a slightly wider path through her outer lips. Her torqued jaw relaxed. Eyes that once looked at me with contempt lost focus. Her once rigid hips swayed in response to his. And the long, thick pole that started with a light covering of oil was soon dripping with a more natural form of lubricant.

His hands transferred from her breasts to her waist as he backed off slightly, preparing for the final assault. Her eyes momentarily regained focus when his oversized tip paused at her dripping entrance. She jerked when it first entered but somehow managed to keep her elbows in place. He paused for nearly a full minute to let her get accustomed to his size and then started a slow thrust inward.

He gave her half of his length and then withdrew, only to repeat the process. Slightly deeper. Slightly faster. Her eyes closed. Her breathing accelerated. Her mouth formed a perfect O as a soft moan escaped. I was momentarily distracted as her tits swayed invitingly with each thrust, but when the next moan almost sounded like "Yes, Fuck Me", I knew I had to do something to keep her from breaking the vow of silence.

Stuff something in her mouth

.

I looked at the objects within arm's length. Bra, blouse, thong, knife, and real estate contract. The thong was the only realistic option, so I plucked it off the table and shoved it in her mouth. Right idea, but not enough material. Her grunts were still semi articulate, and she spat the inadequate undergarment out of her maw and onto the table. I needed something bigger. Like a pair of pink cotton panties, with sufficient fabric to cover a slightly larger than average butt... or completely fill a woman's mouth. I raised my ass from the chair, pulled my undies off and stuffed them into her mouth. Then, to make sure she couldn't spit them out, I used her thong as a gag, wrapping the thin elastic around her head, twice, to ensure my panties stayed put.

I don't think she noticed. For the next several minutes, Nancy's entire universe centered on her cock-filled pussy. I could have stuffed my entire outfit down her throat, to include the two-inch heels, and she wouldn't have cared. As long as his gargantuan erection stretched her like a crowning baby, she was oblivious to the rest of the world.

He quickened his pace, making her boobs dance violently back and forth and then in an odd circular rotation. Her muffled grunts and moans competed with the rhythmic slurping sound of his piston like assault on her soaking wet orifice. Her head shook, her eyes turned white, and her entire body quivered as the first orgasm hit. I grabbed her arms to forcibly keep her elbows on the table. She fought me, trying to raise up... until the second wave of pleasure swept over her body, quickly followed by a third. Sapped of her strength, Nancy finally accepted her fate... a stream of uncountable sexual peaks that only ended when Mark, with one last thrust, which nearly lifted her off the floor, released a torrent of man juice directly into the exhausted woman's womb.

It was done. I glanced at the clock to realize the thirty minutes had long expired. Mark extracted his spear. Nancy collapsed on the table, boobs down, elbows still on the wood. I unwrapped her thong and removed my panties from their temporary home.

She took several deep breaths before asking, "Did I pass? Are you going to buy the house?"

"Yes," he answered. "With a considerable assist from my realtor."

He gave me a sideways look. I flipped him the bird.

Nancy stretched her arms over her head to grasp the edge of the table but, otherwise, didn't move.

I didn't know the accepted protocol. Didn't know what was expected of me after my client demolished the self-esteem of a seller by bringing her to multiple orgasms on the kitchen table while I watched. But I bet Mark knew.

"What's next?" I mouthed over the prone woman's sweaty, panting body.

Mark didn't answer me directly, which was not a surprise. Instead he wrapped Nancy's near comatose body in a blanket and carried her towards the bedroom.

Surely, he's not going to do her again

.

Thirty minutes later. After I wiped the excess oil off the floor and table. After I tossed Nancy's ruined clothes in the trash. After I put the knife back in its drawer. After I debated what to do with the thong and panties. Thirty minutes after Mark carried Nancy to the bedroom, they re-emerged. He fully clothed, she in a robe. Her wet hair was wrapped in a towel. The robe hung open in the front, giving me a clear view of oil free boobs. The smile on her face hinted that she had help in the shower.

He led her back to the scene of the crime. Back to the kitchen table, which I had sanitized of all evidence... only the printed offer to buy her house remained. She sat in the same chair I used to witness her total humiliation. He produced a pen. She signed on the dotted line. Ten thousand below asking.

No yelling, screaming, or threats of lawsuits. She didn't call him an opportunistic asshole or me a gold-digging bitch, even though we deserved it. Instead, when she escorted us to the door, she gave me a boob crushing hug and Mark a tongue-initiated tonsillectomy.

"Wow. That is one happy client," I said as we walked towards our cars.

"When possible, I like to leave my business associates satisfied."

"Instead of chained to a bed?"

He stopped and turned to face me. "You really need to put last night behind you."

"I will, as soon as you admit to your part in the affair."

"Tell me Miss Moorehead. Whoever it was that visited you earlier today, did he scratch your itch? Curl your toes? Fill the void? Did you spend the wee hours of the night moaning in pleasure or screaming out in pain?"

"I thought it was you."

"Which I will assume means pleasure instead of pain."

"Is that your excuse for what you just did to Nancy? An orgasm justifies the coercion? The end justifies the means?"

"An oft demeaned quote but accurate just the same. I'm glad you're finally catching on."

"To what? That you're an asshole who degrades women for your personal pleasure?"

"Call me what you want. But both you and your client got exactly what you wanted today. Not every transaction will be this easy."

He opened my car door and watched as I slid my panty-less ass into the driver's seat. "Where are we having dinner tonight?" he asked.

"I'm eating in my condo, alone. You're on your own." I slammed the door shut and drove off.

Surrender Court revisited

The soiled bed sheets from my previous night's activities were still in the trunk of my car. Rather than worry about having them cleaned, I opted to stop off at Bed, Bath and Beyond and purchase what I hoped would be a similar set. They didn't have an exact match, but what I got would be close enough.

My next stop was the Southside Realty office where I tried to explain to my broker how I managed to sell three houses in one day.

"Actually, one of them was from yesterday," I told her. "But I was tied up for most of the evening and then had other showings today..."

Having told a sufficient number of lies to my boss, I drove back out to Surrender Court to make the bed and ensure I didn't leave any further evidence of how hard I worked for the sale.

The house was still locked when I arrived, so I retrieved the key from the realtor's lock box and let myself in. I struggled getting the fitted sheet around the king-sized mattress but had just about conquered it when I heard an "ahem" come from the behind me."

"Returning to the scene of the crime Miss Moorehead?" Officer Flanagan asked with a grin on his face.

"As far as I know, bed making is not against the law," I answered.

"Breaking and entering is," he said.

"I'm a realtor. I'm allowed --"

"You're allowed to show people the house," he interrupted. "I don't think that includes midnight orgy privileges."

"Why are you here?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation in another direction.

"Silent alarm. You forgot to turn the security system off."

Crap

"Don't worry, as soon as I saw your car, I told dispatch it was just an overzealous realtor and not a burglar."

"Thanks," I said.

"Are you open for a little advice Miss Moorehead?"

"Sure."

"I'm not saying you did anything wrong here last night, but if you're trying to keep whatever it was that happened from the owners, you might want to wash those brand-new sheets before putting them on the bed."

"How can you tell they're new?"

"Look at them," he said. "Even stretched tight across the mattress, they still have creases from being folded in the package. And if the owners climb in bed in the dark, they'll still know something's up because new sheets are stiff before they're washed."

"You're saying I should wash the sheets before putting them on the bed?"

"It's just a suggestion," the good-looking cop said.

"But that will take at least a couple of hours."

"I'm off duty as of fifteen minutes ago," he said. "You had dinner yet?"

I put the new sheets and my dress in the washer while he ordered pizza. In the forty minutes it took the pizza to come, I came twice. Returning the favor, while Officer Flanagan enjoyed a slice of peperoni pie, I devoured his mighty meaty. The washing machine buzzer went off just before Flanagan. I put the clothes in the dryer and then let him put it in me... many times... in several positions. I was still sopping wet when the clothes were dry, but he looked pretty wrung out, so we took a break and made the bed... and then made it on the bed.

"You still got those dirty sheets in your trunk?" he asked after I put the last throw pillow in place.

"I do. Why do you ask?"

"I thought we might meet here tomorrow night and wash them."

I laughed. "Probably not a good idea. The owners come back tomorrow. But now that you mention it, I'm reminded about something you said to me this morning. Can you really use the... uh... stain on the sheets to figure out who it came from?"

"If you're asking about doing a DNA match from semen, yes, it's possible. But I'd have to have a legitimate reason to request it and a sample for comparison."

"How about I get you a sample and you come up with a reason?"