It had been a shitty day.
I stood by the stove, waiting for the water to boil. Dinner tonight was pasta with butter. Plain, but I didn't have the money to fancy it up.
Hence the shitty day.
My car had blown up outside of town as I drove to the store. The tow truck driver had been nice enough, a cute kid in his early twenties working a summer job. We had had a nice conversation, I thought.
Then we got here, and shit hit the fan. I feel like tow truck companies should warn you that you're going to have to pay up front. But he hadn't, and the ride was expensive, and I had found myself offering a blow job as payment. I think I surprised myself as much as him. But I knew how low the balance in my account was. I figured he'd jump at the chance.
The water came to a boil, and I dumped in the noodles. I picked up the wooden spoon and stirred.
He had jumped at the chance. Sort of. Except he had wanted more. And he had blackmailed me, threatening to tow my car to some garage where the guys were happy to take their payment in sex. In the end, I agreed to almost all his terms: I dressed in lingerie. I did a strip tease until I was naked. I got down on my knees and sucked his cock. Twice.
A decent guy would have said, okay, that was fucking brilliant, thank you, we're square. But he had fucking taken videos of me with his phone. And he had threatened to upload them. No. He had fucking uploaded them, but kept them private. "Give me a good show," he had said, "and I won't want to share them." Bastard. What choice did I have?
I kept stirring. The water was cloudy, and a thin foam was at the surface.
And because I had, like an idiot, handed him my keys and forgotten to get them back, he had snuck in while I was showering, trying to wash the shitty day off of me. Then he had fucking raped me. I mean, I ultimately enjoyed it; I admit that. But he had still fucking raped me.
And then had the gall to suggest that his boss, by coincidence my landlord, would want more of the same later.
It had been a shitty day. And it didn't look like it would be picking up any time soon.
I plucked a noodle from the hot water and tasted it. It was done. I poured the pasta into a sieve, and put it back in the pan, mixing in a pat of butter. I ate it straight from the pan. One less thing to wash.
I went back and lay on the couch. Yes, today had been a bit on the kinky side. And if it had only been the one afternoon, well, maybe I could just brush it off and move on. It wasn't like I had been a virgin, or never engaged in a little kink. But the asshole kept my keys and said he'd make copies. That he'd come by whenever he wanted and do whatever he wanted. At least he was going back to school in two weeks.
My landlord, Mr. Sheldon, was a different story. I had noticed him checking me out, of course; he was a lech. But the rent was cheap, and he had always left me alone.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Who else would be visiting me?
My afternoon molester had suggested I wear something skimpy when Mr. Sheldon came a-knocking. Maybe nothing more than a bra and panties. Yeah, right. I knew they'd be swapping stories, and the shithead driver had said he'd go for my ass if I didn't do what he said, so I opted for skimpy: short shorts, a tight, white scoop-neck shirt that made my large breasts prominent, and nothing else.
"Coming," I yelled. I got up and slowly walked to the door. I looked through the peephole. Sure enough, Mr. Sheldon was standing there. He was short, bald, slightly overweight. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
I opened the door. I was surprised to see that he was carrying a bottle of wine and a laptop. He made no effort to hide his leering gaze.
"Mr. Sheldon?" He looked up from my breasts with a start. "Can I help you?"
"Shelly," he said. He looked to his side, quickly. "May I come in?"
"Of course," I said as I stepped back and motioned him in. I closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, crossing my arms.
"I don't know if you know this, Ms. Foster, but I run a tow truck company." Really, I thought.
"Turns out one of my drivers gave you and your car a lift today."
"I guess so, Mr. Sheldon," I said. I had kind of resigned myself to this, but I didn't feel the need to just strip off my clothes and fuck him there.
He cleared his throat. "He said you had to make special payment arrangements."
"We came to an agreement," I said.
He leered. "I'm sure, Ms. Foster. He's a very understanding kid." Yes. A real fucking prince.
"Did he say what was wrong with the car?"
"A busted clutch."
"Oh? Did he tell you how much those cost to fix?"
"He said a few hundred dollars."
I was surprised when Mr. Sheldon let out a laugh.
"If you're lucky," he said. "Going rate is usually around eight hundred dollars." My heart sank. "Most people just buy a new car. It's not worth it to fix up the old one in that case." New car meant car payments. The new clutch would have to do. Still, I wondered when he'd get to his point. Because we both knew what his point was.
He started to move down the hallway. "May I sit down, Ms. Foster?"
"Of course," I said.
He limply held out the bottle. "I brought some wine; would you like some?" I nodded. Might as well be as shit-faced as possible for this.
I turned into the kitchen, got down two glasses, and poured the wine in. Rather more in mine than his. But I didn't think he'd mind me being drunk. I carried them out to the living room.
"Come join me," he said. I sighed. He was sitting on one part of the L-shaped couch; I placed the glasses on the table and sat down on the other, facing him. Then he patted the seat to his left.
"Why don't you come over here, Ms. Foster, so I don't have to shout." I sighed and moved over, throwing myself onto the couch. I was near him, but he'd have to make an effort to touch me. He didn't move. I leaned forward to grab my glass and sipped.
"Well, you know," he said. "I hate to see my tenants in distress." No, I didn't know that. I turned my head to look at him.
"And, well, you know," he continued, "I do own a garage. I could take care of your clutch. Work some deals; try and get you a good price." I turned my head again, looking at the far wall. I knew what was expected of me.
"That's very kind of you, Mr. Sheldon, but I don't even have the cash for the price your driver suggested, let alone something more."
