Landlady Clare Ch. 02

Author's Note: This is a fictional story of an intense female dominant/male submissive relationship between a mature woman and much younger man. If you enjoy such stories, please read on - if not, please choose another more to your tastes. If you choose to read this story please vote and comment. Chapter One is necessary for a full understanding of this chapter. Thank you - FJ.

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"There is an element of truth in all legends," Professor Abraham Van Helsing, Bram Stoker's Dracula.

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Bill slowly regained consciousness.

It was a different feeling than waking from normal sleep. His mind was in a fog. He was disoriented. Opening his eyes took a conscious effort. He noted by the dim light through the window that it was early evening. He was on his back, in a bed - naked!

The room was dark, a warm yellow light coming from an open door. From that door came the aroma of baking bread and the deep contralto voice of a woman humming old Beatles songs.

The voice was comforting and reassuring, though he couldn't remember why.

It's Mother Marie he thought. I'm home!

Joy flooded him. Then he realized the voice was not like Mother Marie's at all. It lacked that subtle Eastern European accent. Bill's joy vanished.

The memories of the afternoon began forming - disjointed, intense, confused.

Bill pushed his mind through the dissipating fog and these vivid snippets coalesced into a coherent narrative of his afternoon.

He knew this place - it was his new apartment.

He knew the slightly sweet aftertaste in his mouth - it was her milk.

He knew the dry, sticky stuff coating his cock and pelvis - it was his semen and her cum.

He knew that voice, her voice - it was Clare!

Ms. Clare Stanfield - Bill's short, big titted, big clitted, voluptuous, fifty-something, sexually voracious landlady!

As he pictured this woman in his mind, his cock began to harden. Lying on his back, on his bed, naked - Bill recalled with a mixture of dismay and euphoria that she had fucked him into semiconscious sexual rapture not long ago on this very bed. The thought of which caused his prick to grow even more. The memory of his gentle nursing on her gorgeous breasts brought his dick to full stature.

Bill slowly stood up and began to walk towards the open door.

In contrast to Bill's confusion and fatigue, Clare was in a delightful, energetic mood. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this good - physically, emotionally, mentally and sexually.

Partly it was due to the just finished phone conversation she had with an old client who booked her services for tomorrow morning after an absence of six months.

But she knew the real reason was her new tenant - the handsome, strapping, compliant, six foot, 24 year old with the magnificent cock whom she could hear slowly stirring next door.

Clare was engaged in one of her favorite pastimes - cooking. While she preferred to roam her home sans clothes, she had learned that naked cooking was both inconvenient and dangerous. So, after sating herself with Bill, she wrapped herself in her cream colored silk robe, bound it at the waist with the bright red silk sash, donned her stilettoed heeled red silk slippers and protected it all with a generous floral print apron. She enjoyed cooking and those with whom she shared her bounty invariably became enthusiastic patrons of her culinary skills. She found cooking for herself tedious, but cooking for her new tenant renewed her enthusiasm.

She was putting the finishing touches on the first dinner she would make for 'her' man in over a year - lasagna, fresh baked bread and Caesar's Salad (the recipe for her dressing a closely guarded, and much sought after, secret).

While cooking, Clare had ruminated on the day's events. After her long, laborious search, she had found an apparently ideal tenant. He appeared inexperienced and naïve, both of which worked to her advantage. But, she sensed that he was no ordinary callow youth. There was seriousness and depth about him which she found appealing and which aroused her curiosity.

But she had piled a lot on his broad young shoulders very quickly - including forcefully initiating a sexual relationship on him and allowing him to nurse at her abundant lactating breasts - both activities which he seemed to crave and enjoy.

Still she knew she would be adding to the amount he had already absorbed this evening. As aggressive as she was this afternoon - a style her friends and clients knew well - she would need to be gentle this evening - a side of her she seldom revealed.

So when Bill slowly emerged from his studio apartment into her kitchen naked, sporting his fully erect penis, Clare pointed at it with a long handled wooden cooking spoon and simply said, "Good evening, sleepyhead. I hope that's for me. You're just in time for dinner."

Bill blushed and sheepishly explained, "I thought of you when I woke up and this just happened. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry my young man. You flatter me. But, until I can control that beautiful stick of yours, your default option in our clothing optional community had best be clothed," Clare answered lightly.

Bill smiled in relief and asked, "Do you like the Beatles?"

"Of course," she laughed. "They were 'The Band' of my teenage years," she continued.

Something struck Bill as odd about that remark. But, he didn't have time to figure it out, as Clare grabbed his attention.

"Be quick, Bill," Clare said. "You have a few domestic duties to perform for me before we sit down to eat."

Bill quickly donned slacks and polo shirt, returning to his landlady whose 'domestic duties' he hoped might include anything having to do with her delectable body.

He was disappointed however when Clare pointed to the dining room sideboard and directed him to, "Set the table. Open the bottle of Chianti and pour us each a glass."

Domestic duties to his landlady appeared to be much the same as those to his last foster mother. He was beginning to feel comfortable, at home. It had been six months since he had felt this way. It was a feeling he missed. It was a feeling he needed. It was a feeling he enjoyed.

Bill began setting the square, deeply stained wood dining room table. It was small enough to be intimate for two but large enough to comfortably hold the entire dinner Clare had prepared. In addition to training in such chores under the watchful tutelage of his foster mother, Bill had waited table to help make ends meet. He deftly set out the placemats, napkins, silverware and plates. He chose appropriate glasses for the red wine, opened the bottle smoothly and poured glasses for each of them.

Clare glanced at the table with evident approval and placed a sturdy wood block

in its center.

"Wash your hands, Bill," she directed as she returned to the kitchen.

Bill retreated once again to his apartment and washed his hands. When he returned, he saw the steaming lasagna in a glass pan placed on the wooden block, a loaf of warm white bread on a wooden cutting board accompanied by a bread knife, a crock of butter and a large wooden bowl containing the Caesar's salad and large wooden serving spoons.

Bill stood politely until Clare returned with the serving implements for the lasagna. She removed her apron. He pulled out her chair and helped position her comfortably.

"Thank you, sir," she joked with mock courtesy.

Waving to the feast present on the table Bill responded in kind, "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Dig in," Clare invited. "Consider this a welcome home celebration, Bill."

To her surprise, Clare saw tears welling in Bill's pale blue eyes.

Struggling to compose himself, Bill looked into Clare's large, gentle brown orbs and said quietly, "Thank you."

'Dig in' he did, for the meal was delicious.

They ate in silence for a few minutes when Bill surprised them both by offering a toast, "To us!"

Now it was Clare who fought for composure, simply raising her glass to meet Bill's and 'clink'.

"That was unexpected, but very welcome," Clare said to Bill. "In my home, family dinner was always a time of conversation. I look forward to repeating that tradition with you."

"Me too, Ma'am," Bill agreed.

As soon as Bill took his first taste of food he realized how truly hungry he was.

Clare allowed him the freedom to devour his first helping of everything without talking. She enjoyed the relish with which he polished off her culinary handiwork.

When he paused for refills, and to refill both their wine glasses, she thought it was time to converse.

"I promised a fuller explanation of our El Dorado community," she began. "In addition to being clothing optional it is also lifestyle optional - most of the options revolving around our sexual preferences."

Bill continued to eat, but at a slower pace. His attention was piqued by Clare's mention of sexual preferences. This interested him even more than the bounteous delicious food.

"Our community is very tolerant of differences, so you'll find a very wide variety of consensual sexual behavior here. There is a high value to privacy. But there are limits," Clare continued.

Bill nodded as he buttered another piece of Clare's warm, home baked bread.

"No children under 18 are allowed within the walls. No abuse of persons or animals is tolerated. Most intimate sexual activity is practiced within private residences," Clare added.

"I am outlining this tonight, because tomorrow morning you will be 'on your own' for a while. I have a client booked at 10 am. You and I will meet for breakfast at eight. By nine you will return to your apartment and I will bolt the door. You will be free to roam around your new surroundings. Take your ID card with you. You can use the facilities. Be respectful. Be discreet. Remember you represent me," Clare explained.

"Under no circumstances are you to notice or be noticed by my client. He demands privacy. Understood?" Clare asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," Bill acknowledged.

"You start work Monday?" Clare asked abruptly shifting gears.

"Yes, Ma'am," Bill answered.

"I've seen your clothes and they won't make a good first impression," Clare stated flatly. "We'll go shopping tomorrow afternoon after my client leaves. Be ready at noon," she announced.

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am," Bill responded, not at all dismayed by the off hand way Clare had taken control of the details of his life. In fact, it felt comfortingly familiar. It was something he had become accustomed to in Illinois.

Clare noticed. I am not the only one in this home keeping secrets she thought to herself. She would get to the bottom of this, but not now.

Clare noticed that Bill had stopped eating, apparently full.

"A cook is always gratified when her labors are consumed with such gusto," Clare said in a voice dripping with sexuality and double meaning.

"Everything has been delicious since I arrived" Bill responded in kind.

Laughing, Clare said, "That is always my intent. I will load the dishwasher and you will wash the dishes. When we're finished, you will fetch your laptop and we'll explore it together."

Bill blanched at her last demand, for demand it was. There were things on his computer he never expected to show his landlady.

Clare rose from the table and with a devilish grin directed right at Bill's worried face said, "Let's get these chores done quickly. I am looking forward to seeing everything."

"Yes, Ma'am," Bill surrendered meekly. He knew he had no choice.

Dishes done and dish washer loaded, Clare shooed Bill off to retrieve his laptop with a flick of her hand and told him to, "Come back naked."

She carried their refilled wine glasses to the plush loveseat in her living room. Sitting with her left arm on the armrest she waited for Bill.

A few moments later Bill appeared without clothes but clutching his laptop.

Taking the seat next to Clare he couldn't help noticing - and be disappointed - that Clare still wore her silk robe, though it had shifted to reveal more of her cleavage and rode up enticingly on her smooth, tanned thighs.

Without preamble, Clare clutched Bill's still hard cock in her small, sensitive right hand.

Bill sighed in pleasure at her touch and looked down at Clare questioningly.

"I have found through experience that the best lie detector in the world is my hand on a man's penis," she offered as explanation.

"Before we get to your laptop, let me address the elephant in the room - 'How can a woman of my age produce so much milk?'" Clare said.

Bill relaxed at this reprieve and focused his attention on his landlady - first to her kind, expressive, experienced face and then, inevitably, to her impressive breasts incompletely hidden by the single thin layer of her silk robe.

Suddenly Bill realized the inappropriateness of his staring in wonder and lust at his landlady's boobs and looked into her understanding, large brown eyes muttering blushingly, "I'm sorry, Ma'am!"

"Don't be, young man. I hope you will always stare at my tits the same way. It helps me feel young and wanted," Clare deflected his apology.

"Speaking of my age, how old do you think I am?" she asked him unexpectedly.

Though young, Bill knew he was now on treacherous ground. Tell a woman she was older then her actual age and you have given a mortal insult. Guess far too low and she know you are lying, insulting her again.

Trapped, Bill opted for the truth.

"My guess is you are about 50 years old, Ma'am," Bill replied simply.

Clare smiled warmly, "My friends think I am in my early fifties. That's close enough for now."

"In any event, a woman of my age does not usually lactate, certainly not with the vigor and volume I do," she laughed.

"The answer is simple. I have a prolactin secreting pituitary microadenoma," Clare stated slowly and clearly.

Bill stared at her lovely face with an expression of complete incomprehension.

"Did you understand anything that I just said?" Clare asked gently.

"No, Ma'am," Bill replied.

"The explanation is long and complicated. Here goes," Clare instructed, taking a long, lingering sip of her Chianti.

"The pituitary is the body's master gland. It controls the adrenal glands, thyroid gland, sex hormones in both men and woman, growth hormone and breast lactation amongst other things. It is located at the base of the brain in a bony cradle called the Sella Turcica. It sometimes has a benign tumor called an adenoma. Sometimes this adenoma will produce an excess of unregulated hormone with specific effects on the body," Clare explained from long experience.

Bill studied Clare intensely as she spoke. When she paused, he said nothing, having learned earlier that his landlady did not take kindly to interruptions.

Following another sip of wine, Clare continued, "I have a small pituitary adenoma, 'microadenoma', that produces unregulated excess quantities of prolactin which stimulate my breasts to constantly produce milk."

Clare paused once again studying the effect her words were having on this young man whom she was beginning to like and trust. She hadn't told him the full story, but it was enough for now.

Bill's face showed complete, intelligent focus on her words, as well as concern. Still he waited for her to continue. She was pleased by his discipline and the respect he was affording her.

"Do you understand?" Clare asked quietly.

"Yes, Ma'am," Bill answered directly.

"Please ask me any questions," Clare offered.

"How long have you had this benign tumor?" he asked without preamble.

"I was diagnosed twenty years ago, but my doctors believe I have had it for longer," Clare responded.

"Can it be removed?" Bill asked.

"Surgery is sometimes successful in removing the entire tumor, sometimes not. There are two ways to get at the pituitary - thru the nose and thru the skull," Clare explained.

Bill winced at the thought of what those procedures would entail.

Clare noticed and with wry humor suggested, "Neither were very appealing to me either."

"What about radiation therapy?" Bill asked.

"Sometimes, but there are many complications and it doesn't always work," Clare said.

"Can drugs help?" Bill systematically sought a solution to Clare's 'problem'.

"The drugs won't eliminate the tumor, but they can blunt the effects of the excess hormone sometimes. Unfortunately, they have undesirable side effects," Clare answered.

Clare had noted the worried expression on Bill's face. She also noted a slight softening of his dick held in her right hand.

"Given those options (and the fact the I derive great pleasure from my full lactating breasts, she thought to herself) I decided on no treatment. My doctors concluded that my breasts are likely to be swollen and full of milk for the rest of my life - which should be long and healthy," Clare concluded as she looked directly at Bill's face.

Busted!

Bill was of course relieved that Clare's health was not in danger, but he couldn't contain his continued lust at the thought that her large, succulent breasts would continue to produce so much sweet milk.

Both his face and surging cock - held in Clare's small, sensitive hand - betrayed to her how pleased he was that her small benign brain tumor was, for now, not going to be treated.

He felt guilty. Clare had welcomed him into her home and body! And he was more concerned about the continued sating of his perverse sexual pleasures than her health. It was shameful, but it was the truth. Though he was too mortified to say anything, he was sure Clare knew exactly how he felt.

Clare was exhilarated that Bill's lust for her tits had overcome his concern for her health. There would come a time, she hoped, when his priorities would be reversed. But she knew she needed to bind him quickly to her and she new exciting overwhelming lust for her was the surest way. She would use her lactating breasts to good advantage in capturing this young man's soul and do it with neither regret or guilt.

"Open your laptop,"

"Now what is your password?" Clare demanded as she kept a firm grip on his cock.

"SlaveBill," Bill uttered with embarrassment, reddening from his neck to his forehead as he typed it in.

"That's easy enough to remember," Clare laughed with a knowing smile on her full lips.

"Now let's take a quick look at what you like to store in this digital wonder," Clare said as she began to peruse his desktop. Typical programs, a browser and files seemingly randomly scattered about. Only one file caught Clare's sharp eye - a file labeled 'Fun' which was conspicuously locked!

"Click the file 'Fun'," Clare directed. "What is its password," Clare demanded.

Bill typed it in, moaned quietly and said in a subdued voice, "SlaveBillsDreams."

Clare was gratified by how quickly Bill had learned to unquestioningly obey, even when it was clear he would rather not. Clare scanned this folder to find twenty or so more folders nested within. These files had such names as 'gilf' 'dommes', 'cbt', 'spanking', 'hotwife', 'cuckold', 'water sports' and 'Marie'!

Clare slowly turned to face Bill who was in an agony of embarrassment, though his cock was now rock hard and beginning to leak precum.

Bill was panic stricken. 'That blows it!' he thought. 'This stunning mature woman, living alone, is not going to allow such a perverted young man to live in her apartment. She's going to toss me out right now. And I was so close....' his mind raced in ever deepening despair.

Staring him hard in his humiliated and frightened pale blue eyes, Clare recognized his panic. In her most soothing manner she took her small right hand, clutched the dome of his dick, collected his precum and began a slow, sensuous stroking of his rampant rod from head to base. Bill's body shuddered at her touch.