LandLady's Daughter

I recently scored a very nice promotion at work. Fair enough, too. I'd worked damned hard for it. The only problem with it was that I had to move interstate and settle into a new city.

Now in my opinion, moving into a new city and snapping up the first house you saw was a loser's game. You may find you're in the wrong neighbourhood, the place may be over-priced, local government might be the pits, anything could go wrong. So I settled into a boarding house while I acclimatised to the city and its environs. I figured I'd stay there until I found the right property. I could then move out with a week's notice.

My new land-lady was a quite presentable woman in her early forties, a widow with a young daughter, name of Belinda. When I say young daughter, she was eighteen and a real sweetheart. Appearances wise, that is. She had dark hair, brown eyes, a friendly smile that showed pearly white teeth, lovely, kissable lips, and a figure to die for.

Personality wise, she wasn't quite the same sweetheart. You meet a young lady like that and it's almost obligatory to make some sort of a pass. I, being a red-blooded male, naturally made said pass, in quite a polite way. I expected an answer of 'yes, please', or 'no thanks', accompanied by a polite smile. What I got was a succinct, "Fuck off, loser," accompanied by a scowl and a finger. I have to admit to feeling slightly taken aback.

I subsequently heard a couple of other tenants discussing Belinda. They seemed to be suggesting that she was a lesbian. I didn't really believe it, thinking it sour grapes. Just because a woman doesn't fancy them doesn't mean she's a lesbian. It just shows she's got good taste. Even the fact that she didn't fancy me doesn't mean she must be a lesbian. It just means that she has occasional lapses of poor taste.

I did keep a casual eye on Belinda, trying to ascertain any lesbian tendencies. It would have been a terrible waste of a fine figure of womanhood if she did. Anyway, I observed her with her friends and decided for myself that it was extremely unlikely that she was gay.

She was casual with her girlfriends, one of whom was certainly a lesbian. She was very flirtatious with any boys that came hanging around. (Non-resident men only.) She also liked to wear teasing clothing. She never wore anything really outrageous or in the 'rape me' category, but her outfits all seemed to show off an excellent figure to the best advantage.

I marked her down as an average young woman who was not interested in slightly older men. I was thirtyish, sort of halfway between her and her mother. I guess she saw me as an older man of her mother's generation.

I finally found the house I wanted, and it was about time, too, as I was getting sick of that boarding-house. As the house was currently sitting empty I negotiated a deal with the owners whereby I could move in straight away as a sitting tenant, the rental being factored in to the purchase price. That was fine by me. I handed in my notice at the boarding-house and started making preparations for the move.

I arranged to take a few days off work to sort things out and do the actual move. Part of the sorting out was the necessity to buy appropriate furniture and white-goods. The day before I was to wipe the dust of the boarding-house off my feet for good I received a little surprise.

It was the afternoon and I was under the impression that I was the only one home at the boarding-house, everyone else being at work. Even the land-lady had gone shopping. I strolled down and entered the guest's bathroom and found that someone else had assumed they had the house to themselves.

Belinda was already in the bathroom. This was a surprise for two reasons. First, I've never known her to use the guest's bathroom before. Second she was standing there, glaring at the door indignantly, without a stitch on. Oddly enough she didn't even try to cover up in the standard fashion. You know how it goes. You catch a girl with something showing and it's all squeals with hands dancing around trying to cover up. She just stood there giving me the evil eye.

I simply smiled and admired the view. She really did have a nice figure, even more so now that I could see it properly.

"An unexpected treat," I said happily. "My favourite kind."

"Get the fuck out of here, you perverted old creep," she snarled at me.

I'm like, hey, it wasn't me who left the bathroom door unlocked while I had a shower. She should have expected someone might walk in. It was the guest's bathroom, when all was said and done.

"Did you know you missed a little tuft when shaving?" I asked innocently, pointing to the little tuft at the side of her otherwise shaved mons.

"Fuck you, man. Stop looking at me and get out of here. If I tell my mother that you tried to molest me you'll find yourself out of here in no time flat. Then where will you be. Loser."

Why, I wondered, did she tack on the loser bit? Did she think only losers used boarding houses? And she may not have known it but it was a very empty threat. I was leaving for good the next day.

"Don't blame me for your carelessness," I reprimanded her. "You should have locked the door or used your own bathroom. There's no need to be rude to me just because you erred. Ah, maybe it wasn't an error and I've interrupted something. Are you expecting someone else?"

"No, I damn well aren't. I thought I'd locked the door. You should have fucked off back where you came from as soon as you saw I was in here. You probably knew I was and stuck your head in hoping for a free peep show. You're just a disgusting pervert and I want you out of here."

"Pervert? Just because I can appreciate a nicely shaped female figure? It seems to me that if I didn't appreciate one I'd be perverted. You have to admit, your figure is certainly worth perving on, even if you have missed that little tuft while you were shaving. Um, I'm assuming that it was missed and not some sort of fashion statement. Do young women leave little tufts like that? Maybe as a scoring mechanism, one for each man?"

It turned out that as well as being naturally rude, Belinda had a short fuse on her temper.

"Fuck off!" she yelled, and took a swing at me. I swear, if it had landed my head would have gone rolling out the door, leaving me on hands and knees, groping for it.

Now the bad temper I could excuse. She was in an embarrassing situation. The rudeness was not so easy to excuse. Politeness is always better. If she had politely asked me to leave I'd have done so. Rudeness, however, gets my back up. The offered violence was something else entirely, that I wasn't prepared to accept.

When she swung I saw it coming. I pulled back just far enough for her to miss, resulting in her being thrown off balance. I caught her arm and jerked, at the same time twisting around to sit on the side of the bath. She finished up lying across my knee, her bottom facing the ceiling.

I had the first spank landing before she even knew she was being spanked. There was promptly a flurry of squealing and flailing of her legs. Also, there was a good deal of swearing intermingled with the squealing, the swearing being directed at my person, my personality, my habits, etc. I just continued to deliver some more good spanks. (Personally, I considered this spanking well overdue.)

Either she didn't know how to struggle or she wasn't putting any real effort into it. It appeared her idea of resistance was squealing and waving her arms around while kicking her legs up and down. It was odd, because even if her struggling wasn't real, the spanking certainly was.

I wasn't just spanking her in silence. I was also giving her a little lecture about locking doors, being polite to guests, and eschewing violence, particularly against my person. (Violence against her in the way of a spanking was acceptable.)

Now the way Belinda was kicking her legs about did make her bottom a bit of a moving target. It was a genuine mistake on my part when I slapped my hand down on her pussy. Oddly enough, she didn't seem to notice, with that slap having no immediate effect. There was no loud protest about me touching her there. No clamping her legs together so it couldn't happen again. It might not have happened.

It took me a few moments before I noticed that there was a slight change to her behaviour. Her legs weren't kicking quite so wildly and it seemed to me that they were slightly further apart, as though she didn't mind me landing a spank on her pussy. I tested my hypothesis, slapping my hand down along her pussy again.

No protest, apart from the general cries of outrage that I would dare to spank her.

Maybe it was my imagination but the cries of outrage didn't seem quite so strident. A couple more slaps on her pussy and her squealing had almost totally died away, apart from a few pro forma protests. I also noticed that she seemed to be having some interesting physical reactions to the spanking.

The way she was squirming about, combined with her interesting reactions, meant I wound up keeping the spanking going for a little longer than I intended, including a few more swats to her pussy. Finally I called it quits and swung her to her feet.

She stood there in front of me looking at me. Both her breathing and her nipples were hard. I'd already noticed that her pussy was swollen, and had seen the moisture beading along her lips.

I deliberately looked her up and down, letting her see that I was looking, paying noticeable attention to her breasts and pussy. I stood up, flexing my shoulders slightly, making me seem even larger than I am, almost looming over her.

"Like I said, an unexpected treat is the best kind. I'm about to have one."

I undid my trousers and dropped them. She didn't say a word, although her breathing intensified slightly and her eyes dipped down to look at me.

"Turn around and bend over the bath."

Still without speaking she obeyed, turning and bending, her arms braced against the rim of the bath. She leaned there, legs nicely parted, lips pursed and waiting. I move up behind her, brushing my cock up and down her pussy, dragging the head against her lips, transferring moisture from them to my cock. I didn't need to part her lips, they were pursed and ready. I lined up and pushed into her. I didn't go all the way with that first nudge, just far enough to make sure that she was as ready as I thought. Finding she was, I drove roughly home, pushing all the way in with a long hard thrust.

"Oh, god, yes, fuck me," she wailed. "Show me you're the master. I'm sorry for being rude. Teach me a lesson. Take me harder. Oh, god, I'm sorry, I'll never be rude again, I promise. Punish me. I've been bad. Oh."

My initial impression was, ye gods, what have I got myself into? However, never let it be said I shirked my duty. If she needed to be punished, punished she would be.

It seemed self-evident to me that a gentle loving that would bring Belinda to a sweet climax would simply cause her to regard me with contempt. She wanted forceful, so forceful was what she would get. I drove into her hard, just simply pounding away at her. Every so often I'd deliver a firm spank to her bottom, just to remind her of who was in charge.

She lapped it up. She matched me stroke for stroke, humping her tail hard as she put all her efforts into keeping up with me. Perhaps not all her efforts. She seemed to have enough energy to wail out appropriate apologies, both for current wrong doings, any way she might have offended me in the past, and additional apologies for future errors. Mingled with the apologies were pleas for me to show her who was boss, demanding I go in harder to punish her more. The only thing I didn't get was a plea for mercy.

It is quite simple to just take a woman hard and fast. The trouble is to make sure that the adjective of fast only applies to the way I move, not for the whole event. So while moving hard and fast I was struggling to prolong our session. Fun, but nerve-wracking.

Her pleas and apologies eventually dried up, being replaced by little screams of excitement, these coming faster as her climax approached. Seeing she was nearly ready I stopped. (And, geez, that took some effort.)

Belinda was all horrified, "What, what, what?"

"Are you really sorry?" I asked pleasantly.

"Yes!" came the frantic scream.

"Really and truly?"

"Yes! Oh, god, what are you doing? Yes, I said."

"Alright then," I murmured, and drove home hard.

It only took a few moments and Belinda was climaxing, absolutely groaning with relief. I felt like groaning myself as I climaxed, but we masterly types don't do that sort of thing. Strong and silent, that's us.

When we had both recovered a little from our exertions I turned to Belinda and frowned.

"While I'm here," I told her, "I'll be keeping an eye on your behaviour. Just so you know, I have a riding crop in my case. Any mischief from you and you just might feel it. Understand?"

She nodded quickly, eyes shining. I'll be damned if just the thought of the riding crop didn't almost make her climax again. I couldn't help but wonder, if I picked one up later in the day, could I come up with an excuse to use it before I left the next day?

I turned on the shower and stepped in. As an after-thought I ordered Belinda to join me. After all, she needed another shower and I needed someone to wash me. I was impressed at the care she gave to being a handmaiden.