Real Estate Games Pt. 12

Welcome to the world of Realtor Games.

If this is your first visit, you might want to start at the beginning... part 1. While each part can be read as a stand-alone story, they will make a lot more sense if you read them in sequence. To get to part 1, click on my pen name - "Aaroneous" - and it will take you to a list of all my Literotica stories.

If you are a returning reader, welcome back. This chapter takes a playful look at yet another genre of erotica. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

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Realtor Games

Part 12

666 Flogger Way

Since we spent a lot more time on Full Moon Court than I expected. I suggested we delay our next appointment to the following day. Not to be. Mark was a man on a mission. He was hell bent on buying every available piece of property in town and apparently screwing every available woman ... except me. So, we drove to a two-story colonial in a nice neighborhood on the east side of town.

Mary Catherine Pope met us at the door wearing a conservative dress which hung well below her knees. A row of buttons started at the waist and extended all the way to her neck. Nary a button was undone. Her hair was done up in a school marm bun, her face completely devoid of makeup. Her only jewelry was a small diamond ring snugged up against a thin wedding band. The thirtyish woman peered at us through wire rim spectacles, like she was appraising whether we should be allowed in her house.

"Janis Moorehead... from Southside Realty," I said with my hand outstretched. She didn't shake it or respond in any way. "I called earlier," I added as she continued to inspect me, a frown indicating she either didn't approve of the length of my skirt, the cut of my blouse or realtors in general.

"Come in if you must," she finally said.

I introduced Mark and tried to say something nice about the house, but nothing came to mind. Walls of a nondescript color surrounded a large entry which featured a half dozen poorly framed pictures, all of a religious nature.

"My husband's not here," she blurted out. "Gone to a prayer meeting. But he said you could look around, just make sure you don't touch anything."

Mark took that as an invitation to go exploring and disappeared upstairs, leaving me with the socially challenged homeowner. Mary Catherine led me into a side room right off the entrance which was furnished with a piano, two chairs and a wall of built in bookshelves... half of which appeared to be bibles, the other half hymnals.

"I sing in the choir. That's why there's so many song books," she explained. "You should go. To church. Maybe it would make you change your ways."

I choked down the impulse to say something extremely snarky and, instead, just nodded my head. Like I agreed with her. Which wasn't a total lie. I probably should have considered both going to church and changing my ways.

"That man upstairs--" she began.

"Mark?"

"Yeah. I bet you think he's pretty good looking."

"Yes, now that you mention it, he is rather handsome."

"You should be careful. The devil is deep within him. I can sense it. If I was you, I'd let one of the men realtors show him around the houses from now on."

"I'll keep that in mind, but for the time being, he's my client and so far, he's been a very good one. As a matter of fact, there's an excellent chance he'll make an offer on your house before he leaves."

"Not likely," she said. "Several people already seen the house and none of them want to buy it. Some even had the nerve to say it was haunted."

"Is it?" I asked, half in jest.

"I only believe in one ghost. The Holy Ghost. Being haunted by Him is a good thing."

"So why are you selling?"

"Same as all the rest. There's no jobs in Merryville."

Thankfully, Mark came down the stairs to rescue me from the inane conversation. He poked his head into the room and motioned for me to follow him.

"Excuse me for a minute," I said to Mary Catherine. "My client wants a word in private."

"There's something wrong with this house," Mark whispered once we were in the living room.

"Yeah. It's owned by a complete wacko."

"Besides that. They're missing a room."

"It's listed as a four bedroom. Did you only find three?"

"No. There's four bedrooms upstairs; all nice sized. But look at what they got downstairs. A kitchen, small living room, laundry area and the music room. There's a lot more square-footage upstairs than down, which shouldn't be possible."

He went back to the entrance hall and paced the distance from the front door, through the living area, to the back door. Then he paced the living room, wall to wall.

"I think I got it figured out," he said and led me to the music room where he repeated the maneuver, pacing the distance from one wall to the next.

Mary Catherine nervously nibbled on an unpolished fingernail as she watched in silence.

"Five paces," Mark mumbled to himself. "We're missing five paces, that's about thirteen feet."

He went up to the wall of bookshelves, visually inspected a few, and then pulled a large one off its shelf."

"I told you not to touch anything," Mary Catherine yelled. "Get out. You are no longer welcome here."

Mark reached into the space where the book used to be, fumbled around for a second or two, and then stood back as an entire section of shelving rotated towards us. It was a secret door, leading to a hidden room.

Mary Catherine ran to the rotating shelf and tried to close it. But Mark was already inside.

"If you don't leave immediately..." she began.

"You'll what?" Mark said. "Call the police? I'm sure they'd love to see what you've got in here."

She turned to me. "You brought him here. Make him leave," she begged. "He's got no right to be in there."

"First off, I can't make Mr. Seiman do anything. And if he's going to buy your house, he's entitled to see it all, every room."

"Miss Moorehead," Mark called through the half-opened bookshelf. "You've got to come and see this. You too Mrs. Pope. I want you in here as well. As much as I wouldn't mind spending a few hours in here alone with Miss Moorehead, I don't relish you closing the door behind us."

I waited until Mary Catherine reluctantly trundled into the mysterious room and then followed.

Unlike the rest of the house, this room had a fresh coat of paint. The flooring was upgraded to a highly polished hardwood finish and, instead of religious pictures, the walls, ceiling and floor were covered with whips, chains, cuffs, and other assorted sadomasochistic paraphernalia.

"Oh my God," I said after taking it all in.

"Do not blaspheme in my house," Mary Catherine said.

"It looks like that wouldn't be the worst thing ever done in here." Mark held up a picture of Mary Catherine dressed in nothing but a leather corset. She stood with a whip in one hand and a leash in the other. The gagged, naked man at the end of the leash cowered under the pressure of a spiked heel ominously placed in the middle of his supine chest.

"Your husband perhaps?" Mark asked.

"He is a sinner who needs constant punishment."

"And what would his sins be?"

"Lusting after the flesh," she said.

Mark shuffled through a stack of similar pictures. "It seems your husband is the only one in the house who gets punished."

"He is the only sinner in the house," she said. "At least until the two of you entered."

"That is not for you or me to determine," Mark said.

"God has already made his decision about you, me, my husband and your harlot. The two of you are destined for an eternity of suffering when you leave this earth. I can only hope that, with my help, my husband will avoid your unfortunate fate."

"And you've got a reserved room in heaven?" I asked.

"Not a room, a mansion... as it is written in the good book."

"We'll see about that," Mark said with a sly grin. "So, let's get down to the business of me purchasing your house."

"You still want to buy it," Mary Catherine said with surprise.

"Of course, I do. This little play pen of yours could be a major selling point... for the right-minded buyer. Hell, I might even keep if for myself. What do you think Miss Moorehead? Would you like to move in here with me?"

"Only if you're the one chained to the wall," I answered.

"Well, we can discuss our future later. Right now, let's get to my favorite part of the job. Negotiating."

"The price is three hundred ninety thousand," Mary Catherine said.

"Which no one is going to pay, especially if you don't show them this extra room. I'll give you three fifty," Mark countered.

"Impossible. Three hundred eighty thousand is our rock bottom price."

"Mrs. Pope, this is usually where I walk out the door. But neither of us wants that."

"I don't care if you buy the house or not. In fact, I'd just as soon you didn't. Nothing would please me more than to be rid of the both of you."

"That may be the case with me, but Miss Moorehead is a professional realtor. She has an obligation to ensure the information about each house up for sale is correct. And yours isn't. So, as soon as we leave, she will update the MLS to show an additional room. Being the competent professional that she is, she will also describe, in detail, how the room is decorated. There might even be pictures involved."

"Are you trying to blackmail me Mr. Seiman?"

"On the other hand," Mark continued. "If you accept my offer, we are duty bound to not discuss anything that occurred during the negotiation process. Once you move out, I can turn this little torture chamber of yours into something a bit more benign before I resell it. Nobody will have a clue as to what the previous, God fearing, church going, residents did behind these soundproof walls."

"So, I have no choice. Either sell to you and lose our investment or refuse your deal and lose our reputation."

"There may be a way to keep both your investment and reputation," Mark said. "Mrs. Pope, do you enjoy playing games?"

It was a rather simple game which involved a pair of dice and Mary Catherine's naked body. Her arms reached over her head. Each hand cuffed to chains protruding from hefty hooks attached to the ceiling. Her feet were planted firmly on the floor, secured shoulder width apart with additional rungs and chain. Mark and I couldn't take credit for the set up. We simply copied one of the pictures of her husband.

Mark threw the dice one at a time. The first die determined how many lashes, the second where the lash would be applied. One for the thighs. Two for the butt. Three for the back. Four for the boobs. Five for the tummy. Six for the pussy. I was in charge of choosing the weapon. We took turns delivering the punishment.

Each roll of the dice raised Mark's offer by a thousand dollars. She could quit any time before a roll and maintain her newly acquired price. But once the dice were on the table, she either took the appropriate punishment or the price went back to his original low-ball offer.

"A two followed by a four," Mark said after his initial roll. "That's four strokes on the ass. Miss Moorehead, choose your weapon."

I picked out a wooden paddle and brandished it in front of the restrained woman.

"Mrs. Pope. For a thousand dollars, do you consent to four strokes on the ass?"

"You will rot in Hell for this."

"I appreciate the commentary, but a simple yes or no will suffice."

"Yes," she shouted. "I am protected by the arm of God."

Mark gave me the nod and I gave her the paddle... smack dab in the middle of her right ass cheek. She cried out, mostly in shock... I didn't hit her very hard. The next blow was to her left cheek, which she took without a sound. I repeated the process -- right cheek and then left -- each a little more forceful than the next. I didn't mind causing the holier than thou woman a little discomfort, but I certainly had no intention of inflicting any permanent damage.

"Very good," Mark said to me and then looked directly into Mary Catherine's glaring eyes. "Shall we continue or are we done?"

"Roll the dice Satan. I am doing God's work."

"Four and five," Mark said after rolling. "Five strokes to the breast."

It was Mark's turn to play. I didn't know how hard he would hit her, so I selected something that didn't look overly lethal; a flogger with a short handle attached to a foot of horsehair.

Mark's first blow was almost a complete miss. The outer tips of the horsehair barely grazed her right nipple. I thought he was just being careful, but the second attempt brought the same result to her left side. He shifted positions and swung again. This time the whip made just the slightest contact with both nips in a sideways sweep. The last two strokes were underhanded, each one designed to only tease the underside of her rather substantial breasts.

When he was done, her nipples stood proud, like the end of a pool cue. Her previous glare of hatred transformed into a look of confusion.

The next roll resulted in six strokes to her surprisingly toned mid-section with a riding crop, followed by a single blow to her pussy... administered by Mark using a feather tipped device which was apparently intended for more pleasure than pain.

It didn't take me long to figure out my role in the game. I was the bad guy. I striped her back with a cat of nine tails, reddened her ass with a paddle, and tortured her thighs with a cane. When it was Mark's turn to administer the "punishment", the first die always came up four or six; boobs or pussy.

Shock, shock. Mark was cheating. Neither Mary Catherine nor I could see the dice, but it soon became obvious he was just making it up as he went along. Letting me spread the punishment around her body while he did his best to make the woman respond positively to his touch.

After several more rounds of pain and pleasure, Mary Catherine was having trouble keeping the two separate. Her cries of anguish when I smacked her ass with a riding crop transitioned to moans of enjoyment as Mark teased her breasts with a fur lined paddle. I pummeled her thighs with a leather strap, but she still spread her legs wide to provide Mark's tongue optimum access to a rapidly dampening nether region.

I'm fairly certain her husband experienced extreme discomfort during their exploits in the hidden playroom. I doubted she received any gratification from her efforts, other than leading him down the painful road of righteousness. However, when she was finally on the receiving end of the lash, it appeared as if she finally realized what she was missing.

Until we were rudely interrupted.

Two of Marks fingers were exploring her g-spot and I was just about to administer yet another blow to her already pink ass when the whip was forcibly removed from my hand.

"Get your damned fingers out of my wife," the man shouted.

A command Mark readily obeyed, since the man, who I assumed was Mr. Pope, was the only one with a whip.

"And you." He pointed the weapon directly at me. "You will stand back."

Which I certainly did. All the way back behind Mark.

Then he turned to his naked, spread eagled wife, raised the whip over his head and said, "I have waited many a year for this moment."

"Silence husband. You know you are not to speak to me in this room unless I command it. Release me from my bonds and grovel at my feet."

Whack. The whip sang through the air and stung her back with a dozen strands of pointed leather.

"That was before. But will never be again," he yelled.

Whack. The second blow, a backhand to the mid-section silenced Mary Catherine's attempt at a retort.

"Bring me the cane," he commanded me.

I looked at Mark. He shrugged his shoulders and then gave a sideways nod towards the requested implement. I fetched the four-foot wooden stick and delivered it to Mr. Pope, who we later learned was named John.

He took a couple of practice swings, making the air whistle as it passed close to his wife's back side. Once satisfied with the feel of it, John brought it to bear against her lower calf muscles.

Whack.

"No," she screamed. Her knees bent and she would have fallen if not for the restraints on her wrists.

"Stand and be silent woman. That is but one blow compared to the thousands you have delivered to me."

Whack came the second cane blow, just inches above the first.

"You said I deserved the punishment. Said you were beating the lust from my body."

Whack. Another strike, higher still. Almost at the back of the knee.

"But look at you."

Whack.

"Your teats are pointed like the horns on a demon."

Whack.

"Your woman place drips like a seeping wound."

Whack.

"And even now, as I give you the cure that you once gave to me..."

Whack.

"...you still have the look of wantonness in your eye."

"Yes Husband," she cried. "I see it."

Whack.

"You are right Husband. These people are God's messengers. They are to be obeyed."

Whack.

"You are to be obeyed."

Whack.

"Thank you, Husband."

Whack.

"Thank you, my savior."

John had worked his way up Mary Catherine's back side, leaving red zebra stripes from her ankles to her ass. He was repositioning himself to repeat the procedure on the front of her anatomy when Mark stepped up and took the cane from him.

"You've made your point," Mark said. "You're pissed at your wife for beating the crap out of you, but you can't keep doing this."

"You don't understand," John said. "I've put up with her shit for ten years. I need restitution."

"There are other ways," Mark said. "Let my associate release her while you and I talk."

Mark led the visibly shaken man out of the torture chamber, leaving me to attend to the confused body of a religious zealot who had just discovered her masochistic yearnings.

I'm not an expert when it comes to locks, chains and handcuffs. Sure, I'd been tied up a few times in the past, but I was never the one doing the tying. It took me several minutes to free Mary Catherine from her bondage.

"I don't know what to do," she told me once the manacles were gone. "I feel as if my entire life has changed."

"Are you afraid that your husband will continue to beat you?" I asked.

"No," she said after a moment of contemplation. "I'm afraid he won't."

"You want him to beat you?"

"Not as hard as he did today. But when you and Mr. Seiman were doing it... It was the closest to heaven I have ever felt."

I thought back to the events in my life the past week and nodded in agreement. Mark Seiman did have that effect on people.

Mary Catherine and I discussed her possibilities and came up with a plan.

Several minutes later, Mark poked his head into the hidden room. "You two about ready?" he asked.

"Just about," I answered. "Give us a minute and we'll meet you at the kitchen table to sign the papers."

When I first entered the hidden room, I forced Mary Catherine to go ahead of me, ensuring she wouldn't trap me inside. When I finally emerged, I preceded Mary Catherine, holding a leash attached to her neck. She dutifully followed, on all fours, wearing only the collar.

Mark and John were already seated at the kitchen table. I gave Mary Catherine's leash to her husband, sat down and began the long paperwork process of selling a house. I noted all the details, explained all contingencies and made sure he understood which closing costs were his responsibility and which Mark would pay. But I don't think I had his complete attention. Because I will wager gold coins to peanuts that this was the only time in real estate history a man simultaneously signed a sales contract while experiencing his wife's first attempt at fellatio.

***

The Pig Sty

Exhausted from the day's activities, I drove Mark to his car and planned on going directly home. Two miles from my condo, a local bar-b-que place caught my eye as I drove past. Realizing how hungry I was, and knowing the barren state of my refrigerator, I made a tire squealing U-turn and pulled into the Pig Sty.