Realtor Revenge Pt. 07

Realtor Revenge is the sequel to Real Estate Games. For the full experience, I suggest you start with Part 1 of Real Estate Games.

***

Realtor Revenge

Chapter 7

Dinner with the Chinese

Mark did it. Despite his propensity to fuck every woman he met. Even with his annoying habit of offering my body to half the male population of Merryville. He managed to buy every available piece of property in town. And not a day too soon.

The day after we signed the last contract, the first contingent of overseas buyers showed up. A dozen Chinese checked into the Merryville Inn that afternoon and met with Mark and me for dinner at the Sharper Knife that evening.

The nine men and three women were all conservatively dressed in what looked like recently purchased business attire. Only two of our visitors spoke English. Sheying Li, a petit woman in her late twenties, was their official interpreter and Zhuoli Kang, the senior member, an engineer who had studied in the states, had an adequate grasp of our language. I sat next to Li at dinner and, with her help, was able to carry on the semblance of a conversation with the rest of my table. It wasn't the most enjoyable dinner party of my career, but the customers seemed to enjoy themselves. I considered it a success... until the unfortunate incident towards the end of the evening.

The wait staff was taking our dessert and coffee orders when one of the Chinese men made a big production of presenting Mark with a box of tea... hand carried from China. Being the good host, Mark asked a waitress to bring in hot water and cups so we could all enjoy the special tea together.

Now I'm not a tea drinker. Hot, iced or otherwise. So, when they brought me a cup of hot water and one of the award-winning tea bags, I politely declined and asked for a cup of coffee.

From the reaction of every oriental in the room, you'd thought I stripped naked and deep throated the waiter. All conversation stopped. All eyes turned toward me.

"It is very excellent tea," Li whispered into my ear.

"I'm sure it is," I said. "I just prefer coffee."

I heard a chair slide across the floor and looked up to see Mark walking towards me.

"A moment of your time Miss Hardwood," he said beckoning with his finger.

Mark led me to a small alcove in the back of the restaurant, hidden from public view. I turned towards him, expecting a quick explanation about the importance of tea in China. Instead, he pushed me against the wall, grabbed me by the throat and lifted me off the ground.

"What I am doing is far too important to be fucked up by you," he growled through clenched teeth. "Refusing a gift, even as small as a cup of tea, is a huge insult to Orientals. From this day forward, you will follow the customs of every client we bring to town. If they eat goat, you eat goat. If they wear dead cats on their heads, you ask where you can get one. And if they offer you a cup of seaweed tea, you drink it and ask for more. Do you understand?"

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to enthusiastically nod my head and admit to my error. But I couldn't, because he had a death grip on my neck.

Realizing my predicament, but unwilling to lower me to the ground, Mark shoved his right hand under my dress, pushed my panties aside and shoved two fingers inside my vagina. He kept his left hand on my throat but slowly transferred the bulk of my weight to his right. I was far from comfortable, but at least I could breathe again.

"I... I'm sorry," I gasped when air returned to my lungs. "I didn't know."

"Didn't know or didn't care," he said and dropped me to the floor. "Take a few minutes to compose yourself and then get your ass back in there and apologize... like your life depends on it."

***

Three more weeks. That's how long until the city council approved the corporate tax breaks. Once that was done, I would no longer need the services of Mr. Mark Seiman. Burying the man alive was too good for him. I'd have to find a more agonizing way to end his life. Maybe Flanagan had some ideas. He usually did.

***

The Scenic Route

First thing on the next morning's agenda was a tour of the now deserted car plant. The Chinese hoped to take it over and Mayor Stuffit was happy to be their host. After two hours of looking at idle assembly lines, vacant offices and empty storage areas, I was ready to move on to something else... anything else. But the Chinese engineers had more questions than the caretaker staff had answers. Mark wasn't invited on the tour, which gave me an opportunity to leave early... using the excuse that I had to supervise preparation of the following luncheon with the full city council.

There were two routes from the plant back to Merryville. The four-lane expressway or a slightly longer, but much more scenic, country road. It was a nice day, I had plenty of time, and I drove a Porsche.

I took the scenic route.

The blood red Mustang convertible with the top down pulled up behind me about a mile after I left the plant. It insisted on driving three feet from my rear bumper despite several opportunities to pass. The sun's reflection off his windshield prevented me from seeing the driver's face but, whoever it was, he was pissing me off. There is a pecking order on the open road and a twenty-five-thousand-dollar Ford does not have the right to tailgate a hundred-thousand-dollar imported German sports car.

I down shifted and punched the accelerator to the floor, quickly putting a football field between me and the asshole in the Mustang. But as soon as I backed off the speed, the Mustang was back on my ass.

I tried it again. Down shift. Punch it. Make the Ford a dot in my rear-view mirror.

Just when I thought I'd finally taught my stalker a lesson in highway etiquette, the Porsche quit accelerating. In less than a minute, I went from just over a hundred down to forty. The Mustang was catching up and I couldn't figure out what was wrong with my ride. I rounded a corner and hit a three mile straight away which led directly into town. If I could coax one more burst of speed out of my traitorous car, I'd be back in civilization.

It wasn't to be. No matter what gear I selected, even with the gas pedal on the floor, the car insisted on going forty miles per hour. Not thirty-nine, not forty-one. The needle never wavered from forty.

The Mustang quickly caught me and switched lanes to pass. I pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Not only did the jackass in the Ford get the better of me, but now I'd have to take an hour out of my day to take my car to the shop... an hour I didn't have.

Instead of blowing by me, like it should have, the Mustang slowed and pulled up beside me... obviously planning to do or say something obnoxious. I was getting my one finger salute warmed up when I glanced over to discover the driver was a woman... without a stich of clothing. Her blonde hair looked like it hadn't been brushed in weeks. Her skin was so white it was almost transparent. And, as if all that wasn't on the far-right edge of the fucked-up scale, her hands were chained to the steering wheel. But she wasn't just any pale, naked woman chained to a blood red Mustang convertible.

She was Janis Moorehead.

I only saw her for a few seconds. She pulled alongside my misbehaving Porsche, gave me a wink, and then sped off. But a few seconds was all I needed to recognize the woman I had personally placed in the grave two weeks earlier.

My Porsche returned to normal a couple of minutes after the Mustang encounter. I considered racing after her but decided instead to take my car to the dealership. The short-lived inability to go over forty was my primary concern, but I also wanted them to check out the air-conditioning. It had to be malfunctioning. Why else would the inside of my car be freezing when it was at least eighty outside?

***

A Porsche and a Pasture

I explained what happened to the mechanic, leaving out certain details. He gave me the all too familiar 'Lady, you don't have a clue what you're talking about' look and told me he'd "check it out". Which most likely meant he'd charge me a hundred dollars to drive it around the block... sometime later that afternoon.

"I need a ride," I told Flanagan when he finally answered his cell.

"Is your car broke?"

"Sort of. I'm at the dealership on Main."

"Won't they give you a loaner?" he asked. "A high-end place like that usually does."

"They offered but I'd rather you take me."

"Where are we going?"

"To the pasture."

'Pasture' was code for the field where we buried Janis. We agreed to not call it a 'grave' or 'burial ground' on the phone or in public places. Just in case somebody was listening in.

"You mean where we had a picnic two weeks ago."

"Exactly."

"Why? Did you leave something valuable there?"

"I hope so."

There was no way I was going to tell Flanagan I saw Janis in a red convertible. He was already doubting my claims of hearing noises and a voice under my bed. If I reported a Janis sighting, he'd be convinced I was hallucinating. But I had to make sure.

Neither of us had been back to the grave since we put her in it. What if somebody followed us out there and then dug her up after we left? Or maybe Flanagan was wrong and whoever owned the field came back and discovered her. I didn't think there was a way she could free herself from the chains and then dig her way out of the ground. But it didn't hurt to look.

"I'm missing a bracelet," I told Flanagan as he drove me to the pasture. "It's not valuable but it has my name engraved inside the band."

"Do you think you lost it when we buried Janis?" he asked. "Because if somebody discovers the unmarked grave of a missing person, the first thing the police will do is search the surrounding area for clues."

"I don't think so but, just to be safe, we should check out the ground."

As soon as we drove up, I had my answer. The weeds growing up around the grave proved the ground hadn't been disturbed. She was still there.

I pretended to search the area for my non-existent bracelet while Flanagan checked to make sure the air pump was functioning.

"Everything still working?" I asked.

"Seems to be."

There were two air passages to the casket. The one at Janis' head was attached to the pump and brought in fresh air. The one by her feet let stale air escape. Flanagan put his ear to the exit tube and listened.

"Can you hear anything?"

"Not much. Maybe a moan now and then. It's hard to tell if it's Janis or I'm hearing the pump. Do you want to listen?"

"No thanks." My dreams are bad enough already. The last thing I need to hear is her whimpering in the grave.

I didn't care if she was dead or alive. The point of the trip was ensuring she was still in the ground, something we'd already confirmed. Which was a good thing. I sure didn't want a live Janis Moorehead running around town. But it also brought up the slight dilemma of my sanity. If Janis was laying six feet below me, who's voice did I hear under my bed at night and why was her doppelganger driving around town naked?

Flanagan drove me back to town and dropped me at the luncheon venue, just as the City Council and Chinese contingent were leaving.

"Where the hell have you been?" Mayor Stuffit demanded. "I thought you were in this with us."

"I had some car trouble," I answered, not bothering with an apology. "Did the council approve their tax breaks?"

"Yes. But not willingly. We agreed to let the Chinese operate tax free for twenty years. I don't know what kind of dirt you've dug up on the council, but it must be damning. They just sold out the next generation of Merryville."

"Tell them to get used to it. They'll have to do it twice more before this is over."

***

My next stop was back at the Porsche dealership... where I got fucked.

"I thought you said there was nothing wrong with it," I complained when I saw the $785.36 bill. "What did you find?"

"Nothing obvious," the service coordinator explained. "We couldn't duplicate what you said happened earlier today. Just to be safe, we ran it through a diagnostic, changed out all the filters and reloaded the software. I personally took it for a test drive, and it now runs better than the day it first hit the road."

"How about the air conditioning?"

"It's working like a champ," he said. "I turned it all the way down until it felt like I was driving a meat locker."

"That was the original problem. I was freezing in the car."

"Do you need a lesson in how to adjust the temperature?" he asked.

"No. Just give me the damn keys."

Like I said. I got fucked. Just like every other woman in the world gets raped when she gets her car worked on. No, they didn't bend me over the hood, pull my pants down and shove a monkey wrench up my twat... but they might as well have. When this was all over -- when I ruled Merryville -- I'd find a way to shove the proverbial wrench up the ass of every man who ever took advantage of me.

***

Chinamen

The next morning, I went to Mark Seiman's temporary office, trying to put the events of the previous day out of my mind. His three-room suite, over a bakery on Main Street, used to be occupied by a group of therapists. While a good percentage of Merryville -- possibly including me -- needed some sort of mental health assistance, very few could afford it. So, the counselors moved out and Mark took over.

"It's done," I told Mark as I walked in. "The council approved the tax breaks for the Chinese."

"Excellent," he said. "Now we can start making some money."

We spent the next couple of hours going over which houses we would show to the Chinese and the prices we would ask. I didn't understand why at the time, but the Chinese would only buy houses in the northwest section of town.

While there were only nine people in the original contingent, there would eventually be just short of a hundred Chinese families moving to Merryville over the next few months. Apparently, the advance nine would pick out the best houses in their section of town and then allocate them 'according to their needs'.

"Are you saying the new Chinese families won't be allowed to pick out their own homes?" I asked Mark when he explained how the process would work.

"Apparently so. The workers won't own the houses they live in. The company will hold the leases and assign one to each employee."

"Suppose the family doesn't like their house?"

"The company we're dealing with is controlled by the Chinese communist party. They are interested in efficiency and don't give a damn if their workers aren't totally enthralled with their free lodging. Don't feel sorry for your future neighbors. I suspect any house in Merryville will be a huge improvement over where the Chinese workers live now."

Thanks to the closing of the previous car plant, there were over a hundred fifty empty houses in the Chinese sector alone... nearly all of which Mark owned. We had only one week to show each house to a member of the Chinese contingent. To make matters worse, the Chinese could only spare two people a day to the "house hunting" detail. The rest spent their time at the plant determining what changes would be required to "turn it into a modern manufacturing facility".

Mark and I decided to divide and conquer. We split the list of available properties and Chinese house hunters between us. That meant I had a different Chinaman in my car every day. Most of whom didn't speak a word of English.

My first house hunting companion was a forty something gentleman named Shiyi Jiang. Jiang stood about five foot six and I doubt if he weighed more than a hundred ten pounds. I had an inch and at least twenty pounds on him. Yet, despite my size advantage, he wasn't a bit hesitant to trespass into my personal space. We weren't three miles down the road towards our first showing when he rested his hand on my knee. I politely moved it back to his side of the car and then kept my right hand on the gear shift as a sort of barrier between the two of us.

When I opened the door to a three-bedroom colonial, the first house on our list, he grabbed both of my ass cheeks and held on until I had to forceable move him away. Once inside the house, his hands found my boobs... at which point, my knee found his balls.

I didn't kick him very hard. I had plenty of experience with overly amorous men and knew exactly how much force would scare them off but not do permanent damage. But, from the way Jiang screamed, you'd thought I'd castrated him.

The next thing I know, Jiang is on his cell phone talking at double warp speed in Chinese. Not two minutes later, my cell rings and it's Mark.

"It's not even nine in the morning and you've already pissed off one of our clients. What in hell is the matter with you?"

"There's not a damn thing wrong with me. The client attacked me. I did what comes natural."

"Jesus Raven, weren't you listening when I explained your duties? You are to do whatever it takes to make this client happy."

"You surely don't mean I have to let him molest me all day long."

"Whatever it takes."

"You're an asshole."

"And you're seconds away from losing the biggest deal of your life."

"Fine. So, what do you expect me to do?"

"What your mother did when you got a booboo. Kiss it and make it better."

"There's no fucking way I'm going to --"

He hung up. The asshole told me to blow the Chinaman and then hung up.

Jiang either spoke more English than I thought, or he was extremely proficient in reading body language. Because, when my conversation with Mark abruptly terminated, he had his pants down around his ankles and a shit eating grin on his face. Knowing what was expected, I slowly walked over to him, dropped down to my knees and inspected the damage. Just like I thought, the only injury his manhood suffered was rejection... which I was about to remedy.

Following Mark's instructions to the letter, I leaned forward and kissed the tip of Jiang's cock. Then I took him in my hands and kissed up and down the shaft until it raised up and accepted my apology. My tongue was next. Up the pole, around the tip and then back down. As I continued licking his growing erection, I gently caressed his balls with my hand until I sensed he was ready to move on. Still holding his balls (wishing I had the strength to crush them with my bare hands), my lips surrounded his cock head and I slowly let more and more of him into my mouth. Luckily, the length of his aroused penis was proportional to his height so, when my nose came into contact with his belly, his dick didn't quite reach the entrance to my throat.

The man didn't last long. Very few did with me. I caressed him with my tongue, hummed a few bars of "God Bless America", and then prepared for what I knew was coming.

Jiang didn't impress me as a "pull it out and come on a woman's face" kind of guy. He was more of a "grab her by the back of the head and squirt down her throat" man.

Which he did.

I took Jiang to thirteen houses that day. At each house we visited, he spent ten minutes jotting down notes and then another twenty abusing my body. He was especially fascinated by my boobs, which I guess made sense since they were three times larger than what the Chinese women were carrying around in their bras. Who would have thought that a grown man would take such delight in stroking, squeezing, licking, kissing and sucking twenty pounds of excess flesh covered fat? After the fourth house, I left my bra in the car. With him taking it off and me putting it back on at each house we looked at, we were wasting way too much time.

I wouldn't say he eventually got tired of fondling my tits, but after he titty fucked my cleavage for the second time he discovered a newfound fondness for my pussy. Apparently, mine was the first cleanly shaven puss he'd seen... or felt... or licked... or probed. And while he seemed reticent to caress my boobs while I was driving, he saw no reason why his fingers couldn't be in my snatch while we transitioned from one house to the next.