Servicing the Tenants Pt. 01

"Is it fixed?" she asked.

"No," I told her. "Hang on a minute." I collected my things and closed the hood, then got back in my car. "Robyn, I suspect your alternator's bad. I'm going to pull out, and I want you to follow me to the shop I use; they're not far from home, and Harvey is both very good and as trustworthy as they come. I'll call them to let them know we're on the way. We'll let them check the car over and give you the verdict, then I'll take you home."

"Iain, what am I going to do without my car?"

"Robyn, I'm just working around the building today and tomorrow," I said. "If they can get you in and out quickly, you're welcome to borrow my car for a couple days. If it's going to be longer, that might be a problem, but if nothing else, I know they have rentals. Trust me, it's going to be OK."

"OK," she said, and I could hear her calming down.

It was indeed the alternator, and they were able to replace it (and the battery) by midday Friday. I got Robyn home and delivered her into the pampering arms of the Campbell sisters, hanging my car key on the hook by their front door. She took my car the next morning; I walked down and picked hers up when it was done. She'd left me with the money to pay for it. When she got home, she stopped by my apartment to trade keys. "Thank you," she said, then kissed me softly on the cheek.

That evening, Robyn met me at her door wearing the same amazing black dress she'd had on the day we met, with wine-red stockings and heels--the sort of shoes Crystal liked to call CFM heels. "Oh, my holy--" was my stunned, semi-coherent response.

"Mmmm," she purred, "that was the reaction I was going for."

The first thing out of my mouth was, "Do you like to dance?"

Her face lit up. "I love to dance," she said eagerly. "Do you?"

"Yes, I do," I told her. "I have to know--can you dance in heels like that?"

"Yes..." she breathed.

"Then we have to go dancing after dinner. That dress... I really want to dance with you in that dress. I want to feel you dancing in that dress."

"Mmmmm, baby," Robyn said in a smoky voice, "keep talking like that and you might get a chance to dance with me out of it, too." I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say to that, so I kept my mouth shut. She gave me a small smirk and took my arm.

On our way to the restaurant, she said, "I don't feel like I've thanked you enough for all your help yesterday. I didn't know what to do, and I didn't want to be standing out in that rain for who knows how long... and my sister had a bad experience once with a tow truck driver who tried to rape her while he had her car on his truck, so I had a little anxiety about that. But you just made it all good, and you didn't have to. Thank you."

"Wow, I can see how your sister's experience would weigh on you," I responded. "Still, though, I was happy to do all of it. I honestly didn't feel put out at all."

"Really?" Robyn asked wonderingly.

"Really," I answered firmly. "Look, I don't want to sound presumptuous or make you feel like I'm rushing you at all, but I don't date multiple women at a time. I asked you out and you said yes, so as far as I'm concerned, for my commitment to you, you're my girl. That doesn't mean I expect anything more from you than you want to give, but whatever I can do for you, I will."

I felt her lean over and brush her lips over my ear; then she murmured, "I think I like being your girl."

We walked into La Bella Vita rather closer than hand in hand; when I gave my name to the young woman at the front of the restaurant, she turned to one of the waiters and murmured something in his ear. He gave us a knowing look and strolled off, moving astonishingly quickly for someone who didn't seem to be hurrying. She turned back to us with a sweet smile and said, "Your table will be ready in just a moment." I wasn't sure what was going on until we were shown to our table, which was in a secluded corner of the restaurant.

"Ahh," I said as I held Robyn's chair for her, "that was the delay--they were moving us to the lovebirds' table." She blushed, but looked happy.

Robyn spent a couple minutes looking at the menu, deciding what to order; I spent them looking at her, because I already knew what I wanted. She settled on the canneloni con anatra e ricotta (canneloni with a filling of duck, dried cranberries, pine nuts, and ricotta, covered with a parmesan cream sauce and topped with duck bacon); I'd had that several times and liked it very well, but I was in the mood for my favorite thing on their menu, the pernice al vino bianco con risotto (partridge in a white-wine sauce with risotto). She wanted to try mine, and liked it so much that we probably ended up feeding each other as much as eating our own dinners.

Along the way, she heard the rest of my life story and told me much of hers; even though Adriana had told me about Robyn's romantic frustrations, I was still surprised to hear she'd only had a handful of dating relationships.

"I lost my virginity to my high-school boyfriend," she told me. "I thought we had something special at the time. I was sixteen, what did I know? By the time we graduated, I'd realized our goals and aspirations in life didn't match. I wanted to be a fashion designer with a husband and children; he wanted to stay up until all hours playing video games and have a regular fuckbuddy, preferably one who would cook for him. Three years, he dwindled in my eyes from a stud to a stereotype. I didn't even bother breaking up with him, I just went off to college and never heard from him again."

"As beautiful and sexy as you are, I can't begin to comprehend that," I commented. Robyn reached out to stroke my cheek and smiled.

"Keep talking like that, baby," she cooed. "It's nice to be appreciated."

I caressed her cheek in return; she nuzzled my palm. "You're easy to appreciate." With a smile, she turned her head to caress my fingers with her lips, then continued.

"I didn't have a lot of luck at BSU--though maybe I shouldn't have been surprised," Robyn said wryly, "given my major. The idea that all male fashion designers are gay is bogus, but the percentage of straight male students in my classes was definitely a lot lower than in the rest of the student population. I don't have a problem with that, but my dating life did. I had a couple boyfriends who lasted a year or so, but no one who meant much.

"Since graduating, I haven't had anything more than a couple casual flings--not because the guys are gay, though; the problem isn't sexuality but sexism. In general, if a male fashion designer treats me as his equal, he's probably gay, and if he isn't gay, he's almost certainly married, like my boss. I've had to file a few sexual-harassment complaints, and I've been called some nasty things for refusing to be patronized. I've made a few attempts to make connections outside of work, but... I'm not just boobs and a pretty face, you know?"

"No," I responded, "you're not--you have a really hot ass, too." Robyn looked daggers at me for a moment, and I cracked up. "Sorry, I couldn't resist--though you really do." She relaxed with a smile. "But seriously, I get you. You deserve someone who's attracted to you for who you are, not just what you look like."

Robyn nodded and said, "Yeah, and I haven't had any luck with that. I've had a bad case of Gaston syndrome, up to this point."

"Gaston--?" I started to ask, then I got it. "Oh, Disney's Beauty and the Beast."

"Exactly," she affirmed. "Up until now." She touched my face again. "You give me hope."

"Thank you," I replied, touched. I put a hand over hers and kissed her palm in turn. She withdrew it with a smile grown slightly tremulous. A thought occurred to me and I asked, "Mind if I take a left turn?" Robyn nodded her assent, looking curious, so I asked her a question that had been puzzling me since I'd first met her: how could she make a living as a fashion designer without being in one of the big four cities?

"To become one of the really big names--assuming I ever had the opportunity--I'd have to do that," Robyn said thoughtfully. "I don't really want to, though, for a few reasons. One, I don't find the idea of living in a major city all that appealing. It's like we were talking about--Clarksburg is a good speed for me. Two, I don't want to do what the really big names are doing. I want to design clothes that real people can wear in real life situations."

"Like this one," I grinned.

"Indeed," she smiled back, lifting her wine glass to me. I clinked it lightly with mine in acknowledgement. "Actually," she went on, "you heard Kennedy the first time I ever wore this dress: 'The only question I have is whether anyone who doesn't have your figure can pull it off.'" I nodded, remembering. "I said if that's the biggest question I get, I can handle it. I had good reason for saying that. The fashion industry--well, I'm not going to say a woman who wears a 30AA bra is less of a real woman than me with my 34Es (or Kennedy with her 32Fs), but the big names in fashion produce designs which suggest the opposite. You just can't wear them unless you're rail-thin, and even then, they aren't really functional. It's fashion as modern art, not usable clothing. My goal in designing clothes is to create things which will flatter a range of figures, and I'm not sure going to Paris or Milan would even help me do that.

"And three, while there are the 'big four' fashion capitals, there are more, well, 'provincial' capitals than you would think. Columbus is growing, for one, and Nashville is, too. Clarksburg isn't at their level, but the Barron endowments have had their effect--BSU's fashion design program is really strong and attracts some very talented students, and some of them have stuck around over the years. We have some brilliant designers here, and several excellent companies, including mine. We don't have the cachet to launch our own lines, but we do contract work for some of the bigger names. I've had a couple designs at major fashion shows that way. I'm starting to make a good living, enough to pay off my student loans and begin building a nest egg, and the cost of living is far, far lower here than in any of the 'big four.' I might not be as famous this way, but I come out ahead otherwise." (Thinking about it now, Robyn was advancing the same logic that recently led a hockey star from South Jersey to sign a megadeal in Columbus.)

"There's one other thing, too," she continued. "I don't know if you're familiar at all with Facebook or Twitter, but there's a lot of talk about social media right now." I nodded. "My boss thinks social media could really change the picture in the fashion world. The biggest names are still going to have the most money, but he thinks if you're good enough, social media might make it possible to be a major designer outside the 'big four,' even from a place like Clarksburg."

"Interesting thought," I mused. (Had I known what Facebook, Twitter, and social media in general would become over the intervening years, I would probably have said something much stronger. As they say, predictions are hard, especially about the future.)

We were both looking forward to going dancing, so we were careful not to overeat (or drink too much) and we skipped dessert. It was well worth it: Robyn looked every bit as fantastic dancing in that dress as I had imagined. The fast dances were a lot of fun, and the slow ones... well, by the last one, to get any closer to me, she would have had to have crawled inside my shirt. We kissed for the first time on the dance floor. I would have been content just to dance that night, but after an hour or so, she looked deep into my eyes and murmured, "Take me home, baby. Take me to your bed and make me your woman."

"Your command is my wish," I murmured back. I kissed her again, long and slow and deep, and led her off the floor.

When we got back to the building, Robyn surprised me by walking over to the mailboxes. She came back with a small duffel bag. "Package?" I asked.

"Overnight bag," she smiled. "I left it here earlier to pick up if I wanted it."

I took a moment to think it through. "Smart," I said.

"Thank you," Robyn beamed. "I'll still need to get back to my apartment before work, but doing it in sweats with my teeth brushed will be a lot more comfortable than it would be in this dress."

"Showered, too, if you want," I said. "I have plenty of towels."

"I was hoping," she told me. "I didn't really have room for a towel, but I threw the rest of my shower stuff in."

I opened my door and drew Robyn into my apartment. "If you want to put it in the bathroom right now, you can."

She tossed the bag aside as I closed the door behind us, then turned back to me. "Later," she breathed, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me into a hungry kiss. For long moments, my world narrowed to her soft, avid lips and gently probing tongue. I only really noticed my hands exploring her back when one found the zipper on her dress. I pulled it down as much as I could; Robyn broke off the kiss and said urgently, "Unzip me."

I stepped back a little and spun her gently to face the long mirror on the wall next to the door. I slid around behind her to take the zipper the rest of the way down. Once her dress was a puddle of fabric around her feet, I helped her step out of it and hung it over the back of a chair. I kicked off my shoes and shed my pants, then stepped up close enough to press my boxer-covered cock into the cleft between the magnificent globes of her ass. She was wearing a strapless bustier the same deep wine-red as her stockings; it served more to display her treasures than to conceal them. The front was some sort of lacy mesh, with fasteners down the middle that left a tantalizing little gap from the deep V of her cleavage all the way to her navel. The stockings were attached to a garter belt, and the matching thong panties had been pulled on over the straps for easy removal.

Robyn rubbed her ass hard along my dick as I reached around to cup her heavy breasts in my hands. I caressed them, squeezing gently and rubbing her nipples through the thin fabric; I bent my head to kiss down her neck to her shoulder, tasting her soft skin. She groaned softly and pressed herself into me, then moaned, "Harder, baby, harder." I gripped her tits tighter, kneading their springy flesh, and pinched their swelling peaks between my knuckles; head tilting back, she shuddered in my arms and cried out softly, "Just like that! So good..."

I nibbled Robyn's ear and murmured, "Open your eyes and look in the mirror, baby. Watch me playing with your big titties. Do you like that?"

"Mmmm, yes," she purred. "Do you?"

"Ohh, I love it," I growled softly. "I love your perfect fucking titties. Take it off and let them out."

Robyn's hands were a bit unsteady as she worked her way down the front of the bustier, but it was still only a few moments before the only thing keeping it on was my hands working over her full, heavy breasts. My hands moved, and the bustier slid to the floor. They returned to their places, but this time lightly, teasingly; instead of gripping and squeezing, I feathered my fingers over her silken skin, tracing her rich curves with the faintest of caresses. I watched her nipples grow under the stimulation until they were like little raspberries jutting out and upward. I teased them with my fingertips and shivered slightly to hear her moans. "Your breasts are perfection," I said huskily. Moaning and mewling, she turned her head, her mouth seeking mine and finding it with a long, hungry kiss.

I wrapped my left arm around her, englobing her right breast with my hand, while the other slid flat-palmed down her stomach, across her garter belt, to her panties. I pressed my palm into her Venus mound and stroked her slit through the delicate fabric. "Ooooh, you're dripping wet," I breathed into her ear. "My sexy little minx is soaking her panties."

"It's all you, baby," Robyn gasped. "It's all for you... I haven't been this turned on--well--ever."

I shifted my hand to slide it under the flimsy red scrap covering her flooding pussy. I pinched and rolled her nipple as I pushed two fingers into her hot, wet hole; she gasped and pushed her ass hard into my aching prick. I found her clit with a soft stroke of my thumb, which made her squeal. I nipped the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and she squealed louder. "Do you need more, lover?" I asked softly.

"Please--please--please--"

I straightened up and turned Robyn around again, pushing her back against the mirror. I squatted down and seized the front of her waistband with my teeth, pulling it down as I used my hands to peel the thong out of her ass crack, leaving her in nothing but garter belt, stockings, and heels. I stood back up and resumed fingering her pussy. We made out for a while, our tongues fencing passionately as one hand stimulated her sex and the other fondled one fat tit, then I kissed my way down and spent a while longer feasting on the other one. She groaned and mewled and called out my name; when I sucked her nipple hard and pulled as I gave her pearl a firm swipe with my thumb, she came with a high, wild cry. Her inner walls spasmed hard around my fingers and her girl-cum pooled in my palm.

Robyn opened her eyes to see me licking my hand clean. "Mmmm," I said, "you taste good, baby--tangy and sweet with a bit of spice." She looked at me with bewilderment. "What's wrong, love?" I asked.

"No one's ever--" she breathed. "I don't--"

"No one's ever tasted you?" I asked, surprised.

"No one's ever said they liked it," she got out.

"Idiots," I pronounced firmly, then picked her up and hoisted her over my shoulder. Robyn squealed in surprise, but didn't resist. I had done all my laundry and put clean sheets on my king-size bed earlier that day, then turned it down in extreme fashion: not only did I pull the comforter down to the foot and fold it neatly, I did the same with the flat sheet. I then laid a silky-soft new towel (purchased for the occasion) across the mattress about halfway down. As a consequence, when I carried her into my bedroom, all I had to do was lay her down with her head on the pillows and her ass on the towel, spread her legs, and dive in.

I devoured Robyn's tangy-sweet little pussy like a starving man presented with a banquet. I lapped up her nectar from her slick pink slit with a broad, flat tongue, then plumped up my tongue like a little dick and plunged it into her fuckhole. I had one hand wrapped around a full, round ass cheek, squeezing it firmly, while the other diddled her clit. "Your tongue feels so fucking good inside me," she groaned, and then her language devolved. I tongue-fucked her for a while, drinking her juices and giving her tight, wet tunnel the full treatment; she cried out profanities and called out to God, her hands alternately holding my head tight to her sex and pulling feverishly at her nipples.

When I pulled my tongue out, Robyn started to protest, but her words died with a gasp when I replaced it with two fingers and wrapped my lips around her button. The ridges of her G-spot were quite pronounced, easy to find and easier to rub. Her voice began to climb in pitch as I started suckling her clit like a third nipple--which was easy to do since it was around the same size. I suckled faster, lashing it with my tongue, and she got louder. "You're driving me--fucking crazy," she squealed. "Gonna cum--gonna cum--"

I wanted to tell her to cum for me, but I wasn't willing to stop sucking her clit to do it, so I just hummed encouragingly. Taking a chance, I scraped her pearl lightly with my teeth--I figured she was so high at that point, even if she didn't like it, it wouldn't ruin anything... but apparently she did, because she went off like a bomb in my face, bucking and thrashing and screaming my name.