Servicing the Tenants Pt. 01

When I finished eating Robyn through her climax, I sat back on my heels to admire the busty brunette stunner splayed wantonly across my bed; my hands slowly caressed her long legs in their silk stockings. Her eyes fluttered open, then focused on me. Then she smiled, and her smile left me stunned. It wasn't lustful, or satisfied, or seductive, or any of the things I would have expected (at least, it wasn't mostly any of those things): her smile was tender, and joyful... and even, I thought, loving. Her smile went deep into my soul and lit a fire there, warming me from the inside out.

Something of what I was feeling must have shown on my face, because the joy and tenderness in Robyn's expression deepened. "Come here, baby," she said, voice husky, crooking a finger at me. I moved toward her, and she pulled me down on top of her into a full-body-contact kiss. We kissed as lovers; her hands caressed my back while I wrapped my arms around her. When she broke off the kiss, she reached between us to grab my dick and guided it to her welcoming pink hole. She murmured in my ear, "Please, Iain, make love to me."

I held Robyn tight, kissing her tenderly and thoroughly, as I slowly drove my length into her hot box. She wrapped her legs around me, crossing her ankles in the small of my back--I could feel her shoes against my skin. I gave her long, steady strokes of my cock; she let me draw back out each time, but with each thrust I could feel her strong legs pulling me in. I shifted one hand down, under the combined weight of our bodies, to squeeze one of her ass cheeks as I pumped her well. The muscle flexed in my grip as she moved with me.

I let my lips explore Robyn's face and neck, enjoying her soft sounds of pleasure. "Is this what you wanted, lover?" I asked softly.

"Oh, yes, fuck yes," she moaned. "You make me feel so full--you make me feel complete..."

"I could spend the rest of my life doing this," I murmured in her ear. "Your pussy feels like coming home."

"Yes, baby, yes, please yes," Robyn responded, her soft voice urgent. "Make it your home--make it your home--"

"Are you my woman?" I asked, thrusting faster.

"I'm yours--I'm yours--I'm yours--" she panted. "You're my man--my lover--mine--"

"All yours, only yours, as long as you'll have me," I told her, feeling my heart soar.

"Always," Robyn exulted. "Mine--my man--love me..."

I loosened my grip a little so I could bend my head to her chest. "Cum for me, baby," I commanded. "Let go for me. Let me feel your perfect little pussy go crazy on my dick." I

"Yes," she gasped. "Yes--make me--cum--fuck--Iain!" Her body detonated under me; she pulled me in convulsively, the points of her heels digging into my back. That will leave marks, a small voice observed in the back of my mind. I was building slowly--toward what I suspected would be a shattering climax--so I kept pistoning her box as it roiled and pulsated around my prick.

When she could breathe again, Robyn said urgently, "Let me ride you. I want to ride your big fat cock until you blow. I want to feel you flood my pussy with your cum."

I kissed her hard, then we rolled over. She got her legs under her and raised herself up, impaling herself completely on my hard spike; I could just feel myself bottom out as she ground herself against my hips. "You're so deep inside me," she moaned. "Your big fat cock is stretching me out--you feel fucking amazing... fuck, baby, you fit me perfectly... your cock was made to satisfy my little pussy... you like that tight wet pussy, lover? You like feeling it all stretched out around your big dick?"

"I love it," I answered. Robyn whimpered a little and started sliding forwards and backwards on me, rolling her hips. I reached up and grabbed her heavy, swaying boobs, rolling them in my grip and rubbing my thumbs across their raspberry crowns. "You're a sex goddess, baby--I love feeling your sweet pussy wrapped tight around my cock."

She arched her back, thrusting her chest out, and groaned, "Oh, Iain..." She rode me faster, getting as much friction on her clit as she could; not satisfied with going one direction, she began swinging her hips from side to side. I squeezed her tits harder, shifting my hands so I could pinch and tweak her nipples. Robyn came with a howl, closing her eyes and driving herself hard against me as her body went wild.

When her eyes opened again, she fell forward onto her hands, hanging her ripe, juicy melons in my face. "You take care of my girls, lover, while I take care of your dick," she purred. "I want you to fill my little pussy with your cum, and I want you sucking on my tits when you do." I seized one with each hand, squeezing her ripe flesh, and covered her satiny skin with kisses. Robyn moaned softly and urged me on. When I sucked one raspberry nipple deep into my mouth, she groaned, "That's it, baby, just like that," and started vigorously fucking me. To my amazement, she seemed to be bouncing her ass on my pole without moving the rest of her body. I didn't know the word "twerking" then, but in retrospect, I'd say she was twerk-fucking me. It wouldn't be the last time, either, though she did it more often in reverse cowgirl so I could watch her ass bounce.

It was only a few moments before my body overloaded. "Gonna cum--" I gasped.

"Yes," Robyn breathed. "Yes, lover, cum for me. Cum in my pussy. Fill me up. Let me feel your heat. Fill--me--"

A guttural sound tore from my throat and I bucked my hips upward, driving my shaft into Robyn's tight, wet heat as my balls erupted. She threw back her head and screamed "Mine!" triumphantly, cumming with me, hard. She drove her hips down and back, grinding against me with all her might. I let go her tits and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her down for a wild, fierce kiss that continued even as our joint orgasms ebbed.

At last Robyn went boneless and her hips slid sideways; she ended up nominally on her side and draped across me. (I, of course, had no motivation to move.) With her arm flung around my neck and our legs intertwined, I knew I was captured--and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. "That was wonderful," she breathed contentedly. I kissed the top of her head.

"Yeah, it was," I replied softly. "And a complete surprise... I never thought you would want to have sex on just our second date."

"Mmmm," Robyn responded, "but as far as I'm concerned, I didn't. To me, this was our third."

"Huh?" I asked, taken aback. "What--oh... are you thinking about yesterday?"

"Mmhmm," she purred in confirmation.

"OK, I... guess I can see that?"

"Baby, you came to my rescue on an absolutely nasty evening," Robyn said softly. "You came, and you calmed me down, and you just--took care of it. You didn't get angry, or complain, or make jokes at my expense, you just took care of it, and got me home--and then you let me borrow your car. I pretty much decided there and then that I was going to spend tonight in your bed making love to you; and then we had a wonderful date, and I wanted you even more. And now that I've had you, I don't think I'll ever stop wanting more."

"Sounds good to me," I said, and kissed the top of her head.

*****

From that point on, Robyn essentially lived with me in the building manager's apartment. She didn't make it official for another couple months or so, but almost immediately her belongings began migrating down. The migration was gradual, so I didn't realize what she was doing; when I started thinking about her moving in, I naïvely believed I was the first to consider the possibility. As a result, I spent a while fretting, because I didn't think she would want to move into my little apartment, but I couldn't come up with an alternative that would let me keep my job. When I asked her--somewhat tentatively--if she would be willing to move in with me anyway, she burst out laughing. I didn't know what to make of it, until she said (still giggling), "I've been living here for weeks, and I'm mostly moved in. Did you not realize?" And then she was off laughing again.

I proposed eight months after our second (or third) date, and we were married six months after that. Along with our families, most of the building was at our wedding; Adriana didn't come back, but she sent us a gift and a loving card. (As a side note, an overheard conversation at our wedding reception told me that not only had Adriana indeed been researching me, she'd started even before my first day on the job.)

By that time, I'd already discovered I liked what I was doing very well. I had come to enjoy the hands-on work, and I found the people-management side of the job fascinating. A couple years into our marriage, Robyn was feeling secure enough in her own career to encourage me to go back to school and get my MBA. I mentioned that to the old lady, and she responded with surprising enthusiasm. She told me she wanted to retire but had no heirs to take over her real-estate company; she said if I would commit to succeed her, she would help pay for my degree and pass the company on to me in her will (and maybe sooner). I did, and she was as good as her word.

When I started my graduate program, I left the Marylebone Apartments; though I was now unemployed, Robyn was making good money, and one of the ways the old lady helped was by giving us a nice two-bedroom apartment rent-free in her most upscale property (which was also closest to the BSU campus), Radclyffe Hall. Though the name was somewhat pretentious, the old building had an understated elegance that made it seem almost reasonable. I especially loved the main entrance with its copper cladding; it was my inspiration for renaming the company when Jean Birch died, sixteen months to the day after I took over its day-to-day operations.

That was the point when Robyn felt we were established enough to start a family. After a year off the pill, however, she still hadn't conceived. Dismayed, we went in for testing; the doctors determined that the fertility issues were hers rather than mine. That news hit her hard. She took some time off work, and I spent many hours holding her while she cried and reassuring her that I didn't love her any less or think any less of her. Seeing my strong, confident, capable wife insecure and unsure of herself tore at my heart. I poured my love and assurance into her with lavish abandon; I don't know how long it was before I saw the light returning to her eyes, but I know how I rejoiced to see it.

Once Robyn felt ready, she began fertility treatments. They were slow to bear fruit--or seemed so to us, at any rate--but she did get pregnant. To our surprise, after the difficulty we had had, it was an easy pregnancy. We looked forward eagerly to the birth of our daughter, whom we decided to name Ashley Nicole.

And then my wife went into labor, and it all went sideways. Robyn--well, I know what happened; in nauseating detail I know what happened... but I don't want to go there again. It's enough to say the doctors screwed up and my wife and unborn daughter both died. In just a few moments, I lost both my girls; I went from being a husband and father to being a childless widower.

*****

I kept going, barely, because of two people. One was Robyn, who I knew full well would have kicked my ass up between my ears and chewed on it for good measure if I'd given up. One of the few things that stuck with me from a childhood going to church was a fixed belief in some sort of afterlife, and I really didn't like the thought of having to face her there and admit I'd quit on life when she died. Maybe that makes no sense to you, but it was very real to me.

The other was a friend from my undergrad years, Michael DiSalvo. Michael had followed his father into the family business, which was the law--his father David was the best criminal lawyer in the city, while his father's older brother Marc was a constitutional-law scholar and a rising federal judge. Michael pushed me to sue the doctors and the hospital, but it seemed to me like too much work for something that wouldn't give me the only thing I really wanted. He told me I owed it to myself; he told me I owed it to Robyn. After a while, he admitted an ulterior motive: he thought something was fishy about the whole series of events around her death. The lawsuit wouldn't just be for my sake, it would also be for the sake of those who would come after me.

Finally, Michael informed me that lawyers at his firm were expected to do a certain amount of pro bono work every year, and he had gone to the senior partner (his dad) and received approval to take my case on that basis. At that point, as I'm sure he'd figured I would, I gave in and let him file the wrongful-death suit.

Several days later, Michael introduced me to a man named K. Z. Austin. Two things immediately struck me about K. Z.: one, he bore a pronounced resemblance to the actor Paterson Joseph, and two, though he wasn't particularly tall, he had large, powerful hands. "K. Z. is a private investigator," Michael informed me.

"Please," K. Z. drawled in response. "I'm a consulting detective." His voice made me jump a little--he even sounded like Paterson Joseph, and as for the attitude...

"You would make a wonderful Marquis de Carabas," I blurted out.

K. Z. blinked at me in startlement, then burst out laughing. He then said, grinning ear to ear, "Why, thank you. You know, I get occasional comments on the resemblance, but no one's ever gone that far before."

"It's not just the facial resemblance," I said, trying to pin down my thoughts, "it's the combination of--oh, I don't know, mischievous charisma and deadly competence."

K. Z.'s grin grew even wider, and he stuck out his hand again. "You know," he observed, "I think we need to be reintroduced. Call me Kep. I think we're going to be good friends."

With a certain frustration, Michael demanded to know what we were talking about. It was probably twenty minutes later before he remembered we were there to talk about my wife's death, not Neverwhere. (Several months later, he told me he had watched the original production and just finished reading the novel; he thanked me for turning him on to the story, and to Gaiman in general, and wryly admitted he would never see Kep Austin in quite the same way again.)

Between them, Michael and Kep handed Barron/DeJong Memorial Hospital its head. In fact, they did more than that: they uncovered a pattern of negligence in the entire health-care system to which the hospital belonged. The result was a relatively quick eight-figure settlement for me, and a housecleaning in Verity Health (including at BDMH) that went on for months.

Left with a pile of money I hadn't really wanted because I had no one on whom to spend it, I poured it into my business, which I had renamed RA/Coppergate Properties, Inc. in unobtrusive memory of my wife. I worked my ass off because I had nothing better to do with my time, and I was rewarded; I got lucky with a couple major acquisitions (including Coventry Bay), and everything I tried seemed to make money. Four years after Robyn's death, I was no Warren Buffett, but I was doing well.

Financially, at least. Emotionally, I realized, I was burning out.

*****

I blinked and came back to an awareness of my surroundings. Yeah, that's it, isn't it? I thought. I've been deliberately burning the candle at both ends for years now, and I don't have any wick left to speak of. I looked down at the files I'd brought on my delinquent tenants and felt my gorge rising. I can't do this, I thought. Not today. I straightened up my office and walked out. I need to find a new way forward. Somehow, I need to start living again.