Servicing the Tenants Pt. 02

It's been a while since I posted anything--I'm afraid real life continues to interfere with my writing to a truly shocking degree. Unfortunately, I have an eating habit which I haven't managed to kick, and it requires a fair bit of money to feed it. Such is life... I did get inspiration from a reader, however, who sent me a suggestion/request for Iain's story; it gave me enough impetus to write something, for which I'm grateful. The result isn't quite the romp she seemed to be envisioning, but--if you're reading this, madame, I hope you like the result anyway.

*******

I had no idea what I was starting when I knocked on that door.

--But let me back up a step or two. Context is important. Instead of doing anything with my office epiphany, I got dinner, went home, rewatched an enjoyable bit of lightweight time-travel sci-fi on Netflix called The Adam Project, and went to bed. I woke up the next morning not believing any of it, telling myself I needed to ashcan the self-pity and get back to work.

In truth, I probably should have had a hint of what was coming; it's not like the universe hadn't tried to give me a heads-up, after all. Maybe I was past the point of believing anything could change. Whatever the reason, I put the spurs to my soul and set out grimly to beard my delinquent tenants in their respective dens, darkly certain that whatever the future held, it would be much like the present, only longer. The fact that I was committed to not being grim toward my tenants, but rather to approaching them with patience and compassion, only made the rest of it harder... but I had adulting to do, and it was past time to get on with it.

I had a messenger bag slung over one shoulder containing, among other things, a sheaf of copies of a brief form letter explaining my errand; when no one answered the door, as was the case at the first four apartments I visited, I left a copy and went on. The fifth apartment on my list was #705, which was Brooklyn Mercer and Cody Graves. --At least, it had been. Brooklyn was a gorgeous young woman (think Blake Blossom, only strawberry-blonde), but when she opened the door, she looked like she hadn't slept for days. Her eyes were red and puffy, and the thick hair which normally fell in waves around her shoulders was tied back in a ponytail. She waved me in with a weary gesture, then headed listlessly toward a large L-shaped sectional that filled one corner of her living room. She took a seat at the top of the L, while I settled myself along the bottom, facing her. With a ghost of a smile, she asked softly, "So who talks first? You talk first? I talk first?"

I gave her a small smile in return and said, "Brooklyn, you look like something's gone really wrong. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

Her face crumpled, but she fought herself to regain her composure. When she said quietly, "Thank you, Iain," her voice quavered, but didn't break. She took a few deep breaths and continued, "A couple weeks ago, I came home from work on Monday to an empty apartment. Cody was gone, all his stuff was gone... some of my stuff was gone." I winced sympathetically. "There was nothing left of him but a note on the table. He said he'd had enough. He said some... things--about me--I burned the note... I couldn't bear..." Tears pooled in her blue eyes, and her lower lip quivered.

"Don't worry, Brooklyn, take your time," I told her gently. "I'm here, and I'm listening. I'll wait for you."

That won me a bit more of a smile, and after a few more deep, slow breaths, she continued her story. Cody's note told her he was taking what was his--but he defined that very broadly, and in more ways than she realized at first. "We had our own accounts, but we also had a joint account for our joint expenses, like rent," Brooklyn told me. "Before he left, he cleaned it out and closed it."

"Ouch," I responded softly. "That must have been a real gut-punch."

"Yeah," she sighed defeatedly, then fell silent... which was a good thing, because her sigh set her large breasts moving under her T-shirt, and I lost the plot. For as long as I'd owned the Blue Diamond, even as beautiful as Brooklyn was, it had taken stern self-control to keep my eyes on her face--especially during the summer months, and most especially when she was on her way to or from the Cerulean's rooftop pool (which was often, as she swam every chance she got). That day, I had been trying not to notice she wasn't wearing a bra. In that moment, I lost both fights.

I was spellbound by her big tits jiggling and swinging under the thin material, her nipples clearly visible. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds before I came to my senses and yanked my eyes back up where they belonged, but it felt much longer. I was intensely relieved to see Brooklyn still staring down at her lap, apparently unaware I had been ogling her.

"Yeah," she repeated a few moments later with another deep sigh, then looked back up at me. "It was a hell of a gut punch. Especially since I'd been putting more than my fair share into that account. And more fool me, he'd made a big deal about managing it, so I let him--it just seemed easier than fighting about it--I should have checked, but I committed to trusting him, and I didn't know he hadn't kept up with the rent. The money was there, for fuck's sake! I should have known, I should have paid attention and been a responsible adult, but I let him get away with it! That's what I haven't been able to forgive myself for--I let him get away with it..."

"I'm really sorry," I told her softly, but Brooklyn kept staring sadly into the distance, giving no sign she had heard me.

After a long moment, she continued, "And now... Iain, it's bad. Maybe really bad. The company I work for isn't doing well--I'm not sure it's going to make it... I suppose there would never have been a good time for him to take all his money and a big chunk of mine, but this--if he'd timed it to sink me, he couldn't have done much better." A pause, then, meditatively: "Hell, maybe he did." Brooklyn paused again, looking pensive and sad. "He knew about my side project, after all. Six months, a year from now, I might have enough to attract investors and start my own company, but now--? Unless Scytale rebounds in a big way--"

"Umm, Brooklyn?" I interrupted, a little confused. "What's 'skittly'?"

She grinned briefly. "S-c-y-t-a-l-e," she informed me. "Ancient Spartan tool for encrypting messages."

"Ah, OK," I said. "I think I remember reading about it as a kid. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied, her small smile at me somehow shy. "The founders of my company took it as their inspiration; the company is Scytale Technologies. I've been concerned about it for a while--that's why I started my side project, in hopes I could use it as a parachute when Scytale flames out. But with this shiv in the kidneys from Cody..." Brooklyn fell silent again for several seconds. "Even if the company was doing well, at my current salary, I can't make ends meet unless I--move--" Her voice broke a little, and there was something different about the tone. She cleared her throat quickly and went on. "And it isn't, and there's no way I'll be able to develop my side project fast enough to save my ass." And what an ass, I couldn't help thinking. I scolded myself mentally for the thought, but I couldn't shake it. "I really don't know what I'm going to do," she ended sadly.

Playing for time, I asked Brooklyn a few questions about her job situation. I knew vaguely that she was a programmer, but that was about it. I found out Scytale was a small defense subcontractor involved in information security. I also found out more than I could absorb about why the company was failing: in her judgment, the founders were brilliant programmers but believed too much in their own brilliance. They weren't willing to accept ideas or input from subordinates, and so--she believed--they were rejecting contributions which they needed in order to remain relevant and valuable to the DoD. "And if they lose the contract... that's it," she told me.

I tried asking about her side project, but Brooklyn clearly didn't want to tell me anything, and when she evaded my questions, I let her. My heart went out to her. I'm sure it was partly because she was gorgeous, but it was mostly her situation. She wasn't the first twenty-something tenant I'd had get screwed hard for trusting someone with a few scruples loose, and I grieved because I knew she wouldn't be the last. The bright side was that the tenants in that category had been the easiest of all to help. Not only had I not had to evict any of them, they'd all gotten back on their feet in remarkably short order.

I wasn't going to start talking about that until Brooklyn was ready, though. I knew she needed to talk through her situation and get everything off her chest before anything I did could be at all fruitful. I was a little embarrassed when she started a post-mortem on her dead relationship, but she wasn't the first tenant to do that, so I listened attentively and kept my mouth shut, just like I'd done with the others. My embarrassment grew considerably, however, when she started talking about her sexual relationship with her boyfriend--that was not part of the normal pattern. I was glad I'd had lots of practice over the years looking neutral and saying nothing, because I needed all of it.

It was a good thing, because the more Brooklyn talked about Cody, the lower my opinion of him got. It wasn't long before I was wondering what she'd seen in him to stay with him that long, or even to move in with him in the first place. Isaac Asimov wrote somewhere that the answer to "I don't know what she sees in him" is usually "You know very well what," but--though I can scarcely claim to be an expert on male sex appeal--Cody didn't strike me as anything above middling in either looks or sexual magnetism, and he can't have been much of a sexual athlete. While I still felt for Brooklyn being dumped (and, even more, for being ripped off), I started wondering why she hadn't dumped him long before.

All the same, I twitched in surprise when she voiced the same thought. "I don't know why I stayed with him, really," she mused sadly. "The sex was the best thing about our relationship, and it wasn't that good--especially the last few months." She paused; an introspective look came over her face. "I suppose, really, I didn't want to have no place to go. This is my home, and I wanted to have a home to come home to. Coming home to him was better than nothing. He wasn't much of a fuck, or anything else, but I guess I figured as long as I kept fucking him, I'd have a place to live." She giggled a little and looked up at me. "I guess I was fucking him for the rent, as long as it worked. Do you think that makes me a whore?"

"No," I said firmly. "You're a capable young woman; you were just doing what you felt you had to do to make life work."

"Good," Brooklyn replied softly. She gave me a long, considering look, then stood decisively. "Good," she repeated, her voice firm. "Because I've just realized I'd much rather cut out the middleman, and I wouldn't want you thinking I'm a whore." I blinked at her stupidly. "I've thought you were sexy for as long as I've known you, and everything I know about you as a man, I like," she told me, her voice a little husky. "You're always so good to us tenants... you care about us as people. It's not like we've had a lot of interaction, but you've always made me feel heard and valued--and I think you've given me more of yourself just listening to me today than Cody did in the last month. Or three?"

Brooklyn paused a moment in thought, then seemed to reach a decision. She swung herself into my lap, straddling my knees and putting her hands on my shoulders. I felt I ought to protest, at the very least, but I was too dumbfounded to say or do anything. She looked me in the eyes, a small smile quivering around one corner of her mouth, and continued in a low, throaty voice, "If I was really just fucking him for the rent, I should have gone right to the source and fucked you instead. I'm sure I would have enjoyed it a lot more, and I know you would have deserved it a lot more."

"But--but--" I managed, whiplashed by the sudden turn in the conversation. Brooklyn's expression shifted from sultry to compassionate (well, sultry and compassionate, which is not a combination I would ever have thought to see, but there it was all the same).

"We all know your story, Iain," she told me gently. "Your tenants talk about you--we appreciate you more than you can possibly know--and I think everyone knows about your wife and what you suffered." I flinched; Brooklyn raised a hand to my cheek, caressing it tenderly. "And believe me," she continued, "we see the kind of hours you put in, and we see you're always alone. A lot of us are worried about you; we're afraid you're going to work yourself to death. I know a few people even think maybe you're hoping to." I flinched harder that time; she nodded to herself, then shifted her hand around the back of my head and ran her fingers through my hair.

"I'm sure this could sound mercenary," Brooklyn continued, "but please don't take it that way. I think we each have a problem, and I think if we put our problems together, they could solve each other. I know you're alone, and I'm guessing you're sexually deprived." My eyes widened as I started to see where she was going. "More than that, you need to feel cared for.

"I need all that too, plus I'm in a hole financially. I want to keep my home, and I don't have the resources to do it... but you do--and I would love to make it worth your while." She gave me a coy little smirk, captured my hands, and put them on her breasts, palms pressing into her nipples. I tried to pull back, but she held me there. "It's OK, Iain," Brooklyn said, her voice low. "I know you like my girls. I've seen you staring at them--or trying not to--loads of times. And I know you were looking at them a minute ago." I flushed scarlet, my face twisting, but she only leaned forward and brushed a light kiss on my forehead. "It's OK," she repeated. "I liked you looking. I even gave you a little extra shimmy."

I looked up at her, startled, my mouth dropping open. "But--" I started to protest, before she interrupted me.

"I'm serious," Brooklyn insisted. "You're a good man, Iain. You weren't trying to take advantage of me, and you don't need to feel like you were. You were trying to be a gentleman and take care of me--and you couldn't help looking at my tits anyway. That made me feel warm--it made me feel wanted, for the first time in a while--and it gave me the courage to tell you how I want to solve my insolvency." She grinned a little at her pun. "I want you to look at them. I want you to touch them--I want to feel your hands and mouth all over them, and all over my pussy, and every part of me. I want you to fuck the holy living shit out of me, then kiss me passionately as you make love to me. I want all of you, and I want you to take all of me."

"So, wait a minute," I said--though even as I said it, I started fondling Brooklyn's big melons through her shirt and teasing their growing buds. Her eyelids lowered and she moaned softly in her throat. "Are you saying you want to fuck me for the rent?"

"No," Brooklyn replied patiently, "I want to fuck you for you. But if I have to leave and look for a new place to live, I won't be able to. If you take care of that problem for me, we could spend lots of time taking care of each other. You can fuck me in any position you want, whenever you want, and cum anywhere you want--especially deep in my tight little pussy. I'm on the pill, and I love feeling a man fill me with his hot load."

"Then are you saying you want to be my girlfriend?"

Brooklyn hesitated, looking sad. "I don't want you to be my rebound relationship," she finally answered. "You deserve better than that. I deserve better than that. My emotions are in such a whirl--I could easily convince myself I'm madly in love with you. Could? I half believe it already--but I don't really know you anything like well enough to really be in love with you. I may well fall deeply in love with you, but I'd rather wait until I've actually, y'know, fallen in love with you. I need time to heal, and I'm sure I'll have trust issues for a while; I don't want to build pain and mistrust into the foundation of a new relationship.

"What I need is a friend, a true friend, with the best sort of benefits. I need someone I respect, someone I already trust despite what Cody did to me, who will take me seriously (which he never really did, to be honest) and listen when I need to talk--and also give me the good fucking I need several times a week."

This could be Amalia in reverse, I thought. "I have a friend like that," I said, "though I haven't seen her in person since before--Robyn..." I told Brooklyn briefly about Amalia, and her face brightened.

"So you do understand," she said, sounding relieved. "But--I also need a sugar daddy. Except they need to be the same person, or it won't work." She scootched herself closer and rubbed herself lightly against the bulge in my pants. She leaned forward and murmured in my ear, "I'm not taking applications. This is an exclusive offer." I felt the tip of her tongue tracing my earlobe, and I shuddered. I heard a low, warm hum of satisfaction before she leaned back to look me in the eyes again.

"So," I croaked, then paused to clear my throat. "So," I began again, pleased to hear my voice mostly normal, "how much support did you have in mind?"

Brooklyn's answering smile lit up her face. "How much do you want?" she asked coyly. More seriously, she continued, "If you're willing to take care of the rent--however that works best for you--then I'd keep working my job and I'd be OK. I'd also need to keep working on my side project, because I don't have confidence my job will exist long-term, but I think the company will stay afloat long enough. I've been working long hours, but we could get together once or twice a week.

"If you're willing to cover all my expenses, though, I'd have a lot more time for you. I'd keep working on my own project--I think it has considerable potential, I just have a lot of work to do to realize it--and otherwise, my pussy would be at your disposal. I could fuck you as much as you want." Her smile turned lascivious as she added, "Maybe even as much as I want."

My hands, which had been slowly exploring Brooklyn's chest, tightened their grip and began kneading her springy mounds; I rubbed my thumbs back and forth across their prominent tips. She moaned and arched her back, pressing them into my hands. "Fuuuuuck," she groaned deep in her throat. "Fuuuuck that's good... so--fucking--good..." I shifted my grip to pinch and twist her nipples, and to my surprise that sent her into orbit. Her tight round ass lifted off my legs, her back arched further, and she let out a wild shriek. Her body quivered for a long moment, then she slumped forward and laid her forehead against mine. I released her tits to cup her face in my hands and shifted to give her a long, deep kiss; she threw her arms around me and kissed me back with starveling hunger.

When Brooklyn finally pulled back, she didn't go far; our noses were still nearly touching as she looked deep into my eyes. She shook a little as she murmured, "I'm so fucking turned on, I came just from you playing with my girls. That's never happened before."