The Landlady Ch. 01

lagneaublanc@

Thanks for azure_skies for the editing and thanks to Lara from Paris for the inspiration.

------------------------------------------

I had mixed feelings about moving back to London. It has been several years now since I left the city, and the UK in its entirety, and returning now was mentally complicated. London is a tough city. It's tough on you when you are fresh and energetic from university, and it's tougher when you are tired, disillusioned and still struggling at entry-level jobs a decade later.

Finding a flat in London was not a pleasant experience either. Three weeks of moving between friends' sofas, floors and sleeping bags resulted not only in an aching back, but also some daunting memories from visiting flats probably considered insalubrious in Dickens' time. For a few hundred pounds a week I had the choice between a cupboard in a student house in remote London or an actual room in a real house somewhere halfway to Birmingham. It was depressing. Being winter didn't make it easier either.

I visited North London, South London, East London and what must have been underground London; nothing affordable to be found. The situation was getting desperate. So, I had little expectation when I saw the advertisement for a studio apartment in Haringey. I was determined that, unless it was a complete shit-hole, it would be my new residence. Knowing little about the area, it seemed nice enough, full of Turkish eateries and just near the park (renowned for murder and rapes, but still). The quiet street, with its row of semi-detached houses, had its charm. Most importantly, it was on my tube line. This was zone 3 suburbia.

The interphone advised it was the upstairs flat, and I was buzzed in. I climbed the narrow stairs (why are British houses obsessed with stairs?) and tapped the door. A tall woman, probably in her mid thirties, opened it.

"Hi, I'm Alex," I introduced myself as a good boy, "I'm here to see the flat."

"Of course." she replied, "I'm Tara; I'm the owner."

Tara let me in and gave me a short tour of the place. A very short tour, since the flat included only a bedroom and kitchen. Yet, as far as bedroom and kitchen flats goes, it was nice, very nice even. It was actually unbelievably nice. I tried very hard to hide my excitement. It had a mix of IKEA blandness that passes as homely in the UK and the feel of a hotel room in a not too skanky airport hotel. You could feel that a lot of people have been through this room. For me, on the road for some years, it felt homely.

Tara explained that she bought it a few years ago, when she was living there, but she had since moved to another, bigger flat, three streets away, overlooking the park. Now she lets it, mostly to students but not to couples. The room was currently available as the previous tenant left unexpectedly. I would have been a fool not to take it, and I said so directly.

"I'd like to know a bit more about you before we go any further." She told me rather sternly.

"Well," I started, "there isn't much to tell. I'm almost 31, I used to be in academic research but now I do research for a think-tank. I moved a lot in the past decade or so, mostly in Europe. But now I've got a job here, so I moved back." That seemed to summarize my life well enough, no relations, no girlfriend, no dreams or desires. Just work and not much of that either.

"Oh", she commented. "That's nice."

Is it? I thought. I looked at her a bit suspiciously.

Tara was actually worth looking at. She was tall, for a woman, must have been at least 1.80m; had broad shoulders and, well, a very full bosom though she was by no means chubby. She dressed well, but not flashy (and why would she?). Some sort of a routine grey trousers and jacket combo, I could have easily mistaken her for an estate agent. I could imagine her running through the park in the exercise routine, or sweating it in the gym. She looked sporty, and took care of herself.

It was her face that was the most intriguing. Dark red hair, high cheek bones, clear nose, almost equine, wide mouth and some very piercing green eyes that made me shudder. She could see right through me, she knew all my little dirty secrets without even having to ask. But they were not judgmental. There was no way to guess what she was thinking. Except for the eyes, she somewhat reminded me of those posh sporty British girls I used to see in university. The girls you always fancy shagging because they were posh and sporty and had big breasts, but actually knew they would be a terrible fuck and all round bores. She didn't have the accent though, not at all. She had a bland generic accent that could have been from anywhere but was probably from nowhere particularly interesting.

We chatted absently about my life, mostly about places I left and this area of London.

"I've been living here for some years now. I really like it. It's very convenient."

"Do you work in the City," I ventured a guess, though I didn't really think so. City folks don't show their apartments on Tuesday afternoons.

"No, not at all." She said smiling at me, "I work at home."

I nodded, which meant nothing. Tara asked if I wanted some tea, and I was happy to agree. But there was no tea as the previous occupants already left and emptied the cupboard. She suddenly became extremely apologetic, as if I was her guest and was terribly offended by the lack of tea.

"It's quite alright," I said, "I probably have to go anyway. Maybe next time."

She smiled. "Alright then, can you give me a check for this month and a deposit? You don't want to think about it more?"

"Oh no," I retorted quickly. "I like the place and am really too tired of staying with friends. I'm sure."

With little ceremony I handed her two checks for 500 hundred pounds each and she gave me the keys. It was probably the least official house letting ever. I had a wild thought of her slipping the checks into her bra, like some Jessica Rabbit, but she tucked them neatly in to her purse.

"I keep a set with me." She advised about the keys. "Just in case."

"That's fine," I said, happily jangling my set, "and for the tea?"

"Call me when you're settled and I'll come by." She winked at me. Quite a playful kitten, she was.

We went outside and shook hands cordially. Tara pointed out the nearest way to go for the tube and bus and trotted down the street like some thoroughbred mare, her auburn hair swishing in the cold air and her rather large behind wiggling as she strode. I shrugged and started walking towards the Underground, but then changed my mind and instead of going back to work or to my current residence to pack, I went back into my new flat and lay on the naked mattress. I had a place, it was nice, and things were starting to look better.

Sadly Tara did not deliver on her tea promise; or maybe it was me who didn't invite her over. We did speak on the phone several times in the coming months about gas bills, internet connection and similar mundane stuff. She was always very courteous and polite, almost flirtatious; but I never followed through. She was a world apart from the skinny brunettes I normally dated.

I was rather surprised therefore to see my mobile flashing "Tara-Landlady" one Saturday afternoon.

"Hi!" I replied cheerfully.

"Hi Alex, how are you?" she retorted.

"Very well, thanks, yourself?"

"I'm fine, thank you. I was actually calling to see if you could give me a hand with something?" she asked.

"Sure," I replied, "what's going on?" I said excitingly. It was hard to sound both friendly and polite, and I failed on both accounts.

"I went to IKEA to get some stuff, but I don't think I could carry them up to my flat alone. Are you at home? Are you busy" she said somewhat apologetically.

"No, no, not at all, I'll come right by."

"Thanks, you're a darling. It's the road right on the by the park, I'm standing near my car." She said.

"Be right over."

I was out of the house in a few seconds, walking briskly to her rescue. I felt like a proper knight in shining armour.

Tara was standing by her car, which was rather disappointingly a blue WV Golf (I imagined her driving a red Mercedes Convertible). She looked annoyed, frustrated and bored.

"Hullo miss," I said in a fake policeman accent, "what seems to be the problem?"

She gave me a condescending smile that made me feel six years old. It was a stupid joke.

"Thanks so much for coming, you're a real darling. I don't think I'll be able to carry these shelves by myself. Could you help?" she looked at me with a mock desperate expression. I beamed.

She opened the trunk of the car and together we pulled out a heavy elongated box. It wasn't very heavy, and I could lift it, but it was extremely cumbersome. Tara had to lead me to the front door, open it and help me navigate the stairs to her apartment, which was conveniently at the very top of the house. I managed to carry it up and stood there, feeling the strain in my arms, until she unlocked her door it and let me in.

"Just put it anywhere." She gestured.

I looked quickly around to find a place for it. It was a nice flat; the entrance was almost immediately into the living room, which was separated from the kitchen by a bar/counter thing. The living room had big windows overlooking the road and park and plenty of sunshine. Stairs led to the upper floor. I propped the shelves by the wall and shook my arms.

"There you go." I smiled at her.

"Oh, thanks, you're so sweet. I hope it wasn't too heavy."

I shook my head in negation.

"Do you need help with the rest of it?"

"Could you?" she asked almost surprised. "That would be really kind."

We went back to the car and unloaded it. Then we loaded ourselves with the array of packages, boxes and big IKEA bags and heaved the lot up the stairs. We dumped everything on her living room sofa and stood there grinning at each other.

"Thanks so much for giving me a hand in this." She said warmly. "I think I went a bit mad on this shopping spree."

I made a sound between a laugh and snort and looked at the mass of items.

"Yeah..."

"Do you want to drink anything?" she asked. "Some water?"

"I'd love some."

Tara went into the kitchen and I followed her with my eyes. She was wearing jeans that accentuated her figure, showing the curves of her hips and thighs. Her top was a simple but stylish blue top, with the first two buttons undone. The shape of her round breasts was visible through the cloth and the two open buttons gave some preview of her cleavage. I didn't stare, only a fleeting glance. My mouth felt dry. Tara moved around in the kitchen looking for glasses and stuff. I leaned on the counter and continued to discreetly check her out.

"Oh, I might have some beer." She suddenly said. "Do you want some?"

"Sure."

She opened the fridge and peered inside. Her back was arched and her big butt was pointing out, almost straight at me. I couldn't resist staring at it. It was very shapely, round and full and within an arm's length. It moved in little wiggles as she was looking among the shelves. I could see some flesh peeking between jeans and blouse.

"Hmmm..." she said, "I think I don't have any..."

"That's ok," I said in a very dry voice, still staring at her butt. "Water is fine."

She straightened up and turned to the tap, pouring me a tall glass. I shook myself, trying to get over the hypnotising sight of her ass, and found myself staring at her big breasts as she handed me the glass.

"There you go."

"Oh, thanks." I said quickly, reaching out and moving my eyes to her face. I gulped the water quickly.

"Were you staring at my breasts?" she asked when I finished drinking.

"Ahhh..." I mumbled.

"What?" she asked again, sternly.

"I..." didn't quite know what to say.

"You were, weren't you? You were staring straight at my breasts just now." She said in an excited tone of voice.

I blushed. She looked right into my eyes and said:

"You little pervert... I can't believe it. Come here!"

The authority of her voice made me step into the kitchen and stand facing her, but I couldn't face looking at her so started glancing at the floor like a shamed child.

"Look at me!" she said harshly. "You were! Say it."

"Yes," I looked at her face and said apologetically, "I was looking at your breasts."

She looked at me mockingly and pushed me back against her fridge.

"You little pervert..." she mocked, "sneaking a stare like that. You like them huh!? You like my breasts?"

I swallowed my spit; this was a very uncomfortable situation.

"Come on," she challenged me, "do you like my breasts? Do you like my big boobs?"

"Yes..." I said without looking at her, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you're all horny and hard looking at my breasts, huh?" She grabbed her left breast in her hand and squeezed it. I gulped.

"Look at me!" she commended. I immediately stopped staring at her playing with her tit and looked into her face.

"I'm sure you are getting all excited, you little prick. I'm sure you are getting really hard."

To my surprise, I realised I actually was hard, and blushed.

"Ha!" she said, "and now you are turning red! I can see the bulge in your trousers!" And then she cupped her other hand on my crouch and squeezed.

"Yeah, I can feel your little pervert cock getting all hard, you little prick." She massaged the bulge, "getting all hard and excited from looking at my tits."

I gulped and looked at her hand rubbing me...

Tara found the zipper of my jeans and pulled it down. She manoeuvred her hand inside and pulled out my cock. It was hard, but not fully erect. She yanked it out and jacked it slowly.

"Oh, you are getting hard, aren't you? You are getting hard thinking about your landlady's breasts?"

Her hand went from the base of my penis and up to the very top. Her hand was strong but soft, and she knew exactly where to touch. I moaned.

"Look at you..." she mocked, "your pencil cock getting all hard. You like that? You like getting a wank from your landlady?"

I nodded. She increased the rhythm of her jerks, I was fully erect now.

"And I bet you were checking out my ass before, weren't you?"

I didn't reply.

"You were checking my butt, weren't you?!" She squeezed my cock hard.

"Yes," I nodded,gasping for air as my cock was solid hard.

"I knew it, you little bastard. You were probably thinking of fucking me, right? You were thinking of bending me over the sink and fucking me? Huh?"

The mental image of Tara bended over her sink and me fucking her from behind made me harder and more excited. I gasped as she jacked me quickly. Pre-cum was already glistening at the tip of my penis. I wouldn't be long now.

"Fucking me hard and deep in my own kitchen, huh? That was your plan?"

"Oh..." I moaned.

"You were probably thinking you'll fuck me in the ass, right?" she accused. "You were planning to stick your little cock inside my big ass, no? You little pervert."

Christ, that was too much to think about. My hands twitched as I imagined parting her round ass cheeks and pushing my cock inside her.

"Oh yeah, that's it...you were thinking of fucking my big ass, fucking me hard in my ass...such a dirty boy." Her hand jacked me faster and faster. "You were thinking of burying your little cock in my tight ass, huh? I'm sure you were getting all hot about thinking of my ass wrapped hard on your cock... thinking of taking me like a bitch from behind, doing a little anal fucking with the old lady..."

My mouth opened but all I could do was pant mercilessly. The tingling of joy was already crawling at the base of my head.

"And where were you thinking of cumming...? Where were you thinking of shooting your dirty cum you pervert?"

The answer came to me automatically; I just bumbled out:

"In your ass, I wanted to cum in your ass..."

"Oh yeah," she said, squeezed her tit hard, "you wanted to shoot all your cum into my ass, You were going to dump all your spunk in my backdoor..." I could hear her excitement.

"I'm going to..." I mumbled.

"Take this." She told me harshly, handing me a kitchen towel. "I don't want your dirty cum all over my nice kitchen's floor."

I squeezed the towel to my cock and felt the cum starting to splash out. I let out a long soft moan.

"Oh yeah, that's it," she continued to jerk me, "that's what you get for being a dirty boy."

"Oh, oh..." I whimpered, as I was cumming.

She mercilessly milked all the cum from my cock. The sperm almost made a little puddle in the middle of the towel.

"Yeah, like that..." she told me. "You like that? You like getting a handjob like that?"

My head tilted backwards and hit the fridge door. I shuddered for a second and felt faint. The climax was quick but intense. It lifted my body up in the air and made me weightless. I felt the bliss throughout my limbs.

"Hey!" her tone yanked me out of my cum dream, "wake up!"

I came to my senses. Tara was standing in the middle of the kitchen, hands akimbo and staring at me mockingly.

I shuddered at the weirdness of the situation. I was still holding her kitchen towel on my now shrivelled cock. I gulped and said:

"I'm so sorry..."

She laughed: "you're so cute. Had fun?"

I nodded, starting to realise that I hadn't committed an unpardonable sin and that I might be able to stay in the flat.

"Me too." She said. "You are a dirty boy, I knew it."

I was staring at the cum-soaked towel and handed it to her.

She pointed to the bin. "I don't need it." She laughed again.

"Right." I said and pushed it in.

The situation was a bit uncomfortable. What were we meant to do now? I really wasn't sure. Everything was a bit hazy, did I just get a handjob from my landlady?

"Well..." she said and opened the front door, "thanks for your help."

"Ah, you're welcome." I said, not quite sure how to respond, "anytime."

"Better tuck that in before going out," she nodded to my penis.

"Right," I gulped and zipped my trousers.

She gave me a smile and almost pushed me outside, waving to me as I went down the stairs.

"See you." She said and closed her door.

I stumbled to my own flat and collapsed in the kitchen. What just happened? I mumbled to myself. Suddenly I noticed I was grinning. I played the episode in my brain again and realised I just had the most exciting sexual adventure of my life. Little did I know what the future would bring.