The Landlord Ch. 02

Karen flipped open the compact and grinned ghoulishly. She wiped away an errant splash of lipstick, a particularly sparkly pink, and popped her lips. The reflection moved up to her eyes. Eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow. She had the whole crew working overtime this morning, but they didn't look to be up to the job.

Eduardo had insisted she stay with him, and this early in a relationship, she knew better than to act like a prima donna. She had wanted to go home, of course. She was getting too old for this nonsense, but she was also getting too old to walk out. Sitting there on the vinyl stool, bathed in the red light of a neon Coors sign, she had smiled gamely at Eduardo's idiot back-slapping with his fellow barflies and had even faked a smile when he insisted they all down some ridiculous flaming shot before heading home. Cooing and moaning as was to be expected, she had waited on all fours as Eduardo flailed around behind her, grateful when he finished with a spittly "Oh fuck yeah. Fuck yeah."

Now it was damage control time. A decade ago, she could have emptied a bottle of tequila and been fucked raw in a club bathroom and still looked ready for the runway by breakfast. Now the eyes looking back at her were surrounded by baby crow's feet, each little crevice telling a story of falling or failing, pieces of her cut away by the sharp grit of life, cruel little shards one after another from the men in her past, leaving dark, empty spaces that could never be filled again with any amount of cosmetics. Her baby blues, the ones whose giddy twinkle had once reduced so many swaggering young men to wide-eyed finger puppets, had become roadside gravel, their youthful shine clouded by the unwashable build up of thirty-five years of dust and filth.

Depreciated. That was the word. She had plenty of difficulty with most of the accounting concepts Jimmy had been trying to teach her, but that wasn't one of them. She was living it, straight-line depreciation from homecoming queen to Eduardo. She'd even made a lame joke about it during one of the afternoons he had been spent immersing her in debits and credits. His reaction had been fierce. Physically grabbing her, something he never did unless it was an after hours session, he had launched into a harangue, defending her, imploring her. Do not ever allow yourself to be defined by somebody else's bullshit, he'd said. You are wonderful, Karen, he'd said, you just need to have more faith in yourself. No one since Rodrigo had talked to her like that. She had wanted so much for him to kiss her then, but he hadn't.

She put the compact back in her purse and swiveled in her chair to look behind her. Through the frosted glass, she could see the soft, fuzzy outline of Jimmy at his desk. He had arrived early today, had hardly said hello as he'd walked past the front desk and shut the door. Not even a request for coffee. And the other thing, well, it had been three weeks since he had touched her. It had never been that long before, with him or his father. She pulled out the compact and checked herself again.

The phone on the desk beeped twice. She pressed a button. "Good morning, Jimmy."

"Hi Karen. Can you come back here? I need you to scan something for me."

"Sure thing, Jimmy."

She walked back to the office. She rapped twice on the door, and his father had taught her, and opened it slowly. Jimmy was seated, crouching over the giant oak desk, one hand signing, the other hand flipping from one page to the next. It had been two years, and she still couldn't get used to seeing him there. She had first met him, eight years back, in her first week of work. She thought he'd been a tenant, a college kid in a backwards baseball cap, coming by to explain why the rent money had been spent on beer, but he had bounded right by her, without a glance, and opened the door to the office with an enthusiastic, "Pops!". She had hurried into the office and found the kid hugging her new boss. "Karen, this is my son, Jimmy. Jimmy, our new receptionist, Karen." Jimmy had given her a lopsided smile and padded over with an extended paw.

Now he was the man behind the desk. The goofy college kid was long gone, but with his slim build and his tousle of blonde hair, he still looked out of place behind the ponderous two-ton relic of carved oak. Marv had ridden astride that desk, his prodigious bulk pushing up the ceiling, his glare forcing the walls into retreat. He had a laugh, loud and full, that would send pigeons wheeling into the air. His joy became your joy, and when he was delighted with you, you were delighted with life. When she had fucked something up, which wasn't uncommon, especially early on, his voice had boomed, a thunderclap across the office, warning of a tirade to come, one that inevitably would leave her in tears.

Jimmy wasn't anything like Marv. Where his father growled at life, daring it to challenge him, Jimmy smiled at it, trying to coax it to his wishes. The office that had once strained to contain his father's thrashing stood bemused at its quiet and good-natured new occupant. The bluster and cigars had been replaced by dimples and a dorm fridge full of Gatorade. The only time she ever saw any of Marv in Jimmy was on the rare occasion when the subject of boxing came up or when he came to her with his wallet open.

Looking at the desk, she remembered the first time. Of course, Marv had fucked her on every side, angle, and surface of the desk. He had been heavy and none too nimble, but he had been very imaginative about contorting her so he could use the desk as support. He had been a man of his generation, a man who learned sex when porn was still hidden in grimy theatres, the internet was science fiction, and BDSM was just four random letters. He undressed her, fucked her, and paid her. He was enthusiastic, and she always enjoyed it, but it was as vanilla as could be.

She had found Jimmy in his father's chair. They had closed the office for the week, but she had come up to change out of the heels into the boots she kept under the desk. The snow had fallen heavily during the funeral, and the buses were out of service, so she had resigned herself to walking. He was spinning the chair slowly back and forth. His eyes were red, and his blonde hair shot out at painful angles.

"Jimmy, are you okay? What are you doing here?"

She had felt stupid the moment she said it, but then what could you say at a moment like this that didn't feel foolish. Forty-eight hours before, she was wishing them well, ushering them out of the office, have a great night, enjoy the fights. Jimmy had been a Golden Glove star, like his Daddy twenty five years before, and the Friday night fights were their thing. They'd get a steak at Tomasino's, bullshit about everything under the sun, cheer dizzily for the neighborhood kids, and then talk the fights over a cocktail. Same thing every week. And as every week, after they said their goodbyes, Marv would stop at the corner bodega on the way home to grab some fruit for the next morning. Except this time, as he reached for a bag of clementines, some little piece of something came loose from somewhere, tumbled through his bloodstream, and got caught in his aorta. His knees buckled and his hands shot out for support. His arm caught in the hanging scale, pulling it down with him, as he tumbled forward. It clattered on the ground. Ding. Ding. Ding. Fighters, back to your corners.

"Hi Karen. I just came by to...I don't know...I didn't know where to go."

She walked over to him, unbuttoning her overcoat as she went and laying it on the desk. Her black dress was long and flowing, the top cut maybe a bit too low for propriety, but then, she didn't have any proper funeral wear.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "Jimmy, sweetie, you shouldn't be here. Go home." She touched his cheek. "Get some rest."

Jimmy let out a small, choked laugh and smiled through his tears. "I'm not sure you should call me 'sweetie' any more, since I guess I'm technically the boss now." The words set off a little convulsive cry from his chest, and he tried to swallow it.

Karen smiled weakly at the joke. She could feel her own eyes starting to burn. She knelt in front of him and put her hands on his knees. She whispered, choking. "Jimmy, I loved your Dad. He was a great boss, a great man, but you know, so are you. I have watched you grow all these years. You dad was so proud of you, and I know I will be happy working for you too."

He looked at her. Oddly, she thought. Then she noticed his pants. He had sprouted quite the collegiate erection. He saw her look, and his face went red.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I can't help it. You just knelt down, and you were so nice, and I couldn't control it."

She almost had to laugh at the absurdity of it, but then she had been on her knees under this desk before. Marv used to love getting a blow job while talking to contractors. He said it gave him power over them. She would kneel under the heavy oak frame of the desk, like a bunny in its dark, little hutch and wait for the meeting to start, then undo her blouse so he could her tits. She always waited until the meeting was in full swing to unzip his fly. It became a game for her to see if she upset his composure, while being otherwise silent. She tried different approaches. One time she held him in her mouth like a popsicle, just using her tongue to massage his shaft, while she reached into his pants to grab his balls. The overall lack of movement apparently drove him crazy. He couldn't speak at all for the last thirty seconds, and when climaxing, he painfully drove his knee into the top of the oaken frame. The contractor clearly thought he was dealing with a lunatic. Marv had given her an extra fifty dollars in appreciation for that particular effort.

The memory made her smile inwardly. Well then, let's make it a toast, here's to your dad, she thought, one for old time's sake. She put her hand on Jimmy's swollen crotch. He moaned in soft surprise. It felt like he had a couple of inches on his pop. She undid his fly and pulled out his cock. It was smooth and rock hard in her hand. Harder than Marv's aging cock and harder than Eduardo's drunken one. She put her lips on its tip, kissed it, then lifted it up and ran her tongue on along the bottom of the shaft from his balls back to the tip. His body stiffened in response, and his hand slid into the rough, permed curls of her hair. She opened her mouth and took him in whole, her fresh pink lipstick smearing along the base of his cock. She paused there for a second, letting her tongue tickle along the shaft, then put her fingers around the base and began the mechanical up and down she had learned so well. Like a metronome, one of her high school girlfriends had advised, and they had all giggled at the time, but she still found herself visualizing back and forth, tick tock, up and down, keep the rhythm, keep it tight.

Marv had always sat back during these sessions, his hands on the arms of the chair, hardly making a sound. He'd give her an occasional "That's it, honey" or "Just like that" but little more, until a low guttural moan signalled an oncoming climax. It was a fragile business, his old cock, too fast or too slow or even an ill-timed ringing phone could start to deflate it, so she had learned to keep a nice, steady pace (and forward all calls to voicemail).

She fell into her practiced rhythm with Jimmy. His fingers worked into her hair, his hand massaging her head, occasionally holding her close to him for longer than was really comfortable. Now he reached down with his other hand, slid into into the top of her dress, grabbing her breast tightly. She gasped. This was not Marv. He pulled her head more roughly to him, pinching her nipple at the same time.

"Stand up."

His voice had changed. The weepy tone was gone. There was an edge, a flash of sword in his words, and she did as he asked. He continued to hold her nipple as she rose, and then he stood too, pinching the nipple harder now. Pain began to bite.

"Jimmy," she pleaded.

He placed both hands on the cups of her dress and yanked. The fabric held firm for a moment, then split, the ripping sound, so insistent and rough, loosening her, awakening a heat. Her tits were out, full and pulsing. He kissed her hard on the neck, one hand tightening on her breast, as he pushed her back against the desk. He grabbed her hair again and pulled it to the side. She yowled, turning, succumbing to the force and direction. She was facing the desk now, and he bent her over. He pushed her down firmly, her arms splayed out to the side, turning her head sideways. She was completely prone. The cold surface of the desk flared goosebumps along her exposed breasts. She looked back at him. The dimples were gone. His eyes were still red-rimmed but the blue had turned to steel. She had seen that pitiless power before, when Marv had skewered a councilman or incinerated a wayward contractor, and now the son turned their frozen brilliance on her.

He lifted the long, black swooping dress, throwing the fabric up onto her back, exposing her, opening her further. She felt her panties pulled down.

Lightning struck. There was no forewarning, no gentle massage. Her panties were still mid-thigh, but his tongue was inside her, his thumbs on either side of her, pulling her open, allowing him to explore deeper. Her breath caught. Goddamn, she thought, this is certainly not Marv. Then his fingers were on her clit, making small, delicate circles, each one sending a bolt of pleasure up her middle.

He continued to stroke her, his fingers rubbing across her pussy, wiping wetness along her thighs and back to her bottom. She cried in surprise. His tongue was in her ass now, wet and warm. One hand continued to tickle her clit and now the other played around the edge of her ass. She could feel an orgasm beginning to build, and she whimpered at its approach.

She felt him stand behind her and heard his belt buckle rattle against the floor. He smacked her ass.

"Who's your boss, Karen?"

"You are, Jimmy."

"That's right." He slid into her vagina, and she heaved, tightening to embrace him. He leaned over her, put his hand in her hair, grabbed her sweaty curls, and pulled her head back. "And what are you?"

"Your secretary."

He spanked her again. She moaned. These were not the impotent slaps of an Eduardo, trying to will his burro get up off the ground. These were the smacks of a warrior, leading his steed to battle, sword raised. She felt taut wires running from her head to her ass to her pussy. They were electrified, and her body trembled.

"What are you?"

"Your employee."

Another slap, this time on the inside of her thigh. Heat coursed up her side, and she bit her lip.

"Wrong again. I guess I'm going to have to show you."

He reached over and took her arm, guiding it back across her back. He rested her hand near her bottom.

"Stick your finger in your ass."

"No, Jimmy."

Another slap. Open palmed and fierce. Her ass blazed. He pushed himself deeper into her, forcing a deep sigh from her lips. He pulled at her arm and grabbed her middle finger, extending them towards her hole. She relented, allowing him full control. Yes, he could fuck her ass with her finger. The dirtiness of it made her shiver with pleasure.

"You do it, Karen. I want to watch you put your finger in your ass."

His words made her burn. She touched her asshole. She could feel the sharp edge of her brightly painted nail slipping into herself. Her hips begin to rock as an orgasm rose in volume.

"In, Karen, In!" He took her hand and pushed her fingertip, forcing into her ass. He held it there. He began to fuck her more steadily now, driving her finger back and forth to match his thrusts. Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck, this was not Marv.

"Push it in deeper." She did as he asked, pushing her finger into herself She could feel his cock now, just on the other side of the flesh, pistoning, pushing the wall of her vagina back into her finger, unleashing something wonderful. An explosion tore through her.

"Deeper still". Her whole finger was in her ass now, as far as she could reach. His hand was wrapped around hers, forcing the finger deeper still, while the other hand stayed twisted in her hair, controlling her, guiding her as the waves of orgasm throttled her body.

He was spanking her now. One cheek then the other. Controlled, controlling, hard enough to sting, but not hard enough to damage. "Don't you dare take that finger out." His speed was increasing, the power of his thrusts forcing her thighs into the corner of the desk.

"I'm going to come on your ass, Karen. And you are going to use that little fingers of yours and push it all inside you. Do you understand?" She moaned her assent. The filthiness of it set her on fire. Her ass and pussy were still sending waves that tossed her body helplessly.

He pulled out from her. He grabbed his cock and rubbed. A hot shot of cum splashed on her hand, dripped down on her fingers. Another shot landed on her fingertip, another splash right on her asshole. A final bead landed on her ass and dripped down the back of her thigh. Karen rubbed her fingers in the hot stickiness and began pushing it into her ass. Her body roiled with pleasure.

"Do you see what you are now, Karen? You're mine. You're not my employee or my secretary, you're my property. My whore. Do you understand?"

She could barely nod. She collapsed back down on to her knees, her head and arms resting on the desk, its coolness welcome against her hot cheek. Her legs still trembled. He leaned over behind her and kissed gently her on the shoulder and again on the side of her neck. She turned her lips to him, but he pulled away.

He buttoned his pants and stepped back from her. The eyes softened, and a wistful smile creased his face. "Thank you for that, Karen. I guess I needed it."

She stood and moved to him, the flaps of her torn dress hanging down by her breasts. She ached for a hug, a gentle kiss to accompany the words.

He stepped back again. "I know you had a thing with my Dad." She stopped short. "Some kind of arrangement. This," he spread his arms, "this was incredible, and I was wondering, I don't know, if maybe we could do something similar."

His words punched her, knocking the air from her lungs. You're my whore. And why did she dare think otherwise? Rodrigo had said the same thing. No, that wasn't quite right. He'd said, you're a whore. You're a fucking whore, Karen. Pain welled up inside her, not the hot, searing pain she had welcomed just seconds ago, but a dull, cold ache, the same one she knew from so many gray, hungover mornings since he'd left. She offered a brave, thin smile. "Of course, Jimmy. That would be great."

He pulled out his wallet, counting out three hundreds. He passed them to her. He took out one more. "That's for the dress. Sorry."

She held the same, thin smile. Held it for as long as it took to get her coat on, to hug him awkwardly, and to hurry out of the office, her boots forgotten. Marv had always left $200 on her desk the next day. Now she was getting three. I got a raise, she thought. A muffled cry escaped her lips, and tears started to stream down her cheeks. She walked home through the snow, the snow burning against her exposed ankles, the wind streaking her tears across her face.

"Karen."

His voice brought her back. She could still feel the cold in her feet. He was holding out the stack of papers.

"Scan it and email to me. I want the lawyers to take a final look at it."

She took them numbly.

"Thanks, Karen." .

Three weeks, she thought. She touched her hair. "Is there anything else you need?"

He looked up at her blankly. "No, nothing now. Maybe some coffee when you get a moment." He turned back to his computer.