The Landlord Ch. 02

She walked out of his office. She flipped through the document. Hundreds of pages of ideas and arguments and proposals and legalese, all considered and argued and written and edited by people. People just like her, but not like her at all. People with careers and an education.

She walked into the small pantry. Rodrigo had assured her she could be like that. Why not, Karenito, he'd proclaim, this world belongs to you as much as anyone. You are brilliant and beautiful, you only lack the faith.

But Rodrigo was gone, and she did not own the world, any of it, except maybe this shitty little coffee maker and the copier. She looked at it now, the monstrosity that Jimmy had brought in the previous year. It was as big as a car, with every possible bell and whistle. She placed the pages into feeder tray, typed in the settings, and pressed copy. The machine went to work.

He had made her spend a whole week studying the copier's every function. She'd stood there for hours, reading the manual and running tests, drilling down through every menu and option. Then he had stood there with her in the waning light of a Friday night and tested her. Color copies, two-sided copies, enlargements, faxing, emailing, whatever he requested, she demonstrated. She had finished with the autostapler. Shoving a hundred pages into its maw, it had bit through them with two steely fangs and a satisfying cha-chunk. Jimmy had cheered with delight.

"Bravo, Karen. That was amazing." He hugged her. The warmth of his embrace made her body tingle.

Her smile dazzled. "Thanks, Jimmy."

"And for wrestling with that machine, here is your bonus as promised." He took out two hundreds and placed them on the copier. "You are a star, Karen."

A star. Rodrigo had called her that. His shining star. A yearning rose in her. She grabbed Jimmy's hand as he moved to put his wallet away. She took the wallet and shook it playfully. "Would you?" she said, looking into his eyes. Her other hand dropped to his groin.

He nodded and took three more bills out from his wallet, placing them on top of the other two. His eyes start to harden, as they always did at this point, and she felt her body respond.

"Take off your panties, Karen."

She reached underneath her skirt, and pulled them down, the fabric already damp. He reached past her and flipped up the hood of the copier, exposing the glass.

He lifted her and placed her on it, forcing her thighs apart. He pulled her skirt up around her. She could feel the glass flattening her ass. His head was between her legs now, and she leaned back against the raised hood. His tongue was on her thigh, then her vulva, then her clit, and he slid two fingers into her, curling them up and rubbing her from the inside. His thumb played on her clit, as his fingers worked in and out of her, smearing her fluids across the glass. She moaned and held his shoulders as pulses accelerated up her spine.

He looked up at her. "Now make a copy, Karen, make a dozen. Color."

She didn't understand. He pinched hard on the inside of her thigh. "Copy. Reach back and make a dozen copies. And make them color."

She turned to the screen, trying to focus. He pushed his fingers deeper into her. A bullet of heat from her loins tossed her head back and forced her eyes closed. A smack on the outside of her thigh reopened them.

"Now."

She fumbled to the touchscreen, typing in 122 and having her vulva pinched as punishment. He continued to thrum into her. Her body heaved as she corrected the mistake and hit copy. The glass blazed, and she looked down, seeing his fingers silhouetted in white light as they entered her. She blinked hard, trying to find her centre, and there was another flash. Each strobe dazzled her, the flashes around her echoing the ones within her.

Then there was again darkness. She could feel the heat of the machine against her bare ass. He pulled her roughly off the copier and turned her to face it. He grabbed the copies off the side of the machine and began placing them in front of her like a cop looking for a suspect. Each picture was similar. They were all framed by two strips of sharp white, her ass and thighs, accented by the small brown mole on her right cheek. And each had a mound of pink in the middle, open and welcoming. But the fingers changed. In this one, she could see the full length of both of them, their wetness evident, as they moved either away or towards her, she couldn't tell. In the next, they had pushed into the pink to the first knuckle. In the next, to the palm. She had never seen her pussy so vividly, much less seen in finger-fucked twelve times. Warmth welled up inside her, and she welcomed him with a deep moan as he bent her back over the glass and slid into her from behind.

"Who are you, Karen?"

"I'm your whore, Jimmy," she whispered. This part of the dialogue was a practiced ritual at this point. But it wasn't rote. She meant it, every word. She was his to fuck as he pleased, and she always felt a guilty surge of ecstasy when she said the word whore.

He began to pound away at her, his hand on her shoulder, their force making the copier wobble. "That's right, Karen. Now, another dozen copies, please."

She reached for the touchscreen again. She typed in the number and hit copy. But why, what was the point?

"Now lick the glass, Karen. Lick all your whore juices off the glass." His hand went to her hair and pushed her head down.

She moved her mouth down to the glass. She could smell herself, sharp and musky. She went to taste the glass and it flashed, blinding her, her senses a jumble, a swirl of chaos around a central, irresistible wave rising up her body.

"I want you to taste this pussy I'm fucking, Karen."

She touched the glass with her tongue as another flash seared the inside of her eyelids. The taste was salty and wonderful, and the wave crashed over her. She called out his name. He responded by pushing into her deeper. She kissed the glass, adored it, began to lick it manically, each flash of white unleashing a new wave stronger than before. He slammed into her now, grunting feverishly, the copier starting to bounce against the wall. She couldn't speak or think. Her mind sat back in awe at the tumult through which it tumbled.

Then he was pulling her off the copier, pushing her down to her knees. Pinwheels still somersaulted across her vision and she couldn't see. But she knew. He had never once come inside her.

"And now I want you to taste me."

She reached out blindly, finding his cock right in front of her face, as she had expected, and placing him in her mouth. He leaned over the copier and moaned deeply. His thrusts pushed her head back into the copier, and he exploded almost immediately. Her mouth filled with him, and she could taste both of them now, the sensations dancing across her tongue. She swallowed hard. He pulled out, and she leaned back against the copier, gasping for breath.

They stayed there for a few minutes, he bent over the copier, leaning on crossed arms, her slumped on the floor, her legs splayed out in front of her. She looked up at him. She wanted to stand and embrace him, put her head against his shoulder, kiss him gently on the lips. But she couldn't and probably never would. So she stood and reached around him to grab her money.

The copier beeped. Her reverie broke. She sighed and checked the screen. The scan complete, she collected the pages and fed them to the autostapler. Cha-chunk.

Another beep. Actually more of a chime. The front door. It appeared they had their first visitor of the day. She smoothed her skirt and walked out of the pantry.

A young, Hispanic girl was walking in. She smiled at Karen. "Hello."

Karen did her normal assessment. Mild accent. Definitely a tenant or wannabe tenant, although the wannabes never normally came to the office. The blue cotton dress was nice, though. She pegged her as Bluestone Crossing material. That was their middle-tier building.

"Good morning. Welcome to Tartella Capital. How many I help you?"

"Hi. I'm a tenant at Sunshine Fields..."

Oh. Karen smiled to herself. That must be her Sunday best then.

"...and I'd like to speak with Jimmy."

Karen frowned. Like his pop, Jimmy insisted on being so casual with the tenants. She didn't understand it.

"I presume you mean, Mr. Tartella. He's in a meeting at the moment. May I ask the purpose of your visit?"

"My name is Nikki. Nikki Villanueva. And it's about the rent."