Buyer's Real Estate Market Ch. 01byOrgin Grinder©
Michigan has the worst economy in the country, and so it goes hand in hand that it also has the worst housing market. In the immortal words of Rodney Dangerfield in Caddyshack, "If everybody's buying, then sell. If everybody's selling, then buy, buy." It's time to go looking for houses.
I began my search at a Grosse Pointe real estate office to look at pictures. Not of homes, but of the agents, all of whom have a portrait adorning the wall of the office. I'm partial to young, eager-looking women (who amongst us isn't), particularly those relatively new in the business and probably starving for a commission.
There were a couple of prospects, and I chose one named Ellen Canary, a dusty blonde with green eyes and a quirky smile who looked like she could be fun. I asked if she was in, she wasn't, so I requested she call me and left the office with a handful of her listings.
My cell phone buzzed before I had the car started. Not surprisingly it was Ellen, telling me she just finished a showing a home and wondered if I was available right now to meet her there. No time like the present.
The house was an old English Tudor, there're hundreds of them throughout Grosse Pointe, but nothing special. Ellen was as advertised--I pegged her about 28 years old--dressed in black business suit and white blouse, probably off the rack at Macy's, blond hair tied back with a black scrunchy. Standard attire for this part of the world. She was slightly more attractive than her photo, and her body, though camouflaged somewhat by her attire, looked trim, with an interesting curve or two.
"Hi, I'm Kirk Reynolds. You must be Ellen."
"Ellen Canary," she stuck out her hand and gave mine a firm, but somewhat disinterested shake.
"Like the bird?"
"Yeah. The couple that just left are 99% sure they're going to buy this home, but there's harm in you looking around, and I could get an idea what you're looking for. "
She was a bit standoffish, as if she was doing me a favor by meeting me. Odd, given she extended the invitation, definitely not the standard M.O. of a real estate agent.
We walked through the first floor, basic dining room, living room, family room, decorated in predictable early American. The kitchen looked like it had been remodeled in the 80's, but would have to be updated.
Ellen offered some token observations about some unique molding, the coved ceilings and the odd nook and cranny. We toured the basement--the man's room—which featured a 50-inch plasma with surround sound, a grouping of four reclining arm chairs and wet bar. I asked if the owners were selling it with the furnishing, they weren't. We were headed to the laundry room when her cell rang. "I need to get this, it's my sale."
She all but sprinted upstairs. I took in the utility room. Basic washer and dryer, no surprised, and headed back to nose around in the cupboards, and the refrigerator behind the bar. It was bare, save a six back of domestic beer and a couple bottles of imported champagne. Perhaps on hand to celebrate should someone buy the place?
After a few minutes I heard "Damnit," from upstairs. I waited a moment, then headed up and joined Ellen in the kitchen. Cold and stern had been replaced by perky and flirty, and she sported a decidedly different look. The jacket had been discarded, and the two top buttons of her blouse were undone, revealing an unanticipated, but welcome cleavage.
This was the decided advantage of saleswomen, the go-to look. Sexy and seductive. Strap on a Wonderbra, loose a button or two, freshen the make-up and move in for the close. Men get to wear a power tie. It's no contest.
"You look a bit distraught," I said. "Albeit, in a rather attractive, do you come here often, sort of way.
She tilted her head and grinned, "That was the people who just left. I honestly thought they were going to buy, they'd been here about six flipping times. But they still want to look around."
"That's too bad. My guess is you really needed the sale. It's a rough housing market, and getting that close only to get shot down can be tough."
"It sucks, big time, and I haven't sold a house in six weeks. So if you want it, it's all yours."
"Whoa, I haven't even been upstairs. Let's look around some more—at least a little foreplay before things get serious."
She shot me a smirk and led me upstairs, her ass moving decidedly more than when I first walked in.
"Tell me something about the house. What makes this place special?"
"It was built in the 1930's, a design engineer for the Dodge Brothers. It's only had four different owners in 75 years. The current owners are divorcing and they're so over extended neither of them can afford to keep the house. The wife got it, but she wants out."
We stuck our heads in a bathroom and a couple of the smaller bedrooms. Ellen brushed up against me in each room. At first it was a hip; then my arm was grazed by a breast. Either appeared accidental. "Come on, let's see the master bedroom." She gave me a quick flip of her blond locks and led the way.
Rule number one: When a woman trying to make a sale says, "Let's go see the master bedroom," you don't hesitate.
The size of the room surprised me, bigger than most rooms of its day. But Ellen told me there was an addition put on in the 1960's, and went on about quality of the workmanship and how virtually no one can tell.
The center piece of the room was a king-sized, four post bed with a crimson comforter set against the back wall. Traditional, cherry furniture was featured throughout, with a small sitting area off the side with a love seat and ottoman.
"Both the owner, her name is Carol Dornbush, that's a picture of her and who used to be husband over there on the dresser, and I were certain we had this place sold to that couple."
What stuck me about the picture was not the fact that Carol was gorgeous, but that I knew her ex-husband, and he was a complete asshole. The kind of guy who wouldn't think twice of cheating on his wife on their wedding day, bang a bridesmaid before and after the ceremony.
"Well, maybe you'll sell this one. I mean, it's an okay house, but I've seen ten just like it this week. How flexible is the owner?"
"I thing Danielle is starting to get desperate, to be honest, so am I. I'm sure she'll go down..."
"In price, or are we talking about something else," I quickly interjected.
"Very funny. God, is that all men think of, sex all the time?" Ellen, who was about six inches shorter than me, moved within a foot, and was looking me in the eyes.
"Only when we're breathing. Besides, in times like these you've got to go the extra mile. When there's little that sets you apart from the competition, a little incentive never hurts."
She continued her penetrating glare and brushed my cheek with her finger tips. "If you're looking for an incentive, an incentive you will get."
Ellen slowly glided her hand over my face and down my chest. "Not only is this a fabulous English Tudor in the grand tradition of Grosse Pointe," she said as she lowered to her knees, eyes still on mine, "but it's the only one that comes with a world class blow job."
She meticulously unbuckled my belt, released the button on my slacks and unzipped my fly. My pants fell freely to my ankles and as she tugged my boxers down with then, my already hard penis flopped up and bounced off her chin.
"My, we are excited aren't we," she said as she began to lick me from stem to stern. "Mr. Reynolds, has anyone ever told you you have a magnificent cock?"
"I get that a lot."
"I'm sure you do, but I bet you don't get this a lot."
With that she kissed the head of my dick; then proceeded to engulf my entire seven inches, deep throating me in one motion. She held me there for a good minute, nuzzling her nose into my pubes, before slowly releasing me from her moist, damp mouth, and a shiver literally sped down my legs and up my spine.
She nibbled on my tip, then gave soft kisses back down my shaft before sucking my left nut into her mouth. She played with that like a cat with a toy mouse, then did the same with the other one, while simultaneously pumped me with her right fist.
Ellen let my right nut plopped out of her mouth, gazed up and me with a sluty grin and got down to business. Gripping the base with her right hand, she swirled her tongue around the head of my penis three or four times before taking me back into her mouth.
Unlike a lot of blow jobs, which are nothing but hand jobs with your dick resting between a girl's lips, Ellen was full-throttle head, deliberately bobbing up and down, three four inches at a clip, then once again taking all of me into her throat.
"Oh Christ, that feels wonderful."
My accolade encouraged her to pick up the tempo a bit, and she began to go back and forth on my cock with rapid movements, twisting her head left and right, all the time keeping a gentle grasp on me with her cheeks.
Her left hand began to softly caress by balls, at first scratching at the underside with her fingernails, then twirled them between her fingers. Again she let my cock slide out of her mouth, giving the head a soothing tongue bath before plunging back down on it.
The site of her blond ponytail bouncing around and her breasts heaving under her blouse as she sucked me off was magical, and I was all but done.
"I'm gonna cum, oh shit, I'm gonna cum a ton."
Ellen paused momentarily, "I sure as hell would hope so," and for a third time deep throated me, massaging my entire cock on the way down with some never-before-experience guttural gymnastics.
Once, twice, three more times she released me, only to take me all the way down again. When she sensed I could hold out not more, she pumped the base of my cock with her right hand, squeezed by balls with her left, all the while furiously bobbing up and down. That was it.
I warned her that I was cumming, not that she needed it, and shot a load that felt like it originated at the core of my body. "Oh god," was all I could mutter, and a second stream burst out of me. Ellen never blinked, and milked me for three more squirts before I had to break free.
She sat back, glared up at me, and opened her mouth to display her well earned bounty, then swallowed hard.
"How's that for a buyer's incentive?" Ellen said.
"Fucking unbelievable, but I've got to tell you, I can personally vouch for the fact that there are at least three other Tudors in Grosse Pointe that come with blow jobs. None, however, that can remotely compete with what I've just had here."
Dead air consumed the room like steam in a Turkish bath. Ellen's eyes burned and jaw clenched. If she could breathe fire I'm sure there'd be nothing left of me but smoldering embers. I stood motionless, fearing if I made a move she'd strike me dead.
"You jerk," she said, getting back on her knees. "I should chomp off your dick and spit it in the toilet." She paused, and then came the stunner--she began to unbutton the rest of her blouse. "But I'm so fucking horny right now I'm even willing to screw a bastard like you."
Her top fell off her shoulders and the bra wasn't too far behind, revealing a firm set of breasts in the 34c range that sat high on her chest. She yanked off the scrunchy, tossed it to the side and whipped her blond mane around like a seasoned pole dancer.
Reaching out she palmed my still flaccid penis, kissed it, and said. "If you can't get it up at least one more time, I will bite it off." She then sucked in the entire thing before I could take a breath.
Ellen gave a mini repeat performance until I stiffened, then clothes and bedding went every which way. Before I could utter a sound she had me pinned on the bed, grinding away with my dick deep inside her.
"God, I can't remember what's been longer, since I sold a house or got laid. This is so good."
I tend to find that real estate agents are some of the most singularly focused, perhaps obsessed is a better word, people in the world. And they all believe the rest of us are as wrapped up in the transfer of deeds as they are. She had applied that real estate mentality to this current situation and was gyrating on my cock like she was going in for the close.
Ellen moved from a full-on-her-knees position, to a semi-catcher's crouch, left knee up and right foot on the bed. It appeared she was attempting to hit a specific spot, and I think she found it.
"Oh God, you feel so good, even though you are a jerk. Don't you even think of coming yet." A total control freak.
I had no intention, as one good turn deserves another, but I thought I'd tease her a bit while letting her know I was enjoying this as much as she was. "You're so hot you're driving me crazy. I don't know how much longer I can..."
"Don't you fucking dare."
Eyes closed, Ellen bit down on her lower lip, and started to work her clit with right hand, and demanded I pay attention to her breasts with both of mine. I appreciate and respect a woman who knows what she wants and goes after it, so I gladly complied.
As I pinched and twisted her nipples, Ellen's pace of pumping up and down on my cock quickened. Her breathing picked up, like a long distance runner kicking to the finish, and beads of sweat trickled down between her swaying tits. The bed was creaking, I was panting, she was swearing--all sense of decorum had left the building.
"Shit, it's coming," she said, oddly referring to her orgasm in the third person. "Hang with me, god damnit, hang with me, it's cumming. Oh fuck, oh fuck."
Jack hammering up and down on my cock, Ellen moved off, then slammed back down on me once, twice, a third time. Gritting her teeth, eyes clinched tight, breasts bouncing up, down and all around, Ellen came with the thunder of a steam locomotive, almost breaking my cock at the base as she ground her pelvic bone into mine.
Ellen squeezed her knees together and semi-rolled off me, resting her head on my stomach. She turned, looked at me and said, "God, you don't know how much I needed that."
I had a pretty good idea.
Carol Dornbush arrived home in great anticipation of finally selling her house and moving on with her life. Noticing Ellen's car in the driveway, she headed downstairs to uncork the champagne.
Twenty-some years ago she was a fashion model of some note in the Metro Detroit area. A frequent face at the auto show for more than a decade, featured on the cover of Metropolitan Detroit Magazine and other various publications, she was as close as it came to a big-time super model in Michigan, but could never break into the national arena.
Tall, lean and lithesome, with curly auburn hair and cheekbones you could hang a hat on, Carol still did some photo work in and around town, but for the better part of twenty years and been a mother and subservient wife to an advertising executive.
A few years ago Carol's husband, without her knowledge, had installed six strategically placed, mini surveillance cameras in their bedrooms which fed to the TV and VCR in the entertainment center in the basement. At first she was angry, then lightened up a bit.
From time to time they would use the highlights of their previous sessions to get in the mood. But in addition to her husband being a top notch asshole, he was also pretty stupid. Carol filed for divorce the day after she watched the video of her husband—all four limbs tied to the bed posts—with their buxom next door neighbor sitting on his face and the neighbor's daughter sitting on his dick.
Carol sipped some bubbly and flipped on the TV just in time to see Ellen furiously bob three or four times on my cock before I off-loaded a torrent of jism into her luscious mouth. She appeared in her bedroom doorway, champagne bottle and three glasses in tow, just in time to see Ellen's orgasm and collapse onto my chest.
"So, do I have a deal, or just messy sheets," Carol said as she walked into the room.
Ellen and I were startled, to say the least, and moved to try and gather ourselves.
"No please, don't get up." Carol placed the glasses on the nightstand and started to pour. Ellen, flustered, snuggled close to me, basically for lack of anything else to do. "Did I get my asking price, or were you able to fuck a premium out of him."
We were definitely busted, so I figured to have some fun with this before I had to scramble out of here. "We haven't gotten that far yet, but I've got to tell you, your agent is willing to go the extra mile on your behalf."
"When I hired her she promised to do everything she could, and it looks as though she's kept her word."
Carol had a decidedly pissed-off look on her face, but she also hadn't taken her eyes of my rigid penis for more than a few blinks since she entered the room. She focused even more intently on it as approached the bed. No one in the world could have been more shocked than I when she sat on the edge, raked her fingers across my calf and said, "Is there anything I can do to move this process along?"
She didn't wait for an answer. In a flash she chugged the glass of champagne in one gulp, then plopped her face in my lap, grabbed my cock with her right hand and began licking my balls.
Ellen and I traded glances. I was sure she was going to get up and leave, but instead she brought her lips to mine and we kissed for the first time. We lingered there for a moment or two, and when we broke free Carol was in the process of peeling off her clothes.
She still held onto that prototypical 1980's model look, thin and firm, with smallish breasts and a great ass. She rejoined us, and went right back to my groin, this time placing her lips around my dick, and began to slowly glide up and down. Her's was a more leisurely approach than Ellen's, deliberate in taking as much in as she could, then backing off.
"That feels incredible. Oh man. I'm in heaven."
After being threatened with bodily harm by Ellen should I cum before she got off, I was locked and loaded, and Carol wasn't going to have to do much more before she got a mouthful. I told her so, she mumbled something and moved her mouth further down my shaft, though she wasn't able to take me all the way as Ellen did.
"Okay, ohh, ugh, okay, I'm gonna cum. Here it is."
"Suck him hard Carol. Come on, take it all, I did. He's delicious." Ellen cheered on, and placed a hand on the back of Carol's head and held it in place.
Carol clamped her mouth around my cock and pumped it vigorously with her right hand, jerking me off in sync with her bobbing.
"Ugh, ugh, oh God," I moaned, blasting shot after shot into Carol's mouth. The first two she handled, but that was it and she backed off, a trail of cum dripping from her lips. She swallowed what she could, then in a move of kinky eroticism, leaned down to lick up the rest, only to find Ellen had beat her to it.
Ellen's tongue twirled in my bellybutton and lapped up a pool of jism that had collected there, then skimmed across my abdomen before she bumped heads with Carol. Each were startled, but then giggled, and paused before they subtly locked lips.
In less than a minute they pulled away from me and established their own beachfront on the other side of the bed. It took even less time for me to realize this wasn't the first time these two had engaged in such behavior.
"I told you he tasted sweet," Ellen said, catching her breath.
"Not as sweet as you," responded Carol, and turned around to give herself the top position in a 69 with her real estate agent; an agent whom obviously was willing to go all the way for a sale.
I quietly moved off the bed, grabbed a glass of champagne and parked myself on the love seat to take in the Sapphic festivities.
Neither of these two were shy about eating pussy or getting their rocks off. Carol quickly spread Ellen's lips and stuck her tongue in her twat while simultaneously grinding her own mound in her partner's face.