Apartment Slavery

The apartment was small but comfortable. The landlady gave me a good deal on the rent in return for some maintenance in the house and garden. She lived on the first floor; there were another apartment on the second and mine was one of two on the third. The other apartment across the hall was empty and I was to fix it up and paint it as part of the rental agreement. I had barely moved in before the old hag, she was actually younger than my sixty-one, wanted the painting done right away because she had someone to rent it.

I worked three long days to get it done and the new tenant moved in on the fourth. I had an appointment with my lawyer about finalizing my divorce and didn’t get home until late that day. My door was partly blocked by moving boxes so I knocked on the new tenant’s door to get permission to move them. A female dressed in lose fitting fatigues five feet or less in her mid twenties looking very tired opened the door.

“Yes what is it,” she snapped. “I’m very busy!”
“I’m sorry Miss but I live across the hall and your boxes are blocking my door.” I spoke slowly with an apologetic tone.
“Oh yes Mr. C, the janitor. You aren’t crippled! Are you? Just move them over!” She snorted some unintelligible expletives and slammed her door. I had wanted to say I’d be glad to help her but…wow I thought, I’ve got a veritable cyclone as a neighbour; perhaps though she had just lost it because of a rough moving day. My wife had accused me of being snappy with her, one of the reasons we split; even though she was pretty air at it herself and she had always been quick to retort. I moved a few boxes over and entered my apartment.
There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. I opened it and was faced with the cyclone again. “Did you take one of my boxes Mr’ C?”
“Now why would I do that, maybe you should look in the porch down stairs. I think I saw some there.” She stared at me fiercely and scanned the apartment as if looking for her box.

“Everything was brought up here the boys said, it couldn’t be down there!”
“I’ll be glad to go down and check for you Miss.”
“It’s Mz, Mr. C, and yes maybe you should and earn your keep!”

She stomped back into her own apartment slamming the door. I stood for a minute and absorbed what she had said. Moving tenants was not in my job description but maybe just this once; she would probably calm down and apologise later. Moving can be taxing. I walked down the two flights.
There were three boxes there. I picked up the two top ones and brought them up and then went right back down for the third. That was a very heavy box, containing a TV. The first two boxes were gone when I got back up so I knocked on the door. She opened it wide and motioned me inside.
Take it in the living room open it up. It’s a brand new twenty-seven inch. You can set it on the stand and hook it up; I had the cable connected so it should work.”
I went along without commenting. This woman had a strange effect on me. I had never been bullied like this at home or at work; well maybe in the army. I opened the box and set it on the stand looking for the plug-in on the wall and the cable connection. “No, no, no what is the
matter with you the cable hooks into the VCR not the TV”
“I’m sorry Mz. I’m not very good with these things.”
“Well, just get the damned VCR out of that box over there and set it on the shelf if you can’t figure it out, I’ll fuck’n well do it myself!” I did as she asked and and actually managed to hook it up and turn it on and then headed for the door. “Yes, get the remaining boxes
and bring them in.” I was heading for my own apartment but went along and brought in the six boxes.
“They all go in the bedroom, you know where that is, don’t you?”
“Well I fixed up the place so I think so.” I set them on the floor next to the bed and turned to leave.

“That's no fuck’n good on the floor; set them on the bed and open them damn it. I assume a janitor carries a pocket knife!” I obeyed or that's the feeling I had and slit them open. She came back a few minutes later setting down a hamper. “Do I have to tell you everything; those
boxes are full of clothes. There's the closet and there's the dresser.

That box has dresses, jackets and pants on hangers; heavy things on the left and lighter things on the right. Shoes and boots in that box go on the close floor, sweaters on the shelves, undies in the drawers and so on. That box has bed sheets and blankets; might as well do the bed too.
Let’s get with the program.” She left for the other room. “Oh,” she yelled “fold the boxes when you're done and take them to my storage space in the cellar.”
Once again I felt compelled to just leave; why was I taking this? 
Hanging the clothes and setting up her shoes was not too bad but the underwear and brassieres and garter belts that felt weird but also erotic. I had never touched my wife’s under-things and rarely seen them the way she always managed to hide herself when changing. I felt very
strange and trancelike and realized that I was developing a semi. The undies were mostly soft and silky not at all like her personality. She was wearing sloppy fatigues and it was hard to visualize her body in those things. There were tons of underwear and not enough space in the
dresser. I stood with a pair of panties trying to decide where to put them when she surprised me.
“Why don’t you sniff them while you’re at it, turns you on does it?”
“Oh no I…I …there’s no room for anymore. Where do I … I mean.”
“You were married; you’ve seen women’s undies before.”
“Well barely…I mean.”
“Aha I see; who were you married to: Queen Victoria?”
“You might say that,” I nodded emphasising my answer.
“Just leave the rest in a box and I’ll find a place later. I got no provisions yet why don’t you go make us some coffee. You’ve got coffee?”
“Sure, I got cookies too.”
“Good bring it over when you’re ready, we’ll take a break.” When I returned with a tray she was sitting at the kitchen table typing on a laptop.
“Great um, smells good and homemade cookies, you still know how to cook.” It was the first nice thing she’d said.

“Well that’s what I did in the army” I wondered why she said still. I pushed a cookie plate close to her computer. We drank and ate cookies in silence while she tapped away
“Well I think that will do for tomorrow’s schedules, oh, wait there’s one more. Listen Mr; C. go run my bath, that box has towels and bathroom things in it. You can unpack while it fills and oh, there bubble bath stuff somewhere in there too. I followed her orders in a fog not
understanding why. She came in just as I finished unpacking.

“You can undress me now.” I stared at her gaping in disbelief.
“What’s wrong Mr’ C?” I just stood there frozen, unable to speak. “You’ve seen a naked woman before; I don’t have time for nonsense here; I told you to undress me…now get at it!” I began to fumble with the lower edge of her top as she sighed impatiently. She turned as I lifted it off letting me fumble with the bra hasps; then turning again as I manoeuvred it off her shoulders and pulled it off exposing two incredible slightly drooping full breasts. She caressed and squeezed them forcing the flattened nipples out, as I got on my knees to remove her pants.

“Fuck’n bra, my tits get squashed in those cups! Ah that feels good.” I pulled her pants down and set them aside. She continued to massage her breast with her eyes closed as I fumbled with the elastic in her panties. I pulled them down very slowly over her bulbous ass and sculptured thighs, drooling over her luscious flesh. She lifted each foot as I removed them while fluffing her pubic hairs with one hand, still massaging one breast with the other. I opened the hamper and threw the panties in. After removing her socks she stepped into the tub and got down sighing. “Ah that feels so good.”
“Well I’ll be going now Mz.” I headed for the door.
“Not so fast Mr. C. Sit down!” She pointed at the toilet. I supposed you are wondering why and how I can get away with treating you like a slave.”
“Well it’s sort of…well more than unusual, isn’t it?”
“You see, as of today you are my slave!”
“Really what makes you think so?”

“Let me give you the lowdown; I’m a personnel manager with a large manufacturing company. I have a sixth sense about people; that’s why I’m good at it.” I also know every detail about your personal life.
The personnel manager with the company you retired from is my main source of information. I have read your physiological profile including army records, which tells me more about you than you know yourself. I suppose you are wondering why you didn’t object to my demands. No one except your drill sergeant at boot camp has ever done that to you before right?”

“No that’s for sure I can’t explain it. I should have refused to bring up those boxes in the first place. It’s not in my job description.”
“No, but you did it and I knew you would based on your records and the look in you eyes. Behind that macho façade lies a pussy cat with a secret desire to submit to authority. I am a fuck’n bitch and I enjoy being a bitch. Now here’s the deal: I am busy not only at work but also
at home with the computer. I’m a lousy cook and housekeeper; therefore you are going to cook and keep house for me.”
“Just like that, what are you going to pay me for that?”
“I said slave, George …which brings with it certain…shall we say, fringe benefits plus earned bonuses” She smiled knowingly while caressing hr breasts, leaving me nearly speechless again.
“What…what do you mean…fringe benefits and bonuses?”

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready. Right now go to your apartment  and take a quick shower. Then come back, dressed in your housecoat, slippers and nothing else! Move it! I don’t want to lie in fuck’n tub all night!”
I showered quickly, my head spinning with a thousand thoughts.

What did she mean by the pleasure of being her slave? She couldn’t mean sex, or why else the shower; this was unbelievable. I was old enough to be her father. She was still in the tub and stood up when I returned.

“Wash me George, come on get on with it…there’s the soap!”
“I…I don’t see a washcloth…how?
“I prefer the personal touch George. First open your robe; let’s have a look at your equipment.” I was more than semi hard.” What have we got here, seven inches erect?” I shrugged as she gave me a sharp stare.
“Liar! what is it?”
“Seven and a half.”
“All men measure their meat; don’t ever lie to me again George!”