*Months ago when I posted my first two encounters with my landlady (see my post history), I received a ton of messages and comments asking if there was a third hookup. As I said in the comments, we did indeed have a final encounter just as I was moving out of the unit. I’ve been meaning to write up a retelling of this final encounter, but failed to find the time until now. To those who asked: here it is.*
*( Also if anyone has any advice/tips/experience regarding self-publishing erotic writing/journaling, please msg me! I need help lol )*
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My lease was up, and as much as I liked the unit’s price tag, there were too many issues with the place for me to justify staying. I had found a handful of places that offered more square footage, a better location, some of which were newly renovated, for only $100 (and some change) extra a month. It was time to get out.
I sent my landlord a text informing her that I would not be renewing my lease. She immediately replied with a text explaining what I would need to do to get my security deposit back. The wording was surprisingly clinical, as though I hadn’t spent accumulative hours deep in her guts. Alas, business is business I guess.
I had seen her around the complex doing light maintenance on other units, overseeing contractors, and collecting rent checks from an elderly couple a few doors down. But we hadn’t had any real interaction since my metaphorical but also *not*-metaphorical drowning in her tight warm deliciousness earlier that year.
She explained in the text that she would be coming by some time in the coming week to inspect the unit before she returned my deposit. Had I been moving out six months earlier, I would have assumed that she might be ‘inspecting more than one unit’ if you will, but after months of no contact outside of a monthly wire transfer, I figured things had cooled down between us. Of course, if you read my previous posts, you know I was hoping with all my heart that I could get one last chance with her alluringly cold, sexy, (cold in a mean/awkward kind of way, but also in a hot/distant kind of way) perfectly taut little ass. But– I was trying to be realistic with myself. That being said, I wasn’t going to just play dead. There are certain things that got her attention last time, and I’d be a fool, I figured, to not employ the same approach this time around. So that Thursday morning when I got a text from her giving me a heads up that she’d be coming by, I exhibited what some might call ‘learned behavior’, and what others might call ‘wanting to fuck’. I took off my jeans, tossed my underwear in the hamper, put on my high-school running shorts, and turned off the AC. That’s right. I went *full bulge.*
These running shorts, they were designed for maximum freedom of motion, but what they afforded me on that Thursday, was *maximum display.* The *bafflingly thin* black fabric, plus the almost laughably-short cut (hem? idk) of the shorts, all coupled with a hot summer noon… the combination left very little to the imagination below my waistline. Was it hot as fuck in my apartment that day? Yes. Yes it was. Incredibly so. But most if not all bold decisions have an associated cost.
She wouldn’t be shocked to see the curvature in my pants. We’d had only two face-to-face tenant-landlord interactions before that day, and in both interactions, my bulge made the first impression for me. I guess I thought that while we might not revisit that awkwardly hot/messy sexual space we had created together in our encounters prior, she might at least appreciate my overt wink.
She texted me that she was outside, and I hopped to life like a dog waiting for the mailman, my torso shiny with sweat. I opened the door. “Hi.” She said neutrally, before walking past me and into the unit without any further words, brushing against my forward-hanging shaft as she entered. I felt my member swing freely from the contact, before it settled back in place. I remembered being taken aback by her to-the-point attitude during our first interaction, but now I couldn’t help but swoon. Maybe swoon isn’t the right word… part swoon, part lust. *Swust.*
I watched as she slowly took a measured gander at each room, closet, and appliance. Walking through my space, with her eyes scanning, she wielded a certain palpable authority that made me nervous, even though I knew she wouldn’t find anything wrong. After flicking my stove-top on and off one burner at a time, she paced over to me and looked me up and down casually, before saying, “Everything looks good. I’ll send your deposit back as soon as I get home.”
Phew. My nerves eased but I had a bit of a brain stutter and responded with a sputtered, “Thanks for the place.” It sounded as dumb as it reads. She smiled a little, which was novel. A good sign maybe?
She opened up her cute little mouth to speak, and let it hang ajar as she flitted her eyes down for a moment then back up. It could’ve been a package-glance, or maybe just an anxious shoegaze, but the possibility that she was picking up what I was letting hang was enough to get the blood flowing. I could feel the expansion between my legs. With her mouth still open she found the words, “Thanks for being such an easy tenant.”
Did she intend the double meaning when she said easy? That I was *easy?* This was the kind of mystery that had me so attracted to her at this point. She continued, “Before I go, I think the–”, she paused and I wondered what she might have missed in her inspection. She looked down at the subtle enlargement occurring beneath my shorts. With the same commanding authority as before, she reached down and gently cocooned my plump(ish) cock in her grip. I instinctually let out a sigh of relief/satisfaction. I had missed her confident physicality. She tightened her grip a bit in response to the inflation her gesture caused. It was happening. At this point I was at least pretty sure. *Please don’t let this just be some sort of brief sexual-handshake.*
She looked up at me as she let go of my lengthening, widening erection. Her mouth opened again. No words again. At this moment, if she were to look down, she would have had grounds for an indecent exposure case, as I was about 80% hard, which, when wearing these shorts that are so flimsy they almost don’t exist, means my cock was pretty much *out*. My dick was in charge, the shorts had no agency whatsoever. I hurried to tuck it up in my waistband. She clocked this, looked me in the eyes, and shook her head. *No,* she said with her eyes, brow slightly furrowed*.* I untucked from my waistband, and my now almost-fully-hard cock bounced as it fell, as though expressing excitement for being released from captivity.
She reached forward and held the underside of my shaft. Her soft and tiny hand felt wonderful as she confidently stroked my shaft forward and back with a sensual yet almost occupational focus. Each stroke brought her hand closer and closer to the base of my cock, her smoothly rotating grip pushing the remaining fabric into irrelevance. It felt amazing, as though she had each finger on it’s own string, they each seemed to follow the perfect path down then up my shaft as her grip swirled slowly around the full length of my pulsating wood. I watched her tenderly, knowingly working my cock, and in her eyes I saw what I at the time believed to be some combination of arousal and sullen nostalgia. Who knows. My dick lurched and she smiled a little again as she got down on her knees. She looked up at me. “Is this ok?” she asked. I nodded. Mouth agape once again, she brought her small head to my smaller head and gave the first inch of my dick a warm and wet embrace that I will never let myself forget. She sat there gently suckling on my cock head for quite a while. It was so incredibly *nice*. Just perfectly satisfying and *nice.* Somehow I got even harder, I felt my cock head taking up more real estate behind her lips, filling her soft mouth with my harder and harder, now physically pronounced and almost exaggeratedly inflated cock head. She began occasionally flicking her tongue across the bottom of that first inch as she ran out of empty space in her mouth, a space almost full of warm rigid flesh, a friendly introduction establishing our final chapter, an ‘I’m going to fuck you as hard and deep as your body can handle instead of maturely wrapping up this transactional relationship’ type slanging of dick.
The sensation plus the anticipation resulted in peak hardness. Like I might burst my cock open. It felt like I had a 7.2 inch diamond attached to my body. I wasn’t without concern but figured alarmingly erect is better than the opposite, in this situation at least.
Testing the waters, I slowly, *very* slowly, begin pushing my hips forward, giving her a little more, by the millimeter. Cock in mouth, she looked up at me and nodded. I picked up the pace a little, but not much, as I watched my dick very slowly disappear past her delicate lips, returning to its much-missed home at the back of her throat. (Aspiring to travel down it, eventually, if there was room). I continued feeding her, and as we approached inch six, she placed her hand on my stomach to pause my thrust. She pulled her head off of my shaft, cleared her throat, and then took me back in, this time with energy, and a little aggression. I was impressed at how smoothly she was able to quick-slide back to where she left off, taking much of my length in one fell slobbering swoop. She hit inch six, and with her next move, sent me to cloud nine. She slowly let my final inch-and-some-change enter her small as hell mouth. My pulsing head felt welcomed, coddled by the warm wetness it found deep in her throat. Somehow, perhaps through magic, she didn’t gag at all, not even a peep. I was slightly concerned as I saw her eyes close and her head tilt back, and thought she might be silently choking(?), or casting a spell, until I saw that her hand was going to work on herself, her fingers gyrating under her pants. Moments later, I heard it, the welcoming sounds of a wet slit being touched for the first time since ‘waking up’. That first parting of the lips.
I couldn’t help it– I began to fuck her tight mouth with gentle rhythm, trying not to make any of my thrusts too violent. My shaft slid back and forth through her velvety throat and her suckling mouth– it was like heaven. I assume she watched some sort of informational video or something because she hadn’t sent me this far into space via oral previously, but now, the woman I looked down at with bliss in my eyes, she could certainly teach a class or consortium with the confident precision she employed in order to suck my mind, heart, soul, and self-concept out of my body, through my cock, and into the warm apartment air. I never expect to be able to go balls deep in a partner’s mouth, and *especially* not when the mouth belongs to such a scaled down individual. But she took in every inch of me like it was her job, but like a job that’s not even challenging, like she was listening to a podcast and mopping the floor of a school hallway.
I put my hand on her head and tested the waters a little more as I began giving more *oomph* to my thrusts into her ever-willing, and sucking, mouth. She reached around and grabbed my ass cheeks, pulling me towards her slightly as if to challenge me, as if asking for more. Ask and ye shall receive. I grabbed her head with both hands now, and (with some added gyration for good measure) began fully fucking her mouth like it was a pussy, giving her all my length with speed and some measured but sturdy forcefulness. With the consistent suction of her mouth that, as it became her throat, transitioned into a warm tightness, it was like a *Pussy 2.0,* plus– this orifice could communicate verbally, so maybe even *3.0*.
I closed my eyes as I fucked my landlord’s super tight mouth with all my meat, and I imagined a world where she wasn’t my landlord, but my roommate, or at least the mailman or building stupor, whatever role would have her walking in the door more, and doing *this* more. She let out her first gag/cough, and I opened my eyes, but she continued pulling me in by my ass-cheeks, so I didn’t relent. At this point it was beautifully messy, her slobber dripping off the length of my thrusting cock, which was sending dribbles everywhere and leaving the bottom half of her face coated in wetness.
After having her mouth and throat thoroughly ravaged by the lengthy, unwavering, unselfish yet unapologetic density that was my cock, she pulled herself off of my glistening inches and, with no discernible hesitation, without rising from her knees, turned away from me and pulled down her pants/panties as she bent forward, presenting me with her glistening, nearly sopping wet pussy. I– also without hesitation– grabbed the base of my shaft and aimed my throbbing cock head at the entrance of her pink wetness. I felt the slick soft sensation of her lips on my tip, and I held her hips as I began my initial, careful thrust into her familiar tightness. But it wasn’t familiar. *It was tighter.*
Believe me when I say, I have *never* had to work so hard to make headway into such a slippery, juicy, entirely wet vagina. I know about kegels and other things a woman can do to increase their tightness, but she was already *so tight* before, I couldn’t fathom how she’d increased the *vice*-ness of her pussy’s vice grip. As I passed inch 3 and began making progress into her depths, I marveled at the combination of tightness and wetness like Louis & Clark on the new frontier marveling at the whimsical landscapes of North America, *but with pussy*. It was a journey I had fantasized about, but never expected such resistance. I leaned into her and with a series of short thrusts made my way through her unprecedented tightness, eventually leaving only a bit of the base of my dick un-embraced, un-loved, and jealous of the oh-so-lucky six inches that hugged her walls. Just like her mouth, her pussy slowly and seemingly-deliberately swallowed that final inch-or-so, both smoothly and entirely, allowing my cock head to slide back into it’s favorite nest, to once again nestle in that tight pinkness. I left my shaft to sit and bask, motionless. There was nowhere left to go; I could feel the tip of my dick kissing her *very end,* no room to spare, and conveniently, not much dick left to deposit. It was worth the voyage: feeling her slippery unending squeeze along all of my length truly transported me to some other plane of existence. I could feel her pussy winning the battle it was in with my cock, a primal cock that wanted to grow more, held at bay by the grounding authority of a pink colored industrial clamp. Whether she knew it or not, she *owned* me at that moment. Like some sort of reverse-excalibur scenario, wherein against all odds, this bottom 10 percentile sized female, swallowed the entirety of my top 1 percentile-length’d cock (percentiles according to a comprehensive internet calculator. Personally I will never believe even for a second that I’m that far from the mean, the numbers just don’t match up with reality, and no amount of charts will change this belief.) and THEN, doing it again with her pussy, again taking all of me inside of her, it was as if all of this lead to a reward: as though she had been granted new rights– including the right to *me* as a human being. Just like the small but not too small, creaky floored, moderately priced, low ceiling’d apartment we were fucking inside of, I was her property.
And so I fucked her like an owned object fucks the sentient being that owns it. If my dick was a piece of meat, then I was a big bag of it, a machine built to dispense dick dispensing dick, something with no purpose but to provide, and there I was, lobotomized by her sensual and hall-of-fame worthy *hyper choking* of my manhood, yes, there I was, a supplier and nothing more, providing a long, firm, slightly-veiny bar of sensory-nutrients. She did that to me with her *vagina.* What raw power.
After some time in this new elevated state, the shock wore off and I regained *some* agency. Still in some sort of existential debt to my landlord’s vagina, as though I owed her not only rent, and *not only* *dick,* but *optimal dick*, or perhaps *optimized.* My internal loading-bar hit 100% and I made my move: I pulled out– wrapped my arms around her torso and picked her up/gently flung her forward, then brought her upright by her armpits and lifted/slid her forward again so that she was flush with the wall.
I grabbed her ass left-cheek and pulled it to the side, revealing that pink monument-to-my-purpose, cute yet commanding, compact yet grand, beautiful yet unrefined, ripe for my labor. Still holding her cheek to the side, I grabbed hold of my cock to begin my pleasure-filled duty, and I was truly struck by how, in this moment more than ever before, my dick felt like not some normal organic functional appendage, but like a highly specialized and complex tool, perfected by evolution, inherited from the gods, (both the traditional ones and the ones that oversee the genetic lottery), and then passed on to someone else, indeed, my dick was now owned by a short, thin, and impossibly-tight enterprising introvert of East-Asian descent, Also known as ‘My Landlord’, though she was lord of much more than just my land now. So… *Dicklord?* Yes, a most honorable title.
After this re-contextualization of *my* body, I dove into hers. I got underneath her, and lifted her by the ass slightly, allowing me the angle necessary to enter her optimally: with maximum smoothness, but also maximum filling of space, maximum stretching consistency, and with an optimal route to achieve significant depth. Once I had my head sheathed, I got to work. I felt almost high, aware of every cubic nanometer of my meat-tool and equally aware of exactly where each nanometer needed to be, at every passing nanosecond. The overwhelming and unexpected euphoric sensation of slipping in and out of this perfectly deep, dreamlike tightness, coupled with the brute atomic-level focus that the sensation apparently breeds in me, really had me feeling like I was on some sort of *sexamphetamine.* And if there had been a spectator to witness the drive and precision with which I filled up her insides, they’d probably think *“He’s on something.* *Speed* *probably*. *Or at least a little cocaine OR– he’s a prisoner, and he’s fucking for his freedom, which is really the only non-drug explanation of what I’m seeing.*”
I mean, at moments of this upright fucking, with her flattened between me the wall, with this petite pale form just taking SLAMS of my, at the time *champion-erection,* like I was born with a metal rod for a cock, it felt not just like I was shoving the entire length of my junk up in there. No, this instance of 183 millimeters of piston-like fucking of a pussy, filling her to the brim by pushing mass *into her*?
Yeah, no, it was different this time. It didn’t feel like I was pushing *into her,* but rather, it felt like I was fucking *through* her, like, as though the *oneness with my dick* that her prize pussy afforded me allowed me to metaphysically transcend the typical constraint that was the end of her vaginal canal. Mind you, I wasn’t falcon punching her cervix or anything, just the sheer constriction of her wrapped around my shaft, resulted in, ironically enough, a sort of ‘freeing’ sensation that made me feel like I was fucking her infinitely, as though if I were to come inside her at this depth, it would shoot out her nostrils and mouth and seep out of her pores.
Outside her body I was all function, a cold calculated automaton. Like the Terminator but instead of being sent back in time, I was sent back *into* my *landlord.* But that was outside her body, that sexhuskmachine was. *Inside* her, a lush life was being lived, rich and sensational, like her pussy was a hill in Switzerland and my dick was a spinning, singing, 7.2-inch tall Julie Andrews. (She is actually 5’8” FYI. I just looked it up and idk thought it might win someone a trivia round one day). With this freedom came *control,* I didn’t have to worry about cumming early as her grip felt like it had my cock corked or something. Ejaculation paused by her grip, I was able to add in creativity in ways I had never experienced. Complex combinations of syncopated rhythms, varied angles, and seemingly novel friction points. The pinnacle of flesh-on-flesh contact. It existed *only* inside of her, but it was quite the existence.
After what felt like eons of operating this industrial-strength meat delivery system, I began to adjust to her tightness, the mind blowing clench became more of a very-secure and completely-airtight hug. In turn, I began to come down from whatever pussy-induced-acid-trip I was experiencing. My soul vacated my dick and rejoined the rest of my body.
As I rejoined this plane, I realized said transition was not a net loss in sensation. I exchanged some pleasures for others. I now had the visual pleasure of witnessing this holy grip, her perfect wet lips appearing alive– breathing in and out along with each push and pull of my cock, due to said grip.
Just as I had given myself better leverage by pushing her up against the wall, I decided I would try once again to improve, to optimize. But as I began to embrace my organic side, I got distracted from optimization, abandoning the pistons a bit. I pulled out of her slowly, allowing both of us to sensually meditate on the ring of friction-induced-pleasure that was the seemingly adamantine ridge that circumvented my then hyper-engorged cock head. A ring of sensation slowly migrating from deep within her body to the inner tip of her lips, a 183 millimeter journey, each mm it’s own chapter of steadily-building bliss.
I pulled out bit further so I could then watch the full process of my pushing back into her .As that rigid cockhead-ridge finally emerged, (most of my head still engulfed) and as I felt the air on that sensitive underside, a wave of pleasure shook me from head to toe and I shuddered like a fool, but I didn’t care, it felt as though pulling out all the way like that had unclogged some stuck serotonin and then shot it through the air into my brain, skipping blood and veins, direct.
Chasing the dragon, I pushed back into her, and to my delight, either my sensitivity was different post-pussy-emergence or she had cast another spell. Now, as I pushed slowly up and into her, my ridge– *our* ring of pleasure, it seemed to generate a chemical reward like I had just experienced, but instead of a single moment, a literal torrent of dopamine now felt to be radiating– beaming out, from that friction point.
Rather than Chemicals processes and exchanges that usually occur only within the brain were now occurring or being generated at the precise contact point of my ridge with her walls (is how it felt, I mean.) A seemingly limitless supply of happyblisshumanjuice as long as there was no stillness on the part of my pushing and pulling of my flesh in and out of hers. I basked in each gradual, intentionally loitering pull and thrust, as each one brought a stream of highly localized bliss that defied my rudimentary understanding of human biology. I’ve never felt as though chemicals were being released from any part of my body other than my brain, it was a new sensation entirely, some sort of intra-body bio-illusion. (*more likely just a lack of willingness to do some very light internet neuro-research.)*
Anyway, I fucked my landlord. I picked her up *(if you look you’ll see I decided I’d do this earlier, but got distracted by the aforementioned ring of pleasure),* and after picking her I truly fucked her. I fucked her with the same passion, laser-driven aim to please, deep empathy, self-honesty, and attention to detail that I employed from start to finish in typing up this retelling of ‘the time when my landlord fucked me to near ego-death’. ANYWAY, I really put it in her, like deep, every which way. I could feel my heartbeat precisely along the ridge of my cock, which felt to the touch like it was some sort of flesh-rock hybrid. As I held this small landlady in my arms, as I pushed into this little bundle of a person, a person who I could hold like bundle of clothes, penetrating her small vagina with almost 215 mL of compact sturdy flesh, we switched roles, and I found myself holding a more objectified version of a sex partner. I don’t mean to say I thought of her like an object, but that the ‘object owner’ relationship that arose that day showed itself to be dynamic in that moment. My dick did not waver accidentally, it wavered strategically, organic now in it’s method of delivery, shooting in and out of her like a human-wielded dagger carving her up, but instead of violence I brought pleasure, and as I dug my long rigid self up into her guts, I got moans of pleasure from her in return, not words but sounds, sounds that translate to “Please keep carving. Don’t stop carving.”
A bit tired from holding her with no support, I turned around to face the wall again, still holding her, but pinning her against the wall as well to lessen the weight. The combination of her legs up out of the way, her back flat against the wall, exposed her pussy in a way that allowed me to hit a few deeper spots that I had been hypothetically hoping to hit for months.
I hit a spot. Not sure which, don’t want a bad anatomy call out, but I hit a spot. I knew I had– not due to feeling something, but *hearing*. A scream. A guttural scream that I never would believe could come out of someone this size, and still don’t believe to be honest, maybe I was still pussy-tripping. It was so primal and bass-y, like it came from somewhere deeper than where her words come from. Diaphragm? Stomach Mouth Part? Demon portal? I don’t know. A moment after it escaped her, she pussy-squeezed so hard it nearly pushed me out of her. I pushed back in and continued fucking her, hoping no more demons came out, and none did, just loud moaning whimpers, sounds of weakness expelled in time with each thrust. She then spoke, the first words out of her mouth since interrupting herself to feel me up. She said, in a whisper-moan-yell, “I don’t know why but my– I’m going to keep making noise and I can’t do anything about it.” And she wasn’t lying. Since I first got all of myself inside her she had been letting out these little whimper-moans, cartoonish almost, high pitched yelps of pleasure with each lusty sweaty re-occupation of her tight little photogenic slit-space. But now– now she was *moaning* those whimpers, they remained but now were inspired, perhaps by the demon. I mean LOUD. I had to set her down for a second to close the sliding closet door, because as I explained to her (and had complained about to her before, lol) the wall in the closet between this unit and the one next door is so thin it could give my pre-landlord-fuck short-shorts a run for their money. I reached for the handle to slide the door shut, but she stopped me.
“Wait. Leave it open. He’s a dick, not a good tenant, doesn’t pay on time, constantly asking for some renovation or installation. Leave it.” I try to be a good neighbor but this was a scenario where I wasn’t going to protest the pettiness. But I wasn’t prepared for her proposal. A non-verbal one. She slid the closet all the way open, pushed some of my things including an expensive camera out of the way, and laid back, legs open, hand actively engaged with her clit, and said (something along the lines of) “Fuck him. Fuck *me.”*
And so I did. I buried my cock inside that girl, over and over, as all the sources of pleasure that I’d been feeling since she first walked in converged in my core, growing now. Almost as small in stature as she was tight in vagina, she fit perfectly into the closet, getting pushed deeper and deeper in, just as I pushed deeper and deeper into her. Her moans echoed around in the closet, and I know my neighbor was home (guy, single, 30-something) because he slammed the sliding door closed after a few verses of her chaotic, almost-disturbing etude of deep moans of whimpering, a song to the vague non-lyrical tune of “I’m helpless from a physical standpoint and am reminded of that as this near-stranger manhandles me with ease (cue: whimpers) but I don’t care because I’m getting deep dicked in a closet by the same guy who pays me to put his stuff in it, and he’s getting closer to cumming, which is making his cock harder and thicker, and his now harder, thicker, lengthy slab of meat fills me up nicely, which feels really good, so good that I semi-involuntarily moan. (cue: moaning). Also I’m petty, so I’m making it louder.” probably.
Those moans sent me over the edge. I could feel the rising sensation grow more intense, it was approaching, my cock felt hot, like pure steel cutting through warm butter. I’m an animal, as we all are, and my animal brain said, “Lean forward and suck her little nipples and lift her by her little perfect cupped ass and throw yourself at her, bury your shot deep inside her just how you’re burying her in your mound of CVS bags and boxes of miscellaneous cables, *deep* deep like you’re so far up her guts you could potentially start a new civilization with this coming nut you’re about to bust. And stroke her hair, its soft and shiny and black.” so I did all that. And then not a moment too soon, I realized I didn’t want to start a civilization. I pulled out my shaft, angling myself so she’d *really feel me leaving,* so that she’d have a gesture to refer to if she wanted recall the exact shape and curvature and length of my dick, and most of all, so that we both could cherish that final journey from the deep dark cozy end of her, to her presentable, symmetrical, siren-song pussy-entrance. The story was about to end, two characters: one bulging, throbbing, textured with veins and a ridge pumped to full capacity, almost-grotesque in comparison to the other: a small character, delicate in appearance but mountain-like in strength, elastic and dynamic but only to a point, perfectly slick, wet, and tight, like it was designed on a campus in Northern California.
Like I said, *not a moment too soon*, I realized the story was over. I pulled out a second or two before the pleasure hit maximum capacity, her pussy felt too good, too tight, I was *too* close to her, *too* deep inside of her to not lose control. Unsure of what else to do, and also, *mid-orgasm,* I shot (with considerable velocity) rope after rope after rope after rope of thick hot cum all over her physically-literally-closeted-contorted body. First I splattered her neck and chest. The second two shots glazed her perky A cups. The last handful, a final round of spurts– pure-pleasure induced explosions of heavy wetness– left the majority of her torso sticky and shiny (though there was little light getting into the closet, but it wasn’t my first cover-her-in-cum rodeo, so there’s a cum-sheen precedent). A pearly, globby, slowly dripping, gesture of payment, a final metaphorical rent check, all over her, some of it now dripping off of one of her still hard nipples like raindrops off a leaf, *but with cum*. If only that was the reality of our financial arrangement. Unfortunately, I’d been paying her the traditional way, in cum *and* USD.
I reached for her slit, hoping the Story had a chapter left, maybe just an epilogue, a fingered-to-orgasm type ending. But she pushed my hand away, saying she was a bit sore and sensitive after having what I at that moment learned was an orgasm earlier, not an exorcism.
I helped her up and out of the closet, let her rinse in my shower (her shower), and did some dishes while she got dressed. But *I* didn’t. I didn’t get dressed. I wanted her last memories of me, my last visual in her head, to be exactly this. Sweaty, disheveled, smelling a bit like cum and a bit like pussy, exhausted from fucking– from filling up another person to the brim with *myself*, pushing a big thing into a small space just because the space is there, just for the sake of the pleasure that results– and of course: with my cock out. Plump but not hard, hanging down in front of me, not obnoxious but impossible to miss, casual and yet full, and with weight. Swinging a bit as it catches up with my latest movement, arcing out from my body to maybe be noticed by the right person at the right time. An ending image, a final frame, apt– in both substance and ephemerality.
A back cover to our storybook.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/i3ovbf/the_mousy_landlord_part_3_the_tightest_goodbye_mf