Fucked by the Landlord, part #1

WARNING: I DID A POLL WHILE BACK AND OVERWHELMING MAJORITY OF FOLLOWERS WANTED CUCKOLDING CONTENT, BUT ALSO THERE ARE FEW THAT FIND SUCH CONTENT OFFENSIVE, EVEN IF IT IS FULLY FICTIONAL. SO I WANTED TO GIVE SOME WARNING ABOUT THIS, SO YOU WOULDN'T READ FURTHER IF YOU FIND IT OFFENSIVE. ------- Todd sat rigid in the folding chair, the cheap metal groaning under his weight as he leaned forward, practically wringing his hands. His tailored suit looked entirely out of place in the dingy, yellow-lit squalor of Mr. Henderson’s living room. The air in the apartment hung heavy, smelling of stale cigars, cheap cologne, and unwashed laundry. We were drowning. We were two months behind on rent, our credit cards were maxed out, and this was our second time coming down here to beg. But the frantic, heavy pounding in my chest wasn't from the fear of eviction. It was from the crushing weight of the male gaze pinned completely to my body. Henderson hadn't just asked us to come down to discuss a payment plan. He had mandated it, adding a filthy caveat that Todd, in his utter desperation, had actually agreed to. Bring the wife. And have her wear that little schoolgirl thing from the Halloween mixer. So, there I stood, feeling entirely exposed. My crisp white blouse was unbuttoned almost to my navel, the cool, stale air of the room biting at the heavy, braless swell of my breasts. My nipples were tight, visibly pushing against the thin fabric. Below, the pleated skirt was practically a belt, barely skimming the tops of my thighs, framing the stark black lines of my garter straps and the tight diamond pattern of my fishnet stockings. Todd was rambling, his voice cracking with pathetic desperation as he offered promises of money we didn't have. Henderson wasn't even pretending to listen. The landlord was sprawled carelessly on his stained sofa, wearing nothing but a yellowing, sweat-stained tank top and a pair of loose boxers. His prominent belly rested on his lap, and a smug, greasy smirk stretched across his liver-spotted face. He slowly scratched the back of his bald head, his eyes magnified and hungry behind his wire-rimmed glasses. His gaze felt like a physical touch—slimy and heavy—crawling up my stilettos, lingering on my exposed thighs, and staring unapologetically into my deep cleavage. He licked his dry lips, a wet, sickening sound that cut right through Todd's pleading. The power dynamic in the room was suffocating, yet brilliantly clear. Cash wasn't going to buy us time. I knew exactly what currency the old creep demanded. And heaven help me, the sheer taboo of it—the raw, dirty reality of giving myself to this sleazy old man right in front of my helpless husband—sent a hot, wicked spike of arousal pooling low in my belly. I didn't shrink back. Instead, my fingers instinctively grazed the hem of my absurdly short skirt. I caught Henderson’s greedy eye and deliberately, slowly, hitched the fabric up another inch, fully displaying the dark, metal clasps gripping my thighs. Todd's desperate babbling abruptly died in his throat. He choked on his own breath. "Mr. Henderson..." I murmured, my voice dropping into a thick, sultry purr that I hardly recognized as my own. I took a slow, agonizingly deliberate step toward the stained sofa. The sharp clack of my heels echoed like gunshots in the sudden silence. "Anna? A-Anna, what are you doing?" Todd stammered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him frozen in his chair, his jaw completely slack, eyes wide with horror and disbelief. I ignored my husband. I walked right up to the leering old man, who eagerly spread his bare, knobby knees wider to welcome me. I stepped right into his space, the cheap fabric of my skirt brushing against his boxers, feeling the clammy heat radiating off his body. Henderson finally broke his silence, though he didn't spare Todd a single glance. He just let out a raspy, satisfied sigh and reached up. His large, rough hand clamped heavily onto my fishnet-clad thigh, his calloused fingers squeezing my flesh with unapologetic ownership. "That’s a good girl," Henderson wheezed, his voice wet and dripping with sleaze as his eyes locked onto my deep cleavage. "I’ve been jerking off to the memory of you in this little slut uniform since Halloween. " He dug his thumb into the soft skin just below my garter strap, his greasy smirk widening. "Now, tell your pathetic husband to keep his trap shut and watch how a real man uses his property." A violent, electric shiver ripped through my core as I stared down at the landlord, shocked by the filth of the moment, fully prepared to pay our debts.