Ciana Rose's Erotic Stories


The Tenant

Zig Bushing

All Rights Reserved



hum, bond, anal




They were co-workers, and he was sharing her apartment with her, but paying all of the rent. He didn't particularly like her, but could tolerate her. She had agreed to the arrangements out of desperation.

Debra was in her early thirties, attractive, but had spent herself into a corner with no financial relief in sight. When she was on the verge of being evicted, he was thrown out of his apartment by his wife and needed a place to stay until he could figure out what to do next. He asked if he could rent one of her extra rooms. At first, he split the rent with her.

When he learned she was four months' behind on the rent, and terrified of being homeless, he made an offer. He would pay the back rent outright (not as a loan) and continue to pay all the rent and utilities from now on, if she submitted to him sexually once, twice, maybe three times a month. At first she was flattered and felt affectionate, but he made it clear it was not to be an emotional affair. He would dictate all the parameters of when, where and how they had sex. He promised he would not do anything physically painful, but she had to submit silently. She was to do whatever he told her to, when he told her to. And they were never, ever to talk about the sex to each other, unless she wanted to void the agreement.

She agreed, and he handed her a check for all the rent.

"Now turn around and bend over the back of the couch," he said. "We are going to seal this agreement right now."

"But..." she said, and he cut her off.

"In silence. Right now. Turn around, bend over the couch and lift your dress."

"But..." she said.

"Fine. Give me the check back."

She opened her mouth, paused, and then closed it again. A look of mixed resignation crossed her face. She hadn't gotten laid in months. She was horny. This wasn't exactly what she had in mind, but she was desperate financially. She looked at the check in her hand and then up into his eyes.

"Very good, then," he said. "Now turn around, bend over the back of the couch, and lift your dress." Following a deep sigh, she turned around, put the check on an end table and bent over the couch. She reached down and gathered her floor-length peasant skirt up around her waist. She jumped slightly when she felt him slip his fingertips under the elastic waistband of her panties and pull them down her legs. She felt exposed and vulnerable. She was nervous, but her crotch began to tingle a bit. He left the panties around her ankles.

She was a full-figured, pleasantly attractive, light-skinned black woman with a beautifully shaped full-size ass. He had watched her ass for months on the job. His hard-on throbbed almost painfully. Now this magnificent ass was in front of him, unveiled. He placed a hand on each cheek and massaged gently in wide circles. He breathed deeply, trying to calm down and pace himself.

He slid his fingers along her exposed lips, and stroked her until she was wet and engorged with blood. She gently pushed back into his fingers as he rubbed. She was getting into it.

As he unzipped his pants, she lifted her head and turned to look back. He stopped touching her and said, "Face front. Now."

Slightly startled, she faced forward. She felt him take hold of the skirt she was still holding up, and one by one remove her hands and let her arms drop to the front of the couch. He then took the bunched up skirt and draped it forward across her back, until it covered her head. Just as her eyes were being covered, he spread her lips and slipped the head of his cock inside her. She gasped in surprise, and they both enjoyed feeling the warmth and throb of each other's sex. And then he slowly slid all the way in. His cock felt thick and fat to her. It had been so long. It felt good to be entered again. She felt the material of his pants against her skin. There was something so base about this: the position, the submission, the skirt over her head. She felt vaguely like nothing but a cunt, a cunt that needed to be fucked. He began to slide back and forth. Over the course of the next few minutes, his tempo remained the same but he began to slap into her with every thrust, causing a ripple to jiggle across the flesh of her ass. And then his pace increased. He was slamming in again and again, faster and faster, harder and harder. She felt one of his hands across the back of her neck pushing her face into the material of the couch. The couch began to move a little each time that he slammed home. They were slowly traveling across the floor.

"You cunt. You whore. You slut. You bitch. You whore. You cunt," he muttered over and over. She began to build to an orgasm. "You cunt, slut, cunt, bitch, whore, you fucking cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, " he said, slamming into her every time he said ' cunt' . She came, waves of pleasure flooding through her, and in the middle of it, he slammed into her and stopped, pulsing and spewing his cum deep inside her. She felt the thickening, rhythmic pulses travel up his cock as he squirted into her.

They remained still, panting, catching their breath. She heard his breathing become deep and steady. She felt him pull out of her, and zip himself back up.

"OK," he said. "We're done. You can clean up now." And she heard him walk away, enter his room, and close the door behind him. She heard the click of the lock. Collapsed over the back of the couch, cum dripping down her legs and her skirt over her head, she wondered what she had gotten herself into.




The second time he made her submit to him, he was showered and getting ready for bed when she stumbled in somewhat drunk, from a night out with her friends. He despised drunken women. He called her name out, and she came to the door of his room with a stupid looking smile on her face.

"Debra," he said. "It's time to pay the rent. Do you understand?"

Her smile drooped, but she nodded. She didn't feel so tense this time. The alcohol loosened her.

"Fine. Take off all your clothes and kneel on the floor in a sitting up position with your arms at your side." She fumbled as she undressed, but soon assumed the position. He opened his robe, let it drop to the floor and approached her with his hard-on in his hand. He was holding a piece of cloth in the other.

"Suck," he said, and slipped the head of his dick between her lips. She obliged as instructed. When she lifted her arms and cupped his balls to fondle them, he said, "Don't touch me. Touch yourself. Spread your legs a little and masturbate while you suck on me." She raised her eyes to look at him, and he drew the piece of cloth across her face, tying it behind her head. She had stopped sucking after the order to masturbate, but his dick was still in her mouth.

"I said masturbate," he said, pulling the tip of his cock from her lips. She held a hand in the air above her crotch, weaving a little with hesitation and alcohol. Drunk as she was, she was embarrassed by the idea. The blindfold helped a little, but still... And then he said, "Do you wish to cancel our agreement?"

She woozily shook her head no, and he repeated: "Then masturbate. Now."

Her fingers found her clit and began to slide back and forth. He was so calm during these times, his voice soft, even and modulated. Expecting to be obeyed. At the office, and in day-to-day events, he was chatty and friendly, but his voice changed when she "paid the rent." She liked the phrase. It was her secret. Submitting was sexy. The alcohol helped her thoughts along. She was getting wetter and wetter, almost oblivious to his presence on the other side of the blindfold, until she felt his hands caress her breasts and squeeze the nipples firmly. Waves of delight traveled through her as he massaged her nipples through his fingers. Her mouth opened as she rolled her clit between her fingers, and she felt his cock slip into her open mouth. She clamped her lips around it and began to slide it in and out of her mouth. Yes, cock, yes, she thought. Her fingers flew back and forth. She felt like a giant sex organ again. A big horny cunt.

"Tell me when you are going to come," his voice said into her ear. "I want to know when you come." The request startled her at first, but the surprise of his voice so close to her started the chain reaction. She felt it building inside her and she sucked and licked at his cock in her mouth. God, a cock in her mouth. She was gonna come. She moaned around his cock to tell him, but her mouth was too full to talk.

"Are you coming?" he asked, and she whimpered an urgent mmm... mmm...mmm-hmmm... The sounds vibrated against his cock. And she felt the waves crash through her body, as he cupped his hand around the back of her neck, holding her head in place as he came spurt after spurt into her mouth. She swallowed automatically. His pulled out of her mouth and she fell forward on the floor, as if the cock had been holding her up. She lay on the floor moaning lightly, lost in her blindfolded orgasm, and she drifted off to a drunken sleep. He noticed she was naked but still wearing her shoes. He dragged her out to the hallway, dumped her clothes next to her, and closed and locked his door. She was still blindfolded.

The next morning he acted like nothing had happened. She was hung over, but she remembered. Sitting with him eating breakfast, feeling fuzzy, and thinking but not talking about it, made her nipples ache.




The third time she had to 'pay the rent,' he took her by surprise at work. They were in the storeroom around lunchtime. He walked in behind her, locked the door and said to her, rapidly yet calmly "OK Debra, it's time to pay the rent. Bend over these boxes, hike your skirt, drop your panties and get yourself wet." He unzipped as he said this, pulling his throbbing cock out of his suit pants. She turned and looked a little startled, but he glared at her and said "Now! Move it. We don't have much time."

Within minutes he was slamming into her from behind as he held her down over the boxes. She had started to moan, so he had clamped his hand over her mouth to shut her up. The restraint lit a fire in her clit. She was fucking back as hard as she could.

"Only sluts fuck during work, sluts that have to be gagged to keep them quiet, because they're sluts. Sluts that have to be fucked, fucked," he whispered into her ear. Within a few more minutes, he abruptly rammed home, staying deep inside her and grinding as he pulsed spurt after spurt of cum into her. She could feel each ripple through his cock.

When they had quieted a bit, he pulled out, zipped up and said, "You'd better clean yourself up." Then he unlocked the door and walked away, leaving it open behind him. She rose, awkwardly duck-shuffled to the door with her pantyhose around her knees, and slammed it shut.




Over the last few months, a lot had happened. He had surprised her in the shower and fucked her on her hands and knees while the water cascaded over them. He had taken her at work, bent across his desk when they worked overtime late one night. He had made her tongue his asshole one night after he had showered, and finished by making her jerk him off all over her chest while she masturbated herself. Tit fucked her one night and came all over her face, while he made her masturbate with a vibrator. He had made a point of making sure she was equating pleasure and orgasm with her degradation and submission. He didn't always have to come, but she did.

And through it all, every time he fucked her, she heard the litany of "You cunt, you slut, you fucking whore, you bitch, you cunt, you little slut." whispered over and over into her ear as he pounded away at her. And it was always from behind. And she had gotten into it.




Dinner started simply enough. She had worked late and he had prepared the food, planning in advance. There were long scarves tied at the tops of two of the legs of the small kitchen table, waiting for her. He had made too much pasta, and poured a lot of tomato sauce on it. He had left the butter out on the table to soften it, long before she returned home. During dinner, when she remarked that the softness made buttering the bread so much easier, he smiled to himself. She had a few glasses of wine with dinner, and was feeling mellow. She leaned back in her chair and declared dinner had been great, and he said, "OK. And now, Debra, it's time to pay the rent."

She had come to secretly anticipate these sessions. She still didn't smile, but now her eyes brightened when she heard those words. She no longer felt threatened by him, believing to herself that he liked her, but she was wrong. He wouldn't hurt her, yes, but he didn't even vaguely like her. He was focused primarily on her magnificent ass, and making her willing to submit. That's why every time they actually fucked when she "paid the rent," he had her bent over something. Tonight would be no exception.

"Stand up. Strip. Bend over the kitchen table. Masturbate until I tell you not to." And so she did, sliding the dishes and paraphernalia to the sides of the table to make room for her to lie face down. She had come to enjoy masturbating in front of him. There was something slutty and dirty about it. It had been so private and secretive before him. Now she felt abandoned and degenerate as she pleasured herself while he watched. He got up, walked around and stood in front of her, his cock level with her mouth, her head at the end of the tabletop. He thought the table was perfectly sized.

Her eyes were closed, she preferred that when she masturbated in front of him, but she had heard him walking around. "Open your mouth," he said, and she did, and he slipped his cock in. She clamped her lips around it and sucked. This was nice for starters, he though to himself.

"Stop jerking off. Now," he said. She did. She continued to suck at him. "Bring your arms forward and hang your hands over the end of the table." When she did, he slipped a prepared scarf around her right wrist and pulled it tight, effectively pinning her right side to the table. She opened her eyes in surprise, and when he abruptly did the same to her left wrist, pinning her down, her mouth opened and his cock dropped from her mouth. He had never tied her down before. He walked back around, stood behind her, spread her lips and plowed in all the way in one thrust. She gasped a surprised and delighted "Oooooh!" and he proceeded to fuck her with a regular even motion.

She came once, twice and was nearing a third time as he kept thrusting into her over and over again. He didn't slow down. He didn't speed up. Even when she was coming, he just kept plowing away at a steady pace, like a goddamn machine. This was new to her. All the previous sessions had been short. It was making her crazy, his fucking and fucking like she didn't matter, like she wasn't even there, as she pulled at the scarves holding her pinned to the table. Even if she wanted to get away, she couldn't. She had to keep getting fucked and fucked and fucked. She felt the third orgasm begin, deep, deep inside. It was gonna be a big one.

He reached forward, grasped the back of her hair and gently pulled, saying, "Lift your head." She did, and the additional sense of restraint sent her hurtling deep into her orgasm. As wave after wave crashed through her cunt and radiated out through her body, as he continued to thrust, thrust, thrust like a machine, he abruptly pushed her face down into the plate of spaghetti he had moved into position, and rolled it back and forth through the mess. The shock and degradation kicked her orgasm into a new high. She felt like a pig getting fucked, like an animal in the mud. He sped up and began to slam into her. She moaned into the spaghetti "Oh god, fuck me, fuck me like the slut I am. Fuck your whore. Fuck me," as his pounding away set her up for another orgasm. She was enjoying her face in the pasta. Success, he thought to himself, and there was still much to be done tonight. He gradually slowed plunging into her until he had returned to his earlier, steady, machine-like fucking.

He liked the idea of a live-in, personal slut. And now, here she was, bent over again, with her face held down in the pasta, as he watched his dick slide in and out of her. She was moaning into the spaghetti. He had succeeded in his wildest dreams: getting a woman to enjoy voluntarily submitting to anything he wanted sexually. Training her over the last few months had been wonderful. Now was time for the final step. With his free hand, he reached for the softened butter on the table and began to smear it up and down along the crack of her ass, and then concentrated on buttering her asshole as he rubbed his thumb in circles around her sphincter. She tensed up, stopped moving, and said "Oh no."

He stopped. As he paused he briefly concentrated on the throbbing of his dick, and then calmly said, "It's just a thumb. And maybe some fingers. Do you wish to cancel our agreement, or shall we proceed?" He resumed gently rolling the tip of his thumb on her sphincter.

A few seconds passed, and the only movement she felt was his thumb, and his cock throbbing inside her. They felt good. In response to his question, she began to slide back and forth onto his dick. He resumed his fucking motions, and slipped a fingertip back and forth into her resistant asshole.

He took his other hand from the back of her head, gathered some more soft butter, and used it to ease another finger into her ass, alongside the first one. She moaned into the pasta again. He continued to steadily fuck her cunt as he got her ass used to the two fingers.

Five, ten minutes went by as her asshole relaxed and adjusted. The constantly sliding, thrusting cock would bring her to orgasm from time to time. She felt like she was dissolving into a puddle of cunt and cum. And then she felt him slide his cock completely out. She felt a glob of butter mashed into her ass, and then the head of his cock press against her sphincter, but not enter.

"No... Oh no. No... Ah nono... you can't," she muttered. He felt her sphincter tense around his cock tip. She pulled at her wrist restraints.

"I can't?" he said, in his usual measured tone. "You know, right now, there isn't really a goddamn thing you could do to stop me." As he said this to her, he gently pushed his dick against her sphincter, rolling it gently around her asshole but not trying to enter. "As far as I can tell, Debra, I could slide into your ass right now if I felt like it. You know, you're completely at my mercy... if I felt like it."

She tried bucking him off her ass, but he just pressed her down onto the table. And then, when she tried to push at him with her feet, he lifted her by her thighs and held her in the air, but his cock dislodged from its poised point of entry. When she stopped struggling, he lowered her down and repositioned his cockhead at her gooey, buttery, slightly opened sphincter. His fingers had loosened her a bit.

"Please... No," she mewed. He continued rolling his cockhead around her asshole.

"So Debra," he cooed. "Am I correct in assuming you wish to cancel our agreement?"

She lay there with her face in the pasta, her body still tingling from her repeated orgasms, her hair clotted with tomato sauce. Her nipples were tight and hard on the kitchen table. She was off balance and dazed. How the hell was she supposed to negotiate from this position? And then he spoke again.

"If you're going to cancel our agreement, I'm assuming you've managed to save your money while I was paying all the rent and utilities, yes?"

She hadn't saved any money. He and she both knew she'd be right back where she was if he stopped paying. He continued massaging her asshole with his cock. With his other hand, he massaged the rest of the soft butter all over her ass and up her back. Smearing the butter on her was an act of debasement. She felt like a greased pig.

He leaned forward a little, pushing against her asshole without pushing in.

"Well? Are you canceling our agreement or am I going to fuck you up your buttered, greasy asshole, tonight, here on your kitchen table, like the pathetic filthy slut you are?" He felt the tension in her sphincter tighten as he spoke his humiliating words, and then immediately loosen a little, allowing him to slip a tiny bit in. She was trying to get used to the idea. She felt she had no choice.

"I feel your asshole relaxing," he said. "Am I correct in assuming you wish to continue our agreement? After all, this is strictly voluntary, you remember. No one is forcing you to do anything."

She nodded.

"That's not enough, Debra, dear. I need to hear you say the words out loud. Nodding can be misconstrued, you know." He rocked back and forth ever so slightly, pushing his tip of his cock in and out no more than an eight of an inch.

"I want to continue our agreement."

"Very good, Debra. Now you have to say something else. Repeat after me: I want you to fuck me up the ass."

"I want you to fuck me up the ass."

"Fuck me up my buttered, greasy ass like the pathetic, filthy slut I really am."

"Fuck me... up my... buttered... greasy ass... like the pathetic, filthy slut I really am." A little thrill ran through her. She couldn't believe it.

"Repeat it again."

"Fuck me... up my buttered greasy ass... like the pathetic filthy slut I really am."

"I would let anyone fuck me up the ass."

"I would let... anyone... fuck me... up the ass."

"Very good," he said, and he firmly, continually pushed forward in one smooth thrust until he was balls deep in Debra's ass. She had moaned an "oooooooooh" in surprise and slight discomfort as he slid all the way in. He had made sure she was stretched and lubricated enough so it wouldn't hurt. She felt his cock throbbing and pulsing against the tight sphincter muscle of her asshole. He looked down at the base of his cock, the rest of it disappearing deep into her ass. The butter made everything glisten. He had been dreaming of this moment for months. He had won.

He slowly began to slide out until only the tip remained inside, admired the view and then slid back in. He picked up the pace a little, but kept it gentle and easy for now. He reached underneath her and began fingering her clit. She continued to murmur little grunts and mumbles. He gradually picked up the pace of his ass fucking. She was responding. She was thrusting backwards as best she could. This was just what he had wanted. They began to fuck back and forth in earnest. He leaned forward, picked up the gravy boat of extra tomato sauce from the table and held it above her back.

"Tell me you're a slut," he said.

"I'm a slut."

"Tell me you're a whore," he said.

"I'm a whore."

"Tell me you're a pathetic filthy cunt pig," he said.

"I'm a... pathetic... filthy..." She couldn't believe this was turning her on so much. "I'm a filthy cunt pig. Filthy, filthy cunt pig." She began to repeat ' cunt pig cunt pig' over and over under her breath.

"Yes you are,' he said, and proceeded to pour all the tomato sauce in her hair and down her back and ass. He threw the gravy boat across the room, let it shatter against the wall, and began to plow into her ass while he continued to rub her clit. The startling crash of the china aroused her even more. The table was beginning to bump around the floor in little increments. He grabbed her upper thighs, lifted her legs up off the floor and pulled her ass flush to the base of his cock, holding her there and trying to grind himself even deeper. As waves of intense orgasm shot through her body, she felt the pulsing of his cock in her sphincter as blast after blast of hot sperm came traveling down his throbbing cock to erupt inside her ass. She could feel it splashing inside her. She was crying from pleasure, from humiliation, from sheer exhaustion. They held still for a few minutes as their breathing returned to normal, while cock and asshole pulsed together for a while. He murmured a long sigh and pulled his cock out. He looked at her asshole, twitching as it returned to its normal size. He walked around and used a kitchen knife to cut the scarves. She lifted herself up on her side, lying across the kitchen. She looked down, taking in the visuals of being covered with tomato sauce, butter and pieces of pasta. There were still dishes and napkins on the table. She felt like a filthy pig. Cunt pig, she thought wearily.

She looked over at him. He used a napkin to wipe off his cock and tucked it back in his pants. She was surprised to be reminded he had never undressed. As a matter of fact, he was completely free of tomato sauce or butter or anything. He was clean!

"You know," he said. "You really ought to clean yourself up. You look like a fucking pig." Her mouth dropped open as he turned and walked out of the kitchen, saying, "I'm going to the store. I'll be back later." She heard the apartment door open and swing shut. She looked back down at her tomato sauce covered body, thought about the last several weeks, and slipped her fingers between her legs.





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