Chelsey's Tenant Solution

"Oh, jeez, I thought you guys had left for work already, lemme get dressed."

"Don't get dressed on MY account!" Chelsey said impishly. "Besides, no need to apologize for what you're wearing in your own living room! I'm the one who should apologize for barging in...I'm probably going to get the 'Landlord-from-Hell' award, or something."

He noticed then that she had a Left Hand Milk Stout on a small serving tray and a mug that was probably coffee. A little basket with toasted bolillos and a butter dish completed the offering.

"Uh, is some of that for me?"

Chelsey lowered the tray so that her chest was exposed, and said coquettishly, "Well, they BOTH could be for you!"

He sputtered, blushed and said, "Well you're in a mood, I see! What's going on with you? You been binging on Bridgerton while Rob's out of town, or something?"

She chuckled appreciatively, and followed with, "He HASN'T been in the mood. He's been going to all of these weird church services with his parents. They are crazy holy-rollers, you know, and I think it is poisoning his mind against sexual congress with me. This morning when I tried to initiate, he told me 'Why don't you get a lover or something...' and you know how something won't even be in your mind, either good or bad, until someone says it aloud? It was like a fucking light bulb moment. So, I said: 'Fine maybe I will.'"

As Chelsey explained, Roger had pulled on shorts and a Tshirt.

Gesturing to the front porch asked: "Well inside or out? And since it is my evening, I'll take that beer!"

They sat outside on the little wicker love seat and clinked bottle to mug, settling back to enjoy a companionable moment.

Peering into her coffee cup Chelsey said quietly: "You remember how I said we were hoping to start a family?"

"I do."

"Well, you may not know this..." she said with dripping sarcasm, "...but a necessary first step is injecting sperm into vagina, ideally, and at least, during periods of maximum fertility. No sperm injection, no fertilization..."

"Whoa. Well, that is ALL news to me," he said, playing along.

"And I have optimal weeks called out on our shared calendar. So Rob gets notifications, fucking reminders, that say things like 'Don't forget to bone Chelsey...' You know, like you must remember to take out the recycling on alternate Wednesdays. Get emissions checked on the Subaru...All of life's ONEROUS chores..."

He glanced at her speculatively, sidelong, then when she looked up to meet his gaze, he openly checked her out: The smooth, tanned legs, the pleasing hint of camel toe in the abbreviated neon bootie shorts, the modest swell of her breasts, and prominent nipples in her sweat-drenched jog bra...and then up to the full generous mouth, the cheekbones, the slightly slanted, elfin eyes....She met his gaze, implicitly asking for his assessment.

Drily he said, "Have you had his vision checked? Could be a tumor pressing on the optic nerve so he can't process visual stimuli. Pretty sure that was a plot device on Grey's Anatomy...or maybe," here he reached over and lightly stroked her wrist, "Maybe he is just, you know, dead inside-anhedonia, and can't feel anything. Can't enjoy anything...Old dudes like me know that we only have a little time left so we savor all of it."

He gestured out at the soft morning light... "I love to see the sunrise, feel that breeze, knowing Summer is coming and it will be too hot to be out here at eight am soon enough. I love the feel of a woman's skin under my fingertips, I love to see a beautiful fit young woman, who has chosen to wear skimpy work-out clothes around strangers... even if she clearly is struggling with an existential crisis and is probably going to start crying soon..."

As he said this last, she carefully placed her mug on the ground, and as the sobs started in earnest, she climbed onto his lap. He enfolded her in his arms, gently pulling her head to his chest.

He gently tracing the bumps of her vertebra with the sweating beer bottle.

"This OK?"

"Its... nice. Ticklish, but nice. You feel nice." She wriggled a bit, settling in on his lap.

He suggested, "Baby, hop up a for a sec, and I'll put a cushion under you. That will be more comfy than you sitting on my..."

"Hardening dick? Or are you saying that I'm too fat?"

"Uh, yeah. Option one"

"Nope. Not gonna. I like feeling your 'Darkness Rising'"

"The woman is a fantasy fan as well? I had no idea...Girl, you just get more and more appealing. Its criminal, really."

She was now deliberately sawing back and forth, causing him to grow as the delicious friction worked its age-old magic.

"Ok, if you are going to act like that, sit so that your back is to me. Your immense weight is cutting off the circulation to my legs..."

She shifted so that her back was to his chest, and not coincidentally, her ass was centered on his penis. She felt affirmed and more than a little triumphant, to be having this obvious effect on a man. Rob's indifference really had had a corrosive effect on her self-esteem. She had doubled down on diet and exercise, sexy outfits. To no avail. But here, dressed in basic work-out gear, cold sober, she was giving a healthy male a nice healthy hard-on. A hard on that was increasingly, insistently pressing up against her.

"Have you ever had sex with a married woman before?"

"Um. I plead the fifth. A gentleman doesn't tell...and I ain't gonna ask if I'm your first African-American conquest either..."

"Then I'm going to pretend that I'm your first married woman," she whispered.

"And, for the record, you are only the second man, of any skin tone, that I've slept with..."

He wrapped his large dark hands around her small pale waist marveling at the perfection of her compact form. With his fingernails he traced patterns on her sides, grazing her ribs, enjoying watching her shiver and break out in goosebumps. He continued his progress up, and gently lifted her arms overhead, and back. Her chest was now necessarily poking forward and he gently stroked the sides of her breasts through the fabric of the sports bra. He gathered a handful of her hair and pulled and twisted her head slightly so that he could nuzzle her neck.

The side of her throat.

Kiss along her jawline.

He pulled down on the bottom band of the bra so that she was barely covered. Hint of areola sunrise visible above the top of the bra.

She was moaning with desire and twisted around to kiss him, hard, needy, open-mouthed.

He slid his hands down to hook his thumbs in her waist band, she raised up and shed her shorts. She made as if to pull off her top but he said quietly, "No. Its sexier like this."

He reached over to the forgotten food tray on the side table and scooped up a pat of butter, smearing it on her sex. Her first orgasm then, from the light touch of the buttered fingers of her tenant. He gave her another, and another as she greedily kissed him, teasingly denying her what she most wanted...Finally when he could take it no more, he asked her to take him out, and sliding his own shorts to midthigh, he slid in. The initial angle was bad but he physically moved her until things lined up and then he dropped her, fully impaling her on his rampant penis. It wasn't a porn shoot, where the players switch position a dozen times, perfectly lit, and last for hours. Her vagina gripped him perfectly: snug, and warm and moist and he came almost instantly.

In a way, that measure of his arousal, that he needed no fluffing, no special clothes, but just her; and that he couldn't hold out, reassured her more than any of his kind words could have. She reached behind her and gripped his waist, murmuring, "I don't want to lose any of this... stay engaged and lie on me..."

Awkwardly, then, he clamped her to him and they struggled down to lie stacked up on the cool concrete in front of the loveseat.

That was.

Bliss.

Perfect.

After awhile she realized that he was still inside her, still semi-hard.

"I'm not comfortable," she murmured.

"Oh, who's fat-shaming now?" he asked archly.

He extricated himself, and stood, helping her up, his penis bobbing. He reached down as if to pull up his shorts but she said, "Uh uh, big boy. We're not done."

And taking his hand led him around the house to her bedroom door.

She pushed him backwards onto the unmade bed, purposely forcing him to occupy the spot that her husband had vacated a few hours before. She climbed up on the bed, straddling him, and pulled her bra up over the tops of her boobs, feeding him a nipple. The feeling was electric: She rubbed her buttery, greasy pussy over the head of his dick, as his suckling fed lightening all the way to her toes. She came again, collapsing on his chest, sweaty, sticky, his dick trapped against her tummy. It was fully erect again, watching her orgasm being the most profoundly erotic thing he could imagine. He slid sideways out from under her and got on top, ready to take her prone.

He lined up and wasted no time sliding home, pressing on the small of her back, adjusting, and pulling her up, placed a pillow under her chest.

Seeking the perfect prone-bone angle.

It lasted a little longer this time. He was hitting her g spot with each thrust and she shrieked in ecstasy. He supported himself on his forearm and reached under to maul her breast, pulling and twisting with just the perfect amount of pain to send her and then him, both over the edge.

This time when he collapsed on her, he softened and slid out.

They both dozed off, then.

Later she woke up with a start and said, "Shit shit shit! I'm gonna be late!"

She hopped in and out of the shower, threw on clothes.

He called out: "Hey listen. If this didn't happen, we'll never speak of it again. If you need me to move out, I will. It's your call. But I'm going to sleep now, I'm usually already abed by now. G'nite, Chelsey."

She made it to work, only a little late, and it was fine. First up was one of her favorite patients, a middle-aged truck driver who was just in for his annual CDL check-up.

As she listened to his heart, he said: "Dressed in a hurry today, I see."

"What? Why do you say that?"

"Missed a few buttons." He reached over and staring intently at the strip of bra and pale skin exposed, pointed to the two she had missed...

Moving slowly, giving her time to rebuff him, he carefully fastened them.

"That was worth the price of the exam for me. Highlight of MY year."

He had been careful to not touch her, reverent, even, and the gesture slew her.

She burst into tears.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Cooper. I'm a bit of a mess today. But you're fine for another year."

She got though the day somehow, but periodically someone would say something and she would feel (or imagine she felt) the corruption of another man's seed insinuating itself into her womb. Or seeping out into her panties.

She was not a cheater.

She was a play-by-the-rules girl.

Midwestern, honest, direct. She had no excuse, no explanation for how she had gone from normal Chelsey to Chelsey Harlot, to Chelsey the Whore, in a single morning.

When she got home, Rob's car was already in place in the garage. Steeling herself for what could be a marriage-ending encounter, she let herself in and made her way to the bedroom. She realized with horror that she had left the bed unmade-Rob was a neat freak and would hate that-and had left the pillows as she had left them, as sex props, and the sheets-stained with the damning evidence of her massive indiscretion...

A bigger shock awaited. Rob was in bed, his back against the headboard, on her side of the bed, nude, his gym-toned body perfectly sculpted, his large penis enormously erect in his pumping fist. Her iPad was perched atop the sex-stained pillow next to him.

"Oh good," he said mildly, "You're home. Looks like someone got lucky today, eh?"

Amusement colored his voice as he indicated the signs of sex on HIS side of the bed.

"C'mere Chelse. I need you to suck me off. First though, this is what you need to wear for me..."

She stripped for him and pulled on a bra that was so tight that it crushed her flat-completely obscuring her modest curves. An oversized Tshirt over that, a ball cap for her hair, and baggy jeans completed the ensemble. A boy.

"Oh yeah!"

He turned the iPad so that she could see what he was watching what her husband needed her to be, a young man sucking, gagging, on the dick of a well-endowed, older man.

"Sometime, you know, Pornhub just isn't enough..."

He pulled her to him forcing himself down her throat, gagging her with his mushroom head.

Chelsey was sobbing, gasping for air, sobbing from guilt, grateful that he still wanted her even in this perverse fashion: that he still needed her.

Again, with the same even tone, he said: "OK, get off. On your tummy. I'm going to come in your ass. Or did you someone do that to you already today? Savagely then, he jerked her head up.

Answer me. Did you already get ass-fucked today? Did you?"

"No." She whispered.

"No, what, Chelse?"

"I didn't get fucked in the ass today. No one has ever fucked me in the ass. I'm an anal virgin, Rob."

She heard him reach for the lube in her night table-thankfully-squirt it on her and then he was forcing himself inside. His penis was so large, so girthy, that she needed lube to make normal, vaginal intercourse bearable. But anal...The pain was immense. And he seemed to need her tears, her squirming and sobbing and pleading. With a roar he came, filling her ass, pumping, pumping for the longest time, more than she ever could have thought from her sexually-disinterested husband.

"Oh, wow," he said, "Who knew sex with a girl could be so good. Fuck. That was intense. My intern-Andy, has been taking care of me with his mouth since I hired him. But it really isn't convenient to fuck him properly. Not at work. But now, if you want, you can fuck your guy and I can just bring Andy here. No more secrets, eh?"

He was stroking her back, had pulled the ball cap off. Would you cut your hair for me? Short, not Sinnead short, but short?"

"Yes. Anything. Just talk to me. Ok? Don't just...ignore me. Or treat me like a chore."

Chelsey continued, "I thought, well, I suspected this. That you were into guys. You married me because you needed cover with your Christian parents, and a small breasted girl, a runner, looked close enough.

"Bingo. And you are funny. And smart as shit." he said generously.

"I might get pregnant, you know. The baby would be dark skinned. Maybe darker than you, even.

"I hope you do. My parents would be thrilled. And besides, you know Uncle Ernesto? All the family from DR? They are all straight up black, but you know, we have to pretend...Like the skin color is just some aberration. Too much time cutting cane or some bullshit..."

"Also," Rob continued, "It turns out that I have really low sperm count in addition to not really being into sex with a pussy...so..."

"Hey, you want to invite Andy and your guy over tonight? I'll make ribs. Mojitos. Then we can split up afterward. For dessert!"