Literotic asexstories – A Domestic Arrangement by Choreboy10,Choreboy10
It started because I couldn’t pay my share of the rent. Paul, our third roommate, left us in a huff in July. He was pissed at Julie because of her incorrigible messiness and mad at me because I owed him rent money.
Julie had only lived here since May. She was a friend of Paul’s, or had been, at least until they lived in the same apartment. Julie and I hadn’t talked much. I found her terribly attractive in a high-energy, skinny-girl, spiky-haired, punk-goth-feminist, graphic designer kind of way. I couldn’t help looking at her whenever we were in the same room and thinking about her when I was alone in my bed touching myself.
But I didn’t want to complicate our living situation. Besides, I probably wasn’t her type. The truth is that I wanted her badly, but I had no idea how to approach Julie. In fact, most girls intimidated me. Julie just scared me more. Which attracted me more.
Paul made some choice final remarks about our faults before he left. “I hope you are very happy together, assholes!” he sneered, slamming the door and storming down the stairs.
“Well fuck him,” said Julie.
“Yeah, fuck him,” I joined in, relieved that Paul hadn’t raised the matter of the money I owed him.
“Well, it’s just us now,” said Julie. “Rent’s a bitch, though.”
“Yeah, well, about that Julie… I can only pay $500 now…. can I owe you the other $250?”
“Like you did with Paul, you mean?”
“He mentioned that?”
“Oh, yeah. He more than mentioned it. He was really pissed! He said he was going to grab your laptop and phone as collateral. But I talked him out of it.”
“Gee, thanks, Julie. How’d you do that?”
She pulled a grimy envelop out of her pocket. “I bought your IOUs from him. I paid him $300 for the bunch.”
“Wow. That’s amazing, Julie. Thank you.” Shit. And I thought I’d dodged that bullet. “I’ll get you the $300 by …. next month. I promise.”
“It’s $615, Andy. I bought your whole debt at a discount. You owed Paul $615 and now you owe me the same. Add another $750 for this month, plus interest at 10 percent on what you owe – add $61.50…. That’s $1,421.50. When can you pay me?”
“Uh…. give me two weeks, Julie. I’ve got a gig coming up.”
“OK, two weeks. But until then you do all the housework, understand?”
I agreed.
Over the next week, I got into the routine of cleaning up the apartment every morning after Julie left for work. I didn’t have a lot else to do — my writing gigs had all dried up.
I knew Julie was a slob, but it seemed she left particularly godawful messes in the kitchen and the bathroom after we talked that day. I had to scrub burned oatmeal out of saucepans, wipe her pubes off the toilet and erase toothpaste spit from the mirror every day. One evening when Julie came home I asked whether she could maybe be a bit more careful so that I didn’t have so much cleaning to do.
Julie was only five foot two and maybe 110 pounds soaking wet, but she had a lot of edgy energy. She advanced to within inches of me and looked up at me with her intense brown eyes. She almost looked like a boy in her short haircut, jeans, boots and t-shirts. Up close I could see she used eyeliner and shaded her eyelids. She wore tiny little jewel stud earrings. She had a faintly earthy smell of sweat and herbal soap.
“Did you agree to do the cleaning or not?”
“Yeah, but, I mean….”
“Are you gonna have the $1500 you owe me for rent next week, Andy?”
“Uh…..OW!” She slapped me. Not really that hard, but with a lot of authority. I was stunned. Speechless.
“No you won’t. We both know that. So you have a choice, Andy. You can get the fuck out right now. Do you want that?”
“No.”
“Or you can be my houseboy. Clean up my mess. Do what I say, when I say.”
“Julie, please….” I could hear myself whining. She slapped me again, harder.
“Shut up, houseboy!” Julie pushed even closer until her small breasts pressed into my body. I stepped back. She took my upper arms in a tight grip and pulled me until we were almost touching noses. My eyes were locked on hers. It felt like an electric charge running through my core. It didn’t make any sense, but I felt like this tiny girl could hurt me. It was scary and exciting. My cock stirred and stiffened against the pressure of her belly.
Julie looked up at me and smiled. “You owe me money and you can’t possibly pay it. You are my bitch, Andy. You want to be my bitch, don’t you? I know you do.” Suddenly she pressed a hand against my groin. I groaned as she felt my cock throbbed under her fingers. “Yes, you do! Just go ahead and say it. You want to say it. Just say, ‘I’m your bitch, Julie.'” Her strong hand was persuasive.
It felt like some kind of surrender. But she was so assertive and clear about it. I needed to make her happy since I owed her all that money. And I kinda wanted to make her happy. I’ve always been turned on by mean girls. I could feel my cock stirring under her hand. What can I say?
“OK, sure, Julie. I’m… um…. your bitch. Until I pay you.”
“Good boy, Andy.” Her shoulders dropped and her voice was softer. “So as my official temporary bitch, I expect your temporary total obedience. Understood?”
“Sure.” I already did most of the cleaning, to the extent that it got done at all.
“As long as you understand the situation, we’ll get along fine. As long as you’re a good boy.”
We left it there that first day alone together. I wasn’t sure I understood the situation. But I realized there was something about Julie that really turned me on. Being broke and in her debt didn’t seem like a good way to get her to like me. But I could do things for her and maybe that would be enough so she’d let me stay.
The next day I got up about ten. Julie had left the kitchen a mess again – coffee spilled on the counter, cereal scattered across the table, milk dried on the linoleum. So I cleaned that up, had a sandwich and checked my email. No new gigs there. I dropped a couple of inquiries to past clients and surfed news and porn sites all afternoon.
About 5:30, I heard Julie opening the door. She went straight to the bathroom, then came out and fell onto the beat up old sofa we’d inherited from Paul. I started to drop down at the other end of the couch.
“Don’t sit down, Andy. The bathroom’s filthy. I want it clean before I let you watch TV.”
My ears burned to be ordered around like a servant. “‘Let me’? I’ll get it tomorrow, while you’re at work.”
“Tonight, houseboy.” She pulled the limp envelope of IOUs out of her hip pocket and waved it at me. “Right now.”
I didn’t say anything. But I got up.
“I want it really shiny.”
An hour later, I wiped the last of the dusty grime off the bathroom radiator. The sink and bathtub had required three rounds of scrubbing with scouring powder to get off the layers of soap scum. The toilet bowl was disgusting when I started, but now it gleamed. My anger and humiliation had faded as I worked, replaced by memories how Julie had pressed her body into mine. My steady progress toward order and cleanliness calmed me and gave me a feeling of achievement.
“Andy! Come here!” Julie yelled from the couch. I shuffled into the living room. “Didja get that bathroom all shiny for me?”
“Yeah.”
“Good boy. I think Paul left some beers in the fridge. Why don’t you get me one?”
“Sure.” I found the beers and grabbed two. “Here you go, Julie.”
“Who’s that other beer for?”
“Uh – me?”
“No, Andy. Beer is for people who pay their rent. Houseboys don’t get beers, unless I say so. You’ve got work to do.”
I stood there, stunned. Who did she think she was? She couldn’t just boss me around.
“Dishes?” Julie prompted, pinning me with her brown eyes. “Right, houseboy?”
I hesitated a second, then folded like a cheap suit. “Oh, right.”
“Put that beer back and get me a clean glass. Always serve my beer in a glass.” She flipped on the TV. I felt another stab of humiliation. And a little bit of a thrill, too. I felt my cock get stiff. I was confused about how I felt. I got a glass from the kitchen and put it down on the table by her chair.
“Pour it.” My ears burned with embarrassment, but I picked up the bottle and poured beer into her glass. Julie took a sip. “Good boy, Andy, but less of a head next time, understood?” I nodded. “Go do your dishes now.” She waved her hand toward the kitchen. “And mop the floor, while you’re at it. It’s gross.”
I should have argued or walked out right then, but despite my badly wounded sense of pride, I didn’t really want to. More than anything, I wanted her to call me a ‘good boy’ again. I did the dishes and started mopping the floor while she sipped beer and watched TV. I’d always liked doing the dishes. The routine always calmed me down and soon the anger and humiliation melted away replaced by a feeling of … hope? anticipation? All I knew was that doing housework at the command of a demanding female roommate had given me a painful and very pleasant erection.
“Hey, Andy! Get me another beer!” I jumped at the sound of her voice, as if I’d heard a gunshot. She was getting way inside my head. This time, I filled the glass carefully in the kitchen, producing an inch of foamy head. I presented the fresh glass to Julie.
“Much better, Andy. Good boy.” She looked up at me. “You’re blushing. Don’t be embarrassed. You are a good boy, aren’t you?”
I stood there burning and finally stammered out “Umm…. urrr…. I don’t know…..”
She lightly brushed the front of my shorts with her hand. My cock jumped at her touch. She giggled. “You like this game, don’t you, Andy?”
“Oh, God, Julie.” Was it a game?
“You like being told what to do. Admit it. And don’t wiggle!” She slapped my cock through my shorts. “Hold still!”
“Sorry, Julie.”
“Would you like some beer, Andy?”
“Yes, please.”
“OK. Get down on your knees. Right there.” She pointed at the floor between her sneakers.
I got down on my knees for Julie.
“Good boy. You are obedient. Aren’t you Andy? Aren’t you obedient?” She stared at me. “C’mon, Andy. You’re kneeling just because I told you to. Just say it. ‘I’m obedient.'”
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