Bound & Blindfolded for Rent Ch. 01

Dominique, a beautiful, black woman stuck in a white man's world, finds a novel way to get out of paying her rent.

"Hey Lady," said the landlord from the first floor landing.

Hey lady? Dominque stopped in mid step to face him after successfully avoiding him for the last several days. Showing him a lot of her long, black, shapely legs, the sexy side view of her beautiful, black body continued higher to the well-formed impression that her round, black ass made beneath her short skirt. The full sexy package on provocative display through her tight clothes, her short skirt and her low cut top flattered her figure. With her abundant, C cup breasts, evident by the long line of cleavage as exposed by her scalloped blouse, her erotic body was just as arousing as was her beautiful, exotic face.

Salvy leered up at Dominique as if she was a full course, Thanksgiving meal and he was a starving, homeless man eating at the mission. Eager to get away from him, from where he was standing on the first floor and with her already halfway up the stairs, she knew that he could clearly see up her short skirt. Obvious in the way that he was staring at her, leering actually, from his low vantage point and her higher one, he had a good view of her white, bikini panties.

An erotic sexual game she enjoyed playing, not minding him looking at all that she was showing and not caring what all that he was seeing, so long as he wasn't touching, she was as much the teasing exhibitionist as he was the perverted voyeur. Willing to show him what he so obviously wanted and enjoyed seeing, with her skirt raised past mid-thigh on her extended leg going up the stairs, she teased him with one foot perched on the next higher step. With her posture poised as if she were a model posing for a candid, cheesecake photo and with her long legs positioned wide open enough to give him a spread legged view of her panty clad pussy, she was such a sexy tease.

In the way that he always came rushing out of his apartment whenever he saw her coming or heard her leaving, it was obvious to her that he was hoping to get lucky with a bit of voyeurism of her skimpy underwear. In the way that he always does whenever watching her going up the stairs, instead of looking up at her pretty face or at her big tits, he stared between her legs and at her ass. Somehow always catching her in the process of walking up the stairs, when she's perched and halfway positioned on the stairway, never climbing up the staircase to meet her face to face, he's stands down on the landing while looking longingly up at her. It's as if he waits, listens, and times opening his apartment door to catch her in the best voyeuristic position that allows him to see her panties up her short skirts.

Brazenly unashamed and unembarrassed, she knew that he could see her panties from where he was standing and from where he was looking but she didn't care. A black woman in a white man's world, knowing how to play the game of sex to her most advantageous benefit, she's shown more of her hot body to worse men in her young life than him before. Accustomed to him looking, staring, and leering, taking two to play her game of exhibitionism and voyeurism, he was always looking, staring, and leering, perhaps because she was always showing. After all, showing her body while teasing men is how she gets what she wants and how she solicits her sexy clients for her games of bondage, punishment, and discipline.

Besides, the reason for her exhibitionism, giving him a cheap thrill by flashing him up skirts of her panties and down blouses of her bra and cleavage has earned her temporary reprieves from paying her rent. An unspoken code, as if an inner-city rule, a flash of her bra, along with the sight of her cleavage and the tops of her jiggling breasts in down blouses or peeks of her panty or naked pussy in up skirts, keeps Salvy interested enough not to evict her. Her tits, her pussy, and/or her ass, she could only imagine how crazed he'd be if she showed him more skin than she was showing him now. Thinking about arranging for a deliberate flashing scenario, such as pretending she just emerged from the shower and deliberately dropping her towel when she opened her door after he knocked on her apartment door for the rent, she wondered what he'd do if he saw her naked. Unable to handle seeing her beautiful, black body without her clothes, in the unhealthy condition that he was in, he'd probably have a heart attack and die.

She knows he wants her. She knows what he needs. She knows he lusts over her. She knows that he masturbates over the thoughts of having sex with her. Only this time, with her flashing her lingerie running its course and not nearly giving him enough nudity to make him want sex more than he wants her money, she knew that she was out of rent extensions. Unless she was to appear at her front door naked and give him sex, he wouldn't allow her anymore excuses why she couldn't pay her rent. Imagining him naked, worse, imagining him seeing her naked, she cringed at the thought of having sex with him.

"Dominique. My name is Dominique," she said with the attitude that only a black woman from the most depressed part of Detroit can have.

If she had a gun and could get away with it, she'd shoot him. If she had a knife, she cut open his chest to see if he had a heart and his head to see if he had a brain. If he had any intelligence and commonsense at all, he'd know not to fuck with her. Only, blinded by her beauty, he was star struck by her bodacious and voluptuous body.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, I know that. I know your name," he said waving a hand of disinterest.

Funny that her name was Dominique when she was a Dominatrix. Dominique the Dominatrix had a nice ring to it. Especially when she was dressed in black leather that fit her body as if she was awash in liquid, black paint from head to toe while brandishing a whip. She looked so sexy in her Dominatrix outfit. If only he knew who she was and what she did for men to earn her money, she wondered how different he'd treat her. Would he treat her with respect or with disinterest? Would he treat her better or worse?

Even when she told men that Dominique was her name, those men who knew she was a Dominatrix didn't believe her. They thought she had invented the name to go along with her BDSM image, but she didn't have to do that. Before Dominque was born, her mother, from French Martinique, moved to Detroit with her newly married husband thirty years ago. An autoworker, he fell in love with Dominque's mother, Fiona, after they met while he was in Martinique on vacation.

Being that her father was Caucasian, lighter in skin tone than an American negro or an African black, her facial features were more of a white woman than that of a black woman. She had big, beautiful, darkly mysterious eyes. For sure, by the testimony of the long, lustful stares that most men and some women gave her, Dominique was a uniquely different looking black woman. Then, one day, a few years after she was born, laid off from work and obviously tired of being married and living with her mother, with them not knowing if he was dead, alive, or imprisoned, never hearing from him again, her father just disappeared.

"I've been living here for more than two years and I'd think you'd remember my name by now," she said with more attitude while putting a hand to her shapely hip and giving him her best, annoyed, black diva impression. In the way that an angry Halle Berry would verbally assault someone who was disrespecting her with his offensive words and with his inappropriate stares, she continued her tirade. "Maybe if you looked more at my face instead of staring at my tits and my ass, you'd recognize me," she said.

He smiled at her as if he was better than her. He stared at her as if she was just another whore who lived in his building. In the way he looked and treated her, he treated all women the same but for his mother. Only, not taking any of his guff, he didn't know that she'd give him back much more than he could take.

"Sorry but I can't help myself from staring at your tits and ass," he said with a dirty laugh. "You have big tits," he said holding his hands out in front of his chest. "And you have the best ass I've ever seen on a black woman, or on any woman, black, brown, white, red, or yellow for that matter," he said. He leered at her while giving her a low, sick laugh as if he was a dirty dog growling over a bone.

She couldn't stand the man but, in the way that all men do, she knew that he liked her, an understatement. He lusted over her was more like it. Knowing that he wanted her, if she relented and gave him sex, he'd give her free rent. After talking to her in the hall and with her showing him all that he needed to see, she knew he went to his apartment to masturbate over their brief, sexual exchanges. She could hear him and feel the whole house shaking from him pleasuring his fat body with his puny, little dick in his sweaty, little hand.

"I'd thank you but with that compliment coming from you, no doubt, you'd think that anyone willing to have sex with you has big tits and the best ass," she said.

She looked at him in the way that she looked at all men when reading them. Only, in his case, she didn't have to read him. He was so very obvious in his lust for her. With both his thoughts and sexual desire as one, he was as transparent in his thoughts as he was in his sexual desire for her.

"I remember you. I know who you are," he said leering at her while reminding her of a taller version of Danny DeVito. "Even though you're black, you're the best looking woman in the building," he said with a sick, little laugh while flattening down the few strands of hair that was left on his mostly bald head.

Say what? Even though she's black? What Hell does that mean? Black woman can't be beautiful? Surprised he didn't call her a nigga, he had a way of riling her by what he said as much as by what he didn't say. If it wasn't for the fear of him evicting her, she'd kick his white ass.

As if getting ready for a catfight, she tossed her long, blue black, beautiful hair to one side of her head with a flick of her pretty, islander looking head and gave him a laser look that would melt a waxed candle. Well fuck you, you honky cracker, ignorant redneck, motherfucker, cocksucker of an asshole, she thought to herself but didn't say out loud. No doubt, in his case, calling him a motherfucker would be a compliment to him, as no doubt, with no one else wanting him, he was surely having sexual relations with his mother.

An improvement for him in race relations, he's come a long way. Unarmed but still dangerous, a step up from him wearing a white hood over his head while riding a horse, holding a torch, packing a gun, and carrying a noose, she was surprised that he didn't call her the best looking nigger in the building. She looked at him in the way that she looked at all older, obese, bald, white men who thought that they were good enough to bed her and thought that she wanted them. Just because she was black and they were white, seemingly, too many white men thought what black woman would ever turn down a white man for sex? Enamored with her, a real Nubian princess, she was a Katy Perry look-a-like. Only taller, better looking, possessing a much better body, and with her skin the color of light mocha, hot coffee, she had a much darker tan with beautiful skin.

"What do you want Salvy? I have to go feed my cat. I'm tired. I've been on my feet all day looking for a job," she said.

Knowing her neighbors were all at work, in school, committing criminal acts of crime and desperation throughout the neighborhood and beyond, she felt safer talking to him in the front hall than she did inviting him inside her apartment. The time of year when crime was rampant and increased tenfold, leery of men and with good reason, and with nearly every man wanting to bed her, she was careful with whom she talked to, even her landlord. Never wanting to be alone with him without it being on her terms, she didn't trust him enough for him not to try something stupid, the least of which would be for him to flash her his fat, stubby dick.

A third degree, black belt in Judo that she attained for personal protection to feel safe from men like him, she didn't want to have to go through the trouble of beating the shit out of him, filing a report, and involving the police. If she hit him and hurt him, no doubt, he'd evict her. If she hit him and hurt him, with his word against her, a white man's word against a black woman's word, she'd go to jail for assault being that her hands were lethal, registered weapons. Besides, with him owning the building and living one floor below her, a judge would never give her a restraining order against him. She'd just have to move. Not wanting to waste her time in court to deal with the likes of him, she just wanted to be left alone but always he was there whenever she was entering or leaving the building to engage her in leering, sexually harassing conversation. In his defense, having every right to expect her to pay her rent, she did owe him rent money.

"Your rent is due," he said gruffly while immediately getting to the point. "You're two months behind," he said raising his voice to show her his obvious sexual frustration with her not accepting his last few offers for sexual favors in exchange for him forgiving her rent. "Now with this month due," he said holding up three stubby, little fingers that she imagined looked exactly like his puny, little cock. "You owe me three months' rent, that's eighteen hundred dollars," he said pausing with a toothless smile while staring up as if computing the amount she owed him in his head with the answer there on his ceiling.

A twelve apartment building in the heart of downtown Harrisburg, how in the Hell does someone like him own a building like this? With him not even having a job, no doubt, it was his father's building and left to his mother and him when he died. She wouldn't put it past him to have murdered his father and stuffed his body down in the basement somewhere. With her not remembering her father, obviously a white man by her more mulatto than African black complexion, her father never gave her a damn thing, except for moving her mother from Martinique to America. A lot of good that did her mother being that she was poor. Albeit here legally, being that she wasn't born in his country, she was disenfranchised and limited to the opportunities afforded to her as opposed to American citizens.

With her mother drunk on alcohol, high on drugs, and giving away her body and self-respect to anyone paying her enough money for her to afford her rent and buy her food, Dominque hasn't had the best role models or the best life. To her credit, always having a roof over her head, at least her mother did the best she could do in keeping her family together. The best thing she ever did was to reject that way of life and to move away from Detroit. Yet, exchanging one depressed city for another depressed city, glad she didn't move to Chicago with their murder and felony crime rate, her life in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania wasn't much better than her life in Detroit, Michigan. Her dream was to one day move to New York or Boston.

Figuring she only owed him twelve hundred bucks, she now realized that today was a new month and that January's rent was due too. Too busy with interviews while looking for a full-time job that had paid benefits, one month melded into another month. With her earning a few dollars on the side with her bondage and sadomasochistic clients who had specific and special, sexual needs from their dominatrix, not totally destitute, she was having fun by punishing and disciplining men. The perfect job for her, her role as a dominatrix allowed her to take out her physical and emotional hatred on men, men who belittled her mother and emotionally, physically, and sexually hurt her too, that is, before she learned Judo. Time flies when living alone and doing whatever she needed to do to survive in the world without a man by her side subsidizing her, supporting her, and sexually satisfying her.

"I'll pay you. I told you that I'd pay you. I just need a little more time. I need to get a job first," she said. "I had three interviews today and two more tomorrow. I'm sure that I'll get one of the jobs and—"

Making her want to strike him for disrespecting her, he raised his hand to stop her from talking. In the way she stared at him with unhidden hatred, if looks could kill, he'd already be dead.

"And what?" He looked at her with disbelief. "Unless you're earning eighteen hundred dollars a week, I don't think I'll be seeing my back rent anytime soon," he said rubbing a fat hand over the stubble on his face as if thinking of something else to say with his mini brain.

Obviously he had no idea how much money she made and could make giving men what they sexually wanted and what they sexually needed. If she had a much larger client base in disciplining and punishing men who looked just like him, she could actually earn a small fortune. She could definitely earn enough money to not only pay her rent but also afford a new car and maybe even buy a house of her own.

"What are you saying Salvy? Are you going to evict me?" She looked at him with anger before softening to look at him for sympathy. "Have you no compassion at all? Christmas was only a week ago. It's still the holiday season for God's sakes. Have some mercy," she said pleading her case while playing him with her shapely body as her sexy enticement as much as it was her deadly weapon.

She looked at him as if she was about to cry and he looked at her with lust as if he was about to run up the stairs, strip her naked, and rape her. With just one forceful blow, if she'd didn't kill him, she'd at least knock him unconscious, if he dared even try to touch her. Now confidentially in control, instead of being afraid, had she not had extensive, martial arts training, especially in the leering way that he was looking at her now, she'd fear him. Yet, someone like him, unless he craves bondage, punishment, torture, and discipline, doesn't like pain and she could give him a whole lot of pain if he dared touch her.

Then, obviously reacting to her sad face, he softened in his sexual desire for her. Looking more human, he now looked at her with sympathy albeit, no doubt, with sexual opportunity in mind. Nonetheless his sympathetic look, a real degenerate, he was such a despicable pig and if he wasn't her landlord, she'd have nothing to do with him. With him just an unpleasant memory, she couldn't wait to save up enough money to buy her own place.

"Calm down. Calm down," he said waving his hands down as if he was a traffic cop motioning her to slow down from speeding down a busy street. "Don't worry. I won't evict you. Maybe we can work out something," he said making no attempt to conceal his unnerving stare between her legs and at her panties. "I already told you that but you shot me down before I could even tell you all that I had in mind," he said looking at her as if she a celebrity star standing there on the stairs in his building.

She knew what he had in mind. Sex is what he had in mind. She knew what every man black or white had in mind when they saw her, especially for the first time. Sex is all they had in mind.

He's confessed his sexual needs to her before. He wants to strip her naked, tie her to the bed, and masturbate while feeling and touching her where she'd never want any man, especially an old, fat, white man, to touch her. If anyone was going to strip her naked tie her to the bed, it would be a woman and not a man. Fat chance of that fat man, she wanted to say but didn't. She'd rather be gangbanged by gang members during an initiation into their gang than to have sex with his flabby, white ass.