The Landlord

by Jessica James

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Coercion, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Mother, Son, Brother, Sister, .

Desc: Sex Story: Could such a creature as a benevolent predator exist? Is such a contradictory concept even possible? If so, 16-year old Jimmy Fowler is the poster boy. His mother, Glory, gave him a 44-unit apartment building for his birthday. He selected his tenants with meticulous care. Women. Poor women. Women with children. Attractive, sexy, vulnerable. Ah, the key word - vulnerable. Yet, Jimmy had a softer side. Hmm. And ... who are The Six? And just what is the Basement Supply?

As is my wont, I wove my own physical description into the character of Jimmy’s mother, Glory. No shame, no embarrassment, not for me. Besides, she plays only a minor role, so it’s not like I’m hogging the spotlight. Not this time anyway.

And, it’s no coincidence that the title character has the same name as the one my son made up to post here -- Jimmy. The landlord-Jimmy shares some of the same characteristics as my real life son. I’ll leave it to you guys to figure out which ones are true and which ones I made up.

Readership note: Jimmy told me he’s trying something new with this silly little story. Instead of posting in chapters as he’s done in the past, he’s dumping it all at once.

Perhaps ‘dumping’ is an inelegant word. Hmm ... posting.

Of course we may revisit ‘The Landlord’ someday. Or maybe not.

Keep it up!


The first thing that everyone noticed about Jimmy Fowler was how beautiful he was. Not handsome, beautiful.

That Jimmy was a genius hadn’t been in question since he turned 3. A Seattle native, he earned his doctorate from UC Berkeley when he was 14. His mother, Glory, had mixed feelings. Sure, cool to earn a PhD at a young age. But in philosophy?

As she did in most instances regarding her only child, Glory moved on. She had a real estate empire to run. Her great-great-great-grandfather had purchased undeveloped and underdeveloped land all over and around Seattle. Land that appreciated every decade.

And that appreciation allowed subsequent generations of Fowlers to buy even more properties.

Glory gave her son his own building for his 16th birthday. Not a luxury property of course. But undeniably valuable. Situated between Pioneer Square and the Pike Place Market, the area had been gentrified long ago. As Seattle prospered so did Jimmy Fowler’s Bradford Building.

The Bradford, dating back to the late 19th century was seven stories high and constructed from dark red brick. Glory had had it gutted, brought up to code with new electric, plumbing, furnace, steam radiators. She had her contractor install new hardwood floors, new kitchens and bathrooms, new balconies ... new just about everything.

The Bradford was a little jewel.

The building had six apartments on each floor -- four one-bedrooms and two studios. There were two smaller studios in the basement.

Glory had an eye for the bottom line. Studios started at $800 while the one-bedrooms ranged from $1200 to $1700. Parking was included.

She told Jimmy, “You’ll break even at 45% occupancy.”

“What was the occupancy rate before you renovated it, Ms. Glory?” Jimmy had an odd, formal, almost courtly way of speaking. Always had.


Jimmy looked curiously at his mother. This didn’t disconcert Glory, nothing much did. Jimmy looked curiously at most people. At most things. At most events.

Glory, 28-years old, still didn’t understand what had prompted her to go ahead and have a baby. Back then her own mother, Gwendolyn, had long ago put Glory on the Pill. It was just one of those infrequent times when the Pill didn’t cooperate with a young girl’s chemistry.

Gwen left it up to Glory to have the baby or not. Just so long as Glory kept learning the real estate business, Gwen pretty much left her on her own.

Like her mother, Glory was tall at 5’ 10” and slender. Wide swimmer’s shoulders, small perky boobs, narrow waist, taut butt. Long, long legs leading up to a bald pussy that belonged on a little girl.

It was when she was wearing clothes that people, especially other women, noticed Glory’s covergirl face. Model’s cheekbones, wide generous, laughing mouth. Striking green eyes. Thick auburn hair which Glory currently had fashioned into a short, almost crewcut style.

After nursing her baby for a few weeks, Glory turned Jimmy over to a nanny to raise. Glory was sopping up a startling amount of real estate and property development knowledge. She had the bug. Just like her mother and earlier generations of Fowlers.

Glory was pretty sure she knew who had fathered her child. As the boy matured and his facial features became more defined, she told her mother, “Boyd Jamison. I’m almost positive.”

Gwen smiled, “Pretty Boyd Jamison. Yes, I can see the resemblance. Definitely.”

Neither Glory nor her mother was the least concerned about who the father actually was. But it did explain why Jimmy was so pretty. More beautiful than his mother and grandmother, and that was saying something.

Once Glory had come home earlier than expected and had caught her nanny sucking the boy’s cock. Because Felicity hadn’t heard Glory, Glory backed away and left the house.

A couple of weeks later she remembered the incident and told her mother, “I don’t mind about Felicity. Won’t do any harm. And maybe he enjoys it.”

“Probably does.”

When Jimmy was 8, Felicity asked Glory if she and her boyfriend could take him to a nudist resort near Snoqualmie Falls. Glory shrugged, “Sure.”

It was impossible to say who wanted the beautiful boy more -- Felicity or Brad. Felicity’s current boyfriend wasn’t gay, certainly not. He didn’t even consider himself bi. Yet ... sweet jesus, look at little Jimmy Fowler.

An auburn halo around his angelic face. Slender, unblemished body. Tall for his age. Shortish cock, but fatter than Boyd’s own. And Boyd’s wasn’t thin.

Sunday night, back home on Lake Union, Jim told his mother, “Ms. Glory, I’m a nudist now.”

Shrug, “Fine, honey.”

Felicity wasn’t surprised at Glory’s indifferent reaction. Casualness defined the woman’s attitude toward raising her son.

Glory kept Felicity on long after the need for a nanny had passed. Years longer. Glory told her mother, “Felicity’s turned into a decent cook for when I’m home for dinner. And Jimmy likes her.”

“Is she fucking him?”

“Oh, I’m sure she is. Probably started years ago.”

“Does she have a boyfriend?”

“I think so. Jimmy mentioned someone named Phil. Felicity goes through boyfriends at a pretty steady pace.”

“Do they have an interest in Jimmy?”

Glory laughed, “Probably. Who could blame them?”

At UC Berkeley, Jimmy Fowler was noticeable for a couple of reasons. His youth, although at 10 years old, he wasn’t the youngest student there. But his appearance caught almost everyone’s eye.

Was Jimmy vain about his remarkable visage? No, not in the least. He took his looks in stride just like studies were easy for him, just like he loved classical music, he simply looked like he looked.

A group of seniors and grad students took him under their collective wing. Jimmy was a lively conversationalist, happy to talk about any subject that came up. Curious about anything and everything. The ever-shifting group was composed more or less equally of boys and girls.

One of the girls, Lacey, first got Jimmy interested in philosophy and he was soon hooked. With his intelligence, the faculty advisor would have let him major in anything he wanted. As she told her husband, “The kid’s rich. Or his mother is. He doesn’t need to worry about practicality. Philosophy is as good as anything.”

Which was fortunate, philosophy and the ability to earn a living didn’t have even a nodding acquaintance.

The student group which had adopted Jimmy was known as The Quirks. They didn’t, for the most part, fit any campus norms. And for Berkeley, that was difficult to accomplish.

That they smoked dope didn’t raise an eyebrow. Now if they didn’t, that might have gotten someone’s attention.

That they frequented Baker Beach and other nude beaches was typical college behavior. It was interesting, that while Jimmy’s cock wasn’t that long, it was fatter than any of the older boys.

No, The Quirks had earned their nickname because they were so relentlessly normal. They partied hard, they studied hard, they would graduate on time -- or, like Jimmy, ahead of time.

Once out in the real world they would work hard. The Quirks had that most American of habits, rare these days among the young -- a strong work ethic.

Living in a freshman co-ed dorm during his first semester at Berkeley, Jimmy continued his nudist ways. To, a mostly bemused reaction. At least he dressed to go across campus to his classes and labs. Not everyone did.

Jimmy hadn’t sought out a nudist lifestyle. Felicity and her various boyfriends liked seeing the beautiful kid in the buff. The Quirks, without knowing about his Washington experience, merely continued taking him to the nude beaches that they were frequenting anyway.

Glory, feeling vaguely maternal, visited her son one time for each of the four years he sped through his degree, his Masters, his PhD. After her first visit, when he was living in that dorm, Glory bought him a bungalow in the Berkeley hills.

For each of her next three visits, he was still a nudist. But had different roommates -- boys and girls each time.

Both Glory and her mother had intended to attend his doctorate ceremony, but it got lost in the shuffle of two busy calendars. Jimmy hadn’t noticed, he’d been more or less on his own since toddlerhood.

On his 16th birthday, well actually a few weeks after, Glory’s appointment book was jammed packed, Jimmy signed the papers that his mother’s law firm had drawn up.

He now owned the Bradford.

One of his mother’s assistants, Carly, gave him the tour.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Coercion / BiSexual / Heterosexual / Mother / Son / Brother / Sister /