Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, DomSub, Spanking, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Squirting, Cream Pie, Voyeurism, Slow, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - *** No sex in Ch 7 ***Sequel to Rent Girls The further adventures of Pete the landlord. Pete never hit on young stuff, but this girl was different. He conspired to have her seduce him and he didn't care how long it took. No sex for several chapters, then a lot of teasing, ending in much sex.

I saw her in the Kwicky Mart. She was helping a little boy, I assumed her son, select flavors of Frosty-Freez, that store's version of a Slurpee. Damn she was magnificent. But the fact that I was taken with her, surprised me the most.

She was no older than 25, and most likely about 21. She was tall, about 5'7". I usually like shorter women. Also I like older women, Jen and Brenda really were exceptions though I never would have hit on them, they seduced me, in a way.

On the upside, she was almost what I would call beautiful, though she was dressed in low-end jeans and a pullover, and her shoes were worn. Her clothes, however, were spotless, as were her kid's, and she filled them out as if they were tailored for her. She had quite a bust, though it seemed as if her bra was a couple sizes small. You know, her sweater had that overstuffed look. Her boobs were rounded to the point where it looked like a ravel in her sweater would result in everything busting out. I'd bet they were at least D, maybe DD.

Her rear wasn't exactly 'bubble ass' but was perfectly rounded, rode high, and was really firm. I felt my cock twitch a little and, at my age, that means something. I looked at her left hand, no ring. She wasn't by any means thin but she wasn't fat, either. I guessed she weighed about 140 lbs, maybe a little more but she also had no belly other than that delectable little pooch below the navel that comes to most mature women after childbirth.

In short, I classified her as the type I'd come to know as 'Breeder'. That's not as derogatory as it sounds; rather it's an earthy sensuality that in no way could be called overtly 'sexy' or slutty. A sensuality that often co-manifested with character and bearing.

I'd already checked out at the register but I loitered around just drinking her in. I was a little annoyed with myself, is how I would put it. I pride myself on not being the archetypical 'dirty old man', and I wondered if my newfound appreciation for young stuff, brought about by my arrangement with Jen and Brenda, two of my renters who I occasionally partied with, had something to do with it.

Probably.

She paid for 15 dollars gas and the Frosty-Freez and after pumping the gas, she and the boy left in a fifteen year old Civic. The car was also clean as a pin, on the outside anyway, even though the paint was worn through to the primer in a few places. I couldn't help it, I followed her from quite a distance hoping she was driving to her home. She was. A few blocks away, in a rundown neighborhood. As she pulled to the curb, I drove past slowly enough to see her take a few grocery bags from the trunk and with the boy carrying the smallest one, walk up to the front door and let herself in using a key.

I pulled open my day-timer and made a note of the address, and labeled it 'YoungMom'. Then I turned a corner and turned around to drive back by, this time noting the car registration number. I had no idea what I was going to do with this information, I certainly didn't plan to stalk her and it was laughable to even think she would be interested in me, a sixty year old geezer.

Ah, well. It was probably just a passing fantasy, something to savor and move on. It wasn't. I couldn't get her out of my head, even to the point of having what might amount to a wet dream, if I hadn't woke up before I even got her sweater off.

Still, I have some discipline and decency and, though I'm writing about this in a place where such accounts abide, kidnapping her and turning her into my love-slave was out of the question ... well for me, anyway. Yes, I DID daydream about that.

I decided to put her out of my mind. But I couldn't quite bring myself to rip out that daytimer page and toss it.

What struck me was that, while she was obviously in the low to no income bracket, her actions when I saw her spoke of good upbringing. She had talked with her young son in the store but I never heard her voice, she poke so quietly. He was perhaps four and behaved perfectly, though he was obviously a little excited at getting a treat.

As it happened, a few days later I was channel surfing and I happened on a local news feature on young parents and the trouble they were having making ends meet in the current economy. And the young woman was on screen and interviewed briefly. She apparently was a member and volunteer staff of a young parents' self-help group. I quickly found a pen and wrote down the name of the organization. I would send them a donation.

That afternoon, I bought a postal Money Order for the amount of $500 and sent it using a fictitious name. I hate being on donor mailing lists. Bad enough every freaking organization in the county got my name from probate records when my great aunt died and left me her considerable estate. Let's just say, it was a healthy seven figure amount. Enough that I really didn't have to work or even mess around with rental properties. But it was something to do and kept me busy.

Donating only increased my curiosity about the woman. In the interview, she was indeed soft spoken and her diction was that of someone who was educated and, at least, middle class nurtured. I wondered what her story was. And I wondered what I could do for her, specifically.

I found the answer a couple days later. Again, on TV. I was watching a movie on, get this ... LMN ... yeah, the wimmin's sob story network, and I saw a local commercial for Mr Kenneth's Spa, which initially surprised me because it was really upscale and had an exclusive clientele. Apparently times were tough for even the mid to upper income brackets. I made a note to remember that.

The next day I called the spa and made sure the manager was in. I hightailed it over there and talked to the manager and came to a deal. I handed him an envelope containing $1500 and a few other goodies, got a specially printed gift certificate and went back home figuring out what to do next.

I figured the best approach was the direct approach. I printed up an insert certificate of my own with specific instructions.

It read:

Congratulations!

Because of your efforts to better your own lot and that of your children, you have been specially selected by an anonymous donor, to receive a full day's respite at Mr Kenneth's Spa. Any and all services are prepaid and there are no obligations on your part. In fact, you need give no personal information to anyone in order to receive the gift. All you must do to claim it is go to the website: http://doitbetter.com* and enter the following password code. {code}. Then hit or click 'Enter'. Print the resulting page or write down the verification code you see on that page on the Mr Kenneth's certificate, then call the spa and arrange your visit.

This gift is non-transferrable and must be claimed by the intended recipient. Because it's sometimes difficult to arrange suitable childcare, Mr Kenneth's will give you $50 cash at the end of your visit.

Enjoy!

* If you are concerned this may be a scam or phishing website, access the site from a public terminal at your closest library branch. Again, you will not be asked to provide any personal information, not even your name.

Obviously that wasn't the best I could have done to make it look non-subjective, but I figured it should be good enough. Then I went to a website building site and rebuilt a webpage using their drag'n'drop tools. I'd already had that site up and running for another purpose but abandoned use of it when I lost interest. I struggled a little with the 'code required' box and access to the verify page but finally just used the 'sign-in' function with the username field blocked out, then the password box was the only thing visible. And of course the password was the code I'd put on the handout.

I t didn't take much time to make up the verify page, I just took care to make the design sufficiently 'girly' but professional looking. Of course, I included all the "My Kenneth" info as well as a link to the Spa Homepage.

I stuck both certificates in a fancy greeting card envelope I had lying around and set out the next morning to stalk the object of my obsession for, hopefully, the last time.

I used my service truck to stake out her house so that I wasn't obtrusive. Felt funny driving it while dressed in a business suit, but, as long as no one got too close, I'd be okay. I didn't have to wait long. She and her little boy came out about 9 and I followed her to a local strip mall and into Big Lots, a store selling closeout inventories.

Damn, she looked good. Even better than I remembered.

I didn't follow her around the store long, I just waited until she stopped to look at some item, took a picture of her with my cell phone and handed her the envelope, said...

"Congratulations, have a great day." I turned around and walked out of the store. Looking back, I realized that might have been scary in itself. But hey, I can't be expected to think of everything.

Then I emailed the picture I took of her to the Spa manager and waited for the 'verify' page to be accessed. It took two days. When I traced the IP used to access the page, it did indeed come back to a {dot}gov address registered to our county. I could only imagine her talking to her friends wondering if it was a scam or not. Or maybe she just couldn't afford internet.

Then I set about changing the password restricted page so I could offer my next gift. Well, gifts. I was going to tempt her with an entry level job and a better car.

I've been around town for a long time and I've got connections.

One, an old bowling buddy, owns a car dealership. I went out to talk to him and we walked around his used cars till I found what I wanted, a five year old Accord in really nice shape and low mileage. I wrote a check for it and told him he was to hold it until a certain young woman asked for him personally, then he was to hand her the title with the transfer section signed and notarized, but without filling out the buyer. That's legal in our state. The only stipulation for the bill of sale is that the car was sold by and the mileage of the car. The buyer doesn't have to be identified until title transfer to the new owner.

"Hah ... Pete Valdosta, you old fox. You got something going, don't you?"

"Not the way you think, bub." But I began to wonder at my motives, after all.

Next I visited my attorney. He's young and just started his practice two years earlier. He was a tenant of mine when my Aunt died and left me the money. I hadn't had much need for a personal 'lieyer' until then, just picking one out of the book on the rare occasion I needed help. But he was good enough to identify several problems with my aunt's probate and that saved me several thousand dollars if not considerably more.

His practice was growing and he constantly complained he couldn't keep up with the growth. So I asked him if he needed any office help or a 'gofer'.

"Actually, yeah. I just hired two entry level staff a couple weeks ago but one of 'em isn't working out. I'm going to have to fire him."

"Okay, I think I know someone who can fill the bill for you but it may be a week or so till she comes in. Can you hold off till then?"

"Sure, I guess. But just for you, Pete."

I winked at him. I had just paid him my annual retainer, last week.

Now to wait for my new hobby to get her Spa treatment so we could get on to the next step.

I continued to daydream about her, though. I wanted to help her be independent and beholden to noone. Yet I wanted to get her naked in my bed and make sweet love to her ... no, beyond, that, I, meaning my ego, wanted to fuck her until she begged 'No more!'.

I had no idea how that could happen. Yet I continued to believe it would, somehow.

And, not so much a surprise, an old friend would show up to help my chances along.

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