Rent Due
Copyright© 2026 by Dilbert Jazz
Chapter 6: Deeper Public Risk
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 6: Deeper Public Risk - In a rundown Kansas City apartment, unemployed Mia pays rent with her body. What begins as voyeuristic window shows for neighbor Caleb escalates when landlord Harlan blackmails her with hidden videos. Coerced submission turns into craving—first private, then courtyard, alley, street, bar. Double-teamed under strangers’ phones and headlights, Mia’s addiction deepens: vulnerability becomes power, shame becomes ecstasy. She begs for more exposure, more claims, until surrender is her only identity.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Blackmail Coercion Reluctant Fiction DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Spanking Gang Bang Group Sex Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Squirting Tit-Fucking Big Breasts Public Sex 2nd POV ENF
November nights in Kansas City had turned sharp and unforgiving—frost rimming the edges of windows by dawn, wind slicing through alleys like a blade, breath fogging in quick white bursts under streetlamps. The building felt like a cage now: walls closing in, shadows lengthening, the courtyard below no longer a private stage but a stepping stone to something more dangerous. Mia’s addiction had metastasized—submission no longer enough behind blinds or fences. She needed the street now—the razor edge where strangers could see, could hear, could know.
Harlan texted at 10:47 p.m. on the last Day of October:
Alley mouth. 1:00 a.m. No coat. No panties. Just the black lace top and skirt—short. Bring the vibe. We’ll take you outside the fence.
Caleb followed seconds later:
I’m in. Remote in my hand. You’ll come when I say—loud enough for the street to hear.
Mia’s stomach flipped—fear and heat twisting until they were indistinguishable. She prepared with ritual precision: a hot shower until her skin flushed pink, a shave to smooth, oil until every inch gleamed under any light. Black lace top—sleeveless, plunging neckline, sheer enough her nipples showed dark through the fabric—clung to her breasts like a second skin. Short pleated skirt—barely covering the tops of her thighs—flared when she moved: no bra, no panties, no shoes. The small remote-controlled vibrator slid inside—already slick—then she waited until 12:45.
She descended the stairs barefoot—cold linoleum biting her soles, heart slamming against her ribs. The ground-floor door to the courtyard was unlocked. She stepped out.
The courtyard was colder tonight—frost rimming weeds, concrete glittering faintly under moonlight. The dying maple stood bare, branches skeletal against the sky, crimson leaves carpeting the ground in brittle patches that crunched under her feet like thin ice. The air smelled sharp—decaying foliage, faint dumpster rot from the alley, the metallic promise of frost—and bit at her exposed skin, tightening nipples to painful points beneath the lace top, raising gooseflesh in waves down her arms and thighs. The alley mouth yawned open at the far end—chain-link fence sagging, street beyond visible in flashes: headlights sweeping past, distant laughter from a bar two blocks away, the occasional car horn cutting through the night.
Harlan waited just inside the alley—black hoodie zipped halfway, dark jeans, boots planted wide. Caleb leaned against the brick wall opposite—hoodie up, glasses catching faint moonlight, remote already in hand, cock visibly tenting his jeans.
Both watched her cross the courtyard—skirt flaring with each step, lace top clinging to her breasts, vibrator humming low inside her, thighs already slick.
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