A Strange Arrangement Ch. 04

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So that was how the first week of our arrangement went. There were a lot of tears, but thankfully Andrew didn’t see most of them. There was a lot of anger and frustration. There were a few awkward conversations, and I made some personal discoveries about my live-in landlord. The house looked better, I was learning to cook, and I let a total stranger screw me 4 times.

The next few weeks followed a similar pace. We had sex 3-4 times a week, whenever our schedules allowed. The sex was very vanilla and forgettable. We seldom talked. Job-hunting came up empty. My hate for him gave way to contempt, but I couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that even that was misdirected. Maybe it was self-loathing looking for a different target, I don’t know. I just know that my emotions were a potent mixed cocktail that month, and even little sips could get me disoriented.

I did some searches online for death records or news articles that might fill in more of the story that Andrew wasn’t telling me. What happened to Penny and their baby girl? There were a lot of possibilities, and most of them made Andrew either scary or tragic. I told myself that it was in my best interest to know. If Penny had been murdered and buried in the back yard, then I had a vested interest in knowing that.

My lack of success at learning anything only heightened my suspicions. Did anyone even know she was gone? Had I stepped into some deep shit? It took a twisted mind to come up with the arrangement Andrew and I had, what else was that twisted mind capable of? I even considered writing a letter to give to someone, “in case I go missing.”


It was a Sunday night, about a month after I had moved in. I had picked up a few extra shifts over the weekend (that Moira and her boyfriend!), so I hadn’t seen Andrew since Friday morning, when we had a quickie before he left for work. As I was in the parking lot, heading to my car, I got a text from him. Come to my room when you get home. Ugh. It was almost midnight at the end of a full weekend of work and I just wanted to crash.

I didn’t reply. Maybe he would be asleep by the time I got back. Unlikely, but…a girl can hope.

About 3 or 4 minutes before I got to the house, I got another text from him. It’s been more than two days.

Damn that stupid clause. At the next red light, I texted back, We’re both off in the morning, can’t it wait?

Before the light even changed, I got the reply, No. I want you now. Sometimes I entertained myself by imagining him saying all his text messages in the voice of a whiny child. It was really good for a laugh this time…

I pulled into the driveway, grabbed a banana to stop my stomach from complaining, walked up to my room in no hurry and dropped off my purse. I ate the banana while I took off my clothes and then wished I had grabbed something more to eat. Figuring I could eat after sex, I put on my robe and walked down the hall. I inched open the door, hoping to find him asleep. No such luck. He was lying on his back, arms behind his head. The sheet was pulled up over him, and I could see a rise where his cock was. He was staring at the ceiling and barely acknowledged my presence.

I walked to the side of the bed he was on, tossed my robe on a chair, and straddled him. He used his hand to guide me off of him and onto the bed. “Let’s spoon,” he said softly.

“Whatever floats your boat,” I said, as disinterestedly as I could. I shifted around so that my back was to him. In that position, I could see the bottle of lube on the nightstand. At least he was thinking ahead.

Instead of going straight for entry, he curled up behind me and started rubbing my body. He touched me all over, from neck to knees, and began kissing behind my ears and on the back of my neck.

I stared ahead and said, “Hey, we talked about this. No make-outs, just sex.”

“This is sex,” he whispered, not missing a beat. Still rubbing all over me, he said, “Foreplay is part of sex. Not even you can argue against that.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled. I was too sleepy to argue, not that I had anything to counter with. “Just hurry up. It’s been a long weekend and I’m tired.”

“Sure thing,” he said softly. Pausing the body rub for a moment, he reached his hand down cover my vaginal lips. He curled one finger into my opening. It went in without much resistance. Then a second finger joined in. His two thick fingers slowly moved in and out, around in circles, then curled up a little, rubbing a sensitive spot behind my pubic bone. I wanted to move my hips along with his finger-fucking, but I resisted. No sense encouraging him. But I couldn’t hide a sharp intake of air almanbahis adres when I touched me just right.

After a minute or two of prepping me with his fingers, he slid his body up against mine, spooning completely. He lifted up my left leg and I held it in place while he guided his cock to my entrance. His fingers kept him on track as he started thrusting into me.

Once he was able to sink all the way in, he let out a big sigh and started rubbing me again. He didn’t start thrusting just yet, which I found frustrating on two levels- I wanted him to finish so I could go to bed, but I also was enjoying the feelings of him inside me. This was our first time spooning, and I’ve always loved cuddling into a whole body behind mine, touching the back of my body all the way from feet to neck. The only downside is that my front feels exposed and empty. I don’t really like rubbing my own body during sex, I prefer having someone else do that for me. Unfortunately, most times I’ve spooned, the guy was holding my hips to make the thrusting work better- basically doggie style but lying down.

Andrew, however, slipped his arm under my neck, and then worked me up onto it so that he could wrap his lower arm all the way around my chest. His other arm did the same thing, and I felt completely embraced. He used that grip to leverage his thrusts. I could feel his hot, even breathing on the back of my head.

After 5 or 6 minutes of slow, lazy thrusting, he moved one of his hands down to where our bodies were joined. Two finger began long strokes across my clit. I think I could have let him get me off, but I was stubborn. Instead, I squeezed my PC’s and pushed back against him. That got an instant reaction.

“whoah!…oh…oh…wow that’s good!” he said softly. I think he was as sleepy as I was. The increased tightness and the depth my pushing added made him a bit more aggressive. As his thrusts sped up, his hand moved from my clit to my hipbone. One arm was still covering my breasts and pulling my upper body against his, and his other arm was now draped across my stomach and onto my hips. He used that arm to pull me against his crotch, sinking his cock as far into me as he could.

I could tell from his speed and from his gasping that he was close. I started rhythmically squeezing his cock, tight for a few seconds, loose for a few seconds. About 30 seconds of that and he was done for.

Ohhh! GinnnaaaAGH! Ahhhgh! He pulsed inside me a few times and just lay still, arms around me.

We both lay there for a couple minutes. The clock read 12:55 a.m. I felt his tool softening, but he still pressed it into me, pulling my body into that full embrace. If he didn’t pull out by 1 a.m., I would get up, pleading the need to use the toilet. I lay there silently, listening to his breathing as it returned to normal. He would occasionally rub my side very slowly and gently. Just another couple minutes…


I woke up to the sound of the toilet flushing. Andrew was walking back to the bed, still naked, still half-hard. I was a bit disoriented- the light wasn’t on, why did my eyes hurt? Then I saw that there was light escaping through the curtains- sunlight.

My mind was still catching up to my observations, and my body was even further behind the curve. I knew I should be jumping up out of the bed and getting to my room, but my body wasn’t responding. It wanted to stay under the covers.

Andrew crawled back in bed, but instead of lying next to me, he climbed right on top.

“Aw, hell no!” I tried to say, but I think it came out as an incoherent mumble. I didn’t even respond fast enough to close my legs. I was mostly trying to shield my eyes from the light.

I felt a finger, but after a couple seconds it was replaced with Andrew’s now fully-hard cock. I guess I was wet enough for business. He pushed in with a few slow, steady thrusts. One hand holding my ass cheeks, one hand around my back and gripping my shoulder, he started a slow rhythm.

“Andrew,” I mumbled. He grunted.

“Andrew,” I said, more coherently and more awake. “I need to pee. You have to let me up.”

He sighed and backed up, pulling out.

I hobbled to the bathroom and relieved my long-denied bladder. When I got back to the bed, Andrew was in the exact position I had left him in, leaning on his right elbow, left arm holding up the sheet. I slipped back under him and winced as he thrust back inside me. I wasn’t as wet as I had been a minute ago.

But that suited Andrew just fine. The lack of lube made my passage tighter, and he noted the tightness with appreciation. I was hoping he just wanted a morning quickie, almanbahis adresi but after almost 10 minutes of missionary sex, he rolled us over so that I was on top. I was in no mood to cooperate, but I had to get this over with. I writhed on top of him and even produced a few fake moans and gasps- whatever might speed things up. I tried to straighten up so I could ride him without looking at him, but he gripped me tight around the back with his arms and thrust up into me.

He loosened his grip a little, but only so that he could start running his hands all up and down my back. Squeezing my ass, guiding my hips, rubbing my thighs. One hand worked its way around to my breasts while the other continued trying to cover every exposed part of my back. He started rubbing around my nipples with his fingers and then took the other breast in his mouth. The combined assault on both breasts was hard to ignore. I started moving faster and pressing harder.

With no warning, his hands grabbed my ass and started rubbing me hard against him. He pushed up into me a few times, pressing deep, holding a second and relaxing. Then with a prolonged moan, he started cumming. As soon as he started spraying into me, his hands reached up to my shoulders and pulled my whole body down on him. His heels dug into the bed as he thrust one last time and held it there. He shuddered a few times as he came down from his peak, then his hands flopped to his sides on the bed and his legs straightened out.

Not wasting any time, I dismounted and looked for the robe I had tossed somewhere last night. I wordlessly shuffled over to the bathroom to start my day.


“You’re not supposed to make me sleep in your bed, that was part of the arrangement,” I said with a semi-annoyed tone. I knew he hadn’t made me do it, but I didn’t want him thinking I was fine with it.

“I didn’t make you do anything,” he said confidently. I rolled my eyes and looked away.

We were sitting at the table, sharing toaster-ready waffles for breakfast. He stood up to get more coffee. “Want some?” he asked, holding up the pot.

“No thanks,” I lied. I would wait a minute and then get it for myself. “Anyway, if that’s the wake-up I can expect when I sleep in your bed, you can be damn sure that next time I’m bringing my phone and setting the alarm to make sure I don’t spend the night.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, unperturbed. “But you shouldn’t be surprised. A guy wakes up with a beautiful woman naked in his bed, and nature takes its course.” That was the first time he had called me beautiful. I ignored it.

“Yeah, well don’t let nature take its course too much, or you’ll use up your fuck sessions before the week is over,” I warned him.

“Use up? What are you talking about? There’s no weekly limit or anything.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but was left with my mouth gaping and my heart sinking. Shit, how had I never noticed that before? There were boundaries for the minimum- at least 3 times a week, never more than 2 days without- but nothing about maximum. Under our agreement, he could screw me 3 times a day, 7 days a week and I couldn’t object.

He noticed my shock and just laughed. “I guess you’ll want to talk about that later. Go ahead, take some time to think about it. We can talk when you’re ready.” He went back to sipping his coffee and spreading butter on another waffle.

“You’re not planning to have me in bed all morning today, are you?” I hesitantly asked with a mix of worry and disgust. I got up to refill my coffee.

He smiled and gave one silent laugh as he bit into his waffle. “Believe me, Gina. I would love to spend the next 3 hours before I go to work doing nothing but enjoying your body and seeing if I can’t get you to enjoy it a little, too. But since I know that would put me even further outside your good graces, and since you seem to need to process some new information, I’ll have to be content with what happened before breakfast.”

Well that was a relief, I thought as I sat back down.

“No promises about this evening, though.”

I gave him an acidic look and stood up to leave. “I might have plans for the evening,” I said, defiantly. I was at least going to spend my morning out, following up on some job applications and rewarding myself for surviving a month of this by getting my hair done. Taking my mug upstairs, I got dressed and shoved things in my bag. I angrily grumbled to myself, “No guarantees about tonight? I’d say there’s no guarantee I’ll even be around this week! What if I’m busy? What if…what if I have a date? What if my work schedule changes? Yeah, there are no guarantees at all!”

I almanbahis adres was all set to storm out of the house when I heard the clanking of dishes being put in the sink and the thump of feet on the stairs. I paused in my room with my hand on the doorknob. Not having to see him at all was better than storming out in a showy way. Once I heard the door to his room close, I slipped out and walked softly down the stairs.


“And then he said that household duties included sex! Can you believe that? He wanted her to cook, clean, and screw in exchange for a room in his house.”

I hadn’t really been listening, but over the sound of scissors and the inane chatter of my own stylist, that sentence tuned me in to the conversation across the room. My heart sank. Did they…?

“What did she do?”

“Oh, she said no, of course. She said, ‘Honey, you want a wife, and I ain’t her!’ And then she just hung up on him. I mean, of all the things! ‘Household duties.’ my word!” It was a middle-aged woman getting highlights and talking to her own stylist, who was fully caught up in the story.

I broke protocol a bit and spoke across the room, “Are you for real? Where was this, New York?” I faked a chuckle. My stylist turned my head back into position, “Hold still, honey,” she said gently.

“Oh no, dear. This was right here. She told me herself.”

“Who did?”

“A girl at my office a few months ago. She was doing temp work. Said it happened early this year. Just shows you never know what kind of weirdos are online. That’s why I won’t do any of that internet dating stuff.”

“Was he at least cute? I mean, as long as the guy isn’t some dirty old man…” I tried to joke about it, and I wanted to see if it was really Andrew. Not that there was much doubt. Plus, if someone else knew that he had made this offer and then found out I was living with him, it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together.

“She never saw him, everything was over the phone.”

“Smart girl,” said the stylist.

“I know,” said the lady. “Besides, he was probably ugly as sin and couldn’t find a girl of his own. Shoulda tried a Russian mail order bride!” she said, starting to laugh before she finished her joke.

For some reason, I just wanted to feel affirmed. “Well, I suppose if a girl is in a tight spot and if she meets him and he’s not an ogre, then maybe it’s a livable arrangement…?”

Awkward silence. Then the middle aged lady said, “I just can’t imagine. I just can’t imagine.”

My stylist piped in, “It really is just a marriage without the legal trappings.”

“A marriage without love,” I countered.

That got a laugh all around. “You ain’t been married, have you honey?,” joked another older woman, waiting for her turn in the chair.

“Tell her!” laughed my stylist.

The lady who had started it all said, “It’s true. My marriage got to be just that- watching the kids, cooking, cleaning, and sex. And I think I could have cut out the first three and still kept him happy!”

“Yeah, but in a marriage, at least you can say no to sex,” offered the other stylist. “Sounds like this guy would have been like, put out or move out, honey.”

The customer across from me agreed, “Well, that was my ex, except he was more like, put out or I’ll move out! That’s what ‘irreconcilable differences’ really means.” And that led into a discussion of ex husbands and dating and other things I wasn’t as interested in. I got to thinking.

You want a wife…It really is just a marriage…

I looked down at the magazine I was reading- I had picked up a cooking magazine to get some ideas for recipes. What the hell am I turning into?, I thought. I was just being his surrogate wife. It was an unofficial, loveless marriage. I was the wife who kept the house clean, kept my man fed, worked part time, and spread my legs when he wanted.

In a marriage, at least you can say ‘no’ to sex. I had never really said no to Andrew. I was obligated to say yes at least three times a week, and he seldom asked more. In light of this morning’s revelation, I realized that I needed to set some more boundaries. I wasn’t just his dutiful wife who would always indulge his lusts. This was business, and I was being taken advantage of.

“…honey?” Oops, someone was talking to me. “I’m sorry, what?”

My stylist had stopped, “What do you think, honey?” She was finished.

“Yeah, it’s great, thanks.” I didn’t even look more than a glance. She gave me some instructions on how to keep it looking good (though who really bothers with that stuff after a few days?) and I was on my way. I had a lot to think about.

In marriage…you can say ‘no.’ I gripped the steering wheel and held back tears. What would he do if I said ‘no’? He seemed like a genuinely nice guy, but he didn’t really compromise on the sex thing. You can say no. I felt sick.

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