Tales of Pleasure and Pain (5 page)

It all began with Morgan Cavanaugh.

Morgan is a real first class woman, a tall brunette with long svelte legs, creamy clear olive complexion, and a model figure, face and attitude. It didn't matter what time of day or night, what she was wearing - some of her fabulous clothes, or just jeans and a t-shirt - she always looked terrific, much to the displeasure of several of the other women in the house. I suppose her ability to look so good all the time had something to do with the fact that she was a professional model. She was also a professional bitch.

She was haughty, arrogant, and usually in her own world, not often coming down to the "level" of my other boarders. She remained in her room a lot when she was at home, and when she did grace us with her presence some nitpicking little cat fight would likely result from her sharp tongue. The other women grew to hate her quickly.

In spite of her haughty disposition, she was curiously vulnerable when she asked for a room in my boarding house. She'd been having a tough time getting work, had to give up a regular apartment, and my old respectable house was the only "quality" place available to her at the time. As I looked at her standing on my doorstep wearing a tight red dress that clung to the supple curves of her figure as if it were part of her body itself, I wondered what effect her presence in the house would have on every one else. I rented her a room, despite the fact that she had less than perfect references, and no stable income.
I figured with her looks, why wouldn't the agencies be calling her night and day with work? She was just down on her luck.

So, breaking my first rule of business, I allowed her, and her ten trunks of clothes, to cross the doorway of #4; a gamble yes, but she was interesting even in her arrogance. Little did I know what kind of fireworks she'd set off in my quiet little place.

The fireworks started before I had a chance to get to know her. Of course getting to know Morgan might take years, since she wasn't a particularly social person.

"She's a bitch Roxanne," Lacy said it very plainly.

Lacy was one of my favorite borders, a sweet young impressionable thing, who was always full of energy and fun and good humor, except when it came to Morgan. I recall the conversation very well. We were drinking Ice Tea as we rocked on the old front porch. "You know she gave me the evil eye this mornin'. I hate women like her, so uppity, almighty perfect all the time. I bet she even makes love perfect, you know never musses that perfect hair, not one smudge of make-up."

"You're j
ealous," I observed, surprised.

"Hell no!" Lacy charged, though I knew better. "I just don't get it, she has no bad angles, you know no matter what, she looks good. I hate that!"

She was no Morgan Cavanaugh, but she didn't need to be; her short voluptuous form was very appealing, in fact she was much more appealing in many ways than Morgan since she had a pleasant personality and a bright smile. I'm not sure Morgan ever smiled at all.

Lacy's only problem I was soon to discover, was that flaming jealousy that could turn mean, without much effort.

"She'd not going to treat me like dirt
Roxanne;
I'm not going to let her!"

"Hey you're really getting worked up over this," I said.

"Yeah I am," Lacy said.

"Well, I don't see where you have anything to be bothered
about;
you can't let the Morgan Cavanaugh's of the world get to you."

"Oh, it's just this one Morgan Cavanaugh that bugs me, just her."

I didn't know what to make of Lacy, but I suspected that if Morgan pushed Lacy further, things might get out of hand between them. I wasn't certain what that would be, but I didn't like the mean streak rising in Lacy.

Whatever my concerns with Lacy were, my attentions quickly turned to Miss Cavanaugh. I was soon to find myself in the curious position of wielding a good deal of power over her. After just a month, she became delinquent with her rent. I was afraid this would happen, but I thought perhaps a little gentle conversation, a little reassurance from me, maybe even some ideas of ways she could solve her financial problems, would help her right things quickly.

Yet when I went to her room one evening to discuss things, she stood at her doorway obviously annoyed by my intrusion. She must have been exercising since she was wearing loose shorts and a little crop top; and even though she was sweating and her hair was a total mess, she looked terrific. I couldn't figure how she did it; maybe some women are born with the knack.

"What do you want?" Morgan said rudely, when she opened the door.

Her attitude startled
me;
I would think for a woman twenty days late with the rent she would be more civil.

"Morgan, you're late with your rent," I said evenly, "I think we need to talk." I needed to steel myself against the cold coming from her eyes.

"Yeah, I'm late," she stated, as if that was all the explanation she needed.

I half laughed, "That's why I'm here."

"I don't have it," she said nastily with a little twitch of her turned up nose.

"Well, when do you suppose you will have it?" I asked, trying to remain calm, though her attitude was really beginning to bother me.

"I don't know, I'm suppose to have a job by the end of the week."

"And you get paid then?"

"Well no, that's usually two weeks after."

"That would put you thirty days past due, I make a policy not to carry people that long."

"I don't think you have any choice, you can't evict me?" She spoke so casually, she sounded bored.

"Oh?"

"I know my rights." She tried to close the door, but I stopped her and pushed my way inside. Apparently this was going to demand a little more effort and firmness
.

"The lease you signed requires your payment within thirty days, or I have the right to evict you. I wouldn't want to, but if you can't pay, and we can't come up with some arrangement, I will."

"You wouldn't dare, you know I'm good for the money."

"I know nothing of the sort my dear, you've only been here a few weeks, and you had damned poor references when you came. Let's suffice it say you got the apartment on your good looks."

She looked as if she might soften for a minute, but she returned to the icy stare instead.

I was appalled by her behavior, and no longer particularly interested in being nice. "Why are you acting like such a bitch?" I asked.

That surprised her, but she didn't answer.

"I'd think you'd be a little more courteous to me given your present financial position. I'm not a bad sort at all. I can be compassionate to one who earns it."

"You'll have your
money;
I can get it from friends until mine comes in."

"Good, that would be fine, when?" It was clear I was going to need to pin her down on this.

She looked distracted. "I don't know."

I breathed deeply, trying to regain the composure I was fast loosing; she had a way of arousing passions in me I didn't realize were operating. Devious, malicious thoughts appeared in my head, I was getting off thinking of holding this over her head . . . what lovely possibilities the idea had. It was certainly was worth a try to scare the living daylights out of her.

"I'll extract my price Morgan," I warned, not really sure myself what I meant.

"How's that?" she asked.

"I don't really like your attitude," I said very calmly, "I don't like your arrogance, in fact I'm not sure there is much about you that I do like. It wouldn't bother me at all to send you packing."

For the first time, she looked worried. Probably because I was threatening the last shed of security, that I had kindly provided for her.

"Listen," she said, "I'm sorry if I'm a little edgy right now, I do have a job coming up the end of the week, and I will be able to pay, but you can't throw me out."

She was almost pleading, that pleased me.

"I can throw you out Morgan, and I will, I won't tolerate your nasty attitude. If you don't have the money, there are other kinds of prices you can pay." The more I spoke the more I gathered my courage, of course it helped that Morgan was exactly what I thought she was, a fake, all that haughtiness just a convenient cover.

"What kind of prices are you talking about?" she asked, there was still a hard edge in her voice, though I had her curiosity.

I don't think it was until that moment, that I really knew exactly what I was going to say; but all of a sudden it was perfectly clear.

"What are you getting at?" she asked. I could see she was nervous.

I stared at her enjoying the thought of watching her squirm. This would be a lesson she wouldn't forget.

"I'll give you two weeks, Morgan. You bring your past due rent and the rent for the next month on time, and everything will be fine with me. But if you're short, just one little dime short? I'll take it out with your flesh."

"What does that mean?" her eyes were wide as a frightened cat's.

"You want to stay here, you pay the price,
and you’ll
pay with that perfect bottom of yours." I looked at her
sternly;
she was nearly cowering on the spot.

And before she could say a word, I turned abruptly and walked out. I was churning madly inside; what a delicious triumph! I was wholly exuberant in a dark nasty way. I had an explicit premonition, a savory fore taste of what was to come; it was a novel threat, and it would be an interesting wait.

Two weeks later, there was a call from Morgan on my answering machine. She was prompt, I'll give her that. But not particularly courageous. I'd envisioned her at my door; but she had chosen a seemingly safer route to communicate her continued lack of sufficient funds. I smiled as I listened to her hard edged voice.

"I am leaving you last month's rent in your
box;
however I will be two weeks yet for this month. I trust that will be satisfactory."

Satisfactory my foot!

My determination had only grown in the preceding weeks, I wanted nothing better than to teach the little brat a lesson, as much for her attitude as her late rent.

When I went to see her about seven that evening, she answered her door as smugly as
ever, inquiring why I should be knocking at this hour. "I thought I told you on the phone all you need to know."

"Are you forgetting our conversation? I made myself very clear.

She looked at me for a moment as if she had no idea what I was talking about. "Oh!" she finally remembered. "You said something about extracting a price?"

"Exactly."

"You were very vague, and this whole business is ridiculous. You'll get your money in two weeks."

Apparently she didn't remember "everything" I'd said; either that or she was choosing to forget.

"No Morgan, I was not vague, I told you, if you didn't have it all by today, you could pack your bags or I'd take the price out of your bottom."

I watched as her eyes widened in horror. Standing there in black bike shorts and an old faded red sweatshirt - she'd cut out the neckline so it fell off her shoulder - she still looked stunning.

"How about I come inside," I suggested.

She stepped
away;
she let me enter the room. She looked like she was in shock.

I sat down on her wicker couch. Perusing the room, I notice what a lovely job she'd done decorating. It was really quite beautiful, the wide windows covered in a cotton floral chintz to match the pillows on her wicker couch and chair. Unfortunately she'd cluttered the place with clothes and underwear strewn everywhere.

I was a little nervous myself, thinking of what I planned to do and I appreciated a moment of repose.

"Why don't you sit down," I suggested as Morgan remained a watchful safe distance from me.

She complied warily, not saying a word.

I really expected her to have some snappy retort, but I guess I left her speechless.

"I'm not here to play games with you Morgan," I said. "And I meant what I said about taking out of your bottom. It's a simple trade-off."

She was confused. I loved watching her squirm. It was about time someone taught her a
lesson in humility.

"You're going to punish me?" she asked. She was refreshingly naive with her query.

"In a manner of speaking," I answered, "I assume you don't want to be thrown out at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning?"

She looked terribly disconcerted. "I have to stay, I have to work tomorrow."

"Well that's good," I said, "Then come here, and remove your shorts."

She looked at me appalled.

"Don't think about it Morgan," I said gently, "Bare your bottom, it needs to be punished."

"You're going to spank me?" she asked.

"Only til your bottom is very red, and it hurts so much that the tears are running down your cheeks."

Her body jolted at my words. Her eyes softened just a bit as tears were already forming in her eyes. She was already softer than I'd ever see her. I suspected deep down inside that Morgan needed and maybe even wanted discipline.