Real Estate Games Pt. 11

Welcome to the world of Realtor Games.

If this is your first visit, you might want to start at the beginning... part 1. While each part can be read as a stand-alone story, they will make a lot more sense if you read them in sequence. To get to part 1, click on my pen name - "Aaroneous" - and it will take you to a list of all my Literotica stories.

If you are a returning reader, welcome back. This chapter has something for both the non-consent and non-human enthusiasts. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

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Realtor Games

Part 11

3307 and 3309 Double Duty Drive

Mark bought two properties the next morning. The lady in 3307 Double Duty got just under full price for her three-bedroom, two bath bungalow. Her next-door neighbor sold him a nearly identical house for ten thousand less. The difference in price had nothing to do with the relative condition of the houses and everything to do with the respective homeowners' fellating skills.

The blonde in 3307 made the FedEx man come down her throat in under three minutes. The redhead in 3309 worked on the UPS guy for more than ten minutes before she got a mouthful of special delivery.

They were the quickest sales yet. Also the first houses I sold all week with my clothes on.

Which worried me. Not selling two houses before noon, that was great. I was concerned about Mark letting me remain clothed. Was he growing tired of me? Had I overexposed myself? Had he unwrapped the present so many times that he no longer was interested in the prize inside? But he'd not yet received the real reward. Or had he?

With everything else going on in my life, whether or not Mark Seiman's oversized cock had been in my underappreciated pussy should not have been a priority. But, for some odd reason, I had to know.

Regardless of his designs on my body, Mark's business plan was crystal clear. He was determined to buy as much of Merryville as he possibly could. I had two more houses lined up for the afternoon.

2913 Full Moon Court

Clara Bow was a woman who liked to complain. This wasn't the first time I'd met the forty-something, work-at-home, telemarketer. She wasn't a bad looking lady, but nobody would truthfully label her a beauty. Years of sitting at a desk for eight plus hours a day had turned what may have once been a sleek body into something you wouldn't quite label obese... maybe chunky was the optimal term. The strain of life showed at the corners of her hazel eyes. Her shoulder length brunette hair displayed a hint of gray and hadn't been to a beauty salon since a Bush lived in the White House. I'm not sure which one.

But all of her physical mediocrity was overshadowed by her constant complaining. The summers were too hot, the winters too cold and spring didn't last long enough. Taxes and prices were too high. Politicians were all crooks. Her husband worked too hard for not enough money and was never home when she needed him; probably because he was tired of hearing her bitch all day long. When I introduced her to Mark, she immediately started a nonstop tirade about her backdoor neighbor's pet.

"He yaps, he drools, he howls, and he sheds. And don't get me started on the smell that comes from his turds, they're bigger than cow patties."

"You're not making a very good case for selling your house," Mark said. "Why would I want to buy a house with an obnoxious dog living behind it?"

"Oh, trust me, this thing is not a dog," Clara said. "It is a beast, a monster... an abomination that should not exist."

"Okay, so the question remains. If a fowl smelling monster lives behind you, why would I want to buy your house?"

Oh, not to worry. Sally works at the plant. She'll be unemployed by the end of the month. And if she decides to stay in Merryville, the creature isn't long for this world anyway."

"Is it old?" I asked.

"No, just a major nuisance. The mayor owes me a favor so I expect animal control will pick up the freak of nature any day now."

In typical Mark Seiman fashion, he walked away from the conversation, through Clara's house and into the back yard... which wasn't anything to brag about. A concrete slab led to poorly maintained grass surrounded by a wooden fence. There wasn't a single tree, flower, bush or plant in the entire yard. Clara wasn't a gardener.

By the time I caught up with him, Mark was leaning on the fence looking into the offending neighbor's yard. The contrast was striking. Well-trimmed bushes interspersed with brightly flowering annuals bordered a lush, green carpet of fescue. It was like standing in a desert and looking into an oasis.

"She said this house was also for sale?"

"It's next on our list," I told him.

"Is she expecting us?"

"In about thirty minutes, but I promised I'd call before we got there."

"Well give her a call," he said as he hopped the fence.

At first glance I didn't see any evidence of a dog or any other animal. No bad smell and no piles of poop. I started to call the owner to warn her that my rogue client was in her back yard. No need. A deep throated growl came from an unseen corner of the yard and was quickly followed by a bear sized animal at a full run. Mark turned to face the massive beast just a second before it left its feet. The impact bowled the two of them head-over-paw. Mark lay motionless on the ground while the animal raised his head to let out a menacing howl.

The next thing I remember, I was over the fence and headed towards my injured client when something or someone grabbed the waist band of my skirt, holding me back. I lunged forward in a single-minded burst of power and broke free from whatever impeded my progress, only to trip and fall flat on my face. Two-inch heels are not made for running, especially in grass. Picking myself up off the ground I expected to see the beast feeding on Mark's bloody corpse. I wasn't too far off.

Clara was right. I couldn't identify what had attacked Mark, but it certainly wasn't a dog. At least not any type of dog I'd ever seen. The word "wolf" came to mind. It had the long tail, pointed ears and sleek body of a wolf, but the head didn't seem quite right. Maybe it was the extended fangs extruding from its upper lips, or perhaps the two short horns growing out of its head that made me doubt what I was looking at. And even if this was a wolf, it had to be twice the normal size.

Whatever the animal was, it certainly came out on top. His four legs straddled Marks prone body and the brute was definitely in charge of the situation. But instead of chewing on Mark's jugular he was washing the man's face with a large slobbery tongue.

"Norman, you stop that this instant," a woman yelled from the back porch. "Let that poor man up and get back in the house."

The beast looked at the woman, gave Mark one last slobbery kiss, and trotted towards the house. His oversized tail wagged as he went. I swear it was smiling.

At first look, I thought Mark was out cold... maybe dead. But I didn't see any blood. No puncture wounds. His neck wasn't bent in an unusual angle and his rising and falling chest indicated he was breathing.

The woman secured the animal inside the house and joined me as we stood looking down at my client.

"Is he alright?" she asked.

"Just dazed," I hoped. "Probably just got the wind knocked out of him."

"I am so sorry. Norman doesn't get many visitors, and when he does, he tends to get excited."

"No need to apologize. Mark got what he deserved. Your neighbor told him there was something back here and yet he still thought it a good idea to hop the fence."

"Well it was a brave thing you did. Coming to his rescue and all. Not that Norman would hurt anybody, he's a lover, not a fighter... but you didn't know that."

Mark's eyes suddenly opened. He looked around for a second and then sat up. "That's quite a security system you've got. Does it come with the house?"

"Are you the realtor and prospective buyer?" the woman asked.

"Yes, we are," I said. "The gentleman on the ground is Mark Seiman and I'm Janis Moorehead from Southside Realty."

"Sally Croker," she said, extending her hand. "And as far as selling my house, everything is negotiable... except Norman."

I was so upset about Mark's imminent demise, this was the first time I actually took a good look at the woman. Unlike her back-door neighbor, the first thing that came to mind when I met Sally was her kind face and sparkling blue eyes. Well, to be perfectly honest, I might have noticed her smallish but well-shaped bosom first. But only because the only thing covering them was a thin layer of flour. Her bottom half was partially covered by an apron. From the front view, I couldn't tell if that was all she had on.

She noticed me staring at her flour covered boobs. "I hope you don't mind. Somebody told me that the smell of freshly baked cookies will help sell a house. I make an awful mess when I cook so, rather than get an outfit dirty, I usually bake in the nude. And you did say you'd call before you came."

"What kind of cookies?" Mark asked.

"Ginger snaps. It's an old family recipe."

"Well let's go in and give them a taste test. And don't worry about what you're wearing. As you can see, Miss Moorehead also tends to leave the odd article of clothing behind."

Only then did I realize that my skirt was still attached to the fence. Luckily, it was one of the rare days that Mark hadn't absconded with my panties.

Sally escorted us into her house and properly introduced us to Norman. He gave the two of us a good sniffing -- concentrating on our crotches -- and laid down on the hard wood floor, content that we weren't going to harm him or his mistress.

"The cookies aren't quite ready yet. If you don't mind showing yourself the house, I'll finish up in the kitchen," Sally said.

Since Sally didn't make an effort to cover her tits while she was cooking, I didn't see any reason to cover my ass while exploring her house. Which, considering the animal she lived with, was extremely clean and well kept.

Thankfully, Mark didn't go through Sally's closet or underwear drawer, as had been his habit in the past. He poked his head into the master bedroom and garage but spent most of his time in an upstairs room that apparently belonged to Norman.

Pictures of assorted people posing with Norman decorated the walls. Mark took time to study each one. He was so enthralled with the pictures, he took a few off the wall and read the inscriptions on the back of the frames... which required him to get on his hands and knees since they were hung at the animal's eye level.

Other than the puppy pictures, the room was simply furnished with a chair in one corner, pillows on the floor and a large dresser along one wall. The top dresser drawer was full of what could only be described as designer collars. Each was made of a different shade of leather, some with embedded gemstones and others with spikes. The next two drawers contained men's clothes. Mark pulled out a pair of slacks and a knit shirt. When he held them against his body it was obvious the clothes belonged to a large man... bigger than Mark.

The bottom drawer was empty except for a few pairs of rolled up socks. Something about the socks caught Mark's eye. He took out a pair and unrolled them.

"That's strange," he said. "The shirt and pants obviously belong to a big man. But these socks would barely fit a ten-year-old."

"Don't be so nosey," I said. "What do you care if Sally has a big boyfriend with small feet?"

"No, that's not it. I think the socks belong to Norman."

"Why would a wolf need socks?" I asked.

"You think Norman's a wolf?"

"What else could he be?"

"Let's find out," Mark said as he stuffed a couple of pair of socks into his pocket.

"Really. You're going to steal Norman's socks?"

"I'll give them back when we're done with them."

Norman stood in his bedroom doorway as we turned to leave.

"I told you not to steal his socks," I said.

But Mark wasn't concerned and pushed the animal aside. From that moment on, Norman followed Mark around the house like a lost puppy.

Sally was just pulling her first batch of cookies out of the oven when we finished our tour.

"I see you and Norman have made up," she said to Mark.

"He's easy to get along with," Mark said. "Nothing like your neighbor describes him."

"Oh, don't listen to Clara. She's just an unhappy person. If she didn't have Norman to bitch about, I'm sure she'd find something else we were doing wrong."

"Is that why you're moving," I asked.

"Partially. I'll be out of work as soon as the plant closes. But even if I still had a job in Merryville, I'd probably still move, just to get away from Clara. She's had the cops or animal control over here nearly every week for the last several months. With her connections, they'll eventually find a way to either force us out of here or take Norman away from me. I don't mind leaving, but I will not let anybody take Norman."

"How old is he?" Mark asked.

"I'm not exactly sure," Sally said. "I got him from my Aunt when she passed."

"Would that be your Aunt Agnes?"

Sally stopped what she was doing and turned to look at Mark.

"How do you know that?"

"It's written on the picture in Norman's room, dated June 1974... when Agnes was your age. There's another one with a lady named Meredith, dated March 1947. My favorite might be the one of Norman posing with a Miss Lilly Lancaster. I'm surprised that a photo from the 1880's still looks so good. My point, Miss Crocker, is that Norman seems to be well over a hundred years old. I don't know what that is in doggie years, but it doesn't matter because we both know he's not a dog."

Sally's face flushed, her eyes opened wide, her tray of cookies dropped to the floor.

"Well that was certainly clumsy of me." She turned her back to us and bent down to recover her cookies.

"If Norman isn't a dog, what do you think he is?" she asked in a failed attempt to sound like the only thing bothering her was a ruined batch of cookies.

Mark knelt next to the obviously shaken woman and helped her pick up the cookies.

"I don't claim to be an expert on the subject," he said, "but I'm guessing your housemate is a confused werewolf."

"What makes you think he's confused?"

"It's broad daylight. The last full moon was a week ago. And he's still a wolf."

"Well, your right about one thing," Sally said. "You aren't a werewolf expert."

"Enlighten me. Tell me where I was wrong."

"Why would I do that?"

"If you do, I'll buy your house and ensure your neighbor never reveals what she knows."

"How do you plan to do that?"

Mark leaned over and whispered into her ear.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"The socks. As soon as I took them out of the drawer, Norman started paying attention."

"What does that have to do with my neighbor?"

He grabbed both flour covered titties, pulled her into him and continued whispering.

"No way," she said.

"I think it might work." Mark replied. "But he's your werewolf. I can understand if you're protective of him."

"No, I'm sure he'll enjoy it. It wouldn't be the first time. There's been a couple others. Friends of mine. But Clara?"

***

"Norman's a werewolf?" I asked Mark as we led the enormous animal into Clara Bow's back yard.

"A confused werewolf but a werewolf just the same."

"How is he confused?"

"Well, first off, he's supposed to be human most of the time and only turns into a wolf during a full moon. Norman got it ass backwards. He spends most of his time as a wolf and only gets to be human one night a month."

"So, what happens when he turns into a human?" I asked. "Is that when he turns all murderous? Does Sally have to chain him to the wall to keep him from eating her?"

"Apparently not. According to Miss Crocker, he spends that one night a month in bed with her. But once every full moon isn't sufficient to satisfy his needs. And werewolves aren't monogamous..."

"Is that why we're taking him to Clara's?"

"What's the worst she could do?"

"Depends on what caliber rifle her husband owns."

"I don't think so. Any man who lives with a woman like Clara has to be a card-carrying pacifist wimp."

"What the fuck are you doing with that animal in my yard?" Clara screamed at the top of her lungs as we stepped into her house. "And what happened to your skirt Miss Moorehead?"

"We've come to negotiate the price of your house," Mark said.

"Half-dressed with a flea-bitten monster in tow. I don't think so."

"Mrs. Bow," Mark said. "You have got to be the most miserable woman in Merryville. I don't know what made you this way, but I'm going to give you a chance to sell your house and make amends to your lovely neighbor."

"Just what were you and that pervert talking about for so long? I know what goes on over there. The woman struts around her kitchen in the nude and...

"Full price for your house with only a few contingencies. That's my offer and it's non-negotiable. Take it or leave it."

'Full price' got Clara's attention. "What contingencies?" she asked in a slightly calmer tone.

I was sure Clara would blow a gasket when Mark told her what would be required to seal the deal but, to her credit, she quickly came back with a counteroffer.

"I'm okay with keeping your identity a secret and not telling anybody I've sold the house until the end of the month. But you surely can't expect me to play your disgusting game."

Mark got up, grabbed Norman's leash and headed for the back door.

"Thirty thousand," Clara said. "I'll go down thirty thousand in price."

"Are you coming Miss Moorehead?" Mark asked. "There are plenty of properties in Merryville. I seem to be wasting my time here."

"Forty thousand," she said.

Mark kept walking. I followed.

"You're assholes. Both of you. The police will hear about this. And the mayor."

There was a small gate in the corner of the yard. A left over from when the previous residents were more friendly and visited each other. Mark led Norman through it, back to his own yard, and I was about to follow when Clara Bow finally cracked.

"Full price, cash. And nobody ever hears about what's going to happen today," she yelled.

Back in Clara's living room, Mark pulled the thick socks out of his pocket and put them over Norman's paws. This obviously wasn't Norman's first rodeo. As soon as the socks went on, he changed from a big lovable hunk of fur into an alpha male lover.

Having zero experience in this particular area, I had no idea how to get an impressively large canine erection inside a naked forty-year-old telemarketer. But Clara did. I'm not sure if her knowledge came from personal experience or binoculars in an upstairs bedroom. Either way, the process was fairly simple. Clara got down on all fours, shook her overly wiggly ass a few times and let animal instinct take over. Not hers, Norman's.

Everything about the werewolf was huge. His head, his chest, his tongue and his cock. Like many humans I knew, he led with his tongue. It was the messiest foreplay I'd ever witnessed. In his attempt to lick Clara's pussy, he also managed to soak her ass, upper thighs and stomach. Even her pendulum swinging tits ended up with a coat of saliva. But I don't think all the lubrication came from the werewolf's mouth. By the time he was ready to perform, Clara's constant bitching slowly changed over to a low moan of expectation.

Mark and I were sitting on the couch, voyeuristically watching the show. After a while it became apparent that the performing couple might need a bit of assistance. Once Norman was satisfied that his bitch was ready for the real thing, he wrapped his sock covered front paws around Clara's waist and, using his hind quarters for leverage, randomly jammed his pink protrusion towards pay dirt. At which point I wondered where baby werewolves came from. Because no matter how hard Norman tried, he could not hit his target. After countless failures to spear Clara's pussy, and two near misses of her rear most opening, I finally got down on their level to help.