The Price of Rent Is Paid with Your Ass

I run a boarding house for women in a gray old mansion I inherited from my aunt, an austere woman who died when I was in my early twenties and left me more money than I could possibly need. I hated the house as it came to me: huge, damp, gloomy. So I knocked down walls, opened up the stifling rooms into larger ones, painted everything white, and started taking in guests.

When I decided to open the boarding house, I wanted it to be for women only. I thought it would be simpler than tangling everything up with the presence of men. I was wrong. Keeping order in a “women-only” house turned out to be much harder than expected. They can be incredibly messy, and getting them to pick up the kitchen or their things from the living room is an endless task, no matter how many schedules I post and how many threats I hand out.

However, after a couple of years at this, I discovered by pure chance a very unusual and tremendously effective way to handle my rebellious flock.

It all started with Mariana Duarte.

Mariana is one of those top-tier women: tall, brunette, long-legged, olive-skinned, with a model’s face, body, and air. It didn’t matter the time of day or what she was wearing—one of her expensive pieces or a simple pair of jeans—she was always splendid, much to the annoyance of several of the others. She was also a bitch: haughty, arrogant, wrapped up in her own world, rarely deigning to come down to the “level” of the rest. When she honored us with her presence, some catfight almost always broke out because of her sharp tongue. The others hated her within days.

Despite all that arrogance, she seemed curiously vulnerable the day she came to ask me for a room. She was having trouble finding work, had had to leave her apartment, and my old respectable house was the only decent place she could afford. Seeing her standing at my door in a tight red dress clinging to her curves like a second skin, I wondered what effect her arrival would have on the others. I rented her a room even though she had no good references and no steady income. So, breaking my first rule of the business, I let her and her ten trunks of clothing cross the threshold of number 7. I had no idea what a spectacle she would make in my quiet domain.

“She’s a witch, Renata,” Lina told me bluntly.

Lina was one of my favorite guests: sweet, always full of energy and good humor, except when Mariana came up. We were drinking iced tea on the old porch.

“You know she looked down her nose at me this morning? I hate women like that, so perfect. I bet she even makes love without messing up her hair or smudging her makeup.”

“You’re jealous,” I observed.

“Not at all!” she snapped, though I knew she was. “It’s just that I can’t stand her. She doesn’t have a single flaw, and I hate that.”

Lina was not Mariana Duarte, but she didn’t need to be. Her short, voluptuous figure was very attractive; in many ways, more than Mariana’s, because she had a warm personality and a smile that lit everything up. Lina’s only problem, as I would soon discover, was that fierce jealousy of hers, which could turn cruel without any effort at all.

“She’s not going to treat me like trash, Renata. I’m not going to let her.”

“Hey, you’re getting way too worked up over this,” I told her.

I didn’t like the vindictive streak that was beginning to show in my favorite guest. But my attention soon shifted to Miss Duarte.

***

After barely a month, Mariana fell behind on the rent. I had feared that. I thought a friendly talk, a little understanding on my part, maybe a few suggestions for organizing her finances, would be enough to sort it out. But when I went up to her room one night to address the matter, she stood in the doorway, visibly annoyed by the intrusion. She must have been exercising: loose shorts, a cropped top, her hair a mess, sweaty. And still, dazzling.

“What do you want?” she said rudely when she opened the door.

“You’re twenty days late, Mariana,” I said calmly. “I think we need to talk.”

“Yes, I’m late,” she said, as if that were explanation enough.

“That’s why I’m here. When do you think you’ll have it?”

“I don’t have it. I’m supposed to get paid for a job at the end of the week. Though they usually pay me two weeks later.”

“That would be thirty days late. I don’t allow that under my rules.”

“I don’t think you have a choice. You can’t evict me,” she said with an almost bored naturalness. “I know my rights.”

She tried to close the door. I stopped her and forced my way in. This was going to require a firmer hand.

“The contract you signed gives me the right to evict you if you don’t pay within thirty days. I don’t want to do it. But if you can’t pay and we don’t reach an agreement, I will.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I know nothing about you, sweetheart. You’ve been here a few weeks and came with terrible references. You got the room on your pretty face, nothing more.”

For a second she almost softened. Then her icy look returned. Her brazenness horrified me, and my patience for niceness ran out.

“Why do you act like such a bitch?” I asked her.

I caught her off guard, but she didn’t answer. I drew a deep breath. She had a way of awakening passions in me that I didn’t know where they came from. And suddenly, with delicious clarity, I knew exactly what I was going to say.

“I’m giving you two weeks. Pay what you owe and next month on time, and everything will be fine between us. But if you short me even one cent, I’ll collect it from your flesh.”

“What does that mean?” Her eyes widened like a frightened cat’s.

“It means that if you want to stay, you’ll pay the price with that perfect ass of yours.”

I looked at her with such severity that she shrank back. Before she could say a word, I turned on my heel and left. What an exquisite victory. I walked away exultant, in a dark and indecorous way, savoring in advance what was to come.

***

Two weeks later she left a message on my answering machine. Punctual, I’ll give her that. Brave, not so much.

“I’m leaving the rent from last month in your mailbox, but I still need two weeks for this month’s. I hope you’re satisfied.”

Satisfied? Not even close. My determination had only grown. When I went up to see her around seven in the evening, she opened the door with her usual smugness.

“I thought I’d told you everything you needed to know on the phone.”

“Did you forget our conversation? I was very clear.”

She looked at me for a moment as if she had no idea what I was talking about. Then she remembered.

“Did you say something about collecting it another way?”

“Exactly. I warned you that if you didn’t have it all by today, you’d pack your bags or I’d collect it with your ass.”

She opened her eyes wide, horrified. Standing there in black cycling shorts and a faded red sweatshirt she had cut herself so it hung off her shoulders, she was still breathtaking.

“May I come in?” I asked, though it wasn’t really a question.

She moved aside, in shock. I sat on the wicker sofa and examined the room, tastefully decorated but cluttered with clothes and lingerie.

“I didn’t come here to play, Mariana. It’s a simple exchange. Come here and take your pants down.”

She looked at me in terror.

“Don’t think. Show me your ass. You need punishment.”

“You’re going to spank me?”

“Until it’s good and red and hurts so much you cry.”

A shiver ran through her body. Her expression softened and tears welled in her eyes. She was more docile than I had ever seen her. Deep down I suspected Mariana needed, maybe even wanted, that discipline. She hesitated for a second—would she rebel?—and in the end she obeyed. I watched her lower her pants until they fell to the floor. From that moment on she was mine, all mine.

“Over my knees.”

She was wearing only a thin, transparent thong. Her buttocks were round, fleshy, trembling. When she lay across my lap, the heat from her cunt burned against my thighs. I started with a few tentative pats and then, taking a swing, landed a firm, cheerful smack that drew her first cry.

“Oh my God, that hurts!”

“Of course it does.”

She didn’t wriggle so much as sink against my body. The swats came one after another. My hand didn’t want to stop; I loved watching the olive skin turn from pink to bright red.

“Stop, please!” she panted.

“Silence.”

“Will you pay the rent on time, Miss Duarte?” I asked, punctuating every word with a sharp smack.

“Yes, Renata!”

“And no more attitude?”

“Yes, Renata. Ow!”

I gave her a few final swats and she collapsed across my lap, exhausted. I gently set her on her feet. She was trembling.

“Go to the mirror. You should see your punished ass.”

She walked to the full-length mirror and assessed the damage, rubbing her burning buttocks.

“You’re much more pleasant like this, Mariana, much softer than I’ve ever seen you,” I said, and it was true: with her arrogance momentarily dimmed, she was beautiful in another way. “And remember: next time, if there is one, and I hope there isn’t, I’ll use something harsher than my hand. And you’ll have an audience. Your correction is far too enjoyable not to share.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed, the threatening edge snapping back into place.

I smiled, rose from the charming wicker sofa, and left without looking back.

***

“You should have seen her,” I told Lina. “Without all that swagger, she was a delight. You just have to know how to handle her.”

“Will you let me give her a beating until her ass turns pink?” she asked, unable to hide her excitement.

“That’s my job,” I reminded her. “But be careful, miss, or I’ll have to spank you too.”

She didn’t take me seriously. I did. Once the ice was broken, I wouldn’t hesitate to put any other guest over my knees if her behavior justified it.

For a few weeks life in the boarding house was peaceful. The calm before the storm. Little by little, the sniping and poisonous snubs returned to every dinner between Mariana and Lina. When the catfight became unbearable, I summoned them both to my office.

“You’re acting like children. So listen to what’s going to happen: if I hear one of you yell at the other, or at anyone else, I’ll bring her in here in front of the other and heat her ass until it really hurts. Is that clear?”

Both of them looked at me with a new respect.

“And on the second offense, I’ll gather the whole house to watch.”

“You don’t have the right to do that, Renata,” Mariana protested.

“Oh, don’t I? You follow my rules and my punishments, or out you go. And we both know how few places would take you with your record.”

That was her particular fear: ending up in a cheap boarding house, with “that other kind of people,” as she put it. She had nothing to say to that.

***

The truce didn’t last long. A few weeks later, Mariana told me she had lost several things: a pink scarf, a bottle of Belladona perfume, her best hairbrush. I didn’t think much of it, until the next night I saw that same bottle on Lina’s vanity, far too expensive for her budget, and in her half-open purse stuck out the unmistakable pink scarf I had seen Mariana wear so many times. My worst suspicions were confirmed. I just needed the right moment to kill two birds with one stone.

It was the end of the month and, as I expected, Mariana was late again; she avoided me, didn’t come down to dinner, changed direction as soon as she saw me. I called her on the phone.

“It’s Renata, darling. You’re late again. When are you paying me?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to negotiate with you,” she replied, sweetly, conciliatory. “I’m short again.”

“I’ll be in your room in fifteen minutes to collect payment.”

Then I called Lina. I don’t know whether it was excitement or pure revenge that brought her to my door within minutes.

“Play along, darling. With what you feel for Mariana, you’re in for a treat tonight.”

Mariana opened the door for us with a resigned expression that cracked the moment she saw Lina beside me.

“Oh my God, not her!”

“That’s not your decision, Mariana. Sit down.”

I took the wicker chair; Lina settled onto a low stool, looking like she was about to enjoy the show.

“Before we start, I need to know something. You could have avoided this and you didn’t. Why?”

She locked eyes with me. Something cruel flickered in them. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and lifted her chin in one last desperate gesture of pride.

“I can only say that... that I need it.”

“Need it?”

“Yes,” she said, almost defensively. “I know I’m difficult. My father spanked me when I was a child. You’re the only one who has done it since then, and until I provoked you I didn’t realize I’m a much better person when, from time to time, someone puts me in my place.”

A confession stronger than I had expected.

“I appreciate your honesty. And having said that, I think you should ask for your punishment.”

“No, I can’t,” she complained.

“I want to hear you ask for it.”

After a long silence, her arrogance seemed to melt away.

“Please, Renata, I need you to punish me.”

“Again,” I ordered. “Looking at Lina.”

Red with humiliation in front of her enemy, she repeated it. I told her to drag the stool to the center of the room and place a couple of pillows at one end to leave her ass well exposed. She obeyed with astonishing docility.

“Hand me the bag, Lina. I brought something special.”

I took out a soft leather strap, five centimeters wide and almost half a meter long. Mariana’s face fell. I stripped off her cycling shorts and T-shirt, and she was left in front of me naked except for tiny pink panties. I laid her over the stool and tied her wrists and ankles to the legs with several scarves, just enough for her to understand that, for the moment, she was mine. I wrapped the last one around her mouth.

“We don’t want the whole house hearing us, do we?”

She shook her head. With her legs spread to the width of the wood, her ass was presented, an immaculate target. The strap cut through the air and landed with a crack in the center of her firm buttocks. Her cry, muffled by the cloth, was unmistakable. Again the leather hissed, leaving a red stripe where the skin had been pale.

Blow after blow, the flesh jolted and Mariana writhed against her restraints, though not with enough force to break free; she could have gotten loose if she had truly tried, and she did not try. She needed this. Lina watched, spellbound, as the ass blazed red. When I felt she had reached the limit of her endurance—because this was punishment, not cruelty—I eased off and finished.

I untied her. She collapsed onto the pillows, sweating, her ass still burning. I lifted her carefully and slipped a silk robe over her.

“Easy now. You’ve paid your price.”

I had never seen her so soft.

“Thank you, Renata,” she murmured, looking at me with shining eyes. “And I hope you don’t stop. I need this.”

I respected her more than I ever would have imagined.

“And now, Lina,” I said, turning to my friend, who was smiling with satisfaction, “it’s your turn.”

“What?” She looked at me in horror.

I took the brush, the bottle of Belladona, and the pink scarf from the bag I had recovered from Lina’s room during the day.

“Do you recognize these, Mariana?”

“They’re mine. They disappeared days ago.”

Lina was starting to blush.

“I can’t believe you did this. You owe us an explanation.”

“I... I left them in the bathroom,” she stammered. “I suppose I just wanted revenge.”

“Revenge doesn’t work, at least not under my roof.”

“Please, I won’t do it again!” She was trembling.

To my surprise, Mariana’s face held no triumph, only almost compassion: she knew exactly what was waiting for Lina.

“Take off your dress and get on the stool. Mariana, do the honors with the scarves.”

Lina let the dress fall to the floor and lay down, naked and radiant with shame, over the stool. Mariana tied her ankles and wrists to the legs with remarkable gentleness. I started with my hand: her round ass, a mountain of white and pink flesh, was much broader than Mariana’s. I gave one smack to each cheek, and another, and another. I must have landed two dozen on her before stopping.

“Please, Renata, stop!” she kept begging, but there was a lot more to come.

I continued with another furious round, her ass bouncing on the cushions, until it was red from top to bottom. Then I took the strap.

“Will you steal anything again, Lina?”

“No, ma’am!”

“And no more revenge against Mariana or anyone else?”

“No, ma’am!” It was more a moan than an answer.

Whack! The final blow was a heavy one. I was glad to be done; no matter how much I knew the punishment was deserved, it hurt to see her cry.

“Help her up, Mariana.”

With the same delicacy she had used to tie her, Mariana untied Lina and helped her stand, even holding out the dress so she could cover herself. I looked at the two of them in the same room, no longer hating each other for the first time in months.

“Now spend some time together. Here.” I handed Mariana a bottle of lotion. “Get to know each other a little better so there’s no more drama. And enough arrogance.”

Neither dared answer. As I stepped out into the hallway, I could almost hear my other guests scurrying away like mice. I had deliberately made sure they heard Lina’s torment; I didn’t want them missing what could happen to them if they misbehaved. I smiled at a young woman trying to pass me, obedient and a little embarrassed. I imagined there would soon be more naughty bottoms to redden.

In the weeks that followed, the kitchen shone, the house was spotless, and the arguments over dinner disappeared. A most satisfying arrangement. And I felt proud to have stumbled, by chance, on this unmatched way of keeping my boarding house in order.