The Fort Part 3- Looking Back
Chapter 22- Homeless
© L 2025
While we enjoy a lazy Saturday afternoon in our fort, we both recall the time I became homeless, that effectively propelled us into the start of our exclusive relationship, not that we knew it at the time...
When we met you lived alone in your house, it was the first one you had ever bought. It was a detached four bedroomed house, on the edge of a small suburb just outside the main town. With established trees and shrubs it had privacy, no one overlooked the back garden. While you had neighbours their houses were opposite and set back from the road. It gave you the privacy you needed for your kinky lifestyle. Upstairs your bedroom was the largest and spanned the length of the house at the back, you had an ample ensuite. The three other rooms were all generous double bedrooms. You turned one into an office, one into a playroom and the last room was the usual spare bedroom made up ready for occasional guests that rarely stayed, slowly you had been renovating the whole house.
One day about a year after we first met, you suggested I move into your spare bedroom. We had been out at Dan’s club for a private BDSM evening, we had gone together, we had both had a bit too much to drink. Neither of us were playing that evening, with each other or anyone else. We shared a taxi and ended back at your home. It was the first time we had sex without it involving too much play, and the first time I slept in your bed, or stayed over, it was just after sex when you made the suggestion, after I commented that my landlord was putting my rent up again. I just laughed it off. But the following morning was awkward, I of course declined your offer to move into your spare bedroom. After that it took six weeks before we played again. Initially you reprimanded yourself, friends first, Top/bottom second was how we defined our friendship. Neither of us needed to complicate it with anything more.
Six months later, about half way into my three year part time degree, you admitted to me after a particularly intense session during my aftercare that you were worried about me. I had said my safe word 'yellow' twice. After the second time you ended the session early. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. You knew my finances were stretched, with my degree becoming more intense I had been forced to give up my third job. Living alone in my small apartment, bills, rent, living costs were piling up. I was scraping by, but had no money left to do anything, and my apartment was freezing because I was unable to afford to run the heating. While our play sessions rarely extended beyond the play room in your home, we got on well, really well. We would often spend more time chatting after, sharing a bottle of wine, than we did playing.
But as you rubbed salve into my thighs following a rather brutal impact scene that saw you paddle my inner thighs with a wooden paddle before flicking your flogger over them, you knew I couldn't carry on much longer. We were only half way through what should have been a play session we were both equally enjoying. But as you stopped after I said 'yellow' for the second time I snapped at you, 'why the fuck are you hitting me much harder than you usually do'? My insolence taking you completely by surprise, you didn’t know how to respond. This wasn’t the brat in me, well, not all of it was. But what worried you was that you really weren't hitting me any harder than you had before. If anything you thought you were going easy on me given how we had previously played. I was tired, and you began to wonder if my university degree was even worth it. I had given up a decent job with decent prospects to return to education in the hopes a Masters degree might really propel my career. But it was a risk, and you couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it.
In one of the only instances you can recall, you let my comment go. You had come to terms that I did swear, more than you liked, but to swear at you definitely broke your third rule, always involved a mouth soaping that I loathed, generally followed by another equally painful or humiliating punishment. But I was at my limit, in every way.
You tentatively brought up me moving in with you again, you were actually worried I may jump down your throat again, but I didn’t. As we talked I told you I wasn’t looking for handouts, I was independent, and desperately wanted to get through this degree myself. However, I couldn't help but admit you made a valid point. Maybe I didn't move into your spare room, but I could look for a house share. It would greatly reduce my living costs, I might even be able to give up one of my other two jobs, as much as I hated admitting it, you were right.
The next day I handed my landlord my two months notice, and began the arduous process of trying to find a house share. The first two rooms I looked at were tiny, the third had a rather strange live in landlord who refused to put a lock on the bathroom door. The fourth room I looked at was a double bedroom in a middle aged woman's home, she had a small dog named Lenon, was out quite a lot, it was in a decent neighbourhood. I honestly thought I had struck gold. With all my belongings in boxes, the apartment cleaned I went to bed early the night before I was moving. I was excited, a new chapter of my life was about to begin, and tomorrow night I would be sat in my new bedroom, which with any luck would have Lenon the Jack Russell in it too.
The next morning I woke early, and just as I was loading my car my phone rang, it was my new landlady. I happily answered, but soon that happiness turned to worry, then fear then upset. Her daughter and grandchild had just left her violent husband. They needed the room. She apologised constantly, told me not only had she reimbursed me the money I had sent her, my deposit as well as my first months rent, she had also sent me an extra two hundred for the inconvenience. The extra money was welcomed, and would go towards some kind of hotel room, as I was quite sure I wouldn't find an alternative immediately. I couldn't stay living in my current apartment, my landlord had a new tenant moving in the following afternoon. With tears of hopelessness in my eyes I loaded my car, met my landlord returned the keys, and drove to a coffee shop to think, my head swimming, was I really homeless?
Two cups of coffee later, and after several desperate phone calls to ads looking for tenants, I called a local hotel, booked a room for a couple of nights, and headed there. After checking in, the only positive I could see right now was that the room was warm, it had a desk and I could finish the latest uni paper I had to write in relative comfort. At 9pm that night just as I was beginning to think about going to bed you called. I said after our last play session that I would need a couple of weeks between moving, finishing my uni assignment, and getting settled. However, you knew my move was today, so you were checking in to see how it had gone. Within minutes I was crying uncontrollably as I relayed the events of my day. You must have asked me three times where I was before I finally told you. You weren't happy, the hotel was passable at best, but the neighbourhood it was in definitely wasn't. Trying to remain the self propelled independent woman I had always been I told you twice not to come to me, but in the end gave up. Once you got an idea in your head there was never a chance I could change it. Twenty minutes later, with a knock on my hotel door there you were standing...
Back in our fort, having enjoyed a good lunch, as you flick through the Disney channel to choose a film for us to watch, I recalled, never had I hugged you so tightly, never had I been so happy to see a familiar face...
You had already decided on your way to meet me at the hotel, that one way or another I would be moving into your spare room. You weren't the kind of guy to skate round the edges of a conversation. If you had something to say, you said it. You were not just a dominant in the bedroom. Your entire presence oozed dominance, and I loved that about you. I remember you vividly saying to me 'listen, I know it's not your first choice. But if you take my spare room, you will be my tenant, my friend. We can still play occasionally just as we do now, if you want. But that is not why I am asking you to take my spare bedroom'. I came up with a couple of awful excuses as to why I shouldn't, and then you did something you had never done before outside of a play session. You grabbed my hair and forced me to look at you, the way you did when you were about to give me an order. Only this time I wasn't naked, kneeling at your feet. I was laying on top of you, fully clothed on an uncomfortable hotel bed.
'Say no, once more and I am taking my belt off'. I was literally powerless to deny you when you acted like this, especially when every fibre of my being tingled with delightful anticipation. 'A three month trial, live with me. I will draw up a tenancy agreement, and we can update our own personal contract if it would make you feel better. You can even pay me a deposit and a months rent up front, just like you did to that lady'. My mind raced, but before I knew it, my heart was answering, 'Okay, yes. I don't know why I keep fighting you. I would love to move into your spare room, thank you', I managed to squeak out, as I gripped you in a bear hug.
The biggest smile erupted from your face, but I did have one condition. I wasn't about to leave with you and head straight home your house much to your disappointment. I told you I had the hotel room booked for two nights. I had booked the week off work, so I intended to stay in the hotel until both my tenancy agreement and my new submissive contract was ready. I knew you were working, so I said if it took a few days, then that's what it took. Yes you were stubborn, but I could be too! You tried to get me to agree to you paying for a nicer hotel, but I was staying put, even if that did mean I would be finishing my assignment sat on a sore arse because of a spanking due to pure stubbornness.