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If You Catch a Thief

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It was about 11 o’clock on a Saturday night. I’m usually out by this time — I’ve got a game with several people on most Saturdays – but this week most of them had other things to do, so I’m in for the night. I’d just gotten out of the shower when I heard someone open the front door and start sneaking in. I don’t even have a towel with me; I’m embarrassed to say I was planning on picking one up from the floor in the living room. My wife being out of town had made me a bit sloppy.

Naked an unarmed, I waited in the bathroom for a bit, listening to their movement through the apartment. I only heard one person, and the footsteps soon moved past me. Slipping out of the bathroom as quietly as I could manage, I took a quick look around. The door to the study was still closed, and the one to the outside had been closed again. Nothing in the living room seemed to have been disturbed. The noises were coming from the bedroom. I noticed a knife on the edge of a counter, so I scooped it up, thumbing open the sheath binding and pulling the blade out, steeping down the short, cluttered hallway to the bedroom. I glanced around the corner, not quite sure what I expect.

What I got is a young woman, probably under twenty but definitely more than eighteen, with a river of black hair and an ample chest, going through my wife’s jewelry. She couldn’t have been much more than five feet tall, and was wearing a thin-shirt and cut-off shorts against the sultry Houston night, but with as cold as I keep the house, her nipples were already straining the fabric. She was looking at a pendant I gave my wife while we were dating, and was about to slip it into her pocket when she felt the cold prick of a knife at her throat.

“Hi. That’s not yours.”

I’m rewarded by her face draining of blood, her body tensing like a deer frozen before flight. She turned to look at me, slowly, lest I mistake her movements, her blue eyes were wide with fright. She started to stammer a flood of excuses, but couldn’t finish one before her brain supplied her with another.

“I was hoping I could use the phone because my car broke down… and my mother’s sick so I gotta get… I was just lookin’ because the sparkles caught my eye…” A slight increase of the blade’s pressure cut off her words in mid-excuse, enough to tell her that I was not in buying it. Her eyes, somehow, got even wider, the pupils growing so much that the blue nearly disappeared from her eyes. Gently, I removed the pendant from her hand, where it was still poised to slip into her pocket. Taking hold of that hand, I twisted it behind her back and marched her into the living room, pushing her face down onto the floor. Removing the belt from the pants I had discarded on the floor earlier that evening (like I said, I got a little sloppy), I tied her hands tightly behind her back, then put down the knife out of her line of sight, but still easily within reach, should I need it.

“Wha… what are you gonna do with me, mister? My boyfriend, he’s waiting for me outside. He’s gonna know somethin’s wrong if I don’t come out soon.” I crossed into her line of vision, then, and locked the door. She started to cry. “Please, mister, I don’t got no boyfriend outside, please don’t call the cops. I ain’t never been in trouble and I don’t wanna go to jail.”

I let her cry for a moment, standing outside her limited field of vision. She gradually quieted down, trying to locate me, but didn’t stand anywhere she can see.

“What happens now, my little thief, is up to you. You can lie here for a few minutes until the police get here…” she started to cry again at this “…or you can let me be certain, to my satisfaction, that you’re not carrying anything of mine, and I’ll let you go.”

“Please, mister, please let me go. I don’ wanna get in trouble, please.”

“Wait there for a moment, then, and I’ll get some things I’ll need.”

I stepped into the bedroom and grabbed a few items from a drawer. I put most of them on the counter, still out of her sight, but the handcuffs I attached to her wrists, untying the belt and putting it to one side. I hauled her up, making her stand in the middle of the living room, facing the door and the big, curtained, window next to it. She could feel me standing close behind her, and her breath caught. I think it finally hit her how close I was, and that I hadn’t had time to dress after my shower. My hands dipped gently into her pockets, fishing out junk jewelry that she’d taken, but at the same time brushing gently over her thighs. I pushed my hands deep into her pockets to be sure that I’d found everything inside them, then dragged my hands back, pressing them firmly into her. She backed up from the pressure, only to find me blocking her path further back with my body. Her hands, cuffed behind her, brushed the top of my pubic hair, and she went rigid.

I moved slightly to one side, wrapping an arm around her waist as I pushed my hand first into one back pocket, then the other, searching her for what she’d taken. The hand in front then strayed upwards, taking her shirt up with it, as I ran my hands over her belly, searching between and under her breasts. Her nipples were now hard, her breathing coming heavily, but I removed a cross of my wife’s from between her breasts. I dragged her shirt up higher, over her head, and used it to restrain her arms behind her more.

My hands traveled down again, opening the top button on her shorts and sliding down the zipper. She started to say something, so I waited a moment.

“Yes? Do you want me to call the police, now, instead of making sure you don’t have anything?”

“Why do you…” she trailed off at that point, obviously completing and answering her question herself. Instead of asking me further, she simply whispered, then, “Could you please turn down the air conditioner, mister? It’s a little cold in here.”

I turn the air up a bit, and it quickly shuts off. Returning to her, I slide her shorts down the rest of the way, to the floor, taking them from her. A quick search of them shows that she didn’t have anything to hide there, and a long look at her showed that she didn’t have many places left to hide things. Her t-shirt was now behind her, binding her upper arms back. Her breasts stood out, proud and full and luscious. Her panties were burnt orange, and just barely enough to cover her pubic area, and not nearly enough to cover her ass. She was still holding herself rigid.

“Relax, my little thief. There are only a few places left to search.” I push her down to her knees for the first, grabbing some bean-bag chairs and putting them in front of her. I watch her eyes follow my rigid cock when I finally stand in front of her, the head of it standing at about eye level. As tempted as I was to search her mouth, now, I instead lean her forward onto the beanbag chair, making sure she can see and breath.

I stepped out of her vision again, picking up a tube of lube that I’d retrieved when I grabbed the handcuffs. I covered the index and middle fingers of my right hand with it, letting my skin warm the cold gel. With my left hand, I pulled her panties off, slipping them down to puddle on the floor between her knees. Leaning forward as she was, her ass cheeks were spread invitingly, so I used my left hand to steady her as I pushed my middle finger deep into her ass. She gasped on first contact, trying to pull away as I pushed my finger deeper and deeper into her. I grabbed the handcuffs, pulling her back, forcing her to take my finger as deep as it would go. After another moment of searching, I began to gently push my index finger into her, holding tight to the ‘cuffs so she’d know she couldn’t pull away from me. I reached forward, now, running my hands along her sides. I could feel her blood pounding through her veins, feel her breathing heavy. Caressing her face, I even felt the tracks of tears as she lay there, helpless. I withdrew my hand from inside her, standing up. I stepped to the bathroom, washing my right hand thoroughly, then drying them on a hand towel. I didn’t hear any movement from her while I was gone.

When I came back, she was still kneeling as I left her, deliciously vulnerable. I was almost disappointed that it was so close to the end of our… well, my… game. Gently, now, I helped her stand, brushing away her tears with gentle caresses. “Just a little more, my little thief. You have almost satisfied me that you’re not hiding anything.” I pressed two fingers against her chin, and she soon got the message, opening her mouth. I swept it with my fingers as she looked into my eyes, and I let a look of disappointment come into them. “I can’t be sure; my fingers don’t reach back far enough. I’ll need to use another probe.” Her eyes widened as I pushed down on her shoulder, but she got to her knees, and I searched her mouth with my cock. She sucked eagerly at me, perhaps hoping this would be the last, though she knew it couldn’t be. After a moment of letting her pleasure me, I pulled my cock out of her lips, stepped to the side, and pushed her forward again, leaning her into the beanbag chairs in front of her.

I moved behind her, grabbing the last item I’d taken from the drawer. She no doubt heard the crinkling of the foil packet as I opened it, the wrinkling of the latex as I unrolled it. She whimpered a little as she felt me behind her, felt my caresses on her hips as I positioned us both. Slowly, I pushed the head of my cock between her labia, listening to her gasp between her whimpers. I pushed deeper, smoothly, moving ever forward but never quickly. My left hand on her hip, the right reached forward, caressing her breast, then down her side, then around her thigh to brush against the clit. Now as deep as I can go, I held myself there, letting her feel my cock pulse, using caresses to arouse her further. I started to pull back a little, but she moved with me, keeping me inside her.

“What do you want, little thief? I’ve searched you thoroughly… I’m almost certain you aren’t hiding anything of mine.” I started to pull back again, this time keeping her hips from following me.

“Plea… plea… please, mister. Don’t stop.” My shaft was halfway out of her, now, and still sliding out.

“You want me to keep searching you? I’m not sure if I know anywhere else to look. What do you really want?” Only the head was inside her, now, and it, too, was slipping out.

She whimpered, nearly crying in frustration. “Fuck me, please. Fuck me.” I slam into her, drawing an agonized, exquisitely pleasured cry. I pull back again, and this time she slammed back as I moved forward. The thrusts were hard and fast, and she cried out at each one. I could see her hands grasping at nothing behind her, and felt her start to convulse before me, the orgasm ripping through her body as if it had been torn from deep inside her. Normally, I would have been lost in that instant, but the condom’s effect was also keeping me going, still unsated. She came a second time only moments after, this one leading to her screaming into the beanbag chairs before she went limp. Unfinished, unwilling to finish, I lifted her up, then lay on the couch, pulling her on top of me. She cried out again as I pushed inside her, and tried to get away, tried to get away from the assault on her senses. She arched back, but her legs didn’t have the strength to lift her, and I took one of her nipples in my mouth, biting and pulling, slamming my cock into her again and again as I grew nearer to the point of no return. My arms grabbed her tight, holding her to me, and with a final cry I arched my back, spending my seed into the condom.

We lay there for a moment, both of us breathing hard, neither of us having much energy to move. I pulled my cock from inside her and stripped off the condom. I was still hard, but didn’t know if I could stand any more contact to my hypersensitive head. She solved that question by squirming around on top of me, taking my cock into her mouth and cleaning it with her tongue, presenting me with her hot, wet, pussy. I pushed my tongue into her, making her shudder with another orgasm, and let my hands explore her body. Bound as she was, I knew I could have her a few more times before she left, and I didn’t think she’d mind. The only question, though, was whether or not I could convince her to try to rob my apartment again.

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