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On My Couch

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I’d had an absolute shit of a day. You know the sort of thing. Everything that could go wrong, did. Even some things that couldn’t possibly go wrong, did anyway. By the time I knocked off I was prepared to believe the world was populated by idiots, and they were all out to get me in the stupidest way possible.

When I got home I was beat. I grabbed a quick meal and then settled down on the couch, meaning to watch some TV before going to bed. That was the last thing I knew until something woke me up.

You know what it’s like waking up in the dark, somewhere you don’t expect to be. I took a few moments to orientate myself, and then another few moments trying to decide what had woken me, because I hadn’t just woken of my own accord. Something had disturbed my slumber. Left to myself I probably would have remained zonked out until morning.

Then I heard someone or something moving in the next room, and my bet was that it was someone and that they had no right to be there. I rose quietly to my feet and was heading towards the next room when I saw a blurry shadow appear in the doorway. I reached out and flicked on the light.

Standing in the doorway was a woman, about twenty, medium height, nice build from what I could see and quite pretty. She was dressed in a dark grey tracksuit, easier to blend into the night was my guess. She carried a bag and she wore a rather nasty looking knife.

When the light went on and she found me standing there, right in front of her she screamed in fright and attacked. I’m not kidding. She whipped that knife out of its sheath and came right at me.

The basic assumption of most knife fighters is that their opponent is going to back away from them. This gives the guy with the knife the edge. His opponent is already backing away, you’re out of his reach but he’s still in yours. And even a glancing blow with a knife does damage. Someone who might laugh off a punch in the gut would have a harder time laughing with his intestines dangling in front of him.

Now I’ve had some training. When that little vixen came at me I stepped towards her. Before she caught on, I was inside the sweep of the knife, pushing her arm away and, reprehensible I know, squeezing her breast.

It was her turn to jump back with a squawk of protest, while I just laughed at her.

“Put the knife away, sweetheart,” I advised her, “or you may get hurt. Try anything like that again and you won’t like the consequences.”

My assumption was that she was just a burglar. A pretty one, maybe, but a bit dumb. Typical blonde, if you know what I mean. She lived up to the title of dumb blonde by coming back at me with the knife.

Once again I just slipped forward and past the blade but this time, instead of just slapping her arm away, I caught her elbow and pressed a little pressure point there. Her arm went numb and the knife dropped.

She jumped back again and gave me a really filthy look, still not saying anything, just massaging her arm trying to get some life back into it.

“Warned you,” I commented. “Now sit down and behave. I would have just tossed you out, but you’re a little too free with that knife to suit me, so I think some cops are called for.”

I guess ‘cops’ was the magic word. Instead of sitting, like she was told, or doing the sensible thing and bolting, as I’d be damned if I was going to chase her down the street yelling ‘stop, thief’, she tried to attack me again.

Seriously, this silly little burglar, who probably weighed fifty kilos soaking wet, attacked me, six foot tall and a hundred kilo, most of it muscle. She didn’t even have long nails with which to give me a good scratch. I guess long fingernails are not a requirement for a lady burglar.

It was quite an epic fight. She came at me in what I think was supposed to be some sort of martial arts attack. I slid sidewards, going down onto one knee, and she found herself landing across my other knee. I grabbed her tracksuit pants by the waistband and stood back up, taking the tracksuit with me. Unfortunately, she stayed behind, though I did manage to collect a pair of panties as part of my prize.

The poor little burglar just froze in shock, which gave me ample opportunity to bend back down, take the waist of her tracksuit top and hoick that up and off as well. By a strange chance, her bra got tangle in my fingers and that kept the top company on its little journey to the floor.

“Had enough?” I asked, quite politely I thought.

My burglar somehow scrambled back onto her feet, and the standard dance of the hands took place as she tried to protect her modesty. It seemed that the feisty little devil wasn’t quite so feisty when naked.

It was at that point that I made a mistake. I really shouldn’t have laughed at her, but she looked so funny and cute trying to cover herself.

As soon as I started laughing she gave a squeal and launched herself at me again. As far as I was concerned, enough was enough. How many times did I have to let this vixen attack me? If she got lucky, she might even be able to hurt me. If she got very lucky.

Anyway, as I said, enough was enough. It only took me moments to catch her hands and hold them behind her, both of her hands trapped in one of mine. This left me with one free hand which I used to drop my own trousers. Then I pulled her tight against me so she could feel my erection pressing against her tummy.

“Just so you know what’s about to happen,” I told her.

She just about exploded in my arms, squealing and wriggling, trying to kick and even trying to bite. I used the leverage I had on her arms to hold her head away from me while pressing her groin close against mine. Reaching around, I just grasped her by the buttocks and lifted her up against me. All her struggling accomplished was to enable me to get between her legs, and she was ineffectively kicking them up and down on either side of me.

I lifted her higher and my cock slipped between her legs, and then I lowered her a touch, so she could feel me pressing against her pussy.

This naturally started her squealing, struggling and wriggling again, but all she found herself accomplishing was that she was starting to wriggle down onto my cock. Before she twigged as to what she was doing, she had slipped down enough that the head of my cock was already inside her, and the shaft was keen to follow.

Finally catching on, she stopped her struggling (but not her squealing) and hooked her legs around my waist, trying to stop herself from sinking further onto cock. She couldn’t actually lift herself off it, as I wouldn’t let her, but by bracing herself with her legs she probably thought she could stop me drilling into her.

Now that I didn’t need to support her bottom I lifted my hand and held up my index finger for her to look at. She looked confused for a moment, but then I added the words, “Are you ticklish?”

A brief look of horror crossed her face and then I dug my finger into her side just below the ribs. She screamed and giggled at the same time and squirmed away from my finger and onto my cock. She screamed louder then and tried to pull back up, but another bout of tickling set her back, and she helplessly embedded herself on my shaft.

Now that I had her firmly in place I carried her back to the couch I had so recently vacated, with my new friend squealing and cursing and wriggling every step of the way.

I lowered my burglar onto the couch, letting her hands go but still maintain the really essential contact.

“You wanted to play,” I said, “so let’s play.”

We both started our respective games at the same time. I pulled back and then drove into her again, while her hands lunged at my face. Going for my eyes this time, it seemed. I laughed as I caught her hands again and repeated the withdrawal and thrust. Now I pinned her hands above her head, using one hand to hold them there while my other hand started playing with her breasts.

And all the time my hips were busy, letting her get really well acquainted with my cock as it thoroughly explored her internal passage.

It vaguely crossed my mind that up until this point she hadn’t actually spoken to me, if you discount the swearing. Should I try to strike up a conversation or just keep right on ravishing her? Ravishing her seemed the most fun, so I went with that option.

I honestly couldn’t say if she was deliberately moving in unison with me as I repeated drove into her, or if it was just a coincidence that her wriggling and struggling had that effect. Whichever it was, we had a very nice rhythm going as our bodies slapped together, and I could tell from the tone of her squeals that what I was doing wasn’t hurting her in any manner whatsoever.

She was definitely outclassed, but there was no surrender in her. I slowly ravished her and the entire time she wriggled and struggled and swore at me, but I’ll swear she was also enjoying what was happening.

I’d finally decided that there was just no way she would be able to match my strokes so neatly by accident. She was meeting me on her terms, and had no intention of letting me know it. I let her have that small victory. I also picked up speed, slamming home harder and faster and noting that she still managed to stay with me. Even her squeals and curses picked up speed to match our sexual timing.

The trouble with sex is that it never goes for as long as you want it to. Your body has its own desires that it will proceed to fill, even against your wishes. All too soon from my point of view, my climax was on me. I started to accelerate my drive home, feeling as though I was about to explode.

At that point I was taken by surprise when my blonde burglar seemed to literally explode under me, screaming and convulsing and clamping onto my cock as though it was a lifeline and the only thing holding her to this world. I surge into her, spilling my seed, letting it wash through her and help to carry her away, with her screaming and fighting every inch of the way.

Relaxing afterwards, I kept her pinned down. Finally she was still, just lying there glaring up at me, not screaming or swearing or struggling.

“If I let you up, will you kindly get dressed and go away?” I asked.

She nodded, still not deigning to speak to me as though I was an actual person.

“OK. I’ll let you go. However, if you come back at any time, you take your chances as to what will happen. Understand?”

I got a sulky nod at that, and she looked away from me.

I pulled out of her and rose, flicking a thumb towards her clothes.

She couldn’t resist having another go at me of course.

“How do you know I won’t go to the police and complain that you raped me?” she asked, finally talking to me.

“Who do you think they’ll believe? The burglar who pulled a knife on a householder and then offered to have sex with him if he’d let her go, or the householder who was attacked by a maniac with a knife and then bribed by her stripping off and offering to screw him, and who then got snarky when I wouldn’t pay for it?”

I could see her thinking that one over and admitting that it would probably go my way. And I couldn’t really see her wanting to involve the police. They might ask awkward questions about other burglaries.

She gave me a nasty look, walked over to the window and slipped out into the night. She hadn’t even bothered to ask for her knife. I guess she knew her chances of getting that back. I closed and locked the window, set my alarms and went to bed.

I couldn’t believe it when my alarms woke me a couple of hours later. My alarms are silent, just a vibration to wake me up. I prefer to catch burglars rather than chase them away.

I slipped quietly through the house, listening. Someone in the lounge room. Flicking on the light, there was a scream of shock. I couldn’t believe that she’d come back.

“I came back for my knife,” she whispered.

I looked at my camera which had moved from the shelf to the coffee table, along with a few other items. None of them her knife.

“Isn’t it nice that you’ve given me time to recharge my loins, so to speak,” I said, smiling in what I hoped was a nasty manner. “Why don’t you save me some trouble and strip off your own clothes. I think that this time, instead of going straight on with the sex, we might try a nice little spanking first. Won’t that be fun?”

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