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Pick & Play

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He disabled the burglar alarm then pushed the metal pick into the door lock at the back of the house; let the tool play across the lock’s pin. Too much or too little pressure, too little or too much finesse guaranteed failure. The skill in using a pick is to bounce it in the keyway according to the resistance offered by each pin. Gently coercing the pins into obeying his will, he was sensitive to the sound, the feel of the pick touching each pin.

Feeling the middle pins settling first, he decreased the torque of his wrist, the endpins fell into place.

Trousers, shirt, windbreaker and sneakers all black covered his body. A black beret covered his closely cropped hair. Surgical gloves, the kind doctors use for rectal exams, dentists use laboring on teeth covered his hands and they too were black. He picked up his backpack, black of course, with his left hand. The only black accessory he was missing, a black mask covering his eyes. Nevertheless, a police officer seeing him would know he was up to no good. However, the garments got him in the right frame of mind, aided in his character development and added a fillip to his nocturnal transgressions.

Easing the door open, he entered the house, a sprawling two-story brick and flagstone dwelling. His soft-soled shoes not making a sound, he passed through the house, made his way to the living room and crossed the dark smudge of carpet to one of the easy chairs, part of the room’s conversation pit. The room seemed to have less light then a coffin buried under eight feet of soil. He sat down and for nearly an hour, he did nothing but stare into space letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. He loved this part, the waiting, the anticipation. Wicked thoughts and salacious ideas bubbled in his brain. In the house’s quiet envelope, the loudest sound the ticking of the clock in the living room. When he could see the hands of his watch with the fullest clarity possible in the dark room, he stood, unzipped the backpack. He folded the beret, stowed it, removed a black ski mask with yellow circles around the eye and mouth holes, and slipped it over his head as he made his way to the closed door of the house’s master bedroom. During an earlier visit, he oiled the door’s hinges with 3-1 oil. Now, turning the doorknob clockwise, he entered the room, the hinges moving silently, not squeaking, sounding like the caterwaul of an air raid siren blasting away the room’s quiet. At this precise moment, removing his hand from the doorknob, its coolness penetrating the glove’s thin skin of fabric, his cock hardened. He always got erect at this point. He reveled in the sensation generated by the sensitive head of his cock head rubbing against the seam of his pants.

Closing the door he stood as still as a fence post watching her sleeping under a quilt in a queen-sized four-poster bed. At this distance, all he could see was a substantial form under the sheets and quilt. Closer in he saw with greater clarity of course. Amidst the ruckus of linen, he saw one of her firm, full breasts. At the summit, a fudge colored nipple stood quite prominently. Her right leg peeking from under the sheets looked as though a god with a leg fetish had a hand in her creation. He imagined the guy tooling her legs to ensure they looked sexy as now in repose or stunningly alluring in come fuck me pumps at other times. A cloud of tousled blond hair covered the contour of thick foam pillows. Her jaw line slightly too sharp, her nose a tad too prominent, her mouth a tad too full. In conjunction though their composite created a most beguiling portrait framed by the lozenges of pillows supporting her head.

He watched her sleeping, the proverbial princess, patiently awaiting her Prince Charming. Tonight he was no Prince Charming though.

He squatted down, the movement causing his knees to make a crackling sound like crumpling paper.

He slowly unzipped the backpack’s main pouch. Reaching into the bag’s interior he quickly found a small white penlight, the same type favored by doctors. Actually, this particular pen light once belonged to a doctor, a luscious female doctor with long auburn hair, a tiny cleft in her left buttock, a vivid red rose tattoo on her left hip and a kinky disposition as it turned out. Slowly he stood. Let the festivities begin.

He flicked the light on, pointed it at the woman’s closed eyelids. Click on. Click off. Click on. Click off. Click on Click off.

Tonight he was Marcel Marceau. No words, all action, masculine action. It always amazed him how effective an ally a mute tongue was in such a situation. Oral communications between him and his conquest only acted as a barrier, it slowed his ascent to the summit, delayed his arrival in the Promised Land.

The light’s beam, the clicking noise awakened her. For a moment, she silently stared at the specter next to the bed. Then as though she had to think about it, she screamed. The palm of his left hand quickly stifled the scream bellowing out of her non-smoking jogger’s lungs. For a few moments, her eyes filled with terror, she squirmed, tried to strike out at him as he held his hand over her mouth. Eventually, she stopped screaming yet continued to lash out at him, trying to scratch him, land a punch on his body. Fear made the whiteness in her eyes glow as brightly as candle flame. He patted her head, scooped her out of her warm covers and dumped her on the lushly carpeted floor.

He knew from his previous expeditions that the bedroom was virtually soundproof. Once on a Sunday afternoon while she was out and about he had entered the house, made sure all the windows were closed, turned the plasma TV to its maxed out volume, cranked the expensive CD player’s volume right off the dial. Stepping outside, he could barely hear a sound leaking from the house. He could howl like a banshee if that is how he decided to play it. She could scream loud enough to trigger avalanches or call cows home from distant pastures. All to no avail.

Sprawled on the carpeted floor with her smooth and shapely legs pulled into her waist, she was a sexy ball of trembling flesh, tousled yellow hair and red painted toenails.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

Placing his index finger in front of his mouth, the sign to be quiet, he shook his head back and forth to assure her that he meant her no physical harm.

Her translucent panties, green gauze, hugged the globes of her shapely firm ass. She was topless, wonderfully topless. Looking down at her curled on the floor, seeing her tits in profile, how bounteous she was. She was no plain, drab, and random off the rack female mediocrity. From the top of her head to the tip of her toes, she was a designer original.

Reaching into the backpack, he removed a white plastic locking tie. Now they used them at airports to secure bags following intense scrutiny for explosives. Years ago, at other bloodier times, he used the same sort of sturdy plastic straps to secure angry eyed Africans, the little fish captured in the net trolling for their boss, a big African asshole terrorizing his fellow tribe members.

Leaning down he pushed her slender arms toward each other, looped the plastic ties around her wrists to abbreviate her range of motion. Then, tenderly, like a lover toting his bride to their marriage bed, he picked her off the floor and placed her in the center of the bed. He stroked her hair, touched each of her ear lobes in turn and then after removing his gloves; he reached into her panties, touched the delectably fine hair at her cleft then in one swift motion he ripped her panties off her body. The sound so sexy, the action clear in its intent, a sure fire notice of his boiling lust. His cock ached. Touching her nearly made him explode. His body tingled and the inside of his mouth felt parched as though he stumbled through Saharan sand dunes.

He considered pushing his index finger into the canal between her legs. He resisted the notion. Not yet.

“Please don’t hurt me,” She said in monotone, the signature of a bad actor. He patted her bottom with his left hand.

Quickly, he removed the gloves and his clothes save for the ski mask and his pale gray boxer shorts.

Standing a little over six feet tall, he was muscular, proud of his toned abs and even prouder of the several nasty looking scars looking like rubbery worms embedded in his hard flesh.

His cock poked from his shorts. It was as thick as a man’s forearm, nearly a foot long and since it seemed to be a mile high when erect, he called it Denver.

Her eyes widened seeing its long, thick shadow.

He waited for her to settle down. He counted on her intelligence; let his silence crash over her. Hopefully his muteness registered in her mind as infinite patience, steely resolution and an unbreakable will.

He climbed on the bed, squatted over her, his cock a few inches from her mouth, let her take in his length, its thickness.

“You really don’t expect me to suck that monstrosity.”

The word “monstrosity” flowing out of her mouth sounded like she enjoyed the taste of word, the promise of its flavor, its ability to sate her appetite.

He pushed his cock forward toward the juncture of her lips and at first; she resisted his forward progress by keeping those sensuous lips firmly clamped together. The helmet of his cock banged at her lips relentlessly. His aggressive stance, the thrusting motion of his cock, his silent manner so bloated with lust, so determined to have his way quickly overcame her resistance. Realizing she had no opportunity for escape, defeat inevitable, she surrendered, opened wide and the leviathan between his legs slid into the coral cavern of her mouth. Her mouth stretched to its limit encompassed him. At first, she tried a delaying action by not participating in his invasion, her lips a stationary oval around him. He patted her left cheek signaling, “I am not going away.” She started sucking. Her ineffective sucking made him swing his head back and forth to show his displeasure at her pathetic technique. As she sucked more ardently, he rewarded her with a tender caress of her cheek.

His erection filling her mouth, pumped in and out. Sucking now, getting into it, he stroked her blond hair. She could not see the ecstasy boiling across his face under the black ski mask.

Looking up at the ceiling, she sucked harder. Now, in the room’s dim light, looking way back in her eyes, he could see something hot, smoldering, and nearly ready to ignite.

Keeping his cock seated in her mouth, reveling in the pleasure, he gently stroked her cheek to re-assure her. She was definitely a skilled fellatrice, a master with her tongue, a mouth maestro. Even in the dark, he could see her cheeks puckering sucking on his shaft. What a woman, he thought. He could remember few times a blowjob as fulfilling. He came in her mouth. His semen rushed in, a tidal wave of his essence flooding her gullet.

He removed his cock and flipped himself over to the woman’s left side, his dick wet with her lubrication. Quickly, he went back to work; spread her legs, formed her into an inverted Y. God, what a delectable letter. As he leaned over the side of the bed to reach for something in the backpack, she lifted her arms and drove them into his gut. That hurt a bit.

“Get out of here you son of a bitch.” Again her tone not quite right for the occasion.

He said nothing, pulled four silk scarves from the bag next to the bed. One scarf bright red, the second one the color of ripe lemons, the third one black, the fourth scarf a nice shade of pink. Then he removed a knife, a tiny knife. She recoiled at seeing the knife. He cut the plastic tie binding her arms and before returning the knife to the backpack, he used it to trace a line from the top of her pubis to the nape of her neck. He leaned down sucked her nipples at length, she moaned as he tossed the knife in the bag. Then he used the red scarf to secure her left hand to the bedpost, the yellow one leashed her right hand to the bedpost. The black scarf he wrapped around her left ankle and then it went around a post at the bottom of the bed. Finally, he banded her right ankle to the final bedpost. From an inverted Y to a nice symmetrical X.”Why are you doing this? Are you going to kill me? You stupid bastard, if you promise not to hurt me, I will let you fuck me then you can leave. Is that a deal?”

Did she have a smirk on her face?

He nodded. Reaching into the bag with his left hand, he removed a long blue feather and held it in front of her face. He imagined her body as a fragile, delicate soap bubble. His plan involved using the feather to touch her brow, nose, lips, throat, nipples, the cleft between her legs to create the shadow of sensation, to balance on the demarcation between pain and pleasure, hunger and satiation.

By the time, he started stroking away at the mouth of her womb she writhed on the bed, her body a study in conflict: bounding between the throes of pleasures and paroxysms of pain.

“Please stop.” Her relaxed pose, the way her body moved against the feather’s delicate touch betrayed her true feelings toward the feather’s barely perceptible touch.

For another fifteen minutes, the feather’s tip licked her nipples and dallied at that most sensitive of spots between her strong legs. He stopped, stowed the feather in the bag.

“Goddamn it, are you going to fuck me or what. No more goddamn feathers or plastic crap. Just fuck me alright.”

She did not quite fit his expectations or at least she had reached his expectations at a blinding speed.

In the fluid motion of a diver arcing off a springboard, he lowered himself between her legs and slid his cock into the sweet spot visited by the cerulean feather.

“Oh my God, you are splitting me open with that thing, she said as she drew him into her center.

As he expected, the chamber between her legs brimmed over with moisture, a flood making it difficult for him to gain traction, to find purchase. She raised her ass, pushed her loins toward his cock.

“Fuck me. Make me come, make me come.”

He moved in and out. Sinking into her, she continued to push toward him, draw him in.

He eased in and out. He twisted and turned. She strained against the scarves. He made no sudden moves fucking her. He took his time, let her become accustomed to the size of his stallion, that his swollen member would not tear her apart, that in fact its hefty size would delight her no end. She jerked about the bed, straining against the scarves. Her clit reverberated against his shaft and she continued to moan, to purr with pleasure. His lust now her lust.

Thick copious sperm spurted into her.

For several more hours until it started getting gray, dawn’s delicate approach, they fucked, he spent himself in her repeatedly and twice he made return visits to her slightly too large mouth, the perfect portal for his pleasure. He sucked her nipples, he untied the scarves, and she rode him, her blond hair and breasts bouncing up and down. He fucked her doggy style, smacked her on the ass until her cheeks were as red as cinnamon imperials.

For the grand finale, he pulled a large tube of petroleum jelly from the bag, a fresh tube with no indents from any use. He flipped the woman on her flat stomach, her huge tits pressing down on the mattress, his semen draining out of her onto the mussed sheets. After making sure her head rested snugly against the mattress and nowhere near, the bed’s headboard, that her round, firm ass pointed high in the air, he smeared half the tube of the jelly over her pink rectum and forced his cock into the tight constriction at her rectum. He did not stop until his balls slammed against the crevice of her butt.

Once more, she screamed. This scream was no act but genuine pain. He punched in and out of her. As he pounded away at her, her screams ceased and the most delicious moans began to escape from her mouth.

“I have never been fucked in my ass but Goddamn that feels good once you get by the pain. Fuck me baby.”

The alarm on his wristwatch sounded as he came. He stood, bent down, removed a small white envelope sealed with a dab of red wax stamped with a large cursive L from the depths of the backpack and handed it to the woman damp with sweat, full of his semen, sprawled in the wreckage of the bed.

She reached over to the nightstand, turned on the lamp, lay back on the bed, her breasts flushed, her nipples pointing skyward, opened the envelope and removed a piece of blue paper containing a note in 12-point Courier font.

“Happy birthday my love. Instead of sneaking up on you, dropping a dollop of butter on your nose like my grandfather used to do every birthday or buying you an expensive trinket as commemoration of the august event, I thought tonight’s fantasy realized might be more appropriate. I know that for a few seconds or minutes your gentleman caller may have scared you out of your wits but hopefully that merely added spice, made the sex more memorable and you quickly realized my handiwork. Trapped in this state of the art wheelchair, a nearly useless cock in my lap, I still want to pleasure you in some way, to let you know how much I value you as my mate, love you as a woman.

The man who scared you a little and eventually sated you is Mr. Daryl Porter. Mr. Porter is a skilled cat burglar, a seasoned porno star, a Gulf War vet and a hell of a nice guy, I might add. He also has one of the biggest cocks on the planet. It is amazing what one can find on the internet if you know where to look. I particularly liked where I found Mr. Porter’s services advertised. When I contracted him, I was not completely forthcoming. His understanding after our meeting was that you left me because you wished to frolic in Lesbos land. I wanted him to scare you a bit, show you what a real cock feels like. Daryl is justly proud of his member and at the same time seems a bit homophobic. You may dissuade him of this notion or not as you are so inclined. I trust you enjoyed his immensity. Furthermore, Mr. Porter’s services did not come cheaply so if you wish to enjoy him some more feel free to do so. You can tell me about it when I return from the conference next week. You know how much I love the head you give even if it does take some time for me to become erect. I am sure your description of this morning’s festivities will speed up the process.

P.S. I am already planning another surprise.

Love Gerald

She finished reading the note, neatly folded it and placed it on the nightstand. Gerald, so courtly in manner, a man of refinement, a former ambassador, counsel to Presidents, a man sensitive to her needs, a discriminating man damaged by indiscriminate terror while sitting in a bistro patiently waiting for her.

“What a sweet man”. She silently said to herself. “How did I ever think I could be a lesbian? I think you have proven if anything I am bi-sexual. Take off that ridiculous mask, come back to bed and use that monster cock to fuck my asshole and other things. She flipped over on her stomach, jabbed her ass high into the air and felt love coursing through her heart and the most wonderful excitement channeling through her body.

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