© Copyright 2012 - Jo - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbf; M-solo; rope; gag; hood; nipple; toys; voy; climax; cons; X
Haley called out sick. She wasn't sick, but her car was acting up and she decided she needed a mental health day anyway. She drove to the shop, caught a cab back to her apartment. Inside she stripped and took a long hot shower. She shaved her legs, shaved her bush. Hairless, it was unbelievably sensitive down there and she felt a thrill of anticipation. In front of the mirror she ran the drier through her long blonde hair until it was dry. Normally she wouldn't do this, but she was stalling. She brushed her teeth - twice. She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. She glanced at the clock: 8:30. (Hey. It's five o'clock somewhere.) She padded into the bedroom to make the preparations.
Finally, when everything was set, she took one last sip of wine and set the glass on the nightstand.
Haley plugged the timer into the wall outlet, checked the program. Five minutes on, two off, repeat three times, fifteen minutes on, five off, repeat the cycle. She had tied a string to it and led it to the bed. When she had had enough and was ready for a nap she could just yank the timer from the socket.
She nestled the butterfly vibrator between her pussy lips. This wasn't one of those cheap ones with flimsy elastic. This was top of the line with straps that buckled. She buckled the straps. She spread her lips, tugging at them, ensuring maximum contact on her clit. She adjusted the straps. Worse thing would be for it to slip out of position. But it wasn't going anywhere. She was sure of that.
Haley plugged the vibrator into an extension cord, plugged it into the timer, and started the program at the end of the cycle. That would give her five minutes. She climbed up onto the bed.
Haley knelt, spread her legs wide, reached back, and snicked the cuffs to her ankles.
Experience had taught him that the Riverside Apartments had definite possibilities. Some complexes mix the 1, 2, and 3 bedroom units, but some tend to put all the singles in one building. With the singles in one place, he had a nice grouped target. The rental agent gave him an information packet and he could tell by the floor plans that he was correct. Four of the buildings in the complex seemed to contain only singles.
After visiting the model, she gave him three keys and left him on his own to check out the available units. He didn't. He simply went to the first one, let himself in, and got to work.
The apartments had decks and the door to the deck had the same lock as the front door. Shielded by the walls around the deck, he opened the door, removed the knob, disassembled the lock - and smiled. It was pinned for a master key. He pulled out his digital caliper micrometer and measured the pins. He reassembled the lock, mounted the knob. Just for safety sake he made two impressions of the key. It wasn't a master key, but he may have to have another look at the lock. He returned the keys, thanked the agent, and said he'd think about it. He drove his van to the building. It was basically two duplexes that shared a common wall. He parked the van across from the first breezeway, climbed in back, and set up his camera equipment. When everything was set, he locked the van and called a cab.
Haley shuffled forward a bit until the cuffs bit into her ankles. She made one last adjustment to the vibrator, then picked up the clamps. Normally the discomfort of bondage was enough, but at this time of month, when her hormones were off the chart, she craved a bit of pain. She tugged at one nipple and snapped the clamp on it. Haley winced. She winced again when she clamped the other nipple. The clamps were connected by a chain and tied to the chain was a bit of string. This would join the other and when she'd had enough, she'd grit her teeth (These things always hurt more coming off than going on.) and yank the string. She'd enjoy one last orgasm while the pain subsided then settle in for her nap. Eventually she'd wake up and free herself, but not too soon.
She pushed the grapefruit-size sponge ball into her mouth, clenched her teeth, and sealed her lips with a strip of tape. She pressed a set of plugs into her ears. She picked up the red spandex hood. She checked one last time that the handcuff key was attached to the sheet with a bit of thread where she'd be able to reach it and pulled the hood over her head. It was tight, took some tugging. It had eye pads sewn in and there was a small, triangle hole for her nose.
He wasn't a locksmith. He was an engineer ... and a burglar. Although, burglary was only a hobby, something that gave him a little thrill and brought in some spare cash. He didn't always steal. He focused on valuables that wouldn't be readily missed. One time he found a plastic shoe box full of coins in a cardboard box buried in a corner of the closet. Not collectibles, just run of the mill silver and gold. The kind of thing you can sell all day on ebay and no way to trace them. That little haul brought him over $8k.
He stayed late after work the next day, went down to the machine shop, fed the measurements into the machine, and in a couple of minutes he had a shiny, new master key.
He left the van in place for a week, then he reparked it across from the second breezeway. People are creatures of habit. Even those that don't have regular jobs have routines. The video recordings bore this out. Of the sixteen residents, thirteen came and went at regular hours, two were a bit erratic, but mostly regular. College students, probably. One resident rarely left his apartment.
He picked Wednesday at 8 a.m. Except for the one guy, everybody else would be away. Even the students would be absent for a couple of hours. He would hit their places first, just in case.
He parked his truck. It said City Electric on the side and he had a uniform with the name Jim on the pocket. There was no City Electric and his name wasn't Jim. If someone happened to be home he'd just say the apartment complex had hired him to check the dishwashers. It had happened a couple of times. No biggee.
He wore a disguise of sorts: a blonde wig and moustache, nerdy glasses and a ball cap.
He checked the parking area. All the vehicles were absent except for that one guy's. He got to work. The students places turned up nothing, not surprisingly. One of them had a nice camera kit, but it wasn't that nice. And he reasoned that if she came back and found the kit missing while he was still burgling next door, well, that wouldn't be too good, so he left it.
Two hours later he was standing before the model's door. That's what he called her. From his camera angle, he not only knew who they were, but he knew which apartments they lived in. He had given them names. He called her "the model." She had a timeless beauty. She could 20, or 30, or even 40, though he guessed somewhere in the middle. She had long blonde hair, a nice rack, slim waist, full hips, a heart-shaped ass. She wasn't skinny. She was, what he called, a 1950's classic beauty. She even had a retro thing going on with short, tight dresses and spike heel shoes.
Haley reached forward, lay on her belly, winced as the clamps ground into her nipples. She stretched her arms, wriggled a bit, managed to catch hold of the cuffs. She triple checked that the key was there and that the two strings were in reach. She slipped a cuff around her wrist and pressed it shut. She did the same with the other wrist. She lay her head down just as the butterfly buzzed to life.
He knocked on the model's door, softly, twice, let himself in. The curtains were closed, the place was dark. He could smell remnants of her perfume, something light, spicy. He made a quick tour, turned a corner, and froze.
What the ...?
He paused for a couple of moments waiting for his heart to stop racing, almost eased out of the room. But he could see that the woman was securely cuffed to the bed. He could see the key by her right hand. Even if she heard him, it would take her time to free herself. The moment dragged on. He calmed down letting his eyes roam over her nude form. He pulled out his camera. He always had his camera clipped to his belt. He liked taking pictures of the places he'd robbed. He took several of the naked, helpless woman. His courage returned and he moved around her firing away.
She was squirming on the bed making muffled grunting noises.
The first orgasm was just about to hit. Haley squirmed, ground the clamps painfully against her nipples. Instantly she came down off the edge, but not for long. Again she felt close. Again she doused the flame with pain. She wanted this one to be special. The first one had to be. So did the last. This time when it came she let it.
The woman shrieked, the chains rattled, you could have peeled him off the ceiling.
He put the camera back in its belt holder, noticed the wine glass, decided a drink wouldn't be a bad idea. He took the glass into the kitchen, found the bottle on the counter, helped himself.
Glass in hand he toured the apartment. She wasn't a model. He found her financials and she worked for a law firm. But he found a couple of photo albums and there were several nice shots of her in bikinis. He copied the photos.
He found her pot stash. He always found their stashes. People are so unimaginative. Like hiding the good jewelry in the bottom draw, as if a thief would check every draw but that one. Sheesh! And, yes, he found her good jewelry. But he didn't take it.
No, he'd decided, if he robbed her she would know someone had been there while she was chained to the bed. For some reason the idea bothered him. He went back to the kitchen for a refill, went back to the bedroom, settled on the dresser, and watched her.
Haley was coming up on her third orgasm. She decided four would work and after the third washed over her she waited a bit, then yanked off the clamps.
The movement, followed by the muffled scream startled him, caused the wine to go down the wrong way. He ran into the living room, grabbed a couch pillow and coughed into it for several minutes. Calm again, he topped off the wine and headed back into the bedroom.
The fourth orgasm came and went. Haley tugged the string, yanked the timer from the wall.
Startled, but between sips, he was able to keep his composure. He'd figured it out. She was done. What would happen next? He decided to watch her for a bit longer. He reasoned that it would take minutes for her to free herself, remove the hood, and he'd be out of there in a flash the instant she reached for the key.
But time passed and she hadn't moved for several minutes. As lovely as she was, the novelty was wearing off. He checked his watch. He had been there for over two hours. He had ten more apartments to hit and time was a wasting. He tossed back the rest of the wine, went to the kitchen, and put the glass in the sink.
Haley woke. Tried to stay in that dreamy little tween state for a while. But awake and no longer horny things were distinctly uncomfortable. She tugged the key free and unlocked the cuffs. She pulled off the hood, removed the ear plugs, peeled off the tape and removed the sponge. She unlocked her ankles, stood, and removed the vibrator.
She took a quick side trip into the bathroom to pee, then headed for the kitchen. She glanced at the glass in the sink. It took a second, but then she frowned.
"I would have sworn I left that on the nightstand."
You can also leave feedback & comments about this story on the Plaza Forum