The wrong time?
Definitely!
The click resounded around the dark room impossibly loud! There was only one thing it could be and my gloved hands along with my feet turned to ice in spite of the sweltering heat of this hot summer night and my unseasonal outfit. I knew my blood had evacuated my extremities to protect my vital organs with the adrenalin surge that innocuous sound had triggered but my chest and stomach felt hollow all the same.
“Hands where I can see them, asshole!” the voice from behind me ordered.
“Shit,” I whispered to myself as I very slowly lifted my hands out of the drawer in front of me leaving the Passport where I had found it. I eyed the packet of bullets I’d also found and regretted my decision not to leave sixty seconds earlier.
“Now; slowly, oh so fucking slowly turn around shithead!” the woman’s voice commanded.
“Shit,” I again whispered and obeyed her orders precisely. The sight that appeared before me was incongruous to say the least.
I’d known that the woman, Jolie Hart according to her Passport, had been in her bed sound asleep just five minutes earlier when I’d searched through the contents of her bedroom and I’d seen her lying on her front in a thin cotton nightie. She’d looked gorgeous at that point, her dark skin in the dim light contrasting starkly with the white sleepwear; I still sported a semi-swollen cock from the few seconds I’d taken to admire it; I had resisted the urge to draw down the bed sheet to check out her ass and legs.
I’d thought it odd that she was sleeping in the guest bedroom but it had made ‘cracking’ the Chubb Trident G6 safe in the master-bedroom simpler even though all I found were documents and nothing of re-saleable value. Never one to waste an opportunity I searched for ‘booty’ elsewhere hence checking her out earlier.
Now she stood before me in front of the living room window with the street lights outside silhouetting her body through the material that only just covered her crotch. The blood that had rushed inwards when I’d heard that ominous click decided to shift elsewhere. What, now? I questioned my body. In my defence the view before me was distracting even with the, seemingly, gaping maw of a barrel aimed levelly at my face.
I didn’t like guns, never even carried a gun when I was breaking into people’s homes but I recognised that the woman before me was absolutely confident with them, feet a shoulder’s width apart and holding the firearm in a two-handed grip and with only the barest of tremors shifting the muzzle. Her heart was obviously pounding just as much as my own.
“Real, real slow… down on your knees!” she ordered.
The one part of my mind that wasn’t helping grinned at the idea of the chance to see a hint of this woman’s pussy. For Christ’s sake, I silently scolded myself as I eased myself down.
“Okay then,” she said and for the first time there was a hesitancy in her voice as I knew full well that she didn’t know where her phone was because I’d found it, turned it off and slipped it beneath her mattress. I wondered if I’d placed it on the other side would I have found the gun.
In spite of the situation I lowered my gaze as hers flicked about the room and towards the bedroom door; I was able to make out a hint of her mound beneath the hem of her nightie and was certain she was without underwear. I stifled a laugh as my cock hardened completely.
Her gaze returned to me and studied my eyes through the holes in my ski mask. I watched her raise an eyebrow; “Carefully! The bag; open it, empty it on the floor!”
I nodded and eased my backpack from my shoulders and held it in front of me; I didn’t need any further instruction to understand that I had to unzip it cautiously and definitely not reach into it. Gingerly I held open the top and allowed the contents to roll out onto the floor before upending it completely to prove it was empty.
She surveyed the spilt contents, recognizing her jewellery and some cash, noting my small wallet of lock-picks and the only other item I had taken from her bedside drawer. For the first time, the gun twitched as she surveyed the small silver vibrator that I had taken on a whim. I stared into her face shadowed in front of the window and wondered if she was blushing.
“A pervert as well as a thief?” she asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. I watched as she bit her lip as her eyes returned to mine; “Pockets! Empty them… opposite hand!” she instructed.
I smiled behind my mask as I knew she was convinced that I had taken her phone. I let my eyes fall to her crotch again and saw a minute shift in her hips as I reached across myself and pulled the left hand pocket of my back jacket inside out. I repeated it for the other and then eased down the zipper without need for further orders and showed the large ‘poacher’s’ pocket within.
Very carefully I eased the jacket off my shoulders to kneel there and delicately upended the pocket in the same manner as I had the backpack before dropping it on the floor. For the first time in my criminal career I felt utterly conspicuous and a little ridiculous as I knelt there in my brightly coloured Wyle E. Coyote T-shirt.
I saw the look of disbelief on the woman’s face; “The cops look for people in dark clothing!” I explained.
It was true that as soon as I left a job I would take off my jacket and stuff it into my backpack and quite happily and brazenly walk past officers of the law. I even once ‘aided’ them in looking for me when a patrol car had pulled over and I’d seen a suspicious man running west just ten minutes earlier.
I shut my mouth hard having realised I’d broken one of my own personal guidelines by speaking more than I needed to.
“The jeans’ pockets too… Wylie!” she ordered with a hint of a grin.
Again reaching across myself I pulled the pockets inside out and knowing she’d ask slowly twisted around on my knees and shoved my hands into my back pockets proving they were empty as well. I knew full well that my own wallet, keys and ID were safely tucked inside a plastic bag in Ms Hart’s flower borders outside. I shuffled around again to face her.
I could see the dilemma twisting within her as she wondered what to do. To give her credit fear didn’t seem to be an issue; “What sort of thief comes to a robbery unarmed?”
“I don’t like weapons… people get hurt,” I explained before I could stop myself. At least I was keeping my voice low and figured my accent wasn’t as distinctive as it normally was in the Land of the Free.
“Regretting that now, are you Wylie?” she shot back.
I really had no idea why I did what I did next. In hindsight I blame my cock; I eased my right foot sideways and reached back with two fingers and extracted a short folding blade from within my shoe and slid it across the floor to stop just before her feet.
She looked down although the gun never wavered, “So a liar as well?” For a moment she remained still as she seemed to pay her own body and how she was dressed just as much attention as she’d focused on me.
“I said I didn’t like weapons… didn’t say I didn’t have one!” I answered.
She looked up tilting her head slightly. She knew I had hidden her phone and also knew my only chance was not to reveal its whereabouts. It was quite wonderful in these modern times that so many people didn’t bother with landlines that were so much harder to lose. I knelt there patiently as I watched her deliberate her dilemma,
Again she cocked her head, “So why pick me? Why pick a house that is occupied?” she asked as she pondered what to do.
“A high-end security system,” I answered berating myself for talking but my own pride was getting the better of me having never had, never been so stupid as to brag about my activities. “Usually means people have something of value and although I could probably beat it, it’d take too long! People habitually don’t engage the system when they're at home and if I know where you are, I know how to avoid you, know you won’t turn up unexpectedly… normally!”
“Thirsty,” she answered simply to my statement.
“I also didn’t find or suspect you had a gun till I saw the shells in the drawer behind me, should’ve quit then!” My eyes dropped once again to the hint of her mound beneath the hem of her nightie; “Under the mattress?”
She nodded, “The films get it wrong… damned uncomfortable to put it under your pillow!” Again her hips twitched a fraction, “A disappointing haul,” she moved the muzzle of the gun fractionally towards the ‘loot’ on the floor, “I’m just the house sitter!”
I nodded in agreement as she took a step back and briefly glanced behind before stepping around the glass coffee table and sitting on the couch beneath the window before at last lowering the gun to the cushion beside her thigh although her hand never left it. I waited patiently and a little disappointed as her legs had closed and I no longer even had a hint of her crotch.
Her free hand drummed a silent tattoo beside her left thigh. “What am I to do with you?” she pondered.
My mind was screaming at me to say, ‘Let me go,’ but the other controlling organ in my body was doing its best to deprive it of oxygen.
I remained silent and hard as steel.
“Take your shoes off!” she demanded suddenly. I watched as she withdrew her finger from the trigger guard and instead tapped the side of it to a regular beat.
I bit my lip beneath my mask as I reached back and slipped my right shoe off and then only hesitated briefly before removing the left. An identical folding knife dropped loudly onto the wooden floor as I did. Her tapping finger froze and even though that’s where my focus should’ve been, it was higher up as she inhaled deeply and her breasts stretched the cotton material of her nightie. Two hard nipples pointed straight at me as I placed a single finger on the knife and slid it across the floor to join its twin.
She exhaled loudly and her finger continued tapping; “Quite the…devious coyote, aren’t you?”
I shrugged in reply and waited. I watched as she reached across and turned on the lamp on the small table beside the couch. Both of us blinked at the sudden brightness as our eyes adjusted and then studied each other in more detail.
She was telling the truth about being the house-sitter as it just occurred to me that there had been no pictures of her anywhere about; just some middle-aged white couple with two teenage sons. I figured there wasn’t a picture of her anywhere that would compare to the image before me.
The nightie, although not sheer, was very thin and being plain didn’t distort what was beneath; her areolas stood out darker on her breasts than her honey-coloured flesh topped with a pair of rock hard nipples. She stretched out her bare feet and crossed them at the ankles, thighs parting fractionally; I stifled a sigh as my eyes were once again drawn to her crotch fully aware that she could now see exactly where I was looking.
That finger paused for a second and then continued as I studied her toned thighs and the darker hint beyond. I thought about how she had held the large calibre revolver and realised that she hadn’t appeared to tire in the least and yet her lithe limbs didn’t betray the strength within them with over-developed muscles. I raised my eyes to her face and saw that her own gaze was aimed at my crotch. I couldn’t help but grin behind my mask as I knew the bulge in my black jeans was now blatantly obvious in the brighter room.
Her face, even devoid of any make-up was extremely pretty including the hint of tiredness beneath her eyes from waking in the middle of the night. Her eyes yet sparkled as she arched an eyebrow and slowly brought her gaze up to meet mine. “Any more hidden weapons?” she asked. A hint of her tongue appeared between a pair of luscious lips at the word ‘weapons’.
I felt my cock twitch hard and pre-cum moisten my briefs. I shook my head slowly in response to her question.
She laughed quietly and her finger once again paused above the trigger guard; “Not the most trustworthy coyote, are you?”
“Oh I’m completely trustworthy but it-”
“-depends on what a person trusts you to do!” she interrupted me. I shut my mouth and looked at this ‘Jolie Hart’; I was positive I’d never met her before short of the recent surveillance I’d carried out. I knew if I had I would’ve remembered her. I watched as the corner of that delectable mouth rose in a smirk. “Stand up!” she ordered.
I rose up, a knee popping quietly from stiffness. Her left hand had shifted and was lying just below her hip with her nails against the flesh of her thigh just beneath the hem of her nightie. “Take off your namesake!” she grinned.
Even as I shook my head and the cognitive part of my brain urged me to simply turn and exit the house quite sure that this woman wouldn’t shoot me in the back or stop me, my gloved hands were reaching down and pulling ‘Wylie’ up over my chest and head. I dropped the T-shirt to the floor and watched as that tongue once again peeked out and her eyes roamed over my torso.
“Turn around, slowly,” she said softly.
I raised my arms out and twisted around showing Jolie that they were no weapons or anything in my waistband. I circled back and lowered my hands to my side. “Happy?” I asked hoping she wasn’t.
“Are you going to tell me where my phone is?” she replied.
I shrugged my shoulders feeling a hint of a grin on my face in response. Just how far the two of us were going to take this I didn’t know. The house was too far removed from the neighbours to simply shout for help from a window; she’d also run a big risk trying to get dressed and lead me at gunpoint outside. I actually knew her solution was to use the panic button, which was always live even when in stand-by, I knew one was incorporated into the security system and positioned beside the bed in the master-bedroom and also down beside the front door.
I imagined she was familiar with the feature so the question was would she remember it or had she already but was now having too much fun?
“I need a drink; figure you know where the drinks cabinet is!” she stated.
I nodded and walked over to the bookshelf that held the large TV screen within it and opened a small hatch which dropped down. “What will it be?” I asked simply without turning to face her.
“I think there’s Jesse James Bourbon in there, neat will be fine,” she replied.
I poured a couple of fingers into a tumbler and turned about to find the gun pointing in my general direction if not squarely aimed at my head as she had done earlier. I wetted my lips before asking “What?”
“I’m sure it’s impolite to serve drinks with gloves on… at least black leather gloves!” she offered.
“Hmm,” I replied non-committedly. I looked from her face to the gun and at my gloved hands. I placed the tumbler down and eased the leather of my right hand before removing the left as the gun remained pointed. I dropped the gloves on the shelf and picked up the tumbler; a tingle ran through my hand as I felt the incriminating evidence of my fingerprints adhere to the crystal tumbler.
