It was a sultry Saturday night in late August and Mrs. Wintergreen struggled to sleep. She was on top of the sheets in the buff as she tossed and turned in a futile attempt to drop off. The forty-one-year-old and her older husband by twenty years slept in separate bedrooms these days which they both found perfectly satisfactory. A gentle breeze fluttered through the curtains at the open window and for an instant, her eyes closed in slumber.
"Marian? I say, Marian? I do believe we may have a burglar in the house."
The slender woman blinked hard in the darkened room and tried to focus on Harold as he dithered by her open door. Her long auburn hair had matted to her left cheek, and she was hot and bothered.
"What's that you say? An intruder?"
"Possibly. I should call the local constabulary."
"Hold that thought."
Marian looked at the balding fellow in his silk dressing gown and held up an index finger. She stood up and padded barefoot to her closet.
"It's a bloody cheek! Who do these people think they are? I shall investigate. You wait here."
The tall and leggy female brought the whip into her open palm, and the resounding crack made her spouse jump out of his carpet slippers. He watched her stride naked from the room with rolling hips and jiggling buttocks. He almost felt sorry for any would-be trespassers. Crime in the sleepy neighbourhood was negligible since the lockdowns of the previous year, and the couple happily resided in a modest four-bedroom house in Ipswich. Gainsborough Lodge sat in a fairly well-to-do area with a gated driveway and close proximity to the railway station. Both had well-paid jobs in the City and were content in their own idiosyncratic way. Harold heard his strong-willed wife purposefully take the stairs two at a time and strained his ears.
Marian crept downstairs and froze at the door of the living room that was ajar. She saw a large, powerful figure, clad completely in black, and carrying a canvas hold-all. He was bust rifling through drawers and shelves, searching through her possessions for things of value. We ARE being burgled!
x
After gaining easy access through an unlocked window, James Wilkins thanked the current hot season and so many open windows. The figure dressed in a black sweater and black jeans, used a pencil torch to survey the main room he had just entered. He adjusted his spandex balaclava with the open mouth and two eye openings and willed his beating heart to slow down.
James Wilkins was an opportunistic burglar and had chosen Gainsborough Lodge on a whim. He had left school with only the best intentions, but like many others like him, he had found gainful employment somewhat scarce after the global pandemic had finally ended.
At just twenty years old, he had packed some perfectly proportioned muscle on his six-foot frame, thanks to a dedicated program of exercise and weight lifting at his parent's home. The ambitious young man had soon become disillusioned with things despite his youthful reserves of energy and goodwill to see him through. Besides all of that, he was happy doing manual labor and loved to work up a healthy sweat, but his search for a job had been futile. The naïve ex-student had taken the heedless choice to steal rather than rely on benefits.
"Funny."
James had spent five minutes rifling through the usual places one might find loot. He had no interest in oil paintings, expensive statues, or porcelain. He did not want to deal with a third party to dispense with any ill-gotten gains he might procure. Just cash, cards, and mobile phones. He had chosen Gainsborough Lodge because of the distinct lack of security alarms to ward off any thieves.
In his search, he found one drawer of a sturdy solid oak desk to contain a length of rope as well as four sets of leather ankle and wrist cuffs. In another, the curious young fellow came across what looked like nipple clamps with a chain linking them, a ball gag, a blindfold, and butt plugs. An odd selection of items to be found in these quiet settings. He wondered if the owner of the house had bondage and other fetish interests. As he discovered a wallet and several credit cards, he had a nagging doubt about things and decided it might be in his best interests to leave the premises. That was the precise moment that he heard a floorboard creek and he realised that he was not alone. He felt rather than saw someone standing directly behind him and he froze.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"
James swore under his breath and slowly turned his head to see a woman switch on the light. Not only was he startled to see someone up at this late hour, but he was further surprised to see the tall figure of a woman completely starkers! He questioned her brazen demeanour and her nudity, heatwave or no heatwave. He carried no weapons of any kind and the sight of the dark-haired woman brandishing a twelve-inch black leather riding crop in her right fist. He suddenly felt lightheaded, certain that the brazen minx could hear the hammering of his heart. His armpits itched and became wet as she drew nearer. He contemplated making a run for the door, but, the teenager froze on the spot.
"What are you going to do to me?"
She looked to be about forty yet still looked in good trim with a firm rack and little tummy fat. Despite the twenty-year age gap, he unexpectedly felt a twitch in his groin. He suddenly had a horrible thought. That being a spell of prison time if prosecuted. He couldn't do time. He'd heard too many scare stories of predatory criminals preying on younger interns. Fuck that.
"You broke into the wrong house tonight, young fellow!"
The woman kept the room in darkness as they faced off, and the silhouette of her willowy form gave him the frisson of a thrill. He made a move to his left and the woman raised the crop menacingly.
"I strongly suggest you do not make any sudden moves."
Mrs. Wintergreen looked at the hooded figure and suddenly realized that she might very well be twice the age of the burglar.
"How old are you?"
"I'm twenty. Please don't call the police! I don't want to go to jail!"
"Take that hood off."
James jerked his hood off and Marian drank in his youthful charm. The fellow had longish dark brown hair, deep brown eyes, and a cute dimple on his chin.
"What is your name?"
"James," he stammered.
"Do you have any concealed weapons, James?"
"No, nothing."
"Take your top off," she wagged the crop in his face and sneered. "Slowly."
