I am a burglar by trade. It's not a bad job. You pick your hours, working as little or as much as you like. No boss to tell you what to do and, as long as your careful, no hassles.
Mind you, I have more sense than to put down burglar on my tax returns. I'm a registered second-hand dealer and I do a lot of buying and selling over the internet. As long as I pay my taxes no-one bothers me.
Now while I'm a big man, I'm not violent. God, no. That sort of thing leads to trouble, with cops wanting answers to questions and things like that. What I do is slip into an empty house or apartment, remove a few choice items that won't be missed for a while and then slip quietly away. Do it properly and people don't even know that I've been and gone. They just find themselves scratching their head and wondering where their camera disappeared to, trying to recall if they lent it to someone.
Being very good with locks I can unlock a door and walk in faster than most people can using the correct key. (Digital locks are a bastard. I just skip those places.) If by some mischance I've made an error and someone is home I'm all humble apologies. Sorry. Come to the wrong place. I was expected and your door was unlocked so I just walked in. I say all that while quickly backing out. It always works. Who's going to try to stop a very large man who is all apologies and leaving anyway. They prefer to think it was an honest mistake and they left the door unlocked. They promptly forget about it.
There's only one instance that I can think of where I came slightly unstuck when hitting a place. I'd picked the lock and walked in bold as brass. I turned into the first room I came to. It was the lounge room, and a young woman was in it, walking across the room towards me. We both sort of stopped and looked at each other.
What she saw was a very large rough looking man of about thirty.
What I saw was a luscious little blonde of about twenty. She had that really white hair, you know the sort I mean. Add a pair of big blue eyes and cherry red lips and a very short diaphanous nightie that did nothing to hide a quite sensational figure. Man, oh, man! She was really something.
I didn't even get a chance to start my humble apologies. I was too stunned by what I was seeing. She recovered first, which is not surprising, my ugly mug not having anything like the stopping power her body did.
She gave a small scream and bolted. At least, I think she intended to bolt. What happened was that she managed to trip over her own feet, winding up flat on her back, looking slightly stunned.
Slightly stunned was how I was feeling, too. That miniature excuse for a nightie flew up when she went down, giving me ample proof that her blondeness was entirely natural.
Being naturally worried that the poor woman had hurt herself when she fell I bent over her to make sure she was OK. She was just lying there, blinking, more from the shock of the fall than from any hurt. I was greatly relieved. She was much too cute to be allowed to be hurt. I inhaled with relief, catching the clean woman scent of her.
I swear, what happened next took me completely by surprise. I hadn't even realised that I'd unzipped until I found my cock was in position and driving quite forcefully into her.
Her mouth open in surprise and her eyes popped wide open. She looked absolutely astonished that I was doing this to her which was fair enough, because that was the way I felt.
Now as you can see, I just didn't think that apologising and backing away was going to quite cut it this time. The only thing I could think of to do was to make the best of things. I pulled back and gave her another vigorous stroke.
It turned out that my day of shocks hadn't ended. As I was driving in with that second stroke I found little Blondie pushing up forcefully to meet me. There was a look of consternation on her face as though her own actions surprised her as much as they surprised me. To make sure that it had happened I gave another powerful thrust, watching her face as I did so.
Sure enough, her hips flexed and she pushed firmly up to meet me, the consternation on her face being replaced by a momentary look of pure lust, then hastily straightening to a smooth blandness.
Another thrust, which she also met and I gave a mental shrug. I reached for her nightie where it touched on her breasts and with one heave I split it, uncovering her breasts. She gave a small squeak at that and I slapped my hands down onto her breasts.
Yes, I said slapped. I didn't gently fondle them or cup them or stroke them. I slapped my hands down, glomming onto them. Her reaction to this was to squeal and buck her hips upwards as though I'd given her another thrust.
I'd heard of women who are hot to trot, but this verged on the ridiculous. Still, as she wasn't protesting, I set to work. That's not to say she never got around to protesting at all. She finally managed to come up with a few faux protests, rather undermined by the way she was reacting, bucking fiercely beneath me.
Quite frankly, I rode her hard, and she responded, obviously enjoying being driven. I wasn't giving her any consideration as I took her, just driving in hard and often while my hands made merry with her breasts, as did my mouth, biting down on her and sucking on her breasts and nipples.
I bounced on her and she reacted strongly, pushing up to meet me, apparently relishing every moment, her excitement coming out in little gasps and squeals, a feeble protest escaping every once in a while.
I rode hard and long and when I hit the final gallop I was feeling rather smug to find that she was climaxing right along with me. It was a real relief to just let go inside her, thumping away with complete abandon.
For a while there I just lay on her, savouring the feel of her body under me. When I did finally disengage and roll off her I didn't get dressed and do a runner. I politely waited, wanting to make sure she was OK and not going to get all hysterical and do something stupid.
She finally seemed to be getting things together. She stretched then abruptly sat up, looking me.
"You raped me," she accused, and there was so much smug satisfaction in her voice I felt like slapping her. "How could you?"
Quite easily, as it turned out.
Then she started her little tirade.
"You break in here," she began, but I interrupted.
"Ah, walked through the door, actually. You should keep it locked."
"It was locked," she retorted.
"Sorry, it wasn't," I lied.
She glared at me and continued.
"You come barging in and knock me down. . ."
"Ah, you tripped over your own feet and fell. I didn't touch you."
She ignored that.
"Then you tore my nightie off and raped me."
"No," I corrected. "I actually stuck my cock in first. I didn't tear your nightie until we were already in action."
"Whatever," she says. "It still comes down to the fact that you raped me."
There was that smugness again, and I really had to do something about that.
"Twice. You can't seem to get anything straight," I murmured.
"What?" she said, blinking and looking puzzled.
"Twice," I repeated. "You know, the second time makes it twice."
"But you didn't rape me twice."
"Yes, well waiting for you to recover and then listening to you talking about it so much I've had a chance to recharge. And the way you keep saying rape me is just plain making me horny. Now be a good girl and get on your hands and knees, I'm ready for seconds."
This time she did protest and the protest even sounded real. It didn't help her much. I made her roll over onto her tummy and hump her bottom up into the air. Then I knelt behind her, placed my cock so it was pressing against her pussy, and waited.
I played a little game with myself, trying to estimate how long she'd wait before saying anything. I was way off. She didn't even make it to the five second mark.
"Well? What are you waiting for, you rapist?" she demanded when I didn't immediately push home.
"I was having a philosophical moment," I told her. "I mean, is this really the way to get acquainted with a lovely young lady? Shouldn't I be treating her with more respect? How does she feel about this sort of behaviour?"
"You have got to be kidding me," she said, enunciating every word slowly and clearly.
"Yeah, I am," I said and drove fiercely in, grinning when she squealed with the shock of it.
Having recently, ah, unloaded, I was able to take a less frenetic approach this time. I was still driving in hard, arms wrapped around her and playing with her breasts, but I wasn't in such a hurry, taking more time between each stroke. This sort of approach can really extend your efforts, letting the pleasure drag on.
It soon became apparent that my little blonde friend wasn't used to this approach. She was squirming under me, pushing back hard against me, trying to make me go faster. I ignored her petty complaints. What I was doing felt good to me.
Well, being a gentleman, I didn't totally ignore her complaints.
