Illicit Entry Ch 01 Home Ground

This story is thanks to Zuumi and once again my erudite editrix, shygirlwhore. Any mistakes remain my own, etc.

It features some simple, ol' fashioned M/F action, beginning with some (but not all that much) reluctance. Although this one stands alone, I may consider a sequel at some point; let me know if you'd like to read one.

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The sun was slinking lazily down the sky, disappearing behind the trees and houses on the near side of the road. Although the light was dusky in the shaded strip, the streetlights hadn't yet lit. She stood watching the house that was her target, affecting a casual manner as she waited for conditions to become ideal, leaning against a tree trunk and tugging on her legs to stretch them as if in preparation for a run.

Every few days over the last two weeks she had made sure to make herself nice and obvious in jogging around the neighbourhood at about this time of evening. Her outfit had been carefully organised to preserve the pretence: figure-hugging charcoal jogging bottoms and a zip-up navy blue hooded tracksuit top, judiciously selected without any eye-drawing white stripes or other accoutrements; soft rubber-soled running shoes. The freedom of movement and quiet afforded her by the clothes were also invaluable aids to her true goal, of course.

She judged that conditions were just about perfect at last; the shadows on this side of the street lengthened and deepened enough to break up her outline and conceal her from observation as she moved. Her dark clothing accentuated the effect. She should be nice and inconspicuous, turning from the pavement and padding silently up the path leading around the side of her target residence. She'd done this enough times before, dozens at least, to be confident in that.

As she left sight of the street, she drew her hood back momentarily to reach up and tug a sheer stocking down over her head, face and the tightly-tied ponytail of dark hair which had been strenuously wrangled during her preparations. The stocking was possibly overkill; she always made scrupulously sure that noone would be in a position to see her on a job; but she thought of it as a classic of the oeuvre. Drawing the hood back over her head sealed the deal, casting a nigh-impenetrable shade over her features.

The house was detached, generously sized and spoke of comfortable wealth, unostentatious but quietly evident. The French doors at the back made for an obvious and easy point of entry: the locks would have been surprisingly secure for an average home but she'd been expecting something like this; they were no real barrier to a few seconds of suitable tool-use. The doors glided open smoothly and silently at a light push as soon as she was finished.

There were a few other interesting little security systems in here, of course, but nothing she couldn't disarm long before any threat of alarms. Satisfied with her efforts so far she stole forward deeper into the house, in search of the anticipated treasures within. While tastefully appointed, the rear conservatory she found herself in would not have anything as valuable as what she was after. Moving softly, she opened the door into the next room.

This was much more like it: a small lounge, plushly upholstered from what she could see in the fading orange glow of the evening sun behind her. There were bookcases; shelves; a mantlepiece, all bearing numerous expensive-looking knickknacks. Her tread was silent onto the carpeted floor as she crossed the threshhold and delved into the centre of the room, considering which way to turn first. The wrong way, as it turned out.

"Well, hello there," the voice was quiet as if seeking to leave the room undisturbed in its sleepy evening setting. It was deep, a smooth growl that was unmistakably masculine. It came from her left, just where the doorway would be that led to the rest of the house's interior. Careless.

But all was not yet lost: she might not be taking anything much home from this evening's work but he hadn't seen her face, she could still get out of here without any loss. Her hand jerked reflexively toward the taser that she carried concealed against the off-chance that one of her unwitting hosts might just stumble upon her at work...

"I wouldn't do anything rash, if I were you. You see, you might have dealt with some of my more obvious security systems; rather efficiently too, I might add; but even if you left now there would be more than enough evidence to incriminate you. It's quite impressive what can be done these days with lowlight cameras, and facial recognition software. It saw right through that stocking of yours; what a quaint affectation... Zara."

She froze on the spot, paralysed with sudden numbness. She had no idea what databases this guy had managed to access, but he knew her name: her real name, not even one of the various aliases she'd used or still did use, in day-to-day life or her 'professional' concerns. For the first time since she could remember, something she'd striven against forever, someone else had her completely in the palm of their hand; the brash, fiercely independent part of her bristled. Then the calm, coolly logical, calculating part of her deflated it again.

He must have noticed the subsidence of her stance.

"Good. Now turn around here, let me get a good look at you," there was a click as he turned on a standing lamp, illuminating the clandestine scene.

She began to hate him there and then, incensed by the hold he had over her that she'd been too careless to elude, quietly fuming at being held to account like some errant, naughty schoolgirl. And yet in no analysis did she see an alternative but to obey. She turned slowly and grudgingly to face him square-on, half-heartedly knocking back her hood as she did so. Leaning back in a shadow behind the pool of lamplight he was still something of a mystery, but the confident ease with which he held himself was still plain to see.

She stood with arms petulantly crossed, a simmering glare on her face. He met it with a low chuckle and stepped forward. Plainly he had been ready to retire for the evening, if not in the act thereof: he wore a single silken dressing gown loosely gathered at the waist with its sash in a negligent bow, exposing a strip of the front of his chest. The light behind him now, it was still in shadow, but he was clearly pale-skinned. He strode up and took hold of her wrist in the grasp of long, powerful fingers.

She tensed, by reflex and only for a second but enough to be noticeable. From the smug set of his lips and the placid way he waited out her stormy little interlude she could tell that he knew he had her. Leaving it a couple of moments more to make sure the last dregs of her defiance had subsided, he gave a gentle but insistent tug to pull her arm out of its hunched, closed position across her chest and moved it down to her waist. With little point in its remaining alone, she let her other arm mirror the motion.

The softest sigh passed her lips, the faintest exhalation of resistance, crumbled.

"Good girl. Now, get on your knees."

Her temper surged back up to a seething heat as the words dropped leadenly in her ears. Who the hell did this guy think he was?

"Hang on a minute, arsehole..."

The feel of him letting go of her wrist was somehow almost as significant as when he had first taken hold of it. He remained apparently unmoved by her outburst otherwise, however.

"Please. The choice is entirely yours: of course, I would likely want to inform the authorities about any visitors to my home who were... Unwanted."

What a prick. She felt the weight of the taser snug in hiding in her pocket, saw herself snatching it up, stabbing it into his chest or neck, dropping him insensate and fleeing the scene, taking her chances...

Instead, with molten hatred in her eyes, she bent her knees and lowered herself to kneel on the expensive rug before him. Trapped, without locks or bars; that single name was all the control he needed over her. She had a fairly vivid idea of what would happen next. He seemed determined to remain unhurried, but she fancied she caught a certain eagerness in the motion of his fingers as they moved to let loose the silk sash around the waist of his dressing gown. She braced herself against the sight of what she knew would be emerging.

It was exactly as she'd feared and yet, somehow, not like that at all.

The thing that emerged from the silken folds pointed like a blunt-headed spear straight towards her. Clearly, he was already enjoying himself. The dim light threw off faint reflections from a length of glossy skin almost as smooth as the garment that had sheltered it. It was not obscenely outsized or otherwise deformed, save for a slight and graceful upward curve toward the tip; it was a comfortable shade or two above average in all dimensions and yet still perfectly proportioned. In short (which he quite plainly was not), it was the most luscious-looking penis she had ever seen.

She went cross-eyed as she focused on the tip quivering just before her face, caught in a momentary daze. She was never normally this crude in her lusts, had never fixated on any man's stupid piece of meat before, but somehow here in this place staring eye-to-eye with this beautiful dick, she was hypnotised. Finding them too dry for her liking, she ran the tip of her tongue around in a quick circle to moisten her parted lips. Without conscious thought, she began to lean in.

If the words didn't register with her straight away, the hand that pressed lightly against her forehead stopped her in her tracks:

"Hmm, very good. But let's not worry about that for now, there are far more interesting ways we can spend the evening. Up you get."

He took a step back and she stood abruptly, fumbling to tug the stocking from over her face with belated urgency as she did so. He reached out a hand to brush her newly-bared cheek: her knees nearly wobbled at the simple touch; her mouth was suddenly dry again but with a new burning in her loins she felt her lower lips begin to salivate.

He reached forward and casually unzipped her hoodie. Then he shrugged out of his dressing gown which ghosted to the floor. Naked in front of her and with his 'attributes' still firmly focused in her direction, she saw that he was not as lean as she but comfortably well-muscled; his pale-cream skin was devoid of hair save for a restrained dark curly patch about his excited member; and finer hair, of the same shade, cropped closely around his head.

Unwilling to fully acknowledge her own eagerness, she told herself instead that she wasn't going to stand around and allow him fully to dictate the situation: she stroked her tracksuit top off down both arms and then took hold of the waistline of her jogging bottoms; she slipped out of her shoes and looked him in the eye (with all the willpower she could muster to keep her gaze elevated), before crouching smoothly to tug them down over her thighs and shins and then straightening to step out of them. The full extent of her slender caramel-coffee legs now on display, she faced him in only the sports bra she'd worn under her top and a pair of knickers hugging her inflamed crotch in a tight triangle.

Both garments were sensible, hardly lingerie by any stretch. Even so they were velvety black, a matching set; thanks to the ample living her 'profession' brought in they were tastefully expensive and displayed a sleekness of line and stylishness of cut. She knew for a fact that her firm, athletic buttocks and perky little handfuls of breasts looked great in them. He must have thought so as he stepped closer, that blunt tip nosing lightly against her flat belly: one hand slid around her hip to grasp a cheek and the other rode up over her ribcage to close neatly around a mound of titflesh; both hands squeezed, and she was reminded again of the emphatic grasp that had first snared her wrist. His touch was electric, and she felt the hairs all along her limbs and down her back stand up in result.

"Impressive," his voice was a barely-heard murmur, a soft caress of breath as he leaned in close to her ear.

Suddenly she found his body engulfing hers, dragging her under the sea of his embrace. She was breathing his scent: clean and dryly spiced with just the right touch of man to start unravelling the self-imposed restraints in her mind; she'd not allowed herself to indulge in casual cock in longer than she cared to recall, in the face of this beguiling onslaught. She'd thought it would only render her weak and vulnerable. Her heart hammered, her limbs suddenly weak and her body vulnerable before him.

The organic ramrod poking against her stomach was pressed upward as he moved even closer, the head dipping briefly into her navel before ending up pinned flat between them, pointing toward the ceiling. She swallowed nervously as another sultry flare shot through her, down below. He paused there for several seconds that stretched long in her perspective, seeming to take his time in appreciating the 'assets' he had taken firmly in hand. She liked to keep her body in shape and a small part of her was gratified by the admiration evident in his reaction, even as the rest of her whirled into a lust-dripping meltdown. Then, after what seemed like so long his fingers might have welded themselves to her body, he stepped neatly to the side and circled around behind her.

He still chose not to leave any more space between them than before: now the axis of his arousal was squeezed up along her spine, beginning from the small of her back. Still his one hand was firmly in possession of her breast, although now the other was free to roam. Squeezing her hip. Circling around her belly. Heading down...

She breathed in deep as his fingers snuck under the waistline of her underwear, still inhaling as they began to explore. She felt them rustle through her trimmed pubic patch, apparently in no great hurry. This was in stark contrast to her pulse, which was now racing. She felt his fingertips probe their way into progressively more sensitive regions, until the moment when one of them pushed down deliberately on the tender little nub hidden away in her intimate folds: she'd been holding the ample breath she'd just taken; she forgot to let go of it in the moment, and gave an involuntary closed-mouth squeak of startled delight.

The pressure of his fingertips increased steadily, unrelenting. Soon they were running freely around her private mound, exploring every crease, curled into claws which groped her with abandon. She was caught up in indecision over her response: push forward against the probing fingertips; or back up against him with the mass of her body? Either way, she wanted sorely to remind him that she was still to be reckoned with. A particularly intimate delve of his index finger decided for her, causing her to bend forward in surprise and concurrently press her rear end right into his crotch; she had enough presence of mind still, or perhaps her body just wanted more of the increasingly intense fingering, to jerk forward into his hand's grasp again a moment later. Even as she wriggled, still he managed effortlessly to surround and contain her with his embrace. Her breath escaped at last in an impatient hiss.

She kept up her restrained struggling, almost as much to show him that she was not just a passive captive as to continue experiencing the sensations it brought. He was everywhere around her, ready to catch her wherever she swayed. If she was beginning to feel desperation, it was only because he did not squeeze himself closer against her. Then as they undulated together he began slowly to tighten the constriction of his arms: snatching her gradually in against his chest; reigning in her writhing; flowing around her until they were entwined together in place.

She was almost lost in the midst of swaying seduction when he disrupted their dirty dancing, shuffling a half-step back. His hand detached from her boob as he did so. She was moved almost to complain, stopping herself just in time as she realised just what a wanton admission that might be, but his purpose became clear a heartbeat or two before her body might have outright rebelled when he slid the fingers of his free hand inside the hem or her knickers and tugged, dragging them down in a long, steady progress along the length of her smooth legs.

He stepped back in almost before she could react: this time, though, the hard bump of his arousal pressed in at the bottom of the crease between her buttocks, the head grazing slightly against her tight, hidden pucker and causing her to shiver, suddenly anxious; the moment passed just as quickly however and his long shaft ran down along the underside of her furrowed crease, splitting her moistening folds gently open; the slight upward-tilt of his tip brought the curve of his rod beautifully into synchronicity with the underside of her body. She felt her lower lips stretch slightly around the length of his girth, making her feel almost as if she were held perched along the top of his cock by the steamy valley of her own sex. The firm twitching of his penis upward a moment after they'd settled into their new positions, whether deliberate or not, was a deliciously cruel act on his part as she felt her intimate juices begin to slick and slather its surface.

The fingers caging her snatch released from most of their pressured probing, again her body had an almost physical reaction to the cessation of his grasp. Their teasing tips stumbled blindly for a moment or two as they reached further underneath her, questing until they made contact with the plump head of his cock which slithered through the swamp in her loins to meet them from behind. He pushed his own penis up against her sensitive parts and rolled it around fractionally with the guidance of his hand; she squirmed in his arms, mainly from mounting impatience. He soon found what he was looking for however: one hidden, tight lower mouth of an entrance; once his fingers had probed out its location he began to push the tip of his meat up against its resisting lips, to cure her impatience with a good mounting.

As he began to bull his way inside her at last she stood transfixed, imagining herself as freshly-speared prey while the whole considerable length of his masculine staff slid in. There was first a slight build-up of pressure as his head nudged against her opening, followed almost straight away by the soft pop of it's entry. From there, she was at once embarrassed and obscurely proud to note that her loins were sufficiently saturated by now that he could simply push with his hips, and glide smoothly inward as her nether chamber swallowed his entire shaft without complaint. Suddenly the tickle of his pubic hair was whispering against the skin of her buttocks and there was the soft impact of his balls against her skin under lazy momentum just a moment later.

He seemed to take a moment to plumb the depths of and accustom himself to the velvet confines of her inner chamber, his dick straining infinitesimally in several directions to elicit further snatch-swallowed breaths of longing from the spitted woman immobilised in his clutches. She in turn began to grind her hindquarters in small spiralling motions against his crotch, her body desperate for every scrap of penetrative sensation to be rung from his spearing length. She leant forward unconsciously, the better to push back against him, and her back arched to separate a small gap between their upper bodies: alert to the opening, his hand darted in and freed the clasp of her sports bra with a surprisingly deft single motion; the garment practically burst away in the quiet tumult, drifting to join her other clothes on the floor.

This seemed to satisfy his formal preparatory requirements, as both his hands now up glided over warm latte skin until they slid over and engulfed her bared breasts. Already hardening beforehand, their sudden exposure to the air made her nipples hard enough to poke stiffly into his palms. Those palms pushed back with kneading motions, expertly drawing pangs of pleasure from her engorged buds as he began finally to draw his shaft out of her. She felt as though her loins were collapsing inward in its wake, closing like a vacuum around the space it had been occupying: the feeling was bitter-sweet, an entirely different stimulation from when he first filled her up. He withdrew right up to the collar around his tip, bringing a slightly wider stretch to her lips once more, before commencing a second inward thrust. Just as before, her loins parted easily for his rod; now her eyes began to roll upward behind fluttered-closed lids as well.