The following Story is intended ONLY for adults above the age
18. It contains more or less strong sexual content (though no sex)
and graphical depictions of the female body in bondage.
As such it is intended as a work of fiction for ADULTS who enjoy
and understand the difference between fantasy and reality.
If you are offended by women in bondage and/or the implications of
BDSM are against your principles you should drop this story. If
you are minor or are residing in a county or nation prohibiting
such kind of play, behavior or works then you have to
drop this story.
You have been warned.
This story or series is copyrighted by me, Jay Alam. The archiving
of my works is permitted if it is solely for private purpose. No
selling, no changing, no reposting or distribution.
Please be fair and don't put this piece of work on your own
site. Don't copy this story without my copyright notes and
Life doesn't seem fair sometimes, but I sure hope my readers are.
The idea for the burglar story came from a comic picture I had here
on disc somewhere, and an F.E. Campbell story I read once. Have fun.
When the doorbell rang Trish almost dropped the coffee mug. It was still quite early and she wasn't expecting anyone. She went to the door and cautiously asked,
"A package for Patricia Bondem."
She opened the door without unhooking the security chain and peeked out. The man looked UPS enough and she undid the chain, signed and received a small brown parcel. The man left, she closed the door and almost squealed with delight when she opened the package.
It was the glossy black PVC micro-miniskirt she had bought at an auction a week earlier on the Internet. And beneath it were a matching garter-belt and an unopened package of stockings. Trish frowned a little. She hadn't bid on a garter-belt. Or stockings.
Then she rummaged the package and was disappointed when she didn't find the bustier top offered with the skirt. Before becoming angry though she found a little handwritten note from the vendor telling her that both items had not fit in a single package and that she would receive the bustier in a separate mailing. The garters and stockings were gifts for her trouble.
'Yummi,' Trish thought, 'now that's customer care.' She licked her lips, glanced at the open package, flashed a wicked grin, and rushed into her bedroom.
Quickly she dropped the cutoffs and t-shirt, almost tearing them apart in her eagerness. The garter-belt was a piece without hooks and she had to lace it. But laces in hands and looking down she froze, a frown on her face.
Naw, black vinyl garter-belt and white cotton panties. Yuck.
So the panties ended on top of her discarded clothes and the bra followed quickly. Happily she whistled a song, lacing the belt in place, tearing the package, putting on the stockings, smoothing them and finally going to her underwear drawer. She didn't have PVC or latex underwear. A fact, she reminded herself, she would redeem the very same evening when she went online again, and bid on such items. Fortunately she still had a lacy black g-string which quickly covered her crotch. Barely.
'Now what will I wear on top,' she mused a finger tapping the corner of her mouth.
A t-shirt? Hmm. A blouse? Well, maybe. Suddenly her eyes became bright and she took a red so-called Carmen blouse from a hanger. The smooth silky red cloth had an elastic band sewn in the top hem, and a slightly smaller band just below her breasts. Yep, she nodded. That sure would look nice.
The blouse was thrown over her head and she just pushed the smaller band under her breasts, letting the cloth flutter freely. Then slowly, almost reverently, she took the miniskirt in her hands, feeling the fabric, and slowly pulled the skirt up her stockinged legs. It was more a moan than a sigh of pleasure when she finally zipped the skirt shut.
With delight she looked at her reflection in the mirror, admiring herself, sticking her buttocks out, rubbing her hand over the skirt, lifting the hem just to see how the garters looked on her. She played with the short blouse sleeves, pulling them from her shoulders to rest against her upper arms. Now putting on a little make-up and some jewelry, brushing her hair and finding some nice footwear and she would be ready for...
The doorbell. Again. A frown appeared but was almost immediately replaced by a big smile. Could that be the second package? The one with the top?
She shouted, "Coming."
With sparkling eyes she rushed to the door and didn't even stop to check. She opened the door wide.
Oh. It wasn't the UPS.
There stood a man with light tanned skin, dark hair and a big mustache; a hat on his head and sunglasses on his nose; dressed nicely with tie and jacket. Then the hand in his pocket rose with a gun pointed at her.
"You behave and don't say a word. You make a mistake and I shoot you."
Trish looked at the man, then at the gun, then at the man again and a smile spread on her face.
"A burglary? Oh, that sounds like fun. I've never been burgled before."
The man seemed to be taken a little aback and Trish could have slammed the door. But instead she opened the door even wider and motioned the man to enter.
"Now, how do we do this?" she asked earnestly. Before he could answer she had already turned and was heading for the kitchen.
"Hey, now wait a minute..."
When he reached her she was dragging one of the two kitchen chairs into the hall. It was a simple metal kitchen chair, painted white with a small but high backrest.
"I suppose you want me out of way, right?"
She didn't pay attention at him. Looking right and left in her hall she positioned the chair almost against a wall.
"There," she said and sat down. "I think this won't block your coming and going."
The man stood a little helpless, his gun pointing at the floor. She looked expectantly up at him.
"Now what? Won't you tie me up?"
"That piece of rope dangling from your pocket? Won't you tie me up?"
Trish sat upright on the chair, pressing her spine against the high backrest. She held her arms back and the man seemed to recover a little, pulling both wrists together and crudely looping the rope around them. When he was finished, Trish tested the bonds and said, "Not too bad. But you have to develop more style. Well, go on."
"Style? Err, lady, you do confuse me in my work."
"Oh, do I? Gosh, excuse me but it's kind of exciting you know. Hmm, you still have to bind my ankles though."
"But I don't have any other rope left."
"Oh, that's too bad. Well start burgling. I'll think of something."
The robber stepped a little away, not really trusting this curious woman. But her gaze was far away, her face disfigured by a deep frown. Shaking his head he started looking in the drawers in the living room, but every second or third drawer his head would push out of the door, looking at the woman. Suddenly her face brightened and she softly called, "Hello, Mr. Thief? I found a solution."
The robber nearly dropped the valuables he had already packed together in a small wooden box. Quickly he stepped to the woman who was grinning brightly at him.
"If I remember correctly there is still some clothesline in the bathroom; in the small cupboard above the washing machine."
The man looked a little astonished but indeed found some clothesline.
"Lady, that's plastic coated wire, you know? It will hurt more than the rope I brought with me."
"Well, that's okay. It was never manufactured for the purpose of restraining me so I guess I have to live with it."
The robber shook his head and carefully started to wind the thin line around the woman's ankles: six loops around and two between. Then he repeated the process below and above her knees. It became difficult because her thighs were already tightly pressed together, but the somewhat stiff thin wire helped. He took a pocketknife and was able to cut the clothesline after knotting it off.
"Hmm," Trish said, again testing the bonds binding her legs. "That's better than with my wrists. And you've improved your style."
"Well, yes. Look the coils are looking much neater."
"If you say so," the man said dubiously and returned to rummaging in the apartment.
The TV-set and the small stereo were piled in the corner near the front door. The wooden box was placed next to them. Then came some of the paintings, two rugs, and even the small African woodcarving her family had given her last Christmas.
"Is everything alright?"
"Why thank you. Yes Sir, I think so. But don't you think you should restrain me more?"
"Well yes. See I can still hammer on the floor with my feet and if I stand up, I'm able to move myself from the chair. See?"
The man made a noose in a length of clothesline which he placed around her bound ankles. Then he threaded the line between her wrists and started to pull on the line. Slowly her feet lifted off the ground, being drawn backwards toward her wrists. Trish felt her wrists being pushed down and her spine pressing harder against the backrest. When the robber stopped and knotted off the line she was unable to get up anymore. Or tap with her feet.
But just to be on the safe side he started to wind a double strand around her waist and the backrest. Then came a couple of lines above her boobs. And even some of them below. While he threaded the strands between her torso and the backrest she suddenly started to squeal.
"I'm ticklish," she giggled.
She then felt him loop a couple of strands around her upper arms and gently pull on them, drawing her arms nearer together. The torso ropes started to dig into her chest.
"Now that's interesting," she suddenly exclaimed.
"What?" His head appeared from behind her where he was knotting again.
"Look at how my breasts stand proud against the clothesline."
"What?" he asked in a pained voice.
"Would you mind pulling my blouse down so I might see my breasts? I wonder how they look against the rope."
The robber almost made a strangled noise, but carefully, even gently as not to tear her garment, he pulled the top down, leaving her bare-chested.
Very curious, Trish looked down at her breasts, tracing the lines with her eyes where the ropes crossed her chest. When she finally looked up at him her eyes shone and she had a proud smile on her lips, "Don't they look good?"
The robber nearly fled into the bedroom, starting to search there. He found some jewelry that he pocketed and looked through her wardrobe.
"Hello, Mr. Thief?"
With a groan he walked back towards her.
"Would you mind tying up my breasts?"
"I always wanted to know how that feels."
"Err, yes... sure."
He took the last length of clothesline available and started to wrap it around the base of one breast looping it a couple of times but taking care not to pinch her flesh. The breast ballooned, started to swell and the skin darkened a little. Then he did the same with her other breast. Finally he took the two ends, threaded them under her armpits, crossed them in her back behind the armrest, threw them above her shoulders and knotted them off between her glorious mounds, anchoring her shoulders on the way.
Trish started to wiggle, or tried to.
"Now that's what I call restrained."
The robber made a mock bow, disappeared in the bedroom again and heard her chatting. He decided not to listen and resumed his search. Finally he was finished and looked at the pile he had to transport to his car. Then he looked back at Trish.
"Oh, I understand. You can't leave me like this. You're afraid I'll start screaming the moment you go out the door. Well, you have to gag me then."
"Should I really?"
"I suppose so."
The man disappeared a last time in her bedroom and came back with what looked like her discarded panties and one of her scarves. The sunglasses seemed to bore into her and she nodded. The man started to fold the panties into a neat little package. When he wanted to push them in her mouth though she looked at him, blushed and asked, "I... err... would like you to consider something. Might I... uhh, convince you to do something with my... umm... nipples?"
"Well, look at them. All this tying up has excited them. Just look how long and hard they’ve become. Can't you think about something to stimulate them? I would do it by myself, but as I'm tied up there just isn't anything I can do. So be creative."
This time the man didn't answer but only pushed the gag in place, looping the long scarf a couple of times around her head before knotting it in the back.
He then started to load the pile into his car. Coming, taking something and vanishing again. Trish watched him work and curiously found herself a little saddened. Hadn't she been a model prisoner? Why hadn't he granted her last wish?
There was only one last thing to take away: the TV-set. The man though didn't take it right away, but instead walked into the kitchen. She saw him searching in one of the drawers, then coming back. He smiled, "I think I’ve found the right thing for your nipples."
First he placed a mousetrap on her left nipple. Second he placed a mousetrap on her right nipple.
"What luck that they are always sold in pairs. Hope this is creative enough, Ma'am."
He tipped the rim of his hat, lifted the TV-set and vanished, gently closing the door behind him.
Trish winced and looked at her two buds. Well they hurt.
But he wasn't seriously considering leaving her like this, was he?
Of course not. He wouldn't do that! He couldn't do that. He would come a last time.
And what if he didn't?
Trish "mpfhhed" in her gag.
Trish and the Burglar (I)
(c)2002 Jay Alam
edited by suzi