tagNonConsent/ReluctanceBound by the Burglar Pt. 01

Bound by the Burglar Pt. 01


Elena felt something gently touch her cheek, and she stirred from sleep in the darkness.

It was a hand, a warm soft hand.

She murmured and nuzzled it and it caressed her cheek and neck. She'd been dreaming. Was she still dreaming? She was lying in her big comfortable bed...


Alone because her husband was away on a business trip.

She started, rousing herself from the fuzziness of sleep; and saw that there was a man standing in her bedroom.

She switched on the light next to the bed and the stranger said, "Good evening, Elena, sorry to disturb you."

She shrieked and clutched the covers around herself, an instinctive but useless gesture.

The man smiled down at her. He was young - in his mid-twenties - and had sandy hair and green eyes. He wore jeans and a black hoody over a black t-shirt.

"Who the fuck are you! Get the fuck out of here!" she screamed.

He held his finger to his lips. "Shhhhh," he said. "Don't scream, okay? I mean, there's not any chance anybody's going to hear you, around here, but... " he said, putting his hand in his pocket.

Did he have a gun? A knife? She began hyperventilating with terror, her eyes filling with tears.

"Shhhh," he said. "Shhhh, calm down. Just calm down. I'm just a thief. A burglar. I'm here to rob you. That's all. I'm not going to hurt you. Okay?"

She nodded her head, her breath still whistling raggedly and rapidly through her nose.

"Okay? Say that you understand I'm not going to hurt you."

"I understand that you're not going to hurt me," she said quickly. But did she believe it? He certainly didn't look violent, but the news was full of pictures of men who didn't look violent. "How did you get in here?"

"Shit, the kitchen door wasn't even locked."

"I mean, past the gate?"

"These gated communities are amazingly easy to get into. And if you're young and white, it's unlikely anybody will even ask you a question. Those rent-a-cops are probably sleeping anyway."

"What do you want?" she asked again.

"I'm robbing you, I told you. I didn't know you were here - I knew your husband was away on a business trip, and I thought you went with him."

"I wasn't feeling well," she said.

"I just need to tie you up, and then I'm going to take some stuff, and I'll leave."

"Tie me up?" she said in a small voice, and pulled the covers around her again.

"Yeah," he said, patiently. "I'm just going to tie you up, so you don't call anybody, and sort through some things and then I'll be gone."

She looked around; could she make a run for it? Could she make it to her phone, and out of the room?

"Don't try it," he said, again patiently, but with a cold confidence that suggested she wouldn't have much of a chance of escaping if she ran.

"How are you going to tie me up?" she asked, timidly.

"To the bed posts," he said. "Just right there; you can lie there comfortably while I look around. Go back to sleep, even."

"But... I'll... how long will I be tied up?"

"Look, relax. Before I leave, I'll untie one of your arms. By the time you untie yourself, I'll be long gone."

She looked at him, her huge blue eyes wide. "Do you promise you won't hurt me?" she said in a small voice.

"Of course," he said, warmly. "I already promised I wouldn't hurt you."

He pulled a coil of thin green rope from his coat pocket. "Nylon paracord. Tie the end to your left ankle."

She looked fearfully at it, flinching as if he'd thrown a snake on the bed.

"Come on," he said, putting his hand in his coat pocket again. "Do it," he said, a little more firmly.

"Okay!" she said hurriedly. "I will... but, I, I'm only wearing my nightie... can I, can I get dressed?" she asked weakly.

He grabbed the covers and pulled them off her, throwing the heavy duvet on the floor. She shrieked again and pulled her legs up and grabbed them, instinctively curling into a ball. She was wearing nothing but a short, mint green spaghetti-strap camisole and a pair of white cotton panties.

"Look," he said. "I've seen plenty of pictures of you in underwear and bikinis in magazines and on the internet. I want to get out of here quickly, okay? So, let's get moving here. Tie that cord around your ankle, now." He was speaking more crisply and firmly now, gazing down at her steadily.

"Okay! All right!" she said. "Okay, I'll do it, just... okay, hold on."

She unraveled the green cord; her hands were shaking. There was about five feet of it. She wrapped one end of it around her slim pale ankle.

"Wrap it around twice, and then tie a knot."

"I don't... I don't know how," she whined, and felt tears rolling down her face.

"You're doing fine," he said. "I'm sure you at least tie your own shoes occasionally," he mocked.

She tied a knot in the cord and he quickly moved forward and grabbed the other end of it, and pulled it taut and wrapped the other end around the bedpost.

"Nooo," she whined, starting to sniffle and cry. "I don't want to be tied up," she said weakly, as her leg stretched out straight towards the bedpost.

"Okay, now the other ankle," he said. He tossed another small coil of paracord down on the bed.

"No," she said petulantly. "One ankle is enough!"

"Let me show you what I found already," he said, and removed his hand from his pocket. In it was a black plastic square that she recognized: her stun gun. She'd always carried it in her purse; the two electrodes could administer 50,000 volts, which would immediately incapacitate anyone unfortunate enough to touch them.

She sobbed and wrapped the second length of paracord around her other ankle.

He quickly grabbed the other end and stretched it to the other bedpost, pulling her legs apart; she instinctively screamed as her legs spread, covering her crotch with her hands and trying to pull her leg back; but he pulled the paracord taut and tied it firmly to the other bedpost.

"Shhh," he said. "It'll be okay. Almost there." He bent and checked the knots. "Doesn't hurt? Not too tight?" He checked the knots, and seemed pleased with them.

"No, it doesn't hurt," she sniffled. Not yet, anyway. "I... just, okay, just get your stuff and go, okay?"

"I haven't tied your hands yet," he said patiently.

"No, don't tie my hands! Please! Look, I'm tied up enough! I can't get out of these knots without an hour of picking at them with my fingernails! And I can barely reach them!" she pleaded.

He didn't respond, just grabbed her left wrist and wrapped a loop of paracord around it. She screamed again and started to try to twist free of his grasp, and this time he slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Look," he said coldly. "I told you not to scream." He was sitting on the bed now, over her, imposing, his fingers digging into the side of her face. "Just let me tie you up and soon this will all be over. I said I wouldn't hurt you. So don't make me do that, okay?" He was staring down at her now without any of the good humor she'd seen in his eyes before.

She nodded her head and made an affirmative sound, muffled by his hand. Her blonde hair was falling in her eyes now.

His grip was firm but rather gentle - he had strong hands but they were very soft - and wrapped her left wrist with the paracord, then tied it to the headboard of the bed. He took her right wrist and did the same, and now she was tied spread-eagled on the bed.

She started sobbing again, feeling completely helpless. Without the duvet the air conditioning seemed too high; it was chilly in the room. She was aware her nipples were hard and her skin was buzzing with gooseflesh.

It wasn't the first time she'd ever felt helpless and vulnerable, but it was the first time in many years.

"There," he said, and stepped back and looked down at her; he was smiling again. "Okay. Going to go do some work now. I'll be back to check on you shortly."

Thirty minutes later, he returned into the room.

She'd tried to escape from the cord; but the more she struggled, the more it seemed to bite into her flesh, and on her back with her limbs spread, she seemed to lack the leverage to pull strongly in any direction.

She lay in the dark thinking and crying for a while, shuddering with fear.

He was now carrying two of her husband's expensive suitcases. One of them seemed to be full; she assumed it was now filled with some of her husband's expensive things.

"So," he said. "Now the hardest part for you. I'm going to steal some of your stuff."

She made a whimpering noise.

"Are you okay? Do you want something to drink?" he asked. He looked honestly concerned. Such a nice, cute, innocent-looking guy.

She considered it. "No," she finally said. She didn't know how long she'd be here and didn't want to need to use the bathroom. "But, please, do you have to steal my things? My husband has plenty of things here for you to take, very valuable things!"

He looked at her, looking bemused. "Oh, poor little rich girl doesn't want to lose her things? Well, your husband will buy you more, won't he."

She started to speak, and then stopped.

"Oh?" said the stranger, looking at her, amused. "He won't buy you more stuff?"

She looked away, turning her face to her arm.

"Hmmm," said the stranger. "Some kind of trouble in paradise? The life of a trophy wife not all it's cracked up to be? Your fat rich husband turns out to be a stingy bastard, after all?"

She closed her eyes and said, "The economic crisis affected all of us."

"Hmf," he said, opening her walk-in closet, and looking critically at all the expensive designer clothes and shoes. "Yeah, I can see that. This closet is bigger than some apartments I've lived in."

"So that gives you a right to tie people up and steal their stuff?" she said, finding some anger burning beneath the helpless vulnerability she felt.

"Hmm, no, of course it doesn't," he said absently. "No right about it. Just like you don't have any right to all this stuff. He just gave you all this shit, right?"

"They were gifts!" she said.

"Well, easy come, easy go," he said casually.

He removed some handfuls of clothes and tossed them on the floor.

"You know it's not the first time I've been in here," he said. "I've been in here twice before."

She just looked at him. She thought she had noticed a few things missing recently - some jewelry, some clothes - but she had so much stuff, it was actually hard to keep track of it all. She'd assumed that her mother or visiting friends had borrowed the things.

He opened the drawer that contained all her underwear and she said, "Hey! No!"

He came back towards the bed, carrying a big double handful of her underwear. "Are you kidding? This is the best part."

She looked at him, eyes wide with terror, as he dropped the underwear on the bed and began sorting through it. He selected a few panties - he seemed to prefer the light colors - and tossed them in the heap of clothes he was collecting. He then chose a few bras, and threw them in the growing pile.

She bit her lips. What was he going to do with those? Somehow she didn't think he was going to sell them on eBay.

He seemed to read her thoughts and turned to her, smiling. "Just souvenirs. Of course, I've seen you in underwear many times in magazines and stuff, but it is a real treat to see you live and in person," he said, now beginning to sort through her jewelry.

"I don't even have makeup on," she said, softly.

"Don't worry, I prefer the natural look."

He lifted something. "Wow!" he said. "There's a lot of nice jewelry here, but this is something outstanding."

He was examining her favorite - a platinum necklace with an emerald pendant that was worth more than her Mercedes.

"No!" she cried. "Don't take that."

"Fatass will buy you a new one," he said.

"No, look... okay, he's... we're going to be getting a divorce soon."

"Isn't this thing insured?" he asked.

"I... I don't know. Please, take all the other stuff, but leave that."

"Awww, poor baby," he said.

He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Well, what do I get if I leave it?" he asked.

She looked fearfully at him. "What do you mean? What do you want? Do you want money? There's $50,000 cash in the safe in his office!"

"Yeah, I know," he said. "There was, anyway. I took it already. I mean, what are you going to give me that's yours, if I leave this necklace?"

"I... I don't know... " she said softly and looked away from him. "What do you want?"

"Hmm," he said. "What do I want. Well, seeing you tied up in your nightie on the bed, I must confess that I do get some, uh, carnal urges."

She sobbed and looked away, and began crying again. "This is a nightmare," she sniffled.

"Hey! Shhhh, shhhh, it's okay," he said, and touched her cheek; she flinched from his touch, then relaxed and he stroked her cheek gently. "I'm not going to do anything, I already told you that. I'm not going to hurt you. I told you, I 'm just here to rob you."

He stood up and took the platinum necklace. "Anyway, this thing will look great on this stripper I know," he said and winked at her.

"No!" she said. "Okay, please, look what do you want from me?"

"Hmm, well, I'll leave that up to you. Make me an offer, maybe I'll reconsider what I steal."

He stepped back into the closet and emerged a moment later carrying her white sable coat. "Hey, this is nice too. Of course it's way too warm around here to wear them, but there's a good resale value on these, to the Russian gangsters."

She made a moan of unhappiness. She loved that sable coat.

"Yeah, you're Russian, aren't you? You women love to wear dead animals," he said disdainfully.

"I'm Ukrainian," she said softly. "If you knew what it was like there where I lived, you wouldn't think it so strange that I like nice things. Or warm coats."

"What, you grew up on a farm, had to eat fresh vegetables and stuff? Boo hoo."

"It wasn't like that!" she said sharply. "It was an industrial city, and there was nothing there but pollution and alcoholics."

He picked up her MacBook Air and her Iphone from the nightstand and she cried out as if he'd struck her.

"Don't take those! Please! There's a lot of material on there that can't be replaced!"

"Where? On the phone or on the computer?" he asked.


"Hmmm," he said. He sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the phone, looking through it. "Pictures of you and your dumb friends at clubs... dopey apps... a few episodes of dopey reality shows. Kind of hard to believe none of this can be replaced," he said. "Aha! Here we are. A bunch of naked pictures of you. What's the big deal? You think it'll ruin your career?"

"No, it's just... " she whined.

He looked at her craftily. "Ah ha... and who took these pictures?"

She looked away again.

He opened her computer; she started to protest and then bit her lip.

"Some valuable stuff here, that can't be replaced. Hmmm... "

She turned her head to the side and tried to bury her face in her arm.

He found it quickly enough; she'd just made it two days before.

"Aha! Well, Elena, you are a bad girl! A sex tape! Who is this muscular gentleman? He is ripped!" said the burglar, smiling at her.

"My personal trainer," she said, miserably.

"Well, that's not very original. Anyway, it all becomes clear. You're afraid that if I take all this stuff, these pictures and videos will be made public, and that will be the end of whatever huge divorce settlement you hope to get out of your fatass husband."

She just made a whimpering noise.

"So what are you going to do for me, hmmm?" he said, looking frankly at her.

She started weeping again. "I don't know."

"I think you know," he said. "I think we both know how you usually get what you want."

She nodded, more tears spilling down her face.

"All right," he said. "We'll start with a fair trade. Let's see - the platinum necklace. I'll trade it for the camisole you're wearing now."

Her breathing quickened as her heart lept in her chest. She couldn't look at him as she nodded.

"Hmm? Tell me it's okay, Elena."

"It's okay," she said in a small voice.

"What's okay? Tell me," he said.

"You can take my camisole if you let me keep the platinum necklace," she moaned miserably, tears sliding down her face.

He smiled. "Good girl. Lift your head a little," he said, and gently slipped the necklace over her head and settled it around her neck, carefully positioning the emerald pendant between her breasts, which were heaving as she tried to catch her breath. She felt like she was going to hyperventilate again.

"Shhh," said the stranger. "Just calm down. It'll be okay. I'm going to take out a knife now, please don't be afraid."

She made a high-pitched whimpering noise as her eyes fixed on the short shiny blade he flicked out of his pocket.

"Are you going to cut me loose?" she asked warily.

"No," he said. "I'm going to cut the camisole straps to get it off you."

She made another high-pitched noise in her throat and turned her head to the side, trying to bury her face against her left arm, which was still stretched out to the headboard of the bed.

"Please don't hurt me," she wailed.

"Listen, Elena, you're going to hurt my feelings! I told you very clearly that I'm not going to hurt you. But we just made a deal - the platinum necklace for the camisole. Do you want to change your mind?" he said.

"Noooo," she moaned, drawing the word out.

"No, you don't want to change your mind, or no, you don't want me to take your camisole?"

"No, I don't want to change my mind," she sniffled.

"Say it again - do you want me to cut the camisole off you now?"

"Yes," she moaned.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I want you to cut the camisole off me now," she whimpered.

"I mean, I'm sorry to cut it," he said, as he lifted one thin strap and placed the knife blade underneath it. "But it's mine now, right? I can do anything I want with it, right?"

"Yes," she said, sniffling again. She was aware her back was arched a bit and her breasts were thrust forward.

He cut the left strap, but didn't pull the thin lacy material off her breast yet. He then cut the other strap, and again left the material lying on her breast.

"Are you ready, Elena?" he asked, quietly.

"Yessssss," she groaned, beginning to weep harder.

He pulled the two thin straps down and exposed her breasts; the pink nipples were already stiff and tingling.

The camisole was just a puddle of fabric around her waist now. She felt her breath rasping through her open mouth now.

He then deftly sawed through the side of the camisole with his knife and pulled it from beneath her, and tossed it on the pile of clothes he was collecting.

He was admiring her breasts. "And they're real, too?"

"Yes," she whimpered. "Please, please don't hurt me."

"Shhh, Elena, shhh, I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "Where did you get this idea? I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want me to do." His face was close to hers now.

"Oh god," she moaned. "Oh my god, please let me go, please just leave."

"Okay," he said. "I'll just take the sable and your phone and the computer and go." He stood up. "Nice meeting you, Elena."

"Wait! No!" she said, crying. "Please, please don't."

"Listen," he said. "I'm getting tired of this. You just keep crying, don't, don't. You better tell me what you do want me to do."

"Don't make me say it!" she said.

"Say what? There's nothing to say yet. I offered you one fair trade, would you like to make another?"

"Yes!" she said desperately.

"And what do you want to offer?" He was still smiling.

"Okay," she said, sniffling again, blinking her eyes. "My panties. My panties for the sable."

"Now you're thinking!" he said. "Good girl. And you don't mind if I cut them off?"

"No," she said tearfully. "Just cut them off me, it's okay."

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