Teni Pt. 01 - Cat Burglar

I Caught me a cat, no a burglar acting like a cat. Well, sort of.

Let me recap.

A four-storey apartment building, nestled among a cluster of other similar-sized buildings just outside of the town centre. I'm on the third floor, in a 2 bedroom unit of about 800 square feet. Pretty nice, hardwood floors, good solid construction, the view is meh, I see other buildings; beyond them, the mountains and the sky. It works for me, or it had worked for me for the past six years.

I'm passing sixty. A widower, my late wife had been in a wheelchair for the last 15 years of her life, and I had become her full-time caregiver. We had a good life, I was doing a good job, from my home office, of Technical Support and training for a well-known technology company that sells lots of phones and computers, and stuff. It had allowed us to pay off our debts and by some good investment in the market, we were building up a decent nest egg to buy a rancher style house to move into.

Then she got sick. Within a few weeks, it was over, and she was gone from my life. For me, the last 25 years of happily wedded bliss, even with the accident that put her in the chair, all went to hell when I was left alone. Her kids, born from a former bad relationship, although they called me Dad -- they all had their own lives to live, and without her to anchor us together, drifted away.

I kept to my routines, and when it came time, and it did, about a year after she passed, I was eligible to retire. So, I took the offer, invested the payout, and signed up all the myriad of government forms to become one of the growing senior citizen class. I had nobody to celebrate it with, and once the job was done, and the team had come and taken the specialized gear away, my days became a lot emptier.

My brother, living in England, tried his best to help me -- he got me focused on programming and developing using the video game engine Unity, which I happened to also hold stock in, and I dove right into it. After all, what else did I have to do?

Voxels, Pixels, Vectors, C code ... it all was alien to me for the first couple of months as I tinkered with a development system that had been used to make all sorts of games from Pokemon Go to the silly Fall Guys party game for the consoles. I persisted, following tutorials on YouTube and slowly experimenting until I began to get a grasp on things. Then my development exploded and I learned how to make a level, how to animate a character, how to rig, how to walk, and then run that character, collisions, interaction, all the crap that goes into making a video game. Christ, I hardly even played the things, but now I was helping to create something that might just leave a legacy behind for others to enjoy.

Unlike my brother, I had no problem with Blank Page Syndrome. He could be bogged down for days or weeks, whereas I normally always had an idea or two cropping up. So we had no shortage of prototyping ideas coming forth, and we began to craft an RPG style game that we are still working on.

I work weird hours, as inspiration can strike at any time, and with nobody to take care of, except our cat which we named Kitten, a seven-year-old female tabby who never has grown up herself, I would wake at all hours, code or design, then go back to sleep to be up by 6.30 am to watch the market open. Monitor it for an hour, make my trades, then generally nap until noon, watch the market close, check my end of day tallies, cash out if I had a gain, then back to coding or design for another few hours. Evenings were spent watching TV, enjoying a very few of the current batch of crap being produced by what passes for Hollywood these days, but with the access to the on-demand and subscription services, thousands of hours of what is now vintage TV and movies were at my fingertips.

More than one evening was spent watching a movie from the 80's with a mug of Irish Coffee in my paw, sometimes falling asleep in my chair as there was really no reason to go to a lonely bed. This is how we met, me and the burglar, one night when I had fallen asleep in my chair.

Being on the third floor, and owning the apartment I lived in because after she passed, I didn't see the point to move so I bought out the lease and just stayed there as an owner in the building. I was not too concerned about security. The inner door was always locked, with the official deadbolt and two others I had installed. The door to my patio, that also had locks, but I hardly ever locked it ... third floor, remember? Cluster of other Apartment buildings ... there was no way anybody would not be seen climbing up the outside of a balcony or wall to the third floor, or so I thought.

I had always slept lightly, trained for years to awake if my wife needed something in the night so I would be awake and ready to help in any way necessary, so when the screen door began to slide open, even though it was a very slight sound, I was awake.

It was dark, as usual, the timer on my systems set to turn off if there was no activity from a remote after 30 minutes, and the fans made enough background noise to drown out the city sounds, but the gentle scrape of rollers on the metal guide was enough to alert me.

I am a cautious man, more so after she passed than before. Home defence became more prominent after some laws passed allowing for lethal force to protect a home in the event of a home invasion. I took the firearms courses, learned how to break down, load, and fire a handgun and bought myself a lethal Colt .45 which was kept in the left pocket of my recliner. In this case, though, my hand slipped into the right pocket, where I held a replica weapon.

By the time the shadowed figure was fully in the room, I waited, not moving as it quietly walked around, I guess casing the joint. Dressed all in black, so cliche I know, but what can you do? It, or she, was small, maybe 5 foot if even that, fairly slim build, and probably fairly young. Whatever that meant, to me, that meant anywhere from 40 or less.

She turned to look at me in the chair, I was not moving, so her gaze swept the room and landed on a china cabinet full of collectables, she had a penlight that she was using to look at them, so when her gaze was off me, and I knew I had a few seconds, my foot pushed the heavy glass door to the patio closed, and as it solidly closed, with a click as it's spring locks dropped into the channel top and bottom, I flicked on the lights and sat up, the gun in my right hand pointing at her middle.

"You know I am within my rights to shoot you." I stated.

"I'm ... sorry." She stammered. The voice sounded oddly familiar.

"Or, I should just call the police, might be easier than cleaning blood from my floor."

"Mr. Julien, please. I didn't take anything, I won't ever do this again, please. Don't shoot me, and don't call the police, please, sir." She said, dropping to her knees as she backed into the wall.

"Who are you, take off that stupid covering." I snapped.

Taking the hood off revealed the shoulder-length blond hair and face of one of the other residents of the building, a girl who lived on the first floor with her grandmother and her uncle. Bother her parents had been killed in a car accident, while the uncle had walked away. He had been raising her and milking the grandmother for cash for the past six years. Not that I really cared about the other goings-on in the building, but knowledge is power, and you never know when it might come in handy. The kids' name was Tenisha.

"I'm Tenisha, from down on-" She stammered

"I know where you're from." I interrupted grumpily. "What the hell type of game do you think you're playing here, girl? You could just as easily be bleeding to death right now?"

She didn't say anything, and I noticed her legs had begun to shake. I dropped the gun back into the pocket of my recliner.

"Oh hell, girl, I'm not going to shoot you. Take it easy."

I stayed in my chair as she visibly began to relax a bit. Hopefully, the shock of having a gun pointed at her might have broken this little burgling streak, but with the gun no longer visible, now the fear also began to subside, at least a little bit. After a few minutes of watching her breathe, she finally looked up at me.

"What are you gonna do?"

"I should call the cops, have you hauled in for Breaking and Entering, give you a few weeks in jail." I grumped.

She visibly swallowed. "Please, don't do that."

"Why the hell not? You entered my place without permission, in the middle of the night, with intent to take things that do not belong to you. If you were my kid, I'd beat your ass five shades of purple." I replied.

"Okay." She said, staring at me.

I sat up, that was unexpected. "Okay?"

"I'd much rather you spank me instead of getting arrested. I have no problem taking the punishment for what I did." She said, standing up and taking a step towards me, but stopped when I held up my hand.

"How the hell old are you, kid?"

"Nineteen. I'll be twenty in a couple of months." She replied.

I shook my head. "Bloody hell, I'm old enough to be your grandpa. Well, if you agree for me to spank you, I hope you understand that this is not going to be a game of patty cake."

She nodded. "I understand, and I agree. You may punish me in any way you see fit for what I did. Anything is better than the police ... or the other thing."

"Fine." I said, getting to my feet. I walked over to the kitchen counter and pulled out one of the tall bar stools. It was just about her waist-high, so it would work fine. I placed it in the middle of the room.

"Get over here." She practically danced over and stood beside me. I'm not a tall man, and with age, had a good belly on me, but this little waif didn't even come up to my chin. This close, I could smell the light scent of sweat and some perfume on her. I'd had no real sex drive for years, even before my wife passed, our sex life had faded away as I became her full-time caregiver, the excitement and the flame just went out, but our love had remained strong, right until the end.

"Pants down, you're a grown woman, gonna treat you like one, not some little kid. Even they get their bare bottoms paddled, hard." I said, stepping back.

She slipped her hands into her black leggings and wriggled, down they came, exposing a pair of light olive legs capped in a pair of black brief shorts. She paused when her leggings were at her knees, but I said nothing, so down they went to the floor, then she put her fingers in the waist of the shorts, and looking at me, pulled them down until they joined the leggings in a pool of fabric on the floor around her feet.

A pretty set of legs, capped by a barely-there tuft of pubic hair that showcased rather than covered her pussy. I reached out, and guiding her by the upper arm, bent her waist over the stool so that she was properly bent, ensuring her hands could grip one of the rungs on the side, and giving me a good heart-shaped target of her bare ass.

I was getting aroused by this, getting feelings I'd not had for years. This close to a half-naked girl, who had given consent for me to punish her in whatever manner I felt. I was also pissed, this little scamp had broken into my place, and if I hadn't been alerted, might have absconded with some of my mementoes.

I also noticed faint marks on her ass. She had been spanked before, no, more like whipped with a belt or strap, the bruises were fading but still visible. I ran my hand across her ass, feeling the warmth from her skin and patted her firmly on both cheeks.

"Who spanked you?" I said.

"My Uncle. He says I remind him too much of my mother. So, he spanks me with his belt two or three times a week. Grammy lets him because it stops him arguing with her." She replied, turning her head to look at me and brushing some hair from her eyes before resuming her grip.

"How long has that been going on?" I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"The spankings, forever." She said as if they were an everyday thing. Which, I suppose to her, they were. However, that implied there may be other things going on. My curiosity was piqued, but not enough to keep asking questions. I had an ass in front of me that needed to be made a lot warmer and redder than it was.

I rubbed my hand across her bottom again, then began a steady slap of open-handed blow across her cheeks, one side, then the other, then the middle, top and bottom.

She grunted as my smacks landed, but didn't cry out, this kid was toughened to having her ass beat so although I brought colour to her cheeks, and my handprints faded into splotches of pink and then red across her seat, it didn't seem to be making an impact on her, and that was the whole reason for this.

I slapped her hard two final times, then stepped back, looking at my handiwork. She breathed hard for a bit, then slowly stood up and put her hands back to rub her sore bottom.

"I didn't say you could stand up, I'm not done yet." I stated.

She looked at me with those blue-green eyes, pouted a little, but nodded and resumed her position.

I stepped around the corner into the kitchen and picked up a wooden spoon. Sturdy maple hardwood, long handle, and a scoop about half the size of my hand. This would make the little minx sting, I figured.

She had never taken her eyes off me and didn't even flinch when I lightly slapped the spoon against her bottom. Something was changing though, my anger at her intrusion was gone, replaced by a feeling I'd not had in years, I was getting aroused.

I walked back to her and taking her by the arm, pulled her back to her feet. I walked over to my recliner and sat down. She bent over and draped herself across my lap, cushioned by the thick cushions on both sides, so only her belly and upper thighs touched my knees, the rest of her was suspended by the armrests. I knew that was not a comfortable position for long, so I made the short time I had count.

Putting my hand around her waist, I brought the spoon down with a firm splat across her cheek, then repeated the action quickly on her other side, ensuring that she was getting an even dose of the sting. This she was feeling, little yelps and cries came from her pursed lips as the spoon made it's mark across her ass, colouring the cheeks firmly, then leaving deeper bruises and purple splotches. I stopped after maybe two minutes and let go, so she could get back to her feet.

This she did slowly, now tears were in her eyes and she had the trembling lip of a sorry young woman as she gently rubbed her now quite sore bottom and twisted to look at the redness and marks I had left.

I let her rub and squeeze her sore behind for a few minutes, then put the spoon down.

"I think we're done now."

She shook her head. "No, you did a lot of work, and you need to be rewarded." She stood in front of me and reaching down, undid the top of my pants and exposed my surprisingly hard erection. I had no real idea just how aroused I was, but she must have.

I'd not had sexual contact with anybody in more than a decade, and now a nearly 20-year old woman had gotten me to spank her ass raw and was preparing to seduce me. To say this was a change of events was an understatement. When she sunk to her knees and wrapped her warm lips around the head and shaft I just fell into a wave of ecstasy and fell back, allowing her to do what she knew how to do.

Her head bobbing up and down, lips and tongue rubbing along my shaft and the head, licking and lathing around it, I could feel my orgasm rising fast and she must have felt it too, because she stopped, and holding the base of my cock, looked up at me.

"It doesn't belong in my stomach, I know that much." She proceeded to straddle me, and biting her lip, rubbed my head against her pussy lips, then proceeded to bear down, allowing my cock to slide into the moist wet sheath of her pussy. She paused, breathing a bit once I was about halfway in, but I then put my hands on her hips and pulled her down, slipping fully into her as she winced a little but accepted.

She began to rise and fall, sliding me in and out of her tight warm pussy as she sighed, but I couldn't last much longer, and she pressed down, grinding against me as my cock quivered and then unloaded a burst of cum that felt like it went on forever, but was only just a few seconds or so.

She stayed pressed against me until I began to soften, then rising, put her hand between us to cup her pussy and got off me to go to the bathroom. I lay there, breathing heavily and letting my body come back to normal as I heard the water run for a little while, then the toilet flushed and she came back.

She had taken her top off, so to me was now a naked vision of olive-skinned blonde-haired beauty. Small breasts, just a nice handful to my grip, a nice slimmed waist topping a pair of slim legs that framed the tight pussy that I had just emptied myself into. I may be old, but I'd just had unprotected sex with a fertile young woman, I may have just made her pregnant. Even at my age, the little swimmers are still active, just not as many.

She knelt beside the chair and with a warm facecloth, very gently washed me and then helped to tuck my now resting penis back into its normal place. I remained silent as she got up and padded back into the bathroom, then came out with her clothing and picked up her shorts and leggings. Her backside was a mess of red and purple, so still a definitely well-spanked posterior, and it didn't seem to bother her at all.

"May I go?" She asked, turning to stand before me, holding the clothing so it did not quite cover her charms.

"I'm sorry?" I finally replied.

"Am I allowed to go, or are you not done with me yet?" Such a loaded question, with a naked woman standing in my living room waiting for me to either approve her to leave or command her to remain for more possible punishment.

I got to my feet.

"After what we have just done if you want to sleep here that is fine with me, and you can go back home tomorrow after some breakfast. Your choice."

She smiled, the first time I had seen her somewhat happy. Her entire face lit up when she smiled, it was remarkable, like Julia Roberts. An honest and enjoyable smile that you couldn't help but be happy to witness.

"Thanks, I think I need to let my ass rest a bit before I go home, or when my Uncle next spanks me he's gonna have questions I don't really want to have to answer." She said, half-turning to reveal the still red blotches across her bottom.

"Maybe you should tell him, honesty is always best." I said, not expecting her reaction.

"No, not in a million years. No way." She was wide-eyed and frightened again -- just like when I'd caught her an hour or so ago.

Man, I was running all of the emotions with this kid. Anger, frustration, indignation, arousal, passion, and now honest concern. Something was up, and part of it scared her to death. She was too pretty to be scared like that.

"Come here." I said, she dropped the bundle of clothing and walked over to stand right in front of me, but didn't raise her eyes to meet mine.

I put my finger under her chin and lifted her face so I could make eye contact with her.

"My dear, what has got you so scared of this person that you feel breaking into a stranger's place and getting your backside paddled thoroughly, and then get yourself fucked is better than going home?"

She blinked away tears. "You're not really a stranger, I do know you, even if you don't know me. Over the years we've lived here, on occasion we'd cross paths, you were never mean. You were always kind to me, unlike everybody else. Since my parents died, I've always been told I was a burden, that Grammy and Uncle didn't need to have the issues of raising a teenage girl on top of their own lives. The few times I ran into you or talked to you, you were always kind, a breath of fresh air in a cesspool I am stuck in."