Being a cat burglar here in LA had always proven to be quite a lucrative employment for me. After all, there are plenty of upper-middle class families here, spread around a vast geographic area and falling under several police jurisdictions. That meant I could move from place to place, never setting a pattern for the cops to follow. I was able to do a little research on one house, hit it on a night when I knew they were out, and make out like a bandit. Also, there is so much more violent crime in this town, the local police barely even notice when a few houses get hit apparently by random with no one hurt.
This was my line of work, and I loved it so.
This one particular night I was staking out the house I was planning to hit. It was a very nice house in the hill country outside of town, but it wasn't a totally ostentatious, over-the-top mansion or anything. I prefer to hit houses of the upper-middle class because they tend to have a great deal of valuables right there in their homes, rather than the super rich who tend to have them hidden away in various bank vaults. Plus, houses like these also tended to either not have security systems at all or have systems that are easy to bypass, something not often seen in the homes of the upper crust.
As was my habit, I had been watching the place for about a month now. I knew that the occupant was a single woman. She apparently had quite a vigorous social life, because she had been entertaining a whole string of different guys this week, plus going out a few nights until early in the morning. There was no alarm system, nor were there any dogs in there. I had been watching the house earlier and had seen her leave, so I was pretty certain the house was still empty. I had gone for a while and it was possible she had come back without my being aware of it, but I didn't think that likely.
Besides, one of the skills of being a cat burglar is to sneak out as quickly and quietly as you snuck in, so even if she was home I wasn't overly worried about it.
It was now well past 2:00 am, which tends to be the best time to sneak into a house. Depending upon what shift a person works they are either at work or deep asleep by this time, which lessens the risk of any pain-in-the-ass witnesses, as well as unexpected occupants. I also knew from experience that the cops take what amounts to a break at this hour, so this was my time to work.
I walked swiftly from my car to the side yard, looking around quickly just to make sure no one saw me, my face conveniently hidden by my hoodie. The street and the surrounding houses were equally quiet. I then jogged to the back of the house; the light on the back porch had been disabled by me earlier in the week, and I was pleased to see that the homeowner hadn't fixed it. Walking up to the rear French doors, I effortlessly picked the lock, and silently let myself into her home.
I stopped cold, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark and my ears to detect any sounds of movement. The attuned cat burglar will often hear the movements of an occupant well before the homeowner will, but not if he just blunders into the home like an elephant. I heard nothing, and was satisfied that the lady was not in the house at all.
Nonetheless, I proceeded quietly, moving softly and swiftly. Being quiet was made far easier by the thick plush carpet that ran throughout the entire house. As I looked around with a dim flashlight, I could tell this lady had both money and class. Being an uninvited guest into so many people's homes I get to see an unvarnished, unadulterated side of their personalities, and have grown to be a pretty good judge of folks. Everything from the carpeting, to the furniture, to the prints on the walls spoke of a lady who had a fair amount of money, knew the good things in life, and lived to enjoy herself.
I can be a burglar of opportunity, meaning if something is small and valuable I will grab if given the chance. However, I prefer to focus on jewelry because it's the smallest and most valuable take that's easy to transport, hide, and sell. So if you want a woman's jewels, that typically means going to her bedroom.
From my stake outs I knew where her room was in relation to the doors, so I knew that I'd have to take the steps and turn left. As I slowly and gently opened the door to what was clearly the master bedroom, I saw that my suspicions were correct and the owner was not here. The bed – again another example of quality, beauty, and class – was tightly made, and I assumed the lady wouldn't be back now all night.
I scanned the room with my flashlight, and spotted a large wooden jewelry box on her dresser; if my assessment about this lady was correct, I believed her jewelry would be of high value, beautiful, but not gauche, and very easy for me to turn into cash. I opened the lid of the box, feeling for a moment like a pirate who had just knocked over a valuable treasure ship, about to discover if all the toil and trouble was worth it. As my flashlight danced across her jewels, I was thrilled to see that I was correct beyond even my greatest hopes. This lady had mounds of very high quality, valuable stuff, a take that would make me a ton of money and most likely set me up for a whole year.
I stood there, being almost mesmerized by the sight of these jewels and the thoughts of all the wonderful things I would do with this, my largest take yet...
It was at just that moment that my eyes were blinded by the bedroom lights being flicked on, and I heard a stern female voice say, "Who the fuck are you?" My heart skipped a beat, and my stomach flipped over itself in fear. I considered running, but my eyes were still too blinded by the lights, so I instead slowly turned around.
"Get your hands up!" the voice ordered again. This woman's voice was deep, but not manly, and very secure. It had a strange, sultry aspect to it, and it seemed as if she was accustomed to giving orders. There was no fear, no panic in her voice, just that cool, commanding authority to it.
I slowly put my hands up as told, and my eyes started to adjust to the glaring light. I saw that I was now being confronted by the owner of the home, who was holding a large handgun at me. I had only ever observed her from afar, but now that I was a mere ten feet away from her I saw that she was strikingly beautiful, with coal-black hair, clear white skin, and a stern yet strangely beautiful face. She was wearing a black thigh-length trench coat tied tightly at the waist, black tights and red, high heel shoes. I could only assume she had somehow returned home and entered without altering me and so was able to get the drop on me.
Yet for as beautiful as she was, I really could only focus on the gun pointing at me.
I stood there with my arms up, now realizing that my knees were shaking and I was sweating, even though it was very cool in the house. My heart was pounding and the blood was racing through my veins so hard I feared I might pass out. I then realized that I was absolutely terrified, while this lady – who had just found a prowler in her house at night – seemed not the least bit affected by it.
Now, even though I am a good cat burglar, I'm not perfect. I've been caught before, confronted unexpectedly by the home owners while doing my work; what usually happens is they are more scared than you, and go running away screaming at the top of their lungs, giving you an easy opportunity to split. In the confusion, they also forget any trace of what you look like, which is an added bonus.
But not this lady. Oh, no, she was cold as ice.
She stood there, glaring at me, pointing the gun at my chest, while I stared at her in terror. I waited to see if she would shoot me or call the police on me.
She looked me over from head to toe, then said, "I think I know what I'm going to do with you," which gave me hope even as it confused me all to hell. What she did next, however, just plain scared me. She reached into her coat pocket and tossed me a pair of handcuffs. I stared at them stupidly for a moment, wondering who the fuck walked around with cuffs in their pockets, then she ordered, "Put them on."
Still scared shitless, I complied, not particularly liking the cold grasp of the cuffs across my wrists as I locked them. "This way," she said in that low, sultry tone of hers, as she twitched her gun down the hall, "move slowly and keep your arms at your waist. Don't try to run, or I'll shoot your fucking head off."
I did exactly as she said, fearing she would indeed put a bullet in my brain. She had by now turned on the lights, and she ordered me down the stairs, into the kitchen, and then told me to open a door. I did as I was told, and peered down into a dimly lit set of steps running to her basement. I proceeded slowly and carefully, very much aware of the gun being pointed at my back and finding it hard to go down dark steps with the cuffs on.
When I got to the bottom I looked around, which was difficult because the large finished basement was dimly lit by recessed lighting turned low. There was, however, one light shining brightly in the middle of the basement, illuminating something in the center of the room.
"Over there," she purred, the words sounding authoritarian and sultry, hot, and sexy all at the same time. We walked together to the center of the room, where the single light burned brightly.
As we approached the object in the room, I could see that it was a small railing of some kind. Simple in design, it was simply two legs and one cross-piece. It was plain, made out of thick, sturdy wood, and was bolted to the concrete floor. It came to just below my waist and looked to be about three feet wide. The horizontal cross-piece railing was thicker than the legs and covered with what appeared to be a large foam pad wrapped in leather.
"Stand right here," she ordered, pointing to a spot just in front of the railing, "then bend over." When I did so, I noticed a large eye-hook that was bolted to the floor in front of the railing, through which another pair of cuffs had been attached. "Take those cuffs and attach the end to the chain of the pair you're wearing." Once my hands were secured and I was bent over the railing, she went behind me and carefully shackled my ankles to a set of leg cuffs attached at the bottom each wooden leg. The width of the wooden legs forced my legs to be spread somewhat further than was comfortable for me, but not painful.
At this point in time I still thought she was just securing me safely so the police could get me. I assumed she just wanted to humiliate me a little in the process, so she bent me over this railing.
What she did next showed me the extreme error in my thinking.
Feeling a little less scared, and confident I could negotiate with her, I said, "Look, lady..." The words had barely escaped my lips when she slapped me dead across the cheek with her open palm, using all the force she could muster. I looked at her at the instant just before her hand slapped my face, and the image, is now etched forever on my mind like a photo: This beautiful woman, her black hair flying around her head like Medusa's snakes, her mouth twisted in a silent snarl and her teeth clenched, her dark eyes wide.
The pain exploded across my cheek like a fire, and for a second I actually wondered if I was going to cry like a little boy. "MISTRESS!!" she said, not yelling but speaking with loud authority. "You will call me MISTRESS, and nothing else. Do you understand?"
I peered at her, perplexed. "What?"
She slapped me again, just as hard, only this time from the other side. "You will only ever refer to me as Mistress, you will only ever speak when spoken to, and you will only ever answer with 'Yes' or 'No.' If more information is required, I will ask for it. Is that clear to you, or do you need your head shaken a bit more to make my simple instructions sink in?"
I was now actually more scared than when the gun had been pointed at my head. Getting shot in the head meant only death, whereas I now realized, given my very vulnerable position, this crazy bitch may be looking to torture me, then kill me!
I looked up at her, somewhat difficult from this position, and conceded that she did indeed have the upper hand. "Yes...Mistress," I practically whimpered.
"Good," she cooed, now gently rubbing my burning cheek softly. "Now, you've been a very naughty boy, haven't you?"
"And you agree that you do deserve to be punished, don't you?"
She now slowly untied the waist belt of her trench coat, and let it slip to the floor. As difficult as it was for me to crane my neck up to see what stood before me, I certainly did so. The black stockings I had noted before were secured to a black garter belt, which brought my eyes to a very noticeable absence of any panties at all. This lady's bush, which was perfectly at eye level for me, was as black as the rest of her hair, but very neatly, closely trimmed. As I pulled and strained to get my eyes upwards, I saw that she wore a black whale-bone corset over her torso, but no bra to cover her perfectly shaped breasts. Her nipples, pink and thick, were standing rigid. She was clearly enjoying herself.
"Ask to be punished," she whispered. "Beg me to punish you."
"Yes, Mistress. May I...may I please be punished?"
She slapped me again, harder than before this time. "I don't think you mean it, fucker! Now ask me again, but mean it this time, you dirty little thief!"
"Please, please, Mistress, punish me! Punish me, PLEASE!!" I yelled now, feeling like I had stumbled into a horrible nightmare.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she asked, now pulling my hair.
"Please...please please punish me, Mistress."
"Why? Why should I?" she said through clenched teeth even as she smiled at the pain she inflicted by pulling my hair.
"Be-because I'm bad, Mistress"
"Bad? BAD?! You broke into my house, violated my privacy, and were about to steal my jewelry! I should say you are a bit more than BAD!!"
"Yes, yes, Mistress, I am...I'm...I'm..."
"Dirty? Filthy? A disgusting little bug deserving to be punished?!"
"Yes, Mistress! Punish me because I'm a dirty little bug." I would have said anything to make this stop.
"I'm...uh...I'm a dirty boy, Mistress."
"Hmmm..." she said, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "I don't think you're sincere, but...nevertheless..."
She now walked behind me, to place I couldn't see. I heard something like a cabinet open, then the sounds of her rustling around with different objects. She walked back to me, putting the things she had collected on a table that was behind me and out of view.
"You, bug, have indeed been very naughty," she said, now loosening the tie on my sweat pants. "You richly deserve to me punished, bug, and you will be..." and now she pulled my sweats and underwear down until they pulled tightly on my secured ankles. Perhaps it was the fear, perhaps it was the surreal nature of this whole affair, perhaps it was because my mind was occupied by a the sight of a naked woman, but it was not until that very moment that I realized she was going to punish me by giving me a spanking, like a little child.
She walked back to the front so I could see her, and she was now holding a riding crop. "This," she said, flicking it through the air so it whistled cruelly, "will begin your punishment." She walked slowly, coyly around me, reveling in and smiling happily at the fear clearly written on my face. She made certain to whip the crop through the air as she walked to my exposed ass, knowing the sound alone made me more fearful at the punishment I was about to receive.
From behind me, I heard her say, "You do want this punishment, don't you, bug?"
Biting my lips, partly in fear and partly because I did not want to answer that, I whimpered, "Yes, Mistress."
There was perhaps a two second delay, and then I heard the crop whistle through the air and strike my ass, hard. The whole of my ass felt like it was on fire, and I couldn't help but to let out a cry of both surprise and pain.
"Mmm...you like that, don't you?" she said from behind me.
She now rubbed my ass where the crop had struck it. "And you'd like more, wouldn't you, bug?" "Yes, Mistress," I said, feeling defeated.
The crop whistled and struck again, burning even more. She cooed happily and again rubbed my ass, instructing me that I wanted another, and another, and another.
After perhaps 20 or so lashes, my ass was raw, burning, and aching. Tears had come to my eyes, but I refused to cry. That, I felt, would just have been too much of a victory for this lady. She sauntered to the front again, triumphantly waving her crop around. I assumed that, having now assaulted my ass and clearly punishing me for my misdeed, she was going to let me go and that would be the end of it. I have never been so wrong in all my life.
She stood before me, arms akimbo. "Well, bug...you enjoyed that, didn't you?"
"Yes, Mistress," I said through teeth clenched not in anger but in agony.
"Good, because now...," she said, producing a large wooden paddle with several holes drilled through it, "its time for this little darling...you do want it, don't you bug?" As she asked that question she stood in such a way to slightly suggest if I didn't answer in the affirmative, she'd hit me in the face with it rather than the ass. Looking at that canoe paddle-like hunk of wood she held, I thought it better to get that on ass than the face, and said, "Yes, Mistress."
She threw her head back and laughed, not an evil or villainous laugh, but rather the true laugh of a woman honestly enjoying herself. "My, my. You are a good play thing, and good little bug," she said, patting my head. "It's never been so easy to break in a new bug before."
Again she stood at my ass. The paddle made no loud whipping sound like the crop, just a slight sound of rushing air, before it exploded on my ass. The crop whipping hurt in a localized, knife cut kind of way; the paddle made my whole ass explode into an eruption of fiery pain. She moaned softly rubbing my ass again, and now gently kissing where the paddle had struck me. I hated to admit that there was indeed a strange mixture of pleasure and pain in this; part of me hated what was happening while another part enjoyed it.
The pain, however, was intense. With every crack of the paddle, my ass burned more and more, and I felt as if my ass cheeks were actually swelling. I knew I wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for days, but feared I wouldn't be able to walk either. The tears, which had welled up from the crop whipping, now poured out of my eyes, and I no longer cared whether Mistress felt like she had won.
Because, to be honest, she had won.
She struck my ass again and again, spanking me at the same slow, steady pace, stretching my punishment out, cooing to me softly as she rubbed and kissed my ass. The pain was almost too much for me to handle at just the point I heard her whisper softly, "Well, I think that will be enough of that..."
I let out a breath of relief, thinking my torment was finally over. It must have been louder than I thought, because Mistress sauntered in front of me, grabbed my face and pulled it up so she could look into my eyes, and said, "But don't think we're done for the night...on, no, bug. You have much more to learn..."
She tossed my face aside roughly, and slowly walked again behind me. I heard the unmistakable slap of surgical gloves being put on, and immediately felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. She returned in front of me, carrying a small metallic vibrator even as she was smearing liberal amounts of lubrication on it. My eyes grew wide, I swallowed hard and felt like my heart stop, knowing full well where this was heading.