Cat Burglar

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Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

Copyright 1985-2016 by the Flogmaster. All Rights Reserved. Free distribution via electronic medium (i.e. the internet or electronic BBS) is permitted as long as the text is _not_ modified and this copyright is included, but _no_ other form of publication is allowed without written permission. This document _may_ contain explicit material of an ADULT nature. ***READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!*** Anything offensive is your own problem. This story is for **entertainment** purposes only, and it does _not_ necessarily represent the viewpoint of the author or the electronic source where this was obtained. All characters are *fictional* -- any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

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Cat Burglar

(*****, M/F, Intense, nc whipping)

One thief meets another and delivers his own brand of justice. (Approximately 2,173 words. Originally published 2003-12.)

I'd cased the joint for two months; my plan was flawless. The Mickelsons were in Paris for seventeen days. Other than the gardener every morning, the maid on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and their friends, Donna and Lewis, who stopped by each evening to water the plants and walk and feed the dogs, the place was mine.

The high-tech security system wasn't a problem; I had it seemingly functional but disabled within two hours of the Mickelson's take-off. The cameras rotated but recorded nothing, while the alarms had their vocal cords removed.

The safe was an impressive triple-walled Derby Impenetrable 360 built right into the foundation. Impressive, but not impenetrable. It would take me two nights of serious drill work, but I had plenty of time. In fact, to play it safe, I spread the drilling over three nights, using a lower-speed drill that made less noise. I took frequent breaks, and used the Mickelson's own security system to keep an eye out for visitors.

It was on the third night when I saw the shadow. It was so quick I almost missed it. It was one a.m. and I was pretty much finished, just taking a break before cleaning up my mess. I thought my eyes were playing tricks. Surely no legitimate visitor would be arriving at that hour!

I kept an eye on the monitors and then I saw it again: someone was carefully avoiding the cameras, attempting to slip past them undetected, unaware I'd disabled their core functionality. Very odd.

I calmly put away my tools and cleaned up, then grabbed a flashlight and headed upstairs. I crawled to the banister and watched. The figure was completely dressed in black -- head to toe -- and moved lithely. There was something aluring, almost sexy about the way... she... moved. It was a woman!

I saw that clearly as she stepped into the living room and froze, studying the layout. Her breasts were well-covered by her cat suit, but they were undeniable, even in the dim light. The rest of her figure looked equally scrumptious: slender waist, full hips, round pert ass.

Something about her still puzzled me, however. She was petite, yes, that was part of it, but it wasn't until she passed the mirror in the foyer that I realized she was young, very young. Barely college age, if that. What the hell was a _child_ doing pinching?

I followed her discretely as she scouted the place, glancing into the various rooms and making her plans. In a hall closet she found a couple pillow cases which she apparently intended to use for her loot. Amateur!

I stopped her in the Mickelson's bedroom before she could break something or leave a telltail clue that would alert someone to a robbery. The key to a successful heist is to get out and sell the loot before anyone even knows it's gone. That's one of the reasons I only rob wealthy vacationers.

The girl was fumbling in a dresser drawer looking through Mrs. Mickelson's jewelry boxes. Costume stuff, most likely. No woman would leave her real shit out in the open like that.

I flipped on the light. For a moment I worried the girl might scream. She certainly looked terrified. I stood and watched her calmly, not saying anything.

Finally, when she looked like she'd recovered enough to understand English, and when I could tell she was growing close to speaking herself, I said "What the hell are you doing in my wife's jewelry drawer?"

The girl didn't move, just stared a me, mouth flapping silently.

"You're not a very smart burglar," I continued. "That's costume. All of it might be worth a grand new. I doubt you'd get a couple hundred."

"Please sir," cried the girl. "Please don't report me!"

"Oh, now you want mercy, eh? Come in here to rob me but now that you're caught, you're suddenly my friend."

The girl said nothing, but I saw she was eying for an escape route. I patted the bulge of my cell phone in my pocket. "I'm an expert shot," I warned. "You wouldn't get five paces."

"Please, sir." The girl fell to her knees into a begging posture. A hand went up and ripped off the dark ski mask, allowing long blond hair to tumble free. I stared in amazement. I could already tell from the girl's body that she was hot, but seeing her face I realized she was astonishingly beautiful. Young, yes, but with a chiseled classical beauty that was truly breathtaking.

While her looks had class, she, unfortunately, did not. She crawled to me, whining miserably, and stared directly at my crotch. "I'll do anything, sir," she whispered, her tone leaving intention quite clear.

"You miserable slut!" I cried, slapping her face and sending her back onto her heels. "How dare you! Don't you know I'm a married man?"

"Please, sir, I only thought--"

"Thought! You didn't think at all, that's your problem. I'd almost thought of letting you go, but now that I see what a tramp you are, I must telephone the authorities."

"No! Please don't do that! Please, sir, I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry!"

The girl looked so pitiful in her begging that an idea occurred to me.

"How old are you, child?"

She stared at the ground. "Twenty-one."

"You're lying," I said. "I want the truth."

The truth was a moment in coming, but finally she whispered, "Nineteen."

I wasn't sure I quite believed her, but it was certainly closer to the truth. "You're a mere child," I scolded. "Why are stealing?"

"Please, sir, just let me go and I swear I'll never do it again!"

"Fat chance of that. If I let you go you'll be in someone else's house tonight, tomorrow night at the latest."

"No, I won't, I swear."

"I don't believe you."

The girl could say nothing to convince me of the legitimacy of her intentions, though she tried. I finally shut her up with another slap.

"Shut up!" I cried. "If you were my daughter I'd wear out a strap on your bottom."

She crumpled, clutching her stinging cheek and nodding. "Yes sir, you're right sir, I'm sorry sir."

"Your parents thrash you?" I asked.

She shook her head. "My parents are dead. I live with my Aunt."

"Does she discipline you?"

"No sir. She's old and feeble. I take care of myself."

"This" -- I motioned to her outfit -- "is taking care of yourself?"

"Please sir, you must let me go. My Aunt will be mortified if I'm arrested."

"You should have thought of that sooner, little girl." I paused for a long time for dramatic effect. "On the other hand, perhaps a lesson in discipline is what you really need. Perhaps the police don't need to be involved at all."

Hope blossomed in the girl's crystal blue eyes. She leapt to her feet. "Yes! Yes, please, you don't have to call the police. You don't, you really don't. I swear I'm done with it, I'll never steal again."

"After I'm through with you I should think that would be the case," I said.

"W-what do you m-mean?"

"It's simple. You're in obviously need of discipline. I'll provide it."

Now her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," I growled, towering over her, "that I'm going to thrash your bottom until you can't sit properly for a week!"

"Sir! Please!"

"Would you rather I called the police?"

"No," but she looked uncertain.

"Then get undressed."

"What?"

I picked up the phone and pretended to dial some numbers. "It's ringing."

Like a flash the girl was beside me, mashing down the hang up button. "Okay, okay," she hissed. "Just don't call the cops!"

Slowly I put the phone down. "I'm waiting," I said.

Swallowing, the girl nodded. She stepped away from me and began to squirm out of the cat suit. It was tight, and it took some time, while I drank in the delicious strip tease.

Finally she was free. She wore only a pair of pale blue panties. Thongs, actually. Her breasts weren't huge, but nicely shaped, especially against her slender frame. When she moved, I could see she was athletic, for every gesture was graceful and smooth.

"Excellent," I nodded. "Now we'll need a few things to spank you with. Let me get my leather belt."

I went for a drawer, opening one opposite of where the jewelry was kept, figuring that the wife kept her stuff on her own side, and hoping I got the right one. Sure enough, the drawer contained male underwear and socks. Rolled up in one corner was a long leather belt. I unrolled it carefully.

The girl stood staring at me. One arm covered her breasts while her other hand shielded her sex.

"Hands on your head," I ordered. I kept a stern face but inside I was grinning with glee as she struggled with the torment of exposing herself to me.

"Now turn around and bend over the foot of the bed."

She did, exposing to me the most marvelous ass: round with substantial hips, yet youthfully firm. This gal was fiiiine!

I gave her butt a good whack with the belt. It left a modest mark, but the girl gasped and cried out as though I'd cut her in half.

"Shut up, slut," I ordered. "Or your racket will attract the police."

She was quieter after that, even though the whipping was worse. I thrashed soundly, laying on the strokes as hard as I could. I'm not a sadist or anything -- I mostly was curious how far this girl would go. I wanted to break her, but she wouldn't crack. She took everything I dished out, though she cried and whined a lot.

When her beautiful ass was a red and blue mess I threw down the belt. I approached her and she didn't resist. My hand on her ass startled her, or perhaps it hurt. I massaged her a bit, then slid my hand lower. She didn't protest. In fact, she spread her legs wider. She was dripping!

I fucked her from behind. Twice. She was in a lot of pain from the whipping, but what a slut -- she loved me taking her like that. She moaned with despair every time I pulled out and cried out with delight when I thrust back in.

Finally, when it was over, I gave her a slap on the ass and told her to get lost. I let her have her thong panties back, but I kept the catsuit. She was horrified and afraid of being seen, but I told her that unless she wanted more whipping, she'd better scram. So, naked except for the panties, she waddled out, desperately trying to sneak passed the security cameras without being recorded. The last thing I saw of her was her red ass bouncing along.

I couldn't take the chance that she might call the cops or something, so I made myself scarce as well. I lay low for two days and nights, just watching the place, but nothing unusual happened. It was galling, have to lie there and watch, knowing that the safe was unlocked and ready for looting, but I didn't dare take a chance.

On the third day after the whipping, I had decided I'd go back that night and get the stuff. It wouldn't take more than a half an hour I figured. Then, about noon, guess who shows up driving a white BMW convertible? Yup. Little Miss Red Ass.

I noticed she was walking kinda funny, and she wore a loose dress, but my jaw almost fell off when she walked up to the security panel and entered in an access code. The gate swung wide open and she drove in. She was in the house for maybe twenty minutes, then she was gone.

What the hell was going on?

Then it hit me. I couldn't test my theory until I got into the house, but I strongly suspected I was right. As soon as Donna and Lewis finished with the dogs that night I let myself in. I went right to the basement vault. As I figured, it was empty. Kicking myself, I went upstairs to the Mickelsons bedroom. Then I searched Mr. Mickelson's office and found it: a family portrait. Mom, Dad, and Little Miss Red Ass.

She was the Mickelsons' daughter! She was supposed to be off at college, I'd known that much, but what the hell was she doing robbing her own parents? Probably got into money trouble at school was too ashamed to ask Daddy for another handout.

I didn't take much time to think about it: I just ran.

But as I ran I kept thinking about that night with her. How she'd known all along I wasn't Mr. Mickelson, but played the game anyway, letting me whip her ass raw. And she'd enjoyed the sex, I could tell that much.

Bah, women!

The End

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