B & E

What he did instead was go downstairs to the kitchen. The room was dark. He clicked on the light above the range hood and then almost shit himself. Kathryn was standing there, naked... no, she was wearing a pair of beige panties, but that was it. Drinking from a bottle of beer, leaning against the frig. Those big tits slung just a little low but not too—definitely real, the way you'd expect large natural breasts would look on a 21-year-old. What else he could see, she looked a little drunk still, a little muzzy around the eyes, but she wasn't weaving or wobbling, so that was good. She didn't say anything, just moved right in on him, backed him up against the stone-topped island, set her bottle on it, and started kissing him. Wet, hungry, open-mouthed kisses, hot and purposeful. He ran his hands over her sturdy, smooth thighs, and then around back to cup her ass. Then he brought his hands up between the two of them, trying to create a little space so he could fondle those tits.

They were everything he told himself they would be. Natural, very full and soft, with big pink nipples. He lifted and squeezed and fondled them, tonguing the tip of each nipple before settling in to suck juicily at the left one. Maybe the nicest pair he'd ever sampled. She pulled the sash on his robe and took him in her hand, first cupping his balls, massaging them, before wrapping her fingers around his very erect dick and tugging on it while he sucked at her.

Dale came up for air with the intent of getting a hand in her panties to start fingering her pussy, but she dropped to her knees before he could and started blowing him. Okay. He watched her suck him, moving his hips only just a little, her hand and mouth working in concert over his shaft and cockhead. Shit, he thought, she's on a mission. He'd originally thought about fucking her, bending her over the island, her big tits pressed to that cool limestone while he drilled her young collegiate pussy. But she was sucking him like she wanted a mouthful and it wasn't going to be long before he gave her one. The weird thing was, though, she was silent. Didn't moan or gasp or even breathe very hard while he was sucking her tits. Wasn't making any "mmmm" sounds while she ran her lips rapidly back and forth along his cock. In fact, he couldn't remember her saying a single word since they left the club. It was like she was in a trance or something. Just sucking with a purpose.

Fuck it, if she wanted to drink down his load, she could have it. Set her up on the island, spread her legs, and eat her out to return the favor. Maybe he'd get hard again doing that and maybe he wouldn't. If he did, then he'd bend her over and pound her. Right now, however, he'd give her the two-minute warning, in case she wanted his cock inside her before he unloaded.

"I'm gonna come," said Dale, just above a whisper. Kathryn didn't pause. All right then, he thought, here we go. He stopped resisting, thrust his hips more sharply, a little uncontrolled. Felt himself cross that threshold, then let loose what felt like a massive first jet of cum. Kathryn didn't choke or gasp. What she did do was back his cock out and point it at her chest, still jerking it, pointing it first at her right tit, then her left, distributing the subsequent spurts over her large breasts, before taking his cockhead in her mouth again and sucking hard while squeezing his shaft, milking him dry.

"Fuck," Dale exhaled. His cock dangled between them. Kathryn's head was bowed. She was looking at her chest and smearing his jizz over her tits with both hands. Then she looked up at him, looked him right in the eyes with her stoned expression, still massaging her semen covered breasts. Smiling. Holy fuck, he thought.

*****

It seemed like a good opportunity to net just a little bit more for their efforts. The television, the electronics... all that stuff was fine, easy to get rid of, but even so they were only looking at several hundred dollars, maybe a grand, total. With the people already in the kitchen, in a fairly vulnerable position, and about to be scared shitless, maybe they could take a bit more time and check out things upstairs. Erik didn't expect to find any money. Only old people kept cash around, usually hidden though not always very well. With the old people, what you did was look for coffee cans. If you looked in the cupboards or sometimes down in the basement and you saw an old Chase & Sanborn or Maxwell House can, jackpot. Or kitchen counter canisters: flour, sugar, coffee, tea. It was always in the coffee or tea canister, sometimes under a pile of teabags, but still.

These people, they wouldn't have any cash around, nothing to speak of, anyway. But they would have other valuables. Erik didn't know shit about most jewelry, rings and bracelets. Anything that looked like it had diamonds he would take, maybe things with a sizable gem of some sort, but he wouldn't know until he tried to get rid of it whether it was worth anything or not. Watches, though. A Rolex or Patek Phillipe could be worth way more than everything else they hauled out combined. The other thing: people who owned expensive watches usually had more than one. Someone with a $25,000 Bulgari probably also had a $10,000 Tag Hauer and a $3,000 Omega Seamaster for every day. If they found anything like that then they could leave the television, save themselves having to carry that big fucking thing all the way back through the yard and to the van for just a few hundred bucks.

But it was still a risk. They would be making their presence known in order to duct tape these two to a couple of bar stools while they checked out the upstairs. Erik was pretty mindful not to take unnecessary risks. He had probably planned and then backed out of more jobs than they actually went through with, just because he didn't like the feel of things at a particular house. Murphy's Law might be a cliché, but it was still a fucking law.

The elements of surprise and probably circumstance were in their favor. Bobby had a piece of duct tape over the guy's mouth before he could understand what was going on. By the time he did, or seemed to, Bobby had pulled off his robe, firmly parked the guy's bare ass atop one of the kitchen island stools, and taped up his hands behind his back. When Bobby squatted to tape the guy's ankles to the legs of the barstool, the guy started kicking out at him. Bobby gathered up the guy's balls in one of his leather-gloved hands. "Really, pal?" he said. "I can tape these up instead." He said it in a gravelly movie-Batman voice.

Jesus, thought Erik. Bobby must have squeezed a little bit because the guy stopped swinging his legs.

Through all this, though it had taken probably less than a minute, the woman remained on the floor, sitting back on her heels now and looking back and forth between Erik and Bobby and the guy. Erik took her beneath one arm and pulled her to her feet. Guided her to sit in the empty stool. Up close, he thought she looked pretty young. He figured she must be fairly wasted, too, since she didn't seem afraid or upset, or even embarrassed that she was almost completely naked with some guy's cum drying on her big tits.

Erik said, "Sweetie, I don't want to put this tape over your mouth because it's going to hurt like hell when you finally pull it off. But that means you have to be quiet, okay?" like he was talking to a child. "If you're not quiet, we're going to have to do something about that, and you won't like it. D'ya understand?" The woman nodded. She was looking at him and he was looking at her. Erik suddenly felt a little uncomfortable; there was something odd about her.

Erik told Bobby to tape her wrists together in front of her so she could just rest her hands in her lap. To make sure she stayed on the stool, he hooked her foot behind the leg and taped it in place, then did the same with the other. The woman just watched him.

Bobby stood up and said in his Batman voice, "Hope it's not too tight." She looked over at Erik and then back to Bobby.

"Why, are you going to fuck me?" she said.

"I meant the tape," said Bobby.

"No," said Erik. "We're not going to fuck you. We're burglars, not rapists."

"Burglars?" said the woman. She looked surprised now, but only slightly.

"Now remember," Erik said to her, putting his finger to her lips, "no more talking."

Bobby picked up the guy's robe and draped it over the woman's shoulders, pulled it around her a bit.

"Thank you, Batman," she whispered.

*****

When they found Alison's car from the night before, Dale dropped her, told her he'd see them later, then took off to make his tee time. Her head was pounding and she needed a long, hot shower. A couple of hipster guys in summery straw fashion fedoras—the maid of honor's house where they held the bachelorette party was in a trendy city neighborhood—checked her out as they strolled by: petite little brunette in yoga pants and tank, big brown Ray-Bans. Christ, these skinny-assed guys with scraggly beards and thrift shop clothes and vapes. She'd take those smooth, cut, male strippers any day. Could see herself slithering up and down that shit. Jesus, she sounded like Kathryn. As soon as she spent any time with that girl, the voice in her head started sounding like Kathryn.

She told Dale about what happened at the party because she knew he'd hear about it eventually. If it didn't get to him sooner, someone at the wedding would definitely tell him. Alison and her slutty, cock-hungry friend. God knows how the story would have evolved by then, purple monkey dishwasher. Well, so what? Alcohol and hormones and a loud, thumping beat, these things happen. And that little indiscretion was the only thing anyone saw, as far as she knew. She squirmed a little in the driver's seat and pushed her sunglasses up on her head. Wished the clouds would clear, wished the day would get hot so she could lay out on the patio and let the late-summer heat bake some of the poison out of her body. There was a hangover throb in her head just above her left eye. She didn't find herself hungover too often these days and had forgotten just how much it sucked.

She put the car in the garage and came in through the door that lead directly to the kitchen. No Kathryn. Alison had left her a note, a Post-It she stuck to the mirror in the guest bath. It was still fairly early on a Sunday and after last night, Alison would have still been in bed herself if she could. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and went down the hallway. She could see from the foot of the stairs that the doors to both the guest bath and bedroom were open. She heard a low humming sound when she got to the top landing and went to Kathryn's room, leaned against the door jamb.

Kathryn was on her bed in a gray San Jose State t-shirt, nothing else. She had a chrome-finished vibrator between her spread legs and was pressing the length of it against her clit. Her head on the pillow was turned toward the open doorway but her eyes were closed. She had a finger in her mouth, and she was moving her hips gently back and forth against the vibe, moaning softly. In a moment she reached back behind her and grabbed the top of the headboard, raised her hips high and held them, shuddering, her mouth open wide now. Alison bit her lower lip and watched her friend come. Kathryn pushed the length of the toy into her cunt as rode the orgasm, her body straining upward and pulling the t-shirt taut across her breasts. She relaxed finally as it ebbed, let go of the headboard, laying there mostly limp now, panting. She turned to the doorway and opened her eyes.

"You bitch," said Alison in low, sort of throaty voice. "You started without me."

Kathryn made Alison come twice, the first time by eating her out, the girl burying three fingers in Alison's pussy while sucking on her clit. Then she produced a second toy from her luggage, a pink rabbit dildo of soft, translucent plastic with a forked protuberance curving up from the base to vibrate against Alison's already sensitive clit while Kathryn fucked her with the ersatz cock. She felt limp, wrung out, after the second orgasm. But her headache was gone. Both of them lay on their backs on the queen-sized guest room bed, not touching.

"What time does your hubby get home?" said Kathryn.

"Probably not for another two, three hours," said Alison. She knew why she was asking. "Plenty of time. I just need a couple minutes."

"I know," said Kathryn. "No rush. I'm good for now. So, last night. What did you tell your friend— what's her name?"

"Lisa."

"What did you tell Lisa we were doing when we came back into the party?"

"I told her you were outside throwing up in bushes and I was holding your hair."

Kathryn laughed. She turned onto her side to face Alison and propped her head on her hand. She said, "I wonder if she thought it was strange that I continued drinking shots when I came back in."

"I don't know," said Alison. "She was pretty hammered herself by that time. She probably just thought you were just a crazy, fucked-up, drunken slut. Which you are."

Kathryn started to run the tip of her finger around one of Alison's nipples. She said, "I think she was horny, too. We should have taken her out to the back yard with us."

Alison swatted Kathryn's hand away. "Stop that. I think one of those uptight bridesmaids probably would have missed her and gone looking. That's all we'd need."

Kathryn said, "Are you mad at me?"

Alison didn't answer right away, like she was thinking about it. "No," she said.

"I thought it was pretty hot," Kathryn whispered. "That sailor was into you."

Alison's eyes were still closed. She said, "I don't know about that. You were the one sucking him."

"Yeah," said Kathryn, "but I could just tell he was more turned on by you. The way he was kissing you..."

Alison was thinking about the stripper who was dressed as a sailor inside at the party, how much sexier he looked out in the back yard, in street clothes, leaning against the curved ladder of the jungle gym in the near dark. His jeans open and pulled halfway down his thighs while Kathryn squatted in front of him, bobbing on his erect cock. His zippered hoodie open and Alison with her hands on his hard, bare, perfectly smooth chest, her tongue in his mouth, his in hers. How he smelled of cigarettes and Altoids and some kind of aftershave and sweat. He was a head taller than her so she stood on the first rung of the jungle gym ladder. She thought that he kept looking at her, inside, at the party, when he and the other two were performing, but then thought maybe she was just imagining it because she would have liked it if he was.

Kathryn lay her head on the pillow, her lips near Alison's ear. She whispered, "And when he started pulling your zipper down, like, really slow, it was so fucking hot. And you starting grunting real soft against his mouth. I knew he was fingering you, his cock seemed like it got really hard then in my mouth. Like he was imagining he was fucking you..."

"I don't think that's what he was thinking," Alison said softly.

Kathryn said, "Oh, he definitely was. 'Cause as soon as you starting coming he completely unloaded in my mouth."

"It was all your work," said Alison.

"No, you set him off," said Kathryn. "Your tight little pussy. He was thinking about filling your tight little pussy." She sat up abruptly and pulled off her San Jose State t-shirt. She swung a leg over Alison, straddling her, then thrusting her pussy forward towards Alison's mouth. "So much cum I almost couldn't swallow it all," said Kathryn, her voice a little hoarse. She was biting her thumb, looking down at Alison. "Pumping into my mouth. Pumping all that cream into my mouth, imagining it was your pussy."

Alison's eyes were still closed but her hands were on Kathryn's ass now, pulling her close. Kathryn leaned forward and put both of her hands flat against the wall above the bed. "Lick my cunt," she said.

*****

Erik told the man and woman to just be calm, try to relax. They weren't going to be tied up for very long, especially if they behaved themselves and didn't make any noise, didn't start banging around trying to get loose. Erik said that he and Batman were just going to go upstairs and have a quick look around. When they were done, he said, they'd come back, let them go, and they could get on with their evening, call the police or whatever they felt like doing.

The man's eyes got big when Erik mentioned going upstairs, and he started shaking his head at him, no, no, trying to say something, but it just sounded like a guy trying to talk with tape over his mouth. Erik smiled and put his finger to his lips.

"Are you really going to cut them loose when we're done?" said Bobby as they were heading down the hallway toward the stairs.

"Can't leave them trussed up like that," said Erik. "Who knows how long it would take for them to get loose or for someone to find them. We'll put a little cut in the guy's tape. Just enough to give him a bit of a start, you know. He starts working it, twisting his wrists, he'll get his hands free in twenty minutes or so. By the time he gets the rest of himself untaped, then untapes the wife. He'll spend another fifteen minutes tearing around the house looking for a cell phone before he realizes that we took them."

Bobby said, "Why wouldn't he just call the cops on the house phone?"

Erik said, "'Cause they don't have one. Did you see a phone anywhere? We were in the living room, kitchen, that room they got set up as an office. There were no phones anywhere. Lots of people don't have landlines these days, just use their cells for everything."

"Makes sense I guess."

"Yeah, until you have to call police in the middle of the night and you don't have your cell phone. But we'll check in the bedrooms, just to be sure. If you see a phone, any kind of phone, just take it." Erik said, "So now the guy is going to have to put some clothes on his bare ass and go outside to try to wake up one of his neighbors. In this neighborhood, you can imagine how well that's going to go over. Anyway, by the time the cops finally get here, we're going to be home drinking beer and watching Netflix."

Bobby said he hoped he was right. Erik said so did he. That was the way it all seemed like it should go, but you never fucking knew. Erik's dad used to tell him what he called the variations on Murphy's Law. As soon as you think you're absolutely certain of something, that's the moment you're wrong. Once you've thought of everything that could possibly happen, that's when you know you've missed something. When someone tells you they did the best job they could, that's when you know they didn't. When someone tells you "it's not what it looks like," it's always what it looks like. Stuff like that.

At the top of the stairs they tried the first door at that end of the hall, a linen closet. The room next to that was a guest bath. It looked like someone had been using it recently. There was a floral patterned toiletries bag stuffed with travel size deodorant, saline solution, hotel bottles of moisturizers and conditioners. The sink was crowded with make-up items: brushes, eyeliner pencils, small plastic containers filled with pale powders. There was also a hairbrush with stiff plastic bristles threaded with blond hairs. Erik picked it up and looked at it, then looked at the stuff arrayed around the sink one more time. Bobby started to say something and Erik held a finger up in front of his face. He looked at the hair brush again.

They turned out the bathroom light and went to the next closed door in the upstairs hallway. Erik listened at it for a moment, then turned down the handle knob and looked in. There was a queen-sized bed with two nightstands on either side. One of the nightstand lamps was on. The bed was a snarl of sheets and counterpane. There was a suitcase on the floor that had erupted a great mound of women's clothing and underwear. More clothes were strewn about the floor. On one of the pillows was a shining metal vibrator, the bullet kind with a chrome finish. There was a second sex toy on the nightstand, one of those translucent pink plastic rabbit dildos sitting upright on its base.