How to Greet an Unwelcome Visitor

Smokey Saga #67: "How To Greet An Unwelcome Visitor"

*****

"How-To" #5 here, another fourteen Sagas later, once more starring the Burtons, wife and husband Sandra and Lou. These two—well, Sandy, at least—have appeared in four previous Sagas, all of which have different storylines, and none of which are sequential. Lou was unable to be in one of them, but here are those earlier four:

#11: "How To Break A Bad Rabbit" (January '14)

#25: "How To Wage A Wargasm" (May '14)

#39: "How To Tickle A Girl Insane" (December '14)

#53: "How To Punish A Vindictive Boss" (September '15)

You can read these for more of the Burtons' BDSM adventures, though you don't have to before this one. Like I said, they aren't legit sequels, they just feature the same main characters. Their co-stars, or "victims," if you will, are different. Including this one.

Categories: BDSM, exhibitionist/voyeur, group, lesbian/lezdom, non-consent/reluctance, rape

And feedback, as you know, my friends, is always welcomed, valued and appreciated.

(This story has a character crossover from an earlier Saga—an additional one, I mean, besides Sandy and Lou. I'd like to say I've a special prize for whoever finds her first (something of value, I mean, not just extra Smokey points) but I don't. If you find her, kudos.)

*****

No-Show For The Show

Friday, August 26th, 2016, 8:36 p.m.

Beeeeeep.

"Maggie, it's Sandy again. It's about twenty-five minutes till the show, and...well, we still haven't seen or heard from you yet. Like I said in the last message, we were expecting you by 8:30 at the latest. A lot of our guests have arrived, and if you ultimately just don't make it, well, it's all right. I mean, it's happened before, and we'll understand. We just hope nothing's happened to you and you're okay. Please call me when you get this—if you're not on your way. If we don't see or hear from you in the next fifteen minutes, we're gonna cancel the evening. Call me, hon. Lotsa love. Bye-bye."

Sandra hung up, sighed, and pulled back the curtain to look out. As per their usual wishes, the Burtons' guests parked several yards down from the house. This was so their model and star of the evening had a space directly out in front. Though currently, with the Burtons relying on public transportation while their car was vacationing in the shop, the driveway was as accessible. Alas, their expected young lady's car, and its owner herself, remained nowhere to be seen.

Lou emerged in his signature powder blue tux, and clapped his hands a single time. "So?..." he asked.

Sandy shook her head. "Zip. Nada."

Lou threw out a breath. "'Kay...fifteen?"

"If we can give her that much at this point."

It was the evening of Sandra and Lou Burton's most recent sexhibition show. They had discovered a potential new fetish model named Margaret Adler—or Maggie, for short. They'd interviewed her, and offered her her first job and shoot for the Fetish Buffet. She'd accepted, so they'd set up the arrangements for Friday the 26th, and asked her to be at the house no later than 8:30 p.m.—half an hour before the event was to start. Well, it was 8:30, and then some. And neither hide nor hair of Maggie Adler.

What Sandy'd stated in her voicemail was true; their friends and guests understood that the Burtons' victi—models, for any plethora of reasons, sometimes just did not make it to the house. Perhaps they had car trouble or got caught in traffic. Perhaps they lost their way with a dead cell. Perhaps they...well, "chickened out" was a spiteful choice of words, but "came to their senses" wasn't quite right either. The Burtons would be the first to agree, their sexcapades, sexpeditions and sexperiments could get a bit overwhelming for those on the business end of it all. Some likened their sessions to the scariest, but most thrilling rollercoaster rides they'd ever taken.

Whatever the situation in Maggie's case, if she didn't turn up very very soon, the Burtons would need to cancel, something they found it a real shame to do. They took pride in making the events so much fun for everyone in attendance, indeed quite a present for those present. And they couldn't simply go at it with one another for their audiences, just the two of them. Well...technically they could. But while the crowd didn't know everything to expect, they knew the nature of the shows. And their models were the main attraction and real stars of the night. These playful sexhibitions really belonged to them. Lou and Sandy were also very proud to introduce these eager young innocents so intimately. And an approximate eight out of ten had enough of a blast to want to come back and work-slash-play with them again. Without their models, the Burtons' hearts just weren't much in it.

They antsily watched out the window, mutually willing Maggie to pull around the corner and park. The audience knew to arrive early, forty-five minutes before starting time at the latest, and every name was ticked on the checklist. They took their seats in the basement to wait for showtime. It was they who were to see no performing models prior to 9:00, not the hosts. Guests were somewhat accustomed to events that began "late," but the Burtons liked their shows to be exceptions to this rule. Once they heard the Grandpa clock ring in the stroke of nine, they knew they had to call it. The evening's coffin was nailed in. Lou headed downstairs to let the crowd know.

The similarly deflated Sandy put down her phone, turned off the lights and plopped in the recliner. Well, maybe there would be something entertaining on TV tonight...to fill the three-plus hours one of their evenings normally lasted. Not that the couple's sex life had grown stale or stagnant without their playmates. But it bore repeating that the sexhibitions were just such fun! Almost as if completely separate from making love or playing kinky games on their own. Being one-on-one was beautiful and special in its own way, and nothing could take anything away from that, it was just...

Sandra sighed. She didn't want to think about all this right now. She suddenly felt bad for her husband. This didn't happen often, but when it did, Lou always stepped inside to address the audience and face the music. On normal nights when things went off hitchless, he did the intro, while Sandy made sure the models were all set and escorted them down a moment later. Thanks to the seldomness of no-shows, she'd never noticed this before. She had nothing to do up here. She should go down and help him, to do this together.

Halfway down the staircase, she abruptly stopped.

What was that sound?

She waited, but heard nil but silence after.

Hm...must be my imagination.

She descended the steps.

*****

Whom Not To Expect When You're Expecting

Friday, August 26th, 2016, 9:00 p.m.

A dark, shadowy figure skulked behind 6307 West Richgate Street, entering the backyard. Oh, this was lovely: an upscale, beautiful two-story luxury nest, isolated from its neighbors, by at least three hundred feet on either side. The lights were off, and there were absolutely zero cars in proximity. Who knew what this beauty had to offer. It was clearly ripe for the plucking.

She checked her knapsack for the first necessity: her all-purpose lock pick. Her starting point seemed to be the upstairs backdoor. There appeared to be no first-floor access from this side, but that was okay. She placed a black sneaker on the step and shifted weight, testing the sound waves. Nothing. The back steps arched to the second floor in two sets of seven. She took them quick and quiet.

So far, things were going swimmingly. She reached the back porch on top and cautiously peeked through the windows. Seeing nothing but darkened furniture, she crouched, alit her watch for a time check, turned its light off and rose for the door.

She took hold of the knob, eased in the pick and set to work, keeping an eye peeled for activity. None to deter her, she proceeded to pick till she compromised the lock and forced access. Slipping the door ajar as silently as possible, she took a noiseless breath, and wiped the sweat off her brow. Ah, air conditioning. All black in summer wasn't fun, even at night. She removed her sneakers, depositing them in the sack, and swapped them for her flashlight and empty bag. Time to begin "shopping," using her trusty five-finger discount.

CREAK.

Oooh! she thought, hearing the kitchen's tile floor. Fuck. Even if I am alone, let's try to avoid that shit.

The kitchen offered little of value, and she wasn't hungry. She cast both steely eyes out to the living and dining room. Aha—bingo. She found ceramics, silver, candlesticks and other valuables. Her left gloved paw held the bag and flashlight, as the grubby dominant right began snatching and snitching. She thought she heard something faint coming from below, but it wasn't audible enough to discern.

Hm...must be my imagination.

Sandy'd headed downstairs and dropped in the john beside the basement door to answer a sudden but mild call of nature. She emerged, turned to the closed basement door, hearing Lou inside, and reached for the knob.

CREAK.

Sandra froze. Her eyes widened as she looked up, from whence came the sound. That definitely wasn't her. They kept no pets in the house, and she'd just walked right past the front door. There were still no cars out front either. All the guests were right here behind the basement door, and she'd just been upstairs a minute ago. There was no one there. Only her, before she'd come down...

Which could only mean...

Sandy's face filled with horror.

Oh my God.

Her heart picked up abrupt speed as her blood chilled. Her first instinct was to run upstairs for either the phone or light switch, but she was terrified of what might happen. Whoever'd somehow come into their house could be armed, dangerous, deranged, or all of the above. Sandy silently whimpered, compelling her body to unfreeze. She turned the knob, rushed inside and grabbed Lou by the arm.

"Stop the announcement," Sandy hissed, demanding his attention with wary, alarmed eyes. "Emergency."

"Wh—" Lou did not understand, nor lower his voice to the level of his wife's. "Honey, what're you talking about? What emergency?"

Sandra gripped him, dead serious, and leaned in closer to his ear.

"A fucking burglar in the house, Lou. That's what the hell emergency."

Lou's eyes now logically grew as saucer-wide as hers. His own voice deepened.

"Oh God."

Sandy nodded frantically, about to rip his tuxedo sleeve off.

"YEAH. That's right, 'Oh God!'"

"Sandy, are you sure it's a burglar?"

"...NO, Lou! Maybe Garrison Keillor came over to tell us a story! Maybe he just forgot to knock first before coming the fuck in!"

"Okay, okay; point taken."

"Lou, I need your help! We can't get a cell signal down here, and I'm too scared to go back up there without you!"

Lou suddenly realized how serious the situation was.

"Oh, God..." he repeated. "What about them?"

"Eh—ladies and gents," Sandra addressed their friends. "I'm...eh...I'm afraid we've had a, uh...something of a separate situation arise. It's-it's nothing to do with you, or with tonight's event. And the absolute last thing we wanna do's frighten you. But at least for the next little while, we feel it best if you all please...just stay right where you are. Please, this...this is just something we need you to do for us right now. Just remain in your seats, and we'll just...take care of this." She gave a tug on Lou's arm, and they turned to leave together before concerning anyone further.

Neither wanted to be first back up the stairs, but Lou steeled his nerves and cautiously led the way.

"Grab something for protection," Sandy quietly advised.

"If the path's clear to the fireplace I'll get the poker."

"Excellent choice."

"Should we hit the lights?"

"I don't think so; they could be dangerous. We don't even know how many there are."

"Good point. A'right, Sandy, see if you can find your phone, and call the police. I'll get the poker and find him. Or them. Whatever."

"All right, Lou, but for God's sake, be careful. He—or they—might have a gun."

They reached the top of the steps. All ears, they heard sounds of rifling and trifling coming from their left—their very...private quarters.

*****

Freaks And Creaks

Friday, August 26th, 2016, 9:08 p.m.

Having indeed moved on to the Burtons' master, their robber carried on her wicked ways, adding more goods to her sack. No one knew what to find staking out a new room or house, which was especially true in this case. And this young lady didn't surprise or shock quite so easily anymore. However, the contents of a few drawers did not fail to startle her.

In two side by side, she found: velvet handcuffs, silk scarves, lacewear, riding crops, several varieties of feathers, dildos and electronic toys, Violet wands, genital rings, leather straps, masks, gels, oils and lubricants. The elusive visitor did not mind admitting, rooting through these articles placed suggestive thoughts in her mind. Its one single track was very nearly derailed.

Oh, my...God, she thought. Who...

...WHO the hell lives here??

CREAK.

Damn it to hell, another noisy spot. So help me, floor, shut the fuck up!

Had the air conditioner in the hallway not been running, she might've heard something else as well.

*****

To Catch A...Well, You Know

Friday, August 26th, 2016, 9:08 p.m.

"Dear God, Lou, they're in our bedroom."

"Or the john."

"What in the fucking hell would they wanna steal from the john??"

"I dunno. Maybe they're treating it like a hotel."

"This is no goddamn time for jokes. Just get the poker. I know I left my phone in the living room somewhere."

Now upstairs, the Burtons both headed right. Lou indeed fetched the fireplace poker as silently as possible, while Sandy tried to recall just where she'd put her cell. Lou took a breath, tried to keep calm, and doubled back down the hall. This was extra frightening with little visibility, but now at least he had a means of defense. He crept towards the bedroom, hoping the thieves didn't hear his heart pounding. Finally, he got just close enough to peek inside.

He could make out a single figure in the room. Its back was to him, going through their things. Lou felt a conflict of emotion as he saw this confirmation of terror in living albeit dark color. On one hand, natch, he was wigged out. On the other, via equal logic, he was livid at the prospect—nay, the absolute spectacle—of an intruder forcing ungranted access into his and his wife's home. It was a fundamental cause and effect. A crime was being committed, right in his house. In his room, no less. It was up to him to hold this psycho at bay, at least until the cops arrived. Still, he had to exercise discretion. He didn't want to spring his presence until he was ready to strike.

Not that he was used to handling situations like this. His stomach was flipping under his tux. He tried to determine the most effective method to confront and take control. Even given the circumstances, using the poker for a javelin and shish-kabob'ing the thief seemed a bit much. Using the non-pointy end to stun their uninvited guest was a better idea. Obviously, he didn't want to tip the burglar off, giving him cue and time to go for a weapon. Lou repositioned the poker in his hands before he noticed the thief turning back around.

Shit! He gave a silent gasp and panicked, making a quick and quiet two-step retreat. He seized his only option, slipping behind, into the side hall closet that doubled as a laundry hamper. There was barely enough space to conceal himself. He hoped Sandy had located her phone and a safe corner to scurry off and call by now. But whether she had or not, the robber could decide to finish casing the pad and hit the road at any point. He had to do something. Out into the hallway, cast from the bedroom window, spilled the shadow. As soon as the figure belonging to it appeared...so did the answer. Willing his night vision not to deceive him, Lou waited for just the precise moment to strike, slipped out his foot...and left the rest to physics and gravity.

His diligent timing paid off. Their thief tripped, lost her balance and landed on the floor with a hushed "Uhhhffff!"

Losing no nervous excitement in the craziness of it all, Lou pounced and straddled her. "Sandy, hit the lights!" he shouted.

"Lou?? Y—"

"Just do it!" he reiterated. "I've got him! Trust me!"

Sandra hurried to the wall and flipped the switches. The second floor alit. She saw her husband down the hall, indeed pinning down the stealthy, ski-masked intruder, struggling to snatch her wrists behind her back.

"Oh my God!" Sandy exclaimed. "Way to go, honey! 'Atta boy!"

"You got your phone?"

"Just found it! Perfect timing!"

"Good! Call the cops."

The intruder's ears perked up.

"NO!" she yelled from underneath Lou. "Please, I don't wanna be arrested! I can't go to prison! They'll fucking eat me alive!"

Both Burtons peered down quizzically at their strange visitor who'd just piped up. Looking back up at one another, Lou spoke first.

"...Sandy, it's a girl."

Said girl grunted, trying to wriggle out from under her host. "It's a girl." Like she had just been born, for fuck's sake.

"No shit I'm a girl, Sherlock!" she yelled. "What'd you think I was, an alien?!"

"I guess we just assumed you were a man, young lady," he said condescendingly. "Can't judge a crook by his—or her—cover, obviously."

"Well, who gives a flying fuck what's between her legs?!" Sandra demanded. "She's a burglar! She broke into our house!"

"Hey, no argument here!" Lou concurred. "I already said call the police!"

"No! Please don't!" repeated the burglar. "I can't go! I won't go! Please, I'll do anything! ANYthing!!"

Sandy started dialing. "Oh, give it up, ya lowlife creep. Hope you get a nice queen bitch in the big house."

Lou felt the guest stop struggling so much underneath him. She gave a whimper, letting her face drop into the carpet.

"What're you packing?" he wanted to know. "Gun, knife, what?"

"Just my blade," she muttered into the rug.

"What?"

"My blade," she stated distinctly, raising her head. "That's it, just my knife. Nothing else."

"Yeah, get me the police," she heard the lady called Sandy order.

The burglar started crying. "Oh, God, I'm going to jail," she wept.

"If you're a big enough—and stupid enough—girl to break into someone's house and take their stuff," the lady shouted down at her, "Then you're big enough to pay the price for it. Cry me a fuckin' river."

Lou thought of something. He suddenly wanted to see what this girl looked like. He eased off her just a bit and pulled her over onto her back. "A'right. C'mon, sweetcakes, turn around," he commanded. "Over we go, c'mon."