Pussy Burgler (1)

She was careful. She was always careful. It was never a good thing to rush in her line of work. Casing the house had taken time; big -as in enormous- house on the lonely hillside overlooking no one. Why Marcus Brady had chosen to build his behemoth of a home in such utter isolation was a mystery, as was the man himself. Yet, middle-aged billionaires had to live somewhere, and god love their eccentricities. He had a small staff  of people who came from the valley town below, but no caretaker to invade his personal space. No butler to answer  the door, no maids to clean up at three in the morning. He came and went during the day, though his private helicopter made his commute to the city much easier than the poor slobs who slogged their way through downtown commuter traffic. Then again, he’d have had to spend almost as long in commuting time as in working, so in a convoluted, rich man’s way, the chopper made sense. She watched it land, night after night, as precise as could be, 6:45 p.m., on the helipad behind the house.

Hacking her way into the county database that held the floor plans had been easy. It was like the gods were smiling at her for this job. A big pay-off would mean a chance to lay low on some tropical island for the winter. It was hard to burgle in the winter, snow making things slippery, and those blasted footprints! No, this was her one big score of the season, and then she would be off. In her mind she pictured the bikini, bright green or maybe copper to compliment her red hair. The flame-red she kept hidden under a temporary wash of deepest brown. The color had been chosen with great care. Too-black would create as much second-glancing as her normally brash red did. People noticed the oddest things–but nondescript brunettes were not one of them.

Every other Saturday she watched the chopper take off just after 5 p.m. and never returning to home until the wee hours of the morning. Off at some fantastic club where all the rich dicks hung out, she supposed. ‘Must be nice,’ she mused–but it did give her the opportunity that she needed.

The helicopter rose up, banked over the immense house, then flitted off. As it slid behind the hill, she rose from her hiding spot in the woods, and jogged down the hill, across the open space of the side yard, and moved to the trellis. Up the sturdy wooden frame, avoiding the young rose-bush and it’s seeking tendrils, she slipped easily up and over the railing on the second floor. The doors here were glass, and with as simple a locking device as could be imagined. There was no record anywhere of an alarm system, which, while odd, certainly worked to her advantage.

According to the floor plan, this was his office space, unless he’d changed his mind once he had moved in. Yet the design clearly showed where the safe would be.

It wasn’t there.

Dammit! She spent fifteen precious minutes moving pictures gently away, sliding a bookcase, and feeling behind an ornate grandfather’s clock to no avail. Well didn’t that suck big goose eggs? With a sigh, she brought up the plans on her phone. It seemed logical then, that perhaps he’d have moved it to his bedroom, or even someplace downstairs. Rich geeks tended to have studies or dens. Perhaps she’d find the safe there. Moving swiftly through the upstairs, she entered several rooms before she found his sleep space. It was easy to figure out that this is a room he used a lot. A scent filled the air here, of man and something deeply musky. A bit of leather with a hint of…something that sent tingles right up her spine. Mmmmm, the smell of a man.

Once more she went through the routine of moving pictures carefully aside, feeling behind dressers. Entering the full closet she was staggered for a moment. It was, simply stated, heaven on earth.

“I’d kill for a closet half this size.” She murmured at the built-ins. Drawers for jewelry. Hangers for ties. Racks for shoes. The man had a lot of shoes. She could admire that about him, even thought it was kind of weird. Mostly the same style, in a dark rainbow of hues. Gray, smoke, black. A deep cherry-ish black. A chardonnay wine-red. Turning, there was a second rack that held sneakers in a myriad of styles and colors.

“Two thumbs up, buddy,” she murmured.

Despite the glory of the closet, it was time to get back to work. Yet there was no safe in here either, and the cufflinks, while having some street value, was not what she had come for.

She stepped out of the closet, tapping her lip.

“Must be downstairs, then,” she said, moving to the door. Opening it, she heard the unmistakable sound of the helicopter outside. The helipad was on the side of the house where she had made her quick entrance, so there would be no getting out that way. Her heart tripped up a beat as she heard the sound of a key in the lock downstairs. Quietly she closed the bedroom door, looking around for a place to hide. Perhaps he had forgotten something and would leave again in a minute.

She moved quickly around the bed. The closet had a few places where she could hide, but what if he was staying. No, she needed a place to hide in case he was planning to change his habit, and stay in tonight. Yet she could only hope that he’d returned for something and would be off again in a moment.

Not certain if she had seconds until discovery, she opened another door. The bathroom. Fuck. She was sure he wouldn’t need a shower straight away. But luck was  on her side once again. Here a deep closet held towels and sundries. A large space in the bottom would accommodate her tiny frame. Moving a stack of bedspreads out of the way, she bundled inside, tugging them into order, and using her fingers to glide the door almost shut.

The bedroom door opened, then shut. With the deep carpet, she wouldn’t hear him coming. Her heart raced, and she uttered a prayer to the gods of thievery that she not be discovered. The bathroom door opened and she could see legs walk past. In moments she heard the unmistakable sound of peeing, and had to bite her lip to not giggle. She wasn’t trying to spy, that wasn’t her gig at all. But it was still unnerving and funny and voyeuristic of her. The toilet flushed, and the sink water was turned on. Then the sound of the towel tugged on the bar.

The legs moved past her, out of the small line of sight that she had. She drew a soft breath of relief. She just might get through this little wrinkle unscathed. The bathroom door opened, the scrape of his shoes on the travertine tile floors fading away.

And then her phone chimed.

 

About vanillamom

For over 8 years--(EIGHT?!) nilla and M have been a D/s couple. I'm the "small s" side of that designation, as he often reminds me. I'm silly and prone to giggling at inopportune times. He's a wicked Sadist, who feeds me my drug of choice--pain. My brain is always spinning dirty and dark little fantasies, which I sometimes share with the world. Welcome to the nilla-verse. It's wet and slippery here...with a dragon or two lurking.
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7 Responses to Pussy Burgler (1)

  1. sofia says:

    YIKES!! O no, o no!! Now what????

  2. Oh good to hear you’re working on the next chapter. This is off to a good start.

    • vanillamom says:

      thank you Sir! I woke up with this story in my head…all I need is time (and the abillity to sit for more than 20 minutes at a shot)…and I’ll finish it quickly!

      nilla

  3. Kayla Lords says:

    Part of me doesn’t want her to get discovered – and part of me knows that I’m going to LOVE reading about it. 🙂

  4. Wordwytch says:

    Gaaaah! And I’m with Kayla!

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