Chief Thief

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Chief

I don’t know how long I hung there, with my ex-husband’s c*m dribbling out of my p***y. My ass was on fire, my nerves were shot, hot tears coursed down my face, and my heart was a ball of ash. My partner and lover of four years had just walked out of my life, leaving me with nothing, and I knew him well enough to know that he would never come back.

Michael and I had met shortly after I had been promoted to police chief of the city. It was at a press conference, and Mike was there in his capacity as Deputy Mayor. I’d consulted with him on a few of the city’s more spectacular cases: the hooker scandal at the fire department, the Capricorn Killer, and a citywide bus driver’s strike. In a couple of months we were dating, and in no time at all we were lovers. Soon, I let him in on my darkest secret, my love of submission to a hard, domineering man.

You’d think that being a Chief Police would make me a Dominatrix, but you’d be wrong. Giving orders and sending men into crack houses to take down drug dealers makes me hungry for a man who’s strong enough to put me in my place. I can be as tough as nails, and I have no trouble giving out bad assignments or signing a termination notice to a troublesome officer. In my book there are two kinds of men: a pushover and a hardass. Pushovers are nothing; a hardass is everything, to me at least. A hardass is a man who lets nothing stand in his way; his footsteps make the earth shake, and his skin-tone is like iron. If he wants something, he will take it, regardless of what anyone says. To me, that is the ultimate sign of masculinity, and I get wet just thinking about men like that.

Mike was a hardass, flavored with ambition. He was a politician on the way up—a man with an eye on a top job: governor, senator, maybe even bigger than that. At the same time he could pin me to the wall and talk dirty to me in a heartbeat. I’d spread my legs for him any time day or night. That was what I wanted: a man who would demand everything from me whenever he wanted it. More than once he’d f****d me on my own desk at police headquarters, and I thought I was going to die from the pleasure, and the risk. My career means a lot to me because I’ve been so successful, but at the same time the high I got from being Mike’s wanton slave was better than any drug on the market. When he was around, my thighs were slick with juice, my heartbeat was frenetic, and my soul was his. He owned me in every sense of the word.

And how he was gone!

I sobbed and wailed, and hung there, helplessly. My ass was burning, and I knew I had to put lotion on it soon. But the bitter, slimy way that my husband had bested me left me paralyzed and incapable of rational thought.

What was I going to do? How could I get my life back? Mike had all of my property, now, and practically all of the valuables. He had me in a bind, too. If I protested, he could “accidentally” let slip my obsession with leather and submission! The rules of the police force are quite clear: so long as you kept your own affairs behind closed doors, then it was your own business. Once those secrets were out—or, worse, had gone viral on the internet—they reflected on the department, and on the city as a whole. And though society has made great strides in being accepting of all races, habits, and hobbies, it still frowned on those who have a love of leather.

Furthermore—as in all American cities—the Chief of Police was under direct authority of the Mayor’s office. Mayor Mike, as my now ex-husband was known, would take special pleasure in pushing me out of office. It would be one more way for him to humiliate me and to beat me down; trashing my reputation, and leaving me stripped before the public, shamed, and shorn of my benefits and my pension. In a matter of months I would be panhandling on the street, subject to the mercy of the drug-dealers and panhandlers that I had run roughshod over.

He held all the cards, and he knew it!

“God, I hate you, Mike!” I shouted, and struggled to free myself. “I don’t care what it takes; I don’t care what I have to do, I’ll get you! I’ll do something, hire someone, I’ll hurt you the way you’ve hurt me! I’ll do anything!”

Suddenly a black hood fell over my head, and I felt the drawstring pulled tight at my neck.

“Anything?” said a voice, and I started to scream.

“No!” said the voice, and slammed my body against the wall. “Be quiet! Stay there and be still or I’ll kill you.” Something sharp poked me in the back, and I flattened against the wall, obeying. It wasn’t Mike, I knew that much. The voice was different. But who was it? And what was he doing here? More important: what had he seen and heard?

I knew it was a man, but was there more than one?

There were distant sounds of movement, and then he was back again. He pressed me against the wall with one hand, warning me not to move. I felt manacles being attached to my ankles, and then a hand touched my thighs, prodding me. I spread my legs, and there were a couple of sharp clicks, and I realized that he had attached a spreader bar, forcing my legs apart. My p***y was now open and defenseless. I was at his mercy, whether I wanted to be or not.

But I did want it! How could he have known that the spreader was my favorite b**m tool? How could he know that I longed to be put on display for my man? Against my will, I began to feel a surge of dark desire wash through my body.

“I’m going to undo your hands so I can turn you around and look at your t**s,” he said, and I thought I could detect a faint New York accent. “But if you try to hit me or escape I’ll kill you on the spot. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” I said, using the term automatically.

“Master, eh? I like the sound of that.” I thought he was smiling, but, of course, I couldn’t see him. The black hood had been Mike’s addition to our s*x games, and now it was concealing the identity of…?

Who was this?

My manacles were unlocked from the wall staple, and gloved hands on my shoulders pulled me away from the wall. My captor carefully turned me about, and then casually rubbed my boobs. His gloved hands brushed my n*****s, which flared into life at his touch. They were white gardening gloves, I was sure. Mike had always worn black leather ones, saying that in b**m there could be nothing else. But the cotton fabric I felt now was deliciously rough on my breasts, n*****s, and areolas. His grazing touch made me think of wearing a cotton T-shirt during a hot summer day, braless. It was abrasive, and yet erotic.

I was shoved back, my shoulders against the wall, my wrists attached to the wall manacles one at a time. Again I was helpless, but this time with nothing to see but blackness, my legs spread wide, my p***y at the mercy of a complete unknown. I ought to have been terrified, but instead I was hot and excited, my p***y gloriously wet and ready for him.

One master had left me, but another had taken his place almost at once. What woman could ask for such service? Was I that much in demand? A thrill shot through my body, and I felt my heart accelerate at the idea of being at the mercy of an unknown assailant. My t**s tightened at the thought of what he might do to me, and I waited for his commands; my p***y was pulsing in anticipation.

His gloved hands were at my waist and came upwards, his thumbs skating on my stomach and then sweeping up over my ribs and then fluffing my 34C breasts. He kneaded them for a moment, and then let them go.

“Don’t stop,” I said in a husky voice, my arms struggling against the manacles.

“You want more?” he asked, his accent nearly dropping the ‘r’ sound. He was definitely from New York; possibly Brooklyn. Linguistics is a little hobby of mine.

“Yes, I want the full package!” I shouted, and he laughed.

“Maybe in a few minutes,” he said, running his hands over my body, and then stopping. “First, we’ve got a little business to take care of. Were you serious, a moment ago? You said you’d do anything to get revenge on little Mikey?”

“You saw that?”

“I saw everything,” he said, laughing, “And I got it all on video, too.”

“No,” I said, moaning at the thought.

“Yes, Chiefy-weefey,” he said, touching my stomach, and then dropping to finger my mons. “I’ve got it all. But, blackmail’s not much good to me right now. Mikey’s got it all, and somehow I don’t think he’s the type to mess with directly. Besides,” his voice came in really close to me; so close his breath was hot against my ear. “That skell ain’t my type. You, on th’ other hand, you’re a lot different.”

“What do you want?” I asked, tears starting to run down my face. It was hot inside the black hood, and I wished that I could see his face.

“The question is, what do you want? Do you want revenge? Do you want Mikey to pay like you just paid? Do you want him to go down in flames while you’re sittin’ pretty?”

“All of the above,” I said in a fierce voice, thinking of Mike’s smirking face as he waved the divorce papers in my face while I hung helplessly, unable to do anything.

“Then we might be able to do a little business.” His face came in close and he snuffled at my hair inside my hood and his hands caressed my breasts again. I shuddered, and tried not to enjoy his touch too much. There was more to this deal, I was sure.

“You already know me,” he said. “I’m the guy the newspapers have taken to calling the Blink.”

I gasped. The Blink was the media’s nickname for a cat burglar who had been terrorizing the West Coast for months. He was a complete unknown who left no calling cards, disabled alarms with ease, and usually only took cash. No one knew where he came from, or why he picked on some targets and not others.

He earned his title after a wealthy homeowner had fallen asleep on his couch. Less than thirty minutes later the man had awakened to discover that he had been robbed! More than four hundred thousand dollars of negotiable bearer bonds had been taken. The poor man had barely dozed off at all, and his money was gone. Robbed, in the blink of an eye! And so, the name stuck.

The news broadcasters started calling him Blink after that. I’d thought that maybe he would respond to the publicity and try to cash in on it, but the only people who came forward were nuts in search of fifteen minutes of fame. The man was a thorough professional who more than lived up to his nickname, flitting in and out of homes and businesses with all the ease of a ghost. And now he was here, in my home, and he had me at his mercy.

“Don’t take my charm bracelet,” I gasped. It was gold, but the sentimental value meant more to me than any money.

“I don’t want it anyway,” he said. “What I want from you right now is cooperation.”

“What?” I gasped. How could I cooperate with him any more than I already had? He literally had me with my back to the wall, my legs spread wide. He could take me anytime he wanted. What more could he want? I asked him that, and he chuckled.

“You’re gonna keep me updated on what you cops are trying to do to catch me. I’ll be back now and then for reports, and…maybe a little extra.” He massaged my face through the hood, and then gently flicked my n*****s. My haunches jumped, and my p***y got wetter than before. He was going to keep me under his thumb! Oh my God! This was incredible!

“In return, I’ll help you strike back at Mikey. You’ll see results…I guarantee it. Do we have a deal?”

“How can I refuse such an offer?” I gasped.

“Good,” he said, and unlocked my right hand, and thrust a key into the palm of my hand. “I’ll contact you in a week or so.” His voice was away at the far side of the room.

“Wait,” I said, not unlocking myself.

“What?” he asked.

“Don’t you want me? I’m right here!”

A strong hand pushed me back against the wall and my right hand was locked against the wall again. “You’d give yourself to me, right now? Knowing nothing about me?”

“Oh my God, yes, please!” I said, flattening myself even more.

I heard him rummaging in the closet for a moment, and then rough hands grabbed my breasts and milked them, pinching and twisting my t**s. “You are a bad girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes!” I said, thrusting my t**s up at this unseen stranger. “I’m a bad girl in a good girl’s uniform. Make me pay!”

He crushed my t**s in his strong hands and pinched my n*****s and then suddenly he was inside me! A big, swollen c**k pushing up and into me, filling me up in one powerful thrust. I yelled in delight and clenched him hard with my muscles, gripping his manhood with every ounce of strength that I could muster. He was big, bigger than Mike, bigger than anyone that I had ever felt. And I didn’t even know his name; I had never seen his face; I didn’t know his race or even the color of his skin.

Powerful, masculine hands gripped my forearms, and a wonderfully muscled chest pressed against my own feminine one and slowly, ever so slowly the c**k eased out of me. I could feel the rubber condom sheathing him. He was making sure not to leave any DNA for me to trace, not that I would anyway. This man had me over a barrel, but as long as that was the case, then I wanted him to f**k me on the barrel. What better way to seal the deal?

He pushed inside me again, driving deeper and harder into my soaking wet pleasure-box, grunting at the effort. I shuddered, and gripped him with my internal muscles, glorying in my helplessness. This was what I wanted; what I craved. I existed to give pleasure to my man, nothing else.

Again, and again, and again he thrust into me and his hands pressed against my arms so tightly that I thought he would leave bruises on me. I hoped so. I wanted to see the evidence of my new lover; trophies on my skin!

Then it came: my body shuddered, my legs grew weak, and my body shook and a tension seized me. A burst of emotional and physical energy went through me like a bolt of lightning, and I strained against both the metal restraints and my new master’s arms. Lights burst inside my jet-black cocoon, and I let out a long wail. It was the most powerful climax I had felt in months. My back arched and my ankles shook in their restraints. Mike had nothing on this unknown phantom!

The Blink yelled, and then he exploded into me; a hot tide crashed through my p***y, and I felt him shiver, and then collapse against me.

My legs failed, and I passed out.

When I came to, I was lying on my bed, and my hood was off. My manacles, spreader bar, and a pair of leather shorts and a satin halter top lay beside me. There was a note written in plain block print: WEAR THESE NEXT TIME.

I gasped, and stroked the dried sheen of sweat on my body and reread the short note several times; hardly able to believe what had happened to me in a few short hours. Ruthlessly cast aside by my husband, only to be rescued, robbed, and royally f****d by a wanted criminal. I lay back on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

“It’d make a hell of a plot for a cable mini-series!” I said aloud.

After a few moments I dressed in a bathrobe and went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of brandy. I walked to the window and looked out over the city. The fog was rolling in, and I looked out at the blinking lights of the Bay Area. Somewhere out there was my new lover, perhaps robbing another hapless victim, or, plotting the downfall of my erstwhile husband.

“Here’s to you, Blink,” I said, raising my glass. “For good or for ill, you’ve got me, and by God I want you!”