Chief Thief

Chapter Six-1

Chapter Six

Chief

I opened the door, and there he was, looking totally unlike anything I had imagined: bald, blue-eyed, and a mustache that looked like it belonged on a biker. And yet, there was a hard, challenging appearance to him. I couldn’t imagine him backing away from anything or anyone. There was slow warmth in my stomach, and my mouth was very dry.

“You’re not quite what I had thought,” I said, opening the door a bit wider, and waving him inside. As he passed, I looked hard at his clothes: a blue-green checked lumberjack shirt with an orange polar-fleece vest over it. Blue jeans and black lace-up boots which would have been more appropriate on a construction worker were on his feet, and there was a heavy bundle of keys attached to a belt-loop. This was a working-man, all right. His hands were in his pockets, but I was sure that they were hard and scarred, the fingertips roughened from turning wrenches or wrestling steel I-beams.

“You’d prefer The Scarlet Pimpernel?” he asked, and grinned at me. Despite myself, I smiled at that. Blink had made a name for himself by acting quiet and operating below the radar.

I shut the door and idly fluffed my dressing gown, hoping he would notice. It was so hard to believe: divorced for only a few days, and already I was primping for another man. Then again, I thought, as I headed for my service, it was far better than curling up on a couch eating buckets of chocolate ice cream and weeping over my lost love.

“Would you like some coffee, or maybe something stronger?”

“Coffee is fine,” he said, looking around the apartment. “You have a nice home. Don’t think I had a chance to say that before.”

“I hear a bit of New York in your voice,” I said as I poured him a cupful. “Do you take cream and sugar, Sir?”

“Black is best,” he said, accepting the cup. I noted that he was wearing his cloth gloves, and I smiled to cover my embarrassment. The sight of his gloves made me wet again.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure? And how would you like me to address you: Blink, or Ghost?”

“Mr. Bogle,” he said, smiling at me across the rim of his cup.

I raised my eyebrows, never having heard the name before.

“There’s logic there,” he said, smiling again. “Google it when you get the chance.”

“Very well then, Mr. Bogle, the mayor is joining my task force meeting tomorrow. That bastard wants to appear on top of the situation; he actually called me today to stress that even though he’s screwed me out of three-quarters of everything I had he wants us to appear normal to everyone!”

He nodded. “Sure, because he knows that your testimony alone could make him look like the hypocrite of the hour. If you were willin’ to go down with the ship, you could take him with you. You’ve got more leverage than you know.”

“I want to hurt him,” I said. “I want him to feel as much pain as I do.”

“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth,” he quoted to me, a small smile on his face. “I think I can arrange that. How long is your meeting supposed to last?”

“Two hours; from ten o’clock until noon,” I said.

“Run overtime until one in the afternoon, and I’ll do the rest.”

“Why would you do this?” I asked.

“Because you’re a beautiful woman, and you deserve better.” His words were direct, and I believed him without question. Why, I don’t know. But I did. “Now, tell me what kind of actions you’re going to propose at that meeting. What’s the strategy for taking me down?”

I swallowed hard, and then told him everything. He listened without comment, not taking notes, just looking at me with those intent blue eyes. He hardly ever blinked, just kept looking at me with an intent expression. It reminded me of something, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. There was a magnetic quality to him, and inside I trembled. This was a man who would not hesitate to take what he wanted from the world. Not just material goods, but people, too. I wondered how many women had fallen prey to him. Was I just one more statistic in his record books? Did he even keep count of the women whom he seduced or conquered?

“All right,” he said, nodding once. “That’s good to know.” He carried his cup into the kitchen and carefully washed it. He was getting rid of the DNA traces, of course. He left nothing to chance.

“I meant what I said before: I’ll not turn you in.” I licked my lips. “You’ve set up a deadfall by now, I’m sure.”

“Sure I have, but a professional criminal survives by taking no chances.” He moved toward me. “Now, the question is what about you? What am I going to do with a woman like you in my life? A woman who betrays everything she stands for just to get revenge on her ex-husband? You need a firm hand on you, don’t you?”

My insides melted at the sight of that look in his eyes. How could he know that was the key to my dark soul? How could he see that I longed for a man to control me? Someone who told me what to do and made me serve him?

“Punish me, Mr. Bogle,” I whispered, and he walked over and pushed my gown off my shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Beneath, I was naked. He sat on the sofa and pulled me down. I lay willingly across his knee, and without a warning his right hand slapped my ass. The explosion of pain exploded into my consciousness. My haunches jumped and I sighed in pleasure. The next slap was even harder, and I cried out with joy. “Again,” I said in a husky voice. “Punish me for my crimes!”

For the next ten minutes, Mr. Bogle spanked my ass with hard, resounding claps, and I got wetter and wetter, and began to squirm from the sensation. I was laughing, partly out of joy, for I do so crave the sensation of being spanked. But also because Mike intended for me to be alone and aching, begging for him to return. That was why he had called me earlier today. He wanted me to scream that I could not live without him, and that I was willing to give him his freedom so long as I could have him punish me and f**k me. But I did him one better, letting him know that I was perfectly capable of finding someone on my own. That was what got under his skin: not that I had a new man, but that I didn’t need him anymore.

At last, Mr. Bogle swatted my butt one more time, and then dumped me on the floor, telling me to kneel on all fours. “Now,” he hissed at me, “lift your ass in the air and say, ‘f**k me!’”

“f**k me, Mr. Bogle, f**k me hard!” I lay with my head on the floor, my right ear against the floor, and looking slightly back. I saw him drop his drawers and put a condom on his c**k and then he slammed into me without a hint of foreplay. His abdomen clapped against my swollen cheeks, and his gloved hands roamed all over my body. I squealed in delight at the sensation again, and cried out as my first orgasm swept me away.

With a laugh his hands seized my t**s and he gripped them hard and yanked me backwards so that my back was against his chest. The rough checked shirt scratched my back, but it felt so good! “My God! How could I get so lucky to find such a great lover?”

“You like me so much, Chief?”

“f**k the title!” I said, looking back at him. “My name is Sibyl. That is what you must call me!”

“All right, Sibyl, you may call me Gavin, or Douglas, as you choose.”

“No,” I said. “I will call you Master, but only as long as you do one thing.”

“What is that?” he asked, pushing me back down to the floor and pressing down on my back as he slammed into me. He stiffened, and then shot his full load into my swollen p***y. I cried with joy as he pushed me down onto the floor, flattening me both with pressure and with pleasure.

“Dominate me,” I said, gasping as he slid in and out of me. “You must always dominate me.” I took a deep breath and let it out. “I work all day telling other people what to do. But I long…no, I need to have someone else tell me what to do. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane. To have someone control me and be responsible for my welfare…it just…”

“Say no more,” he said, lying on top of my back, his breath hissing into my ear. “In my presence, you will be my obedient slave. You will do whatever I say, and I will be a hard master. Is that what you want?”

“God, yes!” I risked a glance backwards at him. “Please, Douglas, don’t defer to me. Be hard and demanding of me; be cold and ruthless. Close your heart to pity, and make me grovel before you. There is nothing I want more than to have a man who will put me in my place.”

“Don’t worry, Sibyl, I will use you well.” He gripped handful of my hair and arched me back. “Your honor, your name, your body, and everything else; it all belongs to me, now. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Douglas, thank you,” I gasped, relishing the sensation.

“Wait here,” he said and went away, leaving me on the cold floor. I heard the toilet flush, and I knew he was washing away the proof of his presence.

Eventually he came back and sat in my easy chair. “Fix me more coffee, Sibyl.”

I got up and started to put on my robe, but he fixed me with his gaze and shook his head. My insides squirmed, and I went to him, nude, and served him on my knees. He smiled and stroked my cheek, and then he gestured that I kneel beside him. Together, we watched the evening news. He asked me my opinions, and as we talked I gently stroked his denim-clad legs. From time to time he ran his fingers through my hair or stroked my breasts.

When he was finished with his coffee he made me get dressed again, and then walked with me to the door.

“I’m going to enjoy being your master,” he said, and squeezed my n*****s. I laughed, and hopped up and down with the pinching motions.

“Michael never enjoyed dominating as much as I enjoyed submitting,” I said.

“Mikey is gonna get what’s coming to him,” he said and then smothered my mouth with a crushing kiss. “Remember…an hour longer? I don’t care how you do it.”

“Yes, Master,” I whispered, looking at this man who had burst into my life at the exact moment when I thought it was over.

“Good girl,” he said and scratched my cheek one last time with his gloved hand, and then he was gone.

As I shut the door and turned out the lights I realized just how much I had been looking forward to his arrival. Though hardly a day had gone by since I had first met him I already felt as though he were a part of my life. I had insisted on him becoming a commanding part, too, and I didn’t know the first thing about him.

Bogle, he’d asked me to call him. I turned the lights back on and went to my laptop. I Googled the name, and looked at the result. “Bogle, noun; Scottish name for ghost or tricky spirit of ancient folklore,” and I groaned, and shook my head. Before Blink had earned that nickname, a few people had called him Ghost or Phantom. Then I spotted a link with the name Gavin Douglas. Clicking on that I read the entry, and smiled, thinking that it was a very fitting nom de guerre. Gavin Douglas had been a 16th Century scholar and translator who, amongst his many accomplishments, had done some early work on folklore; Bogles were a part of his study!

The laptop was shut down, and I knelt at the sofa where he had sat. I pressed my face down, and inhaled his scent. It was still there, a faint odor of male sweat and an even fainter scent of tobacco? Did he smoke? I doubted it. He’d never once lit up, and most smokers that I knew could not go for more than thirty minutes without one of their damned coffin-nails. Plus, he lived by his wits and his muscles. He would not make himself dependent upon anything, I was sure of it.

I ran my hands over my thighs and thought about how I had begged him to dominate me, and he had done so. There was no hesitation, no prevarication, no checking to see if that was what I truly wanted. He had put me on my knees and thrust his way into my body, and put his masculine stamp on my body. I was his, and he would not have me any other way. I shivered, thinking of how I had been forced to do his bidding, and how good it felt. After hours of ordering uniforms about and setting the duties of the day, my new master had commanded me to serve him on my knees. The sight of him sitting in my chair, flipping channels with my remote…it just felt so good to serve a man; my master. A feminist might wail that I was a disgrace to my profession, but she could not understand my needs.

I sighed and curled up on the sofa and idly stroked my labia with my index finger. What was he going to do to me next time? Whatever it might be, nothing would happen unless I did as I was told. If I was not able to keep the meeting going longer than planned his strike against Michael would not succeed, or, worse, he might be caught in the act. My heart froze at the thought of my beloved Blink being thrown into a jail cell. There would be no way to get him out, and all the passion which we had shared would mean nothing!

I shuddered, and without thinking about it, I rubbed my p***y harder, my thumb beginning brush against my c**t. The sensations I generated had to offset the panic I was feeling at losing my new lover; my new master. He had to survive so that he could continue to pleasure me. Nothing else mattered!

I began to pant, and then I leaned back against the couch even as I inserted two fingers into my p***y and began to feverishly finger my c**t. I moved my legs apart and began to dig deeper into my cunt, stroking and flicking my fingers and thumb. My mouth was open and my breath rushed in and out like a blacksmith’s bellows. My juices were running down my thighs, and my legs were opening and closing as I pushed inside my body, desperately searching for my own release. “He mustn’t be captured,” I moaned, and rotated my fingers against the vaginal walls, the sensations like hot jolts of electricity.

“Oh – oh – oh, I need him. I want him! I must have him!” I threw back my head and wept. My thumb tickled my c******s and I cried out and moved my legs apart. My p***y opened up completely with a squishy croak and my inner lips pushed outward. I jammed three fingers inside of myself and there was flashing burst of light behind my eyelids. I groaned and sobbed and then yelped as I jabbed my c**t again.

“Ohhh God!” Fireworks exploded throughout my body and I flattened out on the sofa.

The last thought I had in my head was that Douglas was going to have to stay much longer next time. He could never leave until I was completely satisfied. But how could I say that to him when I had made him my master?