He’s Not At Home
With a soft click, I broke the lock and slowly opened the door. Minutes ago, I had easily disabled the alarm system of the house -- after years of experience, it was child's play to me, and it was not the most sophisticated of systems.
Yes, I'm a seasoned burglar. Throughout the course of my "work", I've burgled more than a hundred houses, flats and even farms, targeting those who had ancient relics or priceless valuables that will fetch a handsome price in the market, or else have been the subject of a special request by the more private of collectors.
During most of the intrusions, I have had to restrain and gag the occupants of the houses. I've become a pro at that now, and my backpack contained a range of restraints and gags all ready for any situation.
This house was supposed to contain ancient scrolls that could fetch near to a million pounds a piece on the black market. My research revealed it was owned by a single occupant, a young graduate who had inherited his dead parent's fortune and valuables. Further research revealed the guy was rather short and not that muscular, so he could be easily over-powered. It would of course be easier to invade the house when he was not around, but I always savoured a challenge with would-be victims.
As soon as I entered the living room, I noticed dozens of boxes stacked up. A quick peek inside revealed tons of men clothes and underwear, plus a range of male accessories--combs, deodorant, hair cream, razors, electric shavers and other essentials that men would use. Was he packing up and going to move out? I immediately did a search through several of the boxes to look for the scrolls. They weren't there. So why was his whole closet practically packed up in the living room?
A second strange sight was the lack of picture frames across the room. In fact, all I could see were holes in the walls and the outlines of where the pictures used to be, the hanging underneath not bleached by the sun or light. Strange, these were signs of moving out and yet the furniture was still there, and the kitchen appeared to be fully stocked. What on earth was going on?
I silently moved up the stairs and again noted the lack of picture frames across the corridor. Suddenly, I smelt the distinctive smell of perfume, yes some French-made perfume that some girls I knew have often. Oh darn, was it an new occupant? My whole research was probably out of date. No, it could just a girlfriend, or a family relative I thought. No matter - I could restrain two as easily as one, and they could keep each other company.
The bedroom door was unlocked and I entered silently. Instead of a décor that was suited for a male, I immediately spotted pink walls, patterned mirrors and curtains and other small knick knacks, definitely the setting of that for a ladies room. Looking over, I spotted a girl, clad in a pink nightie, curled up in a foetal position on the bed. This was certainly not the target that I had expected.
No matter, I thought, she'll still know something--well hopefully. I tip-toed across the room and like a hawk approaching its prey, approached the bed as she stirred and looked over.
"He..whmmmmpppphhh!!!!" I heard her yell as I clamped my gloved hand tightly across her mouth and laid my entire body over her slight frame. "Silence, Silence. Feel this object pressed against you? Now, I'm going to remove my hand, and you better not scream or you'll get it. Nod if you understand?" She did, thankfully. The gun was never loaded and I was never the kind to harm any of my victims.
She nodded and I slowly retracted my hand. "Now who are you and where is the original occupant of the house, Charles?"
"My..my name is Charlotte and I'm the owner," she half spoke, half coughed as she looked at me.
She blinked at me. "I was Charles and I hate that name," she spat. "I'm Charlotte now. Transformed."
"A...sex change?!' Good gosh, this was the most unusual encounter.
"However you name it. Who the heck are...ow!!" I pushed her/him face down and began winding rope around her/him wrists. "I don't want to know anymore. What I want to know is where I can find the scrolls you inherited?"
"No." was the reply. I immediately yanked her/his hair, which mind you was exactly as long as any girl's would be, causing her/him to yelp. "The next you feel is a bullet through your skin," I lied. "Now where are the scrolls?"
She/He mumbled the location. "Combination?" Hoping it wasn't a lie, I spun the he-she and with a yank of duct tape, I double plastered his/her mouth. Her/His knees too were rope bound. Giving the knicker-clad bottom a smack, I told her/him to say there.
As it turned out, the combination numbers were right - the scrolls were exactly where she/he said they were. Just as I was headed back down the corridor, I heard footsteps and found the guy who transformed into a girl, hoping across the room. "How dare you," I muttered and tackled her/him. In a few minutes, the ropes were removed and replaced with tight zip ties. I then proceeded to cut off her knickers and was about to stuff them into her/his mouth when:
"Please no. The operation is causing me to bleed a bit down there. I need the pad.." I saw what she meant. Quickly thinking, I yanked open the nearby drawer and found another lot of underwear. "Mmmmppphhh!!!!" she/he cried with the new and stronger gag. "Goodbye, Charles/Charlotte or whatever you are."
It must have been an alarm trigger that I overlooked, because just as I reached the gate, a patrol car pulled up. Once again, I pounced on the officer who just got out and it turned out to be a female, well biologically a real one. Given my size, I easily over powered her and using her own handcuffs and my own zip ties, she was easily hogtied, with a panel gag added.
Walking back down a deserted alleyway, I thought about who I encountered. I wasn't particular a proponent of transvestites. But by gosh, I never expected my target to literally change sex despite the amount of investigative work I did into him, ok now her. Whatever, these scrolls would sustain my income for the next year.