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probably out of date.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.
"Where's
Charles?"
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.
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