Breaking and entering

The room was dark. But she was trained to see in the dark. She spotted the safe next to the mahogany bookshelf and silent as a cat, felt her way there.

She had been watching the house for a week now, and she knew well the habits of the bald, middle aged man who owned it. He went to bed at nine and did not stir for twelve hours, possibly under the effect of some sedative. She knew which window was left open all night, and what time the butler left for the day.

She kneeled down in front of the safe and noiselessly began to hunt in her bag for the tool that would help her break the lock. She had left her home that evening in a demure salwar kameez, but had worn on the inside a spandex bodysuit that was best suited for this sort of work; it would neither make noise nor hinder her. She had discarded her outer clothes and stowed them in her bag while waiting out in the garden. As always, she wore nothing under her bodysuit. Her pert 32C breasts did not need support and the suit was too well-fitted to wear anything under anyway.

She managed to unlock the safe and open it without a creak, and reached into her bag for her pencil light, when suddenly a hand clamped down on her wrist and a damp cloth was placed on her mouth and nose. That was the last thing she remembered before passing out.

When she came to, she found herself spreadeagled on a bed, each limb tied to a post. She tried to look around, to see her captor, but there was nobody. Fear was digging into her muscles like cramp. She was just a small time burglar, she knew the risks she faced each night, but nothing had prepared her for this. She had never felt so vulnerable in her life, and what was most terrifying was that she had heard no one sneak up behind her. ‘I’m going to die’, she whispered to herself, and prayed that it would be painless and not drawn out.

After what seemed like hours, she heard the door open and the room flooded with light, and gasped with disbelief. The man who walked in was the same quiet, short, bespectacled man she had been spying on for the past week. That he could sneak up behind her so soundlessly, and that he actually had some sort of dungeon in his house, left her stunned. The man did not even look at her, he busied himself checking the knots that tied her to the posts. After he was quite satisfied, stood next to the bed and smiled at her:

‘Why, hello there Catwoman. Do you always dress this sexy when you are out thieving?’

She felt herself plunging into fear so deep and cold that for a moment she forgot how to breathe. The man was demented; she could see it in his eyes. That he was going to kill her she did not doubt even a little bit. The question was, what horrific tortures would she have to undergo before that? Would he mutilate her? Skin her alive?

The man seemed to be able to smell her terror. His mouth twitched as he reached out to put a hand on her belly. She closed her eyes and sucked in her breath to avoid his touch, but soon felt his fingers on her midriff covered by taut spandex. Except, it wasn’t just his fingers, but something hard and metallic as well. She peeked from under her eyelids and let out a whimper. The man had a sparkling new shaving blade in his hand and was using it to trace patterns against her abs.

The blade danced slowly on her stomach, her hips, her ribs, and her sternum, sometimes light enough to just feel, sometimes with enough pressure to create a nick in the costume. She bit into her lower lip, waiting for the sharp edge to penetrate her skin and draw blood, but it didn’t happen. Not yet.

The blade moved slowly upwards towards her uncovered neck, resting playfully on her jugulars as tears streamed down her face and her breath became jagged. It then came down to her bosom, tracing a spiral up the slope of one breast and then the other. To her mortification, her nipples started responding to the stimulus. Her nipples had always been big relative to her breast size, and now when the rest of her body was petrified in fear, they suddenly decided to start swelling till they reached the size of small berries.

Their appearance distracted the man as well, and he spent a few minutes flicking them with his thumb, rubbing their surface. She felt her lower belly clasp and then loosen into a hurried release; she had come from just the touch of his thumb on her nipples. He seemed amused, and she watched in terror as he picked up the blade again and began running it gently against her nipples. She was afraid to move or even breathe, terrified that even the slightest movement would lead to mutilation. The man pinched the material covering her left nipple, held it up, ran his blade through it, creating a neat hole, and let it snap back on to her chest, and repeated for the other nipple as well. She looked down and nearly moaned in fear when she saw her nipples peeking pinkly and naively from the holes in her bodysuit, standing to attention without any apparent concern about what would happen to them.

With one hand he continued to trace her nipples with the blade, with the other he reached between her legs. He smiled to himself at the patch of wetness the had grown at her crotch, as he gently rubbed her vulva over the spandex. Then he took the blade, and deftly made a neat slit on the material right above her vagina, and she felt the cold air tickling her wet cunt.

The man got up and went to a fridge standing in the corner. He had his back to her and she could not see what he was doing till he turned and she saw he was holding a ice-cube mould in the shape of a huge phallus. He removed the plastic casing and held out for her to behold– a 10-inch long penis made of hard ice, glistening in the light, anatomically perfect and complete with bulging veins that she could make out even from the bed.

The man held the tip of the ice penis to her exposed nipples and whispered in her ear–“All you have to do is melt the ice and you are free to go. Game?”

Free to go? Did he mean it? For the first time, she allowed herself hope that maybe she would survive this ordeal. But then she remembered that not only would she have to take the gigantic dildo inside her, she would have to keep it in long enough to melt it.

The man’s question, in any case, was rhetorical. She didn’t have a choice. He had already begun to press the bulging tip against her slit. She felt a stab of icy pain and let out a scream as the ice cock pushed inside her warm pussy. Deeper and deeper it went, and each new bit of flesh it touched was fresh agony, till she was deluged in dull, throbbing pain. The dildo went deeper inside her than any man had ever done. When it had been completely inserted, the man stood up and headed towards the fridge again.

She focused her whole being in generating enough heat to melt the monstrous icepick inside her. She even tried to pee, but it was as if she no longer had any control over that area of her body. The man came back holding two wide-mouth wine glasses, their internal surface lined with a 1mm thick wall of ice, and she knew as soon as she saw them what her was going to do with them. Sure enough, he fitted each glass on a breast, such that her soft flesh was muzzled into a thick brassier of ice. Every nerve in her body was tingling with sensation, not merely pain but also excitement. The ice was both numbing her and setting her on fire at the same time. The man grabbed hold of the handle of the dildo jutting out from her cunt, and pulled it softly in and out, in and out. She was stretched so tight that she could feel every rib, every unevenness on the surface of the ice. She did not notice when she had stopped whimpering and started moaning in rhythm to his thrusts. As the pick grew smaller, her muscles relaxed and the blood flowed back into the walls of her pussy. It was like slowly coming back to life. Drops of cold water melted from her ice brassier too, making a tortured path on the surface of her breasts before they trickled off her ribs and belly.

By the time the ice dildo had grown so small that it was barely a finger rubbing cruelly inside her swollen cunt, she could no longer hold herself and began urinating helplessly on to the bed. The heat of the piss as it gushed from inside her finally broke her strength and she fell unconscious.

When she came to, she was outside in the dark, her nipples still exposed in the body suit. Her bag was missing, but she sure as hell wasn’t going back to find it. She made her way home in the darkness, numb, sore, swollen, half-dead of terror. It was the last time she would go out burgling.

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