Stolen in the Night

This is my second story submission to Nifty. The other is "Dorm Shower Lover" under the College category, in the pre-2000 section.

I appreciate any and all comments. My e-mail address is njsword@yahoo.com.

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblence to actual persons or events is coincidental. It is intended for adults who are not offended by descriptions of male/male sexuality. Do not read it if you are under legal age in your locality or if you are offended by such material.

You are free to copy this story for your own use, but please do not modify it in any way or republish it elsewhere. Thank you.

Stolen in the Night By Greg Eckhardt

It was late, almost 2 a.m., but Jim Dunham couldn't sleep. He lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. There was too much running through his head. Every time he rolled over or shifted into a new position, some other minor concern came to mind: postponing his appointment with the dentist, returning the signed renewal for the lease on his house, bringing that defective CD back to the store, taking the cat to the vet for her annual check-up and shots... This didn't even touch on all the problems and issues that he had to deal with at the office on Monday. The list just seemed to go on and on. They were all trivial things, but collectively they nagged at him. Although he was worn out from a long week, he couldn't relax and get comfortable enough to drop off into slumber.

As a rule, Jim had no trouble sleeping. A few months shy of his 30th birthday, he was young, healthy, and in good physical shape. From time to time he felt stressed out because of work or some other worry, but it seldom affected his sleep. Earlier in the evening, as he always did on Friday, he had gone to the health club for his third and final workout of the week. Most of the time the resulting physical exhaustion made him nod off easily and rest soundly, but not tonight. This was just one of those special occasions when insomnia stopped by for an unplanned and unwanted visit.

In desperation, Jim forced himself to be still. Holding himself rigidly immobile, he tried to will sleep to come. That didn't work, of course. The sandman appears in his own good time; he doesn't take kindly to demands. A shot of liquor or a sleeping pill might have coaxed his arrival, but Jim preferred to avoid artificial means. Before long, he was tossing and turning again.

As if being fidgety weren't bad enough, now he was too warm. Despite the chilly December night, his tumultuous mood made the bedroom seem like a furnace. He threw off the covers for relief, but after a few minutes he felt too cool. Back up they came as he huffed in frustration.

Frequent glances at the glowing red LED display of his bedside clock did nothing to help the situation. The numbers marched on implacably, indifferent to his restless state. Jim considered giving up and going into the den to watch TV, but he was too tired to put forth even that minimal effort. The minutes plodded onward.

At last, Jim began to drift off. Although he could not see it, the clock now read exactly 3:00 a.m. He teetered on the brink between wakefulness and sleep, an instant away from sliding into blissful oblivion in the land of dreams.

Then there was a sound.

It was a scarcely audible thud. Still keyed up, Jim came instantly to full consciousness. His heart raced as he waited and listened. The noise had startled him, not because it was at all loud but because it was out of place.

This time of year, total silence reigned at night. Isolated from the bustle of the outside world, the house sat with a few others along a winding back road. Forest stretched all around, creating a rural island in the midst of the suburban sea. Even in summer, the nocturnal peace was broken only by the din of chirping crickets.

For an instant, Jim thought Cassandra had knocked something over. His feline companion was the only other resident of the house. Every once on a while, the cat would decide that the middle of the night was a wonderful time to tear around the house madly or to engage in a boisterous game of pounce on the yarn ball. The commotion never failed to scare Jim out of his wits. He'd jump out of bed and shout at the mischievous creature, who would only gaze at him with an expression of purest innocence. Then, feeling guilty and foolish, Jim would pick her up and stroke her silky white coat while he cooed at her nonsensically. In typical feline fashion, Cassandra would accept this as her right and due. The two of them would return to bed, and the cat would bask in his attentions until he dropped off again.

That wasn't the case tonight, however. Peering over toward the other side of the large bed, Jim spied the cat. Until a moment ago, Cassandra had been curled up beside him in complete repose. Now she crouched on her haunches alertly, twitching her tail with agitation. Her ears pointed like radar dishes toward the door that led to the hallway. After a few seconds, the cat scuttled over and jumped down to the floor. Whenever she felt threatened she fled straight for her favorite hiding place beneath the bed.

Her behavior worried Jim. Cassandra usually acted this way only when a stranger came into her domain. Although she was friendly and affectionate with Jim and his close friends, the cat became a hopeless coward around people she didn't know. She would run and hide before an unfamiliar visitor even stepped up to the front door. There had to be someone in the house.

Jim sat up, straining his ears for further signs of the intruder's activities. For several minutes he heard nothing but absolute quiet. It seemed to roar in his ears like static interference. The absence of any other commotion restored his confidence. The sound was probably innocuous. Perhaps an animal had skittered across the roof, or perhaps the house was settling in the winter cold. Still, Cassandra wouldn't have reacted so excessively to those occurrences. There was no harm in checking, and he was wide awake anyway. Jim rose from the bed and crossed to the door.

As he touched his hand to the doorknob, another noise broke the silence. It sounded like a heavy footstep, as if someone had tripped and regained his balance awkwardly. Jim's fear returned instantly, but this time it was overridden by anger. Some lowlife had broken in and violated the sanctity of his home. The cretin had to be dealt with severely. Purposefully Jim tiptoed over to his closet and pulled out the softball bat that he had tucked away at the end of summer. Gripping the bat firmly, he strode back to the door.

He pressed his ear against the wood and tried to determine the location of the burglar. A few minutes passed with no further disturbance, but then there was the distinctive clatter of glass tapping glass followed by a stifled curse. Jim forged ahead with grim resolve. Turning the knob slowly and deliberately, he held his breath. With excruciating patience, he inched the door away from its frame, hoping it would not squeal in protest as it sometimes did.

Jim peered through the crack, but the hallway was utterly black. His light starved eyes could discern nothing in the Stygian murkiness that appeared to writhe and swirl upon itself. By comparison, the ethereal moon glow that filled the bedroom seemed as bright as daytime. Easing the door further open, he prayed that the light wouldn't flood the hallway and betray his presence. When the gap was just wide enough to permit his passage, Jim slipped out and pulled the door swiftly but silently closed behind him.

The inky gloom did not deter him. He could scarcely make out the floor beneath him or the walls to either side of him, but he moved swiftly forward on instinct. Living in the house for almost seven years had given him the intimate knowledge necessary to navigate it blindly. It was an advantage over the burglar that he would exploit to the fullest. He carefully avoided the creaky floorboards near the linen closet and sidestepped the pile of boxes that waited by the door to the basement. Convinced that the prowler was skulking around the living room, he passed by the guestroom, office and main bathroom with no more than an glance into those darkened spaces.

As he came to the end of the hallway, Jim stopped. The currents of air indicated that the open space of the foyer lay ahead of him. By now, his eyes had begun to adjust. Shadows became walls and doorways and furniture. He could see the outline of the coat closet to his immediate left and, a short distance off to his right, the front entryway. Opposite stood the gaping maw that led into the living room. Perhaps it was no more than his imagination, but Jim fancied he could hear the trespasser's muffled footsteps.

The thought of some felonious stranger casually strolling through his home only made Jim angrier. He clutched the bat more tightly. Tossing caution aside, he crossed the foyer rapidly, though still noiselessly, and sidled right up to the doorway into the living room.

From this new vantage point, Jim could peer out at the whole expanse of the large room. Faint illumination seeped through the curtained windows to reveal the silhouette of his uninvited guest. The shape crept stealthily over to the large antique desk in the far corner. Displaying laughable ineptitude, the thief twiddled ineffectually with the pendant that dangled on the cover. The old-style flip-top design confounded him. Finally he realized that he needed to pull it up, but he did so with too much force. It would have fallen open with a bang if he hadn't caught it at the last second. Visibly shaken, he hesitated a few seconds before he began to rifle through the various drawers and cubbyholes.

With no light from behind to betray him, Jim remained invisible to the intruder. Under other circumstances, he might have chuckled at the irony. He knew the burglar would come away empty-handed for his troubles. As it was, he merely watched and grew ever more enraged.

The housebreaker muttered something unintelligible when the desk yielded no loot. The nearly empty sack he held shook with his frustration. Having finished his circuit of the living room to little profit, he headed toward the doorway where Jim stood.

As the figure approached, Jim held himself in check. The prowler was compelled to traverse the dim landscape with painstaking care. He had to pick his way cautiously among the furniture and other obstacles. Jim had no such limitation.

When the burglar came into range Jim lashed out savagely. Leaping past the sofa by the doorway, he swung the bat with vicious accuracy. The inattentive intruder was caught completely off guard. With a sweeping arc the bat struck him solidly on his upper arm. Dropping the sack, he crashed to the floor with a startled yelp of pain.

While his adversary was temporarily neutralized, Jim whirled around and stripped a small afghan off the sofa behind him. He threw it over the fallen man's upper body. The thief had less than a moment to struggle. Pinning him down, Jim wielded the bat again to club him over the head. The intruder slumped back, unconscious, perhaps even dead.

Panting from exertion and excitement, Jim could only stand beside the crumpled form. Adrenaline coursed through his system. Several minutes passed before he could catch his breath and collect himself. After all of the rage had bled out of him, he felt suddenly weak. The explosive violence had purged him thoroughly.

As rational thought returned to him, Jim gazed down at the shape beneath the blanket. What if he had killed the stranger? His fear returned full force. Although the burglar had broken into Jim's home, he had not threatened Jim himself. If the man were dead, Jim could be convicted of murder. He didn't know the law, but he thought it was a real possibility that he could go to jail for decades, if not the rest of his life.

Jim studied the form at his feet. He couldn't tell if the burglar was breathing. Crouching down, Jim searched around for the fellow's wrist. When he found it, he felt for a heartbeat. Strong and steady, the pulse throbbed against his fingertips. He sighed with relief.

Even as Jim examined his uninvited visitor, the burglar began to stir. Thinking quickly, Jim darted back down the hallway to the linen closet. This time he paid no heed to the cantankerous floor, although its screech seemed deafening in the silent house. He flipped the switch beside the closet and winced as the glare of the overhead light assaulted his eyes. Flinging open the door, he reached down to rifle frantically through the small tool chest that sat on the bottom shelf. Inside it--beneath a hammer, a pair of pliers, several mismatched screwdrivers and other oddments--was a short coil of thin but strong rope. Jim grabbed the rope and raced to the kitchen. There he snatched a sharp knife from the wall rack. He hurried back to the living room and clicked on the tall lamp that stood next to the door. He wasted no more time before getting to work.

The intruder had not returned to consciousness in the meantime. Flailing weakly, he moaned once and then lay still on the floor. The blanket remained loosely draped over his upper body.

Jim unwound a sufficient length of the rope, cut it with the knife, and used it to tie the burglar's ankles together. Snipping off another piece, he yanked the blanket off and grasped the fellow's wrists. The thief offered only feeble resistance before lapsing into unconsciousness again. Quickly Jim bound his hands as well.

Now that he had the trespasser safely trussed up, Jim had the chance to look him over. The guy was actually a very good-looking. Jim placed him in his early 20s. At about 5'10" and 160 pounds, he possessed a slender build to match Jim's own. An inch at most separated them in height. Although they both had fair complexions, the prowler was a brunet to Jim's blond. The younger man sported a goatee, but like his hair it was neatly trimmed. His mixed European ancestry manifested itself in a strong jaw and the shadow of a heavy beard juxtaposed with high cheekbones and a delicately masculine nose. He was dressed in a leather jacket and gloves, carpenter jeans and Rockport oxfords. Although the jeans had the faded indigo appearance of designer stonewashing, his clothing was all clean and new looking. The black leather of his jacket and shoes shone as if freshly polished. On the whole, he seemed like the boy-next-door, not at all like a petty criminal.

Jim knew he should call the police right away, but he hesitated. Having appraised the intruder, he thought otherwise. Another idea came to him, and he began to work out a plan.

Patting the young fellow's pockets, Jim turned up his wallet. The billfold held little, besides a few dollars and a photo driver's license. The latter was all Jim needed to identify the novice lawbreaker as Daryl Marks.

"Okay, Daryl," Jim said aloud. His voice was hoarse from disuse, but he spoke more to himself than to the groggy young man. "You're going to be my guest for the night, so let's make you comfortable."

Putting one arm behind his neck and the other behind his legs, Jim hoisted Daryl up into the air. He grunted from the effort. All those hours at the gym had paid off, though. It was a struggle, but he found that he could just manage to lift and carry Daryl's weight.

Laden with his human cargo, Jim staggered out of the living room and down the hall. He had to stop once, briefly resting Daryl's limp form against the wall, but he resumed the trek doggedly. By the time Jim reached the bedroom, his muscles were shrieking in agony. He rushed the last few steps to deposit Daryl unceremoniously onto his bed.

Gasping for breath, Jim bent down and flipped on the lamp at his bedside. Soft light filled the room. Now that the first part of his mission was accomplished, he paused to regain his strength. The easy chair by the bed became a temporary crutch.

A few seconds later, when he had recuperated somewhat, Jim set to work. He could not linger, or the burglar-turned-prisoner would come around, making it impossible to execute his plan. Checking to make sure that Daryl was still safely insensible, Jim untied the young man's hands and feet.

The harrowing encounter was about to transform into a delightful fantasy. Jim could scarcely contain his enthusiasm. Still charged with tension from discovering and apprehending the intruder, he trembled with a jolt of sexual energy. Just imagining what he was about to do gave him a throbbing erection. The front of his sweatpants poked out obscenely.

His hands shook as he began to undress the young burglar. He pulled off Daryl's shoes and socks first, and then peeled off his gloves. One by one, they landed on the floor to create a haphazard pile.

Next he took off Daryl's jacket. The task seemed simple enough in principle, but it soon verged on becoming a Herculean labor. The stiff leather refused to cooperate. Jim had to roll Daryl's inert form back and forth countless times to wriggle his arms out of the sleeves. Achieving the goal was made more difficult by the fact that he had to do it deftly enough to avoid rousing his captive.

When he finally had the jacket free, Jim tossed it onto the chair with a sigh of relief. To recapture some level of composure, he forced himself to breathe deeply several times. Anxiety and excitement warred within him. The chaotic emotions could not be allowed to hinder his efforts, but it was hard to maintain control.

Beneath the jacket, Daryl wore a red plaid flannel shirt. Unbuttoning the shirt became another challenge. Jim had to force his quivering fingers to work their way steadily and methodically down Daryl's chest. Each button undone was a major accomplishment. When he finally loosed the last one, he felt as if he had scaled a mountain.

Removing the shirt was easier. With the experience from the jacket, Jim now knew how to move Daryl's body back and forth to extricate the garment with a minimum of fuss. The soft fabric was also more forgiving than the leather had been, requiring less repetition of the rocking motion. Jim stripped off the shirt quickly. It joined the heap on the floor.

The final layer was an athletic T-shirt. It clung to Daryl's torso snugly, which gave Jim pause. How could he get it off with a minimum of jostling? Getting rid of the troublesome rag threatened to be another ordeal. He was tempted to take a scissors to it.

Setting that aside for the moment, Jim turned to the young man's pants. Unzipping cooperatively, Daryl's fly presented no obstacle, but the catch stubbornly resisted Jim's fumbling efforts. It amused him that such a commonplace and familiar act for himself became a formidable chore when performing it on someone else. Even though he had undressed more than a few lovers, Jim had never developed a knack for it. He had to jiggle and tug at the fastening from various angles until it finally gave way with a jerk.

Disturbed by the abrupt movement, the burglar picked that instant to show signs of life. He mumbled something incoherent and thrashed about aimlessly. Jim panicked. What if Daryl woke up before he was finished? For a second, Jim became petrified with alarm. It didn't occur to him that the young criminal would hardly be in any condition to fight him, even if he did spontaneously revive. The point turned out to be moot, however, because Daryl promptly reverted to passivity. Nonetheless, the omnipresent risk inspired Jim to proceed even faster.

Marginally reassured, Jim went back to work. He parted the flaps of the young man's jeans and pulled them down from his waist. Coupled with Daryl's slender build, the current popularity of loose-fitting pants made this phase less complicated than the others. For once, Jim praised contemporary fashion. With two fingers of each hand hooked in the front pockets, he lifted and tugged until the jeans slid from beneath Daryl's butt.

Jim moved to the foot of the bed. He grabbed the cuffs and yanked them forcefully, hoisting Daryl's legs in the process. Friction dragged Daryl a few inches across the covers. Then, without warning, the jeans came loose. They slipped off in such a hurry that Jim had to take a step back to maintain his balance.

He dropped them carelessly beside the pile as he rushed to check on his charge. For a wonder, the rough handling had not awakened Daryl this time. He remained quiescent even as Jim caressed his downy cheek.

Now the erstwhile thief was clad only in his underwear. Although clearly a man, with his well-defined physique and hairy limbs, he seemed at the same time very boyish and curiously vulnerable. Preferring boxer-briefs himself, Jim found it somehow endearing that the young fellow wore old-fashioned boxer shorts. A measure of tenderness infused his lust. He was hardly finished, though.

In the interim, Jim had thought of how to deal with the undershirt. Gently he raised Daryl's arms over his head to rest against the headboard. There was plenty of room since Daryl had slid down on the bed. Then he peeled the burglar's T-shirt up from his stomach and chest, over his head, and off his arms. It took some strength to drag the fabric underneath Daryl's torso, but the t-shirt came off with a slow, dedicated effort. He balled it up and tossed it in the vague direction of the growing heap. Once that was done, he put Daryl's arms back into position at his sides.

Jim paused a moment to survey the landscape. He was pleased to see that Daryl had an exceptionally hairy chest. A broad swath of dark fur stretched from just beneath his shoulders down to his navel; from there it tapered down to his still-hidden groin in a sexy treasure trail. Although not particularly hirsute himself, Jim had always found hairy men to be very appealing. There was something indescribably masculine about the trait. He became even more enthusiastic about what was to come.

Only one item of clothing remained. Reverently, Jim kneeled down beside the bed. His heart thundered. Fear receded as exhilaration grew.

In such proximity, Jim became aware of the young man's unique odor. He must have been inhaling it for some time, but it had finally become concentrated enough to register on his conscious mind. Although it was partially cloaked by the clean scents of soap and deodorant, Daryl gave off an intoxicating male musk. Jim gulped in air to savor the aroma. No beast in rut could resist the lure of such potent pheromones.

With one hand on either side of Daryl's body, he slid his fingers under the waistband of his boxer shorts. Pulling the fabric firmly, Jim forced the boxers downward, against the resistance of Daryl's weight on the bed. He slid them down from the young man's waist, down his furry thighs, down his well-muscled calves, around his ankles, then up off his feet. In a fluid continuation of the motion, they sailed through the air and onto the pile.

The handsome burglar was at last totally nude, and utterly at Jim's mercy. Frozen in awe, Jim could only stand and admire the naked male form before him. Daryl was flawless in every detail. Jim had already taken in his striking face and studied the outline of his well-formed frame. Now the portrait was complete.

When his gaze focused on Daryl's crotch Jim was rewarded with the sight of a generous, but not monstrous endowment. Accompanied by large furry balls, it nestled in a patch of dark, dense pubic hair. Though flaccid, Daryl's cock was around 7 inches, comparable to Jim's own above-average member. Jim imagined that it would not grow much larger when erect. That was the perfect size, enough to bring maximal enjoyment but not so much as to cause discomfort.

Daryl was also circumcised, as Jim was himself. That made for another happy discovery. Although it might be the natural state, Jim had always thought an uncut penis looked deformed somehow. Perhaps unconsciously using himself as the standard, he found cut cocks more aesthetically appealing. It was a prejudice that he'd never been able to shake, even though he had been with a couple of uncircumcised men and enjoyed great pleasure with them.

There was no time for further reverie. Gathering his wits, Jim jumped up and ran out to the living room. He snatched up the remaining loop of rope and swiftly returned to the bedroom. Daryl had not stirred during his brief absence.

Working quickly, Jim cut off two more lengths of rope and added them to the two that had secured his captive before. He rolled Daryl onto his stomach and positioned his limbs spread-eagle on the bed. Taking each of Daryl's arms and legs in turn, Jim tied it with one of the lengths of rope to the four posts of the bed. (He had always suspected that there was a reason behind his fondness for antique beds.) When the young burglar was completely bound, Jim finally allowed himself to relax.

Forcing himself to be calm and deliberate, he returned the last of the rope to the tool kit in the closet and brought the knife to the kitchen sink. Then he went back to the bedroom. After confirming that Daryl was still out of it, Jim stepped into the bathroom. Washing his face helped soothe his frazzled nerves.

There was nothing to fear now. The intruder had been neutralized. In fact, it was the burglar who ought to be afraid. Jim had taken control and he planned to use it.

As Jim dried his face, he thought of what he was going to do to the young man. Lewd scenarios played themselves out in his mind. His lust reasserted itself. All traces of trepidation departed, fleeing to join his anger in the void. Once again, he began to tremble with excitement.

Jim started to leave the bathroom but suddenly remembered something. Reaching into the medicine chest, he withdrew a small bottle. With his prize in hand, he went back into the bedroom. Removing his own clothes quickly, Jim clambered up onto the bed between his prisoner's legs.

He paused only a moment to savor the sight of Daryl's rear aspect. The young thief's butt was as perfect as the rest of him. Subtly defined muscles trailed down his hairless back and flowed into firmly sculpted, lightly furred buttocks. Like virgin land, the pristine mounds begged to be plowed.

Daryl remained dead to the world. He didn't stir, even as Jim shook the bed. Although his breathing remained strong and regular, he gave no indication that he would awaken again soon.

Jim couldn't stand the anticipation any longer. Flipping open the cap on the bottle of lubricant, he upended it and squeezed a generous amount of the slick goo into his free hand. He closed the bottle and set it on the nightstand.

Rubbing the hand along his painfully engorged cock, he transferred the slippery substance to his rigid shaft. In his hypersensitive state, the feel of hot skin sliding against his dick was almost enough to put him over the edge. Before he could continue, he had to wait a few seconds. His pulse thrummed in his ears as the sensation subsided.

Reaching out with his clean hand, Jim softly caressed the tender flesh of Daryl's buttocks. He savored the feel of the silky skin before gently prying open the butt crack to expose Daryl's puckered asshole. From a nest of curly black hairs, it seemed to eye Jim warily.

He worked his other hand so that the remaining lubricant concentrated on his fingertips. Then he rubbed his index finger along the valley between Daryl's buttocks, moistening it lightly. He traced the length of the crack several times, reveling in the liberties he was free to take with the young man's beautiful body.

With his middle finger, Jim began circling Daryl's tight anus. As the slippery substance coated the wrinkled flesh, he tried to worm his index finger into the warm confines. He swirled the lubricant over and around the clenching hole.

Adding to Jim's depraved glee, Daryl was obviously a virgin to anal sex. His butthole fiercely resisted penetration. Jim had to work his fingertip aggressively against the recalcitrant sphincter. It was several minutes before Daryl's anus loosened enough for Jim to insert the entire length of his forefinger.

As his tight hole finally gave way, Daryl moaned softly. The vocalization could have signified pleasure or pain. On some level, Jim hoped that the young burglar enjoyed the new sensation, but he was not about to stop if he didn't.

It was time for the main event. Jim had put enough effort into preparing Daryl for the inevitable assault. However cute he was, Daryl was a criminal. He had to be punished for breaking into Jim's house and trying to steal his things. Jim didn't want to go too easy on him. He wanted Daryl to feel violated, as he himself had felt violated on finding the burglar in his house.

Jim moved in closer to Daryl's upended bottom. His thighs pressed against the back of the young thief's hairy legs. With one last stroke of his fist for good measure, Jim aimed his rigid cock at Daryl's anus. Leaning forward on one hand, with the other hand guiding his dick, Jim pressed home.

The head of his cock pushed against the puckered hole. Meeting strong opposition, Jim thrust forward more aggressively. Only grudgingly did the sphincter at last relent. The tip of Jim's dick disappeared into it.

Daryl began to awaken. Murmuring incomprehensibly, he tried to turn his head and look behind him. Gradually he became aware of his surroundings. As he pulled at his restraints, the reality of his situation overwhelmed him with sudden cruelty. He began to thrash about wildly, but he was too weak and too well bound to achieve anything by his efforts.

In fact, Daryl's movement only made things easier for Jim. As the young burglar writhed beneath him, it only served to draw Jim's cock deeper into the tight receptacle. Setting his free hand down on the mattress and putting all of his weight behind his hips, Jim thrust his dick in the rest of the way until it was fully engulfed in Daryl's hot bowels. He sighed with unadulterated bliss as he felt the moist constriction swallow the length of his shaft.

At the same instant, Daryl let out a howl of pain. He felt as if he were being ripped open. The agony was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He almost passed out again.

For a moment, Jim remained motionless, relishing the sublime sensation of being wholly immersed in the virgin butthole of the gorgeous young guy. It was a glorious dream come true. He gave no heed to the suffering he had caused his prisoner. His own pleasure was all that mattered.

Struggling ineffectually against the bonds that held him, Daryl bawled, "Oh, God! Please stop! You're killing me!"

"Oh, no, my friend," said Jim with a vicious laugh. His mellow baritone had dropped to a menacing bass. "You earned this, breaking into my house, and it feels way too good to stop. If you quit fighting it, you might actually start to enjoy it. Relax and go with it. At least it won't hurt as much. But I'm not stopping."

Jim began to slide his dick leisurely in and out of the clutching orifice. He moaned as ripples of ecstasy flowed from his penis throughout the rest of his body. Feeling his naked manmeat ride against the bare flesh of his captive was exquisite.

It had been a long time since Jim had fucked someone bareback. He probably hadn't done it since he was a kid in high school fooling around with his best friend. The sensation was incomparable. Using rubbers might be a necessity in these times, but Jim had never fully resigned himself to it. In his fantasies, he always made a show of dispensing with them. The idea of having sex without protection had become erotic in and of itself. Perhaps that wasn't a very sensible attitude, but he couldn't deny the feeling.

Besides, he wasn't going to waste a perfectly good condom on this piece of trash. It seemed unnecessary. The kid was clearly a virgin, so he had to be clean. At his last check-up a few months ago, Jim had tested negative, and he'd lived like a monk in the meantime. There was always a risk, of course, but in this case it seemed negligible.

As Jim began to ram more rapidly and forcefully into his battered hole, Daryl could only whimper softly. He'd ceased to struggle. There was no point. The ropes restrained him thoroughly.

The pain had begun to fall off, anyway. His asshole had been sufficiently loosened that Daryl felt only a warm fullness in his bowels. Truth be told, it wasn't all that unbearable. The sensation hovered somewhere between unpleasant and mildly pleasurable. Having his prostate stimulated was a novelty, but he'd actually begun to enjoy it. Pressed against the mattress, his own cock had become semi-hard and leaked pre-cum copiously.

Daryl tried to remember how he'd gotten into this predicament. He could recall entering through the window that had been left unlatched and rummaging around the darkened house for small valuables. After that, his recollection became hazy. His head throbbed and he could feel a lump pounding on his skull, so he knew he'd been clobbered. The guy who held him prisoner must have sneaked up on him and knocked him out cold. Daryl had to give him credit for catching him and trussing him up so handily.

Daryl's reverie was wrenched back to the present as his captor moaned loudly. Nearing his climax, Jim began to thrust in and out of the no-longer-virgin hole with increasing abandon. It seemed impossible, but his cock swelled even more within the confines of clutching orifice. Wave on wave of overwhelming pleasure surged through his body. With a grunt of bestial release, he shuddered violently. Repeated salvos of molten semen shot forth from his pulsing organ into the innermost recesses of Daryl's body. As the tremors subsided, Jim's whole being gradually went limp.

His lust sated, Jim remained unmoving for several minutes. Panting from exertion, he felt the sweat on his body evaporate in the chill night air. He shivered slightly. His cock remained nestled in its new home. Slowly it softened, until at last Daryl's battered asshole recovered enough strength to expel the fleshy appendage that had recently deflowered it.

Stiffly, for he suddenly felt the late hour and lack of sleep crash down on him, Jim rose from his ungainly position. He made his way to the bathroom where he washed off the evidence of his recent activities. To his relief, the engagement had not been distastefully messy. His deflated member bore only a light residue of lubricant and semen. After he had scrubbed himself clean, Jim returned to the bedroom with a soapy washcloth to take care of his guest. No one could ever accuse him of being an inconsiderate host.

During Jim's pyrotechnic orgasm, Daryl had remained preternaturally quiet. Much to his astonishment, the young burglar had become so stimulated by being butt-fucked that he had cum almost simultaneously with his rapist. It was the most incredible sensation he had ever experienced. He didn't think it was possible to ejaculate without direct stimulation of his cock, but it had happened, in a most earth-shattering way.

As he lay on the bed, his stomach pressed into the congealing jism beneath him, Daryl wondered what was going to happen next. Getting fucked had begun as an excruciating shock but it had turned out to be a surprisingly pleasurable experience. If his captor discovered that Daryl had ultimately enjoyed being taken, would the vengeful homeowner seek to punish him in some other way? Daryl grew cold with dread.

When Jim came back into the bedroom, he saw that Daryl had come around. He noted with some satisfaction that the young thief was watching him frightfully. Affecting the appearance of a cocky assurance that he did not feel, Jim addressed his prisoner.

"So you've finally come back to the land of the living." He chuckled, trying to sound menacing. "How did you like being fucked?"

Mute with fear, Daryl said nothing.

Jim answered for him, "Not a lot of fun being taken against your will, is it? Maybe next time, you'll think twice before breaking into someone's home. It's not nice being violated."

"I'm sorry," Daryl finally managed to whine. His natural tenor crept up to boyish falsetto.

"Oh, it can speak," said Jim, maintaining the façade of serene dominance. "That's nice. I wouldn't want to feel that I'd fucked a corpse."

"I'm sorry," Daryl repeated pitiably.

"I bet you are," Jim sneered.

"No, I mean it," Daryl said with more strength. His voice deepened to its normal timbre. "It was a dumb thing to do."

"It sure was, Daryl, my boy."

"How do you know my name?" the young man asked with renewed panic.

"Easy. I looked at your driver's license while you were knocked out. Since you felt free enough to break in to my house, I didn't think it was any great transgression to pick your pockets and lift your wallet."

"Oh," Daryl said softly.

"Yes, `oh.' My name is Jim by the way. Since we've been so intimate, I thought you might like to know that. Well, let me get you cleaned up."

Jim walked back over to the bed and began washing the young fellow. With unintentional tenderness, he caressed the warm, moist washcloth over Daryl's bottom. Pushing down into the crevice, he wiped away every trace of their coupling. Daryl was very surprised at how gentle Jim was. He hadn't expected such kind treatment, but then he didn't know the man who held him captive.

In spite of his furious outburst when he apprehended the prowler, Jim was not violent or short-tempered. On the contrary, he was a kind and gentle man. It went against his nature to handle someone roughly. Only the circumstances had provoked his extreme response. It was only a nascent thought as yet, but Jim was already starting to regret what he had done.

"There," Jim said as he patted Daryl's rump. "All tidied up."

"Thanks," said Daryl, without irony.

Jim disappeared back into the bathroom. He rinsed and wrung out the washcloth before returning to Daryl's side.

"Now what do I do with you?" he wondered out loud.

"You can untie me," suggested Daryl.

"I don't think so. You're a criminal, and after what I've done to you, I imagine you'd love to do me harm."

"No, I wouldn't."

His common sense argued vigorously to the contrary, but even so Jim believed him. There was something profoundly sincere in Daryl's tone. Jim couldn't exactly say why, but he knew the young thief had spoken the truth. Still, he wasn't so foolish as to let him go, at least not yet.

"Yeah, right," Jim said sarcastically, not willing to reveal any weakness.

"I mean it," said Daryl firmly. "I know what I did was wrong. It was really stupid."

"That is was," agreed Jim softly.

"Yeah, well, I can't undo it now. But I wish I could. I just didn't have a choice. I needed money real bad. I took a loan from this guy to make a bet on a football game. I swear I'd never gambled before, but my friends told me it was a sure thing. Of course, my team lost. So now I owe this guy a thousand bucks, and he wants it yesterday.

"I asked my parents for it. I told them I needed the money for a down payment on a car, but they wouldn't give it to me. They said I should save it up from my job, but I don't make enough to pay this guy back before he'll have his thugs break my legs or something.

"I didn't know what else to do. I figured I could steal a bunch of small stuff, and sell it at a pawn shop for the cash I needed. Whoever I took it from could just claim it on their insurance. No harm done. I really didn't want to hurt anyone."

As Daryl rambled on, Jim found himself beginning to sympathize with the burglar. In spite of his anger at nearly being robbed, Jim felt his resolve to punish the young man dissipating. Daryl was so adorable and so earnest; it was hard to stay mad at him. Besides, the delinquent had freely admitted his wrongdoing and seemed genuinely repentant.

"All right, all right. I get the picture," Jim said, with feigned exasperation. He was clinging desperately to an air of righteous indignation. Jim was the original victim, but he was beginning to feel guilty for what he had done to Daryl. Maybe it was because he was so tired or maybe it was because he was falling for the handsome young thief. The latter prospect terrified him. He had to get away from Daryl before he betrayed his feelings.

"Maybe I'll untie you in the morning," said Jim, drawing a blanket up over Daryl, "but I think you better stay where you are until I can get some rest and clear my head. We'll see how I feel then. I know you're not very comfortable and I'm sorry about that, but I'm not quite ready to let you go."

"It's alright. I haven't given you any reason to trust me. I'll just suffer until then."

At least he's taking it like a man, Jim thought. Aloud, he said, "Okay, then. Good night."

"G'night, Jim."

Jim hid his involuntary smile by bending down to pick up his discarded clothes. Dressing quickly in his T-shirt and sweatpants, he forced himself not to look back as he left the bedroom. He made his way to the guestroom and crashed down onto the bed. Exhaustion overtook him and he hardly had time to wriggle under the covers before he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. His last thought as he dropped off was that at least the confrontation with the burglar had cured his insomnia.

It was midmorning when Jim stirred. There was no clock in the room, but the brilliant sunlight streaming through the window suggested that it was somewhere between nine and ten. To his surprise, he felt refreshed. Mornings usually afflicted him like a punishment. Although he got out of bed at 6 AM every weekday, Jim liked to say he wasn't awake until noon and he wasn't fully functional until well after that. Sleeping late didn't help; he felt miserable whenever he got up. This morning was a pleasant exception.

The reprieve boosted his morale. Jim needed his wits about him to deal with his "guest." To delay confronting the issue, if only for a few minutes, he went into the kitchen to put up coffee and have a glass of orange juice. Wondering how he could possibly untangle this mess, he reluctantly set off for his bedroom.

Before he even came to the end of the hallway, Jim sensed that something was wrong. As if in confirmation, Cassandra poked her nose out the bedroom door. The cat regarded him with no more than her usual degree of caution. Reassured by his presence, she brushed by him regally. She trotted down to the kitchen, where she began to mewl for her breakfast.

Ignoring her for the moment, Jim strode into the room. He already knew what he would find. The intruder had vanished. Somehow Daryl had managed to slip the ropes and make his escape. It was a feat worthy of Houdini.

Jim surveyed the scene carefully. All of Daryl's clothes were gone except for one sock which lay partially hidden under the bed. Jim picked it up and held it thoughtfully for a few seconds before setting it down on the dresser.

Inspecting the place thoroughly, he went into the bathroom first and then around the rest of the house. Nothing else appeared to be out of place. His investigation turned up the window where the thief had gained access. Jim didn't remember leaving it unlatched, but until now he'd never had cause to be particularly conscious of home security. From now on, he would be much more vigilant. An alarm system didn't seem unwarranted.

The loot sack remained where the burglar had dropped it. Jim emptied the contents onto the sofa: an antique clock, a silver mug, a portable CD player, a crystal vase, several DVDs. None of the items were terribly valuable, but Jim was grateful that they hadn't been damaged. He returned them to their proper places before going back into the kitchen to feed his querulous feline.

Given the circumstances of the break-in, Jim decided not to call the police. Even though he knew Daryl's name and address from his license, there was no real evidence to connect him to the crime. The sock and the sack could belong to anyone. The gloves that Daryl had been smart enough to wear meant that there would be no fingerprints. Besides, Jim didn't want to face any of the questions that might be raised if Daryl were compelled to testify. How would he explain that he'd raped the incompetent burglar? It didn't seem likely that the turnabout victim would report what had happened, so it seemed wiser to let last night's events go unchronicled.

Daryl was gone, but it didn't appear that he had taken anything. Jim counted himself lucky that the intruder had simply fled. He could have hurt or robbed Jim while he slept, but he must have been too afraid to retaliate. That gave Jim a small sense of satisfaction. It was, moreover, at least poetic justice that he had stolen something irreplaceable from the thief.

What Jim would never know was that he had given the burglar something equally precious in return.