This is part 4 of a 15-part series (click here to red the first blog in the series).
Rose’s knees had grown accustomed to hard floors, but it was still painful to maintain this rigid ‘puppy-pose’ for so long. Head up, eyes fixed ahead, back curling to elaborate plumping buttocks and perking breasts, begging-dog arms bent up in the air at chest level. Big, round bottom hovering above the ankles… never allowed to rest on them, even for a second (Rose winced). She was naked, except for the heavy, metal collar buckled around her neck. Leash-chain dangling with the handle bitten between her teeth. Long, dirty-blonde hair secured in tight, girlish pig-tails.
Her bold make-up was a beautiful work of art – quite a lot of it, but she looked classy. Smoky eyeshadow, subtly rouged cheeks, bright, red lips. The aesthetics accentuated the roundness of her face and highlighted the seductive gleam of her baby-blue eyes. She looked good… and she knew it. And holding this posture really made her feel like a puppy – ready to bounce with excitable energy upon the arrival of her Master. The anticipation tingled everywhere… most noticeably in her loins.
The AirB+B made the perfect place for a dirty weekend escape. The rural location was isolated and distant from any other properties. A large, 5-bedroom country-house with an oaky, stony, home-cooked atmosphere. Traditionally decorated with grandiose furnishings and exposed wooden ceiling-rafters. And it was set up perfectly. A hundred red candles painstakingly arranged throughout the house, so he’d come through the front door to find everything flickering in magical candlelight. Turning into the dining-room, he’d find the log-fire crackling and the oaken table set for a stately dinner.
Following the aroma of baking bread and pasta through to the kitchen, where he’d discover Rose kneeling naked, before a glistening treasure-trove of stolen jewels. Upstairs, the imperious master-bedroom was set up to exact specifications. Locks and cuffs affixed to the beams of the four-poster bed, chain dangling from the rafters in the middle of the room, an armoury of sex toys arrayed around the sides. The candlelit hot-tub bubbled away outside, mists of steam drifting up into the night. The three-course dinner was ready to be served – keeping warm in the oven.
The getawaying robber had arrived around 4.30pm. She’d speedily scoffed her Tupperware dish of cous cous salad, leaving her four hours to complete her chores. She wanted everything to be perfect – Rose was the type of sub who loved going above and beyond. She worked as fast as possible, but had to maintain a proper posture at all times. X liked her to stick out her buttocks and bosom as a demonstration of eager subservience. Rose stuck to this principle zealously, teetering on her wiggle as she walked and laboured. Keeping feet together, legs straight and ass plumped as she bent over. She loved bending over in that fashion: made her skin crawl like a cow-tow.
He’d be so pleased with her – she’d get the ass-kicking and fucking of her life! How hot was it that he’d explicitly banned her from bringing any clothes, except the ones she came in – not even a spare pair of panties. She’d have to remain naked all weekend! And X had strongly implied he was intending to fuck her up the ass tonight. Except when working, she’d been instructed to wear ass-plugs constantly for the last thirteen days. Three different plugs, of progressing size. It’d made her incredibly horny, but he swore her to chastity for the whole period. No belt, so she just had to use will-power. So tempting to be naughty – besieged and bombarded by her own lust – but she’d resisted valiantly.
Rose visualised herself impaled on his giant cock. How was he going to fit that huge helmet inside her ass? It was bigger than her biggest butt-plug. Was going to hurt like hell. She’d scream like a bitch whilst he twisted her hair up and told her what a dirty, little slut she was. Obviously it would be fun to do that on the grand, oaken four-poster, but Rose fantasised about doing it in a less romantic location. There was an outside toilet, presumably preserved as a testament to the authenticity of the property’s oldy-worldy atmosphere. The little latrine’s exterior was charming, but inside it looked and smelled disgusting. Would be the perfect place to get fucked up the ass – with the gritty ambience serving as a continuous reminder of her own gloriously-shameful slutty-ness. Rose couldn’t wait!
9:30pm – where was he? To be fair, if he told her to kneel at nine, then he probably didn’t intend to arrive until 9:30… or even later. So she shouldn’t worry on that account. Although there was plenty to worry about anyway. She didn’t know how the ‘show robbery’ had gone. Hope no-one got hurt! X had assured her that they wouldn’t – promising non-lethal weapons wielded by sane, experienced and professional robbers. Rose hadn’t been told the specifics of the operation, beyond what she needed to know. Information had been siloed for everyone’s protection and she’d never even met the robbery team. But X was firmly in control and he wouldn’t let anyone get hurt. She just had to trust him. She did trust him… mostly…
Okay, so obviously it’d occurred to Rose that trusting X might be a mistake. She wasn’t stupid. She was 41 years old and knew very well that people lied… especially men to their romantic partners. And clearly, X wasn’t entirely trustworthy. He was a professional thief – a con-man who deceived for a living. Perhaps all the tenderness and emotional intimacy they’d shared had just been an act. Rose certainly didn’t believe he loved her as much as she loved him. And maybe even: she didn’t really love him as much as she thought she did. She’d only known him for seven months after all.
Yet she’d been in love with the type of man he was forever. She didn’t mean ‘type’ – X wasn’t just a ‘type’ – he was the archetype. A heroic villain: dashingly handsome, devilishly charming, inking seduction from every pore of his perfect body. And a dominating manner that just made you want to curl up at his feet. Such a cliché that this charismatic scoundrel might target a middle-aged divorcee, in order to manipulate her into assisting with a robbery. He brought up the idea of robbing her shop the first time they met… and seven months later they’d done it!
Jesus! Whenever she got onto that line of thought, it seemed so obvious she was being conned – grifted. A bored woman, suddenly offered a whole new world of excitement and adventure. Getting caught up in the romance and intimacy of criminal collaboration. Rose had always enjoyed keeping her kleptomania secret from everybody, but it felt so liberating to finally having someone to share it with. She’d been swept off her feet… and into the clouds – swirling higher and higher, on an intoxicating combination of crime and BDSM. And perhaps her self-destructive streak was secretly joining forces with the extremities of her masochism, to let him fuck her over?
No, don’t think like that. She reminded herself the rational reasons to believe that she wasn’t being grifted. It was Rose who’d initiated contact with him: he was on the train first; she randomly chose to sit near him; he initially ignored her and read his book; she struck up a conversation on the basis she’d read the same book in the past. When the conversation moved to the subject of work, she told him she was a jeweller and he instantly replied that he was a jewellery thief. Joking that they should work together sometime. At least she thought he was joking. As their relationship developed, they’d kept it up as a running joke, but it gradually became clear he really was a thief – although specialising in software rather than jewellery.
Eventually she asked whether he was serious about robbing her store. He replied that he didn’t ‘shit where he ate’ and told her the jewellery store wasn’t worth robbing. But the idea grew inside Rose and she ended up arguing to make it a reality. She pushed the idea for few weeks before he began to see the merits of the plan. Yes, it wasn’t that much money and the security was hi-tech, but the lack of onsite-manpower made it a soft target. It should be easy, if X’s claims regarding his amazing penetration software were true (which it turned out they were). After finally agreeing to her proposal, he immediately took full control of the operation. But the point was: it was her idea in the first place.
Although famously: people getting grifted usually think the whole thing was their idea. Rose had always known there was a chance he wouldn’t turn up. Just run off with the loot and leave her kneeling in the kitchen like a lemon. She’d also worried the robbery-team may attempt to double-cross X… horrible nightmares about him getting shot. But she didn’t have to worry about that now… or about him deliberately not coming to Dorset. Because as it’d turned out on the day: Rose was the one with the lion’s share of the loot.
He might just overpower her and take the jewels? There wouldn’t be anything she could do to stop him. Although as Rose was obviously going to be questioned by the police, it would be foolhardy for him to put her in a vengeful mood. He could just kill her of course. A deathly chill shivered through her bones. But he wouldn’t do that – he wasn’t a violent man. Well obviously, he was violent – in the context of sex games – but he wasn’t a psychopath. Murder wasn’t his style. At worst he’d kick her ass and steal the money. That thought really turned her on. Why did her submissive lusts have to be so insanely perverse?
A crunch of gravel as a car pulled onto the driveway. He was here. Rose’s puppy-posture sprung with excitement. Nerve-endings thrilling, heart chattering. A tortuously long minute before she heard him entering the house. Heavy footsteps in the hallway. Although something a bit funny about them. X strolled into the kitchen. A big, wolfy grin when he caught sight of Rose posing in front of their treasure. She could tell that something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t help smiling back at him – he was so handsome. Suddenly Natalya marched into the kitchen. What the fuck was she doing here?