Wall Street Hotshot is visited by two sexy cat burglars that steal more than his money and valuables.....who said manhood didn't have a price?
Part of being a good cat burglar is having the right tools for the job. Tonight, those tools were a red cocktail dress that showed off every seductive curve of my body and a pair of heels that cost more than you probably make in a week.
You see, our newest target was Arthur P. Bridgewater III. He was a trust fund baby who had made it big on Wall Street and he had a taste for the finer things that matched my own. Tonight, he was throwing a stuffy cocktail party in his penthouse apartment. It was the sort of party to which we would never get invitations but, looking the way I did, nobody would dare turn us away. Bridgewater loved the ladies as much as he loved his money and his employees knew that he would want to see us.
When I say us, I refer to myself, Selena Hardy, and my partner, both in and out of the bedroom, Maggie Fox. Of course, those aren’t our real names, but they’re the ones we go by now. One reputation female cat burglars have is for being incredibly sexy and I’m happy to say that we don’t disappoint there. I’m the sleek one. I have long straight black hair and the body of a world-class athlete. For my work clothes, I tend to wear a latex jumpsuit. Maggie is more bubbly. She’s the one with the impossibly flowing red tresses and breasts that belong in an art gallery. She deals in information. She is definitely the brains behind this operation.
The other reputation that cat burglars get is for being daring. I suppose there is a fair amount of danger in this occupation, but we’ve never been reckless. I’ve never broken into an apartment that wasn’t completely scouted. I know security, emergency exits, and what valuables to grab before I pick a lock.
I saw Maggie in a form-fitting black dress checking her look in the mirror and kissed the back of her neck. That always drove her crazy. I could tell by the shiver in the spine that it had the desired effect.
“If you mess up my makeup, so help me, I’m going to call the cops on you myself,” she cursed.
“You know you like it. Besides it’s not like you made up the back of your neck.”
“You look fabulous.”
“So do you,” I said. “Even if we take this guy for half a million, he’s still going to be the lucky one for having us at his party.”
Naturally, we spent the evening on his arm, oohing and aahing over every little knickknack that his wealth had accumulated. I seemed to be more his type, so Maggie backed off a bit, even if this was more her specialty than mine.
"Wow! What a beautiful painting. How much did that cost?" I asked, wide-eyed, before gushing, "Say, is that a real Patek-Phillipe watch? I bet that set you back a pretty penny."
It's considered gauche to talk about money at these things, but I’m sure he thought he was impressing me and I learned long ago that, when a man thinks he’s impressing you, you always encourage that notion. It makes them weak and dimwitted.
At two-thirty in the morning, long after the guests had fallen asleep, we returned. Climbing down from the roof, I used a glass cutter to enter the living room stealthily and discreetly. I then opened a window to give Maggie access. She had a rather large bag full of things we needed for the job and she wasn’t the climber I was anyway.
We worked quickly--$300,000 jade figurine check, $240,000 watch check, $100,000 painting...now hold on a second. Behind the fancy painting was a safe. That changed things. When a man hides a safe behind something that costs six figures, you know he's got something good in there. Quietly, I pointed it out to Maggie and she nodded. She was thinking the same thing I was.
She grabbed a coil of our climbing rope and we paid Mr. Arthur P. Bridgewater a visit. He was asleep in his king-sized bed when I entered his room. He was lying on his side, which would only make my job easier. Maggie is not usually a very physical type. She doesn't need to be. Still, in our line of work, a girl has to know how to protect herself, and she had studied a bit of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu that came in very handy for those rare occasions when we were caught flatfooted.
I was the physical type. I had black belts in taekwondo, Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and karate. I had studied krav maga and grappling, and I had even had some amateur Muay Thai fights. A sleeping billionaire wouldn’t pose much of a challenge. I pounced on top of him and, before he could react, I was pinning his arms behind his back. My weight was forcing his head into his pillow muffling any screams or complaints.
Before he even knew what was happening, I had his wrists very securely pinned behind his back and Maggie was binding them in place. Maggie was an extremely talented self-trained Shibari expert, but this was just a simple behind-the-back tie. Pulling his comforter off the bed, I could see that he was sleeping in bikini underwear. I ripped them off him. Men are always so vulnerable when they're naked. Maggie took another length of rope and tied his ankles just as tightly together as she had tied his wrists.
"Don't bother struggling," I warned him. "My partner knows how to tie a knot and, when she ties up a man, he stays tied."
"What's going on?" he asked confused. "You're those girls from the party tonight, aren't you?"
Damn! He was smarter than we thought, but I'd worry about that later. I flipped him over onto his back. It seems that Arthur P. Bridgewater had a very tiny cock for someone with such a long name so I made a note to get some pictures of it later.
"Well this is interesting, Artie," said Maggie. "We need to get the combination to that safe of yours.”
“You seemed to be very free with information at the party, so how about it?” I asked. “What's the combination?"
"Eat a bag of dicks, you filthy bitches," he spat.
What a nasty mouth he had. Maggie and I looked at each other, grinning under our masks. This was going to be fun. We left him to flop around on his bed for a few minutes while we set up what we wanted in his bathroom. It didn't take long. When Maggie untied his ankles, he actually thought she was going to let him go. As if, right?
"Time to go for walkies," I said as I hauled him up and led him into the bathroom, pushing him down on the toilet. He glared up angrily as Maggie attached a thin piece of cord that I had taken from the curtains in the living room to his ball sack. She ran the cord up over the shower curtain rod and attached it to a bucket. I know he was wondering what we had up our sleeves. My amusement at the situation was very obvious, and he surely would have bolted if I didn't currently have a hold of the chord that I had tied around his balls.
Maggie turned on the shower and, while most of the spray missed the bucket, a small but steady sprinkle was landing right inside. I couldn't hold my tongue anymore and I had to explain to him what was happening.
"As the water hits the bucket, that bucket is going to get very heavy, and guess what's supporting it?" I said. The look of terror on his face was enough to cause me to laugh out loud. "We'll turn it off if you give us the combination. Otherwise, you're going to be a gelding."
After making sure Bridgewater was securely attached to the toilet, we left him alone to his fate. We made sure I didn't miss anything and went through his computer. His moans were getting louder in the other room. Thank goodness the penthouse was so soundproofed.
"Are we having fun yet?" I asked upon returning to the bathroom.
The look on his face told me all that I needed to know. He was taking shallow breaths like a new mother in the middle of delivery. I gave the chord a quick tug to get his attention. The bucket was only about halfway full, but it was clearly causing a great deal of pain on his red and swollen balls.
"You can end this. Just tell me what I want to know," I said in my most seductive voice. I realized that he was getting a little excited, and the more excited he got, the more the bucket hurt.
Our interrogation soon became a lap dance. I ground back against him and grunted loudly. He moaned as tears rolled down his cheeks but, sure enough, he soon gave me the combination.
"I'll be right back," I said, smiling back in his direction before leaving him tied there while Maggie and I rummaged through the safe.
As it turned out, the only thing we could really use that was in there was about $100,000 in cash. I guess every bit counts. Maggie untied him from the bucket and he let out a huge sigh of relief. His balls were still very swollen as she untied his ankles and we led him back to his bedroom.
"You two got what you wanted. Can you please just go?" Mister Powerful Businessman was practically begging us.
"We'll go when we’re ready," said Maggie sternly. "First, we want a show.”
"What?!" He couldn't believe it.
"You heard her. We’re going to have a little fashion show, or would you like us to go back to the bucket?” I said.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he blustered.
“Try us,” said Maggie
"No! I'll do it," he promised.
"Now just sit back and let Maggie make you into the pretty thing you really are, sissy." I taunted.
She gave Bridgewater a glare that let him know not to interfere with his makeover. He was fearful enough of his current situation not to push it. Maggie was a whiz when it came to makeovers, and this wasn’t the first time she ever made over a guy. It was just another weapon in our arsenal.
I was actually the one to start things by slipping a black satin bra and panties, garter belt, and stockings onto Bridgewater. He had no idea what we were doing but, for now, he cooperated out of fear as much as anything.
I enjoyed watching the supposed alpha male wince and squirm as she smoothed the cool liquid foundation over his face and set it with powder. His cheekbones were already high and pronounced, so she made sure not to overdo the blush. She lined his eyes and blended various hues of eye shadow to really make those eyes pop. With a thick coat of volumizing mascara applied, she curled his lashes before moving on to line his lips and color them with lipstick to give him a bright red trout pout.
Bridgewater sat very still, trying to be impassive, but he could scarcely hide the intense humiliation he felt. He would never be a passable sissy, but Maggie knew what she was doing and he no longer looked like a guy as much as an ugly woman with an unfortunate hairstyle.
Once she was done with his makeup, Maggie held up a hand mirror so that Bridgewater could see just what she had done to him. He could hardly believe the transformation. He had always had a baby face but had never known what makeup could do to accentuate his features, which were exceedingly soft and delicate for a businessman. He gasped in disbelief at his own reflection.
"You're quite pretty," said Maggie. "I thought you would be. Sit and admire yourself and I'll go and get something to complete your look."
When Maggie returned, she had a long black wig with her. Bridgewater was still bound so, of course, he had not moved from the spot, but I noticed he was still transfixed by his reflection like Narcissus at a fountain. When he looked up and saw the wig that she was carrying he groaned, "No that's too much."
"I'll decide what's too much," said Maggie, styling the long glamour wig on his head. "This wig has been worn by judges, politicians, and captains of industry. Consider yourself lucky to be part of that heritage.”
The wig had changed things. Bridgewater had gone from merely feminine to actually looking like a woman, even if not an attractive one. His erection strained against the lace prison of the panties he was wearing, which was not lost on Maggie.
"Wow! What a perv."
"I-I look just like a woman," said Bridgewater.
"Not with that thing in your panties you don't," replied Maggie, untying him. The wig had seemingly taken all the fight out of him. "Alright, I want you to reach into those panties of yours and shoot your load."
"What? Why would you want me to do that?" asked Bridgewater.
Up until now, I don’t think Bridgewater had noticed all the pictures that I had been taking subtly of his makeover, but he was beginning to put one and one together now.
"Look at us, bitch," I demanded. "Look at the women who did this to you."
The more we ridiculed and demeaned him, the harder he got. I really wished I had checked his internet history because he was probably into some freaky shit, and he was definitely a submissive. "Now, cum come for me, right into your hand."
He didn't have a choice. At this point, he didn't dare refuse us so I made him swallow his own load. I could tell from the look on his face that this was a new experience for him. Well, tough.
We took him back to the bedroom and laid him on his bed. Then, both of us climbed on his chest, back-to-back and facing the opposite direction, we made him worship our magnificent asses and pussies.
"Kiss it, bitch boy," I said. "Kiss my ass."
Soon I could feel him planting little kisses all over my ass cheeks. I do confess that it made me feel very powerful. I leaned back and made him bury his face between the cheeks. Now I was getting wet.
"Ohh," I sighed, switching places with Maggie. The feeling of power was so exhilarating. It was truly an aphrodisiac for both of us.
Finally, Maggie leaned back and completely covered his face with her ass. As he gasped for breath, I told him, "The best part is you'll never be able to tell the police about any of this.”
I don't know if he heard me as, at that moment, he was so busy trying to breathe. His sputtering gasps for air felt amazing underneath me and, just as he passed out from lack of oxygen, Maggie orgasmed.
We left him lying in his bed as if I had just been a dream, loading the things we had taken from him in a large leather bag. Nobody thought to stop us or even look twice at us as we made our way outside, considerably richer.
The sun would soon be coming up. It was going to be a great day.
THE END
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