Date: Wed, 11 Aug 2004 20:00:21 -0700 (PDT)
From: Greg <njsword@yahoo.com>
Subject: 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.