Home Offenses

A home invasions turns into hours of fun for the whole family.

“Honey?” My wife shook me away, “I think there’s burglars downstairs.”

“Huh?” I’m a deeper sleeper than her, but even in the light of the bedside clock. [4:26] I saw her bent over the foot locker. Her robe falling open, and the belt hanging on her sides, as she unlocked it.

Pulling out a pair of clamshell earmuffs, and throwing them to me, she got out another pair.

“How many?” I sat up, and pulled my shirts on from the side of the bed.

“I don’t know, I just heard them whispering to each other at the top of the stairs.” Next, she pulled out her grampa’s Coach Gun. (Ithaca Messenger) engraved in gold on either side of the stock, broken open. She tucked a blank in 1 barrel, and a shell of 9 ball 00 Buckshot in the other.

I stepped into my sneakers, and pulled them up over my heels. She just handed it to me, broken open so I could read the markings stamped around the primers. (Blank) (Buckshot) I closed them, and checked the hammers.

Out in the hallway, I noticed the lights were on downstairs. I didn’t hear anything, with the hearing protection over my ears, I skipped the loose step, that tended to rub against the wall when you put weight on it. The board had hooked up on one end, and I hadn’t ripped up the carpet to replaced it. On the honeydo list, it wasn’t that high a priority before.

Then, I risked peaking around the corner. The criminals bent over the recording desk. Unmasked, one turning to mutter something in the other’s ear. I didn’t recognize either of them, but the other turned back to say something else. Twisting the end of a co-axial cable, attached to some of the recording equipment I had set up.

Expensive recording equipment, a little out of date. I worked as a sound guy, and cameraman, off and on at the local TV station. They tried to get a Soap Opera going, and after they gave up that project, they sold off some of the redundant equipment for cheap. I got a good deal on them, but we’re talking Co-axial cables, a sound-board, condenser mics, and a portable backpack Betamax recorder to go with the video camera.

I’m not even going to guess how much those would be worth at a pawn shop, but glancing back up the stairs, I saw my wife with her type IIa vest belted on over her robe. It didn’t look like she had the Trauma Plate tucked in, but she had on clamshell hearing protection, ballistic glasses, and long-slide compensated .357sig with the red dot sight in both hands, muzzle depressed.

Looking back, I just had to reach out half a foot to reach the light switches, but if they were whispering in each other’s ears, trying to figure out the spaghetti of coaxial, and RCA cables, then they weren’t wearing ear protection.

FLIP! It went dark, and I gave them a second to turn around in the telltales of the computer still plugged in. I closed my eyes, right before I slipped my finger in the trigger guard, and let the Blank lose as a flashbang.

“AH!” They both dropped cables, and one even sat down, hard. Covering up their ears, stunned, I flipped the light back on, and felt my wife coming down the stairs behind me.

I held up the coach gun, showed them the muzzles, and my wife put her arms over my shoulder. Bracing her pistol in both hands, right by my hearing protection, but really too close for comfort, without ballistic safety glasses on. I jerked the muzzles up, once they got a good enough look to see that I had another barrel. So, they raised their hands, and the one that had fallen down stood up.

Awkwardly, I stepped aside, and my wife came down. Her gun hand steady, even when she reached back to a pouch on the hip. Unsnapped it by feel, and pulled out a double loop of white plastic straps. Shaking it, so one loop slipped out the other, and it opened like a butterfly. She motioned for one to turn around.

I covered her, but in the same field of fire as the 2 invaders, I kept my finger out of the trigger guard, and flipped the safety back on. She handed the zipper-cuffs to the other, and motioned him to put them on her friend.

I reached back when I felt my clamshells slip off of my ear. “Daddy, what’s going on?”

“Nothing sweetheart, go back to bed.”

“What’s Tommy, and Virgil doing here?”

“You know these 2?” I looked back from her mother, pulling another pair of zip-cuffs out of the carrier, and motioning the other guy to turn around.

“Yeah, they go to school with me, he must have heard me talking about your video equipment?” She shook her head, and pointed, “He’s in my drama class, but I was talking to Mrs. Evans.” The Drama Teacher at their high school. “I didn’t know he was eaves dropping.”

Well, that explains how they knew where to go, but not how they got in. “Put some,” I looked back, but she had an earplug hanging over her bathrobe. By the string leading up to her other ear, her shooting glasses, and the M1-carbine from the gun safe in her room.

Her mom was in the Marines, an MP, then CID. Basically the military equivalent of a Detective, from what she tells me. Worked undercover with the Coast Guard, stationed out of Miami, to assist with drug, and human trafficking from the Bahamas, Cuba, and Central America.

Now, I’d been shooting before, all my life. I grew up on a ranch, and went hunting with my dad. His brothers, my cousins, we’re a big family, with guns. Varmint guns, mostly to chase the coyotes off the chicken coop, but I made the mistake of treating my girlfriend as a “Little Lady,” when she started talking about guns.

Our first date, we went out plinking, and she proceeded to shoot my pants off with my own gun. Our daughter, Beretta grew up with BB guns as soon as she was old enough to hold one, off hand. Pellet rifles, .22s, and now she had a Ruger Mini-14 for when we went out hunting as a family. She was starting to wrack up medals as fast as her mom, when she was that age.

Cowboy Action Shooting, then 2 gun, and 3 gun. Neither one of them could throw a kettelbel as far in the Kasarda Drill as I. So, I could at least try and compete, but 2BPH, my wife is the registered badass in the family. So, I just broke the heirloom coach gun open, dropped the other hammer, and set it aside to check on my equipment.

“Ah, not so tight, we’re not resisting. Just call the cops all ready, and let us go.”

“Berry?” My wife turned back, and our daughter nodded. Going over to the hall closet, she got out her blazer, and fished her ID carrier out of the pocket. Handed it to her mom, to flip open. “I am the cops.” Sherriff’s deputy, SWAT. “Can you hear me, and understand what I’m saying?”

I just shook my head, and checked the ends of the cables. Plugged the coax back in, and turned the collar, once I saw that the ground end hadn’t gotten bent out of shape, then picked up the triple RCA cable.

“Good, you’re under arrest for breaking and entering, attempted grand theft. You have the right to remain silent.”

“I know my rights, my dad’s a lawyer.”

“Good, Berry?”

She picked up the phone. “What’s his number?”

“Well, he’s not a criminal lawyer.” The boy shrugged. “Maybe I better talk to a public defender, or something.”

;

Berry (Ff mmM BDSM Cuckhold)

Mom holstered her race gun, and pulled her ears down around her neck. I knew their dad was a lawyer, but a Tax Lawyer. Either way, he’d probably rather we just took him to jail instead of calling him.

A real asshole, and it ran in the family. Ask me why they wanted to get into Drama in the first place, neither one of them could act worth a damn, but I guess they liked to think they’re gonna be Movie Stars or something.

I preferred to work behind the scenes, of course. I thought that if Mrs. Evans talked to my dad, maybe I could borrow his Camera, and start recording the Holiday Play, or something. You’d think that pointing a Camera was just as easy as pointing a gun, but you’d be wrong. In Photography class, I learned about things like framing, off setting the subject, and how the viewer’s eye has to switch from point to point, or follow the action in a moving shot.

So, not like a moving target at all, but once mom got all her gear tucked away. Her safety glasses safely in their pouch on her M.O.L.L.E. vest. I leaned over, behind her, and got up on tippy toes. ‘you thinking what i’m thinking?’

She nodded, without even looking back, and started pulling the velcro straps off the side.
“Huh!” She lifted it up, “Well, I don’t suppose you boys are any real threat.” I looked back at dad, still fiddling with cables, and stuff. I guess, I giggled so he’s look over, and see mom untying the belt on her Kimono robe.

“Yeah,” I stepped over beside her, and pulled the loops in my terry cloth belt. “There’s just something hot about scared little boys tied up, and trying not to cry, huh?”

I looked back at dad, who lowered his eyebrows, and picked up his backpack. “Just give me a sec, girls.” He got the portable tape recorder. Basically like a battery powered VCR, but some 90 minute format, I forget the name of. Not like a camcorder mini-cassette, but somewhere between that, and VHS. He tucked one in the door, and snapped it shut.

“What, the.” The boys looked at each other, so mom reached out between them, and pulled Tommy’s cheek.

So, I pulled Virgil’s, but I don’t really care. Which one I get, but mom is real cool about this stuff, for a reason. She got in the Military for the Uniform, but then she qualified for MPs. Back in the day, they didn’t really let Women in Combat, but what really clinched it for her was the new Uniform came with Hand Cuffs.

Dad’s not really into that kind of rough stuff, but I sure am. There’s just something awesome about handcuffing a man, a grown man, or even a couple scared teenager boys. “Don’t look at him.” Mom pulled her other hand down the side of her robe, and leaned over. “You’re not a faggot, are you?”

“No,” he looked down, “Maam.”

“I better search them,” I grabbed Virgil’s jacket. “Get up, on your feet.” I turned him around and pushed him. “Over here.” I held the plastic ratchets between his wrists, and yanked them hard. “Bend over the back of the couch.”

“Okay, rolling.” My dad put the camera up on his shoulder, and looked through the eye piece. Turning the

“Uh, what are you going to do to us?” Tommy looked up, but he was grinning. As if he’d gotten lucky.

“I told you.” Mom spread her legs, and sat down on his lap. “You have the right to remain silent.”

“Muph!” Pulling his head in both hands, she smothered him in the lacy cups of her babydoll. I think, maybe it’s a Teddy? Some sort of negligee, it’s like a night gown, only barely long enough to cover her panties, and the bodice is shear enough to see her nipples through. You can tell she doesn’t have a bra on, that’s for sure.

“What have we here?” I reached up between Virgil’s legs. “You have any weapons, or sharp objects on you?” Remembering what mom taught me about safety, searching a perp. I guess we’re playing cops and robbers when I was young, and with my little brother.

Who came down to sit on the stairs, and watch once everything was under control.

He didn’t say anything, he just crossed his legs, but I had on shorts, and a night shirt. Just a teeshirt and panties, but no bra on. Of course, even though he is 12, almost a teenager, he wouldn’t dare try anything sick. Like peeping on me changing, or getting out of the shower. He knows better, not only do I have guns of my own.

So does he, but he’s still in the 30-30 cowboy action set. Matching single action, and lever action, in the same caliber, so he only has to load 1 kind of ammo in the loops of the gun belt.
Handmedowns, it used to be my gun belt, back when I was playing Annie Oakley, but now I’m 16, which means I’m old enough to get into more adult games. With boys, especially real life Robbers, or wannabees.

“Uh, no. Nothing like that.”

“Then what’s this?” I stopped rubbing the seat of Virgil’s pants, pulled tight over his butt crack, and goosed it again.

“What do you think, it’s my boner!”

“Uh, hon.” Mom waved over to my little brother. “Don’t just sit there watching, you know where your father keeps the condoms?”

He got up, “The bedside drawer.” Nodding.

“Well, we’re gonna need them.”

He ran upstairs, but there was so much going on, that I almost forgot all about Virgil bent over the back of the couch.

“Open wide.” Mom was standing up again, and she had her panties off. Her fingers holding the crotch out, to stuff them in his big brother’s mouth. “No biting.”

I leaned over. “Your big brother’s watching.” Felt up to his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. “Stupid, you’re a sophomore, right?”

“Uh huh?” I checked his Learner’s permit, and his birthday. I had to do a little math in my head, but he’s not going to turn 16 for a few months. That means 1: this isn’t going on his permanent record, or it wouldn’t if mom had any intention of taking them in, and writing an Arrest Report.

Honestly, I’m not sure if that’s legal or not? I mean, she’s just a Sheriff’s Deputy, and certified Correction’s Officer at the women’s prison, but she also consults with the Vice Squad, and SWAT Team, as needed. Usually when they find a Meth lab, or a truck full of illegals, since she’s not D.E.A. or Border Patrol, but she’s worked with them, so she knows the drill.

“Huh!” I leaned over to hump my teeshirt against his back. “Well, you don’t want your dad to find out about this, and I don’t want anyone at school to know, either.”

Secretly, I hoped that one of the boys would try something. Unlikely, if they knew I was armed, I knew how to shoot, and even some basic hand-to hand stuff. Pain compliance, Searching, and Handcuffing techniques. Also weapon retention, but once mom had them handcuffs, we don’t need the guns. Just dad on the camera. “So, I’m just going to have to trust you, to think about how it might look when you tell the boys how you got raped by a girl.”

“Uh, you don’t have to rape me. I’ll cooperate, you know I’m willing to do whatever you want.”

I threw his wallet on the couch, but it bounced off onto the floor anyway. “It doesn’t matter. Until you turn 16, you’re underage, so you could still report me for statutory rape.”

“Not if you’re not that much older.”

I had to laugh, “There’s no Romeo and Juliet clause here. I’m sure your tax lawyer dad knows a real criminal attorney that can explain the age of consent to you, but legally, you don’t have the mens rea. That means you can’t be trusted to know what you’re consenting to. You’re too young, but that’s enough boring legal stuff, back up.”

I had to grip the loose ends of the stripper cuffs again, to pull him out. Holding the back of his head, so I could reach under his shirt, and feel along his belt.

To the buckle, it was a little awkward to unbuckle it one handed, and then I had to switch sides. So I could pull it out. My brother came up, holding out a rubber. “Mom said you have to use this, but is it okay if I stay and watch?”

He looked over at mom, but I took it, and she turned back. Nodded, then her eyes slowly closed again, and she started humping up and down in the older boy’s lap.

“Uph phuh!” He had his eyes closed too, and his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat. Getting fucked by my mom, but he’s like 17, at least. Maybe even 18, for I know, I didn’t get a chance to card him, but it’s still rape. I guess dad taping it is as big a criminal mistake as bringing I.D. with you for a burglary, but I guess it’s about time my brother found out what it was all about.

We’d have that, home movie to watch later, but not as a family. In spite of what you might think, we’re not rural back country rednecks into Incest, but I guess there’s a little competitive rivalry. How can I compete with my mom, though? I said something about how hot the boys looked, scared, and trying not to cry earlier, but that was a lie, too.

The truth is it’s about Power, abuse of Power for mom, and for me, I guess it was just my first chance. Having some power to abuse, so I wanted to make it look good. “Huh, okay go around to the other side of the couch, you can watch from there.” I flipped the end of the belt up, to catch it with the buckle, and got a good grip on the plastic bands holding his wrists. The ends sticking out far enough to yank them up out of the way, and swing the doubled over belt so it landed with a loud slap.

“Owh ah!”

“Go ahead, and struggle.”

“You don’t have to hurt, meAH! OW.” He tried to twist his hands, to rub his ass, so I smacked his fingers. “NEAH!” He humped into the back of the couch, hard enough for it to scrape on the carpet. “Ah!”

“What are you doing?” My brother dropped his pajama bottoms, and pulled up the top.

“I want to help!” He tucked the latter under his chin, so he had his hands free, to grab Virgil’s head. “No biting, if you bite me, I’m gonna have to make my sister hurt you worse.”

“Huh?” I just shook my head, and let go of the stripper cuffs. Shaking my head, but I looked back, and dad came around the end of the couch. To point the camera right at my brother, holding the boy’s face up, and standing on the couch cushions to shove his little dick in his face.

“Go on, suck it. Suck that little dick. You a faggot?”

“Mh hm?” He shook his head.

“Good, then that makes this rape.” He looked up at me. “I can rape him, too.” He nodded.

“Uh!” So I dropped the belt, and reached under his body again. Between his legs to feel his boner had gone soft. “Huh, oh no. You’re going to get it up for me again.” I had to pull my teeshirt up. “Feel those titties? Yeah, feel my tits real good. Go on, just pretend it’s a little Vienna sausage, but remember. No biting.” I got his fly unzipped, but I couldn’t unbutton them like that. So, I just fished around in his underwear, and pulled them down. His bloated cubby out, and then pinched his scrotum, so his balls felt out one bye one.

“Yeah, ah huh! Ngh!” My brother stopped raping his face, and just held his nose, mashed into his little shrub of pubes. “Huh, swallow it, swallow ever last drop. Huh, yeah.” He got down on his knees. Pulling up his pants, and turning around. Laying back, and catching his breath.

“Good job, son.” My dad patted his shoulder, then came around, unzipping his pants. “But let me show you how it’s done. You ever sucked a real man’s dick?”

“No, I’m not gay, don’t. Please don’t.”

“Huh,” Dad just flopped it out, and shook it. “Sweatheart, I think he’s going to need a little incentive.”

I grabbed his balls, and yanked them back, in the zipper. “AH! Fuck, let go. Uh stop, fuck! You trying to rip them off?”

“You said NO?” I let go, then swung his belt to make him shake the couch again. Trying to get away. “You don’t get to say no. You’re in no position to say no, so if my dad tells you to suck his dick, you suck it. If he wants to fuck you up the ass, you’ll take it like a man, and beg for more. No isn’t a word in your vocabulary. You don’t even know the word no any more, you just say yes. Say it.”

“Uh, yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I’ll suck his dick! I’ll do whatever you want, just let go of my nuts, please!”

“Good.” I let go, and patted his butt. “Good boy, now suck that dick like a good boy. Suck it hard, and keep on sucking until he blasts your throat with his spunk. Swallow every last drop like the good little bottom you are, and then, maybe I’ll fuck you. But you’re going to have to beg for it.”

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