Under The Heel 2

By Mike O'Connor

Five stories of extreme female domination. Helpless men are beaten and tortured by vicious women, in a series of creative everyday scenarios. WARNING: This story collection contains graphic descriptions of sexual activities that some readers may find offensive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike O'Connor
• Release date: Feb 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311005632

Mike O'Connor

Mike O’Connor is a powerful and engaging storyteller who performs at many events across the country. An important researcher into Cornish music and folklore, he has been awarded the OBE and made a bard of the Gorsedh of Kernow.

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UNDER THE HEEL 2

Copyright © 2015 by Mike O'Connor

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

BURGLAR IN BONDAGE

His real name was Bob, but they called him the Ghost. At least that was how he liked to think his victims and the cops referred to him, whilst speaking in suitably hushed tones.

The Ghost had been ten years in the burglary business and had never come even close to getting caught. In fact, he was spotlessly clean. Thirty-five years old and not even a parking ticket to his name. The Ghost was indeed a model citizen.

Luck played a part – as it did in any worthwhile endeavor – but the Ghost remained at liberty because he was good at what he did. He reckoned he was the best in the business, but he wasn’t going to boast about it. Boasting was for fools who ended up sharing a prison cell. The Ghost did his planning and research with great care. He wasn’t going to be dispensing his memoirs to some three-time-loser in the lower bunk, after lights out.

The real fools were the people he visited briefly - usually in the dead of night - and whose lives he touched in his own special way. What was theirs became his. Their valuables disappeared as if by magic. By the time they realized what had happened, the Ghost was already long gone.

Should he ever find himself in the unlikely position of sharing a prison cell with some equally unfortunate thief, he would have no shortage of stories to share with his cellmate. His favorite would have to be the night he let himself into a house where the back door had been left unlocked. Upstairs, he found a naked, middle-aged fat man snoring loudly, with his arms wrapped around a pair of naked young women. The Ghost took them to be hookers who had earned their pay that night. He scooped up the cash that lay on the bedside table, then stripped the whores and their john of their jewelry. The latter had been wearing a ten thousand dollar gold watch. The threesome gave up their valuables to the Ghost, without having their sleep disturbed.

He would save the best part of the story for last. His fictional cellmate would love this. One of the hookers - a slender blonde – was wearing diamond earrings. The Ghost had removed them as gently as if he were disarming a bomb. Then, he had noticed the diamond studs in her shaved pussy. He had also removed those, without disturbing her.

I am the Ghost and I am the best there is, he whispered to himself.

He liked sultry summer nights. People tended to leave windows open and doors unlocked. That summer feeling was like an intoxicant that made them careless. The Ghost took care to remain sober. This was his busy time.

The doors and windows of the house he had chosen for tonight were all shut, but he was good with locks. There was no alarm system, so he could be inside within two minutes. There were two cars parked in the driveway, so he knew the occupants were home. But it was three AM and there were no lights, so it was safe to assume they were asleep.

He let himself in through the back door. It had taken him forty-eight seconds to pick the lock. Not his best time, but it was in the top ten.

He didn’t waste any time in the kitchen or downstairs rooms. There was was rarely anything worth stealing there. He crept gently upstairs, his gloved hands gripping the banisters and taking the most of his weight. His slipper shod feet barely touched the steps. He didn’t want a creaky step to sound like an alarm in the dead of the night.

He had already established that this was not a family home. There was nothing to indicate the presence of children or animals. The Ghost shied away from such places. Dogs were an obvious deterrent, but kids and other pets were equally unpredictable and altogether best avoided.

There were four bedrooms upstairs. He found little of interest in the first three.. He took a deep breath as he approached the fourth. This must be the mother lode. The house was expensive and the two cars parked in the driveway were a Porsche and a BMW. Even if he only managed to pick up a bracelet or a watch, it would make his night worthwhile.

The Ghost crossed himself and said a silent prayer as he pressed his left ear to the keyhole. The room was silent; the occupants obviously asleep. He pushed down on the handle and gently eased the door open.

His professionalism deserted him and he uttered a loud gasp when he was what lay within. The room was illuminated by the flickering light of at least a dozen candles, arranged in a circular formation on the shiny wooden floor. Standing in the center of this circle was a naked woman. She was tall and appeared to be in her mid-twenties, with long, blonde hair tied up in a tight bun. Her eyes widened and she would