He smiled in the darkness. Unexpected entry was his specialty, in more ways than one. The big old house was dark, quiet, locked up tight for the night. The only sign of movement was the blinking red light on the exterior box of the burglar alarm. The house was totally secure. Or so the lady of the house thought, as she lay sleeping in the master bedroom. But he knew better. He knew that the lady had been widowed some months ago, leaving her with two small children who lay sleeping in their own rooms down the hall. He knew that her husband had been wealthy, and that the family wanted for nothing in material terms. And, most importantly, he knew the house - locked doors and windows were no barrier to him. Entry into the house should be, for him, simple.
And so it was. He stood upright, bag in hand, getting his bearings in the darkness. Taking great care to remain silent he prowled about the house, following his tried and tested plan of action, perfected over the years, and in so many dark, silent homes. Even as he admired the beautiful items the woman had on display in the hall cabinets, the display lights doubling as a nightlight for the children, he knew that it was critically important to remain silent. And the big risk was that there would be noise from the bag in which he placed his valuables - he smiled again at the thought that, for a while at least, the things in his bag were, indeed, his and no-one else's. So he carried the bag and opened it, whenever necessary, carefully - oh so carefully.
At last he was done. He paused in the hall, listening. The door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar, and soft snores came from within. On little more than a whim, he took the two steps necessary to the door, pushed it open, looked within. The light from the hall cabinets cast a dim glow by which he could see the woman as she lay sleeping. The central heating was on, in deference to the small children, and she had pushed the quilt off in her sleep. She wore a simple cotton nightie which had rucked up to the bottom of her ribcage. One long, smooth leg stretched down the bed. The other, her left, was bent, the knee flung out to one side. The dark smudge of her pubic patch was clearly visible in the low light.
He pushed the door closed, leaving the room in near darkness, and put the bag down - great care, again, to make sure there was no noise from its contents. His hands dropped to the belt buckle at his waist. Moments later, he knelt at the side of the bed, and began to inch his way towards her. He reached her furry mound and breathed in, the mixed aroma of bath perfumes and her natural female tang invading his nostrils. And he started blowing - softly, so softly, his breath doing little more than gently stirring her curls like a spring breeze fluttering new-grown leaves. And then he moved lower, into the crook of her half-open thighs, breathing more than blowing towards the core of her heat, and then gently feathering the tip of his tongue along the line of her lower lips. In the depths of sleep her body reacted to the gentle stimulation and her right leg drew up, displaying the petals of her cleft to him.
