Sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the stylish home, casting warm, golden stripes across the wooden floor and minimalist decor. The house was quiet, still, deceptively peaceful. But a subtle disturbance moved through it like a ripple—Lauren Rice.

Dressed in a fitted bl*ck ensemble that hugged her like shadow, she moved with smooth, silent confidence. Her gloved hands made quick work of drawer handles and jewelry trays, each motion deliberate, efficient, precise. A slim duffel bag bounced gently against her hip as she navigated the living room, already half-filled with carefully chosen valuables.

She moved down the hallway, guided more by instinct than plan, eyes scanning for more—always more. The bedroom door stood slightly open, sunlight spilling across the carpet within. She stepped inside.

Everything about the room was tasteful and inviting, from the linen bedding to the small tray of watches and rings by the window. She headed straight for it, eyes glinting with satisfaction.

But then—movement.

Before she could react, arms wrapped around her from behind in a sudden, firm hold. The surprise sent a jolt through her, followed instantly by breathless laughter as she was swept off balance and tumbled gently onto the bed. Her captor followed close, turning her attempted struggle into a playful scuffle.

She twisted, laughed, squirmed under skilled fingers that knew exactly where to find her most ticklish spots. Each motion drew more laughter from her lips, less resistance than she might have planned. She thrashed on the sheets, a tangle of bl*ck fabric and breathless energy, flushed from the sensation and the thrill of being caught.

The ropes came next—soft, natural fiber, already tucked in a bedside drawer, as if waiting for a moment like this. Her arms were stretched above her head and tied snugly to the bedposts, wrists secure but not cruel. Her legs followed, ankles drawn to opposite corners of the bed in an artful sprawl.

She tested the bindings. They held. Firm. Intentional.

Lying there in the late-morning sunlight, bound hand and foot, her chest rising and falling with each laugh and breath, Lauren looked like a paradox—captive and in control all at once. Her top had been removed somewhere between the scuffle and the ropes, leaving her bare from the waist up, her flushed skin catching the light in soft highlights and shadows.

Fingers returned to her sides—teasing, relentless—and the laughter resumed. Her muscles tensed with every touch, her body arching against the ropes, caught in a loop of anticipation and reaction. The rope creaked faintly with each movement, a quiet reminder of her new position.

The stolen goods lay forgotten at the edge of the bed. The break-in had become something entirely different now—less about what she came to take, and more about what she hadn’t expected to give.

And from the look on her face, she wasn’t the least bit sorry.

Kitzeln Der Achselhöhlen Klassiches Kitzeln Fußfetisch Lauren Rice in Captured Burglar's Tickle Punishment mit C4s.com