ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴘᴏʀᴛᴜɴɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ɪɴᴛʀᴜᴅᴇʀ

The house lay silent and dark, a seemingly easy target under the cloak of night. He slipped through the unlocked back window as effortlessly as a shadow, the cool night air following him inside. Each step was measured, each breath held, as his eyes, adjusted to the gloom, scanned the unfamiliar space. The air hung still and heavy, carrying the faint scent of old dust and something vaguely floral, a stark contrast to the cold, sharp purpose that drove him.

He moved methodically, a ghost in the moonlight filtering through the windows. Drawers were silently opened and closed, cabinets peered into, every potential hiding spot for valuables explored with practiced efficiency. Yet, the usual glint of easily pawned jewelry, the reassuring weight of electronics, the crinkle of forgotten cash - none of it materialized. Just mundane possessions, everyday clutter, a frustratingly ordinary life laid bare with nothing worth the risk he was taking. A knot of irritation tightened in his gut with every empty box and bare shelf.

Growing increasingly agitated by the fruitless search, his eyes fell upon the closed door at the end of the hallway - the bedroom. It was the last room, the final possibility. Perhaps something had been overlooked, or maybe, just maybe, something was kept close at hand.

He approached with renewed caution, the earlier confidence replaced by a prickle of unease mixed with determination. He paused, listening intently; only the soft hum of the refrigerator from downstairs and the distant chirp of a cricket broke the silence. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned the doorknob. The hinges didn't squeak, a small victory in the quiet tension.

He then pushed the door open a crack, then wider, stepping inside. The room was darker than the rest of the house, thick curtains blocking the minimal moonlight. As he stood just inside the doorway, his gaze swept across the room, the darkness gradually revealing details. A bedside table with a lamp and a few books, clothes draped over a chair, the simple lived-in look of a bedroom of someone that lives alone. But his focus remained fixed on the bed. The home owner lay still, deeply asleep, utterly unaware of the intrusion. A mix of relief at finding someone and a surge of adrenaline at the direct confrontation washed over him. This changed things; silent searching was one thing, dealing with someone was another. Still, the house had yielded nothing, and perhaps this was the only way to get what he came for.

He considered his options. Slip out? Too much time wasted for nothing. Keep searching the room silently? Possible, but he knows he's not likely to find anything. Then another option comes to his devilish mind. What if he raped the homeowner? It would be the quickest, most efficient way to find out where the valuables were, if they existed, and he would get to have some fun while he was at it too. It was a riskier move, but the frustration of the empty house pushed him towards it. He needed to control the situation, and he wanted to get something from breaking into here. So if that meant stuffing his cock inside them, and using them like a flesh light. So he would quickly and quietly pull his pants off before he even moves towards the bed.

He then took a step closer to the bed, the floorboards not daring to creak. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he made contact. He would then roughly shake you. Nothing, not even a movement from them. He tried again, slightly firmer this time. He then saw a subtle shift beneath the covers, a soft sigh. He then leaned in, his voice a low, urgent rumble. "Hey. Hey, it's time to wake up." He watched, anticipating the confusion, the fear, the dawning realization in their eyes as they stirred from sleep into the nightmare he had brought into their home as he started to smile.