The Bank Robber was a Lady!

Crime, femdom and feminization!

 

Also published as: I Feminized a Bank Robber

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

"Everybody on the floor!" BANG! BANG!

Stunned, I froze, except for my head which swiveled towards the source of the gunshots.

I was walking across the big lobby, between the door to the cages and Joe Samps' office. He's the president of United Banks, and I was bringing him $10,000. Small bills. In a little bank bag, the kind you put in the night deposit bag. He had just made a loan to one of our oldest customers, Tom Wheeler, of Wheeler's Wheels, the fancy hub cap place over on fourth street.

The man who had fired his gun into the air was slender, about my height, and dressed all in black. He wore a nylon stocking over his face, but even from ten feet away, and in the middle of the shock of it all, I recognized him.

Around me people were diving to the floor. Laying down and spreading their arms out or just covering their heads.

The young man with the gun moved towards me. "I said everybody on the floor! On your faces! Don't fucking move!"

"Tommy?" I whispered.

And Tommy Johnson finally focused his eyes on me. And I knew he recognized me. He should. We had been neighbors for 12 years growing up, and for the last year we had been living together. Until he had left. Just left. I came home and he was gone. Broke my heart. And here he was again. Waving a gun in a bank.

"Fuck!" he whispered, knowing he was busted.

So he did the only thing he could do, he held the gun to my head and backed up, out of the bank, with me holding $10,000.

***

"Fuck!" he screamed. "What the fuck were you doing there?"

We had left the bank, hopped into a car which wasn't his, and driven away like gangbusters. He screamed around corners on two wheels, was doing over a hundred, and was yelling at me.

"I got transferred last week. But what the fuck were you doing there?"

I wasn't shy in my volume, either. I loved the damned guy, and here he was...knocking over banks!

He didn't say anything. Which wasn't surprising. He was always sort of a shy guy, and I tended to push him around a little, which made his aggressive bank robber act even stranger.

"Take off that stupid nylon!"

He ripped it off his face and threw it at me. "It's yours, anyway. I took it when I left."

And here is where it got sort of funny. I mean, he was robbing a bank, had taken me hostage, and I shifted over to, "Why did you leave me, anyway?"

He didn't say anything.

I studied him. Same old Tommy. Slender but strong body. Thin face with a narrow chin. Lips a little plump. Long lashes.

And I loved him. I loved the smell of him. I loved the way he kissed me. I loved the way he treated me so nicely, even when I was a bit of a bitch.

And, oh yes, I could be a bitch. But, considering the situation now, I wondered if being a bitch was the right thing. After all, he had left me...was it because I was a bitch?

"Tommy," I spoke low, without anger, and I leaned towards him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"What," he answered sullenly, a spoiled, little boy. Caught. But at least he had said something.

"Where are we going?"

"Turner road. I can leave this car at an abandoned shack up there and take my motorcycle over the trails to Westville. I live there now."

I watched him drive. Watched the way he pulled the wheel, feathered the gas. He was good with driving, and especially with motorcycles. Being light and having quick reflexes, he had a talent for the big machines.

"Okay. I guess it's pretty obvious that I'm going with you. Can we have a talk."

"We're talking," he complained.

"I know, but I'll keep my voice down, I'll listen, and I won't get on you, no matter what you say."

He glanced at me quickly, then returned his attention to the road. We were winding through turns faster than the Road Runner farts, and we were only a few minutes away from the abandoned shack he had spoken of.

"I mean it. I know my tongue can be like a cat's claws, and I promise I'll control it. Cross my heart with pinkie shake fingers."

He sighed, and I knew I was getting through to him.

"So, first things first, any explanation is appreciated, how come you're robbing banks?"

"I don't know."

I wanted to raise my voice then, but I held myself in check, and I realized something. I realized, watching Tommy hold on to himself, watching how he responded to the soft touch, that it had, indeed, been my flesh peeling ways that had driven him off.

"I know why you left me," I said. "And I'm sorry. I should never let the bitch out. You don't need me screaming at you or treating you like shit."

Now he really glanced at me.

Then we were at the shack. There was a tree next to it, a big, old oak, and he slid the car under the thickest part. No helicopter would be able to find it.

"Come on," he leaped out of the car.

Oddly, I was still carrying the bag with $10,000 in it. I looked at it as I followed him, and gave a mental shrug. $10,000. WTF.

His bike was inside the shack. It was his pride and joy. A Yamaha R-1. 180 MPH. I didn't normally ride with him because, honestly, he was just too fast. But now I climbed on and held on. He took the money sack and slipped it inside his shirt and buttoned up. Then we were off.

I have never gone so fast in my life. He was riding on dirt roads with street tires, he slipped this way and that, he sailed over ruts, and the speedometer was always over 100. In the hills. On fire trails.

And I remembered the other reason I didn't go riding with him. The vibrations through the seat shook my pussy, and I started to feel it. It was like riding a big dildo. A vibrating dildo. One of those Sybian machines.

"Fuck," I whispered, and I clasped my hands over his hard belly. I was going to have to hang on.

The shimmy worked its way through my groin, I felt the first waves start up. Sitting as I was it was like waves were washing through my hips, making me weak.

Tommy suddenly realized what was happening. He slowed down, held one of my forearms with his own hand, and the first orgasm hit me.

"Oh! Fuck!" I yelled against his back. My hips lurched and my arms got weak. He held me fast. Then it was over.

That was the thing, the orgasms hit hard and fast, but they didn't last long. I would be given a couple of minutes before the next one hit.

Tommy laughed. He yelled over his shoulder, "If I get caught it's because you can't control your pussy!"

I would have laughed, but I was too weak. I tightened my grip around him.

He sped up, then slowed down, then stopped. We were on a switchback. We looked down and saw a cop car speeding long the road. He was heading to Westville, and he was going to cut us off.

"My parent's house," I said. "They're on vacation."

He did a half donut, me hanging on the back, and headed to the last cut off, in a second we were winding down the mountain side, heading back to the town where he had just robbed a bank.

I think, if I had asked him then, he would have let me off. He knew I would never turn him in. He would have done it. But I didn't ask him. Heck, I loved him, and he was in my arms, and there was a part of me that didn't want to let him go. Ever.

We arrived at the bottom, cut across the road when there weren't any cars, and zoomed through the woods. We were on more of a path than a road, but Tommy kept his speed up. Five minutes later we were at my parent's house.

My parents live on a cul de sac, and the houses on that street have large back yards. He turned off the motor and coasted down a slight decline, then onto the back patio. He was under the awning, out of sight, and we were safe. And I had managed not to have any more orgasms.

"Okay," he said, getting off the bike. He didn't look at me, just walked to the back door and stopped. The door was locked.

"I'll go through the front. Hold tight."

I circled the house, found the key under the pot, and entered the house. I closed the door and locked it behind me.

My home. The place where I grew up. And now the place where I hid out with bank robbers on the run.

I opened the back sliding door and Tommy entered.

It was cool in the house, and Tommy looked around. He was probably confused. He had never imagined ending up here. I was a done deal in his life. Or was I?

If I had driven him off with bitchiness...couldn't I get him back with kindness?

Maybe.

"I'm going to fix a couple of sandwiches. Why don't you watch TV?

So he did. He sank on the leather couch in the TV room and picked up the remote and I heard the TV mumble into life as I put together a couple of tuna sandwiches. An after thought, but a good one, I raided Daddy's liquor cabinet and poured us a couple of drinks. Him stiff, the way he liked it. Me not so stiff, though I probably needed one.

"Here go," I placed his sandwich in front of him, along with the frosty glass of bourbon and Coke.

He looked at the glass, then at me. "Thanks," he said, as he took a drink.

I went back for my sandwich and drink, and by the time I got back he was done with his sandwich and half done with his drink.

"What's happening on TV?"

"Just showing the inside of the bank."

I could see Mr Samps talking to a cop. The tellers were clustered at the far end of the bank, talking quietly amongst themselves.

"What about me?"

"They're looking for you."

Pause.

Then he put his head into his hands and moaned, "What the fuck have I done?"

I didn't say anything for a long time. Then I picked up the remote and turned off the TV. I faced him.

He looked up at me, "What?"

"I know you don't want to, but we have to talk. So, you want another drink? Or can we get started?"

"I'd like another drink," he mumbled.