Overcuming Obsticles

 

 

Life is most rewarding when you can find enjoy a sense of accomplishment in overcoming obstacles thrown into your path...

 

hellbentforleatherr@yahoo.com

 

It felt like a dream.  She could see the road stretching ahead in the beam of the headlights, and see her own gloved hands on the steering wheel, but the scene was distant and surreal, as if she were watching an actress play her part in a film. She was driving through the night to meet a man, an enemy. Driving to meet him on a dark rural road, far from anyone or anything. Alone. He was waiting for her, expecting her. He felt confident and in control of the meeting and in control of her. He was a fool, but that would be obvious soon enough. The car was warm and quiet, the little turbocharged engine making a high pitched snarl because she had left the shifter in D2, preventing it from shifting up into overdrive, keeping the revs high. She did this intentionally. She liked that growling sound and the way the car accelerated out of the turns. But the car’s pedigree prevented the engine from forgetting its manners. The snarl was distant and controlled. More distant and better controlled than her own. The snarling car, the leather seats caressing her bum, the red lights in the gauges, and the expectation of the meeting, especially it’s outcome, all of it she found erotic. She let it be erotic. She wanted it to be. She had let it build until as she replayed the scenes to be in her mind, until now her throat was dry and her erogenous zones tingled. She was feeling sexy. She was feeling deadly.

 

She was going to drive away from this meeting a rich woman. For ten months she has been arbitraging the hostile takeover of one manufacturing firm by another. It was all big fish eating little fish so far as she was concerned. The thing that just struck you was how incredibly rich it was making some of the officers of the target company. In exchange for their cooperation and silence, they had been allowed to sell short their company’s stock, long before the takeover became public. She had seen this before, how the power set took care of themselves first, she decided that this time she would have to see that she was well taken car of herself. For six months now she had been skimming money out of the accounts. Things all moved so quickly that the trades were difficult for the companies’ officers and for her legal firm to keep up with. The secrecy and illegality were the icing on the cake. So after only six months hard work, she had earned a hundred times what she might have earned in six years as an attorney. A pretty young female attorney with tan skin and an slight Indian accent who would never make partner with the old-boys-to-be that she worked with. There was a black leather sports bag on the back seat, and it was filled with barer bonds, negotiable anywhere. Especially negotiable in places where the summer stayed and played all year long. After this meeting she would never work another day in her life. There was just one more obstacle in her path.

 

The emails had started about six weeks ago. Someone knew, and they knew a lot. She was being blackmailed. They wanted it all. In exchange of nothing more than an unsecured promise of silence they wanted all the money. Her money. Her future. They had explained carefully how to transfer the accounts into the bonds. Actually it was a much better idea that wiring the funds to directly an offshore bank as she had planned. That left a trail. These bonds were nearly impossible to trace. All it meant was a visit to the bank in person. She would simply fly to Switzerland and made the deposit herself! Then rent a nice room and do some shushing in the Alps. She didn't own skis, nor have any good ski clothes, but this simply wasn't a problem anymore. After all, she was rich; very rich. There was only one more bump in the road.

 

The blackmailer had not wanted her followed, or traced, so he had rented a car for her and left it at the airport, the key under the mat. It was when she had read this that she began to breath again, to think again. She was more that willing to commit murder. Murder to protect herself. Murder to conceal her crime. Murder to preserve the lifestyle to which she was about to become accustomed to. Buy how? The last thing she needed was the attention of police. The embezzlement would remain undetected; must remain undetected. No one else was involved was in a position to report it. Other crimes and misdemeanors could only complicate things. But now she had everything well in hand. She had the bonds, thanks to him. She had a car that could not be traced to her, thanks to him. She also had a gun. But she wouldn’t use it; not if she could avoid it. Too easily traced. She had another weapon, a better weapon. One that offered the promise more personal satisfaction to the user.

 

What she had in mind would leave a lot of evidence behind, a real mess for somebody. But none of it could lead to her. Her blackmailer had been careless, or more likely simply arrogant. She had setup another dummy account and then watched while he pawed through it. His system-id was the only one to query the records. The blackmailer was one of the officers on the target firm. He was 48, divorced, childless, and fancied himself a man about town. All the money he’d gotten from the agreement thus far had already gone up his nose, and now he wanted more. At first it made no sense. Why risk it all? More money was coming when the deal went public. She studied her blackmailer. She learned that he had been stupid, or careless, likely both. He had led the police to a dug buy. They arrested the mule, got the drugs and the money. None of this had hit the papers and now it looked as though the man was going to give evidence. The drug dealer had threatened to kill him. There were rumors that there was already a contact out on him. When the police found the body, the motive would seem simple enough.

 

She was driving the rental, a dark blue Audi A4. And as rentals go it was a really nice, with a CD player and tan leather seats. It still smelled new. And it was an inconspicuous car, and she was dressed to match, wearing a wool blazer, matching skirt, white blouse, and black pumps with medium heels. She looked like any professional woman driving a professional woman’s car.

 

She saw the road sign in the headlights and braking hard, turned right onto a narrow lane-and-a-half rural road. She flipped on the high beams and driving lights, and turned down the radio. Only six or seven kilometers to go. The old road was slow going, pitted and potholed; it twisted up, down, and around hills and made unexpected sharp turns to follow old properly lines. The barn loomed suddenly out of the darkness and she had to brake hard to turn into the drive. But instead of dropping off the bag and driving away as instructed, she just sat there with all six halogen lights blazing down the gravel path. After a moment he came out and approached the car, one hand shielding his eyes and one in his coat pocket. A gun! She had expected as much.

 

“Leave the damn bag and get out of here!” He shouted.

 

She rolled the window down an inch.  “It’s not that simple. How do I know you’ll keep your word? Or that you won’t just kill me here?”

 

He seemed nervous, edgy. “Well I guess you just have to trust me" he hissed, "You don’t have a choice! Now hand over the bonds and go!” he barked.

 

“No... It’s not quite that simple, you see. I don’t trust you.  So I don’t have the bonds, not here with me. They're in a safe place, a public place. We’re going and get them. In a public place. Then you can have both the bonds and the car.”

 

He pondered the turn of events for a moment. “Fucking Bitch!” he shouted! “Move over!”

 

“No you don't! I’ll be doing the driving tonight” she shot back! “You won’t be as anxious to shoot me while I’m flying down the motorway at 100 kilometers!”

 

The man glared at her, trying to decide what to do. She leaned over and popped open the left door. At that, he ran around the car, through the glare of the headlights and climbed into the passenger’s seat. The lights had blinded him, as she hoped, and he was quite obviously straining to see around the car.”

 

“What’s this back here!” he snapped, and leaned back to inspect the sports bag. There was a strange snapping sound. He turned back suddenly and sat down. He was trying to understand the source of the unspeakable pain. He turned to see her holding a Tazer. The 50,000 volt charge had paralyzed his upper body, leaving him in too much pain even to speak. He looked up into her face and she looked back. He realized suddenly that she was quite attractive. Part of him found it strange that he would notice this now, but he did. She was petite, small and trim with small hands. She had jet black hair, cut mid length and styled to frame very pretty brown face with attractive lips and a cute little nose. But it was her eyes that drew him in. Her eyes were dark pools. He was looking directly into those eyes, to the point of feeling self conscious. He wanted to say something, strike out, and wipe that smug expression off of her face, but his body wouldn't obey his wishes. He was ringing with pain, and fear about his heart! But unable to do anything about it except to sit here and look into this woman's eyes.

 

“You see, like I tried to tell you, it’s not quite that simple”. Her voice sounded confident and with an intriguing accent. She smiled sweetly and leaned closer as if to whisper something, but instead pushed the Tazer down into his crotch. Then with an impish grin, she hit him with another jolt. SSSSSNNNNAP! He cried out and doubled over and rolling his head on the dashboard. She reached into his jacket and withdrew the revolver. She held it up and brandished the Tazer.

 

“Any more toys?” she demanded.

 

He cowered back, leaning on the door. “No!” he gasped, “No more, just that.”

 

“Hey, ... hey you” He rolled his head to face her again. “Does it hurt?"

 

"Yes," he gasped out, "it hurts".

 

She gave him a smile that would make him melt him under other circumstances.

 

"So it hurts then, but does it hurt a lot?" she asked, and licked her teeth.

 

 ".....yes".

 

"Do you want me to do it again?" ....

 

"No, please... I won't be any trouble... don't shock me, my heart is weak, I might give a heart attack."

 

"Are you frightened? ... Are you frightened of me"?

 

At this he looked into her eyes again and it struck him that see appeared to be aroused. Her pupils looked dilated, even larger than before, bottomless black pools. The smile was broader and more eager than ever. She licked her lips. He was very frightened. His gut tightened as now the Tazer had stopped its camera-flash whine and was recharged.

 

"Do you want to know what I'm thinking about right now...? I'm thinking about shocking you again, just to be a bitch, ... see this light? ... its already recharged and ready to go."

 

"Oh, God, no.... please...."

 

"you’re going to be sorry you got in my way...because now I’m going to run you over like a squirrel.  Are you sorry you got in my way?" she asked. No answer. "Ready for another jolt, old man?"

 

"No, no, don't... please don't."

 

"Then you'd better answer me... are you sorry you got in my way?"

 

"yes... yes, I'm sorry I messed with you. I really am, I really really am."

 

"I won, didn't I? I beat you at your own game, didn't I? Say it old man, say I beat you!"

 

.... "you beat me....yes, you beat me... you are better"

 

"Damn right I'm better. You're a pig! You're a fucking pig and you deserve this!" "Ready for another jolt? Hmm?"  No answer. SNNNAPPPP!. "Wow, that does look painful...(subdued laugh)  but that's nothing, just you wait and see what comes next..."

 

 

She backed the car out of the drive and onto the narrow road. Still in reverse, she jammed her foot on the brake petal to hold the car, and reaching over the man, opening the door. She sat up and gave him a shove. “Like I said," she grunted, "I’ll be doing the driving tonight.” The man rolled out of the car like a sack of potatoes; his head hitting the pavement with a slap. His just lay there in a twitching gasping heap on the pavement, but with his feet still stretching up into the car. She eased her foot off the brake and let the car creep back, watching him paw and struggle futilely while the passenger door-sill sort of bulldozed him under. The sounds of the motor and the exhaust sounded strange through the open door.  She maintained pressure on the brake, making the car creep back in halting steps while the bulk of him twisted and scraped and reluctantly disappeared beneath the passenger door, the legs and feet following closely behind.  She pressed down hard the brake petal, reached over and pulled the door shut, and then pressed the electric locks. The outside sounds diminished and the click of the locks made her feel safe. He was locked out. She liked it. Then she did something impulsive; it came as a surprise to her. She gave the steering wheel a full turn to the right. Licking her dry lips, she lifted her foot off the brake and just let the car go on its own. The car rocked as the left front type ran up and over something, there were distinct movements: up, pause, and then down with a soft thump. She though it a bit like driving slowly through a bit pothole. But it wasn't a pothole. Potholes don't cry out when you drive over them. Earlier she had wondered if she would be able to go through with it. She was pleased with herself.

 

She backed up more quickly, the gearbox making the classic whirr, she looking through the windscreen rather than back. The man appeared in the bright lights. She backed a little further and then braked to a gentle stop. She looked across the familiar red gauges and down familar sloping bonnet, all the familiar juxtaposed against the surreal image of a body lying in road in front of her car. Part of her took note that she should feel concern for someone in such a position.  She moved the shifter into drive; the car shuddered. He was on his lying on his side and facing her, still suffering from the Tazer but now  also interested in his left leg, which he was probing gently with an outstretched hand. Soon he was aware that the car had stopped and turned to look in her direction, squinting into the bright lights and no doubt trying to deny the terrible things he was thinking. She looked at him through the windscreen and marveled at how pathetically vulnerable he looked. I’ll bet he is sorry he got in my way, she though. Too bad for him. Now the fun part. Her heart was pounding and her groin tingling. She was going to crush him! Wipe him out! Completely! And without a doubt, he knew it. She took one gloved hand off of the steering wheel and unbuttoned her blouse. She was no brazier. She ran her finger around a nipple. The hand went to the radio, put the CD in and turning up the volume. The Rolling Stones: Shattered. Then the hand raised her skirt and found the opening in her panty hose. She was a surprised at the amount of vaginal fluid. She was really wet! She raced the car’s motor for him to hear, her foot firmly on the brake. The car snarled and twisted one, two, three times.  Why was this so sexual? She pondered it once again. Because she was first terrified of him? then hated him? and now she had defeated him? Perhaps that was why. Was this some primal hunter’s instinct? Or, a warrior’s perhaps. In any case, it was completely intoxicating. She covered the accelerator petal with her foot and felt it’s resistance through her shoe. Then she floored it! The car shot forward, covering the distance to the man in a only few seconds, the six halogen beams illuminating his growing form in a white glare. Eyes wide open, he held arm out to fend the charging beast off. His mouth opened in a scream but Nick Jagger drowned it out. He disappeared from sight below the line of the bonnet an instant before she struck him. There was less of a shock than she expected. She was braced against the wheel, but the car only shuddered and bumped as the front tyres ran over him. She felt the car rise up and heard a muffled thump. She waited with anticipation for the back tyres to run over him, but there was a delay. Then, too late it seemed, the back to the car bounced over him.

 

She stopped and her hand returned to her skirt. She continued to run her gloved finger in a slow circle around her clitoris while looking in the rearview mirror. There was a dark shape in the road behind her, illuminated by the red glow of the brake lights. It was much closer than she’d expected. Then she understood the delay. She had dragged him under her car for about 20 meters before he went under the back tyres. Good! Fuck you! Fuck you bastard! She grinned.

 

She took her hand out of her skirt and slipped the gearshift into neutral and then reverse, the car giving a shudder in response to each. The road behind her lit up in the white lume of the reversing lights. In the white light she could make out the colour of his coat and see the gleam of his shoes. The hand went to the volume control, turned it down, then back to her skirt. She watched for movement, for signs of breathing, but nothing was visible. She’d been afraid

that the experience would be too gross, and that she would have trouble with this part; the critical making sure part. But now she felt quite the opposite. She was disappointed in him. This was too quick. He deserved more. It's not like she was going to get out of the car and check, but she hoped he was still alive.

 

She turned in the seat and looked back, as any safe driver would when backing. Her foot left the brake for the gas and pressed the petal lightly. The car started back with the gears whirring. Just he disappeared from view behind the boot she slowed. She let the car creep back until the tyres found him. She pushed her foot down just a little, the motor revved and the back of the car rose up gently. She braked to a stop and just sat there, listing to the motor purring. She felt a distance from him emotionally, no pity, no remorse whatsoever. She gave herself a string of quiet orgasms with him under the back tyres. She sat in the afterglow for a moment or two, the decided she was ready to go. Remembering that he had gotten stuck and dragged before, pressed the gas petal sharply. The car dropped off him with a bump and whirred back. After some seconds he had still not appeared. She stopped. Stuck again. She winced at the image, but still she found it morbidly thrilling. He deserved everything he was getting. She tromped the gas and the car shot back. After a few meters he came free and she could feel the car bouncing and shuddering over him. She could tell when she was going over him, not just under the car, but going under her, right under the drivers seat. Then the front tyres were spinning. She let off the gas; the car found traction and climbed over the obstacle, dropping off with a thump.

 

She stopped quickly, so that the body wouldn’t appear suddenly in the lights. She was sure it was a terrible sight by now. She crept back until he was just visible. Without really examining him, she located his head. There was blood and something else, but she didn’t look. She just mentally marked its location. Back to work. He must be absolutely dead. No hospital room interrogations could be permitted. She turned the steering wheel sharply to the left so that she could smash the head, the tyres making a harsh rasping sound as they twisted in place. Radio up. Shifting to drive, she idled forward until the right front tyre found the target and stopped. She pressed slowly down on the petal, the motor hummed, and the car began ride up on the head, then drop gently as it was crushed. She drove on ahead, straightening the wheels quickly to stay out of the ditch. She stopped for a moment, with his lower body and legs sticking out from under the driver’s door, as if he were repairing something. She lowered the window, and smiling at the though that his head must be right under her bottom. Then dropped his gun out. It landed in his crotch with a soft thud. She touched the gas gently. The rear wheel rolled over him and right over the gun, pressing the useless weapon, grinding deeply into his own. The back of the bounced car up beneath her, stayed up for an instant, and then dropped her with another bounce. She drove on without looking back.

 

As she approached the intersection with the first highway she looked at the clock. It was nearly two am. She searched for American country music on the radio and accelerated on the good road. It started to rain again. As headed for the airport she made a mental list of what she would pack and what she would wear on the plane.