I was minding my own business, just taking a leisurely drive through the quaint town of Healdsburg. Upscale shops selling handbags at two grand a pop, four-star restaurants that charged more for an appetizer than I usually made in a day, and ultra-premium wine tasting rooms where a single glass cost more than the bottle itself cruised by my window. People decked out in their trendiest LA gear (which always looks so ridiculous here in NorCal) strolled along the sidewalks and meandered through the Plaza.
I wasn’t feeling too bad in any case. The BMW E60 M5 I drove garnered its share of appreciative stares. More than one dressed-to-kill gentleman started out admiring the Bimmer and ended up admiring me; men just like the one who currently occupied the trunk of the ultimate driving machine I’d so cleverly commandeered from him.
It wasn’t his fault though. I mean, really, he was just another man who thought that a fancy ride, a well-tailored suit, and a ton of cash entitled him to a little fun with a woman half his age. An easy conquest. Or so he’d thought until he’d found himself the unlucky recipient of a one way trip into the trunk of his car. God, they were so easy. It almost took the fun out of the game.
Now you might be thinking I’m just another gold-digger willing to spread my legs for a taste of the good life, but you’d be wrong. I could give a rat’s ass about fancy clothes and exotic trips and diamond tennis bracelets. No, I’m only in this for the cars. I admit it, I’m a gearhead and let’s face it, men with money to burn drive the best cars. Like the M5 whose Italian leather wheel currently graced my hands.
I sat idling at the corner of Healdsburg Avenue and Matheson Street waiting for the light to change. The starting line of my night lay a half-mile south where Healdsburg Avenue seamlessly merged into Highway 101. I didn’t get all dressed up to fuck a rich guy. I got all dressed up so I could drive his car and by God, that’s what I was about to do.
I glanced in my rear view mirror just as the light changed to green and saw the cop two cars behind me.
Highway Patrol, not the local pigs. Even I had to admit that the new CHP rides were pretty low profile but when would those guys learn that the shotgun mounted between the front seats gave them away every time?
I goosed the gas and moved through the intersection. No need to panic yet but a woman driving a stolen car couldn’t be too careful. One of the cars separating the cop and me peeled off at the weird five-way intersection at Mill Street leaving only a single vehicle between us. The cop car maintained a steady pace but even so, a rush of adrenaline pumped through my system. I was already calculating my escape route even before I cruised past the Chevron station onto the highway ramp.
I picked up speed and guided the car around the curve and onto the highway, nice and legal. Almost in unison, the three of us merged onto the empty roadway. As soon as we hit cruising speed, the CHP swung out into the fast lane and hit the lights. My heart leapt into my throat because I knew it was game on.
I tapped the SMG III shifter up to drop the transmission down a gear and sank the pedal to the floor. The awesome power of the BMW’s 500 hp engine rocketed the car forward, leaving the cop in my dust. At 120 miles an hour, it took thirty seconds to hit the Old Redwood Highway offramp. I have to hand it to the Sonoma County highway engineers, the exit off the highway onto Old Redwood was just plain fun. I screamed past vineyards covered in Old Vine Zin, taking the straightaway at an easy 100.
Blowing past Foppiano Vineyards, I caught a glimpse of the Crown Vic barreling down the ramp behind me. Poor sucker, with 250 less horsepower and a V8 to my V10 he didn’t stand a chance in hell of catching me. Sure, he’d gain a small bit when I hooked right at Rodney Strong Vineyards onto Eastside Road but after that it would be buh-bye Chippie!
With my turn coming up quick, I dropped down a gear and tapped the brakes. I wasn’t out to fuck up the old guy’s car, I just wanted a joyride. Wouldn’t do to wrap it around the pair of telephone poles on the opposite corner. Not much real chance of that with the BMW’s dynamic traction control doing its thing. Still, I did slow down a bit. In the rearview, I saw that John Q hadn’t yet come to realize the futility of the chase. At $4.50 a gallon, I felt a small twinge of guilt about burning up taxpayer dollars on the cop’s wasted gas. The feeling passed pretty quick.
I forgot about the cop and focused on the joy that is Eastside Road. Not a very challenging drive at the beginning but certainly a nice warm-up to the main event. I only got about sixty seconds of cop-free driving enjoyment before I noticed a second CHP headed down Windsor River Road, presumably to join the party. Yup, he cut onto Eastside between me and copper number one.
Fuck, so much for dump and run. I wondered how well these guys knew the back roads. About three miles ahead the road forked, offering me two very different options for escape. With less than two minutes to decide I snuck a few glances in the rearview and decided that the cop who’d come to the party late seemed to have a decent handle on where all this was going.
I blew the stop sign at Shone Farms and took the left fork onto Trenton Road. Cop number two showed up behind me a lot faster than I expected him to. There wasn’t any sign of the first cop but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still back there. The switchbacks on Trenton made it impossible to tell if I’d somehow managed to even up my odds.
And goddamned if cop number two wasn’t gaining on me just a little. Impossible. Unless…no, couldn’t be. Except, it most certainly could.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Pulling out of the last turn I decided to throw the Hail Mary and hope to God I didn’t encounter any grape harvesters in the process. I floored it and used all 600 feet that remained of Trenton Road to push the car up to 85 miles an hour.
I screamed louder than the engine when the BMW launched across all four lanes of River Road. Headlights zig-zagged through my right passenger window, the poor fuck headed east on River Road slamming on his brakes in an attempt to avoid T-boning me.
No time to see if the driver pulled off the landing. I had a hard left turn coming up. The BMW did what it’s designed to do when I shifted down two gears and slid into the turn. The back end went squirrely for the briefest moment before I pumped the gas and the traction control kicked in, shooting me forward.
In my haste to escape from the cops there hadn’t been any chance to see whether they’d stopped at the intersection or barreled on through behind me. One thing was for certain, they weren’t behind me right now.
My best option was to stay on Trenton and double back around to River. To that I said, fuck it. I didn’t let the old fart in the trunk buy me a drink and cop a minor tittie feel just to ditch and run at the first sign of trouble.
Feeling smug and self-satisfied, I peeled off Trenton at Laguna and hauled ass up Vine Hill Road. Talk about a thrilling drive! Switchbacks galore and a lot of ups and downs. The view in daytime is dynamite but tonight I had to make do with brief flashes of vineyard and native oaks in the BMW’s halogens.
The unique ringtone issuing from my purse wiped the smile right off my face. Not answering it wasn’t an option. Pulling it from my bag, I hit the speakerphone button and tossed it onto the buttery leather of the passenger seat.
“Hello lover,” I cooed.
“Dammit Janie! You gotta quit pulling this crap! I know my cop’s salary doesn’t pay jack shit but why can’t you just do like everyone else and test drive the dealers’ cars?”
“You already know I can’t set foot on a dealership within a two hundred mile radius of here, Jules. So, are you still behind me or did you give up at River?”
“Jesus Jane, I thought I was going to have a heart attack back there!”
“You sound okay to me. Maybe a tad pissed off, but otherwise okay.”
“Pissed off isn’t even the word for it Jane,” he growled.
“You ditch the other cop?”
“Yeah, he’s long gone. Fucking amateur.”
“View Ranch Road,” I purred, reaching for the phone and hitting the disconnect button.
I snaked around the hairpin and dropped my speed to a presentable 40 to make the right turn onto Hill Road. Loose gravel popped under the Nankang NS-II’s when I made a left at View Ranch Road and cut the lights. Nothing out here but vineyard access roads. The road ended in a wide cul-de-sac surrounded by acres and acres of Pinot noir.
With a feeling of disappointment at having my joyride over before it really began, I shut off the engine and sat gazing out at the valley below me. Nothing. No sound. Even though I’d tortured the engine to get here it held its tongue in the darkness. The roofies I’d slipped into my earlier companion’s drink continued to work their magic. He slept the sleep of the heavily drugged inside the well-appointed trunk.
Headlights flashed at the end of the road when Jules’s Crown Vic turned onto the roadway. My heart beat in time to the bouncing lights making their way toward me. I popped the door handle and stepped a Casadei-clad foot onto the tarmac. The second shoe joined the first and I rose from the interior of the car to face the oncoming storm.
The other car’s engine died with the headlights and a hulking figure exited the vehicle. I strutted my way toward my car’s trunk while I watched him approach.
“You have the right –”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I said, cutting him off.
Jules liked it rough but I liked it rougher. He grabbed my arms and spun me around, pinning me against the trunk. I pushed my ass out against his uniformed cock. The clicking ratchet of the handcuffs echoed out through the darkness when he clamped them around my wrists behind my back.
With a hand between my shoulder blades, Jules bent me over the trunk. I squirmed against him, the cool metal of the car biting into my cheek.
“I could make a citizen’s arrest, you know. This is bullshit,” I told him.
“You’re not exactly in a position to arrest anyone Janie,” he replied, yanking my dress up and my panties down.
“Actually, Jules, I’m in the perfect position.”
We both groaned when he slammed his cock into me. The BMW’s shocks took the brunt of Jules’s assault on my pussy. He fucked me hard and fast, the same way I drive.
“Dammit Jane, I’m going to fucking come!”
“Drive it home baby!” I screamed, my own orgasm seconds away from realization.
We crossed the checkered flag so close together that if it had been a real race the judges would have spent innumerable minutes replaying the video to determine the winner.
The warbling cry of a mocking bird split the night as Jules and I lay spent against the car. He pulled out of me and unlocked the cuffs.
“To protect and serve,” he said, yanking my panties back into place.
I turned to face him and gave him a big kiss and hug.
“Give a girl a ride home?” I asked.