1. wantsomefun

    wantsomefun Storyteller and Lover

    Joined:
    Dec 11, 2014
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    This is a revision to my CAW #27 entry, edited to hopefully address some reader comments. It is a sequel to a story by my favorite writer. She was fully aware of my intent to compose it before I began, and she has read and approved my earlier CAW version. Her original story (sadly, no longer available on the site) was about a middle-aged, upper-class couple, Jonathan and Amelia Russell, who moonlighted as cat burglars in their neighborhood. Under investigation by police and a U.S. State Department agent, they fled the country to Switzerland.


    In this sequel, the duo finds other illegal means of making money. There's vehicle-related verbiage sprinkled into the narrative which may bore some readers in spots, but it seemed necessary, along with location details, to make this tribute to a fun story more realistic.


    *****


    Jonathan played with her wet platinum blond hair as she knelt on the shower floor. “God, I love you so much, Amelia.”


    She let him out of her mouth to smile up at him. “And I love you. Now, be quiet, and concentrate on what I'm doing. You know what I want.” She went back to servicing his manhood, massaging his scrotum gently to urge him on. In time, he complied with her wishes. She showed him his product before she swallowed. “Mmm. You always give me my treat if I do that to you long enough.”


    He got out of the shower while she re-washed her face.


    “Would you hand me my towel?” she asked.


    He studied her nudity as they dried themselves. Her body was still fit, barely showing the ravages of time. She could easily pass for fifteen years younger than she was. Her natural blond landing strip somehow looked more youthful than a fully shaved mound would on her. “I'm so lucky to have you. You still take my breath away. You're every bit as sexy as the first time I saw you.”


    She snickered. “Says the man who just got his morning blow job.”


    “There's that, but I'm serious. You're everything to me. You're my world.”


    Amelia rolled her eyes. “Oh, listen to you, Mr. Smooth Talker.”


    “All part of my charm, dear.”


    “I'm well aware. You've been charming me my entire adult life.”


    “You inspire it, honey. I can't imagine a day without you.”


    Amelia studied her husband's face. “There's a 'but' in there somewhere. You're trying to hide it, but I know you pretty well. We've always been honest with each other, so tell me – what's wrong?”


    He sighed. “I've been thinking. I was looking forward to early retirement when we got here a year ago, but now I feel restless. We used to travel – Las Vegas, the Bahamas, Singapore, anywhere we wanted – and we did it legitimately, like everyone else. Now we're stuck in Europe until statutes of limitations run out. We'll be old by then.”


    “I know what you mean,” she nodded. “I miss being able to get on a plane whenever we want. I miss home. But we can't go back, so that's how it is. We're not in prison. We're together. This villa is gorgeous. In fact, the whole country is gorgeous. I'm pretty happy here.”


    “So am I, but I have to be active. That's why I started making jewelry at Jurgen's shop. It's my art, my gift, so I need to keep doing it. Now I use precious metals and stones other people steal.”


    “Your passion for your art was the first thing that intrigued me about you. I love all the jewelry you create. The last piece you made for me in America, my platinum necklace, is my favorite.”


    “It's not the same as it was, baby. Part of me misses pulling jobs.”


    “What? No! The criminal part of our lives is over now.”


    “It doesn't have to be if we're smart.”


    “Jonathan, I don't think I can take the stress again. We pushed our luck too far. We got greedy and careless.”


    “We did. But we can learn from our mistakes. Maybe we need a new plan.”


    She shook her head. “The life we have now IS our new plan! We discussed and prepared for this for years. We agreed it's safer this way – legitimate, respectable, beyond suspicion. We escaped from the States, but just barely. Now, we live every bit as well as we did at home because you earn great money from your craftsmanship here just like you did back there.”


    “Very true,” he agreed.


    “We knew we'd have to leave home at some point, and since we didn't want you to need to work when we got here, we laundered the proceeds from our heists into legitimate investments we can live on handsomely for the rest of our lives. No more looking over our shoulders all the time. No more of that State Department bitch one step behind us.”


    “Ah yes, Agent Stacey Ferguson. I learned something about her the other day. Jurgen says she's no threat anymore. He has a contact who can find stuff out – don't ask me how. Our dear Ms. F. got a bad evaluation when we slipped through her fingers, and she quit under pressure. The police, the victims, everyone knew she spooked us.”


    “She was always there toward the end. Some of the neighbors told me they thought she was tailing someone. If they spotted her, she was pretty obvious,” Amelia offered.


    “Lucky for us,” her husband said. “We had just enough warning to get out of the country. Ferguson and the cops spent a lot of man-hours and tax dollars on our case, but with no new thefts and no new leads in a year, the file is essentially closed.”


    “I guess you're right,” she agreed.


    “Now, we're Jonathan and Amelia Wagner from Arizona. The local people who know anything about us think we sold the mineral rights to our land, took the money, and moved here. The notorious burglary team of Jonathan and Amelia Russell vanished into thin air.”


    “And now we're stable for a change,” she stated.


    “But don't you sometimes miss the excitement, baby? Don't you miss the thrill of planning and executing a heist? At least a little?”


    “Okay, yes. The adrenaline was addictive. Getting away with something turned me on. You know how I got with every job. I wanted you to bend me over the workbench in the garage or throw me on the kitchen floor and have your way with me when we came home with a good haul. I could barely make it to the bedroom some nights. It was a giddy high, but it got too risky. We agreed those days are over. You pounded it into my head – make a paper trail for large purchases so they can be properly insured against loss.”


    “Right. You can't be too careful these days. There are lots of thieves out there.”


    She grinned. “That's why I never felt that bad about robbing those nouveau riche snobs back home. They all bragged about how much they insured stuff for. If they were lying, that's their tough luck.”


    “Exactly,” Jonathan agreed. “Any idiot knows he must insure his valuables and spend the money for a decent security system. Some of our neighbors should have sued their providers. A clumsy ten year old could have bypassed a few of those alarms.” He stood behind her to play with a nipple while she dried her hair. “Dammit, honey, sometimes being respectable makes me feel old.”


    “Mid-life crisis?” Amelia teased, batting his hand away. “You've been extra horny lately, not that I'm complaining. Should we hire a French maid for you? Maybe pick up a university girl from one of those trendy Zurich clubs?”


    “What the hell are you talking about?”


    “Having fun with you, mostly. Some men your age take a young mistress. Some women my age find a hot personal trainer.”


    Jonathan kissed her bare shoulder. “You're all the woman I want.”


    “I was joking, honey. I could never let another man touch me, and I'd claw the eyes out of a woman who touched you.”


    “I should hope so,” he chuckled.


    “Ooh, Jonathan, I have an idea to cheer you up! Your fiftieth birthday is coming up. Why don't we get another Porsche? Your only complaint about the one we had at home was that it was too quiet, but it was a great getaway car. Maybe we could get a bright red turbo model with fat polished rims this time. Something loud and obnoxious. Or maybe all matte black and sinister, so you hear it before you see it. We could pick it up at the factory and drive it back here. Zuffenhausen is what – three hours away?”


    “Not even that far. A hot, mean Porsche sounds nice, but that's not what I'm talking about. We're not getting younger, and I plan to grow quite old with you. We have expensive tastes. It wouldn't hurt to make some extra cash now. We should think about our future when I retire. I want to play under the radar again, for the money if nothing else. Let's get back into the game.”


    She spun to look at him. “Are you nuts? It took years of planning, years of research into our neighbors' security systems, learning their habits, and gaining their trust enough to know about their valuables. We don't have those relationships now. At home, we were well established in the neighborhood. Here, we're foreigners. We don't associate with many people. The only ones we know really well are Jurgen and Nina. We can't rob them.”


    Jonathan pulled his naked wife into his embrace. “Of course not. They're our friends.”


    She cuddled against him and laughed quietly. “Most of our 'contributors' back home were friends to some degree.”


    “True, but these friends know our history. Besides, we owe them our freedom. When we were in the States, Jurgen paid a decent price for everything we sent him and invested our money for us here. Nina found us this villa.”


    “Exactly.” She pulled away so she could see him as she spoke. “I have serious questions before we even think of doing something illegal again.”


    “Go ahead.”


    “We don't belong to a country club or a gym or any civic groups here. We don't go to cocktail parties like we did at home. We haven't even been inside many houses in Europe. We can't just go somewhere we know nothing about in the middle of the night and expect it to be easy to break in and find enough cash and jewelry to make it worth the risk, now can we?”


    “Well, no.”


    “Correct! Who would our marks be? Who really has money, and who pretends? We don't know these people. What's your plan? Rob your shop's customers? That's a bit obvious, don't you think?”


    “Calm down, baby. You're absolutely right. We made the mistake before of hunting too close to home. We don't know who has good jewelry anyway.”


    “So, what do you want to steal?”


    “'Steal' is such an ugly word, Amelia. That implies smash and grab. That's a younger person's and amateur's game. We can be better than that.”


    “How?”


    “Jurgen talked to me the other day about an opportunity, not something hands-on for us, but definitely not legal. He made it sound very profitable and with possibly acceptable risk. I'm going to give him a call. Get dressed.”


    *****


    The Wagners' silver Mercedes coupe glided to a stop beside a huge two-story stone bank barn built into a slope on the outskirts of Zurich, about ten kilometers from their villa.


    Jurgen climbed from his customized vintage American pick-up truck and took Amelia's hand for an old world gentleman's kiss. “I am glad you came to see our shop. No one is working now, so I can show you everything.” He led the couple up a flight of stone steps and held a door open for them. Inside was a small, modern office. The walls were plastered with photographs, artists' sketches, and computer renderings of cars.


    “These are some of the shop's projects,” Jurgen said. “They build to order – custom cars, one-offs, and some restorations for discrete customers. Much of the product goes to the Middle East or Asia. Documentation is not important to that clientele. Minor Arab sheikhs and Asian opium tycoons do not care how a car came to be. They only care about having it.”


    “What Jurgen means,” Jonathan said to his wife, “is this is a chop shop.”


    “You Yankees are vulgar,” Jurgen objected. “This is an artisan studio creating bespoke motorcars. Highly skilled designers, technicians, and craftsmen fabricate new vehicles from refurbished parts. There are other facilities similar to this one throughout the world, but the difference is the provenance of the parts this shop uses in projects. But enough talk. Let me show you what they do.”


    He ushered the couple through another door into a cavernous room filled with partially dis-assembled cars, some almost bare skeletons. “They dismantle donor cars here,” Jurgen explained. “Downstairs they create everything from limousines to American style street rods. My truck was built here. I purchased a beat-up old hulk so I could have legitimate paperwork, but almost nothing on the vehicle is original. The engine is from a late-model Ford Mustang. The interior was adapted from a Mercedes SUV. A lot of the sheet metal was fabricated here, sometimes using re-purposed materials.”


    “Do they do anything but build cars for sale?” Jonathan asked.


    “The shop does restorations, engine swaps, and custom work on legitimately owned client cars at a handsome profit. Labor charges are high, as they should be for this level of craftsmanship. The equipment is expensive, but because of the dismantling operation, many parts cost nothing. The necessary new parts and materials for projects are paid for by profit from this part of the shop.”


    “What do you do with the used stuff you don't need?” Amelia wondered.


    “Used parts are like gemstones and precious metals,” Jurgen answered. “Every usable or repairable piece is sent to a separate facility also owned by this shop. There, crews sort, clean, and in some cases recondition components for re-sale. They are worth good money in Cuba, third world countries, and back alley repair businesses around the globe.” He led the Wagners to a large freight elevator in one corner of the room. “The magic happens downstairs.”


    On the lower level, the elevator gate rose to reveal a modern fabrication shop with metal forming machines, welding equipment, and partially-built vehicles neatly arranged in spotless work stations. “The technicians can tear an engine down completely and modify it to make more power. The sheet metal fabricators are among the best in the world. Upholstery, electronics, suspension, paint – virtually everything is done in this shop. Some clients pay a half million U.S. Dollars or more for a project.”


    Jonathan urged his friend, “Tell her the profit margin.”


    Jurgen grinned. “That is the part of the magic that can benefit you. Net profit for the last five years averaged fifty percent. Shareholders are paid in cash. The money is as clean as dirty money can be.”


    Amelia raised an eyebrow. “Clean? How is it clean? There's a chop shop full of stolen cars upstairs. The last I knew, the law considers that dirty.”


    “Again with the uncouth Americanisms,” Jurgen scolded. “My jewelry business is essentially the same thing. Many of our pieces are made from items we dismantle. At one time you were my best American suppliers.”


    She nodded. “When you put it that way, ....”


    “Fifty percent, Amelia!” Jonathan exclaimed. “That's a huge return for minimal risk. We don't have to do anything – just invest. That's about as safe as it gets when you're involved with something that makes fast money.”


    “You guys have my attention. How much will it cost us to buy in, Jurgen?”


    “The business needs expansion capital. They must hire more craftsmen and buy more equipment. We are open to offers.”


    Jonathan grasped his wife's hand. “If you're interested, honey, we can discuss our finances at home.”


    “I never considered investing in a business before,” she said, “but it sounds good.”


    *****


    A year later, the couple returned from dinner at Jurgen's where they celebrated the shop's continued profitability. With the Wagners' infusion of capital, the business had purchased additional state of the art equipment and hired new skilled staff to use it.


    Amelia surfed the web while Jonathan got ready for bed. “Honey, did you know there are websites devoted to vehicle security systems?”


    “There are websites for everything. Why do you ask?”


    “I'm curious how the people who supply donor cars steal them. If a car's parked outside, it's easy pickings, right? How hard can it be?”


    He thought for a moment. “Assuming there are no cameras, not easy, but obviously possible.”


    “Exactly!” she bubbled. “You were great with getting us into houses. Let's start stealing cars.”


    “Have you lost your mind, Amelia? You were the one who was so cautious about getting involved with anything shady again, so why the hell would we do that?”


    “For fun.”


    “For fun? What the hell? You were the one who lectured me about crime when I first proposed investing in the auto shop. You were so worried about risk. I thought you were all about the straight and narrow.”


    “That was then. This is now. I changed my mind. I'm a woman, so I can do that. I've been thinking about it for a while. Pulling jobs turns me on. You know that.”


    “I don't understand. We're behind the scenes with the car business, making good money and relatively protected. Why would we get back into active crime?”


    “For the thrill, dammit! Look, it's not like what you do every day at the jewelry shop is legal. You know where some of the stones and metals come from. The chop shop is blatantly criminal, but you were all excited when I agreed to us getting involved.”


    “Those are different. At work, I'm an employee, an artisan using materials provided by the boss. With the car thing we're just investors. We can feign innocence.”


    “Yeah, right. You know if the cops do any digging at all, we're screwed.”


    “It's acceptable risk, Amelia.”


    “Maybe, but as risks go, it's pretty boring. I seem to remember you complaining about boredom not that long ago.”


    “I said I was restless and wanted to make easy money. I didn't say I wanted to go to jail!”


    She waved his words away. “We won't go to jail. I just want to try it. How many jobs did we pull at home before they suspected us? Dozens.”


    “Burglary is different from car theft. We don't know how to do that. Too risky.”


    “Oh, come on, honey. The thrill of the risk was part of it. There's no real thrill with 'investing' in crime. Yes, we made money in the past year, but it's almost too legitimate. Quarterly envelopes of cash are nice, and they'll definitely help with our future, but there's no emotional rush like we used to get pulling jobs. Remember how I am when we do something naughty.”


    “Come to bed, crazy lady. I know how you are when you even think about doing something naughty.”


    She shed her nightgown and got under the covers with her naked husband. “I bet we can do it. Do you think the shop would take cars we provide?”


    “They get their donor vehicles from professionals. We're rank amateurs. We can't just start boosting cars.” He touched her between her legs. “My God, woman. You're wet already.”


    “We're talking about getting back into action, so of course I'm wet, but we'll deal with that later. Let's plan.”


    He rolled on his side to look at her. “Reality check. Your part in our jobs has always been getting in and out with stuff fast so we could get away. My part was making it possible for you to do that.”


    “Right. Can't we do sort of the same thing?”


    “Modern car alarms are completely different from house alarms. Key-less entry, key-less start, immobilizers, all that satellite tracking – I don't know how easy it will be to hack. If a car's parked on the street, the owner should have all that security stuff armed.”


    “Jonathan, people don't always set their car alarms when they park inside. We don't.”


    “No, but we'd have to deal with surveillance, alarms, and locks on the building before we could even attempt to actually steal the car. It's one thing to break into a house, fill a bag with loot, and slip away undetected on foot. It's another to drive a car out. That's way too dangerous for my tastes. A successful job has to be quick.”


    “The shop does classic car projects,” she mused. “Could we steal nice old cars? Those parts should bring good money.”


    He considered this for a moment. “Theoretically, a vintage car would be easier to steal when it's outside since they didn't have factory alarm systems. Aftermarket alarms are usually simpler than the factory stuff. I can get a little meter that will detect one if it's there, and I could probably disable or bypass it. In fact, a car purist may not want one on his vehicle if he takes it to shows. Even local event judges frown on modifications like that. I may have an idea, and it involves you. I'll explain later.” He pulled her to him to nibble on a nipple, and she responded by reaching for his swelling penis.


    “I'll listen better after an orgasm or three,” she agreed.


    He turned to feast on her sex and to position himself for her mouth. They played that way for a while, he fingering and licking her until she climaxed for him several times, she using decades of practice to bring him close to the edge and then back off. When the foreplay became too much for them, he rolled on his back, and she mounted him facing forward, offering him her breasts. She rode her man until he filled her.


    They cuddled when they were done, molding to each other with the ease and comfort learned through half a lifetime of love.


    Finally, she spoke. “What's this idea involving me?”


    *****


    “How do I look with red hair and green eyes?”


    “The carpet doesn't match the curtains, ....”


    “I'm wearing a thong, smart-ass, so you're the only one who will know THAT about me!” Amelia giggled.


    “Good.” He stood back to examine her critically. “You're stunning. Frankly, I doubt anyone will notice the wig with that sexy dress.”


    “It's not too short, is it?”


    “You won't get arrested for wearing it, but it's definitely short. Those heels make your legs and butt look spectacular.”


    She fussed with the ends of Jonathan's glued-on mustache. “You're a sinister man of the night with these dark clothes and this shaggy black wig. A little shady, maybe even dangerous, the guy in the shadows at the casino. Too studly for a jeweler.” She checked her own appearance again in the mirror. “I don't look too much like a hooker, do I?”


    “Way too pretty and high class to be a hooker, baby. You look like a celebrity.”


    “The women back home called these fuck-me shoes. I didn't dress this slutty in college. It makes me feel naughty going bra-less in public.”


    He chuckled and pulled her close. “My baby feels naughty in fuck-me shoes? That sounds promising for later. Now, I need to get going. Please don't be nervous. Our plan should work. I checked the place yesterday afternoon. Security is a joke. We can abort right up until the end. Your cab will be here in fifteen minutes. Remember your car key. I love you.” He kissed her, got in her vehicle, and drove away.


    When the taxi dropped Amelia in front of the expensive Zurich night spot, she paused for a moment under the lights to smooth her little black dress against her curves. Jonathan stood where they agreed, around the corner of the building, out of sight of the parking valets. He flicked a cigarette lighter three times to let her know she should proceed. She strode toward the front door, well aware her assets bounced with her steps.


    The two uniformed young men greeted her professionally, trying not to stare.


    She played with a ringlet of lush auburn curls draped over one breast. “I'm meeting my husband. His video conference ran late, so I'll wait at the bar.”


    They both rushed to open the lobby doors for her.


    She grabbed at her ear and gasped. “Oh no! My earring! Dammit! I knew the back was bad on that one, but I thought it would hold!” She plumped her boobs until they threatened to spill out. “If it fell in my dress, it went straight through.” She squatted awkwardly on her haunches in her high heels, giving the valets a glimpse of her black lace thong. “Would you help me look for it? It's a tiny onyx stud-type earring. I know it's not valuable, but they're the last things my father gave me before he passed.”


    Both men pulled small flashlights from their vest pockets and got down on all fours to help her search for the non-existent missing earring. She faced the corner of the building where her husband lurked, and the valets faced her. They never saw Jonathan creep up and select a plain metal key from the board they were supposed to guard.


    The gleaming vintage sports coupe burbled so softly into the night, traffic noises hid its mellow sound. A few minutes later, Amelia's cellphone rang. Faking a sob, she dug in her clutch purse and pulled out the phone and some tissues. “Hello?”


    “Baby, you won't believe what I got. No one's following me. I wish you could see this beauty. It's a classic Jag, nicer than the one your dad owned. You'd love it, and you'd look sexy as hell riding in it. I'm halfway to the barn. It's time for part two of your act.”


    “Honey, I'm outside the restaurant,” she wailed. “I lost one of my little onyx earrings. Two nice young parking valets helped me look for it, but we couldn't find it. It could have fallen off in the cab or on the street – I just don't know. They were all I had left of Daddy.” She paused to sob loudly. “I'm too upset to have dinner now. I'm going home. I'll talk to you then.”


    “Nicely done,” Jonathan said. “See you soon.” He disconnected the call.


    Still sobbing, she dabbed at her eyes. Then she thanked the young men for their help and wiggled to the curb to hail a cab, leaving the clueless valets to gossip about the experience.


    At her instructions, the driver dropped her a few blocks away, near where Jonathan had parked her car. She drove to a secluded spot in the country. There, she stripped off her wig, dress, and heels and replaced them with jeans, bra, top, and sensible shoes from a backpack on the floor of the car. She folded the dress neatly, stowed the outfit in the bag along with her colored contact lenses, and drove to the old stone barn.


    Jurgen met her outside. “Did you have problems?”


    “None at all,” she grinned. “Where's Jonathan?”


    “He is upstairs, watching them strip the Jaguar. He said it ran perfectly, and everything appears to be in excellent condition. The car is a beautifully restored example of a 1971 V-12 model. Obviously we can not keep it as it is, but it seems almost a shame to break it down. But, as you Americans say, business is business. Follow me.”


    They went into the dismantling shop. The dark green car was on a lift, its front end stripped to the subframe. Men worked underneath it, air wrenches screaming.


    Jonathan kissed his wife. “In a couple hours, those guys will have everything torn down and put away. The foreman made some calls. The engine and gearbox will be on a boat to Kuwait in the morning, the shell will be the base for a project downstairs, and a plane leaves for Venezuela tomorrow night with the wire wheels and the interior.”


    Amelia whispered, “Speaking of interiors, take me home and do things to mine.”


    *****


    She rode in the passenger's seat of her car for the drive back to their villa. “I felt so slutty at the restaurant.”


    Jonathan chuckled. “Those boys had no clue I was there. I bet they caught hell when the poor bastard who owned that XKE asked for his car.”


    “They seemed like nice young men. I hope they don't get in a lot of trouble. They tried so hard to help me look for that earring, but all they could do was look up my dress.”


    “I can't blame them, honey. It's a very nice view.”


    “Jonathan? Is it bad that I kinda liked them looking at me?”


    “No. The whole idea was to distract them. If you liked flashing them, so much the better.”


    “Pulling a job again excited me. We always worked with stealth before, both of us hiding in the shadows. This was a whole new kind of thrill. We never had me out in the open as a distraction. Dressing like that, knowing I had to seduce the eyes of two men – it made me nervous but turned me on. I wasn't sure it would work. I didn't think they'd like an old woman.”


    “Old woman?” Jonathan chuckled. “To those kids you're a cougar. Young guys fantasize about someone like you. You're beautiful, and you have a better body than a lot of girls half your age.”


    “It was obvious they tried not to stare, but they couldn't help themselves. Being down on my haunches flashing them like that sorta made me wet, just like I am now. I need sex.”


    “Is that so?”


    She reached across the console and fondled him through his slacks. “It is.”


    “Maybe I should do what I think you fantasized about those young men doing.”


    “What's that?”


    “You'll see.” He didn't move her hand away, but he said nothing more until they were parked safely in their garage. He opened her door for her like he always did, but this time he grabbed her arm and hauled her out of her seat. “Take your jeans off.”


    “Excuse me?”


    He pressed her against the car and kissed her with force. He gripped her breasts firmly, squeezing them through her top and bra. “Take those damn jeans off. Now.”


    “Ooh, Jonathan!” she grinned, fumbling with the top button and zipper.


    When she had them loose, he took over. He yanked her pants down to her ankles, turned her, and pushed her against the side of her car. “Bend over.”


    She was visibly moist when he pulled her thong aside, wet enough he knew he could have forced his way in fast. He considered it briefly. When Amelia got like this she wanted it deep and hard first. The tender stuff would wait till later in the bedroom. He worked his engorged penis from his pants and spanked her round buttocks with it. “You want it, don't you, dick-teaser?”


    She wiggled her hips. “You see how I'm leaking. What do you think?”


    “I think those valets missed out on a good thing.” He began to enter her, and she pushed back to accept him, working to open herself for his insertion. It took little time for them to establish a firm, fast rhythm.


    “Oh, dear God, Jonathan, this is what I needed,” she grunted, helping him to push deeper inside her.


    “We're only getting started,” he replied, and he smacked her buttock loudly with his hand.


    “Ouch! What the hell was that for?”


    He thrust into her for a few more strokes and spanked her again. Then he pulled out, spun her around, and crushed her mouth with his in a rough, needful kiss. “The love pats? They were for talking me into this craziness and enjoying being slutty around those young men. What happens next is for putting up with me all these years.” He kissed her deeply, more romantically then, holding her tight in his embrace.



    She wrapped her arms behind his neck. “Who puts up with whom? It's your fault I'm this horny. Now, take me to bed and finish what you started. But get rid of that damn mustache and wig first.”


    “I love you, Amelia.” He lifted her and carried her into the house.


    *****


    She woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Jonathan biting into an apple at the small table near the bedroom balcony doors. The sky outside was gray.


    “Dreary morning, so I decided breakfast here watching you sleep would be nice,” he said.


    She yawned. “Did we really do that last night?”


    “Did we really do what? And do you want juice? I can get some from downstairs.”


    She rubbed sleep from her eyes to focus. “You have fruit there, so I don't need juice.” She got out of bed and shambled to the bathroom. When she joined him at the table in her robe, she answered him. “I was asking if I dreamed it, or if we really stole that Jaguar.”


    “What Jaguar? There's no Jaguar anymore.”


    “I must say those men were efficient. I don't know anything about tools or cars, but they were amazing to watch.” She poured herself some coffee.


    Jonathan grinned. “I thought maybe you were referring to you flashing your damp little thong at two university boys, or you grabbing my crotch on the way home, or how eager you were in the garage when I bent you over your car like a slut.”


    “No, I know that part was real. So was the way you ate me on the kitchen island, the blow job I gave you when you sat down to take your shoes off in the same chair you're in now, the way you railed me when we finally got in bed, and the cuddle-sex we had before we fell asleep.”


    “I'm not embarrassed to say you wore me out, baby,” he laughed.


    “Too worn out to join me in the shower after breakfast?”


    “Did I say that?”


    She grinned and peeled an orange. “Establishing a pattern will make it easier to get caught, so we can't steal the next car that way.”


    “Next car? Oh, hell, no. Last night was fun, but it should be a one-time deal.”


    “No one likes a quitter, dear. We didn't get where we are by giving up. The valet gag worked, but we can't use it again for a while. Too bad, since it got me all hot and bothered.”


    “You really want to steal another car?”


    “Why not? I know we didn't make money, but it was amazingly easy, and it was exciting, wasn't it?”


    “The celebration sure was.”


    “So?”


    “So, no. It's bad enough we did it once. I don't like it,” Jonathan stated.


    “What's not to like?”


    “Risk.” He brought up an article from a Zurich news service's English website and turned his tablet so she could see. “Read this.”


    “'Valets were possibly distracted by a redhead in her thirties.' My God, honey! Her thirties?”


    He shrugged.


    She ignored him to continue reading. “Hmm. Wait a second. The theft wasn't reported until midnight. The valets swear at least one of them was watching the board with the keys except when the redhead was there, and they say that was around nine.” She laughed. “I got there at eight like we planned, and you called me ten minutes later from the road. Oh, and listen to this! It also says they insist the redhead couldn't have stolen the key to the Jag, because they were with her, helping her the whole time.”


    She pushed the tablet back to her husband. “We're fine, honey. The kids are confused or lying to cover their butts. No one saw you drive away. The Jag could have actually been stolen any time over a four hour period. In other words, they don't have a clue what happened. The redheaded slut thing won't work again, but that can't be the only way to steal a car. We're both intelligent. Let's brainstorm after our shower.”


    *****


    Several months later, the Wagners left Lucerne at dawn headed for the Hohwald resort near Beatenberg. Snow squalls lashed the road but gave way to cold sun by the time Jonathan and Amelia boarded a lift to the top of the slope. They were both experienced skiers, comfortable on far more challenging hills than this, but the resort was full of cars, many more interesting than the slightly ratty Range Rover they rented for the trip.


    After stowing their gear in the SUV, knit ski caps and wigs they wore when they arrived in town partially disguising them, they checked out the local stores. Then, they found a place to park and settled in to wait, Amelia using the sun visor mirror to put in brown contact lenses and apply more of a shade of eye shadow she didn't normally wear. At a snowboard shop they spotted their prey. A flashy red BMW parked a little way down the street, and a young couple adorned in far too much car logo apparel got out and walked to the store.


    Jonathan squeezed his wife's arm, the firmness of his grip betraying his nervousness. “If they each have a key fob, we need them both. I don't know if there's a remote immobilizer feature in the fob itself, and I don't want to learn the hard way. If this goes wrong, it was your crazy idea. Remember that.”


    She lifted his hand for a kiss. “You worry too much, honey. If this goes right, you'll need Viagra.” She got out of the SUV and strolled to the shop.


    Jonathan made a brief phone call to be sure the truck and crew were in place and then followed his wife into the store. He didn't acknowledge her inside where she examined a display of snow pants. The only cameras were at the door and the cash register, as though the storekeeper feared burglary or hold-up more than shoplifting. Perfect.


    Amelia shadowed the female mark and approached her when she stopped to admire some boots on display. “You don't want those,” she said.


    The girl seemed a little startled by the raven-haired woman who had appeared next to her. “Why not?”


    “Look at the seams in the lining. Cute colors, but second rate craftsmanship. Check these boots over here. They're not as trendy, but people who matter will know you bought quality.” Amelia guided the young woman away from her boyfriend, checked her surroundings, and stole the girl's electronic key fob from her open designer bag.


    Jonathan wandered to the rack where the young man was inspecting jackets and began looking at them himself. “These are nice. They should be for that money. I bought new snowboarding clothes least season, but the prices have gone up.”


    “My girlfriend and I only buy the best,” the impeccably groomed young man replied. “We never did winter sports, but some friends told us snowboarding is fun. We came here this weekend to try it. Do you think this jacket is warm enough?”


    “I wore the same thing in Colorado last year. With proper undergarments you'll be fine. Try it on.”


    The young man shed his coat, BMW scarf, and matching logo beanie and draped them over the rack.


    Jonathan held the jacket to help him slip it on. “Any hardcore snowboarder will tell you that's a damn fine garment. They make a full ladies' line of apparel too. It's THE prestige brand in the sport these days, and it looks great on you. Go check yourself in the mirror.” When no one but Amelia was watching, Jonathan removed the contents of the man's discarded coat pocket.


    The mirror was near the front of the store. Jonathan stayed out of camera view and remarked to the shopkeeper, “The jacket is perfect on him, isn't it? He's a first-timer. He and his girl need everything.”


    The store owner quickly took the trendy couple in hand to try to sell them his most expensive merchandise. Amelia slipped her pilfered treasure to her husband and then busied herself at a display of snowboards where she could see out the front window. When Jonathan drove safely away in the BMW, she waited for another customer to exit the store and nonchalantly walked out behind him. She window-shopped her way to the Range Rover, checking to see if she was being followed, and called her husband. “I'm getting in the rental car now. Where are you?”


    “Almost to the truck. I'll text you coordinates. It's about five kilometers south of town. Don't draw attention to yourself, but get here as soon as you can.”


    By the time she caught up with Jonathan, the BMW's security, immobilization, and tracking systems were disabled, and the car was in an enclosed van on its way to the chop shop outside Zurich. The Wagners stuffed their wigs, caps, and ski jackets into a duffel bag and put on other coats. Amelia scrubbed off her harsh make-up and got rid of her lenses, and they headed toward Lucerne in their nondescript rented SUV.


    She was flush with success. “We did it! Those two were so caught up in making a fashion statement they never knew what happened. They were both in fitting rooms with mountains of clothing when I left the store.”


    Jonathan was sullen. “Dumbest damn thing we ever did. We definitely can't pull that caper again. They know our faces if they were paying any attention at all. They know we have American accents. Do you realize how easily we could have gotten caught? I drove a stolen vehicle past a damn canton cop car with TWO officers in it on the way to the truck, for God's sake! They didn't look at me, but that was stupidly high risk. I don't know how you talked me into it.”


    “Oh, for pity's sake, honey! If that couple has even figured out their fancy little car is gone by now, it doesn't matter. You know why? Because we planned this, Jonathan.”


    “It was an insane plan.”


    “No, it wasn't, dammit. It worked perfectly. The car is in a truck going to the shop. We wore gloves the whole time. We kept our heads down for the cameras. We can't hide being Americans – that's why there's a fake Squaw Mountain season pass on my ski jacket. So what? There are tons of Americans at every ski resort in Europe.”


    “Maybe, but they're not all damn car thieves!”


    “Jonathan, the only thing connecting us to the theft is the crap in the duffel bag, and we can throw the whole thing in the furnace when we get home if it will make you feel better. When they figure out how the car was stolen they'll be looking for a woman dressed like some goth girl and a man with strawberry blond hair peeking out from his cap driving a new BMW, not a respectable middle aged couple in a crappy Range Rover.”


    “I hope you're right, baby,” Jonathan grumbled. “I guess we can add picking pockets to our resumes.”


    “You always were good with your fingers, and you told me you like my hands,” she purred. She reached over to him and stroked his thigh.


    He pushed her hand away. “Not now. It's almost a three hour drive home with the stop we have to make. If you remember, the roads were a little slick in spots this morning.”


    “I'm more than a little slick now, Jonathan.”


    “That's great, but do you understand how much danger we're in? This is not the time for messing around in the damn car! You'll have to wait. I want to get as much distance between us and Beatenberg as we can. We need to get to Lucerne, return this car, pick up ours, and drive home.”


    She walked her fingers across the gap between them and onto his knee. “What if I don't want to wait till we get home?”


    He grabbed her hand and put it firmly back on her side of the car. “Behave.”


    She slumped back in her seat. “Wow. You're no fun.”


    A slightly frosty three hours later the Wagners were safe in their villa.


    “NOW can we please have sex?” Amelia asked.


    “I still can't believe we did something that stupid,” Jonathan complained. “Extreme risk for no real gain.”


    She stripped to her bra and panties and licked her lips. “Come to bed. I'll show you what you gained.”


    *****


    Amelia kissed her husband awake the next day.


    He groaned, “This has to stop.”


    She pulled away. “Oh, well, good morning to you too.”


    He sat up in bed. “I'm sorry, baby. I made up my mind. I can't do this anymore.”


    “Can't do what? What the hell's wrong with you?”


    “I barely slept all night. This crap with the car thefts is a bigger risk than anything we did in the States. You know how that ended.”


    “Yes, honey, but we were careless at home.”


    “Careless? What the hell is more careless than picking pockets AFTER talking to the victims face to face and then stealing their damn car in broad daylight? That's a crime of opportunity like punks pull. Much too bold for my tastes, too reckless. At home we worked quietly in the dark, and we still damn near got caught.”


    “But the challenge makes this more fun! We don't do it that often, and we don't do it the same way. At home, we had a pattern – disable the alarm, a bit of broken glass, and voila! Empty safe or jewelry box. Each job only took a few minutes, so the risk of getting caught at the scene was low, but we were predictable. It all happened within a few miles of home. That made things obvious after a while. This is different.”


    He threw the covers aside and headed for the bathroom. “Different, as in fucking crazy, Amelia! What's more obvious than stealing a damn car off the street in the middle of the day? What do you want to do next for thrills? Maybe carjack someone at gunpoint? I'm sure you'll say if we wear wigs no one will ever figure out it's us, and if we don't actually shoot them, there's no harm, right?”


    “Don't be ridiculous. Guns scare me.”


    “Wonderful!” he sneered. “That's a hell of a relief! Here I am thinking you were talking about doing something ill-advised! Or maybe just totally fucking stupid!”


    “I'm talking about having fun.”


    “You're talking about us acting like damn idiots. What is this shit with you lately?” He didn't wait for an answer, closing the bathroom door firmly behind him.


    By lunchtime that day he was less agitated. “I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier, baby, but these jobs are way more stressful that I bargained for.”


    “It's okay. I love you, so I understand. I hate to see you upset. But I don't want to stop. And don't give me that look! It's too much fun. You know how I get when we pull a job, but I know how you take care of me when we get home, so your holier than thou routine won't work, mister. You bitched at me in the car last night when I grabbed your leg, but I saw the bulge in your pants.”


    “There was no bulge.”


    “Yeah, right, whatever you say. How well do I know you after all these years? You just won't admit you love doing this. Look, honey, seriously, I know what your problem is. You like more control of a situation than we're working in now, so you see it as impulsive.”


    “We weren't impulsive, Amelia. We were amateurish and reckless.”


    “No, we were daring. You said it yourself once – life's no fun without taking chances.”


    “Taking sensible chances.”


    “Will you stop? While you were brooding, I found the police report. Those idiot kids described you as a middle aged, redheaded man who needs a haircut and me as a woman too old to dress goth. The girl said I had black hair but, in her words, 'obviously dyed to cover premature gray.' That means they didn't spot the wigs.”


    “I suppose that's a plus,” Jonathan mumbled.


    “Absolutely, just like we planned. And luck we didn't plan on helps even more. Because I followed another American customer out the door, the shopkeeper thinks the guy is involved, so they're looking for him too. Someone said they saw two girls driving the car in Beatenberg an hour after the theft was reported, and another person claimed a man was with the BMW at a fuel stop outside Geneva last night. Conclusion? People are lousy witnesses. Just like at the nightclub, no one knows what happened. We got away with it again.”


    He shook his head. “You actually want to keep doing this, don't you?”


    “Yes, I do. We did it twice, but the thefts are so different they'll be impossible to connect. As far as anyone knows we're a Yankee jeweler and his wife. We're car thieves who look completely respectable.”


    “Honey, when we were jewel thieves our neighbors thought we were respectable too at first. We had to flee the country to stay out of jail.”


    “Okay, fine. Maybe you turned me into an adrenaline junkie. I don't know. All I know is I love you, and I love being bad with you.”


    “Don't you understand, baby? One mistake, and we pay for everything we ever did. Do you want to die in prison?”


    “Of course not.”


    “Then we can't steal cars anymore.”


    *****


    The subdued exhaust rumble of Jurgen's Porsche SUV announced his arrival at the medieval Gasthof zum Loewen Meilen on a snowy Sunday morning the following month. The Wagners watched the Zurichsee as they waited for him so they could enjoy brunch together.


    Jurgen ushered them inside. “We have a situation we must discuss. Let us find a quiet table.” After a fifty Franc note, the trio was seated far away from other patrons.


    “What's wrong?” Amelia asked.


    Jurgen spoke, barely above a whisper. “Do you remember the car you brought to the shop last summer? The Jaguar?”


    “The Series III 2+2, yes,” Jonathan answered.


    “The man in Kuwait who bought the engine modified it and installed it in another chassis, much the way our shop does. The customer was in a collision, and the police became involved. When they checked the vehicle's registration, something did not look correct, so they investigated serial numbers. They have traced the engine to the Jaguar you stole from the club.”


    “Oh, God, no,” Amelia said, fighting to keep her voice down.


    Jonathan put an arm around his wife. “Wait, don't panic, baby. Jurgen, the trail still ends at the club, just like it did that night, right?”


    “Yes. The shop does not alter or remove serial numbers on components, because that is an obvious indication they are stolen. Some buyers will have nothing to do with them. However, we keep no written records of those numbers, so there is no paperwork to trace the engine to the shop.”


    Amelia leaned across the table so she could whisper, although they were alone. “Can the serial numbers lead the police to us?”


    “Probably not. While it is possible to trace some major items like an engine back to the original vehicle, without records to trace a part's passage, it will be difficult to identify those involved. It is a long distance from that club parking lot to Kuwait. The engine could have gotten there by many different means. The body and frame of the Jaguar have long since had all markings removed, and the vehicle constructed from them was registered as a custom with no provenance. I believe we are safe in that regard.”


    “We're okay, then?” Jonathan asked.


    “I assume so. Police in Kuwait notified the last registered owner of the Jaguar. Since he was already paid for his loss by his insurer, that company is now involved. They may attempt to investigate, but I cannot imagine what they would learn. Immediately after the theft the police had no evidence other than the valets' accounts. That was almost a year ago. There are no leads to follow, but I wanted you to know.”


    “What should we do?” Amelia asked.


    “Do nothing, either of you. Go home after we eat, or do whatever you had planned to do today. Try to act normal. Tomorrow, I will see you at the jewelry shop, Jonathan. I do not wish to worry you, but we must tighten security. One error could bring the entire enterprise down. If you two amateur thieves get caught, it could be the end for us all. I discussed the matter with the other shareholders, and they agree: do not even consider stealing another vehicle. Leave that to professionals who are not partners in an automotive enterprise that attempts to look legitimate!”


    *****


    Back in their villa that afternoon, Jonathan stood quietly for some time, watching snow fall outside the veranda windows.


    Amelia had to break the silence. “I'm so sorry, honey.”


    “For what?”


    “Dragging you into this craziness again. You were right. We should never have gotten into car theft. Should we run?”


    His shoulders relaxed when he turned to her. “You didn't exactly drag me. I could have said no. And run? To where?”


    “I don't know. Somewhere. I feel like we should get away.”


    He embraced her and cradled her head on his chest. “No running. I don't think there's a need. You heard what Jurgen said. We continue our daily routine. We go back to being the somewhat reclusive jeweler and his lovely wife living well from our investments, like we planned when we first moved here. Nothing more. We stay the hell away from the chop shop. No more wigs, no more pulling jobs, no more silly danger.”


    “I thought we could get away with it.”


    “We did, I think, but never again.”


    “Are you mad at me? I'm the one who pushed us to do this.”


    “Maybe you did, but I'm the one who got us involved with the chop shop – hell, crime in general – in the first place. Listen, baby, Jurgen seems relatively confident, so we should be too. Please don't worry. We'll be fine.”


    “I'm scared, Jonathan. Hold me, and tell me everything will be okay.”


    They moved to the bed where he had her stand so he could undress her. When he exposed new bare flesh by removing a garment, he loved it with gentle caresses of his fingers, lips, and tongue. She clung to his head for support as he suckled on her breasts, and she enjoyed a small climax before he touched her sex.


    He helped her lie back on top of the covers and removed her sodden panties with his teeth. The tip of his tongue traced the outline of her decorative strip of short blond curls before he gently kissed her clitoris which had swollen from its hood.


    “Oh Jonathan,” she gasped, “you always do that so well. Please don't stop.”


    “I had no immediate plans,” he chuckled. He resumed his efforts with his fingers and mouth, bringing her to a shattering orgasm. When her legs released his neck, she urged him to join her on the bed so she could taste herself on his tongue.


    She helped him shed his clothes and grasped his engorged manhood possessively. “I'll always love you, honey, no matter what.” She moved to take him in her mouth. He caressed her as she ministered to him, holding her platinum tresses off her face so he could watch. Before it was too late, he stopped her and rolled her onto her back.


    She smiled her lust at him. “Make me yours, like you always do.” She helped him aim, and he entered her, propping his upper body on his hands so he could see her face and breasts. They said nothing, mating quietly, kissing sometimes and other times just loving each other with their eyes. With the familiarity of decades together, they moved as one, luxuriating in their intimacy. She cried out softly with each thrust when he got serious about pushing her over the edge a final time. He stifled his own moans with hot kisses when he spilled inside her.


    Spooning against him in the afterglow, Amelia said, “So we're really going to be good citizens now, huh?”


    “We don't have a choice. Jurgen seems to think the shop is in the clear, so we'll keep our investment there. I'll go to work tomorrow and create something beautiful to adorn a rich woman's throat or wrist. You'll make your Monday shopping rounds like you always do. We can go out for dinner when I get home, or we can cook. It will be nice, like it was before. We enjoyed that life well enough, didn't we? I love you.”


    *****


    Jurgen's prediction was correct. The insurance company reviewed the police files and tracked down the parking valets from the club where Jonathan and Amelia stole their first car. The boys seemed to remember less than they had before. The Jaguar vanished, the engine eventually turned up, but there was no way to say how it got there. Nothing pointed to the chop shop or the Wagners.


    After dinner one late summer evening, the couple sat on a bench in the small, formal garden behind their villa, enjoying the breeze. “I've been doing some reading,” Amelia announced. “Did you know Switzerland is the sixteenth largest exporter in the world in terms of monetary value?”


    “Really?”


    “Do you know what the single biggest export item is?”


    “I have no idea. Pharmaceuticals? Watches?”


    “That's what I thought, but we're both wrong. Thirty percent of this country's export value and seventeen percent of the import value is gold, Jonathan. Ninety-four billion U.S. Dollars worth was shipped out last year and forty-one billion came in. Billion, with a 'B'.”


    “That's … hell ... thousands of tons of the stuff at current prices,” he remarked.


    She moved close to him and put on her most seductive face. “Honey, you've always been in the jewelry business, so you know a lot about gold, ....”
     
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    wownice Porno Junky Banned!

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    Ah.

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