Fated

This story contains a significant amount of violence, although it is not gratuitous. If violence isn't your thing -- well, you've been warned.

*************

The odds of two people with the unusual talents, backgrounds, and proclivities of Lizbeth Portis and Rob Barnard (neither their birth name) moving to Tompkins, Missouri -- population 16,169 according to the most recent census, and roughly two and ⅓ hours' drive from St. Louis -- within two months of each other were probably about 200 million to 1. However, the odds of winning the Mega Millions lottery are about the same, and that happens. In any event, it did occur, some say for the betterment of Tompkins, Missouri, and even mankind; others may quibble with that.

*************

Rob Barnard was born in Eugene, Oregon as Jeremy Fulton. Jeremy was many different things at many different times; athlete, delinquent, soldier, lover, badass, assassin, man of mystery, and entrepreneur. He started out as one of two children in a decent middle class family, but when his father suffered some hard times and started drinking, his life devolved into disorder. He took up sports to try and overcome the chaos at home, and in High School started working with a track and field club.

Due to his natural ability and intensity Rob may well have become an Olympian in the decathlon. That never came about; however, when just before his 18th birthday, after he had just graduated High School, he killed his father with a javelin when the father was beating his mother and younger sister with the butt of a pistol.

Due to the extenuating circumstances, a good lawyer hired by the sympathetic affluent volunteer director of the track and field club, and the fact that he was not yet the age of majority he would have skated on the charge with only a few overnights in jail were it not for a crusty asshole prosecutor and an equally cantankerous judge. Still he did escape prison by volunteering for the Army when given the choice of three years in prison or his enlistment was posited by His Honor.

The Army recognized the many aptitudes the six feet 1/2 inch, 188 rock-hard pounds, young Jeremy possessed, and he served in the special forces for more than two years. At that time a recruiter from an acronymic government Agency whose budget does not appear in any line item anywhere within the government financial reports, snapped him up for the Agency.

Over the next decade Jeremy travelled many places in the world performing high-risk, and often illegal, tasks for the Agency. While he didn't particularly savor his work he felt that he was "doing good" and serving his country; that is until the fateful night that he was tasked with killing not only a foreign male politician who was considered a threat to the United States but also his wife and two daughters in order to make it look like a rival organization has orchestrated the hit. Jeremy balked, he was threatened, and when he sent two operatives, who had been directed to kill him and finish the job, home in body bags Jeremy determined that it was time for a different line of work.

Jeremy had some minor reconstructive work done on his face -- changing his disarming rugged facial good looks into more refined and even more handsome looks -- and went into hiding. That was easy to do considering the skills he had developed over the last decade; he became Rob Barnard, entrepreneur. In Tompkins he ran an Internet consulting and product-delivery business that also had a store front. The business had two branches, one that specialized in weaponry, the other in sports equipment. His endeavors were financed by years of saving his payments and "performance bonuses" from his employer, and unreported "confiscations" of cash and convertible securities from some of his criminal victims. His entrepreneurial endeavor was more avocation than profession since his funds were more than sufficient to last the rest of his natural life, but it was necessary for Rob to have the appearance of an average working man so as not to draw attention to himself.

While Rob had had a number of extended sexual -- maybe even romantic -- relationships in the past, given his line of work none lasted very long. In order to keep a low profile in Tompkins Rob didn't really date locally. His sexual activities were confined to trips to St. Louis or Springfield to consort with loose women picked up in bars, or "professionals."

*****************

Lizbeth Portis was born Amelia Worthington in Princeton, New Jersey to two Princeton University professors, one with a PhD in Physics, the other in Chemistry. In actuality, she always got the impression that she was "bred" into existence more than "born," since her parents' relationship always seemed formal and academic, rather than romantic. Since both of her parents had IQs in the neighborhood of 140 it was not a surprise that Amelia was intelligent; what was a surprise was how intelligent. At the time that she was first tested the highest IQ ever certified was 228. When hers first registered almost that high at 210, it was assumed that there was some error in the test or some aberration. By the time that she was tested the last time at age 15 it was finally certified as 218 placing her in the top one ten-millionth of one percent in the world. That corresponded to her scores on the battery of other tests that her parents seemed to revel in, and Amelia seemed to detest (although she tried hard on the tests in order to please her parents), including a perfect 50 on the Wonderlic test.

Amelia was an athletically built comely girl -- having gotten all of the best physical attributes of her ordinary-looking parents -- but was socially awkward for many reasons. One was because her parents themselves were hardly smooth socially; two was that her parents were too involved in her life and unnecessarily cloistered her; three was because although her parents established an exercise routine for Amelia since they considered the mind-body relationship important they never allowed her to participate in team sports; and four was that it was hard to be a freshman in High School at age 12, and a freshman at Princeton at age 14 1/2, and have anything close to a normal social life.

At the ripe old age of 18, while Amelia was already in the PhD program in computer science at Princeton, to celebrate her birthday she defied her parents' wishes and went out on the town in New York City, ill-equipped socially and emotionally for the journey. It ended in disaster. She witnessed a murder by two Gorsky Russian Mob hitmen, fled for her life, and luckily escaped. She was turned over by NYC police to Federal authorities who put her, and her unwilling parents, into protective custody in what was supposedly a safe house.

The Gorsky mob was very motivated to have Amelia eliminated since her testimony could put the son of the "Pakhan" (big boss), Mikael Gorsky, in prison, so they paid off or blackmailed two Federal agents to find out the location of her safe house. Then a dozen Gorsky thugs killed Amelia's parents and the two loyal agents guarding them. Amelia escaped only because one of the agents held off the hitmen long enough for her to bolt through a tunnel to a nearby property.

Given her intellect, and the fact that she was able to drain her bank account with her ATM card before tossing away all of her identification, she was able to successfully make it out of the New Jersey -- New York area and establish a series of new identities. After nine years on the run, having moved six times and having set up her own computer programming business over the Internet with no contact with clients, she arrived in Tompkins hoping that Lizbeth Portis was her last identity necessary, and that this was her last move.

While Lizbeth had had a number of casual sexual encounters over the years simply to quell her animal needs, she never had had a real relationship with a man.

*****************

Rob's store front was near the main market area of Tompkins, and when not working out at the only gym in town, reading, or actually doing some work, he enjoyed people watching either through the large plate glass window of his store, or on an outside bench. He did notice when Lizbeth moved to Tompkins about six weeks after he did, and found her intriguing. Given his training by the mysterious government Agency he had worked for, he was very observant; he noticed Lizbeth coming to the market every Tuesday and Friday, always about 11 a. m. She seemed to be very polite, but solitary, avoiding extended contact with anyone.

While Tompkins was a normally quiet, safe place -- one of the reasons that both Rob and Lizbeth had located there -- like everyplace else it had some toughs who considered themselves badasses, and who caused trouble. After Rob had been observing Lizbeth -- with increasing interest -- for about two months the four biggest miscreants in Tompkins harassed Lizbeth during her normal Tuesday shopping excursion. The four seemed to be about 20 to 25 years old, tattooed, and surly. Lizbeth unsuccessfully tried to ignore them, so she simply left the area without completing her shopping.

While one of Rob's main goals was to keep a low profile, other factors came into play when he saw the troublemakers slyly follow Lizbeth to her SUV, and get into their own car. Rob had found out enough about Lizbeth to know where she lived -- about ten minutes outside of town in a beautiful remote wooded area -- so he got on his motorcycle and took off in that direction.

About five minutes out of town Rob caught up with Lizbeth's unwilling caravan and saw the reprobates' vehicle cut in front of hers, causing her to stop. As Lizbeth sat in her vehicle the four thugs got out of their car and approached her. By this time Rob was already off his bike and immediately confronted the nearest guy.

"What do you think you're doing, cutting her off, asshole?" Rob posited.

"Mind your own fucking business, we're just getting a date," the asshole replied.

Not surprisingly, that wasn't a sufficient response for Rob so he kicked the side of the guy's knee, and as he screamed and collapsed stomped on his tibia, breaking it.

The largest of the four, probably four inches taller and sixth pounds heavier than Rob -- was next to the disabled guy. He charged Rob. Rob simply sidestepped him and simultaneously tripped him, and when he hit the ground Rob kicked him in the back of the head, ringing his chimes.

A third miscreant ran around the car toward Rob exposing a knife with what appeared to be a six inch blade yelling "I'll cut you to pieces motherfucker!" That prediction proved false when Rob produced a blackjack from a rear pocket and both broke the knife-wielder's jaw and knocked him unconscious before the knife got within a foot of Rob.

The fourth hoodlum was apparently the smartest of the quartet since he tried to run past Lizbeth's car to get away. Unfortunately for him she opened her SUV door as he was attempting to run by, smacking it into him, and he hit the dirt. This gave Rob time to reach him and render him senseless with an elbow strike to his left temple.

Lizbeth got out of her vehicle, holding her Glock 19 Gen4 at her side with a bemused look on her face. "While the display of your pugilistic abilities was profound there really was no reason for it. I am safety-conscious, always carry a handgun, and am entirely capable of defending myself," she said.

"Would you have shot them?" Rob asked with a sly grin.

"Without vacillation or regret," she replied with her own sly grin.

"Still, just think of all of the trouble I saved you. Whenever there is a gunshot victim there is an endless stream of paperwork, interviews, and unpleasantness. I have graciously saved you from all of that bother, M'Lady," Rob grinned and bowed.

"So you're a modern day paladin?" Lizbeth snickered.

"I live only to serve," Rob bowed again.

After a slight pause Lizbeth holstered her weapon and gave Rob a once-over. He really was a good-looking man, and while Lizbeth didn't necessarily want a relationship with a man, since this was hopefully her last move she saw no harm in at least investigating him further.

"I'm Elizabeth Portis," she said, extending her hand.f

"Rob Barnard," was his reply, shaking hers.

"I suggest that you collect the miscreants' cell phones and provide them to me, at which point I may extend you an invitation," she continued.

Not knowing the reason for the request but captivated by the most intensely azure eyes he had ever seen, Rob pulled the cellphones out of the pockets of the four attackers, two unconscious, one writhing in pain, the other barely able to move. Lizbeth played with each phone from between 30 seconds and two minutes, and then returned them to Rob with the request that he deposit them in the front seat of their car.

Then taking out what looked like a burner phone Lizbeth called 911 and reported an accident at their rural location.

"Would you like to follow me to my house for some lemonade as a thank you to you for saving g me from being overwhelmed by paperwork and interviews?" Lizbeth asked Rob.

"I would -- but I thought that you were safety conscious. You don't really know me."

"I have no legitimate concerns; you see I am an excellent shot and I have two trained unneutered male Malinoises."

"What the hell is a Malinoises?" Rob chuckled.

"That is the correct plural for Malinois," Lizbeth replied. "Surely you've heard of that dog breed."

In fact Rob had not only heard of the breed -- often recognized as the best overall Army and police dog in the world -- he'd seen them in action. Rob grinned. "Yeah, I've heard of them. Let me move my bike so that you can back up around their car and the prone groaners, and then I'll follow you."

"When you arrive at my residence do not alight from your motorcycle until I have greeted and commanded my dogs -- they are very protective," Lizbeth voiced as she re-entered her vehicle.

"No problem with that," Rob said to himself as he put his helmet on, recalling the last Malinois attack that he had witnessed; "no problem with that."

************

While it was obvious that the Malinoises strictly obeyed Lizbeth's commands -- delivered to them in a language that Rob didn't recognize -- they eyed him suspiciously and flanked Lizbeth as they sat down. "Are your dogs always this alert?" Rob asked.

"You're the first person I've allowed into my house since I moved to Tompkins," Lizbeth replied, "so they are very cautious. As long as you don't try to grab me," she chuckled, "they won't attack."

"Good to know," Rob laughed.

Over lemonade and cookies Rob and Lizbeth had one of the more bizarre conversations of either of their lives. Lizbeth's vocabulary and normal manner and cadence of speaking were the most intellectual Rob had ever experienced, to the extent that he even had to ask her to define some words, such as "abjure," "calumny," and "equanimity." At the same time he was mesmerized -- a word he did understand, but whose impact he had never experienced before -- by her intense eyes and self-confident demeanor.

Lizbeth found Rob equally fascinating for other reasons. Most had to do with his physical appearance and the manner in which he had so easily dispatched the miscreants, and the obvious lies he told to downplay his clear physical superiority. Others included his aura of mystery and his obvious cleverness even though he espoused -- and she accepted -- a lack of formal education.

After a good two hours of conversation -- the longest one-on-one and face-to-face conversation Lizbeth had had since she fled the safe house -- the last vestiges of food and drink on the table had been consumed. Then, in a completely conversational manner, Lizbeth shocked the shit out of Rob.

"I suppose that even though I was fully capable of defending myself a paladin such as yourself may expect a more desirable reward than lemonade and cookies. Considering the obvious covetousness that your eyes portray, would you consider sexual intercourse to be more sufficient?"

For one of the few times in his life Rob was rendered speechless. As he stared at Lizbeth with his mouth agape and sweat beads starting to form on his brow she seemed to delight in his angst. "Sexual intercourse is a simple biological function. I do not consider it anything except that. You apparently have a hormonal reaction to my appearance and perhaps my personality, and I find you physically attractive. Is there some reason why you wouldn't want to have carnal knowledge of me?"

"No...uh...no...uh...yeah," Rob inarticulately replied.

"Unless you are in a hurry, perhaps you would like to accompany me for an exercise session for Genghis and Attila, and then we can retire to my bedroom," Lizbeth responded.

"Uh -- you call your dogs Genghis and Attila?"

"Yes -- they were perhaps the most intimidating names that I could conjure, and since intimidation of others is one of the main reasons -- aside from companionship -- that I have them, why not?" she smiled.

****************

Rob was amazed at the setup in Lizbeth's back yard -- if you could call it that -- specifically for the dogs. In an enclosure that had to be two acres in area -- although the fence was clearly not high enough to contain the Malinoises if they wanted to jump it -- was every type of obstacle, equipment, and training device that a dog could desire, and even a mechanical "rabbit" and track. Lizbeth joined the dogs' exercise regime with alacrity and enticed Rob to participate in some of the activities after giving him assurance that the dogs would not attack. After an hour of intense exercise, with the dogs panting, and the humans sweating, Lizbeth gave each of Genghis and Attila a cow bone which appeared to have about a pound of meat on it. They eagerly started attacking their treats while Lizbeth entreated Rob to follow her into the house after giving the dogs a command in what appeared to be a yet different not-understood language than the previous commands Lizbeth had given them.

"Are the dogs going to stay outside?" Rob questioned Lizbeth as they alighted the stairs to her bedroom.

"Unless they receive a mechanical audio command, in which case they will enter through the dog door at the back of the house," she replied. "Don't look so concerned; they will not bother us while we copulate."

When they entered Lizbeth's huge bedroom, with attached large and ornate bathroom, as she unstrapped her holster and put it and her Glock on a dresser she smiled and said "How about a shower?"

As Lizbeth unabashedly disrobed in front of Rob he was amazed not only by her lack of modesty, but by how alluring her body was. While in the jeans and long-sleeved top she had worn to the market she was certainly lithe and attractive, her garments had hidden a truly spectacular female form including surprisingly ponderous east-west tits, a sparse bush with protruding clitoris, supple hips, a bubble ass, and a pleasing empty triangle defined by her thighs and crotch. His dick got more rock hard than he could ever remember before in his life.

Once they were in the stream of lukewarm water in the shower, Lizbeth initiated both body and lip contact. While they did actually wash each other off, there was also much finger and hand play. At one point when Lizbeth encircled Rob's cock with her right hand while playing with his testicles with her left she smiled and muttered "I'll bet that you're not a man that worries about the adequacy of his genitalia."

"You're going to find that out in spades," he growled as he moved a finger into her pussy.

Rob and Lizbeth had barely dried off by the time that they hit the bed. Viewing Lizbeth in the market, and even talking to her at her table, Rob had assumed that Lizbeth was probably sexually inhibited. In fact, she was a tigress.