Fugitive Wife

"Since you love the Chinese so much, why don't we get that - if there's a Chink restaurant in town."

"Fine by me," I said.

I opened the passenger's side door to my SUV. "What, are you some sort of fucking gentleman?" she inquired with a sneer.

"Actually, yes, Jillian; but that's not the only reason I opened the door for you. See, I'm going to cuff you to the bar welded to the inside of the door; I need to build up a little more trust before I put you in a position where it would cost me a lot of time and effort to retrieve you.

"Whatever," she mumbled, holding out her right arm.

I closed the door, stood on the running board, leaned in through the open window, and cuffed her. "That's not too tight, is it?" I asked.

"A little," she replied, probably not because it was, but just to see what I'd do.

I released the cuff on her wrist, redid it a little looser, and asked again. "How about now?"

"It'll do," she mumbled, although I could tell that she was pleased that I had accommodated her.

We found a half-decent Chinese restaurant only about a mile from the motel, I uncuffed her, and we walked in. I had her sit with her back against a wall while I sat next to her - not across from her - in a location where I could see who came in and who went out of the front door.

We actually had a decent conversation over dinner. I tried to pump her for information but she wasn't very forthcoming until after her fourth Tsingtao (she ended up consuming eight), a Chinese beer that I thought tasted like horse piss (not that I drink horse piss, by the way, just what I imagine horse piss would taste like), but that she seemed to like. My impression after a two hour meal's worth of conversation, especially from that that flowed after the fourth beer, was that she was very bright but misguided because of rough circumstances growing up. One thing that was clear was that she hated Nebraska.

When we got back to the room without incident she went into the bathroom and returned naked. If not drunk, she was feeling no pain. "How about a nice fuck, Rick," she asked sauntering up to me and putting her hand on my chest.

I almost burst my zipper my rod got so hard so fast.

"Uh...sorry Jillian but you're drunk and you'll regret it in the morning. Either that or you think that you'll be able to get away once I've gone to nirvana after fucking your sweet pussy." I gently pushed her away, pulled a T-shirt out of my suitcase that in view of my bulk compared to hers would likely drape down to her knees. As I handed her the 2XL T-shirt I said "Go back into the bathroom and put your panties back on and this over it."

"You're no fun," she mumbled as she took the shirt and went back into the bathroom.

After she returned to the main room I cuffed her to the metal headboard, got out a new pair of boxer shorts and a T-shirt, went into the bathroom, showered, and started to get into the only bed with my clean underwear on.

"You can't leave me cuffed like this all night," she moaned. "My arm will be dead by morning.

"Well, I've got to cuff you," I said. "I'm a sound sleeper and I can't trust you."

Slurring her words slightly she retorted "Then get out some leg shackles - I now you have some - and shackle my left wrist to your right one. I can't get away then!"

That actually sounded reasonable. I did as asked, and made sure that my Korth and the handcuff and SUV keys were on my side of the bed, as far away from her as possible, even though since the Korth was a signature gun she couldn't fire it.

I had a little trouble getting to sleep. After laying awake about a half hour I heard mild snoring from Jillian's side of the bed. When she shifted her position and laid her head on my shoulder I mumbled "No body contact, Jillian." But she was clearly sound asleep and didn't hear me. Except for how stiff it made my cock her head on my shoulder was actually very nice, and I was soon in dreamland.

The night passed without Jillian trying to escape and I got a pretty good night's sleep. I did wake up embarrassed, however, since my morning wood was standing proud through the flap in my boxers, and Jillian was laying on her side supporting her head with her hand and an elbow on the bed. "Nice cock," she smiled.

I quickly covered up, then got dressed, I'm sure turning red as a beet. Jillian simply chuckled.

First thing in the morning after I got dressed, I called Hot Shit again and he told me that the South Dakota State Troopers' incident report was that they found blood in the cabin at the end of Rural Route 387 but no people or dead bodies, although there was other evidence that people had been there. "They collected some DNA but aren't doing anything further at this time except to put out an APB on Grant," Hot Shit concluded.

"OK - I'll have to be on my toes," I replied. "How about the Long Zi Group?"

"Fortunately they seem to be the most inept of the Chinese gangs in the U. S. but still not people to be underestimated. They have some wicked dudes, and members in a number of different cities," Hot Shit replied.

"Well I can't give them the blood diamonds," I said.

"While researching, I came up with a great idea," Hot Shit boldly stated.

"OK; I'll bite; what's your fabulous idea Hot Shit?"

"Multiple government agencies deal with them. I suggest that I contact all of them to coordinate a sting. You bring the diamonds back, put them in a traceable container, get paid by Chan, then have the government agencies close in on them a day later."

Actually, it wasn't such a bad idea. I just wondered if Hot Shit could pull it off by himself. "Give it a try Hot Shit; if it works I'll give you $25,000."

Bertram giggled like a little girl, said something unintelligible, and hung up.

Jillian and I went to breakfast. She insisted on wearing Daisy Duke shorts and a tank top so every guy who saw her almost popped his eyes out of his head. "You like showing off, don't you?" I rhetorically asked with a chuckle as about the 50th guy ogled her.

"If you got it, flaunt it," she snickered.

"There's no doubt that you've got it," I honestly replied. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her grin.

After breakfast we loaded up the SUV and drove to another town; one much bigger. When we got into the motel room Jillian whined "I'm getting bored, dude. Let's do something besides drive, eat, and sit in a motel room."

"I saw a gym driving in; do you work out?" I asked.

"Every chance I get. I didn't get these abs and thighs being a couch potato," she snickered.

"Guess not," I chuckled. "You have to promise not to try and escape while we're in the gym, though, since I can't bring you in there in cuffs. Got it?"

"I still can't believe that you trust me, but yeah - got it."

"Promise?"

"I fucking promise," Jillian grinned, giving a poor imitation of the "Scout's Honor" sign.

The woman was a workout fiend. Of course she got the attention of everyone there but not just because of her looks, but because of her workout. Except for some upper body exercises, she kept up with or surpassed me and I consider myself in great shape. She disappeared into the bathroom for awhile, but returned and seemed to take her pledge not to escape seriously.

After we showered in the motel - I cuffed her to the sturdy metal headboard while I showered - we played miniature golf (I let her beat me, which thrilled her to no end), I had some more discussions with Bertram, and then we went to dinner. I let her choose the restaurant and treated her with respect and nicely the entire time. She looked at me funny each time that I did something nice for her, or said something nice to her; I guess she wasn't used to be treated that way.

She liked the beer at the restaurant even more than at the Chinese one the night before, and as with the previous night became quite chatty after her fourth.

Jillian again wore my oversized T-shirt and a pair of panties to bed, while I wore boxers and a T-shirt. I again shackled her to me, but didn't put the leg shackles on her. Once I heard her start light snoring I quickly went to sleep.

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

Bertram was still working on his idea the next day, and said that from what he could tell Jimmy Grant was on the move in my general direction, so Jillian and I moved to another town, closer to Nebraska, that was about one hundred miles away. I was very accommodating of everything that she wanted to do, including stopping at two tourist attractions. "I never got to go on vacations during my shitty childhood," she explained to me as she ogled fake dinosaurs at one stop, and acted like an excited ten year old at "Flintstones' Bedrock City" in Custer, South Dakota.

When we left the Flintstones' combination amusement park and tourist trap she was literally beaming and giggly as she held onto my bicep and genuinely said "Thanks; that was a ton of fun." I said nothing to diminish her euphoria even though I thought that it was the hokiest thing in the world; "Glad you liked it," was my only, smiling, reply.

When we went to dinner that night - again a restaurant of her choice - as she was getting drunk on the local craft beer - she started to talk about Jimmy, so I pumped her for as much information as I could without getting her too suspicious. Some particularly compelling bits of information were (slurred words, hiccups, and unintelligible phrases removed for clarity):

"Ya know, even though Jimmy is good lookin' and fucks pretty good, I only hooked up with him because I needed to get the hell out of my fucking horrible home town. He's really kind of a jerk, and a mean dude."

"How long have you two been together?" I nonchalantly asked.

"Probably five months, but we've only been married three weeks."

That knocked my socks off.

"I didn't know that you were married. Why did you marry him if you think that he's mean and a jerk?" I carefully quizzed.

"He essentially forced me into it. He said that a wife can't testify against her husband, and he planned to do some bad shit. You know he killed two guys when we stole those blood diamonds, don't you?"

"No; I didn't know that," I mused. "Where did you two get hitched?"

"Some god forsaken town in Nebraska, where we had the warrant put out on us for petty theft for stiffin the marriage chapel and taking some booze and wedding cake with us."

That surprised me because I thought that the warrant would have listed Jillian Grant instead of Jillian Brooke.

"Did you take Jimmy's last name?"

"Fuck no; I wasn't figuring on the 'to death do us part' shit; he was just a ticket out of a hell hole."

As always I treated her like a lady, opening doors for her and stuff as we left the diner. "I could get used to this gentlemen shit," she laughed when I opened the SUV door for her and helped her in.

While Jillian was showering that night - taking an inordinate amount of time probably because she was more lit than the previous two nights - I called Bertram. "Hey, Hot Shit; one more thing for you to check right away. Jillian says that she married Jimmy Grant in the county in Nebraska where the petty theft warrant was issued about three weeks ago. Check that out then text me the results, pronto," I barked.

"Why the rush, dude?" he inquired.

"Just do it," I huffed. "I'll call you early tomorrow about the little sting you're planning."

Bertram's text a few minutes later confirmed Jillian's marital status.

When I went back into the hotel room, Jillian was stumbling out of the bathroom with my 2XL T-shirt again serving as her nightgown, and she mumbled "Gd Ngt" as she fell into bed. By the time I had collected new underwear and was about to go into the bathroom, she was already asleep. I covered her up, gently kissed her forehead, and promised myself that I'd shackle her to me once I went to bed.

Jillian was snoring peacefully when I crawled into bed. I just loosely shackled one of her ankles to mine and almost instantly fell asleep, her snoring providing more "white noise" than being an impediment to sleeping.

I thought that I was dreaming when in the middle of the night I felt something at my crotch. There was enough light from an outside halogen bulb streaming through a space between the drapes for me to see what was happening. Jillian was sucking my cock. I started to say "What the fuck are you doing?" but that would have been a truly stupid question, and I was feeling so good that I didn't want it to stop. But stop it did about a minute later when she mounted me and impaled her white-hot pussy on my upright flagpole.

That woman could fuck with a capital "F;" no, on second thought all caps! I put my hands under her T-shirt and latched onto her jiggling big honkers as she rode me like she was riding a prize bull. Our substantially simultaneous orgasms rocked my world like it never had been rocked before.

When our male and female parts finally disengaged - after a good half dozen after-shocks - I was euphoric. When she buried her head into my shoulder and I gently stroked her face and hair I felt about as content as I ever had, and immediately went back to sleep.

When I woke up to sunlight streaming through the window Jillian's head was still on my shoulder. I eased away from her out of the bed, unshackled myself from her, and went to the head. When I returned she was stirring. I immediately unshackled her and sat next to her.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"About 8:30," I replied.

She smiled. "I've got to hit the head; those nine beers have worked their way through my system." Actually it was really eleven beers, but why be picky.

When she returned form the bathroom she saw the quizzical look on my face, sitting in the same spot where she had left me.

"What?" she asked.

"I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth - because fucking you last night..."

She cut me off "I was the one who fucked you," she snarled.

"OK - because being fucked by you was the best experience of my life. However, what the hell brought it on?"

"Three reasons, not necessarily in any particular order. First, I was drunk; second, I was horny; third, no one has ever been nicer to me than you were last three days and nights; Oh wait, I guess there's five reasons," she giggled. "Fourth, it was clear that you never were going to rape me so if I wanted to get fucked I'd have to instigate it. Fifth, I want you to like and lust after me so much that you won't turn me into the cops and will give me a share of the diamonds."

I guess that was straight-forward enough for me.

I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. "Could it happen again?" I asked, probably blushing slightly.

"Maybe," she chuckled. "I really did like your cock. Keep treating me nicely, and who knows."

There was no doubt in my mind that I'd be treating her nicely. Like I said before, I've only had the equivalent of the hamburger or select cut of pussy in the past. Now that I've tasted prime filet my mouth is drooling.

As we were getting ready to leave, Jillian looked a little nervous. I decided to tell her a conclusion that I'd come to. "Jillian, I've decided what I'm going to do with you. I'm going to give you $50,000 from my reward money and put it in an account that only you can access. I'm going to turn you in to the Nebraska authorities, get you the best lawyer, and get your record clean after you spend a short time in jail. I'll tell them that you turned yourself in. Hopefully the $50,000 will get you off to a good start on a better and crime-free life so you won't have to associate with the likes of Jimmy Grant any more, and you can divorce him in Vegas. I hope that you're OK with that."

Jillian proved that she wasn't as big of a hard-ass bitch as she portrayed because she started sobbing, and buried her head in my shoulder. I comforted her. Suddenly she snapped out of it. "There's something I have to tell you. I called Jimmy Grant from a pay phone when I went to the washroom yesterday, and he may be waiting to ambush us when we leave town."

"What?" I snapped.

"Sorry; I didn't realize that I'd have so much fun fucking you, or that you'd treat me so right."

I thought for a second. Then I got out my smartphone and did a quick search including on Google Earth, and found what I wanted.

"Let's use this to our advantage," I said. "You call Jimmy, tell him that I'm in the shower - we'll have it running - and tell him that at the gas station closest to the 102 mile marker on route 89 that you'll get me to stop for you to take care of a 'female problem' in the bathroom. I'll be ready for them, and have undercover cop cars there too."

We turned on the shower, just outside the bathroom door she called him. "I have to make this quick Jimmy; he's in the shower and I have the phone for only a few seconds. At the gas station closest to the 102 mile marker on Route 89 I'll claim a female problem. He's such a simple asshole that he'll stop. Take care of him while I'm in the bathroom. The diamonds are in a safe in his SUV. I'll delete this call from his phone record."

"Got it," someone on the other end - presumable Jimmy - said. Jillian then immediately terminated the call.

"You should be an actress," I chuckled.

She smiled. Then she ran a finger over the side of my face and my chest. "We have another forty minutes before checkout time," she mumbled in a super-sultry voice. "Got any ideas on how to pass the time?"

I couldn't believe it, but as I pounded into her consummate pussy with her heels on my shoulders, while I simultaneously manipulated the marvels on her chest, I felt even more euphoric than during the fuck the previous night. I unloaded more jism than I never had before in my life, she screamed, and we both almost went comatose. We checked out a few minutes late. My dick, and brain, felt better than at any other time in my life, by a light year! I didn't bother cuffing her to the SUV door.

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

I made arrangements with the South Dakota and Nebraska authorities since the 102 mile marker was almost at the state line. It wasn't a straight shot from where we stayed the last night, and I took my time to set everything up, so it was about two hours before we got there.

I was in contact with the cops, in unmarked cars; they advised me that they had also called in two agents from the FBI. When I let Jillian off at the women's washroom, to her shock I gave her a .38 pistol. "In case you need to use it," I said looking her in the eye.

"You trust me this much?" she asked.

"Hell, yeah," I replied, then cautioned her "Lay low if there's any shooting."

Actually, Jillian was married until "death do us part" after all. Jimmy and his two remaining thugs, with AK-47s, came right for me in the remote area of the parking lot where the cops had told me to put my SUV. When the cops and two guys who sure looked like FBI agents stepped out from behind trees and trucks and told them to drop their guns, apparently Jimmy and his buddies preferred a re-enactment of the "Gunfight at the OK Corral" and started shooting.

Not being the shy and retiring type, I joined in. I know for sure that I was the one who shot Bret James in the head. Jimmy and the other thug were also killed, and one of the South Dakota State Troopers was hit in the leg but would eventually be OK, and another trooper was going to be really sore for a couple of weeks because he took three rounds in his bullet proof vest.

I went and retrieved Jillian, and was sure to get the gun back from her before telling her what had happened. When I did tell her she barely looked perturbed. I'm sure that she was feeling much more than she was showing, however, but she stoically said "It will save the trouble of getting a divorce," and went and sat in the SUV.

I talked with law enforcement for the next two hours. Surprisingly, the FBI agents showed up because their agency was one of the ones that Bertram was involving in the sting on Chan. There was only a brief mention of Jillian by the two Nebraska troopers that were there, and they were satisfied when I assured them that she had turned herself in to me, was cooperating, and that I was eventually taking her to Nebraska to turn her in.