Death in the Atlantic

by LoveRider

Copyright© 2009 by LoveRider

Erotica Sex Story: I weird sexual story about a mans love for his car and him dying in its wreck.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Mind Control   Magic   BDSM   DomSub   MaleDom   Sadistic   Snuff   Violence   .

Author's note: The song mentioned here, Tempting, is a real song, a ballad from the late 30s. I own the rights to the song. If anyone wants to hear the song to music and perhaps record it and release it, please email me about it. If I find that you have stolen the song and used it without my permission, well, to quote Robert DeNiro: "I'll rip your fucking balls off, I'll shove them up your fucking ass, I'll fucking bury you, I'll stick ice picks in your eyes and send them to your family so they can eat them for dessert." Barring that, I will sue you.

The engine of the car burbled as Nick sat in it preparing mentally for what he was preparing to do. Everybody told him not to do this. The soft gentle burble of the 3.3 litre supercharged straight-eight idling punctuated his thoughts, making him all the more worried about his intentions.

Everyone told him what he was doing didn't border on insanity- it WAS insanity. His insurance company told him if he did it, his collision AND life insurances were void. He was perhaps more scared by other people's perspective of what he was doing then by the act itself. But he was the kind of man who would re-double his efforts when someone tried to stop him.

Even so, he did see their point of view for once. This car wasn't just a car; it was a practically priceless art treasure. But to Nick that line of thinking was sickening. In addition the masterful beauty of its all-aluminum coach work, the car was a tour-de-force of period technology. Under its long and sensuous hood sat the 3257cc masterwork; an art treasure in itself, finished not the way most engines are, but like a fine watch. Inside and out, it was beautiful, engine turning- this engine was as beautiful as the car it powered.

Like the car, the engine was as much a technical masterpiece as it was beautiful. Cast in a single block of aluminum, the engine employed unheard of technology for its time. Its 32 tappet valves were actuated by gear-driven twin overhead camshafts. It had a Roots-type supercharger, allowing the small engine to produce an unheard of 175 horse power. This engine, coupled to an advanced four-speed manual gearbox, allowed the car to reach over a hundred and twenty miles per hour; unheard of for 1939.

Of the forty-four Bugatti Type-57C cars produced, only a handful were supercharged. But this one was even more special than those. This was the most beautiful car ever made. This model, the aluminum bodied, riveted together Atlantic coupe, was perhaps the rarest, and definitely the most valuable.

Only three were ever built. Of those three, one was destroyed in a railroad accident early in its life. Two remained. One was owned by Dr. Peter Williamson. Up until a year ago, the other was owned by designer Ralph Lauren, from whom Nick had bought the car. He had made him an offer hard for any man to refuse- Sixty million dollars.

The car was built to drive, and Nick intended to drive it. Down the Pacific Coast Highway. At night. He intended to drive it as fast as he could. He wanted to see what the car could do. Everyone told him that he would definitely wreck the car, and probably kill himself in the process. Bullshit, he fucking knew how to drive.

Finally, content to start, he put on a CD, and shifted into first, gently easing off the clutch and taking off with a lurch, despite his best efforts to do it as smoothly as he could. He eased the car onto the highway, turning the huge, heavy, unassisted steering wheel with great effort, and started off down the road.

Music came out of his newly installed speakers, a soft ballad that seemed appropriate, considering his relationship with the car. The woman's voice was soft and gentle; it belonged to the grandmother of one of his friends. It had been recorded around the time this car was built.

You dream a while ... and then you smile ... mmmmm so tempting...

So appropriate, he thought, as he floored the car. The scream of the supercharger and the roaring screech of the engine played to the fact that the car was among the fastest in the world when it was made. As he let in the clutch and shifted to second, he was lost in thought.

He had seen the car a long time ago at an art museum. He told himself one day he would own it. A crazy statement, perhaps; at the time Lauren was reputed to have turned down an offer of $25,000,000 for the car, nearly double what he had paid for it. But he made himself that promise. The car became a maniacal drive for him. It had tempted him to the unsavory worlds of crime, of contract murder, of drug sales. He became one of the most powerful gangsters of all time, from a dream of owning this car.

 
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