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This was bad and it only got worse after that.
The brake lights of the car I’d hit flashed once before I was blinded with even brighter red and blue beams that practically lit up the whole neighborhood.
I’d hit a fucking parked cop car. While I was playing with myself thinking about Daddy.
I wanted to cry. I was screwed, especially if anyone had seen what I was doing before I crashed.
This wasn’t the kind of problem that I could make go away. I couldn’t just sweep it under the table by paying for the repairs. There would be no keeping this secret, especially not when I worked for the government and it would certainly ruin my chances to rise any further up the chain of command. Not when the car I’d managed to hit belonged to a cop. I shouldn’t have been so stupid.
Leaning forward, I choked back my fear, anger, and arousal and swallowed it all as the car door opened in front of me and the officer stepped out of the car.
I was so fucked.
Would I go to jail? Would he just give me a ticket? Would I lose my license for driving recklessly through one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the country?
I reached for the button on my door and rolled down my window. I was thankful for the darkness until he was standing next to my car with his flashlight in his hands, putting a spotlight on my shame for all to see. I placed my hands on my thighs and finally remembered myself. Quickly, I straightened my skirt and I hoped he hadn’t noticed that it was wrinkled from what I had been doing before I’d crashed into him.
“Good evening, ma’am,” he began.
“Good evening, Officer,” I mumbled. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I was too ashamed of myself to look at anything but the lights on my dashboard.
“License, registration, and proof of insurance, please,” he demanded. He was rather annoyed, and I didn’t say a word in hopes of not making him even irritated than he already was.
I dug into my glovebox and pulled out my registration and proof of insurance. Quietly, I jerked my license out of my purse, and gathered it all before handing him what he wanted. He reached out and took it, giving it a cursory glance before he put that horrid flashlight right back in my face. I tried not to squint, but it hurt my eyes and I ended up turning back toward the wheel instead.
“How many cocktails have we had tonight?” he asked.
“None,” I answered.
“Any illicit drugs? A line of heroin or maybe some uppers?” he questioned further.
“No. I haven’t had anything,” I replied quietly.
I was so impossibly embarrassed.
“Do you know what the speed limit in this neighborhood is?”
“I don’t have any idea. I’m sorry,” I answered. I couldn’t find a reasonable place to put my hands and I finally settled on gripping the wheel.
“It’s twenty-five. You were going quite a bit faster than that, weren’t you?” he pressed.
“I’m not sure, Officer,” I replied meekly.
“I’d have to guess that you were at least ten, maybe twenty miles over the speed limit, if not even more to lose control and hit a parked car on the side of the road,” he scolded, and I chewed my lip. I had no idea how fast I was going, to be honest. I’d been too distracted by the feeling of my fingers working my clit beneath my skirt. Nothing else had mattered except my orgasm and getting as far away from Daddy as I could.
I wasn’t about to tell the cop that though. Not in a million years.
“I’m sorry. I was in a rush and I wasn’t paying attention,” I tried to explain. “I must have veered too far to the right and clipped you,” I continued, trying my best to think of a way to explain what happened and utterly failing.
His eyes glanced down to my skirt and back up at me. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything about my mussed appearance, and I was grateful for that.
“I’m going to have to write you a ticket for speeding and reckless driving. I’ll be nice and clock you in at just ten over the speed limit. You’re not going to be able to drive home. Your front axle is broken, and you hit me hard enough to dent your frame. Plus, I think the tire on the passenger side is losing air, so I’m going to have it towed to the nearest garage. Stay put. I’ll be right back,” he said. He watched me carefully before he returned to his car.
He was busy for nearly ten minutes before he came back. He had two tickets that he handed to me and I thanked him as I tucked them into my purse. I didn’t look at the ticket cost or the date I’d probably have to appear in court or whatever other punishment he had deemed that I’d earned.
“Step out of the car, miss,” he instructed.
There wasn’t any other option, so I turned the car off and removed the keys from the ignition. He opened the car door and I stepped out on shaky legs.
