Cucked by a Cop

3

The cop told Richard to stay and followed behind Veronica as she circled the back tire. She listened to the scrape of his shoes on the pavement. Her right hand resting on the hatchback, she turned to face him; had to look up to meet his eyes.

"So how many drinks did you really have tonight?"

Fucking Richard. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Two."

"Two."

"One glass of wine with dinner and one glass of champagne when they did the toast."

The cop crossed his arms. It looked like his biceps could crack walnuts.

Oh please, God, just let me go, Veronica thought. Just let me get outta here. I'll never fucking touch champagne again.

"So where's your license?"

"Like I said, we were at a wedding. I must've left my purse at the venue. I–I don't remember."

"You don't remember?" He raised his eyebrow again.

"No!" She shook her head vigorously. Calm, stay calm, she told herself. "Not. Not like that. I never forget my purse. I just."

"Just?..."

Now she was starting to get frustrated. This guy was purposefully making things difficult. This was not a complicated issue, but he was twisting things. Obfuscating.

"You saw my husband, OK? I was too busy trying to pour him into the car. I wasn't thinking about my purse." She practically stomped her foot. Her body was rigid, her skin flushed. She realized she must have looked ridiculous to passersby, like a toddler talking back to her daddy.

"Put your hands on the car, please."

"Sir–"

"Hands. On. The car."

Her palms smeared the fog on the back windshield. It was humid like a jungle all around her, but she shivered. She kept her head down and waited. She couldn't believe this. Ten seconds later, she took her hands off the car and spun around. He was sitting in his patrol car, fiddling with some gadget on his dashboard. He caught her gaze and made a circle with his finger. Veronica rolled her eyes and put her hands on the SUV again.

Exposed. That's how she felt. Floating in space. She heard the rush of passing cars. Thought about what they must be thinking. Laughing at her. Joking about a DUI. She wasn't even drunk!

She heard the cop approaching her again. She braced herself.

"OK, I'm gonna pat you down."

"Is that necessary?"

"It's not about you. I need to know you don't have anything on you that can hurt me." He stepped behind her and kicked her feet apart. She wobbled and caught herself on the bumper. She bit back tears. She was helpless, completely at this creep's mercy.

"But, I don't have any pockets." The cop scanned her low cut, strapless crimson bodycon dress. It wasn't exactly slutty, but you wouldn't wear it to church. It hugged Veronica's curves, made her feel sexy. She saw the young bucks at the wedding, eye-fucking her cleavage, checking for a panty-line. Now, she just felt exploited. She cursed herself for wearing a thong, wished she was clothed from throat to ankles.

She shuddered when he finally touched her. A nervous pet. He placed his large hands on her hips and she felt so small. He could lift me like a teacup, she thought. The hands slid down the sides of her dress, skimmed her naked thighs, calves, and rounded her ankles.

She knew something was off when he touched her feet, almost massaging her arches and splaying his fingers between her toes.

"What're you"–she swallowed. "Do you think I have a knife down there?"

"You have a knife?"

Veronica scoffed even while she shuddered again. "No."

"Then don't fucking say that," he said.

Another car whizzed by. Her teeth chattered and her cheeks bloomed red.

He reached beneath her dress and felt her inner thighs. Firm fingers mere millimeters from the place Richard, and Steven from freshman year Psych, and Carl from high school had been, and nobody else. They followed the panty-line around each leg, circling to her ass. Her dress rose. The bottom scoops of her ass cheeks were exposed.

"Hey, I–"

But he moved on. Veronica bit her lip. It was smarter to grin and bear this. It was almost over. It has to be.

Another car, this one with headlights like lighthouses. Surely they saw her ass, surely. He let her dress drop and felt her belly, traced her spine. Veronica's eyes were squeezed shut. She opened them now, and looked through the foggy back window of her car at Richard.

He was fast asleep. Veronica hated him. Hated his drunkenness. Hated his cowardice. Hated his ugly body, his stringy hair, his shitty job. Hated every single cell of his passive, flaccid being.

And then, like it was normal, like this was the way he patted everyone down–without a wink or a dramatic flair or a single word of warning–he grabbed her tits in his clamp-like grip, and squeezed.

Veronica yelped. A single fierce teardrop singed her cheek. At last, one massive paw encircled her throat. The pressure was so slight, she barely even noticed it. But a threat was there: like background radiation, and her legs almost gave way beneath her.

And then he let go.

"You're clean."

Clean? That was the last thing that she was. She kept her hands on the back window to keep from fainting. She tried to slow her breathing. Finally, somehow, she found the strength to face him again. She was slick with cold sweat, but he was cool and calm.

"Here's what I'm gonna do," he said. "I think you're telling the truth about your drinking. So...Go back to the wedding venue, get your purse, and then..." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a white business card, and held it out to her. "When you find your license, call this number and ask to speak to Officer Thompson. That's me. You can read me your license number over the phone. I'll make a record of the stop, write it off as a warning, and we'll call it a night. OK?"

Veronica wanted to shout, NO! Wanted to spit in this fuck's face. Wanted to slug him. Wanted to kick his dick with her spiked heel and run him over with her car. Wanted to say she would sue, call the mayor, have his badge. And then what? Get tased, thrown in the back of the cruiser, jailed, sentenced, her life destroyed?

"OK," she whispered.

"What was that?"

"Oh—" She cleared her throat. "OK."

"Good. Just make sure you call me back tonight, as soon as you find your license. Cuz if you don't, I'm gonna put out a warrant for your arrest."

Veronica tried to swallow. She nodded. "I understand."

"Great." He walked briskly over to his cruiser, told her to have a good night, slammed the door, and sped off. The sirens quit at one hundred yards and soon the black sky ate the tail lights and she lost his car to the horizon.

Veronica got back in the car and looked at her sleeping husband. She shook her head and started the engine, put the car in drive. It took her three miles to notice that her panties were sopping wet.