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LENGTH: Short Story
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Eliza Black 2003
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Rating: Contains light bondage, explicit sex, multiple partners, graphic language and some profanity.

"Four Stars! This is a journey of discovery were the female lead is shown the power of being a sexual submissive. There are also some incredibility hot sexual encounters." Oleta M Blaylock, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

"Doctor, Lawyer...Police Chief is an erotic quickie that I would recommend to everyone, especially those who like D/s with light bondage. Kimberly Zant is masterful with short, erotic stories and has definitely become an “auto-buy” author for me." A Romance Review

Doctor, Lawyer…Police Chief

By

Kimberly Zant

© copyright August 2003 by Kimberly Zant

Cover Art by Eliza Black 2003 (c) copyright August 2003

New Concepts Publishing

www.newconceptspublishing.com

I’d become a desperate woman. Like everyone else, I suppose, I had a tendency to think I was a special victim of life. The world was out to get me. Everything turned out far worse for me than anyone else. Nothing was ever going to go right for me again.

Or was it just pay back time because things had been easy before?

In a very real sense of the word, my marriage had been arranged. My domineering father had introduced me to the junior partner in his law firm considered most likely to succeed. My husband had been his partner, his protégé … the son he hadn’t had and wished he’d had … a chip off the old block. Before I knew it, I was married, and thereafter ignored. I’d served my purpose. I’d cemented the bond between the two men in my life.

To all outward appearances, I had it all … beautiful home, powerful husband ... expensive car … expensive everything.

The only problem was, I had nothing. My father had had everything while I lived under his roof. I was passed on to another man who owned everything, including me. And once he’d attained the position of power that had been his goal, I was discarded just as conveniently as I’d been acquired.

My father washed his hands of me. He’d done his best for me and I’d failed. I wasn’t sure how, but I was left in no doubt that I had.

My husband, being a lawyer, was in the perfect position to fuck me as he never had when we were married--three ways from Sunday.

Everyone went home satisfied but me.

I didn’t go home at all, because I found myself homeless.

A former college girl friend had picked me up and dusted me off. She’d told me it was time to stiffen my spine and stand on my own two feet. She was looking thirty dead in the eye, just like I was, but she had a life. She’d never submitted to a strong willed man. She’d made her own way. She owned her own home, owned her own everything. Unlike me, she’d acquired them the new fashioned way—she’d bought them herself.

I rather thought I deserved a little more time feeling sorry for myself, but I found I was as easily dominated by my domineering friend as I had been by my domineering father and ex-husband. I got up because she told me to, and looked around to see what I could do to make my own way.

There wasn’t much to choose from. I had a BA, but that didn’t amount to much these days, particularly when I hadn’t focused on anything in particular.

It hadn’t seemed important at the time.

If only life was dyslexic! Foresight could be twenty/twenty instead of hindsight!

I didn’t have a lot of time to spend exploring options. My friend was generous to a fault, and patient, but I was expected to fulfill her belief in me, make something of myself and repay her the money she’d fronted me to get back on my feet.

She used her connections to help me get a job at a physicians clinic, owned by four wealthy surgeons—one female and three male--plastic surgeons. My job description was receptionist. In actuality, however, I was the gofer in training.

It wasn’t the sort of job that was going to take me places, but I liked it well enough. Two of the male doctors were single--one a bachelor and the other divorced, like me. The single doctor was at least a nine on the hunk meter. The other, who was some years older, was at least a seven. Briefly, I fantasized about becoming a doctor’s wife.

My room mate was brutally honest when I expressed my daydreams, pointing out that I was only a little more than passably pretty—certainly not beautiful—that I had nothing to bring to a marriage but myself, and no man of means took on a ‘dower-less’ female these days unless she was: one--drop dead gorgeous; and two--barely nubile.

I descended into self-pity again because I knew she right, but I was growing as a person. The pity party didn’t last long, and I left it because I was ready to go.

Privately, I had detected a flaw in my room mate’s perspective. She had never been married, so she wasn’t competent to judge the estate. I had made a mistake, but I wasn’t convinced that marriage was something to be avoided. I just needed to be smarter this time around. And I had to figure out how to build a dowry that would make me acceptable as a prospective spouse—while I was still young enough to also be physically desirable.

I allowed one of the patients to talk me into taking night classes in real estate.

My room mate was supportive, but doubtful. She didn’t come right out and say it, but I knew what she thought. I was a submissive wimp. How could I make it in sales?

Thus, my time of desperation arrived.

I was on the eve of my first sale. If I landed it, my commission was not only going to boost my confidence, it would pick me up by the seat of my pants and pitch me in the right direction for a change … toward financial independence--or that dowry I needed, whichever way I decided to go.

The problem was, no one thought I could do it, including me.

I had decided to drive down to the property the day before and rehearse all day for the ‘big’ day. Confidence didn’t come naturally to me, but acting always had. I managed to convince myself that as long as I had plenty of time to work myself into the role of ‘successful real estate agent’ I could pull it off. The property was magnificent. The prospective buyers had already been hooked. All I had to do was make sure they were in love by the time I was finished showing them that beauty and I’d land the biggest sale anyone in my office had ever landed.

My room mate was thoughtful when I told her my plans. She surprised me by telling me she thought I was right. I needed something to bolster my confidence if I was to have a chance of pulling it off. She offered me the use of her second car—the one she’d kept for sentimental reasons when she’d made partner and purchased her Mercedes. Her ‘second’ car was nearly four years old, but had been a high end model and it looked far more ‘successful’ than I was so I was thrilled to have it, particularly since I would’ve had to figure out a way to rent a car if she hadn’t loaned it to me. I didn’t want to ask, but money was also a consideration.

As if she’d read my mind, she asked me if I needed a small cash loan to tide me over. Grateful, I told her I did. She took ‘the book’ from her briefcase, the one we’d agreed would be used to record my debts and wrote the amount in it, then pulled her wallet out and counted the money over to me. I initialed the book, closing my mind to my mounting debt.

I was going to make the sale and when I did, I’d be able to repay her every cent she’d been kind enough to loan me, and I’d still have enough left over to get my own place and start my new life.

She stopped me as I turned to go. When I turned back to her, I saw she was holding a business card.

“What’s that for?” I asked.

She flicked the card with a nail, frowning slightly, then thrust the card at me. “This is your ‘get out of jail free’ card. I know some of the cops in that area. If you run into any trouble, just show them this card.”

I took the card and looked at it doubtfully. “You think I’ll have trouble?”

She shrugged. “You never know. You might run a stop sign or something.”

I wasn’t the best of drivers. I’d had more than one close call. “So, if I get pulled over, I just show the cop the card?”

“I don’t know them all--just several of them. If it happens to be a friend of mine, he’ll probably just let you off with a warning. It depends on their mood, of course.”

I smiled at her. “Thanks!”

She stopped me again when I reached the door. I turned back questioningly.

“If you should get stopped, and the cop recognizes my card, he might offer to let you pay the fine directly to him.”

I frowned. “Can they do that?”

She shrugged. “Anybody can do anything they can get away with.”

“Should I pay it, then?”

“Only if you’re willing to. If you’re not, or become uncomfortable, just say ‘stop’.”

That sounded strangely cryptic, but I thanked her again.

I arrived at my destination without incident and rented a cheap room before driving out to the property. I spent the first few hours studying over all the unique features and every conceivable advantage to owning such a piece of prime real estate. I knew what the imperfections were, so I looked for everything I could find that would counter every down side. Finally, deciding I was well armed with arguments, I began rehearsing.

Before I knew it, the day had flown by. I only became aware of the time that had passed when I realized it was becoming too dark to see. Finally, reasonably satisfied, I locked up and headed back toward my hotel room.

Doubts began to surface almost immediately. It was my biggest impediment to success. No matter how hard I worked to build up my confidence, I simply could not sustain it for any length of time.

I suppose it was my distraction that became my ultimate downfall. I wasn’t big on self honesty, but the truth was I didn’t exactly stop at the stop sign. I sort of … oozed through it. I braked, glanced both ways and accelerated again.

I hadn’t noticed the cop that was tailing me, further proof of my distraction.

The sudden ‘whoop’ of his siren, the flashing lights, sent terror flooding through me. I slammed on the brakes so abruptly, he almost rammed the rear of the car.

“Pull over!”

It was like the voice of God. His command, bursting from the bullhorn mounted on the roof of his car seemed to come from everywhere at once. I was so weak from fear by that time I could barely steer the car or press the gas pedal, but I managed to pull the car over on the shoulder of the road.

It was fully dark by now. Once I’d turned off the car and my headlights, I discovered it was like sitting in a cave. I hadn’t realized how dark the countryside was at night. There wasn’t a house in sight.

I glanced in my rear view mirror. The cop car was as ominous as a fire breathing dragon, crouched threateningly behind my poor little car.

He didn’t turn off the flashing lights, much to my consternation. Slowly, embarrassment began to take the upper hand of fear. I knew very well I wasn’t likely to run into anyone I knew … I was well off my own turf. No one who knew me was going to drive by and recognize me. And I was still embarrassed.

The slamming of a car door drew my attention to my rear view mirror again.

The cop was huge!

He looked like he must be seven feet tall and built like a weight lifter!

Maybe it was my imagination?

He tapped on my window.

I jumped, rolled the window down as fast as I could, and discovered I was staring at his crotch.

Maybe my imagination hadn’t been as far off as I’d thought?

He bent over. Despite his headlights, or maybe because of them, his hat, pulled down low, cast deep shadow over the top part of his face. All I could see was the lower half of his face. It was hard and angular; his nose a blade, his chin obstinate, his jaw clean. His mouth was a straight, hard line without so much as a hint of a smile.

He had one hand on his revolver.

“License and registration, ma’am.”

I fumbled with my purse and managed to dig my license out. My hand, I saw when I handed it to him, was shaking.

I couldn’t help but notice he didn’t look the least moved by the fact that he’d terrorized me.

He glanced down at my license, shining his flashlight on it then in my face. I was dazzled momentarily by the blinding light. “Insurance?” he asked.

“The card’s in the glove box,” I said shakily. “Should I get it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I opened the glove box. Fortunately, my friend was a stickler for organization. I didn’t have any trouble finding the card. I handed it to him.

“This your car, ma’am?”

“It belongs to a friend of mine. She loaned it to me for the trip. I sell real estate. I have a piece of property to show in the morning. I drove down tonight so I’d be here early to show it in the morning.” I realized I was babbling. I wasn’t even sure if what I’d said made any sense.

He nodded, turned without a word and walked to the back of the car to look at the tag. I chewed my nails, watching him in the rear view mirror. After a moment, he moved back to his own vehicle and got in.

I wondered if that meant I was free to go, but then I realized he still had my license and the insurance card. He hadn’t said I could go.

I was working on my third fingernail when he got out of his car and started back toward me. He handed me the cards. “Could you step out of the vehicle for a moment, ma’am?”

I gaped at him. This sounded bad. I looked around a little helplessly, as if some knight on a white charger was going to appear on my horizon.

It was then that I remembered the card my friend had given me.

“I….”

He stepped back, his hand on the butt of his pistol. “Step out of the vehicle, now.”

I broke my remaining fingernails off trying to get the door open. “What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“Face the vehicle please.”

I did. “My friend is a lawyer. She loaned me the car,” I babbled senselessly, trying to figure out how I was going to flaunt my ‘get out of jail free’ card now, when I couldn’t even get to it. “If you’ll just let me get my purse….”

“Hands on the hood of the car. Do it! Now!”

I put my hands on the hood. “She gave me a card,” I said weakly, and told him her name.

“Don’t move!”

He reached into the car and pulled my purse out, then tossed it onto the hood beside me. I fumbled for the card and handed it to him.

He studied it in the light of his flashlight, then tucked it in his shirt pocket. “Eyes forward.”

I looked at the black screen of forest that crept up almost to my car. Not a single car had passed us. I was grateful. I didn’t want to be seen being arrested.

“I want you to lean forward and lie down on the hood with your arms outstretched.”

The hood was warm, but I didn’t argue. I bent over it, laid my cheek against it, my arms stretched out over my head.

“Spread your legs.”

I shifted.

“Wider.”

I moved my legs further apart.

He moved up behind me, kicking the sides of my shoes, forcing my legs further and further apart until I began to wonder if I could keep my balance. He leaned over me, ran a hand over my back, then ran his hands over my sides. “Raise up.”

I pushed up with my arms.

He ran his hands under them, cupping a breast in each hand. “Do you have anything concealed on your body?”

“Uh … no.”

He tugged my blouse from the waist band of my skirt, ran his hands up under it and then slipped first one hand and then the other into my bra cups. I jerked in surprise.

“Don’t move!”

I swallowed, held my breath, held perfectly still while he fondled my breasts, pushed them up so that the demi cups I was wearing were tucked beneath my breasts.

He pinched my nipples.

I jumped.

“I said, don’t move.”

His voice was a low growl, right beside my ear, sending shivers of awareness through me. My mind was a whirl by now. I shouldn’t have been aroused by his touch, but the plain fact was that I was. But I was also confused. What was going on here?