The Mayor's Daughter: Draft Pony

The Mayor’s Daughter

by Will Versuch

A Pink Flamingo Ebook
Publication

Copyright © 2010 by
Will Versuch, All rights reserved

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contact:

Pink Flamingo
Publications

www.pinkflamingo.com

P.O. Box 632
 
Richland, MI 49083

USA

Cover Image © 2010 petandponygirls.com

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written permission of the publishers.

Jessica swore
and moved her sandaled foot from accelerator to brake. The telltale blue and white
flashing lights made her squint as they dominated her rear view mirror. She
was already running late. This was going to set her even further behind. She
paused to fix her hair a little in the mirror and practice her most innocent
expression as her tires rolled to a stop on the shoulder of the road. She
saw the cruiser come to a halt behind her, and watched its door open as she put
her car into park and turned off the engine. A tall officer, dressed in
the distinctive uniform of the highway patrol, stepped from the car and
approached the driver’s door. She rolled down the window as he reached
her.

“License and
registration, ma’am.” He spoke brusquely, and she hastened to gather them from
the glove box and her purse.

“Here you go,
sir.” She smiled up at him as she handed him the requested documents, her eyes
wide and innocent as she tucked a strand of blond hair back behind her
ear.  

“Do you know
why I pulled you over?”  the officer asked, his cold gray eyes
meeting hers unblinkingly.

“I guess I
was speeding?”

“You guess
right.”

“I’m sorry,” she
pouted slightly as she spoke, trying her best to get herself out of yet another
ticket that her father would not want to pay. “I’m just on my way to meet
some friends for my birthday, and I was a little excited.”

“I
see.  Turning nineteen today it says here.” The officer’s stony
features revealed the small hint of a smile. “Any big plans?”

“Oh, not
much, really,” she smiled up at him. “My dad rented out the hall at the
Sheraton for me and some friends.”

“Oh, right,” the
officer’s eyes narrowed a bit in recognition. “You’re Jessica Miller; the
mayor’s daughter.”

“Yeah, that’s
me,” she responded, still smiling, and hoping that this last piece of
information would get her off the hook.

“License says
you’re 5’6” and 108 pounds,” he read from the card, and then his eyes glanced
down over her body as she sat in the car. “Is that accurate?”

“Yes,” she
answered, her smile fading slightly. There was something about the way that he
asked the question that felt wrong, creepy. “Well, I’m actually just under 5’6”,
but I’m always within a couple pounds of 110.”

“Anyone ever
tell you that you look a little like, what’s her name,” he narrowed his eyes as
he spoke, “the girl from Sin City.”

“Jessica
Alba?” she offered helpfully.

“That’s her,”
he spoke with a smile, “anyone ever tell you that?”

“A couple
times,” she answered, matching his smile, “but I think that’s just because I
stole her smile and her hair.”

“Well, you
wait right here, Ms. Alba, and I’ll get you on your way just as fast as I can.” He
gave her a wink as he turned and walked back to his waiting cruiser.

As she
watched him go in the side mirror, Jessica gave herself about fifty-fifty odds
of getting away without a ticket. She’d have preferred that he just let
her go with a verbal warning, but there was still a chance that he would return
with nothing more stern than a written one. Unfortunately, going back to
his car probably meant that he was going to pull her driving record and see her
history of tickets, which did nothing to help her chances.  After a
seeming eternity, the cruiser door opened again and the officer returned to her
open window.

“Ms. Miller,
please step out of the car.” His voice was stern, and she saw that his
hand hovered close to his holstered pistol when she looked up in surprise.

“Wh-what?” she
stammered, “why?”

“Place your
hands on the steering wheel,” he ordered, and she quickly obeyed, grabbing
it at ten and two. “I am going to open your door, and you will step from
the car, keeping your hands where I can see them. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” she
answered quickly.

Jessica’s
mind reeled at the sudden shift in the situation. What was going on? When
the door opened, she swung her bare, tanned legs out of the car and rose to her
feet. She kept her hands raised, resisting the urge to reach down and adjust
the hem of her short, faded denim skirt. With a strong hand on her
shoulder, he turned her to face the car as he closed the door.

“Place your
hands on the roof of the car, and spread your legs,” he ordered.

She followed
his commands, ‘assuming the position’ as she’d heard it called in movies and on
television cop shows. It was a very different feeling to experience in person,
she quickly discovered. Little pebbles of gravel slipped between the soles
of her feet and the thin, flat sandals as she slid them out across the
ground.
 
Her short skirt rose, baring
more of her thighs as she spread them. It was a terribly vulnerable
feeling.
 
She was being treated like a
criminal without knowing why. Her heart pounded in her chest in growing
fear of what was coming. Was she going to be arrested?

“Ms. Miller,
are you aware that there is an active warrant for your arrest?” the
policeman asked calmly behind her.

“A warrant?” she
asked quickly, in disbelief, “for what? There must be some sort of
mistake.”

“For
attempted armed robbery.”

“What?  Me?”

“I’ll admit
that it sounds a little surprising to me, too, Ms. Miller, but until I can look
into it further, I have no choice but to take it seriously. Very
seriously. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, sure,
I guess,” she answered quickly, finding herself grateful that the warrant
wasn’t for something legitimate, like the unpaid parking tickets that cluttered
up her glove box.

“Have you
ever been arrested before, Ms. Miller?”

“No,” she
replied, “but please, you don’t have to arrest me. I mean, come on, I’m
not a robber. Can’t you just call my dad?”

“Are you
carrying any weapons, Ms. Miller?” he asked sternly, ignoring her
question.

“No, I’m not
carrying any weapons,” she laughed, the situation taking on an absurd
quality as she stood there facing the car.

“I told you
that this is serious, Ms. Miller. I’m going to pat you down now.”

She winced as
he ran his hands over her body. Her feet shifted nervously in the gravel
as his palms grazed across her breasts through the thin white material of her
shirt. His fingers played across her belly. She felt her cheeks
blushing slightly as his hands seemed to linger on her hips before moving down
across the soft denim of her skirt. She gasped as his right hand slipped
up under its hem to search the bare flesh of her inner thighs. She was
grateful when he finally removed his hand, and she pressed her lips together as
he ran his palms down her legs. The caress of his hands to the bare skin
of her legs infuriated her, and she couldn’t help but think that he was taking
advantage of an opportunity to just ‘cop a feel.’ She couldn’t imagine that he
sincerely thought that she was hiding a weapon underneath the sandal straps
that were wrapped around her calves and tied in place. When this mess was
squared away, she would definitely let her father know about this.

Finished with
his ‘search,’ he stepped in close to her and reached to the roof of the car to
take hold of her right wrist. She didn’t resist as he turned it, bending
her arm at the elbow to place her hand behind her back. She trembled
slightly as she heard a ratcheting sound and then felt the cold steel of the
cuff close tightly in place around the slender flesh of her wrist.

“Please, do
you have to do this?” she asked, but did not resist as he drew her other
arm back behind her and closed the second cuff tightly in place on it. “I’m
not going to do anything.”

“Sorry, Ms.
Miller, but it’s procedure,” he answered grimly, taking hold of her bare
upper arm and leading her back to his car. “I can’t put you in the car
unless you’re restrained.”

Jessica
walked at his direction back to the patrol car. Her hands explored the
cuffs behind her, and she was surprised to find them different than she had
expected.
 
Instead of a chain between
them, she found a hinged bar that allowed them very little movement or
flexibility. She clasped her hands together tightly behind her back, the sound
of the clinking metal sending a shudder down her spine.  

Watching the
road, Jessica was grateful that no one drove by to see her being taken into
custody. At the waiting police car, he opened the back door and helped her
to sit down inside, his hand on the back of her head to maneuver it without
hitting the roofline. The seat was made of hard, formed plastic and was
cool against the bare backs of her thighs. The cuffs were uncomfortable,
biting into her tender wrists, and she was grateful for the cutout in the
seatback behind her where they could rest without her weight pressing against them. She
was surprised to see the policeman squat down next to her before closing the
door, another pair of cuffs in his hands.

“Wh-what…
what are you doing?” she whimpered as she saw him reach for her left
ankle, her voice seeming somehow small to her. “What are those for?”

“I told you,” he
spoke softly as he got a firm grip on her calf above the ankle and placed the
open hasp of the cuff against it, “you have to be restrained.”

“But my feet?” she
whimpered as he closed the cuff in place on her, struggling to blink back tears
as the situation worsened. “I’m not going to run away.”

“You’re not
now, are you?” He looked up at her as he closed the other cuff in place on
her right ankle.   

With the
cuffs locked on her feet, he stood up again. Reaching down, he placed his
hand on her shoulder for a moment, giving it a squeeze that somehow felt
anything but reassuring. And then the door closed ominously, and she was
alone in the back seat. She pulled at the cuffs on her ankles, looking
down in disbelief at the confining anklets and the short chain between them. Her
festive sandals and toenails, painted a pale pink, seemed starkly out of place
with these new additions.

She watched
him go back to her car, the view obscured some by the mesh of the cage that
separated her from the front seat of the cruiser. He spent a few moments
inside it before closing it up, locking it with its keyless remote. He walked
back to the patrol car, carrying her purse. She pressed her thighs
together as she sat impatiently in the mobile cell that was the back seat of
his car. He entered the front seat of the patrol car without a word,
placing her belongings on the seat next to him.

“How long
will it take to get things straightened out?” she asked, looking at the
officer’s face in the rear view mirror as he put the car in gear.

“To get what
straightened out, princess?”

“The warrant
mistake,” she responded icily, “and please don’t call me that.”

“You don’t
like being called princess?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“That’s none
of your business,” she snapped, twisting her wrists in the cuffs behind
her back in frustration. “Now, how long is it going to take to get this
warrant thing fixed, and get me out of here?”

“There are a
few complications with that, princess.”

“I asked you
not to call me that,” she hissed angrily, “and what do you mean by
complications.”

“This doesn’t
seem like a very fair conversation, princess,” he spoke as his eyes met hers in
the rear-view mirror for a moment.

“What are you
talking about?”

“You want me
to answer questions for you, but you won’t answer them for me.”

“What the
fuck does you calling me princess have to do with anything?” she snapped
angrily in response.

He continued
to drive in silence without answering her question. Looking out the window,
Jessica watched them turn off the road they’d been on and onto a winding
country road. The chain between her ankles rattled as she shifted her feet
nervously.

“It’s what my
dad calls me,” Jessica finally spoke softly.

“And why is
that a bad thing?”

“Because he
only calls me princess when he’s not really paying attention to me,” she
answered slowly, “so it just brings up bad memories.”

“You don’t
like it when people don’t pay attention to you, do you?” he asked her, once
more meeting her eyes.

“No, I don’t,”
she replied flatly. “So what are the complications you were talking about?”

“Well, for
starters, there is no warrant.”

“Wh-what?
What do you mean?” a chill ran down her spine as she asked the question.

“I’m afraid
that I made that part up.”

“Is this some
kind of sick joke?” she demanded, suddenly realizing what might be going
on, as hope began to surface in her mind. “Did my father set this up? Is
this some kind of screwy birthday gag?”

“Do you think
your daddy would have had someone feel up his little princess as a birthday
gag?” he asked cruelly, looking back into her eyes in the mirror.